Heirloom Jewelry

TURQUOISE, EMERALD, JADE
ACCUSTOMED, CERMONIOUS

The Little Treasure Chest
Władysław Czachórski (1850 – 1911)
Polish artist and master of rendering luxury fabrics and jewelry

A CONTINUATION OF LAST TIME'S THEME:
MORE PRECIOUS JEWELS . . .

Jewels in my Hand

I hold dead friends like jewels in my hand
Watching their brilliance gleam against my palm
Turquoise and emerald, jade, a golden band

All ravages of time they can withstand
Like talismans their grace keeps me from harm
I hold dead friends like jewels in my hand

I see them standing in some borderland
Their heads half-turned, waiting for my arm
Turquoise and emerald, jade, a golden band

I'm not afraid they will misunderstand
My turning to them like a magic charm
I hold dead friends like jewels in my hand
Turquoise and emerald, jade, a golden band

By Sasha Moorsom (1931-1993)
Written shortly before she died of cancer

Lady With Jewels (1890) ~ Władysław Czachórski
[The green jewelry box appears in all three paintings: here, above, and below]

Post-War
In France there was some heirloom jewellery,
Smuggled and hidden in the Nazi years,
Now found again and mostly ownerless.
It crouched inside my palm as family

Survivor. I recognised the bracelet
And the ring, Victorian brooches set in
Filigree with weeping rubies. Secret
Histories escaping in a tin

From gas and ash, divorced from neck and arm,
The warmth that cradled them in Kaiser's time
Or later in the 20s decadence.
Now, in this island's twilight, life or chance

On certain days will bring these items out
To give them air, to mourn, to celebrate.

Lotte Kramer (b 1923)
Written in recollection of her parents, lost in the Holocaust

The Letter (1896) ~ Władysław Czachórski

Next Fortnightly Post ~ More jewels to come!
Wednesday, June 14th

Between now and then, read
THE QUOTIDIAN KIT
my shorter, almost daily blog posts
www.dailykitticarriker.blogspot.com

Looking for a good book? Try
KITTI'S LIST
my running list of recent reading
www.kittislist.blogsppot.com

Re: Jewel, Rainbow, Splendor

JEWEL RAINBOW SPLENDOR
ACCUSTOMED, CERMONIOUS

Remember this beloved quotation from Joan Baez? Back in high school, I had a small poster that looked almost like this, hanging on my bedroom wall. Despite my archival tendencies, I somehow or other have failed to retain my old paper copy. However, I was successful in using the internet to track down the above version that nearly resembles mine from the 1970s.

I also came across this rendition and could not help wondering why it is attributed to Corita Kent — when we know the words are by Joan Baez? Well, it’s because Corita Kent was the amazing artist / nun who made the silk screen of the Joan Baez lyrics . . .

. . . and the 1985 USPS Love Stamp:

I also loved these Joni Mitchell lyrics,
but never had the poster:

"And the sun poured in like butterscotch
and stuck to all my senses
Oh, won't you stay
We'll put on the day
And we'll talk in present tenses . . . "

I discovered this gorgeous unique
jewel of Nature in my own front yard!

I can never think of jewels, precious jewels, without recalling this soulful old hymn that my grandmother used to sing. It seemed like a children's song to me at the time, and I can still hear it, ever so faintly as a lullaby:

Precious Jewels
Sung by Alison Krauss

When He cometh, when He cometh
To take up his jewels
All his jewels, precious jewels
His Loved and His own.

Like the stars of the morning
His bright crown adorning
hey will shine in their beauty
Bright gems for his crown.

He will gather, He will gather
The gems for His kingdom
All the pure ones, all the bright ones
His loved and His own.

Like the stars of the morning
His bright crown adorning
They will shine in their beauty
Bright gems for his crown.

Little children, little children
O love their Redeemer
All the jewels, precious jewels
His loved and His own.

Like the stars of the morning
His bright crown adorning
They will shine in their beauty
Bright gems for his crown

Words by William O. Cushing (1823–1902)
Music by George F. Root (1820–1895)

And, in closing, this beautiful verse:

My Love

Although I conquer all the earth
Yet for me there is only one city.
In that city there is for me only one house;
And in that house, one room only;
And in that room a bed.
And one woman sleeps there,
The shining joy and jewel of all my kingdom.*

from Subhashitavali p.21
compiled Vallabhadeva 10th C
translated from Sanskrit by John Brough

above: Asian Art Museum in San Francisco
below: International Art Museum of America, SF

Many thanks to my friend Eve for
sending this connection back in 1987:

Of the Kingdom
by John Ciardi

If you will let people be wrong,
most of whatever lov is
may begin. Justice will hang
all of us yet. Waft mercies
the guilty may walk on whn
trugh grows absolut. The trees
from which we shall dangle then
are everywhere. And since
not all trees can be cut,
all men ma hang. But once
let love in, mercy out, ah, then
a bird song may defend us,
a mote -- can you dream it? -- heal!

Next Fortnightly Post ~ More jewels to come!
Sunday, May 28th

Between now and then, read
THE QUOTIDIAN KIT
my shorter, almost daily blog posts
www.dailykitticarriker.blogspot.com

Looking for a good book? Try
KITTI'S LIST
my running list of recent reading
www.kittislist.blogsppot.com

Time Does Not Assuage

THE BUDDING MOON
ACCUSTOMED, CERMONIOUS

"Well, I'll be damned
Here comes your ghost again
But that's not unusual
It's just that the moon is full . . ."
Joan Baez

Reading Duo Dickinson's Lenten Meditations is good way to discover poems by Emily Dickinson that you may have never before encountered. For the past few springs, it has been Duo's Lenten discipline to feature 40 of Emily's poems in 40 days. That's how I came across this one -- Emily's elegant response to the ancient idiom "Time heals all wounds":

They say that ‘time assuages,’–
Time never did assuage;
An actual suffering strengthens,
As sinews do, with age.

Time is a test of trouble,
But not a remedy.
If such it prove, it prove too
There was no malady.

Emily Dickinson

You might not think of Emily Dickinson (1830 – 1886) and Friedrich Nietzsche (1844 – 1900), as contemporaries, but in fact their lives overlapped by 42 years. In 1888, Nietzsche wrote: "What doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger," an aphorism that stands in interesting contrast to the second line of Dickinson's poem: "An acutual suffering strengthens." Unlike Nietzsche, Dickinson does not say that suffering provides a source of personal growth. Rather, she implies that suffering strengthens itself -- not that it lends any fortitude to the sufferer. Instead, the actual wound itself grows stronger as time passes.

As I observed awhile back on my book blog, perhaps various hurtful incidents actually feel not less but more egregious as you gain the clarity to look back and realize that circumstances were actually way worse than you were able to acknowledge at the time because your emotional survival depended on pushing the reality out of your mind and rationalizing that all was well.

If "it prove" that an ache or pain should dissipate, has it has been healed by Time? No, says Dickinson, it just wasn't all that bad in the first place. On the other hand, if the wound was profound, it is with you for life. Time is not a remedy; time does not assuage.

Writing over a century later, Anne Lamott (b 1954) concurs with Dickinson. Rather than alleviating old unresolved wrongs, Time brings a sharper focus. I appreciate Dickinson's generalities: suffering, trouble, malady; and Lamott's specifics: moving her mother's ashes from the back of the closet and going as "deeply, as I could into the mystery of our relationship":

"I've been angry at her most of my life, even after she died. I put the ashes in the closet as soon as they came back from the funeral home, two years ago, thinking I could finally give up all hope that a wafting white-robed figure would rise up from the ashes and say, 'Oh, Little One, my darling daughter, I am here now, finally.' I prayed and prayed for my heart to soften, to forgive her, and love her for what she did give me -- life, great values, a lot of tennis lessons, and the best she could do. Unfortunately, the best she could do was terrible, like the Minister of Silly Walks trying to raise a girl, and my heart remained hardened towards her. . . . she was like someone who had broken my leg, and my leg had healed badly, and I would limp forever.

"I couldn't pretend she hadn't done extensive damage -- that's called denial. But I wanted to dance anyway, even with a limp. I know forgiveness is a component of freedom, but I couldn't, even after she died, grant her amnesty. Forgiveness means it finally becomes unimportant that you hit back. You're done. It doesn't necessarily mean you want to be with the person again; but if you keep hitting back, you stay trapped in the nightmare . . . My life has actually been much better since she died, and it was liberating to be so angry, after having been such a good and loyal girl. But 18 months after her death, I still thought of her . . . with bewilderment that this person could ever be in charge, and dismay, and something like hatred."

from Lamott's essay O Noraht, Noraht
[See also: Mother's Day]

Just as Lamott is able to claim hatred as one of her residual emotions after her mother's death, poet W. S. Merwin, looking back on his childhood, admits: "I did not know at the time that the names for much of my feeling about [my father] were really dread and anger” (emphasis added). Children, having neither the vocabulary nor the autonomy, don't know these things until later.

If only we could skip all the bewildering memories and have just the good ones. Sometimes I play a game inside my head, going through the years and picking out a series of happy highlights: a fun picnic, a special holiday, a surprise present, and so forth. I think to myself, what if I focused only on these things and let myself forget all the rest? Sadly though, that starts to feel unbearably artificial -- Lamott has already named it: "that's called denial." More truthfully, all the negative counterparts are hovering at the edge of my memory, awaiting validation. Does Time assuage? No it doesn't.

A Few More Connections
1. Additional Emily Dickinson poems
featured in essays by Duo Dickinson

A beautiful poem about both carpentry & parenting:

The Props assist the House
Until the House is built
And then the Props withdraw
And adequate, erect,
The House support itself
And cease to recollect
The Augur and the Carpenter –
Just such a retrospect
Hath the perfected Life –
A Past of Plank and Nail
And slowness – then the scaffolds drop
Affirming it a Soul –

Facing reality:
The Things that never can come back, are several —
Childhood — some forms of Hope — the Dead . . . ~ on facebook

Honoring the child:
Caught Between Two Worlds ~ on facebook

"Every parent comes to know that you have nothing to do with the beauty of your children and every responsibility not to betray it."

2. Ursula Nordstrom: “I am a former child, and I haven't forgotten a thing.”

3. Francine Tolf offers a forgive and forget [or better yet, remember and forgive] scenario, in the poem "Across Time and Death." Recalling a long ago evening of patience and tenderness, she writes:

"Let me dwell on this scene when I am tempted to finger
some distant hurt they caused, for even in middle age,
pain fom childhood thrives greedily if given nourishment.
Let me cradle the seed of this long - ago night to remember
the goodness of these two people, and to tell them out loud
across time and death and the imperfect understanding
that stains every human relationship:
I thank you, I honor you, I love you."

4. Nadia Bolz-Weber: "Perseverating negatively about the past, especially in terms of our resentments about what other people did to us, keeps us stuck in a maze. And being in that maze keeps us from moving forward. And it is difficult to leave the maze because our ego demands fairness. And since it is the PAST, usually there is no real resolution to be had. There is no adjudicatory process available to us . . . ." [previously on FN & QK]

5. Life can feel so unfair but is, in fact, so neutral:
Thomas Hardy's poem, "Going and Staying"

6. Another example of adults foisting weirdly interpreted religion onto kids; but thank goodness they don't always fall for it:

Actor ~ Steven Yeun's recent discussion of his religious upbringing on The Late Show With Stephen Colbert:

" 'I do have a favorite verse,' he said. 'I was taught this in sixth grade. It’s Romans 12:2: "Do not conform to the patterns of this world but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you’ll be able to test God’s good and perfect will." '

"Yeun then explained his confusion on leaders who interpreted that to mean 'Don’t do secular things, just do Christian things.'

" 'I was like, "That’s doesn’t seem at all like what the verse said," he said. 'And I’ve been unpacking it ever since.' "

Next Fortnightly Post
Sunday, May 14th

Between now and then, read
THE QUOTIDIAN KIT
my shorter, almost daily blog posts
www.dailykitticarriker.blogspot.com

Looking for a good book? Try
KITTI'S LIST
my running list of recent reading
www.kittislist.blogsppot.com

Everything Connects

ACCUSTOMED, CERMONIOUS, GENIUS
LEONARDO DA VINCI
~ 15 April 1452 – 2 May 1519 ~

*********************

A few centuries later, British novelist
E. M. Forster (1 January 1879 – 7 June 1970)
echoed Da Vinci's sentiment, creating the phrase
that has become the mantra for my reading & writing:
"Live in fragments no longer. Only connect!"

Many times over, I have invoked this iconic phrase
from Forster's novel Howards End (published 1910):
Mission Statement, Commonplace Book, King & Queen,
Handful of Dust, RedBear, Continued Connections, Uroboros

A brief post in honor of the
incomparble Leonardo Da Vinci,
whose astounding life began 571 years ago today!

Leonardo Da Vinci Inventor
Liebig ~ Trading Card Set
[Dual connection: Forster post ~ Da Vinci Card]

Let us also join with Leonardo
in celebration of the
continuing Season of Easter!

Lily, c.1473 - c.1475

~ two renderings ~

Drawing of lilies, for an Annunciation, c.1500
[see also]

On Facebook

Next Fortnightly Post
Friday, April 28th

Between now and then, read
THE QUOTIDIAN KIT
my shorter, almost daily blog posts
www.dailykitticarriker.blogspot.com

Looking for a good book? Try
KITTI'S LIST
my running list of recent reading
www.kittislist.blogsppot.com

Grief & Relief

FOUND ART AT THE CEMETERY,
ACCUSTOMED, CERMONIOUS

I came across this fabric rose
at the Garden of Rest in Crosby, England,
all by itself on the ground.

A Fortnightly ago,
I re-cycled a meaningful Quotidian post
from ten years ago, on the topic of confidence.
For the next few weeks, I have decided to search out others
that seem deserving of an appearance on the Fortnightly.

The following initially appeared
on The Quotidian Kit ~ April 26, 2010,
reprinted here with a few minor changes:
One of Ann Lamott's anecdotes that has always stayed with me is the conversation she has with a priest when she is first pregnant with Sam and can't decide what to do.This passage is tied in with her difficult decision about whether or not to let young Sam go paragliding for his seventh birthday. I like the way that "grief" and "relief" are woven together in Lamott's thought process and in the priest's advice. He says that when it's a question of feeling

" . . . a deep and secret sense of relief, pay attention to that.
But if you feel deeply grieved at the thought, listen to that."

~ Traveling Mercies, 86 ~
Of course, sometimes (this is my observation, not Lamott's), the decision that brings deep relief is also deeply grieving. Maybe in those cases you just have to focus on the relief and give it precedence over the grief. Otherwise, you end up trying to fix one mistake by making another mistake, and that never works.


Additional thoughts on grief and relief:

"The truth about our childhood is stored up in our bodies, and although we can repress it, we can never alter it. Our intellect can be deceived, our feelings manipulated, our perceptions confused, and our bodies tricked with medication. But someday the body will present its bill."

Alice Duer Miller (1874 - 1942)
American writer, mathematician, suffragist

I came across this passage a few years ago in The Old Farmer's Almanac Millennium Primer. This turn of the (recent) century handbook features a lot of silly old rhymes and folklore, but occasionally a thought or two will strike me as meaningful. I was wavering on this passage -- smart or stupid? love it, hate it? I kept going back to it, even though I had moved beyond that page. It seems a rather modern idea if you assume that what she means by "body" is what we post-Freudians might call "psyche" and if we assume that "childhood," as Miller uses the term, can be equated with "grief." Thus: "The truth about our childhood [GRIEF] is stored up in our bodies [PSYCHES]."

Rereading Anne Lamott, I came across a comment that increased my understanding of Miller's perspective:

"But what I've discovered . . . is that the lifelong fear of grief keeps us in a barren, isolated place and that only grieving can heal grief; the passage of time will lessen the acuteness, but time alone, without the direct experience of grief, will not heal it."

Traveling Mercies, 68
Anne Lamott (b 1954)
American writer and progressive political activist

And yet another way in which the bill is paid:

"Time engraves our faces with all the tears we have not shed."

Natalie Clifford Barney (1876-1972)
American writer, lesbian activist, and salon hostess
expatriate living in Paris and writing predominantly in French

A Sad Childhood
"in a barron, isolated place"
Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte (1816 - 1855)
Illustrated by Fritz Eichenberg (1901 - 1990)

You can cover grief [or childhood] up and refuse to experience it, but it's still there, under layer upon layer of life, making you sad at the very core of your being -- that "barren, isolated place." Maybe experiencing all that buried pain as a path to self - acceptance is our 21st Century understanding of Miller's earlier metaphor of the body presenting a bill. The psyche will present its bill. Or the disasters of your life will be your bill. We either experience and accept that grief (i.e., pay the bill), or we live out our adult lives sick at heart, sick in body, soul, and spirit.

But not to sound too hopelessly hopeless! In fact, Lamott says that sometimes something amazing can happen:

"I would call it grace, but then, I'm easy.
It was that deeper breath, or pause or briefly cleaner glasses,
that gives us a bit of freedom and relief. "

~ Grace (Eventually): Thoughts on Faith, 232 ~
[emphasis added]

Here's to briefly cleaner glasses! That's a good start!

Lamott on caution / conscience / consciousness: "Don't be afraid of your material or your past. Be afraid of wasting any more time obsessing about how you look and how people see you. Be afraid of not getting your writing done. . . . Don't worry about appearing sentimental. Worry about being unavailable; worry about being absent or fraudulent. Risk being unliked. Tell the truth as you understand it" (Bird by Bird, 226).

Lamott on quieting the voices in your head: "Close your eyes and get quiet for a minute, until the chatter starts up. Then isolate one of the voices and imagine the person speaking as a mouse. Pick it up by the tail and drop it into a mason jar. Then isolate another voice, pick it up by the tail, drop it in the jar. And so on. Drop in any high-maintenance parental units, drop in any contractors, lawyers, colleagues, children, anyone who is whining in your head. Then put the lid on . . . imagine that there is a volume-control button on the bottle. Turn it all the way up for a minute, and listen to the stream of angry, guilt-mongering voices. Then turn it all the way down . . .and get back to your shitty first draft" (Bird by Bird, 27).

More of my favorites from Anne Lamott:
QK: Like a Little Gnome!
And on Kitti's List
And so much more!

The Drip
by Eugene Christopherson (1939 - 2007)

This sweet little print came into my life
when my dear friend Vickie sent a vintage copy
of the above illustrated Jane Eyre
as a present for my little grand-daughter, Ellie
-- her first Bronte novel! Unbeknownst to Vickie,
a blank antique notecard was tucked inside the pages,
featuring this tiny tot by Christopherson.

Thank you Victoria Amador!
Next Fortnightly Post
Friday, April 14th

Between now and then, read
THE QUOTIDIAN KIT ~ Eichenberg & Christopherson
my shorter, almost daily blog posts
www.dailykitticarriker.blogspot.com

Looking for a good book? Try
KITTI'S LIST
my running list of recent reading
www.kittislist.blogsppot.com

Confidence in Confidence

Posting a day late in honor of the time - honored
historic and historical Ides of March [or Whatever]

TINY RED SAMARAS
FROM OUR VERY TALL OLD BACKYARD MAPLE,
ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS

More commonly referred to as
“helicopters,” “whirlers,” “twisters” or “whirligigs,”
samaras are the winged seeds produced by maple trees.
All maples produce samaras, but red, silver and Norway maples
often produce the largest quantities.

For sizing: the broken twig is about 2 inches long,
so, depending on your screen, this photo might
appear a little bit larger than life.

Writing earlier about The Unbearable Lightness of Being and reading Duo Dickinson's Lenten Meditations, brought to mind the following beautiful Easter meditation taken from the pretend Diary of Emily Dickinson, actually written by Jamie Fuller.

It's Sunday 21 April 1867 -- a late Easter that year -- and instead of attending church with the family, Emily stays home and writes her own sermon. (I'm often tempted to do the same, with so much excellent material at hand, as well as the inclination to liven thinks up a bit: shed a little doubt, spread a little worry, a little realism, a little heartbreak.) In her Easter contemplation, the fictional Emily Dickinson writes not of an unbearable lightness but of a bearable heaviness, the "weight" of "the seeker's burden":

"Morning came with reluctance -- and the sky still mingles tears with hope. We like a vivid Easter -- but Nature -- remembering the first -- chooses a more fitting compromise. The family are at church -- where presumptuous bonnets vie with Faith -- but I prefer to spend this morning with my Bible -- to hear again the story of that Day -- that taught us how to suffer. The Gospels promise permanence but remind us of our evanescence. Even he who died for Truth -- the greatest blasphemy -- could not escape fulfillment of that ageless Prophecy.

"We read the tale -- admonishing the Followers -- but the cock crows many times in our hearts and Thomas sets our example. Faith itself is our cross -- We stumble under it's weight but cannot put it down. How much lighter the step of those who do not bear the seeker's burden" (p 33).

As a poet, Dickinson forgoes the (perhaps unbearably) "lighter . . . step." I'm struck by Dickinson / Fuller's image of the cock that crows "in our hearts," where doubt resides, and her conclusion that "faith is our cross," cumbersome but bearable. The dual burdens, one of doubt and one of faith, call to mind my favorite passage of the conflicted father in the Gospel of Mark: "I believe. Help thou mine unbelief" (9: 24). Doesn't that say it all? Especially for a Gemini and a doubting Thomasina, what's the difference really? Belief / unbelief: they go together. Doubt / faith: which is heavy; which is light?

As a wise spiritual teacher (I'm not sure who) once said,
“The enemy of faith is not doubt.
Doubt is faith’s friend.
The enemy of faith is fear.”
Not to shock the shy and modest Emily, but I can't help thinking of something irreverent here, one of Stephen Colbert's characteristic quips: "Ladies . . . show a little cleavage. It lets a man know that you're confident enough to show some cleavage!" Not much of an option for the unendowed such as myself; yet I grasp the concept. Of course, the circularity of Colbert's suggestion is laughable; yet, on the serious side, it bears a resemblance to the Easter idea -- we need faith to have faith, confidence to have confidence. As Julie Andrews sings in The Sound of Music: "I have confidence in sunshine,
I have confidence in rain . . .
I have confidence in confidence alone."
[Complete lyrics below]

On a similar note, architect and essayist Duo Dickinson says that

"We are curious about our curiosity."

Artist and witticist Michael Lipsey says that

"To appear confident is almost as good
as actually being confident." from I Thought So (9)
Likewise, novelist James Joyce describes the courage to have courage. In A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man Stephen Dedalus proclaims:

"I will tell you also what I do not fear"
-- and then goes on to list the things he is afraid of, the things he summons the courage to deal with every day.

In closing, another wise teacher (this one I do know) said,

"Fear is an important consultant, but a lousy leader.
You can listen to its advice, but you must not let it lead.
Courage is a wise leader. You should follow it."

Noam Shpancer
from his novel The Good Psychologist (78)

And a related connection:

"Never listen to fear! Fear makes you stupid."

Nina George
from The Little Paris Bookshop (131)

The above Fortnightly post initially appeared
on The Quotidian Kit ~ April 11, 2013
It has been reprinted here with a few minor changes.

Seasonal Inevitability:
All Souls Day at the Cemetery in West Lafayette
My friend Beata and I found this wayward arrangement,
apparently from the previous Easter,
blown into a bank of dry autumn leaves and rubble.
Beata & Kitti ~ 2 November 2012


I Have Confidence

What will this day be like? I wonder.
What will my future be? I wonder.
It could be so exciting to be out in the world, to be free
My heart should be wildly rejoicing
Oh, what's the matter with me?

I've always longed for adventure
To do the things I've never dared
And here I'm facing adventure
Then why am I so scared

A captain with seven children
What's so fearsome about that?

Oh, I must stop these doubts, all these worries
If I don't I just know I'll turn back
I must dream of the things I am seeking
I am seeking the courage I lack

The courage to serve them with reliance
Face my mistakes without defiance
Show them I'm worthy
And while I show them
I'll show me

So, let them bring on all their problems
I'll do better than my best
I have confidence they'll put me to the test
But I'll make them see I have confidence in me

Somehow I will impress them
I will be firm but kind
And all those children (Heaven bless them!)
They will look up to me
And mind me

With each step I am more certain
Everything will turn out fine
I have confidence the world can all be mine
They'll have to agree I have confidence in me

I have confidence in sunshine
I have confidence in rain
I have confidence that spring will come again
Besides which you see I have confidence in me

Strength doesn't lie in numbers
Strength doesn't lie in wealth
Strength lies in nights of peaceful slumbers
When you wake up -- Wake Up!

All I trust I leave my heart to
All I trust becomes my own
I have confidence in confidence alone

(Oh help!)

I have confidence in confidence alone
Besides which you see I have confidence in me!

sung by the character Maria
in The Sound of Music
by Rodgers and Hammerstein

*****************
Next Fortnightly Post
Tuesday, March 28th

Between now and then, read
THE QUOTIDIAN KIT
my shorter, almost daily blog posts
www.dailykitticarriker.blogspot.com

Looking for a good book? Try
KITTI'S LIST
my running list of recent reading
www.kittislist.blogsppot.com

As the samaras dried out:
Still Life with Book