what i was trying to say as i unsuccessfully tried to say it a.k.a. thank you bill

following immediately on the heels of last evening's musings on owning my own copyright, a friend posted this article on facebook. and while i can swear like a sailor myself when it's warranted, it does feature rather excessive use of "fuck," and isn't for the faint of heart if you're not in the mood to read that word quite a few times. but the message is good - about learning when to give a fuck and about how very often we're not very good at recognizing those times and that we essentially give a fuck way too often. and it is also about how not giving a fuck is different than not caring. it could be quite freeing to give less fucks, frankly, but i suppose that once you reach a certain point in life, mortgage and obligations and even age intervene and we find ourselves having to give a fuck about things we would like not to.

things like ending a sentence with a preposition (or infinitive marker as the case may be). which i clearly do not give a fuck about (there's the preposition).

time passes. i stare at the screen....the words won't loosen, the floodgates won't open. not yet.

while i was sitting here, staring at the screen, trying to uncork the bottle of words that have accumulated inside of me over recent months, bill wrote this on my previous post...and he says it all more powerfully than i can right now, so i will share it with you here in case you didn't check the comments....

I’ve never believed our synapses fire with precision or orderliness …

We are both victims and perpetrators of our own chaos, our own timeline … and then we die.

You and me and most everyone we meet has agreed to behave as if not agreeing to behave within boundaries will produce the downfall of civilizations and a spate of crabgrass in everyone’s window boxes.

We accept norms of behavior, organization or minutia and future planning as if our lives depend upon the reality of hopes and dreams.

And yet … a few individuals ignore prescribed rituals and predetermined lives and they create … art and science, being, in my estimation, the two grandest of human endeavors.

But there’s a pratfall … a quicksand … a nemesis to individual creativeness… that despicable noun and/or adjective … the word is, of course, derivative.

To search within one’s psyche to fine the non-derivative and the unique is truly a life-long chase. A lucky few find it early in their life. Sadly, I suspect, there are far too many that discover their own uniqueness and creativity when their journey is ending.

That quest for non-derivative creativity is beguiling … it and love are the only two things I think and believe are important.

Sure, sure, it’s important to feed the dog, to vote, bathe regularly, to brush your teeth, to quest after knowledge, to search out the best and brightness and/or find kindred souls … nonetheless, all these secondary elements are but kindling and energy bars for the internal fires of creativity.

That’s it; we can do nothing else of importance.

and that, my friends, is what we should give a fuck about...

you own the copyright on your life

a scene much more serene than i feel on the inside

"you own the copyright on your life." what a powerful thought that is. i just read it here. i'm not familiar with ntozake shange otherwise, but that thought is precisely what i needed to hear. i think it resonates with me in the same way that elizabeth gilbert's "own your shit" did some time ago. it gives me a dose of courage that i've been lacking, making me think that all of the multitude of things i've been holding back from writing about should be allowed to come out, because i own them - they are me and my life and my story and even my copyright, with the emphasis on the latter syllable. but at the same time, i have to wonder how interesting they would be to anyone else. maybe it doesn't matter, i am, as always, blogging first and foremost for myself, to work out what i think and feel about things (it's cheaper than therapy after all). and with the state of blogs these days, perhaps it doesn't matter much what anyone else thinks as no one is reading anyway (i'm much less bitter about that than it may sound). but it is also daunting and it feels impossible to truly write something that encompasses all of the minutiae that make up the complexity of a life, even if i did attempt to write it all out.

i say this because i have, of late, fallen in love with norwegian writer karl ove knausgaard's writing and recently tried to read volume 1 of his six volume autobiographical novel-esque opus, my struggle. i say tried because i just couldn't finish it, despite really and truly loving his writing. it's a bit proustian in its level of detail and i never could finish proust either. but i just read a review of volume 4 in the new york review of books and i think i'll have to give that volume a whirl. he is fearless in his truth telling, and in his examination of the minutiae of life and when he began, he was nobody, so why shouldn't i be equally fearless?

there are many good reasons i've held back. no one wants to read a bunch of sad whining. i don't want to hang anyone out to dry (well maybe a little). i don't want to hurt anyone's feelings (and the fact is that sometimes the truth hurts). it might get in the way of whatever is next. writing it out will make it all that much more real. life is painful and hard at times and getting older is no fun, but who wants to hear that? and who wants to admit it? this all makes it sound like something much bigger than the regular disappointments and sorrows that life throws our way and it's not that. but sometimes when those small sorrows and disappointments accumulate, it can seem like too much. and so i've put off and put off writing about them. and i suppose that's why i don't feel particularly light-hearted and funny in this space anymore.

i think it's time to start owning the copyright on my life. i recently saw a quote on pinterest that went something like, "you own everything that happened to you. tell your stories. if people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should've behaved better."

the fun you make for yourself

there were a million words in my head last night. i don't know why i didn't wrestle them to the page. nor do i know where they have gone. i'd like to think they're not gone, just hiding from me at the moment. 

yesterday had its moments. some very good and some less so. most days are like that, i suppose. but there was sunshine and i had some fun in the garden mixing it up with a bit of lego - bunny suit guy on a star wars at-at? the unicorn sparkle fairy riding a dino? those make me smile. juxtapositions. the unexpected. i like that. i also like that i almost always have at least one cat who wants to help when i'm out taking photos. we have to find our joy in the little things around us and our fun in the fun we make for ourselves. because you can't really rely on someone else to do it for you. it really does all come back to you.

* * *

8 authors give their advice on writing.

and i think karl ove knausgård might be my boyfriend.

three words

bread. butter. radishes.

best. sandwich. ever.

i learned about this here.

i thought it sounded a bit wack.
but it won me over with the simple.

try it. now.

we served them at our salon evening this evening. it helps if the bread is homemade, freshly out of the oven, still slightly warm. chives should probably be from the garden and include a few blossoms, which are in their glory right now. but if you have other herbs, they're ok too. plenty of flaky salt is essential. and good, organic butter. the elements are simple, but you choose them wisely, they just work. 

and about those three words, we ended our salon (the theme was reflections, just like our spring exhibition) by asking everyone to describe themselves in three words. it isn't easy. you should probably just say the first three words that come to mind. and what was weird was the ones i was sitting there, thinking up, weren't the ones that came out my mouth when it was my turn. the words i actually said were: relaxed, creative and honest. the words in my head were: funny, laid-back, creative. at least creative was on both lists and arguably relaxed and laid-back mean the same thing, so maybe my lists weren't that different. i also added, when i said it out loud, that i was more of an introvert than i seemed. a good friend nodded at that.

what are your three words? are they different on a given day? or a given hour? or a given minute? who are you anyway when it comes down to it?

if i had to say them right now, they would be: nightowl, electric, awake. 

100 happy days :: day 100

there is something about the low, swampy wooded area at the end of our lake. the trees grow low and rather twisty, turny. even if it's raining or windy, it's always still and quiet there, a sense of waiting hanging in the air, but not a menacing one, more a kind of deep patience. and in the air, there is a vibration of primeval magic that you can feel, but which feels just out of reach, beyond your grasp, but still hanging there, almost tangible. it's in the green. it's in the quiet. it's how it's always still. one of those places where you just feel the magic. and you believe in it, even if you can't quite capture it. and my 100th happy day is a happiness that i have one of those places right here at home and i can go down there anytime and fill up my soul with magic.

* * *

and that's it, that was my 100 happy days project. it got me through a bit of a tough time and i think it really helped. it can be beneficial to take a moment to think about the little things that make you happy every day. doing it makes it a habit. one that i hope that i will continue even if i don't continue it as a post or a tweet. i think one of the things that i found is that often my moment of happiness was a moment of feeling grateful - for sunshine, for a beautiful view, for the time to take the back way, for cats, for a flower in bloom, for noticing in general.

but, in all honesty, it also felt a bit heavy at times. because not every day is filled with happiness. some days are hard and you just want them to be over. and i find myself generally feeling too earnest and righteous and not light-hearted and funny anymore. so maybe i need to find a new project that will help me find my way back to a lighter, more buoyant view of the world.

the view from here

the last of our long spring holiday weekends is winding down. we got our fair share of most welcome sunshine. after a nice dinner (another of those south dakota beef roasts that have strangely been available in our local grocery store), husband and i took a walk down to the lake. the wind, which had been blowing quite intensely all day had all but died down and we had a quiet moment on what's left of the fallen tree (husband has been hard at work turning it into firewood). birdsong and the smell of verdant summer were all around us as we gazed at the peaceful lake. it was a good way to end the day and the weekend. 

i've had need for peaceful moments of late...needless strife and conflict with my sister has zapped my energy. why are we hardest on those we love the most? i have been reminded that words are sharper weapons than actual physical blows and healing from unwisely chosen words takes longer than a recovering from a physical injury. i wonder at times if you ever really get over the most hurtful accusations? especially if they are bewildering and incomprehensible. i've also realized that losing a parent makes you feel and behave in strange ways that make you unrecognizable, perhaps even to yourself. grief is a journey.

but working outdoors in the garden, or indoors on the new kitchen, or even cleaning, tidying and doing laundry - things where you see the tangible results of what you do - really does help. it eases the mind and soothes the wounded spirit. and so does a moment by the lake, breathing the quiet, letting it penetrate your very pores. 

it will eventually be ok in the end. and if it's not ok, it's not the end. 

* * *

this made me laugh.

"i went paleo and now i hate everything."

* * *

check out the amazing 1917 chalkboards they found under some other chalkboards in oklahoma city.

100 happy days :: day 99

the final coat of red paint on the kitchen floor.

another step in our long process.

we're getting there, slowly but surely.