A Little Winter a Little Work

We don’t get a big winter here. Today in mid-January we have light sleet and snow so schools are closed. I saw a map of the US and Texas was marked CLOSED. But ice is ice.

Here in my snug home with all the gear I could possibly need at my fingertips, I am ashamed I have not shared my extra coats with ones who have not.

Subscriptions to minimalist magazines and work with a dream coach and books about clutter management and years passing too fast all leave me in a state of partial wranglement of THINGS. But only partial.

I stop writing here to get up and pack the teacher bag for tomorrow and proceed to wrangling. A bon idea!

From Whence Come the Tears?

Weepy at the music: I Love You/Wonderful World by Conspirare, Austin, Texas.

My friend will want that at her funeral. How fitting.

Anyone reading this, send me your funeral music. It will go in my book,

and I appreciate it so much!

 

 

 

The Joy of Tidying Up

Somebody said to purge the house of that which brings not joy.

OK. Will do. As far as clothes, art stuff, kitchen stuff, papers, etc.

But not as far as things related to family and responsibility and duty.

There are a few activities I’d like to forget.

There will always be things we don’t want to do.

There remain some memories I can’t yet process.

Somebody said to unpack the memories.

But they will make a mess.

There exist some titles on little bits of paper around.

But I signed up to participate in this and that.

Maybe I will just take off a month.

Then I can visit all the stuff and purge it.

OK. Somebody said that is a good idea.

 

 

Looking for Myself Again

Lord knows, we all grow.

I seem to grow in fits and starts.

Some days I flourish and flow.

Certain music leads my thoughts to certainty and confirmation.

Endeavors ring true and inspire further.

Then sometimes, days at a time, halting insecurities inhibit the game.

The next move evades me.

A purpose for doing disappears, confused.

The textures of the quest shine, then muddle.

They skitter and shake.

The metaphors mix.

The materials and tools rattle in the drawers and on the shelves.

The notebooks and keys linger awaiting the fingers to fly.

The nibs rust and inks dry.

The dreams color the life.

The music stirs the heart and the growth continues.