Sunday Morning Doodles

The kitties are in, bouncing off the walls making circles around each other while trying not to hiss. 

I’ve been outside — in spite of the fact that my hair is salt and pepper frizz this early in the morning and most of any day — to bury yesterday’s kitchen scraps. I hope no one is looking — other than the GOD I know who clearly takes me as I am — the kitties do too — they never say a word that sounds a bit like judging. Sometimes they do hiss, but mostly at each other when Mr. Shire is in the front yard and they can spy him through their giant peering glass. They are jealous that he is out there and that it isn’t them — at least that’s the gist.

Mickey curls up on the rug that he has ruffled — one paw hanging over the hump that he created — then lays his head on it and stretches out to his full length. Lucy oversees him.

Everyone has settled. It’s time for Sunday morning doodles.

A cup of coffee to start. And then another — as many as it takes to prime the engine. Yesterday the floors were vacuumed, swept, mopped and one was painted — again — because it was buffing off to show the under color that was making it look dirty all the time. Some things just needed to be straightened so that all of the congestion in the noodles could be freed of their congestion. 

It’s hard to create when so many things are laughing. The dust is hard to see without glasses, so it might be willing to wait another day — but it’s still laughing in the background making a very unpleasant rattle. 

It feels safe in this little cocoon that has been created just for that purpose — to feel safe. The world seems far away and, if the media is kept off, one would never know of any chaos — so the media stays off. The music is birds or cars racing by — sometimes a train. It’s so soothing to listen to the conversations of all the birds. They seem busy — and so always happy. 

Mickey is still on his hump, staring into space. Lucy likely went into the bedroom for her Sunday morning doodles — her high perch is in there.

The engine has been started but it’s still a little slow. Maybe there is a need for a cookie while there is still doodling going on — something to soak up some of the exhaust of the coffee that is rumbling through the pipes.

People must be getting out of church — more cars a speeding by. It’s time to do some doodles in the journal room where all the papers are.

Don’t sweat the small stuff and it’s all small stuff. Don’t bother stuffing ballots — nothing like that ever works. A cocoon with painted floors works much better in the long run and the short run too.

Image credit: Ms. Spoolteacher 

The Odds Are

What one finally comes to realize is that the old saying don’t sweat the small stuff and it’s all small stuff is absolutely accurate.

All day long bad news laced with a little bit or piece of something good could have everyone filled with nothing but anxiety and depression when all around is really a wonderful world just waiting to be looked at if heads get pulled out of traps made my media moguls.

It’s nothing but a waste of precious time to find yourself thinking about anything other than something good. Even if your bones are aching and limbs might not be behaving like they used to, sitting still is good — so use those old bones and muscles for a fair excuse to sit and think or watch a movie. Better it would be to enjoy the best there is today — why wait or worry about something that might only come if you think it will. Think that it won’t or don’t think about tomorrow until tomorrow and maybe not even then — just live it.

It’s somebody else’s world the bad stuff is happening in if it isn’t right now happening to you. Of course it’s nice to wish them well and do what you can do to improve the chance that no one has to live badly — but if what you do can’t matter what’s the point of dwelling.

Can you rescue a kangaroo? If so, do. If not, what can you do? If there isn’t anything, don’t think about it anymore — after all, there is nothing you can do.

If you’ve spent your life voting and finally you come to the conclusion that nothing you’ve ever voted for has happened, what’s the point of spending more time wasted trying to figure out what to vote for that won’t happen anyway — the odds are?

Odds are worth using to decide how to spend time sometimes — at least as fair as someone else telling you what you should do.

“It’s everyone’s responsibility to vote.”

Wouldn’t it be better if the ones voting the opposite of what you want, didn’t? Someone’s probably rigging it their way and it will take another bunch of time to change that again and the odds aren’t looking all that good and someone else will load the odd the next time too.

The odds are, any guilt about not voting won’t do a thing to serve you well.

Just change the things you can — that’s all you can change — and mostly that is likely to be something to do with changing you.

The odds might improve if you try instead to protest with your art. Even at that they might not, but what would be better — to spend time being angry or doing art?

image: Jean-Michel Basquiat