Don't forget your mother went to mass and communion nearly every day of her life for MANY MANY years. I feel that added to your insight and feelings. LOVE!!!
Beauty, like happiness, is where you choose to find it. The same holds true for inspiration. I can find inspiration anywhere, because I’m not a storyteller. I deal in nonfiction and my challenge is winnowing down the material I could, but don’t have the time to write about.
The world around me provides plenty of inspiration. The stupid is everywhere. Even when I try to avoid it, it finds me. It’s like it’s my calling, so I give into it. It entertains and feeds me.
"bourgeoise notions about responsibility, punctuality, and being a good soldier."
That's kind of amusing to me, because I'm arguably far more bougie than you, in my origins at least. (You're parents were musicians, FFS; you're *bohemian*.)
You asked in your previous post about who our muse was &/or looked like. (Yours, I could deal with everything except the Virginia Slims.) I'd never given it much thought before, so I had to sit on it for a while. But what I come back to looks like Aragorn sitting in the corner of the Prancing Pony. Watching, evaluating, calculating, not quite judging; unseen because all who look at him look away.
Where do I go for inspiration? Time was, I'd go to the wilderness outside Prescott, AZ (and it really was just outside of town; 5 miles from my door.) But on reflection, that was less for inspiration than for refreshment. Where I live in So IL is where dreams go to die. "Christ Stopped at Eboli," because Eboli is the last town before you get here. So I turn inward. And I turn outward, to music. This is the song that just came up:
Don't forget your mother went to mass and communion nearly every day of her life for MANY MANY years. I feel that added to your insight and feelings. LOVE!!!
Her mother and my wife must be kindred spirits.
It's almost impossible for me to imagine you going to communion! Love you!!!
Beauty, like happiness, is where you choose to find it. The same holds true for inspiration. I can find inspiration anywhere, because I’m not a storyteller. I deal in nonfiction and my challenge is winnowing down the material I could, but don’t have the time to write about.
The world around me provides plenty of inspiration. The stupid is everywhere. Even when I try to avoid it, it finds me. It’s like it’s my calling, so I give into it. It entertains and feeds me.
Basically, I’m just a sick, sick person. 😝
BAHAHAHAHAHA! Well, it's probably why I like you, Jack.
The view from your window is spectacular! Great post.
This door is open to you ANY TIME, Maggie.
"bourgeoise notions about responsibility, punctuality, and being a good soldier."
That's kind of amusing to me, because I'm arguably far more bougie than you, in my origins at least. (You're parents were musicians, FFS; you're *bohemian*.)
You asked in your previous post about who our muse was &/or looked like. (Yours, I could deal with everything except the Virginia Slims.) I'd never given it much thought before, so I had to sit on it for a while. But what I come back to looks like Aragorn sitting in the corner of the Prancing Pony. Watching, evaluating, calculating, not quite judging; unseen because all who look at him look away.
https://i.pinimg.com/originals/32/87/95/328795c1a82b4ee0320fc3bdf40afb70.png
Where do I go for inspiration? Time was, I'd go to the wilderness outside Prescott, AZ (and it really was just outside of town; 5 miles from my door.) But on reflection, that was less for inspiration than for refreshment. Where I live in So IL is where dreams go to die. "Christ Stopped at Eboli," because Eboli is the last town before you get here. So I turn inward. And I turn outward, to music. This is the song that just came up:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-0GPHR-iC1U
Oooooooh! I so enjoy the thought of being bohemian! If only it were true.
You're a writer living with a jazz drummer.
In Italy.
It just doesn't get more bohemian than that.
Beautiful. Now you're in my wheelhouse. The churches and the people is what continues to draw us back to Italy.