Far Away

This post is a blend of explanation and apology for being so absent from blogging lately.  The sad truth is that it won't be very good at either explaining or apologizing, because I don't have much time this morning to write it.  While I've been feebly managing to cobble together a weekly post each for The Magpie's Fancy and The Magpie's Pen, I've barely been around to visit my favorite blogs in over a month.  Please believe me when I say I miss all your beauty and brilliance!  And please forgive me for missing your posts.  In addition to my regular freelance work, I'm in the middle of a rather all-consuming, collaborative writing project, and while it's wonderful, it leaves me little time or psychic energy for other writing or even for taking and processing photos.

The shot above is of a centerpiece at the wedding of two good friends of ours this past weekend.  The bride's parents are from India, and they had a traditional Hindu ceremony, which I loved, especially since the priest explained to us what was happening and why at each step.  And the attire!  So many beautiful saris in every glittering jewel color imaginable!  My friend's sari was ivory with deep red and gold accents.  She was stunning.  The day after the wedding we watched our youngest niece compete in her first triathlon.  She's eight, and it was a thrill to watch her finish the race, exhausted, but still smiling, just as she nearly always does.  What a weekend of milestones and celebrations. 

I'm anxious to catch up with all that has been going on in your life, too.  Please tell me that you have crazy times like this, too!  When things calm down I will drop by to visit you and marvel at your latest creative work.  

Before I sign off for today, I thought I'd share with you a poem.  I was asked to give a reading at the wedding reception, and I chose this one by Jeffrey McDaniel.  It is both funny and deeply moving, which make it a joy to read aloud--and it is, I think, a perfect wedding poem.

The Archipelago of Kisses

We live in a modern society. Husbands and wives don't
grow on trees, like in the old days. So where
does one find love? When you're sixteen it's easy,
like being unleashed with a credit card
in a department store of kisses. There's the first kiss.
The sloppy kiss. The peck.
The sympathy kiss. The backseat smooch. The we
shouldn't be doing this kiss. The but your lips
taste so good kiss. The bury me in an avalanche of tingles kiss.
The I wish you'd quit smoking kiss.
The I accept your apology, but you make me really mad
sometimes kiss. The I know
your tongue like the back of my hand kiss. As you get
older, kisses become scarce. You'll be driving
home and see a damaged kiss on the side of the road,
with its purple thumb out. If you
were younger, you'd pull over, slide open the mouth's
red door just to see how it fits. Oh where
does one find love? If you rub two glances, you get a smile.
Rub two smiles, you get a warm feeling.
Rub two warm feelings and presto-you have a kiss.
Now what? Don't invite the kiss over
and answer the door in your underwear. It'll get suspicious
and stare at your toes. Don't water the kiss with whiskey.
It'll turn bright pink and explode into a thousand luscious splinters,
but in the morning it'll be ashamed and sneak out of
your body without saying good-bye,
and you'll remember that kiss forever by all the little cuts it left
on the inside of your mouth. You must
nurture the kiss. Turn out the lights. Notice how it
illuminates the room. Hold it to your chest
and wonder if the sand inside hourglasses comes from a
special beach. Place it on the tongue's pillow,
then look up the first recorded kiss in an encyclopedia: beneath
a Babylonian olive tree in 1200 B.C.
But one kiss levitates above all the others. The
intersection of function and desire. The I do kiss.
The I'll love you through a brick wall kiss.
Even when I'm dead, I'll swim through the Earth,
like a mermaid of the soil, just to be next to your bones.

~Jeffrey McDaniel 




xo Gigi