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Location: California

I love paper. Books printed on acid-free paper and bound in cloth turn me on. I'm crazy about bookmarks, and I buy too many stickers. I could spend hours in the build-your-own-greeting card section of my neighborhood craft store. My favorite thing to eat is bread, and my second favorite is fruit. (Mm, pineapple.) I read too much and too fast, and I watch too many food shows (two ways of looking at gluttony). Gloomy, rainy weather calms me and so I can't wait to move out of California, which will happen, sadly, too many years from now to count. I'm vegan, though I haven't managed to eliminate honey from my diet yet. I practice yoga; it's the only way I can keep fit. I have a better life than I ever imagined I would (or deserve to) have, but I do my best to enjoy it rather than feel guilty about it. That's my daily struggle -- and also to be thoughtful and observant and honest with myself.

Tuesday, March 14, 2006

Self Portrait Tuesday

Every morning I read a poem. Just one. It takes a lot of discipline to stop at one, to spend five minutes with a handful of words. I lunge ahead for the next poem but stop myself just in time. With a struggle I close the book and sit there looking out the window at the morning, feeling glad that I'm alive.

This week it is Mary Oliver who has got me feeling as if the top of my head is being taken off. Pure light on the page.

"...and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,

and each name a comfortable music in the mouth,
tending, as all music does, toward silence,

and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth..."

-- from "When Death Comes"


Blogger madness rivera said...

Oh C! Welcome to SPT. Really lovely entry.

March 14, 2006  
Blogger Rebel Girl said...

I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey-work of the stars,/
And the pismire is equally perfect, and a grain of sand, and the egg of the wren,/
And the tree-toad is a chef-d'ouevre for the highest,/
And the running blackberry would adorn the parlors of heaven,/
And the narrowest hinge in my hand puts to scorn all machinery,/
And the cow crunching with depress'd head surpasses any statue,/
And a mouse is miracle enough to stagger sextillions of infidels.

-Walt Whitman, from "Song of Myself"

March 15, 2006  
Blogger Green Whale said...

Thanks! Rebel Girl, I feel like I should quote something back at you -- duelling poetry!

March 15, 2006  
Blogger Rebel Girl said...

No need. The Oliver poem just sent me to Whitman.

I was glad to go.


March 15, 2006  

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