Today, I am honored

I received membership in

 

 

 

for my poetry.

Diane
January 28, 2012

 

A Poem (draft) by Diane

This Woman

The viper, trickster, father
swallowed his daughter.
     Hands, feet
     bound.  I     am
     his prey.

          Mother hisssed,
          You ssso resssemble your father.

I WANT TO SHED THIS SKIN.

Angrier than sister, Daphne,
whose father imprisoned her
in the trunk of a Laurel tree,
I slither away,
devour a rat.

Daphne is hopeful, patient, still
dreams of a woman’s life.
Her branches reach
up, pleading with him
to be
set free.

In the dark
womb her aged roots provide,
I pray to
she who is,
and write words
in the dirt
with my fangs.

 
By Diane, January 19, 2012

Another AHA! moment

My friend Linda writes a blog that gets me thinking.  Here’s today’s results. 

Awareness #1:  I clung more to the name “Teacher” than I did to “Diane” & I gave that role of teacher such power because “it was for the children.”  I was writing (can you say that with a little whiny voice):  curriculum, lesson plans, little newsletters to the faculty to promote use of the library, even published a little blurb
(with a little  paycheck) for the LMC (a journal for librarians).  But it wasn’t what I wanted to write.  (Jeez, Louise, do you detect a little hint of self-sabotage in that line?) 

Awareness #2:  I’m not on the high school campus anymore, and my state’s teacher certification (English Teacher, Library Teacher) is just another piece of paper in my file drawer.  So, now that I’ve left the world of education, do I really need some proof of legitimacy, some stamp of approval?  (Seriously, do I still think I need someone’s persmission to do something?)

A few years ago, on the high speed train from Paris to Biaritz (school field trip), a male teacher told me that we were no longer young and ”we have no relevancy anymore.”  (Did his words go into my brain and get stuck in there?  Why do I listen to these impotent men?)

BUT…the tornado that lifted me from my job to early retirement is finally bringing me awareness (like it brought to Dorothy, in the Wizard of Oz).

If you get yourself out there, I guess there’s always a path to follow, even in a winter with no snow.

Peace,
Diane

The Absolutely True Story of the Great Blue Heron, Part 2

Once upon a time, I made up my mind that I wanted to get a photo of a great blue heron.  I have a nice camera, a Nikon, but haven’t had the time to learn how to use anything but the “AUTO” mode (I will, I will, the Dummies book from amazon.com arrived yesterday).  Anyway, if you read my last blog, you know a great blue heron showed up in the pond, with the swans, in my last attempt (in Sandwich, on 6A).  The photo was blurry.  I did not give up.  Today, my husband and I took another drive to the Cape (we LOVE the Cape) and drove to Scusset Beach (where it was very windy and FREEZING), over the Sagamore Bridge to the Sandwich Boardwalk.  We parked the car beside the boardwalk, and saw something bigger than a seagull moving in the marsh.  I’m not an ornithologist (look it up) but I thought maybe it was a Little Blue Heron or a baby Great Blue Heron.  I didn’t care if it was an ostrich.  I just wanted a good photo.  I used my 55-200 mm lens, which is a little wobbly even without the ferocious winds that blew today, but I tiptoed into the marsh and took a bunch of photos — without my tripod (how can you set up a tripod in a marsh???)  Anyway, when I got home and put the photo card into the computer I was VERY happy.  Isn’t she/he beautiful? 

Peace,
Diane

Chasing the great blue heron

     Yesterday my husband and I drove to West Falmouth to take photos.  We passed the marsh on Rte 28A, just after the West Falmouth Library, and I spotted a great blue heron.  It’s been a goal of mine to get a photo of a great blue heron.  My husband turned the car around, parked across the street from the marsh and I rushed out with my camera (no tripod — god, how can you quickly grab your tripod and attach the camera when the bird is right there — with wings?)  So I tiptoed as quietly as I could to the other side of the street and before I could turn the damn camera on, the heron flew far enough into the marsh to foil the capability of my long range lens. 
     [I read last week's Falmouth Enterprise and learned a flock of them were spotted -- in flight -- by the nature columnist, Mary Richmond, at Hemenway Landing, Eastham.  Jeez, Louise, I live over the bridge.  Do you know how far Eastham is from my house?]

     As a special treat, my husband and I had lunch at the Dolphin Restaurant in Barnstable (my favorite) this afternoon.  We traveled along the shore, eyes peeled for a great blue heron — and other photo ops.  We had a grand day, drove to Barnstable Harbor, then down 6A to Yarmouth, walked around the Audubon Long Pasture Wildlife Sanctuary and took a few photos of Sanctuary Beach.  Gorgeous.  (Windy.  Brrr.) On the way home, north on Rte. 6A in East Sandwich, I spotted 2 swans in a little pond; no parking, of course, my husband pulled over as far as he could off the road. I got out with my camera (I should have had my tripod.  Damn, I should have had my tripod.  Next time I’ll bring my tripod….)  I wore my red jacket, figured traffic coming south wouldn’t hit me (praying traffic wouldn’t hit me) and I took a few photos (for god’s sake – how could I manage to walk on that side of the road with the damn tripod?)  So, with my long range lens that is a bit heavy (I should have had my tripod), I shot a few (less than perfect) photos.

 

 

 

 

 

When I edited the next photo in Picassa (I’m learning Photoshop;  it’s not user-friendly!), this is what I discovered.

P.S.  I need to revise my goal.  “I want to take a few clear, close-up shots of a great blue heron, or two, some in flight, before the end of 2012.  Please and thank you.  (I promise I’ll use my tripod.)”

Peace,
Diane

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

12-31-11

 

Middletown, RI

 

 

To all my friends and especially to Linda B.—

 

At the End of the Year
by John O’Donohue

 

The particular mind of the ocean
Filling the coastline’s longing
With such brief harvest
Of elegant, vanishing waves
Is like the mind of time
Opening us shapes of days.

 

As this year draws to its end,
We give thanks for the gifts it brought
And how they became inlaid within
Where neither time nor tide can touch them.

 

The days when the veil lifted
And the soul could see delight;
When a quiver caressed the heart
In the sheer exhuberance of being here.

 

Surprises that came awake
In forgotten corners of old fields
Where expectation seemed to have quenched.

 

The slow, brooding times
When all was awkward
And the wave in the mind
Pierced every sore with salt.

 

The darkened days that stopped
The confidence of the dawn.
Days when beloved faces shown brighter
With light from beyond themselves;
And from the granite of some secret sorrow
A stream of buried tears loosened.

 

We bless this year for all we learned,
For all we loved and lost
And for the quiet way it brought us
Nearer to our invisible destination.

 

 

On the night before Christmas….

I wish you peace.

The Handless Maiden

The Handless Maiden in the Underworld Forest, Eimear Brennan, http://eimearbrennan.com

I’ve been following Clarissa Pinkola Estes on Facebook.  Her latest post deals with ‘The Handless Maiden’ (a folktale).  I found the above artwork a while ago, and copied it here because the concept of the handless maiden fascinates me (as does Eimear Brennan’s art).  Dr. E questions her readers – what do the silver hands look like to us in our imagination? (Note:  Silver hands were fashioned for the maiden after her father severed her hands in a deal with the devil.)  I never thought about the details of her silver hands, but as I watch the sun set this frigid Sunday before Xmas, I suddenly see her hands (my hands) looking exactly like this:

 

 

 

Awesome.

 

Peace,

Diane

Untie the Strong Woman

I just bought Clarissa Pinkola Estes new book, Untie the Strong Woman.  It’s like an art journal, sprinkled with artwork, poems and stories.  I’ve only read to page 35 (I’ve been known to speedread books in a few hours, but this one calls for sipping and savoring).  My favorite lines thus far: 

          “Guadalupe is the humble, quintessential mother who does not encourage her   sons and daughters who have been broken to walk as weaklings in this world. 
            Rather, she calls for those broken to walk as warriors.” (page 34)

Coincidentally (or serendipitously), I’m also reading Gloria Steinem’s Revolution From Within (1992), after I watched an HBO documentary on Steinem and decided to see what books she’d written that the public library had to offer.  My favorite quotes from the documentary:

          “Sometimes the only way to get attention to the problem is to freak out people….”

          “I got to a place where I couldn’t go forward in the old way….”

Life is a process, honey.  Peace, Diane

Officially Retired

What’s new?

• applied for SS Retirement Benefits this morning – one way to be paid to do things that bring me joy (and not have to kowtow to a boss who is, let’s say, in averaging all those I’ve worked with in my lifetime, limited in EQ, deficient in leaving a lasting legacy in the educational setting, and obscenely egotistical)
• the dormer is complete, laptop is upgraded and stuff written in the Grub Street novel class and the Wheaton flash fiction class in the rewrite pile

Outside

Inside

Mindful
by Mary Oliver

 

Every day
I see or hear
something
that more or less

 

kills me

with delight,

that leaves me

like a needle

 

in a haystack

of light.

It is what I was born for –

to look, to listen,

 

to lose myself

inside this soft world –

to instruct myself

over and over,

 

in joy,

and acclamation.

Nor am I talking

about the exceptional,

 

the fearful, the dreadful,

the very extravagant –

but of the ordinary,

the common, the very drab,

 

the daily pretentions.

Oh, good scholar,

I say to myself,

how can you help

 

but grow wise

with such teachings

as these–

the untrimmable light

 

of the world,

the ocean’s shine,

the prayers that are made

out of grass?

 

• It’s been a year since I left my full time job at the high school library.  I’ve been thinking a lot about what I’ve accomplished in that year.  I’m not sorry I turned away from the adolescents with their iPods, Facebook, Tweets, and their online Cliff Notes.  My words ”Thou shalt not plagiarize from the internet” disappear with the rest of their noise into the air.    I was unable to grab for the brass ring when my arms were reaching out to them (just the way I’m built).  So, I’m going where it’s quiet — a walk in the neighborhood where tall pines speak with me about stability, graceful aging and freedom — AND, I need to digest the conversation I just had with my father – when I finally (finally) spoke my truth.

Peace,
Diane