dual personalities

Tag: Eudora Welty

April 13, 2021

“Some days are diamonds/ Some days are rocks”*

by chuckofish

Mood

Hope you are having a diamond of a day, able to enjoy the weather and read a little poetry.

The Real Prayers are not the Words, but the Attention that Comes First

The little hawk leaned sideways and, tilted, rode
the wind. Its eye at this distance looked like green
glass; its feet were the color of butter. Speed, obviously,
was joy. But then, so was the sudden, slow circle
it carved into the slightly silvery air, and the squaring
of its shoulders, and the pulling into itself the long,
sharp-edged wings, and the fall into the grass where it
tussled a moment, like a bundle of brown leaves, and
then, again, lifted itself into the air, that butter-color
clenched in order to hold a small, still body, and it flew
off as my mind sang out oh all that loose, blue rink
of sky, where does it go to, and why?        

–Mary Oliver

Today is the birthday of writer Eudora Welty (1909–2001) whom I have admired for many years. It is always a good day to take down one of her books from a shelf and open and read.

“The events in our lives happen in a sequence in time, but in their significance to ourselves they find their own order, a timetable not necessarily – perhaps not possibly – chronological. The time as we know it subjectively is often the chronology that stories and novels follow: it is the continuous thread of revelation.”

Eudora Welty, One Writer’s Beginnings

I will also note that tomorrow is daughter #2’s birthday.

We will celebrate her birthday in 10 days when she and baby Katie visit for a long weekend. Of course, we can’t wait to hold that baby, but I can’t wait to hold my baby…

…who was a precious bundle of joy not so long ago and is now a beautiful and talented young woman.

Sunrise, sunset. Time is the continuous thread of revelation.

The watercolor is by Louis Michel Eilshemius, painted between 1888 and 1910. (Detroit Institute of Arts)

*Tom Petty, Walls

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October 1, 2019

Walking along in the changing-time

by chuckofish

Last Sunday was the Pedal the Cause bicycle event which the boy participated in for the third year, riding 20 miles in the PTC Classic. It was very hot.

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I did not go this year, because there is a little too much walking involved, but I was thinking of him and proud of him per usual.

My weekend was quiet. Daughter #1 was home and accompanied me to my chemo treatment, along with the boy who comes with me every Friday. I am very grateful to have such support! We stopped at Chik-fil-a on the way home. Then the boy went to work and daughter #1 went to Ikea and I went to bed.

I read a lot of Longmire.

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I hung up a new wreath (from Etsy) because fall is here.

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I have always loved those “Chinese Lanterns,” don’t you? One of these days I’m gong to try growing my own.

News flash: not only is fall here, but it is October! Zut alors!

“When they turned off, it was still early in the pink and green fields. The fumes of morning, sweet and bitter, sprang up where they walked. The insects ticked softly, their strength in reserve; butterflies chopped the air, going to the east, and the birds flew carelessly and sang by fits.

They went down again and soon the smell of the river spread over the woods, cool and secret. Every step they took among the great walls of vines and among the passion-flowers started up a little life, a little flight.

‘We’re walking along in the changing-time,’ said Doc. ‘Any day now the change will come. It’s going to turn from hot to cold, and we can kill the hog that’s ripe and have fresh meat to eat. Come one of these nights and we can wander down here and tree a nice possum. Old Jack Frost will be pinching things up. Old Mr. Winter will be standing in the door. Hickory tree there will be yellow. Sweet-gum red, hickory yellow, dogwood red, sycamore yellow.’ He went along rapping the tree trunks with his knuckle. ‘Magnolia and live-oak never die. Remember that. Persimmons will all get fit to eat, and the nuts will be dropping like rain all through the woods here. And run, little quail, run, for we’ll be after you too.’

They went on and suddenly the woods opened upon light, and they had reached the river. Everyone stopped, but Doc talked on ahead as though nothing had happened. ‘Only today,’ he said, ‘today, in October sun, it’s all gold—sky and tree and water. Everything just before it changes looks to be made of gold.’

“The Wide Net”
― Eudora Welty

Have a golden week.

 

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March 12, 2019

“When you pass through the waters”*

by chuckofish

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I love this picture from the 1canoe2 Instagram feed. It is so mid-Missouri! We are moving into severe weather season now, so, although we like our thunderstorms, we pray for no tornadoes! The news of the tornadoes in Alabama last week fills us with dread.

“They all stood unwilling on the sandbar, holding to the net. In the eastern sky were the familiar castles and the round towers to which they were used, gray, pink, and blue, growing darker and filling with thunder. Lightning flickered in the sun along their thick walls. But in the west the sun shone with such a violence that in an illumination like a long-prolonged glare of lightning the heavens looked black and white; all color left the world, the goldenness of everything was like a memory, and only heat, a kind of glamor and oppression, lay on their heads. The thick heavy trees on the other side of the river were brushed with mile-long streaks of silver, and a wind touched each man on the forehead. At the same time there was a long roll of thunder that began behind them, came up and down mountains and valleys of air, passed over their heads, and left them listening still. With a small, near noise a mockingbird followed it, the little white bars of its body flashing over the willow trees.

‘We are here for a storm now,’ Virgil said.

“The Wide Net” ― Eudora Welty

Take care.

*Isaiah 43:2

2 Comments
August 15, 2016

In a gadda da vida, baby

by chuckofish

Weekends that follow a weekend when one of my daughters has visited are always a little sad. You know, she was here and we were doing that, and now she is not here.  And it was a rainy weekend to boot!

But I am not one to sit in a slough of despond, so I got busy. Since Gary is coming back this week to paint the living room and paper the dining room, I had to put away all the dishes in my china cabinet and pack up various shelves full of dishes etc. And there were also a lot of very dusty books to move. Good grief what a job!

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I suppose it is a good job to do every once in awhile (and should no doubt be done more frequently) in order to dust off the books and be reminded what we have!

I also got a new pair of Tom’s on sale which made me happy.

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I read the second lesson in church, a good long one from Hebrews (11:29–12:2) about how we are surrounded by a cloud of witnesses, something I believe in strongly. The Gospel was from Luke (12:49–56) where Jesus is at his politically-incorrect best, calling everyone a hypocrite and saying he “came to bring fire to the earth, and how I wish it were already kindled!” Our lady priest reminded us that there is no room for compromise in the Gospel and that the sweet Jesus people like to imagine is a fiction. (I think Zooey had something to say about that to Franny.)

Our organist/choirmaster has been on vacation for several weeks and so the organist substitute was the lady who always reminds me of Helen Feesh on the Simpsons.

Helen

I mean seriously.

I left right after the service and got back to work taking down drapes (more dust) and such.

Over the weekend I read Hillbilly Elegy by J.D. Vance, which my dual personality had recommended. Now I recommend it to you. Hard to put down.

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In the middle of the night when I couldn’t sleep I picked up a book by Eudora Welty and was reminded how really great she is.

It is our inward journey that leads us through time–forward or back, seldom in a straight line, most often spiraling. Each of us is moving, changing, with respect to others. As we discover, we remember; remembering, we discover; and  most intensely do we experience this when our separate journeys converge. Our living experience at those meeting points is one of the charged dramatic fields of fiction. (One Writer’s Beginnings)

Sigh. Now it is Monday and it’s back to the salt mines–have a good week!

8 Comments
October 23, 2012

Who would you choose?

by chuckofish

If you read a variety of blogs, you have certainly come across more than one of those posts where the writer asks the question: Who would you choose if you could have lunch with anyone? Usually they go on to tell you how they would love to get together with Audrey Hepburn, Princess Diana, Thomas Jefferson, Mother Theresa, Steven Spielberg and so on. Blah, blah, blah, boring celebrities. And, yes, I include Thomas Jefferson in that company. He would probably choose to have lunch with Marilyn Monroe.

Not that I’m judging anyone for their choices. Everyone is free to choose whom they want to choose. This is America after all! Come on.

Anyway, I’m sure you can guess who I would choose. Just in the last few days I’ve talked about Bob Dylan and Hilary Mantel and Marty Stuart–all would be charming companions at a meal. And you know how I feel about Frederick Buechner and Raymond Chandler. A conversation with them–to die for! As for movie stars, we’d need a big table to accommodate all my favorites.

But if we’re really talking about conversation, let’s invite:


Thomas Cranmer. He wrote the book.


General Sherman. He had Grant’s back.


U.S. Grant. He epitomized humility and courage. He had Lincoln’s back. And he was a really good writer.


Dorothy Rabinowitz. She tells it like it is in the WSJ.


T.E. Lawrence. He would be awesome, but we’d need someone to come along with us who could make him feel comfortable and draw him out of his shell–like Mrs. George Bernard Shaw.


Mary Prowers Hough, my great-great grandmother and the classiest lady to ever set foot in Colorado. I’d have a million questions for her.


J.D. Salinger. We could talk about Jesus over a glass of ginger ale in the kitchen.


Eudora Welty. We’d talk about stories and the art of writing them. I think I would like to invite


Shirley Jackson to come along too. The three of us would get along famously.


Saint Timothy. He received letters from Saint Paul containing personal advice which I take very personally: God did not give you a spirit of timidity!

Well, I’m sure I’ve left out some obvious choices. Who would you want to share a meal with? Alexander? Sargon the Great? Thomas Cromwell? Oliver Cromwell? Johnny Depp?

12 Comments