Old So What

  This word sounds like just what it is:   sad, full of regret. Poignant! It stands for words from the heart, such as:   moving, pathetic, and touching. The word “poignant” itself touches us, it gets through our crusty exteriors and binds to our souls, if we let it. A politician, of whom I did not approve, just recently retired, and the look on his face (his sadness so evident, no matter what he did while in office), was poignant!

  that the latest thing that is presently acknowledged to be better than sliced bread, is really not all that original or great after all? In fact, given the money and opportunity, you probably could have done it much better yourself. So don’t be discouraged; the world needs that positive idea, artwork, book, blog that is presently swimming around in your head. You got this!

  Seasons come and go all on their own.   No one cues them; gives them the “all clear.” They just get on with it, and show up at our doors, on our roofs, in our gardens. Summer leaves us with no kicking and screaming, though some of us would do so if it would help. With winter shoved into our lives whether we want it or not.   Which we do not…most decidedly want:   The cold mornings, the expensive heating fuel, the scratchy sweaters, the cold coffee, the gray, bleak days, which seem to last forever.   Just d-r-a-g-g-i-n-g on. Until one morning while taking out the trash, we feel the soft caress, and sweet kiss of spring. Oh, thank goodness, sanity and beauty return!

  You don’t have to burn down the library…to turn the page.

  Neatness has its place for giving us peace and a sense of order. But you cannot create anything out of neatness. Creativity requires a certain amount of chaos, so the situation can be reordered, rearranged, or reinvented producing/generating something new.

 the high life is very  easy to live.

  Death is not clean and easy. You just don’t continue with your life as before. Death is messy and brutish, unforgettable and inescapable. It’s a nuisance nightmare you don't want. Because of Death, there is no second chance, no do-over. There’s no fixing, no repair, no starting again, no next chapter. As a consequence, there is no longer membership for you in that great brother- and sisterhood of being in love. You are no longer in love. You are now in Death.    

  There are so very many things that I don’t feel like doing, at least not right now, maybe ever. For example: the dishes and the laundry, which I’m sure are part rabbit in that there is never an end, they keep multiplying, they keep existing. Then there is going to the supermarket, which at today’s prices amounts to an act of courage. I never leave there with everything I want or even need, because all of that just costs too much.   So, I put off going until the cat is down to a few cans of food and I am down to no bread for toast. I don’t put off talking to my cousin or a friend on the phone, or eating a pepperoni pizza, or taking a well-deserved nap. Why? Because those things are enjoyable. If only I could make everything seem enjoyable. But I don’t see how that’s possible without the use of major drugs, which I don’t have and would not use if I did! So, I will just continue to procrastinate (put off intentionally and habitually something that should be done), until...

  What is the voice of reason? It’s that little voice inside our heads and those of others, that speaks to us with logic, fairness, good judgment, using evidence…to convince ourselves to act in a sensible, civilized way. We seem to have lost this little voice of hope along the way of today’s not-so-nice, not-so-safe world. (In other words:   a world out of control, and often malignant.) If we could reinstate “kindness” it would greatly aid the little voice of reason.

  I’m tired of hearing all the accolades, and seeing all the awards for superior performance and talent beyond compare. To incredible insights and going where no one has gone before, I say phooey! Where would you all be without: Average, Commonplace, or just Acceptable?   All comparisons would cease to exist. Here’s to all of those who cannot attain first prize, cannot be lauded as the best at something. Who’s to say that the average didn’t try their best, yearn the most but succeed the least. Life is a fickle fiend, spreading gifts of intelligence, creativity, and beauty to a few, and leaving in its wake the battered dreams of the many.

  I feel that the world is in such crisis right now, that you and I (with our rational conversation) are just arranging   deck chairs on the Titanic, don’t you think?

Chaos first; creation coming up. The only way to create anything is to organize it out of a mess. I’m sure this is not a new theory. I had reference books, papers, dictionaries, library tomes, pets, scraps of paper, shreds of notes crinkled up and strewn all over the bed, with my husband’s photos and layouts balancing precariously from the nearby drawing board. We really got inside our work, together.  Sometimes yelling at each other to make our point.  Criticism occasionally showing it’s face with a curt: “that stinks!”  But for the most part, agreeing and encouraging; on each other’s side, each other’s best critic and even better supporter.  Filling in when creative gaps appear, shoring up, honing and enhancing our respective crafts:  graphic design, photography and copywriting.  It was sweet. Then to see the finished product, hold it in your hands, view it, read it.  Deliver it to the client and feel the kind of praise that comes from doing somethin...