Destinations on the Happiness Road

photo courtesy of Jessica Osborne Stafsnes

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Rosamund calls New York City a "vibrant city." She should know about cities. I've seen her mention London, Vienna, Paris, and San Francisco. What strikes me about New York City is the quiet places, the unexpected suddenly-come-upon tranquil spaces: a meditation pool inside the Frick Collection; the necklace of gardens on Roosevelt Island; the Shakespeare quotations in Central Park; a street of cottages at City Island; the bench at the Statue of Liberty. Perhaps the contrast is part of the vibrancy. If it were all noise, there would be sensory overload. Even the Ring Cycle needs an intermission. This posting is short as tomorrow I will be boarding the Carolinian, Train #80. My next post might be about the newest special contemplative spot I have discovered. Or it might be about the difference in lodgings between the Shire and the Treehouse. It might very well be about Ivan Ivanovich, the hurricane cat. Who knows where the roads goes? For certain, it always goes ahead.

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...may the blessings of the Irish greeting about the road rising up to meet you and God keeping you in the palm of His hand be yours...

May I Quote You?

My mother gave the impression of being a friendly, chatty person but actually she was quite shy and if one analyzed her conversation, it came down to a stringing of quotes which were timely and as decorative as popcorn strung on a garland. She read as fast as a passenger pigeon homing. She didn't write down her sayings or quotes. She had a phenomenal memory for long narrative poems and short rhyming stunners. And she used them. If I wanted desperately to have a dress ordered from the Montgomery Ward catalog, she was quick to say, "Consider the lilies of the field." If I pined for true love someday, she'd pull out the story of Barb'ry Allen. If I procrastinated on practicing, she would intone, "Full many a flower is born to blush unseen and waste its sweetness on the desert air." There were quotation books in our house but my favorite was a large brown paper homemade looking collection called Elbert Hubbard's Scrap Book (1923). I've seen quotes in magazines and as introductions to stories but I've never come across any quite like Elbert's. My research into his life has shown me that, what's more,
there wasn't anyone quite like Elbert so it's no wonder! Coincidentally, a documentary about him is being released this month. I still have not made it all the way through the book, the reason being that each time I have returned to it, I am awash in memories of my family--my dad who liked Tennyson, my mother with her quantity of cautionary sayings, and my brother eloquently reciting, Spartacus to the Gladiators. I don't have my mother's memory. I usually quote people I've overheard on the bus or friends. I only remember these gems of wisdom if I take out my pen and jot them down. What I am going to quote today, though, is the inscription my dad wrote to my mother when he gave her E.H's book:

"To my sweetheart and wife;
With the hope that these gentle
Words and kindly verses may be
The inspiration to her that she
Has been to me~~

Your eyes--and a thousand stars
Leap from the heavens to aid me;
I scale the impossible bars;
I mock at a world that dismayed me.

Your voice--and the thundering skies
Tremble, and cease to appall me;
Coward no longer I rise,
Spurred for what battles may call me.

Your arms,--and my purpose grows strong;
Your lips,--and high passions complete me.
For your love; it is armor and song,
And where is the thing to defeat me?
May 18, 1928"
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The blessing this week comes courtesy of George Page:

..."My cheer is with you!"...