The Year of the Snake

 Beginning of Spring

Key reasons for different interpretations despite the same facts:

 Even when presented with the same facts, two interpretations can arise due to differences in individual perspectives, biases, prior knowledge, cultural backgrounds, and how people choose to weigh and prioritize certain aspects of the information, essentially leading to different conclusions drawn from the same data set. 

From Sugars Blog

 "Winter hung in there, like an invalid refusing to die. Day after grey day the ice stayed hard; the world remained unfriendly and cold.” ― Neil Gaiman

Sub Zero Day

 EXTREME COLD WARNING

Extreme Cold Alert

Today L is 3 degrees, the H is 10 degrees

The Six Triple Eight

 

I watched the Movie "The Six Triple Eight" last night about the U.S. Army's 6888th Central Postal Directory Battalion. An all-Black, all-female Women's Army Corps (WAC) unit that served overseas in World War II. Despite discrimination and war-torn conditions, they were able to sort and deliver over seventeen million pieces of mail ahead of schedule.  

This piece of mail that my Grandparents received when my father was injured in battle reminded me of the importance of mail at that time. 

Yesterday was also the anniversary of my father Keith Porter Dove passing away. The thing that always stands out in my mind is the sound of the sirens racing pass our house heading toward Koko Head on Kalanianaole highway on January 11, 1972.

HAPPY NEW YEAR

 Finding myself feeling lonely and isolated. Family is a strange thing. My blood family no longer exists for me. I belong to a large family on the other side that a embraced me for the most part, yet it makes me even more lonely. They talk to each other, go out do things and it just makes me more isolated than ever. 

I find this time of year Depressing. COLD DARK AND LONELY.

My Innie needs to be an Outie. 

I.

Stoplights edged the licorice street with ribbon,

neon embroidering wet sidewalks. She turned

into the driveway and leaped in the dark. A blackbird

perched on the bouncing twig of a maple, heard

her whisper, “Stranger, lover, the lost days are over.

While I walk from car to door, something inward opens

like four o’clocks in rain. Earth, cold from autumn,

pulls me. I can’t breathe the same

with dirt for marrow and mist for skin,

blurring my vision, my vision’s separate self.

I stand drunk in this glitter, under the sky’s grey shelter.

The city maple, not half so bitter, hurls itself

in two directions, until both tips darken and disappear,

as I darken my reflection in the smoking mirror

of my home. How faint the sound of dry leaves,

like the clattering keys of another morning, another world.”

Leap In The Dark

BY ROBERTA HILL WHITEMAN