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Bridges & Arcs

Photo from La Crosse Tribune MacGilvray road, outside La Crosse

There is something about bridges. Alone, symbolic, creating a path to another shore. Who knows what will be found there? It’s the mystery and the answer together. Any type of bridge, crossing a river, stream, lake… Any size: huge, small, and “one car at a time” for the single road.

Arcs carry their own beauty. Someone called an arc the most perfect shape in nature. Why? Half a moon—beginning and end together? The alpha and the omega in one view. From the side— especially above water where you can see the reflection—you see the whole. The light and the dark sides. The coming together of everything. Thinking of it, there’s the arc from life to death. There’s the arc of the short story. (Try writing one without an arc.) The arc of a marriage?

And here we have the bridge and the arc together. Mmmmmmmm…what thoughts can we merge?

 

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The Ordinary of the Days

OK So yesterday was the day from semi-hell. Rather like a mini-armageddon, or an armageddonette. Between the dryer and the dishwasher and the people visiting to make things whole and the inability for anyone to understand anything, it was exhausting. No one could produce the tools or parts necessary to do their jobs. And there was a bird nest in the dryer vent. (I don’t know why I mention that. It seemed important at the time.) Oh yes, it was only discovered after many unsuccessful attempts to get the hot air flow to actually flow. Need I mention that the washing machine hose was somehow disconnected during the jostling of the dryer? And yes, it was draining at the time so there was water in the hose. A lot of water that continued to gush. It was the giant equivalent of the spilled cup of water that lands on the floor and becomes a gallon when it lands. I can’t bring myself to talk about the dishwasher. I became as nonfunctional as all the other people and appliances. The quotidian routine was unable to juggle the grenade of destruction.

There was only one possible solution. Yes, margaritas were in order.

So today I function with a hangover and, however, functioning appliances and no people. I rejoice in welcoming the ordinary.

bukowski-quote5

 

 

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Dysania!

Oh my word there’s a word for that? I have this. I’m sure it’s a disease. I love being up early & being the only one awake and about. It is a magical time of the day. The problem is that once I get out of that habit it’s very difficult to regain. This is my actual natural state—that of dysania. And it’s not an inherited one. I come from a family of early risers. I’ve always crossed this off to one of the seven deadly sins: Sloth. Oh slothful am I! And the victim of a state of being. *Sigh* But, would not an affliction by any other name smell as sour? (To paraphrase the Bard.)

grandeliquentwordof

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Meaning?

thinkMindsBizareArt

From Thinking Minds: Bizarre Art

At first look, what? And then another, or two, maybe three. Icarus and the sun? A dream? Maybe it was good once then everything changed. As it always does. And we go from the brightness into the darkness. Nothing to learn, just see.

 

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Something About

Old books, old libraries, old sofas.

bibliocave

Posted by Bibliocave

Old leather sofas. So like a kid who plays with paperdolls and phantasizes, I phantasize about libraries and books. Old sofas too. I save the photos and plan my next trip around. Just in case there’s reincarnation. Although this first photo looks more like a book store than a private library. And there’s no old sofa to lounge in. It does offer the advantage of a bit messy. There’s something nice about books and paintings being tangled about. Just a tad unruly to satisfy the irreverent in us. Sometimes we’re just too busy working at our passion to clean up as we go. It’s not like cooking after all. So here we have two selections to dream our plans around.

PenguinRH

Penguin Random House Post