“Comments on blogs are the life-blood of the medium. They tell the blogger you are looking, liking, wishing for more. They encourage and give the pat on the back that can come from a relative, but is so much more honest from someone who didn’t wipe your tears away when you fell and skinned your knee. Comments are like little presents to receive and open….after posting I can’t wait to see if someone will respond; I’ve made myself visible to you, I’ve invited you in. What do you think? Comments are the barometer of what we are sharing, and often–if not always–with art, that means our hearts.” ~ Karen Otto, February 2008 ~
Listened to Vance Gilbert on WUMB yesterday while driving to get my daughter. He’s doing a show at Club Passim tomorrow night, January 16, 2010. All the proceeds from sales of his CDs at the show will be donated to Partners In Health. When we feel helpless, (or self-absorbed, embarrassed, blessed) sometimes all we got is music.
About the writing – I have to tell my story. If people want to read it, great. But I have to get it out.
I believe we are all full of stories, and how we tell them makes them interesting or dull. It’s not necessarily the story itself but the sharing of it, the sharing of a piece of us. I have always loved stories — they are how I get to know people, how I look at myself — through my story. I use words to tell my story. Some people use photography or music, dance and so on. I use language. My story is part of the bigger story of course, our story. My tribe’s story. A piece of the world’s story. Perhaps a part of your story.
In spite of myself, I started liking them — virtually, because that’s the only way I “know” them. Not another group blog (as she rolls eyes), with more of the popular names and a smattering of ones I didn’t recognize. I resisted from the beginning but periodically was drawn back to the point where now it’s a daily click. I have less than a few hundred dollars left until my cash runs out (unemployed pending employment this month). Nevertheless, I did this with this. I know it’s crazy perhaps, but this community made me do it — yesterday as a matter-of-fact. Because of this and this.
I read a quote by Willem de Kooning this morning. “When you see the bandwagon, it’s already gone.” to which I say, if I still see it, it’s not gone and if I hope hard enough I’ll catch up.
Maundy Thursday. Holy Thursday. The Last Supper. I felt like I was channeling Evelyn as I baked biscotti dolci for the Easter holiday. Little round almond flavored cookies with a confectioner’s glaze and colored sprinkles. I remembered her in our little LaFountain Street kitchen making them so many years ago when Anthony was a little guy. Before Molly was even born. I think it’s how we hold people we’ve loved in our hearts – through our memories and sometimes our actions. So many of the memories are triggered by food. Our first nourishment, almost before the love comes, there’s the sharing of food that is so sacred. Mother and child. We are blessed when we have someone to share a meal with, whether it’s our first or our last, or somewhere in between.
** above images of homes across the street from our wee house from this site: http://www.uvm.edu/~hp206/2002-1869/svukovic/Burl1869s9/