Wednesday, July 27, 2016

Savoring the Savory

Broccoli and homemade hummus.

Night Swimmer

The pool is open until 10PM.



Merciful Conversation

Orlando Massacre – Press Release and Prayer Vigil Information
June 13, 2016

Prayer Vigil for the Victims of the Pulse (Orlando, FL) Night Club Massacre

Pulse 6pm Tuesday, June 14, 2016

The Roger Williams National Memorial
282 North Main Street, Providence


PRESS RELEASE (June 13, 2016)

Our nation is reeling in the wake of yet another horrific mass shooting, this time our nation’s deadliest. In response to this heinous event that ended at least fifty lives, left many more wounded, and broke hearts worldwide, we, the religious leaders of Rhode Island, call on our communities to pray for healing and wholeness amidst our brokenness. Empowered by our relationship to the Divine, we endeavor to stand up and speak out against all acts of violence.
As people of faith, we voice our loving support for the people of Orlando, the LGBTQ community and our Muslim neighbors. The terror that ensued has affected us all and we will not rest until we assure that such terror will not happen again.

We are inherently concerned about the increasing violence in our society and we commit to bringing it to an end. Working in solidarity we will move our nation from darkness to light. Together we will bring our communities from despair to hope. We will not give in to fear!

In the face of such hatred and anger, we are called to elevate love. We are called to pursue justice, and we are called to bring about an enduring peace for all people in all places, regardless of faith tradition, ethnicity, gender identity, or sexual orientation.

Contact: Rev. Dr. Donald C. Anderson, Executive Minister
Rhode Island State Council of Churches
Office 401-461-5558
Cell 401-578-038

Rev. Gene Dyszlewski
Religious Coalition for a Violence-Free Rhode Island
Office: 334-2999
Cell: 401-345-7291

Amazing Show of LOVE for the Police Dept

Last night there was an amazing Woonsocket moment. We heard the leaders of the spiritual communities speak under the big tent in the WPD parking lot. It was a beautiful moment. And the show of support was overflowing. At 7PM an orange setting sun hit the top of the tent.

The speakers were:
Reverend Sammy Vaughn, Bishop Herson Gonzalez, Public Safety Director Eugene Jalette, Father Dennis Reardon from All Saints and Saint Charles, Pastor Eugene Kinlow of Church of All Nations, Pastor Roberto Gonzalez from Grace International Church, Pastor Rebecca Lambert from The River Methodist Church, Deacon Thomas Gray from Saint James Baptist Church, Police Chief Thomas Oates, Mayor Lisa Baldelli-Hunt, Reverend Don Anderson.

I have been thinking about this all day, how lucky we are in Woonsocket.

Bob Marley

I Shot The Sheriff
Bob Marley & The Wailers
Album: Burnin'

[Verse 1]
I shot the sheriff
But I didn't shoot no deputy, oh no! Oh!
I shot the sheriff
But I didn't shoot no deputy, ooh, ooh, oo-ooh
Yeah! All around in my home town
They're trying to track me down
They say they want to bring me in guilty
For the killing of a deputy
For the life of a deputy
But I say

[Verse 2]
Oh, now, now. Oh!
(I shot the sheriff.) - the sheriff
(But I swear it was in self-defense.)
Oh, no! (Ooh, ooh, oo-oh) Yeah
I say: I shot the sheriff - Oh, Lord!
(And they say it is a capital offense.)
Yeah! (Ooh, ooh, oo-oh) Yeah!
[Verse 3]
Sheriff John Brown always hated me
For what, I don't know:
Every time I plant a seed
He said kill it before it grow
He said kill them before they grow
And so

[Verse 4]
Read it in the news
(I shot the sheriff.) Oh, Lord!
(But I swear it was in self-defense.)
Where was the deputy? (Oo-oo-oh)
I say: I shot the sheriff
But I swear it was in self-defense. (Oo-oh) Yeah!

[Verse 5]
Freedom came my way one day
And I started out of town, yeah!
All of a sudden I saw sheriff John Brown
Aiming to shoot me down
So I shot - I shot - I shot him down and I say
If I am guilty I will pay

{Verse 6}
(I shot the sheriff,)
But I say (But I didn't shoot no deputy)
I didn't shoot no deputy (oh, no-oh), oh no!
(I shot the sheriff.) I did!
But I didn't shoot no deputy. Oh! (Oo-oo-ooh)
Reflexes had got the better of me
And what is to be must be:
Every day the bucket a-go a well
One day the bottom a-go drop out
One day the bottom a-go drop out

I say:
I - I - I - I shot the sheriff
Lord, I didn't shot the deputy. Yeah!
I - I (shot the sheriff) -
But I didn't shoot no deputy, yeah! No, yeah!

Screaming Neighbors

The family has been screaming at each other for three days. The mother and father are going hoarse. I heard the smashing of glass and called the police. Domestic violence is REAL.

Movie Time

They're filming another movie in the 'hood. It oughtta be a documentary!

Doling out the Poision

The drug dealers are all out in full swing. Sleepy uses his baby as a foil pretending to show customers his infant daughter when he is passing drugs under her diaper. Muscles drives off and deals in anonymous parking lots. Beady stares 'em down. These dudes stick out like sore thumbs.

Music is blaring from speakers facing the intersection, signaling to the customers, this is the spot. There's a parade of regulars coming and going, the same ones each day. Everyone knows this is where the drug dealers live because the landlord encourages it. He lives far away and gets continually dragged to court over every violation under the sun. Last year his buildings were condemned and we had peace and quiet for a while. There have been more search warrants in this complex than anywhere else in the whole city. At this point I blame the slumlord more than the dealers. And what about the poor families that are trying to live there and raise their children? Sadly they eventually get involved with dealing too.

This is the main artery for the city which is why the dealers love it. It's also walking distance from the library, health center, farmer's market, post office, police station and restaurants, which is why there's lots of good urban energy.

Amelia's Pickled Eggs and Beets

Making Pickled Eggs
Amelia shows us how to make one her favorite snacks.


I dreamed I lost a lot of weight and my skin was baggy and flapping off my legs. We can fix that, my husband said. I was terrified of the idea of surgery.

Season of Flow
Jeanne Nakamura and Csíkszentmihályi identify the following six factors as encompassing an experience of flow.[3]

Intense and focused concentration on the present moment
Merging of action and awareness
A loss of reflective self-consciousness
A sense of personal control or agency over the situation or activity
A distortion of temporal experience, one's subjective experience of time is altered
Experience of the activity as intrinsically rewarding, also referred to as autotelic experience

Those aspects can appear independently of each other, but only in combination do they constitute a so-called flow experience. Additionally, psychology expert, Kendra Cherry, has mentioned three other components that Csíkszentmihályi lists as being a part of the flow experience:[4]

"Immediate feedback" [4]
Feeling that you have the potential to succeed
Feeling so engrossed in the experience, that other needs become negligible

Just as with the conditions listed above, these conditions can be independent of one another.

Flow is so named because during Csíkszentmihályi's 1975 interviews several people described their "flow" experiences using the metaphor of a water current carrying them along.[5]

Mihaly Csikszentmihályi and his fellow researchers began researching flow after Csikszentmihályi became fascinated by artists who would essentially get lost in their work. Artists, especially painters, got so immersed in their work that they would disregard their need for food, water and even sleep. Thus, the origin of research on the theory of flow came about when Csikszentmihályi tried to understand this phenomenon experienced by these artists. Flow research became prevalent in the 1980s and 1990s, with Csikszentmihályi and his colleagues in Italy still at the forefront. Researchers interested in optimal experiences and emphasizing positive experiences, especially in places such as schools and the business world, also began studying the theory of flow at this time. The theory of flow was greatly used in the theories of Maslow and Rogers in their development of the humanistic tradition of psychology.[3]

Flow has been recognized throughout history and across cultures. The teachings of Buddhism and of Taoism speak of a state of mind known as the "action of inaction" or "doing without doing" (wu wei in Taoism) that greatly resembles the idea of flow. Also, Hindu texts on Advaita philosophy such as Ashtavakra Gita and the Yoga of Knowledge such as Bhagavad-Gita refer to a similar state.

30 Seconds Gravity Video


Tuesday, July 26, 2016

Grounding Forces

I made hummus again and a batch of granola for Bill. My food processor stopped right in the middle of hummus puree stage because I overloaded it. I was freaking out because I thought I broke it. This was a gift from my In-laws, many years ago (1991). Luckily I read all about it and it is not broken after all.

Bill made a video on gravity today and I helped out. So did Lily. It was really fun.

The heat is so intense at night we sleep with our heads at the foot of the bed, so the fan is blowing air at our heads. When I wake up in the night to go pee I have to figure out the new setup. It's like being on vacation.

This morning our pillows fell onto the floor!

When in transmit I am courageous and impulsive. I am aware of my craziness. But all of the same grounding force rules apply. Read, write, walk, swim.

I have 5 buckets of dishes to wash. And I plan to attend the new Chief's swearing-in ceremony.

Love Wendell Berry

I take literally the statement in the Gospel of John that God loves the world. I believe that the world was created and approved by love, that it subsists, coheres, and endures by love, and that, insofar as it is redeemable, it can be redeemed only by love. I believe that divine love, incarnate and indwelling in the world, summons the world always toward wholeness, which ultimately is reconciliation and atonement with God.
- Wendell Berry, The Art of the Commonplace: The Agrarian Essays

A community is the mental and spiritual condition of knowing that the place is shared, and that the people who share the place define and limit the possibilities of each others lives. It is the knowledge that people have of each other, their concern for each other, their trust in each other, the freedom with which they come and go among themselves.
- Wendell Berry

Department of Mental Health and Addiction Services

Worse than Fentanyl

drug is undetectable with current drug screening.

A Message from the OhioMHAS Medical Director's Office: Opioid Overdoses Related to Carfentanyl

In recent weeks, a highly potent opioid has been identified as the likely contributor to a number of overdose deaths in the Akron and Columbus areas. This compound, carfentanyl, has a potency approximately 10,000 times that of morphine and 100 times that of fentanyl, according to the National Institutes of Health. It is not detected by routine drug screens. In cases of suspected carfentanyl overdose, clinical experience in emergency settings has demonstrated the need for dosing of naloxone in excess of the usual amount required to reverse opioid-related overdose symptoms. EMS providers have reported administering 4-7 doses of naloxone to reverse overdose symptoms in a significant percentage of patients with suspected carfentanyl overdose. Overdose victims not responding to typical doses of naloxone may require additional naloxone dosing due to the presence of this highly-potent opioid. This additional dosing can provide life-saving benefit in cases of carfentanyl overdose.

Terry Watts

Chief, Bureau of Pre-Admission Screening and Resident Review (PASRR)

Department of Mental Health and Addiction Services

30 East Broad Street (7th Floor)

Columbus, OH 43215

Our Miserable Tragedies have the Smell of an Office

We have preferred the power that apes greatness — Alexander first of all, and then the Roman conquerors, whom our school history books, in an incomparable vulgarity of soul, teach us to admire. We have conquered in our turn... our reason has swept everything away. Alone at last, we build our empire upon a desert. How then could we conceive that higher balance in which nature balanced history, beauty, and goodness, and which brought the music of numbers even into the tragedy of blood? We turn our back on nature, we are ashamed of beauty. Our miserable tragedies have the smell of an office, and their blood is the color of dirty ink.

— Albert Camus, from The Poetry of Kenneth Rexroth, by Sam Hamill

Stalking the Irish Madness

Stalking Irish Madness: Patrick Tracey
Patrick Tracey, author of Stalking Irish Madness

By Kara Rota, Contributor
December / January 2009

Patrick Tracey’s first book, Stalking Irish Madness: Searching for the Roots of My Family’s Schizophrenia, is a memoir, a research document, a medical ethnography, and certainly a page-turner. As Tracey says, “There’s many, many ways to write a book about schizophrenia. But I had my story to tell and to tell it this certain way.”

The story Tracey has to tell is one that begins years ago, with a woman named Mary Egan. The Egan line is the one Tracey chooses to follow in his search through Ireland, as Mary Egan serves as the historical link that brought the “Irish madness” down to Tracey’s grandmother, May Sweeney, and eventually to two of his beloved sisters, Chelle and Austine.
The diagnosis first of creative, theatrical Chelle, then later of Tracey’s confidante and best friend, Austine, smashes a fragile family dynamic and sends Tracey into the depths of his own drug addiction and despair. “There’s stuff there just from my own life—I didn’t want to do a big drunkalogue, or a drugalogue, you know. But I let you know that it was pretty severe,” he says.

Out of this period came the decision to undertake the journey to Ireland that shaped and became Tracey’s book. “I just sort of woke up sober in London,” Tracey reflects, “and there it was, Ireland was right next door. I’d heard about this gene link and just thought, I’ve got to go investigate it, you know, and I sort of realized at some point that this could be a book and the book could be worth something. I didn’t know what. I also knew that I had to basically go there and bring the news back home to my sisters.”

Tracey is clear about the fact that Stalking Irish Madness was written, first and foremost, for Chelle and Austine. “My sisters wept when they read it and felt that it was a nice—you know, it was an offering. And that’s what it is. I think every book is sort of an offering. Here it is; this is mine.” This emotional attachment to the subject matter shines through on every page, but the book is also a gritty and engaging travelogue that pulls the reader along with it through the gorgeous Roscommon landscape as well as the muddy campgrounds where the author sleeps.
While his own story is not the focus of this book, the writing and the experience clearly belong to Tracey. “It’s definitely a memoir in the sense that it’s the world through my eyes. It’s not really about me, it’s how I see the world, trying to get the reader in my body, or rather, in the passenger seat, and I’m just telling you the story as I’m bumping through Ireland in my ’94 Nissan minivan with the bad radio. That just seems like a natural way to tell a story, especially in the oral Irish tradition.”

Stalking Irish Madness opens with a spooky scene of Tracey exploring the caves of Roscommon on Halloween night. Tracey speaks of how Irish fairy legend was blamed for people hearing voices in older times, a mythology that still holds weight among some believers. Tracey, however, is ready to move on to a different explanation. “I try not to club people over the head with science, but it’s important to understand that the fairies were framed. They said the Irish were away with the fairies, but it wasn’t fairies, it was what I call a three-legged stool of schizophrenia. The famine—[specifically] maternal malnutrition—alcoholism—and the last one is late age of paternity. That’s the three-legged stool of schizophrenia, and specific conditions were set up in the west of Ireland for that. It was all in the same DNA stew.”

I’m not surprised by his mentions of famine and alcoholism, but the late age of paternity factor is one I haven’t heard before. Tracey explains, “You couldn’t get married, you didn’t become eligible until you hit about fifty and inherited the family farm. So there were a lot of copy errors in the sperm of old men. The science is a bit boring, but I’ll just give you a little bit. Men’s sperm cells copy every sixteen days and they replicate. By the time we’re fifty there’s a lot of what are called ‘copy errors.’ It’s just that, just what it sounds like. There are errors that are made in the DNA of the cells that get copied. There’s more than twice the rate of schizophrenia in children born of fathers for every ten-year jump in the age of paternity. So really, the lesson is that men should be having children at a young age if you want to reduce risk.

“The other thing that’s well known is the link between famine and schizophrenia. That also doubles the risk. And in people who were born of mothers who carried them through a famine, the risk of schizophrenia is nearly triple.” Much of Tracey’s theory comes from the Dutch hunger studies done in Rotterdam during World War Two. “They have found much higher rates of addiction, schizophrenia and manic depression among children who were carried through that famine. They tracked them for decades. These are solid gold studies. They don’t really say too much about the experience of the Dutch, but if you take that set of data and apply it like a grid to Ireland, it’s a no-brainer…it simplifies everything.”

While treatment of schizophrenia in America still largely focuses on antipsychotics and other pharmaceuticals, “we’re actually behind now,” says Tracey. While in Ireland, Tracey encountered the Hearing Voices Network (HVN), which holds meetings that consist of “likeminded voice-hearers helping each other out—they’re just taking basically the drug and alcohol recovery model, twelve-step recovery.” The HVN is based on the concept of allowing schizophrenics to acknowledge and eventually learn to control their voices. “They are finding that a cure for schizophrenia is really not in the cards. What is in the cards is recovering, on a daily basis, from the worst of their voices. It turns out that mental health for [schizophrenics] is really no different from mental health for us. We all have our voices. My voices might be telling me, ‘Oh, I’m going to be nervous in this interview and I’m going to say something and slip up and I won’t sound good and smart’—and that’s my first-person voice. My sisters have third-person voices; they come from outside their heads. But they can control their voices in the way that we need to control the better ranges of our nature and just try to be positive. They can tap into their positive voices. When doctors tell them that their voices are bollocks, that their voices don’t exist, it completely invalidates their experience. They’ve got nowhere to go. This is why the Hearing Voices Network will be the biggest thing there is in schizophrenia. And it already is in Europe… It’s undeniable. The proof is not measured in gene variants that have been replicated in twin studies in other countries and stuff. Science likes that, they like hard empirical evidence. But the proof is in the pudding. You talk to these people and they’re dealing with life, they’re recovered. But they have to tend to themselves like a garden every day.”
Along with the HVN, the Mad Pride movement has also emerged from within the schizophrenia community. “They call themselves the last barricade of the civil rights movement,” explains Tracey. “And they demand to be heard and they don’t want to be forced to take medicine. They’re willing to take medicine, many of them want to take medicine, but they don’t want to be forced…these are very progressive people and they’re the people that are leading this movement. It is a movement.”

As anyone who has gone to Ireland to search for their genealogical roots can tell you, the journey can be filled with dead ends and frustration. The process becomes even more difficult when the focus of the search is schizophrenia. “Well, I mean, in Ireland [genealogy] is an industry and they’ll welcome you with open arms,” says Tracey. “But the word schizophrenia—it’s a country no one wants to visit… So I knew I had to step very lightly, I had to tread lightly. Because this is the most severe form of mental illness, and it scares the s*** out of people. So you just don’t go poking around in the back lanes of Roscommon asking about this.”

Along the way, Tracey does encounter refusals to discuss what is often seen as a private family matter. When I ask how he approached the subject with the Irish with whom he spoke, he replies, “I did tiptoe, I didn’t knock hard, I didn’t kick down doors, because it’s just the beginning of the conversation. I hope [the book] opens up a conversation with the Irish, between Ireland and America, in families afflicted, and that we begin to talk more about it.”

Transforming generations of shame and suffering into an open dialogue between schizophrenics, those who love them, and the medical community in both Ireland and America is an ongoing process, and Tracey’s book is indeed a great contribution.

Stalking Irish Madness has already garnered critical attention, and has been chosen by the American Booksellers Association for their Indie Next List and featured on “I’m really happy about that, it’s very positive,” says Tracey. “Oh, and they sent me a t-shirt, and then I went and had my man Arturo snap a photo of me in the t-shirt and I sent that to the guys in sales, whoever they are. But just the fact that there are people in my life who are called the guys in sales! It means things are on the rise.”

Patrick Tracey, a former contributing writer for the Washington City Paper and Regardie’s in Washington, D.C., has also written for Ms. magazine and the Washington Post. Tracey now lives with his sisters in Boston, Massachusetts.

Filling the Neighborhood with Good Scents

My husband loves my cooking and baking and this makes me happy. I am baking two trays of molasses granola filling the neighborhood with good scents.
I think I ought to learn to make hard pretzels and sprinkle them with coarse salt.
I am in a savory mood, eating vegetables and hummus for breakfast.

Police Log Poem

Man kicks dog.
Drug dealer returns.
Man abandons couch in street
lighting it on fire.

Ditch the Dryer Sheets (and the dryer)

We can't be in our yard or have any open windows when our neighbor does her laundry. She is a perfect neighbor otherwise so I have never complained. As an asthma person I must just leave the premises until her laundering is complete lest I suffer another asthma attack.


We Worship the Chick Pea

Chick peas take only 10- 15 minutes to cook when they are presoaked overnight and then pressure cooked. We make hummus all the time using freshly squeezed lemon juice tahini or peanut butter and spices.

Food of the gods!

I love to eat raw cauliflower and broccoli dipped in hummus.

Run for a Beer

Swimming in Beer (for real)

swimming in beer

Why I Left Teaching


My Neighbor the Prostitute


Athlete Body Types


My Veterinarian of 35 Years

Peter B. Belinsky, VMD
Peter Belinsky attended the University of Pennsylvania School of Veterinary Medicine and graduated with Drs. William Condon and Kenneth Rix. In 2005, he joined our staff at Sakonnet Vet Hospital after practicing in Providence for 35 years with his father. Dr. Belinisky is also the Assistant Public Health Veterinarian in Rhode Island, a position he has held for several years.

When not working at Sakonnet Veterinary Hospital, Dr. Belinsky is responsible for the health of animals coming in and out of the state — monitoring infectious diseases and overseeing animal shelters, pet stores, and kennels. He enjoys the diversity of his work, knowing he is making a contribution to animal health at both the state level and one-on-one.

Sakonnet Vet, Tiverton RI

Amazing William Evans Boston's Police Commissioner

Yellow Sticker

Pushing the last air bubble out, she smoothed the yellow sticker along the chrome bumper. She stepped back to admire it: Love Life, Love Teaching.
"That just dropped the value fifty percent," a voice said from the screened-in porch.
"Oh dad, you're such a curmudgeon. I didn't buy Stella to win prizes. I bought her to commute to school."
"What kinda name is that?" he barked.
"Stella, Estrella of the stars. She's my cosmic Volkswagen."
"A cockroach of the cosmos. Hitler's plaything."
"Daaad. When are you going to ever agree with me?"
"Never. When are you kids going to see what we sweat blood for?"
"Oh Dad. You're so dramatic."
"Damn straight I am. Do you think this life business is a frivolous joke?"

Monday, July 25, 2016

Dennis, Kaitlyn and Coco

Dennis lives on my street and I have walked by his house saying hi for years. He looks just like my friend Giles except with fewer teeth. He's a devoted single father and takes Katie to the school bus every day at Savini's parking lot. Today I said hello and I noticed the fire department logo on his shirt. I asked him if he was a fireman. No, this is a shirt from my father. He gives me different shirts. He works for Homeland Security in North Smithfield.
I love your old fashioned French windows. Have you ever had birds or bats fly in?

He invited me into his yard to see their recently built fire-pit. Coco, their German Shepherd, was barking in the house and I was afraid he'd bolt out and tear me and Lily up. Dennis ran into the kitchen and came back with a greasy slab of cast iron that he used to cook over the fire-pit. Wow! Cast iron. I love it, I said. It's like what you use for making pancakes. What kind of wood or charcoal do you cook with? He brought over and showed me discs of cut wood. I love to cook, I said, especially vegetables. He pointed to their vegetable garden of broccoli and tomatoes. The broccoli's already gone to seed, he pointed out.

I saw duct-taped x's patching the bottom of their empty inflatable pool. Does your dog go in it? Sometimes, Katie said. We have bunnies too. The hutch was huge. Big enough so Katie could walk around in it, Dennis said proudly.
You have a whole little farm back here. Just like my friends down the street with the chickens, do you know them? They give me three dozen eggs at a time and I make batches of hard boiled eggs, I said laughing. It's wonderful back here. There was a basketball hoop and a swing-set. It feels like a courtyard. I could see the church and all of the surrounding tenement buildings.
I have it fenced in for my daughter.
I could sense he was terrified for her safety. Have you been to the new park?
She has, with her mother.
I saw you there yesterday, Katie said.
Yeah I went in the water. I loved it.

I noticed the Virgin Mary shrine surrounded by candles and offerings. It belonged to my mother-in-law. I light a candle when someone gets sick, Dennis said. There was a Jesus shrine but he didn't have candles around him. I repainted them both recently, he added. Hey, let me show you something. Do you see Jesus' face? he asked, holding up the flat screen of his cellphone. I couldn't see from the glare of the sun. He opened the garage door to find some darkness. Sorry about the mess.
This looks just like my office. Mess is good, I said, neatness is over-rated.
Come see, he said. I was a bit guarded but Katie and Lily were with us.
Here's the right eye, the left eye, the beard. It was hard for me to see but I tried and sort of saw it when I squinted.
Where was this? I asked.
It was on my kitchen table so I'm keeping it, he said pointing to the upturned wooden table in the pile with toys and other kitchen items. We played making puzzles on the table gluing them down and when we tore them off the glue made the face of Jesus. I wondered if he was going to set it up as a shrine and charge admission. I hoped not. We're using the garage as a rec room. We watch movies out here, he said.
Wow, look at those, I said pointing to extra large colorful plastic Legos.
Here's another face, he said, bringing me back into the dark. Do you see the lady's face?
Yes I do.
That one was on the napkin when I drank coffee.
I totally see her face. My artist friend used to start his paintings this way. he would see faces in the wood-grain and paint them.

Lily was fascinated with the yard, tugging me, sniffing and peeing. Coco is going to be mad, I said. Lily peed in a few more spots and then backed against the chain link fence, hunched her back, and pooped. Just leave it, Dennis said. No, she's my dog I'll clean it up, I said pulling out a skinny blue plastic newspaper bag that I carried in my little red canvas tote for this purpose. I picked it up and tied a knot.

I love the color of your house.
It needs paint he said.
Mine does too!
Yours is the blue one with the bushes?
Yeah, we'll get there. The recession nearly killed us. Now we'll never throw anything out. I laughed.
We saw your photo hanging up at Moonlight, playing in the band.
Yeah we're her band for Autumnfest and we're also the Munroe Dairy Band. Do you know them? They have the trucks painted like cows. We've been their band for 13 years.

The visit was winding down. Lily was eager to be on her way, and so was I. Thanks for the tour, I said. Nice to see you Katie! I waved as Lily pulled me along the sidewalk.

Open Your Sad Heart

Last night I went back to the Romanian Picnic. Lily was with me. The music was playing and they were cleaning up. I said hello to the folks I know and told them I had the best time and loved the food. "I should join the church and bake bread," I said, joking. "I think there are rules, you have to be a virgin." Nick said. What's with every religion's rules I thought. "I'd like you to meet my godmother Helen, Nick said. We started talking. "I grew up on this street, it was a great neighborhood, we were all family."
"I'm trying to bring that back," I said. "Good for you," she said. We stood there and talked for a few hours.

Heal Thyself, Heal The Neighborhood

Dawn in summer is the best
I woke up at 4:45 with this phrase in my head
Heal thyself, heal the neighborhood
The moon is a 'D' shape in the sky.
I've opened windows to let in the cool air.
The neighborhood addict is going through all of our trash-recycle bins
He is a big and scary guy with a limp and a stutter.
I've met him a few times walking in the park.
My dog has gone back to bed.
I could go swimming now. The pool is open.
In the summer I am an ice farmer.
iced coffee, iced seltzer, iced beer, there's never enough ice.
Ice is the luxury of luxuries
and baths too!

Sunday, July 24, 2016

Lonely Luck

I often have a mixture of feeling lucky and lonely at the same time.

Venetian Blind Mania

I am embarrassed to say I have never cleaned them until today! I sprayed them with Windex and wiped them. 40 years of soot and dust came off. Hypomania is good for these type of projects. God made mania for a few good reasons and one of them is cleaning the small corners of the world with gusto.

It's Just People

My parents escaped the Brooklyn Jewish and Italian ghettos as children. So they never understood why I would gravitate towards the French Canadian Hispanic African ghetto I live in. When people say "It skips a generation," they are correct. Sadly our families and friends are scared of our tenement neighborhood. It's just people, I say. They are my neighbors. Don't be afraid. When I was small I would ride the subway into NYC from Brooklyn with my grandma. She spoke to everyone and wasn't afraid of anything except becoming fat. She and my grandpa loved to eat, nosh, and share their food. Grandma swam every morning at 7AM on Brighton Beach before work, in the ocean!

The Neighborhood is My Garden

"Love. They must do it for love."

“Why do farmers farm, given their economic adversities on top of the many frustrations and difficulties normal to farming? And always the answer is: "Love. They must do it for love." Farmers farm for the love of farming. They love to watch and nurture the growth of plants. They love to live in the presence of animals. They love to work outdoors. They love the weather, maybe even when it is making them miserable. They love to live where they work and to work where they live. If the scale of their farming is small enough, they like to work in the company of their children and with the help of their children. They love the measure of independence that farm life can still provide. I have an idea that a lot of farmers have gone to a lot of trouble merely to be self-employed to live at least a part of their lives without a boss.”
― Wendell Berry, Bringing it to the Table: On Farming and Food

“Good farmers, who take seriously their duties as stewards of Creation and of their land's inheritors, contribute to the welfare of society in more ways than society usually acknowledges, or even knows. These farmers produce valuable goods, of course; but they also conserve soil, they conserve water, they conserve wildlife, they conserve open space, they conserve scenery.”
― Wendell Berry, Bringing it to the Table: On Farming and Food


“It is to be broken. It is to be
torn open. It is not to be
reached and come to rest in
ever. I turn against you,
I break from you, I turn to you.
We hurt, and are hurt,
and have each other for healing.
It is healing. It is never whole.”
― Wendell Berry, The Collected Poems, 1957-1982


“What marriage offers - and what fidelity is meant to protect - is the possibility of moments when what we have chosen and what we desire are the same. Such a convergence obviously cannot be continuous. No relationship can continue very long at its highest emotional pitch. But fidelity prepares us for the return of these moments, which give us the highest joy we can know; that of union, communion, atonement (in the root sense of at-one-ment)...
To forsake all others does not mean - because it cannot mean - to ignore or neglect all others, to hide or be hidden from all others, or to desire or love no others. To live in marriage is a responsible way to live in sexuality, as to live in a household is a responsible way to live in the world. One cannot enact or fulfill one's love for womankind or mankind, or even for all the women or men to whom one is attracted. If one is to have the power and delight of one's sexuality, then the generality of instinct must be resolved in a responsible relationship to a particular person. Similarly, one cannot live in the world; that is, one cannot become, in the easy, generalizing sense with which the phrase is commonly used, a "world citizen." There can be no such think as a "global village." No matter how much one may love the world as a whole, one can live fully in it only by living responsibly in some small part of it. Where we live and who we live there with define the terms of our relationship to the world and to humanity. We thus come again to the paradox that one can become whole only by the responsible acceptance of one's partiality.
(pg.117-118, "The Body and the Earth")”
― Wendell Berry, The Art of the Commonplace: The Agrarian Essays

The Art of the Commonplace

“I take literally the statement in the Gospel of John that God loves the world. I believe that the world was created and approved by love, that it subsists, coheres, and endures by love, and that, insofar as it is redeemable, it can be redeemed only by love. I believe that divine love, incarnate and indwelling in the world, summons the world always toward wholeness, which ultimately is reconciliation and atonement with God.”
― Wendell Berry, The Art of the Commonplace: The Agrarian Essays

Wendell Berry

“A community is the mental and spiritual condition of knowing that the place is shared, and that the people who share the place define and limit the possibilities of each others lives. It is the knowledge that people have of each other, their concern for each other, their trust in each other, the freedom with which they come and go among themselves.”
― Wendell Berry

Wendell Berry: What Are People For?

“I dislike the thought that some animal has been made miserable to feed me. If I am going to eat meat, I want it to be from an animal that has lived a pleasant, uncrowded life outdoors, on bountiful pasture, with good water nearby and trees for shade.”
― Wendell Berry, What Are People For?

It May Take Longer

“You have been given questions to which you cannot be given answers. You will have to live them out - perhaps a little at a time.'
And how long is that going to take?'
I don't know. As long as you live, perhaps.'
That could be a long time.'
I will tell you a further mystery,' he said. 'It may take longer.”
― Wendell Berry, Jayber Crow


“There are no unsacred places; there are only sacred places and desecrated places.”
― Wendell Berry, Given

I LOVE Wendell Berry

“Love the quick profit, the annual raise,
vacation with pay. Want more
of everything ready-made. Be afraid
to know your neighbors and to die.

And you will have a window in your head.
Not even your future will be a mystery
any more. Your mind will be punched in a card
and shut away in a little drawer.

When they want you to buy something
they will call you. When they want you
to die for profit they will let you know.
So, friends, every day do something
that won’t compute. Love the Lord.
Love the world. Work for nothing.
Take all that you have and be poor.
Love someone who does not deserve it.

Denounce the government and embrace
the flag. Hope to live in that free
republic for which it stands.
Give your approval to all you cannot
understand. Praise ignorance, for what man
has not encountered he has not destroyed.

Ask the questions that have no answers.
Invest in the millenium. Plant sequoias.
Say that your main crop is the forest
that you did not plant,
that you will not live to harvest.

Say that the leaves are harvested
when they have rotted into the mold.
Call that profit. Prophesy such returns.
Put your faith in the two inches of humus
that will build under the trees
every thousand years.

Listen to carrion — put your ear
close, and hear the faint chattering
of the songs that are to come.
Expect the end of the world. Laugh.
Laughter is immeasurable. Be joyful
though you have considered all the facts.
So long as women do not go cheap
for power, please women more than men.

Ask yourself: Will this satisfy
a woman satisfied to bear a child?
Will this disturb the sleep
of a woman near to giving birth?

Go with your love to the fields.
Lie down in the shade. Rest your head
in her lap. Swear allegiance
to what is nighest your thoughts.

As soon as the generals and the politicos
can predict the motions of your mind,
lose it. Leave it as a sign
to mark the false trail, the way
you didn’t go.

Be like the fox
who makes more tracks than necessary,
some in the wrong direction.
Practice resurrection.”
― Wendell Berry


“Whether we and our politicians know it or not, Nature is party to all our deals and decisions, and she has more votes, a longer memory, and a sterner sense of justice than we do.”
― Wendell Berry

The Peace of Wild Things

The Peace of Wild Things

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
― Wendell Berry, The Selected Poems of Wendell Berry

Two Muses: Wendell Berry

“There are, it seems, two muses: the Muse of Inspiration, who gives us inarticulate visions and desires, and the Muse of Realization, who returns again and again to say "It is yet more difficult than you thought." This is the muse of form. It may be then that form serves us best when it works as an obstruction, to baffle us and deflect our intended course. It may be that when we no longer know what to do, we have come to our real work and when we no longer know which way to go, we have begun our real journey. The mind that is not baffled is not employed. The impeded stream is the one that sings.”
― Wendell Berry

Wendell Berry

“People use drugs, legal and illegal, because their lives are intolerably painful or dull. They hate their work and find no rest in their leisure. They are estranged from their families and their neighbors. It should tell us something that in healthy societies drug use is celebrative, convivial, and occasional, whereas among us it is lonely, shameful, and addictive. We need drugs, apparently, because we have lost each other.”
― Wendell Berry, The Art of the Commonplace: The Agrarian Essays

What Matters is Kindness

The Lonely City: Adventures in the Art of Being Alone
“Loneliness is personal, and it is also political. Loneliness is collective… We are in this together, this accumulation of scars… What matters is kindness; what matters is solidarity.”
By Maria Popova

The Lonely City: Adventures in the Art of Being Alone

“You are born alone. You die alone. The value of the space in between is trust and love,” artist Louise Bourgeoise wrote in her diary at the end of a long and illustrious life as she contemplated how solitude enriches creative work. It’s a lovely sentiment, but as empowering as it may be to those willing to embrace solitude, it can be tremendously lonesome-making to those for whom loneliness has contracted the space of trust and love into a suffocating penitentiary. For if in solitude, as Wendell Berry memorably wrote, “one’s inner voices become audible [and] one responds more clearly to other lives,” in loneliness one’s inner scream becomes deafening, deadening, severing any thread of connection to other lives.

How to break free of that prison and reinhabit the space of trust and love is what Olivia Laing explores in The Lonely City: Adventures in the Art of Being Alone (public library) — an extraordinary more-than-memoir; a sort of memoir-plus-plus, partway between Helen MacDonald’s H Is for Hawk and the diary of Virginia Woolf; a lyrical account of wading through a period of self-expatriation, both physical and psychological, in which Laing paints an intimate portrait of loneliness as “a populated place: a city in itself.”


“There is no love of life without despair of life,” wrote Albert Camus


We went to the Romanian Festival last night. The music made me cry. It touched some deep part of me. We tried all of the amazing cabbage rolls and sausages, feta and tomatoes and rice and salad and kalamata olives. "I could fall in love eating this meal" I said to my husband. It was amazing. A couple sat down with their dinner and a bottle of wine. When the sun went down the tents were lit up. I enjoyed watching the beautiful women and the handsome men with Romanian FACES dancing. I met a woman who is my neighbor and she told me she can't sleep because she is terrified of the neighborhood. I told her. "I am your neighbor don't be scared. And Father Onissie is next door and Alice and lots of good people live here." She agreed. She has a small child and her maternal instincts have gone haywire flooding her with fear. She is also undergoing cancer treatments and was homeless for a while. "I lived in Arizona for years but now I'm back. I plan to move to Colorado," she said. "I grew up here."
"I love Woonsocket because it is small and friendly and diverse with lots of history and cool buildings. People really care here. Do you know Father Dennis and Father Onissie, and Bishop Herson?" I asked. "I grew up with Father Dennis, he was my first pastor when he was just starting out in his 20's," she said. "Wow!" You are LUCKY.

This is living…. Could it be more perfect?

How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives. What we do with this hour, and that one, is what we are doing. A schedule defends from chaos and whim. It is a net for catching days. It is a scaffolding on which a worker can stand and labor with both hands at sections of time. A schedule is a mock-up of reason and order—willed, faked, and so brought into being; it is a peace and a haven set into the wreck of time; it is a lifeboat on which you find yourself, decades later, still living. Each day is the same, so you remember the series afterward as a blurred and powerful pattern.

She goes on to illustrate this existential tension between presence and productivity with a fine addition to history’s great daily routines and daily rituals:

The most appealing daily schedule I know is that of a turn-of-the-century Danish aristocrat. He got up at four and set out on foot to hunt black grouse, wood grouse, woodcock, and snipe. At eleven he met his friends, who had also been out hunting alone all morning. They converged “at one of these babbling brooks,” he wrote. He outlined the rest of his schedule. “Take a quick dip, relax with a schnapps and a sandwich, stretch out, have a smoke, take a nap or just rest, and then sit around and chat until three. Then I hunt some more until sundown, bathe again, put on white tie and tails to keep up appearances, eat a huge dinner, smoke a cigar and sleep like a log until the sun comes up again to redden the eastern sky. This is living…. Could it be more perfect?”

Myth of Harmony

Cautioning against chasing the myth of harmony — a myth advanced, perhaps most famously, by Emerson and woven into the fabric of modern culture in tyrannical ideals like “work/life balance” — Kazin writes:

A thinker (like [Ralph Waldo Emerson]) misleads us as soon as he promotes harmony as the exclusive goal, and especially misleads us when he preaches harmony as a method. Man’s life is full of contradiction and he must be; we see through a glass darkly — we want more than we can have; we see more than we can understand. But a contradiction that is faced leads to true knowledge… Contradictions are on the surface, the symbols of deeper and more fertile forces that can unleash the most marvelous energy when they are embraced. Never try to achieve “order,” sacrifice symmetry — seek to relate all these antagonistic forces, not to let the elimination of one to the other. The idea of “God” as perfect order is perilous to man as an ideal, for us to follow…

Max and Aline

"Those kids, they're not schoolboys, they're dealing drugs," Aline said spitting on the hot pavement. "Those backpacks are filled with special delivery items," she said winking at him.
"I left The Bronx because the drugs were so bad there were two cops on every corner," Max said. I wanted to come to a place where I could raise my family. Now the drugs are here too," he said.
"It's everywhere, Aline said and it's not so bad here. We're lucky there's no shooting, just using and dealing."
"I read about the big busts in the paper, and it scares me." Max said.
"It's a scary world but not as scary as what drives the sale of newspapers," Aline said, laughing.
"You have a point."

How to Breathe

How to Breathe
“You don’t need special lungs or special techniques,” says Giora Feidman, 80, an Argentine-born Israeli clarinet player and klezmer musician who first blew into his father’s clarinet as a toddler. Feidman reckons the problem arises when people unlearn what they innately know. When you emerged from the womb, it’s very likely you instinctively drew oxygen deep into your lungs. You probably did not hunch over, draw your shoulders up to your ears or otherwise restrict your airflow.

Breathing is a powerful involuntary mechanism. Still, you can breathe better by acting purposefully and observing some basic rules. Don’t smoke. (“It really kills me to see that,” Feidman says.) Take as much as you want. (“Air doesn’t cost money. There is no tax!”) Go to the swimming pool or the sea: In water, you have to calculate how much to inhale to swim or dive underwater. Similarly, if you’re playing a particularly complex musical composition, like, say, the bass-clarinet part in Richard Wagner’s “Tristan und Isolde,” you might have to take in an enormous quantity of air to make it to the end of a phrase.
Relax. Inhale deeply. Sit up straight. Appreciate your lungs. “When you know how to breathe, the word ‘stress’ is not in the dictionary,” Feidman says. This sentiment is, in fact, borne out in scientific studies showing that focused breathing exercises can reduce the symptoms of such things as stress, anxiety, obsessive-compulsive disorder, depression, schizophrenia, insomnia and attention-deficit disorder. Playing a wind instrument is itself restorative. After enrolling in a wind-instrument program called Bronchial Boogie, asthmatic British children exhibited a 70 percent decrease in nighttime symptoms and a 58 percent decrease in daytime ones.

Breathing allows you to sing, and for Feidman the human body is, at its core, “an instrument of song.” (Children, he says, are born wordlessly imploring their mothers to sing to them.) To find the song inside you requires trusting and believing in yourself. “My clarinet teacher once said to me, ‘I cannot teach you, you must learn,’ ” Feidman says. “It is that way with breathing too.”

Tai Chi: You'll feel more energy after the class, so you won't regret it

Tai Chi for your Health

Tai Chi is a complete whole-body exercise.
Tai Chi can be practiced anywhere, anytime, with no need for special gear or a change of clothing.
Practiced by millions of people over the centuries, Tai Chi has been proven helpful to the health of the body.

The benefits of Tai Chi

for body and mind
Regular Tai Chi practice has been found to help reverse the physical effects of stress as well as restore harmony both physically and mentally.

some of the physical benefits
Improved flexibility, balance, immune function, cardiovascular function and motor coordination.
Reduction in pain and tension. Better sleep patterns and increased energy.

some of the mental benefits
Reduced stress and anxiety, increased ability to relax, better concentration and focus, and an enhanced sense of well-being.

Tai Chi and Health

health maintenance
If you want to practice Tai Chi to maintain your health, come to our class regularly once a week.
Your present health will be maintained.
Your hands and feet will be warmer.
You will find that your sleeping is deeper and more restful.

So don't skip a class, even if you feel tired and run down. You'll feel more energy after the class, so you won't regret it.

Saturday, July 23, 2016

The Sunshine Boys

Heard on Invisibilia

Splash Park

I visited the splash park. Lily was a big hit.

When in Woonsocket this weekend, do as the Romanians do

WOONSOCKET – Authentic mititei (grilled Romanian sausage), fresh baklava and traditional Romanian and Macedonian folk dance will highlight the Romanian and Macedonian American Annual Festival, a two-day festival to be held July 23-24 at St. John Baptist Romanian Orthodox Church on East School Street.

The festival will be held Saturday, July 23 from 4 to 11 p.m. and Sunday, July 24 from 12:30 to 7 p.m. Admission is free.

One of the biggest Romanian festivals of its kind in Northern Rhode Island, the festival grounds at 501 East School St. will be teeming with activity, including ethnic and American music and dancing.

The St. John the Baptist Romanian Orthodox Church is a parish under the jurisdiction of the Romanian Orthodox Episcopate of America.

“This festival has been held for many decades and is one of the church’s biggest annual events,” said Nicholas Gassey, president of the parish council.

There will also be plenty of traditional homemade Romanian and Mediterranean foods prepared by parish chefs available over the festival weekend, including lamb and chicken shish-kebab, Mititei (grilled Romanian sausage), Sarmale (stuffed cabbage rolls), home baked ethnic pastries and sweets, Cozonac (sweet bread), spinach and cheese pita, baklava, apple strudel, Romanian wine and more.

All of the meats are purchased locally at Shaw’s Meat Market in Woonsocket and will be marinated on skewers for two days before they are grilled by Joe Galvao and Marius Radu, the festival’s grill masters on Saturday, and father-and-son team, George and Jack Trutza, who will cook the shish-kebabs on Sunday.

A highlight of the festival is the pastries made by the women of the church. Offerings will include Baklava (fillo pastry) and apple strudel. The baking of the pastries and cooking of the sarmarle was coordinated by Psa. Anca Morar, the wife of Rev. Onisie Morar, pastor of St. John Baptist Romanian Orthodox Church, Crina Lutai, Mihaela Iovanel and Georgeta Gassey.

All the preparation, planning, baking and cooking for the popular festival begins weeks in advance by a core group of parishioners who volunteer each year to cook and bake for the festival.

There will also be plenty of games and activities for children of all ages, as well as raffles, church tours and souvenirs.

St. John Baptist Romanian Orthodox Church is known for its beautifully detailed stained glass windows, which was a special project initiated by Ladies Auxiliary and personally supervised by various members. Parishioners in 1970 donated individual windows to complete the entire set presently visible in the church.

Rev. Morar left Romania in 1991 to establish a church in Pennsylvania before coming to Woonsocket in 1995 to lead the 70-member parish at St. John Baptist Romanian Orthodox Church, which celebrated its 100th anniversary in 2012.

Follow Joseph Fitzgerald on Twitter @jofitz7

The 'Hood

How to Get Rid of Drug Dealers in Your Neighborhood

Three Methods:Identifying Neighborhood Drug ActivityReducing Neighborhood Drug ActivityPreventing Neighborhood Drug ActivityCommunity Q&A

Drug activity can pose a problem for any neighborhood. While abandoned houses and parking lots are ideal locations for drug dealers, they're not the only places where drug deals can occur. Some people sell drugs right out of their own homes, even those in cozy suburban cul-de-sacs. It's understandable that you would want to remove this threat from your neighborhood, and there are things you and your community can do. You should avoid openly confronting drug dealers, and you should never take the law into your own hands. Work as a team, and remember that there's safety in numbers.

Happy Ghetto Pool Filled with Kids

The kids are having so much fun in their inflatable pool I need to post a photo.


Friedrich Nietzsche: “Without music, life would be a mistake.”

Swim a Smile Mile

Swimming one lap with the secret goal of the smile mile.

CLWF Events Northern Ireland
Posted on December 15, 2013 by Pádraig Mallon

This event finished on 13 September 2015

Venue: Carlingford
Categories: Swim
Tags: carlingford, ICE SWIMMING, open water swimming ireland Northen Ireland, open water swimming Northern Ireland Ireland, Openwater swimming, SMILE, SMILE MILE

The ‘Smile Mile’
13th September 2015 13:00

Swim a mile to remember those you have lost – celebrate the good times – recognise those who have inspired you.

Free event

The SMILE SWIM will take place at 1pm at the pier in Carlingford Co. Louth. Registration from 12.15pm

Join us here

#seeyouinthewater #h20play #ntcsbr

Write the name of your chosen person(s) on your arm so that they are swimming with you and to remind you why you are swimming. Include any inspirational words or messages of support as well….and a curly smiley wavy logo if you wish.

Koertege + Chandler


by Ron Koertge

Poets can’t wait to bury their fathers
so they can write about it.

Mine wanted no part of that.
“I’ll bury myself, thank you.”

I thought he meant later,
but that afternoon he left
a note: I’m dead.

I dialed his cell. The reception
was bad at that speed but he
heard me ask,

“What am I supposed to tell Mom?”

“You’re the writer,” he replied.
“Make something up.”

“Elegy” by Ron Koertge from Vampire Planet. © Red Hen Press, 2016. Reprinted with permission. (buy now)

It’s the birthday of mystery writer Raymond Chandler (1888), born in Chicago, Illinois, and raised in Plattsmouth, Nebraska, before his Irish mother took him to England so he could get a proper education. Chandler’s novels explored the tough, lawless, and luxurious side of Los Angeles through the sharp narration of his most famous creation, wisecracking, chess-playing private eye Philip Marlowe, who made his debut in Chandler’s first novel, The Big Sleep (1939).

He was educated at preparatory school in England and studied international law in Germany and France before moving back to Britain. He mostly wrote poetry, managing to publish 27 poems and short story called “The Rose-Leaf Romance” before moving to Los Angeles (1912), where he found work as a tennis racket stringer and a bookkeeper at a creamery. Chandler enlisted in the Canadian air force and spent time on the front lines in France during World War I. When he returned to L.A., he took a well-paying job in the oil industry, but drank too much and had affairs with the office secretaries, so he was fired after a year.

Running low on money, he began reading pulp mystery magazines and studying the formula for stories. He said Americans were “a big, rough, rich, wild people, and crime is the price we pay for it.” He liked the lack of pretension in the pulps and the tight restrictions on word length and subject matter suited his style. He published his first mystery story, “Blackmailers Don’t Shoot,” in Black Mask magazine in 1933. It was popular, and he began churning out more stories.

It took him three months to write his first novel, The Big Sleep (1939), which was made into a film, with William Faulkner writing the screenplay and Humphrey Bogart cast as Philip Marlowe (1946). When asked about the character of Philip Marlowe, he said: “He must be the best man in his world and good enough for any world. I do not care much about his private life; he is neither a eunuch nor a satyr; I think he might seduce a duchess and I am quite sure he would not spoil a virgin; if he is a man of honor in one thing, he is that in all things.”

Chandler’s second novel was Farewell, My Lovely (1940). His clipped British upbringing mixed with American vernacular proved popular with readers, who ate up lines like “He had a heart as big as one of Mae West’s hips” and “It was a blonde. A blonde to make a bishop kick a hole in a stained glass window.” Poet W.H. Auden and novelist Evelyn Waugh were big fans, but critics found his work somewhat distasteful. A reviewer from the Washington Post called his books “rambling at best and incoherent at worst,” and others cited the “moral depravity” of a fictional L.A. filled with crime, prostitutes, cheating spouses, and murder.

Raymond Chandler wrote eight novels, including The Little Sister (1949) and The Long Goodbye (1953) before he died in 1959. All of his novels except for one have been made into films. Philip Marlowe has been portrayed onscreen by James Garner, Danny Glover, Powers Boothe, and Dick Powell.

Chandler was nearly penniless when he died. He’d returned to drinking after the long illness and death of his second wife, Cissy. He wrote The Long Goodbye while she was dying and many consider this his masterpiece, due to its blend of hard-boiled cynicism and lyrical sentiment.

Chandler worked hard to improve his writing style as he aged, but he couldn’t catch a break from the critics, saying, “The thing that rather gets me down is that when I write something that is tough and fast and full of mayhem and murder, I get panned for being tough and fast and full of mayhem and murder, and then when I try to tone down a bit and develop the mental and emotional side of a situation, I get panned for leaving out what I was panned for putting in the first time.”

He and Cissy are interred side by side. Their shared gravestone reads, “Dead men are heavier than broken hearts,” a quote from The Big Sleep.

Desk without Walls

I am writing outside today on Bill's school computer. I am in the backyard jungle and Lily my lion is roaming. I hear mostly birds, cars driving by, and leaves blowing. I was up at dawn baking and cooking, and chopping vegetables for a stir fry.

I had coleslaw with my fresh bread and German potato salad for breakfast. I missed my swim yesterday so I hope to go today during the hottest part of the day. I have hosed my head three times already and Lily too. Now she is under me on the cold sand. I hosed my denim jeans to stay cool outside.

I hear church bells. Onissi's picnic is tonight on Elbow Street. Romanian Festival!

Lately I'm having a vacation between my ears. A vacation from 14 weeks of receive mode anxiety blues. Hallelujah!

Lily is in a leaky phase and my feet are cracking from walking without shoes.

I LOVE Brautigan

Our Beautiful West Coast Thing

by Richard Brautigan

We are a coast people
There is nothing but ocean out beyond us.
-- Jack Spicer

I sit here dreaming
long thoughts of California
at the end of a November day
below a cloudy twilight
near the Pacific

listening to The Mamas and The Papas

singing a song about breaking
somebody's heart and digging it!

I think I'll get up
and dance around the room.
Here I go!

Neighborly City

Last night on my walk a family was playing our in front of their triple-decker. There was a big inflated pool and four boys age 5 and one girl age 9 had spent the day swimming with their dad watching. The grandmother offered me water and the father offered me pizza. I accepted and I ate dinner with them and Lily was the star of the show.

On my way home I chatted with Lisa and David who were out watering their flowers telling me funny stories about door to door salesmen. Three slow guys selling high-speed Internet. We laughed so hard we were crying.

The lightning was flashing in the clouds and my neighbors at home were outside enjoying the view with me. Their building got sold to a State Trooper. We are excited about this because he will probably help conquer the drug problem in order to protect his investment.

I got up and baked 8 sourdough loaves, made German potato salad, coleslaw, prepped all of the cauliflower, bok choy and broccoli and napa cabbage. I might need a nap later.

The drug buyers still drive to the hot spot at all hours. The dealers will eventually be caught. This city is too small for this stuff to go unnoticed.


Golden Rule
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

The Golden Rule or law of reciprocity is the principle of treating others as one would wish to be treated oneself. It is a maxim of altruism seen in many human religions, human cultures, and animal kingdoms.[1][2] The maxim may appear as either a positive or negative injunction governing conduct:

One should treat others as one would like others to treat oneself (positive or directive form).[1]
One should not treat others in ways that one would not like to be treated (negative or prohibitive form).[1]
What you wish upon others, you wish upon yourself (empathic or responsive form).[1]

The Golden Rule differs from the maxim of reciprocity captured in do ut des—"I give so that you will give in return"—and is rather a unilateral moral commitment to the well-being of the other without the expectation of anything in return.[3]

The concept occurs in some form in nearly every religion[4][5] and ethical tradition.[6] It can also be explained from the perspectives of psychology, philosophy, sociology, and economics. Psychologically, it involves a person empathizing with others. Philosophically, it involves a person perceiving their neighbor also as "I" or "self".[7] Sociologically, 'love your neighbor as yourself' is applicable between individuals, between groups, and also between individuals and groups. In economics, Richard Swift, referring to ideas from David Graeber, suggests that "without some kind of reciprocity society would no longer be able to exist." [8]

Bill Evans


Friday, July 22, 2016

You Own the Park

Boy: The kids over there said this is your park, that you own it.
Park Ranger: I don't own the park, the City owns the park.
Me: (to boy) You own the park, we all own the park.

Transcript to Enjoy


Love Matters

Do what you love.

Furnished Alley

Someone has furnished the drug dealers alley between the buildings with upholstered dining room set and table. Maybe it was them. Fascinating.

Transmit Energy

The past 4 days I've been a spinning top. I did what I said I wouldn't do with my transmit energy. I started vacuuming and cleaning taking off screens to hose off the dust, taking a toothbrush to the molding, sponging off the venetian blinds. You get the picture.

Yesterday I was wild with energy too starting at 4:15 AM. My husband reminded me to eat lunch with him and suggested we sit down to a real dinner and he insisted I stop to sleep at night. I was not hungry or tired but I knew he was right. He also suggested I go swimming lest I truly float away out to Jupiter. He's the smartest guy in the world. (someone has to be) He's known me and lived with me 31 years, longer than anyone on the planet.

When my transmit energy is high I have to try to focus on my usual things: writing and swimming. But so many other things are calling me too. So I wake early and sleep a lot less.

Yesterday I was talking to a woman in the parking lot at the Community Garden. I had gone in to hose down Lily. This lady was very sweet. We got talking about our LOVE OF WOONSOCKET . She was concerned about her neighborhood where there's been shootings. She's a single mom raising a teen. "A few times I have called the police to send a guy over to get my daughter to go to school. "Wow, they'll do that?" I said.

Then I met a lovely man a Great-grand-father named Lucien. "My wife Aline died 9 months ago we were married 66 years. I didn't realize it but women let us believe we are in charge but really the woman runs everything."
"True!" I said laughing.
"She was a good woman, if she was willing to keep this secret," I said.
"She raised five boys, kept the house clean, was respectful and a good listener," He admitted. "One thing I never let her do again, I never let her clean the kitchen floor on her knees." he said.

It's 2 PM and I have not left this building. This is good for a change of pace. I picked up the parking lot, made an 8 loaf batch of multigrain bread dough to rise, vacuumed the third floor, first floor and washed all of the office curtains.

There's an Air Quality alert and I feel it in my lungs and throat. I will stay indoors and swim indoors. I prepped bread and I boiled a dozen local eggs. My windows are open because I like hearing the sounds of the city and feeling the air move. I've hosed my dog and myself three times already.

My cat Sammy the monster is happy to be in my office today. A rare treat. He is asleep on my office swivel chair. The classical station is playing and I can hear the little kids next door giggling. I am hearing sirens and the leaves rustling in the breeze.

Two things I obsess over in TRANSMIT: sewing vests and dresses, making ice, and running. And Instead I continue to write and swim.

Bill Evans Runner + Police Commissioner

I like to say, "I'm more of a runner than I am a policeman." In my office, I have all of my medals glassed in two big frames. It's a big part of my life. I'm out the door by 5 a.m. every day, doing seven to eight miles. On weekends, I do a two-hour long run. Our job, as you know, can be very stressful. As long as I can get my run in every day? I feel like I can handle anything.

For this year's marathon, my 18th Boston, my goal was to be under 3:40. For my age, 54, that was what I needed to qualify for next year. All the way in I felt strong. Coming down Boylston, my wife, Terry, and my son, Will, were waving to me from the grandstand. And all my cops were also cheering me on. Finishing in 3:34, I was thrilled.

Boston’s Police Commissioner Gears up for His 50th Marathon
Despite a busy and unpredictable schedule, William Evans makes time to train for his city’s race.

If Boston Police Commissioner William Evans, 57, of South Boston, Massachusetts, were looking for excuses not to get his daily runs in, he wouldn’t have to look far. The around-the-clock nature of his job means that he regularly needs to take care of business in the middle of the night. Still, Evans finds a way to get his run in.

“It’s a nice break, it lets me clear my head,” Evans told Runner’s World by phone. “People always say to me, ‘I don’t know how you do your job.’ Well, the secret for me is just making sure I get my run in every day. I can basically conquer anything, as far as I’m concerned, as long as I get my run in.


Thursday, July 21, 2016

The Water is Wet

I'm listening to my police radio reading about outdoor cold-water swimmers. Its crazy hot out but I am drinking an ice-packed thermos of plain seltzer water. The neighborhood is quiet and I am glad. I hope to swim my "one lap" at the pool. As for the water, as long as it's wet I am happy.

Serenades for Swimmers

Outdoor Swim Society
Devon's over fifty swimmers

Tonie Greig, 69, wild swimmer It’s the best natural high you can have

Wild swimming jolts you into the present more than anything I know. It’s the best natural high you can have. You get an extraordinary feeling when you’re in very deep water with mountains on either side, a sense that you’re at the heart of things. There are no age barriers; it’s a shared experience – I go swimming with my grandsons in the sea in Hove and my son-in-law joins me now, too. It’s quite addictive.

Slovakian photographer Mária Švarbová

Slovakian photographer Mária Švarbová stages atmospheric shots of pastel-hued swimming pools, full of pristine waters and blood-red bathing caps.

Sally Goble: I love the “pocket adventure” of swimming in freezing-cold water in your lunch hour

The swimming blog
Come on in, the water's freezing: the joys of a winter swimming club

Would anyone accept my invitation to take a weekly lunchtime swim outdoors in an unheated pond? A hardcore but enthusiastic gang took the plunge …
Kings Cross Pond Club on a rather nippy day

Sally Goble

Tuesday 16 February 2016 02.10 EST Last modified on Tuesday 16 February 2016 02.12 EST

People ask me why I do it: “Why would you want to go swimming for two minutes? Are you mad?” I explain that I think it must be like bungee jumping (not that I’ve ever been). It’s the two hours of dread and nervousness, followed by a heart-pumping adrenaline rush lasting a few minutes, followed by two hours of recovery – and an amazing feeling of wellbeing.

To be legends in our own lunchtimes.

Wednesday, July 20, 2016

Green Vase Mystery

This morning as I was working outside at my picnic table, I could hear the soda cans and plastic bottles swirling in the wind tornado in the alley between the buildings. I got my 5 gallon plastic bucket and my trash grabber and went into the next-door complex and started picking up the garbage. It was very rewarding. It was fun and addictive. I even picked up debris on my street on both sides and the parking lot behind my house. Perhaps we are celebrating 'transmit mode' and the newly departed trio of drug dealers.

The park is so attractive I take a daily detour through it on my way to the library, police station, and city hall. I see my neighbors kids and my sidewalk friends. It feels like Paris!

At the park I saw kids playing, mothers sunbathing, picnickers eating at tables. Today CCF was there having a picnic lunch with sandwiches promoting awareness about using sunblock. Not sunblock sandwiches. I saw Jen's kids and another girl went wild meeting Lily and giving her cheeze doodles.

I started up my car for the first time in 6 months to go get groceries. On my way home the loud family kids were poking their heads through the screens calling me grandma. I don't mind. These kids are cute and sadly they've been locked inside for weeks. If their parents weren't so terrified they could be enjoying the park. It's a shame. Fear is a disease. They stay inside and watch TV and get even more scared so then they get pit bulls to feel safe. They don't love their dog they have a dog because it's the equivalent of having a gun.

The drug dealers all get pit bulls too. Ironically everyone is scared and when these same folks they say we need a dog park I have to laugh. It would be a bloodbath of fighting dogs.

We noticed a strange green vase over the doorway at the drug dealers tenement building. The red building. After the police came the dealers moved out and the vase got taken away. Maybe it was a signal. "Look for the green vase over the door!"

It's a funny world.

Mental Health Memoirs

I love mental health memoirs.


The other day I got to use my husband's school computer. It's called a SURFACE. I am usually not a gadget person except for my 1978 Presto pressure cooker which I worship. I was seduced by being able to work outside using the SURFACE tablet laptop while seated at my picnic table under the 1950's red and yellow beach umbrella. Here I was seated in my small urban shaded backyard while also being at my new portable desk. Now I want one!

Sickened: The Memoir of a Munchausen by Proxy Childhood by Julie Gregory (Author), Marc D. Feldman (Foreword)

A young girl is perched on the cold chrome of yet another doctor’s examining table, missing yet another day of school. Just twelve, she’s tall, skinny, and weak. It’s four o’clock, and she hasn’t been allowed to eat anything all day. Her mother, on the other hand, seems curiously excited. She's about to suggest open-heart surgery on her child to "get to the bottom of this." She checks her teeth for lipstick and, as the doctor enters, shoots the girl a warning glance. This child will not ruin her plans.


From early childhood, Julie Gregory was continually X-rayed, medicated, and operated on—in the vain pursuit of an illness that was created in her mother’s mind. Munchausen by proxy (MBP) is the world’s most hidden and dangerous form of child abuse, in which the caretaker—almost always the mother—invents or induces symptoms in her child because she craves the attention of medical professionals. Many MBP children die, but Julie Gregory not only survived, she escaped the powerful orbit of her mother's madness and rebuilt her identity as a vibrant, healthy young woman.

Sickened is a remarkable memoir that speaks in an original and distinctive Midwestern voice, rising to indelible scenes in prose of scathing beauty and fierce humor. Punctuated with Julie's actual medical records, it re-creates the bizarre cocoon of her family's isolated double-wide trailer, their wild shopping sprees and gun-waving confrontations, the astonishing naïveté of medical professionals and social workers. It also exposes the twisted bonds of terror and love that roped Julie's family together—including the love that made a child willing to sacrifice herself to win her mother's happiness.

The realization that the sickness lay in her mother, not in herself, would not come to Julie until adulthood. But when it did, it would strike like lightning. Through her painful metamorphosis, she discovered the courage to save her own life—and, ultimately, the life of the girl her mother had found to replace her. Sickened takes us to new places in the human heart and spirit. It is an unforgettable story, unforgettably told.


"You already have the precious mixture that will make you well. Use it."
- Rumi

Summer: Ice, Seltzer and Sewing Dresses

When my mood lifts and if it is summer I start making lot of ice cubes, at least three plastic trays twice a day. I love filling up my steel super-insulated Thermos mug with ice cubes and then drinking a liter of cold seltzer through them using a colorful fat straw. The ice doesn't melt. The cold at the bottom cools off your throat fast.

I also think about sewing dresses but I never do it because I am writing, reading, swimming, walking my dog, baking, laundering, and vacuuming. Maybe someday I will sew dresses and blouses again. I have a cupboard full of fun fabric that I have collected over the years like unborn children each with it's own fantasy of what they could become. In the summer it's too hot and in the winter its too cold to use the sewing machine. Perhaps I should move my sewing machine to a better location. The Moon.

Sewing and pie crusts are the two pleasures I have not incorporated into my repertoire recently.

I know I am in 'transmit' because I keep saying WOW!
I wake up very early ready to write.
The computer seems very slow.
I am distracted and seduced by everything.
All subjects could become poems.
I love everybody and everything.


I try to stay inside and keep my routine.
Writing is my grounding wire.

This is why I am not sewing.

Keneth Rexroth


Our canoe idles in the idling current
Of the tree and vine and rush enclosed
Backwater of a torpid midwestern stream;
Revolves slowly, and lodges in the glutted
Waterlilies. We are tired of paddling.
All afternoon we have climbed the weak current,
Up dim meanders, through woods and pastures,
Past muddy fords where the strong smell of cattle
Lay thick across the water; singing the songs
Of perfect, habitual motion; ski songs,

Nightherding songs, songs of the capstan walk,
The levee, and the roll of the voyageurs.
Tired of motion, of the rhythms of motion,
Tired of the sweet play of our interwoven strength,
We lie in each other's arms and let the palps
Of waterlily leaf and petal hold back
All motion in the heat thickened, drowsing air.
Sing to me softly, Westron Wynde, Ah the Syghes,
Mon coeur se recommend à vous, Phoebi Claro;
Sing the wandering erotic melodies
Of men and women gone seven hundred years,
Softly, your mouth close to my cheek.
Let our thighs lie entangled on the cushions,
Let your breasts in their thin cover
Hang pendant against my naked arms and throat;
Let your odorous hair fall across our eyes;
Kiss me with those subtle, melodic lips.
As I undress you, your pupils are black, wet,
Immense, and your skin ivory and humid.
Move softly, move hardly at all, part your thighs,
Take me slowly while our gnawing lips
Fumble against the humming blood in our throats.
Move softly, do not move at all, but hold me,
Deep, still, deep within you, while time slides away,
As the river slides beyond this lily bed,
And the thieving moments fuse and disappear
In our mortal, timeless flesh.

-Kenneth Rexroth

Rexroth Poem


I pass your home in a slow vermilion dawn,
The blinds are drawn, and the windows are open.
The soft breeze from the lake
Is like your breath upon my cheek.
All day long I walk in the intermittent rainfall.
I pick a vermilion tulip in the deserted park,
Bright raindrops cling to its petals.
At five o'clock it is a lonely color in the city.
I pass your home in a rainy evening,
I can see you faintly, moving between lighted walls.
Late at night I sit before a white sheet of paper,
Until a fallen vermilion petal quivers before me.

-Kenneth Rexroth

Rexroth: Yin and Yang

Yin and Yang

It is spring once more in the Coast Range
Warm, perfumed, under the Easter moon.
The flowers are back in their places.
The birds are back in their usual trees.
The winter stars set in the ocean.
The summer stars rise from the mountains.
The air is filled with atoms of quicksilver.
Resurrection envelops the earth.
Goemetrical, blazing, deathless,
Animals and men march through heaven,
Pacing their secret ceremony.
The Lion gives the moon to the Virgin.
She stands at the crossroads of heaven,
Holding the full moon in her right hand,
A glittering wheat ear in her left.
The climax of the rite of rebirth
Has ascended from the underworld
Is proclaimed in light from the zenith.
In the underworld the sun swims
Between the fish called Yes and No.

- Kenneth Rexroth

Kenneth Rexroth


There are sparkles of rain on the bright
Hair over your forehead;
Your eyes are wet and your lips
Wet and cold, your cheek rigid with cold.
Why have you stayed
Away so long, why have you only
Come to me late at night
After walking for hours in wind and rain?
Take off your dress and stockings;
Sit in the deep chair before the fire.
I will warm your feet in my hands;
I will warm your breasts and thighs with kisses.
I wish I could build a fire
In you that would never go out.
I wish I could be sure that deep in you
Was a magnet to draw you always home.

- Kenneth Rexroth

It Must Be Morning

I opened the downstairs windows to let in the delicious cool air. After my basement shower I came upstairs and heard the tinkling of glass bottles. I looked out the window. It was a man right there 2 feet away, in the yard next door. He was gathering all of the glass Corona empties from my neighbor's trash bag. They had a party Saturday night with their Brazilian friends and Brazilian music, laughter and Brazilian BBQ.

I opened the back door. My dog ran out wagging and immediately found a rib-bone in the alley. Did she find something she's not supposed to have? he asked.
Yes, and she's fast! I said, trying to retrieve the piece of bone sticking out of her mouth. I'm not going to lose a finger, been there almost done that. Chew it well, Lily, I told her. That's my mantra.

I love animals he said pausing. The man was tall but hunched. He had broomstick-thin tanned muscular arms, hazel eyes spread wide over hollow cheeks. He was smoking a thin cigar. They are unconditional love, he said. They don't hold a grudge.

He resumed loading all of the clear glass empties into the case boxes. I have COPD and this is what I do for exercise. I am 23 and 62. How's that for a bit of math? That blue van is mine. My name is Bob, spelled the same forward and backwards and as my friend says upside down. He's right.
Hi Bob, nice to meet you. We shook hands. His hands were huge and leathery. Do you need any boxes or bags?
No I'm all set. Nice to meet someone who is kind. Have a good day Ma'm.

I went upstairs to my office and opened the porch door. I turned the fan on to pull in the cool air. Another neighbor, another tall skinny hardworking man, came out onto his porch, hacked once and then blew his nose over the railing, flinging the snot into the parking lot below.

It must be morning.

Tuesday, July 19, 2016


Last night after supper Lily and I took a walk. Families were hanging out on their porches and sidewalks cooling off. Three kids were riding pink plastic tricycles in the neighbor's driveway across the street. Their father and two older sisters watched sitting on the steps. The sunset illuminated the red buildings with peach glow and the sky was dark cerulean blue. Look at that light! I said to the family. They oohed and ahhed. I kept walking.

On the horizon I spotted a chunk of rainbow. I wanted to share it with kids in the park but the rainbow started to fade. At the park I approached a group of mismatched 10-year-olds at a picnic table. They all loved Lily.
They want a dog but I tell them dogs are a lot of work, like raising a child, their mother said.
All you need to give them is food and water, one girl said.
They also need walks and love and vaccinations, I explained.
And a license, one boy added.
Yes, a license, I agreed. Lily gets a four-mile walk each day but not when it's 90 degrees like today. Today we waited until now to come out for a walk.
Will she have babies? one girl asked.
No, when I adopted her she had the operation so she won't have puppies.
She's so soft and her ears are soft. The top of her head is silky soft.
It's because I've been hosing her down in the heat to cool her off.
What kind of dog is she? one boy asked.
A Labrador Retriever, which means she's bred to bring back a hunter's duck without squishing it.

The littlest boy looked up and asked me, Do you like polka? I was shocked.
How did you know?
He's very special that way, his mom said.
He has a good working antenna, I said. I totally love polka. My favorite band is a polka band in Texas. They even came to Woonsocket!
Do you play one of these? another boy asked, gesturing with his arms.
An accordion? I do! Lily began nibbling something in the grass.
Those are spicy peanuts. Would you like some? The boy sprinkled four into my hand.
These are good, where did you get them?
Dollar Tree!, two said in unison.
These are very picy speanuts, I said, laughing. So spicy they made my tongue twist the words.

The full moon had risen, poking through a hole in the clouds. We all stopped and stared.

How The Deck Is Stacked: If you’re really going to look at poverty, you are going to have to start looking at greed

“We didn’t know that we were poor,” Stringfellow said. “It was just like asking a fish 'how does that water feel?' The fish is going to say 'what water?' Because that is the only environment that they’ve ever known.”

Stringfellow is in her 40s, and says Cleveland is in no better shape today than it was when she was growing up. So why is the conversation over race and poverty so stuck here?

“Because you are going to start touching on tradition,” Stringfellow said. “You are going to start talking about mindset. You are going to start talking about family values that were passed down besides recipes.”

“One of the problems that I see is parents and other members of the community that have distrust of so many things in this world that they hold the next generation back. Certainly a distrust of the lawyer who comes knocking on the door saying, 'I'm here to help,'" he said. "If you take somebody who’s had stuff taken away from them their whole lives or have been tricked or disadvantaged or something somehow, in order to trust somebody, particularly a white person that's been doing that to the black community, our history's been terrible, for me to come knocking on the door saying, 'I'm here to help,' even though I am really here to help and I'm not getting paid by you, I do have your best interest at heart.”

Carr said the conversation about race and inequality is a tough one to have across racial lines.

“There are some people I can have it with and some people I can’t,” he said.

Carr said he grew up going to public high school and playing sports, and those interactions have helped him and others in his generation grow to being open-minded.

“But there is a generation before and certainly two generations before that will never change,” Carr said. “That generation I believe is just going to have to live the rest of their lives and die out.”


Fear Destroys

noun: fear; plural noun: fears

an unpleasant emotion caused by the belief that someone or something is dangerous, likely to cause pain, or a threat.
"drivers are threatening to quit their jobs in fear after a cabby's murder"
synonyms: terror, fright, fearfulness, horror, alarm, panic, agitation, trepidation, dread, consternation, dismay, distress; More
anxiety, worry, angst, unease, uneasiness, apprehension, apprehensiveness, nervousness, nerves, perturbation, foreboding;
informalthe creeps, the shivers, the willies, the heebie-jeebies, jitteriness, twitchiness, butterflies (in the stomach)
"he felt fear at entering the house"
phobia, aversion, antipathy, dread, bugbear, nightmare, horror, terror;
anxiety, neurosis;
"she overcame her fears"
a mixed feeling of dread and reverence.
"the love and fear of God"
a feeling of anxiety concerning the outcome of something or the safety and well-being of someone.
"police launched a search for the family amid fears for their safety"
the likelihood of something unwelcome happening.
"she could observe the other guests without too much fear of attracting attention"
synonyms: likelihood, likeliness, prospect, possibility, chance, probability; More
risk, danger
"there's no fear of my leaving you alone"

verb: fear; 3rd person present: fears; past tense: feared; past participle: feared; gerund or present participle: fearing

be afraid of (someone or something) as likely to be dangerous, painful, or threatening.
"he said he didn't care about life so why should he fear death?"
synonyms: be afraid of, be fearful of, be scared of, be apprehensive of, dread, live in fear of, be terrified of;
be anxious about, worry about, feel apprehensive about
"she feared her husband"
have a phobia about, have a horror of, take fright at
"he fears heights"

The Bad Seed of Greed

noun: greed

intense and selfish desire for something, especially wealth, power, or food.
synonyms: avarice, cupidity, acquisitiveness, covetousness, rapacity;
materialism, mercenariness;
informalmoney-grubbing, affluenza
"human greed"
gluttony, hunger, voracity, insatiability;
gourmandism, intemperance, overeating, self-indulgence;
"her mouth watered with greed"
desire, appetite, hunger, thirst, craving, longing, lust, yearning, hankering;
avidity, eagerness;
informalyen, itch
"their greed for power"

Summer in the 'Hood

Hazardous Waste
Someone has begun pouring automotive oil next to my garage. Not only is it hazardous waste but it is also a fire hazard. I am trying to catchup with whoever is doing this. I have a hunch it is the guys rebuilding cars back here. The new landlords are completely absentee and sadly full of promises yet not acting on the tenants complaints. Thankfully we have a great City in spite of the slumlords.

Save the World with a Trash Grabber and a Bucket
I went out and did the beachcomber thing across the trash-filled asphalt parking lot. I picked up the bottles cans broken glass, crushed fast food containers, tissues, a gray plastic sword with fake blood on it, freeze pop plastic, a pink plastic fire engine, and a condom using my trash pickers & grabbers.

I threw out the office chair that a man used to climb the neighbor's fire escape yesterday.

The Cash Cow is a Trash Cow

Sadly the new landlord and manager of our shared parking lot doesn't believe in providing clean up, security or lights. The neighbors some of whom have lived there for 20 years complained to me about the garbage, dirty hallways, trashed parking lot, abandoned cars, broken windows, drug-dealing and more. I have tried to convey to the new owners that they need to have a watchful presence. I have caught kids smashing windows, climbing fire escapes, drug dealing, etc. They're just interested in the rent, they tell me. Sadly the CASH COW is a TRASH COW. Just another greedy slumlord.