By conscious endeavor

I still think if I had done something differently --- if had been something different-- none of this would have happened.

But first let's state for the record that THOSE are two different things entirely.

The doing

And the being.

The being, well. Not so much. I don't think I could be different. By and large because of the "trying to be" that I've been doing all my life.

But the doing. Well, then there is that.

What have I done?

I came to Concord to be alone, to be myself. But the act of doing what feels most like my being meant doing something unspeakable.

I've said I'm sorry. To the dog, the wall, the air, the priest, to them.

It's not the being. Or the saying. That doesn't matter.

It's the doing.

in our soundest sleep...

Carolyn called last night. I was in the middle of cooking dinner when the phone rang. It always surprises me that she still exists. Hearing her voice on the other end of the phone is like hearing the voice of a famous person -- Nick Nolte or George Clooney -- calling to see if I'll meet him for a beer.

Small talk. Kids good. Dog good. Life good. Work happening.

When I was single before, I thought a lot about getting laid. Getting drunk, getting laid, and fixing whatever problem had to be fixed as a result of either of the latter. Or both.

Now I think about having a good drink. The right whiskey, with a long smokey finish. I think about whether it matters if I plant heirloom or hybrid tomatoes. I think about soil and the eggshells in my compost and earthworms.

I don't seem to know exactly how to think about a woman, however.  Like trying to teach oneself to do a tri having never quite mastered swimming.

Infinite Expectation of the dawn...

I could so live without a cell phone. It would be so easy.

There are days when I don't sit at the computer at all. .. But I've noticed the tendency to be drawn there.

I found my stash of PrismaColors finally. Getting up at 5:30 is of some use anyway, as I'm finally getting unpacked. Now and then when I pull a pencil out of the box, it is one of Marianne's Crayola pencils. So hard.

The Warrens in the main house have hummingbird feeders in their perennial garden next to the carriage house. The feeders are so far away from their windows, I doubt they can see them, but they are only about 10 yards from the cottage's front window.

I brought in the bin of legos which I also found while unpacking. Haven't decided if it would be a good or a bad idea to put them out here in the shop for use. Think they will just get stolen or covered with snot.

Awake

Ok. I'm awake now.

I've always wanted to be one of those people that gets up at 5:30 and does whatever it is 5:30 people do.

So, today is day one. I'm up.

Wait. Now what? Am I supposed to get dressed? Go for a run?

I am not sure I planned this very well.

This place is musty. It's about time for spring cleaning. Can't believe the luck of finding it. My dad and mom lived in a house behind a house when they were first married, out in Colorado Springs. A tiny place, where I was born.

Took a pic of thing I did in my journal at work between 2 and 4 when I was supposed to be doing inventory.

So the collage wall in the reading corner is still pretty bare. A few new additions this week. However, I love to see the items people cut out and decide not to post.

Collecting them here.