Some things are more important than money

Posted on November 6, 2010 by George C. Hartman

All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , , | 2 Comments

Nice guys finish first

Posted on October 24, 2010 by George C. Hartman

You can never be too rich or too thin, or so the saying goes, but can you be too nice? Absolutely!! It is possible to be nice to a fault and when you are it is usually you who gets hurt. Being too nice means not asserting yourself, not standing up for your wants and not expressing your needs. This just isn’t healthy. Nice is good, too nice is bad. Are you so nice it’s cruel… to yourself?
I don’t attack people, why do they attack me? If I like taking photos of strange things in my journey through life, why is that a problem to the people that are close to me. My two teen boys specifically.

I never claimed to be a graphic designer a professional photographer or even an artist. A prepress printer? Yes. And a very fucking good one too. It just so happens that in prepress (if you are a “fucking good one” you need to have a flair for design, a sense of what is the current trend and an all out appreciation for ALL arts) In New York I did a lot of design. It was good. Some wasn’t so good. It was actually so good that two years after I got laid off, clients still ask for me.
Of coarse there is certain amount of ego stroking involved, but what’s wrong with that? Isn’t it part of life to ENJOY WHAT YOU DO and have someone say once in a while, “Hey, that is really nice. Good job.”

The same day I was bashed by my children for my love of photography and art, I was accused of being a slave. A slave to my job and my ex wife. Not just once but several times over the course of the evening. Each time I never defended myself or earlier when I was accused as a “wanna-be” photographer, I kept my mouth shut. But inside I was deeply hurt. Maybe that is why I have fallen into my blog for the first time in months.
I am not a slave to anybody. Not the man in the UK. Not my job. Not my ex wife. Not anybody. “Have you ever tried to figure out how much you make an hour?” I was recently asked. Well, I have thought about that but right now, I AM DOING WHAT I HAVE TO DO. I truly believe there are better days ahead so IT IS ALL WORTH IT. God DAMN IT- it was only a little over a year ago I woke up in my fucking car because that was my FUCKING BED. I was homeless and jobless and my kids didn’t know who I was. The bills were stacking up and I owed THOUSANDS in child support. People hated me then, and people hate me now; I have a job, I spend QUALITY time with my kids, my bills are getting paid, so here’s somebody to hate.

Ten years after the divorce I am still a mother fucking scum bag son of a bitch and it was 100% all my fault. The kids were raised on that the past ten years. I have been swimming upstream the past ten years and keeping my mouth shut. In the back of my mind I struggled to BE MYSELF. A nice person. Help others. SHOW BY EXAMPLE. I wasn’t even close to being a perfect example to my kids, in fact, even in sobriety I failed greatly BUT that is part of being human. I am human. We are human. There is no such thing as PERFECTIONISM in humanness. My only hope was that the fucking no good bastard that everyone had agreed I was could only ever so slowly be erased by my actions and prayers.

The funny thing is, now that I think about it, as I was being ridiculed for being who I am by my teenage kids yesterday, what was I doing?? Buying them their favorite lunch, listening to them, and helping the eldest, Joshua, by driving him 0n a 80 mile round trip journey to help him get a car.

Nice guys don’t finish last (as the saying goes) not if they turn the other way when someone calls them a “loser” a “deadbeat” a “wannabe” or a “slave”. If I am a happy hardworking man in my mind, and the simple little things in life make me happy, then that is all I need to know to sooth the fears that I carry when I worry about what other people think of me.

Posted in Gratitude, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , | 1 Comment

On the road with ‘Becca

Posted on September 19, 2010 by George C. Hartman

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , | Leave a comment

sky thoughts

Posted on September 15, 2010 by George C. Hartman

Heaven: The weather is always nice and there are no flies.

all my magic is floating away......

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , | 1 Comment

Diary of a Sex Addict

Posted on July 27, 2010 by George C. Hartman

Things began early that day. The alarm clock never wakes you. It is the dreams, thoughts and swirling blood in your body. Saturated with sex.
Dinner (last night): Shellfish, sauteed garlic and several long stares at the waitresses ass.
“Get your mind out of the gutter. Doing laundry at 3am, watching Spanish TV and noticing the cops passing the windowed wall real slow”
Butch: (perplexed) All bloodthinners.
Coco: What is?
Butch: Everything I ate for dinner.
Coco: And all that aspirin you eat too. What is that all about?
Butch: (changing the channel) It’s good for your heart.
It started early in life. Addiction. When I was sick Mom gave me hot tea and St Joseph’s Children’s Aspirin. Two of them and you had to chew them. They certainly weren’t candy but they weren’t overwhelmingly medicine tasting but I liked the bitterness and the tea had caffeine. So I felt better. Immediately after that was the taboo of vagina, ass and tits. Women didn’t poop. They were too amazing. So these nonhuman objectified “things” walking across parking lots in tight jeans. Tight jeans were like an overdose of St Joseph’s aspirin and the price of a porno magazine escalated to over $5.00 each so I stole them.
6:22 PM: You have planned every second of the next two hours. Your mind is enveloped in the reflections in shiny silver cash registers and dressing room mirrors. You walk in, look up at the cameras, buy a Snickers Bar and leave. As you drive home in peace, the sun melts into the night like lava. Orange clouds imitate smoke and a plane sinks into the horizon.
Butch: Wish I was in that plane, I don’t care where it is going.
Coco: (squinting into the sunset) Looks like it is going south from here.
Butch: (getting off his bike) Yeah, south … south ….south is good.

The Clouds Lately
Summer skies are beautiful. So hard to predict. I love those big puffy mountainous cumulous monsters. I could just sit in a chair on the beach and watch those all day. The clouds lately have reminded me of Florida. Dramatic puffey white and a sun shower. This Summer has been nothing to me. Nowhere. Nothing. Roadside America for a couple of hours. I have been invited to Hall of Fames, pools, free rooms, great company, awesome family and BBQ’s. I am a slave to my job. I need to stretch my legs. I am making up for lost time though, last Summer I was lost in upstate New York. Jungles and rivers. Waking up to sleep naked by the side of the water. Weed whacker. Banner sealer. Sign designer.

The piece of wood that Gary found.


A while ago Gary found this piece of wood with four very old photos of mom pasted to it. It was up high on a shelf in his home. These are some very amazing photographs. Mom is very young (very) and I don’t even think she met or knew Dad yet. Her boyfriend evidently had a camera and loved to take photos of this young sexy thing.

Detailed close up. Your mothers ass sitting on top of a convertible.

Butch: I don’t blame my sex addiction on my mothers genes….but I wish I had more of Dads genes and maybe I would have more money.
Coco: (putting on her panties) It’s never too late Butchie boy. You can be rich if you want. Ha ha ha. Money is the root of ALL happiness. Think about all the women you would have!
Butch: Yeah, right.
Coco: Remember how many hours your father spent in front of that mechanical manual adding machine. Chaa chaa ching. Chaaaa chaaa ching ???
Butch: Yeah. It was all about the money, it was always about the money. The ONE and ONLY vacation we went on to Gettysburg Pennsylvania and I remember him adding things up as we went along on a piece of paper.
Coco: And that darn Bible. Put the book down and pick up your children for Gods sake.
Butch: (lighting a cigarette) Do you think he would have been counting his money and buttons if he knew how short life really is??
Butch: Especially HIS life.

7:12 PM:
The urge is too strong sometimes. Overwhelming. Like the need for a smoke. Gotta have it. Want it. The internet is the crack cocaine of a new generation of sex addicts. Tommy put his Dell 560 with 4 gig of memory on the front seat of his Honda and drove to the bridge at midnight. On the bridge, he slowly lifted the computer from the tangle of seat belts and lifted it over his head. It was a few seconds before he heard the plastic splash. He was relieved and excited all at once. His heart pumping like crazy as he drove away.I’m free. Never again. Yet the next night he is buying a new one on sale at Best Buy.

Posted in Photos That Make You Think | Tagged , | 19 Comments

Britt and Becca June 2010

Posted on July 7, 2010 by George C. Hartman

Thanks Bern for all your almost everyday, messages, movies and photos. I feel pretty close to Ohio because of you. I guess I was a little surprised to hear Becca call Bonnie “Mom” but that only seems natural when you look at the circumstances. The other thing that “shocked” me, I guess, was when Bonnie said she was “leaving” and a small panic set inside Becca’s brain: “What? Where are you going?” It just seems like she will always have that deep feeling of abandonment within her. She remembers Brenda and then she left and never came back. That just seems extremely critical to me. Very sad. But on the VERY BRIGHT side, Becca is a normal, very happy little girl. She is extremely cute, smart, alert and ENERGETIC, like her mother sister and Father Jim.

Tagged | Leave a comment

the self refuses to appear

Posted on May 22, 2010 by George C. Hartman

then there were three....


Beverly was forever depressed. Even in her toddler photos you can see something is bothering her. I wonder if she was born with some sort of brain chemical disorder. Her obsession with death. Her rebellious lifestyle. Her fears. Her deep dark secretes. Her never-ending escapes from reality. Three marriages. No children. Several abortions. Relentless addictions. Diabetes. Anorexia. Her close relationship with the enabling side of her mother. The ultimate doom. This poor sister of ours. Such a short life (44) . Such a short time with us. Sadly her death overshadowed by the death of Brenda.
Who were you closer to, Brenda or Beverly or is that an even fair question? Brooke once asked me why I didn’t have a tribute to Brenda on this website. It would be so easy for me to say “I never have time.” After all we did have a special Family Ties edition for Beverly and Mom.
When you wake up everyday, to sunshine or rain
clouds or storm
do you ever stop to think it will be the last day you wake up on this planet?
Like the Bible says, it will come like a thief in the night
We are all killing ourselves slowly. This addictive death over and over and
over and over. The definition of insanity was our inheritance in this life
Generations of troubled souls seeking somehow
serenity from a racing mind
erase the pain of everyday strife
stop the cycle and lets live life
let’s show our children a different beach
sandy feet
soothing waves
cool refreshing shade

Do you notice cinematography on TV? Perhaps if you are a cinematographer. And yet if you have ever seen the show, “Breaking Bad” you can’t help but notice. I am not a big TV person and actually the ONLY TV that I have watched in the past year have been the NFL. I accidently stumbled on this show while visiting an old friend but all I could remember was being totally WOW’ed by this show. Based in beautiful New Mexico and shot with a wide lens, it is the story of a guy who loses all his money to a cancer diagnosis that wasn’t. He cooks and sells crystal meth to save his family. Interesting.
BIG BULLY just GO AWAY
I think World War one was started by another country sinking another countries boat. Recently North Korea has for no reason torpedoed a South Korean ship and declared that if anyone has a problem with it, we are prepared for an all-out war.
Would you believe me if I said the world is ending and we are all hurling towards cosmic conflics that are hotter then the face of the sun?

HELP !!!!!


Right now I’m in a book store listening to this negative fuck next to me tell his wife (who never says a word) I don’t see democracy or capitalism working, I don’t see our culture working, I see no help for the unemployed, we watch too much TV, everybody is addicted to something, the cost of education, the crime in the streets…come on let’s get outta here!” They left their empty cups on the table, didn’t put back the magazines and books they were thumbing thru went out to the parking lot, crawled into their Cadillac SUV and drove home to their protected little shell of a home somewhere in the suburbs.
TEENAGERS
Perhaps the greediest, neediest and most self centered bastards on American soil today. They deserve their high insurance rates, they deserve a empty future of resources, they need a good fucking smack in the ass. A wake up call like never before seen. Maybe an angry country on the other side of the world called North Korea.
Is every person in the nation entitled to drive around in a ton of steel, air conditioning blasting, texting and music blaring?
HELP ME TO understand!
While millions upon millions of gallons of crude oil leak into the gulf of Mexico, the price of gasoline has gone down. It is at the lowest that I have ever seen in 2 years.
How are they going to stop this leak? It is already a bigger tragedy then the Exxon Valdez in Alaska. After they stop it, then what? Is anybody losing any sleep over this?
When you cut off the flow of blood to an human organ it dies. When you cut the flow of nature into peoples lives, their spirit dies. It’s as simple as that.
FACEBOOK
Blank Face Face Blank. About Face. How many hours a day do we spend looking at a screen rather then looking at the faces of real people? 500 Million Facebook users!! The company CEO a 26 year old has disabled his “Friend” button. Privacy issues? Who cares if Big Brother is watching, I have created a much better me on-line then the one I carry with me in real life!

I confess to being a lazy bastard. I don’t care. I don’t want to do nothing. I don’t want to be bothered. I especially hate painting rooms and moving furniture so if you need those things done and I do help you, consider me a hero. Waiting for my medal.

Posted in Gratitude | Tagged , , , , , | 17 Comments

The death of Lima Beans

Posted on May 14, 2010 by George C. Hartman


Some upcoming New Jersey Road Trips:
Brooke will be in NJ June-18th thru 21st.
Becca will be in NJ August -14th – 21st

My sponsor called me up
“Where the fuck have you been asshole?”
“I love you too”
“No really, this ain’t no fucking game!”
“I never said it was…I just…I’ve been busy.”
“BULLSHIT”
*click*

Gil Mercado, 25, Paterson New Jersey comes home

The war rages on and do we really notice? Unless we have somebody over there, what does it matter? Did we win or did we lose? President Obama cleared away an old Bush law saying photos of coffins from the war were banned. So welcome home Gil Mercado! Paterson is probably one of the toughest places to live in New Jersey. It is a war zone of drugs, guns, corruption slums and sleaze. Gil was probably thinking, “Hey, what do I have to lose. I’ll join the Marines to get the hell out of this God-forsaken hell hole of a New Jersey city life. 25 is too young, my God to die for any cause.

If I lived in my car, I would be home by now.

NORTH JERSEY: My new existence? It’s pretty new to me anyway. I was born and raised in central NJ, married and had kids in south NJ (Da Shore) and somehow came back to central NJ then migrated to north NJ. New Jersey has always been broken up into three parts. They are all extremely different from each other. My experience in north NJ has been so far incredible. It is truly the melting pot OF THE WORLD Never have I seen so many different ethnic communities blended together so finely. Northern New Jersey was the site of some of the earliest European settlements in what would become the United States of America. The Industrial Revolution in America started by the founding of the northern New Jersey town of Paterson. PATERSON NJ is an amazing city. Driving through main street on any Saturday afternoon is an open-air market experience that rivals only Disney World on it’s best day. If you speak about Paterson NJ to most people they cringe at the homicide and car theft rate and will tell you that they wouldn’t be caught DEAD there! This past week marked the EIGHT YEAR anniversary of moms death. May 1st. Her mothers name was May. Has it really been that long already? Beverly will be gone TEN YEARS this August. Brenda two years. Is it official yet? Do you think that Becca has any memories of her mother at all? To me that is a tragedy that I can never comprehend. But at least she had some time with her and Brenda had known her for a short while anyway. It was only 100 years ago that it was a crap shot that the mother, child or both survived the birth process. Giving birth was just a risky medical procedure and it truly was a miracle if everything went smooth. Not everyone may know it but mom had a miscarriage in between Beverly and me.

Annual death rate per 1000 total births from maternal mortality in America (1850-1970)

In New York City there is a bar with sawdust on the floor and everything is large and made of oak.

(212) 473-9148 - 15 E 7th St, New York, NY

They serve salami sliced on a cutting board, mustard, ham sandwiches and beer. Nothing else. It is a famous bar with tons of history and bursting at the seams with character. I never cried at moms funeral. I don’t know why. I really thought I should have been balling my eyes out but I didn’t. This isn’t hard for me to say and the past is the past. Besides trying to get me back into an even keel of fellowship and meetings, my sponsor told me to get my head out of the past. (or maybe he said to get my head out of my ass, I’m not sure).

DEATH is a very hard thing to figure out. Throughout the world, death and the rituals that surround it are steeped in taboos. Death is celebrated, embraced and feared. It is the only thing that scientist here on earth or any other planet will ever NEVER totally figure out. It is that great mystery that creates such grief and or wonder. What is our connection with the other side? The third dimension of puffy white clouds, serenity and potatoe chips on the couch. Nobody could imagine heaven or hell, although allot of people claim that we are living hell here on earth. What could possibly suck the life out of something so young, so small, so cute? All the tears and grief for this little doggy and I have filled seven suitcases with guilt that I never cried at my mothers funeral (or my dads) yet, when I experienced the loss of a friend that I had known for a short time, I cried for months……and the loss wasn’t even death!!! It was just a goodbye. So what does this say about me as a human? Do I remember Mom? Of course I do. I was just thinking the other day, how she loved to cook Lima beans as a vegetable. They were almost like eating wax. So I mixed them all up in my mashed potatoes and smooshed them and guzzled them down with my grape Hawaiian Punch and yet today I miss them. Nobody cooks lima beans anymore. No restaurants. No place. No where. No body. They shouldn’t even grow them anymore. I miss lima beans (Phaseolus lunatus) but I don’t miss mom.

Everybody is always “going”:
Where are you “going”? How is it “going?” I’m “going…” Let’s get “going”
In the news: The sole survivor of a plane crash is a 9 year old Dutch boy. 103 people died including his mother, father and older brother. Thankfully, he doesn’t remember the crash. He hasn’t been told yet that he lost his family. He only said this:
“I don’t know how I got here. I just want to get going…”

There was an episode of the Little Rascals when the gang built a “fire engine” out of wood and raced it down a very steep street. Stymie was driving the back and Spanky was driving the front. The fire engine was so long that as they were going down the steep hill, the “fire engine” bent in half. Eventually the back of the “fire engine” caught up with the front of the engine. At this point Spanky the front driver yelled over to Stymie the back driver:
“Hey Stymie, where ya going????”
and Stymie replied,
“I don’t know, but I’m on MY WAY !”
That pretty much sums up life for me.

WHERE DO DOGS GO when they die? Damn it, I wish I knew! Actually, where does everything, everybody, every animal goes when they die?? It is that they just GO, that HURTS u so much. It is so final….so “never again” that the tragedy of it sometimes takes months or even NEVER to heal.

I stood by your bed last night, I came to have a peep.
I could see that you were crying, you found it hard to sleep.
I whined to you softly as you brushed away a tear,
“It’s me, I haven’t left you, I’m well, I’m fine, I’m here.”
I was close to you at breakfast, I watched you pour the milk
You were thinking of the many times your hands reached down to me.
I was with you at my grave today, you tend it with such care.
I want to re-assure you, that I’m not lying there.
I walked with you towards the house as you fumbled for your key.
I gently put my paw on you, I smiled and said, “It’s me.”
You looked so very tired, and sank into a chair
I tried so hard to let you know that I was standing there.
“”It’s possible for me to be so near you every day
To say to you with certainty, “I never went away.””
You sat there very quietly, then smiled; I think you knew…
In the stillness of that evening, I was very close to you.
The day is over… I smile and watch you yawning
And say “good-night, God bless, I’ll see you in the morning.”
And when the time is right for you to cross the brief divide,
I’ll rush across to greet you and we’ll stand, side by side.
I have so many things to show you, there is so much for you to see.
Be patient, live your journey out… then come home to be with me.
~Author Unknown~

Goodnight. Sleep tight.

“Parting is all we know of heaven, and all we need of hell”?

Posted in Tall Tales, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , | 22 Comments

Spring has Sprung

Posted on April 26, 2010 by George C. Hartman

Yeah, it's here so get off your asses, get away from the TV, PC and the FB and find the sunshine again. Bella Hoffman shows us how on Easter in Netcong NJ. Nestled in the western countryside of New Jersey. Joe and Belindas 100 year old home of creaking wood and delicious meals. Joe dissed the Cornhole and brought out the wiffleball and bat. It's baseball season, Hartmans, Hoffmans and Gills! Three strikes and we're out. Plant your gardens, trees, bushes and bring on the bees. It was a long Winter.
Bella is getting so big for those of you who haven't seen her lately.....here she is.

It was another quick but sweet visit but some of the Hartman girls were here for a long weekend. Brittini, Bonnie and Bernadette paid a visit and stayed over Debbie Dinicola and Barbara s house. Hats off to both for the awesome hospitality!

What diapers?


This was Bonnies first Jersey trip in three years. Bernadette seems to find herself here several times a year lately. It's not a bad drive, especially when your husband and son are truck drivers. Britt has grown up a lot too. I can't believe that she is six already. Before we know it Blake will be in college.
BLAKE IS THE LAST HARTMAN GRANDCHILD
I have decided that this isn't true. I am here to announce that at the ripe old age of 49, I am willing and able to have another child. His name will be Wolfgang and when he graduates college, I will be almost 65. Why should Bonnie have the last kid? Maybe Greg will surprise us? Not! It is up to me. I must find ovulating ovaries soon. There is a lot to be said about running around after kids in your fifties. It will keep in shape like swimming never could!

blondies

Posted in friends | Tagged , | 13 Comments

yellow buckets

Posted on April 12, 2010 by George C. Hartman

An exercise in distortion. (A photo of Krystyna)


If photographs are messages, then the message is transparent and mysterious. Dressed in black, with black hair (black like the night) and a black bra, and black eyes, she introduced herself to my bleakness and told me to have a seat in the kitchen. There she prepared soup from scratch and I watched in amazement as the steam rose from the bubbling pot.
“You make me want to take photographs of everything.”
I said to myself in a dream.

“Why?” the woman in black asked,
“Because I am inspired, by the dreamy quality of life when someone cares about you and you care about them, and you could listen to their stories forever, of their mother and father, the cows, chickens, the artwork and an innocent stroll through a museum filled with yellow buckets of sunshine. Then waking up on a bed filled with yellow buckets of sunshine. My own snoring wakes me up and you are gone. The white dog remains sleeping by my side but I cannot dream consistently without your body next to mine. Buried under the warmth of quilts (because the Spring is still Winters mistress and Summer takes forever to boil over –like your soup, hot steaming fresh. We waited in long lines speaking and thinking Polish, smelling the smoked meats, picking up odds and ends for the Easter feast) Even better than being cared for is caring for. When those two work together then sometimes (mostimes) there seems to be a magical spark within yourself that says “All things are flowing”

When we all woke up from what had to be the worse Winter ever, it is not a coincidence that the tulips are singing, the trees are popping SIX weeks early and Spring has arrived on the express train. The floods in North Jersey have subsided. The snow has all melted and maybe the wind has whistled its last dangerous song. It is days like this when you say, “I’m gonna hold my heart up to the light and see if there is more to it then just muscles and blood. I’m gonna give it all I got to touch you, and hold you, and keep you from the Winters of life. These things I promise, in the Spring of this new decade, a new time to be hoping.” (Yes, I love you)

Tagged | Leave a comment