It snowed, again. Maybe four to six inches on the ground? I'm letting this one slide because it is technically still winter. But by the end of the week, all snow must be gone. Just yesterday I saw some purple crocuses peeping up through the ground. I hope they survive.
I bought some bulbs this morning in honor of the snowfall and/or the commencement of spring soon to come. Dutch windflowers. Twelve of them. Bulbs are the culmination of hope.
The baby food project that Verity is participating in is going over marvelously. Wouldn't you want to eat this deliciously red bowl of pureed beets? I'm doing this in hopes that one day she will partner with me in eating our fill of roasted beets for lunch. They taste like the earth in the very best of ways.
And finally, I'm giving fiction another go this week. My friend Rachael told me about a book that she recently inhaled and I could use a good fast read. And Marilyn Robinson, in her eloquence, has this to say about fiction in her essay called Imagination and Community. How can I resist?
"I would say, for the moment, that community, at least community larger than the immediate family, consists very largely of imaginative love for people we do not know or whom we know every slightly. This thesis may be influenced by the fact that I spent literal years of my life lovingly absorbed in the thoughts and perceptions of -who knows it better than I?- people who do not exist. And, just as writers are engrossed in the making of them, readers are profoundly moved and also influenced by the nonexistent, that great clan whose numbers increase prodigiously with every publishing season. I think fiction may be, whatever else, an exercise in the capacity for imaginative love, or sympathy, or identification."
Interesting, no?
Hope you all are well..
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