A Day at the Park. Brooklyn Botanical Garden.

It was a delightful surprise yesterday morning when hubby told me about the Brooklyn Botanical Garden plant sale.

I'd taken a personal day, and this was the perfect respite from weeks of cloud cover and drizzle in the city. Also, politics and the state of our democracy were pulling me down. After several nights of not sleeping well, I needed to clear my head and touch base with the earth, with the fragrance of flowers, the sunlight, and breathe in the moment. Enjoy the photos!

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Nature heals.  Science cures!  Life is to be lived and loved.

Heavenly Peonies! 

The peonies sent my head spinning. Is it possible to become drunk from sitting among them? 

Orchids from the Tropic Zone. 

Plant Sale!  My greedy heart, I wanted all the flowers, bu my shade patio garden can only handle shade lovers. It was a great place to find a few less common shade plants. SCORE! 

The Best Made Plans Fall Away

I quickened my pace, keeping Coco one-step behind. I was the alpha dog I knew where we were headed. The pier! I announced excited by the warm spring temperature. I took my best friend’s advice and moved my office outside.

I wanted to. I needed to. The dark solace of the jazz club had become a burden with holes being poked into my solitude. It was a public space, after all. What could I expect? Making deals with my partner had turned into an adventure in fortitude. Was I winning? 

I took my bearings with my faithful pup at my side. First, we stepped into the dog run. With no balls to play with and forgetting hers, we left and returned to walking, searching for a spot to park. 

The winds picked up. My hair and earbuds tangled into a braid. I couldn’t see. The sun was warm and delightful. I pressed on. We found a bench and sat down. Whew.

I opened my notebook. The pages flapped in the wind, signaling an emergency. But what? 

For an unknown reason, I opened my wallet only to drop it and have business cards and money fly from my reach. I caught all the little papers about to take off into the river.

I sat at the picnic table and looked around. It was a beautiful day. I wanted to stay. But there was no way I could concentrate and write a short story, much less sketch.

So, Coco and I walked home, through the sun and blustery wind, grateful for our beautiful spring day.

 You should have seen the papers flying everywhere!   

The Materialists are at the Helm.

I don’t know how much longer I can grapple with an unjust world. A place where affluence reigns, where the uncaring and materialistic are in control of the laws of the land, throwing the souls of the Earth into the pits of despair, in an endless struggle to see the light of hope and creativity.

The materialists and the superficial, the shell has little bearing. But in the world of illusion, the materialists are caught in its web. Gloating in their apparent supremacy. It’s a trap, unbeknownst to the servants of the dollar sign. They smile in all their platitudes, project what they think you may swallow.

Art for the people is art.  Art, only for those who can afford it, is one-dimensional. In this world of many layers and entities, we are being swallowed by the farce.  How long can we, the people, stand strong against the opposition when they hold all the money? When they twist the narrative and force-feed it to their blind followers?

Looking at the world in my late teens, I feared the Cold War, feared my dreams would disappear before I had a chance to live. I believed, with all my naiveté (and heart), I'd see a utopian planet of this paradise we call Earth.

My creativity is directly linked to the waves and magnetic field that surrounds us.

We all are! 

Some cannot hear or feel it, others ignore it, and many cannot recognize that there’s more than meets the eye. What’s real is our planet and its oceans, its beasts, and those who can live in harmony with all beings. 

How can politicians destroy our planet so eagerly? 

All for MONEY? Really? 

Don’t they breathe the AIR? 

Eat the food?

I feel terribly despondent today. The pressure and the weight of what we as a country must do to take back the White House from this new administration and the GOP, who only want to strip our oceans and forests, and sell off OUR National Parks! The tacky measures of the 45^th president are outlandish and foolish and will kill us all.

My artwork focuses on perseverance and unity, and seeing the plant the way I envision it. We were so close. Bringing people together, and assisting each other in an alchemy of ideas, that will bring us back in step with the rest of the Free World. 

The United States is at a precarious crossroads, with the Putin/Russia installed President and administration. We have a dictator at the helm, working hard to destroy our democracy. The nepotism is off the charts!  Making calls to my reps and protesting is bringing little results.

I’m ashamed of who represents our country and disgusted with it all.  My grandfather fought in WW2, my dad in Vietnam, and my mother was an immigrant. 

Will artists rise up and bring art to the masses, create a new world where everyone can live in peace and harmony?  

I'll never stop believing that we can.

“If you want peace, fight for justice.” Amy Goodman, Democracy Now.

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Show Us Your Taxes POTUS! The March in New York City.

Bryant Park on April 15, 2017
Tax Day. 

The light shining on us!

To Whom are you beholden to, Trump?  RUSSIA???

The only president EVER who wouldn't show the public his taxes. Is 45 being blackmailed by Russia?  

We the People Stand up and demand to see what criminal mischief this non-majority so-called president is hiding that the GOP wants to keep hidden too.  Obviously, or the Republicans in the House would demand the same. WHAT HAPPENED TO OUR DEMOCRACY? 

Overcast and dreary

The Flip Side

Some people think protestors are unemployed or have all the time in the world.  

Here's a quote  I LOVE from my son's school. "If you want something done ask a busy person."    

Don't tell me anything about Soros or how he pays protestors--you'll sound like my dad, who has dementia and has found solace in conspiracy theories. I prefer the truth. 

I live for Truth.  I will FIGHT for the truth. And for others to live FREE.  It's my duty. 

My grandfather fought in WW2, my father in Vietnam. Protesting is patriotic. It's my duty. 

My mother is an immigrant. 

And immigrants have made America Great. We need to keep it up!  

One Star Review of the Afterlife by K.L. Hallam

Something a little different.
It's not a YA or MG fiction. I found this today and had a laugh.

 One Star Review of the Afterlife. 

The crack of a windshield, cold damp leaves. Lights. Rolling wheels.

Someone whispers, “You’re going to be Okay.”

Who the hell is that?  Sure doesn’t sound like Arthur?

Up and down, my back arches. There’s no air. Blinking lights, aren’t they pretty, following like pearls on a string?

Up, up and away. 

I open my eyes.

Where am I now? No one is around. Then someone pushes past me—hey! I shout. Don’t be so rude. But they don’t hear me.

“Are you going up or down?”  A string of lights waves behind the blob without a face.

Where is Arthur?

I turn where the lights trail and catch a glimpse of my surroundings. Blank white.

“Mrs. Joan Ruckwin, please come forward.” I hear in the opposite direction.

There’s no one anywhere near me-–except that voice, a cavernous, reverberating voice, telling me to come forward. But there’s no forward. And where is back?

 I spin until I’m a dancer on the top of a music box and stop.  

 “Mrs. Joan Ruckwin, there may have been a mistake?” It’s not a God it’s the voice of my fifth-grade math teacher addressing me.

“What do you mean?” I ask.  “Where am I?” I don’t see anything. “A mistake?” Arthur? He was in the car with me. He’s not here.  He must be alive. “You’re right, there’s been a huge mistake. I don’t belong here. I belong with my husband and he needs me.”

“Everything’s transparent,” my fifth-grade teacher answers.

“Well, get me down. I want off.”

“Look inside this,” I’m told.

I see Arthur. Arthur is not in the hospital.  He’s laughing and having fun, with—with another woman?

I step back. “Why are you showing this to me? “

Suppose I suspected it.  We watch Arthur drinking bubbly with another woman.
I turn away. “I don’t need to see any more.”

“You still want to go back?”

“Wait, so this isn’t hell, cause it’s not too shabby.”

“A midway point before total departure.”

  

Before I have another thought, swirls of compression land me onto the table with Mr. Ruckwin, and his new, soon to be, Mrs. from what it appears, admiring her new ring.

“Oh, hello, dear. I know you weren’t expecting me."

The woman spits up wine. My dear husband coughs, gasping until it overtakes him, and into a frenzy; coughing and choking with no one to give them the Heimlich maneuver.  

Such a pity. 

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 written in 2015