I have to call today a rainbow day. You can be driving along, thinking about all the things you haven't done, have to do, or wish you done and then you see a rainbow and all that "stuff" is forgotten in the sheer wonder and beauty of God's prism strewn across the sky like a bouquet of flowers.

I haven't had an easy time lately with my emotions. My expectations of what life should be like at 54 in my imagination are far from my daily reality.

Lets just say I read too many Jane Eyre novels interspersed with spicy romance novels to even have a clue about how real relationships and life works.

But back to the rainbow... I bitched and moaned to my best friend about EVERYTHING he did wrong, and forgot to take each day I COULD enjoy with him just like the word says phonetically "IN JOY".

We took a vagabond trip to artist Andrew Wyeth's showcase museum..

Oh! To stand and be close enough to touch art such as his! Each beam of wood so detailed I could taste the splinter on my tongue!

His nude of Simi as a young girl and her emergence as a woman puddled in the water of virginity..OH!

His Helene (might be wrong on the name but the painting was ecstatic) with the sunlight glinting off her yellow braid of hair and her feminine brush like a golden spindle of desire...

His white wagon delineated in the moonlight and reflected on patches of snow with the darkness stabbed by layer and layer of black and blacker and ebony...

How did he do it? What was inside him, what vacillating vision of darkness and light forced his brush?

Kittycat just walked across the keyboard...

Sign to stop this post of a cherished rainbow day I will wear as a necklace of life.

Is it really one a.m.? I just walked through the door from work. Kitchen madness with morning prep work interrupted by early customers picking up salads, followed by the lunch dine in crowd, merging into late afternoon getting ready for dinner, flying back and forth like a dervish with a spoon in my hand.

Time to go to bed...missed breakfast, lunch and dinner. Hope my mind follows my body and sleep comes easy, because tomorrow is another long, long day, same scenario, with a small catered party thrown in for a grand cosmic chuckle.

That's okay, I can do it, and do it well.

It's 5am and all is still save the humming of the refigerator. I woke up an hour ago, knowing I had a 13 hour workday ahead, but unable to go back to sleep.

I forgot to call in the produce order for work. Lots of valid excuses for the slip, but the bottom line is I didn't get it done and we need that order TODAY.

I guess I'll make a trip to BJ's before work and try to salvage the situation.

What I'd really like to do is calmly buy a oneway train ticket to ANYWHERE and leave my life for awhile.

All because of a forgotten produce order? No, it runs deeper than that. I'm tired of the daily routine. I'm tired of being responsible. I'm tired of feeling like a bird with her wings taped to her sides.

Oh well..it will get better. At least I'm writing again, even if it is about a forgotten produce order at 5am.

Ok, at this point I question whether or not I am a writer. I haven't written in so long, I feel like a born-again virgin on her wedding night...awkward, but still knows how to do it.

I like graveyards. I have loved them all my life...the weathered stones with the half seen numbers delineating life and death, the lasting sentiments written by loved ones still alive.

I like to walk them, imagining the moments of each person, once laughing and crying and birthing and cooking and holding hands.

Did they hold hands? Were they generous with their material goods? Did they work hard, scraping and saving and then leave it to the next generation? Were they mean spirited and nasty?

Did the ones that left their stones love them? That is the burning question for me.

The only question...

I like to touch the stones and try to fathom their lives, and hence better my own.