It is January. The start of a new year. A time for resolutions. I made some, I always do, but made sure to create those that I had already started. A focus of sorts. I hope to continue to cultivate this sense of calmness that I have felt stemming from stepping back from consumerism. I hope to continue and add new activities that increase my and my family’s healthfulness. But on top of that I have a bit of a wish list I have started. I wanted to share it mostly to hold myself accountable. If you write it down, it seems somehow instantly more important, more necessary, perhaps. Also, I think I’m catching Heather’s list fever over at Write.Drink.Sew.Repeat
* Read an average of 2 books per month including 3 “classics” this year
* Pay more attention to how my children “tick”, especially noting the ways that they feel most loved and calmed when upset.
*Continue to read more poetry & discover more modern writers. I want to continue my love affair with language. It’s much like reading, but with the colors much more saturated and the volume turned way up. It’s phenomenal.
*Try a hand at writing my own poetry. This was something I loved to do as an adolescent. Then as an arrogant (or perhaps self-loathing) 20-something judged them “juvenile” and threw them all in the trash. Now I don’t so much care about the end product, but at the idea of trying.
*Draw more still-life’s
*Pick up the “Big Book” sketchbook and begin. Secretly hope to complete within the year. This is a 9in x12in actual book that Brandy & I found at the used book store. It’s some kink of production model to show clients the weight and feel of the book and pages. It is about 240 pages (but I will most likely do e/o page so as to prevent smearing).
*Take a community ed class about something I love or would like to learn more about. Indian cooking perhaps?
*Continue to build and flex my culinary muscles (at least within my family’s limited palette).
Before I go, just wanted to share some of my most favorite poems. Don’t just quit here. Count this as your “try something new” this year:
Sonnet 116 – William Shakespeare
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! It is an ever-fixèd mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.
Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved
Interior Portrait- Rainer Maria Rilke
because of memories;
nor are you mine because
of a lovely longing’s strength.
What does make you present
is the ardent detour
that a slow tenderness
traces in my blood.
I do not need
to see you appear;
being born sufficed for me
to lose you a little less.
Child Development- Billy Collins
and sauntered off the beaches into forests
working up some irregular verbs for their
first conversation, so three-year-old children
enter the phase of name-calling.
Every day a new one arrives and is added
to the repertoire. You Dumb Goopyhead,
You Big Sewerface, You Poop-on-the-Floor
(a kind of Navaho ring to that one)
they yell from knee level, their little mugs
flushed with challenge.
Nothing Samuel Johnson would bother tossing out
in a pub, but then the toddlers are not trying
to devastate some fatuous Enlightenment hack.
They are just tormenting their fellow squirts
or going after the attention of the giants
way up there with their cocktails and bad breath
talking baritone nonsense to other giants,
waiting to call them names after thanking
them for the lovely party and hearing the door close.
The mature save their hothead invective
for things: an errant hammer, tire chains,
or receding trains missed by seconds,
though they know in their adult hearts,
even as they threaten to banish Timmy to bed
for his appalling behavior,
that their bosses are Big Fatty Stupids,
their wives are Dopey Dopeheads
and that they themselves are Mr. Sillypants.