One-Sentence Journal, Weeks Eighty and Eighty-One

  1. 01/29/2017:  Awake early in the blackest of moods — why bother, nothing matters, etc. — only to be cheered by the multitudes of birds in the sunlight outside my window, and I’m reminded just what things truly are worth getting bloodied, emotionally or literally, for.
  2. 01/30/2017:  “Yeah,” the baked dude on the phone said, “if I write a triple-x rated sex book will you sell it?” and I said, “Man, if you write it first, I’ll see what I can do,” and he said, “Wow, alright . . . but I have to write it first?”
  3. 01/31/2017:  More wind, more ice, more snow, more fresh birdy little tracks zigzagging my yard.
  4. 02/01/2017:  On a bluebird morning I choose slow over fast to get where I am going and I’m rewarded with a view of the local bison herd up close to the fence; round backs covered with snow and frost, breath clouds of steam in the sunlight, and two young bulls circle and lunge at each other in a game of playful sparring.
  5. 02/02/2017:  A welcome side effect to taking on a few hours a week under the firm and frequent lash of an actual employer is the renewed joy of a couple days off.
  6. 02/03/2017:  Sun-breaking-through-the-clouds-moment while watching a short film featuring the iconic surfer and yogi Gerry Lopez — the first surfer I ever heard of on account of his role as Subotai in the original Conan the Barbarian — when he says, “Yoga comes into people’s lives exactly when it’s supposed to.”
  7. 02/04/2017:  I could happily close out my years living on a meager income in a hut somewhere in Mexico, eating tortillas and corn and beans and firing angry diatribes about the evils of gratuitous capitalism out into the world . . . if I could only find someone to pay me to do it.
  8. 02/05/2017:  Warming weather here in the valley has the snow on retreat, so I daydream of the North just three hours’ drive yonder where falling snow is still being measured in feet.
  9. 02/06/2017:  I was awake and energetic in the early hours before yoga class but after, in the wake of a particularly exhausting hour, it was all I could do to crawl back to my studio, strip off my soaked clothes, and collapse into my chair in front of the fan and doze for another hour.
  10. 02/07/2017:  A bonanza of books and other treasures in the mail today via friends stretching from Arizona to Oregon to Alaska reminds me how much gratitude I am actually capable of.
  11. 02/08/2017:  Wet snow falls on mushy roads; reports of traffic mayhem in all directions; a bearded guy with a tow truck pulls a gigantic SUV out of the ditch well off the road on a sharp sloping curve; and emergency vehicles scramble to points all across the valley, all in one afternoon’s drive home.
  12. 02/09/2017:  Night driving at an hour far later than normal through rain and huge lakes of slush and meltwater, my headlights barely able to push through thick patches of mist that gather about hood high on my truck.
  13. 02/10/2017:  I may try and spend a little more time in the company of wine but no way I’m turning my back on delicious beer.
  14. 02/11/2017:  The mind that collapses beneath the weather will go to some deep, dark places.

 

One-Sentence Journal, Weeks Seventy-Eight and Seventy-Nine

  1. 01/15/2017:  Ah, the season of rough hands and split open fingertips rolls on.
  2. 01/16/2017:  A deer stands broadside to the nearest edge of the road on my way home in the dark, and I have half a mind to stop, back up, and demand to know exactly WTF she is thinking.
  3. 01/17/2017:  A sixty minute span of awful food choices following 48 hours of good and now my body, delivering torments in waves of clenching and nausea, says, “Oh no, death would be too easy for you, lardass….”
  4. 01/18/2017:  I admire the three-years-and-counting commitment the neighbor’s dog has made to going apeshit with barking whenever she sees me arrive home, as if I were the first man she’s ever seen.
  5. 01/19/2017:  At what felt like nearly 40°, today saw the arrival of a slush-making heat wave.
  6. 01/20/2017:  Mist rises from the fields as I drive home in the waning light before nighttime and an owl appears out of the gloom to land atop a power pole.
  7. 01/21/2017:  Reviewing my various social media feeds that are blowing up with images from womens’ marches all over the country, I’m disappointed I didn’t figure out a way to get to Helena and back to part of it here … but I am reminded that this is only the beginning.
  8. 01/22/2017:  I am a fat, barely employable, middle-aged Native guy with a chip on his shoulder and no health insurance, living below the poverty line with huge love for much and many, and you can believe I have a stake in this.
  9. 01/23/2017:  I have never been strung out on a particular style or brand of beer before, but two nights in a row now without any Haybag Hefeweizen from Philipsburg Brewing Company and I find myself uncertain that I will survive the night, or find a reason to even want to.
  10. 01/24/2017:  A benefit of oversleeping and missing my first typical hour in darkness is that instead I was at my kitchen window making coffee at the first hints of silver light to the east, before the assault of reds and oranges, when the moving clouds were like the outlines of the states on a map, and the crescent-shaped moon hung brightly in the sky.
  11. 01/25/2017:  If there is anything to enjoy these few days, it’s the sight of federal agencies run by smart people rising up to oppose the will of our newly-inaugurated Commander in Lunacy.
  12. 01/26/2017:  As a person who has never struck anyone in anger, I find the desire to lash out in violent protest — and the wish to see a number of specific people dragged through the streets — most disturbing.
  13. 01/27/2016:  Never underestimate the emotional healing powers of a styrofoam tray heaped with cheap Chinese takeout.
  14. 01/28/2017:  To call the emotions of the past week anything other than despair would be an understatement.

One-Sentence Journal, Week Seventy-Seven

The “still not tired of winter” edition.

  1. 01/08/2017:  The eery skeleton of the old mill where my dad worked for 40+ years looks post-apocalyptic viewed during blizzard-like conditions, in the dark, windshield cloudy and coated with fragments of ice at its outer edges, snow falling through my high beams as I coast to a halt at the stop sign facing the old guard shack.
  2. 01/09/2017:  Arrived home in late evening, moonlight sparkling on snow sculpted by wind, then stood out under the stars for many deep breaths after filling the bird feeders by porch light.
  3. 01/10/2017:  File with favorite sounds of winter: the rattling clatter and rhythmic clang, like sleigh bells, of passing tires wrapped in chains.
  4. 01/11/2017:  I wish the adorable little Hungarian partridges who hang out and burrow through the snow under my bird feeders would understand they don’t need to panic and scramble madly away every time I open the front door, because I love having them and they are more than welcome.
  5. 01/12/2017:  By nightfall, an afternoon spent chewing up and swallowing words before they can wreak havoc tends to leave one thirsty, weary, and a little stomach upset.
  6. 01/13/2017:  An afternoon so sunny the snow reflects the blue of the cloudless sky, and the pieces of frost that trickle free of the treetops float and sparkle in the air so that the saunter up my front walkway is like a stroll through clouds of glitter.
  7. 01/14/2017:  Two young girls on a tobaggon are dragged madly down the snowy street by a pair of gangly, rambunctious dogs with wild grins on their faces.

One-Sentence Journal, Week Seventy-Six

  1. 01/01/2017:  I know the joy of a riverside saunter in sub-20° weather under heavy snowfall will sustain my mood at least through tomorrow.
  2. 01/02/2017:  A beautiful male ring-necked pheasant was in my yard this morning, and he reminded me, after I failed to manage a photograph, that apparently the only way to effectively sneak up on one is with an automobile.
  3. 01/03/2017:  I doubt the eraser was an invention not long in following on the heels of the appearance of the pencil.
  4. 01/04/2017:  Fifteen hours outside of home today, zero accomplishments.
  5. 01/05/2017:  It doesn’t take the smoky, sweltering weather of July to remind me how much I prefer the biting cold of January.
  6. 01/06/2017:  Melodramatic quote of the day: “If it weren’t for loathing, I wouldn’t think of myself at all.”
  7. 01/07/2017:  Night, the reach of my high beams sparkling with frost at their outer edges, and I reflect on all the life out in the frozen dark just trying to hang on until morning.

One-Sentence Journal, Week Seventy-Five

Happy New Year! Now let’s not waste any time….

  1. 12/25/2016:  A waking dream of the most beautiful of white Christmases.
  2. 12/26/2016:  After back-to-back days of nonstop snowfall, the appearance of sunlight glistening off a landscape buried in winter nearly pulled tears from my morning eyes, and not from the glare.
  3. 12/27/2016:  The first day after a long weekend in which a new film revived my love of Star Wars, the eternal Princess Leia passes away.
  4. 12/28/2016:  Inspired by a book of poems from Robert Lee, I write, “I am made of boots scraping on snow, frost on the inside walls of my closet, and clouds of breath hanging in the air of my childhood bedroom.”
  5. 12/29/2016:  Up late after playing a rock show, feeling more and more irrelevant to the people we typically play for, the majority of whom are easily young enough to be my children.
  6. 12/30/2016:  Tired, irritable, and a little braindead, I find myself wondering what Henry David Thoreau — a pencil maker himself — would think of the one I’m scratching words onto paper with right now.
  7. 12/31/2016:  The day ending cold with sunshine — after tracks along the creek bank, deer and elk on Mount Jumbo, and a good, greasy plate of my mom’s cooking — followed by a quiet evening at home, isn’t the worst way to close out a year.
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