Diggin' on Out

So, we've been getting a bit more snow the past several days

 

 

Review. Respond.

Me, I Tell Stories

Fred Pellerin, from a town not far from here. While at university here, he developed a thirst for stories, nostalgic for a time he did not know. Lulled by the stories of his grandmother, his neighbor Eugene, and his father, Pellerin has been recounting these older generations' memories and anecdotes, gossip and rumors of his village, Saint-Élie-de-Caxton.

The stories passed down to us tickle our curiosity about the past, resurrect early memories, make us think, make us laugh--stories we can still relate to--reminding us of who we are and where we came from, of those who preceded us, and the interest in hearing their stories retold.  I'd like to think that  those who follow us will pass our stories on as well.

"I am the son of a thousand fathers.
I did not come into the world.
It is the world that came to me.
And I was born yesterday."

______________________________________

*Quebec license plates say  Je me souviens ("I remember"), the official motto of the province.

Remembering the Dead Journalists

To all those writers imprisoned, kidnapped and permanently "disappeared", ordered assassinated and  brutally murdered, or slain in the field, for reporting the truth, from whichever country and whichever time, thank you for your courage and commitment.  Thank you for your stories and research and photos, and for your example.
 

One Day

Angels, make room

In his tree, a fish,
a bird,
a rocking horse,
a mini red/white balalaika,
a duck,
the Eiffel Tower!

At its top, a miniature
soccer ball.

Star of wonder,  star of light
Bless us heathens
this cold night.

Wine & cookies on the table
for 'ol St. Nick.

Walla!

That Time Again

awynfoto2016

Secular Inclusion

awynfoto2016

At the Basilica religious gift shoppe,

ceramic females -

glassed in, shelved.

Yours for a price.

awynfoto2016

These are decorative pieces, a celebration of ordinary women, as women, or mothers.
There's a whole section of Blessed Virgin, St. Joseph, and Baby Jesus statues in traditional pose,
adjacent to the rosary, crucifix and religious medal display cases. But these ceramic ladies caught my attention.

Mothers and babies, a child releasing a peace dove - or is she trying to capture it?  (Can one hold on to Peace?)

detail

Two quick snapshots taken during a visit to the Sanctuary with a friend recently.  'Tis the season -- Peace on Earth, Good Will Toward Men, and so forth.  Dove as the symbol of peace.  At what price, peace?  Can peace be bought?   I love the image, even without the symbolism - a child reaching towards (or releasing?)  a bird.  A reaching toward, and at the same time, a letting go. Metaphor for too many parallels.

And . . .

the need to . . . interpret what's seen.  Is that a choice, like holding onto, or letting go, of something? That you can see a thing (object, event, image) from different perspectives and attach (or dismiss) its perceived meaning.  Meanings are assigned (or taught); accepted or rejected.  If factory-produced, the packer just sees a fake-girl-with-bird statue, breakable.

I just really liked the image, regardless of what it may, or may not, mean.  If only I could figure out how to remove that price sign from the photograph. It protrudes, as a jarring distraction.

I re-looked at the photos and it occurred to me the figures might appreciate not being seen as a group, but individually. Ways of looking, where what initially draws is the whole picture (the group), but then you notice the details.  (Or it sometimes goes the other way, where you obsess over the details but fail to see the larger picture.  Both are ways of seeing, and not seeing; each enlightens in its own way.

Or not.  Sometimes an image is . . . just an image.   Girl. Bird. Price tag.

Interesting that the figures' faces are a blur, their individuality wiped out.  Commercialized art, portraying "types".  None had a mouth, yet they spoke to me, as being worthy of a second look.  (This propensity to anthropomorphize, another quirkery.)

My favorite remains the girl with the bird. 

Aleppo

Don't Go Small

OPOMENA                                                                 WARNING

Čovječe pazi da ne ideš malen                                    Man, take care, not to go small
ispod zvijezda.                                                              under the stars.
Pusti da cijelog tebe prođe                                         Let the star light
blaga svjetlost zvijezda!                                              pour right through you!
Da ni za čim ne žališ                                                   Regret nothing when you cast
kada se budeš zadnjim pogledima                              your last look
rastajao od zvijezda!                                                   at the stars!
Na svom koncu mjesto u prah                                   At the end, instead of dust,
prijeđi sav u zvijezde!                                                turn into stars!

     Antun Branko Šimić

 

poets, forever twinkling, blinking
attempting to express life's amazing inexpressables -
translators, readers, probing, listening

to get past the words to the awe

Scavenger Hunt

Morning visitors.

Gray found a hidden peanut.

Black's still searching.

It Is What It Is

awynart



awynart

When hope for change brings change for worse, and each new day another curse

is  heard across  the range;

a dozen here, a million there, drawn into war  --   It isn't fair.

The planet's gotten strange.

The sun comes up, the sun goes down for child and criminal and clown;

it  doesn't  need your vote.

Like Sisyphus, we roll that stone, to prove that life is more than moan;

that we still steer our boat.

Tears and anger are reactions that just trigger bigger factions -

where DO we go from here?

Forward, backward, or stay in place?  Stumble, crumble, or go retrace?

One  wants an end of  FEAR.