Salagnac Arquitectos
If I ever build a house, I would definitely consider hiring them to design it. We were in Nosara, Costa Rica in the rainy season. Afternoons were spent sitting comfortably outside in covered areas with glass roofs, and with the huge glass windows, even inside one had the impression of literally living in the jungle. And as a bonus, there was also a fun interplay of reflections throughout the whole house...
Spirit Children of Fontaine Manse
This is a good story! A friend recently turned me on to Snap Judgment Radio (Storytelling, with a BEAT), a podcast described as "mixing real stories with killer beats to produce cinematic, dramatic, kick-ass radio."
I usually stay away from ghost stories because they scare me--but this 12 minute one,
The Invisible Children, based on Kathleen Mcconnell's book Don’t Call Them Ghosts: The Spirit Children of Fontaine Manse- A True Story" didn't frighten me at all. In fact, I found it an intriguing story about kindness and open-mindedness...a ghost story with a heart.
The River by Mary Oliver
I've had quite a few rivers in my life lately. The Damariscotta River in mid-coast Maine, the mighty Hudson, the Nosara River in Costa Rica. This Mary Oliver poem seemed apropos...
THE RIVER
by Mary Oliver
In one day the Amazon discharges into the
Atlantic the equivalent of New York City’s
water supply for nine years.
Just because I was born
precisely here or there,
in some cold city or other,
don’t think I don’t remember
how I came along like a grain
carried by the flood—
on one of the weedy threads that pour
toward a muddy lightning
surging east, past
monkeys and parrots, past
trees with their branches in the clouds, until
I was spilled forth
and slept under the blue lung
of the Caribbean.
Nobody
told me this. But little by little
the smell of mud and flowers returned to me,
and in dreams I began to grow dark,
to sense the current.
Do dreams lie? Once I was a sad fish
crying for my sisters in the glittering
crossroads of the delta.
Once among the thick reeds I found
an empty boat, as narrow
as a man’s waist. Nearby
the trees sizzled with the afternoon rain.
Home, I said.
In every language there is a word for it.
Deep in the body itself, climbing
those white walls of thunder, past those green
temples there is also
a word for it.
I said, home.
Painting of the Week
Charity of the Week:
Maui Food Bank
About The Author
New York City based contemporary artist, Pam Smilow, began writing the creative lifestyle blog “things we love” in an effort to foster a sense of community during times of isolation and reflection. To read more about her and her art, visit her website and check out the essay written by the Hammond Museum's Frank Matheis entitled The Sophisticated Innocence of Pam Smilow.