No-one knows what any of this is about, except that it's about a year in a bunch of lives ... executive decision ;-) : Peter Gabriel's Solsbury Hill (Milan) to celebrate, & thanks for a wonderful year ...
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Original post :
... from an isolated slightly sozzled truck-stop on one of life's back-roads
Leepin and the Lilliputians live at Truckstop. Larry on bass.
Gnome on crowd control.
( needs to be read with the music up so loud you have lean forward to read what others are writing )
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This bit isn't original :
( The first song was Steppenwolf ~ Getcha motor runnin' )
truckstop pic
flickr.com
sign, Vinny, Kate pic in Chinese Barnwood frame, l.larry neon p/l ;
shelly beach : kimpic
Ann Spencer Parry 1931 - 1985
TIP:
Enter the amount, and click "Tip" to submit!
Comments
rated ?
Patrick you are so close, so perceptive.
It was better than that Oryoki and you know it.
The sequel will be Are You Done Yet ?
Antoinette this is one screwed-up left-over Piratewimmin left behind in the cabin.
Now a little wobbly at the knees but free.
Anna1liese a slant on " All's well, etc."
IQ you too.
Rita what pun ?
No good reason, just relief, and an excuse to be an ass.
It's about the planet, right ?
Rita & IQ may have flagged this but I've yet to hear from an editor but if I do it's in the tags : do I look like I care ?
Weird thing is : I don't even know Rita.
— Charles ( not Charlie ) Bukowski
r
Man it's dribbling down the woman's chin !
cyril you don't mean our H Julie do you ? ( Stands back, gnome-destroying mallet poised over shoulder ...)
Really, isn't there just too much information, in general ?
What are we supposed to do with it ? Process it ?
Safe Bet's Amy hates me now. I don't even know what I did wrong.
I want to play Van Morrison singing Comfortably Numb loud now.
*smirk*
I mean, the guy on the bridge of the Titanic : " Not to worry, that's just the tip," etc.
I wake up laughing over stuff like that.
I kill myself.
Cyril for a little person you sent that way over my head. And I'm real sorry about Julie.
A gnome in a pinafore - that's something you should take up with Stellaa. I forget what this post is about.
consonantsandvowels I agree, and you meet the nicest people too.
This post may not have made a lot of sense to begin with, but I was ( gently ) asked to remove a few things, so I did. Nothing profane, mind you.
Then Cyril the gnome arrived with Larry and the Lilliputians ( I think he's their roadie ) then it all sort of went weird.
Better take a two-by-four with you.
Sort of cuts us right out of the picture don't you think ?
Do you know anything about gnome's genomes?
as per nanatehay's instructions. If it works the word italics will appear in italics - if it doesn't work I don't think I'll try again - I don't think italicising comments could ever be worth typing all that other stuff in before and after. But it was kind of nan to try to teach me how it's done.
For anyone else who's interested, try natatehay's quick italics tutorial> right here :
http://open.salon.com/content.php?cid=915838&is_preview=1
Thanks again nan.
It used to be such a nice place ...
It was trashed before I got here
...and Rita helped.
Um, who made the first comment ... ?
( How do you do bold in comments anyway ? )
Sorry Rita...it must have been a different Rita... You know how Kim has a thing for Rita's...
Use a "b" instead of an "i" ...for bold
1. it was inherited from my mother who also inherited it,
2. It was Halloween, I don't normally go around decked in it.
And, I keep the minks hanging on a Chinese screen in my house, and occasionally scratch one under it's long-dead chin....and, I have been a vegetarian at certain times in my life. Now OK???
That's OK, Michelle - I was just curious.
( What are you doing in a run-down truckstop in the middle of nowhere dressed lke that ? )
Rita, Larry, when people put chairs up on tables - what does it say ?
Do you want it in semaphore ?
( ps. Her husband is Italian ... OK ? )
I like riding in the winter with the top down.
Have you noticed that your "pal" has culled his archive down to 15 posts?
Why? Because he says so?
Rita WTF I kicked you out ?!
Some guy staring out the window at a tumbleweed, cold coffee, semaphore flags that say "KEEP DRIVING(thanks Larry) out the front, a Gnome in the restroom and a woman in bling from Florida in a mink - in my line, Rita, you got to know when to fold 'em.
On KP duty?
Rita chairs up here is both.
I'll dance, if Leepin' knows anything slow.
I dance slow ok - fast I look like an out of control blamange.
It's none of your business.
Tom Waits did the best version of Waltzing Matilda. Maybe I should find it.
You know this place closed hours ago.
Some people are just so sad ...
*white - eat ; anytime
Outside Larry and a gnome share a cigarette, stare down the road.
The highlight was the italics tutorial.
Somehow Larry went one further with Bold Italics, but I'm too proud to ask how he did that.
( He says he doesn't smoke, but cartouche passed him something before that interview ... )
See you next Sunday maybe.
I see that BBD picked up on my moni(c)ker for mr toast.
Is there a buffet on Sunday?
When it comes to toasted maestros I think Lewinsky is more apt than Moniker.
Yep, the ole Truckstop Special : Homilies & Grits. You might need to think about some new tunes ... something that might keep people from walking out the door, for example ...
Not that you weren't good or anything. I'm not saying that.
How do you turn the bold thing off ?
ie. It was supposed to just be the first line ...
Rita, I've been thinking about you here and there and hoping you were doing okay. I can see you've been keeping some happy company ... and some ... well er... rather dodgy company too!
Oh, come on Kim ... how about we play a little of Men at Work at least? *wanders off singing ....*
Traveling in a fried-out combie
On a hippie trail, head full of zombie
I met a strange lady, she made me nervous
She took me in and gave me breakfast
And she said,
"Do you come from a land down under?
Where women glow and men plunder?
Can't you hear, can't you hear the thunder?
You better run, you better take cover."
Sorry about the headache Rita but it is/ loud in here.
Sorry about the headache Rita but it is// loud in here.
Kate is that better ? ( sorry Rita if this is still bold ... )
The neurolinguistics session will commence at the bar as per usual at 8.30 if the instructor can find the place.
Come on, Rita ... Let's kick up our heels! *goes off singing again ...
"....Buying bread from a man in Brussels
He was six foot four and full of muscles
I said, "Do you speak-a my language?"
He just smiled and gave me a vegemite sandwich
And he said,
"I come from a land down under
Where beer does flow and men chunder ...."
more sawdust.. Kim looks like it might be another long night at the truck stop, guess Larry can't hang like we thought and the gnome well.. we won't go there...
I guess you are a Chrysler/Fiat product
Yes, more sawdust would be good Kim .... and perhaps a little Dutch courage ...
What's everyone having?
( Do these people know what "shout" means, do you think ? )
a Chrysler/Fiat product sounds like the offspring of a Bull Mastiff and a chihahua.
Rita, Larry, Anyone else? It's my shout ...
Pointy hat! Where??? I can't see anything!
served in a warmed snifter?
Ice cold Corona with a lime, no glass?
Torn between Cognac and Corona - I've been there, Larry. A difficult spot.
At least we have women tonight.
I thought it might have been because you couldn't afford to make them anymore because of the cost of salad dressing!
So whether it's Shout to the Top or You're the Best Thing, whether it's fast or slow, it doesn't alarm the neighbours.
I thought for a truckstop I ought to go the middle-road.
There's a danger the place will fill up with gay truckers though, which wouldn't sit well with nan and his good ole homophobe I suppose. I never thought of that.
I need to go to the PO before it closes - when I get back I'll put on something everyone will love ...
Or I'll throw you out again.
I'll still be here, you know cleaning glasses, keeping an eye out for the stragglers.
Thought some Carole King might settle things down.
'Til some fool put on Yothu Yindi ...
I swear I'm gonna get rid of that machine and buy me a Karaoke outfit. That'll bring the truckers back ...
Maybe I'm just dreaming ... things haven't been the same since they put the bypass through.
What's a man gonna do ?
Grab a towel, Rita. Help me with them glasses.
So Far Away again ?
Some people say they don't like the didg.
But they's wrong.
And you will sit there watching Michelle and Trost dance, and you will enjoy what I've chosen for you.
No, don't thank me.
It's the least I could do.
Michelle is a Floridean poet, Trost a sort of I-don't-know, think thoth.
You really need to pay more attention, Ablonde.
So, dance ?
Not much sleep here last night, and only a little for days actually ... and as it's just gone 11:30pm here, I'm hoping I'll sleep like a baby after this lovely cuppa.
I had better turn in now ... an early start tomorrow for work.
I don't know if I'm cut out to run a truckstop. I like the music but some of the people are a bit odd I reckon.
...you always take the weather with you....
=')}
What are we going for the longest blog ever about italics ?
Where did the blonde go ?
Trosty, Michelle ?
Just us then, is it ?
Gilligan's Truckstop.
Drank all my salad dressing, got a customer disgruntled and the Gnome's delirious.
I've got an idea : We all go back to someone else's blog and trash /it/.
I got heaps.
...don't dream it's over....
...to the world where you li-ive....
Then, perhaps you've never had to deal with a sozzled Gnome with a broom either.
All I wanted to do was own my own business, you know ?
I thought a truckstop would be good - you know, people, colour, life, etc.
I didn't count on the hours. Or the crazies.
Then the bypass.
So there's a week on the lease.
My wife's got Lumbago, or she went there for a holiday, I can't remember. It hurts, is all I know. And there's a Gnome with a broom. You know ?
Not sure about the sozzled gnome with a broom though!
Don't know about you, but I keep putting Tom on.
Again and again, quieter and quieter ...
are we ... normal ? ... do you think ...?
Ever think about that ...?
Who's to say what's normal? Is there such a thing as being normal?
All of these are what normal ought to be.
There is something clogging the toilet in stall #2.
Looks to be something purple and conical shaped .
You might want to call a plumber/priest or a trost.
@larry: what's that on your heel?
do i lie like a loungeroom lizard....
...or do i sing like a bird released?
Except Larry.
And Cyril.
*whistles to crowded house tune*
Bit of Doors maybe ... Riders on the Storm ... ( it's raining ) - trouble with this joint is no-one ever goes to bed.
Maybe it's got to do with time.
Embed's disabled on that so I found you one I hope you like as much.
:sigh:
julie!
*smoochies* Troll Boy
who is it? is it julie?
i'm not hitched. nor engaged, either.
Just you and me then, Larry.
...
what's a scupper?
CLICK HERE TO SEE MY AVATAR STORY
let's make this one 5 card stud.
dealer needs a better hand.
*replaces 3 cards*
well, fellas? a buck says i win.
I say all 3 of us go to stall #2 and see if it's still there.
Before the police get arrive.
I hope your passports are in order.
I might have to fold I think. I hate folding. It's like putting the pick down one stroke from the gold. Every instinct tells me to hold them, but all I've got is this lousy straight ! Ha !
Something's fishy and it isn't just myriad.
we cleaned. larry needs a shower.
What's going on ?
You folks down there, have some strange names for body parts.
Waiting for Godot, someone said ... but Larry it's worse than that.
I mean, we can't even write.
Shouldn't we be, you know, discussing philosophy or something ?
Playing cards with a dodgy Gnome ... you know ?
Women get bored with these kinds of places, and I'm looking for a long-term relationship, and not just with my -ex. Or her dog.
A poodle is a dog, Larry. This one's 13 and pretty much incontinent.
I know, I'm a good friend. To a point, is what I'm saying.
I'm just not so sure about anything anymore, you know ?
Like, why's everyone over at Dave Rickert's and not here, is what I'm saying.
Not like I'm ever going to win or anything.
"Angel!" (that's the dog's name) "Geddaddathere!"
Mornin' Rita. Sleep well ? ( wink )
If you like Cold Chisel click on Khe San at the end - it's our national anthem.
You might remember When The War Is Over from a post a while back.
Miles and J Coltrane, done. Not exactly truckstop, but I don't see too many trucks stoppin' anyway.
Maybe I should take the "Keep Driving" flags down ...
Though I'm wondering : writers mount/mound up. There's so much good stuff to read.
And I love to read, but Sunday mornings don't last all day, and John Blumenthal has heaps of readers - he's not going to miss me,
but sometimes people say Why haven't you read me/commented ? Well there's the time zone thing, people disappearing while I'm sleeping, especially on Spam Weekends, but also there's just the time thing.
I feel as if instead of sitting around listening to music and playing cards I should be More Earnest or something.
Conundrum Open Call. Limited to the truckstop. No prizes.
Deal.
Which I wouldn't normally mention.
If it somehow died I could always just go to the pound and get another one the same size.
Conundrum Open Call-wise, what do you do when people you've never heard of pm you about their latest post ?
Do you a. Pour another drink ?
b. Google coelecanths ?
c. Arrange to meet them for coffee ?
d. Report them ?
or e. Ask that your account be closed ?
*looks it over*
*winks knowingly at rita in her fine hat*
how's a buck to start?
Let's start with 5.
Rita I warned you about Cyril. He's a shark in a Norwegian suit.
I've got to open some more windows here ...
r
Probably we'll need new cards.
Unless you feel like Monopoly ...
http://www.cmt.com/videos/gillian-welch/94102/revelator.jhtml
And nana ... Hi there!
Can I buy you guys a drink?
Darling, remember
When you come to me
I'm the pretender
And not what I'm supposed to be
But who could know if I'm a traitor
Time's the revelator
They caught the Katy
And left me a mule to ride
The fortune lady
Came along, she walked beside
But every word seemed to date her
Time's the revelator
The revelator
Up in the morning
Up and on the ride
I drive into Corning
And all the spindles whine
And every day is getting straighter
Time's the revelator
The revelator
Leaving the valley
and fucking out of sight
I'll go back to Cali
Where I can sleep out every night
And watch the waves and move the fader
Time's the revelator
The revelator
Queen of the fakes and imitators
Time's the revelator
Rita, you are the wise one! Tea at 4:30am in the morning is usually the way I'd go too ... but, hey, Down Under it's just after 8:30pm!
Hope you're wearing something slinky there Kate. Let's hear it for the isobars and barometric pressure too ! And more Stella if nan's shouting - I found Gillian but not revelator ( unembeddable ) - thanks for the lyrics ; here's a person I'd never heard of.
Hope you enjoy the one I found - pretty truckstoppy too.
Rita have a clear and lovely Sunday.
I'm into the brandy I think.
Do you people ( Larry, Gnome, wake up - this concerns you ) realise we've gone over 300 comments on 17 rates ?
On an italics tutorial ? I don't know about you but I feel I've found the answer to something that's always been just beyond my reach.
Thanks for the drink, nana! Yes, time zones are a real pain!
There'll be another italics / forward slash / bold tutorial at 9.30.
Credit cards are fine. And your address, for our records. Thanks.
And Kim, this is awesome! Elvis Presley's Blues is just so f#@kin...you get it! Wow. Checking out IQ's contribution now...
IQ, Kim ... Mark Knopfler ... wow ... that one was special!
Can I get anyone another drink?
Here you go everyone ... last drinks ... hot toddies all round!
Blondie either ...
The sun is coming up here soon, or it would if the clouds would go away. Gnite Kim, gnite Kate!
IQ, you're in the same hemisphere as me, what do we do when even the Aussies retire? Wait a minute, I forgot, we...SLAM DANCE! Queue up "I Wanna Be Sedated" and get your Doc Martens on, no quarter given nor taken. One two three and go!!
Damn it man, I think they wanted you but were teasing you just the same!!!!
Pocksuckers!!!! Probably took five of your mops and sold them for crack!! I bet they did!!!
Oh well....
Good story, I like the part about the buffalo!!!
Yeah, it has been a long night of drug taking and girl on donkey action!! Good night sweet prince!!!!
Twenty, twenty, twenty four hours to go I wanna be sedated
Nothin' to do, no where to go, oh, I wanna be sedated
Just get me to the airport put me on a plane
Hurry, hurry, hurry before I go insane
I can't control my fingers, I can't control my brain
Oh no, oh, oh, oh, oh
Twenty, twenty, twenty four hours to go I wanna be sedated
Nothin' to do, no where to go, oh, I wanna be sedated
Just put me in a wheelchair get me on a plane
Hurry, hurry, hurry before I go insane
I can't control my fingers, I can't control my brain
Oh no, oh, oh, oh, oh
Twenty, twenty, twenty four hours to go I wanna be sedated
Nothin' to do, no where to go, oh, I wanna be sedated
Just put me in a wheelchair, get me to the show
Hurry, hurry, hurry before I go loco
I can't control my fingers, I can't control my toes
Oh no, oh, oh, oh, oh
Twenty, twenty, twenty four hours to go I wanna be sedated
Nothin' to do, no where to go, oh I wanna be sedated
Just put me in a wheelchair, get me to the show
Hurry, hurry, hurry before I go loco
I can't control my fingers, I can't control my toes
Oh no, oh, oh, oh, oh
Bamp bamp, ba bamp, ba bamp bamp, ba bamp, I wanna be sedated
Bamp bamp, ba bamp, ba bamp bamp, ba bamp, I wanna be sedated
Bamp bamp, ba bamp, ba bamp bamp, ba bamp, I wanna be sedated
Bamp bamp, ba bamp, ba bamp bamp, ba bamp, I wanna be sedated
nana/IQ just let yourselves out when you're finished ... And mind Kim now .... Behave, please!
'Night!
::THUD::
years or moments between...
friends nonetheless
(if only for a while)
again and still
when remembered
and always
for evermore
in mind and memory
Thanks Kim! Such a lovely perfect montage and reflection! Thanks for planting the seeds of thoughts I will savor with smiles today! (and Thanksgiving week!) ;}
rated and hugging...
Hey Now.
Don't think I could've slam danced either so, OK maybe some bloody mary's are in order now that the Aussies have gone to bed.
Larry, I guess everyone wants a place to go at 3am.. 350 comments!
You do good truck stop Kim. Great jukebox, fantastic company, and the biscuits-and-gravy are first rate.
I need coffee.
Sometimes I talk too much. That's OK too though.
I need coffee.
julie.........
...when the world comes in ...
Hey now.
don't dream it's over.....
Where are we going with this new line of thought Brains ?
Notice there's only one spam, ren who I left up to throw Tink.
They must operate on rates not the comment count.
It turns out Kristina Keneally, the Premier of NSW, was born in Ohio.
Married into Tom Keneally's family. He wrote Shindler's Ark, which Steven Spielberg made into Schindler's List.
Tom lives a mere 7 beaches away from me.
If you divide 357 by 51 you get 7.
I know ...
say--where's that poodle that was here?
#358
Before she left we had a cup of tea ( 4.30 in the pm here ) - acksherly she had a cup of tea. I had a glass of cold white wine ( it was a big day ) and she smiled.
Hey now.
We talked about what's next - moving back to the country - all that entails ... how it will impact ...
Hey now, when the world comes in ... tey come, they come ...
Least I won't have so far to drive to the truckstop every day, there's that.
Think I'll sign another lease.
Paint the walls.
Grow a few flowers out front.
Hire a sushi chef.
See if Anne Cutri wants to start up a Comfort Cafe next door where the North Korean Theme Park was.
Put us back on the map, you know ?
o childhood ... what I'd give ...
We are going to the moon.
At 10.05 trig was on 335 comments.
3 hours later we're at 366 and we have a dog that drinks coffee.
Not that length matters. Just saying.
We're doing it with half the staff.
And no rates.
Kristina said "Hi Kim."
I said "Hi Kris."
They told me that's not what you say to the Premier.
I told them I couldn't think of anything else to say apart from What the ནས་ཡིན། are you doing about the coal mines ?
They shrugged and were awkward.
Any more music, considering the hour ?
I'm here to please.
And beat trig to 400.
I couldn't find Nick Drake for this song - I like this though.
Truckstoppy.
I didn't now Kristina was married into Tom Keneally's family.
Notice I commented all over trig's and we haven't seen him here ?
Not that I'm counting.
Kate I don't know the full story, all I got was "Hi." And a lesson in protocol.
They got rules, Kate ?
I had to lose the Nick Drake person ... too slow to load, and I don't think anyone can cover Nick really ...
This is Ben Hur ! Titanic ! Watership Down ! The remake of Journey to the Centre of the Earth without Max von Sydow or the wombat !
If anyone asks, you brought your own beverages ok ?
Better prepare an acceptance speech.
Starting ... now.
And he's not allowed to get Amy to come 20 times or anything.
It will be a fair contest.
No alters or ring-ins. Genuine comments from genuine people.
No senseless repetition.
OK ?
Rita it's tepid.
IQ has a lovely place there, doesn't she? Did you get to pat Max? He's adorable!
Ah, you're quick Kim! I wondered for a second about 'turgid' ... didn't seem quite right ... but then I let it go!
Hi anna1liese.
Dangerously close to 400.
trig is not going to be ok about this.
I should confess : I am the Gnome, and Trost, cartouche, nan, Matt Paust and Ablonde as well as Mary Ann Sorrentino and Divorce Bard. Also Lezlie and lorianne. And Linda. Brassawe too.
I know I should have told you all at the beginning, but everything sort of ... escalated, you know ?
At least I'm not Larry.
He can have that gig to himself.
Tea, coffee, kool-aid ?
Bells ring, and the doors somehow don't close. We need our neighbour.
I am Kent Pitman. Padraic and Variant. I am Joan H, Stellaa, Emma and the person no-one ever reads, ever even clicks on.
I am Patrick Frank ; the love child of Bonnie Russell and scanner.
Are you receiving a commission per post?
per comment I get about $2.75.
But you really can't put a price on meaningfulness, isn't it. It isn't about the money.
*recounts poker winnings*
40, 60, 80, 100...
It's to do with constricting habitat & consequent inbreeding.
Manly was named by our original guv, Arthur Philip, in the late 1700s.
It seems some mussell-gathering convicts transgressed, and Arthur went by rowboat to sort it out. He had three or four soldiers with him as well as the convicts rowing.
When they arrived at what is now Manly Cove ( where the ferry comes in ) they were met by a large party of Cameraigal, armed.
Bennelong ( who used to live where the Opera House is now ) was there and tried to settle things down. Benn was having it off with a Cameraigal woman at the time, which wasn't really ok but he had special priveleges due to his being able to speak English.
Arthur in gubernatorial splendour stood on the beach while an elderly man, his equal, stood shouting at him in a language Arthur couldn't understand.
The elderly guy, clad in nothing but a piece of string around his waist, used his foot to flick both spear and woomera ( a spear-launcher) up to his hands and in one fluid movement sent the spear the twenty yards that separated them, through Arthur's shoulder.
He could have put that spear in Arthur's forehead or his heart if he wanted to, but this was payback, not war.
The guv to his credit told his soldiers to hold fire.
They rowed back to Sydneytown where the spear ( a nasty, shell-tipped thing ) was removed. Peace had been restored.
Guv named the beach Manly, in respect.
The Cameraigal all died of smallpox and measles within 10 years of that encounter.
source : gamblepedia.
Y'all dudes are crazy.
I can't believe you are dealing cards in a truckstop,
on a counter smeared with yogurt,
with a floor full of poodle piss puddles
Drinking and carrousing with the ladies,
running 24/7 over several days
trying to beat the two Kanass brothers
for the most comments
EVER!!
Go Aussies!!
Dammit Rita.
You got 'em all to yourself.
Playing poker with all the kings hid under your hat there on the counter......
Hi mission.
Nan you had the best night ( since nat ) of your life with IQ. and you don't remember ? What a waste of sin.
Reminds me ...
New song, if I can find it ....
Tissues time.
This man was king.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KMmaSaQ6E5w
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=co6WMzDOh1o
Have you got one ?
Do you need one ?
What do you use it for ?
This joint has no point.
That's the point.
Alley oops are you thothnagle ?
If you went to edit and found the sepia click I think we'd all warm up 12 degrees.
It's none of my business, but you could put iq in caps while you're at it.
I mean, most of us know you as IQ already.
Joining you in a cup of tea,
and a song.
Maybe I'll hit the Tim Buckley and have a Stella.
What kind of truckstop is this??
I need more beer here.
Killian Red Ale.
I cannot believe the comments here. all of you are nuts divine....
wanders off to the fridge....
I'm just avoiding my day..... : )
these new cards of yours suck.
Rita, cut them cards right.
I know they are marked. I see them aces with cut corners.
Where is everyone??
$1.oo to start.
Here is my $5.00 fer a raise on your bet.
Burp... Made some frozen pizzza here.
Wiped all the yogurt off the counter.
Got my new hat on. Farm All rules here.
*belches into his heineken*
*lifts his eyes from his cards*
*smiles broadly*
rita, more competition for you......
These cards ain't cut right.
I got all four kings here.
I raise the pile $10.00
Where is everyone Gnome?? This place is trashed here.
We need a clean up crew here.
**winks**
**nods**
^your up dude^
straight.
whose cards are these anyway?
I see that move to take one from the pile Gnome.
That's cheating.
Take the money....I shoulda known not to play.
*marked cards*
I'm blaming Rita. She dealt these to me.
Is we getting there yet??
*chooses Lyle Lovett's "if i had a boat"*
*helps himself to the bar one more time, XX and lime*
Cut the deck and deal gnome.
I got more refreshments coming here.
**puts in some quarters**
^^The Renegade plays in the background^^
What is your get here dear??
This might be another long night..
Kim... wake up sunshine..
*have a beer on me*
*raises a dollar and winks at Gnome*
I'm gonna win this one dammit.
If it takes all night....
You can ante up and play more music.
**winks at Rita**
I see the Aussie has made it thru another night.
Are ya playing here Kim??
ya gonna deal?
If you do, I will be happy to sail away.
Anywhere at all right now.
i'm ready to go anytime now.
*smiles at jukebox-- Shawn Colvin's Venetian Blue*
*packs bag*
*music ain't a bad choice*
*pops quarters in jutebox*
Styx Come Sail Away plays....
deal Gnome...
For 2 weeks that was sitting there in the post and not a single one of you chose to tell me about it. I'm not angry I'm just ... disappointed.
I thought we were better than that.
I thought ... I don't know what I thought ... I thought maybe I could ... count on you ...
ante up darlin'
I got a fresh beer here...
*jingles the keys in midair*
Cyril "other's" is just wrong - "others" is how it should have been.
If I noticed a piece of parsley stuck between two of your teeth I'd say "Cyril, you've got a piece of parsley there."
We've got help each other out, or we all go to hell together.
I'm counting on you to point out the parsley in my teeth, is what I'm saying.
@ Mission - song for you ( never heard of them, but nice crowd shots )
I think we should all go outside and do a bit of tai chi in the rain.
Then maybe toddies on the house.
This isn't a truckstop.
It's not even a nursing home.
This is an asylum with a bar.
Going to 1000
^^asylum with a bar^^
Okay. Deal.
Me and the gnome are going sailing and eating fish tacos anyways.
Beer is good tonight.
Cheap pizza, on the other hand, totally sucks....
The john is all f**ked up.
And the Gnome cheats at cards in a SO bad way here.
hey! those marked cards were kim's!
you keep a great truck stop.
we'll return!
Just because we're mad doesn't mean we can't look after the immediate environment.
The Korean peninsula is going to hell ( O, Insa-dong ... ) but we can keep the toilets clean, surely.
Thanks Cyril.
Don't hurry back.
I'm putting on another song and re-naming the joint.
"Sweethearts." That'll get the truckers back I reckon.
OCD?
you're still welcome to join us.
return e.t.a. by friday evening, linda's time.
we have grog aboard marked "k.g."
hmmmmm...
Bring my boat back unscratched and toilets cleaned ok ?
Read us some Dickens by the fire.
In that chillsome Northern Nick Drakesome Hemisphere there.
we took the gnomenia out.
your barnacle barge's still in dry dock.
Every kind of stall you could imagine
and some you never could.
An alley led to the left, there was a restaurant at the end
but to get there on puddles around the places
selling goldfish at night
and coloured lights
it took a long wet time
to the door
opened by the blinding teeth
and we sat on the floor
ignoring the kimchi on our plates and finally
were asked to dance
o, insa-dong.
Completely lost, walking home.
Please don't let it happen again, in Korea.
If it happens again, we are complicit. Capiche ?
There goes Ian McEwan with his hand on Salman Rushdie's shoulder, and I'm happy here, listening to my friend reading Dickens.
Still raining out.
"... beginning ?..."
It's finished. Done. Polished. Wrapped. Sold. Insa-dong sold.
Share a snifter ?
Rita no ferns, just palms. OK not Mozart, Miles.
And there's nothing snotty about Babs or Maggie.
Maggie this is Rita. Rita, Maggie. ( She hated Oryx but try to be nice ok ? She's a friend from OS )
Or Macca and Sam.
Sam this is Rita. Rita, Sam. ( She hated The Verses but she didn't want to kill you over it )
See ?
We can all get along.
It's so nice here now the Gnome's gone.
Anyone maybe, but it took Don Walker to put it to music.
She deserves a free hoagie.
And how slack was trig folding at 380 ?
All of this s..t hurts like hell.
Well, it's us in the truckstop again Kim, quiet here now.
Can I make one here ?
I'm about to walk down to the shops before they close - tell me what to get & I'll make a hoagie, Manly-style.
All those fancy Italian names ; I'd just make a fool of myself.
Proscuitto is Brusuuuuuut.. hey jeetyet?
Any Pancetta?
Kim - well, fine if you're gonna get all technical about it.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kfuHgzu1Cjg
3127 Views
555 Comments
I must bid you all a good night for now as I must get home and start cooking; you are most welcome to stop by for a bite. I will leave this plate of antipasto and crusty loaf of bread behind for you all.
This is the best truck stop ever.
Larry so 18 people made 555 comments and came back five times each each to see if their comments stuck ?
The rest we can put down to the ones I had to delete maybe.
Don't you want a song Larry ? There's room for one more ...
How about Guy Lombardo and The Mormon Tabernacle Choir ?
Fssst ! ... uh oh, I think I just blew a fuse. You got any sticky tape ?
I used to work in a sticky tape factory - night shift - did I ever tell you about that ? I was a rewinder. It was a skill I acquired that turned out to be completely useless, in later life. But I made a friend there - Ali from Aleppo, Syria.
I wonder whatever happened to Ali.
Happy Thanksgiving everyone !
sobs quietly ... we don't have Thanksgiving here ... we must be the most ungrateful people on the planet, after Belgians.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Us-TVg40ExM&feature
Leonard Cohen
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ltkjmqFicxc
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=igxBjFpkUXA
Maybe I've entered into some violation of the TOS, or youtube - hope not. Door's always open for you. Thanks for kicking in when you did.
Larry there's better versions of that song if you want me to find one, or did you record that ?
I like that, IQ. Wonder how I could embed that but not the other from the same ( London) concert.
I know someone who touched Mark Knopfler, and I know someone who touched Leonard. That makes me kind of famous, right ?
Speaking of which, I've got another myself:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RNqv85coyTw
(lowell george is one of my dead heroes. i don't know why so many of my heroes are dead)
I been warped by the rain, driven by the snow
I'm drunk and dirty, don't ya know,
And I'm still
Willin'
Out on the road late last night,
Seen my pretty Alice in every head light
Alice, Dallas Alice
I've been from Tucson to Tucumcari
Tehachapi to Tonapah
Driven every kind of rig that's ever been made
I've driven the back roads so I wouldn't get weighed
If you give me weed, whites, and wine
And you show me a sign
I'll be willin'
To be movin'
I've been kicked by the wind, robbed by the sleet
Had my head stoved in, but I'm still on my feet
And I'm still
Willin'
Now I smuggled some smokes, and some folks, from Mexico
Baked by the sun, every time I go to Mexico
And I been from Tucson to Tucumcari
Tehachapi to Tonapah
I've driven every kind of rig that's ever been made
I've driven the back roads so I wouldn't get weighed
And if you give me weed, whites, and wine
And you show me a sign
I'll be willin' to be movin'
Emily will listen, but 18 rates don't cut it in Emily-town.
Meanwhile, I threw away the keys. The joint stays open.
Though I noticed Ian & Salman driving a Jaguar rather fast away, after I put on Mustang Sally.
You know ? They can get f----d. Oxfordian twits.
Barbara & Stephen King & Amy Tan have a band - I'll see if I can get them over. Larry on bass. Gnome at the bottom of the deep blue briny ; me & Rita & IQ on the bar.
Michelle & Trosty in the carpark still trying to work out how it all could have gone so far south between them.
Thanks for the lyrics.
"...show me a sign and I'll be willin' to be movin," story of our lives ?
Discreet, indiscreet - that was like : in the back seat or on the bonnet.
Whoops, there I go again.
I learned in my marriage though, how much indiscretion cost my partner.
None of the junk I ever fed into my system hurt as much as I hurt her.
Discretion is the better part of valour ? Still haven't worked that one out, but am trying. Feel free to help me out on that one.
Meantime doing my best to be discrete, and discreet about it.
I don't know though. Discrete can be sad.
Find myself listening to Flame Trees, Romeo&Juliet, Leonard, starin' out the window of a truck stop, you know ?
F--ck we can hurt people, as easy as blink, isn't it.
And be hurt too, IQ, I know.
... and once inflicted, it can't be taken back.
It can be forgiven, by some generous souls ( like Bella ) but not taken back.
That's the part that cuts me.
And we're all cut, some way.
Forgiveness, isn't it. To move through pain and sadness to in some remarkable love-like way begin all over. And over.
That was Michelle walked in, minus Trost.
'Scuse me I'm just going over to see if I can screw my life up - one last chance, you know ?
But I'll still drive you home.
Unless nan's around.
Especially if it's still snowing.
My only concern ( for you ) is the look in the first violinists' eyes at the end there.
Turns out Michelle only came in to use the phone. Got a cab back to Florida.
;-)
We need to go shooting some time; I say that to every one who has never been. Have you ever discharged a firearm? It is fun, and is a good way to get your ya-yas out. Or as Tink might say, "Oh my, yes it is!"
Anyway, just wanted to thank you for a comment on my blog I haven't gotten around to answering.
Don't need that at the big loud Irish Thanksgiving day drama holiday!
Kim, Lil Kate and iq ( Nana, Larry, Antoinette and gnome I assume you will be full) I'll bring back leftovers tonight, do you eat turkey?
Not a bad day to give thanks for moments and people and voices who listen as well as speak, who feel and hear and reflect and allow. Isn't this really what love is, side by side or shore to shore, middle of the day, middle of the night. Isn't this really what love is, what love can be. Isn't this what helps us breathe.
AAh, that's a nice mellow tone anna1liese ... I wonder how you spend this day ? Hope it's been good there. Be thankful you didn't have to spend with those Shibr yahoos.
Kate no turkey - we're Australian, remember ? We eat prawns and mandarins.
I just figured out the Wilson Pickett/salami connection - that's awful, Antoinette ;-)
Such a beautiful morning here - I wish Ablonde hadn't said that about the sharks ...
Reading trig's Thanksgiving blog reflections : it says an awful lot about your family, and a lot about your mom, I think, that trig's gone on to Tina's tonight, and you still count her as a friend.
There's Thanksgiving right there.
Glad you had a good day with them, and thanks for sharing the spirit and the food with us nan.
Prawns and mandarins it is then, Kim!
But the pies and red velvet cake do sound yummy ..... I WOULD like to try those!
We had a fried turkey (along with the capon and ham) -- but not even the bones are left. Kate -- if I should ever find myself on death row, fried turkey is what I would want. Nan's got that right.
Nan- sounds like you put your foot in it.
It was a lovely day with friends, bittersweet without my brother oogling over the food while I cooked, but I have a feeling he was close by.
Kim - regarding salami and Wilson Pickett; no great connection except that I like to listen to something upbeat that I can dance to while I am cooking, and that nothing says upbeat quite like Italian pork products!
- Tina is trig's soon to be ex, and her soon to be ex bro-in-law ( nan ) is still on friendly terms with her. That and the fact that trig's at Tina's right now ( gorging for the second time in a day ! ) says a lot about the kind of family their mom raised.
As some other reflections on OS today so clearly say : things can get so otherwise.
Antoinette - I raise a glass to your brother.
iq pecan pie and some Bailey's Irish cream.. hmm
#603
grab my forearm
up
up
up
indeed
Still awake cause only just home. Plan A for today was a quiet meal with someone here. Wednesday I sent a Thanksgiving card. For once I heard from several friends. Two messages came from college friends. The other English major at whose table I sat when I first met her possible intended when the fourth at her table was our college history professor, from my childhood parish. Before the two men came, we spoke clearly to each other the subject we could not allow: war and any opinions. Then, of course, we could not avoid. We had a Vietnam wounded vet in our midst and still we spoke of peace and war. I am at that table this very minute with Brian who tried to save his men only to lost part of his esophagus and odd parts of fingers and God knows what else. I am at that table when I first met him. Yesterday. Yesterday I learned from my college friend, that her first love, her husband, had lost his battle with Alzheimers and pneumonia at the first of this month.
Only a few days ago, I learned that a woman who had reached out to me, to me and to so many others before I ever knew her, had learned so recently that cancer was her companion now, one that would take her when it would. She has put her faith in her God and will take no route to anything but hospice and relief of pain. It has metastasized and is taking her. I sat with her on Wednesday. A message came to join in Thanksgiving with her dearest friend who can not take this away from the one we all love. How many people do we know who have followed dance and let dance inform life. Jose Feliciano performed in this country and wanted to know what she thought of what he brought. She came and stayed to tell him what she thought. What a treasure she has been to so many of us.
Today was spent with others who treasure her, who have loved her for so long a time and who hate what is taking her away from all of us. At the very least it allowed a time to be together and speak amongst ourselves of all that she means to all of us. We speak this as others arrive to carve some more... away from her, because money lessens the soul to be a source of cash. So today some of us who love her so gathered to honor her and look forward to ways we will remember her as ... it will be real and not contrived by some who see only dollar signs.
Meanwhile on this holiday of family and love, so many moments of all that has been honored here - voices sharing, speaking, caring, allowing,.... Love. In the end what matters more. I felt this need of giving and receiving as I thought of a woman beginning to face her death, as I heard from a college friend whose husband had had such a long walk to his death, as I remember the last time I saw my mother, to the call I received from my uncle's doctor three years ago, that he was gone, that all was done. This holiday means more than one might see. And yet, despite hopes of life and love, despite realities of death and loss, something remains to call us home.
Read all of this or not. Feel all of this or not. What allows any and all of us to be here is acceptance of being here as we are. As we really are, Breathe now. All is well. Music will help. Voices who speak will help. What are these holidays we share or at the least allow. They are moments when we dare to breathe and pause and reflect and allow. Writing this here in the middle of my night only because I am awake and because I believe I will be safe.
Dearest Annaliese, I am at a loss for words after reading your beautiful ones, also written in the middle of the night, after being awakened by the intensity of the day. But I can envelop you in a big hug. Life is precious, too short. It seems we must choose between going through it utterly unattached to anyone or anything or go through it with a millions tears to our hearts. I still choose the latter and so do you. So do all of us.
Ablonde do you think I'll paint again, really ?
Just the hospice and the morphine for her, too. Keeping it simple, as I hope I'll have the courage to do, or the acceptance, the maturity to face what has to be faced ; the dignity of calm before all the shining eyes - she went as beautifully as she ever moved among our lives, flicking switches of love and wonder.
The child remembers.
Seasons and seasons of Possible.
Nothing Im or Un about her, like Jacqueline du Pre she took apart her life and showed us how it can be done, this.
Kim the cello concerto too .... perfect ...as I close my eyes, it takes me away .... and I get so lost in it ....
have a nice sleep or a nice morning depending what part of the universe you are on.
the dignity of calm before all the shining eyes - she went as beautifully as she ever moved among our lives, flicking switches of love and wonder.
The child remembers.
Seasons and seasons of Possible.
Nothing Im or Un about her, like Jacqueline du Pre she took apart her life and showed us how it can be done, this.
The perfection of you, and of anna1liese, tonight does takes my breath away ..... what beautiful, beautiful and perfect words ....
Antoinette, I thought of you all through yesterday. Quite right. We do choose. All of us.
Kim, Your Ann. Across the road. The dignity of calm. May we all find her courage.
... flicking switches of love and wonder. Seasons and seasons of Possible. She mentored oh so well. Oh so well. All of this, all of this is here in your drawings and in your words: in any way you choose to speak your voice.
Jacqueline and Daniel and Elgar - my heart hugs your heart for this. Thank you.
And at the end, her smile.
I first heard Elgar ( & Tubby the Tuba & Peter & the Wolf & Danny Kaye's Hans Christian Anderson ) at Ann's - her three sons and I quickly graduated to the Animals & Rolling Stones when they came along but I never forgot the Elgar mood - winter fireside, trainsets & boardgames.
( Later chemistry sets, bombs, motorcycles and dodgy cars ... boys, eh ? )
Our encounters shape us profoundly, and for those of us who read, we get to encounter the best.
I'm thinking now of Arundhati Roy, over at Inverted Interrobang's latest blog.
I'm also thinking how critical it is that we can, & do love to read.
And how that love can be engendered early, and what a privilege it was to be involved in that side of it all for so long.
No co-incidence that Ann was a children's book author, or that my partner of the last 15 years has been an Anna, another children's book author, or that you, anna1liese, might be reading these words, isn't it.
How lucky you were to know her as you grew. How lucky to receive the magic she gave. All of you, your Ann, your Anna, their Kim, all of you who write and draw for children are magic givers, magic bearers, magic sharers. What greater gift to give is there than this.
Yes, about encounters, especially for those of us who love to read. Growing up, I didn't have and Ann, but I could see the library from my window that let me look that far down the street. That library opened the world to me.
What a privilege it was? Will this work you have done not be your work still today or tomorrow. Does it no longer call your name. Such joy you have brought to so many, whoever has been lucky enough to read and share the illustrations you have made.
Coincidence or not, I feel lucky to be the third mentioned here. As this third, I think I know that your Ann would be, is so proud of the Kim you are today and of all the work you have so far done.
A final thought of my own thanks giving, I know how grateful I am that in this past year I have been lucky enough to find you and your work, your drawing and your words. Coincidence, love of reading, thinking - all of it so far and going forward. Yes, I think, it is.
If you plan on writing a lengthy comment. Write it in Word or another word processing program first. Then you can copy and paste it into the comment box.
We've all been there.
Ten bucks.
I suggest we all simmer down, put away the firearms, and try to talk this out like reasonable people.
This is how easy it is.
anna puts away the cutlery, Larry drops the machete, and we talk.
We are respectful and polite.
Anything Anna may have said about Larry in the past, or anything Larry has said on anna's blog are for now put aside.
They look up, and catch each other's eyes and for a fleeting moment there's ... what ? I think that was a truck going by - I'll just duck out and have a look.
Jacqueline, Daniel, Elgar - yes. And then Kim - in words and in drawings and in all he gives. All he gives. Delete this if you must but only after you hear it for yourself at least the once. Please hear reception of the pearls you share. One need not be a child to hear the gifts you give. One needs only to remember the child one once was for all of your words and all of what you draw to reach in and hold life in the dearest, closest, most intimate place. This is what your words truly do. Hope you know and hope this worries you not at all. It is one of life's greatest gifts. One of life's greatest. Yours. You. I mean this as a gift, not as a burden. And I send this gift with love.
A nice flag flying outside the door.
Larry can't hear anything but thanks.
In the Leonard song he just liked the way the harp-player's right hand hovered emotionally. He reads though, and can write.
I suppose that must give him solace, late at night.
all I did was leave comments open.
Thanks, but this joint isn't mine, it's yours and anyone else's joint.
It's lovely and sometimes sad to read your reflections, but they're the essence of being here.
No-one can respond adequately to anyone else but we go on talking ; go on dealing the cards and checking the hand we've got and upping that ante or folding for the night knowing these same fools will be here in the morning.
And that's ok.
I don't have a headache, feel only slightly sick, it's more the other kind of, psychic kind of pain not tarot cards or crystal balls ( I've had enough of those for 2 lifetimes maybe 3 ) more a sense of loss.
That that's all.
Which should have been enough and here I'm failing the Ann-test.
I'm not displaying grace I'd rather drink and disappear.
There are 2 more books to do but what if I start either and finish neither - what if all of this past " screaming up behind me " takes away the future - then what ?
What comes after that ?
I had all four aces and I folded.
get to it
Are a home now for me
But my home is the lowlands
And always will be
Some day you'll return to
Your valleys and your farms
And you'll no longer burn
To be brothers in arms
Through these fields of destruction
Baptisms of fire
I've witnessed your suffering
As the battles raged higher
And though they hurt me so bad
In the fear and alarm
You did not desert me
My brothers in arms
There's so many different worlds
So many different suns
And we have just one world
But we live in different ones
Now the sun's gone to hell
And the moon's riding high
Let me bid you farewell
Every man has to die
But it's written in the starlight
And every line on your palm
We're fools to make war
On our brothers in arms
your coffee is getting cold
Sometimes grace is hard to find. It doesn't mean it will never come again. Your words here point in so many directions. I wonder about the two books there are to do. Are they books you want to do. Is there something else more important to you. Something else you wish you could do. I think I hear you feeling several kinds of loss. No kind of loss is easy. All loss, every loss makes us fragile, edgy, empty - even if the loss is not perfectly clear. Is it possible it was time to fold in order to begin again. As for Ann, I wonder would she test or would she reach out hands or arms to support, to comfort, to hold you while you rest and find your way again.
You aren't my sister ... wait ...
anna1liese are you my other sister ? wtf is this some kind of family prank. Yes on every count. "Is it possible it was time to fold in order to begin again." You're not mucking around either, are you.
I say it's time to put on Shout to the Top and dance like the original out-of-control-blancmange and who in hell should care.
Loving you guys.
And as the rain came down - I dropped to my knees and prayed
I said oh heavenly thing - please cleanse my soul,
I’ve seen all on offer and I’m not impressed at all.
I was halfway home - I was half insane,
And every shop window I looked in just looked the same
I said send me a sign to save my life
’cause at this moment in time there is nothing certain in
These day’s of mine
Y’see it’s a frightening thing when it dawns upon you
That I know as much as the day I was born
And though I wasn’t asked (I might as well stay)
And promise myself each and every day - that -
When you’re knocked on your back - an’ your life’s a flop
And when you’re down on the bottom there’s nothing else
But to shout to the top - shout!
paint a turkey. anything. but start.
I'm ok.
I just rant sometimes - frustrated, angry, sad, sick, tired.
Isn't it.
You know the feeling. Take care of you, and thanks.
I do know the feeling. I'll try if you will. Hope this night will bring you rest and peace.
anna1liese I kept writing - flags and Ferris Wheels, and yes, somehow it can make a person feel better.
Wonderful, that.
Ok chairs back up on the tables.. clear the floor..650 is the number of this comment...truckstop open..
BSA stands for Birmingham Small Arms - s--t it went fast.
It was red and black with a silver star on the tank.
Did I wear boots and leathers ?
No I wore sandals and board shorts because that's how cool I was. I was halfway between Noosa and Yandina when I thought up the name Mark Trost. By the time I reached Obi Obi Creek I was fully Linda Seccaspina.
Philadelphia PA, Baltimore DC now. All we need is music.
2) will the gnome then have a Facebook page?
3) will you pick me up in board shorts and sandals on the bike?
4) does that mean we will have to go back to (GASP) real life?
Here's my number if you honestly think you'll ever use it, see me or hear from me again : ------*----. Please don't share it with anyone else because I know where you live and I'll track you down.
If OS folds Jupiter will align with Saturn.
If OS folds Leepin' will need to think more seriously about the spare room at his grandmothers'.
If OS folds Kim Jong Um will go ballistic, and Antoinette will have to re-think her Winter wardrobe.
If OS folds Australia will secede from the Pacific leaving New Zealand in charge of the Christmas presents.
Hey now.
I agree on alignment of the planets changing but I won't go so far as Antoinette's wardrobe, that's serious business.
We should start an emergency phone chain, just in case. Since you are a day ahead, you will hear first, you call me, I'll call Linda S and Cartouche and they will signal the rest of the crew..
Then he started blogging on OS.
Is life not weird enough ?
I think probably we should all meet for a fire drill at the bottom of your drive at about six, or whenever the sirens start, and look at the state of the pantry.
After that if weather permits maybe a gondola tour of one of the Lesser Known canals and a poached egg. Also, my name isn't Robert. Please don't call me Robert.
Kim, I knew you were Cartouche, but Linda too? Brilliant. That explains Cartouche's notable absence lately.
Hey Now.
Worked all night on the pantry, ready for inspection.
My brother's name is David.
I didn't know anyone called Robert except me, and that wasn't even my name. Like I said, it was Joachim, then John K, then Kim.
So where does Robert come from ?
Multiple - personality disorders are one thing but this is a disturbing trend.
Who's Robert ? Where's Wally ?
One more song & I'm done.
Honestly, if I had not come here, I'd not have read your words. Your words have, honestly, been the world for me. Silliness perhaps. And yet. And still. This is what is. I wish I could hear all the rest of the conversation. Just that. What is. You have opened a world for me, a world I want to see and know and ... understand. A chair behind your chair. You give so much. I wonder if you know. I wonder if you know. Perhaps I wonder if any of us know. Perhaps I wonder if I know. And yet, somehow, here, I feel safe enough to ask. Safe. Matters. And you. Allow and provide. Safe. Do you know. At least for me. A gift. You give. Just that. Oh. Perfect name you have. For you. I think. Would that I had had a brother. And that that brother had been you. Silliness. Perhaps. Not to me.
As I open all I am, I wonder if I could read something by your Ann. I am so grateful for whatever part she played in all you have created to allow whoever reads your books and sees your pictures to see your world and to ponder as they find their own. Are there greater gifts than these. I doubt it. As I breathe. As I believe. All that really matters most to me. Here. Just here. You draw to you those who dare to breathe. Simply because you do. Simply. Because. It matters to you. It matters also to me. Thank you for all you are and all you give.
Ann's books can be found under Pinchgut Press - the name of her partner's publishing co. after a small island in Sydney Harbour.
Marge also has a lot of beautiful poetry there, but for Ann google Ann Spencer Parry and follow the links - there are 11 books in her Land Behind the World series, with a small extract from each there.
They'll all be available to read online in their entirety early next year, I think.
Ann & Marge also did a couple of lovely reflection-type books.
I'm so glad you're interested in this fairly obscure ( but dazzling ) antipodean children's fantasy writer.
Hope you like her as much as I.
2.20 am here - no news but good luck England !
Then for 22 good luck us !
Good to know you're there waiting too. I think ( after that rather depressing piece I did on flags back there ) sport is the way to go, in terms of global harmony.
I have a feeling the gong will go to the US in '22.
Bet you $ 20 virtual bucks.
When I first was in England, I never saw an empty field where someone wasn't playing. At the college, the one language everyone there understood was football. We had a playing field behind the church behind the garden behind the .... When I was on duty certain weekends, I'd walk over to watch them play. There were no differences or tensions on that field regardless of whatever was happening in the world. Everyone wanted to play and everyone wanted to win. More than even winning though was simply the desire to play. How many lessons of all kinds there.
It may be different now, but then in the early, mid eighties, working class people and their families could afford to go and watch the games. They could afford the tickets because so little was ever done to update or repair or worry about what might go wrong, about someone at a particular gate looking the other way and letting too many in. Those memories swirled for me as I watched BBC in the middle of my night. Time moves on. Changes have been made.
Your words about the unifying hope of sport has carried me away. That was football as I first knew it. All classes of people joined here when they joined no where else. At the college, I felt passion from people I personally knew. Oddly it was a passion that Americans needed to learn in order to share. Semester by semester the lessons were the same, but because it was sport, everyone stretched so that everyone could be included. Everyone. Inclusion. Ways forward. For us all. We can hope.
As for Flags, not depressing, I think. Honest, open, real. Followed by a discussion graced with civility Observations of a depressing time unrolling on a scale no one seems able or willing to roll back. Our times are depressing, not your voice or words, I think. Some observations are hard to speak and hard to hear, but I hear a voice willing to say out loud his inner thoughts and then, is willing to wait and listen and allow others to agree or disagree, to be heard and answered and sometimes for clarifications to be made. I hear a voice of civility in discourse. Honest, open, real.
Hope sun and warmth find you today.
And then the world finds moments of connecting.
I hope you're getting some sleep now. We've become ships in the night.
Maybe a tavern down by the sea next time. Some shanties and some tales of other ports afar, hidden treasure and the smell of cloves.
It's been a wild and stormy week downunder - I may have to leave you wonderful folk to it tonight. Lots of love, and don't forget to turn out the lights ;-)
Stranger Than Fiction - Ferrell plays a tax inspector to her pastry chef - also great roles by Emma Thompson and Dustin Hoffman.
There's a trailer at the end of the clip above.
Of course, anna1liese - let's keep at least a candle burning, and the lock broke, so why not ?
Some lovely memories in this old place ...
Keep the light in the window and the jukebox going..
Was thinking of you in the last clip - the afghan on the sofa. We've been here before.
Keep seeing all these OS death notices. So hope they are wrong. So hope Kerry is right. I see such life here. I lost a classroom because I saw such life. Maybe I am crazy. But what if I am not? Intuition. How dare you teach by intuition. You must leave because you frighten me.
Just thinking here. A tv channel here keeps showing Harry Potter. Part of me needs that. Just now HP and the GOF. What I love best about this film, well one of the parts I love best, is the reference to the spot where I lived. Where they have landed having touched the first port key shows the Seven Sisters. Remember the shingle beach. If you see the film and look at the White Cliffs of Dover - well this and so many other times - if you find the lowest cliff and think one street away, that is where I lived. The house with the green tiled roof. The roof that didn't blow away just after my mother died. I love that I was able to live there. A bit like rainbow bursts. If you look up, they may come to you. If all of this goes away, will both of you still know me. I so hope so and I hope the truck stop or the tavern by the sea will live. I need them. I need the life they give. At least I have loved the life they bring. Do you know. Do you both know. As connected as I feel to the street beyond the lowest cliff, I feel connected here. I am so tired of reading of this site's demise and of what some wish it had been. Perhaps it is the writing teacher in me, but I see so much more than some will see. I see voices speaking and reaching and growing and moving. I see life. Where some are ready to see death. I see such life. Much of the life is here. Right here. Where people speak and people breathe. This is where life is. This. Is. Where. Real. Life. Is. In Drawings. Or in words. This. Is Where. Real life. Is. I am/ was a writing teacher. I have helped so many find themselves in words. I hope this place survives. Voices. Yours. I want never to lose the life you bring. Here because I can find you here. I am everywhere today. Too many places. Too many people. But only because you speak and I care.
You, of the down under time, remind me of a world, that here, I could forget. How we need your voice to remind us of what matters, what keeps us connected, what keeps us aware of where we live.
I think, we need each other. I hope we keep each other.
One of my step daughters, the older one, the one who really needed me first, has sent me an Advent calendar that brings my England home to me. I wish I could send it on to you. I first fell in love with this England. I still... love this England.. This England... is... still... the home ... of my heart. The... home.... of... my soul. iq and Rita, send me your e-mail addresses and I will send this calendar of my England off to you. Late though it may be. This is what this is to me. This... and so much more.
Where is our Aussie Philosopher/ Bartender/Disc Jockey on his Sunday morning stroll maybe...?
Sifting through the things we leave behind When The Time Comes, and wandering in the garden - cuttings of this, cuttings of that.
A sort of hello and goodbye afternoon, still going on, back later.
I'm glad you were here, and thanks whoever put the flowers on the tables.
A hello and goodbye afternoon. Long afternoons these. Feelings everywhere, bidden or not. Feeling feelings. Can be exhausting just because. I expect this may be different for you except that you are the storyteller there, I think. The last time I was in the apartment on Adams St, where my father had lived for close to sixty years, I was alone. I needed to be there alone. It needed to be me. I walked one last time into every room. I remembered what I knew of what had happened in each one or what might have done. I knew some of it. I didn't know all but these rooms had held my family's history. Apartment or not, second floor or not, these six rooms had been our home. As the last one there, I acknowledged that and said good-bye, one by one and at the end I locked the door. It gave me a way to walk away. I write these words and make that walk again. It was my way to close that story and it helped. You'll find your own way at Manning Road. You are finding it now. Anyway, am thinking of you.
Thought about Catholic schools, Rita. God, in Boston, I grew up with Catholic everything and I loved it. I learned in all my schools and in the hospital that women were able to do anything. How many grow up seeing that. No Advent calendars though. I think this is the first one I've had. I love your thoughts about the dogs. I went back and looked again. Have to say it made me smile, the little dog, the Lab.
The hat I see and is that the very beginning of a smile.
Thank you anna1liese, you just made a young boy's Christmas.
Should anybody wander in and wonder what we're talking about, we are talking about a special gift of annalieses' which anyone can have access to at Jacqui Lawson's website. Something very special.
And no, IQ, I wasn't a Catholic schoolgirl, myself ;-)
Larry in his Santa hat saying : Maybe you should close comments on this post ... ( comment # 1 )
... and ( comment # 700 ) IQ : " oops - ignore the typos."
Funny, I don't remember Advent calendars. I remember Advent wreathes. Didn't we say a prayer each week and light the appropriate candle until all four were lit just before we broke for the holiday. Haven't thought about that in a really long time.
My father used to get up one afternoon a week to come in a taxi to collect me from the nursery school and take me to CCD classes. We weren't always there on time. Not sure now how he paid for the taxi. Something about me or the situation must have struck Sr. Carlina as pretty pathetic or needing care. There was a waiting list of 50 or 100 for a place in the second grade. I wasn't on it, but suddenly they made a place for me to take me in. For some reason, someone reached out and took me in. They broke a rule to help me. Perhaps that is why I have rarely questioned breaking rules if I sensed someone in need. My high school senior English teacher was probably the greatest influence for me, but the one who always kept in touch was my first principal, the one who first hired me. She ... and I didn't always agree but she allowed us all to breathe and grow and expect the best of ourselves and of our girls. After my mother died, she took my mother's place to ask about my health. When I first came back to Boston after my marriage had died, she and my first department chair came to take me out to lunch to make sure for themselves that I was all right. They brought me sheets. Not sure how they knew I'd come home with almost nothing of my own. Social justice? We never even thought about it. It simply was essence, part of everything every day. Lucky we, to have grown up with so much that was so good. Not in your face, bible thumping good. Not ordered or ordained. Just an understanding of the importance of love. At least that is what it meant to me.
My girls never had the pleasure. Santas scared them. Yours looks like a gentle soul. It's a treasure of a photo.
Anna1: that's the kind of religious people my parents are, they go church all the time but you would never know, they don't talk about it they just have helped many people over the years.
When Sister told us that Hell was a place that might await us after death, I remember silently shaking my head to myself and saying no. We don’t need to wait for Hell. We are living in it now. I also knew there were no flames. Walls perhaps, but no flames. I never raised my hand to disagree. I was a good little girl. But I knew she was wrong. I never doubted that.
At some point someone spoke of conscience. We ourselves could tell right from wrong. I have the constant guilt button all once Catholics have, but trusting my own conscience somehow set me free. The greatest blessing was their teaching and challenging us to think. Some of us memorized words before us. Some of us learned to think for ourselves.
Some of our nuns and some of our priests were rebuked for allowing such thinking even in one of the most liberal cities on earth, but they had opened our eyes and set us free. Imagine being rebuked for this when so much else was brushed aside or ignored.
Moments of peace. Moments of peace. So few of those at home. And love. And allowing. And breathing. Being. Allowing. All. Somehow this is what spoke to me then and speaks to me still. Perhaps the sisters and the priests spoke in terms of ideals. There were few ideals in my home unless I brought them home. I rarely spoke of real, but I knew real. Didn’t somehow we all know real.
Wisdom and knowing of childhood. We may not have all of the pieces then and we may not fully understand what we know. But we know. The child we were, allowed that knowing, had no filter to bar the knowing.
Do we sometimes draw or paint or write or look up for clouds or stars or moon or sun to be once more with all we know, all we were, all we are. Is that once wisdom and once knowing the thread that holds us all of our lives, that best allows us wonder and joy and love. Are those moments when our own veils lift, the moments when we best see.
Are these the moments that allow those of us who see to reach out from our innermost child to another child, sometimes even a little child, who needs our eyes to help him or her to see. To see what it is they really see and in this seeing, their own, once our own seeing to be free to feel and love and be.
I listen and I think and I keep coming back to this. Not the church bits really, but the child bits, the love bits, the wonder and the joy bits. And as I do, I think of Ann across the road. Would that every child, every one had someone like Ann. Then, perhaps, all that really matters would be clear and the warmth of love would, could be the world’s foundation. What joy then would fill us all.
Wonder and joy and open arms and open doors and snow globes and windows opening day by day, middle of the day, middle of the night.
Maybe all of my nonsense is Dorchester nonsense. Still part of me wonders if Ann across the road might have understood or if she would have needed no words at all and simply opened her door and let us in to hear a story or watch a window open and witness joy and wonder and love. A Christmas story here somewhere. Joy and wonder and love. Even at a truck stop. At least at this truck stop where all that really matters lives and breathes and smiles.
philosophy is always welcomed and debated, free of charge.
Royalties @ the jukebox ... $ o.05 per play
AlleyOops appearance ... $ 1095.00
Rent ... $ 110.00 pw. ( I know )
Food ... $ 3. 10
Alcohol tax ... $ 22.00
Damages ... $ 3410.00
Candles ... $ 680.00
Plumber ... $ 1280.00
Live appearances ( Leonard Cohen, Tom Waits ) ... $ 100.00 each !
See, it's not like you just open the doors and everything pays for itself, is what I'm saying.
So I had to start charging for comments. $2.75 is a good deal, Larry, you'll find if you shop around.
Bonnie Russell charges $3.00, so does Kathy Riordan.
The cheapest deal from what I've seen is Blumenthal, which would account for his "popularity" - but as you can see, we here aren't going for "popularity"- we're going for quality.
This here is a classy joint.
Talent scouts come here looking for writers. That's one over there in the corner, with the pointy red hat, talking to the guy who looks like Trost.
If you in one lifetime can overcome the image of soul as a rectangular box spotted with little dots of sin you've done well.
As a child you knew, as children do, that what you were listening to and reality were not the same. It takes a lot, though, to persist in the belief that you, a child, might be right. More right than your teacher.
It takes faith of a different kind. A guileless child's kind.
anna1liese thank you for these thoughts and I'm sure the others feel as humbled as I by the opportunity to listen as they come.
We're a reverential, if at times profane bunch here at the truckstop,
as you know.
If you ever felt like sharing a little of your ms here, let us know.
Meanwhile here's a little something of Ann's :
( On this third level ) the world is a mirror in which we meet only ourselves, only what we have put there. The creator and the creation are one.
A dream is a private myth ;
a myth is a public dream.
ps you know I'm a day ahead on the advent calendar, don't you :-)
I'll do you a deal.
Give us another song, and it's all done.
All of you, thanks for putting up with my Dorchester nonsense. I close my eyes smiling at thoughts of small joy shared. I open them and thoughts are flowing and I need to follow to see where they lead.
There is something here in all of these thoughts I can't yet quite see, but something about them keeps pulling me. There is an energy about them and that tells me something. At least I need to keep looking and thinking to see what it is I see.
Kim, You make me pick up my world time after time to look at it afresh. It is just the way your words speak to me. Thanks for reading these words so closely. Thanks for sharing these words of Ann's with me. I want to float them for a bit and soak them in. As I started to read them, they made me cry. Kinship, I think, of the deepest kind.
Well, if anyone gets to see the next day's treasure first, I am glad it's you! Smiling here.
Aren't we a bit of the world here, at this truck stop, living a bit, as one. Couldn't the world use us as a prototype. Thinking about the ms. Did I really say that out loud. Thinking about the college. Another prototype. Wanting to stretch out my arms and hug all the ones I knew, all the ones who came to me, all the way, up all the stairs, to think they were coming to me for help, when really, they were giving me the world. All the cherubs who have ever come to me, have given me so much more, than ever, I suppose, I was able to give to them. Libya, Egypt, Oman, Jordan, UAE, Kuwait, Iraq, Turkey, Spain, Sudan, Palestine, Indonesia (Oh God, Martin and his chess!), Germany, Scotland, England, Zambia, Somalia, India, Bangladesh, so many states from here. All the world could live as one. Could. Once a very long time ago I taught someone from New Zealand. Nikki Kerslake. She called out my name years later one day in a London museum. How many of my cherubs did I meet there, one by one by one. Yes, we could. Yes, we can. Why do we all make it seem so hard. Imagining. And dreaming still.
Settle. Chamomile tea.
You're all stirred up.
Deep breathing, calm. Look for the centre ; focus on the breaths.
Feel the messages. They're all good tonight. Settle. Love's here.
So many faces and so many stories. One day I will share them with you. You. Will understand. I know.
Chamomile tea and love. How do you know. Don't know what caught me so. My soul's other half. Tonight at least. Trying to breathe. And hear.
We been some dirty places tonight, jes best don' ask. Settle.
Y'ok now a1 ? Mess o' grits ? Corfee ?
'bout a lamington, mm ?
2.15 pm. lots of speedos and bikinis. Lots of Koreans lapping up the peace ; a few Belgians looking Belgian ; plenty of bright pink Brits ; the odd Saudi, o, there's oprah, etc. Suss looking boat like a floating resort in the bay yesterday - Australia is in the O fever-grip.
A lamington is koala thigh fried, dipped in chocolate and sprinkled with dessicated coconut.
I got a feeling I won't recognise the place by the time I get back.
If your first shot misses completely, you shouldn't be hunting.
If your second shot misses completely, you shouldn't be hunting.
If your third shot misses completely, you shouldn't be hunting.
If your fourth shot misses completely, you shouldn't be hunting.
IF YOUR FIFTH SHOT MISSES COMPLETELY, YOU SHOULD NOT BE FUCKING HUNTING.
Pathetic would be about it. As Norwonk said, people who just blast away at an animal are called cowboys, and it's not meant as a compliment. Now I understand why I haven't watched her show yet.
And Kim, thanks for backing me on the prayer thing. As I understand it Rolf Harris is three quarters Aborigine.
As for "... people who just blast away at an animal are called cowboys, and it's not meant as a compliment," I recall a video where young Eli and his uncle were doing some serious damage to the ants around the targets on a shooting range ... ;-)
And IQ, are you suggesting that Sarah Palin should be on anti-psychotics? That sounds like a half-measure to me; a transorbital lobotomy seems more likely to make those noises stop coming out of her mouth.
I heard cattle too, Rita - maybe old man Brown out the back left his gate open.
Then again, maybe we're just starting to hear things.
Like, OS wants to sell the joint.
Believe I'll have me one o' them green ones, with a little ice.
Thought of the book elf yesterday. Could use him here to tidy all the books I seem to have pulled out. Just now as I hear the quiet here, I wonder about the pounding rain there. Was thinking yesterday that Trig might build a studio here, just behind that wall, where the light would be best. Then late, while I waited for a long driving visitor to arrive before making her final visit to the dancing one, I opened my eyes and what did I see but a smiling silent one and words I could, expect I will read again a thousand times. Silent smile, silent space, silent hands, distinctly, uniquely eloquent voice. Grateful for this, for you and for us.
Kim, not sure what type of drink is green? But I look behind the bar, although the cleaner quit, there 's still plenty to drink.. Lil Kate hasn't been here buying rounds lately and Nana's onto another substance, the gnome is still sailing. tink, tink of the classes.
Are you sitting comfortably. Hint: I am typing this in Pages first. At some point she told me that we would be staying in the barn, but there was heating and we’d be all right.
Author’s pause. Remember I grew up in Dorchester, not the poshest part of Boston. Second floor of a triple decker. On the corner. Near the library.
One more thing. Not sure how you hear the sound of “r”. When you say Dorchester, listen to the sound. Now come with me to my world. I hear “r” when I say “r”, but you might think you hear an “h”. So my Dorchester may be your Dohchestah. Are you with me? It’s an Irish/English thing.
Back to Vermont. A four hour drive, the last time I drove innocently through snow and ice. I hadn’t lived in England yet, but when I found this house, it had a name. Glebelands. Had no idea. Was this a Vermont thing? But wait, I see two houses and I do not see anything resembling a barn.
I see my friend and the “barn” is larger than my house. The sheets on the bed were like nothing I had ever seen. Needlepoint initials on perfectly ironed sheets. They were from the in-laws’ honeymooon. I wasn’t in Kansas anymore.
I had the tour and I remember they had a music room. A music room. Her husband had found a kit for a harpsichord and had made it for my friend. Oh my God. Beside it, if I remember correctly, was a violin. His. Yes, I think it was, a violin a certain Stradivari had had some part in. At one point that week they played for me.
At some point a brother-in-law appeared. He had just flown in from New York. He is the one of the purple liqueur. They kept it in the main house just for him.
On the nights we went to the main house for dinner, we were responsible for making martinis. I had heard of them, I think, in a movie or on tv. Our fridge at home had one kind of beer in cans for my father and another kind for my uncle. My mother’s vodka lived on the floor. Have I mentioned Kansas. OK, well, Dorchester.
At the appointed hour, we carried through the snow, the martinis I had been taught how to make and the hors d’oeuvres we’d put together. At our house, if we ever entertained, we had cheese and biscuits and white wine.
I don’t think we were announced, but somehow word made its way upstairs because after brother-in-law had begun to point out certain pieces of art to me, someone’s campaign chest from the 17th century and Josephine’s chair, I heard footsteps on the stairs. Mater appeared in an evening dress with an evening bag on one arm and a gold lame cigarette holder in her hand. Pater wore a smoking jacket. I swear to God. I don’t think my mouth stayed closed for one minute of that night.
Nothing in Dorchester had prepared me for a minute of this. I wanted to be so invisible but I didn’t want to miss anything. At some point we would be having dinner but I hadn’t seen where that would be. Eventually we went to a room where food was laid out and a dinner service was explained to me, just to let me know. The silver does not come back to me except that it was real. The china does. The edges of the china. Gold leaf. Irreplaceable. Ir... replaceable. Just take some of everything and come back into the other room. The other room with sofas and chairs, without a dining room table. Oh my God. By this time, I had no Vermont. I had only Dorchester. I didn’t belong in the remains of a DuPont fortune and furnishings that had been brought back from a two year honeymoon round the world.
My hands were shaking. Part of me wanted to cry and part of me wanted to laugh. Part of me knew only too well that I would be the one to drop and break forever the irreplaceable plate.
OK. There is more, but you get the idea. I do remember the purple liqueur. I didn’t have it and so didn’t need to worry that I would drop it and stain whatever incredibly priceless carpet I was standing on.
Tiny field trip from our bar here. Going back to fold some napkins now.
What a beautiful tale, beautifully told.
I'm so glad you're writing on Pages first ( Lawrence is useful in his way, isn't he ? ) - this is wonderful.
And you and the brother-in-law ... frisson ?
The other thing is the traveler, and her field of rainbows ... this is all reading like an alternate reality.
This truckstop is turning into a salon.
Salon...where have I heard that name before?
A very significant number.
I'd be outside mingling, or setting up camp under the bed, if I were you.
Kim, I am going to take your words away with me and float them for a while. Thank you. Really. Thanks. Frisson and the brother-in-law. Uh, no. He did try to teach me to waltz. 1-2-3, 1-2 .... It was not a success. His real frisson was with the purple liqueur.
Thank you for not being totally annoyed that I needed to hide away here today and let thoughts wander where they would. You are, I think, the kindest of kind.
Perhaps all hearts need that touch. All talk here today was of hearts touching hearts. We were all there in Albuquerque for that service for Gayle. The traveler has written of her here. One tiny child who had known her in the library had come because he wanted to speak for the woman who had given him the gift to read, the need to read. And then her father spoke. We had never seen him cry. That day he let all of us reach out and touch his heart. Even our dancer who is/ has been guarded of her heart. I know that's not clear. It is not clear. Still. Still.
This morning as we talked again, I could see Gayle across the room from me, each of us in morning silence, each of us with tea, each of us with journal in hand, honouring the task at hand. So many artists in this family that has adopted me. My traveler told me that our dancer had last night spoken of her aunt for whom she is named and on the wall here is a pencil sketch of her done by the famous artist ... grandfather of the traveler, the grandfather she used her dissertation to try and meet. In writing it, she brought him home to herself and the dancer and the cousin who read and to me, her part-time editor. The dancer was the artist's niece and has long treasured his work. Last time when I was there, sitting beside her and holding her hand, I saw some of his more famous pieces there on her walls because ... she cares.
When I last was there for that/ those services in the mountains of New Mexico, I slept in Gayle's childhood bed. It seemed a blessed gift. In the morning just outside the kitchen window, deer passed, so close I could have reached out and touched them. Then on the day we were meant to leave, someone sent snow. So much snow, we couldn't leave. And so we stayed where we were most needed. And we listened as others who most needed spoke their truths.
Isn't that really what life is all about. Speaking and listening and hearing and caring. Reaching out and holding on. Holding. Holding. In any way we can. Holding. Being. In any way we can. Isn't that really what life is all about.
To that point, someone needs to say out loud that a month ago, a month ago today, someone opened this space to be there, just in case. Being there and reaching out, holding hands and holding souls. Here is life and here is all. Here. Because. Care. Heart. Long ago, I think, I fell in love here. Few may say the words, but many feel the words. Many feel the ... all of it. All of it. As it is and as it comes. Love. Simply, fully, completely. Love. Here. At a truck stop borne of love. Love even if pushed away or aside. Or held away in silence. Love. Here. Call it what you may. Love it is and love is all. I think I heard words of love in your words on your last piece. It sounded as though you have found the work you love and the work you most want to do. For yourself. For your dreams. For your vision. For your heart. Now I wish I could be there, in the chair behind your chair, to see your eyes and hear your heart and to know that you are all ... your all. I so hope that for you. I so hope that for all of you. All. Of you. Wings of love to set you free. Wings of love. Today. For you.
Sorry I haven't been around too much ... I've kept meaning to stop by but seem to get caught up in one thing or another. But, gee, I hope you're all well.
I see Kim has you listening to some true blue Aussie songs!
Hey Lil where ya been? Kangaroos, cockatoos, koalas, bandicoots it's a crazy world down there isn't it?
"As you know, this post is receiving a tremendously positive reaction on my facebook page. And rightly so.
Its lack of inclusion on the cover as an EP is indicative of all the flaws of OS. Good, solid, relevant writing passed over for the banal & the bilge.
This is an exceptional work Becky. You must (I almost demand it lol) feel pride and a sense of accomplishment that you've written the heart and soul of so many people. You wrote it right.
And Mark R. Trost just said so. Ballsy? Bet your ass. So take my praise to your heart; you've earned it."
Got any barf bags?
"Tonight I tip-toed through the graveyard that was OS. And I became saddened by the lowered standards and the substandard work.
And the bullshit that mocks the art and the craft.
And then I read this. This is terrific.
Thank you in restoring my faith in the gift that is writing."
Wallabies, bilbies, wombats, emus and goannas too!
Dingoes, bandicoots, bush turkeys, and magpies ... to name a few!
Brush tailed possums, Lyrebirds,
Mallee Fowl, Terns, Flying foxes, Bower Birds
And all sorts of frogs and snakes
Crikey! (A hasty retreat she makes!)
I think lorikeet means small parrot.
What about these though :
kookaburra - it laughs
brolga - it dances
azure kingfisher - fishes
butcherbird - kills, with a beautiful voice
wompoo - coos
satin bowerbird - only collects things that are blue
budgerigar - flocks of thousands
coot - swims beside me
galah - loco
emu - runs
restless flycatcher - cannot sit still
koel - mournful cuckoo
or platypus, or pi ; wobbegongs and wallabies, leatherjackets and Balmain Bugs.
Goodness.
Banal you've chosen well. I don't mind going bilge, but call me Eliza.
Whatever it takes ( hic ) we've got to maintain the standards 'round here.
MRT has laid it out - follow those guidelines and you'll end up in Oblivion, a beautiful little suburb of Peoria. Everyone there is so nice, and there's a book club. Only one book, but still, it's a club.
Damn. Bad trip.
Love
we will hear that tune together'''
Both of you : sleep. Now.
You were incredibly calm, I thought.
I see someone who has dared to care and dared to try. Maybe the programs or the discipline were ones that once seemed just right and then did not. I see steps forward on your journey, no reasons not to be proud. Easy for me from here, I know, but I am listening and this is some of what I hear. I hear your sadness and your hurt, but I also hear your heart. Always I hear your heart. Always I hear your heart.
Keep talking. 41 isn't the end of the line - you know that.
Even if it doesn't involve children of your own your life is all ahead now.
The worst is behind you.
So what if you find yourself in a cyberspace truckstop at 3 am, it's a place to be. Through that door any minute now might walk a stranger who becomes a friend.
It's the nature of truckstops.
By the music you've chosen and the comments you leave all over OS we come to know a beautiful fragile soul with a story.
We grow to love this soul and will do anything we can to nurture her, make her laugh again, run again, and Max - is a joy and a mascot.
You're part of us now sis, sit down and pour your heart out.
No-one's going to find us - we're buried under a mountain of card-playing sailing comments.
As anna1liese knows, it's quiet here. Not even any truckers. Just us.
He's a gorgeous young guy, too.
iq, Peaceful rest tonight.
Thinking of us all.
Mark R Trost
Yours is in the mail...
Now if we could find IQ a nice young fellow with a future ...
What about you ?
You look like a nice young fellow ... often ...
We've run into an obstacle.
Sometimes we laugh. Sometimes we roar. More often than not we roar for peace. A laying down of unnecessary arms. For arms that are most real are not the arms that fire. Arms that are most real are arms that reach out to hold.
Looked in hours ago when hours here were growing long. Peace and calm were here midst gentle joshing in the air.
In the long hours here a while ago, heard from the traveling one a few words of the dancing one. Mostly sleeping now, but underneath the sheets, her feet begin to wriggle as though still she needs to dance and then her hands lift to make the flamenco moves that accent the dancing of her feet. Made me think of Rita's patient who had such grace about what she saw as the Big L. So much lately makes me think of Ann and further grace and dignity and courage.
And in these moments of such grace, I sense even more clearly all the grace and warmth and love that breathes and lives and gives itself so easily and so gently here. A wisdom and a knowing that for some is lost, for some is never found, and for some is simply the foundation of all they are. Some of the threads these are that have begun to walk with me. From thoughts spoken and shared here. Or not far away.
It's been a long and troubled year this year ..... but then there is so much to be thankful for ... like the caring, supportive friends that are here on OS and at this truckstop ... such wonderful friends ... a blessing you are.
Sometimes I think I fear that no one else will hear what I hear. And then sometimes someone hears what I hear before I hear it myself. And then that someone plays it back for me.
Peace to my truckstop friends I hope this posts...
Where's IQ ? Is IQ OK ?
Are any of us ok ? I'm ok. Are you ok ?
anna1liese how're you doing ?
I am caught in a crazy place between present and past. Because I do, I have written and thought and written and thought and tried to put my mother's life back together again. Often if I write long enough, I can find a way through. It is simply hard not to be able to save someone. I could not save her. Part of me has always wanted not to become the person she was then, locked in anger and bitterness. I could not lift it from her, but it is not mine. It never was. Time now, finally, to allow myself the choices I have made. Long ago, I chose love. And hope. And joy.
There have been generations of pain in my mother's family. My mother could not break away. Someone, somewhere, must have been an Ann for me because somehow despite all that was, I survived what might have destroyed me and closed no door of hope. So, as I wait once more for death to come as I waited so long ago for her, I see acceptance and faith and peace and love. I see choice.
So now, I come back to listen to this music once more, and I find the version you've added and all my heart cries as I watch. It is all so incredibly beautiful and the words, the music, all of it, speak to me as though they were mine. I hear so many truths I know and then the repetitions of words that speak all that I am, all that I hope in the gentlest and softest and purest of whispers. How have you found such a breathtaking version such as this. It begins to lift my soul and hold my heart.
All the words I left this morning feel even more apt now. I may be here all evening listening to this piece and watching the images again and again and again. How do I thank you for a gift like this. As much as I can, I do.
All of what I find most beautiful I can see as I watch this piece. From the geese to the whales. So much that calls my name is here. And then I hear other words - sensitivity, prison, mutual misunderstandings, two separate hearts living in two separate worlds, no sacrifice - all of these before the close. All these words have been mine. Some of these words are mine. Still I choose to give my heart. Otherwise can there be life.
Kim, if for a moment I could hold the world still, I would be able to reach out my arms and hold you and for that moment all worlds would be one. For that moment at least. No boundaries for just this once. Just this one moment, heart to heart. Sometimes, most times, I wonder where I live. I live here, but I live there. When the Chilean miners were being rescued, I lived in a middle space and Tim Wilcox spoke in a voice that brought me home. Home. Where. Hearts living. Separate worlds. Have been there. Have lived there. Still I choose to give my heart. Is there any other way to live. I don't think so. I don't think so. Still believe that there is much life. I thought so.
The Season brings it upon us, with all of its ribbons and bows, it's difficult to ignore.
But we can focus on the one thing : a child was born.
You, me, Larry.
& thank god we were.
Then grew up and learned to read and write, to teach others how this magic works. To inspire others to make it their own.
It works, it's working. There was an Ann in your life, as you are Ann for countless others, here even. Nothing's going to put it out now - the fire burns and pine cones glow.
We sit around this crazy truckstop hands around our mugs and snifters listening to the words we need to hear tonight and looking at each rosy cheek there's smiles.
Though I can't help laughing, when I look at Larry ...
Haven't wanted to break the moment.
A child was born.
Holding a mug, floating through your words.
My heart remembers how to breathe once more
and as it breathes, it smiles.
So glad to be sharing this. When I saw the toboggans on the hill by the church, I was back in another moment when snow came. Must have been a school day because all of a sudden I had Shelley and Julie and all their friends crowded outside my front door. May we come in please. I wish you could hear it as they would say it. In they came and dropped whatever they didn't need. I offered warmth and dry and a toilet should the need arise. They were off in seconds. We did literally live at the foot of Seaford Head and if they were going to have a single chance to slide down the Head in snow, it was now. No sleds or toboggans though. No one had those. This hardly ever happened. They all appeared with something on which to slide and up and down they went. I could see it all from the porch. They were screaming with laughter and you could hear it across much of the town. The closer you get to the Solstice, shorter the day as here. The sun is almost down by half past three, but they made the most of the time they had. Every time I watch the sledding here, I smile. Every child in the town was there. Sometimes I had to pinch myself to believe that I was there. All of it magic.
Been a buzz down here - mad but fun, and some lovely fireside exchanges.
Poor Tom would never know what hit him.. of course we would be ultra cool and quiet..
make yourself useful mate...
Back seat dramas. When you are the only one, dramas are different. I always remember the oddest back seat drama. No, not like that. Was it my mom's Impala. I remember lying back against the seat and looking straight up. I could see every star and so much sky. I remember all the wind that blew all over me from the front windows' being opened. I also remember the odd bits of cigarette ash from one of my parents' cylinders blowing back, and if I were lucky, missing me. Never mind. The sound of the wind and so much sky.
I am EST iq maybe we should live blog it...
iq- I think Max will make an interesting blogger.. dogs have a totally different take on the world, it seems to me. Lay down, sit up, chase a stick.. lay down again. No guilt. No why am I laying down. No my mother was mean, that is why I lay down. Just. Lay Down.
Ok. but a dog's life looks pretty good to me..
Sometimes, if the moon didn't shine, I had to trust in putting one foot in front of the other and not falling down until I'd made my way home. I've never known anything like that here. So alone. So quiet. Only the sounds of the sea. Even there though, I never saw a falling star and certainly not a meteor shower. Speaking of magic!
It has more characters than a Russian novel. And a great soundtrack.
I think the sea, the ocean have always been for me what the moon has been for you. Whenever I am near a body of water, I breathe differently. It's as though it is my soul and always there my soul is free.
I think I fell asleep in the theological to and fro over there at nan's.
Woke up in the truckstop.
So we're talking about dogs, is it ?
Not your incontinent poodle ; more your coffee drinking hound on a beach, is it. Linnnn's got a meteor-shower post up.I'm in favour of long stretches of sand and dogs.
Ablonde does good dog. Not that I'm necessarily a bosom man.
I like her attitude to food and the canines among us, and the cetaceans. I don't have a dog, or a whale, at the moment, but I remember how lovely they are.
OS has become a kind of shelter.
Tomorrow I expect a nice couple will pause and say "O, we like that one. Doe he draw ? Marvellous. Has he been vaccinated ? Terrific."
by the splendor of the moon
So powerful
I fell to the ground
Your love
has made me sure
I am ready to forsake
this worldly life
and surrender to the magnificence
of your Being
just read this..
alright back up to the Bless the Weather.. no moon here, no meteor, just the howling wind...
wish I could uTube it whistling through this house and down the fireplace..
you've written some poetry before,
but not like that.
F..k nan, post it. With a picture of the moon.
I think you've tumbled to your own game, isn't it.
The moon is out and there are these fantastic clouds floating by, gossamer and candyfloss yet solid as stone. Even when people are face to face they're rarely feeling the same thing, but I wish you could be here with me to see these clouds, this moon, to taste this balmy springtime air.
Sadly, I used to be retarded.
that one's better, especially if it's yours - here goes :
The moon is out
and there are these fantastic clouds floating by,
gossamer and candyfloss
yet solid as stone.
Even when people are face to face
they're rarely feeling the same thing,
but I wish you could be here with me to see these clouds,
this moon, to taste this balmy springtime air.
What I'd call fine, okay ?
iq: I love that little movie and the soundtrack is beautiful, perfect for the moment.
Skies and moons and evenings and mornings. Near Christmas. A child. Softening. Listening. Sharing.
nice song, IQ, posted.
Rita swore.
anna1liese She's Here ; it's bigger than the Queen.
I am not taking the ferry to town I do not want to see a giant O hanging from the Harbour Bridge.
But I like your reflections on New South Wales via Charlie D.
Those convicts for the crime of stealing half a loaf of bread to feed their family or taking 2 yards of timber built this town, and many stayed. I recommend to you The Secret River, by Kate Jennings - if you can't find it in the library let me know.
5 in the am here, the odd kookaburra chortling out of its dreams, a sunny day ahead - a steamy sunny day - chickens and mystery ; a lady getting older very quickly, cupboards and shelves emptier, a garden going mad and one lone lone lunatic with secateurs going What in the middle. The phone rings but all they want to know is where the drawings are. They're in my head where they'll probably stay, until a path appears okay ? Not okay, no way.
I read Chinua Achebe's Things Fall Apart a couple of years back, in Africa. Things are definitely falling apart, but not with Chinua's eloquence here.
Where's that nice couple ?
Surely they didn't choose the spaniel ? That spaniel can't even draw.
Rita, it was unearthly freezing here too last night. The warm blanket of clouds went away and the cold flowed down from between the stars, telling us what if feels like on the way to Cygnus X-1 9. Brrrrr.
Call Sue F. at Allen & Unwin and explain that to her for me please.
I'll be in the garden chopping away at things that don't make sense.
It's a bummer of a time to go mad but hey, it's Christmas, who's going to notice ?
Don't they know that the drawings have to be in your head until there is some calm, some time, some space. They can not have what you can not give.
Hand me the secateurs. I am not bad with secateurs. I'll do that while you get some air.
A few days ago, someone here helped me to settle and brought me chamomile tea. Breathe, he said. Deep breathing, calm. Look for the center. Focus on the breaths. Settle. Love's here.
Still here and now for you.
8 am, calming down. Thank you. Goodness.
He even had a picture (he took the time to make)
of a headstone that read
"0pen salon" "2008-2010"
Kim I slithered in after some small troubles tonight.. sorry I missed you.
I believe this truckstop started the night I ran away from home.. and you were trying to get me to smile.. so it's a good ole truckstop to gather in tonight..
What a crazy day.
I'm gonna have a beer and-don't-you-dare-look-at-me-like-that, it's just a beer.
I'll tell you when I'm out of control.
By then you probably won't need to be told.
Needed to come clean, and that felt good. Thanks for being there, you guys.
I remember, Rita - heading East with the top down.
Lookit where you got to.
Even another brand new pome.
Larry 2008-2010 - presumably those were his years ?
What did Eleanor Roosevelt say ? " No-one can make you feel inferior without your consent ..." well, I'm feeling a little "less than" around Trosty and I'm not happy about it. I wish there was a way to make it go away.
I'll finish listening to Eddie - what a voice !
He's not even been here a year, has he? OS started in 2008, April I think, when it was Beta.
Especially in moments and hours like these.
Even in silence, love is here.
Less than t. Corners, edges, only sharpness there. Sharpness and judgment and doors only closed. Deep breath. Deep breath. Walk away and come back here. Beauty and honesty and openness here. Writing and art and wisdom abound. Here. No comparison. None.
Hearts that give. This is where I want to live. Middle of the day. Middle of the night. Kim. In this place that you have built.
Because you care. Because you love. Because you are. Love.
Kim, you have my deepest respect and admiration friend. That was a tough thing you did today my friend. A tough but very good thing.
We're all here for you. Friends with open hearts ... full of love and support for you. You are a caring, loving and gentle man, Kim. And now it's our turn to return what you give to us. We're all here for you in whatever way you need.
I'm November 09. Be gentle with me.
So now it's just the cool kids. So here's my best of OS christmas assortments: lemon-lime spritz cookie, crescents, pecan tassies, pecan and walnut logs, shortbread. And Portuguse pasteis de nata -- little flaky bowls of custardy goodness.
Any coffee?
And where's Cyril? I miss the gnome.
Kim, Thinking of you as your evening draws in. Not sure how long you have before dark. More moving for you? Hard to imagine you away from your window. I hope that it calls your name. Perhaps it is time now, soon for you to find what truly calls you and will keep you well, perhaps more well than you have ever been. I can only imagine all that you are holding in. Perhaps that is why you have felt so full.
I wonder if you could write what you feel or draw what you feel, but perhaps that is what you already do in your journal. May sound a silly thought, but may help you see. Holding on. Letting go. So much changing all at once. What else might help you breathe free. What else might help your spirit dance. I hear such lightness in some of your words and wonder if I hear you dancing a bit away. Here is, I hope, a different space. Quiet. Simple. No masks. At least no masks needed. Hard to listen to so many voices all at once. Be gentle with yourself. Will you try. I do care and I would hold. Others would queue up behind me. Giving heart.
The tiny dancing one danced on just before midnight here last night. Hopefully the angels she called came to take her home.
Seeing mathematical signs here. Less than. Less than t. Can’t bear to say the name. May I tell you how it hurts my soul that such a thought would cross your mind never mind weigh you down. Last night I said part of what I thought of this. Now I see more or more clearly. Antithesis. Kim = antithesis of t.
t = Corners, edges, only sharpness there. Sharpness and judgment and doors only closed.
Kim = Beauty and honesty and openness here. Writing and art and wisdom abound. Here.
No comparison. None.
t = the person who feels he knows his craft and who tells you that you must learn all his rules because anything else is meaningless. His was the class you would run away not to take. He makes his craft an angry thing.
Kim = the person who feels. Who sees. Who shares through multiple forms of art. Who shares in comments what he hears and adds what might help another stretch or see more.
Kim = the one who shuns for himself the word “artist” yet in the eyes of at least this one lives and breathes and sees and feels and shares pure art. Heart. Art. There is a reason why they rhyme. Passion. Honesty. Always searching. Always seeking truth. Why am I thinking Monet, Renoir, Van Gogh. Passion. Honesty. Always searching. Always seeking truth. Don’t run away or laugh at me.
I understand the creating of words - at least in my own way. For me whatever rules some may see, once learned, must sometimes break if broken with care. I have lived here, where I am now at least, in the world of artists. I think I live with the colour wheel from which one of them taught. I live with finished works, pencil sketches, oils. I also live with practice pieces, beginning pieces, small canvasses on which the male artist tried to capture what he saw so that he could remember when he began the final piece. I wish I could hear her voice and wonder what I might learn. The traveller searched for years to discover the voice and soul of the grandfather artist she had never known. From her search she found gifts for all.
On my own, I would not choose a work of theirs. On my own, I would choose a work of yours.
Kim = heart, soul, passion, fire, courage, honesty, an ability to speak with words in a beautifully unique way, an ability to use his brush to create works in which souls can drown. And then. And then, he can come back to words and draw us in to the way he choreographs the act of his creating his paintings in ways that allow us to see. And feel. And begin to know.
Antithesis, and greater than, more than, all
I know so much else roils for you right now, but if you can let these words reach you, perhaps you can let them in.
"The other night while I couldn't sleep I listened to the pretenders' version of the tune. And I thought ... "why?" My monosyllabic growl was very nearly kerriganesque.
Anyway. This is terrific writing. It's emotional and evocative. It's sad and yet triumphant. I've read you since I meander to this site in June. Your writing continues to grow. This post rocks.
Mark R Trost
In the words of Joan Rivers, gag me with a spoon...
Hey, Portuguese tarts - what did we do do deserve you, Antoinette ?
I'm loving the Calabrian flavour of your presence.
Anna1liese I'm sorry but grateful for your news - tiny dancer in the sky, a chapter in your life over, but more to be revealed, I'd like to think. Honoured as only you know how. I loved your post.
I think I've got more than a little back-reading here.
Rita wrote a pome about wind which went straight to the top of popularity ( so why's she hangin' out at the truckstop, you gotta wonder ... ) Never seen a poem do that before.
Larry you're becoming obsessed now. Just stop it. Deep breaths. Never heard you cuss before - let's sit down and share this snifter : what's goin' on ?
He came, he hurt, he went. Like thoth. I don't have answers tonight my friend, but nor do I want to see you get chewed up by something we can't control.
If anyone else ever comes here ( I doubt it ) they'll take the message home with them. Some things aren't worth chasing.
But I agree with you.
Baseball bats.
I'm glad too about Rita's poem. Shows it can happen. Rita has to be here. We need her. Wasn't she the one ....
And then your words turned round by iq. Incredibly special - all of this.
I am very happy a bring a welcome and positive energy -- but could it be my neopolitan energy rather than calabrian. Calabria was my father's side and I have just recently divorced that side of the family. Naples is my mother's side and the side with whom I identify and where I was actually born. My Italian has a bit of a neopolitan twang to it. My neopolitan relatives are also disfunctional but they're not criminals.
The bloom of youth is gone and it is bitterly cold here this evening, so I am off to bed. Have a lovely day Kim. It's going to be alright for you, for all of us.
I had a close friend from Porto Maratea down south.
Another from Naples - we had a pizza - competition - he and his wife, almost identical margharitas, fine and simple and delicious. 5 kids, 5 adults - Paolo won by 3 ( kids ) votes. How ?
" I put a little sugar in my sauce ..." Wicked smile.
Thanks Antoinette.
It's all of my female ancestors rolling over in their graves in unison!!
Thinking of you too, a. & hoping for the best.
Sorry I had to take Matt's post down - I felt we were all going under, and it isn't what I wanted.
My ears were burning, so I thought I better log on....
Antoinette: I agree no sugar...
Anna1, Kim: hey now
Larry: back away from the bad place..
carry on!
It is snowing like crazy here now. Lola and I intend to spend the day under the covers.
Kim - did not see the post you took down but I hope all will sort itself out.
As for Paolo, well, I must say my female ancestors in general had better tomatoes to work with so I can understand a man's got to do what a man's got to do, My favorite pizza is just tomatoes, olive oil, oregano and anchovies.
And I must come to Larry's defense regarding the Trost. It was I who brought He Who Will not Be Named Up and Larry was just responding to my post. Had not seen his response.
So Larry, Rita, annaliese, iq, Kim and anyone else, send love and hugs today.
Dare I say that there is something sacred here, something that time and we do not always allow. Here are gifts that transcend limits of date or year. Here are gifts that might heal the world. Here, we who gather, share words, thoughts, music, silence, time. Time to speak. Time to listen. Not just to hear and walk away, but to listen attentively with all we are. Then time to process. Pause. Time to be alone with ourselves before we respond or speak again. Time to allow another to be alone with him or her self and all that is. Places kept warm and safe and sound. Until another voice speaks here.
Speaks here because there is no void. Here there is resonance. Here there is space to find one's peace. Here, despite whatever storms may rage, we will be helped to breathe and in the breathing, possibly, we will find what we rarely seem to find, possibly, we will find ourselves in the continuing embrace of eyes that see and ears that hear, arms that hold and encourage and lift and share and that aren't afraid to wait.
For here is love and love is all. The gift of every day. Here. Love.
Thinking of us all.
"So Larry, Rita, annaliese, iq, Kim and anyone else, send love and hugs today."
Well, that certainly is what I Have been feeling. But what I meant to write was:
So Larry, Rita, annaliese, iq, Kim and anyone else, SENDING love and hugs today!
And speaking of hearts, Kim, I’ve just sent for Land Behind the World. I need to hear her voice and hold her words. Perhaps I’ll be lucky enough to see the way you saw her world. At least a tiny glimpse.
kind of like Happy Hour... only no free drinks.. :(
elf food is all sweet! yecch!
*wipes sticky fondant remnants off back of hand with tablecloth*
*stroking his own beard*
nah. optical illusion.
I want another Stella.... hey Larry, what's MRT doing today?
Becky Boop came out of the closet today.
Anyone care for some Kool-Aid?
Dave Cullen's kindle book is rated #3,846.
Case closed pencil dick.
Hey hope I don't sound like Potroast...
anyway... it was a good song.
Private moments, public hours, then family at the house. Her house. Her parents' home. She will no longer answer the door. Tonight when the last one leaves, the door will open to us no more. An executor will take the key and most all will in time be sold. Those words last night. Touch nothing. Take nothing. No hands of love will sort. Enough. Will there always be new ways to ache. Perhaps the gift of the ache is that it would not hurt had we not loved. Today our dancing one at last will dance free. I see her eyes and they are sparkling. Why so hard then yet to smile.
For today then, one more time, I'll hold words given here of breath and calm and chamomile tea. Once more as always, thinking of us all.
Kim, so quiet. Thinking perhaps of you most of all.
Anna1, my aunt told me once that if I listened hard enough, I could hear the hum of a butterflies wings.
Thinking of you here dear.
will be back. Got more comments on my latest....
*dreams of how he outran an elf en route to the nearest port, then hopped ship as a card shark bound for gnomenia*
*dreams ever more heavily of the strange sights of santa's inane workshop elves cavorting to xmas music*
*dreams of julie's hat next to his own aboardship as they oversee the crew's activity*
Pot Roast!!!! bwahhhahahahahahhaaaaaaahhahahhahaa
(is he still around?)(why?)
Good lord. No one is home.......
You done good, Kim. Real good.
Deal if you did....
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9bKwRW0l-Qk
wake me up when you see dolphins
I am crying here now.
adding another water song: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UQeqmNbA2Hs&feature=related
wake up. i found your dolphins.
thank you for the dolphins :)
*sighs*
my p-p-pleasure.
=')}
the cards are in kim's office.
I fancy a prawn - I think you call them shrimp - The typical Aussie BBQ has to have a slightly off-tune radio, up loud with live cricket commentary : Mitchell's started the run-in hits the pitch and bowls it's short and Wallace steps forward he's swung wide it connects - goes to mid-off there's two runs maybe three ... but wait ! Thompson's come in and he's going to ...
Careful, don't burn the prawns.
Bet you can't wait to come to Australia now ;-)
anybody hungry?
those elves kept us alive on sweets. ugh!
*shudders*
*finishes off one veg kabob and a serving of salad*
*belches into his beard*
*drops off from sheer exhaustion of escaping elvin press gang leader named ervin*
*has nightmares of elf insanity, tossing and turning under his bunk behind the office*
*finally, restful sleep claims him*
*misses everything as a result*
Oh never mind! I'll get it myself!
Ablonde you take the head off, don't you ?
Hey Kim.. is that you up there? I like the new au naturale' photo.. very warm..
I love truckstop for the soul Rita.
That is the way this place feels here.
My soul feels naked this morning.
It is a good feeling for some reason.....
So many ways to say good-bye have been the hallmark of this week. Even here, words begin to fail. So many hearts so full, so many emotions everywhere. Thursday, the travelling one's dad was there and for all the humour he usually brings, for now only shock and pain and a knowing almost too close to know. More knowing about the home we all have known and the rules governing the handing of it to someone not one of us. Harsh it seems to us who loved, but the wishes of the dancing one.
Then services and as we gather now, we are aware as perhaps never before of all the facets that were her life, private, family, public. Such a generous benefactress she was. So many simply wanting to come and thank and remember one last time. To listen as so many individual moments of gratitude were shared. There was wealth, though to those of us who knew her, we hardly had any sense of it - except for the wealth of her undivided attention each and ever time as her eyes held you in her wonder and her love. Private moments, family moments, public moments. At the Institute, a picture on the screen, the young flamenco dancer, the gracious, gentle, loving one who danced as though her heart were on fire. They played a brief slideshow and as we watched picture after picture of this woman we all loved, we saw a steady stream of so many smiles, wonder-filled eyes and never failing love. Afterward, we brought the travelling one back to the home so she could collect her things. Last moments in this home we had known. I knew where I had to be.
The home lies adjacent to a creek and always we looked out at it. Water, for me, of course - an eternal call. Several years ago, the traveler's younger sister and I had walked outside through all the space that rarely felt a human step. We walked round all the curves, down all the steps, to the water's edge. Last night, alone this time, I made that walk again. I made it then for all of us. In the end, we left the travelling one to bid her last good-bye alone. Then all of us waited at another family home for the gathering that would have been the dancing one's call - a night of everyone gathering together and much playing of her beloved dominoes and "42." In a calm moment at evening's end, the travelling one gathered us all. I know what I was not to do, but sometimes, you flex the rules a bit. I found this and brought it here, here, where it needs to be. It was perhaps the oldest of all the sets and had seen the usage of love, a wooden box of dominoes, family treasure at its best, now home again where loving hands will play with it forevermore.
In the end where grieving hearts might have arched and spat and slung, we think a tiny dancing one sent better angels to rouse better selves and helped everyone feel only love. What greater gift. Love.
Yes, please. Oh, yes. Oh, please.
Sometimes home lies not within any walls. It lies in hands and arms and hearts, connecting in whatever ways they can. Sometimes home lies most securely in the place where soul meets soul.
It lies in words - spoken, offered ... knowing they will be heard ... in silence ... in thought ... in love ... and with love.
It lies in knowing there is some space where I can be exactly and only who I am, all of who I am, and that, who I am, as I am, will be found to be enough and will be treasured, cherished, honoured even ... if I can allow myself to hear ... and in hearing, allow myself to believe.
Wherever we stand or sit or walk or rest, whatever sounds or landscapes call our name and helps us breathe,
home lies in the act of connecting
of knowing we are not alone
of knowing that there is somewhere safe
for me
for my heart
and for my soul.
Even when I am all alone
and sometimes that is where I need to be,
I best know I am home when
I most easily know, when
I know without having to know
that connecting is round me in
ears that listen
eyes that see
hands that hold and
arms that will wrap round me
and hold and hold and hold
freely to support, never to bind,
never to suffocate or diminish,
only to help me be.
Home lies where there is love, for
Home
Is
Love.
Soul food indeed.
*includes the truck stop furniture in his quest to wow the customers*
*sets up the detonator at a ground zero point near the office*
*official countdown*
5-4-3-2-1!!!
hey now!
Dominoes..hmm once won an all night dominoes game on a hillside open air bar on a beautiful island.. had to drink for each round you won. Hmm.
stack em up.
uh-oh.
okay. but no party drinks. elf punch sickened this gnome.
This calls for champagne ! ( make mine a sparkling mineral water ) and yes ! Whirl you around the room !
Big Smiles ...
wanna deal?
*decants 3 perriers, one with a twist*
*watches 2 cavorting humans swirling around the dance floor*
*smiles contentedly*
*winks in antoinette's direction*
ever tried wearing a hat?
Cyril:what do you think I'm carrying my salamis in?
(sort of norman conquestish)
*gulping*
*tugging at his collar*
is it suddenly a little warm in here?
a less eventful year.
*kisses back of antoinette's hand*
*nearly takes a tumble off his stool behind the counter*
eep!
We need a welcome sign over the Nativity scene out front - live cows, genius, Cyril. How much are we paying trig and Bonnie to kneel beside the crib like that all night ?
The crib ... it's missing something ...
Larry did you forget the cigars ? Again ?
Cyril: if only your heart did not belong to Julie....
*strikes a match on his belt buckle*
*lights his classic clay pipe*
*regards the rest of the room while puffing*
it needs something.
balloons!
No, false alarm.
I'm a bit worried about Bonnie and Trig, now that it's snowing ...
and the roof on that manger is just some cardboard Coke cartons taped together ...
I think this calls not for a game of cards, Cyril, but the dominoes ...
:::
:: . . :: :: .. ::: . :::
... your move. Your cheese and your pork are perfect, Antoinette.
Another log on the fire !
All that's missing is anna1 and a phone call.
Smiles all round. Did I mention bliss. Fireplace crackling. What is that I see in the flames. Snow globe in the background. Chorister singing from his heart. Hearts. Cows drawing close to find warmth. Gorgeous little puppies I wish I could hold.
Sounds of home and warmth and peace and smiles. Happiness. Here. Bliss. Middle of the day. Middle of the night. Happiness felt. Happiness shared. Not much better than this.
Sorry I wigged out last -- I woke up in the trunk of my car hugging a provolone.
Cyril -- just what was in that tea you gave me?? Anyway, thank you for the sweet note on my blog.
Annaliese - a tea sounds lovely, I am going to brew a fresh pot. I like my tea with a spoonful of raspberry jam in it.
The Christmas Eve cooking begins.... Today very slowly. There is codfish to soak, spice rubs for the oxtails to mix (a small departure from the traditional Italian fish only Christmas Eve for carnivore friends). It will be full throttle cooking by Wednesday!
Do you make all the filled cookies? My husband's grandmother who is now 97 used to make the most wonderful fig, jam rolled cookies.
So the menu so far:
Appetizers:
meat and vegetarian samosas (a Mozambican nod)
rissois (shrimp patties) ( a Portuguese nod)
cod fritters
fried smelts
fried calamari
Main course options:
lemon risotto with
salt baked snapper and salmon over bok choy
Mussels in cilantro broth served over crispy bread
Codfish Angel Style (Bacalhau aos Anjos)-basically a Portuguese dish of Codfish in a Cream Sauce (because it was my brother's favorite)
Braised Beef Short Ribs and Oxtails with Mashed Potatoes
Braised fennel and Carrots
Desserts
Gluten free cookies and chocolate pie
Spritz cookies
Struffoli
pumpkin and pecan pie with ice cream
OMG - I hope I have enough food..... ; )
You are all invited of course!!!
1089
smelts, shrimp.. getting hungry here. not much of a sweet eater but ricotta cheesecake and coffee..
Still waiting here Cyril...
smelts, shrimp.. getting hungry here. not much of a sweet eater but ricotta cheesecake and coffee..
Still waiting here Cyril...
*wrecks it with a sneeze*
*fixes himself a leftover provolone sandwich using the bar's electric panini machine*
*shuffles his deck*
*plays one hand of solitaire after another while waiting for the stragglers*
*hands her his deck to reshuffle, hopeful of poker-while-u-wait game*
1094
somebody dance with me! i'm on a roll!
what'll ya have?
Rita: the anticipation must be killing you!!
speaking of rita, does anybody have any news?
I'm sure we'll hear it here first.
Cyril did they teach math at gnome school ?
Reading your descriptions of Christmas fare makes my mouth water - as it did at Thanksgiving - your line-up Antoinette is incredible ... are you married ? ;-)
Here we'll have cold platters in the shade of the oak out the back - summer salad, potato salad, fruit salad, prawns and ham, chicken ( much to the consternation of Polly Eliza and Topsy ) and white wine and cold beer. Lots of cheer, though - mom, my sister and her son & his partner, my two girls and myself, maybe the occasional neighbour.
After 60 years, this will be our last Christmas on Manning Road.
It's been great.
Love abounds !
We have a baby for our crib - this must be the inn, I think.
congrats, oh lovely behatted grandmother!
glad all are well.
The Truckstop Inn ...
A child is born ...
Oh how beautiful is this?
One more holiday in the home that has held a family for sixty years. Cold platters in the shade of the oak out the back. Somehow I can see it from here. Kim, didn't you say that your dad and his dad had begun the building of your home on Manning Road. That, to me, is a kind of extra special magic, a holding magic, a gathering magic, a magic once known that will never be lost. It is a magic that we carry always in our hearts. I think you said once that you wished you could give your girls a gift like this, but you have - perhaps not in the way you were thinking, but to be part of a home like this is a gift we never lose. They have known Manning Road and they know your Sanctuary. Didn't you and Bella build much of that. What magic is it to know the hands that shaped and created such a place. And they know Fairy Bower and your window there. If they are anything like you, no doubt they will see the magic too. Magic and love and holidays. And a child for the crib. What love.
Truckstop Inn. A baby for our crib. Across the world joy now fills the air.
Looking out at the big white moon right now.
What a special day this is all round!
This is the last line from his latest bilge, banal and blather:
As we begin a new decade in the new millennium I think we need a new translation for tired words. From now on when I say “Merry Christmas” I’m saying, “Let’s be happy that God isn’t a liar.”
markRtrost
*shakes head vehemently till cheeks wag*
eep!
Your daughter is a trooper for the loooooong labor but she has a beauty to show for it.
Kim -- your Christmas sounds wonderful. The main ingredient is always love and it sounds as though you will be surrounded.
Moments of love to savor all the way around.
The Mozambicans do not speak of thing that anger them because they say that it invites back the evil spirits. I think this is what you meant by keeping this space sacred -- one of love and mutual support.
And I agree with what you said about Kim and art. Artists are, they don't need to pull out a calling card other than their art.
Well, with one exception, may I share it since your comments reminded me of a dear friend -- a father figure really. He was a Mozambican sculptor, Alberto Chissano. My ex-fiance -- well let's just say it was best we went our separate ways. But I will say thanks to him, my world in Maputo was the world of artists and Chissano was the father of modern Mozambican sculpture.
Here is a picture of his work:
http://www.adeiao.org/mozambique/alberto-chissano/chissano-cacher-mon-fils.html
Chissano was well-known throughout Africa and became wealthy quite early. It was said that he and the President Samora Machel were the only two to have Mercedes in the 70s.
One day, Chissano received a visit from President Machel's secretary, inviting him to the Presidential palace. Chissano replied, "You tell the President if he wants to see me, he must come to my house. Because 100 years from now, he will no longer be president, but I will still be an artist."
And so Samora Machel came to visit Chissano.
Chissano was not trying to be arrogant; he had a profound sense of the importance of art. I will have to write about him some day; thank you Annaliese and Kim for reminding me of Chissano. He must be wanting a ceremony. Chissano died tragically in 1994.
Oh. I see. Now I know why Chissano is here. Kim, he came for YOU. A healing African spirit. One that knows something about alcohol. From one artist to another. Oh my, I am getting chills as I write this. Chissano also would go into the bush to heal, and to speak to his ancestors and to find his way. You love nature the very same way Kim. Oh my.
The Universe is conspiring in your favor Kim. I knows this now beyond a shadow of a doubt.
Thank you Annaliese for reminding us to think loving thoughts here. The rest is irrelevant and just and illusion anyway.
this here's a night to celebrate a grandchild!
There are parties all over OS tonight. For the birth of Rita's beautiful grand-daughter, for Pilgrim's wife and for JD. This is a lovely night of celebration and the moon graces us one and all.
I'll have a hat please, Cyril.
and where's kim?
*passes out cold on his counter between two glasses of perrier*
*it being too much or him, he'll be out 12 hours, if not more*
*dreams of dancing with all his favorite hat wearing women*
*begins talking erratically*
*fights to stay conscious, but it's a losing battle*
*somehow manages to whisper*
julie....rita....julie....kate....julie...........
Cyril? ...... Cyril? Are you okay?
*and upon seeing two ... TWO ... empty glasses of Perrier, realises that there will be no reviving him this night*
*she leaves him to sleep and dream*
Cyril has issues - it's a hat thing, I think.
A Mozambique story, for Antoinette :
Some time ago, three or four years, I was in Swaziland with A., my eldest - she was maybe twenty.
We'd had a lovely time, travelling down there, and we'd arrived in Manzini, to say goodbye.
She wanted to go down to Maputo then backpack north to Tanzania.
We hugged farewell in a KFC parking lot - her transport was a Toyota Hi-ace designed to hold 12 people. I'd say there were 20 on board, + at least one goat, a piglet and some chickens, and it was towing a trailer with everybody's things in a huge pile at the back.
I said Are you sure ?
She said Dad, I know what I'm doing.
I said Have you got a Mozambique passport ?
She said I'll buy one at the border.
So I sat in my car in the KFC carpark in Manzini and watched as this contraption containing my firstborn struggled and sqwarked out onto the road heading East.
I admit I followed them a little way out, through a game park where if your car broke down Under No Circumstances were you to leave the vehicle ( lions ) - then headed north to Nelspruit, found a hotel and settled in. Wondered what kind of father I was.
What happened to A. could fill a book, and one day probably will.
I'm happy to say she works for Penguin now, back in Sydney, with a team of people her own age, designing things that continue to make me proud.
And I'm having dinner with her tonight.
I don't know what we're having - it's at my ex's moms'.
From Maputo, I'm sure you know that road.
*still feels shaken*
*remembers a dream he had in which Julie's eyes turned orange from anger*
*shuddering, picks up his hat, re-hats himself, then takes a quick peak out the door of the shed*
*tries to ascertain who's inside while still walking*
*hears his friends chatting amiably*
*hurries his walk*
rita: how're the baby and her mama doing?
Lovely to follow this Mozambique thread. Art. Nature. A wandering call. Love. Lovely to follow this thread of love.
Carry on ya'll friends. Sending love over the cybersphere.
Kim, that book of A and Mozambique would be one so very well worth reading. An adventure story? Perhaps a love story even?
And, Rita ... what news of the little one?
Rita that was the hardest thing I've ever, ever done. This six foot, golden-haired goddess of mine, this child ( I know ; she was twenty ) gets into a bus and disappears ...
Like, what am I going to tell Bella ?
What if this, what if that ... ?
As anna1liese says, and I think Sting sang, set them free. You know you have no choice ...
Kate one day she'll put it down in her own words - it was her adventure. I think there was some love in there, and some terrible things too. That's her story. My A. is a survivor, I can share that.
And so, Rita : how's it feel ?
Thanks everyone for the wishes, feels good to come back to all of them.
Sigh - Africa -- yes I do know the road, probably in more ways than one. I have seen the good the bad and the ugly. But Africa-- well, for me southern Africa-- gets under your skin. Very different from West Africa.
I keep telling people I am not really southern Italian. I'm really really REALLY northern African!
Chissano had two daughters; he would have understood the love of a father for his treasured daughters. Chissano was raised by his grandmother because his father died the day he was born and in her grief, his mother rejected him. At sixty plus, his grandmother, a traditional healer, took herbs that allowed her to breastfeed him. In his teens, she and his mother got into a heated argument and in protest she hanged herself. This haunted him.
Chissano was highly disciplined when he worked; he was also trained by his grandmother in traditional healing but eventually chose art as he believed he could not do both.
Despite his discipline, after a work was done, Chissano would fall into a deep depression and binge drink. For weeks. As in, his wife would accompany him everywhere and his brother in law would drive him and everyone knew to just pretend as if all was well even when he was literally incomprehensible.
Chissano was very traditional but was proud of the fact both his daughters were educated in Italy. A clash ultimately ensued b/w these now very modern girls and their very traditional father. One night, while he was on a bender, he got into an argument with one of them because she was exercising too much independence. It did not seem like a big disagreement. But Chissano retired to his bedroom and hanged himself.
So Chissano would understand your dilemma, but I think from where he is looking at things, you made the right decision. He should not have chosen his grandmother's footsteps and he should not have tried to carve out his daughter's.
He told me once the spirits of Africa are very just. For everything they take away, they must give something back. So good things must flow back to you now.
Enjoy your beautiful daughters and your family.
Sigh. If Chissano had been around, perhaps I would not have gotten in so much trouble. Or maybe just different trouble. Oh well, a lot of it was really fun!
iq: thanks for the love, taking it all in today!
Kim, maybe we need a song you Aussie crazy man.. (hoping to get a rouse out of him..)
And your love for your grandchild will be on a whole new level too ... like nothing you've ever known. More beautiful and special that words can describe. I promise.
Rita - the short version of ending up in Africa is divine intervention.
How is the baby??? As if anything but wonderful!!!
I spilled something today on my cashmere scarf, not happy about it.. maybe I need to make a thank you offering it would be most appropriate today..
Thanks Lil... looking foward to it.
Something else funny, my little Amish neighbors came by to bring me a Christmas present and they tumble in the door and just jump on me on the sofa, Rita, Rita, cute enough to break your heart with the hats and curls... anyway I am talking to them about Santa and the decorations in the house. Rachel looks very serious and says " Santa Clause doesn't come to Amish people's houses. But our mama and papa and others buy gifts" All of six years old. Know all about the differences already.
we ose our innocence, i guess.
*heavy sigh*
='P}
Lovely stories everyone. Testing wings of love. Stretching wings of love. Encircling wings of love.
Let them all in.
We've been going since November and only had one spam - I forget who it was, but OS removed it, leaving a few comments wtf - this person, I agree, gets his or her jollies denigrating others on their posts, but hey, haven't we got room here ?
"Youve got lots of comments. You probably sit here all day. How embarassing to be you."
Whoever it is maybe just doesn't get the gist of hospitality - we'll never know, but coming up to Christmas IQ I reckon however obnoxious or obscene, whatever they smell like, wherever they come from, I say we let them in. Even Trost.
I have to say I'd draw the line at thoth.
Oopsadaisy is a troubled soul in search of an outlet.
Oops like most people in Australia I put in about 10 hours a day,
when I'm working.
Wealth here, day by day. Wealth that feeds and heals the soul. What truly matters here.
Kim, hope dinner was wonderful and that smiling filled the hours.
defeats me, no matter how many times I read it. I or me or we are deficient in the decipher department anna1liese. I simply don't know what it is I'm reading, but wish I could.
Loving you ; wishing for more clarity.
It's midnight, grandma.
anna1liese I hope I wasn't abrupt ; all I need to read is clarity.
I'm so easily confused. Help an old man read.
Trolls truely suck bad air. Alleyops is an idiot of highest order.
Essence.
Openness.
Honesty.
Truth.
Heart.
Soul.
All.
Here.
Just us.
All of us.
All.
Here.
All.
Love.
Love.
Love.
All.
Here.
Even when it may be difficult, impossible to share in the nearest space, somehow this space, this shared space
best allows the moments
for gifts that almost have no name.
Sometimes there are responses.
Sometimes only quiet.
Sometimes hours of silence.
Hopefully, however,
All that is given
Is heard.
For all that is given here is given with open hand,
Open mind, open heart.
All that is given here
Is given
Heart to heart and
Soul to soul.
Such are the gifts
That help us
To be whole.
Such are the gifts
In the giving
And the receiving
That help us
To be whole.
Sometimes as I write, perhaps to see what it is I think, always you seem to be there ahead of me and then you help me see what it is I see. None of this may be apparent to you. It is, sometimes, simply what words do. Your words, from the start, have spoken to me. They give me pause. They catch my breath. They remind me of a larger world. They stretch the world I see. Right now I keep walking around in some of the words. I can't yet see what it is I am trying to see. Times like these, I wish I could hear the words you might add another time. I think sometimes here we all think that.
Anyway, as I've been writing of gifts, let me mention just one more. You have been a gift to me - your words, your thoughts, your vision, your art, your humanness, your heart. Spirit brother, heart brother, kindred soul, I don't know. All of these. More. I never thought a youngest one could understand an only one, but sometimes I think the little girl in me might have recognized something of the little boy in you. So often I was silent then. I learned to live inside my head. Books became the world for me. They made no noise. They kept me safe. I made no noise. I stayed safe. Always books. Always words. If I were lucky, there were drawings to help me see. I don't see pictures when I read. To see pictures, I need someone to help me see. Still.
Words on pages became my voice before I knew what voice was. About voice. Do you know. We cannot write like anyone else. We can only write like ourselves. Because that is all of who we are. Notice how your voice reaches out, speaks so clearly to so many here. Notice if you can. I can not draw but words I know. Some words. Some of the time.
Enough. For now. Oh. Except in addition to this, you tell me about books you have known so that I can know them as well. Gifts all of these. And you.
morning TSers! is that coffee i smell?
*continues to dance while making happy noises in his throat*
(ok, yeah, I realize most of you are not gonna know or care about a video game, but I'm ecstatic and needed to share)
*hands her a cup of java he has just poured.*
Smooches, nerdy one, and hugs to Karen.
Antoinette I wish I was in that kitchen watching how you do it, and breathing in the fragrances, giving Lola the cuddles she needs ( sniff ).
Coffee and dominoes with Cyril. Rita's out shopping, practicing her Grandma routines, Mission's laid up but hopefully feeling better, and anna1liese has her nose in a book - wonder what Larry's up to - anyways, coffee sounds good. 8 am here, a clean day ahead, ending with A, Greer & Kim going to see a one-man play, Diary of a Madman ( Gogol's, adapted ) played by Geoffrey ( call me Geoff ) Rush. That was my Chrissy present to the girls - that and some Susan Creamer Joy button jewellery.
And I got A a train set.
Thanks for the love Kim :) Enjoy your play & I hope you tell us all about the evening when you get back tonight. A likes trains?
antoinette awww poor Lola.. throw her a bit of sausage.. have a great Christmas, I love your menu
Gnome: it might just be me you and Larry tonight, maybe iq or nana will pop in... Mission hope you feel better come back when you take your medicine (smile emoticon)
Julie carry on in Vegas..
Anna1 come out and play when you see things getting carried away, bring us down to earth..
So many words and so many smiles. Perfect, perfect gifts all round.
She was talking the other night about being little in the electricless place in the country, and how we had a battery-operated trainset there whose tracks ran out of her room and around the lounge and back - it was an old loco with a tender & caboose, and it had a light on the front, and she'd lay on the floor in front of the fire and watch it go around, into her room and come out again going toot toot and with its light on ...
Her dad loves trains.
I collect the old Hornby metal wind-up ones.
I like things that you wind up. Ergo she does, or gets to collect them, on my behalf.
She just inherited moms' old Singer treadle sewing machine, with all the carved drawers full of buttons and coloured thread.
Imagine a girl at the sewing machine listening to Arcade Fire on the iPad ...
She saw The King's Speech last week - she's going to have conniptions watching the Geoff up close & personal - it's only a small theatre.
I think The King's Speech is coming here this weekend at last. Hoping to see it. Small theatre. Geoff up close. What a great dad she has. Can feel the conniptions from here. My mother-in-law had a Singer treadle sewing machine. Could she make it sing.
Memories, togetherness, time, shared side by side. Bliss and joy. How lucky all of you are. Holding back the envy here. Know you'll love every minute. Know they will too.
If the jukebox didn't explode.
Second one down. Hope you like it as much as I do. Tissues.
I listen and watch and I am back where I am so much of the time not really sure where I am or where I live. Am I here or am I there. I suppose I am back inside my head. I know the little one under the desk. I know the hiding away. I know the hiding away. Whitby. The house. The street. The cemetery. All of these are known to me. The sea. The window. The suitcase. The walk. The train. Lifting the suitcase up on the rack, then sitting down and then what. Then where. All of this is familiar to me.
Part of me could drown in this song. I keep listening and I hardly know where I am. It is as though I am everywhere all at once. It speaks to me in ways I have made myself forget I ever knew. It is far too familiar and yet, somehow there is almost a relief in not having been the only one. Is any of that what you hear or what you see.
I wonder if I will feel all of this again when I listen again tomorrow. Tissues yes. Almost in layers like the ribbons. It is almost too much to hear and yet .... And yet. It touches me. It speaks to me. How can you know.
When I was in high school and was working part time in the hospital, I was the only one working on Emergency Room billing. Lots of thinking time while I "pulled" Blue Cross payments. I used to write poetry in my head while pulling the accounts. When I had a break, I would write the lines down. That was a thousand years ago.
Wind is whipping and little snow here, tree is up, moon is full over the woods. My dog Atticus is in the corner. Big yellow lab, big lap dog.
Thanks iq, wish we could post pictures here.
Kept thinking of rainbows through the hours. Are we most whole when we can know all the colours of the spectrum as though in equal parts, all the emotions, all the feelings, allowing all of life to take their part in who we are. Are we most whole when, knowing all are there, we can allow the one colour, hue, shade, shadow to step out and have its say, remind us how we are who we are. Are we most whole when we know it is safe to feel whatever we feel and to know whatever we know because despite what has been, what has ever been, we will be all right, we will find our way.
Perhaps we are most whole when we allow ourselves to be whole.
Have we wasted years, tears or do they somehow allow us to hold on ... however long it takes ... for hope.
The clenching of the hand. To keep holding on. All I have ... today. Why so easy to know all of this as though the story is our own. My own. Of course because it is or was or always ... is. And yet ... though once it was all there was. Somehow ... thanks to Anns who walk with us, thanks to hands and arms that hold, we find ways to breathe and as we breathe, we hope. And in the hoping allow the sun to find us. Especially, perhaps, on eves and eves of eves when hearts fill and love ... is.
And you know because it speaks to you.
Well. Bare set - a bed, a table, a chair.
G and another actor who played his maid, a princess and an asylum inmate, and 2 musicians ; violin, flute, oboe, clarinet and some percussion.
A lighting genius.
That's all. We laughed and wept for 2 hours. Mainly laughed.
It isn't a comedy, the dissolution of a civil servant to the madhouse, but somehow they wrung it like bell.
Everything worked.
To be in the same room as Geoffrey Rush is electric. How anyone can do this for a living is beyond me.
It's coming to New York in February.
I'm a lousy reviewer, but dad to 2 girls whose expectations were blown out of the water.
He's that good. We stood and cheered as he and his comrades cavorted at the end. He's like nothing I've ever seen.
Must see.
G would revel in your review.
Electricity in the air.
Your words here say all.
Nothing's wasted, not years or tears. That's the song. The song that taps into that feeling. Allows us to go there, brings us back.
It's been our life>, and we didn't waste it.
There's a metaphor, or semaphore for it : the song.
Asking us to look at what was, what could have been, what happened.
Some of it has got to be sad. Not all of it.
Good morning, good evening truckstoppers.
I just read the comments and I have missed much.
Rita, I am so happy for you and the grandchild. May she lead a blessed life without fear.
JJulie has a new video game.
Kim got to see family.
Anna1 is cooking
Gnome is somewhere
Kim, those last words of yours I read were delightful.
Life is precious and never wasted. TY from me.
I love this truckstop.
how's you?
how 'bout playing poker?
Cyril, Quiet day here.
Rita, Hope your day has had less sad than good. Had news a few hours ago from the friend who came when I lost Lil Bit. Weeks ago he learned he had renal cancer. His plate was already so full. Tuesday they removed his kidney and think the cancer was contained. Please God. Today they sent him home. Finally, at least for now, we breathe again. I didn't realize I had been holding my breath until I could finally let it go.
Kim, Still loving your review of the play and the electricity of the night.
Did I thank you for the song last night. I think I was a bit thrown from the start with the ruins. For a minute I thought I was in Tintern Abbey and that was such a long time ago. Ruins always take me away. For a second I wondered if the setting was somewhere near you and then Whitby came into view. I was so many places before I could even focus on the words, and then, when I did, I was in so many places again.
But that is what good songs do. They take you on a journey as you listen and listen and listen again. The more I thought, the more I thought. I wondered at last if I would hear the words differently if I listened again in the morning. Then rainbow thoughts came and all the colours and they floated with me through the night. Where sadness had enveloped me at first and touched places I must need to explore if only finally to lay them down, as time went on I was able to allow hope. Not long afterward I saw your words and what had taken me all night to piece together was there so clearly. So, once again, thanks first for the song and then for your thoughts.
Like the hat iq!
Kim, Happy Christmas Eve. Does anyone have the luxury of Boxing Day coming up. Always seemed to allow a bit more time at least for being together.
i see kim's, antoinette's, larry's, nana's, kate's, mine...............
*continues counting while fingering his beard*
*leaves off when he sees mission's missing, along with iq's and rita's*
hmmmmmmm.......
*makes a running dive behind the bar*
eep!
*breathing hard over his exertion*
is it safe to look yet?
*shudders suddenly in his spot under the counter*
*closes his eyes up tight from elf-caused p.t.s.d.*
you promise you brought no others?
Nice hat _iq_
Theirs are quite small, because they gnow gnomes aren't very big.
They might be in the cutlery drawer - the one place you didn't look.
Very fetching, IQ.
i found them.
it's heavy.
*comes to his senses*
julie has no stocking!
*strings up his mittens alongside a stocking now marked with her name(it's his own)*
*whispers low in rita's ear*
*they both smile cheerfully but diabolically*
*the gnome hands her his list of things to get for the event*
*both sit down over cups of tea, their heads bent together, both writing, nodding, smiling*
That's a terrific idea.
I so look forward to it happening.
Boxing Day here. Smiling here.
R&J. Still. Always. Still.
Thoughts of Marley here and Christmas Past.
Thinking even of a tiny Mr. Magoo Ebenezer
and Rassleberry dressing. Blesses Charles and Mr. Magoo. What a picture there.
For just a few hours more, Christmas Eve for everyone.
Full Christmas in so many ways, this one will be.
Awake or asleep, awake or asleep.
Drifting or waking, tea here.
Always here.
And always, most always ears to hear.
Even when we hit R&J in the middle of a night like this.
Books for the little ones. They came to us on Christmas Eve.
Had someone planned this for me.
They loved the books. Opened them and began to read.
Oh! Parts of them were just like me.
My mother-in-law made her hors d'oeuvres. We ate them at a different time for my insulin. I think we had them for lunch.
Christmas lunch then became dinner. Hours after the Queen's speech. 1500 that. Then at least.
Stores closed. Everything closed. Some for a week. Some for a fortnight. Even the trains stayed put.
My mother-in-law made Christmas cake. Nose wriggling even now. So much marzipan. So much marzipan. Oh dear.
Have I mentioned that she didn't have a phone. Not when I arrived.
She also made the Christmas Pudding. Sacred that.
One back burner needed to be free for the pud. Take a saucer. Turn it upside down and lay it on the bottom of the pan. Now carefully, carefully lay the pudding bowl just on top. Careful to keep the muslin dry. Pour water in to just this point. Now heat and simmer. Heat and simmer as everything else cooks. Just be sure that water stays at just this point.
Almost always that went well.
Til that one Christmas Past.
I drowned it. I let it drown. Water momentarily went too high. It was all my fault. I sensed the return ticket was on its way. I had failed the most important test. That smile. That smile that wanted to smile on the daughter-in-law who had failed the test.
We took it out. Nothing for me to do then. The muslin was unwrapped. It turned out on the receiving plate just as it should have done. Couldn't yet see the disaster it was. Sons have their roles then. A heated spoon, sugar, brandy, flame.
Ebenezer and his Christmas goose looked down on me. The flame touched the pudding and all was lit. Someone saved me that day, the daughter-in-law who had drowned the pudding, breathed and lived to see another day. Boxing Day!
The son usually had a job that day. People in Eastbourne went to Hastings for a hunt.
Cranberries and popcorn. Books under the tree. Little girls who loved their books. A country that closed up shop for a week or two. Quiet. Peace. Time. Carols. Slightly different that only for the first time that I listened were different. After that they were simply mine.
House with a green tiles roof. A cooker with a warming tray. Heat didn't make it to the kitchen. Larder provided space that the tine fridge did not. Some Christmases from the past walk always along because they are always ... magic still. The pudding that managed not to drown.
Mince pie anyone. Oh wait. Still middle of the night here.
Well, mince pie there then? Well, maybe not.
Prawns I think and mandarins.
Quiet. Rest. Breathe when needed.
Hope hearts can be easily full.
Hope hearts can breathe and smile.
hey lovely people, happy christmas.
Thank you for this wonderful Truckstop.
Merry Christmas everyone!
It's an hour away from Christmas Day right now ...
Australia .. Down Under ... 'tis Christmas Day.
Happy Christmas!!!!!!!!!
Yet for some reason the sunshine and blue skies are appealing to me, and the clouds move in heralding in the coming snowstorm headed this way tonight. It is barely above freezing today and I am sure the white stuff will pile up high and deep in these mountains I now call home. I walked down to the French Broad River with Mission a couple of hours ago and looked at the Canadian geese and mallards swimming. There were twenty or more paddling around and looking at me strangely as I cooed at them from the wooden overlook.
It is my first season truly alone and no family lives close enough to drive over and make evil drama or spoil this moment in time for me here. There is no tree or presents. For that I am glad.
I heard from my youngest daughter yesterday for the first time since I threw her saintly dad out the door. She still holds some anger at me but it is at least hidden below the surface. I told her during the brief converstation that it is not the divorce that matters, it is the life after that does. She seemed to accept it and I can only hope one day she will understand. She also says she and the son will drive over here at some undetermined date to see me.
I have seen neither one in this time and can only hope the meeting goes well.
Being alone with my thoughts brings much peace to me here. I send the truckstop my love and peace and can only hope that since I did not heal the whole world as I planned as a little child that at least I can help some with my words and heal who I can.
I hear such peace and wisdom in your words. The truck stop is never truly empty as long as someone is here. It is the spirit that each one brings that brings spirit and love to us all. Sometimes I think we are truly least alone when we appear to others to be most alone. If we can find a peace within ourselves, then what peace, true peace, inner peace, we then can offer to the world. I hear such a peace in your words here.
I love the sound of the river you describe. I love even more that you can walk there. Sometimes when all seems a bit beyond me, I simply come and look out on Kim's sea. Always being near the sea or some body of water helps me breathe. I hear a similar sense in your words.
Sometimes when I have been here on my own in a quiet time, I have scrolled back over conversations and have been reminded of wisdom and love we have shared here. Sometimes a piece of music fills me.
Thinking of you as I read your words. Thinking of us all. Gifts we give and gifts we find. Here. Whenever one of us is here, somehow all of us are here. Hope this helps just a bit.
"Being alone with my thoughts brings much peace to me here."
I understand. So do we all.
see you here Boxing Day!
love,
cyril
wow. we go through 'em quickly here!
starting with tomorrow night
?????
Quiet here. All round. Hope hearts are light even as they are full for all of us and all we love. Early morning or late night tea. Quiet. Love. Peace. Moments of pure stillness here. Allowing all to be.
Peace. Love. Joy.
Anna & her gone-wrong pudding. Kate and the tropical nonsense of Christmas downunder ; IQ & Max under the quilt, trying to get away from pain ; Cyril yodelling in the fjord ; Grandma checks her figure in the mirror says "Not too bad ..."
Ablonde & nan doing wheelies in the drive ; old Trosty in the corner rubbing something out by candlelight, thought he could rhyme Michelle with My Belle - but damn, P Mc C got to it first ...
Antoinette and Julie's deep discussion re pork continues over endless bottles of gin & tequila - such stubbornness, such stamina, such unresolved passion ...
So this was Christmas ...
I don't dare turn on the radio to hear what BBC says happened.
I'll make up my own news ( 2.47 am ) - apparently Israel gave back all that land to Palestine.
Kim Jong Um defected to South Korea ; Afghanistan became a theme park for yaks ; Tibet is officially Tibetan, and Belgium has said : No more weirdness - from now on we're going to be like you.
Santa gave me 2 gorgeous grown-up girls ( their mom is in Lombok for the duration ) and a sister who made salads and a pavlova.
The train set was a success. We made a mountain out of a coffee table and a green tablecloth with a white napkin on top and the train went around the base going toot and chuffing, with all little animals and things. She's going to take it to work, to deliver pencils and whatnot between desks.
She's 24.
Thinking of you all today - probably don't eat too much.
Kim sounds lovely down under with the little train and the gorgeous girls.
no fjords.
just relaxing with loved ones.
=')}
this place could use a train.
*pauses, lingeringly, by the front door to the truck stop*
be back soon.
poor _iq_'s missing all our fun.
*scowling heavily*
that elf hat!
Meat, veggie, vegan options all here for you truckstop folks....
Christmas cookies,
Blue Sapphire Gin (yike!) from under the tree....
Sparkling N/A cider,
Sticky Purple Bud (from someone who didn't know we've moved on)....
2000 new and unusual cuts of Grateful Dead (how is that possible? but Hubby's off in Grateful Land (via iPod), hope he's back for New Year's...
Books, and more books...
All to share.....
Love, Secret (and random) Truckstop Voyeur : )
*finds the box he'd kept for just such an occasion*
*pushes it downhill, all the way to the truck stop*
*grunts as he angles it through the door*
*spends half an hour unwrapping each component from its safe housing*
*smiling contentedly, surveys the truck stop's new model train arena*
much, much better.
*on waves of glee, makes it penetrate kim's office*
*sets his sights on the dance floor*
*lays enough track to circle the thing*
Just Thinking, Happy Christmas to you.
Rita, Lazing with Atticus by the fire as turkey roasts sounds so incredibly perfect. Heard from my girls overnight. Always those words set the world right.
Kim, Hope some rest is finding you. Love your words about Santa and your gorgeous girls.
All in all, sounds like holiday peace and bliss. Shared, welcomed, understood holiday peace and bliss. Knowing those who matter are feeling this makes all right with the world.
And Kim, I'll take your news. All of it. Exactly the way you see it.
Your news on the BBC. Train set on its way to work. Gorgeous daughters, gorgeous smiling granddaughter, smiling spirits all felt here. All is well. Here.
*hands over the controls for the train*
Or a go on the controls ? ( Thanks Cyril, we needed a train in the truckstop ). Not sure where to park the Sopwith Camel now.
Everyone's still asleep here.
Just me and the chickens, boxing day drizzle but nice.
It's always nice to get through all that without drama.
In a studio in a garden wet with rain - if there was room I'd put up the Van Morrison song, but I think that old jukebox is full.
Wondering about IQ.
Have to turn down the whistle on that train if she comes back Cyril.
Yesterday was perfect weather - my other sister sent Bubble wands ;
whoever made the biggest bubble won a bottle of bubbly. I think A won. Greer got a helicopter - maybe their dad's having more fun than they are.
( No, Greer. I need to make sure it works - you can have a go in a minute ... )
Glad you are testing out the toys Dad, someone has to do it..
Boys and their toys. Cyril, Wonder if Greer should have the first go here. Lights dimmed. Sound low for IQ.
The Queen stopped by a few hours ago. Well, thanks to the BBC. Afterward there were children whose eyes could not be any wider as they listened to the Doctor's music at the Proms. Lovely watching them and their wonder. Isn't that what Christmas is all about. Wonder and eyes so wide and then calm and quiet.
A gave me speakers for the macbook - I've been at Ablonde's driving v. fast through Paris to Snow Patrol, full screen.
Yep. Boys and toys.
Rita, I didn't think we'd see the draft horse again. Honestly, I have loved the calendar. Glad you have too.
her hat's to blame.
(expletive) elves!
anna1: more nutmeg?
Thanks for the controls, it's best not to do THAT again : )
Off to our little village, outdoor ice skating...mountains dusted with snow, all worries on hold, wrapped in a box on top shelf, far closet.
*ahhhh*
it sends me.
Is eggnog good?
care for a cuppa?
kate: mustn't forget it's still christmas in the states!
*sighs into his glass of eggnog*
there's quite an echo here..........
We got a good deal 'cause it's Rita.
It's already as big as you, so be careful. It likes to chew stuff.
I like how you fit on the train, but I think it was maybe a mistake to lay the tracks into and around the Ladies' - there's been a few complaints.
5.30 in a summer pm over here - I imagine there's blizzards and whatnot in America.
I commented on Linda Seccaspina's post - she didn't know I was her - crazy how that works. I'll try it out on cartouche when she gets back.
Meantime I said a prayer for MRT - asked that someone should buy him a penguin. Then he might go to Antarctica.
Hearts softening, smiling, lifting ... again ... as though for the very first time. Hearts opening, opening, opening ... as though they had never fully opened before, opening because all the stars and all the suns were fully aligned and were ready to find just the right moon.
Hearts. Softening. Smiling. Lifting. Opening. As though for the very first time. As though they had never hurt, could never hurt, would never hurt again. This. Is the magic that sometimes comes. This. Is the magic that sometimes we can share. That. Most always we share here. Alone. Together. Flames in the fire. Candle always lit. Helicopter, train set moving along, finding their ways, knowing smiles follow. Hearts softening, smiling, lifting. Opening. Resting, calming. Beating almost as one. As days are one and time is one. At least for now, here. Eggnog, nutmeg. Tea. Was that Charles or was it Rita's puppy for Cyril nudging. A single voice singing lifted and as it lifted all hearts found their ways home. Hearts. Home. Here. Now. Always here. Bless us, everyone.
Kit-Kat, Crunchie, Coco, Violet Crumble, Picnic etc ?
I think I just ate all of them.
As for the chocolates, well, it is Boxing Day after all.
Trains and helicopter and now this. More than most anything else, dreams are what Christmas is.
Dreams and wishes and hopes. Breathing time for all.
do they tolerate a rider once grown?
take that over a fokker anyday.
Puppies are gone for Christmas Kim, sorry.
Big snow storm here in Pa.. just came back from watching my little neighbors sled on the hills behind their farm. I might be hanging in the truckstop a bit more, cabin fever is bound to strike.
*puts on kettle for tea and sets up coffeemaker*
*puts goodies and treats in each stocking still hanging since kim's departure*
*loads one up in particular with warm gloves and a scarf to match*
*prepares lunch for any stragglers, corn chowder with herbed rolls, and a heaping salad bowl*
*goes to sleep in his nook under the counter waiting for the others to finally come around*
*snoring silently, dreams of lunching on the riviera with the bevy of behatted women he's come to care for*
*smiling, drifts ever deeper into dream sleep*
*climbs out of his perch, takes stock*
nobody here but this gnome.
*sighing, takes care of kettle, turns off stove, leaves everything to rest till later*
*rummages in his knapsack*
*finds and puts on his rollerskates using key he's found*
practices his roller dance moves in the quiet, while the train chuffs around the track on auto mode*
Rita, Hope power stays connected. Love looking out at snow as long as everyone is home and safe. Just heard from a friend in Dorchester. She says they are expecting 18 inches. That usually falls inland but not right on the coast. Hope everyone stays warm and dry.
At least Bonnie deleted the offending comment - I missed the denouement - I commented, then went over to Inverted Interrobang's for Some Extraordinary Poetry And Music - I think we need to lift our game here, truckstoppers. That guy is out of control.
Feel free to whistle us a tune Julie ...
Happy Boxing Day to our Canadian friends.
i coulda had a better time staying right here.
='( }
how'd you make it reappear?
there, that's my full range :) I'm a one note bird
ahhhh.....
my julie bird.
I got serious cabin fever here. Over a foot of snow and gusty wind.
I think insanity is coming my way from looking at white all day.
So glad to return to the sane truckstop and see everyone is alive and doing well.
Also glad for no more xmas music playing right down the hill downtown. twelve days of church bells playing hymns on the hour is more than enough to wear me out.
I now wish I had left no comment on the post Nana took down.
Gawd I hate dustups here. Always and there is nothing to say about anyone that will please all sides.
I love all of you here, today, or otherwise.
I am drinking coffee and it is dark. The powder snow outside has blotted out everything. What a peaceful, quite day I have had.
Listening to nature sounds playing on internet radio on this laptop while typing is so nice. But my cat hates the birds songs. She wants to eat or kill the speakers. My report here.
But I sure loves me pets.
they spit, bite, claw.
hopoe she comes by soon.
here's yours!
*hands mission a stocking full of essential herbals to de-stress with, also warm fuzzy zocks, and a copy of Gnome History Throughout the Ages*
hopoe she comes by soon.
here's yours!
*hands mission a stocking full of essential herbals to de-stress with, also warm fuzzy socks, and a copy of Gnome History Throughout the Ages*
thanks, my friend.
We've all got issues.
When I said " That guy is out of control," I meant, of course, Interrobang.
It's like our old friend zaj came back. Do check it out.
I envy him for the Waterboys. I wish we had some Waterboys ...
wait ...
Mission have you heard the kookaburra, on your laptop ?
yay! stockings!!
Gnome. I TY for the kind gift. Glad to see Julie has come back.
My cat is still going at it. Mission is whining and wants one more walk here. Outside I must go back in the snow.
we've got stockings, y'see.....
*hands the stocking over to his friend*
rita helped me find the stamps.
The river is rising ...
A nice hot, gentle tea would be lovely...
*blushing still, following her blown kiss from before*
**gently feels of the packet he enclosed.*
*finds all in order, including spa gloves, scented candles, godiva chocolates, and one pair of soft warm gloves*
*beams at his favorite behatted woman from o.s.*
this one here's for you, julie.
*hands over the stocking, the contents of which remain the same: an assortment of smelly bath salts, one package of barratts catherine wheels, one cadbury assorteds boxed set, and a spa mask*
I am lucky to live in this boarding house. I don't have to worry about digging out at all. I ain't planning on driving anywhere either.
The roads are a complete mess. Insane folks are driving tonight.....
I meant to tell ya Kim. If I ever get any true amount of money I got a standing invite to attend college right there in Sydney. An old friend teaches there. Geology. It would be out of the guestion here unless Iwin a small fortune just to come. Never mind how much it would cost to attend. I have always wanted to stay a long time in Aussieland. Would love to study the rocks and geology there.
I love the gloves though (((Cyril))) and everything else
*adds a sealed deck of cards to rita's haul of feathers for her hatband (white peahen, emu, and grey cockateel), a packet of specialty candies from his favorite sweet emporium in gnomenia, one lavender sachet, and a copy of The Encyclopedia of Rare Dog Breeds*
*makes certain it's in the right spot*
*sighs contentedly*
julie: are you a diabetic?
these virtual chocolates are safe!
;')}
Kate it's drizzly but not teeming here. My sister in Bello is watching the creeks and the river rise, same as you, I think.
Spare a thought for our East Coast US friends under a full-frontal from Winter Herself. Are you out there, Rita ?
Too sick and out of luck here.
But got a friend who promised he would help if I ever make that boat float...
Cyril- working on it :p stupid body (which i've never taken care of, so stupid me) *shyly hands you your gift* (you have to open it and tell me what it is)
kim: wow! what a treasure trove! a signed jansson!
*stretches out his hand to shake his friend's*
*overcome, gets a touch misty at this gathering*
*honks his nose blow into his overly large green handkerchief*
*sighs contentedly*
yer not so bad, gamble man!
Inverted has referenced Quixote and aim and a lovely girl from NYC have upped the game and with poems and posts. Flames come and flames go.
Larry Happy Kwanza to you too..
Gnome has been a busy elf errrr I mean gnome...
*tears the wrapping at one corner*
*frowning, tears a little further*
aha!
*tears away all wrapping, with a big smile*
*surveys his copy of "the collected open salon works of hyblaean-julie".*
julie: just what i wanted!
*dabs at his eyes, overcome*
*honks his nose again into his handkerchief*
((((Julie))))
http://www.designers-revolution.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/08/daniel-merriam_17.jpg
*shyly blows an appreciative kiss in her direction*
lavender was a lucky guess. =')}
*grins broadly, letting one eyelid droop just at the right moment*
*blows her another kiss*
*adds one bundle of sage to antoinette's contents (herbal pedicure kit, a gnomish/english pocket dictionary, one rosebud sachet, and a bag of colorful gumdrops)*
*smiles with satisfaction over what she'll find on her return*
*adds a silk re-warmable eye pillow, deleting his former choice of penny whistle from a sojourn in ireland*
*tucks in a 4 vial set of stress reducing herbal teas, along with a copy of "the snow goose" by paul gallico.*
*tosses the chocolates, recalling they might cause a headache*
*adds one small bottle of soothing clary sage essential oil(his aunt rosetta's favorite)*
*is glad he changed out her stocking's contents*
*reexamines her contents (stretchy but soft slippers for sore feet, a packet of strawberries in white chocolate, one bottle gardenia bath salts, and a small hand-bound journal made with soft vellum paper)*
*decides it is just right*
*plants a light kiss on one corner of the stocking*
such a poetic lady!
just thinking's "the pampered hand and body" assorted scented gifts kit, with calligraphy set, tube of assorted decorative writing papers, and a snowglobe from gnomenia) into place.
*double checks larry's stocking for his gifts of one medium sized whoopie cushion, one unmarked deck of playing cards, assorted nuts in a tin marked, "san francisco", and a large size shave and body care kit for men*
*takes ablonde's seriously as well, making sure of the presence of her godiva chocolate roses, along with her day spa mudpack facial, a small volume of gnomish verse (translated by his uncle raul ginty, the famous interpreter), and a soft, fuzzy muffler to keep her neck warm*
*weary after all the planning, working, shopping, shipping, climbing, and detailing, heads for shed and his newfound hammock, marked with the following tag:*
"Dear Mr. Ginty:
The elves you saw at my workshop were the impostors. Please accept my humble apologies, along with my thanks and this hand built hammock, for having made your stair step wall so successfully to where my team and I could get away from that dungeon in time to deliver all gifts.
Yours with Best Regards,
S. Claus"
*delighted, settles in on his new hammock, and soon drops off in total comfort*
*spots a stocking with her name on it*
What's this? Oh from Cyril!!!`
Oh Cyril!!! HOw did you know I was going to smudge my house and was looking for some gnomish sage!! Oh and a pedicure and gumdrops!
Cyril, you sure know how to make a girl feel special from head to toe.
Will you help me with my gnomish???
*Bats her eyelashes from under the brim of her new. pointy. turquoise hat*
*reminds himself julie will be back in the morning*
*chooses to remain her friend by merely asking antoinette's hand for a waltz around the truck stop*
shall we?
*with the train whistling, and the rain falling outside, and with strauss playing on the juke box, they begin to dance*
*his feet dangling, yet holding his own, he dances two waltzes with his friend*
*steadies his nerves just in time to remain the gentleman*
resvu tlokatt sommini.
(gnomish for "fetching hat, lady")
What a sweet gnome you are!
I absolutely love my gifts - especially the book and the lovely eve mask that helps my head.
Perhaps I need to avoid the elf hat - perhaps it had evil powers :(
*hands Cyril a stocking with a small bottle of pure Canadian maple syrup, a small watercolour painting of the Tall Ships Festival in Steveston, BC, Canada, and a packet of Roger's chocolates (hand made in Victoria, BC) *
Happy holidays :) }*
*pleased as punch, he blows a soft kiss to her forehead*
now, who's special for giving even when they've got a migraine?
*thinks on his friend with growing amazement and respect*
*As she happily glides around the truckstop, she wonders if gnomes get along with fairies and whether Cyril will recongize the turquoise hat as her fairy hat. Anyway, she feels like a young girl dancing with her very sweet friend.*
Perhaps it is trying to see when everything obscures our view. Perhaps it is the trying and the hoping that we will find our way. Perhaps it is a sense of solace both offered and shared. Perhaps it is days in between holidays.
Perhaps it is simply life. Questions. Wonderings. Wanderings. Thinking of all of us on different parts of our paths.
Thinking of sanctuary. Minutes. Hours. Days. Here. Allowed. Honored.
Creative studio of sorts. Often thought leads on to thought. Gifts of all kinds and all kinds from the heart. Words. Silence. Music.
Perhaps. Time. Hope. Belief.
Thanks Cyril for the goodies!
Strange days on OS - I'm not going in there for a while. Every time I do I have to clean up after Alley Oops or answer pms from people I've disappointed one way or another - it isn't the right time to feel disappointed.
Cyril got you a bottle of tequila, nan, and a pillow.
And there's a train coming 'round, full of cheer.
But what's this about disappointed OSers? If I made a list of the people who are thus far dissatisfied with my online self, well, it'd be a pretty long list. :D
Then there is the fight going on. It feels like the very air at this place is fouled.
Finding some common friends with good sense here at the truckstop is relaxing and peaceful.
I sonehow thought putting up my critters post was a good idea.
I did it looking for fun and laughter. I did get some, but the tension is thick and real all 'round.
I do love the gnome stocking and like the presents inside. Thanks gnome. I send you best wishes for a new year of no elves and peace.
It is the best I got here.
Anna1, I love reading the lines you keep adding of peace and quite here. I am in awe of them all.
Rita, you and the new grandkid comes to mind. Never mind the pics of the pups. You add some common sense and good advice here.
Larry, I never know what to think of you except you are a good egg inside. That will have to do.
And now I must fix myself some kind of warm drink and think about not much for a time. I am just ever so proud to see the sun show a wan face this after noon after so much snow and grey clouds.
That's a *shame* about Chris; it was probably just all the NyQuil reacting with his inner brain-toad that made him how he was. He'll be back...
Mission even grandmothers need fun.
Who's Chris Roberts ?
Chris Roberts is/was/is a troll; he goes around leaving nasty comments on people's blogs, far far worse comments than AlleyOops. It's good that he was deleted; TPBT don't often bother getting rid of such specimens.
But enough of that outside-the-truckstop nonsense. I've also got some spears and battle-axes, and a first rate guisarme. It would double nicely for frog hunting if you could find some 50 pound frogs.
http://open.salon.com/blog/michael_humphrey/2010/12/27/recognizing_os_poets_with_your_help
Anyone looking for us, this'll throw them.
I'm f'd if I'm going to look up up guisarme.
We got 8 kilo toads here - my mate Steve got 2 on one arrow. From yards away.
He can't stop telling me about it.
These are introduced cane toads - venomous arrangements that would kill a taipan, if the taipan ate one. They're epidemic, up north.
I'm glad we don't have cane toads here; it's bad enough what with the Republicans and all.
an oversimplification, maybe, but comprehensive.
=')}
and the hat stays, i hope.
Poems? Can anyone guess who this one's by without Googling:
All the birds have flown up and gone;
A lonely cloud floats leisurely by.
We never tire of looking at each other -
Only the mountain and I.
-----------------------------------------------
The birds have vanished down the sky.
Now the last cloud drains away.
We sit together, the mountain and me,
until only the mountain remains.
accent on 1st syllable unless otherwise indicated.
lesson #2:
nosvi taminno hamaark ni glesvu.
no loitering in the canoe.
Loitering down the Gasconade, faint boom of rapids ahead
The canoe steers itself, the sun beats down
Butterflies dance over a sandbar's blooms
A heron launches into the air, headed downstream
He'll be standing there once more, 'round the next bend
Anyways, Charlie Thornton ?
No ?
Koan :
The water pouring fails to soak.
Wind blowing fails to penetrate.
He steps like the tiger, moves like the dragon.
His head is two feet long, who is he ?
He stands on one leg facing you in silence.
Li Bai.
Is a koan like a riddle? Because I'd answer "my shadow."
Hit me on the head with a hossu.
"And nightly under the simple stars
As I rode to sleep the owls were bearing the farm away ..."
mm ?
"And nightly under the simple stars
As I rode to sleep the owls were bearing the farm away"
Nice! All I can say about that one is that it's not Li Bai.
Anyone else on the owl line ? ( no googling )
(leave the poetry for the poets)
not my game.
g.o.p. types, all.
This place hasn't served a salad since 1968
great vinaigrette too.
have some!
you like robert bly's stuff?
let's celebrate!
Here's an easy one:
There was a Door to which I found no Key:
There was a Veil past which I could not see:
Some little Talk awhile of me and thee
There seemed---and then no more of thee and me.
but no nyquil for me thanks. Havent touched the stuff since I realized it did not mix well the internet, especially after a scotch or twelve a few years back.
please excuse the lowercase; i'm typing in bed, holding the computer upright w/one hand and typing with the other!
and oolong'd be great.
*passes along a full steaming mug to the next person, then fastens onto a small enough one for himself*
Antoinette 1/2 way through a bottle of scotch with lola & a winter's night, Cyril & tea, puzzles.
The owl was from Dylan T's Fern Hill.
Here's another :
"For it is important that awake people be awake,
or a breaking line may encourage them back to sleep ;
the signals we give yes or no, or maybe -
should be clear : the darkness around us is deep."
Is he about?
No open seating on his ships, lack of shore excursions as well.
We've all suddenly started talking in riddles.
But not when he was cooked, I bet.
I'm guessing you've not just eaten all the chocolate, but half the mandarins. Now you're eyeing the egg-liqueur, isn't it.
Kim, it was Omar Khayyam, so close, kinda.
Okay, mine was William Stafford - A Ritual To Read To Each other - one of the finest american poems I've had the pleasure to read.
Satsumas. Yes, please.
Temporary substitute for almost anything - Dramamine. Only one. Maybe just half.
Meanwhile breathe.
And when you are ready smile.
Here only friends
And poets, at least, tonight.
"For it is important that awake people be awake,
or a breaking line may discourage them back to sleep;
the signals we give--yes or no, or maybe--
should be clear: the darkness around us is deep."
a shrug that lets the fragile sequence break
sending with shouts the horrible errors of childhood
storming out to play through the broken dyke."
Has anyone seen Razz? Or IQ? I'm starting to worry about them.
Raise the blind and see the world !
If anyone asks me what philosophy I understand
I'll straightaway hit him over the head with my hossu.
? forgot. Chinese, Japanese, some old asian guy.
I thought you were Razz.
Anna I'm smiling - knew the owl would stir a memory.
Such is poetry that reaches in and calls your name.
I don't know why his poetry is thought "difficult" - there are people right here on OS I find "difficult," read "inaccessible," "obscure," "opaque."
My favourite verse is clear. Crystal. Water, not some complex wine I need a degree to appreciate. I love a puzzle, but I love poetry too.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TyQ9lUe-d3I
Kim, while drinking half a bottle of scot while conducting an oral history interview with a Mozambican used to be an occupational hazard of oral history, now I can barely handle a NyQuil straight up. Especially after that "internet incident" a few years back. I am having a tea while trying to coax Lola back to sleep at 5 am. My friend Carmen is visiting and she is pining and whining outside her door.
I had to lose that plumby pommy welsh bbc accent - reading it yourself is always going to make more sense.
This is better, thanks.
Antoinette, I'm SO glad to hear I'm not the only one who suffers Internet Incidents!
Exactly what kind of life have you been having, Antoinette ?
There's all these little bits that keep poking out ...
I think it's coming up time for full disclosure.
Morning Antoinette. Hug Lola for me would you. Watching over kitty here. One more watch. Will eat from my finger. This is the kitty who found me. Heart too full to break once more. Focusing on joy of life with him, thanks to him. The one who found me.
And Dylan. To whom does he not speak.
It's about a man, looking back, on childhood.
And I have loved it all my life.
The best "teachers" are those who allow, who allow us to hear what we hear, what WE hear, and not only what someone has decided is "right." I loathe right. How often do others hear more than we and help us to see more than we might see alone, but only when not worrying about right and only allowing the voice of real to speak.
Poetry. Heart beat. Pulse. Rhythm. Dance. Of words. From words. Always from the brink of time.
Antoinette, I like the new reveal. One of these nights..
In one session, in a university somewhere, he approaches the mike completely wasted, and mumbles and slurs a kind of introduction - you can actually hear the murmurs and tittering from the audience.
And then he begins to read.
Sober as a judge.
A voice that could stop a train.
"If my head hurt a hair's foot ... "
Morning by the glittery ocean here.
Greersy's still asleep in the middle room - she's been making a diorama of a Russian woman reading by her fireplace ( Summer in Australia here ) - because I've got the keys, I'm going to put up a picture of G, but only for 24 hours. Indulge me.
Kim- is that beautiful young woman up top your daughter? She's sparkles from the inside!
Nana- I tend to think a lot of the dustups on OS are "internet incidents." In my case, I was on a discussion group of people discussing Africa and the (mostly western) group was arguing the degree to which the sorry state of political leadership in African nation was a legacy of colonialism. To which I replied, "Poor Africa, can't even fuck up without the West taking the credit." Ahem. I have steered clear of Nyquil scotch cocktails since then.
Kim- mostly my work has been in oral history. I am a very lucky girl, the people I have met. Then family d intervened and I have yet to write the book I was supposed to be writing with those 80 plus interviews. But I think maybe the book was waiting for me to be old enough to write it. It is certainly going to be different than the one I would have written in my early 30s. Let's hope so.
If I could teach one practical research course to my students it would be "How to conduct an interview while drinking a half bottle of whiskey." I sure could have used such a course!
Annaliese, Lola and I send you hugs. Whenever Lola does her dance of joy dance of joy I think of you. Glad you have a kitty to snuggle with. We are not dealing with Lola's post-surgery recovery very well. Two more days and she can return to play with her friends after two weeks of confinement with... humans. I was quite tempted earlier today to ring someone's bell and then leave Lola in a basket on their doorstep.
What a nice surprise in this stark ole Zen truckstop..
Kim: I am going to look for those records online I bet on vinyl they sound great. That speech is on utube with the slurring and then BOOM the voice.
good spirit to her.
we cherish them.
More like words, for her.
A. does book design. Who knows what's goin' on ?
One day I'll find a pic. of A. to post.
This is Fairy Bower, Cyril. Everything looks like this. Took the top pic 1/2 an hour ago. Notice Susan's treasure chest ? I'll do a post on it, another time. There's more of her work on view at her site and dianaani's.
Did anyone notice we have a new vid. ( @ bottom ) Might be a bit dark to leave up, but worth a squiz.
terrible sad.
The actor in this video has an uncanny resemblance to the pictures I have seen of Thomas.
Every morning there are dozens of people in there in speedos.
I'm the one at the window with a coffee.
"ko·an
[koh-ahn] Show IPA
–noun, plural -ans, -an. Zen .
a nonsensical or paradoxical question to a student for which an answer is demanded, the stress of meditation on the question often being illuminating.
Compare mondo.
Origin:
1945–50;
*hands kim a second piece of note paper with the following scrawled in red ink*
"Origin:
1945–50; Japn kōan, earlier koũ-an MChin, equiv. to Chin gōngàn public proposal
Dictionary.com Unabridged
Based on the Random House Dictionary, © Random House, Inc. 2010. "
"Writing pretty isn't worth more than 8 words.
They're read and then they're discarded with the torn envelop and the birthday wrapping paper.
Write balls out.
Look if you write well - jealous writers are going to hate you.
If you write true - the shadowed are going to pull away from you.
Here's a rule of thumb: the only paper people really want to hold is double plied with lotion and leaves the least chafe. Do you really want your words mingled with that?
Here's hoping you have the courage.
M."
Mark R Trost
Make sure y'all buy the good toilet paper!
Am thinking of Gordon Dennis. I think that is the way he spelled his name. What a gift he was to all of us. My NYU summer in Oxford. Gordon took us to Naugharne. Did he know Dylan. Was he from Wales. I am thinking yes, but clarity has run away. He took us to Naugharne. We knew about New York. We knew about his reading and his voice. We understood the genius. And the pain. And this was just something we talked about. As you do. As we do here. For moments. Or for hours.
Am thinking Fern Hill. Am thinking Wales. Am thinking of all the glasses that we sometimes have before us. Am thinking of ... well ... oh so much.
Am thinking of a Welsh woman from whom I sublet a room while she went home for a while. I hear her voice in English ... and then in Welsh. Barely any syllables. But music. Music. And the holding on... to keep a language from being lost.
Is that what Dylan thought, I wonder. Is that what all of us think, sometimes. Going away to think a bit more. Poet company here. Best of all there is.
Laugharne I hope was heron-priested, cloudy dingled, swept and swarming with the echo of the poet's words - it's holy, to visit where the poet was, somehow. Sad as it was. Sad as it remains. What Cyril said.
I think what Dylan did was he revivified English, informed by but at the expense of his beloved Welsh.
Ready to hear another point of view there.
Larry is he still here ? Hooly dooly ; let me check it out - hope he left comments open. I thought Stellaa's thoughts today were timely.
Seem to have lost a few vids ... any suggestions welcome. ( I didn't delete them ... maybe there's a natural limit .. ) # 1500 !
Funny that Dylan has gathered us here. Yet. I think. He would. Understand. And somehow. This. Would help him. Breathe.
As would all the smiles and sunshine and life that recently and all along have found their homes with us. Here.
So much helps and makes me breathe. Here.
So much helps and makes me breathe. Here.
Gorsafawddachaidraigodanheddogleddollonpenrhynareurdraethceredigion
Railway Station. You'd have to be a poet to survive in such places, I think.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=smWWvMifgBc
And as it does. We smile and give thanks as we are one.
The very best of gifts you bring. Best. You. Here. Hope you know.
Thank you for the kitty thoughts. Am helped to smile. Here. Here. Because sad can be sad before we can remember that somehow all is joy. Thank you for just these words. Just these. Just now. What I need. Perhaps what we all need. Thus. The magic. Here. You.
*dabs at his eyes a little*
animals that show lovingkindness are our family members.
so sorry, annaliese.
*pulls out his knife, goes out front to where the mower missed the wildflowers to harvest his bouquet for remembrance for a loving pet*
*toots his nose into the handkerchief before taking his cutting*
*re-enters building a little dryer eyed,but still misty*
That. Ability for loving. Is. What binds us. Here. I think. Don't we all. Don't we. Just. All. G and A. How lucky and how loved you are. As is your dad. Here. And there. Winter. Summer. All. We know. And we know you do too. Don't mind, please, that he shares you here with us. He does because he knows that we all need to know. That you are there. And love. As we love. Here.
anna1's just had her 2nd pet this year die.
Thank you all for witnessing this. Moments that somehow can be missed when they matter most of all. Heart too full once more to speak but more full now because not alone. My kitty sleeps now here. Just beyond the spots we see. Knowing love is here. As do I. As do I. So much emptiness now. But just. For now. These arms will hold again. They know no other way.
I am so blessed. To be here. With all of you. Hope you know. Even when I have no words.
*hands anna1 her mug, brimful of warming, clear tea water*
*proffers her a basket containing all the kinds of tea he could find in the cupboards*
Cyril - yes, you are so right. Animals love where we can't-- and then they force us to follow them there.
I am glad you feel lucky to have had him Anna. I wish I could maintain that attitude- it's a very healthy, and honest one.
memories seem empty, at first.
Larry Mr Aznavour is at the bottom of the playlist, sounding wistful as ever. Nice song though.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=49qoTl9sXUM&feature=related
Zucchero is an Italian singer/songwriter. I wish I could find a live recording but I do think this version with Sinead is very touching.
this is a Michele LeGrand song I think..
This isn't the one you asked for - that one was diabled. Hope this carries a similar sentiment. Certainly an incredible voice.
Trig - we're going to have to do some serious vid culling here - the jukebox isn't well. But like with kangaroos : Who's going to do the culling ? Any less requsts ?
Ok I'll put my hand up and say lose Cold Chisel ( even though they're the truckstoppiest band here ) After that, Tim Buckley's Dolphins, and 2 Gil Scott Herons.
Even for the bird with the shirt. On Boxing Day. Well, I know. Easy for me to say.
*sips his feshly brewed tea*
*goes over anna1's poetic style in his thoughts again:"closing can not close"...*
what wonderful women poets we have here!
and those behatted few-!
Share."
Can you feel it?
why hate him, though?
Diabled - disabled.
"If we don't share ..." - we close comments ?
I'm missing heaps of pieces in this puzzle, myself.
Like, who's got the blue bit with green in the corner ? Cyril ?
It's just a PSA.
It's about then that I'll drop from a great height and let them know they transgressed. They crossed the line ... once ... twice ... Some here are awfully fragile ( you know ) and write in need of comfort not denigration.
I'm feeling ok in my hatred of people who cross that line, myself.
I'm ok about asking them to leave.
Last night he was Rating one of his own posts with 6 fake ID's.
I keep getting PM's from him, announcing another new post.
don't know them.
Love the sulfur-crested cockie, they can be both devilish and very loving highly intelligent birds, a challenging but fun combination. They understand the concept of revenge.
shhh you all, no one tell him. I like them innocent.
*words escape him*
*he goes into a blushing meltdown*
*melts all over the truck stop floor*
Go HERE.
so the direct corollary is, my using "behatted" is grammatically unsound?
hatted...behatted...........
*shakes his head, stunned*
uncle raul would know.......
Are you saying we should get married ?
I was trying to help you to make peace with the damn bird you idjit.
So, the marriage is off ?
How confused do I wanna get ?
Kim were you there amongst it all?
I'd say Kim is out enjoying the spectacular evening if he's still anywhere near Manly or Sydney!
Last night another gathering of cousins and food and dominoes. Gorgeous fireplace. Then I picked up the little dog. Understand about the wild critters. Time for the warmest cup of tea.
I saw a red cardinal among snow-covered branches somewhere here on OS yesterday anna1liese - a magical photo. I'll look up Painted Bunting and waxwings, meanwhile there's a lovely image of dominoes and a fireplace, and a puppy - thank you. I'll give mom a hug from you when I see her in the morning.
And Max, not that he'd know what I just said. Scratch him on the head for me.
iq, thank you too! Kim and I are here in 2011 waiting to welcome all of you!
And, Anna, if you're reading this too ...at midnight last evening I greeted my New Year with a cup of gentle tea. It seemed perfect as I sat watching fireworks and then came back to sit with my friends here on OS. Gentle tea to greet the new year and to sit with friends ... and chat.
Mushy I am too Rita ... but I do love you guys.
that's retrofitted for oceania! ;')}
Rita's got this thing about me and group hugs ... don't worry, it was only the once ... and I don't remember her complaining.
Gotta go and say goodnight to the sweet people at PW's.
On the other hand, if you'd rather hang out here, I won't go all prima donna on you.
:)
Awake?
another Welshman ... It's Not Unusual ... I'm beginning to see a pattern here ... anyway it's a New Year.
Does anyone have any idea what that means ?
By the way still pondering the idea of Dylan's revivifying English at the expense of his beloved Welsh. Want to walk with that awhile. Walk as well with "heron-priested, cloudy dingled, swept and swarming with the poet's words...." Speaking of someone's words.
Perhaps parts of all of this are what new year may mean.
And then possible themes. Hmmm.
*sneezes very loudly*
*coughs*
*sounding froggy*
anybody got an aspirin?
*dreams of cheating at poker against an oversized ornery feline with a bad attitude and a big laugh*
*snuffles in his sleep, his nose blocked up*
*draws a clean bar towel over his head for one last snooze*
Wind blowing this night in the woods. Hoping for company.
Kim, Have thought about you and your A these last few hours. Saw The King's Speech. Both of you were there somewhere as I watched. You don't really just watch this. You are inside, feeling everything. It, they spoke to most everything that has ever mattered to me. I'll keep mum from this point til you and your A see for yourselves. Geoffrey Rush is ... well, .... Watch and see what you see.
All in the world has been feeling a bit upside down. Until this afternoon. Not sure if it will last, but for at least a while, ... at least for a while, all was where it ought to be. Do tell me when one or both of you see it. Can't imagine you'll be disappointed. So rich a story this.
*fetches a flask of gnome power juice from his knapsack*
*swallows half its contents*
*crawls back under the counter for another prolonged sleep*
*oblivious to all, he dreams of a tall sail under a rising moon*
Thousands of books, and you can't keep them all ( unless Greer wants to start up a second-hand bookstore ... ) go into boxes for the Lion's or wherever. Toys, vinyl records, shelves of cassettes recorded by a classical music Uncle I insisted on when he died - where to now ?
Oh, the detritus and the gems of ancestors lives ...
Vases. How many vases can a person hold on to ?
Embroidered tablecloths - who uses tablecloths ?
Matching serviettes - who uses serviettes ?
This old ironing table my mother used every day - just a piece of pine, but made redolent by her devotion to the notion that each one of her family should step out, each day, in ironed clothes.
Not Dad - he let no-one near his laundry or his ironing. When plastic pegs came in, the colours had to match the items hung on the line. Army training lasted all his life. There's so much unravelling here. It's all good.
Mom ran a school for mentally disabled people here, and cooked every night for six, after work.
She has a week to go, in this, her house, her garden - she says she's glad she stayed this long, for the chickens, the Spring, the Summer.
Autumn will see her in her last abode, thankfully with a balcony facing the same direction as here : moonrise-wise, night-sky and sunrise-wise, it won't be different.
The difference will be the garden, and the absence of her husband's touch in the cupboards and the walls around her. The windows he framed, just so.
It's a moving-on time, here. A time of reflection and acceptance.
Sorting through the books is maybe the hardest part, but I don't know yet. Maybe the towels, or even the cutlery have their own personal challenges, just ahead.
I do know this : I'll miss the garden ; maybe that's the beginning of a series of paintings that will last the rest of my life.
P'raps that's how it will go.
To the changes : among us and between us, here's to the changes.
You have been much on my mind lately and I can hope all goes well.
I went down to the river and just sat, watching it rip by, high from the melting snow. It was so relaxing to just BE!! Cold sitting, but so much peace floated in between my ears.
My body is a lemon car, but the driver is doing fine.
One of my roomates here at this boarding house told me my hair needed the ends trimmed. I told her how glad I was to have hair at all, since back when I was so sick my hair looked like a cornfield, after it had been run over by a tractor pulling a corn picker. I am still laughing.....,
Rita, I hope the baby is well and happy. I am sure she is smiling. I dreamed of her last night. I swear I heard puppies while dreaming.
That is my report for this soul filled place.
Mission I think I just stole that line - we made something out of the old joint, didn't we ?
A truckstop for the bewildered and delirious, the sane and the not-so, the sippers of tea, slurpers of coffee and the gulpers of rum.
It's good to have a place to just say whatever-the-hell, without it being "a post," isn't it ? No big deal. Just us, being us.
Like anna1liese said : it feels like home. Acceptance, however loony we are.
I swear to god if Trosty walked in, I'd pull up a chair for him.
Maybe even ( what's wrong with me ? ) thoth . Never thought I'd say that.
Thanks, Mission.
it is good to just be. wherever we are in the world.
Kim, What a time you are having. Here or not, you are here with us all. I read these words and want to hug your mom all over again. She ran a school there. I love her. I love that you think of direction and that her new direction of moonrise-wise, night sky and sunrise-wise will not change. I love that you would think of that. For her. Love that it will not change. Some of that is what matters most.
Books. Serviettes. Tablecloths. Ironing boards. Fabrics of all our lives.
The garden. Hers. Yours. Memories. Paintings. Living on. What pleasure here. What joy. Does she know you will paint what you have known of them and what you have seen. Can only imagine that that will lift her. As it will lift you and all that you have known of them, all that they have given you and been for you.
Am moved by your words here. Her husband's touch. What treasure you touch as you sort and as you love.
She knows that as well, I think. She knows what a son, what a treasure, stands beside and helps her now with this.
Thinking of her and of you and of changes as they come. Changes. As they come. And paintings. Yours. To come.
Helps somehow to hear your words. Suppose it will always help to hear your words. Will think of you and of her in this week.
Memories and change ... both of you ...
My best wishes
My thoughts with you
My love...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6RqJNpe6otk&feature=related
It has, Kim ... it has.
And you, we owe that to you. Yes, each and everyone who came have made it what it is but without you, Kim ... the gentle man you are ... the man who sees, and speaks, and paints such beauty ... we would not have had this. So .... thank you Kim ... thank you.
kim, are you closing the truck stop soon?
Nothing's closing - no-one's going anywhere - just that after all this moving business, I've got to relocate things. I wish someone could do it for me. I'll be on the road and building a shed in the bush for awhile - that's all. You guys can run the joint, or start up the Tavern down in the docks.
Anna & Kate - mom's excited about the move, and that's 90% of the whole thing - she's looking forward to "assisted living" ( as we call it here ) - meals, laundry, care etc all right there. Lots of trees, and a lovely bunch of fogies like her who play canasta & mah jhong - Kate : how's your dad ?
And here. Home. As it should always be. For all. Acceptance. Love. As we are. As we really are. Words even as they come. Complete or not. Striving for clarity even if we do not manage it. As we are. Home. As it should always be. Should have been. Is. Now. Here. Kim. You. Yours. Ours. Because you opened the doors. Because you see. And hear. And let love in.
Thinking even of the King's Speech. Had he known this, he'd not have stammered. Would all have known this. Would all have known love that allows love to be and grow and thrive and live. No wonder this is home. No wonder.
Sigh.
Life ain't for sissies.
Dear Kim, like others have noted I too have dismantled a house. Perhaps because I had to do it alone and had only four days, I just had to toss everything. If found in the end, it did not affect the heart of things.
I was catching up on the posts and read a bit more of your mom, who already sounded incredible from what I have gathered here. But learning your mom ran a school for the disabled -- well you know she has just gained a special place in my heart.
What I hope brings you comfort Kim is how your mother has embraced such a monumental change with open arms. This is extraordinary; this is not what usually happens. I shall not forget her lesson to us -- that life moves forward, that change is the only constant, no matter how slowly or suddenly it comes to us, and that our embrace of change is what ultimately signals that we are still alive. She has filled me with hope. Celebrate that. Celebrate her. And please give her a hug from a "sib" of someone who I know would have loved her school-- from the land up over.
Hugs to you all. When I was a child, I created a magical place that I entered through a book. I think I have found that place!!!
Wishing you all a happy, healthy and love filled 2011.
The maestro has been kinda quiet. I guess he got a mirror for Christmas.
Thanks, Larry - no-one's taking this down. Ever. But.
Maybe we could set up another one - a Tavern or a ... I don't know, and start all over ... could be at your place, in the hills ... with hillbillies, even. The mind boggles. We could take over an entire floor of a skyscraper in Shanghai.
We could move the whole truckstop to Iraq, and generate some goodwill, maybe ... bad idea ...
But whatever, we ain't losing what we all put into this here bit of OS real estate.
It's ours ; we made it ; it stays open .....
.... notice it's just us ... ? Are we really weird ?
IS THIS SOME KIND OF CULT ?? !!
I mean, occasionally Ablonde or Nan drop in ... but notice, never for long ... it's almost like they're visiting slightly whacko rels on a week-end ... ( us ) ... I see them fidgeting with their car-keys thinking, another five minutes and I'm gone - that sort of thing.
Well, do we care ?
The fire's burning, there's tea and toddies and Tom ; and craic.
My favourite vid isn't here - it's at Coney Island.
Wouldn't it be great if it was like this all the time ?
Antoinette, Hope you have found "that" place of magic.
Went to listen once more and watch Coney Island. No wonder it calls your name, Kim. So much there. So much here. So much away from here. Yet here. Fire is burning. Tea is ready.
Thinking of your mom. Excited by such change. Mah jhong. What an inspiration for us all. A gift she is.
what if one of these days, we run out of comment space?
*ruminates on this a moment*
*sips more tea, fingering his neck chain*
*thinks back to when he was a nipper*
*recalls his uncle's mysterious closet, the key to which is on that neck chain*
Cyril, can I join you for tea? Somehow nice tea seems just like the thing with all this rain outside.
And, why is that I type and the letters are so slow to appear?
Kim, my dad is okay. No leaps and bounds in full recovery but slowly he seems to be getting there. I wonder if he'll completely recover but am hopeful.
Maybe if each person were to get 1 video request, the page might load faster.
Just a suggestion.
Now we just got to remember which ones we liked, or start all over ...
Laidback is a wonderful trait. God, wish we were as a culture. We're all like ants w/o the sense of community.
what's a goannas and a Bundy?
are monitors the lizards that bite you and then follow you for days until you collapse from the venom? I think i'd need at least 2 xanax to relax in that situation. Perhaps some opium.
But...all the songs are gone! :(
I know, I miss them too. They served us well though.
Kind of calls for the Aussie version of I've Been Everywhere, Kim?
I’ve been everywhere ...
Well, I was humpin’ my bluey on the dusty Oodnadatta road
When along came a semi with a high and canvas-covered load
(Spoken) “If you’re goin’ to Oodnadatta, mate, um, with me you can ride.”
So I climbed in the cabin and I settled down inside
He asked me if I’d seen a road with so much dust and sand, I said
“Listen, mate, I’ve travelled ev’ry road in this here land
Chorus:
“’Cos I’ve been everywhere, man
I’ve been everywhere, man
Crossed the deserts bare, man
I’ve breathed that mountain air, man
Of travel I’ve had my share, man
I’ve been everywhere”
“I’ve been to Tullamore, Seymour, Lismore, Mooloolaba
Nambour, Maroochydore, Kilmore, Murwillumbah
Birdsville, Emmaville, Wallaville, Cunnamulla
Condamine, Strathpine, Proserpine, Ulladulla
Darwin, Gin Gin, Deniliquin, Muckadilla
Wallumbilla, Boggabilla, Kumbarilla, I’m a killer
Chorus
(Spoken) “Yeah but listen here, mate, have you been to ...”
“I’ve been to Moree, Taree, Jerilderie, Bambaroo
Toowoomba, Gunnedah, Caringbah, Woolloomooloo
Dalveen, Tamborine, Engadine, Jindabyne
Lithgow, Casino, Brigalow and Narromine
Megalong, Wyong, Tuggerawong, Wanganella
Morella, Augathella, Brindabella, I’m the feller
Chorus (Starts “Who’s been everywhere”)
(Spoken) “Yeah, I know that, but have you been to ...”
“I’ve been to Wollongong, Geelong, Kurrajong, Mullumbimby
Mittagong, Molong, Grong Grong, Goondiwindi
Yarra Yarra, Boroondara, Wallangarra, Turramurra
Boggabri, Gundagai, Narrabri, Tibooburra
Gulgong, Adelong, Billabong, Cabramatta
Parramatta, Wangaratta, Coolangatta, what’s the matter?
Chorus
(Spoken) “Yeah, look that’s fine, but how about ...”
“I’ve been to Ettalong, Dandenong, Woodenbong, Ballarat
Canberra, Milperra, Unanderra, Captain’s Flat
Cloncurry, River Murray, Kurri Kurri, Girraween
Terrigal, Fingal, Stockinbingal, Collaroy and Narrabeen
Bendigo, Dorrigo, Bangalow, Indooroopilly
Kirribilli, Yeerongpilly, Wollondilly, don’t be silly
Chorus
“I’ve been here, there, ev’rywhere, I’ve been ev’rywhere.”
Anna, we've had some wonderful music here. Just the best. Not sure about my latest suggestion though! *starts singing ... I've been everywhere man ... *
DB ! Pull up a chair ! We've been here nearly 2 months - mayhem.
Good music ( sorry you missed all that - we're trying to get Larry sober again ) good craic and a baby, even.
Any time the light's on, or even when it's not, let yourself in and shout hello. Never know who you'll meet in this joint but you never know ... might just be her.
Isn't it.
90 % ? - ( Larry Cyril Nan Kim ... DB ... )
I thought you were supposed to be the numbers person here ! No wonder they took away the jukebox !
And how come you're suddenly driving a new Honda, hmmm ?
Looked in overnight. Saw Oodnadatta, but not comments that have since appeared. Now Tom and a new face. And still it is the soul that sings. From the start, it has been the soul that sings here. Your soul. Ours. Almost two months now. Souls allowed to sing. Sometimes alone. Sometimes with help. Sometimes only after they have listened to words and music suggested by someone else. There is magic here. And love. And thanks.
Am thinking of your sanctuary. North. So much news of Queensland and the flooding. Glad to have a sense from Kate that she and hers are safe. Hope your sanctuary is safe as well.
Souls. Singing. Sanctuary. Safe. Here. Breathing. Able to grow. Able to be. Still. Thanks for such careful tending.
And now Bard has found his way. Lovely. All of this.
anna1liese the sinead is @ http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3C-R_nuX3d4
Perhaps we'll build a whole new catalogue, but as others pointed out, there's a limit to how much a post can hold, it seems.
Meantime we'll be here ... I don't know how much sense any of it makes to people passing by - the references to songs long gone, pictures and places disappeared - but it's a bit like how things are in general, isn't it.
The sanctuary up north is in the ranges - 1000 metres, high above any floodplain - giant granite boulders and pine - we face out to the southwest, where all the creeks and rivers run.
A friend carved a message into a piece of wood which still hangs somewhere there : A place to reach high, a place made of sky.
Can't help thinking about all that goes on for you and hoping that in your own silence, all of it goes well.
Your mom has become something of a beacon for me. After reading your words of her here the other night, I thought I would try to fall back asleep. I dreamed the strangest dream. Almost nightmare. Not quite. Had a sense that someone had come into this room. As no one is here, everything felt wrong. As happens in dreams, I couldn't move or speak. Then someone reached out and touched my shoulder. Nothing seemed right about this. Have you ever had dream moments like these.
Somehow I was "awake" and several people were here. No idea who they were or why they were here or even where here was. Seemed to be England but no place I really know. Seemed to be near the sea. Seaford played in my mind but ... so many pieces didn't really fit. Numbers of people grew and though they were here and though I tried to gather, offer food, tea, suggestions, advice, nothing I offered answered any need. Everyone wanted more. Something made me terribly aware of all of this. Too familiar this. This was the point of what should have been, could easily have been nightmare. Instead something helped me push away, push it away, them away and for once lift myself out of something I did not need.
For the longest time, everything felt so unsettled. Why no ability to connect with anyone in any way. If hell exists, this would be it. Why such need that could not be met, at least not in any way by me.
Only settling thing was that I was able to lift myself away from something that really had nothing to do with me. Still. Odd. Hours later I wondered if earlier talk here of serviettes and tablecloths had somehow surfaced for me. Did they surface in the dream or were they the things that held me where I needed to be and helped me lift myself out. Possibly both. Hours later it was easier to see the lift away from what was no longer needed. To see good in the lifting. To see a beacon, an inspiration in someone able to celebrate change. Not sure how your mom is able to help me, but there it is.
And so your sanctuary where space and work await. So glad all is safe there. Dry. High. A place to reach high, a place made of sky. What a picture your friend’s words paint. They will help hold space here while you are there, creating, making space for yourself, for life. I will miss your voice while you are gone. So will everyone else here. But sometimes we need time away, on our own. Time to find ourselves again. Time to see how pieces fit. Now. A place to reach high, a place made of sky. Sanctuary of the truest kind. Deepest kind. Gifts and beacons and inspiration. A place made of sky.
Trying to keep faith ... move forward ... keep a light shining but ...
The joint looks more like a roadhouse than a truck stop. Nothing wrong with that.
Too many good businesses fail because there aren't any steps. No-one can figure out how to get in, and it's confusing all round.
Fauna is kangaroo, wallaby, all the birds from blue wrens to wedgetail eagles, lizard and snake, yabbie and bass, feral pig, goat, fox, rabbit. Bats and dragonflies, spiders as big as your hand ; all of us somehow getting along - it amazes me how safe it feels to be there.
Dreams seem to me to be a way of processing the changes. Whether we remember them or not, I think they are sorting through the symbols in our lives and turning them into stories.
Or they're sorting through the stories in our lives and turning them into symbols.
Whichever, that's a good reason to sleep.
If I don't sleep, my life is a nightmare - it's difficult to explain that.
I'll find you some pics Rita.
On the other hand there are dreams that lift us, even if we can't remember the specifics, that leave us buoyant, confidant.
Extraordinary the power of our unconscious at that hour, how it sets the mood, as you say. I'm not so good at facing up to the nightmares, I have to say. I know there must be a solution there, somewhere, but I haven't found it.
I have to admit Kim This page loads easier and now I can comment and not fight with my scroll thingie for too long.
I have never wanted a permanent blog or even thought of one.
But this truckstop blows my mind here.
I will be back asap. Coffee and a whiny dog.....
Anna I hope you let go ... of the things that might be holding you back. Let us know. I've been struggling here a bit, myself.
Hi Mission - maybe just one song or piece of music, or video per day, changing each day. Suggestions gratefully received.
Would that all of us, each of us, could know love as it is and as it comes. Would my mom could have known it from her mom. Would that my mom had ... somehow ... found her peace. I think she only had it from her dad. I grew up hating her dad. Not because of him. Who now I wish I had known myself, who I wish had had a moment to know me, but because no one else lived up to him. Not my dad. Never my dad. Except for me. A part of me feels that as I was conceived, part of me carried him. Peace meant all for him as it means all for me. What craziness we live. Sometimes.
When craziness seems all there is, how do we find our way.
Loss. This season. So much loss. And the kitty, my kitty, right now is all. As I return to being here alone, I find I look because I always looked. And my kitty. The one who chose me. Is not there. So alone I feel right now. Though a human will soon come back to me. I hardly know how to let that back in. So long now. I have been alone.
These weeks of holiday and so many here. Who needed to be here. Together here. But now alone again. And lost. A bit. Lost. Shadow people touched my shoulders. Terror. Fear. I seem to be good at fear. Can I still fear him. What power then I give to him. But I see the power he has for his girls. I hate that I could not ... help .... I hate that I could not help him ... help ... them. I hate... that I could not give his love to them. Perhaps here where they may not follow, I can utter the words he spoke. He wished he had not had... . Had them. How could he wish. I can not know. How much was lost to him. How was he separated from ... love. I wrote all that I knew of this in October. On our anniversary. Yet still as I hear from them. Still he can not give. Then back to me. Who am I. Who am I now. Who do I want to be. Who can I be. Now. As I write. And as I am.
A place to reach high. A place made of sky. How I love this.
So much still to know. So much still to know.
Grateful I am that you are there.
The taliban are orphans. Of course.
You've played the role in the lives of these girls including your students that will resonate.
Witness the girl at your doorstep. All she wanted was to say Thank you. Now we learn to play that role in our own lives - no script, no director, no decent coffee, half the time.
Well, we found a place to rehearse, didn't we ?
Why. How. Are you one man that I can let speak to me.
Tonight I listen to the news and so many I have known come to mind. Sudan considers being two. I see one who interviewed me. Taha Taha. Where is he now. I still hear the poetry of my woman from Beirut. Where now is she I wonder. She was so pained from war.
How many of us are pained by someone's war. How many. How do we speak of peace and let that peace be. All. How.
Still. I hear you speak of your girls and I know that some know. And knowing that. Helps me breathe. Hope you know that. Even as I know how much more. You. Know.
I wonder if growing up in a world where there was so little love made me reach so hard for it, let me somehow know that it mattered so to me. Maybe at first it was peace. I needed there to be peace. I had known early on that peacemaking would be my role. There was no need for another warrior. And anyway I could make no noise. Silent and invisible were best for me. Those lessons were not hard to learn. No wonder I loved stories so.
“Now we learn to play that role in our own lives - no script, no director, no decent coffee, half the time.
Well, we found a place to rehearse, didn’t we?”
Why so hard this, I wonder. Is it hard to believe that we are worth the bother. Is that why negative voices don’t self destruct. Why they are always there. Thinking about the song’s lyrics, today’s song, about dreams and stories and symbols. And mindfulness. And shadow people. And moments when we can push them away. Rare as those may be. How many times must we dream the dream before we have learned what it has tried to tell. If we ever learn.
Listening to the song hours ago, I wondered about angels. Is it possible - or only the paradox it seems - that angels sometimes bring us nightmares to force us? help us? ... see the terror ... we ... live? ... still hold? still allow to be part of our soul. Have I had too much tea. But what if ... sometimes it is an angel or a ... part of our soul, ... our psyche that wants, needs to help us survive. Or awaken us to the fact that all we are doing is surviving when it might be possible to thrive. Is that some of what happens if and when moments come when a nightmare doesn’t have to ... what. To last until we can only scream. Silently scream. Or shake. Or fall.
I grew up knowing how to lift my father from his nightmares. His war nightmares. Is there something here. I was not to go too near or touch him. Have I written about this before. I was to stand near his bedroom door and call his name. Softly. Gently. When somehow he heard it, he would ... what. Lift? Let the nightmare go. But I helped that lifting and so the nightmares didn’t stop. Eventually they lessened.
But what if ... we are able to ... sense ... to know ... that we have learned the lesson? the purpose? the possibility? behind the dream? And if it is, is it possible then to lift ourselves away ... time and time again perhaps. Total tap dancing here. Totally making this up. But. If we can begin to see the burden, the weight, the self destructing ... guilt? Fill in the blank for me. Is it possible not to ... need? ... the nightmare, this particular kind of nightmare? if somehow we can give ourselves permission to ... give it up? lay it down? let it go? Set our soul free? At least of this.
Is any of this tap dancing a beginning, a way to ... rehearse ... to learn the role ... of becoming for ourselves ... what it seems so much easier to be for others ... some of the time at least.
“... and you know that you can let them in or keep them out.” I know it. My head knows that you are right. But so long they have all been part of me. I am not good at closing doors. I am not good with change. How, Kim, has your mom reached her joy right now. Is she, somehow, still playing this role ... here, through your words ... for us. I wonder.
Back to the knowing part. What I know from the dream is that I can never fill another’s need if the other can not allow the need ever to be filled. My mother. My husband. That part I know. Does the dream come back because I ... play this same game? ... ? Do I need to feel perpetual guilt. Do I need that curtain never to fall. This part I don’t yet know. Yet. Maybe I begin to see a question though. How many ways are there to silently scream.
Trying here ... to begin ... first steps ... rehearsal steps ... at least to acknowledge a hope, another step in this circle of life, cycle of life, season ... of ... life. All of our lives. Connected as they are.
Does any of this make any sense. Or is it time for coffee.
It's already November 9th. Soon it be Haloween.
We'll be getting our government Christmas bonus.
This shack is where you write from a broke window?
You still dancing the Hoky-Poky-Waltz with Matilda?
I love those dances. No get into a one-leg-kick dance?
You know? A one leg kick-dance with a lame-donkey?
You'll be doing jam-gigs with Austrian snow angels?
apology?
I love the name anna 1 # one. I'll go play with Annabella.
She's six.
She Play in the snow.
She makes snow angels.
She wants me to get a ring.
One toe ring for her and me.
One day I may buy a belly ring.
One at my age needs some help.
She think Australians talk funny.
She thinks Americans need shrinks.
DoJ are poor role models. Pokey.
She can't figure what they eat.
She say they ate yellow snow.
Something is wrong here?
I mean the "leadership."
They have eating disorder?
Something's real is wrong.
She wonders if they poop.
They poorly potty trained.
bah.
Maybe they eat Dairy?
Sour bacterial yogurt?
They need bailed out?
Lawyers are so trivial?
Play Elijah Game quiz?
Politico eat mad cows?
Poor beef clog collins?
Something happened.
Leepin Kangaroo Larry?
You may be new Leader?
Be de' White shack cook?
We put right foot in/out.
We shake toe with a ring.
Folks ding-dong boogies.
apology.
I go back to read books?
Miss Mopper hop mouse.
She hop from a cupboard.
Miss moppet bump head.
November? I miss munch.
Munch candy all night too.
silly
I added a sign to the picture of the truck stop .
I can post it, if you like it you can copy it and put it on this post.
Alt. just pm with instructions. The place could do with a facelift.
Or i could give you my password and YOU could do it !
I do like that option.
Art was here.
Goodness.
I feel so bad -
Art wrote a post with my name in the title and I
went all Farmer Brown - I admit, I didn't know what the post was about ...
but who does, with Art. That's the magic of his poetry.
There's a lot there, and it needs a quiet space.
Richard Thompson the Ghost of You Walks
good for a cold Sunday AM .. or whatever ails you..
For some reason every time I turn on the radio David Bowie's song Changes is playing. I don't mind at all, since I love the song, but it's been several times in a row now and it's beginning to make me think the universe is trying to tell me something...
(yeah, yeah, tinfoil hats are fashionable this season)
but you do, somewhere.
Perpetual guilt is something I've only read about, even though
good friends are/were Catholic.
And lessons in dreams sounds like needles in shifting haystacks,
but again, I don't know, but you do, somewhere.
Lessons in nightmares ? Ask Art.
He was in Vietnam.
I think if you read his poem carefully,
you'll see much of it addressed to your question.
Don't stop improv. tap - keep dancing, no matter what.
Larry's new sign says vacancies - never a "no." I love it !
Art. What a sweetie you are. And how wise. I think from your post and from your words above that you sense the heart of what is here, and in your words and in your way, you honor that and honor Kim who opened the door and let us in. Sometimes we come here because something needs voice somewhere. So much happening yesterday. Perhaps part of your speaking here allowed words to touch on some of that. I think that is part of what I hear. That and so much more. You are a gift.
Larry, Clever you are.
Ninth. Again. Tenth for some. Two months on. Caring words, heartfelt words from any of us, for any of us are spread throughout all text here. These are life and heart and soul. These are cherishing and nourishing and honoring. These are arms willing to hold, able to hold, from a distance, from afar, at a distance if need be or from the deepness of the heart with all the strength we have. Arms held last night. And the holding was returned.
Sacred place this. Sacred perhaps because of trust. Because of hope. At the first one opened a door and hoped an answer would come. Sacred still.
In the night words came - home, things, things loved, things built, things grown, things, thoughts, hopes, dreams, love created and still springing forth. Souls, loving souls finding a closeness, an almost unsuspected closeness able to surface now. Doors. Windows. Opening. Closing. Opening somehow once more. Allowing breath and change and, hopefully, at some point calm.
Kim, If you wish someone else could relocate all your things for you, build the shed and move everything, then I wish somehow we could help. Thinking of you both as these days move on.
And thanks for looking once more at my dream thoughts. Maybe what we need to know from dreams isn’t always or only one thing. It has helped to hear your thoughts and your discussion the other night with iq. All of this stayed with me through the day and through the night and while I kept seeing more, something lifted in the night in a way that rarely happens. And maybe I do know. Maybe we all know. Or can know when we are ready. Thanks.
All Welcome. You are a gem.
we may run outta room.
great song. great duo.
does this mean we'll have room next week?
Cyril we could do that, or we could stay here. I bet $ 10 we stay here.
Especially now there's a dog. You just watch : with the new sign and all, this place is going to be fuller than a ... whatever ; you'll see.
We just need some more music, now and then.
Or a Trivia Night !
What about Ian, or Kevin ? Brian, John, Matthew ...
Vinny ?
Ahmed Vinny ? Vinny for short.
Let her call it Vinny. I'm sure she has a good reason.
For calling a dog Vinny.
isn't it a great dane?
Great music playing. Couldn't be much better for today.
Kim is the professional here...Should the dog be larger?
He is sitting up 2 feet high and is taking up half the width of a 9 foot porch. Plus he still isn't full grown.
You mean blanc mange I think, IQ. Why would Kim dance like a white pudding?
I kinda like that image! Makes me smile.
Whatever, it's our dog. It's a good dog. Stay. Good dog.
Such a face.
What if Vinnie is short for Vincenza, not Vincent.
Either way, "vincere" means "destined to win."
Beginning to fall in love with this dog.
How could you not.
He now looks like a Vinny or Vincenzo. Kim has been scarce here, lots of packing, I guess. No Waltzing Matilda recently :( ....
I'll feed Vinny and put on the morning coffee.
As per Wikipedia:
The Anatolian Shepherd Dog is descended from ancient livestock guardian dog types that migrated with the transhumance, guarding flocks of sheep from wolves, bears, jackals, and even cheetahs.
It is probable that dogs of this type existed 6,000 years ago in Mesopotamia. The dogs were called Çoban Köpeği (shepherd dog), and over the centuries, regional variations or landraces developed.
The Anatolian is a muscular breed. They have thick necks, broad heads, and sturdy bodies. Their lips are tight to their muzzle and they have triangular drop ears. Males stand 26 - 31 inches. Females are between 27 to 30 inches. They weigh between 90 and 150 pounds (41 to 68 kg), with females on the smaller side and males on the larger side. The coat may be any color, although most common are white cream, "sesame," and white with large colored spots that do not cover more than 30% of the body. Known as piebald, these colors may or may not be accompanied by a black mask and/or ears. They have a thick double coat that is somewhat wiry, and needs to be brushed 1-2 times a week in warm weather due to excessive shedding. They have very thick hair on their neck to protect their throat. They are seen with docked as well as intact tails. They are a naturally thin animal with a large rib cage and small stomach. They look as if they are heavier than they actually are, due to the thick coat.
I thought hers was such a positive, creative response - what else to expect from Linda S ?
It's been painful to read the posts and responses on OS - it reflects a fragility and uncertainty - while I know sanity will prevail, in whoever's interest it was to divide a people so deeply ... it's just painful to witness - I can't help thinking Shi-ite & Sunni, each committed to their own interpretation of "law," from the same source. Words. The same ones we practise here.
latethink's piece on Bill Moyers yesterday was truly eye-opening, for me anyway. Australia has solid laws in place about people like Glenn Beck - sure we have loony shockjocks, because they sell product, but to say those kinds of things on air here is an indictable offence.
Freedom of speech, freedom to arm yourself, are clauses that need to be qualified, I think.
Otherwise lunatics like Beck or the "Christian" who shot the doctor in his church will take advantage of them. My 2 cents, from downunder today, where it's still raining.
The climate has changed.
Politically.
Economically.
Environmentally,
the climate has changed.
Off to comment on trig's "who am I ? " piece.
I think, thank god I don't live in Bangladesh.
I just rang the local Council in Ipswich and they're advising that my daughter evacuate as she lives in an area that was affected by the major '74 flood. She already has another young family at her house who evacuated this morning.
Trying to work out what she needs to do next.
I grew up in a state whose son was assassinated when I was 12. To my knowledge gun laws have always been strong there. I lived in England where even the police carried no gun. You begin to assume that all gun laws are strong. Not long after I came back here, I moved to a different state. There was no work in my own. A call came to the school where I taught. The house I was renting had been robbed. A teacher currently living there, though German by birth, brought me home. Tell her, she told a policeman in my kitchen dusting for fingerprints. Tell her she has the right to shoot someone who would endanger her in her home. I felt I had walked into an insane asylum. Yes, he nodded. Yes. Next day, I walked into the school and all the students looked up. Miss, they said, you need a gun. No, no, no, I said. I couldn't touch a gun. Oh, miss, they said, we'll teach you. They were being totally serious.
We seem to live right now in a society so willing to inflame. So many are feeling afraid, powerless, angry, defeated. So few seem to offer hope. Some try, but hope and patience do not easily satisfy people growing used to instant, instant everything.
This weekend in some voices I heard words of caution and calm. Last night I read Rita's poem and felt a sense of pause. This morning I read words by Art all of which centered on love. Then I listened to the Adagio he mentioned, the one Kim has given us here. Calm. A sense of peace. I sense dread but I hope for calm. I hope for peace. I know somehow love must be allowed. All I have for now.
Alison Krauss/ Robert Plant
Black Dog
I cannot imagine ... only try to ... but still cannot imagine a place where children live with and know how to use guns. It is beyond me.
So much devastation in Queensland and, yes, I've been a little distressed today. I am worried for my daughter and grandson. For a few hours she prepared to evacuate ... she wanted to ... but her partner returned home and wanted them to stay put in the house. Now it's too late for them to go I think. Now I need to stay calm and keep faith that they will be safe.
Amidst the upset of this day there has been joy too. A dear friend told me the most wonderful news a short while ago. News that means so very much ... news that we hoped and prayed for but began to think might never come. Wonderful news. This has been a day of mixed emotions for me.
So I am here now. Keeping faith. Keeping hope. Keeping peace and calm. And allowing love.
Vinny looks like a very good boy.
My daughter and family have made it to her partner's dad's home where they should now be safe. I can breathe a little easier now.
But the poor people ... The news coming out of Brisbane, Ipswich and district is devastating ... just deteriorating by the moment. 9 are confirmed dead (expected to rise to at least 18) and 66 are missing.
I shouldn't keep this running here ..you don't need more terrible news. Just know that I am okay and I do so appreciate your thoughts and good wishes.
Much love.
I appreciate you all. And this warm and welcoming truckstop.
i can hardly bear to look at the news.
hoping so.....
makes sense.
ttp://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eJjNAn84hTM&feature=related
Lovely place and I have brought one of my favourite songs. I spend a good deal of the day listening to Tango music.:)
Praying for you Aussie people that the water will go down soon..
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bibtqDxXv1o
we have hot soup for latecomers.
help yerself!
How about you LInda? Clams? Nice t see you here. I am goung to go listrn to this musc but Ill beback!
the soup's not bad, either. minestrone.
*readies himself for the rigors of tango 3 feet off the floor*
may i have this dance?
Larry, who knew?
Antoinette... I love tango music.. and yes some soup would be lovely.
*blows nose*
Cyril-that's a beautiful video. My most favorite song ever....
With soup and music..:)
thanks for adding my song, kim!
*continues dancing with his partner to the strains of don mclean, a slow one with his friend*
oops..
HUGGGGGGGGGG to everyone.. I am signing off for tonight
i'd rather get stepped on by you than almost anyone!
sleep tight!
a guy could get used to this joint.
Larry... sigh.. right through the heel..
Cyril and Linda now do the Highland jig bare feet
To celebrate this place of peace.
Adiago and good night
as opposed to some people's.
*clearing throat*
just sayin'.
I had wonderful news a couple of hours ago ... my daughter's house did not go under water! She has made it back to the house, water so close by, no power but their home and possessions are okay! I didn't imagine this would be the case at all. I am so happy for them ... for me ... but now Brisbane is being inundated with the floodwaters.
Now is this party still rocking ... or tango-ing?!!! Or have we moved over to Lezlie's place for Fusun's party?
I'm watching news reports now ... 12 now dead, 57 missing.
Cyril can you turn your upside down and sit in it and use it as a top??:)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YMZlB7p3kpw
See you when I'm more around - not long now. maybe. thanks for looking after the joint.
and feeding young vin.
Kim, are you on the move - now?
I’m locked in tight, I’m out of range
I used to care, but things have changed"
Oh, I'm feeling a bit sad again ... but I'm going to take comfort in that things ... change ... happen for a reason.
She'll be right, mate.
Kate I cannot stress how uch I am to read that your daughter and faily are safe and sound. I have been following the flood news and jusr read the Sydney and Brisbane papers. It looks so bad to read of all the industry shutdowns and farms floods. Never mind how shocking it is the read of the cities underwater. My heart goes out to all affected by this disaster. I am sure the Aussie spirits are high and somehow all pulling together will come thru this mess.
Kim, I hope the best for you and the move. My you sort out what is in your heart and find better waiting when you get settled in.
Anna1 your words here are so full of deep thinking. I love reading them and they are full of good for all of us. Please know how much they mean to me.
I love you all here and find this place full of soul as always. Hugs.
And Max, you ok?
And would you mind telling Cyril that I'm so sorry I missed him here yesterday. Hopefully we'll catch up soon.
Goodnight all! Goodnight Kim ...hope all is well down the road.
I just made coffee cake.. can you smell it?
Oops there is a cone of a hat sticking out of that cake..
Funnel cake??? :)
Aching, feeling lost, hurting for whatever reason and in whatever way can make the world feel a foreign place, can make us want to lock ourselves away, can make us not want to care. I so hope I am wrong, but if any of this or all of this is where you are, especially if you have already begun to be on your way, may you somehow know, somehow let yourself remember that moments like these, hours like these are those when just the anchor of a hand or a voice can keep us from becoming totally lost. You have been that anchor for some of us.
If you are already on your way and unable to see any words here, I hope somehow a part of you will know we are here and that we care. For you as you have cared for us. Until we hear from you again, know that all the while, hands are here, connecting hearts and souls that have also felt the world fall away from them are here. Will be here until the need for them, all need for them has passed. Just us, remember.
Where is everyone??
Mr. Proprietor, a have a quarter for the juke box and since it's summer there I would like to do some nightswimming... http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qx9br5ISRpo
you'll forgive a gnome this infraction?
looks like kim'll miss the 2,000 mark. ='( }
Cyril you need help hauling that big piece of cake??
Haven't gone too far - that won't be til June/July - been on the road a lot, and suddenly making ground with a book, and seeing the mother settled in etc etc - I see the place ticks over nicely and Vin has a wet nose.
Been dropping random comments at random places - nonsense ( I do love some nonsense ) - I will try for more consistency, meantime someone here's going to make OS history with comment 2000 - in fairness I think it should be IQ, if she can come up with something suitably meaningless, which I don't think will be hard ...
Floods are subsiding from the north - there's an awful lot of topsoil in those rivers headIng south, and I feel like playing Pete Seeger or PP&M again : When Will We Ever Learn ... instead, 2 new songs ; one Rita's, one mine. Loving you.
Nonsense ... saw you doing a bit of nonsense today but glad you're back here!
Cooking dinner at moment and dancing around the kitchen to Girl from Ipanema ... COOL!!!
Loving you too!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5-p2qyXafgM&NR=1
So much going on everywhere. Almost too much to take in.
When will we ever learn. Never thought that song would last our whole lives through. Tonight's music - nice. Despite everything else going on, all seems better now here. Very glad for that. Glad for you and for your mom. A book. Perfect. Gladness. Perfect.
Dancing in the kitchen, Kate. Smiling.
Down to you, iq.
And Kim ... a book ...not going until June/July ... such good news to hear!
Happy dancing for sure!
I'll see if I can find another version, Kim.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9AuyPnxqhH4
Nice and raw too. Thanks.
Studio @ Manning Road my screen is covered in beautifully coloured beetles & moths - maybe 10, 12 varieties ; reading in between.
*Boppin' around the kitchen ... still on her lonesome!*
It's been a bad day
It's been a bad day!
Please don't take our picture
It's been a bady day
Please!
Woo hoo!!!!!
Wow!
Kim! .......
You need screens!!!!!
OR ...
Perhaps they've come o you to be beautiful inspiration for another piece of magic????
But who cares?
.... It's been a bad day!
Studio? Double Bay area????
Regardlesss ... Kim, they are inspiraton for magic perhaps???
Please don't confuse me with the people of Double Bay - I am firmly Manly/Fairy Bower. But right now tonight I'm in a studio in a bamboo forest in my mother's garden ( Manning Road ) and the only light on is this computer screen ... hence the coloured arrangements.
For those in the US, Double Bay is where you'd go to buy things you don't need.
So it's Manning Road, Manly, and not Manning Street?
I thought you must have moved even further up market ... at least as far as your studio is concerned! ; )
But Manly ... a gorgeous place too!!
There is magic there ... I feel it ... I almost see it.
Kate, Your song hits home today. Spent part of yesterday watching your ABC's coverage online. On my little Mac. Read about the young boy, so afraid of water, who asked that his little brother be saved first. Then saw the face of the rescuer who saved the first, but when he tried to return, was too late to save the other. Should we have been allowed to witness such raw grief. And yet, how real, how plungingly real all of this becomes. Young boy there. Little girl here. The power of children to remind us of all that matters most. Spent much time here with all of that yesterday. Does truth always bring us back to the child.
Perhaps that and the beauty of so many beetles and moths. All that, some, at least, of all that anchors us.
Always it will be calming, I think, to picture you, Kim, in your studio.
Anna, it is the children I've cried for today ... tears still in my eyes. I heard children wailing ... wailing with such fear as they faced a wall of water ... I saw it a few times today ... it was a bad day.
Love. I know it seems to be my mantra and one of the only words I use. Sometimes I think it is the only word.
It is the word that all my cherubs have taught me is the key to helping them learn.
Sometimes I think it is the only word.
Love is always a good word.
No matter what some may say ... for it is only when they don't feel it ... don't have it ... they don't believe in it.
Love is something I feel ... strongly.
Love and colours and textures and stories and music and a fire and quiet and calm and dogs always ready to come near. Even beautiful beetles and beautiful moths needing no more light than a screen.
Hope rest will find you both tonight. Love to you.
May love forever be the shining light
The one true light for all to see
For all to hold in their hearts
And for all to aspire to forever for more
Goodnight. Good morning. With love.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6uqBTzfcIk4
Is it the music, do you think ?
My memories of Jobim, Rita, are forever tied to a girl called Sandy, who was tall and tanned and young and lovely and when she passed we all went aahh ... then she turned me on to Astrud Gilberto, and I was lost in love.
One of our jazz maestro's, Don Burrows, went to Brazil to record with Jobim - he took his wife and they had a ball. Every night the music, the restaurants - lots of group photos.
Back in Australia he had the films developed - in every photo Jobim appeared as a fuzzy white mist.
Also we call it Cabbage Tree Bay because of the Cabbage Tree Palms.
It's a Marine Sanctuary, so you get to swim with just about everything including your giant cuttlefish who will be arriving soon. The ones whose colour changes as you pass above them.
Where I'm writing from right now is Manning Road in a suburb 1/2 an hour away, where I grew up, by the Lane Cove River.
I'll be here another couple of months.
Mom moves into her new place on Monday.
Lovely reflections about the positivity of that move from Anna.
May they reverberate in the OS hallways awhile.
I'm all in a dither.
It's like having royalty over - how do I address her ?
Are the toilets clean ?
CYRIL !!
Just blow the place out with a leaf blower.
And I wasn't even here !
I need more notice about this sort of thing Larry. I would have lined up some gardening videos, some Chris Isaaks, a platter, you know.
Maybe a tour of the surrounds, such as they are.
The odd cow.
And Jobim.
aahh ...
Kim-sending positive thoughts for your mom's move.
Kate - hope things are sorting out for your family.
Hope everyone else is doing well; it's been a rough week in so many parts of the world it seems.
I mean ( no, stop now, Kim. it's best )
Larry a day would be kind. I wonder what impressions she took away with her .
You should have seen her comment on D Price's post ... priceless.
Thanks for all this grilled cheese and pork Antoinette - for a joint without a chef we do ok.
I'm bringing a chickpea & mint salad in for IQ because I called her a cow. Also a bit of tofu. Vegetarians seem to enjoy tofu.
or
Maybe if you shape the tofu into the form of a cow?
I thought I'd chop the tofu into cubes, fry it with some curry, and put it on the side next to the chickpea when it's cooled down a bit.
What you could do is reassemble all the bits of a cow on the barb-q, and make it look like it was still alive, but cooked.
You could use a turnip sliced lengthways for the horns, and maybe a few string beans for the tail. Halved chat potatoes for the hooves.
And soup!
And grilled cheese? Italian grilled cheese no less!
Marine Parade ... Fairy Bower ... and the one that so lovingly invites -
A place to reach high,
A place made of sky
Who said : Life isn't long ; but it's very wide ?
To live wild ... even if it were for a short time
Life isn't long; but it's very wide
This one seems to fit? Ian and Jimmy ...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zYVe8F0ZKuw
Hey Larry ... are you dancing too?
Listening again for the umpteenth time!
Will continue to think these next few days especially, Kim, of you, your mom, and your home, there, Manning Road, the home with all its beauty, all its history, all its love, the home that brought us you. I can't help wondering as you share bits of the story here if one day you might write more of life on Manning Road and/or draw not only the garden there but also the house, its history, its love, its whatever else. Your studio. Haven't you said that you built that. As your dad built the house. What incredible magic there. Perhaps such pieces are only for you and perhaps they already live in your journal. Perhaps a special anonymous hug for your mom who has made such a house such a home. Love to you both and love to such a home.
One thought about the house across the road and your Ann. Yesterday I finally began to read her book. I can't quite explain it because I don't yet understand, but in the oddest way, I feel as though I was meant to meet her. I feel already as though I have always known Bara, as though I recognize some of her words, some of her thoughts. Can't explain beyond that. Yet. Maybe it is just one of those things. Synchronicity at the very least, but not just that. Something different here. Something about the part I read yesterday afternoon affected me. Almost as though it calmed me. Whatever that is, it doesn't often happen. Anyway. Special. Part of me wants to push life away and read ravenously. More of me wants to allow all of it time. So there I am. And your drawings. How they help. How they make me wonder how you two worked together all that time ago for you to help her reader see. Anyway, magic here and many thanks. Again.
Kim - I agree. Joan's response to David P ought to win "Comment of the Year!"
The chickpea and mint salad sounds good Kim. And if anyone is interested I came make raw vegan version of my grilled cheese and prosciutto saw. It's amazing what you can make with nuts!
Wait. that didn't sound right...
Antoinette, You are amazing. Quite right. Emotional week all round.
Hot tea. Grilled cheese. Warming, comforting anytime. Warming. Comforting. Often more important than almost anything else.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=srfP2JlH6ls
(now to dig yourself out of the cow thing.. can't I leave you here alone for a couple of hours)
Hey anna1, iq, Jules...truckstop is full today..
Orders a greasy skillet and lots of coffee with real sugar and real cream. Lights up a cigarette and exhales in bliss. Sometimes the imaginary world is so much sweeter than the real one. :D
...and Kate, I'm so glad your daughter's okay...
*nods hello at everyone*
Rita -- am loving the Bossa Novaness you've brought to the truck stop. That has turned comfort into sublime comfort!
Just thinking - a raw vegan grilled cheese -- it is an approximation of course, but quite yummy. An raw bread of kamut (I like it more like a cracker but it is quite good) and macadamia and sunflower seeds make a wonderful cheese like spread. Depending on how orthodox your raw diet, you could add liquid smoke to give the cheese a smoky flavor (Braggs Amino would also work) or grind up the nuts with some veggetarian bacon bits. After dehydrating the cheese a bit, if you're flexible on the raw, you could probably lightly grill the cheese patties on a grill and serve on essen bread and voila!!
Pssst Julie since the TS is in an alternate dimesnion where cigarettes don't smell and arne't harmless, have you got one I can bum? Wow does that sound good with a big cup of coffee with real cream....
life is good
*smiling huge to see so many here today*
Oh this place smells good! Am I too late to order? Same as Julie's?Hold the coffee though, I'll make a nice cup of tea.
Just Thinking, it's so good to see you here too! And thank you, yes, my daughter is fine. She was very, very lucky ...
*remembers how close she came though and thinks of the others who have lost everything*
Ah, Rita ... Tom and Elis ... so joyful! A lovely pick-me-up ... yes cheerful! Thank you!
One day she forgets to hold the leaf, and when Dov reminds her, she's already airborne ( Dov smiles ... )
I do like this food, and the cream in the coffee - I may even roll a cigarette ... 7.30 am here, just the cockatoos & bamboo.
Finally it stopped raining.
Great reporting there Kate.
I'm afraid to ask what a chilli cheese fry is - or what you do with it ( flashes of Jane Ultimatum's poor partner, how he can't even eat a chip right )
Reminding me to go for a browse around, this ( Sunday ) morning ; see what's going on in the wide world of OS.
Have never seen a chili cheese fry either. Joan, do tell. Or Julie.
Ok. Well maybe I can guess.
Kim, I WAS too afraid to ask what a chilli cheese fry is!!!
Gee I missed a feast!! But did love a long walk in the above freezing temps and bright sunshine that was today. Still plenty of ice and snow on the ground but at least it is melting.
Kim, I am so happy to see ya around and hear the news you will be here for a time yet. Watch those bugs. I had some crawl under my keyboard once, get smashed, and the thing never did work right again.
Listening to classic rock streaming over my computer speakers. Hoping all is getting better in Aussieland with the water levels falling in at least some places. Just read the Sydney Herald headlines. Don't look good for many there with the mud and waste piled up everywhere. I hope they find some of the missing still doing okay and alive.
Kate, I loved your poem today. I felt your hand in mine for a moment. Rita, I simply adore you!!
Life is what you make of it. This place is wonderful indeed here.
Poppers? A small juice drink?
Heeheeheehee!
And if were gonna go there, we might as well get an onion flower to go with the fries.
Do you have those down under -- an onion fried in the shape of the flower?
Hi Mission!!! Have you brought the pooch. I got Lola with me. Are IQ and Max around?
Hi Rita!! Poppers!!! Now you're talkin. We now have all the food groups!
Please PLEASE no one give Lola any of those chili cheese fries.
The I'm not asking either!!!
Oh and look; I found some ginger beer!
*whew* Thank goodness Kate- don't know if I could live with the knowledge that you all were deprived of chili cheese fries! The horror! Poppers are jalapenos stuffed with cream cheese (or cheddar) and then breaded and deep fried. Usually served with a dipping sauce like ranch salad dressing.
What kind of bar food is typical down under?
Thanks Kim.
Rita: tequila and poppers. Nice!!!
WE ARE IN A KARMA FREE ZONE!!! So puff away while gulping down a MT. Dew and nibbling on some fries, onions and poppers.
Get two people; put salt on neck, lime in mouth of one, other person licks salt, drinks tequila, then kisses as partner bites lime
Bella is sure a pretty song...
Our Bar food? Chips.. Wedges .. Nachos ... toasted sandwhiches ...burgers.
(I like my tequila straight but I might try some salt)
*moves herself into a better position to watch Rita and Nana* ;>
although, I'll pass on the smell
& do you take the seeds out before you stuff it ?
Julie our barfood tends to just be salted peanuts. Rice crackers if you're lucky.
Why is all your food so hot & spicy ? & why's there cheese all over everything ? How do you make an onion flower ? Do you fry in olive or some other kind of oil like safflower - did Elvis really eat deep-fried banana sandwiches ?
Nan what was the story at Danny O's - all my Belgian efforts and some of yours and a few of Gabby Abby's went missing.
Odd that in all this time there's only been one spam, and not a troll, except for whatsisface. I think the trick is to keep ratings as low as possible ...
Joan, Outback Steakhouse had pretty good food for a chain, especially if you got past the idea it was somehow Australian and just looked at it as a place to get a decent steak and a bloomin' onion.
IQ, get back in here !
Entirely appropriate. How do you make breadcrumbs stick to a pepper ? Do you steam the skin off first or something ?
I came back right in time for the food and drink to be served.
This place is packed tonight.
Where is the gnome and the card game??
Is it any wonder I've never tried one?
I lost control of my bowels on my first day at kindergarten.
There. I said it. Mrs Hopkins gently led me to the bathroom.
There was a minimum of fuss.
Linda Bicknell actually thought it was kinda cool.
I'm still in touch with Linda - she turned into a Librarian.
But you go for it!
And Kim, how is it that you manage to tell and I go ..... "awwww"?
LOL!!!
Oh My!
*It's a problem that the appearance of the letters are way behind my typing*
Kim -- making breaded popppers from scratch requires successive dips of the suffed jalapenos (seeds removed) into a beer batter, either drying them or flash freezing and then using a thinner version of the batter one last time before dipping into bread crumbs. But there are two alternate recipes I prefer:
(1)Go to grocer's freezer, purchase poppers, fry and serve with tequila.
(2)Go to one of several chain restaurants (in Ohio it would be Max and Ermas or Ruby Tuesday), order poppers, bloomin onion and chili cheese fries. Eat with tequila and a Nexium chaser.
He added me as a facebook friend (years later)- which I don't get, since he's unwilling to have a conversation with me, but whatever...
http://allrecipes.com//Recipe/best-ever-jalapeno-poppers/Detail.aspx
But I did just learn that rather than taking the time to bread them, you could just stuff the jalapenos with cheeze and then wrap them in bacon...
And OMG- your dish sound fabulous, way better (dare I say it) than poppers.
Kim's Period Sex OC: Sex. Period.
It's your truckstop but .... oh call me old fashioned if you like but .. well ... tacky!
Julie, if you google popper recipes it the bacon recipe will come up. I mean what isn't better wrapped in bacon?
Which reminds me, I may have another response to Kim's OC....
Ya reckon... David Price is going to pull his fake rating shit again tonight? He used 9 of them last night.
I can't wait for Foody Tuesday. Deep-fried arrangements full of cheese, that put in your ear. I said ear.
And I'll have you know at least 26 people have commented on this post alone - I know ; it's incredible. Given that you're one of them.
I'm ok - the girls were over for a last arvo with their nan in her garden - all good. Just drove A back into the city - 10.15 on a balmy Sinney eve ; tried to find the A & J where they're sitting around a kitchen table - love that one - black & white, shot in an old house up your way. Calming, yes they are.
Aptly called perhaps - What you Wanted!!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4IRukn_YChM
Hi anna - thanks for all your lovely thoughts. Hope you enjoy this A & J - a little more unsettling, but hey.
Well, time for me to go to bed. Work, and more, tomorrow!
Goodnight Anna! Goodnight Kim!
Listening to this A&J piece.
Sometimes I wonder if there simply are no easy questions or answers. Underneath. Some of this is what we rarely speak even to ourselves. Wanting. Wanted. When. Then. Now. For me. For you. For all. And then. Yesterday. Yesteryear. Today. Tomorrow. Will what we want be what we think it will be. And when. And how. Will we know. Will we let ourselves know. Will we let anyone else know. Sometimes, I think, even our journals do not know. But music may know. And maybe art. If we are lucky enough to be able to see and draw. Draw what it is we really see. Write what it is we really see. Sing what it is we really see. That only we can see. And eyes. Somehow, I think, eyes always know.
And sometimes kitchen tables. And always then, a cup of tea. Especially for unsettled times. Settling. Unsettling. How can both be almost one.
Hope love holds for you there today. Know it is there. Perhaps we can hold you as you hold her. And whatever else is there. Will be thinking of you throughout your day. Much love.
"Can I share this dance with you."
Perhaps such sharing
as and when it happens
is some of the best of life,
some of the best of
all our lives.
Dov smiles. Well, he would, wouldn’t he.
Have only just stopped reading. One of those magical moments when you are so immersed in what you have read that as you look up, still you are there even as you are here. I was meant to meet her. I think I was meant to meet her through you. Have no idea. Don’t even ask. Just the way it is, I think. One of the ways we share what, who we love. “It’s the deep life of things, the underneathness of it all.” Today I read these words? Hours after I was thinking of something so much the same. Have no idea. Don’t even ask. Unless of course, you know. Underneath it all, perhaps, somehow, we do know.
In whatever way thoughts manage to connect, thank you. I remember yesterday when I saw your words, “Dov smiles", I wondered if you were Dov. I wonder if Ann wrote this for you. Because of you. That thought makes me smile. She may never have said, but I wonder. First for you and then, underneath that, she wrote it for us all that we might always believe and hope and allow ourselves to know what we know. What magic has begun on Manning Road. What magic will carry on because of all of you. What magic. What hope. What love. Hope all of that carries you today.
little darlin.. well this is a truckstop.......
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CX-wQlTSD9Y
I dare you not to move......
this will be on my blog and all you Zen 2/7 ers can download too.
Luka Bloom will sail this night on from here..http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fmoQKpkfzwI
sorry. try again.
I've got some catching up to do but in the meantime ... make yourself a drink and listen to some music. I'm sure Kim's not too far away.
Rita there you go, with Bob - sorry it took so long, nice choice. I see in the meantime you did your own Luka Bloom post.
anna I'm thinking about what you wrote ( Bara, Dov, Land Behind the World ) - I'll respond more fully by-and-by. I've found myself involved in the new editions somehow - also every evening on Manning Road for the next two months at least I'll be back across that road and trying to work out what happened.
I'll certainly follow up.
Kate, Queensland begins to dry out, and Victoria cops the rest - on it goes. But Brazil ... my god ...
Just for now putting up a song that for me is driving at night through monsoon - a highway song ; young and full of mysteries ;
someone else's truck, strange towns, 24 hours straight - this song and Ray Manzarek's jazz break in the middle, kept me between the white lines.
Kim, you ok?
Kim, you and Bara and Dov and Ann and all you have shared of her have opened a world for me, a world that speaks to me and calls me in. For now I have only the first of the books and for now it is wonderfully fresh. I look forward to reading more. I feel as though I am inside the story and her words. I feel more though I barely know yet what that is. You have given me the key to that world. A key. Perhaps the most important key has always been with you. Hope it will help you, ease you to look at all of this. Will be here to listen as you look.
Glad to listen to the piece for you. Haven't heard that in forever. "...driving at night through monsoon ... young and full of mysteries...." Music and thoughts for the moment of today and yesterday. Thinking of you.
I feel Kim's sadness here tonight. Holding him tight.
I have time for just one more quick cuppa and then bed soon.
You? How are you?
Rita, what are you cooking? I have a lovely picture of you at the moment creating all sorts of homemade goodies to be enjoyed later or perhaps a wonderful dinner ... and oh, the lovely aromas I imagine that are filling your home right now! Mmmm...
Turkey chili? That 's another new one on me!
Have you ever had a turkey burger?
aperfectpotroast?
BTW, the maestro has a new avatar. I think he was getting too many complaints with the old one.
Maybe he is losing his identity.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pdStj4D28vY
Hi Rita! Good morning all! Well ... um ... night for me of course!
I've got a lovely cuppa to enjoy before bed.
Listening to samba Antoinette ... lovely!
Larry, no I've never had a turkey burger! And Rita, even your every-day beef chili is not something we normally don't have here either. I think we must be missing out there!
Hi Rita! Good morning all! Well ... evening for me of course!
I've got a lovely cuppa to enjoy before bed and listening to samba Antoinette. Lovely!
Larry, no I've never tried a turkey burger!
And even your beef chili is something we don't have here as a matter of course either! I think we must be missing out on something there!
t sleepl....
good morning all.......
I think I deleted a comment which I thought was a double-up but may not have been ...
I love that image, anna1liese of the two cups & the kettle on the stove, and the note ... often here ( at Manning Road ) I'd find a note on the kitchen bench that said : Had my cup of tea, thankyou.
( ps. She's settled in and happy - met up with old neighbours, made new friends, enjoys the food and the general pace of the place. And she has her favourite old verandah potplants around her. She said last night she stood outside before she went to bed and "bathed" in the full moonlight. )
Larry I went to perfectpotroast's - much nicer than potroast's, who says he " no longer participates " on OS, despite having a blogsite here. The back-of-the-head avatar struck me as childish, somehow.
I hope it's not something we said.
I haven't been up with the tennis because I've been driving, mainly, and they don't do it on radio here - but I'll make a point of watching on ( our ) Saturday - Nadal v Tomic.
Thanks for keeping the truckstop open everyone - Antoinette I had the same problem embedding your request - I'll try again tomorrow .
:)
:)
is
giv
in
g
me
fits
today
I am so glad you can enjoy your mother being happy. That is truly something. And bathed in moonlight. Gorgeous.
OS has been moody but managed to get the video up on my site.
Anna1liese glad you enjoyed the music, somehow this seems like a perfect day for a morning benediction.
I was chatting with Mission earlier and unfortunately she is not well. She asked if I could pass this on to you:
"Please let the truckstop know I am thinking of all of them today.
Hugs."
She will be back as soon as she is able.
My love and best wishes for you to be as well as possible very soon, Mission.
Julie I couldn't load that, like I couldn't load Antoinette's or even my latest picture of the cockatoo - I think it's to do with my reception here, but not sure - it takes about 2 minutes to download a comment, for example.
One problem though, I think I flushed the gnome.
I agree on the childish nature of the new avatar.
It should be titled "lose face".
Kim -- I hear a lot of people are complaining that OS is very slow lately; it is taking me forever to load pages.
Larry-- so have you kidnapped Cyril? I miss him.
Six inches of snow here and more coming. It might be time to read the manual for the snow blower I bought back in December..... Wish me luck
mundane things got in the way.
='( }
='( } ='( }
=')}
julie, this gnome's missing you. ciao, babe.
Hi Gnome...
Sorry to hear about Mission...
How is the new space?
The new space is still the old space, down by the water waiting - this space is the original space, minus the mother who's in her new space.
This space grows emptier each day with things going into boxes or getting carted away - just me here with some chickens and my friend the cockatoo - but it's a nice kind of empty ; doors and windows open, breezes blowing through.
If you've ever smelled eucalyptus leaves burning - it's like that.
I was following Kim to his blog, to say thank you for his insightful poem of a comment on my blog today. Thanks, Kim. This secret space is safe with me. Not surprised to see Tom Waits. You have excellent taste :-)
I didn't realize the truckstop was a secret, how very enticing to think so. Kim...
maybe some Door tonight.. Friday here Saturday for you. Greers would approve.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4Z9hbf-IRig
while we wait for some friends to drop by...
We have reached the OS capacity, people, I think.
Maybe we can write, but there's to be no more music. Bummer.
Adams St. When my uncle moved, I had a room of my own. In the winter any wind hit my windows first. I don’t remember how many blankets were on my bed or how many layers I wore to bed, but it took hours to fall asleep and all the while you didn’t dare move. Everything was cold. It wasn’t out of the ordinary. It was just the way it was.
But then summer and its heat and, if we were lucky, air. Every window would be open and once my father woke, his bedroom door opened and that allowed air to flow from one porch door to the other. In summer we had eight rooms and two allowed us to be outside. Air and openness and ability to breathe. How many books did I read on either porch. How much daydreaming happened there.
Waiting on a friend. Sharing music one way or another. Sharing thoughts. Sharing moments. The waiting and the sharing are what allow life breezes to blow.
Oddly shifting to Corsica Road. Window screens did not exist in England. It took me moments to love the difference even though you never knew what might walk or fly its way through the lounge door. Most everything flew in and flew right out. A bird flew in once when my writers were there. Then there was the time when the kitty kept meowing and meowing til I had to go and look. One of my writers went out and freed whatever it was the kitty had thought was going to be lunch.
Then the badger. No, never in, but always as the sun would fall, the badger and sometimes his mate appeared just outside the door. Often they just came to see if the birds had left some food, but once in a while, they rested and groomed each other at their ease. I always felt they knew how close I was but didn’t worry because they trusted me. Little mother nature, I thought. So much to see. So much to love. Did the cockatoo somehow bring me here.
Kim I envy you in your shirtsleeves and bare feet, door open and chickens pecking about. To bad about the Stones, we needed to liven up the old truckstop here, put up the chairs and dance or fling around and ask if someone is there yet or something.
OS is gearing up for flame war weekend, hold on tight gang...
Hello friends. Glad to see you all here. Stay warm by the fire.
OK lets just listen to some Doors and grab a cold one......
I've been trying to put more music up, but we may have reached some kind of saturation point - nothing sticks.
Whether that's my server or OS I've no idea.
I'll keep trying - I'll knock out Tom Jobim and see if anything can replace it.
Anyway yes, an afternoon of girls ( young women ? Do I have to call them that yet ? ) playing cards in the garden while dad slaved in a hot kitchen ...
Not really - they just came by and pecked sometimes. I was here, on and off, watching OS go up in flames - entertaining, but I hope no lasting damage ... at this point I don't even know if Nadal beat Tomic. Federer v Robredo just now - I'll put the kettle on.
I was never a huge Pink Floyd fan but went because of the beautiful lyrics and had a listen iq......very nice.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ki9xcDs9jRk
but nothing sticks. Remember the days we could choose from 40 something songs here? I miss all that music... "Those were the days, my friend, we thought they'd never end ..."
Sometimes the music speaks to our own feelings as spoken and then heard here. Sometimes the music goes beyond our own moments and touches the universal. Perhaps the best of art always touches the universal. I feel that with this piece. Perhaps it touches not only a personal place but as well a sense I had just hours ago of needing to walk away from news unfolding in the world. Sometimes hope feels like a candle flame flickering, flickering, needing the most tender and gentle yet ever present hands offering support to help it live. Music like this somehow holds that flame. Music like this seems to hold the world within its arms.
Pictures of young women smiling, memories of those, remind us as well of all that really matters, of life and hope and love. Cherished moments and breaths of life.
Keep coming back to thoughts about the music here - all that there has been. Remembered words of yours, Kim, that many of the links are here. Began to play with this yesterday. Funny how many hours can pass. Have spent a fair bit of time here again today and am struck once more by the care that has accompanied the choosing of each piece, the way the music illuminates the moments shared, feelings of the day. In my way, I am making a list of pieces that have filled the library here. It is as though I am retracing steps of a journey made with others alongside, listening to conversations as they happened and to music as it was shared. Guess I decided I could miss what was or I could attempt a patchwork quilt. A work in progress still and maybe a work just for me, but a compiling and a gathering of wisdom, insight, compassion, love of artist or genre or style. Some pieces are missing and some pieces I may not get quite right, but I feel as though I am compiling a treasure chest and all of the contents are made of gold.
“Sometimes hope feels like a candle flame flickering, flickering, needing the most tender and gentle yet ever present hands offering support to help it live. Music like this somehow holds that flame. Music like this seems to hold the world within its arms.” Perhaps I needed yesterday's piece to make me begin to think at all.
And then music - those healing strings.
Friends, familiar voices and a cosy atmosphere - I'm glad we could all be here to share. Some of it sad but some of it burst out laughing too.
And we're still here, listening.
Dance Me to the End of Love is glorious, isn't it ? Glad you caught it.
Not such an auspicious day for many, including the locals, at the time, but 223 years later many are grateful.
Been a wild ride.
Yes, let's dance.
I found a copy of Arabian Nights with illustrations by Edmund Dulac. I'd not ever heard of him before. This will be a good way to start. I am already drawn in by his work. I wonder if I took illustrations in children's books for granted before I met you. I don't think so, but now I am more aware of how equally the illustrations tell the story - especially for people like me who don’t see pictures on their own. I keep thinking of Dickens and his illustrator, Phiz. Dickens chose him because, I think, he could describe what he saw and Phiz could simply make it appear exactly as Dickens could see it in his mind. Their ability to do this has always stunned me and I suppose it is why I keep wondering about how you are able to do all that you do and why I love reading your thoughts whenever you write about this work that is such a part of you.
Finally read about the founding of Narnia this week. Maybe some books come to you at a perfect time. Also, thanks for your words last night.
Larry, Hmmm. How did you think of that?
Rita, Thinking of you and all of yours. Have heard of surprise snow this morning now mixing with what they thought would start to fall tonight. Heavy and wet snow is what they are saying. Hope everyone is safe and warm.
I think I have the video problem figured out.
When you get the "embed code"
Look right below and you will see 3 boxes. The bottom box says;
"Use old embeded code"
Click on that box... It should work now
Personally I don't think Dickens needed an illustrator but then, I'm not a publisher.
Larry you're a genius. I'll never ask you to clean the bathrooms again ! In fact, help yourself to a cup of coffee. No, really.
Thanks - what's a truckstop without a neon sign, a dog on the verandah, and music. You have as many cups of coffee as you feel like, go on.
Now Larry's fixed the jukebox, any requests ?
Julie, Just read The Magician's Nephew. All the beginning pieces are there.
Kim, I agree about Dickens.
Rita, I hope you are not caught up in all the snow.
Music playing. Magic!
anna1: horrid winter stuff here.. snow, sleet, rain, now ice.
Ok now though. Thanks for thinking of me..
Good to see the music back in the road house.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A6lXAGli3JU
wish I had on some flyin shoes..
maybe the Gnome has a snow blower, they are good with those kinds of things.
As I listen to these pieces, particularly to Leonard and Sinead, I find myself reconnected to the moment Sunday night when I could barely read another word. Palestine Papers had caught my eye and so I looked. The Guardian is a source I trust and when I began to read, I reacted first in shock. Why is it this that calls my name. Days later with initial shock out of the way and as I attempt to understand the workings of diplomacy when partners want such opposite things, I begin to know why. I have loved. So have we all here.
I have loved. I have allowed time and space. And I have opened a door. Through the words of a friend who once taught me, I have met those he has met in what once was Palestine and I love them for what they are hoping to achieve through peace. I love him because he tries and because he loves. Through Kim’s words, I have ever so slightly met those who helped his dad there so many years ago. I love the sharing of these words as I love the sharing of those hearts. Through my work with international students, I have offered only time, safe space and listening to all who came and sat or walked with me. I see their faces and hear their words. I recall words written for me in journals and papers I assigned in whatever writing class they needed from me.
Words from all of them spoke of love and passion and honour and fear, of wanting and hoping. They spoke through times of peace and they spoke through times of war. They spoke of most every issue that life presents. How often did they need to teach me first of their own country’s culture or customs or family beliefs or expectations of religion or acceptance of caste. One needed to teach me of his country’s law so that I could better hear exactly what he faced at home, so that I could better hear the breaking of his heart. Stellaa writes of Egypt and Sarwat sits with me. nana and Kim speak of China and I am sitting with our Nana from Thailand who comes with Esther, from Hong Kong, who suddenly, after Tiananman Square, is afraid to accept who she is, afraid to face her journey home. I read of Lebanon and see Hala who has only just arrived and already is reciting her poems of the ravages of war. Her heart so craved the peace she once had known. So many others from so many countries. So many differences, so many commonalities.
Soundbites, momentary clips, faster, faster, faster now. If I spin my words this way, can I convince you that this is what I mean. If I spin the whole world fast enough, will every one simply please fall off. Children first, if you please. Not my students needing such haste. News. Here. Is it only ours or is it all of ours. When did pausing for time and hope and dreams become something to be disallowed.
Time. To think, to read, to begin to understand, to begin to think about who walks upon the land and breathes and loves and sows the land and hopes, so hopes to be able to see some dreams come true. Just now I read words from the BBC reporter in Egypt, Jon Leyne: “Egyptians will tell you that this country needs a dream, a vision. They had a dream under President Nasser, they had a dream under President Sadat, they had a dream under the pharaohs.” I would only add that the world needs dreams. Isn’t this part of what my students taught me. Dreams. Time to listen, to allow someone else to speak of dreams and heart and love. Time, safe space, listening: why are these so hard to find, so hard to give. If we could populate the world with truck stops just like this, world peace would no longer be such a long way away. Dreams could be spoken and those dreams would, at least, be heard.
Thinking of Kim’s words the other night. “From here on in, it’s about the planet.”
We are all one. When do we begin to care as one.
You can be sure he is still spying under another name.
A sad day on OS , for sure.
Hello all : )
I couldn't see it at work.
Kim, have to look up that reference, (Peter Green) ..
it's Friday night in the road house.. iq left a message today.. lets get it going
You sound frustrated. Crappy day at work, too, or just getting there?
Kim, nice video!
Funny you picked that up, been down in the city all week, staying with my mother, my Dad's ill and I am a bit ragged.. my excuse to ramp things up a bit. 12hr shift today at work.. so, till I can get back home, I am in limbo in a way. Blues sound good tonight. You?
When will you be going back home?
Laugh, no, I know, you're a peaceful type, too- on here at least. I don't think I've ever seen you be like "aiighhghgh, stfu!!" before today. Course, being female and a doctor, you are probably much more fierce in person (or at least in will). You'd have to be. I'm not in a hospital currently, but we were in them for clinicals.... political tsunamis going on 24/7...well, 7-3 anyway. I really do want to be in a psych facility, but am not looking forward to watching or being hit by the hierarchical bs.
You have a plan for this weekend? or just kicking back and enjoying the quiet and country?
Hope your dad's doing ok.
the weekend.. get my car out of the snow mound and lay in front of the fire in my own house. Also take a long bath.. exciting huh?
your plan sounds luxurious!! fire, baths, both wonderful things....digging out the car, not so much
where have you been iq?
.http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FQrhA6QtWOM
incredible guitar work.... like the stripped down performance too
And we have music back! YAY!!! Larry, you're a gem!
Rita, I'm sorry to hear your dad hasn't been well. I hope he is better soon. And the weather ... goodness! it makes life difficult sometimes ... hopefully that will improve soon too.
Nice to find moments that make you smile.
It's always so moving to witness all that pent-up emotion released at the end of a match, especially by the winner - tears of relief, joy, gratitude - when they're playing, you don't realise how much they're praying.
Tonight's match will be fascinating, minus Roger & Rafael.
( Go Andy ! )
Have been thinking about you these last few hours. Was talking with my friend in England, the one whose son lives in Sydney. One thing led to another and I mentioned that the part of Australia that I have the best sense of is Manly, especially the view from your window. Manly? I know Manly! Her son and his wife first lived in Manly. My friend stayed with them there and so I have heard about it and never knew. They were married on a beach nearby, Shelly Bay. I have seen so many pictures of their wedding. The whole idea of being married right by the sea was pure magic for me and the fact that it was someone I knew, well, magic and fantasy all in one. Now, I guess they live about an hour south of Sydney on the edge of a national park. I think they feel as though they live on the edge of a forest.
She told me she would send a picture of Manly and what she sent was a pic of her daughter-in-law and granddaughter sitting on an enormous rock on the water's edge looking out at the Manly ferry heading to Sydney. Seriously. So. How ridiculously small is the world sometimes. Looking at your picture from your window and can't quite make sense of the direction that the ferry takes but love that she sent it so I could see. Wishing for a bit of luck tonight!
A beautiful place to be married ( though I took these on a rainy day, just as beautiful ). The bay is called Cabbage Tree Bay.
Where the ferries come in is behind me, on the harbourside.
Small world indeed.
I had the names confused. She also mentioned Cabbage Tree Bay. Honestly, I fell in love with all of it when I saw all the pictures with her. You are right, even in the rain, it is beautiful.
"The headland holds a beach inside." What an image that holds for me now. Can feel the mist of it as I write the words. I love seeing all of this. Thanks, Kim.
how 'bout some johnny lang for us?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=APbMQR18tqY
*mutters a little softly into his beard*
*sets down his knapsack, rummages for a number 2 pencil*
*scrawls on table the following: there is no time. i thought i'd drop by. even the dog's not here. cyril*
*heaves his knapsack onto one shoulder*
*heads for back door and the open road*
*his chopper purring underneath him, he steadies for the next curve*
i'll be back, truckstoppers!
mundanity be damned!
ar!
Kim, Hours pass and finally pieces are coming together more clearly. Now I see where the ferry comes in and all of this makes better sense. I can't quite tell if you can actually see the beach from the side of your window, but I am thinking that as they stood right by the water that night, they could have looked straight over to you. Until now, I simply knew they were married on the beach. Now I can see it and know exactly where they all were. On the beach is magic enough, but as I see it now, the water goes on and on. I wish I could have been there then, but now I can hold it as if I'd been there. I have loved your view from the first time I saw it, but now it seems even more perfect. Lucky, lucky you. Thanks for sharing what you see. I am so trying not to turn completely green.
About six hours now til the men's final. Hopefully I'll wake up!
Still, Novak has a lovely smile ...
We'll just have to say, "Good old Andy."
I still hope and I still believe.
Nice to know you were watching too.
Stopped breathing here for a while.
Sigh.
Thanks for that.
They are walking arm in arm away from the photographer and toward the water and as she looks up, she is looking right across at you. He, of course, is looking at her. The sun is setting just behind your building.
I remember all the stories and one was about the walk to and from the beach. My friend and our one time boss who has been there for her and her son all these many years stayed in an apartment quite near you. All of this makes me smile. For all the planning we try to do, so much is simply a kind of synchronicity. This friend and I have held each other through some turbulent times however close or far away we've been. She always knows I will/can hear her and I know always that she will/can hear me. Connecting through time and space. Thank God for connections like these. I think we know that here.
Heard this little girl with a big voice in Philly the other day, she has a Mazzie Star sound on some other songs but I liked this one, Elliott Smith can be a downer....
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R34sYVeCG2k
You rest, anna1liese, We'll all catch up soon.
Kim, can I change my request to: Primitive Radio Gods - Standing Outside A Broken Phonebooth With Money In My Hands
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oJFtnuc5Y1g&feature=list_related&playnext=1&list=MLGxdCwVVULXcGKETi08MXFf2cJjUg3_rd
the video is kinda crappy, but it's what i could find
Thank you anna for warm thoughts. Beautiful lady ... lways keeping us in mind. You are very special. Thank you.
Kim, do you know anyone who may be affected by Yasi in Queensland?
(I forget I need to pay more attention here ... no synchronisation between keyboard and appearance on screen!)
How do we soothe Mother Nature? She is not happy.
To bed then. Rest. We'll keep watch now.
Stay warm by the fire, friend. See you tomorrow.
My prayers and thoughts are indeed with my Qld neighbours tonight.
I will watch and wait and hope with you, Anna.
I hope you're proud of what you did to the good people of Northern Queensland.
The second link I put up is for 24 hour ABC News from Australia. (video and audio)
I know Caroline Forsyth put one up, but it wasn't for dummies.
Thanks Larry, but you've still got some explaining to do. About '06.
Loving the new music, and the late-night trans-pacific craic.
if you could..
pull down the chairs... it may be a long night
Nice song, Rita.
We may be visited by 28 Spirits. Be nice, everyone.
Larry, Thanks again. Listened to the radio link for hours through the night until I managed to freeze something. Back again now.
Kim, Thinking of you.
Have been watching news online for days now it seems. Paying some attention to US coverage but wish everyone could balance it with coverage from the BBC. Somehow if John Simpson has an observation to add, I want to hear his voice. Also glad to be hearing Australian voices speak of all that is happening there. So much happening everywhere. So many people fearful yet hoping all at once. Perhaps this is always the way life is, but moments, days like these connect the people of the world as little else does.
Connecting. Here. More important than most anything else. Always. Thinking of us all.
She calls you Kevin Gumble.
Thinking of you all and hoping you're all well, safe, warm and dry.
Rita, listening to Amos now ... lovely ... I want to drift away and listen to him for hours ... but alas I am at work!
The time? 8:50am here .. time to work but always time for friends.
Take care. Love you all.
I hope all is well for all you Aussies out there. My prayers are will you and yours truly. Please let me know you are all okay and well.
What I looked at makes me sick. I have never seen such damage. Please please be well out there. I care more than you might know dears.
Extraordinary. Down to plenty of notice and solid preparation due to past experience ie. L(cough)arry.
Mission I'm sorry it's slow to load - we really should revisit the Tavern-by-the-Sea idea. This macbook has a small blue slide on the right that shoots to the bottom in an instant, so I haven't noticed it myself.
But really, we could open up in a new venue and start over.
The old truckstop will stay, of course.
But who would feed Vinnie ?
Maybe Vinnie could go with us. Vinnie's Tavern.
: (
But, yes, if not for the early notice, planning, solid prep and ... um ... Larry ... it could have been so much worse.
But...I think we should stay put. If you keep the amount of videos below 12, there shouldn't be a problem loading the page.
... ah, whose name is that, there on the lease, guarantor ?
Lawrence J Worthington III ?
By all means, let's keep the video count down - easy if they keep turning over - and if we ever did have to move, what's to keep the Truckstop standing, as it has for three months now ?
Might get a little windblown, a few weeds, but I can't see it going anywhere.
Happens to us all. Eventually.
( Stay away from that nasty Max and the IQ human )
Sure you can have another biscuit. Haven't they been feeding you ? Little one ! You just climb up onto daddy's lap and forget about those nasty people. That's right. I know, snoockums. It's awful, isn't it ?
Just us now, isn't it.
Just the three of us.
Much better, in the long run.
Some people just don't understand about dogs, but we do, don't we ?
Bed here ; waking there. Good day for you, I'm hoping.
Good morning everyone else!
I hate change as much as the next ... Umm ... but maybe change is good too?
Just sayin' ...
Playin' devil's advocate...
Couldn't think of better company, either.
( Good boy, Vin. 'assaway Max - who's your daddy ? )
snuffle sngghhhh ... zzzz...
Vin' and Max look very comfy there, Kim ... they sure do like you! ; )
And Sacrifice. It has almost become a part of me.
So has this. And Vin and Max. And all of us.
Sleep well, you two.
I do like the idea of us all growing old here on this porch. That is a great one. And I do love the picture of this truckstop. It rocks.
I cannot say how much the fact that one died from all this weather there. It brings a big sigh of relief.
About the 1 death in Q - tragic, and preventable. He died because he spent the night in a sealed room with his generator running.
I heard about the generator being the cause of his death just yesterday afternoon Kim ... yes, tragic and preventable.
Stay warm and dry friends ... thinking of you all.
Dear Proprietor: I have a bit of change I found under the cushions with Art. I need a song tonight. Today's conversation at Padraig 's merged art and music, translations and most of all poetry. Peter Gabriel claims Anne Sexton as a muse to this song, I am not surprised as I have always been drawn to the dreamy sadness here as I am to her darkness. There are lines in this tonight I need to hear. If possible.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NX7zIypE2FE
anna1liese,
it is your place.
Quiet thoughts in the night-time.
Always read, heard, shared. When it gets too quiet,
then that's why there's music.
Thanks, Rita.
Loving mellow here.
And Nana's here! Hi!
Lovely music, Rita.
Listening now.
Kim. Glad to hear your voice.
Always.
Yes, much love here. As always. Isn't it wonderful!
Kate, IQ, Anna, hi all!
Sleep tight.
And you too, Kim.
Thinking.
Spent some time in a certain shack yesterday.
Helped.
Just now thinking of words and poets and all that means.
And books. Lots of books. Those that write them.
And those who might.
I go back there myself, sometimes. For the falafel ;-)
Sorry a bit about this. Have been thinking for a while.
Thinking of Anne Sexton. Somewhere here I have a book about her. Just found it - the biography by Diane Wood Cameron. The price is in dollars so I must have bought it here after I came back. It doesn’t feel as though I ever read it. It would open differently. Was I meant to read it now.
I first read about her in England, where I read about Sylvia Plath. I suppose I knew their names, had read some of their work and while roaming through Seaford’s library found treasure I knew I wanted to read. The book I most loved about Sylvia Plath and her letters came from this library. They stand out because I am not good with library books. I don’t always remember to bring them back.
I took a poetry writing class at Emmanuel. I used to write poems in my mind as I filed ledgers or pulled Blue Cross payments on Saturdays at the hospital. When I had a break or needed to get new files, I would write the lines down. Oh to have that memory now.
Was it that class or was it with Sr Kathleen Deirdre that we read Robert Lowell. How many contemporary New England poets had spent time in McLean Hospital. Depression, madness, genius. Bloomsbury walks into the frame though that would be the next summer in Oxford. How many classes did I fit in that last semester, my total Dickens semester spent locked for hours with Jerry Bernhard who made me find my very best. Would anyone else have driven me so hard. Dickens and Bernhard - what a pair of writing teachers. Today, the 7th, is Dickens’ birthday. I know. Only I would know that. 1812. 199 today.
I didn’t seek these poets out because they were New Englanders, but I begin to think that there is something about New England souls, souls at least that are drawn to words. What is it that brings us. What is it that calls our names. Is it always home, what was there, what was not. Is it always a need to breathe. To hold. To be held. Darkness and sombreness seem often to be there. Is it the fog, the mist, the cloud, the vastness of the sea. Is it England. Am I looking down at Tintern Abbey. Am I trying to look across to France. Am I looking out at a headland through someone else’s window. Is it that we find these comforting. Is it that these are home. I know it is why the sea, the ocean, the blessing of the mist live within me wherever I happen to be.
I listen to the lyrics of Mercy Street and while I hear Anne’s thoughts, I also hear Sylvia’s. Bouncing here, I know. So many thoughts want all the same space.
So books. I am thinking now, forgive me, of 30 books.
One way or another, all of my Dickens books came back to me. I knew they were there, but I couldn’t read them. I could barely look at them. It was as though they had nothing to do with me because they were too caught up in the way I met the one I left. Only I saw the wall, but the wall was there.
Whenever I have had a chance, I can’t help but teach Dickens. I don’t even need to think. Words just come. But it has taken a long time for me to love Dickens again, to let him in or near. Until I read Bard’s poem, I had locked that door, but as I read I could not keep it from swinging wide and returning to its proper place. Dickens and Bard and you and Ann have begun to open other doors for me that I can’t yet fathom. I am trying to trust but I have no idea of where I am or what I might possibly find. Is it possible that an idea I first had at 20 might lead me somewhere now.
It may be impossible to look at those books for a while. Just try not to forget that they depend just as much on your drawings, on your vision, on your heart as they depend on Anna’s words. She writes beautifully. You draw beautifully. You understand the heart of the child, the truth of the child, the love of the child. All of this comes from you. Perhaps it comes as well from time spent with Ann and what you learned of childhood from her. If you still need to finish those last two books, can you somehow draw from the energy of the children who will love the gift you give them. Perhaps as you draw, keep on a separate shelf thoughts and hopes of all you will do for you. Art draws you, calls you, comes from so deep within you. Everything about you sees it. The pictures in your last piece - you see the precision of the beauty that so many others would miss.
You wrote yesterday of Anna that she is/was “the” writer. I understand what you meant but try and understand me. She is “a” writer, a wonderfully talented writer, a writer who chooses her words with care.
Whether you like it or not, you too are “a” writer. You are a wonderfully talented writer and you too choose your words with care. You may choose them differently. You may approach the entire task differently. That doesn’t matter. You write in such a way as to make people listen, as to make people want to come and read and then think and then share with you what comes to mind from their reading of your words. Is that not a gift.
You see life in a way that only you can see and then you write of it in ways that speak so eloquently, that engage your reader and leave him/her wanting more. Did someone somewhere make you think you are not a writer. If so, then he/she was/is wrong. How long have you kept a journal. What treasure is there. Do you only write or only draw or do you mix and match and do you already have a book of your own right there. You have the makings of a book in all your pieces here. You have what could be the germs of books in so many of your ideas here. Of course this may not call to you at all, but what if it does. It doesn’t really matter what I think. It matters what you think and what you feel and what you really want to do. It may be that words need to wait while you sketch or draw or paint. What you feel and what you want are what matter now.
If someone drops in and can’t make sense of this, I am sorry but really this is meant mostly for you.
So much wrenches and aches. Some of it always will. But some hearts will love whether it suits the owner of the heart or not. These hearts don’t know how not to love. Some hearts can still see the sky and feel the breeze and allow all of the sun’s warmth in. Some can see and feel the love and smiles in a daughter’s eyes, in a mother’s words. All of these may not be the one love, but still they are love. When love can simply be, love can simply grow. I think.
Mine may not be the best gauge, but it is a gauge. Perhaps at very least a bit of food for thought.
Easy to see the connection to Plath from Sexton. I was draw to these poets as a younger woman, I find them difficult to read now, somehow. The dark and pathos. I also read some of Sexton's daughter's book, she also tried suicide, it was beautifully written but it took away somehow from the poetry. Knowing the pain so intimately that she caused. I don't always want to know, I love the poems in and of them selves. Just as I find writers workshops tedious, all the talk and angst. Happy Dicken's Birthday anna1... your words carry across the snow today.
I do think about the process of writing because I have taught it and if you look at most any text, it is written as though there is only one way, one formula to follow. That is nonsense. I always tried to help my students (almost whispering here!) think of themselves as writers so that they could learn their own process. The one that works for you is the one you need. The rest is really nonsense once you can listen to whatever it is that helps you.
Off you go. Breathe. Hope you can relax for a while.
Hi Kate, hi IQ, 29, you lovely ( what did greenheron call us ? )
I love this guy, and he knows his food, and he knows his wine, but there are sibling limits.
Thinking about your words from yesterday. Did Dickens go to workshops. Did Eliot or Frost. Or Emily - either one. Or Virginia. Did Shakespeare for that matter. They read and read and read some more. Then they thought and observed and began to play. Sometimes they found someone to publish their words. Sometimes they published themselves. Most importantly they played with words until words worked and then when people read, they lost themselves in the power of words, the communicativeness of words, the understanding of life they found there, the sense of kindred spirits, of being less alone. True of music as well. For some, perhaps, of art. Kim would have to speak to that. For art, you need to be able to see in what to me is a magical way. Still, I think, if you are lucky, you begin by playing.
How much do you bring to the words you write. How much power do you convey. Adjectives, labels often limit rather than liberate. In the end what do they mean. Really. How many artists have starved to do the work they need to do. Some of us do what we do because it calls to us and in our own ways, we respond. We can not ignore the call.
You capture the world, as you see it and feel it and know it, in your words, and as you do and as you share, you allow us to come along. I hope you already know this, but just in case, hope you can hear it.
For some reason, I am seeing those scenes of Virginia in The Hours when she seems to float away in search of just the perfect word or to see the way the character will grow. We float. We think. We listen. We float. We take pen or pencil or keyboard in hand and we begin to play until we begin to see or the piece begins to show itself. This is the magic of it all. At least this is what I think.
Am I the only one who weeps as well as smiles when here.
Perhaps I sit with Vinny on the veranda today, it's summer and hot in the Down Under, I like that time of year best. Some crickets, watching for large spiders and lorikeets. See if anyone comes down the road.
Morning Rita. Can't seem, don't really want to take myself away from the music here, all that is here, I guess. Just listening to Mercy Street and looking at Kim's beach. Journal at hand here. Tea. Knowing Vinny is here sometimes reminds me to breathe. Have been lost in thought here for a while. Since Jacqueline returned. I love to listen and am so moved by her eyes.
Thinking of you and the lyrics you mentioned the other day. I think they speak to all of us. Summer. Yes. I was born in summer. It always calls to me.
Go on then. Drift away. I’ll pretend that you are listening to me. Maybe my voice will be your lullaby. I would love that. Thinking of love. Don’t need a certain time to think of love. It is what allows me to breathe. You know that though or you’d not relax so fully or sleep so well.
Silence. As long as my world is at peace, it has always been one of my favorite things. Here I can speak and read without making any sound. I can hold words here and think about them. Silence and time. I’m not good at quick. I am better at silence and time. No, don’t want to go there right now. Want to come back to love.
Do you know, Vinny, that sometimes you are a companion and sometimes you are a bridge. You give us a warmth round which we can gather in, a breathing warmth, a calming warmth. You give us an excuse for hands to brush against each other reminding us of each other’s presence here, of connections that have come to matter. Do you hear us when we speak of hands and arms, of being there and holding. You do, don’t you. You hear them even when they are not spoken. You hear the words underneath the words.
We may all live in separate worlds whether we sometimes wish we did or not. We also live here in a together world. Inside, by the fire, sometimes with Max, almost always with a cup of tea, perhaps a biscuit and yes, of course, always there is a biscuit for you. I see you smiling in your sleep. How I do love that.
Once more to love. Do you listen, Vinny, as we listen to the music here. Do you hear our breathing sometimes change. Do you hear whatever it is we hear even if what we hear shifts course a bit from time to time. That is what music does sometimes, especially, if, as here, it is chosen and shared so carefully. We call this place by many names, but there is one more word not on the sign. It doesn’t need to be there. We know it so well. It simply is. Love.
Just this once or at least this once, a pause in time and space, let hands and arms and hearts that hold here reach out, touch and be felt. Let all the holding be real. May the quiet dancing be the dancing of love, may separate worlds for once be one, may the giving of hearts be welcomed and received and for the moment at least of pause be returned. May the prism of a certain face recently returned here and then shown once more, a beacon of love lived so beautifully if so briefly, that speaks so fully to all our lives, all the moments, all the loved ones of all our lives, be the spark that keeps hearts here, souls here, laughing loving aching being, even if only to ease us back into life. Pause or not, always or not, this is the deepest of deep, the most real of real. This is, simply, what is. I think. Here.
One thing about words, Vinny. You can say them as you mean them, but once you send them off, you can only offer them and hope that others will find something of what you mean. Still here, Vinny. Still here.
I may not be answering much but I'm reading,
and hearing
Thinking of teapots and butterfly wings. And moons and beaches and shingle and sand.
I'm glad we met.
Anna1liese I'm putting up a "black" Valentine's for Rita - please don't think I'm making fun of her or anything - just my sometimes dodgy sense of humour, is all.
ps. I wrote it for 9/11 last year, which makes it even dodgier,
but I'm here to say,
that I really don't care how others interpret what I do
except maybe you
which is why I'm letting you know.
pps. anna1liese : happy valentine's
from a secret admirer.
Sometimes I worry til one of you tells me that you are playing.
Did she tell you or does it show.
I’m glad too.
I think I tried to write a kind of valentine yesterday.
I tried to whisper it at least. Vinny might have slept straight through.
On the day itself then, happy valentine’s day, Kim
from a not quite so secret admirer.
Smiling here.
Lovely smiles.
Have missed you, iq. Was thinking of Max the other day.
Kim, Rita, you two. You two.
You amaze me always, both of you.
A few smiles from me when I heard of the war Rita and Kim. I know I shouldn't smile but honestly I couldn't help myself!
Time to kiss and make up, eh?
Happy Valentine's Day all!
“Black” valentine. Thinking of words from last night. Grateful for words from last night. As the piece is down now, I hope you won’t mind if I share thoughts here. I am only just thinking of them. As soon as I saw your drawing overnight, I fell in love with it all over again. As I read your words, they spoke to me afresh. Should someone go back and look at the piece, Reading to the moon, posted in September, I think this will make sense.
Sometimes, as we write, we know where words will lead us. Sometimes all we can do is follow. I remember, in September, being so glad I had gone back to look at this piece once more because each time I looked, words had grown and the picture spoke differently. Stanza by stanza the story moved until harsh reality became clear. It almost made me stumble as I read, but what made me stumble allowed it to speak so poignantly to a world which has become ours.
Sometimes, I think, life is simply hard to comprehend. It changes and it turns and sometimes becomes more than we want it to be or more than we can fathom. Sometimes, I think, we can only take things in a layer at a time. I am thinking of an onion skin and the peeling of it. Watching the evolution of the story ... (which piece am I talking about. I recognize my own words written about another of your pieces but maybe there is something telling here. Stay with me.) For those who returned to Reading to the moon, you allowed us to follow the creating of the piece. Very rarely do we witness that.
I am thinking of time. For those of us who came back as you continued to create, there was time to process, time to follow where you led. Even then you managed to catch us up in the moment for we rarely see such a moment through that lens. It is almost too hard to bear but only because it is excruciatingly real, a real we we don’t want to be real. For the young girl who thought she held a note so precious, the moment still lives and for the reader/viewer that is part of the final beam.
I don’t know that I went back once more to see the very last lines. They so complete the scene.
As I come to this piece again, I know who the writing teacher should be. Could be, at the very least. I know of nothing else that matches this. I am in utter awe. It speaks to me as little else does. If I had never met you before and had no other reference, these would be my thoughts.
Reading to the moon. I remember going back to read it once more on September 11th because even before I read it again that day, I knew it said everything of what that day has come to mean, perhaps even more now after all this time.
I am not always good at fun and games. I do sometimes need to be told. But words, art. At least sometimes I understand them and this piece is, I think, a nonpareil.
Speaking of art, I can’t help thinking, how often do I hear you ask Ablonde if you will paint again. You have, with this, painted not that many months ago. Watercolour. Breathtaking. I remember when I first saw it, I wanted to live inside this room. Who would not want to live with this - all of it, just as it is. Oh, sometimes I wish you would just talk with me. Or with someone. I might not be the best listener for this. Even if you were just thinking out loud to see where thoughts would lead. I know sometimes it is hard to see ahead and sometimes it is hard to know what we really want. Greenheron mentioned two colours and it seems that and a sheet of A4 paper and watercolours and I suspect time began to work for you. I loved listening to you talk about the way it was all happening in the comments there. I think I heard you smiling. That tells me something.
I am thinking out loud here and my timing may be totally out of place. You have far more than enough on your plate already. I am not trying to add more. Maybe it has something to do with shifting lenses. Seeing this piece again last night just reminded me of its power - especially with the very last lines.
And the painting ... the painting makes me smile and cry and wonder almost all at the same time. I doubt I will ever tire of looking at it.
Perhaps it was not in the way you intended, but I think you shared a powerful valentine gift last night. A second gift for me, at least.
Rita? Kim? Hey now. What happened to your Dark Valentine pieces? I was going to link them in my follow-up post and they're gone ... (sad emoticon)
“One thing about words, Vinny. You can say them as you mean them, but once you send them off, you can only offer them and hope that others will find something of what you mean. Still here, Vinny. Still here.”
Sometimes when we are not in the same room or typing on the same keyboard, it’s possible to hear words differently. Most always they are sent with the best intentions but sometimes when I hear up, you may hear down. I meant up. Honestly. I meant to tickle your ear, Vinny, not hurt it. If you could look across and see my eyes, then you would know. I promise. Honestly, I promise.
So. Safe and calm and holding here. There is always more room beside Vinny.
Meanwhile he and I will make more tea. In a teapot here with butterfly wings. Very quietly I’ll be reading Prince Caspian to him. I expect he’ll fall asleep pretty easily. Lullaby voice. Quiet. Calm. Restful.
Someone told me once that the magic never ends. Unless we let it.
Still here, everyone. Still here.
Is all okay?
then that's why there's music.
If you read this Good morning!!!
setting suns, rising moons
stars beginning to sparkle
skies beginning to sing
Thinking of threads and bobbins and memories of life
rooms well loved, garden tended, memories shared, memories held
Thinking of apple light, the only light in a studio
Thinking, musing, remembering, moving
clearing, cleaning, knowing
staying
caring, loving
leaving
Thinking of these and oh so many other things
Evening of the 17th here. Dark skies, white birds, quiet inside.
Thanks Anna, for your lovely words about Reading to the Moon, and looking after Vinny. And this beautiful poem.
What you write here would make a post of its own - I hope you'll put a selection up on your blog ( Notes from a Truckstop ... )
Sorry, Rita, about Dark Valentine - it must be a bigger deal in the US than here, for so many people to have posted about it ; for it to be made a Holiday ; for such an aftermath on OS.
I misread the instructions - I thought it was supposed to be Worst Valentine's - I took it too far ; I apologise.
To IQ, Antoinette, Kate - I hope your day was happier.
Lonely in this little place - heading back to the garden as soon as I can. Still much sorting to do, but the house is empty for inspections, so I have to be careful Not To Make A Mess while I empty the remaining cupboards.
Kim, Reading your words, as now, most always I hear gentleness.
Gentleness, concern and generosity. I hope somehow that all of this, all of these find their way back to you. Words like yours, especially here, are words that would make such things as unfelt artificial valentines obsolete. Words like yours, especially here, are words that allow hearts to be whole. I think. I feel. One knows when words and thoughts are real.
So many of us are caught in rollercoasters, whirlwinds of emotions, and sometimes calm picks itself up and runs away. Maybe these are times when those who are close reach out and try to maintain safe. Rollercoasters run their course and whirlwinds weaken. Sometimes those are the moments when we hardly know what we need. Loving arms and hearts that hold may be the best help then. I hope. Vinny is nudging, nodding.
Thinking of you, your little place, your family house, your mom’s garden and all that it has held, still holds, your studio. Wish there were a way that we could hold the bag or the box to help you “Not To Make A Mess” as you finish your task. Always, at least, we will be here, to rub a back or ease a shoulder, to offer silence or to listen if only to reverie. Or simply to allow music its ability to heal.
Moments in the garden. Possible paintings to come. Paintings to fill a heart, share a heart, speak a heart. Paintings to allow tomorrows as they speak of love and life.
I wish somehow that we could make you a gift of all you love there. Perhaps the gift has already been wrapped and is already held exactly where it needs to be.
Suddenly smiling and wondering if I am hearing David’s voice of guidance as you work on these last cupboards. Rest now. Hope waves will be gentle for you tonight.
Quiet. Dreams of wonder. Dreams of peace. Glad if someone will find them now.
Rita, Kim ... Valentines was dark and fun. No mind jt went a little awry. I think, Kim, it is much more of a big deal in the US than here but I kind of liked to let it wash over me too.
anna, I smile to find you always here, watching over Vinnie and Max and watching over all of us. You are dear and sweet and I feel so blessed to call you friend.
Kim, I'll imagine the sound of gentle, shushing, rolling waves and the beautiful sight of a full moon shimmering on those waves as I close my eyes tonight. With that and the and the gentle breeze of my fan beside me ... sweet dreams are mine tonight.
Goodnight and Good Morning all!
Rita, I thought of you as I watched the moon during the night. I took tea with me several times and just gave in to sitting outside and watching the sky. The first time it was just so perfect, I needed to simply be with it. Next time, clouds were passing, quickly passing. If I could have watched the moon and seen my journal, I would have curled up and been away. A fair while before dawn, I couldn't find the moon, but the clouds danced and tea kept me warm as the sky became less dark. Some nights thoughts won't come but they begin to stir and all you can do is ... find a way to give them time and let them form as and when they will. Lovely to hear you smiling all the way here.
Rita I found this :
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ehGleRv03r0
... even if it isn't the one you meant, it's a fascinating little doco.
http://wordsmith47.com/media/Herbie_Hancock_-_Possibilities_-06_-_Sister_Moon_Feat._Sting_-_Feb_09_2006_23.21.01.mp3
would love to post this music.. thanks Kim..
Moons. Night skies. Watching from wherever we are.
Listening to silence. Listening to stars.
Thanks both of you for music as I watch tonight, music and words to find.
Middle of the night. Almost. Again.
Thinking of time. Pause. Fullness.
Looking back at what we have seen before and seeing this time so much more. Colours fill and words clear, some who were simply there before, live now, walk with us, fill our hearts with all they are, all they see, all they give.
Thinking of time and moments and pausing, allowing all we find moments enough to stay with us and grow, almost like the planting of a seed which, with careful watching and time enough may grow into all its simplicity and all its complexity. All because we looked again and smiled again and cried again and breathed again. And possibly allowed again. And again. And again.
Thinking of time and moments and looking back
and beginning to see more clearly all that has always been there.
Thinking of time and looking back and seeing a bit more clearly all there was, seeing a bit more clearly, perhaps, all there is.
Time. Pausing. Reflecting. Allowing.
... one of the first songs I learned to sing - dusk here, wavecrashy & hoards of people dressed to party ( Kim weaving through them with his no-nonsense hessian shopping bags ) on the sand ... not unhappy to be three times their age ...
Too many clouds for a moonrise out there, maybe a glimpse later.
I don't usually watch tv but tonight is Journey to the Centre of the Earth - 8 pm here - getting dark.
Good to know you're out there but by my calculations you should be asleep. Do people still sleep, in America ?
Rita that was a bat. Trying to get out.
I was better before I knew it was a bat!
Hope the journey is perfect.
Oh, and love the song, Kim.
Rita, Hope sleep has finally called your name.
It's time to pack the car and go back to the farm. The wind is howling like mad still but downstairs my mom is still asleep, so happy to see her rest. I am going to sneak out. Have a good day anna1.
It's Kim's turn for sleep... watch for spiders going THUD.
Moons and kitchen tables. And other night owls.
My cousin sent me pictures of two baby owlets. Her granddaughter found the owls nesting outside her window. Everyone thought she was making it up, wanting to see a scene from a story. Who can know why they nested there but what magic for a little girl who now keeps guard to keep them safe. Sometimes maybe life can be a fairy tale.
Bats and spiders. Hmmm. Going back to Narnia now.
An attic thought. You slept in an attic room. I am five years old right now and falling in love. No attics in a three decker. And so, of course, you dream. Finally watched Shadowlands over two days. Early in the film, a little boy asks if he can visit the attic, C.S. Lewis’ attic. Magical connecting even in the awkwardness of things.
I don't think you can watch that only once. Part of it is like having someone cover you with the warmest softest blanket. Part of it is moments of feinting until at almost the last moment love will out no matter what it brings. I seem lately to need to distance myself from time to let so many thoughts and feelings in. Tea, keyboard, journal, pen, sky, sun, clouds and moon. Music playing. Friends nearby and Vinny always willing to sleep with his head in my lap.
Shadowlands? do I know that one? have to look it up, I am so forgetful.
When I wrote about my cherub who visited just before Christmas, I wrote about my wanting her to have been in my sophomore class for Great Expectations so she might have learned to love it and she spoke to me about not believing that I hadn't read C.S. Lewis' Chronicles of Narnia. Honestly, I had never even read The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe. Amy and Kim seem to be guiding me ever so gently ... well, not so gentle with Amy! - towards children's literature I've never read. I've used children's lit with my most recent sophomores, Velveteen Rabbit and Little Prince and have always loved it when finally the boys were hooked. I wanted to use that year as a breathing space for them, time to think about growing up and looking ahead at what they themselves might want to do. Last year in Comfort Cafe, I think Kim talked about Wind in the Willows and only a few months ago have I finally read that for the first time. I saw that you quoted from it in a response to one of Kim’s pieces. I feel as though I am finally catching up with everyone else. All of these stories and those of his Ann call my name in a way I never imagined and though I still can't see exactly why, I can't put them down and am loving every minute of it. I SHOULD be working on something, anything, and so, I seem to be working on this. I am trying to trust my intuition which is certainly being called this way. I am trying to listen to what I would tell myself.
Longwinded. Sorry. When Kim read my cherub piece, he suggested I should watch Shadowlands, a film done, I think, by BBC. Anthony Hopkins stars as CS Lewis and the film focuses on an important time in Lewis’ life. If I say much more, I might spoil it. It speaks to me for a hundred reasons but now might not be the best time for you to try and watch it. Some of it is incredibly sad. More than sad though it is filled with love and life and hope.
Three decker. It is a Dorchester trademark. They are wooden buildings, three floors, each floor housing a different family. My father’s parents moved there at some point when I think my father was about 16. He lived there for about 60 years. Always rented. We lived on the middle floor. Six rooms, front and back porches. Our three decker was built the year my father was born, 1911. Irish Catholic territory then. Lace curtain Irish. Home. My grandmother lived in a different three decker in a different parish where my mother and my uncle grew up.
For some reason I was thinking of Dorchester yesterday and of a film that shows the train line I took most all my life there, the Red Line from Ashmont Station to Harvard Square. I remember the first time I saw it and thought, the whole world is watching Matt Damon take my train! Good Will Hunting. Accents like mine or at least accents I grew up with. Sorry. Blood sugar crashing to the ground right now.
I love the nest you have made for yourself in that attic room. I begin to see. I already hear the wind and know the feel of the house when everything shakes and opens and closes on its own. Memories. Sometimes they are simply everywhere.
Hope some of this makes sense.
I love the first book in Narnia, but found the rest increasingly allegorical - uncomfortably.
For the other side, I recommend Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials trilogy. A., at 24, is still re-reading them. P.P. was happy with the film adaptation, too.
Have either of you read Mouse and His Child by Russell Hoban ?
Or his Turtle Diary, or Riddley Walker ?
The Truckstop Children's & Y.A. Bookclub - same time, next Saturday night ;-)
P.P. though just as happy with P&P. Different avenue there.
Someone left copies of The Dark Materials a few years ago for me to read.
Pan, Lyra and her Oxford and all the rest. Perhaps like your A, I need to look at those again. Perhaps it’s time.
Lyra and her Oxford. Rooftops as she climbed. If I had only read of Oxford or only seen pictures of the spires in the mist, I still would be in love with it. Straying a bit off topic here. There are so many reasons to love The Dark Materials, but for me, meeting her in Oxford, a place she knew so intimately and loved so well, the children, her children, her friends, her love for all that mattered most to her, I loved her from the start.
I’ve been fairy tale lucky to have lived for two summers in Oxford. I was twenty-one the first time and had just finished at Emmanuel in Boston. I convinced Sister whoever that really the money left over from my scholarships were meant to reimburse me for commuting costs and all my books. I lived at home and took the bus and the train and the trolley to school. Someone looked down on me because she agreed and I had money for this study program. I think it was my very first time on a plane. I remember that from the moment the plane began to lift, I began to breathe differently. From deep inside, I knew I was going home. I feel that feeling through every fiber of my being even now.
I had a room on the top floor of the Garden Quad in Trinity. One of the first things we ever did was meet together in the garden for sherry. It only happened the once. In the garden was a bust of Cardinal Newman. You never knew who you would meet there. The Garden Quad had been designed by Christopher Wren. Perhaps the floor where I was had been added on later. We had window boxes and window seats. We had a kind of common room for two and then a bedroom of our own. I knew we were to have a “scout” though it took a while for me to know what that meant. Early on the very first morning, I was lying awake in my bed. I heard footsteps on the stairs outside, then a key turning a lock, then someone coming in and across the common room. As you do, I began to pull the covers up as tight as could be. Already the night before, I’d known dark as never I’d known dark before and now footsteps were coming toward my door. Knocking. A firm, gentle rap and then, “Morning, miss” and then away. Out the door and gone.
When we met him later on, he told us his name was Ivor Jones and that we might call him Ivor (eevor) or Jones. He might have been my father. I told him, “Thank you, Mr. James.” He was lovely. The rooms across the hall belonged to one of the dons. He would be away for the summer term. Our shower was in the next staircase which meant going outside to reach it. Christopher Wren had not foreplanned. Pitchers and bowls hadn’t needed plumbing. All of this to say that Mr. James offered instead to draw a bath in the don’s room for us. Little girls from Dorchester didn’t have baths drawn for them. They also didn’t wait for a man old enough to be their father to come in and clean up after them.
Funny to watch the ways in which all of this went down. Some took to a serving class as though they had been born to it. I, well, I would rather listen to him talk. He was Welsh and sang with words as he spoke. He was lovely. One of his young men, who had lived on his staircase before, had been Jeremy Thorpe. Later he became a member of Parliament. Even I had heard of him. There had been some sort of scandal. Scouts were loyal to their young men, but even then reporters snooped for stories and someone brought Mr. James a drink in the pub. He was true to his word and stood by his gentleman. Still there was such pride on his eyes.
I did learn a few things from books that summer. I read the Bloomsbury Group with a London don, Miles. We met in his rooms or in the garden. He took us to Sissinghurst and Knole. Vita was only linked to the group through Virginia Woolf. We read. We discussed. We wrote. I remember Miles’ speaking of his son. Syngeon. I kept trying to spell the name in my mind. I forget how long it took before it came to me. He took us to Rousham to see an English garden. Suddenly all the walks that Elizabeth had taken in Pride and Prejudice became real to me. She might have walked for miles in this garden. Charlotte Bronte visited as well as finally I realized his son’s actual name: St. John.
Rambling. Rambling. Remembering. Remembering. Sometimes I wonder if I have ever really lived in the world or if I only ever really lived on pages, in libraries, or inside a pen.
Keep coming back to Emily Dickinson and favorite lines of mine, favorite because always they have rung so true. “I am nobody. Who are you? Are you nobody too?” Perhaps being nobody is what allows the magic of living fairy tales never to diminish or to be lost in the wind.
Lost in thought. Floating away. Next Saturday, perhaps. Again. By then I may be able to come back to the point. Lyra and Pan and her Oxford. :)
Russell Hoban? Ridley Walker? No. Not yet. Not yet.
And then a house or even a room somewhere by the sea.
I went for a long ramble around the Garden Quad courtesy of google - what a magical place.
Re. the bathrooms - perhaps when Wren designed it there were no women in Oxford ?
I love your description of Jones/James, and visiting the gardens - no wonder part of you is forever in that world. My own experience, apart from books, has been through the eyes of the pre-Raphaelite and Symbolist painters, all very much at odds with the larger Australian landscape - a curious mix. Sydney and our Southern Highlands offer a good gardening climate though, some Sissinghurst with a little Madagascar thrown in.
If you can find a 2nd hand copy of Hoban's Turtle Diary ( not a children's book, a short novel ) I think you might love it.
I love these rambles of yours, anna. Putting together someone else's life from all the pieces might result in a wildly inaccurate portrait, but maybe no less true for that.
I am going to take all these references of place and time and good reads (Kim) and mull on them, as I have nothing relevant to add except I enjoyed reading this thread very much.
Kim what is the YA in the Children's book club?
Kim, Smiling here. I love to hear your thoughts. Somehow they make all of this real. Thanks for sharing them.
“Misled.” Thanks for that. I remember the first time I saw the word “hors d’oeuvres.” I thought it had three syllables. Had no idea what it meant.
You googled it!!!!! I would never have thought to do that! If I look, will I still remember what I see right now. Terribly tempted though - especially if it seemed magical to you. Staircase 16. God, I was so lucky. Quite right about women at Oxford. I almost forget about that now. How is that for lucky.
That summer in Oxford was the first time I had ever lived away from a city. I couldn’t believe how dark night was. It took me a while to be able to sleep in it. And the quiet. Ours was the quad furthest from the street. I remember something about the garden gate. Google. Maybe I can see what it was. Something about not ever opening until a king ...??? Can’t call that back.
I’ll keep a look out for the book. So far you have pointed me toward treasure I’d never have found. I wish it were easier to access Australian authors. Doesn’t make any sense to me. I went and talked to a bookseller here and asked if I kept asking, would that help. Well, no. Not a happy camper I!
Bits and snippets return as I write even now. I suppose bits and snippets describe the ways in which we share lives here. Portraits painted one small section at a time. Portraits painted moment by moment as they come.
Wildly inaccurate. Perhaps. I wonder. Sometimes I feel as though I see great honesty. Perhaps as we write, sometimes we are looking for our own truth. Not truth as we want it to be, but truth as it is, as we are able to know it on our own in the moment of our looking. “... maybe no less true for that.”
You do make me think. And smile.
I hope your day went/is going well. Baby in the morning/Grandma besotted/after a good night's sleep/I hope.
YA is Young Adult here - 12 - 17 or thereabouts.
I just checked amazon, they have Turtle Diary for a penny.
A penny. I'll look. How can I not. Thanks for this.
Someone is coming home to me. I always thought there would be celebration and balloons. There will be. There should be. Everyone here is waiting. The world loves the one who is coming home. And so do I. But for the past little while as I have looked ahead to this, I have felt something else, something that shouldn’t be there. Walls. Tiny walls. Building walls. Lifting walls. I know myself. I know I hide. I know I will have peace at almost any price. Even when the price is me and anything I should really need, anything that might be in the way ... of someone else ... or someone else’s need. I hide. Even now. I know when time and space are once more not my own, I will ache for what I do not have, but will I speak, will I ask for what I need or will I simply bury asking in hope that what I need will somehow be noticed. And allowed. Words have already been spoken and intentions are good. I know that. I am grateful. But active ones find it hard to look at silent ones and believe that silence holds more than can be easily seen.
Except for me, this is a family of artists, of artists who sit or stand before easels and lift their hands, their arms, who see and can share what it is they see. They all love me even though they know that I have no gift of sight such as theirs.
Perhaps in these last few months when there has been such loss, all of us have spoken more openly and more honestly. More than almost anyone else, they all know the tiny gifts I have. They all know that when they speak, I will listen and as far as I can, I will hear. I am thinking of a husband who, after all this time, can speak, easily and comfortably, with me, can even come and sit by the fire silently with me. His wife had shared something of his with us and he listened as we spoke. It was as though a boulder had been lifted away.
Sometimes it helps them to know what I hear. Some of them begin to know that I am best left alone by the fire or the sea with tea and journal or keyboard. I am not exciting and I have not much to show, but they know that if they need me, I am here.
Still. As someone now is packing finally after several years, this time, to return to me, I sense walls. From me. Perhaps for me. I can not give myself away this time as I have always chosen to give before. Who can know what time is left.
My rhythm is not quick. It has never been quick. Even for myself at last, nothing about me is quick. Tears perhaps. Lately I have wondered if lifetime tears are finding their way. How do they fall when we are not alone. How do they continue then to help me be myself. And who is it that I really am. Some of that has been about for me. Some of it I believe I begin to know. Some of it is perhaps what I have always thought I’ve known. It doesn’t fit neat category boxes. I have never needed within myself to fit. It’s just usually easier for everyone else.
The artists’ eldest granddaughter is beginning to make her way home. Once, long ago, she reached out and saved me, reminded me to breathe. I don’t want there to be walls but as I type these words, I feel them everywhere.
I left the sea because her soul needed something else. We both know that. So I breathe the sea and feel the sea as and where I can.
Perhaps the hardest lesson I have still to learn is how hard it is, has always been, simply to love me.
So. Changes. Self. Desire. Life. If we are able, even for a moment, to find who we really are, how do we hold on, remember, share, ... allow ... who it is we really are ... to be ... and to breathe free.
I’ve often looked back and wondered if I were the one who closed a door. Now I know, as honestly and as fully, I suppose, as I could ever know. It was never my hand that closed that door. It closed itself and sent me away. I breathe a tiny bit differently at last.
I don’t know if I know how to be more real than this. Perhaps even here, I am hardly real at all.
One thing, the only thing that the artist grandfather and I share is the wonder of how to paint the sea. There are practice pieces here. In the beginning I felt smothered by so many pieces that didn’t call my name covering most every wall. Then I began to study these. In these I found gifts. How do you capture the movement of the waves, the dance of the sun upon them. I found I could live with these.
Still, if I were to choose one piece of my own, I would .... But this artist must first be willing to let it go. One day perhaps ... one day.
Just us this once, I hope. Just us.
From below the shape come lines : arms, legs ; these lines are as long as the distance between child and parent.
I am assuming Miss McGinty asked you to draw a picture of your mother ...
For a 5 year old, the face is the place to begin.
If a five year old began with the body, I'd be concerned.
She may have been a lovely teacher, but it was wrong to hold up a drawing by a 5 year old for others to laugh at.
The piece above that ?
Thank you. It's a compliment to the rest of us that you're able to share your wonderings here.
No Miss McGinty ; no laughing classmates ; just people who care.
I get the feeling your husband is coming to America ?
His daughters ?
I'd love to see one of your "practice pieces" of the sea.
Anna since I've been back in Manning Road I've become close to a family who live in what used to be an old childhood friend's home across the road. Both doctors, 3 girls ( eldest 11 ) and a boy, they are from Hamburg. They came to Australia because he was offered a chair at a University near here, and a practice in a hospital not far away - he's an endocrinologist. Marcus Seibel.
I love this guy - he knows how to play ; he's a funny man.
I'm so glad you've found someone like Marcus you can relate to.
Maybe all endocrinologists are mad.
Maybe yours knows Marcus - he spends a lot of time talking in the US. Nothing surprises me anymore.
What a great thread of ideas and topics. anna1, what a wonderful life you are sharing, and the way you share it. Many lines resonate with me, especially about acceptance of self , and how it is difficult when we feel we have a different nature than those around us. You are a keen observer.
The truckstop is not so raucous these days, maybe more like a teahouse, with cushions and old books. You read a line from what you have on your lap and I will read one from mine. Darjeeling scents.
Kim, Thank you for this. Only you could find a way to lift this five year old’s drawing for me. I wonder if that is what she asked. I read your words and I wonder even as I begin to see. The distance of the lines ... only you would see that. Your words begin to open a kind of gift for me. How do you know all of this. But this is your world. I love it when you help us see it through your eyes.
The piece above. No. Not my husband. Nor the girls. Someone who helped me find courage to leave back then. Someone, who often needs to fly away, away, away when something calls, is finally coming home. I’ve had to watch the leavings so many times and now for so long this last time, I am trying not to be afraid of letting this someone back in. In these past months I felt a feeling I thought had died for me. Matters to no one except me but has helped me with a truth.
The paintings here are the grandparents’, grandparents to the travelling one and to the one now coming home, uncle and aunt to the dancing one. The practice pieces are the grandfather’s. I’ve not ever painted anything. It’s just that I remember wondering, driving between Dorchester and South Boston and always looking at the waves, how you would capture on canvas what I could see. Always the movement of the sparkle of it all, the dance of it captivated me. Still does. Always will.
The artists met at the Chicago Art Institute. She was his pupil. A few years later they founded The Dallas Art Institute. They were both amazingly gifted and generous with their talents.
Sometimes I write in whispers and sometimes I write in clouds. Clouds perhaps today. I was just looking at them outside. Gifts there they seemed. If only I can look up.
My endocrinologist is a book lover. Always we talk of books. Behind closed doors we speak of politics as well. He’s from New York. I’m from Boston. I love him too. Mad. Yes. He would love the idea of that. He is wanting to retire. I won’t let him.
Marcus Seibel. I might ask. I wouldn’t be surprised either.
Somehow you always make the world seem brighter, lighter, better. I often wish I’d known you always. Sometimes, in the oddest way, it is almost as though I have.
Several times over the holidays we met at their home. I couldn't help but be drawn to this one gorgeous fireplace on a kind of porch. His wife offered me a blanket and a journal. He simply came outside and sat silently with me. There is something about watching and listening to flames as they spark and dance about. Before that conversation, he would never have done something like that. At one point I looked up and he had slipped away. Funny what tiny little things allow us to offer and find comfort and acceptance. Some of the magic that I love.
pm. from Cyril - just to say Hi.
Most perfect treasure here.
Glad to hear from Cyril as well.
Am floating a bit away from myself. Kim, Thinking of you just now and wondering if I let you know I hear your words of encouragement. They so surprises and lift me that I don’t always remember to say the words that come out loud. Perhaps I am saying them now. I know what you are thinking. I’m thinking it too.
Rita, Thinking of you as well and the poem you posted the other night with Kim’s. Thinking of how aware I am as I sometimes read your words of my not connecting to the world as I hear others do. I think I’ve managed to protect myself by letting that part of me somehow shrivel away. If I don’t have a body, as in the picture when I was five, which until your words, Kim, I have only seen in this one way, then no one can hurt it. When I was tiny, I don’t know that anyone actually hurt me. Even now no specific memory of that is there. Maybe no one allowed themselves to have bodies in my family.
After my mother died, I spent time with one of her oldest friends, a woman I have known most all my life. As you do, we were trying to sort life’s pieces out. She had been part of my life all my life in ways I could never have known. Threads. Threads came in to play this day.
When I was eleven, a man we knew did what some men do with little girls. My mother and his wife were in such pain of their own, they never opened their eyes to see. In fact, they put me in his way. I was so used to not feeling safe, I had no radar of my own. I was invited to stay another week. My mother could come back for me. I never told. I never said. I had understood that no one would ever listen to me. I did somehow manage to make my mother take me home with her. Many years later, long after he had died, I told my mother about that summer. I expected she would say something, hug me, spit his name. Nothing. She said nothing. I knew then that she blamed me.
Her friend listened as I spoke. Silence for a while. “She told me.”
We talked for hours. I shared some of my earliest memories. I remembered a sweater I had loved. She had knitted it for me. It was pink and had angora kittens on the pockets. I would have worn it every day. I never wanted to grow up so that it would always fit. It always made me feel so loved.
Until I began to speak that day I had always remembered only one scene of a particular memory. I remembered being awake one night. In my memory I am standing in my crib. My mother and I shared the room. I thought that was what all families did. So when I saw both my parents in the room, I noticed. As I looked, I saw them holding each other. I’d never seen that before. Then I knew it was a dance because my mother was in the air, spinning out into the hall. In time I knew that there had been no dance, but I never spoke the words aloud. Til now.
That is the scene I have always remembered. But this time I kept talking. This was the night when my father’s friend was there. He was the one who caught in mid-air the cut crystal leaded bowl my father threw that night at my mother’s head. Had the friend not been there, she might have been ....
I’d not consciously ever connected these bits before. I’d not seen this bit. I’d heard it from my mother time and time again. It may have been screamed at my father rather than quietly told to me.
More words, knowing, came to me just then. I didn’t summon them or even know they were there until I was speaking them. I looked over at my mother’s friend. “You were there. I don’t know how I know that now, but you were there that night.” I think I had been looking mostly into the air, but now I looked directly over at her. “You were in the parlour.”
Silence. Eyes growing wide as she looked at me. I was thirty-six.
“You can not know that. You were too little.”
I don’t know where that memory came from. I’d never had any sense of it before I spoke the words, but as I spoke them, I knew that they were true. Then I saw her eyes. Truth.
I think we were holding cups of tea. Always there is tea.
It took a while for her to speak. My mother had been her friend. There were secrets they had vowed to keep. But my mother had just died. Soon I would be going back to England. Some things, if they are ever shared, need to be shared face to face.
“Your father’s friend and I used to come when we were called. One of us would try to stop the war. If you were in danger, the other would have taken you. Your parents put this plan in place to protect you from whatever they might do. You should not ever have remembered any of it.”
You may never have all the pieces. In their own way, they were trying to make sure they didn’t hurt me. I was born in ’51. In those days this was simply life.
I grew up knowing it was always best to hide, to make no noise, to have no need, to melt away and become invisible. I learned to live inside my head. I learned to live behind my eyes. I learned to silence everything else.
Perhaps part of me went to my one Prince Charming as a Sleeping One needing the magic kiss to come alive. My own faulty radar told me I’d be safe. If someone loves you, he will keep you safe. My radar had no sense of safe.
Finally my mother’s friend did. She is the one who rang that day to see if I were all right. She is the first one I ever told of what it was to live in permanent fear. She is the one who gave me permission to leave, to break a vow.
Perhaps I should never have been a wife. It had never been a dream, at least not a dream I let my self dream. I dreamed of love. I so wanted to be loved. I so wanted to love. I dreamed a dream. I chose a prince more wounded than I. I always thought I could heal those wounds. One needs to want wounds to heal. When he sensed my fear of him, it fed his rage. My only weapons were hope and peace and love. He had no way to let these in, not after the initial blush.
This one woman who did her best to keep a little child safe managed to sense one time more that the child now grown needed her. In the end, thanks mostly to her, I found a space and walked away. Another Anna this, Annabelle. Perhaps an Ann, an Anne for me. Threads. Always there if we can see.
Only just now, I realize the dream never fully died. I don’t mean the dream of him. I know the moment that dream died. He took away its oxygen. Didn’t I know he still loved her. No, not the dream of him. Just the dream itself. Or at least the allowance of the dream. Doesn’t matter, except to me, but it gives me back a part of me. Another part of me, still, finds it hard to trust safe. Except here. Books and journals and words and tea, crackling fire and sometimes Vinny snuggling up to me and minutes later letting me watch him sleep. Some thoughts can only be shared here in the safeness of friends who care.
When I think of the wisdom, the knowing of children, I suppose I think of parts of this. Threads again. Soft cushions, tea, old books. And us.
If time is short today but you could read just one, read Art's piece about his comment to Tom Cordle's letter to his dad. Perhaps you both already know all of this about Art, but he so rarely speaks of himself, it might help him to know a few more were there.
Once more I am thinking of us all. Hope your day or night have brought you peace and helped you smile.
I would send a small gift
filled with favourite colours,
favourite moments,
favourite places, faces
favourite everythings that might help you smile
and you could put it in your pocket
so that should a moment come
when something to lift your spirits would help
you might not even need to open it
for simply knowing it was there
might be enough
to let go of something no longer required
to make room for light and love
and all that makes you
who you are
... I wish I could say I wrote that.
Hello zen truckstop. A soft spot to land.
And Kim is right .... This iswhy we write. This is why we read.
I am here ... listening right now ... but listening alwways too ... holding you in my heart, my thoughts and my prayers.
I need to be with all of this a while.
Is it. Do you think.
May we.
Your words, my words.
Our words.
Gifts.
A blanket, a journal and a fire.
And then a safe place to be.
Alone. And not.
Words. Moments.
All of this. A while.
iq, Kate, Thank you for your words.
Rita, I felt the softness straightaway.
Kim, When the words come from you, it feels as though you did write them. Tears here and gratitude.
It might be good ; it might be awful.
I should have had something prepared, for tis momentous occasion, but I didn't. I hope there are no typos.
I want to say thankyou, brave truckstoppers, for being here and being frank ( but you were Frank last night ... ) and telling old jokes and being real.
I can't say it's all been roses, because one of the cats got run over, but Vinny's here, lifting the leg ; flying the flag ; and there were moments none of us will ever forget, like ...
Anyway, I think we're here now. Thanks, lovely you people.
Interesting word, number ...
Dare I begin to smile.
Why am I beginning to think of numbering the stars ...
And then I wondered, as stars continued to show themselves once more, what is there and what is here and how do we know what it is we really see. We seek each other’s counsel, share our thoughts and share our dreams ... with those we trust. Here. And we listen as they speak with us and then go on to share their own.
Those are moments that perhaps outlast the here and there. Those are the moments that simply are. Today, tonight, tomorrow. Those are the moments that draw us back to be here for ourselves, but more importantly, to be here for each other. Moments like those, I think, have no ending point. Nor, I think, would we ever want them to. Perhaps that is why we are still here now. Wondering together.
Magic here of the gentlest and most powerful kind. If only we will tend to it. Don't we think.
Of course the truckstop is serving halibut tonight I think, in mulberry sauce. And just for Jules some poppers.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z9hZ9GTRcTo
when I see this I think about seeing him live many years ago, his enthusiasm was the same as mine on hearing this, on life.
I may be asleep but I'm listening.
Thinking of pink and angora, memories mingling, Irish fathers and boats and being lifted through the air. Perhaps it’s still too early and all is merely dream. Dream of solitude. Dream of time. Dream of beaches and sand and music gently playing on.
Til dawn. And dawn. Dawn. Roses in the sky. And peace. And smiles. And geese flying by. Lovely geese. And tea. Always tea.
I just wanted to stop by here and share a cup of tea or perhaps a drink and say, THANK YOU. Thank you for your company. For sharing yourselves with me. Sharing your friendship, your hearts and your souls. What beautiful, kind people you are.
I love you.
Please do not worry for me. I am okay. In the big picture of all that is life and that can meet us on our journey, I am definitely okay. I have health and I am well. I just need time … but, I suppose, more than anything love and hope is what I need. And, honestly, I have so much love and hope within me, in my heart, that I know I will be okay.
I know, too, that love and comfort is here with you my friends and that is a wonderful thing. I know you will keep me in your thoughts and prayers. I am blessed.
I am going to miss you. And miss tea with you anna1liese! But, yes, I am comforted to know that you are here, waiting and listening, and I will be listening too for your words, even if the words come in whispers, I will hear them and they will bring much comfort.
Be well and happy, dear friends. I love you … each and every one.
Kate
We won't let anyone sit in your chair.
You are kind, Larry, to mind my chair for me and I would be honoured to one day sit in it again. But I would also be very honoured that if you, or any friends who may come to the Truckstop, would keep it warm for me. That way, if I do stop by again, it will feel warm and comfy … like coming home.
Rita you didn't mention the Appalachians ( Larry ).
Kate, lots of love.
Vinny, gedaddathere !
Pastvoices, I am very glad you have found the Truckstop. As one leaves, another comes to keep the chair warm. A lovely thought.
Lots of love, Kim. One day, soon I hope, I’ll travel down the road and catch up with you.
Vinny! Didn’t you hear Kim? Gedaddathere now! Good boy!
Hey now.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XjBwAYIxUso&feature
Kate, Last night I remembered your dancing in your kitchen to music playing here. How often in the middle of the day or in the middle of the night have you been here to sit with us and try to help us see our world. There is a kind of circle here made whole by each of us. Each of us. How often have you been the one to offer hope and love.
All of us here agree with you that you are filled with love and hope. How often have we received these gifts from you. Know now, even if already these words are whispered to the air, that, as we keep your place warm, along with whispered words to you come whispered love and whispered hope to bolster your own. As moments come for you while you are away when these whisperings, all words here offered to you may help you remember, replenish, renew all of who you are, they will be there simply because they are.
Light always on, tea always wonderfully warm and ready to be poured, music always playing. Here. Where life and love and all that is real and all that is hope, all that is the essence of every shade of love, every colour of love. Abide. Safely. Softly. Gently. Here. Along with
Time. Silence. Sometimes these are the most precious gifts of all.
Here. Alone. And not. For as long as it takes.
Whispers of hope and love for you, our Kate, as you take this time to find your way. May whispers comfort you and when ready, may whispers guide you home.
Thank you for the song Larry … all of you. It IS perfect.
I have many messages to answer and so just here to do that now and perhaps tomorrow but then I will be gone.
I am glad I stopped by here. The sawdust is down for one last dance and Stellas for a toast to you my dear, wonderful friends. Thank you. I miss you so much already. And memories of me dancing in the kitchen! That makes me SMILE! Yes, a couple of evenings I did just that … music from the Truckstop playing on my laptop in the kitchen while I was making dinner … chatting to Kim in between … happy, happy! Yes, a big SMILE! A happy memory.
Happy memories for me to take of this place and you my friends.
Whispers will be heard now. And tea … each morning with a cup of tea in hand … I will think of you. And I will smile.
All my love.
Kate
Glad to hear you're making some progress on the eldest front just the same. I hope you find it comfy here - if no-one else, there's always Vinny. And music. Enjoy.
@ Kim - I truly don't think she is smart enough to trace comments, she only found this blog when I had it under my own name before changing it to pastvoices, but they then it was too late. The psychiatrist tole me that I am right in my belief that I cannot just say I will honestly blanketly trust her. She has proven, it can't be. Like a current loud celebrity in the news, just declaring things different doesn't make it so. If the commitment for a relationship requires that I blanketly trust her, then there is no negotiation to be had. If that makes any sense to you or anyone. I can probably clarify. Right now I am off to an indooor "garage sale." A bookstore here went out of business a few months ago. They are opening their doors today and tomorrow for several hours with incredibly low prices to dump merchandise!
Another long day though. Just leaving my footprints in the sawdust and having another listen to Hey Now before bed or whatever.
Breaking of the wave.
Silence. Quiet. Sometimes all we need.
Sometimes. All we need.
Sometimes. All we need to be all who we are.
In the moment. Who we are.
Breaking of the wave.
Silence. Quiet.
Until it is enough.
Again.
so that it will be part of the Truck Stop Archives. (This will be comment #2548)
"Well, that’s it everyone.
My heartfelt thanks to all of you here and to those, too, that wrote especially with other messages of love and support.
I am so very, very humbled to have such beautiful, caring and kind friends.
A special thank you to my friends at the Truckstop. Kim, you have touched my heart in more ways than I can begin to mention. I’m hoping our paths will cross soon, my friend. Until then take much, much care of you. Okay? You deserve nothing but the best. All my love to you, Kim.
So many other near and dear Truckstop friends … beautiful anna1liese … such a gentle, loving heart who whispers words of love and care both night and day … always watching over us; lovely Rita …who through the most beautiful poetry, touches not only my heart but that of everyone here; the gorgeous _iq_ …. fun-loving, smart, kind, caring, thoughtful … just gorgeous; mission … a speaker of truth, love and honesty … who fights for understanding with a gentle and kind heart; hybleaen-julie ….. a beautiful, gentle, kind and caring soul who seems ever eagre to learn more and understand others; Antoinette … your beauty and gentle nature shines through in all that you speak; Cyril (whatever happened to Cyril?) … the funniest and cutest gnome I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet! Yes, Cyril … I am a redhead and boy did you make me smile when you made a bit of a fuss over me at times … but I couldn’t get carried away .. your heart really belonged to Julie! You are all beautiful people.
I know I will have missed mentioning some from the Truckstop … please forgive me for doing so. But of course I haven’t forgotten … Larry! Larry, like Kim, you touched my heart along the way a number of times … somewhat unexpectedly but in the most beautiful of ways but especially over the last couple of days. Thank you for the song and the picture, framed with Chinese Barn board ... : ), that hangs under the light that will hopefully light my way back. What a lovely thing to do for me. Thank you.
There are so many other dear friends here … mLeeS, Fusun, trilogy, Divorce Bard (DB!), Pilgrim, Michelle, Linda, dianaani, pastvoices, Lezlie, Flower Child, l’Heure Bleue, Dave R, … to name just a few and I could keep going but in the end I would still miss someone so please know that each and every one of you that have corresponded with me over time here, I do consider very good friends indeed. Please stay in touch if you can.
But, of course, I cannot leave here without saying to my dearest friend and partner in crime of OS Iron Poet Challenges …J D Smith … that you have made OS a very special place for me indeed. It is has been a fun-filled and interesting year, JD. Thank you for all the wonderful and happy memories, my dear friend. You are a very, very special person indeed. By the way, I believe the last Iron Poet challenge ended as a draw …. perhaps there will be a re-match sometime in the future? You never know! : )
With love now and always. God bless you.
Kate
When life gives you a hundred reasons to cry … show life you have a thousand reasons to smile.
~Unknown~
Little Kate
March 05, 2011 02:18 AM"
Thinking of us all.
( Australians : Origins to Eureka ) about two of Charles Dickens' sons who were sent to Australia - Alfred in 1865, and Edward in '67, at age 20 & 16 respectively.
Both managed properties in NW NSW, before entering politics and business. The local town was Wilcannia, on the Darling River - really marginal land out there, sheep-stations of 1/2 a million acres.
Dickens friend Anthony Trollope's son was there too - they had regattas on the river and lawn parties and cricket and horse races.
The surest form of transport apart from paddlesteamer was by Afghan camel-train.
I don't know what the boys ever did to be sent so far away - Wilcannia now is largely boarded-up and dusty, about 3 or 4 hundred people. At least now the local ( Barkindji ) people can drink at the hotel, and do ...
Were there eight sons then and were options running out. I wonder were they sent or did they choose. Might look at books I have here and see what, if anything, is mentioned. Why don't I remember.
Wilcannia. And now the local people can drink at the hotel. What have we done as we spread across the world.
I love sharing in your thoughts. Tom Keneally. Who do you think best writes about Australia in terms of helping someone who has never been there have a real sense of the land, its people and its history or are there far too many to name. Sometimes I think it may be you. So, next to you then. Smiling sincerely here.
Now you have me wondering. And smiling as I do. Sunday morning thoughts on the veranda. Wondering where your thoughts wander from here. So often you mention the local people there. Did we respect anyone who seemed to be in our way, anywhere we met them. Sunday morning thoughts. Will be pondering here for a while.
Frederick ended up in New York.
Marcus Clarke's For the Term of His Natural Life ( 1874 ) is a sombre classic on the subject of transportation - there's a Colin Friels/Samantha Eggar film of it which is good, I seem to remember.
Peter Carey's Oscar & Lucinda is a great read set late 19th C.
Patrick White's Voss, also a great read, about inland exploration and the other kind.
Kate Jennings' Secret River is a wonderful read, set around Sydney, early 19th C.
More contemporarily, Tim Winton's Dirt Music, and Boori Pryor's Maybe Tomorrow. So many more, but there's an outline, by some of our best writers.
An "authentic" take on traditional culture can be seen in Rolf de Heer's film 10 Canoes. A beautiful film, carefully made.
It's really only been in the last 20 years we are waking to the extraordinary, indelible culture - 40 + thousand years - we live in the light of.
Interesting then the juxtaposition of Pip’s convict having been transported for the term of his natural life with Victorian sons being sent to “find” themselves all in New South Wales. Great Expectations was published in 1861. Four years later a son was on his way. Another thread in my first real sense of Australia. I might have heard of it in a geography class or seen it once on a map. The novel is what made it real, gave it life. It was most of all I knew until I began to read your words and Australia became differently real, more real as seen through your eyes and described by your words.
Simply reading the list you give me here makes me want to reach right out and begin to read. I think the only book I’ve read that is actually set in Australia is Morris Gleitzman’s Now, another writer whose work I know from you. So much of that story holds me at once, but the everydayness as seen through the eyes of the child makes what she shows us almost more real than real. I glanced at it just now and began to read, but could I begin there without beginning with Once, going on to Then and only when ready move on once more to Now. Good Lord, what gifts these are.
More gifts here. Sunday morning fare. Is there something better than this. Little that I know. You’ve mentioned Secret River before. Perhaps I’ll begin there. I think you mentioned 10 Canoes as well. I seem to remember watching a trailer. Oscar and Lucinda I’ve heard of, but not yet read.
Sunday morning treasure here. Thank you for this and all your thoughts. You seem to share the world.
With all you have to do, thank you for this.
Sydney-town early 1800's. Solomon Wiseman, transported for collecting someone else's stray timber on the Thames managed somehow to arrive with his wife. After serving his time as a convict, he elected to stay. Scraped and saved and bought a boat, began a trade-run from Sydney north into a then-wild river, up and around and behind Sydney ( the inland roads were dangerous ) delivering supplies, returning with produce - Kate was researching her family history, and found Solomon. There's a small town on the river, about an hour's drive from where I'm sitting, called Wiseman's Ferry. One of my favourite spots - hope you enjoy it.
Let me know if it's hard to locate there.
Sorry - Kate jennings is a different kettle of fish altogether.
Something about books and just knowing they are there. If someone you trust suggests a book, you may want to reach for it first. Or you may want it to wait, within arms’ reach, until quietly it calls your name
Sometimes patience seems to be missing. Sometimes stillness. I wonder sometimes if they find us when we forget we are missing them. Thinking about times when I move from knowing I am reading to becoming the reading when everything else falls away.
Can’t easily wrap patience or stillness up and send them on their way but am thinking of Sofia and of someone who already sees hours ahead spent reading to her from a treasured copy, already in hand, of Wind in the Willows. Thinking that it may be the stories themselves that first call to her or the drawings that first make her smile. Which particular character might it be. Or it may simply be the rhythm, the cadence of a voice she loves, a voice filled with warmth and tenderness that reaches out and draws her in. Patience will need no name then. It will simply be all there is.
Dreaming here, perhaps.
Still spending time in Narnia but when I reached the end of Dawn Treader, I felt the allegory discomfort point. It was as though all pretense was laid down and only upper case letters were being used. Seemed to change the entire tone of what had come before. Staying with it though because I want to see where he takes it.
Don’t know William Trevor but saw that he is Irish. I love listening to thoughts about books and connections that come to mind. In the back of my mind right now are the Land Behind the World books. I tried InterLibrary Loan to borrow the second of the books but someone didn’t want to play. Never mind. I think I’ll order the second of the books and reread the first while I wait for it to come. I want to see if I can recapture the calm that caught me when I first began to read it. It is almost as though I can hear the words being read to me. Maybe I’ll try to borrow the third book and see if I might follow up more carefully. And meanwhile Secret River is one Amazon click away. I know. Something has to wait. But ... .
Antoinette, have fun with your new dog, Ridgebacks are good looking dogs. enjoy, glad to see you.
Well. We may need some new music Mr. Proprietor. Will think something up.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aEnfy9qfdaU&tracker=False
" Lest we forget how fragile we are ..."
Did you have a guitar
and did you play
and did you sing
the words the world
gave to you
Do you now
I wonder
Souls born with such sensitivity
to see
to hear
to know
truth
who else dares speak
acknowledge
know from deep inside his soul
fragility
Sometimes it seems when I can find no words that you find the words and give them to me.
Tears
Eyes close
Head bows
Thank you for the gift of this.
I seem to have been walking round the edges of this for days.
Hope you have time for yourself in the midst of so much.
Thinking of you as time moves on.
tellers of the tales
of our humanity
listening here
thinking of drawings
paintings
music
words
eyes lowering
closing
hand dropping down
fullness
emptiness
fullness
gentleness
in
the giving
and
the telling
wisdom
truth
some watch while others rest
in whatever ways they can
“Lest we forget ....”
“Lest we forget ....”
if we only knew this
we would know enough
“Fragile all ....”
Sharing the knowing
matters
Sometimes the sharing is all.
I will bid you all adieu. I haven't been posting, but I am in a personal valley of sorts right now.
F&Z stays with me, perhaps because I've read it over and again at different times. The possibilities of love in an imperfect family - that fierce loyalty and tenderness ...
Salinger really held the bar high in terms of family bonds, didn't he ?
Hi anna, Rita, it's an unsettling time all 'round - a walk in the woods is sounding good.
Unsettling time. Just now, I think of a shingle beach in Climping. I waited once while my friend screamed out her pain, her rage, her loss under cover of coastal cacophany. She knew I knew but she needed to be alone. How many are screaming similarly now.
Part of me feels hollowed out, unable to help or change or hold. That part of me waits on Climping beach for sound of shore and wave and wind to cover my soul’s scream. The friend who stood on Climping beach has since stood on yours, Kim. I didn’t know exactly where it was then but I thought of her every minute she was there. So much went on for her that day. I’d almost forgotten. She is another of those I have known since the beginning of time. Perhaps that is the thought that will hold me now. The world is far more intimate, far more all we are if it can allow connections such as these. Woods. Sea. Clouds. Beach.
Love in imperfect families.
And Real. Oh so real.
Something about honesty and openness and real reaches me from here. Perhaps moments like these, connections like these allow real. Whatever it is, it is here. Whatever it is, it speaks. Whatever it is, it helps. Fragile. Real. But not alone.
We who have shared, we who have listened, we who have been allowed... to be there... to listen... to be allowed to share..., we are the blessed ones, we are the ones who ... are ... here ... there ... in the place that matters most ... in the place where truth ... and real ... can be. That is, has been, some of what has always ... been ... here. I am grateful ... to be ... here ... and be part of ... all of us. Just us. Here.
In moments of such unknowing, may there also come moments to smile, moments to remember and imagine, moments to dream and hope. Maybe that is why we walk and look about, look down, look up.
So much in the piece and in the thoughts shared afterward speaks deeply to me. As the discussion continues, silence begins to speak. The candle and the comfortable voice of light. I love that voice.
I wonder about illusion and how we might lift the veil of it away. I wonder about the calm voice whether we thrust it away or seek it out. Perhaps sometimes we need to scream the shout just to get it out, just to free ourselves to begin to hear our calm, our truth. To begin to hear another’s calm, another’s truth. At least, perhaps, to hear our own.
I wonder about real, being real together at the same time and in the same place, in the ability for words to be heard as they are intended to be heard, to be understood as they are meant. Perhaps if we could write the words as and when we are ready and either tap the drum or lift the phone and when a connection is made, agree to meet in a neutral space, face to face where we agree to truly speak and to truly hear. Face to face means eye to eye. When eyes can meet, they can not lie, not if truth plays any part. And then the desire or fear to hear, to see truth.
If someone has listened to words offered here by you, one would hear such truth. I think. Perhaps if one printed them and brought them to a neutral place where eyes could speak and eyes could hear, then eyes might meet and eyes might know the feelings that accompany both sides of truth. Not ever before perhaps so clearly and so truthfully as now.
Sometimes as time passes and comments draw you back, you seem to find your own wisdom. No other wisdom is more true.
There is a softness in the eyes I see here now. Sometimes it is softness that allows real. And truth.
I’m not sure if any of this is what you see or not. I’m not sure if the words should be here, in a quieter place, or there with the words you write of this. I’m not sure if they’ll matter still by the time you see them. Perhaps I misread everything. But I care about the eyes I see and wish they could hear the words they seek. Soft eyes able to smile and breathe. A wish for you.
Sometimes you seem able to share here. Sometimes not. Perhaps the sea or the beach or the wood or the sky can be, for now, the ear you seek. If not, ears are here.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VBBIZkOKprA
Gentle smile.
Smile emoticon here.
I love the feel of that.
Middle of the day.
Middle of the night.
Wherever we are
Whatever we feel
Lighthouse beacon that calls us home.
Perhaps it calls when we need it most.
Rita, nana, Lovely to see you as the beam comes near.
Lovely to be able to gather here.
Vinny is nodding. He agrees.
He is glad of the company.
anna1 what do you think? the beacon has been nice but maybe a time to close down?
I agree Nana, you are very astute, anna is one fine person.
If a farewell has come, let me know the time CDT preferably. I will be utterly physically totally alone tomorrow night, available.
The porch lights stay on ; besides, who's going to look after Vinny if not us, right ?
So, maybe see you here tomorrow for a glass of whatever that is ... ?
Someone’s voice, warming beam, porch light on
energy, safety,
home
May sleep and rest find you, thoughtful one
Sunday afternoon thoughts.
Gentle smile was I wishing hours ago. Smile. Sigh. Smile. So much here. So much offered. So much shared. So much heard, if only silently.
Loss. Life. Change. Much change. Perhaps all of life is always change. Reaching out and reaching back are all of life if only ... we ... and others will. Sometimes a drum begins to beat. Sometimes a scream begins to form. Sometimes a wish we wish. Sometimes a simple tear begins to fall. Often we are or feel so all alone. Often it takes only an eye to notice, an ear to hear and then a voice to ask, an arm to reach if only simply to be there, to acknowledge, to share if just by being there. Sometimes it is the noticing, when asking to be heard is beyond reach, that allows a door to open. And then it is the listening and the response of hearts who care.
Much of this has offered life here, has allowed shared space to breathe. Those who have been here and who have shared in such treasure somehow - all are here. I think. The spirit of what has been here never closes, never shuts.
There has been an ease here that can not be replaced. An ease, acceptance, safety, comfort, encouragement, creativity even. Perhaps that is what we all recognize because of the treasure it allows. We may define the treasure differently ... or we may not. There has been tremendous generosity of spirit here.
Connecting. Being there. Listening. Hearing. Allowing. Love - dare I say. I know I speak so often a word that is so far better shown. Perhaps I speak so often of words or actions I so wish I’d given or known. Perhaps sometimes arms ache because they have so rarely held. Perhaps one thinks of lullabies that one has never sung. Except in dreams. I hope the speaking has never hurt. Spoken or not, love lives here. Spoken or not, whether it answers a direct desire or not, it is here and lives in us. With all the words spoken here, still some words are never formed. Sometimes that is hard. Most often words come when ready. Or when here. They matter and they help. We wonder about each other. We care about each other. Sometimes Vinny helps with this. Voices. Hearts. Safe.
Safe matters. Caring matters. Love. Love, spoken or not but sensed and felt, matters. Sometimes it is simply standing behind or beside or even across a room, a presence. All of this matters. All of this holds.
And Kim. For opening the door, for all you give, have given from the start, have supported and encouraged, and shared .... I think of this just now and tears start as words almost walk away. Without you, there would be no us. Without you, there would be no treasure. Yours is the voice that allows us to be safe. Yours is the voice, the heart, the spirit, the wisdom that opens to us all. May somehow our voices be some of these for you.
Kim, There is a key here and that key is you. You may shrug your shoulders and think this nonsense. It is not. It is more real than real.
Thank you from the bottom of my heart for all you are and all you do.
Thank you for simply being you.
So very many thanks and love.
And joy.
Always joy.
I really don't see this place as my place, you know ?
Almost from the start it became a co-op - remember Cyril, throwing his weight ( ;-) around ? It's our place - whoever wants to take the time to scroll and read or write.
It's a good place and it works. Sometimes the music gets a little stale, so someone will make a new suggestion - I love that.
Sometimes Rita will be so drunk the rest of us have trouble understanding her - I love that.
Sometimes Larry will wear a green hat or be Santa Claus or Trost - I love that.
I'm happy here, with friends like you.
Just rest your head on the back of the couch - someone will be along shortly with a nice cup of tea.
Hope you will find peace tonight and nourishing rest. May pillows of serenity hold you and support you and bring you safely home. May all your dreams bring smiles. I hope.
How are you.
Kim, Should sleep ebb and flow tonight, may somehow sounds of gentle waves find you and usher sleep your way, restful, nourishing, calming sleep, gift of sleep. Perhaps already it is there with you.
I have been absent here again a couple of days. Sunday morning my 15-year-old grandson was rushed to the ER with alcohol poisoning. His buddy was touch and go for a while but made it through. He is over a 1000 miles away from me. I love him dearly. His dad (my ex-son-in-law has custody) is a good man, he went the route of the experience. After pumping my grandson's stomach, they offered his dad a prescription for anti-nausea meds and he thought it best to not have those so my grandson would have the whole experience. He also was ushered in to see his buddy in a coma and tubes with his parents crying at his bedside.
I think I will just have a diet soda tonight. I have started writing a piece in my journal, it may be posted in more than one segment. I got a note from someone that I need to lighten up.
All prayers for my guilt-ridden, confused, messed up by his mother, teenager-on-top-of-it-all grandson are greatly appreciated!
anna1liese, it's the same moon, isn't it.
midnight at the oasis, send your camels to bed ... ( thinks : Must find that ... ) I swear to goodness, I'm ok :-) ... see ?
Stars& hearts & emoticons.
Bella's poodle is back, just for awhile - Angel this is Vinny ; Vinny, Angel.
Stop that. There's plenty of room for both of you.
Angel! Geddaddathere !
Settle down, Vinny - she's just a bit insecure.
I'm sure we can all get along.
Thinking about changing up the music - wondered if we could have maybe a theme ( like dance ) - maybe songs about driving, travelling, road-songs ...
Angel's asleep now ... golden Autumn afternoon down here ...
Was thinking of JJ's Me & Bobbie McGee ; Moon River ; Luka Bloom's Chicago ...
Sleep well, iq.
Same moon, Kim, same moon.
Just past equinox here and with you.
Beginning of Spring here, Autumn there-
beginnings, glad of golden loveliness for you.
Same camels as well. Same fears. Same hopes.
Serviettes, pastels, threads, wise woman across the road
and a father reaching toward his son.
memories, moments, connections, love
magic in their way and captured beautifully
tellingly as no one else could speak
or begin to see.
Now Angel back, meeting Vinny
music coming to mind.
I think I hear you smiling
one of my favourite things.
Lovely music in the oasis.
Soothing sounds just as they should be
Thinking of you with Angel asleep
Thinking of you at peace
Lovely sharing all of these.
Anyone for some tea and ginger snaps?
Here's a nice freshly brewed cup for you and some cookies!
I need a serviette and a Stella.
did you go techno in this gnome's absence?
='( }
Rita, Thinking of you this weekend.
Hope clouds melt away for everyone, everywhere.
If only wishing could make it so.
This could be an entire post in itself but I'll spare you Larry - do you know we've had more than 16000 views here ?
So it isn't really like we're just talking among ourselves anymore ...
I see Cyril is back.
Hi Cyril ...
too bad you didn't have a cover charge... at 16k views, it would have paid for a nice vacation.
I threw that in to see if anyone was paying attention.
Rita please don't read my comment on Oryoki's blog.
Not sure if that is the most viewed post on OS.
Rita, Lovely curls!
Shouldn't we be lighting candles for someone pretty soon. If no one else is here, Vinny and I will light them. Virtual candles never go out till the right person comes to wish on them first and virtual cake is ever safe. Well, except for Vinny. We need to have biscuits ready.
Vinny, sit right here.
Ready, steady, go!
Wishing for you a wonderful year.
Wishing you yummy cake and something delicious to drink and a good deep sleep for as long as you please.
Always here. Always moments.
Much love, dear friend, especially today.
He reminds me of a Mississippi Trucker.
He hums solo and none hear him hums.
Rita sings `
Base & Alto`
La Boheme`
`
aria. Rita lost`
`
Amish hat too?
I get you one.
A trucker hat.
Easter bonnet.
Happy B- hats.
Rita S Behaves.
and I am a bit late.. was away for the day with family, came back to be with my truckstop family here.. Luka Bloom, Waiting on a Friend, Miles. all my favorites. Thank you Kim, what a lovely surprise, you are sweet!
anna1, IQ, Larry, Art James, catch22, Lil, Just Thinking.. thanks so much for the birthday wishes..
put the sawdust dawn and clear the floor..
a special note sent via Pm
"I'M JUST WAITING ON A FRIEND
Time to party!!!!! YEEHAAA!!!!
~ oops ~
nice place.
Hope you had a great day - lordy how it flies !
I just wanted to say what a joy it's been,
getting to know you
this last year,
and to say thankyou,
for all the beautiful words you've brought,
in comments or in poems, to the rest of us.
You're a champion, Rita.
I admire the way you lay it on the line,
and how civil you've been, when tested.
You came here to the truckstop and the first thing you did
was roll up your sleeves.
There was ---- everywhere, but it didn't faze you.
You cleaned up the jukebox, before it broke, and the toilets, before Cyril, and the thread, before it incriminated anyone.
So I raise my glass
and wish you every Irish blessing,
and love. To Rita.
Much love and thank you for being you, Rita.
Cheers! with thanks to you and all my friends here, love.
And a happy birthday to dear Rita.
May all the wishes wished last night come true and may each day forward bring you happiness. Perfect - all of this. Perfect.
So many voices came to share in joy and love. So many smiles for you. Wonderfully special - all of this. And you.
For some of us ... it would ... be ... . Just a thought. Just ... a thought ... .
For some of us, ... it ... is ... or would be ... if allowed. If ... allowed. For ... us ... for some ... of us. Thinking of us all just now. Thinking of us all.
Wet dreams, old friend.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, NAN!
When I think of you, nana, I think of your gentleness, your caring, your sensitivity. I think of a night of poetry here, and voices and incredible thoughtfulness. I think of photographs of the beauty you see. I think of a photograph of breathtaking sky. You are a tender soul and a caring friend.
Will be thinking of you especially today. Happy Birthday.
and again to you Nana :) hope it's a good trip
Psychedelic days were survived, just, and not by much.
Birthdays and the first few days after are the time we get to consider - I consider this or I consider that,
after awhile I get sick of it
then bring myself back
to the most important thing,
the only thing,
the thing I run screaming from, mostly
but on those few
sweet occasions,
there it is.
And there I am.
Face to face with ...
( no, not God )
Some live all their lives never letting themselves know the most important, the only thing. Running toward, running from. Being. Being with. Being with ... Hearing your words. Thinking of you. Hoping eyes will close and peaceful rest will find you.
Birthday thoughts and more.
Follow the link
a young hot little girl who just blew me away..
love to all the TS 's
happy bday Nana
great music linkage rita...thanks for that.
HEY LORIANNE IS IN THE TRUCKSTOP
just had to do that
I
They do but they don't last more than a day, no matter how much you trim them - if you're looking to give someone here a posy, there's some daisy's out the back, knock yourself out, as it were.
Weird how L & N showed up together - are they an item, do you think ?
Nice song. I'm fond of music.
If the woman in green chiffon by the window isn't you
I think she's wearing your hair ;-)
Oh, and wisdom by the way.
Wisdom, courage, sanity.
Should a recent birthday person
need once more to see softer words,
come back once more, see them again.
They are not going anywhere.
Safe here. Just us.
Curls and hats and soft eyes.
Softness. Often here.
Gas Station Roses. Truckstop Daisies.
Lovely, lovely softening smiles.
Softening eyes.
Softly. Softly. Gathering.
Here
Had been thinking of so many harsh words spoken overnight to so many here who were trying to stand up for decency.
Was thinking of birthdays over the last few days and thinking of Kim's birthday/ life reflections. They caught me.
Then your song last night or early morning when I heard it.
Curls, green chiffon, roses, daisies.
Do curls ever make you think of the middle of your forehead.
I still have a curl that falls right there. Sort of like still having dimples. Floating here.
Will anyone mind if I add a tiny birthday thought. 1st April was my father's birthday. 1911. He'd have been 100 this year. He wasn't anybody's fool but just now I can see his smile. Lovely smile he had. Funny sometimes what we remember.
Supposedly it was taken on April 14, 1906, just 4 days before the big earthquake in San Francisco. (105 Years Ago)
I think it's Market Street heading towards the Ferry Building.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NINOxRxze9k&feature
There is also a video that follows this one showing the devastating aftermath from the 1906 earthquake.
A day to be my father’s daughter this. Wish I could watch this with him. What memories might come back for him. Thanks, Larry.
Put me in mind of the Snow-something video Ablonde put up - the one of a car careening through Paris c.1970.
Makes me want to drive from here to Manly with the camcorder mounted on the dash ...
Happy " Opening Day," and dad's Birthday all.
Every time I watch the video I see something new. (the police officer's uniform, the women's hats, the majority of the men all dressed in suits, etc.)
and smooth one Larry...
Happy Birthday to your dad Kim :)
*sips coffee contentedly and wanders through YouTube listening to good/weird shit*
Dads with hats !
Sorry 'bout that Anna :D
Thanks everyone for the wishes.
Have been caught up with the video still. So many pictures walk with me. And my dad.
I see Boston though the San Francisco street is wider than any of ours. I’ve seen the odd still photo of scenes like this but to see it come to life, to see the actual pace of people and traffic, to feel the energy - all of that calls me back. Part of me looks for my father’s father. At some point he had a shop of sorts on Tremont or Boylston St. He was a saddler, I think, a harness maker. What would he have been thinking as he watched this traffic go by.
Streetcars, trolleys, overhead lines, motorcars and horses ambling along side by side. I grew up with stories of a Model T or maybe a Model A. My father's older brother, Frank, loved them. The streetcars and trolleys and overhead lines were still there when I grew up. Overhead lines outside tunnels disappeared but when I took the trolley underground to Emmanuel or to Fenway, the trolley sometimes stopped, power went out. We’d all just sit there or stand there in the dark until the driver got out and reconnected the wire. People in this video could have taken the subway from Park St. to Boylston St. For Fenway and Emmanuel now, you go on to Kenmore Sq. I know. No one needs to know that. Thinking of Rita here.
I watch this video and know that it was taken five years before my father was born. Yet this was the world he knew as he grew up. I can see my father in those little boys darting in and out around the traffic. Speed would have increased as my father grew up. I can still see him darting about. Horses would have been less apparent as time went by, but he told me of horses that were used to draw delivery wagons in our neighborhood for Hood’s milk. I was born in ’51 and though I don’t have any memory of it, the horses still worked until a tragic accident, a fire began in their barn. Both my parents knew those horses. That was mid way through the century.
I also have one memory of a rag and bone man coming up the street beside our house. A horse pulled his cart. I don’t think I’d ever seen a horse before.
So half a century forward and some changes were slow.
Half a century back and I am thinking of Dickens. Jo. Bleak House. He was a crossing sweep. He would cross the street backwards before a lady sweeping the dirt away to protect the hem of her dress from the street’s dirt. Of course a farthing or a sixpence or something was paid. Part of me looks for Jo as I watch the hems here. Little children starved here as well.
Memories of all kinds for me here today. Thanks once more, Larry.
Haberdasher. Wonder if there was a shop on this street. My father kept his best hats in the original boxes. I can see him working on the crease. Hats. :)
just kidding, of course ...
Vinny, let me sit close beside you today. Snuggle right in. Back to sleep now. Off you go.
If you are listening, iq, tea is here just for you, tea and warmth and calm. I hope you are not very far away.
Seems as though Ablonde's thoughts are visiting with the Paris drive. Glad you added that, Kim.
Thinking of us all just now. Here or not. Thinking of us all.
She's a rare and mysterious bird, our IQ - I don't think Mark Knopffler knows what he's missing.
I believe if you hit iq's stars they bring you back to yourself... the Portkey.
Belated happy birthday Blessings to you Rita!
Belated happy birthday Blessings to you Nana!
Ann1, my, now 10-year-old, grandson shares your father's birthday. A unique connection indeed.
I thought of all of you as I posted a note in anwer to a friend on Facebook yesterday. In fact I am off to post it here. Maybe it will be inspiring.
Thinking of rare and mysterious ones.
Thinking of stars and Portkeys.
Thinking of one who needs time for pause, who knows that safety and peace are here.
Thinking of someone trying to turn sadness into something else and managing to lift so many others on the way. Hoping the lifting helped.
Thinking of time, of what it takes and what it gives.
Thinking of all of us, once more.
Hugging Vinny as I think.
Click the > there, turn the sound up and fasten your seat belt.
Come and meet my cousin Primrose - let's not waste another minute without you :-)
Stars just fading. Moon edging away.
Moments to let go of most everything else.
Moments to breathe and smile. And be.
Moments ...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kdJf4Jn8OlU
sunshine and flowers;
art and books;
Paris and bridges;
safety and shelter;
family and pets;
music and dancing;
laughter and chatter;
smiles and tears;
tea and friends;
memories and hearts;
hands holding hands;
... all here.
So much love.
belated hb, rs!!!!!!
reaching to clean toilets, for one.
My ED called me tonight and had many hateful words for me, hanging up on me. I stood my ground then sat in the grocery store parking lot and cried. For 30 years this child has lied about everything under the sun and I have caught her in every lie or at the least known and just didn't say anything in the past few years. She has disowned me, with the exception of calls like these, she tells me what a horrible mother I was and how she doesn't want to be my daughter anymore. I was appalled, all the crap I have put up with from her since she started lying at the age of five, her terible tantrums even in the teen years, disowning me the way my mom did whenever she gets mad. The other two have complaints but they have to do with things we discuss and most are disagreements since they became adults. She won't even tell me what the hell she is talking about.
Sorry, needed to get that out and none of my girlfriends were home tonight! I'll take some Jack Daniels in a diet coke and then I am outta here. Maybe the cuppa would be better for me, huh, Kate!
When you can, look out. Whatever landscape calms you most is the landscape you will see. Let it bathe you. Breathe it in.
Silence. Sounds of nature. Vinny’s breathing.
Time here just to be.
Music in the background at your beck and call.
Tea. Always tea. Brewed perfectly. When you’re ready.
Cyril, Rita, Kate, Kim, Larry, nana, iq and her stars and I will be nearby but will not intrude. We all know how this space can help.
Time here, always, just to be. And Vinny, snuggling in.
Thinking of us all as I think of all that is here.
There are times I wish this truckstop were a real and finite destination, a place to put a hand on someone's shoulder, this may be one. If you wander in, Kim, as far away and dreamlike this may seem, know that all intentions are real and friends always here.
Would any of you folk reading care to drop in, and share a few reflections ?
Know you are welcome, and whatever you say will be held in the strictest confidence ;-)
Tea, coffee, drinks on the house. Bring a song for the jukebox.
Dance, anyone ?
Hope you’re smiling as well.
Maybe the number of views means we’ve all been here 5,000 times.
Smiling back.
for 5 months
but there's every chance the visitors
take one look at what's involved
and move swiftly on,
whistling.
wait til i get back rita
from spinning in the garden
the garage
the empty rooms
the truck returned
the stairs to the window looking out to sea
and o finally
maybe
hopefully
if there's cesaria evora
i would love to shuffle in the sawdust with a smile again.
Vinny, anna1 and I will be here. I will throw down some sawdust.
empty rooms and trucks are soul sucking, back to the bower is probably good. you don't have to smile when you dance, as long as you close your eyes.
I gave up my time online today when my beautiful and wonderful granddaughter walked through the back door. First we read The Desert and then a new book she brought, The Encyclopoedia of Princesses.
I think I'll have a half a glass of red wine.
What months these have been. What hours. What days.
But never alone. Not here.
I last danced when I was 11.
Dancing went away from me.
But here, here as I listen and as I watch
Perhaps it will come back to me.
Whatever feelings have been held, they have been held.
Upheld. Supported. Heard.
Here. By hands that care. By hearts that care.
Safely. Safely.
Even if others looked on in the background.
Safety has been honoured. Here.
I suspect the reverence of the honour
Draws others toward, not against.
It is a kind of sacred trust.
Here from the beginning.
Here still.
Here always.
Honoured simply for what it is.
All it is, has been, will be
Always
Here.
Kim, If the last of all your work on Manning Road is done
Perhaps tonight is a night for perfect peace and rest.
I hope so.
I hope the lapping of the waves upon the sand
Will be a lullaby, a gift of your window and of your sea.
So much work has been yours so long.
I hope it and time have brought you some of what you sought.
Serviette. Reaching out. Belonging. Connecting.
All of this and so much more.
I hope.
If home now, having climbed the stairs to your window here,
May full rest catch you up and hold you,
Gently, gently rock you
Until the sleep you often seek
Wraps you in its arms and brings you
Peaceful dreams.
When you wake and when you stretch,
Clouds will part, sun will shine,
Smiles will come, breathing will be full
Eyes will see what they have waited to see
Wanted to see, hoped to see.
Eyes and lips and heart will smile
Sawdust will be waiting,
Cesaria ready to lend her voice for
Shuffling, shuffling til only the rhythm
Is all.
Shuffling and rhythm and smiles.
Sometimes the rhythm
Just the right rhythm
Is all.
Thinking of you, Rita. Hope weather is calm there.
Gorgeous picture of Max underneath iq’s stars. Biscuit for you, Vinny, from our starholder.
You may have another piece in mind, Kim, but this might be a way to begin when you are ready.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Esdl_3kKSBk Besame Mucho
I may have this all wrong, but when you and Rita are both here, you'll sort it out. A try at least.
You've been thorough about the past on your blog, but the recent past is missing - unless I missed a post - I know you share a house with ex. and you get along, but sleeping in the living room isn't making sense here.
Tell it here, if it helps - I'd love to know. When things are painful and you're losing sleep, it's time to reach out, you know ?
anna, the Cesaria is beautiful, thankyou. With your words of care you brighten up the truckstop, like fresh flowers on the table, like sunshine in the window, like Vinny scratching behind his ear.
Hey, I didn't see the golf, but I heard how close we got on the radio.
S Africa again, I heard - that's good news right there ;-)
If not, then I can make coffee too.
Thinking of us all.
I've been unearthing lots of stuff, in this moving-business - I added a couple of drawings up top, for awhile - I'll change them over when I get back - the first is Zita, a friend who played restaurants with her dad around Sydney in the seventies - love drawing musicians.
The second I don't remember drawing ( ink on paper ) - but the person inside with a bowl of fruit is probably me ; the face I don't recognise, probably a use ; there's a crescent moon above, cut off by my camera - I think it's up where I'm taking all this stuff on Tuesday.
Maybe I'll remember.
Love to you all.
Hope you unearth more treasures :)
Can't afford to break down now.
So nice to have an artist in the house.
I loved it, but I'm still thinking on how to comment.
Maybe I needn't. I loved it.
Lots of you, there.
and no you needn't comment, although as bad as I am at replying, I do read and relish each one. I wish I were like Linda S who is right there with a quick word fostering goodwill. Mostly I just pleasantly hum internally from the praise and then quickly run in the other direction. :D
Lovely to see Zita so near to Jacqueline. I see what you see, Rita. The musician is the music in moments like these. The passion of expression speaks in so many ways. Then the sliver of moon, the muse, the looking .... How much still unspoken here.
How easy to look for hours at these. How easy to look forever. Gifts these are for us, for everyone who ventures in. Hope you know, Kim.
Do wonder though how you are. You sound as though you are smiling. I hope so, but if the smile sometimes fades, know we are here. Perhaps there is still so much to do that it is hard to allow time to simply be and feel. Perhaps all of that has already made its peace. As your work with all the bits goes on, whether you are here or there, you are held here. If it helps to remember that, then do. Middle of the day, middle of the night - here for each other in whatever way best helps. So often you take care of us. Just know we are here for you as well. Hope you are smiling now.
What on earth did you say to them, Larry ?
Anna There will indeed be a gallery - next project after the books.
I'm going to scan everything & build a website. Somehow.
You can be my American agent ;-)
Thinking of wings forming, lifting, willing to stretch, of courage.
Thinking of a moving trip.
Thinking that things shared are things halved.
Wishing I, we could help.
If you should look in, iq, I love the picture of Max I see beneath your stars today. Love the beach as well. How could I not. Thinking of you both.
the help in your beautiful words ( a.)
(b.) Just grab the other end of this table, would you ?
That's the way.
Raining and it's my excuse to stop hauling stuff
and read a bit. Coffee at the truckstop. I got a truck now,
with wheels and everything.
I don't think I'll give up the day-job just yet though ;-)
well the truckstop gang could all grab a chair or a painting or an iron wheel...just watch what Cyril puts under his hat...
Sillier still but want you to know we’ll be thinking of you. Wish you could ring if you could use help and wish we could be there in a jiff. We would, you know. Even in the rain.
When you can reconnect your laptop, we’ll be glad to know you’re back, but in the way things happen here, while you are away, part of you will be with us and part of us will be with you. Helping in whatever way we can, whatever way you need. Meanwhile you gift us with beauty you’ve created and that will hold us here. Much love to the smiling one. Can hear the smile and feel the warmth from here.
Strange thoughts with coffee and truckstop friends.
Cesaria. Barefoot shuffling. Gentle motions. Almost smiling, almost not, eyes looking to the distance, eyes looking within, eyes open, eyes closed. Closeness. Gathering in. No wonder she speaks so well to us here.
May rain and winds begin to lessen. Sending thoughts of warmth and calm.
Thinking of a different metaphor just now. Thinking of butterflies.
Looking back and thinking of words. How they might help. I hope they do. Hope you know, Kim, how your words help. I hope you know. I meant what I said about the butterfly visiting here. Yesterday and again today, he came close and then he rested on me. I’ve never had that happen before. I think butterflies are speaking together and spreading the word of special wings beginning to flutter and stretch and find their way.
I just want to say this word out loud: film. Film. How incredibly exciting. How lucky those who’ll be working with you. How lucky all of us who may one day see the magic made. Honestly. But ... only if the magic is right for you.
Gallery. So many smiles this word brings.
If and when words might help, know that words and thoughts and belief in you are here. Always here. If and when a hand would help, a hand is here and it reaches out. Wish it could be more helpful in reality. When the too many things begin to get in the way, reach out if you can and a hand will be here to help clear the path ... or at least to try. Virtual is wonderful but I really wish I, we could simply be there to help you with all you are trying to do. And finally, for now - I know, I am not good at being quiet here - I am glad you’ll have company and be with those you love. I am. But I’ll miss you. I know. Silly me. Never mind. You are not going til Tuesday, but do take care of yourself. Try to take some time for yourself. It is such a special place for you, “a place to reach high, a place made of sky.” Perhaps it is the perfect place right now. A place where you can breathe. and be. and heal. and hear yourself. and smile. Will be thinking of you while you are away and wishing you strengthening wings. and peaceful rest. and safe roads for travelling.
At half past eleven here, a little more than two hours ago now, Sunday morning late for some of us, Monday morning early for Kate and Kim, I was sitting outside on the swing. Tea, journal, books. Had thought of Narnia but had brought Anne’s first book and another I’ve been reading set in Libya. Part of me wants to feel safe, calm and part of me needs to know ... what I may already know, what I may never really know, but isn’t that why we .... Wind was blowing too much to write so I started with the book about a young boy growing up in Libya in 1979. I want to read. I don’t want to read. Part of me needs to read this now. Do you go away inside yourself when you read. Everything else vanishes.
I know now that I was holding the pages down with the fingers of my right hand. I wouldn’t have had any sense of that except that suddenly the butterfly, the one who’s been visiting me, came to rest this time on my fingers. Sometimes you just can’t breathe. You must not break this moment. This third moment. This is the third time this butterfly has sought me out. Always I have been called by butterflies but never before these past few days has one ever come to rest on me.
If he had stayed for hours, I’d not have moved. It is as though he has come to speak with me or to acknowledge those who think of wings, all they do and all they bring, all they allow us to find. Enormously special this. I think. I’ll not forget. So many different kinds of gifts. Spoken, shared and freely given here. Even across a sea. Amazing wings.
(just kidding, LOL and stuff)
*waves* hi kids. i love this post/place, its like a quiet space where i can rest my eyes/mind.
Rita, lorianne, Evening both of you. Quiet space, yes.
Kim, Whether or not you look in tonight, safe journey as you go. Vinny is nodding. May roads be easy and weather be calm. Don’t forget to take the chocolates! Is there such a thing as a chocolate train. I wonder. When night falls for you tonight, hope rest will come easily.
Well. it all started with me running away and Kim asking " Are You There Yet" wherever I was going.
Now we are putting up the flag for Kim. When you are there friend, with all the flotsam and jetsam of a life, to the place in the woods you made, somehow we will all know. Smoke signal. or send to the universe. Your Fridays are here.
Hope all of us meet calm breezes and warm comfort during the coming hours.
Hope whether asleep or whether awake, gentle smiles accompany us.
it's been a real bear to get on OS this afternoon/evening...wonder what is happening?
anna1, maybe we should sit on the 'veranda' and look for smoke signals or the sound of wood being chopped.
It's rough out there on OS this morning. Just dropped by Adina Gianelli's post about forgoing passover this first year after losing her baby. Poor girl is struggling. Made me think of pastvoices. I don't have any way to judge whether anyone grieves-- much less the loss of a child-- correctly. Maybe there's a time to encourage someone whose hurting to turn towards the sun. But this girl was excoriated by some of the commenters.
So it was nice to be able to follow anna1 to a nice friendly place. I miss you all; it's been a very busy time of year. Wishing you all clear skies and smiling dogs!
Sometimes ... this ... is where ... I ... live. Now is ... one of those moments.
I think one of life’s most important gifts is wondering if we are hearing ... exactly ... what someone else means or is trying to say. Sometimes, I think, we almost forget how important a gift that is. Not here, I think. Mostly we listen carefully here. Bliss. Oasis. Allowing. Here.
Please hug both of your lovelies for me. Arms needing to hug here. I know you understand. Thinking of you, of all of us.
And to everyone here at the TS this evening warm hugs and positive thoughts for you all!
Couldn’t help thinking last night, the night before that nature is so angry with being ignored that sometimes lashing out with such widespread ferocity must feel like the only way of being heard. Much of the world has experienced something these past months. Are we listening and how do we repay the debt.
Meanwhile much of my heart is here. Looking, watching, listening. Grateful for the walk, the drive, the voices, the smiles, the words, the sharing, the calm and for the beautiful pictures Kim left with us. How easy to lose myself as I look at them. How easy to drift away. Musical Zita and a Muse. A link of sorts to the other sanctuary. Have I said before, it feels like home. Tea kettle warming. Antoinette left some scones. No, Vinny, no scones for you. Biscuits though. The ones you love. And smiles. Lovely smiles. Rita, room here on the verandah.
this is usually the time I'm napping before getting up at 9pm saying hi to Karen and then falling back asleep for real. But school is out tomorrow here so I'm off work! weee...except I'm still in nap mode, no stirring of trouble here :) maybe after a margarita.
So what is everyone's plans for Easter? Anything fun?
I knew Antoinette you would be cooking up some great stuff, enjoy your lunch and the promenade with your Easter pups.
Anna1 quiet Easter here too, that's ok after many years of cooking and gathering.
I went to the Build-A-Bear store and built a lamb for my little princess. I drove the attendant crazy but it took a few times of pulling our the filling he put in to get it exactly the soft I wanted! My Tara will be so thrilled!
If I don't get back before, Blessings and Happy Easter one and all.
rita: a gnome's hat is a very sacred object.
I think the owner of this gin joint will be hitting the door soon. Thank God for anna1 and pastvoices or Vinny would have starved.. of course the candle is in the window and all who are on the road please come in ...
let's dance!
How did you know I can skate?
let's spin that one again!
j-j-julie!! *hiccup!*
*aside, half whispered* thanks rita, we're fine now.
twist that thing, julie!
*sorry, rita...*
*blushes to his roots*
*shimmies his hat around the dance floor*
YOOOO JULES ... I love when Jules comes by.. Margueritas? no Karma zone?
*jabs elbow into her kneecap*
julie and i will have ours booze free, thanks.
So what are you drinking Miss Rita?
Veuve Clicquot Brut..ahhhhhhhhhhhhh.
Ok sorry. I can hang in the truckstop too, so maybe some Tequila, straight up and real slow.
shake it, rita! even on skates she sure can wriggle!
*twist and turns*
*flips over backwards, pinpoint landing*
*glides past julie on her perch at the bar*
no ralphing on this gnome's hat or person!
that said I am putting away my sugar free nonsense and pouring myself a glass of mt. dew
mmmm, sugar!!
I go away for a week and the ratings shoot to 32 and Cyril's back and there's music !
Where've you been, Cyril ?
Found a new writer on Most Recent just now - wow.
Forgot her name, but wow.
Off to see la Mexicana read a poem - some people ...
pretty sure they'll fit you fine.
*off to read the new find!*
auvoir, m'petite!
*bows, kissing her hand*
*blushe sbeet red*
*sighs once more*
scrabble and ginger ale?
I know there's a game in the front closet.
Hey Drinks of Whatever Kind On The House!
(no worries Kim, on me)
in that case, make mine chateau neuf de papp (sp?)
*grooves along with 2nd merengue tune*
*finishes cleaning off table's surface*
*looks about him*
there! clean as a whistle. julie, you start. it's your game.
Where've you been Kim? moving?
*picks a piece of lint off the Gnome's fine chapeau and straightens it on his head*
*starts turning over all the tiles*
*tugs at it nervously*
WTH--? there's a cardboard "w" in this set.
*scratches his head*
*in his dreams, kisses julie , blushing all the while*
you are a poet, what about your stuff.. huh? a line or two?
rita: i brought cards. you sore losers ready?
Rita reads a Julie of her choice.
no way Rita, not even in a Karma free area :) I'd rather dance nekkid on the tables. I do wish to hear others read theirs though. I wish I knew what you guys sounded like when you talked so I could hear your voices instead of my voices for you.
*blows kisses to sleeping gnome*
don't blow it! plant it where it goes!
when my sinuses don't act up.
uh, literally....
uh, y-you can leave yours on too.
*blushing 6 shades of scarlet*
hey skype conference.. voice to the crazy
*sigh*
*boogies round rita and the others, grinning*
Rita, I'd be honored. I don't have Skype either, those kind of things make me clam up and get all shy. Would love to hear you though.
*pours a martini and passes it down the bar* dancing is now required....do you give lessons?
nice try, sweet stuff!
*skates freely away, giggling nervously*
*hits a beat he can enjoy and merengues on down to the far wall*
*belches profusely*
*wipes beard on sleeve*
I'd just love to hear Rita read a Julie.
All the music's at nan's tonight - I'm heading back to hear some more - the move was good. & good to be back.
Where there's electricity.
you mished a m'rengue.
cyril, you're adorable when you're smitten with julie. blushing is so underdone these days.
*half topples out of his seat in the doing*
*fills his glass, squeezes fresh lime wedges*
*downs the lot*
*lurches in his chair*
Hi Candace - you started all this reading-to-camera business - how about you read a ... Art ?
There's a challenge ...
*climbs into his favorite spot under the bar top for a little nap*
*his hat over his eyes, his beard stirring with his beery breath, he snores softly from his perch among the clean bar towels, and dreams of tropical waves and a full sail.....*
*mermaids serenade him in this dream*
*none of them look like julie*
*some disturbingly look like his ex mother-in-law (face like a battle axe)*
why you keep peeping in my window?
Do you know something I don't know?
Did you see my baby
walking down the railroad tracks?
You can tell me if the girl's
ever coming back.
or is she trying to get back home
is she wrapped up in some other's arms
or is that girl somewhere all alone..
Sleeping. Waking.
All home.
Ahhh.
the os gods allowed one of my efforts to post here!
=')}
Good to see the Itchikoo Parks here - must be Easter !
I got a new post - somewhere. Maybe it's in the truck - thought I emptied that truck ...
I got a new post but I didn't write it yet, then.
Gumbo. New favourite word.
We need pictures of home Kim. Gumbo is good! mix it all together...
hope you'll never shut this place down.
shall we?
Jules, OS is slowwww a lot but doesn't push me off too much. Probably a bad thing.. too much time here not doing things I should be.
Last night was a good party though, I was downloading pictures from a family gathering and playing Yellow Moon party at the same time.
*holds hand out, gathers skirts with other hand*
these hoops aren't going to get in the way at all are they?
Will you post some photos?
*searches the bunkhouse closet for a his stash of poker chips*
al right! who's left their bunny slippers behind/
y'all been sleeping here?
Gnome, are you on speed? you have been going non stop for hours now! is it gnome super strength or something?
*hmms "hey jude" to himself*
*sets up panini maker on his low shelf*
*sizzles several sandwiches nice and toasty*
we've got veggie, turkey, prosciutto, and one with plain ham.
Going home. Wish we could have gone in and opened windows, fluffed cushions, made sure the fridge and larder were stocked. Wish we could prepare the warmest of welcomes for you there even as we left you to open the door and have time to yourself to know how it feels. Hope the sun will shine and the sea will sparkle. They will have missed you there. I hope home feels like home and that the air and all that calls your name there lift you, warm you, comfort you. All of this I wish.
I will have the proscuitto panninninnini if the iron is still hot Cyril... watch Vinny next to the ham..
*sneaks him a whole sandwich from the stack*
the iron's still hot. rita, yours'll be next.
*doffs cap, making sweeping bow*
sing it high, sing it low......
*pushes chairs back in place.*
*unplugs the panini maker*
*heads for his hammock in the shed out back, knapsack in tow*
tomorrow is another day....
We usually have dinner at my daughter's. She had to work at three today and wanted to nap before, so no dinner. I thought they were going to church with me this year as last year when I asked they said, "this year was are going with his parents." They went with his parents again. So I offered a brunch. Some quiche, dollar sandwiches, donuts, veggies, fruit, etc. Thought we had an agreement. Called last night to find out what time to have the quiche warm and was told, "oh no, we are going to brunch after church with his parents." Too bad I had already been to the grocery. Spent every bit of my foodstamps on a brunch feast I will now eat all week.
Irrepressible ?
Buoyant ?
Indefatigable ?
All of these, and a reminder that words
are powerful little things,
when shared.
Thanks anna1 for the sustenance of your thoughts most recently,
and pastvoices : we shall overcome ... sing it with us, sis.
which is a relative term, after all.......
it's the secret of our success in life.
;')}
Not one to paint the lily, Larry.
I'll warm up the engine.
Geoffrey Rush. Bob Dylan. Who's the lucky one then.
Hope you made your flight, iq.
Smiling here.
Lovely smiles. Again.
Can’t help wondering what it is about Manning Road that nurtured so many to birth such beauty. What is it as well that gave you such sensitivity and awareness from the start that you see beauty as it is and where it is, even where others might deny it. High granite, across the valley from the brother of a childhood friend. I understand the draw there even more now than before. What is or was the wonder as you grew that sustains the beauty born now in so many ways. More ways yet to come. Sandstone and a chisel, paper and pencil, ink, fingers touching keys, lovely young women, lovely creative artists. Wood chosen so carefully and shaped to create a home. Music. Bread. Life giving vertical granite surfaces for those who breathe to climb. Breathing to be. Energy leads to energy and from the energy emerges beautiful life. Boyhood begun on Manning Road. All of life’s creations re-emerge in a place where arms that dare may reach so high and eyes willing to open as fully as they can will know at first glance this place to be one made of sky. Miracles perhaps. What gifts you draw from and bring to each other. What marks you create along the way as you make such loving sense of all that is yours. Now ours in your sharing. So incredibly special this.
Music. Yours tonight. Hope he will be glorious.
anna1, thank you for your thoughts, rough day yesterday, resigned today a bit.
ok....mysterious soap-bubble of joy........it's all I got
"vertically challenged ship's captain"?
*waggles eyebrows* wanna try out for cabin boy?
ok, bed for me...sigh....work...bleh
it's fine when I'm there, but the actual thought of having to get up and go there is just no good.
capt. "gnomie" to you!
;')}
ED came roaring up the driveway about an hour and a half ago. She came in when I was at the sink (she came from Kentucky to see her step-aunt in the hospital). She walked past me and said "Dad, can I use your bathroom?" He was headed for bed just before she got here. She was crying. I asked if she was going to ignore me. She said she didn't want to fight and to keep my snide comments to myself. I just wanted to know if she was going to ignore me. She started whining about me trying to argue with her. I swear to all of you that I neverr raised my voice or had that intent! Sure popped my balloon from this morning.
Rita, I want to say again, I am thinking about you and my thoughts are with you in these tough days.
Anna1, you have no idea how much your words ALWAYS mean to me and I am sure everyone here.
Could the gnome maybe arrange a free trip to Ireland for me. I have been aching to go.
Hope tonight's music has been magical for our smiling one.
Fantasy then. For a while. The Bride and Groom. Larry, I’ll be watching for you. Of course I’ll watch. Well, if I’m awake. So many parts of my life seem caught up in all of this. I know. I live inside a fairy tale. Sometimes. Summer of ’81. An Oxford summer. I’d told my girls, the incoming seniors, to get up at 4 AM and watch. When would we ever see anything like it again. Of course they did. Who didn’t want to watch as someone, even an aristocrat, married her prince and became a princess. Who didn’t hope for the fairy tale.
I bought a wedding dress that summer. Laura Ashley designed it. There was a common dressing room downstairs on Banbury Road. I had to try it on. Somehow it’s not like trying on anything else. You need to ... somehow ... step into it. Once in, you need to pull it up and then reach inside the sleeves. Leg o’mutton sleeves. Never before or since has anyone ever gasped when I have tried something on. Well, maybe my mother from time to time, but she wasn’t there. Gasps of pain are not the same. I had seen it in the window for days as I walked by. A friend had offered to make my dress, but she couldn’t see what I could see. Then there it was in Laura Ashley’s window. I heard the gasps and was afraid to look, but no one moved. They just waited. And then we all cried. It was perfect. Perfectly Victorian. If I wore my hair up .... And I could afford it. Forty-four pounds. Something like $75.
The one who barely dated was engaged to someone else. Not my Englishman. So many danger signals flashed that summer. He was right to worry, looking back, but I had given my word. Just before I had left for London, the phone had rung. People didn’t ring back then. Not country to country. They wrote. Aerogrammes. I remember wondering how he had found my number. He wanted to see me once I arrived. He just wanted to see me. He just wanted to talk. Why, I wondered. Why now. He had offered nothing. I accepted someone else. I lived inside a novel. But in the moment, all the moments, you think you are doing what is right, what is best.
So had Diana. In the end, my Englishman won me. It was an August night. It was my birthday night. How could I have forgotten that. Everyone inside was waiting for me, but I didn’t know. No one had said. In the dark, in the rain after a summer of looking at everything and being ready to walk away, he asked. I almost didn’t hear. I wonder was I afraid to hear. I seem to think he flew home with me to meet my parents and let them know he meant what he said.
I had given my word but someone else had my heart. I couldn't push his heart away. It wasn’t an easy phone call to make though I think he wasn’t surprised. He was angry but somehow I don't think he was hurt. How could that have been. I was the one who had been surprised. All my dreams were coming true. I so believed.
Diana married. I became engaged. She brought William home. I wore my dress. My wedding dress. I was ten years older and a year behind. I watched as she began to worry. I watched as he would look away. I watched as the tabloids wrote. I watched her at the Taj Mahal. Alone. Mother of a future king. Wife of a future king. But the fairy tale would not hold.
Years later I saw Andrew Morton’s biography of Diana. Inside the front cover were the British laws for divorce. I came to know those laws. I ached for her. Her greatest gift was love. I have known that gift. I thought.
As I watched her funeral, I ached again for the lost princess and for her sons. She had loved them fiercely. Not perfectly perhaps, but fiercely. She had wanted them to know life. She had wanted William to know his people, people he would one day lead. She wanted him to know them as they really were, to be comfortable with them, to respect them and the lives they led.
Hours from now her eldest son, the one who so resembles her, the heir, to the heir will wait at an altar for his bride. I still believe. I still want to believe. May their love be real and strong and enough. May their fairy tale endure. May happiness be theirs for all their lives.
I’ll watch. And I will hope for them. And I'll watch for Larry.
"I don’t have one grown up cell in my body right now. Nature is so angry and nothing can hold it back. I am five."
That was Brassawe, over at his post.
Talk about Open Call Mortified.
Larry should wear a flower garland.
Kim. Dylan?
please check your gnome lore.
;')}
I went with A & Greersy ( it was Greersy's idea - she booked the tickets on Tuesday, and we went last night - there'd been such bad press : the usual "unrecognisable," "wooden," "over-the-hill," etc. that seats were easy. Good seats too.)
It's true the old songs were barely recognisable - but who needs to hear them ( again & again ) how they were first recorded anyway ?
To me, the magic of the man is Re-invention.
He was Carnie Man. Loud Rockabilly Bluesman. With a perfect band.
All grey suits & hats, playing like they were on fire. Hell, they were on fire - until the very end, for Forever Young, when he put down the guitar and gave us the sweetest harmonica solo, all bent at the knees and leaning back beneath the white fedora, and we knowing he probably won't be passing this way again got to our feet and loved him all over. That was pure, classic Dylan. That was sublime. I have seen Dylan, and it was incredible.
Definitely a post for Emily's Open Call. I hope you do it.
Pretty much exactly as it is here ( minus the pic of Larry as Archbishop behind Kate & Will. )
Maybe with a pic of Larry as Archbishop ... EP, for sure.
You are so sweet. You as well, Rita. Thanks for humouring me. I hardly know where it all came from. Sometimes your fingers move and it all falls out. I read Brassawe's piece. Power there. And Dylan here. On fire. Good for Greer. Good for all three of you. On fire. So glad you were able to be there. Your description makes me feel I was there as well. Lovely to be able to share such special moments.
Will be here. With tea. Not sure which wedding I'll be seeing. Not sure it really matters. So much history will be playing out. In a few hours. Love and smiles. I hope. And Larry.
Anna1, the things you have written here are so absolutely beautiful!! I hope you took the others' advice to post this in the open call, it is so beautiful and haunting! I hit the wrong numbers on my alarm so slept through the wedding I longed to see. However, I know me and TiVoed it, I haven't watched it yet. It is apparently a depressive narcolepsy day. I keep falling off. with OS in my lap. Or Precious in my lap and OS on the arm of the chair.
I did see the balcony and two kisses rather than one. Neither of them looking posed or staged as the one in '81. This is true love I think. Her dress and veil, my gosh, so so beautiful. The ultimate fairy tale, a commoner now princess; a marriage born of love and not need to reproduce. Like Rita, I have thought of Will and Harry as the sons of all of us since their mother's tragic premature death. But she had taught them so much and so well. I don't care what they were saying this morning about not giving Charles credit in his raising of the boys, I see more of Diana's nature, at least in Wills than anything of Charles. Like the night before the wedding, requesting, no telling, his security he was going out among the people and he did.
Does being Duke of Cambridge disallow him using his born title of Prince? Shouldn't he be Prince of Cambridge? His father is Prince of Wales. Isn't he? Can't keep it straight.
Oh, gnome, I know you are not from Ireland. I was just hoping you had some pole with your relative that works for Travelocity. You ARE related aren't you? If not he must be your twin in the world, they say we all have one.
ED will be here until Sunday, I would really love the depressive narcolepsy to change back to insomnia so the episode is less obvious to those around me. She didn't speak to me and hurt me that first night. Dad must have said something when they were out as the next morning when she came to walk, she talked to me. Then, she came back later with Tara so mommy could take a nap. This afternoon she is back to walk (out right now). She is filling me in on what she wants me to believe. There are some things I know are outright lies but I didn't respond. I just nodded my head, is that wrong? It feels wrong. She didn't bring the kids, they are with Brandi's "father."
This was nice, sitting here, petting Vinny, venting with friends!
Charles most likely frowned, though I have rarely seen that prince smile. I suppose I am still mad at Charles and angry that his marrying a divorced woman didn't knock him out of place for king; I think he will be a lousy one. The Queen could still change her mind and pass over him. We'll see.
Dylan at his best, my what an honour and delight! That harmonica must have sounded heavenly. I would rather hear Dylan sing his songs live than listen to them recorded. I only have him on vinyl (if they haven't been lost in a move along the way like many other things), but nothing to play them on anyway.
ED who doesn't have a job or a pot to p___ in, has an MP3 player for her walks. I want one! I could walk then. My portable CD player doesn't fit in my pocket and people in town looked at me funny. I need to walk or use my option on my health insurance to join the YMCA for free and use the facilities. Then I have to poke my depression, at the least three days a week to go there and do something, even if just walking the pool.
So much heaviness for you. Sometimes I think we need to find our own ways to push negativity away before it draws every bit of our happiness away. Perhaps you could begin to plan your trip to Ireland whether you ever board the plane or not. What is it about Ireland that calls your name. What would you most hope to see? Think green. Deep, deep green. Lovely countryside. I worked for a little while with a company called Elegant Ireland. Don’t even ask. Visitors could hire amazing properties. If you’re going to dream, you might as well dream. The Irish Tourist Board might be a place to start unless you already know exactly where you would stay and what you would want to see. I remember thinking how could it be more green than England. And then it was. Maybe it would lift you just to begin planning the dream. I brought tourists to Ireland once or twice. As though I knew anymore about the country than they. But I had books. And I had the itinerary. I could read ahead. Don’t believe the signs for opening. They open when they do. Lovely smiles though. Lovely smiles.
Go to Cliff’s Place. So much to lift you there. Click on Kim’s link to Keith’s piece when you are done. A piece to lift you enormously, I think. A place to begin at least. Scroll back up to Kim's drawings here. So much lifting here. Another place to begin.
Kim found a Snickers Bar from 1962 behind the stove while cleaning out his Mom's house and has been saving it for the winner.
Enjoy!
*with a sweeping low bow, and a swift kick at the jukebox, which magically tunes itself to the blue danube waltz, he prepares for a glide across the truckstop dance floor*
Cyril, thank you, I would be honored to have this dance!
what'll we do?
Thanks woman :)
Aaarrgghh !
I don't know, Cyril - any suggestions ?
Run ?
All hide behind the bar ?
"Say, what's that black furry thing there ? It's a goddam bear behind the bar !"
Cubicle 2 ?
Change the music ? A bit ?
Maybe we could put up some streamers and balloons - I don't know : what do people do ?
@ Kim *crickets chirping* you came to the wrong place to ask what normals do
kim, it's your joint.
there's still 10 days left. why decide right away?
we potluck it.
simple.
http://open.salon.com/blog/ritashibraolcom/2011/04/30/road_trip
if we all go for the roadtrip theme.
I followed Hablean-(sp) OHO Julia.
Respectfully, She 'closed comments`
But, great nurses just do that 'stuff'`
Oh, if I ever am jailed? My last meal?
I hope I eat cinder-blocks with morel.
silly...
no close comets. They slam us away!
We'd Be out in space, or less cranky!
Who knows what's 'Que Pasa O huh!
Can't Australians Begin A Mule-Stop-Post?
This takes forever and a Saturday Evening.
Do Ya ever (Rita S.) stop at a hicks homes?
I need to discuss 'stuff' ... o humorless folk?
We'd act like mummies ... wrapped in T.P.?
I's no thinking impure ... o wrap who in Oh?
I mean ~ who care who eats cheeseburgers?
I jest like/love people ... o if they burp @ OS.
Good night. I hope I dream sweet dreams too.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xGbnua2kSa8&feature=player_embedded#at=255
The song you ask? It's That What Friends Are For. I find it fitting in light of all that I have been given here. That includes that delightful waltz with Cyril last night!
ED came over and helped her step-father in the yard today and was nice to me when she came in, I think she was waiting for me to bring up last night so she could yell and play the victim, but I am not playing any longer. She even said goodbye as she headed back to Kentucky. Long may she stay!
Julie, I will go read your blog, but whatever it is, know that I am here as well!
Love to all. Vinny seems content.
... in fact, what's embeddable now ? Have they changed the system ?
Road Trip to Art's for cinder blocks & morel !
?? How far is it to Art's ? Maybe meet you half way, on the Galapagos.
Iguana Stew - my shout ; with puffin dumplings, yum !
That's a bummer!
May truckstops remain shelters from the storm on the Highway.
Listening again to what for me has become music of light, music of sky. Sleep on, Vinny. I’ll not leave. Lullaby for now, of light, of sky, of hope. Zita plays along. Muse watches on from beneath the moon.
Soft landings. Safety. Shelter. Here.
+ a old Dylan - not in such great voice, mebbe, but the lyrics ...
I love that song. As an atheist I love that song :D can't even imagine how it touches religious people
Wherever you went, I hope you're ok.
now how ironic is that?
Thanks for noticing I'd disappeared Kim :)
wasn't it 3000 last weekend?
='( }
I haven't had any problems with the system myself apart from the usual glacial loading times - in Julie's case, everything goes "poof !"
In fact, in over 3000 comments, there's only been one spam here - back in November - ren 7352, who auto-deleted after a month or so.
Anyway, rest assured, Julie is still about.
=')}
If I close my eyes and wish really hard, ...
Move over Vinny...
could this be our problem?
I hope the DJ comes in soon, I need a song... haven't asked in awhile...
I think I will go get a link.
anna1, animals like me, even though I am not one of those who baby talks them. They do bring a lot of joy.
http://youtu.be/Gm_XebMavGk
*he's curling up his toes a little bit on this one, as julie's arrival makes him feel assured all's right at the truckstop this night*
*tucked up in his bunk later, he'll think about a little cabin in the woods where his mother used to rock him to sleep back home in gnomenia.*
*sighs contentedly*
*snuggles down into his bedclothes for a pleasant snooze*
mme antoinette: it is very good having yourself here this evening.
welcome home!
heyyy, vinny! nice fella. your water dish empty?
*heads for the veranda to check the dog's bowls*
whoa! seems nobody's had time to feed ya yet, vin.
*settles in to take care of all for vincent*
i like breathing with you.
let's let them keep running awhile....
Spent time yesterday looking again at Kim’s Watercolour on a Rainy Day. There isn’t a day when this piece does not speak to me.
“... they know how much I love them.” A year on and your words speak as powerfully to me now as then. That you find so many ways to let them know and that you see the knowing and the believing for them to be the treasure it is, that you, yourself, have held such moments of finding ways to allow the connecting, reconnecting to be, to be again and again and again until it is everything returns breath to me. Always. It helps me, more than you can know, to know that you are there and that you care. And even more ... that they know. If only, I think, they look in your eyes, how could they not know. The smiles in their eyes begin here and sparkle more brightly because they do ... know. Smiles and sparkles and eyes. Love’s joy. It is the joy that allows all joy.
“... they know how much I love them.” Are there any words that matter more. Especially, perhaps, on days like this.
And Cyril. Thank you.
Are you by the water anna1? Longing for the ocean today, but making myself stay still. Enjoy wherever you are.
Ocean always in my mind for now. Tried wriggling my nose a fair bit yesterday. I need the sea. Off to an office in a little while. A friend, bless her, is desperate enough to buy me a new book to help her. Quickbooks!!! I think of the sea often when I can’t seem to find my way out!! Somehow money is far from real when it isn’t really yours. She had a dream and made it come true until employees tried to take it away. So. For now, she only wants trusted friends. I think I’m going to learn how to give eye drops to her wonderful dog this morning while she gets ready to go out of town. He’s a Belgian shepherd and very much a one woman dog. We need to see if he’ll let me in the house! I am glad to help though my accounting skills are paper and pencil and, well, not quite abacus, but .... Learning I am. Makes me dream of being someone’s agent for someone’s gallery. :) Somewhere in between I keep my journal close.
If I find ocean, I’ll come for you.
The ocean will be in our hearts today I guess, the two of us seaside lovers.. saving my resources for early summer.
I would love to be on a beach today! It's so hot here. It's supposedly 83 outside, but I've been out most of the day (pt likes to take walks) and it's hot as hades out there- at least 90, probably 100 with humidity factored in. Felt good at first, but standing in a parking lot for 10 min almost made me pass out, weak sister that I am. A cool wade would feel so good. Plus I like to pick up pretty shells, stones and glass ( I throw them back mind you, but the gatherer in me must have its due)
the best part is the people.
nice catch, vincent!
=')}
Hey Vinny! Yes, I will scratch your ears. Later. Hey, did we have an anniversary or is it still coming?
6 months of truckstopping.
congrats, kim!
he's due for some bbq and a cold drink by the bay.....
*scruffs his friend's dog's neck, underneath his collar and tags*
roscoe's perched on the roof, coffee's perking.......
*sighs*
*climbs onto his bar towel stack on his shelf behind the counter*
*he and the parrot, in their two respective perches, snooze quietly under the growing moon's light*
not even rita.
strange.
tell you the truth, all that junk hauling for linda's got this gnome tuckered.
mind if i nap?
*checks his "frequent nappers" card for points.*
*proceeds to curl up on the lounge's sofa, a stack of "modern gnome" magazines under his head*
*dreams of julie buying a new sun hat, a bright blue boogie board,ten dozen snickers bars and a case of gnomish cola*
*snores softly, beard stirring with each exhalation in his sleep*
*smiles fleetingly as his dream turns to a shared day at the beach*
Is there still BBQ? I want a cold one too, beer, but not any of that swill we make here in the states, I want something stout, with taste.
I have been wondering where Kim is. I am paranoid, ya know.
Evening all. I might check back before I head for bed, but that will be soon.
We come and treasure quiet hours in this special place. We come and rest or think or smile or laugh or ... remember to breathe, to ....
We come for moments of feeling safe, of feeling free, of feeling whole, of feeling all ourselves, of feeling part of something larger than only ourselves, of a sharing, a giving, a love of life, a love of all who share breath here. We wonder about and keep warm the places of our quiet ones. When one of us is here, somehow all of us are here.
When it helps, we can be here quite alone, but when holding or hugging are really what we need most of all and no one else seems near, Vinny answers our call. He will let us sit as close beside him as we can. He sighs a bit himself when arms wrap round him and he is happy to stay as long as we need. In the quietest of ways, these are the gifts, the solace, the understanding we give each other. Always. Here.
And yet, if once in a while, we could feel the reaching back of another hand, the leaning in of another shoulder, the wrapping round of another’s arms, the calming tones of another’s voice, .... Maybe these are the times, we wait a bit longer and reach more tenderly for Vinny.
Waking, sleeping, thinking of us all. Hugging Vinny. For us all.
Past and Anna, always reassuring to see you both :) *sits down and vegges for a few minutes before job interview* *snuggles Vinny*
Anna1, you are so dear and even when we aren't here at the same exact moment, I always find your presence here. Vinny is snuggling. I went grocery shopping with a migraine. I have never done that before, but I was out of my basic items. I had to go to three stores in order to spare every penny I could. I have 30 cents left in the checking account and no gasoline money. I will have to glean it out of Bill tomorrow, much as I hate to.
Right now, I need to take something for this migraine, get an ice pack and doing away with this pain. Hugs Anna!
Past, ow, ow, ow! hope your headache is long gone and you got some good sleep and found a 20 in an old pair of jeans pocket while doing the wash. *whispers thank you for your support too*
It's Rita!
Kim, I didn't make it out to the post this morning. I was butt ass tired while driving home so just put myself on autopilot instead of driving into town. Looking forward to picking it up Monday morning though (unless they throw a job bone to me, and then it will be some other Monday time) I really am looking forward to see it! :) You've made my week just knowing that it's here and you sent it.
Tell us more, if it comes to pass, of such an opportunity. The universe. Had lunch yesterday with a friend and spoke of precisely this. She is about to open her own school. I remember thinking momentarily of opening a writing academy. Then I thought again and knew that it was time for me to write and see what came of it.
This morning, I need to add, I was in a shop and in my daze I thought I recognized someone walking by. I am so glad I walked back. It was one of my earliest cherubs here. I won't go on and on. Yet. Hugging is always the ... most important embrace. She was my jewel here. She is my jewel still. She was buying things for her daughter's fifth birthday. I've only seen pictures of her daughter. The last time I actually saw my cherub was at her wedding. She invited me. How many teachers does anyone invite to their wedding. I've so far been to two. The other wedding cherub wrote to me a few weeks ago. Hopefully we'll meet quite soon. Could I help him with his papers when he starts on a masters degree. These are my ones who were told school wasn't for them. How wrong those words were. One of the others has been involved with NASA. Anyway. My cherubs. How lucky we are. However such luck comes to us.
Not sure if anyone else wants to listen to this or not. All this week I've been thinking of Vinny. So....
Vinny, We need to talk. Have I mentioned Shadow. I think I spoke of him to Rita. Back with words of quickbooks. Numbers. Helping a friend. Shadow is my friend’s dog. He is a Belgian Tervuren. I know. I had to look it up. Well, he is lovely. Nervous, but lovely. My friend rescued him. She wanted a companion for her older dog. Now Shadow is her only dog. The other night I went over to give him his eye drops. He is incredibly good, but it had been raining. Rain terrifies him. When I opened the door, he was so happy to see a human! Company! He waited for me to open his gate and then he leapt all over me. We didn’t quite kiss but he is as tall as I am, taller when he leaps! We managed the first drops pretty easily. Treats, however, did not call his name. Nothing calls his name when it storms. Poor thing. We needed to wait five minutes before the second drops. He couldn’t get close enough to me and no matter how I tried to hug him and stroke him, nothing was calming him. Sofa time. I got to the sofa first, by a second. He was right beside me and sidling as close as he could. He was shaking so hard that the sofa shook. Poor baby. He wanted to be on my lap.
I am writing this as though minutes were passing and all was calm. Poor baby had no calm. I thought of you as I hugged him. Somehow with you, I feel your calm. Poor Shadow lost calm somewhere - even when there is no storm. My friend told me the other drops were tricky. She didn’t tell me they were almost impossible to get out of the bottle and into his eyes.
This lovely dog, frightened as he was of the weather, never left my side. I felt as though I were torturing him. Are you good with eye drops. I am not. God gave me eye lids to slam shut if something comes near. My Lil Bit didn’t love drops either but she let me give them and somehow loved me afterward.
Suffice it to say that by the time I checked the carpet and the table and saw evidence of wetness, I decided that something must have reached his eyes. He put up with the thirty-nine times it took. Someone somewhere looked down on us. Still he didn’t want a treat. He didn’t want his supper. He didn’t want his biscuits. He especially didn’t want me to leave. Have you and I had this conversation. I grew up Catholic. We assume guilt for everything. Ask Rita and iq. They know. I felt guilty about leaving Shadow in the storm long before I got there. Now, unless I stayed all night, I had to find a way to leave. Guilt lights were on strobe control. Oddly enough Shadow was pretty much in charge. I don’t want to stay behind the gate. I want to come with you. Are you seeing this in your eye. The sofa was looking like a good place to spend the night. In the end, I managed to close the gate with both of us inside. It wasn’t pretty but I managed to straddle the gate. Shadow was not a happy Tervuren. He didn’t cry but I watched as he thought of how he could get to me. The guilt was getting me first.
Then he walked away. That was worse. Outside I looked at the other door to see if he’d come to watch me. No. Guilt. His favorite place to be in storms is the bathtub. He must have gone there. Strobe light flashing.
On the way home lightning lit the sky. I came close to turning around.
Anyway, in the end all was well and Shadow was fine. My friend’s flight was cancelled twice and she came home.
All this to tell you, that lovely ... or should I say handsome as Shadow is, he is not you. Yes. I mean it. Yes. I have biscuits. Yes. I’ll stay. Right here. Yes. Are you comfortable. Good. Now close your eyes. You’re not alone. That’s right. I heard that sigh. Off you go. Rest.
if it's any consolation, i was only dreaming.
*hands her a chicken topped salad with a side of fresh avocado slices and a smooth dill dressing*
cheers. thanks for the damp cloth.
;')}
*sighing, he settles next to her, silently experiencing the story she is telling*
*sites roscoe hanging out with his friends in a tree just outside the truckstop*
souls just don't know it any better than here.
this truckstop's a haven for that reason.
*settles down onto a cozy floor cushion cuddling dog and gnome*
nap time, life is good
*hands julie her very own, customized "frequent nappers" card*
don't forget--check yer points before napping.
;')}
Hello dear friends! I sure have missed you and the Truckstop!
glad to see you home again!
panini? kim bought the machine a few weeks back.
that pistachio soaked us all last time for 50 smuckolies.
you'll get soaked.
Haven. Here.
I wish I had a gift of music to share, to offer in these hours. Only one comes to mind and it might not be the one to help. Several months ago there came a night when I kept drifting off and waking up. A song kept lifting me awake. At first I thought of the play itself and couldn’t see what was drawing me. Sweeney Todd. But the music kept calling me. Certain lyrics held me as tears fell. Someone had helped to hold me not that long before and I remembered as I knew who the lyrics brought back to me. This morning after reading this one’s words, the lyrics floated back. If only this time, I could somehow keep anyone from harming you.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oPsDyz6PvgU Cleo Laine’s
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h4U48Gh-Fgs&feature=related Barbra’s
If only I could keep those I love safe from harm. For Kim.
kim's hardly here anymore.
i think the chief's given up.
we did that road trip almost without him at first.
hope all's okay.
we did that road trip almost without him at first.
hope all's right with his world.
this is a strange truckstop!
Safety. Haven. Soft landings. Here. Always. For each and all of us. From each and all of us. Here. Always. Middle of the day. Middle of the night.
Always. Holding. All safe. Here. We only need to believe and trust and allow the giving of what is all.
the way those comments -2 months worth!-simply went away for a time was weird.
i am thankful it hadn't.
kim is to be applauded.
Somehow or other, I hope, still we hold each other. Often here the moon has held us. While I hold it now, I hold us all and sense that as we can, we hold each other. This has been the magic here. This has been our treasure. Here or not, holding holds. May somehow holding help, free, sustain, allow. Not quite sure why tears are here. Perhaps it is simply the mattering ... of all of this ... of all of us. Perhaps it is the guidance of the moon. Waking sleeping. Missing. Caring. Thinking of us all. Hoping all are finding peace.
it's so film noir.
your waves.
yes.
But I can hear.
Tonight I stayed up to post about an OS meet up here in St. Louis. It was.... Well go read it if you want to know how it was. There is a picture!
I have missed you all. Anna1, you keep a constant vigil for us all and I want to say Thank You!!!!!!!
Vinny, can you shift a tiny bit. Room for everyone. Perfect.
Not being able to lift away another’s pain.
If only wanting could allow a balm, a calm,
a lifting, an accepting
of the soul, within, without, now, then
of the soul whose intentions
are, always have been good.
Doesn’t stop the wanting.
Doesn’t stop the hope.
Thinking of one who feels that he reports
Thinking of one who attempts always to speak only his truth
as it comes and as it feels
Thinking of one who offers in the face of pain
the possibility of the role he played
maybe yes, maybe no
but posited, recognised.
No demons here
not at all
only those who
know and miss
love without pain
love as only love
love that lifts
and holds
and frees
and understands
and allows
us
to be
always
who
we really are
as we are
always
Someone looking out
If only arms could wrap right round
keep all hurt away
and all love in
lips to forehead
lean in
close your eyes
let rest come
“Lights On” Sydney Opera House
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-asia-pacific-13585671
Vivid Sydney festival celebrating Sydney as a creative hub. 27 May - 13 June.
I just hope as they mark this hub that they know what we know here. Perhaps this is where Zita and Muse are. They have slipped away to celebrate. If not for Kim, they would not have found their air. If not for Kim, we’d not have known their presence. Their grace. Their ability to move us, touch us, speak to us and lift us.
Creative hub. Yes. May they celebrate all their own. May the celebration begin right here.
First star. Yes. Here.
Come. Lean back. Feet up. Blazing fire, gentle crackling sounds.
No disturbances. Only peace. A while, at least. Here.
A weekend for remembering here. Because of or simply since lunch on Friday, lunch that lasted all the afternoon, I choose to remember the soldiers I know best, those who sat at desks or tables in front of me, beside me, with me, who had fought all their lives on a battlefield they knew too well.
Because of or simply since Friday afternoon, I remember Zach. He had already found a table and was waiting when I arrived. I told him I was ready to listen to all of his news. I told him I had brought paper and pen in case I needed to take notes. He smiled and jumped right in.
I didn’t take notes and I don’t remember every single detail but I do remember all my joy. I smiled almost all the afternoon.
We did speak of our once principal. He had heard the news of the dismissal before I had. We spoke of sadness and of hurt. Ours. At his hands. How sad to have such a thing, such memories to share. And yet ... because we shared, we share again ... now. The sadness and the hurt didn’t lock us down. Somehow, because we refused to lose our dreams, we and they live on.
Imagine sitting over lunch and listening to words of love and belief and dreams and hope. From one of yours. From one of yours who knows he is one of yours, one of all of those who believed and dreamed alongside as he began his world.
All afternoon as I listened and watched his eyes, my heart swelled. At one point I asked when he might start his own school. He didn’t look away. He didn’t shush me. He looked beyond ... to the land of possibility. Can you feel my joy. At another point I asked when he would write his book, tell his story. His eyes never looked away. He looked beyond. Oh my God. This is why I ever sat on my side of whatever it was.
Last Friday afternoon we were in that room where we had lived together, he and I and all our first seniors. Dear God we had all dreamed a dream and despite the one who ... used them ... and never seemed to see their souls, their verve, their individual dreams, who only seemed to see what they could give him even once they had gone and chose to return ... . Zach came back ... to give back ... some of what he felt had been given to him. He brought magic that only truly blind would refuse to see. The blind one is now gone. Not the magic. Magic never goes away, not from those who open their eyes to see.
As I listened and as he spoke, all was magic. For him. For me. Magic shared is ... what magic should always be.
My soldier has found his wings. He spoke to me of forbidden things. Choosing to write. Without fear. Choosing to read. Without fear.
Choosing to design his future. Choosing to return for a second bachelor’s degree, this time in psychology. Because what he sees now, a path more clear and calling him, requires a master’s degree. No fear in his eyes. No longer needed. Determination. Desire. Belief in dreams that call his name.
Do you hear the music I hear. Do you hear the symphony.
And then, as afternoon went on, we returned to the last day we shared just up the street from my house. He was working that day and simply came to check on me. The room that had been built for me and for the work I would create side by side with them. So much had been created there from dreams, written, voiced, shared. There.
That day as I listened to him, I knew what I would miss. This. My cherubs coming back to this room to share with me their stories. This, I knew, was what I would miss most. From this knowing came the manuscript, my way of remembering all they had given me.
That day as he listened to me, he knew something I didn’t know. Until last Friday I didn’t know that he had seen me as I left the building that last day. All I had loved there, all I had known flooded through me when I handed back my keys. I could not believe that anyone could not see what I could see. How do you sob silently when you try to make your way one last time through a door that has ....
He spoke of what that was for him. A death. Exactly as it was for me. He knew what he must do. He must clear the room of whatever was left that spoke of dreams created there. As one who had dreamed dreams there, he knew he had to be the one. Where do tears come from. I think they come from love.
His gift to me last Friday was to let me know that love can be passed on. Once begun and received lives on. Is there a more important gift. I heard it in every word he spoke.
Magic shared is ... what magic should always be.
Magic. Joy. Smiles.
And yes. Of course I am seeing Greer’s smile.
Once seen, who will ever forget.
Magic. Joy. Smiles.
We, who see and feel and love.
We who dare to dream.
We are the lucky ones.
all comments since mid march went poof.
then were back.
o.s. is freaking out this gnome!
suspended by their toes from his bunny slippered hoofers.
But, I think that they came back because you were here looking out for them as, so often, you look out for us all. You are a lovely gnome.
As long as we remember to breathe and, perhaps, to look up, the rhythms will hold us until we find our way. Perhaps here, sometimes, we hold them for each other. Until we gather together again.
Waiting for the glass guys to come and fix my smashed car window (my folks want me to take my equality sticker off my car but I won't) Hoping to be able to get some sleep again before starting my new job at 3, so no yummy coffee for me yet. Just waiting and partial snoozing. Your sunrise sounds lovely Rita!
First day was ok, I shadowed today, which means I did nothing. :) I'm always good with having no responsibility whatsoever.
The job seems doable. Perhaps not a dream job, and not even as good as my last job, but it's psych and I need the exposure, and it's not as depressing of a place as I'd feared. Once I get into the flow, provided i don't become the 'it' girl, things should be fine. I might even like it. One of the girls there is close to my age and chatty. My mentor is good too- she didn't try to make me feel stupid even once, which is excellent and, from what I've heard from others, rare.
Thinking of us all.
I know, Vinny. I know.
*puff* *puff* *puff*
good dog Luna here at my side, snoring curled on her left side, farting about every five minutes or so
I'm about to put the fan on, but she looks so content, and I was the one that fed her the bones
This great Truck Stop is sure slow.
It's a wait to scroll down and back up.
I agree with commenter @ 8:00AM.
`
The last time I stopped in a Truck Stop?
I heard moans and groans in the stall.
I was standing at the standup urinal.
I worried a Trucker had a cute baby.
Noises from the stall confused me.
No urinate in wastebaskets at home.
No words, anna1liese but hi & hey ...
Meanwhile I come home, here, and sit with our Vinny and look out on our world and dream ... and hope ... and feel ... and watch time pass until someone returns and I/ we know that ... home is still home ... and voices still sing. Until I can hear the sound of the waves and find the moon and ... count the stars. Until I hear someone’s smile and all the world lifts. For me.
And yet ... I wish ... .
Sometimes I hold Vinny. Sometimes he holds me.
Thinking of gifts that have been given here, shared here. Gifts that have buoyed our hearts. All ... our ... hearts.
Thinking of nana and Larry and words they once spoke to Kim. It is safe. We are safe. Here. We may still know pain and hurt and sadness, but we are loved and are held in hearts that care. Here.
I wonder if it is possible that all the stars we count in the sky are lovely moments of laughter that sparkle brightly enough ... to reach the sky and from there reach ... out ... to lift us all.
there is ... only ... you
Sometimes it's a mirror ; sometimes it's a crazy foaming distant place we sail amongst ; sometimes there are shingled shores.
This is what we came here for, to experience.
Pirates and bonfires, peace and reflection.
A good dog called Vinny.
We came for the gold.
Friendship ... connecting across the heavenly skies and the deep vast ocean.
Friendship ... a beautiful thing.
{{{anna1}}}
And Cyril ... what a lovely thought. The world has indeed been crisscrossed tonight.
Smiling here.
All. Here and not, just yet.
Home. Singing. Glistening gold.
Come, Vinny. Rest with me.
A pond. An ocean. A mirror ...
So beautifully described.
So much more.
Bridges stretching far and near.
All here.
Close your eyes and ...
I wonder if you will see harmony.
Listen ...
Help us hear what you hear.
Here.
Help us feel the warmth.
Here.
Always.
First comments
really here
brought such relief
line by line by line
all through the night,
the first night shared
here
How many hours have we known
here
Somewhere near, in case of storm,
is your copy of Rumi.
Do you remember.
These past few days
I have been thinking of you
and your Sofia.
I see you reading to her,
sharing treasure.
Life.
Here.
;')}
and how many comments before the top one?
Sometimes we feel a need to ... run ... away ... within ... to face or outdistance ... whatever it is. Sometimes we walk ... or float ... to the sea, to the clouds, to the mist ... to the sky ... until something or ... someone ... without, within ... reminds us ... helps us ... allows us to breathe.
Has anyone ever asked you why you sigh. You rarely ever hear your own sigh when it comes like this. It comes, I think, as a kind of gift, when unwittingly we have been holding our breath and ... something or ... someone ... without, within ... somehow nudges ... oh so gently ... and we breathe.
Perhaps there are simply times when we remember because now, we are the ones who need to remember to breathe. One of us comes and sits with Vinny, holds him, strokes him. Music gently plays. Another of us comes ... and sits ... and strokes. Perhaps then, in the connecting of the moment, we are best able to see ... and feel ... and be ... as we are ... who we are ... all walls down ... and at our ease.
Tapestries. And grace.
This may seem a total non sequitur, but really it is a treasured thread. In November Kim first mentioned Anne. His words about her touched me deeply. Then he told me, us of her books. By January I was finally reading her first, and I mentioned that and thoughts that were coming here. As I began, I remember wanting to rush right through and simultaneously to take such time, time to savour all her words. A while ago I received the next three of her books and because time had passed, I went back once more to the first, to take myself back to the world she began, to remember clearly what I had loved. So ...
To Kim and Kim’s Anne.
I thought I was rereading The Land Behind the World to have it fresh in my memory before I began Lost Souls of the Twilight. Well, I was and am ... but ... Chapter 14 ... . Chapter 14. Before I finish I am going back through so many pages. I saw all of it the first time. I saw all of it the second time, but ... now ... I am inside the story ... . How do I explain. Butterflies. This time I saw the butterflies. Your illustration. They were flying by in front of me which may have played a part. Butterflies have ... been speaking to me, nudging me, ... finding me ... for such a while. And not only me. I think.
Now ... . Now ... . Now I am going back and marking all the pages, all the words. I did see them before but ... now ... I see ... more. Now ... I want to be surrounded by all the books. That is one difference. The first time I only had the one book. I knew it would be a while before I found more. Now I have the next three books. So many words. I want to hold on to them. I want to smile in them. I want ... so want ... to hope ... . The fool. The fool. What does he know. What is it that we all ... know ... . I wonder ... .
Always ... I wonder ... . Perhaps that is part of the magic ... . Perhaps ... . Would you tell me, Anne, if you were here. Or would you simply smile. I see your smile so clearly now. Do you know. Do you know. Somehow ... I think you do. Smiling still ... . I think. I hope.
...
Your Bara is the one who first drew me in. Still. So much about her speaks to me. Zaddik’s words to her. Don’t we all want to hear someone help us see our truth, begin to see. Now Dov. Somehow, now, I see him differently. Is he ... . Did you ... . Would you ... did you ... . Smiling still. I so hope. Or Zaddik ...
And now I have begun the next book, Lost Souls. I can barely put it down, ... but I do ... because this time I know I don’t want to rush ... and because once you have read a book for the first time, there isn’t really a first time again. The other day the rest of your books came ... at least the rest I can find. Now that they are here, thanks to Pinchgut Press, Immortal Books and Lulu, thanks to your direction, Kim, your work and to you, Anne, across the road, I ... am in a land of kindred souls. Kindred souls and ... Kim, what did you say about gold.
Glimmers of gold from Kim’s Anne, Anne Spencer Parry. Anne, I hope you will not mind.
“All doubts and fears were lifted from her heart. She had never been so free and comfortable and happy in her life.”
“ ‘ Awake to the soul of things, the flow of living energy that runs like a golden river deep underneath all of life, like an ocean that everything swims in. You’ve felt that, haven’t you?’”
‘Life,’ he said softly. ‘Oh, Life, you are so beautiful!’”
“It’s the deep life of things, the underneathness of it all. Do you know what I mean?’
Bara sat trying to grasp the idea. One moment she almost had it in her hands and then it would slip away again like a beautiful butterfly.”
Butterflies and all their gold. What treasure would we not know had we not gathered here.
Now I am thinking of tea and Elgar and Jacqui du Pre and so much life and wisdom on Manning Road.
So very many thanks. Once more.
Lost Souls of the Twilight by Kim’s Anne across the road.
(Anne Spencer Parry, Pinchgut Press)
Scroll back just a few days ago and you’ll find a bit more there. Tapestries and grace - June 11.
A few more glimmers of her gold:
“ ‘ There comes a time in a person’s life when they have to become strong themselves, when they have to stop depending on others to look after them, when they have to face their aloneness. For me that time has come.
...
My strength is mine... The dangers of this forest are nothing but my own fears. I am myself!’”
...
Summer Solstice ... Winter Solstice ... opposites ... and not. Was Scarlett telling us of a strawberry moon ... strawberry heart ... lunar eclipse ... and peaceful quiet here.
Vinny, I have an idea. I am reading words I wish I could share with all the world. When we can’t see a way, we ... share with friends ... and then ... when no one answers ... we find a spot and ... read. Because all of this is new to you, I’ll begin with Land Behind the World. If you were listening a few days ago, you have your bearings. If not, simply close your eyes and come with me. “Even from the time Bara was born she seemed to be particularly awake. ... “ How I wish I could share all of this line by line and page by page, drawing by drawing as they appear.
Anne across the road, I so wish you could come and read your words to us. Did anyone ever record your voice as you read aloud as you began. I can almost imagine if I try ever so hard.
I would begin everyone who wanted to listen at the very start. I so want to devour your words and I so want them to last forever. Kim’s Anne across the road, did these stories just fall into place or had you been dreaming them all your life. In truth I am coming almost too close to the end of Lost Souls and so am pausing and catching my breath.
Kim’s Anne across the road. The other day I read your description of what might have been written weeks ago. I was seeing the Libyan woman, Eman al-Obeidy, making her way to the reporters and trying to share her case before who knows who were physically silencing, restraining her, bundling her away. Physical silencing. Here, in Lost Souls, Molly, p. 116. How many years ago and too much the same. Universal in its timeliness. Timelessness. Did you know. Did anyone ever say.
I continue to read and am ... ... I don’t know. Am I somewhere on Manning Road ... or wherever you were as the stories came ... or am I simply grateful to have found a singular voice that speaks to me, that knows my world and all that matters most to me. A bit like someone else who lived across the road from you.
Kindred. Without question. Yesterday, here, as I read, I had one of those magical moments, one of several as I read, when I turned the page and gasped as the drawing I saw showed me the world you both draw. How did you help Kim know ... or does he somehow know on his own. I wonder. So much ... I wonder. First there were the butterflies ... the second and the whatever time. Yesterday the Well of Rahera ... ahh ... just ahh. And all the others. One by one.
I dare not say very much more ... until I come and read ... or wait to hear your voice ... or perhaps ... Kim’s ... reading ... here ... to us. Fantasy this. I wish not. I wish it could be real. Meanwhile ... I listen ... and I look ... and I breathe ... as I read ... and begin to know the world ... you give.
Oh Vinny, when you and I are the only ones ... magic, beauty, quiet, calm, words of gold and drawings of air ... then all the stars shine as one and all the world’s gifts are here. And sometimes others come and bring stars of their own.
I so want to know ... and I so want to wait. First times ... not knowing. But then ... second, third, how many times when stories woven and shown ... reach out and touch essence and never cease to offer more.
Are you sitting comfortably. Close your eyes. Let the words fill your sky.
Anne. Did you know then the artist he would be. How old was he when you first knew. I know you knew. How many know now what you knew then. How many ways to see. How many ways to love.
The Hill Folk and the music of the Irish lilt. Where had you heard it and how did you know.
And now no more. Until we really read.
Vinny, are you trying to turn the page. Move over just a bit and let me help.
Glimmers of gold. Tapestry and grace.
Middle of the day. Middle of the night.
and sharing with the world, yes too. we're here.
If Anne was here she'd wrap you up and take you home and make some tea and butter some scones and put on Elgar and love you to pieces.
well... often i dont sleep.
too many thoughts.
thoughts that i cannot give breath.
i come here
to see who else is awake
and to listen to their thoughts breathe.
And if she came and took me home, I would be more home there than I have ever been. Would that she could know. Home. Yes. Lovely thoughts I've held since dawn.
lorianne, Your words speak so clearly to me. Sometimes it is the quiet here that helps thoughts to rest, settle, and begin to breathe. Sometimes it is the knowing that others are near who would listen should thoughts begin to breathe that allows a thought its breath. Sometimes it is simply night ... and awake ... and breathing waits ... breathing waits ...
unlined paper ... words almost formed in the night ... where did the night go ... and this ... and this ...
anna1: always holding down the fort what a faithful friend.
Kim: Hey there.. like the GSH and Patty so much. TY mate.
Love to you, Anna.
I don't pretend to know what "Dr Date" is,
but I seem to remember Comfort Cafe inspired this dive. You may bow.
Larry may be wrong about a lot of things, but not about the salad, probably.
your cooler's busted. i can hear the lettuce leaves chatting with each other.
oh, hi, vinnie....
*selects the blue danube waltz*
*bows low to his compatriot*
ms anna1, may i have this dance?
Quiet hours pass. Music gently plays.
Longest days. Longest nights.
Does solstice call us to our dreams.
Is it that we dream of dreams.
Vinny, come, look up with me.
If dreams were clouds, what would we see.
iq : if you are reading please email and say: hey, I am OK, taking a break or whatever.
ritashibr@aol.com
anna1: my favorite time of year, summer solstice, wild flowers, birds in the morning, frogs and fireflies at night. Hopefully ocean in the future. take care friend.
I hope one of us hears from iq and that all is well.
Hummingbirds finally returned this week. It is as though they bring magic on their wings.
Thanks for this my dear friend.
missing threads
musical chords
musical words
given
honoured
cherished
held
in the quiet
here
so many words
so many feelings
all in play
all at once
let me hold them
while they hold me
in the quiet
and the safety
here
where sometimes we
have gathered
and held
one another
Missing threads. Lost threads now. Cherished for what they brought to us. Cherished for all they shared here, of themselves, of all of us, all they saw and all they felt. Cherished all the while and now again, simply, fully, for all they are.
Missing threads. Lost threads. Know you are held here in this special place. You have been part of the safety that is here, the listening, the hearing, the melody, the caring, the laughter, the soul. Your essence here has touched us all. Know that we know. Know that we care. Know that we will watch for you, both of you, and hope for a day when we will feel Max nudge to let us know that you’ve come home.
living in a land called hope.
Who best to see
Who best to know
Perhaps
Who best to listen
Who best to hear
To allow us to allow
Who we really are ...
Moments here of being, exactly who we are, from our deepest truest unmasked essence.
Here. Just here. Holding, feeling, being. Cherishing. Knowing ... what it is I have come to know ... of myself and of you.
Ha! iq.. maybe it was trashbags or cardboard.. don't know. I remember many rides in the car like that, the green station wagon. I would be poking someone or giving them the eye not to tell on me...
Laughing out loud here iq... we had the threats of I AM PULLING THIS CAR OVER NOW IF YOU DON'T STOP... from mom but one thing was certain.. Dad NEVER pulled over. No matter who threw up or who had to go to the bathroom. Needless to say, there were some fun drives.. lather rinse repeat.. we had seven in the station wagon.. how the hell did they survive..
Anna1: of course we moon people followed the moon back home, there was a narrow space between the seats of the stationwagon and I would lay in there and watch the moon out the window. (I was too far back for my dad's smoke but everyone did then)
Kim was here as well that night. It became a night of moonwatchers and poetry and howling wind. Stellaa was here and so was nan. Ablonde was not far away. So many of us here that night, Rita, with the green station wagon and your dad. Thinking of the room you created in the eave of your family home, all it has meant to you, all it has meant to them. Thinking of Mercy Street and all it shared. Thinking of the music still here that Kim brought for your parents. Sometimes when music plays, it allows us to be most real. Here. Where real is safe.
Holding you, Rita, here in the quiet where we all are.
I'm glad you remembered Mercy Street.
Hey, Vin.
IQ ? Max ?
I did ask nan ( in case he'd heard ) - no news ...
... quiet times, down here - sheets of white paper, pencils & watercolour, coffee, the sea - the tide comes in, the tide goes out, people pass along the path below ...
It's a mild, kind Winter here. Thinking of you all.
Standing under the showers of love here, thanks friends. Dad's wake was tonight. The line went down the block, kids he had coached, friends, family, colleagues. He would have loved it. We all felt good seeing all these people there to hold us up and say goodbye to the big guy with the big smile.
Anna1 I remember those words and enjoyed reading them again. Thanks for that.
Mercy Street is not for tonight. Can't do it. But the others, thank you Kim. IQ contacted me and and extended warm condolences on Dad. Friends from all around. Grateful tonight.
`Last Night I had The Most Wonderful Dream. I sometimes do too. It's past, present, future.
`
Folks like Your Father etc., were sitting at a table. But first - Before I forget - I agree with the first commenter. There are groups who sit with Cab Calloway and their Favorite Human Real People. If there is n sound in the dream ...
...
No problem. Staff fix things.
If buttons are broken. Amen,
and so be it. Just go perform.
Repairmen will fix broken stuff.
The Good is already summoned.
Go backstage. Be in Ya bathrobe.
No hurry out too early post show.
People hang out to laugh and eat.
People sing, dance, and tell jokes.
While stuff gets repaired sit at feast.
Never live a`Life's Theatre too soon.
My Father always say`When in`Time`
`
The good 'le merry Soul soars away.
or,
When it's proper Time to go. Kick.
He meant we all kick a milk bucket.
We soar off in perfect tune a`Time.
He say "We still got labor to perform.
WE still go aim to struggle honorably.
But, it's all the perfect Life's Best Plan.
Band member can bring pots and pans.
Pan visits. Pan is Nature Good Forces.
There will be a Clarinet Performance.
Dinner is served right on Time. Daily.
Female dancer join in with the Boys.
Men kneel on bended knee, at that.
You can still be wearing a bathrobe.
Once stuff gets fixed ...
As thee horns blares ...
Men sing`Hot diggety!
My Father will greet.
He haul your Father.
They will ride a buggy.
They will take turns.
Everything will be ok.
My Father always say`
`
No worry `bout me.
We down on Earth.
We be patient yet.
'Patience' means`
`
We suffer long.
We sow & reap.
It's okay. Yep.
Sad and quiet tonight in the big old house. We took the funeral procession down past the old Victorian he live in with us for 46yrs, we all beeped our horns (at mom's dismay) and gave him a salute. His flag was still flying on the porch. No one can take it down. We had a bugle salute. I made a huge video of all the photos over the years, they just finished watching it for the hundredth time and then someone says "hey remember the time?"
Art, thank you so much, it is life and we have friends to guide us and help us along the way. Many thanks for your friendship and all my TS buddies. I just might listen to Mercy Street. Uh Oh. Smile emoticon.
Loving voices here. Loving smiles. Tides and moons and beams of sun.
Thinking of tears and lucky stars in the quiet here.
Thinking of so much that has drawn us here especially perhaps in moments like these.
and look out on early morning, perhaps still pre-dawn, or just dawn
on his birthday eve.
Birthday eve. Vinny, sit with me and I'll explain.
Perhaps I am close to tears for many reasons, but tears just now are through all of me.
Thinking of a soon to be birthday, a winter birthday, reading, drawings, work in hand.
In a week when attention is lavished on a particular film and its opening, so many readers surround me. Readers - some of whom came to me less inclined to loathe the need to deal with words that waved and wiggled on the page until they could make sense of them because the words themselves ceased to be instruments of torture and instead a means of learning the story, the setting, the characters - so much that had meant so little before. Struggle was almost forgotten simply because they wanted to know.
Someone had written the words. Someone else had illustrated the cover and chapter beginnings. Their work awoke minds and hearts and imaginations and for many of mine, at least, allowed a barrier to fall away.
This was long before a film was made and even then, even then a child’s imagination was the measure of gauging the film’s success. If the producer created what his daughter imagined, from the words and the illustrations, he would know that he had treated treasure well.
A thousand discussions could run from here about novels and films drawn from them. That’s not my purpose here. Chris Columbus only worked on the first two films himself though his company is still involved. Another discussion for another time but even he believed and trusted the power of a child’s imagination and her love of the story itself. I believe there is a magic here and it may be the greatest magic of all.
To be the weaver of a tale to reach the heart of a child, to lift the ears of a child, the eyes of a child, what magic here. To be the one who paints, who draws, who breathes life into imagination itself and helps it find first life, this is magic that lives forever. This is magic that ignites the lamp that, for some of us, has never dimmed.
To be the one who first sees the words, feels the words, hears the words, perhaps discusses the words and, I’m not sure, but somehow becomes the words to draw them, shape them, fire them, choose their colour, their shade, their light, their darkness, their depth, their vibrancy, all the parts that give them life ... to be this one is to be ... perhaps ... the giver of the candle’s flame, warmth for all a life.
This may be more true for someone like me who needs a guiding hand to help me see what I want to see. I am thinking of the first book I remember reading. It wasn’t the one my mother wrote out in my diary. Perhaps she read that book to me but it didn’t stay with me. The one that stayed is the one I can not name. I don’t remember the words. I don’t remember the name. I remember a drawing, a silhouette of a woman, looking away. We had the book from the library which means it did not live with me. I don’t remember the drawing well, but it alone is what has stayed with me.
Tears. Stories that live, that hold us, that shape our world and set us free. Words chosen so carefully to lead us where they will, where we might follow and open and believe. Wisdom, love of all that is and all that matters, eyes that see what children see, tiny children, older children, children who grow in years but never lose their childlike fascination with all that matters, all that touches, all that stretches, all that makes us who we are and, if we are lucky, allows us to never stop believing and cherishing the child still there.
As these words flow through you, do you not remember an illustration that has stayed with you. Not long ago, I taught Velveteen Rabbit to my sophomores. I wanted them to remember the child they had been before I invited them to look beyond to futures that might one day be theirs. There was one particular copy I always wanted of the book because the illustrations call my name. I love them still. I could reach out for the book, but I see the illustrations as I think.
As I have been writing this, certain other illustrations have been with me. I see a certain cottage in the snow and just now as I am thinking of a mild and gentle winter, the smoke from the chimney makes me smile. I see several illustrations of Tashi. I am seeing him, walking with him as he walks in his world.
I see now the first illustrations I saw painted by an illustrator I have come to know. How these illustrations stay with me. Joseph. I don’t need to go across the room and get the book ... though I will when I finish this. I see them as I saw them when I first read the words they complement and bring so beautifully to life. I see the colours and the shadings, the details, the shapes, the broad expanse. I see the son and the father. Tears.
More recently I see earlier illustrations by the illustrator I have come to know and even now as I reread and see again, still I am struck by the power of all he sees, all he brings to me, gives to me as I turn the page and am able myself to see what he sees, what he draws from the words I read. One moment I am seeing a table calmly set for tea. Another moment and I am seeing a scene of such desolation, such despair, Julietta and the tubs. Such a powerful tone it sets.
I see love and fire and wisdom and calm and caring and knowing ...
I see love of understanding and sharing and using all of what one loves to create for those who will receive his work to love themselves for as long as they hold the book and then ... for as long as they remember.
All of this I see ... on someone’s birthday eve.
Through somehow ( :-) blurry eyes. Thanks, a.
Here's to you, Kim .... BOTTOMS UP!
My mom just woke from her afternoon nap & saw the moon - 5.30pm here & called. I looked out the window - there it was, low & golden.
I feel so tired today at work, tonight I am going to put the top down and drive with the moon beside me, past all the stores and malls, past the lights till I start to see the corn (about shoulder high to me now ) the red barns and my little place in the woods. I will be sending out good thoughts.
And then as I walk here by the beach with Vinny, I hear the music given. I listen as I watch the tides, the moon drawn tides. I think about the music giver and I listen all over again.
Evening vigil
May dreams that come
be dreams of peace
dreams that calm the heart
Have spent these last few days with my cousin and her granddaughter. It is like a treasure house here. These two see the treasure in each other.
Have been thinking of you, Rita, driving beside the moon, top down, wind blowing through your hair. The last time my cousin visited me in England, we had time together alone. We rode on top of a double decker bus along a road called Devil's Dyke, not far from the sea. For some reason the driver was going at a fair clip and hair was blowing everywhere. Have to say you didn't need to be on top of a double decker bus for that effect. Sometimes you just had to walk outside our door. Laughing though ... lifting each other.
Thinking of you and Sofia and knowing how lucky she is, how lucky she will know she is to have a grandmother who took her when so young to first see the moon, who loves her so, who loves to laugh, who feels so much of everything, who will love her, love her always.
Lucky, lucky the child who already is loved so much. Just now as I see the love in my cousins eyes, I see the love in yours.
Thinking of you, Rita. Thinking of you, Kim.
For some reason I keep thinking of trains ...
And Vinny, honestly it is all right. I promise. Honey here is not my favourite. She does nudge well but she's not you. Yes, you can sniff but only for a little while. My cousin needs her. Just the way it is. Another only. Eleven months older. Family. Tiny visit but perfect. She doesn't love the sea. I think she only thinks of it when I'm here but she drove me to see the nearby bay. I think we drove by a vehicle that's been driven on the moon as well. Of course I didn't see it. I was sitting sideways soaking in the water as my tiny cousin took in everything.
Sometimes we laugh. Sometimes we cry. But always we know the other is there. Sounds a bit like being here. What matters most of all. Morning, evening moon still here watching over all who look.
Loving you guys, reading, this side of the world ...
3am.
So glad to find your voices here. Always but especially this very minute. Rita, I hope sleep found you for a while. I wish I'd looked in when you were here. Kim, so very glad you're here. Wish you were sitting beside me right now ... Time for the moon to watch over you.
Then here. Listening. Sometimes the music is one of us. Sometimes it is all of us. So often I am here and listening, but somehow last night, though I have listened countless times before, the music reached out its hand, called to me, spoke to me, for me - piece by piece by piece. Perhaps it is the blessing of music to find us and call us forth even when we’d sooner hide. So last night. And now. Sometimes as I listen, I draw so deep inside. Sometimes, as now, I soak in, drink in this beach, its rain and when tears come, a sea breeze catches them and sadness, knowing, lifting, hoping ... can be ... and breathe ... each in its own rhythm ... in its own time ...
All these pieces ... touch so deeply ... reach so far ... hold when no one else can hold ... know when no one else ...
If I listen to the piano at the last, I am in the music and it is a sparkling waterfall. I could stay with this - have stayed with this for hours at a time. Grateful for these gifts. Once more.
I don’t know but I am here. I have wanted this time not to be like this. I thought I had prepared and helped myself choose paths of my own and not hers. I am not my mother and yet I am. I know that. I feel that. But as I move from the age she was when she fell ill to the age she was when she died ... I feel a connection that is raw with hurt. I’ve always thought I would worry that I would fall at this same age ... and so, of course, I may.
But I will not fall, I think, to bitterness, to anger, to rage and all that ate at her, to all she could not allow anyone to try and take away. Perhaps some of the rawness is here. I wish I could hold her hand once more as I begin to reach the age she was. I wish I could have taken that away for her. I wish I could have set her free.
By that time, really, she was so afraid that she could only push me away. By that time she saw her mother’s face in mine. I remember seeing that fear in her eyes and wondering why she would possibly fear me. I remember looking in a mirror to try and see and there it was. She saw her mother’s face when she looked at me and she was once again afraid. She sometimes lived through me and for moments it would lift her but she could not let go of what drew her down. I could not help her see what I saw or choose what I would choose. You can’t choose for someone else. I wouldn’t want someone to choose for me.
So I was right. All of this is everywhere for me right now, but it ... the pain of it ... is not ... my choice. I loved you, Mama, and I gave you all I had to give, but I do not choose what you did.
I will find the sun and I will find the moon. I will look up to see a rainbow and when it comes to me and stays for me, I will take it as it is. I will allow it all its colours, every one of its colours in its place, every richness that each offers. I will find a sea to nourish me even when I am thousands of miles away. I will allow the sea to find me and lift me and bring me breath.
I choose these, Mama. I choose love. I choose life until the waves of the sea call to me, come for me and at the last, whenever it may be, welcome me and bring me home. If there are tears then, may they be tears of joy for I will have felt the tears of sadness all my life and it will be time to let them go.
Vinny, stay with me. Let me hold you as you hold me. Listen with me. Watch with me. Help me remember to breathe. Help pain be only pain and not all there is. Help me listen for and hear rain as it patters against the windowpane. Help me feel the rain upon the beach and help me remember to smile.
Help me find the windows that let me see my world and let me never be afraid to hear the sea, all the seas, seas without boundary, my sea ... life sea ... the sea that has always allowed me to believe in love, to hope for love ... even now ... always now ... forever now until my sea comes for me and in love, with love brings me home.
Vinny, is that you or is that me ... breathing feels easier ... at long last. Perhaps a gift for me. When tears that come are tears of love ... perhaps all is as it ought to be ... all is well and all is home. Are you nodding as you sleep. I think so. Is this peace. ... I hope so. And breathing ... and home. Tears of love ... of life ... of home. And butterflies. I see them. Gifts all if we can let them be. Tears of love. Waves lapping against the shore. Love filled melodies. And sparkling waterfalls.
To the giver of music, once more my heart is grateful to you.
to the giver of words
to the giver of so many things
thinking of you
of all you give
and wondering still
if you know
the power
and beauty
and honesty
and grace
of all you are
of all you see
of all that
so lovingly
flows
from
you
bring only rest
and peace
tonight
I keep thinking that if I’d been lucky enough to read your words as you were writing them, I would need to wait at book’s end for you to write the next to come. Time to think and float and come back again. Read again. And then perhaps again. As now. A luxury for the reader if the reader allows. If the work itself, the author’s voice allows.
Mine are different luxuries. The first and most important is to have met you here in exactly the way I have. Another luxury was the actual arrival of your first book. I thought for a while about ordering, borrowing a pdf file or a printout from the Australian library system, but I didn’t exactly know what that would be, what edition it would be or if it would include Kim’s illustrations. I so wanted to see his drawings for your work. I know how well you understand that and I can see your smile. I can see it in your eyes.
When you are so far away, you can’t quite know. I ordered Land Behind the World from Immortal Books. They didn’t use his cover. I didn’t totally know that then but why do people do the things they do. Otherwise I had your words and his illustrations.
I was 25 when this was originally published which means Kim was 24. A first for both of you, I think. I wish I had known then. Perhaps I wasn’t ready. Then.
I’m the one smiling now, Anne, as I can see both covers side by side.
For now I suppose I am savouring moments. I have the third book. I want to read it. I want to know ... and I don’t want it to be over. Over for the first time.
By now I know there will be other times, immediate times. I thought before I was ready to begin, I’d look back one more time at Lost Souls. Well, looking became reading and ... there you are. Except something niggled me. I remembered the phrase. However, I wanted to remember just for myself and remembering was not enough. I wanted to see your words. They weren’t where I looked for them. Before I knew what I was doing, I was rereading Land Behind the World from the beginning and once I started, it was simply where I wanted to be. Sometimes when I read, my memory conveniently disappears so that as I read again, there is a freshness still. So here. Again. So much I see.
Bara, Dov, Zaddik, the beauty, the terror, being awake. The fool. Evening songs. Has he lived this long to teach ...
You had a sense from the moment you began of where this journey might lead. Book in hand, I sense a shape even as I don’t want to sense anything at all. If I had read your words in real time, your time, as you wrote, could I have sensed a shape or would I simply have hoped the story would go on and on and on.
If we were having tea and scones and no one else could hear - except, of course, Kim - I might be more clear, but here ... here, I have to hope that others will want to read all your words themselves.
Dov. Bara. Destiny. The fool. “I think that long ago you used to help me.” “Keep her soul open to the beauty and the terror. She felt a rush of life suddenly pour through her veins like gold fire ....”
You knew where the story would lead and all it might give as long as you were able to write.
Know how powerfully your world still speaks. Know the gift that you still give.
Your words. Kim’s illustrations. You knew then how perfectly they would meld as each illuminates the other. Love. Have I mentioned love.
The first illustration in Lost Souls of Julietta and the desolation of the tubs. Every line here, every stroke speaks to the darkness, total darkness of despair broken only by the power it takes for one, only one, to stand.
Oh Anne. How your words, his illustrations reach out to me and draw me in even, for now, as they lead me on.
Kim’s Anne across the road, I am grateful to have found you, to know you at least as I do here. Connecting. Knowing. Perhaps the truest knowing of all. Knowing that reaches out, reaches in and holds.
“She alone of all the party seemed to feel no tiredness, for she was carried along on the wings of her joy.”
The “underneathness of it all.” And butterflies. And hope. And love.
And sometimes joy.
Martin, Tiriel, how each one calls to me. And Bara again, this time the Listener. Lost. Found. Home. No longer alone. Where and with whom we are meant to be. Home within ourselves.
“I’m a dreamer. I watch and I wait and I dream.”
And, once more, no longer am I alone.
Tea. And buttered scones.
In the words a closeness. Not imagined. Real. Rereading. Remembering. Feeling all again. Knowing and known and real.
Kim’s Anne, I wrote these words a while ago and now, I am so close to finishing once more your second book, Lost Souls. I read and think of your words and know I am where I am meant to be. I have in my hands nine of your books. I wonder if you intended more. I wish I could ask you. Perhaps I’ll come to know as I read.
Please know, in whatever way you can, and I think it is possible for you to know, some of the treasure that you left for us. Some. In hearts still here, Kim’s Anne, you have left so much more.
“‘... to lift what is low, to unite what lies apart, to advance what is left behind’.”
“‘ Never mind if you don’t quite understand it,’ he said softly. ‘Just have the courage to be yourself.’”
Kim’s Anne across the road, is it any wonder, any wonder at all, how deeply and how clearly your words speak to me. How deeply, how clearly I believe, your words speak to all. So many stars just now seem to be in perfect place ... if only we allow these words of yours to help us find our way. I wish I could help all the world find your words again even as I see the next map and begin my way in Crown of Darkness. Did you write your words to help us know our hearts. Have I always known you ... both of you ... threads ...
You would know how, why, so often ... home is here.
We will miss out truckstop proprietor and I love that I can hear Gil or Leonard when I want. Gil is good for tonight.
I hope you are well anna1, we will keep the light on for the others.
I know those eyes. I have been those eyes. So have you. So has he. Perhaps it is that knowing, that being of those eyes ... that holds our hands together, that allows our eyes to close ... as hands hold ... knowing that even as we are alone ... we are not ... we reach out, we begin to open our eyes ... for in the voices we hear ... in the eyes we see ... beside our own ... in the love that holds, we see what we see, feel what we feel ... and then ... in some of the lines ... his lines ... your lines ... there is also an understanding of light beginning to dawn, beginning to break, to bring us ... what we so desperately seek. Such sadness. Such pain. Such all of it, all that has been so much of who we are ... and yet there are other eyes caught in the campfire light ... birds, rabbits ... hope ... belief in hands that will hold, eyes that will lead, hearts so filled with love that tomorrow might just hold.
Thank you Kim’s Anne across the road for being there for him, with him. You were there, are there for those lucky enough to know you, find you, reach back for your always outstretched hand, for your always outstretched heart.
Tea, buttered scones, outstretched arms, heart, eyes, love, for yourself, for him, for me, for all who read, listen, see ... with both of you ... because of ... both of you ... who dare to hope and listen and help us find a path ...
“ ... while the storm cloud that had hung over the city all day rolled away ...
It blew on until it reached the stony uplands of the Fell and there it let loose a flurry of rain on the dry, starved earth. Soon the dusty rocks were glistening with water that trickled and runnelled down the hillside, and a dancing figure dressed in the colours of morning somersaulted along in its wake.”
Oh, Kim’s Anne, I begin to wonder if your words could have come without Kim’s drawings and if his drawings could have come without your words. Such is the beginning of magic when those who see and those who feel come together to create a way for others to follow if they will until ... ‘ a dancing figure dressed in the colours of morning somersaulted along ...” and as we read and as we see ... with both of you ... we hold your hands ... and trustingly ... walk with you. With and because of ... both of you ... both sides of your road.
You bring me home, Kim’s Anne across the road. My heart joins his and listens on. So full my heart just now, I dare say no more. My hand is squeezing yours.
Thinking of summer fruit, summer vegetables, summer flowers, summer colours. Thinking of windows open, allowing us to look out upon the sea. Thinking of dinghies and sailboats. Thinking of sandcastles ... sandcastles dreamt and never built, of daydreams, dreams of any kind, dreams kept, dreams shared, dreams - ever dreams, always dreams, breath allowing dreams, heart dreams, soul dreams, dreams perhaps for another day. Summer sounds, summer music, rhythms, syncopations, percussions, featherlight cascades ... summer lasting ... still ... in August. Here. Thinking of you, Rita, of all of us, in this summer night.
So we can just relax, let the dishes go, pour me a tall one. I am not worried as summer is ending, and it has been a long dry hot sad one.
Perhaps the call of autumn is not a bad thing this year.
So we can just relax, let the dishes go, pour me a tall one. I am not worried as summer is ending, and it has been a long dry hot sad one.
Perhaps the call of autumn is not a bad thing this year.
No dare speak over the politicos head Their grievances are that the poor must be taxed more. We (Wu Wei as in Tao - the Truth blogger RomanticPoetess) vote to be made more impoverished. We are informed? Plutocrats have no joy. Corporate thieves reveal their inner miseries through faces with squinting (evil) eyes. They smirk. They cunningly plot to destroy their own self, and this potential joy filled world.
Their vain ambition is to be Vanity Stars that are like dark sewer. They crawl from dirty sheets and pretend they have good holes?
Thee proverbial dank hole is in their head, heart, and black soul.
They are actually without a friend in the world. Fools gather in huddles like rats in a maze. Frantic. They are n perpetual motion scampering from one boar's meeting to another. Everybody is boar`ed
to Death.
They backstab.
There is none to trust.
They (them) gibber verbs.
Actually, they say nothing.
Any protest they destroy.
If they have their way?
We fetch road kill to eat.
We'll label 'it' pot roast.
Possum and Otter Stew.
They flee like Red Sheep.
Vast neurosis we do see.
They spit insults all day.
I scrolled down to 5AM.
Rita Shibr said "Viet'Nam"`
and that perks my ears up.
I wish we Be so `Healthy.
It's rooted on the Holy.
None are perfect here.
Earth's a harsh struggle.
If we are poor and ill we
can't expect help from
Greedy Thugs We See.
Mummy is white sheet.
WE BE lil slum people?
Let's hope not. O Gaud.
Woe unto thus who rob.
Vietnam Viet Nam`Nam.
That's why. Warmongers.
Strife/Deceit is in hearts
Glad to see you stumble in after me.
anna1 will pour you something too!
Have been held in thoughts of peace, someone’s words of peace.
Most often I am held here, but for the last few days part of me has been in my office in Arundel, watching eyes that ache, watching for and thinking of eyes I wish I knew were free, safe, eased by lasting peace.
August. Summer. Here. Makes me think of Kim’s window opening in this month on gentle winter air. Not terribly gentle here. Not this year.
And yet this morning, as the moon still watched, a butterfly came and rested just beside me. As though a message were being sent.
Thinking of you in this time that you love, in this time that can be so hard, that sometimes loses us until, while we try to find ourselves, our north star, our way. Here, Rita. Listening. Perhaps autumn comes as spring often comes to offer relief from what has been, hope for finding our way.
Art. So many heavy thoughts you share.
Sometimes,
as you show us so well,
there is no where to look
except within
in hope of finding light.
Cacophony
too often
stands in the way.
Cold cacophony.
But inside
inside
and here
in the quiet
music playing softly
middle of the day
middle of the night
Vinny snuggling close
here
voices
words
thoughts
of hope
offered
shared
heard
held
hope
so often
here
honesty
allowed
honoured
here.
Vietnam,
Cambodia,
Laos
visited now
by one of us
who
finds there
feels there
has known there
beauty
friendliness
happiness
sadness
yet beauty
beauty
and
peace
love
Allowing peace
finding peace
honouring
peace
beauty
sadness
friendliness
peace
love
from deep inside
each other
from deep inside
ourselves
Rita, Kim, Art
incredibly special
this
Nina, in her grace has asked for a short reprieve
And even sly old Leonard believes Alexandra has left for the last time..
Come Home Kim Gamble, the veranda has leaves and funnelwebs, Vinny has run off with the dingos and the bottles have dust on them.
Anna1 is looking out over her shingled beach and I saw the gnome's face on a milk carton GONE MISSING...
Perhaps Kim sent it on its way. Vinny, would you move just a bit.
In the background, sparkling, cascading waterfall. Can you hear.
Tea is ready, Rita. Come and sit a while.
Checked on Vanessa a few days ago and though wind and rain are still about, all was reasonably well. Hope that is still the case. Rita, Art, thinking now of you as winds and rain head north. Be safe. So many storms rage. So many.
Oasis here. Sanctuary here. Calm and safety here.
Middle of the day. Middle of the night.
For all who come. For all who need.
Moondust and tea and time to breathe.
When I need this place, all the time, it is here. I wasn't aware that Kim is away. He commented on my new entry,
I need to sit here with an unsweetened ice tea and just relax with Vinny's head in my lap and you by my side. Just breatheing!
Perhaps it is something about the power of the sea. If we are called to its beauty, we must also know its strength, respect its strength, honour its strength. Most who love it have known its strength ... one way or another.
Humbling moments, hours as we watch what we can not control, hold those we love even if only in our thoughts, hold and watch and wait. Our time becomes irrelevant as only nature’s time, tides, winds, waves ... all of these hold ... until they tire or pass or veer away.
Can’t quite hear the music just now but can watch and feel the rhythm of Vinny’s breathing.
Steady. Steady. Calm.
For all who come. For all who need.
Thinking of us all ... wherever we are.
Steady. Steady. Calm.
Thinking of us all wherever we may be. May rest and peace find everyone.
The house feels empty. His father continued to clean his room after he was gone. He has even pre-treated spots in his room to clean the carpet later. Though we don't discuss those things any longer, I see it as his way of dealing. Mine was the tears and a nap (not by choice).
The cats are very confused! Thanks for your head in my lap Vinny, somehow you always know who needs you! Love to all tonight!
Steady. Steady. Calm.
For all who come. For all who need.
Whenever and wherever we may be.
I haven't popped over here since Christmas or something, but thought I'd say hello when I noticed you were here, annaliese.
Is it just Kim gone on vacation or that so many seem gone altogether? I'd swear a tumbleweed just rolled by on the OS screen....
So hope that Kim is enjoying his time away in places that mean so much to him and that they are surrounding him with their beauty. Hope all he has seen and all those he has met, all he remembered and all he hoped to find have warmed and lifted him and that as he moves from place to place, he gives himself time simply to be with all it means to him. Somehow I think he will. Everyone here misses him even as they are glad for him. Lovely that. Wait. Is that his smile I hear.
Maybe it is partly the time of year here for me. August has always seemed like the end of the year, or even more, this month feels like the limbo spot of time, where the old is wrapped up and complete, the new has not yet begun, time itself has taken a break and gone fishing...
Time and silence - some of the magic here for thought and reflection and ... connecting ... and tea. And smiles we all can hear.
Always good for pondering life.
I'm taking off today, for only a night, but a new view for my senses is crucial for further mental health. To remember all my blessings. To remember all that is good.
Thanks for the chat, anna1liese....peaceful day to you.
This is my first trek where I am not rushing to the coast, my favorite spot out here. This time a new trail, north, up and over the mountains...
But there is something beyond compare to the shore, isn't there?
I'll think of you there.
Thinking of you as well, Just Thinking. Thinking of us all.
Kim’s Anne across the road, whatever allowed these words to rise for you as and when they did, they lose no potency, perhaps only strengthen as years pass. Is it because the world doesn’t change or because life doesn’t change or because we, who live, so easily allow ourselves to lose our way. I thought I knew this all before when I was young. Yet now, so many years on, your words speak so clearly to me as I am glad to know that someone else knows the truth I think I know and shares her wisdom with me when I am most in need.
Wisdom and music. Tea and buttered scones. Wayfinding ... how your words speak to me. How, I think, they speak to all of us. How they help us see.
“He closed his eyes and listened with his heart.”
Thinking of the Space Between and of Wayfinders finding their way. Thinking of Minstrels and the songs they share. Thinking of butterflies, of sea shells, of shingle and sand, of hands that hold, of hearts that wonder and pause and breathe, of moments when we feel most alone, of moments when we dare to connect, of waves lapping, lapping, rhythmically, as they ease their way upon the sand. Thinking of the quiet. Thinking of us all.
What if we’d spent these years reaching out our hands and waging peace.
Listening to and thinking of such a young Peter Gabriel. Biko. The moment of its being sung. Blowing out a candle ... music speaking to the world ... speaking just to us ... hope ... freedom ... caring ... remembering ... believing ... hoping ... conspiracy of ... hoping ...
So many of my thoughts lately roam the world. Partly it is our traveller. Partly it is ... what I do and ... do not know ... what I do and do not ... understand ... what I want ... to come ... to understand.
Wayfinding ... Minstrels ... threads ... and other threads ... voices ...
Often I come to listen to Alexandra, then to Keith Jarrett and what I often hear as a cascading waterfall. Sometimes I come to listen to Gil’s night and wonder along ... or to Nina and wonder again ... about the energy of understanding, about wanting to understand, caring to understand ... someone else ... caring enough to ... listen and watch and ... wait again ... hoping to ... understand ... perhaps because we hope as well ... that someone will understand ... who we are ... so very deep within ...
I watched an interview with Peter Gabriel a few days ago. An older Peter Gabriel who has a father of 98, I think, and a child of two. He wants to create ways of remembering ... other ways ...
Time ... energy ... silence ... being not afraid of ... being ... ourselves ... as we are ... as we really are ... even when we are most alone ... hoping ... believing ... so wanting to know ... that when we gather courage to ... reach out ... our hand ... even as we close our eyes ... our hand ... will find another hand ... reaching out ... not afraid to ... hold ...
Perhaps when I most want this to be my world, our world,
the ... world ... I come ... quietly ... middle of the day ... middle of the night ... and listen ... to ... for ... a cascading ... waterfall ... of what I hope is love.
So long now, tears. I listen and they begin to fall. If we could choose the gifts we give, would we not all choose these.
Kim, in so many ways you touch my heart. Thank you for this just here, just now. So many truths I hear in this song, so many truths that tear my heart. Just here, just now. Here, with you, my heart can grieve those truths and somehow remain open to hope. Hearts that love and hands that hold. Most positive of threads. Most loving.
What if this were the way we were meant to find. What if ...
Because, if it is, then today is Little Kate's very special day.
Just ran across it in my wanderings today...............
Happy Birthday, Kate, whatever hour it i there!
HUGS as Linda would say
PW
Kate, should you stop here on your day, may every hour bring you heartfelt happiness and love from all who treasure you.
Vinny is nodding as well. Much love, smiling one.
Poor Woman, Annaliese and Rita .... to remember me on my birthday to touch my heart with such warmth and love ... does make me smile.
Rita, I'll have that drink that you promised over at your place.
CHEERS, FRIENDS! : )
Love you.
Tea sounds good.
Almost equinox ... for all of us.
Somehow when I think of this, I think of joy.
Everybody here seems so peaceful. Wish all our OS compatriots could behave so gently and with intent to honorably treat one another.
Blessed Peace to you all!
The moon was lovely, wasn't it ? Here's a pic of the moon rising over Shelly Beach last week.
I can't access Larry's Air video anymore - not available in your country for some reason. Might put Jacqui back up ?
PW, your wishes did reach me in time.
Anna, as I sit with my cup of tea (always tea first thing in the morning for me) I often think of you. Sharing a cuppa with you ... always a lovely thing.
Thank you for sharing your picture of this gorgeous moon. Kate's right about it seeming so real. I feel as though I could walk straight into it and along the path. You caught it at a perfect moment on a perfect night. I'm imagining it looking twice as big as it appears here. Don't need to imagine I can hear the water lapping gently against the shore. I am there. Lovely gift this - especially.
This, Kim's Mud Diary missing ... this doesn't feel safe at all.
Aching here for the hurt of it, for the lack of care, for the abuse of safe.
Here, in the safest place of all.
Do they come to you when they know you need them ... like moons over shore and a gorgeous glistening sea. Perhaps they do and perhaps our noticing is our thanks. So very grateful here.
Breathe with me ... and see ...
Here Vinny, come sit by Anna and me. Good boy.
Oh, look at that moon, Vinny. So beautiful. A moon to dream by ...
Can I get you another cuppa, Anna?
For my friends in the dark, I posted my klutziness in my latest entry.
Fresh tin of iced vo-vo's there Kate, & Arnott's Assorteds - don't eat all the Kingston Creams.
Bushells, Dilmara & Harris teabags - ok, some loose leaf too ( sheesh ) - I better put up some new music - thinking about ...
Was thinking of the girls when they were small. Someone had given them 5p, I think, or 10p. For candy. I went with them to a tiny shop. We were there for ... ever. They were so careful about how best to spend their fortunes. By the time we finally left, they were so quiet and so ready to be home. They wanted to look at all they'd found. Talk about delayed gratification. I was so lucky to watch them grow.
And loose leaf tea! When was the last time ..., but I have a strainer here! Putting the kettle on this very minute. Kingston creams and tea. And music ... Is there anywhere more wonder-filled than here.
Kim: I like my tea loose. and vanilla.
anna1: add a little more water to that kettle please, and I know you are hiding the butter cookies.
Butterfly wings ... and settling ... so easily possible here.
Thinking of you, PV ... be well.
Good morning. Good night. And much love to all.
I thought they had gone.
A hummingbird ...
as I sit here with memories
of storms and
rounded cups of hot chocolate
and a hand that reached out
as I try once more to make peace
with memories ... with my mom ...
on her deathday
...
middle of the day, middle of the night
magic, life, love perhaps
if only we look up.
Vinny, did you nudge me to see
or did you bring him to me
and now
just now
butterfly wings
...
all of this
and you
and the fullness of the sea
perhaps all
are ways back
inside of me
to let all the other voices go
and help my voice find free
for a little while at least
...
threads and Anne
words and Anna
escape and finding
allowing ourselves
to be
ourselves
Zaddik, are you here
Elgar and
Jacqui du Pre
tea
in a tapestry
begun by Kim
open, safe, free
home
respite
sanctuary
to be
and find
and see
in the moment
in the hours
days
nights
one by one
altogether
holding
safe harbour
always
here
and butterfly wings
just here
just now
blissful
blissful
calm
joy, perhaps
Kim: could not access the Nenah Cherry whom I love, what happened to the Joni, Radio?
She was twenty-four when she had me. Twenty-four years after her death, I’m the age that she was then. If I live through the end of April, I will see more days than came to her. Not sure why I think of that.
In the end I came back here and read words I wrote just before my birthday. There were the words that best speak my heart. She gave me life and from this life, I’ve held to hope. Someone gave that hope to me. Eyes to see the hummingbird and butterflies flying near, to love the sea and walk the shore and to love the sound, the feel, the taste of it, the all of it, middle of the day, middle of the night and almost especially in the rain. Life and hope and love. ‘Waves lapping against the shore. Love filled melodies. And sparkling waterfalls.’ Here. Quietly. Gratefully.
Good morning. Good night.
Much love.
Thinking of all my friends from here.
Much love ... always.
Such a moon ... midst all the clouds ... perfect in the mist long enough for me to see ... lovely loveliness ... may it be just so for all of us ...
Sometimes ... if memory is all there may be of something or somewhere or someone deeply loved, then memory will breathe very deeply in and call back all it can of what was known to preserve such sacred treasure. All ... that was ... exactly as it