Rachel led me to a very fun website, wordle.net, and I could stay at this site forever. You can enter any text you want (in this case I chose my blog), and it creates an image from your text. Apparently the more times you enter a word, the larger it shows up. I love what showed up from my blog: garden, Keats, family, motto, Kevin. I could do this all day, if only I had the time (I don't). I will defintely be back later to try some others out.
Today I found a saving grace in a small thing. Lately I have been experiencing a lot of stress, and today I just needed a break from it all. I went on a walk around the LDS Conference Center to get my heart pumping as I trucked up part of Capitol Hill. And while I was in the middle of power-walking, I saw lamb's ear next to the sidewalk. I never pick flowers out of someone else's garden or even off of the nearby mountains. But, I love lamb's ear and I felt the need to touch it. I reached down to feel it, and then I picked a leaf. I felt a little guilty, but I figured my tithing would more than cover picking one leaf out of a little garden by the Conference Center.
I've kept this leaf with me all day. It's so soft and comforting, like flannel sheets out of the dryer in winter. Thank goodness for the little things.
My favorite is the one from Shelley's "Ozymandias," about the mighty despairing at our works, because it's very tongue in cheek, and how can that be bad in a motto? We also really like the Bartleby one, "I would prefer not to." I need to use this phrase more in my life.
(image courtesy of wikipedia.org)Do any of you have a motto, personal, family, or otherwise? If not, what would it be?
After viewing an awesome virtual garden tour on Brooke's blog, I decided to go through my backyard and take a photo tour of my own. I've been working hard in my garden, and I watch it grow every day. I am happy that I've only had the online seller replace five or six of the 120 plants I ordered. It makes me feel like a good nurturer.
So I thought it would be fun to do a side-by-side comparison of my Afternoon Delight garden that I posted on a few months ago. When I got back to the computer, I looked at the new photo and the previous photo. Surprisingly, I could see little difference between the two. Oh, and did I mention that it was supposed to look like this? It makes me sad that despite my efforts, the garden hasn't grown that fast. After all, it's been three months.
Here's the garden before:
And now:
Granted, this picture doesn't show the close-up details like the flowers some of these have now. But just so this post isn't completely depressing, I am posting my favorite, healthiest coneflowers planted this spring.
In what way do you think the angst of a young adult differs from that of a teenager? While all angst seems somewhat narcissistic, to me teenage angst is routed in powerlessness. For a young adult, angst is more about futility, failed hopes and dreams, and a feeling like life has already passed us by. Now in my late twenties and re-reading John Keats' poetry, I view Keats' obsessions differently: that his life was wasted, was essentially over, and he would never achieve his dreams. He died slowly of tuberculosis at 25 and never knew he would become so revered.
I read this book review of Keats' poetry in my most recent New Yorker Magazine, which reminded me of my admiration of the poet. My senior-year seminar was on Romantic/Victorian poets and painters, and I became amazed at Keats' clear analysis of literature (he coined the description "negative capability" in regard to Shakespeare's enduring characterizations) and his own poetic creations.
This inspired me to write a poem of my own about the angst I see in Keats. Below is the sonnet I wrote, which contains four quotes cited in the New Yorker article. Now I can tell you what I found out: I hate writing sonnets. I find the form very limiting and the results contrived--I used words I'd never actually say. It's not just the rhyme scheme, but the ten syllables per line that are supposedly alternating between "down" and "up" emphasis of the iamb--or is it "up" and "down"? You take a line directly from Keats himself, “Here lies one whose name was writ on water," and see that it's hopelessly the opposite of iambic (it's trochaic). On the other hand, "When I have fears that I will cease to be" is perfect iambic pentameter. Oh well. Perfection be damned, and here it is:
Angst of a Wasted Life (A Sonnet inspired by Master Keats)
Earth awoke to cheerful blossoms and hearth
While I awoke to meet the Pain of Day
Noted a poet I met on my way,
“When I shook her by the hand, there was death!”
When I have fears that I will cease to be
I differ not from the fresh-scented flower
Turned withered bloom or dried-up bower—
I live this existence Posthumously.
Earth’s Glory subside, her Wonders deride
Praiseworthy actions all shrink before long
All Courage deemed haughty—Right be judged Wrong
Mercy extinguished by Fear and by Pride.
Moot is my glory or voice’s thunder
“Here lies one whose name was writ on water.”
Now on to doing something I enjoy: eating spaghetti made from herbs in our garden, made by Kevin, the superior chef in this house.
D'Arcy presented this meme of an artistic expression, and I thought I'd give it a try.
And for those of us who don't know what "meme" means:
Meme: (from mimesis) "An idea, behavior, style, or usage that spreads from person to person within a culture."
I made a meme--this is how the meme works:
Type your answer to each of the questions below into Flickr or Google Image search. Using only the first page, choose an image. Copy and paste each of the URL’s into the mosaic maker over at FD's image maker.
The questions:
What is your first name?
What is your favorite food? (cheese, but not all kinds are created equal)
What high school did you attend? (Brighton)
What is your favorite color? (blue)
Who is your celebrity crush? (Bono, for the whole persona, not just looks)
Favorite drink? (Coke Zero)
Dream vacation? (Southern France)
Favorite dessert? (crepes with nutella or lemon juice & powdered sugar)
What do you want to be when you grow up? (a leisurely woman)
What do you love most in life? (wilderness)
One word to describe you? (seeking)
Your nickname? (only one Kevin can use--lisa bug)
Alisa: “Enjoy driving your new Hyundai!”
Kevin: “No, it’s a Honda. Oh wait…” Pauses while reality sets in. “Oh crap.”
All jokes aside--after several weeks, three makes, three models, six dealerships, and a lot of research, we are finally very happy with our new Hyundai Elantra.
I discovered Jana's blog through Exponent, where I guest posted several months ago. I enjoy her nature photography--she has enviable close-up skills. There are two of her older posts that I think are really worth revisiting.
Maya Angelou on Forgiveness
For the last few years, my family has made a tradition of going to the Uintah Mountains on July 4th. This was where I, as a child, first learned to love the mountains, forest, meadow, and fishing. It's wonderful to see that, nearly 30 years later, my father hasn't changed much, although the little girl has.
Many people will say that emotion is what separates us from the animals. Sure, they have fight or flight responses; they can feel pain and fear. But complex emotions, those are reserved for the humans and maybe a few of our like-minded mammal buddies, such as dolphins and chimpanzees.
I, however, proudly stake myself with the other crazy pet owners who think our animal companions have the ability to show and process complex emotions. The skeptics say this is merely a form of projection—a need of our pathetic pet-owner lives to see more than what is actually there. Well, let them say it. I just happen to disagree and can vouch for the complex emotions animals express.
Jealousy: Take for instance my cats. When we brought Phoebe home to live with us, I wasn’t surprised that Aja rejected her at first. But what surprised me was how she rejected me. Even though she had little idea of why this kitten appeared in the house, she knew I was trying to make peace between them, and that made me her enemy. We had it out and didn’t really get over it for a few weeks.
Let me even make a further stretch: Empathy. What makes a cat realize that when she wants something—to go outside, to have her litter box changed, to have the floaties removed from her water—that the more pathetic her meow is, the more likely she is to receive attention? She’ll start off whining, but gradually the meows will become elongated, deeper, and more mournful. Why does she doe this? Empathy. She has to know that I want her to be happy. Then she makes her pitiful attempt, so that I will realize how my lack of action is torturing her, so I will obviously remedy the situation. Her ability to feign complete helplessness is an exercise in her emotional awareness.
Yesterday I discovered a new emotion in Phoebe. Everyone knows cats to be an aloof sort of creature. I am their servants, they are the queens. It is a privilege for me to scratch Aja behind the ear, or to twirl a toy for Phoebe. This is one thing they never let me forget, until yesterday morning. I was sitting on the couch, reading, and Phoebe came to grace me with her presence. She sat sitting on the arm of the couch, and, not wanting to make eye contact with me, she stared at the closed blinds covering the window. For a few minutes she sat that way, deeply interested in staring at nothing to avoid my gaze. At that point, I got out of my seat, walked over to the window, and turned the wand on the blinds. A whole universe opened up outside the window. Phoebe stared at amazement at how the view from her couch arm was transformed. She then looked up at me, as if I had not only exposed this new world, but created it myself. She stood amazed, asking with her eyes how I had accomplished this great work. Projection of my own desires? I think not. Since that time, I have been admired as her god.
