the powerful image of tree roots in a rock fissure
one I hold from Little Miami River trails in Greene County, Ohio
repeated once again along the Isinglass, in New Hampshire, just below the landfill a half-century later
the memory, all the same
You never know what we'll churn up in cleaning a stall
the powerful image of tree roots in a rock fissure
one I hold from Little Miami River trails in Greene County, Ohio
repeated once again along the Isinglass, in New Hampshire, just below the landfill a half-century later
the memory, all the same
My week on a schooner enlarged my vocabulary.
For instance.
I also like the term “running on one screw,” meaning propeller, except we didn’t have one.
We won’t even start talking tonnage, which seems to mean a lot for insiders.
There’s no Ellis Island in my ancestry. All of my roots on my father’s side arrived earlier, via other ports, and came mostly through Pennsylvania.
My mother’s are a bit more tangled.
But somehow, I manage to write without it.
As I mentioned in a previous Tendrils (June 10), Cincy was the “big city” of my youth, an hour drive to the south once Interstate 75 opened.
Here are some memories.
A season in Kyoto, Barcelona, or back in the Pacific Northwest.
Extended genealogical research in England, Ireland, and Alsace.
The Peruvian Andes.
Alaska or Iceland.
Ascending Mount Rainier or Adams.
Weekends of concerts, museums, and theater in Boston.
A week at the Metropolitan Opera.
Visiting friends in Baltimore, New York, and the Pacific Northwest.
Canoeing or kayaking in northern Maine.
On the other hand, I’d still love to experience the Orthodox icons in the churches of Macedonia.
And even some time on Grand Manan Island, New Brunswick,
As an editor and a writer, I’ve long been inspired by a stream of classy, glossy magazines with outstanding illustrations and design supporting sharply edited, masterful writing.
In this category, I’m skipping over purely literary periodicals, even the ones with deep pockets, as well as newsweeklies and many other kinds of magazines.
The ones I’ve admired, as I’m seeing now, all reflected a single editor’s voice and vision, not that I remember all of their names now. Maybe that’s for another Tendril.
For now, here’s what I mean.
My first brush with the concept came in a hearing a classical musician talk about his arrival in a major symphony orchestra and looking around at all the talent and amazing sound they were creating. “I felt like an imposter,” he said.
Oh, my, I could identify.
Little did I know of the Imposter Syndrome, a term coined by psychologists in the 1970s.
Rather than go into the details and nuances – there are many, look them up if you wish – I’ll mention ten places it hits me.
Tell me I’m not alone. Please?
I’ve mentioned a few others, such as the art museum, in other posts here. Now, to add a few more, in no particular order. Again, I’m looking at Greater Dayton rather than strictly inside the city limits.
My, all that was a world ago in my life.
An afternoon at the beach.
Sunday noon with my darlings at Lobster in the Rough.
Dining in the Smoking Garden.
Even not having to drive anywhere, especially when it’s snowing and the wood fire’s just right.
Curled up with a good book.