Monday's Thought(s)?

"The issue is not whether to stand firm or compromise but how to express our firmness. When we express it with poise rather than rudeness, not only are we truer to our better selves, but we infuse our dissent with a power it wouldn't have otherwise. To brawl is human. To be civil works."- P.M.Forni from  Choosing Civility: The Twenty Five Rules of Considerate Conduct 

A Few Small Stones

Poet Mary Oliver says praying, writing, creating, living your life in a meaningful, courageous, and as with most writers, a public way-- we stick our hearts out-- doesn't have to be the "blue iris" and that "a few small stones" will do. As a gatherer of rocks and pebbles, heart shaped mostly, but lately I've been drawn to the round dark shale stones with a circle of quartz that looks as if someone drew them on with chalk, I love that line: a few small stones. I could do worse than rub a few pebbles together as "a doorway into thanks"  for the privledge of having you read what I write.

Tuesday's Song

A friend sings this song in the car in the morning as she leaves home:

I have something in my pocket
That belongs across my face.
I keep it very close to me
In a most convenient place.
I bet you'll never guess it
If you guessed a long, long while.
So, I'll take it out and put it on;
It's a great big Brownie smile!

Look to the Helpers

I won't say I'm used to bad news-- but certainly the headlines lately leave little room for optimism-- the president is off the rails,  Hollywood too, and fires and floods, mean-ness and murders in Las Vegas, injustice, misogyny, bigotry, racism,the future of the planet, the Cubs last night.

Then there was this on the local radio: "Two young Haines residents are facing felony drug charges after a package containing a significant amount of heroin was allegedly intercepted on its way to the local post office."

It breaks my heart.

Monday, Monday...

I've been whistling "Monday, Monday, la laaa, la la la laaa..." --  Because, as the poet Billy Collins says-- in his poem Monday,  " the birds are in their trees, the toast is in the toaster and the poets are at their windows "-- and this writer is at her desk by the window. It's a little messy, there is a puppy chewing on a laptop cord, and an older dog sighing and farting on the dog bed, and yes, as the poet would say, there is some tea involved, and a window. Three actually.  



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