more randomness, some words

My writing has decreased on this page to pretty much nonexistent. I hope to soon find inspiration to fill this page again, until then I can only offer random photos from my days.

~GoGo

Congradulations!

Congrad to the Chief for running 2:04:27 in your first half marathon!

:-)
~GoGo

randomness from the last month or so...

always ready to go...

I sat in a room tonight, listening to another passer-by pass by. She told me a story of a stormy old road that I know. She told the story of not staying but going; she carried nothing with her, so she could always go. She talked of London, 2 years from now. She talked of Denver along the way. Her words drifting off the lip, I watched myself unfold. Leave it all and start over. This mirror reflection in a sandy orange shirt spoke my journey back at me.

What do you say to the concave mirror speaking, this serendipitous event colliding into my obscure reality?

I sat there and listened. Traveled her lines into my own story. That couch picked up on the side of the road, the dishes passed along from a friend. Stay simple and own nothing ‘cause you’ll be leaving it all in the end. She spoke of what to carry while unfurling baggage we picked along the way. Without a doubt she was not gonna stay.

It’s a casual conversation, neither of us met before. My road and hers happened to come across the same door. I didn’t know when I opened it, what this time had in store.

Now I sit here thinking, trying to wrap up this time. Two passers-by passed by and I said goodbye to that silly old road that I know. The one where I’m always leaving; always got someplace else to go. Nothing to carry, no one to know. Just me on my journey, so I’m always ready to go!

Umber stained leaf by leaf: free thought

Autumn’s arrived, under full bellied skies, grey and bulbous with rain. She brings a fresh air, crisp to all those hot days. I watched her seep into the neighborhood, umber’d stained highlights in the canopy. If you were not looking, you would not notice her filling the veins leaf by leaf, a subtle introduction of her grace. I saw her calling card and knew she was about to make her entrance.

She came in full force a few days ago. Morning ran thick with chilly winds, rain cried from the clouds, only to bring sunny afternoons. The air though, this is her signature, assured response that she is taking over the scene. My clothes become layers of long sleeves and socks. I begin to wonder, should I carry a jacket?

Autumn. I am not sure what to do with her. Summer was my season, warm and thick with sunlight. I walked bright streets in the later night, saw the fruits of her comfort grow thick and ripe. She is the grower; she is laid back and all about being outside. But there is no reason to walk gingerly in the grace of autumn’s form forming into the season where summer’s birth, harvested, is reaped with rewards.

I think that’s why I stand in Autumn, trepidation lingering…

While I played and laughed under summer’s growing light, I found myself sticking around this town instead of moving. I made the decision to stop pushing forward this matter of being somewhere else, to be exactly where I was. I liked it…under summer’s sun. I liked my company too, she was me learning to let go and just be. And here I am, wondering, still a little nervous that what grew inside of me, will garner me stronger through autumn’s colder months. Am I the clichéd grasshopper about to be shut out in the cold? Autumn, she’s cold this year.

Ah, but in truth, I do love autumn’s hand. She plays her cards with crisp elegance – prickled fingers and warm bond fires, subtle smells of leaves raked, sunrises are a flush of color under brewing skies. This nervous worry doesn’t have anything to do with her really. It’s all about me, letting the effects of just being play out, in yet another season in this town. It's feels harder after the first season!

life in 3/4 time

Stenciled birds flying, sketched out in spray paint, the day plays out and here I am trying to find something to say. I’ve been absent on this page, letting life play out instead of feathering its edges with rhyme. This writer put down the pen and became the words.

Isn’t that what Rumi would say, go out in to the noisy street and be the noise! I find myself caught up in the triplets of my own rhythm, practicing the one lesson I’ve yet to master…let go and be…the noise.

Then there is this page. I’ve often thought if I came back to it, what would I write? Summer transpired to teach me that time always has her way and we can never stay when the seasons move us. And here I am sitting on the edge of summer, autumn’s horizon lapping at my ankles, and I am choosing to linger in her final moments of reprieve. I’m not ready to shed words for a season not quite done. There is something more she needs to teach me.

back from 11 days of camping at MWMF

~gg

the neighborhood

The Farmer's Market

There are three cucumbers in my fridge. I see them first thing in the morning as I open the door to grab the coffee. They lie in this pyramid formation on the 2nd shelf, still waiting for me to do something with them. I pour my cold cup of summer Joe, and start to think about what I can do with them. I’ve started to drink my coffee cold brewed and then cubes of ice in my cup. Good stuff. I’m not really hungry as I drink my cup of summer’s bold richness, sipping it really, savory every sip. Thoughts of eating cukes don’t fit with the rhythm of the morning, but here I am thinking about those 3 cucumbers sitting in my fridge.

I bought them last week at the Farmer’s market in the neighborhood. In the summer’s I try to eat by the season. I buy my food weekly, enough to last until the next market opens. I chop and stir and eat quiet well. By the time I run out, another market day comes and I start the whole process over. I spend less than $20 at the market a week. Right now, the market is rich with fresh picked foods. Zucchini, Squash, tomatoes, egg plant, carrots, radishes, snap peas, basil and thyme. There are yam breads and garlic, onions and cilantro…cucumbers.

The cukes are the residuals of last week’s harvest. I have a dish in mind while I finish my cup. I fill my water bottle with filtered tap water after putting the coffee cup in the sink. I need to do dishes if I am going to make my cucumber curry dish tonight. I am not a fan of washing dishes. I imagine that actually being motivated to a wash a dish as a transcended act, bringing me closer to enlightenment. To be present mind while washing dishes sounds like an ideal thing to learn. What I know about myself is that washing dishes is an impatient act. I want to be done before I’ve even started and have by default let them go a few days. My handylady has commented about how clean my apartment is…except the sink.

What does motivate me to wash the burly mass of too many glasses and pans are those three cucumbers in my fridge. They need to be eaten and I do love the curry dish. It starts out with mustard and cumin seeds snapping in a pan, and then onions and Turmeric. I have 1 tomato left, so I need to buy more at the market today. I’m thinking of using jasmine rice. A nice aroma for the dish. I’ve added a splash of Balsamic and white rice vinegar to the original recipe. It catches in the taste buds, lingering between sauce and rice. Good addition, I think.

I go outside and put out my farmer’s market sign. Invested neighbors place signs out in their front yards to let others know its open today. I’m one of those neighbors. I come back in and make a list of what I might want to eat into next week. I wonder which farmer may sell mushrooms. I need fresh basil for a dish later this week. An onion for sure, are Vidalias ready? I check the fridge, moving the three cucumbers to see if there are any other refugees from last week’s find. I finish my list taking my water bottle placing it beside me and begin washing the dishes with those 3 cukes in mind.

porch steps

I’m sitting in the early morning, watching the neighborhood wake up. Cars take their slow turns in and out of the alleyway toward work and owners walk their dogs. A few foot travelers walk up the street turning right toward the bus stop for the morning commute somewhere else. Doors open and close, in the distance I can hear the screen door bang shut. It happens over and over again and I imagine it’s the home of the mother with 4 kids, getting them packed up for the babysitter while she goes to work.

Me, I’m sitting on the porch drinking my coffee getting motivated to go for a run. Something tells me today is going to be hot and humid. Though the morning is marred by grey skies and a soft chill from the dew on the ground, each moment passing brings a heat to the day. I want to go for a jog before my motivation succumbs to the weather.

Ah, but first the morning Joe on porch steps. I breathe in the earthy smell and spend my time watching and living and just being present in the moment. Then time passes and I realize I need to pass with it. I put down the empty cup, pick up the pen to record the moment, and then put on my running shoes.

good times

~gg

in the middle

Words lack their coherence these days. Flux, change, goodbyes and hellos collide and bounce. Thoughts pass by with layered feeling. This narrator is a loss for words. How do I describe the days of my life?

What can I say? Next week is the camping trip complete with tents, fire, and friends. I’ve been picking up extra shifts at work for the money AND the experience. Cleaning and packing slowly, trying to figure out what stays and what goes. I finally got my pass port – that was one long wait. Pictures of me unfold into documents, making me legal somewhere a long long way from here. This GoGo is about to turn 31-years-old. I’m completing another revolution around that sun. I am camping, I am packing, and I am moving!

And here I am in the middle of it all, enjoying my time. I like myself. I wake up every day to be a part of my story; I am excited to play a part.

Still, it’s a’lot.

I wanted to write about moving, about figuring out how one packs a life into two bags and a carry on, and about just having fun with wonderful people before I go.

It’s a little too much to pin down with words though. Before I can even grasp what’s happening, the whole scene seems to change. So, I’ve changed my medium, snapping photographs as a cathartic response to my time here. It’s really weird to be moving and still living in this city.

It’s too much for words really.

...about this town

Spending time about the town, wrapping fingers around camera,

I take my shot.