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Literature
The Summer of Love
     It's the fiftieth anniversary of The Summer of Love, something a lot of people notice around here. I'm in NoCal, not too far from San Francisco, where that particular summer was celebrated the most. I traveled with my sister from Southern California to the Haight-Ashbury district then, to check out the scene. We were still in high school, and the 'hippie thing' was like a clarion call. We dressed for it: embroidered shirts, tight blue jeans with bright fabric sewn over the seams, headbands, long hair. All we lacked were the flowers.
     When we wandered down the street, we didn't talk much. We were studying how to be cool. Back at home, my sister painted LOVE  and flowers on our mirror. We listened to rock and folk music. We read magazines like Mother Nature and The Rolling Stone. 
     The street scene was 'happening' in San Francisco. There were lots of girls dressed like us, and some look
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Journal
Art in the House
Yesterday, I welcomed a new piece of art into my home. I found a perfect place for it, then I realized -- I have dozens of prints of artwork from devArt: it hangs on my walls, over a door, in the kitchen, the library, the bedroom -- everywhere! Most of them are 4x6s, framed in batches. I found a great multiple holder for that size at a dollar store. That was fun to arrange. Others are 8x10s or 9x11s, framed and carefully hung. The second-largest piece is above the door; the largest is the one I got yesterday, and I'm very pleased with it. I have to thank the kind (and good!) artist who sent it. Thank you, again, kach-back!
Then I also realized I feel older for the first time. It began when I broke my arm and wrist last October; a "very bad" break, according to the surgeon. The recovery was achingly long and difficult. I look in the mirror and I look like my mother to me now. My mother was a pretty lady, btw, who also had no gray hair. But now I suddenly look ol
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Mature content
New Life :iconxlntwtch:xlntwtch 7 17
Mature content
Anne :iconxlntwtch:xlntwtch 7 13
Literature
Pear-ly Nonsense
     When the pear bit me, I knew it was an unpearalelled day. I'd done nothing to cause the incompearable behavior from that pear. Nor had I done anything against all the pears in the bowl. This pear grinned at me, then bit my thumb. I quickly put the pear down and studied it. It looked normal in every way, except it had a mouth, and teeth, and, pearish the thought, it smirked. I picked up a pearing knife, ready to fight back. The pear still smirked. I thought maybe I should pear it down to nothing, or tell The National Inquirer and make, maybe, fifty bucks. Fifty bucks for a photo of a pear, pearhaps sitting next to my bitten thumb. I got the smartphone and tried to arrange the pear and the pear injury in an attractive way. But the pear bit me again. No! I picked up the pearing knife again and put on pear-proof gloves and set to work. I'm happy to report that the pear didn't do anything pearsonable, it seemed to have no pearsonality, a
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Literature
A Celestial Visit
"There are very few communes at the end of smooth roads."      -Clark Dimond
 
    She visited in 1978. The Greyhound bus crunched to a snowy stop in Walsenburg. I glimpsed my sister coming down the steps and held up a big coat, boots, socks and a hat. She held a sweater tightly closed against the cold and didn't look up until she reached the curb. Then we smiled at each other.. Celeste was in Colorado to visit the commune. I'd told her earlier, by phone, that the weather was very warm; flowers blooming in the Rockies. I owed her warm clothing, and she was happy I brought it to Walsenburg. We hugged and laughed.
     "Sorry you had to wait so long, LJ," she said. "When the pilot said we had to circle because of a blizzard, I was surprised! We circled Denver for two hours! Oh, wow... you look wonderful. This coat is wonderful!"
     "You look great, yourself. C'mon, get
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Literature
But We Always Sing Together There
    The "old man" was maybe forty-nine, since that's the median age range for US American Indian males' longevity.
    He seemed like an old man to me. I was only about twenty and terrified.
    He was going to run a meeting I was supposed to attend.
    I'd already heard about him.
    He was said to hate seeing a woman in tipi meetings and he hated any white person there.
    He hated to hear a woman sing there even more.
    I was a young white woman who sang a lot in tipis, but this time I planned to skip the singing.
    It would be enough just to be there.
    It was my husband's fault. He was going and wanted me there with him.
    We always went to meetings together and sang together, too.
    Other Indians said we sounded "real good" together and that's what my husband wanted to show that old man.
    In other words, he wanted to show me off as a white woman
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Literature
The Mistake
     Carl pretty much fell through the door at A-One Gas and Groceries. The ring of a cowbell overhead shocked the hell out of him. His head pounded. One hand held his head while his other held his gun. True, he meant to make an entrance that really got his kids' attention, but this one hurt a little too much. He shouldn't have drunk that lousy bayou-booze all night.
     The only time he'd had a headache like this was when he had a grande mal seizure years ago. But no, this one had to be from a general lack of alcohol of any kind this very moment. Flourescent lights made him nearly blind at first, then he saw his little girl standing there, right where he thought she'd be.
     "Gimme vodka, gimme money, gimme...gimme..." he said, waving the gun while he watched his sweet little girl move in silence to do what he said. He literally saw his girl, Annie, as if she was still nine years old, like she was the last t
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Mature content
Let's Try This On For Size :iconxlntwtch:xlntwtch 7 20
Literature
The Quark and the Giant Eland
    The quark thought of it. 'The Heavenly Rescuers of Earth's Animals = Deities', a group commonly known as THREAD, asked him how he'd save western giant elands, now extinct in three African countries. The elands were "critically endangered" in other countries in Africa.
    Mother Creator was the deity that started THREAD and she was still in charge. No one but the Creator could even see the quark. He was merely a fidget on the horizon. But his idea about the elands was intriguing, to say the least. THREAD listened as the quark spoke.
    "A giant eland antelope is scheduled to die shortly, and we can put its spirit side-by-side with a human spirit in a human body. That should teach humans the loss that will occur if nobody understands that these animals have great spirit and must be saved. I believe humans can be receptive to this."
    The quark's voice sounded like it was inside the minds of each deity, from naiads to the Mother, and he spok
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Literature
The Black Bag
     The problem was simple, really. I was a little too drunk. Me and my buddy Jake, though, we found it simple to walk with a stagger and laugh a little too loud, a simple problem. The day was pretty good, pretty drunk.
     The hours passed easy until Max came out of his pawnshop. Max never leaves his pawnshop. He looked so worried and strange I had to squint to be sure it was him. He got us interested, walking toward my buddy and me with trouble written all over his face. Trouble is something a man can relate to from time to time, somehow.
     Max walked right up to us and put his hand on my shoulder, thowing me off balance for his remark.
     "I need your help, boys," he said.
     Jake laughed. "Hey, Max needs our help!"
     I nodded and tried to look serious to hide the surprise that made me want to laugh too. I thought it could
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Literature
The Cousin in New Orleans
    The Christian kids were following me long before I knew it. It's true that I was distracted by many things. It was my first trip to New Orleans (pre-Katrina) and I found it delightful. I usually rode the trolley, which made me feel like I was inside a giant pinball machine with all its bells and whistles.
    Views of stately homes, hanging Spanish moss and green, green lawns completed the feeling of being in another realm. Well, I was in another state, having arrived from California about a month before. Before that, I'd been on the commune in Colorado, where I'd eventually return. But now I was in love with New Orleans.
    I went often to the French Quarter to people-watch and listen to the music, all kinds of wonderful music. I never saw the other side of the Mississippi; it was foggy every time I tried. I also went to Tulane University, to sit in the student union and feel more at home.
    Probably about now I should say I was un
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Literature
Tornado Talk
     She'd never heard wind like it. The girl, Lilah, was from a place where the only season meant Santana winds blew, and they blew hard, but not as hard as this wind. The man she was with didn't wake up. He slept on while the day began.
     One of the six children they babysat, a little boy, came to their room.
     He shook the man's foot to wake him.
     Lilah was amazed to see the man she'd marry pull their blanket over his face to hide.
     It was up to the Lilah to ask the little boy, "What's wrong, Jake?"
     "The wind," Jake said. "Why Uncle hidin? I scared! Want Uncle ta save us!"
     "Come here, Jake," said Lilah. "Are the other kids awake? Come here, I'll hold you."
     "No, they sleepin 'n' I want Uncle! Willya wake him?"
     "Sure, Jake," the girl said, pretending a calm she didn't feel.
    "Wesley!" she said, nudging the man next to her. "Wes! What're you doing with the blanket over your head? Wake up! Jake's in our room. And the wind is--it's different than a
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Literature
What This Writer Does
    Friends told me I should send her what I've written so far. She's known for years that she's the subject of a story. I kept putting it off because it's not finished and it's not what she wanted.
    Instead of a "Jesus will save you" tract, something the subject wanted the story to end on, it's a story of her escapades through about ninety years. Not that I've written ninety years yet. Heck, I've only written about one day, with flashbacks.
    But I took a deep breath and sent the subject seventeen of the pages I have so far. They're not even the most recent revision; they're what I found in my folders. My printer doesn't work and I wouldn't send her pen and paper copies. Too informal.
    I haven't heard from her yet (and may not) but I hope she's happy with what she has. We used to sit over meals and I'd listen to her tell the story of her life. I made notes with her permission. She's had a long and very full life, a fascinating one. From
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Literature
Action and Reaction
    Secrets are rarely kept between two people. If you have a secret, it's best to tell no one.
    I told someone, so mine was no longer a secret, it was just low-key information we tried to keep quiet.
    I was easily embarrassed, and wished it hadn't happened in front of him, my new husband. Our bed was a futon, with walls on two sides and a dresser at the foot. I got up early and opened the drawer where my clothes were, and something leapt out at me. I ran for the door to the other room. My husband was laughing so hard when I returned, I wanted to pour cold water on him.
    He said, "You and that mouse was both runnin neck and neck for the door. Funniest thing I ever seen!"
    "It was awful. Please don't tell anyone. Keep it secret. Promise?"
    "Okay, I promise. It's still the funniest thing I ever seen!"
    "What's a mouse doing in the dresser anyway?"
    "Makin a nest, probly," he said. "Look.
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Literature
The Great Water Debate
    There was a war going on at the senior complex.
    I visited the place to see how my Granny was doing, but she'd left a note on her door that said:
    AT REC ROOM - COME SEE ME
    That got me worried right there. Granny wasn't your ordinary person. I could think of a million reasons why she'd be evicted, and not one that would make her cheerfully go that close to the office. She had sort of a love/hate relationship with where she lived. As long as things went her way, she was happy. If they didn't, well, she was a force to be reckoned with.
    I walked along the cement path between greenery and sent up a little prayer.
    "No eviction, please," was all I asked.  
    I hated the sign beside the office because it said "Welcome Home," and it just didn't have a homey feeling anywhere. Except inside my Granny's apartment and garden. I walked through a mysteriously empty office to the rec room, where I heard
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clarkdimond
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I'm 75

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:iconclarkdimond:
clarkdimond Featured By Owner Sep 5, 2016
I can't find my profile and it's not accepting my password
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xlntwtch Featured By Owner Apr 19, 2016   Writer
:iconcakeplz: ...  :iconhappybirthdaysignplz:
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clarkdimond Featured By Owner Oct 30, 2014
I finally got here, but there's not much to say.+fav Hug No, I disagree! =P (Razz) 
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xlntwtch Featured By Owner Oct 16, 2014   Writer
:iconfireworkplz:
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xlntwtch Featured By Owner Sep 7, 2014   Writer
Do you ever look at your profile page? Have I really been working (on and off) on the journal for two years - as long as you've been here? Wow. :iconrainbowsparklesplz:
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xlntwtch Featured By Owner Sep 15, 2012   Writer
:iconredsparklesplz: Thank you, sir, for all you do and for your wonderful support.
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