I’m looking for something
And I don’t know what it is
But I do know that I haven’t found it
If I had
I would feel so much happier now
Whatever it is
Is still lost
And I have no idea
Where I should even begin
Or whether I should just wait
For it to find me
And since I don’t know what it is
I don’t even know if I’ve already found it and lost it again



Here’s what I think about on a regular basis:





The answer is – pretty much anything, everything, and nothing particular.

My mind has a mind of its own, and it loves to go wandering. So, on any given day, I could be thinking about why is there so much to do, why don’t I have anything to do, what should I do next, and where can I hide from what there is to do. Or maybe I should practise. What book should I read next? Do I have to do laundry again?And on, and on, ad nauseum (or ad confusion – your choice).

And it’s not just during the day. In fact, it’s even worse at night. Especially when I want to fall asleep. So, maybe I should have done that instead. Wait, I should have practised that song. I need to write more lyrics. But I need tunes for what I’ve written. Will I ever read all the books I want to read? Darn. I forgot to… Well, you get the picture.

It’s not that I want an off switch for my mind. But it might be nice if there were maybe a slow speed, or a dimmer switch.

I’ve tried reading before bed, and that’s a whole different problem. Which of the x books that I’m currently reading should I pick up? Which one should I start next? I’ll never get through them all! I need to purge some of my books. Darn. Did I get my shredding downstairs for recycling? What day is this? And so it goes. One thing leads to another, and my mind is off again on its own little voyage. Truly – I think it gets out more than I do.


The forecast called for heavy storms on the day that the little gremlin set out on his journey. Not that he knew anything of this, though, for after all, he never listened to a radio.

He had never ventured far from home before, so he was quite unprepared for the large creatures that inhabited the world near the forest. They seemed as giants – walking here and there – seemingly without any specific purpose. (In fact, that was rather like him, in a way, for he didn’t really know where he was going.)

As he approached a grassy area near some large structures, he saw one of these giants – leaning back against a tree. The giant had some sort of strange, box-like thing on his knee, and he seemed to be watching it while he hit it with various of his fingers. There was no specific rhythm to his fingers as they hit the thing. The little gremlin didn’t think it was a sort of drumming, but then he didn’t know much about these giants either.

As he approached the giant slowly, to try to get a better look (his mother had somehow missed explaining to him about curiosity being a bad thing), he was nearly flattened by a large raindrop. Without thinking, he ran towards the closest shelter he could see – which just happened to be the strange box held by the giant. He made it just before the giant closed up the box and ran off towards the long structure.

That afternoon, John kept trying to work on his programming project, but nothing was working right. No matter what he told the programme to do, there was always some unexpected result. After a long afternoon of fruitless effort, he gave up and went to join some chums for coffee.

“I don’t know, man,” he said. “This whole computer of mine seems to have gone wonky. Nothing in my programme is working, and now the darn thing keeps turning itself on and off randomly.”

“Hmmm,” his friend replied. “Must be gremlins.”

Forget Perfection

If you are anything like me, that is very difficult to do. And the problem with this is that it makes it very difficult to actually start something. I mean, what’s the point of starting something, if I’m only going to get it wrong and everyone will judge it and know I’m a failure, and, and – well, you get the picture.

So, today a friend was on Facebook, and I commented on a post he had made. I followed this up with a note through Messenger. One thing led to another, and I ended up sending him a picture of a quilt top I had made. The quilt was intended for his son, but it was so busy, and so bright that I figured he would hate it. Plus I made a booboo in the quilt.

Well, as a result, he has told me that he has plans to come and pick it up from me. I told him I would have to go and buy backing and finish it. So – guess what. Off we went to the quilt shop where I bought suitable backing, and some extra fabric for the binding (in case I don’t have enough on hand). Next, I’ll have to clear off my quilting frame, and start practising like crazy. I know exactly how I want to quilt this, and it’s going to take some work.

But. Despite the booboo – and how busy it is – he likes the quilt! I showed it to the owner at the quilt store, and she told me it’s great! (She also commented on the small kennel quilt I had made, saying that all the corners meet and it’s crazy. Did I mention it’s made from 2” squares?)

The bottom line is – I need to remember that perfection isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

Wonder how long I’ll actually remember.

A Sense of Human

My husband and I were having a discussion about something this morning, and I remarked that “x” needed a sense of humour. At least, that’s what I intended to say. It came out as “a sense of human”.

In thinking about it, perhaps that wasn’t really a mistake.

It seems to me that we are very happy to spend our lives as observers. We watch TV. We spend time on the internet. We check our phones constantly. But there isn’t a lot of participation involved. It’s easier to stay aloof and just watch, than to actually get in there and get our hands “dirty”.

I’m like that myself. I could sit and look at housework for hours, and exhaust myself with all the energy required for it to be done (while not actually lifting a finger myself, that is).

I think we (okay, “I”) need to participate more. Maybe we need to first of all get out there and look around a bit. You know. Go for a walk in the neighbourhood. Check out the neighbour’s gardens. Think of ways of improving our own yards. (For “our” tastes, of course.)

Maybe we need to get to know the whole area a bit better. Find out where the needs are. Are there homeless shelters? Are there homeless? Could we maybe buy some socks and donate them? Or knit or crochet squares or blankets, or scarves, or hats for donation? Could we volunteer at a shelter? Or maybe make beds or toys for animal shelters?

I don’t know about you, but I always have great intentions. But somehow, I don’t seem to be “human” enough to follow through on most of them. Maybe it’s time I learned how.

A Sad Goodbye

Farewell to you, my love, my dear
Our parting comes at last
I’d like to say that all this time
Has mostly been a blast

But well you know we’ve fought and fought
Battles long and short
The time has at last come for me
To truly be a sport

And leave you here in this sweet house
Where we both loved and fought
We two will now much happier be
Such bliss cannot be bought

So fare thee well my own, my love
We’ll never fight no more
And I will now no longer hear
Your pounding ‘neath the floor

Outside the Window

There’s a world outside the window. It’s grey, and snowing. The trees are bare, and small birds are flitting from the fence to the feeder, looking for the tiniest bit of seed.

And here I sit inside, warm, and apart. I am divorced from this nature outside. I feel none of the breezes that move the branches, or that blow the snowflakes across my view. I cannot hear the birds chirping in their quest for food.

I feel nothing but a calm detachment, observing what is happening outside. It is no part of me, and I am no part of it. It is alive, and moving. I am – not dead – but existing in this artificial environment.

I keep watch for the stray cat that comes to our back door, looking for food. When he arrives, I will open the door, and take out some fresh water and moist food to go with his kibble. And I will feel the cold wind, and hear the wings of the birds all flying away in fear. The squirrels will run away, as if I were going to attack them.

And I will be bemused, knowing that I mean no harm, and wondering that they have not yet learned this.

Then I will come back inside, to my non-feeling existence, to watch once more.

It is a daily ritual. They do not learn to welcome me. And I do not learn to feel, to participate, rather than to observe.