“If God made anything better than women, I think he kept it for himself.” –Kris Kristofferson, who turns 82 today
Just For A While
Techno Twists
Into the computer world for muck and mire. And yes, dependent I am. I have spent a few not-so-short days committed (the operative word) to the overall health of my Macbook Pro persona. I’ve lost things into that gray fuzz of nowhere land that does indeed exist. Accessing it is another matter. And the mean part of it is that I have been successful a time or two which leads to an unmistakable passion to repeat. That longed-for success. That desire of freedom that comes with Independent Actions leading to my overall comfort. You might think this has happened as I’m here posting, aren’t I?
Well, yes. But not in the way I had intended. I surely wanted to recover what I had done as I did not want to recreate what had been lost. Twice. Let me be specific: Lost twice, recovered once. In between fails. I was a lone cat wandering amongst the bars of dive taverns looking for a dish of cream when there was only beer in saucers.
And last night I dreamed I was part of a rebellion, The Industrial Workers of the World. (That too was unsuccessful, by-the-way.) And I was being shot at while tasked with the reconstruction of some desk-top machines. Again back in the office. I kept finding spare parts on the floor where I was working. The subconscious at work in the field of dreams.
The much sought-after pieces I wrote were about Consciousness. They were quite well done in that mystical form of the no-longer-visable accomplishment. Of course.
Posted by The New Yorker?
Naturally we can never know what’s behind the visible form. Perhaps that is a metaphor for life, or computers, or Consciousness. We can only ever know what’s on the screen.
Ending Again
Mumzie died on Thursday morning. She was 94 years old, having just had her birthday in May. We had the funeral service today. It was a very lovely little graveside service, which is what she wanted. Poor Shirley, left alone in the house that had held all of them now gone: her husband, her children, and her mother. I don’t really understand how she goes on. I think caring for her mother gave her great purpose.
Tao and Zen
I signed the guest book and included Tula (in spirit). This is not a silly gesture—Mumzie loved Tula & Tula loved her “grams.” And Tula was there with us on some of the days toward the end. She would run to the bedroom first thing upon entering the house. Grams was always giving Tula too many treats and telling me that she was hungry.
So here we are again. Left with those waves and spasms of grief, and the resurfacing of past losses. Each new ending bringing a trail of the beloved. All gone gentle into that good night, no rage against the dying of the light.
The Dark Hedges
posted by Atlas Obscura
These trees were meant to create an inviting, impressive path to a wealthy estate, but grew together to form a tunnel that’s more creepy than it is welcoming.
The “Dark Hedges” were planted in the 18th century by the Stuart family on their estate in Northern Ireland. As the trees matured they began to bend over the road, and their upper branches eventually intermingled into a shadowy arboreal tunnel. The bent trunks and gnarled branches give the road an aura of the supernatural, which has landed the Irish thoroughfare a number of background roles in both movies and television shows such as Game of Thrones.
The Dark Hedges have even developed their own ghost story.
Harking back to The Catholic Girls’s Reader, I’d say the moral of the story is You Can’t Predict The Tree By The Branch.
Writers Ink—Writing and Stuff 