Here at last

Sigh. We finally made it to Boston! Well, on Wednesday we did.

I have been wakened from a deep slumber. It may have been a slow emerging but the move was not a gentle stirring. My life as i knew it has drastically shifted. I believe for the better.

While it seriously has been difficult to write I am content. The amount of pictures taken, sights heard and tasted, the feel of a place to call home, albeit only three months, is pure satisfaction.

I do miss my desk. Time spent alone. Next week will afford such space. Along with a chance to walk, pick up bus and T schedules, test out transportation options and go into Boston. Alone.

We took a drive yesterday to South Boston. Visited the Atlantic. Walked our Prince Louie! I tasted another bowl of New England Chowder. My first dive into tasting since moving here. On previous visits to Boston it was my goal to sample every restaurant’s chowder. Now I practically am in heaven with at least a monthly visit somewhere, to sample another bowl of creamy, buttery deliciousness.

Since we will only be at this location until the end of July, the majority of boxes were put in storage. I was met with quite a let down when i found out my paints, books and journals were placed on the wrong truck. What will i do until August?

I decided to bullet journal during these three lonely months and have been scavenging Pinterest for ideas. There are some mighty journalers out there. And a few on Instagram i follow. My Amazon package arrives Sunday and i can hardly wait to start doodling pages.

Today, an adventure awaits. A pizza tour of the North End. Our oldest daughter, who has lived in Boston five years, will join us to sample Boston’s Little Italy flavors with a few historic stops to hear stories of famous places and people who made Boston possible.

View of Boston from Castle Island in the Boston Harbor. It was quite the dreary day.

Prince Louie πŸ’— loves me!

Rock Solid (944+miles and at day three and four)

West Virginia is beautiful. John Denver talks about the vistas in Take Me Home, Country Roads, the Blue Ridge Mountains a heart’s oasis.

Dinner was delicious at the Iron Horse Tavern, Morgantown WV, with a Huell Babineaux from Bad Shepherd Brewing in Charleston WV. I enjoyed Wild Mushroom Pierogis and the absolute best tomato soup with balsamic reduction. A real sensation for the tongue.

Rock solid.
Day Three: my feet
grounded in the moment.
Day Four: i venture on.

No time to visit anyone’s blog. Hope to read you soon… i am back on the road.

944+ miles ahead (day one-three)

The first stop on our trek across the eastern half of the United States was Columbus Ohio (181 miles). We arrived Friday evening and spent Saturday visiting a wonderful bookshop, The Book Loft, eating lunch at The Thurman Cafe, and consuming the blossoming trees in Schiller Park and the surrounding gardens of German Village homes. What a wonderful Spring day. And the weather was cooperative!

At The Book Loft, an incredible 32 rooms full of books, with Room 13 housing a poetry collection, i found Dorothy Parker’s Complete Poems. Interior is my favorite of her poems so far. I find her to be witty and dry. Perhaps sarcastic. I imagine if i were to have had the pleasure of meeting her, i would have mentally retreated. Perhaps some people are better left to their words and our imaginations.

Today, i embark on a three hour drive to Morgantown, West Virginia (209 miles). A visit to family friends and a shared dinner awaits us in Morgantown.

As i write, the sun has lifted the evening’s hello. I have yet to determine who i will be today. πŸ€”πŸŒπŸ’™πŸ•ŠπŸŽΆπŸŽΆπŸŽΆπŸŽΆ

Good Sunday to you. Hope to catch up with a few blogs! 😍

My Monhegan

I am currently working on a painting My Monhegan, an island off the coast of Maine. Monhegan is a place that encompasses 95% of my spiritual thought while a mere 3 days and 2 nights were physically spent there. It amazes how much an impact the place had on me. A healing calm took me over and i only have to slip on those hiking shoes to feel the embrace around my soul.

At least the ones i have conquered.

In the meantime, while rushing from one idea to the next, for the past three days, i realized something important. I don’t hear the rattling noises in my mind. At least not as often as i use to and only when invited in. The loudness has abated with a new found courage. I have tamed the angry heart that broke and mended the fabric tears. The tears in my eyes have dried.

The scared child that cowered in the corner has found light. She has grown since last spoken to. The sex fiend has retreated and allowed a wholeness to take place. I convinced her sex is nothing compared to spiritual ecstasy. A spiritual relationship, with someone who can read my mind and play off my every mood, move and energy, is enticing. I have a few girlfriends like this. I have yet to make a pact with such a guy friend. I have a few in mind, but they don’t seem to understand the concept as i had envisioned they would. Such a collaboration is still open to anyone. Even long distance. I am open and my heart twirls in excitement to find such a guy. If such a person exists. 🀨

As if a light switch was flicked on and off, on and off, the hurt, which once overcame me, has now been overcome. The chaos inside has relented and been subdued.

I win! I won!
I run! I swim!
I fly away…

Wide-Open, Eyes Shut

Thursday Doors – Norm 2.0

Fear this
wide open space -exists
to construct walls

add windows
and doors
to enjoy the view.

If life isn’t fragments
what is the big picture?

tears witness death
storms wash me to sea
tides say goodbye, evidently.

Time Spent

Weekly Photo Challenge: Sweet

Time spent with a friend is sweet. Shared treats. Shared tweets. At Cupitol, Downtown Chicago, 455 E Illinois Avenue. If you find yourself there, sitting…

consider visiting the Museum of Contemporary Art, a short 20 minute walk away. Along the edge of Northwestern’s college campus.

Please do not use my photos for any purpose, without permission. Thank you.

Raped

Church is poetry. Poetry is life. A life well-lived.

word orgies
leave us naked
empty days and nights

your feasting strips humility
scraps of audacity linger-longer

recognize Christ?

Standing outside, admiring Joan Miro’s outdoor sculpture…


Miro’s Chicago

we were invited into The Chicago Temple by a passerby. It was absolutely beautiful inside. Ornate wood and stained glass warmed the interior and our noses.

Transformation

this weekend in Chicago is invigorating. it’s cold and light snow fell. ice crusts the shore. broken spaces release the energy.

being with another person is confining. we rarely agree because i am slow, quiet and want to savor the feelings the sounds and sights produce. he is fast, loud and out of touch. annoyed by everyone and everything. but i managed to make him wait in the snow while i took a few pictures.

i am tired but a good tired. i am existing in a sacred place.

this Chicago visit was to see Rodin’s sculptures at the Art Institute. i have not completely digested the experience. his sculptures pull so much out of me. the locked cage, broken open. infiltration welcomed.

while at the Institute, we decided to check out more of the contemporary art and revisit a few favorites.

Energy and motion made visible – memories arrested in space –Jackson Pollock

The Key Jackson Pollock, 1946

Part of the Accabonac Creek series and a prelude to his drip paintings.

Number 17A Jackson Pollack, 1948

this. being surrounded by art. it all makes me jealous. i want to paint. i imagine myself painting. i feel my body shifting, as i lift the brush. the canvas never stationary and neither am i. the color calling. my hips sway and i feel eyes watching me. i want to be bold but gravity keeps me from flying.

City Landscape Joan Mitchell, 1955

a close-up of the favorite place i would reside in Joan’s landscape. a happy place indeed. certainly lost but found to me. splashes of red, pink… orange. Enveloped by reality of black, white, grey, brown… blue.

yes, i am referring to myself. after all, borderline crossing is all about me. my willingness to share a glimpse of me, with you. tear a piece off and toss it. wait. scrutinize your intentions.

we all need order to heal the crags of depression that consume. perhaps we are all lost in Joan’s landscape. hanging around the wrong colors. worshipping the pain in our lives. i am learning to cross the river and enjoy the other side.

Chicago Time

Church is poetry. Poetry is life. A life well-lived.

Good morning…

Living poetry today. Bless youπŸ§‘πŸ•Š

does anybody really know what time it is? -Chicago