Memos
Commitment Until one is committed there is hesitancy; the chance to draw back, always ineffectiveness. Concerning all acts of initiative (and creation) there is one elementary truth, the ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves too. All sorts of things occur to help one that would otherwise never have occurred. A whole stream of events issues from the declaration, raising in one’s favor all manner Of unforeseen incidents and meetings And material assistance, Which no man could have dreamed Would have come his way. |
| FIRST BOOK |
| THE INSPIRATIONAL CLIP BOARD |
All art is a kind of confession, more or less oblique. All artists, if they are to survive, are forced, at last, to tell the whole story; to vomit the anguish up. - James Baldwin Every artist dips his brush in his own soul, and paints his own nature into his pictures. - Henry Ward Beecher THE AVERAGE PENCIL IS SEVEN INCHES LONG, WITH JUST A HALF INCH ERASER - IN CASE YOU THOUGHT OPTIMISM WAS DEAD. Robert Brault THE PRINCIPAL MARK OF GENIUS IS NOT PERFECTION BUT ORIGINALITY; THE OPENING OF NEW FRONTIERS. Arthur Koestler in THE ACT OF CREATION IT IS THE WOUNDED OYSTER THAT MENDS ITS SHELL WITH A PEARL. Ralph Waldo Emerson WHERE WORDS FAIL, MUSIC SPEAKS. Hans Christian Andersen FOR A MAN TO BECOME A POET HE MUST BE IN LOVE, OR MISERABLE. Lord Byron FOR EVERY PROBLEM THERE IS ONE SOLUTION WHICH IS SIMPLE, NEAT... AND WRONG. H. L. Mencken ART EXTENDS EACH MAN'S SHORT TIME ON EARTH, BY CARRYING FROM MAN TO MAN THE WHOLE COMPLEXITY OF OTHER MEN'S LIFELONG EXPERIENCE, WITH ALL ITS BURDENS, COLORS AND FLAVOR. Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn THERE'S NOTHING TO WRITING - ALL YOU DO IS SIT DOWN AT A TYPEWRITER AND OPEN A VEIN. Red Smith |
| "When you look back on a lifetime, and think of what has been given to the world by your presence, your fugitive presence, inevitably you think of your art, whatever it may be, as the gift you have made to the world in acknowledgment of the gift you have been given, which is the life itself...That work is not an expression of the desire for praise or recognition, or prizes, but the deepest manifestation of your gratitude for the gift of life." - Stanley Kunitz |
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NEWSLETTER FROM JO'S DESK FEBRUARY 2012 JUST GOT HOME FROM 10 SPECTACULAR DAYS ON THE BIG ISLAND OF HAWAII - HERE I AM MADLY DASHING TO MY DESK TO GET A NEW MESSAGE ON THIS NEWSLETTER PAGE FOR THE MONTH OF FEBRUARY. SORRY I'M LATE! SO GOOD TO GET AWAY FOR A WHILE BUT OF COURSE DIFFICULT TO RE-ENTER YOUR LIFE, FIGURING OUT WHERE YOU LEFT OFF AND HOW TO FIT BACK INTO IT WHEN YOU GET HOME. SORT OF LIKE TRYING TO STEP UP ONTO A SPEEDING BUS. I GUESS THAT IS THE WHOLE POINT. TO GET OFF THE DAMN BUS. TO GET TO A DIFFERENT PLACE IN MIND, BODY AND SPIRIT SO THAT YOU CAN DETACH AND DECOMPRESS AND LIVE ANOTHER LIFE FOR A WINDOW OF TIME. KIND OF LIKE MEDITATING. REMOVE THE CLATTER AND THE CLUTTER. STARE INTO THE GREAT BLUE BEYOND - BOTH INTERIOR AND EXTERIOR. IT CAN DO WONDERS FOR THE HEALTH OF YOUR HEALTH, IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN. THE BLUE BEYOND - MY SPECIFIC OCEAN, AS I LIKE TO CALL IT. THE SPECIFIC PACIFIC. THE SALT WATER AND SEA SPRAY NEVER FAIL TO HEAL OPEN WOUNDS AND SOOTH MENTAL MUSCLES WEARY FROM STRETCHING AROUND LIFE'S CHALLENGES. IT GOES BY SO QUICKLY AND THEN YOU ARE HOME AGAIN. LIFE'S AGGRAVATIONS HIT YOU SQUARELY BETWEEN THE EYES AS YOU WALK BACK INTO THE LIFE YOU HAVE SO CAREFULLY WOVEN FOR YOURSELF. |
| IT IS ART THAT MAKES LIFE. AND I KNOW OF NO SUBSTITUTE WHATSOEVER FOR THE FORCE AND BEAUTY OF ITS PROCESS. |
THOSE ARE MY THOUGHTS, STRAIGHT FROM THE HEART. JO |
THE WORRY GAME THEY SAY THAT IF YOU WERE ABLE TO TOSS ALL YOUR WORRIES INTO A BIG PILE WITH HUNDREDS OF OTHER PEOPLE, AND YOU ARE GIVEN THE OPTION OF SELECTING A NEW SET OF PROBLEMS FROM THE PILE INSTEAD OF YOUR OWN, MOST PEOPLE WOULD MAKE THE CHOICE TO DIG AROUND, LOCATE THEIR OWN PROBLEMS AND CARRY THEM BACK HOME FROM THE PILE RATHER THAN TAKE A CHANCE WITH ANYONE ELSE'S. THE KNOWN IS ALWAYS LESS DAUNTING THAN THE FEAR OF THE UNKNOWN. HOWEVER, IN REVIEWING YOUR OWN PROBLEMS IT IS USEFUL TO ASK YOURSELF WHETHER OR NOT YOU SEEM TO BE DEALING WITH THE SAME KINDS OF PROBLEMS ALL THE DAMN TIME. DOES HISTORY REPEAT ITSELF IN YOUR LIFE? HOW MANY TIMES WILL YOU KEEP TAKING BACK THE FAMILIAR PROBLEMS? DO THE SAME LESSONS KEEP COMING BACK AROUND TO HAUNT YOU, TO TEACH YOU, TO TORTURE YOU AGAIN AND AGAIN, BUT IN DIFFERENT DISGUISES? YOU CAN BE SURE THAT WHEN YOU FAIL TO GET A MESSAGE, IT RE-VISITS YOU PERIODICALLY, RETURNING LIKE A BAD DREAM, BECOMING LESS SUBTLE, MORE GLARING, LOUDER AND STRONGER, UNTIL IT IS IMPOSSIBLE TO IGNORE IN SPITE OF YOUR DENIAL, YOUR PREOCCUPATION, AND YOUR FAUX CONFIDENCE TELLING YOU THAT YOU NEED NOT HEED ITS DEMANDING VOICE. AND THAT IS USUALLY WHEN THINGS BEGIN TO FALL APART. LIVING IN THE MOMENT IS THE BEST WAY TO PREVENT THE CHAOS OF THE UNEXPECTED AND THE DISASTER OF THE REPEATING CATASTROPHE. GET A GRIP, LEARN A LESSON, ABSORB THE REALITY, AND BE WISER FOR IT. DEAL WITH IT! THEN TOSS IT AWAY IN THE WORRY PILE FOREVER. JO ANN BROWN-SCOTT |
WRITING IS THERAPY! As Dr. Seuss says - "Be who you are and say what you feel because those who mind don't matter, and those who matter don't mind." |
| TO QUOTE OSCAR WILDE - "BE YOURSELF. EVERYBODY ELSE IS ALREADY TAKEN." |
A Lover’s Remorse
By Capt. Fred Rossiter
Author of Chapter Seven titled THE JOURNEY
in "The Creative Epiphany"
She’s gone now …unceremoniously dumped after 18 glorious, beautiful years
together. A new young thing caught my eye and I figured it was just time ... to move
on. My old love had been there for me, every day, in good times and bad … always
faithful, always willing and ready to please me and take me to new heights of love
and passion. We’d gone everywhere together and she never complained. She had
always been faithful. When the time came, I just walked away. I didn’t even turn
around, give her a wink or pat her on the bumper.
I can’t think of anything else that served me as well without complaint. My 1994
Camry required only minimal maintenance. It outperformed all my homes, my yards,
my computers, my boats, airplanes, my appliances …. well, even my wife and kids.
They had all required constant attention, upkeep and repair. But, not her. 206,000
miles and she still ran perfectly… all on her original plugs … all without even a tune
up! I guess I just didn’t want to stick around for the inevitable end.
Now, she’s gone and I miss her! I feel miserable about how I treated her on that last
day. Yes, she had a few wrinkles and age spots but she was still pretty. I think back
about all the good times we had together. I remember the first time we met and I
brought her home to meet the family. We lived in The Pinery and she was my reward
for giving up smoking. She took all of us everywhere … to the mountains, the plains,
the forests and even over the river to Grandma’s house. When my daughters got to
drive her, it was a rare and special privilege. They loved her too! She even took each
of them beyond that magical, perilous mark of 100 mph …. safely, quietly, without
complaint. I remember the trip my daughters and I made with her to Aspen with the
wind in our hair and the sun shining through the open sun roof. It was all about
performance that day on mountain roads and passes. It was a glorious day for my
kids discovering the joys of driving and of life itself. She chauffeured my wife through
wind and rain and storm for years over streets packed with snow or glazed with ice.
And each time she returned each of us home safely. She survived 3 houses, college
years, bumper to bumper traffic and some abuse here and there but she still looked
great after all those years. I eased her into retirement. I brought her to Florida, away
from the snow and cold to a land of sun, sand, sea and palm trees. She was happy
to slow down and take it easy after all those grinding, torturous years in Colorado.
She’s gone now and I really miss her. I just hope this cute new Corolla can
somehow measure up. Maybe it’s too much to ask.
COPYRIGHT 2012 - Capt. Fred Rossiter
By Capt. Fred Rossiter
Author of Chapter Seven titled THE JOURNEY
in "The Creative Epiphany"
She’s gone now …unceremoniously dumped after 18 glorious, beautiful years
together. A new young thing caught my eye and I figured it was just time ... to move
on. My old love had been there for me, every day, in good times and bad … always
faithful, always willing and ready to please me and take me to new heights of love
and passion. We’d gone everywhere together and she never complained. She had
always been faithful. When the time came, I just walked away. I didn’t even turn
around, give her a wink or pat her on the bumper.
I can’t think of anything else that served me as well without complaint. My 1994
Camry required only minimal maintenance. It outperformed all my homes, my yards,
my computers, my boats, airplanes, my appliances …. well, even my wife and kids.
They had all required constant attention, upkeep and repair. But, not her. 206,000
miles and she still ran perfectly… all on her original plugs … all without even a tune
up! I guess I just didn’t want to stick around for the inevitable end.
Now, she’s gone and I miss her! I feel miserable about how I treated her on that last
day. Yes, she had a few wrinkles and age spots but she was still pretty. I think back
about all the good times we had together. I remember the first time we met and I
brought her home to meet the family. We lived in The Pinery and she was my reward
for giving up smoking. She took all of us everywhere … to the mountains, the plains,
the forests and even over the river to Grandma’s house. When my daughters got to
drive her, it was a rare and special privilege. They loved her too! She even took each
of them beyond that magical, perilous mark of 100 mph …. safely, quietly, without
complaint. I remember the trip my daughters and I made with her to Aspen with the
wind in our hair and the sun shining through the open sun roof. It was all about
performance that day on mountain roads and passes. It was a glorious day for my
kids discovering the joys of driving and of life itself. She chauffeured my wife through
wind and rain and storm for years over streets packed with snow or glazed with ice.
And each time she returned each of us home safely. She survived 3 houses, college
years, bumper to bumper traffic and some abuse here and there but she still looked
great after all those years. I eased her into retirement. I brought her to Florida, away
from the snow and cold to a land of sun, sand, sea and palm trees. She was happy
to slow down and take it easy after all those grinding, torturous years in Colorado.
She’s gone now and I really miss her. I just hope this cute new Corolla can
somehow measure up. Maybe it’s too much to ask.
COPYRIGHT 2012 - Capt. Fred Rossiter
The Green Bowl About 6 months ago my husband and I were having dinner across the street at the home of a dear friend and neighbor, Mike. All the kids were there and many of us were in the kitchen, drinking wine and cooking together. Suddenly I noticed something on the counter. "My green Bowl!" I remarked. "I wondered where it had gone." "That's not your green bowl," corrected Mike. "It's mine." Mike's son stood behind him silently telling me "no", it wasn't his, go ahead and take it. But Mike seemed certain it was his. We've shared a lot of meals with this family both in the valley and up north at summer homes. The bowl had been given to me in a gift basket from houseguests up north. I'm certain it traveled to Mike's mountain home filled with dip, was washed and put away there, then traveled south to the desert and into his cupboard here. With the recent death of his wife, Mike obviously wouldn't notice the migration of this small green bowl. I knew it was totally insignificant in the context of our lives and friendship. I let it go. Six months later Mike was in the process of selling his Scottsdale home. Knee deep in piles of stuff, Mike stood in his garage sorting through years of accumulation - holiday decorations, sporting equipment, musical instruments, books and clothing. What a formidable task he was facing making piles of what to keep, toss, or donate. "I wonder what pile my green bowl will be in," I joked to my husband. "Why don't you wander over there and see," he suggested. Minutes later, standing in Mike's garage, I felt a wave of sadness wash over me, recalling the moments we'd shared with that whole family in that house. It must have been so hard for Mike to let go of so much once again, but he was ready to move on with his life, and he was bravely determined. "Oh a ghetto blaster!" I noticed. Wheels in my brain started turning . . . . "Take it," offered Mike. Weeks earlier I had been purging both of my homes in preparation for selling the place up north, and had come across a few old tapes of my Dad's. Not having any way to listen to them, I came close to throwing them out ....but for some odd reason, didn't. I took Mike's tape player home on my shoulder like a wannabe rapper excited about what I might discover. The tapes were labeled in Dad's handwriting: Harmonica, Marlena Deitrich, Cafe de Paris, Noel Coward, Al Jolson, and Dirty Dozen - his group of friends in Florida. One by one my husband and I listened to a treasury of memories - especially the one of Dad hamming it up pretending he was hosting his own radio show. How he got Marlena Deitrich I don't know, but I do know he met her once while on leave from World War II. They noticed each other at the Copa in New York and with her sultry voice she approached him, "Hey soldier, buy you a drink?" Of course he accepted and never wiped it from his memory. Listening to her sing, "Falling in Love Again" transported even us Baby Boomers back to an era we could envy. When she went on to sing "La Vie en Rose" the hair on my arms stood to attention and took me to a time when I must have been only 4 or 5 years old in my parent's Ohio country home. They must have played it over and over and it became the soundtrack of my childhood. By lunchtime we emerged from our nostalgic fog and journey down memory lane. We had tripped the light fantastic and went off to our favorite salad bar for lunch. Looking across the table at my husband I was sharing how moved I still was after listening to those tapes, wondering how to share them with other family members, and thanking God I hadn't thrown them away. "Better than the green bowl?" he teased. "What green bowl?" "The green bowl," he reminded me. "I don't know what you're even talking about," I said in complete honesty, and then I remembered. "Oh yes, WAY better than the green bowl!" I laughed. At that moment I was reminded that sometimes we don't get what we think we want, only to find that something far better is waiting . . . Thanks, Mike! Copyright 2012 Vicki Rossiter Hand Author of Chapter Ten, titled SIDE-TRACKED in "Epiphany and Her Friends" |
TRYING TO REMEMBER
JUST WHERE YOU WERE
IN THE OVERALL
CONTEXT OF THINGS...
SO THAT YOU CAN
BEGIN AGAIN
DOING WHAT YOU DID
BEFORE PARADISE
INTERRUPTED.
JUST WHERE YOU WERE
IN THE OVERALL
CONTEXT OF THINGS...
SO THAT YOU CAN
BEGIN AGAIN
DOING WHAT YOU DID
BEFORE PARADISE
INTERRUPTED.