somepinkflowers

tourist tuesday, a rainy day in sitges and dear, wise bill bryson

"To see the world!" my mom would answer when asked why she joined the Navy.

It was after the beginning of World War II and my grandfather had no sons to send off to war. My mom as eldest daughter jumped on the war as a way to make her father proud. Deep in her heart she knew the military was a ticket out of her small, southern hometown. At least for a hiatus.

I do not blame her one little bit. Not one iota.

{{ My mother did not pose for that first sculpture. At least, I do not think so. }}

At first my mom was sent to a basic training camp about one hour from her home. I can only imagine her heavy disappointment mixed lightly with relief.

Finally she was sent to New York City for advanced training and that was all it took. She enjoyed so many new sights and adventures. She missed her home and family but loved the adventure.

This love of looking at new places must have gotten into her bones and settled in.

A  few years later she passed that love for travel on to me and my bones.

I have it in my bones to go see new places.

In the spring of 2008 I plopped down with my bones in Barcelona for two weeks.  I did not know one single soul there but I had the best time!

I saw old things and new things. I saw tall things and wide things. Barcelona is one of my most favorite cities in the whole wide world.

After Venice. After Paris.

If you should ever find yourself in Barcelona with an extra day and you have already been here, you might enjoy Sitges.

I understand Sitges supports a film festival and TONS of other special events but when I took the slow bus to this Mediterranean town the weather was drizzly and the streets were rather quiet.

This suited me greatly.

I was able to slip into nearly empty museums and surreptitiously knock off a few forbidden photos before getting caught.

Eventually I will go down this way--->shaking my head in amazing disbelief, saying, "What? What? No cameras? Really? Are you serious?"

Click, click, click.

If I ever go missing, look for me behind bars, camera-less, pouting.

In every language I learn:  "...But I am using no flash!"

Every docent dressed head-to-toe in black and every guard uniformed in blue I have ever met is wise to my sneaky camera ways. Clearly I am fooling no one with my wide-eyed  disbelief.

And, yet, still I try.

Click, click, click.

I cannot help myself.

My bones are filled with travel genes and in my blood swims the juice required to go look at One More New Thing.

Are you this way, too? Filled with longing to see a different landscape, a different way of eating and shopping and looking at everyday things.

One time I was hooked on the adrenaline produced by running. No longer the case over here in my neck of the woods.

These days all I need to do is visit over here. My heart beats faster. My imagination races. The world is mine.

If I hold my passport to my ear I hear her gently whisper, "Please, fill up my empty pages with entry stamps."

"OK," I answer helplessly holding my breath. I count my vacation days.

"OK, I will."

Do you know of the author Bill Bryson? He writes of travel far and wide.

If I die and come back as something other than a caterpillar or owl or something like that then I am planning on being a travel writer.

We will see.

I was rereading this the other night, for if I am not traveling, I am reading about travel or I am planning a travel adventure or reading about the travel adventure of someone else and so on.

Travel is in my bones, thanks to my mother.

I want to see different things.

The following is what Bill wrote about arriving in a new place.

{{ I can call him Bill for even thought we have never met, through his works he has taken me to Copenhagen and Stockholm and so forth. Well, you get the picture. }}

Here is one paragraph from age 106. Three sentence, if you have the time.

"Is there anything, apart from a really good chocolate cream pie
and receiving a large unexpected check in the mail,

to beat finding yourself at large in a foreign city on a fair spring evening,
pausing to gaze in shop windows or at some church..

or lovely square or tranquil stretch of quayside, 

hesitating at street corners to decide
whether that cheerful and homey restaurant
you will remember fondly for years
is likely to lie down this street or that one? 

I just love it.
I could spend my life arriving each evening in a new city." 

This is how I feel in my heart, too, Bill. To look down a corner in a foreign place and wonder about it.

And then to tromp off with wild abandon and secure faith in knowing something grand may be discovered and remembered fondly for years.

I thank Bill for writing this long sentence and for putting his feelings down on paper.

Mostly I thank Bill for letting me know that I am not the only one that feels this way about discovering a new place.

I just love it, too.

The world is dripping with awe and inspiration. I do not want to miss a thing.

You have heard me say that 1000 times by now but what you may not know is that I do not want YOU to miss a thing either.

When I visit your blog and you are in Paris or Rome or some such place, I am beside myself with pleasure!

Even if it is some place in Washington state or Colorado or Texas, I am thrilled.

 

"To see the world!" I answer when asked where I want to go next.

Thanks, Bill! You and this one are standing behind me, encouraging me up and on.

Thank goodness I don't need to join the Navy. I am not certain they would take me in at this late date. 

{{ I did not pose for that last sculpture. At least, I do not think so. }}

they are coming at me left and right

I am surrounded by miracles. They are every where I look and when I stop to think about them it just about knocks me over.

"How can one person be so lucky?" I sometimes wonder.

I am talking about Miracles here. Not just the kind that involves modern day appliances. I am talking about Truly Amazing Things.

For the longest time I simple did not think about my good fortune. I had a different point of view about things. Sometimes I thought, "Why me?"

One day I got it into my head that I should run. You know, be a jogger. This was about 100 years ago and not many people were running outside of PE class. Not unless they were trying to get away with something or away from somebody. That kind of running.

Anyway, I was out walking one day here in Florida, which I have loved to do since Day 1, and it came into my head to run to the next tree.

And so I did. And then I ran to the next one. And so on.

I ran and ran and ran and ran. At first I wore sneakers because Back in the Day that was all there was for girls to wear. {{ See, I TOLD you it was about 100 years ago...}}

Then I switched to men's running shoes which never fit properly and only came in ugly colors but what was a girl to do?

When I wanted to run I just high-tailed it right out the front door. Zoom. I was gone down the street without a thought of anything else. I would run for hours. Zoom. Zoom. Zoom.

While running around town I bumped into other people who felt like running, too. We were all wearing the same ugly running shoes no matter what our gender happened to be. The same t-shirts and shorts, too, practically.

Even though we were all different ages we started running together. We ran in the mornings and after work and on the week-ends. We ran here and there and we thought we were so cool in our ugly shoes. We KNEW we were cool but mostly we just wanted to run.

Then things slowly started changing in the world as it is apt to do. Everyone started running, it seemed. {{ I like to think I helped start it all--the running craze--and who is to say I did not? }}

Finally women's running shoes were born and I really took off running. It made all the difference in the world. Zoom. Zoom. Zoom.

I quickly entered running races. 5K, 10K, 15K. Well, you get the picture. If three people wanted to get together and race anywhere on the east coast, I would be one of them.

And sometimes I won or came in 2nd or 3rd...in my age group...for women. I got little trophies and ribbons and life was sweet. I met TONS of other runners and we ran and ate doughnuts and TONS carbs and weighed next to nothing. We were thin, lean running machines. We ran all over this state.

Then a terrible bad thing happened. I hurt my knee running a long race. A little bit hurt. Then I hurt it Big Time and had to stop running. It liked to kill me. You just do not understand. But it did.

A couple of years ago I was all set to go to Spain and a few months before the trip my knee gave out on me. Just plum forgot how to work properly. I could not even walk down stairs with out saying this--->^&*%  or this--->#$%  due to the tremendous pain.

I lived in denial for as long as could. But you know me. I am ever hopeful. Finally I had surgery to fix things. A doctor made three little holes in my knee and I did not feel a thing. He went in there with T-tiny tools and fixed the problem. Just like that!

Six weeks later I was here and here and here. Like nothing had ever even happened.

It was a Miracle.  Truly. Nothing less.

A few months later I lost an adult tooth and had this HUGE gap in my mouth. I mean it echoed in there and nothing could be done about it. I could not chew properly and entire meals would get lost in the space where my tooth once was. It was just awful. I had to forget about eating corn.

Well, you know what happened...A doctor put a stainless steal screw in my jaw and I did not feel a thing. He went in there with a fake tooth and fixed the problem. Just like that and I am eating whatever I want.

You could not even tell which tooth I did not grow. Like nothing had ever even happened.

It was a Miracle.  Truly. Nothing less.

And you know what happened just last month with my eye. A hole fixed by a healing gas bubble. A gas bubble as big as the moon in my eye, it seemed at first, a full moon taking up all the space my eye had to give. And now that bubble is the size of sweet little English pea...floating around getting smaller and smaller still. I will most likely miss my bubble when it shrinks away into nothingness.

I had the surgery and I did not feel a thing. I can read now with my once wonky eye. Like nothing had ever even happened.

It was a Miracle.  Truly. Nothing less.

"That somepinkflowers must be falling apart over there," you must be thinking but I am not. I feel strong and healthy and most everyday I want to high-tail it right out the front door. 

I am surrounded by Miracles. They are every where I look and when I stop to think about them it just about knocks me over.

I bet you have a few Miracles of your own standing nearby, looking over your shoulder, whispering in your ear, "Remember me?".

I hope you do because Miracles can give you such strong faith in the future. Or a least they do over here at my house.

"How can one person be so lucky?" I sometimes wonder and then I jump on my bicycle and zoom around my neighborhood. Zoom. Zoom. Zoom.

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Thursday night news--->Yikees!  Someone over here goes in for Total Knee Replacement surgery tomorrow morning and it is not me or this one. {{ He is counting on his own Miracle, BTW. We are all ever hopeful.}}

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Saturday morning news update---->Yikees! times 10! The new knee {{ our most recent Miracle }} is in place and lime jello {{ a food miracle really if you stop to think about it  }} has been consumed in a celebratory fashion! Thanks ever-so for all your positive vibes and heartfelt prayers.

Yippee! for Miracles and for miracles...all around!

queen for a day

Well, you know me.

If you ask me, I will tell you. Straight out.

Sometimes you need to get the hook to pull me of the stage. I am shy that way.

I most always have an opinion.

If you want to know what I think, it is this----> There is so much magic flying around out there in the world a person could trip over a small bit of it everyday.

All you have to do is look. Around.

One day I was blog*hopping and I saw the most evocation photographs ever--stylish, classic, simple, lasting--and I thought to myself:  "Self, I sure do wish I had taken that shot and maybe that one, too."

Then I read the bit of narrative and was charmed by open grace.

It happened to you, too, didn't it? You found a good fit over here.

Then Time worked its magic. Life churned and planets lined up

I will never know how it came to be or why but one night I happened to be seated next to Susanna at a dinner party about 800 miles from my house.

It was a lovely party with several blogging friends from miles and miles and miles away.

The food, fellowship and ambiance was stellar, to say the least. {{I cannot WAIT for this group to dine again together. Talk about magic flying around!}}

A long table was laid, fit for all manner of royalty. Flowers spread and candles lit in a celebratory fashion. Truly a person could not have asked for more.

You know me. I do not want to miss a thing. In the midst of it all I wanted more. I try not to be greedy but sometimes I am.

My head was swiveling left and right and back again. Smiling friends, yummy food, glowing candles tall and short.

Then---> What was that I did smell? Something burning. Something nearby.

Good grief! It seemed so close! Whatever could it be?

My head was swiveling left and right and back again trying to ferret it out.

"Pardon me, somepinkflowers," Susanna said in a soft but urgent voice, touching my shoulder gently. "Pardon me but I do think your hair is on fire!"

Fire? For once I was speechless. {{I know! Go figure! }}

And with that Susanna took immediate action, smothering my burning hair with her bare hands.

My damaged hair crunched onto the table cloth in little fried crumbles.  Still smoldering I was somewhat embarrassed but my life was saved.

{{ Later I scrunched up the singed curls with Product and whacked a bit off the other side to even out the entire Do. Most people could barely tell a thing. If I held my head just so.}}

So, I am here to tell you this--> if you think Susanna is all creative*talent and loyal*friendship, there is THAT but so much more!

She is quick thinking and strong with focus. She shares credit easily and encourages others in many ways.

In my perfect neighborhood, the one in my dreams, Susanna would live down the street.

Susanna's winged messengers have traveled around the world. Around the world and back again spreading magic.

In the meantime, her thoughtfulness rings true and tall.  Just ask anyone.

And even though I know she will be somewhat embarrassed a bit by all this whoop-la about her, Susanna certainly deserves to be Queen for a Day. Yippee! for that.

Personally, I would never want to be on fire without her nearby.

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More Susanna and the Queen for a Day postings
over here and over here and so on and so on and ..
Please do follow the  blog party links to surprise Susanna!
And look how lovely the photo of Susanna looks!
Great job on that, Shin!
Thanks to Angie and all others for organizing this shout out!
Go here for more Winged Messengers by Susanna.

Oh happy day!

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just when you need one

For the longest time I have wanted a dog but the time never seems right.

A person who is owned by a dog must occasionally be home for the canine. For walkies. For food. For the mandatory bathroom break. Must be home for the roly-poly on the ground, lovey-dovey kind of stuff.

So often I am not. Home.

I have Spike-the-Cat who loves me when he happens upon me while patrolling the homestead.

When I was face-down for healing he was all over me like a cheap suit. I was an easy target for his plop-down ways. Approach. Jump. Circle. Plop.

I wore an eye patch in those healing days and Spike-the-Cat hair on my backside.

 

A cat can be left alone for a few days if his bathroom door is left open, his food and water supply overly abundant.

A cat might not even know you are gone.

"Oh, there you are!" he will say with a yawn when you come home feeling all guilty over the 3-day abandonment.

"I thought you were upstairs..." he will explain and then go into his routine. Approach. Jump. Circle. Plop.

I have had to depend on the kindness of friends and strangers when it comes to finding dog*love.

I blog hop from one friend's pooch to another. I love them all with equal abandon. I can imagine their nails clicking on the hardwood floor. Their wet slobbery kisses better than a frog's.

Almost daily my neighbors offer to let me take their pups on walks. I am the god-mother to many.

"Here!" they say, thrusting a worn leash into my empty hand. The pup looks over his/her shoulder, gives a nod of happy recognition and then moves on.

In real life, dogs show up and recognize me for who I am: A similar, fluffy-haired being who, while missing her doggy shadow, can be trusted for a warm smile and a friendly touch.

For the longest time I have wanted a dog and now, day-by-day, I have so many.

dia de bloglandia, me and my daddy

Pure honey, pure sweet honey, pure sweet Tupelo honey.

A last memory. Feeding honey to my dad near the end.

From my finger in the jar into his open bird mouth. Tongue reaching out.

For such a long time sugar was not allowed. Birthday cakes only. Little slivers of celebration.

Blood was tested, levels measured and meds swallowed.

Sneaky tastes of  sweets hidden when my dad discovered my mom's sugar stash.

About 10 months ago, with all the other health issues, sugar no longer seemed a Big Deal.

Besides. My dad never could remember WHY he could not eat sugar.

With Alzheimer's for my dad's constant shadow so many things were a mystery to him.

"Sometime I forget," he would say, shaking his head and smiling.

Somethings I will never forget. Or, rather, hope I never do.

My dad carrying me into the house from the car when I was so dozy from a long ride.

Half-way awake, half-way a sleep but all the way cared for and loved.

Summertime. Walking in the evening to the baseball game.

Sitting in the gloaming, cheering and watching moths pirouette and high dive under the stadium lights. More cheering.

My hand in my dad's on the walk home in the dark night. Feeling safe.

Early morning walks on the beach while others slept in late. The beach wide at low tide, shells galore. Too many to count. I wanted them all. Pockets stuffed full.

Catching fish with my daddy.

"Get it off!" I said when I was 4 , making a face at a 3" bream.

{{I know because my mom wrote that on the back of the B&W. "Get it off!" she wrote in quotes.}}

About a year ago my dad stopped being hungry. He was always full.

One mouthful of his favorite soup and he was done.

"I cannot eat all this," he would say.

My sister and I would give each other Looks.

My mom would say,"Am I not a good cook? You always liked my cooking."

I would lie and say, "Time for lunch!" even though we had had lunch only one hour before.

That is the thing about Alzheimer's. Sometimes you can use it to your advantage if you are willing to tell little white lies.

"Here is some beer, Daddy. You like beer!" I would say, handing him a frosted stein of apple juice.

"Ohhh. It is flat!" he would say, facing a face.

"We will buy you more," I would lie cheerfully, handing him a bit of cheddar.

With my dad. Raking oak leaves into piles. Jumping. Playing with my little sister in the piles. Rolling in them. Itching and laughing from it all. Leaf bits on my pillow in the morning.

Throwing a baseball in our front yard. My hand lost inside a leather mit 8 sizes too large. I can smell it now.

Teaching me to ride a 2-wheeler in our sloping drive-way.

"You can do it!" echos still in all I try.

Building a kite from balsa and newspapers. Waiting for the white glue to dry. Learning how to wait. Winding the string into a ball.

Walking to the open field near our house to fly the kite away from power-lines.

Always safely looked over. Always loving encouraged.

"No,these biscuits are not too dry," he would lie to me when I was working on my cooking badge. The biscuits turning to dust under his gentle touch.

"These biscuits are just right!" my daddy would say, telling me a little white lie.

And so near the end, when I knew The End was standing down the hall I fed my daddy sugar. Little bits of sweetness as his stomach was always so full for too much.

Maybe too full from too much life, too much pain, too much forgetfulness. 

I don't know. I think he was just done.

Max 

October 29, 1923       February 21, 2009

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So on this Day of the Dead I remember my daddy. I remember all these things--->the beach, the bike, the ball, the kite. Plus more.

My head and heart are filled with the natural sweetness of shared experiences stretched over a life time. My head and my heart are just the right amount of full.

I remember feeding my daddy pure honey, pure sweet honey, pure sweet Tupelo honey from my finger stuck into a jar. I remember his face so happy to taste sugar.

Such a better memory that feeding him sugar-free, lime jello from a little plastic cup.

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Other Dia de Bloglandia postings are listed HERE

You will want to visit them all.