Bric-a-Brac

Today I learned a fun new word, or is it a phrase? Regardless, it is Victorian in origin. How? I'm just going to tell you a little story. Take every opportunity to practice writing or subject one's [few] readers to silly muses.

It was a long day working the swing shift. I left the office just after sunset. I am not a fan of driving home in the dark. However, driving after the sun sets comes with the demands of working swings. I often wonder what my life would be like confined between two lines of longitude; I wonder if I would have such issues as driving in the dark. An alternative is having a chauffeur, but I need help keeping a staff. Don't we all?

I pulled into the small private drive that afforded access and safety to me and my three other neighbors. Easing my Subaru just past my driveway, I safely reversed into my parking space in front of the garage door. Posturing my auto to leave a parking spot without using the reverse gear has been my habit for years. During the kid's Girls Scout days, I learned this was safer for pedestrians and children overall.

As I shut the engine down and turned off my headlights, I immediately realized that, once again, I had failed to leave my outdoor safety porch light on. My rural village is pitch black after the sunsets, and we don't have that many street lights in our area. With a basket of my day's leftover lunch items hanging heavy from my left elbow and keys in my left hand, I fidgeted through my key ring to find the house door key.

I quickly became familiar despite only being friends with this key for about 10 days. Fortunately, the key's shape is odd enough that I can identify it by feeling. Finding the right key led me to the next hurdle, slipping it into its chamber of tumblers without the benefit of light. Being confident after years of unlocking doors and breaking down barriers, I had little worries that I would be inside my house in moments.

A flash of accomplishment charged my soul as I entered the door, triggering the entryway safety light's motion switch. At my feet, greeting me like the excited dog I do not own, sat a medium size envelope begging for a charitable donation or a pat on the head. The accepted items included clean clothes, handbags, shoes, belts, accessories, unwanted gifts, and Bric-a-Brac. Bric-a-Brac, my mind immediately questioned. What the heck, Bric-a-Brac?

I now know, thanks to a quick query using my internet search engine. Interesting.

Coronation Celebration

The shutting letter slot in the front door let me know that my doormat likely just became littered with eine Werbung. I am still trying to figure out why my mind chose a German word to describe the scene in my mind's eye. In some cases, my thoughts find the German words more descriptive. I like that about the German language. Some of the terms get to the meaning seemingly faster than English. To say German phrasing is kurz and direkt contradicts the everyday experience of German idioms. Often when gathered at Beir Gartens, we American Expats would chortle at some of the lengthy German words and phrases we experienced.

Walking to the door, I find an A4 sive paper looking dead on arrival, lying face down on the doormat. Lifting the lifeless page from the mat, I slowly rolled it over to see if I could identify its purpose for taking a death leap through my mail slot. To my surprise, it was eine Einludung (an Invitation).

I recently landed in the United Kingdom to work for a few years. And here I stood one month into my adventure, and I had just received an invitation to celebrate the Coronation of an Englisch King. Could you let that sink in for a moment? The invite to a coronation is rare, catching me in awe for a brief moment. How often does this party happen? Has this happened to you?

I took the opportunity to work in the United Kingdom, fully expecting to enjoy my blessed life of opportunity with amazing people and places. We are off to a good start. I will be in England for the coronation of the King! Whether I celebrate in my local village or London, this invitation goes into my scrapbook.

A Travel Day

It was getting late, and time was running out for me to get some sleep before a long flight in the morning. The outfit that I wished to wear was dirty and needed cleaning. Not wanting to wait on a washing machine, I partially filled the bathroom sink with water and hand-washed my comfy shorts and soft v-neck t-shirt. The amount of dirt that was collected in just one day felt embarrassing. It was a mild and arid high desert night that allowed me the efficient use my time.

I set my clothes on the sill of an open window and turned on the ceiling fan to dry my clothes with the night air while I slept. I slept for a few short hours before the early alarm dragged me out of deep sleep and into my fresh, dry, slightly stiff clothes. I could not help to inhale more deeply through my nose as the clean night air aroma slid over my face. Suddenly I was wide awake.

It was before 5:00 AM as I walked to the terminal, heading to my gate. My body is still bathing in fresh air-dried clothes. The light blue t-shirt was adorned with a beautiful screen print of a free-standing classic road bike. Stacked atop the tattered leather saddle were three books, a guitar, a clock, binoculars, an hourglass, an upside-down skateboard, flowers in a pot of soil, and a balancing cat reaching a paw toward the handlebars. My shorts were nature hiking utility-looking, topping mid-thigh. My arm served as a lease to a cabin-sized roller bag. On my back was a trusty day pack containing my traveling essentials.

Arriving at the gate, my gamble to voluntarily check my bag paid off. The desk clerk tagged and took off with my bag, free of charge, usually collected back at the check-in desk. With the leashed arm hanging free, I headed for the nearby coffee shop. The plane was boarding, but with no line at the counter, I could quickly grab a fresh morning brew to get me started. Returning to the boarding process, I was called to the cattle chute line of my zone. Like corraling cows, we moved our way to the door with a bit of prodding by the staff. I minded little as I added to my morning joy a warm fresh coffee.

Glancing up, I found myself looking at a man in the herd so tough in appearance that I just wanted to hand him a cup of nails smothered in ketchup and a sheet of sandpaper for a napkin. Queer scenes such as these trigger my imagination into a frenzy of perception. The power of perception stood as the experiment of the day. To make matters more bizarre, multiple delays in the airport provided ample opportunity to walk the terminals filled with scenes. I employed terminal-wandering hours to find my internal versions of unique imaginative stories. It could be a passing time defense mechanism. Indeed, a challenging endeavor as long the story in my mind stays in my mind, then no one gets a conflated ego or finds a need to defend their honor.

If you don't like the food, change the menu.

It was a dark, cold, and rainy Winters morning when I found myself suddenly wanting a little bite to eat. The streets were unlit, damp, and wet. The stores, shops, and cafés all closed. Nay donut or coffee mug in sight. Sunrise was not for several more hours. I worried about not; why should I. I could sense the presence of smaller creatures stalking in the shadows hiding from whatever might eat them. So then I say to be is what eats them. With a wiggle and a slight twist, I am now their worst fear, desiring to eat them. Excuse me as I pause in this dark alley. I must change my presentation to you. I do know you need to see me like you want me to be seen. Well, satisfied and nourished, another twist and wiggle. None the wiser, back to my exploration of this sleeping town. Sweet dreams, and never mind me, I am attentive to normal’s obtuse pareidolia.

Look at the world as if you were the Sun!

I stopped by the Sun’s house early for coffee. No Secret I like to be with the Sun when she rises. We sat on her porch, chatted, sipped, and laughed while throwing light rays onto the planets.

I know, often, a sunrise includes looking at the Sun; however, one can enjoy a morning looking with the Sun.

Interestingly, I entered the forest almost two hours before sunrise. I was wearing a small headlamp and hiking along the usual trails. I came upon a man at the intersection of my path and another. We were headed in the same direction. I turned off my lamp, and we walked and talked. He was heading to his hunting stand while I was heading to the higher elevations. He was carrying a gun, and I had a camera. After about 20 minutes of pleasant conversation, he had reached the path to his deer stand, and we parted ways.

My Tree-cher

I learned from the tree to lean into the light. I learned from the tree to take advantage of the night. I learned from the tree to slow down in the cold. I learned from the tree to sprout limbs and be bold. I learned from the tree to grip with my toes. I learned from the tree there is a time to let go ~jennwren

Forward with Passion and Power

The snail whispered to me, "move forward with passion and purpose."

...then I was distracted by a tap on the shoulder.

Jenn: Hello, Change; what brings you my way?
Change: Another chance to re-live the good times, my old friend.
Jenn: You are too much; why don't you get on with it and marry me?
Change: You know I cannot do that; I belong to everybody. But you are my favorite, which is why I often visit you.
Jenn: Blushing...

The year has drifted, and changes enter our days once again. Steady and carefree times bare the warning label; comfort and complacency can be hazardous to life. The energy of change compares to the power of glacier ice moving and planets rotating; it's mighty and coming. Being familiar with change, I have experience handling change at some scale, more prominent than some but not as significant as others. Although much protects me, the most effective protection for the future depends on personal handling of the change. Be assured that the change handled well provides a first-class ticket to a better place for tomorrow.

The snail's focus remains on the here and now. The grip and dinner are the most important at the moment. What happens in the future stays out of the equation of this precarious situation. The snail inspires me in how well it is handling this moment.

Change opens opportunities for new. As change approaches, take some time to reconnect with those old faithful friends. Some drift away, but they are never far; reach out. Look at the old and examine the internal motivations of habits and hobbies; have they dampened or require more energy and dedication than you can give? Embracing change demands simple and pragmatic approaches—no need to take unnecessary risks. Seek help and guidance from respected sources. As you soar through transition, know that you will be a mentor or guide for others, so don't blow it.

Change offers a time to embrace creativity and warmth that radiates like thermal drafts from the earth to lift our outstretched wings. Glide freely and high to the destination of abundance and success. Make peace with the changes that must take place for life to move forward positively. Sacrifice what holds you back. Move forward with passion and purpose. See you tomorrow, my snail friends. Love

Come in my world and play with me!

How is it that my creative thoughts are so connected to my alone time? 

Alone, I am never alone.  My mind becomes a team on a field of daydreams.  My mind morphs into a team of minds.   Each mind is a player on a field.  The minds begin tossing words like a team of baseball players warming up on the field before the big game.  Whiff, swop, Whiff, swop, Whiff, swop,  back and forth, the ideas get tossed between all the players in my head.   With each toss, my insights grow clear, and my ideas expand and loosen.  Soon the thoughts grow with increased velocity and power.  The passing thoughts become blurs and make a different sound, Whiff, thump, Whiff, thump, Whiff, thump.  Each thump is a sting in the idea pocket of my mind.    The sting feels good, and the heat from the friction becomes a word generator pitching out spitballs, curves, sliders, and knuckles at a million joules per second [Yes, that is the measure of energy, and it has a name, I will let you tell me.  Okay, that idea came out of left field].    I can only be away from my inner thought team for so long before I get a weird itch to play games or simply catch.   I have to take my team into a solitary place where they can play, toss words, and practice their skills.  On occasion, I do find another team to play a scrimmage or real game of creation.  I have a few teams in this league, and I love it when we get our teams together and create.    Come in my world and play with me!

Old Stump

Sun and Rain, how it grows

Seasons come and go

Shelter the animals below

Time past indeed

and one becomes the fruit

that feeds the living who keep

Sun and rain in their soul

until the veil thins again

and its time to let go

and become life again

Come in my world and play with me!

How is it that my creative thoughts are so connected to my alone time? 

Alone, I am never alone.  My mind becomes a team on a field of daydreams.  My mind morphs into a team of minds.   Each mind is a player on a field.  The minds begin tossing words like a team of baseball players warming up on the field before the big game.  Whiff, swop, Whiff, swop, Whiff, swop,  back and forth, the ideas get tossed between all the players in my head.   With each toss, my insights grow clear, and my ideas expand and loosen.  Soon the thoughts grow with increased velocity and power.  The passing thoughts become blurs and make a different sound, Whiff, thump, Whiff, thump, Whiff, thump.  Each thump is a sting in the idea pocket of my mind.    The sting feels good, and the heat from the friction becomes a word generator pitching out spitballs, curves, sliders, and knuckles at a million joules per second [Yes, that is the measure of energy, and it has a name, I will let you tell me.  Okay, that idea came out of left field].    I can only be away from my inner thought team for so long before I get a weird itch to play games or simply catch.   I have to take my team into a solitary place where they can play, toss words, and practice their skills.  On occasion, I do find another team to play a scrimmage or real game of creation.  I have a few teams in this league, and I love it when we get our teams together and create.    Come in my world and play with me!

Morning, January 1st any yea

Early on Jan 1st, the streets rest empty, sleeping off everything and anything they experienced over the year. Carefully I step in silence, leaving the stones and structures to slumber softly under a cuddly blanket of fog. With the world below all cuddled in, I took to the hills to see the new day shine on the earth from outer space. My favorite star rises to greet me, and a murder of crows. We perched, creating a mixture of caws, hoarse grating coos, rattles, and clicks. The randomness of the sounds did manage to find themselves arranged into a song quality of the best symphony. High on our perch, we enjoyed the sun for a couple of hours. Finally, the church bells tolled. A clear sign the village awoke to begin their next year. We all knew it was time to say goodbye until next year when we can again be the only living things stirring, if only for a short moment.

Giving Thanks

The week of giving thanks is upon us. I like to think about what I am thankful for before Thursday. Unlike those times, many of us have stood in a long service line and waited until it's our turn to decide what we will order. (We

Thank you for encouraging our children and friends to be themselves as a secret to happiness and success. Thank you for supporting individuals to look inside and try to bring out their best and authentic selves.

Thank you for accepting all the range of differences such as body types, facial features, hair, color, gender, belief system, language, for mentioning a few.

Thank you for defending our right to express ourselves naturally. No matter where I walk, we can do so safely, and we will meet you and not a mask.  [PS, I love you! no mask needed]

I am super thankful that on Nov 20th, we, the people, recognized that this year 46 Americans were mandated by other Americans non-judiciary violent deaths because they were different.

I am thankful that the theme is to protect individual rights in pursuing happiness to the end.  I am grateful and celebrate those supporting and defending those souls who require a little more courage to walk out their front door authentic to themselves first and foremost.

Thank you

Writing of choice this week:

Litany Of Ordinary Violences

By Torrin A. Greathouse

Kiss Thief

lurking about in a forest of passionate hearts of beauty
prowls a kiss thieve’in panther
a sly cat, dark as night with a streak
this kitty catches its prey, unaware
in the light of day
in the dark of night
void of sound
absent a shadow
it lurks in close and easy
you feel the pounce only after your kiss is gone
left dazed by the supple snap
disorientated for weeks, maybe life
longing strangely for another bite
by the kiss thieve’in panther
who prowls on passion day and night
do not fear
stay passionate and beautiful
you just might
attract that once in a while stolen kiss
from the precious kitty

~jennwren

You can only keep one memory

You can only keep one memory from your entire life. What will it be?

How much time do I have to choose? 10 minutes!, Really? Well, it won't be of this moment, forced to pick one and only one. One memory, I can only keep one. I better make it good. I struggle not to let panic consume me as I feel it lurching up from my stomach to my brain.

Jenn, stay in control. Find the memory. Many memories fill my mind's eyes. Wait, my mind has more than one eye? Focus. There must be one. Scan the memory reel, look for that one memory that I can keep. A memory filled with everyone I know. One memory of many moments. Why is it that when I try to recall those great memories, I cannot remember? I try to remember that time that made us all feel so great, happy, and loved. Does it escape me? This is no time to forget. I am not sure how much longer I have to pick this memory. I can feel myself scrambling as if I am late for work itself and I cannot find my car keys. Stop thinking about work.

Oaky, the one memory has to be here somewhere. It has to be here, you know, remember that time…..arrrgh!…How about that time when…no….hey I loved those days you….no….okay think…you get one memory, what is it you can remember that will be of value to a single memory for the rest of my life? I cannot find a single moment that contains everyone I love. I cannot possibly keep a single memory that won't exclude anyone in my life.

Okay, deep breath, this helps. I can forget everything that has been captured in photos, journals, and events that others remember. Let technology and others be my memory. So this narrows the choice. Good, I am getting somewhere. Keep thinking… Indeed, I look forward to forgetting a few memories., time, time… you are running out of time, focus. Focus... feel...think...ah-ha…I got it. I will keep my memory of being happy with who I am. I will remember being myself, loving who I am. Indeed, that is a worthy memory to keep in a single memory life. Indeed, suppose I can remember the joy and giddiness I felt being me. In that case, I can easily be with you, even if I only have one memory.

My surface is well waxed.

I do not worry too much about straying. I do stick to the waterfalls I am accustomed to. My surface is well waxed and quickly sheds even the heaviest adorning downpours. Like any storm, I can see the shower of desire and lust pouring from the cumulonimbus cloud of love at first sight. The drops and often showers of courtship bead off my façade. Safe behind my walls, I can hide from love at first sight.

I watched you fall in love with me, then watched you fall out of love. I held out until you gave up. My first impression, my first sighting, is not someone to fall in love with. However, your best bet is to fall in love with my second impression found deeper inside without a map to follow.

If you love me, you love me, say so; if you love me at first sight, wait for it. If you love me at second sight, say so.

I am scared to talk about love. You, too, should fear talking to me about love. I do not want a love that does not meet me where I am. I love to meet you where you are, but I do not wish to park where we are. To ease my fear means taking on a woman who has the self-centered and selfish pursuit of her grandiose dreams. Maybe you should just go climb Mount Everest, you will have guides, sherpas and a better chance of survival.

Happy to Cast my Shadow

I woke up this morning particularly early.  Many thoughts were going through my head.  A natural reflection after pondering the news you learned the evening before about someone passing before their time.  Rising from my bed,  I circled through the dimly lit rooms of the house.  A ritual performed to wake up my mind and body.  The night light catches my motion, happy to cast my long-form as a shadow on the wall, a sight I secretly enjoy.  The open terrace door let in a cool draft from the waning moon.  Reaching into a basket, I grabbed some clothes for warmth.   Pulling on a sweater last, I realized it was left unwashed from a midnight Paris.  Her perfumes added to the mental portrait of a beautiful memory.