tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24386034040683579222024-03-25T01:05:52.704-04:00marjorie-pentimentiin this: some pieces of a documented lifeMarjoriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13323661411548419175noreply@blogger.comBlogger173125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2438603404068357922.post-91993751594826902172023-08-31T15:30:00.000-04:002023-08-31T15:54:46.892-04:00a note to readers<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiflpM3ochYAkJKwJ4jgzrW9KFVoqTdBgqFU9HwFLebFsutgJkGi2R9KPOY5Nf510kbEhJ_VJ8y0hAzS2-dbsxHTc6ZRa95L8Cm25dMeydRne0mnJg30TPNpKjrZ5_LchFWEoYyk0XT/s1600-h/img813.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344828919822232946" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiflpM3ochYAkJKwJ4jgzrW9KFVoqTdBgqFU9HwFLebFsutgJkGi2R9KPOY5Nf510kbEhJ_VJ8y0hAzS2-dbsxHTc6ZRa95L8Cm25dMeydRne0mnJg30TPNpKjrZ5_LchFWEoYyk0XT/s320/img813.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: left; height: undefinedpx; margin: 0 10px 10px 0; width: undefinedpx;" /></a><br />
Dear readers:<br />
<br />
There are about 107 "chapters" in this humorous partial memoir. In order to read the complete "book" you will need to open up "Older Posts" until you reach the epilogue. <br />
<br />
I hope the pieces of my life in these short vignettes in the blog make you laugh. Please enjoy this (ongoing and very unfinished) project.<br />
<br />
All my best,<br />
MarjorieMarjoriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13323661411548419175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2438603404068357922.post-36326666287598746522023-08-31T15:00:00.007-04:002023-11-15T00:22:14.274-05:00AND ANOTHER ONE BITES THE DUST<p><br /></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjb5Pc7mvbsQTXllxlTSGDJ524jcuiBnhBuaPXEf-HHLwvrlasvlLY_8mcoCuQJwKUdewV049BpjM2SEqRzAG0YZAlVT2p-scu16y7i_3vec7byboHENYtQdn7t3fnRcN7SUdIY1CrkBRAsy07po9a8WxWjfv38L1kzCvqK2H63YpsPv4sLg4B14wm6" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="655" data-original-width="695" height="602" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjb5Pc7mvbsQTXllxlTSGDJ524jcuiBnhBuaPXEf-HHLwvrlasvlLY_8mcoCuQJwKUdewV049BpjM2SEqRzAG0YZAlVT2p-scu16y7i_3vec7byboHENYtQdn7t3fnRcN7SUdIY1CrkBRAsy07po9a8WxWjfv38L1kzCvqK2H63YpsPv4sLg4B14wm6=w640-h602" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Fv2HtvibWhc?si=RcQW_K5mEsqwG0bX" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Marjoriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13323661411548419175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2438603404068357922.post-59065871587566120712023-08-30T16:29:00.008-04:002023-08-31T01:56:13.478-04:00portraits from 1976<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhLLPlYwj7tTQeq9Rj3-iTbPSNftsPIH_1TSs-llapbof_JDsjbwM2pHK93-UATVcyOOhPR3dwveViYbUBwZLfNL8H33jueE6neV-s0reazWLhDbZJbY3sgQohiQxQZsCyeE75ANXRYTa9PTxqyc3RXVX9Fpft8lLP0uCNSEtIBAK3gtc8_c2OhkY03" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="443" data-original-width="462" height="614" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhLLPlYwj7tTQeq9Rj3-iTbPSNftsPIH_1TSs-llapbof_JDsjbwM2pHK93-UATVcyOOhPR3dwveViYbUBwZLfNL8H33jueE6neV-s0reazWLhDbZJbY3sgQohiQxQZsCyeE75ANXRYTa9PTxqyc3RXVX9Fpft8lLP0uCNSEtIBAK3gtc8_c2OhkY03=w640-h614" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">photo credit: Frederick Piccarello</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi50AeymU0PIubil89pNXPqtK4xQzfdKOYpENmdX3EIdlsxoPpFq8KFV8q3MG61JbM5TuK3N2vt8NyyqjJlCs6Dlt3HevCGaqK-dl2r-rcTbnRky7u6cVvu9aAPd9vTMi0g1khnLkes9edNy0IbLllgLDCC7ew7OI2_PFvbV3E7_7UtvpqmluA03HPN" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="665" data-original-width="585" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi50AeymU0PIubil89pNXPqtK4xQzfdKOYpENmdX3EIdlsxoPpFq8KFV8q3MG61JbM5TuK3N2vt8NyyqjJlCs6Dlt3HevCGaqK-dl2r-rcTbnRky7u6cVvu9aAPd9vTMi0g1khnLkes9edNy0IbLllgLDCC7ew7OI2_PFvbV3E7_7UtvpqmluA03HPN=w563-h640" width="563" /></a></div><br /><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">entering the school yard:</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjeuJA7ZN3rl04obpRgLjlhseFAXDIetq4h_LJFfIpXvbthl_GSpK-oydiyVP9q7Qjyrs_Ny_kfUmE151FlFJLTCPRpm_MsgF9Vu9PCWyF7fh8GRFIRK4zetb54K-Ix8TTidW11DczkuzLC-q9tDDXFArigcWxKfdpOUqP8wLyEwug3yaZF5z3wJvtL" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="390" data-original-width="311" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjeuJA7ZN3rl04obpRgLjlhseFAXDIetq4h_LJFfIpXvbthl_GSpK-oydiyVP9q7Qjyrs_Ny_kfUmE151FlFJLTCPRpm_MsgF9Vu9PCWyF7fh8GRFIRK4zetb54K-Ix8TTidW11DczkuzLC-q9tDDXFArigcWxKfdpOUqP8wLyEwug3yaZF5z3wJvtL=w509-h640" width="509" /></a></div><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi2d7WqpLXfOEgtfifHCzCCqgHxMAd7gQ8AQYI7qGBGOviLFoe-1AX3KfnfUDvdhJNkXTqno6AkHew-sF2dXxjyQuiD5Y9APlcys44hxg1_rljlIDCnjuhArPWOY5J2DkXXRk_qvAl1HlgM8v-6aCNkM6-eLPrPctYyuugA9dKpl8DtcMJj0o_rsK53" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="223" data-original-width="320" height="446" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi2d7WqpLXfOEgtfifHCzCCqgHxMAd7gQ8AQYI7qGBGOviLFoe-1AX3KfnfUDvdhJNkXTqno6AkHew-sF2dXxjyQuiD5Y9APlcys44hxg1_rljlIDCnjuhArPWOY5J2DkXXRk_qvAl1HlgM8v-6aCNkM6-eLPrPctYyuugA9dKpl8DtcMJj0o_rsK53=w640-h446" width="640" /></a></div><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgXBYPh626ejldWQ56O32rsQeEfcG4_NjIl2iDDjLOmhm9oitS-B_zwr0tn0th-1F6umpe9URBX68y9oNHBZwvqJd8D_0tr88YEhuhgB27NKA8jGcfBSee__RIJlXlRGByF6JBScTPd09sAQmS5ZhPhNHMxoZvHi9FbTc2v4nYbviNf19qe38XMZjR3" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="313" data-original-width="320" height="627" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgXBYPh626ejldWQ56O32rsQeEfcG4_NjIl2iDDjLOmhm9oitS-B_zwr0tn0th-1F6umpe9URBX68y9oNHBZwvqJd8D_0tr88YEhuhgB27NKA8jGcfBSee__RIJlXlRGByF6JBScTPd09sAQmS5ZhPhNHMxoZvHi9FbTc2v4nYbviNf19qe38XMZjR3=w640-h627" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/MKTy4XXYsys?si=VxiFrKIdBzIlwdFk" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></div>Marjoriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13323661411548419175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2438603404068357922.post-57904248963264880682023-08-29T17:30:00.006-04:002023-08-29T17:30:34.270-04:00THE GANG THAT COULDN'T CRACK THE SAFE<p></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgQabREOI_y2OTAj6koKEMZt2idk301hrtKejtrVR8ZvT75iplBLmPWlz5_4u3xSWzkdxU5_w56CkhGV4wPN-zmEtaE8SI5Igld_VKcCLcSJ8-GP7DN-6B6JlcHDGHMwRnRthBf9YM4cXomh-zy4X8HnyaiBitms3W1z6b-E5VCEugTmr3m8eg1re8p" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="725" data-original-width="559" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgQabREOI_y2OTAj6koKEMZt2idk301hrtKejtrVR8ZvT75iplBLmPWlz5_4u3xSWzkdxU5_w56CkhGV4wPN-zmEtaE8SI5Igld_VKcCLcSJ8-GP7DN-6B6JlcHDGHMwRnRthBf9YM4cXomh-zy4X8HnyaiBitms3W1z6b-E5VCEugTmr3m8eg1re8p=w493-h640" width="493" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjKlNS_MaZhPi32yvYtmX5mfDrls7UtB-xaGD7bg9oV1LZHag20tWGwl3VKv1rWeDf_Ywb1QqfR3hWaPaozag72PqoFqJUEIwpHDd9gvtjOpB3aSaJvRqxX4NuEtDH9v65yXC_x_cjGfUMVeqTmE3zFFBG_6Sj07Yj5eIqHCwwDLXYRiqCKVSB2nQRh" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="723" data-original-width="375" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjKlNS_MaZhPi32yvYtmX5mfDrls7UtB-xaGD7bg9oV1LZHag20tWGwl3VKv1rWeDf_Ywb1QqfR3hWaPaozag72PqoFqJUEIwpHDd9gvtjOpB3aSaJvRqxX4NuEtDH9v65yXC_x_cjGfUMVeqTmE3zFFBG_6Sj07Yj5eIqHCwwDLXYRiqCKVSB2nQRh=w331-h640" width="331" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">It was always something at Columbia Silver Company...</span></div></div><p></p>Marjoriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13323661411548419175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2438603404068357922.post-35065576260361550982023-04-01T22:33:00.004-04:002023-08-27T20:15:33.518-04:00MY UNCLE ROBERT<p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjfV3Dv5Fzurb2A3IA0fR16fMehWYgtRtz9Wr_Ga4VbzncxcXJeuB0cn_ZO_uLGOhq2LV0KW1XN41vRmLruZGMbkj3TYIhuSGMnf_eQVYOEejps34CV9-7rRyUBx9efym9nP5Q21amfNqiikWEJtlk3zD03pXYZCRqiP4hXZbe9RXnCyOOwodZ6Jtoi" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="440" data-original-width="809" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjfV3Dv5Fzurb2A3IA0fR16fMehWYgtRtz9Wr_Ga4VbzncxcXJeuB0cn_ZO_uLGOhq2LV0KW1XN41vRmLruZGMbkj3TYIhuSGMnf_eQVYOEejps34CV9-7rRyUBx9efym9nP5Q21amfNqiikWEJtlk3zD03pXYZCRqiP4hXZbe9RXnCyOOwodZ6Jtoi=w400-h217" width="400" /></a></div><br /><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">There are many sad sagas that often go untold and as the many decades pass, lives that were lived fade away. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><div data-setdir="false" dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; outline: none;"><span style="outline: none;">This is a tragic story and I never knew this until probably 1992, when my older cousin Eileen told me about it and she said it was in the newspapers. </span></div><div data-setdir="false" dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; outline: none;"><span style="outline: none;"><br /></span></div><div data-setdir="false" dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; outline: none;"><span style="outline: none;">So shortly after I found out, I went to a branch of the NYC library on West 43rd Street, filled out a slip of paper and requested some back issues of old Brooklyn newspapers </span>about the time that it happened that were on rolls of microfilm. As I scrolled through, I found what I was looking for. I printed a few articles and decades later posted them at my blog.</div><div data-setdir="false" dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; outline: none;"><span style="outline: none;"><br style="outline: none;" /></span></div><div data-setdir="false" dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; outline: none;"><span style="outline: none;">In about 2015, I went to Mt. Lebanon cemetery and Robert was buried right there with his parents. It said "son."</span></div><div data-setdir="false" dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; outline: none;"><span style="outline: none;"><br /></span></div><div data-setdir="false" dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; outline: none;">Robert's sister, my aunt Ruth (Eileen's mother) lived to be 100. When I would visit her at her assisted living home on West End Avenue, The Esplanade, she would often talk of Robert and she said the reporters were "kind." She said it was no accident. She claimed he had many problems and back then his parents did not know how to handle his issues. He fell into great despondency. This must have been a terrible time for the family. It became a secret and there was not one time my mother ever indicated she lost a brother. But an old letter my grandmother wrote in about 1928 spoke of Robert. </div><div data-setdir="false" dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; outline: none;"><br /></div><div data-setdir="false" dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; outline: none;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhC-PZLhYoB91IkljpqmihDZN2C3Hm2NGy6y_C4KJudGjUm6qeGmVXfB-CxEp162Y3YwGw5kicgl0uFKFHKI2J3y3cXWuIDXxHDo1BKBsszlIUTxh_AXZXpC3tqRPorAH5U13XHpDJsfBqmvjsQ-PzSt2nEdcwJPUb9Wgn8Oxwcifskyp9JX1DqNE41" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="403" data-original-width="655" height="394" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhC-PZLhYoB91IkljpqmihDZN2C3Hm2NGy6y_C4KJudGjUm6qeGmVXfB-CxEp162Y3YwGw5kicgl0uFKFHKI2J3y3cXWuIDXxHDo1BKBsszlIUTxh_AXZXpC3tqRPorAH5U13XHpDJsfBqmvjsQ-PzSt2nEdcwJPUb9Wgn8Oxwcifskyp9JX1DqNE41=w640-h394" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /></div>The house in Brooklyn on 82nd Street in which it happened is still there. As a child, I was in that house many times. I have written poems about some of my memories there. It is the house with the light brown door.</div></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh-_7qRbI7pxTdRoPDqSMW2PS7ypoMrFi1onG51e4UKu4WxyM_twnq2kZyh5CU4ZWUw30ONlqEcVfUdZSN0ZGBYeqyz3vwwxM9j4znmOmExPM1ha_5Z0I0-akH1pbOKgmKeA8YvE8NA_33CZvn0RWB285TcXcWk1AHM8GzClv5f-Tj_RyALqtdDFJTT" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="434" data-original-width="665" height="418" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh-_7qRbI7pxTdRoPDqSMW2PS7ypoMrFi1onG51e4UKu4WxyM_twnq2kZyh5CU4ZWUw30ONlqEcVfUdZSN0ZGBYeqyz3vwwxM9j4znmOmExPM1ha_5Z0I0-akH1pbOKgmKeA8YvE8NA_33CZvn0RWB285TcXcWk1AHM8GzClv5f-Tj_RyALqtdDFJTT=w640-h418" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">This was my uncle Robert. </span></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhiOmopDQ_JiCXP1uQ25oy6NRjTuzolHs4p8gfU6X5aOeCjmI0oBCVYKM-77y8T3aRJwixOTziwm1eZrATThCTwTZNJMcmoL0Eqe2m2aSgbg8BwxHJiyUlsvsvDE62j8249Le1JwC2GcHvCTwqN6R0-zWFqEj5WaetDN2u8ENFpbd7E8U7d8Xsol1iqkQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1585" data-original-width="1555" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhiOmopDQ_JiCXP1uQ25oy6NRjTuzolHs4p8gfU6X5aOeCjmI0oBCVYKM-77y8T3aRJwixOTziwm1eZrATThCTwTZNJMcmoL0Eqe2m2aSgbg8BwxHJiyUlsvsvDE62j8249Le1JwC2GcHvCTwqN6R0-zWFqEj5WaetDN2u8ENFpbd7E8U7d8Xsol1iqkQ=w627-h640" width="627" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh75GdxSwsqcriNNTtYpSjG0yXXVR_tj3qv63d7G3Am97MPXRURLBLSZyXjo4gF2vkgPG1OS1U5RuaJ8eAgsQyUh8ZDNsRJkz8yN9Od1q39UL_HODPLzcf6szePDMrwK3wePTf5bE2u2ngcE2zbpmqzf-pWEnww5eU6eUttf4ObpNBV9tgXTHVI6d7Zfg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="885" data-original-width="330" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh75GdxSwsqcriNNTtYpSjG0yXXVR_tj3qv63d7G3Am97MPXRURLBLSZyXjo4gF2vkgPG1OS1U5RuaJ8eAgsQyUh8ZDNsRJkz8yN9Od1q39UL_HODPLzcf6szePDMrwK3wePTf5bE2u2ngcE2zbpmqzf-pWEnww5eU6eUttf4ObpNBV9tgXTHVI6d7Zfg=w237-h640" width="237" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg_jX0QIXi_W_rzdhHj7elBI5dcxA-ZeF3_1EbEQzQe35YO9H4jC4D-Gi4SraLSEw34S70eFTn0KZFM0_nzxeuob2qirfZu3mERzf-XEsIfTmaHEbqk2lNqH0H0u41UE0NP9KXR0LdxXPSjLDjCV_oj2QapG5KG7XuGCd5CHYoBR7Zn91TfnHmq7U4NlQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="586" data-original-width="550" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg_jX0QIXi_W_rzdhHj7elBI5dcxA-ZeF3_1EbEQzQe35YO9H4jC4D-Gi4SraLSEw34S70eFTn0KZFM0_nzxeuob2qirfZu3mERzf-XEsIfTmaHEbqk2lNqH0H0u41UE0NP9KXR0LdxXPSjLDjCV_oj2QapG5KG7XuGCd5CHYoBR7Zn91TfnHmq7U4NlQ=w600-h640" width="600" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><br /></div><p></p>Marjoriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13323661411548419175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2438603404068357922.post-10773546148637174882023-02-17T02:00:00.000-05:002023-02-25T19:58:45.252-05:00sex, lies, and 50 years later... the internet<p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white;">This was a "Happy Valentine's Day!" card from "Lou" in 1971. Who was "Lou?" The story will follow.</span><br style="background-color: white;" /></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14.17px;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="background-color: white;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); clear: both; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14.17px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjUFmhlnPOsgABCJNQDegwRk9J-AUwoewTdO-rhufWc0zf6ymMYdERhsktV-Z7_h6PphdgqUVJs44IYkEjXpycAXk1EnHuzVOnDT5HB0e7dT4lvLo_EEcXVToTWMIDIS68bbuCEYauSu81_QUXUB1kqiPK85xZVGVH-LWPn90AyDaP6QAmkPxkuyw" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="260" data-original-width="354" height="470" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjUFmhlnPOsgABCJNQDegwRk9J-AUwoewTdO-rhufWc0zf6ymMYdERhsktV-Z7_h6PphdgqUVJs44IYkEjXpycAXk1EnHuzVOnDT5HB0e7dT4lvLo_EEcXVToTWMIDIS68bbuCEYauSu81_QUXUB1kqiPK85xZVGVH-LWPn90AyDaP6QAmkPxkuyw=w640-h470" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); clear: both; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14.17px; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); clear: both; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14.17px; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">This was another of "Lou's" romantic cards. The mystery and the plot thickens, indeed.<br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhCJ36qDjLgJGyzBGXjCh6uwZttJC-mjMGnkJ6zjhq7yza12pZztaiswhVNDPMqysiSSw3HKO_UDZgpjwKxco_6KptGCiGY-3hOJu3LyOCMA7V9xVrHOy8MIvq3rvgE_9f3_i8W1s5XieIy3fWYes67Ly48YTGzyFbAXp8N5rvCGnHM1gpqIxSsyQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="263" data-original-width="353" height="476" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhCJ36qDjLgJGyzBGXjCh6uwZttJC-mjMGnkJ6zjhq7yza12pZztaiswhVNDPMqysiSSw3HKO_UDZgpjwKxco_6KptGCiGY-3hOJu3LyOCMA7V9xVrHOy8MIvq3rvgE_9f3_i8W1s5XieIy3fWYes67Ly48YTGzyFbAXp8N5rvCGnHM1gpqIxSsyQ=w640-h476" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">This romantic card contained no signature because it had a note attached...<br style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14.17px;" /></div></span></div><div class="separator" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjcMx1YDxEGLH6Gdlvm6MpFU6l331CtCJX8tKewAoYGglMyKJ3o7oJorGAClZQOyJqxZ59H2ttWONBulZoNp_d2HlERt2c_luS-nhgZS2BaoX1y7a3-fVn-csFbzxK4EtAE_gzR_L3xWeODGZjAXBve5mqiS6PoI2wlLz_W6LX499ys6CGWjJ5pMg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="264" data-original-width="349" height="485" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjcMx1YDxEGLH6Gdlvm6MpFU6l331CtCJX8tKewAoYGglMyKJ3o7oJorGAClZQOyJqxZ59H2ttWONBulZoNp_d2HlERt2c_luS-nhgZS2BaoX1y7a3-fVn-csFbzxK4EtAE_gzR_L3xWeODGZjAXBve5mqiS6PoI2wlLz_W6LX499ys6CGWjJ5pMg=w640-h485" width="640" /></a></div></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiHb6bhDl7uReCF6k402TvYu0ghEMvM4VpCuCzK8dWVeDn0Ar-TeNwpZpiQVhouzI1TKDgJ5X89bJ2J1vQVmIMPUOnhF7TF0chvsq51Ileq2X4VVgZy9NtzqF5CEXNKPJ9uxCRIjvET3zxpwkXruiJi_Xz8jaAg9Ap328q3io7LycO8emiJDbQ43w" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14.17px; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="722" data-original-width="502" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiHb6bhDl7uReCF6k402TvYu0ghEMvM4VpCuCzK8dWVeDn0Ar-TeNwpZpiQVhouzI1TKDgJ5X89bJ2J1vQVmIMPUOnhF7TF0chvsq51Ileq2X4VVgZy9NtzqF5CEXNKPJ9uxCRIjvET3zxpwkXruiJi_Xz8jaAg9Ap328q3io7LycO8emiJDbQ43w=w445-h640" width="445" /></a></div><br /><br /><br /><p></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">These greeting cards are pieces of a bittersweet memory from 1970 to 1973, and the messages are quite romantic. I saved the cards to always remember a man I loved named: Lou. But, this was a dark and layered and mysterious "love" because Lou was not just a man... he was my therapist.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 13px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Lou looked like Al Pacino in "Serpico." And he was married with several children. I'll be brief...</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I began seeing a therapist in about 1970. His office was in Greenwich Village and after just a few sessions I came under the seductive spell of "erotic transference." I grew attached and I was dependent. I fell in love, or thought I had fallen in love. </span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">The feelings were not yet mutual. There arrived the day when Lou told me he was moving his practice to Staten Island. I was not ready at all for the separation and I was emotionally devastated. So, I followed him to Staten Island and became a twice a week ferry regular.</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I had fallen deeply in love with my therapist. </span></span><span style="font-family: georgia;">He sent me greeting cards for Valentine's Day and my birthday... copies hang at this blog (configured with folds to fit). The saga continued for several years and well.. as it goes with time, the hypnotic spell eventually broke and I ended the "therapy." One day, just like that.</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">About eight years later, in 1981... I tried Lou's old number and I called. I needed closure. Lou was very excited and happy to hear from me. He was now divorced. He started calling me twice a day. I had to tell him to calm down. So, we had dinner at a Manhattan restaurant. He sat there all pompous and smoking a nasty cigar. We went back to my apartment and well... anyway. He had not changed. He had told me over dinner his experience with me took him to a place where he made a decision to never allow physical contact with a patient in a session ever again. The man was a fast and quick study!</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I look back on this episode of my life now and it is totally meaningless. I am not angry. I feel nothing. I know this goes on. I watched "In Treatment." </span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Lou was verbally unprofessional, unethical, and his behavior was inconsistent. He did not know what to do about me and he could not handle and come to terms with his own feelings. It is easy to fall under the hypnotic and seductive spell of transference.</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">I am happy I saved all of Lou's cards because I am reminded of what I believed to be what Diane Keaton has called "the sweet anguish of love..." in my specific situation in all it's full-blown and enabled delusional glory.</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Lou passed away in 2014.</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p>Marjoriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13323661411548419175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2438603404068357922.post-79533235205070072472020-10-20T22:00:00.000-04:002020-10-20T23:24:35.523-04:00The tree<p><span style="font-family: georgia;"> This tree... is no longer. </span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUzzZgSpH9KIXHAxDFQmY84Y3ikh7Piceh6NXhwW0AWW6pli7lyHCobcFWvPY-W0IyalUkPbPwGp0jRqiPntHCAp4hMJSsDQ8BqDkXmrbbRMcUh8qz-h_dc_nPu11prOBfj2sUJbOt/s814/tree.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="570" data-original-width="814" height="448" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUzzZgSpH9KIXHAxDFQmY84Y3ikh7Piceh6NXhwW0AWW6pli7lyHCobcFWvPY-W0IyalUkPbPwGp0jRqiPntHCAp4hMJSsDQ8BqDkXmrbbRMcUh8qz-h_dc_nPu11prOBfj2sUJbOt/w640-h448/tree.png" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p>Marjoriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13323661411548419175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2438603404068357922.post-26606905959412143812020-08-27T19:17:00.000-04:002020-09-03T19:19:32.267-04:00life: a risky ride<p style="text-align: center;"> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb5VlTel-GtsVS8M4BpUYQoF4hEqjmVbmqrtu0rGV6mDWuLRvc-CCc1mXWhO3tm8TOa73XlRQKHe3wvSyCC3E1JRMkx6DWVhdOhEB_pQZUoAvEY4ombfUV_s82AAs-YvVR-BL8h5iv/s499/ride+own+risk.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="338" height="625" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb5VlTel-GtsVS8M4BpUYQoF4hEqjmVbmqrtu0rGV6mDWuLRvc-CCc1mXWhO3tm8TOa73XlRQKHe3wvSyCC3E1JRMkx6DWVhdOhEB_pQZUoAvEY4ombfUV_s82AAs-YvVR-BL8h5iv/w424-h625/ride+own+risk.png" width="424" /></a></div><br /><p></p>Marjoriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13323661411548419175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2438603404068357922.post-26815329750472787802019-02-12T22:19:00.001-05:002019-02-12T22:19:19.989-05:00The Recordings of A Soldier in the Army During WWII<div style="text-align: center;">
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Marjoriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13323661411548419175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2438603404068357922.post-76545125972813145892019-01-03T13:24:00.000-05:002019-01-17T13:24:32.048-05:00Winner<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Marjoriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13323661411548419175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2438603404068357922.post-19065324876800654942018-04-22T04:26:00.004-04:002018-04-22T04:26:42.494-04:00Citizenship PapersThe pieces of this document were falling apart, so I pieced it together the best I could and scanned it. It is my grandfather Max Levine's citizenship papers of 1906:<br />
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<br />Marjoriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13323661411548419175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2438603404068357922.post-38913554190731777572018-04-11T02:01:00.002-04:002018-04-11T02:01:46.602-04:00the grands<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Tonight, I met a cousin I have not seen since 1964. Here are our grandparents.</div>
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<br />Marjoriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13323661411548419175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2438603404068357922.post-20371836596474844292018-01-05T16:00:00.000-05:002018-01-05T13:36:58.822-05:00I used to live here as a kid..."This street is where it all happened, not much now. Why do we always expect home to stay the same? Nothing else does. It's funny how when you're a kid a day can last forever. Now, all these years seem just like a blank." --- Bobby in <b>Hearts in Atlantis</b><br />
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I took that ride today, back to the street and house where I grew up. I parked my car and walked up the same driveway I had walked up thousands of times so many years ago. I climbed the three front porch steps and I peeked in through the glass front door, but the interior was barely visible: all dark and muted. It was a different house, not my house. I rang the bell and nobody answered. I gathered nobody was home because the mailbox was still stuffed and full.<br />
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So, I turned around and walked down the three front porch steps and then turned around and looked back. It was almost dusk and chilly under a cloudy grey sky, and the wind rustled some long tall plants in front of the living room's bay window. They swayed back and forth, back and forth. I was overwhelmed with great and almost unbearable sadness. Nobody was home and nobody would ever be back home there for me. The street was bleak, depressing, and almost unrecognizable.... the houses seemed forlorn and like shadows of their former selves.<br />
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I used to live there as a kid but going back today was personally like visiting a cemetery. There was so much emptiness, such a great feeling of loss. The wind kept rustling the front shrubbery, rustling the shrubbery and I stood all alone on that sidewalk and for a minute it felt like nobody even lived on that street. Everybody was gone. The street was a gloomy ghost town.<br />
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I got back into my car and drove away, consumed with strange heavy emotions. And as Bobby said: "I lived on that street during the last of of my childhood." I will always think of that street. Always. I knew I would never go back there again... but as the view of that street disappeared in the rear view mirror, I remembered the time so many years ago when I drove away from that street into my future.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv7t_5Zu4JltzlRaIIz6K1w4I6Yg0sGWpTOPRk1ArEw6SWFgRWgz3npJPKITK6kuoOG1DrmbsUOKMSvGwlrzoYNU9NUyHDSAaAfRLsv86ic9iIwxVg_UFJAt3LMHmxzy1DjoHFyKwubDo/s1600/east2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="771" data-original-width="1042" height="472" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv7t_5Zu4JltzlRaIIz6K1w4I6Yg0sGWpTOPRk1ArEw6SWFgRWgz3npJPKITK6kuoOG1DrmbsUOKMSvGwlrzoYNU9NUyHDSAaAfRLsv86ic9iIwxVg_UFJAt3LMHmxzy1DjoHFyKwubDo/s640/east2.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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Marjoriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13323661411548419175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2438603404068357922.post-26439267093474972742018-01-05T13:36:00.002-05:002018-01-05T13:36:25.681-05:00HB Studio, a Dream Place<div style="text-align: center;">
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This blog piece is for "Selfie"... who inspires me with her kindness and wisdom to keep pushing and to acknowledge my past which brought me to a reinvented present. And it is she who suggested this music.</div>
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In 1965, I attended HB Studio and took classes in acting technique and scene study with James Patterson. My scene partner was a young Robert DeNiro... and we performed one scene from the play "The Diary of Anne Frank." I remember that he was very quiet and mysteriously introspective and detached. </div>
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I was still living in Valley Stream, Long Island and I drove into NYC in my 1962 gold Corvair with my friend Linda, who was a great actor and artistic motivation.<br />
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Back then, the view of the West Side Highway was quite different: there was an overpass that extended all the way from uptown to downtown and cars could pass under the highway as they drove in either direction. The high highway obscured the view of the Hudson River and the streets in Greenwich Village were quiet and uncrowded. That elevated highway is long gone, but it gave the area a darker feeling, and cast strange and haunting shadows onto Bank Street.<br />
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This photo was taken by Berenice Abbott; it is a southern view of the West Side Highway to about West 26th Street:</div>
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Back then and so long ago, I was a young girl and filled with hopes and aspirations. HB Studio was a dream place, but I never fulfilled my dreams. It just never happened, and that knowledge sometimes overwhelms me with regret and sadness. I am old now and getting older, but I did manage to find places where I could fulfill my dreams... in small scale ways. More about that later. </div>
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This is now the bright, open and airy view of the West Side Highway. The Hudson River is visible in the distance. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZVCZjnJV_OeJlnDJyMfUJ0rnBbMnctcvUs328E9-_wGC3eBF9RWw9hYEoCugmi3N1FQxPNXgooZUHCf06eSNr-X3-JS6xBB7GDpxysWBAYQAz3OZjCP0v10iFsTCAAlxJTHUeSsdXC0w/s1600/hb2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="543" data-original-width="988" height="350" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZVCZjnJV_OeJlnDJyMfUJ0rnBbMnctcvUs328E9-_wGC3eBF9RWw9hYEoCugmi3N1FQxPNXgooZUHCf06eSNr-X3-JS6xBB7GDpxysWBAYQAz3OZjCP0v10iFsTCAAlxJTHUeSsdXC0w/s640/hb2.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN62cQeDDZFHfvcIQvFJOxvVbfnzBWqEQ-uzhVM2Vb2RG2_XO1vHtK888Lu150PxA5cMMYIWg1aTh7b8Q8Iea35wWlV99vRWf7xyEClui_5OdZfTpCsS0iUWyhJ4zZxz_QxSezGK-FQp0/s1600/hb3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="595" data-original-width="1274" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN62cQeDDZFHfvcIQvFJOxvVbfnzBWqEQ-uzhVM2Vb2RG2_XO1vHtK888Lu150PxA5cMMYIWg1aTh7b8Q8Iea35wWlV99vRWf7xyEClui_5OdZfTpCsS0iUWyhJ4zZxz_QxSezGK-FQp0/s640/hb3.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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This photo was taken in June 1966, in front of the Broadhurst Theater... I was probably looking up and hoping to see my own name on a marquee one day. And so it goes, and so it goes. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn81l921pBLfqIE6tquby0dGaD6M6TvzPamRYTGXXV9nRPnYAyz3LwOV1JNhDY1bnDzrP2Y2ZdLUgoWGRjlqwg73CGlYHFDWSsSTVHqQosO2jRFSEY5KNdjWuuZJw2-NQDVng_0y_t5qg/s1600/June1966-1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="928" data-original-width="922" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn81l921pBLfqIE6tquby0dGaD6M6TvzPamRYTGXXV9nRPnYAyz3LwOV1JNhDY1bnDzrP2Y2ZdLUgoWGRjlqwg73CGlYHFDWSsSTVHqQosO2jRFSEY5KNdjWuuZJw2-NQDVng_0y_t5qg/s640/June1966-1.jpeg" width="633" /></a></div>
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And here is that spot now: </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIga2SK0-XDWK6YxxSlZPcLmqK10a9iDjau_5sJTeiAE4_AVhTQ2MytvU83gbIMn3LGQ5D5h7D7niXlVjYpvNWqyvSPqLb0NNHDBmfjGyA53qEYRVkT_8c49Tmg_i-cQf474g8QBroSJo/s1600/broadhurst.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="713" data-original-width="998" height="456" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIga2SK0-XDWK6YxxSlZPcLmqK10a9iDjau_5sJTeiAE4_AVhTQ2MytvU83gbIMn3LGQ5D5h7D7niXlVjYpvNWqyvSPqLb0NNHDBmfjGyA53qEYRVkT_8c49Tmg_i-cQf474g8QBroSJo/s640/broadhurst.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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It is the "now" or the present that grounds so many people. But there are some of us who are always filled with great nostalgia: a sense of longing for something... for past places that have now changed or are gone and can never be revisited or for previous carefree times that were filled with wonder and exist only in memories.</div>
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"Selfie" gets it because she has what I call "the soul of a poet."<br />
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b>WHAT WAY TO GO TODAY</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Almost dusk:</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Last summer on one Wednesday, in July,</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">I sat on a bench, a grey wooden tired</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Bench on a boardwalk out at old Long Beach.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">In the sky a lonely and lost grey kittiwake tipped</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">As the hot pink sun set in blazing technicolor over</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Hot pinkish sand and the fading blue ocean water.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">That morning:</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">I had thought about seeing great art...</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Vermeer, or Courbet, or maybe Monet.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">But, I drove to the beach instead to think</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">To think about everything creative that had been</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Created before I got here, and when I was here,</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">And what will be created when I leave this place.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">When one day I leave my place and all places in my</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Consciousness that is now in this time and was</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">At a past time and will be in some next time;</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Maybe all time exists at the same time.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">The great minds of theoretical physicists search</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">For the "Theory of Everything" as they sit</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">In their cluttered rooms, their great thinking rooms.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">In universities, they ponder the mathematical equations</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">And Schrodinger's cat and all those mysteries.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">In the evening:</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">It is during the quiet and still and sad night when</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">I miss most the people I never met:</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Edie Beale, and the Rat Pack, and even Rod Serling</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Who made me want to time travel: to go back to simpler places</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Like Nedick's, or the Belmore, or Bickford's, and Willoughby.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Then the longing, a longing when distant sounds and faraway</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Foghorns drive thoughts to reflect on a life visible through some</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Smoky cracked mirror, a haunted and haunting steamy mirror.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">As I am sort of old now and getting older</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">There is a vague and odd feeling that I,</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Like the kittiwake, somehow must have lost the way.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">--- Marjorie J. Levine © 2009</span></div>
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Marjoriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13323661411548419175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2438603404068357922.post-46428284906458834052018-01-05T02:00:00.000-05:002018-01-05T13:41:40.004-05:00A Girl Named AntheaIn about 1957, when I was in the 5th grade and living in Valley Stream LI, I began a correspondence with a pen-pal named Anthea who lived in Nottingham. I was given her letter during one of the Hebrew classes I attended when the teacher held in her hand many letters that children (who were looking for pen-pals) from all over Europe had written.<br />
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I remember how excited my mother was the early Saturday rainy morning when Anthea's first reply arrived. She awakened me and sat on my bed and we both read the letter written on fine blue stationary. And so, Anthea and I began to exchange letters and our friendship lasted for some time. She was an interesting girl, a few years older than I, and talked a great deal about her love for Cliff Richard. I remember how devastated she was when he "got hitched." Today, that confuses me because his bio states he never married...<br />
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Well, one day Anthea said: "Marjorie, I never asked you about your religion. Do you go to church?" Without any hesitation, I told her I was Jewish and sealed the letter. I walked down Westgate to place that letter in a mailbox that stood on a grassy patch. That mailbox is no longer even there.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF1HNG7uw2xJljHu3J2WwrlWxaTEPDXKE8a7VfNxb82tYptdrg6sxNCa0_1vxVwhCRR5R7QYaFRKTa7cSZiYkgmbzFGoFyqwePXpNQGkcxvs16XhwknIqFKdlijpT0re8NsOheBistRCU/s1600/westgate+patch.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="730" data-original-width="1163" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF1HNG7uw2xJljHu3J2WwrlWxaTEPDXKE8a7VfNxb82tYptdrg6sxNCa0_1vxVwhCRR5R7QYaFRKTa7cSZiYkgmbzFGoFyqwePXpNQGkcxvs16XhwknIqFKdlijpT0re8NsOheBistRCU/s640/westgate+patch.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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I remember telling my mother that I thought I would never hear from Anthea again after my "big reveal." Even at that early age, I knew. And I was correct. I never received another letter from Anthea. That did not surprise me at the time, but now I wonder why she was unaware of my religion especially since her first letter reached a Hebrew School. Sometimes when we are young we just don't connect the dots I suppose.<br />
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Well, Google maps allowed me to view the street where Anthea lived at that time so long ago. I looked at that sort of dark and grey street which was covered with low clouds and where so many decades ago a postman walked with my letters and delivered them through the mail slot on her front door. I think the house with the red doorway was her home.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioN4brSzOaeLGJVlmXOk_Jn-taeAc-0bDgXqueYZSkixJyHUBKPXCOlpg8pbo7098e9eZPq34k47RUNhZqKwkYjdh71rWUKTUUBReJhyphenhyphen-f31n9Ux9cUzhlLoqvF3EZjRiDKAqmGFNjjPo/s1600/anthea1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="611" data-original-width="1537" height="254" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioN4brSzOaeLGJVlmXOk_Jn-taeAc-0bDgXqueYZSkixJyHUBKPXCOlpg8pbo7098e9eZPq34k47RUNhZqKwkYjdh71rWUKTUUBReJhyphenhyphen-f31n9Ux9cUzhlLoqvF3EZjRiDKAqmGFNjjPo/s640/anthea1.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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The passing of time is so sad really. Nothing remains of her letters from long ago because as it goes, I threw them all away when I moved to NYC. But, they exist in my memory as does the address I wrote on the envelopes of my own pink stationary with red hearts in 1957.<br />
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I laugh when I imagine how Anthea's jaw must have dropped and her eyes widened when she read my last letter. She must have been horrified to realize she had been interacting with "a Jewish girl." The hatred must have lived inside her bigoted head and my disclosure must have made her furious. I enjoyed you Anthea, but that's right.... you talked to <i>a shayna maidel</i>! Mic drop. </div>
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Nevertheless, this is Anthea's Nottingham, in all it's glorious and somewhat mysterious beauty:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyif_ymbRQmmXSG-ap8QWNWMOuCSFUqMJwiBN29vD7q1NBDBowV5MvCw6C6ycK8WldN2Ivzjk8RdPVtQDeurl_BQFquyTWen2HyQDaCm0fpi2ToWKFYpZZgJ7QBZy8nCQKArqomOVutYw/s1600/anthea3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="791" data-original-width="1007" height="502" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyif_ymbRQmmXSG-ap8QWNWMOuCSFUqMJwiBN29vD7q1NBDBowV5MvCw6C6ycK8WldN2Ivzjk8RdPVtQDeurl_BQFquyTWen2HyQDaCm0fpi2ToWKFYpZZgJ7QBZy8nCQKArqomOVutYw/s640/anthea3.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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Marjoriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13323661411548419175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2438603404068357922.post-74125659427586400762017-10-31T21:29:00.001-04:002017-11-01T00:32:54.204-04:00On the Streets Where I Lived, Worked, and Eventually Played<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<strong style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">WHAT WAY TO GO TODAY</strong></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">Almost dusk:</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">Last summer on one Wednesday, in July,</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">I sat on a bench, a grey wooden tired</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">Bench on a boardwalk out at old Long Beach.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">In the sky a lonely and lost grey kittiwake tipped</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">As the hot pink sun set in blazing technicolor over</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">Hot pinkish sand and the fading blue ocean water.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">That morning:</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">I had thought about seeing great art...</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">Vermeer, or Courbet, or maybe Monet.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">But, I drove to the beach instead to think</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">To think about everything creative that had been</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">Created before I got here, and when I was here,</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">And what will be created when I leave this place.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">When one day I leave my place and all places in my</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">Consciousness that is now in this time and was</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">At a past time and will be in some next time;</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">Maybe all time exists at the same time.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">The great minds of theoretical physicists search</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">For the "Theory of Everything" as they sit</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">In their cluttered rooms, their great thinking rooms.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">In universities, they ponder the mathematical equations</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">And Schrodinger's cat and all those mysteries.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">In the evening:</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">It is during the quiet and still and sad night when</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">I miss most the people I never met:</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">Edie Beale, and the Rat Pack, and even Rod Serling</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">Who made me want to time travel: to go back to simpler places</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">Like Nedick's, or the Belmore, or Bickford's, and Willoughby.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">Then the longing, a longing when distant sounds and faraway</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">Foghorns drive thoughts to reflect on a life visible through some</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">Smoky cracked mirror, a haunted and haunting steamy mirror.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">As I am sort of old now and getting older</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">There is a vague and odd feeling that I,</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">Like the kittiwake, somehow must have lost the way.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">by Marjorie J. Levine © 2009, 2016</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And just when time seems to be moving faster and life is winding down, sometimes we can find happiness and make our dreams come true in unexpected and small scale ways... and even make "A Silent Movie!" </span></span></div>
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Marjoriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13323661411548419175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2438603404068357922.post-15525946359382759152017-09-03T17:56:00.002-04:002017-09-03T17:56:25.505-04:00and the dogs look back....Red Bank, NJ? Bordentown, NJ? My father would say: "and the dogs look back when we stop..." Any clues to where this pic was taken? Please leave a comment below:<br />
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Marjoriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13323661411548419175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2438603404068357922.post-40655025967433481582017-04-25T19:22:00.000-04:002018-01-05T13:43:33.230-05:00my "Hurrell"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Marjoriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13323661411548419175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2438603404068357922.post-72782539035735093662017-04-15T18:49:00.007-04:002017-04-15T18:49:50.040-04:00Gloomy Sundays II<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg7f3UC9E4q7rMtlXA4hHjkkOnQrMii5P_qKEhDQXJa42FTMENfVWYKOl622qz2awQmVMokYTVTjZIn6ThV4Lp6nILxT97PF8Mz7H75YoV5g8A4X9jcM0F6VHFEpo8Fv35y_M6Pgzi4MEm/s1600/gloomysunday6.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="604" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg7f3UC9E4q7rMtlXA4hHjkkOnQrMii5P_qKEhDQXJa42FTMENfVWYKOl622qz2awQmVMokYTVTjZIn6ThV4Lp6nILxT97PF8Mz7H75YoV5g8A4X9jcM0F6VHFEpo8Fv35y_M6Pgzi4MEm/s640/gloomysunday6.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<br />Marjoriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13323661411548419175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2438603404068357922.post-41195319969160880662017-04-14T16:08:00.005-04:002017-04-15T23:01:33.574-04:00time traveling on Dutch Broadway<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b>on Dutch Broadway, east of Eastgate:</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihjwnTsXU8OrGJAIagWKF3RsjSlxHy61GBJ1tQMqGDGoyf_9SJyQUx1RLth_rOdOjU_jftvDFOCHlQvXHt9GWBraSFLir78FdIHB1q34PrxmbLpfUDBTNeMjWdtzIOk3p4b_Xh_eJo/s1600/VS+old+house.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="636" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihjwnTsXU8OrGJAIagWKF3RsjSlxHy61GBJ1tQMqGDGoyf_9SJyQUx1RLth_rOdOjU_jftvDFOCHlQvXHt9GWBraSFLir78FdIHB1q34PrxmbLpfUDBTNeMjWdtzIOk3p4b_Xh_eJo/s640/VS+old+house.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlgGxqMDvaSojdxXzSUyHSp7-nf75w5La2BjdOdwP3sXYkvtGDbYI9Fwv6Sxl0wsm6chBgileD5B4-eXo0uCElyDfuvNJQ-dOCri_BlUAApa_yNYz4RhyphenhyphenTuc9Iyp__C0vJVZ9asd-G/s1600/housedutch.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlgGxqMDvaSojdxXzSUyHSp7-nf75w5La2BjdOdwP3sXYkvtGDbYI9Fwv6Sxl0wsm6chBgileD5B4-eXo0uCElyDfuvNJQ-dOCri_BlUAApa_yNYz4RhyphenhyphenTuc9Iyp__C0vJVZ9asd-G/s640/housedutch.png" width="636" /></a></div>
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<b>and now at that location:</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-MIz-5ODbY-fu93qy2dD3xGqxeCZJkMK5pSDb_0DhcWFrPyvZF6azPhCflpVFoVTeLhCWLuLTN6LnhXrFz24yBLhJQQeLeJYhA_L6RNZHxih-5vJ0EI2cB5gDV0LdrjcE6D6ubq1J/s1600/Dutch1NOW.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="354" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-MIz-5ODbY-fu93qy2dD3xGqxeCZJkMK5pSDb_0DhcWFrPyvZF6azPhCflpVFoVTeLhCWLuLTN6LnhXrFz24yBLhJQQeLeJYhA_L6RNZHxih-5vJ0EI2cB5gDV0LdrjcE6D6ubq1J/s640/Dutch1NOW.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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<b>on Dutch Broadway, an old farmhouse off Audrey Avenue:</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdKkjuNf5YDXoT1PkV71NdAKgaug7qI0YhDxT5omWmPzTr0UnJig0tgPlFcurmjLdxSDASqFJqLoenkBIe24VWyUmqWZDQSCvZSsFRK3btujieSrGCT4W9if9dXdUvtLPSkOVsdtTr/s1600/DutchThen7.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="366" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdKkjuNf5YDXoT1PkV71NdAKgaug7qI0YhDxT5omWmPzTr0UnJig0tgPlFcurmjLdxSDASqFJqLoenkBIe24VWyUmqWZDQSCvZSsFRK3btujieSrGCT4W9if9dXdUvtLPSkOVsdtTr/s640/DutchThen7.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTYORI-5Xn8jbZ-PeA5XTdhan0Vc_a9_QpOVPQ86hYSlncwN_5VFWksyoLC8iWgAOF9yah3Zhm2D67lbi33fvXMuXh-0K7CFjteoCJweoY6zSfB-y3GCmjJPg7GriSXsa01Zv57bkF/s1600/full+view+to+DUTCH.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTYORI-5Xn8jbZ-PeA5XTdhan0Vc_a9_QpOVPQ86hYSlncwN_5VFWksyoLC8iWgAOF9yah3Zhm2D67lbi33fvXMuXh-0K7CFjteoCJweoY6zSfB-y3GCmjJPg7GriSXsa01Zv57bkF/s640/full+view+to+DUTCH.png" width="616" /></a></div>
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<b>and now: </b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJn_dTmRSxAFxnBc9afnJr8tgX1E-j_thFz565srgDyGwrtmgCGobrBexQbWrL4BGGcjuy_VvymstmOfz7y70S2h5GakLBn-kJwmQG9rN_oYC_rkHogAD9rzuKtA1sIlYFhvn3Fqvw/s1600/Dutch7NOW.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="402" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJn_dTmRSxAFxnBc9afnJr8tgX1E-j_thFz565srgDyGwrtmgCGobrBexQbWrL4BGGcjuy_VvymstmOfz7y70S2h5GakLBn-kJwmQG9rN_oYC_rkHogAD9rzuKtA1sIlYFhvn3Fqvw/s640/Dutch7NOW.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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<b>on Dutch Broadway, slightly east of Eastgate:</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqdZFw97e9y4qfdP9NB_58ynJdikmxh6K4TSxWUkqhDviykkhxd3HAY7ImHNZ5HGtWhko0v5OpKcdtXG1IRHB-BfZgaL1ECC8hdwi_i4g63HuGiOTaFBdlXMRShLY9m7bLFh5Gy-53/s1600/Dutch+Broadway+2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="416" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqdZFw97e9y4qfdP9NB_58ynJdikmxh6K4TSxWUkqhDviykkhxd3HAY7ImHNZ5HGtWhko0v5OpKcdtXG1IRHB-BfZgaL1ECC8hdwi_i4g63HuGiOTaFBdlXMRShLY9m7bLFh5Gy-53/s640/Dutch+Broadway+2.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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<b>at Dantuono's Nursery now:</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSNqtoy2orpOJQNeRjQ3_8DdNtXJ8o-8UY7YCiVtAFBv_4J4PtpRGeyKRs6wWBE4O_2udtN7Vhw_Go32nQ8g6H7gmYKIFuUZ-1M7Fw64LYZUpvBLrTBya2IeQ2bxKcGadhKeZUQnYA/s1600/Dutch2NOW.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSNqtoy2orpOJQNeRjQ3_8DdNtXJ8o-8UY7YCiVtAFBv_4J4PtpRGeyKRs6wWBE4O_2udtN7Vhw_Go32nQ8g6H7gmYKIFuUZ-1M7Fw64LYZUpvBLrTBya2IeQ2bxKcGadhKeZUQnYA/s640/Dutch2NOW.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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<b>On Dutch Broadway, the main house at the Wayside Home for Girls:</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqmio8PrpF9OX69T7vxCHUaydHpBOcdmxOWI3iKAKb4ZpJig-cwXOGpSAIX7z3JIt8pTXmAsbt9eKPRkwauiVgxn-Ng8I_x8nDhqjRrXUt_FmKeTP7q2Hf6tYAQETzPppR6C0C1x00/s1600/Dutch+Broadway+3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="410" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqmio8PrpF9OX69T7vxCHUaydHpBOcdmxOWI3iKAKb4ZpJig-cwXOGpSAIX7z3JIt8pTXmAsbt9eKPRkwauiVgxn-Ng8I_x8nDhqjRrXUt_FmKeTP7q2Hf6tYAQETzPppR6C0C1x00/s640/Dutch+Broadway+3.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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<b>at the location of the Wayside Home for Girls administrator's house now: </b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0VogNTRBPV-Y_DCkCFMYFdgfZotzTTUpT0XFFQOP23pFArFXlyK3ifvdWndrXxfVp84ZwLCm0eZEtSpw_oG2iTHZBRLPXyXMYaV-0LvVMEfxo2itfw2-kMzR6VHgdUIEYZ_MEPPnB/s1600/Dutch3NOW.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="292" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0VogNTRBPV-Y_DCkCFMYFdgfZotzTTUpT0XFFQOP23pFArFXlyK3ifvdWndrXxfVp84ZwLCm0eZEtSpw_oG2iTHZBRLPXyXMYaV-0LvVMEfxo2itfw2-kMzR6VHgdUIEYZ_MEPPnB/s640/Dutch3NOW.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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<b>On Dutch Broadway. slightly east of North Ascan Street:</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyKWfIHaf80DNxDRGIASQuKsS7XbRXwCVsZNOZH1jZ69ADXYCL8ELnEyTbnD9kZKoS84f64QYFtCDxYTBoaxbeu_37iSaSyfnjOIDb0R8g8PN-bHOtNIMSHCIW01BJgLdxNDjDYqng/s1600/Dutch+Broadway+6.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="420" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyKWfIHaf80DNxDRGIASQuKsS7XbRXwCVsZNOZH1jZ69ADXYCL8ELnEyTbnD9kZKoS84f64QYFtCDxYTBoaxbeu_37iSaSyfnjOIDb0R8g8PN-bHOtNIMSHCIW01BJgLdxNDjDYqng/s640/Dutch+Broadway+6.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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<b>at Dutch Broadway and North Ascan Street now: </b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoX-y32Yay7l2mxIfj3Qnaj_Apux-CCbXPFO4mpxfw6A4hQW7hEZ4t5tPHopWqsbdjipqViyGtPHAN3CIyHQmzAcALrynTZCMyD5NK81JKTjJMCarSAP8P-CoOBgUN4XHa19r31vD_/s1600/Dutch4Now.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="274" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoX-y32Yay7l2mxIfj3Qnaj_Apux-CCbXPFO4mpxfw6A4hQW7hEZ4t5tPHopWqsbdjipqViyGtPHAN3CIyHQmzAcALrynTZCMyD5NK81JKTjJMCarSAP8P-CoOBgUN4XHa19r31vD_/s640/Dutch4Now.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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<b>and the Valley Stream Historical Society house: Pagan-Fletcher: </b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1yFWPiJ7atyp-QbmGQzpAtr8OWvVI2lXhY9m-SjF-CHkPHO6W0-xZPAUhBrpKQE6TCR_c3j1z6lfr4-E1gyQVslve5nBgiWTroBUGvJ9iwhbMhLuKT_7sYR4RXFOqrdw886Hx4IXd/s1600/VS+Historical+House.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="436" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1yFWPiJ7atyp-QbmGQzpAtr8OWvVI2lXhY9m-SjF-CHkPHO6W0-xZPAUhBrpKQE6TCR_c3j1z6lfr4-E1gyQVslve5nBgiWTroBUGvJ9iwhbMhLuKT_7sYR4RXFOqrdw886Hx4IXd/s640/VS+Historical+House.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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Marjoriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13323661411548419175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2438603404068357922.post-74791143224278928462017-02-14T03:05:00.000-05:002018-01-05T13:27:09.512-05:00Paper Doll Days<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/2AOWWTilu6Q" width="560"></iframe><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDr0cG31RTjSUx6vsl_Eh4eufgQkQa238NKRVekpo6KA_G6B2YsXmFm_mAVW_Mn7zUzcDG78OdLSSotcwpEUHvV7belFC80tHvZ4i9qmKG6DUw6oLaLs0YWTl-dPJdIlwg4cBqHPqg/s1600/house1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="569" data-original-width="793" height="458" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDr0cG31RTjSUx6vsl_Eh4eufgQkQa238NKRVekpo6KA_G6B2YsXmFm_mAVW_Mn7zUzcDG78OdLSSotcwpEUHvV7belFC80tHvZ4i9qmKG6DUw6oLaLs0YWTl-dPJdIlwg4cBqHPqg/s640/house1.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigTTt8fSLQHZzBfAqZU09OznntOW_RF_Rn8BXIW9KWMY8Js1aJPzCoAQykaM3yLHyC8tIQJG0v6zY3hFBmHjo1OWyeOaYUxZ41WOrjbc1C2tn8O_3maCM2QbEeSxt77yEGTV-KdMsf/s1600/house2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="514" data-original-width="899" height="364" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigTTt8fSLQHZzBfAqZU09OznntOW_RF_Rn8BXIW9KWMY8Js1aJPzCoAQykaM3yLHyC8tIQJG0v6zY3hFBmHjo1OWyeOaYUxZ41WOrjbc1C2tn8O_3maCM2QbEeSxt77yEGTV-KdMsf/s640/house2.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYlhuzVc7P-St0dDv_MmeIsxrYQJlBhbW41_oVNdOG55IeBjn13q4NDprQ3WX7IWnHP5QL1rFxCtWUVOduMOOFksdwyVrz1kE5TXkkxU87c9PspB6Kgcf6vFMhfBaUeNLC1DZdk19I/s1600/house3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="566" data-original-width="1142" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYlhuzVc7P-St0dDv_MmeIsxrYQJlBhbW41_oVNdOG55IeBjn13q4NDprQ3WX7IWnHP5QL1rFxCtWUVOduMOOFksdwyVrz1kE5TXkkxU87c9PspB6Kgcf6vFMhfBaUeNLC1DZdk19I/s640/house3.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikE4VYqGIsnf84ckIIF2UpG6vNPf4dMLiIbfqO_P2bMmflAe6AbL474LettM7D4zM2eXIgWVnm-TwXKUzbFcQ-Sbmr_hxRuAFOsTNb-Um3-u4VzSSIMZkXRH_5Pa96XTF1C5ZFvVdw/s1600/house9.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="693" data-original-width="1195" height="370" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikE4VYqGIsnf84ckIIF2UpG6vNPf4dMLiIbfqO_P2bMmflAe6AbL474LettM7D4zM2eXIgWVnm-TwXKUzbFcQ-Sbmr_hxRuAFOsTNb-Um3-u4VzSSIMZkXRH_5Pa96XTF1C5ZFvVdw/s640/house9.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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Marjoriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13323661411548419175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2438603404068357922.post-27189020577741235792016-08-18T11:20:00.000-04:002016-08-18T11:22:18.789-04:00Two Never LostI am so happy I found these photo favorites from so long ago..... and can still hear my father saying "look how the dogs look back."<br />
The skater is unknown.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYU-8Vj2OBuCWZXfRTdZgYI39DNuS0llpJ43c4S-JvS8YyHd2Hf1TLZqZrm5Kv4949Wa_2pJcUlUf_GxSro6rvaW7LyJeQic_22FrYmByFJLfOOFTuHLkiaEG8EiRnqKHqafhfAIaJ/s1600/dogslookback.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYU-8Vj2OBuCWZXfRTdZgYI39DNuS0llpJ43c4S-JvS8YyHd2Hf1TLZqZrm5Kv4949Wa_2pJcUlUf_GxSro6rvaW7LyJeQic_22FrYmByFJLfOOFTuHLkiaEG8EiRnqKHqafhfAIaJ/s640/dogslookback.png" width="436" /></a></div>
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Marjoriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13323661411548419175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2438603404068357922.post-48433336604030587602016-05-10T00:20:00.002-04:002016-05-10T18:02:00.924-04:00Rest in Peace, Dr. Leah Schaefer<a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/dana-beyer/leah-schaefer-trans-women_b_2569123.html">in the Huffington Post</a><br />
<a href="https://www.ncfr.org/members-stories/when-october-goes-my-day-leah-schaefer">from ncfr</a><br />
<a href="http://www.kinseyinstitute.org/newsletter/win2013/LeahSchaefer.html">from The Kinsey Institute Newsletter</a><br />
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And at the Huffington Post's link above, you can Listen to Dr. Leah Schaefer sing “Heather on the Hill."<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX6KAKK0sgdeDfrgsgCAevxvg17NkkSYBDy7wvYVFPKNEiqANWoWfmL17kqOlBK2NBBnNALfANi5UHAwJULlgaWdPSuutD1-oG4wICnePiwb7o4xvxjND16MDubCTqsebRMG_H5YFc/s1600/leah3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX6KAKK0sgdeDfrgsgCAevxvg17NkkSYBDy7wvYVFPKNEiqANWoWfmL17kqOlBK2NBBnNALfANi5UHAwJULlgaWdPSuutD1-oG4wICnePiwb7o4xvxjND16MDubCTqsebRMG_H5YFc/s320/leah3.png" width="229" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFfsMyiRf43Hyc_fKeGQ8RfvkdzAx_6-AEIlyXEw2KEaVrMZ4lqOQX2PeIO8StaTSCxMlZykg55hRSF-wwG7l1wrOF6y1rhMrGODIfKBvJdF-3oFpK0IaxScuI6BaI0KP_jL0hjxVJ/s1600/Leah2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFfsMyiRf43Hyc_fKeGQ8RfvkdzAx_6-AEIlyXEw2KEaVrMZ4lqOQX2PeIO8StaTSCxMlZykg55hRSF-wwG7l1wrOF6y1rhMrGODIfKBvJdF-3oFpK0IaxScuI6BaI0KP_jL0hjxVJ/s320/Leah2.png" width="262" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFEbSLskhTm8v2m8FzeS_u2zRF2Q-hF8JAijR2ITInLiti9xIDmQiSQC2U4Md0w0H1LzA9GJM9wyIGZjyrtZUJ0Ha45LsYFEtKQ3reF0TfaZ6G7J_v-oA3kTudUH_gKxRaHixFin28/s1600/leah4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="287" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFEbSLskhTm8v2m8FzeS_u2zRF2Q-hF8JAijR2ITInLiti9xIDmQiSQC2U4Md0w0H1LzA9GJM9wyIGZjyrtZUJ0Ha45LsYFEtKQ3reF0TfaZ6G7J_v-oA3kTudUH_gKxRaHixFin28/s320/leah4.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Mr. Hal Schaefer’s first marriage was to Leah... and he later was linked romantically to Marilyn Monroe. Small world.<br />
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<a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2012/12/13/arts/music/hal-schaefer-jazz-pianist-and-marilyn-monroes-vocal-coach-dies.html?_r=0">Hal Schaefer, in the NYTimes</a><br />
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Marjoriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13323661411548419175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2438603404068357922.post-38478942260825378812016-05-08T16:14:00.001-04:002016-05-08T16:14:19.916-04:00a very old letter, a newer poem: an encoreThe letter below was written, in about 1929, by my grandmother to my mother:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK_Y_KQ-FVokQP-I3DafZ2HIssNhEYr0SLTRzZK21wV99ANQ2V5H3zyCpmyrbvuFiRDWAJVDEC1mUINyHFym4QzPch9OQ_gNnOZ9j6fudI3W0BkiAN8oxTFPQhGJ2-MbfuOGc1w-1v/s1600/grandmother.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK_Y_KQ-FVokQP-I3DafZ2HIssNhEYr0SLTRzZK21wV99ANQ2V5H3zyCpmyrbvuFiRDWAJVDEC1mUINyHFym4QzPch9OQ_gNnOZ9j6fudI3W0BkiAN8oxTFPQhGJ2-MbfuOGc1w-1v/s320/grandmother.jpeg" width="219" /></a> </div>
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"What do you want I should get you..."<br />
"What is the matter papa did not call up..."<br />
"... tell him he should eat red meat, go outdoors for his health, go for a ride every night that he will sleep well."<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBFDhYIO0l2tspdpTENtowYvFMx1nbO4FQ21SPsVXByMOayqEMfj1C4FBew7oFSTHloBekqoL4k9sk38YzWfhtpb1lTLe2ucJiLnPBOxCxswh9q4FK5gmqX4DsSl-A6roKW6hld1zWKaw/s1600-h/img190.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223762288313924354" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBFDhYIO0l2tspdpTENtowYvFMx1nbO4FQ21SPsVXByMOayqEMfj1C4FBew7oFSTHloBekqoL4k9sk38YzWfhtpb1lTLe2ucJiLnPBOxCxswh9q4FK5gmqX4DsSl-A6roKW6hld1zWKaw/s320/img190.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: left; margin: 0 10px 10px 0;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLtv_8jW2keinOLdlYqgigpUsZM8Wy4QmHUw8mKnWaNSaMH5CkgpcNlsuEA7opLbq8MUX7HW9RKvIDmXo1wYTbGrtQxdcLxXUOQm3LQB-cpMmOIlNXLTUqPZLxq1sfWb8UGTsinwmP7bQ/s1600-h/img191.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223761120863893410" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLtv_8jW2keinOLdlYqgigpUsZM8Wy4QmHUw8mKnWaNSaMH5CkgpcNlsuEA7opLbq8MUX7HW9RKvIDmXo1wYTbGrtQxdcLxXUOQm3LQB-cpMmOIlNXLTUqPZLxq1sfWb8UGTsinwmP7bQ/s320/img191.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: left; margin: 0 10px 10px 0;" /></a><br />
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And this is a poem written in about 1992, by me:<br />
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NAP TIME<br />
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At dusk, a dream through stained glass:<br />
In a hazy deciduous forest, I am almost naked-<br />
Pristine gown clinging like translucent second skin,<br />
Chartreuse satin slippers, cheeks pale porcelain rose,<br />
And humidity turning my hair burnt sienna.<br />
The scent of dried lavender drifts through trees-<br />
“Alone in nature, by nature,” ventriloquists murmur.<br />
Bejeweled spiders, resting on carefully crocheted cobwebs,<br />
Melancholy widows, eyes green tourmaline,<br />
A soldier seduced by indifference...<br />
Haunted beauty washed forever in soft pink light.<br />
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A fading fragrant French cologne-<br />
Earlier a sweet intoxicating elixir- melting and melted.<br />
An elusive black-throated warbler,<br />
Pausing on a great oak, bears witness:<br />
An icon is shedding mellifluous silver tears,<br />
Reflecting my grandfather, wrapped in his tallit<br />
Stirring, turning, saying, “You look very familiar to me.”<br />
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A clammy breeze passes through Manhattan.<br />
I awaken this time, awakened last time,<br />
Acquiescent and still, not knowing<br />
If it is evening... or morning. <br />
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© 2004 Marjorie Levine, in "Naked Amnesiac"</div>
Marjoriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13323661411548419175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2438603404068357922.post-15804050331658065662016-05-08T16:09:00.003-04:002016-05-08T16:10:26.230-04:00three love letters, an encoreI found two old long forgotten photos while rummaging through an old shoebox. I also found three letters from a summer of long ago:<br />
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August 3rd,<br />
Dear J:<br />
I want to tell you what happened on a hazy hot sunless Sunday, in July, at Long Beach. A few feet from where an amnesiac sat on the boardwalk eating hotdogs-- a lady, a blue blood, and a wanderer observed in the sand a mystical image. Well, because they were frightened that the startling sight might rapidly disappear or be scrambled by an insouciant breeze, an attempt was made by the lady to photograph the sight-- to freeze and thereby validate the remarkable event. The lady put down her translucent parasol and a love letter that was written in Sanskrit on an ancient faded doily. And as a tow headed child paddled to shore in a teacup, a picture was taken and developed. It passed from the lady, to the blue blood, and then to the wanderer-- from whose tired, careless fingers it slipped. The wind carried the picture down and up, up and down; it danced the tango for a few seconds before it collapsed in my open right hand. I swear J, in that photograph I saw the transmigration of a soul!<br />
Kindest regards, L<br />
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August 12th,<br />
Dear L:<br />
I love you and want to marry you! Why didn't you tell me you were spending July out at Long Beach? I desperately wanted you to know that I enrolled in a film workshop and I will complete the requirements and be eligible for a certificate in film. By the way, the theme of my first project is the lost years of Jesus. I wish you were with me supporting my cinematic aspirations and visions. Last Tuesday, while I dined at an outdoor sidewalk cafe on Columbus Avenue, a lady passed holding a translucent parasol. She was walking her Shih Tzu and when she paused, in front of my table, she allowed her thirsty pet to take a few swigs from a bottle of seltzer. I took a picture of the lady and her dog, and I am sending it to you.<br />
Love, J<br />
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August 28th,<br />
Dear J:<br />
Your letter was forwarded to me from the Long Beach address. I am now staying in Westhampton. While I was having dinner at a restaurant in East Hampton, I was introduced by a blue blood to a group of young Buddhists. In the early mornings, I joined them at a mansion for the recitation of five prayers. I want to tell you what happened at the beach on a hot sunny Sunday in mid August. A dilettante, a pacifist, and a codependent led me to a spiritual man, who for a short time in July posed as an amnesiac at Long Beach. He now conducts a series of past life regression sessions and I was persuaded to participate. As I reclined on the Westhampton sand, a lonely seagull flew overhead and a tow headed child paddled, in a teacup, to shore. In time, I recalled a past life! I realize now, Jason, that we were together as lovers during the French Revolution. So, I will be returning to Manhattan at the end of August, and we shall plan our wedding.<br />
Love, xxxooo, L<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ7BwA6_L7hKOhIW0nB1YvemNTNEyF-PszT7WIWcubI8W4IFVIqQWnaySE8ZVIFwzJLZc8Ykh-tK80YJNO9Fh9SpSAhXMgcHg3zblhMqrv0r_bq2VH5n7GPY7YS6jTa6mMsIGGrcNpjIk/s1600-h/img503.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260227023563157570" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ7BwA6_L7hKOhIW0nB1YvemNTNEyF-PszT7WIWcubI8W4IFVIqQWnaySE8ZVIFwzJLZc8Ykh-tK80YJNO9Fh9SpSAhXMgcHg3zblhMqrv0r_bq2VH5n7GPY7YS6jTa6mMsIGGrcNpjIk/s320/img503.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px;" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWoxzSmpPMdNLlW0Y8fTFT1w4AmmbwG-6cldQaIWHiHrJ31AEHdhQOTCgHJztVxGrCbxRwvGkiGKdaZdNeBFHFn8fHyp9L-n6HH7767Oj0NZSUn_7ZQP1eUx-E_zrrrAgvLtSAGKBie48/s1600-h/img504.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260227228895457634" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWoxzSmpPMdNLlW0Y8fTFT1w4AmmbwG-6cldQaIWHiHrJ31AEHdhQOTCgHJztVxGrCbxRwvGkiGKdaZdNeBFHFn8fHyp9L-n6HH7767Oj0NZSUn_7ZQP1eUx-E_zrrrAgvLtSAGKBie48/s320/img504.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px;" /></a><br />
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TWO DAYS<br />
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One hot sunny Sunday, in July, at Long Beach:<br />
An amnesiac sat on the boardwalk watching<br />
A strolling lady who was carrying a pearl-handled parasol.<br />
A handsome soldier passed holding a love letter that was<br />
Written on a faded lace white doily and a lonely spinster<br />
Stared at vague images in the sand...<br />
Lines soon to be scattered by an insouciant breeze.<br />
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An innocent, guileless, sienna-haired child<br />
Paddled to shore in a teacup.<br />
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This is what happened on a hazy sunless Sunday,<br />
In mid-August, at Westhampton.<br />
A spiritual man, who once posed as an amnesiac,<br />
Conducted past life regression sessions<br />
In an old chartreuse theater and<br />
A tattooed director, with wild cinematic aspirations,<br />
Filmed the event in shades of mysterious gray.<br />
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Later, I rested on sands<br />
And watched one lost kittiwake fly<br />
In circles overhead while an organ played<br />
Music from an invisible carousel.<br />
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I listened to the ocean and<br />
Imagined mermaids swimming painlessly<br />
In peaceful and seductive warm waters.<br />
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A sienna-haired child<br />
Stepped out of a floating teacup,<br />
And walked with sea legs<br />
Along colorless sands.<br />
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Sometimes before twilight,<br />
I think of those two days.<br />
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© 2004 Marjorie Levine in "Naked Amnesiac"<br />
registered WGAE December 10, 2004<br />
as part of material titled "Naked Amnesiac"Marjoriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13323661411548419175noreply@blogger.com0