Where is the past located? by Dorothy Herbert

Where Is The Past Located?

            On an old calendar?

            In my mind?

            In the collective mind of friends and family?

            In the great void before I was born?

            It has no one location, but oozes in and out of our memories.

            It has no one location 

            but floats in and out of the back of our minds 

            wherever those  are located.

            Some neurons seem to have captured it,

            but too often they fade away before we can establish it.

            The past floats like a leaf on a pond or stream.

DISMAY, DISGUST, AND DEPRESSION! by Nancy Humphriss

Here I sit at my computer, gazing out at the rain, the soggy hillside, and my storm-swept balcony. I am attempting to regain my equilibrium after hours -- I kid you not, hours -- of working with due diligence to send a cut-and-paste e-mail to Susan with my writing contribution for our book.

“There is nothing to it” declared my tech-savvy friends. That should have been my first “can’t do it” clue.  After several attempts to complete my mission and failing, I made a phone call to a sympathetic friend, asking to take me through this, step by step, while I was actually on my computer. This phone call resulted in not one, but two friends (husband and wife), both giving me directions but not agreeing with each other’s method. I listened to a mild but lengthy discussion about which way is better. Finally one helper hung up, and I followed the steps.

I got the cut and paste done, only to find to my dismay I did not seem to have Susan’s e-mail. So a phone call to Shirley, a member of the writing club, who finally answered the insistently ringing phone. Shirley, in a slightly sleepy voice -- I managed to awaken her -- helpfully gave me the address I needed. Onward I went, sending the info to Susan, and feeling somewhat successful. I then proceeded with my normal day, going down to dinner with friends, and playing cards for a few hours after dinner.

This morning I confidently checked my e-mails, only to find the message to Susan had not gone through -- wrong address! Back to my screen I went, checking Susan’s number. To my disgust, I realized I had neglected to put the hyphen in the address, this in spite of Shirley’s warning not to forget that! 

I started again from scratch, calling up the articles I wished to send, cutting and pasting, correcting the address, and clicking “send.” But somehow, somehow, the articles were pasted onto the address spot and therefore no sending is possible. I then exited my computer, started again from the beginning, and once more the paste was put in the wrong place. Now my self-esteem is crashing, at least that which is connected to simple "everyone-can-do-this" tasks on a computer. I am computer depressed. But onward to other things.

Other things is the attempt to connect with Amazon on my new Kindle. This could be a long and rather boring continuation of more of the same, since after several hours, discussion with knowledgeable Kindle owners, phone calls to the “help” numbers given in my how-to directions, and attempts to “type in my problem” on the internet help section, I have made no progress. My solution, I’m afraid, is to go back to Best Buy, dragging my tail, and confess that I can’t do it -- again, another “nothing to it” failure.

Am I ready to give it all up? In spite of my current defeatist attitude, I do realize, in the larger scheme of things, all this is wasted energy. I will prevail, and actually, I am about to yet again attempt to cut and paste this very piece of writing and send it to Susan. Good luck, Nancy!

Varenna View by Elisabeth Levy

Elisabeth Levy's godson in Porlezza, Italy!

One of Elisabeth Levy's photos

"Neither a Borrower Nor a Lender Be" by Joyce Cass

I do both and I like doing it. I borrowed some nail polish remover from my neighbor Shirley. I lent a small vase constructed to hold a single flower to another friend. This was returned to me with a fresh new blossom in it. The whole idea of borrowing and lending for me is a warm act of sharing and gives me pleasure.

Here and Now by Joyce Cass

We wear our robes of conviviality well
We women of a certain age.
Accustomed to years of civility
We have attained our resilient phase.
Conversations demand less than full attention
Our occasional responses too offhand to mention.
A short amiable time talking together
(With much of it spent focused on the weather!)
Our sisterhood, well-trodden beyond the fragile stage
Binds us close, we women of a certain age.