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  Looking at you… f aintly the handwriting reads:    Karina & Bob, Here’s looking at you in 1994 With best regards, Howard   Back when he studied T’ai Chi with me for a few years, Howard was already older, a fine, eccentric gentleman. And a very good and well-known artist. With a deeply philosophical side to him which made him enjoy my way of teaching the Art and Principles of this ancient practice. He’d have questions, comments, always delighted by insights, his or mine.   In the hallway I often pass his small watercolor, with its (faded by now) inscription to Bob and me. Bob’s birthday will be in three days on May 18.  If alive, my late husband – who died in October of 2016 – would turn ninety-five this year. Suddenly I feel the presence of time in my heart, swirling about back and forth, swooshing from chamber to chamber, expanding. Howard’s greeting from 1994 – thirty years later, I am now seventy, about the age he was back then.  Suddenly I am engulfed by the dynamically shift
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  Braiding This time of year, I love braiding the soft long narcissus leaves. Instead of discarding them, the braids will dissolve back into earth in winter.   rock rose   Right now – among the abundant green textures in my small front patio – three dominant and radiant colors are braiding themselves into an ecstatic realm. The fuchsia pink of the rhododendron, the purple pink of the rock rose and the orange red of the gladioli. These glowing, almost clashing colors mingle harmoniously. Their exuberant co-existence is mesmerizing. I take my lunch amidst this wonder. It won’t last long…   gladioli   Our personal joys – a grandchild’s first step, feet touching sand, winning an award, a friend’s letter, the apple tree’s first blossoms – they arise from us relating to our immediate surroundings. The realms of individual, community and collective – collective meaning: culture, place, history – are fibers that weave us continuously into existence, whether we know it or not. Ever changing. Ma
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  Weltschmerz   It is the task of the living to honor and celebrate the dead. They leave us gifts and we are grateful. We miss them and keep them alive in our hearts. Today is the birthday of the late G.P. Skratz (April 23, 1948 – June 6, 2023), prolific poet, bard, songwriter, performance artist, and translator, beloved for his big unique laughter. At the recent memorial for him, on Sunday, April 14, I re-meet colleagues and friends I had not seen in 30 or 40 years. What a time warp. From the table of giveaways, I take a small turquoise paper square (3’’ x 3’’). Once at home, I unfold the mystery :   Words by gp skratz, paper art by Linda Lemon   This poem, called  Weltschmerz,  appears in three dimensions, three lines, ending in a question. Here I feel the late Linda Lemon, artist and partner of GP Skratz for several decades. Here, her paper art is combined with Skratz’s words – beautiful and simple. Linda died on March 8, 2024.   In honor of each of them, their art and lives, I shar
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  Blue and Green   Blau und Grün   The blue star flower, borage,  an herbal ally, especially in the old days . In German: Borretsch . Also called:  Liebäugelchen , Blausternchen , Salatkraut , Sternblümchen , Wohlgemütsblume . These names describe the characteristics of the plant endearingly and accurately: little lovely eye, little blue star, salad greens, little star flower, and good cheer flower.   Gut fuer Herz und Gemüt, Hildegard von Bingen empfehlt es schon vor eintausend Jahren. One thousand years ago, Hildegard already promotes its healing properties. Good for the heart and lungs, a helper against depression and so much more. Borage’s taste is interesting, a bit like cucumber, as tea or in salad. Borretsch is also one of the seven fresh green herb ingredients for the traditional regional recipe of Frankfurter Grüne Soße , a green sauce eaten in spring and summer with potatoes and hardboiled eggs. A tradition to mark spring’s greening force. Full of vitamins and minerals. In m
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  DUST  –  A Memoir     by Summer Brenner   When the package comes in the mail, I unwrap and immediately start reading, and can’t put it down. Then I write a spontaneous note via e-mail:   Dear Summer, your book arrives this Saturday morning, the driver brings it up to my door – surprise. Thank you so much for this gift!   Wonder-ful, what a wondrous memoir. Congratulations for this momentous accomplishment. The tragedy and beauty of your father and brother, and your eccentric mother – and you honoring the legacy.   My brother has a grown mentally & emotionally differently-abled son, very difficult journey, and I love him so, have known him since birth and know my brother's struggles. I also know the struggles with hospice first hand :)   so glad you are writing about these things!   Thank you for bringing all your writing skill, talent and honesty to this remarkable memoir.   This week, I attend the reading of my friend Summer Brenner’s splendid memoir DUST at  Books Inc.  on