Cate kept a trunk in the attic for her magazine collection. Faded pages were filled with articles on how to cook a good family, raise well-behaved food, and save for a split-level education. These were the pastimes Cate studied, but she lacked hand-eye coordination to juggle the lowest of priorities. She reckoned the unsteadiness came from the soft spot in her hard head that couldn't understand the moral of friendly advice. Cate tried, but could not subscribe, to the concept of looking at life from the other side. Since everything was situation critical in Cate's world, she didn't believe there was anything beyond the thick, red line she painted each day at the foot of the porch steps.
Semi-Daily Scribbles
Carving out a corner to post random crap.
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It matters every single day what I say. What I do. What I think. Who I brush up against. My actions coalesce into a singular vibration which travels around the sun. Without first steps, the future becomes nothing more than frisson.
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Sandy, covered in mollusk mucous, smelling of the low tide. Treasure! Vital is the grit, the tang, the salt sea mist on taffy-pulled lips. Slap and slurp of the flip flop lost in the tide pool. Slime trails anoint mementos that come home in pockets and glove boxes. Display found objects in a prominent spot. Magic mile markers remind us we were once on the road. We stopped long enough to let the waves rush in to meet us.
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The Fish People were kind enough this morning to leave a very exciting message in my mailbox. A magical event of extraordinary magnificence will be happening later this summer. Bummer I'm not on the other side of the pond, but dreams and random acts of make-believe will place me front and center before the dawn. -
Betty-Ann felt reborn as the first day of Spring snatched her up in its seductive snare. Thick, meaty winter was over, and the pressure to shed a few inches of locally grown love was palpable in the sweet air. Betty-Ann had warm weather plans which required a quicker step and a lighter touch than what she presently possessed. No matter. Grapefruit and green tea topped the shopping list, and a used blue Schwinn was picked up for a song. The season would not last long; Betty-Ann was well aware of her time constraints, but she was her father's daughter. The good General taught her everything she knew about discipline and drive. Her moment to outshine the squawkers and double-talkers had arrived. No amount of years, well-spent or wasted, would weigh her down when the name tags were passed around outside the old classroom doors. -
it is time to find
a new frontier
the old one has been
trampled down
beyond all recognition
a flood of warm regards
cannot save
what has been
swindled
depleted
a basket of dreams
one can weave
out of
opened promises
long since deprived of meaning
the note that hangs on the air
is as
thin as skin -
Tuesday's Meditation:
I often wonder if we humans are interested in achieving a state of peace and perfect balance. Turmoil propels what is profitable and newsworthy. Does my good turn or kind word even create a ripple against the tide of conflict? I think a lot about it; try to live it, but I'm not much of a peacemaker. Is it because I don't want to come across sounding (looking…tasting?) like a granola? Hey, I'm the product of a liberal arts education. What do I care about image? Brand? Stamp of Approval? I should be all about love and higher consciousness and being the champion of the under-represented. Shouldn't I? Chances are, after lunch of course, I'll hop back into fantasyland and apply my virtuosity at clunky prose and sloppy guitar chords. That should ensure my rightful nomination for a Nobel Peace Prize.
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The noise, like howling rotor blades, increased as the sun set. Off-hours were intended for nursing pints and pulling words out of the dictionary to make them behave alongside one another. On this night, though, all plans would be put on hold. Luc tried to drive the irritation from his mind, but the uninvited guest reared his misshapen head and extended a phosphorescent hand just out of Luc's reach. Once a year, on the date of the stranger's murder; the killing in which Luc had stood by and watched, the beggar's broken body would come in search of compensation. If Luc had been useless to the stranger in life, the dead man found the present situation suited his needs. Luc's skin was a comfortable fit, and the beggar wore it well as he approached his first meal of the evening. -
Her grandmother's heirloom string of pearls was Claudette's lifeline to perpetuity. It was difficult for her to traverse the physical plane, but the smooth connectedness that kept pearls in place provided great comfort. Existence moved in quick side steps which left Claudette dizzy and confused. Only by holding a pearl between thumb and forefinger, counting each sphere on the strand and repeating 010101010101, did Claudette find equilibrium. In spite of fragility and futility vying for her attention, Claudette found tranquility in the absurd. -
Behind the locked door, Peter was uncomfortable with his nearness to the truth. He wanted to show a brave front to the world, but his hidden desires brought upon him more shame than joy. Peter knew he could wither away in his dark-paneled room waiting for the right combination of emotions to set him free. The choice was his, and Peter feared that power. He could continue to live squarely in a roundabout way, or he could paint circles around his doubters and stand out amongst the crowd. Peter needed to think of his stained fingers and strained relations as currency rather than a curse. A tainted past was no reason for Peter to quit his night job.
Semi-Daily Scribbles 