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Author: Anne Cassidy

Orthodox Easter

Orthodox Easter

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They entered the ornate cathedrals, slogging through rubble to get there. One photograph shows a country church and a lone woman entering with a basket. Another shows a hastily assembled altar, soldiers in fatigues. 

It was Easter yesterday in Ukraine, but the shelling and the funerals continue. The message of a suffering savior and a glorious resurrection, the promise of eternal life, was delivered amidst the smoke and the terror. 

For us,  the war in Ukraine is a story we read in a newspaper, a report we watch on television. Switch off the screen, put down the paper … and it goes away.

For the brave souls in Ukraine, there is no pause, no end to the horror. For them, for now, war is life.  

The Unwritten

The Unwritten

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In a recent class on feminist literary criticism, my professor talked about the push to find overlooked female voices, the letters and journals, the stories stuffed in sewing baskets or left behind in convent cells. 

I found that exciting: the newest works of the literary canon, the books that are out there but must still be discovered, that don’t yet have a readership, a home. 

But at least these works exist in some form, ragged and hidden, inchoate and incomplete.  

What about the books that were never written, the ideas that vanished before they could be jotted down, that fell victim to the cookstove, the washtub, the cradle? How do we recover those? 

Earth Day

Earth Day

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How wise were the Earth Day founders to honor our “other mother” on this day, in this season (at least for those of us in the northern hemisphere). 

For who can ignore the earth on a day like this: just warming, just greening, filled with eye-popping color.

With tender shoots and delicate blossoms.

Still far too many of us, I’m afraid.

Cold Comfort

Cold Comfort

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In class we take turns leading discussion on the various works we’re reading. Next week, in our penultimate class, I will lead again. Only this time, the works I’ve been assigned — by Jacques Derrida and Gilles Deleuze — are theoretical to the point of unintelligibility. 

I spent some time yesterday poring over the 1600-page literary theory anthology, dutifully underling and checking what seemed to be the relevant passages. But I have no idea if they’re truly relevant. 

It’s embarrassing! I mean, this is not the theory of relativity. This is something that, at least on the surface, I should be able to understand. 

But one thing I’ve been reminded of often these last few months is how little I know. And, when I’m not on the hook as I am this week, I take comfort in that. 

Warmer Amble

Warmer Amble

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It’s a sunny day that begs to be explored, and I have my usual dilemma: to move the muscles or exercise the mind. The mind usually comes first these days, because I start inside and it’s easier to stay here for a few hours. 

And as bright as the light is, streaming into this morning room, the purring furnace tells me it’s still cold out there. I’m happy to wait until it’s purring a little less before I venture out.

Yesterday’s stroll was a hurried one: I threw on a down vest and dashed out the door. It wasn’t until I rounded the corner that I realized I needed a hat and gloves.

The frigid fast-walk refreshes and energizes … but I’m hoping for a warmer amble today. 

Virginia Bluebells

Virginia Bluebells

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About 30 minutes north of here a road dead ends and a trail begins. The trail slopes gently down through a lofty forest to the Potomac. 

We hiked it last week, tipped off by a fellow walker that there were fields of Virginia bluebells to see. 

And, reader, she was right …

3,700!

3,700!

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It’s a cool, rainy Easter Monday, perfect for catching the breath and putting away the good china.

Over the weekend, I realized that the blog hit a milestone: 3, 700 posts. I love it when the numbers sneak up on me. 

Blog writing is such a daily, piecemeal endeavor that I forget the dribbles and drabs add up to something. 

On milestone days, I remember that they do. 

Force for Good

Force for Good

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Passover began two days ago. Ramadan began two weeks ago. Today we celebrate the holiest day in the Christian calendar.

Powerful prayer storms are being stirred up around the globe: clouds of incense,  spiritual readings and focused intent. It is a time of turning inward, in search of grace, and of turning outward, in search of strength.

May the synergy of these holy days create a force for good to foster peace and prosperity around the world. 

Unsettling

Unsettling

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A burst of warm weather is greening the trees and fast-forwarding the azaleas. But two days ago, you could still take a walk around Lake Audubon in full-bore sun; almost none of the leaf cover that normally closets and cozies that trail was out on Tuesday. Which made for some strangely open vistas.

It was a different kind of experience. I admired the views, but I felt exposed. 

It made me think that we grow accustomed to certain sceneries in certain weathers, and not having them unsettles us. 

Perhaps it is during these off-kilter times, in these unsettling moments, that we see things clearly. 

The Workhorse

The Workhorse

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I’ve never been one for smart appliances. I’d rather not talk to my toaster or send messages to my thermostat. But sometimes, I think I might be reading their minds.

A few weeks ago, while sorting  laundry, I was suddenly struck by the age and dedication of our decades-old washing machine. How many thousands of loads has it swished and swirled and spun dry? How many times have I spun that dial, always clockwise, of course.  How many more loads did it have left?

I must have been sensing metal fatigue, because a few weeks later. the workhorse died. It wasn’t an overload or turning the dial counter-clockwise (the only two ways I was told you could break it), it was the great machine’s heart that gave out—its motor died. 

After a few days of thinking we might fix it, we realized we had to buy a new machine … and so we did. It’s a fairly simple model, as modern machines go, but it’s bigger and shinier and plays little songs when it starts and finishes. It is, in short, a show pony. Let’s just hope it grows into a workhorse.