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Today's unexpected irony: this morning I happily collected the quote below, felt inspired, wrote an intro, set my timer and promptly got called away by duty and tasks.
My mind minions kept attempting to get my attention to write and my taskety task master's kept me focused on whatever was right in front of me. This isn't necessarily a bad thing, just a part
Here it is, a full eight hours and lots of activities later and I am about to write.
“If we see an object as a 'bowl,' it may inhibit seeing it as 'craft,' just as seeing it as 'craft' might inhibit seeing it as 'art.' See first; name later.”
It’s been a long time since I allowed myself the simple luxury of sitting at my table on a Saturday morning, writing. “Too much to do on Saturdays!” I would oft lament, rushing around, my hair flying behind me obviously electrified by my stress thoughts of “too much.”
This morning I listen to a dog barking in a far-away back yard. I hear flies buzzing in the sea of fallen mulberries and the sprinklers droplets, attempting to tame – something.
I’m reminded of Darby Bannard’s words “If we see an object as a 'bowl,' it may inhibit seeing it as 'craft,' just as seeing it as 'craft' might inhibit seeing it as 'art.' See first; name later.”
Saturday morning: what do I see, hear, smell, feel, taste, touch, feel emotionally?
Set the timer for 5 minutes and… go.
(Eight hours later, I write...)
Right outside my front door. Purple splotches in concrete, an annual celebration of life and this year, the most purple splotches I have ever seen in the last twenty-six years. It is a splotch factory yet slightly cleaner and less buzzing with flies than earlier today.
I’ve been taking care to not infuriate whatever is left of the good nature of my neighbors who abhor my mulberry tree who is finally, this year, weeping as she is meant to weep. Her limbs sweep to the soil, the grass there the greenest of my lawn.
Mulberries are a super food and their juices replenish the tired clay that would be desert was it not for our relentless domestication and insistence we make our yard look like a yard in a more gentle climate.
Lavender, her purple compatriot, thrives against my neighbor’s driveway. I think maybe it is time to move some of that into the backyard. It is a haven for bees and we need to treasure and feed and love our bee population.
Rosemary, my favorite. My homage to Martha Stewart.
I realize I have named everything. I haven’t listened fully to the directions or perhaps it just isn’t deep enough.
There are more five minute segments left in which to “do it right” with my writing.
I remind myself, “There is no right or wrong, there is simply and purely moving my fingers on the keyboard as I am doing now. When I do this, all becomes nearly instantly right with the world no matter what circumstances attempt to tell me differently.
Applause. Job well done.
This online timer is my biggest fan. When I get one that includes a standing ovation pop up emoji, I will have truly arrived.