Dreamways

An enormous Pattern in my life has been the lugging around of tons of Shame. A lot of it was never mine to carry. It would seem that in the Familie Jaunarājs, I was the one who felt the Shame and Embarassment that other family members should have been feeling. Lunatic Bitch Zaiga was not embarassed by her ridiculous performances, public and private. Armīns didn’t acknowledge embarasssment about the multiple ongoing manifestations of his Cowardice. Varimants wore his eternal drunken Juvenile Delinquency as a badge of honor.  read more »

F spent a good portion of last night as well as a chunk of this morning making arrangements to go to the Bay Area, to be part of a memorial by her kids to commemorate Eula’s death. At first F told his sibs that finances are too tight, after our recent road trip with Bret to Cali., to go out there again. To which Wendy replied that some sort of “Eula Fund” has enough money to pay for F and my flights out and back.

F then got on the Internet to get tickets.  read more »

In the mail Saturday (a gorgeous, sun-drenched day, bursting with spring-like hope) there arrived a splashy catalogue from, of all places, the Fine Arts Center in the Springs!  read more »

Late Thursday afternoon. Cloudless. The horizon is stained a sulfurous yellow from pollution. I listen to one of the Kamēr CD’s. What a moving experience was watching the documentary about this exceptional choir and its passionate conductor, Māris Sirmais. Jacket notes explain that the ensamble’s name comes from; „Kamēr esam jauni, mēs dziedam.“ Seventy members, age 15 to 30. A weaving together of voices to create one magnifecent Voice.

 

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Eldora. It’s a sun-spangled, gentle-breezed morning. One of those days when it’s a pleasure and a privilege to be alive. The whole crew is up. As I sit at my mezzanine desk, everyone else is sitting downstairs, drinking coffee, eating breakfast and chatting, mostly about real estate.

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These hyper-sensual, masculine soft porn paintings are murals on the walls of a fundamentalist mega-church in the Springs. Fascinating, how homo-erotic the are. Kind of like Nazi art.  read more »

Friday the 13th. It hasn’t been a day of great misfortune, but I certainly have been feeling the at the proverbial sixes and sevens. Yesterday morning at 07:00, Chad from Sprung arrived with a helper to cover up, tape off, dustproof the loft in order that the problem of the blistering epoxy coating on the floor around the stove island might be fixed. The night before, F and I moved everything from stove island east and south, any item located within a triangle created by the pouring of cement seams that surrounds the island.  read more »

Wednesday, late afternoon, at The Market. I’ve just finished walking my circuit of chores: post office, credit union, faxing at Home Dept. I enjoy the new locales and new routes that starting out from the loft affords me. It’s a gorgeous day: blue sky, gentle sunlight, a luxurious touch of coolth in the air. SF weather, such a perfect match for my body and temperament.  read more »

 A mottled gray Wednesday afternoon. I spent 3 hours with Manny, who’s in town visiting Denver friends. He called yesterday, out of the blue, from J. and D’s where he is staying. We’ve had no real communication since he last was out here, at the end of 2003. I feel a deep fondness for him. He is now 71 years old. Certain facial mannerisms of his reminded me today of Armīns.  read more »