perspective

Funny how solid objects "move." Intriguing how angle and perspective alter everything. The five emerald onion domes of St. John the Baptist Ukrainian Catholic Church seem to sit just above the railroad bridge as you proceed west on Erie Boulevard toward West Genesee Street. But in my mind I think of them as residing a ways to the left, up the hill, Tipperary Hill. The iconic (literally and figuratively) church is to the left -- from certain angles. As the road bends or turns, you bend or turn with it. Each turn or bend presents a different perspective. An aerial view offers a whole different angle. Up close, far away, above or below, all different perspectives. Perspective is perception. Hashtag metaphor. 

gambol

I walked our dog in Burnet Park, where she gamboled in the snow, merrymaking and frolicking just for me, to give me a smile, as she sported in the fluffy lake effect snow. No. You're right. She did it for pure dog love, total abandon, canine self, yielding to the moment and the next the next the now.

watching the ball drop

I don't watch the ball drop at Times Square at midnight, not typically. Just doesn't interest me. Who knows, maybe it would be fun in person. Maybe some day. But almost certainly not. "Maybe" is a capacious word.

what comes after 'penultimate'?

So now we are at the ultimate, the last day of 2016. Squeeze it out, like someone making orange juice, fresh. Drain it all, seeds and rind and pulp and beverage.

calendar musings

Soon December turns to January, and 2016 to 2017. I get that we don't live a year at a time, not even really a day at a time. It's this moment drifting or dissolving into the next and the next and the next and the next. You get the point. Still, I'm eager to bid good riddance to 2016, its upheavals, violence, tumult, blooms, blossoms, sunrises, sunsets, roses, rusts, and secrets. And that's talking about my personal adventures! Let's turn the page!

insular

It is 4:41 p.m., and I have yet to leave the house today, spending time wrapping presents, napping, eating, and now napping. (Though the last sentence is long-ish, it is NOT a run-on sentence, which has nothing to do with sentence length, longevity, rhythm, or cadence. Look it up.) Is my staying in a reaction to the aforementioned frenzy or a tidal opposite of activity or mere holiday depression? (How dare one call it mere, ma mere.) But, having shaved and showered, I shall now venture out into the world, beyond the insular confines of my pauline walls.

frenzy

You see it. A palpable tension. An agitated hum. More voltage, higher speeds, greater impatience, fear in the eyes. Pressure! It's the holidays!

Yoikes.

I've surrendered most of that, though I understand it.

The fear of failing at the height of transactional trauma.

Sigh.

Maybe instead of saying "Merry Christmas," we should invoke a salute to stillness or silence.

Somehow.

Some way.