Could I edit my feature photo to be a little smaller?
Sure I could
But I woke up to brilliant sunshine and a temp here of -2°F
I am planting a little mental spring garden to give me the will to go out the door this morning
today, on March 4
positivity is key
So this was intended to be a handful of random thoughts
instead I am harping on winter
winter that wants to stay
here’s a thought, and a tip for the day
Bakers? Don’t forget that even a sweet treat needs a pinch of salt in it to bring out the sweetness. Not much, just a half teaspoon, perhaps a quarter, or only a pinch. It’s chemistry. It works. Please trust me on this!
In other news, I am continuing sewing memory pillows for a friend. The first two were fashioned from sweaters, as will the next after this project today
which is two pillows made from a first communion dress from the sixties
It has been very rewarding, but gives me sweats taking the clothing apart, these dear memorials people held on to for so long
I just don’t want to screw it up.
But so far, so good
After that, writing, both a side project, and my own
And, if I get a couple of hours left at the end of the day in which I do not pass out early, I will watch an old movie I have been saving to watch with hubby
August wasn’t meant to dispense mercy
every bit of heat and glare possible
concocted by a troubled day
that some find shiny.
If I were honest, I do feel guilty
for grumbling, even silently, of
perspiration. aggravation. recalescence.
a created coolbringing option on my car
that doesn’t keep up, but
I know it wants to, panting
at every red light and train crossing
coughing for a good five minutes
after I have taken out the key
When you see me bright and shining here, at 3671 Hudson I have the shades pulled down. I open them for the sunrise, then close them when it is high in the sky. At sunset, I open them again. Sometimes. Other weeks they stay shut for days while I type, printing off stacks of pages in neat rows. On days like today, listening to The Guess Who and Janis Joplin, I open the windows wide. The shades are up and I don’t notice what I am wearing, or if I am wearing next to nothing. The music floods through the screens to tell the neighborhood how I feel young and I dance. I dance through the first floor apartment with the sunshine laying tracks over the carpet and the kitchen floor. I imagine they all are watching and I am on a stage–one that I envisioned when I was eight–and I dance on through the day until the music is finished.
Words matter, and to me they matter probably more than people which is wrong– I know it’s wrong, so I’m working on that. I do feel guilty for saying that.
Words get propers from me because they kept me going between the ages of 10-20, and now they are saving my life. I have to be grateful for that.
I was in the best, coolest conversation this weekend and I interrupted at an important juncture, taking the steam out of a good story I was hearing. I still feel badly about it. I would like to say something now to the storyteller and apologize, but that’s weird. I recognize it’s weird to agonize about it now. But I do want to be a better listener–
This idyllic day should conjure up words like
daydream, breeze, lovely, carefree, ripe, and luxurious
but I move through my day with some agitation. I do
as I always do, my responsibilities, with pauses
for reverie. But my moments of thought are honeycomb’d
with words like careful, caution, reticence, and thief
and others such as grief, broken, torn and flambéed;
our days so carefree in the forest
as we reach the perimeter – bathed in sunlight-
each fault shown up, each danger splashed with crimson.
Hands that create and form and weave delicate strands
could be trusted, might be counted on
to put together a story that I could live with
my fancies coming to life with holidays and ruffled dresses-
childhood realities I knew existed – but not for me.
Weave me a tale of red leaves and sunshine
and an autumn day, most fair, but I know
it is April, not October. The monsters pounding
on the bolted doors, the bear paws clawing
at the eaves – they will find a way in-