Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Monday, January 30, 2012
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Monday, January 23, 2012
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
The past four days I've been moving my grandmother who's 99 years young,
out of her house of 50 years.
A Real Time Capsule.
50 years of magazines, papers, boxes, bits&bobs, fabric, clothing.
most, magically preserved in a weathered garage.
dust-dirt-spiders-dust-mice-more dirt-wasp nests and more, oh my!
a private woman who kept nearly everything in her lifetime was cause for
mountains of trash and a houseful of donation.
We were all emotionally raw, watching pieces of furniture you knew so well be thrown onto a pile. Men searching rooms for
'the most valuable pieces'
my grandmother sat uneasy while observing
the violent act of memories being discarded.
Tears fell, but gems were rescued, our hearts and bodies ache.
To the best woman I know....
we must remember, they're just things.
Everything will be alright.
Friday, January 13, 2012
A daily staple while living in Spain.
I've been thinking back on my time there and how easily travel can vanish.
It's now a distant memory, a distance place, a distant self.
Since I was unable to write about my experiences on this blog then,
I feel like its rather redundant to write about it now.
i may spew out a post or two...
here's to the present.
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
An evening at the Opera: a Comedy and Tragedy
With the heavy swing of an anchored door,
you enter an art deco splendor;
glimmering of gold.
a light emits from the white marble flooring, navigating one with ease.
A sea of black garments keep adrift, till docked at a port of wine.
Drawn to the rising current of red,
we make way of heaving chicago buoy's.
while charting the upper level, some oozing of souls became a flash flood.
for then, I feared the balcony would capsize.
the cramming of lanky gams into short stature seating,
billowing winter coats, loud voices,
and the stark glow of iphones.
The lights dimmed and with profound ease,
the soft whisper of music floated upward.
it's precise elegance beckoned my eyes to close.
breathing in music first heard 221 years past...
I left Time.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Saturday, January 7, 2012
Friday, January 6, 2012
Does one inherit this custom?
the storing of aspirin/cold medicine in a kitchen cabinet or drawer?
It wasn't till this morning that I noticed my mother's collection with a chuckle.
Funny what you don't 'see' in yourself and in others as well.
clearly i've been jaded by this sight, because I myself,
subconsciously store a bottle of advil in a kitchen drawer.
Now recalling, my grandmother had a glass bottle of aspirin in her cupboard -
next to the coffee cups.
Was this the syndrom of an alcoholic?
When I'm ill, I wake and head straight for the bathroom.
If I'm hungover, I wake up and head straight to the kitchen.
My imagination runs the line of:
my cigarette-coated-gin-martini-hungover grandmother, shuffling into the kitchen with baby-blue rollers in her hair, blindly putting on the coffee.
when grabbing for a cup, she swoops that aspirin bottle by the neck with her index finger.
immediately soothed by the noise of those clinking pills.
Not to say that keeping medicine in your kitchen links to drinking...
(cups neighboring pills make a whole lot of sense)
Rather, did my babyboom parents pick this placement up from
the generation of heavy drinkers who raised them?
Just an observation.
Thursday, January 5, 2012
"When all our hopes and fears are dead,
And both our hearts are cold,
And love is like a tune that's played,
And life a tale that's told,
"This senseless stone, so coldly fair,
That love nor life can warm,
The same enchanting look shall wear,
The same enchanting form.
"Its peace no sorrow shall destroy;
Its beauty age shall spare
The bitterness of vanished joy,
The wearing waste of care.