Castellaris, at home in Provence

I love Castellaris in Southern France because it is like going back in time not only in historic time because of the ancient roman walls and olive groves but back in time to the memory of my youth. I attended lycée Etats Unis, a high school in Cap d'Antibes when I was 16.  I was somehow fortunate enough to persuade my working class parents that I actually was a worldly Prince mistakenly sent to them in Long Island and that I should try to find my European roots with a 3 month travel across foreign lands with Mrs. Livingston, my 400 year old French teacher at the time. I'm sure she is now 440 years old and living in St Barts somewhere over looking Saline Beach but she doesn't recognize me when she sees me there. After 2 months of travel from the UK to Switerland, a month in Antibes was paradise. I ate tons of rabbit and nectarines, hung out with a very wealthy girl from Beverly Hills who wore caftans before caftans were chic and managed to actually go to class for French civilization and cooking (I can still make a mean quiche Lorraine-at least in my own mind.) I lived for a few weeks with a French Family who's Patriach was a tour guide to Timbuktu. I remember their good looking son was an avid surfer and bring some years older, wasn't really interested in a little house guest. I'm so sorry I lost them, they were so kind and generous, but my contacts all were lost along with my photos so it's like I have no proof other than my memory of that sweet time. I did once find a photo of a chandelier at Versailles, I remember that it was nearly impossible to capture the grandeur of that palace. In contrast to the little house of my family, which was just as grand with love and generosity, I remember the tiny white tiled kitchen. I loved that kitchen and what I loved most was that is was a suggestion of a place where one might cook, not actually a significant room where much was actually done.  How unlike today's idea where we put so much priority on cooking and surfaces, what a mean joke.  Grasse, Antibes, Juan Les Pins, July 14, the magnificent man, black as tar that had been hired from a hotel by the Austrian owners of a magnificent yacht that sailed  back and forth, in the white pants and purple shirt he sailed a yacht with the motorcycles parked on the dock, the wicker table and chairs on deck with a few dozen roses in it, the sun setting into the op of a palm tree each evening as I stared out the window, knowing even then never to forget that moment and that I would be back. When I return this October, with my friends, K and S, who are generous and lucky enough to hold this deluxe home,  I will look for my shadow or ghost at the Matisse Chapel or in Vence or past the gated Picasso studio.

Waiting for the water to boil..

There are times in our lives that are non- times, like sitting in an airport lounge waiting for a flight, finally giving in to a salad or nuts or glass of wine because it's there.  The time spent (wasted?) is a life in a waiting pattern. Yet the times we spend waiting for the water to boil or at red lights or airport lounges are some of my most comforting. It seems that it's the precious seconds before the crash or the storm that are best appreciated. Yes, when I grind my coffee beans and hear the slight bubbling of the water kettle before its final and automatic click off, I'm safe, warm and dry, I'm at peace actually more than in a holding pattern. It's a precious time where I'm lost in the process of something. There is no time spent on observances or judgements or things to do.  I am absolutely free of mind clutter, and it's wonderful.  It's seems no matter what, these seconds are my own. There is no drama, no crisis, no disease, no thought of good or bad hot or cold, time, cal wanders, appointments or schedules. It's pure bliss, I have nothing and everything at the same time. I exist and that's all I need to do.
They say we are creatures of habit, and I guess waking up is the best one to have each day until the last.  But what I remember isn't all the big moments or travels or life experiences, it's this time that I'll file as the ultimate freedom in time and space, that time of waiting for the water to boil.

Moving but not going forward.

Oh, B.     , this really pains me and I'm sorry that all those situations were not handled right and that they are the cause of a lot of pain in your life currently. 

You sound like you're holding it together as much as you can everyday and I understand how the hours and the shadows move about. I alter from deep loneliness to decadent sanctuary. When I'm alone, I want to be with people and when I'm with people I'm utterly bored and think that eventually I'll be free in my aloneness eventually. 

To quote a Sylvia Plath Poem-" the fountains are dry and the roses are over".  We are at a time and place where all we ever were is crashing into the lineage of where we are now and dissecting future thoughts. 

One small step at a time is all we have to do, each breath in the right frame will bring us to the place we need to be. Meditating and being with, near, in or even close to nature are great comforts. That is what I wish for you, great comfort.  

Peace my brother, better days and joys are ahead, in fact it's just over the hill or around the corner. I'm certain of this. 

E-

I hope this email finds you well...

My empathy on the loss of your uncle, I've lost all my aunts and uncles over the past thirty years.  (If you were close, it hits home hard!)

As I get older, I'm having fewer and fewer family members and friends around with many left behind a long time ago (1994), creature of habit? (I moved as a child: 1968, 1970, 1972, 1977, 1980, and 1986; never got over the moves in '77 '80 nor '86.)  When my parents divorced and sold their home (2003); and, I got divorced and sold my homestead (2007), it got worse!!! 

Over time, I've kept sporadic contact with various people however poor and homeless makes it more difficult to face them!  (So no contact is held and I've gotten a smaller circle around me; only those at a homeless shelter, treatment team, or TCC?!)

After my parents (mom, CT, and dad, NH) pass, I'll plan to move back home, Syracuse (biological origin), but doubtful I'll ever connect with anyone?  My brother's family (niece and nepenthe) are local, Norwalk, however the great distance from damage caused throughout my life...

Well, Peace and Love
B

Meditation with Laundry and Letters

Today I'm folding laundry and ironing napkins, this isn't the most exciting thing I've done in my week but I'm doing it with such dexterity and care and slowed, deliberate pace that it's almost a Buddhist meditation. What I find interesting about this process is how time seems to just pass by both slowly and quickly. Maybe that is where the meditation lies in that fine line between the actual ticking of the clock the moment passing, gone, yet the moment being on hold, stuck there like the hand of the clock during those timeless seconds. The seconds are so precious they don't even need air or breath, they are completely submerged in the moment.  There's  something really interesting about owning those seconds, of turning the hem, ironing it flat,  stretching the square folding the napkin into quarters and then stacking them into a squared pile.

This energy given will be taken when I pull them out of a drawer and place each by a plate. Later each invited guest will flap them and unfurl them on their lap or knee and the meditation continues.

Imagine my surprise when I got not one but 2 letters from you.  The carefully measured cursive lettering on each so closely duplicated. The poems you sent were arms out reached and I felt a warm and loving hug with each one. I especially liked the Frederick Buechner one "when you remember.."

- When you remember me it means that you have carried something of who I am with you. That I have left some mark of who I am I knew who you are. It means that you can summon me back to your mind even though countless years and Myles me stand between us. It means that if we meet again, you will know me. It means that even after I die, you can still see my face, hear my voice and speak to me in your heart.-

That is such a beautiful thought. But not only is this something I carry and conjure but I am also touched by how influenced and changed I am. Isn't the sorcerer as good as his spells? And I isn't he or she changed by these, as well?
I remember you often. And I can't help remembering me too and who I was at the time. there are so many memories squeezed into that trunk. The locks don't work and at this point it's almost so stuffed the top won't fully close. But yet magically, each day allows all the space that's needed.

Farmhouse Pottery; the rebirth of pottery. 

There is the way we live today and the way we live in our homes that's pivotal to every brand on the market today. Sometimes something wonderful happens when a new brand arises from the hearts and minds of talented, experienced and passionate craftspeople. That brand Is Farmhouse Pottery. The first thing you sense at Farmhouse Pottery is a refreshing new inspiration in the aesthetic of pottery.

This isn't your grandparents worn down farm house in the woods either. No, by all means this ceramic ware would be just at home in an industrial Manhattan loft as it would a seaside Nantucket style home on Martha's Vineyard. This inspiration is really the direct result from its creators James and Zoe Zillian. They live in a renovated farmhouse in Woodstock, Vermont that reflects their clean style which blends rustic chic with contemporary style that fits anywhere in the country. 

James is a master potter with a unique combination of not just a potters technical design and craft aesthetic but has an open eyed passion for how we live today. You feel his hand in each piece and see how seamlessly it fits into today's lifestyle. These are truly products to live with everyday. Zoe has a natural beauty that could launch products in a thousand markets. Her smart style, marketing passion and engaging personality is so refreshing because it's not hyped or forced. It's effortless. Just watching her in their shop in Woodstock, Vermont you soon realize she's a cult leader in authentic goodness, kindness and thoughtfulness. Then you realize further that they are on to something very attractive and you want in! James and Zoe aren't only the creators of a brand, they are the brand. You desire to live like them because they have something very special, passion, confidence, and authenticity.

 Lucky for us that a new and carefully curated brand like this - and the array of artisan quality products they produce- come along to offer us a new breath of gorgeous things that make us live better and our homes an ever better place to be. 

- Ed Lent 

Farmhouse Pottery

1837 West Woodstock Road

Woodstock, Vermont 05097

Farmhouse Pottery in Woodstock Vermont

FARMHOUSE POTTERY; The Rebirth of Pottery 




There is the way we live today and the way we live in our homes that's pivotal to every brand on the market today. Sometimes something wonderful happens when a new brand arises from the hearts and minds of talented, experienced and passionate craftspeople. That brand Is Farmhouse Pottery. The first thing you sense at Farmhouse Pottery is a refreshing new inspiration in the aesthetic of pottery.

This isn't your grandparents worn down farm house in the woods either. No, by all means this ceramic ware would be just at home in an industrial Manhattan loft as it would a seaside Nantucket style home on Martha's Vineyard. This inspiration is really the direct result from its creators James and Zoe Zillian. They live in a renovated farmhouse in Woodstock, Vermont that reflects their clean style which blends rustic chic with contemporary style that fits anywhere in the country. 


James is a master potter with a unique combination of not just a potters technical design and craft aesthetic but has an open eyed passion for how we live today. You feel his hand in each piece and see how seamlessly it fits into today's lifestyle. These are truly products to live with everyday. Zoe has a natural beauty that could launch products in a thousand markets. Her smart style, marketing passion and engaging personality is so refreshing because it's not hyped or forced. It's effortless. Just watching her in their shop in Woodstock, Vermont you soon realize she's a cult leader in authentic goodness, kindness and thoughtfulness. Then you realize further that they are on to something very attractive and you want in! James and Zoe aren't only the creators of a brand, they are the brand. You desire to live like them because they have something very special, passion, confidence, and authenticity.


Lucky for us that a new and carefully curated brand like this - and the array of artisan quality products they produce- come along to offer us a new breath of gorgeous things that make us live better and our homes an ever better place to be. 

- Ed Lent 


Farmhouse Pottery
1837 West Woodstock Road
Woodstock, Vermont 05097

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TGNTS ROBERT ( too good not to share)

Robert I LOVE your letters, you need to write, or at least write me more often. 

This stirs a lot of creativity. There is great trauma  in everyday life. But it's what we do with it that counts. 

I have a wonderful prayer/meditation that has helped me tremendously.  I will give it to you or send when I get home. 

I prob won't be at pride on Sunday as my uncle passed away and I feel I need to honor him at his wake down on L.I. 

But hopefully next Tuesday. Know that you are important, loved and abundance is easily and constantly flowing to you. 

Truly, Ed

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On Jun 3, 2016, at 10:10 AM, Robert Martin, Jr <rm44842utexas@gmail.com> wrote:

Ed, Nameste and a BIG HUG too!

(Due to an incident in Texas, I shy away from hugs however I will reciprocate when the other asks for one.  Big step from a year ago, when I refused to hug anyone from dreaded fear, prison!  Not that I'm afraid of going there, just that I've got family issues to take care of first.)  I hope, this message finds you well; and, your parents too!
I've been on yogurt due to an upcoming procedure; yes, I works better.  (I'm out of sorts and no longer flexible either.)  In my mindless state, I am not focused on helping others as they help me to recovery...  I've not been on a nature retreat since high school, thirty years ago, and look forward to vacations often in hospitals, not much fun either.  Enjoy the connection to those around you and nature during this event! Taking it in stride, I am employable or have income; this helps me to move out of the shelters, not the most holistic and health of places, although some like Fairfield and Westport are not too shabby!

The bigger picture looks fuzzy to me due to my myopic condition; but, I try to adjust with meditation, prayer, and mindfulness (new techniques, for a healthier and happier life).  Ah yes, the three of seven deadly offenses: sleep (slouth), mindless pleasures (lust) or drinking (gluttony); I know these well too.  

Good to be thought of and yes, good texting, and hope to see you at the June event(s): Coffee Time, This Ability or Pride?

Truly,

Robert

Yogurt might work better actually.  I'm sort of losing my mind too. I enjoy helping people but I can get so down lately that I am not sure how to help myself. Not sure how we really help ourselves. 

I guess it's best to take it in stride, look at the bigger picture and not what you could have done better but what you tried to do pretty good. I'm sort of in a similar state and either seek sleep, mindless pleasures or drinking.  

I'm going to a weekend retreat and hope I find some insight. If I do I'll try to offer it up. 

Love yourself, be good to yourself and be with nature. These usually help me. Don't worry about your mind, everything falls into place and we are usually in our own way. 

Always good to talk to you! Big hug. Ed

Ed,

I've been looking at the old TCC newsletters and ran into two interesting programs: wellness and meditation and yoga!  I read them as  willingness and mindfulness; and, yogurt.  That's where my mind is...

Falling

So I fell today. Haven't fallen in a really long time. I swore I'd never make this an MS blog or a blog about MS, so although the cause basically this isn't the focus of this story. This story is about the mid air part. The part of nothing but you, air and the force of gravitational pull.
I realize how little I can do when the warm weather comes. The inspiration, gumption, intent, motivation goes right out the door. Can anyone be too tired to read? I guess I can be. I'm reading Damien by Hess and I've read the page where he's bragging about stealing apples now 6 or 7 times. When you can't think there is a certain beauty in the wonder of it all. You can't think of yesterday or last week or much of anything else. It's sort of wonderful just being in the now, being in the moment. I'm sure a Buddhist monk would give me a precious jade carving for my ability to be in the moment. I am ONLY in the moment. I feel the breeze each time like its the first. I taste the wine with each first sip. And there's a long run of first sips

Orest Bedrij

Amazing how time passes when you get involved! Well I've been busy but nothing was as important as this last weekend attend a self divinity event led by Orest Bedrij.  He is a genius, created windows for Microsoft and created the programs to get a man on the moon. Look him up! He's amazing in that his take on God and our relationship with him in our higher power is wonderful. I've lost organized religion for awhile but remain a highly spiritual person. This was such a wonderful experience with a fantastic group of people held at the Xenia resort in the Catskills. Beautiful setting, great food, a nice escape. Ok rooms are not exactly lavish but the bed was pretty comfortable and the grounds and event made it sensational and easy to overlook the rudimentary interiors. Sitting down by the rivers was decadent however and looking at the majestic nature surrounding it all was spectacular. A place I'd gladly return to.

I was going to add the prayer but can't get it from my camera. I guess I'm blogging this to spread his message and way of thinking. It's wonderful for those of us that love God, our higher power but don't feel anything in a church. I myself have always loved churches but I've realized it's the interior that I'm looking at. The peace or the trappings of it all. Orest has given me a different sort of peace and I'm so appreciative. As he says after each course. "I Love you" and I have never felt more loved and connected to God. As Orest says, universes come and go but you will be here forever!
It's a beautiful thing and I wanted to share it with my beautiful readers. I love you.

Surrender

Surrender is a word I rarely use. Perhaps I've given "fight" the upper hand. Fight is the stronger, more aggressive, more dedicated to a cause sort of word, or at least I thought so. I think I was mistaken, to surrender isn't the giving in or letting go as I always feared. It's letting things be, doing with what comes along, a path of least resistance. It's in the doing, changing, creating, judging that work begins.   Jackhammers, trucks, men with shovels dig up roads, move mountains for a new road that will allow us to get from there to here with greater ease, less effort and time. So maybe I did the work to get to surrender, or maybe a step by step got me over the mountain and to a destination, like a holy crusade. I'm not sure if my book is filled with all the needed stamps of the shrines that came along in life, but at this point I'm done and not sure why I'm carrying a book.
Surrender is a very difficult concept. It's actually more work as in the regular battles of the mind.  Wanting change or opinion but not engaging, being at peace, letting things be the way the universe presents them AND accepting them.
I'm tired, physically, mentally, emotionally tired. I'm going to blame my MS or the drugs I take for it or my current stress level or the weakness in my body and what this has done to my spirit. I'm broken just now. Summers heat is seeping into the spring coolness and I will be victimized by the humidity or humility that I need to face.
So, ok this surrender thing is new to me but I'm seeing how sweet life can be when just being in the moment makes you see all the small things you were busy running past. Without any planning or backhoes, things fall into place.  They really do.  You don't have to participate in everything and if you do, there doesn't have to be a finish line to cross each time.
I'm going to spend this summer looking at clouds, I think there is great wisdom to be understood in them. I think they understand the surrender I'm seeking. Oh how I want to drift and float above it all and let the wind take me away.

Death and Frosting

This morning I woke up with two things on my mind the first was creamy but sweet frosting and almost at the same time death. I didn't get back to think about frosting until I got downstairs and had a Greek style vanilla yogurt that I pretended was frosting in its creamy consistency and vanilla sense but it became immatation sour cream rather quickly and that was the end of that.
Death on the other hand was forefront. With my head under pillows and blankets I was in complete blackness and wondered about if I was dead, would it be total blackness or total whiteness? I tried not to breathe for some time but I couldn't help to hear the streaming sound of mountaintop winds as my lungs filled in and emptied out in a smooth and rhythmic flow. My only other sense was the sensation of my tongue feeling my hard and smooth backside of my lower front teeth. I was wondering what to be dead was like, to not breathe, not to feel, not think, be in the total space of it, white or black. Not to care. My eyes cracked open and there on the mattress under the pillow in my dark cave was a soft charcoal sketch. The dim light from a crack between the pillow and blanket appeared as if a charcoal by Michangelo. I wanted to see a Madonna or something but it was more like the shadow of a lamb I thought. Death is non- ness. Really,  it's beyond letting go I imagined, it's not being present, a lightness of being or not being anything. I'm pretty sure when you do check out that's it. End of line, done. I imagine that before we are life would pretty much be the same as after life. We just won't know. So, the moral of all this is, enjoy the frosting, the pleasure of life when and while we can. Today is a birth, a birthday, an anniversary, a christening, a wedding, a graduation, a holiday, a weekend or weekday,  a bank closed holiday, an earthquake, a volcano, a rainy day, a sunny day, a religious holiday, a three day weekend, a vacation day, a day of death, my funeral, your funeral, our funeral, someone's funeral, a death day, the day someone somewhere died, the end of the play.
If you like something, start applauding now, tomorrow will be too late.

Santos

This story surfaces in my life at unexpected times. I'm not sure what exactly Spurs it on but I would imagine that those reading this blog might understand the night visitors.  The night visitors are the Angels that visit us when we are truly resigned, when we've really checked out of body and our minds have finally stopped with the incessant chatter. I always thought they were the 3 kings in a sense, that each of us is that purity, that being, a Christ child in a manger, I think it's only then that these visitors can come and tell us or show us clues about something that has happened and give us some sense of it.
Santos was a day spirit.  I had just moved into a new home as a 30 something single man and felt a sense of place in my life, that I reached a success point of achievement and something very big was going to happen. It's not that I really knew this or felt this or was really conscious of it at all but there was this ongoing undercurrent of intention I guess out of a better word that I remember when I look back at it now.

I was unpacking some boxes and was truly in the moment and in my own head of whatever it was that I was doing. Suddenly there was a knock at the door and not only did the knock make me jump because of the sudden noise that broke my trance, but moral because this house was at the top of a very steep hill off a road that not many would ever use to solicit.  I was weeks old in Connecticut as well, so it wasn't like a friend was dropping by either. As I walked to the open glass storm door I only removed yellow warm golden light beaming in. The light seemed to tint everything it touched with a golden powdery gleam. I didn't see anyone there, but when I got to the door this small boy about 4 foot tall was standing there and he was selling something, I want to say seeds but I'm not sure. It seems to be what I remember, at least.

Anyway I talked with the little boy,circled some choices, gave him 10 dollars and then he just disappeared. Can't explain it but he was just gone by the time I turned around. I assumed he just cut left or right to get the other neighbor but upon looking both ways didn't see him. There was no one walking down the steep hillside or driveway either. I went to bed that night and then realized that santos, although in child form was a saint who had come to tell me that everything was going to be alright. I knew it immediately then and have always remembered it.  No he never came back by the way, with seeds or change or any other messages.  I've taken it that that one was enough.

Sleep Thru

I took these herbs last night for sleep. Sleep to me is that wonderful act of both trust and letting go.
Trust in that you are at your most vulnerable state and that while you are out nothing too dire happens. Letting go in that you relax your mind and body as much as you can and just sort of drift into a subconscious state.  Hypnos was the Greek God with wings are her head that picked you up and took you away. I did not wish to be carried off and hoped the pills would hide me perhaps in a deeper mental pit that she might miss. The pills were those oars that would help me row away from the islands of thoughts that my minding might try to take me too. At least for awhile, eventually I know my mind is probably going to win out and bring me assorted psychofragments of people, places, and memories of things stuffed somewhere in there. I'm amazed at what's comes to me, served on silver platters for me to pick and choose from. Like olives or dates the banquets can be bitter and salty or sweet and succulent.  Always I am tempted by curiousity and the scrambling of our minds can create quite an exotic creation.  I realize how much content a previous career has filled in. It strikes me as humorous almost when subjects and situations are dredged up. I do find they eventually show me an end, a truth that somehow puts something to rest.
I'm awake now, it's almost noon and I might have a fragment of shame to say I'm still in bed. I'm looking at the window and watching slate waves being pushed to shore by a wind with a badly tuned flute. At my sliding door it seems to strain to hit a note. But that whispering hollow sound is an eternal one. It makes me cling to my blankets and pillows like the Neanderthal might have withdrawn deeper in a cave to find warm embers or other or sleeping dog to cuddle near.  That is neither dream nor memory but imaginative thought.  But where did that thought arrive from? What carriage arrived from millennia ago to bring this rememberance from this sound?  The sound of nature is there for us and no matter how we sleep through it will reach us if we listen and give it time. It's hands grip me tightly.

If it's blinking, it's thinking, if its steady it's ready.

The lights on my coffee machine like to screw with me. When all I want is a hot cup of coffee, it trained me to just push the button and choose the appropriate size cup icon. But now it likes to say "fill water", "empty grounds" and "add beans" like I'm on its mechanical care staff. I steamed a cup of milk for my afternoon latte and screwed it back by changing the setting from hot water to steam only to get screwed back by the eternal moments of the blinking red light. Nothing will run until the light goes from blinking to steady.

Taking and extra 3 seconds in life is a perfect first start to a better quality life, I assure you. The same exact spoken thing aged just a few seconds- can be delivered with with tissue and a nice box with custom ribbon instead of sandpaper, broken glass and tacks.

Earlier today water was pouring out from a garage wall. My mom is doing laundry. I forbade it yesterday but that was yesterday and to her laundry takes priority over pretty much everything. I ripped out part of the damp wall and found the vile cracked pipe. Today my repair guy will come and see dollars on my face. I'll try not to reek of desperation and frustration. Life is about control and fear of losing it. Can I cope with the blinking light and act like I'm not really all that interested in a cup of coffee? Can my mom wait till the pipe is fixed before turning that dial to start on the washer? The answer is clearly no. Somehow if we wait we loose. But, since I am my own best experiment, I drove like a beginner, actually doing the speed limit, fully stopping at each stop sign and not inching up to a ripening red light about to go green. I brought my things back to the local WalMart and patiently waited in line. I waited as if at my own coronation, savoring each moment of anticipation. The pain in the ass little child of the woman who cut in front of me did not light my fuse. Peripherally, I watched as he ran around people and laid on the floor, ignoring her faux stress and weak correctional abilities. Finally he removed the belt of the stancion and it whipped him in the head, falling on his ass onto the base in full force. I showed neither concern nor righteous glee. He held in a whimper to match my careless gaze.
Finally, the girl behind the register sends me permission to come forward. I gush with joy and concern and good morning, how are you?? and wait to actually listen, giving my best body language of full on involvement and care. See seems shocked in a glad manner and all lights are on. We play our parts on a smooth transaction and bid each other, have a good day and we both truly mean it. Life is good, it just takes 3 seconds longer to own the beauty of it.

Chia seed, flax seed and hemp hearts.

May 2, 2016- ok,  so today is a Monday and diets all over the world are starting. My diet is one of healthy eating overall but it seems that at any given moment , parties, cookies, wine, salty crackers and macaroni and cheese are completely allowable if it's raining, I'm in a bored mood or if it's near me.  I don't get it. Anyway, I'm going to try and not so much rely on willpower since I dont have any as I am and just sort of reset my brain to things I like and things I don't and switch some things around so that I no longer like pizza, or any of the afore mentioned things.

This blog is actually about visiting guests and family.  But what it has in common with the above tale is the reset button of doing things differently. As my therapist said once, "why do it if it no longer serves you?".  That little gem right there is why you rip out a check and pay the person. They tell you what you need to hear and give you permission to reconsider your actions. When a friend told me she was having her family visit from California I immediately shot off my own life lesson of advice:

Well that sounds like fun.  Make sure your well rested which is nice of me to say but in reality company- family or otherwise- is stress! It means cleaning, extra shopping and you as being the cruise director.  You are 89 not 34, these are family so they need to pitch in on some details, like shopping and bringing you food and ordering take out.  

Here's my advice, get your hair done and a massage, look wonderful, put on your most fabulous outfit and put a vase of Alstronomia (Peruvian lilies) on a table somewhere. ( buy when in tight bud and you'll have them a week!)
Pick up in the main room, take out a chair and put it in a guest room or something so the room looks bigger. If you want add a bowl of green apples to the coffee table. 

Smile a lot, be the happiest and most content person in the room, and be patient and interested in everything they say.  

Your job is to be fabulous, not scrub the floor. Someone else can do that. Try it! 

Of course, this is what I would like to imagine myself doing as I start scrubbing the floor and throwing things in closets. 

Let's see if a controlled diet can perfect my overall being and if I can try my own advice.  

I'm Back after a four year hiatus... Back to the future...back to he past...

Welcome Back -Back to the future

Hello Readers- well, it's easier to start a blog then it is to stop a blog and then restart it up again - and the worst is to stop for nearly 4 years and restart.  I am glad that I see that people are still looking but for those that were tired of waiting for more entries and threw their hands up and left, well bravo for you! its now 2016 and we all seem to have a big dose of ADD and anything that needs to be said is limited to a "tweet" size statement. How often have I waited for 3-4 seconds and moved on of something didn't download by the count of 2.5 seconds.


So I am revitalizing my blog VENITIAN SMOKE but it seems I cant figure how to get it back as a continuation of the established one, so I am just starting I off as a new one.  I do hope you will seek it out if you are a new reader, it will help you understand my roots..

Ok well, its a rainy Sunday here in Connecticut and I am going to go fix my garage door now, I have little inspiration right now but plan on starting this tomorrow now that the set up and logistical needs have been met. 

best regards, Ed