A New Pansy Flower, Creative Days, and a Pair of Literary Salon Tuesdays

April 27, 2022

This purple and yellow pansy flower on my balcony was born just today, and I kissed it gently this morning when I woke and saw it there…😘 and again this afternoon. Welcome to the world.

😊💕🍃

And this ‘Birds’ print chair made me smile when I saw it at the furniture store last week! I didn’t buy it ‘tho I am working on my bedroom retreat and library corner. When I saw it, I’d remembered the recent poem I’d written and shared, “I Wondered if I Had Been a Bird…” and there, top right: the name, “May.”

As if author May was saying back to me, “Here are some other birds you could’ve been…or could be…” 😀🦆🐥

It was May Ziadeh’s birthday printed on the fabric of that chair—February 11! Looks like it’s Tuesday too, her literary salon day, 80 years before she was born (1806). It felt like a kiss from heaven…through the furniture store! 😅I waited to send a kiss ‘til after I got back home rather than in the store, and realized I’d not kissed heaven in awhile.
💕😊😘

The literary salon went on consistently yesterday with relaxed, silent reading from morning through the day and afternoon—a whole, short-length book read completely by the end of the day, in between yoga and walking and meals. The book was Kate Chopin’s The Awakening—I loved her short stories best that I didn’t know were going to be included in that book which featured Kate Chopin’s famous novel.

The previous Tuesday at the literary salon, when I got back in from a quick walk outside from the mailbox, Peeko sat like this, as if to say, “Yes, I am attending the salon in your place. No, I don’t care what you think…And we are reading Edna now.” 🐱

My cat Peeko enjoys hearing poetry and likes hearing the author’s name before the piece. But he currently only wants to hear the poet, Edna St. Vincent Millay…as her name’s announced…and he may hear his favorite selections of her light-toned, invented words, metrical, traditional diction, rhyming poetry. They’re both from Maine (Edna b. 1892).

***

That day, I was very much anticipating reading this book My Story With May (May Ziadeh, our literary salon host (as host my own perspective not historical, that is), which I’d ordered a print copy of online. The book was made from original articles by her literary colleague friend, Ameen Rihani (also a novelist, a friend of Kahlil Gibran, who was the man May loved).

Rihani really was a big help as he put together a campaign to free her and she was set free. He died just a year before she did, and had helped her settle into a home in Egypt, when she was released from the second place, an American Hospital in Lebanon.

This concise, true life book of Ameen Rihani’s ‘confessions and impressions,’ did not come on Tuesday when I was wanting to read it, the salon day, but the day after, as if May was saying, “Literature first, trash confessions later…” 😊😉💕kidding.

*

I also happened to come across a photo of May’s father, Elias Ziadeh whose famous newspaper May had written her own column in her early career each week in the 1900s and with a quick glimpse I thought, Wow Kahlil Gibran looks great there! He looks so kindly and like he’s eating full and good. But then I looked again and thought, Oh no! That’s not Gibran! That’s May’s dad…Oh…well. And this joke ends here. 😊🙏💕

I do have plenty of books I’d like to read including Kahlil Gibran’s work, and all great to enjoy. This morning I wrote a short story, a very short one, and I wrote it by hand in my notebook to type and revise also to come.

I have a new painting in progress that I began today, and I worked on through a few sessions throughout the day…I have the title and a little of the main subject, and an idea of the way the colors could look that’s not visible yet, in my mind, or on the canvas.

Jade

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