On a cruise a couple of years back I met another gentleman from Houston. This cruise, as a footnote, was when I began writing what would eventually become this blog. A blank book, given to me the previous Christmas, was thrown into my suitcase on a whim at the last minute and I found myself recounting the trip during quiet moments as the ship sailed through the Caribbean. I contacted him to let him know I would becoming to town. He invited me to dinner during my stay.
Outside of Facebook he and I had not chatted for a while. Responding to my initial emails he mentioned that he had met someone he was anxious to introduce me to. I was happy for him. He is a dear, sweet and caring man and deserves to have someone special in his life. He mentioned that a friend of theirs, a fairly recent transplant to Chicago, would be joining us. My host drove me to their home in the Montrose area, know as Houston's main gay district. They drove me back afterwards.
Throughout my life I have always felt a sense of trepidation prior to meeting a partner of a person I care for. What if the partner is revealed to be a complete ass? There is the fear that I could find myself holding a tight smile on my face while thoughts swirl around in the back of my head such as "Oh my God! This guy is unbearable! What could he possibly see in him!" Before I met the partner of my dear friend in Phoenix this fear gripped me. There the fear was exacerbated as I would be staying with them for several days. This was only dinner, whatever happened I would be able to soldier through it. Fortunately, in both these cases this concern was unwarranted.
Although I do not see this man often, or enough, he appeared happier, almost elated and more content than I have ever known him to be. It is obvious that there is a deep love and respect between them. His partner is charming with a delightfully playful side. Their friend, as I discovered a long term ex roommate of the partner, was attractive and equally charming with the same underlying playful manner. Wine, excellent food and conversation flowed.
They were in the process of moving in together. They are striving to create a home that is "Theirs". A fusion of their styles, personalities and possessions. Having done this myself I know that this is not an easy task but with determination, patience and the love I sense in them for each other I am sure they will succeed. They will create a nest, a shared and cherished space.
During a quiet conversation on one of the balconies of the townhouse I related to him part of my experience meeting someone later in life. I was 40 when I moved in with my partner. The big experiences and the small everyday occurrences are equally important. The returns home after a hard days work, the quiet dinners together or just sitting and watching a favorite T.V. show are all moments to be savored and held dear. I wish them both many years of these.
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
Friday, August 9, 2013
Houston 2013 - 150 Years of History in a Day
One of my requests on this trip was to tour the downtown area of Houston as I had not seen it on my previous visit. Much is sometimes made, when people write of this sprawling metropolis, about it's total lack of zoning laws. Venerable structures are razed to make way for towering highrises completely out of scale and without respect to their surroundings. Out of town, former farm and pasture land disappear under faceless subdivisions and strip malls. Therefore, it was a pleasant surprise to discover that a historic section of the city, abutting the bayou that winds it's way near downtown, has been rehabilitated.
Storefronts, office buildings and hotels, some dating back to the mid 19th century, grace the area. A small restaurant, originally a bakery built in 1860, is one of the oldest buildings in the city still on it's original site. It sits across from the Market Square, the center of the early city, used in those days as an open air produce market. Today it is a lovely area of flower beds, sculptures and fountains, one a memorial to the victims of 9/11. Misters spray diners at an outdoor eating area in an effort to keep the Texas heat at bay.
The old courthouse, a solid, domed, stone symbol of the law is located a few blocks away. The new civil courthouse is designed to reference and pay homage to it's older sibling. The area's architectural styles range from Beaux Arts to Victorian to Art Deco. Old hotels have been rehabbed and office buildings have been reclaimed for residential uses. Bars, nightclubs and restaurants fill the street level floors of many of the buildings. A bike path runs alongside the bayou which was used to bring goods from the gulf during the 18th century, giving rise to the city.
As you move away from the Historic District you encounter the more modern portion of downtown. Yet, every so often, an older building can be seen sandwiched between two glass walled highrises, appearing to resist the cities determination to completely relinquish it's history in this part of town.
There are also neighborhood historical districts. We drove through two of them, Westmoreland and Audubon. Old trees shade streets of late 19th and early 20th century homes which range from cozy, quaint bungalows to grand, sometimes imposing mansions. The southern influences on Houston are evidenced by occasional rows of shotgun houses, a staple of cities such as New Orleans. We drove past the impressive home of Houston's mayor, an out lesbian. In a state as conservative as Texas it is interesting to note that Houston is the largest city in the country where an openly gay woman holds it's highest elective office.
Though homes and buildings possessing character and charm are still being torn down in Houston, sacrificed to make way for newer structures without these attributes, it is heartening to know that in some areas these traits are still respected and preserved.
Storefronts, office buildings and hotels, some dating back to the mid 19th century, grace the area. A small restaurant, originally a bakery built in 1860, is one of the oldest buildings in the city still on it's original site. It sits across from the Market Square, the center of the early city, used in those days as an open air produce market. Today it is a lovely area of flower beds, sculptures and fountains, one a memorial to the victims of 9/11. Misters spray diners at an outdoor eating area in an effort to keep the Texas heat at bay.
The old courthouse, a solid, domed, stone symbol of the law is located a few blocks away. The new civil courthouse is designed to reference and pay homage to it's older sibling. The area's architectural styles range from Beaux Arts to Victorian to Art Deco. Old hotels have been rehabbed and office buildings have been reclaimed for residential uses. Bars, nightclubs and restaurants fill the street level floors of many of the buildings. A bike path runs alongside the bayou which was used to bring goods from the gulf during the 18th century, giving rise to the city.
As you move away from the Historic District you encounter the more modern portion of downtown. Yet, every so often, an older building can be seen sandwiched between two glass walled highrises, appearing to resist the cities determination to completely relinquish it's history in this part of town.
There are also neighborhood historical districts. We drove through two of them, Westmoreland and Audubon. Old trees shade streets of late 19th and early 20th century homes which range from cozy, quaint bungalows to grand, sometimes imposing mansions. The southern influences on Houston are evidenced by occasional rows of shotgun houses, a staple of cities such as New Orleans. We drove past the impressive home of Houston's mayor, an out lesbian. In a state as conservative as Texas it is interesting to note that Houston is the largest city in the country where an openly gay woman holds it's highest elective office.
Though homes and buildings possessing character and charm are still being torn down in Houston, sacrificed to make way for newer structures without these attributes, it is heartening to know that in some areas these traits are still respected and preserved.
Tuesday, August 6, 2013
Houston 2013 - The Mystery of the Gray Pickup
As I landed and picked my way through the labyrinth that is Houston International Airport I found myself thinking that it resembled the somewhat twisted logic of the president for which it is named. I fondly recalled Geraldine Ferraro, the first woman to run for vice president, instructing him not patronize her in their famous exchange during the historic 1984 vice presidential debate. I collected my bag and went to the arrival pickup area.
After a short wait I phoned my hosts. Asking if their pick up truck was what I should be expecting I was assured that it was. Upon further inquiry regarding what color the truck was I was told that it was gray. I surveyed the cars in the area which were waiting for arriving passengers. There were no less than 4 gray pick up trucks. Knowing that theirs did not have a gun rack I was able to narrow the possible number of gray pick ups to 2. After a second phone call I was informed that I had misread my arrival time placing it a half hour behind my actual one. After 20 minutes or so, and the passing of a number of other gray pick up trucks, some sporting gun racks, some not, I was after all in Texas, the proper one arrived.
We drove away from the airport and onto the highway. The passing landscape was a mixture of horses grazing in fields, industrial parks and gentle, slow flowing bayous, their banks festooned with midsummer wildflowers.
Houston, like many sunbelt cities, is low and spreads out for miles. Over dinner at a local Mexican restaurant we discussed how, due to the sprawling nature of such cities, devising a public mass transit system is a challenging, if not impossible, task. There is a light rail system downtown, built during a failed bid to host a summer Olympics and a bus system, but service is infrequent and requires hours to get from one location to another. Add to this the blazing Texas heat and it appears from the people seen at the bus stops, that public transit is primarily used by only the most desperate and poor citizens. One option might be a light rail system reaching to the corners of the city with shorter feeder bus routes but this would be costly. Gas lobbyists are a powerful bunch. As long as money, as opposed to common sense, decides public policy reliable and efficient mass transit in the private auto addicted U.S. will remain a pipe dream. When fossil fuel becomes more difficult to obtain, when the price of gas climbs so high that it becomes a luxury item, perhaps we will be spurred to action. Till then I fear public monies will be spent building an increasing number of roads leading us to places we can already get to.
After a short wait I phoned my hosts. Asking if their pick up truck was what I should be expecting I was assured that it was. Upon further inquiry regarding what color the truck was I was told that it was gray. I surveyed the cars in the area which were waiting for arriving passengers. There were no less than 4 gray pick up trucks. Knowing that theirs did not have a gun rack I was able to narrow the possible number of gray pick ups to 2. After a second phone call I was informed that I had misread my arrival time placing it a half hour behind my actual one. After 20 minutes or so, and the passing of a number of other gray pick up trucks, some sporting gun racks, some not, I was after all in Texas, the proper one arrived.
We drove away from the airport and onto the highway. The passing landscape was a mixture of horses grazing in fields, industrial parks and gentle, slow flowing bayous, their banks festooned with midsummer wildflowers.
Houston, like many sunbelt cities, is low and spreads out for miles. Over dinner at a local Mexican restaurant we discussed how, due to the sprawling nature of such cities, devising a public mass transit system is a challenging, if not impossible, task. There is a light rail system downtown, built during a failed bid to host a summer Olympics and a bus system, but service is infrequent and requires hours to get from one location to another. Add to this the blazing Texas heat and it appears from the people seen at the bus stops, that public transit is primarily used by only the most desperate and poor citizens. One option might be a light rail system reaching to the corners of the city with shorter feeder bus routes but this would be costly. Gas lobbyists are a powerful bunch. As long as money, as opposed to common sense, decides public policy reliable and efficient mass transit in the private auto addicted U.S. will remain a pipe dream. When fossil fuel becomes more difficult to obtain, when the price of gas climbs so high that it becomes a luxury item, perhaps we will be spurred to action. Till then I fear public monies will be spent building an increasing number of roads leading us to places we can already get to.
Saturday, August 3, 2013
Houston - The Second Time Around
This was my second trip to Houston. Since my last visit my friend and host had experienced major health problems eventually necessitating a liver transplant. Although his energy level is uneven he was well on the mend, eagerly anticipating my visit.
I have a friend from my Caribbean cruise who also lives in Houston. Several weeks ago he was in Chicago for a period too brief to allow me to meet up with him. Since I last saw him he has found a new man in his life, something of which he is richly deserving. I was to have dinner with them during my time in Texas along with the person they stayed with in my hometown. It is a recurring theme, my meeting fellow Chicagoans when I travel.
I have attempted to keep myself from feeling too culpable for my friends health issues, even though they began during my last visit. He assured me that all his organs would be in good working order this time.
So, early on a Wednesday morning I left my apartment on Chicago's far north side enroute to O'hare airport. A white, just past full, moon hung in a blue sunlit sky. As I transferred from one bus to the next I passed by a building undergoing renovations. The businesses operating there have had to create temporary signage for their establishments. "Dynasty Insurance" has resorted to a small paper sign in their window. It is somewhat unfortunate that a corner of the sign has folded over and now reads "Nasty Insurance". Heading west I am once again reminded of the architectural and visual riches of my hometown. The intricate spires of gothic revival churches loom over streets lined with vintage two flats and bungalows, their yards bright with summer flowers. Towering venerable trees provide shade. The Chicago river, it's banks lush with foliage, flows through a verdant city park. A forest preserve, surrounded by the city, speaks to the "green" nature of Chicago, sometimes called "The City in a Garden".
As the plane takes off the view transitions from the silhouette of a metropolis with it's formidable highrises to small houses set among a patchwork of fields, the rich prairie soil ideal for growing many different crops. Wednesday, due to my waking up at an absurdly early hour, I plan to settle in and relax. Thursday I had requested to see the downtown highrise district, missed on my previous visit, followed by my dinner with my cruise friend that evening. The weekend would be spent at a camp in the Texas hill country. 3 of us would be making that trip, myself, my host and a friend of his who at one time kept a weekend trailer home at the campground. Sunday night would be spent in San Antonio, touring the city the following day before driving back to Houston and returning to Chicago on Tuesday.
Although I had packed a pair of jeans in the gym bag serving as my suitcase, they were a purely precautionary measure. Having to don a suit and tie every workday I was determined to wear shorts and shirts without sleeves during my entire stay. The only exception to this was the v neck gray tee shirt I brought for Thursday evening. When someone is being gracious and generous enough to have you to dinner completely bare arms could be seen by some as disrespectful.
I have a friend from my Caribbean cruise who also lives in Houston. Several weeks ago he was in Chicago for a period too brief to allow me to meet up with him. Since I last saw him he has found a new man in his life, something of which he is richly deserving. I was to have dinner with them during my time in Texas along with the person they stayed with in my hometown. It is a recurring theme, my meeting fellow Chicagoans when I travel.
I have attempted to keep myself from feeling too culpable for my friends health issues, even though they began during my last visit. He assured me that all his organs would be in good working order this time.
So, early on a Wednesday morning I left my apartment on Chicago's far north side enroute to O'hare airport. A white, just past full, moon hung in a blue sunlit sky. As I transferred from one bus to the next I passed by a building undergoing renovations. The businesses operating there have had to create temporary signage for their establishments. "Dynasty Insurance" has resorted to a small paper sign in their window. It is somewhat unfortunate that a corner of the sign has folded over and now reads "Nasty Insurance". Heading west I am once again reminded of the architectural and visual riches of my hometown. The intricate spires of gothic revival churches loom over streets lined with vintage two flats and bungalows, their yards bright with summer flowers. Towering venerable trees provide shade. The Chicago river, it's banks lush with foliage, flows through a verdant city park. A forest preserve, surrounded by the city, speaks to the "green" nature of Chicago, sometimes called "The City in a Garden".
As the plane takes off the view transitions from the silhouette of a metropolis with it's formidable highrises to small houses set among a patchwork of fields, the rich prairie soil ideal for growing many different crops. Wednesday, due to my waking up at an absurdly early hour, I plan to settle in and relax. Thursday I had requested to see the downtown highrise district, missed on my previous visit, followed by my dinner with my cruise friend that evening. The weekend would be spent at a camp in the Texas hill country. 3 of us would be making that trip, myself, my host and a friend of his who at one time kept a weekend trailer home at the campground. Sunday night would be spent in San Antonio, touring the city the following day before driving back to Houston and returning to Chicago on Tuesday.
Although I had packed a pair of jeans in the gym bag serving as my suitcase, they were a purely precautionary measure. Having to don a suit and tie every workday I was determined to wear shorts and shirts without sleeves during my entire stay. The only exception to this was the v neck gray tee shirt I brought for Thursday evening. When someone is being gracious and generous enough to have you to dinner completely bare arms could be seen by some as disrespectful.
Tuesday, July 9, 2013
Stop and Smell the Gemstones
I sell fine jewelry at one of America's most well known, almost iconic really, chain department stores. It is how I make my living. It is what keeps a roof over my head and food on my table. Jewelry is unique. Clothing can warm and protect. Jewelry, although it can suggest one's financial and social status to others, serves no real purpose other than adornment. Despite this, evidence of it's existence, in some form, can be found dating back to the onset of civilization. I have been in the business of retail, selling this, that and the other, for most of my adult life. It is something I am adept at witnessed by my longevity in the business. I am immersed, focused and intent when I sell. I highlight the quality, craftsmanship and beauty of the item to the customer. I work to connect with them, they share small parts of their history with me, I share portions of my history with them. But, every so often, I take a step back and consider the wonder of the natural forces which create the gems I vend.
There is the pearl, beautiful and lustrous, highly prized since ancient times. A foreign body works it's way into the shell of a mollusk, settling in the delicate inner membrane of the creature. To protect itself the host secretes a chemical which builds up layer upon layer on the unwanted visitor, forming the precious gem.
Consider the humble origins of the diamond. Merely pieces of carbon subjected to immense pressure. It is highly valued, yet, at it's core, is essentially the remains of a campfire compressed over time into one of the hardest substances known. An unprepossessing stone it it's natural state, when cut it's inner structure captures and refracts light in a manner unlike any other gemstone.
Amber wears it's history on it's sleeve. Fossilized tree sap, found in an array of orange and yellow hues, it can carry dirt, bark, bits of leaves, occasionally even an insect in it's opaque center. I feel as if, when wearing amber, I am carrying with me an ancient, frozen moment of time.
Onyx, in it's multitude of colors, also owes it's creation to an immense span of time. It is formed by minerals picked up and carried by water through fissures in the earth and deposited on cavern floors. It can be faceted to give it's surface a glittering appearance or polished smooth making it look muscular and strong. There is a ring I wear often of silver and black onyx I bought on Aruba. It is a favorite piece among my personal sizable jewelry collection.
Then there are beryls, a category that includes the bright green of the emerald, the soft blue of the aquamarine and the pale pink morganite. They are formed when superheated water vapor or magma becomes trapped between layers of rock then hardens as it cools. The colors are determined by the minerals contained in the water or magma. These gems, whether worn on the fingers or around the neck, are hundreds of millions of years old. A span of time difficult to comprehend.
Gemstones not only provide me with my living, they are things of immense age, deserving of respect. Pieces of often mundane origins transitioned, over time, into things of great beauty.
There is the pearl, beautiful and lustrous, highly prized since ancient times. A foreign body works it's way into the shell of a mollusk, settling in the delicate inner membrane of the creature. To protect itself the host secretes a chemical which builds up layer upon layer on the unwanted visitor, forming the precious gem.
Consider the humble origins of the diamond. Merely pieces of carbon subjected to immense pressure. It is highly valued, yet, at it's core, is essentially the remains of a campfire compressed over time into one of the hardest substances known. An unprepossessing stone it it's natural state, when cut it's inner structure captures and refracts light in a manner unlike any other gemstone.
Amber wears it's history on it's sleeve. Fossilized tree sap, found in an array of orange and yellow hues, it can carry dirt, bark, bits of leaves, occasionally even an insect in it's opaque center. I feel as if, when wearing amber, I am carrying with me an ancient, frozen moment of time.
Onyx, in it's multitude of colors, also owes it's creation to an immense span of time. It is formed by minerals picked up and carried by water through fissures in the earth and deposited on cavern floors. It can be faceted to give it's surface a glittering appearance or polished smooth making it look muscular and strong. There is a ring I wear often of silver and black onyx I bought on Aruba. It is a favorite piece among my personal sizable jewelry collection.
Then there are beryls, a category that includes the bright green of the emerald, the soft blue of the aquamarine and the pale pink morganite. They are formed when superheated water vapor or magma becomes trapped between layers of rock then hardens as it cools. The colors are determined by the minerals contained in the water or magma. These gems, whether worn on the fingers or around the neck, are hundreds of millions of years old. A span of time difficult to comprehend.
Gemstones not only provide me with my living, they are things of immense age, deserving of respect. Pieces of often mundane origins transitioned, over time, into things of great beauty.
Saturday, June 29, 2013
Things I Have Strong Feelings About - Overpopulation
A discussion has been ongoing regarding ways to pull the U.S. government out of it's present, less than ideal economic state. One suggestion is to tax the wealthy at a higher rate. This inevitably leads to a discussion of what defines "wealthy". Many New York based, well compensated newscasters argue that if you live in Manhattan with 4 children $250,000 per year is not wealthy. As $250,000 is 5 times the median U.S. household income of $50,000 stating that you are not economically advantaged if you fit into that category is a difficult argument to make.
I have always wanted to point out two things when these statements are made. One, Manhattan is expensive. If you feel financially strained move somewhere cheaper. Some of the boroughs or even New Jersey are just as accessible to Midtown as the Upper West Side and much more affordable. Two, in an already overpopulated world what do you think you are doing having 4 children?
Species are going extinct at an alarming rate. Most due to habitat destruction caused by human encroachment. We have poisoned, redirected, drained and dammed waterways and wetlands. Forests have been felled in order to make more space for people and to produce the food to feed them. It is time, in fact past time, for everyone to understand that we do not own the earth, we share it.
Most articles I have read on population regard the continuing growth of the human race as inevitable. It is time to challenge that assumption. Some countries, notably several in Europe, are seeing declines in their populations generation to generation. China has in place laws, which some suggest are too harsh, to control population growth. These are the exceptions. Some of the highest birth rates are found in developing countries.
This growth is both dangerous and unnecessary. It strains resources and degrades standards of living for all people. The situation, however, is not hopeless. As health care improves in poorer countries a decline in birth rates is seen. People have fewer children as they become assured that those they have will live to adulthood. As Brazil's middle class has grown it's population has slowed. The Brazilians are concerned about the life they can provide for their children. Many couples are choosing to have only two in order to insure their children's financial and physical well being.
Here in the U.S. there are steps we can take to keep our population growth at a level that will make both people and the earth healthier. Presently our tax system allows exceptions based partially on the number of children in a household. Perhaps we could cap exceptions at 3, which I feel would be a reasonable accommodation. Accidents can happen, my brother's third child was unplanned. Bearing 4, 5 or more children, however, becomes, in this day and age, a selfish and thoughtless act. This is regardless of whether you can afford the cost of housing, feeding and educating that many children or not.
For those possessing a strong faith and devotion to their religious beliefs the highest levels of religious organizations need to become involved. Reliable birth control measures should not only be tolerated but embraced, viewed as a moral obligation. If you believe that God gave you dominion over the earth it is your duty as it's overseer to care for it.
Creating and maintaining a stable and sustainable human population will require all people and nations to work together. Governments, religious institutions and individuals must all take responsibility towards this goal. It will take time, perhaps several generations to achieve but it needs to be addressed. We cannot allow ourselves to outgrow the earth, it's all we've got.
I have always wanted to point out two things when these statements are made. One, Manhattan is expensive. If you feel financially strained move somewhere cheaper. Some of the boroughs or even New Jersey are just as accessible to Midtown as the Upper West Side and much more affordable. Two, in an already overpopulated world what do you think you are doing having 4 children?
Species are going extinct at an alarming rate. Most due to habitat destruction caused by human encroachment. We have poisoned, redirected, drained and dammed waterways and wetlands. Forests have been felled in order to make more space for people and to produce the food to feed them. It is time, in fact past time, for everyone to understand that we do not own the earth, we share it.
Most articles I have read on population regard the continuing growth of the human race as inevitable. It is time to challenge that assumption. Some countries, notably several in Europe, are seeing declines in their populations generation to generation. China has in place laws, which some suggest are too harsh, to control population growth. These are the exceptions. Some of the highest birth rates are found in developing countries.
This growth is both dangerous and unnecessary. It strains resources and degrades standards of living for all people. The situation, however, is not hopeless. As health care improves in poorer countries a decline in birth rates is seen. People have fewer children as they become assured that those they have will live to adulthood. As Brazil's middle class has grown it's population has slowed. The Brazilians are concerned about the life they can provide for their children. Many couples are choosing to have only two in order to insure their children's financial and physical well being.
Here in the U.S. there are steps we can take to keep our population growth at a level that will make both people and the earth healthier. Presently our tax system allows exceptions based partially on the number of children in a household. Perhaps we could cap exceptions at 3, which I feel would be a reasonable accommodation. Accidents can happen, my brother's third child was unplanned. Bearing 4, 5 or more children, however, becomes, in this day and age, a selfish and thoughtless act. This is regardless of whether you can afford the cost of housing, feeding and educating that many children or not.
For those possessing a strong faith and devotion to their religious beliefs the highest levels of religious organizations need to become involved. Reliable birth control measures should not only be tolerated but embraced, viewed as a moral obligation. If you believe that God gave you dominion over the earth it is your duty as it's overseer to care for it.
Creating and maintaining a stable and sustainable human population will require all people and nations to work together. Governments, religious institutions and individuals must all take responsibility towards this goal. It will take time, perhaps several generations to achieve but it needs to be addressed. We cannot allow ourselves to outgrow the earth, it's all we've got.
Wednesday, June 12, 2013
Ode to a Spiral Bound Notebook
As I have remarked before I write, edit and reedit these posts by hand before sending them on their cyberjourney. To do this I use three hole spiral bound notebooks, the type available in any drugstore or supermarket. After a time I come to the end of a notebook. The last few white pages, scored with blue lines, wait patiently to be filled with my rants, raves and chronicles of my travels to different locales and through the everyday, sometimes ordinary, sometimes confounding, mysteries of life.
These notes are written in a left handed scrawl, most probably indecipherable to anyone but me. Words, phrases, sometime entire sentences are scratched out. Arrows point to words, phrases, sometimes entire sentences I want to insert. Occasionally paragraphs are written on subsequent pages with a note reminding me to add them in at a particular point. Eventually it all comes together, I post it and send it on it's way, disposing of the handwritten manuscript.
As a notebook becomes past history I occasionally think back over what it has held during it's time in my life. Sometimes it has traveled with me. Packed in my suitcase it serves as a companion to me. It becomes a sounding board for my thoughts, as well as a place to chronicle my trips. At times it is almost a friend, albeit a transitory and inanimate one. Although, when it would be to cumbersome to carry with me while exploring new places I leave it behind for the day, taking notes instead using the memo app on my phone, I always return to it's comfortable, familiar presence. It is a place for me to sort out thoughts and refine ideas. It is the vessel I use to capture my written voice.
As I crumple the sheets I realize I owe the pages a debt. They have served me well. Those that follow them, I trust, will serve me just as well as I bid farewell to an old confidant and welcome a spiral bound new one.
These notes are written in a left handed scrawl, most probably indecipherable to anyone but me. Words, phrases, sometime entire sentences are scratched out. Arrows point to words, phrases, sometimes entire sentences I want to insert. Occasionally paragraphs are written on subsequent pages with a note reminding me to add them in at a particular point. Eventually it all comes together, I post it and send it on it's way, disposing of the handwritten manuscript.
As a notebook becomes past history I occasionally think back over what it has held during it's time in my life. Sometimes it has traveled with me. Packed in my suitcase it serves as a companion to me. It becomes a sounding board for my thoughts, as well as a place to chronicle my trips. At times it is almost a friend, albeit a transitory and inanimate one. Although, when it would be to cumbersome to carry with me while exploring new places I leave it behind for the day, taking notes instead using the memo app on my phone, I always return to it's comfortable, familiar presence. It is a place for me to sort out thoughts and refine ideas. It is the vessel I use to capture my written voice.
As I crumple the sheets I realize I owe the pages a debt. They have served me well. Those that follow them, I trust, will serve me just as well as I bid farewell to an old confidant and welcome a spiral bound new one.
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