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. ...

I was cocooned in a glass container on top of a hill, shrouded in clouds and mist. Eva Cassidy sang a bluesy "Wade in the Water." Looking out, the infinity deck was like a ship's bow and we were sailing through the storm. Every other year is our all-family together, together Thanksgiving gathering. 2018 happened to be that gathering year, and I was spoiled ; getting to stay in one of our favorite spots - the cabin above the clouds - that belongs to some friends. Thanksgiving Day was a cacophony of activity. Cousins big and little did their thing. The littles running through the house, even though they were supposed to be upstairs. Tons of giggling could be heard, and of course, the requisite getting mad; just because that's what happens. Love and interaction does that.  Family, even at young ages is messy, but I wouldn't trade or discard it. Stories, old and new were re-lived. Some old stories were given new applications. All isn't ros...

The page furled in the wind, several, actually as I struggled to control my notebook. The wind was crisp; it blew hair out of my face. A cerulean sky hung over head; the sun casting low. I watered my potted plants, perhaps for the last time until spring. Snow’s in the 10 day forecast, which seems odd since only a few days ago it was 70 degrees. Birds were chirping, squirrels doing their thing. They know the season is changing to the dormant time where food will be scarce and only the flimsy bare branches will shelter. It’s November. We’re on the cusp of winter. Temperatures will be harsh. My thoughts turn to the outside folks; those who live in tents or boxes, occasionally scoring a room at the local shelter. It’s easier…when the weather is fair, but never easy. Cat Stevens’ “Wild World” blares rather loudly from my Sonos. Two lines rattle for attention: a lot of nice things turn bad out there     you know I’ve seen a lot of what the worl...

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...

thanks, john derian, for your big picture book Usually if I’m writing about an artichoke it would be in relation to food, you know, dipping each triangular-ish leaf in warm butter or uber garlicky mayo. However, I think there are other enticements to an artichoke. peeling away the layers reveals the heart My life as an artichoke generates all sorts of images. They have prickly points on the end of each petal, with tough outer layers and layers underneath that are delicate. As you continue to strip off the outer leaves, you’ll eventually reach the choke … and the heart. oh thistle with a heart a flower bud that hasn’t bloomed peeling away layer after layer a picture of living, delight, anticipation in the book of things, something magical hidden under pricked leaves choke guards the heart ‘til security petals are stripped away Life is full of hard stuff, mine being no exception to the rule. A few years back times, events and s...

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...