. Spinning .

Morning brings its ambience, slowly creeping in with sunlit smiles on lawns and bushes.  Trees whose leaves had held the light in a million green cups all summer must let it sift through branches that hid themselves in dull grey background for the time and space of season.  Glorious now in greyness that becomes the center stage, playing with the light to make it fall in moving patterns on their bodies.

"For every thing, there is a season."

With my most recent brush with the facts of life–time uncommitted is approximately equal to but opposite in result to time committed elsewhere (as evidenced by my reluctant donation of time to the study of statistics), comes other realities:  Sometimes when you think you’re spending quality time in the effort of a production, you may be fooled by enthusiasm into believing the finished product is as well a quality item.

Looking back on a project created recently in which I learned, played, and thoroughly enjoyed what I was doing, I find now that in truth, it sucks big time.  The experience was a learning process, but much of what was learned was not being applied because of the parallel learning space.  Much previous knowledge was also never recalled into action because of the delight in the new. 

But it is the process, after all, that is of the utmost importance in the doing.  What seems hokey as hell, unpolished, primitive, was in fact sophisticated to what I personally may have produced prior.  Learning beyond, without the scattergun effect of learn as you go, would better meld the quality of all the elements together to make a more expressive and streamlined whole.

So maybe stats is not the only space that requires a more focused and dedicated organization of the knowledge, but need be applied more carefully to new media efforts as well.  Although it is true, I know, that it is far easier to run wildly ahead in this area than through the numbers field.

Another year behind me–how many more ahead to lure with the unknown, the undiscovered yet, the could be’s and the maybe’s?

When faced with decades, years, months or even hours, do we plan or do we blindly run the rut right through them to the fork?  Planning, yes, but I find all the hiddens and the one great omigosh!, the unthinkable that happens, good or bad, to be the reason still to wander onward to the end.  Life is discrete, it’s true, but never thought to be.  Life should remain a serialized version of itself, can end at any point, yet be revived with twists to last another episode or so.

Just thought some words of wisdom (or nonsense, they may be) should be forthcoming on the day after.

Good enough day today; sunshine-warmed crisp autumn air to clear the mind of dreary rainy thoughts and moods of moonlight-streaked black woods.

Going forward, look behind at where I’ve been and up ahead the path still goes forever twisting deeper into places where I’ve never been before, enticing pyrite strewn among the pebbles made of mica, talc and garnet metamorphically arranged in solid sand.

We have the choices where but not the when sometimes.  The whens go by before we’ve read the signs.  We cannot doubleback but up ahead is surely once again a crossroad where we find the way to walk the one of many we have passed by in the past.

Decision is but choice, and choice, decision.

Is it honesty, or simple lack of maturity and control that makes it impossible to cover up one’s bad humour? 

My mother often quoted to me this poem–I thought it had a special meaning for her, but upon reflection, see that the special meaning of it for her, was me:

"There was a little girl, who had a little curl,

right in the middle of her forehead.

And when she was good, she was very, very good. 

And when she was bad, she was horrid."

Not my usual upbeat bouncy self today.  This is complete sarcasm, since anyone who knows me or has crossed my path has surely seen that morose to morbidly depressed is more my normal style.  Always has been, but I’ve still hope to pass it off as being "deep."

We are going to a birthday party tonight, in Southwick, MA for one of our close friends within a group.  Our best friend who has lost his wife and just undergone bypass surgery last month will be there–with another of our group, a female who is in the midst of a three-year divorce, we think. 

But I don’t think that I can handle it.  Not the seeing him with someone else–his wife and I and he discussed it easily before she died, and I know she wanted him to have another love in his life someday, and I agree. 

But I also know other things, and that’s what’s bothering me. Things that make me not too happy on this pairing up.  There’s nothing I would do or say, because it’s not my place; except when asked, and then I’m tactfully honest as I dare be.

Or maybe it’s just a jealousy, or strong maternal instinct that’s never really wanted children yet is foisted on the unsuspecting fully grown adult.  I’m trying here, to be as honest with myself before my honesty with others can be considered.  I know me well, and know I tend to dramatize.

So it is all of that, and me just clinging to the past, and never being in a party mood.

Above  me, Edgar nods.

I had this fantasy the other day–no months, to tell the truth and honesty is what it’s all about–to save the world beyond the me, though trickle down effects would serve my ass as well. To put the mind above the heart–the heart, of course, so sorely pumped of blood to feed emotion in more important times and places. Magnanimous, and yet self-serving in the end, but planned to choose with strategy that benefited all, or so I could believe.

But now my careful study, all the time and squeezing of the facts to get to leave the bone to pick, so pure and white and clean. It’s all just an experience when all around are going through, deciding in their own fair way–or not–but strategies I thought would overcome. A plan that will not be, not see the testing of its theory, right or wrong.

And now, a new plan must be made to live within the choice of those who would not choose with me.

Very interesting lesson learned today; learning lessons from learning lessons.

Frustrating; to learn something that would have made something easier, better, more efficient, better structured, but learning it a day or two after a decision has been made, a project completed.

On the other hand, the lesson learned is then presented as an answer to a question already presented in one’s life. How much clearer then it is to comprehend it. Too often, things and ways and ideas are learned in an atmosphere of learning; with luck, recalled and implemented when its time is due. But the excitement isn’t there so much as when it is offered as a solution, can be related to and understood as “next time, I’ll use this better way.”

Should have worn the clogs; they’d have made me taller, yes, but more, they’d have added needed weight on this wondrous windy day that makes the flags sing in patriotic glory of democracy. The tribe has spoken, so to speak, for better or worse, and the day just passes via wind the news across the countryside.

And jacket; what made me think a blouse and sweater (large knit cable full of holes) would keep the wind from battering the body, though the mind is open to the thoughts and sounds and all the rest it brings. Yet natural as the procrastinating nature of the soul to find the bags of hand-me-downs from latest niece’s visit home, still soundly stashed as winter weight within the way-back of my car.

Aha, the plaid flannel shirts are there–they know me well–though some are buttoned wrongly for a girl. It doesn’t matter though, I’ve worn those of my nephews, husband, brother-in-law, old boyfriends (saved for just the scent that lingers to refresh the mind), and then of late, my father’s clothes as well.

I pull out denim shirt that matches closely to my jeans, put it on and face the wind with straight faced, clear-eyed vision. And, of course, with warmth.