Touch with love, not bitterness...
Monday, August 28, 2006
Friday, August 25, 2006
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Frustration
The inability to accomplish, set goal in set time, usually yesterday. Is there ever enough time?
Monday, August 14, 2006
Sunday, August 13, 2006
Major Tom
Space Oddity
Ground control to major tom
Ground control to major tom
Take your protein pills and put your helmet on
Ground control to major tom
Commencing countdown, engines on
Check ignition and may gods love be with you
Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five,
Four, three, two, one, liftoff
This is ground control to major tom
Youve really made the grade
And the papers want to know whose shirts you wear
Now its time to leave the capsule if you dare
This is major tom to ground control
Im stepping through the door
And Im floating in a most peculiar way
And the stars look very different today
Saturday, August 12, 2006
Thursday, August 10, 2006
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
Monday, August 07, 2006
A pasta - The bag
I love them. Bags, organizers, purses. The bigger the better. My father was a fan of office type stuff, but it was all in forbidden land as far as I was concerned. I loved looking at his treasures. I have some of them now.
My bags are usually brown, big enough to carry a notebook and a book, maybe a magazine, my camera, crayons, one or two stuffed animals, pens, pencils, and last but just as important, some crushed cookies that my young one could not bear to throw away. Bags are carriers of knowledge - don't ask me to explain this.
Sunday, August 06, 2006
Saturday, August 05, 2006
The staircase that my feet never touched
Liceu Pero de Anaia, Beira, Mozambique
While in 6th grade, I eagerly awaited my turn at the "liceu". I never made it there, we left Mozambique instead. I have been able to see what my feet never touched through pictures others have taken.
Friday, August 04, 2006
Thursday, August 03, 2006
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
Noticias da Beira
by a newspaper photographer
Beira, Mozambique in the early 1970s
That's my Dad. I am now reading a book written by a reporter that worked for this newspaper during the same time period as my father. I find myself working on a puzzle, where I can see what was going on in Beira in this decade, from my father's perspective. He never did share much of what went on, including the dire situation we about to find ourselves in. I have seen pictures of his workplace and I can imagine the conversations that took place there. I remember listening to political discussions he had with his peers even if I could not see what he saw. I envied his access to the world beyong Matacuane, and I have been on a mission to piece together my history in Mozambique.
That's my Dad. I am now reading a book written by a reporter that worked for this newspaper during the same time period as my father. I find myself working on a puzzle, where I can see what was going on in Beira in this decade, from my father's perspective. He never did share much of what went on, including the dire situation we about to find ourselves in. I have seen pictures of his workplace and I can imagine the conversations that took place there. I remember listening to political discussions he had with his peers even if I could not see what he saw. I envied his access to the world beyong Matacuane, and I have been on a mission to piece together my history in Mozambique.
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