“We are right at the start, do you see. As though before everything. With a thousand and one dreams behind us and no act.” ~ Rainer Maria Rilke, from “Notes on the Melody of Things” (Section I)

I began this post Sunday afternoon, and then my computer decided to act up again. All of the script errors are back, and now whenever I do a search, half of the results page is blank. I’ve scanned for malware, and the scan says that everything is fine, but obviously, everything is not fine. I am so weary—these recurring computer issues always seem to rear their ugly head precisely at the moment in which I have decided to post, that exact moment in which I am finally ready to sit here and just let the words pour forth.

The fates conspire against me.


Sunday afternoon, partly cloudy, 43 degrees.

Rainer Maria Rilke wrote “Notes on the Melody of Things” in 1898, when he was only twenty-two years old, but the piece was not published in his lifetime. Many of the same ideas from “Notes” appeared in another essay, “The Value of theMonologue.” I have chosen to share just a few of my favorite passages, but you can find the full text here.

III. That occurs to me: when I observe: that we still always paint people against a gold background, like the Italian Primitives. People stand before something indefinite—sometimes gold, sometimes gray. Sometimes they stand in the light, and often with an unfathomable darkness behind them.

XVI. Whether it be the singing of a lamp or the voice of a storm, whether it be the breath of an evening or the groan of the ocean — whatever surrounds you, a broad melody always wakes behind you, woven out of a thousand voices, where there is room for your own solo only here and there. To know when you need to join in: that is the secret of your solitude: just as the art of true interactions with others is to let yourself fall away from high words into a single common melody.

XX. In other cases, when there is no difficult, heavy pain to make people equally silent, one of them hears more of the powerful melody of the background, the other hears less. Many no longer hear it at all. They are like trees that have forgotten their roots and now think that the rustling of their branches is their power and their life. Many people don’t have time to hear it. They are impatient with every hour enveloping them. These poor, homeless people have lost the meaning of existence. They strike the keyboard of their days and play the same, monotonous, lost note over and over again.

XXI. If, then, we want to be initiates of life, we must keep two things in mind:

First, the great melody, in which things and scents, feelings and pasts, twilights and desires, all play their parts; —

and second: the individual voices which augment and complete this full chorus.

Today is the birthday of novelist and playwright Frances Hodgson Burnett (November 24, 1849 – October 29, 1924), author of one of the first books that I chose to read as a child, The Secret Garden (1911). I still have a very clear memory of the local library’s children’s section, the exact location of the stacks I used to spend countless hours perusing in search of books to read.

I also read her other well-known book The Little Princess (1905), which was turned into a movie with child actor Shirley Temple, but I much preferred a lesser known book The Lost Prince (1915). Even as a child, I had a propensity for finding an author and dedicating myself to reading as much of that author’s oeuvre as I could get my hands on. When you are an only child, books can be a reliable bulwark against loneliness, as they were for me.

More later. Peace.


Music by Ben Cocks, “So Cold”

“Artists, poets, mystics, prophets, those who do not seem to fit into the world or the ways of society, are frequently lonely. They feel themselves to be different . . .” ~ Jean Vanier, from Becoming Human


Saturday afternoon, sunny, 81 degrees.

A quiet day around here. I’ll be handling everything while Corey is gone to Ohio for his dad’s big birthday celebration. That means all of the dogs, the goats, and the horses. Woo hoo. My life is full. Seriously, though, it’s really nice to have Napoleon back; this morning I went out to let the goats out of their pen, and I turned around and found Napoleon right behind me, waiting to be nuzzled. Sassy was there, of course, but she’s still too skittish to be nuzzled. Now I just need a saddle.

Oh well.

One good thing about binge-watching The Americans is that I keep being treated to great songs from the 80s, as well as a few that I’ve never heard or heard and completely forgotten. I posted one the other day by Yazoo, who was completely new to me.

I only have one season left, and then I’ll probably start on either Deadwood or Justified. Kind of sad, huh, that the only real news that I have at the moment is the next television show that I’m going to watch . . .

Anyway, thought I’d share a passage that I found from Canadian philosopher and humanitarian Jean Vanier (go here to learn more about him):

If we try to prevent, or ignore, the movement of life, we run the risk of falling into the inevitable depression that must accompany an impossible goal. Life evolves; change is constant. When we try to prevent the forward movement of life, we may succeed for a while but, inevitably, there is an explosion; the groundswell of life’s constant movement, constant change, is too great to resist.

. . . To live well is to observe in today’s apparent order the tiny anomalies that are the seeds of change, the harbingers of the order of tomorrow. This means living in a state of certain insecurity, in anguish and loneliness, which, at its best, can push us towards the new. Too much security and the refusal to evolve, to embrace change, leads to a kind of death. Too much insecurity, however, can also mean death. To be human is to create sufficient order so that we can move on into insecurity and seeming disorder. In this way, we discover the new. ~ Jean Vanier, from Becoming Human

More later. Peace.

Note: Roland the goat knocked my laptop off the table once again, and for hours I was unable to finish this post and publish.


Music by Avi Kaplan (love this guy’s voice), “Change on the Rise”

“Lo! Men have become the tools of their tools.” ~ Henry David Thoreau

Image result for Mueller memes

“Technology is a queer thing. It brings you great gifts with one hand, and it stabs you in the back with the other.” ~ Charles Percy Snow

Wednesday afternoon, sunny, 80 degrees.

So yesterday while I was in the kitchen, one of the goat boys knocked my laptop onto the floor, and now I have a major problem. I cannot get the mouse to work, and the screen keeps going in an out. I have to physically move it incrementally until it comes back. This is more fun than I can possibly express.

I had to complete an online form for my long-term disability coverage, and without a mouse, I had to rely on the touch screen. If the screen isn’t working correctly, using the touch screen to select a microscopic dot becomes an exercise in futility at best, and akin to pulling out eyelashes at worst.

So the only good thing about today is that it’s lovely outside. I’m inside. Sitting here at the only computer that I have access to . . . while the goats practice jumping on things, like my coffee table. Their banishment to the outside cannot come soon enough for me. They’re wonderfully cute when they are a week old, cuddly and quiet, needing only food and love. Give them a few weeks and they are pure hellions who want to have sex with anything vertical, including my legs.

“Never trust a computer you can’t throw out a window.” ~ Steve Wozniak, co-founder of Apple

I’ve had the Mueller hearings playing in the background all day as I was unable to watch them on TV. I don’t know why I do this to myself; it only makes my blood pressure rise.

I’ve thought for over a week that I had my mammogram appointment today, but guess what . . . it was on Tuesday. Now I need to reschedule. Again. I really don’t know how I keep doing this. I guess it’s a good thing that I missed it because Corey and I both thought that we had appointments that were only an hour apart, and it takes a frigging hour to get anywhere from here. Turns out his appointment was rescheduled as well. So no appointments today. Hooray?

I know. I know. I wanted to move away from the city. That doesn’t mean that I like the distance from convenience. Whatever.

Never trust anything that can think for itself if you can’t see where it keeps its brain.” ~ J. K. Rowling, from Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets

I do have good news, though: Napoleon is back home, and he and Sassy are getting along just fine. He got out of the trailer and immediately walked to the gate for the pasture and walked down to the pond. It was as if he was making sure everything was where it was supposed to be. We had no problems getting him to get in or out of the trailer, even though the guy who had taken him from Dallas’s house said that they had a horrible problem getting him into their trailer. I told Corey that it was because Napoleon didn’t know them; the same thing happened when Dallas tried to get him in the trailer—he really didn’t want any part of it.

Apparently, several people had their eyes on Napoleon, trying to make claims on him. He really is quite a beautiful stallion, so I can understand that people wanted him, but he’s mine, all mine. He came to me as soon as I walked towards him in the pasture. Unlike Sassy, he has no problem with being nuzzled. I missed him so much. Wherever Dallas is now, I hope he sees that I got my horse back despite his best efforts to keep him from me.

Look Dallas! I got my horse, in spite of you! Ha. Ha.

Yes. I’m vindictive. Sometimes. So sue me. But I wouldn’t suggest crossing me today as I’m full of piss and vinegar. It’s a combination of having a broken computer that is working but not working and listening to stupid people pose impossibly stupid questions.

I’m not even going to try to include images with this post as it would be near impossible to do without my trusty mouse. One of these days, my desk will be set up, and I will have more control over my life. Maybe once Corey gets back from Ohio. Who knows. Certainly not I.

Oh . . . one of these days . . .

Enough said. More later. Peace.


Music by Godsmack, “Under Your Scars”

No poem today…