Hanging tight to our roots

“Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world’s great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs. 
I am haunted by waters.”                Norman Maclean

On Monday, I passed by Salt Creek at Fullersburg Woods on my way home. The water was running swiftly, the sun was brilliant, warming the April air, and swales of daffodils and Siberian squill blanketed the earth around the Graue Mill. My undisciplined self could not help but to turn off of the road I was on, park the car, pull out my camera, and wander a bit in the luxury of Spring’s emerging carpet. Little did I know, at that same moment, what horrors were occurring in Boston, nor how the small town of West in Texas would become so explosively devastated a few days later, or how these very same waters I crossed would soon rise, bringing their own destruction and revealing their own dark secrets as more than six inches of rain pummeled the area.

This was a haunting week that tried our souls, brought out the measure of many, the evil of some, and both the beauty and the brutality of nature and of man. A week most of us will not soon forget. A week that reminds us to hang on tight to our roots and to all things that are good, to hold our loved ones close and live our fullest in each and every moment we are given.

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Dem Bones

 

Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive. Anais Nin

One never knows where “dem bones” will end up. Take, for instance, a ham bone. One leftover from a Christmas luncheon. Actually, someone did take the ham bone. Several people, in fact, did. It made perfect sense to let the ladies who offered to warm the hams have “first pick” at the bones, which they happily took home. One bone, however, was passed on to another, Pat, who froze it to share at another time. I was one of the lucky ones who got to enjoy it!

I was delighted to receive Pat’s invitation to lunch, though not sure if I would be able to make it as it was a week after my sister’s surgery. As luck would have it, I was able to attend and, as these sorts of things go, it was JUST the thing I needed.

Several of us sat around Pat’s table on an icy Friday morn in February, enjoying a most delicious ham, bean and kale soup accompanied by spoon corn bread, a spicy carrot salad, and stimulating conversation with just the right pinches of laughter and encouragement. Dear reader, please know this hearty lunch with one of “dem bones” was a balm for my soul, allowing me to regroup, repair, and rejoice!

Ah, dem bones! As I wended my way home, I started humming the spiritual “Dem Bones”, then recalled a performance on the famed show of years ago, the Lawrence Welk Show. I guess I was still picking at ‘dem bones”. This version was performed on a Halloween show. I hope you will enjoy “dem bones” – and maybe have a big bowl of hearty soup, shared with friends, perhaps, someday soon.

 

 

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Commonplace

Having just read Belle, Book, and Candle’s thoughtful writing on commonplace books, and a bit too busy right now to write a new post myself. I am reposting my own post on commonplace, which I wrote several years ago, in hopes that you will not only take the time to read Belle, but that you will consider keeping a commonplace book yourself – or tell us about the one you do have. Belle, Book, and Candle’s post can be found here. Thank you, Belle, for the inspiration I needed today.  Penny

Commonplace. The recording of words and ideas in a common place. It was started many hundreds of years ago and became known as commonplacein the 1600′s. It is used to this day by writers, poets, speechwriters and songwriters – even scrap bookers. I started thinking about the practice of gathering ideas in a commonplace book as I was reading a blog about books.

Do you have any idea how many blogs there are just about books? There are blogs about mysteries and children’s literature and authors. There are Pearl Buck and Jane Austen blogs. There are blogs about decorating with books and making books, and, of course, many authors these days have their own blogs.

They are all commonplace.

I have kept card files on books I’ve read since my first Kiddie Lit class. I no longer include such things as publisher and copyright date, but, I do write a brief synopsis of the book, what it was about, the month and year I read it and sometimes, when I’m really full of myself, I rate it. ★★★★★ Commonplace.

I also have kept a book with quotes. If I hear something notable or read something, I will write it down and cite the author. Sometimes, I will cut a quote out of a magazine or on a greeting card and paste it onto a page of my quote book.  Commonplace.

Emerson and Thoreau, Jefferson and Whitman, Hardy and Twain all kept such personal books. Many even learned the practice of commonplacing at Oxford or Harvard – or at their tutor’s direction.

My mother kept scrapbooks of pictures and memorabilia  that I enjoy today and my father kept succinct books that recorded good fishing spots and articles.

I first heard such a collection of phrases mentioned as a commonplace in “Tasha Tudor’s Heirloom Crafts”. Tudor was, among many things, a crafter of dolls. Her dolls lived in intricate, homemade doll houses, so famed that they were attracted to the folks at the Smithsonian and displayed there. Her dolls, clothed and appointed with furniture evoking the 1800′s, had their own commonplace book with tiny writing on the pages.

I love the idea of a commonplace book and was intrigued by the realization that I have kept such books not knowing their origins for much of my adult life. Quite exciting for something so common to me.

Do you practice commonplacing?

Do you keep a journal, special notebook, scrapbook, or log?

The image is from “Tasha Tudor’s Heirloom Crafts”. Photography by Richard W. Brown.

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October Sunlight

October sunlight, particularly morning sunlight, has a special golden warmth that adds a peculiar glow to life. Part of that glow, to be sure, comes from the earth itself, an October world with grass turned gold in ripeness and maples showing first color and sumac crimsoned with anticipation. But there is also a directness of the sun riding in an east-west course, a simplicity of day begun at a proper hour, a pleasant air of Autumn.  

               Hal Borland: “An American Year”

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