READ--LOOK--WRITE! 13

READ
One Art
The art of losing isn't hard to master; 

so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster,

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

- Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster. 

Elizabeth Bishop

LOOK

Do you feel down in the dumps, or perhaps spy that creepy self-loathing coming on?  Just watch this.  I swear, it clears the cobwebs.




WRITE!

Lonely comes the night.
My skin is dry.
I have not spied rain
since a long time ago.

This room is heavy;
dark and shuddered.
I wish it would rain
so I could grow.

I was born to
pound the sky,
and steam up the earth,
But no matter.  I will find water here.

READ--LOOK--WRITE! 12

READ


ANYWAY

People are often unreasonable, illogical and self centered;
Forgive them anyway.
If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives;
Be kind anyway.
If you are successful, you will win some false friends and some true enemies;
Succeed anyway.
If you are honest and frank, people may cheat you;
Be honest and frank anyway.
What you spend years building, someone could destroy overnight;
Build anyway.
If you find serenity and happiness, they may be jealous;
Be happy anyway.
The good you do today, people will often forget tomorrow;
Do good anyway.
Give the world the best you have, and it may never be enough;
Give the world the best you've got anyway.
You see, in the final analysis, it is between you and your God;
It was never between you and them anyway.

--Mother Theresa





LOOK

It helps me, when dealing with feelings of anger and shame, to turn my gaze to how good I have it.  How incredibly lucky I have been throughout my life.  When struggling with hard feelings (first-world problems, as I like to call them), any sense of perspective helps.  This photo series did just that for me.  Oh, what a crazed, mad, beautiful world!  Children and their possession's




WRITE!


When rain comes,
plant your feet.
Those little seeds will grow.
Just as life;
kicking down your door.

READ--LOOK--WRITE! 11

READ

I left no ring with her: what means this lady?Fortune forbid my outside have not charm'd her!She made good view of me; indeed, so much,That sure methought her eyes had lost her tongue,For she did speak in starts distractedly.She loves me, sure; the cunning of her passionInvites me in this churlish messenger. None of my lord's ring! why, he sent her none.I am the man: if it be so, as 'tis,Poor lady, she were better love a dream.Disguise, I see, thou art a wickedness,Wherein the pregnant enemy does much. How easy is it for the proper-falseIn women's waxen hearts to set their forms!Alas, our frailty is the cause, not we!For such as we are made of, such we be.How will this fadge? my master loves her dearly; And I, poor monster, fond as much on him;And she, mistaken, seems to dote on me.What will become of this? As I am man,My state is desperate for my master's love;As I am woman,.now alas the day!. What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe!O time! thou must untangle this, not I;It is too hard a knot for me to untie!

-- William Shakespeare, from Twelfth Night

LOOK
Its been a tiresome few weeks for me.  I've been battling an especially sticky cold, my family may have to move, and I can't seem to digest gluten (an otherwise choice-ingredient for coping).  When a friend posted this on FB, I just had to share.  Its so light and funny and well-done.  Thank goodness for the minds of our everyday kids!  I don't know what I would do without the comic relief of my brood!  Enjoy!  When kids write scripts for grown-ups.




WRITE!


Where the dry grasses 
come down to the bank, 
and the stream widens, 
there you can find 
animal tracks. 
Remain open 
and true. 
The clear stream
enters the woods, 
and becomes untraceable,
Only to emerge again, 
Into the open,
anew. 

READ--LOOK--WRITE! 10

READ



Happiness


It is morning. I think
Soon they will waken.
On the bedside table is a vase
of lilies; sunlight
pools in their throats.
I watch him turn to her
as though to speak her name
but silently, deep in her mouth--
At the window ledge,
once, twice,
a bird calls.
And then she stirs; her body
fills with his breath.
I open my eyes; you are watching me.
Almost over this room
the sun is gliding.
Look at your face, you say,
holding your own close to me
to make a mirror.
How calm you are. And the burning wheel
passes gently over us.
I open my eyes; you are watching me.
Almost over this room
the sun is gliding.
Look at your face, you say,
holding your own close to me
to make a mirror.
How calm you are. And the burning wheel
passes gently over us.


--Louise Gluck

LOOK

well, its a video this week.  Sometimes you just need someone to lighten the load, to take yourself out of yourself in a intelligent, call-it-like-it-is, shameless way, and well, this is one of the things/people that does it for me.  When I've had a long, brutal day, if I can just sit down in front of my computer and watch a few of this brilliant man's sketches, you can call me 'happy'.  Enjoy!

Louise CK- gays 

WRITE!

I had a funny feeling
When the last shiny
Thing I kept
From the old country
slipped off,
And fell into a dark, silent
Hole in the great earth.
I didn't hear a thing.
Just somewhere, easing away
Into the white sky,

Because my thoughts were elsewhere;
The feeling of my skin turning inside out, and the dark landing over the land with

the ticklings of love-

Distracting.

Strange pressure is built in
To the things that are missing,
taken away, done so well, unlike this disorganized room that we live in,
so long and so tenderly.

The song birds start to sing at night
And there is a flurry of wings
Up In the trees.
This feels Right to me
This feels home. 

READ--LOOK--WRITE! 09

READ

Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink
Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain; 
Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink 
And rise and sink and rise and sink again; 
Love can not fill the thickened lung with breath, 
Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone; 
Yet many a man is making friends with death 
Even as I speak, for lack of love alone. 
It well may be that in a difficult hour, 
Pinned down by pain and moaning for release, 
Or nagged by want past resolution's power, 
I might be driven to sell your love for peace, 
Or trade the memory of this night for food. 
It well may be. I do not think I would. 



---- Edna St. Vincent Millay




LOOK

A random selection this week of things that I think are oddities, or cool.  TheMilkstone.





WRITE!


Something has eaten this building, it's clear;
Little holes in the rooms that I still love.
Have become a monument of my fear;
Darkened hallways, dust, and the cooing dove.
But I still retain this place as my home;
Meadows and groves, hallowed pine trees, the sky;
Shown only to friends who long now do roam.
And known to the western light, by and by. 
In the many years that have passed us now
Windows fretted with boards, and vulgar cracks, 
It is hard for us to remember how
Those sweet yearning years used to break our backs.  
Oh pitter-patter, oh pitter-patter, 
Muscovy duck and a bottle of wine
Oh pitter-patter, my pitter-patter, 
Your heart still scampers on the roof with mine. 

READ--LOOK--WRITE! 08

READ

"I am very old indeed.  It is so silly of people- I don't mean you, for you are such a tiny, and couldn't know better- but it is so silly of people to fancy that old age means crookedness and witheredness and feebleness and sticks and spectacles and rheumatism and forgetfulness!  It is so silly!  Old age has nothing whatever to do with all that.  The right old age means strength and beauty and mirth and courage and clear eyes and strong painless limbs.  I am older that you are able to think and-'

'And look at you Grandmother!' cried Irene, jumping up and flinging her arms about her neck.  'I won't be so silly again.  I promise you.  At least- I am rather afraid to promise- but if I am, I promise to be sorry for it- I do.  I wish I were as old as you, Grandmother.  I don't think you are ever afraid of anything."

--The Princess and the Goblin, by George MacDonald




LOOK
I like to think about movement in broader terms than dance, and I like dance that captures some element of movement that evokes emotions about daily life.  I like dance that isn't necessarily about the esthetic of a body, but how somebody moves, and expresses them self.  Here are a few pictures on my Milkstone Pinterest board that I thought were rather interesting.  check them out!






WRITE!


I want to go to bed like a fallow summer,
after I begin to swell.
When my dance falls out of the sun.

I think of a long, thin strand of light
passing in front of the clouds.

Imaging you, in tow on the horizon
makes my heart pitter-patter
with the feeling of lost blood-
An eddying mixture
of empathy and pain.

In China, old men wait for the return of the swallows
to plant their rice.
I feel like that.

I have a little swallow
that always returns to a nest in my heart.

READ--LOOK--WRITE! 07

READ

A Radio With Guts

it was on the 2nd floor on Coronado Street
I used to get drunk
and throw the radio through the window
while it was playing, and, of course,
it would break the glass in the window
and the radio would sit there on the roof
still playing
and I'd tell my woman,
"Ah, what a marvelous radio!"
the next morning I'd take the window
off the hinges
and carry it down the street
to the glass man
who would put in another pane.
I kept throwing that radio through the window
each time I got drunk
and it would sit there on the roof
still playing-
a magic radio
a radio with guts,
and each morning I'd take the window
back to the glass man.
I don't remember how it ended exactly
though I do remember
we finally moved out.
there was a woman downstairs who worked in
the garden in her bathing suit,
she really dug with that trowel
and she put her behind up in the air
and I used to sit in the window
and watch the sun shine all over that thing
while the music played.

--Charles Bukowski




LOOK

I adore Pinterest for the inspiration, both big and small.  A friend of mine keeps a Pinterest board of projects she'd like to try and I've sort of been doing the same.  Here are some of the things I'm inspired to try this week. The Milkstone  Enjoy!








WRITE!


It's been days since I looked over my shoulder 
and saw you were gone.

For weeks its been dry, glinting landscape, 
carrying my kids, thinking of you.

Wondering what the hell 
I thought you were doing; 
carrying sacks of grain, 
or whatever, behind me. Now your gone.

I could go pirouetting, 
off a cliff maybe.  
I could call it love.

But what am I, a dancer? 
I would have done that too maybe, 
had i not been carrying little warm bodies, 
caressing to be fed.

I would have gone crashing, 
hurling myself into walls,  
careening off of precipices, and running into shrapnel blasts,

And you. You would have been the scent I followed. 
You would have been my bliss. 
My 'misfortune of rapture'.

READ--LOOK--WRITE! 06

READ


somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things that enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though I have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully ,mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me,i and
my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly ,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody ,not even the rain,has such small hands

--E. E. Cummings



LOOK

Check out the new Milkstone Pinterest page




WRITE!


Stretch out to meet me
in some other time,
and you shall be muse.
you shall be wine.

I swim like a shark
to you, through shit,
down to the sea,
As if for the first time.

Groping way down,
give me your dark things.
When we find
we are all mortar,

And in-between us
the jelly-rolls of space.
And a little further on
We are fissures of light.

READ--LOOK--WRITE! 05

READ

THE LUTE WILL BEG

You need to become a pen

In the Sun's hand.

We need for the earth to sing

Through our pores and eyes.

The body will again become restless

Until your soul paints all its beauty

Upon the sky.

Don't tell me, dear ones,

That what Hafiz says is not true,

For when the heart tastes its glorious destiny

And you awake to our constant need

For your love

God's lute will beg

For your

Hands.

--Hafiz

LOOK

I had wanted to share pictures on these READ--LOOK--WRITE! posts, but I became concerned about copyright issues.  You may have noticed I took down most of the images I had previously posted. So while I'm figuring that out, I invite you to take a look at a special Pinterest page I've created, with the images I've been looking at this week.  I will update it every week and include the link in each week's post.  Thanks for your patience, and I hope you enjoy!

This week's images 

WRITE!

Your hand smelled like a bear claw

That night,

After you fingered me in the car.  

You washed it clean,

because that night

You were going home to hibernate.

You pried me open

because you were hungry,

And angry.

All I wanted to do

Was curl up inside you,

Conscious, and warm.

In my dreams

I followed you through the Ages.

Your angel.

Your sacrifice.

You turned to me blindly,

Without knowing it,

Again and again.

Land of the kids

Cuteness and mayhem make up my days- At this time of night my mind is pretty much a blank.  I may have had things to blog about, I may not have, I have no idea.  And not being one to prepare much before hand, I'll simply say that today, like most days around here, contained everything.  Or at least that's how it felt.  Now that the kids are in bed, I'm left quite alone to quietly sip some tea, and plan for future days.  I'm left alone for an hour or two with the photos, the messes, the block towers, and my own most private (under-explored at the moment) thoughts and ambitions.  Its been a day.  Its been a crazy day.  Here's to many, many more.

love, Thea

READ--LOOK--WRITE! 04

READ


Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light. 

Dylan Thomas

LOOK

My Pinterest busking board.  

WRITE!

There it is,
outside my window.
I move like that.

Do you understand?
Like a branch
moved in the wind.

Here I am,
yet I still sway like that,
with you.

As you come roaring in
from the ocean
to some other distant sea.

Weekend kid update

We've been having so much fun at the park, and I finally managed to take some pictures.  The live oaks are magical, and make great climbing trees for toddlers.  

Everyone is so amenable in the morning.  Ahh! it lets Mommy get some things done.  Willie is reading one of my favorite books from my childhood, and Sammy is "goo"-ing.

I was one of those kids who could sit and doodle for hours.  For some reason I expected Willie would be the same.  Not so.  Still, I quite enjoy his five-minute-or-less paintings.

   


 And then there is this little Mister, who put up with a another little photo sesh before nap time.  This boy is so talkative.  His "goo's" and gaa's" are just adorable.

READ--LOOK--WRITE! 03

READ

The Song of Wandering Angus I went out to the hazel wood, Because a fire was in my head, And cut and peeled a hazel wand, And hooked a berry to a thread; And when white moths were on the wing, And moth-like stars were flickering out, I dropped the berry in a stream And caught a little silver trout. When I had laid it on the floor I went to blow the fire aflame, But something rustled on the floor, And some one called me by my name: It had become a glimmering girl With apple blossom in her hair Who called me by name and ran And faded through the brightening air. Though I am old with wandering Through hollow lands and hilly lands, I will find out where she has gone, And kiss her lips and take her hands; And walk among long dangled grass, And pluck till time and times are done The silver apples of the moon, The golden apples of the sun.

--William Butler Yeats




LOOK

I've always sworn I would never get a tattoo (it seems like everyone has one, and most of them are so blah) but then I found these, and I've been wavering a bit.  These are stunning.

My Pinterest tattoo page!

WRITE!

You remind me
Of tulips.
Proud, white tulips.

Time is always pressing in
Uncomfortably,
With a dull beauty.

I look incessantly.
And there is good sort of beauty. 
It is you.

Not to be shaken
From bough to bough
Like a wayfaring leaf.

you would say
I am merely a cat wrapping
Itself about your legs.

It is true.
I escaped the harsh reality of
The city years ago.

I remember the bars.
The switches,
And never being calm.

In the mornings
The light ran through the buildings 
And mixed up everything. 

3 Things

WILLIE:

 1.  This kid doesn't stop talking, singing, story-telling from the minute he opens his eyes in the morning to the minute he falls asleep at night.  Whew!

2.  Many stories digress into potty-talk these days.  Who pooped, and where, etc.

3.  We sing songs together.  I had no idea - heart melting.

SAMMY:  (he's the baby)

1.  He smiles and giggles now.

2.  He could spend all day in his Tummy Tub.  

3.  Does not tolerate a wet diaper in the least.  No sir!

READ--LOOK--WRITE! 02

READ

Bodies, by Susie Orbach.  Fantastic book on the modern tranformation of how we inhabit our bodies.  I love the questions she raises about what it actually eans to have a body in this day and age.





LOOK

 Fra Angelico

Fra Angelico








WRITE!

Today I went to the ocean.
I felt you along my spine,
At the back of my neck,
Like water receding.

I began to sway,
Which held you together
Until piece by piece
You broke apart lazily
and sunk in me.

I wish you could have
Been something bigger
than a boat.

I wish I could have
come up to you as myself,
And offered you
this salt bouquet.

Nothing is sacred though.
Everything is a crazy,
Damp dance of love. 

Sweet baby

Getting to know this little boy has been such a pleasure so far.  Its been so nice, this second time around, to feel like I somewhat know what I am doing.  My first born was such a shock to me.  I had never spent much time around babies before, and the utter and complete absorption of having a new born completely bowled me over.  This time I am way more relaxed.  More aware.  I'm enjoying the process so much more.  I'm painfully aware of how short this newborn stage is.  Wow, already he's gotten so big.  

"Little by little one travels far"

-- J.R.R. Tolkien

READ -- LOOK -- WRITE! 01

READ

"The King was silent. 'Ents!' he said at length. 'Out of the shadows of legend I begin a little to understand the marvel of the trees, I think.  I have lived to see strange days. Long we have tended our beasts and our fields, built our houses, wrought our tools, or ridden away to help in the wars of Minas Tirith. And that we called the life of Men, the way of the world. We cared little for what lay beyond the borders of our land. Songs we have that tell of these things, but we are forgetting them, teaching them only to children, as a careless custom. And now the songs have come down among us out of strange places, and walk visible under the sun.'"

--J.R.R Tolkien
The Lord of the Rings
The Two Towers






LOOK

Yojhi Yamamoto

I've been looking looking at his website here.  Very interesting work, I think.








WRITE! --
In the south
Warm, dark, night perspires,
And vermin holes creep deep into the ivy.
In the north the cold roots burrow deep into the snow.
Something is signaling the birth of trees,
In the way you can still travel
When sitting.
Small, muffled sounds signal your presence to me,
Like animals talking.
The stars are drunken,
And soft with love.

--
Something about night
And the autumn, Makes my blood return to its home.

--
Those drawings, those things,
On ancient walls, in cafes.
I am trembling. 

Week One (post-Oma).

Hi.  I think we made it.  My Mom has been back in Baltimore for almost a week now, and I am embarrassingly proud to say that I've been holding it down rather well around here without her.  sleep-deprived mostly, very grouchy at moments (ahem...), but holding it down.  Here are some pictures from our week.

 I've been taking the kids to the park a couple times a week.  The weather has been gorgeous and it gets us all out of the house.  Something about seeing my two beautiful boys sleeping after lots of good fresh air makes my heart soar.  It also makes my eyes droop.  Man, I could use that nap!

 Here are the cookies I have been so dangerously obsessed with.  You can find the recipe here.  I added  a half cup of cranberries.  

Oma and the boys.  Sammy's (the baby) expression here kills me!  "They're so weird.  Pretend you don't see them.  Oh God, he's touching my hand, isn't he?"" Hee-hee!

Balloon magic.

I also wanted to tell you about a new series I'm starting here on Wednesday that I am very excited about.  Its called, READ--LOOK--WRITE!  Something I'm reading, something I'm looking at, and (drum roll please) something I'm writing.  It should be interesting.  Wish me luck!

I hope you have a beautiful week, dear family and friends!

Comfort

I think I'm just beginning to get a handle on this two kid thing.  Its been four weeks now, and my Mom has been here, helping me out, for nearly two months.  Its been amazing, we all adore her, and tomorrow she is going home to Baltimore.  I am feeling excited and energized thanks to her presence, and slightly nervous about how I'll get on without her.  

I think in large part to assuage my nerves, I've been baking.  A lot.  I love baked goods, and I figure that if I'm baking, things can't be that scary (you see that logic, right?).  I've also persuaded myself that if I bake myself (with the kids) what I would otherwise buy, that its fun, educational, affordable, and well worth the caloric expense (it totally is).  

So we made pie yesterday.  Apple pie.  It couldn't have been a simpler, more satisfying treat.  (OK, 'simple' is not the right word for pie-making with a two year old and a newborn.  But it was worth it.  Totally worth it.)  I have not yet figured out how to make a pie look good, but it sure as heck tasted good.  What, with a half pound of butter.....

Before pie-making, we took a long, beautiful walk in the woods with my Mom.  It was a warm, sunny day, but we could still feel the winter in the air.  And of course no walk in the woods would be complete without multiple burpings, nursings, diaper-changings, and re-confirmations about how many cookies someone could expect to have when we got back to the car.  (oh help!  Ive been on a chocolate chip cookie-baking thing).

Goodbye Mom!  Hello real-life!