A Wedding in the North Carolina Mountains

NC Mountain Wedding at Hemlock Inn in Bryson City #wedding #rusticwedding

The innkeeper’s son was married a few weeks ago.  It was a beautiful wedding with a theme of gray and yellow:

mason jar wedding invitations and programs


JT and Alli:

DIY wedding decor ideas


I took some photos behind the scenes:

setting up wedding


Behind the scenes of the florist, Tony Whitlock of Acorn Home and Garden (Marietta, GA):

yellow flower theme for wedding

yellow and sherbet color flowers for wedding

Behind the scenes of the photographer: Love the yellow shoes. Ancelet Photography at work in the photo.

weddingedits22web copy
Behind the scenes of the decor:

Rustic wedding decor ideas DIY painted
The ceremony was beautiful:

mountain wedding bryson city Hemlock Inn

September mountain wedding bryson city Hemlock Inn


After the ceremony, the Hemlock lawn needed to be switched out for dinner.  A popcorn bar kept the guests busy: [Read more...]

Tell Me What You are For, Not What You Are Against

A few weeks ago we went to the Hendersonville Apple Festival. In the middle of the apples, funnel cakes, and art, were men holding bibles, yelling at the top of their lungs about sin.  Boo’s only question:

Why are they so angry?

A few weeks ago our pastor Jeff, at the Grove, said something that I’ve kept with me…even writing it down in the front of my journal:

 Tell me what you are for. Not what you are against. 

I am for love. 

And I try not to complicate it.

Life is too complicated as it is.

Tell me what you are for, not what you are against.  #love

This group of students singing Oh How He Loves to a preacher gave me goosebumps. (found via Huffington Post).

 It makes me think of this quote I read in Torn:

Love the sinner. Hate your own sin. 


Brett said this last week in our small group at church:

My relationship with the church growing up was like one with the dentist.  I was afraid to go in… because I hadn’t been in so long.  I felt condemned before I even walked in the door. 

That’s not how it’s supposed to work.


Our world needs to know that the rumors of grace are true. There is a God who loves us in the midst of our rebellion, brokenness, and sin. He invites us to come freely to his throne to receive his grace and be transformed. God doesn’t expect us to resurrect ourselves and restore our lives; it’s a free gift he offers, and he is waiting to do it with joy.
-Darren Whitehead & Jon Tyson, Rumors of God




Where the Breadcrumbs Lead

I woke up early this morning and watched the sun come up. Brett has been out of town with his grandmother this week so I dropped Boo off at school and came home and took a cat nap. I watched Sense and Sensibility. And read a magazine. Then I watched a documentary about people that live in Siberia.*

Later I made some tea, sat on the step of the screen porch. The acorns were falling on the tin roof of the cottage. I watched Diesel walk around the stepping stones. So much to learn from a dog…he is so easily pleased. His short time outdoors is always unhurried and full of curiosity. I love how he sniffs the air and closes his eyes against the sun. I copied him.

It felt good, until there was that anxiousness and the voice in my head: you should be accomplishing something.  That voice that has been there all my life: you should be…. you should be…. This feeling still rears its ugly head on occasion and sometimes a brief panic sets in saying: Your husband left his job. You closed a successful business. Where will you go from here? By the world’s standards of success I should have stayed on the course I was on.  It’s hard to explain this new life to people without getting the third degree.

The highlights of my week last week were:

Sweeping the sidewalk at the used bookstore. Dusting and straightening the bookshelves.
Catching up with the cooks at the inn.
Learning the old man’s name that I pass in the park each week.
Buying a venus fly trap and fresh salsa from the farmer’s market.

Sitting by the river and writing it all down.

Such simple things. But yet…every once in a while I get sidetracked with new ideas, things that I think will impress the world. Business. Venture. Make the world happy. Those things are not really what I want to be doing. I know myself….and I would work myself into a shriveled shell of a me if I pursued those new ideas. And that’s when I pray really hard for God to thin my world out again, to take away what he doesn’t want for me…and to leave breadcrumbs going forward.

When you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you achieve it. -The Alchemist

The magazine I picked up today had an interview with Paulo Coehlo in it. Breadcrumb. 

I do believe that we know our reason to be here. We don’t know if we are taking the exact right steps toward it. But if you are honest enough, God will guide you. Even if you take some wrong steps along the way, God will recognize that you have a pure heart and put you back on track. -Paulo Coehlo, O Magazine, Oct 2014

I remember when I first picked up a copy of the Alchemist years ago…at a yard sale. I didn’t read it right away. Quick overview if you haven’t read it:  A boy sells his flock to pursue a dream.

A recent conversation:

Person: What do you do?

Me: Well….mostly….I write.

Person: My friend is a writer. She’s published like 10 books. Have you written anything I would know?

Me: Probably not. 

Person: And you are writing a book?

Me: I think so.

Person: How far along are you?

Me: Depends on the day.

Person: What is it about?

Me: It’s a memoir.

Person: You are too young to write a memoir.

Quick aside: My friend Donno is opening up a tattoo parlor in downtown Bryson City this month. It’s part art gallery…for outsider art. Outsider art: a label created by French artist Jean Dubuffet to describe art created outside the boundaries of official culture; Dubuffet focused particularly on art by those on the outside of the established art scene, such as insane-asylum inmates and children. -wikipedia

Quick epiphany (and breadcrumb): I am an outsider writer!


Person: Too young…to write a memoir.

Me: Then I guess I’m writing an episode.

Person: How long have you been writing it?

Me: My whole life? 

Memoir. Non-fiction. Episode. True story. What does it matter?  The dream is: to write. But it’s more than just writing.  To write things down so I can make sense of it all. To be truly interested in the world around me. To tell a story. And maybe someday it will be meaningful to someone else. That’s what the breadcrumbs lead me to. And they guide me away from things I thought might be opportunities, allowing me to say no without fear or regret.

Sitting here today I looked out the window at the mountains.  They are like sleeping giants to me, some lying on the side and curled up. Others are laying on their backs so you can see their distinct profiles. Sleeping giants covered with a blanket of trees and brush, and I see elbows and knees and foreheads and noses. Nobby clavicles and shoulder blades poke through a thick blanket millions of years in the making. Growth, decay, and growth. The mountains are living and breathing but barely stirring, in a state of hibernation, and they laugh at us with our tiny concerns. They laugh at me when I think my 37 years of life has been hard or easy or nothing or something.

Mountain: An episode? Ha ha ha ha. That’s 100,000 years.

Me: Exactly.

Mountain: Listen.

Me: To what?

Mountain: Your heart. 

Me: You are a talking mountain. 


The Alchemist Quote #quote

Tell your heart that the fear of suffering is worse than the suffering itself. And that no heart has ever suffered when it goes in search of its dreams, because every second of the search is a second’s encounter with God and with eternity. -The Alchemist

I listen. I have to train myself to listen.  And tune everything else out.  Like the boy I sold my “flock” too. I know what my assignment is: To wander. And read. And write. And create. Lather, lather, rinse, repeat.  The more I do this, the less I think about what might have been or should have been.  I find my own voice. I let myself watch movies and read and just sit in solitude for a while.  I meet new people and actually hold conversations with them.  These things are not lucrative…they will not put me on the cover of Fast Company or get me promoted….but they are food for my soul.  I cannot have it all, but I don’t want it all. This is the ultimate promotion.

And not everyone will understand. The questions are endless. Health insurance? Life insurance? Insurance? How will you make a living? What is a living? These are all the rules. I’ve been reading Intimations of Mortality by Violet Weingarten….a journal she wrote during her battle with cancer. My copy is old and obviously from a library with the clear plastic cover and dewey decimal code: 616.994:

I live in a world, my world, with people who haven’t even glimpsed the door, however close they may be to me. Remember you have to see it with your own eyes. Borrowing someone else’s glasses won’t do it. So even if I wanted to change my life, the people I care about aren’t going to change theirs. If I want to toss it all away and scuba-dive off the Great Barrier Reef, I’d have to do it on my own, and that I don’t want to do. Because I know that the step from the iceberg leads back to an ice floe, and on that floe I’ll float, like everyone else, sometimes alone, sometimes along-side, sometimes making small talk, sometimes holding hands, sometimes sad, sometimes happy, always at the whim of the current. Human. Wherever I may be. 

Always at the whim of the current. An outsider.

For some reason that just made me think of the movie Rumble Fish.

I’m too tired to even read through this post again.

I just ate half a bag of Muddy Buddies.

Really all I wanted to say was: today was a good day.  

I wish good days for you too.

And don’t disturb the mountains.  They are all resting.


*Happy People, A Year in the Taiga (*  <—— virtual breadcrumb)


Fall Table Decor: Mason Jar Firefly Lanterns

Easy Fall Table Decor: Mason Jar Lantern Lights using LEDs #wedding #fall #entertaining #masonjar


This month’s theme for Michaels Makers is fall decor.  Fall is always hard for me because I rarely buy anything orange, yellow or red…all classic fall colors. But…I love acorns and barn wood and moss….so I made these cute little “firefly” inspired lanterns using mason jars and Michaels’ LED string lights (found in the floral section of the store):

diy firefly mason jar lanterns

I also made the barn wood tray and the small rustic twig balls but I’ll follow up with a tutorial on those. The acorns were collected on the Hemlock Inn driveway tonight:

fall table decor ideas and wedding table decor #wedding #falltabledecor #entertaining

To make the lanterns I used a mason jar and a battery operated set of LED string lights from Michaels.  Each set of lights takes 3 batteries and the pack can be tucked nicely into the back of the jar.  I used dried moss to give the inside of the jar an earthy rustic look. The great thing about the lights is that you can leave them on “timer” and they will come on at the same time each night.

diy mason jar lanterns using LED string lights #diy #masonjar #wedding


An easy way to decorate a table for fall entertaining:

fall entertaining decor ideas using mason jars #masonjar #fall


[Read more...]

Mini Smoky Mountains

I first picked up these little model railroad figures at a thrift store…and I now I keep a look out for them wherever I go.  Each is about 1/2″ tall and it’s fun to play with the scale of them. That’s all I can think to write about this subject right now….

tiny figures photography - smoky mountain black bears


miniature figure photography - acorn in cones #miniature


miniature figure photography - acorn lounge chair #miniature


miniature figure photography - banjo and grape fanta #miniature



miniature figure photography - window #miniature


The Language of Frogs

Midday it started raining and I just sat in my truck on the bridge to kill time before I was supposed to show up at the used book store. I sat on the passenger side and people probably thought I was waiting on someone but really I was just letting 45 minutes pass. I pulled a book out from under the seat to read a while and thought it was a weird coincidence that the book was Extremely Loud and incredibly Close, a book about September 11. Downtown Bryson City I’ve read that book over and over again but from all different starting points.  Never in order. And parts like the elephant crying get to me because I see things like stonehenge in a plate of potato quarters and I like walking the cemetery at night but get sidetracked trying to piece together broken headstones: Bryson City Cemetery

I took the world into me, rearranged it, and sent it back out as a question: “Do you like me? -Jonathan Safran Foer

Recently I saw a ghost at the cemetery but that’s a story for another day, so back to sitting there reading in the truck: I saw at least four people I knew walk by.  Small town USA. Then I saw a man with a hunting rifle walk by but he’d just come out of the guns and ice cream shop. Totally normal. As I sat there I realized that I could tell when a truck was coming over the bridge, not by the sound it made but by how much the concrete would shake. A freight truck and a beer truck crossed simultaneously and the bridge pretty much went all earthquakey. The speed limit on the bridge is 20 mph but people are always going much faster.

When it’s not raining I like to walk along the shops and the river.  Here it seems like they used to build old buildings against old buildings so when a building comes down sometimes the inside of the building is left on the exterior of the one next door. In other words: if you build the first building you have to build 4 walls…but if you build the 2nd or 3rd etc you only have to build 3 walls.  The wall on the side of the building near the river says PRO with tan, orange and brown racing stripes all the way down the side…it reminds me of a bowling alley, but I don’t think it was. Buford’s Barbershop is on the corner of the bridge across from the “bowling alley”. Everyone swears it’s structurally sound but I’m worried Buford is going to fall in the river one day. Every few days I visually measure the crack between Buford’s place and the flower shop next door to make sure it’s not getting any wider. I’ve only seen Buford cutting hair once or twice. I think he’s only open when he feels like being open. He’s got a TV with rabbit ears and so I look forward to meeting Buford one day…but maybe outside of the barbershop.

At the bookstore I decided to sweep outside and get some of the cobwebs down. While sweeping I ran into a man I’d met at the coffee shop a few weeks ago. He’d been talking about Kerouac and I oddly enough had brought a book of Kerouac’s journals with me (Windblown World). I gave it to him and told him to just drop it back off at the coffee shop when he was done with it. I didn’t even know his name. But then running into him at the grocery store I recognized him and we said hey and he thanked me for the book. And after talking about Kerouac for a few minutes he told me this haiku he’d written. I can’t remember it word for word so I’m butchering it and it probably isn’t even a haiku anymore since I didn’t even think to count the syllables or phrases or whatever a haiku consists of:

Credit or Debit. The girl at the grocery store speaks to me in frog.

Flipping through the old books in the used book store I end up looking for handwriting. I found this little mouse drawn in a book dated 1898. I could tell it was written with a fountain pen: mouse On the next page was this handwritten poem:

Love is painful it is true, but not to love is painful too, But oh! it gives the greatest pain to love and not be loved again.

bookI sold a few books today and bought even more.  They were books I was looking for so I figure that I technically saved money. One of the new employees at the inn stopped by to say hi and I sold him a magazine. Tonight my friends gave me directions to their house and the directions consisted mostly of: turn left at the gas station and right at the huge rock and when you see the chickens you’ve found us.    Walking down to our cottage tonight I dodged a few frogs but spoke to them: credit or debit. credit or debit. Perhaps that’s what they’ve been saying all along.  Accounting 101.

We could imagine all sorts of universes unlike this one, but this is the one that happened. -Jonathan Safran Foer

The Sky is Falling

Today I tried a new table down by the river and I checked underneath like I always do before climbing on top….and there was the largest spider I’d ever seen.  She was upside down on the table, her egg sac carefully wrapped up in her web, and hundreds of little babies were swarming about. Charlotte is very ill. She only has a short time to live. Instead of chasing her away I found my usual table.

The sweat bee came back from a few days ago and brought all of her friends. Swarming they began to take over my personal space and eventually I moved to the bright red picnic table under the walnut tree.  Butternuts were falling like bombs around me.  I was a sitting duck. One of these would have probably knocked me out:


A man approached me and asked if my truck was for sale.  I told him no. He told me he lived on the Cherokee reservation nearby, and then he told me his life story. Which I thought was awesome….I didn’t even have to ask any questions for once.  His brother and his dog sat near his truck and waited for him to finish talking and eventually I mentioned that to him. He told me his brother was scared of him.  As he left I told him to please be nice to his brother…and he hung his head a little as if he felt guilty all the sudden.

Yesterday I spent the afternoon working in the used book store…and the most important thing I learned is that it is not:

Used Bookstore


Used Book Store

Details, shmetails. Until it clicked and I realized we weren’t selling used bookstores.  Obviously in my last post about the book store I didn’t know this difference. I never did that well in English.  After that very important lesson, I spent my time going through 8 boxes of books brought in by the same elderly man. You can tell a lot about someone by the books they read. I think this man must have been a professor once, of history or philosophy….or anthropology.

I saw this rainbow as I drove home last night driving home from the bookstore:



It doesn’t even look real. When I took it I thought: no one will believe this is real.

Where the River Meets the Lake

I found where the river meets the lake yesterday. Well, actually a friend took Brett and I there. But still, where the river meets the lake. The mouth. The basin. The convergence. All of the roaring and tumbling ends almost instantly.  It’s like it just runs out of steam.

SUP Paddleboards Fontana Lake with Bryson City Outdoors

Our friend Ben from Bryson City Outdoors took us out, dropped off the boards, and gave us a quick paddle boarding lesson before we set out on the lake. I did not take my phone with me…this was taken with a Go Pro (a waterproof one):

SUP (paddle boarding) on Fontana Lake with Bryson City Outdoors

As we paddled we stumbled upon old Hwy 28.  The water is low enough right now that you can see the top of the bridge. Brett paddled through it….I stayed back. Reminds me of What lies Beneath…or the end of the world….what it would be like if we all just disappeared one day. These mountains do tend to emit the feeling of ancient-ness.  (You can read about what’s underneath the lake here).

Hwy 28 on Fontana under water

As we paddled back towards the boat ramp, from a distance, we saw another truck pull up.  Two men backed a truck and boat down the ramp.  They took off to the other side of the lake creating huge wake.  I waved to them and they hesitantly waved back.  And then we realized why:

Brett: They took my shoes.
Me: What? I’m paddling over to them to ask for them back.

He wouldn’t let me.

Me: He has a Jesus fish on the back of his truck. Maybe he actually has a conscience…

I decided to leave a note on the man’s truck instead.  I didn’t accuse him directly, just said if he found a pair of shoes could he please leave them at our church.  God Bless. Hubby is unemployed.  Hope you found some fish. Etc. I signed it something like: from someone who refuses to lose faith in the kindness of humanity.   It just didn’t seem worth more trouble than that.

Me: Desperate people do desperate things.
Brett: I’m over it….he probably needed the shoes more than I did.
Me: You are barefoot. 

And the truth is that we had just had such a wonderful time on the lake, not even stolen shoes could have put a damper on it.

I’m sorry fisher-man.  This is where the river meets the lake. And we came here on purpose.  It’s the lowest spot.  You can’t take us any lower. 

When I placed the note under his windshield wiper, I realized that I’d written the note on the back of one of Boo’s Sunday school drawings: a large heart with the words “God is Love” written in dainty little letters.  I chuckled at the not-so-subtle message I was leaving him. Who knows….maybe the shoes will turn up. Maybe not.  The most awesome thing in the world is that no one can steal my peace and joy from me. And I take all these little snapshots to remind me of that going forward because life has those peaks and valleys.

Late last night, after sending out my Dear Friend letter, I finished watching The Diving Bell and the Butterfly.  I had watched it over a period of two consecutive nights.  A beautiful film and so well done I felt myself in Jean-Do’s claustrophobic diving bell throughout every scene.  My eye began to hurt as I watched him blink out the letters to his manuscript and I vowed I would never forget it for the rest of eternity (or at least for the next day).  A powerful film that I recommend highly. Subtitle alert.  But Jean-Dominique Bauby’s situation was an extreme one, but so many able-bodied people are caught under that Plath-like bell jar.  I know sometimes it may sound like I’m trying to sell life to you….because I am.  Buy into life. Life. Love. God is love. Love your life. Be kind. Do stuff. Let your soul breathe it all in…deeply. And it’s all your story. Her-story. His-story. History. And history:

It is the centuries of systematic explorations of the riddle of death, with a view to overcoming death. That’s why people discover mathematical infinity and electromagnetic waves, that’s why they write symphonies. Now, you can’t advance in this direction without a certain faith. You can’t make such discoveries without spiritual equipment. And the basic elements of this equipment are in the Gospels. What are they? To begin with, love of one’s neighbor, which is the supreme form of vital energy. Once it fills the heart of man it has to overflow and spend itself. And then the two basic ideals of modern man—without them he is unthinkable—the idea of free personality and the idea of life as sacrifice.
- Boris Pasternak, Doctor Zhivago


Oh, and I forgot to tell you: this summer I found the beginning of a river.  When we hiked Mt. LeConte: This is where the river begins. It’s being born. The mist begins to condense onto the vegetation and then it begins to drip and then a trickle turns into a stream. As it’s filtered through moss and rock it gets funneled into tiny waterfalls across the trail…which eventually compound into the larger streams below. I imagine that all the veins eventually begin to find each other until they have enough water to form a creek, and the creeks eventually merge into rivers. The water always hurries along, finding it’s way to the lowest point. A very humble trait of water.



Disclaimer: Sometimes I use affiliate links. All products were picked by me, purchased by me, used by me and loved by me. They help to cover the server expenses of my website.  I am grateful for each and every click. Thank you!

Something I Read in a Book

Sometimes I wonder about my life. I lead a small life – well, valuable, but small – and sometimes I wonder, do I do it because I like it, or because I haven’t been brave? So much of what I see reminds me of something I read in a book, when shouldn’t it be the other way around? I don’t really want an answer. I just want to send this cosmic question out into the void. So good night, dear void. -Kathleen Kelly, You’ve Got Mail

Today was my first day volunteering at the Friends of the Marianna Black Library store in downtown Bryson City.  It’s a used bookstore that benefits the local library.  I’ve always wanted to work at a bookstore, especially after watching You’ve Got Mail, Notting Hill and The Neverending Story.  Today was really just a training day and I learned how to use a cash register again (it’s been probably 15 years since I used one).  I rang up 2 customers. One of those customers was me…because I bought 6 books on my first day.

Friends of MBL (located right next to Cork & Bean)

Used Bookstore in Bryson City, Friends of Marianna Black Library

Speaking of The Neverending Story…I watched that last night. It was just kinda weird, nothing like I remembered it. Falcor wasn’t the cute doggy dragon I remembered, Atreyu yelled way too much, and the Swamp of Sadness was just a big swamp of sadness.  Sometimes childhood movies should not be revisited. But the whole idea of being lost in a book…well I love that.  I’ve tried to set aside at least an hour a day now just for reading, and then I write. I sat by the river this morning and read a book as I drank a Grape Fanta:


If you have never spent whole afternoons with burning ears and rumpled hair, forgetting the world around you over a book, forgetting cold and hunger–

If you have never read secretly under the bedclothes with a flashlight, because your father or mother or some other well-meaning person has switched off the lamp on the plausible ground that it was time to sleep because you had to get up so early–

If you have never wept bitter tears because a wonderful story has come to an end and you must take your leave of the characters with whom you have shared so many adventures, whom you have loved and admired, for whom you have hoped and feared, and without whose company life seems empty and meaningless–

If such things have not been part of your own experience, you probably won’t understand what Bastian did next.

-Michael Ende, The Neverending Story

That quote reminds me of when I read my last Steinbeck novel…I cried closing the last page, because I knew it was the end and no more would ever be written. Or when I read Katherine’s Graham’s Personal History…and I got to the scene in the middle of the book about her husband’s death…I had to close the book and put it away for over a year before I could read the rest. And Sylvia Plath’s Unabridged Journals I’ve read so many times the pages are falling out…and some journals are missing because they were either destroyed or lost and that drives me cuckoo. And when I read them it’s like she’s reading my mind. And so on and so on. And then there’s the whole appeal of a used book…especially the old and tattered ones. There’s something very mysterious about them, there’s something very mysterious about used bookstores in general…especially when they are in the setting of an old historic building, with the original soda fountain stools from years ago. And the treasure hunt! A very young couple today came in looking for Steinbeck. They were staying in the Yurt village for a few days up at the Nantahala Gorge. I loved hearing about their experience in a Yurt. And that all created a flashback to when I once studied Chinese movies in college and we watched Mongolian movies….everyone lived in Yurts. Mongolia may have invented the Yurt.  Someone asked me the other day about daydreaming….how I manage to do it. Learn to lose yourself in books first, then the daydreaming comes easily after that…

…and it could be really awesome in a Yurt.

Which Direction of the Sky Is This

Right down the road from the inn is Darnell Farms. You can’t miss the signs: Free Picnic Area…Bikers Welcome…Farm Tours…Hoop Cheese, Greasy Beans, Cold Drinks….  I have a picnic table by the river I like to sit and write at.  The river has a subtle roar to it, almost like a whisper. The river is always a murky olive right by the shoreline where it slows down and ripples and whirls. Elephant skin, that’s what it looks like. But it quickly erases itself to start again. And tiny leaves float like boats adrift and they are safe until they encounter the treacherous rocks. The trees grow out over the water at a 45 degree angle, defying gravity, and making themselves available for rope swings. And the bridge in the picture? I get to cross that at least twice a day….and I have to catch my breath each and every time…especially when the “smoky” mist is still there in the mornings:

The Tuckaseegee River in Bryson City, NC

It’s a working farm and I love seeing the big John Deer tractors emerge from the field. It doesn’t matter who is driving…they always wave. Right now they are growing tomatoes and peppers:

Fresh Produce from Darnell Farms in Bryson City

They are also growing flowers: mums and sunflowers. But the sunflowers hang their heads in kind of a sad way, at least they look sad to me.  Deflated.  And just a month ago they were harvesting squash. Before that strawberries.  And they are growing corn but that field makes me anxious and I don’t spend a lot of time looking at it. The stalks stand there so straight and narrow, high and mighty, the opposite of the sunflower. Their husky leaves grow straight up to the sky like taunting fingers.  Horror movie anyone?  But this wood shed reminds me of The Boxcar Children so it technically cancels out the Children of the Corn:

The Box Car Children

As I sat there today and wrote this sweat bee kept checking me out…hovering with his tiny beady eyes and invisible wings. He was only as big as a grain of rice. He landed on my arm a few times but I wasn’t sweating so he didn’t stay there long.  Then he landed on my computer and just sat there like he was posing for a picture. A few weeks ago a sweat bee stung me, her stinger getting stuck in my forearm, and the stinger was still attached to her backside. I knew she was a “she” because only the female sweat bees sting. I watched her struggle trying to break free from my forearm and imagined her saying “take that you big meanie.” And I literally felt like a big meanie. So I made friends with this one:


And sometimes I lay on that picnic bench by the river and stare into the blue sky….


….and just let my mind wander:

The sky goes on forever. And ever. And I live on a big, round ball right smack in the middle…because in forever: everything is in the middle. There is no end or edge of anything. And I don’t even know what direction of the sky this is. Is it forever forward or is it forever backward? Is it forever right or is it forever left? And the river reflects the sky, until the water hits the rocks and turns on itself, and breaks the picture into a billion pieces. Forever reflected into forever.  That must involve infinity and fractals and Pi.  And there are like a billion acres making up this ball I live on, and somehow I ended up on this particular one.  That must count for something…

And then I realize I’ve been daydreaming for hours and I’ve been gone all day. And I haven’t really gotten anything done.

But I wrote this.



Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...