It’s been forever since I’ve written any poetry, but until I get inspired again and hopefully writing again, you can check out my book of poems, Tender Cracks, from the Calgary Public Library!
Visited a museum shop today and while browsing, I came across some handmade jewelry by a local artist. Although the jewelry was beautiful, I really loved her artist statement:
I love the way the Russian writer, Leo Tolstoy, described the importance of art; that it was a means of union among men, joining them together in the same feelings, and was indispensable for the life and progress towards the well-being of individuals and of humanity. Art has purpose. It can capture historical events or aspects of nature. It can symbolize a devotion to the divine, protection from evil spirits, the love of two people, or a commitment to a common cause. It can stir our senses and call us to action. Art contributes to our collective spirit. As the worlds economic forces drive people towards homogeneity, our hunger for the special, the unique, and the innovative will most assuredly grow. Art is the antidote to a bland world.
~Franny. E. Strathern
I’d like to think that my things don’t own me, and have imagined the freedom that would come with living a Spartan existence. Every few months I take stock of my belonging and throw away or donate things I never use. But it seems to me I am always collecting more than I throw away.
My love for history and museums and the innate curator in me though, likes to imagine things are more than just things. Some things can tell you a lot about a person.
Here is part 2 of my collection of things.
Outside the window, in the darkened yard, there’s snow. That kissing sound against the glass. It will melt off because it’s only November, but still it’s a foretaste. I don’t know why I find it so exciting. I know what’s coming: slush, darkness, flu, black ice, wind, salt stains on boots. But still there’s a sense of anticipation: you tense for the combat. Winter is something you can go out into, confront, then foil by retreating back indoors.
~Margaret Atwood, The Blind Assassin
The brittle cold of winter brings out many things, such as colds, numb toes, the early dark evenings and chilly mornings, the layers of coats, scarves, and other wooly things, soft armour to brace one against the biting north winds.
But with winter there are the things that I love the most. The reward and comfort of drinking a whole pot of tea with a good book after braving the snow and ice. These things are so much more enjoyable in winter.
The hermit in me secretly loves winter.
Yes, I get terribly sick almost every time this year, and yes, my skin peels and cracks from the frosty, dry air, and yes the inconveniences of snow blizzards and -30°c below weather takes its toll on everything, but I can’t help but love it. Winter means snowflakes, and cuddles, and rosy, frostbitten cheeks, and the gratitude that comes with having a warm home to return to, and the generous empathy and help for those who aren’t as fortunate to have that.
So, while I, like many complain about the freezing temperatures, I think I would miss winter if it never came.
I’m all snotty and sniffly, but gosh darn it, this is good tea! Now, I just hope this cold goes away before it turns into the usual “I sound like I’m dying” cough.
I’ve avoided posting selfies or photos of myself since I started this blog two years ago. These are more “creative” selfies, that I can simply appreciate (or not) artistically in an objective way, without my usual private need to remain anonymous. Anyways, we’re all friends here, so no need to be shy!