Semi-Daily Scribbles

Random Acts of List-Making; Or, "I've Grown So Weary of the World."

2017 seemed like a good idea.

Resolutions you won't find me mucking about with, but here are a few thoughts as we try another year on for size:

* Be kind to your favorite unreliable narrator.

* Keep the O's. Toss the X's.

* All the iterations of Porkins go down in a fiery ball.

* We don't need to grow an exoskeleton, but toughening up the epidermis is a worthy pursuit.

* Watch for winged things.

* Run if you should meet your Authentic Self (because, of course, one of you must die.)

* It's no illusion: Define the confusion before it defines you.

* If your world's been tipped upside down, make sure you are the one shakin' shit up.

* There is only ever one beat to follow. Grab your sticks, pardner.

* There really are such creatures as happy-go-lucky pessimists!

* Our most meaningful relationships are subsidized by Big Swigs and Hate Chicken.

* WALL-E is humanity's eventuality.

* To love is to flail our arms at each other. A lot.

* Make peace with all your disparate pieces.

* Are you telling your story the way it needs to be told?

Workshop

What have you turned to gold in your workshop this year? Did you write a happy ending? Did you build a solid beginning? Did you set out with Right Intention when you created your Invention? If none of the above ring true, you're invited to kick around a resolution or two. 2018 wants to hear your pitchy singing. She wants to hang on her wall the photo you took of oranges nestled in the lap of a pair of faded blue jeans. 2018 needs to read your schnauzer tales. If the world appears a most hopeless place, please make a little art. It's easy and hard at the same time! But it's what makes you You; a beautiful blend of imperfect notes and tones. You are the reason I wrote this post, mon ami. So go ahead, soften that holiday glare. Make something to burn in the fireplace. Make something to share. I'm off to do the very same thing, matches happily in hand.

The Art of the Cards

Olympia The Owl wishes one and all a splendid Winter Solstice. Olympia also wants to share she's mad as hell over some scuzzy creature having reached its filthy paws into her letterbox and stealing the seasonal greetings her Aunties sent to her from far beyond the Purple Mountains. She hopes the thief choked on the woody fibers of the beautifully crafted, talonmade Christmas cards Olympia looks forward to receiving each year. Thoroughly put off by cheery thoughts of sugarmice and piney spice after the post was stolen, Olympia steeled herself in order to complete her Solstice notes. Next on the greeting card list was her gorgeous yet clingy friend, Octavia the Octopus. In her fashion, Olympia thought and jotted, scribbled and scratched several sentences before coming up with the perfect holiday sentiment:

     Don’t ride the raft of contentment indefinitely. “Go with the flow” only works once you’ve made a course correction first. Otherwise, count the barnacles that grow in your soft spot and accept your fate as lost treasure beneath the waves.

After signing, sealing and posting via airmail, Olympia winged her way to an appointment in a ramshackle barn, confident she'd be able to smooth her feathers, raise her vibration and get back her festive Decemberness.

The Grid Life

I've tossed all my maps on the Yule bonfire, so you're my guide now. What will the world look like when we make up new coordinates? Ah, the fallacy of maps! They seem to ask: What has power over you?

Maps suggest the uncomfortable, too: Greenland is Bigger because White is Better.

Paper trails, that's all they are.

But the big reason why you hate maps is they take us where we have to go, and that's no way to find home.

Peelings

With a full belly and a glad heart, keep peeling away at the shellac. You know it's all for show and the real work is hidden beneath mounds of scraps. Tap into the energy of the silver sliver in the sky. Thanks to your dietary restrictions and ponderous tire kicking, your Cycle of So-So is about to be over. You get a golden scar for coming this far.

Finish what never got started and move on.

Air & Water

What I have to offer you on Beltane doesn't pertain to fire, flowers, or fornication, but fertility is definitely in the mix. I give you aspects of me washed ashore by the sea. You know my heart is bobbing out there on the ocean. The little blue bag before you is filled with treasure to ensure peace, protection, and creativity. You already hold the star in your hand. What I can provide are 7 little secrets that will light the way.

The thing about a moment is...

This snapshot titled "Hallucination" thumbs its nose at my whole #AmPresent vibe. It's not Christmas today, which is the point of my daily photographic reminders, i.e.: Here I am, smack-dab in the middle of having a moment and not I am ignoring the present to obsess over future events. Any oddball item or chance meeting can easily become the subject of a photo. I make an effort to connect with what is happening, inside and outside of me, as I take a picture of a leaf, dogs on a leash, broken glass, or a perfectly ripe tomato. String these objects together and life goes on for another day. And those days add up. It'll be Christmas before too long, but there's no room in my October moment for December things.

Choices

Maia stood in line at the Bean & Book, mug brought from home in one hand, thumb of the other tucked inside the waistband of her jeans. She tugged on the denim so it wouldn't rub against the rash on her belly. Dairy products gave Maia hives, but milky, sugar-packed and pumpkin-spiced coffee was her ultimate autumn weakness. Fake milk turned the whole experience into a total letdown, so Maia was careful not to drown herself in her seasonal poison of choice. She shuffled forward without thinking until her nose was an inch away from the dark blue suit in front of her. Maia's index finger kept her thumb company inside the waistband. The door opened and leaves rode the chilly gust. Heads swiveled, coughs were muffled, a throat was cleared. Orange and brown leaves floated to the scuffed tile floor.

"Uh, hello. Aren't you Maia Towey?" Maia's back stiffened and she pulled her fingers out of her pants. She looked up at the tanned, stubble-free face that stood in line behind her. Maia considered her options. She wondered how weird it'd be if she didn't answer.

"I haven't been called that in a long time," Maia finally said to the man who blew in with the wind.

April's Work

April sings us to sleep with her raindrop accompaniment. All is blustery and wild outside while we dream of abundant fields. April laughs at our wistful reverie. She wonders how we could possibly think one day can serve her. One day of remembrance is a mockery. April is budding beauty kept evergreen in poetry and postcards. A puddle, a pool, a landslide, a flood. Soon these tools April uses to subdue us will be lost. The wind will finish the work April begins. Earth receives its tribute as we toss and turn in restless slumber.

Morning After

 

A bear moon rises
Morning after mischief made
Babies on the way