Transitions

Thread Eight: Transitions

A time to enjoy the morning presented itself to me. I felt awake and receptive to the day. Yes, today is a rare day, because I felt refreshed. Usually, an intense sleepiness hangs over me, keeping me from even walking. I am still awake now.

I believe it must be the time change. My body prefers this time zone. It is a little thing to even bring up, but it makes all the difference when I awake, and things feel right again.

These small transitions are ignored, but when I actually stop to express gratitude, somehow everything counts. I made coffee this morning. Checked email...listened to the radio, read the news on the internet...

My heart goes out to the people in that train station. They don't deserve disaster.
I hope that things will calm speedily, and help arrives as people need it.
I question the timing of the disasters and the people they affect. May faith bring assurance in their midst.

I send them the song, "Heal me." (Ronan Keating) Listening to this right now...

As I type these morning pages, the cats are resting peacefully. My heart feels quieter than usual. I am also searching for people I haven't seen for years. I may not connect, but I want to know that they are okay.

I hope they have friends that they treasure.

I connected with a new pen pal in Singapore. Some people like this type of contact better than others. So I wish to make friendships that will endure.


SOLITAIRE!

Solitude presents opportunities that are not always available in a busy atmosphere. I am trying to honor these elements instead of letting them disappear without actually taking advantage of quiet time. That's more or less what the phrase was when we participated in a retreat in Michigan many, many years ago. Quiet time is such a luxury in busy cities. I want to cultivate it again.

I am learning from the cats about small reminders like this. They are like Goldilocks in this respect. (right measure + appreciation = enough)

The "enough-ness" is the balance that I strive to strike once again. When my home feels like a crazy place, my friend's place is a get-a-way, or an escape. Then I have to pull back and say I must return to resolve things there also.

I am blogging about solitude in other ways and in other places. The words are expressing themselves again in novel ways. I don't always need to go to a beach to think, or take a walk outside, or even a read a book to rest.

Writing is a freedom one forgets.

The "solo" spiral may stay and then fade, but I know it will wait for me to return, like a return to refresh, and begin again.

Then I feel a freedom to move on to new things, tackle new projects, or even think about them for the future.

This thinking and the time to think is so necessary. I am so grateful to the "time lords" for this.

Lol...

If you follow "Dr. Who" or like programming,
you may understand this.


To Sir:

Farewell
With Love,
Martha Jones


Falling into too many
of life's portals
i am pulled into your arms
to wait again
to make a new path
toward you
and i feel that mistakes
have been erased
and life breathes anew
i stumble into the pages
of a new book every day
the words
stepping stones
holding me up
as I tread
tirelessly on
i feel their tether
leading me by many souls
searching for transcendence
to live their lives again
this quiet reverence
they need

Welcome Sally Sparrow.

I hope the new season brings exciting adventures for all the fans.


Poetry!

I listened to Michael Card's song about poetry.
I stumble upon it once every year, and then I saw it on Facebook also. So that was great!
I forwarded it to a poet. Well, when he dabbles in it. Most poets never major in
Poetry anymore.

Today, I will most probably try to teach myself Portuguese a wee bit at a time. It will be through dubbed Spanish, however, so it is not a concrete way to learn. I am acquainting myself to the scenery also before the Olympics broadcasts from Rio. I like settings of these programs. It makes me feel that I am getting a whole picture and not only a slide show.

Bye, have a very lovely day!

Patterns

Thread Seven: Changes

Today, I started out the day reading and writing.

I woke up with coffee and playing with the kitty.
He follows me everywhere in the morning. The other one
just found me just recently. They meow quite a lot for
very quiet cats.

Yesterday's plans were canceled. My friend said someone was busy and could not come.
So I am glad I didn't stress out in cleaning and prepping nearly as much as I did
the last time.

I am glad I didn't cancel other plans to be there, because that would also have been inconvenient.

I feel like ordering out for some reason.

I wonder if ordering the same food over and over is some sort of comfort.
I like what I order, so I usually order the same thing again.

It is like a craving or something that comes out and not usually something I listen to, but lately, I have wanted to, to honor two specific days.

Sometimes, you can't celebrate on a specific day, so I tend to celebrate it much later. Mostly, other people's schedules seem to keep me from celebrating these events. It can be a bit frustrating if I keep records on this, so I don't, in general.

Work

Today, I figured out something about work and communicated to a live person.

I figure I need to write a letter about this also, eventually.

I wonder if I should try to investigate this further, so I can satisfy the unanswered aspects of this.

I want to also find blogs and sites to read books online. I want to compare the aspects of reading tangible print and online reading.

So I will write a little later today or next week.

Saturday and Sunday are rest days, and I want to write in a tangible journal some
of the time.

I will miss writing here.

Until Monday!

The Time Crunch

Thread Six: Resignation

Just out of the blue, plans have changed yet again. I guess I have to be thankful that today I don't have to be out for too long. The question I am wondering about
again is why I am not at work, yet again?

Do doctors know when you are about to go to work?

Who knows?

It's a strange pattern, but all the doctor's visits are timed to my
work schedule. It is probably unplanned, but I will try to investigate
this or analyze this when I have the chance.

I may just have a chance to prep the house for the social visit, after all.

I will write more on this day and all that transpires. I want to see if
things will cooperate in other ways. So I can actually figure out where
I am losing time.

Well, I was lucky and managed to cut the two days I was going to be out into one.
Originally, it would have been that I had to go to my usual place for a blood test. That would have been like 3pm. So I would have had to fast for that long. Then I would have gone to the wrong place, where they are charging me for something that I shouldn't have been paying for at all.

It turns out that I would have gone there, get charged for the service, and then been told that I wasn't supposed to go there anymore. That's what happened last year and the year before. This year, I guess the communication lines are more open.
They send you there saying there is some sort of formal arrangement. Then you find out they can't take you there later.

I guess they must have finally figured out that I wasn't all the other people out there with my name.

Turns out, there must be a lot of them. Male and female...maybe even children...maybe even non-citizens.

What do these agencies do? Go by phone numbers or something? How do they know a person hasn't changed their number or even if someone is using your phone number?
I also hate it when they don't verify your last name and first name. They switch everything around. Do they verify age, gender, and address even?

I think they don't verify if you are a walk-in. They assume you came in an ambulance.

Geez!

I hope I don't have to go through more of this running around this year.
It is a chore. I also am thankful that I didn't have to lose another day to go take care of all these problems.

Now I can figure out what I need to do to straighten out the house for any visits later or over the weekend.

The stress of all this is not sane or even healthy.

The point is to get better, not run around and get more sick in the meantime.

I knew there was some reason I never used to get sick before.

I think I didn't have so many (democrats?) around me. There were more solid people with decent plans and didn't invest in making time and life so stressful for everyone. Everyone was busy and contributed to the task at hand, and things did flow better.

Where do they get this mental makeup? The results are:

Harried state, stress, displacement...

I didn't grow up this way. I think some library training, filing in alphabetical order, maintaining shelf list, online catalog maintainance, and being used to print literacy does go a long way. Maybe even reading a book?

Or just teach people to check ID more often?!!!!!!

I hope democrats employ (older) librarians to train their staff sometime.

It would stop all these errors and let people go back to work on time.


The Internet

Is the internet really connecting people?

Is communication better?

Have people who once were more face to face or used the telephone more
abe to make the switch and type and read and hope that emails are read
on a timely basis?

I find that telephone calls are not always going through. Even emails.

Then what?

This communication glitch must be explained somehow.

If this is a matter of sabotage, where is it, in the lower ranks?
Unless there is a breakdown of communication?

Instead of following the money, perhaps we should follow the communication?

Are they playing the game, "telephone?"
Are they not motivated enough?

It makes you feel at wit's end.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Today, I checked facebook and found out I had more friends than before.

It is slowly building up. I want to network more, so this may be a better
method of communicating more than most.

I hope so.

Time Lost

Thread Five

I am thinking there must be something concrete one can do about time lost.

I feel as if I am always experiencing this. The way it is justified is that
everything seems to be normal or routine. I have to go to pay bills. I have
to go to work. I have a lot of haves to do. So there is some amount of security in this. My mom insisted that I go to the doctor's today, when my body and mind resisted it entirely.

The way I felt today, upon waking up, was entirely like a piece of dead weight. I knew I couldn't get to the doctor's with the way I felt, let alone trying to prepare the items I needed to take with me.

Everything seems to hinge on this doctor visit. The visit to pick up the prescription revealed I needed to visit the doctor. Since it wasn't filled the usual way, I knew I needed to call the doctor to ask why. Then an extra trip to pick up more medicine this would have been necessary, had my friend not been able
to get it for me. I usually like to go alone, but I seem to be dependent on people to help me out if it seems like I am making more than one trip to do something.

At this point, I can handle one to two little errands for the week, but not more than one visit. The energy level I am experiencing is preventing me from being the usual "go-go" person that I used to be.

So this is stressful to me. In order to get the remainder of the prescription, I have to make two trips, and then two more trips, and possibly a trip to the pharmacist to keep them up to date. I figure I can handle the latter with a phone call, thus eliminating that need of a visit. Then I will have to visit them soon to pick up any remainder or changes to the prescription.

I am becoming stalled, because I am thinking about how to arrange all my things which I am trying to organize, thus making my carriage lighter. I fear I will not be able to lighten the load to make this trip.

I need to walk and circulate my legs. Or it is another danger to me, to stay sedentary and feel its effects.

I feel as if I have a mental form of MS, but I don't have it physically yet. My body moves, but doesn't want to at all. My mind wants to move around as before.

I hope I don't have to carry luggage or a cart when I leave, unless I am passing a grocery store and do an extra errand or on the way back. Then I may be stuck with all the groceries and have to make a stop to drop off the groceries before I get to the hospital, wait in a waiting room, and try to speed up the process to get the new prescription filled.

This is going to interfere with going to work. So I will have to give up that possibility to muster up the will power, the strength, lighten my carriage, get all the combined emergency errands out of the way, so I can live my life.

So, I wonder if doing all of these things is living my life.

Am I committing a crime by not living my life?

The need to do all this stuff is taxing to me. I feel that I should be able to arrange my life so that I am doing the things that I need to do and not always having to follow through with other errands that detract from my schedule.

I do feel that this grind only comes up when I have access to the Internet or if I am supposed to go to work.

It is like someone doesn't want me to go to work. They want me to stay at home or only do errands. They use crisis reasons or important reasons for me to come and go or stay home. I fear displeasing my employers or superiors. I feel they will devalue me somehow because of all of this running around.

I am not used to not having a work schedule as in the past.

Do you suppose I have to look like I am in a ghetto, unemployed, or otherwise a "disappeared?" That is a term used in the book, IMAGINING ARGENTINA.

My mom says I have to manage my health first, and everything else is secondary.

She must be right, but I still question why.


Bryony

I tried to be more like Bryony, do what she feels is right to do. She was forced to be introspective and try to communicate to her friend. The one she hadn't met yet...

As usual, the circumstances that always interfered, still interfere.

In my life, it may translate to other people, meddlers either on the web or circumstances that keep me doing something else until I finally have time to resolve the things that need to be accomplished.

Example:

Dodging a doctor visit today will enable me to get the house ready for a social call. I was able to start doing that. I felt as if I had gained some ground actually doing something, even though it was slight, preparing a house for a visit.
The week would be too cramped for that because of errands and trips.

The social calls are also necessary to build the gap of communication in this land.
I have to question the timely nature of those calls, because it gives me a concrete focus, but I believe that I am unable to enjoy the process of house - prepping, because outside things seem to come up all at once. I can't leave things lie and ignore the fact that there will be a visit. The house not being clean is nagging at me, even now. I know that I can't let that slide. Thank God that I don't have to do the errands, the visits, and the house cleaning today. That would be too much for a person who feels like she should be in bed.

So I feel that I should be encouraged and persevere as Bryony did. No matter what comes up, whatever circumstance or person, I can follow through or muddle through with all that needs to be accomplished on a given day.

Today, the cats are sleeping. They always know when I am busy. They are very careful and respective to my day.

How do they know so much? People are not always that careful and sensitive that way.

Sigh...

Quiet Mornings

Thread Four: Life & Changes

I used to have quiet mornings. When you have had them, you tend to miss them. I think it was just the way my life was back then.

So I prize today, because it was the closest to one I have had for a while.

You could enjoy a quiet stroll and get coffee on the way to work and actually think. You didn't have to see anyone in the hall if you were having a bad day. Or you had some time before the next person decided to exit his/her apartment. In my building, it is rigged where everyone comes out when I do. People alert others as to when you leave and then there are those blaring phones ringing from someone upstairs down to my neighbor's below. It never fails.

I guess this is a major difference between the suburbs and the city.

Here, I have to dodge people or circumstances if I want to have a quiet morning.
Then they blame you for ruining their quiet morning, because you have to be polite
and say good morning to them.

I think I like to go to work without having too much socializing between 6am to 8am.
I like to sit alone and contemplate the day. Or play with kitties. That way, you can sort of view the day before it arrives gradually for good or ill. Then you could have enough strength and concentration for any herculean tasks yet to come.

People here expect one to be a paramedic or a cop on the way somewhere. If it is not someone who is looking for money (food/drinks), it is someone who falls right near you or a car accident of some sort. I am the only one who usually handles it.
Aren't there enough democratic agencies in this fine city that handles this stuff?
Come on, really. We are a super power, and we have this so - called up and coming neighborhood, but everyone around me is always gagging on the floor.

So there goes the quiet morning. (or I missed my calling?)

Then, don't forget the afternoon or the evening.

Since when did people become so accident - prone?

Or maybe they never let anyone let themselves handle a problem? Or is this a place where sidewalks are supposed to be a hospital, and I am some sort of Florence Nightingale?

Thank goodness, I am not codependent, because I might have carted everyone to my building and then gotten sued for spreading swine flu or some other virus.

Upon studying these people, I find that they want help, but not the right kind of help. The people who help don't help the right way, either. For instance, buying sugar for a diabetic? Hmmm...

I know this wasn't the case when the concentration around me was strictly suburbanite or an even mix of Democrats and Republicans. A gal who once emailed me asked if I had somehow ended up in a ghetto.

I laughed. If I were a social worker or other such community worker, wouldn't I be thrilled?!


Cats

I think cats must be magical in a fanciful way. They have this way of stealing into your life without too much intrusion. I like how they sit on a window sill and gaze outside, how they bleat plantively like sheep, and then bask in any kind of attention you give them. Right now, the kitty is trying to climb onto my lap, and I had to shoo him away. Now he is in a state of caterwaul.

http://www.lyricsmode.com/lyrics/e/enrique_iglesias/donde_estan_corazon.html

I played this song for the golden-haired one. It reminds me of him, because I saw him in a dream running around asking, "where are you, where are you?"

Sigh!

Enrique Iglesias must once have been a poet. Or his dad must have some kind of role model. This kid really is it!

I sent the song to a poet just yesterday, too. I was trying to tell him that his poetry reminded me of song writers' work.

I may read his blog later if the morning holds up.

Plus there is coffee, too (smile).

And no one who needs ambulatory assistance!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It's a miracle!


Mary Stewart

I told someone I was researching Mary Stewart. Right now, I don't have a clue as
to what I may say to explain how characters from her book are jumping out in strange but significant ways. It is just something that happens, because I am not living my life. I think these books are subtle hints and reminders.

I hope that for everyone's sake, I wasn't really supposed to be First Lady.

Talk about toppling world governments while drinking coffee. This one, I'll leave to O'Bama...for now.

Quests! (or does this count as my third page?)

Thread Three: Mary Stewart

Yesterday, I was researching a book that had been haunting me for quite a while.
And I saw a quote, which paraphrased, goes something like this:

Each man has his own holy grail.

I tend to agree.

I joked to my friend that his golden-haired cat resembled: "Johnny Quest."
I got a laugh out of him. He had been grouchy all day long.

I feel a strange kinship with Mary Stewart, although I have never met her. Her characters all seem to be involved in some quest or journey to a new land and pursue adventures.

When I was a child, we had hard-bound covers of Reader's Digest books sent to us. It must have been a contract for some publishing house. One of the stories was an abridged version of Mary Stewart's book. The book called to me. It beckoned me each time I picked it up.

I resisted, wrestled and did mortal battle with it. I told it mentally. I am too young to read you and your subject matter. I don't understand your content.

I don't want to read about Nick and his trysts. Nick scared me. What Bryony was going through scared me. I didn't want to delve into all of this.

And why did the secret friend want to invade her life, her thoughts? I couldn't understand how she met him without meeting him. The terrain was new and foreign.
I was possibly eight or nine at the time. My brain didn't understand the book's English, or so I thought.

I never wanted to find out. The secret friend might even be an enemy.

So I did relegate the book to my past. I kept it but never read it. From time to time, I would eye this anthology.

Later, upon reading TIME WAS SOFT THERE and THIS ROUGH MAGIC (also by Mary Stewart), I knew that I should read it sometime.

Now that I am looking for it, it is missing. I have moved and carted it and carted it here and there and everywhere. It is now crying, because I can't find it. I can't explain it. How can a book cry for me? Like it's a child? Like it wants to be read?

I should be the one in charge of when I should read it. I shouldn't feel guilty about it.

It was the first time I felt that someone was haunting me. And Bryony was voicing everything I felt. Bryony knew this feeling. She questioned this, and yet couldn't sort it out right away. I know this feeling so intensely. It feels apart from voyeurism, which I believe is exploitative.

There is a reason the book calls to me. This time, I am old enough to listen and to read.

I think I should order a copy or go to the library and get a copy.
Although the old book is a vestige of the past, it does connect things I was going through, and am going through now. Perhaps, I need it to sort out my present?

I want to, deeply. I want to know that when a book calls, I can safely answer.

The Emerald

Thread Two: The Missing Child

(In Poetry & Letters)


We Never Say Goodbye

Getting lost in hallways
bumping into
or dodging open lockers
girls darting
this a way and that a way

and checking behind you every second of your way
of your journey to a class
of your journey to another box in time
another location to a new home
of bowed heads before superiors
of flashes of black-watch plaid
sailing and manuevering
around constant blurs

i wonder (as I watch you escape)
why we never collide
into things
into people
into girl-ghosts
why your footsteps are soft and unintrusive
like my gray cat's
green eyes searching
sitting politely looking out
on a window sill
why even the eyes dodge me
when i stand frozen
before headlights
why we feel always alone
in a crowd


i, with my grief slung onto me
and heavy like a haggard backpack,
and, you
with your graceful gait
leaping as a gazelle does
when danger inspires to nimbleness

no, we have never stumbled
or even fallen
racing and dashing
looking forward and back
behind our right shoulders
knowing every secret place
every stairwell
every wall to slip past-
our short cut to sanity

once you stopped...
do you remember?
dead cold walls
reflecting the shine of
dim lights
of afterschool hours waning away

all the words unspoken between us shot out
from within your eyes all at once
i wanted to inquire why you ran
i knew why i did
you couldn't say to anyone
that it was your last day

all we could manage was

"so, how are you?"

Then a nod
which meant "fine."

We could have started a secret race
a secret tribe of survivors
a forgery of lost things
emblazoned into our very bones
a lost race, perhaps
a binding legacy or anthology
of virgins of time

resigned, we both asked
in our tele-transport:

"so what are we doing here?
now what?"

a gift of the blue emerald
gleaming on the floor before us
the only clue
that we had never spoken
our french first names
our only thing in common
our pleasant and distant gazes
politely hiding behind
rustling window blinds

the brooding eyes of the boy-
visitor stealing past our hallway
asking for a pen
to report on those that we
escaped from
he knew he was safe
in the hall
with us

one last slam of the metal
hinges lunging out
from unforgiving walls
and I did know my place

I was too young to worry
about you
about this longing for a
connection
to make our lostness count
for something

when you whispered,
undaunted by everything &
by everyone swirling around
one last brief respite,

"keep it."


the emerald -
a new sacred trust
and a farewell

the next time
I ever heard about you
you had gone -
missing.





I wanted to write all of the above into a letter to an unknown person. I knew I felt something was off, but I couldn't name it. I couldn't ask her what was wrong, because I didn't know her. So a poem felt right.

At the end of the year, there was a missing space where her photo should have been. I wanted to tell people that. That she should have been there. That she did belong whether it looked that way or not...

They would have thought I was strange. Why should I care? She was older, not one of us, but too young to be idolized by us under-class (men). When a discussion once ensued about who everyone thought should be our "big sister," I suggested her. No, someone said. She's too quiet. Too not outgoing enough. She's just not one of the popular girls. The future lawyer...The future actress...the future doctor...the future "everything."

A wall flower of sorts...a way side flower, like Queen Anne's Lace, beautiful but isolated and forgotten...


I knew what they meant. They all idolized the most popular girls. Girls whose families and ancestors all attended the convent and then subsquent academy. Girls in cliques or leadership...she shied away as I did. In my mind, I said I would keep her as a secret idol.

I would show everyone that she counted, too. Eventually, I forgot everything. She had either disappeared or left to go to another school. No reason was ever given.

http://www.elyrics.net/read/h/hanson-lyrics/yearbook-lyrics.html See: (Hanson)lyrics...

We all dressed like college prep high-school girls. The Irish girls all fit in, and if you weren't Irish, you had to be preppy and out-going and articulate. At that time, I was shy and retiring and hid in the library or in the portry where I felt protected by after-school staff. I switched to idolizing Jane Austen and Emily Dickinson and other then female - role models to me.

About ten years ago, they asked us in a newsletter if anyone had ever heard of her whereabouts. They wanted to compile an anthology of students past and present.

Once again, I remembered our (last?) meeting. She knew how to hide and was never in the hall like everyone else. She didn't speak a lot.

She reminded me of someone else in my class who kept away from cliques and kept her head buried in romance novels all the time...Johanna Lindsey or something...and she had been new. Later, I found out she had been adopted. Which was a new topic to a lot of us, although I had read "Freckled and Fourteen" when I was in gradeschool about a girl who looks into her parents' secret file cabinet and finds out she was adopted. I remember asking what "adopted" meant. I had just come to the USA, and I didn't recognize the word.

These past few weeks, I have felt her in different things around me. Once when "Alicia" looked a certain way on the program, "The Good Wife," a look that said a lot without a word, in the Estee Lauder ad yesterday, in the eyes and possibly the hair of the girl pictured, in the brown hair and gaze of my small niece at three years of age, in the way a baby kitten sidled up against the bushes as she stopped to greet me while I was trying to leave my friend's house before anyone knew I was out and about, and in the Vanity Fair photo of the Princess Stephanie, and finally upon my sleep-deprived face I saw staring back at me in the mirror this morning.

Then I had worried some time ago about a crank caller who would call all the girls' homes and play Spanish music and harass them. I wondered secretly if he had done something to her or to any of them. If he had a deep-seated need to punish or take away these girls away? I put that fear away as soon as it arose. Did someone kill her and treat her like an object instead of as a person? Like a piece of steak meat?

I am remembered of the poem to a little child.

"Marguerite, are you grieving?/Over golden grove unleaving?"

These are the unanswered questions you find when you are younger. Someday, you will know. Someday, "you will live some distant day into the answer." Or "the answers are blowing in the wind." All the songs and poems say...

I wanted to ask all these questions and more. I guess I never did anything with all the words and thoughts colliding within me. And this might be a way to resolve all of this, slowly, process it?

I ran into her again in the title of a children's grieving camp. In the book of a romance novel where she is a central character among the French people, a heroine.
Maybe she is not totally lost?

At least, not to me.

She probably never will be.

Morning Glory

Chance & Moments

The blog is for personal writing and to evaluate things as they occur, because life's fleeting moments escape and are not given the attention they deserve. I wonder if I gravitate toward little things such as chance and moments, because I feel a quiet guilt that I am not giving them enough reverence. I am paying attention to other things that are ordinarily stressful and produce a damaging outlook in my world. I would like to say that I focus on the moments, because I have assigned them to be the poetry of life and want to capture them into some sort of virtual time capsule, albeit in the form of blogging.

If I overlook things such as routine, employment, bills, and living life viewing entertainment, media, and other things that incorporate so much of our city life, am I going to be missing life? I hear various answers all at once. I know I have the blend the two to be more balanced and centered - to become more balanced and centered.

The way life pulls me or tethers me is into an extreme of one or more of these categories. This morning, I had to handle a gripe over missing item(s) even before I had even awoken mentally. I had to help someone gain composure and find the item. I did so with words and not a physical action. I felt ripped off in my morning once again. A reference to this plight was mentioned in a book I saw at my mom and dad's, THE GOD CHASER. Life's little distractions can sometimes plague you to no end.

I want the morning to happen to me and not for other people or even circumstances to invade it and thus force it to go another way. In this urban environment where I live, I am allowing too many outsiders take hold of my mental reins in the morning. Somtimes, it is purely unavoidable, and other times, I welcome it as sheer chance that I have quiet moments to myself to settle myself and steer myself in the directions I need to --- to let the morning happen.

Thread One: Morning Glory

This is a first attempt to keep "morning pages" as suggested by a journal group I once visited. I wanted to name the whole blog: Morning Glory. The name is unavailable. I suppose I am falsely led to believe that I am going to have time to myself every morning to do this, but I know I will try to write the suggested three pages.

I have various versions of blogs I could have initiated here, ond for daily gripes, one for the poetry of life, or just morning ramblings in general. So I wonder if incorporating everything in one place would be an alternate answer. If this splits into three other blogs, I will have my answer.

So, this will be a start to something new. I am ready for this journey as I contemplate writing my first entry. It has been haunting me all day yesterday, tailing me even in books and magazines.