Lately, there has been something fragile about Blogger's software platform, dear reader. I frequently encounter an error message when I try to post photos. As this has been happening for quite a while this evening, I'm just going to write, and try to describe to you what I might have shown, had the interface been cooperating.
It's at times like these that we are reminded what a new and unstable environment the web still is. But that's okay. I'm not much of a photographer, anyway.
Had I been able to rely on images, I would have shown you some brand new sprouts of green grass shooting up through the soil of my backyard. Amidst all the rotting apples, the grass is already reappearing after several wettenings this past week, including yesterday's.
This Saturday in San Francisco has been sunny from dawn to sunset. Actually, the sun hasn't yet quite set, but unless some clouds or fog show up soon, my statement will hold.
My little soccer players competed today; the fields were wet so there was a bunch of slipping and sliding. My daughter's team lost, 4-0; her big brother's team won 5-0.
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This blog could easily confuse the casual visitor. I write about anything and everything; there probably is no way to label this space. For example, lately I have been considering dreams and premonitions. My grandmother on my mother's side considered herself able to perceive the future; in other words, she felt she had ESP.
Her visions occasionally drove her crazy, or at least what doctors in her time diagnosed as crazy. My conclusion is that she was sensitive to all the inputs that surrounded her...much as an artist must be whenever she is gathering the impressions she needs for her work.
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Trouble is, our societies have always tended not to value artists, or even figure out who they are, until after they are gone. It's a major battle for the true artists of any age to emerge with enough momentum to be recognized when they are still here.
Not that it matters. If it's art we are talking about, the creator knows in her heart as she releases the work.
It's just right, as it is.
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