Watering Holes, or the Magical Qualities of Tea
I do not feel a strong urge to revisit Europe these days, perhaps with the exception of Spain. Africa, though? Yes. I most definitely wish to return. The places where I hear the call to prayer in the mornings (no, I am not Muslim) and the animals still roam free, that is where my heart is. Many years ago, I ran away from home to Europe and North Africa. I turned 21 in Morocco. I did not make it to the Atlas Mountains or the Sahara. I was a poor young traveler/adventurer. We are considering visiting Morocco next year with friends, and then crossing the waters to Spain. I went in the opposite direction the last time. Sharing a cup Why do I always seek these places? They quiet my mind and my heart. If I believed in past lives, and there might be a part of me that...
Seizing Opportunity: A Literary Reading at an Art Show
When Carolyn Flynn invited me to participate in her friend Katyraven Hernandez Dorsey’s art opening at 5G North Gallery at the Factory on Fifth, my initial reaction was, “This could be fun.” I went to meet Katy at her home and studio, so that we could discuss with Carolyn and the other readers (Albuquerque poet laureate emeritus Jessica Helen Lopez, Santa Fe author Rob Wilder) how we would approach the event. It was a brief meeting, one person on the phone and the other not available. Because I was buried in the second volume of Proust’s In Search of Lost Time, hoping to finish it in time for my book club, I did little of the vetting of the other readers as I would normally do. So, I went, having not read anyone else’s work or knowing what to expect. Because I...
What makes a “hero?”
The author ponders whether she is one, and takes a hard look at these times It seems to me that since Sept. 11, and perhaps much prior to Sept. 11, perhaps since the beginning of time, we have used the term “hero” too lightly. When I worked for the American Red Cross in New York City after Sept. 11, the office gave me a child’s drawing that was meant to present to volunteers, such as myself. It says on it, “Dear Heroes.” This was the one they gave me, and so I accepted it in the right spirit, but I did say to them, “I am no hero.” They kept insisting that I was. I just happened to be proficient in mental health work, as I am a social worker and a psychoanalyst. I felt a desire to help the city that gave me my education The firefighters rushed in to save people in...
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