Random Fragments from My Fractured Mind

I flunked algebra. Twice. So is it any wonder I've forgotten how we were taught to do long division back in the '60s and '70s? That I forgot we used the decimal point method in long division? A Facebook friend shared this video illustrating how to do it the way he teaches it, using a "rounding up" method:

 

 

I like it this way a whole lot better than the old way. Maybe I would have even passed algebra the first time, had I had this foundation going in.

 

There's something invigorating and uplifting about stepping outside first thing to crisp, cool air and that peculiarly slanted light of an autumn morning. It's certainly a relief and welcome change after so many months of stepping outside at 8 a. m. and already feeling beaten by the oppressive heat and humidity.

 

Will I ever tire of Honey Nut Cheerios in the morning? Or Trader Joe's Granola with 3 Berries mixed into their vanilla bean Greek yogurt in the evening? I doubt it.

 

The two small dogs next door are prodigious barkers; they bark at every sound and every passing creature, human or non-. While it was annoying at first, it has become white noise to me, even at night, and I'm actually grateful to have such alert watchdogs next door.

 

One thing I deeply miss about monastic life is being able to talk about my Catholic faith with people who automatically understand what I'm talking about. While I love and cherish all my Protestant friends, my atheist friends, and my friends who are indifferent to religious matters, I so long to talk in depth about my love and thoughts of the Eucharist, Mary, the Saints, etc. This is not to say that I don't share my general faith with them; I have absolutely no qualms about that, as my Facebook friends can testify! But I long to discuss specific points in the Catechism, the papal encyclicals, and the documents of Vatican II—everything. In many ways I feel isolated and alone, though I love this semi-reclusive life I live now. As you know, I serve as organist and cantor at a small chapel in a retirement village, and I love the elderly people who attend Mass there; but I have yet to find someone with whom I can sit and have a really good chin-wag about doctrine and dogma. There's my family, of course, but sometimes you need a friend.

 

I'm losing my Italian. My own fault; I'm a lazy bum. I really should rouse myself off my big fat duff and dust off my grammar books.

 

See, this is why I've never been any good on Twitter: even in writing these so-called "fragments," I just can't seem to limit myself to 140 characters. So now my Twitter activity is limited to following a handful of people and checking my handful of regular searches.

 

I still have my Tumblr blog, but I mostly reblog art and photography I like, and post random Niles Crane quotes. Guess what gets the most "likes" and "reblogs"—yup, that's right; the Niles Crane quotes. Just like on this blog.

 

By the way, one of my posts here recently reached over 1000 hits, and you know which one it is? Wrong! It's "Regret"! And I still have no earthly idea why!



Golden Light

John Atkinson Grimshaw
"Golden Light"

 

 

Giuramento (Oath)

 

If autumn's graces never came again,

Its lace no longer glimmered in the lane,

Its leaves no longer wept with cooling rain—

     Still, I would love.

 

Should autumn's music sing its last refrain

And summer ever glisten on the plain,

The memory of autumn will remain—

     So, too, my love.

 

© Leticia Austria 2009
First published in Decanto



Autumn Idyll

"Fall Canopy"
Vladimir Sorin

 

Autumn Idyll

 

Perhaps I'll see him in another place,

A softer world, where we may know the sighs

And slanted tone of autumn's lullabies,

Where leaves embellish paths of shadow-lace;

A place where days go round with measured pace

And footsteps linger. Nothing would disguise,

In such a world, the gladness in his eyes,

Or dim the shining candor in my face.

And I will tell him what I long to tell;

My veil will fall as limpid as a leaf

Through windless air. It would be too unkind,

Good sense, to shatter this idyllic spell!

Allow this lovely, gossamer belief

To gleam, oblique as autumn, in my mind.

 

 

© Leticia Austria 2010



Autumn in My Heart

     It's ironic, and a bit sad, that autumn is my favorite season and I live in a part of the country where it is almost unrecognizable. Except for the slightly cooler temperatures and the odd flame-leafed tree, autumn here is more a state of mind than a season. By the time Halloween comes and images of leering jack-o-lanterns confront me at every turn, reminding me that it is indeed autumn, autumn is already a third gone.

     I like to call it "autumn" rather than "fall" simply because it sounds more poetic, and it is a poetic season. I also like the way the word looks, with the twin "u"s and the side-by-side "m" and "n" that almost make your lips hum just by seeing them; there's a savory, comforting roundness to the letters themselves. The adjective, too—"autumnal"—is a wonderful word to say and see. The stressed second syllable sounds like dry leaves tumbling down the street in a brisk wind, and the "t" amid all those rounded letters is balanced by the noble Doric column of the "l." (Well, it's a Doric column when it appears in a serif font.)

     Why is autumn my favorite season, when I live where it is almost non-existent? That's precisely why. It is a quirk of human nature that the thing most lacking and yearned for is the thing that's most appealing and cherished. "The grass is greener ..." and all that; or, in this case, "the leaves are redder ...." But there is another, more concrete reason: it was in autumn that my life took a definite turn for the better, though I didn't realize it then. Looking back, I see my life clearly divided by that one autumn; everything before it is indistinct, and everything after it sharply focused.

Ricordo

Each year the light of autumn weaves new lace;
Each year the shade of autumn slows the pace;
Each autumn I recall another place,
     Another year.

A time when music sang with sweeter grace,
When music lay in autumn's cool embrace;
The autumn when I first beheld your face,
     And time stood still.

[© Leticia Austria. First published in Dreamcatcher.]

Autumn read: Persuasion. Austen's last novel and my favorite of hers. Anne Elliott is also my favorite Austen heroine. The story of a long-lost but still-alive love restored to a woman who, in that era, was considered to be on the verge of spinsterhood (at the ripe age of twenty-eight), has a strong autumnal slant. Austen's writing, too, is more mellow and reflective here than in her other novels.

Autumn watch: Besides the exquisite 1995 BBC film adaptation of Persuasion, I would choose a comedy like Something's Gotta Give or It's Complicated—both about late middle-age romance.

Autumn listen: Schumann's great song cycle Dichterliebe, or the late Beethoven piano sonatas. Also, Chopin nocturnes and sonatas.

Autumn artist: American Impressionist Edward Cucuel (1879-1954)

"Two Girls in White beside a Lake in Autumn"



"Herbstlandschaft"

 

"Golden Autumn"

 

And my favorite:

"Beside a Lake in Autumn"