Still for all that visual ugliness, there is a new polluter in Casa Grande that causes more than just visual ugliness:

An artist's sketch of Reliant's $263 million Casa Grande Desert Basin Generating facility

Another view of that fountain

Taking It All In There is that in the deep leaving which will inspire you, but you always return to the Source. It is the well, from which bubbles up the breath of your consciousness, peace, there, and everything there. Laugh at the mystery of it all. Wonder at the mystery of it all. It is all there within you, bubbling, bubbling, up trickles the clear hope from which surges all life. So what think you of far ranging implications? Life is the thing, from the tiniest fishlet to . . . lilypads and palm fronds, grasses, the dirt in which they grow, and we who walk, slither and scamper across that earth, green or not. We are the grasses. We are the large, lean, leaning trees. We are the heat, in which glows the igniting embers. All of this, in mind, and out of mind; what we don't see holds us as well. Yes, the breath of it all, contained in our furrowed brow. Just like that, you, I, we - we are so large. So to the moment of peace, when the holding fits just right, I raise my hopeful song, with such lifting as I may, and breathe deeply, taking it all in. JAL, 6 - 29 - 01

I was curious to see what others thought of it, and took a web-meander. One forums' viewers were split fiercely. They either loved it or hated it.

Were those who didn't like it merely jaded? Why did it resonate with me (and those in my family) and not with them? Perhaps they couldn't accept the premise of the movie. Could an android really feel emotion? Could an android be created that would not only mimic the expression of love, but really FEEL love? If you don't accept that premise (or at least embrace that this is the movie's reality, and that David really does feel love and yearn to be loved), this movie won't work for you. You won't be able to emphasize with David's need to be 'real'.

Perhaps if you've ever felt 'alien' and 'other', then you can more readily identify with poor David, as he wanders the world, looking for the Blue Fairy that will make him real.

And why does he want to become 'real'?

So that his 'Mommy' will love him. His 'Mommy' left him alone in the forest after David threw Martin, his 'brother', in the pool, and Martin almost drowned. It was that or take him back to the Factory for dismantling.

And oh, the journey David and his little talking Teddy toy have after that! He meets up with 'Gigolo Joe', an android created for purposes of paid pleasure. He tells Joe of his search for the Blue Fairy, and Joe tries to help him. But what perils. They are caught by the owners of a 'Flesh Fair', in which androids are shot out of cannons, hot oil poured on them, and various other means of destruction, for humans amusement. David manages to escape, partly because no one believes an android can look like a little boy.

Some of the viewers didn't like the ending of the movie. It is a fantastical ending, but one that entirely fits with the premise of the movie.

I love this movie. Maybe you will, too.

A few blocks from home, two big dogs barked loudly on seeing the three of us. Nevermind they were behind a tall chain link fence. Ginger broke loose, and ran back and forth along the fence, while they barked at each other. Neither Laura nor I could catch her, she was so fast.

Those dogs really scared poor Ginger and she took off across the street, down another road. She was faster than a bolt of lightening. Laura couldn't run after Ginger, as her heart started hurting her. I tried, but couldn't see where she slipped off to in the dark.

While Laura waited for me at that street corner, I walked as fast as I could back home and got the car. We drove around and around, looking for her. We drove over an hour around and around, looking for her. We saw so many loose dogs all over the neighborhood. But no Ginger.

Has someone taken her into their home? Will we see Ginger again?

I don't know. Julia has the day off to take care of changing her name on all of her records. It is nice that the three of us are all home at once. We had a tasty roast beef dinner at the Golden Corral in town. But the mood here is a sad one. Where is Ginger? What is happening to her? We thought we heard her yelp, near where we lost her. Is she being mistreated? I don't know.

Is there any chance we will find out?

However, right this moment the skies are blue and cloudless.

I had an odd dream (is there ever any other kind?) the other day. In this dream, I am preparing for a journey. Where to, I did not know. The requirements were that I could take only what I could carry. What would it be? In the end, I opted for an over one inch thick ( four centimeters, for those of you that speak that language) spiral notebook with lined paper and a pen. What would be most valuable on that trip would be my markings of the path I'd take.

I scratched out the beginnings of the first entry. I'd already given it a title, ''And So It Goes''. In 'real life', I never title them until I'm through with them. But in dreams, we do differently.

''And So It Goes'', I would be leaving soon. Strangely (or not for a dream), I was at my bedroom at Gramma's, where I lived last before I went out on my own. Oh, the mess I'd left in that room. I was trying to sweep up huge piles of dust balls and tiny paper flotsams and jetsams. I grieved over not being neat and tidy, for so much remained to be cleaned up. I'm still busy with the sweeper, when suddenly I'm tapped on the shoulder by . . .

. . . reality, maybe, and the chill damp of the bedroom woke me up. Evaporative coolers don't work so well during the 'monsoons' here in the desert. The air felt as though I could grab huge chunks of it and wring the water out of it . . .

. . . and to where would I PUT that water? Hm-m-m, I don't know. I have memories of a copper coiled 'dehumidifier' from my early days in Illinois. The moisture would collect in a vat at the bottom. Water the plants with it, I guess. What few, scraggly things there are, here. Do some of those little orange flowers still exist?

Have I been too busy to look? Perhaps I have, but I've sweeping my way through messes I've left. Oh, the disorder that was the computer area. It's bad when you start losing important bills and papers in the weave of stuff. And it WAS STUFF. Now at least this small area is neat again. The cynic in me asks ''For how long?'' I don't want to listen to that cynic any more.

FOR NOW I will enjoy the neatness.

Never Easy In the twirling wind of it, in the hurling wind of it, I see now my scattering pieces. To what lengths will they go? How then shall they be re-assembled, and to what fine pattern? Shall I recognise myself when Fate is done? When I touch hand to my face, will I be able to say "Yes, that's me, that's my soft cheek smiling"? Or will form feel so dissimilar, I do not know it. I have been here before, and yes, my face did change. It was once that of a child's, and now it is older. Would it be called GROWTH, then, this dis-assembling and re-assembling? Still, in the winds, it is never easy. JAL, 7 - 7 - 01