IsThisThingOn?

This last one I call Tranquility. Look at how still the water is. And how unblemished the sky...

All points move toward a horizon. I must trust that I am moving toward one too.

I've had time to see, being away from it all.  And I began to take pictures, ignoring the voice in my head that says,  keep going, you can remember that and come back to take a picture.  But who knows if I would drive past this bench again?  If the flowers would have grown just a few hours more toward fading,  if the light that made these things catch my eye  would be completely different by then? See. And stop. Learned this year that these delicate-looking little pansies are quite hearty  and can withstand drastic drops in spring temps without dying. I'm amazed by that. This flower box is one of three outside a Starbucks. Drove past this house, pulled all around the block, left my car at the side of the road  and stood in the middle of the street to get this.  

DO NOT SCROLL BY this one. Trust me. Press Play.

Beware of what you find when you start digging through old boxes of photographs. You never know just how bad your hair and clothing was until you view it decades later. Chameleon  Age 15 + here... playing at one of my huge summer parties. Awful hair and clothes. I have a pocket watch and chain in that vest.  Rock Service - the first version when Kevin Kelly and I joined with John Osmon on bass and Dan Cole on drums: And   the next version of  ROCK SERVICE Kevin Kelly and I were back with Nick Tremulis on guitar, Mitch Germaine on drums  and Chris Thompson on bass. Tie and vest was a theme in our band. That's my excuse. 16 here. For the love of all that's holy... Is that actual babys breath in my hair? Rehearsal in Chris's basement (bass), my dearest friend at the time.  Must have been 18 here.  Some outdoor gig at a lake in the summer after my first year in college. There is Nicky in black, Nick Tremulis . Incredi

Today the wind has been whipping around my little cottage. It's quite cold outside too. The beach calls me to come for a walk but even if I wear my Hot Chillies under my jeans, don cashmere socks and hiking boots, layer a silk tee with a cashmere turtleneck sweater under my leather jacket and put on a scarf, gloves and flap hat I think it will be brutal. No, today is a day for hunkering down. I think that I'll make soup. That'll do it. I have kale, parsnips, carrots, shallots and a little touch of garlic to put in it... And I'll nap. I'm not a napper, and I say this as I force myself from dozing at this very computer in order to complete this sentence (My hungry mind just hates to turn off).  I should give myself permission to rest when my body is calling out for it, especially in a place like this. It's completely quiet, comfortable, uncluttered. It's decorated for comfort in soothing tans, navy and white solids. There's abundant pillows, foot rest

I'm on a retreat. Where? That's a secret. Because retreats are supposed to be just that... a stepping away from daily life, with it's bills, phone calls, laundry... the endless stream of little to-do's and distractions that eat away at your day, your best intentions, your ability to think deeply and create. On this retreat, one of the main things I was going to do is write. So I'm writing here, which was set up for just that and has not seen a bona fide entry in far too long. Though I still have laundry. And groceries to buy, and dishes to do. But those activities are different here. Without the avalanche that is my daily life they are more like satisfying accomplishments -- and at times, become meditations. I still have my free-lance writing to do every day, which makes me have to go to bed and wake up a little earlier than I'd like M-F. But I sleep in on Sundays ( as a grown up, that can still mean I wake up at 6 something but it's my choice). I al