Wordle Prompts

(spoiler alert: answer to 225 at bottom of post)

Whack!

Caught between needing to stifle his sobs, and consumed by terror of being found he shuddered, tears sliding silently down his face. The door creaked open. He heard the rattle of a heavy chain. Should he stay?! Should he try to run?! What if h- WHACK! The End.

Wordle Philosophic

Desperate with an incessant and senseless fear of death
each of these mortals toils and quests
to find the storied fount of youth
and loses count of the days spent pushing fantasy
up that hill they cannot mount.

In Celebration of Midwives

They awoke in early morning; she to the pains of early labour and he to the realization that the wet flurries of the night’s storm had froze over and the driveway was a skating rink.

“I ought to have shoveled last night!” he cursed aloud. “I ought to have put down salt!”

“What if the midwife and the doula can’t make it? What if we’re alone?” his wife panted between contractions which were growing in frequency and strength.

However, the midwife and the doula had seen the forecast. They had prepared ahead. They came in plenty of time, because they were needed, and because they could.

Seeking Truth in Shadow of Error

How am I to make sense of the world? How shall I guess the path to the one true answer? I step forward in faith and find only darkness. Dabbling in the arts is likewise unilluminating. I only know that which is wrong! In those shadows I must seek the way to truth. I stab blindly at the dark hoping I will be lucky. A glimpse of the right way is revealed, shaping my pondering. Praying and playing came to naught; it is only through reason that the truth from error is finally wrung.

the River

Every Singer’s River

Every singer has a song called The River
I should write a River Song of my own
I should write a post about all my favourite blogs
And compile a report of all your relevant research
I’ll collate a video collection of your artistic creations

I should build my “to be read” list of all your best thoughts
And dream, and dream, and dream
I should be dreaming all your dreams.

Worst Wishes

Not autobiographically, I heard someone say “a stocking full of pain” and this is what happened.

Wombo Art’s Take on Worst Christmas

Wishing you the worst this Christmas
I hope your stocking’s stuffed with coal
I hope you’re tired of all the bustle
And crowds and family take their toll.

Wishes for the worst of the Season
May all your Christmas fears come true
Hoping Christmas morning finds you
Wishing I were there with you.

I offered you the best this Christmas
Gifts of all my love and care
It’s the worst that you’re alone at Christmas
And I hate wishing that I were there.

But if you won’t accept my best for Christmas
Worst wishes are all I have to share.

Things I Said in the Spring

I recently finished a journal notebook – now labelled May 30, 2020 – Nov 24, 2020

May 30 “…I might forget how to have real live conversations with people…
It’s cold out. Our weather is all over the map. May held the coldest May day on record and the 5th hottest May day on record. last night was 2 degrees….
Maybe I can get through it better if I frame it as ending in January. I can always reframe in November.
My dog is bored. I should mow the lawn. Get beer. Do all the things. Pass school. Do my job. Lose weight. Be an ally. Stand up. Save the world.”

June 1st “Yesterday I called Valentine Domino and the kids laughed because “that was so many dogs ago” – we are telling time by dogs.

June 5th “It’s going to be another hot day. I’m figuring on buying asparagus. I’m figuring on gassing up the van. I might be OK living like this forever.”

June 7th “The dog is chasing a bumble bee. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to teach him to catch flies but not bumble bees… I like this quiet life. I want to write letters and learn things…. I haven’t peed anywhere but home for over three months. Weird.”

***

Basically I have liked many features of this slow, quiet life. I liked it more when I had a small bubble of people I could hug. If I could hug, hold hands, and dance to live music – and see clients in person. Oh, no, wait – also dine with others. Maybe thinking I’m fine with all that’s gone is simply because it’s been gone so long.

The new journal notebook starts “This winter will be soups and soft blankets – if this were my house I’d hang heavy curtains on all the windows and reflect within that crushed velvet hush.”

I can draw your face

I can summon the smell of you in the frigid night,
sniffing the air like a winter wolf; cedar, snow, and smoke, and the smell of your skin.
I can hear your voice in silence, the words I can’t understand singing at my ears.
I can draw your face with my eyes closed. I can taste your skin.
I can send protective love on crow’s wing,
whether you think you deserve it
or not.

When I Said

Ashes to ashes

I intended to go from Summer Solstice 2019 to Autumn Equinox 2020 without consuming alcohol. I believed I could do this on will alone. Perhaps will is sufficient for quitting a habit – but will is not inexhaustible. I wake up and enter the morning and each day is different when it comes to how much available will I seem to have. Each day holds its surprises for how you will be taxed. I cunningly plan out my will allotment across the day’s known challenges and then the day sneaks in unexpected curveballs and suddenly it’s 4PM, I’ve already borrowed into tomorrow’s will supply and a friend is saying “Are you sure you wouldn’t like a drink?” and I am no longer sure at all.

My reasons for trying to not drink keep changing. I always know it causes cancer. That is reason enough on the days when I want to live long and prosper and keep this body as healthy as I can for as long as I can. True too though are the days when I might prefer to not live too overly long, and think years of living later for days of pleasure now is a fine trade. I’m keenly aware of my mortality and limited number of days, moments, experiences remaining to me and I don’t want to miss out on anything because I was drunk or hungover. Neither though do I want to be alive but essentially bored for however many moments I have left.

I’m wary of the times I say -to myself or right outloud – “Oh god I need a drink.” Those are the moments when we need to remember our breathing and our lessons from mindfulness and welcome the feeling and acknowledge it and sit with it, and then move past it. Those are the times when we process the feeling, and the underlying feelings and beliefs and perceptions and yearnings and come to a place where we are OK in ourselves just as we are. That is how those moments are best handled. This is not always how the script plays out.

Occasionally a social vignette presents itself where it’s not even a case where “a drink would augment this moment” but more “not having a drink would take away from this moment.” I suspect this is not actually true as I know people who are loving life and enjoying those moments but not drinking, even though they used to drink. I kind of have to surmise that I’m just not there yet.

There is such a dichotomy in drinking socially! It can bring people together when done in moderation, and drive them apart when taken to excess. When people partake in marijuana or harder drugs, there is usually a point in time where they cross an unseen threshold into a world that the not-stoned cannot access. It can make me sad; it’s like they’ve left the room without saying goodbye. But in these weeks of relative sobriety, I’ve learned that the same is true for alcohol. I didn’t notice before because I slid into the tipsy reality with the others, instead of watching them go and being left behind.

In the six weeks there have been 14 social occasions that prominently featured alcohol, as well as a music festival. I’d say that summer is the wrong time to have tried this but each season brings its own temptations. Of the 15 events, I elected to have a drink at 4 despite wanting to drink at all 15. I’d say that’s gotta count for something, but what would that even mean? None of it really matters, either way, in the longest of long runs.

I think it’s an experiment. I’m learning about why and how I drink or don’t. To be honest, I don’t like everything about what I’ve learned about myself. But there’s learning there, too. If I’m going to be a therapist (and I am), there’s no cringing away from this stuff.
I wrote a poem in Kingston recently about wanting a drink after opening the box of my Mother’s ashes. The box had been mailed to me by the crematorium 11 months prior and had sat, unopened, in my storage closet.

When I Said

When I said I wouldn’t drink from Solstice to Equinox (so dramatic)
I meant I wouldn’t apart from when I did.
“So Libra,” laughs Polly, taking a sip from her lipsticked glass.
But it takes me a couple of shots of lilac gin before I can
invite Polly to my bed.
And there are times when cracking a beer
is akin to breaking bread.

And also! And also and also –
I just finally opened the box from the crematorium and in the box was another box with a certificate bearing my mother’s name and in that box was a plastic box and in that there was a plastic bag tied with a twist tie and in that there was my mother.
I tucked the end of the bag back into the box
and out puffed a very small cloud and I thought:
ohmygodthatismymother.
And then I drank some scotch.
I am sorry I didn’t ask first Greg. You know, it was delicious.

Mariposa Journal Scrawls

You say you don’t dance

You say you gotta learn

Ah baby come take my hands

Won’t you give me a turn

Spin me out, skirt a’swirling

Then bring me in real close

I like everyone when I’m dancing

But I’d like you the most.

I wrote so many pages in my regular journal while I was at Mariposa. I hardly used my phone and I talked to more people than I can recall. We talked and shared stories and almost never connected on social media. We just moved along with our weekends. I like it.

I also saw friends and acquaintances and hugged some favourite people. I kind of miss Mariposa.

I only just got home Monday evening and since then I went to Merry Wives of Windsor in Stratford one night and I’m working a concert at my home theatre tonight. Tomorrow is movie night with friends and then it’s Kultun festival and then swing dancing in Hamilton on Sunday. How even if this my life.

Not complaining.

This Life Is Sweet

Festival set up in the blazing sun
It’s a joy to volunteer.
Turns out hard work can be fun
and plus they give you beer.

This life is sweet.
I’m a big fan.
One thing would make it sweeter, love
I want to hold your hand.

Sunset hues and crescent moon
A man plays guitar on the dock.
The remnants of labor settled by
An evening swim and a walk.

This life is sweet.
I’m a big fan.
One thing would make it sweeter, love
I want to hold your hand.

Guitar and fiddle and banjo
Waves of song wash over me.
Story as lighthouse, the chorus safe harbor
My blanket a raft in this musical sea.

This life is sweet.
I’m a big fan.
One thing would make it sweeter, love
I want to hold your hand.
If you were here by my side, my love And if you would hold my hand.