i’ve been stuck on the news cycle.
to take that breath, i am sitting and starting with something i hadn’t done in a while -
i go back to my memory glossary to remind me. i forgot what it’s supposed to be reminding me of, but that’s ok. it’ll come to me eventually.

19. – Memory – A learner’s ability to save something (mentally) that he or she has previously learned, or the mental “location” where such information is saved.
My memory allows me to access all sorts of stuff from my sputtering hard drive, whether it be good or bad, love or hate or anything in between and offers me the opportunity to edit, alter, acknowledge or deny the contents thereof.
there, i used it in a sentence and i’m pretty sure i’ll have to alter or add to it for the rest of my life.
i’m a learner, or at least i’ve become one.

an aside;
my french saturday –
i awoke and walked maxx this rainy saturday. as we walked on lawton street, maxx’s principal toileting area, a man and woman were discussing something in a foreign language. i would have bet a dollar to a donut it was the french language. they crossed my path and headed into the new building my neighbor, george, had been building this past year or so.
it’s got 41 apartments in it. just a point of information
i heading back after doing maxx’s business, we crossed broadway to say hello to jerome, owner of the athom french bakery, where we get our carrot cake, pastries and pretty soon, our poundcakes. i ordered my breakfast, then ran back to my house. we – maxx and myself – were plenty rained on, but that was ok.
i checked my myspace inbox and got a request from a band known as DaD to play here on september 15th. they, too, are from france. i booked them for ten o’clock.
i ran downstairs to collect my french breakfast, ran into my store to get my french-roast coffee (it’s what we use) and went upstairs for my bacon and brie omelette.
i read a wonderful “comment” about “the tragedy of the american white guy,” something i went on about here a few days back.
the author of the comment was french and a very dear friend of mine.
“lucky me!” i noted to myself.
i wrote a long reply to her.
we write these types of thing to each other because we are writers. i hear her voice, clear as a bell, and she says that she hears mine and i think that’s just great.
i went to my g-mail account, where there was a note from a musical couple who was our first act from europe in GBM’s first year of existence. they are known as the winter family and i hadn’t heard from them in about two years.
they played here twice and were brilliant.
in this note, they told me that they just had a child (their second) and were asking me about moving to brooklyn and prospects for work in the city and in the area in the coming year.
they will be coming here next spring from france.
hours went by.
the evening, along with some fresh rain descended and reginald appeared. he sat next to me and unwrapped a brown bag, the trademark of our french baker from across the street.
“whatcha having?” i asked.
“salmon and…ohhh, there’s cheese in this. i asked for no cheese..” he said, and he began to explain how he stopped eating cheese…causing me to seize my second brie opportunity, this time on a baguette with avocado and smoked salmon.
oy oui!

i’ve had to break the cycle of the news; the cruel, hopeful, horrible news coming out of iran and my relentless attention to it. i got away from it since last night but was reminded of the world we live in when alana came to visit today.
more about that…….