beweaveit

Another year has almost rolled around, and the asters are about to bloom again. They are incredibly healthy and prolific to the point of nearly crowding out the special orange/rust/yellow/beige mums. The asters are an awe-inspiring blue-purple. I planted both the asters and the mums about 12 years ago. The asters’ leaves will turn moldy if I water from overhead, but they they have no objection to rain. There are many wild asters proliferating this year, too. Their flowers will be whitish-pink. I will bring flowers to my friend, Rose, when they bloom. Rose is 85. I also bring her my magazines, pistachio halvah, and organic chocolate mints. I call on her every 3 to 6 weeks, but she could use more company.

Or should I say the couches. Both were a cream color with a slightly rustic weave. They felt nubby, but this was because the nubs were pills that couldn’t be easily if at all plucked from the fabric. Over the years, one of the two couches would become my bed when I visited. If it was the loveseat, I either curled up on my side or, on my back, propped my lower shins up on the far arm. The placement of the couches in the small living room dictated which of the two was destined to become the temporary sleeping quarter. I wanted to be able to see the t.v.- the channels, particularly news, weather, and public access, were so different from those I had at home that they were absorbing, and thus, conducive to sleep. A sheet would be found and folded in such a way as to become both the bottom sheet and a cover.

Dear Tim, I took you for granted. You were one of the truly great ones. Your aura radiated truth and integrity. We the People needed you. It is shocking that you left just like that. Please continue to shine down on us, and please pray for us. Thank you.

Here! Let’s all sit in these treetops and rest our wings!

We’ll sing, and we’ll gossip about Spring and other things!

Mr. Bear, dear puppy of Heather, this is a happy, peaceful prayer. Although I don’t know you personally, I am your Aunt Dolly, and your brother, Littie, lived with us until he unexpectedly made a journey to Heaven in early 2004. So I feel I know you, and more importantly, I care deeply about how you and your mother are. Please, can you rest, and heal, and be callllmmmm, and drink your water and eat what Heather gives you, and have pleasant little dreams. This is my prayer of love for you. Dolly

Heather is 10 and a half months younger than me. She got the short end of the stick, and she shouldn’t have. She remembers in detail many things that I don’t. I would like to say, though, for the record, that she is an extremely beautiful person. I always have pictured her as being a ballet dancer. If she were a dog, she’d be an Afghan hound. When things got bad at the house when we were children, she curled up with/into books. I escaped outside. One Christmas, we got a bike. I think I can still smell it along with the Christmas tree. It was a 36″ 3- speed, I think, from Sears, and Mom and Dad put it together secretly. Problem was, it was one bike, so Heather and I could never ride bikes together.

The assassination of Benazir Bhutto today has created a surreal cloud, which precludes feelings of normalcy, over the world. Although I am confused by events, people, and their implications in Pakistan, what has just happened creates a momentous tone. She surely was a very brave woman.

It occurs to me that the practice of Feng Shui may serve as an artistic justification for O.C.D.!

In the days since my first post, I made an attempt to write on paper one of my takes on life as it is being manifested in this crazy world now. I couldn’t even re-read it! It was a long-winded treatise on Congress’ abrogation of its Constitutional authority by giving Bush carte blanche to declare war in Iraq. Well, I still have a lot to say about this, but what has been uppermost in my spinning mind is how powerless I am, and how overbearing my spewing forth of heretofore undirected thoughts seems to me. So, it’s not so much the content but the organization and presentation that has been stopping me; I have a huge need to speak out and share my views. I’ll try to keep it simple and clear.

This whole beweaveit thing will, with some effort on my part, become my voice. I talk: who listens? I write to the paper, or to my Congressperson: where does my communique go? I vote: do I really count? EXCUSE ME! [thank you, Steve Martin]- I have something to say!!! In retrospect, I was right about Iraq; the concept of a pre-emptive war is foreign to me; being rude is not the Golden Rule; I have a gut feeling that we’re digging our own grave.