Barbara Froman's Blog, page 7

Depth Perception

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I miss things occasionally…or find a logical spot for something I use regularly and then drive myself crazy trying to remember where I put it. Once, I spent half an hour searching for my glasses only to find them on top of my head. I guess I shouldn’t feel too badly about it; they’re titanium wire rims and practically weightless. But still….

A couple of weeks ago I tore several rooms apart looking for a favorite nail clipper which was not in its usual shallow drawer.

Without success….

So, I...

4/15/19

[image error]“Notre Dame and the Port de la Tournelle”—Albert Lebourg

REMEMBER

Almost lost amidst dead leaves
and severed limbs,
a nest felled by the storm,
barely more than twigs.

On other walks, it would have been
a mass to be avoided,
side-stepped in the rain.
But reason,
shamed by tireless fluttering,
let sentiment compel
a search for life
within that sodden lump,
so plainly delicate and still.

How to quell despair,
when prodding leaves no doubt,
spills a hash of shattered shells,
budding wings,
a mot...

On the El’

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He walked up to me,
this man on the El’,
a stranger,
and said the Lord asked him to bless me.

His suit was gray,
and his tie was…
I don’t recall.

The essence of caramel tinged his skin,
and his eyes,
a feast of lime, maize, blueberry,
intensified as he spoke—
enticed by…
what?
A tired sigh,
empty stare?

I can’t remember being hungry.
I don’t believe in angels.
I do not worship gods.

But on that morning,
the scent of sweet, molten gold
rose from the quaking ground…

…and I tasted faith.

© 2019...

Metaphors

[image error]The first image of a black hole, from the galaxy Messier 87. (Credit Event Horizon Telescope Collaboration, via National Science Foundation)

A year or so ago I wished for a black hole. It was an impossible wish, of course, and as the months passed, I chided myself for what seemed a whimsical descent into fancy. A black hole? In my lifetime? I would never be that lucky. So, I forgot about it…until the above image appeared all over social media and the news. I knew the sight of that burning rin...

Sweet Nostalgia

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Let’s talk about bonbons. Ice cream bonbons, to be exact.

We never had them at home when I was growing up. But when my parents took us to the movies, there was always a box to be shared in the dark, before the feature even started.

Those chocolate covered frozen treats were both seductive and terrifying to me, from the moment I saw my parents leave the concession stand with them. I knew when we sat down, the box would open, and one would be placed in my hands, still rock hard, along with a w...

Reality

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I’m always amazed when people pin their hopes on others: mates who will fulfill all their needs; children who will take care of them in old age; siblings who will call regularly or visit, or extend invitations to visit them; friends who will be kind, thoughtful, and noncompetitive; businesses that will conduct affairs honestly; and especially, politicians who will put country over party.

If I’ve learned anything over the many decades I’ve lived, it’s that more often than not, reality falls s...

Therapy

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Have you ever noticed a scent coming back to you hours or days after you inhaled it, as fresh and as potent as it was? And have you noticed that memories associated with that scent come rushing back as well? And that the same thing happens with objects you may see? Or sounds you may hear? A train whistle fading as it passes, a siren rushing to an emergency? Wind chimes warning of an approaching storm?

My head has been swarming with thoughts and memories, dredged up by sensory overload. I cou...

Imbalance

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There are polar bears amassing in Belushya Guba. Have you heard? This Russian town has had to set up patrols because melting sea ice has forced the bears to look for food outside of their natural habitat. Polar bears raiding garbage cans. Let that sink in.

***

I dragged my trash and recycling bins back through several inches of slush today. Last night it was ice, and the trees and porch and railings were coated with it. I have cleats on my snow boots, but they don’t soothe the terror I feel...

The Plow

[image error]“The Plowman” (Winslow Homer)

The thing about Griselda is she works when I do. If I’m off, she goes…elsewhere; but she’s always back when I’m at my desk, or making notes on paper assuming I’ll be able to read them later…which I won’t because…well, I’ll save that  for another time.

***

I’ve been practicing Hatha Yoga for decades. Four to five mornings a week, once my breakfast has settled, I do a fifteen minute flow to keep my frame limber and strong, and my nerves soothed.

Almost two weeks ag...

Off Course

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I had two things in mind when I started this post.

The first was trajectory in writing.

The second was sentimentality.

I always think I have a clear trajectory until the story line veers into sentimentality, and then my inner critic, a snaggle toothed harpy from Writers’ Hell, named, Griselda, sets her jaundiced eye on my tenderest outpourings, and pokes me with her hat pin, sniping, “Not on my watch, dearie.”

I looked for an image that would demonstrate what I’m talking about, but no one ha...