//percolate.blogtalkradio.com/offsiteplayer?hostId=790983&episodeId=10265659“>http:////percolate.blogtalkradio.com/offsiteplayer?hostId=790983&episodeId=10265659
The opinions expressed are those of the author. You go get your own opinions.
One minute info blogs escaping the faith trap
Kate Greenough's daily drawings
portraits & figures by an older woman artist, with blue collar roots
Apprenez les langues !
Life is too short to be petty-minded
What sense in chaos.
A pause to admire nature's unparalleled beauty.
Strange Anatomy, Awkward Perspectives
Yeah nah...
Thoughts on all things Autism and mental health
Not your third grade paper mache
Smidgens
Life with wings
Artwork, data analysis, and other projects by Jon
My Life is Art, My Art is Life
“In India when we meet and part we Often say, ‘Namaste’, which means: I honor the place in you where the entire universe resides; I honor the place in you of love, of light, of truth, of peace. I honor the place within you where if you are in that place in you and I am in that place in me, there is only one of us." ~~Ram Dass~~
My adventures in self-publishing and other gibberish
The opinions expressed are those of the author. You go get your own opinions.
One minute info blogs escaping the faith trap
Kate Greenough's daily drawings
portraits & figures by an older woman artist, with blue collar roots
Apprenez les langues !
Life is too short to be petty-minded
What sense in chaos.
A pause to admire nature's unparalleled beauty.
Strange Anatomy, Awkward Perspectives
Yeah nah...
Thoughts on all things Autism and mental health
Not your third grade paper mache
Smidgens
Life with wings
Artwork, data analysis, and other projects by Jon
Pammy, I have listened to almost all of this interview and so many feelings I don’t know what to say, do or write. I am repulsed, speechless some, proud of you and honoured by our friendship
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Jeff i am imoressed by your impulse of “repair”. I hope to post a story about something very similar and healing that i also did recently.
Cheers
Pam
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Thank you!!!
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in the late 60s, early 70s, you could buy these ceramic mold dolls, like the smiley-boy dolls . . . well, we had one in my family growing up, a bust of a man and a woman, stretched out, sort of, Easter Island style, and we kids bought it for my folks, Christmas 1970, 71, 72, somewhere in there, because the man looked like Dad, his crew cut, the high cheekbones. Well, that little statue has come to me since my parents’ and brothers’ passing, and I set it up to destroy it, put it right beside the light-switch in my basement suite here, and sure enough, middle of the night, I crashed it to the floor. In my first impulse – fuck it, lose it, along with everything else – I threw it in the trash, but a day or two later, I dug it out again, with exactly that plan, to glue it back together with something pretty, try to not only get it back but improve it – certainly the symbolism of it, for me and my family, will have been improved.
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the Christmas poem is terrific, huh?
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