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~ we only need an openness and an eagerness to embrace the possibilities!

A surly old poetry colleague used to harangue his fellow writers whenever an uncommon or foreign word, expression or phrase was used in the poems we shared in group gatherings. I always held a different (read: healthier, more vibrant!) take on the matter. I love stumbling across fresh-to-me opportunities in poetry and prose to gain new knowledge and insights.

This morning, during my daily poetry readings, I discovered the following words and phrases, all new and previously unknown to me:

  • the florin: a historically significant coin, first issued in Florence in 1252
  • the joyous noise of polyphony: think ‘morning bells are ringing’ in what we used to call singing in the round when I was in Girl Scouts.
  • Odin’s ravens: Huginn and Muginn in Norse mythology, ‘thought’ and ‘memory’, respectively; they flew across the world gathering information and each night returned to whisper what they’d learned into Odin’s ears, welcome additions to his arsenal of wisdom.

Life-changing, attaining these simple lessons? Probably not. But, with a smile on my face, I enjoyed the process of discovery, the ‘aha’ moments and the tucking-away of precious new (and perhaps useful) information for future writing endeavors.

Here’s to our own special ravens!

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Saturday. Sunday. Monday. Tuesday. Wednesday.

The uproar, the anger, the outrage is real. We cannot allow ourselves to be lulled back into any kind, any semblance whatsoever, of complacency!

“Anyone who can make you believe ABSURDITIES can make you commit ATROCITIES.” ~ Voltaire

And, I might add, shame on those millions of MAGA idiots and morons who’ve bought into, who’ve supported and continue to support, this thuggish regime and their president (he’s certainly not mine). I cannot fathom the lunacy behind their adherence to such hatred, violence and indecency.

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From a HuffPost article following yet another ICE-related killing in Minneapolis:

Minneapolis Mayor Jacob Frey called on President Donald Trump to withdraw the massive ICE presence in his city following the latest fatal shooting of a man by federal agents on Saturday.

“This is a moment to act like a leader,” Frey said during a press conference following the shooting. “Put Minneapolis, put America first. Let’s achieve peace. Let’s end this operation, and I’m telling you our city will come back, safety will be restored. Take action now to remove these federal agents.”

I read a quote this morning from an administration spokesperson who said that Trump’s sole motivation for “everything” that he does, he does for the good of the American people. Nothing but lies, nothing but grandstanding, nothing but cattle excrement.

Enough is freakin’ ENOUGH.

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Once again, I must swear off the news.

Every time I think – yes! – this is what will be his undoing, the rat bastards provide the necessary cover to enable his foul, despicable, corrupt regime to carry on.

How do these men and women sleep at night? Truly, have they no shame?

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The bottom of the year, the end of the line on a long scroll of calendar.  Thirty-one days of ho, ho, ho’s and holly; yuletide fare and winter white.  Children growing ever more ecstatic as Christmas approaches.  Adults, some still young at heart, share in the glow of the holidays.  Others, not so much.  Disheartened and fatigued with the hustle and bustle, Scrooges among us grumble still.

Pay them no mind. We have more than eight inches of snow on the ground here in central Iowa. It’s beautiful, truly a winter wonderland, a feast for our eyes and world-weary spirits. Christmas lights up our neighborhoods. Holiday music triggers childhood memories and it’s easy to get caught up in the nostalgia of the season. TV fare soothes our psyches with classic favorite characters: Rudolph, Grinch, Ralphie and Elf.

I purchased a gorgeous copy of A Christmas Carol a few years ago. Last night, I started reading it, hoping to make this an annual tradition. Required reading in my ninth grade English class, the book made an impression, way, way too many years in the past. However, I’ve not read it since high school and decided a few weeks ago to read it in the month of December this year. The book is an illustrated version, nicely bound, and so far, a real joy to read. It’s fun to pore over the images, on nearly every page. It’s a shame I’ve not done this before now.

No matter. I’m enjoying it now just as I intend to enjoy the holiday season this year. Sometimes, I admit, I’ve been a bit of a Scrooge myself. My adult mantra has always been one foot in front of the other. Onward! For Christmas, now, likewise and ditto.

The child in me nods enthusiastically.

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In January 2023, I logged in to a series of Zoom presentations via the Grant Wood Online Forum. Participants were encouraged to submit poems, limericks, art work and essays for the print publication of the Grant Wood Country Chronicle.

In response, I wrote an essay titled The Fun, Feel-Good Legacy of Grant Wood. I sent it off to the forum facilitator. Then promptly forgot all about it.

My mailbox was packed tight with the usual junk mail yesterday – and a large, manilla envelope which contained my copy of the Chronicle. An ekphrastic poem I’d written, and that essay had been published alongside a wealth of information about Grant Wood and other artists and persons of note in his circle at the time.

I’m happy to share the link with you here to access the PDF document. Certainly, I hope you’ll enjoy my essay as well as the works of others who contributed to this collaboration.

To locate the essay, run a document search of my full name, Julie Allyn Johnson or enter the essay title, shown above.

And, of course, I thank you very much!

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This afternoon would have been Day 4. It was marked on my calendar, for quarter past three: Feed Sourdough Starter. The soupy concoction was rising nicely, building in size, growing larger. Yes, indeed. My little kitchen experiment, my first attempt at making starter for sourdough bread, was humming right along.

That is, until I preheated the oven to warm up a couple of slices of leftover pizza. Argh!!

Per the instructions on the website I’m following, it’s important to keep the starter cozy and warm in a 70-to-75-degree environment. The site suggested placing the jar, with the bubbling, potent mixture, in the oven with the light on for short periods of time.

However, I forgot that my sweet, little monster was in the oven when I set the oven temperature. To a scorching 400 degrees.

Ruh-Roh.

So. Back to the drawing board. Begin again. And this time, I’ll place a sticky note over the oven controls every time that space is ocupado!