lifestyle

Someone mentioned this week about my blog being a "lifestyle" blog. Five years ago this month, I started blogging fast and furiously.  I blogged about books, food, movies, and just about anything that popped into my little head. I never missed a day.

Then something happened. I started writing poetry. Gradually, the time I spent writing blog posts, shifted to time spent writing poetry. Then something else happened.  Facebook.  I took to Facebook like a duck to water, or shall I say, swan to water.  It's quick and easy to post a random thought, or current Willow Manor event, like the discovery of a dead moth, or spot of the floor that looks amazingly like Boris Pasternak. A conversation thread can be started at the drop of a hat, or feather, twenty-four-seven. Squawk! Do swans squawk? I think so, yes. 

To make a long story short, my way of life has become one of poetry. So, I still consider Life at Willow Manor a lifestyle blog. Even though I rarely visit blogs these days, except for Magpie Tales, I want to thank my faithful readers. Those of you not on Facebook, I promise to make an effort to post occasional recipes, movie reviews, and so on, so stay tuned. You are the best, dear peeps. You really, really are. 

photo: me a la Anne Boleyn, recluse at Willow Manor

observed celestial recurrences

What's up with Willow these days?  Have you noticed?  She posts a measly poem once a week. That's it. Could it be, after four years of furious daily postings, she ran out of steam?  Well, yes, sort of ... she just ran out of blog steam.  I hear she's been hanging around Facebook a lot, and is busy putting together her second poetry chapbook manuscript. She tells me the time off has been therapeutic, and that she has finally coaxed her bloggy muse off the sofa.  So, stay tuned gentle readers; fresh new posts are on their way.

The daffodils have pushed through the winter soil at Willow Manor early this year, but I hear the manor Christmas tree is still up, gathering dust, while she's heavily into Philip Larkin, among others. She says she will take down the tree for Lent. 

And the empty pages?

Should they ever be filled

Let it be with observed

Celestial recurrences,

The day the flowers come,

And when the birds go.

Philip Larkin, from "Forget What Did"

click to embiggen

I also heard it from the grapevine that Willow is working on updating her image with a new pair of retro Michael Caine glasses. Now all she needs to be way cool, is lose the silly grin, and dangle a cigarette.

search terms 2-12-2011

Stag at Sharkey's, 1909, George Bellows
Cleveland Museum of Art

diving pig

stag at sharkey's

ernst haeckel

idylls of spring

idylle printaniere

dance the virginia reel

dead bird crashes window

a beard without a mustache

old jewish headstone

film très bizarre

cracker jack prizes

tombstone with pigeons

making love midday in a manor

david welch pez ray gun

hitler with no mustache

hoosier cabinet etched glass

chewy cough drops in a white box

andersonville prison camp

full-blooded caramel shopping

raw goat head frozen

zappa's mustache

half man half fat cat

eat with hands

eat with your dirty hands

a thin french mustache

john paul jones' corpse

don't take any wooden nickles

seinfeld susan dies of licking

corset tight lace breath

goya's candle hat

rojan erotica

fowl with pearls

acanthus leaf tattoo

Last week, R.A.D. Stainforth posted his sitemeter search words for the week. I happened to think they were incredibly poetic, not to mention fascinating, especially when you think behind each particular phrase, someone was specifically sleuthing. Was their curiosity satisfied? The above list is comprised of the random subjects the public came to Willow Manor in search of, in one twenty four hour period of time. Crazy, huh?

un-reel

I don't know about you, but I've been getting quite a few new hits from Blogger's "next blog" feature. So much so, in fact, that I thought I'd give it a whirl myself, to see what the big deal was. After all, isn't it supposed to encourage mixing in the blog community? It conjured delightful images of Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy at the Netherfield ball. Or better yet, Scarlett O'Hara and Rhett Butler dancing the Virginia reel, the folk dance most popular in America from 1830 - 1890, where all the couples mingle by switching partners.

So, I mustered up my best blogging brilliance and clicked the link on my navbar. The first blog featured a post about a new addition to the family. Since they were complete strangers, I felt a little awkward and quickly moved on to the next blog. Another baby post. Click. More babies. Don't get me wrong, I love babies, but mine are grown and I've not yet entered into the world of grandparenthood. I gave up. Until the next day.

More hopeful this time, my cursor wandered up to the navbar and timidly clicked on "next blog". Maybe I would encounter someone who shared my fondness for woolly socks, opera, or browsing dusty secondhand book shops? The first blog was a cat blog; every post a cat. Okay, well, I like cats, but I don't live for cats. Click. Kittens. Kitties on the header and sidebar; lots of kitty awards. Click. More felines. Was it something I said? I don't recall posting anything about cats, or babies, for that matter. Twelve successive cat blogs later, I gave up.

That's my uneventful experience with "next blog". It certainly was not the "reel" experience I was looking for, Virginia or otherwise. I guess you could say it was un-reel.

fly chowder?

Earlier this week, Alan, mentioned that posting a blog about blogging is a form of
omphaloskepsis (how's that for a word?) or navel-gazing, and potentially a boring
read. Blogging in itself is a tad on the egocentric side, is it not? I happen to enjoy
reading posts about blogging, since it's one of my major interests. Does that mean
I enjoy navel-gazing? Of course I do. I knew you would, too.

You've probably noticed I've given in, and joined the majority of bloggers who
have switched on their word verifications. I did it last week, since I was on the
road, and couldn't screen out the Viagra spam every five minutes several times
a day. I'll have to admit, it is nice. I think I'll leave it on for a while.

While being a tad inconvenient, it certainly is entertaining. Blogger is evolving
into an intelligent life form. I am amazed at how many times the word
verification includes my real name, preceded by "uni" or "un" or followed by
an occasional "ly".

Depending on Blogger's mood, it has been known to compliment my best comments with pressive, coolest, or crici. On the other hand, it tosses me just as many insults, like citicow, lowdfool, squat, or rejejune. Betsy happened to leave a comment on yesterday's "blogger house" post about her blogger weight gain, and the verification was taters. What kind of synchronicity is that? After reading a soup recipe post, I was requested to type flycowder. I kid you not.

Last week, when I felt uneasy about what sort of comment to leave, on a particularly touchy subject, the verification was awkworo. So, does this all-knowing Blogger also have the ability to look deep into my sowel (that's word verification for soul, by the way) and know how I feel, as I leave comments?
.
The most intriguing of all, have been joyodep and sewoollie. How can it possibly know the Deppster and I are doppelgangers, and that I am nutty about my woolly socks? I'll leave you now, to contemplate.


Dee-dum-dee-dum-dee-dee-dum-tee-dum. (That's the Hitchcock theme in case you didn't recognize it.)

(photo borrowed from Google images)

peepy peeks and chocolate

voy·eur (voi-yûr') n.

1900, from Fr. voyeur (1898), lit. "one who views or
inspects," from voir "to view," from L. videre "to see"

It's crazy to think how many lives I take a peek at, in a single day.
I'm fascinated by their mundane activities, in a magpie sort of way;
what they're munching, what movies they're watching, whether or
not they're wearing their woolly socks. Not only that, I get a
strangely satisfying glimpse of what they're thinking and how they
might feel on a given day.

I guess it's safe to say, I have become a Peeping Tom, or should I
say, Peeping Willow. (Heh-heh, as opposed to weeping willow.) No
wait, isn't Peeping Tom the guy who was struck blind because he
looked at Lady Godiva? Maybe I don't want to be Peeping Willow.
Godiva, on the other hand sounds oh-so-chocolaty-good. (Just a
sec, while I grab a dark Ghirardelli square.) Sorry, munch-munch,
I digress.

Anyway, I've actually become quite attached to these peeps who
are only a click-of-the-mouse away. My closest "3-D friends", as I
like to call them, only meet for lunch about once a month, at best.
Even then, they don't get so delightfully specific and personal.

On the other side of the chocolate coin, I often wonder about all the
hits on my site meter. Who are these mysterious peeps, compelled
to visit every day? Only about 15 percent, of those who pop in for a
peek, leave a comment. The scary thing is, I can only guess they are
just as obsessed with me, as I happen to be, with my peepy peeks.

photo: Peter Sellers in The World of Henry Orient

bloggy new year

I've never been big on making New Year's resolutions, listing all my
shortcomings and grand plans to reinvent myself. For one thing,
the season of new beginnings, for me, is in the autumn. With the
arrival of October, the month of my birth, and the fresh Arctic air,
I come to life. My juices start flowing again, after a stagnant summer
of heat and humidity. I am an autumn and winter soul, completely in
my element in the cold.

The concept of reinventing one's self, however, is a good one. I
wholeheartedly recommend making yourself into the person you
want to be. Or, if needed, learning to feel comfortable in your own
skin. Blogging is a beautiful conduit to use in inventing yourself.
It's also a super creative tool for self evaluation and improvement.

My life has not been the same since I blindly stumbled into the
blogosphere, that gray afternoon in February of 2008. I had a
sketchy idea of what a blog was, but had no idea of the community
of wonderful, creative people out there, just waiting to connect. To
say that blogging has been a most beneficial experience for me,
would be an understatement. It has certainly been time well spent.

Creative juices, I thought to be long dead, have returned in a big
way. You were right there with me, holding my hand, with that
frightening first post of my own piece of poetry. You keep coming
back, even though I torture you with it on a weekly basis. You put
up with my misspelled words (I am the world's worst speller) and
still show up to see what little tidbit I might have to say. You,
delightful friends, have given me the confidence to embrace my
creative self.

So, all this to say, no long, guilt ridden New Year's resolution lists
here at the manor. I simply raise my glass to you, and thank you for
making my life the richer with your thoughts, laughter and tears.
Warm wishes to all of you, for a marvelous 2010. Cheers~xx

People who cannot invent and reinvent

themselves must be content with borrowed

postures, secondhand ideas,

fitting in instead of standing out.

.

Warren G. Bennis

.

.

Photo: My great-great-great Uncle Peachy Bright's pocket watch. He was

killed in the sinking of the steamship Sultana in 1865. For more click [HERE].

transformative moment

Steven, over at his blog, The Golden Fish, had a great idea for a

transformative moment post meme. I have these moments nearly

every day now. These stokes of genius usually come to me when

I'm in the bath or shower. I'm not sure if they are induced by the

renewing quality of water or just the fact that my brain can think

better, once it's warmed up. But, this wasn't always the case. There

was a point when I thought they were dried up for good.

.

I would have to say, hands down, my most recent momentous

transformative moment would have to be February 12, 2008, the

day of my first post on Life at Willow Manor. My sister and I both

decided to take the blogging plunge on the same day. The funny

thing is, I had not even read a blog before I started my own. Little

did I know, how much this blind leap into the blogosphere would

change my life.

.

My children were grown, and for the most part, out on their own.

Many of my friends had moved away, or we had just lost touch,

our kids being our major connection. I was a lonely, unmotivated,

stagnate prune. My creative juices had dried up. My life had

turned into the Groundhog Day movie, every day being the same

dry routine.

.

I timidly started posting a few of my favorite things. At first, my

only comments were my own, my sister's and my dear uncle's.

Then, miracle of miracles! I started getting comments, from real

people, nice people, who shared my interests, actually seemed to

enjoy what I had to say.

.

The digital camera came out of its box for the first time and I learned

how to use it. My photographic DNA from all my grandfathers

straight back to great-great-great grandfather with his first camera

in the 1860's, wasn't dead after all. I started writing poetry again. I

tested new recipes and shared them. Some of my favorite books were

dusted off and reread. Wonderful, creative and inspiring people, from

all over the world, were quickly becoming dear friends.

.

Blogging saved me. I was raised from the dead. It was truly a

miraculously transformative process. My juices were back and

flowing. Bathtubs full of them. And I have all you amazing bloggies

to thank.

.

.

.

Photo: Homage to Frida Kahlo by willow

.

(Heavens to murgatroyd, if someone told me I would be taking

pictures of my toes in the bathtub and posting them on the internet,

I would have thought they were coo coo. For cocoa puffs, that is.)

bloggese

I was chatting on the phone with my sister the other day and
happened to say, "Oh, sorry, I interrupted you. You were about to
post something." I know blogging has become a big part of my life in
the last 18 months, but uh-oh, heavens to murgatroyd, I am actually
starting to speak aloud in bloggese. Oh, well, I always wanted to
learn a second language.

Not only, am I speaking the language of blog, I am dreaming in blog
mode, as well. My dream conversations are typed in comment form,
complete with the characters in my dreams contained in cute little
one inch square avatars. Now, if I attach a printer to my brain, I
would have a complete dream journal, ready to go, in book form,
since I'm already dreaming in text.



Speaking of dream journals, I am fascinated with dreams and their
meanings. My daughter sparked my interest in dream interpretation
several years ago and suggested I invest in a good dream dictionary.
I must say, it has been very helpful in deciphering my own emotions
and, in turn, being able to put a healthy perspective on them.

One of the very first dreams, I was able to interpret, with the help
of my trusty new book, was a vivid dream in which I received a
postcard, with a beautiful olive tree postage stamp. In the dream, I
was extremely upset because the stamp was torn. It seems like such
a simple dream, but I woke up feeling troubled and thoughts of the
dream persisted through the day.

After looking up the elements, I found that the postage stamp
represented communication, the tree represented a family member,
and the olive represented travel. WT was traveling in a third world
country at the time, and I was worried after not hearing from him
for several days. Pretty clear, huh? It's amazing how our minds
create dreams to manage life's events and emotions. So, the dream
ended up making perfect sense, after I figured out what it meant.
It's obvious this dream was totally PB (that's pre-blog), since it
wasn't in comment form.

I guess it's really no wonder why I am dreaming, as well as speaking,
in blog mode these days. I judge most things on whether or not
they happen to be blogworthy. My new mantra is "Can I blog this?".
Maybe I need to write a blog dream dictionary.



artwork: The Dream by Henri Matisse, 1940

Blog Bubbles

I recently won a cool book (The Huffington Post Complete Guide to

Blogging) over at All I Ever Wanted. (Thanks, Linda Sue!) If you

don't know her, pop on over and say hello. She is a talented artist

who creates all kinds of wonderful stuff in the medium of felt.

This is a great little book. In fact, I wish I had read it when I first
started my blog last year. It contains tons of valuable tips and info

that I had to learn by trial and error, my first year in the blog world.

One of the points, made by the amazing Nora Ephron, is that daily
blogs are very much like soap bubbles. They only last a moment or
two. This is a hard concept to grasp for those bloggers who are

writers, used to publishing essays. Blogs aren't meant to be polished.
They're informal and temporal. It's a high speed medium that

vanishes just as quickly as it appears.

So, bloggy friends, relax and enjoy the ride through the blogosphere.
Write like you talk, make your points clear, and fly by the seat of

your pants on some high flyin' blog bubbles!

bubble photo from Google Images

fighting blogger blub, part two

There's got to be a way to get more exercise and not give up any of
my blog time. I think I'm going to have to break down and invest in
one of these nifty workout desks. Whad'ya think? (I kinda look like
this in the morning with my glasses, anyway.)

I know this isn't in English, but it's better this way.

Feel Witty?

Someone recently left a comment on another's blog saying they didn't

feel clever enough to leave a comment. I don't know about you, my

bloggy friends, but I have certainly felt this way. Randomly popping

in on some epistemological discussion on a poetical piece and all that

comes to mind is "like it". That's it; total blank. Most times, since I

hate blurking, I go ahead and leave my simple, un-witty comment.

I know most bloggers, like myself, appreciate the feedback regardless

of the depth. I am totally envious of those bloggers who effortlessly

dole out lengthy chapters of intelligent, charming comments. I do

wonder sometimes, how effortless is really is, and how much time

they actually do devote to blogging. It's mind boggling.

.

When I started blogging, a year ago, I was clueless as to the scope

of the blogging community and the whole commenting process. After

over 25 years of carpooling, intramural sports, and being totally

surrounded by kids and their friends, my brain was pickled. My

vocabulary consisted of "cool", "awesome", "dude" and the dreaded

"like". I was forced to delve back in the dark recesses of my

formerly clever brain and learn how to communicate again, using

real words, adult words. (By the way, don't you love the way the

Brits pronounce words? Think Julie Andrews...wuds...so lovely and

sophisticated.) Sorry, I digress. Anyway, it would take me forever

and a day to leave a comment for fear of being labeled illiterate or

apathetic. Now, a year later, even though my adult communication

skills are somewhat revived, I am comfortable enough to leave a

simple "like it" on my little visits around the bloggyhood,

epistemologically witty or not.

.

I feel pretty,

Oh, so pretty,

I feel pretty and witty and bright!

And I pity

Any girl who isn't me tonight.

.

I feel charming,

Oh, so charming

It's alarming how charming I feel!

And so pretty

That I hardly can believe I'm real.

.

from West Side Story

lyrics by Stephen Sondheim.