Eliza Daley ~ Wordcraft & Musing on Home & Hope
Las Posadas begins today. In this Latin American Christmas novena, the community acts out the Holy Family's search for a place to sleep upon coming to Bethlehem for the Roman tax census. Starting nine days before Christmas Eve, a Mary and Joseph, with an entourage of angels and shepherds and others, walk door-to-door begging for… Continue reading The Daily: 16 December 2025
I spent most of my adult life and raised my sons in a place where traditions are still living and enacted. Moreover, these traditions are understood. The reasons we do the things we do are well known and the source of endless discussion and debate. Nothing is simply the done thing. There must be both… Continue reading The Daily: 16 December 2024
It’s burning again. Look out across this river valley at the old volcano warts and there doesn’t seem to be enough to keep a churro fed, never mind an inferno. What’s it eating when there’s nothing but grit and gravel and black rock? I don’t go over that way enough to puzzle out that riddle.… Continue reading Desert Pyre: Winifred Mumbles
It’s my week to tend to the box people. Don’t know why I signed up for a whole week in January. The Wolf Moon is the hardest time of year. But they were so grateful down in the valley when I did that I didn’t have the heart to change it. So now… forty-six years… Continue reading Box People: Winifred Mumbles
I tossed out what many seem to have construed as a slur on Western Americans last week, mostly, I confess, for the alliterative qualities of the phrase. (Because I do like me some euphony.) I said Burqueños are “laconic and lazy” (and not much interested in your specialness). Far from being derogatory, this is high… Continue reading In Praise of Laziness
I saw Mama again last night. Just sitting in her favorite chair in the kitchen. She looked content. She doesn’t speak in these dreams, but there is hope in her eyes. I miss her so much, my heart just breaks when I see her. I think maybe some of the old stories may be right… Continue reading Mama’s Chair
Nine thousand years. Maybe ten. Maybe fifteen. Five hundred generations. Of humans that is. Nine thousand generations of this. Nine thousand years of fields green with three sisters. The gold of tassels, rust of pods, sun orange and berry red of squash. I feel the breath of my ancestors in these gardens, stirring leaves and… Continue reading 9000 Years (Winifred Mumbles)
(Winifred Mumbles) They say there were one million pates under that sunset once upon a time. I imagine only once. Because I can’t imagine that impossible clot of humans happening twice. They littered the valley with their aspirations. Plastic. Fading. Tired even in youth. I can see the echoes under the rainbow sky. Foundations poured… Continue reading Ozymandias and the Dreamers
Found in a reverse time capsule dated 1/20/2200: "Our ancestors so much did for us. Things that were expensive and difficult and didn’t even benefit them. They placed hope in the future so that we could have a future. I appreciate everything they did. I wish there were time machines so I could go back and tell them how grateful I am. And to let them know that everything worked out well, that it wasn’t all for nothing. It was all for us."
By My Solitary Hearth 