A Few More Sentences – 15

Gichimanidoo-giizis (Great Spirit 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 FIFTEENTH EDITION! of the monthly sentences.

For those of you new here, this monthly edition, where I post my daily, single sentences that I’ve accumulated for the month-just-ended, is based on the practice that ultimately led to my first book, One-Sentence Journal, back in 2018. It’s worth noting that that book came out on August 14, 2018, and it was August 14, 2023 that I received the telephone call from the governor telling me he was appointing me Montana Poet Laureate for 2023–2025. So there is magic to be found in the practice, if one is diligent!

It’s essentially a practice in taking note of all “the mundane miracles of your life,” as described wonderfully in this recent article from the New York Times that someone linked to somewhere, a link I followed and left open in a tab, unread, until long after I could recall where it came from. It probably requires a NYT subscription to read and if you don’t have one … well, I don’t blame you.

It’s a simple practice and fulfilling … and also maybe not so simple as it may seem. Regardless, the practice 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. If you feel compelled to offer up a few of your own observations in the comments, I would love to see them.

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There is actually a mountain range of them.

2024_0101: A column of the curious tromping across Council Grove on this First Day saunter.

2024_0102: Weathering the indignation over a perceived slight is an excellent reminder that post-holing the drifted snows of the high road is how one gets truly magnificent quads and hamstrings.

2024_0103: Several moments arguing with my compass because I can’t possibly be headed the wrong direction while bushwhacking in the middle of the frosty forest on the island at Council Grove, can I?

2024_0104: Ever since that pretentious dipshit Paul Kingsnorth – a writer I previously admired – suggested that Covid was a “delicious little reminder from God” that underprivileged people don’t deserve to live, or some such bullshit, I’ve been against the word “delicious” being used for anything that doesn’t involve one’s mouth … and after seeing it used thusly several times in the last few days I am climbing the hill I will die on in judgment of such writing and word-use accordingly.

2024_0105: Another sunny and glorious multi-hour drive during bad weather season in Montana and, if the forecast is to be believed, it seems my luck is poised to run out.

2024_0106: Unquestioned kinship and community north of the Medicine Line.

2024_0107: Gratitude to the trio of magpie relatives chasing the fluffy coyote relative away from the shoulder of the busy and icy highway.

2024_0108: Overbooked myself for the day and I’m under-enthused for it.

2024_0109: No dogs but plenty of mushing through a morning snowstorm while setting out on the road north to meet a new batch of 4th graders.

2024_0110: Another capacity crowd at the People’s House in Missoula and I love doing events here.

2024_0111: Eternally weary of all the self-righteous huffing and puffing of performative activists from a country that allows, for starters, Andrew Jackson to remain on the $20 bill.

2024_0112: A full propane tank is no match against the cold when the power goes out.

2024_0113: Bitter cold but oh, the sunlight on towering ponderosas, lodgepoles, and firs decorated with snow.

2024_0114: A reminder that, without reciprocity, what do you have?

2024_0115: This side of the holidays the good friends’ puppy isn’t a puppy anymore.

2024_0116: Headed north with all of my heart.

2024_0117: The flex of a snowstorm exceeds the power of Rock.

2024_0118: Twelve northern flickers outside my window and I’ve decided to recruit them as apostles.

2024_0119: The softest of openings for the big announcement.

2024_0120: Migiziwag in a cottonwood snag may look as imperiously at me as they choose to.

2024_0121: A couple miles through wet snow under a weight plate followed by a turn or two at the snow shovel and the body is as weary as the mind.

2024_0122: To the young woman at the gym who stepped out in front of me on the walking track, whose black workout attire was covered with white dog hair from mid-back to mid-thigh, I see you, and commend you for making it up off the couch and on to the sweat palace.

2024_0123: Familiar terrain becomes unexplored wilderness in the billowing fog of the Grass Valley this morning.

2024_0124: After blinking and rechecking my figures, it appears I really don’t have anything on the calendar today.

2024_0125: The paranoid and suspicious refusal of tribal bureaucracy to answer questions of the community shows how utterly, and willingly, colonized we are and I have to wonder what we fought for so long for in the first place.

2024_0126: Two U.S. flags hanging upside down from adjacent poles on a side street in Boulder, MT, and investigation reveals that, of course, this is not the bold statement of a lefty comrade but a multi-Trump-stickered-pickup-owning person who doesn’t seem to realize that the enormous Confederate flag sticker next to the Trump ones says nothing about support for any idea of what a “free” United States actually means, which is likely the point this person is making, even if in blustery ignorance.

2024_0127: Out for a ruck in a park adjacent to a recycling center, its grounds bursting at the fences with battered old refrigerators and air conditioners and who knows whats, I’m reminded anew of the tax our entitled comfort relentlessly forces on the world.

2024_0128: Attending to the suet cages after a couple days away from home and a fleeing sparrow takes refuge behind me while I nearly acquire a face-full of sharp-shinned hawk in hot pursuit.

2024_0129: There’s nothing beautiful and meaningful in the world that can’t be ruined by grant wrestling and the nonprofit industrial complex.

2024_0130: More than 100 reasons why I don’t wear ear buds when I’m out doing my road work in the form of at least that many common goldeneyes silhouetted against the high clouds and whistling by overhead, and, minutes later, at least one indignant red-tailed hawk expressing her displeasure at the gathering darkness.

2024_0131: Fog three days deep burns off by early afternoon to reveal blue, blue sky and glorious sunlight and suddenly, just in time for Imbolc, it feels like spring.

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In Case You’re Wondering….

Preorders for Becoming Little Shell are off to a great start and I appreciate that very much. You may CLICK HERE if you haven’t gotten in on the action yet. Preorders are important … or at least that’s what is commonly understood. I’m not so sure. I don’t really care about bestseller lists or any of that stuff, and I don’t know how much they will really influence the initial print run of my book, or marketing budget, or any of that. I had my first meeting with the Milkweed folks this week about marketing specifics, and it’s exciting and awesome, and I recognize that for all their help it’s still largely on me. And you, my friends. This is a long game and I think the biggest mistake writers make is giving up on their books if the public doesn’t immediately go apeshit over it in the first few weeks of its release. I don’t intend to make that mistake. I hope interested folks preorder just because it’s exciting and uplifting to know people are interested. That’s the reason I care most about it.

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Don’t be fooled. Bryn and Mini-Bryn love processing your BLS preorders.

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