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 |    Online journal capturing the moment and the memory of moments. A meadow meditation. |
| Read Nanette's memoir of November 22, 1963! Two poems inspired by maps; got 'Thanksgiving Dinner' to Gare; homes for Katrina victims; saw some photos of baseball greats; weather is ab-fab; images along Ohio; reading, writing, ya da ya da ya da. 10,985 views ** Image ID #1134109 Unavailable ** ███████ L'aura del campo ███████ AUTUMN: 19 Qudrat (22 November) 'é a lua, é a lua, na quintana dos mortos' ♣ Federico García Lorca ♣  MY THOUGHTSI thought of Z.˚rz  and partyof5dj as I was going though the photographs of Bill Snead at the art gallery. Why you ask? Well, Mr. Snead took lots of photos from Viet Nam to Washington and even worked for National Geographic over a long career.On September 29, 1963 he captured Stan Musial in the Cardinal's locker room (complete with his #6 uniform hanging from a locker) on his last day as a baseball legend. In 1966 he caught Brook Robinson mid-air on his way to greet McNally on the mound as the Orioles won the World Series 4-0 over the Dodgers. At over $100 unframed they'd still be a nice gift. But ... today it is sunny and 65º. Perfect weather for a late season baseball game  and making one's own memories. Edit note 11/27: I had to take out the superlong links to a couple photos, sorry.  WATT'S GNUS  cnoto provided these links regarding 'Katrina' homes. They are very small ~ 300 square foot, but make sense for a quick cheap solution to a lack of housing. Even here, where prices are ridiculous for the poor, both homes and rent, it would make sense for single people and couples. Families may need more space, but even according to housing codes this is enough for 4 people. (New York State codes for sleeping areas are 45 sq. ft. per person, 4 x 45 = 180) In comparison, the local flophouse (which is privately and publicly funded) puts 3 people in a 9 x 10 room = 30 sq. ft./person or 4 if they are crowded = 22 sq. ft. per person. They constantly go over fire codes for occupancy, especially in winter. This situation persists in a city with 1,500 vacant units. The 'Katrina' links: http://realestate.msn.com/buying/Article_CSM.aspx?cp-documentid=1209895 http://www.cusatocottages.com/index_content.html  WEATHERWednesday morning:  54º and showers in La Paz, Bolivia.  42º in Lawrence, Kansas and sunny. 52º in Tulsa, Oklahoma and sunny. 32º in Buffalo, New York and sunny.It will be a sunny and pleasant Thanksgiving Day here, there and elsewhere .  IMAGESInternational Friendship Park: In shadow at noon: a bee on white anemone in bloom; chrysanthemum in bud, the fragrance of its rust-red flowers; hosta leaves a wasted beige ruin; curled maple leaves; green and gold still clinging to the tuliptree; a breeze waving the plumes of grass; the naked birch; long green needles of the mugho pine; firethorn berries blazing. 1109 Ohio: Snaps; lavender verbena; lavender chrysanthemum; pink roses; blue flowers on red-purple leaves; carnation in bud; a faint scent of lavender long past bloom. Walking along the banks of Ohio: The red sidewalk slows my urge to frown as the cars race down the smooth grey street called Ohio. We who walk through this student ghetto get to nod at the young man in the red cap that the drivers never notice. And we can stop to peer at the brown oak leaves no longer camouflaged by the green spikes of yucca or the purple buds hugged tight till spring (it's a redbud thing). We have the time to pick juniper or sage, crush it between the fingers and inhale a scent of autumn.  POULTRYCharles Booth's map of London, 1889 Don't cry about our poverty, don't call us names when all we want is what you want, what we can't have unless we take it. Born poor, we die poor, and if we're lucky to have a few sterling years between? We hoard our silver. Gold will never touch our skin or lay inside our palms. What alms will you give today to buy us food? Tomorrow? We lurk behind blind eyes in alleyways. On Booth's map of 1889, you're gold; we're black. As true today as way back then. [163.435] The poverty of maps It is at the edges where life fades on these maps of birth wieghts and land loss, these cuts that bleed invisibly beyon d the marketplace, along the dust-filled paths and sandy wastelands where no one lives, yet we survive to give the lie to lies. We too are human. Here our short gasps of breath matter most to those of us who love ourselves. [163.434] The above two poems were written while perusing a geography book on maps. The following were separate thoughts jotted down that I melded together. Let's say today is different in some parallel universe If I were to come close to you, I'd singe your atoms into dust. Yet you sit oblivious on the other side of nebulae, laughing with your sons. There is no sunshine in this land where skin crawls; there is no reaching out. Here time bends in a pretzel and universes, like fireflies, blink on and off. [163.433]  READINGBorrowed "Norwegian Wood" a novel by Murakami. Have started to read it. Hope to reread "Green Dragons" poems of Richard Katrovas. Started to read some of the writings of Denise Low. She was just appointed poet laureate of Kansas. I saw her at the Wetlands event (the one I lost my notes to). She lives locally and is a dean at Haskell Indian Nation University.  MY LIFEI sent the poem "Thanksgiving Dinner" to my friend Gary. I was glad to hear he has a new email account. His voice always cheers me up. A great beginning to what promises to be a productive day. Yesterday, I wrote 5 pages of scenes for 'Ao Hanada'. No time to enter on-line and edit though. This morning I woke to the strangest dream/nightmare that involved my family. Perhaps I'm sorting things out subconciously that I choose not to think about during my waking hours. Yesterday I had the pleasure of being greeted by a 4 month old black pug. There is nothing quite like getting jumped on and licked as andrew knows quite well  .  TREASURE OF THE DAY"It was about 2:15 p.m. Central Standard Time; we were reading aloud from our social studies books. A runner knocked on the door and handed Mrs. Barrow a strip of paper. She came to the front of her desk and leaned back against it. She had never done that before. She was not herself when she told us to put all of our books, pencils, and papers in our desk and to please sit silently at our desks. Uncharacteristically, we did. Mrs. Barrow just held on to her desk and watched us with a look that said she had no idea what to say, so saying nothing was better." from "Invalid Entry"  by PastVoices If you are old enough to remember, you have not forgotten that day. If you are too young (or not American), please read Nanette's memoir and leave a comment. And have a Happy Thanksgiving. ** Image ID #1134108 Unavailable ** Kare Enga |
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