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learning to self-illuminate

This was my concern when I discussed vanity: my skin tone. I wanted it to reflect light;for illumination meant I was sustaining the life-force. The day my face took on a dull gray finish I knew my energy was going down and I had to do something. Unless I was slated to be the first female emblazoned onto Mount Rushmore, this low-grade granite tone I emitted had to go. But truth be, I was exhausted going nowhere on the circuitous route I'd taken. What I needed was a goal in which to channel my energy; shore up my resources; focus. That meant walking on the straight and narrow, which didn't exist anywhere on my personal topography until Wednesday April 22, 2015 at 10 AM.

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Falling On Your Head

If we can’t prepare for the unexpected, why bother to think about what could possibly happen. I advise: be oblivious. You’ll know soon enough what needs your attention. For me, what grabbed mine, was an incident Tuesday evening, May 24 at 6:40 PM. That's when I fell off a stool and hit the right-side of my head. And what made it worse, I was not alone; rather inside St. Marks in the Bowery where the Historic Districts Council was having its “Grassroots Preservation Awards.” Within minutes that ceremony, in the adjacent garden, would be over; and more than one hundred people would be milling around me, the food and booze. And whatever gait I could gather, I'd get myself out of here. In no way would I exit on some sort of stretcher.

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the Man with a heart

On Wednesday, May 18, at 12:15 PM, my cell phone rang. The screen registered the call as coming from Bellevue, Washington. I picked it up figuring it had to be Microsoft. I had twice visited its store on 53rd and Fifth. Sure enough, a technician named Aakash Bakshi introduceed himself, with a voice clear and crisp and diction approaching perfection. “What part of India are you from?” I asked. “Pondicherry” he said. And I began reveling in this human contact, which came about as a result of my due diligence.

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Art Calls

As I was about to leave the lobby of the Lenox Hill Senior Center, in-hand a copy of the monthly schedule, an Asian woman asked, "Are you an artist?" I replied, "Are you Japanese" which was the first thing to come into my mind. Her forthrightness, mixed with a touch of delicacy, reminded me of Mickey, a Tokyo-born acquaintance. Then when she told me her parents had lived in Japan, but she was Taiwanese, I felt a sense of redemption. In turn she admitted, "I majored in fashion design in college. It's your clothes. They tell me who you are. I still have the eye, though I never pursued it. I'm a real estate broker;taking a break. My name's Shirley, Shirley Temple. But you can call me Shirley if you like."

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Ready For Who Knows What

Considering I was content with TV viewing, on, off, volume and tuning the skill set needed to bring that to fruition, it's a marvel I've learned to use a computer. Now with Windows 10 forced upon me, just when I got used to Windows 7, I wonder what next. I'm already daunted by the continued buffering my hard drive's enduring. Perhaps my RAM's not up to speed. Who cares, I say. When I can't abide, I'll purchase an Apple laptop. In the interim, I remind myself I'm not in Syria. How lucky can I be. I still stand; as does this city.

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