I just read in the Louisville’s Courier Journal that Dan Fogherty passed away.  That was back in December of this last year. I guess I’ve been out of touch with more than a few things. I just wanted to say how grateful I am for his music over the years.  I wish I’d had the opportunity to meet him. Any one that can write songs the way he did…

Repair post added April 28th.

Well, I guess I’d better add to this. I mixed up names, once again. Dan Fogelberg. John Fogherty, another favorite, is alive and kickin’. My brain gets cluttered and backfires, sputtering out the wrong things when I’m in a hurry, like I was when I first posted this. So…lesson number 3,438…don’t post things when rushing.

 

 

Just another day? I don’t think so. Never is one the same as the previous. Thank whatever Universal Entity is to be thanked. While some things remain the same, consistent, mundane…

verbal photography.

The wood rose is brown. It’s seeds wait inside shadows of each petal. The dense green pine needles against its neutral earthly tones make me stop and soak up the beauty. Pieces of blue sky split the clouds.

A man on the bus was dozing. His hair thinning, but no sight of gray, clean nails, graceful hands resting on his lap, the shadow of a bus window sticker crossed his arm like a tattoo.

The woman in front of me had the longest dreads I’d ever seen. I wondered if they were real and looked for telling signs. I found the truth.

I thought about Halloween and writing a murder story, this bus, the morgue thirteen blocks away, and…

I watched a man walk by. The colors in his striped shirt matched his frosted curly hair, pants and sandals. I would like the comfort of sandals like that.

I ran up the library steps. Literally.

If you look back many months in my posts you will find something I wrote about Cinderella and Kevin Spacey.  I truly have a dream worth fighting for…and the ability to complete it. Plain and Simple…if the shoe fits…

I am a lyricist. And each character arrives with a song on thier lips. My Cinderella has her hands on her hips!

Several months ago I was living in a shelter. Today I sleep on the floor in my Mom’s apartment. Meanwhile I paint, sculpt, write (children’s stories, poetry, song lyrics, and plays), take an occasional photograph, all while cooking and cleaning for my mother, and other tasks that I wouldn’t have dreamt doing had I the full time job I had two years ago. Things are working out. Why question the process. Just doing what I am doing, trying a bit harder to organize my time and complete what I’ve begun so many times over…the persistence factor.  I won’t give up.  Play this to the tune of “I won’t grow up…”