A mini-post, while I prepare for launch
Hello, and thank you for starting out on this new adventure with me. While I’m writing and preparing for the upcoming launch of Stirred, Not Shaken, I will post a few excerpts and snapshots to give you some idea of what you will find here.
While both writing and reading are traditionally solitary activities, I am truly looking forward to sharing my work more directly with others. And I very much hope to hear directly from you. As I get used to the discipline of adhering to a writing schedule (what’s that?) and learning this new platform, I’ll be sending out a few pre-launch posts to work out some of the kinks.
And Thank You, to the creators and administrators at Substack for making this opportunity possible.
Below is a poem I wrote in June 2020 after a long night of subjecting myself to hours of engagements with multiple apps on my (tele)phone. An endeavor that left me with a sinking feeling and strong suspicion that humanity was a terrible experiment gone wrong; a disappointment to the entire galaxy. That was not the first evening I had spent scrolling and tumbling down the murky snake pit of despair. And after a handful of these self-administered bubble baths, soaking in “The News,” one begins to question the value of doing anything remotely optimistic, such as planting dahlia bulbs or scheduling your next teeth cleaning. Honestly, why bother?
The next morning, I decided to log on to real life. You know, the one happening all around you every minute of the day? The one that’s (mostly) free to enjoy? There’s a wonderful Annie Dillard quote that I won’t be able to recall correctly, but it’s something to the effect of: we exist on earth in order to notice and acknowledge the world around us. She was much more eloquent than that, of course. Another one of her quotes that I do recall is, “Spend the afternoon, you can’t take it with you.”
Thank you, Annie. I shall do so.
Waxed Wing
There's nothing to be done about the rest of the world, but this morning, on a redcedar branch, four masked waxwings landed and glanced my way. That was all, and that was enough.
Cherry Blossom, Seattle, WA