Lighthouse

Even when the turmoil of the ocean is bearable, it is a comfort to know that the lighthouse is there. 

There are times when the ocean is not the ocean - not blue, not even water, but some violent explosion of energy and danger: ferocity on a scale only gods can summon. It hurls itself at the island, sending spray right over the top of the lighthouse, biting pieces off the cliff. And the sound is a roaring of a beast whose anger knows no limits. Those are the nights the light is needed most. ― M. L. Stedman - The Light Between Oceans

Picture copyright 2014, 2016, Mediocria Firma. Used with gratitude.

Natsukashii

Today's word, from "Other-Worldly": 

Today's item of natsukashii:

Indeed.

(Footnote: this lovely word was found here: 
http://other-wordly.tumblr.com/post/80598314616/pronunciation-nats-ka-she-nahtzkah-shee)

Dancing Queens

Herself speaks.

We attended Wedding Reception Number Two of the summer yesterday evening (with a slight sense of deja vu, since the event was held in the same location as for Wedding Reception Number One, exactly one week previously). Wedding Reception Number One had required active participation, as we had to perform as part of the "wedding court," as well as to use a surprisingly significant amount of mental energy to ensure that all three Offspring, plus my parents, were in attendance and had sufficient attention/care. In contrast, Wedding Reception Number Two was a much more relaxing occasion; it was naught but myself and Beloved Husband preparing to leave the house and attending the event.

There were two tiny tittle girls, who had served as flower girls during the ceremony, who were also at the reception. They seemed to enjoy alternately napping on various relatives' laps, and spending time on the dance floor. They were not remotely self-conscious, which was lovely to behold. They were just learning how to move rhythmically to the music, and focused primarily on spinning to make their special dresses fluff out into a circle around them.

Beloved Husband and I did some dancing, which was lovely. Of all of Beloved Husband's colleagues in attendance at the reception, though, only a very few stepped onto the dance floor, and those went only briefly. Seems such a shame to waste a dancing opportunity, I think.

At what point do people lose the childhood love of dance? Such a loss. Dancing is one of the very few expressions of love-of-life that adults allow themselves to enjoy. Imagine how much lighter our hearts would all be, if we let go of being self-conscious and allowed ourselves a moment to let the music move us all.

Mass

Herself speaks.

Went to church today, to celebrate the marriage of one of Beloved Husband's colleagues. It has been a very long time since I attended mass. (So long, in fact, that several of the rote responses have changed slightly... and the laminated sheet with the indicated responses was six years old. Oh, dear.) It was remarkable, though, how the rituals and words and actions came to mind immediately.

It was odd, too, how setting foot in the church brought out my inner supplicant. There among the stained glass windows and the light and the wood of the pews and the cushioning of the kneeler, it was natural to reach out my thoughts and ask for what I need. That is the beauty of prayer: it is a silent request, private even among the people.

Who hears our prayers? Can a wish within a single creature's neurons alter the course of the Universe? And which is more terrifying -- a yes, or a no?

The reasons I became Catholic while in graduate school, and the reasons I stopped attending mass when the Offspring were young, are multiple and varied and personal, and far too complex to do them justice by attempting to write them down. I will state, though, that part of my current disillusionment stems from strong feelings about religious bureaucracy and hierarchy and exclusionary tactics and form-over-substance; and most of all, from the terrible, terrible things that people do in the name of their religions.

I have no trouble with God. It is Man that troubles me.

Saturation

I've reached saturation point.

I don't want to hear anything more, ever, about Donald Trump; I refuse to read any additional opinion on what happened (and who is to blame) when the young child fell into the gorilla enclosure in the Cincinnati zoo; and I cannot listen to the 'he-said, she-said' that is Johnny Depp's divorce from Amber Heard (and all the speculation about whether she is telling the truth abuse within the marriage). Plane crashes. Listeria contamination. Lead in the water. Opiod overdose. Flooding, in Texas and in Europe. Zika. And that is just the beginning.

No more news.

I think I shall go peruse Tiny Log Cabin designs instead.

Doesn't that look lovely.

Found here: http://www.standout-cabin-designs.com/log-cabin-floor-plans.html

Reading

I have promised myself that I will do more reading for pleasure. I have so many books that it's difficult to pick one to start.

What a marvelous problem -- to have an abundance of books from which to choose.

Man

Today's earworm: Man, I Feel Like A Woman, by Shania Twain. 

I could just watch her for hours. Wish I could be as slender, talented, alluring as she is.

I hope you enjoy.