The 35th: Boho And Buzzard Lore

Why didn’t I post this? I don’t know, stories left untold, fear of waking the dead? Actually, these were originally three separate drafts from the same day, but I stitched them together.  Today Tim usually feels very far away and long, long ago, like a myth, a fairy tale. But, still, he creeps in once in a while, reminds me not to falter, or forget. … Continue reading The 35th: Boho And Buzzard Lore

The Path Into The Light Seems Dark

Never could wrap my head around eastern philosophy, not entirely. Our Anglicanness {read Grandmother} and practical salt of the earth Presbyterian ancestors, kind of made it a bit of a hard slog to fully embrace. Standing now so long downwind from the staid rituals of such things, I am returning for another perusal. You know, Anglican church services don’t have what one would call philosophies, … Continue reading The Path Into The Light Seems Dark

On The Insignificance Of Beauty

I’ve spent years just as addicted to this idealized notion of attraction, and of being attractive. Of being different, of High School bullies, of years of loneliness, self-inflicted AND sometimes involuntary, and all that and so forth, though I don’t have a hate for anyone, cause I’m a frigging adult and I no longer need anyone’s approval. For a long time, I seemed to be … Continue reading On The Insignificance Of Beauty

A Dreambook Of Spring Things

That day the rain just kept coming down, and down, and for a brief few hours we had a reprieve from the long bitter cold grip we had been in, as the thermometer rose up to places it hadn’t been since fall, some danced barefoot on the sidewalks (ok, maybe just Jane), washing away all the dirty snow, and there in my mailbox I spied … Continue reading A Dreambook Of Spring Things

A Blessed Bench Of Boredom

The last couple of months I have wandered about, picking at the fringes, ran my eyes across a multitude of words, nourished my brain with histories of civilizations and empires, in search of ‘it’. I suppose it is hard to find ‘it’ when you have no idea what ‘it’ is. I hesitate to define this sense as depression, if only because I believe that word … Continue reading A Blessed Bench Of Boredom