Animals Undercover

Spring Will Come

It was nice enough to go out for a walk today! Not walking to get from point A to point B. Not walking because I had to be somewhere. Just walking to feel the sun on my face and gulp the fresh air. Out to absorb my surroundings and let my thoughts spill over. When I do this at home in my apartment it is called brooding. I am locked inside and so are my musings. They turn dark and stagnant. Hard. In the fresh air, my thoughts frolic and tumble. Like a breeze, they flow in and out, and that's ok. Sometimes all that new sun and fresh air gives me the feeling I can reinvent myself. And so I can.

Petty:
(adj)
trivial, unimportant, inconsequential, insignificant, minor, paltry, irrelevant, trifling, niggling, little, small

Petty-minded:
(adj)
petty, mean-minded, niggling, narrow-minded, trivial

Keep a watchful eye lest our days be whittled away by petty differences and minor infractions. I would rather listen to the cardinal trill out his morning welcome to the sun, thank you.

A Work In Progress

I yearn for a gentleness in man
But do not think to look for it in myself
I, like the world at large, am too busy
wallowing in my own fear
Protected and sheltered hands cannot reach out.
You already know this.
I speak your words
My ideas flow in you
Even with all our new technology
Our agnst is ages old
There is nothing particularly novel about my turmoil.

Morning Thoughts on Family and Generations Past

Yesterday on the way to work I spied an elderly man showing his yard to a younger man. He could have been his son or just a nice neighbor. I don't know, but it stirred something in me. I recalled all the times we had gone to visit my grampa (Mom's dad) on the farm when I was a kid. He would proudly take us around the land showing us any changes and discussing the following year with my mom. I was too young to really understand what they were saying, and my grampa's generation didn't include children in adult conversation. I do remember, however, when he grew older and had to sell the farm . We would still go out to visit at the new house, and he would still bring my mom around his sizable garden and show here how the "crops" were doing. There was still a pride in him derived from working the land. Now, my mom does the same thing. When I go home on visits, she brings me around the yard to show me any changes she has made or any damage nature has wrought. Sure, there's that natural pride of ownership. We like to show friends and family our homes, but it seems to be more than that. There seems to be something in our blood that is still attached to the land. It is getting thinner I'm afraid to say (I live in "the Big City"). I don't despair. My brother and his wife live on a small farm. They have one son and another baby on the way. My brother is proud of his land, and I hope he will be able to pass it on.

A Woman Gardening

Her hands in the dirt
speak to her of her father's passing.
Spreading the damp soil between her fingers
she sees the loss of his fields; dwindling
until there is just a plot in the yard.
She yanks the weeds free of the ground,
their pungent smell recalling
her father's lingering aroma of alfalfa and coffee
and skin warm as sun-baked earth.
Her glance catches the sun
making silhouettes of the picket fence,
jogging loose memories of shelter belts
from childhood days long since gone.
Shaking her head clear of such visions
she wipes her brow with gnarled hands
and feels her farmer blood flow.

My coffee is cold

My coffee is cold. My bookshelf fell down. Am I angry? Yep. Did I bellow and holler until all living creatures fled from my presence? Did I cast the pieces of the toppled shelf to the four corners with all the strength I could muster? No. I sat down and drank my cold coffee. This attests to my ever growing maturity. Believe it or not I am heartened. I have struggled with my temper since I can remember. My mother tells me I was an outgoing, sweet-tempered child until about the age of three. What happened? Who knows. I'm not here to play Freud. I would be telling a lie if I tried to say things didn't still piss me off on a regular basis. Really, I think my body has simply tired of manifesting this anger into a physical battle. Now, more often than not, I acknowledge my frustration with a choice curse word and move on.

Why So Much Fear?

Why do other intelligent people make me feel like an idiot? Yes, I said other intelligent people. I like to think of myself as intelligent. I was cruising around, sifting through other blogs and realized... wow! Some of these people are real thinkers. What am I even doing? Why bother putting my mundane, trite thoughts into words? I hate that I start to undermine myself before I have even had a chance to begin.
When I was in therapy I learned that these are my problems to deal with. If I am angry it is my problem. If I feel insecure it is also my problem. This is, by the way, just about all I took out of therapy. I still feel crazy some days, but apparently that's my problem. So, time to cowboy up and deal with this. It is no one's fault but my own that I feel like less. I am not going to let that stop me. On the contrary, it is going to fuel me. There! Do I feel better? I just feel silly really.
I am sitting here, staring at the computer screen with my false sun (sun lamp) on. The day is gloomy so I am trying to convince my brain it is getting honest-to-God sunlight, but no one here is fooled. I am obsessed with the ticking clock. Time is just sifting away so quickly. I become so paralyzed with the idea that I am not using time to it's fullest, that I just don't do anything. I know, I know. Sitting here at the computer isn't exactly living life to the fullest. It has its uses though. Some days it can galvanize me into going out and tackling the world... or at least the grocery store.

Beginning Again

So, I am a blog virgin. I really want to use this to jump start my writing again. The only thing I have ever been really good at was language. Sure, there are other things I can do fairly well. I'm no idiot, but I've never been great at anything.... but words. It's not just that I'm "good" at it either. I love it. Writing, reading, using words that are descriptive and have more that 4 letters. To describe the burning and churning that goes on inside a person, what a marvelous challenge! So here's fair warning to the world at large: I will be watching you. You are my best inspiration. Until then...