75/365 airports

I have not flown a great deal, but have spent long hours in airports between flights.  Once, from NY to San Diego, I had a ten hour wait in L.A.  I could've taken a bus down for a couple of hours, but didn't realize it at the time.  I remember going outside to the parking lot to smoke a joint while waiting.
Airports have this similarity to each other, making you almost forget which place you're in. 
I remember Evie taking me to the airport in '84, after spending a brilliant time together for over six weeks.  We cried and cried.  The stewardesses could not console me, offering orange juice, I remember.
Getting off on the landing field was the unusual thing about San Diego.  I had gone from -5F to about 68F.  My first flight, that was -- non stop NY-SD.  It seemed like magic, the weather changing like that.
The lay over in Helsinki airport was several hours, too, waiting for a flight out to Roveniemi.  I sat in a lounge, drinking coffee, writing in my journal.  I had hours to roam around Helsinki a bit if I'd wanted to, but frankly I was afraid to go it alone .  Wuss.
So, I stayed in the familiar looking airport.  Listened to the different foreign voices around me.  Some sounding French, others German.  I ordered a beer and got Euros back in change.  That wasn't so familiar.
On the way back from Roveniemi, I waited alone in that tiny airport, with just one carousel for imcoming baggage.  Jorma had headed back home.

74/365 laundry

Laundry is something that always needs doing.  Going to the laundromat is a chore.
I remember when I was young and my mom had a washing machine and clothesline -- it can't get any fresher smelling than that.
I like the look of laundry hanging on the lines.  Wish I had a photo like that.
Going to the laundromat is such a common thing, but strange, being around everyone's underthings and such. I try to get in and out as quickly as possible.

73/365 baskets

Around Easter time I useed to get an enormous basket filled with goodies every year.  I never remember saving those baskets, though.
Some baskets you just have to keep.  I have a couple of those.  One that has twigs in the handle, another that is thickly caned and turquoise blue.
I have a picture of my old cat, Sky, peeking through a basket.  Don't know if I have that scanned--perhaps.  Will post it if I do.

*A free-write is a type of automatic writing, where you just go with your stream of consciousness non-stop. There's no thought to spelling or grammar, and no editing of words. Supposedly this opens the mind up to greater creativity. They can be 5, 10 or 20 minutes long. Suggestions for freewrites are always welcome. Visit Evie, with whom I freewrite, at the space between colors.

72/365 t.v.

I watch television everyday.  It is a mindless pastime.  Sometimes in the morning I will watch these inane shows like "Maury", to see if the 'baby daddy' is truly the father.  Lots of low life people on these shows, and that they would choose to expose themselves like that amazes me.
T.V. was better years ago, when they'd have all the good old movies on, with Bette Davis and James Cagney, and John Garfield.  I don't have cable, but maybe you can catch those kinds of movies on there, I don't know.
I remember, as a teenager, watching the Late Late Show, which was a movie channel.  I'd be up at 3am when my father, the baker, would get up to go to work.  I'd fix him a cup of coffee, and tell him what I'd been watching.  Those were some special moments.
These days I join evie at her house to watch Big Brother on sundays, wednesdays and thursday nights.  It's good for a lark.
I watch tv on Hulu, also.  Mainly episodes of Hell's Kitchen and the top chef one I've forgotten the name of.  I tend to forget when they're on tv, so I catch them on Hulu.

71/365 mattresses

My own mattress is over twenty years old, and as you can imagine, has seen better days.  Springs are popping out of it.  It is not a place of rest at all, but I can't afford a new one.
How could I remember the mattresses I've slept on in a lifetime, I do not know.  Not many of them made an impression, except for Jorma's mattress, which was ultra comfortable, and I think it mustve been one of those temperapedics.  It was a pleasure. 
I remember the futon me and Steve had when we lived together.  May as well be sleeping on a rock, more or less.
I sat on a waterbed one.  I don't think I like my mattress moving under me.
When I visited evie in San Diego/National City, there was a blow up bed for me.  I blew it up with a fine young man named Jack Miller, and we got to test it out right nicely, too.  Those were the days.
I keep seeing these commercials for Raymor and Flanigan mattresses.  Sure wish I could sleep on one of them.
Come morning, when I've finally reached a deep sleep, I don't much mind my ancient mattress.

70/365 rainbows

When I traveled out west, on a bus, I came across some of the best rainbows I have seen in my life.  A lot of the land is flat, and the sky big.  Double rainbows loomed over corn fields in Kansas, and you could almost hear Dorothy singing.
There was a shop in Woodstock, many years back -- wonder if it's still there.  It was called The Rainbow Shop.  I still have a couple of things I bought there.  A wooden rainbow, which hangs on my bedroom door, and a book all about rainbows and color.  The pages are rainbow colored.
I have seen a few rainbows right here in Brooklyn.  Rainbows brighten any day.
My most magical rainbow sighting has to be the one I saw in Finland, during midsommer.  It was half past midnight, and of course the sun did not fully set.  But seeing a rainbow at midnight is something else.

midnight rainbow



*A free-write is a type of automatic writing, where you just go with your stream of consciousness non-stop. There's no thought to spelling or grammar, and no editing of words. Supposedly this opens the mind up to greater creativity. They can be 5, 10 or 20 minutes long. Suggestions for freewrites are always welcome. Visit Evie, with whom I freewrite, at the space between colors.

69/365 hospitals

I worked in a hospital for quite a number of years.  First in the Medical Library, which was a great job, from 1 to 9pm, with supervisors leaving at 5.  I got to know all the doctors and medical students, and developed a deep interest in the field, in general.  Then, for years in the medical records department, working in the Tumor Registry.  There was no registrar, so I was the whole department, so to speak, and I had my own office.  That was cool.  During that time I went to school for nursing, and became an RN.  My work on the floors only lasted a couple of years, I couldn't handle the pressure.
Later in life, doing Utilization Reviews in the field, I traveled to an extraordinary amount of hospitals.  Dozens all around the 5 boros.  They are all so much the same, except for their gift shops, which can be fun to peruse.
I've known my mom and dad to be in the hospital many times when I was younger.  I did an awful lot of hospital visiting back then.
Most recently, I waited with a friend in the emergency room while she got worked up for a possible stroke.  They make you wait interminably long hours.

68/365 freewrite

This freewrite is supposed to be just that, a freewrite, w/o any subject to conform to.  So that leaves my simple mind wide open on a somewhat barren landscape.  What little thought there is rolls through like tumbleweed.  If I were to photograph my mind it would be just that, a barren landscape with tumbleweed rolling.  Maybe, if you're lucky, and you wait long enough you'll get the shot of a wolf making its way through.
The heat broke today, and the rains came.  I got caught in a good downpour, and it was refreshing.  I like getting caught in the rain. 
I look over to evie, to see her writing, wonder what she's writing.  Maybe I could copy it.  Cheating on freewrites.
Two more minutes to go in this subjectless land.  Why did we even hve this as a topic?  This shows you -- what?  I don't know.  Not sure what else to say, had I something to say, I'd be sayin' it.
Well, that was a sad commentary!

67/365 pens

I am writing with a G-Knock Pilot 0.7, a gel pen, which are the types that have been to my liking for the past several years.  But now I may need something with a little more drag, as this pen seems to move too quickly for me.
I have always loved pens, and ran countless of them dry, writing in my journals.  The feel of the ink upon the page, oh so important to the task.  The texture of the pages of equal importance.  Thousands of pages filled, and oh so many pens emptied.
I remember writing with ball points in school, the ink dripping out through the hole, and staining my hands.  My hands were always speckled with blue.

66/365 teachers

There must be names to be named.
Mr. Knutsen, 7th grade history teacher, who taught about Hinduism, Taoism, so many isms -- and taught me to appreciate the middle way.  As I may say.  Today.
Then there was Mr. Halpern, maybe 9th or 10th grade, who had I write autobiographies, which he in turn would save for 10 years, if we chose to come back and read them.  I never did, but it impressed me tht he'd keep these many tomes of student's work.
My mother and father and sister, the greatest impact of teachers right there.  What you're borne into, if you're lucky, can teach you.  Even if you're unlucky, you learn, however sadly.
Jim was one of my teachers on the road.  My brother in spirit.
It is not often teachers present themselves outside of school and family.
Leibowitz, who taught me the importance of verbs, and so much more.  College days -- a few good teachers there -- Pat Passlof, Daniel Fuchs, Bertha Harris.
There must be names to be named.

65/365 dreams

Almost nightly dreams come, but it is a rarity to remember them.  I do know that I dream of working or being in hospitals a lot  Perhaps because I spent so many years doing so, but I wonder why it is so in my subconscious as to pop up in my dreams so frequently.  I also dream I'm on the campus of a college very often, another place I've spent a lot of time.
When I was younger I could astral project, a greater type of dreaming, really.  I would leave my body and do somersaults in the air, or travel, even.  I kept accounts of the experiences I had, and was even able to verify them from time to time.
I like to interrpret the symbolism behind dreams.  I think I have a knack for that.  At least it's fun to try.
When I was younger I dreamed of becoming a writer.  Today I dream of becoming a published writer.  Not sure what else I dream -- perhaps of surmounting my circumstances, such as they are.
It is good to sleep with a crystal in youre hand to help you dream.

64/365 books

The books that line my shelves are amongst my most treasured reads.  I've had to dispose of many books in my lifetime, mostly due to having to move so many times, or just plain running out of places to move to, and having to stay with someone.  So, books were given away or even thrown away, in hopes tht others would pick some up.
My letter and diaries of Anne Morrow Lindbergh are probably some of my oldest books.  And a book called "Jaimie" a simple fictional novel that I stole from the public library, and read when I was a teenager.  I have no idea what it was about, but I still have it.
All the hard cover copies of Castenada's book, so quick was I to run out and buy him as soon as he was published.
Books have always been a dear part of my life -- taking me away, or teaching me.  I've treasured many a volume.
My "higher self" books remain.  Works by Gurdjieff or Ouspensky, and countless others --- with names like "The Phenomenon of Man".  Books I should maybe read again one day.
The letters of Isadora Duncan, another couple of old books.  For awhile I was addicted to reading letters and diaries.  Such an intimate peek into a life.
I wrote my own book, of course, though it needs revision/rewriting, etc. But it is good to have written a book.  It would be better if it could end up on my shelf one day.

*A free-write is a type of automatic writing, where you just go with your stream of consciousness non-stop. There's no thought to spelling or grammar, and no editing of words. Supposedly this opens the mind up to greater creativity. They can be 5, 10 or 20 minutes long. Suggestions for freewrites are always welcome. Visit Evie, with whom I freewrite, at the space between colors.

63/365 death

"The death of one is the death of us all."  I cannot recall who said it.
The Native Americans call dreaming, "the little death".  So I imagine death may be the big dream.
Some deaths I've experienced of people close to me have affected me.  My father's death, it goes without saying, was the most traumatic of all.  My guardian and my best friend, my mother's husband, my sister's father, my niece's grandfather -- all these men dying in one instant, during a dream, hugging his pillow.  After seeing him and spending hours with my mother and sister before the coroner came, I drove home--And I always remember it as driving in the rain, but in reality it was my eyes that were raining.
I had a friend in first grade, her name was Jane.  She died that year from Leukemia.  It was so strange having her gone.
The death of John Lennon was a big blow to me, and I cried on and off for days because of it.  Surely that was the death of us all.
I do not welcome death, and having my loved ones mourn my death.  But I imagine it is a journey to someplace better; my own piece of heaven, like that book, what's the name  "5 people in heaven" I think.
I would like to think I'd be reunited with my dad when it happens.

the Rovaniemi cemetary, Lapland, Finland

62/365 dogs

I had a dog named Sandy when I was a kid.  She was part Golden Retriever, most likey, and part collie maybe.  She found my family while we were walking through the woods, on our way back from a doll-maker's shop.  My parents warned "be careful", but is soon became obvious this dog was very friendly.  I was seven years old, and loved her immediately.  She would not leave our side. We went back to the efficiency cabin my parents were renting, and she came along inside.  She jumped up on the bed, and lay her head on the pillow, and sighed a deep sigh.
We didn't know holw old she was, maybe 2 years, and my parents question around to see if anyone owned her, but came up with nothing.
Not wanting to bring a dog home, really,  my parents left her at the motel grounds, and took us kids to the Catskill Game Farm, to distract us from leaving the dog.  On our way back home, we had to pass the motel again, and my mother said "If she's there, we'll take her home."
And there she was, waiting for us, on the step in front of the unit we'd rented.
"Come on, girl, come on!"
In the car she jumped, and blessed our home for the next ten years.



*A free-write is a type of automatic writing, where you just go with your stream of consciousness non-stop. There's no thought to spelling or grammar, and no editing of words. Supposedly this opens the mind up to greater creativity. They can be 5, 10 or 20 minutes long. Suggestions for freewrites are always welcome. Visit Evie, with whom I freewrite, at the space between colors.

61/365 sand

The sand in the hourglass loomed over Dorothy, rushing to her demise.
I think Hitchcock had the motif of an hourglass in his tv show.
Colored sand in a glass container, created to make intricate scenes of ocean, blue sky, and people on the beach.
The beach with its wide span of sand, from the coolest, by the water, to the burning hot just before the boardwalk.  People would set up under the boardwalk, too, but the sand seemed damp, and even musty under there.
I always moved to the sand just above where high tide would come in.  A short sprint to the water, where you could squish you toes in the sand.  Such a delightful feeling.
Staying close to the water and building sandcastles with a shovel and pail, soon to be washed away by the incoming tide.
The burning hot sand on the walk to the concession stand, where you cursed yourself for not wearing your sneakers.
Lastly, rinsing the sand off your feet under the faucets on the boardwalk.

my niece, Melissa, on the beach

*A free-write is a type of automatic writing, where you just go with your stream of consciousness non-stop. There's no thought to spelling or grammar, and no editing of words. Supposedly this opens the mind up to greater creativity. They can be 5, 10 or 20 minutes long. Suggestions for freewrites are always welcome. Visit Evie, with whom I freewrite, at the space between colors.

60/365 figures

Never blessed with anything that would pass for a good figure, I have made due all my life with thick legs, not a common sight, really.  I have never had a problem with wearing bathing suits, though, except for now, as I'm older, and things just don't stay up anymore.
The figures of some runway models can be so excessively thin, it's like watching a walking eating disorder.  So much has been said about how detrimental these visuals (on tv, in magazines) can be to young girls, I can't add a new twist that you haven't heard.
I used to make a more than adequate five figures when I was a nurse.  That was nice.
There are the figures of Picasso, eyes peeking out from where you'd least expect.  The plump figures of Rubens, making me smile, or Gorman with his earlier women, always so large in stature.  Women I could relate to.

59/365 bread

My father was a baker, and made countless types of breads.  White bread, rye, pumpernickel, sourdough; you name it, he made it.  His giant hands would form the bread so evenly each time.  And the taste, oh, the taste -- better than anything I will ever taste again, I dare say.  He taught me how to like sardines on rye bread.  I miss him, and I miss his bread, too.
Throughout the years, bread has been a substantial part of the dinner table.  Maybe just a loaf of white, or a nice semolina with Italian food, or pumpernickel to slather with butter to go along with your salad.
Bread is holy in its way.
My dad worked seven days a week when he had his bakery, and said he figured God would forgive him for not going to church on Sundays, because he was making The Daily Bread.
I hve never made my own loaf of  bread, odd as thta may seem.  Now that my father is gone, I've lost my teacher, you might say.
Bread.  So rich in carbohydrates, it's the bane of all the dieters.  But how could you deny the body such sustanence, as rich as a piece of crusty and soft bread.

dad and me, 1981

*A free-write is a type of automatic writing, where you just go with your stream of consciousness non-stop. There's no thought to spelling or grammar, and no editing of words. Supposedly this opens the mind up to greater creativity. They can be 5, 10 or 20 minutes long. Suggestions for freewrites are always welcome. Visit Evie, with whom I freewrite, at the space between colors.

58/365 dance

Isadora Duncan comes to mind; a free spirited woman of dance, who died so tragically.
Ballerinas with their tip toe precision.  Tap dancers with their singing shoes.
I used to dance in the clubs when I was young.  A rock and roll dancer.  Me and my friends, bumping through the crowd.
Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire, elegant dancing, matching step for step.
Cagney dancing in Yankee Doodle Dandy, and climbing the walls, to boot.
Singing in the rain, and dancing in the rain -- Gene Kelly making magic with his feet.

Isadora

Fred & Ginger

Cagney

Kelly

57/365 whales

My friend, Jim... his mother sold scrimshaw, to his dismay, I remember him telling me.  Thick happy whale fat in decline.
I remember seeing the humpback whales in San Diego, off Point Loma.  Their huge backs rising from the water, and the mighty tales waving.  I was there with Jim then, too.  After the whales we went to the Lighthouse, where all of time stood still for me.
My camera fell and opened up, exposing all the film that day, but I still hve those pictures in my eyes, and a couple of true shots from a second roll of film I had on hand.  Didn't see those whales again, though.
I have super 8 movie film of the Beluga whales at the NY Aquarium.  My mother took the film, and caught some wonderful interaction between the two whales.  They were white, and appeared so soft.

56/365 sunsets

Sunsets are so much part of me that they are hard to describe.  My description always comes in the form of a photograph, which hopefully does it due justice.
The title of my blog is more or less based on sunsets.
The sunsets in Santa Fe, New Mexico, were deep red, making the mountains bleed in the distance.
In Lapland, the sunsets when I first got there in May, were brief, the sun just dipping beyond the horizon for a couple of hours, and then, as summer wore on, it did not set at all.  Too much light.  The camera capturing blue sky and puffy white clouds.
My camera holds the deep yellow of a sunset before or after it rains.  I love when the sky turns yellow.
Then there is the beauty of inky blue clouds blooming in the sky, with the last rays bursting out from some small space.
Clouds etched in gold at the end of the day.
My windows face West, and I'm on the top/6th floor of my building, so I get a clear view of the sunset each evening.  This is where I take my pictures from, peering through the living room window.

*A free-write is a type of automatic writing, where you just go with your stream of consciousness non-stop. There's no thought to spelling or grammar, and no editing of words. Supposedly this opens the mind up to greater creativity. They can be 5, 10 or 20 minutes long. Suggestions for freewrites are always welcome. Visit Evie, with whom I freewrite, at the space between colors.

55/365 fireflies

As a child, I would catch fireflies
and watch them glow, on an off.

A bug not to be afraid of.

Their glow was like yellow lantern light
spreading out in a circle.

They hovered around, twinkling above
our heads,
and before out eyes.
Like stars that had fallen
from heaven.

54/365 signs

There are always signs leading up to something in your life that is significant.  You see the signs in retrospect, of course--too emersed in your situation to see them at the time they occur.

There are signs on the road, making me think of places I've been.  Rap Road, going upstate, where I would always make up a song, and sing it in a rap style, and make Tree and Melissa laugh and laugh.
Wolf Creek Pass, in Colorado, on the way to Durango, where the road was too narrow for my liking, and I lay curled up in the two seats that were available to me, on the bus, and lay my head back and watch only the tall pine trees racing past the window above me.
84th Street, right outside my window -- too common, too long in the view from my window.  And then too many signs in the neighborhood nearby. Signs and sign and store signs.



*A free-write is a type of automatic writing, where you just go with your stream of consciousness non-stop. There's no thought to spelling or grammar, and no editing of words. Supposedly this opens the mind up to greater creativity. They can be 5, 10 or 20 minutes long. Suggestions for freewrites are always welcome. Visit Evie, with whom I freewrite, at the space between colors.

53/365 shamanism

Spiraling down into the ground we come upon the underworld, not to be confused with the likes of hell at all, but rather a level on the shamanic journey which usually appears quite pastoral, and can hold sights of many wonders, including your power animal who you will get to know when he reveals himself three or four times, I cannot recall, exactly.  It has been a long time since sitting in a circle with other shamans, and taking those journies.  Sometimes we'd travel to the upperworld.  And here we live in Middle Earth, if you please.
Up on the roof, the group of us would gather, banging the drum, and dancing with rattles.  We were a sight to see and hear, as we'd dance out animals to bring them to life for us.  Some would be cawing like a crow, myself, I'd be howling.
I studied shamanism under the tutelege of Michael Harner, a great white shaman.  He taught us how to journey with the aide of the drum beat, and guided us through many journies of our higher selves.

*A free-write is a type of automatic writing, where you just go with your stream of consciousness non-stop. There's no thought to spelling or grammar, and no editing of words. Supposedly this opens the mind up to greater creativity. They can be 5, 10 or 20 minutes long. Suggestions for freewrites are always welcome. Visit Evie, with whom I freewrite, at the space between colors.

52/365 watercolor

My friend does lovely watercolors, transparent colors that blend beautifully with each other.  I am just a novic when it comes to watercolor, but I like to play.  I fill the pages with colors that I see, not necessarily the same as the colors of things themselves.  When I did a watercolor of Jorma in Finland, his face and hair were shades of orange and yellow.  "You see me in those colors?" he asked.  And so I did.
Watercolor reminds me of coloring eggs at Easter, since that water changes color.  Pinks and blues and reds and yellows, in clear glass cups, waiting to change the eggs into something festive.

*A free-write is a type of automatic writing, where you just go with your stream of consciousness non-stop. There's no thought to spelling or grammar, and no editing of words. Supposedly this opens the mind up to greater creativity. They can be 5, 10 or 20 minutes long. Suggestions for freewrites are always welcome. Visit Evie, with whom I freewrite, at the space between colors.

51/365 incense

I remember walking into "head" shops, back in the day, and being engulfed by the heady smell of incense, usually cherry, or sandlewood or jasmine.  I'd look through the small boxes of beads in the shop, and buy a bunch to make "love beads."
Today I buy incense if I happen to come across it.  I have two types at home -- lavender, and cappucino, neither of which smell too much like their names.
My favorite incense over the years were little triangle pieces, with fragrances like "Rain" and "Snow".  Their smokey plumes creating a whole new atmosphere in my bedroom.
Incense burned to cover up the smell of reefer.

*A free-write is a type of automatic writing, where you just go with your stream of consciousness non-stop. There's no thought to spelling or grammar, and no editing of words. Supposedly this opens the mind up to greater creativity. They can be 5, 10 or 20 minutes long. Suggestions for freewrites are always welcome. Visit Evie, with whom I freewrite, at the space between colors.

50/365 gourds

My first gourd was given to me by Jim, on the way home from one of my visits.  It was fat with a handle of sorts.  "It's a sha-woman's rattle." Jim said, and surely it was.  I painted it with mostly rain and thunder bolts, because these things resonate with me.  It had colored floss around the handle, and feathers hanging.  There is no picture of it to be found, unfortunately.  But that gourd rattle brought me on a lot of journies.
I remember playing the Kalimba while Jim and his son washed gourds.  "Music makes the work go faster." Jesse said.  The gourds dried in the California sun, ready to be made into more rattles, perhaps, or special bowls.
I've used miniture gourds for armature for my dolls.  You can see the distinct shape of the gourd in my Prosperity Doll.  I've used it for a couple of little figures as well.

made into bowls to hold the Go stones, a game of Gomoku in progress

*A free-write is a type of automatic writing, where you just go with your stream of consciousness non-stop. There's no thought to spelling or grammar, and no editing of words. Supposedly this opens the mind up to greater creativity. They can be 5, 10 or 20 minutes long. Suggestions for freewrites are always welcome. Visit Evie, with whom I freewrite, at the space between colors.

49/365 coney island

This 15 min freewrite* is about Coney Island.

I remember going on surprise trips at midnight with my parents, because they were hungry for hot dogs.  We'd sit in the car and eat, and bring home cotton candy and jelly apples, if we got there at the right time.

In daytime, there'd be times we'd eat by a ledge tht was right by Nathan's. Just wide enough to fit the paper plateful of hot dogs.  I would be me, my sister, and my mom and day.  Such good times.  We'd all get Nathan's famous french fries, and chow mein sandwiches.  My sister and father would often eat clams on the half shell, and frog's legs.  Eeek.
But after all the eating came a chance to walk around, up and down the side streets, where there were games to play and rides to experience.  The Magic Carpet Ride.  The Caterpillar, one of my favorites... the heavy canvas would close around the whole ride, ruffling its pleats, until you were enclosed.  Magically dark on a bright summer's day.
The Wonder Wheel was right off the boardwalk.  My sister was always afraid of that ride, but would come along anyway, because we were all going.  She'd really hate the swinging cages, and I think we'd mostly go on the stationary ones.
And then there's the beach.

*A free-write is a type of automatic writing, where you just go with your stream of consciousness non-stop. There's no thought to spelling or grammar, and no editing of words. Supposedly this opens the mind up to greater creativity. They can be 5, 10 or 20 minutes long. Suggestions for freewrites are always welcome. Visit Evie, with whom I freewrite, at the space between colors.

a day with family

Spent the afternoon with my sister, niece, and great-nephew.  It was terribly hot and muggy.  We went to a park down on Shore Road where they were having an event of sorts... blown up jumping centers for the kids, and a band playing some good tunes.  Lots of people making a picnic on the grounds.  Logan wasn't interested in the play things, and I think he was a little put off by the loud music.  We didn't stay there for more than an hour, then went back to Melissa's place to hang out in the air conditioning.

48/365 Independence Day

I'm someone who just likes to handle sparklers on the 4th of July.  The bigger things scare me a little (or a lot), and they best be set off by someone at a distance.

In the 1980's, when I was a catering waitress, I did a job on a Brooklyn pier during the Statue of Liberty Bicentennial.  From early moring till after the fireworks show, I worked hard to feed and clean up after people, dishing out hot food from a row or twenty or so firing sternos.
But come the end of the night, I was able to sit on the edge of the pier, and watch the firework display.  The Spanish ships docked beside me on one side o the pier, and the SS Colorado on the other side.  The ships had come in the the celebration.
It was quite a long, but rewarding day.  I remember the pay was good.

Happy 4th of July to all my American friends.

*A free-write is a type of automatic writing, where you just go with your stream of consciousness non-stop. There's no thought to spelling or grammar, and no editing of words. Supposedly this opens the mind up to greater creativity. They can be 5, 10 or 20 minutes long. Suggestions for freewrites are always welcome. Visit Evie, with whom I freewrite, at the space between colors.

47/365 ice

In Dante's Inferno, ice built up on the eyes of those who tried to cry.  Their heads thrown back, with ice building up constantly.  I forget what this particular punishment (the contrapaso) was for, but I know that it was at one of the lowest levels in Hell.

Ice can be refreshing, in the summertime, especially.  A tall glass of iced tea filled with ice and lemon.  Mmm.

Ice on the streets in the winter time, causing yo to grab where there is nothing to grab onto; flailing in the air to catch your balance.

One of the most delightful sights is when ice has encrusted onto the tree limbs and branches.  Sparkling in the morning light.  Millions of crystals twinkling overhead.



*A free-write is a type of automatic writing, where you just go with your stream of consciousness non-stop. There's no thought to spelling or grammar, and no editing of words. Supposedly this opens the mind up to greater creativity. They can be 5, 10 or 20 minutes long. Suggestions for freewrites are always welcome. Visit Evie, with whom I freewrite, at the space between colors.

46/365 senses

What's new that can be said about senses. Sight, hearing, smell, the sense of touch and taste.  Each as significant as the other.  Their qualities need not be listed.  But maybe a bit of what some mean to me.
I could not imagine the loss of being able to see and listen to my great-nephew, Logan.  To be able to smell his head when he was a baby.  To feel the touch of him holding my hand.  To share ice-cream , and know how good it is.
All these things with all the people I know and love.
Besides all these necessary senses, there is the sixth sense.   The one that warns you to put up your guard in certain situations.  Intuition is part of this, and a woman's intuition is a powerful thing.  Sometimes it's like being about to read minds.  I don't know how this operates in men.

*A free-write is a type of automatic writing, where you just go with your stream of consciousness non-stop. There's no thought to spelling or grammar, and no editing of words. Supposedly this opens the mind up to greater creativity. They can be 5, 10 or 20 minutes long. Suggestions for freewrites are always welcome. Visit Evie, with whom I freewrite, at the space between colors.

45/365 candles

In church (I was brought up Catholic) the candles burn in several sections.  Little red holders, dozens of them, holding flickering candles.  Often, I have lit those candles for someone, including a cat once, who was very sick.
I would like to hve the type of house where candles were lit at different levels in the room.  But my surfaces are already filled with other stuff, it seems.  May be time to switch it up.
The fragrance of candles when they are scented is so warming.  Nothing like entering a room that smells like lilacs or tangerines.
Candles in those red mesh holders that every restaurant used to use -- it did create a nice glow between two lovers.

*A free-write is a type of automatic writing, where you just go with your stream of consciousness non-stop. There's no thought to spelling or grammar, and no editing of words. Supposedly this opens the mind up to greater creativity. They can be 5, 10 or 20 minutes long. Suggestions for freewrites are always welcome. Visit Evie, with whom I freewrite, at the space between colors.