Since I am not taking any classes this semester, I have a hard time answering when people ask, "What do you do?"
I keep house.
I care for my husband.
I read.
I raise a kitty and a puppy.
I jog.
Mostly, I write. Does that make me a writer?
Can I say, "I am a writer." without being a fraud, without feeling like a fraud?
I haven't published a book. I don't write regularly for anyone but myself. I don't get paid to write. Am I still a writer, just an as yet unrecognized talent?
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Why does what we do matter so much socially? What kind of a question is, "What do you do?" I often want to answer,"I live." An unexpected answer to what I think is a semi-ridiculous question.
I am ultimately more interested in the who's and why's and how's than the where's and what's.
Maybe I am a writer after all.
Showing posts with label questions. Show all posts
Showing posts with label questions. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Monday, July 13, 2009
Willow by the Cleared Bank
I am fortunate enough to live just 15 or so minutes outside Boston, but still be surrounded by nature. Every day, on at least one of our many walks, the puppy and I take to the Charles River Reservation Walkway.
We pick one of the entrances along Pleasant Street, walk to Bridge Street, cross to the other side of the river, continue to Watertown Square, and loop back to exit the same way we entered.
The lookouts along the river are plentiful.
The dam, with its feathered occupants, is spectacular.
But the place that draws us back time and again is the Willow Tree by the cleared bank. We stand and watch the river rush over the Willow's roots. When the river is high with the rains the drooping branches of the Willow dance along its surface. In sun, our Willow provides a shaded respite. It is impossible for us to pass by without stopping.
I do not see sadness, only beauty and strength in the Weeping Willow. My first reaction is to smile. I believe it may have been misnamed.
The Willow is mysterious, resilient, and adaptable. It even grows, though considerably shorter, in the Artic Circle. The Osage Indian Tribe has a parable about the Willow.
Growing up, I spent much of my time in the woods and along the banks of the pond behind my house. As a child, I remember being asked time and time again if I might like to be a Botanist when I "grow up". It seems I am given to a curiosity towards and love and reverence for trees, flowers, and nature in general. This may sound strange, but do you have a favorite tree? If not, do you have a place like the Willow by the Cleared Bank, that moves you?
We pick one of the entrances along Pleasant Street, walk to Bridge Street, cross to the other side of the river, continue to Watertown Square, and loop back to exit the same way we entered.
The lookouts along the river are plentiful.
The dam, with its feathered occupants, is spectacular.
But the place that draws us back time and again is the Willow Tree by the cleared bank. We stand and watch the river rush over the Willow's roots. When the river is high with the rains the drooping branches of the Willow dance along its surface. In sun, our Willow provides a shaded respite. It is impossible for us to pass by without stopping.
I do not see sadness, only beauty and strength in the Weeping Willow. My first reaction is to smile. I believe it may have been misnamed.
The Willow is mysterious, resilient, and adaptable. It even grows, though considerably shorter, in the Artic Circle. The Osage Indian Tribe has a parable about the Willow.
Growing up, I spent much of my time in the woods and along the banks of the pond behind my house. As a child, I remember being asked time and time again if I might like to be a Botanist when I "grow up". It seems I am given to a curiosity towards and love and reverence for trees, flowers, and nature in general. This may sound strange, but do you have a favorite tree? If not, do you have a place like the Willow by the Cleared Bank, that moves you?
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