Thursday, December 29, 2011


Moving about the planet and it's raining! Between the movement are the pauses. The stops. The waiting. There is beauty in those times. Opportunity even. A red light calls for a photo between rain drops.
At least I stopped this time, see my prior post.
The stop light at Dean  Martin Blvd. (Rt. 7) and U.S. Hwy 22 in Steubenville, Ohio
Nature is the grandest filter to the outside world. I wait for my love and the pause asks for a picture.
Third Street and Market Street in Steubenville, Ohio
Stopped in the middle of the Market Street Bridge on the state borders of Ohio and West Virginia, the rain draws out the colors that are asking to be seen.
On the Market Street bridge waiting for the light to turn green for GO!
Ohio and West Virginia over the Ohio River.
Rain has never been so agreeable. These breathing spaces in between movement have been inspirational.

Thursday, March 3, 2011

The Red Light Runs

I got a ticket for running a red light in the mail with pictures and video to check out on the web. It felt as if I had been walking around with my skirt tucked into my underwear with toilet paper trailing my ass and no one bothering to tell me. Why in the world would I run a red light?

I used to be in a hurry all the time. Two very old, small people put a stop to that for me years ago. You know, the guy with the hat and his lady, both of whom you can not see above the seats. It's as if the car is being run by a remote control. 

These two pulled out of their driveway as I was speeding down my street late again for something or another. I came to a dead halt. Very slowly and calmly they backed out, he carefully turning the wheels. My steering wheel was in a vise grip, my face all contorted and red, with screams of frustration bouncing off the inside of the vehicle.

A giant beam of light struck the inside of my car just then.  A high note of operatic glory sang in the air. It occurred to me that I was going to be late to wherever I was going and by God; I was going to act as if I was retired just like these two. Why wait to have their calm.  From that moment forward I've been driving around like a retired granny. I haven't been late to an appointment since.

Maybe my granny driving had caused granny brain. I simply could not remember running that red light. I had to know for sure and magnified the picture. Behold. It wasn't me driving!

Here's proof. I was in the back. 

Sunday, February 27, 2011

"Dogwood Trees Don't Grow In Florida":(

My Dogwood tree is more beautiful this year than ever. Every time any one has ever seen that tree all they ever say is, "Dogwood trees don't grow in Florida." And here it blooms as if to say that anything is possible.

How many times do you have an idea or are enthusiastic about something? In your mind you hold hands with these bursts of ideas and your breath catches with the possibilities. Before you are ready to leap energetically to create and move forward, you decide to share. That's when you hear, "That's not going to work." The energy that flowed suddenly deflates and, boom, done.

The person you shared your idea with wasn't really sabotaging you; it was your own ego elbowing its way in. If your confidence level was secure you would already be in the middle of your project and sharing how it was moving along. Fear of succeeding, fear of failing puts you in the middle of fear. Remember when you were a child? Anything was possible and all your thoughts about goals were within reach. There wasn't that naysayer within or without and you gave life the taste test. Do I like this? Do I like that? Let's try it!

The blooming Dogwood flowers remind me that you can be full of dreams, do the action and have a wonderful outcome. Everything is possible and oh yes, Dogwood trees do grow in Florida.

Thursday, February 17, 2011

My Grapefruits Are Ripe For The Picking

Ah, the sweet juiciness of Ruby Reds. Every year begins this way.

This year I have come to the conclusion that picking grapefruits appeals to my sense of order (or call that OCD, whatever). So many directions to take. Do I pick them randomly? Should I start on one branch and feel that sense of accomplishment as those lovely spots of orange-y yellow ocher disappear. I can start at the top and work my way down. Those fat clean ones at the top call to me. Oh, the glory of being a farmer. Even the imaginings of a migrant worker putting in a hard day work.

Fast Forward.

Tree parts threatened to pop an eye out as they projected themselves at me as I plucked its parts. Some of the fruit did not want to leave their home in the sunshine and shady parts. A grapefruit that lands on your head hurts, period.

(Say the following sentence in a Brooklyn accent with a Yiddish flare, drama on the branch)
From one branch, I have a bag of grapefruit.

Tomorrow there will be more branches of fruity goodness. There are a lot of branches on this tree. It's 23 years old. It's been said that your brain isn't really formed until you are 25. I think this tree knows way more than me.

My new career will not involve farming or traveling to groves to earn my keep.

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

Madame Librarian

Random people like to tell me their business. This goes no less for my library experience.

My library never has any book I want. Ever. I think that card carrying members check out my kind of books and never bring them back. These real or imaginary folks are censoring my library.

I am a glutton for punishment, however, and I keep going back.

This time I hit pay dirt and most every book was in or waiting in queue for ME! Wow! And double wow at all the cell phones ringing in every corner of book shelves and surrounding tables. One gentleman, and I use that term loosely, was loudly announcing HELLO into his device. The building is a fortress, dude. Whoever is calling can not hear you and YOU CAN NOT HEAR THEM! Five hellos later, while walking around still did not connect him to his important call.

I step up to the librarian stand (my description and not a fruit or vegetable in sight) and I address the ladies with eyes blinking rapidly and wonder in my words, "What happened to silence in the library?"

The answer comes out with sighs of resignation about the signs posted everywhere. Then it happens. I ask the two ladies if they have ever thought of a poker and I offer a hand signal of zapping because I can't find the right word and one of the ladies fills in the blank with a resounding, "cattle prod?" Then the other lady says, "how about a taser!?" She adds, "I've thought about a bull horn and sneaking up on the offenders and shhhhhing loudly behind them." They both summed up the conversation with "now you know what librarians dream about."

Thank you ladies for sharing your business with me. You made me laugh.