Semi-Daily Scribbles

The Cards We Draw

Previously...

Darla came up with a magic number so she'd better have the courage to play it. It doesn't matter which end is up when it comes to her cups. A disruption is precisely what the Prairie View Drive-In Swap Meet needs. "Don't create a mess just to say you've accomplished something," Darla admonished Ort a lifetime ago. Inaction can be exactly the action one needs to take when a situation resembles a pile of scraps. "Apply force to an immovable object and you may just end up flat on your back counting the stars, Darla." Mr. Morton Abernathy knows how to stop a girl dead in her tracks. Depending from which side of the veil one hails, a clear intention is more versatile than that ounce of prevention. A weary mind and a body that's succumbed to the cold, or so we've been told. Darla's all discordance and irregularity at the moment; tired and wants to lie down. Wrap a blanky around that body and drift off into a parallel realm. To navigate a world where the head is clear and heart strong. This life is a marathon. What other wonders does Darla keep in her shadow box? An alternate version of her go-to magnolia pattern? Long division in the short term. Progress clouded over with doubt. The greatest riches are found in garbage-strewn ditches. Now that's faith by any measure (with or without a torch.) Under a scrap of midnight velvet she stands. Look up, reach out, use a light hand with the edits. First thoughts are lost through our need to find meaning. Esoteric questions can only receive ham-fisted answers while we reside within this Other World. We can show what we know, but our truth hides in comfort between the moment that's passed and tomorrow. Persist on this road that is built with each footfall. Directions to what's never unfolded before aren't much help as we roll through this intersection. It's the Self, what else? Your magic is your own, to heal or harm. Receive these gifts and pass them to the right. The basket Darla weaves catches the memories contained in each drop of her blood.

Sui Generis

Previously...

thirsty tresses teased into unspeakable shapes
frosted-tip stylization
tendrils of sombre ombré
and foreheads banged for business

ladies on high roam from stall to tent in search of the perfect 99 cent:
ladle
cradle
boat
compote
vest
bird nest
a gilded pear
antique lace
underwear

hearth and home and fear of being alone
surround oneself with an elf on a shelf
as knickknacks define our sense of self

The Other Side of Fear

In the time it took for the blood to soak through the yellow V-neck, Micah was able to enjoy a satisfying drag off a Camel. The thumb and forefinger of Micah's non-ciggy-holding hand caressed the slip of notebook paper tucked inside the front pocket of his Levi's.

"Individuality. Absolute power and ability. Discipline. Individuality. Absolute power and ability. Discipline. Individuality. Absolute power and ability. Discipline." The cadence that escaped Micah's lips slowed his racing thoughts. He became less fidgety as he inhaled the sweet astringency of the cedars and firs that encircled him. This is what church was meant to be. The creature beneath his feet sighed in agreement.

She is your dreamcatcher and safety net. Her smile is the other side of the river once you've filled your lungs with her lesson. The target has been verified. That prize is now the only thing that can keep you alive in order to transform. Allow your discipline to spin hopelessly out of control so you know what she felt at the moment of initiation. What are you afraid of? The peace of mind that's always been your birthright? Your talents are only tarnished, not lost. Love is a vehicle to teach us to suffer without dying. The heart always knows what the soul fears to find. In the end, we all wind up wet behind the ears.

Single-Threaded

Previously...

Dreaming has returned along this sordid road. Everyone is running toward the right. Stand still to absorb the light. Might I imply that when you look up into the sky, staring back atchya are my beseeching eyes? Have it both ways. Watch your strengths atrophy as you make room in your life for artful distractions. Now there's a talent no one can take away! Such a good opportunity for you to be diffident. Why do you run toward cool indifference? I was willing to be your rusty anchor. There's still time to come away with me to that secluded world of which we once dreamed. There are only loved ones. Walk away from them and you sever the tether that keeps you upright. There is no inspiration like a flickering light on the far side of midnight.

Darla threads distractions like silver beads and creates a glistening ring around her world. The safe and sequestered space that allows Darla's mind to roam and body to serve as camouflage. High above it all Darla surveys her creations. Some spun from mud; others cobbled together with quick words and loose interpretations. A sputtered rebuff is no way to make a deal. Deflection is protection. Smile and peel off some ones when Darla asks if you'd like to see her embroidered disorder.

The Whirl is Yours

Bespoke

Love is Rough

I informed Elinore that I trusted my gut more than some expert's opinion on how best to sell myself to the Cogs of Industry. She didn't believe me. All is right in the world if we choose to listen to the mysteries in the wind that sigh and cry. Soughing and cooing from on high to get us to heed the knowing in our hearts. I persist because progression is in my bones. Maybe I'm a throwback, but I keep comin' back. I only know how to dog paddle, but the inelegant splashing gets me from one end of The Universe to the other. Success is spotting a mess and then coming up with an exit plan. I do not want to be The Petrified Man to stand sentinel over complacency for all eternity. Struggle is what gets you a first class ticket to the stars. You need to look up to see where you've been.

Ah, Elinore. You peaked at 19, but you're still my queen. There was always a smack of schmaltz about you. And that's why I love you. Love is lovely and it made you lose your edge. Standing out on that ledge, what thoughts have now replaced the darkness? The dream is now rinse and repeat. It's difficult to call the attainment of respectability a defeat. But where is the hunger? The longing. The yearning. Has it all been replaced by a sizable yearly earning? You will always be a bit of rough sport to me, bon ami.

You Know the Way

Five Curly Fries

Oh lord, my #1 schnauzer girl! I found your sister at the back gate the other day, which had swung open upon the Wide & Wondrous World, as she stood at the very edge of the AC pad staring down a rabbit not more than 10 feet away. Were it you crouched at the threshold to freedom, you'd have bolted for the bunny and kept on running. Never to be seen again. But you always were the escape artist. Lil Sis doesn't quite have your level of naughtiness, although she has become feisty in her golden years. And only recently has she gotten the hang of begging for french fries, a trick you learned as a pup. She could care less, however, about the sound of a hard-boiled egg being peeled. Man oh man - as soon as I'd crack that egg against the butcher block, you'd be at my feet, your big brown eyes opened even wider and your pink tongue lolling from the side of your mouth. Such a chips and egg girl, you were!

Oh, and since we're gabbing about food, I'd be remiss if I didn't mention the pears ... as in The Great Pear Caper of Summer 2019. As you recall, we had a rather bountiful pear tree in the backyard of Ye Olde Place. You absolutely loved rooting amongst the fallen fruit. To bring us up-to-speed, a recent theft of many, many pears occurred in the neighborhood. A wet and somewhat coolish season has done wonders for the local flora, and trees seem to be bearing bumper crops. Anyway, not a thing worth picking was to be found on the neighbor's tree since some person(s) invited him/her/themselves into their backyard and carted off every single pear. Weird, random and frightening. You'd have driven the thieves off for sure with your throaty, woebegone bark, but I'm grateful you never had to meet up with such desperate souls. That's a lot of pear tarts the scoundrels will be baking ... or not. Remember the jam I canned, and the cider your Pa made with our West Seattle Bartletts? Fond memories, those.

In other news, took Lil Sis to Ooh La La for a summer clean and clip. Sheena always comments on what a sweet girl you were. Even when you weren't feeling terribly social the last few times you got your hair done, Sheena still remembers how you'd nestle against her chest and let her do her magic on your salt-n-pepper coat. See? You weren't always a big meanie, sweetie! And you know what else? Mourning doves nested this spring in the hanging driftwood basket. Two, and I think even three chicks were hatched and flew the coop during a very stormy run-up to summer. Those baby birds were so gangly and so cute before they plumped up and then eventually looked like proper doves. As of yesterday, another expectant couple has moved in.

Well, my wee chickadee, I can't believe it's been five years since last your little family loved on you. That was a tough drive your Pa made to the vet as I held your towel-wrapped curly self. So light you felt in my arms, Ma's big-boned bruiser. You were resting, but as soon as the car started to move, your eyes opened to take in the neighborhood one last time. You loved your rides, especially our vacation drives where your head hanged out the window and you sniffed and snorted and laughed the way only dogs can laugh. Wind Riding! Now there's a precious image to end on.

You are still very much in our hearts and we miss you every day. Life is good and yet a bit misshapen by the space only you could fill.

The Wait is Over

Hi Richard,

I can't remember the last time we spoke. I think it was before the move to Alpha Rd. We didn't have a lot of interaction as teammates since we had different schedules, and then later on you worked remotely, but I'm happy our respective reality bubbles collided, if only for a short time. I'm sorry I didn't congratulate you and your fiancée on your recent nuptials. I hope your Big Day was fun-filled and included all the people you loved. Other than missing the chance to pass along warm wedding wishes, I didn't really have a whole lot to say to you in recent months other than nudges via group chats that I was sending an incident ticket your way. Ack. But I did cry when Steve told me you had died.

I'm not sure everyone on our team knew you. Your passing wasn't commented on by very many of us. That bothered me, so I shared with a few people the first time we met. I think you thought I was someone else. No introductions, you just launched into a story that, quite frankly, I had a hard time following. Something about an ex-wife, perhaps? I nodded and smiled and thought: "Now here's an interesting fellow..."

Your journey this time around was short, as you endured pain and waiting and rounds of treatment that offered brief relief until the cycle began all over again. You also had a droll sense of humor and a flair for the random. Like picking up where you left off in the telling of a story. It didn't matter if I caught the second act of an ongoing saga. Some lucky person heard the first few chapters, while the conclusion of your tale is forever held in the hearts of your inner circle. I'm glad I got the opportunity to meet you, as well as having worked with our colleague, Ivan. I will keep you both in my memories as I move through this adventure, ever learning and always looking out for fellow travellers.

No worries. The fight is over. You are at peace.