the hours pass snail-like
finish line is close at hand
we will all survive
JSmith 11/05/2016
The sleeper wakes…
03 Oct 2016 Leave a comment
Since yesterday fell on a Sunday it was all about grazing, napping, TV sports, and trying to mentally get my poop in a group for starting a new week, which happened today, actually.
There’s now a handy list of ESSENTIALS taped to my bathroom mirror, providing steady inspiration and focus for being something other than retired, because it’s so hard to stay on task. My happiest day is one where the calendar is a wasteland – a blank slate – but a never-ending string of those can become tedious and full of ennui, so a new LIST and a soupçon of discipline are called for at this point.
There are things I need to get down in words, and that happens best when the crowded house at the top of my neck has been freed from clutter. Working on it…
So for now, my list reminds me to do things like:
- Get up
- Shower
- Accomplish one thing every day
- Do other stuff
I’ll be chugging down the tracks in no time, because I THINK I can, darn it. Admonitions about writing show up three times on THE LIST, because what else is it about? Getting rid of the crap, within and without, opening blinds AND windows, bringing all fresh air onto the scene…preparing to snuggle in and put words on the page through the fall and winter months. So yeah, thanks for listening… 💋
Everyday advice…
05 Sep 2016 4 Comments
life is brief, don’t let
a self-regarding turdball
bring heartache to you
JSmith ~ 9/5/2016
Headed back…
22 Aug 2016 Leave a comment
The writing of the words and the telling of the stories has taken a back seat for the past few weeks to Kim’s duel with pneumonia. At this point he’s discouraged over his lack of bounce, his ongoing weight loss, and the fact that he’s weak-kneed and not very interested in the world around him, but progress is finally underway despite all outward evidence to the contrary.
Meanwhile, back at the computer, Mama’s muse seems to have gone on hiatus and is hopefully enjoying a white-sand beach where the water is clear and warm – it could only benefit us all.
And now it’s Monday, the accepted time for new beginnings, new resolve, new dedication to the task at hand, which is to write the words every day, dive back into the projects large and small, stay tuned to what’s inside and less aware of the extraneous. It’s painful not to write, so I can never stray far.
Pretty sure I’ll eat these words, but a small part of me is ready for fall and winter with their coziness and quiet – it’s all wonderfully conducive to writing, reading, thinking, planning, and sleeping – but none of it will wait that long, so wish me well ignoring the distractions. It’s still summer for a while yet…where’s my white-sand beach?
Missing my bestie…
08 Aug 2016 5 Comments
My 24/7 buddy, who doesn’t have headaches or backaches or insomnia, and is seldom waylaid by a bug, has been down for two weeks with all of the above plus a cough that won’t give up. Stepped-up inhaler hits and a steroid are improving his color and infusing a skosh of energy, but he isn’t much fun right now, go figure.
And it’s all about moi, of course, you knew that, right? So bless the Rio Olympics!! Two gray days running – making it feel like an early fall here – and we’re snuggled in with the TV coverage, reading, writing, snacking, talking – whenever The KIMN8R isn’t napping. After two lifetimes of experience with it, we got married to spend all our time together, so it’s good that options exist for making sure that happens. The Big Guy scares me just a little when he turns into a skinny ghost, but his wicked humor is peeking through again and I’m detecting a hint of Guido Mode in his voice. Gonna live – that’s good enough for an overcast Monday in August.
Enjoy yours, boys & girls. ❤️
Whimsy…who doesn’t need some?
28 Jul 2016 2 Comments
A psych-out when I start feeling weighed down by nonsense is to “brighten the corner where I are.” It’s the equivalent of Spring Cleaning without the lifting, bending, and sundry other exercise I like to refer to as work. My desk and I are good friends, so of course I ignore it and treat it like crap most of the time, but there always comes a day when the windows have to be flung open and the detritus swept away. Today is that day – AGAIN – in my world, and lucky you, I love to (over)share.
We start with our big honkin’ desktop because EYEBALL FEAST EVERY TIME WE SIT DOWN HERE. You can immediately see what a crucial first step this is, besides which everything from this point hinges on it. (Gah, I always hope my readers are note takers.) Nobody else’s desktop will suffice – it must speak to me, personally, in some way, and most tell me “You are freakin’ nuts, lady” which is when I know I’ve found THE ONE.
Today’s springboard, our dominant image:
That’s merely the start, although admittedly an auspicious one. Now that we have an arresting vista in front of us at all times, we must upload that same image as our Facebook cover picture. Done. And, since we use a sweet add-on called Facebook Purity, we get to upload a background image for all of Facebook. Furthermore, since the name of today’s game is *cheer,* we’re using this one:
Is that not an enjoyable little kick in the shorts over and over? When you spend a lot of time somewhere it’s powerful to make it yours.
Next up is our Facebook blog page, which obviously has to coordinate with the overall theme we’re developing here, and this will do quite nicely as our cover photo:
All of our Facebook pages share a background, which is working out swimmingly, as you can see. We are ON A ROLL, boys and girls. Add this same image as the header for our blog page, tweak the background, and violas!! Moving on…
What shall we do next? We have choices:
- Two Gmail accounts whose non-coordinating backgrounds are piteously crying “Pick me, pick me!”
- The big loud Twitter header, or is that just my monitor? But yeah, there’s that.
- And we have to go get a new Chrome Theme.
Oh, haha, I forgot, this is my page, I choose! We’re doing the Twitter header next and there’s an outstanding reason for that – IT’S GONNA BE IMAGE #1 UP THERE AGAIN! See how simple this is? See a pattern here? Give a shit?
So now we’ll tackle the whiny Gmail accounts. Okay, pay attention because this is where this stuff gets tricky.
WE’RE GOING TO USE TWO OF THE SAME BACKGROUNDS WE’VE ALREADY UPLOADED. If I didn’t crack myself up I’d have no fun whatsoever. And I did try to warn you up top via words like whimsy and psych – which is like a twin or something to psycho, right?
And here’s where you get in on the fun – you get to decide which two of the three backgrounds above you want to use for your mail! You know, when you redesign it all according to what speaks to you.
Okay, all we have to do is find a new Chrome Theme and we’re set – there are a million of ’em and it’s fun. This one’s perfect and I’m happy. Cheery, even. For all the reasons.
Hope you are, too.
Re: The Flying Nun
13 Jun 2016 Leave a comment
See yesterday’s post…
no earthly sense in
fear of flying
light me up
JSmith 6/13/2016
My ESPN tells me Sally Margaret Field might find this funny.
Ode to Bella Coma
12 May 2016 Leave a comment
whine
diss
opine
agitate if you must
so sad The Tombs were out of reach
tribe matters
~JSmith 5/12/2016
Jabberwocky
18 Apr 2016 Leave a comment
DISCLAIMER: Girl is in a rainy-day mood – what does that even mean? Rain fills her with a happy melancholy that may or may not occasionally veer off into the blues, but it’s all good – and useful. Sometimes drippy sunless weeks make her dig through the laundry basket for her freak flag, and then things get fun. Hang with her if you want – she’ll be gentle – please keep your hands and feet inside the roll-cage at all times until the ride comes to a complete stop.
Roaming around her usual haunts this gray morning she’s laughing at all the prime new humor – the day-making kind because so.spot.on.
If it rains long enough, a bit of introspection sets in. After intense moments of spiritually-guided meditation over at least a five minute period today, all of her senses are telling her that she is salt in her community, with a well-honed bent toward rebellion. Cool. She has been seen and known.
Here’s a creative thing she does when she finds herself on the verge of punching bunnies in the face ’til they cry little bunny tears: She ponders the statistical probability that there are Others who are occasionally visited by weirdly unhinged storylines and who willingly entertain thoughts of same. This insight simultaneously encourages, appalls, and confuses her – and brings up a fun question: Who here is willing to admit that they, too, are Desktop OCD? If you write, how much power do your computer screen, your actual desktop, your direct surroundings add to that experience? Can you fully relax if not all of those things are in sync? Oh. Well, yeah, she can too (we assume), it’s just that she prefers it this other way.
When all her little proggies play nicely together, the soothing yet stimulating colors and designs cause her brain to overflow with copious, astonishing story ideas, hahahaha, yeah, no. But she’s happy, god knows, and nobody gets hurt. Are you out there, Dear Reader, kindred spirit? Don’t leave our girl alone in the universe. Say you do this, too, or something equally obsessive. Please show your work.
(S)he had a face like a blessing … *
04 Apr 2016 2 Comments
*Cervantes
Last month a friend added me to a Facebook group, an action that would ordinarily raise the hair on my neck except for who connected me and to which group. I like to be asked first, but if you actually know me you can probably slip that cheese past me without an implosion. Oh, but hoo-boy, the misguided adds I’ve quietly tiptoed out of! What was it about my posts over the past eight years that revealed a secret affinity for Home Canning groups, Fundie Prayer-Chains, or a support page for Nursing Mothers? {Hypothetical examples to spare the guilty, who clearly did not know me.}
This new page, though, is serendipity – all about women and faces and selfies. One of those things is not like the others. Women and faces = good. Selfies = I suck, both at taking them and accepting the results. But happily, this is all ABOUT acceptance – for ourselves and other women. Without camouflage, before coffee, after a run, in sadness, elation, frustration (!!), other women’s faces are endlessly beautiful to me and seeing them every day is showing me more about genuine acceptance of my own features than anything I’ve encountered until now. If they can all be real, why would I think I couldn’t? When someone shares a shot that’s possibly less than bare-faced, I think “No, please, show us your genuine, natural, beautiful self, the one who can trust her sisters.” So maybe I could dare hope my sisters would think the same on seeing photos of me.
Over the past decade or so my body has been in the process of betraying me, but even at that we’re better friends than back when my pudding-stage brain thought I was such an irresistible speck of humanity. I’m getting pretty comfortable in this body with this face on it, but my selfies still shock me every time. “Hello, Me, this is what we really look like now from the outside, can you believe this shit?” I choose to blame it on Bad Inanimate Face because Resting Bitch Face sounds so ugly and judgy. Pretty sure two things are at work here to make me uncomfortable with my own shots:
- It’s MY face in the viewfinder.
- Selfies allow me to study my face in a way that invades my personal space and hurts my feelings.
But…sigh…the suggestion is that we each post a selfie every week for a year and write something positive about every photo we share, which I think is delightful advice, in theory. I’ve managed one so far – right now I’m busy drawing from other women the inspiration to be as naked as they are. Faces, guys, naked faces. As you were.
And being real at every stage of life is all that matters.
“If I were two-faced, would I be wearing this one?” – Abraham Lincoln
The Watchers
01 Apr 2016 Leave a comment
walls what
did you see
when the riders came up mass
did you hear
and want to warn
did your windows weep
your stones cry out
did survival root you
fill your clefts with balm
for scholar and bum
set you as watchers
over revelry and mayhem
over life
.
JSmith 4/1/16
Mass Street in Lawrence, Kansas, is a world unto itself. Some of its buildings were here before Quantrill’s Raid in 1863, and they’re works of art in my eyes. They embody so much of the spirit of the place – strength, longevity, resilience, the quiet joy of being free to be. They’re lovely to look at in every season.
Things are all screwed up …
31 Mar 2016 4 Comments
You know, you can be operating in full-scale denial mode and still pick up on things pertaining to precisely what you’re ignoring. For example, I’m noticing a whole subculture in terminology that hadn’t resonated with me until just recently. Today in the AARP Bulletin {Hey! The smug grin was uncalled for – the rag was in the mail, who can fathom how or why!} this sentence jumped off the page at me – “People think of ‘elderly’ as this gray plane, as if [older people] are all the same and shouldn’t be seen.” Wow, cold, dude.
So we have da’ yooths, who so far as we know all think and behave alike, and then ya’ got yer generic interchangeable old farts, which why are they even allowed off the grounds on their own? In the middle we have The World of Everybody Else, a world which neither youth nor old-fartism is expected, nor particularly welcomed, to grasp. Nothing personal, most likely, in most cases, just a perception – one that’s always existed and probably always will unless future technology gives us ways to read each other’s thoughts and feelings. People in the know are pretty sure the young and the old are not part of their ranks, a perception that clearly cheats the world to an astounding degree.
I had two remarkable grandmothers who were as different from each other as chalk and cheese, and each of them managed to get across to me the reality that we stay who we are on the inside all our lives while our bodies go to shit around us. One grandma, forever young, accomplished that by example, the other through stories. One night in her 80s, that grandma dreamed she was nineteen again and danced all night in a long flowing skirt and a sparkling-white Maidenform bra. Advertising in the psyche, man, but it was clear how real it all still was in the light of day. Her disappointment that it was only a dream was palpable even to a self-absorbed cheerleader-head, but the gut-punch was when she said “It was so wonderful – my body was as young as the real ME again!” That one stuck.
You can’t convince some folks that people under 18 are, indeed, people, and you can’t break the idea that after a certain age we’re all disposable. But you can try.
Playing for Time 
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