Wonder What They Feel Like The Day After?

 

Caroline Gerardo copyright 2011

I love the gentleman on the right as he views the teenagers on St Patty’s Day. Do New York High Schools give them the day off?

Back to the Routine from New York

Toxic Assets (Bank)


I am back from New York.  Sticking to my military orders, up at five and because of the time difference it is easy to be up with the waning moon.
For a break I'm sharing a couple photographs. I do not have them all organized.
That is a weekend job.
I need to take photos of the sweet peas taking over and spilling into the pool. I have not stopped to garden. I think the flowers do no mind.

"Don't be fooled by the men out front of the Empire State Building- they do not speed up the line and the movie is boring." my children posing for picture number one million and two. See how happy they appear.

This one is better we are up top.

Hand cranked elevator...

The view

Caroline Gerardo copyright 2011

keep writing every day you have 2000 more words to create wonderful sentences today kid. I would love to live in New York. Get back to work.

Queen’s English Verses Mine?

 

I have sent the rough draft to my editor. He is so funny. He has decided to use all British accent edits. The main ones I am familiar with after living there  some many years ago. The ones I don’t care for are how they handle quotation marks. I think it is confusing. My novel has much dialogue, as did the last one. I also have dialogue broken within a sentence.

 

I will post some examples later.

He told me that he also fell in love with my psycho character. Then I tortured my fictional guy until the end. Editor is not half way yet and continues sending me text messages.

Example: “ why is s. baby head near dying?”  “

“Dude there is no baby dead head”

I have reverted to calling my editor, a young and dashing version of s Prince with good teeth, Dude just to push him on.

“Carry on old boy.”

I am a terrible at text messaging. Ask my children how many typos I will make in a sentence. Forgive me, I can’t see the screen – or I was driving.

Saint Patrick’s Cathedral Sending A Message

photograph Copyright Caroline Gerardo March 2011
see the lower left corner candle holder that popped and the fuzzy color image above, I swear it was focused by a leprechaun fixed it.

Saint Patrick’s cathedral on the walk to MOMA. We walked in to say a prayer for his holiday tomorrow. The church looks lovely. Men were buslting about with flower arrangements. Carson and Blair wandered from me and I found myself in front of St. Pat’s painting and a tiny relic of him in a Waterford cross. I am pretty tiny, but a lady half my size and wearing a beret stood close smiling.


“He’s looking wonderful today. I think he’s smiling at you.”

“Oh not at me, I said a prayer for the police officers outside for a peaceful day tomorrow.”

“Our beautiful Patrick.” The woman is clearly a regular parishioner.

At the same second the one of the green glass offering candles pops. Neither of us stood near the rack of candles. Pieces of green fall like music on the marble floor.

“See he sent you a spiritual message.”

“I think he heard me.”

She squeezed my hand and brushed the broken pieces under the rack. Before I could ask her name, she disappeared. I turned around to see both my teenagers holding arm and arm across the pews. The church is quiet, only the bustle of the workers with the flowers, a few viewers and a sprinkling of sleeping homeless are breathing softly protected from the rain.

It was my little miracle today. It is not green beer. I will not be me with glowing green lights on a headdress tomorrow. We may watch a little on 5th Avenue but Saint Patty he gave me a little special treat today. I hope he will bring you some too.

Saint Anthony, Saint Patrick and Alfredo Sauce

http://www.indiebound.org/indie-store-finder?ss=92651&storetype=1&radius=100&storelimit=30#ISFMap

link above to bookstores near my home

"Calming Holy Water"

photgraph copyright caroline gerardo march 2011

We have a man in our home we fondly refer to as Alfredo Sauce. He is the subject of blame and missing things. When my favorite coffee mug (the one I imported some sacred meaning and sign of peace to creativity and Major Dickerson's coffee black) was found without a handle we shamed Alfredo. When the side gate cracked ajar and Honey our Golden Retriever lets everyone out for a romp, I know where to point my finger.
If life was simple, we could pass judgment upon a fictional character among the cracks in the mortar. You would need not jolt to anger. One would never feel frustration. All I need to do is call upon Saint Anthony and he delivers.

“Saint Anthony Saint Anthony please come around. Something is lost and it must be found. If you find it please bring it to me, and oh how happy I shall be. Just keep repeating with me kids, and the car keys will be delivered so we may make it to the airport on time for our flight to JFK.”

Forgot we will be in New York on Saint Patrick’s Day.

“Will need to buy something green for each of us to sport in Greenwich Village.”

Carson pipes in, “Mom I packed my shamrock underwear from last year.”

“Thank Heaven something on you still fits twelve months later.”

Cars has grown six inches taller, a whole shoe size larger in the past three months, but his green drawers will still fit.

“Cannot wait to see the FrickCollection, to walk my legs off. I will be avoiding green beer.”

“Keep praying Mom.”

“I found the keys. Get in the car!”