those thousand-mile journeys

The picture is of the window ledge over my kitchen sink. It is, for the most part, my plant hospital for plants that are not faring well and need special attention. Most of those plants heal, start thriving, and get put in the living room that gets attention but not daily and more light. But what I wanted to write about is the parable I see in the two paper white bulbs growing in water that are close to the window in the back of the photo.

I love paper white narcissus for the winter holidays, although many years I start them too late or forget to find/order some at all. This year I remembered and may have a few blooms by New Year’s.

These two healthy bulbs were ordered from my favorite bulb distributor and put in water on the same day. The bulb on the left took off like gangbusters. I think it was in water less than two full days when tiny roots appeared, the greens followed quickly, and a tiny bud has formed. The bulb on the left was the opposite. It has taken a few weeks for any roots to appear. They are short, and there are few of them. The greens have hardly begun. 

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manifesto

A small truth gently unfolded itself very quietly last night.

I have been working on a book-length memoir for a few years, and it is close to finished. It needs one more good edit, maybe some beta readers, and another edit before I either try to get it published or create a Substack.  But.

But . . . but . . . but . . .

There is no way that I am going to get it finished. Not right now, not before the end of the year, or before my January birthday—both goals. Maybe I will never finish it. This is an awful truth. Maybe everyone else sees it, has seen it for a long time, and is rolling their eyes or mentally saying, “duh!” Okay, but not me. I am either that eternal optimist or someone who refuses to look reality in the face.

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vermont 2

It is Indigenous Peoples Day. We are in Vermont, ready to leave today to return home. Julia’s day center is closed today. It will rain for most of today and tomorrow. I hope to stop to do some food shopping on our way home and make butternut squash soup for tonight’s dinner.

There the scene is set. 

It disturbs me greatly that trump proclaimed today a celebration of “the original American hero, a giant of Western civilization, and one of the most gallant and visionary men to ever walk the face of the earth.” It goes on to say that “[u]pon his arrival, he planted a majestic cross in a mighty act of devotion, dedicating the land to God and setting in motion America’s proud birthright of faith.”

Why does he—or they because that man cannot speak a single coherent sentence. There are way too many grammatically correct sentences and way too much warped “history” to believe that trump had anything to do with the drafting of his proclamation.— but why does he need to lie ALL of the time?

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