Sunday, September 30, 2012

136/365 menopause

The stages are thus in life, that a closing down of sorts is bound to happen.  For a woman, that is the end of her child bearing years.  This ending, that isn't entered into lightly, can be a difficult time for a woman.  So much of her identification was wrapped up in it.
Time passes though.  For me it was in my early 50's, and this seems to be the average age for menopause.  There were the obligatory hot flashes, just like you've heard about.  And for me, it was like being pre-menstrual for six months or so.  Always getting annoyed by things, wanting to rip your skin off -- real fun.
I was living with Jorma during this time, and finding fault with everything, when in fact I wanted to be cultivating our relationship.  But that sure wasn't going to happen with the state I was in.

Saturday, September 29, 2012

135/365 gardens

A garden filled with flowers and herbs, that's what I'd like.  Somewhere to dig in the soil, and make magic above the ground, and below it.  I once had this tiny patch of land next to an apartment I lived in, but didn't live there long enough to see anything come to fruition.
I remember Jim's small garden of vegetables.  We pulled weeds along the rows, and later I wrote poery about it.
Evie's garden with all the great flowers and stuff.  Brilliant tiger lilies, and Impatiens in all colors.
My friend Diane, in Massachusetts, had a beautiful little herb garden, growing fragrant.
A garden is as close to the earth as you can get, really.  employing all her riches, and what she has to offer.
Before I die, I hope I have a garden, and I hope I'm strong enough to tend it.
I've visited the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens, not so long ago.  Too early for many blooming flowers, although there wee tulips and daffodils, and apple and cherry blossoms.

Friday, September 28, 2012

134/365 change

Change comes, sooner or later.  Circumstances change.  The body changes.  Women, myself included, go through something called "the change", and with it comes the collapse of some things and the flowering of others.  You come into your own, so to speak.
At one point in my life I changed my address six times in five years.  That's when I lived with Steve, and we were looking for ways to recify our relationship.  Moving didn't do it.

Thursday, September 27, 2012

133/365 magic

"That ol' black magic's got me in its spell."
When I think of magic I think of the card tricks I performed as a kid.  Today they'd be magic to me again, having forgotten how to do them.
There is the witch's magic.  Toil and boil.
Has anyone out there been put under a spell?
Ah, the spell of love, rendering you a silly goose, getting giddy over Chinese food, swooning at the touch of a kiss.  But sometimes magic really happens like that, and even continues to happen, in its way.
I remember dancing together.  Magic.
Jumping through a waterfall.  Magic.
Being around Logan.  Magic.

Wednesday, September 26, 2012

132/365 mugs

I have had many wonderful mugs in my time.  Big cat faces with tails up the handle.  One I particularly liked was a large mug of clear glass, with coffee cups imprinted aound it.
When you want to share a good cup of coffee or tea with a friend, the cup is all important.
I have a Barbie mug, with her wearing a nurse's cap, that my mom gave me soon after becoming a nurse.
Most of my good mugs have broken, I'm the queen of breaking glasses and such.
But I'm always on the lookout for another great mug.

Tuesday, September 25, 2012

131/365 California

All I know of California is San Diego, but I have always had magical times when I was there.  A transformation would come over me, and my inner beauty shone outwards.  The abundance of laughter and talk with a friend, and more than one flirtation with California men.  Trekking in Cuyamaca, hearing spirits in the mountain.  Driving along the coast and gathering Pacific water in a little vial for a souvenir.

Canalily, from Evie's garden in National City, San Diego

Monday, September 24, 2012

130/365 trash

"One man's trash is another man's treasure." so the saying goes, and a truth that is.  Many years ago I lived with what I called "Early American Throw-Out"... The couch in my living room was being thrown out on the street, so I made away with it.  The same with a chair I used.  My kitchen table (still in use) was being unused in someone's basement, and they gave it to me.  Kitchen chairs from an old old set of my parents.  Small tables found on the street.  Just so many things.

Sunday, September 23, 2012

129/365 spirit

Spirit rises out of my body at night, causing me to jump, and pull it back in.  When I astral projected when I was younger, was it my spirit making those journies.  I can only think yes it was.
Spirit can move in and around things, traveling in n instant.  A different dimension of time as we know it.
Spirit moves you.  Walks as you walk.  The Great Spirit watches over us, teaching lessons through the sunsets and the trees and the animals.
I am thankful for the Great Spirit.  May I walk in balance.

Saturday, September 22, 2012

Yay! Autumn!

The Autumnal Equinox is here! One of the very best seasons.  I look forward to the nights coming a little quicker, and the leaves changing, and wearing a jacket.  The treacherous 90+ degree heat is a thing of the past at last, and we are moving into the 70's now.  Just beautiful.
I hope everybody has a wonderful Autumn.
Here is a pic of my neighborhood one Fall, some 30+ years ago.

128/365 poetry

Time was I expressed myself through poetry.  Everything seemed to come out that way.  Rhythms of iambic pentameter, or more likely free verse.
Now I am stuck in long ramblings with no poetic form, though once in a while some small poems or haiku will emerge, keeping my poet status intact.
I am an avid fan of the poet, Wallace Stevens.  His poetry has music to it, and I've been very influenced by him.
"One must have a mind of winter', he writes in The Snowman, 'to observe the frost and snow."
In my teenage years my poems were filled with youthful angst, and I laugh now when I read the drama of a life so yet unlived.
Online, I get my poetry fix from The Walking Man, and a couple of others who write in that form.  It is good to know poetry is still alive and being read in coffee houses.
I wish I could've written this poetically, but with such time constraints that's hard to do.  I'll try to write more poetry in the future.

Friday, September 21, 2012

127/365 cigar boxes

I've always loved cigar boxes.  I don't know what it is about them, but for as long as I can remember, I enjoyed them.  When I was a kid I'd go the the candy store and ask for them.  They'd always have lots to spare, and in different sizes and shapes. When I was real young I used to line them with cotton, and then cover the cotton with fake red velvet, and use that to store little rocks and twigs I picked up from the park when the weather got cooler,  I figured these things needed a warm bed for some reason.
As I progressed a few years, I would cover the cigar box with shell macaroni, and then spray it gold, to make a jewelry box.
I once put 2 of them together, and built shelves inside of them, lining them with little souvenirs and stuff.

Thursday, September 20, 2012

126/365 locks and keys

I've always thought that the more keys you carry, the heavier your burden is, but is seems to be otherwise with me.  When I carried more keys, things were more abundant.  There was the key to my desk drawer at work, showing I got a paycheck, and there were keys to my car.  Those were the days.   Now I carry my own house keyes, a mailbox key, a key to my friend's apartment, and a key to my mom's apartment.  I need more locks to open, it seems.  No Pandora's box, but something simple yet fulfilling.
I remember having a diary when I was a kid, and it had a lock and key.  Something you could easily open with a bobby pin, but seemingly safe to a child.

Wednesday, September 19, 2012

125/365 power

"All power corrupts absolutely."  I just learned this quote.
Power is seen in the corporate world, what with CEO's and all.  I have always been on the bottom rungs in corporate setting, always having to answer to the one above me, and them to the one above. too.
I have been in situations where the CEO called me in, and gave me $500 for going out of town for some reviews.  That was nice.
And then there are supernatural powers.  People who have ESP, and can predict things, or talk to spirits that have passed on.  I like to believe some of these people are authentic, but I just don't know.
I think self-empowerment is the best of all.  When you build yourself up, and set out to achieve whatever you want.
The Native Americans say women have special power.  So strong it can rob men of their power.  This power is strongest when a womn is on her moon.  I think that's why they won't let women in the sweat lodge during that time.

Tuesday, September 18, 2012

124/365 pottery

I would love to learn pottery -- is that the right way to say it?  Learn how to make pottery.  I love the idea of feeling the clay swirling in my hands, and actually being able to make something out of that.
I flash on the scene from "Ghost", the clay so central to the sensuality of the scene.
Down in Tiajuana I remember stacks of pots being painted by some men.  I think there's something almost sacred about making a vessel.

Monday, September 17, 2012

123/365 journals

Stuffed away in drawers, and on bookshelves, there are many of my journels from years past.  I used to keep a journal religiously, noting down my every move and thought.  I had so much to say, when today, I have very little to say.
Once in a while I come across one of these old journals, and I like to sit and peruse it.  Seems I often had a man I was writing about.  My adventures and misadventures written out.
There was someting so comforting about going to my journal, picking out the right pen, and settling in for an evening's write.  I could write for hours.
I often wonder what will happen to my journals after I am gone.  Probably be put out with the rest of the trash.  I'd like to think maybe my niece would keep them, to remember me by.  Where will all my words go?
I know I wrote often when I was feeling down, so the volumes of journals I have make me think I wasn't feeling too up a lot of the time.  But that's not true. My journal days were amongst my happiest times.

creative journaling

Sunday, September 16, 2012

122/365 astrology

As the stars aline, I wonder what effects they have on us based on when we were born.  Many of the traits attributed to the signs hold true, from my estimation.
Of course it's not just your sun sign that matters in astrology, but where all the planets and the moon land within your chart.
I have Venus in Gemini, making me a fairly fickle lover.  Oh, well, what can I say?  I'm afflicted.
I'm a Taurus with a Cancer moon and Cancer rising.  Earth and two waters, makes me a little muddy.
I tend not to read the daily horoscopes, but if I do, I read Cancer along with Taurus.
We come from the same stuff as stars, don't we?  I would think their alignment would have to have some bearing on  us.

Saturday, September 15, 2012

121/365 the boardwalk

When I talk about the boardwalk, it is mainly the one down in Coney Island, although I have walked many times on the boardwalk in Atlantic City, NJ, a good place to feed the seagulls, as are most.
The board walk is warm wood beneath your feet.  When you get out of the water, some spots have faucets, where you can rinse off the sand, dry off, and put your shoes on.
You have to be on the boardwak to get to the entrance of the Wonder Wheel.  There are barkers calling their games, stuffed toys to be had.
There's the constant sound of the ocean crashing, and the fine odor of brine on the air.  What a good walk.
One the boardwalk in Jersey, me and mom check out casinos sometimes, or just walk/wheel along the way.  We always look for her favorite place that sells salt water taffy, and then we walk back to wherever we were staying.

Coney Island boardwalk.  The Parachute Jump in the background is now a landmark.

man exercising on the boardwalk

that ol' insomnia

The night grows too long to be awake. Four thirty in the morning, and I have not been to sleep yet. Been reading my own novel. Sometimes I like to do that. Played trivia online. Looked at my photographs. Read my own blog.

I hear people being a bit loud outside. No doubt drunk from a long friday night. I remember those days. Coming home and having your head spin every time you closed your eyes. Feeling like hell the next day. Then, maybe doing it all again on saturday night. Such were the times.

These friday and saturday nights are much like any other night, with not much to tell, really. Uneventful and ordinary. Don't mind it that way.

Another couple of hours till daybreak. I don't think I'll make it.

Another game or two online, and I'll be off to dreamland. Just wanted to drop in here.

freewrite suggestions please!

I am again begging for suggestions for topics from my readers.  Should be simple enough word or two subjects.  We have well over 200 to go to complete our goal, and we just don't know what the hell to write about.  Is this whole exercise getting terribly boring to the reader?  I'm sure lots of it is, but it's still fun trying to come up with something to say.
Please help!  Can't say we'll do every suggestion, but we'll try our best.
Thanks in advance.

Friday, September 14, 2012

120/365 food

These days I watch a lot of programs centered around food.  Hell's Kitchen, Kitchen Nightmares, Master Chef, Chopped.  They are always creating the most sumptuous of meal, as I nibble on cheese and crackers while watching.
On the top of my food list, there's steaks with mashed and fried peas and onions, Lasagna, and when I really want to treat myself, I get a loaf of crusty Italian, and a big chunk of imported provolone, and roasted peppers, and pepperoni, and make a sandwich out of that.  Maybe a glass of red to accompany it, if I can afford to be extravagant.
I've never eaten oysters, and I don't plan on it.  Eating one raw clam was enough for me.  But something like steamers, I love.
When in Finland, I of course, ate reindeer meat.  Dark and gamey, much like venison, but I like the texture of venison better.
Now I'm hungry, and honestly, thinking about dessert.

dinner at a friend's house

breakfast at mom's

cantelope and strawberries with chocalate sauce

grilled cheese and fries, delivery

Italian pastries

mom's potato cakes with a couple of short ones

Melissa's 7-layer cookies

Thursday, September 13, 2012

119/365 the beach

Lay your blanket down close to the water, take your clothes off untill you're just in you bathing suit.  Hide your wallet in your shoe.  Now walk down to the shore line, and feel the wet sand in your toes, the bubbly water combing them.
Walk deeper into the water, and just about when you reach your knees, your body bunches up, ready to face the cold surf, and you dive in.  Feel the cold against you, which gradually becomes refreshing, and you pop out of the water, shaking your head and smiling.
This is what is was like each time I've gone to the beach.  I spent most of my time in the water.  Brighton beach, the Rockaways, Jones Beach, South beach, Coronado beach. 
Some, like the Rockaways, have enormous wave that will knock you over and almost before you have time to breath, another wave will catch you again.
Then came the time, laying on the blanket, soaking up the sun, slathered in Bain de Soleil.  A rich tan glowing on your body.
When I left the beach, spent from the day, my hair would dry in tiny ringlets -- a style I loved but could only be attained after going to the beach.

the beach at Coney Island

pure love (Melissa and Logan)

Wednesday, September 12, 2012

118/365 cigarettes

I've got one in my hand as I write this.  It is my worst habit, but I enjoy it too much to give up, truthfully.
I started smoking when I was a teenager.  At about 16 in front of my mother, and 17 in front of my father.  I decided to expose my smoking to my dad at my sister's wedding.  I was on the dias, and lit up.  I remember my father coming up to me, being mad, but that's all I remember.  From then on I smoked in front of him.
When I run out of cigarettes I'm in quite a panic.  Sometimes there's not enough money to buy them, so I grub off Evie, and I end up doing that far too often.

Tuesday, September 11, 2012

117/365 UFO's

I have some experience with this subject.  I have seen things that go beyond explanation.  One odd event was this colored and animated swirl of light I saw out my window, way up in the sky.  I think it was orange.  Another shape of light appeared with it that was green.  These two shapes seemed to interact with each other.  I look through binoculars and saw them moving and then suddenly they moved as if being sucked up into the sky.  It was quite a sight.
Another time, me and my sister were driving home from upstate.  Dark highway, virtually no cars. My sister suddeny looked terrified for a moment.  What she saw she wouldn't say.  There was nothing around.  And then , in the reflection of the window I saw this thing, and it took me back.  It was a buildin of sorts with many levels.  But there were no cars or lights around to make this fleeting reflection.  Later, at home we both drew what we had seen, and it was the same thing.
My sister thinks I am from somewhere beyond earth.  I wonder if she's right.
I just don't fancy any abduction and probing, like I've read about.

Monday, September 10, 2012

116/365 music - Keith Jarrett, The Koln Concert

Those beginning notes come down like raindrops on the air.  The sweet melody of double tones come through and the piano starts to sing, and goes back to a lamenting passage.  The keystrokes can make you cry - a plaintive in the sound of the wind.
I remember listening to this a thousand times over the years.  In the house in National City, where dream were made/rolling around on wooden floors while these notes played on.  Or by myself, just lost in reverie.
Jarrett cries out with his music, so swept up is he.  The piano does his bidding.

Sunday, September 9, 2012

115/365 color

I am thankful fo my eyes, and the ability to see color--though my blues and greens sort of blend together.
I love color photograpy when it's done well.  I hit the mark with my sunsets, but that's an easy one for good color.  I cannot think of any of my photos where the color is striking and distinct.  It's not an easy thing to capture.
Watercolors -- I prefer mine in vibrant splashes of red and orange.
The tips of so many artist's paintbrushes, filled with oils or acrylics -- ready to make a mark.
Blue Guitar -- there must be a Picasso by that name -- he did so many guitars.
Every night I keep a look out for that kind of sky you just have to take a picture of.  First I soak it up for a few moments in my eyes, and then I click the shutter, and make the picture.

Saturday, September 8, 2012

114/365 Central Park

As a teenager, I remember often taking the train down to 57th street in the city, just a block away from the entrance to the park.  Sometimes me and my friends would pick daisies along the way, and offer them to people sitting on the benches, who usually smiled and accepted.
A day in the park was nothing without a carousel ride and the one they have is just lovely.
Many times we'd go row boating.  I was a fairly good rower, having learned from my mother.
In the 80's I joined the No Nukes rally, where 800,000 gathered in Sheeps Meadow, to make a stand, and listen to some fine music.  I can only recall that Jackson Browne was there, at this point.
My sister and I visited Strawberry Fields together, when George Harrison had died.  There was a large crowd, and many people intent on showcasing themselves, rather than finding the reverence in the moment. My sister and I took solace on a park bench, and lit candles together.
I remember lying on my back, near the fountains, and watching the stars move.  The park is one of the better places to see the stars because there isn't as much light.

Friday, September 7, 2012

113/365 favorite cats

My Bud and Coffee were my best cats.  Bud, with his Buddha nature.  His original name was Stormy (the storm king), and he answered to that for a long time.  Then I started calling him my Buddy, or Bud, and so it went.  My friend Evie's cat was named Bud, too, and I like having both our cats with the same name.  As youi can see from the picture below, Bud had a beautiful and gentle face.  He welcomed new cats into the house, and with my Sky gir, he groomed her, because he didn't know how to groom herself.  Bud was missing one of his back legs, and limped when he walked, but when he ran, those 3 legs carried him swiftly.  He loved to play catch with my hair scrunchie tied into a knot.  He'd retrieve it and bring it back, time after time.  Sometimes he'd run so fast to get it, that his stump would open up and bleed.  But that was when he was very young.  Later the stump grew hard and sturdy.  He handled his disability with grace, and lived to be nearly 18 years old.  I miss my Bud.  I losyt him several years ago, back in 2006.
My Coffee was another wonderful cat.  I don't have any digital pics of her unfortunately.  She was beige and white, very beautiful and very large.  She would stick her head in my mocassin, and sleep.  She'd hold my hand with her paw.  She'd bring me tomato bugs from the garden, because she thought it was a good thing to do.

My Bud

Thursday, September 6, 2012

112/365 the circus

I was little.  It would be raining for a couple of days.  "The circus is coming to town,' my mother would say, 'it always rains when the circus is coming to town."  I was in awe of my mother knowing this, and I'm sure it had something to do with my lifelong love of rain.
I especially liked the clowns, and the people on the flying trapeze.
In the attractions around the circus, there were bearded ladies, and hugely fat people, exposing themselves in such a way.
My father and I found our way into a tent where there was a two faced man.  My father hid my eyes when he came out, but I took his hands away and looked, glad to be standing so close to my dad.  The man had a hole in his head, which was a third eye, and too nostrils next the the regular ones.  His mouth was a terrible mess, and he had trouble with his speech.  He told the story of his face, and his life, and came through the crowd, collecting coins.  I saw that my father added cash.  I felt sorry for the man, as did my dad.

Wednesday, September 5, 2012

111/365 lighthouses

I have only been inside one lighthouse in my life, and that was the one at Point Loma, in San Diego, CA.  I was enchanted with its wooden spiral staircase, and enchanted by the man who brought me into the lighthouse, so zings were pinging in my heart.
I've always loved the lighthouses I've seen pictures of.  So solitary amidst the great sea. Oh, to hear the waves crashing throughout the night.
A lot of them have narrow walkways to their door, and they ice up in winter time.  Makes for beautiful photographs I've seen.

*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.

Tuesday, September 4, 2012

110/365 sculpture

Young Bird, by Brancusi
 Here is Brancusi's Young Bird, so stout with a hint of a beak, sculpted so beautifully.  I enjoy sculpture.  Things that can be made out of almost any material.
I cannot recall the names of the sculptors, unfortunately, except for Rodin, maybe.
When I was in collge I took a couple of sculpture classes.  My professor's name was Schlemowitz.  A good teacher, I remember.  I scupted with plaster of pais.  Made a sculpture I wish I had a picture of today.  It had a hole going through it, and was sort of caverness.
I loved taking the mallet and the chisel and finding shapes inside the plaster.  I still have my mallet and chisel, though its been some thirty years or more since using them.

more Brancusi
*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.

Monday, September 3, 2012

Logan and his tablet

Logan is 2 years and 9 months old now.  How he learned to navigate the tablet is beyond me, but he does some good job of it.  Likes to pull up videos like Barney and Little Bear and Dora the Explorer, and Toy Story.  He gets ingrossed, as you can see.

109/365 gates/gateways

There is no gate way to my building.  No metal notice of keeping out those on the other side.  My sister, too, lives in an apartment building building. albeit a small 6-family one--but there is a gate to cross before getting in.
I think I like the idea of a gate.
Then there are gateways to other dimensions.  I think I've experienced these--where you can walk into another time-slot entirely, and it's only when you walk out and see the time that you realize you were in some kind of time warp.

Sunday, September 2, 2012

108/365 newspapers

Time it was that I'd always treat myself to The Sunday New York Times.  It was something you could linger over for hours while in the local coffee house.  I enjoyed it fully.  When the coffee house closed down, and The Times got more expensive, I became less apt to buy the paper on sundays, until I finally stopped doing it at all.
I still check out the NY Times online, sometimes.  Not a bad source.
I remember coveting the funny papers in the sunday Daily News.
For the most part I've this inner feeling that newspapers aren't so good for your health.  They fill you with a lot of negativity.
I know there must be exceptions to this.  I remember journalists of the past who I so enjoyed reading.  Don't ask me the names, I could never remember.
I got a D in a journalism class back when I was too young to apply myself.  Sinful.

Saturday, September 1, 2012

107/365 paper lanterns

Paper lanterns swaying in the breeze
lighting up people in various colors,
red, yellow, purple.

The light comes down on you, and it is like
a powerful elixir, making you sway, and
speak your mind openly.

The wrinkle cut of the lanterns catches your
eye, focuses you on the yellow and the green, and
how they paint the surroundings.

I love paper lanterns on a midsummer's night.