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Author: Anne Cassidy

To Lengthen

To Lengthen

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As the first week of Lent draws to a close I remind myself — as I do always this time of year — that the word “Lent” comes from the Angle-Saxon word “to lengthen.”

Days are growing longer. This is not only a season of spiritual renewal but of natural renewal, too. 

I need this reminder. The witch hazel, earliest harbinger of winter’s end — whose late February blooming (pictured in Monday’s post) is usually a surprise — is as brittle and dead-leafed as it was a month ago. If the crocuses and daffodils are stirring to life I wouldn’t know it — they’re buried under half a foot or more of crusty snow.

But the forsythia branches have a yellow glow about them, a fullness. The late winter sun feels warm on the skin. And up high the tree buds are swelling.

Snow and Stillness

Snow and Stillness

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How still are mornings that start with snow. How peacefully they begin.

I hold my breath in the quiet, wanting it to last. I hear the furnace hum, watch snowflakes cling to oak knobs and holly leaves.

I need the stillness of snow, even now, as winter dwindles. I don’t need its cold and discomfort but I do need its quiet purposefulness.

Mind Travel

Mind Travel

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Almost March, and winter shows no signs of waning. I look for signs of spring, but buds are tight-furled, crocus biding their time.

I find a place in the mind whee I can be warm and free. Where I can walk for hours without tiring. Where I can be myself.

I feel the sun on my skin and the sand between my toes. I savor the freedom of the beach, its great gift, that it calls us to be who we are, no layers, no pretenses. It scours us clean and leaves us open to sound and light — and always, above all, to possibilities.

Millennials and Books

Millennials and Books

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Talk about surprises, I almost missed one, tucked as it was beneath the Oscar photo. But the headline in yesterday’s Washington Post was unmistakable: “Wired millennials still prefer the printed word.” This according to textbook publishers, bookstore owners and the people themselves, those born 1980 and afterward — my kids, in other words.

They may text and snap-chat and send pictures by Instagram, but turns out they also like to read books. They learn better, they say, because there are fewer distractions. (Those who multitask while reading a printed book: 1 percent. Those who multitask while reading an e-book: 90 percent.)

A pilot study at the University of Washington found a quarter of students who were given e-textbooks for free still opted to buy the print version. Pew studies show the highest print readership rates among 18- to 29-year-olds.

That last statistic is hard to believe, but even if the data is slightly stretched, it’s still heartening to think that those who come after us will thrill to the smell of a new book, will feel the heft of one in the hand, will appreciate its superior knowledge delivery system! Maybe the sky is not falling; maybe the good old codex will be around a bit longer after all.

On Surprises

On Surprises

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In the end it’s not about which movie won or lost. (Or at least it isn’t to me; I’m sure it is to the producers and directors!) It’s about seeing the movies beforehand, keeping my own little tally. It’s about settling in to watch the festivities and see what the evening has in store.

Of course, what it has in store is pretty much the same from year to year — bright lights and gorgeous gowns, highly scripted performances. And then there are the acceptance speeches, our best hope of real human emotion. Last night didn’t disappoint. There was J.K. Simmons telling us to call our mothers. There was an excited Eddie Redmayne sharing his award with ALS sufferers. And then there was the director of “Ida,” the Polish film about a nun discovering her Jewish past, which took the award for best foreign language film.

Pawel Pawilkowski told his Polish film crew to have a drink. He mentioned his late wife and parents, who were very much a part of the film, and his children, “who are still alive.” He fought against the music that was trying to drive him offstage. But his words stuck with me:

“We make a film about silence and withdrawing from the world and the need
for contemplation – and here we are, at the epicenter of world noise
and attention. Fantastic — life is full of surprises.”

Life is full of surprises, and sometimes even the Oscars are.

To Ruminate or Record?

To Ruminate or Record?

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A journal can be a rumination, a venting, a hymn of praise. Or it can be a list, an outline, a series of observations.

For the last two days I’ve been reading the diaries of the late Ira N. “Gabe” Gabrielson, first director of the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service and noted conservationist.

In 1966, Gabrielson sold his home, garden and lovely bamboo-fringed pond to the Fairfax County Park Authority. He and his family continued to live in the house for years, but after his death the property became a tiny tucked-away park called Gabrielson Gardens. I stumbled upon it this fall and have been interested in learning more about Gabrielson ever since.

This week I visited the Smithsonian Archives and began to read Gabrielson’s diaries. There is much to learn about the man. But one thing struck me immediately: In his journals he lists the vegetables he harvested and the birds he spotted. I think about the thoughts, ideas and feelings I write in my own journal. It’s another model. Both are time-honored. But this morning, after my usual entry, I noted that two bluebirds and a red-headed woodpecker perched on the deck railing and nibbled some suet.

Remembering the Colors

Remembering the Colors

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Too cold for me here. I’m going back to Africa. Not just for the hot sun and the balmy breezes, but for the colorful, always-summery cotton fabrics.

No more wool sweaters, high turtlenecks, thick socks. No more layers. I’ll live in the land of eternal heat with a pagne to cover me. Before I visited Benin, I never knew how versatile two meters of cloth could be, how from them you can fashion a headscarf, a skirt, a towel or a baby sling.

Because I visited during the dry season, the African landscape was mostly brown. The color came from the clothes. Not just the women’s but the men’s too. Bold patterns, bright hues, unusual combinations — I was filled with joy just looking at a street corner or a market, seeing the swirl of colors gathered there. And remembering them now warms me up completely.

Moving Quickly

Moving Quickly

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The story today is the cold.

Record-shattering. Bone-chilling. Cold I must soon confront.

Which raises some questions: Why do I have no corduroy pants that fit? What can I wear that is warm enough for this craziness? And most importantly, when will it ever be spring?

Until there are answers to these questions there is only one course of action — plunging in. No, I won’t be skating anytime soon. But I will be walking, running, moving quickly. That’s my way to get through the winter — and the cold.

Winter White

Winter White

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A light snow, easily cleared, meant a long walk yesterday — and a chance to contemplate how much better winter looks when it’s wearing white.

There is a time in late November when bleakness is becoming — bare trees, barren fields, a monochromatic palette. A soothing contrast to summer greens and autumn golds.

But by mid-February, bleakness is boring. The eye craves contrast, softness. It looks for shelter, for cover.

In the language of fashion, winter white is that which is worn after Labor Day — creams and oysters and parchments. But in the language of weather, winter white is the mantle only snow can bring. And finally, it’s here.

Fox Prints

Fox Prints

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Our first real snow of the season — white, fluffy, measurable — and my first real glimpse of it out the front window. As I open the blinds a fox darts across the driveway from the right. He was spry, lean, red, dashing. He was moving from one stand of trees to another, to the woods behind the house across the street.

Maybe I startled him, or maybe not. Maybe he always moves that quickly, bushy tail flying. A wild thing for sure. But a wild thing with proprioception, aware in his animal way of how easily he was spotted.

I wish I could have caught him on camera. His redness so much redder against the sparkly whiteness of the snow. But my camera was many steps away.

Instead, I made do with the prints he left behind.