Semi-Daily Scribbles

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 Has it all been replaced by a sizable yearly earning?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.

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.

Potion Control

Gwendolyne & Delphine Thickepenny are sisters with whom one ought not to trifle. The ability to wake up on the right side of dirt depends on the respect one gives to a Thickepenny's patience. Before this voyage may be undertaken, a lesson best learned is that well-crafted spells are worth more than a king's ransom on any near and faraway shore.

Three drops of blood are required to chase away The Sleep that plagues the ever vigilant seeker.
Collect the letters, then say the word (a concept most foul to a warrior).

G & D T. know dedication to the secret ways will bring rewards in the unexpected moment you've been waiting for.

This Ridiculous Riff

So many seeds have been cast near and far. The time has come for verdant dreams to bring a deep sense of the tangible. Spirit guides have been along for the ride, but now they must rest their weary dogs and let Tansy transcribe this mystical roadmap. Monuments to mindlessness populate the barren terrain; dust has a place on her palette. Tansy plays a plaintive chord of would-be's / ought-nots / evermore to navigate by an unreachable shore. Cutting corners only leaves holes in Tansy's story that cannot be filled with truth or lies. A gaping wound at the center of the Universe, oblivion is comfortable if one sets down ground rules and checks all measurements. As with blood, Tansy tends to stick to her own type.

I can't vouch for anyone but myself. Survival is Reinvention. Reinvention is Survival. I no longer need to pretend this experience means more than simply showing me the door.

Let's Do This!

Restrictions are of our own design. Build a firm foundation. Everything else is faerie dust. Glimmer & Shimmer & Flicker & Flow. The only way to reach the clouds is to allow unhealthy structures to crumble. Victory is upheaval. Show me the prize hidden under the rubble. Patience & Prudence. What new projects need to be started? Aren't we all just a conglomeration of half-drawn, hastily sketched plans? Obstacles build muscles and nothing soothes a restless mess like redress. You do have the capacity to be innocent. Lifestyles are filled with half-truths and wiles. What has been lost is found when one calibrates her vibration. Where did curiosity go? Did you replace it with a need to know what cannot be shown? If that frequency doesn't make your heart beat, no amount of stimulation will revive what you've left for others to do. They will not make the same mistakes as you. No one learns if everyone wins. Gloating is lonesome work. I can offer understanding but I don't need to jump on the first carousel that comes 'round. I am always looking for something you don't see. It's up there. Do I need to point it out? Let's unpack the sentence: "Learning is unimportant." No one would say that in the world I live in. I have to allow others to proceed on their journey. I can simply tell myself: "That's not your path. That's not your story." No villains. No saints. Only people. I may joke that the perfect world would be populated by my clones, but what a dreadful bore that would be. Patience with myself and others is what's needed during these winter months. Confusion reigns supreme, and it will for a while. The ol' temper has not been tamped down. There has been one baby step taken. No one is ready to run. The team has been trimmed yet again. Our failure was the mismanagement of chaos. We allowed that vital energy to consume rather than nourish us. Make good on your word and the feeling of defeat will subside. And when my boss said "keep your phone on" as I finished my shift on Wednesday, I knew I would not be receiving his call on Thursday. Trying times indeed, and it's cold out. Patience is a life-long practice. When the storm is raging, some folks make for shore and others take their chances upon waves that shake the ocean floor. Just try to show me out the door and I'll put on a demonstration of the wind reducing this world to qubits. How can I help? Just focus on your goals. An answer given before the querent knew her hand was raised. Work those pedals faster, padre. This cycle's seen better days.

The Hidden Part

What is it you need to show to the world? What's the one thing you want me to know about you? How can you tell your story without it being a masterfully manipulated collection of photographs on Insty-Sham?

Here's what Phyllida wants us to know about her:

I am the Crone. I am your Forever Home. Come rest in my arms so evergreen. I am soon to be riding the #9 and so close to being whole. I feel young/old/accomplished/benighted ... happy to have sensations at all. I am grateful for my cave; my hideout from the world as I've undergone this painful transformation. I don't look any different. The wrapper is no worse for wear. But the little spark of wonder that has always caused me pain is now a rampaging flame of wisdom. Can't unknow what you know. Or, in other words, this light ain't goin' out any time soon, bebe ko.

Be the Star

Not a proper Year-In-Review this. Not even going to speculate on what's in store for 2019. Just a handful of things that happened:

* I rescued a withered Philodendron scandens tucked amongst boxes of Tampax stacked on a table of markdowns at Walmart. I christened the plant Luz.

* Learned to embrace the ludicrous and my worldview improved immensely.

* Wrote some pretty shitty poetry.

* Got to be a tourist in the city where I live when family came to visit.

* Colleagues were given the Fourth Quarter Boot Scoot at my place of employment. I'm still there.

Snapshots of a life lived as the planet does its slow dance around the sun. Time, too, continues to communicate in its ebb and flow way. And each one of us a star. No, really. We follow stars across the sky in our search for home. But as a star, the only place one can return is where you are.

The State of Becoming

O.k., Masters-in-Training: If the last 10 years have been easy for you, you must have done The Work over prior lifetimes. If yes/no: Has something happened to you in the past 30 to 45 days that slapped ya upside the head (didn't see it comin', didn't see it comin') and left ya lying in a goo pit of conflicting emotions? We are all presently tasked with looking at ourselves through the eyes of others. How well do those narratives criss and cross? Are you ready for a different version of your life to be projected against that big, blank canvass you are staring at? Make sure you've got a red pen handy.

To Our Undoing

The flip side of pain is love, and what is love but a vehicle to keep us from dying a new death every day? Love is also a gateway to disappointment and heartbreak and insecurity. One cannot have a well-lived existence without the sweet agony of wallowing in The Big Three -- d / h / i -- at various junctures along Life's Rocky Road. It's better than flying solo, right? The fear of being alone makes for tenuous bedfellows.