I have been sinking like a hot piece of metal in a snowbank, buried deeper with each snowfall, each pass of the plow. It has been hard to think clearly, to go beyond systems management, logistic design and refuse maintenance. I made a commitment to do a drawing a day, and after 10 days, such a cloud of ennui! Just to have to look at anything. Just to have to see. With the attention span God gave me, it's a wonder I didn't drop out of school by the 3rd grade. Wait. I think I did.
DST, now, delivering the illusion of longer days. The curve of the sun is higher, the light is different, and if I'm still not convinced, my road is softening up enough to make me dream of high clearance and 4wd.
"Bloom Where You're Planted", the refrigerator magnets say, but what was the wind that blew me here? That is not a complaint, it was an act of Grace that I don't appreciate enough that gave me what I have and have returned to time over time for reasons as simple as economics.
So many times trying to live somewhere else, somewhere alien to my granite to the bone self, and the end of each story has been if I am going to be lonely and struggling, I might as well be doing it in the comfort of familiarity.
The odd thing about familiarity is that it isn't. An emotional hook to an mirage of solid ground.
If I go through pictures of my house and my land over time, it changes faster than you would believe if I gave you the list of changes. What is familiar is the freedom I have to be with whatever tide is flowing through my life, and to adapt in relative safety.
Safety. Another construct with no ground, meaning or staying power.
But today I have the idea that winter will end, is ending, that it might be nice to cut down some forsythia and bring it inside to bloom, to feel a sense of joy and belonging as I hang out in my not too freezing studio and contemplate pointlessness.
DST, now, delivering the illusion of longer days. The curve of the sun is higher, the light is different, and if I'm still not convinced, my road is softening up enough to make me dream of high clearance and 4wd.
"Bloom Where You're Planted", the refrigerator magnets say, but what was the wind that blew me here? That is not a complaint, it was an act of Grace that I don't appreciate enough that gave me what I have and have returned to time over time for reasons as simple as economics.
So many times trying to live somewhere else, somewhere alien to my granite to the bone self, and the end of each story has been if I am going to be lonely and struggling, I might as well be doing it in the comfort of familiarity.
The odd thing about familiarity is that it isn't. An emotional hook to an mirage of solid ground.
If I go through pictures of my house and my land over time, it changes faster than you would believe if I gave you the list of changes. What is familiar is the freedom I have to be with whatever tide is flowing through my life, and to adapt in relative safety.
Safety. Another construct with no ground, meaning or staying power.
But today I have the idea that winter will end, is ending, that it might be nice to cut down some forsythia and bring it inside to bloom, to feel a sense of joy and belonging as I hang out in my not too freezing studio and contemplate pointlessness.
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