Notices by Tellio (tellio@mastodon.social), page 19

A holiday wreath hangs on our front door. It's been up for weeks now. Maybe it's the post-Christmas Blues, but I am finding myself annoyed at its presence. Whenever I look out the front door window, everything becomes framed by the wreath's green inner circle. In a week, the wreath will be gone, and I'll probably miss it. As it is, I am already looking at the tree in the sun room with an eye towards removal. I need to remind myself: there's plenty of time for all that. Relax. #smallstories

The demon trapped the angel in a tower. "You can get down, if you fall."
"Why would I, now that you have risen to join me?"
"... damn."
#MicroFiction #tootfic #smallstories

there was snow this morning, on our palm tree and on the field. Leaning on the warm of the radiator and looking out at the white and the flakes swirl on the wind was like a knock on the door of a memory and I stopped to peep through the keyhole for a moment.

green grass again now. It was fleeting and went as quick as it came. Maybe there will be another knock on that door one day.

#smallstories

@tellio

Hearts
beat with
doubt,
waiting for
the bass drop
that comes
before
the silence:
the flock
stands still
in the field

#smallpoems response to that ‘skeptical heart’ — may the sun last longer today for you ... And may the wood and hay arrive as needed ...

Even the most cynical would be hard-pressed not to revel in the beautiful winter snowfall outside this morning. It's a lovely storm -- steady falling snowflakes. The dog and I were the first ones up, and out. We were alone on the streets of Christmas morning. He was anxious to return home -- perhaps he smelled the gift under the tree or missed the warmth -- but I kept us moving forward, enjoying the dark, the quiet, the snow all around us, unspoiled by cars and yes, other people. #smallstories

MTM and I are headed to Montreal. Dad is eating and will be sent from ICU to a regular hospital room tomorrow.

Dad had a hematoma of unknown origin. Neurologists said it should’ve disabled him several years ago. It started leaking last week, causing motor issues. What should’ve destroyed much of his life was resolved in a 30 minute procedure.

Because we need Christmas miracles.

#smallstories

You hear her say, "Some nights, after I watch my sitcom at five o'clock, I just go to bed when it's done." Later, your own father -- at least a decade older than your visiting sitcom-watching neighbor -- will remark, "It seems as if she has given up." The five hours she spent with your family for Christmas Eve dinner and church service doesn't seem enough. But what are you to do? She's an elderly neighbor, alone. When snow comes on Christmas, you make sure she is shoveled out. #smallstories

Found the hand written notes from my ancestor. Written at least 100 years ago. reading it on Christmas night and it says ‘after 4 months by boat, we arrived on the eve of the 25 Dec 1851.’ (to South Australia from Hamburg in Germany) What a treasure to hold his letter in my hand now and read that on the anniversary of their immigration. #smallstories

I need help this time of year. I need self-care. A grand resource for taking care not forsaking care. You need it, too.
Resources for self-care http://selfcare.tech/

Christmas tree up. Lit. My gal and
I weaving memories with ornaments into a connected web of echoes from the past in the now with ec-hopes into the future.
#smallstories

Is @Mastodon the coffee house of our century?

People often disparage ideas as "just reinventing the wheel".

"The wheel" isn't a concrete thing; it's an abstract concept. Actual physical wheels have specific purposes that are usually exclusive.

Sometimes what's available is a wagon wheel, and what you need is a bicycle wheel. Or just a larger wagon wheel. New implementations are being designed all the time.

That's not "reinventing"; that's re-engineering. There's nothing redundant about it.

...or in other words:

Good morning, Mastodon!

I woke to find my electronics in pieces. Spiders took them apart to build a machine in the attic; it whirred faintly, drawing power from crystals in grandpa's old rock collection