a blessing and a curse

A benefit of working from home: watching BBC documentaries about space while doing the more mundane tasks of the job.

A curse: an inevitable descent into insanity.

missing

This morning the dog is anxious.
She paces from room to room, whining a little,
unsure of where to lie down or what to eat.
I don't feel anxious at all. Instead,
I am missing. The gerund and the verb.

goodbye

Goodbye, my small friend. You were a brave little soul. Your wings were swift and your song was sweet.

I will always miss you.

sunday

began with an intense time of community and contemplation, wherein I mentally reviewed my lifeproblems again, and tried throwing them away with a stone into dark water.

and then family and friends gathered in my kitchen to eat together, feeding my desire for closeness with others, helping me crack out of the shell of isolation I've been piecing up around my bed, from which I've been living my life, for the most part.

and then cozying up with many blankets and pillows and a warm puppy to read a book that's been on my list for five years.

and, I hope, a nap to help erase the many hours I spent lying awake last night, looking at the sliver of light the streetlamp makes at the edge of the blinds, wondering why sleep is always so elusive to me, timing myself to see how long I could go without moving, without opening my eyes.

a certain kind

I am the kind of person who starts lunch for the next day in the slow cooker at 2 o'clock in the morning because I'm up anyway and I might as well. Now the house will smell like pulled pork all night while we sleep.

on getting out of bed and making real choices

Today is a day for getting down to business. For making coffee and writing that article and sending for approval. For making good on my professional promises and being a real grown-up. And also for buying Christmas lights and supervising while Eric climbs on the roof to put them up. And then for going to a rodeo (!) with three old friends, and for getting the chance to wear my cowboy hat and think about life on a ranch. It will be a good day.

Much better than yesterday.

friday night project

after:

calling my mom to ask in which direction one should cut woven fabric, then
deciphering which of several presser feet was actually the zipper foot and
figuring out how to put that foot on the sewing machine, then
breaking the needle sewing the zipper (i guess i was wrong) and
going out to the car to get the extras (why did i have them there?), then
determining how to exchange a new one with the old and
dropping the old broken needle tip on the floor several times, then
making a big mistake and ripping out an entire seam and
fiddling around with wonky corners and crooked edges, then
making another mistake and ripping out another entire seam and
finally turning the project and realizing i probably did one part wrong, then
deciding that it didn't really matter all that much,

i created with my own hands one small zippered pouch.

journal excerpt: new brunswick

We camp in Fundy National Park. It takes us several drives of the campground loop to pick what we consider the ideal site. After the tents are set up, we hike down to an inlet. The tide (the largest in the world) is in, so the inlet is full of seawater, and it's calm and warm. Amy and I swim and Eric skips rocks. 

Afterwards, we stand dripping water from our hair, our bare feet making prints in the rocky sand. We're waiting for a family of hikers to stop admiring the waterfall and ocean inlet so that we can change out of her bathing suits in the bushes. Amy remarks that she feels so alive standing here by the sea in her bare feet, and I know what she means.

Later, while Eric eats granola bars and naps in the car, Amy and I hike through the woods to a waterfall. It is, of course, beautiful. We take photos, but I don't know how to change the shutter speed, so my photos could be better.

On the hike back down, I happen to look down to see a small purple flower, lit by a tiny square of sunlight coming through the canopy like a spotlight. I am struck by its simple beauty, its tenacity and innocence. A delicate thing growing up through rock and moss in the dim understory.

By the time I get the camera out, the sun has moved and the moment is gone.
This precious moment of pure light probably happens once per day, and I am blessed enough to have seen it. 

Some beautiful things are just gifts not meant to be preserved. 

the first of november

It turns out my plan of reading-dogwalking/thinking-writing is not working. I am too distracted. Also, walking the dog is more about training her to be awesome and less about drumming up poems and reorganizing my gentle melancholies into something productive. Still no writing. But I have thought about writing (does that count? Probably not). And at some point I will endeavour to execute my prior plan.

Meanwhile, this afternoon I am doing research for a new freelance job. I have to go tonight to interview rich strangers, and I am afraid. Because of my policy of courage, I agreed to the task. And also, because I am broke.

Right now the dog has been put out in the yard to play with her friend, Maggie, and it is time for me to get down to business.