Is it me about to burst or the bubble? I know I’m about to burst…as in the toilet overflowing…but surely the USA won’t be able to continue to live with the “gang’s” selfish quackery much longer! What was that movie about the mafia? So blatant as to skip mention. What do we have against Venezuela anyway? After pointing out that Venezuela is not the problem with fentanyl, silence. While apparently most folks know, it need not be said that Venezuela leads the world in natural gas exports. The silence is deafening as well as stinking. But blatant stealing of another’s oil kinda look bad?
And doesn’t our leader just love tooting his own horn! National park visits free on his birthday but not on
MLK’s birthday or Juneteenth.
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I NEVER SAID….
I was Super Woman–maybe the reverse, and I admire to the hilt those stalwart bloggers for their principled continuation of reflecting current reality. I’ve said this before and I may say it again, but I’m trying to quit being one of the strong bloggers who must suffer. So, knowing that I won’t be likely to keep my resolve, I’m going to share a few lovely memories from my life, primarily from 1961, the year my husband and I caught hepatitis 2 (along with many others) from the UF’s food line. We were advised to take it easy, and so we booked a winter passage along a northern route on the slow freighter the S.S. Marengo. Fortunately no one bombed us.
It was not a luxury liner, and we always got to eat at the captain’s table. Although not a favorite memory, the first strong one that comes to me was lying on the bunk, watching the porthole chains on the inside of the room march left and right, pulled by the gravity caused by the tossing and turning of the boat. The movement was mostly continuous.
Being poor recuperating students, we stayed in a tent and youth hostels,traveling by bicycles (which we sold to a one-legged communiist in St. Remy) and, thanks to brief train trips, also on one Vespa motor scooter, which we were to bring home with us. Being a little less in rolling dough than most tourists, we had mixed feelings when we slept in a tent at Pompeii, and someone set off firecrackers during the night. The next morning when we ordered breakfast at the little road stand, the shopkeeper lowered the tab when he learned we were campers.
The single most moving memory of the entire trip for me occurred early one morning when waking up on deck of another boat, hearing a taunting train whistle far above while the boat traveled slowly and carefully through a very narrow and high-walled passage through the Corinth canal. These memories are fun. Perhaps I’ll include some more another needy day.
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POEMETTE
Sorry if this is a re-do. I lose track:
EPHEMERAL
I wrote a poem in the sand
The ocean claimed it back.
I sang a song up to the sky
Blue birds towed it away.
I kept a thought to myself
Dreams featured it last night.
Travel 1961, Corinth, Poemette, Trump,
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