Getting Rid of Stuff - Part One: The Rubber Mallet



We all have stuff; fonts, rubber mallets, digital images, cardboard boxes, emails, plastic tubs and even tubes, office clips and the like.  All the objects that supposedly streamline life but instead make it complicated.  

Take, for instance, the fonts on our computers that are meant to make life easy by giving endless choices when composing a text document.  I will never use the Bodoni 72 Oldstyle font.  I don’t like the way the font name sounds.  Then it takes a good fifteen minutes to remember what I need to do so that the font is gone, for good.  There is a refreshing calm that covers me when I imagine life with a short font list and no scrolling requirement.  All that blank space on the tail of the pull down font list seems dreamy.

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Maybe the Goose is in the Wind


The sopping, swollen wind is a constant drive today, heated from the friction of its own movement.  Although it does not belong in the seasonal cold, I am grateful for its balmy feel, and then reminded of months to come when it will bite notches from my skin, unless I escape, migrate or beam up.

Have you ever seen a predatory flock or group of animals keep watch over an injured animal or something that does not belong ( weak or injured animals are cast out as not belonging)? I remember finding a Canadian goose on the beach one day last winter. 

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Blog, Flog and Log

“BlogHer.”  That is catchy.  My mind immediately jumps to “FlogHer,” “LogHer,” and “BangHer.”

Today in AdAge there was a report on the BlogHer Conference in New York.

Billed for the “tech-savvy” woman, it had “record attendance.” 

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Spiders OK, Centipedes Not OK

I have spent some time cleaning out a garage.  Nothing like a boatload of spiders hiding under their individual leaves.  As long as there are no damn centipedes.  At least spiders make a failry predictable path, unlike the centipede, whose movements are like the Queen on a chess board, only in quadruple fast forward speed.

Centipedes look different at night.  See that stout, cigar shaped lint over there?  Boo! It is really a centipede

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A Thank You Note to the Lurking Cowards

Dear Strangers With All Those Fun Names You Use When You Comment,

I need to thank you.  You have helped me, and countless others.   I honestly don’t know what people like me would do without your keen observations and flawless delivery.  Who needs the History Channel anyway?

Since you all spend so much time on newspaper websites loafing and loitering, no doubt you will find this during one of your “sessions” online.  And yes, I think mouth breathing is cute!

You must all be super at time management too.  I admire that.  Maybe you multitask and ‘surf the web’ while you are working, or while the kids or grandkids are splashing in the tub.

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Seven Curtains to the Moon with Distraction Flow

After my heretoforementionednocommentspityparty, I woke up with some positives yesterday.  Firstly, a fabulous individual would like to commission a painting; secondly I sold a book on Amazon.  Now I can’t find the book but this still counts as a positive.  And it sold for more than the cost new.  Granted I have eleven dollars to my name right now.  Oh wait, I think today is February 2nd!

Feeling a tad fierce, I decided to write down everything I did yesterday in a spiral bound notebook.  Have you ever done this?  For me I really don’t know what I do on a given day.  Now I don’t know if I am this productive every day, or if by writing it down I was guided by my version of monitoring. 

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To Paint in Chocolate

I am remembering buying the shades and tones of brown I need right now to satisfy this paint urge. The fact was told in foldable font on soft metal tubes saying things like “sienna” (but not the beautiful, romantic town in Italy), burnt umber and the like. I can picture them in my mind. If you knew my mind, you would know that any visualization is, for me, an event of unparalleled significance, close to giving birth. Therefore what I picture must be true, especially under the circumstance of such deficit.

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Winged Rabbit by Lucy Johnson





Once there  lived a little rabbit who wanted wings so he could fly.

His mother said he was too young so he went to a wishing well.

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