The Social Porcupine

FIRST, TO LAUGH. Loudly, open-mouthed, so you can taste and feel the tears better. Life is often like all the flowers, beautiful with a variety of colors and scents (half of them smelling unpleasant, true enough, but at least they look nice). And sometimes, life is simply just like the blooms of a flower you think will open... and then they die. So much for life being like a flower.  You’ll be missed, my unopened flowers 💀  Or maybe I’ll go find some better flowers, that actually open, look pretty, and smell nice. 🧡 Maybe I never needed those false blooms. AND THEN TO CRY  Because tears always follow laughter, right?  Ah, but not always. Sometimes you merely want to cry.  Instead.  Instead. You must become  THE SMILING ROBOT.  You must take your heart out for a moment, staring at it, wonder why it's so actively trying to get you to stay still or run away when duty calls you toward something most horrible.  Toward the children who need you, even as they say they'd like

There's a common chicken fetish that needs addressing. But first, why your chickens don't deserve to have sweaters knitted for them:  Chickens are the farmyard cockroach  They are violent, not cute. One of my earliest memories is of being attacked by a vicious rooster. Did you know that they were first bred for fighting before eating according to Wikipedia?  They don't even taste that good (naturally grown) Commercially grown chicken tastes alright, but who knows what is making it that way They destroy gardens They terrorize flowers Sure, they make good compost. But do you want your compost spread everywhere on your farm?   A good mother hen is a rarity  They don't take care of ticks and snakes near as well as guineas The stench of butchered chickens lasts for days after multiple baths. One does not easily eat a chicken after having slaughtered it, whereas other animals are less gross and easier to stomach  Eggs are good. But chickens aren't the only bir

Cousins (mostly) My grandparents celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary beginning of this month. My family plus one gal (fifteen of us) drove two days in a used senior-citizen bus to see family beginning of this month.  It's been over twelve years since all of my extended family was together. There are just so many of us, and we all live far apart. Many of my little siblings haven't even met the rest of the family.  Two-thirds of the family ended up making it. That being said, over eighty people were gathered together. It was wondrous.  Great-grandma Viola driving my sister and I to the event. She is 87 and still quite productive, always finding a way to care for others  Grampa and Grandma dancing. Don't think I ever saw them dance before. Pretty sure my dad was crying. Not sure why dancing would make someone cry... but I had tears, too. Maybe because of all we knew that's led up to this very moment? I loved how, though we hadn't seen each other in years, we just

The only downside of catching up with my mending is my basket is now empty. Oh, I'm not saying I enjoy mending. Relief flooded me when I grabbed that last garment. But this isn't really about me and how I felt, but rather how forlorn my basket now seems as it rests under my machine, waiting... Oh, but what do you wait for, dear basket? For months and months didn't we dream of sorting through all that stuff I'd piled into you?  First, the jumper I'd made from African fabrics long ago. I cannibalized a thrift store lace blouse and made it into a dress. Then a tawny-colored dress with a rip near the hem left your space and was soon returned to my wardrobe, ready for all my cleaning shenanigans. A lovely new floral satin skirt I found for twenty-five cents refused to heed decency: I sewed up the front button seam. All that remains now is a lap quilt my Grandma never finished; I'll back it another day.  Sure, none of these garments were perfect. But they were your fr

  "You poor creature! Do you not wish to be saved from the dirt?" "Oh! But I love the taste of Earth."  "Is not life so low, so boring down there?" "No. This is where reality fills me with goodness, with gladness."  "Being unimaginative is only a problem when you're easily bored,"  ~  Nassim Taleb You say, "My imagination is unparalleled."  "Show me," I ask. "Lead me through your dreamt adventures." You say, "You bore me."  Now I know you lie. Who are you to place your boredom onto me? Am I responsible for the longevity of your imagination? Am I the keeper of your interest? Not until you bid me. I do not owe you the fascinating jewels of my heart until you have proved yourself safe.  You are only bored with me because you are lazy. You procrastinate and flee. What do you hide from? Boredom is your problem . If my shell bores you, break it. I'm waiting to be known. Do not say I bore you. N