A Bite of Midges

I find language fascinating. Names for groupings of animals is strangely logical. Most people are familiar with certain terms, such as a murder of crows and a congregation of baboons. How about . . . A streak of tigers. A shiver of sharks. A covey of quail. A passle of pigs. A chine of polecats (that's skunk to you non-country folks).

I picture someone sitting on a wrap-around porch one evening, sipping a frosty lemonade, the condensation rolling off the glass, and a scourge of mosquitos assails them. Right there and the, the term is created, applied, and recorded for posterity.

If you'd like to see other animal group names, click here. Enjoy!

Look at Me, Son - I'm Talking to You!

Today's post is unique. It is a video plea from law enforcement in St. Landry Parish, Louisiana, for information leading to the arrest of a burglar who broke into a local grocery and stole hundreds of dollars.

The officer is determined to capture this criminal, and boy, does he ever threaten -- well, just listen for yourself! ~GH

Flashback: The Muse

Flashback from August 21, 2012:

My Muse was inspired this morning. Here is the result:
"Rage, rage against the dying of the night.
Do not go gentle into that bright light." 

That is all. Don't judge. The Muse is not a morning person. ~GH

The Little Black Fish by Samad Behrangi

Painting by Farshid Mesqali

The Little Black Fish is a revolutionary tale dressed up as a children's story but in actuality, a political allegory.

Do we continue to live as we've always done? What if one dares to choose another path?

I hope you will enjoy this. It was my first glimpse into Persian literature. ~~GH

The Little Black Fish
By: Samad Behrangi

The Little Black Fish; painting by: Farshid Mesqali

It was the longest night of winter. At the bottom of the sea an old fish gathered together 12,000 of her children and grandchildren and began to tell them this story: 

Once upon a time a little black fish lived with her mother in a small pond on the side of a mountain. Their home was behind a black, moss-covered rock, under which they both slept at night. The little fish longed to see the moonlight in their home just once. From morning till evening, the mother and child swam after each other. Sometimes they joined other fish and rapidly darted in and out of small crevices. The little fish was an only child, for of the 10,000 eggs which the mother had laid, only she had survived. 

For several days the little fish had been deep in thought and had talked very little. She swam slowly behind her mother around the pond and did not play with the other fish. Her mother thought her child was sick and would soon be well. In fact, the black fish's sickness was really something else! 

Early one morning before the sun had risen, the little fish woke her mother and said . . .
(click here to read the rest of the story)

Beauty and Love

Beauty and Love are as body and soul.

Beauty is the mind, LOVE is the diamond.

They have been together since the beginning of time.

Side by side, step by step.

~ Rumi

Seshat, Goddess of Writing

by Jeff Dahl

Seshat is the Egyptian goddess of wisdom, knowledge, architecture, astrology, astronomy, building, mathematics, surveying, and last but not least of all -- writing. She is credited with creating writing.

I wonder if my Muse Persephone would mind terribly much if I invited Seshat into our inner circle? We shall see. ~~GH

Technology Fail

Not everyone is cut out for technology. There is a little Luddite in every one of us. This woman appears to have misunderstood the purpose of the selfie stick. I'm crossing my fingers that she's just adjusting the settings on the phone! ~GH

Starting Over

I wonder

Is there enough time left
For someone to learn how
I like my eggs
Or on what side I sleep
Which towel I prefer
Why I like The Wailin Jenny's
And Kurt Vonnegut
And what black walnuts mean to me

Is there enough time
To understand the way I dance
And what breaking cookies means
Or why I take so many pictures
How important running water is
And thunder
And why I worship the wind

Will anyone ever understand 

How I love the way I love
Or what it means to stroke my hair
Or when to hold me when I joke
And when to step back when I cry
    ~~ Ginger Hamilton

Washing Dishes

Washing Dishes - by Ginger Hamilton

I was drafted into a war I didn't want to fight. Conscientious objecting was not an option and I couldn't move to Canada to avoid it. I unknowingly stumbled into the front lines as I received my draft notice. "Your test was positive," translated into "You have breast cancer and it has spread." 

My mind further translated it into "You are going to die."

I hate the symbol for breast cancer – the pastel pink ribbon. The treatment for breast cancer tends to rob a woman of her outward signs of femininity. Every single hair on every part of my body fell out. 

My breast was markedly smaller, and had ugly red and purple tracks on it. Then third degree burns from radiation turned the already assaulted breast into a swollen, deep red, leathery lump.

Chemotherapy caused my periods to stop, ensuring I would never again give birth. 

No, the symbol for breast cancer should be a black ribbon or at the very least, a deep brown one. There's nothing girlie about breast cancer.

I was told by my oncologist that if I live long enough, complications from breast cancer will end my life. Of course, I may get lucky and be clobbered by a Mack truck or mugged or have a heart attack. But my chances of "dying peacefully" in my sleep of "natural causes" are slim to none.

I hate the term `survivor.' I hate the concept of obituaries which state someone succumbed "after a long courageous battle with cancer." Why don't they say "passed away after a long courageous battle with old age" for folks in their upper nineties and older? Who says they fought a courageous battle anyway? 

Personally, I am not fighting a battle with cancer, and I am not a survivor. Women are notably strong but I believe it's unnatural and unhealthy to maintain a battle-ready state of mind.

Cancer is part of my daily existence. Why should I engage my own body in a battle with itself? Positive imagery is a wonderful concept where folks picture their cancer cells and then picture themselves eliminating the cancer cells. 

Studies have shown that folks who picture battle themes such as shooting, bombing, and stabbing cancer cells have a shorter life expectancy than those who use less violent imagery.

Personally, I see my body as a plate and the cancer cells as leftover food on the plate. I scrape what I can off into the garbage. Then I use hot water and detergent to thoroughly clean the plate. I love the idea of throwing and washing away the cancer and leaving sparkling clean body cells. It is satisfying and something I can relate to in my external existence.

There are concentration camp survivors. Hopefully, they will never again be in a concentration camp. There are earthquake survivors and rattlesnake bite survivors – even bear and shark attack survivors. None of those folks ever have to go through their experience again. 

Breast cancer doesn't go away forever for those whose cancer has spread. We are not survivors. We are unwilling participants in a never-ending war where we remain on the front lines, ever attentive for enemy attack. 

If you'll excuse me, I have plates to wash. ~ GH

Grizzly

Grizzly bears are huge. I mean really, really huge. I knew their claws were the size of our fingers, but that didn't translate into an accurate visualization until I saw this photo yesterday:

Yes, the claws are the size of adult human fingers, but wow! (Please don't be concerned about the bear's safety. It is tranquilized and about to be released back into the wild). 

Richard Thompson, one of my top three favorite singer/writer/guitarists, wrote and performed the music for "Grizzly Man," Werner Herzog's 2005 documentary of Timothy Treadwell's life -- and death -- with grizzlies.

Enjoy this music, created by a master musician, and imagine living with these magnificent gargantuan creatures. ~ GH

BrainPickings.org

Brainpickings.org has the most consistently stimulating and intelligent articles of any site on the Internet, bar none. I think of their essays as food for my soul.

This article explains how a series of seemingly unrelated events take place, such as the Guttenberg press leading to increased need for eyeglasses and -- well, read the excerpt yourself:

Johannes Gutenberg’s printing press created a surge in demand for spectacles, as the new practice of reading made Europeans across the continent suddenly realize that they were farsighted; the market demand for spectacles encouraged a growing number of people to produce and experiment with lenses, which led to the invention of the microscope, which shortly thereafter enabled us to perceive that our bodies were made up of microscopic cells. You wouldn’t think that printing technology would have anything to do with the expansion of our vision down to the cellular scale, just as you wouldn’t have thought that the evolution of pollen would alter the design of a hummingbird’s wing. But that is the way change happens. (Continued)

Sneak Peek Into A Work-in-Progress

Many irons in the fire, but here's a brief excerpt from a work-in-progress, "The Party Line":

"Once the full impact of the gossip struck Frances and the shock of it sank in, she fervently prayed to the Good-Lord-Almighty-God-in-Heaven that this horrible gossip be quashed and the terrible injustice undone. She pleaded, reminded Him of her faithful tithing and church attendance, of her tireless support for the Bell Tower Fund, the Pastor's Benevolence Fund, the Flower Fund, the Missionary Fund, the Building Fund, the Robert B. Wilshire Fund for the Blind, the Milk Fund, and the Bulb Fund (later known as the Beautification Committee).

In her petition, Frances humbly reminded Him of the many bandages she'd rolled for lepers in Louisiana, dolls sewn for orphans in Appalachia, packages of supplies she'd assembled for the soldiers stationed in the jungles of Vietnam, and how she always baked cookies for the Ladies Aid Society luncheons, even when _____ _____ called her at the last minute. 

Surely she had banked enough credit in Heaven for this one little favor?"

 Leave a comment if you'd like and tell me what you think! ~ GH

Light

In your light I learn how to love.

In your beauty, how to make poems.

You dance inside my chest,

where no one sees  you,

but sometimes I do,

and that light becomes this art.

 ~ Rumi (as interpreted by Coleman Barks

At The Carnifex Ferry Battleground

My grandpa took the family for rides every Sunday afternoons as long as the weather was good. There were more than a dozen destinations in the rotation. Sites where Civil War battles had taken place were his favorites.

About eleven years ago, my then-husband and I visited the Carnifex Ferry battleground. I joined a small group of visitors who stood silently on a high point overlooking the crucial convergence between two rivers -- the precious strategic real estate the opposing parties struggled to control. 

I was inspired to write the following verse. ~ GH

At The Carnifex Ferry Battleground

I could not hear the dying and injured men's moans,
nor did I smell tangy gunpowder
or the coppery blood spoor
that had saturated the feracious earth.

We stood together in a silent semicircle,
unidentifiable Southerners and I alike,
gazing down at the precious convergence
of two rivers which so many warriors
had died in order to control.

I did not see homesick, starved, 
and freezing young men
shivering around a campfire,
nor taste their moldy hardtack and chicory coffee.

Instead, I listened to the roar of whitewater
and breathed in its life-sustaining essence
while a stand of ancient hickory trees
crowded around us,
curious to see what we found so important.

   

~~ Ginger Hamilton

Ithaca by Constantine P. Cavafy

C. P. Cavafy

Ithaca

When you start on your journey to Ithaca,
then pray that the road is long,
full of adventure, full of knowledge.
Do not fear the Lestrygonians
and the Cyclopes and the angry Poseidon.
You will never meet such as these on your path,
if your thoughts remain lofty, if a fine
emotion touches your body and your spirit.
You will never meet the Lestrygonians,
the Cyclopes and the fierce Poseidon,
if you do not carry them within your soul,
if your soul does not raise them up before you.

Then pray that the road is long.
That the summer mornings are many,
that you will enter ports seen for the first time
with such pleasure, with such joy!
Stop at Phoenician markets,
and purchase fine merchandise,
mother-of-pearl and corals, amber and ebony,
and pleasurable perfumes of all kinds,
buy as many pleasurable perfumes as you can;
visit hosts of Egyptian cities,
to learn and learn from those who have knowledge.

Always keep Ithaca fixed in your mind.
To arrive there is your ultimate goal.
But do not hurry the voyage at all.
It is better to let it last for long years;
and even to anchor at the isle when you are old,
rich with all that you have gained on the way,
not expecting that Ithaca will offer you riches.

Ithaca has given you the beautiful voyage.
Without her you would never have taken the road.
But she has nothing more to give you.

And if you find her poor, Ithaca has not defrauded you.
With the great wisdom you have gained, with so much experience,
you must surely have understood by then what Ithacas mean.

~~ Constantine Cavafy

It is always about the journey; a destination is just a new launching point. ~ Ginger Hamilton

Marie Fitzpatrick's The Linnet's Wings

Spring 2015 Issue

The Linnet's Wings is a multi-media, class publication published four times a year. Owner Marie Fitzpatrick fills its pages with visual treats as well as prose and poetic tidbits, thought pieces, and classic literature.

Every issue finds me sinking into the pages, carried away by the magic of many creators gathered in one place and lovingly arranged with Marie's deft hand like a constantly changing floral centerpiece.

To sample the Summer 2015 issue, click here

Loss

My dear friend's son unexpectedly passed away August 5th, 2015. I have no clever comforting words to write; Eric's death is a loss too great. I am aggrieved that my friend must bear this burden.

His age in Earth years is 34, but I choose to remember him as the precious little boy I knew, the one who stole a sip from my Diet Dr Pepper and spilled it all over the carpet. Rest in peace, Eric.

The Wailin' Jennys - Across the Sea

.

This song is from the album "Bright Morning Stars"

I see your face across the sea
You’re in the waves, surrounding me
I hear your voice call on the breeze
On this ship out on the ocean

Sailing across the sea on a big ship on the ocean
The moon is rising in the east the stars hang down around her
The bow is arrowed to the hearts of the ones we wish to come home to
But the newly lit night directs this flight singing the ocean road will guide you

I see your face across the sea
You’re in the waves, surrounding me
I hear your voice call on the breeze
On this ship out on the ocean

When I wake I’ll cast my anchor down and dive below
I’ll dive into my lover’s arms we’ll warm the ocean’s cold
Across the sea and to our home we’ll meet again so soon
You’ll be with me across the sea on this ship out on the ocean

I see your face across the sea
You’re in the waves, surrounding me
I hear your voice call on the breeze
On this ship out on the ocean

How Not To Be Alone

I stumbled across an essay adapted from a commencement speech that Jonathan Safran Foer wrote. The New York Times published it. The final four sentences are below. ~GH

"Being attentive to the needs of others might not be the point of life, but it is the work of life. It can be messy, and painful, and almomst impossibly difficult. But it is not something we give. It is what we get in exchange for having to die." ~~ Jonathan Safran Foer

To read the essay in its entirety, click to read.

Twisted

How my cat slept in this position, I will never know. Reminds me of Jim Croce lyrics from "The Hard Way Every Time":

I've learned at times, it's best to bend

'cause if you don't, well, those are the breaks

            ~ Jim Croce

May you be flexible enough that you never break. ~GH

The Lute Will Beg

THE LUTE WILL BEG

You need to become a pen

In the Sun´s hand.

We need for the earth to sing

Through our pores and eyes.

The body will again become restless

Until your soul paints all its beauty

Upon the sky.

Don´t tell me, dear ones,

That what Hafiz says is not true,

For when the heart tastes its glorious destiny

And you awake to our constant need

for your love

God´s lute will beg

For your hands.

Hafiz

Guest Poet: Rumi

Photo credit: Ironpaw1

Be a lamp, or a light post, or a ladder.

Help someone's soul heal.

Walk out of your house like a shepherd.

~~ Rumi