Random Thoughts

  “Methinks, that at the moment my legs begin to move, my thoughts begin to flow.” Henry David Thoreau, 1849 Sweetie has been sick for a week. Coughing, sneezing, achy, lose-your-voice-and-sleep-in-the-guest-room kind of sick.  Except for a few cups of tea and a chocolate milkshake he has resisted all my ministrations, refused to go to the doctor. Last Saturday morning, I started feeling sick too. I was awake at 8:30 am. Eyes wide open awake, not get up to pee and go back to sleep awake. When the thought of getting out of my warm bed and going for a walk entered my head, I touched my forehead to check for fever. I didn't feel warm, sweaty or clammy. I was sure, however, that the onset of such spurious thinking must have dire physical origins. A loss of brain cells that control the control the urge to exercise, perhaps? Or a worm that crawled in my ear and took up residence in my brain devouring the things I like to do (sleep) leaving the things I don't like to do (exe...

"A threshold is a place where you move into more critical and challenging and worthy fullness."   John O'Donohue This whole idea of thresholds has me thinking and that has me almost quivering inside to write. I'm a little embarrassed to say that. Writing? Quivering? Seriously? I've been reading some new blogs lately and one of the authors, who I can't remember at this moment, spoke of the very same thing - about being excited about writing again. I suspect most artists get the same way. Writers, painters, musicians. There's the every day kind of creating. There's also the kind of creating that happens when you see a blank piece of paper, a sterile canvas, or sheets of music without notes. The same blankness you have faced many times before, yet the stars have aligned just so, and your creative fire is re-kindled by the Divine Muse and you know, in your knowing place, that this open invitation is for you alone, that you are being called to stretc...

www.vintag.es centerofthewest.org I can remember as a girl racing down a big hill on my bike, my feet balanced on the handlebars (something like Rosalind Russell in this photo), braids flying in the breeze, no helmet, no knee pads, The only protection I had in those days was a belief that I was invincable. I should have been concentrating. Instead, my only thoughts were on the show I would perform for my neighbors. Thunderous applause rang in my ears. I'd start out slow then build to a dazzling cresendo akin to the wild west shows where the girls rode around a ring flipping back and forth across the horses back, turning circles, and standing up on the saddle with outstretched arms. When I was 9, I did more than just aspire to greatness. I was great. I was also something I haven't been in ages - fearless. I ran down hills, snuck into movie theaters, investigated off limit places on the Navy bases, and sat with an older boy sat in the woods behind our house. I was gutsy...