News/Notes:
Sometimes the picture comes first.
It’s like that guy King Solomon or The Byrds once said:
there is a time and season for every mouth under the sun–> a time to be pacified, and a time to be a monster.
“I agree, but that was back when people worked hard and had integrity.”
It’s now any way.
The play is epic. I am a Scrabble god. I bingo with “oleander”, not even really knowing the word, just total recalling from a book cover Moon read years ago. I see the title in my mind, White Oleander, and brilliantly surmise the presence and placement of “white” makes it likely not a proper noun so it’s a legit play. I am amazing. I am going to be on SportsCenter. I see the highlights of me spinning and running through a field of oleander shrubs. I hear the postgame interview where I say all the right things.
ME: “My opponent played well but at the end of the day I just wanted it more.”
SC: “Wes, tell us what you were going through when you made that scintillating bingo.”
ME: “I guess I was just in the zone.”
SC: “How can you explain your high level of play?”
ME: “I’ve got to give thanks to my teammate my brain, I would not be here without him. We really left it all out there on the board tonight.”
Admiring my score, I reach for my next tiles (need to replenish a full seven you know because I just bingo’ed). This is the stuff champions are made of, I might make the Hall. Still grabbing tiles when–> no….no wait –> without realizing it I’ve created a triple-triple opportunity for my challenger who swoops in to score 60 with a three letter word. She’s only half awake but that’s all you need when a rookie maneuver leaves a triple-triple wide open. Um. Suppose the Hall won’t be calling after all. Now I’m the goat. I hope the camera crew and attractive sideline reporter went home early. My self-image as a strategist aware of all possible outcomes instantly shattered by three little letters. So caught up in my own awesomeness I’d lost sight of, fact I’d never even seen the big picture.
Scrabble I love you, I hate you. Oleander, you’re not so sweet anymore either, you’re just a poisonous plant whose flowers are usually pinkish anyway.
It’s simultaneously–> getting easier for the beauty to slip right by out of sight or unnoticed, while becoming more vivid than ever when actually seen.
Take the full moonset I witnessed an early morning this week. From my perspective, a thin cloud curved right through the center showcasing size and influence. I’ve seen this same sky rock a thousand times before/never. Could have easily missed this showing, driven right under it on my way to work or whatever. Yet, it registered. I’m still wanting to reflect on the rock; hold on like it’s a piece of important. I think I have the capacity, even a propensity to do this holding, though it’s not commonplace for me anymore. Trying and re-trying to make it common.
I can’t remember my brain not being full, and these days it’s taking more calculated attention to fill up with the right stuff. It’s maybe even a fight at this stage. Brawls with schedules and mounting chores, fisticuffs with internet and noise. And those self duels can be grueling. There’s things to be done y’all/me, but those magic moonsets are happening all around all the time. They set across the dinner table and tell disjointed knock-knock jokes. They can set to be seen in a side alley or Scrabble game paired with just the right cloud.
I think another just slipped me by, better put on those gloves or get a hatchet.
Some recent recommendations– feel ’em / take ’em / leave ’em –>
-“The Kings of Summer” (movie)
-headlamps
-kale
-magic
-“The Boys in the Boat” (book)
-breathing
-gumption analysis
-Son House (music)
-Hot Damn Scandal (music)
-fort making
-“Between Two Ferns” (comedy/?)
Husky Crew Foundation Photo: Erickson Collection
Workin’.
Three kinds of chili and North Fork pizza. Mini-pies and homemade stew, enough for lunch as well.
I know it’s just a game/not just a game.
Having a hard time drawing up what it all means, how it all went down.
A week out, and it feels something like a swift version of grief stages only upside down and opposite–> like-see the bargain’s over and it’s still sinking in; it didn’t really happen.
But it did. To us.
Crave is just not strong enough a word for how much people wanted a championship up in here.
I know it’s just a game, but I know more. It’s fathers and sons, grandmas and good old friends. It’s 37 years of mostly Kingdome and mostly not. It’s this team, this place, this time. It’s the language and outlook and how its infused itself in homes and workplaces. It’s finally trusting the process. It’s the 12’s experience which I could never fully articulate, you know if you’ve felt it. Symbiotic now and the lore builds. It’s Montana and Alaska, mix some SeaTown and P-Town being on the same page for a moment. It’s playing “you be Marshawn I’ll be Russell” in the backyard, and a new princess born into royalty. It’s music and memories and the Immaculate Deflection. It’s hugging a stranger and a cop, sore throats and skipping work for a parade. There’s a hundred story lines I could write about this team and personality(s), it chokes me to think of the millions of story lines that Hawks’ fans and the NW just lived through.
Wherever the history books get stored, we’re in em’ for real now boss. For the most part it’s been a frickin’ pain carrying the memories of being a Seattle sports fan, at times I’ve felt like throwing it all away. Those pains–> can’t help but get-it, how much sweeter that makes this one taste.
What’s next- on 3.
Photo by Moonwater
I’ve barely ever smelt it,
today I can taste it.
Wesley Withrow Tracks 