Life is full of surprises…. and serendipity.

Sometimes it’s the little victories.

Like making it through Wednesday, right?

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But wait.  Sometimes a serendipitous moment just takes your breath away.

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Yes, it happens.  The world is a smaller place because of the Internet and the potential for happy accidents is, well, infinite.  Like Horace Walpole, you merely need to be open to good things and accept the gifts that come your way.

 

Horace Walpole, the 4th Earl of Orford, coined the word serendipity, a pleasant surprise. He was a curious intellectual.  Horace would have loved the Internet.

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When he read the Persian fairy tale “The Three Princes of Serendip”, he was enthralled by the princes who made amazing discoveries by accident. And the word serendipity was born.

 

” This discovery, indeed, is almost of that kind which I call Serendipity, a very expressive word. And was formed from a fairy tale, called The Three Princes of Serendip: as their highnesses travelled, they were always making discoveries, by accidents and sagacity, of things which they were not in quest of.”

So here’s my fairy-tale-story.  I got an email from a folksinger/songwriter/poet in the UK.  It seems that while he was searching the Internet, Google linked John Richards to a post I wrote about my dad, Foundryman’s Daughter.  

Serendipity, I’m telling’ ya.

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John says that he has a lot of songs covered by UK folk artists and the most recent one is Foundryman’s Daughter.  Don’t you just love Google?

 

THE FOUNDRYMAN’S DAUGHTER
(partly inspired by the experience of John’s daughter when going to University)

***

 

They laughed at your past and the town you were born in
Laughed when you spoke of your romantic dreams
They made you feel small in the biggest of cities
Friendship it seems isn?t all that it seems
They laughed at the hopes of the father that loved you
Foundryman’s girl in a smoke covered town
Where life had been hard for this King and his Princess
With no silver spoons and no golden ball gowns
But be who you are
And be proud of where you?ve come from
Be true to yourself
And be true to those that wish all that’s best for you
Don?t ever forget you’re as good as the next man
And better than most when you know who you are
You’ve made your own way
Earned the things that surround you
Houses and land and a seamless blue sky
But you won’t forget how to treat those around you
Foundryman’s girl with such steel in her eye.
You know who you are
And you’re proud of where you’ve come from
You’re true to yourself
And you’re true to those who wish all that’s best for you
Don’t ever forget you’re as good as the next man
And better than most when you know who you are.
***

John wrote this song in honor of his dad, a foundryman made redundant after 20 years of service via an impersonal letter posted through the door.   Have a listen.

 

John is one special guy. Not only did he seek me out because of our shared history, he sent me the CD.

 

I know his dad would be so proud.  Maybe John will share a photo of his foundryman father to post alongside mine.

 

So, that’s the story. Who could ask for anything more?

Toni 6/1/16

P.S.  A big hello to everyone who is reading WWWW for the first time — *waves* — thanks for being here!

DID SOMEONE SAY #TBT?

According to the ancients, parfumeurs, and Arab royalty, the old saying might as well go: “Worth its weight in whale waste”.

A news story today sparked a memory.

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How about this magic moment? A couple in Lancashire in England found a lump of ambergris that is possibly worth AU$ 100,000. The couple are already in negotiations with prospective buyers from France and New Zealand.

Ambergris is the legendary ingredient in perfumes (in French, it means “grey amber”). When I walk the beach, I follow the smell of rotting fish and scan for greyish lumps. Don’t you?

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Ambergris comes from the cured secretion of sperm whales.  The whale secretes a substance to heal its stomach from the scratches of the cuttlefish and squid beaks it swallows when feeding. This gets out through the gastrointestinal system and is left floating on the ocean for years. The floating part is what gives it its slightly salty and warm smell. It retains its scent for centuries, just like musk.

It’s hard not to fall in love with ambergris. Here is a solid lump of whale feces, weathered down—oxidized by salt water, degraded by sunlight, and eroded by waves — from the tarry mass to something that smells, depending on the piece and whom you’re talking to, like musk, violets, fresh-hewn wood, tobacco, dirt, Brazil nut, fern-copse, damp woods, new-mown hay, seaweed in the sun, the wood of old churches, or pretty much any other sweet-but-earthy scent.

Everyone loves ambergris, just not so much when it’s fresh. It’s smell is extremely fecal (think cow dung) and has no value for perfumery. But let it float on the ocean for years? Now you’ve got an evocative scent, an effulgent patina, and waxy texture.

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So, naturally, I’m gonna have to wax poetic on ya’…..from the archives, my throwback Valentine love poem*.

 

Like the beachcombers

who found calcified remnants sweet smelling, waxy and gray,

coughed up by sperm whales, no less;

treasures of “floating gold”

prized by ancient Egyptians,

on the coast of Australia,

I look at you and see ambergris.

 

Well, fellow beachcombers, is it or isn’t it? If you see embedded squid beaks, book that private jet.

440px-Squid_beak_measuringimage-01Or give the grey lump a hot needle test. Heat a needle and touch it briefly to the surface. If it’s ambergris, the surface will melt instantly, turning to an oily, molten black residue and a small puff of musky smelling smoke will be emitted. Ah, the sweet smell of success.

 

Toni 4/14/16

*My blogging partner/poet Patty wrote a much love-lier Valentine poem here.

Poetry is the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash. So says Leonard Cohen.

Leonard Cohen says if he knew where the good songs came from he’d go there more often. All the poets and writers I know are on the hunt for that elusive place.

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The Poet-turned-Pop Star says that poetry comes from a place that no one commands, that no one conquers. And yet, the poems come.

APRIL IS NATIONAL POETRY MONTH

AND NATIONAL POETRY WRITING MONTH.

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NAPOWRIMO FOR SHORT.
AND IT’S A CROWD-PLEASER.

Poet Maureen Thorson decided to take up the challenge (modeled after National Novel Writing Month, NaNoWriMo) and invited other poets to join her. Since then, the number of participants has grown larger every year, and many writers’ organizations ~ local, national and even international ~ host NaPoWriMo activities.

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I’m celebrating here ~ at Poetic Asides, a website hosted by Robert Lee Brewer, senior editor at Writer’s Digest. It’s the 2015 April PAD Challenge, a poetic bacchanal. BYOP, of course.

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The “PAD” stands for “poem-a-day.” So each and every morning, there’s a new poetry prompt. Brewer throws out a life preserver along with it ~ his own attempt at the prompt (wished for and welcome), then it’s my turn. And yours. There are plenty of poemming days left. Post as few or as many times as you like.

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You can read the poetry, wallow in it, share it with your writing group, spread it across your social network. There are so many doors to open ~ start anywhere, walk ‘write’ in.

imagesBut if you want to be considered by a ream of genuine poet-judges for publication in the Poem Your Heart Out anthology, you need to post your poem in the comments. It’s free and easy ~ the prompts (open to space-warpingly vast interpretations) magically appear each morning.

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Click here to join the fun.

Modern Poetry: Text Message Haiku

So, it’s now Day 12 of the April PAD Challenge and it’s been downright envibing so far. I am inspired by the poets, a neighborly, infectiously upbeat bunch. Last year, they gave me the idea to put some rocking’ glad rags on my iambs and start a brand new blog. Mental Crumbs~ in love with carbs and poetry gives my poems some stylin’ and profilin’ in honor of National Poetry Month.

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I wonder if Leonard Cohen is appearing anywhere during National Poetry Month. His poetry is awe-inspiring, his words steady and lyrical. Cohen’s life is burning well. Everybody knows.

Toni 4/12/15