After I got back, I started feeling pretty rank. I over-did and overheated too. It took me the rest of the day to get back to normal. I always "hammer" myself out in the sun or when I do something. It makes me mad because it's an inconvenience. I guess I'm always testing myself or trying to prove I can still do some things.
May 31, 1984… I struggled with a poem about memories and how they fade (but that's not all bad)!… photographed a yellow iris, spiderwort, a daisey-like weed, and some chickadees. . . I again grappled with the main elements of the poem, finally setting the whole package aside to retain my sanity. (It wasn't really that bad!)
Faded Memories
The mind records pictures
And fleeting sensations
Of life's precious moments
And futile concerns;
Images as random
As pieces of film,
Developed with care,
Preserved with love.
Yet, in time
One's pungent impressions
Of years gone by
Are obscured
By a fathomless haze;
The imprint
Of a radiant smile
And laughter,
Tender as the dew…
The image from a mountain top
And autumn's coral moon…
But also dark imaginings
And mornings
Bleak and gray
Are strewn among
The misty hoard
Which time
Has struggled to displace
And bury
'Neath a tranquil sea.
The unhealed wound
Evokes more pain
Than does the faded scar…
So should it be
With memories…
Fragments scattered
On life's path
To mingle with nostalgic dust
Should not besiege
The growing mind
With sorrow or despair…
For once dismissed,
The inner self
Can, with the whole,
Be joined as One.
Lauren Isaacson
May 31/June 1, 1984
First Impressions
There is a friendly countenance
That still my mind holds dear…
A face of striking character,
An aura sure and strong…
He seemed to own that innate spice
Which tender few possess…
Without trite conversation
I knew him as a friend.
Perhaps the passage of an hour
Would prove my image wrong…
Yet could it be that feelings
Speak more truthfully than words?