Monday, November 26, 2012
Much has transpired since my last entry. A quiet week--little technology, not even a camera. A birthday. Thanksgiving has come and gone.
Sometimes having so much at my fingertips tricks me into believing the world is small. Stepping away reminds me of its vastness, its range of fears and possibilities.
I believe that's it, for now. Am I done? Yes. And I still have half a latte.
Sunday, November 18, 2012
Thursday, November 15, 2012
Hotel Huntington, 2012
There are days like today when I'll walk along the streets of my neighborhood and see items such as a perfectly intact rattan basket in a trash bin and I'll think why not Goodwill? And I'll see a piece of luggage in a recycle bin and gasp seriously! Then I will think of the clinking of bottles I hear moving down the trash chute in my building, the bottles that could easily be deposited into the recycle bin right here beside our building. This will lead me to the junk mail dropped into the waste bin in our building entryway. Come on people! And I'll start to wonder about this place I call home. I'll forget all I love about it.
Then I'll get to this corner and I'll remember.
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
Photograph by Christopher Parsons, 2011
"Crossing to Safety is a love story, not in the sense of titillating dialogue and actions, but in the sense that it explores private lives. No outsider ever knows the interior landscape of a marriage. It is one of the great secrets kept between couples."
-From the Introduction by Terry Tempest Williams to Crossing to Safety by Wallace Stegner
Miss you, CJP.
Sunday, November 4, 2012
Ice Cream Parlor Chair, 2012
Dad bought me this chair, the other one too, but not the shadow.
Today is Sunday. It's still morning, but almost not. I comb tangles from my wet hair while listening to the radio. Garrison Keillor sings about farmers. I glimpse a bright blue sky through the slats in the blinds. The forecast for today is sunny with a high of 75 degrees.
Yesterday the cafe played good music while I waited, so I stayed a while. There was a show of sorts, at the park near the library. I was the only person there, something unheard of in most of the San Francisco parks I know, particularly this park, especially on a Saturday, late morning. Helicopter insects hovered in the sunshine between two evergreen trees. A tiny yellow-bellied bird flitted around making the sweetest sounds. Then I spotted a perfect spider's web complete with a petite hairy brown spider at its center. Just before I departed I watched a hummingbird poke his needle nose into slim red trumpet-like flowers, one after another, patiently visiting each one.
There is good in this world.