Schmutzie.com

The Bog at the End of the World

schmutzie@gmail.com (Schmutzie) — Wed, 08 Jul 2009 13:39:00 PDT

I left the rented cabin in a borrowed car.
Every interaction was an entreaty to behave accordingly,
and I could feel myself going mad.
That morning, a chunk of hair had fallen out at my temple.

I packed and made excuses
and stopped at all my favourite spots on the way out of town:
the breakwater from which I was never brave enough to dive,
the small square of knotted tree roots
where I sat to watch the birds freewheel in a secluded inlet,
the glacial chunk of rock that park employees had greased over
to keep kids from climbing.

I did it once,
despite broken fingernails, a bloodied knee, and stained clothing.
I still grit my teeth remembering the sound of my nails on that stone.
I stood on top, fists on hips, expecting my relatives to see,
but my eyes followed their backs disappearing around a pine.

I drove out down the old highway,
the one my father's parents drove in on when he was a kid,
and ignored the fear of surprise elk and the claustrophobic proximity of the trees,
until a sharp twist in the road took me
to the only place I've ever been sure that I'll die right there every time.

I stopped the car and stood next to the front tire,
listening to the engine parts click in the heat,
and lit a cigarette.
This place would never have me for more than a couple of minutes,
so I sopped up what I could, trying to breathe in the heady marsh
while I slapped flies away from my calves.

That was when I caught sight of a the moose staring at me.
He was at a distance, but I could feel his bullet-hole eyes
casing me from just back of some bullrushes
that were all busted open and shedding their stuffing.
I waited for my heart to stop right then.
There was no point to another breath.

His indifference to me, the marsh's indifference to either of us,
the whole damn void of a nature so full of everything
but heartless enough to steal my breath,
took me away from myself,
and my soul felt sharp as steel.
There was no point to any other thing.

I breathed deep the heavy breeze,
while the moose stared and stared,
until the heat from the car burned my feet
and I remembered the keys.

(This poem was originally published at Schmoetry.)

Me at MamaPop: The Top Five Things I Didn't Care About This Week

schmutzie@gmail.com (Schmutzie) — Wed, 08 Jul 2009 10:49:00 PDT

I wrote "The Top Five Things I Didn't Care About This Week" at MamaPop, because nipples are more common than elbows.

Insanity And Head Holes

schmutzie@gmail.com (Schmutzie) — Tue, 07 Jul 2009 19:40:00 PDT

You people knocked my socks off yesterday. WOW. Also, you were all insane when you were children. Obsessive paranoiacs, the lot of you.

(Shhh. I like to make it sound like I'm pointing my finger at all of you, but I was tapping out things in groups of four, thought I was an alien whose mother was from Venus, and had the sneaking suspicion that the god everyone was praying to at church was a fake one drawing our attention away from the real one, who must have been very sad about being forgotten for so long.)

Anyway, you all made me feel super fantastic and gave me no end of entertainment. I'm thinking that I should ask you about yourselves on a regular basis. You people kill me.

Do you want to know who doesn't feel so good, though? Or, at least he wouldn't feel so good if he were smart like people?

The animal in this picture:

I know that the dog is kind of hard to see in that picture, but he was obviously pretty big and was barking his head off at us even though we were at least fifty feet away. I tried to walk in for a closer shot, but I just couldn't make myself do it. I'm not too crazy about huge, angry dogs with big teeth that bark and spray their saliva all over fences. It's kind of unnerving.

I don't care that his owners had a sense of humour and surrounded his head hole in the fence with giant flower petals. That dog scared the bejeezus out of me.

Here's a close-up of our barky flower dog:

Hey, it just struck me that the fence had a HEAD HOLE. Since when do people give their large and terrifying attack beasts head holes? Maybe the garbagemen on their route are in need of intimidating and are also scared of oversized flowers.

Oh, noes! It's the killer flower dog! Run!

Grace in Small Things: Part 226 of 365

schmutzie@gmail.com (Schmutzie) — Mon, 06 Jul 2009 21:27:00 PDT

1. My new yellow ukulele

2. Large marbles, also known as "boulders"

3. Forgetting I was in public and finding myself composing "Ukulele of Love" out loud while I was walking down the street

4. Siam

5. Bizarre childhood beliefs

Wage a battle against embitterment and take part in Grace in Small Things.

I Want YOU (to leave a comment on this entry specifically, because I am ever the curious one)

schmutzie@gmail.com (Schmutzie) — Mon, 06 Jul 2009 07:32:00 PDT

A short while ago, Notquiteawake, in a bid to see how many actual readers she had, asked everyone to answer a few simple questions in the comments, which gave me an idea.

I have one of those fancy schmancy counters that tells me things like that 38.2% of you have your screen resolution set at 1280x1024 or that 0.25% of you are from Finland, but I'd like to see all your shiny faces for once, because what my counter doesn't tell me is who you are. Hello, person from North Carolina who apparently stayed on this site for 17 hours, 2 minutes, and 50 seconds! Say hi back! Do you like cats? I like cats, too! Let's go get a sody pop together.

So, here's what I want you to do:

1) If you are already actually on this website, AWESOME, and if you are reading this is in a feedreader, click on this entry's title and come on over. We'll wait, because you're cool.

2) Answer the following three questions in the comments section:
   a) What is your website url?
   b) Where are you from in real life?
   c) What strange belief/idea did you have as a child?

I'll even leave the first comment, because I am a setter of good examples.

See? It's easy, and now I can go and visit your websites ~~and roll around naked in my, for once, overstuffed comments section~~. I'm curious about who you all are.

----------------------------

PS. I totally won't roll around naked in my comments section. To do that, I'd have to print out all the comments, and we haven't had any printer ink around these parts in at least five years.

PPS. I just realized that I could leave a picture of my naked boobs in the comments section in lieu of actually rolling around naked, but I generally keep those puppies to myself, and I have family members who may not want to be smacked in the face with my awesome rack.

PPPS. No, even if you are not family, I will not smack you in the face with my awesome rack. This is not that kind of website.

Me at MamaPop: Heidi Montag and Spencer Pratt Make a Mockery of Doing Stuff

schmutzie@gmail.com (Schmutzie) — Mon, 06 Jul 2009 07:10:00 PDT

Read "Heidi Montag and Spencer Pratt Make a Mockery of Doing Stuff", in which I used the word pestiferousness.

Grace in Small Things: Part 225 of 365

schmutzie@gmail.com (Schmutzie) — Sun, 05 Jul 2009 20:51:00 PDT

1. The Palinode's baby fresh face after a shave

2. Cleaning out the refrigerator

3. Having the ridiculous dream that I was a world-famous maker of ukulele shoulder straps

4. A call from a friend at just the right moment

5. The feeling of sweat trickling down the small of my back in the hot sun

Wage a battle against embitterment and take part in Grace in Small Things.

I Almost Bought A Ukulele

schmutzie@gmail.com (Schmutzie) — Sun, 05 Jul 2009 09:48:00 PDT

Sometime after midnight last night, my brain became stuck in this round of ukulele-centric thoughts. It was ukuklele, ukulele, ukulele for about two hours straight.

I am not sure what brought it on. It might be the Paliinode's talk of banjos lately that got me thinking about my own experience with stringed instruments, or maybe it was some masochistic drive to peer back in on the overarching suburban malaise that coloured my elementary school years. Whatever it was, I remembered that we took ukulele in grade four music class, and I secretly wanted one for my very own with a hardshell case and a guitar pick.

Every kid in elementary school learned to play the ukulele, which makes me think that I wasn't giving my drippy music teacher enough credit at the time. Anybody that can stand to listen to 32 nine-year-olds weakly strumming "Octopus's Garden" on 32 barely tuned ukuleles for months on end has found the good drugs.

We also played "Country Roads", "This Land Is Your Land", and "Delta Dawn", but we managed to devolve the lyrics of those songs into tasteless shadows of their former selves. Someone had picked up some dirty lyrics to "Delta Dawn" that only the most corrupted among us understood, but still we snickered while we sang the part about a porcelain penis with our heads ducked below our music stands. We all knew what penis meant, and that shit was high comedy.

Just as nearly anything can be, given the right twist, I figured that the ukulele could be cool. I actually really like them: they're nice and portable, they're not that expensive, and it could be another creative outlet for me. I have ways to get out my written, visual, and crafty creativities, but not my musical side, and the ukulele is quiet enough to keep the neighbours from registering complaints with the landlord.

Last night, after I'd mentioned the ukulele several times in a row in the tone of an infatuated 14-year-old, the Palinode asked me, "What would you do with a ukulele?" I said, "I would write haunting yet beautiful works."

Even though I am close to dead broke, am recently unemployed, and have to wrangle the trickling stream of income I once wrung out of my recently borked iBook — (Apple? Think sponsorship. Let's talk.) — I found myself cruising through eBay and found a couple of pretty dashing and cheap-as-borscht ukuleles to dream about.

The first is the spashy Kala Makala Red Sparkle soprano ukulele:

And the second is the sweet Kala Makala Blue Burst:

Yep. I headed straight for the sparkles and the fancy paint job numbers, because when you dream, you should dream big, people.

My first musical composition, once I've crocheted my way into building up a ukulele fund, is going to be an ode to a cat what sticks his feet on his owner's eyelids at 6:00 a.m. on a Sunday and then completely ignores her when she opens her eyes. It will be called "Ode to a Bastard Cat, Son of a Homeless Whore".

Grace in Small Things: Part 224 of 365

schmutzie@gmail.com (Schmutzie) — Sat, 04 Jul 2009 22:44:00 PDT

1. Buffalo burgers

2. Watching The Jerk with the Palinode

3. Relaxation through the crocheting of dish scrubbers

4. Ukuleles

5. Sad songs

Wage a battle against embitterment and take part in Grace in Small Things.

Grace in Small Things: Part 223 of 365

schmutzie@gmail.com (Schmutzie) — Fri, 03 Jul 2009 21:48:00 PDT

1. Giving the Palinode just-because presents

2. The kind of bubble wrap with the over-sized bubbles

3. Hydrometers

4. Cake batter

5. T-shirts and jeans

Wage a battle against embitterment and take part in Grace in Small Things.

Refined

schmutzie@gmail.com (Schmutzie) — Fri, 03 Jul 2009 10:32:00 PDT

The days are long and the years are short.
— from "Long Days" at Isa, Leukemia, Life

I have been thinking lately about how our life was at this time in 2007. The Palinode had a severely herniated disk between his L4 and L5, was relying on Dilaudid just to roll out of bed in the morning, and stood bent at a right angle, his upper body perpendicular to the ground, when he walked. He leaned heavily on a cheap cane we picked up at a drug store.

A few months earlier, I had been diagnosed with cervical cancer, and I had a total laparoscopic hysterectomy on July 3rd. I can't be certain, but I'm sure they used a MixMaster in there, because I spent weeks and weeks in pain that double-dosing ibuprofen and codeine could barely touch.

Our bed was moved into the living room so that we could both walk a straight line to the bathroom and take in the summer sun through the bay window. I regularly joked that we lived like we were 85 but secretly found our state of affairs pathetic and unreasonable.

The memory that keeps coming back to me is of me standing in the kitchen and reaching for a glass in the cupboard. The Palinode was thirsty but too bent to be able to reach it for himself, despite their being kept on the first shelf. I stood there for several minutes, shielding my tears from his line of vision with a cupboard door.

I hated that he could not reach the cups. I hated that it hurt me to get one for him. I hated seeing the pained grimace that had become a more and more permanent fixture on his face. I hated that the visibility of his injury meant that it was the only thing anybody every talked to me about anymore when they weren't asking about my cancer. I wanted to be able to make the Palinode straight and strong again. I wanted to be able to take a crap without screaming for Jesus. I wanted to smooth the furrows from his brow and be able to hold him without making him wince. I wanted the first things I reached for in my bedside table not to be surgical tape and morphine derivatives.

I look at us now two years later, and I am amazed at how things have changed. I knew then that our respective conditions were not permanent and that we would once again live like the thirty-somethings we really were, but too often the small things overwhelmed me: the glasses of water, the prescriptions to fill, the boredom of long hours when I lacked the concentration to read but was unable to sleep. Part of me felt like we would hang in that tedious and agonizing stasis forever, that we had already been there forever. In my weaker moments, I believed we were marked for tragedy.

And now we are here. We are cancer free and standing tall. One year after we had been fixed up by several doctors and teams of nurses, I think we were still in recovery from those many months we lived as mock 85-year-olds, but now that we are reaching our series of two-year anniversaries marking our recoveries, I realize how lucky I am to have found such a person with which to live this life.

When life pretty much dragged us out back and took its brass knuckles to us, we took care of each other. We didn't fight when the strain of pain and loss lapped us around the apartment. We were as gentle as we could manage through all our concerns. I look back and think What if we'd lost one of us?, and I look in his eyes now and know how much of a gift we've been given to still be here together. There is a softness around his edges when he looks at me, a knowing about me, and I can only hope my own face lays bare the same.

Two years ago today, I lost my uterus to some cells gone wrong. Today, as the past telescopes away into infinity, I am finally able to see how free from disabilizing pain, how alive we are. I may have lost a major organ, but I am whole, and he may have a leg still recovering sensation with each new bit of nerve regrowth, but he is whole.

There should be a name for this, some word for the pairs of us that manage to come through the fire refined, because I am beginning to think that the legacy of those two years is no longer a roving sadness and an isolation of spirit. There has been a quiet refinement, the bittersweet gift of trials by fire, and we are whole.

Five Star Friday's Edition #61

schmutzie@gmail.com (Schmutzie) — Fri, 03 Jul 2009 09:29:00 PDT

Five Star Friday's Edition #61 is out and ready to steal you away from your work day.

Grace in Small Things: Part 222 of 365

schmutzie@gmail.com (Schmutzie) — Thu, 02 Jul 2009 22:45:00 PDT

1. Picking through my yarn drawers and contemplating the personality of my next piece

2. The Palinode being kind enough to run out for muscle relaxants for me

3. How Lula, cat number three, likes to reach up and touch my face gently with her paw

4. Anticipating packages in the mail

5. Managing to push back against some of the chaos in our apartment

Wage a battle against embitterment and take part in Grace in Small Things.

A Wedding Weekend At The Lake

schmutzie@gmail.com (Schmutzie) — Thu, 02 Jul 2009 14:36:00 PDT

Last weekend, the Palinode and I went to Duck Mountain Provincial Park to attend Abigail and Smyrish's nuptials.

I am terrified of highway driving no matter what kind of weather or what time of day, so I spent the entire four hours on the way to the lake with my eyes glued to the road. I have this strong suspicion that if I nod off or read or knit that the driver will suddenly lose all sense and careen off the road or a deer will hurl itself into the windshield or an oncoming car will jump the yellow line and make us one with its grillwork, as though the act of one Schmutzie looking will save lives.

Do you want to know something, though? No one has died under my watch except for approximately eight fish, two snails, a hamster, and a cat. People, though, thrive under my looking. My looking stops people from being dead. I AM NOT UNLIKE A GOD.

My looking managed to keep everyone safe until we arrived at the lake, which, strangely, had a massive, manicured lawn that stretched down to the water. That seemed very un-lake-like, but I went with it.

While other people with the magical ability to sleep took naps, I wandered around in the forest

and stuck my camera dangerously close to some waves.

And then there was the wedding!

We all gathered together on a hill at the base of which the bride and groom were married. I managed to snap a few good photos just before the ceremony, but I didn't get any good ones of the actual deed, because this stocky guy with a buzz cut kept jumping up in front of my camera. I would look through my viewfinder, start to press the button, and, POP!, there was the back of his head taking up a full third of my frame. I ended up scoring a few lovely shots of the back of Buzz Cut's head and the groom, the back of Buzz Cut's head and half the bride, and the back of Buzz Cut's head and the marriage commissioner's butt.

We spent the rest of the weekend drinking and laughing and being swarmed by the hungriest and most persistent mosqitoes I've seen in years. Ladies who wore dresses that weekend wound up with thighs that would make even an 1800's syphilitic whore shudder. After Bite became a hot commodity.

An interesting thing I always note when I'm in a forest is that I feel like I'm really breathing. The air is fresh and clear, and I am compelled to draw it deep into my lungs. In the city, I tend to breathe shallowly out of only the upper end of my lungs like I am stuck in a mild, ongoing panic attack.

All that breathing has a strange effect on my brain. I end up feeling every single emotion deep down in the depths of my being and have to take breaks in the woods to squeeze out a few tears. I waffled between extremes of feeling joy in my friendships to feeling absolutely sure that I was barely tolerated by all and sundry. The forest, she brings out the crazy.

There was enough laughter and fun, though, to keep me from racing off into the trees disguised as a bellowing sleeping bag.

This dishcloth bugged me for most of Saturday. It lay on this path ALL DAY LONG. The part of me that obsesses over inane details just could not let this one go. It stood out like a forest fire. Who's was it? Who dropped it? Why didn't they notice that they'd dropped it? Should I pick it up and take it to the hall?

See? The forest + Schmutzie = CRAZY. It's a good thing that we were only there for less than two full days.

Sunday was about drowning everything from a restaurant's buffet in gravy and relaxing in hammocks before we hit the highway for another round of Schmutzie's Looking Saves Everybody's Lives.

On the way home, I spotted this Bowler camper, which reminded me of a dream I used to have. I LOVE Bowler campers, and I had this dream of travelling across North America, living out of a Bowler, and writing about my experiences and the people I met along the way. In reality, I think I'd prefer substituting the Bowler with motel rooms and also documenting North America's motels along the way, because dragging a Bowler behind me on the highway would likely be crazy stress-inducing, plus I would have to deal with one of those camper toilets. Human waste is très gross.

And my looking saw us home safe and sound.

Grace in Small Things: Part 221 of 365

schmutzie@gmail.com (Schmutzie) — Wed, 01 Jul 2009 22:17:00 PDT

1. A long walk with friends through Waterfall Park

2. Joy in the absurd when I stood at the top of a waterfall and yelled "Portuguese makes me angry!" (The Palinode is learning Portuguese right now and insists on speaking it to me sometimes without translation.)

3. Fireworks so bright that I could see the smoke dissipating against the sky

4. Back alleys

5. Virginia creeper

Wage a battle against embitterment and take part in Grace in Small Things.

Little Waves, A Bigger Wave, And Some Critters

schmutzie@gmail.com (Schmutzie) — Wed, 01 Jul 2009 19:10:00 PDT

On the weekend, I sneaked out of the cabin while everyone was taking naps after spending the night in their cups. I pushed my way through some trees and tall grass until I found myself on a narrow strip of beach.

Small waves lapped the shore. I lay on my belly across some damp moss, watching the waves rush up the sand to my nose.

And then, WHAMO! At least that's the best onomatopoeic equivalent to what ran through my brain when a wave of unexpected size nearly doused my camera lens. Thankfully, it didn't.

Also, when you lie down on moss between tall grass and a lake, you will find beetles and other critters for hours afterwards crawling in your hair, out of your pockets, and stuck to your nipple underneath your bra.

Me at MamaPop: Happy National Ice Cream Month!

schmutzie@gmail.com (Schmutzie) — Wed, 01 Jul 2009 10:41:00 PDT

Happy National Ice Cream Month!

Schmutzie's Reviews: The Winner of the Fit-in 15 Giveaway Is Announced!

schmutzie@gmail.com (Schmutzie) — Tue, 30 Jun 2009 10:12:00 PDT

I've announced the winner of the Fit-in 15 giveaway of an iPod Shuffle and a $20 iTunes gift card!

Grace in Small Things: Part 220 of 365

schmutzie@gmail.com (Schmutzie) — Tue, 30 Jun 2009 10:05:00 PDT

1. My orange sneakers

2. Driftwood

3. Eating a plate of food drowned in gravy

4. Hot women that are completely geeky

5. Putting away negative situations

Wage a battle against embitterment and take part in Grace in Small Things.

Grace in Small Things: Part 219 of 365

schmutzie@gmail.com (Schmutzie) — Mon, 29 Jun 2009 22:50:00 PDT

1. Managing not to go Incredible Hulk over my technological snafus

2. The calming effect of comfort food

3. The childish joy in breaking the rules, even if I made them

4. Multi-vitamins when I neglect to eat properly

5. A day without television

Wage a battle against embitterment and take part in Grace in Small Things.

In Which Technology Is A Big, Fat Jerk That Is Really Asking For A Punch In The Throat

schmutzie@gmail.com (Schmutzie) — Mon, 29 Jun 2009 18:33:00 PDT

Yesterday:

I thought I lost my camera at the lake and launched a frantic search.
It was found on the floor, but someone had kicked it so hard that the memory card had popped out. Thankfully, both the memory card and the camera were unharmed.
When we got home, I set up my iBook so that I could upload the pictures from my camera.
I somehow managed, against the laws of physics and all that is good, to pull a glass of water through the air parallel to the floor from a few feet away and dump it onto my iBook.
The iBook screen lost its horizontal hold, and then the body of the thing made some slurpy noise. I cried.
I turned it upside down and felt water run out of its side. I cried.
I tried to use the Palinode's netbook. It froze up in some limbo state between powering down and restarting. I cried.
I tried to use a really tiny netbook we've had sitting in a cupboard, because surely one piece of equipment would work. It refused to recognize my camera. Then, it froze. I cried.

Today:

I started writing my piece for MamaPop about that jerk Bernie Madoff on my tiny netbook. My computer froze halfway through, and I lost half my article.
I rewrote what I lost, the computer froze at the precise moment my article was due to be pubished, I lost half my article again, and I cried.
I tried to call the Palinode to help me with my frozen netbook, but my cellphone was dead.
I went to the Palinode's office to use his computer so that I could send an e-mail explanation to my overlords at MamaPop, but our internet cut out. I pulled on my hair with my fists.
When the internet cut back in, I restarted my netbook, wrote the last half of the article for the THIRD TIME. I chewed through the skin on my lip.
I tried to publish my article. The internet cut out. I got up, paced the apartment with my hands in my hair, and yelled "I CAN'T FUCKING BELIEVE THIS SHIT, MOTHERFUCK."
The internet cut back in. I published my piece on MamaPop. I took double the suggested dose of ibuprofen and snuck a cigarette in the living room.
I hated myself for sneaking a cigarette indoors. I hated Bernie Madoff more than I thought was reasonable. I told my cat, Onion, that snuggles were for suckers.
I decided to try feeling hopeful. I powered up my iBoook. It gurgled in this very distant-sounding and depressing way. The screen looked like bleeding watercolours in shades of grey. I cried.
I turned the iBook on its side in front of a fan. I sniffled.
I watched Dr. Phil. I hated his guests. I hated him more. I felt a little better.
I ate more cheese than is probably healthy.

Right now:

I tried to publish this entry. My netbook powered down with no notice for NO APPARENT REASON. I gritted my teeth.
I am unreasonably paranoid that I have pissed off some lesser god in charge of electronics. I'm developing a fear of the fan I have aimed at my iBook.
I wish we had some alcohol in the house.
Would you believe that my mouse just stopped working at the end of that last point?
Because IT DID.

IN THE LAST 31 HOURS, A CAMERA, TWO LAPTOPS, TWO NETBOOKS, A CELLPHONE, AND A MOUSE HAVE THWARTED MY ATTEMPTS TO COMMUNICATE. I AM NOW AN IRRITABLE PARANOIAC. AWESOME.

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UPDATE: If you read through the comments, you will find out that MY WEBLOG'S RSS FEED BROKE FOR THIS ENTRY. This string of technological badness is so ridiculous, that it's funny now. Oh, except for that part where my iBook is still completely and quite alarmingly borked. I'm letting that baby dry out for a week before I lose hope, though.

You know, my laptop died last year before BlogHer, too. Hmmm.

UPDATE, THE SECOND: And now I hear that the left side of this entry runs off the screen. I've tried to fix it. Is it fixed? I'm waiting for the letters to start falling off this netbook's tiny keyboard any minute. If I go stroke myself with magnets or eat pennies, will all this technology start working for me again?

Me at MamaPop: Bernie Madoff Is Sentenced to 150 Years Behind Bars

schmutzie@gmail.com (Schmutzie) — Mon, 29 Jun 2009 11:54:00 PDT

I wrote "Bernie Madoff Is Sentenced to 150 Years Behind Bars" at MamaPop. Check it.

Grrr

schmutzie@gmail.com (Schmutzie) — Sun, 28 Jun 2009 20:57:00 PDT

I was in the middle of a forest for most of the weekend so that I could attend Abigail and Smyrish's wedding.

I would really like to tell you about it, but I dumped water on my Macbook, so I am waiting for it to dry out and have my fingers crossed that it will regain functionality. Then I tried using the Palinode's laptop, only it refused to recognize my camera for more than a couple of minutes at a time and then got stuck in this limbo between powering down and restarting. My old netbook held out some promise, but it refused to recognize my camera at all.

Technology and I are on the outs tonight, and I had better step away from all of it before I do more than pour water on the whole freaking lot of it.

The following is one of only five pictures I managed to upload from the weekend so far. I took it through a dirty car window while going 110 kilometers an hour:

Tonight, I like imagining that I am tossing all my gadgetry out onto the highway.

Grace in Small Things: Part 218 of 365

schmutzie@gmail.com (Schmutzie) — Sun, 28 Jun 2009 20:45:00 PDT

1. Butterscotch pudding

2. Reading S.E. Hinton's The Outsiders during the late afternoon drive home from camping

3. The relief of finding the Palinode to snuggle with in bed in the freezing cold at 3 a.m.

4. The good ache in my thighs after climbing a steep hill

5. The silence of deer moving through the woods

Wage a battle against embitterment and take part in Grace in Small Things.

Grace in Small Things: Part 217 of 365

schmutzie@gmail.com (Schmutzie) — Sat, 27 Jun 2009 21:36:00 PDT

1. Dragonflies

2. Campfires

3. Small waves lapping the shore's edge

4. Disappearing from the crowd into the trees

5. Breakfast buffets

Wage a battle against embitterment and take part in Grace in Small Things.