Semi-Daily Scribbles
Carving out a corner to post random crap.
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For me, 2023 never really got out of the blocks. On a global level…?Wars.
Environmental Disasters.
Mayhem of Every Design.I'm nursing the sniffles and excited about a repair person coming over this afternoon to clean the dryer vent. What better way to ring in 2024? I'm catching a back to basics vibe for the new year. No declarations of losing weight, crossing off <fill in the blank> on Ye Olde Bucket List, changing careers. More like a literal and figurative cleaning of one's house. This past year has been one of accumulation, but not necessarily of objects and experiences that will propel me on my path. I need to get back to the work of creating rather than procuring. There's a lot of stuff cluttering my closets and noggin. So, over the next 12 months, I shall focus on the things that truly matter: Family, Friends & Cupcakes. This paired down list will keep the important stuff prominent in '24 and beyond.
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Barbie, with her wicked business acumen, saw this seismic shift in the world of comms way before any in-the-trenches types were mysteriously summoned, in small batches, to a hard to find 4th floor conference room with nary an explanation as to why.So the story goes…
A man dressed in black sat in front of a bank of windows typing on a silver laptop. He was accompanied by three women who also had their eyes focused on silver laptops. As citizens entered the room, any
anticipation of bonuses being distributed because of A REALLY GOOD Q3 was DOA.Released into the wild in two phases, there are those among us this holiday season who will take comfort in wassail and Gen Xmas carols.
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How quickly we've come back around to 12/12. It's been a rough year for myriad reasons. But in this season of light and love, the 12th of December will forever mark the day you embarked on a journey far, far away from us. Your Pa and I like to picture you and Big Sis playing and resting together in fields filled with toys and treats. Wow! How I remember the drive up to a horse farm darn near the Canadian border wondering what we'd see up there. When the proprietress of the manor introduced you to us, we weren't even sure you were a canine. Curled up in the lady's palm was, what looked like to me and your Pa, a fistful of dark gray wool. Seeing our flummoxed and exasperated faces (hey, it's a long drive from West Seattle to Deming!) she said to us, "One minute!" and ran to the next room with you in her hand. We immediately heard buzzing sounds that lasted mere seconds before the farm marm returned with a tiny shaven creature. It was you! Looking pretty damn close to a nude mouse! Ah, Lil…you were so very tiny and shivering and squeaking…which completely sealed the deal for your Pa and me! We were handed you, nestled in a towel, and made the long trek back down to the big city to begin your adventures with us.And then we had to introduce you to Pup #1 who'd, by that time, been our only fur baby since bringing her home from Lynden as the 20th century came to a close. Not to tell another puppy's tale, but she didn't want to know you. Your introduction consisted of a single sniff from your sis and then she summarily turned around for you to contemplate her big, curly backside. I am most happy to add, though, the two of you grew to be good buddies as she taught you the ropes of a dog's life. For instance, how to go potty outside in the first few days after you'd joined our family. Neat! You gals went on to have oh-so-many adventures that will ever be precious memories for me and Pa.
Well, it's time to wrap up this little story since I can no longer see for the tears that've made the laptop screen all smeary. There's a whole lot of merry making in which to partake now that we're in the holiday homestretch. Goodies to bake and family dinners to host and stop motion masterpieces to view.
Happy End-of-Year Celebratory Activities To You!
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My boss gave her team the holiday assignment of declaring the Island of Misfit Toys plaything with which each of us most identifies. That's some heavy stuff to ponder during these days of candles, cookies and EoY merrymaking. Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer is a stop-motion meditation on learning to love broken things, namely, ourselves.Or is it?
There's a lot to unpack with a bird that doesn't fly. Why? Why does this bird not fly? Can it not take to the sky? Has it ever tried? Does its fishy tail prevent it from circling on high? Is it a lifestyle choice? Oh my.
This flightless bird doesn't clarify if it is incapable of taking flight.
Perhaps this is all an attempt to be something other than what it truly is.
Comfort only comes when it dons someone else's skin.
Besides, who am I to question why The Bird that Doesn’t Fly refuses to live up to its potential?
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Light dances upon jewel-laden boughs. A sock monkey clings to a sparsely needled branch. There is no darkness that homemade ornaments can't penetrate. There is no treasure greater than the connections forged with others as we navigate the starless night. -
The Glowing Rose is a tavern on the outskirts of town. Just past it, little over a mile, the road runs out. If a body were traveling through those heavily wooded parts, they’d see the border of another country soon enough. The old timers, though, have a hard time leaving their homes.“I’ve spent all my life looking for paradise,” Mildred the barkeep told the out-of-towner. “Why the hell would I be interested in leaving my happy little watering hole for the unknown?” The out-of-towner shook her head, lips turned down in a frown and shoulders raised so they brushed against peacock feather earrings. She took a sip of her nearly empty glass of rosé.
“I’ve tried leaving home for years and always end up right back here.” She drained the last drops of her dry, sweet wine.
“Need another?” Mildred asked.
“Sure, why not? I’ve got a little time left to kill. May as well spend it tipsy and in your pleasant company.”
“Well, don’t get too noodly. We really don’t have a taxi service that comes all the way out here. Mildred took the out-of-towner’s glass as she made change for a departing customer.
“Oh, no. I didn’t drive here. I’m waiting for someone to pick me up.”
“Alright then, I’ll pour you another round of our local swill.”
“Wait, what? That rosé is made here? Not a syrah or grenache did I see on the ride up.” Mildred smiled as she leaned in close.
“You’re not the only one that keeps secrets, sweetie.” Allie Langley had no retort for Mildred Molina as a well-filled flute appeared on the bar before her.
Semi-Daily Scribbles 