Hey—I’m not asking y’all to go all up in the connection grill of randos. Just a small recognition of another person. A hey, how ya doing? A nod to the guy hauling bags of trash out from a building. All of these little things can fill us with humanity. Fills others with humanity.

The tailor is a metaphor for how connection is at the heart of our humanity. They look at us, see us in the clearest way. They bring their knowledge, history, experience, and ability to see us for who we are. Their vision and connection to us add to our being, spark our growth, actualize who we are through how we appear to the world. We trust them. And that there is what adds to our lives as we move forward in life.

Tolkien coined, eucatastrophe. Defined as “is a sudden turn of events in a story which ensures that the protagonist does not meet some terrible, impending, and plausible and probable doom.”

I see periods of my life as fabrics. Some moments are silk. Others are cotton. Some perhaps gaberdine. Even wool. These periods of time can be measured in connections to others, acts, and experiences. Say there was a time when life was a fine Pima cotton of 800 count. Then it became a smooth silk. Or a rough, torn, frayed denim. Then it changed to a coarse wool. To an alpaca. All of these are laid before me one at a time on a cutting table. It's the stitches that pull them together.

Posts on a blog does not a legacy make. There is the Memoir "Donna, A Photo Memoir of Love and Loss". Not so sure that is legacy worthy since it never went anywhere. Self-publishing is the low hanging fruit of ersatz writers. Still it exists. So a legacy lite. Can you see me grasping at straws. Ha There's a novel sitting on my hard drive. Sitting like a latke left over from a long ago Hanukkah. I do have a play written. Working on getting it produced. Hope is such a surrogate marker for reality denial. Still, maybe it can be something that can put legs into legacy.

Since Donna's death I've been harboring thoughts and plans of my own death.

As I look around. Well more back and forward. It seems I'm on the final panel of a triptych. The first panel was early life. The youth of me with all its Jesus did I really do that moments. The middle panel, meeting Donna, getting married, working, my business, the stable time. The final panel, Donna's diagnosis, her death, my grief, my isolation, The slow erosion of my physical self with the subsequent stabbing of emotional health.

"I only saw the brush strokes and not the canvas."

Reading "Faith, Hope, and Carnage" by Sean O'Hagan. He interviewed Nick Cave the musician who's band The Bad Seeds is featured in the Peeky Blinders TV series. Cave is also a writer, film, poet, and more. These interviews were deeply touching to me on so many levels. I'm not even that far into the book. His discussion of grief is so enlightening. Learning more will be a treat.

The past few days I've been hunting for my center so I could identify something to write about. The centering I was seeking was more like a bagel hole. All around that hole is warm chewy textured flavor. Just a hole within me. I know my centered self is there but I couldn't taste it, feel it, tear it apart to butter it, and devour. Maybe I've exhausted myself.

I am or better said I portray an extrovert. I've shared my always chatting up those who serve me in stores or restaurants or just passing folks (not the entitled those who work) with a nod or a smile. Toddlers too. It is my spread a bit of joy God knows there are days joy is a fleeting quality.

"As you replace what is present with what you're seeking are you the same person? Does it change your journey?"

The past held much for me. Now there's darkness, fear, failing at trying, and the aging of body, mind, and soul. Those are the tennis balls I juggle each day dropping one that end up under the bed. Out of reach laughing since getting up and down off the floor is now an olympic event.

This is now my journaling. A public journaling with great caution of course. In the harsh reality of a bright June sunrise no one reads this so I can go all ideation, KMS, and shrug. Maybe stay away from that kinda journal entry for the moment. On the upside this will my chance to reflect in real time. To capture the clanging pots and pans in my head beating out a Rush song that incessantly shatters my internal peace. Putting all of that internal dialogue here slows the emotional erosion. Gives me pause to see better what is going on.