 Ironically
Given temp 71 Today, it’s Much of Calif That gives Students week Off ‘round Presidents’ Day (Sadly our Longest living Just entered Hospice which I presume is For metastatic Melanoma Including brain He’s fought Off so valiantly From 2015 Choosing to pass In Plains GA Modest place he’s Called home Since at least 1961) Thus allowing My grandchildren To go to hills To frolic and ski Or snowboard.
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 In the years since I made
This life change, my own Well-being’s risen a lot. People notice & remark I smile more & look like Having more fun at work. --riffing A. Lane, New Yorker 23Oct23 from A.C. Brooks/O. Winfrey’s Build Life You Want: Art and Science Now howz ‘bout us quacking Fundamental macronutrients Gerardo’s Happiness Oh let us just say for sake Of y/ our argument that They veyizmir comprise Oy Enjoyment Satisfaction Purpose that are reflected In wise-person jolliness For starters The Dalai Lama Or RIP Thích Nhất Hạnh’s Such infectious grins! On another hand (or flipper) Folk often paddle hard with No answer---contradictions As we just need to manage Relationship paradoxes… Turn off Zoom self-view?  The Erasure Text: Excerpt from Anne of Green Gables by L. M. Montgomery, published by L.C. Page & Co. in 1908. Anne was sitting by her gable window.
In all essential respects, the little gable chamber was unchanged. Yet the whole character of the room was altered. It was as if all the dreams, sleeping and waking, of its vivid occupant, had taken a visible, although unmaterial, form and had tapestried the bare room with splendid filmy tissues of rainbow and moonshine. “Oh—it’s—it’s too dark,” cried Anne. “Too dark? Why, it’s only twilight. And goodness knows you’ve gone over often enough after dark.” “I can’t go through the Haunted Wood,” cried Anne desperately. “The Haunted Wood! What under the canopy is the Haunted Woods?” “The spruce wood over the brook,” said Anne in a whisper. “There is no such thing as a haunted wood anywhere. Who has been telling you such stuff?” “Nobody,” confessed Anne. “There’s a white lady walks along the brook just about this time of the night and wrings her hands and utters wailing cries. Oh, I wouldn’t go through the Haunted Wood after dark now for anything. I’d be sure that white things would reach out from behind the trees and grab me.” “Anne Shirley, do you mean to tell me you believe all that wicked nonsense of your own imagination?” “Not believe,” faltered Anne. “At least, I don’t believe it in daylight. But after dark, it’s different. That is when ghosts walk.” “There are no such things as ghosts, Anne.” “Oh, but there are,” cried Anne eagerly. “I know people who have seen them.” “I’ve had my doubts about that imagination of yours right along…never let me hear a word out of your head about haunted woods again.” [THE END]  Though alone I'm loath to settle
on one summer night. There's nothing to write to the home for the unhoused about. That there are fewer than five thousand expert witnesses I have no doubt. In every neighborhood of every happenstance there's an apotheosis. Just because you're panoramic doesn't mean you're a terrain. It does mean in the stream of consciousness each obstacle induces turbulence according to its kind. The last act of the butterfly is the bequeathing of a negative estate. And when one whispers, when one tiptoes through the patient saints, ll miracles are verified. I'm therefore thinking of an umbra between someone's sunset and someone's sunrise. The willingness of the participants is self-selection. Where there is no vacuum there is no comparable parade. The roles of predator and prey are cast in play then in reality reversed. Narcissus (Sisyphus by day) will slowly roll the stone away and I'll bound down the aisle but to be born once more.
 Through taxi window, a glimpse--
Not the face but that walk-- his uncertain lyric sway. Then wind stirs wrong-colored hair. Beside you, a girl who died in 1972 who you never knew.  The weather is wonderful. Every day we wake up and the sun is shining so brightly our room is fully illuminated even though the curtains are shut tight. Every morning I wake up and my eyes shoot open excitedly. I’ve been waiting months for this holiday and I don’t want to waste a second of it having a lie in.
 A year ago, I decided to make a healthy change in my life. I moved from the hectic and often stifling Argentine Buenos Aires to the calm and hospitable Uruguayan Montevideo, on the other side of the Río de la Plata. Along with me came my vast library, made up of books I've read over decades, books I've bought and never had the courage to read, and books barely skimmed that I've vowed to read through as soon as I get the chance.
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