Originally I was set to play bridge tonight. After umpteen weeks of absence from the table, this was something to look forward too. But my regular partner caught the flu and I wasn’t going to have a random partner suffer through my somewhat neglected card skills. So I spent the evening by myself. Watching a full moon shining. Well, almost full. Full enough for me, anyways. Been forever since I last did that. Standing at the window staring at the moon. Thinking. Without decent result. But as there was no question asked, an answer wasn’t important or even called for. By the way, is thinking a process solely designed for answers and solutions? Or is it ok to let thoughts drift without direction – I was just about to use the term float, but this might sound odd on this blog, wouldn’t it?
floatsome 
12 responses to “full moon shining”
just that: new sibling, bringin a potted plant, wearing those gloves, the endless stairs. but: no face of sister’s as a baby ^^ no eyecolours, but that of the gloves. no emotion but futility climbing endless stairs ^^
(am being told it did happen, and in parts for my brother as well ^^)
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so you are the oldest of three?
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yupp. ^^
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me too. nice, having two cc’s showing all the spelling mistakes in the genetical structure, isn’t it? 😉
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“Oh no, yo di-innt” *moves his head horizontally without a pitch vertically, immitating a chubby African American woman from the inner city ghetto, just leaving a beauty parlor, having had her nails & hair done, seeing a culprit trying to get of w/ the parlors gold-colour – spraypainted sign announcing price-cuts, for a visit each day of that week … :>>
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aw, come on. I don’t believe you the chubby afro woman thingy for one second. the having the nails done gave you away… 🙂
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touché, you have me all figured out 😛
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btw, my memory of first meeting my parents youngest offspring is one of an endlessly long hospital hall void of any humans other than dad and I. glossy grey linoleum, white doors, many white doors. as it was a quarantine ward, all one could do, was looking through a small window in the door. windows designed to let grown ups look through. as I was a kid, dad had to lift me up. I looked at an array of babies with sickly face colours, one of wich was held up to the looking glass for us to view, supposedly my sister. I was not at all convinced, they picked the right one. not till today, come to think of it… 😉
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:>> thats awesome ^^ – your halls & white doors were my endless flight of stairs ^^ – cyclamen for mom, i think they even taught me to change her diapers, afterwards I learned to read & write & got the hell outta there 😛
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lucky escape. for both of us… 🙂
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if thinking was only a permutation of possibilities, wrapping themselves around whatever absurdity that catches their fancy & wont get filtered or hidden from your consciousness. I understand its fireing away at an equal amount of energy consumption no matter the object of your process… the brain fireing that is… could be defragging & maintaining its systems, could be a sharklike thing, stop moving and you are done for ^^— it stands to reason we are still trying to comprehend old decisions. like january 1987, carrying flowers in a stormy winter’s night, visiting a new sister, wondering where the red fingerless gloves went, remembering them being tied together by some cotton string reaching / connecting the right to the left glove- being worn underneath one’s jacket along the back of the neck.- not being able to remember a car that got you there, pondering w/ which foot you took the first step on what at the time seemed like an endlessly wide, steep & long flight of stairs. regurgitating that – for years on end w/o you ever being aware of it, ya know, just to keep busy & occupied, to keep the lights burning… 🙂
rambling- off to bed. ah, 1 more thing woot woooooot?
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so it is ok, I guess. and yes, the airport. can’t believe, my beloved TXL is going to be history in less than half a year.
what’s the story about a new sister in 1987?
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