Beautiful Old Broads talk about home

Dear Ones,

At a recent book club meeting, the selected book was “Howard’s End”.  The discussion touched on many subjects  (as it usually does). The topic of home came up and some of the members offered their thoughts on houses and homes.  The consensus was that their favorite house was the place where they spent a large portion of the years raising children.   Memories entwined with Christmas stockings being hung and Easter egg hunts quite naturally are cherished ones.  One woman remarked that she didn’t even like to drive by the house where she’d raised her son for it triggered too many memories.  Another said that when her and her sisters went back to their childhood farm house, one sister refused to go up the gravel road to the house saying that she wanted to remember it just as it was when she was a child.

We all have different outlooks on home.  For some, home is one particular grounded place.  A place where they have cherished belongings and family events wrapped around  solid timbers and walls.  Others don’t form such deep attachments.  Perhaps they were in military or a job demanded many moves and they became inured to moving day.

Whatever the reason, we all have different views of home and moving and roots.

One of my favorite poets, May Sarton wrote a journal called “The House by the Sea”.  In it, she told her readers, how she fell in love with Wild Knoll, her rambling seaside home in Maine and how she knew from a few days after moving in that “I have slipped into these wide spaces, this amazing piece of natural Heaven and haven.”  In her years at “Wild Knoll” she is nourished by the sea and feels her life expanded.  Lucky her.  Not many of us get the opportunity to live on a secluded rocky Maine coast.  And of course many of us would not choose to do so. Too isolated, too cold, too whatever…we all have our quibbles when it comes to houses.

Shifting to a warmer sunnier coast, another writer, Anne Lindbergh shares her experience writing from her small simple cottage on the edge of the Gulf and her journey of discovery on Sanibel Island, Florida. Like all homes, this is a temporary one for her.  But then aren’t all homes temporary?  For though we put down roots and gather possessions, we’re all just passing through this life.  In “Gift From The Sea”, Lindbergh seeks to make sense of her life and to be at peace with herself.  She compares herself to the little hermit crab who sheds his shell and carries his home with him. 

Upon reflection, I think I’m more a hermit crab than say an oyster bed.  I’ve carried my shell on my back from place to place.  Each place has harbored unique experiences that I treasure.  New friends, new options.  But certain things must remain constant.  I  can’t do without sunrises, sunsets, my swing, my teapot, my books. 

The deepest stirrings I felt for home were the ones that overcame me when I sat on the worn step of my mother’s house on Edward Street in Baltinglass Ireland.  I felt her presence strongly and pictured her sitting there with her sisters on a summer evening. The house itself is old but well preserved.  A two story stucco with the back facing the Slaney River.  A house my mother told me about many times.  My Irish family.  Home. 

            “This corner of earth smiles for me beyond all others.”   Horace.

Beautiful Old Broads watch sunrises

Dear Ones,

Winter morning sunrises are ever changing and prompted this poem about promises.

                                                      Winter Sunrises
                                                                     by Patti Ross


                      Winter sunrises are Mona Lisa things
                      Full of roses and reds spreading promises
                       Across my windowpane

                       Like politicians on the campaign trail
                       Winter mornings often fail to follow up their promise
                       Of a perfect afternoon

                       One ponders what the day will bring
                        After all it isn't spring
                        But the pinks feed our hopes and spirits rise

                        Hoping for a pleasant day ahead
                        Instead fierce clouds blow in and then the wind
                        Where's the promise of dawn all rosy and red

                                                                                    GONE

                         Still I eye the sun painting streaks across the sky
                         Unfurling frissons of purple shades with glee
                          And pray she will not lie to me today

                          For hope can't be squashed by wind and cold
                          Not even when you're old
                          It blossoms on my windowpane with each new
                                                                                      
                                                                                     DAWN    

Beautiful Old Broads browse the aisles

Dear Ones,

Have you ever gone into the book store or (remember the record stores?) to buy a particular title only to exit store with an entirely different title in hand?  Of course you have.  We do it all the time.  It’s called browsing.  Spending an aimless hour or two at the library or bookstore where you probably will stumble on a gem of a book that isn’t on your To Read list but you gotta have it for it looks so interesting.

 Happened to me a few years back when I stumbled on one of my all time favorite reads.  I was standing in the library aisle when this book literally fell off the shelf.  When I bent to retrieve it from the floor, the title gave me pause.  “Learning To Fall”.  Could I possibly ignore a sign like this?  I checked the book out, went home and after reading two chapters, proceeded to order the book from Barnes and Noble.  The book sits by my bedside and is worn from reading and re-reading. I found this while browsing. I would never have looked in particular for this book on Amazon or Kindle or Google.   

Not to say I don’t use these tools.  I do.  But mostly, I ignore their Preference Engines that automatically generate computerized lists of ‘my favorites’.  So far I have never bought a “book you might enjoy”.  Thank you very much but I’ll decide, not Amazon, what books I want on my Kindle.  Yes, I admit that shopping for a book on my Kindle is a great timesaver and I delight in downloading it in seconds, yet when I have time I much prefer to wander the library or bookstore shelves and browse. 

And then there is Netflix.  Streaming is the latest and again I love the convenience but gosh, I remember going to our neighborhood video store on Friday evening and strolling up and down the aisle.  Often I’d bump into a neighbor and we’d start chatting about movies and before you could be kind…rewind, I’d have a movie to watch.  Now Netflix likes to show me my favorites.  They aren’t.  For instance, I entered the actress Helen Mirren in the search space but the movie I wanted wasn’t available to stream.  Never fear though, Netflix had a zillion other choices for me.  Mostly to do with the royal family.  Don’t they know I’m a little Irish girl who isn’t keen on the royals?  Erin Go Bragh!

For me, I will continue to browse whenever possible for I don’t see it as frittering time.  I see it as exposure to a wide world of music and reading and movies and art.  An opportunity to broaden my knowledge albeit it a fact that today, a wide portion of Americans prefer pushing a button to browsing.   Don’t know why.  Search me?  

                        “No two persons ever read the same book.”