At first, I thought, “Bunnies can climb trees?" Then Carl commented that a couple of days ago there was a foot of snow on the ground. The tree is now girdled, which doesn’t mean it's ready to go out and party in a false figure-8 way. No, girdling means the bark has been removed all the way around (about a freaking foot of it), and so nutrients cannot get to those top branches.

One of the ginormous drawbacks about this planned move into town over the next few years, and as we age, is having the house be grid-tied; apparently, it’s the law. And, to make matters worse, after 15 years of living without having to pay an electricity bill, we will now have to, at a minimum, pay $15 just to be attached. So. The current plan is to have solar panels on the roof of Allegro Confusione. But people rave about geothermal’s benefits.

Deconstruction of Allegro Confusione—as Carl’s mother "fondly" called Carl’s childhood home—has proceeded. As I type, the snow melts, and Nate, the framer, is preparing his crew to remove the vinyl siding and then the roof in preparation for reframing and rebuilding.

Planets don’t have any effect on human behavior, right? Unless you take a history class on the passion of the Western Mind taught by Richard Tarnas, and another class that dips into the shadows of Jungian archetypes with an astrological bent. Then you roll up your sleeves and think, “WOAH! That February 20th at 11:04 AM conjunction of Saturn and Neptune in Aries event started something…”

I’ve been wondering what it would be like to go offline. No more rollercoaster news. No more tech bro manipulations. No more curiosity about solar flares and their effects. I’ve asked myself these questions when thinking about 2026.

Carl and I were asked and agreed to be the godparents of a dog named Nova. Nearly three years later, Nova has gone missing. She was on her usual walk with her human pet, and a very loud gun shot, and Nova hasn’t been seen since. I am in the midst of obsession, trying to will her home, even as Arctic cold and snow barrel toward us.

The “new exercise program” that Tubby refers to below is Carl playing with Tubby and Talulah. They wait for him every morning, noon, and night. If it isn’t time to eat, it is time to play.

Apparently videos, like photos, sometimes don’t capture the miracle and magic of nature. As with this meeting of crows at Darwin’s View or the aurora borealis.

Carl had a eureka moment this fall when he found Deconstruction Works, whose business model is aligned with our imagining and implementing process.

I had a reading for my 10-minute play “Embodiment” at Firelight Theater Workship this past week. I was nervous, such that I neglected to take photos. But really, it did happen!

I have spent not a small amount of time these past weeks festering and debating whether to go to D.C. to visit my senators and representative and attend a rally. I could do that, couldn’t I?

While eating dinner, unusual clucks and shrieks came from the hens. We jumped up and out to see what was amiss. “Bobcat in the chicken yard!” Carl shouted. I ran to the coop.

Allegro Confusione. That’s what Carl’s mother dubbed their home when she was raising him and his three siblings. I find it is an apt name? As we prepare to jump into the revisioning and rebuilding of Allegro Confusione, I get that too familiar feeling in my chest because major renovations are out of sync with my values. True or false?

I gave a false impression in my Spring Equinox newsletter that I’d like to rectify. The post began with, “I gave up on my play.” I neglected to mention that by the time I’d published that missive, I was already back to work on Triage. Because I will never give up on it. Never say never?

Just as we celebrated the pullets’ birthday and their safe return to their home in Dublin, Snowball began to practice a new dance move. With her neck. It was reminiscent of a snake dance, her head swiveling while her neck curved and twisted.

Our 2018 Model 3 Tesla, that was to be the last car we bought, is off to the auction block. Quite bittersweet. It was a great car. Until it took on an unbearable Musk.

The situation had become untenable. I’d delayed because it had been crazy cold and windy. But three of the chickens—one pullet and two French Morans—had situations and expected me to tidy their bottoms. And so it finally happened. Spa day in February.

We agreed to chicksit for ten pullets.

Sweet girls, beautiful, and cheerful.