Sunday Scribblings has inspired me with its prompt to write about inspiration.
Without inspiration, each day would be such a drag I couldn't bear to live.
'I thrive on constant stimulation artistically, whether it's listening to music, seeing art, or whatever. I try to inspire myself because the urban world and politics are quite draining.'
Most days I find inspiration in what I see and hear around me. To the bitter cynic I am disgustingly optomistic and resilient. But I make no apologies for that. And it's not to say I don't appreciate hearty lumps of cynicism and suspicion to go with my optomistic preferences. I have a wary eye and I harbour an appreciation of the ironic. (After all, I was born in Southland and a fair percentage of my heritage is Northern English, as well as Celtic.) Which all helps to temper the optimism so that, I trust, in the end I'm not too much of an unbearable pollyanna.
Note: Even though I would describe myself as an optomist, I deplore sentimentality and other such mawkish behaviour.
Recent inspirations from my mental notebook:
* The sight of a fantail yesterday in the playground of the early childhood centre where I work.
This photo is on the front cover of 'NZ Forest and Bird' (Nov 2006) and was taken by Rod Morris.
* Taking Jedi (son M's dog) for a walk today (Jedi insisting on stopping at every fourth power pole to sniff at something that she found totally absorbing. And I mean, totally absorbing. I guess she was finding inspiration in her own unique way) a strong wind blowing in from the south and the sky grey and woolly and low - the clouds and the wind suddenly looming in after a long, blue-sky day, a reminder of the fickle weather we have here at the bottom end of an island with the Pacific Ocean on one side, the Tasman Sea on the other. It's like living on a boat.
* My husband's face as he left to watch a basketball game and as he described what it was like watching a basketball game long after he can no longer play like poetry in motion. As I looked at his face I realised how much time we have been together and how much we have seen ourselves grow older, how far removed from our younger selves* we are now, but that it is all right - it is okay. We have come so far. We have so much history. (And I still remember his moves on the court even if no-one else does.)
* (An appropriately blurred image of our younger selves somewhere on a motorway in Britain in 1977.)
* Poetry in a book called 'Markings' by Cilla McQueen. Her weave of words and images and invitations into her world of nature and the magic of language as music.
Equally the poetry of Ruth Dallas, in her latest book, 'The Joy of a Ming Vase' and how inspiration can be found even when age causes your world to be scaled down to a very small one of pot plants, vases and memories.
Reading both books in the last of the sun today was inspirational. To re-acquaint myself with poets who relate to and reflect the landscape of the southern climes of this land I live in, has inspired me to write some more poetry of my own.
* A postcard that arrived today from our oldest son S in Japan to his brother M which reflected the esteem in which he holds both his brothers. Both ABM and myself beamed for a full minute. (I wonder if offspring realise how much it warms parents' hearts to have confirmed how much their children love each other?)
* This city I live in. Its changeable climate, its accessible harbours, culture, beaches, views, is sheer inspiration just all by its little self.
* The subtle, autumn colouring of the trees I look out at from the windows of our home (our house with the 'arbour View!)