that's mrs. mediocrity to you

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open

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just like that

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happens every so often

even in

an imperfect

life

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I’ve spent the last several months wrestling with time, and of course, time keeps winning. And that is the way of things. I accept the truth of that, but keep fighting just the same, always looking to eke out those few extra minutes.

I wonder how long I can subsist on this low-level adrenaline, when I already know the answer. Even so, I keep pushing. Most mornings I wake up and work on my story, struggling to remember what I wrote the day before. I have packed my mind with white noise, and there is no room for remembering. Lists take care of that for me, at least most of the time.

What I need is a week of writing, what I need is a vacation, what I need is always something other than the circle I stand in. Except it isn’t, I know this, and so I plod on, marching in place and putting down words I hope are coherent.

I refuse to give anything up. Even though it would be easier and smarter and even better, perhaps. There is a sense of urgency coursing through my veins, and I’m not sure where it comes from. In the dead of night I find it frightening, but by light of day I take advantage of this feeling, allow it to push me one step further.

Projects I started last autumn are slowly being finished. And maybe that’s what’s behind all of this, making up for the lost time of last year when being sick kept me from doing anything. I have more energy these days, and I take advantage of that, too, forging on.

And it’s all okay. Winter is coming and I will hibernate and rest more than I care to before spring arrives, to save me once again from my own ennui.

Life is full of contradictions. Cute curlicues and sharp-edged points. My focus shifts between them, but always, my eye seeks the light.

And it’s words that lead me there, even when time tries to stand in my way, even as we circle each other in the dance of existence.

This year, I lead, next year, who knows? I just close my eyes and listen for music.

My mind keeps humming.

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the clouds
reach fingertips down
brush my cheek
as i wander
wonder
at the paintbox
feast
served up
as appetizer
for a main course
of grey

geese bleed through the fog
like ghosts
or mirage

circling the table
yet again

hungry always
for the flavor
of spring

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How have you been? I’m sorry I keep missing you, it seems like every time you stop by I’m off doing something from the great list of needs to be done. It’s never-ending, that list, and even though you kept bringing me treats and good sunshine, I just haven’t had the time to come out and play. Your cousin, October, has already written and told me she expects better treatment. And I’ll try, I promise. Maybe I’ll even cook her up a nice pot of chili, with a pan of apple crisp for dessert. I mean, a girl’s gotta eat, right?

Anyway, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for letting you down, I know you tried really hard. I’ll try to do better next time.

I do have a funny story for you, with your allergies being so bad, you’ll be able to relate. This morning I walked to the kitchen straight from my bed, just the same way I do every morning, and turned the stove on to heat the teakettle. While I waited, I talked to the animals, offered treats and fresh water and snuggles, and then I made myself a cup of tea.

I walked into my studio to start getting organized for all the work I have today, and puttered around for a few minutes while I waited for the teakettle to whistle. (Wait, what? I know!) Finally, I figured I hadn’t turned the burner on again, I do that pretty regularly, so I walked out to the kitchen and saw that the kettle wasn’t even sitting on the burner–I usually get that far, just forget to turn it on. And it wasn’t until I saw the cup I’d just made sitting on the counter that I remembered I’d already made it. I think I might be losing my mind. How could I have forgotten something I just did five minutes before?

Apparently I need tea to wake me up enough to make tea. Not sure how I’m going to solve that conundrum, but I thought you might get a kick out of that story.

And just yesterday I made myself a cup without boiling the water first. I realized what I’d done before I took a sip, thank goodness, but still. I’m telling you, these allergies are a killer. I feel like I’m walking around in a fog half the time. Then again, that’s pretty much my normal state of being.

I haven’t been sleeping well either. Some nights I feel like I don’t sleep at all. Damn hormonees. (You saw that movie, right? My Big Fat Greek Wedding? I can never remember if that was you or January.) And have you heard the coyotes lately? They’re crazy loud and it creeps me right out. Sounds like there’s a million of them out there, trolling around in that field right across the road. It makes me worry about Naughty Kitten.

He’s been on a rampage, killing everything he can find. He left us a chipmunk by the back door just the other day, belly up and pathetic looking. Sorry Mr. Chipmunk. I always feel bad about the chipmunks, until I remember that time I saw one in the basement. Then I tell him to get on out there and find the rest of them.

Well, I guess I’d better go and get busy, I have a million things to do today before October gets here. I do hope you’ll come and stay with us again, next year. Maybe you’d like to come for tea. Ha ha.

Love ya tons,
Me

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some days
i let my camera choose the focus
and fall in love
with imperfection
all over again

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i dream myself awake and wander
through corners of remembrance
there is no hope
there is only hope
there is only keeping on

we all climb the same mountain
weight-bearing and moon lifted

and the snail that eats
the lily
must surely taste
sunshine

i cannot blame her
for surviving
though i admit
there are times
when i toss her into weeds

where she will climb
and eat the flavor
of absent-minded forgiveness

just as content
with a broken down aster

alive

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I went outside last night at dusk and the grass was already covered in dew and it took me right back to my childhood, when I was always barefoot. There was a strip of red sitting on the horizon, a perfect half moon just clearing the trees, and I walked to the end of my driveway to look out across the fields.

I love living in farm country, love this spot on this hill, love the “sheltering sky” that defines my world.

It was a very busy day in a very busy week, and I’d barely looked up from the work at hand all day. And today will be the same. But I had that moment, out looking for my naughty kitten, when life caught my eye.

Funny how easy it is to forget to notice. And how simple it is to remember.

I just had to look up.

There is food growing all around me. Stars peeking out from behind day’s curtain. Eternity stretching out above me as a grasshopper jumps into my path.

The cat was nowhere to be seen, but I knew he was watching. He wasn’t ready to go inside yet and I couldn’t blame him.

He knows exactly how to live.

August has been a busy month. A month of puzzle-piecing bits of time together, trying to get it all done.

My living room is freshly painted, though not yet completely put back together, and the back of the house has a new coat of paint as well.

There’s been jewelry making, getting ready for our show next weekend.

There has been work, and that’s always a good thing.

And there has been writing. Every morning, writing and writing and writing on a story that’s been with me for over a year. I start each day with this story, and it’s become a part of my life. A part of my life that feels real, these people don’t feel like characters, they feel like family. Their story keeps making me cry.

There hasn’t been much repose, but winter is coming, and then there will be nights before the fire.

A is for August, and also accomplishment. A few small ones, at least.

My garden, well, my garden is a mess. That same beautiful mess it becomes every year at this time, the moment when I throw my hands in the air and let it be messy.

Outside my window, the forest of kiss me over the garden gate has an understory of love lies bleeding.

The snails keep whispering.

And that is my fairy tale.

The sky is angry again this morning and the dog tries to climb onto my chest as I lie in bed listening to hail hit the windows.

I know the back entryway will flood for the second time this week, just as I knew when I went to bed last night that I wouldn’t sleep for the third night in a row.

Everything in my house feels damp, including the sheets that wind themselves ’round my legs. It’s been one of those summers, but it seems they are all either too dry or too wet or too hot or too chilly. We want perfection from Mother Nature, and she simply refuses to live up to our standards. I love that about her.

Naughty Kitten went outside early, still-dark early, before the storm hit, and I don’t know where he found shelter. He has a secret life when he walks out the door, I don’t think he travels all that far, but he has hiding places I know nothing about, and I will let him keep it that way. He doesn’t mind getting wet in the rain, and he’s not really afraid of thunderstorms. I love that about him.

It’s the end of another July, a memorable one marked by marriage. That day the weather was perfect, and for that I am grateful.

Water runs and there is never any stopping it. If you try, it finds a new path, around you or over you or under you or through you. Just like life.

My garden keeps growing, my face keeps aging, my fingers keep typing.

The sky is black to the east, but I know the sun can’t hide forever. It’s always out there, shining, burning itself up and out with no concern for those requiring its warmth. I kind of love that, too.

Between the trees, the clouds have formed their own horizon, just beneath a mirage of ocean.

If I liked the water better, I’d pretend to find a boat. But my feet travel best on land, gripping stone and root and hard-packed soil, always climbing.

Today, I thirst for nothing.

Water drips off leaves, and just in that moment before letting go, I see the world I live in.

I see it again in the puddle at my feet, smiling back up at me.

In the distance, I hear more thunder.

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It’s been a month of things being broken. I hear Mercury’s to blame, and smile at the notion, but then I believe it anyway, because it’s been a month of things being broken.

Some things get fixed and other things get replaced and still other things get discarded.

Clearing the air and the space and the clutter that looms in my mind. I want to fix everything, I can’t fix anything, no, I can fix this.

Somehow, I inherited the fix-it gene. And with it, the particular strain of stubbornness required to make it work, whatever it is that I’m fixing. Both a bane and a blessing, I suppose.

But I like fixing things better than discarding. We throw away so much these days, without thinking, without taking in the bigger implications of where it all goes. Some days, I want to stop buying anything. Tiny bottles of cream in boxes four times their size. Two grocery items in one shopping bag. Cardboard and cardboard and cardboard. Recycling bins overflowing.

There are too many things that can’t be fixed, things that are intended to be discarded as soon as they stop working.

Some days, I feel this notion is filtering over into our humanity. I see so many quips about discarding people who have hurt you or don’t encourage you or don’t do this or that, and it makes me wonder. We used to fix our relationships along with our toasters. Have we abandoned that practice, as well?

We have so many choices, too many choices, and that becomes its own kind of stuck.

I cant find a decent charcoal grill at a decent price to replace the three we’ve had since this one that my husband took to our camp. The models they sell now are so visibly cheap that they might last a year if you’re lucky. And everyone uses gas grills these days, because it’s faster, and perhaps, a little, because it’s cleaner. I try to talk my husband into gas, but he’s old school, he likes the process of starting the briquets and waiting for the right temperature. I think how much easier a gas grill would be, but I’m not the griller, so charcoal it is. Besides, I suppose a gas grill would be just one more thing that would break.

It’s been a month of things being broken.

But even so, my garden is lush, we have food on our table, and people we love, and blue skies at least half the time. It’s summer and the glass is half full. Another year, pouring itself out for the taking.

I drink to you, June.

Now come on over here and sit next to me while I fix the torn hem of your dress.

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