I was feeling a little frustrated - not looking as forward to seven - I was feeling bugged that I couldn't remember the plot and would have to reread some. Well, I'm not frustrated any more - I just had to read a few pages to remember why I can't wait for seven - anyhow, I'm done rereading, and for the record...Dumbledore still dies -- and I still can't believe it!
I stumbled upon Mary Oliver's poetry book - Blue Iris at the bookstore. I sat and drank my hot chocolate and the words. And with moist eyes I found someone who said what I felt. Here are a few of her poems (I dark blued my favorite parts)
Freshen the Flowers, She Said
So I put them in the sink, for the cool porcelain
was tender,
and took out the tattered and cut each stem on a slant,
trimmed the black and raggy leaves, and set them all-
roses, delphiniums, daisies, iris, lilies,
and more whose names I don't know, in bright new water-
gave them
a bounce upward at the end to let them take
their own choice of position, the wheels, the spurs,
the little sheds of the buds. It took, to do this,
perhaps fifteen minutes.
Fifteen minutes of music
with nothing playing.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Roses, Late Summer
What happens
to the leaves after
they turn red and golden and fall
away? What happens
to the singing birds
when they can't sing
any longer? What happens
to their quick wings?
Do you think there is any
personal heaven
for any of us?
Do you think anyone,
the other side of that darkness,
will call to us, meaning us?
Beyond the trees
the foxes keep teaching their children
to live in the valley.
So they never seem to vanish, they are always there
in the blossom of light
that stands up every morning
in the dark sky.
And over one more set of hills,
along the sea,
the last roses have opened their factories of sweetness
and are giving it back to the world.
If I had another life
I would want to spend it all on some
unstinting happiness.
I would be a fox, or a tress
full of waving branches.
I wouldn't mind being a rose
in a field full of roses.
Fear has not yet occurred to them, nor ambition.
Reason they have not yet thought of.
Neither do they ask how long they must be roses, and then what.
Or any other foolish questions.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Understand from the first this certainty.
Butterflies don't write books, neither do lilies or violets. Which doesn't mean they don't know, in their own way, what they are. That they don't know they are alive-that they don't feel, that action upon which all consciousness sits, lightly or heavily. Humility is the prize of the leaf-world. Vainglory is the bane of us, the humans.
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Two. I bought "Big Blue" in Carmel. And although LUSH is in New York, LA, Australia, Hong Kong, etc.; I still get as excited as I did the first time I found the store eight years ago. I bought a few bath bombs to introduce James to the experience. The Tisty Tosty is shaped like a heart. For $5.35 it makes a heavenly bath filled with a light scent and dried roses. And if you saw the Friends where Chandler bathes with emulsifying salts - you know that even the most skeptical showerer can become bath believers - you'll just have to try it.
Three. This poor mother elephant dreams of five minutes' peace but never attains it - she doesn't give up on the dream (a dream my mother must have shared). In the end of the book, 1 minute 37 seconds of peace in a quiet bath will have to do. Perhaps tomorrow she will find her peace.
Five. The bubble bath. I can imagine the crackling sound of the bubbles as I type. My Grandmother always had a huge bottle of Spring Gel Vitabath by her tub, and my mother kept the tradition alive.
Seven (its a stretch). Jane Austen's Persuasion takes place in Bath; I love the pivotal scene where Anne makes the assertion, "We certainly do not forget you, as soon as you forget us. It is, perhaps, our fate rather than our merit. We cannot help ourselves..." These words overheard by Wentworth spark a passionate letter he hands her, with renewed hope for the future. (Northanger Abbey and Pickwick Papers have scenes in Bath as well.)
I am so torn on my review of this memoir. But, I think that's the point. At one point, the brilliant/creative/alcoholic father catches his children burning down an old warehouse and points to the "top of the fire where the snapping yellow flames dissolved into an invisible shimmery heat that made the desert beyond seem to waver, like a mirage." He explains "'...that zone was known in physics as the boundary between turbulence and order. It's a place where no rules apply, or at least they haven't figured 'em out yet,' he said. 'You all got a little too close to it today.'" But even though the children didn't die in the fire, this family seems to live in this strange in between place. A place where the children paint, read Plato, and go hungry most nights of the weeks. Its an interesting/upsetting read but I think worth the time - its one you really won't be able to put down.
It would make an interesting book club discussion and here's one thought - it seems that the way we were raised leads to who we are. But, I firmly suggest that its our obligation to look at the past (for good and for bad) and analyze what was true and what wasn't; instead of just taking it for truth because its what we know. We are all raised by imperfect people and we are imperfect as well - therefore some of our patterns could be damaging. But the most damaging is not looking.
One of my favorite quotes from literature is the last line from Morrison's Song of Solomon..."If you surrender to the air, you can ride it." Simply meaning we need to accept the past in order to soar into the future.
I found this game on my friend's blog, flowerchain - hmmm - a light-hearted thought is just what I need!
The Rules of the game:
1. Find the nearest book to you.
2. Name the book and author.
3. Turn to page 123.
4. Go to the fifth sentence on the page.
5. Copy out the next 3 sentences.
James doesn't let me read to him, unless its bedtime. And the bedtime book we're reading and is therefore lying around is Peter Pan by J M Barrie.
"As he emerged at the top he looked the very spirit of evil breaking from its hole. Donning his hat at its most rakish angle, he wound his cloak around him, holding one end in front as if to conceal his person from the night, of which it was the blackest part, and muttering strangely to himself stole away through the trees."
Captain Hook is quite the menacing villian! And I laugh at Pete"a" Pan!
Now, if you want to play along pick up the closest book to you, post it, or type away in the comments!
How Little Lori Visited Times Square by Amos Vogel illustrations by Maurice Sendak
Knuffle Bunny by Mo Willems
I will not ever Never eat a tomato by Lauren Child
The Gardener by Sarah Stewart and illustrations by David Small
The Brave Cowboy by Joan Walsh Anglund
Miss Rumphius by Barbara Cooney
I just found the most darling children's book...its called Scaredy Squirrel and its about a phobic squirrel who won't leave his tree. But, one day he has an unexpected fall and ends up finding out he's a flying squirrel. In the end, he still stays in his safe tree most of the day - but he does "jump into the unknown" once a day.
