A group of hippies hang out during the Monterey Pop Festival.

Turn on tune in drop out…so many friends never got back from there, that mad, crazy time.

what even brought me to it, still wondering

Took hold of us             and then it was over

There’s some unforgettable music
every decade has that

We were so special

my friends back home wished they had come


the intrigue

try anything

mind-blowing who knows what where distortions


i still needed to work.


Little Fish


                                                                                                          Trixie the cat


When I was a child, everyone in our family was assigned at least one chore.  As the youngest, one of my jobs was to help in keeping the garden free of weeds, which included the spaces in the sidewalk surrounding the house and leading to a garden in back.  My father had said that the trouble lies beneath where the roots eventually overcome the concrete causing it to crack if they weren’t removed in time.  The possibility amazed me and I became attentive to the fact and aware of anything that seemed to fit Father’s claim.

Just as he said, our neighborhood had several broken sidewalks left eschew and at angles where weeds were allowed to grow in the spaces, especially the street around the corner with only one large house that had been vacant for as long as I can remember.  My Grandmother avoided the treachery of walking there.

However perceived, I felt a small personal triumph for being responsible for something other than keeping my face and hands clean.  Mother would fill the watering can mid-way with hot water to for me to pour into the spaces of the walk.  And the following day Dad would remove the dead weeds with a crevice tool.  But in time, they would re-appear, consistently and without fail.

As for the vacant old house around the corner, since the old man died, there was only grass and weeds in place of the stone walk that once led up to it.  I guess some people may think it has always been that way.

~~~~~~ Truth is Beauty is Love ~~~~~~

In summer of 1957, I vacationed with my grandparents on their farm in Virginia.  Mother had said little about the extraordinary experience that I was about to have.  Words fail to convey some things.  The story of that time may be one of the most significant contributions that was mine to give to my family.   

Two Little Girls by Charon Dianehttp://booklocker.com/books/4718.html






“Although your mind’s opaque, try thinking more if just for your own sake.”




Someone said:

There exists only two emotions…


and everything else.





No Win, no Place, no Show



Business Woman Running on a Hampster Wheel

You try to bond with, love, or at least strive for acceptance with some people.  But it seems impossible to get beyond a certain point with them.  Then one day, you realize that the only reason you have to continue trying is to keep alive the notion that with perseverance you will eventually succeed.

It may be necessary to protect yourself from investing more time because your spirit is at stake in these situations.  It almost feels like war, the relentless discussion without end, disguised as intelligent discourse…you’re just not getting it.  But why not?  You’re using everything at your disposal; being as honest, open, and true as you can possibly be.  You’ve been invited to the party but you are the only one there.

You realize the need to take care of yourself, to take the things that you offer from a situation that seems only to reject or belittle your every attempt.

Family is fertile ground for this pointless excursion to nowhere.  It is here where it is most difficult to discern the machinations, because surely love exists and isn’t that what we are hoping to experience and isn’t this the place where we want it most?  But it can be a minefield of deception that may take years to realize.  And that may be all there is to that!

Alas, the classic move is when much later, you are confronted with the person, seeking your attention now.  Where have you been after all…rather demanding as a matter of fact, perhaps there is a degree of anger for you’ve given up the pursuit of their approval.  This is where you get to say a few choose words if you wish.  But as valid as that may seem, you feel little inclination in that direction.  Geez…

                  “Dear Lord,  Make me a bird so I can fly far, far far away from here.”

                                                                                           Jenny from “Forrest Gump”

Nevertheless, be love and enjoy the beauty of the day, everyday…create something!

Hello, Is anybody in there?



Photo by Alexey Kijatov


With all that is going on in our world, have we come to realize the personal responsibility that we have to think for ourselves…yet?

How easy it is to disregard that responsibility as there are so many opinions swirling about that you could choose for your own.

But the rest of us will miss what you have to give from referring to the unique personal resource that is yours alone in the entire world.




The Wonder

wallpaper-hd-nature-wallpapers-nature-images-wallpaper-hd ...


                                             Old Age.

             The In-Between.

…interesting that we come back to where we start.

If we are lucky, along the In-Between we confirm the wonder of life that we were made of once.

We likely have a few satisfying answers for all of our efforts,

                                           experiences that meld and shape us,

                 turn us this way

      or that

                   or not,

and we come to know that the pursuit is life.

It is what little grandchildren and grandparents know.

A Gift

We tend to forget many of the experiences that we’ve had, and easily so as some are truly forgettable, others regrettable, and others simply because we must get on with living.  Some events, though we may not think of them when they occur as pertinent or relevant, remain with us somewhere deep inside.

There was a time when I was struggling with a perplexing issue which seemed to defy resolution.  I was bound on all sides with thinking about it, absent of any hope of getting past it when suddenly a forgotten memory emerged.  Shapes, colors, and details became part of the air around me, dancing in concert with each other to form a story that I would tell in a little book that I would write.

It had to do with an extraordinary experience of my childhood which took place in the late 1950s in Virginia.   As I wrote the words I felt warm and comforting support for a time that I spent with my grandparents, so very dear to me now.  Until the time of writing, I was unaware of how much meaning that summer had brought to my life.   How impossible that it was safe in my heart all along.   It is a book of love and deep, ever-growing appreciation for my family.  It might well have been entitled , “The Gift”.

                                                            Here is an excerpt from my novelette:

Two Little Girls

Chapter 1

As far as I was concerned, summer began with the day my father installed the screens in the windows. Early that morning, Mother would have taken the summer sheers from storage to the clothesline in our backyard. By the afternoon, she swooped up the freshened bundle and brought them back indoors to hang on the rods at the tops of the windows. When the transformation was complete, I’d run from room to room to see the curtains flying on the breeze that raced in through the windows of our big old house. Like a magical invitation to adventures possible only with summer, when one day melted into the next and no one asked about the time, I felt that I could fly too and that anything could happen.

There were 5 children in my family. My brother Lionel was the oldest; my sister Cecilia was next, followed by my sister Rose, then my brother Isaac, and me. We spent summertime totally absorbed in keeping pace with our friends as was our Mother in keeping up with us. She mended our scraped knees, our bruised egos, and the holes in my brothers’ dungarees. I remember lemonade and tuna sandwiches, cotton sun dresses and hair ribbons; the pennies I collected for the corner candy store, and my ankle socks that never stayed up. Summers seemed much longer then when hopscotch and jump rope, hide-and-seek and tag, dress-up and make-believe, with my bicycle, my dolls and friends filled the days until supper time. When August finally came around, among the five of us someone would be chosen to vacation with our grandparents in the country. It was in the year 1957 that I was to spend my first summer there.

I’d thought so often about my first trip to the farm. But like the landing of a cascading boulder, my mother’s cheerful delivery of this summer’s plan completely shattered my vision of it. Leaving little room for the way that reality alters things but similar to most events concerning “the children”, I was quite certain of my unvarying reverie. It was always the same.  My brothers and sisters are running through a country field with me, very happily and as usual, following close behind. But everything had been arranged and I alone would spend two weeks on the farm that year.

My family had gathered in the living room when Mother made the announcement. But my frustrating lack of enthusiasm was like a call to dinner in emptying the room of everyone and I found myself alone, save for the dog. While I struggled with the concept of being on my own, Spiky jumped onto the couch next to me. Placing his head upon my foot he kept a concerned and watchful eye over my disposition until we both fell asleep.

Later that day, I listened to Dad’s recollections of farm life adventures while Mother prepared supper. As she filled in with the finer points and particulars she’d taken note of my mixed feelings with her knowing smile that always took the sharp edges off of things. “Don’t forget that your cousin Joanna is just about your age and lives close to Grandpa‘s”, she nearly whispered. Then I thought of the pocket inside the little green suitcase as the place where my Jacks would find a perfect fit.

                                          ~~~~~~~ Truth is Beauty is Love ~~~~~~

My book!

Two Little Girls by Charon Dianehttp://booklocker.com/books/4718.html



The unencumbered heart is able to express freely, clear and true, and in harmony with intent, provides clarity for forgotten people, places, and things once dismissed for fitting nowhere with the idea we have of ourselves.   But they are ours still to understand and accept, and when we do, they take their place where they belong in our lives.  Not threatening nor menacing as they once may have seemed, they reemerge simply to be taken into account, to be understood at last.

~~~~~~ Truth is Beauty is Love ~~~~~~

It was the summer of 1957…

Two Little Girls by Charon Dianehttp://booklocker.com/books/4718.html