Comforting and Beautiful

On my way to Marita's birthday party last evening (which was fabulous, by the way) I stopped at an art show in downtown Portland.

I don't like driving at night anymore...and to be real honest I'm not sure I ever did. And I really don't like figuring out city parking...especially in the cold and dark. I get disoriented in the dark.

But I was lucky to find a spot right next to these magnificent lights on High Street. They were as comforting as they were beautiful. 

When I left the show...all I needed to look for was the glow.

I found the poem Wage Peace early this week and I've been mulling it over ever since. It's often credited to Mary Oliver, when in fact it was written by Judyth Hill.

Judyth reminds us that as we breathe in the things in our world that are difficult and troubling.....we need to breathe out what grounds us...what brings us joy....and peace.

Judyth's poem is at the end of this post....and I urge you to read it....then read it again. That's what I did over and over....and I ended up writing one of my own. (Thank you Dotty for letting me know it's OK to use the framework of another poem...to help me write my own.)

Inspired by a Judyth Hill's poem Wage Peace

Practice Joy  MaryAnn Shupe

Practice joy with your whole heart.

Breathe in hate speech and despicable conduct, 

breathe out Christmas lights 

and anything that makes you laugh.

Breath in greed and retribution,

breath out bluebirds and breakfast at the puzzle table.

Breath in loss...and hardship, 

breath out a helping hand and a generous spirit.

Practice joy with a grateful heart.

Make what you love and give it away.

Use what you have and donate what someone might need.

Imagine everyone having enough. 

Never has the world felt so fragile

and joy felt like resistance.

Never has standing on the sidewalk with a sign

felt so comforting and beautiful.

Wage Peace by Judyth Hill

Wage peace with your breath.

Breathe in firemen and rubble,
breathe out whole buildings and flocks of red wing blackbirds.

Breathe in terrorists 

and breathe out sleeping children and freshly mown fields. 

Breath in confusion and breathe out maple trees.

Breathe in the fallen and breathe out lifelong friendships intact.

Wage peace with your listening: hearing sirens, pray loud.

Remember your tools: flower seeds clothespins, clean rivers.

Make soup.

Play music, memorize the world for thank you in three languages.

Learn to knit, and make a hat.

Think of chaos as dancing raspberries,

imagine grief as the outbreath of beauty 

or the gesture of fish.

Swim for the other side.

Wage peace.

Never has the world seemed so fresh and precious:

Have a cup of tea and rejoice.

Act as if armistice has already arrived. 

Celebrate today.

Lowly Christmas

Subtitle: Superpowers

The Peace of Wild things

by Wendell Berry

When despair for the world grows in me

and I wake in the night at the least sound

in fear of what my life and children's lives may be,

I go and lie down where the wood drake

rests in his beauty on the water, 

and the great heron feeds.

I come into the peace of wild things

who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief.

I come into the presence of still water.

And I feel above me the day-blind stars with their light. 

For a time I rest in the grace of the world, 

and am free.

Lowly Worm is a beloved character in the Richard Scarry books series with a positive attitude and the amazing ability figure things out....even though he only has one foot.

I included him in the remake of a Busytown book I made for two year old Max last year. It was a fabulously fun project...you can read about it here in this post: https://joyfulputtering.blogspot.com/2025/03/busytown.html

Since then....Max's mom Emily has texted me Lowly Worm things now and again that make her laugh out loud. Someone actually got a Lowly Worm tattoo and someone else hand crocheted a Lowly Worm scarf. We both love Lowly Worm.

I've decided to do a Lowly Christmas theme for her and Max. Before I thought of the theme...I knew I wanted to make a cape for Max. Doesn't every almost three year old need a cape in his favorite color of orange!

I wanted to tie the cape into the Lowly Christmas theme so I wrote up a little blurb about how Lowly Worm has superpowers even though he only has one foot and the power of his imagination. Now Max can have superpowers too when wears his cape and uses his new magic wand. Is it a stretch? I don't think so. One of Lowly's superpowers is he can s-t-r-e-t-c-h whenever he needs to!

Then this happened....Lowly got his own cape!

It's fun when moments like this can surprise us with delight! 

Here's to a Lowly Christmas...and the superpowers in all of us!

Eighth Day

I look for an opportunity now and then to post this comic my son Sam sent me a while back. He knows me well.

I declared today the eighth day of the week...and just puttered around the house. 

We had a 3.8 earthquake in Maine today. I felt it...and my neighbor Dan felt it because we met in the street after to see what the heck was going on out there. It doesn't happen that often in Maine...so it was a little disconcerting.

And it was one day after this Anne sent me a poem that actually mentions an earthquake. And just because you know how I like a good connection.....Dan is Anne's brother-in-law. 

Yes

William Stafford

It could happen any time, tornado,

earthquake, Armageddon. It could happen.

Or sunshine, love, salvation.

It could, you know. That's why we wake

and look out - no guarantees

in this life.

But some bonuses, like morning,

like right now, like noon,

like evening.

 I love this poem! Thanks Anne!

YES! The evening sky was lovely.

Hope

A poem about hope...by David Gate

And yet, hope still follows

like a wagging tail

we may circle to chase

as if it can be caught

it is our terminal condition

to keep imagining 

a better way of living

more in harmony

with creator & creation

with creature & self

but while there is music

& poetry & art

there is still a chance

we can rise into

what the foolish &

desperate dare to call

peace on earth.

The vibrancy of this barberry made stopped me in my tracks....the splash of fall colors were such a beautiful contrast to the deep green of the juniper. 

And there was something kind of fun about this one branch forging out there on it's own. Unfortunately, barberry is considered invasive and a threat to neighboring plantings....so juniper beware!

"Joy Comes Back"

This poem by Donna Ashworth came across my Instagram feed...it's just what I needed to hear on this busy....mostly out and about day.  It was in the quiet in between moments of the day....where I really noticed joy coming back.

I noticed it as I looked closely at a snowdrop from my garden.

And I felt it when this modest little Easter display on my kitchen window sill welcomed that simple little snowdrop.

Joy always come back if you're a gracious host!  

Ordinary Morning

The morning shadows were an unexpected but welcome bonus of hanging the balls in the window.

I've always appreciated the striped shadows from the blinds....but now I have stripes AND balls in the morning! 

And after so much wind lately Paul and I were quite taken with the absolute calm of the pond this morning....the reflections were stunning. 

The intensity of the reflection of the low pine branch was just so striking...we knew it was flat...but it looked dimensional.  

  

There's a lot I just scroll past on my social media feed in the morning....it's just not possible to look at everything. But I was drawn in by the title of this poem and was quite taken with the premise.  It came from LeeAnn Renninger's Instagram feed.

The Patience of Ordinary Things 
by Pat Schneider

How interesting it was to think about my things having human emotions.  The idea that they are waiting patiently for my attention. To be tended to...or worn...or played with....or moved on to someone who might appreciate them more. 

And Pat was spot on....what IS more generous than a window?  What a wonderful notion. 

This got me thinking about another appropriation poem (Thank you Dotty) using the framework of Pat's The Patience of Ordinary Things.  I found her poem in the middle of my morning computer ritual....so that's what I decided to celebrate. It probably need more editing....but it's time to post...so here it is!

The Joy of an Ordinary Morning
by MaryAnn Shupe

It's a joy thing, is it not?

How the smell of the coffee brewing

Dances in the air

Adding to the anticipation.

How my favorite mug 

Is waiting in the cupboard

Ready to warm my hands 

On a chilly morning.

How the couch welcomes me 

To settle in after our walk... 

And after I've fed the bluebirds 

That are such a joy to watch.

My morning routine is calling me...

A ritual that is as simple and inspiring

As it is informative and engaging.

But then is willing to step aside 

As I lean into whatever comes next.

I don't need much more most days

Than the joy of an ordinary morning.

Do you think the balls are tickled to be putting on such a delightful show?

Normal?

Trudi posted this quote on her Facebook page....and it made me stop and think.  

"Only when normal things are not normal anymore do we realize how special normal things are."  unknown

I will say....I do like what I call everyday normal: no surprises or problems to face...no big decisions to make...and plenty of time to putter. 

But maybe abnormal is really the new normal....and we need to remember to make time to putter and dance. (see the poem at the end)

Spring was in the air today....and it was a delight to be out for a couple of walks.

It was foggy this morning....so most of the trees and shrubs were covered with water droplets.  It was magical.

 

This particular view was Strikingly Pleasing.  The hazy sun through the distant trees....the small pine (shaped like a water droplet by the way) next to the perfectly placed rock...alongside the towering birch and tall pines.....made me stop in my tracks.

It's hard to tell....but the birch branches were covered in water droplets reflecting the sunlight.....it was an everyday normal kind of magic.

And another beautiful poem came to my inbox...this time from Patty. It's just the message I needed to hear today.

I sometimes forget

that I was created for Joy.

My mind is too busy.

My Heart is too heavy 

for me to remember

that I have been

called to dance

the Sacred dance of life.

I was created to smile

To Love

To be lifted up

And to lift others up.

O'Sacred One

Untangle my feet

from all that trap

Free my soul.

That we might 

Dance

and that our dancing 

might be infections.

Rumi

Mindful

Ida sent me this Mary Oliver poem....

and it's all that needed today.

Mindful

by Mary Oliver

Every day

I see or I hear 

something

that more or less

kills me 

with delight,

that leaves me 

like a needle

in a haystack

of light.

It is what I was born for -

to look, to listen,

to lose myself 

inside this soft world -

to instruct myself

over and over

in joy,

and acclamation.

Nor am I talking

about the exceptional,

the fearful, the dreadful,

the very extravagant - 

but of the ordinary,

the common, the very drab,

the daily presentations.

Oh, good scholar,

I say to myself

how can you help

but grow wise 

with such teachings 

as these - 

the untrimmable light

of the world,

the ocean's shine,

the prayers that are made

out of grass?

"Joy Chose You"

Pay attention to the joy that will slither through the cracks and choose YOU during this Holiday Season!  I hope you all have a wonderful Thanksgiving!

I'm giving "kanths" AND "thanks" today for the simple joys in my life.

Brenda send me a link to a reading of this poem...and it captured my heart.  It was written by Donna Ashworth, but the link was to poet Harry Baker reading it. You  can hear it here: https://www.instagram.com/p/CzvgBV0obDP/  Thanks Brenda!

Joy Chose You 

written by Donna Ashworth 

Joy does not arrive with a fanfare 

on a red carpet strewn 

with the flowers of a perfect life

joy sneaks in 

as you pour a cup of coffee

watching the sun 

hit your favorite tree 

just right

and you usher joy away 

because you're not ready for her

your house is not as it should be

for such a distinguished guest

but joy, you see

cares nothing for your messy home

or your bank balance 

or your waistline

joy is supposed to slither through 

the cracks of your imperfect life

that's how joy works

you cannot truly invite her

you can only be ready 

when she appears

and hug her with meaning

because in this very moment 

joy chose you.

Simple Beauty

Melodie found this lovely poem in a magazine...making it a true found object. I was so touched that she thought to send it to me. 

It reminds of us to give thanks each day for the simple gifts of life...many of which we might not even notice unless we pay attention.

Today I'm grateful for these drying euonymus seeds on my window sill....the rich orange color is growing even more vibrant and the texture is becoming more interesting.

I'm also grateful for the dusting of snow I came home to yesterday making everything look just a little magical.

And the warmer temperatures overnight along with the light rain left water droplets  that dripped from branches and berries that sparkled in the morning light.

The fact that this leaf was upside down on the pavement made the colors appear soft and dreamy.

And I was tickled with all the colors and textures on this leaf. 

Simple beauty is around us everywhere. Thanks Melodie for the reminder to look for it.

Little Old Man

Roseanne sent me a link to this poem by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer that resonated with me all day.  Rosemary wrote it after reading another poem by Ross Gay about a little old man who made a point to celebrate the beautiful day despite all the sadness in the world.  I recommend that you also read that poem called "Overheard" here.

Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

May there always be inside me
a little old man with scuffed up shoes,
a hobble in his step,
and hands upturned in wonder.
May he shuffle along
behind me wherever I am
and whisper in awe,
again and again,
“Isn’t it beautiful?”
And may he always
be telling the truth—
may he never be
a parrot for beauty,
but a real witness—
able to see
what I in my sad stupor cannot.
May he find glitter in frost,
the curl in the steam that rises from rot,
the deep rose in the sunset
on the day the boy was shot.
And let me not ignore him
especially when I want to.
Let me hear him and be moved
to open my hands in amazement, too.
And when my own thoughts
are too loud,
when I can’t hear
his quiet, urgent sincerity,
let him bump into me
as passes me by,
let him lead me with his wonder,
both of us limping
toward the light.

Maybe it's the "Little Old Man" inside me who reminds 

me to celebrate the glitter in the frost...

 and the deep rose in the sunset.

Show Up

Good things happen when you just show up every day no matter what.  (That's what Paul just told me.)

It was a beautiful morning for a walk.....and today was the day this one lone daffodil showed up at the pond.  I didn't even notice it coming....but there it was greeting us with all its trumpet glory.  Just one.

Someone very dear to me is in a 12 step recovery program....and she calls her "making amends" step "living amends." Her mantra is to "show up" for people she might have hurt....and anyone who might needs her skills...her energy...or support.  It's inspiring....and it's working.

I have some tough stuff going on....and had a somewhat difficult day yesterday. But I showed up last night here on the blog and wrote a little something anyway.  It's good for me and keeps me grounded in a place of gratitude and joy.  I was so touched with a couple of comments from readers who actually needed to hear the simple words and appreciated the quote about hope.  It inspired Rosy to reply with a poem....and I'm guessing she wrote it.

Hope lives here.

She sits,

Comfortable

Patient

Serene

in a perfectly soft chair.

Breathing in

Breathing out

Inside this open heart,

She lives.  

Showing up matters....even if you don't say anything at all.

I had my second torn paper collage class today at Handiwork.  Although three people signed up, one had an unexpected conflict and unfortunately couldn't make it. I had the most delightful time with Linda and Sally.  We found shared connections and overlaps in our stories, had interesting conversation, and we all had fun painting with paper.  Both, are interested in more collage work.  Thanks for showing up to play with me!

Ha ha...I was curious and looked back....exactly one year ago today I wrote this post called "One":

https://joyfulputtering.blogspot.com/2021/04/one.html

"The Hill We Climb"

I was so moved by Amanda Gorman's poem "The Hill We Climb" recited at today's Presidential inauguration that I listened to it 3 times. If you haven't seen it I highly recommend you take a look....it will give you hope!  

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wz4YuEvJ3y4

Every line was powerful and beautiful....but here are a few of my favorites:

"One thing is certain, if we merge mercy with might and might with right, then love becomes our legacy and change our children's birthright."

"We will rebuild, reconcile and recover in every known nook of our nation, in every corner called our country our people diverse and beautiful will emerge battered and beautiful."

"When day comes, we step of of the shade aflame and unafraid. The new day blooms as we free it. For there is always light. If only we're brave enough to see it. If only we're brave enough to be it."

The puzzle gift I got from the Project Group a few days ago was wrapped in this paper.....bold and beautiful....just like Amanda Gorman.

Invitation

Some days it's more important than ever to pause and accept the invitation to watch the birds in the birdbath...and the ducks on the pond. Today was one of those days. 

Invitation 

by Mary Oliver

Oh do you have time 

to linger 

for just a little while 

out of your busy

and very important day 

for the goldfinches 

that have gathered 

in the field of thistles

for the musical battle, 

to see who can sing 

the highest note, 

or the lowest,

or the most expressive of mirth,

or the most tender?

Their strong, blunt beaks 

drink the air

as they strive

melodiously

not for your sake

and not for mine

and not for the sake of winning

but for sheer delight and gratitude-

believe us, they say, 

it is a serious thing

just to be alive 

on this fresh morning

in the broken world. 

I beg of you,

do not walk by 

without pausing

to attend to this

rather ridiculous performance.

It could mean something.

It could mean everything.

It could be what Rilke meant, when he wrote:

You must change your life.

Happy Birthday....

....to my mom.

Today would have been my mom's 94th birthday. She died when I was 29 years old and was just one year older than I am right now.

Happy Birthday Mom!

With the help of my sister Nancy my mom was able to make a trip to Maine just after Paul and I moved there back in 1987.  She loved seeing the ocean and our new home....and she is the one who taught me how to make a house a home.

I shared this poem here last year on my own April birthday....and today I'm sharing it again on what would have been hers.  I spent a good chunk of the day yesterday raking, weeding, and cleaning up gardens....so I'm especially tuned into the "old camel" and the "inexhaustible flame" that was my mom.

August Third 
by Mary Sarton

These days
Lifting myself up
Like a heavy weight,
Old camel getting to her knees,
I think of my mother
And the inexhaustible flame
That kept her alive
Until she died.

She knew all about fatigue
And how one pushed it aside
For staking up the lilies
Early in the morning,
The way one pushes it aside
For a friend in need,
For a hungry cat.

Mother, be with me.
Today on your birthday.
I am older than you were
When you died
thirty-five years ago.
Thinking of you
The old camel gets to her knees,
Stands up,
Moves forward slowly
Into the new day.

If you taught me one thing
It was never to fail life.

Reach Out

David, one of our Hancock Church ministers posted this poem by Lynn Ungar which struck me as being especially thoughtful during these unusual and uneasy times.



And Melodee reached out today in an e-mail that made my day!  She and her husband also had what I now know is an ice spike.  Paul and I left it to wonder....but David did a little research at the time to find why it happens.  For many reasons....I chuckled out loud.








Sometimes there is a small hole on surface of a ice cube in the process of freezing.  Since water expands as it freezes it oozes out of the hole and freezes quickly eventually building up to create a spike.  How cool is that!

The information came from the following website if you want to read more about it.  Thanks Melodee and David!

https://www.physics.utoronto.ca/~smorris/edl/icespikes/icespikes.html