Down to every last grumble, every last ache and pain, I’m doing exactly what I want to be doing. Every smile, every silence, every sigh; every kindness, every slight — all are mine to choose. So why should I pretend otherwise? Why should I pose? Why should I lie? . Stop saying, “The secret to happiness is . . .” There is no secret, only these nuthatches splashing in the […]
Afternoon. Another day, another used bookstore. Don Quixote: Ozell’s Revision of the Translation by Peter Motteux. Introduction by Herschel Brickell, written in 1930 and revised in 1938. The Modern Library, New York. Contains illustrations. The Poetical Works of Mrs. Felicia Hemans. Prefatory Notice by William Michael Rossetti. Thomas Y. Crowell & Co., New York, circa 1900. The Complete Notebooks of Henry James: The Authoritative and Definitive Edition. Edited with introductions […]
How many hours a day are my feet in contact with a natural, earthen surface? How many hours are my eyes, my body, my mind, exposed to artificial light? What must it have been like for our primitive ancestors, for whom food was the only real physical necessity, and shelter and fire the greatest of conveniences? O, the things we take for granted, the things we want, the things we […]
Writing is one more way of living forever, like digging in the garden, making bread, and bathing a child. It’s a city lot, but if I walk the same narrow path through the yard to its every corner each and every day, my footsteps will form a scenic nature trail. Out, back, and around, in every direction and through all the seasons — who knows what I might see? We […]
I have learned silence from the talkative, toleration from the intolerant, and kindness from the unkind; yet strange, I am ungrateful to these teachers. — Kahlil Gibran, Sand and Foam. . Ideally we will hold no opinion, and therefore have none to defend. For what’s an opinion but one more way of living in, and clinging to, the past? We may believe nothing has changed since we arrived at the […]
Today’s a good day to do very little, and to do it so slowly and thoroughly that it’s impossible for it all to be done; and to do it in a manner not of who and what, but of an absorbed, fully engaged child. Attention isn’t a spotlight, a narrowly focused beam, but a way of life, a state of being. I may focus on an ant, and indeed I […]
Upon returning from her early-morning walk, she said, “A raccoon, as big as a small bear.” . Rushing water, fluid sand, where the stream meets the sea. For an instant, there are two of me. But to keep my balance as I cross, I must mind my feet. . Potted the coleus cuttings. . Read chapters twenty-eight and twenty-nine of Middlemarch. . . . It is an uneasy lot at […]
If it had a name — but, thank goodness, it’s beyond all that. Epigraph, Chapter 14, Middlemarch: Follows here the strict receiptFor that sauce to dainty meat,Named Idleness, which many eatBy preference, and call it sweet:First watch for morsels, like a hound,Mix well with buffets, stir them roundWith good thick oil of flatteries,And fresh with mean self-lauding lies.Serve warm: the vessels you must chooseTo keep it in are dead men’s […]
not ready / not unready / there has never been a future / yet . [ 1850 ]
William Michaelian 