Stain-glass Eyes

It's hard work being a writer.  Not the tip-tap of the keys or the worries about grammar and spelling.  The thoughts and memories that get triggered are like emptying suitcases and putting things away.  The items are useful for my journey but have to be sorted through.  Are they useful now?  Will I remember where I put them away when I want to use them again?  The process feels like I am spilling things out to examine.  The personal and emotional parts are jumbled up with the intellectual and philosophical parts. When I sit down to write I don't always know if it will be a crying session, an anger and regret time, or full of sweet memories.  Reflections fill my mind.  I can sit for hours in my process of writing.  The writing I do when I let it come as it will,  is my best. I have to let myself relax and empty my mind in order for it to fill with what will come.  No, I don't know what will come.  I try not to judge what comes and start with it.  I don't always feel com

Being back in the United States is nice.  Being in Michigan is nice. It's June.  It's Warm. I'm with my brother Tim, and his family, Susan, Brendan and sweet Jenna in Troy.  It took me 27 hours of travel including lay-overs. Finally when I arrived in Detroit about midnight, I had to spend an extra hour at baggage checkout to report luggage that didn't arrive with me in Detroit.  (and have my brother Tim wait around, too)   I traveled "with assistance", as it's called.  I knew I couldn't haul my bags, put them above my seat on the airplane and rush from terminal to terminal to catch the connections.  My right arm was in a sling and in pain. So, I decided to allow myself to be moved around in a wheelchair in the airports-Istanbul/Ataturk, London/Heathrow, Chicago/O'Hara and Detroit/Metro.  It wasn't easy.  I didn't take into consideration I wouldn't be able to walk around freely during the layovers.  I was able to get out of the wheelch

After all the prescriptions? Advil and ice for now. I'm typing with a sore shoulder, so this won't be a long entry.  It's been a LONG past four weeks for me. I'm about to depart for the U.S. soon. Four weeks ago I fell down a few stairs at school.  I tell the story, when someone asks, by saying, "I was trying to go upstairs and downstairs at the same time!"  It's the easiest way to describe how I move around.  I still hear my dad's voice saying, "Margaret!! Slow down!!" He never quit telling me and I'm sure it will never sink in. After I fell, I was escorted to the nurse's station (infirmary, as they call it at Eyuboglu).  I wasn't happy about it, I was fine and it was embarrassing to sit on the little table next to a child with ice on his elbow.  I fell on my right shoulder and had a good-size bump on my knee from the fall. A week later, I was in emergency in pain in both shoulders and across my chest. I went to Florence N