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The Waking
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.
I learn by going where I cannot go.
We think by feeling. What is there to know?
I hear my being dance from ear to ear.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
Of those so close beside me, which are you?
God bless the Ground! I shall walk softly there,
And learn by going where I have to go.
Light takes the Tree, but who can tell us how?
The lowly worm climbs up a winding stair;
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
Great Nature has another thing to do
To you and me; so take the lively air,
And, lovely, learn by going where to go.
This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.
What falls away is always. And is near.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I learn by going where I have to go.
--Theodore Roethke
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Joy's Updates - Straight from the Horse's Mouth.
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Sunday, April 11, 2004
Odor, Smell, Scent
Interesting how shades of difference in words can conjure various images - or in this case olfactory impressions. On NPR this morning, an author was interviewed about a book he wrote about a physicist who specializes in smells. He mentioned how most people remember the way their grandmother's house smelled. It made me think about my maternal grandmother's house which smelled liked the bread she baked. There was nothing like a slice of it slathered with the butter she churned and perserves she made from their own strawberries. That was heaven! She was a genius about cooking and could watch Phila Rawlings on the Noon Show demonstrating a recipe and make it from what she heard. Mammy didn't write the recipes down and could tell by how they sounded to her if the ingredients were in the ultimate proportions. Sometimes I'd hear her say it was too much flour for that amount of butter or such as that. She created meals.
Pap would talk to me (or probably listen) while he sharpened tools in the shed where the baby chickens cheeped in a large cardboard box with a warming light bulb safely over them. I like that smell too. He loved those logic puzzles such as the one with the fox, duck, and corn that had to be taken over the river two at a time. Those scrambled my brain, but I tried to figure them out and felt like a winner when I did. I needed hints though.
Oddly, I can't remember the smells of Grandma's house for some reason although I have many happy memories of being there. She also was a really good cook and made the best desserts and main dishes, too. Now that I'm remembering this, the smell of cornbread permeates my memory of her house even though being rocked by her, snuggling under her arm, and listening to the squeak of the rocking chair in time with her comforting alto voice as she sang to me takes precedence over them all. She could rock children better than anyone, and I felt safe and loved when she did. She baked "dog bread" (not sure what made it different from regular cornbread) daily to feed my grandfather's fox hounds. I guess it was to supplement whatever they were fed or was made with odd things because when I tasted it, she told me not to eat the dog bread. It tasted good though.
Granda read the comic strips to me while I sat snuggled up to him. John, my uncle and Sally's father, read to me, too. What glorious feelings of being embraced by voices of those who took the time to read to me while I snuggled in wonder and love. It was magical!
11:44:00 AM
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