At The Arboretum We woke up early in hopes of enjoying the morning coolness at the Boyce-Thompson Southwestern Arboretum. Poor Julia didn't feel up to going. But Laura, Shayna, Max and I were quite eager. Shayna had never been to the arboretum, so she drank in all the sights. We caught nearly all the colorful flowers in bloom. Even if I were totally blind, just the fragrances alone would be worth the trip. Max enjoyed himself more this time than last time. I took many pictures but my favorite included him, resting as he surveyed the wide vista.

(If you didn't see text to the right of the roses, you're using an old 3.0 browser! Sorry! View source to read it! Or update! Internet Explorer 5.0 is free!)

This arboretum is a special place, and I've still more pictures of it! Following the link from that picture page, I discovered an entry written nearly exactly two years ago. Not only that, one of my selections from The Essential Joan also features the arboretum. That piece, "The Rarest Blooms", is about one year old.

Does it need saying? I LOVE spring!

April 19, 1999

Mostly Busy Day of Work

Today I'll be brief. I added a new picture and poem to the latest ATTWT section. I must get back to sewing.

later this day . . .

I got a bit of sewing done. I even tackled that awful mountain of CDs that were taking over my serging table. Laura was going to throw out an old CD turntable months ago and I rescued it. All it needed was a bigger screw to hold the swirly device in at the bottom. New ones cost 40 bucks, so I feel quite virtueous. I cleared out a spot for it on the low chest of drawers. Now the only CDs still on the serging table are those I may give one last listen to, before trading them in at Bookman's. Through the years, I've amassed quite a collection, and a few lackluster albums have crept in. Space is more vital at this point.

April 20, 1999

"So Little We Could Do"

Laura and I went down to Tucson to visit with an old friend who's spouse has left him after ten years. He's fairly devastated. So we did what we can do to offer support.

While we were in Tucson, we used the morning to turn in the CDs at Bookman's. I brought a dozen and came home with two, Patrick Street 'Live', a celtic group, is sure to be good, as the main violinist is Kevin Burke. That's a safe gamble. The other is an experiment. Troka is a Finnish group, promising "traditional acoustic folk with a decidedly contemporary attitude". They're certain to be better than the rather dirge-like music I turned in to get them.

Before we saw Paul, we had lunch at La Parilla Suiza. I had mountains of fresh chips, (not too salty and not too greasy), with green salsa and red salsa. I'd dip one into the red, a pleasant tang, then one into the green, with an unusual twang all its own. Dinner arrived late, so I finished off the lion's share of two bowls of the chips. Dinner was worth the wait. I had chilequiles (tortilla chips baked with enchilada sauce and sour cream), grilled pork bits with lots of chunky salsa and the green salsa, rice, beans, two glasses of pink lemonade -I was stuffed!

We met our friend Paul at 1:00pm. We've known him for twelve years now. His health was never good. A car accident ruined his back. But through the years his health has gotten steadily worse. He has to take such potent medicine, it's a struggle for him to remain any mental clarity at all. In the midst of all this, his spouse Dan is dumping him. After ten years, he's dumping him. I can understand that part. But what I can't understand is not making sure Paul's in a secure place. Both Laura and I felt there was so little we could do to help him. At least we were there to give him a little emotional support.

April 21, 1999

"the world as it is"

So I'm reeling from the bad news. Two teens in trench coats went to their high school in Colorado and opened fire on everyone. At least fifteen or sixteen were killed, and twenty four others were injured.

"You could hear them laughing and running upstairs," said one student, who broke down in tears as she recounted the killing spree. "They didn't care who it was and it was all at close range."

One male student said he and three friends grabbed "all the kids we could" and hid in a very small room -- as many as 60 of them in all. "Then, after that, we just had to walk out over all the dead bodies."

Another student described seeing one victim whose "face was blown off."

(from CNN news story.)

I hardly know what to say. My writing feels like crap. I'm stunned. Students will need to be frisked each day entering school to make sure they have no guns and no explosives. Damn, what is this world getting to? I just don't know. Sometimes I feel so scared. Damn.

Laura's rearranging the house. When you don't know what else to do, rearrange the house. I'll sign off and go help her.

Fifteen, sixteen dead. Damn.

later today . . .

The house has been rearranged, so the cooling vents will work better. We broke down and turned the AC on. We had to, high cost or no. So, to maximize AC efficiency, some tables and stuff were moved out, and the remainder rearranged. Laura's teasing me because I seem not so enthusiastic. But I never rebel strongly over changes. It doesn't look bad. We'll get used to it.

In the midst of that, I decided to do the wash, three loads of it. I'm tired. I think I'll relax for the rest of the day.

I found this quote at the Thought of the Day page. It seems good mental food.

"We want to stand upon our own feet and look fair and square at the world -- its good facts, its bad facts, its beauties, and its ugliness; see the world as it is and be not afraid of it. Conquer the world by intelligence and not merely by being slavishly subdued by the terror that comes from it."

Bertrand Russell

This attitude puts all of life's aspects in balance. We can see only the bad stuff, if we choose to, and the fear will overwhelm us. We shouldn't ignore the bad stuff, either, for then intelligent solutions won't be found. For instance, what is the most intelligent solution to all these shootings? Would gun control help? Do countries that have gun control have less of a problem with crazed people going ballistic and going on a shooting spree? Or do the insane just find other methods of murder? I haven't done enough research, so I don't know. But it's something that should be studied.

One small problem seems improved, however. The house re-arrangement does make the house cooler. The sofa had previously blocked all the air into hitting the wall and being trapped. I can feel a delicious stream of cool air wafting towards me.

Laura recently got a new clip art program with 300,000 images.

The original of this 'lil scaredy cat was black and white. I changed the background to light yellow, made the eyes gold, and added a horizon line.

April 22, 1999

"small things first"

Yesterday proved to be quite an industrious day. Besides the house rearranging and wash, I redid Laura's Art Page. She gave me a list of the old pictures to be deleted, and let me have at it. I combined all the remainders onto one page, and ordered them pleasingly. Then I played with background and border colors on each to make them the most picture- flattering. When the directional arrows at last pointed correctly, I sent it all up, and carefully pruned the unwanted pages and pics, using a check-off list.

Today's industry has begun early, as well. I finished the sleeves of a black jacket for a woman leaving town in a hurry. Glen and Mother, and for a while, James, were over this morning. The Colorado events figured in our conversations. Several fav journallers spoke of it, as well. A few speak with the perspective of being a teacher, as does Margaret DeAngelis' thoughtful account. No one has any solutions, we're all mostly shocked. We all wonder, from the scant clues the two boys gave, is it possible that anyone could have had any idea of what their future was? Will we be able to learn from those clues and prevent another such tragedy?

A Ramble That May Or May Not Make Sense

Where is this rage and where is the space for it? So much within and not enough to say it. How say it? When say it? Is it enough to say it? What can I do with it? Fashion stitched garments of spiky irritation that I wear to remind me of what it is I'm not allowing myself to forget. Say this thing over and over. This thing I can't seem to expunge. This anger, damn it! Of what use is it? Can I use it to propel me and to where? Reason is lurking somewhere to direct. Fire the fuses up, set this thing off. See where it goes, Maybe it will set its own direction. What will happen if I let it do that? Shall I? Or without direction, do we simply explode, setting off a trail of destruction that echoes one knows not how long?

No, I'll not do that. There must be some aim to the thing, not random. I think this heat can be purified, I can feel it coming. I feel a limberness coming to my hands. A dexterity that will fashion something useful. I have that power. I am a woman with power. I will not say how large a power. Neither downsizing self, nor artificially pumping it up. It is what it is. And yet, it will suffice. The rage at things that shouldn't be may not change the world. But maybe I can change a small thing here, or a small thing there. Rearrange the furniture of my mind, at least. Some action should follow. Even a dish that needs washed is useful in the washing. Every little bit, that's how the daily wheel turns. Maybe that wheel doesn't always go fast enough to suit me. But I can make that thing go. See, it just takes a little push. Small things are best. From them, perhaps larger things. Perhaps not. But small things first. All the rest depends on these. Maybe I'll wash a dish.