somepinkflowers

no beach boys, just on~line learning with rochambeau

Shadows are getting longer over here in my neighborhood.

Kids have picked up the last beach treasures and headed on back to the classroom.

{ Yipppeee! }

I bet where you live the nights are getting cooler and the leaves are getting ready to make a colorful splash. Not so much down here.

Fall makes me think of new beginnings. Going back to college. Back to stretching my brain.

Some of my peeps are off over here doing arty things. I so wanted to go there, too.

Maybe next year.

Sometimes I feel like I need to be cloned or I will never get everything accomplished.

How can I take care of all the old responsibilities and still have time to learn some new tricks? How? How to transform 24 hours into 28?

Then I remember that is what friends are for.

They help each other out. From time-to-time, they lend a hand.

One hand holds the cell phone, the other stretches across the miles.

Friends share. Encourage. Push us to try One More Time.

"Just click on the quick select tool," a friend might suggest. "Do you see the marching ants?"

Before I know it----> zoooom I am back in school myself.

Learning something fun tastes like dark chocolate to me. Like dark chocolate with raspberry filling.

 

No endless summer over here in my neighborhood. A person cannot work on a tan all year long, after all.

Beaches are sitting mostly empty. Long shadows push me inside to learn a yummy skill. A new play~toy beacons.

Me and my peeps are trying new art~thingies. Some of us are together in the same place. Some of us are not. Across the miles we teach and learn and grow.

I love how that can happen.

i know where hope lives

Did you know that hope lives down the street from me?

I am not talking about some sweet red~haired girl named Hope who loves shoes and who shines on her swim team. Not the Hope who loves chocolate milkshakes.

Not that Hope.

I am talking about the hope that makes you feel that all things are possible. All things.

That kind of hope.

I know where that hope lives.

Hope floats on ocean waves, on long boards and on short boards waiting for the perfect wave.

If a hurricane is passing by my neighborhood all the surfers head for  my beach.

The sun-burnt, lean-mean-surfing-machines hustle on over, their noses plastered in zinc oxide.

They carry an armful of surfboard. They carry a heartful of hope.

Not today where baby wave kiss the shore, but last week or so, when a storm bullied its way into my beach.  Pushing and shoving its way in.

Waves were crashing to beat the band. Things were stirred up.

Surfers were high on hope.

You never saw so much hope in all your life as surfers paddled on out to catch The Perfect Wave. Where did they come from? Who sent out the memo?

I do not know if you have ever watched surfers in action on the Atlantic Coast but they will sit there all the live long day waiting on a wave taller than 3 feet high.

Waiting. And waiting. And waiting, they sit patiently.

Maybe the NEXT wave.

Me? I don't care much about waves. My wave catching days have come and gone.

I want clean sand for my beach blanket. I want tranquility for my exhausted brain.

I want to be left alone. I am waiting for nothing.

I have arrived. I have it all.

I have patience for some things but, really, at the beach all I want is a good book, a red delicious and a cheese stick or two.

Throw in a few bottles of water and then I am happy.

Simple pleasures.

At my beach you see hope in many shapes and sizes.

Some people hope for the perfect tan.

They will work and work and work for the perfect tan.

It plum wears me out to watch them as they work on achieving the Right Shade of Bronze.

I am amazed at this kind of effort when the salty air begs for rest.

Some people--like me--hope for solitude. We leave each other alone. We want peace and quiet.

Personally, I want to enjoy my book or my magazine or my whatever.

When it comes to hope, mostly I hope no one looks at my tummy.

I pack my car in the morning and head on out, carrying my hope with me in a blue beach bag.

I pull out of my drive-way, turn right onto US 1, zoom south a few miles, turn left and cross the bridge over to the island. My beach.

Mine.

I am not looking for tall waves or high tides or strong winds. My needs are few:

1. I want a semi~sunny day.
2. I want my section of a clean, dry seashore.
3. I do not want to be caught in a thunderstorm of gigantic proportions.
4. Did I mention I want peace and quiet?

Some days my hopes are crowed out by other people who have hopes of their own.

They hope for teeny~bikini action. Ripped~muscle action. Rap music action. Cook hamburgers on the grill action. Not me.

I sit there and hope they move on. Move away from me. Far, far down the beach.

You never really know what you are going to get when you drive over to where hope lives.

The tide may creep up when you are not looking.

A sea gull may baptize the top of your head. You just do not know.

Sometimes I  find the perfect place for my hope to blossom and grow in the sun.

We sit there together, turning the perfect shade of tan with no effort at all, no work involved.

Me and my hope doing soduko. Loving life.

And then up pops a family of 12 with their own hope for a day filled with Noise and Commotion.

The family of 12  will turn up their radio to a station abundantly supplied in tastelessness.

Their sweet dog will saunter over and pee on my flip~flops.

 

Yes. I know where hope lives. Me and TONS of other people. But I guess that is OK as my beach is wide and long. It is wonderful.

You might as well drop in, too. Go ahead and bring your dog. Your own red delicious.

I have hope enough to share.

oh happy labor day week~end

Oh, dear friend, look what you made me do!
Now I am hooked on this and may become missing in action.
If I have not posted again in 5 days, please DO send out a search party.
Thanks ever~so.

tourist tuesday and the steps of the chiesa di santa maria della salute

"Watch Nana make the rain stop, " she promised her young grandson.

We were all three  sitting on the covered front porch watching the rain sprinkle down from a partly cloudy sky. From where I sat I could still see the clear blue sky over the neighbor's house across the street.

In Florida it can rain hard in your front yard, beating down the bushes, and then be all sun-shiny in the back. It happens all the time.

Only five minutes earlier Brayden and I had escaped the house to have a nature walk in the sunshine.

This rain had come from nowhere. Completely uninvited it had plopped down fat drops to spoil the plan. To rain on our parade.

We headed for shelter on the front porch to count the lizards. His Nana had come out the front door to check on things.

Just 2 months shy of 4 years old, Brayden was not always certain about the power of an adult.

Somethings were pretend and some things were true. And can't a daddy and a mommy do most anything at all? Catch a fish. Make a cake. Anything at all.

Could his Nana stop the rain?

Emotions danced across his round face.

Is this pretend? Is this true? Could his Nana stop the rain?

Brayden looked to me for confirmation. An auntie should know about these things. An auntie could be trusted.

"Let's see how it is done." I answered his questioning glance.

"Let's just wait and see." I shrugged my shoulders.

Carefully his Nana took down a hanging baskets tucked under the front porch eave. A lantana, I think it was. Bone dry and in need of a good soaking.

She placed the plant gently on the ground in the soft grass peppered with pine straw.

The rain splashed on everything evenly. It was an equal opportunity rainfall, giving refreshment even to the sidewalk.

Brayden's eyes watched his Nana. He watched the plant enjoying a bit of wet relief as the leaves turned a darker shade of green.

And still the rain fell softly down.

I moved back and forth a bit more in my white rocker, smelling the rain and enjoying the view.

I could hear the rain frogs croaking their thanks to the sky.

Small and bright lime-green sometimes the rain frogs hide under the rocker cushions. The frogs hunker down in the cool shade of the cotton pillows. They snuggle under a button-tufted dark space, sit still and try to turn flat.

You need to lift up your rocker cushion and look each time before you sit down. Or else.

After all this is The South where rain frogs and green lizards make themselves right at home wherever they want.

You just have to train yourself to look.

Brayden's eyes followed his Nana as she took down another plant and placed it next to the first one sitting there in the rain.

Then she took down another one and so on until all the plants were getting a free bath.

Then Nana went back inside, having moved all the plants to a new and improved location. 

Brayden and I rocked and rocked those rockers to beat the band. And the rain came down a bit slower.

We rocked and laughed and giggled. We watched the plants  and waited for the rain to stop.

And, well, you know it did.

We watched the sun shine move back to our side of the street.

The rain stopped dripping off the trees. The gutters stopped shooting out  little rivers into the flower beds. Things got quiet.

"My Nana stopped the rain," explained Brayden, climbing down off his rocker to get a better look at the sky.

"Yes, she did." I replied.

"Look," said Brayden, "A squirrel is crossing the road!"

And he was right.

A brown fluffy-tailed squirrel was making its way across the steaming asphalt road. He took a jag around a rain-puddle and hopped into our yard.

"Why is he coming over here, Auntie somepinkflowers?" Brayden asked.

"Well, maybe his Nana lives over here. " I answered because I was his auntie and I can say such things.

"Yes," Brayden said, "Maybe his Nana lives over here  with my Nana."

And I said, "Yes. That is what I was thinking."

"I wonder," said Brayden, " if his Nana can stop the rain?"

open letter to the poison ivy living in my yard.

Dear Positively~Annoying~Poison~Ivy~Family,

Hellllu, there! How you doing? Fine I hope.

Fine enough to pack your bags and move the heck out of Dodge, if you get my drift.

Who invited you into this neck of the woods anyway? I do not see you paying any property tax or pushing out any fragrant blossoms for my benefit.

You with your Leaves of 3, don't touch me!

I have tried my best to stay out of your way. God knows I have tried.

I have left you alone down there by the creek with these digging guys and these slithering ones but no you have to spread out...and move on...surrounding my sweet camp~site of a home here.

Give you an inch and you take a yard.

Mine.

Things have gotten so bad I have to watch Every Little Green Growing Thing I touch.

If it were not for these beauties blooming in mid~winter and these ones blooming up a storm right now {and pictured here in this open letter}, I might never even venture outside except to jump on an airplane or head off to the beach.

Why can't you give off some sort of special vibrating glow or maybe a soft buzzing sound when I come near?

"Warning,  somepinkflowers!You are getting warmer, warmer....STOP!" you might say in your most pleasing, polite voice.

That might give me a chance.

That might give me fair warning to avoid your death~ray sap which drives me plum crazy...

Sometimes I see you, sometimes I do not, but always and without fail, if you touch me it ends up costing me a fortune in $$$.

Do you have any idea how much this costs? Or this?

Good grief, not to mention my much needed rest as I scratch all the night long.

And there was that time I had to go to the doctor and get an Rx for this.

Man! You have no idea how bad~trippy that stuff makes me feel.

Or do you?

Look, evil and itchy ones, just tell me A Single Useful Thing about you. Just. One.

I so strongly believe in peaceful coexistence. I do. But the day you sprang up in a potted plant on my front porch was the last straw.

Now I will have to bring in The Big Guns.

You want aggression?

I'll give you aggresion...

I know I look all mild and gentle like a wee flower, but you haven't seen anything yet, buster brown.

The jig is up and I am giving you One Last Warning.

Hit the road, Jack.

Clearly you were not paying attention last summer when I personally relocated 10 tons of these guys with my own gloved hand .

Threw them way across the creek one by one, I did.  That was that...

Let that be a warning to you, Positively~Annoying~Poison~Ivy~Family.

I am no longer Ms. Nice~Nature~Chick when it comes to you anymore.

If there is one thing I know how to do in this world, besides getting out of town, it is getting rid of pests in my garden.

There is room enough for only one of us and you, innocent~looking weed, have got to go.

Have a nice life somewhere else, Poison Ivy Family. Please.

I remain,

Scratching all the while,

somepinkflowers

tourist tuesday and under the matanzas inlet bridge at low tide

There are few places I enjoy more than a good island on a warm day.

Minutes from my home is Anastasia Island where I grew up and older and tanner most every summer of my life to date.

A well~known highway called A1A runs through the middle of this long, skinny island.

On the east side of Anastasia Island is the Atlantic Ocean and on the west side is the Intracoastal Waterway which runs down most of the east coast of the USA.

At the southern most end of my summer island is this bridge.

If you follow A1A, it will take you here and here and eventually here.

On the Intracoastal Waterway side of the island you will find mostly private homes  $$$ and razor sharp oyster beds.

But not here on the south end where I am taking you today.

If you want to come here to this beach on the week-end or later in the summer time when school is out, well, just forget about it. Maybe you should just go here instead.

You would not even be able to park near this beach on the week-end  for all the people who know a good thing when they see it.

So. I am taking you here on a Tuesday.

I hope you brought your SPF 15, at the very least.

I am taking you here during low tide so we will have a beach to walk on.

You want high tide, you better be in a kayak or something.

Watch where you step, please. 

If the shorebirds are hanging out on this stretch of beach,  they have priority.

Be mindful, is all I am saying.

Yes, watch where you step and look down.

You will find bits of sea*treasures that are smooth to the touch.

Some of these treasures will want to come home with you which is OK but check your shells carefully.

You might find one of these sleeping inside.

If you do, please put it back where you found it. 

If you put it in your pocket or leave it in your car you might be sorry the next day as salty dead things can smell to high heaven.

Trust me.

As you look around here on the bit of beachy island you will notice 4~wheel~drive trucks parked here. This is OK as they are not harming this area.

The tide brings more sand here day by day. You would not believe how much is deposited here by the tides and currents and the occasional hurricane.

Yes, I know what you are thinking. Sometimes the hurricanes take away what they give.

You never know from year to year.

One year's beach is another year's underwater.

Sea turtles do not nest here as most of the time this beach is under water when the tide comes in.

If a turtle should make a left turn instead of a right and end up here by mistake then the Turtle Patrol will protect the nest.

When I ride my bike on the beach sometimes I come here under the bridge for some cool shade.

If the sand is packed hard it is a pleasure.

If the sand is soft and mushy I have to push my bike or turn around and wait another day.

That's life for you. You never know. 

Every day on this beach is a good day.

Shells sunning. Birds feeding.

Fish swimming in the deep water under the bridge.

Look close into the broken shells and you might find shark's teeth.

What!

Yep, shark's teeth. They are black. 

See that water under the bridge...

Well, shark's teeth come from the sharks that swim there. I have seen them.

I have found the teeth on the beach, I have seen the sharks in the water. Both.

But not on the same day.

Little crabs and shrimp live in the tide pools formed by the pilings.

It is fun to squat down and look into each little tide pool to look for teeny sea critters .

Oysters attach themselves to the pilings.

Oysters make a fine start to a watery neighborhood and soon others move here, too.

Underneath the Matanzas Inlet Bridge is rather a holy place to me.

These pilings remind me of this place and of this place, too, in a way.

I hope you like this island.

I am going to leave you here for a few days while I go off to another island.

Just stay out of the deep water and you will be safe.

Oh, and wear your SPF 15.

Where am I going?

You know how I like to make you guess!

Let me just give you a bit of a clue. It is far, far away and it rhymes with Benice.

That is all I am saying.

tourist tuesday and tomorrowland

Time just zooms by.

Blink and it is another day.

As I was unpacking my carry~on from  Easter Break Vacation I realized I never told you about my visit to Disney World back in February for my birthday.

I know what you are thinking---->"Here we go again! A visit to the Mouse House with that castle and the princess and pixie dust and everything."

Wrong.

Truth is, even though I live near by, I have only been here three times since it opened.

For one thing, it is $$$$, and, another thing, it is All Those People.

Mostly I would simply rather go some other place. A place where there are authentic castles. Not ones made in my life time.

In a stroke of marketing wisdom, seen only during recessional times, the head cooks over at Disney decided to let folks in Free on their birthday.

I know.

How can you refuse that kind of bargain? When you live 2 hours away like I do, you have to snap up a deal like that.

And so I did.

A 'birthday guest' must still pay the $$ to park in the Goofy section and, unless all your friends and/or family were born on the same day, some one is going to need to hand over some cash.

Still, all in all, not a bad little discount.

Oh happy birthday day!

If you like shiny chrome and roundy orbs for decoration, take a right turn at the castle and head into Tomorrowland.

This park was meant to represent The Future, what the future would look like way back when it was designed.

Time just zooms by.

The future never does turn out to be exactly the way you envision it.

Thank goodness.

When Disney designed this Florida theme park there had been no actual moon landings to date.

His original Flight to the Moon foretold of such things and had to be modified to meet the needs of a changing reality as the space~age soared.

After all, Cape Canaveral was only miles away.

Godspeed, John Glenn, and get a move on, Disney folks!

Out comes Mission to Mars. On to the next dream.

Necessity is the Mother and so on...

The flying elephants over near the castle are seemingly much more popular than the flying rockets over here. It can take 20 minutes to buy a $$ cola or a $$$ water.

Here in Tomorrowland a  birthday person can plop down outside and have a quick snack.

A birthday person can spend productive time looking up, which is one of my favorite things to do.

Look up.

Now, I told you I visited here on my birthday this year but I did not tell you which birthday it was.

I will tell you this much---> I saw my first microwave oven featured here in an exhibit by Monsanto. A space~age invention to help the homemaker do more with her time.

I remember thinking, "Groovy! But that is never going to happen."

It just goes to show you.

Time just zooms by.

Earlier this month I went to see Chicago. Not the city, but the band.

They played over here.

One of my friends left early because he said, " It wasn't the original band."

Not the original band? Not the original band?

Well, with that brass section Chicago has about a dozen guys in it. The band started around 1967. Most were born in the early~to~mid 1940s.

You do the math.

Factor in health and normal life expectancy.  Thumb through tables of statistical variance which may or may not include possible accidental happenstance.

These guys were around before moon landings, after all. Before the use of microwave ovens blossomed in suburbia.

Time just zooms by.

Does anybody really know what time it is?

I digress.

Pardon the rant.

And this from someone who went back stage to chat with this one.

Anyway.

I recommend Tomorrowland if you should find yourself in the Disney area.

It celebrates the future that never was. The future that probably will never be in my lifetime. The future where an Astro Orbiter seems the norm mode of transport.

"Hey, somepinkflowers," you might say to me, "meet me over at the Astro Orbiter after you finish looking up, why don't cha?"

"Right on, " I might answer.

"Groovy," I might reply, "as soon as I finish reading the news over here, as soon as Chicago finishes up this tune."

Listen.

If Tomorrowland is not your cup of tea, I will understand.

I can personally take only limited amounts of  shiny chrome and roundy orbs myself.

Just know that steps away you can find that castle and the princess and pixie dust and everything.

I am planning on coming back here to Tomorrowland in maybe 15 or 20 years or so.

Time just zooms by so watch this space.

 

Maybe by then I will have my own Astro Orbiter.

a fork in the road, a wave from the sea

When I sat down to write this post my roof was not leaking.

Rather, I did not know that it leaked. Now I know. It does.

Leak.

The rains came up from the east and it started pouring. Pouring.

I remember thinking to myself, "Well, I hope I get this posting finished before a storm comes along and takes out the power."

That is exactly what I was thinking when I started hearing this: dripdripdrip...

Which is now one of my least favorite sounds: dripdripdrip...

Anyway. I will worry about that later.

I wanted to tell you what happened yesterday.

While at the beach walking and taking in the fresh air I found a puffer fish sitting in the sand.

Holding court, yes, but clearly she had not planned this, her final journey.

I say she because through the pearly, shark-teeth-shaped spikes on her back you could look down and see her rosy body.  Even with the sharpnesses she looked so girly. A flower sitting on the white sand there in the February sun.

Six inches long and blown~up roundy, as was her way to fly, there she sat facing out to sea. Looking wistful almost.

As is my nature, I took her sitting there as a sign. What could I learn here, I wondered? What is Missy Puffer Fish trying to tell me?

Apparently along the way, Missy Puffer Fish made a wrong turn.

She turned left at the last wave when a right wave was called for. Now she sits high and dry and I am too late to save her as one missing eye points out this fact as I circled around.

Now she is toast, or at least lunch.

It happens to the best of us.

We turn left instead of right and then: boom!  We find ourselves sitting high and dry in the noon~day sun when what we want is low and floating along in the calm shallows. Or something.

Me? I have the faith of the well~traveled. Hardly ever do I turn into toast.

Things happen. Another train will come along. The cafe will open again at 4. A roof can be repaired.

dripdripdrip...

I dance along and try not to carry too many burdens, too much baggage.

I try to seek out the Creative Approach, looking for the Art in Life, the Art of Life, the Art of Living Life.

I try to take the time to slow down and look around whilst I am multitasking.

You know me. I do not want to miss a thing.

A  road~trip is good for the soul in the same way that biodiversity is good for the pond.

Differences make me feel more alive. I have learned to look up. From this one I have learned to Deep Listen. From this one I have learned to Pay Attention.

When traveling my eyes are bathed in new~found wonder and my heart sings, "My goodness! Will you just look at that!"

In Florida a short road trip can take a person back in time, back to nature.

Or not.

Much of my favorite Florida has gone missing. But still I look.

In Florida a short road trip can take a person to the airport and then up and faraway to amazing places.

But all states have that, don't they?

All states have roads that can take you back in time to when you weren't or forward to where you think you want to be.

Sometimes I find sustenance in the most common of places. The Most Common.

Yes, in the least likely of locations I might find a thing or event that transports me to where I need to be.

In Florida on a short road trip I am in the flow and enjoy the unusual.

And, as always every where, I try to welcome the new and different. I do not want everything to be just like at home or why bother?

{{ I make a habit never to compare toilet~paper OR ice~cubes OR the lack of either when I travel anywhere. Seriously. Such bad form. I mean, really. I feel certain you do not compare, either, but go about the earth well~prepared... }}

I try to see myself differently. I forget the everyday and go along for the ride.

Even though I am just a regular person, when I travel I become somepinkflowers~in~wonderland.

I bet you do that, too.

I hope you do that, too.

In Florida a short road trip can sometimes force you into decision~making even when you do not want to think much. There is TONS to see and so little time.

Why, even I cannot be everywhere at once. And I have tried.

I bear up and Pick Just One. My fork in the road. The fork I use to eat up my yummy adventure.

In Florida a short road trip can encourage you to let things take you Over The Top.

For someone like me who thinks that biodiversity is good for the pond, a trip to central Florida where giant mice sport white gloves, is a fun place to visit once every 10 or 15 years or so.

Some days I feel I have turned left when maybe I should have turned right.

Still, I have no plans to end up sitting high and dry any time soon like the girly Missy Puffer Fish. But who is to say?

You know me. I do not want to miss a thing.

While I dream of this place and this place, also I long to drive here and here. As long as I can, I will dream and plot and plan. I hope you come with me.

Except now I must go deal with: dripdripdrip...

one world~one heart & all the world hearts a winner

I love how things happen out of the clear blue sky.

So today under the clear blue sky here in Florida I visited my Random Number Generator down by the creek. Today was the day to select the winner of the verdant necklace. And so I did.

Do you remember that I asked you to tell me where you would wear the verdant necklace if you won? Do you remember?

Well, I love how you put your imagination to work and how you gave me yummy stories to nibble on. You fed my travel soul with tales of this place and that place and all the while I wanted you each to win. I did.

I wanted to make 500 verdant necklaces so everyone could win. But that is just me and my way. I always want everyone to win everything. But I could not make 500 verdant necklaces.

Plus it was my birthday last week and I was away. {{ And my sweet dad has not been at his best health so my heart was not into jewelry making, if you get my drift. }}

Still. 

All in all, I discovered new places to visit and poke around and explore and so on.  Man, did you have any idea how many creative ones would be a part of Miss OceanDreamer's One World One Heart dream?

Me neither.

Thanks ever~so much again to all who played my story telling game of where to wear the verdant necklace. I feel I am the winner for having you come to visit my garden wall and entertain me with your talk of parties and vacation holidays and such.

But you want to know who won, don't you?

The winner of the verdant necklace is------> Tumble Fish Studio.

Why don't you drop in and see the new home of the verdant necklace and tell Tumble Fish Studio  that somepinkflowers  sent you.

Oh Happy Day!

Oh Happy One World~One Heart Winner Day!

smart and full of passion

Sometimes in the morning, if I am not running too far behind schedule, I like to lift the narrow window in my shower and look out on the world.

It is an upstairs window which looks out through mossy~draped live oak trees. In the winter when the tree branches are not covered with extra blankets of vines  I can see all the way down to the creek.

Not that there is much to see.

Mostly I am getting the lay of the land, a handle on the day. Trying to start the day with a moment of peace and quiet before Life jumps in to change the course of my day.

You now how easily this can happen.

If the day is north-Florida-in-July hot, I am letting out cool air-conditioned air. If the day is north-Florida-in-January cold, I am letting out the heat. I do not open the window every day as often I am running somewhat behind schedule. 

Opening the window I am being wasteful----->energy-wise.

I cannot help myself.

This is my early morning window on the world and I do see amazing things sometimes. Nature things which give me pause. 

Last week I watched a brown bird of unknown species fuss a much larger squirrel away from the shallow dish of water I keep on the little wall that edges my garden.

What was that bird thinking to splash around  in the noisy squirrel's drinking dish? What was running through his little, bitty bird~brain?

{Nothing personal, but he did have a little, bitty bird brain.}

Anyway, here I am standing naked in my shower with all the warm air pluming out the window, money escaping though the screen, money winging it up and out into the cold air. Money I will never see again.

Foggy dollar bills evaporating. Wasted energy.

I try to be smart about such things. I do not waste water and I do recycle. I use green bags at the grocery. When I take my car out I do everything in one trip or wait until another day.

If you saw me walking along the street  you might say, "Why, I bet that girl is eco~minded."

And mostly you would be right.

I drive a sporty white jeep and I cannot lie. I love my 10 year old car.

It gets me where I need to go and I do not drive far.

Library, home, gym, beach and so on. Mostly all back and forth down one main road and over one bridge.

Because I love to ride in airplanes every chance I get, I try to keep my carbon foot~print in check here on the ground.

In my neck of the woods there is no mass~transit, no jumping on the train or bus.

Here your car is everything.

Somewhere in the future I see myself in a smaller car. Maybe a little blue one which gets  60+ miles to the gallon. Or maybe it will plug into a wall~socket when at home in  my garage.

I can see myself in such a car. But not yet. Not now.

Now I need a car that will tote my bike, 12 bags of mulch and 3 flats of petunias.

A car that has room for beach towels and beach chairs and a cooler and a gym bag and extra flip~flops and such. I need room for a shovel to dig my way out of  too soft beach sand.

Just in case.

When I do travel here and there I am always taking photos of little cars in other countries.

While some people take tons of photos the Colosseum and the Eiffel Tower,  I shoot photos of the tiny multi~colored cars that park 3 to a space. Like sugar~cover almonds, these babies must come a handful to a pack.

While everyone else is facing left photographing the attraction, I am facing right shoot the parking area.

I cannot help myself.

I love how these bitty ones can pull gently up onto the sidewalk and still not be in the way for pedestrians. I love how they back into a space and stick  front out into the street rather than parallel to the curb.

They are no longer than a motorcycle. How do they do that, I wonder? How do they fit all of the car bits inside such a small package? How?

I am so in enamored with the cuteness of these  darling cars.

I have never ridden in one of these guys, have you?

It would most likely scare me to death and back again. I think I would feel like a grasshopper or something.

In north Florida the road belongs to pick~up trucks and vacation vehicles. Out on the highway semis and tractor~trailers rule the roost.

Even in my Jeep I am often intimidated. 

Folks pull out in front of me with alarming regularity.

Some days I am certain my car must be invisible. I yearn for horns and whistles and lights flashing to protect my  best interest.

While I am full of passion about protecting the environment and saving our natural resources, mostly I want to save my self.

Plus, I always have loyalty to my friends, my family AND my cars.

I cannot help myself.

just so you will know it is not snowing all over the world

Things are starting to pile up over here. My dad is back in the hospital and house~keeping is low on my To~Do List.

I dusted the dining room table last month and now it needs dusting again.

Where does this house dandruff come from? And why?

I mean it isn't like anyone eats in that room except for maybe 3 or 4 times a year On Special Occasions. Spike the Cat hangs out in there sometimes searching for a misguided treat.

Hey. Call me lazy, but why should I dust a room for a cat?

No matter how long I squint at those dust bunnies {and I can see them from here} they simply will not turn into festive, holiday snowflake shapes.

"Hey. I could use some cooperation around here, please," I plead with the motes but nothing works. My particular house~brand of dust lacks inertia.

 

I am tempted to drape little white fairy lights around the dining room and to keep the place mostly in the dark until after the new year. The days are short. So why not?

Maybe I'll keep the lights glowing until Valentine's Day. Then give everything a good dusting when I take the lights up again. This would buy me some time.

Who is to know? I will call it ambiance.

Things are starting to pile up over here while I attend to more important tasks. Little things. Piling up. Growing.

Many of the piling~up~things are invisible. Like bits of Worry, drifts of  Concern.

You might be surprised to learn how quickly Worry and Concern can pile up.  They both multiply faster than one might imagine.

Did you know, for instance, that some of the heaviest things in the whole wide world are invisible and hard to hold in your hand?

With my dad in the hospital my mom has lost her appetite for cooking and eating.

"What do you mean you've had nothing to eat today but a small bowl of cereal with 10 blueberries on it?" I have been known to ask my mother.

I try to remain Calm and Supportive and Nurturing. I do. I really, really do. Try.

I even put food into her hands.

"Oh, mom, you need more than tea and toast for lunch," I encourage. "At least spread a smidgen of  peanut butter on your toast, or a plop of jam."

I would sneak food into her mouth if only I could.

I buy her groceries, piling the cart high with foods tasty in protein, energizing in carbohydrates and comforting in fat.

"Eat, eat, eat up!" I say, gaining 2 pounds simply touching the food while putting it away in her kitchen. "Have some of this, why don't cha, Mom?"

"Nothing tastes or smells good. " My mom states the facts as she knows them to be.

"I am not hungry," she goes on. Her voice drops slightly seeing the disappointment creeping onto my face even thought I do not want it there.

I make her promise to drink this every morning before driving to the hospital to see my dad where he will eat most anything he can chew.

My mom has been thin her entire life. Now she is frail and her doctor wants her to eat more.

My mom balks at all suggestions. Nothing catches her eye, nothing calls out to her for more that two mouthfuls.

Except for this and this, most well~seasoned foods call my name. I am not just talking about sweet yummies as featured so lovingly over here. Why, even Brussels sprouts know where to find me.

I hope I always enjoy the fine art of eating food.

Sweet or savory. I don't care.

You know me.  I do not want to miss a thing.

I want to eat my way around the world and back again.

Things are starting to pile up over here. I should be washing windows right now while the sun is still shining to point out the streaky missed parts on the glass.

Sixteen of my windows can be comfortably reached on the ground floor. I could overlook the difficult~to~manage windows higher up if  I Windexed those accessible 16. I should just do it.

Window washing might give me some false~but~satisfying feeling of control.

As if window~washing could remove the bits of Worry, the drifts of Concern. As if.

Housekeeping chores are easy to delay but so satisfying to accomplish.

You take care of the little piles of things that need doing. Then you do them all over again.

And so on.

Or not.

If my dad was home from the hospital and my mom would eat, there would be no bits of Worry, no drifts of Concern piling up in my heart. My dad and I would play games and draw while my mother made clam chowder.

Which she would then eat, too. With saltine crackers.

I would let housekeeping things pile up and up and up at my house. Dust. Dirty windows. And all.

If my dad was healthy at home.

tourist tuesday and the world down a florida country road

I am so easy.

When people I like, read books I like, it makes me happy.

Like the Hostess~with~the~Mostest at some fine book party,  I want MY friends--such as here and here --to fall in love with My book.

"Don't you simply LOVE the way the author describes the dark chocolates in detail?" I might suggest, hoping against hope, that my friends will love what I love. "How about the degree that moodiness becomes personified? Isn't that just so clever?"

You would think from the way I carry on that the author was my sister or maybe that I'm her publicist.

If only.

It isn't that at all.

I have no pride of ownership. I am not related to to any writer still living.

I just love it when books and people are attracted to each other and become fast friends. In my heart I can see them smiling at each other and shaking hands, my people and my books.

"How do you do?" they are so polite, my people and my books.

"Why, I could not be better!" they all answer pleasantly.

And then there is the travel.

I am not telling you anything new here. You know how a good story well told  can take you out of yourself and plop you down into a time and country not your own.

Thank goodness and isn't that just pure magic!

When someone I know and admire says, " somepinkflowers, have you read this yet?" that puts me in heaven, too, because I know I am going some place special.

I am being tempted along to a new discovery and there just is not enough time in the day to read all the books, to take all the journeys.

But I do try.

Is it that way with you, too? Are you a matchmaker of books to people? Do you loan books or present them, one to the other?

"Oh, I have so been wanting you two to meet!"

Years ago when I started reading this writer I was possessed by the idea of going here.
And so I did.

I surreptitiously looked over my shoulder for this one at every Underground station, every museum, but nothing.

Well, maybe next time...

Once I read this book by this talented and amazingly prolific author, I dreamed for years and years of riding this.

Finally I realized I did not want to go there NOW in modern time,  I wanted to be on that train Back Then, during the time of the story. Well, obviously THAT was not going to happen so I have learned to make a few adjustments along the way.

While I cannot yet travel in time, I can travel by train and I adore doing so even if I never do meet up with this charming, Belgian sleuth.

(Some day maybe I will run into this writer as we  both negotiate our carry~ons down the aisle on our way from here to there.)

I am always up for a grand travel adventure but, honestly, I do not need anyone to be murdered in order to have a good tale to tell.

I have no misconception about playing detective on a train with one corpse and 12 overly~dressed, secret~hiding people sporting strange accents.

I mean really!

While I do enjoy an exciting adventure in a book, I am more than happy to paddle around my own neighborhood and enjoy sublime calmness day~to~day.

Some days I want nothing more than a peaceful pond and a clear blue sky.

Some days I want flowers and butterflies and stillness.

Some days, like this day, I needed to be alone with my thoughts and memories.

I took this book  to read in the Florida sun.

I am so easy.

I do not want to miss a thing. I want to read all the good books in the world and share them with friends. I want to travel every where and taste the best jams and cheeses and wines and then bring tasty~treats back home for my friends.

But some days I want to close my book and roll over onto my tummy and look deeply into the things nearby.

I want to see the world in the smallest of bitty~bits.

But, still, even then, I want to share that teeny miraculous world with people I like.

Like you.

So here, read this.

terrible~mean storm fay

What can happen when someone comes uninvited and stays too long...

From St. Johns County Situation Report # 8, Thursday, August 21, 2008, 6:00 PM:  "Beach erosion has been similar to a Nor’easter event with significant loss of sea turtle nests."

{{ Graphic from NOAA. Two days later and T~S Fay is still hanging over our heads. It isn't just about us people, you know. }}

mushrooms, the world and me

Well, it was bound to happen.
This IS Florida.
And it IS August. So, now we have this coming our way.

If you haven't seen my funny face in a while it is because I have been over here soaking up the rays while I can.

I wasn't born yesterday.
I know hurricane season when I hear it brewing. I stock up on water, candles, books and art supplies. Like a good scout I prepare to hunker down.

The signs of hurricane season are everywhere. Bands of rain come and go all the live long day.

Mushrooms of every make and model are popping up with alarming regularity in my yard.

It goes like this----> Rain, rain, heat, mushroom.
Rain, rain, heat, mushroom.

I don't mind mushrooms in the least. I am sorry to say I never get these yummy ones.

Last September and October I was in every one's face about missing autumn in Florida, how living here I miss the chance to watch leaves changing color.

Blogging friends from all over the country were posting golden leaves and red leaves and I was all pouty and grumbling on missing out but I will tell you this...

I don't have fall foliage putting on a show in my neighborhood, but I DO have some spicy and stylish looking mushrooms. I could proudly take any of these toadstools to town.

In my front yard I have those plain vanilla, puffy~topped roundy ones that make the grand fairy rings. {If you dance inside the fairy ring and make a wish it comes true without fail but that is another story.}

Sometimes the mushrooms seem delicate and fragile looking. These paper thin ones often hang out for days. I step around them carefully when I am trekking back and forth relocating my giant grasshoppers.

Some toady~stools seem kind of creepy and if you look underneath you will find a world of slimy things carrying out business between the gills. They wiggle and squirm and only their mom could feel tenderness towards these icky ones.

These slippery crawlies do not bother me too much because I have knowledge of the food chain and the ways of the world.

Every one has to be somewhere doing something. Mushrooms have a job and get right on it breaking trees and leaves down into manageable bits for the rest of us. Thank goodness.

When it comes to mushrooms I prefer the fresh smelling ones with a dusting of clean, rich earth.

What really creeps me out these days is not this or these but the aggression of Russia and how she is bullying her way into Georgia. What is with that?

When I see Russia acting with this annoying sense of entitlement I remember these guys and remember this.

I wasn't born yesterday.
I know possible trouble when I hear it brewing. I stock up on being positive, having faith and trusting experienced leaders. Like a good scout I pray I will not need to hunker down.

In my heart I have a shadow place that remembers the threat of this kind of mushroom. It chills me to the bone.

Life is so much simpler when all I must worry over is one of these or one of these.

in the dunes, before the sea

When I go to the beach I bring along my best attitude but not my best camera. For me the beach is all about sand, surf, suntan lotion and snacks. The big four beach tag~a~longs.

I cannot be trusted with a Real Camera at the beach. The tide comes in, a drink is spilled. I am just warning you here.

There was a time when I brought my passport to the beach. Did I tell you?

Back in the days fuel was plentiful, or so we thought, and inexpensive. My friends had one of these or one of these  instead of  this or this.

In flat Florida there is no elevation to speak of. If you want elevation in my state you are going to need an airplane. Plus you could fly over here so easily and spend the night.

"somepinkflowers, how can you drive on the beach with out destroying it?" folks ask me.

My beach is wide and shaped like the letter C. The offshore ocean currents deposit sand here naturally. Every now and then a tropical storm will take some of the sand away.

Rather like a game of 'Mother Nature May I?' with 3 steps forward and one step back, the size and shape of the beach changes from season to season.

Deposit sand, deposit sand, take some sand away. Deposit sand, deposit sand, take some sand away. And so on.

We never really know for sure what will happen next.

I can tell you this though, in my life time the beach--waxing and waning as it is apt to do--is many times wider than it was when I was a little shell collector making castles in the sand. Many times wider.

I have seen amazingly beautiful beaches all around the world but I do love my own wide, soft, sandy one the best.

Treasures can be found every where you look on my beach. Shells and birds and marine critters swimming in the tidal pool. Star fish and teeny crabs snuggle in the sea weed at the water's edge, waiting for the next wave to take them back again to the sea.

I can spend hours here and never tire of it.

Between A1A and the breaking waves is a sandy dune. Depending where you are on this  coast you may find two or three sets of dunes in rolling, vegetation-covered succession.

The sea oats growing there are to be protected as are the gopher tortoise. And, yes, rattle snakes have been spotted sliding into abandoned tortoise holes to escape the noon~day sun.

Just so you will know.

Signs are posted warning you to stay off the dunes. If you walk quietly over the boarded cross~walk you may spot wild brown bunnies hopping and bee balm blooming.

As you reach the ocean side of the dunes you can watch the next baby dune in early stages of formation. White and purple morning glories creep across the salty sand sending down roots which captures the moving sugar sand.

Soon other scrubby dune plants take root and more sand piles up. When you aren't looking, say in 5 or 10 years, you will turn around and say, "Good heavens! Look! Another dune! When did that happen?"

This happens to me every few years.

I'll be walking along looking for beach treasures and suddenly notice how the landscape has changed. A baby dune has blossomed into a healthy teenager dune. Thank goodness.

Sometimes I will notice other things , too.

I will spot brightly~colored tape marking off little play~pen areas of the beach. 

Talk about a treasure! Can you guess what these special places are?

I will give you a clue.

Under the pounds of salty sand these are 100 + ping~pongy eggs, each turning from a rich, deep yellow blob  into dark green, baby sea turtle.

This is the most amazing thing!

I have been fortunate on more than one occasion to be early morning jogging on this beach and come upon eager, 2-inch long hatchlings high~tailing it for the high sea.

The top most turtles, the ones nearest the sky under the layer of sand,  scramble out and are off  racing to the breakers like athletes at the start of a road race. Their strong flippers dig into the sand and leave little parentheses footprints.

If they can make it to the water before sea birds find them, half the battle is won. Well, almost.

Mother nature knows how to break my heart with that wicked food chain. Hundreds of turtle eggs are laid, most will hatch but few will make it to the first wave. Each hatchling has to swim straight away out into the sea as if her life depended on it. Because it does.

They cannot stop to visit or say,"Howdy~do!"

What the overhead birds don't feast on, large underwater  sea creatures will.

If the turtles cannot make it to the sea before the sun is high in the sky you can forget about it. Their energy is used up. They will be too tired to swim to safety.

Sometime the Turtle Patrol will temporarily house the slower babies until early the next morning, giving them a  bit of a fighting chance with the heat and other predators.

Still, few turtles will make it to adulthood. Even fewer will swim back here to nest again. The ocean looks peaceful from the top looking down but underneath it is just one big free for all.

It is an eat or be eaten world under all the tranquil blue. I know that much.

Some years--between May and October--you will find multi-colored turtle protection sites everywhere along my beach. One year I counted over 30.

This year, not so many.

I bring along my best attitude to the beach. At times I am a bit disappointed but I remain ever hopeful.

tourist tuesday and the secret meditation place

Sometimes very early in the morning, when I long to be in a quiet world all my own, I sneak off to my secret meditation place.

While I am not completely alone here the mood is peaceful and serene.

Over head trees shade the morning sun. Thick shrubbery muffles the sound of possible traffic.

Tropical flowers yawn and wake up slowly for the day.

So many corners tucked in here are excellent places for peaceful contemplation.

Comfortable benches are placed in the best locations for silent meditation. Standing yoga stretches are right at home here.

Be a mountain. Be a tree. Be yourself.

I count my blessings and send my gratitude outward. A place to practice pranayama.

I regulate my breathing and focus my mind. Slowly the call of birds can be heard.

Some days I sit by this Buddha. I try to imagine my face as smooth and tranquil as I seek the path to inner peace.

I try to imagine myself sitting calm and restful for one whole day. No ear listening for the phone to ring. No dreaming of travel to a foreign place. Being completely in the now.

Even surrounded by the sweetest flowers could I sit still with no worries about offshore drilling or concerns about the presidential elections? Could I?

Sometimes I move slowly from one quiet nook to another quiet nook in walking meditation.

Never even once have I been surprised by harsh sounds or quickly moving feet. Those approaching do so in a gentle hush.

Often I hear wise words whispered from a standing sage. So at one with the world he barely moves his lips.

Do you think I will share the wise words with you?
Well, OK, here is one: Forgiveness.

When I need cool refreshment, blessings are chanted over my head as I bend forward at the flowing fountain.

The melodic chanting mixes well with pleasant water sounds.

Could there be a calmer, gentler way to start my day? How easy to seek enlightenment in such a place!

You know you want to be here, too, with the Buddhas and the flowers and the calmness and the birds waking.

How far must I travel to reach my nirvana? Surprisingly not far.

Follow me down this shaded walkway and, if you make no sound at all, I will share my secret...

My passport to this kingdom is a Special Photo Pass which gives me free reign any morning at the crack of dawn.

Before The Tourists are up and drinking their orange juice I am here.

Yipee! for the St. Augustine Alligator Farm!
Aren't I just the most fortunate thing!

 

tourist tuesday and kay larkin airport

I have such abundant faith. You would not believe how much. Sometimes my faith can be misplaced but not over serious issues. Most of the time my faith is right on the mark.

I will alway have a try at a new mascara if it is under $12. I will lay my money down and take it home filled with high expectation and hope. I cannot wait to give it a try.

I have supreme faith that THIS tube will be the one to make my eyelashes stand OUT TO THERE. And then it never does.

Still, I have faith that the NEXT tube will be the one.

I have the kind of faith that is only bestowed on the extremely nearsighted.

"You want me to catch a ball?" my 6 year-old self would ask again and again as something came flying at me from out of nowhere.

"OK," I would answer trying.

"You want me to swim to the other side of the pool?" my 8 year-old self  would ask again and again knowing full well that I could not even see to the middle of the pool.

"OK," I would answer trying.

Sometimes to not see a thing would turn out in my favor.

"You want me to tap-dance across that huge stage by myself?" my 10 year-old self would ask, blinded as I was to the audience of a hundred or so eager and anxious parents watching, huge cameras in hand, flash bulbs the size of Massachusetts.

"OK," I would answer trying.

When I received my first pair of eyeglasses in grade school I was so amazed.

"Look! Leaves on the trees!" I would point out excitedly.

"Look! Stars in the sky!" I would point out incredulously.

Oh, happy day!

My 85 year-old mom has to go see a specialist 2 times a year because she has this.  When she was first diagnosed with it I did what I always do. I probed the internet.  I purchased a book.

At first I thought she would go blind over night and I was scared for us and angry at life. My mom needs her eyes big time to help take care of my dad and his problem. If my mom cannot see, she was going to be really bummed out.

Then I saw how slowly her disease was progressing. At this rate I figured when she turns 100, we might have to buy her large print books.

That, I thought, we might all be able to handle. That bought us time.

My mom's eye doctor comes to her small town only a few days a month. Everyone who is anyone goes to this same doctor. There is standing room only as every patient needs a driver.

When my mom goes, she gets her eyes dilated just like everyone else. People are bumping into each other left and right. Canes are going clack-clack.

When I take my mom we are there all day. Naturally my daddy goes with us and even though he does not recognize anyone, everyone there seems to know him.

Did I mention it was a small town?

"Hey, Max. How you doing?" they will ask, smiling at his happy but puzzled face.

"Okey-dokey!" he will reply as he goes back to turning the pages in the glossy Lady Home Journal.

My mom will explain about my dad's memory problem. Everyone is so polite and understanding. Folks in that waiting room are older than the hills and many have lost a wife or a husband to some terrible thing or another. Mostly to old age which I guess says a lot for my home town.

Across the room I see my mother's friend who has been smiling that same smile at me my entire life. She use to be big and tall and now she is stooped over and fragile. Her eyes are the same clear blue as always.

How many years has it been since I saw her last? Maybe 20.

"somepinkflowers," she says to me, "you look just the same!"

We drivers sit and smile at each other. We have the comfort of knowing we have vision at least for another day. Who knows what could happen over night. Thank goodness for my abundant faith or I might be depressed.

Sometimes I am the youngest person in the office. I am the spring chicken. If I ever feel old, I am just going to go hang out in that waiting room and read magazines until I feel my youth returning.

When someone talks to my dad, as soon as they walk off, my dad will ask, "Who was that?" and we will try to explain.

"Remember the family that use to live in the old Boggen house, they one with all the children? That was the lady that use to live in the house across the street before that big oak tree fell down through the roof. Remember her husband ran the hardware store that use to sell those light bulbs you liked?"

"I just forgot," my dad will say, still turning pages one-by-one, looking closely at the girls posing in underwear for the Dove soap advertisement.

Some things he has not forgotten.

This particular day the wait was longer than usual. Every single patient had the same 8:30am appointment. Every one.

I hate when they do that. If you arrived at 7:30, you would  still not be first one in line. The knowledgeable camp out over night, I am convinced, like for a Rolling Stones concert.

We would be here for hours. To my mom it was like going to church circle or garden club. She was dressed up and visiting and looking at photos of somebody's great-grand children. Holding court.

I took my dad and we bolted. I meant to take him to get the hair cut he needed but we turned left instead of right and there you go.

We ended up at the local airport.

We sat in the cool shade and watched the pilots do touch-and-go landings.

"Is he going to really land or just do a touch-and-go?" I would ask my daddy.

"I don't know? I think he is going to land," my dad would answer and then the pilot would pull back on the controls and once again zoom into the sky.

My dad would laugh. Fooled again!

There was a time when this man, my dad, would hold me up to see the stars and even though I could not see them, I did try. I would see them through his eyes.

He would say, "Catch this ball. Swim over here." And I would try.

We did not know for the longest time about my eyes. If you have never seen things properly, how do you know? Recently I learned that my mom's eye disease is one that can be inherited. I am taking tons of vitamins so I am not worried.

This is why I travel to beat the band. I have to see everything in the world before I turn 100 and need the large print passport.

"Where is your mother?" daddy asked after a while, tired of this airport game. Everything in his world is touch-and-go.

"Let's go find her?" I answered with the abundant faith of the nearsighted. I can see only as far as a future where  both my mom and my dad continue to live together in their same home in this small town.

Some days I do know want to see any further than the end of this stage.

how to be a good american

a little summer job here in florida

 

I started to walk into this store on Saturday to see about obtaining a part-time, retail position selling brightly-colored beach towels and palm-tree covered T-shirts to the tourists from one of the  the O states.

I don't know what stopped me.

Maybe it was the heat. Maybe it was some sort of bad vibe. Maybe it was just me. 

I could not  make myself go inside the air-conditioner-is-humming-along cool shop to inquire. Ended up at the beach in the sea with my amazingly lazy friend, Lethargy, instead. We floated around there in the warm surf and kept an eye peeled for lightening storms.

Summer must be right around the corner. I can feel it's steam on my neck, forcing me to purchase long, cool drinks, forcing me to slug-walk through jello-humidity with my flip-flops melting into asphalt at each street crossing.

I love this time of year and the expectation of accomplishing nothing. When I achieve the smallest goal I still have tons of daylight left to go out and brag about it.

Thank goodness.

tourist tuesday and our lady of la leche shrine

Nuestra senora de la leche y buen parto. Our Lady of the Milk and Happy Delivery.

I hope I got that Spanish part correct and, no, this Tourist Tuesday isn't from Spain. The charming, wee  shrine you see above is located in my own St. Augustine, Florida, here in the US of A.

Our Lady of La Leche is said to be the first shrine to Our Blessed Mother in the United States. As everything is so old around here this fact is believable.

The happy delivery part means easy birth, I think. When I was a young child I thought--well, of course I did--it meant the delivery of bottled milk.

Sometimes it is funny how things turn out. I had meant to show you today a cathedral in Barcelona but that will have to wait. I had meant to show you this sweet shrine later in the summer but here you have it now.

You will need to read all the way to the bottom of this to find out what happened.

I will tell you this much:  Life happened. 

Our Lady of La Leche is said to have been here from the mid-1500s. You can read more about the history here and I wish you would.

The ivy-covered chapel you see above is said to be the fourth such building on this same site with the other three destroyed by ugly war, looting pirates and raging storms.

I like to think Our Lady of le Leche will always be here.  You would have to look and look to find a quieter, more holy spot so near the sea.

Sometimes I am so filled with the false pride of frequent-flier points and American Express Rewards that I forget how near I live to accessible art under blue skies, to quiet reverence under mossy trees.

Sometimes I am gently reminded of my great luck of location.

The lovely grounds surrounding the shrine are most days filled with travelers sporting cameras.  I do my best to try to see this place through their eyes.

I am burdened slightly by my past. This chapel use to be lots, lots bigger when I was a child. Over the years I have watched it shrink as my own world grows larger.

I wonder what it would be like to grow up and older in Notre Dame or St. Paul's. I wonder if those magnificent, holy places shrink with age, too.

The inside of the shrine is simple and seemingly always cool. Mary has her place of honor and prayers sent out here do not get tangled in fancy tapestries or waylaid in heavy gold-plating.

I am told that prayers from here go quickly on to heaven.

My across-the-street neighbor tells me that sometimes prayers for babies are answered here. Loving, childless couples come and send heart-felt requests on up to God while seated on the simple wooden benches here.

Candles are lit with hope and faith. Some prayers are answered.

Who am I to say?

I will tell you this:  My across-the-street neighbor has photos on her wall of  healthy, adorable babies smiling down at her, photos of babies whose parents waited and waited for years and, then, finally sat inside this chapel and prayed.

I am just passing this along but I have heard the stories, have seen the shine in the eyes of the much-wanted babies.

There are stranger things.

I do know this, too:  Somethings--like hope and faith--cannot be removed by ugly war, looting pirates and raging storms.

Thank goodness. Thank God.

I have said my own prayers here for unhatched babies waiting to be born healthy, for grown-up babies away at war waiting to come home safely.

So far, so good.

A teeny chapel for praying and quiet meditation, a park-like setting for strolling visitors and more. You would think there would be standing room only.

Most folks touring St. Augustine are not aware this serene paradise is tucked here under the tall trees near the water-way. Most sun-baked Florida visitors want to go here or here or here and I do not blame them.

There is only so much time on a vacation, only so many minutes to spend before you must return home to do your laundry and return to work to make some cash. All this traipsing around from place to place does not come free.

I think about missed opportunity every time I return home from travel.

"What did I miss?" I ask myself sitting on that airplane in jet-lagged weakness. "What was only one block away, down some quiet street? What have I left behind?"

Well, in truth, we cannot see it all. Trust me I have tried. I will keep trying.

I will pack my bag early the night before I leave a place and take Yet One More Walk, strolling, looking.

You know me. I do not want to miss a thing.

Buying larger and larger memory chips for my digital I try to capture what I have managed to see, to feel. I snap once with my eye and camera, and then again with my heart.

Meanwhile, back here on the farm, back here at the ranch, I am trying to see old things with new eyes.

To see the way the land slopes down to the estuary where the wading birds feed; to see the way college students sit shaded,  studying Yeats and Chaos Theory with equal diligence while squirrels come begging.

Across the bridge the great stainless-steel cross stands 208 feet into the sky. Built in the 1960s this gleaming cross has since guarded the Manataza River and Our Lady.

When you stand at the base of the cross and look up you can see plum into next week.

See how close we are to the water? That is an island over there behind the boats. Out that way a bit further, on the horizon under the tree, is the Atlantic Ocean.

You can see how the Spanish landed here so easily. As did ugly war, looting pirates and raging storms.

You never know who or what is going to wash up here in my neighborhood.

Sometime a heart-pleasing surprise will wash ashore.

And here is the rest of my story:  See that person intent on capturing the moment, capturing the fountain there behind the Our Lady of La Leche? See how she is capturing once with her eye and camera, and then again with her heart?

Can you see? So plainly she is.

Well, here she is again.

That is my friend, and maybe yours, from over here. On her way south with her warm and friendly tribe to see more of Florida's treasures.

A wonderful group of women who gave me the pleasure of sharing this day, sharing their look at my old place with brand new eyes.

Thank you, my new friends.

I know you wanted to see The Fountain of Youth but we ran out of time. It does not look a thing like this fountain but we could not have found a more suitable place to become better acquainted unless it was here near this fountain .

Our Lady of the Milk and Happy Delivery honors  the beginnings of all good things so this meeting was right up her alley.

Oh, and what you left behind, we will see next time.