Artist: Nathan Bray
It's quite possibly a mid-life crisis, but less than 24 hours ago I sent a message to my closest friends asking them:
Could you simply send me an e-mail and let me know:
If you HAD to choose an object that reminds you of me - What would that object be???
Well the answers came pouring into my in-box invigorating me with their warmth, and wisdom, and even a bit of psychic nature to some of them. One answer, however, made me pause:
"This, darling Dina,
is a difficult question because you are such an airy spirit that I remember you typically in the door with a bewildered expression and a dramatic gesture raising a question that will keep everybody's mind
happily employed for at least until supper. With gestures and mimics like that and ideas popping up in lush multitude, this distracts a lot from what you might have been carrying in your bag at any particular day. I think there are few people that I have gotten to know in this life that love ideas so much and care for things so little as you. . . "
Although the loving ideas part is no doubt true & paramount, the beginning of that answer surprised me because I am very attached to those things that are somehow connected to those I love. And very finicky about them:
Ode to my Barcelona Teapot
I used to have a beautiful large teapot
(you guessed it, I bought it in Barcelona).
It was wide on the bottom and very heavy,
but it felt so right and reminded me of you,
and also of my friend Heather and of Kathy Mac.
Whenever I'd make a pot of tea in that teapot it felt
as if I were summoning you all to my imaginary table.
I broke that teapot about ten years ago and haven't been able to replace it.
I keep hoping that the right teapot will find me.
I poke around whenever I'm on a holiday - I know it's hiding, somewhere, waiting . . .
Someone gave me a teapot, but it's not THE ONE - they didn't know me well enough.
It may sound ungrateful, but it's true:
A teapot may be an object, but once it's been shared with close friends
it begins to emit mysterious past conversations as aroma shadows whenever another conversation begins.
Without even being conscious of them, those past conversations encourage us to link and connect ideas from those previous conversations and build upon their wisdom.
I believe this cross-pollination of ideas is a harvest made possible by the presence of the simple teapot.
The teapot may be physical, but it creates a hospitable space that reminds me of kitchen table wisdom - very distinct from my usual conversations which center around coffee and command intellectual dexterity.
And now, since neither THE teapot nor my wisest women goddess friends are here at the moment - I shall, a traitor, fall back on my trusted coffee.
Have a great weekend all,
TartanFrog
Could you simply send me an e-mail and let me know:
If you HAD to choose an object that reminds you of me - What would that object be???
Well the answers came pouring into my in-box invigorating me with their warmth, and wisdom, and even a bit of psychic nature to some of them. One answer, however, made me pause:
"This, darling Dina,
is a difficult question because you are such an airy spirit that I remember you typically in the door with a bewildered expression and a dramatic gesture raising a question that will keep everybody's mind
happily employed for at least until supper. With gestures and mimics like that and ideas popping up in lush multitude, this distracts a lot from what you might have been carrying in your bag at any particular day. I think there are few people that I have gotten to know in this life that love ideas so much and care for things so little as you. . . "
Although the loving ideas part is no doubt true & paramount, the beginning of that answer surprised me because I am very attached to those things that are somehow connected to those I love. And very finicky about them:
Ode to my Barcelona Teapot
I used to have a beautiful large teapot
(you guessed it, I bought it in Barcelona).
It was wide on the bottom and very heavy,
but it felt so right and reminded me of you,
and also of my friend Heather and of Kathy Mac.
Whenever I'd make a pot of tea in that teapot it felt
as if I were summoning you all to my imaginary table.
I broke that teapot about ten years ago and haven't been able to replace it.
I keep hoping that the right teapot will find me.
I poke around whenever I'm on a holiday - I know it's hiding, somewhere, waiting . . .
Someone gave me a teapot, but it's not THE ONE - they didn't know me well enough.
It may sound ungrateful, but it's true:
A teapot may be an object, but once it's been shared with close friends
it begins to emit mysterious past conversations as aroma shadows whenever another conversation begins.
Without even being conscious of them, those past conversations encourage us to link and connect ideas from those previous conversations and build upon their wisdom.
I believe this cross-pollination of ideas is a harvest made possible by the presence of the simple teapot.
The teapot may be physical, but it creates a hospitable space that reminds me of kitchen table wisdom - very distinct from my usual conversations which center around coffee and command intellectual dexterity.
And now, since neither THE teapot nor my wisest women goddess friends are here at the moment - I shall, a traitor, fall back on my trusted coffee.
Have a great weekend all,
TartanFrog
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