. Spinning .

It’s turning into a day of questions, questioning myself and my intentions.  Wondering if the time is still being wasted in the wrong directions and if a half century of screwing around is not to be put behind me but instead, sorted through to glean what little there is of the best.  To focus on reality instead of dreams and wishes.  To learn more, yes, and to improve, but not to go walk on sacred ground without a halo in my hand. 

Writing has always been a desire, and maybe even a small talent.  But if the biblical God has handed out just ten, is this among them?  What do I do best that needs the concentration, time and money more?  I’ve loved numbers just as books, and despite the rusty cogs within my brain, there is an aptitude I can’t deny.  I listen well and play the devil’s advocate; is this a calling to position as an arbiter for peace?  I manage things, I organize; a counselor of sorts?  Loyal; join the service?  Fight on principle: join again? 

We all have talents, we all have stories, we all have dreams.  How many morning moons do you need hear about?  It’s time, I think, to reflect and choose with wisdom and self-knowledge, and put away the toys that tinker with our minds while time ticks by.

Oh my! 

The moon grew full to bursting in shattering sparks that fall to earth!

Ah, and let them all come in; the dancing devils in my life–Adobe Illustrator now and Image Ready.  Beelzebub himself lurks in the corners in disguise as Macromedia while all the urchin editors of words scratch at each others’ eyes to be the favored prince.

Now why would youth so think it odd that someone old would walk in all new lands of danger, and I hestitate a bit, wondering at the wisdom of my journey.  But no, the wickedness of life experience is backpacked on, and tricks and magic up my sleeve will see me through.

For the end is just a beginning of the next life plot in the structure, and the points of conflict all resolved add up to win the game.

See! See!  The moon is there, it was always there; at least for all the years I’ve been here.  Or was it?

I can’t think that I’m that unaware, or worse, forgetful.  I think it may have just started visiting this week.  Today in fact, it snuck into my space a little bit earlier, and maybe if I go out in a while it will have left.

I like it, though; it’s pale fluorescence lights up the whole backyard.  A giant football field all ready for a championship night game, and I alone to play the part of all the spectators–for no one else seems to know just what is going on.  The neighborhood is dark, my kitchen light the only one.  The only window sending beams to match the moon’s across the snow.  Goodness, maybe, do you think–could it be from a castle’s turret (it’s high up in the sky) or a gentlemen farmer’s silly spotlight seeking safety from the country night?

I’ll sneak upon it later, catch it shining still, I hope.  For now that I have found it, it is mine to play with for a while.

What’s the danger of the snow–aside from slickly greasing smooth black rubber into skids and snowbanks?  Caution rules the day, experience alone should tell us that.

But snow can damage more by hiding all it covers in its soft white self.  It makes the gutted gardens sparkle with its bloom, turns garbage piled on sidewalks into mounds of lemon ice, and lies about the old men in the doorways fast asleep.

How strange, that I don’t remember seeing it before.  Full moon to the west just over the tree line horizon of my yard.  Mornings born of winter, summer, autumn and the spring, I’ve been there always, almost every day and yet I don’t remember noticing–how could you not?–an orange yellow ball sewn on the velvet black of still night-colored morning.

It is lovely, glancing off the landscaped snow and so, I blink my shuttered eye to save its image.

What a neat day today; reading, writing, playing with computer paintboxes and playing games.

Yes, I milked the "I don’t feel good" thing to the hilt–never even got dressed this morning.  There’s something about sitting around all day in a bathrobe that makes you feel sick but pampered.  A neighbor was nice enough to plow our driveway since it was drifted in and Jim was waiting for the wind to die down before he could use the snowblower.  The plowing at least gave him a starting point, and he was able to clear out the whole driveway and a path to the barn–my shop.

I’m getting a bit more used to Adobe Illustrator, and have created about a dozen different banners at least.  Just can’t decide which ones I like best, and there’s still so much to play with that I may just change them every month.  On a class work weblog, I started out very prim and proper with a dark green leather look and gold lettering, then went crazy with mezzotints and that wonderful liquify tool.  Ended up leaving it sort of marbelized, but do want to go back to the leather grain look if I can do it again (I deleted it or liquified it somewhere along the way).

Got my little schoolbag packed for tomorrow night’s first class.  It’s going to be tough going out two nights in a row for three-hour long classes, but I’ll just have to adjust my internal clock so I don’t zonk out, especially in the history class which is pretty much strictly lecture.  At least in creative writing I’m allowed to talk.

Ahh, dinner’s almost ready, a hot homemade beef soup that I sort of threw together from whatever was in the fridge plus some soup shank, and chili powder…the house reeks of chili powder because I sneezed just as I was about to shake some in and the top came off.  Two days ago, the house smelled wonderfully of curry and ginger. 

New media technology really must come up with layers of aroma and then, while it will well beat out visuals, text, and audio artforms, it will have come closest to that necessary comfort of simmering soup.