In which we buy a car, and it's fraught with pitfalls. The pandemic makes the ordeal even more arduous. In addition, there's shifting priorities as I age, my dear old VW bug, and David Crosby of course.
Walking on Clouds
A change in the weather, a wetlands, birds and beasts and walking on clouds, as well as writing and writers, songwriting, and death. I think I covered it all...
Soggy Saturday
It's soggy, and has been for a while, and will be for a while more. Not California soggy, which seems strange to say; they have their own troubles. Here in the PNW we have the slow slog kind of soggy, weeks and months of it, seemingly endless. I might be getting used to it, or maybe just resigned. I guess it's what I signed up for when I moved.
100 Things That Made My Year
If 2022 was our pandemic junior year, then I've moved on to senioritis; I'm restless and ready to bid goodbye to 2022. I nosed through the layers of my life like a mole. I paged through calendars, notebooks, my blog... Maybe it's death's hot breath, or maybe I just like spreadsheets and lists. But here are 100 things that made my year, in no particular order or ranking.
The Best Thing
"Tell me the best thing that happened to you this week," I asked Facebook. I asked in 2019, and again in 2021 and 2022, just so I could hear happy news about people thriving, at least in the moment. It's what I needed to hear in one big slurp, in view of everything else, like these times. You know.
Doing Nothing
I thought, in passing, one October morning, that I would not write anything that day. This is rare for me, but I had nothing to say. I felt wrung dry and wordless. Alan was isolating due to Covid, and I'd been on my own for a while.
When Things Go Right
It's been a good week. Or a mostly good week. A pretty gosh darn fairly good week. I pause and take notice because of how I moped as the season turned, along with covid and politics and blah blah blah. But sometimes you just get a break, and things look pretty good, so I'll take some time to feel the joy. And write this quickly, in case.
Careless Leaves
mid-autumn the carelessness of leaves -- Gregory Longnecker, tinywords.com Most front yards in my Portland neighborhood are a sea of leaves scattered helter skelter; mosaics in shades of ochres, browns, yellows and burgundies, arrayed in various sizes, shapes, and arrangements.
Gratitude
I’m surrounding myself with family today, with too much delicious home cooked food, with old and new traditions. We can’t seem to gather each year without Nana Bea’s rolls, Mom’s jello mold, Karen’s challah stuffing, and this year’s new trick, Mushroom Wellington à la Alan. “Reviving family recipes honors your ancestry, but more than that, it makes manifest the inconceivable truth. This one meal is the fulfillment of infinite lifetimes.” says Karen Maezen Miller. My forebears would be proud and happy, as am I, mostly. Is there always a caveat?
Get a Grip Let It Go
It's only early November, I remind myself. Not winter, not February, not Iceland, I'm not homeless, the election will be over soon, and the only stuck thing about me is my mind. Get a grip. Time for a retreat.
Rivers and Roads PDX 