tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83009736867141416902024-03-05T02:22:28.711-08:00Smoke and Gaslightwritings and musings of a girl whose soul is lost in another era and who enjoys pulling out her city's past in the most interesting of places.Alanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17194244496619480510noreply@blogger.comBlogger156125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8300973686714141690.post-59586595747368473542016-06-17T10:26:00.000-07:002016-06-17T10:26:29.553-07:00First time moments...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3Fbyuqu-0xjjmeqAmCm8jtbABFp4muKYiZ6O3Ba1B1l3TTB8T0ptWXfMGVFm_qy08WBj-QBO7C7KWXZPImFFfjMtNGhDNBBWM19p3O25D9YqWqMDj8vQnLRVv2SDZO6Qkkn_I9bprkA/s1600/20160207_124738.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3Fbyuqu-0xjjmeqAmCm8jtbABFp4muKYiZ6O3Ba1B1l3TTB8T0ptWXfMGVFm_qy08WBj-QBO7C7KWXZPImFFfjMtNGhDNBBWM19p3O25D9YqWqMDj8vQnLRVv2SDZO6Qkkn_I9bprkA/s320/20160207_124738.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
<br />
Things seemed out of balance, as if some cosmic nonsense was tipping the scales and not in my favor. I needed to recharge. Running around and absorbing other folks frantic energy wasn't helping. Potential relief materialized via a calendar reminder.<br />
<br />
I had forgotten about the annual museum mile festival and up until that morning went back and forth on whether I wanted to go or simply hide in my house at the end of the day. I thought, what the hell. I bounced the itinerary over to my colleague Sara who was more than happy to tag along.<br />
<br />
Sara is one of those rare individuals filled with genuine positive energy and sunshine and a pleasure to be around.<br />
<br />
Asking about which museum she wanted to hit first she suggested The Met, which is my favorite. She had never been. After clearing through security, I will never forget her excitement, squealing with delight and jumping up and down in front of an ancient statue of a Pharoah.<br />
<br />
Balance restored.Alanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17194244496619480510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8300973686714141690.post-29096731987520878932016-06-07T14:29:00.001-07:002016-06-07T14:29:42.498-07:00Details<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid86ZloxyJecCbw2j3IRDlDrbM5QY-VppbHdgwV0CYG4C5Qj9ar9Qp43gKeCKCu0yNO5y6c7yFSXIXm-ga-ITBzfr3oMA3XBzoSTA2AgVQ7yENsxBQMyuPhXasSq5yA2-dgJsaLTZBPg/s1600/20160409_174154.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid86ZloxyJecCbw2j3IRDlDrbM5QY-VppbHdgwV0CYG4C5Qj9ar9Qp43gKeCKCu0yNO5y6c7yFSXIXm-ga-ITBzfr3oMA3XBzoSTA2AgVQ7yENsxBQMyuPhXasSq5yA2-dgJsaLTZBPg/s320/20160409_174154.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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One day, when I grow up, I want to create something as beautiful as this.</div>
Alanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17194244496619480510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8300973686714141690.post-26528713434618633252016-05-22T10:57:00.001-07:002016-05-22T10:57:32.231-07:00Shaken and Stirred<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFMP7ZtH2KAxfKAbiemhOkillLxJlrI7DWB1QgDOEeBHnIGJrm7fMUYqoakpOdnOXBdupRZ9r5s5Ka18G1mnI6rpweBIaiW3gsZvbqjjzHL_Z08S2hQxd55qiWvrw37I73OqngqkyxuQ/s1600/20160522_133623.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFMP7ZtH2KAxfKAbiemhOkillLxJlrI7DWB1QgDOEeBHnIGJrm7fMUYqoakpOdnOXBdupRZ9r5s5Ka18G1mnI6rpweBIaiW3gsZvbqjjzHL_Z08S2hQxd55qiWvrw37I73OqngqkyxuQ/s320/20160522_133623.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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I was exhausted...emotionally, physically and everything
else in between. I had enough energy to get up and go to the day job
that I had checked out from three years prior…but the checks never bounced so
hey, what was one more day right? Then, over the course of several months, a
friend who had begun to mentally unravel tried to plug into me as her emotional
caregiver. Week after week the messages were nonstop, trying to flush me out. I would go home and curl up inside my reading chair like
a ball.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Throw in a toxic family member who tried to draw me into their warped
perception of life and my place within it and the final domino fell. On autopilot I informed every family member in close proximity to this person that
I was exiting stage left for as long as I needed to and they were not to act as
go between. The universe was on my side as no one objected having
spotted that the writing on the wall was getting darker and more negative for
years. As for the friend, the parents
finally stepped in and took her away to get her the help she needed. I was
finally given an air pocket to breath, completely battered and bruised.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE7pD83yPjARQbcp2LmcWz8lQMVn4gWjUDsbF760xZC-I6B3tUq9k-_2cHkLEbe7XpWcIdrhMVNGHbPMlciitROGumHs7SenclLmPBtSfg-HPgvr-CloIFFAiW4Yzh-kstZH6VWrueAw/s1600/20160522_133721.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE7pD83yPjARQbcp2LmcWz8lQMVn4gWjUDsbF760xZC-I6B3tUq9k-_2cHkLEbe7XpWcIdrhMVNGHbPMlciitROGumHs7SenclLmPBtSfg-HPgvr-CloIFFAiW4Yzh-kstZH6VWrueAw/s320/20160522_133721.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Slowly repairing the tracks, I zeroed in on one goal. I love
books, all kinds of books, so I thought maybe I could start by asking some of
those booksellers that were left if there was a spot for me within the stacks.
Just a mental refuge, wasn’t looking for pay ( though that was on my list),
just one step in front of the other. In a mental fog, I wandered into a
bookstore that sold volumes that are way out of my budget, unless I were to hit
the lottery. And the bookstore was the size of an office. I couldn’t hide
behind a row of volumes, I was front and center. So I admired the books
instead, gilt edges and all. There was one solitary shelf that had single books
( the rest were anthologies) and one in
particular kept grabbing my eye. Pulling it from the shelf I noticed it was a
price I could afford and justify to myself as a birthday-thanskgiving-christmas gift to myself. Twenty minutes later it was carefully
wrapped in tissue paper in a fancy bag coming home with me. I may not have left with a job,but something priceless.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Over the next few hours at home I marveled at its details. Hand
painted pages and random passages underlined with faint black crayon. One passage highlighted about a
soul being protected when in the midst of trials stuck out. I fell asleep with the book propped in my arm.
When I woke up I felt a little better. For the rest of the year when more upheaval arose, the book became my mental refuge. When the universe tapped me on the shoulder that I needed to finally break free from the job that was slowly killing my creativity, this book was in arms length. Its pages silently whispering encouragement. I may not be in a bookstore, but I am finally on the right path. <o:p></o:p>Not so battered and not so bruised.</div>
Alanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17194244496619480510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8300973686714141690.post-31712437933151626602016-05-16T19:49:00.000-07:002016-05-16T19:49:22.468-07:00A room with a view<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj64kubqzqr4eayIi-5wlkcL3t0vhGY80cjZ4RoZKv9R8Kha3JautEzYWM2qf9f1hVkskhuUVSLpTky7uEj3aUhV3Q-_yTiXs-NGP0BAkv_FvQbZHn9TOEOn8IQELqEBde7rlfd8_Dz7w/s1600/20160516_223742.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj64kubqzqr4eayIi-5wlkcL3t0vhGY80cjZ4RoZKv9R8Kha3JautEzYWM2qf9f1hVkskhuUVSLpTky7uEj3aUhV3Q-_yTiXs-NGP0BAkv_FvQbZHn9TOEOn8IQELqEBde7rlfd8_Dz7w/s320/20160516_223742.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
"I hate having to dress like a civilized member of society".<br />
<br />
So did I.. grown up shoes, little black dress, pearls ( of the fake variety) and a plastered smile. After hours of noise, clapping and the clink of hollowed glasses, silence and space on the way home.Alanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17194244496619480510noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8300973686714141690.post-33093286217335213642016-05-10T12:32:00.001-07:002016-05-10T12:32:18.611-07:00All that glitters..<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8zG5DHT1Ijq_aa3uaREG1ysTfCF2Bxdkg4dPQwReGx8boBV0R7kMrmE57aOO8VEee-vTrvoFsVTGXJuOj1C8ke4XtATBFXAmOCpJ9qjodWZEEbhgV-aCdnxipSLzKIHcmQLK_cGdPjg/s1600/20160326_114136.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8zG5DHT1Ijq_aa3uaREG1ysTfCF2Bxdkg4dPQwReGx8boBV0R7kMrmE57aOO8VEee-vTrvoFsVTGXJuOj1C8ke4XtATBFXAmOCpJ9qjodWZEEbhgV-aCdnxipSLzKIHcmQLK_cGdPjg/s320/20160326_114136.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
It's a stare at antique clocks and drool over them kind of day...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ9ZI4p0OkkJ6J_SO33gi83rk-fis3hFPwsd75qUOMtKGMt6Ekj6O-BL4g6z1lF2M6ZwIJXByXwfBkP8CqjLM5jl0mk-8PBT4GFerr8XJAaV9tXK4X6XT55c9XqdywLzZIUiut-GQj_w/s1600/20160326_114127.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ9ZI4p0OkkJ6J_SO33gi83rk-fis3hFPwsd75qUOMtKGMt6Ekj6O-BL4g6z1lF2M6ZwIJXByXwfBkP8CqjLM5jl0mk-8PBT4GFerr8XJAaV9tXK4X6XT55c9XqdywLzZIUiut-GQj_w/s320/20160326_114127.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1K82vzAbKZDXVO8z9HnZMSecnLZ_iF6SYr08yM5VgHFw0nuN3oRRB3eSMwKIvHCLauNvlbPi2IlNAxEXm44gIU6YCfDqhfXzsuAdDETklierGwstRRwxetmDCdOGd2WIM-6y5TlxCeg/s1600/20160326_114112.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1K82vzAbKZDXVO8z9HnZMSecnLZ_iF6SYr08yM5VgHFw0nuN3oRRB3eSMwKIvHCLauNvlbPi2IlNAxEXm44gIU6YCfDqhfXzsuAdDETklierGwstRRwxetmDCdOGd2WIM-6y5TlxCeg/s320/20160326_114112.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
<br />Alanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17194244496619480510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8300973686714141690.post-45529175595531415742016-05-10T12:12:00.000-07:002016-05-10T12:12:15.086-07:00Blowing off the dust particles...And cobwebs off this digital portal..Alanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17194244496619480510noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8300973686714141690.post-1592483002259231512014-06-11T17:57:00.001-07:002014-06-11T17:57:28.755-07:00pay attention to the signs" If whispers don't get your attention, bricks will start flying your way".<br />
<br />
They haven't been as quiet as a whisper, or as painful as a brick, but the sensation has been quite uncomfortable. <br />
<br />
I guess the universe decided after checking off one thing on my list it would arrive at the next. And so the symptoms started to appear that first popped in a different area of my life last year:<br />
<br />
Fatigue upon waking despite hours of sleep, dread upon arriving at my destination. The tell tale signs it is time to go. But this time it's a little easier to navigate these waters. I have more of a concrete footing of what I'm looking for. The reason why there hasn't been much activity on here, besides digesting and working in much valued feedback on the back story of the broken-nosed ghost in the fedora, (the light at the end of the tunnel is shining brighter now!), is that I've gone old school. Writing notes and rants to myself in a flesh and blood journal. Think the last time I did this with effort was in 10th grade.<br />
<br />
In the words of Annette Hanshaw " That's All".. :)<br />
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<br />
<br />
Alanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17194244496619480510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8300973686714141690.post-5402727348653172762014-02-19T17:26:00.000-08:002014-02-19T17:26:24.274-08:00a tree grows in BrooklynA delicate tree with strong roots..<br />
<br />
What happens when nature rips it out of the soil and the roots become exposed? Still clinging to the life force beneath it?<br />
<br />
There were frantic messages for a safe haven online. Being withdraw from the online world at that point and time, I saw it after help had been offered. But I kept watch. Then out of nowhere a quiet request for help with packing up belongings. leaving the adult home that had been hers since she was 18. Indefinitely.<br />
<br />
I knew this tree, our branches crossed every so often. We met at a wedding of a mutual friend six years ago and teamed up as both our trains passed through the same entry point on the other side of the Hudson. Seeing the post I noticed that no one was offering to help. Just "good lucks" and "take care".<br />
<br />
I raised my hand.<br />
<br />
So last Saturday, I showed up through the slush that was slowly turning into rain. She gave me a big bear hug at the door.<br />
<br />
"So how long do I have you for?"<br />
<br />
" As long as you need me."<br />
<br />
" Really?! You really are a great friend."<br />
<br />
Waiting for her parents to arrive with the Uhaul truck, bits of pieces of what happened spilled out. Roommate situation that went bad. Could tell that by the way they blocked off half the apartment and kept themselves barricaded behind closed doors.<br />
<br />
Over the next few hours we boxed in addition to all of the basic necessities, her necessities: every piece of artwork, canvas and sculpture she had made from pieces in that borough that has been her only home for the first half of her adult life. At some point, after running down the stairs, I came back up to find her crouched in the corner. Her face trying not to show that she was tearing apart on the inside.<br />
<br />
" Oh my god...it's hitting me now..now that this space is becoming empty, it's hitting." She bowed her head and wrapped her arms around her knees. " I will not cry, will not cry, will not cry..". I leaned over and whispered to her that it was temporary. She would be back.<br />
<br />
Rooms empty. Devoid of life and memory. Outside in the snow, she stares down at the key ring in her hand. "I have no keys...this is the first time I don't have keys to a home. This is so backward. Their home.." she gestures at her parents. " is not mine. I go to visit them. Brooklyn is my home."<br />
<br />
" It is your home and will always be your home. Sometimes you have to take a step back to go forward. And I am pretty certain it will end up here as it always has been."<br />
<br />
She smiled " Would you help me to unload on that trip?"<br />
<br />
"Absolutely."<br />
<br />
She reached down, gathered a fistful of snow and placed it in a napkin to wrap around the stem of the rose she had in her hand. And probably a bit to water her own roots until she comes home.Alanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17194244496619480510noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8300973686714141690.post-64233178236119028782014-01-05T18:43:00.000-08:002014-01-05T18:43:39.351-08:00 " A Noted Woman"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxLvbridSR7BvfLlcnYDXrtioYq-v5lpReh0NiPEcS2PcVSpsWZ5YwRdTUTM0BHr3cYGikE64vO3xoaRrEiZ20MI086dU2h9CKoAx16uIOBjcGp6tV8UFkwtRtykN894z4d2dsJy-h4w/s1600/20131222_114119.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxLvbridSR7BvfLlcnYDXrtioYq-v5lpReh0NiPEcS2PcVSpsWZ5YwRdTUTM0BHr3cYGikE64vO3xoaRrEiZ20MI086dU2h9CKoAx16uIOBjcGp6tV8UFkwtRtykN894z4d2dsJy-h4w/s1600/20131222_114119.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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The gift bag was heavy and unexpected. I had known the woman who gave it to me since I first arrived on this island of misfit toys though we had never exchanged anything more than a hug and agreeting.</div>
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" You have to be gentle unwrapping it."</div>
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Following her advice, I gingerly pulled back the wrapping paper. I knew from the cover that it had seen its share of use, passing through who knows how many hands, sitting on who knows how many bookshelves.</div>
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The card from her gave a brief snapshot of its history, at least where it started with her:</div>
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Bought over 30 years ago for a dollar in a bookshop that no longer exists. Piqued her interest by the title and the fact that it was printed in 1883 in her hometown of Hartford, CT.</div>
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She couldn't recall if she had actually read the book in that time span, but came across it as she was clearing her bookcase to make room for new additions. Wondered who she could give it to..</div>
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" So I am passing it on to you, an avid book lover and "noted woman'"</div>
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It was the most touching gift I had gotten in recent memory. Taking it home and gently flipping the pages, I came across the receipt she had gotten all those years ago. Now it proudly sits on my bookshelf to begin its new life with me.</div>
Alanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17194244496619480510noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8300973686714141690.post-65807309855035475752013-10-28T18:16:00.002-07:002013-10-28T18:16:25.098-07:00"I've always enjoyed getting a kick out of life, even when it's a kick in the teeth""Can I go home now?"<br />
<br />
Apparently I've been saying that alot lately. Probably because for months, I didn't really have a home. I had a place I would lay my head down at night but it wasn't home. The stress and anxiety of finding a new place to call my own/ coupled with an individual who was hell bent on violating my mental space as much as possible made that impossible.<br />
<br />
Recently my footsteps are traced in my new neighborhood. Observing the sights and smells of everything around me. And like a sponge thirsty for water, I soak it all in. The yelling and laughter at the local parade a few weeks ago. Funnel cake, zeppoles, powder sugar spilling off of plates and onto the sidewalk. Carts of balloons zigzagging through the crowds.<br />
<br />
Chomper, straining at his lease to run up to greet me and sniff the bag of clean laundry before I carry it inside.<br />
<br />
The indoor/outdoor market, cramped to the brim with boxes of vegetables and fruits. Two lines of people patiently waiting in opposite directions without a fuss, bags of potatoes passed over one's head and somehow those lines making room for folks to pass back and forth.<br />
<br />
Mending takes time and I'm in no rush to get through it. A friend, born and bred in Brooklyn told me recently that New York has a twisted way of giving you a merit test every damn day, to prove your worth and whether you are meant to be here.<br />
<br />
I got alot of bruising this year. But I see it as one more test that I passed. So I am enjoying the down time and breath a sigh of relief that the normal chaos and survival mode I am used to has returned.<br />
<br />
And that I have a great home to come back to.Alanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17194244496619480510noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8300973686714141690.post-31377830929226711422013-08-24T20:01:00.003-07:002013-08-24T20:01:30.064-07:00The Nuisance<br />
<em>As I get readjusted to my life balance, here is a repost from July 2010</em>..<br />
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The Past is dead<br />
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So let it be<br />
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A worn and tattered memory.<br />
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What's done is done<br />
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Let's not regret<br />
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Tis better far that we forget.<br />
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The past is queer<br />
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It will not stay<br />
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Buried in the yesterday<br />
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Instead it sneaks up<br />
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Softly sly<br />
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And pokes its finger in your eye.<br />
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-Latham OwensAlanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17194244496619480510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8300973686714141690.post-26457134629904444592013-07-09T18:21:00.002-07:002013-07-09T18:21:45.598-07:00Forgive my Involuntary Absence<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It all started with a brand new entry lock. The door was in the right place...the lock wasn't. It was installed on an emergency exit. Which as I found out later is a no-no. And it put the person coming in and out of it literally on my doorstep. Thus began the first steps of of my involuntary absence. From here and everywhere else that was a refuge for me.<br />
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By the time of my last entry on here, the situation with the tenant next door to me was rapidly spinning out of control. It started in October of last year when that lock appeared on the door and caught me off guard. I was even more startled to hear a key being turned constantly as the occupant came in and out, using that door verses the real entry door in the middle of the hall. Wizened up by neighbors years earlier on the revolving door of occupants in that apartment, I went to management to express my concern. Nothing was done. Then one day I met the tenant of that apartment. He was put out as he had found out that I had gone to management to report the lock. With the elaborate story he told about being trapped in a fire I knew that I was dealing with someone who was not mentally all there. He also happened to be over 6 feet tall and close to 250 pounds. I'm 5"2. And despite the facade of being semi pleasant, a warning bell went off that the tenant in 2PA was not a nice person.<br />
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Then the noise came. Lots of it. At all hours of the day. I'm not talking the occasional I-need-to-unwind noise, but intolerable. I politely but firmly asked the gentleman to keep it down, at least at night. As that is when I would write. Response? Passive aggressive remarks on why he should be allowed to play his sound system ( I counted five speakers and two sub woofers during an exchange when he was proud to show it off). Went to management again. Nothing happened.<br />
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I'm an introvert. I thrive on alone time, or as the books like to point out I get "overstimulated' which translates into not being able to concentrate or unwind. But being an introvert I tried to reflect if maybe I had to bend a little, maybe I wasn't used to having a noisy neighbor...but the warning bell and anxiety wouldn't go away. And then on the day I got my lease renewal, the gentleman next door blasted his equipment for hours on end to the point that my whole apartment was engulfed in sound. I wandered outside, feeling angry and powerless. A vicious pattern developed that every time he heard my key in the lock, the volume skyrocketed.<br />
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"Call the cops," was the response I always got. But I knew that could make things worse for me. Especially when the property manager indicated that all concerns were being funnelled to the person who "handled his care". <br />
<br />
So for four months I barricaded myself in my bedroom as the rest of my apartment was uninhabitable. But I had no energy to do anything, except get up and sleepwalk through the day job. A friend told me during this time that if God makes you uncomfortable it's for a reason. And the reason all added up to the same conclusion: after seven years in my home and neighborhood it was time to find someplace new. <br />
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So off into the real estate waters I went. Bounced to three out of the five boroughs, worn out two pairs of sneakers, and thanks to all the skills acquired digging up info on a man who died 78 years ago, knew how to dig up dirt on landlords to protect myself in the long run. <a href="http://myprivateconey.blogspot.com/">Friends</a> gave me much needed respites during this time for which I will always be grateful. When I finally found my home, blessed by the new york real estate gods with dealing with a small landlord directly, I wasn't quite sure if the fight was over. Then a week after I got the keys, I lugged the aerobed usually reserved for guests in an apartment that had hardly any furniture in it to get the one thing I had been missing for months: silence. <br />
<br />
Now instead of hearing someone intentionally turn up their music when they hear my key in the door, I'm greeted by my small neighbor upstairs, a nine month old bulldog named Chomper. I went from living in an apartment complex to living in a house with only two other families. And if this post is a tad long it's because I haven't been able to write in months. So this is my reentry.<br />
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The ghost in the fedora with the broken nose will be happy. Time for us to get reacquainted.<br />
<br />
Feels so good to be home.Alanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17194244496619480510noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8300973686714141690.post-40056119361760722252013-03-10T18:59:00.000-07:002013-03-10T18:59:02.530-07:00"Whoever discovers what these sayings mean"My grandfather started it.<br />
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Sitting at the dining room table, my grandparents, my father and I forming a perfect north, south, east and west compass. He started talking about knowledge, ancient texts and some other things I can't remember as I was too distracted by the large book he had on the table that contained all of those ancient texts.<br />
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I love books and knowledge too much to pass a gem like that up. Made a mental note that when I got back to my home on the island of misfit toys I would look for it.<br />
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After looping in circles in the bookstore, I found the large book of ancient texts and bought it to add to the loving piles of text already accumulated in my apartment. <br />
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Instead of taking the express train home, I got on the local, absorbed in another book. At some point I turned off the music in my headphones and had the low hum of the subway as background noise as I became increasingly engrossed in the words between my fingers.<br />
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" Oh that's a wonderful book!" says a very regal woman who had sat next to me in the course of the ride home. " How are you enjoying it so far?"<br />
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" I've actually read it before. It's been awhile so I pulled it out. Need a bit of knowledge in my daily routine."<br />
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She asked me what kind of books I liked to read, made recommendations. " Isn't it wonderful to read books? In my country, I didn't grow up with a television or movies, my family told stories, a way to charge our imagination."<br />
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She paused. " So what do you do to get knowledge everyday?"<br />
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" Through these.." I ran my hand over the cover of the book. " Through texts, through life. It's the only way you grow."<br />
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I had reached the station that would allow me to transfer to my train, but I stayed on the local, wondering how this conversation would end.<br />
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I asked her the same question, she replied in kind. Through life, through the arts ( she was a drama therapist) and had been in acting all her life.<br />
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"I like going to Met museum too. Great place to go for solitude and thinking."<br />
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" Oh how lovely!" She exclaimed. " A wonderful place indeed. Whenever I feel lonely I go there."<br />
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After a few minutes of silence she turns to me and says:<br />
<br />
"Always follow your heart's desire. Sometimes you have to be a bad girl and do what works for you. You can be the easy girl, but then you conform to everyone else's standards. Always keep searching for knowledge."<br />
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She got up at her stop and waved goodbye.<br />
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" Maybe I'll see you at the Met sometime," I say before she gets off.<br />
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"That would be nice!."<br />
Alanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17194244496619480510noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8300973686714141690.post-44744102123428965592013-01-01T08:41:00.001-08:002013-01-01T08:41:53.023-08:00The ghosts of new year<em>repost from Jan. 1, 2010</em><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqF7jG6cpk1UbTOkZRe5z-PiLOyEsad4nP93s6uByfAxatM_ts0uyXW8Ae09ftc8CNnn_zULb5mMV4Ufoo9rBAHdZTULdns2ToL9vC7f7-HGrqm49A87tDN3bHH4tfLiTgaObUylQHXQ/s1600-h/DSCN1881.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421655178343403090" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqF7jG6cpk1UbTOkZRe5z-PiLOyEsad4nP93s6uByfAxatM_ts0uyXW8Ae09ftc8CNnn_zULb5mMV4Ufoo9rBAHdZTULdns2ToL9vC7f7-HGrqm49A87tDN3bHH4tfLiTgaObUylQHXQ/s200/DSCN1881.JPG" style="display: block; height: 150px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 200px;" /></a><br />the name of the man who moved in 82 years ago is still on the front door. Telephone wiring from an era long gone still runs on the baseboards. Original moldings, furniture and pictures throughout, including a letter carrier from around 1910 showing the first Model T's. My neighbor had knocked on my door the night before asking if I would like to ring in the new year with her, her sister and uncle. I had planned to spend it curled up in my living room or working on my project, but I happily obliged.<br /><br />The air was warm and inviting and people who I consider to be family warmly welcomed me. I long ago accepted ghosts as constant companions, in my field of interest they would be hard to ignore. So it came as no surprise when my neighbor said as if it were a common <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">occurrence</span> that the gold trimmed glasses used to ring in this new and unknown year where originally brought by her now deceased husband's mother sometime in the then unknown decade known as the Twenties. Still intact, gold trim and all, bought long before they were born. I had never known people to possess such tangible objects connecting the past and the present until I moved here. Maybe because in my family such things are lost, fought over by elders or hidden in secret places until people forget about their very existence.<br /><br />We danced in her living room to music from the 50's, me promising to return for the big dinner scheduled for later in the day with more people, and eventually me leaving her and her ghostly companions behind and returning to mine spread out in the stacks paper where I had left them.<br /><br />Happy New Year Everyone!</div>
Alanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17194244496619480510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8300973686714141690.post-45493820520539745912012-12-30T15:17:00.000-08:002012-12-30T15:17:02.214-08:00walking with my mind<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
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<br />
when every other girl was longing for dolls, I longed for books. Everytime I got money from a grownup, usually around my birthday or the holidays, I knew just what to do with it. Invest in paperbacks and hardbacks. Even after my mother took me to the bank to open a savings account. My bookcase filled up faster than that account ever did. The items on the shelves have rotated and changed over the years, but the bookcase is still with me. Though now I'm the tall one verses the days when I had to peer up to the top shelf.<br />
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Besides loving to read, books were my escape route. I could vanish into far off places and imagine myself anywhere than where I resided at the time. Walking was out of the question as I lived in car country. Instead of walking with my feet, I walked with my mind as far as I could go. Books opened up a whole new world for me, encouraging a desire to see a different view than what existed outside the living room window. Everyone laughed at me. Bluntly told me that I would never make it outside of said car country and that I shouldn't expect anyone to help me if I were to venture past the limits of their horizon.<br />
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Then I put on walking shoes, dragged a suitcase full of clothes and books to this city that I made my home. I also didn't ask for help. In that first year I had to create makeshift shelves as I was living in a space that was not my own. After finding my own little private corner in my new hometown, I put my walking shoes back on and ventured back to car country to grab the two things that mattered the most to me: my bookcase and my books. And in the start of my new life, with a window that provided a different view, one thing from my past remained unchanged: those shelves filled up faster with new additions than any other room in my apartment.Alanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17194244496619480510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8300973686714141690.post-74651274315005545452012-12-28T19:30:00.005-08:002012-12-28T19:30:58.977-08:00The Medicine for the Day<em>Repost from 2010 as I regroup and refocus from the chaos of the last few weeks :)</em><br />
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Wasn't feeling well, but there is only so long that I can stay in the house before getting cabin fever. Had enough strength to go somewhere familiar.<br /><br />"Hello Mr. N"<br /><br />" Oh hello!, you know what you're doing so you don't need my help." He says in his thick Russian accent and gestures to the back with a smile.<br /><br />tabletops, shelves, floorspace and every corner filled with books, ledgers and boxes documenting over 100 plus years of history. All permanent, and a stroke of luck for me the originals as the state is too poor to document anything. Anger from the records keeper as no one seems to care.<br /><br />Almost breaking my back to coax a cabinet to open it's drawers. This thing must be as old as some of the dusty ledgers around it. Been through it on three separate occasions and each time it refuses to open a different drawer.<br /><br />Fingers black with dust as I gently sort through papers and for the second time this month I hear how unusual I am from the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">bespectacled</span> man in the corner.<br /><br />" You know, where I came from...history was destroyed on purpose, and here I go to work surrounded by it. People need to listen to what is in the documents as this is our future, not the technology that can rewrite history." He shakes his head and stares off in the distance for a minute. I try to keep the pages of ledger book from coming loose.</div>
Alanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17194244496619480510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8300973686714141690.post-80187664416411178772012-11-19T15:59:00.000-08:002012-11-19T15:59:44.916-08:00Steps out of the Darkness into the LightThe silence came first. The only thing that could be heard were Muslim prayers blasting from a radio in the bodega across the street. My neighborhood had never been that quiet. Unless you count the winter nights somewhere between dusk and dawn. <br />
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Lights flickered like mad for hours, everything was prepared just in case. The wind a resounding roar that rattled the glass and the trees in the courtyard. But that was it in my neck of the woods. When it was deemed safe to go out I do what I normally do. I donned my sneakers and starting walking.<br />
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Walked over one hundred and twenty blocks down and back, addresses in my pocket to help guide me as I bounced back and forth from East to West to bang on windows and climb up stairs in the dark to check on elderly friends of mine. Passed banks running out of money, passed the ambulance stuck in a slow ride down Broadway even with a police escort. Passed the tourists that could turn a dangling crane on 57th street into an attraction. In one building the doorman refused to let me climb over twenty flights of stairs to check on someone out of safety concerns but was kind enough to take a note up to the spunky lady on the 20th floor whose smile and laughter masked a deep pain and fear of getting old. In another building the super offered me a slice of pizza on the way out. I smiled and declined saying others needed/wanted it more than me.<br />
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Lights come on. Phone call from the boss out in Queens. " Get your rest cause you're gonna need it."<br />
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Can't go back to the office cause thirty feet of water flooded the basement and over twelve in the lobby. Have to relocate a portion of 6000 employees with no space to put them. Chaos on the first day as more and more people show up with heartbreaking and humbling stories.<br />
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<em>My house was surrounded by seven feet of water. Is it hot in here? Maybe I feel that way cause my house still doesn't have power.</em><br />
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<em>I have my parents and my brother staying with me. They both lost their houses, one to the storm surge the other caught on fire. I'm just happy and grateful to be here.</em><br />
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<em>When we went to my mother's apartment, it was surreal. Everything looked normal except it was soaked and thrown in disarray. Except for the little angel on top of the bookcase. Lady stood her ground.</em><br />
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Bouncing between New Jersey and Brooklyn to help create some sense of normalcy. First time out there my boss gave me a ride. <br />
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" I hope this isn't an indication on how the day is going to be." He says. "On the highway I got a flat tire, then my son says he can't find his cellphone ( it was found in the house, after he suspended service) and now I need to get gas. I passed/called over twenty stations and none have any. I really don't wanna go all the way to White Plains."<br />
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" What about New Rochelle?" I ask as I pull out the phone that knows how to do more things than I can think of. Boss doesn't hear me, lost in his frustration. I call one gas station listed on Main Street. " Hi. Do you have gas?"<br />
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" YES! YES! WE HAVE GAS! COME UP! NO LINES!". I hadn't even hung up and he was racing towards the expressway.<br />
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" How is that possible?! I call twenty and you call one and find one!" A grin spreading across his face.<br />
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" It's gonna be a good day."<br />
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The light comes one step at a time.Alanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17194244496619480510noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8300973686714141690.post-27712277230590436492012-10-18T18:15:00.000-07:002012-10-18T18:15:39.388-07:00An Unusual Measurement of Personality<br />
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It was the tallest ladder I had ever seen. I marveled it more out of curiosity than a desire to scale it. During a weekend preparing for a wedding reception it was nice to look at in between cutting flowers and setting forks.</div>
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The uncle of the friend who was having the reception, who owned the ladder and the barn it sat in watched me counting all those rings.</div>
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" Wanna go up?"</div>
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" Nah, that's alright..it's impressive though"</div>
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Before I knew it the ladder was spread out in the middle of the floor in the midst of pumpkins, flowers and fake fall leaves. A huge grin was spreading across Uncle John's face.</div>
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" Go on! Climb up!"</div>
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I laughed, placed the flowers in my hand on the table and to the cheers of my friend who finally looked up from arranging party favors, slowly climbed the steps one by one.</div>
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I got within five of the top rungs before I loudly shouted that I didn't want to go any further. The view from where I was satisfied me. I didn't need to touch the light bulb in the ceiling.</div>
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During the dinner, Uncle John explained that he was able to measure his children's personalities based on that ladder.</div>
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" My eldest boy Justin, no more than four years old. Saw him eyeing that ladder. I pulled it out. He climbed up one step, looked around and went back down. He did that for each step, all the way to the top."</div>
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" My second boy, Tim shot straight to the top, looked around and screamed. Had to climb up there and bring him back."</div>
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" One was methodically, the other brash"</div>
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Contemplating this I glanced at the ladder in the corner and summarized myself. " Guess you could say I know when I've reached my limit and satisfied with what I got."</div>
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Uncle John smiled and nodded in agreement.</div>
<br />Alanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17194244496619480510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8300973686714141690.post-26368159483485970122012-09-30T10:06:00.001-07:002012-09-30T10:06:43.488-07:00No longer my footsteps<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
Just arrived on the seven ten,<br />
Thought I’d see the old gang again,<br />
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<br />but you know how they come and go,<br />I’m just a stranger in town.<br />
<br />Ev’rywhere ev’ryone I see<br />Seems to wonder who I can be<br />
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<br />And I swear no one seems to care<br />About a stranger in town.<br />
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<br />I saw a cottage on a lonely old street,<br />The weeds have grown ‘round the gate.<br />
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<br />Somehow I felt that you would wait here,<br />My sweet, but it looks like I’m too late.<br />Guess I’ll leave on the twelve o’ two,<br />Can’t believe that there’s no more you.<br />Is there nothing for me,<br />Will I always be<br />A stranger in my own home town?<br />
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Lyrics by Mel Torme<br />
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<br />Alanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17194244496619480510noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8300973686714141690.post-46920940989241342602012-09-02T19:53:00.000-07:002012-09-02T19:53:30.698-07:00extra with a library cardMe- flipping through papers, photos, and articles...<br />
<br />
Librarian- Patiently standing next to me.<br />
<br />
Through a black photo album, I flip through pages nonplussed, until I hear a quiet " Oh my!"<br />
<br />
I glance up at the slightly shocked face of the little woman standing next to me down to the obviously disturbing picture my hand is resting on. I smile sheepishly.<br />
<br />
"They weren't really nice people."<br />
<br />
"I see."<br />
<br />
Flip to another page. "But they did know how to dress."<br />
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A grin creeps across her face. " That's true!"<br />
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I continue flipping. Alanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17194244496619480510noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8300973686714141690.post-34618174427408108622012-07-15T16:05:00.004-07:002012-07-15T16:05:47.747-07:00A simple reminder<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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No matter what you may go through, the light is always shining at the end of the tunnel if you just simply take the time to look.Alanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17194244496619480510noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8300973686714141690.post-37417914354730262972012-06-30T09:37:00.002-07:002012-06-30T09:37:47.292-07:00Same Sky, Different ViewThe universe has a funny way of speaking up when you need something desperately..for me that was some semblance of a vacation.<br />
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What I got was better. An unexpected phone call from a friend to watch their home and adorable flatmate for a week.. the home of a more accomplished <a href="http://myprivateconey.blogspot.com/">writer</a> than I, that is also a great place to write..Which was something I had really wanted to do for a long time, but life kept bouncing in at the most inconvenient of times.<br />
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So off I went, over a hundred and thirty six blocks to be exact to watch over a little tough guy who was just as curious about the strange chick walking through his house as I was watching him having a a standoff with two pigeons in the window..<br />
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where I gained balance and inspiration in a <a href="http://myprivateconey.blogspot.com/2010_05_23_archive.html">workplace </a>filled with so many memories</div>
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and have an alarm clock that gently pushed earlier each day to say get up and open that can before you head out for work..<br />
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Just as priceless was getting to see a different view of my home. Appreciating what I have a hundred and thirty six blocks north. And grateful for the gift of experiencing a different serenity to the south.</div>Alanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17194244496619480510noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8300973686714141690.post-66921752526925895322012-06-03T18:55:00.001-07:002012-06-03T18:55:24.646-07:00take your pick<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<em>I wonder what's on the menu in the Cafeteria?-</em> Times Square 1944</div>
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"Twitterfeed" in 1940...</div>
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Road to Somewhere..Railroad Yards 1942</div>
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all photos from Shorpy</div>Alanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17194244496619480510noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8300973686714141690.post-11803410824174387412012-04-25T17:33:00.000-07:002012-04-25T17:33:23.475-07:00225 miles for a spoon full of sugar<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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getting up at an ungodly hour to pass out exhausted on a train that cost an ungodly amount of money..</div>
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In between brief intervals of rest, gazing upon waterways and greenery that don't begin with names like central, hudson or east..</div>
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Exhaustion ebbs away upon seeing the face of a dear friend..</div>
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She laughs when I remark in disbelief that her metro has carpet. Everything is foreign to me..especially the concept that you have to swipe your transit card twice, when you get<em> on</em> the train and <em>off..</em></div>
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"Depends on what zone you end up in." she says.. I still think it sucks. must be a bitch to calculate every month.</div>
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Taking me around her city, she meets her match in the walking department. She glides in a Camry, I glide in Sauconys..</div>
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Downpour at the end of the day diverts plans to go someone where else, end up at an eatery familiar everywhere else but at home.</div>
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The medicinal remedy of quiet time and reflection was well needed and appreciated, though I am looking forward to return home. Recharged and sitting upright at a normal hour on a train that cost an ungodly sum of money..</div>
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<br />Alanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17194244496619480510noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8300973686714141690.post-12437658674720757242012-04-04T19:39:00.002-07:002012-04-04T19:39:44.373-07:00The Tree Branch<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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the city you made your home, that molded you into the person you became and are becoming can always surprise you and comfort you and teach you a lesson at most inconvenient times.<br />
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through passing conversations, through a side glance in a mirror. through worn out shoes, dim lights in tenements and stately apartment houses.<br />
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through solitude, frustration, loneliness and joy.<br />
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Through dusty pages hidden in decrepit buildings, through words and actions of people long gone. <br />
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through your own reflection when you take the time and stop and look and before you realize it the tentacles have wrapped through every core of your being that you wouldn't be able to function without it.<br />
<br />Alanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17194244496619480510noreply@blogger.com1