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thebittersweetcity.blogspot.com

The Bittersweet City: February 2015

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Tuesday, February 24, 2015. I recently saw Wild. It’s not often I’m driven to write about a film, but I feel very moved by this one. It’s going to stay with me for a while. I think it was Legally Blonde. That did the damage. I liked her in Four Christmases. But ye ole faithful – loneliness – set in. (The radio, I’m hoping, will assist with the loneliness but won’t kill all the brain cells that a TV would). Having seen all of the films at my closest cinema – save American Sniper. And the cowboy that's lov...

thebittersweetcity.blogspot.com

The Bittersweet City: Flutter (A Short Story, Not At All Autobiographical)

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Thursday, August 6, 2015. Flutter (A Short Story, Not At All Autobiographical). The idea had come to her in a Williamsburg bookshop. She had picked up a series of travel essays about Iceland, and she’d fallen in love with the photos; her glacial eyes gleaming at finding such serene blues on the book jacket. They had picked the Harpa concert hall as their meeting point. “We can pick up our own symphony where we left off,” she had said. They whatsapped their salads to one another. View my complete profile.

thebittersweetcity.blogspot.com

The Bittersweet City: August 2015

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Thursday, August 6, 2015. Flutter (A Short Story, Not At All Autobiographical). The idea had come to her in a Williamsburg bookshop. She had picked up a series of travel essays about Iceland, and she’d fallen in love with the photos; her glacial eyes gleaming at finding such serene blues on the book jacket. They had picked the Harpa concert hall as their meeting point. “We can pick up our own symphony where we left off,” she had said. They whatsapped their salads to one another. Subscribe to: Posts (Atom).

gaslithome.blogspot.com

Too Far from Home

http://gaslithome.blogspot.com/2008/08/what-they-see-by-light-of-candles-i-was.html

Too Far from Home. The Life and Times of a Nomadic Solipsist. Sunday, August 17, 2008. What they see by the light of candles. I was the old woman. At the ends of driveways. Glancing back to my darkened house. Where I watched them from windows. Onto the world, unseen because you can’t see inside. When the lights are out. They wonder when there is no garbage. Nor on Monday morning when the trucks pass by. They ask if I’m alive in here. Or so I imagine. I’ll be found one day. When someone follows a nose.

gaslithome.blogspot.com

Too Far from Home: Sons

http://gaslithome.blogspot.com/2008/09/sons.html

Too Far from Home. The Life and Times of a Nomadic Solipsist. Friday, September 19, 2008. For my sons, and my grandson, not-yet-born. I wake in the morning. His voice in my body. A language I can’t follow. A crescendo, a leaky instrument. He was a boy with a voice. For an Adam’s apple and words. That hit the window like sleet. He left me remembering. The quiet thrum of rain. The day he was born. The blade that saved him. After a dive to grab his waving arms. In that water and blood. Photo by Sally Mann.

gaslithome.blogspot.com

Too Far from Home

http://gaslithome.blogspot.com/2008/08/happy-with-little-and-still-her-eyes.html

Too Far from Home. The Life and Times of a Nomadic Solipsist. Saturday, August 16, 2008. Happy with little and still. Her eyes are cloudy. She won’t have removed. Because of the scalpel. There can be no knives. In this life now. From the eye to her face. And still, living there. The laughter of her children’s children. Rises over the lake. The father of each in the flame. Of memory, every bright hair of them. Gleaming in the sun. Saturday, August 16, 2008. The father of each in the flame. Happy with litt...

gaslithome.blogspot.com

Too Far from Home: November 2008

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Too Far from Home. The Life and Times of a Nomadic Solipsist. Wednesday, November 12, 2008. The ribs are a fragile cage. For her heart’s urgings. Eyes, brow, hands. Tongue, lashings of teeth-. Scarred knuckle, muscle. Control, those abs. Pects, the six-pack. She hears their music. In her ears and heart’s distal. Pulse, your ancient cadence. Back to the cave. Wednesday, November 12, 2008. Links to this post. Subscribe to: Posts (Atom). Wood s lot : : "the fitful tracing of a portal". Joy Harjo's Web Log.

bestofnow.blogspot.com

Now's the time: May 2013

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Three things to share every day. Friday, May 31, 2013. Pear, greeting, soup, jelly and ice cream. Pear blossom on one of the two espaliered trees in the vegetable garden. A young woman approaches me with a greeting, a sort of high five gesture, as I walk up Mount Pleasant. Do I know her? I don't think I do. Panic. Is she someone I should know. Then relief. I sense someone coming up behind me, who is ready, able and willing to respond. Thursday, May 30, 2013. Mint, people and hospitals. With my dearest an...

bestofnow.blogspot.com

Now's the time: October 2013

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Three things to share every day. Wednesday, October 30, 2013. Wings, soporific and stoicism. For want of a new photograph or two this pigeon from the archive must do. In blank moments before sleeping a sure soporific I have found is to to plan a formal address. The first few clichéd words suffice, accompanied in my imagination by a pompous and rather patronising tone of voice. Thus:. My dear friends . My lords, ladies and gentlemen . Sunday, October 27, 2013. Storm, mulling and ready made slogans. A time...

bestofnow.blogspot.com

Now's the time: July 2013

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Three things to share every day. Wednesday, July 31, 2013. Sound before the fury, coming closer and blue ice. A bridge camera with a 50 X optical zoom moving up from macro on the same lens and with remarkable stabilisation features (hand held is fine) appeals to me as a means of fixing objects and creatures near and distant and providing a record of passing inspiration, fleeting images, stolen moments. Tuesday, July 30, 2013. Nectar, gourmet goes ga ga, and an armful of wormwood. Monday, July 29, 2013.