Henry Peach Robinson:
When the Day’s Work is Done,
A combination print made from six different negatives.
(1877, printed January 1890)

I Sleep Though My Julys
I dread July more than I dread the dead of Winter. Aside from the cool mornings, July days tend to turn punishingly warm. There's no escape until I turn on the sprinkler as the sun starts setting lower. The gardens exist balanced between scorched and saturated; whatever water I manage to apply early will be evaporated out by the end of most days. It's exhausting just failing to keep up. The gardens start producing, though, and the evenings, once the sun sets and the sprinkler's done its magic, compel us to eat on the back deck instead of in front of whatever's streaming. The TV's not been turned on in more than a week, and I'm not missing it. If I'm up by two, I have plenty of time to finish my writing before the sun starts to blind me. I can maintain my schedule as long as I'm out early. I hibernate most afternoons, remembering a soft blanket my mom used to spread on the living room floor before inviting me to nap through the blistering early afternoon hours. It was cool on the floor, and I could never keep my eyes open. I sleep through my Julys just like I doze through my Decembers.

—

Weekly Writing Summary

This Grace Story describes my curious relationship with pleasurable experiences. I conclude that I must be a HesitantHedonist.

Alfred Stevens: Hesitation (Madame Monteaux?) (c. 1867)
"Life cannot be fulfilled by merely satisfying obligations."
—
This Grace Story describes the process of continuous improvement upon which our worlds utterly depend. We improve through dissatisfaction, thanks to the visitations of UnwantedInsight wreaking havoc.

JOHN SINGER SARGENT: FUMÉE D'AMBRE GRIS [SMOKE OF AMBERGRIS] (1880)
"Grace often comes unbidden and unwanted, insisting upon differences we would not have chosen. Grace seems to trade in UnwantedInsights; acceptance serves as the medium of exchange."
—
This Grace Story, Memorial, describes the Grace that lingers after someone leaves this world.

Jan Verkade: Memory (1893)
" … he'll forever overlook his homecoming."
—
This Grace Story, Convertible, finds a politician manifesting the kind of Grace that only comes from asking. Politics is ninety-nine and forty-four one-hundredths percent asking. The rest relies upon chance.

Jack Rodden Studio: Untitled [dignitaries riding in convertible in town parade] (c. 1950)
"Grace even catches up to politicians when they ask nicely enough."
—
This Grace Story, RootDirectory, finds me learning that I'd failed to learn something in my youth that I'm unlikely to learn in my dotage.

William Trost Richards: Tree Roots (19th-20th century)
"May the Grace of perseverance preserve my sanity in the face of this unending inanity."
—
This Grace Story finds me engaging in Wronking, the sort of work that mainly produces wrongs. I find Grace lurking even there.

Utagawa Yoshifuji: Five Men Doing the Work of Ten Bodies (Gonin jushin no hataraki) 1861
"Let nobody say that I compromised and delivered anything the easy way!"
—
This was a hard enough writing week. It was rewarding enough to keep me writing but challenging enough to set me wondering. One story I posted received the fewest views of anything I've posted in seven years. I can't tell if that was the algorithm fiddling with me or some prescient fate, for nobody ever knows what they're signing up for when they stumble upon one of my stories. It requires no motive to stumble upon one, and the accounting doesn't even care if anyone stayed long enough to read anything. It just counts views. It will be by these sorts of metrics that we ultimately find ourselves screwed, but they are the best there is. Should we dabble in such business, we deserve whatever it gives us. This week, I acknowledged that I am a Hesitant Hedonist. I'd rather be weeding my garden. I also acknowledged that I tend to grow by UnwantedInsight. I attended a Memorial to one of my dearest friends ever in this world and turned all philosophical again. I told the story of a Convertible, asked for and manifested so a candidate could appear in an Independence Day parade. (I got to drive!) I complained loudly about my difficulty learning to operate in a world prominently featuring RootDirectories. I ended my writing week By Wronking, working hard to produce what turned out to be completely wrong. They call this learning. Thank you for following along!

©2024 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved

Tags: #Grace, #PureSchmaltz