anxiety

Artwork by Bruce Zboray www.bruce-zboray.artistwebsites.com


I love stone walls.

I live in New England and pass many stone walls on my daily walk.

Some are very neat, crafted with an artistic eye and fitted very precisely in beautiful patterns, like big rock, little rock, little rock, big rock. They’re cemented together.

I sincerely thank whoever discovered the muffin.

There is something really irresistible about a muffin – all kinds of muffins.

Others may love their croissant, but I love my muffin.

Right away, I think of muffins wrapped in red and white checked gingham in a honey-colored wicker basket. I think of New England or charming European villages with fresh baked breads. I think of the open hearth, with a log fire, at the center of a home.

It’s so primal – food – eating – our daily bread.

We had been saving for a sunporch for a long time. Finally, we came up with enough for two fellows who could just work on the project after their actual jobs. We grabbed this golden opportunity.

When the project began, we were excited, taking pictures step by step. It was predicted to be completed in six months.

However, something happened that no one had predicted or expected: the COVID-19 Virus came to Connecticut. It seemed the world changed, overnight. Our windows and other materials that were to be delivered were not arriving. It was a difficult time for all.

In summers, during most of high school and college, I worked in a summer camp. My assignment was, pretty much, to protect and entertain a cottage full of three-to-five-year-olds. It was such fun that I decided I’d like to teach children as a career.

After graduating from the university, our certificates covered: nursery, kindergarten, and grades 1-8.

As luck would have it, before graduation I was hired to teach in my hometown. The year was 1969, a year of many problems and few jobs. So this was a blessing.

I saw an angel. Actually, I saw one, then a second, and then a third. The first was a young adult about 14 years old. The angel wore a white gown or robe. It looked like linen.

Upon the robe was exquisite and unusual golden trim and gold embroidery. It seemed as though the gold was alive, as if it were the energy identity and the “life” of the angel – its core essence.

The gold “writing” sparkled, too. The angel moved but was completely silent. It had no wings.

Did you ever walk through a place and feel that it was watching you?

Like in the woods where you walk at the foot of tall trees, far out of reach above. And if you are really lucky, you come upon a sea of green moss, furry and emerald green, tinting everything it lays upon. Or you come upon a patch of bluebells covering the forest floor – just happening to be there.

One of our favorite summer days was blueberry day.

We’d put on old clothes, our straw hats, then gather our baskets and make our way to the Jones’ Family Farm in Shelton. We’d hitch a ride on the “berry ferry”, and be driven out to the blueberry bushes.

Blueberries are easy to pick and practically popped into our small baskets. When our small baskets were filled, we’d dump them all into the big basket and fill that up. The camera was always on hand.

After the picking, we’d drive to Huntington Center and have lunch and dessert at Sassafras Restaurant.

Several years ago, I worked in a computer lab at the university I attended as a graduate student. Since I was the one who usually had to open the lab, I often got to campus very early, and was one of the first people in the parking lot.

Getting up early and commuting on the Merit Parkway was not fun. Sometimes there would be traffic jams. Other times, there was so much ice, I could barely get to work safely.

As much as I hated the commute, sometimes there were nice parts about arriving early.

There’s something about a very old photograph that really draws me in. Perhaps it’s the black and white monochrome world that looks oddly “at a distance” – as if that’s the best that could be done at that time – almost like a dream.

I like to see how people are dressed and I try to sense how it felt to be in that place at that time. Did the air feel different?

Musical beginning of Claire de Lune performed by and courtesy of Amber Short - https://www.ambershort.us/media/music/piano/Claire_de_Lune.wav


I’ve found that “Claire de Lune” has a very healing sound. I use muscle testing, also known as kinesiology, to test on a scale of 1 to 10 the power of healing for a particular piece of music.

The instrument doesn’t matter. It is the underlying music that presents this healing quality.