I met a woman the other day who just opened her door and threw a rotting potato as far as she could.  I'd never seen anyone else do that.  I do that.  She called my penchant for just throwing unsalvageable leftovers off my deck "field composting".  That handed me a new perspective.  In my mind I always thought I was "lazy composting", turns out I was really, officially, field composting.  It is an amazing gift to be able to "field compost", I know that.  I live where I can.  

Sometimes I use my own books to answer my own questions.  Today I wanted to read the actual day, May 30th.  That would seem so easy and it's never that easy.  No, so it's Diary Roulette again . . . it's August 23rd . . . all four years, in order:
-- Why would you sit around waiting for anyone to decide your life for you?
-- In my mind I’ve made the best you I can possibly make.
-- You are . . . manifest destiny.
-- “I know that.”
Laughing, they were right, I did answer my own questions my  own self, seemingly light years ago . . . that made my day.

You don’t owe me an explanation . . .  I know that.  AND when I don’t get one my brain still has to have one, so I make one up.  People would think that means I think “the worst”, I don’t, I never do.  I think the best.  That gets me in trouble sometimes, trust me, not everybody thinks their best.

People laugh when they see that my "door bell" is on the inside of my house, a strip of Christmas Bells.  That's for Bella.  If I get lost in writing and she needs to go outside, she'll ding the bells.  She figured out that whenever she dings I'll open the door.  For the past two days she's figured that out more.  If I'm running downstairs to let her out, she can stand her ground, just stare at her food bowl and I'll feed her.  She was so proud of herself for communicating that to me, we actually high-fived.

People often say to me, "You march to the beat of a different drum."  AND every single time I answer, "I march to the beat of the only drummer real." 

What does that mean?  Smiling, it means my words, my answer, can remain the same true for anyone speaking to me, with me or at me.  I don't even have to balance their voice inflection, I can just wink instead.  Most people don't know it matters which eye I choose to wink, I do . . .

My mother tends to nod her head at all my metaphysically contemplative ramblings.  She'll smile, re-minding me, "Janet, Jesus loves me, this I know and that's all I need to know."  She's right about that one.  AND she takes for granted, and for very real, that if you truly KNOW Jesus, if you carry that understanding in your heart . . . you will act like you do.  She does.  My mama lives that wisdom by example, always has, as long as I've known her, for all my years, every single one of them, that's been obvious.