First up this week: Useful … 
Be useful. That's a key directive in my rules for effective communication. The rules are:

My own rules, and flawed, in my opinion. First, there are four of them. If you are committed to the Rule of Three four's too many. 
Second, the acronym formed by these four directives is AUTI, which sounds as if I'm struggling for an exotic new plural for cars. I sigh. But enough self-pity!
My immediate thinking is about useful. It seems such a simple notion. Per Merriam-Webster: "capable of being put to use : having utility." That's dandy, but I'm thinking personally and pragmatically about useful. Many of us have experienced substantive life changes over the past few years. Figuring out how to be useful now -- at home, on the job, in our communities -- is high on my list.

Second up this week, Unexpected …
Surprise! That was unexpected. In younger days I loved surprises. Or that's what I remember. Fake memory, I expect. Wishful thinking. Because my real experiences with the unexpected, those that I know aren't pure fancy, are often quite unsettling. When was the last time you thought to yourself, reviewing your personal and worldwide news of the day, "Well, this is a pleasant surprise." I know I must have thought that sometimes, but not recently. And yet, and yet, I have a handful of friends who regularly hit me with the pleasantly unexpected. Not big things, but thoughtful and personal things. I love them and want to emulate them (the friends, not the things, although they are lovely). I will ponder and consider how to make myself one of those sort of friends. I'd rather enjoy being a pleasant surprise.

Third up this week, Understanding …
That which lies beneath. I understand understanding to be the foundation. Ideas and received information that stand under and within. This foundation is frequently built on sand. From a long-ago conversation, when I was (admittedly) something of an a**hole … 

"Eggs are bad for you," she said.
I didn't have feelings about that, one way or another, at the time, but poking and prodding were in my nature.
"How do you know that?" I asked.
"Everybody knows that," she said. 
"But how do YOU know that," I asked. "First-hand experience?"
"It's common knowledge." she said. "Cholesterol."
"What IS cholesterol?" I asked.
"Uh, something bad in eggs, I guess," she said. 
"So, you didn't do a lot of research," I said.
"I didn't have to," she smiled in a superior way.
"But how do you KNOW it? Did you hear about it on television?" I persisted.
"Well, sure. And people talk," she said.
"You sound pretty certain," I said. "Your understanding is based on things you heard on TV and in conversation?"
"That's right," she nodded, very serious. 

I think way too much about how I know, really understand, ANYTHING. I do like an occasional peek at the foundation. 

A book I'm using … 
Rooted, by Lyanda Lynn Haupt
Subtitled "Life at the Crossroads of Science, Nature, and Spirit." I feel a niggling need for more nearness with nature. This book is part of my process (along with Sacred Nature, by Karen Armstrong).
"With her deep intuition and expansive attention as our guides, Lyanda Haupt’s gorgeous words create a path to the place where science and spirit meet. It’s a barefoot path that wanders through solitudes and into community with frogs, moose, orca, and our own wildness." (Robin Wall Kimmerer, author of Braiding Sweetgrass, another great book in this realm)
"Radiant with reverence, sparkling with surprises, and brimming with insight, Rooted is a lyrical and intimate handbook on how to live a mindful, joyful, fruitful life in harmony with our sweet green earth." (Sy Montgomery, author of How to Be a Good Creature ... I love this little book)

And a bit more: 

"Bluebird" by Charles Bukowski

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I'm not going
to let anybody see
you.
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pour whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the whores and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he's
in there.

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say,
stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to screw up the
works?
you want to blow my book sales in
Europe?
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody's asleep.
I say, I know that you're there,
so don't be
sad.
then I put him back,
but he's singing a little
in there, I haven't quite let him
die
and we sleep together like
that
with our
secret pact
and it's nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don't
weep, do
you?


And that's all for this week.
From Mary Oliver's "Sometimes"