pain.

i was tagged by GuyorBloke to Three Quotes/Three Days and happy to participate.

Day Two. And then there was history to contend.

Reapply the medicine. Time does heal the sorrow wedged in the cracks. Dig it out. The crusted debris. Tame the queazy stomach.

can’t quit you/so easy

Day Three is ahead…

Transformation

Access life
as if, before the storm,
no longer remains.

Let me know
mold me in your image
pull the strings
sewn into my back
i live to please you
in this moment
watch the stars dance
in this night of black

How can we experience triumph?

Theodicy is an intellectual understanding of suffering. The reconstruction of self and time, remain elusive, but attainable.

We experience our new selves physically, emotionally and spiritually through time. If we fail to let go of the past, it will repeatedly reappear as a ghost in our mind. Our goal is to allow whatever was, become history. If we fail this task, we invite misery to make a home in our hearts.

Life has become exceptionally difficult. Changes abound and more changes intend to roll out.

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 ūüíó 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.

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.

eyes have seen the light

eyes have seen the light, charcoal, 2015 (original photographed and edited)

a once cited story
history
has declared to us
her story matters. now
!

Norm 2.0 Thursday Doors

Thursday Doors ‚Äď January 25, 2018

Coca-Cola Bottling Company
858-868 Massachusetts Ave.
Indianapolis Indiana Circa 1931

The day I visited Indy Reads Books bookstore in the Chatham Arch Historic District, I spotted this gem waiting to be photographed. Using my IPhone 7 camera, with limited time, I managed to take a few shots.

Being curious, I did a little research. Coca-Cola moved their bottling production in 1964, further out from downtown Indianapolis, to Speedway (think Indy 500). The property was subsequently sold in 1968 to the Indianapolis Public School (IPS) district, used as a central kitchen and house school buses. In 2017 IPS sold the 11-acre property to Wisconsin-based Hendricks Commercial Properties LLC for $12 million. Hendricks $260 million redevelopment plan calls for 400 residential units, 200,000 square feet of retail space, 200,000 square feet of office space, a cinema and a 120-room West Elm hotel.

There is one problem. Contamination from the plant was found seeping into the surrounding Chatham Arch neighborhood and remediation is ongoing. Hendricks is seeking money from the city and state to help with costs.  There are no further updates available.

“The Coke plant, which opened in 1931, was designed by Rubush & Hunter, one of the top Indianapolis architecture firms at the time.¬†Rubush & Hunter also designed the old Indianapolis City Hall, Hilbert Circle¬†Theatre and other landmarks.

The 285,000-square-foot Coke plant was once the largest Coke bottling plant in the world. It is known for its terra cotta facade and impressive interior spaces. The art deco design includes¬†details of flowers, fountains and sun rays. According to the Encyclopedia of Indianapolis, the design was intended to enhance ‘the hygienic image of the spotless bottling plant.'” (Briggs, 2016).

Briggs, J. (2016, March 08). How much of old Coke plant, art deco features will be saved? Retrieved January 25, 2018, from https://www.indystar.com/story/money/2016/03/08/how-much-old-coke-plant-art-deco-features-saved/81472696/

Olson, Scott. (2017, February 9). Contamination at former Coca-Cola plant site extends into neighborhood. Retrieved January 25, 2018, from https://www.ibj.com/articles/62464-contamination-at-former-coca-cola-plant-site-extends-into-neighborhood

Chatham Arch-Massachusetts Ave Historic Preservation Plan A 150 page pdf detailing the history of the area.

Journal April 2, 2013

“Never move faster than the wind.” 4/2/2013

Sage advice to myself or just random thoughts scribbled down with no real meaning.¬† Today I think I could use a gush of wind to get me moving from this chair, typing away, thinking all the way back to March 1, 2008 and even beyond that to a great, great, great grandfather buried in Russiaville, IN, after dying in the War of 1812.¬† Did his actions make me who I am today?¬† And what about his father and the fathers before him? (Gregg and his wife, Frances, are buried in Russiaville Cemetery and I plan to get there soon to take pictures.¬† His wife’s stone only remains but his name is inscribed on it.)

Our family history is interwoven in the fabric of America, but even before that our family origins span England, Ireland, Finland and who knows where else.  People are travelers and most of us have a bit of differing culture dwelling in our genes.  What impact does any of this have on me? Us?

I have a great, great grandmother who befriended Black Hawk (aka Black Hawk War), in the Kickapoo Valley of Wisconsin.  The story goes that Black Hawk was roaming in the woods and in need of food and shelter for the night.  My great, great grandmother invited him in for dinner and a restful sleep.  She was a widow with children but took it upon herself, practicing her Christian beliefs, to help the unfortunate.  I take pride in this story.  She did what little she could do to provide sacrificially.  She was a strong woman surviving in the wilderness.

These stories give me a sense of humanity at the best and the worst.  War is inevitable but so is compassion.  I wonder where I would be had America never become who she is today? Family from Finland might never have reached the shores.  I just might never have existed.

Chicago

child-like, innocent,
wrapped in torn blankets
feel the chill in the air

Apathy scorching
a beloved city,
762 murders, -deaths
scattered across the Southside and Westside,
war zones of black on black.

War warps the heart
-blood spilled in revenge,
despair piling high,
tasting the bitter
morphed into anger
hatred towards each other.

Hear the battle cries?
A red line has been drawn.
Humanity how-to,
resurrect a mystery,
new minds molding
working towards peace,
-sanctity, life.

Chili in America

Stepping outside this morning
a crispness filled my lungs.
The birds spoke,
warning, it is time to move on.

I am sure the language
should be heeded
but I intend to hunker down.
I lack freedom to seek warmer gardens.

I will watch as the flowers disappear,
knowing they prepare a new spring.
Understanding rebirth
as time wears away the grin.

I will keep my spirits cheery
by thinking: Changes bring panic
until we wake the next day
to find all is right.

So, like the pot of chili cooking
on the stove this cool September,
I promise to keep warm
wrapped in the smells and memories.

A good pot of chili, in my estimation, starts with a base of garden-fresh tomatoes. I grow several varieties which yield a summer taste incomprehensible to any store bought canned good. I then add chilies and onions bought at the Farmer’s Market in town and generously sprinkle other spices that make the chili sing. It cooks with swooning smells throughout the house until I no longer am able to wait. The family gathers at the table, spoon in hand, ready for the feast to begin.

Chili in America travels from Texas and means many things. There is Cincinnati Chili which adds cinnamon for a sweet twist or Cowboy Chili adding beans. I prefer a smoky chili so cumin and ground chipotle makes for a nice mix of heat. The origins of chili are unknown but there are stories to be told. Mexicans do not take credit for the dish and plenty of others take the creation as their own. In Texas a bowl of red is a staple. They refer to themselves as chili heads.

Yep, chili has made its way across America as the landscape changes, from the streets of Ohio, the back woods of Wisconsin, the hills of the Plains and the shores of the coasts, chili has become an American staple.

“delectable chile-con-carne… composed of delicate meats minced with aromatic herbs and the poignant chile colorado — a compound full of singular saver and a fiery zest…” —O. Henry ‘The Enchanted Kiss’

“Next to jazz music, there is nothing that lifts the spirit and strengthens the soul more than a good bowl of chili.” –Henry James