The Last Thing I Should Be Doing...
Here I sit with my leg propped up on a little step ladder (with a lovely cushion for added comfort) in the middle of an office that looks as if it has been overrun by a hurricane. My foot is swollen, the result of random nerve activity often set off by stress or other unexplained stimuli due to the arthritis in my lower back. Surrounded by so much to be done and yet experience tells me that all I can do is take regular doses of an anti inflammatory, sit back and allow the arbitrary bother to run its’ course. Unfortunately, I really don’t feel like sitting back today.

One of my friends has a “blog day” and allows herself one day per week to make an online entry; methinks that is a fabulous idea. And one that is definitely being considered as a staple on the Griffonage calendar. Despite whatever other chaos reigns in my new life, it is good to know that once a week a person might allow herself to indulge. Keeps the typing skills (like I have any, unless using three fingers counts) and the writing skills (again questionable) sharpened, maintains some intellectual acuity (assuming there is already something there to maintain).

Slow Beginnings...
We have lived here before, but a very long time ago when the world was an entirely different place. I have yet to settle into our new lifestyle in the desert, to become once more accustomed to the laissez-faire coyotes floating in and out of our yard as if they owned it (and they probably do), the closeness of the neighbors (we only have an acre), the expansion of this once small desert town and the constant warmth and sunshine. Back in the early 1970s this area was entirely undeveloped, our house hadn’t yet been built and the coyotes didn’t have to meander in and out of people’s walled living spaces. Este Wash was simply a name on a topo map and even the coyotes didn’t care what it was called (or perhaps they called it something else). Yet there are nearly one million people here now and what I like best is that they are all too self involved to worry about starting (scary?) rumors about me or my husband or my dog etc. Here, it is too warm to get very worked up about anything and there is too much to do to spend much time speculating about the personal business of others. Despite its’ sizable populous, the desert citizenry moves rather slowly still and I have yet to encounter any truly high stress situations, no matter what I am doing or where I find myself, in this new town.

aka nopalito

Mostly I have been thinking about edible cactus lately, for some reason. Probably because the former owner of this house told me that a particular plant in the yard was a nopalito and now with further research, I am finding that any of a fairly broad variety of cacti can be considered nopalitos; any in the prickly pear family, or so it appears. Being a novice in this area, albeit a curious one, I am learning as I go along. How, for instance, to shave the spikes and skin off the nopales, so that they can be cut into strips or pieces, to be sautéed, pickled or made into a jelly.

But I Digress...
Sigh out loud.... it is just that we have all of this stuff that needs to be put away in new configurations; the house, the studios, the office. Though a thoroughly creative exercise, it is almost like overeating, at some point saturation sets in. Thus a swollen foot and the universe itself intervening to demand some “downtime” or else? If only it would all magically organize itself... although with patience, I think it will. As with art, no matter how monumental the task, through continuous movement and practice, a piece will often begin to tell you what to do and how to do it, as long as you become personally invested and are perpetually functioning.

Writing is a form of functionality.... yes?


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