Anniversary talk

TaproomLunch in the tap room / Philadelphia / Nov. 12

When we drive by Alleghany Avenue, he points to the steeples and says that's where it all began. When we turn onto Lehigh Avenue, she says that's where Bill Sepich lived and the Dvornics. The little houses over there. I was born in the house on Almond Street and so was my sister. Near to where it crosses Lehigh. On Fridays, my mother would send me down to the bar to get oyster stew. We slept in bunks in the arsenal. That's where we met. We both worked there. With glasses of vino and pilsner we talked of all sorts of things. The ritual of making coffee. Taking the time. Hand cut fries. The runt bird who needed the help of its family and finally got there. Able to fly. Communal consciousness. A cold and wintry day, so unlike the one we were celebrating; that November day was warm enough that you didn't need a coat. And the sun lit up the steeples on Alleghany Avenue.


And the occasional nor'easter

Northeasterly"Forecasters say minor to moderate coastal flooding is possible from a slow-moving nor'easter that's bringing periods of wind-driven heavy rain to New Jersey" / that nor-easter brought wind-driven rain along with a flood of family, friends, lovely words, vows, stories, food, champagne, dancing, songs, smiles, tears, laughter, hugs, hope / New Jersey, October 2013

When you love someone, you do not love them all the time, in exactly the same way, from moment to moment. It is an impossibility. It is even a lie to pretend to. And yet this is exactly what most of us demand. We have so little faith in the ebb and flow of life, of love, of relationships. We leap at the flow of the tide and resist in terror its ebb. We are afraid it will never return. We insist on permanency, on duration, on continuity; when the only continuity possible, in life as in love, is in growth, in fluidity -- in freedom, in the sense that the dancers are free, barely touching as they pass, but partners in the same pattern.

Relationships must be like islands, one must accept them for what they are here and now, within their limits -- islands, surrounded and interrupted by the sea, and continually visited and abandoned by the tides.

~ an excerpt from Gift From The Sea by Anne Morrow Lindbergh via Mitza


Take a moment's rest

LionsohmyResting with the Lions / August 2013

"The stop sign reminds us to slow our pace, take a moment's rest, and look around. Therein lies a whole philosophy of life."

~ Philip Toshio Sudo in Zen 24/7




Be intensely yourself

Roza_blouseUsing what's on hand to create / August 2013

"Eventually I discovered for myself the utterly simple prescription for creativity; be intensely yourself.

Don’t try to be outstanding; don’t try to be a success; don’t try to do pictures for others to look at -- just please yourself."

~ photographer Ralph Steiner

In regard to the color of stars

Jersey_monarchJersey June Monarch / June 2013

“We especially need imagination in science. It is not all mathematics, nor all logic, but it is somewhat beauty and poetry.”

~ astronomer Maria Mitchell (1818-1889; in 1847, using a telescope, she discovered a comet which became known as "Miss Mitchell's Comet")

From her diary:
“Feb. 19, 1853. I am just learning to notice the different colors of the stars, and already begin to have a new enjoyment. Betelgeuse is strikingly red, while Rigel is yellow. There is something of the same pleasure in noticing the hues that there is in looking at a collection of precious stones, or at a flower-garden in autumn. Blue stars I do not yet see, and but little lilac except through the telescope.”

“Feb. 12, 1855…. I swept around for comets about an hour, and then I amused myself with noticing the varieties of color. I wonder that I have so long been insensible to this charm in the skies, the tints of the different stars are so delicate in their variety. … What a pity that some of our manufacturers shouldn't be able to steal the secret of dyestuffs from the stars, and astonish the feminine taste by new brilliancy in fashion.”

(Source: MARIA MITCHELL: LIFE, LETTERS, AND JOURNALS, Compiled By PHEBE MITCHELL KENDALL)