A Few More Sentences – 26
Manidoo-Giizisoons (Little 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 TWENTY-SIXTH EDITION! of the monthly sentences. More importantly, this edition represents the FIRST edition of 2025 while simultaneously representing the LAST collection of sentences from 2024. So many things at once! It’s mind boggling, isn’t it?!
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.
Another 2025 first request here: 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….
Before we get to the sentences, per my last post I want to thank everyone who has already showed up in support of IndigiPalooza. It’s been great. Truly. But I also want to make something abundantly clear: the festival isn’t/wasn’t my idea alone, my thing alone, any of that. I’m just an equal collaborator with a decent platform to talk about it. Something like this doesn’t happen without a lot of people working together and I’m deeply uncomfortable with the thought anyone thinks it’s all about me because it’s not. Not even close. I’ve made a few edits to that post to reflect this a little better.
Moving forward, the best place to get news as more unfolds concerning the festival will be to sign up for updates from the festival itself. Just add your email at the bottom of the page HERE. Miigwech….
2024_1201: Chore day and I used glass cleaner to polish the bathroom scale shinily bright in hopes it will show me a little return love in the coming days.
2024_1202: A room full of interested and interesting university poetry students is not bad company for setting the sun with on a gloriously bluebird day in Missoula.
2024_1203: I can almost hear the stretch of reluctant muscles as my chest opens up with the pectoral fly, the pain and soreness squeezed out like filthy, soapy water from a ratty wash cloth.
2024_1204: The view out my window this morning as I toil from my desk, with the fog and the thick frost covering every surface, is like the color of unburnished silver waiting for some knuckle and elbow grease.
2024_1205: Down the afternoon street I see inflatable Christmas characters collapsed in higgledy-piggledy heaps all over the neighbor’s yard like it was the site of a bizarre and lethal holiday conflict.
2024_1206: From the dark wings of backstage the Métis waltz springing from the cross-tuned strings of a single fiddle pulls tears from the corners of my weary eyes.
2024_1207: The afternoon nap as bulwark against the potential for taxing evening emotional exertions.
2024_1208: It’s convenient but I’m more and more convinced humans just aren’t emotionally or spiritually equipped for the luxury that our speed of travel provides us.
2024_1209: The deeper and more unabatedly cruel the oppression, the higher the likelihood of resistance by body count.
2024_1210: Sitting outside the studio in my final moments before getting back to work, I am delighted to be visited by a hummingbird going at the flower box nearby, a favorite relative many weeks moved on from where I call home.
2024_1211: The smartest thing I’ve done lately is to take on this week without a car because otherwise I might have missed everything I’ve most enjoyed.
2024_1212: Completing the audio reading hits almost harder than completing the book did in the first place, and what gratitude I feel for having had the opportunity.
2024_1213: Struck again, as I always am, by how much of a paradise California must have been before colonists carved a bloody path to it for settlers and Catholics.
2024_1214: The woman across the aisle from me on the flight from Salt Lake to Missoula works diligently the entire trip on what appears to be poetry; moving from her phone, to a laptop, and back and forth with pen and paper, stirring up my own desires to return with some dedication to a blank page.
2024_1215: An alternating day of sunshine and flurries of sleet and near-snow to welcome me back on my first day home from the southern coast.
2024_1216: Road work under what’s left of the trees at the holy place, the first efforts at snowfall almost breaking free from all the sleet.
2024_1217: A tumult of mixed feelings at the buffalo harvest.
2024_1218: The coffee machine wakes me up with sound and holy smell, then pleasantly hisses and gurgles me back to sleep.
2024_1219: Blue skies and sunshine two days before the solstice, the fields abundant with great blue herons.
2024_1220: Solstice eve, I didn’t even wear a jacket.
2024_1221: The season’s first fire on the longest night with a light scatter of rain.
2024_1222: Trying not to sink under the weight of the many things I really should be doing I’m reminded of Turtle’s Solstice message to me yesterday, that things take however long they take.
2024_1223: It’s no small victory that today really marked my first collision with ill humor toward this stressful holiday season and here we are, nearly through it.
2024_1224: The unexpressed joy that surges in my spirit as my son, smiling, darkens the doorway of his grandmother’s home, his broad chest boldly displaying the symbol of the Little Shell Tribe of Chippewa Indians against the background of a black hoodie.
2024_1225: On Christmas morning with no trace of snow but abundant with warm sunshine, the lone Stellar’s jay must contend with the seasonal gang of northern flickers for a turn at the suet buffet.
2024_1226: Achievement unlocked: 1000 miles walking.
2024_1227: Every year, happy as I am for the Christmas hubbub to be over, I don’t look forward to the neighborhood's light decorations coming down, though, just down the street, the neighbor whose seasonal light display is a year round commitment alleviates the melancholy.
2024_1228: Achievement unlocked: 500 miles under the Ruck … and then, an encounter with a childhood best friend at the Lowes.
2024_1229: In the hours so deep into the night it is nearly time to get up I find myself awake listening to a pair of very nearby great horned owls calling back and forth and my joy cannot be contained by any earthly measure.
2024_1230: After some weeks away in service to other exertions I made a sweaty return to bludgeoning the heavy bag and the full body flood of endorphins is almost erotic in the aftermath.
2024_1231: Somewhat arbitrarily when measuring deep time, another year draws to a close, and I am grateful for all of its fruits.
My friend Sapphire Jetty playing “Old Paint” at the Winter Rendezvous in Helena and my eyes wouldn’t stay dry. What a gift this community is.
Milkweed Editions and Little Free Library launch new partnership
A locally grown collaboration with national impact: Indigenous Library Steward-sustaining Partnership.
All the details HERE and I love it.
Thursday, January 9th, in Great Falls
The theme of this is “The American Dream.” My perspective certainly isn’t the typical one. All the details are HERE. If you’re in the area, I’d love to see you for the first public gig of 2025!
13th Annual Movable Feast at Bookmarks in Winston Salem, NC
This is a Saturday/Sunday throwdown, January 25th and 26th. I’m there both afternoons, 3pm – 6pm. I have no idea what to expect but I’d love to meet some folks All the details, including registration information, HERE.
Winter Poetry Workshop and Reading at River Arts & Books, Roscoe, MT
I was the first person to ever read at River Arts & Books and I’m stoked to be headed back there. The reading is at 6:00pm on Friday, January 31st, with a workshop the following day. All the details HERE. This will be a great one, especially if there’s snow!
the great horned owls returned to my suburban neighborhood late this fall and i missed them so much. every night at dusk when i walk the dogs, i try to find them calling to each other from neighbors' roofs or chimneys, at the top of the park pines or median eucalyptus trees.
“things take however long they take” was a profound reminder for me today as my brain tries to rush me through grief. Thank you for this.