Paris doors, Portland houses

Other times, older times, remembered in photographs

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Mission statement

I wrote this mission statement when I first started writing Becoming about 110 posts ago, and I revisit it from time to time.

Go slow now. 
Take time, feel gratitude, forgive.
Remember what matters: Spirit, authenticity, justice, words.
Every day: Watch things grow. Live with silence. Reflect.

Going around and around

Naturally, I do not fully live up to this mission statement.

Time after time, I make a commitment to reflect, to meditate, to concentrate, to allow Spirit to move within me. Hands off, just being.

I’ll do that for a while, for a few days. Stick with the schedule. 

Often it’s only hours before I move away.

It’s like exercise. I need to do it, I like to do it, I find time to do it for a few days. . . . And then. 

Routine

The morning routine. The daily routine. The routine things I should do every day. They jostle around me, shouldering one another out, demanding that I do them—each of them—now. Right now.

Thing is, there are too many. It’s like trying to fit 14 eggs into a carton meant to hold a dozen.

I start on one project, get up to find a tool or drink a glass of water, and something else catches my eye, say the dishes in the sink. So I wash them up. And then I go on to something else, like filling the salt cellars, forgetting the original project.

Later, I come upon the detritus of that project—the fabric scraps laid out, the half essay in my database, the book laid open on a table.

I straighten the papers, put a bookmark in the book, resolve to do some quilting, soon. Then something shiny catches my eye. I remember I was supposed to answer an email. It’s time to finish Saturday’s Substack posting. I am on to the next project. 

One-third and done

When I downsized my living space the first time, in 2002, I gave away a lot of books. I remember removing bookmarks. So many books, read about a third of the way through and then abandoned. I still do that.

Here is a shot of some random books in my dining room bookcase. Ignore the titles. It’s the bookmarks. All these are worthy books.

Fran Gardner photo

When can I find time to brush my teeth?

Some tasks can’t be put off. I’ve got to eat. Coffee is a near sacrament (even though it neither wakes me up nor keeps me from sleeping). One must bathe once in a while. 

But the other tasks, even the writing—these can be put off, shoved aside. Make way for the next new object. Let’s open the mail, go write in a coffee shop, ride the bus somewhere new. I’ll do the accounts another day.

One of the great blessing of living an overstuffed life is there’s always something to do that you enjoy doing. The obverse is that you need to hunker down and find time for the stuff you don’t want to do.

So. What do I want to do next? What do I need to do next?

And how will I find the time to do it?

Talking about it

I’ve started a chat about routines, inviting readers to weigh in on their own routines and how they feel about them. The “chat” button is on the tool bar at the top of this posting. I’m hoping to include your comments in a later newsletter.

Paris doors

When I was revisiting my photos from Paris for last week’s posting, I found dozens of doors. Here’s a sampling of them. What’s within, who knows?

Detail of a door in Arles. Do I know these people?

Gray buildings in a gray city

It’s now officially fall. The weather is turning and the skies are often gray. This last week I got soaked just transferring from one bus to another.

It’s amazing how many building in Portland have gray siding or walls, especially new construction. Various gray tones are fashionable just now, especially charcoal, and on older houses, gray siding has a certain seaside sensibility.

I guess you could call this color taupe. Great contrast with the yellow weeds and pallets, as well as the ubiquitous graffitied Dumpster. Fran Gardner photo

Maybe this wall is more teal than gray, but I like the contrast with the car. And I love the bricks and the little electric meter. Fran Gardner photo

It used to be a thing that you didn’t paint rooms or houses gray in Portland because the winters can be so annoyingly monochromatic. I guess that was then. Besides, gray makes such a romantic backdrop for other colors.

Here’s a house that may have started out gray, but the residents are trying to fix that. . . . Fran Gardner photo

Gathering storm

The light is clear, so clear
Winds gather, hold, expel,
Above the trees, the clouds,
Distant rumble, now close rumble.

Leaves clatter and chatter on the dry street,
Telling secrets of the storm—
How this one day is different.
Even the earthworms know it.

Birds are gone to rest; stones cower.
Boughs bend, first smaller, then swaying catches.
Leaves tremble in the street, rattling like skeletons.
The wind holds again, waiting for rain.

The freshness of those first fat drops, a tickle.
Clean smell, spattering rain, more rumble.
As the drumbeat of the rain increases,
Leaves whisper, blowing backward, silver showing.

A feckless crow caws from a nearby rooftop
Challenging the wind, uncowed, full throat.
The light is fading though the day is young,
No clouds, just stark gray canvas.

Come, calls the crow. Release. The time is now.
The show belongs to trees and thunder.
Orchestrated by the rushing wind,
The dry leaves melt, their secrets washed away.

Warmth for the winter

I gave away a quilt this week. This quilt was a variation on the popular High Five block developed by Amanda Jean Nyberg for Sunday Morning Quilts, a book she wrote with Cheryl Arkison.

I interspersed the log-cabin-style blocks with plain 5-inch squares. The backing is flannel, and Nancy Stovall long-arm quilted it with warm wool batting.

Here’s the finished quilt.

Many of the little images at the center of each block are “fussy cut,” adding some extra interest. Fran Gardner photo

I made this quilt for Stephen and Keely Raff. He is my massage therapist, the best I have ever worked with. He couldn’t wait to model it.

Fran Gardner photo

Here is a detail of another warm winter quilt, one that I made for Robert. Of all the quilts I have made, it is by far his favorite.

Each star has two chocolate triangles and two caramel ones. It makes the blocks seem to disappear into the background, an effect I like.

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Things are not always as they seem

I was at an outdoor event recently, with folding chairs set up on the grass.

Before things got underway, I spied a man walking around and picking up fallen leaves. It seemed a strange time to be collecting them—the end of summer—and besides, he didn’t seem to be selective, just added them to a wad in his hand.

He walked back to a folding chair and stuck the wad of leaves under one of the legs. 

That’s what he was doing! Leaf leveling.

Fall whimsey

Jolly colors and a smiley face squash in a Portland garden. Fran Gardner photo

—30—

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