I think every artist in our society suffers from this.  We believe our work is worth nothing.  People are waiting for us to grow up and get 'a real job'. As if dreaming were not a real job.

We remind people of something bigger and wider and deeper and more long term than the mud our feet are buried in... in fact that mud is just as enormous as the cosmos over our heads.

Dreamers point out that most people think too small.  Tomorrow.  The next meal.  Keeping the roof on the house or the power on or the water running.  The problem is... that the people who must worry about those things... are the same people who are telling us to look up at the sky and out at the horizon, take one's focus off one's toes and see that what we use to call Goddess or God... is us.

And we are convinced that passing the hat is somehow 'too much'.  Because we are not boring and regular and predictable that we are somehow suspect.

Well.  We are.  We are the ones that go out to and past the village boundaries and look past what is safe and ask.  "What's out there?"

Rather than stoning these people, as villagers have done many times, to drive away the strange... Perhaps we should invite the 'other' the 'weird', the outre to our hearths and our fires.  Perhaps we should do more than just feed them the tail ends of the roast.

People who dream and who can see further looking at the same horizon, are valuable.

But as a society we refuse to recognize this.  We marginalize, we belittle, we destroy.  Because who can hold a dream in their hand, like a gemstone?  We are a society chained to material creation and we suffer for it.  Gods, how we suffer.

And artists think that to be true artists they MUST starve in a garret, or they are no good.  Silliness.

Dreamers are obvious.  We just have to stop ignoring them.

I'd buy a hybrid for use, probably a hybrid suv or a high-effeciency diesel, or an air powered vehicle!

But Id want a VW bug again, a 1956 Mercedes SE, a 1948 TC MG. 

I've recently begun posting my poetry on shirleymeier.blogspot.com starting with selected pieces from 'Flowers and Vice' a limited editon volume.

It's about time I started posting or displaying my poetry.  The last piece I published was 'Mummy Bones' in Tesseracts 7 and that was a while ago.

So if you like poetry, have a peek.  Not publishing regularly and they will likely be interspersed with other things.

I have a log home... I had a crazed woodpecker trying to dig out a roosting hole in it.  I now have holes in my chinking and am a crazed homeowner who runs out in the early morning hours in her skivvies waving brooms at said woodpecker.  Sigh.  I STILL put out suet, albeit not near my logs.

Speaking of dogs... I have a Yule story that I'm sure will be funny next year.  About a half an hour ago the two sneaky sons of bitches and the bitch tried to heist the turkey carcass.  Unbeknownst to them I spotted the miscreants and snatched the bird from the jaws of my hell hounds.  Mayhem ensued... much yelling and flailing about with the foil pan holding the greasy bird over my head with the other hand, dogs fleeing into the night, bits of congealed turkey grease flipping about as the pan was wielded.

Hoover is still hiding outside, Rio is hanging his head in shame and Congo won't come out of my sons' room.  But the carcass has been successfully picked and safe in the fridge. (Congo hasn't figured out how to pry open this one!)  So.  aside from the human pack-leader going apeshit, all is peaceful again at A Chunk of Sky.

Enjoy your leftovers, I will savour every successfully defended bite of mine!

This is Congo with the Yule bandage lying down, full of doggy demerol. Rio is sniffing. She's recovering well.

Using only books currently on my shelves...

Describe yourself: Passion and Reason (B and R. Lazarus)

How do you feel: A Darkness Forged in Fire (Chris Evans)

Describe where you currently live: Neither Here Nor There (Bill Bryson)

If you could go anywhere, where would you go? The Lying Stones of Marrakesh (Stephen J. Gould)

Your favorite form of transportation: The Phoenix Unchained (Lackey and Mallory)

Your best friend: The Bodywise Woman (The Melpomone Institue)

What's the weather like? Northern Frights (Don Hutchison)

If your life was a TV show, what would it be called? DIY (Allen)

What is life to you? The Meme Machine (Blackmore)

Your last relationship: War of Honor (Weber)

Your fear: Lies My Teacher Told Me (Loewen)

What is the best advice you have been given? Scientific Progress goes "Boink" (Watterson)

Thought for the day: Godel, Escher and Bach (Hofstadter)

My soul's present condition: Book of Shadows (Turcott)

This weekend I had Karen and the boys up for the weekend.  She'd had to put our old buddy, Beauie, (a 14 year old lab), to sleep and I figured company would be the best way to go.

She brought along a package of chicken and I rubbed the boneless breasts (though this is good with thighs as well and might go well on a whole one...)  with nyonya curry (the curry that rose out of Malasyian wives trying to cook for their Chinese husbands who'd picked up the curry from India... never mind its a good mix...)  paprika and maple syrup.  Roast.  Serve with rice and stir-fried veg.

nyonya curry powder
smoked paprika
maple syrup

very simple

very good and the kids like it.

We had snow this morning.  I have a moment or two before I have to shift over to writing for my patron.  So I'll rush out and grab some more firewood.  Even if the temperature is about the same as it was yesterday, it feels colder once the snow starts to fly.