The Bee-Man & The Bees

You can read
The Bee-Man of Orn online.

Here is another edition,
beautifully illustrated by P. J. Lynch

In keeping with my favorite theme of literary coincidences in daily life, these two works were suggested to me on the same day by two different and very creative friends. Steven recommended The Bee-Man of Orn; and Jan sent along "The Bees" by Audre Lorde (see Ink & Pixel, #6).

The Bees

In the street outside a school
what the children learn
possesses them.
Little boys yell as they stone a flock of bees
trying to swarm
between the lunchroom window and an iron grate.
The boys sling furious rocks
smashing the windows.
The bees, buzzing their anger,
are slow to attack.
Then one boy is stung
into quicker destruction
and the school guards come
long wooden sticks held out before them
they advance upon the hive
beating the almost finished rooms of wax apart
mashing the new tunnels in
while fresh honey drips
down their broomsticks
and the little boy feet becoming expert
in destruction
trample the remaining and bewildered bees
into the earth.

Curious and apart
four little girls look on in fascination
learning a secret lesson
and trying to understand their own destruction.
One girl cries out
“Hey, the bees weren’t making any trouble!”
and she steps across the feebly buzzing ruins
to peer up at the empty, grated nook
“We could have studied honey-making!”

by Audre Lorde (1934 - 92)

It is unfortunate that Lorde stereotypes by gender; however, looking past that flaw, the final line is truly inspiring: “We could have studied honey-making!”

It goes along with what I thought was going to happen when the Bee-Man runs back to get his hive and throws it at the dragon. I thought the Bee-Man was going to calm the dragon by offering him honey, and then the dragon would calmly relinquish the baby in exchange for honey. I also predicted that the Bee-Man was ultimately going to request being changed into a Bee as his true original form! But -- spoiler alert -- becoming a baby and re-growing back into his same old self is also a good twist!

One more connection:
If peace was all we had, we could study honey-making . . .

Remember the song: “If Peace Was All We Had”

See also:
A Song for MLK Day
Think Globally & Bee-Man

Old Easter Baskets

These are the only two I kept, a matching set for my twin brother Bruce and me. I get them out every year and fill with miscellaneous memorabilia. Look closely, and you can see that the date on the photo of me says: 1959. The bottom of one of the baskets says: “79 cents.”

We're not holding our baskets in this photograph, but same era.
And, yes, I am wearing white gloves and holding an egg!

I still have the little lace purse for Ellie to play with:

A year ago, my friend Steven and I were discussing our childhood Easter baskets, and I was very impressed to learn that he still had (or had until very recently) the same basket from his very first Easter!

Steven clarified: "Alas, my Easter Basket was falling apart, so I decorated it with flowers and used it on the set for The Miser two years ago. It now has a new life, after 70 years. It was mine as a child. I think my mother must have gotten it at Woolworth's. It came back to me after my grandmother died. I used it for keys and other stuff, but finally it couldn't stand on its own. I was going to have it remade, but decided it should be a prop instead."

A good life for a cherished item! Sometimes a new life is for the best, right?!

I left my stash of Easter baskets and Easter grass behind when we down-sized from Indiana to Virginia. Now I just throw everything into gift bag, or grab a bowl from the kitchen. In fact, to verify, here is some evidence from my photo album of “Stuff we gave away”:

I even gave these away, the closest Ben and Sam ever came to matching baskets. Well, yes, they matched, but they never grew dear to anyone's heart over the years the way mine and Bruce's had. So I let them go.

And of course I kept our favorite Easter Story Book!

The Fear is Real

Today's Protests:
Washington DC, New York City, Philadelphia

I liked a lot of things about Ann Patchett's novel Tom Lake -- beautiful imagery and references to Our Town, calling out some ridiculous stereotypes, a deep understanding of the passage of time. But I also disliked a lot of things, most of which concern the superficiality of Lara's character. I could never quite figure out if Patchett is intentionally creating a shallow character, or if Patchett herself is shallow. Is Patchett lying to her readers, or is Lara lying to her daughters?

In a serious family discussion, Lara's daughters express their concern about the dangers of childbirth and the disinclination to bring children into a troubled world.

Lara responds: "Every generation believes the world is going to end."

Her daughter Emily: "Is that true? Did you and Dad think it was all going up in a fiery ball?"

Lara: "No, I said it to make you feel better." We "thought about the plays we wanted to get tickets for, the price of rent, whether or not we should go out to dinner, how soon we could afford to have a baby. We didn't think anything would end, any of it ever." (149).

Really? Why does Patchett choose these flippant lines for her character? Lara, just like Patchett in real life, was born in 1963. My friends and I were a little older (born in 1957), but we certainly were not immune from thinking about the "fiery ball" of nuclear devastation. That's what it meant to grow up during the Cold War. Apocalyptic visions and narratives of annihilation were everywhere -- at the movies, at Sunday School, in fiction and non - fiction; on the news at night waiting for the Vietnam War to end. We were taught that ZPG was necessary to avoid the population explosion and a predicted scarcity of natural resources. Is Lara supposed to be oblivious to the fact that Earth Day has been an environmental protest event for the last 55 years?

Okay, at first she was a little kid, but the threat of nuclear destruction lasted for decades. How about when everyone else in the country was watching The Day After? That was 1983, when Patchett / Lara was 19 or 20 years old. Has she forgotten all that? Or did she just miss it entirely the first time around and now denies that the anxiety ever existed? Either way, she is very wrong when she says that young adults in the 1980s were not worried about anything beyond restaurants and shows.

In his article, "Mad Max's implausible post-oil eco-dystopia," journalist and Slow Boring blogger Matthew Yglesias -- born in 1981 -- corroborates:

" . . . there is no nuclear apocalypse in the original 'Mad Max,' just Australian society teetering on the brink of dissolution due to natural resource scarcity.

"That film was made in 1979, when eco-dystopian thought had incredible cultural currency. . . . It’s not that we don’t still have eco-dystopians. But they are much more likely to worry that oil is too plentiful than that it’s too scarce. [emphasis added]

"What’s fascinating, though, is that in the doomer mindset, the line between 'the world will end because we are running out of oil' and 'the world will end because we are burning too much oil' is paper thin."

One of Yglesias's readers responds:
"Doomers went from 'the world will end because we are running out of oil' to 'the world will end because we are burning too much oil,' just like they flipped from 'We're doomed because people are having too many children' to 'We're doomed because people are having too few children,' or from 'Society is falling apart because permissive parents give their kids too much freedom' to 'Society is falling apart because helicopter parents give their kids too little freedom.' The one constant is the belief that humanity is bad and deserves to be punished; they fill in the details later."
~Wayne Karol

Sure, whether or not the fears are well-founded is debatable. But the fear was real then, and it is real now. Don't tell your childen or your readers otherwise.

In her memoir Loose Change, Sara Davidson recalls being a college student during the Cuban Missile Crisis. Up until then, around the fountain on the mall "at noon, liberal students and religious fanatics would speak to small crowds. In October of 1962, something changed . . . the crowds . . . swelled to thousands. The Russians were sending a fleet of ships loaded with nuclear missiles to Castro . . . Atomic weapons would be pointed at our cities. . . .

Around her kids were talking about buying canned food and building air - raid shelters. She closed her eyes and saw San Francisco in flames beneath a mushroom-shaped cloud. She went to a pay phone and called her mother to say good-bye. . . . The next morning, Susie woke up to find herself alive. The crisis was over; the Russian ships had turned back" (37).

The Second Trumpet
from the Cloisters Apocalypse (1330)

Out to Lunch

Is there a proper blessing for the sliders?
[Why do I always feel a little nauseous saying "sliders"?]

While I'm not exactly recommending the 2017 movie
Brigsby Bear, one line has stuck with me over the years.
It features a wacky family with a solid ritual blessing:
"May our minds be stronger tomorrow."

I think that works for Lent!

Sometimes when things don't go as planned, you just have to turn your day of misadventures into a kind of lyrical poem! I decided to use the format devised by poet & professor Joseph J. Benevento: "A dozen or so years ago, I invented a form of poetry called the "After" poem; it had very simple rules, the title of the poem had to start with the word "after," and there would be 26 lines, 5, 5 line stanzas and a one line coda."

After Our Lunch Manqué

We’ve enjoyed better. Food was mediocre.
One of us had a bum scratchy throat.
Another was sleep-deprived,
with little rest the night before,
and a missed morning class.

We all wondered if we should call and cancel
and sleep it off but vetoed the idea.
Because we wanted a normal day, didn't want
to bow out of lunch and rest a spell.
Was our determination misguided?

The waiter was obnoxious and unsubtle.
We could not sit where we wanted.
The light was low; the shades were down,
yet somehow still an inescapable glare
pervaded the room, negating eye contact.

Even so, nice to see all y'all.
Perhaps next time will be better,
an evening meal rather than lunch.
We'll go out and get our extra sauce, and
"in that space" we'll see our lives "really start to open up."

Benediction: "Stay the course.
Continue your Lenten fast and other spiritual disciplines.
Work the garden, enjoy the grands.
Safe travels to the men,
and keep it down during the hen party!

And every other good thing."

Many thanks to Ed Tourangeau
for providing the bulk of this text!

March: Out Like a Violet

And just like that -- the year is 1/4 over!

A few first - quarter posts from my
Fortnightly Blog:

1. The Worthy Butterfly
&
2. The Courtier and the Judge

And my
Book Blog:

1. Small Sweet Tangible Things
&
2. In Art As It Is In Heaven

Eclipse of the Heart

I was happy with my full moon pics this month
but didn't have much luck with the eclipse.
Best pics I got were moonrise

and right before the decline

Here in Virginia, I watched the moon completely disappear between 1 - 2:40am -- not even to a dark red "blood moon" but entirely blacked out and gone. Around that time, a stray white cat ran through our backyard! Was it the moon, on the run, personified / animated as a feline? Perhaps so, because I stayed up til 4am, but never did the moon return.

Most likely, the cloud cover had grown too dense. Yet, despite this logical explanation, I felt at the one with the skywatchers of ancient times who wondered with every waning moon if its light would ever be see again.

Far away in Missouri, my friend Jay got some great shots. His photography is far superior to mine, but our viewing experiences were similar: "Fun Blood Moon, not cold at all, that was nice, after totality some clouds moved in and blurred the Moon, went to bed about 3am."

Sometimes, instead of searching the sky,
you have to turn inside to the moon of your heart.
And sometimes . . .

Seeing the moon
is not enough
For anything
except to make
me wonder if
you have seen it too

Check out my niece Sara's insights on working through
the emotional eclipses that are bound to come our way.
Here are a couple of her recent posts and my responses:
Comparison
Sara, here's a quotation I think you'll like:" 'Oh, bosh! Should have. Could have. Would have. What an odious trio. . . . I made a promise to ignore those gloomy villains. I suggest you do the same' " (from the novel "Deception's Daughter," by Cordelia Frances Biddle, p 108). I think "gloomy villain" fits right in with calling "comparison...the thief of joy." I think my most dangerous and time-wasting comparisons are making up alternative histories in my head -- shoulda, coulda, woulda. I shoulda done this; I shoulda done that; why didn't I? If only I had. I can go on for hours comparing the make - believe me to the real me and judging myself harshly for not being my alternative fictional self who never makes a stupid mistake. Sigh . . .

900 Days Sober
Thanks for this essay Sara! So easy to fall into that trap of of listing your failures instead of your successes. Every now and then, I have to remind myself that I completed a PhD in Modern British Fiction. Oh yeah, that's right. And a bunch of other things. Now why is it so hard to feel positive about that? Somehow we got mis-programmed to think "bad daughter, bad mother, bad cat - mom, bad friend, bad student" -- but it's not true! It's the anxiety speaking, and we have to shout it down. Thanks for helping us to accomplish that monumental task! It is a perpetual struggle.

Additional thoughts for the day
from my thoughtful nieces.

Giving James Baldwin the last word . . .

[author of The Fire Next Time]

Wonder Beyond Dreams

~ Happy Birthday Cousin Gregg ~

~ More on facebook ~
~ More photos by Gregg & Kim

Thanks to my Cousin - in - law Gregg Ree
for sharing the photographs (above and below)
and these soul-soothing poems that he wrote
back in the 1970s:

An evening reverie . . .

Restless Night
The night is our keeper
Waiting so long for the dawn
We wonder beyond our dreams memories
To the place where time stands still
Never looking back
We feel the power to go on

A wedding blessing . . .

Just Beginning
Together, Living, Loving
Time spent in need of each other.
Life alone can only bring a sour heart.
Today is Your Day!
But who knows what tomorrow will bring.
Live your lives together today,
As though it were the last day,
And your love shall have no end

Up Again, Old Heart!

~ Happy First Day of Spring! ~

Late Vernal Equinox Sunrise
through the southern magnolia in my front yard

A Series of Blessings
for a Day of New Beginnings

Back in grad school days, I had each of the following
passages written out on an index card and taped up
inside my library carrel for focus and inspiration:
Emerson: "We dress our garden, eat our dinners, discuss the household with our wives, and these things make no impression, are forgotten next week; but in the solitude to which every man is always returning, he has a sanity and revelations, which in his passage into new worlds he will carry with him. Never mind the ridicule, never mind the defeat: up again, old heart! — it seems to say, — there is victory yet for all justice; and the true romance which the world exists to realize, will be the transformation of genius into practical power." *

Coleridge: "The Imagination, then, I consider either as primary, or secondary. The primary Imagination I hold to be the living Power and prime Agent of all human Perception, and as a repetition in the finite mind of the eternal act of creation in the infinite I AM."

Juvenal: "Whatever woman do -- their longing, their fears, their angers, their pleasures, their delights,their comings and goings -- these form the medley of my little book."

Wordsworth: "Imagination, which, in truth, Is but another name for absolute power."

~ Half light ~ half dark ~

P.S.
Southern Magnolia / Winter Solstice

P.P.S.
* A get well wish from Ralph Waldo Emerson,
also from the essay "Experience":
"Life itself is a bubble and a skepticism, and a sleep within a sleep. Grant it, and as much more as they will,--but thou, God's darling! heed thy private dream: thou wilt not be missed in the scorning and skepticism: there are enough of them: stay there in thy closet, and toil, until the rest are agreed what to do about it. Thy sickness, they say, and thy puny habit, require that thou do this or avoid that, but know that thy life is a flitting state, a tent for a night, and do thou, sick or well, finish that stint. Thou art sick, but shalt not be worse, and the universe, which holds thee dear, shall be the better."
More excellent
advice from Emerson:
QK ~ FN ~ KL

A Day for Blessings

~ Happy St. Patrick's Day ~

Three Sisters in the Garden
by Jen Norton

A Blessing for the Day

"To love someone long-term is to attend a thousand funerals of who they used to be.
The people they're too exhausted to be any longer. The people
they don't recognize inside themselves anymore. The people
they grew out of, the people they never ended up growing into.
We so badly want the people we love to get their spark back
when it burns out, to become speedily found when they are
lost.

"But it is not our job to hold anyone accountable to the people
they used to be. It is our job to travel with them between each
version and to honor what emerges along the way.
Sometimes, it will be an even more luminescent flame.
Sometimes, it will be a flicker that
disappears and temporarily
floods the room with a perfect and necessary darkness."

by 🖋Heide Priebe

Upon reading this meditation, I immediately thought of my sibs and how we keep on growing and changing and loving each other, even as we become old people!

I was also reminded of these great lyrics by Tom Waits:

Old boyfriends

They look you up
when they're in town
To see if they can still
burn you down
He fell in love, you see
With someone that I used to be . . .

Sung by Crystal Gale

Glass Heart by Siobhan Allen

Taking Death Seriously

Key West Sunset ~ February 2025
Originally called "Cayo Hueso," meaning "Bone Island"
in reference to piles of bones & human remains
dicovered by settlers in the early 1800s.

1. Willa Cather (1873 - 1947) : "She hadn't any of the sentimentality that comes from a fear of dying. She talked about death as she spoke of a hard winter or a rainy March, or any of the sadnesses of nature."
The Professor's House, 256

2. Thomas Pynchon (b 1937): "At the heart of the story, most crucial and worrisome, is the defective way in which my narrator, almost but not quite me, deals with the subject of death. When we speak of 'seriousness' in fiction ultimately we are talking about an attitude toward death - how characters may act in its presence, for example, or how they handle it when it isn't so immediate. Everybody knows this, but the subject is hardly ever brought up with younger writers, possibly because given to anyone at the apprentice age, such advice is widely felt to be effort wasted. (I suspect one of the reasons that fantasy and science fiction appeal so much to younger readers is that, when the space and time have been altered to allow characters to travel easily anywhere through the continuum and thus escape physical dangers and timepiece inevitabilities, mortality is so seldom an issue.)"
Introduction to
Slow Learner: Early Stories
p 5, emphasis added

3.Terry Pratchett (1948 – 2015): "No one is finally dead until the ripples they cause in the world die away, until the clock wound up winds down, until the wine she made has finished its ferment, until the crop they planted is harvested. The span of someone's life is only the core of their actual existence."
from his novel Reaper Man

Ripples Left Behind
Thanks to my friend Lynn Z. who said:
"Nice way to hold people close even after they’re gone
~ be the ripple."

4. Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886):

I stepped from plank to plank
So slow and cautiously;
The stars about my head I felt,
About my feet the sea.

I knew not but the next
Would be my final inch,—
This gave me that precarious gait
Some call experience. (#875)


For further thoughts on
taking death seriously,
see my recent post

Vanity Fair:
Laughing at Death
[Also Smiling]

@The Fortnightly Kitti Carriker
A literary blog of connection & coincidence;
custom & ceremony

P.S.

I used to love "Prufrock" so much -- "There will be time, there will be time." But now we see that indeed there may NOT be time! So hurry, hurry, hurry to take it all in. In younger days, if I hadn't heard from someone in awhile, I would tell myself, "Oh settle down, they're just busy." But these days: no! You're right to worry; you're not being pararnoid; they may be dead. That's no longer being morbid, just realistic.

P.P.S.

"I am dead:
Thou livest;
. . . draw thy breath in pain,
To tell my story."

~Hamlet, V, ii

2nd Week of Lent: Ashes to Ashes

Calendar caption from my friend Megan: "The robin's egg!
A good find but a sad outcome for that baby chick!

George Saunders: " . . . nobody knows why death happens.
It's not bad. But it's not great. . . .
What are we to make of death?
How are we to live in a world where death is king?"
~from The Braindead Megaphone, 181, 182

Thanks to my literary friend Kathleen O'Gorman
for sharing this diaglogue,
perfect for All Souls, Día de Los Muertos,
Memorial Day, Ash Wednesday:
ESTRAGON: All the dead voices.
VLADIMIR: They make a noise like wings.
ESTRAGON: Like leaves.
VLADIMIR: Like sand.
ESTRAGON: Like leaves.

Silence.

VLADIMIR: They all speak at once.
ESTRAGON: Each one to itself.

Silence.

VLADIMIR: Rather they whisper.
ESTRAGON: They rustle.
VLADIMIR: They murmur.
ESTRAGON: They rustle.

Silence.

VLADIMIR: What do they say?
ESTRAGON: They talk about their lives.
VLADIMIR: To have lived is not enough for them.
ESTRAGON: They have to talk about it.
VLADIMIR: To be dead is not enough for them.
ESTRAGON: It is not sufficient.

Silence.

VLADIMIR: They make a noise like feathers.
ESTRAGON: Like leaves.
VLADIMIR: Likes ashes.
ESTRAGON: Like leaves.

from Waiting for Godot (Act 2, lines 98-118, emphasis added)
by Samuel Beckett (1906 - 1989)
*******************

Quoted before ~ but here it is ~ again,
because Vladimir and Estragon are true to one another:

“Ah, love, let us be true
To one another! for the world, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night.”

~ by Matthew Arnold ~
~from the poem “Dover Beach” ~

*******************

More Lenten Readings
from two of my constants,
shedding a brilliant light on the darkling plain:

Ashes
from Duo Dickinson's series for the season:
Connection in Isolation

&

Pastor Nadia Bolz-Weber

Letting Go For Lent

Putting Things Away

But you can leave the bowl out!
It's a Bowl for All Seasons

Taking Down the Tree

Looks like Aidan is diving into the tree!
He's actually getting a closer look with his special glasses!

Rosemary for Remembrance

For all Feasts & Seasons

Tossing out the Dried Basil

As my friend Ed said,
"I think you leave the rushes on the floor
until Rogation Day." Haha!

As for putting things away, I knew that Candlemas / Groundhog Day would be too soon; so I changed my goal to Superbowl Sunday. After all, if the football season can last until mid-February, so can the Christmas Tree Season! The big day came and went, yet the tree remained! Then the snow came! I told Gerry that as long as we keep getting snow, I'm keeping the Christmas tree up another week. He said, "the tree staying up is causing the snow!" Could it be? Some kind of reverse weather magic!

Then came Mardi Gras -- upcoming frivolity but also impending reality. Although I am convinced that even the angels love it when we leave our trees up, I knew it was time. At last, on Ash Wednesday, with Gerry's help and and emotional support, I took down the tree and put away every Christmas decoration. As in previous years -- giving up Christmas was my Lenten sacrifice. Over and done with.

It is now Lent --
time to let go of something.
You decide what.

Something fun to read / watch:

Near the end of Bad Monkey, the main character Andrew Yancy / Vince Vaughn has a reckoning with death during which he hears the voices of all his friends and colleagues who have urged him, within the complicated course of the narrative, to "let it go!" Although it goes against his tenacious nature, he quickly comes to accept that "letting go" is what he must do in order to save his own life -- a very serious take-away from an otherwise lighthearted story.

Mardi Gras: A Day's Miching

Vibrant, vivid Mardi Gras Banner
-- best party favor ever!
Thanks Cathy McK!

A Mardi Gras letter to my favorite professor:

The other day, I randomly picked up an old reading journal from Spring Semester 1982 and came across a few entries that I thought you might enjoy, or at least find somewhat droll, such as this note jotted down in late January: " . . . felt bad for Prof Orr -- seems no one is reading Swann's Way." Aside from me, of course.

But then just a few days later -- in fact, Feb 2, James Joyce's birthday (duly noted at the top of the page), things take a turn for the worse: "To school just in time to get to class. Prof Orr started The Trial after just a few moments on Proust. I haven't started The Trial and was embarrassed at being able to contribute nothing." Oops!

There's a follow - up entry explaining that a classmate and I stopped by your office to "talk about Proust and other things," and also to "put a note on Orr's name plate: Leonard O. In honor of The Trial and Joseph K." Grad school hijinks I guess!

Later in the month, I fall behind again: "Made the mistake of going to 20th C without having read The Master & Margarita."

Entries for the next few days say only, "Reading M & M."

Then I have another lapse: "To school in the nick of time, but decided against going to 20th Centry Lit."

What was wrong with me? I never realized until looking back on this notebook what a terrible student I was. You were a very patient professor to forgive my many lapses!

It is mystifying to think that there was ever a time in my life when I didn't know The Trial and The Master & Margarita by heart, but clearly that's the case. The question now: to shred this notebook, or to put it back on the shelf?

I found another journal entry that made me laugh and I thought you might enjoy.

On Tuesday, February 23, 1982, I note that it was unusually warm weather (80F) for Mardi Gras. Inspired / misguided by the good weather, I stay home from school, skip both of my classes (Continental Lit with you & English Bible with Lyna Lee Montgomery) and spend the morning "baking Mardi Gras Bread."

As I said in the previous note (above / below) I am shocked, shocked to realize what a haphazard student I was that semester!

Anyway, later in the afternoon, my journal tells me, I jump on my bike and cycle to campus as quickly as possible to go teach my class. Despite letting my professors down by skipping the classes I was taking, I apparently never let my students down by skipping the sections I was teaching.

Here's the part I thought you would like: As luck would have it, "After class, ran inadvertently into Prof Orr and explained my absence -- kind of embarrassing." I don't mention giving a fake excuse, so maybe I just told you the truth, that I felt compelled to do some baking and hide a tiny inedible doll inside a Mardi Gras Cake (well, kind of related to my dissertation topic).

I do mention that the next day the temperature dropped back down to 40F. Time to face reality. So much for my "day's miching," right?

A word to the wise from
Matthew Yglesias
on keeping up with the Great Books!

Daffodil Day

For these pics and more,
see my 2025 Calendar
A Rebirth of Wonder

Seems like in previous years, snowdrops
have featured as the flowerlet of March First,
at the expense of overlooking leeks and daffodils!

Not only is it Martisor Day in Romania,
it is also St. David's Day in Wales!

Previous March First Posts

2010: Kiss Me & Kiss Today & Dear March

2011: My Vegetable Love

2012: Love However Brief

2013: Beyond Ideas

2014: The First [Mild] Day of March

2015: Wind from a Leaf

2016: Reading the Obituaries

2017: Piano Bar

2018: The Sweetheart Tree

2019: Flora or Fish?

2020: The Once and Future Guenever

2021: Felix Anno Novo

2022: March Begins: The Heart's Desire

2023: Happy Martisor Day!

2024: Present ~ Past ~ Future

2025: TGIF & Daffodil Day

TGIF

I love this photo by my friend Jay
and the caption that he gave it:

"February Goodbye . . . TGIF"

That lake is Holy Ground,
so perfect for the end of the week,
the end of the month,
the end of the wintry season.
So many endings.

And as my friend Etta recently observed,
"so many more":

"I think the hardest part of being older is that it is all about loss and grief. Not just from death, but ends of relationships, loss of youth and physical abilities, loss of our idealism and naïveté. And so many more.

I’ve always feared loss and grief and now I experience it every day. And now add loss of security, given the current state of our government."

P.S.

Thanks to Jay for capturing
not only the last sunset of February
but also the First Sunrise of March!

As March begins,
I'm thinking of that old favorite
by Don McLean

"The book of life is brief
And once a page is read
All but love is dead
That is my belief . . . "

Pink Kitchen ~ Blue Kitchen

Pink & Blue Teacups ~ 1890s
From my Grandmother Rovilla Lindsey

Monet's Kitchen
(Designed: 1883 - 1926)

Contemporary Pink Kitchen

What Is Pink

What is pink? a rose is pink
By a fountain's brink.
What is red? a poppy's red
In its barley bed.
What is blue? the sky is blue
Where the clouds float thro'.
What is white? a swan is white
Sailing in the light.
What is yellow? pears are yellow,
Rich and ripe and mellow.
What is green? the grass is green,
With small flowers between.
What is violet? clouds are violet
In the summer twilight.
What is orange? Why, an orange,
Just an orange!

~~ Christina Rossetti (1830 – 1894) ~~


Blue Willow

For my niece Jessi (above)
From my niece Sara (below)

Valentine Dresses

Seen on The Cat Café
[still searching for title and artist]
♥

Young Girls Reading (aka The Two Sisters), 1889
by Pierre-Auguste Renoir (1841-1919)
♥

The Three_Sisters, 1896
by Léon-Henri-Marie Frédéric (1856 – 1940)
♥
For more red dresses
see my recent post

Red Dresses and Sad Songs

@The Fortnightly Kitti Carriker
A literary blog of connection & coincidence;
custom & ceremony

Valentine Trees & Trinkets

♥♥♥
HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY

May your joys be magnified!
Vintage magnifying glass locket, a keepsake
from my sister - in - law Marion's jewelry box.

May your heart be held!
Irish Claddagh Ring

Hearts Abound!