The Green Grass of SILVER BROWN

Her Majesty Is In The House

I typically don’t smoke during the dead of winter. Smoking etiquette of the current day and age mandates going outside prior to lighting up. Or simply opening a window, if it’s not a public place and one can get away with it. I’m reluctant to do such a thing during that time of year when it’s forty below outside and the high winds sting at least as painfully as spider’s venom. It is then when I switch to edibles. Her Majesty spends that time in her winter palace (i.e. in storage), wrapped in her royal bubblewrap for the annual three-month recess of her official duties.


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This is Her Majesty’s first official royal portrait.

Don’t get me wrong, edibles are great. There’s just no ceremony and ritual in their use. Digestion is one of the most mundane biological functions there is. That piece of wacky granola I would typically have on a January morning for my wake n’ bake is merely part of a complete breakfast. But no winter ever lasts forever (remember that, kids) and nothing says “spring has sprung” to me quite like that moment I bring Her Majesty out of storage to spark her up for the first time in three months. The wake n’ bake instantly becomes an occasion again. An occasion I almost forgot it was. One that sees songs of migratory birds returning from down south easily mistaken for chattering monkeys once I completely forget what continent I’m on.


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This is a picture of Her Majesty taken at a friend’s house last summer. She’ll go on another one of her royal tours once the world is no longer in the throes of pestilence and death.

 


The Journey of SILVER BROWN

Ice Cream Social Distancing

The microscopic saber-toothed tiger currently prowling the earth has disrupted what would’ve been normal activities for most of us, no doubt. This decade is only a few months old and it’s coined a few buzzwords and catchphrases already. Whodathunkit? From my experience, most decades take at least a year or two to shrug off the aura of the previous decade and find their own groove. But these Not-So-Roaring Twenties did it in a fraction of that time. Now if we could just get rid of that racism crap too, that would be great. Like somebody once said, we’re all in this together.

I’m trying to make the most of the setback, investing some of that shiny new free time I have towards professional development. Just in case that comes in handy.😉 Nobody ever became terminally ill just by coding JavaScript. We ain’t a race of cyborgs yet…


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…although even these seemingly harmless functions I wrote need to be zipped prior to sending by email. File compression is apparently the computer equivalent of hand-washing.

I continue to edit SILVER BROWN when I’m not willing web apps into existence. This chapter I’m working on now is a complete rewrite of a passage from an earlier draft. It dawned on me the other day that said passage would better serve the narrative if I put it earlier in the story than it was previously. As a result of this literary reconstructive surgery, the new rewrite features two characters that weren’t in that scene in the first draft (one of which is an artificial intelligence). A wondrous new dimension to the whole dynamic has consequently taken root.

Ah, wonder. Something that is in tragically short supply these days. That sense of wonder I derive from these Lutherans is a much-needed boost to personal morale in the face of this surreally dark period of human history. I could spend my time in social isolation flailing my arms running around like a headless chicken, but I’d rather just write.


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The Zen of SILVER BROWN

Quarantine and Quill

While we’re all twiddling our thumbs waiting to see the new world rising from the shambles of the old, I meditate this morning on the men and women in uniform who put their own sanity on the line every day to deal directly with all things insane. It should be pointed out that many of them keep journals. Writing things down feeds a human head the appropriate war medicine so it can poop out the bullshit and properly digest what’s truly important. Verily, it is fibre for the mind. Forgoing a regular voiding of this bullshit is the leading cause of a condition unofficially known as mental constipation, with symptoms that include frequent compulsions to run around like a chicken with its head cut off. Suffice it to say, there is no room for headless chickens in the armed forces. Generals and admirals don’t always publish their memoirs, but they will oft write those memoirs regardless, because they have to.


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