- Steve Jobs
Something to ponder about: “Death is very likely the single best invention of Life.” Steve Jobs
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Signing Out...RIP, Steve Jobs!
Monday, October 3, 2011
Son (republished)
You have my heart and my respect, my son.I have seen you grow from "petal to oak", and I am confident that wherever you go you will do it with dignity and heart.
We are a long way from those mornings of searching for dinosaurs at the sound of classical music on the way to the babysitter. Last week, when I was sick and couldn't drive, you were the one who picked me up from work and cheered me up all the way home.
I love the new dynamic of our "mother-son" dates-that constant mutual sense of protection felt when we listen, open up, and support each other.
You are a man, and yet the mother in me will always see you as the kid who drank hot chocolate through a straw,
the one who balanced leaning towers of soft ice cream with the dexterity of a juggler,
the charmer of little (and big) girls' hearts
always ready for a hug,
and the comedian in full-time: with perfect timing and punch lines, strange accents and hilarious body language,
always the clown
with props and funny faces,
and whose persistent begging even convinced dad to make a U-turn and drive for miles just so you had a photo in front of the post office of what you kept calling "the coolest town in Jersey".
For me, you will always be the kid who never missed a Steve Irwin's show, and the wonderful heart who cried when Irwin died and who wore a shirt in his memory to school for more than a week. Without washing!
I love how your body of a man sleeps like a kid,
and how you feel protective of our family. 
I am SO proud of you!
Friday, January 28, 2011
Stained Glass
"My souls (characters) are conglomerations of past and present stages of civilization, bits from books and newspapers, scraps of humanity, rags and tatters of fine clothing, patched together as is the human soul. And I have added a little evolutionary history by making the weaker steal and repeat the words of the stronger, and by making the characters borrow ideas or "suggestions" from one another." ~ Johan August Strinderg(author's foreword to Miss Julie, in Six Plays of Strindberg, 1955.)
We are a sort of stained glass.
Pieces of life and learning assembled over time and attached to bodies like wings.
We fit snugly into the space for which we were meant, resistant to wind and rain, supporting our own weight, and withstanding time.
We are simultaneously fragile and strong.
We are opacity and transparency.
An architecture of self and others.
Meant to be shared.
To fulfill the purpose for which we were created -To shine.
Isabel Augusto
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Friday, January 7, 2011
Pedro Boaventura -Oil Paintings
It is always a pleasure to share the work of wonderful new artists, especially if they are Portuguese like you and went to the same high school :)
For more of his interesting paintings please visit
or
Enjoy!
Sunday, January 2, 2011
An Old Letter for the New Year
Two years ago a received a lesson in the art of living. That Christmas, I folded a copy of it in four, placed in handmade felt pouches, and shared it with the following letter addressed to my friends. It was William’s gift to me. It still is. To all of us.
Whitehouse Station, December 12,2008
“William’s Desk”
We are the second family to live in this old house. The first time we visited the place, there were still books forgotten on the shelves, clothes hanging in the closets, personal items here and there, old bills and last year’s calendars, and several picture frames documenting important moments of the previous owners’ lives, but the day we moved in everything was gone except the large tiger maple wood desk, where I now sit writing in between glances of nature outside the five windows of this small library.
The enthusiasm and industry (and sometimes sheer despair for the series of never ending projects) with which we have tackled renovations have been punctuated by doses of nostalgia triggered by thoughts of how quickly we go from building a home, raising children and letting them fly, to the irreversible process of growing old and dying. But even though William and Clara died in 2006 and early 2008, respectively, this space still remembers them, and the house, no matter how many coats of paint, will always have layers of their history. I do not wish to erase their presence and replace it with ours. I rather honor their absence by appreciating and respecting the job they started, and by loving the land and the blessings of each room and the landscape outside our windows.
I have questioned myself often about who they were, what did they think, where they came from, how did they feel about this piece of land and the old trees that shade it, the deer that cross the property, and the black-capped chickadees, sparrows, blue jays, cardinals, and tufted titmice that have breakfast on our back porch. And as always, I am a firm believer that when we open ourselves to possibility things will find us, neighbors will reach out and share bits of information, and most importantly-the house will gradually reveal their presence to us.
On this note, we have been given our first gift the week we moved here. I was cleaning the bookshelves, my mother was polishing the desk and lining its drawers, and we were wondering about William and Clara’s life, and how we wished to know more than just their names. I had just finished saying (more to the house and its previous occupants than to my mother or myself) - “I hope they know, that I’ll take good care of their space and will continue what they started”-when my mom raised her eyes from her task and handed me two letters she had just found taped to a pull-out writing board overlooked by whoever had cleaned William’s desk.
My gift to you is the gift William left me taped to that writing board. Not only did he reveal himself and answered some of my questions in one of the letter, but he has also brought me a message in the art of living, and a warning about not waiting until 1996, the date he retired at the wiser age of 70, to follow through with plans we should execute every single day of our lives.
May you, this holiday season and every day of your lives,
“Pay attention!!”
Isabel
“William’s Desk”
We are the second family to live in this old house. The first time we visited the place, there were still books forgotten on the shelves, clothes hanging in the closets, personal items here and there, old bills and last year’s calendars, and several picture frames documenting important moments of the previous owners’ lives, but the day we moved in everything was gone except the large tiger maple wood desk, where I now sit writing in between glances of nature outside the five windows of this small library.
The enthusiasm and industry (and sometimes sheer despair for the series of never ending projects) with which we have tackled renovations have been punctuated by doses of nostalgia triggered by thoughts of how quickly we go from building a home, raising children and letting them fly, to the irreversible process of growing old and dying. But even though William and Clara died in 2006 and early 2008, respectively, this space still remembers them, and the house, no matter how many coats of paint, will always have layers of their history. I do not wish to erase their presence and replace it with ours. I rather honor their absence by appreciating and respecting the job they started, and by loving the land and the blessings of each room and the landscape outside our windows.
I have questioned myself often about who they were, what did they think, where they came from, how did they feel about this piece of land and the old trees that shade it, the deer that cross the property, and the black-capped chickadees, sparrows, blue jays, cardinals, and tufted titmice that have breakfast on our back porch. And as always, I am a firm believer that when we open ourselves to possibility things will find us, neighbors will reach out and share bits of information, and most importantly-the house will gradually reveal their presence to us.
On this note, we have been given our first gift the week we moved here. I was cleaning the bookshelves, my mother was polishing the desk and lining its drawers, and we were wondering about William and Clara’s life, and how we wished to know more than just their names. I had just finished saying (more to the house and its previous occupants than to my mother or myself) - “I hope they know, that I’ll take good care of their space and will continue what they started”-when my mom raised her eyes from her task and handed me two letters she had just found taped to a pull-out writing board overlooked by whoever had cleaned William’s desk.
My gift to you is the gift William left me taped to that writing board. Not only did he reveal himself and answered some of my questions in one of the letter, but he has also brought me a message in the art of living, and a warning about not waiting until 1996, the date he retired at the wiser age of 70, to follow through with plans we should execute every single day of our lives.
May you, this holiday season and every day of your lives,
“Pay attention!!”
Isabel
Friday, December 31, 2010
Jai Guru Deva
"Across The Universe"
The Beatles
Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup,
They slither while they pass they slip away across the universe.
Pools of sorrow, waves of joy are drifting through my open mind,
Possessing and caressing me.
Jai guru deva om.
Nothing's gonna change my world,
Images of broken light which dance before me like a million eyes,
and call me on and on across the universe.
Thoughts meander like a restless wind inside a letter box,
They stumble blindly as they make their way across the universe.
Jai guru deva om.
Nothing's gonna change my world,
Sounds of laughter shades of love are ringing through my open mind,
Inciting and inviting me.
Limitless undying love which shines around me like a million suns,
It calls me on and on across the universe.
Jai guru deva om.
Nothing's gonna change my worldJai guru deva
2011 Wishes for All of US
Live with abandonment
Love wholeheartedly
Be yourself
Happy New Year and THANK YOU for your gift of Friendship!
Thursday, December 30, 2010
The Portal
as I,
skin against seat
hand on the steering wheel,
approach the bridge like I always do
letting the body follow
the contour of the asphalt
the incline of the hill
passing the one lane bridge
like threading a needle
squeezing myself to the other side
hopeful of all the sewing
it is yet to be done
Isabel Augusto
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