The operatic moment came back

It wasn't "Summertime," nor "Ain't Necessarily So." It was (I just found it) "My Man's Gone Now." Perhaps it was even more enjoyable because I couldn't make out almost any of the words in the car. Two guys on the side of the road turned to stare as the opera...well it probably wafted more than blasted out the window, but still I was surprised that they turned to look. I remembered the young southern black woman, a student at a school of the arts, singing opera to me on my birthday a few years ago. I thought about the South. I was hungry. I had just got off work. I rolled down the window to spit out the shells of sunflower seeds.

Life while moving

Crumble frozen onions and cilantro into soup. Burn up some incense and candles. Pack, sort, clean and listen to either iWine radio or InTuneWithSpirit radio channel. Or, ditch the cleaning and packing and lie on the air mattress in the soon-to-be-vacated room. Read some books from the library such as The Complete Peanuts 1971-1972.
Or The Hand-Sculpted House.

Political oratory of moments (passed)

Red House. Also, Galloway, Sultan. By way of rural potter who commented on Working poor stand..., viewed after Food prices...
AHEM. Sunflower seeds and rice cakes!

Sociological Images

Women's Attitudes Towards Domestic Violence By Country
I have been sent a new blog: Sociological Images.
Women couldn't wear pants on the Senate floor until the 90s?
Starburst Commercial.
Now I MUST clean and pack.
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LATER--I went back to that site. I think this is a very interesting critique. (As are the comments.) I was accidentally driving by Pittsburgh when the story of the shooting first came on the radio.

Last roadtrip down south

Got to see the beach, and those glorious beach skies!
Ate well at Daily Dose (where they were going to be hosting some type of musical entertainment called "Jim Crow") and Poe's.
On the way down, saw a pretty calico cat on cabin porch with rocking chairs at a rest stop near Sumter, SC. On the way up, at a different rest stop I saw a kitty cat with sick eyes by some tupperware dishes of water and catfood and a pile of shredded fried chicken (a mercy or guilt gift if I ever saw one.) Pobrecita. I'm going to be moving into a place with a cat.
Maybe when I have time, after everything else I have to do, I'll check out this new book: South of Broad.

Started and finished

My friend's 12 year old paperback Flaming Iguanas in less than 24 hours.
And I enjoyed it. But now I feel fairly tired. The sun is going down. I want to gaze peacefully on a large field in the country and eat cooked parsnips.

I had to read some letters backward

If Sarcasm Ruled The World.
Gee. Even though the lyrics are all like, about a girl (I guess) taking off for a better life, the Destination Unknown video has nothing about her telling her boss to shove it and then joining a motorcycle gang to cross the Badlands. Why not? I think this version is a little better, tho. It's more showgirlsy.

Packing on Saturday night

Danny Becher - Root to Heart Chakra - Healing, Crystal and Tibetan Bowls. Looking at an old manila envelope with a Pearl Buck stamp and a customs sticker. It contains a picture of a missile launch inside - "Pandora's Box." On the wall, the Sage Woman Calender painting is "Pele" by Hrana Janto.

Unresistant to the effects of time

First look. Second look.

Kids

Some girls were on a bullhorn today, shouting at the buildings.
"Come on, have a heart people, it's our first lemonade stand!"
How children embody some types of soulmates:
I know you are but what am I?
I am rubber, you are glue. Whatever you say bounces off me and sticks to you!

A few roadtrip remnants

Roadtrip up + radio = Redneck cupcakes. Wedding hotel on Mackinac Island + late night PBS "Motown Memories" = Ain't no mountain high enough. Road trip back + motel = newfound interest in biker culture. Leading to websites that say female bikers are "submissive," leading to looking for alternatives, like oldbagsonbikes.com. Residual earache from trip = home remedies lookup.

In my ear today

As I was cleaning, some files on my laptop (it had previous owners) which I had previously ignored. This is not exactly it, but it's the same guy. (Eckhart Tolle.)

Aches of lower limbs

It happens after an evening on one's feet. Anyways, changing the topic, gardens are places of the deepest creativity and plants can talk to those who listen. Although feelings are more significant than words, trying to utilize words to express them can be interesting. Also, there are places in this world where great creative processes have taken place and no one even knows about it. Why so much emphasis only on the end product? One creative process might produce work of art, and one might be a friendship. The latter, which is bigger, may not be celebrated, and the former, which is smaller, might be lauded. How much we miss!!! This is ponderous. Chips. Nuts. Nuts. Thanksgiving.

Photographs

I always knew it was going to be weird when I got older and a lot of "old" photographs would still be in color, as opposed to black and white. Yet, I feel like if you put any group of people in the woods, and then take their picture, you can imagine that the picture was only taken yesterday, even if it was over 100 years ago. (This after accidentally viewing Hunters Garden--never been there, have no idea what it is--after searching for "hunter gatherer," after eating a small cup of beans and rice, and thinking about ways of eating.) I think the illusion is also a bit more believable if none of the persons in the photograph are wearing corsets or hoopskirts.

Really really really really really

woods woods woods woods woods woods woods

Wish I was better at it myself

The absence of negativity: in my experience, a person who can continuously exist in that mind-state is quite a rare find.

Click and drag

Sea Hag Virtual Tour. Scan the cross-beamed ceiling with its eyelight(s). Find the cat! I did that while listening to more of this talk.

What do you think about these?

Sea Hag Soaps.
Elizabeth Gilbert on Ruth Stone's Genius.
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Now I'm going to maybe watch--or, since it is getting later, plan to watch: Dr. Horrible.

A thought

Once upon a time, a lot more weird stuff was going on. And a lot of people had more money, too. Now is the lull. Blessed lull. It's a bit of alright.

End of night

Wouldn't you know, I found another photo album to dissect.
After listening to that destressing music, I found myself looking at other things this evening. Like a channel of a young filmmaker.
But then I returned to the song by Robbie Robertson.