Thankful, Grateful, Blessed #1

Throughout  the whole year I pause and take time to be thankful, grateful, and blessed. November is a perfect month to share things that surround me that make me thankful, grateful, and blessed. I am a little late into November, but I will catch up.

Today I am thankful for my digital camera and the camera on my phone. I was revisiting photos from the last ten years today as I prepared to order some prints and create some gifts. I am thankful that all my photos are intact in one place,  I am thankful that they are in chronological order so I can easily find a photo based on the time of year I took it. I am also thankful that I have remembered to capture so many images with both cameras.

Photos tell the story of your life. They capture moments, vivid images, those special places, and important people and they are in a cloud, on a back up drive, on my phone, and on my computer so I can revisit them over and over.  For that I am thankful.

This is one of my favorite quotes by a favorite photographer of mine :
“You don't make a photograph just with a camera. You bring to the act of photography all the pictures you have seen, the books you have read, the music you have heard, the people you have loved.”
― Ansel Adams
There it is... everything I love brought together with photography. Here are a few of my recent favorite photos.

The Shed Notebook: National Poetry Month: Ending With William Stafford

I have enjoyed celebrating National Poetry Month by revisiting favorite poems, finding new poems, and sharing my love for poetry on the blog. I am going to wrap up my poetry poets today with this poem by William Stafford. I have taught this poem, I have read and reread this poem, I have shared this poem often, and have always loved it. It provides the reader with a simple reminder. Be present. Capture this moment now and embrace it, then "keep it for life".

You Reading This, Be Ready
by William Stafford

Starting here, what do you want to remember?
How sunlight creeps along a shining floor?
What scent of old wood hovers, what softened
sound from outside fills the air?

Will you ever bring a better gift for the world
than the breathing respect that you carry
wherever you go right now? Are you waiting
for time to show you some better thoughts?

When you turn around, starting here, lift this
new glimpse that you found; carry into evening
all that you want from this day. This interval you spent
reading or hearing this, keep it for life —

What can anyone give you greater than now,
starting here, right in this room, when you turn around?

The Shed Notebook: National Poetry Month: "Why We Write"

My sister first introduced me to Julia Cameron many years ago. I have been inspired by many of her books, and practiced her writing techniques. This poem has always been a favorite at helping me articulate why it is important to write, whether is it a journal, notes on a scrap of paper, a blog post, or an essay. Enjoy.

Why We Write

By Julia Cameron

There are many things which resist naming,

And that is why we write.

We write because language is slippery,

And the truth is.

We write because

The light we have to see by

Is always shifting

Never forget that writers are prophets.

We speak in tongues.

We testify.

We are for each other a believing mirror.

Our words make us visible.

Our listening makes us heard.

Never forget that writers are soldiers.

Our writing is the long march,

The walk into time.

Each word is a drum.

We sound it across great distances,

Reaching one another and ourselves.

Every poem is a day's march.

A celebration more necessary than water or wine.

Every poem is a drink of blood.

Never forget that writing is an act of courage -

Not on the days when it is simple and we discount it.

Not on the days when it is hard and we write like sand.

Our words are torches.

We pass them hand to hand

And mouth to mouth

Like a burning kiss.

Never forget to say thank you.

Every syllable is a grace.

The Shed Notebook: National Poetry Month: " An Afternoon In The Stacks"

I think the best way to spend an afternoon is in the stacks.

An Afternoon In The Stacks by Mary Oliver

Closing the book, I find I have left my head
inside. It is dark in here, but the chapters open
their beautiful spaces and give a rustling sound,
words adjusting themselves to their meaning.
Long passages open at successive pages. An echo,
continuous from the title onward, hums
behind me. From in here, the world looms,
a jungle redeemed by these linked sentences
carved out when an author traveled and a reader
kept the way open. When this book ends
I will pull it inside-out like a sock
and throw it back in the library. But the rumor
of it will haunt all that follows in my life.
A candleflame in Tibet leans when I move.

The Shed Notebook: National Poetry Month: Vintage Judith Viorst

Judith Viorst's poetry has resonated with me since I first read "If I Were In Charge of the World and other worries" which came out my fourth year of teaching. I also loved reading and teaching with her children's books. As I got older I began reading her light verse volumes on aging which she has written for each decade of her life.  I loved how she could identify the ups and downs, and cheers and jeers of each decade.
I read an article about her today and was dumbfounded to realize she is 88 years old. How did that happen? She said she has never been happier and said  "I'm only a girl of 88." I want to be just like her at 88. I revisted her "Suddenly Sixty" anthology today and had to share this favorite. I can sure relate.

When Asked If I Thought That I'd Finally Got It Together

I had it together on Sunday,
By Monday at noon it had cracked.
On Tuesday debris
Was descending on me,
And by Wednesday no part was intact.
On Thursday I picked up some pieces,
On Friday I picked up the rest.
By Saturday ,late,
It was almost set straight.
And on Sunday the world was impressed
With how well I had got it together.
But spare me the cheers and applause,
For as the world turns
Every sixty-plus learns
That among life's immutable laws
Is one that we're bound to be bound to
Right through to the end of our days:
That although we may get it together,
Together is not how it stays.
-Judith Viorst
from "Suddenly Sixty, and Other Shocks of Later Life

The Shed Notebook: National Poetry Month: "i am a little church"

At peace with nature, always

i am a little church

by e. e. cummings

i am a little church(no great cathedral) – i do not worry if briefer days grow briefest,
i am not sorry when sun and rain make april

my life is the life of the reaper and the sower;
my prayers are prayers of earth’s own clumsily striving (finding and losing and laughing and crying)children whose any sadness or joy is my grief or my gladness

around me surges a miracle of unceasing
birth and glory and death and resurrection:
over my sleeping self float flaming symbols
of hope, and i wake to a perfect patience of mountains

i am a little church(far from the frantic
world with its rapture and anguish)at peace with nature – i do not worry if longer nights grow longest;
i am not sorry when silence becomes singing

winter by spring, i lift my diminutive spire to
merciful Him Whose only now is forever:
standing erect in the deathless truth of His presence (welcoming humbly His light and proudly His darkness)