A Few More Sentences – 27
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 TWENTY-SEVENTH EDITION! of the monthly sentences. 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. This evening as I write I’ve just returned from a lovely workshop at River Arts & Books in Roscoe, Montana, where this kind of effort was a focus of our wide-ranging discussion. It followed a reading last night that was equally enjoyable, where the night pressed against the windows and a raging windstorm dared anyone to venture outside. Now I’m sitting in a little rental cabin that is of perfect size to live a simple life in, in the foothills of the mighty Beartooths, and I’m feeling pretty decent about it all. The day was gorgeous and a massive winter storm (allegedly) looms on the horizon within the next couple days. I suppose I could ask for more as February opens, but why would I?
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 at all, please consider a paid subscription. Your support is more important than ever….
2025_0101: A little snow with more on the way layers the day in thin beauty as the new year unfolds.
2025_0102: Against a gray sky full of tiny flakes of snow, a chorus of goldeneyes arranged in a perfect vee whistles by overhead.
2025_0103: At long last, Biboonkeonini gets around to making winter in earnest for us eagerly waiting in the Missoula Valley.
2025_0104: Overdue first date of the season with the snow shovel, a not entirely unwelcome undertaking, if somewhat greasy under the base layer.
2025_0105: Out in it, I note various recreationists who seem determined to challenge the Ponderosas to see who can drape themselves in more winter layers.
2025_0106: While a bluebird afternoon closer to Missoula, here in the Old Mill District the mist didn’t burn off entirely due to proximity with the river, but through an early evening rent in the high clouds while reloading suet cages I catch Nookomis waxing gloriously against a brilliant winter sky.
2025_0107: Late morning outrage leads to another turn at the medicines to reclaim the only thing I am capable of controlling: how I react to things.
2025_0108: In the wee hours I dream of my father and mother arriving in some rural outpost to watch me speak only I wake before they are able to see it.
2025_0109: The air smothers with anxiety squeezed into an old building overloaded with suits and ties.
2025_0110: Tiny details gathered in the sizing up.
2025_0111: Deep snow to wallow through at the high border between Montana and Idaho.
2025_0112: While I ponder which email from my immense accumulation to respond to next, a northern flicker shimmies down the trunk of the cherry tree in pursuit of a retreating second one, making a sound for all the world like the venerable Pacman game and I totally snort a little with my giggle.
2025_0113: Nookomis bright in the eastern sky at bedtime, where she is certain to be watching over us all for the entire night and I wish I had the energy to sit up with her until morning.
2025_0114: One of those gorgeous cold-but-not-too-cold, sunny-and-blue-sky days that make Biboon the best season.
2025_0115: Whoever it was who suggested keeping one’s enemies closer must have been a terrible friend.
2025_0116: The hours of the day can rush by so quickly that the occasional not-so-much-tapping-on- but practically-standing-on- the brakes is necessary to keep the precious nature of so-called time here at all from becoming an unending blur.
2025_0117: Migizi vs. Migizi against the flat pewter sky over El Mar Estates, where I held my first summer job more than 40 years ago.
2025_0118: Curious and challenging to raise a cone of rock power in a place largely overrun, during load-in, with children.
2025_0119: Viewing the western horizon at dusk I am struck by just how transfixed I am by the magnificence of the sky, more often than not, more than ever before.
2025_0120: Here I am at my desk again, eyes drifting beyond the window, where the morning sun is blooming across the viewscape, about to go on and on some more about the abundance of flickers having their way with the suet cages, wondering if my notebook (or anyone else) is tired of hearing about them, yet how can I not moon so, when I take such great pleasure not just in their regular and raucous company but also in providing for them, especially during bitter cold stretches such as this?
2025_0121: Trying to be mindful about not allowing myself to get anxious and irritable over potential outrages that haven’t happened yet would be a lot easier if I weren’t so mired in outrage over potential irritations that haven’t happened yet.
2025_0122: It could be argued that it actually remains quite cold – below freezing, in fact – but the abundance of sunlight makes all the difference.
2025_0123: Addressing the to do list while working from home is a fool’s errand when the chihuahua embraces the role of obnoxious office manager.
2025_0124: A snapshot of our current reality: OWG in first class on the plane watching Fox News on the inflight monitor while scrolling Facebook on a tablet perched on a tray table, pausing only to lean across the aisle to the next guy and say, “See, this is what’s wrong with Missoula….”
2025_0125: On the five year anniversary of the Little Shell celebration of federal restoration I am again in a noisy room full of people, this time to celebrate the same story only with strangers.
2025_0126: Coffee outside on a chilly morning in North Carolina where the abundant chirpings of the winter birds is far preferable to the chirping of the dining area television with all the state-sponsored misery to be reported on.
2025_0127: “It seems like half the plane knows who you are!” says the flight attendant handing me my water and while that is a bit hyperbolic, it kinda feels that way to me too.
2025_0128: Only two classes in and I’m convinced that saying yes to teaching this crew was one of my rare good decisions.
2025_0129: Waiting in vain at a bustling coffee shop for the person I’m supposed to be meeting with to show up, defending against grinding my teeth in indignation by addressing my jaws with a second enormous peanut butter cookie.
2025_0130: I’m trying to think why all the flags I’m seeing are at half mast, wondering if it’s still in recognition of Jimmy Carter or just a reflection on the general limp horror of this gawdawful nation in general.
2025_0131: Stupendous winds howl beyond the walls of a little cabin-turned-bookstore in rural Montana where an intrepid crowd of poetry enthusiasts have gathered to close out this endless-seeming month in glorious community.
Particularly appreciated the 21st! Trying this practice for the month of February.
My favorite is your caption on the photo. I can see the Dipper composing her poem and the long verse left by someone like Coyote along the far shore. Katawasisin! (I'm hoping that's how to say "It is beautiful" in Cree? Please correct if that's not right.) Miigwech Chris!