Going Inkless

     We live in a world of ghosts.  I've seen them.  One minute, I'll be driving along, and suddenly, there's a younger me pushing the stroller and walking into town on some errand.  It happens in a flash, and then it's gone, faded back into the past.  These spots are all over the area.  Every place I've been has a bit of me attached, and these bits reappear in a flash when I pass a point with a strong impression.  Sure, they're only memories, but it always strikes me odd how vivid they can be, especially when they are the most ordinary moments.  We all expect to remember the big things- a catastrophe, love at first sight, a wedding or the birth of a child.  All these things leave their ghosts because we recognize their importance and press them into our minds for later, or else the emotion is strong enough to burn them in without thought.  But it's funny how some absolutely inconsequential pieces etch themselves on your memory...

     It was some time around 2am on Saturday morning, and I was sitting on a hospital bed with a needle in my arm, waiting for a nurse or doctor to return.  We were at the emergency room in response to a crisis that turned out to be less life-threatening than I feared but frightening nonetheless.  Me, asking to see a doctor.  You know something had to be wrong.  So, we were sitting there at a calmer moment, and my husband reached into my backpack that he had filled hastily on our way out of the house and pulled out my notebook.      "How are you going to use this one in Ullen's story?" he asked, smiling.  This was one of those moments when it became absolutely clear that he is perfect for me.  No socks in the bag, but he brought my notebook.      I told him I doubted this particular event would work with that storyline, following a weaponsmith who had fallen on hard times in his pseudo-medieval fantasy world....

     There is a particular sound that a guitar string makes when the guitarist slides his finger into the next position.  It's nothing more than a tiny squeak in the background of the music, but it's a sound I will dearly miss if I should ever go deaf.  I mentioned it in an earlier post about music , and recently, a CD with an acoustic guitar focus has me contemplating the reasons for my warm response to it.  Why, beyond a general love of music (and, really, have you ever encountered someone who doesn't  like music?) does this particular sound always make me smile?      Physiologically, there may be some response completely separate from the thinking world.  We have negative reactions to certain low frequency sounds that make us feel uneasy, so I'm sure there are other frequencies that can produce a positive response.  It's a possibility that the appeal is nothing more than good vibrations, scientifically speaking.  Then...

I know a beacon when I see one. Who doesn't? They're the sun-bright people doing big things in the world. They beam their light into dark corners and lead others to safe places. Beacons transform the world despite improbable odds. They inspire, and people are drawn to them like moths to...well, a big bright light. Most beacons think nothing of their solar qualities. They are who they are. They'll do what needs to be done in the ways they're most comfortable doing things - which is big, bold, inspiring. I think they succeed, at least in part, because the gods love those big daring stories as much as we do. (And maybe Fortuna is fond of flashy lights. Seen Vegas?) Beacons exist at all levels of recognition, of course. You don't have to be internationally known or even a local celebrity to be one. We can all probably think of someone we know personally who fits the bill. It seems to be a collection of personality traits or mode of behavior more than anyt...