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Sweet, sweet autumn…

30 Sep 2023 Leave a comment

***

It’s the weekend again, with another Farmers Market underway by the time I woke up, bringing hearty breakfast aromas to my balcony. The “fallness” in the air made it all even better than usual so I took extra time to appreciate it before the first freeze takes its toll.

We have one remaining Dove chick in residence, but we expect him to take off any time now. After his sister Dinky didn’t survive, all the groceries clearly went to Dante because he’s huge for a fledgling. He sits in the nest like a junior potentate while David and Darleen leave him on his own for long stretches of time. Lately he’s been perching on the balcony rail next to his hideout, looking very ready to get the heck outta Dodge, so our hosting days may ACTUALLY be coming to an end until spring.

As our available daylight shrinks and some of us inevitably turn introspective, I’m resolving to use the resultant melancholy and reflection as building blocks this time around. Feels like a refreshing take on things so I’m here for it and I hope the “sleep and renewal” season will be just as positive for you.

NOTE: Kim just checked the nest. Empty. Dante is either out for flying lessons or has said his goodbyes already. Godspeed, tiny Buddha.

Image by Judy Smith

A day in the life…

27 Sep 2023 Leave a comment

***

It’s a typical HumpDay, a stream-of-consciousness stretch of time. There are days simply made for it, when that spaced-out mindset rolls in like a marine layer, the horizon is smoke-hazed for the nth week in a row, it’s neither hot nor cold outside, you’ve managed to rearrange appointments and commitments in such a way as to free up several days in a row of NO OUTSIDE RESPONSIBILITIES, meaning you can do ANYTHING YOU WANT TO DO, and now you have no clear idea what that is. Or rather, you know exactly what it is but you don’t know where to start. Or let’s be real, you’ve begun, you’re ready to move ahead, but you’re stuck. See, progress already: we’ve exposed the “smoke haze” for the smokescreen it is. You, meaning of course, I, am existentially asleep at the wheel. There, that’s one thing.

So what else might be available for providing clarity and focus since we don’t really function without those things, at least not longterm. Well, first of all this morning, the fog was clearly the fault of our coffee grinder, which growled its dying breath without doing ONE LAST TIME the only task ever asked of it. The ignominy after we’ve provided a comfy home for at least fifteen years, is what I’m thinking! Little ingrate made me add a bra to my morning wardrobe and schlep over to Grounded Coffee, where the incredibly cool young guy behind the counter greeted me with smiles and complimented my sweatshirt. My years-old pink “mom” sweatshirt with the fuzzy white heart, matching my fuzzy white head which I’d tried with only partial success to plaster down a little before showing up in public. Wow, great cold-brew though, and as it turned out a cheery way to say hello to a Wednesday. Whatever gets the molecules moving.

You’ll want to carefully consider the source, but I do recommend a few ABCs for getting ducks to line up. You’ll have to name your own ducks, but basic principles apply:

Sit with yourself, in silence or music or nature or all of the above, until you can hear yourself tick.
Name the thing uppermost in your conscious mind. Take your time, that thing sometimes tries to hide, for reasons all its own.
Ask yourself how you feel about the primary concern that’s occupying your thoughts and requiring your energy. Don’t lie to yourself, it’s supremely counterproductive.

If writing is your thing, or if it isn’t but you’ve always thought you might be darling at it, now would be the time to try it out. There’s nothing like seeing your own words in black & white for figuring out what you think.
This one’s hard, but try not to take things personally, nor yourself too seriously. That challenge speaks to every insecurity of every breathing human, so it clearly requires the most work, but I’m pretty sure getting there would be worth the cost.

If you’re this far and still envisioning an orderly Duck Line in your near future, follow me for more tips. I promise to keep you posted.

Image by Judy Smith

Coming back to life…

24 Sep 2023 2 Comments

***

It’s Sunday, just halfway through the weekend, and I’d planned to postpone this process until Monday, but my brain is already starting to coax my spirit down out of the pristine hills and back into the ebb and flow of daily living. It simply happens… we stay immersed in the magic for as long as possible but the basic facts intrude in unavoidable ways, and those thoughts we were thinking, those feelings we felt, that peace all-encompassing, start to fade and slip into the ether long before we’re done with them.

I had all sorts of thoughts going last week, following various twists, turns, and alleyways, and it seemed like I might actually be getting somewhere. It’s likely I was, so I’ll be standing by, as quietly as I can, for those same ideas to intrude again.

TURN UP SOUND

Thank you, Jim Creek, for a sweet piece of the Black Hills to bring home with us.

Now it’s time to finish unpacking.

DISCLAIMER: Kim did all of his immediately upon arrival home, so he wins again. He’s a Navy man, besides which our friend Seth surmises he was potty-trained at gunpoint, so he can’t help it. I do better with a couple of days’ decompression before getting all hasty about things like laundry and “what bag did that end up in?” Besides, I did my part while Kim was being a good citizen… I WENT THROUGH THE MAIL. That was always the biggest pain, and let me tell you… we were gone for a week and had exactly five pieces of “mail” awaiting our return. This is what it’s finally come to, the flip side being that it’s all lurking in Gmail, of course, which I’m proud to say I’ve gone a considerable way toward unpacking because I, too, can be a quality citizen.

I have only positive things to say about the concept of getting away from it all, even if it’s simply by closing your door and putting everything on mute for an hour. (Or ten minutes, as life allows.) Progress happens when we get quiet enough to hear ourselves tick.

Welcome, autumn, friend of my heart. Your melancholy echoes my goofy perpetual angst and somehow helps tame the inherent loneliness as winter sets in. I’m hoping for a nice snowy one. Is that an oxymoron?

Image by Judy Smith

What does it all mean?

22 Sep 2023 4 Comments

***

Best definition of the word VACATION: “A period during which activity is stopped for a time.” So we did it right and it was the truest vacation I’ve taken since I was a kid, when family trips mostly meant camping (with parental units doing all the work) and sunbathing. This time, in response to an invitation, we loaded up our little red wagon, bizzling through parts of four states in search of ultimate relaxation, and our destination did not disappoint. Blazing across the great state of South Dakota at a legal 80mph+ was exhilarating and the interstate is straight as a pin except for one remarkable curve somewhere close to Rapid City, so Kim was happily in aircraft-pilot mode through every mile.

We arrived at the cabin in the meadow on Sunday. Kim turned on the TV for Sunday Night Football and that was the only time it was lit up for the duration. See that front porch up there? We could have romped off to Mount Rushmore… or Deadwood… or Sturgis… or stunning caverns… or any number of other worthy activities on offer. What we did for several days and evenings, as was our intention, was sit on that lovely porch, with its perfectly-aged screen door and softly-creaking floor, and look with our eyes, and feel with our molecules. The air and water and atmosphere are pristine beyond imagination… and it was more than gratifying to experience a spot humans haven’t drained of its essence.

Kim walked most of the ranch’s 30-acre property line and followed several of the trails that cross the terrain. He let that sweet Taylor guitar ring out across the meadow… and even wrote a song in his free time. He also cooked all our meals in the cabin’s perfect little kitchen. I read a little… wrote a little… napped a little… and far too soon it was time to pack up and point the car east. Fortunately, home is never the wrong place to be, and we were welcomed back this morning with a sky-blackening, crashing, booming thunderstorm, accompanied by pouring rain. Our place of choice still loves us, and likewise.

Memories for a lifetime:

Dasher cat keeping an eye on things.

Manna and Midnight

Until we meet again…

So home we drove, past hundreds of miles of corn, soy beans, sunflowers, sorghum, and other crops, some ready for the harvesters, much that looks like it will do well to beat the first snow, all of it keeping us conscious of the basics: We’re a nation of highly-independent souls with a general yen to do right by each other. The extremes are out there but they comprise less of the sum total than we might think without benefit of direct exposure. On a cross-country road trip you’ll see it all, and we did. At a mega truck-stop somewhere along the way we were treated to a large white van blocking traffic and plastered from stem to stern with explicit advice for Joe Biden along with abject worship of the former guy. On the flip side, that was the only in-your-face evidence of division in over 1500 miles of travel, and I like those odds.

Our hosts for this much-needed idyll were Mark & Mary (Wipf) Zimmerman, who have been South Dakota Arts Council artists in residence for 25 years and whose art graces every part of their beautiful homestead ranch.

https://artscouncil.sd.gov/aisc/visual10.aspx

If you’d like to book a stay at the ranch:

The Cabin at Green Mountain

https://grmountain.com/

Endorsements above are unsolicited and 100% sincere. Thank you, Mark & Mary, for everything. And the Vern J. Specials were the pièce de résistance.

Image by Judy Smith

Pending illumination…

14 Sep 2023 Leave a comment

***

Taking a little R&R.

Back soon with words.

Image by Judy Smith

Oh thou melancholy well-meaning fall…

02 Sep 2023 2 Comments

***

On a pristine September morn like this, anything begins to seem possible. It’s a sweet 66°, the sky is blue and cloudless, and Farmers Market is in full swing down the block. Our parking lot is full of #lfk peeps of every age and description, and the sourdough donut kiosk is doin’ tha biz again. They’re excellent, but our loyalties are with the local Muncher’s cheesecake vanilla-frosted rolls. I’ve added one to my birthday wish-list.

Our predicted high temp is 98° with over 70% humidity, so the benign morning will slide us into a grand funk of sweat and steam, but that’s latah today and all week… high 90s. Not a problem, just a challenge, and on we go.

First headline to cross my feed this morning was the news that Jimmy Buffett has left us for that spot where “If there’s a heaven for me, I’m sure it has a beach attached.” He was my precise age and isn’t the first of our boomer rockers to go… I think immediately of Tom Petty, a true “baby” and real heartbreak… as the inevitable future absence of each icon fully registers. They changed an entire era, those people: Queen, The Who, The Stones, The Beatles, Pink Floyd, Carlos Santana, Simon and Garfunkel, Carly Simon, Stevie Nicks, a long illustrious list of influencers and sheer joy-bringers too massive to comprehend, including and especially every Black musician who birthed the genre. In a world where we can’t be sure it won’t all crumble to dust tomorrow, the goodbyes are hard. How do we let go of the people who defined our formative years when we don’t know what’s really left to us at this point? We just do. It’s how each generation survives and moves on. We do it as the ground grows spongy under our feet and the markers fade like old newsprint, we do it brokenhearted and afraid, reluctant, dragging our feet, knowing full well that this is OUR generation hanging it up and taking its leave. In a time when life in general has been nearly a bridge too far, the losses extract a toll. However, they also gird us for the road ahead, so buck up lil’ buckaroos and buckarettes, we’re not in this alone and there are miles to go before we sleep.

My somewhat saccharine but genuine ask for all of us…

Image by Judy Smith

Well, would ya’ look at that…

01 Sep 2023 2 Comments

Darleen, contemplating another sojourn on the Smith balcony.

***

O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay! Dave and Dar are back and have refurbished their safe nest for Round Four, so summer truly isn’t over ’til the hefty girl tunes up. Wednesday night we paid proper attention to the Super Blue Moon while celebrating continuity and prolific breeders. What a joy knowing these peaceable doves have tolerated us enough to hang around all summer, and with their patient response to the cycles of life they remind us every day that we’ve 100% survived everything to this point so we should press on. This morning there’s one egg in the nest and Darleen is apparently out carb-loading for the second, all’s temporarily right with the world, and despite news to the contrary, I’m encouraged. I hope you’re feeling that way, too.

After a lifetime of Pollyanna-like hopefulness I’m still at it, still looking for the pony in the manure pile and believing against all odds that life is a GOOD thing.

Now we greet September and the season of letting go. Fall is inherently melancholy for its endings, in fact positively maudlin on my part for endless years until I finally grasped that without endings, beginnings become moot… the world, never mind the human heart, can’t contain it all. So we learn and we let go. We forever honor the past but accept its immutable status and embrace the beginnings… all of the incredible do-overs we’re privileged to encounter.

Forgetting. It’s one small grace we’re afforded… a vital ingredient of being human. If we’re lucky we don’t remember every single detail with its accompanying emotions, thus enabling us to go on human-ing until we’re done. There’s a clear way to help our friends and family with the process and that’s to provide them with less to plow through on days when the sun doesn’t shine…

Summer officially ends in three weeks, so our supply of sunlight will gradually decrease until spring comes ’round again… and it will. Meanwhile, brighten the corner where you are, your friends and neighbors will benefit.

Image by Judy Smith

Tales of day-to-day breathing…

27 Aug 2023 2 Comments

Photo Credit: Kim Smith, August 2023

***

Cheers to us, we survived the Great Mid-America Smoke-Out 2023 without becoming cinders! Ten days of ridiculous temps and even sillier heat indexes, such as 127° one day and 130° another. Inconceivable. Now we’re promised a gaggle of days, maybe an entire week, of temps below 100. I remain a skeptic…

But oh, my sweet summer child, yesterday dawned cool and cloudy before delivering an all-too-brief but thoroughly welcome fall of rain, temporarily vanquishing the heat. Today as soon as Kim left for Pickleball I abandoned my lovely mug of coffee, put on my Tevas, and took myself out into the 66° morning for a sweet stroll on Mass Street. It was just past 7am on a Sunday, so the businesses weren’t open yet, allowing me to gawk and stare at my leisure. In the three-block stretch I walked, I discovered several new enterprises, a restaurant that has moved from another location, and merchandise that would have tempted me had the doors been open. So early-morning walking is an excellent idea for many reasons.

After the rain showers yesterday we spent time on the balcony in the company of our little dove family. David and Darleen came back to us to raise yet a third pair of fledglings and they’ve done well without our solicitous attention this time around. It’s like baby books… by the third child, possibly the only things that get recorded are name, birthdate, weight, and length. We’re the world’s worst grandparents, as we haven’t even gotten around to naming the two that will fly on their own any day now. It’s for the best, really, since according to Buddha, “Attachment is the source of all suffering.” Do with that as you will.

While we were enjoying the cool breezes, Kim pointed out a ruptured bag of odds & ends down on the greenway and said he was going to go gather it up in a bit. A “bit” went by and we noticed a couple walking along the sidewalk, she with two dogs on leashes, he pulling a wagon holding a 5-gallon bucket, trash bags, and other things we couldn’t make out. He wore gloves, and as they walked he used a grabber to pick up bits of trash and stow them in the wagon. We waited to see what would transpire when they reached the mess lying next to one of the access-ways, and they did not disappoint. Working together, the two of them sorted and bagged every smidgen of the scattered eyesore and continued down the sidewalk, still tidying as they went. Incredible. We clapped and cheered, but they couldn’t hear us up here. It was such a typical #lfk experience it made us reflect on other reasons we feel at home in this town… so summer balcony convos have been redeemed. Reclaiming my time!

Mass Street by Kim Smith, August 2023

Makes for very Zen strolling from north to south and back, about a 40-minute trip for Kim. By now, at 9am, it will be looking very people-y over there and the coffee and breakfast aromas are taking over. Good to know there’s a ranch omelet in my near future, and the coffee’s pure comfort.

Please stay cool every chance you get, and keep passing the open windows.

Image by Judy Smith

What is life, if not a gamble?

17 Aug 2023 Leave a comment

***

LIFE IS LIKE A DECK OF CARDS

Hearts, diamonds, spades, clubs.

Hearts = LOVE

Diamonds = WEALTH

Spades = INDUSTRY

Clubs = WAR

Most every society known to man has started from LOVE, in the form of an idea, a mutual goal, a dream.

In lucky cases the dream becomes WEALTH.

Wealth propagates greater and better INDUSTRY.

And INDUSTRY eventually, inevitably, turns to WAR for sustenance because there is no WEALTH-provider more generous.

Therefore, WEALTH, INDUSTRY, and WAR have been anointed the great protectors of LOVE, the place where everything originates.

Have we missed the point entirely? Repeatedly, ad infinitum? Is LOVE even still the goal? Is it winning any WARS in this millennium?

LOVE holds layers and implies much: Freedom, first of all. And at the very least, intimacy, passion, and commitment. Without it, humanity is dead in the water, so what’s the point of endless WEALTH, INDUSTRY, and WAR?

As Country Joe and the Fish put it in 1967…

And it’s one, two, three,

What are we fighting for ?

Don’t ask me, I don’t give a damn,

Next stop is Vietnam;

And it’s five, six, seven,

Open up the pearly gates,

Well there ain’t no time to wonder why,

Whoopee! we’re all gonna die.

Can someone tell me in what ways the American psyche has changed in the nearly 60 years since those lyrics were written? Nobody? Damn, I was really hoping somebody would be able to point to some positives as a bit of reassurance to all of us that LOVE is indeed still the point.

In an era when the laws of natural selection are playing hell with continued evolution, it becomes ever more crucial to keep the main thing the main thing. And LOVE isn’t just the main thing… it’s the ONLY thing.

JSmith 08/17/2023 with thx to Kim Smith for his generous insight during spa time.

Image by Judy Smith

Out On a Limb

15 Aug 2023 4 Comments

***

When I am very old I shall live in a tiny house

nestled in the arms of a generous tree.

I’ll sleep late some mornings, past ten even,

and wake to birdsong, filtered sunlight,

and coffee made by tree fairies.

My address will be known mostly to squirrels, birds,

and the occasional drone, with a path just witchy enough

to make a poser think twice before approaching.

The views will be so spectacular I’ll seldom be tempted

to reorient to ground level, and anyway there will be stairs.

Or maybe I’ll install a giant slide, because although I’ll be very old

I’ll never not be a kid.

My books will live with me, and there will be two kittens

who will snuggle me as my bones grow tenuous.

They’ll absorb the words I cannot speak

and absolve me of every shortcoming

because they will have no stake in any of it.

I will at last be thin again unless the birds have mercy on me with sustenance,

but it won’t be as I imagined so I shall henceforth, from today, honor my squishiness while it lasts.

Those who want to gaze upon my astounding wrinklyness,

under cover of having “coffee, or tea, or drinkies,”

will be turned away in lieu of those who know me.

The ones – you know who you are – used to my stubborn opinions mixed with naiveté,

the never-ending search for validation, explanation, justification, restitution,

the neediness that dares not name itself.

When I am very very old, I shall be wise.

I will comprehend mysteries.

I will know The Meaning of Life.

Or not. Time, as “they” say, will tell.

But won’t you be lonely? you ask.

Of course, isn’t everyone?

JSmith 08/15/2023

Image by Judy Smith

Are we becalmed?

07 Aug 2023 Leave a comment

***

I’ve been off on sabbatical again, is everybody still okay? This is the summer of figuring out WhatTheHell, and it’s going swimmingly, starting with the weather. Weirdly for August in Kansas, nearly every morning starts with a hint of sunshine before morphing into yet another grayish overcast day with all the heat held firmly in place. This week the forecast says we’ll get a break, with temps in the lower 80s… but also with the humidity in those same numbers if not higher. It’s summertime, it’s da vey dey do, and I’m merely adding (unnecessary) commentary.

Life is, in fact, quite good of course. We have family in town visiting, and more to arrive today, people we haven’t seen in ten years, so that’s a very sweet thing. The food and drink at this establishment (Kim’s kitchen) continues in its customary stellar fashion; we’re maintaining a facsimile of robust health; and we sleep safe every night. I communicate with someone who lives in Ukraine, and I know that for her, her husband, and their country the idea of sleeping in comfort and security is the stuff of dreams now. It’s impossible to put down in words sometimes how precious and unbelievable life is, because it’s so very relative. What it looks like to each of us depends on where we find ourselves on the planet, which patch of earth is “ours,” so we build the dream according to what seems almost possible and then reach beyond it.

As dreams go, I saved this one for Kim. It looks like something he would actually build and enjoy living in, provided there were drop-down window coverings for coziness.

If there’s something that would make today better for you, DO THAT. There’s no rule that we get only one of those a week, or even just one a day, so don’t think you’re being selfish by claiming the good stuff. It’s nice when you can pay it forward, though.

Image by Judy Smith

Into each life some rain must fall…

31 Jul 2023 4 Comments

***

Hey, hi, just had to stop in and tell you about our wild storm last night during which we had a sky full of lightning, heavy-duty thunder, pounding rain, and 70mph winds. It tumped over a “tree” on our balcony and had the furniture dancing around like crazy, but there’s no actual damage we can spot from our vantage point, although last night the big trees across the street were whipping in such crazy circles it wouldn’t have shocked us to see a few lift their roots and follow the wind on its journey. All was quiet on the eastern front when we went to bed, but Kim said thunder and lightning woke him very early, and it was still raining when I got up at 6:30. There was the faintest pink glow on the horizon, but no light showed itself for what felt like hours. Dark, quiet, lovely morning, and all the rain will be lifesaving when scorching days return, by which I mean tomorrow. After a lifetime spent in the far southwest corner of Kansas, weather forecasts still fascinate me. Out there, if the chance of rain was anything below 50%, go ahead and plan your big outdoor family reunion. Here, above 15% and you’re prolly gonna be looking for shelter at some point.

It takes some of us a lifetime to find home, but here I am at last, big sigh. My dad’s great-grandparents disembarked in New York Harbor after their voyage from Germany, and they, along with their nine sons and three daughters, found their way here to the northeast corner of Kansas where a smattering of kin had preceded them. The sons were newly ransomed from Kaiser Bill’s army, no doubt looking forward to a life that held more freedom of spirit than they’d previously known, and I’m grateful for their wisdom in settling among hills, trees, and abundant water. I’m also glad they left a few bread crumbs for their unseen descendants.

Guess who’s back? The Doves, David & Darleen! We’ve seen them off and on since they raised their second set of twins, and a few days ago they started checking us out in earnest again. They carefully lined their previous nest with fresh twigs, and this morning Dar’s ensconced with likely at least one egg under her so far. It feels good that they choose to be here with us and that our ins and outs don’t spook them. Everybody likes being chosen, right?

Have a Zen Monday. If it didn’t start out that way, do a plot switch and make it right, it isn’t too late.

Image by Judy Smith

For or against…

30 Jul 2023 5 Comments

***

It’s a summer Sunday morning, only 76° and nothing to whine about. Haha, as if. The humidity is 81%, so welcome to the Eastern Kansas sauna.

My morning routine usually involves getting up by 6:30, waking up by 10:30, and spending the interim cruising through news and the most recent shenanigans. This morning while reading comments on the app formerly known as Twitter, I was struck in a fresh way by how straight and deep the dividing lines are becoming. There’s always been this side and that side, always will be, but the convo about that has become a model for AI chat, with interchangeable words and terms, and the same immutable lines firmly drawn each time. It’s a useless conversation because it changes nothing, but we keep reiterating our personal take on it as the ground under our feet crumbles and drops away.

I look for the good news every day, and it’s out there. I read the stories of people doing good things for other people, cry more often than not, and go into my day knowing there are still people trying to make life better for as many as possible. I’ve stayed in the conversation, with occasional time-outs while everybody starts to forget how annoying I am, but it might be time to simply drop out. My words don’t change anyone’s mind, and fortunately for my ego that isn’t the intention. I write to provide encouragement to people who think “I’m the only one. Nobody else feels this way.” But anyone who’s trying to tell the truth inevitably draws lines in the sand and the accompanying emotion is not one of peacefulness on either side.

I’m sensing that the default choice is to fight amongst ourselves until the lights go out and we all turn into blobs of molten clay, and then to icicles. We’re definitely a cautionary tale, and I sometimes envision the rest of the sentient universe peering at us in brokenhearted wonderment.

On another note, but likely related in some psychic sense, I amaze myself with what I can accomplish while actively avoiding some project that would contribute to the greater good, by which I mean my own peace of mind. Humans are self-sabotaging… look it up.

Once again I’ve sat here and written words and I only hope some of them meant something to somebody out there. As human life continues to decline in value, the connections we make mean everything. After about so much death and disaster, cockamamie crazy, and day after day of the incomprehensible, the planet starts to seem like a fictional place, so all we wanna know is, “Is there anybody out there who gets it? Anybody we can hang with to help make the medicine go down? Anybody still there?”

There is much we have to let go of, starting with this…

In a world where existential loneliness is the name of the game, I wish you at least one friend you can count on, one other heart that bonds with yours. Life is both too short and too long to be otherwise.

Image by Judy Smith

Hot enough for ya’?

26 Jul 2023 Leave a comment

Photo Credit: Kim Smith 07/25/2023

***

Took a little summer hiatus. Didn’t go anywhere except in my mind, but that’s always a bargain because the choices are unlimited. The weather continues to be ridiculous, and today we’ll put our heads down and brace for about ten days of 100+ temps. With that in mind, along with the general global madness…

It’s hot, damn hot, and life is tricky. Therefore…

Confession: The current flavor of human existence, the atmosphere in which we live and breathe, is a butt-whipping for the Pollyannas of the world. “Can’t we all just get along?” was never more expressive of an era, but as “caring ants” we’re powerless to change the universal bent of humanity. Powerlessness leads to depression, so we have to fight that every day simply out of spite if for no other reason. Why should selfishness, a superiority complex, and a total lack of empathy be allowed to run unchecked in the world if we can stick a foot out every once in a while and upend the process? I’m on it, you can thank me later.

A challenge in this era is that of rejecting cynicism. It would be so much simpler to let our hearts harden and to stop caring about much of anything, but it wouldn’t be any easier. You live with hurt and pain or you don’t live at all.

Experience is teaching me to Keep It Simple. (“Stupid” is implied, but redundant by now.)

Stay cool.

Image by Judy Smith

Go home, weather, you’re drunk…

18 Jul 2023 Leave a comment

***

Odd summer so far, blowing hot and cold, perpetually cloudy with storm threats, or blazing blue skies hanging in without relief. Which is to say that it’s Kansas in July when all bets are off. It can get very warm here in the summertime, but…

Or Texas, or the Sahara…

Not much shaking here. Still opening a box once in a while and doing the “keep, toss, give” routine. Down to maybe four boxes, so I’m pacing myself now, because you should always keep a little something back for when you feel a need to procrastinate. Things I’ve learned about STUFF:

We’ve already passed the middle of July, so yet another Kansas wheat harvest took place without my notice, which means this farm girl is slipping. Slipping the traces and living the life in front of her. I love how we get to live more than one life as we move from birth to death, each one a complete or unfinished package with lessons attached. The pic below was taken in the late 1990s, maybe twenty-five years ago, when a pair of Roper boots, some faded denim, and a tank top would take me through a fifteen-hour day on “my” combine, day after day until everything was in the bin. There are things about it I miss: the productive solitude, the wildlife in the fields and tree lines, the scent of fresh-turned earth, just-harvested grain, rain in the air, being at the center of something vital and needed. There are things I do NOT miss, and some of those would be fifteen-to- eighteen-hour days that started before dawn, never enough sleep, being cook, field hand, parts runner, laundress, bookkeeper, therapist, and a pile of other seed caps that fit from one hour to the next. A lot of the details would slide from conscious memory without a photo now and then…

While I was revisiting my farming days, another memory came to mind:

I backed out of the garage one morning to go to work, noticed something large to my immediate left, and found myself making eye contact with a good-sized cougar sitting on his haunches next to the driveway. We looked at each other in wide-eyed wonder for a beat or two before he casually turned and sauntered toward the cattle pens north of the house. I called the farmer on the radio, he slipped out the side door and into the car, and we cruised along the road while Mr. Mountain Lion slowly padded next to the fence line, rarely breaking eye contact, before ducking into high weeds and disappearing. He was likely a bold young turk, looking for a mate far from his Colorado stomping grounds, and was the only one of his kind spotted in my 35 years on that farm. There were herds of deer, coyotes, wild turkeys, abundant rattlesnakes, and a mama bobcat who spent two consecutive winters in our old washhouse raising her kits, but that silky cougar was a one-off and I’ll never forget him.

NOTE: With a less than 15% chance of rain in the forecast for this morning, it’s coming down in buckets, with soft hail mixed in, and the temp is 75°. Enjoy your Tuesday, whatever the weather gods have in store!

Image by Judy Smith

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