…either braided or worn loose, falling halfway down her back.
Size five black soft-soled shoes. Jeans, a tee, and a plaid cotton shirt. Narrow brimmed straw hat. A brown serape on brisk days.
Buried under all that is me.
…either braided or worn loose, falling halfway down her back.
Size five black soft-soled shoes. Jeans, a tee, and a plaid cotton shirt. Narrow brimmed straw hat. A brown serape on brisk days.
Buried under all that is me.
…would I want to bring back dinosaurs?
I enjoyed them as toys when I was five and still unclear on the concept of extinction. The Noah’s Ark at my kindergarten, a wooden boat stocked with little plastic animals, included two brontosauri and three triceratops (one of them a baby), survivors from a plastic bag of dinos the boys had slowly looted. Sometimes those interlopers joined the paired line I’d carefully arrange going into the ark at playtime.
I never daydreamed about having them as pets, however, or interacting with them beyond running away if I saw one.
A literary name,
The Travails of Plethora:
Or Innocence Preserved,
(1740) by Sir Graham
Nigelson, or, a pied
Cloth in a sepia photo,
Under an Aphidistra on a side
Table, or, an organ’s fleshy sheath
“The surgeon retracts the plethora
So the tumor beneath…”,
Or, a purplish rash. “…a plethora
with headache, call 911…”,
Or, a long prayer of atonement
Muttered by a nun
At sunset, or…
Just seen its airport during a layover. Would love to see the city itself.
…was over twenty-five years ago, when I was working at a large corporation. My job involved going over sales contracts and making sure everything was correct and there were no white-outs, no written-in amendments, no omitted signatures, etc. If the contract I was revewing was incorrect, I’d mark where changes needed to be made and return it to the sender initialed “PFT” — which I suppose read as though I were making a derisive sound with my lips.
Some people at the company began referring to me as “Paft.”
I watch what I eat. I exercise. I have regular checkups, get vaccinated, drink moderately, avoid excessive naval-gazing. The usual.
None of that rises to a “strategy,” as if I were consulting maps, calcluating potential assaults, or deploying troops. “Strategy” has become one of those online words (like “curate”) used to invest everyday chores, personal or professional, with unwarranted dignity and heroism.
Brushing my teeth and drinking plenty of water is not a “strategy” that deserves a rousing soundtrack.
…drinking wine, reading books and playing dominos by the pool.
…on critical thinking and history in our schools.
Enya, sometimes Vangelis, sometimes Rickie Lee Jones… depends on my mood and what I am writing.