The scarves. He always brought me back scarves from the thrift store. Beautiful, colourful, interesting, exotic, elegant, soft, eye-catching scarves. I keep them, and admire them stacked on my dresser. Sometimes I wear them still. And I rotate them in and out over the living room light (Simon's idea!). I use one to cover my huge computer screen when it's not in use. It's got an ancient Japanese scene on it. Shouldn't be folded up in a pile. Can't be seen if I wear it. So it drapes there, like a painting. What made me think of all this today? Well I think of all this often, actually. But I don't always feel compelled to write about it. Today, I thought of it because my hair's getting longer, so I opened up a little purple velvet box Greta had given me years ago, where I keep my hair clips. Inside this box are these little paper coupons he made me when Hosea was a baby, for Mother's Day. Chores he'd do for me! I think I was miserly with the coupons

There's an envelope somewhere. Full of photos. Photos I took out of photo albums, and covered with new memories. Covered the words, covered the smiles, covered it all. Wiped it away. The envelope's full of letters too. Letters I wiped clear from my email account, but knowing that someday I'd want to read them again. Just like how someday I'd want to look at the photos again. But I can't find the envelope. I've been thinking about it lately, that envelope. And just now I ravaged my closet for it. Knowing it has to be up there somewhere! I'd seen it, another time, when I didn't want to. And reminded myself it was there, for some later date when it felt right. Maybe for when I'm much older. For some later date when the grief was gone? But that never happens. The grief never goes. I know that because as I was looking for the envelope, in those high up spots of my closet where all the things I simultaneously want to hold onto and want to float away

Drowsy daze It's all a haze What's that? It's morning? What's that? Should I get up? Read in bed? Sleep a little longer? And...not...make the bed ...yet? The day emerges Met with un-urgent urges To sip To sigh To let time not fly by No race No place(s) Just home Just chair With pillow, or not With purpose, with soft---ness Just rest rest rest Just breathe in ,,,, and out What's next? Who cares? What time is it? (For what? Cause what's time? It's...lost in the haze Till the drowsy days...is......done) ****** Drowsy days It's all a race To get it done To get it made Wake up at dawn Eat and run The race won't stall The race won't wait Go this and go there Faster faster, and fast-er No chairs No futons No---comfy spots Just go go go Just don't don't stop Like a rubber band snap-stretched Like a cup at the edge To the tipping point To the brink-ed yawn Of the welcome pillow ,,,,

I know, the title is less than interesting. This title thing is interesting! An "interesting" title might be too vague to actually catch people's interest! And a title that's more explicit might be, well, too explicit. Not enough mystery in it. So no one will read it. Maybe I need to take a blogger course, or something. **** So it's a new year! As we all know. And maybe it's a good idea to toot our own horns a bit? At least, I'm going to. I've had so many years in recent memory where, at the end, I say to to it--"Good RIDDANCE!!!" Trust me. If you're there this year, I know the feeling. Some years we just want to throw away. We want to watch disappear in that rear view mirror--being careful not to do so with too much focus, otherwise we'll sabotage the new year we're driving into. 2019 isn't one of those "Good RIDDANCE!!!" years for me. I don't feel too guilty about saying, "Hey, it was alright!&