Grandmother’s Flower Garden

Perhaps I was born with an old woman’s soul.

This is my next creative project, a Grandmother’s Flower Garden quilt.

I’m already in love with it.


The Boat I Missed?

I think that perhaps if you should ever find yourself reading one of your old textbooks for pleasure it might be a sign.

My most favorite class ever was an Intro to Philosophy class I took at UNT.  I’m re-reading one of the books, The Elements of Moral Philosophy, for the third or fourth time.  Just fascinating.

Could there be a better job than moral philosopher?


Is it too much to ask that we collectively live an examined life?  Seriously?



There is no escaping grief.  Nor should we try.  To be human is to feel grief.

We live with the double-edged sword of awareness.  Awareness that we shall pass, that what we love shall pass, that it all will pass, and that time will continue none the more wearied or worried for our great grief.  We know that eternity endures and we do not.

And yet, we can only live our direct line of experience.  We can only fathom our current moment because every other moment has vaporized into the mist of nonexistent probability.  We can only see the parents we have because they are the only parents we could possibly have.  We can only see the children we have because they are the only children we could have in this very moment.  We live this moment because it is the only moment we could possibly live at this moment.

And because this moment is the only moment possible we forget the astronomical odds against our very existence – the chain of events that had to happen right from the very beginning of the universe for us to exist – any one of which with a different outcome would have resulted in our not being.

The future may be malleable but this moment is set in stone.

Because this moment is the only moment possible we forget how very lucky we are to have even met our parents, our children, our lovers, ourselves.  Out of the infinite possibilities in the universe, our possibility came true.

And so we grieve our losses because they are losses of magnitude.

We grieve because grief is the price of love.

We grieve because our hearts work.

Don’t ask for a universe with no grief, it would be a terrible place indeed.

Intentional Slacking

A few days ago I stood in an aisle way at work and thought to myself, “I don’t know how much longer I can work here.”  It’s a thought that is probably shared by a majority of working people at one time or another in their working lives.  A point you reach where the stress is no longer outweighed by the benefit of a continued relationship with your employer.  Sometimes things change and the relationship can be salvaged, sometimes things don’t change and change is all that’s left.

My moment was compounded by the fact that we had just discovered an impediment on a property on which we had just made an offer.  We’d found a small house on five acres with a well and code-approved septic (no small thing we are discovering) for what is a reasonable price around here.  It had the beginnings of a barn, small outbuildings, fences already in place and tons, just tons of opportunity.  We looked at it and saw a small orchard and large market garden.  Off to the sides we’d tuck away a chicken house, a rabbit hutch, and possibly have enough room left over for a couple of miniature cows.  We offered a little above asking price just to improve our odds.  Our offer was accepted.

The property is about 45 minutes south of where I currently work.  Buying it and living there would require me staying at my less than fulfilling place of employment.  It was a trade-off I was willing to live with.

Then some deep research revealed a wetland buffer zone that encroached on about one third of the property.  Wetlands are ubiquitous up here in the great state of Washington.  They’re necessary for the management of the tremendous amount rain we receive and they are part of the beauty of the Pacific Northwest.  I applaud and support their management and preservation.  But in this case, our dreamed of mini-farm suddenly became a house with a very large yard.

It was no longer a trade-off I was willing to live with.  We are in the process of withdrawing our offer.

Anyway, for the last few days, with no agricultural dreams to distract me I have been frantically searching for a graduate program to attend.  Until this morning.  This morning I realized that there is and has been something pathological about my need to move.  I’ve advanced in a job I don’t like just for advancement’s sake.  I’ve achieved a degree that will make no material difference in my life just to achieve it.  And now, I am desperately searching for something else to fill my time.  It must stop.

So I’ve made a decision to consciously make no decisions for a while.  I’m not going to look for a graduate program.  I’m not going to obsess about my work performance.  I’m not going to look for another property to rehabilitate.

For the foreseeable future I am going to do the bare minimum it takes to survive and just exist.  Whatever comes out of this time, if anything, will be the path I follow.

I might even post more regularly on this blog.

Hey There Friend

Don’t think I’ve forgotten you because I am silent.  I am almost done with a life goal and it consumes me for just a small while longer.

Dear Reader

I wish more novels still began that way.

I’ve several drafts in my little draft folder but I fear none of them will see daylight.  My thoughts are too inconstant to share, one day cheery, the next day maudlin.  The ruin of many a good writer has been the faithful replication of their true emotions (and I don’t mean their writing, I mean themselves).

I just finished watching Kill Your Darlings.  It was a decent flick, but it did not move me in the way I suspect its creators intended.

I have a great respect for Allen Ginsberg and his generation of writers/poets.  The existential angst they must’ve been feeling was no doubt great.  And the fact that they paved the way for others is not lost on me either.  But I did not regard that angst in the romantic light I once would have.  No longer do I see creativity as the exclusive bailiwick of the emotionally chaotic.  I do not regard painful creation as more worthy than cheerful or enjoyable creation.  I just do not.


It is the next morning.  I have completed the last assignments due this week in my last two classes.  Six more weeks and if all goes well I will finally be finished with my Bachelor of Science degree.  I have no idea what I will do with it when I’m done but at least it will be one thing that I have actually completed.

In a couple of hours we go to view a possible property.

So much to think about in this life.


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