My Piece of the Sky by Maggie Scratch

1499464_10202313805982579_863405162_nI can see the sky from my roof.

Another year of seeing the sky.

Another year to look at beautiful things.

Another year to think.

Another year to laugh.

Another year to love.

To be loved.

To be amazed.

To be crazed.

And dazed.

It’s all so precious.

So delicate.

Such a fight!

To get to the good stuff.

To…see the light!

Happy New Year to You!

Happy New Year to me!

Another year of reprieve!

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I Stand Up For Everything Standing Rock Stands For by Maggie Scratch

I’m so low tec, it’s very inconvenient, but I couldn’t help myself, I started a “Community” page in Facebook called Global Support For Standing Rock. Right this minute, I’m sure the fate of Standing Rock, North Dakota is connected to the fate of my granddaughter in Norway where drinking water is still good. I’m digging up all the information I can from my apartment in Barcelona. I’m updating daily, sometimes on a totally OCD track. I need to keep track of water. I love water. I have lived without water. I know what it means to save every drop of water. If I could, I would buy a thousand bottles of Figi. Hey, there’s a good deal on at Amazon! Don’t miss it! Twenty-four 16.9 ounce bottles of Figi for only $34.50!

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Is Caspar Still the Star-Crossed Mystery Man? by Maggie Scratch

It’s not every day I’m in the presence of Caspar. When I am, I don’t skip a beat. I can’t!

His wit! His information!  His jokes! Our ping-pong-cinema-trivia game!

It’s all too fast for me. I don’t even try to write it down. What? Take notes during a conversation with Caspar? Impossible! I don’t want to miss a word! I’m all ears and eyes, what will he say next? What will he write? Horror, comedy, religion, death? Will it be scary  and bloody too?

Caspar The Aristocrat!

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The Butler!

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The Minister of Defence!

 

 

 

 

On the Road in Oslo by Maggie Scratch

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It was after showing dozens and dozens of baby pictures to Gabriela as we ooooed and ahhhhhed our way through my new granddaughter’s amazing features, that she spotted this pic and insisted I post it. So, okay. I love good graffiti, I love Bansky, I’m obsessed with documenting the moment. Sadie and I were walking to Wayne’s Coffee and when I saw that wall I asked her to stop a minute under the hot sunny Norwegian sky. Capture the moment, I thought. I really am here! I’m in Oslo! I’m walking down the road with my daughter and my granddaughter as if it were the most natural thing to do. Everything comes back to me! The heat, my daughter’s shining face, beautiful little Milla tucked into the Angel Pack, the warm love, the motherhood, the daughterhood, grandmotherhood, babyhood, childhood, writerhood, backpackinghood…it’s all there, in this picture. Oslo. I flew there, I lived there, I loved there, I worked there, I slept there, I ate there, I walked there,  I walked in the Norwegian woods with my family, there I was, I was there!

Back in Barcelona Unwinding With The Screamin Demon by Maggie Scratch

 

 

steven-tyler-says-aerosmith-will-go-on-a-farewell-tour-next-year-09.JPGI don’t usually listen to rock. In fact, I love silence, but you never know when lightning will strike. It struck me last night lying on my couch. So I put the headphones in, far in, and went down a hard rocker’s road. It wasn’t hard at all. It was like I always knew this voice, this guy from Boston, my alma mater, my alma, this unbedded fellow beast, this soul mate of words, this Joe Cocker creature, his gray streaks and chiseled face, this reinvented rebel with cause for fame, this father, this son, this singer, this man, this twin at heart. I guess you could sum it all up and say I love  his voice. But it’s more than that. Steven Tyler is my coach. My mentor. My guide. He’s a total inspiration for an old fart grandmother. Here I am, about to look at 32 years of my life, starting with my daughter’s bedroom. I will start with her closet. She is never coming back to use this closet. She has her own closet in Oslo but she still has all these clothes on hangers, shoes stuffed into bags, bags of stuff on the closet floor, all kinds of gauzy skirts that she made or collected,  stuff hanging out of duffle bags, paper bags, bags and bags and bags of her life. I really don’t want to go in there, so I don’t. I look out at the plum tree. Look! The blackbird is back! Can that bird hear the water I splashed into the dish this morning? Can the bird smell that I’ve returned from the north? Something is up! What’s up is that I am now living in the pre-new-now. The new now is what I’m trying to get my mind around. That’s why I’m fascinated by Steven Tyler. That’s why I’m starting with my daughter’s bedroom. The combination of Steven Tyler’s voice screaming at me to get my mind around the fact that something is up  and the act of cleaning out my daughter’s closet is no coincidence.It’s lightning striking twice. It’s reality. I was lying on my couch trying to unwind and Steven Tyler  wound me up.He’s still winding me up. I need this guy to scream at me louder and louder and louder, dream on, dream on, dream on… and finally, as if he were an axe — he makes a dent. Right, I don’t want to miss a thing either.  Two outstanding tee-shirts have walked by me recently. First, Now Or Never. Then,  Get Over It. How does anyone  know what will happen? Freud says: “You know everything.” But, I, for one, need a dent to realize what I already know. I’m about to stare 32 years of my life in the face. At least today I get it. The past is done. Get over it. The new-now is promising. It’s true what Freud said. I know everything. Deep deep down, if I really think about it, I always knew this would happen.  I always dreamed it. It’s all good. I’ll start with the closet.

Going to Norway by Maggie Scratch

Thanks to the acupuncture expertise of Dr. Guix

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I have a good, strong ankle, ready to trod upon Norwegian soil.

Ready to occupy Mormor detail and help my daughter at beck and call.

To hold the precious bundle of joy that is Milla, my granddaughter!

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Third generation, full of mother’s milk, a mix of many miracles

and Stardust genes.

We are Stardust daughters!

Borrowed cells of Time and Space —

beginnings!

Here’s my prayer to the Vueling Gods:

Let me fly!

Let me land!

Let me greet my family!

Free At Last by Maggie Scratch

The New Healing List

or

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Goal: To Walk Without Pain

List

Eat Blue Fish

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Clean Plate Clean Slate

Eat Fresh Green Coriander, Turmeric, Carrots, Red Fruit, Papaya

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No Stress

No Streets

Enjoy The Day At Home

Write The Sequel to Maggie Scratch

Smell the Flowers

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Go Slow

Unplug

Take the Pressure Off

Take the Pressure off Your Foot

Enjoy the Simple Things

Cook a Rice Pulaou

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Take Meds

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Do Rehab Exercises

Talk To Your Foot

Be Wise

Take It Easy

Have Fun

Eat Ice-Cream

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Have Faith

Never Take Walking or Talking or Hearing or Seeing or Smelling or Tasting or Feeling

for granted

again.

A Dying Computer by Maggie Scratch

The plug for today! Thanks to Gabriela Nadal and Goodreads.

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 Not sure how long my computer’s going to last so I want to make this fast. It fades in and out and I’m told it’s the Motherboard and the Graphic Card, but whatever it is, it gives me indigestion. It fades out slowly just when I’m about to pay for a new computer online. It goes whiter and whiter and I talk to it, I pray to it,  it’s God. I ask the Computer-God to let me just fill in all the information and pay, then I promise, I swear, I’ll walk away from it and let it die. I tell the Computer-God that I understand, it can only take so much, it’s been 6 years of downloading and uploading and Motherloading and overloading and I’m grateful, I really am,  but none of this praying works. When my wallet got ripped off I realized my driver’s license was in it. So more prayers to the Computer-God. I’m in the online process of filling out forms, I’ve got to print the form now and my screen is going whiter and whiter. Just as I’m about to get a date for an online appointment, it dies again. The Jefatura de Trafico! I’m almost there! No page! Nothing! Blank! This almost gives me a stroke. I flip the lid up and down a few times and it revives, but for how long? I need to be fast, always. There’s my ankle’s online MRI. Now, this is very important to print.  I do a pretty neat prayer to the Computer-God, I’m almost on my knees begging it to just hang in there ONE MORE TIME, because this medical report is no joke. And I do finally get it printed. I think about what it would be like to be old and alone and not have any access to all this one-way-to-do-it-now- online -bureaucracy. I swear I’m going to help all those old people one day. After living with a dying computer, not only do I learn how to unplug, I start sympathizing with those who have no plug at all.

My Barcelona Day With Eva the Osteopath by Maggie Scratch

20160621_114947When I arrive, Eva’s street smells like caldo de cubito. Someone’s going to throw a handful of skinny little yummy noodles and make a plate of soup. Upstairs with her adorable Afro pony tail, Eva gets right to the point: my left foot. She works me over gently, firmly, and I put myself in her hands. I trust Eva, I can walk again, and she has great taste in music. Jazz. Diana Krall, Madeleine Peyroux, Cecile McLorin. Eva is my healer. If it weren’t for her, my OCD, OTT, ridiculous personality might have taken my foot to the cleaner’s! I’m hyper and driven to finish whatever I start, the schlepping took its toll.

Ignore a problem and you pay!

Habits can turn chronic!

On the way home from Eva’s, because of the subway strike, there’s a crowd at the bus stop and NO BUS! I take out my cherished old red leather purse that was my mother’s, and I count out some change for the beautiful proud woman beggar, but just then the bus comes and I hobble on it fast. I arrive home and stop off to buy cookies for Gloria, my cookie-monster student. It’s a good thing, Montse, the pastry shop owner, is my friend. I’m digging and scraping but I can’t find that purse! I empty my bags, all my stuff— on her counter.  I rush home to think. But who can think? I try. I see it all as clear as day. There I am, guard down, stoned on acupuncture and trying not to look off-balance at the bus stop. Whoever it was on the Bus 54 that nabbed me, nailed me in the street. The perfect words shoot out of my mouth at home. I speak to the cabron in English and I feel lucky!

“You didn’t get my foot!”