Warren Bluhm's Blog, page 29

But is it done

“Don’t add a line,” he said. “It’s perfect.”

“But …”

“Nope. Minimal, mysterious, I’m compelled.”

“Shouldn’t I —?”

“Nope. You said your piece. Now move on.”

“But what did I say?”

“That’s for your audience to decide.”

“You think this will have an audience?”

“Don’t worry about that yet.”

“When should I worry?”

“Actually? Never. Did you say what you came to say?”

“I don’t know. Kind of. Maybe.”

“Then you’re done here. Don’t overstay your welcome.”

“You thin...

pulling out the stops

One day I stopped writing poems
when I noticed
poets seldom get rich.

One day I stopped writing songs
because I figured
I’d never be a star.

One day I woke up
and realized
those were silly reasons to stop.

Schedule a time to listen

The schedule is showing up every day. Ain’t that the truth?

Show up willing to be a receptacle for the words calling you from out there, and you will hear them, sure as the breeze is bouncing those wind chimes around outside my window just now.

The chimes are a constant metaphor for me, musical chaos singing nature’s song, or is it God, who created nature and is nature, sending me a melodic reward for showing up today to listen and take notes?

Watch and listen for the metaphor; watc...

‘Steal Like An Artist’*

Honesty consists not in never stealing but in knowing where to stop in stealing, and how to make good use of what one does steal. It is only great proprietors who can steal well and wisely. A good stealer, a good user of what he takes, is ipso facto a good inventor. Two men can invent after a fashion to one who knows how to make the best use of what has been done already.

— from The Note-Books of Samuel Butler

* with thanks to Austin Kleon

Eagles fly like, well, eagles

I remember the first time I saw an eagle flying overhead at our retreat not far from the shores of Green Bay, a few years ago now. It was heart-stoppingly beautiful, that majestic bird fighting back against extinction and soaring along.

Friday afternoon I sat down on the bench in Willow’s Field and looked up to see nine of them. I think they were all eagles; I only spotted one white head among them, but it takes quite a bit of time for a young bald eagle to attain that distinctive look.

Th...

Would you rather be safe or free?

(It’s funny what 22 years can do to something you wrote. This chapter, incorporating two newspaper columns I wrote back in the day, may be the most chilling bit in my book Refuse to be Afraid.)

Would you rather be safe or free?

It’s been the central question in the United States of America for two decades now.

In April 1999 a couple of kids at Columbine High School in Littleton, Colo., committed an atrocity, shooting 35 students and teachers, killing 13 of them, before turning the g...

The first of April

April Fool’s Day apparently traces its origins to a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away. The gist of a shallow dive into the search engines reveals no one knows where the idea of playing (usually) harmless practical jokes on April 1 came from.

Sometimes I see a headline and come to the conclusion that someone has declared it Fool’s Year or Fool’s Decade or the Century of the Fools; forget about having a single day to pull the wool over people’s eyes in fun, although some of this isn’t...

What Ever

Photo 46132158 © Saknakorn – Dreamstime.com

Whatever.

What a word that is, in the proper context: a dismissive losing of connection.

“This is not addressing the real problem, I’m not engaged, my interest is not even present, you are irrelevant, you swung and missed, you can’t help and yet here you are still trying to help.” You could say all that, but why do that when one word will do: “Whatever.”

Actually, it’s said as two words: What ever.

Whatever you say, boss, or friend, or w...

It comes in waves

The dog up and died; he up and died —
After 20 years he still grieves.

I have always choked up a little bit when we get to that line in “Mr. Bojangles,” and I knew that after three-quarters of a lifetime, I had experienced the love of a dog as deep as that about Jerry Jeff Walker wrote.

I was a basket case again for a little while the other day. I took a walk along the way Willow and I used to walk, and I broke down sitting on the bench we often shared in her field. I would sit down on ...

The lesson of the splattered tater

I killed the potato. Killed it good. That potato was obliterated.

In preparing for a concealed-carry class, we figured we should have a physical sense of how to handle a handgun, not just head knowledge, and a friend agreed to teach Red and me the basics before we took the class.

As part of that training, he had us do some target practice. The goal was to hit a potato he had placed on a log about 15 feet away.

After four or five carefully aimed shots, I finally blew up the potato. T...