"If it is true that one of the greatest pleasures of gardening lies in looking forward, then the planning of next year's beds and borders must be one of the most agreeable occupations in the gardener's calendar. This should make October and November particularly pleasant months, for then we may begin to clear our borders, to cut down those sodden and untidy stalks, to dig up and increase our plants, and to move them to other positions where they will show up to greater effect. People who are not gardeners always say that the bare beds of winter are uninteresting; gardeners know better, and take even a certain pleasure in the neatness of the newly dug, bare, brown earth."
- Vita Sackville-West
"In the evenings
I scrape my fingernails clean,
hunt through old catalogues for new seed,
oil work boots and shears.
This garden is no metaphor --
more a task that swallows you into itself,
earth using, as always, everything it can."
- Jan Hirshfield, November, Remembering Voltaire
More poetry and artwork for Halloween.
Field of Skulls
By Mary Karr
Stare hard enough at the fabric of night,
and if you're predisposed to dark—let’s
say
the window you’ve picked is a black
postage stamp you spend hours at,
sleepless, drinking gin after the I
Love
Lucy reruns have gone off—stare
like your eyes have force, and behind
any night’s taut scrim will come the forms
you expect pressing from the other side.
For you: a field of skulls, angled jaws
and eye-sockets, a zillion scooped-out
crania.
They’re plain once you think to look.
You know such fields exist, for criminals
roam your very block, and even history
lists
monsters like Adolf and Uncle Joe
who stalk the earth’s orb, plus minor
baby-eaters
unidentified, probably in your very midst.
Perhaps
that disgruntled mail clerk from your job
has already scratched your name on a bullet—that’s
him
rustling in the azaleas. You caress the thought,
for it proves there’s no better spot for you
than here, your square-yard of chintz sofa,
hearing
the bad news piped steady from your head. The
night
is black. You stare and furious stare,
confident there are no gods out there. In this
way,
you’re blind to your own eye’s intricate
machine
and to the light it sees by, to the luck of birth and
all
your remembered loves. If the skulls are there—
let’s say they do press toward you
against night’s scrim—could they not stare
with slack jawed envy at the fine flesh
that covers your scalp, the numbered
hairs,
at the force your hands hold?
Copyright Credit: Mary Karr, “Field of Skulls” from Viper
Rum. Copyright © 1998 by Mary Karr. Reprinted with the permission of
New Directions Publishing Corporation.
Source: The Devil's Tour (New Directions
Publishing Corporation, 1993)
I am trying to distract myself from the upcoming election on November 5.
Not quite yet, but soon...
Right now I'm waiting to go up to Harbaugh's with my friend Maureen to buy some marigoldsHave spent the last five or six days working in the courtyard garden.
Have done this planting: Seeds: Cosmos, Borage, Sunflowers, Zinnias, Carrots, Dill...
Plants: Zinnias, Oregano, Basil, Rosemary, Pussytoes ( three) Buttonbush ( three) Pentas (four)
earlier: plants - White Turtlehead, Canna bulbs, Petunias, Snapdragons
Wanted to get these in the ground before I go to Cape May. Accomplished!
We've had a May full of rain, and things are green and growing energetically - weeds and all.
Will try to post some photos.
This particular paragraph:
"You may have heard of the big five personality traits:
openness to experience, conscientiousness, extroversion, agreeableness and
neuroticism. We all fall somewhere on the spectrum of each of them. I’ve taken
these tests, and I score close to as high as you can on conscientiousness and
agreeableness, and if we’re really being honest here, I’m above average on
neuroticism, too. I was talking to a research psychologist about this, and when
I told him that, he told me, “That’s a good combination for being very
productive and very anxious.”
I mentioned, though, that these traits are spectrums. Some of the newer personality frameworks name the other side of the spectrum, too. So to be low on neuroticism is to be high in emotional stability. To be low on extroversion is to be introverted. And to be low on conscientiousness is to be disinhibited. To be very low on conscientiousness is to be very high on disinhibition. And that is Donald Trump.
Yeah. It sure is.
"The history of pathologizing political leaders we do not
like is not an admirable one. So I am not a psychiatrist, and I am saying
something simpler and, I think, more neutral here: Trump moves through the
world without the behavioral inhibition most of us labor under.
"And when I say that, I am describing both what is wrong with Donald Trump and what is right with him.
"Something I have learned as I’ve gotten older is that every
person’s strengths are also their weaknesses. Disinhibition is the engine of
Trump’s success. It is a strength. It is what makes him magnetic and compelling
on a stage. It is what allows him to say things others would not say, to make
arguments they would not make, to try strategies they would not try.
"It’s not that no one else in politics held these views
before Donald Trump. But for the most part, it’s not how they spoke about them.
That was the failure in the system that Trump exploited: the lie that just
because politicians didn’t talk this way, voters didn’t feel this way. One of
Trump’s verbal tics is to say, “Many people are saying.” But it’s the opposite.
He’s saying what many people want somebody to be saying. He’s saying what
people are saying in private but often are not saying in public.
"One argument Trump’s supporters make is: You don’t get
Trump’s honesty without his outrageousness. You don’t get a leader who can
break the mold by supporting a person who conforms to the mold. Here’s
Kellyanne Conway at the 2024 Republican National Convention:
Kellyanne Conway: How often do we hear, “I want
Trump’s policies without Trump’s personality”? Well, good luck with that. We
don’t get those policies without that personality.
"She’s right. You certainly don’t get his politics without
his personality. How many people must want to do what Trump has done? How many
millionaires and billionaires and celebrities must have thought to themselves,
“I’d be a good president. I’m smarter and more charismatic and better on a
stage and wiser than these idiots up there”?
..."It is Trump’s absence of inhibition that makes him a great entertainer. It is Trump’s absence of inhibition that makes him feel, to so many, like not a politician — the fact that he was already the U.S. president notwithstanding. It is why the people who want to be like him — the mini-Trumps, the Ron DeSantises and Blake Masterses and Ted Cruzes — can’t pull it off. What makes Trump Trump isn’t his views on immigration, though they are part of it. It’s the manic charisma born of his disinhibition.
It is his great strength. It is also his terrible flaw."
"Trump’s disinhibition is yoked to a malignancy at his core. I do believe he’s a narcissist. If Putin praises him, he will praise Putin. If John McCain mocks him, he will mock John McCain. Trump does not see beyond himself and what he thinks and what he wants and how he’s feeling. He does not listen to other people. He does not take correction or direction. Wisdom is the ability to learn from experience, to learn from others. Donald Trump doesn’t really learn. He once told a biographer, “When I look at myself in the first grade and I look at myself now, I’m basically the same. The temperament is not that different.”
I believe him totally when he says that. In 2018 he told The
Washington Post, “I have a gut, and my gut tells me more sometimes than anybody
else’s brain can ever tell me.” Imagine going through life truly believing
that, truly acting like that. And then imagine that in so many ways, it has
worked for you: It has made you rich and famous and powerful beyond your
wildest dreams. What would that do to you? What does that do to a person with a
mind like Donald Trump’s?
Here is the question Democrats have floundered in answering
this year: If Donald Trump is so dangerous, then how come the consequences of
his presidency weren’t worse? There is this gap between the unfit, unsound,
unworthy man Democrats describe and the memories that most Americans have of
his presidency, at least before the pandemic. If Donald Trump is so bad, why
were things so good? Why were they at least OK?
There is an answer to this question: It’s that as president,
Trump was surrounded by inhibitors. In 2020 the political scientist Daniel
Drezner published a book titled “The Toddler in Chief.” The core of the book
was over 1,000 instances Drezner collected in which Trump is described, by
those around him, in terms befitting an impetuous child."
This is only part of a very long essay, but it's the part that has me praying he loses the election.
Election Day is coming . I've been praying about it for at least two years. So worried that Trump
will win. So worried about what will happen to our country if he does. I keep putting it in God's hands, but I still keep worrying..
Silence was due to my preoccupation with the courtyard garden and my addiction to my phone. Sad.
In June, after I returned from Cape May on the third, I did a lot of planting: Bee Balm, Phlox,Blue Lobelias, White Lantanas, a line of colorful snapdragons and 2 petunias in the center circle. I also suffered with the heat and humidity that all here are enduring.
I watered the garden when the grounds guys weren't .
I had my own silent 8 day retreat here June11-19, with twelve or so other sisters. The retreat master was an 80 something Vincentian priest who is a legend in the community for his leadership and service both here and in China and Taiwan, and his theological writings. Many of the sisters loved his homilies, but I thought they were way too long.
Finally the retreat was over, and I continued sweating it out in the garden.
I was also watching Season 4 of "The Chosen" which was finally released to tv. It was just as moving as the previous 3 seasons. Jonathan Roumie, the actor who plays Jesus, is truly wonderful. He has become even more invested in his relationship with Jesus and prayer, and it shows in his work.
June was also occupied with the unpleasant tasks of visits to the dermatologist, the dentist, and the podiatrist.
June 27 , there was a Presidential Debate on TV. Donald Trump and President Joe Biden. It was a catastrophe for Joe Biden. He is 81 years old and is really a shadow of his former self, especially regarding his ability to think on his feet. Trump jumped all over him. Everyone I know ( at least those who are not Trumpers) were devastated and depressed. A few days later, President Biden announced his withdrawal from being the Democratic presidential candidate. A few days after that, he endorsed his vice-president, Kamala Harris, to take his place a the Democratic candidate for the presidency.
I welcomed this news, as did everyone but Trump! Then Kamala named Governor Tim Walz of Minnesota to be her running mate. I think he is an excellent choice.
So, as the weeks have gone on, and July arrived, she is rising in the polls. I pray for her every day!
Mary vVincent and I drove out to Evansville for the July 19-24 retreat.
More later. I HOPE I get the energy to return!
So It's been a whole month since I've written here. No excuses.
Cape May was wonderful as usual. I can't do the long walks through the nature trail anymore, but I do know the regular visitors I would see if I could: the yellow warblers, the yellow-breasted Chat, the Common Yellowthroat, to name a few.
Then I was in my annual 8 day silent retreat, this time back home in Emmitsburg. It was a "preached retreat" which means we were hearing a conference from a Vincentian priest every day. He talked way too long, though the content was very good.
Again I became aware how irritated I get with the extroverts. More on that another time.
Then I was sleeping in the afternoons and getting up early to tend the garden, which is the best it's ever been.
I have to go out there now and water. Here are some photos from the garden, and some other neat pictures.
another quotable from a Facebook post:
THINGS TIME
HAS TAUGHT ME.
1. Most of our life is spent chasing false goals
and worshipping false ideals. The day you realise that is the day you really
start to live.
2. You really, truly cannot please all of the
people all of the time. Please yourself first and your loved ones second,
everyone else is busy pleasing themselves anyway, trust me.
3. Fighting the ageing process is like trying to
catch the wind. Go with it, enjoy it. Your body is changing, but it always has
been. Don’t waste time trying to reverse that, instead change your mindset to
see the beauty in the new.
4. Nobody is perfect and nobody is truly happy
with their lot. When that sinks in you are free of comparison and free of
judgement. It’s truly liberating.
5. No one really sees what you do right,
everyone sees what you do wrong. When that becomes clear to you, you will start
doing things for the right reason and you will start having so much more fun.
6. You will regret the years you spent berating
your looks, the sooner you can make peace with the vessel your soul lives in,
the better. Your body is amazing and important but it does not define you.
7. Your health is obviously important but
stress, fear and worry are far more damaging than any delicious food or drink
you may deny yourself. Happiness and peace are the best medicine.
8. Who will remember you and for what, become
important factors as you age. Your love and your wisdom will live on far longer
than any material thing you can pass down. Tell your stories, they can travel
farther than you can imagine.
9. We are not here for long but if you are
living against the wind it can feel like a life-sentence. Life should not feel
like a chore, it should feel like an adventure.
10. Always, always, drink the good champagne and
use the things you keep for ‘best’. Tomorrow is guaranteed to no one. Today is
a gift that’s why we call it the present. Eat, Drink & Be Merry.
Donna Ashworth
This came to me today on Facebook:
AGING....
You
grow old, they told me, you are no longer you, you become distant, sad and
lonely.
I
didn't answer...
I
don't get old, I get wise.
I
stopped being what others like me to become, but what I like to be.
I
stopped seeking the acceptance of others and accepted myself.
I have
left behind the lying mirrors that deceive mercilessly.
- No,
I'm not getting old.
I just
become more selective with places, people, customs and ideologies.
I have
let go of attachments, unnecessary pain, toxic people, sick souls and rotten
hearts... bitterness and unhappiness are not for me, I release them for my
health.
I'm
ditching party nights for learning and embracing insomnia.
I
stopped living stories and started writing them, I threw aside the imposed
stereotypes.
I no
longer carry eyeshadow in my bag, now I have a book that beautifies my mind.
I
exchanged wine glasses for coffee cups, forgot to idealize life and started
living it.
- No,
I'm not getting old.
I
carry freshness in my soul, innocence in my heart, and it discovers me daily.
I have
in my hands the tenderness of a cocoon that, when opened, will spread its wings
to other places unreachable for those who seek only the frivolity of the
material.
I have
that charming smile on my face when I observe the simplicity of nature.
I
carry in my ears the chirping of the birds that delight me and accompany the
walk.
- No,
I'm not getting old.
I
become selective, betting my time on the intangible, rewriting the story I've
been told, rediscovering worlds, saving those old books I've forgotten half
open.
I'm
becoming more cautious, I've stopped the outbursts that teach me nothing, I'm
learning to talk about transcendent things, I'm learning to cultivate
knowledge, plant ideals and falsify my destiny.
- No,
I'm not getting old.
I
begin to live who I really am........
Bianka Luz
Here's a passage from an essay by Tobias Wolff:
"The Irish painter John Yeats, the poet’s father, described the making of art as the social act of a solitary person. Actually, he said “a solitary man.” They talked like that then. Anyway, I nodded in recognition when I came across that line. Maybe Hemingway could write in a crowded café, but I and the other artists and writers I’ve known have had to be shut away somewhere, out of the human stream, to get our work done. Yet as the years have frosted and mowed this head of mine, I have come to a different understanding of the situation. You may have retreated to your attic studio, you may even have pulled up the ladder behind you, but you were not alone. Never.
" Each of us here tonight has known something like what I describe. We are all the beneficiaries of others’ gifts of knowledge and talent, patience and time. And those gifts never stop coming, not as long as we can read a book—for a book is made of just those gifts.
As I said, we’re never alone."
And another thought from another poem, related:
Spring
comes on the World
By
Emily Dickinson
Spring comes on the World –
I sight the Aprils –
Hueless to me until thou come
As, till the Bee
Blossoms stand negative,
Touched to Conditions
By a Hum.
We had a lovely Easter Sunday, followed by days of endless rain and cold -- until today.
So happy to see my little plants beginning to emerge!
Holy
Spring
By
Dylan Thomas
O
Out of a bed of love
When that immortal hospital made one more move to soothe
The curless counted body,
And ruin and his causes
Over the barbed and shooting sea assumed an army
And swept into our wounds and houses,
I climb to greet the war in which I have no heart but only
That one dark I owe my light,
Call for confessor and wiser mirror but there is none
To glow after the god stoning night
And I am struck as lonely as a holy marker by the sun
No
Praise that the spring time is all
Gabriel and radiant shrubbery as the morning grows joyful
Out of the woebegone pyre
And the multitude’s sultry tear turns cool on the weeping wall,
My arising prodgidal
Sun the father his quiver full of the infants of pure fire,
But blessed be hail and upheaval
That uncalm still it is sure alone to stand and sing
Alone in the husk of man’s home
And the mother and toppling house of the holy spring,
If only for a last time.
Here's a wonderful poem by Amy Shutzer:
