There And Back

Something to think about in regards to those broken relationships we have such difficulty letting go of.

John White's avatarDoubleU = W

all the way there

all the way back

.

finding these places

that must be traveled to

.

there and back

.

places not on a map

but places that hold us

.

there and back

.

staying is no option

there is simply no time

.

there and back

.

the sights are seen

all that could be done is done

.

there and back

.

unable to light in

one place for long

.

there and back

.

maybe someday there

will be enough and

no reason to go back

———————————————-

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Day 1 – Practice Indy Sonoma Grand Prix

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In the garage pre-practice. Helio Castroneves’ Number 3 car. My favorite driver.

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Graham Rahal’s car headed to the inspection area.

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Tristan Vautier’s tribute to Justin Wilson who died in last week’s Indy race.

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The charity established in Justin’s memory

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A Firestone “tattoo” for my granddaughters. One on the other arm as well and the same brought home for them to put on tomorrow morning.

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View from the new terrace built atop Turn 2.

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The view to the Grandstand and paddock from the same terrace.

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Helio’s car in position number one on pit lane. I have a pit pass for tomorrow to get up close and personal.

Helio taking a short cut at Turn 9 and coming down by the grandstand.

Courtesy of the heart

To the reader: This poem was created from an incredible page published in a 12-step daily meditation book, which in turn was based on a quote by Goethe:

Goethe It gives me a goal to aspire to when my thoughts and actions are quite determined to go in a destructive direction.

courteous

POEMS FOR RECOVERY by Dr. Karen Stephen AKA DocFlamingo

courtesy of the heart
akin to love
out of which arises
pure courtesy in outward behavior

courtesy of the heart
seems detached
lacks the fervor of the vengeful heart
the disappointment of the longing heart
the envy of the seeking heart
the pain of the broken heart

courtesy of the heart
interferes not with the
life decisions of others
neither plays games
nor passes judgment
declines to give advice
has no need to seek approval
does not accept guilt
nor lays blame on others
appreciates
rather than criticizes

courtesy of the heart is
never snobbish
nor superior
finds no difference between
a president or a busboy
learns from everyone
welcomes new ideas
embraces strangers

courtesy of the heart
feels joy
instead of fear
sees with fresh eyes
even through tears

Fill the Space

And if we look carefully we will discover that this empty space is a perfect God-shaped space waiting to be filled by our Higher Power with things far beyond our meager imaginations.

John White's avatarDoubleU = W

there is a space that exists

it stands hollow and empty

it is somewhere in your room

in a conversation

a lacking in your life

.

you rush to fill it

but not all spaces

must be occupied

.

allow for an emptiness

accept on occasion

a matter of nothingness

use the space as a respite

sometimes where there is nothing

there is the freedom

to catch your breath

to take a break

to bide your time

to contemplate

gather yourself

gain strength

place nothing where there is nothing

some spaces are meant to stand empty

—————————————————

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Mama’s boy

breath held to fend off the
whiskey vomit stench
his small fingers inch the bottle from her
limp grasp
like a deadly game of pick-up sticks

empty jim beam bottlepours the dark liquid down the drain
buries Jim Beam in a
garbage grave

then dashes out leaving
screen door ajar

garage peeling paintporch steps breached
sneaks along the lee side of the
garage
dressed in peeling paint
tears through
old man Smith’s petunia patch
lungs on fire

blackberryreaches his secret place
on the far side of the
blackberry hedge
hits the ground hard
squeezing back tears

her voice
too distant to be heard
still clack clack clacks
in his ears
mean drunk helicopter words
slicing through his brain

the same small fingers
pluck dark berries from their
prickly cocoons
liquid stains his
fingertips
blood or juice
it doesn’t matter

Fast and Loud vs. Slow and Quiet

1924-Isotta-Fraschini-Tipo-8A-cabriolet-PLACEMENT2-626x382

The Best of Show honor went to an incredible 1924 Isotta Fraschini Tipo 8A Cabriolet.

Life has it’s fast and loud moments and it’s slow and quiet ones. Sunday was one of those days. I ventured off on a field trip to the Pebble Beach Concours d’Elegance sponsored by the Blackhawk Automotive Museum, which entailed 15 hours of bus rides, dealing with my no-cell-phone phobia (warning to the ladies–don’t change purses for special events!), taking photos with two single-use cameras (yes, folks, they’ll have them back to me in 2 weeks, at which point both you and I will have lost interest in the event in question), 80 degree heat, and more glitterati wanna-be’s than you can shake a 5″ heel and Italian bared-chest at.

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Richard on the far left with his Packard and the gentlemen who detailed it for the show

My daughter instructed me to take photos of any celebrities. How can I tell, I asked? They have a lot of people following them around, she said. So I see this film crew following a very tanned, slickly groomed, gold fettered, Hollywood-handsome gentleman, complete with entourage who were hustling to keep up with him as he glad-handed his way around the stunning classic cars on the 18th fairway. I took a photo–the one you can see in 2 weeks! Only later did I find out that he was Richard Rawlings of the edgy TV car show Fast and Loud. He strode about like a heat-seeking missile amid adoring fans begging for selfies. His on-the-hoof publicity stunt captured my attention for about 2 minutes.

marc_garyaHours later, after the Best of Show was announced, it took almost 2 hours for our VIP bus to make its way back from the parking area to the Pebble Beach Lodge to take us home. With sore feet and a furrowed brow, I took refuge on a white wooden folding chair in the shade near the Museum’s vendor space. Next to me were two fellow passengers whom I had not met on the way down. It turned out to be Gary Meadors and his lovely wife Marilyn. Turns out that Gary is CEO and Founder of Goodguys Rod and Custom Association, now run by his son. Their fabulously successfully association has tens of thousands of members and dozens of events worldwide for the enthusiastic custom car crowd. We chitchatted for much of that waiting time, enjoying the shade and the quiet that follows a major event, as the exhausted serving staff, musicians, and vendors wended their way home. We talked about our grandchildren–my four and their 12 year old twins, about their growing up on farms in the Central Valley of California, about the simple things in life. They were as down home and real as the American Graffiti world they came from. I’d had a difficult and bone-weary day and their interest in my life and well-being came as a welcome, soothing balm that wiped out every last smidgen of stress.

So, here’s the question. If I had to be stranded on a desert island (which Pebble Beach certainly can be when you’re not part of the glitterati gathered there), do I want to be rescued by Mr. Eyecandy or by two down to earth human beings? I’ll vote for the latter.

dining-taproomAnd not to be forgotten as a highlight of the day, a shout out to Joanne and Richard  from New Jersey. I was standing in line (forever!) to get lunch at The Tap Room at the Lodge and introduced myself, suggesting we join forces to get seated sooner. We had an absolutely lovely conversation over Kobe brie burgers and Roast Beef au jus. Proof that turning strangers to friends is as simple as a “hello”.

The notebook

IMG_0764vintage palms
suggest a
British empire hazed morning
a prim ruched bodice
gossamer covered arms
pen held delicately
scribbling a memoir of the
raj

five ninety-five price tag
on the back
speaks bargain store

if I remember correctly
(five years dim my memories)
a valentine’s gift
when I had a valentine
who celebrated my
writing

I meant to write on the
palm-shaded pages

IMG_0765but the end came before
a single letter was formed
before even the germ of a
literary thought
found its way from
my brain to the
virgin folio

which still lies unspoiled by
regret or rue
the void an
homage to
dreams unmet

Reunion

old lovesa tight spot in my chest
aches from the inside out
I want to
rock my heart
sing it a lullaby

revelations slip out
roused from dark places
deep hurt
flash frozen at eighteen
unthawed after fifty years in
cold storage
singed by freezer burn

past bliss
squints in the bright light of today
losing definition
more chimera than
substance

a whiff of his cologne
provokes an intimate connection
did we breathe the same air
share the same bed
touch skin to skin
or was it all
illusion

bodies
changed with age and wear
connect
snap together with the strength of
opposite polarities
he startled by new feelings
me saddened by the irretrievable

serendipity joins two bare wires which
spark as eyes meet in
air charged with expectation

selves are turned inside out
frayed inner seams exposed
mine more than his
healing and disappointment are
stitched together in a
bitter-sweet quilt

my higher power watches
seeing if I can find my way
force myself into real choices
not hypotheticals

every desire is coated with the
plain truth of distance
age
health
lives rooted in different soils

old obsessions are defused
left lifeless on the floor
swept away by the stiff broom of
common sense

new understandings of the past are
shared
separate lives
filled with choices
some good
some lousy
thankful we didn’t visit those choices
on each other
we never divorced each other
a gift in and of itself
never fought over money or children
never nagged
never closed our ears

can we accept it was all meant to be
exactly as it occurred
paths ordained to diverge
amid pain and misunderstanding
predestined now to intertwine
just long enough to
uncover buried secrets

we part with a body memory that
no one else will share or
understand

our futures turn
practical
more in keeping with our
current lives
but this reunion
this unexpected reconciliation
lingers to sweetly
flavor reality

an accident of birth

An inspiration for this Saturday morning as I revel in my disappointments, and offer a note of grace for yours.

J M Lysun's avatarJ M Lysun

different-lives

I get it!
It isn’t always easy being who we are.
We didn’t choose to be born,
or to find ourselves labelled at birth.
Why are we male, not female?
Black or white?
Why are we not as clever?
As healthy? As wealthy?
Where is the justice in being
tethered to a name that bears
little recognition, whilst others bask
in glories assigned to them by the past?
Are we wrong to expect more than our lot?
Wrong to curse our luck?
Or to feel envious as we look
across an ocean of divide
to see our dreams take
shape in other’s hands?

We kid ourselves
that all are equally blessed,
such things as wealth
are within the grasp of
each and everyone.
That those who stumble
do so through their own fault
or misapplication.
Blinded by privilege,
convenience often hides the truth
and paints dreams
to silence the voice

View original post 31 more words

I’m going on a field trip!

concours PB

CLICK on POSTER to see all the fabulous POSTER ART created for the Concours over the years

The Blackhawk Automotive Museum is sponsoring a trip to the Pebble Beach Concours d’Elegance. The perfect “field trip” for this classic car enthusiast. We’ll meet at the Museum in Danville at the crack of dawn on Sunday, August 16th, and return late that night, riding in a VIP coach with all the amenities. They’ve added a travel fee on top of the regular Concours ticket price of $300, but seeing it just once in my lifetime in person is well worth the tariff. There will even be a Museum docent led tour from someone in the know.

My original plan was to attend the Rolex Motorsports Reunion at Laguna Seca that weekend, but I’ve done that several times. So I’ve chosen quiet elegance over the roar of engines to satisfy my classic car fetish for this year.

For anyone who is jealous and lives in the SF Bay area, there are still some seats left on the bus (there will be pickups in San Jose as well). Just contact the Blackhawk Museum.

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The house

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The morning view of downtown Oakland and SF Bay beyond from my little patio on the ground floor (behind the lower railing on the house pic

P.S. For those of you who have mentioned my recent lack of posts, I’ve been deep in the throes of a move from Contra Costa County to the Oakland hills, moving in with my daughter and her family so that my bilingual granddaughters can go to kindergarten and preschool at two different French schools in the Oakland/Berkeley area. The little one will attend Ecole Bilingue and the older one the new Francophone Charter School, where her mother will be the curriculum director.  A guided tour to the Concours will be a welcome change from all the weeks of packing and unpacking.