Inspiration

Making It Worth It

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I feel like I’m pretty safe in saying that anyone reading this post is at a point in life that if it’s worth doing at all, we want to make it worth it.

Please use your imagination and forgive the “sketch-like” appearance of the above image I created. I had a great school visit last week, and in all the excitement with the kids, we forgot to take any photos.

A school visit will always include a reading of one’s book, Q and A at the end, and some information for the children related to the book. In my case, I have discussed identifying butterflies, facts about them, plus information on the importance of pollinators, to which butterflies belong.

But it all wasn’t exciting ME. What would make ME excited about doing this book visit with “Butterflies”? What did I need to share that would have more value?

What could the story and the butterflies themselves teach? Now I had it!

Three takeaways: Use your imagination, based on our discussing Stella’s amazing interpretation of a butterfly’s appearance; always be kind to animals, based on advising kids never to touch a butterfly’s wings, lest it lose scales and be unable to fly; and embrace change, because life is full of changes, and we can be like the butterfly fighting its way out of the chrysalis, saying, “I can do this”, and “this change will make me stronger.”

Above are the 8.5″ x 11″ placards I made. The takeaways had the attention of these 6-8 year olds. And me.

Life isn’t getting any longer here. I feel a greater need to make whatever I do matter. Especially now. More than ever, we need our compassion and humanity not only intact, but strengthened. I hope I did that for a couple of those kids.

Meandering in A Confused World

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One of my small daily pleasures each morning once I’ve fed Charlie and made my coffee is to sit by the living room window and do two things – a perusal of Instagram, a gathering if you will, of positive words, thoughts and images (occasionally my own work), and then sharing them in my Stories. Then I journal to clear out the cobwebs, sort out my challenges, put to paper my joys and angst … whatever the day calls for.

While on IG, I always hope that whoever stops by gains some benefit from what I post. We know, vaguely, how the algorithms work; you get more of what you like (almost a corollary of karma, right?), and therefore, I find vast amounts of insight, positivity, and beauty. Some mornings, when I open the app, I am greeted with exactly what I need to know for that day. Because I do believe the Universe works that way.

Sometimes I share things like this, courtesy of @spiritualgoal –

Sometimes I post things I’ve been doing, like the gecko drawing above, or how I’ve redesigned my picture book, Where Do Butterflies Go at Night? 2nd Edition. (You can read that in detail here.)

But mostly, I’m sharing insights, inspiration, and the beauty of life.

Inevitably, while I scroll, I come across other things, often in Threads, about our current political circumstances. And sometimes, I drop in and read, because most of what’s really happening is on social nowadays, not the mainstream media. I find life – mental and emotional life – is a balancing act of trying to remain informed and at the same time, keeping my sanity.

It’s why the positivity is so important. Knowing, remembering, how important we are in the larger scheme of things. Even just being centered and loving in this world is a huge contribution. Holding the place of love.

And sometimes I create my own memes. This one’s for you. Just keep holding that light up high.

National Poetry Month – April 30th

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It’s the end of April and the end of National Poetry Month. I felt we were overdue for a love poem.

PERMANENTLY

One day the Nouns were clustered in the street.
An Adjective walked by, with her dark beauty.
The Nouns were struck, moved, changed.
The next day a Verb drove up, and created the Sentence.

Each Sentence says one thing – for example, “Although it was a dark, rainy day when the Adjective walked by, I shall remember the pure and sweet expression on her face until the day I perish from the green, effective earth.”

Or, “Will you please close the window, Andrew?”

Or, for example, “Thank you, the pink pot of flowers on the window sill has changed color recently to a light yellow, due to the heat from the boiler factory which exists nearby.”

In the springtime, the Sentences and the Nouns lay silently on the grass.
A lonely conjunction here and there would call, “And! But!”
But the Adjective did not emerge.

As the adjective is lost in the sentence,
So I am lost in your eyes, ears, nose, and throat –
You have enchanted me with a single kiss
Which can never be undone
Until the destruction of language.

– Kenneth Koch

Away …

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Searching through photos for one thing inevitably surprises us with something else. Especially when you have the amount of photos that I do.

This is a photo I took when visiting my cousin in Portugal when I was 23 years old. He and his family lived here, in a small fishing village, Vila Nova de Cerveira, at the mouth of the Minho River, just minutes from Spain. It was an indescribable experience, and looking back now, even more so, especially as the area has evolved so since.

Truly, it was a village. There was a tinker (today’s handyman/carpenter), a small bakery/grocery store, a church, a police station, and a few other shops. There was also a castle, and a variety of homes. The streets were cobblestone, and it seemed that everyone knew everyone. Many people grew or raised their own food.

In the morning, we heard the clanging of the bell at the long driveway gate. A neighbor had brought a clean bucket of milk, fresh from her cow. Wherever my cousin and I walked, there were young children skipping after us, fascinated by the visitor with her light-colored eyes.

Coming across this photo brought back so many memories, which could probably fill a short memoir of its own. My cousin, his wife, children, and dogs were my warm and wonderful hosts. With all I experienced in that too-short week, I existed in a slice of time never to be known again.

I also remember the train ride home, first to Porto, then a switch to a second train to Lisbon. In my compartment were five Portuguese men and women, none of whom spoke English. During the 5-hour ride, they brought out their lunch, and so generously offered everything to me – bread, cheese, some kind of meat, wine. With hand signs and broken language, we talked and laughed all the way to Lisbon.

I remember wondering even then if Americans would be so utterly kind to strangers who spoke no English in a traveling compartment. The importance of that entire experience has deepened ever since. Would we all be as kind and generous as they? Can we still share? Can we still love?

Home …

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Home is such an important place. A place to just be yourself, to relax, a refuge, a place to foster growth, a cocoon of dreams, an inspiration of life, a place to heal, and so much more.

April is National Poetry Month, so I’m offering this lovely poem by Christopher Marlowe.

Song for A Little House

I’m glad our house is a little house,
Not too tall nor too wide.
I’m glad the hovering butterflies
Feel free to come inside.

Our little house is a friendly house.
It is not shy or vain;
It gossips with the talking trees,
And makes friends with the rain.

And quick leaves cast a shimmer of green
Against our whited walls,
And in the phlox, the courteous bees
Are paying duty calls.
– Christopher Marlowe

But home is not just the structure itself; it is also the place, the neighborhood, the city, the town. They’re all part of “home.” And so, a few more photos of my home, as spring comes slowly into bloom. Above, the trees, just beginning to green up, and their late afternoon shadows accompany me on my walk along the river to the bridge.

Looking north, life is just awakening from slumber. This sentinel, which has steadfastly looked over the river for the 19 years I’ve lived here and much longer, is now showing the most shy of buds.

Crossing the Delaware River to Pennsylvania, where the blush of green in the trees is heartening.

Forsythia in bloom around one of our many turn-of-the-century homes, with the Chestnut Hill B`n B just behind.

Home is where we walk, where we become, and who we are for however long we stay.