Michael Jackson

Yes, Michael Jackson is all over the place right now, and I don't usually care enough when a celebrity dies to write about it, but the death of Michael Jackson is so surprising and shocking to me that I can't help myself.

I mean, Michael Jackson has been part of my life ever since I can remember. I remember watching the Jackson 5 on TV, listening to their music when growing up, the movie Ben (about the killer rat) was the first movie I ever saw in a theater, you can't not like some of his music and it was huge when I was in my 20s and listening to music, his videos were amazing, his sense of style was memorable and influential, he has been a constant source of entertainment to the media and so whether you actively followed his controversies and face changes or not, you couldn't avoid knowing about them. He was kind of like smoke in the sense that there is a source of the smoke, but even if you weren't near that source, you still sense it and smell it and something of it lingers long after the smoke has actually cleared.

So how about you all? Does this have any meaning to you other than just a famous person dying?

Linda

Your Thoughts on the Perfect Wine Bar

Not sure I have told anyone here but Linda, but I am starting a new company. And now, as a part of that endeavor, it looks like I'll be running an evening wine bar on a nice little street with restaurants and other eating places. So, my question to you fabulous ladies is-- if you wanted to go out for a nice glass of wine or cocktail and enjoy it in a good atmosphere- what would you be looking for? What makes you happy in that kind of spot? What is the feeling you want to come away with? Thanks in advance for your ideas.

View from a Balcony

A couple of months ago I thought about entering a flash-fiction contest. Your work had to either start or include the phrase "the view from the balcony." This is what I wrote, but I got busy, forgot about the contest and never sent it in. So this will never see the light of day anywhere except this blog, but at least my friends will get to see it. 

She was lost, but the view from the balcony showed her the way out. A shaft of sunshine sliced through the roiling clouds that had just dumped their burden and temporarily halted her journey. It pointed to a spot just below the balcony, as if suggesting, when the time came, she begin her journey there. It was a good place: a cobblestone path lined with flowers that had only minutes before drooped from thirst and the weight of their dust shrouds. Now, they glistened with crystal water droplets that, pierced by the sunlight, tossed rainbows of confetti onto the cobblestone path, as if celebrating her decision to leave.

With the storm now over, rivulets of rainwater streamed away from the flowers, flowing through the cracks that divided the cobblestones, outlining the various paths that she might take. Below her apartment, a neighbor’s window opened. Voices and laughter drifted up to her and floated around her head, teasing her with their happiness, before soaring skywards on their own journey. Would she be able to catch up with them, she wondered? Perhaps if she hurried.

A breeze kicked up scents of dust, age, and death that sullied the moment of rebirth that the storm had brought. She sighed, resigned. When even your dreams of hope were weighted down by reality, it was time to go. She gazed skywards and whispered to the happy voices: "Wait for me. Please."

She lifted her face to the breeze and let it cool her hot trail of tears. She found the sunlit spot on the path, bent her knees, and jumped. She had been lost, but the view from the balcony showed her the way out. The darkening rivulets of red coursing through the cracks between the bricks indicated that her journey had begun.

Linda