A Thing in A Bag

Our oil-saturated economy here in New England shows signs of madness around the edges, a lunacy so subtle that, for some, it substitutes for sanity. It seems like every time one goes to the store to make a purchase, no matter how small, the clerk immediately sheathes it in a flimsy plastic bag. A pack of gum, a greeting card, everything gets a bag, which the buyer totes home, or even right outside of the store, and prompty throws out. Everyone I know has more of these bags than they can use, and the more conscientious among us recycle them, burning oil to bring these oil products to the dump, so that the recycler can expend oil to recycle them into more oil-based products. If one dares refuse the bag at the counter, opting to put the pen in a pocket, the gum in a backpack, the clerk regards this departure from convention suspiciously. What about the bag?

Birthday Blues

Hey, guys, today's my birthday. 54 trips around the sun mark my name, carve lines in my face, add timbre to my laughter. More than half-way there, if you go by conventional wisdom. We enjoyed a rare fruit torte at work, peppered by the anxieties of deadline. Yesterday I was so worried my palms were sweating and my sternum clutched up tight, dreading the next phone call. Today, optimism reigns. It is all about attitude. And at home, husband tim made no secret of working for three hours confecting a torte and a chicken schnitzel dinner. Phone calls from all over the place -- Dot and her Tarot cards fromVermont, and Dad from NJ singing in concert with Harriet, and Marina, wondering if we will come to NYC and see her tomorrow to celebrate. Lyn's flowers deck my table. Tim touched in with a pocketbook and wallet made out of seatbelts, supplemented by a flask of Jack Daniels. Who could ask for more? Frank and I went to lunch at Front Beach. I was sorry not to spend the day gambolling at the beach. Warm enough almost to swim. I feel special. For another hour, glowing. Went to MAC and the exercise class, wanting to winnow down to less corpulence. Am, and then, am not. November 10, a happy day indeed.

Still friends

Sculpture garden cohorts

Colleagues of stone

And some folks she met along the way...

viking transport

Here's how she got there!

norwegian woods

Kezia in the Norwegian woods, Nov. 1, 2006

tarheel insomnia

too late to sleep, to early to wake up. been on the road too much. been on the road 18 days this month and I feel like willie loman run amok. homesick. tomorrow is halloween and even though I'm old enough to know better, I am racing home by livery after this last business trip of the month in order to dress up as a witch and hand out candy bars to little ghosts and princesses who will come begging to our front door. tim's carved a pumpkin for the front window and frank is heading up to the cove to raise cain and stay out of the clutches of bobby t, the cop with radar for young teenage boys armed with shaving cream.