Stain-glass Eyes

I bought a pedometer, the other day, to keep track of miles I walk.  I wanted it for more than measuring my daily walking.  I'll use it to distinguish between "daily” and "exercise” walking.    I think I got the idea from a guy, I was talking to, in the lane next to me, at the pool.   He was resting against the blue and white tiles, on the side of the pool, huffing and puffing.  I said,  "You sure have quite a workout!”     He said, "I make a goal for how many laps I swim a month!” Silently, I considered the possibility, "Gee, I never thought of keeping track of laps."  I swim by the clock.  "Well, that could take all the fun out of my swim", I decided.   When I swim, back and forth, I think more about the feel of water around me.  I ponder the latest homework from counseling.  I spy on other swimmers to see what new contraptions they'll pull out of their bag of tricks, to punish themselves.  ...

This is a great tool I never had when I learned how to play the guitar. But, the calluses still have to be toughened on your fingertips.  I don't think there's any getting around but just pain.

I know. Spring is just another turn of the four seasons.  People shed their clothes. Birds return with their sweet sound.  Snow packs up its chilly presence and moves on. Curtains and windows are kept open longer.  It seems like there are more hours in a day. But this spring seems to be opening me up more.  Or it’s coming at a time when I’m letting myself be open.  I finally seem to be shedding my fears.  At last my music-making is feeling more second nature.  I see what is there for me, not so much what I’m missing.  Sharing myself feels less a drain of my energy and more restoring.   This spring I’ve noticed the buds on trees opening up into leaves. Apple blossoms go from looking like rose buds, to small white flowers.   Small changes feel significant this spring. Am I getting old?  Is Thoreau finally getting to me? Or am I finally getting young? The following, I found in a book by John O'Donohue, Anam ar...

Mother’s Day is next Sunday.  I think of a lot of mothers, including my own, during this national holiday.  When I taught elementary kids, it was something I felt like I had to start a month ahead, so the kids didn’t rush through the project and regret it when they handed the gift/card to their mothers. Usually, I’m thinking months ahead about my mom.  I want to get her something to make her smile, surprise her or make her cry, (In a good way).  I know, to her, the gift itself isn’t the important thing.  She appreciates anything with a thought of her.   This Mother’s Day will be one of the rare times I won’t be there to share the day or weekend with her.  It’s another thing she doesn’t make a big deal about.  She doesn’t call and say, “Are you coming up for Mother’s Day?”  or “What are we going to do for Mother’s Day?”   I want to share a poem she wrote months ago.  I think it’s beautiful.  My mom is 88 years old....

I work on weight loss.  I remember the exact year I started on this mad, complicated, endless, frustrating quest.  I was a freshman in high school.  I had a crush on my social studies teacher, John McCutchen.   I found a book on military exercises at home and started.  I diligently worked out every day in my bedroom.  It was the first time I realized I was having seconds, at the dinner table, just like my brothers.  For years I felt like one of the boys.  I played with them, fought with them, competed with them and had no desire to go through, what my older sisters were, to be a “lady”.  It seemed pretty complex and time-consuming.    The nuns, who were my teachers at the the Catholic school for eight years, scared the crap out of me.  It didn’t seem a girl could win in any way, shape or form.   But, when you have a crush on a guy, you realize what girl-hood is or what social norms and body forms should ...

Rooftop in Ann Arbor   https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u3gh0oY11Nk     (Link to "WInds in the East") Went early for a walk this morning.  I was thinking, “Ah! this will be my first time at Kiwanis Store’s door when it opens!”  It’s Easter Weekend.  Kiwanis had a large, pink sign announcing this fact.   And the fact they wouldn’t be open today.  So much for being first, the door wasn’t going to open. It was a beautiful morning for catching some shots.  I’m optomistic about my noticings.  So, I wandered up Washington Street.  I ran into a woman walking a Bernese Mountain dog.  It was looking like our family dog, Max!  Big eyes, big body, big gold, white and black colors and big heart.  This Bernese was just a puppy, not even a year old.    A spotted bird's egg, freshly discarded on the cement.   (No trees close by, so I'm guessing an "Unfr...

Kat (My adopted daughter, from Berlin) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UiKcd7yPLdU   "One" - Three Dog Night (Dig those striped pants!  They'd be hot in the "Vintage" sales) Any day is a good day to write.  But, there’s something about a rainy day that gets me feeling more reflective.  I look out the window more often.  I slow down.  I hear Mother Nature whispering to me, “Forget about getting out and doing something.  Rest. Let me do my spring magic.”   So, my hands click away with thoughts I’ve wanted to put down for a week.  They’re about loneliness and being alone.  The thoughts seem to belong together.  They did, in my mind, the first few days after I returned from Tennessee, last week.  The more I thought about my feelings and physical aloneness, the wider the division got between loneliness and being alone. Man Reading On Ferry Boat, on the Bosphorous “If you're lonely when you're alone, you'...