. Tis composed of three walks of cypress-trees: each side-walk leads to a cave… Tempest i. II Shakespeare on side-walks. We use side-walks, paved with concrete, gravel or asphalt, because we don’t want to step into traffic, either the traffic of wagons and carriages drawn–through muddy streets–by horses or the traffic of gasping cars and wheezing trucks. In order to be safe and arrive clean, we walk to the side of the major activity; those of us who walk are not as much in a hurry as those who are driving one thing or another through the streets. Walkers, … Continue reading Side Walk
Who am I? different times in my life, I have found myself giving different answer. Although, my perspective on new ideas re-shape what I think and who am I? now. My younger self, the one not reflected in the mirror I use today, was very idealistic, intense, and absolutely ready to change things. Wanting to change things and actually doing it are two different things. My who am I? then included ideas like there should be no war because people die, the innocent and the instigators. All children should have the same opportunities to have only the best educations our … Continue reading Who am I?
A quintessential issue, this question, why am I here? Usually teens think and re-think their answers t to this question. Today, it seems like retiring boomers are asking this question.Still vigorous, curious, and retired, many boomers find volunteer jobs to not only to use their skills, but to keep their minds and heart are engaged. And, since I’m a retired boomer,this question, why am I here? has been on my mind lately. I looked for a part-time. There were no jobs that needed my skills and experience.Frustrated and annoyed, I quit looking for part-time jobs and decided to make an inventory of skills … Continue reading Why Am I Here?
Spring was hard on Winter’s heels, and I looked forward to planting some dahlias, tomatoes, and herbs. Money, however, was an issue, so instead of having planters built (you know the raised beds surrounded by wood), I found children’s wading pools–fierce fushia–that I used for planters. I brought them home, placed them where I wanted them, put holes in the bottom, and filled them with pure, loamy, garden soil. As I planted the dahlias–mere bulbs at this point–I swear I heard them humming. They couldn’t wait to get started; they were ready for this new home and didn’t seem to … Continue reading Fierce and Hot
Leaving home is an exercise in self control. If you you show too much joy, you will hurt your parents’ feelings; if show too much sorrow, your enough to leave home. So, as a wise 18 year old I decided to be restrained enough to give my parents the confidence to leave me and all my belongings in a room which I shared with another young woman. Even though my parents felt my roommate was a bit ‘racy’ this was the fall of 1966, the dawning of the Age of Aquarius. I felt confident also that I could go to … Continue reading Fly Away, Fly Away Home by jansapp68
I do not identify with a place. I identify myself with the structure, my home, in which I live. Much like a turtle who carries his shelter on his back, my home is my place of safety. My books are here; my computer is here; my dishes, food, my cookware are all here. I can survive in the safety of my home. Retreating into my home can also be isolating. Like the turtle, I can stay inside longer than I need to. And when I finally flip over and begin my journey again, I don’t necessarily plant seeds that grow, … Continue reading Safe Shell
Night-fall darkens the bar’s doorway in tense black; people disappear through the doorway; one minute you see them; the next you don’t. Continue reading Reflections Asheville