gurgling water
redwoods sighing
peace
Note: All the plants in this 78 acre garden are native to the area including the coastal redwoods.
Santa Barbara Botanical Garden
flowers
Summer in Carpenteria, California
Laid back beach town
Families eating ice cream
Main street organic market
Ocean breezes ruffling hair
Essence Objects
While reading the novel “Landscapes” this afternoon, this passage struck me: a man, recently blind, explains, “I rely on my other senses. I get by. But in another way I’m not sure I ever knew where I was headed, not even when I had eyesight, you know what I mean? I doubt anyone really knows where they’re going. But you walk ahead anyways, no?”
This caused me to reflect on a video I saw earlier in the day at Mendez High School where I work for College Match LA. The purpose of the video was to help students address what they will write about in their college essays, how they will write about themselves. It’s called “Essence Objects”. The task is to think about various objects you would put in a box, objects that represent how you see certain things or people, how you think. Here are some examples:
- What object reminds you of your mother?
- What object represents your favorite piece of music?
- What object reminds you of a fear you have?
- What object would you choose to illustrate your favorite book?
- What object would a friend associate with you?
The list goes on and on, thought provoking questions. I don’t have to write a college essay but I’m going to go over the whole list and think and think and think.
Note: I picked this photo because the objects that make me think of my mother are roses. She had a rose garden in front of the barn on our Missouri farm. All summer when the roses were blooming, she floated roses in a glass bowl on the kitchen table where we ate.
Spring at The Huntington
Breezes caress
Scents of jasmine, roses
Rainbow colors
These are growing on a large rock.
“Barbie Doll”–in honor of my mother
Barbara Lewis Duke, pretty, petite, blue-eyed and blond, my
mother, one fearless, controlling woman. Long after Mom’s
death, Dad said, “Barbara was afraid of absolutely on one
and nothing.” They married late, 34 & 38. He adored her
unconditionally. She filled my life with horses, music, love,
cornfields, hay rides, books, and ambition. Whatever she felt she
had missed, my sister and I were going to possess: books,
piano lessons, a college education. Her father, who died long
before I was born, loved fancy, fast horses. So did she. During
my preschool, croupy years, she quieted my hysterical night
coughing with stories of run away horses pulling her in a wagon.
With less than one hundred pounds and lots of determination,
she stopped them, a tiny Barbie Doll flying across the Missouri
River Bottom, strong, willful, free.
Note: This was first published in an anthology and later in my poetry memoir, “On the Rim of Wonder.” My mom loved the color pink and roses, had a rose garden. In the summer there were always crystal bowls on the dining table with roses floating. Today I have roses floating in two stemmed crystal bowls in my kitchen.
Imagine–1
Imagine a world full of roses.
Book 13 for 2025: “Honey Hunger”, Zahran Alqasmi
This Omani author has won prizes for his fiction. Only a few of his books have been translated into English. This one takes the reader into the remote villages and mountain regions of the interior of Oman. Azzan, the main character, had received highest honors as a child and teen for his academic excellence but fails to win a coveted scholarship to travel abroad for college. His father, who is mainly absent during his growing up, berates him, and Azzan turns to alcohol and addiction. Eventually, he saves himself by becoming a beekeeper. He finds solace in the more remote, wild regions rather than the narrow confines of village life which is controlled by gossip and tradition.
In these wild areas he meets two other men. Although they do not keep domestic bees, they go camping together in the far mountain areas hunting for the prized honey from wild bees. One of these men is a Bedouin who trains prized racing camels. Through him and his wife and friends, he learns how much freer Bedouin culture is compared to that of the settled villages. He learns to dance and talk more freely with women. While in one remote area, he meets a woman, Thamna, who too has escaped the traditional village life and roams the wadis and mountains with her herd of goats always looking for better pasture. He becomes obsessed with her, always on the outlook as he keeps his bees and roams the interior of Oman hunting bees.
This story is not only about Azzan, but also his friends, traditional Omani village life, bee culture, and Bedouin life. For those interested in bee keeping, the author provides detailed descriptions of bee keeping. The language is poetic and infinitely descriptive. I could feel the wind, smell the different wild flowers and the taste of the honey created from them, see the Bedouin dancing, and feel Azzan’s heartbreak when disaster hits.
Although this novel describes a culture far different from that of the US and Europe, I found some things not all that dissimilar: the strict rules of small town life, the greater freedom found in nature, how people develop and lose interpersonal relationships. The language used makes the reader feel there in the moment being described. Plus I learned that bee keeping is very labor intensive and wrought with many things that can go wrong. I eat honey daily and now will have a greater appreciation of what goes into its production and harvesting.
Simple Pleasures
Taste the honey on your tongue
avocado, dark brown
clover, golden
so many shades, textures
sweetness
pleasure
Feel the breeze caress your cheeks
bringing scents
honeysuckle
lilacs
peach blossoms
pleasure
Touch the silken fabric of your scarf
wind softness around you
midnight and snow
rainbows
desert sunsets
pleasure
Listen to the birds outside your window
mockingbird love songs
a rapture’s scream
the whir of hummingbird wings
emerald, indigo, grey
pleasure
Look at flowers blooming everywhere
crimson bougainvillea
roses, sunshine colors
pale pink, vermillion
beauty
pleasure
Sing a song of Gratitude
Book Ten for 2025: “Four Seasons in Rome”, Anthony Doerr
If you have ever felt enchanted by a trip to Rome, you will find this memoir delightful and informative. It made me want to return just to stay a while, wander around, visit the more obscure places Doerr describes, people watch, eat, and drink local wine.
In 2007, Anthony Doerr, the 2015 Pulitzer Price Winner, won the Rome Prize to become a fellow at the American Academy in Rome. He and his wife, Shauna, moved to Rome with their newborn twins, Owen and Henry. This memoir memorializes the four seasons they spent living there. They learn to care for babies; wander throughout Rome visiting tourist sites, local restaurants, the butcher, the baker, the toy store; learn enough Italian to acknowledge all the Italians who stop to admire the babies; and attend the vigil for the dying Pope John Paul II.
While there intending to write his later novel (the one that eventually won the Pulitzer) and failing to do so, he does manage to write a short story which I have read in one of his collections and to read everything by Pliny the Elder. His discussions about his readings makes me want to read some of Pliny the Elder myself. As in his short stories and novels, Doerr’s descriptions, language, and observations delight and enchant. This is a wondrous book about one of the world’s oldest and most fascinating cities which he calls, “a Metropolitan Museum of Art the size of Manhattan with no roof, no display cases…
Sunday Poem
This morning snow capped mountains
brought me joy.
In afternoon I
strolled through gardens,
lunched with daughter near gurgling streams.
Flowers smiled at me,
A bamboo forest beckoned.
Nature’s beauty overcame negativity, despair.
We will
Endure
Overcome.
writingontherim 