Life these days

I don’t know what’s coming. I don’t expect it to be good. I hope it falls short of the worst it could be, but I’m not sure we humans as a whole can remember the importance of decency until we create the tragedy that shoves it down our throats. I’m just taking my good moments while I have them. I do art challenges I find on Bluesky. They make me want to ditch my pencil comfort zone and make colorful things. I’m trying to unstick the boots that have been stuck in the mud of realism and stretch my imagination. The store helped with that, too. It grew into this beast that made me look at my photos and say “what else can I do with that?” It’s a nice middle ground because the start is already there. I’ve been getting my camera out more again now that I’m healed up as well. I want to learn some new things with that. And I got some storage for all the images so I can get my microphone and interface reinstalled. I could do books for Librivox or just yak at YouTube or something. All these projects that began as a way to grow and explore have been morphed by hopelessness into something simpler. A spot of joy. An acknowledgment that my life is not over yet. A small bright yellow flower sprouting up through a crack in the concrete. That mentality has sent me off in yet more directions. There’s an itty bitty greenhouse in my living room now. I desperately want to see little green things pop up through dirt. I bought seeds for tomatoes, mixed greens, and strawberries. And then I read if your organic potatoes sprout eyes you can put them in dirt, too, so now I’ve got little potatoes cut in half drying out so I can see if I can make baby tatoes. And I want to bake bread. But we can’t eat just any old bread here, so today I learned how to make chickpea flour if I don’t want to order it and found vital wheat gluten at the co-op. I have no idea what that is, but the recipe calls for it. It sounds properly bready so I’ll feel fancy when I buy it, anyway. It’ll be a miracle if I have anything more than a bunch of dirt and a rather large, yeasty hockey puck to show for all this, but it feels good. Just basic and good and that’s enough. That’s priceless. Dad comes to visit when he’s bored now or just needs to get away from the house. We keep him loaded with books and movies and 3D puzzles and model cars. He’s got tables set up with projects that help pass the time, but I’m glad he knows he can come here. We went to the history center last time. Maybe we’ll go to the big one up in the Cities next time. The air around him feels raw, and there’s a deep sadness in his eyes now. I know I can’t make that go away, but he’s doing what I’m doing. Just soaking up every good thing so there’s more than that sadness. As he was telling yet another story I’d never heard, and I was saying yet again that it’s a wonder he’s made it to 80, he said “but it was a fun life.” There was satisfaction in that for both of us I think. We found some new riding boots for him at the Harley shop down the road. He’s tickled because they zip. Easy on and off for the elderly. lol I reckon there will be a bike parked in my driveway often this summer. I can hope that much anyway. I would like more fun life for him.