A Few More Sentences – 25
Gashkadino-Giizis (Freezing 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 TWENTY-FIFTH EDITION! of the monthly sentences. More than two years in and still going strong!
For those of you new here this monthly edition, where I post the 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 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.
If you enjoy these monthly sentences, or you enjoy anything about this newsletter, please consider a paid subscription. Your support is more important than ever….
2024_1101: Reconsidering the idea that six hours of dealing with all the complications of air travel is superior to nine hours in the driver’s seat.
2024_1102: I can’t call this a murder, this gleefully mad abundance of gathering crows on a perfectly gray evening to close a wonderful day in Portland, but I can call the company perfect.
2024_1103: Leaving PDX without a Reggie or even so much as a Jack in the Box taco this trip, but next time, a feast!
2024_1104: Commencing four straight days at home, the first such expanse in months, and I find it mildly unsettling if only due to the unfamiliarity of it all.
2024_1105: Neoliberal arrogance comes home to roost, again.
2024_1106: Word of human remains discovered on the Southside Road just other-side-of-the-river from me, for the second time recently, and I’m not surprised given the degree of grim sketchiness I’ve encountered over there in recent years.
2024_1107: The ability to present online represents a boon to quantity, if not quality, in the sharing of stories.
2024_1108: I’m staggered by the turnout on a Friday afternoon in Bigfork for the bloviations of a tired old poet.
2024_1109: A beautiful entry into the Swan Valley from the north, even without a landscape blanket of snow.
2024_1110: Dad would have been 84 today.
2024_1111: It’s only been six months since I traversed Highway 78 southeastish for the first time ever and now, several trips later, I find it more breathtaking with each subsequent visit.
2024_1112: The second straight night in a little bunkhouse with a lovely view and a wood stove and it’s hard to leave all that warmth in the evening to share the same story all over again.
2024_1113: Abandoned in the Columbus High School gymnasium post-event to find my own way out, it’s amazing I’m not still there, wandering its halls, like a desperate wraith.
2024_1114: The uprising and resistance as displayed by the mighty Māori people of New Zealand inspires me over the brink into tears.
2024_1115: Coffee and yogurt breakfast with myself at the Shelby Comfort Inn, German spoken at one table, Russian at another and, in English, the sexual escapades of a 42yo woman (“I’ve been talking to him for two years, I’m gettin’ that D!”) and how it upsets the mother she lives with from the next.
2024_1116: Headlong into remnants of winter crossing the Continental Divide.
2024_1117: Pulled back from the edge of melancholy by the appearance of a stout little belted kingfisher perched on a wire over an irrigation ditch.
2024_1118: Nookomis glides boldly out from behind a prodigious bloom of cloud to grab my attention for a cold and beautiful moment in my night driveway.
2024_1119: Butte, America, remains a favorite for all its grit and ghost townedness.
2024_1120: Waking up from a nap in the hotel to the realization that the event begins on the other side of town in five minutes.
2024_1121: Gingerly crossing the ice-patched expanse of what passes for a parking lot at the tiny Elliston store just off Highway 12, the intrepid poet attempts the slope down to the entrance in boots untested by slip-and-bust-your-ass season.
2024_1122: The raven perched in a slouch at the high arch of a streetlight doesn’t seem overly perplexed by the abundant deluge.
2024_1123: “But don’t you benefit too from all the progress we’ve made here?” says the smug and ignorant old white guy trying to gotcha me in White Sulfur Springs into admitting Native people actually don’t have it so bad in the settler-afflicted hellscape we’re living in and never have I wanted so badly to smash someone in the face no matter how old he is.
2024_1124: In the news another boarding school ruin, more unmarked graves, and more black-robed devils shrugging as if to say, “What?”
2024_1125: Turning into the home stretch to conclude a long day ending in evening darkness, at the outer edges of the bloom of my high beams I catch the flash of an owl launching from a towering willow tree into the expanse of the Superfund site.
2024_1126: The teenager in the front row is working so hard at affecting her boredom and disinterest I’m compelled to ask her just what I’ve done to make her so mad at me and at least that makes her smile and blush.
2024_1127: Soft ground carpeted in golden larch needles, this thin place doesn’t seem to have missed me much either.
2024_1128: Not the rumble of a coming storm, just the gastro-intestinal aftermath of a spirited tilt at the holiday table.
2024_1129: On a just-before-bed saunter with my own cloudy thoughts and from out of the cold, immediate darkness comes the scream – and I don’t know what else to call it – of a red fox, a primal sound that is chilling if unidentified; which is to say I am grateful the story of my life has been to make me one who recognizes the song immediately, and that my continuing story allows me the good holy fortune to share proximity with such a wonderful relative on this particular night.
2024_1130: Mishomis arrives to celebrate the closing of the month and contributes to a perfect day for sweating in the mountains.
“2024_1114: The uprising and resistance as displayed by the mighty Māori people of New Zealand inspires me over the brink into tears.”
Brings me to my knees in reverence…this friend speaks my mind!
No footnotes?!?! I LIVE for the footnotes!
In all seriousness, far too many phenomenal sentences this month for me to pick just one favorite. Grateful to you (and fox) for another great roundup.