Isabella Bird Miscellany

revealing, skeleton-like edison bulb I wrote this piece a year and a half ago.  The prompt was "caught up in the image." Standing naked under a single bare light bulb, she was exposed.  There were no props, no masks to offer a shred of private dignity or security.  Her soul was stripped of facades.  What happened to the phony veneer of the window dressing she wore?  A pile of fabric lay crumpled at her unprotected feet. Unfolding vulnerability was not part of her being.  Was it really anyone’s?  Perfection was the desired portrait, unblemished and flawless; performing like a horse or pony in the circus, always jumping through hoops and carrying out tricks at another’s whim. Caught up in the image painted over her life, she struggled to fracture the confines of other’s applause.  Under the divulging fluorescent, statuesque stillness enveloped her in quietness.  The deafening silence screamed in her mind of fear and inab...

snowflake covered icicles How full of creative genius is the air in which these are generated!  I should hardly admire more if real stars fell and lodged on my coat – Henry David Thoreau I sat down to write a piece of poetry about Christmas and snow falling.  Words like softly and gently wanted to be written, but they seemed cliché.  You see, a couple of weeks ago someone told me I was all “happy-clappy” about Christmas.  This person knows nothing of my life; the good stuff or the sad.  We simply look at the pasted smile and go about our days, because that is what we are supposed to do. Having allowed myself to get duly worked up, I understood that my outlook had nothing to do with outward circumstances; it’s rooted in my intrinsic values and beliefs.  It’s my distinct gift to open every day. You see, the very first Christmas was not a glitter covered event with gentle snowflakes and hot toddys.  It was in a barn full of animals ...

"the best tree ever" he exclaimed! It’s the same story every year.  I look, I search, I contemplate.  Trees have to be pirouetted around so I can see all the angles.  That’s the Christmas-tree-lot-version.  This year, my fam is going out to cut a tree; very Griswald like.  In years past, this was our tradition, complete with a bonfire, thermoses filled with hot chocolate and mulled wine; hot dogs to roast on fresh cut sticks. Mostly, we’d tromp around in the woods, giving each potential tree a once over, until that “Hallelujah Chorus” moment arrived.   The only problem it was on the other side of an icy cold creek, with banks and drifts of equally cold and deep snow.  Well, hubby being the really swell guy that he is managed to cross the water without drenching himself.  He cut the tree, floated it downstream to a more appropriate place to bring it up the bank, to present me with my prized Noble Fir.  That was the sto...

advent:  a coming into being I’m a city girl.  I miss the city, the din of traffic and construction; the crushing music of urbanity.  I’m becoming accustomed to a slower pace, filled with a handful of street lights and natural sounds.  I’m finding that when one thing is missed, others come into being. stumbling in the dark no street lights... no flash lights... no head lights black skies littered with stars bright and brilliant distant night lights shooting and dancing iridescent sparklers invisible in the light so I stumble Advent is all about watching for an arrival; things to come into place.  The word is connected to the Holiday Season, as we eagerly await Christmas and the birth of a tiny baby.  One way or another Advent, the arrival of Emmanuel needs to influence more than a certain time of year.  We need Him to crash into culture in general and our private lives, specifically – always.  Like stars that are ...

moss covered bricks, littered with the remnants of fall and the beginning of Christmas I broke down and put some Christmas music on yesterday.  I’ve tried a few other times … it just seems wrong when I haven’t roasted a turkey yet.  I blame my brother.  He was visiting and was all like “Its Christmas all day, every day, Missy.  You don’t know…”  Being a good big sis and all, Christmas music was cranked up on the ipod.  Confession:  something happened and I’ve been streaming an off-beat Christmas station today.  The Holidays are clattering and clamoring and I’m pretty relaxed – odd. Like an old VHS tape (remember the sticker on them, “please be kind, rewind?”) I’ve been rewinding and re-watching this last year.  A thumbnail:  upheaval, chaos and disorder, uncertainty, fear and confusion were the adjectives.  We were moving; packing up our life to regenerate it in a town once known as home in distant corners of our...

cool wall, but would i want to live there? I meet up with a group of ladies each week.  We are of different ages, eco-status and walks of life.  Our community comes from our love factor based in relationship. We’ve been discussing a book titled, “Love Does” by Bob Goff.  Did you know love is a noun and a verb? Yep, that’s the nerdy, I-love-words-side of me coming out.  Anyway, the point is love does stuff.  It doesn’t simply sit in a box thinking it’s all sweet and uncluttered, tied up with a pretty bow. Love is messy.  Love is inconvenient.  Love gets in the way of our preconceived ideas.  Love is broken.  Love is vulnerable.  Love hurts.  Basically, love can be a real pain in the butt, because it requires something. Grinding on the conversation with the gal pals, we were passionately hashing ways that we could put action (verbs) to our talk.  Talk has to take form or it’s just talk.  The holidays ...

thank you I could never understand his poetry It seemed to run in circles but the ends never connected Now, I must admit my own words are scrawled on a page with a ballpoint I could never understand the perspective of his poetry He had seen things and lived through them The battle real, while mine was gripped inside I could never physically empathize with his poetry My feet didn’t walk the red fields, but his did My hands didn’t bind the wounds, but his did No, I could never understand his poetry, but I could listen Gratitude , thankfulness, appreciation, deep respect and admiration to and for family members, friends, acquaintances and those I do not know, for their service . Missy If you have been mildly amused, challenged or inspired by what you have read, please pass on my blog to a friend, colleague, family member or even random acquaintance