I think I want to change what I say in my header that I talk about. I like to think I can provide, for better or worse, a sort of farmer's market, daily, of what's on my mind. Some days the produce is bound to be scrawny and sort of rotten, but in keeping with my habit of claiming everything about myself, rotten and decaying can be beautiful. I'm not saying it will be. To you.
I had a great experience yesterday, walking and doing some simple task with my hands and having a total sense of how marvelous it is, the ability to do these things. Looking around my cluttered, happy livingroom and seeing objects that are so perfect, just in the way they sit there, the Winter sun, a different angle than the other seasons, highlighting this object or that bag of squirrel food or birdseed or that still-wrapped, not-gifted Christmas present. Each thing its own heroic icon. If there are two of the same thing they sit together in silent communion.
Most of my life I've been frustrated that I only get this one life to live. I read books to get a small sense of other's lives but it's not the same. That day to day familiarity with everything particular to that house on that piece of land with that grocer way down the way and those who people that life. The postman, the lady across the street who takes care of those kids, the elementary school across from the park. How luxurious it would be to spend a lifetime of ordinary days just being a living single organism, noticing as well as not noticing, things of that tiny part of the world and then eventually dying there. All that sweet, kind stuff in your living room disguised as clutter to those who are left behind.