Glittt. @glittt - Tumblr Blog

Salt.

Dear Child,

Yesterday I smelled the ocean. A briny tide carried in thin air; thoughts of faraway places. I cannot take you home.

Don't cry, sweet love. You know me from the quiet murmurs in your ears, your little knot of courage, and the solemn twinge of solace when you wrap your arms around yourself.

You don't know yet what your life will bring; you are only just beginning to gather the tools. As you go, do not be afraid to cast aside what does not work. Trust in your bones, for they will carry you forward.

You will always be the child who notices: the owl asleep in a tree, where your mother left her keys, everything left unsaid. You are unafraid of pain and unafraid of hunger, and you will ask for it: ask to see it, ask to hold it. You are forever disassembling yourself and your world because you want to understand. This will scare many people. With respect, never let them shut you down. Bear your strength, and keep asking. When you are young, many people will grab at you. They want you, but only for themselves. Cast aside your eyes and slip away. They will howl and screech, but stand your ground. Even young, you are salty. It will take you a lifetime to untangle pity from hatred.

At night you dream of the universe being infinitely big, so then you are infinitely small. It scares you. Alternately, you dream of atoms and things which cause you to feel infinitely big. This scares you even more. Lonely little child, you are adrift in your head. Comfort yourself with yourself. You will often be your best and only friend.

You know you will someday leave this place. Hold tight to that. It will be your beacon until you meet people in whom you see yourself. Do not stop moving until you find them. When you do find them, be kind. For a long time you will believe they are all Sirens, but it is actually that everyone has their own demons. Do not pity them, and never pity yourself. You have a naïve sort of bravery and a penchant for tragedy. You long to tell your story but sweetie, yours is no story to tell. You are not special until you learn listen with your ears and heart. Love them even more when it hurts, but know you cannot fix it. You will cry, and they will fail you. Walk away when the time is right.

Sweet child, drain the stoicism from your pores and acknowledge that people love you. Make yourself vulnerable to them and stop figuring it all out yourself. You are more valuable as part of the team than you are humbling yourself in a corner. It's okay for life to be about you sometimes.

For now, you are in a faraway place. I cannot take you home because you don't yet have a home to go to. You will, and sometimes it will smell of the ocean.

#me #thoughts

Eight inches of fevered water in the tub. Floating dust laps at my chest. I hope the heat will settle in my bones. I hope the heat will connect me to my body. I do not bathe for cleanliness.

I eschew what I consider self-indulgence. But why? We have a tentative relationship. But why? Do not we all? But why? Because fulfillment is a hard boat to build.

Tell me I am not absurd. How do I see outside my head?

Do not solve it by yourself, they say. But I am alone, I counter. I set it up that way on accident. How should I rely on you?

I want to live inside my body.

This whole thing feels an extravagance.

#me

Grace.

What if our house's name is Grace? For she is my grace, when I am swirling and unmoored. In addition to the obvious—shelter, investment—she offers small things, small work, so I can rest my thoughts on placing a few bricks or tidying our few rooms. She is near as important to me as you.

I think often of purpose and meaning. I find acquaintances easy but friendships much harder to reach; perhaps it's because what I truly want from people is deep and hard, too much to ask of most. Grace is my friend, and though I seldom talk to her I spend a lot of time listening. I try to notice what she needs, though I'm aware what my house needs is heavily clouded by what I want from her. Nevertheless, I try to let her tell me. That is how our living room ended up pink, our bedroom a pale yellow. It's why I am at ease with our charming squish of small square rooms and eleven doorways. I will never change her unless she asks (missing window on the west side, skylight in the kitchen). She lets me be okay with myself, lets me be okay with less. I am at ease with our partnership.

I know it is a privilege to have her. She is from luck born by chance, by the happenstance of enough procured wealth we may never live long enough to repay. And I am grateful. She is a cornerstone of my mental health. She is my home.

#thoughts #me

Nihilism

Is nihilism the same as boredom? I dream of work, of endless efforts to understand and react to the world. Give me something to fill my time, please, for as I rest my bones my thoughts turn inward and begin gnawing at all my present satisfaction. Content is a hard emotion for me, for when I am content I am not drowning and have no calls for arms to bear.

You, my dear, have been a lifetime's lesson in contentment. Your happiness in small pleasures, your ability to stop once the task is done—to even call it done at all. Your gently furrowed response to my neverending metaphors; you'll never understand them if I don't go back and explain. I do my best to replicate your wonderous simplicity. Perhaps someday we will be Shakers.

Thank you for allowing me to pour myself at you. I don't know how you've stood so long in the stream of my emotions without getting cold and going home. Maybe our differences are your waders. Maybe our timing was right: you've almost never had to deal with me bored, only snarling and overwhelmed. I wonder if simply not having enough to do is what cracked all my prior relationships. My whole childhood was spent waiting until I left school so I could finally fill my time with the stress and energy of doing.

What platform am I on? What platform do I want? I believe my words are good for they are true to me. I would like to do something with them. I would like to know how my truths exist or don't in others. I would like a response.

#me #thoughts

#garden #brick house #pathway

Mochaware Footed Bowl

Brown seaweed dendritic decoration on white ground, outlined by two blue pinstrips on yellowware on wonderful raised foot.

#art #pottery #mochaware

A: unknown source

B: Make-Do Repaired Mochaware Jug, Britain, c. 1800, barrel-form pearlware jug with black "seaweed" on two orange bands and black inlaid rouletted bands, old cracks with make-do repairs with drilled holes threaded with twine, ht. 6 1/4 in.Condition Report: Spotted staining on handle, lettering on base "Collection of Jeff Parker 1984."

#art #mochaware #pottery

MOCHAWARE BOWL A very colorful mochaware or slip decorated creamware bowl. The bowl is plentifully decorated with two waves of cat's eyes in blue white and brown slip on a wide orange band. The top in engine turned in a sort of herringbone pattern. The bowl has 3 hairline cracks and wear to the interior from use. It displays beautifully nevertheless. The height is 3 1/2". The top diameter is 6 1/2".

#art #pottery #mochaware

Yelloware Mug, Mocha Decoration

Ken Henderson

#art #mug #mochaware #redware #yellowware

1807 Sampler by Jean Gray 18th Century Floral Silk Embroidery Signed

#art #embroidery #history #sampler

#landscape #wall #stone wall #arch

“The Tolman Cottages, which date to 1925, were designed by architect James McCreery for Professor Edward Tolman, and were built over the remnant foundations (which are still visible) of a home that burned to the ground in the great Berkeley Hills Fire of 1923. As excellent examples of the First Phase Bay Area Tradition, they were designated as part of the La Loma Park Historic District and gained Historic Landmark status in 2002.”

#architecture #colors #landmark buildings #historic preservation #berkeley