Isabella Bird Miscellany

Ever feel like you're living in a roundabout? Where I live, we have several. They move traffic well, except when they don't. And of course, we all remember the scene from European Vacation where Chevy Chase keeps going round and round the Arc de Triomphe. There seemed to be no way out of the never-ending circle. i'm circular my weary mind a looping maze all the paths it wanders come back to the same spot i try to jump out of the hamster wheel as it spins faster, but the centrifugal force holds me, stuck Yeah, that's me. I'm circling around. Going through motions, held in place. Why can't I slow it down or make it stop? i'm circular revisiting habits and manners of being how do i shatter those patterns so ingrained rutted in the psyche pushing hard on the lines that inhibit and restrain one hand reaches through a thin place As hard as I try, we try, the same stuff keeps coming up and back around. I become indistinct in the same grooves. ...

Writing sometimes takes floaty, old-school music. Right now I'm listening to a Zombies radio mix and specifically Steppenwolf's "Born to be Wild" that fades into "Venus" by Shocking Blue. All these songs used to stream out of my sweet black transistor radio when I was in Jr. High, now known as middle school.  We were so cool with our stick-straight hair parted in the middle, wearing white go-go boots and micro-mini skirts. Yes, the stuff of Austin Powers' dreams was groovy reality, baby. All of this musical randomness slipped around in my thoughts as I experimented with another poetic fall piece, but Crosby starts tuning "Wooden Ships," so I pour a glass of 19 Crimes and light the candles. Curtains are drawn. It's dark and quiet outside, while music blares in the house.  The notes return the past, like Jr. High dances. How awkward we were, waiting for a slow song and the excuse to cling onto each other. Or, Strawberry Fi...

I like words. I use a thesaurus. Words are expressive. Words trigger thoughts and tell stories in and of themselves. Recently, I’ve seen two words which are normally nouns turned into verbs ; a thing became an action. Cool concept, right? A little awkward to say: neighboring - storying Common words – neighbor and story – were given an “ing” suffix. Instantly, they took on a new life. No longer was a neighbor just a person, it was an action, a way of relating to those who surround us. It implies presence, friendliness and hospitality. Neighboring requires something, the giving of a part of us. (See full article about “ Neighboring ” at Relevant Magazine) Storying took neighboring to a different place. Movement was attached to the telling. It was used in relation to sharing about God with people living on Lake Victoria in Africa. Stories were put in context of the culture and given hands and feet. I guess what I respond to in both words is they beg for...

original waywardness? wayward :  It's not a word that just rolls off the tongue in everyday conversation. It has a disturbing, poetical rhythm to it, bringing up unsettled thoughts and meanings; in fact, one of the definitions for wayward is unsettled. Think about how sailors would talk of wayward winds that would blow them off course to parts unknown. Then there's the wayward child, willful and capricious, wanting to follow their own inclinations instead of a compiled set of ways. I initially jotted a few notes like: wayward disturbs a contented soul wayward has a mind of its own I never was a wayward child in deed, but more in the mind I tend to think of wayward in negative ways - we all do. However, as I revisit the three statements above, I see an interesting pattern unfolding; one where wayward might have a different definition. Perhaps it's good to have a disturbed soul. It gets us out of a rut. A mind of our own doesn't just fol...

thanksgiving: grateful acknowledgement of divine favor     Pine needles lay like pokey Pick-Up-Sticks on the sidewalk. I notice them as I walk; that and cracks, pebbles and dirt that washed from a flower bed in a recent rain. Stuff scattered on the sidewalk. It’s not clean. It’s rather messy. Thanksgiving is tomorrow; a day marked on the calendar to acknowledge the good things in our lives. This is good, right? For a lot of us the answer is “yes,” but this year, more than ever, I’m keenly aware of how desperately painful the Holidays can be. People’s lives and relationships look like the messy sidewalk, so they don’t want to walk there. I get that; it looks like there’s nothing good to acknowledge. There is a calmness to a life lived in gratitude, a quiet joy – Ralph H Blum Walking, I look more closely at the pine needles, seeing the slender taper, the soft brown color and the patterns they leave on the sidewalk. The cracks spider-out like delicate s...