Month: December 2012

End-of-year salmagundi . . . .

/ marydpierce / 13 Comments
Bird on saucer pm 2 signed

The picture has nothing to do with the post, but I like the insouciance of the little bird eating off the plate. I’m also a painter who doesn’t paint anymore because of the chemicals, and I like that I can take a photograph and manipulate it to look ‘kinda’ like a painting.

I am not a resolution person – I am a word person.  Word.  (Used by itself, word becomes an affirmation, which means I effectively just agreed with myself.)  I don’t believe in starting a new year with self-promises of giving up chocolate or swearing, or that I will exercise more, write more, and generally be a better person than I was the previous year.  Not that there’s anything wrong with people who do want to begin anew that way.  It’s just not for me.   So I was thrilled last week to read a blog post (by the lovely Jennifer Flint) that offered something different:  instead of making resolutions, choose a word.  The idea being that you think about what you would like to change in your life and find a fitting word that will inspire.   It’s not about trying and maybe failing, it’s about having a consistent source of inspiration.  I like that idea.  A lot.  And so, after careful consideration, my word for 2013 is:  RISE.  I’ll let you know next year how it worked out for me.

I liked this year.  Sure there was a lot of no-good-horrible stuff that happened in the world, but sadly, that’s always going to be the case, and you try to keep your head above it and do what you can to make it better or more bearable.  On a personal level, though, my son graduated college, found a job he really likes; my husband is finally able to drive the 1936 Dodge he’s worked so lovingly on restoring for that last decade-and-a-half; and I learned some important things about myself.  I also got an iPhone, which brought me back to photography.  And I’ve been writing.

One of the things I like about this time of year is looking over all the best-of lists, and the year-end round-ups in various magazines.  I have a terrible memory for events in time as it happens, but I find that if I look back at it in photos and/or read about it, things stick better in my head.  Someone recently pointed me to Google’s zeitgeist site.  God, I love the internet.  My only wish is that Al Gore would have invented it sooner.  It would have made homeschooling my son a lot easier and cheaper.

And what of the salmagundi?  Like revenge, it’s a dish best served cold.  It also means mixture or miscellany, like hodgepodge, which is the word I originally intended to use as a means of corralling my thoughts for this post.  But salmagundi is cooler.  Don’t you think?

My wish for today and tomorrow, is that we go fearlessly into the new year with spectacular results. Happy 2013, y’all.

Christmas Kindness: a Story

/ marydpierce / 45 Comments
bag of gold small

Image futzed with using a photo by JWP.

Like the best stories, this one begins, once upon a time . . . .

There was a father, a mother, and a baby boy who was born in the dead of winter on a very cold day.  (I should warn you that if you think you know where this story is going, you are wrong.  This is not THAT Christmas story.  This is a different story entirely.)

The father and mother had little money, but they had a warm home, and their boy was exceedingly healthy, so they believed they had exactly what they needed.  The father worked at building machines and the mother worked at building the boy.  The boy was full of light and laughter and curiosity.  He had a mischievous sense of humor, a powerful imagination, and above all, he was persistent.  (A quality some people call stubborn, but those people are wrong.)

Years passed as years do.  The boy grew and grew.  People began to ask – what do you want to do with your life, boy?  What would you like to be?  But the boy didn’t know, for he was still a boy (albeit taller).  His parents said, be happy.  And he was.

The boy grew a little older, a little taller still.  He went to college and his head filled up with words and ideas; his heart filled with passion.  One morning he awoke to find that it was time to graduate.  A degree was bestowed upon him and there was much rejoicing by his family and his friends.

He found a job that he liked very much, but it was temporary.  He could have worried about what he would do when the job ended, but he chose to remain positive as he had always been, and to do and learn all that he could.  Happily, this strategy paid off.  The job became permanent.  (It’s called persistence, people.)

Christmas came.  The boy got his first Christmas bonus.  But this was no ordinary bonus.  This was merry Mr. Fezziwig extending joy and Christmas kindness.  This was a bag of gold coins.  So happy was the boy at this surprising presentation, that he laughed for a full minute.  The kind of sustained laugh his mother had marveled at throughout his childhood.  A laugh that began in his heart and rippled through his body until he looked ready to burst with the energy of it.

When he stopped laughing the boy knew what he would do.  He would carry the bonus around the city and give it away, coin by coin, to people who could use a dollar or two and a happy surprise.  So that he could share with others a moment of joy like the one he had felt in receiving the coins.

And that is exactly what he did.

Not The End

P.S.  If you like this story, feel free to share a kindness or two with someone, anyone, even by way of a smile.  It will make you feel good.  I promise.

P.P.S. This story was written for The BOY by his mother who is proud beyond measure of the superlative person he has become.  And also the mother is a tiny bit smug because she knew what his true worth was all along.  (She hopes to be forgiven of this.)

A story for Sunday . . . .

/ marydpierce / 22 Comments

A story to ponder on a Sunday afternoon busy with holiday preparations.  Take a break.  Sit down and watch; it’s short — have a cup of tea why don’t you?  Listen to the words, to the lovely melody.

This is one of my favorite videos.  I’m a sucker for puppets, and there’s the whole archeological thing going on.  I haven’t thought about it in a while, and then a search for something unrelated, reminded me.  The song is by Josh Ritter.  The video by Liam Hurley.

There are different takes on the song’s meaning.  Being an optimist on matters of the heart, I prefer to think that the story is about boundless, never-ending love.

What do you think?

Oh, little children . . . .

/ marydpierce / 19 Comments

And a woman who held a babe against her bosom said, “Speak to us of Children.”
And he said:
Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself. 

— Kahlil Gibran

The shooting at Sandy Hook Elementary school tore through my heart and has left me numb these past several days.  Like most people I have struggled with feelings of grief and outrage and anger – for the guns and the violence, and for an imperfect mental health system that too often fails the people who need it most.

I’ve gone back and forth about writing anything; so many have already talked about, and written eloquently on the complex issues surrounding this tragedy.  I doubted that I could add much to the conversation.  My voice is small, my words feeble.  What more can there possible be to say?

But, I can’t stop thinking about those children.  Those beautiful, beautiful children.

I adore children.  I’ve always believed that they are sweet, guileless cherubs put here, not merely to propagate the species, but to remind us that, difficult as the world may be, it is still a place filled with magic and wonder, laughter and light.  I marvel at their capacity to love, at their willingness to trust.

When I was nineteen and about to leave home for good, my seven-year-old brother pushed a note under my bedroom door.  It said – I love you – just that, but it touched me more than any words have since.  That was when I first knew that the world was a better place for all the children it contained.  I still have that strip of paper, still curled from my brother wrapping it around his finger before he slid it beneath my door.  It reminds me when I forget.

We pin our bright hope for the future on our children.  Which is why we are all so gutted by this shooting in particular.  So I add my words to the throng, and hope that words do count, and that love can heal what’s broken.

My cellluloid dreams. . . .

/ marydpierce / 12 Comments

Most of the time I remember the dreams I have at night. They often follow a storyline that plays out very much like a film. I wake up in the morning and part of me is still in the realm of that dream and it takes me a while to be present to the world of awake.

The first film I ever saw was an animated short of Hansel and Gretel at a tiny theater in Star Lake, NY. I was three. We went to visit my grandmother afterwards, and I screamed when I saw her, because she had morphed, somehow, from my nice grammy into a witchy-looking woman I was convinced wanted to cook me in her oven. Such has been the power of movies on my imagination.

The theater was torn down a little later — not because they played such terrifying fare for children — but because, no longer a thriving summer tourist area, the community could no longer support it. Which left the nearest movie theater a winding 35-minute drive away.

Still, the passion had been ignited and I found ways to sustain it however I could. I’d spend the night at my grandmother’s. (Yes, the one I accused of witchery – I got over it.) She’d let me turn her living room into a pretend theater in which she’d pay me a nickel to watch her own TV. We’d close the curtains and set up all her chairs in a row. I’d make popcorn and put it in sandwich-sized paper bags and sell it to her for another nickel. It served for a time, but a movie on the small screen is not the same experience as a cavernous, dark theater with a giant screen and booming speakers. Where it’s truly possible to imagine yourself into the world you’re watching.

Now we have movies on DVDs and huge TV screens in high definition and when people do go to the theater they seem to think they’re still at home, and it’s not so easy for me to get lost in the film the way I used to. Which is why I prefer to see movies at art house cinemas. In general, I find that the people who frequent these kind of theaters are looking for the same kind of experience I am. They are quiet and reverential and keep their cell phones out of sight.

Tonight I’m headed out to my favorite cinema – The Jane Pickens Theater in Newport – where they are raising funds to convert their projector to digital. On the marquee for one night only: Cinema Paradiso. My favorite film of all time. If any movie so perfectly conveys my deep abiding love of film, it’s this one. I saw it at the theater three times when it came out, and I own the DVD, but this is the first time since 1989 that I will be able to watch it again on a movie screen. The way it should be seen.**

I am so stoked.

** If you’re in the Rhode Island area, or are apt to visit Newport sometime, consider donating the cost of a movie ticket to help Jane Pickens Theater convert to digital.  Hollywood films are going all digital in early 2013, so all theaters will have to have digital projectors.  You can check out their Kickstarter page here.

Not so wordless Wednesday . . . .

/ marydpierce / 18 Comments

. . . . because I so can’t not talk when there’s even the smallest opportunity (my first grade teacher once moved my desk behind her upright piano so I couldn’t gab to anyone).  And the title of my blog has “Words” in the title, after all.

Faerie Dance #22

Faerie Dance #22

Frost-swept dreams begin in black & white

Faerie Dance #22 "percolated"

Faerie Dance #22 “percolated”

Erupt in spasms of color & dance you awake.  Ready or not.