Walt Whitman - Laws for Creations

I have never read Walt Whitman, but I'm going to change that. I have read bits and pieces. But sometimes I think we find what we need when we need it.

Found this today:

LAWS for Creations,
For strong artists and leaders—for fresh broods of teachers, and perfect literats for America,
For noble savans, and coming musicians.

All must have reference to the ensemble of the world, and the compact truth of the world;
And no coward or copyist shall be allowed;
There shall be no subject too pronounced—All works shall illustrate the divine law of indirections;
There they stand—I see them already, each poised and in its place,
Statements, models, censuses, poems, dictionaries, biographies, essays, theories—How complete! How relative and interfused! No one supersedes another;
They do not seem to me like the old specimens,
They seem to me like Nature at last, (America has given birth to them, and I have also;)
They seem to me at last as perfect as the animals, and as the rocks and weeds—fitted to them,
Fitted to the sky, to float with floating clouds—to rustle among the trees with rustling leaves,
To stretch with stretched and level waters, where ships silently sail in the distance.”

What do you suppose Creation is?
What do you suppose will satisfy the Soul, except to walk free, and own no superior?
What do you suppose I would intimate to you in a hundred ways, but that man or woman is as good as God?
And that there is no God any more divine than Yourself?
And that that is what the oldest and newest myths finally mean?
And that you or any one must approach Creations through such laws?

Funny Because It's True

Jon Stewart is the funniest, smartest man in America. Right behind my husband.

The Daily Show With Jon Stewart	Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c
Release the Kagan
www.thedailyshow.com
Daily Show Full Episodes Political Humor Tea Party

They Totally Missed The Boat

Of course, it doesn't matter. I originally thought I'd search out the statistics of who buys Victoria's Secret, who are they marketing to? I couldn't find it within a couple Google pages, but I did run across this article from Business Week about their brand marketing manager. He manages to fill the article with lots of marketing talk, but I couldn't get past this one sentence: "I cannot imagine a better position coming out of business school. And let's be honest, working in an office filled with pictures of supermodels definitely has its benefits."

I'd be interested to know if he is a) married, and b) has daughters.

Here's the link to the article. I'd love to know what you think.

In the meantime, I will tell you my favorite part of watching these commercials is when my husband does the models voices. It's hysterical. I married the right man. He's sexy and funny and loves my body as much (and at times, more) than I do.

Dogwood

Dogwood
Originally uploaded by anniemcq

Every spring, we are amazed at the vibrant color and delicacy of our dogwood in the front yard. Our yard is small, but someone had the foresight to plant a pretty tree in front. We have a little octagonal window in our living room that fills with pink every year at this time.

I can't help it. Every year, I have to take a picture of it. Document it. Because when it blooms in all it's bright pink glory, it's such a gift. We endure months of grey skies and damp cold, and this is Nature's way of showing us that the skies will clear eventually and it's almost time to take off our sweaters.

This Must Be The Place

Sixteen years ago, a couple in their early thirties pledged to love each other in front of a few dear, amazing friends and family in a modest back yard in Carpinteria, CA. The groom wore a seafoam green suit with a multi-colored tie, the bride wore an ivory silk tea dress that had layers that fluttered in the ocean breezes. The cake was late (and frozen), biplanes flew overhead during the groom's vows, drowning him out and causing the guests to laugh. The bride, a notorious sap, who cried at commercials (and still does on occasion) was uncharacteristically dry eyed, sober as she was, clear as she was that this was the biggest, most important decision she had ever made. To say yes to the complexity of marriage to this man. When the ceremony was over, they danced to this song.



And you're standing here beside me. I love the passage of time.

Happy Anniversary my Love.

If someone asks, this is where I'll be.

Let's "Hot Up" the Golden Rule...

Sex sells. Isn't this what they tell us? Sell us?

Well, I've decided that we need to sex up some basic rules for living in civilized society, things that just make sense but we never really think about. Also to catch the attention of the younger generation.

When you wait on me, and don't talk on your cell phone, my panties get damp.

Politeness is HOT. Giving up your seat or place in line to an elderly, infirm or pregnant person? You can eat whipcream off my chest. (or straight out of the can if that doesn't do it for you).

If you are driving in front of me, or are stopped at a light in a car facing mine, I will TONGUE KISS YOU if you use your turn signal.

Being on time, good service, doing your job without an attitude make me MOIST.

Hey waiter, slow down with those menu specials.... yeah, that's it, baby. make it last.

Paying taxes hurts? Ohhhhh, bend me over and hurt me again! Roads, schools, hospitals, police.....

If you are trying to get through the express lane with more than the allotted amount of items, I will give you a lap dance if you get the hell out of my way.

Hey there, bearded skateboarder, you'd look SO MUCH HOTTER in a helmet on the sidewalk than plastered to the front of my car!

These are just a few ideas.... please feel free to add your own, and let's get this party started!

Transformer

The rain beats the roof
announcing another wet day.
What's new?
I sit lotus in the big chair
making my lists
when my growing boy
in soft plaid pajamas
tiptoes out, eyes half-closed,
and folds himself
like an origami baby into my lap.
How is it possible?
Standing, I can rest my chin on his mop of
curly brown hair.
While I ponder the engineering marvel
of the human body to fold, transformer-like,
into the toddler he once was (a minute ago?!),
he rests his soft cheek against mine,
a gangly arm around my neck.
This moment ("you're soaking in it!")
is broken when he pulls back,
gazing up at me with his huge brown eyes
and croaks in his sleepy voice,
"You smell like tuna."