Miss Pelican's Perch

Looking at my World from a Different Place


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Paper and the Art of Seduction

I love stationery stores. Not today’s big box stores where you buy copier paper by the carton or paper towels and coffee cups by the hundreds.  No, I mean the type of stores that sell elegant linen stationery and fine fountain pens, ledger books, and sealing wax. There was a sensory experience in those old stationery stores that just did not translate to those big warehouse stores.  When I do come across an old-fashioned stationery store, I cannot help but slip inside.

In my youth, there was a stationery store nearby that also sold books. In fact, it was the only bookstore for miles around with hardbound books and paperbacks too, with classy books of poetry and philosophy, with not a bodice-ripper to be seen — except if you knew where to look for them.

Books. I remember delicately opening the pages of a newly acquired book, sticking my face in the binding and inhaling the aroma of glue and fabric.   You can’t do that with an e-reader.

E-readers do have their advantages. These days I can’t always read the fine print of a book, so that text enlargement function on the readers is useful.   I can download the latest publication of favorite authors the second they are released. And when I have the overwhelming need at 2 in the morning to have that book on water dowsing or quantum physics for right-brained people, I can get them with a single tap on the 1-Click button.

However, there is something about a physical book that entices me.   There is just something more intensely satisfying about running a slow hand over the soft, warm texture of paper– more gratifying than the cold touch of an e-reader’s slick surface of plastic.  It does not even come close.

Paper can be quite sensual in its own seductive way.

ljg (c) 2017

Paper


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Back on the Circuit

The volume of pain in my knee, from which I’ve been suffering for quite a long time, has dissipated to barely a whisper, so this morning, I did something that I have not done in nearly two years: I went out for a pre-dawn power walk.

When I was at my best I could do three miles through my neighborhood in about 45 to 50 minutes — pretty good for someone my age.  Then life circumstances and a bum knee made that all but impossible.

Three months of acupuncture and an anti-inflammation diet has turned the pain around.

This morning I woke up at the hideous hour of ONE o’freaking clock in the morning and could not go back to sleep. I read for several hours, tried to go back to sleep and then finally gave up.  I decided it was high time I got back to exercising.  I was out the door at 5:15 in my ratty but still serviceable trainers. I decided to start small: one pass on the one-mile circuit I had mapped out two years ago.

I powered along in great spirits because I was not feeling any pain in my knee. Until — sigh — I was a few yards from my front door when that familiar stab of pain went screaming at full volume through my knee. I slowed my gait to that of a snail with a hangover.

It took 21 minutes to walk one mile.

I am not discouraged though. Right now my knee is not hurting,  and I intend to put some heat on it in few minutes to make sure it stays that way.  And I have an appointment with the acupuncturist tomorrow and he’ll fix things right up.

Small steps, sweetie, small steps.  You’ll get there.

 

ljg

 


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Interior Cartography: A Woman in the Desert


“Interior Cartography: A Woman in a Desert”

I first read the book Women Who Run with the Wolves over twenty years ago.  I did not like it much back then.  I thought it was an epic mixing of metaphors, offering me no personal insight.    However, something has compelled me to read it again.  I guess a life time makes a difference since I am learning much from it now.

As a response to my reading of the first few chapters, I made this quick collage of some found images.   I may use it as a reference for a painting.  Maybe.

My interpretation of the image:  when one experiences the “dark night of the soul” and her inner world becomes parched and barren like a desert, the archetypal “Wild Woman” will emerge in that landscape to bring it back to life.

More to come……..

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My Barbaric Yawp

“Yawp” is one of those old words that does not come up in everyday conversation.   It means “to cry out” in a loud voice, and  is akin to the more modern word “yelp.”   Walt Whitman used the word in his poem Song of Myself:

“I too am not a bit tamed—I too am untranslatable;
I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.”  (Verse 52)

Sometimes we all need to act a little untamed so that our true selves can burst forth with a mighty “yawp!”  When we break through creativity happens.

This “crying out” is illustrated in my favorite scene in one of my favorite movies

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