There comes a point when a dream becomes reality and reality becomes a dream.
Frances Farmer
****************
Hello Jen
*****************
I look at what needs to be done and I feel helpless. But I push on. Am I just cutting stones or am I building a temple? Am I designing spoons or spaceships? And what's the difference?
For various reasons I had to cut back on my life as an actor, so I started drawing. I took lessons at the Art Students League in New York. Eventually I started painting. All I was doing was keeping the creative strings tight and properly tuned.
I knew people who had had years of formal training as artists and here I was a rank beginner. I was intimidated by viewing the work done by the artists I knew. I didn't take my paintings seriously. Until one day, years ago, someone bought one of them. He asked me how much I wanted for it, gave me the money and took the painting. At first I was sad. I liked that picture and would have enjoyed looking at it for a long time. But then I thought that if I enjoyed it and he enjoyed it then others might also and it would be selfish of me to hoard it. That changed my perspective about my art work. My dream became a reality. Since then I've sold several others.
I wrote to a friend today that I wish I could get more training. There are so many things I would like to know: water color, sculpture, lithography and other graphic arts. That's my dream now. Will it ever become a reality?
I also began to write. Other than almost two thousand issues of Vagabond Journeys I have 2 novels and a flock of short stories. Nothing is published but some news items for a local paper. Even so it is much easier to think of myself as a writer than a painter. But maybe that's a reality that is really becoming just a dream. Maybe as I sit at the keyboard I'm just cutting stones, making spoons.
The most sturdy but scary perception I have is that of imagination, intelligence, natural law and the cosmic creative process all of which actually do the work. I'm just the harp. Something grander than I am plucks the strings. That's the reality.
DB - The Vagabond
Never give up.
*****************
Showing posts with label vagabond journeys. Show all posts
Showing posts with label vagabond journeys. Show all posts
Monday, October 1, 2012
Saturday, September 1, 2012
Page 24
We can do no great things - only small things with great love.
Mother Teresa
***********************
Hello Rose
***********************
This is the 1,862 issues of Vagabond Journeys. I began in 2006 to jot down quotes from many various sources to use to introduce each time I posted an item. My motive was to provide readers with a bit of wisdom, information, whimsy and humor. I have loved doing it. But I have so few readers now compared with what I use to have. Today I looked over some of the quotes I haven't used yet and see that some of them aren't as wise and clever as I once thought. I have 113 pages of them and it's a mining job to sift through them with flashlight and shovel to come to one I feel will be the most beneficial and interesting to you who read me. Today, instead of writing anything I thought I would give you some of the quotes I haven't used yet but without my comments. So here is
The Best Of Page 24
As we express our gratitude, we must never forget that the highest appreciation is not to utter words but to live by them. John F. Kennedy
Happiness is not a destination, it is a method of life. Burton Hills
Those who cannot forgive others break the bridge over which they themselves must pass. Confucius
The manner of giving is worth more than the gift. Pierre Corneille
The wise man must be wise before not after, Epicharmus
The best medicine in life is a friend. Saint Alfred of Rievaulx
All the sounds of the earth are like music. Oscar Hammerstein
A good plan today is better than a perfect plan tomorrow. General George Patton
The eye sees only what the mind is prepared to comprehend. Henri Bergson
Nothing you do for children is ever wasted. Garrison Keillor
It is a stupidity second to none, to busy oneself with the correction of the world. Moliere
Money is a very excellent servant, but a terrible master. P. T. Barnum
If you aren't going to go all the way, why go at all? Joe Namath
Always do right.. This will gratify some people, and astonish the rest. Mark Twain
Observe how the life of this world deceives those around you. Sheik Abdul Jilliani
May you have the greatest two gifts of all. Someone to love and someone who loves you. John Sinor.
-------------------------------------------------------
I hope you find something here that brightens your day.
With love,
DB - Vagabond Journeys
Never Give Up
*************************
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
The Mental Mirage
If you believe everything you read, better not read.
Japanese proverb
********************
Hello Barbara
********************
Don't believe everything you read.
Don't believe everything you hear.
Don't believe everything you see.
Don't believe everything you think.
I have observed in my vagabond journeys that the human mind is arguably the subtlest trickster to ever confuse the unsuspecting man or woman. It is in league with the senses to fool us whenever it gets the chance.
The sun rises in the east and sets in the west. We know that for a fact. Here's another fact. The earth is flat and if try to sail beyond the horizon you'll fall off the edge.
We now know that those "facts" are not facts at all, but there was a time when they were genuinely believed by everyone. How many so-called facts are there that are honestly held to be true by you and others today which will eventually turn out to be just a superstition or simply a plain misunderstanding of reality. Our heads are filled with suppositions, assumptions and theories that become like rumors which spread out to be accepted as truth. I call them mental mirages.
The mind is capable of great things, great ideas in art, design, mechanics, science, civilization, education and government. But it is also capable of forming the most absurd theories and ridiculous ideas known to man.
I knew a man who whenever he heard something foolish coming out of an otherwise intelligent person would say "Say that again and think about it."
Stanislaw Lec, the Polish writer said "Think before you think." That's good advice for staying out of the intellectual mud puddles and rubbing one's nose against a mental brick wall.
A primary rule of mental discipline is to not only question everything you read, hear and see but challenge everything you think. That way you won't fall off the edge.
DB - Vagabond Journeys
Never give up.
****************************
Sunday, August 12, 2012
Flip The Blanket
Only those who attempt the absurd will achieve the impossible.
M. C. Escher
*****************
Hello Ernie
*****************
This is the 1,841st edition of Vagabond Journeys. I've been writing and posting one almost every day since 2006. To the world at large it would be known as an exercise in futility. Yesterday I had only 15 known readers when I should have hundreds, thousands. So why do I do it?
Love is one answer. I love to feel my imagination wake up and start working. I love to feel that swirl of ideas around my head. I love it when the natural flow of inspiration brings up a concept better than the one I thought of on my own.
Those are selfish things. Need is another one. I need to share my thoughts, ideas, enthusiasm for living and my life experience with other people. Of what use is a senior citizen if he doesn't open up the trunk, go through everything, throw out the old shoes, wasted love notes and foolish dreams, then bundle together the true values of decades of a life lived.
Hope is another reason why I don't give up. As an actor I have played for an audience of one and an audience of five thousand. The performance was always the same as at other times, the same commitment, the same joy. Why does the violinist return to the same concertos he has played before? Why does the golfer take his clubs out to the course even in the cold weather? Because every swing is a finger poked into the magic world of perfection. The golf swing, the music, my writing aren't perfect, but there is always the possibility that one day it will be.
Despair is another reason why to keep writing. An artist is one who must create, who must let imagination loose from any attempt to cage it, who must feel the blessing of inspiration and recognize it when it comes. For me, who lives in a cultural vacuum, I must create the only atmosphere in which I can survive.
The urge and search for perfection may seem like an absurdity to the rational mind. Yet the greatest achievers of the human race were those who did the impossible. I may get the readers I deserve some day, I may not. I may get close to perfection some day, I may not. But I will grab one side of the blanket with the other artists who are willing to try the absurd and flip truth and beauty into the sky and see haw high we can make it fly.
DB - Vagabond Journeys
Never Give Up
************************
M. C. Escher
*****************
Hello Ernie
*****************
This is the 1,841st edition of Vagabond Journeys. I've been writing and posting one almost every day since 2006. To the world at large it would be known as an exercise in futility. Yesterday I had only 15 known readers when I should have hundreds, thousands. So why do I do it?
Love is one answer. I love to feel my imagination wake up and start working. I love to feel that swirl of ideas around my head. I love it when the natural flow of inspiration brings up a concept better than the one I thought of on my own.
Those are selfish things. Need is another one. I need to share my thoughts, ideas, enthusiasm for living and my life experience with other people. Of what use is a senior citizen if he doesn't open up the trunk, go through everything, throw out the old shoes, wasted love notes and foolish dreams, then bundle together the true values of decades of a life lived.
Hope is another reason why I don't give up. As an actor I have played for an audience of one and an audience of five thousand. The performance was always the same as at other times, the same commitment, the same joy. Why does the violinist return to the same concertos he has played before? Why does the golfer take his clubs out to the course even in the cold weather? Because every swing is a finger poked into the magic world of perfection. The golf swing, the music, my writing aren't perfect, but there is always the possibility that one day it will be.
Despair is another reason why to keep writing. An artist is one who must create, who must let imagination loose from any attempt to cage it, who must feel the blessing of inspiration and recognize it when it comes. For me, who lives in a cultural vacuum, I must create the only atmosphere in which I can survive.
The urge and search for perfection may seem like an absurdity to the rational mind. Yet the greatest achievers of the human race were those who did the impossible. I may get the readers I deserve some day, I may not. I may get close to perfection some day, I may not. But I will grab one side of the blanket with the other artists who are willing to try the absurd and flip truth and beauty into the sky and see haw high we can make it fly.
DB - Vagabond Journeys
Never Give Up
************************
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
Quote Me
I love quotations because it is a joy to find thoughts one might have, beautifully expressed with much authority by someone recognized
wiser than oneself.
Marlene Dietrich
**********************
Hello Lily
**********************
Anyone who is a regular reader of my blog, Vagabond Journeys, knows that the short bottle cap version of my philosophy of life is :NEVER GIVE UP. One year in New York City when I was suffering from my hip and leg problem I bought a wooden cane to help me get around. I took it to a master carpenter and had him inscribe that three work phrase down the front of the cane. When I was sitting down where people could read it, on the bus or subway, I got a lot of interesting comments about it, most of them very positive.
At another time I wore a button I found someplace which read: REAL LIFE ISN'T LIKE THIS. That button generated more inane remarks than you can imagine. I still have it. Although the Yogi Berra style philosophy of the words is undeniable, I don't wear it any more.
I have 112 pages of quotations, gathered from my voracious reading, which I use as openers for my journal entries, such as the one from Marlene Dietrich above. Each one usually starts my head spinning right away with similar complementary thoughts, so I start writing and several paragraphs later I have a journal entry for your entertainment and mine.
The sad part is I can never say everything I want to say about any topic in one journal edition or it would be so long and cumbersome it would bore both of us and never get read. And so I also keep a paper journal, books filled with random, rambling thoughts about this and that. I've been writing those for years. Some of them have gotten lost, purple prose never to be read. Alas.
But Marlene is correct. If I come up with something I think is a good idea I can usually find some sage or wit who has expressed it better. And when I do I will use it, with proper credit of course, to generate my own thoughts. And I guess I have done some original thinking on my watch. I am the one who invented the saying, "They can steal my fish but they can't steal my ocean" and don't let anyone tell you differently. If you want a look at some of my orignals check out Vagabond Jottings
http://vagabondjottings.blogspot.com/
And speaking of fishnapping, I have even had some of my own thoughts come back to me in disguise, labeled "an old saying," just to keep me humble. But no matter where it comes from of who said it first, inscribed on a cane, written on a button or from the world's great literature, if it rings your bell write it down and use it.
Dana Bate - Vagabond Journeys
Never Give Up
******************************
wiser than oneself.
Marlene Dietrich
**********************
Hello Lily
**********************
Anyone who is a regular reader of my blog, Vagabond Journeys, knows that the short bottle cap version of my philosophy of life is :NEVER GIVE UP. One year in New York City when I was suffering from my hip and leg problem I bought a wooden cane to help me get around. I took it to a master carpenter and had him inscribe that three work phrase down the front of the cane. When I was sitting down where people could read it, on the bus or subway, I got a lot of interesting comments about it, most of them very positive.
At another time I wore a button I found someplace which read: REAL LIFE ISN'T LIKE THIS. That button generated more inane remarks than you can imagine. I still have it. Although the Yogi Berra style philosophy of the words is undeniable, I don't wear it any more.
I have 112 pages of quotations, gathered from my voracious reading, which I use as openers for my journal entries, such as the one from Marlene Dietrich above. Each one usually starts my head spinning right away with similar complementary thoughts, so I start writing and several paragraphs later I have a journal entry for your entertainment and mine.
The sad part is I can never say everything I want to say about any topic in one journal edition or it would be so long and cumbersome it would bore both of us and never get read. And so I also keep a paper journal, books filled with random, rambling thoughts about this and that. I've been writing those for years. Some of them have gotten lost, purple prose never to be read. Alas.
But Marlene is correct. If I come up with something I think is a good idea I can usually find some sage or wit who has expressed it better. And when I do I will use it, with proper credit of course, to generate my own thoughts. And I guess I have done some original thinking on my watch. I am the one who invented the saying, "They can steal my fish but they can't steal my ocean" and don't let anyone tell you differently. If you want a look at some of my orignals check out Vagabond Jottings
http://vagabondjottings.blogspot.com/
And speaking of fishnapping, I have even had some of my own thoughts come back to me in disguise, labeled "an old saying," just to keep me humble. But no matter where it comes from of who said it first, inscribed on a cane, written on a button or from the world's great literature, if it rings your bell write it down and use it.
Dana Bate - Vagabond Journeys
Never Give Up
******************************
Sunday, May 6, 2012
The Big Search
This is the 1,737th edition of Vagabond Journeys. You might think I'm making that up, but I'm not.
---------------------------------------
Nothing gives rest but the sincere search for truth.
Blaise Pascal
***************
Hello Jon
***************
I don't read philosophy to discover truth. I read it to discover the ideas of some great thinkers who are also looking for it. I don't know what Pascal finds so restful about it. My search generally puts me in a mental turmoil. The universe of ideas is full of unanswered questions and some of them are vital.
The is the "Merry Month of May" and I am very sad today, not just because it's gray and gloomy, but also because, as one recent commenter wrote: someone stole something from me more valuable than money, and also because there are too many unanswered questions.
Normally facing the ironies and ambiguities of life gives me a chuckle. I haven't chuckled or had a good laugh in many days, make that months. I look forward to some joy in my life. Sophocles writes that there will come a time when we will never know joy again. I summarily reject that idea with a swift and sturdy kick in the ass. I believe we need to eliminate those things that rob us of our joy, and if it has to be done with a scalpel, a bull dozer or a moving van so be it.
The search for truth should be a vigorous activity. It involves, observation, study, investigation and reason, both inductive and deductive, and it's not for the squeamish.
I've heard it said that if you could understand a great work of art, a Michelangelo statue or a Dostoyevski novel, so thoroughly that you knew it better than the artist did, the experience would lead you to truth, because you would be getting in touch with the universal spirit of inspiration.
Another way is to assume there is a total, universal truth and then start looking for ways in which it expresses itself.
Neither of those ways sound restful to me. But maybe there's a third way Pascal knows about, which can be done sitting in a recliner, on the front porch, at the beach. I must read on.
As for that something someone stole from me that's more valuable than money? Money can be replaced, and so can that something. Joy is another thing that deserves a sincere search. I believe it.
Remember, there is nothing that can stop, block, obstruct, delay, deflate or divert the blessing that is yours today.
DB - Vagabond Journeys
Never Give Up
*************************
---------------------------------------
Nothing gives rest but the sincere search for truth.
Blaise Pascal
***************
Hello Jon
***************
I don't read philosophy to discover truth. I read it to discover the ideas of some great thinkers who are also looking for it. I don't know what Pascal finds so restful about it. My search generally puts me in a mental turmoil. The universe of ideas is full of unanswered questions and some of them are vital.
The is the "Merry Month of May" and I am very sad today, not just because it's gray and gloomy, but also because, as one recent commenter wrote: someone stole something from me more valuable than money, and also because there are too many unanswered questions.
Normally facing the ironies and ambiguities of life gives me a chuckle. I haven't chuckled or had a good laugh in many days, make that months. I look forward to some joy in my life. Sophocles writes that there will come a time when we will never know joy again. I summarily reject that idea with a swift and sturdy kick in the ass. I believe we need to eliminate those things that rob us of our joy, and if it has to be done with a scalpel, a bull dozer or a moving van so be it.
The search for truth should be a vigorous activity. It involves, observation, study, investigation and reason, both inductive and deductive, and it's not for the squeamish.
I've heard it said that if you could understand a great work of art, a Michelangelo statue or a Dostoyevski novel, so thoroughly that you knew it better than the artist did, the experience would lead you to truth, because you would be getting in touch with the universal spirit of inspiration.
Another way is to assume there is a total, universal truth and then start looking for ways in which it expresses itself.
Neither of those ways sound restful to me. But maybe there's a third way Pascal knows about, which can be done sitting in a recliner, on the front porch, at the beach. I must read on.
As for that something someone stole from me that's more valuable than money? Money can be replaced, and so can that something. Joy is another thing that deserves a sincere search. I believe it.
Remember, there is nothing that can stop, block, obstruct, delay, deflate or divert the blessing that is yours today.
DB - Vagabond Journeys
Never Give Up
*************************
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Guest Author 9
Guest Author #9
I remember the hustle and bustle of dressing up in my finest before the mad dash to grab one of the last parking spots in the church for Midnight Mass. How early did people arrive to get a seat, I would wonder, as the clock just struck half past eleven. Still thirty more minutes before the service and the place was packed to the rafters.
Growing up Catholic in a predominantly French-speaking part of town (even though I was of Hungarian/Ukrainian background), meant that the Midnight Mass service was nearly two hours long, interspersed with Latin, French and English verses. I got by with my rudimentary French from high school and would mouth out the words slowly and deliberately to the hymns.
It would be so stuffy in the pews with the smell of alcohol and strong perfume, along with mothball scented fur coats way past their prime - that often left me nauseous and looking for a quick escape route, only to be brought back to my senses when it was time to kneel and pray for forgiveness. I always prayed that I wouldn't faint before I got up to accept the host and repent my sins.
After the long procession of yet more "Hallelujahs", everyone would forget whether they were supposed to stand or kneel or make the sign of the cross, that I would give a scowl or two to those that appeared to make a mockery of one of the most sacred nights of the year. This was the event that I had waited for, the booming voices of the well-tuned choir belting out "Silent Night, Holy Night" and someone off key always shouting louder than the choir.
I remember the hairs on my arms standing straight up when an Angelic voice would ring out in time with the chimes rung by the alter boys. Everyone would go silent to let the Priest dismiss the congregation and I could almost feel the spirit of a higher power brushing by each and every one of us. "Merry Christmas", "Peace be with you" we would shout in unison to all as we squeezed into our lines to depart. The parking lot was a chaotic mess of tangled red and gold lights blinking in turn as we snaked our way to the road. The neighbouring streets were alive with lights that shone brighter than before, and I would always gaze into the sky looking for that one special guiding star to lead me home.
Once home, it was time to put the last minute presents underneath the tree. I would stay up longer than anyone else just to soak in the silence of Christmas Eve. "Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house, not a creature was stirring..." would play in my head.
This year, I cannot bring myself to go to church. If I do, I would cry my eyes out at the thought that my Dad is no longer with us, and my almost 90 year old Mom is too frail to stay up that late. I know she misses the excitement I often felt, and also - my Dad. I will watch Midnight Mass services on the television, gaze at the golden stars that have often guided my faith and fill the stockings with trinkets for my daughters and husband.
Christmas morning I will wake up early and pour myself a cup of coffee to sit in solitude, and watch the birds feast on the food that I have hung up for them. And I will ask them, "where are you Christmas?" and wait for a reply.
Always, Rose~*
*************************
*************************
Look here.
This is an invitation for anyone and everyone to post a entry of their own on my journal, Vagabond Journeys http://vagabondjourneys.blogspot.com/.
The end of the year holidays are soon upon us and since it is a time for celebrations, remembrances, resolutions and plans for the future I know that people have a lot to say.
Not to take away from the postings on your journals, but to add to the joy of my own celebrations is why I invite you to write for mine.
I want to read what your thoughts are about this magical time of the year. This invitation is open to everyone: Christians, Jews, Muslims, Buddhists, Pagans, Agnostics, Atheists and the Uncertain.
Tell me your thoughts on Chanukah, Christmas, Ashura, Kwanzaa, the Winter Solstice, New Years Eve. or any subject you wish or associate with this holiday season.
There are no limits in regard to length. The only limitation is that, for reasons so far unexplained to me, my blog does not take photographs, animations, videos or pictures of any kind. I deal in words.
Please accept my invitation. Send your entry to my email address dbdacoba@aol.com I will copy and paste it into my journal and it will be displayed promptly. You may sign your name or not as you wish, and you may leave a link to your blog or your email or not, as you wish. I will do NO editing or censoring. Eloquence is not necessary, mind or heart or both is all.
I have 9 Guest Authors so far. Check them out. Can i hear from Africa, Asia, Europe, Latin America? All are welcome. Admission is free.
DB
***************************
I remember the hustle and bustle of dressing up in my finest before the mad dash to grab one of the last parking spots in the church for Midnight Mass. How early did people arrive to get a seat, I would wonder, as the clock just struck half past eleven. Still thirty more minutes before the service and the place was packed to the rafters.
Growing up Catholic in a predominantly French-speaking part of town (even though I was of Hungarian/Ukrainian background), meant that the Midnight Mass service was nearly two hours long, interspersed with Latin, French and English verses. I got by with my rudimentary French from high school and would mouth out the words slowly and deliberately to the hymns.
It would be so stuffy in the pews with the smell of alcohol and strong perfume, along with mothball scented fur coats way past their prime - that often left me nauseous and looking for a quick escape route, only to be brought back to my senses when it was time to kneel and pray for forgiveness. I always prayed that I wouldn't faint before I got up to accept the host and repent my sins.
After the long procession of yet more "Hallelujahs", everyone would forget whether they were supposed to stand or kneel or make the sign of the cross, that I would give a scowl or two to those that appeared to make a mockery of one of the most sacred nights of the year. This was the event that I had waited for, the booming voices of the well-tuned choir belting out "Silent Night, Holy Night" and someone off key always shouting louder than the choir.
I remember the hairs on my arms standing straight up when an Angelic voice would ring out in time with the chimes rung by the alter boys. Everyone would go silent to let the Priest dismiss the congregation and I could almost feel the spirit of a higher power brushing by each and every one of us. "Merry Christmas", "Peace be with you" we would shout in unison to all as we squeezed into our lines to depart. The parking lot was a chaotic mess of tangled red and gold lights blinking in turn as we snaked our way to the road. The neighbouring streets were alive with lights that shone brighter than before, and I would always gaze into the sky looking for that one special guiding star to lead me home.
Once home, it was time to put the last minute presents underneath the tree. I would stay up longer than anyone else just to soak in the silence of Christmas Eve. "Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house, not a creature was stirring..." would play in my head.
This year, I cannot bring myself to go to church. If I do, I would cry my eyes out at the thought that my Dad is no longer with us, and my almost 90 year old Mom is too frail to stay up that late. I know she misses the excitement I often felt, and also - my Dad. I will watch Midnight Mass services on the television, gaze at the golden stars that have often guided my faith and fill the stockings with trinkets for my daughters and husband.
Christmas morning I will wake up early and pour myself a cup of coffee to sit in solitude, and watch the birds feast on the food that I have hung up for them. And I will ask them, "where are you Christmas?" and wait for a reply.
Always, Rose~*
*************************
*************************
Look here.
This is an invitation for anyone and everyone to post a entry of their own on my journal, Vagabond Journeys http://vagabondjourneys.blogspot.com/.
The end of the year holidays are soon upon us and since it is a time for celebrations, remembrances, resolutions and plans for the future I know that people have a lot to say.
Not to take away from the postings on your journals, but to add to the joy of my own celebrations is why I invite you to write for mine.
I want to read what your thoughts are about this magical time of the year. This invitation is open to everyone: Christians, Jews, Muslims, Buddhists, Pagans, Agnostics, Atheists and the Uncertain.
Tell me your thoughts on Chanukah, Christmas, Ashura, Kwanzaa, the Winter Solstice, New Years Eve. or any subject you wish or associate with this holiday season.
There are no limits in regard to length. The only limitation is that, for reasons so far unexplained to me, my blog does not take photographs, animations, videos or pictures of any kind. I deal in words.
Please accept my invitation. Send your entry to my email address dbdacoba@aol.com I will copy and paste it into my journal and it will be displayed promptly. You may sign your name or not as you wish, and you may leave a link to your blog or your email or not, as you wish. I will do NO editing or censoring. Eloquence is not necessary, mind or heart or both is all.
I have 9 Guest Authors so far. Check them out. Can i hear from Africa, Asia, Europe, Latin America? All are welcome. Admission is free.
DB
***************************
Saturday, December 17, 2011
Guest Author 7
Guest Author #7
Christmas was always a special time as I was growing up. My first recollection of Christmas was probably in 1945 or 1946 after my dad came home from WWII. The old photo albums show pictures of decorated trees and a young me, sitting on the floor in front of the tree with my Christmas gifts.
When I was 10 years old we moved to a smaller house while a new house was being built on the front of that acreage. There was only room for a small tree, standing on a card table in the corner of the living room. But the decorations were lovely and as always the tree was loaded with lots of silver tinsel. My mom loved tinsel and she wanted it hung on the tree one piece at a time. I remember when I was a teenager, she gave over the tinsel hanging project over to me and my younger brother. We opened the packages and hysterically threw handfuls of the stuff at the tree. Mom was not pleased.
At this point in my life my grandmother and great grandfather were also living on the same property. So of course they were always part of Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Frequently my aunt, uncle and cousins would travel across the mountain pass to spend the day with us.
My grandmother and my dad both worked for the railroad. Grandma worked the graveyard shift, and my dad worked the afternoon shift. I remember he always had Wednesday and Thursday off so unless Christmas fell on one of those days, he had to leave for work at 3:30 in the afternoon. Mom always figured a way to have Christmas dinner or Christmas brunch around grandma sleeping and dad leaving for work.
My great grandfather passed away the first week of December 1958. He had all his Christmas gifts wrapped and ready. My gift from him that year was a decorative tin filled with pennies. I still have the gift tag he had taped to that tin.
Besides all the wonderful, happy family memories I also remember the memories of Sunday school Christmas programs. At one point in my life I was the tallest and had to stand in the back row behind everyone-I didn't like that very much. But I'm thankful that I learned at an early age the reason we celebrated Christmas. I knew that Jesus was not actually born on December 25th but that's the day that was chosen many, many years ago to celebrate his birth. I remember hearing the story of his birth over and over, read from the Bible. I still read it every year at this time. I can't remember when I didn't know the words to 'Away In A Manger' and 'Silent Night'. And when I became a mother, I sang 'Away In A Manger' as a lullaby to my children.
For me and my entire family.....Christmas is a time to be with family and friends but also a time to stop and remember that precious babe born in a stable all those many years ago.
*********************************
*********************************
This is an invitation for anyone and everyone to post a entry of their own on my journal, Vagabond Journeys http://vagabondjourneys.blogspot.com/.
The end of the year holidays are soon upon us and since it is a time for celebrations, remembrances, resolutions and plans for the future I know that people have a lot to say.
Not to take away from the postings on your journals, but to add to the joy of my own celebrations is why I invite you to write for mine.
I want to read what your thoughts are about this magical time of the year. This invitation is open to everyone: Christians, Jews, Muslims, Buddhists, Pagans, Agnostics, Atheists and the Uncertain.
Tell me your thoughts on Chanukah, Christmas, Ashura, Kwanzaa, the Winter Solstice, New Years Eve. or any subject you wish or associate with this holiday season.
There are no limits in regard to length. The only limitation is that, for reasons so far unexplained to me, my blog does not take photographs, animations, videos or pictures of any kind. I deal in words.
Please accept my invitation. Send your entry to my email address dbdacoba@aol.com I will copy and paste it into my journal and it will be displayed promptly. You may sign your name or not as you wish, and you may leave a link to your blog or your email or not, as you wish. I will do NO editing or censoring. Eloquence is not necessary, mind or heart or both is all.
All are welcome. Admission is free.
DB
***************************
Christmas was always a special time as I was growing up. My first recollection of Christmas was probably in 1945 or 1946 after my dad came home from WWII. The old photo albums show pictures of decorated trees and a young me, sitting on the floor in front of the tree with my Christmas gifts.
When I was 10 years old we moved to a smaller house while a new house was being built on the front of that acreage. There was only room for a small tree, standing on a card table in the corner of the living room. But the decorations were lovely and as always the tree was loaded with lots of silver tinsel. My mom loved tinsel and she wanted it hung on the tree one piece at a time. I remember when I was a teenager, she gave over the tinsel hanging project over to me and my younger brother. We opened the packages and hysterically threw handfuls of the stuff at the tree. Mom was not pleased.
At this point in my life my grandmother and great grandfather were also living on the same property. So of course they were always part of Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Frequently my aunt, uncle and cousins would travel across the mountain pass to spend the day with us.
My grandmother and my dad both worked for the railroad. Grandma worked the graveyard shift, and my dad worked the afternoon shift. I remember he always had Wednesday and Thursday off so unless Christmas fell on one of those days, he had to leave for work at 3:30 in the afternoon. Mom always figured a way to have Christmas dinner or Christmas brunch around grandma sleeping and dad leaving for work.
My great grandfather passed away the first week of December 1958. He had all his Christmas gifts wrapped and ready. My gift from him that year was a decorative tin filled with pennies. I still have the gift tag he had taped to that tin.
Besides all the wonderful, happy family memories I also remember the memories of Sunday school Christmas programs. At one point in my life I was the tallest and had to stand in the back row behind everyone-I didn't like that very much. But I'm thankful that I learned at an early age the reason we celebrated Christmas. I knew that Jesus was not actually born on December 25th but that's the day that was chosen many, many years ago to celebrate his birth. I remember hearing the story of his birth over and over, read from the Bible. I still read it every year at this time. I can't remember when I didn't know the words to 'Away In A Manger' and 'Silent Night'. And when I became a mother, I sang 'Away In A Manger' as a lullaby to my children.
For me and my entire family.....Christmas is a time to be with family and friends but also a time to stop and remember that precious babe born in a stable all those many years ago.
*********************************
*********************************
This is an invitation for anyone and everyone to post a entry of their own on my journal, Vagabond Journeys http://vagabondjourneys.blogspot.com/.
The end of the year holidays are soon upon us and since it is a time for celebrations, remembrances, resolutions and plans for the future I know that people have a lot to say.
Not to take away from the postings on your journals, but to add to the joy of my own celebrations is why I invite you to write for mine.
I want to read what your thoughts are about this magical time of the year. This invitation is open to everyone: Christians, Jews, Muslims, Buddhists, Pagans, Agnostics, Atheists and the Uncertain.
Tell me your thoughts on Chanukah, Christmas, Ashura, Kwanzaa, the Winter Solstice, New Years Eve. or any subject you wish or associate with this holiday season.
There are no limits in regard to length. The only limitation is that, for reasons so far unexplained to me, my blog does not take photographs, animations, videos or pictures of any kind. I deal in words.
Please accept my invitation. Send your entry to my email address dbdacoba@aol.com I will copy and paste it into my journal and it will be displayed promptly. You may sign your name or not as you wish, and you may leave a link to your blog or your email or not, as you wish. I will do NO editing or censoring. Eloquence is not necessary, mind or heart or both is all.
All are welcome. Admission is free.
DB
***************************
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Guest Author 6
Guest Author #6
10 tips
Requested by a woman at the women's way conference. After asking me if I was a writer, she gave me a project in which she asked me to write down 10 things I would give as advice to someone going into 2012 homeless, as she works in advocacy with a variety of populations. I think it can apply to everyone.
1. YOU have value. Whether you know it or not - someone needs you and needs what you have to say and share.
2- Do not be afraid. It's hard but it will be ok
2- Smile - others need that and it will get you out of your head and affect another's life.
3- Listen just enough. Share what you must. Sift through the rest.
4- Sometimes things aren't fair or just. Sift, process and move through them. If you can - try to just be. Ck out 4a. .
4a. If it's not right, fair or just - you should probably try to enact that point.
5. Should be #1 - believe, because you can. Have faith.
6. Realize the value of your contributions. Just a smile goes a thousand miles.
7. Listen enough - but not too much. Trust your instincts.
8. You owe nothing to noone but yourself and your creator. Interpret that in your own way - you know.
9. Faith does move impertrenable mountains.
10. (borrowed) Don't think - just do it.
CM
--------------------------------------------
--------------------------------------------
This is an invitation for anyone and everyone to post a entry of their own on my journal, Vagabond Journeys http://vagabondjourneys.blogspot.com/.
The end of the year holidays are soon upon us and since it is a time for celebrations, remembrances, resolutions and plans for the future I know that people have a lot to say.
Not to take away from the postings on your journals, but to add to the joy of my own celebrations is why I invite you to write for mine.
I want to read what your thoughts are about this magical time of the year. This invitation is open to everyone: Christians, Jews, Muslims, Buddhists, Pagans, Agnostics, Atheists and the Uncertain.
Tell me your thoughts on Chanukah, Christmas, Ashura, Kwanzaa, the Winter Solstice, New Years Eve. or any subject you wish or associate with this holiday season.
There are no limits in regard to length. The only limitation is that, for reasons so far unexplained to me, my blog does not take photographs, animations, videos or pictures of any kind. I deal in words.
Please accept my invitation. Send your entry to my email address dbdacoba@aol.com I will copy and paste it into my journal and it will be displayed promptly. You may sign your name or not as you wish, and you may leave a link to your blog or your email or not, as you wish. I will do NO editing or censoring. Eloquence is not necessary, mind or heart or both is all.
All are welcome. Admission is free.
DB
***************************
10 tips
Requested by a woman at the women's way conference. After asking me if I was a writer, she gave me a project in which she asked me to write down 10 things I would give as advice to someone going into 2012 homeless, as she works in advocacy with a variety of populations. I think it can apply to everyone.
1. YOU have value. Whether you know it or not - someone needs you and needs what you have to say and share.
2- Do not be afraid. It's hard but it will be ok
2- Smile - others need that and it will get you out of your head and affect another's life.
3- Listen just enough. Share what you must. Sift through the rest.
4- Sometimes things aren't fair or just. Sift, process and move through them. If you can - try to just be. Ck out 4a. .
4a. If it's not right, fair or just - you should probably try to enact that point.
5. Should be #1 - believe, because you can. Have faith.
6. Realize the value of your contributions. Just a smile goes a thousand miles.
7. Listen enough - but not too much. Trust your instincts.
8. You owe nothing to noone but yourself and your creator. Interpret that in your own way - you know.
9. Faith does move impertrenable mountains.
10. (borrowed) Don't think - just do it.
CM
--------------------------------------------
--------------------------------------------
This is an invitation for anyone and everyone to post a entry of their own on my journal, Vagabond Journeys http://vagabondjourneys.blogspot.com/.
The end of the year holidays are soon upon us and since it is a time for celebrations, remembrances, resolutions and plans for the future I know that people have a lot to say.
Not to take away from the postings on your journals, but to add to the joy of my own celebrations is why I invite you to write for mine.
I want to read what your thoughts are about this magical time of the year. This invitation is open to everyone: Christians, Jews, Muslims, Buddhists, Pagans, Agnostics, Atheists and the Uncertain.
Tell me your thoughts on Chanukah, Christmas, Ashura, Kwanzaa, the Winter Solstice, New Years Eve. or any subject you wish or associate with this holiday season.
There are no limits in regard to length. The only limitation is that, for reasons so far unexplained to me, my blog does not take photographs, animations, videos or pictures of any kind. I deal in words.
Please accept my invitation. Send your entry to my email address dbdacoba@aol.com I will copy and paste it into my journal and it will be displayed promptly. You may sign your name or not as you wish, and you may leave a link to your blog or your email or not, as you wish. I will do NO editing or censoring. Eloquence is not necessary, mind or heart or both is all.
All are welcome. Admission is free.
DB
***************************
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Guest Author 5
Guest Author #5
I've always wanted to write a blog, but somehow life always got (and continues to get) in the way. I "dabble" in poetry and some personal diary stuff, but mostly I keep my inner-most thoughts to myself (and my therapist of course). For me, life has been a roller coaster ride - I've been up, down and even sideways at times. Several years ago I was fortunate enough to get to know someone very special, and unfortunate enough to lose him to cancer. I wrote a little story about the relationship which I'd like to share here. It is called "Unhappily Ever After."
Once upon a time, in the vast reaches of cyberspace, two people reached out and found each other in a place both assured the other they had never visited - a chat room. They hit it off from the first word and became great e-mail friends. Both were married, neither wanting to cause any hurt to anyone, but both were missing something in their lives. They talked about everything - life, work, children, feelings, desires, hopes, dreams - anything that came to mind. The extraordinary distance between them (she in USA - he in Sydney, Australia) didn’t make a difference in the feelings they were beginning to have for each other. After a while, they shared personal information and real names, phone numbers, etc. were revealed. With the time difference, he was arriving at his office as she was ending her day - but nevertheless, he called her every day when he arrived at work, just to hear her voice and inquire about her day. They wrote letters, sent cards, photographs and an ongoing barrage of e-mails. They chatted often online - her just awake in the early morning hours of her time - him, tired and sleepy in the late night hours of his time. And their friendship began to grow into something stronger. In his job, he traveled a great deal all over the world. Finally, he had cause to come to the USA on business. They talked about it, planned for it and arranged to meet after his business was finished. She arranged a five day “business” trip and the plan was set. She was so nervous and anxious about this meeting and didn’t know quite how she would react. She was to pick him up at the airport when he flew in from New York and was there waiting with anticipation. When he came through the gate and looked at her with those incredible blue eyes and smiled - all nervousness disappeared and she instantly went into his arms. They spent five glorious days totally wrapped up in each other - talking, making love and laughing together - he laughing at her southern accent, she laughing at his British/Aussie accent. It was as if they had known each other forever. Over the next three years he made several more visits to be with her - and the relationship was perfect. While both felt guilty about the affair, they both knew that they had found something truly special. On his last visit he told her he had not been feeling very well and was going to have some medical tests when he returned home. They talked at length about both making major changes in their lives and turning their worlds upside down to be together forever. Both promised to give it very serious thought, although in their heart, both knew it would never happen. He returned home, underwent testing and his doctor began treating him for what he thought was the problem - inflammation of the spine, problems with his back, etc. After several months of treatment, he was no better so specialized testing was ordered (finally!!). On a dreary day in October he sent her an e-mail to say he had a “large dose of cancer in his pancreas,” it had spread to his liver and was inoperable…. and she cried - alone - as she had told no one of the affair. A few days later he called her and they both cried. He was to begin chemo immediately, and it was decided that it was time he take someone into his confidence about the affair, someone who would keep her informed if he ever became too ill to contact her. So he told his long-time friend about her and how important she was to him. And the battle against the cancer began. He began the chemo and through all the sickness from it, he tried to continue to work part-time just to keep some form of normality in his life. He called and e-mailed when he was up to it, but he was continuing to grow weaker. She prayed, sent him “love and strength vibes” to help him get through it - he told her he would think about her and feel her in his arms to help take his mind off the terrible pain. She took long walks - found a nature trail she loved - a place of solitude to be alone, to cry and to think about this man she loved so dearly - as she had no one she could talk to about him. By March the doctors had told him that the chemo was not working and the tumor was continuing to grow. They gave him only weeks to live. He called her, they talked a long time, neither knowing that it would be the last time they would speak. A few days later he sent what would be his last e-mail, telling her of his love for her, asking her to always smell the roses and think of him and letting her know he would be in touch again soon - either personally or through his friend. By the following week he was bedridden and very ill. His friend visited him often and then called her with reports of his condition and she would send her love. Finally, in late May, the friend called her to say her beloved had died at 1:00 a.m. that morning - she was devastated, couldn’t control her tears. She made excuses at her work of feeling sick and left for the day - to go to her place of solitude and weep. For she knew, that although she was dying inside, she had to maintain a normal appearance at her job and at home. The friend called her every day for the next few days just to make sure she was o.k. - she said she was fine, that she was glad his pain had ended, and she would always love him. She had to find her own way of grieving and dealing with her pain that was eating away at her - as she thought about it, she thought of their “roses” conversations and how appropriate that would be - so she began to always keep fresh roses on her desk, to remind her of him and to remind her to keep her promise to make time in her life to “smell the roses” and make time for herself. They sit next to a little sign she made that says “Don’t cry because it is over. Smile because it happened.” She closes her eyes, remembers his smile and is comforted by its warmth. The friend still calls her from time to time - he promised he would always do that - just to inquire about how she is doing and to see if she needs anything - and she is thankful for this. She has moved on with her life now, but this man she loved is always a part of her, in her heart and often on her mind. She knows how very lucky she was - to have found that one true soulmate in her life and to have loved him so dearly, if only a little while………………and she lived unhappily ever after.
***************************************************
***************************************************
Look here.
This is an invitation for anyone and everyone to post a entry of their own on my journal, Vagabond Journeys http://vagabondjourneys.blogspot.com/.
The end of the year holidays are soon upon us and since it is a time for celebrations, remembrances, resolutions and plans for the future I know that people have a lot to say.
Not to take away from the postings on your journals, but to add to the joy of my own celebrations is why I invite you to write for mine.
I want to read what your thoughts are about this magical time of the year. This invitation is open to everyone: Christians, Jews, Muslims, Buddhists, Pagans, Agnostics, Atheists and the Uncertain.
Tell me your thoughts on Chanukah, Christmas, Ashura, Kwanzaa, the Winter Solstice, New Years Eve. or any subject you associate with this holiday season.
There are no limits in regard to length. The only limitation is that, for reasons so far unexplained to me, my blog does not take photographs, animations, videos or pictures of any kind. I deal in words.
Please accept my invitation. Send your entry to my email address dbdacoba@aol.com I will copy and paste it into my journal and it will be displayed promptly. You may sign your name or not as you wish, and you may leave a link to your blog or your email or not, as you wish. I will do NO editing or censoring. Eloquence is not necessary, mind or heart or both is all.
All are welcome. Admission is free.
DB
***************************
I've always wanted to write a blog, but somehow life always got (and continues to get) in the way. I "dabble" in poetry and some personal diary stuff, but mostly I keep my inner-most thoughts to myself (and my therapist of course). For me, life has been a roller coaster ride - I've been up, down and even sideways at times. Several years ago I was fortunate enough to get to know someone very special, and unfortunate enough to lose him to cancer. I wrote a little story about the relationship which I'd like to share here. It is called "Unhappily Ever After."
Once upon a time, in the vast reaches of cyberspace, two people reached out and found each other in a place both assured the other they had never visited - a chat room. They hit it off from the first word and became great e-mail friends. Both were married, neither wanting to cause any hurt to anyone, but both were missing something in their lives. They talked about everything - life, work, children, feelings, desires, hopes, dreams - anything that came to mind. The extraordinary distance between them (she in USA - he in Sydney, Australia) didn’t make a difference in the feelings they were beginning to have for each other. After a while, they shared personal information and real names, phone numbers, etc. were revealed. With the time difference, he was arriving at his office as she was ending her day - but nevertheless, he called her every day when he arrived at work, just to hear her voice and inquire about her day. They wrote letters, sent cards, photographs and an ongoing barrage of e-mails. They chatted often online - her just awake in the early morning hours of her time - him, tired and sleepy in the late night hours of his time. And their friendship began to grow into something stronger. In his job, he traveled a great deal all over the world. Finally, he had cause to come to the USA on business. They talked about it, planned for it and arranged to meet after his business was finished. She arranged a five day “business” trip and the plan was set. She was so nervous and anxious about this meeting and didn’t know quite how she would react. She was to pick him up at the airport when he flew in from New York and was there waiting with anticipation. When he came through the gate and looked at her with those incredible blue eyes and smiled - all nervousness disappeared and she instantly went into his arms. They spent five glorious days totally wrapped up in each other - talking, making love and laughing together - he laughing at her southern accent, she laughing at his British/Aussie accent. It was as if they had known each other forever. Over the next three years he made several more visits to be with her - and the relationship was perfect. While both felt guilty about the affair, they both knew that they had found something truly special. On his last visit he told her he had not been feeling very well and was going to have some medical tests when he returned home. They talked at length about both making major changes in their lives and turning their worlds upside down to be together forever. Both promised to give it very serious thought, although in their heart, both knew it would never happen. He returned home, underwent testing and his doctor began treating him for what he thought was the problem - inflammation of the spine, problems with his back, etc. After several months of treatment, he was no better so specialized testing was ordered (finally!!). On a dreary day in October he sent her an e-mail to say he had a “large dose of cancer in his pancreas,” it had spread to his liver and was inoperable…. and she cried - alone - as she had told no one of the affair. A few days later he called her and they both cried. He was to begin chemo immediately, and it was decided that it was time he take someone into his confidence about the affair, someone who would keep her informed if he ever became too ill to contact her. So he told his long-time friend about her and how important she was to him. And the battle against the cancer began. He began the chemo and through all the sickness from it, he tried to continue to work part-time just to keep some form of normality in his life. He called and e-mailed when he was up to it, but he was continuing to grow weaker. She prayed, sent him “love and strength vibes” to help him get through it - he told her he would think about her and feel her in his arms to help take his mind off the terrible pain. She took long walks - found a nature trail she loved - a place of solitude to be alone, to cry and to think about this man she loved so dearly - as she had no one she could talk to about him. By March the doctors had told him that the chemo was not working and the tumor was continuing to grow. They gave him only weeks to live. He called her, they talked a long time, neither knowing that it would be the last time they would speak. A few days later he sent what would be his last e-mail, telling her of his love for her, asking her to always smell the roses and think of him and letting her know he would be in touch again soon - either personally or through his friend. By the following week he was bedridden and very ill. His friend visited him often and then called her with reports of his condition and she would send her love. Finally, in late May, the friend called her to say her beloved had died at 1:00 a.m. that morning - she was devastated, couldn’t control her tears. She made excuses at her work of feeling sick and left for the day - to go to her place of solitude and weep. For she knew, that although she was dying inside, she had to maintain a normal appearance at her job and at home. The friend called her every day for the next few days just to make sure she was o.k. - she said she was fine, that she was glad his pain had ended, and she would always love him. She had to find her own way of grieving and dealing with her pain that was eating away at her - as she thought about it, she thought of their “roses” conversations and how appropriate that would be - so she began to always keep fresh roses on her desk, to remind her of him and to remind her to keep her promise to make time in her life to “smell the roses” and make time for herself. They sit next to a little sign she made that says “Don’t cry because it is over. Smile because it happened.” She closes her eyes, remembers his smile and is comforted by its warmth. The friend still calls her from time to time - he promised he would always do that - just to inquire about how she is doing and to see if she needs anything - and she is thankful for this. She has moved on with her life now, but this man she loved is always a part of her, in her heart and often on her mind. She knows how very lucky she was - to have found that one true soulmate in her life and to have loved him so dearly, if only a little while………………and she lived unhappily ever after.
***************************************************
***************************************************
Look here.
This is an invitation for anyone and everyone to post a entry of their own on my journal, Vagabond Journeys http://vagabondjourneys.blogspot.com/.
The end of the year holidays are soon upon us and since it is a time for celebrations, remembrances, resolutions and plans for the future I know that people have a lot to say.
Not to take away from the postings on your journals, but to add to the joy of my own celebrations is why I invite you to write for mine.
I want to read what your thoughts are about this magical time of the year. This invitation is open to everyone: Christians, Jews, Muslims, Buddhists, Pagans, Agnostics, Atheists and the Uncertain.
Tell me your thoughts on Chanukah, Christmas, Ashura, Kwanzaa, the Winter Solstice, New Years Eve. or any subject you associate with this holiday season.
There are no limits in regard to length. The only limitation is that, for reasons so far unexplained to me, my blog does not take photographs, animations, videos or pictures of any kind. I deal in words.
Please accept my invitation. Send your entry to my email address dbdacoba@aol.com I will copy and paste it into my journal and it will be displayed promptly. You may sign your name or not as you wish, and you may leave a link to your blog or your email or not, as you wish. I will do NO editing or censoring. Eloquence is not necessary, mind or heart or both is all.
All are welcome. Admission is free.
DB
***************************
Monday, December 12, 2011
Guest Author 3
Guest Author #3
At this late stage of my life, between 50 and death (stolen from Vera in "Auntie Mame") I am still searching for my purpose. I know what I love: children, family, performing, baking,and doing what I can to ease some fellow creature's pain. I believe we are all connected and we are here for each other. I am not a fan of the Republican Party as it shows itself to be without compassion for those without resources. I could ramble on and on about the injustices in the world but then I begin to bore myself.
Thank you, Dana. I do enjoy reading your essays.
***********************************
***********************************
Look here.
This is an invitation for anyone and everyone to post a entry of their own on my journal, Vagabond Journeys http://vagabondjourneys.blogspot.com/.
The end of the year holidays are soon upon us and since it is a time for celebrations, remembrances, resolutions and plans for the future I know that people have a lot to say.
Not to take away from the postings on your journals, but to add to the joy of my own celebrations is why I invite you to write for mine.
I want to read what your thoughts are about this magical time of the year. This invitation is open to everyone: Christians, Jews, Muslims, Buddhists, Pagans, Agnostics, Atheists and the Uncertain.
Tell me your thoughts on Chanukah, Christmas, Ashura, Kwanzaa, the Winter Solstice, New Years Eve. or any subject you associate with this holiday season.
There are no limits in regard to length. The only limitation is that, for reasons so far unexplained to me, my blog does not take photographs, animations, videos or pictures of any kind. I deal in words.
Please accept my invitation. Send your entry to my email address dbdacoba@aol.com I will copy and paste it into my journal and it will be displayed promptly. You may sign your name or not as you wish, and you may leave a link to your blog or your email or not, as you wish. I will do NO editing or censoring. Eloquence is not necessary, mind or heart or both is all.
All are welcome. Admission is free.
DB
***************************
At this late stage of my life, between 50 and death (stolen from Vera in "Auntie Mame") I am still searching for my purpose. I know what I love: children, family, performing, baking,and doing what I can to ease some fellow creature's pain. I believe we are all connected and we are here for each other. I am not a fan of the Republican Party as it shows itself to be without compassion for those without resources. I could ramble on and on about the injustices in the world but then I begin to bore myself.
Thank you, Dana. I do enjoy reading your essays.
***********************************
***********************************
Look here.
This is an invitation for anyone and everyone to post a entry of their own on my journal, Vagabond Journeys http://vagabondjourneys.blogspot.com/.
The end of the year holidays are soon upon us and since it is a time for celebrations, remembrances, resolutions and plans for the future I know that people have a lot to say.
Not to take away from the postings on your journals, but to add to the joy of my own celebrations is why I invite you to write for mine.
I want to read what your thoughts are about this magical time of the year. This invitation is open to everyone: Christians, Jews, Muslims, Buddhists, Pagans, Agnostics, Atheists and the Uncertain.
Tell me your thoughts on Chanukah, Christmas, Ashura, Kwanzaa, the Winter Solstice, New Years Eve. or any subject you associate with this holiday season.
There are no limits in regard to length. The only limitation is that, for reasons so far unexplained to me, my blog does not take photographs, animations, videos or pictures of any kind. I deal in words.
Please accept my invitation. Send your entry to my email address dbdacoba@aol.com I will copy and paste it into my journal and it will be displayed promptly. You may sign your name or not as you wish, and you may leave a link to your blog or your email or not, as you wish. I will do NO editing or censoring. Eloquence is not necessary, mind or heart or both is all.
All are welcome. Admission is free.
DB
***************************
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Guests
HEAR YE, HEAR YE
************************************
This is an invitation for anyone and everyone to post a entry of their own on my journal, Vagabond Journeys.
The end of the year holidays are soon upon us and since it is a time for celebrations, remembrances, resolutions and plans for the future I know that people have a lot to say.
Not to take away from the postings on your own journals, but to add to the joy of my own celebrations is why I invite you to write for mine.
I want to read what your thoughts are about this magical time of the year. This invitation is open to everyone: Christians, Jews, Muslims, Buddhists, Agnostics, Atheists and the Uncertain.
Tell me your thoughts on Chanukah, Christmas, Ashura, Kwanzaa, the Winter Solstice, New Years Eve. or any subject associated with this holiday season.
There are no limits in regard to length. The only limitation is that, for reasons so far unexplained to me, my blog does not take photographs, animations, videos or pictures of any kind. I deal in words.
Please accept my invitation. Send your entry to my email address dbdacoba@aol.com I will copy and paste it into my journal and it will be displayed promptly. You may sign your name or not as you wish, and you may leave a link to your blog or your email or not, as you wish. I will do no editing or censoring.
All are welcome. Admission is free.
Dana Bate - Vagabond Journeys
(Never give up)
***************************
************************************
This is an invitation for anyone and everyone to post a entry of their own on my journal, Vagabond Journeys.
The end of the year holidays are soon upon us and since it is a time for celebrations, remembrances, resolutions and plans for the future I know that people have a lot to say.
Not to take away from the postings on your own journals, but to add to the joy of my own celebrations is why I invite you to write for mine.
I want to read what your thoughts are about this magical time of the year. This invitation is open to everyone: Christians, Jews, Muslims, Buddhists, Agnostics, Atheists and the Uncertain.
Tell me your thoughts on Chanukah, Christmas, Ashura, Kwanzaa, the Winter Solstice, New Years Eve. or any subject associated with this holiday season.
There are no limits in regard to length. The only limitation is that, for reasons so far unexplained to me, my blog does not take photographs, animations, videos or pictures of any kind. I deal in words.
Please accept my invitation. Send your entry to my email address dbdacoba@aol.com I will copy and paste it into my journal and it will be displayed promptly. You may sign your name or not as you wish, and you may leave a link to your blog or your email or not, as you wish. I will do no editing or censoring.
All are welcome. Admission is free.
Dana Bate - Vagabond Journeys
(Never give up)
***************************
Friday, August 5, 2011
Sing For Your Seeds
A bird doesn't sing because it has an answer, it sings because it has a song.
Maya Angelou
******************
One of these days I wouldn't be surprised to get a comment from some unknown reader saying "Who asked you?"
Come on, you guys, I want to hear "tweet, tweet, chirp, chirp."
I don't really consider Vagabond Journeys as a journal of opinion, although I seem to express my opinions about one thing or another at the click of a keyboard button.
I ran out of bird seed on the weekend and as a result the finches and their companions weren't talking to me. So I went to Walmart and bought three big bags of seeds, and filled their feeder. Now I'm waiting to hear at least one tweet of gratitude. So far, nothing.
I stated writing the journal in 2006, full time since 2008 and during that time I've expressed a lot of opinions I suppose. But I also write about observations I've made, humor, stories of my life as an entertainer and bits and pieces of information having questionable value.
I even put up a container of jolly peanut based suet. The birds are showing their appreciation by putting 200 yards between themselves and my porch.
I write because I want to, and because I have to. I write every day. I write short grippingly interesting and angelically inspiring essays like this one. I hope I put seeds of thought in people's minds and lives.
Big man, big man, have you any gruel?
Yes sir, yes ma'am, three bags full.
They always scurry away when they see me. Even though I'm the one who fills their feeder, I'm just too big for them to contend with.
I am almost never asked for advice. In the few times I am I hope that the advice I give and the opinions I express are worth something to those in need, even if, as in some cases, I never hear from them again.
One of them got caught inside my apartment trying to get out through a closed window. I picked him up in one hand and carried him to the door. He was so grateful to me for saving him that without a chirp he took off like a shot to parts unknown.
As I have said before, I don't know many answers, but I know a lot of questions, and it's those questions that keep me curious and keep me writing. I have a few readers and get even fewer comments.
Some one will say not to worry the birds will return. Of course they will because they need to gorge themselves on my sunflower seeds and wild bird mix. They can't resist my cuisine for long. And I will be happy to see them. And hear them.
And don't write because I have answers, I write because I have a song.
DB - The Vagabond
Never give up.
*************************
SUMMER QUESTION
It's a long, hot, sticky summer, so here's a hot, sticky question for you. Don't let the recent New York State decision rob you of your thunder.
Same sex marriage. Should it be legal or not? If so, why? If not, why not?
dbdacoba@aol.com
13 answers so far.
You have until the last day of summer, but don't dally.
I eagerly await your answer.
DB
************************
Maya Angelou
******************
One of these days I wouldn't be surprised to get a comment from some unknown reader saying "Who asked you?"
Come on, you guys, I want to hear "tweet, tweet, chirp, chirp."
I don't really consider Vagabond Journeys as a journal of opinion, although I seem to express my opinions about one thing or another at the click of a keyboard button.
I ran out of bird seed on the weekend and as a result the finches and their companions weren't talking to me. So I went to Walmart and bought three big bags of seeds, and filled their feeder. Now I'm waiting to hear at least one tweet of gratitude. So far, nothing.
I stated writing the journal in 2006, full time since 2008 and during that time I've expressed a lot of opinions I suppose. But I also write about observations I've made, humor, stories of my life as an entertainer and bits and pieces of information having questionable value.
I even put up a container of jolly peanut based suet. The birds are showing their appreciation by putting 200 yards between themselves and my porch.
I write because I want to, and because I have to. I write every day. I write short grippingly interesting and angelically inspiring essays like this one. I hope I put seeds of thought in people's minds and lives.
Big man, big man, have you any gruel?
Yes sir, yes ma'am, three bags full.
They always scurry away when they see me. Even though I'm the one who fills their feeder, I'm just too big for them to contend with.
I am almost never asked for advice. In the few times I am I hope that the advice I give and the opinions I express are worth something to those in need, even if, as in some cases, I never hear from them again.
One of them got caught inside my apartment trying to get out through a closed window. I picked him up in one hand and carried him to the door. He was so grateful to me for saving him that without a chirp he took off like a shot to parts unknown.
As I have said before, I don't know many answers, but I know a lot of questions, and it's those questions that keep me curious and keep me writing. I have a few readers and get even fewer comments.
Some one will say not to worry the birds will return. Of course they will because they need to gorge themselves on my sunflower seeds and wild bird mix. They can't resist my cuisine for long. And I will be happy to see them. And hear them.
And don't write because I have answers, I write because I have a song.
DB - The Vagabond
Never give up.
*************************
SUMMER QUESTION
It's a long, hot, sticky summer, so here's a hot, sticky question for you. Don't let the recent New York State decision rob you of your thunder.
Same sex marriage. Should it be legal or not? If so, why? If not, why not?
dbdacoba@aol.com
13 answers so far.
You have until the last day of summer, but don't dally.
I eagerly await your answer.
DB
************************
Saturday, February 20, 2010
In Obscurity
We have to believe in free will, we have no choice.
Isaac Singer
**********************
A few of my journal buddies are telling me I should maintain a positive attitude. A positive attitude is something I equate with a sense of humor, something I'm grateful I have even though it is sometimes aggressively tested as it has been over the past few days.
A positive attitude is also akin to enthusiasm, a constant consciousness of what is beautiful, good and true; a spirit.
My basic philosophy of life, in its simplest form, is "Never give up." But the truth is I do give up. I give up at least once a day. But I know what I'm doing. During my career I used to say that I give up acting about once a week. I said that for 45 years' worth of weeks.
In the acting craft there is a thing which has been called "opposites." It's the moment when the pursuit of the character's objective becomes so difficult he says "Aw, to hell with it" and gives up. It's a momentary lapse in the forward action, a regrouping, an "advance to the rear" in order to get some perspective, think about things and try a different tactic. The character doesn't know it's a temporary maneuver, the actor does.
I have vowed that I will write an entry in this journal every day as long as I have at least one visitor. And I will. Today I vow that if the day ever comes when my StatCounter registers 0 for one whole day, that's the day I will abandon Vagabond Journeys. Does that mean I will stop writing? Hell, no. Instinct, passion and natural law won't let me. I will just take my words somewhere else.
I may publish some day and if I do my book may show up in someone's home or on a library shelf somewhere. Once at the Drama Book Store in New York I was going through the shelves looking for a project to work on. I pulled out a collection of plays by various authors. As I thumbed through it I was amazed to find my own name in a list of actors who had performed in one of them. We were the original cast. I had forgotten that I had originated that role. The play is never done any more, as far as I know. It's an obscure play by an even more obscure playwright. But somehow it got published.
Another time in New York, and I will never forget this, I was waiting for the A Train in a remote subway station at about 2 a. m. Way at the other end of the station was a man with an Alto Saxophone playing blues and playing it well, with his heart. We were the only two people there. His music filled that station. I listened. I'm not sure he even knew I was there. He would have played it even if I wasn't there to hear.
Somewhere in your town there is a small museum. Perhaps the home of some important person of the past has been converted into a commemoration of his or her life. And somewhere, in a far corner, there is a modest work of art no one ever sees. Give it your attention. You will be glad you did. The artist is talking to you, you, with his heart and mind. And before you leave the museum be sure to sign the book.
DB - The Vagabond
********************
Weekend Contest
I'm getting a lot of interesting mangled cliches so I'm leaving this quiz up for another weekend.
"A stitch in time is worth two in the bush."
Your assignment is to take two or more grand old sayings, cliches, sage saws or famous quotes and cobble (clobber) them together to make a new and wiser adage or utter nonsense as in the above.
Enter as often as you wish. The decision of the ornery, biased judge is final. Althoug he may need help with this one.
13 entries so far.
Good luck.
DB
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Isaac Singer
**********************
A few of my journal buddies are telling me I should maintain a positive attitude. A positive attitude is something I equate with a sense of humor, something I'm grateful I have even though it is sometimes aggressively tested as it has been over the past few days.
A positive attitude is also akin to enthusiasm, a constant consciousness of what is beautiful, good and true; a spirit.
My basic philosophy of life, in its simplest form, is "Never give up." But the truth is I do give up. I give up at least once a day. But I know what I'm doing. During my career I used to say that I give up acting about once a week. I said that for 45 years' worth of weeks.
In the acting craft there is a thing which has been called "opposites." It's the moment when the pursuit of the character's objective becomes so difficult he says "Aw, to hell with it" and gives up. It's a momentary lapse in the forward action, a regrouping, an "advance to the rear" in order to get some perspective, think about things and try a different tactic. The character doesn't know it's a temporary maneuver, the actor does.
I have vowed that I will write an entry in this journal every day as long as I have at least one visitor. And I will. Today I vow that if the day ever comes when my StatCounter registers 0 for one whole day, that's the day I will abandon Vagabond Journeys. Does that mean I will stop writing? Hell, no. Instinct, passion and natural law won't let me. I will just take my words somewhere else.
I may publish some day and if I do my book may show up in someone's home or on a library shelf somewhere. Once at the Drama Book Store in New York I was going through the shelves looking for a project to work on. I pulled out a collection of plays by various authors. As I thumbed through it I was amazed to find my own name in a list of actors who had performed in one of them. We were the original cast. I had forgotten that I had originated that role. The play is never done any more, as far as I know. It's an obscure play by an even more obscure playwright. But somehow it got published.
Another time in New York, and I will never forget this, I was waiting for the A Train in a remote subway station at about 2 a. m. Way at the other end of the station was a man with an Alto Saxophone playing blues and playing it well, with his heart. We were the only two people there. His music filled that station. I listened. I'm not sure he even knew I was there. He would have played it even if I wasn't there to hear.
Somewhere in your town there is a small museum. Perhaps the home of some important person of the past has been converted into a commemoration of his or her life. And somewhere, in a far corner, there is a modest work of art no one ever sees. Give it your attention. You will be glad you did. The artist is talking to you, you, with his heart and mind. And before you leave the museum be sure to sign the book.
DB - The Vagabond
********************
Weekend Contest
I'm getting a lot of interesting mangled cliches so I'm leaving this quiz up for another weekend.
"A stitch in time is worth two in the bush."
Your assignment is to take two or more grand old sayings, cliches, sage saws or famous quotes and cobble (clobber) them together to make a new and wiser adage or utter nonsense as in the above.
Enter as often as you wish. The decision of the ornery, biased judge is final. Althoug he may need help with this one.
13 entries so far.
Good luck.
DB
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Friday, October 9, 2009
Zero Zone 10/09/09
I am an artist. I am here to live out loud.
Emile Zola
***************
Stand over here please.
________________
I am angry. I'm in a spike jabbing, venom spitting rage.
Yesterday I was hit with another law suit. The disgusting irony about this one is that I had to make a very painful walk to the post office, which took me an hour because of my hip, to pick up the documents.
Furthermore it isn't even my money they are suing me for. It's sky rocketing interest they have assessed to my debt while I was trying to pay off the balance. We have a law in this land that allows the rich to plunder the poor, to create poverty through excessive charges upon charges and then punish people for their poverty.
I have a large, growing stack of paper on my desk, most of it telling me what kind of trouble I'm in. I'm an expert at making trouble for myself, but this stack is not about self made trouble, it's about the devious means others have devised to make trouble for me and many of my fellow citizens. As Shaw put it "The lack of money is the root of all evil."
I spent the last two days thinking about my life. I watched the large branch break off from it's mother/father tree and fall to the ground and wondered if it was a metaphor, a sign that it was time for me to follow it. Contemplating that wrought a change in me. It wasn't the tree that fell, it was a major branch. And what do I need to let go of, if anything?
My life has been trouble since I was 4 years old and my father died. My family splintered up to various places and we soon reached the poverty level. The influences on me were poor and improper. There was no intelligent guidance. I relied upon friends and employers for any human relationships that I had. I sought a family wherever I went and whomever I was with. Some of those relationships were good, but others produced disastrous results. I tried to make a family out of whatever theatre company I worked with, to my detriment and sorrow. My inheritance was meager and inappropriate.
Lopping off a branch from the family tree is nothing less than agonizing. I can forgive the wrongs done to me when I am graciously given the chance to do so. The rest I can ignore. Forgiving myself is a harder task. I have ignored my own past wrongs. But I've lived with my regrets so often and for so long that they tend not to bother me now. I have changed. I am not the same man I was a few days ago. Things change, people change. I always hope and foolishly expect things will change for the better. So what is it time to get rid of? I have thought of closing down this journal and continuing my journey in some other way, and I may do that.
I may be a fool, most probably so, but I write because I must. Whatever the changes are they are happening in some invisible bed rock, the same place the invisible fighter comes from that keeps punching me in the head.
I thank those of you who wrote words of encouragement and support yesterday. They have influenced me a lot. I haven't been even free to make any final decision about the future of Vagabond Journeys. But for now I must go out with shield and spear to battle the legions. I don't expect to win the war. The other side is just too powerful. But how many wounds do I have to endure before I win the battle? That's the question.
DB - The Vagabond
***************
Please send me some joy.
======================
Emile Zola
***************
Stand over here please.
________________
I am angry. I'm in a spike jabbing, venom spitting rage.
Yesterday I was hit with another law suit. The disgusting irony about this one is that I had to make a very painful walk to the post office, which took me an hour because of my hip, to pick up the documents.
Furthermore it isn't even my money they are suing me for. It's sky rocketing interest they have assessed to my debt while I was trying to pay off the balance. We have a law in this land that allows the rich to plunder the poor, to create poverty through excessive charges upon charges and then punish people for their poverty.
I have a large, growing stack of paper on my desk, most of it telling me what kind of trouble I'm in. I'm an expert at making trouble for myself, but this stack is not about self made trouble, it's about the devious means others have devised to make trouble for me and many of my fellow citizens. As Shaw put it "The lack of money is the root of all evil."
I spent the last two days thinking about my life. I watched the large branch break off from it's mother/father tree and fall to the ground and wondered if it was a metaphor, a sign that it was time for me to follow it. Contemplating that wrought a change in me. It wasn't the tree that fell, it was a major branch. And what do I need to let go of, if anything?
My life has been trouble since I was 4 years old and my father died. My family splintered up to various places and we soon reached the poverty level. The influences on me were poor and improper. There was no intelligent guidance. I relied upon friends and employers for any human relationships that I had. I sought a family wherever I went and whomever I was with. Some of those relationships were good, but others produced disastrous results. I tried to make a family out of whatever theatre company I worked with, to my detriment and sorrow. My inheritance was meager and inappropriate.
Lopping off a branch from the family tree is nothing less than agonizing. I can forgive the wrongs done to me when I am graciously given the chance to do so. The rest I can ignore. Forgiving myself is a harder task. I have ignored my own past wrongs. But I've lived with my regrets so often and for so long that they tend not to bother me now. I have changed. I am not the same man I was a few days ago. Things change, people change. I always hope and foolishly expect things will change for the better. So what is it time to get rid of? I have thought of closing down this journal and continuing my journey in some other way, and I may do that.
I may be a fool, most probably so, but I write because I must. Whatever the changes are they are happening in some invisible bed rock, the same place the invisible fighter comes from that keeps punching me in the head.
I thank those of you who wrote words of encouragement and support yesterday. They have influenced me a lot. I haven't been even free to make any final decision about the future of Vagabond Journeys. But for now I must go out with shield and spear to battle the legions. I don't expect to win the war. The other side is just too powerful. But how many wounds do I have to endure before I win the battle? That's the question.
DB - The Vagabond
***************
Please send me some joy.
======================
Monday, March 2, 2009
Weird Ways 3/02/09
One has to court doubt and darkness as the cost of knowing.
Morris West
???????????
Here we go.
--------------
One of the strangest places I was ever in was a small city in the Southwest that was built literally in the middle of the desert. There was a road that came into town, but it didn't go through it. I walked to the end of the road and I was on the edge of the city, There was a sidewalk. Houses were built along the side walk. It turned a right angle and there were more houses, with back yards, trees. bushes and children playing in the yards But when you stepped off the sidewalk you stepped immediately into the desert. If you turned your back to the houses all you would see in front of you was desert. I don't remember the name of that city or what state it was in, but I imagine it has expanded out into that desert by now.
I often think of that experience of taking a single step from civilization into wilderness. To me it was the same as taking a step from the safe and known into the dark world of ignorance. Ignorance is not a bad thing. Stupidity is bad, ignorance is not the same thing. When able to admit my ignorance about something, I am poised to step into the wild world of darkness and doubt. If I take that step it could be scary. What some people call foolishness, other people call courage. One has to agree to walk in darkness before one can see the light.
If some did not have the courage to peer into a telescope or a microscope, to crawl around in dark caves or on the ocean floor, or peek into the machinations of the human mind, we wouldn't know anything.
I once visited a Museum of Philosophy. In it there was a computer program that asked me a series of questions about my beliefs and opinions. Then it came up with a list of philosophers whose writings, more or less, conformed to my own philosophy of things. I thought, how nice, I can read the works of great writers who agree with me. I could bask in the easy sunshine of coordinate thinking.
It didn't take but a few days before I became bored with that idea, and went searching out the rare and troublesome works of thinkers who were antagonistic to my easy, sunny, back porch studies and who posed ideas that were difficult to understand and even harder to harmonize with what I thought was true. I began to grapple with new ideas. Some of them were very ancient, but they were new to me. And I found dark and doubtful places in my own thinking that needed to have a microscope trained on them.
Oh, I'm still ignorant. Who isn't? But that part of my vagabond journey has been fascinating, fulfilling and infuriating. And I won't stop until I know something.
DB
---------------------------------
May you hear the silent, distant winds of Spring.
Morris West
???????????
Here we go.
--------------
One of the strangest places I was ever in was a small city in the Southwest that was built literally in the middle of the desert. There was a road that came into town, but it didn't go through it. I walked to the end of the road and I was on the edge of the city, There was a sidewalk. Houses were built along the side walk. It turned a right angle and there were more houses, with back yards, trees. bushes and children playing in the yards But when you stepped off the sidewalk you stepped immediately into the desert. If you turned your back to the houses all you would see in front of you was desert. I don't remember the name of that city or what state it was in, but I imagine it has expanded out into that desert by now.
I often think of that experience of taking a single step from civilization into wilderness. To me it was the same as taking a step from the safe and known into the dark world of ignorance. Ignorance is not a bad thing. Stupidity is bad, ignorance is not the same thing. When able to admit my ignorance about something, I am poised to step into the wild world of darkness and doubt. If I take that step it could be scary. What some people call foolishness, other people call courage. One has to agree to walk in darkness before one can see the light.
If some did not have the courage to peer into a telescope or a microscope, to crawl around in dark caves or on the ocean floor, or peek into the machinations of the human mind, we wouldn't know anything.
I once visited a Museum of Philosophy. In it there was a computer program that asked me a series of questions about my beliefs and opinions. Then it came up with a list of philosophers whose writings, more or less, conformed to my own philosophy of things. I thought, how nice, I can read the works of great writers who agree with me. I could bask in the easy sunshine of coordinate thinking.
It didn't take but a few days before I became bored with that idea, and went searching out the rare and troublesome works of thinkers who were antagonistic to my easy, sunny, back porch studies and who posed ideas that were difficult to understand and even harder to harmonize with what I thought was true. I began to grapple with new ideas. Some of them were very ancient, but they were new to me. And I found dark and doubtful places in my own thinking that needed to have a microscope trained on them.
Oh, I'm still ignorant. Who isn't? But that part of my vagabond journey has been fascinating, fulfilling and infuriating. And I won't stop until I know something.
DB
---------------------------------
May you hear the silent, distant winds of Spring.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Striking Surprises 12/02/08
The artist's vocation is to shed light into the human heart.
George Sand
*********************
First of all here's some newsy updates. My stove and oven are back on. I have a new can opener so I could enjoy my beans and tuna for thanksgiving. The heat is on, but it's rather pathetic. I borrowed a space heater from someone. I have to return it so I'm thinking of getting one for myself. I have a monitor that works very well. I have a Marie Antoinette Award and a second NeoCounter. They are both buried way down at the bottom of my journal entries and on the wrong side. I was told I could click and drag them but that is not happening, Any advice?
I asked if anyone knew the author of yesterdays quote and someone did.
pacing
the shore
the ship's cat
- Raymond Roseliep
(Thank you George)
If you are not one who reads my stories you can skip this part. A full day of battle on the field at Agincourt has brought the result that all of my stories are now in a blog called Vagabond Tales, Oddly, someone else also has that title but has not posted an entry in 3 years. The best way to find me is to go to my extended profile and click on Vagabond Tales. All the Brian stories are there and The Lodge. Part One of the long story, The Long Walk, is there from beginning to end (with no cliff hangers). And all the entries of Part Two, Buffalo Gap, are there in reverse order the way they appeared in Vagabond Journeys. Don't worry about the numbering, It got all messed up, I'll fix it. I will soon have Vagabond Journeys unencumbered from Brian and Christine who will then reside solely on Vagabond Tales. The next entry of the tale will be tomorrow.
I started this journal, Vagabond Journeys, a little under a year ago. All I did was to put quotes from the famous and not so famous, brief slivers of light I thought would be helpful to people. Daily Dollops, I called them. I had some email friends reading me but no one read my journal until the amazing Linda in Washington State came upon it one day and started telling people, Then I had some readers and some other journals to read. So I started writing brief essays about the quotes I was using. From there I began sending News From The Burb every now and then, bits of information about the silly things that were happening in my neighborhood. That reached it highest level with the serial story of Blackie the town python. After that I started writing fictional short stories about Brian Sims. Now I'm writing a long one. All of them were an attempt to shed some "light into the human heart."
What's next?
http://db-vagabondtales.blogspot.com/
DB - The Vagabond
George Sand
*********************
First of all here's some newsy updates. My stove and oven are back on. I have a new can opener so I could enjoy my beans and tuna for thanksgiving. The heat is on, but it's rather pathetic. I borrowed a space heater from someone. I have to return it so I'm thinking of getting one for myself. I have a monitor that works very well. I have a Marie Antoinette Award and a second NeoCounter. They are both buried way down at the bottom of my journal entries and on the wrong side. I was told I could click and drag them but that is not happening, Any advice?
I asked if anyone knew the author of yesterdays quote and someone did.
pacing
the shore
the ship's cat
- Raymond Roseliep
(Thank you George)
If you are not one who reads my stories you can skip this part. A full day of battle on the field at Agincourt has brought the result that all of my stories are now in a blog called Vagabond Tales, Oddly, someone else also has that title but has not posted an entry in 3 years. The best way to find me is to go to my extended profile and click on Vagabond Tales. All the Brian stories are there and The Lodge. Part One of the long story, The Long Walk, is there from beginning to end (with no cliff hangers). And all the entries of Part Two, Buffalo Gap, are there in reverse order the way they appeared in Vagabond Journeys. Don't worry about the numbering, It got all messed up, I'll fix it. I will soon have Vagabond Journeys unencumbered from Brian and Christine who will then reside solely on Vagabond Tales. The next entry of the tale will be tomorrow.
I started this journal, Vagabond Journeys, a little under a year ago. All I did was to put quotes from the famous and not so famous, brief slivers of light I thought would be helpful to people. Daily Dollops, I called them. I had some email friends reading me but no one read my journal until the amazing Linda in Washington State came upon it one day and started telling people, Then I had some readers and some other journals to read. So I started writing brief essays about the quotes I was using. From there I began sending News From The Burb every now and then, bits of information about the silly things that were happening in my neighborhood. That reached it highest level with the serial story of Blackie the town python. After that I started writing fictional short stories about Brian Sims. Now I'm writing a long one. All of them were an attempt to shed some "light into the human heart."
What's next?
http://db-vagabondtales.blogspot.com/
DB - The Vagabond
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)