I was able to slightly indulge in one of my favorite stores yesterday. Paddington Station in Ashland, Oregon. This store is totally girly, though not so much that a guy won’t find some cool stuff in it. They have the BEST ornaments and gorgeous things. I could browse this store for ages. Sadly, I only had about 45 minutes, which went very quickly. But I was able to snap a few pictures. I just love this whole three story store. There are five pictures from the actual website, so I can’t call them mine, but they add to the flavor that I can’t capture.
Well it is, isn’t it?
Happy Friday, dearies. Only 5 more days until you should have everything wrapped. I, sadly, still do not have two of my gifts even done! And today I am off to donate blood to the Red Cross. Hey, there you go. Want to give a gift this season that doesn’t cost you anything but really helps out a lot of people? Donate blood at your local Red Cross. There is always a shortage of blood, especially right now. I urge you to consider it.
I rarely share personal poetry with my readers. I haven’t gotten comfortable with some of my thoughts. I have several poems I’ve written for friends that I may share with them, but only them. But this is one instance where I thought this was sweet and fit with the season. It’s for Boris, whom I hope does not read all my posts because then the surprise is gone…. But I sent this off in a card for him today. Mr. Grinch that he is, it’s not so much about the Christmas them, but more my feeling about him.
Tonight, it smells like snow. Or December. I think December has a very distinct smell that reminds me of The Carpenters, John Denver‘s “Aspenglow” song, Columbia, California and clearly Christmas. It’s this woodsmoke and cold, mountain air. It’s misty cold from the pines. It’s pines. It’s the smell of Christmas trees and old candy canes.
Snow smells. People that don’t get snow wouldn’t understand, but snow has this metallic, slightly dirty smell. Like damp dust. Only it’s cleaner and fresher. And colder. I know it sounds strange to say snow smells like dust, but every snowflake is made from a speck of dust. you would not have snow unless you had dirt. Sounds even stranger. But seriously, melt snow and the water isn’t very clean at the bottom. And it tastes weird. Definitely dirty. I like to eat snow, but even it doesn’t taste like clean water. Yet you think it is because it’s white.
So, tonight, it smells like metallic cold pines and woodsmoke.
Tonight I smell snow.
That being said, I don’t know if it’s going to snow, but it might be in the mountains. All of California is getting much needed precipitation of some sort.
I was inspired recently by C.B. Wentworth‘s post on haikus, The Haiku Debate. Her article was quite interesting and I urge you all to go take a look. I liked how she talked about traditional form and non traditional. The 5-7-5 rules and how Japanese haiku was never written in three lines, but one long line. I figured that out from reading Liza Dalby‘s East Wind Melts the Ice (a personal favorite book of mine).
I actually really like haiku, though I don’t read much of it. It’s rather soothing, short and says a whole lot in a very little space. I’m very wordy, never get my point across quickly, and ramble. So this is like a breath of fresh air for me. So, haiku is this cute little package of poetry. You can jot it down on a small piece of paper and it doesn’t take up any room.
So I pulled out my Haikubes the other night and used them to come up with two wintery haikus. I just picked some keywords and added in what I thought fit for the time of year. Here is what I came up with
Grand icy traveling
Fire warms any heart
Flocks of lofty geese
Flying giant arrow vees
Wind over water
They might not be quite right, but I liked the thought. And it’s practice. I feel I should probably read Basho’s book on haiku, but I’ve not gotten around to reading it yet. I only have so much time for poetry and I have a lot of poets I follow now.
But I want to thank C.B. for her post because it was the inspirational kick I needed.
What do you all think? And do you write haiku?
I love looking at beautiful women. There is something about looking at women dressed like I want to look like that inspires me. I’ve loved looking at fashion magazines and Victoria’s Secrets for years and I still like seeing a good looking woman. So, here is my own inspirations for this Saturday.
So, any lovely ladies inspire you?
She had a reading room all her own, filled with books she collected over the years. Dusty old tombs from the library book sales. Discarded books that she wanted to give a home to. Unloved books that needed the warmth of a loving soul that would give them new life.
She had new books. Crisp pages and unmarked paper. Stiff spines and smelling of glue and wood pulp. The old books smelled of time and dust and people. The new held the smell of adventure.
She had picture books and encyclopedias. Fiction, non fiction, how to books. She had books on gardening and sewing. Books on Asian culture and mythology; Greek and Nordic mythology. Fairytales ruled a top shelf that was colorful and arranged like a child would.
Some of her shelves held neat rows of books from a series, while others were arranged by her favorites. One shelf was devoted to books she had plans to read. That shelf was getting more and more full as time went on and she visited more book sales. This book thing was an affliction in some ways.
She had her big open windows to let the gorgeous sun in with a comfortable chairs set so that whatever her mood, the light was just right for reading. The shelves themselves were big and filled one whole wall. In the back corner she had her writing desk and a big bulletin board she frequently had filled with thumbtacked pages of some idea she was writing. The cork board was always cluttered with notes and ideas. However having the books around her and the dark corner, made writing so much more simple since she couldn’t get distracted.
An up to date sound system, with speakers that were tucked away, filled the room with music from Debussy to One Republic. It all depended on the mood. Sometimes you need a bit of pop music to read by.
And since there was nothing like having tea or coffee while reading, she always kept an electric kettle filled on a small table with cups and tea and instant coffee. Granted, most of the time her drink of choice was cold by the time she actually finished it. When one met the man of their dreams on page 150, tea became unimportant.
Okay, I was inspired by the image of the personal library, to write a bit of flash fiction about it. And as for the last line, I saw this marvelous picture and it has stuck with me. I get shivers looking at this picture.
Enjoy my rambles, dearies.