Friday, September 21, 2012


Avatar:  a movable image that represents a person in a virtual reality environment or in cyberspace *

Click "play" to meet my avatar.

The real me is messy, and temperamental, and overbooked, and undisciplined, and, and, and . . . real.

But it's nice to pretend for a little while, to escape, before returning to the world that cannot be contained in two dimensions but is a fully-relational matrix of responsibilities, commitments, and interests.  My 2-D self lies devoid of its own volition, waiting for you to click on the "play" icon, but my 3-D self can be self-actuating, when it chooses.

And I choose.

To be self-actuating, that is.  That is who I am, except when I'm amusing myself creating digital dolls for no better reason than it was fun.

Which it was, once I "redesigned" myself, because, in the break from reality, I had to focus some on how I wish others to see me.

I think I have some changes to make.

So, I think I'll play digital-dress-up once in a while, when the real me is feeling a bit 2-D.  Somehow, the 2-D me helps the 3-D me to see myself more clearly.

Won't you come along with me?


*avatar. (n.d.). Collins English Dictionary - Complete & Unabridged 10th Edition. Retrieved September 21, 2012, from website:

Sunday, September 16, 2012

Letting hope take wing . . .

"Hope is the thing with feathers --"

Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)

Emily Dickinson is a wonderful poet, no doubt, but I have to confess that I do not agree with her on the subject of hope--unless the feathers she had in mind were attached to an eagle.

Hope is a feeling that is at the root of feeling human.  It lifts the spirit; it is a beacon on the darkest night.  But hope must be more than feathers.  It must have hands and feet and a voice.  Without them, hope is little more than a wish waiting on a benevolent fairy godmother.  I like the idea of someone else working to make my wish come true, but I'm too impatient to wait.

Hope must be like a spur to a horse's flank.  It must make me get up and work, so here's a few thoughts on hope:

Hope is that thing with tiny leaves leaning toward the light.

Hope is three blackberries the first year.

Hope is building a nest on a ceiling fan.

Hope is a break in the clouds.

Hope is hay rolls for winter.

Hope is jars of home-pickled pickles.

Hope is freshly turned earth.
Dickinson said that hope asked nothing of her, but I don't have her kind.  My hope asks everything of me.  Hope and hard work go hand-in-hand, and that's just fine by me.

How do you hope?