Category Archives: Observation

Fight fire

For those traumatized by the blazing forestland in New Jersey and California, the appeal of flames rising is probably gone.

Fire can also be a metaphor. Fire in the belly signifies ambition and the Doors sang of stoking desire.

There is passing the torch, a  tradition exemplified in Paris this summer. Fire also captures the idea in getting burned [or its alter ego, not].

Fires give heat and light. The campfire is benign and contained and well-loved. Fires can rage, giving birth to an angry modality.

Pastel crayons are waxy. I also used red pencil for definition and outline.

Our art therapy/connection group used it as a metaphor symbolic of what moves and inspires us. 

Mine kind of, you know, “wrote itself.”

A collage occupied me while we did our introductions. I was multitasking.

Thank you

We are thanked for voting.

Voting is our privilege, a right that comes with democracy.  We should treasure it. No thanks necessary.

The video artist I passed in front of our local school[slash]polling place seemed to share that p.o.v.

“In Argentina,” I think I heard her say, “You have to vote.”

Apparently, it’s beyond your right  so that it’s illegal not to cast a ballot.

Hmm.

“Wade in the water”

If anyone or anything can convert me towards religion, it would be a snippet from Alvin Ailey’s Revelations. Yes, it is a masterpiece. Yes, it has stunned audiences all over the globe since its creation in 1960.

This audience included. Tonight, I caught a glimmer from archives of this rich inclusive robust dance work on a PBS American Masters show. It sent shivers. Just as it had when I first met it on a stage in the ’60s and every encounter since.

There’s a purity to Alvin Ailey’s choreography that gives his dances grandeur.

Journaling

Lately, my favorites have been those that specialize in Japanese paper goods; there are so many adorable, and useful, little amusements to discover. I recommend starting out in midtown, at Kinokuniya USA, a giant bookstore whose basement level is almost entirely devoted to notebooks, pens, and letter-writing sets. You can then trek to the East Village, to niconeco zakkaya, a cute-as-a-button spot that specializes in journals, sticker books, rubber stamps, and washi tape.

The New Yorker Daily                     By Rachel Syme

There are many platforms for the many disciplines of self-expression.

Journaling is a way to get control of your life or at least chronicle its natural disarray. Generally, the journal is used to report to oneself on oneself.

In my books, it’s separate from the  blog posts I share with others. [There is an intended pun in there.] My writing is often a chronicle of my life, but the one I post is more organized than it would be in a journal.

Here, I try to make some order of it all. My posts, whether poems or opinions, intend to make a point.

My preferred “journal” is Samsung Notes. I type, therefore, I can read what I wrote. In my long hand, yesterday’s entry would remain a mystery; well, not just yesterday’s but most days’.

Nonetheless, I am attracted to the paperback book journals Rachel Syme describes and recommends.

Greetings

Describe your life in an alternate universe.

I never noticed this before, but we oldies nod and smile as we pass on the street.

I was going to blame my lack of attention to this being a new phenomenon or to me being new to oldness.

Truly doubt either proposition.

It is kind of nice, a recognition of our cohort in a population of carriages or bikes.

Gateway?

Is Starbucks providing a gateway drug that leads straight to the umbrella drink?

As I waited for my doppio or flatwhite, I watched in fascination as the barista made a green and pink concoction. That touch of vitriol adds a frisson, a bit of danger that makes the whole thing that much more attractive.

The typical mix from the Starbucks menu tends toward the ultra-sweet, extra-caloric, and hyper-colorful. This is true of even their coffees and also the puppy treat they dispense.

Her customers for the pretty green and pink glass were two tweens who placed identical orders. Nonetheless, they each grabbed a straw to sample what first came off the assembly line.

I was distracted, so I did not witness the second share, although it would have only been fair!

Eventually, these girls would graduate (or could) to an alcohol laden very sweet and pretty item at an adult emporium. They might grab a straw to get a fresh taste of what the barkeep had created and then dip the same straw in the next one he made.