The Inner World of the Dream Character

A HOUSE WHERE ALL'S ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS

Interior With Extension Cord
Watercolor, gouache, and ink, 6 x 6 inches.
by Elizabeth Bishop
from the Collection of Loren MacIver
William Benton, editor of Exchanging Hats: Elizabeth Bishop Paintings observes that "The general rule of a Bishop picture is: If a table exists, put flowers on it. In this case, with the dramatic focus on the extension cord crossing the planes of the white room (to bring a lamp to the narrow working space), she simply opened the door to the garden instead."

What I'm thinking is that Bishop's painting could be in a series along with my friend Jan's little lamp drawings. Speaking of Jan, last week, she wrote to ask if I had read Elizabeth Bishop's poem "A summer's Dream." A few years ago, Jan sent me another Elizabeth Bishop poem -- "One Art" -- that has since become one of my all - time favorites. So naturally, I was intrigued to check out "A Summer's Dream." It was bound to be fantastic! You can trust Jan: if she mentions a poem, it's never just a reference; there's always a story behind it. And of course, I love nothing more than an inspirational and intellectual treasure hunt and an opportunity to piece all the connections together!

A Summer’s Dream
To the sagging wharf
few ships could come.
The population numbered
two giants, an idiot, a dwarf,

a gentle storekeeper
asleep behind his counter,
and our kind landlady—
the dwarf was her dressmaker.

The idiot could be beguiled
by picking blackberries,
but then threw them away.
The shrunken seamstress smiled.

By the sea, lying
blue as a mackerel,
our boarding house was streaked
as though it had been crying.

Extraordinary geraniums
crowded the front windows,
the floors glittered with
assorted linoleums.

Every night we listened
for a horned owl.
In the horned lamp flame,
the wallpaper glistened.

The giant with the stammer
was the landlady’s son,
grumbling on the stairs
over an old grammar.

He was morose,
but she was cheerful.
The bedroom was cold,
the feather bed close.

We were awakened in the dark by
the somnambulist brook
nearing the sea,
still dreaming audibly.

Elizabeth Bishop (1911 – 1979)
Poet Laureate of the United States, 1949 to 1950
Pulitzer Prize Winner, 1956

Among other things, we discussed the giant's "grumbling" and apparent frustration. What came to my mind was an image of the giant, exhausted after a long, tiring day, making an effort to improve his speaking problem -- the "stammar" -- by pouring over an old grammar book. Maybe something along these lines:

or this:

They seem to be an oddly but closely knit family of sorts, living in close quarters; and perhaps sitting on the stair is the one place where the giant can find some privacy for studying. Bishop's scenario reveals that even though the dwarf, idiot, and giant may seem at first glance to be no more than stock circus characters, they are in fact motivated by inner dreams and goals just as the reader is. I like the presentation of their private landscapes (sitting quietly, studying, dreaming, day - dreaming) as well as their inter - connectedness, as the poet carefully outlines who belongs to whom.

It's interesting to compare the "morose" yet "cheerful" tone of "A Summer's Dream" with the "Formal melancholy" of "Cirque D'Hiver" ("Winter Circus"). The first is peopled with a number of colorful, fleshly characters; the second features a mechanical toy, made up of two parts: "A little circus horse . . . a little dancer on his back," bound together by a pole, a wind - up key, and a twist of fate. Neither the dancer nor the horse is without self - awareness; that's the heart - breaking aspect of the poem. Carnival imagery gives way to cosmic questioning. Can it be true that the little horse is really "more intelligent by far" than the dancer? After all, she's the one who feels the pole "that pierces both her body and her soul" (Jan said: "that line about the pole -- stunning. It gave me shivers").

Thanks to my friend Peggy for this exquisite photo,
a "lovely gift from [her] sweet mother-in-law."
Jan also reminded me to notice, while reading, how Bishop creates her own form and rhyme:

Cirque D'Hiver
Across the floor flits the mechanical toy,
fit for a king of several centuries back.
A little circus horse with real white hair.
His eyes are glossy black.
He bears a little dancer on his back.
She stands upon her toes and turns and turns.
A slanting spray of artificial roses
is stitched across her skirt and tinsel bodice.
Above her head she poses
another spray of artificial roses.
His mane and tail are straight from Chirico.
He has a formal, melancholy soul.
He feels her pink toes dangle toward his back
along the little pole
that pierces both her body and her soul
and goes through his, and reappears below,
under his belly, as a big tin key.
He canters three steps, then he makes a bow,
canters again, bows on one knee,
canters, then clicks and stops, and looks at me.
The dancer, by this time, has turned her back.
He is the more intelligent by far.
Facing each other rather desperately—
his eye is like a star—
we stare and say, "Well, we have come this far."

~ Elizabeth Bishop

"His mane and tail are straight from Chirico."

Cavalli in riva al mare
by Giorgio de Chirico (1888-1978)
SEE YOU IN TWO WEEKS FOR MY
Next Fortnightly Post
Wednesday, 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.blogspot.com
this month: "Open the Book" ~ Elizabeth Bishop

Many Many Moons

ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS
Pink Phlox on our front slope ~ April 2010
A much warmer and sunnier April than we're having so far this year!
Although some may find it hard to believe, neither the Pink Moon nor the Blue Moon is so named after the color of the moon (though I've even heard fact bound Jeopardy perpetuate this erroneous concept). In fact, the April Full Moon is often called the Pink Moon because of the moss pink ground phlox, one of the earliest widespread flowers of the Spring, which makes its appearance at this time.
Pink Moon Phlox
Other names for the April full moon, all referring to new life and regeneration, include the Egg Moon, the Fish Moon, the Planter's Moon, the Seed Moon, the Sprouting Grass Moon, and the Waking Moon. For more information on these nicknames and all the other Full Moon Names, there's always the good old reliable Farmers' Almanac. Plus there are plenty of fun and informative Lunar Blogs on the web.

Coincidentally, tomorrow's Total Lunar Eclipse will lend a pinkish, reddish hue to this year's April moon, inspiring its descriptive nickname: the Blood Moon, not a scientific term but a hugely popular one. I didn't try to photograph the lunar eclipse, but my friend Jay got some great shots:

Here's one of the best full moon poems I know, for a Blood Moon or any other kind, full of folklore and magic. Ancient or post - modern? These fisher - folk could well be either, upon their timeless quest:

Moon Fishing

When the moon was full they came to the water,
some with pitchforks, some with rakes,
some with sieves and ladles,
and one with a silver cup.

And they fished til a traveler passed them and said,
"Fools,
to catch the moon you must let your women
spread their hair on the water --
even the wily moon will leap to that bobbing
net of shimmering threads,
gasp and flop till its silver scales
lie black and still at your feet."

And they fished with the hair of their women
till a traveler passed them and said,
"Fools,
do you think the moon is caught lightly,
with glitter and silk threads?
You must cut out your hearts and bait your hooks
with those dark animals;
what matter you lose your hearts to reel in your dream?"

And they fished with their tight, hot hearts
till a traveler passed them and said,
"Fools,
what good is the moon to a heartless man?
Put back your hearts and get on your knees
and drink as you never have,
until your throats are coated with silver
and your voices ring like bells."

And they fished with their lips and tongues
until the water was gone
and the moon had slipped away
in the soft, bottomless mud.

by Lisel Mueller, American poet, born in Germany, 1924
Pulitzer Prize For Poetry, 1997

Thirst drove me down to the water
where I drank the moon’s reflection.
Rumi (1207 - 1273)
Persian Spiritual Sage

Trying to Capture the Moon
Thanks to Andrea Livingston for sharing this playful lunar collage, which reminded me of the following favorite children's stories that cleverly capture the conundrum of the moon, so close but still so far. How can the moon, so clearly visible to the naked eye, especially when it's full, be further away than England or California or even nearby Chicago, which we certainly can't see from Indiana? That just doesn't seem right!

Margaret Wise Brown -- Goodnight Moon
Gerry and I loved reading this one to Ben and Sam.
When Ben was little, all Gerry or I had to do was get out a copy
of "Goodnight Moon," and Ben would call out, "Nobody!"
(See Aimee Bender, 2014)

Eric Carle --Papa, Please Get the Moon for Me
Sometimes the moon is whatever size you need it to be!

James Thurber -- Many Moons
I did not know this book as a child, but loved it in college and
picked a passage from here for an oral interpretation assignment.

Cat Stevens -- Teaser and the Firecat
Love the album & the songs but better yet, the storybook!

See also "Moonshadow," another
Cat Stevens favorite!

SEE YOU IN TWO WEEKS FOR MY
Next Fortnightly Post
Monday, April 28th

Between now and then, read
THE QUOTIDIAN KIT ~ "Pink Moon" & "Many Moons"
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.blogspot.com

House With a Past

A HOUSE WHERE ALL'S ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS

A fortnight ago in "House Sisters," I posted the article about our West Philly renovation project that appeared in The Philadelphia Inquirer, on March 27th, 1994. Eleven years later, on March 26th 2005, our West Lafayette renovation project was featured in the Lafayette Journal and Courier. Just this past week, when I shared my address with a new acquaintance, she immediately recalled, "Oh, your house was in the paper a few years ago!" Nine years ago, in fact! How nice that she remembered!

Here is a copy of the article she was thinking of
(click on text to enlarge for reading)

Residing for a decade in Philadelphia, we became spoiled by the housing stock, with choices from every century of American history. We were returning to Indiana for many good reasons, but we were sad to leave our grand old historic houses behind. Would we be able to find something as beautiful as our urban Victorian? Miraculously, the answer was "Yes." For the life of us, we could not remember ever having driven by this house when we lived here before (1988 - 1993), though we certainly must have done so. Nevertheless, we learned through the grapevine that it might be available, so on a leap of faith we flew out, made an offer, and thanked our lucky stars.

Indiana Victorian ~ Sideview Before Addition

Work in Progress, as described in newspaper article

Completed Project (see related post on my book blog)

I can easily get lost for an entire afternoon browsing through all the old papers that came with the house, reading the descriptions of all the previous owners and real estate transactions, even last wills and testaments! In Philadelphia, I had to go to the courthouse and painstakingly track down all the previous deeds of ownership on microfilm (very old tech), but when we bought the house here, the realtor simply handed us a thick folder bulging with over a hundred years' worth of brittle time - worn papers already compiled.

I'm sure you remember Robin Williams, in Dead Poets Society, telling the students to listen closely to what the old photographs are whispering:

"But if you listen real close,
you can hear them whisper their legacy to you.
Go on, lean in. Listen, you hear it? - - Carpe - - hear it? - -
Carpe, carpe diem, seize the day!"
That's exactly the same feeling I get when looking at all these old names and signatures. Just to name a few, there were Robert Alexander and his wife Elizabeth, who signed her name with an "X" in 1825. Their homestead deed from the United States of America was authorized "By the President John Quincy Adams."

Next came Nancy G. & Henry L. Ellsworth (the first Commissioner of the U.S. Patent Office), who owned the parcel of land when it consisted of 130 acres, plus additional property stretching all the way over to Illinois. In their day, the main road at the end of our hill (now called North River Road) was called Ellsworth Street. The Ellsworths eventually sold to the land developers who gave their name to the area, the Chauncey Brothers of -- coincidentally! -- Philadelphia (Elihu, Charles, and Nathaniel). Before West Lafayette incorporated independently of Lafayette, it was known as "Chauncey," but for practical reasons the rather less charming "West Lafayette" won out instead. We still have Chauncey Avenue, Chauncey Hill Mall, and Chauncey Village Apartments, but what a unique name it would have been for the entire town.

It's not yet clear to me which property owner built the house, somewhere around 1895; but we do know that from 1912 - 1955 it was occupied by the Topping Family, including son Robert W. Topping, who wrote A Century and Beyond: The History of Purdue University and Just Call Me Orville: The Story of Orville Redenbacher. And later, from 1968 - 1999, the creative Scarcelli Family.

Though I never have any sense that the house is haunted, I feel sure that some of The Others must live here; after all, there have been so many of them! As Walt Whitman writes in "Song of the Open Road":

You rows of houses! you window-pierc’d façades! you roofs!
You porches and entrances! you copings and iron guards!
You windows whose transparent shells might expose so much!
You doors and ascending steps! you arches!
You gray stones of interminable pavements! you trodden crossings!
From all that has touch’d you I believe you have imparted to yourselves, and now would impart the same secretly to me,
From the living and the dead you have peopled your impassive surfaces, and the spirits thereof would be evident and amicable with me. . . .

Whoever you are, come forth! or man or woman come forth!
You must not stay sleeping and dallying there in the house, though you built it, or though it has been built for you.
~ Selected lines from Parts 3 and 13 ~

Thank you old house for imparting your secrets!

SEE YOU IN TWO WEEKS FOR MY
Next Fortnightly Post
Monday, April 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.blogspot.com

House Sisters

A HOUSE WHERE ALL'S ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS

Newspaper caption: "Three - year - old Ben McCartney
descends the newly painted staircase of his family's home,
a four - story Queen Anne - style twin that dates to 1890."
In January 1993, Gerry and I flew out to Philadelphia to preview the real estate market. We looked at three fine houses in the suburbs and three more in the city, just to get an idea of what was available. I still remember walking through the door of "814" for the first time and thinking to myself, "We could live here!" It was the kind of house that I was used to seeing in magazines or touring as historical landmarks. But, apparently, here in University City (West Philadelphia), a normal everyday citizen could buy a house like this and live in it! In February, we saw a second round of houses, a dozen at least; but at the end of the day, there was one that we just couldn't forget! We asked our realtor, "What about that one we saw last time: '814.' "

Back in Indiana,our house sold quickly, and on Easter weekend, we arrived in Philadelphia, ready to renovate and learn about urban living. The house closing was utterly chaotic, but our beautiful old city house was worth all the stress. We loved it at first glance (and still do, even though we've been gone so many years). Gerry began immediately with the necessary renovation projects: exterior and interior painting, re - sanding the floors, and re - building the main staircase -- baluster by baluster!

BEFORE

AFTER

About a year later, we were honored to have our house, and Gerry's handiwork, featured in the local paper. Here's the bulk of the article, if you care to decipher (click on text to enlarge):

and the smaller photo that acccompanied the head - liner above:

Within a week of our house appearing in the paper, we received the most amazing letter:

March 28, 1994

Dear Mr. and Mrs. McCartney,

Hello, how are you today? You do not know me personally but we have a few things in common, and I just had to write and tell you. On Sunday I read the article about you in the Inquirer and looked at the pictures of your present home. Disregard this letter if I am wrong, but my family and I are convinced that you now live in the home that all of us grew up in at 814 So. 48th St. You stated that this is probably the nicest house you will ever live in, and I am writing to you today to tell you that I completely agree! You never will find another like it!

We moved into "814" when I was 12 yrs old, and I lived there for 8 more years until my marriage in April of 1971. They were truly some of the best and worst years of my life; but I'll tell you that from the day I left until today, I have not stopped missing that house. It is just such a beautiful home, so much charm, so many beautiful rooms and hallways and those elegant stairs! Luckily I am able to remember every inch of it, although I understand some changes have been made over these past 20 years since we left. In those years, I have raised 4 children and still come into Benny's Barbershop, around the corner on Baltimore Ave. and when I do, I always go by to say hello to my old home.

Friends of mine were friends of the previous owners, and we actually met in Benny's one day and meant to get together again, but unfortunately we never had the chance before they moved. My children have grown up hearing stories of our life at "814." It was a wonderful home and one of the nicest neighborhoods to live in. Our neighbors were more than friends; they were more like family to us than some of our own family were. When we first moved in, my father - in - law, whose family lived right across the street on Beaumont Ave. organized a block party every summer. They would close the street and we would have all kinds of games and food and fun. Every family on the block participated. It was such a great day for all.

Over the years, we had family members live in the apartment on the third floor. We always had the kind of extended family environment that you only hear about nowadays. It was a wonderful experience for all of us who were fortunate to be a part of it.

Anyway, I just couldn't let the opportunity to contact the new owners of our old home pass me by. Hopefully you and your family will be lucky enough to make for yourselves as many happy memories in that grand old house as we did. Good luck & maybe someday we will have the opportunity to meet face to face and swap stories. If you are ever in need of a good haircut, please go around and visit my friend Benny, you won't be disappointed I'm sure. Maybe it will even be a day when my children and I will also decide we need to make a trip into Benny's ourselves.

VICKY & BENNY

Please take care of that gem which you are fortunate to be in possession of at this time because there's someone out here who loves it and will never forget the years spent within its walls. Take care and bye for now!

Cordially, Vicky Duffy McLaughlin

****************************
Well, you can imagine how thrilled I was to receive that letter and how anxious to respond! Certainly in my life, there are a couple of old houses that I would like to re-visit, to be greeted with open arms by the current resident and welcomed inside to relive my past. Houses that come back to me in dreams:

Love After Love
The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other's welcome,

and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.

by Derek Walcott, b. 1930
Saint Lucian poet and playwright; professor at the University of Essex
1992 Nobel Prize Recipient

Needless to say, I invited Vicky over at the earliest opportunity and she paid us a number of visits during the reminder of our time at "814" (April 1993 - August 2001). We were privileged to meet her dear father, Mr. John Duffy, who shared with us many details about his purchase and upkeep of the property. Another time she brought her sister along and some of the children, nieces and nephews. She showed us a hidden spot in the living room where her brothers had signed their names one year after re-painting the woodwork. She met my British in - laws on one of their annual visits to Philadelphia and became one of their favorite American pen pals. And my sons grew up just as Vicky's did, getting their haircuts from our mutual friend Benny.

As for the two of us, Vicky and I have been "house sisters" ever since, united for all time in our adoration of "814." As American poet, playwright and professor Kenneth Koch (1925 - 2002; see also) writes in one of the best old house poems ever:

To My Old Addresses
. . . O
My old addresses! O my addresses! Are you addresses still?
Or has the hand of Time roughed over you
And buffered and stuffed you with peels of lemons, limes, and shells
From old institutes? If I address you
It is mostly to know if you are well.
I am all right but I think I will never find
Sustenance as I found in you, oh old addresses
Numbers that sink into my soul
Forty-eight, nineteen, twenty-three, O worlds in which I was alive!

814
HOUSE SISTERS FOREVER: VICKY & KITTI

P.S. HAPPY BIRTHDAY VICKY!
SEE YOU IN TWO WEEKS FOR MY
Next Fortnightly Post
Friday, 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.blogspot.com

Dream House

A Heart That Watches and Receives

WHERE ALL'S ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS

Woman Reading
Robert James Gordon, 1845 - 1932
[still trying to learn more about this artist]
Tomorrow is the first day of March! It may not be the first mild day of March, but whether the weather be lion or lamb the first of March is here, a day often associated with the New Year and new beginnings. As keen romantic William Wordsworth says in his poem "To My Sister," we have before us a day of "blessing," an "hour of feeling." I like the way that he feels free to discount January and February as not quite living up to his expectations:

No joyless forms shall regulate
Our living calendar:
We from to-day, my Friend, will date
The opening of the year.
For Wordsworth, it is the long - awaited month of March that captures "the spirit of the season" and sets the true course for the remainder of the year. He doesn't want his sister, or anyone else, to miss out on his sense of urgency and certainty that "One moment now may give us more / Than years of toiling reason":

Some silent laws our hearts will make,
Which they shall long obey:
We for the year to come may take
Our temper from to-day.
The poem is an impulsive celebration of nature, and such an earnest combination of wise passiveness and brotherly love that I can hardly read it without feeling convinced:

To My Sister
It is the first mild day of March:
Each minute sweeter than before
The redbreast sings from the tall larch
That stands beside our door.

There is a blessing in the air,
Which seems a sense of joy to yield
To the bare trees, and mountains bare,
And grass in the green field.

My sister! ('tis a wish of mine)
Now that our morning meal is done,
Make haste, your morning task resign;
Come forth and feel the sun.

Edward will come with you;--and, pray,
Put on with speed your woodland dress;
And bring no book: for this one day
We'll give to idleness.

No joyless forms shall regulate
Our living calendar:
We from to-day, my Friend, will date
The opening of the year.

Love, now a universal birth,
From heart to heart is stealing,
From earth to man, from man to earth:
--It is the hour of feeling.

One moment now may give us more
Than years of toiling reason:
Our minds shall drink at every pore
The spirit of the season.

Some silent laws our hearts will make,
Which they shall long obey:
We for the year to come may take
Our temper from to-day.

And from the blessed power that rolls
About, below, above,
We'll frame the measure of our souls:
They shall be tuned to love.

Then come, my Sister! come, I pray,
With speed put on your woodland dress;
And bring no book: for this one day
We'll give to idleness.

It always amuses me that he makes mention of breakfast (something hearty, I trust!) and then instructs his sister to don her "woodland dress." I love to imagine this garment! What might Dorothy have chosen to wear that day? Perhaps it was something similar to the fashions in this painting by Harold Knight or the one above by Robert Gordon. If these portraits are any indication, it would seem that the perfect accessory for a woodland dress is always, surely a book! No matter what Wordsworth might say!

Girl Stands in a Field Reading Her Book
Harold Knight, 1874 - 1961
Even when planning a day of idleness and joy, Wordsworth hopes to impose an agenda: no tasks, no books! He is romantic but also didactic. In this next poem, he seems almost to be joking, but not quite. His message is sincere: Fall in love with Nature! Open your heart! And his closing image -- "a heart that watches and receives" -- is one of his most beautiful.

The Tables Turned: An Evening Scene on the Same Subject
Up! up! my Friend, and quit your books;
Or surely you'll grow double:
Up! up! my Friend, and clear your looks;
Why all this toil and trouble?

The sun above the mountain's head,
A freshening lustre mellow
Through all the long green fields has spread,
His first sweet evening yellow.

Books! 'tis a dull and endless strife:
Come, hear the woodland linnet,
How sweet his music! on my life,
There's more of wisdom in it.

And hark! how blithe the throstle sings!
He, too, is no mean preacher:
Come forth into the light of things,
Let Nature be your teacher.

She has a world of ready wealth,
Our minds and hearts to bless—
Spontaneous wisdom breathed by health,
Truth breathed by cheerfulness.

One impulse from a vernal wood
May teach you more of man,
Of moral evil and of good,
Than all the sages can.

Sweet is the lore which Nature brings;
Our meddling intellect
Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things:—
We murder to dissect.

Enough of Science and of Art;
Close up those barren leaves;
Come forth, and bring with you a heart
That watches and receives.

both poems written in 1798
by William Wordsworth , 1770 – 1850
Major English Romantic Poet

A Heart That Watches and Receives

For me, these two poems by Wordsworth -- "To My Sister" and "The Tables Turned" -- remain forever connected with that lush and hazy song from the 70s -- "The Air That I Breathe." Remember? My friend Marilyn used to say, "What? No books to read? That can't be right!"

Whenever we happened to hear it on the radio, Marilyn would always express her dismay. She was torn; she wanted to like it; but why No books to read? What kind of paradise would that be?" No sleep -- okay. Nothing to eat -- okay. But no books? Not okay!"

Although it is still a favorite, I never hear it without the memory of Marilyn's wise words!

The Air That I Breathe
[click to listen]
If I could make a wish, I think I'd pass
Can't think of anything I need
No cigarettes, no sleep, no light, no sound
Nothing to eat, no books to read

Making love with you
Has left me peaceful, warm and tired
What more could I ask
There's nothing left, to be desired

Peace came upon me
And it leaves me weak
So sleep, silent angel
Go to sleep

Sometimes
All I need is the air
That I breathe
And to love you

All I need is the air
That I breathe

Just to love you
All I need is the air
That I breathe . . .

sung by The Hollies
written by Albert Louis Hammond / Mike Hazlewood
Lyrics © EMI Music Publishing
Copyright: Imagem Songs Ltd.

Photo from last year ~ March 1, 2013
Thanks George Sfedu

SEE YOU IN TWO WEEKS FOR MY
Next Fortnightly Post
Friday, March 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.blogspot.com

Inordinately Realistic

ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS

A HAPPY SNOWY VALENTINE'S DAY!
Plow & Hearth Birdseed Wands
Not to be too cynical on Valentine's Day, but while driving along in the car one day last summer with the radio on, the irony of these lines from the ABBA song "Angel Eyes" caught my attention:

"And it hurts to remember all the good times
When I thought I could never live without him"
For months, my brain has been circling around these lyrics, and now seems a good time to take a closer look at the irony. The singer's fondest thoughts are of a time in her relationship when she "thought she could never live without him." I usually just sing along, but this time, I started to wonder, How good of a relationship was that? Or how bad? Bad enough to make me rethink the nostalgia that I have for some of my good / bad old days. What am I recalling with such fondness? The years when I thought that my heart would break in two? Well, if those were the good times, maybe they weren't so good after all despite the hazy romantic edges of memory. Perhaps the narrator is saying that it hurts now because those times were so great and now they are gone for good. More likely, I suspect she's recalling a time that may have seemed good enough but was also hurtful -- and that's why it hurts to remember.

Good times shouldn't hurt, yet sometimes from the very beginning, a relationship consists primarily of the kind of good times that it hurts to remember. Come to think of it, it can even hurt to have some of those good times in the first place. Kind of like -- in my chick flick choice for Valentine's Day this year -- Georgy Girl's relationship with Jos.

As Georgy learns, those are the kind of good times that you have to stay away from. Learn what you can and move on. I was pretty pleased with myself twenty - five years ago, when Gerry and I completed some personality profile questionnaires to help us understand our relational issues, compatibility levels, and marital readiness. When I scored in the range of "Inordinately Realistic," I was convinced that I had used all of my bad relationships wisely!

In honor of Valentine's Day, here are a few inordinately realistic proverbs that have spoken to my heart in troubled times:

"A long time ago I was desperately in love.
In fact, you could leave out the 'love'
and still get a pretty good picture."
from "True Romances #2"
in True Stories
by Margaret Atwood

" 'Love,' says Squire Allworthy, 'however much we may corrupt and pervert its meaning . . . remains a rational passion.' "
from Tom Jones
by Henry Fielding

"It is overdoing the thing to die of love."
~ French Proverb ~

"After awhile you begin to realize that lots of people have had
previous marriages that just never come up in conversation.
Especially if there are no children, then it's really nothing
more than a bad date, a long bad date."
~ A Wise Friend ~

"I can't believe we once threw dishes at each other, but we did.
I can remember which plates, which cups, which glasses,
and which ones broke."
~ Margaret Atwood / same story as above ~

"What can be broken, can be fixed, he thought.
What can be broken, can be fixed.
There was a dimension to all of this he had to ignore,
a reality, if you will.
But a balance wheel can be reattached,
a shaft can be machined, from scratch if necessary.
Still, it would be too late for him.
The normal, or maybe not the normal,
part of the doll still worked perfectly.
The other could be fixed.
But not for him, never for him, fixed or not, that was gone forever."
from "Moriya"
in By The Light of the Jukebox
by Dean Paschal

Inordinately realistic or not, I still adore a sentimental Valentine!
~ like this collage of vintage favorites from my friends Diane Cox
and Victoria Amador (whose name is perfect for Valentine's Day)!
SEE YOU IN TWO WEEKS FOR MY
Next Fortnightly Post
Friday, February 28th

Between now and then, read
THE QUOTIDIAN KIT
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www.dailykitticarriker.blogspot.com

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