The now of November 2019

The way a body moves through the space of grief is confounding. At times the body is a sieve and grief is a million grains of sand. Other times the body is just a body and grief is air its lungs greet and release, greet and release.

My cat has been dead for almost seven weeks and I’m still sad. I’ll probably be sad for a while. If sad blogging ‘Sted is not your bag, I get it. I won’t hold it against you. Come back soon.

I had planned to review John Hodgman’s “Medallion Status” for you this month, but I got to the cat death part of the book (not kidding). If you guessed that it made me sad enough to put the book down and not yet pick it back up again, you are 100% correct.

This month I am learning to be the person who says she will participate in NaNoWriMo but, left alone, forgets how to string sentences together. So I’m here, practicing that again.

Earlier in the month I visited friends in Providence, Rhode Island, for a few days. It was a whirlwind, but I remembered to share some photos.

Spotify’s wily ways introduced me to this song, which I like but don’t know why, and now I like all of Ruel’s songs but don’t know why. So thanks, Spotify? The future is weird.

Fountain pen ink fans, you simply must see Troublemaker Inks. I don’t know how they make the ink shade like that. Science is brilliant.

Portland is a locus of oddities. I found a creepy postcard in a wee shop here and it had a website on the back so I of course went to the website and now I’m possibly part of a secret society. Or I just stumbled upon a marvelous art project.

Goodnight from me and Toby Toad, the amphibious king of Instagram.

This was a “now” post that should show up on my “now” page so that I can build an archive of these posts. I’ll try this experiment again next month.

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I acknowledge that I live and work on stolen Cowlitz, Clackamas, Atfalati, and Kalapuya land.
I give respect and reverence to those who came before me.