REGULAR BLOG FEATURES: It’s coming back to me now. Back when I blogged regularly I’d often have some sort of regular feature. I remember at different times I had Music Monday, Chanteuse Sunday, Politics Monday, Across the Tampa Blogosphere, Syndicated Sunday, Wednesday Books, etc. So, I think I’ll do an Idle Thoughts round-up on Fridays while I’m doing the 100 Days of Blogging.

POLITICS: I also used to write a lot about politics. Often the political gripe du jour would prompt some sort of comment or explanation or question. I don’t think I’ll be doing that this round. Y’all know how to get political info, and I’m not tuned enough to the local scene to provide anything useful.

MUSIC: Wednesday Night Song List looks like it might be a regular feature during these 100 days. About 5 or 6 years ago I stopped listening to music. Pretty much almost completely. This was weird because music has played an important role in various ways through my life. It’s really only a year or so ago I started listening again. It occurred to me today that I probably used to control a lot of my self-talk by singing to myself in my head. It was the period I stopped listening to music that my self- talk started becoming unwieldy.

THE FUTURE: Why is the Long Now Foundation so white? Like, I can kind of understand how it might have started out that way, but it’s 2022, and the amount of whiteness seems statistically abnormal. It’s a little hard to tell from the thumbnails, but the last 17 years of guest speakers is also overwhelmingly white. And only one talk on Afrofuturism? I remember when I used to be so enthusiastic about their projects, and now they just look creepy and weird. #OurCreepyFuture

(100 Days of Blogging: Post 011 of 100)

(It’s been awhile since I posted a story. Here’s my most recent rejectee. Hope you like it more than the acquisition editors! Note: the following is a work of fiction.)

(100 Days of Blogging: Post 010 of 100)

I’d situated myself in my spot high up the live oak tree when I heard Uncle Dale bust out laughing and knew he’d gotten another one of his ideas.

My uncle Dale gets ideas. They are not good ideas. Mostly they are dangerous ideas. Dale thinks they are funny ideas. In the year 2020, the year of Covid, we all gathered at Granny’s for Thanksgiving. I don’t come from the sort of family that lets something like a global pandemic get in the way of a family gathering. Or even hanging out and drinking a couple of beers.

Dale’s ideas start with a joint, a shot of Jim Beam, and a couple of PBR tallboys, which then leads to — I have an idea. Sometimes he’s giggling so much we can barely understand him, but we’ve heard it so many times before we say the sentence for him.

On Thanksgiving morning his idea was to have our very own parade, complete with balloons. A Fuck Covid parade he called it.

My kin barely tolerate Dale, but Granny loves him and dotes on him. He’s been living with her since he got out of the hospital. She shares his sense of humor.

Thanksgiving is always at Granny’s farm. She inherited the farm and the Thanksgiving tradition from her mother who inherited the farm and tradition from her mother.

The farm was originally a shack in the middle of Florida. Granny’s grandparents built a house for themselves, and their son (her daddy) built a house for his family. The houses are close enough that Granny stretched a roof between the two houses, and that’s where we set the tables when we gather. It’s ramshackle but solid.

By lunchtime about seventy of us peppered the kitchens and the space between the houses and the porches. The place was as lively as an ant bed doused in kerosene when Dale got his idea.

My family drove up from Hialeah the weekend before Thanksgiving. I didn’t really hang out with Uncle Dale, he was grown and I was still a kid, but I hung out near him that week because he was funny. He was also sometimes sad or angry, and I steered clear when that happened.

Thanksgiving morning Granny nearly fell in the bustle of the kitchen but Uncle Carter caught her, so she ended up sitting on the porch with the other old folks watching the kids run around like little beasts.

Dale disappeared. Not that anyone noticed. I played tag with the kids and didn’t think about Dale and his idea again until he drove up in his raggedy green pickup with all the helium tanks and about a million balloons. Balloons of every color ever invented. I wondered where Dale got that stuff on Thanksgiving, but didn’t ask anyone. I figured he probably stole it.

Dale’s parade never worked since he couldn’t get anyone organized, but we had a ball and laughed so much blowing up balloons and sucking helium. Even Granny got in on the fun and hugged Dale and thanked him for making her laugh. The closest we got to a parade was all the littlest kids holding handfuls of balloons and marching around the horseshoe pit. Dale lost interest when Bubba and Merle showed up. They all vanished into the barn and Dale forgot about the parade.

The next morning we found Granny dead. She’d strapped a hose from the helium tank to a plastic mask she’d cobbled together and breathed it until she died. My dad found her behind the barn, and said at first he’d thought she’d fallen asleep in a lawn chair. Until he saw that she’d fixed that plastic mask to her face. Aunt Prossy read her note aloud, and we called the coroner, and everyone felt sad or angry or both. The note said she loved everyone and wanted to die with her family around her, and that her spells had been getting worse and it was time to go.

No one else heard him, but I heard Dale say softly, “I have an idea.” Mama told me to watch the little kids, but I followed Dale outside and climbed the oak to watch him. He carried the balloons and the helium tanks into the barn.

Perhaps the family should have been paying closer attention, but it was pure chaos as usual and no one realized Dale had gotten another one of his ideas until they saw Granny’s body tied to a bunch of colorful balloons and floating up above the house. Dale had removed the mask, and I could have sworn Granny was grinning. We watched until she was just a cluster of candy-colored dots poked through the top of the cornflower sky.

END

I’ve done it two weeks in a row, so I’m going to consider that a trend. I’ve dropped a spotify widget in the column and I’ll update it on Wednesdays with the things I have on repeat through the week. I think the last one was 13 songs and about 30 minutes. This one is 9 songs, 20 minutes (as I write this).

A few songs made it from last week to this week. I’m still loving Tierra Whack and the Maxine Sullivan version of “Enjoy Yourself (It’s Later Than You Think).” And I’m not sure why Big Freedia wasn’t on last week’s mix, but that’s been set right tonight.

(100 Days of Blogging: Post 009 of 100)

Nothing to write about today, but to keep the streak going, here’s a pic of Zorro the dog.

(100 Days of Blogging: Post 008 of 100)

I don’t think I ever mentioned what sparked my current interest in fairies.

In the summer of 2021 we visited Southern Cassadaga Spiritualist Camp here in Florida, over by DeLand.

Neither of us is particularly spiritual or religious, but we were itching to get out and about after more than a year of lockdowns and isolation, so we chose Cassadaga as a more-or-less arbitrary stupid goal. It’s a kitschy tourist destination (as well as a for-real spiritualist center) and it’s close enough we could do a weekend visit.

We arrived Friday night and stayed in the Cassadaga Hotel. Saturday morning we went to a presentation about the origins of Cassadaga, the hotel, and the rise of spiritualism in the 19th century, which ended with a tour of the camp. We had our auras read and visited a nearby ‘haunted history museum’.

After all of that it was only mid-afternoon so we wandered aimlessly around the camp, visiting several tiny parks. The map showed the Horseshoe Park and Fairy Trail, but it wasn’t clear to me exactly what that was. And, considering the postage-stamp size of the other parks, I wasn’t expecting much. But, since we had time and not much to do, we trekked over.

It was magnificent.

There’s clearly a design, and elements that have been put into place by people tending the park, but there’s also a strong vibe of emergent vernacular art. While there’s a “frame” in place (pillars, signs, a maze, some furniture, designated areas (like a section for lots of garden gnomes)), many of the elements are contributed by visitors (beads, stickers, ‘in memoriam’ grafitti, random objects).

While we visited the camp as a kitschy tourist destination, spiritualism is a real faith and many of the visitors are interested in connecting with the spirit of someone they lost. Throughout the park are mementoes to those who have died, which gives the fairy park a sweet, sentimental aura.

Additionally, the park is large. We wandered around for at least 30 or 40 minutes, finding different nooks and crannies of weird outdoor art installations. Not many people were there when we visited, so it also had the air of a quiet contemplative space.

We found it so charming that on the way home we decided to put a fairy garden next to our house. There’s an unused spot between the driveway and the fence, underneath a giant oak, we decided would be perfect for random bits of colorful junk arranged to be aesthetically pleasing.

At some point in the last 75 years the oak grew around a steel pole that had been stuck in the ground near it. Now there’s what looks like a steel spike sticking out of the oak tree.

“The fairies aren’t going to like that,” I thought. “They don’t like cold iron. What can I do to lessen the impact of this spike? It’s embedded too deep to pull out.” Knowing that fairies didn’t like ‘cold iron’ exhausted my knowledge of fairies. As I was idly wondering if I should look it up to see if there’s an answer for my steel-in-the-fairy-garden conundrum, I laughed at how my brain is research bent, and decided that by-gum I would research fairies, and I’d write a really long essay about what I learned.

The essay is coming along. There’s a rich history to research. But it all started with an arbitrary stupid goal, an idle moment, and a little bit of boredom.

(100 Days of Blogging: Post 007 of 100)

Scrapped today’s post for reasons, so here’s a Big Freedia video.

(100 Days of Blogging: Post 006 of 100)

“Rent” Lyrics:

Talking Talking Talking Talking
Yada Yada Yada Yada
Talking Talking Talking Talking
Yada Yada Yada Yada

Baby go head, Baby go head
Baby go head, Baby go head
Baby go head, Baby go head

It’s the first of the month
I said enough is enough (Say what)
I committed to you (yeah)
You should of paid me in love (come on)
Instead boy you tried it (umm)
I see through your lying (uh uh forreal though)
This time my family done
Keep your apologizes hun
We could have had a good run (uh huh)
But you done fucked up son
Cause ooo boy you tried it (say what say what)
Can’t stand all your lying (all your lying)
With all that

Talking Talking Talking Talking
Yada Yada Yada Yada
Talking Talking Talking Talking
Yada Yada Yada Yada

You don’t pay no rent (no no)
You don’t pay no rent (no no)​
All this time ive spent (uh huh uh huh)
Still don’t pay no rent (nope)
You don’t pay no rent (no no)
You don’t pay no rent (no no)
All this time ive spent (uh huh uh huh)
Still don’t pay no rent (nope)

You taking up space
You in my head every day
But baby this aint your place (nope)
And this the shit that I hate (come on)
Ooo boy you tried it (say what say what)
I cant stand all your lying (nope nah nope nah)
Get these boxes out my home (uh huh uh huh)
I be better on my own (on my on my what)
Stop calling my phone (ring)
Bitch leave me alone
With all that

Talking Talking Talking Talking
Yada Yada Yada Yada
Talking Talking Talking Talking
Yada Yada Yada Yada

You don’t pay no rent (no no)
You don’t pay no rent (no no)
All this time ive spent (uh huh uh huh)
Still don’t pay no rent (nope)
You don’t pay no rent (no no)
You don’t pay no rent (no no)
All this time ive spent (uh huh uh huh)
Still don’t pay no rent (nope)

Bitch im your landlord (uh huh uh huh)
Don’t got no remorse (nope nah not at all)
Pack your bags boy (pack em up pack em up)
You don’t live here no more (no more no more)
Bitch im your landlord (uh huh uh huh)
Don’t got no remorse (nope nah nope nah)
Pack your bags boy (pack em up pack em up)
You don’t live here no more (no more no more)

You don’t pay no rent (no no)
You don’t pay no rent (no no)
All this time ive spent (uh huh uh huh)
Still don’t pay no rent (nope)
You don’t pay no rent (no no)
You don’t pay no rent (no no)
All this time ive spent (uh huh uh huh)
Still don’t pay no rent (nope)

Last year was supposed to be the year of submission. And it was in that I submitted some stories, as opposed to previous years when I submitted none. I submitted 5 stories and received 4 rejections. I’m still waiting for a flash piece that’s out.

The attitude I wanted to adopt last year was to shoot for rejections instead of acceptances. Which, I think, is an attempt to trick myself into not tying my self-esteem to a story’s acceptance or rejection. Maybe I’m getting better at that?

I continually believe I can level up, but feel like I need to do a few years of steady attentive work before I get there. And those couple of years are necessarily stretched out even longer since I have a non-writing job that pays the bills and takes up my time. I’m also pretty indolent which doesn’t help my productivity. There’s certainly some excuse-making packed into the sentences above, so I’m working on uprooting the weird fears I have about my creative expression.

This year it might be a little bit before I crank out any short stories or flash fiction. I’m currently working on two longer pieces — a long non-fiction essay on fairies, and a long historical romance set in my fictional world of Abdera, Fl. I’ll do a post about each of those projects during this 100 days of blogging stint. (Oh! I’m also working on a group project for a commercial interest that I’m not sure if I can write about or not. I didn’t sign a NDA, but it seems a little gauche to discuss it without everyone’s permission, and it’s in an unfinished state, so I’ll keep quiet about it until they start publicizing it.)

Associated with this topic I’ll also do posts on writing podcasts, self-improvement books, making and breaking habits, and other places I’ve been looking for insight and solutions.

(100 Days of Blogging: Post 005 of 100)

Influencing (changing, re-directing) my self talk has absorbed my attention for the last 8 months.

I don’t think self-talk really became an behavioral health issue for me until late 2018, early 2019. And then, because of general work misery, my self-talk started having a disproportionate impact on my emotional well-being. I found myself constantly arguing with imaginary versions of real people. The inability to shut it off and think about other things led me to use the employee assistance program (EAP) at my work. The EAP offered a limited number of free counseling sessions. It was a scary step, but my internal dialog and general unhappiness was negatively affecting my life so I sought help. During the summer of 2019 I picked up some tips and tricks on re-directing my self-talk to less stressful topics.

2020-2021 covid. The tips and tricks I had been utilizing seemed to work. It helped that I worked from home that year.

But in the summer of 2021 I realized I’d been negilgent in redirecting my self-talk, and my miserable chatter returned. So in July I found another therapist, this one I pay regularly (though I’m fortunate enough to have insurance that covers most of the cost), and started a regular practice of mindfulness meditation.

In retrospect I wish I’d started something like meditation much earlier in life because I’m really appreciating the effect it has on my attitude and general emotional well-being.

There are all sorts of other things I’ve been doing to increase happiness and decrease unhappiness for the past 8 months. Those will come up in future entries. What started it all though was arguing with people in my head all the time and not being able to figure out how to ‘change my mind.’

(100 Days of Blogging: Post 004 of 100)

One of the best decisions I made last year was to start therapy. Ostensibly it was to help with job burnout, but I’ve found it extremely useful to have someone listen to my worries about all the weirdness in the world and my own reflections about personal happiness, relationship stuff, chronic low-grade anxieties, and portents of mortality.

For most of my life I’ve resisted any sort of emotional/mental health counseling because I believed that a) whatever was wrong didn’t rise to the level of needing professional help, and b) that a therapist would identify that something truly was wrong with me, and I didn’t want that.

What I got instead is someone who is an advocate, an ally, and a sounding board.

I think it helps that I went in with an open mind and a desire to weed out bad habits, and old frames of reference, and a willingness to sincerely try new strategies for improving my emotional health.

At around the same time I also did a 40 day mindfulness meditation ‘class’ (Mindfulness Daily at Work with Tara Brach & Jack Kornfield). A non-trivial part of what I want to change is my self-talk, and the mindfulness meditation has helped me with that.

And so, as I contemplate what brings me joy and how to turn toward that, I’ve decided to shoot for one hundred days straight of blogging in an attempt to re-establish that habit.

(100 Days of Blogging: Post 003 of 100)

I’m somewhere beyond mid-life. Currently the average life expectancy of a US male is just under 80 years, and I’m a few years under 60. (Long list of caveats including accident, unforeseen health issues, and benefits of privilege.)

This closer-than-I-like-but-still-kind-of-far-away destiny carries more weight when I reflect on the general job/career dissatisfaction that’s been plaguing me for the last four or five years. Am I really going to spend half the time I have left grousing about my day-to-day existence? That sounds miserable.

So, what am I going to do? Well, I’m not sure. I’m in the process of figuring that out.

And that’s one reason to do 100 Days of Blogging. I blogged regularly from 2000 until 2010, and then sporadically from 2010 until now. I like it. It’s fun. I want to do more frequently. We’ll see if a 100 day commitment can bring the habit back.

(100 Days of Blogging: Post 002 of 100)