kvetching up

So many years gone. Time evaporates like sweat on a summer morning in Death Valley. I was cleaning my office last week when I came across a hard drive of images dated from 2905 to 2016. Video too. Images capture time like a mosquito in amber. I could look at some pictures and tell you the date--not simply birthdays and holidays-but special days. Yesterday I brought the hard drive downstairs and plugged it into my laptop .  Looking at these images of the family in happy times touch my heart--to be sure. However, clicking through the pictures I felt like an archeologist looking at a lost civilization. The children are adults, not the kids in the images. My mom, Jenny's parents dead, but smiling back at me in picture after picture. On the Photo from an old hard drive . computer screen.  My happy, beautiful family. Jenny engaged in parenting like a hummingbird bird harvesting nectar hovering over a flower. Traveling in Canada, the East Coast, New York, Europe, San Francisco, Lake ...

Entry 1 San Francisco, April 2017.   The weather the last few days has been amazing. It's nearly 6 p.m., spring starting later tonight, and the front door is wide open. There isn't a cloud in the sky, a breeze with a slight chill is blowing. Abby is downstairs, the dog isn't barking. A rather good day, I would admit.  The Cure just won't get out of my head. I really wish I could find the courage to let it all go. Moving will help, I think. Keep your fingers crossed, the odds I will move to Portland are looking better than even. The recruiter, ever optimistic, thinks I may be flown down as early as Friday. I hope not, given Abby is here, but she will understand.  Meanwhile, I learned yesterday that my lazy  boss is, well, lazy. He told me last week that he asked if my temporary status Seward Street Slides, 2017. could be extended so I wouldn't have a break in service and thus not go unpaid, and was told he could. Yesterday, he told me he was wrong. I pressed him, an...

Spent a loft of time in Westport and Grayland as a kid, and then as a young adult.  Lots of memories.  We can't escape the treacly memories of childhood, nor escape the limitations they often place around imagination where the emotional and experiential landscape of memory is only so malleable. Beachcombing 2021 My horizons only expanded in my mind as a youth, but not in real life or real time.  Without looking out of my window, I went on Harrisonian travels. I had been to pre-Weimar Germany; taken the cure for TB in the Swiss Alps; visited England over and again with Shakespeare and Chaucer, or as a member of Robin's merry band, or through the eyes of Dr. Watson and Agatha Christie's protaganists. I had been all over the US with the likes of John D. Fitzgerald, Salinger, Twain, Poe, Vonnegut, Steinbeck, London, Kerouac, Hurston and Ginsberg, Angela Davis, Harper Lee and Capote.   I had seen the stars with Heinlein and Asimov, mystery worlds with Tolkein, Moorc...