Isabella Bird Miscellany

My days never quite play out like I’ve planned.  Sometimes that’s good; on other occasions it messes with my predetermined thoughts for the day, spilling into the week. Monday was kind of like that. A dentist appointment was on my calendar; however, as I headed to bed, I was already planning a very leisurely Monday morning. While brushing my teeth – how ironic – I remembered said dentist appointment. That prompted me to head for my phone and set two alerts … so I wouldn’t forget … again. I woke up about a half hour later than normal; blame it on the restless night’s sleep or the rainy morning, it didn’t matter. It was needed, and there was still plenty of time for a cup of coffee and a little reading. The bed, however, was left unmade (something that almost never happens), but a load of laundry was tossed in to wash. Not bad, as I dashed out the door. My to-do list wasn’t long: dentist appointment, get groceries, write a blog post, clean the house and a late af...

brooding My heart is quiet and dark; brooding like the clouds hanging in this morning’s sky. Just when I think I’ll start to write happy thoughts, which seem trite given happenings in my world and in the very lives of my friends and family, I’m reminded of what my voice has to say. Injustice and sadness exist. That is a fact.  But, you know what? It takes really dark skies to see the stars. Darkness will never overwhelm light. Light, however, always lights up the dark. That is also a fact; one that I cling to desperately. There was a drought of beauty ; all was devoid, stark and barren Horizons held nothing to be desired, stripped and robbed of blossoms ripped and banned from the earth Photos, prints piled and discarded The only flowers remaining housed in vague memories How had the town reached this conclusion? Fragrance was absent No sound of buzzing bees or gossamer dragons darting in the sky Senses dulled and snuffed out to the miracles of existence Hearts...

I’m a list maker; jotter-downer-of-words, thoughts and  tons of to-dos. They’re written by hand, put in my phone and typed into documents on my computer. I use lists to keep myself organized, to remember fleeting ideas to be revisited for whatever reason.  Sometimes there is no reason, I merely liked the phrase. You might say that lists are my muse.  This is especially true when I use writing a list to excite my writing.  Usually those lists are merely words that fall under some sort of heading like “things that are orange” or “things that start with the letter Y.” A few days ago, I was reading back through an old journal and I came on a list entitled, “things that are opening.”  The way it flowed was almost poetic.  It had an interesting cadence. I wanted to edit the list completely, but somehow the raw, not completely refined version seems better … just left open …                ...

Do you ever have those moments when you see, hear or smell something and you are instantly transported to another place and time?  It’s almost like time travel in your emotional head.  I do this quite frequently and the places I travel allow me to relive experiences. Our senses are powerful.  They are how we encounter life.  I taste a strawberry and know that early summer has arrived.  Smelling salt air tells me I’m near the beach.  Listening to a 60’s mix and I’m recalling junior high dances, hoping that whoever my “crush” was at the time would ask me to dance. On my way to work I take a roundabout which circles up and past some homes that have a desert-scape loaded with blazing wildflowers.  To me, California poppies are wild since they are scattered along roadsides and creep into neighborhood gardens.  Blue flax and orange-red Oriental poppies were in the blend. Seeing the flax and poppies was one of thos...

jealous:  onomatopoeia-like, it slithers off the tongue; rotting the soul, destroying all it touches, leaving debris in its path. When I was taking a particular creative writing class, Pat, our instructor would give us short, often one word prompts, to write about for a minute or so. It was just enough time to jot down a sentence or two, a paragraph if you were quick. This practice kept my mind thinking of ways to consider words or phrases. The commute to this class would be a little on the long side (I don’t live in PDX anymore), so I’ve taken to using a couple of sites for ideas. A few days ago the two words were so opposite of each other that it caught my attention: rainbow: hope, confidence, expectation jealous and hope It’s funny, and not in a comical way, how these words are so contradictory. One full of causality and destruction, the other resonates with possibility. All gets weighed in the balance we call life. Our scales tip back and forth unti...

bleached out rocks, pine needles and crunch gravel At last, (sounds like the end instead of the beginning of a story, or a crooned love song) my man and I were able to walk the labyrinth on Brosterhaus Road.  The first time we visited, it was winter; being partially covered with left-over snow, sections of the path were obscured.  What struck me at the time was the labyrinth was set in a prayer garden.  Peeking from the snow were benches, shrubs, a water feature of sorts and a rugged cross made of gnarled juniper. Returning today, everything was revealed in brilliant sunshine punctuated by the ever-present cold Central Oregon spring wind.  I swear it must blow directly across the ice fields on the mountains before biting exposed cheeks. Walking, I found it hard to concentrate and clear my mind.  I deliberately slowed my already slow pace in an attempt at mindfulness, listening to my steps on the finely crushed gravel and the wind swirling t...

It was a gorgeous day to fly.   The skies were clear, the mountains in crisp attire thanks to a fresh coat of snow.   Funny how even a dust of white defines the terrain, etching every crevice with detail.   I revel in the perspective stock-piled from flying above.   Above the city.   Above the rivers and forests and fields.   Above the mountains; peeking down at life below. The seat I had blocked my view.  Instead, I concentrated on the intricacies of the wing with its flaps, ailerons and other things that go up and down, controlling functions.  Peering over the wing, a craggy mountain sat like a big fat vanilla ice cream cone with a bite taken out of the top.  You half expect the frozen concoction to start dribbling down your hand, only to be caught by a paper napkin.  But, it’s a mountain full of magnificence, rather than a childhood treat. Rivers, muddy from spring rains snaked  their way through wet fields, s...