A short walk in the early eve, highlighted all the signs of fall coming our way. The light played a perfect part, as the sun peeked over the horizon, and in and out of hidden places in the forest, and open spaces. It was a delight!
Author: TiffanyCreek
Before I know it…
…this year will be coming to a close. Here we are in September and so much has happened since January, 2014. I have been to so many places and done so many things. January 2nd, we managed to arrive to Philadelphia, along with the storm called, Hercules. Actually, we arrived a few hours before this great storm, just in time to avoid travel in a blizzard. Comfortably settled into the hotel in the evening, it began to snow. We decided to venture down the street to a highly recommended restaurant called ‘The White Dog Cafe’, on Sansom Street. By the time we left the restaurant, the storm was really picking up. I took some exquisite street scene photos of the lights, the falling snow on the street. Also, a few of some people, especially of a happy girl drinking a soda or coffee in her hand. She was all bundled up in her jacket with a furry hood covering her head and framing her face. She posed for me and smiled splendidly. A lovely example of positive energy. The whole scene on an old street of brotherly love with picturesque street lamps was beautiful, not only because of the way it looked, but because of the surrounding silence in the night, with the snow falling and the magical tendency snow has to make everything silent, as it blankets the environment. It softens the earth.
The next day, Philadelphia was an absolute frozen mess, with unplowed streets and subzero temperatures, which kept everyone inside. I felt like the world had just ended and I was the only one left from humanity, walking around. That is definitely a ‘forlorn’ sensation. As I ventured along my way, eager to go to the old town where Independence Hall is located, I soon found out that everything was closed, practically, except for a few coffee shops, here and there, one of which I went into, hoping to thaw out my frozen feet. I lingered there when I ran into a delightful, middle aged couple who were visiting from, at this moment I can’t recall, but it was somewhere in Europe. They were very friendly. They were here for a wedding and quite shocked by the weather. When the Philadelphians finally got up enough nerve to get out into the streets and open up the major visiting center, and the Liberty Bell, I too departed the café and began walking around the streets, taking photographs of the historic buildings and sites. There was so much of interest; the old bank turned into a Portrait Gallery, Independence Hall, Ben Franklin museum, which I didn’t care for too much for its overly done approach at resuscitating a man’s character and creating a commercialized hero. It contained very few authentic artifacts, one reason I like to visit museums. We do this so much in this country, and mostly for the sake of historical men. This is not to undermine the importance of historic accomplishment, but to just state my humble opinion of the unrealistic manner in which we place our ancestors on a pedestal, and fail to look at all aspects of their person. I suppose we are all guilty of it.
In sum, what most impressed me about this visit, was walking around the empty streets of Philadelphia, and taking pictures as I navigated by foot, this very interesting city, of course, always looking for an opportunity to get out of the cold.
Without more ado on this subject, the routine of everyday life is beckoning me to move forward in time. A new season approaches with mid September and before we know it, 2015 will arrive. Oh me, oh my! Without rushing the clock too much, I hope to be back with the events of the present year. It’s hard to handle the rapid passing of time.
A little girl
I met a little girl yesterday in the locker room at the swimming pool.
She was sitting on the bench all calm and cool, and barely uttered a word.
She sat with her hands folded in her lap and just smiled as two younger women gleefully doted on her. They might have been her aunts, cousins or older sisters. One might have been her mother.
They told me her name was Alice and she was soon to turn three in a few days.
Then the talk of the birthday party came up and Alice began to open up, little by little. We talked about everyone who was invited and how excited she was. She was going to have her grandparents and three friends. She didn’t know their names.
Alice was the sweetest thing in the world. I think of the goodness that awaits her, I hope.
She was extraordinary!
The random birds
I love the randomness of some birds, and the order of others that you see, when they fly, or perch. I guess fair and unfair, can happen in this way. Like good luck and bad luck. And then sometimes, there are outside powers in control, and some who are dependent on these powers, to make it fair. It should not be this way. They are not free, like the random birds.
Why?
Why do I create and then destroy? – Only to regret it later.
Why do I build and then take down, wondering what it was that I made in the first place.
Why am I always torn between opposing forces, searching for order, ending in chaos.
Why can’t I just accept things as they are and embrace love, without hate, without doubt, and bliss, without pain.
Why? Such is my condition, I cannot escape.
The Girl, with the ~ Hay!
The last couple days have brought me inspiring moments, and situations, where I have discovered people, who were, seemingly reveling in the simple state of being, or utter happiness. One took place today, and the other yesterday. I will start with the one from today, since I like to go backwards in my approach, like the Chinese who rise at dawn, and walk with their backs against the morning sun.
Today I went to a garden center to get various items. While I was pushing the cart around, searching for things I needed, and didn’t need, I saw a young girl, of 16 years or so, also pushing a cart, and on it was a small bundle of hay, all tied up. Somehow our eyes met. She exuded an undefinable delight, an energy from within, and without, which united me with her, like a converging of souls in the universe. While the experience of her energy was flowing through my outer aura, I asked her, “What are you going to do with the hay?” As she smiled, and laughed, and lifted her arms up into the air, bringing them down in a circular motion, she said; “I’m going to do a ‘faaaall thing’!” The Spanish sounding ‘a’s’ resonated, as if cascading, in mid-air, creating a sort of waterfall effect, after which and without explanation, we both let out a hearty laugh, and walked our separate ways. Before doing so, however, I of course, with practicality in mind, suggested that the hay might come in handy, that is, if she were going to seed the lawn. That made no sense to her whatsoever! She was young, and had no reason to worry about lawns.
So I went on my way, looking for mums, and such things, when our paths crossed once again. I noticed that the hay wasn’t there anymore, and so I said: “What happened to your hay?”, to which, she replied, with a slight downward turn of her lips, and a silly frown on her face; “She made me put it back.” I turned to look at an unsmiling woman next to her, whom I presumed to be her mother, and I said, to her; “but she was going to be creative, and do a faaaall thing”! And the mother said, “Over my dead body! I’ll not be picking up bits of hay, all over the place.” So that was that! I looked at the girl, who was still smiling, and back at her mother, again, and thought, “Some people just don’t understand.” I knew it was best not to interfere, and so, with a smile, I bid adieu, and went on my merry way.
Well, there is another story of inspiration, but I think it will suffice to tell another day. As for now, and later, I await with eagerness, anything, out of the ordinary, something extraordinary, that comes my way.
Carolina Klingelhoets – July 13, 1907 9 months & 6 days.
Truly, a fascinating cross of beautiful wrought iron, it marks the grave of a baby girl, named Carolina. At nine months, she would have been getting ready to walk. It is in the East end, and older part of a cemetery. Walking into the front of this cemetery, one would never have dreamed there would be a marker like this one. Most are of your typical granite, names of grandparents, siblings and even parents of children, with whom I grew up. All very important reminders of past memories. This cross, however was unique. Furthermore, the name, Carolina, is not commonly given to post-war girls of Mid America, and Klingelhoets, whose origin I couldn’t find, is not a surname you come across everyday.
Most of all, this marker is an indicator of the unknown past of a place I thought I knew so well, and a place whose mundane and boring environment from which I was so ever eager to flee. Coming back here, though, I find out things, I would never have dreamed of and glimpses into a past that leaves so much to the imagination. Whoever the Klingelhoets were, they certainly left a beautiful reminder of a child they loved, who walked out of their lives, much to soon.
Struggling to Understand
Thoughts on an article from the St. Paul Pioneer Press, Sunday, August 17, 2014
IGHGrampa writes about ‘struggling to understand issues of Life (and Death)’. He reflects upon the suicide of Robin Williams, saying he had everything a person could possibly want, so how could he possibly want to take his life? Perhaps he has a point, but, many would ask, who is to judge? This point of view reminds me once, when I actually took the attitude, that if someone wants to kill themselves, it is alright. Today, I think twice before making this judgement, and it all stems back to when Someone, somewhere, when I lived in Nebraska, had taken their life. I don’t remember who they were, but it was someone, a coworker of mine and I were talking about one day, at a cafe, or bar. What I do remember, is my conversation with this very attractive blond girl, younger than myself. I really liked this girl a lot. I think it was her very strong character and the self-confidence, with which she projected herself. In reference to this suicide, I said something to the effect, that it was this person’s decision to do what they wanted with their life, whether it was to continue on, or end it by their own hands. What will never leave my memory, is this girl’s totally unexpected, and strong reaction to my statement. With her steel blue eyes, she looked into, my eyes, and told me point blank; “It’s wrong!” She was adamant and unwavering in her statement, and went on to say that it was a totally selfish act, and that this person had no regard for the feelings of others around him or her. She was so fixed in her opinion that it truly made me stop and think about the act of suicide. To this day, and with utmost respect, I think of the proud and moral position this girl took, and I admire her still, for standing her ground on an issue, about which many people were, and still are, wishy washy. Furthermore, she was young, in the years of the late 70’s, a time when, ‘everything goes’. Today, I shame myself for not having a stronger spine and for following the opinion of the flock.
Going back to the article, IGHGrampa goes on to talk about ‘the struggle’, so to speak. He makes reference to the main character of the movie “Precious”, a woman who seems to have “insurmountable” problems. He writes about the struggle by astronomers to acquire knowledge and an understanding of how the planets and stars are formed, the forces of existence itself.
Pondering these struggles, Grampa remarks on his own trivial struggles, and that ‘sometimes you just have to put the struggles aside for a time.’ He even works on his own little problems in his workshop, to help him forget about the larger struggles of the world. Or, he likes to simply listen to classical music, to escape. His final statement makes so much sense to me, and that is, that perhaps, in order to understand, the key is ‘to make an effort to remove oneself from the struggle’, someway, somehow.
Grampa’s words bring me back to the idea of the struggle, to choose life, or death, between what is right, and what is wrong. In light of these thoughts, it is our duty, to find something that can be done for those, who find themselves alone in a moment of desperation, something to prevent them from hurting themselves, and/or others, whether it be with words, actions, or no action. The passive-aggressive route. To help them to make an effort to ‘remove themselves from the struggle, and carry on in this world of life and death. If my blond friend were here today, she would know. She would know what to say, and do.
Presently, I am thankful that this girl stepped into my life, if only for a short time. Like a few people in my life, she is gone, hopefully living, nonetheless, out of my radar. Yet, the spirit of her hopefulness, has not subsided. When the question of suicide ever comes up, I think of this girl, who worked by my side, in Lincoln, Nebraska, and, I think twice.
The Russians and the treatment of Nature in “My Ántonia”
In Book I, ‘The Shimerda’s’, Cather continues to set up scenes, develop characters and unravel the relationships of her story. Told through the eyes of Jimmy Burden, he describes in part VIII the misfortunes of money and health, that fall upon the two young Russian neighbors of the Shimerda’s. After a description of how Peter goes into terrible debt, mostly because of his creditor, Wick Cutter, a “merciless Black Hawk money-lender, the action is set in motion when Ántonia and her father, Mr. Shimerda come to Jimmy’s grandmother’s house to get buttermilk. As Jimmy describes. “where they lingered…until the sun was low”. While they are there, Peter the Russian, comes to relate the unfortunate news of Pavel, who after having fallen in his chores, began to cough up blood and became bedridden. He wants Mr. Shimerda to come, as Pavel has taken a turn for the worse and cannot get out of bed. Jimmy, upon hearing this news, asks his grandmother if he can go with them. In the first person, Jimmy explains, “My plan must have seemed very foolish to her, but she was often large-minded about humoring the desires of other people.” Large-minded is a perfect word to describe an open-minded person. The goodness of Grandma’s character continues to shine through as Jimmy, in his storytelling, elaborates, “She asked Peter to wait a moment, and when she came back from the kitchen she brought a bag of sandwiches and doughnuts for us.” Thus, Jimmie would not have to go without supper and the others would also benefit from her generosity.
The treatment of nature in Cather’s book, is one way she shows the smallness of people in the universe. As they are moving along in the wagon, Jimmy describes, “After the sun sank, a cold wind sprang up and moaned over the prairie.” Developing an almost seemingly amorous relationship between him and Ántonia, he says, “We burrowed down in the straw and curled up close together, watching the angry red die out of the west and stars begin to shine in the clear, windy sky.” Peter is anxious about his brother, Peter. They continue down the road and the description of the ever powerful nature is resumed. “Up there the stars grew magnificently bright.” Speaking of himself and Ántonia, he says, “Though we had come from such different parts of the world, in both of us there was some dusky superstition that those shining groups have their influence upon what is and what is not to be.”
When they arrive to the house, again the description of nature sets the tone for the dreary state of affairs. “The wind shook the doors and windows impatiently, then swept on again, singing throughout the big spaces. Each gust, as it bore down, rattled the panes, and swelled off like the others. They made me think of defeated armies, retreating; or of ghosts who were trying desperately to get in for shelter, and then went moaning on.” Then, “the coyotes turned up their whining howl”. In these descriptions, there is another narrator, omniscient in character, showing how Nature itself is a character, playing its part in the series of events. Setting the background and creating mood, and presence, in the dreadful illness of Pavel. These interludes with the stars, the sun, the wind and the howling wolves, tells us these are not always the thoughts of Jimmy, but the artistic expression of Cather herself, working her artistry, through Jimmy. It is, like painting a picture of emotion, with her words. Nature mimics the fears and apprehension of the characters.
“My Ántonia”
When Ántonia meets Jimmie Burden for the first time, she grabs his hand and they run at top speed out to the Squaw Creek. They arrive there breathless, and Ántonia’s little sister runs with them. Her name was Yulka. Antonia wanted to give Jimmie a silver ring she wore on her middle finger. Jimmie insisted he wouldn’t take the ring. He didn’t want it. In his words he felt, “there was something reckless and extravagant about her wishing to give it away to a boy she had never seen before.”
Willa Cather, masterfully develops character, plot and movement in the course of her novel, My Ántonia. Her choice of words describe who the character are, what they are like physically, what they are wearing and every physical attribute, which helps to define their character. Their personality is defined by the way they speak and interact with other characters and the way they respond to their environment. In turn the setting is described with a highly selective and sumptuous vocabulary.
On Tiffany Creek 