spanish girls

thekellygeorge:

Beautifully written-

Originally posted on silent spells:

in midwestern diners, they order horchata, frijoles, y arroz
and squeeze their watermelon hips on red, plastic stools
while waiters savor their flavorful accents
dripping of rumored mojitos, tequila, y piña colada.

onlookers whisper, they’re spanish girls
and listen to the humming of tenochtitlan in their voices.
where are you ladies from? waiters ask, and
they don’t say spain.

old palm tree leaves, tangy cocktails, juanas y marias
la rojigualda

brand their faces, despite the taste of
other earths on their tongues, spurting with everything
but the lives of spanish girls.

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700 Bloggers on WordPress

thekellygeorge:

Bloggers welcome!

Originally posted on HarsH ReaLiTy:

Don’t ask me how to grow your audience if you won’t do some “looking” yourself. Here, I’ll help you all out…

http://aopinionatedman.com/2014/08/18/wordpress-meet-and-greet-3-all-bloggers-welcome/

There are at least 700 bloggers waiting to connect in that post. Active, real, and responsive bloggers willing to network back with you. If you are serious about gaining readers and an audience try engaging the bloggers in that thread. Or don’t. You could also “just” post your link, but that won’t do much good. Sometimes it is as easy as meeting people halfway.

All about what you want I guess.

-OM

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Productivity Tools for Writers

thekellygeorge:

Writer friends – some useful productivity tools you will find to help you stay focused, productive and make your life easier!

Originally posted on Live to Write - Write to Live:

Screen captures of GQueues (desktop and mobile), Harvest and BoomerangTechnology plays an important role in all of our lives. I’m always interested in what’s new and trying to implement the latest advancements so I can do more in less time. I’ve recently started using a few new services and I wanted to share my experiences with you.

GQueues

https://www.gqueues.com/

I am always looking to improve my time management skills especially capturing new tasks and prioritizing them. I’ve tried all manor of software and even as recently as 2 months ago, I was using a hybrid online-paper solution. Then a client turned me on to GQueues. Although not a Google product, you must have a Gmail account to make use of GQueues.  It is billed as “A full-featured online task manager for your Google Account and Google Apps account”. GQueues is fine as a stand alone task manager. It’s Getting Things Done friendly http://gettingthingsdone.com/ and similar to other online task…

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The Best Meal Reload

December in New York City and our annual date for the Radio City Christmas Spectacular brought my daughter and I into Penn Station early on a cold, gray morning. We preferred an early matinee as it left our afternoon free to walk around or head over to her favorite restaurant, Jekyll and Hyde’s.
This holiday tradition is something we look forward to every year. We love having time to ourselves and time away from the “boys” at home who don’t share our appreciation for Big Apple culture: shopping, Broadway and fine dining. Well, as fine as dining can get in Jekyll and Hyde’s. There is something about New York City food that sets my skinny little 11 year old daughter’s appetite into a frenzy. At a tender age she is already an NYC foodie at heart: she loves the hotdog truck; dirty water dogs as my husband calls them, must be in her blood. The Halal cart doesn’t stand a chance when she’s around, even at ten o’clock in the morning. Food is an essential part of our day.
The commute from Long Island is where we make our game plan (we’re not fooling anyone, we do the same thing every year but, I like to watch her face light up when we talk about all the fun things to do). We decide how we’d like the day to go, where to have breakfast, should we stop for hot chocolate now or get one at Radio City? How we’ll get up to Radio City: walk, cab or take the 2/3 line? What should we shop for after the show? Bryant Park is loaded with vendors for the holiday and we stop to visit each little boutique. One year it was so cold we had to buy a hat for me and earmuffs for Riley. The year she was nine she begged me to buy her a t-shirt at the Irish Boutique that said, Feck. I refused, though briefly considered it for myself. Walking is one of the best parts of the trip. Time to talk. Time to look around, time to stop and smell the chestnuts roasting on 6th Avenue. It’s all part of our day.
This particular year Riley’s appetite had kicked into high gear the moment we stepped off the train. I asked my traditional question right on schedule as we headed up the escalator, “are you hungry?” “Starving” was her traditional response. “I think its too early for the hotdog truck,” I mused looking at my watch which read 9:00am. “Is there something else you want? Maybe Cinnabon or a bagel?”  I knew she would want nothing of the sort, being her mother’s daughter and waited smugly for her reply. “Can we go to Subway?”  She asked on cue.  I smiled and said, “Sure.” I really love my daughter.
Going to Subway meant a Veggie Delight sandwich: lettuce, onion, sweet pepper, cucumbers, black olives and lots of yellow mustard on Italian-styled hero bread. It could also be known as “smells on bread” because of the extra yellow mustard she orders. Since we eat frequently on these date days, I insist that she get a six inch sandwich otherwise she could easily put away a foot long. The mustard pong is a bit much this close up but it’s what she likes. I also let her order her own sandwich. It’s good for her to learn to ask for what she wants and to interact with people. I chose a table for us in the crowded room and watch her place her order at the counter.
Riley returns with her tray and as she settles down, I look outside the restaurant: train announcements made over the loud speak as people rush out to meet the day in work clothes, some return slowly from the night before and others with faces aglow in anticipation of holiday celebrations. A cacophony of human traffic swirls around us.
But it was in little corner of the store that I would bear witness to the most beautiful sight of all.
I could have easily missed it. Motionless I watched; a proverbial deer in headlights. A man and a woman sat at a dirty, round table not far from ours with a tray containing a wrapped sandwich, bag of chips and a drink. Like us they kept on their coats and scarves as they prepared to take their meal. As if on cue, each reached out a hand until it met the other over their food. With bowed heads and the only the slightest movement of lips, the prayer was quietly said.
I suppose it is only in the middle of New York that such a moment could go unnoticed by seven million people. Yet it was this one small moment that punctuated a season intended for love and appreciation.
The man looked up as he let go of the woman’s hand. Our eyes met and I looked down at my food. Suddenly I was not hungry. I became an intruder in their little world. I wanted to preserve this moment. I wanted to keep it for my own but this one small moment had passed.
The world returned to normal speed. The place reeled from the foot traffic and I glanced at my watch. “Time to go Sweetheart,” I said to my daughter. “Are you ready?”
“Yep. Let’s go Mom,” she said happily and I looked at her smiling, mustard covered face.
I can still smell it even now.

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The Best Meal

A man and a woman sat at a dirty, round table not far from ours with a tray containing a wrapped sandwich, bag of chips and a drink. Like us they kept on their coats and scarves as they prepared to take their meal. As if on cue, each reached out a hand until it met the other over their food. With bowed heads and the only the slightest movement of lips, the prayer was quietly said.
I suppose it is only in the middle of New York that such a moment could go unnoticed by seven million people. Yet it was this one small moment that punctuated a season intended for love and appreciation.
The man looked up as he let go of the woman’s hand. Our eyes met and I looked down at my food. Suddenly I was not hungry. I became an intruder in their little world. I wanted to preserve this moment. I wanted to keep it for my own but this one small moment had passed.

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The Jesus Pilot Tour

“Today is the day my mother is going to die.”

The keys of Harper’s Macbook clicked softly under long, tanned fingers. She looked at her journal entry but finding no other words, closed the laptop silently. She drained the last sip of coffee, slipped into her black leather jacket and grabbed the keys to her Mercedes from the glass table next to the door.

Jackie Becker hated growing old. Her resistance didn’t help; the heart attack she survived ten years earlier hadn’t been a victory but a precursor of battles yet to come. Jackie followed doctor’s orders to the letter taking medications by the truckload and refilling them relentlessly. It became a cycle of doctor visits, prescriptions and more tests. She would half heartedly joke, “I studied for weeks. I just don’t know how I failed a bone density test.”

She never got better. She only had days of not-so-much-pain.

“I don’t know why I’m sleeping so much” she gasped into the phone.

“Mom you’re not well. You need to sleep. It helps.” Harper said.

By the time she was admitted to the hospital, pneumonia was added to the long list of ills: congestive heart failure, three aneurisms, rheumatoid arthritis, osteoporosis, emphysema and a mass on her lung which could not be properly diagnosed because she was too sick to undergo a lung biopsy. Even on a 5’2” frame 99 pounds was skeletal.

Harper found it ironic, that while her mother’s health diminished, her vanity remained intact.
“I have the same size hips as I did in high school” she told Harper from her hospital bed.
“Yes Mom,” said Harper. “but you’re wearing a diaper in a hospital bed. Not the same somehow is it?”

Jackie gave her what her family called “the hairy eye” but said nothing.