Today, I bring you three quickies.
1) I received this email a while back: You have used 98.9% of the total data allocated to your mailbox.To avoid placing your incoming massages on hold or loose them permanently,we require you to re-validate your mailbox to expand your data allocation size.
My response: Dear Web mail system administrator,
My data allocation size is none of
your business! Second, don’t you dare hold or loose my
massages. Bring them on – full body, hot rocks, Swedish, deep tissue - none of
that wimpy gentle stuff. Hard and heavy for this gal! If you get my data box to 100%, I will happily re-validate. Thank you.
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lifted from msn news. Artwork by Shane Grammer, who I believe was the home owner. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
3) Another form of art from ash ~
This weekend, I went to a local cafe for a friend's jazz performance. She did great, as always.
At the end, a younger crowd with pierced nostrils took over, excited about a fundraiser show for Camp Fire survivors.
Since I'd secured a front row seat earlier, I stayed to enjoy some spoken word.*
The first performer wasn't a fire victim, she said. However, a strong spiritual connection to the fire motivated her to produce a number of poems that graced the walls and were available for purchase. "Here's my first one," she announced, and then read from a small slip of paper.
"I cry!" her voice, loud, confident, dramatic.
Next, she said with equal emphasis on each word: "I cry!"
And then . . . "I CRY!"
I almost cried. But I was sitting in front. I couldn't leave; it'd be too obvious. So would my tears.
"...cry." Alas, she'd finished.
"Here's my second one." Crap!
"It is love," she began.
Then, "It is love."
Next, . . .Yeah, you guessed it. "It is love."
I stood up and pushed through the crowd to reclaim my freedom.
"Seat in front! Seat in front! Seat in front!" I belted, as I opened my car door.
I don't know, my friends. I do know that one thing I appreciate about you is this: You never post that stuff for the rest of us to applaud or cry, cry, cry. Thank you x3 for that.
Be good to yourselves.
Love ya.
2) Art from ash ~
This beautiful mural was painted on one of the chimneys still standing in Paradise, CA. Wow! Right?
3) Another form of art from ash ~
This weekend, I went to a local cafe for a friend's jazz performance. She did great, as always.
At the end, a younger crowd with pierced nostrils took over, excited about a fundraiser show for Camp Fire survivors.
Since I'd secured a front row seat earlier, I stayed to enjoy some spoken word.*
The first performer wasn't a fire victim, she said. However, a strong spiritual connection to the fire motivated her to produce a number of poems that graced the walls and were available for purchase. "Here's my first one," she announced, and then read from a small slip of paper.
"I cry!" her voice, loud, confident, dramatic.
Next, she said with equal emphasis on each word: "I cry!"
And then . . . "I CRY!"
I almost cried. But I was sitting in front. I couldn't leave; it'd be too obvious. So would my tears.
"...cry." Alas, she'd finished.
"Here's my second one." Crap!
"It is love," she began.
Then, "It is love."
Next, . . .Yeah, you guessed it. "It is love."
I stood up and pushed through the crowd to reclaim my freedom.
"Seat in front! Seat in front! Seat in front!" I belted, as I opened my car door.
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*Isn't everything we say out loud "spoken word"? Or do we have to say it three times for it to be so?I don't know, my friends. I do know that one thing I appreciate about you is this: You never post that stuff for the rest of us to applaud or cry, cry, cry. Thank you x3 for that.
Be good to yourselves.
Love ya.
