My wallet is brown. a trifold a type of wallet that is not so popular any more. It is bulky from all the old memories I keep there. One side has my debit card and credit card and ID. The rest is precious mementos. My learners permit, high school ID, random business cards, train ticket to Dublin, store discount for the grocery store I worked at as a kid, St. Patrick Medal, a pale green crystal necklace from an ex that is slowly creating a hole from the inner pocket to the outside. I’ll always carry these things.
My hori hori knife, the only tool I need in the garden. In its sheath riding on my belt between tasks. A shovel or a trowel or a knife or a saw or a ruler or a tamper. I'm naked in the garden without it. Fully armored with it. Spring, Summer, Fall it toils. Winter it hibernates in the basket on the screen porch, nestled between my garden gloves.
A small ceramic vase with rust-edged lilies, shared from one bereaved parent to another. Half are still blooming while the other half fades, mirroring my week of caregiving, remembering, and vulnerably—stubbornly—aging.
Have you tried the Blackwing edition made for independent bookstore day? So elegant the way the lead moves on a moleskin page. Clearly I am a pencil snob.🤦🏽♀️
I told my son about your special bag after attending your Omega retreat last October! He was thrilled to see a photo🤗.
Momentarily, I am pulling out of my driveway with a travel trailer packed to the hilt. For me, it's a womb in the belly of the forest--the one place I can hold my small family captive for days.
We sustain on conversation, doze off to the hum of the fan, and sip coffee (OJ for the boy) as the sun spills its oranges and pinks over the horizon.
In a week, we'll be birthed back into reality, plump and screaming.
I suppose I could be more subtle with them, but as we pull out of the driveway, I rub my hands together like a mad scientist and say, "Now you are trapped!" 😆
For what it is worth, from early childhood daily breakfast was a tall glass of café con leche. I now opt for black coffee and skip the milk in my eighth decade...
the cloud that momentarily hook my wandering moment to the here and now,
the cloud that floats and drift is me stretching and dreaming,
the morning pink and sunset glow all are surprising formings of the ever changing simple and complex nature, never giving up on showing, fading in its grey and black, weeping as in rain, but weeping when the weight deadens,
White duct tape. Thick smoky burnt-yellow-orange skies. Opaque air. A neon-like fire red sun. The red hazard light on the indoor air purifier on. Then a purple light. Back to red. Purple. Red. Purple. Red again. Purple… A blue light. Blue skies. A gua sha tool. A dry skin brush. Needles. Neela and Shirin’s faces in uncontrollable belly laughter. A pouch containing remedies: Chinese herbs, oregano nasal spray, needles, a rescue inhaler. A mask. The hybrid piano keyboard in Joan’s office. A two year old holding a strawberry just red enough to be ready to eat. Three escalators going down. One up.
Sorry about the smoky skies. Looks like New York got more of our Canadian wildfire smoke than Toronto (we had two days of severe air quality warnings but NY looked like Blade Runner 2049). Despite having to endure this, i completely blanked on including our ash-laden air and sinister hazy skies in my wee-list-of-things post.
It was pretty surreal! I’m glad the ash laden skies didn’t hijack all your attention. They didn’t even make the cut! ;) Thank you again for identifying Anurima Bannerji as the poet last week. 🙏🏾
Kind neighbor’s chainsaw, tearing easily through storm-dropped branches and a stump in my yard. * Video of my niece playing with chickens on her 16th birthday, sent by my sister. * Small tray of sushi divided in 3 equal parts and shared with the kids - not quite enough and yet, enough.
My image of this week comes from a video call with my sister on Friday. I don't usually use the computer for these calls, but that day I did. As we talked, we were looking at a couple of new things that the app has now, and I noticed that it is now possible to share screens, so I decided to try it. I had a slide deck open that I had been playing with, so I shared that. The slides are photos that I took of bubbles in water bottles. It was a science experiment of sorts done by a teacher in a classroom of adults. There was food coloring and oil involved, and the affect was mesmerizing. The photos look like abstract paintings, and my sister and I marveled at what we could see in the bubbles. It motivates me to do this again myself and to choose colors that may collide into each other. Perhaps I should add food coloring to my grocery list. There is beauty everywhere.
Mri (magnetic resonance imagery ) confirming compression fractures in T8 and 9.
The image did show the intense pain, or all the things these vertebrae have carried over my 74 years. Or the poems that I’ve written to capture these omissions.
A large pile of dirt, garden soil really, but dirt delivered and deposited on concrete with the promise of beauty and life sustaining beauty once spread into landscape. All that now stands between the pile and the plants sitting over there in their patient pots waiting for their future spots is a four letter word: work.
Sometimes I have trouble believing there really is a heaven, well most of the time I guess. But this past week has made me stop and remind myself that it’s entirely possible. First off the funeral for a good friend whose son died at 43 of a long hard fight with cancer. The coming together of all the family and those who loved him, created profound relationships that day. Then a small reunion of classmates from my school of nursing. Last night a birthday party for a niece turning 60. Cousins reunited as though the years haven’t made a difference in their love and fun together. My week of reunion and relationships... maybe we’re meant to continue this in the hereafter. A vague but hopeful feeling.
A small chain of cloth flags made from my dad’s old shirts.
What a touching image!
Thank you so much.
I so feel this, having worked with the fabric of loved ones’ clothes, and crafted short personal paper banners of celebration for them.
My sister made me a quilt and a string of flags with his shorts. They are such a connection and touchstone !
My wallet is brown. a trifold a type of wallet that is not so popular any more. It is bulky from all the old memories I keep there. One side has my debit card and credit card and ID. The rest is precious mementos. My learners permit, high school ID, random business cards, train ticket to Dublin, store discount for the grocery store I worked at as a kid, St. Patrick Medal, a pale green crystal necklace from an ex that is slowly creating a hole from the inner pocket to the outside. I’ll always carry these things.
My hori hori knife, the only tool I need in the garden. In its sheath riding on my belt between tasks. A shovel or a trowel or a knife or a saw or a ruler or a tamper. I'm naked in the garden without it. Fully armored with it. Spring, Summer, Fall it toils. Winter it hibernates in the basket on the screen porch, nestled between my garden gloves.
A small ceramic vase with rust-edged lilies, shared from one bereaved parent to another. Half are still blooming while the other half fades, mirroring my week of caregiving, remembering, and vulnerably—stubbornly—aging.
Ah- the moleskin note book & reliable pencil ✏️, never have to plug in or recharge- indispensable!
Oh my word, yes.
My friends tease me endlessly. But once in a while, my eyes meet kin, holding a pencil in mid air.🌱
✏️ a wonderful extension of each day ! 🌿
One of the greatest inventions!!
Have you tried the Blackwing edition made for independent bookstore day? So elegant the way the lead moves on a moleskin page. Clearly I am a pencil snob.🤦🏽♀️
Yes 🙌- they are my favourite too ! Love the eraser- since I make so many changes 😚
Only today mine is a letterpress printed Field Notes!
Like me
I told my son about your special bag after attending your Omega retreat last October! He was thrilled to see a photo🤗.
Momentarily, I am pulling out of my driveway with a travel trailer packed to the hilt. For me, it's a womb in the belly of the forest--the one place I can hold my small family captive for days.
We sustain on conversation, doze off to the hum of the fan, and sip coffee (OJ for the boy) as the sun spills its oranges and pinks over the horizon.
In a week, we'll be birthed back into reality, plump and screaming.
There is an honesty in comparing the camper to a womb, the awareness of wanting to contain your family
I suppose I could be more subtle with them, but as we pull out of the driveway, I rub my hands together like a mad scientist and say, "Now you are trapped!" 😆
For what it is worth, from early childhood daily breakfast was a tall glass of café con leche. I now opt for black coffee and skip the milk in my eighth decade...
As my very Southern mother would say, "That is the kind of breakfast that puts hair on your chest!"🤣
Would it put hair on my head?
Wide fields. Huge lake. Oriole nests. Starling fledglings. Attack of the mother red-winged blackbird. A hard wooden chair in a small cluttered room.
I love that "A hard wooden chair in a small cluttered room" is left unexplained. I want to go sit on it and look around.
The clouds that cast light,
the cloud that momentarily hook my wandering moment to the here and now,
the cloud that floats and drift is me stretching and dreaming,
the morning pink and sunset glow all are surprising formings of the ever changing simple and complex nature, never giving up on showing, fading in its grey and black, weeping as in rain, but weeping when the weight deadens,
yes, clouds do cry and so do I
A blue and black cat carrier, my earbuds, my pockets, and a squirrel-hair paintbrush.
Your pockets! The empty thing that is empty but not always. Yes.
Exactly! I hesitated putting it down but after some thought, the opportunities and possibilities that pockets offer won me over
White duct tape. Thick smoky burnt-yellow-orange skies. Opaque air. A neon-like fire red sun. The red hazard light on the indoor air purifier on. Then a purple light. Back to red. Purple. Red. Purple. Red again. Purple… A blue light. Blue skies. A gua sha tool. A dry skin brush. Needles. Neela and Shirin’s faces in uncontrollable belly laughter. A pouch containing remedies: Chinese herbs, oregano nasal spray, needles, a rescue inhaler. A mask. The hybrid piano keyboard in Joan’s office. A two year old holding a strawberry just red enough to be ready to eat. Three escalators going down. One up.
Addendum: A dozen eggs, blue-green, brown, white, all different sizes, offered to me by a patient, gathered from her beloved chickens.
The indispensable duck tape that binds modern life.
Sorry about the smoky skies. Looks like New York got more of our Canadian wildfire smoke than Toronto (we had two days of severe air quality warnings but NY looked like Blade Runner 2049). Despite having to endure this, i completely blanked on including our ash-laden air and sinister hazy skies in my wee-list-of-things post.
It was pretty surreal! I’m glad the ash laden skies didn’t hijack all your attention. They didn’t even make the cut! ;) Thank you again for identifying Anurima Bannerji as the poet last week. 🙏🏾
What you wrote was so poetic and captured so much.
How kind! That means so much to me. Thank you, Corie!
🙏🏻
Kind neighbor’s chainsaw, tearing easily through storm-dropped branches and a stump in my yard. * Video of my niece playing with chickens on her 16th birthday, sent by my sister. * Small tray of sushi divided in 3 equal parts and shared with the kids - not quite enough and yet, enough.
"... not quite enough and yet, enough"...so true...
I’m loving the poetry of your prose, Tara. Thank you!
My image of this week comes from a video call with my sister on Friday. I don't usually use the computer for these calls, but that day I did. As we talked, we were looking at a couple of new things that the app has now, and I noticed that it is now possible to share screens, so I decided to try it. I had a slide deck open that I had been playing with, so I shared that. The slides are photos that I took of bubbles in water bottles. It was a science experiment of sorts done by a teacher in a classroom of adults. There was food coloring and oil involved, and the affect was mesmerizing. The photos look like abstract paintings, and my sister and I marveled at what we could see in the bubbles. It motivates me to do this again myself and to choose colors that may collide into each other. Perhaps I should add food coloring to my grocery list. There is beauty everywhere.
Object in my life this week is a metro card to take me places, to work, to fill my heart.
An object not in my week is a key. In my new place I do not use a key, but numbers to unlock the door to this temporary space.
Oh, yes! I could have added my bus pass to the items. My feet can't always cover the day's travels. Public transportation fills the gaps!!
Black shoes, made for dancing and wearing thin.
Black wallet, perfect for cards but not made for this country's money.
Off-white condom, nascent connection's joy even when emptying the trash.
Containers, each. Conscious and unconscious. Thanks Matthew.
Mri (magnetic resonance imagery ) confirming compression fractures in T8 and 9.
The image did show the intense pain, or all the things these vertebrae have carried over my 74 years. Or the poems that I’ve written to capture these omissions.
A large pile of dirt, garden soil really, but dirt delivered and deposited on concrete with the promise of beauty and life sustaining beauty once spread into landscape. All that now stands between the pile and the plants sitting over there in their patient pots waiting for their future spots is a four letter word: work.
…and both the shovel and rake leaning against the side of the wheelbarrow whose handles always seem to fit perfectly my hands.
Sometimes I have trouble believing there really is a heaven, well most of the time I guess. But this past week has made me stop and remind myself that it’s entirely possible. First off the funeral for a good friend whose son died at 43 of a long hard fight with cancer. The coming together of all the family and those who loved him, created profound relationships that day. Then a small reunion of classmates from my school of nursing. Last night a birthday party for a niece turning 60. Cousins reunited as though the years haven’t made a difference in their love and fun together. My week of reunion and relationships... maybe we’re meant to continue this in the hereafter. A vague but hopeful feeling.