It’s feeling pretty autumnal here at the Palatial Horvath Estate and that makes me happy.

I really, really like Fall. The snap in the air, the lack of heat and humidity, the changing leaves, the pumpkins and apples, all of it. Yes, I feel a bit of melancholy as the wheel turns and the year moves into the deep slumber of Winter, but for me Fall is a beautiful, remembering time.

I find myself becoming more and more thoughtful as I watch the world change around me, especially now that I’m in the (extremely early) autumn of my life. But I find Fall to be hopeful in the end. In it, nature is sloughing off the old so that ultimately she can take hold of the new when Spring comes again.

Here is a poem by the lovely Elizabeth Barrett Browning that sums up my feelings very well:

The Autumn

Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1833)

Go, sit upon the lofty hill,
And turn your eyes around,
Where waving woods and waters wild
Do hymn an autumn sound.
The summer sun is faint on them —
The summer flowers depart —
Sit still — as all transform’d to stone,
Except your musing heart.

How there you sat in summer-time,
May yet be in your mind;
And how you heard the green woods sing
Beneath the freshening wind.
Though the same wind now blows around,
You would its blast recall;
For every breath that stirs the trees,
Doth cause a leaf to fall.

Oh! like that wind, is all the mirth
That flesh and dust impart:
We cannot bear its visitings,
When change is on the heart.
Gay words and jests may make us smile,
When Sorrow is asleep;
But other things must make us smile,
When Sorrow bids us weep!

The dearest hands that clasp our hands, —
Their presence may be o’er;
The dearest voice that meets our ear,
That tone may come no more!
Youth fades; and then, the joys of youth,
Which once refresh’d our mind,
Shall come — as, on those sighing woods,
The chilling autumn wind.

Hear not the wind — view not the woods;
Look out o’er vale and hill —
In spring, the sky encircled them —
The sky is round them still.
Come autumn’s scathe — come winter’s cold —
Come change — and human fate!
Whatever prospect Heaven doth bound,
Can ne’er be desolate.

Enjoy!

I really love this poem.  Let’s just say that it resonates with me on a whole lot of levels.  So, because I have failed to prepare a blog post for this evening, I invite you to enjoy “I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings” by the incandescent Maya Angelou.  And as we move into the Fourth of July holiday, may we all find, and appreciate, our freedom.

Anne Lamott is a novelist, essayist, and frequent contributor to Salon.com. Some people don’t like her – she is definitely not shy about expressing her opinions. I don’t agree with everything she says, but I admire her greatly, not only for her wonderful book on writing (Bird by Bird), but also for her wit, thoughtfulness, and honesty when talking about life in general. She gives me hope that I can find a way through my own problems.

Here are some of my favorite quotes from Anne Lamott:

“For some of us, books are as important as almost anything else on earth. What a miracle it is that out of these small, flat, rigid squares of paper unfolds world after world after world, worlds that sing to you, comfort and quiet or excite you. Books help us understand who we are and how we are to behave. They show us what community and friendship mean; they show us how to live and die.”

― Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life

“Your problem is how you are going to spend this one and precious life you have been issued. Whether you’re going to spend it trying to look good and creating the illusion that you have power over circumstances, or whether you are going to taste it, enjoy it and find out the truth about who you are.”

“This is one thing they forget to mention in most child-rearing books, that at times you will just lose your mind. Period. ”

― Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith

“You can get the monkey off your back, but the circus never leaves town”

― Grace (Eventually): Thoughts on Faith

“It’s good to do uncomfortable things. It’s weight training for life.”

― Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith

“Expectations are resentments under construction.”

“Almost all good writing begins with terrible first efforts. You need to start somewhere.”

― Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life

“If something inside of you is real, we will probably find it interesting, and it will probably be universal. So you must risk placing real emotion at the center of your work. Write straight into the emotional center of things. Write toward vulnerability. Risk being unliked. Tell the truth as you understand it. If you’re a writer you have a moral obligation to do this. And it is a revolutionary act—truth is always subversive.”

― Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life

“Life is like a recycling center, where all the concerns and dramas of humankind get recycled back and forth across the universe. But what you have to offer is your own sensibility, maybe your own sense of humor or insider pathos or meaning. All of us can sing the same song, and there will still be four billion different renditions.”

“Never compare your insides to everyone else’s outsides.”

“I have a lot of faith. But I am also afraid a lot, and have no real certainty about anything. I remembered something Father Tom had told me–that the opposite of faith is not doubt, but certainty. Certainty is missing the point entirely. Faith includes noticing the mess, the emptiness and discomfort, and letting it be there until some light returns.”

― Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith

This last quote is the one I’ve been thinking about a lot lately. I see a lot of people who seem to be very certain. They’re certain about where they’re going and how to get there. They’re certain about the next step. But I think maybe being certain locks you in a box. If you are certain, you do not entertain the thought that there are other possibilities. Maybe you’re right, who knows. But maybe, just possibly, you’re not COMPLETELY right all of the time. And maybe that’s okay.

I wish you the joy of uncertainty.

The lawn at the Palatial Horvath Estate has really enjoyed the rainy, warm, and humid weather we’ve been having lately. Over the past week the grass rose defiantly, screaming its supremacy, cackling madly and singing “Feed me, Seymour, feed me all night long.” As I walked down the path to my car, I could see dandelions and buckthorn grass giving me the finger.

So I mowed it.

Ain’t no wisecracking lawn getting the upper hand on MY estate.

Mowing the lawn has, of course, made me think of Leaves of Grass, a collection of poems by Walt Whitman. Hey, here’s a little English Major trivia for you. Did you know that the “leaves” in the title Leaves of Grass refer to a “leaf” in printing as opposed to a leaf in, well, leaves? A “leaf” is one of a number of folds (each containing two pages) which comprise a book or manuscript. Whitman worked as a printer and typesetter, hence his use of the term.

Here are a few random poems from this great collection for your enjoyment.  They are all, of course, by Walt Whitman.

Me Imperturbe

Me imperturbe, standing at ease in Nature,
Master of all or mistress of all, aplomb in the midst of irrational things,
Imbued as they, passive, receptive, silent as they,
Finding my occupation, poverty, notoriety, foibles, crimes, less
important than I thought,
Me toward the Mexican sea, or in the Mannahatta or the Tennessee,
or far north or inland,
A river man, or a man of the woods or of any farm-life of these
States or of the coast, or the lakes or Kanada,
Me wherever my life is lived, O to be self-balanced for contingencies,
To confront night, storms, hunger, ridicule, accidents, rebuffs, as
the trees and animals do.

Poets to Come

Poets to come! orators, singers, musicians to come!
Not to-day is to justify me and answer what I am for,
But you, a new brood, native, athletic, continental, greater than
before known,
Arouse! for you must justify me.

I myself but write one or two indicative words for the future,
I but advance a moment only to wheel and hurry back in the darkness.

I am a man who, sauntering along without fully stopping, turns a
casual look upon you and then averts his face,
Leaving it to you to prove and define it,
Expecting the main things from you.

 
Out of the Rolling Ocean the Crowd

Out of the rolling ocean the crowd came a drop gently to me,
Whispering I love you, before long I die,
I have travel’d a long way merely to look on you to touch you,
For I could not die till I once look’d on you,
For I fear’d I might afterward lose you.

Now we have met, we have look’d, we are safe,
Return in peace to the ocean my love,
I too am part of that ocean my love, we are not so much separated,
Behold the great rondure, the cohesion of all, how perfect!
But as for me, for you, the irresistible sea is to separate us,
As for an hour carrying us diverse, yet cannot carry us diverse forever;
Be not impatient—a little space—know you I salute the air, the
ocean and the land,
Every day at sundown for your dear sake my love.

Roots and Leaves Themselves Alone

Roots and leaves themselves alone are these,
Scents brought to men and women from the wild woods and pond-side,
Breast-sorrel and pinks of love, fingers that wind around tighter
than vines,
Gushes from the throats of birds hid in the foliage of trees as the
sun is risen,
Breezes of land and love set from living shores to you on the living
sea, to you O sailors!
Frost-mellow’d berries and Third-month twigs offer’d fresh to young
persons wandering out in the fields when the winter breaks up,
Love-buds put before you and within you whoever you are,
Buds to be unfolded on the old terms,
If you bring the warmth of the sun to them they will open and bring
form, color, perfume, to you,
If you become the aliment and the wet they will become flowers,
fruits, tall branches and trees.

 
Well, I’m off to sip iced tea in a genteel and lady-like manner whilst the cats wait on me hand and foot.

Or maybe that’s just heat exhaustion.