Poetry & Pushpins

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Poetry & Pushpins

Monthly Archives: September 2015

The Natural Sequel of an Unnatural Beginning

09 Wednesday Sep 2015

Posted by poetryandpushpins in Literature, Pushpins (Daily Life), The Creative Life

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Anne Elliot is the best, books, Captain Wentworth, friendship, human nature, Jane Austen

I’ve been thinking a lot about Jane Austen’s Persuasion. Over the past few weeks, the following line from the novel slipped through my mind as I’ve walked to work, made a cup of tea, and absently stared at my balcony’s potted plants (when I should have been doing work): “[Anne Elliot] had been forced into prudence in her youth, she learned romance as she grew older: the natural sequel of an unnatural beginning.” 

The line refers to the life narrative of the novel’s main character, Anne Elliot. As a young woman of nineteen, her family persuaded her to reject the marriage proposal of Captain Wentworth, because he didn’t have a large enough fortune to provide a comfortable life for her. This was the prudence that she learned in her youth. Eight years later, she and Captain Wentworth meet again. He has made his fortune as a Naval officer in the Napoleonic Wars; she has rejected another suitor and learned to regret her earlier decision. They get a second chance, and this time, Anne, tempered by experience and wisdom, finally says yes to the dashing captain. As Jane notes, this is Anne’s “natural sequel of an unnatural beginning.” Most young people learn such lessons of love and coupling the other way around.

“The natural sequel of an unnatural beginning.” What a phrase. I think about it a lot, especially after turning thirty this summer. Looking back, I hardly recognize the person I was at twenty, and like Anne, I have learned a few life lessons in a backwards fashion. I have become less serious, less quiet, less wrapped up in the folds of my inner life this past decade. I often hid from my peers behind a book—or behind the words in a beautifully constructed paragraph—yet as the decade went forward, I relied less on books and more on the company and love and supportive energy of my life’s beloveds. A mode of being that many of my peers had engaged in since their parents dropped them off at kindergarten, but something I only learned as an adult, struggling with the demands and loneliness of a graduate school program. That is my natural sequel of an unnatural beginning. 

And yet, there was a sequel, to my life and to Anne’s, one that was not dictated by social expectations or some stock human narrative. Our narratives were formed through our choices and our willingness to examine and grow from them—and honestly, I prefer it that way.

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Late Summer Spiders

02 Wednesday Sep 2015

Posted by poetryandpushpins in Gardening, Pushpins (Daily Life), The Creative Life

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gardening, spiders, the creative process

Sunbeams from the August sun slip their way through iron latticework and stretch themselves out onto my balcony’s floor. My foot treads over these morning pools of light, and I am happy for their pleasant warmth before the heat of the day. I am still bleary-eyed, half-listening to the voices of John Oliver and Andy Zalztman floating out of my phone and through my open bedroom door. I am not yet awake enough to comprehend their podcast’s creative bullshittery, but that will soon come. For now, I am awake enough to water my balcony’s container garden.

The plants, encircled by their neat little pots, seem to spread themselves out, stretching in the morning sun. Basil, nasturtium, watercress, thyme, dill, and lettuce—all swollen with the quiet voluptuousness of a late summer garden. As I tip my pitcher down to wet the soil, a sunbeam sparks in my periphery. I turn towards it. There, catching the edge of a lettuce leaf is a thread of spider silk, coruscating in the morning sun. It stretches out to the iron latticework at the balcony’s edge as its crystalline twin runs a similar path eight inches above it. In between these parallel lines spirals the ingenuity and nature of a spider.

I stare at the web. It’s lovely.

I like spiders. Well, I should say that I like them in a garden setting. I do not like spiders when they drop down from my kitchen ceiling and surprise me. That sort of behavior usually gets them put in a drinking glass and promptly taken out to the back garden or balcony: you know, places that happily play to their strengths. Places where their intricate webs trap the insects that eat young and vulnerable plants.

A breeze moves through the balcony space, ruffling the lettuce leaves. But this is not the mild-mannered breeze of a summer day, this is a stiff breeze, somewhat cool, somewhat hinting at the beginning of another season—one that is usually festooned with bright leaves and cinnamon-spiced beverages. The lettuce leaf shakes violently and the thread that adorned its edge is gone, leaving the web sagging and lopsided.

Then the spider appears. It carefully picks its way across the damaged web before jumping out into the empty space between web and leaf, trailing a long, silken tendril behind it. The spider lands on the corner of the table that holds the pots, and attaches the new thread. It then climbs the thread back to its web, and begins again the process of weaving.

I walk back into my bedroom to the sound of Andy beginning an epic punrun. I should leave the spider to its work. Yes spiders are wonderful garden companions, but I love spiders the most for their creativity and courage. I admire their ability to jump out into the unknown to weave new webs, especially in the wake of damaging, unexpected winds.

Recent Posts

  • The Natural Sequel of an Unnatural Beginning
  • Late Summer Spiders
  • Hawks and Walks
  • Process Learning and Pavement
  • Saying Goodbye to Terry Pratchett

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Amazing Writers

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Publications

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Sites of Whimsy

  • Ask the Past: Advice from Old Books
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