Stain-glass Eyes

Adventures are like chasing a moving toboggan when your friend yells, “Jump on!!” Never sure you’ll hit the mark.  Laughing at the craziness.  Hoping the slippery, footing doesn’t end up in disaster as gravity pulls you toward the wooden sled, when you dive.  Hoping, once on, you can keep your feet up so they don’t drag and slow the ride. My daughter, Elizabeth is biking this morning and I’m tracking her on wikiloc.  It looks very cold.  I can see the snow on the foothills, near where she started out south of Eskisehir.  Sabuncu, Kütahya Province (Turkey)  I picture her mind going to a nice warm place by a fire, sitting on some big pillows, petting Ellie, and drinking steaming tea.  Elizabeth on Ancient Steps Sabuncu, Kütahya Province (Turkey) Ellie, Elizabeth's Companion But, she’s out in the cold making her adventure possible.  Her five senses logging in every detail of her trip.  In a memory-place ...

Another day, another blog.  Not as simple as it seems. I woke up last night and thought, “How arrogant, egotistical!  Ninny hammer-Dunce!!”  I was ranting at myself. Why was calling myself names?  I thought about what I recently posted in my blog and I was angry at myself.  In my last blog I mentioned journaling with the word superficial. Oooooo!  I don’t even believe it!  Argh!! I journal and am angry someone said, what I said, about journaling.  I’m angry and I wrote it!  These were my words:  'Not unimportant, but nothing that took an enormous amount of reflection on my part.  Certainly easier writing for me, more like journal entries. ’  I’m a writer.  But, what a Ninny Hammer!  What a Dunce!   Journal entries are not easy.  No writing in my opinion is easy.  I apologize to all writers.  A paragraph, even if it is a detailed, description of an event is writing....

I’ve returned from a long stay in the U.P. with my mom and here I sit at my favorite spot, at the Washtenaw Dairy.  I have a spot at the end of a long cafeteria-like table.  I always face the “Featured” table which across from mine, where all the cronies sit.  They have for many, many years.   The seats are much more than cafeteria-style.  They’re black, cushioned (seat and back), comfortable and to-my-height level.  They lean back a bit, allowing some relaxation when I’m writing on my laptop.  Next to me, on the table, sits a black and white, wooden cow.  It holds sugar packets and long, skinny straws for stirring coffee.  It’s hugged up next to a black, napkin dispenser. I had an entire blog ready to post a week ago.  It included my adventures with my mom and my family in St. Ignace.  When I read it over it seemed superficial.  Not unimportant, but nothing that took an enormous amount of reflection on...