The ankle wallet answered a need. It spoke directly to a personal concern. It made me feel there were people out there in the world of product development and merchandising and gift cataloguing who understood the nature of my little nagging needs.Don Delillo
In the absence of a general mythology, each of us has his private, unrecognized, rudimentary, yet secretly potent pantheon of dream.Joseph Campbell, p. 4
The sorry plight of the wife of the lover whose sentiments instead of maturing remain locked in the romance of the nursery may be judged from the apparent nonsense of another modern dream; and here we begin to feel that indeed we are entering the realm of ancient myth, but with a curious turn.
“I dreamed,” wrote a troubled woman, “that a big white horse kept following me wherever I went. I was afraid of him, and pushed him away. I looked back to see if he was still following me, and he appeared to have become a man. I told him to go inside a barbershop and shave off his mane, which he did. When he came out he looked just like a man, except that he had horse’s hoofs and face, and followed me wherever I went. He came closer to me, and I woke up.
“I am a married woman of thirty-five with two children. I have been married for fourteen years now, and I am not sure my husband is faithful to me.”Joseph Campbell, pp. 7-8
Is this the origin of Bojack Horseman? If it’s a coincidence, it’s still not a coincidence.
Full circle, from the tomb of the womb to the womb of the tomb, we come…”Joseph Campbell, p. 12
Sigmund Freud dealt with the tomb of the womb, and Jung with the womb of the tomb.
The extraordinary thing was the way in which everyone took it for granted that this oozing, bulging wealth of the English upper and upper-middle classes would last for ever, and was part of the order of things. After 1918 it was never quite the same again. Snobbishness and expensive habits came back, certainly, but they were self-conscious and on the defensive. Before the war the worship of money was entirely unreflecting and untroubled by any pang of conscience. The goodness of money was as unmistakable as the goodness of health or beauty, and a glittering car, a title or a horde of servants was mixed up in people’s minds with the idea of actual moral virtue.George Orwell
Music and literature, the two temporal arts, contrive their pattern of sounds in time; or, in other words, of sounds and pauses. Communication may be made in broken words, the business of life be carried on with substantives alone; but that is not what we call literature; and the true business of the literary artist is to plait or weave his meaning, involving it around itself; so that each sentence, by successive phrases, shall first come into a kind of knot, and then, after a moment of suspended meaning, solve and clear itself. In every properly constructed sentence there should be observed this knot or hitch; so that (however delicately) we are led to foresee, to expect, and then to welcome the successive phrases. The pleasure may be heightened by an element of surprise, as, very grossly, in the common figure of the antithesis, or, with much greater subtlety, where an antithesis is first suggested and then deftly evaded.Robert Louis Stevenson
Just reporting a beautiful sunset at Casa de Wilder this evening. I love it when the leaves fall off. (I also love it when the leaves fall on.)
When I took this, I was just coming home from running some errands. I noticed the beautiful sunset on the way home and decided to drive up to the top of one of the mountains in our neighborhood (you know, where the other half lives). Up there, you see the same sunset, but framed by 180 degrees of White Mountains views. Talk about strike-you-in-the-face beauty! So it was nice to come home and see our little house basking in the gorgeous sunset, even though we don’t live at the top of the hill.
The drive between Campton and Holderness is strikingly beautiful at the moment. As many times as we’ve driven by the Trinity Churchyard Cemetery in Holderness, we’ve never stopped. After driving past three times today (yes, because I forgot something), we stopped on the fourth drive-by, which happened to be at the golden hour, to photograph some leaves and tombstones.
Funny how autumn can totally transform something you’ve seen a thousand times…
As your perspective of the world increases not only is the pain it inflicts on you less but also its meaning.
Over a foot of snow predicted tomorrow, and then an inch or two a day for the foreseeable future. Now, that’s a forecast I can get behind! Going to grab some wax this afternoon and go for one last hike with the little dudes…
Yesterday, Mom “helped” me with Vivian and Naomi’s Christmas presents. Translation: she figured out what to do, how to do it, and actually did it. I cleaned up. That’s help I can get behind!
Apparently, Vivian has been enjoying taking her pillowcase off every day, filling it with her stuff, and hanging it on the doorknob. She also loves fleece and interesting textures. The idea: put it all together! (And the resulting idea was so cool we figured Naomi would need one too.)
The resulting pillowcases came out to be really fantastic. (So much so that I considered another one for myself.) The fur around Vivian’s pillowcase (the monkeys) is probably the softest thing I’ve ever touched, and Naomi got Chewbacca fur, which is obviously just plain cool. (We won’t tell anyone how the Star Wars pillowcase started life inside out…RATS SRAW forever! May the ECROF be with you!)
All in all, a very enjoyable couple of hours!
It’s still just raining. Le sigh…no white Christmas with no snow.