Christine Blasey Ford
That sound I know so well. After creation and then out comes the published satisfaction. The freedom to think, creative and print is still a revolution to me. Even if it is only my own little voice under a blue, raining or black evening sky. My high and our bliss!
A focused effort together. My voice, our voice… gone.
This printer is obsolete. The HP Offset 6230 ePirnter is dead. Just like in the film 2001: A Space Odyssey when the Hal 9000 started to screw up. After about 10 years I slowly removed myself from my publishing friend. We had 10 years together. The technological sound, the romanza, of printer and creator, our characters made music together.
The little sounds you made letting me know that it was you who, with savvy, was moving the planned projects forward. Fresh printed ink on paper. Now I say goodbye… RIP.
“I AM WHO I AM,” and then said, “Tell the Israelis: ‘I AM sent me to you.'”~ ISV
This is a short story about a eucalyptus tree. A living friend, mentor and comforter.
My dad first visited the eucalyptus tree when he went horse back riding in the San Fernando Valley. Most likely the late 1940s. He rode from Ventura Blvd towards the dirt hills of the Santa Monica mountains. It isn’t easy to imagine that there once was a horse stable located near Ventura Blvd. and Canoga Ave. He told me how he stopped one day under the eucalyptus tree and looked over the valley. Once he saw a for sale sign there, a hill covered with wild sage and wider nature. My dad made it happen. His brother was a carpenter / builder and his mother already invested in properties throughout the San Fernando Valley. They made his dream come true. They made it happen for my dad and mom. As a WWII Vet he secured a government loan.
Dad and his brother, Had, created a plan to build a house on that wild hill in the San Fernando Valley. They fought like brothers often do. My dad fought for the large sliding windows that looked over the valley. He also fought to build a house which cuddled around a eucalyptus tree.
I learned to climb that tree as I was learning to walk. The smell of the eucalyptus tree on foggy mornings before going to school or during rain storms often filled my bedroom. I climbed that beautiful tall tree on my way to the top of the red brick chimney often. Sometimes to see thunder storms break across the valley. There I silently sat listening to the sound of coyotes in the distance and viewed lights in the night sky. All of this magic still captures my imagination.
Once I left home I often went back to visit with my parents. The first thing I would do was hug my eucalyptus tree. The seed pods from the eucalyptus are a wonder. Round and cone-shaped with a five-pointed star in the middle. Always a signal autumn was approaching.
Today a walk on a slightly foggy morning at the end of August brought back this memory of a eucalyptus tree I grew up with. I was beholding today to the only eucalyptus tree in my neighborhood. Whispering a scent and showing an aura that took me back to my nebulous childhood. The tree replied to me today, “”I AM WHO I AM.” Maybe this is the same whisper I always heard from my mentor tree and eucalyptus friend.
I used to see anarchy & chaos much differently. Today I see it as something I will not agree to. Yet the will of an individual can be applied for the benefits of all or for only oneself. To harm others without caring. I used to think it was to bring all others to the table and to change and make new ways of seeing the world creativity and imaginatively. An individual can uniquely inspire a generation, or a few people, to be good human beings. Or the opposite can happen when an ego causes dark chaos & we are witnessing this now. It is a time to consider this all, .... as very important parts of who we all are!? So much for August… it does this to me.
As a long time do it yourself and or self-publisher it is always about the process of doing things myself. It is not always perfect. I learn as I go. I am much better at taking criticism now than I was when I was in my twenties. My worst critique is my own mind. My goal as a self-publisher is to forget about thinking that some other publisher is going to do it for me. Make it easier for me. I sometimes lull into that trap. My goal is to be able to continue to do it my way. I would like to eventually print up, made from recyclable material, small books. Hand-held books. Some hand-held hard cover books some not. I love small books. They are interesting to me.
“A chapbook is a type of popular literature printed in early modern Europe. Produced cheaply, chapbooks were commonly small, paper-covered booklets, usually printed on a single sheet folded into books of 8, 12, 16 and 24 pages. They were often illustrated with crude woodcuts, which sometimes bore no relation to the text. When illustrations were included in chapbooks, they were considered popular prints.
“The tradition of chapbooks arose in the 16th century, as soon as printed books became affordable, and rose to its height during the 17th and 18th centuries. Many different kinds of ephemera and popular or folk literature were published as chapbooks, such as almanacs, children’s literature, folk tales, ballads, nursery rhymes, pamphlets, poetry, and political and religious tracts. The term “chapbook” for this type of literature was coined in the 19th century. The corresponding French and German terms are bibliothèque bleue (blue book) and Volksbuch, respectively. In Spain they were known as pliegos de cordel.The term “chapbook” is also in use for present-day publications, commonly short, inexpensive booklets.”
July moves into August. A time of justice and heat, a time of foresight and deep. For me it is about news… some bad and some good news. I have known this time of the year to be delirious dark and forbidden. Today it has reached an illuminating place of thanksgiving.
Between our psyche and the cosmos is magic. Magic moves between our hidden unconscious coming forth from our dreams. Yes, that Magic coming with psychic foresight of knowing. Real causality or synchronicity does not matter to me. Natural magic! I live all combinations.
Yesterday we went to Naval Air Station Point Mugu. Driving to Ventura from the San Fernando Valley can be harsh on a Sunday. We found a little farming street to follow down to Point Mugu. It romances the beautiful Pacific Ocean. Which is why we were there.
My dad was a WWII Veteran. As kids we enjoyed fishing on the pier that is located on this naval base.
Husband and I sat in our car for sometime. Wondering if we could approach and visit the pier for old memories. We did. A tight solider asked for husband’s driving-license. As the solider was taking the license from husband, I explained my family story. Before you could think we were quickly told to make a U-turn. No good byes or safe journeys.
Point Mugu has since merged with nearby Naval Construction Battalion Center Port Hueneme to form Naval Base Ventura County (NBVC).
We ended up at Port Hueneme Historical Society Museum. A sweet little place that smelled pleasantly old! The building was filled with old women and older history items. Outside the rather small building were many monarch butterflies. Hub bobbing around ourselves like best friends. We were then told the story.
It sounds like a magical potion. Milk weed, Cosmo flowers and chrysalis. It was the story of how someone took the time to love the process of this lovely butterfly. All it takes is a little love and a few nasty weeds to attract the attention of nature’s finest beauties.
Today upon my waking up I enjoyed a very good dream. A dream I have been waiting for since my mother’s death. It was a closure dream. In this dream husband opened the front door to the usual UPS knock. There was another package, another calculus book, or similar book, for the kids. Then we heard another knock on the front door. This time I opened the door. From top to bottom the front door was filled with packages. My husband gave me a guilty look. A pouting praying mantis face.
“It is not Christmas time,” I said.
I pulled out one of the packages. A large white one. A box that might conceal a dress or new pants. Then I saw on top the name ‘Holly’ written in cursive.
“How could mom give me this after her death?”
A wonderful gift from her. That is what mom would do. Write our names on top of our gifts. It was her writing…. I know it by heart!
Today has reached an illuminating place of thanksgiving.
Not reaching out
But reaching within.
Agathos daimon holds my heart
Humidity holds me back.
“Coninuctio” “in mercurio”
Which do not ripen.
Outside my oasis
Seeds dry in the heat.
Inside the cave
I listen to Mercurius speak.
“The desires of the mind
Will take you nowhere.”
Here’s a song that had me hocked since 1966 at 8 years old. Now a classic Jazz standard. One of those songs that moves through my life and enhances the human experience. Making life lovable in troubling times. The original film Alfie is a sweet film with major dangerous life lesson learned. Michael Caine is beautiful. Shelly Winters’s character is one that I can now relate to more thoroughly in my feminine older years. The song Alfie is a deep and reflective song. Originally song by Cher when she was a rather unknown street singer/ musician. Yes, they, “Sony & Cher,” did hang out with Rodney Bingenheimer. Who cares after all these years.
“The title song, “Alfie”, written by Burt Bacharach and Hal David, was sung by Cher over the film’s closing credits in the US release. It became a hit for British singer Cilla Black (Millicent Martin sang Alfie on its British release) and for Madeline Eastman and Dionne Warwick. Numerous jazz musicians have covered it and it has become a jazz standard.”
Here is an interesting example or another jazz standard interpretation that I found lovely of the song Alfie.
Alfie (by David K. Mathews featuring Amikaeyla) from DAVID MATTHEWS — Fantasy Vocal Sessions Vol.1 Standards released 2018.
A song for the heart. Always good to hear.