Summery, fresh blueberry corn muffins- gluten-free. |
August is fast approaching. I am trying not to think about it. I am baking blueberry corn muffins. Denial ain't just a river in Egypt. Or so I'm told. I am constructing my best defense to put off thinking about hauling our ocean-loving selves back to the dusty stoic hills of Ojo Caliente- 913 miles away from my sons, 915 miles from the sea.
Anyone out there want to buy a charming casita with mesa sunset views? Two kiva fireplaces. Saltillo tile floors. Vigas. All the rustic Southwest vibe you could ask for. Price reduced (thrice). To less than what we paid for it.
I don't pretend to understand the bigger picture, the honking beast of our lumbering economy. I'm no good at math- even when the economy is not melting down, humming along to its own sweet tune, nevermind comprehending the intricate ins and outs and ups and downs of depression economics and the breathtaking depths of Wall Street greed and extra sensitive interest rates that pout and pose and tease like strippers sending brokers into sweating Xanax popping frenzy. Not to mention, I cannot wrap my poetic visual brain around those epic taxpayer funded Wall Street buy-outs.
I'm an artist. I have always lived by the seat of my pants, without health insurance, without an IRA. I don't live by a plan. I live by intuition. Inspiration. I play with paint (not a skill valued by many people in our big screen spectacle loving culture). So I probably shouldn't have become a home owner. It was probably my fault. I should have known better. I've learned my lesson. I'm letting go. I'm saying no to mortgages. For now.
And I'm baking muffins.
I'm trying to practice my best Zen-Lebowski detachment (the waves help). And yeah. We still have three weeks. Miracles happen.
And I'm baking muffins.
I'm trying to practice my best Zen-Lebowski detachment (the waves help). And yeah. We still have three weeks. Miracles happen.
As always?
I'm hoping for the best.
I'm hoping for the best.
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