One Picture/A Thousand Words

People in wheelchairs being pulled and lifted out of the hallways of the Capitol —our house as well as the men with offices there!–is truly disturbing. The health bill which trashes the most vulnerable is being protested at great risk by those vulnerable.
People with hearts understand the anger and need for resistance that brought citizens to such a place.
Shame on the people who dragged them away!
This used to be a country that proclaimed compassion.

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Father’s Day

My father was an angry sad man. He tried not to be, but he was bitter that his life did not go the way he wished. He said he loved us, but we always irritated him with our laughter and noisy presence when little. He was also a lawyer. Many people benefited from his vision of law as something defined by Clarence Darrow. He fought injustices, but he also fought my mother. I hope this Father’s Day to find some peace when I think about him. I hope there was a time he found peace when he thought about me.

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Sounds in the Dark

We live near a place where many people suffered and died. Sometimes in the night there are sighs that come to wake me or even screams. Many would say I was hearing ghosts or just losing my real hearing. What reaches across Time to us?
I could blame it on the Wind which is a trickster, often sounding like other events. Or my half-dream stage.
Place and circumstance help make us aware of what used to share the stage. If all the World’s a Stage, is all the Universe a larger one?

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A Turtle’s Walk In the Rain

Our car almost ran over a turtle this morning making her way across the road. It was wet and cold. She seemed slower than the usual thoughts of how a turtle proceeds, coming out of one wood to cross the road to another wood. My husband stopped to take her off the highway where cars tend to speed. A small gesture to the wild life that seem confused by the growing houses that have taken over. I am sure she did not thank him for it, but nevertheless we were thanked by saving one life that was out this shimmering morning.

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Living in Other Worlds

The people that live in more than one world live at an accelerated rate. Artists are such creatures.  They have their mundane loves, families, friends, pets, political affiliations….and they have their created worlds that often come bumping into their mundane ones.  Since I returned from Scotland I am finding that every time I try to drift away into my written or theater worlds, I am coming up against a wall.

I could blame this imbalance on my trip which unopened trap doors for me to existences that were new and provocative.  I even shape-shifted in my other worlds into eagles pumping their quests over ridges and lochs.  I put new towers back on ruined castles.  I heard the old instruments trilling songs I had never known.

THE OUTLANDER is not part of my lure to Scotland.  The world I saw was not one of a time traveling romance, but of real ragged existence.  At some point  I will write of this coming together of that world with my present summation.  Until then my computer is somewhat silent but my dreams are loud and clear.


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Swords and Songs

So much of Scotland highland history is of the swords of warring factions and the yearning songs of the people.  The land itself seems glued together by the blood of the divisions as well as the hopes of the people.  Is any culture different?  When we arrived in the lowlands at the end of our journey there life was shaped more roundly into pleasure.  Two extremes of us….the wild and wooly against the pleasant feel of comfort. A feeling of being happily conflicted.  Where would we be after all without the point and counterpoint of tensions?


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The cold hand of Springtime

Spring usually evokes images of warmer times.  However, we had an airstrike yesterday.  Not exactly the image of flowering plants and singing birds. We were warned by TS Eliot that “April is the cruelest month.”  How cruel is it to hurl bombs?  How cruel is it to need to hurl them?

We find in our lives that we are getting further and further from the garden into the wilderness beyond the gates where rules about beauty and order don’t apply.


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