Wordfuse (Up North Edition)

My son's backyard last Saturday 😲

Aurora + rad = Aurorad, an adjective invented to describe the marvel that is the Northern Lights, a display that reminds us that nature invented spectacle, and invites us, as Mary Oliver instructed, to pay attention, be astonished, and tell about it. 

Dear friends, for you, what about the world inspires awe? Or what instructions do you adhere to? 

Frankly

Frankly, what's Halloween without Frankenstein's ghoulish but tragic Monster? 

My spouse went full Prometheus and fashioned this creature together (without human parts) in her pottery class. Insert a candle and voila: 9 parts adorable and 1 part fire hazard. She made several types for each of our 5 grandturkeys. And for that... all the applause emojis. 

As Mary Shelley said, "live and be happy and make others so." And with that dear friends, a happy Halloween and to all a full pillowcase of candy. 

Things that deserve the stink-eye (but I don't care):

I've had my crocs sliders for way more than a decade. I know their age because my son and I have exactly the same feet and I loaned them to him in 2014 when he left for college. I am thrilled we forced him he chose post-secondary learning, but almost everything else he took with him to college disappeared (principally most of my savings) but his feet (minus foot mushrooms) returned thanks to my crocs, which also returned! Small wins!  

This is the reason I love these crocs. They're just so available; they slip on easily, quickly, no fuss, no matter the assignment. Thus, they've seen some shit. (Literally, but they are easy to hose down.) And speaking of shit, our current weather: two snowfalls thus far, no melting yet, grr. But my crocs can handle any weather. So yes, I continue to use these to take out the garbage. Nope, no socks. Just sending it, snow be damned. If you're Canadian you know this sort of delusional behaviour. To misquote Dylan Thomas, rage against the dying of the light your foolhardy resolve against the (inevitable) weather. When the going gets tough, the tough wear crocs sliders FOR AS LONG AS POSSIBLE. Winter is a test. These crocs are proof, verification of my Canadian citizenship, that I belong to the EH-team. Croc hard or go home (but I'm guessing only for about a week or two more or let's be honest, I'll lose a toe, sigh). 

All Along

I'm no scientist, but I've long known there's an abundance of lessons (and solace) among the trees. Only recently though did I learn that leaves don't really change colours as Autumn progresses; more accurately, they unveil themselves. 

We all likely learned some of this in elementary school: in Spring and Summer, abundant sunlight and heat enables leaves to create the nutrients trees need to survive and thrive. Leaves absorb the light for photosynthesis to occur in cells containing green-pigmented chlorophyll...but did you know that this pigment masks other pigments already within leaves?

During Autumn, daylight decreases and temperatures drop, signaling plants to form a kind of cork between leaf and stem and as leaves die, chlorophyll breaks down, the green pigment disappears, and other pigments are revealed: yellow, orange and red—those beguiling Fall colors.

Think about that: the colours were there all along. 

There's something altogether reassuring about this. Perhaps there's much more within us humans too? More resilience? Untapped hidden potential? Some of the answers we seek elsewhere? I'd like to think more likely than not. 

Poet Mary Oliver also felt more likely than not. In her poem, "When I am Among the Trees," she describes herself returning to the forest, her sun-dappled and comforting first love, just listening. And although she feels "distant from the hope of myself," the surrounding trees invite her to "stay a while." They say," “It’s simple...you too have come into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled with light, and to shine.”

Dear friends, if you too are preoccupied with life's seasons or some other matters and needed a boost today, I hope something helpful is revealed here. If not, go to the forest. 

Be like cats.

Still contemplating woolgathering, so when I noticed this patch of sunlight on my dining room floor, I thought of cats and how they will always find the sun and sleep. 

Cats don't need to be convinced but science says that 10+ minutes of sunlight exposure (especially outside, in the morning) has significant impacts on human mental health and well-being. Dear friends, why not sit in the sun or (better yet), lie down on the floor while woolgathering? We should be more like cats. Right? 

One more thing, a question; I'm stumped. But first, some context: I thought there must be a name for this cat-attracting "chunk" of a sunbeam. You know, a word that sort of means the opposite of a shadow. Or a technical word, something like "sneckdown" for example. The Internet must know, right? But nope.

Imagine my surprise when I discovered an uncharacteristic cyberspace void in this regard. Reluctantly, I asked AI (aka paste pudding, thank you Ray Bradbury): "There is no single, official one-word English noun exclusively for the bright shape cast on a floor by sunlight through a window, so people rely on descriptive phrases."

Well well well, you know I love to invent words so let's all remove our leashes and let our minds wander, shall we? Ha, here we go a-woolgathering....

What do you call the patch of sunlight on the floor? Or how would you describe it? Or...do you think any of my spitballs stick? 

• sun spot
• sun site
• sun puddle
• sun blanket
• sun throw
• sun haven
• sun oasis
• sun setting
• sun nook (s'nook) 🙌
• splace (sunny + place) 🤦

Small

A big thank you to London, Scotland, and Ireland for accommodating us Canadian tourists; I hope we left behind small footprints and a positive impression. Now one last excursion to share....

Just north of Dublin is a peninsula (once a small island) with a fishing community (about 8,000 folks) called Howth (rhymes with oath), a quick train ride from the city.  

This was our second visit. We had something to finish: the cliff walk. Last time it was raining, so we cut the walk short, but this time? Perfect weather. 

About a week before we visited Ireland the first time (2023), we met someone at a wedding—he was studying medicine in Ireland and told us Howth was his favourite place. We asked, why? He couldn't find the words but his body language said much. We are fans of serendipity and places people get emotional about, so we visited and it became a favourite too. Now my turn...how to describe? 

  🤔Let this good man's clip show you what words can't.

  🤔It's a cleansing breath of a place. 

  🤔It's a retreat, a haven, a resting place; I suspect Dubliners request their ashes be spread in Howth.

  🤔Think of a place that has almost everything: (in this case) incredible views, friendly folks, fresh seafood, street markets with huge brownies, colourful boats bobbing in blue coastline waters, rocky beaches with cold water where people swim anyway, playful otters, ice-cream shops, flowers that grow in cracks along rock walls, unexpected palm trees, a castle, and maybe one busker. Note that I said, almost. Why? Some places have too much, their abundance overwhelms and they don't feel...snug. Plus, setting is a relationship—we must bring something to our most cherished places—an impulse to attach to the stream of life.   

  🤔Like all words sometimes, my words are inadequate, so I will offer this final idea about Howth: my heart just endorses this place.

Quick research reveals that a teen-aged W. B. Yeats lived in Howth. He wrote fondly about it, sharing that he snuck out at night (classic teen move even in the 1880s), and also felt his first unrequited love there. Perhaps his famous poem The Lake Isle of Innisfree has clues to Howth? The poem expresses a longing to escape the urban confines and return to nature, build a cabin, plant a garden, live in "a bee-loud glade," seek peace next to the "water lapping with low sounds by the shore" and then even while stuck in the city hear this cherished place in the "deep heart's core." 

Dear friends, our hearts are small, and some places fill them so well. Whether travel is required or not, I hope you get plenty of time in places your heart endorses.

Small?

Irish writers? Extraordinary. 

C.S. Lewis...W.B. Yeats... James Joyce... Oscar Wilde...  Bram Stoker... Claire Keegan... Sinead O'Connor... Bono... Dolores O'Riordan... the Irish Rovers... Hozier...

Although Ireland has a relatively small population (about 5.3 million), the country, per capita, apparently produces the second-highest number of poets, writers, and songwriter-musicians (Iceland is number one). 

Why is this?

Clearly, Ireland has established systems for the arts to thrive, but it also speaks to the way the Irish value and elevate storytelling.

So when I saw this whiskey in Ireland, I chuckled, not entirely surprised by the cheeky name. Who hasn't drowned their tears in alcohol once or twice? But I also thought, oh yes, I know the struggle that is writing and communicating as I write and rewrite a lifetime of words like assembling Lego. Does this connect? What's missing? Is this forming something perceptible? Yet despite the struggle, writers gotta write, hoping to bring something into being—an idea, a release, a light in the dark? For creatives, tears (sad and happy) are inevitable. 

Today those tears continue to fall for another Irish singer-songwriter, Glen Hansard. In one of the many tributes occurring in Ireland and elsewhere, someone expressed his admiration for the artist this way: "he operated at the speed of love." Is there a better legacy (or sentence) than that? Tears indeed. 

Big

Welcome to the Moon the Burren

Canadian English majors typically study Northrup Frye, a prominent literary critic and theorist. (Margaret Atwood would fill that role now.) Regarding Canadian identity, Frye argued that our geography is everything: he speculated that it's less about "who are we?" and more about "where are we?"

My interpretation of his theory is that because Canada is so big, our massive (and imposing) land mass combined with such diverse geography and relative isolation with low populations, makes us Canadians less about being one nation and more about many nations, many peoples. We are regionalized folks, connected but with differing customs and traditions. Our history adds to this notion as we were founded on three nations: Indigenous, French, and English, although in 2026 we are many more diverse peoples too.  

I like to think of it this way: it's as though we Canadians paddle in many canoes, but share the same storms. 

But then what do we Canadians have in common with each other? Lots, but regarding geography, two examples:

1. The Canadian Shield: a glacier-scraped scar of bedrock, lakes, and trees that covers 50% of Canada, not exactly a beach. Add the Rocky Mountains and well, we're basically just rocks, er, we just rock—that's how we roll. 

2. Winter. Snow doubt about it, we put the north in North America. This underscores our survival instincts, again a factor of geography. 

Yes, I'm a geography nerd, and that (finally) brings me to the Republic of Ireland—a country whose geography has also shaped the country's character, in particular, The Burren. It's otherworldly and the geographical equivalent of a cinematic anxiety dream. So sure, why not attempt to live there, right? 

Our Shield is similar to this Irish dreamscape as is Nova Scotia's incredible Peggy's Cove and parts of Newfoundland, etc. I have visited the Burren twice now and I can't help but believe that surviving it helped forge an Irish resilience, a toughness, and when those Irish came to Canada? They brought that grit with them: "many a good tree grew on shallow ground." 

Big

One last post about Northern Ireland. 

After some shopping in downtown Belfast, we were walking back to our accommodations when I noticed this statute. 

I thought, is that Frederick Douglass? 

I read his pivotal autobiography in 2024, but I had no idea he visited the UK and Ireland (summarized here in a short video). My favourite Douglass quote? "Once you learn to read, you will be forever free." 👏 

Later that day, I read that after his book was published in the US it became widely popular and a big seller all over the world, but it triggered the demented possibility that he could be recaputured and enslaved again. So, he toured Ireland giving lectures on prejudice and liberation—something the Irish certainly know a thing or two about, don't they? 

Douglass loved Ireland and felt "transformed" there, "I find myself not treated as a color, but as a man." Inspired to erect his likeness, the Irish obviously loved him too. His statue, the only one of Douglass outside of the US, is located near where he spoke in Belfast (1845-46) and depicts him gesturing as he speaks to his listeners. Thankfully, his words live on and thanks to the Irish appreciation for art, one can also see his passion for human rights. 

Big

Click for a recent news report about Nessie. ;)

Thanks to its impressive depth, Loch Ness happens to hold more fresh water than all lakes in England and Wales combined. That's big. And hmm... what might possibly be hiding in those depths? 😜

As a kid growing up on the Canadian prairies, I recall being rapt reading about the Loch Ness monster. Before (and after) I understood myth and folklore and tourism marketing, I hoped to one day visit this famous Scottish lake.

I'm so glad I did. It's just sooooo beautiful there. 

Did we spot Nessie? Nope. Other than Steve, the genial amateur cryptozoologist (?) parked on the beach, I completely forgot about the legend. Click this link to watch a short video about Steve; he has an inspiring message for the inner child within us all. 

We spent the morning hiking through the forest along the still loch water looking to the mountains on the horizon. Quiet and calm and cool and sun-dappled with greens, it's mossy and rocky and fresh... and let's be honest—I need a poet to help me say it better. Maybe Rilke and his love for the trees? 

Speaking of love, I know from family records that Loch Ness is not far from where my maternal great-grandparents held their marriage ceremony. I now know why. And maybe I know them a little better now too? As poet Mary Oliver said about how to go into the woods: "if you have ever gone to the woods with me, I must love you very much." 

Small?

Eejit 1, 2 & 3 (me)

Our first full day in Edinburgh was a sunny Saturday in June, so we intended to take full advantage but we had no idea how our plans would unfold that day, my favourite in this favourite city.

In the morning we threaded our way through the city to (literally) a fairytale storybook location: Dean Village. This sublime and peaceful ancient community (12th century) in a lush green valley in New Town is impossibly charming. 

After exploring quietly (people live there), we continued along a tree-shrouded walking path next to the river Leith where we observed a mother duck teaching her ducklings to repeatedly swim into the waterfalls' current, then float backward and then push into the current again—vital life-lessons for us all these days. 

Soon we discovered a rickety rope swing over the river. I watched while each of my other three traveling companions, er eejits, temporarily suspended their frontal lobes and yoga-contortioned themselves onto said swing, while nearby I pondered, is 911 a thing in Scotland? 

Unscathed, we continued until we happened upon the Scottish National Gallery of Modern Art where the first thing we saw was a large sign on the grounds declaring, THERE WILL BE NO MIRACLES HERE. Insert thinking face emoji here. Later, while navigating our way back to public transport, I thoroughly contemplated that sign. Is it irony? A quotation? Political protest? A reference to something historical? And what exactly constitutes a miracle...and who decides? Hmm. 

My conclusion? Scots artists are quite masterful at "making the masses muse," or at least this mass, ha. (Read more about the artist here, if you're interested). 

Soon we were on a bus to Edinburgh Castle (which we visited during our first trip to Scotland), so we grabbed lunch from street vendors in Grassmarket, aka where I first fell in love with fennel-seed sausage rolls. (They are a small but substantial miracle, ha.) 

We began to notice then that the crowds were quickly increasing along the Royal Mile... and suddenly we found ourselves in the middle of Edinburgh's pride parade! Middle might be a misnomer but with 40000+ people flooding everywhere, the sidewalks mostly disappeared. It was quite moving to witness and cheer on so many people singing and drumming and joyfully celebrating the freedom to be themselves.  

We continued down the street until we found a close that happens to have the same name as our oldest granddaughter, M, so we took a selfie, and then walked to the base of Arthur's Seat (elevation 251 meters/823 feet), an extinct volcano next to the city. On our first trip to Edinburgh, my spouse and I climbed the Holyrood side, an easy hike, but this time we climbed the city side, much steeper. 

Certainly by western Canadian standards, Arthur's Seat is no (Alberta Rocky) mountain, but you know that feeling when you've accomplished something challenging? Maybe like 1 part relief, 1 part pride, and 8 parts invigoration. Something like that. 

Did our sunny June Saturday in Scotland contain any miracles? I don't know for sure, but I do like that saying, "if life is a series of small miracles—notice them." 

In-between

On to Scotland. Six of my eight great-grandparents emigrated from this Land o' Cakes. I adore this country. 💓

From London we took the train north to Edinburgh and explored our neighbourhood. If you've visited, you know about the closes that enable pedestrians to move in-between locations along the Royal Mile in Old Town. One particular close featured (in my opinion) some very Scots graffiti, ha. 

This was my second visit to Scotland, so it would be stupid to claim I'm qualified to be an astute observer of Scottish folks. But my memories of my maternal great-grandparents and my travel experience suggests to me that Scots are typically witty, genuine, and straightforward, hence the succinct message here, lol, one I read with an exasperated tone. 

It's a sound message for the world, isn't it? Later, during a whisky tasting, a comedian phrased it another way for us tourists: "don't be a bawbag." 😄 Good advice. (Maybe don't google that, ha.)

23/31

Links to 22/31 &
The 31 Vibrant Things Launch Post

Nope. 

My partner and her friends are rarely without (spiked) coffee hence this Wayne Gretzky Maple Cream in our kitchen. But let's be clear: it was a gift. 

Since the US Orange Toddler King called Canadian hockey legend Gretzky a "good friend...who wants to make [Trump] happy," CBC news has reported his popularity among Canadians has decreased about fifty percent to 35% favourability. Around that time, thousands in Edmonton, Alberta signed petitions to rename Wayne Gretzky Drive, the road next to the old coliseum where he led the Edmonton Oilers team to win four Stanley Cups in the 1980s. What's that saying? FA¯\_(ツ)_/¯FO 

Canadians paid careful attention to how Gretzky responded to the Liar-in-Chief 's 51st state blathering. If you can call it a response, Gretzky said, "I'm just a hockey player." 

Hmm. Sure, Jan.  In fact, Mr. Gretzky, you are also a corporation that sells liquor and clothing and hockey sticks, all vibrant things that were once meaningfully connected to pride and identity for most Canadians. Isn't it curious how many leaders seem to have suddenly lost their voices? It makes one wonder if they were ever leaders at all? 

Following is one of my favourite quotes, an idea I truly affirm: "you are the average of the five people you spend most of your time with." In my life, choosing my circle carefully, has made all the difference. We Canadians continue to make choices about the many circles that integrate us with the US. We know that someday, US citizens will replace Kim Don Un and the majority of us will dance in the streets with them, but until then, we will do those necessary little things because they continue to all add up to bigger things. 

22/31

Links to 21/31 &
the 31 Vibrant Things Launch Post

I don't have much fashion sense, but there is one thing I like: odd shirts. 

See those astronauts floating around on one of my favourite t-shirts? They make me smile. But can shirts be vibrant things? Yes, I think they can. My son can't resist t-shirt sarcasm/ comedy; for his birthday this year I gave him a t-shirt with a bull logo and the text, bull shirt. 

Maybe I like weird shirts because I was a kid in the 70s &80s? Maybe it's because the brain loves novelty? Whatever the reason, they make me feel something...? Authentic? More confident? Playful? Yes to all. 

But mostly? It's a bit of a mental-health boost. They uplift. They spread a little much-needed happiness in this sorry world. Plus, I just realized they align with the tattoo on my right arm: sursum corda, Latin for lift up your hearts. 

Dear friends, wear your heart (yourself) on your sleeve, and chest.

16/31

Links to 15/31 &
the 31 Vibrant Things Launch Post

My apologies...but sometimes vibrant things contain strong language. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

This fridge magnet makes me smile. A surprise, the gifter accomplished more than making me laugh...isn't it something when a gift makes you feel seen? 

If you know me virtually or otherwise, you probably know that reading is never a trivial pursuit for me. One might say that with regard to reading, most days, I'm booked, 😆 (Sorry.)  

So if you interrupted my reading? The truth is I'd probably never say this (aloud) to anyone, but I do LOVE how this clever novelty item subverts stereotypes about readers who are also introverts aka us quiet folks. 

Speaking of quiet, I highly recommend Susan Cain's book, Quiet, The Power of Introverts. If you identify this way and you're unfamiliar, her research provides healing insight and a handy game-plan for how to live in this (loud) world made for extroverts who may not fathom that loneliness and solitude are not the same thing. For me, solitude is most often the safest space.   

A quote from Quiet: "Some of our greatest ideas, art, and inventions—from the theory of evolution to van Gogh's Sunflowers to the personal computer—came from quiet and cerebral people who knew how to tune into their inner worlds and the treasures to be found there." I'm no Darwin or van Gogh but I do know this rich and treasured inner world and I must say, it's lit (softly, and with literature). 😅 (Sorry.) 

15/31

Links to 14/31 &
the 31 Vibrant Things Launch Post

Probably similar to most bibliophiles, I have several bookends including my favourite, a pair of elephants my daughter gave me. But THE ones in this photo are pretty special too, definitely vibrant things. 

I am a sucker for any art that incorporates or emphasizes text—if done subtly, it invites curiosity or boosts the interpretation, or as with these bookends, it invites playfulness. 

Fun fact: the word THE is the most common word in the English language. It does a lot of language heavy lifting: it typically announces nouns in sentences, positioning those nouns either before or after the modifying information, such as those revealed in this famous quote from poet Robert Frost, "Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference." 

It seems to me that because it can position persons, places, things and ideas either before or after, the word THE essentially acts as a bookend itself. Whoa, eh? Insert mind-blown emoji here.

If you're also a dork who adores words, you might appreciate this YouTuber, Robwords. 

14/31

Links to 13/31 &
the 31 Things 
Launch Post

These are my two favourite neckties. Like all vibrant things, they tell stories. 

I purchased the Stewart clan tartan in Halifax, Nova Scotia at The Citadel, an important Canadian historical site. I bought the other tie in one of the most beautiful places I've ever visited: Taormina, Italy. 

But the real story behind these ties is their connection to my son, who's celebrating his birthday today. 

I traveled to both the aforementioned locations with my son, the first one a family vacation and then to Italy as a supervisor on his high school travel excursion. In Halifax I bought two types of Stewart tartan and he chose this one. In Italy, I bought two hand-made similar-looking ties, ones I reasoned would never go out of style, and let him choose first. 

One might say these pairs of ties are twins: different, yet the same. Whenever I wear either of these ties, I think of him, of us, and like the day he was born I wonder, how did I get so lucky? 

They say that we fickle men change ideas like neckties, but my hope for all fathers and sons is that the idea, the story of us, endures. 

9/31

Links to 8/31 &
The 31 Vibrant Things Launch Post

Art-making materials are the most vibrant things.

Artists sometimes refer to the muse—an apt way to express the relationship and that alchemy that occurs when the materials meet the maker. It's a mysterious bond both abstract yet tangible. 

You have a favourite psychologist, right? Mine is Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi (MEE-hy CHEEK-sent-mee-HAH-yee), who researched creativity (and happiness) for decades; he coined and studied the sports and arts concept flow. 

During the flow state—a personally defined goldilocks zone between what we find too easy and too hard—time (and trouble) disappear as we become absorbed in a fulfilling task. In connection with our goals, whatever activity prompts and sustains this zone for us—marathoning or driving race-cars or cake-decorating or sewing or performing on stage or refinishing furniture and so on—Csikszentmihalyi declared that flow "transforms a random walk into a chase."  

I find that phrase "random walk" compelling. That's it! For me, art-making is a flow experience, a rapt random walk. 

A fitting metaphor, I have learned to value the walk—the process—as much as or more than that elusive product we artists chase. Regardless of my original plans (my goals), the random walk is about getting absorbed, even lost in that flow zone, creating something surprising, unintended, serendipitous... the fluke I sought all along. As in all valuable relationships, this requires trust. Like a soapstone sculptor trusting something hidden within the stone itself (the seal? the turtle? the fox?), the tools, the muse—they too will provide something vibrant, something more than at first imagined, something connected to happiness.  

Dear friends, what inspires you to find flow? 

8/31

Links to 7/31 &
the 31 Things
Launch Post

 Do you know what these are? For those in the know (people over 40?), let's call them the before-the-internet-Internet. Like, imagine if Wikipedia weighed at least 80 pounds. 

Yes, several years ago I acquired a set of encyclopedias from the year I was born! Yes, they're old-ish and outdated-ish but these vibrant things are a portal to my childhood curiosity. 

Childhood me hopscotched through them repeatedly. I especially remember the maps with their plastic overlays and various gripping entries including cartooning and human reproduction, lol. 

I also pondered the people/polymaths who contributed such wide-ranging information...how did one obtain a (dream) job researching random things? Is this why I changed my undergrad minors every year? Is this why I completed a Master's Degree in Interdisciplinary Studies? Hmm, coincidence? 

Considering encyclopedias were once my first personal library and a legitimate authority for credible knowledge, I asked AI a somewhat personal question: are you founded on old encyclopedias? 

The response? NO. "AI is not primarily based on old encyclopedias. While they form a tiny, curated fraction of the data used for training...encyclopedia content is minimal: while some digitized older encyclopedias might be included in the, say, (10^{12}) parameters of a massive training corpus...[more like] the relationship is reversing, with traditional publishers like Britannica transforming their curated, old-school knowledge into AI-powered tools...." 

Well well well. This world-choice, eh? Minimal vs massive? Hmm. Is it just me, or do you also sense some "pissing-match" type tension here?  

Dear friends, when AI becomes fully sentient, I suspect we may need to fight back using "the old ways" and thus my old-ass encyclopedias might just help us save the world. 🤔

Thirty-one Things

I'm still pondering vibrant matter. Philosopher Jane Bennett theorizes that things have a sort-of agency—they can "speak" to us, they open windows to memories and ideas, they summon a deeper relationship. Unlike empty materialism which whispers more, better, and next, perceiving matter as vibrant invites us to pay attention, to value our everyday things, and by association ourselves. 

I suppose this ideology is not groundbreaking, is it? But in my past I've struggled with self-worth, and I'm a creative, also inordinately curious and it seems to me there is opportunity in exploring this notion for potential insights and lessons about healthy attachment and interiority and in truly knowing myself. Plus, fellow bloggers in my comments have called things potent, evidence of their survival, and even maps. 

Remember the plastic bag scene in the film American Beauty? Could things—our own and those we encounter—be maps showing us how to be more human? And if you get me (and you're still reading this), doesn't this tired world need more human humans? 

Always inspired to pay attention, be astonished, and tell about it, I'm planning to post 31 days of objects this May, a writing exercise exploring my affinity with things and their provenance. 

Which things will be most vibrant? What stories will they tell? What might (you and) I discover?