Musings

My latest poem and thoughts of misty dreams.

Do you remember the days when milk was delivered by horse drawn milk wagon? Sweet memories.

Chocolate brown galoshes; sparkling silver buckles. Ugly as sin and as much a part of my Canadian winters as snow as high as the sky. A forever memory. A boomer reflection.

I collect antiques. I love things old and vintage, especially since they often express themselves in a wabi sabi way…perfection in imperfection.

I love the dents and nicks, marks and wear that vintage items possess.

I imagine what each piece might have experienced, endured and triumphed through.

I never lose pleasure in taking a closer look at a piece, feeling its texture and smiling at its imagined story.

The other day, when I was being quite mindless, I smacked one of my flow blue dishes to the floor accidentally, and CRASH!!!…it broke into bits.

I had an interesting conversation with someone recently: one that opened the door to my eyes as to why some people are continually disappointed with their results. And it has to do with the concepts of acceptance and expectation.

I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling particularly prickly about all the hype around visualization, affirmation, “secret” tips and the whole see-it-and-it-will-happen premise that abounds.

There’s a story I heard once (I wish I remember where), that happened on a trail called the Camino de Santiago de Compostela in Spain.

With all that’s going on in the world right now, and certainly not to minimize, my thoughts were stirred by an image in my computer repair shop.