Monday, July 31, 2006
it's good to be humbled
heat + humidity + stubborn runner who attempts to run shortly after mid day = humble pie
so i had my share of humble pie today served precisely at 96 degrees in the shade. i hit the trails with high hopes and light feet only to be walking after a mere 35 minutes, though walking briskly with arms swinging trying to motivate the future pitter patter of lifted foot. no avail, there was no more running to be done; at least not until the sun dropped a bit.
my head was light, my heart pounded oddly a few times and even after several fairly good gulps of my holy concord grape juice, nothing.
still i walked and pumped up the hills as hard as i could. i could now enjoy the scenery. my sites were able to expand beyond the 3' directly before me.
it was a beautiful day, a beautiful trail. the pines needles under my feet were soft and my steps were suprisingly quiet. i listened to the wind rustle the branches and i studied how the trail floor changed from compacted clay to soft pine needles to rooty horizontals to loose rocky descents.
i learned the trail today and enjoyed it for it's just being there. and i think tomorrow will be better but if not, maybe i'll explore another turn of the trail.
maybe this heat is really saying slow down, enjoy, it's not a race today - let's share a piece of humble pie.
so i had my share of humble pie today served precisely at 96 degrees in the shade. i hit the trails with high hopes and light feet only to be walking after a mere 35 minutes, though walking briskly with arms swinging trying to motivate the future pitter patter of lifted foot. no avail, there was no more running to be done; at least not until the sun dropped a bit.
my head was light, my heart pounded oddly a few times and even after several fairly good gulps of my holy concord grape juice, nothing.
still i walked and pumped up the hills as hard as i could. i could now enjoy the scenery. my sites were able to expand beyond the 3' directly before me.
it was a beautiful day, a beautiful trail. the pines needles under my feet were soft and my steps were suprisingly quiet. i listened to the wind rustle the branches and i studied how the trail floor changed from compacted clay to soft pine needles to rooty horizontals to loose rocky descents.
i learned the trail today and enjoyed it for it's just being there. and i think tomorrow will be better but if not, maybe i'll explore another turn of the trail.
maybe this heat is really saying slow down, enjoy, it's not a race today - let's share a piece of humble pie.
lovely things
isn't it timely
a return to the blogging quest
and looking back to "the first day" I see the birth of my hearty copost bin
that bin which was emptied just this week for a new garden bed.
there are those, of which i'm one,
who believe that events occur for a reason;
that elements connect without our direct knowledge or consciousness.
i wonder
is that because we live lives now filled with distraction and ill directed attentions
have we given our most important selves over to the genius of major marketing agents?
i know that i for one am often guilty of such.
it is a struggle i fight each day.
is it age that keeps us focused on those elements in our lives that are most important?
i wish the answer were so easy.
as yesterday alone i was given the gift of meeting two women on either side of life
folk who seem wise beyond their experience, simple, clear and open to the world.
it is from these folk that I gain hope.
the young woman is home for the summer tending a country store on the outskirts of austin
she and i shared the most intelligent conversation about the intersection of the place where we come from, the values that place may instill with modern politics and one's personal vision about the state of the world. a conversation i might add, that many adult may not have been prepared to engage themselves in.
this young woman was a thinker; a clear and simple thinker. the best kind in my book. she was not so caught up in her own world to discount the experience of others. she is willing to place her experience on the back burner so as to listen clearly to another side, then with great compassion, comment and compare her experience to that which she had just listened to. she's the true blue listening type, a good egg.
I found myself sobered by her brave honesty and her courage to move in directions unpopular but useful. this young woman was not proud, nor was she a braggart type and our simple chatter turned quickly to an intense study of the weight of the place once comes from and it's direct relationship to political stasis and/or political activity. and by that, we wondered, is it place that predetermines stasis or activity or is it one's rearing by family and community or experience of an other sort? we pondered a great many angels together. we parted, both with much more to think on.
i wondered how life in this small town might color this young lady's beliefs. i wondered how this wise young woman's foundation of wisdom was built. she keeps a light not soon to be extinguished. i expect to see her doing great and thoughtful things in our future.
and then i met a woman of greater experience in yet another small town not quite 20 miles away
in first vision; a woman carving bits of wood at a small raised table on a stool in the cool of small handcraft shop.
always intrigued by that created by the hands, i walked in.
ohhhhh this one can chatter.
we, in texas, spoke of vermont sugar molds and made a pact to speak on the molds further.
we discussed the origin of nearly every hand craft in the room.
i wandered while listening to discover a small aviary in the back full of doves
and below the aviary a small kitten rolled up sleeping so.
too content to notice me noticing it
the birds coo'ed almost a laughter pattern
and every time i walked over to them i wondered if they were amused by my awkward site for they coo'ed just so.
Oh the stories they have heard.
this woman's husband was there too;
a quite keeper,
slow moving but not ailed,
listening but silent.
she did enough talking for the two of them.
but you could tell he admired,
admired her from afar and knew his tasks and did them silently and did them well.
he, a gentle soul,
i wondered if he was father to, was keeper of the doves.
he was peaceful
i liked him from the start.
she carved and chatted and chipped the wood into beautiful kitchen hand tools.
spoons and spreaders and knives and platters
lovely warm things that feel like home,
lovely simple things full of beauty.
it is these folk too, those who understand the simple that also give me hope.
I wonder still, were those doves, laughing at me?
i smile at the thought of doves with a sense of humor.
lovely things
- - you can see nancy lou's beautiful things at www.treenbynancylou.com - -
posted by shellywoman at 8:17 AM | 0 comments
a return to the blogging quest
and looking back to "the first day" I see the birth of my hearty copost bin
that bin which was emptied just this week for a new garden bed.
there are those, of which i'm one,
who believe that events occur for a reason;
that elements connect without our direct knowledge or consciousness.
i wonder
is that because we live lives now filled with distraction and ill directed attentions
have we given our most important selves over to the genius of major marketing agents?
i know that i for one am often guilty of such.
it is a struggle i fight each day.
is it age that keeps us focused on those elements in our lives that are most important?
i wish the answer were so easy.
as yesterday alone i was given the gift of meeting two women on either side of life
folk who seem wise beyond their experience, simple, clear and open to the world.
it is from these folk that I gain hope.
the young woman is home for the summer tending a country store on the outskirts of austin
she and i shared the most intelligent conversation about the intersection of the place where we come from, the values that place may instill with modern politics and one's personal vision about the state of the world. a conversation i might add, that many adult may not have been prepared to engage themselves in.
this young woman was a thinker; a clear and simple thinker. the best kind in my book. she was not so caught up in her own world to discount the experience of others. she is willing to place her experience on the back burner so as to listen clearly to another side, then with great compassion, comment and compare her experience to that which she had just listened to. she's the true blue listening type, a good egg.
I found myself sobered by her brave honesty and her courage to move in directions unpopular but useful. this young woman was not proud, nor was she a braggart type and our simple chatter turned quickly to an intense study of the weight of the place once comes from and it's direct relationship to political stasis and/or political activity. and by that, we wondered, is it place that predetermines stasis or activity or is it one's rearing by family and community or experience of an other sort? we pondered a great many angels together. we parted, both with much more to think on.
i wondered how life in this small town might color this young lady's beliefs. i wondered how this wise young woman's foundation of wisdom was built. she keeps a light not soon to be extinguished. i expect to see her doing great and thoughtful things in our future.
and then i met a woman of greater experience in yet another small town not quite 20 miles away
in first vision; a woman carving bits of wood at a small raised table on a stool in the cool of small handcraft shop.
always intrigued by that created by the hands, i walked in.
ohhhhh this one can chatter.
we, in texas, spoke of vermont sugar molds and made a pact to speak on the molds further.
we discussed the origin of nearly every hand craft in the room.
i wandered while listening to discover a small aviary in the back full of doves
and below the aviary a small kitten rolled up sleeping so.
too content to notice me noticing it
the birds coo'ed almost a laughter pattern
and every time i walked over to them i wondered if they were amused by my awkward site for they coo'ed just so.
Oh the stories they have heard.
this woman's husband was there too;
a quite keeper,
slow moving but not ailed,
listening but silent.
she did enough talking for the two of them.
but you could tell he admired,
admired her from afar and knew his tasks and did them silently and did them well.
he, a gentle soul,
i wondered if he was father to, was keeper of the doves.
he was peaceful
i liked him from the start.
she carved and chatted and chipped the wood into beautiful kitchen hand tools.
spoons and spreaders and knives and platters
lovely warm things that feel like home,
lovely simple things full of beauty.
it is these folk too, those who understand the simple that also give me hope.
I wonder still, were those doves, laughing at me?
i smile at the thought of doves with a sense of humor.
lovely things
- - you can see nancy lou's beautiful things at www.treenbynancylou.com - -
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