Who needs an alarm clock When you’ve got a dog? They are used to a routine through the week, So the fact that it’s a weekend morning at 6 am Makes absolutely no difference to them. They will wake you up when you normally rise, And go outside, And you might wake up (if you went to bed at a sensible hour) Feeling rather refreshed and ready to face the new day Instead of wanting to force yourself back to sleep For no other reason other than “It’s The Weekend.” When I was about 11 or so, I had one of those vintage alarm clocks With the little flippy tiles, You know, like the one in Groundhog Day – I liked the soft click it made each time a new number rolled over. I don’t think they manufacture those much anymore Probably because of the clicking Or maybe because the tiles would sometimes stick And then obviously the time wouldn’t be accurate, Or maybe because Liquid Crystal Display took over – But I think they should make a comeback. Sometimes those lost vintage sounds are really satisfying. What if you could no longer hear the turning of the page of a book, The ticking of a clock, (or the flipping of a clock tile) The soft chatter of doorway beads, The intense ring or angry hangup slam of a telephone, The startling buzz of an actual door-bell, The crackle of vinyl records, The hot popping of a wood stove, The snap/whip of laundry hanging outside on a windy day, The dial-up internet connection song… Well… I don’t know about that one – But I’m glad that some of these sounds are still around.
Last year I read a book. I mean, I pick up and start lots of books Through the course of one year. But finishing a book, Well. For me, that’s kind of a big deal. It’s funny because I used to read a lot I mean a LOT When I was a kid. But I guess as I grew older, And started raising guinea pigs, And learned how to do more and more things, My hobbies expanded. The more skills you obtain, I guess the more you have to organize And prioritize your various activities. But I really do enjoy reading. This year, I already have some books that I want to read And if I get through all of them Or one of them For me, That will also be a big deal. I will celebrate for myself By making a cinnamon cake. Because I don’t think Pizza Hut Will acknowledge my reading success At this ripe old age.
People say that, you know. I think normally it’s implied That the “little things” give to us Those sparks of joy, Moments of wonder Where you catch your breath And note an overwhelming sense of appreciation. Little things are great And I like to take note Of those things and enjoy them Just like anyone else. I also think little things Can bring you to the edge Of feeling the opposite way as well. Sometimes there is a big thing That is underneath, But then suddenly it’s a little thing That will grip your chest And fight for your peace And will you into distraction And disorient you Because it might be the butterfly That throws your world off-kilter. But the good little things Are more numerous. Maybe they make up the gusts of wind That carry the butterflies away And bring in a new round of fresh air As you drink it in and know.
Isn’t it funny how You get all wound down, Your teeth are clean, You’re snuggled into your bed Reading a book, Or watching a movie, Or crocheting, Or writing a novel, Whatever – And suddenly – Your stomach grumbles And you realize You really kind of want a snack. It is in that moment You need to realize what you value. Your immediate coziness and comfort Or a full belly when you fall asleep? A choice must be made.
I have a bruise on my scalp That reminds me That I am just a little taller Than the bottom corner Of your standard upper cabinet door. I walked right into again today And that wasn’t very fun. If I would have been wearing A giant marshmallow on my head I would be fine right now. I need to remember to do that A little more often.
I wonder about other people. It’s hard not to compare yourself around And think that others might do things MAYBE A little differently If for no other reason than There are so may ways to get things done. Well. Let’s talk about laundry, for instance. I think there are some people Who do their laundry, Grab it out of the dryer, or off the line, And fold it. Right then and there. They don’t dilly dally Because that’s just not something this type of person would do. Well I am very happy for you if that is who you are. But we’re not talking about you right now. We are talking about the pilers. Those who get several loads clean And then The pile grows. Does it grow on a table? Does it grow on a bed? Does it grow on the floor? The couch? In a patchwork of baskets? What is the number of days Which the pile is allowed to grow And be nurtured And gently worked around As it sits and relishes in the beautiful gift That is freedom from a drawer. What kind of shirt wants to be all folded up And stuck away in a dark drawer until it can be worn? Some shirts don’t even get that much attention. So the next time you have some clean, dry laundry, Lay it fluffily in a soft place with some soft music And let it enjoy the finer things in life.
I don’t think it’s any secret That I find comfort very valuable. I have never liked ‘dressing up’ much Or hanging out in garages Or sitting on bleachers or pews Or being in extreme temperatures Or being in awkward conversations Or being talked into annoying things Or talking in front of people. I prefer to feel nice and comfortable In every way I possibly can. I think though, That at some point, Letting go of a certain type of comfort (maybe the comfort of blending in and not really letting anyone know you so you can avoid potential discomfort) Might bring you to a place of newfound comfort Knowing that, Being fully yourself, The people who still like you And appreciate you- Know who you are, And still like you and appreciate you For truly being You.
I love a new year. It’s like a brand new sketchbook That hasn’t been tainted yet. Anything can happen. Anything at all. I should be concerned about that comparison, Perhaps, Because usually when I get a new sketch book, I make a disaster of the first page And end up ripping it out Just so I don’t have to see it. Maybe in 2020, That was March. At any rate, I have some positive things to focus on this year. Nothing crazy, Just making better use of my time And my brain. I am looking forward to looking forward. I hope you are too.
Today it began to snow. And it was beautiful And marvelous And twinkly And everything you hope snow will be. Well Then it began to rain. Now there is an icy crust All over On top of the snow. And trees And probably power lines And definitely roads. I will be driving Like a very very old little granny tomorrow.
I have been drinking a lot more tea this year. I’m not sure exactly why. Because it’s healthier maybe? Helps me consume more water? To foster nostalgia? I equate drinking tea somewhat with drawing. There was a coffee shop And we would go there just to be. Some kids would smoke, Because back then you could do that In some of the coffee shops. But most of us would sit And drink coffee. Perhaps because I drank coffee At the other coffee shop in which I worked all day, I turned to tea in the evenings When I was away from my home base. At any rate, Ginger Peach & Cinnamon Plum. Those were my two favorites. They probably still are. And I would sit and look around And find someone to draw Or someone would ask me to draw them. I have a little book of those faces From long ago Sketched with my colored pencils. I can smell the pencils, The hot, fruity tea, The stale cigarette smoke, The vinyl vintage booths- I can hear the mingling of people, The bell on the door, The clatter of mugs, The hiss of the steam wand, The slam of the register drawer, Noisy boys, Loud scooting of wooden chairs against the floor, Ben Kweller singing in my head, But probably Death Cab over the speakers. That place holds many memories. Mostly good ones, but a few sad too. But the tea times Were always good.