Sunday, October 23, 2011

Good for My Heart

Sunday morning, how is it already Sunday morning.......?  It's been a week of waiting for the correct light. And writing gibberish, that somehow in the end turned into something - a rough something, but a something nevertheless.  It's like that at times - you write in your notebook, line after line, knowing it's dreadful (most of it is) with the hope that there will be at least in the end a word you love.  And you can pluck that word out of the mess and rubble and make something shabby and grand out of it.

It's been a week of dashing off to work hair barely combed, of feeling quite rotten and popping a ton of vitamins, of feeling generally dissatisfied creatively and despairing of my unpublished beauties, of pining and resolving not to pine, of listening to the new Adam Cohen (yes, Leonard's son) album, scribbling, and taking walks, and taking photos, endless photos of pink roses.  Trying to get the even, soft light I was after. Adjusting the camera a thousand times, as clouds passed by.  Adjusting the Venetian blinds.  Never quite getting what I thought I wanted.  And then leaving them for a day or two, and finding what I had was fine actually, fine enough.  

And I'm still happy with the grey we chose to paint our walls.  It soothes me.  It suits my current state of mind.  There are two rooms left to paint and the last will be my study.  It's a terrible job - there are six bookcases brimming over with books that will need to be taken out first.  We've done this before - turning the living room into a mountain of cascading books.  With some luck there will be time to do this at Christmas. It's a huge endeavor and quite disconcerting in all its disorderliness. So this kind of task is perfect for the chaos of the season, which always throws me off anyway.

Have you heard about the new line of paints by the Guggenheim?  A nice idea, I think.  We've been using Martha Stewart's paint though - as the greys are exactly what I have in my mind's eye and according to R. they go on very nicely.  

One of the things I like about painting a room, is that all your old junk looks new again.  And I've never liked pink roses so well.  

A poem I found onThe Poetry Foundation - "Leaves Fell" by the Estonian poet Juhan Liiv.  "It was good for my heart: / there my feelings were ash-gray / the sky tin-gray, / ash-gray the autumn."  Worth reading the translator's notes for this one, too, I think.

So, I leave you with roses, my darlings.

And more roses.

And wishing you a lovely and restful Sunday.

And one last bit from May Sarton's Journal of a Solitude.

"On my desk, small pink roses.  Strange how often the autumn roses look sad, fade quickly, frost browned at the edges!  But these are lovely, bright, singing pink."

"When I am alone the flowers are really seen; I can pay attention to them.  They are felt as presences.  Without them I would die.  Why do I say that?  Partly because they change before my eyes.  They live and die in a few days; they keep me closely in touch with process, with growth, and also with dying.  I am floated on their moments."   

~ May Sarton

It's been a while since I've taken that book off the shelf, and it's reminded me of what an inspiration it was for my writing of Calm Things. And it's reminded me of all those moments we float on, gray and laughing, and singing pink.

1 comment:

  1. Love the roses and the grey. They are perfect together.


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