Peggy

 


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Downsized March 15, 2025

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    “Life is what happens to you when you’re busy making other plans,” says a paraphrase of a John Lennon song, who stole the saying from a poet whose name I have forgotten. This is never so true as to the events going on with the federal government these days as the new administration makes massive cuts to funding of not-for-profits and other organizations. Just when you think life is secure, when you have all your ducks in a row (as the old cliché goes), something mucks up the works (another cliché) and you end up scrambling to put your life back together, but don’t quite yet know how.   Although correct in theory, the idea of reducing the work force has an unexpected impact on the people involved. People make plans; they assume they can get on with their lives securely. They believe that if they had put enough time into their careers, they will be rewarded, and perhaps get on pursuing their own interest, dreams they had since childhood for the first time poss...
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Good bye for now Feb. 13, 2024

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     She posted a video explaining much of it yesterday, but not everything. In fact, she made a point of not explaining the exact reasons for her moving, except to say that it had been mounting for a while and came to a head suddenly and sooner than she expected. She wasn’t crying; yet it felt like she wanted to. She didn’t say why exactly she chose to go back to that part of New York State where she previously lived, except to say even though NY is expensive, it is cheaper than where she is living currently – hinting that part of the motivation may be financial. She also pointed out that her family lives in the area (somewhat south, but easier to reach than from where she is now.) But she deliberately did not go into the gritty details of the rest, which if judged by the pattern of her life, may involve a ruined romance. I don’t think this has anything to do with me or my decade old journal that I have been posting, but I stopped posting – at least tempo...
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The dream she June 4, 2024

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It was that dream between waking and sleep that comes just before the real waking, the memory of which lingers on beyond dawn, haunting, physical, realer than real, heavy endowed with all those feelings that the brain filters out during ordinary consciousness. She wasn’t in the dream per se, at least, not the she I’m talking about. She doesn’t look like the she in the dream, the she from back then, blonde, not brunette, shorter than the memory person, yet with the same intense stare and deep, dark, mysterious eyes, And because this dream she was with someone else, I naturally got jealous. She wasn’t in the dream from the start. The dream began in The Bronx of all places, in an apartment filled with the contemporary version of hippies, and I was there with my guitars and my music, and my cameras, playing a bit before they raised serious questions about whether or not I liked Elvis, and when I said, I did, they accused him of being racist and asked us to leave. I struggled to f...
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