A Few More Sentences – 08
Discover more from An Irritable Métis
A Few More Sentences – 08
Ode’imini-giizis (Strawberry Moon) Edition
Boozhoo, indinawemaaganidog! Aaniin! That is to say hello, all of my relatives! Welcome to another edition of An Irritable Métis. In this case, I am happy to present the EIGHTH EDITION! of the monthly sentences. For those of you new here, that’s where I post my daily, single sentences that I’ve accumulated for the month-just-ended, based on the practice that ultimately led to my first book, One-Sentence Journal, back in 2018. It’s a simple practice and fulfilling … and also maybe not so simple as it may seem. Regardless, it is excellent training for paying attention to the small moments of my life, and I enjoy sharing those moments here. As always, I deeply appreciate your time and attention….
There are also a couple important announcements at the end, so stay tuned for those!
2023_0601: Western wood pewee somewhere in the trees off my back porch, singing the evening home.
2023_0602: Downtown Missoula comes alive on a beautiful evening in late spring.
2023_0603: When there is a can of bear spray next to the fire extinguisher next to the back door, I know I am in the right place.
2023_0604: After last night it is worth noting that, if I actually cared to maintain one, I could add “Powwow Auctioneer” to my CV if I chose to.
2023_0605: After weeks of marking their presence with my ears via their song, I finally capture the local yellow warblers with my eyes.
2023_0606: Overheard first words indicating summer has officially arrived: older kid on bicycle tells wailing younger kid on bicycle, “It’s okay, you’re alright, it’s just a scratch!”
2023_0608: Scrambling to the apex of Peak Talking-About-Newsletters, complete with scraped and bloody hands and knees.
2023_0609: Struggling to reconcile my feelings about this neighborhood with the regular and tragic bloodshed that happens here.
2023_0610: Lights still on and a rattling window AC at the otherwise quiet crime scene.
2023_0611: Mist like smoke shapes a line across the southwestern ridgeline.
2023_0612: The emotional and ridiculous domino effect of anticipated, and cancelled again, evening plans.
2023_0613: An odd sensation driving a smooth new road swerving through a field I for years have admired for its abundant and gorgeous thistle crop.
2023_0614: Migizi rides the thermals rising into the southwestern sky, etched against a crumple of white clouds, until all drift away with the high winds, leaving behind an empty blue sky where, moments earlier, a Manitou had been.
2023_0615: As if summoned from the universe by my reflection that I haven’t heard any calls lately, a sandhill crane flies just over my street, magnificently prehistoric in size and shape.
2023_0616: On the morning after bloviating and socializing until well after bedtime, the voice is as raw as it is after submitting to band practice.
2023_0617: Comfortably dry and sipping coffee under the roof of my porch on a chilly morning while rain falls steadily around me, drops glistening from every slant surface of beam and branch, the world green and fresh as it was the moment the first person emerged into it from the sweet exhalation of the Great Mystery’s holy breath, I fall deeply in love with it all, all over again, and still.
2023_0618: There will be a price to pay for all this June rain, come July and August when the lushness dries to tinder, but in this moment I will revel in it.
2023_0619: Amidst hours of boisterous fireside conversation to close the day the loud contributions offered by the trio of great horned owlets, and their mother, in the aspens around us were by far the most profound.
2023_0620: The offerings prove sufficient to convince the Little People to eventually return the misplaced cell phone.
2023_0621: Grateful to witness the rise of the Sun at Solstice from behind the magnificent peaks of the Absarokas, then hours later watch Him set behind the ridges of Jackson Hole.
2023_0622: Possibly the largest Burmese mountain dog in the world soaks up all the attention on the street while I slurp bougie soup and judge the passers-by.
2023_0623: Early morning at Schwabacker Landing Trail, a tiny boisterous moose calf leads her mother from the creek bank into the willows.
2023_0624: Great Mystery, grant me the confidence to rock a puffy coat made out of leather and the wisdom to choose not to.
2023_0625: Victory Day, drumming with a Lakota elder while he sings his Little Big Horn song.
2023_0626: On the one hand I consider switching to a bicycle for my back and forths and on the other, the series of white crosses lining the road I would pedal every day.
2023_0627: Curtain call on a surprisingly wonderful undertaking to close an otherwise underwhelming day.
2023_0628: Sore knuckles are a welcome price to pay for peace of mind.
2023_0629: An endless metal serpent shrugs deeper south into Salish land.
2023_0630: Nothing like waiting for the hottest afternoon of the year to finally get around to all the heavy shoveling.
Three Seasons of Winter
I was fortunate to spend ten days at the Dear Butte residency back in November of 2022 and I will absolutely be back. Importantly, Christy Hays, founder of this wonderful artist space, decided to publish an anthology of work from people who have stayed there. She writes:
In January of 2023 I had the notion we should be collecting writing from all of our immensely talented residents. Originally I wanted to create a Zine as I thought it would be a low cost avenue to produce a printed record of the writing styles we have hosted here. Former resident and Butte native, Danilo J. Thomas suggested a book as he has the knowledge to execute such an undertaking, (we could not have made this without Danilo’s guidance). I thought a book was a fantastic idea and with much collaboration the first volume was born. The book contains short stories, poetry and essays from Dear Butte residents who participated in the program from Feb 2020 to Dec 2022. This is a diverse and rich collection of writing. Your purchase of the anthology directly funds this residency program and all of the community programming we offer to our town.
It was at this “little green house on the hill” where I largely finished the first draft of Becoming Little Shell. It was also there where I had my first full staff meeting with the Milkweed folks via zoom. So the place means a lot to me. Two poems I wrote – “Dear Butte” and “Lexington Terrace” – while I was in attendance are in the book and I couldn’t be happier or more grateful. I love this kind of thing, probably more than I do being published in bigger, fancier things. I hope you might consider purchasing Three Seasons of Winter (you may do so HERE) not only for my efforts, but especially in support of Christy’s and the continued existence of such an important part of the grassroots art effort that Dear Butte so wonderfully represents.
Journal-writing as a Creative Feminist Practice
Years ago (pre-Covid!) I was invited to read for Second Wind, the reading series from the U of M’s creative writing department. The MFA student who introduced me was Maren Schiffer, who I knew a little at the time but not well. Her intro was so kind and warm and unexpected that I was practically in tears before I even got on the microphone. We became better friends after. Now she is out in the world doing her own magic, and this workshop – that begins in just a few days, so don’t drag your feet on it! – is part of that. Here’s some lowdown:
Journal-writing as a Creative Feminist Practice will be:
Wednesday's 12-2pm EST
July 5th to August 9th (6 weeks total)
$225 or pay what you can
Payment: If $225 is above your financial ability, pay what you can between $100-$225. If $100 is above your capacity, please email me, and you can take the class at whatever cost works for you. I would rather have you in class than not!
It’s not too late! Workshop with Maren (her Venmo is @Maren-Schiffer) and don’t be shy about taking advantage of that sliding scale option!
A Few More Sentences – 08
The sandhill crane - how magnificent! And the "wisdom to choose not to" choices I encounter every day resonates with me. Oof. Loved all of this. I love the sentences format - so much like tiny poems wrapped like delicious sandwiches in waxed paper.
“Comfortably dry and sipping coffee under the roof of my porch on a chilly morning while rain falls steadily around me, drops glistening from every slant surface of beam and branch, the world green and fresh as it was the moment the first person emerged into it from the sweet exhalation of the Great Mystery’s holy breath, I fall deeply in love with it all, all over again, and still.”
Paradise! Most perfect start to a day that I’ve ever read.