In Draft and Blogworthy

The following projects are in draft for some future use or offered as a part of my evolving processes:

Death and Taxes 2 – a few thoughts.

Consciously everything was mellow. My conscience was satisfied with itself. It wasn't until several days had passed that I learned differently. My awake self had a meeting apparently, in some dark alleyway with unconscious self, and the hidden, the undercurrent, the shadow won the tussle. It was quick and it was a silent battle, as I had no idea what they were up to. It is possible the two of those selves are practicing schizophrenics. If they had known, my children would have rolled their eyes.

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Summers End

I sniff at the air in the late summer mornings. The day's coming warmth must march over the waves of cooler air that spill out of the mountains in the pre-dawn. Soon, the chill air will crash into the valleys and bowls along the foothills during the night. I often awaken when the air changes, feeling it pouring itself into lower ground. It enters the house in a rush, before the rising sun can reverse the flow, bringing the heat to push against the mountains chill offering. I can feel this, and it energizes my body, calling it from sleep.

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Jews for a Day

It was the firm belief of the sages that wherever ten Israelites are assembled, either for worship or for the study of the Law, the Divine Presence dwells among them. In rabbinical literature, those who meet for study or prayer in smaller groups, even one who meditates or prays alone, are to be praised. From Wikipedia

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Selling Horse Meat


“When I was in jail”, she casually said, “I learned to wash my clothes and our dishes using chips of soap, wiping them with a sanitary pad, our very best dish-washing tool. It's hard to take care of yourself, and keep clean. You can't just reach into a drawer and get new underwear, or even wash what you have. We each had assigned chores. Mine was the food cart twice a day. One day, Nancy and Kate were brought up on solitary confinement because they had a screaming physical fight over a Ramen Noodles package. We weren't allowed choices over anything, so food became important”.

“You what?” I said, “you fought over Ramen noodles and baloney sandwiches?”

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Snake Milkers and Banana Gassers

Graduation time. This is the week when millions of future parents, the nations upcoming work force as well as tomorrow's leaders, begin their march into independent adulthood. I myself have several announcements received in my in-box; each graduate is to be genuinely and warmly acknowledged by their grateful families and friends for this commencement. Whether High School or University, Trade School or Technical College, all are commencing toward, or into, someplace. Stepping out into their future full of confidence and appreciation from their loved ones. Expectations are high. My advice, unsolicited – make some mistakes.

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Finding the Mothers

Lately I have been conjuring up my foremothers out of the deep cauldron of childhood memories. As I begin to think about passing along some Mother-full wisdom, possibly some grandmotherly advice, I realized how little I have stored in my memory's safe deposit vault. Was I not paying attention? Had they not passed it along? Were my lessons, my examples, my modeling buried under the sludge of time past?

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Short Older Lady with Gray Hair

Red found me in the coffee shop midweek, after looking for me for a couple of days, days during which I was out of town. He had needed an introduction that I could easily make for him. The problem was, I was nowhere to be found, so he fretted, and he wandered around on a search. He is perhaps in his twenties, I suppose, or possibly 18, or 35, and had quickly become a regular at my favorite coffee shop after moving nearby two months ago. I had gone out of town, and had turned off the phone, enjoying the freedom that comes from cellular escape. It was Wednesday before we chanced to meet and he told me about his search.

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January 3, 2013

Quiet. It is all around me. No presents. No need. No urgency. No plan. Just enveloping my morning warmth in a steamy cup of tea, and pleasurable lassitude.

What is this? The phone rings, trilling it's insistency.  I wait. Perhaps I don’t have to answer it, I am not a machine to be ordered about, a slave to jump to the chirping of digital crows. No, I am not.

I continue my tea.

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The best gifts came without wrapping. It is for those, the rough jewels, that I am giving thanks, today

It looks like this. I meet people, here there and everywhere, and some of them stay to be a part of my life for a period of time; for a long time, or short, it doesn't really matter, as they are my fellows, and we accompany each other along a journey. These are the gift-carriers, the three kings bringing unintended consequences that were both unearned and undeserved.

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The Pumpkin Patch

I have a theory . Actually, I have many theories, and some of them make sense, tho not all. This one is about our need for finding fulfillment and meaning. Most people are absorbed, in one fashion or another, in the search for The One.

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Paying the Price of Admission

I lay in bed at night, thinking. I sleep when I am reading. I get drowsy when I work at my computer.

I wonder if I am wired backwards, somehow caught in a loop that runs in reverse. I sit for hours in front of my laptop screen, and then drive myself to exercise. I worry about my adult children, but never as much as when Iam with them, which is when my worry hits a zenith. I do not wonder if I am sane, so much as I wonder how far off the bubble I would measure, if tested. So far, no testing.

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