blogging about blogging, and when not to follow advice
You may be reading this post shortly after it was written, following the sequence of my postings, or you may be reading it at any given time (probably, but not necessarily, subsequent to my writing it). Blog posts straddle a crossroads of the immediately relevant and the timeless treasure. Emphasizing the “timeless treasure” aspect, advice to blog writers often counsels against meta-discussion of situational or sequential issues--it draws too much overt attention to something that will likely be irrelevant two weeks from now.
It’s good advice, but since when have I followed advice 100% of the time? So yes, this is a post about what this blog is for and what to expect from it. The short version: I remain E-la-stic, but there is a rhythm to my blogging.
perhaps a monster no longer
From the other side of the world, from the other side of thirty-nine years, I salute my then-new mother on the other side of her hard labor.
From the other side of the screen, you--dear reader--come to this blog to see what's new. Sometimes there's a new post every time you check; other times, all is static for a month at a time. Perhaps that unchanged front-page post each time is no less fresh/novel/new than the parade of new posts.
From the other other side, I am still here, I am working hard, I am in material precarity but trusting in divine guidance.
So, what else is new?
milestones can only be arbitrary
The next herb I will write about here is Monarda-- Mexican oregano--movement embodied and personified in plant medicine. Monarda my sweet-hot, my ally in this time of change and mo(ve)ment I undergo in alongside spirit with many others. But that won't be today.
Today, I'm publishing this blog's ONE HUNDREDTH post! But why so long since post 99?
can you be crazy and know you're crazy?
I haven't put out the next post I'm writing in the series on satiety, physical and metaphorical.
I haven't finished the thoughts on transformation as momentum through critical mass rather than singleton skip from black to white.
Several collections I've promised to review languish in the basket of my guilt.
I haven't taken courage to publish my horrific "gained weight from a diet pill" story, although I think the story might well offer benefits: what said pill actually does might be useful in other contexts.
So, big failz, yes? This post is about why. Also, perhaps, about why I've more or less kept some of "it" together despite.
happy in(ter)dependence day!
This is going to be another metaphor post. Something I've been musing on for a while that, eyeballed the right way, metaphored appropriately, fits perfecly into the Independence Day discourse.
Sometimes you have to hold onto something in order to let something go.
Independence day? Or inTERdependence?
As reclusive as I'm drawn to be, no man, or woman, or alien-girl, is an island. Sure, I live alone, but I wouldn't be putting this out into the ether if you weren't there waiting to read it. Yes, I do mean you. Meanwhile, I've been wretched of late over a scenario involving the scale, of which I may share more soon. And the accretal couldn't have happened were there no exchange of materials between myself and my environment. And on a different level of interdependence, I'd be handling the situation far less well were I not able to talk with my mom about it.
But back to the "hold on in order to let go."
context is key; please compare like with like
A well-respected and charming functional medicine doctor, Dr Alan Christianson, recently published an article about satiation in the context of (implicitly calorie-restricted) dieting for weight loss. After running through a few studies purporting to show that the foods you might expect to be satiating are not so, he settles on potatoes--but not chips or fries, mind you--as the most satiating food, and crowns his article with a "recipe": boiled salted potatoes, cooled and finished with a little olive oil.
Now it's not clear to me if the brief research survey is mere preamble to the drumroll recipe or if the recipe is mere rider to the 'shocking research findings,' nor what sort of naive audience is intended here, but there are so many things about this article that seem so wrong to me, it'll probably take two posts. Let's get started.
in which I compare myself to a fridge in hot weather
High heat is here. High, dry heat.
Elsewhere, gardeners favor raised beds. Here, contrariwise, we sink them. Cooler, shadier, hold moisture better. I take sacks with me into the river wash and bring home plant debris, horse poop, bat poop, as mulch that is also shade.
What's alive so easily parches to death; what's already dead doesn't compost because it's just too dry. I love heat, but when it's so high above my body temperature, it makes me wonder if there is after all a "too hot."