Pens, pencils, erasers, sharpeners.

On my computer table.

In the drawer by my computer table.

On the bookshelf behind my computer table.

In my backpack and purse.

In the junk drawer.

At my drawing table.

I didn’t count the twenty or so, just scattered about. Or the nibs, nib-holders, and six bottles of ink. Or my watercolor pencils. Or any of Daughter’s. Or the ones in my car.

I obviously need to spend more time drawing. (I feel like such a greedy jerk!)

I think I want to be one.

I’m reading an article at the Atlantic by Conor Friedersdorf, regarding the policing of cat-calling. Quoting Professor Laura Beth Nielsen:

Invoking racist and sexist power in public places subordinates and excludes. It keeps women from going certain places, from taking certain routes, and from full engagement in society. The research is very clear on that. If we value full public, democratic, and civic participation, we have to stop the kinds of pervasive harassment that systematically exclude members of traditionally disempowered groups.

tl:dr? There is a historical foundation for criminalizing street-side sexual harrassment. She continues;

And if we value the First Amendment over that, we should at least acknowledge that our First Amendment freedoms come on the backs of those members of society already burdened by hierarchies of race, class, and sexual orientation.

Probably won’t be every day. Why? Because I say so.

Also, I might be getting a job at which I cannot swear. WTF was I thinking?

Also. Discussion on Facebook on photography and asking “how does that make you feel?” which if you put it that way is not a question that needs to be answered. (And yes, I might be spending too much time in my head again.) The thing that should be discussed is meaning. What is the meaning of it? Is there meaning? Apparently, photography is philosophy. Actually, photography is light and air and space, ephemerals, not like picking up a hand-thrown coffee cup and saying yes, this fits in my hand and I will like holding, warming my hands. But I guess that is a discussion of the line between artisan and artist. And if we’re doing ephemeral, then we might as well do feelings.

I’ve been off my diet and everything hurts. And we still have a bag of candy to get through. Thank goodness I threw myself on the last of the bacon; however, there is still a goodly chunk of Swiss cheese, and smallish hunks of other cheeses. I could be in a pickle.


I haven’t been out shooting for a while, so you have to deal with a used photo. Meaning? You get to pick. Maybe we should talk about aesthetic principles, too.

My parents were political people; I guess that’s where I got it. I still have a Goldwater pin, from the ’64 election. I remember a lot about that campaign (parts of it appealed to my 11-year-old brain!). I’m sure my parents are rolling in their graves about my political views, if there’s anything left to care. (Among so many other things to roll about!)

I’ve been working at the Democratic headquarters doing the phone bank thing. A discussion of early voting came up, and why it was awesome, la di dah. I said that I always go to the polls on election day, because when I was a kid the local polling place was in the gym at my grade school, and at least once, but I think twice, I was running around like a deranged little kid and my dad came in all dressed nice on his way to work, and I ran up to see him and give him a big hug.

It was a weird thing to pop up in my brain; I’d forgotten all about it. I wonder if they realized how much I got from them. Hm.


All fallen down, now. (Speaking of things gotten from them.)

I’ve been thinking lately – or feeling, I guess; happy.

Daughter unloaded the dishwasher yesterday, without a reminder. My baby is growing up!

And we have conversations; about which version of MacBeth to watch, and why is it that “Richard III” with Ian McKellan goes for $25 used?!? And all the critical theory, and discussions of actors’ interpretations. And “let’s try this.”

It’s different than it used to be. But then again, so am I. And so is Daughter.


Tree, yesterday morning, before work.

Unca Bri, Mark and I drove out across North Dakota in the dead of February to see a total eclipse.

We didn’t get as far west as we needed to, to see totality, but we got the diamond ring. The shadows the weeds cast in snow were crescent shaped. My dog, the first one, Joe, freaked out and locked the car doors. Mark talked us into watching WKRP that night for the first time. It was the turkey episode.

The night I came home from Brian’s funeral, the fog was so thick that I pulled into a motel to spend the night. I turned on the tv, and there it was again.

Tonight I’m blowing up set of headphones, listening to Abbey Road, and thinking maybe I’m spending too much time in the past.

“Boy, you’re gonna carry that weight…”

It is so happy. I’m taking a MOOC – massive online something something. (Hmm, I used to know all the words. Hmm.) A Coursera class on Soren Kierkegaard, which starts with a huge discussion on Socrates, and then Hegel. My brain is soooo grateful.

Which I hope means I will be able to remember things for more than .3 seconds. I also worked really really hard and figured out how to read the charts on The Aeolian Shawl, which is actually done except for the cast-off and blocking. I wonder why I haven’t worked on it today? Washing dishes just isn’t all THAT important.

I’m also working on gloves, the directions for which were difficult a few months ago, and are now indecipherable – at least in their present form. When I calm down and re-write things, I do pretty well.

All my most recent photos are on the other camera, from which I am not yet able to download, I think. So you get bad pictures of my birthday cake instead.


It was that lurid. It was also a Duff’s cake mix. I don’t recommend, really; all sweet, no flavor. We had purple and orange sprinkles though, which made it better.

“Beepbeep m beepbeep YEAH!” (I kind of broke our agreed-upon etiquette, and sang along to most of the album with my headphones on.) It’s a 2009 remix. There are chords and chord progressions that I have never heard before. But! I admit there’s a rebalancing in one or two places that I don’t like, and they cut that first chord from “I’m looking through you.” It was a little like when an elevator drops an inch or two. Overall, I love it.

I found this poster on Facebook;


And I realized it could all be expressed in formulas.

People (hurt) = Hurt people

Anger is a negative. But if the next factor is a positive (smile), you get a positive effect.

“Forgive and forget about finding fault” just means multiply that negative stuff by nothing. Anything times zero is zero. Poof! It’s gone.

And just like algebra, this shit is hard. But you need it to graduate/get on with your life.

And so ends your homily for the day.

Because Bach.

I’m just a silly person, but to me listening to Casals, it’s like he worships Bach and puts him up on a pedestal. And Rostropovich takes the music out for drinking and dancing and wild sex. This guy, it’s more an earth-bound spiritual thing, I think. Sometimes the music feels like gentle rain.

I promise that someday I’ll listen to Yo Yo Ma doing this.


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