She felt vaguely upset and unsettled. She was suddenly tired of outworn dreams. And in the garden the petals of the last red rose were scattered by a sudden little wind. Summer was over — it was Autumn.
“She felt vaguely upset and unsettled. She was suddenly tired of outworn dreams. And in the garden the petals of the last red rose were scattered by a sudden little wind. Summer was over — it was Autumn.” L.M. Montgomery
Rainbow Valley is the seventh book in the chronology of the Anne of Green Gables series of novels by Lucy Maud Montgomery. Photos by Enchanted Seashells.
Lately, I’ve been thinking about T-I-M-E. Time flies. I hate to be late; I like to be ON TIME. Does time really exist at all or have we been brainwashed to think iit does?
Too much thinking about time as ephemeral makes me anxious. Too much thinking about anything does the same thing. My non-logical mind has determined that TIME itself isn’t the issue; THINKING about it IS and it makes my brain melt, just like Dali’s clocks.
Salvador Dalí
“Time doesn’t exist, clocks exist. Time is just an agreed upon construct.” — David Foster Wallace
“It takes just one unattended moment for an hour to pass.” ― Sherod Santos,Square Inch Hours: Poems
Santos was born in South Carolina, graduated from San Diego State University, and studied at the University of California, Irvine. I never met him when I attended SDSU, but I knew ABOUT him; all of us who studied creative writing and poetry knew about “Rod” Santos and W.S. Merwin and Glover Davis, who was actually my professor.
David Foster Wallace was an acclaimed American writer known for his fiction, nonfiction, and critical essays that explored the complexities of consciousness, irony, and the human condition. Wallace wrote the novel Infinite Jest.
“The Persistence of Memory” is an iconic 1931 surrealist oil painting by Salvador Dalí, famous for its “melting” clocks draped over a desolate, dream-like landscape inspired by his Catalonian home. The painting uses a paranoiac-critical method to explore the subconscious, with the distorted clocks symbolizing the fluidity and subjectivity of time, influenced by Freudian psychology and potentially Einstein’s theory of relativity. From Google.
Could Leon Russell’s version of As Time Goes By be the best ever? I think so…mature Leon was awesome, too.
Is it ever too late to say you’re sorry, to make amends, to repair the damage? That’s actually today’s theme but you have to keep reading to figure out where this is all going.
When I see these guys skateboarding together, it hits hard. It fills my heart with joy but it’s also bittersweet to realize that so much time has passed. Tick. Tock.
OG skater dad is his hero right now. The kids had no idea their teacher dad could skate.
Being well-rounded and balanced is important, right?
When the original Angel Boy wanted a skateboard, I weighed the pros and cons (cos it could be dangerous) and decided that it was a way to balance his intense interest in books and school, not that academic success wasn’t critical for his future, but skateboarding helped him feel “cool” and more relatable with schoolmates. It was about the only time his head wasn’t buried in a book.
As far back as elementary school, his nickname had been “the professor”, which was actually, happily, prophetic, but he enjoyed skating so much that we worked hard to get a skatepark built in our city and also created an Explorer Post to be eligible for donations which eventually funded the members on a state-wide skatepark trip, which was EPIC.
There was a skate shop near school where the kids would hang out and that’s where they met some of the famous skaters from SoCal: Danny Way, Hawk (of course), Sal Masekela, and Muska. Angel Boy even named his kitty after Muska.
It was a really nice time to be a kid, before our stupid little town ruined it all by rampant overdevelopment.
Here he is, nicely executing a flip. I can’t count the probably thousands of times this move had been practiced and failed and practiced again until he was proficient. What my mom brain sees in this photo is that he’s not wearing ANY protective gear. It’s a miracle he only ended up with one concussion and a couple of broken bones. No one wore helmets or knee/arm/wrist guards back then. What were we thinking?
The original Angel Boy
During high school, at the height of his interest in skating, we built a half-pipe in the backyard and our house was the cool place to be. I was kept busy supplying the kids with cookies and smoothies. #goodtimes #smothermother
Then there were many inevitable graduations and milestones; a doctorate and post-doc; an empty nest. The skate ramp was silent and began to deteriorate as it was never used nor maintained.
An executive decision was made to have it dismantled because it was in such poor, sad, unsafe shape.
At one point, when AB came home and saw it was gone, he was NOT at all happy. He felt that he hadn’t been included nor consulted in the conversation and not only was it a surprise, but I think it represented the end of a happy chapter in his life.
Actually, over the years I had explained to him a few times that he needed to help maintain it if he still wanted to use it, and like most things I said, he either didn’t listen (or ignored me), but in hindsight I agree that I could have been more sensitive. I guess I didn’t know how much it meant to him. It was an important rite of passage.
But I did something even worse…
I got rid of his skateboard! I didn’t do it with malice, honestly!
One day I was cleaning out the garage and thought it was never again going to be an activity he was interested in so I set it out near the street. I literally had no idea that he would ever want it for any reason; to ride or for the memories of all the fun he had skating OR to share with any future children…
But I was wrong…I was such a bad mom!
During a visit home, he asked for his skateboard because he wanted to show the kids some of his cool moves and when I told him I had put it out in the driveway and someone took it, he was SO ANGRY!
I fully understand that he felt betrayed and I felt horrible about it, especially since I’m known for never throwing anything away. Why that? I have no idea, but I did, I admit it.
I’ve been trying to make amends for the last twenty years. Yup, that was all about twenty years ago.
And now I’m offered the opportunity to make it right.
His clone, AB 2.0, is now obsessed with skateboarding!! He went to a skate camp this summer and got his very first real skateboard. Like all the sports he’s tried, he has some real talent, just like his dad. Watch out, Tony Hawk!
Is there anything more adorable than seeing a little guy all decked out in a helmet and safety gear, positioning himself to drop in? I think not.
Bad pic from a video AB 2.0
In this case, it’s not too late to make amends because I was finally able to replace AB’s sk8board and that feels good.
I did it. I made amends. I bought the skateboard; I made the necessary reparations and repaired the bad mom damage.
Even better, I was able to watch those guys skate together which is such a mom/grandma moment. Heart is bursting with love!
(And hopefully, Dad WILL wear his helmet at all times, or I’ll hear about it when the kids call me to tattle on him.)
Sometimes it’s not too late. All is takes is thehonest willingness to want to make things right, even two decades later.
It’s been a while since I posted about interesting and often archaic words that contribute to a fuller, richer vocabulary. Even though it’s been less than a year since that orange POS somehow took power, this country has turned into a shitshow of one horrible event after another and that seems to eclipse any sense of normalcy.
Anyway…here’s one that’s quirky and will hopefully take our minds off this ugly reality for a minute or two.
Quiddity is such a great word: it’s the essence or unique nature that makes something the kind of thing it is and makes it different from any other.
Vague and not vague at the same time — I can sort of comprehend it only if I don’t allow my brain to delve too deeply into the intricacies of the meaning because then it becomes overwhelming and my mind takes off onto strange and faraway little tributaries. Sometimes it’s best not to overthink things.
From Shakespeare’s Hamlet, “Where be his quiddities now…?
To me: “Her passion for Leon Russell’s music is as much a quiddity as her curly hair.”
More examples:
“Many people share the quiddity of dipping their fries into their milkshakes.” which is a waste of a good milkshake and a good french fry.
“For there is no knowledge of things insofar as they are external in effect, but insofar as their nature and quiddity is grasped by the mind.“
When a politician avoids answering a question while pretending to answer it, he often does it using quiddity, or by bringing up irrelevant and distracting points.
Quiddity is a usefully sneaky tool if you want to evade an argument or question, and it’s often used by people like lawyers in court and teenagers angling for later curfews.
The noun quiddity has a philosophical meaning too, “the essential nature of something,” or the unique thing that makes it what it is. The Medieval Latin root, quidditas, translates literally as “whatness.”
I think we all need to incorporate quiddity into our daily language, written and verbal, don’t you?
In my mind I am always the feral woman wearing a white nightdress with a mud-stained hem and twigs in my hair, running through a forest bathed in moonlight, screeching along with the owls and foxes.
Unknown, curated from She’s Magic & Midnight Lace Image from Pinterest
Every full moon in September, this song comes to mind…
Have you ever heard the wolf cry to the blue corn moon Or asked the grinning bobcat why he grinned? Can you sing with all the voices of the mountain? Can you paint with all the colors of the wind? –Colors of The Wind from the film, Pocahontas
September’s full moon is special because it’s accompanied by a total lunar eclipse. Sadly, I don’t think we’ll be able to experience the eclipse here in the States but we might observe the moon’s deep reddish hue; not blue, though.
We are reminded to connect with themes of gratitude, release, and harvest by writing down what we’re thankful for and what we want to let go of, and by creating a gratitude chart. As always, this is a great time to charge crystals under the light energy of this full moon.
This was chalked into the sidewalk near my lagoon. It’s been there for a while and so far no one has tampered with it, so I decided to memorialize the words in a photo. I don’t know who wrote it, but I would like to meet them, because it’s sad yet profoundly hopeful at the same time.
I am not afraid to keep on living, I am not afraid to walk this earth (world) alone.
I remember that the original Angel Boy was about fourteen years old when he entered the final stage, taller than me. Now I have to get on my tiptoes to hug him and HE bends down to me.
In my mind, he’s still and forever #1 or #2, so it doesn’t seem right that the roles have reversed, and it won’t be long before the Angel Kids will also be taller than me, because mostly everyone else is.
I guess that’s why they call me Little Grandma.
**I found this on Pinterest, but credit goes to artist Giselle Dekel.**
These incredibly observant Angel Kids of mine are full of nonstop chat as they watch my every move with their laser focused eyes and brains, especially when they sit at the counter (their favorite spot), waiting to be served exactly like baby birds in a nest with their beaks open wide for mom to bring a freshly caught worm..
“Why are you always in the kitchen, Grandma?”“It’s like you have a force field around you and you’re stuck in there.” (He is SO funny.)
“Yeah, Grandma, you’re always in the kitchen!” Angel Girl has to offer her opinion, too. ALWAYS.
I stop chopping veggies or flipping pancakes or cutting the crust off another slice of bread (only for Angel Girl), and respond with a question,
“Why are you guys always hungry?”
Well, that made them think a bit, that’s for sure.
“Good point”, Angel Boy 2.0 sagely nods as he ponders what I meant by that, as he chews on a slice of apple.
Those kids LOVE apples as a pre-meal snack. Sometimes dipped in nut butter, but they’re perfectly satisfied with a bowl of sliced apples.
The key is to give each of them their own bowl or they’ll squabble about equal amounts. “Why does s/he have more than me?” Since I only birthed one child, I’m not used to this kind of sibling behavior. I actually find it incredibly annoying and to avoid listening to it, for me, separate bowls are the easiest solution.
They eat a lot, not junk food or snacks, but wholesome and dense nutrition. That’s what healthy kids do; eat, play, sleep. They’re exactly like puppies. Their growing bodies and brains demand it and I’m only too happy to oblige.
“Play with us, Grandma. We’ll even play Candyland just for you. Or Scrabble.” That’s quite the concession on their part, as they know those are my two favorite games.
“How about after you guys have this smoothie and ants on a log and a (lentil/oat/kale) muffin, we’ll play. How does that sound?”
Enchanted Seashells | Princess Rosebud 