Category: Techno-wonder

Leonard Nimoy’s Tree

Green Powered Car

Leonard Nimoy’s rumored penthouse in Vancouver Was easy to spot– a pin oak tree growing Atop the 19th floor at English Bay. Think about the inches nearest To you. What’s in your line of Vision? Mine: Target bags of plastic eggs A rubbery Fitbit, Telling me to move. Wood. The mantle carved, The Pictures framed, the copies…

What Writing Looks Like

The Writers Room NYC

What Writing Looks LikeThere’s a romance to the idea of writing. When you tell someone you are a writer, they are often all like “ooohhh whoa soooo cool!” Why is that? Well it’s pretty much because READING is awesome. It’s hellaciously awesome, the single best thing in the wide world to do with any amount…

Suddenly, and Again – #Reverb13 Day One

On my tripwire connections of mind, body and soulHow do you feel, on this first day, in your mind? In your body? In your heart? In your soul?   First, I feel like saying “Oh my goodness hello and I’m sorry!” If there is anyone out there who has been counting on me to blog…

On Having to Cut Down a Tree

Is it worth being sentimental over one tree? The last time I mentioned to friends that we might have to cut down our two huge Norway maples, one FB friend replied “good riddance. They are invasive species to New England anyway.” I sometimes think that our attachments to trees or cars or other “stuff” isn’t…

The Facebook Thing

At the end of Lent, I was over on Facebook, and my friend, Tammy, popped up on my Timeline and said in her status something like: Well, I’m back! Didja miss me?? I did it! A whole 40 days without Facebook!  Then she posted a really great list of all the things she “got done”…

The Reporter’s Notebook

A Thank You to Brittany Lyte It’s been a curious couple days since I was featured on the front page of the Connecticut Post’s Business section about my Demand Poetry business. I’m not used to being on that side of the news, it’s true. I was interviewed by CT Post reporter Brittany Lyte, who was young…

I Keep on Forgetting

I am making some updates to my blogrolls, here and on my home page. It’s tedious, but it’s been on my to do list for a long time. That’s because I really LOVE to read other friends and writers blogs and share their great ideas too. However, since I’ve/we’ve started morphing to Facebook and readers…

Gone the Mailbox

At the post office, the hated post office, where lines greet me and awful racks of greeting cards Line walls, ignored. The post office and its Perfume of desperation. The place where scales and stamps sit in dusty corners Like aristocrats awaiting their bloody fate. The post office, doomed, because It is about PLACE and…

More Less, Please

Today on “House Hunters International,” a family of four from near-Toledo were seeking a vacation home in St. Croix. They were a nice family: he an ER doc. She a nurse (now SAHM of a 9 and 14 y.o). They needed an escape from their designer, 5400 sq ft. home in the most wealthy (ish)…

Google+, and Other Anchors

Google+ is now a part of my life. I am mostly thrilled to add it to my collection of ways to communicate with people I know and don’t know online. These also include: Twitter LinkedIn Picasa Flickr WordPress Blogger Facebook Gmail Digg And many others. Just as I pondered when I started dabbling in Twitter,…

The Wall

This heat has No name at all until You remind yourself He. Is. There. Exit the climate-controlled Iceblock Bedroom Only to hit The Wall. Day 11, A River of Stones You May Also Like:Iowa StormIn MidairEnd of Day – Day 3 – Poetry MonthResidueAnger Comes

Stick To It

small squares hold together life tiny reminders in brilliant hues– one thin strip of sticky soon wears away Day 3, A River of Stones You May Also Like:Savor All Things GoldA Small Stone LateMore Stuff Than I Could Ever NeedOn Rivers of StoneAn Hour of UnShopping

Who Do You Love?

I admit it. I have a serious Life-Crush on Tara. It’s Ok. I am sure she doesn’t mind. I mean, after all, her business is to make people want to feel that gorgeous feeling of love… not just for her, but for ourselves. There are just those certain kinds of people in the world, aren’t…