Monthly Archives: January 2015
It was a snowy Friday morning. I brought pickled herring and cottage cheese and Susanna brought good crackers and butter and we washed it all down with pomegranate juice—just a little celebratory feast. Not sure what we were celebrating except life and our love for pickled herring and Friday and snow. But that’s enough isn’t it?
Plans for B15T are almost finalized. From Norway’s Atlantic coast to Beijing, almost on the Pacific BY LAND. Trains, buses and ferries. It’s a long way and I’m a little nervous. But then why would I travel if it were just an ordinary humdrum activity.
I know this has been a day of images, of photography but how about if I sneak in just one travel reference.
For some reason N4th has developed a bad habit…we use food to commemorate practically everything–staff departures, holidays, rainy days, Wednesdays…
Didn’t get any fine photos of food…but here’s a glance. Drop by anytime…well, not anytime…
The vow, the frequently renewed vow, the pledge to my creative and obsessive soul. I will post to one of my blogs every day; images stories observations comments…every day…every day. And then I do not.
Then there are the images I am supposed to be gathering for my class, noting down somewhere for future stories.
Oh yes, and how I should be taking pictures all of the time of everything for the brilliant shot that occasionally pops up and I have a moment of believing I’m a photographer.
To catch up (obsessive are always needing to catch up), I will post five photos today. I’ve only managed one so far but it’s early.
Images my teacher says. Jot them down. Ten a day. Images you can use to build stories. Now it’s almost 6PM; I’ve been busy all day with writing and cooking and laundry and Vivian Maier…and nary an image. Well, one, of the front window shade most of the way drawn so I can deny it is one more bright sunny day. That’s an image for a story—one of my railing against high desert sun stories.
Nine images to go. Wait. The clothes are dry, ready to fold. May as well shower while I’m up. It’s nice the way the lamp lights the masks from Bali hanging just above it. They’re from the most famous mask-maker in Ubud; we went there about 25 years ago. That’s an image with a story to go with it. Yay, up to two…
Eight more and almost time for Downton Abbey. How about…
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Last night I went to abs class and when I came out it was snowing…the slushy stuff sliding down the windshield under the lights of the parking lot.
Then I came home and broke my new eating pattern (more about that later–it’s a little interesting) with a bowl of cream-cooked grits with a pool of butter on top along with a glass of wine. It was lovely. It was too late in the evening. I have had a stomach ache ever since. I won’t do that again, at least for a few weeks until I forget how bad it makes me feel. Dumb Marj. Forgetful Marj. Make-a-new-list Marj.
Sorry…best I can do…a windshield in the parking lot photo.
Uncle Scott and Sara who wonders what in the heck he is talking about…
My good son Scott from San Diego comes to hang in his old stomping grounds every now and then. Now it’s with his mom and brother; back in actual stomping ground days, as I remember, he had more exciting friends.
It is always fun when he comes…and reassuring that he appreciates his mom who slaved over a hot stove cooking all those fine Kraft Mac and Cheese dinners.
We don’t do very much when he comes out. I try to think of the odd task or two like opening the olive oil bottle that has somehow stripped its bottle top gears or changing the unusual light bulb…you know the tough stuff. Eventually he’ll have to clean up the place and cook a three month supply of mush when he comes out but for now it’s not too complicated.
So we ate better-than-average New Mexican food a couple of times, watched Grand Budapest Hotel and I introduced him to Orange is the New Black, Downton Abbey and PBS Mystery. It’s sad how limited San Diegans are in their range of entertainment. I made him drink Earl Grey and eat small cookies during our Sunday evening British blowout. A good time was had by all. I think.
When you just can’t post a single line to any of those blogs you love so much…one day goes by…another…you wonder, ‘are you done with this foolish enterprise?’…still another…yup, one more…this is serious writer’s block or posting block or thinking block.
But suddenly it’s Wednesday, cloudy outside, you had a great sandwich for lunch and you are once again inspired (inspired=to be filled with the urge or ability to do or feel something, especially to do something creative). Or maybe not inspired. Maybe guilt-ridden because you vowed to post something something something anything everything that-thing on a blog every day.
The only way to get over writer’s block is to write, right? I’m writing, soon I’ll post this. I’ll be cured. Thank you great universal word spirit.
My new writing class has started, my California son visited for the weekend, we’ve hired two great new people at work and the last of my old restored family photos are framed.
Would you accept some random golden photos for a few make-up posts? Thank you.
Here’s the drive up to Steven’s on Tramway when the gold descends over the city.