These days, Merriam-Webster and my eyeballs tell me there is a fine line between Mantra and Catch-Phrase.

Always with these millennials. Millennials, what they don’t know. Digital youth nowdays, not before days when it was some other group of wide-eyes/hippies/apathetics or punks changing the language and music on us.  Kids don’t know their history.       Eeeeeeeesh–>  I worry about the typecasting, though I do it too. Mid or Old folks sometimes also don’t know their history. Rewind the tape (oh no I’ve exact dated myself)  but what I’m saying is every generation does it to the up-&-comers.   Remember?    Jean styles change and jean styles get judged. But I’m moving along —>

and sometimes when it’s dark I stop trying to step forward. I stop and listen to my self when I was 26 or 6.  What I hear is plenty of lingo and confusion but also some wisdom. Fact is I can teach myself something from the past to  the now/future    like it’s weird I know but it’s reverse put-yourself-backology     that works. Sure that younger guy was misinformed or not at all informed in tons of cases. He knew Ill Communication but was ill experienced likely in the middle of a bad lesson or choice, not scarred up enough yet. But he was also paying a different kind of attention and playing a different kind of game. Whoa it’s an odd soul sensation to know you might have actually known more back when you didn’t actually know more. It’s odd and weird and not very Gen X’y to acknowledge I was possibly better in the past. I acknowledge I was possibly better in the past. But it’s also possible that I can still go back while still moving forward and meet that young man/boy some spot in the middle and shake his hand with my hand and lend all my ears. Listen to his music and outlook and maybe show him a piece of the future. And it’s just possible enough that if I keep doing these little meetups I’ll be a little better right now.  What we’re all trying, at any age.

For Bellingham I’m not that environmental. I’m somewhere in the middlish-ground and could be tossing a jar or wasting a trip when you’re not looking. I’ll use paper plates if I’m tired. I’ve thrown an apple core straight in the trash. I try but am not vigilant, and around here that makes me low on the green-spectrum.

But I still cut the six-pack rings. Just about every time I cut the rings, and worry if I don’t. I weighed it and did the percentages and they’re low that a young bird or animal would get caught up in my rings–> growing more and more restricted each day–> eventually choking on my plastic circle, my laziness. Odds are low and I don’t even like gulls but there is this leftover or left on obsession and voice or some video-image from my youth that grabs hold of me if I ever go to toss those rings and I’ll cut or rip them up wherever I’m at. I’ll cut rings that aren’t even mine.

I’m saving things. But then I do bad stuff.

Jump.

If I seem a bit confused or veer off from times to time, you should know I stare and try to read these signs.

I suck at a lot of things   but am good at seeing things.

Last cleaned out lunch of the Kinder-Year &

it amazes/confuses/surprises me this someone who sometimes misses big moments & some big signs & then some little something like a last lunchbox somehow sums it up.

Markers in time that slap me up.

It’s fast. It’s crazy out here. It’s summer.

OK I can say it, I was wrong.  I wanted to get down a message to the Buff kind of calling BS on myself for unsubscribing from your email list (on both my accounts) Friday.  Macklemore/Ryan Lewis, this stuff gets emotional.