46: #53, #54, #55: Catching Up
Refrigerator Magnet Wisdom, Phoenixville, Pennsylvania, July 24, 2011
According to one of the many magnets on our refrigerator, "Creativity takes courage." Henri Matisse apparently said this, though I don't know the context.
I believe it to be true: creativity does take courage, both at the moment of creation and when you've reached the point at which you want to share the product of your creativity. Imagining that others will be receptive (or maybe not even caring about reception) takes a whole busload of bravery, as far as I can figure.
However, it occurs to me that the inverse of this bit of wisdom is true as well: "Courage takes creativity." There are those among us whose professions call for a great deal of courage: police and fire fighters, those in the military, and others--and each of us should be grateful for their courage, which is used in the service of all of us, on a daily basis.
But, especially these days, I think it takes a certain degree of courage for each of us just to face the day each morning. We're living through weird, unpredictable times and life changes for us all, at a blindingly fast pace. Life can be pretty scary.
It seems to me though, that all of us can use our own creativity to tap into our inner courage. I haven't quite figured out how this works (among my various theories, this is a relatively new one), but the bottom line is, every time each of us discovers some novel way to tackle the complexities of life, we're tapping into our own personal creativity to give us the courage to "keep calm and carry on." Which is another bit of refrigerator magnet wisdom for another time.
The Old Grill, Boothwyn, Pennsylvania, July 25, 2011
This is the grill down at Mom's house. I disconnected the propane tank from it yesterday afternoon. This was a bigger project that it might appear to be as the connection between the tube leading from the grill to the tank had hardened through the years.
The last time it saw any grilling action was probably Father's Day 2003. My Uncle Clay cooked up some hamburgers and hot dogs; I helped. Dad sat with us briefly in a chair by the grill until he was too tired, and probably in too much pain, and then he retired to his room and slept, not able to join us for his last Father's Day dinner.
Ever since 2003, summer has become a season of memory for me and my family. Those memories were intensely painful during the summers of '04 and '05. Since then, the pain isn't as strong, but the memories still are.
And, while sadness and fear play a huge role in my 2003 summer memories, the strongest emotion that lingers for me from that season is love. Strong, abiding love among family members, caring friends and neighbors and even from the amazing hospice care workers who came into the family home brought comfort to Dad, and to us, and then went on about their business, bringing comfort to others.
Do not misunderstand me: I would much rather Dad be here, grilling up dinner. But I will always be grateful for the love we were shown in the summer of 2003.
Butterflies by the River, West Conshohocken, Pennsylvania, July 26, 2011
Just now, down on the river path, I experienced these butterflies. The yellow one was already there as I ambled by during my walk. The orange one joined in after awhile. I do not know if the butterflies were aware of the presence of the other, or of my presence, though the longer I snapped photos, the more I began to think the butterflies were playing with me. Offering great poses, then darting away just before I grabbed the perfect shot. Each of them, at one point, seemed to suddenly be flying straight at my face, only to turn away at the last moment.
The butterflies went about their business in silence. I appreciated the quiet.