Wednesday Witterings . . .

 

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Could you throw this?

I could not.

I know that the Greeks like to throw plates. I have seen it in films.  I found several reasons why they might do this.

1.Smashing plates has been used to signal the end and the beginning, to ward off evil spirits and to express abundance. In symbolic ritual, a plate is smashed at the graveside of the departed following a Greek Orthodox funeral. Life has ended on earth. The plate is smashed, signifying the end of life.

2. Greeks believe a joyous occasion or celebration also attracts evil spirits, and to ward it off, plates are smashed to indicate that such a violent and aggressive act means no celebration can take place anywhere near. 

I am not sure if it still goes on or not.  But I can see where there might be a release of emotion in the act of smashing something.  I do believe that there are places which you can go that have rooms filled with old stuff and you pay a fee to go in with a sledge hammer and just let go and smash things.

 

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I was watching my  Don't Miss This scripture study lesson yesterday and Emily said something about how much easier it was to feel closer to the Lord when bad things are happening and about sometimes how much you wish you were back in the rough waters so that you could feel that special closeness again, and I thought Yes!  I know exactly what she is talking about.  

I never felt closer to the Savior than I did when I was going through my rough period several years back.  I felt Him so close to me and my walk daily was with Him as He walked by my side every step of the way. Then things calmed down again and are pretty calm now and I sometimes miss that special closeness that I felt at that time.  

I would not want to go through what I went through again for anything, but I did and do love the spiritual growth that took place. I was not the same person afterwards that I was when it all started.  Perhaps that is one of the purposes of our struggles.  To help us to grow, to become, to progress and become better than we were before the struggle scrambled the path in front of us.   And the difference in what I went through was quite simply "Him."

 

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At the Blues Brothers Bar

Girls watching the Boys go By.

I confess that I am not adverse to a bit of boy watching myself. Not in a "lascivious" kind of way, but more in an "appreciation of something beautiful" kind of a way. I may no longer have the same urges that I had when I was a much younger woman but that does not mean that I can't appreciate  the sight of a good looking man when I see one. 

Who do you think is the most handsome man that you have ever seen in your life time. Living or dead? 

For me it is John Kennedy Jr. and this is based totally superficially on looks alone. I did not know him as a person. But he was stunningly handsome to me.   You can keep Robert Redford.  I think John had the kind of looks that could have only gotten better and better as he aged.

It is like that with a lot of men I believe.  Somehow its not fair is it. How beautifully men age looks-wise.  Or is that just a societal perception? Do we see the beauty in men in a far different way than we see it in women?  Food for thought.

 

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 I have always wished that I had a head shape, and face shape for that matter, that could carry off a hairstyle such as this.   I have a pancake head.  By that I mean round and flat.  My head has no shape at the back. It is flat, flat, flat.  And my face is round.  Like a pancake. My face is short and round, and my head is flat at the back. Flat. Flat. Flat.  I wonder what causes that?  Did my mother lay me on my back too much when I was a baby?  Or is it just genetics.  When I look at my father, he has a flat head as well, so I guess I can blame him, lol.

Seriously.  My head is actually flat at the back.  Which of course has nothing at all to do with my value as a person. It is merely an observation and a wish that I could have a nice hairdo like the above.

 

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I have always had a deep love of poetry. It speaks to my soul in a profound way. I could sit and read prose for hours.  And yet when I was at school and having to study such things, I found it boring.  I couldn't understand why we had to study it, and why we could not just get pleasure from reading it and allowing it to touch our hearts and minds in which ever way it managed to do so.  Why must we always seek for whatever it is that motivated the writer to pen the words?  Can anybody really know except the person who actually wrote the words?  Is it not just enough to read them and appreciate their beauty?  I don't know . . ..   I suppose it was to create in us a hunger to question the world around us and to stretch our brains and to keep them active and motivated.

I often wondered what the value was in some of the things I was taught when I was going to school, and what different it would make in life really if I could tell a cirrocumulus from a altostratus. I suppose if I was going to become a weatherman it might.

I had no interest in the maths beyond the simple ability to add, subtract, multiply and divide. Calculus did my head in as did geometry and algebra.  I was maths challenged.  Even now I struggle with anything beyond the seven times table. I know that seven times seven is forty nine, but after that, I have to start adding sevens onto the number below.  So forty nine plus seven is fifty six which means seven times eight is fifty six. 

See what I mean?

Words though . . .  I love words. I love stringing them together.  I love finding meaning in them. I love reading them and I love writing them.   My life has never been altered by knowing the periodic table, but words now  . . . my life has been richly embroidered by them.

I suppose that is why English was always my favorite subject even if it did mean that I had to force myself to study the meaning behind certain poetic writings.  

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I suppose there is some truth to that.   Even if it is only to discover that you have no talent whatsoever for bull riding or barrel racing.  Not that I am about to try either of those things.

But I do believe that we should never stop trying to learn something new, some new skill. What are your thoughts on that? 

I still have a yearning to make music.  To play the piano, or the ukulele.  I love the violin. The cello.  I love music.  I did try to learn how to play the flute once.  I was abysmal at it. But I tried. I have clarinet lips, or so it was determined when I joined High School band.  Not for me the elegance of the flute.

I think I might have really enjoyed percussion as well.  Who doesn't like banging on a drum or clashing cymbals.

Are you tired of my prattling yet?

 

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This would be me as a child in the summer holidays.  My parents could never afford to take us away on a real holiday.  For the most part summers were spent at home, unless we went to visit relatives, either my father's or my mother's.  There was no Disneyworld, or Yellowstone parks for us. No the worlds largest balls of string.

But I got to visit all those places and more in books.

And so I would spend my days riding my bicycle back and forth to the Library, sometimes more than once in one day, signing out books to read and take me on adventures.  I had a voracious reading habit.  But you already know that about me.

What was your favorite book as a child?

By Nan Gilbert

This was mine. 365 different stories that fit on a page, all surrounding a fictional town and its children that lived on "What a Jolly Street." I knew each of the children by name and could find their houses on the map of the street that lay pasted on the back side of the cover.  Oh how I wanted to live on What a Jolly Street and have adventures with them. To visit Mrs. Peacock with them and listen to her stories.

I had other books I enjoyed as well, but this was my very most favorite of all.

I have favorite books as an adult as well. Books I revisit from time to time.  They are like old friends that I like to dig back out now and then and reacquaint with myself. Books I never tire of reading.

Emmeline by Judith Rossner

The Commoner by John Burnham Schwartz

Drowning Ruth by Christina Schwarz

Ellen Foster by Kay Gibbons

A Map of the World by Kay Hamilton

American Wife by Curtis Sittenfeld

And those are just a few.  I can read them over and over again. I have favorite authors as well like Elizabeth Berg, Philippa Gregory and Anna Quindlen.

Just to name a few.

And with that I best leave you with a thought for the day. Time is a racing and I have prattled on for too long already.

A thought to carry with you  . . .

° * 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ •

•。★★ 。* 。

° 。 ° ˛˚˛ * _Π_____*。*˚

  ˚ ˛ •˛•˚ */______/~＼。˚ ˚ ˛

 ˚ ˛ •˛• ˚ ｜ 田田 ｜門 ★

*Family faces are magic mirrors

Looking at people who belong to us,

we see the past, present and future.

~Gail Lumet Buckley•。★★ 。* 。 

In The English Kitchen today, Spaghetti and Meatballs, the small batch. Delicious.

I hope you have a lovely day. I am off out to my sister this morning to pick up some Nova Scotia Brown Bread at Goucher's Farm Market and who knows where else.  We will have to see.  Whatever you get up to, be happy and blessed and don't forget! 

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And I do too!