No, really, Spring HAS sprung. Spring rain for now. But SUCH a beautiful weekend last week. Walking at the beach for hours and grilled tacos at the lake. We spent every moment we could outdoors. Ahhhhhhhhhhh. It's been a long winter for us.
I've got lots in the works. Big, exciting stuff coming for Whosiepie and friends. Tune in soon for a fun announcement. : ) And no, all of you suspicious folks, I am not "with child". ; )
Just watched this great documentary on a couple of unlikely art collectors. Bless their hearts. It's been a while since I've even thought about some of the artists that they collected. I have been too busy over the past years -- just trying to make things go...and haven't taken the time to pour over beautiful work by folks like deKoonig, Christo...and so on. It's something I used to spend a lot of time on. Pre-internet. In books. In person.
I try to keep the Whosie blog a happy place but, well, it's been a tough week. We lost a couple of really special ones in the past few days - my uncle (the Magic Man) and my dear, sweet father-in-law (the Dad of all Dads). We will miss them both. We do already.
And we lost a friend and fellow yoga teacher from the XO Studio a few weeks ago, tragically. At her Memorial Service, someone read this incredible poem by Mary Oliver.
So, as we await the birth of a dear friend's baby and the arrival of Spring and new beginnings...we acknowledge how fragile and beautiful it all is. And we will love each other in every way possible.
When Death Comes by Mary Oliver
When death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse
to buy me, and snaps his purse shut;
when death comes
like the measle-pox;
when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,
I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering;
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?
And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,
and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,
and each name a comfortable music in the mouth
tending as all music does, toward silence,
and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.
When it's over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was a bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.
When it's over, I don't want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened
or full of argument.
I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.
