To my husband’s credit, he is mostly a glass is half full kind of guy. On occasions defined by good and bad moments, he’s more likely to remember the highs, provided he was unaffected by the lows. I’m the inverse. My pessimism is a poorly crafted defense mechanism to shield me from disappointment. According to this book, both of us are delusional if we believe our memories are accurate. I prefer to imagine that our contrast serve as ballast for one another, though I benefit more than he does.

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There are people on the periphery of our lives whom we seldom spend time with outside the context of milestone occasions. Weddings. Funerals. Births. Surgeries. Graduations. In relationships like these, happy events are often flanked by sad counterparts. Meet at a wedding then a year later at a wake.

After meeting two years ago to celebrate the nuptials of mutual family, we were reacquainted to celebrate a graduation. It was nice celebrating two happy events in succession.

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I don’t know if good and bad exist in equilibrium, but I know there will always be both. How we deal with each shapes us.

Last week’s word was Act Media is pen &ink with marker accents.

My Better Half’s job allows significant down time in between tasks, and hours away from home so he reads as many as fifty books a year. I’m too involved in other meaningless task to devote that much time to reading, but this year my appetite for the written word has been insatiable… relatively speaking.

When I pick up a book, I feel obligated to finish it even if it takes months. While life is too short to read uninteresting titles, I am compelled to complete novels so that I don’t feel guilty about being critical. I question the fairness in critiquing that which is unexplored within its complete context. Guilt may not manipulate me in many circumstances, but it does compel me to complete a book.

I found some interesting links this week:

If you are curious about reading preferences based on geography, check out this link which lists 2011 book rankings based on city.

If you have ever been mesmerized by To Kill a Mockingbird or the enigmatic Harper Lee, this link might be interesting.

Rhododendron

Pink Lady’s Slipper

Yellow Trillium

Jack-in-the-pulpit

Flame Azalea

Mountain Laurel

Maybe annual is an exageration, but we visit the Smokies with such regularity, I can recite a twelve year timeline of the leasing history of many commercial properties in this tourist trap where we are lodging.

So far, I have seen one mullet (and I am not refering to fish) but we have five days left so I anticipate more.

Bread Tie
Pen & Ink with Colored Pencil

There are moments I wish I carried a photo album in my pocket, documenting how time passes around me. I dislike verbalizing my activities and seem incapable of doing so in any meaningful way. People ask because they are polite or genuinely interested, but I always feel unnecessarily defensive like I’ve been called to the witness stand to defend my time management skills or the worse the gift of leisure. I know how I spent my time, but I lack the verbal embellishments to portray it in any other light than a person who is dreadfully dull. First world problems, presententing oneself as a cliché other than the cliché that accurately represents who you you are.

I killed ninety minutes wandering around downtown today, visiting my favorite public spaces and losing myself in the moment. I should do this more often.

This week’s Poetry Friday word, bite is more pleasant:

Pen & ink with marker

It’s no secret, I can be a grouch where children are concerned. I like the way they think and explore, but they make my brain tired with their endless questions, and demands for explanations over the simplest requests. I prefer authoritarian relationships in which subordinates do as they are told. Genetic survival instinct, however, implores kids to ask why and question authority. If we never asked ourselves why, I would be looking for berries, and overnighting in a cave wearing a loincloth and Poetry Friday would be the least of concerns. Luckily for mankind, kids do not conform to my utopian ideals.

One of the most awesome things about children, is their pursuit of knowledge when faced with a world both overwhelming and dreadfully unfair. Each day they approach all life offers like pimply-faced ingenues, mouths agape in the spirit of wonder. Absorbing their experiences vicariously, gives us the opportunity to experience the world, without malice, prejudice, or despondence, invigorating ordinary moments with fascination.

As there are no children to be found in my home, there are four-legged boarders that have redirected the way I see the mundaneness of domestic life.

For example:

The vacuum cleaner is a frightening appliance with no useful purpose other than evacuating all pets from the home during an emergency.

The coffee maker’s last puff of steam is a god-like apparition requesting an overwhelming howl in response.

Riding through the car wash might seem like an invigorating new experience, but it is really just a test of the strength of your dog’s bowels.

Napkins are most enjoyable when shredded into tiny bits.

The automatic feeder rules over all daily activities.

The kitchen floor is composed of a delicate material which may only be properly cleaned using ones tongue.

This week’s inspiration reminded of one of last year’s thunder storms. I wasn’t aware of any weather alerts, but the wind was absolutely howling and the hardwoods were swaying like limp blades of grass. Being alone didn’t alarm me, but being faced with finding clothes and locating pets should a tree crash through bedroom ceiling prevented sleep.

I gathered clothes, cellphone, laptop, and a sleeping bag and retreated to the basement. Not wanting to waste precious battery power,I slipped a glow in the dark bracelet around my wrist. It gave off enough ambient light to move around safely, and locate the cats.

The resulting storm moderately trashed our yard with limbs and debris, and my neighborhood was partially blocked off by trees a minor inconvenience compared to what other communities endured.

words glowing like embers
casually dissipating into
the atmosphere if only
someone were willing
to listen they would
not be condemned to
phosphorescent memory
in the mind of the speaker