Sunday, September 2, 2012

sometimes you don't know what to call it

There are times in life when you change gears a little too fast. There may be a grinding noise. There may be a kick, a choke, a stall.

Mist.

Or, no noise at all.

Mist up ahead.

Hold on, then, to the steering wheel. Is that right? Or do you let go? But wait - I'm thinking of a spin, a fishtail, a swerve, not a stall. A stall is easy. You stop. You let go. You grip harder. You bang the steering wheel and curse or wait patiently, start again.

Tomatoes.

In a spin, what is intuitive? To go with the spin or against? And which is it you are supposed to do? Turn into the skid? Or away?

A celebrity in our midst.

So now it's a skid, is it? From stall, to spin, to skid.

Do I smell beeswax?

What's the difference?

Rick makes a birch bark quiver.

Sometimes I wonder what has prevented me from becoming a real character, the kind of person about whom people smile and say, "Oh, her! She's a real character!" I'm toying with the idea. I think I'd like to be a real character.

For sale: angels and canoes.

But I don't know. Maybe it's too late.




Did you think I was going to crash?



{Thanks for visiting! I've been keeping a blog since 2008 - it only took me four years to get regular! Sunday posts are about my beeswax business and life in a log cabin in Michigan's Upper Peninsula. Thursdays are for lists of sorts. Perhaps you'll join me.}