Collections on Film: Part 1

I love to take photos of stuff... things that are placed together in some form of collection. Whether it is a bunch of books on a shelf,

fruit on a platter,

cherries in the colander,

  flowers in a bouquet,

shiny ornaments,

or beautiful wine glasses at a friend's house.

Ten Things Necessary for a Successful Camping Trip

1. school supplies to play arts and crafts

2. a few fluffy summer paperbacks

3. Off mosquito lanterns... the best invention in the world for camping

4. campground to ourselves

5. good, hardy breakfast

6. a camera

7. an obsessed dog that can warn us of squirrels

8. another one that can alert us when cars drive by

9. hiking trails that aren't steep

10. a quiet place to read

"Remember the Sabbath. Keep it Holy.": Sibling Assignment #133

Raymond Pert gave Sibling Assignment #133. "Reflect however you'd like upon the idea of the sabbath and your practice of it." Silver Valley Girl's words of wisdom are here and RP's will be posted when he finds wireless again.

About five years ago I read a book about honoring the Sabbath and loved the idea of chosing a day during the week-end that we would keep holy and rest.  This was during a time that I was exhausted most of the time and had a therapist reminding me every session that I needed to slow down and rest. Week-ends were my catch-up time. It was the time we shopped, I did laundry, worked outside, cleaned, and caught up on school work.

A guy I taught with discussed his ritual one time when we were sitting together at lunch. Every Saturday he slept in, didn't use a clock, rested the whole day, prayed and fasted. I loved the idea of a day of rest, but didn't know how I could do it.

Slowly I tried to make changes. JEJ and I tried to set aside time on Sunday after church for ourselves. We would rest, take a hike, go for a drive, or do something other than work. We weren't consistent about it though. Spring would come and I would want to do yardwork. During the fall I would want to rearrange the living room. In December I would want to decorate the house for the holidays.
Last year I set a goal not to do school work on week-ends. Dragging home work always got in the way of honoring the Sabbath. It was a big step for me, but I enjoyed the quiet time at school on Friday afternoons. Everyone else left early on Friday. I stayed and organized myself and planned for the next week. That moved me closer to honoring the sabbath.
Arriving home after church, taking time for a nap, then enjoying our surroundings is how we like to spend Sunday honoring the sabbath. We just need to make it a habit, a ritual. It sure makes the work week start off on a much better note.
I am glad Raymond Pert had me revisit the idea of Sabbath. I do want to rest, reflect, rejuvenate, and keep  it holy. It is the best thing I could do for myself during the week.

Quiet Time in the Forest

We found ourselves in quiet surrounding and cool temperatures at the Kettle Crest on Sherman Pass.

 It was a perfect time to catch some photos, rest and read, and hike around the area.

I even found some huckleberries!

Purple Flower Poem

(Cambridge University Botanic Gardens)

Among the geranium, a rash
of purple campanula begins,
scattering like Chinese fireworks
through the delicate tan and yellow tips
of saxifrage, encircling a group of bloody
cranes' bills perched on rock. I want
to name these flowers for you,
a litany of colors that begin where
there is hardly any, only the gentlest
hint of evening-flush at the base
of the throats of narcissus and sweet
william, sharing a bed with verbena.
Deep blue and slightly furry as a concord
grape, the salvia cardinalis burns a wine
color of intense sweetness on my tongue.
We could have a curry laksa with it,
even cheese—perhaps a soft brie or kesong
puti sprinkled with peppercorns, or a whole
clove of roasted garlic to smear on the slightly
dusty surface of a saltine cracker. That
reminds me of my grandmother's room
and the smell of her lavender-water,
distilled from the lavandula angustifolia,
whose spears are so rigid to the touch
and announce themselves with such radiant
distinction. I want to glow like them, a field
of me headier than a bottle of decanted scent,
unblushing as a recitation of the contents
of antique pomanders tied with silk string.
Petals pressed into the cool ivory of journal pages:
delphinium, pasque flowers, linseed and flax; linum
perenne, the soft-hooded acanthus spinosus,
purple phlox, and velvet lupine. Veronica
incana, the powderpuff balls of hesperis
matronalis-the ones they call sweet
rockets-clearer than rain, exploding
like breath from the furiously kissed
mouth; like fizzy candy, like eskimo
stars in the milky sky.

© Luisa A. Igloria

Yard Sale

Yard Sale

Gold-plate goblets freckled

with tarnish, disconsolate

pajamas, infant shoes, curling

irons, somebody’s ancient

block flute, a candlestick grove,

bakelite coasters, egg poachers,

7 rubber sandals. Scruffy dolls

and accessories, board games

from whose battered boxes

children still look up with glee.

Two bald lamps, a basketball

and dumbbells, a toaster’s chrome

full of early leaves, and tilted

like a grimy satellite inside

a crate, a two-stroke engine.

Now at last admitted to my

neighbor’s back lawn, which

I’ve longed to cut across for years.

I see a tuft of grass and violets,

violets, growing, up in that

elm’s clavicle, a little island

world in the air, where the trunk

divides. I wouldn’t know how

to tell her of the delight I find

in this. But I think I’ll buy that

small stack of teaspoons, just

so I can linger, picking up this

language, whose every word has

finally toppled over in one case

or tense or mood.  Everything as is.

- Robert Farnsworth