Written Sunday evening; posted Monday morning from my car, grabbing a few minutes wifi. —– I’ve beat my brains this weekend trying to come up with something brilliant for you. I’ve got nothing. But aside from feeling guilty for the nothingness between my ears, having nothing is a blessedly pleasant state. I’ve been sewing. And cleaning junk out of the laundry room in preparation for the next round of serious minioning for The Wandering Monk. And buying fabrics for $1 a yard from one of the local thrift stores, which just inherited 20 boxes of sewing supplies from some woman’s…
Author: Claire
Realizing my readership is mostly male, I hesitate to post the following. But don’t tune out on me, guys. Or at least not instantly. Don’t assume from the topic that this post is too girly for your macho selves. Think of this like finding a box of old gun or car parts or fishing tackle, all from one guy’s garage. —– Behind one of the local thrift stores are boxes of freebies — loaded up every morning, then tossed out at the end of every day. These are newly donated items that are almost trash, but Chris the manager hopes…
My “guardian” dream from late last month continues to haunt and puzzle me. Though I’m no closer to understanding it (and it demands understanding and perhaps action), I’ve had some help along the way. I’ve already mentioned Commentariat member Shel leading me to Jung — actually two Jungs, Carl and his wife Emma. Then yesterday I found an unexpected gift in a locker at the post office. That up there at the top of this blog is a framed and bejeweled print of a 15th-century Russian icon of a (or perhaps the) guardian angel. Or as the handy translation sheet…
Someone asked me why I don’t write about freedom as much as I used to. Every time I pick up a pen or put fingers to keyboard I’m writing about freedom. I just don’t write as much about politics any more. Or techniques of anti-politics. But it’s all about freedom. —– People also come around once in a while, hoping to learn new techniques for alternate ID so they can live their way around “enhanced” government drivers licenses, e-verify for employment, facial recognition systems, and such. I have nothing for them. Not that there aren’t ways. I’ve said it before;…
Because I didn’t think I was my best shiny-souled self when last I blogged, I sat down yesterday at the library to noodle something “lite” but good for you. Anyhow, I tried. No sooner had I taken care of a few bits of online housekeeping than I flew into rebellion against all acts of duty. I couldn’t blog. I couldn’t sit still. I couldn’t bear the noise of the library. I couldn’t face the prospect of going home and cleaning my car (which I had to do because I was scheduled to drive a friend to the hospital and I’m…
Random action produces random results. The last two weeks have been busy-busy, with little time for reflection. It’s been the kind of busy-ness that leaves you (meaning me) tired and depleted but barely able to point to any accomplishment. At the end of the day, I ask myself what I did and can recall a lot of activity, signifying nothing. In the last week, I even attended two Dreaded Social Events. One of them was actually a hoot; but that sort of thing saps all my creative and spiritual juices, sometimes for days afterward. Oh, I also managed a smattering…
I aim to get back here tomorrow or Monday with some seriously random thoughts. But this has been a go-go-go sort of week, with little time to stop and cogitate, let alone write. So I’ll leave the thinking to someone else today. Here’s another of those in-depth and thoughtful articles from Ammo.com, this one on the distinction between freedom and liberty — and how those differences shaped history. A sample: To better understand what freedom and liberty mean, it’s helpful to look at the respective etymologies of these words, digging into their histories and how they developed. Freedom comes from…
When I went to less-frequent blogging I warned that you’ll never know what you’re going to get; it’s whatever the week brings. The following falls well into the “whatever” category. —– I was dead. It didn’t much matter, even to me, how, when, or why I died. I was simply done with that phase of my life and ready to move on. But move … how? Where? The afterlife I’d landed in was from no religion known to mankind. There were no harp-slinging angels. On the other hand, there were also no politicians being dangled by pitchfork-wielding demons over vats…
Three weeks ago, (if you answered the Friday Freedom Question) you wrote the first lines of your autobiography. Now, if you’re willing, write the last words of your story. Very Brief Rulz: These can be the last words/lines/paragraphs of your autobiography or of a biography someone else writes about you after you’re gone. Writing “[He/she/they] lived happily ever after” would be cheating. As before, I’ll join in when I’ve thought about the question some more. I think this one’s going to be harder than the first line.
I wrote moments ago about two glorious vintage sewing machines I got within the last few years for almost nothing. Like most of my scrounged or bargained purchases, they bring me only happiness. But occasionally … You may remember this door. I scrounged it out of a landfill four years ago this week. Well, finally I’m at the point of having a place to install it. But I think I’ve learned to hate it. Several summers ago, I spent hours — OMG HOURS! — outside stripping and scraping and sanding. When I stopped, it was still … shall we say,…