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Monday, March 25, 2013

it is a kind of love





THE PATIENCE OF ORDINARY THINGS

by Pat Schneider

It is a kind of love, is it not?
How the cup holds the tea,
How the chair stands sturdy and foursquare,
How the floor receives the bottoms of shoes
Or toes. How soles of feet know
Where they’re supposed to be.
I’ve been thinking about the patience
Of ordinary things, how clothes
Wait respectfully in closets
And soap dries quietly in the dish,
And towels drink the wet
From the skin of the back.
And the lovely repetition of stairs.
And what is more generous than a window?


{taken from the George Hail Library blog}




Thinking about the generosity of this window. You've seen it before. The way the light comes into my kitchen and makes the plants glow for a short time each morning. The dishes glint just so. The dirty window even has a sort of charm (I tell myself). It's nothing SO special this light. It happens several times a week if I wait for it, that patience.





And it's true, that lately I've been lacking patience. When you're little your mother may have said things like, my patience is wearing thin. And I guess I feel like I've been worn thin....

I sometimes think that being a 'mid-career' writer, or a 'minor poet' - or worse a minor, mid-career poet - there's nothing more ridiculous to be. All the waiting, the rejections. I found this article to be of some comfort on the subject of rejection.

In the meantime. There is light. The generosity of windows.







Another thing I've been thinking about, besides light, always light, is what we include, in a photo, a piece of writing, a blog, or on Facebook even, and what we edit out, leave out. What we leave in focus, what is blurred. Part of this has to do with needing to keep oneself for oneself. And then, not giving too much away. The difficulty of leaving things open to interpretation. But also the beauty of that, the generosity of that.

I sometimes shoot things up close, because I don't want you to see the dirty dishes, or the dog's soggy fox toy. I don't want you to see the dust on the floor or on top of the stack of books.












But I know when I'm looking at the photographs of others, I love it when I see a glimpse into another person's everyday existence. A chair by a favourite window, the couch where the dog sleeps, undone dishes, or an empty coffee cup, forgotten. I love seeing rooms and I love getting a sense of how people live in other places in the world. But when I go to post a photo like the one below, I can't help but think how much it reveals. There are glimpses of paintings Rob has done for us, or we've kept because unsold. The mismatched furniture collected over 20 years of marriage. Furniture from junk shops and Winners. And the grey chair we sprung for last year. The iPad and the typewriter. Anyway. We've been living in this same house for almost 14 years, and it's all starting to fall apart. Which probably says something too, this constant refurbishment of the self, our rooms. So yes, the photo reveals some things. Certainly not all. Not all.




2 comments:

  1. Butterflies in a bell jar, your kitchen sink photos are magical ;) xxn

    ReplyDelete
  2. Sunlight on sleeping dog: joy.

    ReplyDelete

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