somepinkflowers

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.

i am treating you {{with help from my friends}} to a bit of one-eyed halloween magic

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

~~~I am needing all the help I can get over here!~~~

My recipe for one-eyed Halloween fun:

* one mini-me somepinkflowers witch by Susanna Sketchbook
who was inspired over here {{ don't i look fabulous!}},
* crows by Martha Stewart at Michaels yesterday,
* candy corn by Brock at Target last week,
* owl box by Punch Studio at Marshall's last year and
* little magic trees from over here.  {{ i so love a good recipe!}}

And  for an amazing & evocative adventure go here and for another witchy tale pop in over here and for a Haunting Treasure Book sublime go here and for a seasonal taste of Orange do drop in here and so on....

a hauntingly magical celebration

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

If you think life is grand, if you do not want to miss a thing, then go to Vanessa's Hauntingly Magical Celebration.

She was so thoughtful to dream up this stellar event. We all do love her so!

Then pop in here and here and here and here...

Oh. Yes. Sign my guest book and leave a wish. It might come true.
Who is to say?

to U from FaceDownLand

Always,  always, always and without fail it is about Time.

Time moves too quickly or not fast enough. There is never enough of it when I am doing a thing I enjoy. There is an over-abundance when I am suffering in some fashion, with some real or imagined pain.

I am not telling you anything new here. Time shines on all of us in her own way.

The day the tea-colored shadow appeared in my left eye, the exact day my uninvited Blurry Place arrived, I blew it off.

"Here today, gone tomorrow!" I thought of the unfocused center of my vision. I dismissed it like an unwelcome drop of water on my camera lens. It would evaporate if I remained patient.

"Forget about it!" I decided with my ever-hopeful attitude.

All I needed to do was wait.

Mr. Blur would sneak off as easily and quietly as he had tip-toed in.

Later, after Blur has moved away--say in a day or 2, or so I thought at the Time! HA!--I will look back and shake my head.

"Aaahhh...A sign to slow down, certainly," I will reflect with newly-found wisdom.

Yes. I will be So Wise when Blur has flown the coop.

I had it all planned how I would be somber and appreciative. I would have learned my lesson to Slow Down and not try to do Too Much. I would rest my eye for a Time away from books and computer screens and camera view-finders.

I could not WAIT for Blur to leave so I could be repentant.

After a Time I learned a new normal. I learned how to see around Blur. 

Plus, my right eye jumped in to take up the slack. {They are such a team, those 2!} 

But this plum wore out my right eye as I forced her into over-time.

I am not complaining here.

Right Eye was forced into doing the work of 2 and she soldiered on in non-grumpy military fashion.

I could not ask for a more understanding and willing eye. {After this adventure is behind us Right Eye will receive the much coveted Eye Did It All scout badge.}

"Hey, somepinkflowers, what gives over there across the nose?" Right Eye finally spoke up for her rights after a week or 2.

"I need some help here before I peter out, so to speak." She went on.

"OK," I replied and called in the Eye Doctor troops.

It seemed Blur had moved in to stay. There was danger he might even invite a friend or 2 to move in with him.

Yikkees!

Medical attention arrived on the scene. A plan was hatched.

I told you a bit about it over here.

Then it became a Waiting Game.

I was living in a count-down world ---->3 weeks to eye surgery.

So I made the best of my Time.

As luck would have it, my HP decided to crash in sweet-but-untimely-empathy for my Left Eye with its unwanted Blur.

The thing just crashed right on down.

Not 2 be undone, taking it as a sign to shop, I rushed right out and bought one of these.

If I needed surgery, if after surgery I must look DOWN for weeks and weeks; well, then, I would look DOWN into a lap-top screen as soon as my doctor allowed.

I know.

I am so very good at reading the signs that do pop up from time-to-time.

A big fan of signs pointing to the purchase of modern devices, I am equally at home in many retail establishments. Everyone smiles when I walk in. They know me and my BFF.

 

Yes. After surgery I would need to live in FaceDownLand so that a magic bubble of gas could heal my vision. From the outside I would look the same but deep, deep within my eye a teeny bubble would be inserted. {I will spare you the Halloweenie details...Why, you R welcome!}

My throne would be a massage table with a face-cradle to support my heavy-with-thoughts-and-dreams head. {Thank you ever-so much, dear Carolyn, for the use of your spare table. I can NEVER, EVER thank you enough.}

 

Yes. Always,  always, always and without fail it is about Time.

Today I am cheating Time.  Ssshhhh...

After the surgery I was to spend 14 days away from the computer screen. For 50 out of every 60 minutes I am to be living in my FaceDownWorld but 2day I am spending my 10 minutes of UpTime, 10minutes of  my off-the-table-time looking down into my lap-top.

Today is only day #12. I am jumping the gun here. What is Time, reaaallly, a day or 2 one way or the other?

So am I ACTUALLY cheating as I LookDown into my lap-top?

Ssshhhhh...

 

While my left eye is dilated and protected by a bit of a patch, my right eye is having a go at things on her 10 minute break.

Right Eye simply needed to fly.

And so do I.

 

In the 3 weeks before I moved to FaceDownLand, like the good scout that I am, I prepared myself.

Yes, I bought the lap-top but I also stocked up on faith and on these and on this.

I checked out books on tape. I rigged a double mirror reflecting system so I could watch TV through my face-cradle.

I cleaned my house from top to bottom and weeded the garden, as best I could what with Blur along for the ride. This is what all good Southern Girls do. They do not want to put anybody out even in the midst of personal challenge. Especially in the midst of personal challenge.

"Well, if I die on the operating table I do not want my sister to have to wash the sheets," a Southern girl will say to herself. Southern Girls will mop the kitchen floor on the way to giving birth.

Maybe you were born and raised in North Dakota or in north Hollywood and you do the same thing up and over there.

Maybe it is not a Southern Girl thing at all. I do not know about other places but this is how we are Down Here.

"Oh, look," a Southern Girl will say, "CNN reports a meteor is going to crash into my house at midnight, I wonder if I have time to make a plate of fudge to take to the shelter before I leave?"

Anyway. I prepared myself, my family, my friends, my pantry. I bought 7 bags of kitty-litter to be on the safe side. You never know with Spike.

Then I got my head ready.

I projected Paris. I projected me in Paris in the spring. Next spring. 2010 spring.

I designed and fashioned this Paris clock and set it with French Time. A new count-down began.

I see myself with 2 good eyes looking up at the Eiffel Tower. I will be stretched out there on the grass looking up at her bathed in glowing night-lights. There will be a full moon sitting on her shoulder.

A glowing, roundy moon with no tea-colored shadow appearing in my left eye will be smiling down at me.

I can just C it.

Always,  always, always and without fail it is about Time.

Paris time sits ticking on my wall as I am back in FaceDownLand.

My 10 minutes of UpTime has now passed me by. I am manifesting through my face-cradle as you read this. { I promise, Nurse Karen, I am FaceDown!} I am manifesting Paris.

Of course I am.

The full moon in Paris will be there when Mr. Blur has skipped town, when my bubble has disappeared and when I can safely fly again. I can C it all perfectly.

If not 2010, then 2011. 

I am ever-hopeful.

tourist tuesday and my eyes in burano

Last night I flew like the wind with my owls.

Well, they swooped down from the mossy-dripped oaks and zoomed ahead of me while I rode my bike in the gloaming trying to catch up. I never did. I never do.

I am ever~hopeful.

Riding my bike in the evening is one of my all~time most favorite things to do. I guess I am always trying to travel in one way or the other.

In the evening my neighbors are inside eating their supper or getting ready to pop something in the microwave. The news is on. The dog has his bone.

Transition time. Chow~down time.

Outside the front yards are mostly vacant. A scattering of lawn furniture sits here and there rather naked and exposed. Cars are cooling their heels in driveways.

"Why do we drive on the parkway and park on the driveway?"

I will never know.

Sprinklers shoot out water to revive the sun~fried Florida grass.

Even numbered houses water their lawns on Tuesday and Friday; odd ones on Wednesday and Saturday. Or the other way around.

We are all about conservation over here.

God waters on Sunday and Monday in my neighborhood.

In the early evening critters start to hunker down. They curl up, touch noses and rest. They have emptied out their furry pockets for the day. The change sits in a shallow dish upon the chiffonier. Done.

Nocturnal creatures are just putting on their dancing shoes. They have Big Plans.

A night out on the town under the oaks. A trip to the creek for happy hour where it is always 2~for~1.

Some animals overlap a bit and move around together during sunset time. They avoid each other in the silvering light.

As the days turn shorter the raccoons are confused and, possessing no golden pocket~watch, are out waaay too early but do not know it.

I slow my bike down to a creep~a~long. Raccoons and I are surprised to see each other. We apologize in our own fashion by ignoring one another.

"What raccoon?" I think, looking over my shoulder to the right.

"What person?" the raccoon thinks, looking over his shoulder to the left.

We are so polite in my neighborhood. Most of us.

The brown, marsh bunnies are eating up the plants in the doctor's side~yard.

I am not about to turn the nibbling rabbits in to our HOA Board for I would eat these flowers, too, if only I could.

Here today; hare tonight; somepinkflowers gone tomorrow.

A red shouldered hawk scoops up his last lizard~treat of the day. The yellow~eyed anole barely notices as he is still busy swallowing a tasty green tree frog.

Who knows what delicious snack the frog had in his tummy.

The wild things in my neighborhood are big into the Eat or Be Eaten concept.

Me? I am busy looking up. I want food for my eyes.

I want to feast on fading color and fuzzy texture. A blue sky turning purple and pink and gray is my dessert.

I hunger for the sweet morsel of a lingering cool shadow.

Where are my owls? Which tree now?

Why can I not Peter~Pan after them? Move from limb to limb. Leap~frog from tree to tree. Leap, fly and owl~swoop as we go.

I think happy thoughts to beat the band and the best I can do is pedal my bicycle faster and faster still. Trying to catch up.

I am ever~hopeful.

Everywhere I go I look up and up and up.

When I travel I am the same way.

What does the top look like? What is on the roof? How high up can I see?

What is there just out of sight? Why am I not up there, too?

Even place should have a climbable Eiffel Tower. A manageable cathedral dome.

A lighthouse standing tall and proud and open for 24 hour viewing service.

A tree with stable wooden planks leading to the tippy~top.

I want to see up and go up and be up.

Why?

Well, so I can look down. I guess.

Lately I have been having the worse time seeing up close. This has been a spot of bother.

I could not see well enough to sew on one little blue button if my life depended on it. Not that I simply needed glasses to see. Not like that. It was a different type of not seeing properly.

The vision in my left eye was beyond blurry. It was starting to go wavy and wonky in the middle. A bit of a rough patch.

A tea~stained, tear~drop shadow always there.

"Wait one minute, left eye!" I said, "What is this wavy and wonky business?"

My left eye said absolutely nothing. It just sat there all silent and pouty like.

So I took my left eye to The Local Specialist. My right eye went along for the ride.

They are like that. Two peas in a eye~pod.

"Ooops!" said The Local Specialist who sent me to another Kind Doctor.

This Kind Doctor was a retina man who explained it all to me like this:

"somepinkflowers," the Kind Retina Doctor said, talking with expertise and kind understanding, "clearly you have been looking out of this eye for quite sometime. You have plum worn a hole in your retina."

Hole In My Retina! Get Out!

Good Grief!

"Fear not," the Kind Retina Doctor continued on gently, "I can fix it for you but it will take a bit of time."

"OK" I said hopefully, not wishing to own one finely working eye and one seeing with wavy and wonky vision.

"Have a go at it!" I said, faking my bravery as I have been known to do from time to time.

"Have at it, Kind Retina Doctor." I said."My eye is in your hands."

So.

With a head and heart full of clear visions from the past, I am waiting.

I am bidding my time until my turn.

Meanwhile, I am busy looking up every single day.

Every where I go I look up. Up , up , up.

I am practically falling down from looking up so much.

Next week I will have the procedure to fix my eye with a Magic Bubble.

Then I will rest quietly in a darken room where I will look down, down, down for a few weeks. The Magic Bubble in my eye will gently push on the teeny hole at the back of my retina. Gently squashing it flat, pushing it back into place with quiet persistence.

And then my wavy and wonky vision will be all better.

I am ever~hopeful.

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.

isaiah zagar, the steve miller band and me

'Time keeps on slipping, slipping, slipping into the future.'

So the song goes.

One day I am making up my list of Things To Do:

1. Clean out the attic and sell old stuff on eBay.
2. Take the money and go to Italy for a month.
3. Come home and set up a blog for Creative Inspiration.

And so I did that. All the things on my list. 1,2,3

Well, it did take a bit of time.

I have a HUGE attic, BTW...

I cleaned and sold and traveled for a while.

I came home and set up my blog.

Slowly things began to happen...

After a while I met other bloggers.

I popped into a blog and it fit right. And then I found another and another and so on.

{{ Maybe this has happened to you. }}

I was hooked...

People were reading great books that I liked, too.

They were shooting amazing photographs that inspired me to use my camera more. They were creating like crazy. Whipping up my imagination with words.

I was thrilled...

After a while it was bound to happen.

I meet up with a blogger~friend and we had a swell time talking blog~chat and about things and people we both liked.

It was as if we were long~time friends from 3rd grade, as if we had camped out together in Girl Scouts.

Then I was fortunate enough to meet another blogging friend.

We had a camera~shooting adventure together and did lunch and so on.

A perfectly perfect day!

Let me say this, just in case you did not know---->No one uses a camera like a fellow blogger.

Not one single non~blogger I have ever met.

Click times 10 on steroids. Click, click, CLICK...

The next thing I knew, time was slipping, slipping, into the future.

I was on a plane flying to Philly to meet up with more camera~shooting bloggers.

Even thought it is not specifically on my list of Things To~Do, I am always up for making new friends.

Especially friends who know how to kitchen dance, friends with whom I can create.

We had the best time ever...

'I want to fly like an eagle to the sea' because I do not want to miss a thing.

I cannot be everywhere, but now I have the eyes of my friends to capture things for me to enjoy.

The whole wide world is mine...

Click, click, click...

Sometimes I can jump on an airplane or in my jeep and zoom off to see different places for myself.

I can click, click, click and then come home and share  with others who also do not want to miss a thing either.

It makes me so happy to take you places with me.

Isn't life grand!

Because you cannot be everywhere, now you have the eyes of  friends to capture things for you to see.

The whole wide world is yours...

Together we can give each other the whole wide world.

Sometimes I cannot believe my good fortune to have met you all, to travel your world, to see your art, to read your words.

Thank you ever~so...

For sharing both the process and the journey.

I am so inspired.

'Let my spirit carry me'

"Check this out!" one dear friend did say.

And even though one year ago I did not know her, now I do.

If her eyes catch something for me to see, I will not want to miss it...

Happy Birthday to my Blog!

It has taken me everywhere. It has taken me by surprise. It has taken me to you.

'I want to fly like an eagle til I'm free...'

fennel seeds, changes and the brown~eyed boy

"I know how to draw cats," bragged the brown~eyed boy. 

The top of his head with its silky black hair was even with mine as I sat at the table. He had walked up to me from across the cafe. His face shone with pride that must have reached the planets and the stars.

"Do you want to see?" he asked.

I could not say no to this unknown child who had charmed me with his openness.

"Sure," I said, "Let me see your cat."

Pushing a small, worn manila tablet at me, in this one moment he captured my heart.

I would have given him my car.

 I could see multicolored cartoons on the tablet's cover. Animals with goofy grins and white~gloved, 4~fingered hands.

Some of the pages looked mysteriously gummy.

He flipped the pages. I saw sketches of castles with moats and trees with birds. Finally we reached the cat section.

"I know how to draw cats," bragged the brown~eyed boy as he turned the tablet for me to see.

And indeed he did.

I bent down closer to get a better look. I could smell the shampoo in this child's hair, could see his fingers still plump with baby fat.

His fingernails were uneven and pink.

These were the hands that had drawn the cat.

It wasn't just any cat, by the way.

The cat drawn by the brown~eyed boy was in motion. Creeping along. I think I saw his tail move.

This cat was bend low, stalking a mouse who was running quickly toward a hole in the wall.

I was secretly thrilled to see this sneaking cat.

Thrilled.

"Wow!" I exclaimed, showing honest enthusiasm. "Did you draw this? Did you copy it from a book?"

"I drew it from my head," explained the brown~eyed boy, his eyes wide with pride and pleasure.

 "I know how to draw cats," he continued.

"I guess you do!" I exclaimed, moving closer to the page.

Then I noticed this was a cat with a history.

Pushed deeper into the paper was an earlier version of a different cat.

The original drawing was of a cat standing tall, straight and looking rather bored at the viewer. A bored~with~life kind of cat.

Friendly but uninspiring.

A ho~hum feline.

This first cat, found lacking, had been poorly but earnestly erased by the brown~eyed boy.

Bits of the pink eraser still clung quick to the cheap paper.

Clearly a  mistake had been made. But things were corrected.

The cat's head and shoulders were placed lower to the ground. He was hunkering down.

His front legs were bent correctly, elbows back, to demonstrate his lurking behavior. His head faced the mouse with intent.

This cat could not care less about the viewer.

"Get your own mouse," he seemed to imply.

This newer, improved version was a cat with purpose.

A hungry cat on the move. Watch out world.

"Well, you certainly got it right, " I told the brown~eyed boy.

"I almost feel sorry for the little mouse. He better be a fast runner." I went on.

"Yeah, I know, " said the brown~eyed boy, shaking his head up and down in agreement.

"How ever did you learn to draw so well?" I asked the boy, looking deep into his eyes, searching for talent hidden there in the dark brownness. A glimpse of golden talent in the brown.

I think I saw it. For just a bit.

Who was this child, I wondered, who had approached my table in the cafe?

So self~assured was he with his skill at cat drawing that he bubbled over.

Look.  See what I can do. See what I have done.

I closed his tablet and handed it back to him with  my biggest smile.

I will never know what happens next. What he will become. How things will turn out.

"I hope you draw everyday for your whole life," I said to him with a wish even though it would not be my pleasure to witness.

I tried to manifest a life filled with graphite sticks. Tons of Strathmore drawing pads. A wooden box filled with colored pencils, maybe pastels.

I wanted to magic~wand~it over his head but who am I to say? Maybe he will write great books instead. Or save the world somehow.

"You are really quite good at seeing things and I do thank you for sharing." I added.

The brown~eyed boy smiled, then turned to walk away. His brother was waiting with a hurry up look.

Three steps more and then one turn back around to face me.

"I have a loose tooth," the brown~eyed boy beamed and the sun was put to shame.

"Do you want to see?" he asked.

do you know this stylish lady?

Me neither but isn't she wonderfully?

I passed her whilst crossing a bridge and she stole my imagination plum away.

Can you see how her pearl earrings match the buttons on her coat? How her cuffs are turned up just so? Notice the woven olive pattern on her purse? The bit of pink brightness on her plaid skirt peaking out with each step?

Plus, I am such a sucker for shades of green framing a pink flower.

As she descended into the crowd at the after Sunday services antique tag~sale, my eyes followed her on.

I wanted to have her for my auntie. I wanted to be invited to her home for afternoon tea and Italian sweets. I wanted to peak into her closet and play in her jewelry box.

But I knew I would never see her again.

I am such a sucker for shades of green framing a pink flower.

And these pink flowers above I send out today to a Way Much Younger stylish lady. Do you know this one who finds the best things to share with one hand while whipping up wearable art with the other?

Well, today is her birthday so do pop in when you can. Leave her a message as she is much like an Italian sweet herself.  Now she may be traveling but leave a note anyway.

Oh happy day, missy.

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?"

tourist tuesday and the monestir de montserrat

If you popped in here expecting more shots of an Italian town at sea~level, well, I am sorry.

Stay tuned. I do have more of that up my sleeve. Just not now.

Today I am more in the mood for a Spanish Monastery on a mountain~top.

I feel the need to be tall and on top of things.

In the same way an ocean is difficult to photograph, so is a mountain top.

It is all about scale, about contrast and comparison.

If I were to place the world's largest elephant on top of the mountain you see in the photo above, he would be one wee pixel big.

I did not have  the world's largest elephant with me when I went to the top of this Montserrat last year.

I just had me and one of these and one of these.

If you are ever in Barcelona and have the time, you should hop on the bus, then the train that will take you to this monastery.

Do start early in the day because it can take the best part of the morning to get there.

Very seldom does it rain on me when I am out and about in the world so when it does I take it as a sign.

I am to appreciate the washed clean colors and the wet slickness of things.

I am to look up and notice the clouds when I can not see the sun.

Slowly I am learning how to take the wet with the dry, the rain with the sun.

I am learning that I cannot control Every Little Thing even though I do find planning ahead means I arrive when museums are open and not closed. Which can be useful during a once-in-a-life time visitation.

Some days I feel like the gnat on the back of a flea on the back of a sheep perched on my garden wall in my backyard in a small town in northeast Florida which is in the lower south-east corner of the United States on the planet Earth.

Which is to say I feel insignificant.

Other days I do feel on Top of the World. Everything at my feet stretched out waiting for me to explore at my leisure.

Do you ever have times like that? The insignificant times and then the Top of the World times?

When I am feeling insignificant I usually find food helps put me in balance. If you make the effort to work you way to the top of Montserrat, do take the time to lunch in the cafe there.

I highly recommend the canelons d'espinacs and the escalivada.

I know about such things as I am a connoisseur of finely cooked veggies.

When feeling smallish in the world I find taking a self~photo puts me right with my place in the scheme of things.

See! I am here! Doing fine! With yummy food in my tummy! Click, click, click...

On a the sunny beach near my home I bask and know all the secrets in the universe. Answers are right there floating in on each wave.

On a misty mountain~top the fog seeps into my brain and I do wonder, "somepinkflowers, what ever is the purpose of life? "

Last week my cell phone plum died on me. I had not dropped it or anything. 

It just stopped working out of the blue.

I had to go to the Cell Phone Store and buy a new one. Truthfully the same day I went to the dentist and that was more fun.

There are just to many choices these days.

"Just give me that red one with the rebate," I said hurriedly pointing.

If  I lived on a mountain top things would be so much easier.

No cell phones decisions. No television show choices. No dental implants opportunities.

Time would be spent kneeing in prayer and waiting in line to touch the Black Madonna's Holy Orb.

I am not catholic but even my Methodist heart and Presbyterian brain felt her powerful draw.

Standing by the sea speaks to the spiritualism inside me. I am baptized by the ions from the crashing waves. Washed anew and lifted up to all things being possible.

After a morning spent sea~side I know I can go home and clean the attic. That kind of thing.

I very seldom do go home and clean the attic, of course, but I feel I could. If I were so inclinded.

Standing on a mountain~top puts me in a different holy place. As the fog lifts I expect to see the likeness of a Charlton Heston comforting and encouraging me.

"Go forth, somepinkflowers, and do great things! Save the trees and do not let your HOA place satellite dishes in the commons area."

On this mountain pilgrims come to be made whole again.

Many arrive in wheel~chairs and my heart does melt to see them carrying their hope on their blanket~covered laps, wearing their faith like a shawl around their shoulders.

Able tourist come to hike the steep trails and to wait in the long line to touch the Madonna's Holy Orb.

Some come to eat the canelons d'espinacs and the escalivada, then to listen to the choir boys sing.

I am here because I do not want to miss a thing. I want to look up and out and down and out at the world.

More than anything when I was on this mountain I wanted to see a pile of wheel~chairs rusting in the damp air. No longer needed wheel~chairs. Rusting.

I looked around and around but could not find one single wheel~chair rusting.

I ponder a life time spent here.

I wonder would I be happy without my white~sandy beach and my blue-green ocean and my old~white jeep, without my aging computer and my new cell phone and my too expensive cable TV.

I can be so shallow sometimes.  I have my ways and my things and I like to sleep with lots of downy soft pillows. I like my Earl Grey tea. Would my things  make it to this mountain top?

Would I get into the rhythm of  polishing the silver in the chapel, of changing out the spent candles. What would be my job?

Maybe I would be the cook in the restaurant making the canelons d'espinacs and the escalivada.

I just can not see it. Not for me.

After one week I would be wondering about going here or going there. I would want to ride my beach bike across the hot sand on my way for one of these at Jim's Bar-b-Que on A1A.

Montserrat is one of my favorite places in the whole wide world.

I am overwhelmed in the best sort of way by the centuries-old Benedictine monastery perched there in the unusual-looking mountains, by my being a speck of nothing on this huge, rocky place.

My neck hurt so at the end of the day from looking up.

After a while I realized I was not watching fog lift. Those were cloud passing by.

Clouds on their way to water the grapes in the vineyards down in the valley where they make the wine to serve at Holy Communion.

I love how things interconnect like that. I felt all glowy thinking about how the sameness of this place has gone on and on and on.

Ladies from near-by farms make a little spending money. I wonder about their happiness.

I wonder what they know of large elephants and Johnny Depp and cell phones and beach bike and so on.

Maybe I would be surprised to know what they know.

Do you ever feel the conflict of wanting a simpler life but at the same time you do not want to give up all the helpful things that seem to make life easier?

I do not want to be so busy looking down at my cell phone that it to keeps me from looking up and out at the world. I want to see everything.

Don't you?

 

I want a life with a changing view. But, also, I want a nest with my stuff tucked neatly about. A nest I can safely leave and then fly home when I need to touch base, to hunker down and to recharge.

Then I want to fly out again. I want a changing view.

In the sun. Or in a cloud. At sea~level. Or above.

Changing.

tourist tuesday and room #2

 

"How did you get here?" I wonder with alarming regularity.

"How did you get to this place? How ever did you make your way to be right here for me to find?"

 

I wonder this about the girl with the Russian accent who works behind the Lancome counter at the department store near my home in St. Augustine.

I wonder this about the new, red~haired bartender who works Thursday nights at Harry's in my little Florida town.

I wonder this about the yellow seashell that washed upon the public beach on Lido, the shell that jumped into my hand and would not be put down.

 

"What ever happened in your life to bring you right here?" I wonder, thinking of all the places that people and things have been before me, of all the places they will go after.

Who touched the brass handle that opened the window of my little room? The chambermaid, well, yes, but before that?

What traveler closed it last and where was she going next?

 

Did she sleep well in this room, that traveler, and then awake every morning around 8:00--Tuesday through Saturday-- as the produce vendor under the window sang a beautiful aria, never missing a note?

Did she watch him gently polish each apple as he sang? Did she notice how carefully he arranged the white asparagus in hay~stack shapes along one row, propping them up just so to balance?

Did she watch his pride and enjoyment of each loving task?

 

I hope she was not the type who wanted to sleep until 9:00. Or 10:00. Or later.

Well, who would in Venice?

If you are out late, you would just stay up to greet the early morning on the Grand Canal. You would watch the boats bring in the freshest of flowers and fish and apples and asparagus.

Then you would go to bed at noon and no amount of singing would bother you one bit.

 

Well, you know me. I do not want to miss a thing.

I would not complain about one aria or even ten.

I am up with the sun. I am up with the song, leaning out the window trying to spy my apple-of-the-day from way up here on the second floor.

After breakfast I stop for my apple, only dreaming of the asparagus, as I am off for my adventure.

By the fourth day my singing~produce~guy packs up a handful of juicy~ripe cherries for me, "No charge."

Now I am spoiled for life. Ruined. Plus the fruit is delicious.

 

I love my room here and know it will always be mine.

Even when I am home, I will own it. Even if I never see it again, in my heart it is mine.

But know this, I would gladly share it with you.

As I share it with you now...

 

Above my bed is the most wondrous of lights. Venetian glass made not far away, most likely.

somepinkflowers of a light~fixture. Beautiful by day, magical by night.

Like they knew I was coming.

 

Who made this light? That it would shine down on my Italian vacation and make me smile with delight.

I stand on top the bed on tip~toes and still can not reach to touch it. I try on more than one occasion but no.

 

Thank goodness for a zoom lens.

 

I wonder too much maybe about people and other little things. Where they are going and where they have been.

Who sat in this chair and rested? Who looked in this mirror and smiled?

 

Of all the magic powers of invisibility and flight, of super~human~strength and amazing~time~travel, what one magic power would I want?

I cannot say for certain but wouldn't it be lovely to have the power to know the stories of things?

How they came to be where they are...

 

How did I possibly know to pack the blue shoes that would sit so nicely my little rug?

I have so many pairs of shoes, in so many colors and these are the ones that fit my temporary home stylishly without discourse. Harmony all around. Go figure.

The glow of the warm walls, warm wood, warm lights overhead.

Who went before and left me goodness, I do not know, but I thank them all.

And how about you?

"How did you get here?" I wonder.

"How did you get to this place? How ever did you make your way to be right here in room #2?"

I am not certain.

But I think it is grand that you did.

tender is the night when you shower the people you love with love

We both had wandered through this world but I never expected to find him here waiting for me.

He never said a word. People just go where they will. And then he turned up here.

From the moment I arrived his eyes haunted me from every corner.

Between the darkness on the street. He watched.

Always patient. Sightly smiling. Apart. Cool.

Doctor, my eyes have seen the years and, yet, he looked just the same.

Alone in this watery city, I felt safe as he stood guard over me like I was somebody's baby. A sentry from my innocent years. My ever-present protector.

For one week I felt his presence as I jumped on a vaporetto here, popped into a basilica there.

His voice sang in my head. My own rock~&~roll Where~is~Waldo as I crossed the island one canal at a time.

Then one day, just like that, he was gone. Maybe he had better things on his mine. Who can really say?

His smooth face no longer keeping me company, his eyes no longer watching. In my heart I felt certain I would see him later anyway ...

But, I was not alone for very long...

By the second week of vacation I had a friend.

So comforting to know, as I ventured miles and miles from home, all I had to do was call out his name and wherever he was, he would come running to see me again.

All I had to do was call...

oh happy day for random good luck

Dear Mr. Random Number Generator,

Hi, there! How you doing?

It's me, somepinkflowers.

Hope things are going well in your neck of the woods.

Me?

I am great. Things are wonderful.

Loving the beach here during the glorious Florida spring~time weather.

Say, I have been meaning to drop you a line.

Thanks to you and your cousin, Luck~of~the~Draw, I have been making out like a bandit over here for quite sometime.

Yes, I know...

For the longest time it was me griping about never winning anything.

It did seem that way. I guess we all go through a dry spell every now and then.

Sorry about that.

Normally I am like Pollyanna counting her blessings.

"Isn't life grand!" I have been know to say on more than one occasion.

"Wow! Wow! Wow!" I have been known to exclaim at the drop of a sunset.

Any little sparkly little thing can set me off.

Seriously. ♥♥♥

You know me...

I never want to miss anything.

I do try to look  on the bright side of most streets I walk down.

I love to sing in the rain providing it does not occur in the midst of a hurricane.

My personal mantra is --->Oh happy day.

{{ But you knew that, didn't you? }}

Anyway, this is about you not me.

Or, rather, about how you have been so kind to me, how you have included me in your warm embrace of luckiness.

I am so thankful, I can not even tell you.

I think it started a few years ago when I won this. 

Man! I was so surprised. You could have knocked me over with a feather!

And, Lord knows, I need all the $$$ help I can in the dental expense department.

So, yes, thanks for that, RNG.

Then I started popping in here to Blog World where I have won so many lovely hand~made treasures that I am afraid to list them or I may seem all braggy, or even somewhat greedy.

Yikes!

How can anypinkflower be so fortunate?

Why, I have no idea.

Mostly, I do not want to change the tide of good fortune that has been coming my way..I am just saying....

As it is, I am looking around now for wood to knock on so my stellar good luck does not change one little bit.

{{ thank goodness for this genuine little wooden box sitting right here:  knock, knock, knock... }}

I love how life comes rushing at you from around a corner.

I just never know what I will find delivered to my door, what will end up sitting on the wall of my garden.

I love how far, far away someone can draw my name out of a hat and then wondrous shiny things arrive and glow into my appreciative heart.

A lovely striped bit of ribbon. A sparkle on a butterfly's wing.

A random name selected with a silent touch.

A piece of paper gently unfolding into the sweet surprise that is my name.

Thanks to you, Mr. Random Number Generator, and  to your cousin, Luck~of~the~Draw!

Thank you both ever~so much. {{ Would you like a fruit basket? I am wondering... }}

Always know that you are both more than welcome at my house any time of the day, any day of the week as long as your gift is a happy one.

Just drop right on in. No need to call ahead. Mi casa su casa, you all.

Sincerely your friend for life,
somepinkflowers

PS--I only wish the entire world could be so lucky but I guess that would take A Fanciful Twist ♥of fate.....

then add one dog and stir

Before you get all mushy and think I finally acquired a dog, I did not.

I do not own a puppy but several own me part-time.

I am in the palm of the paws of several.

Growing up we had one dog, a half-breed terrier I think someone left by our back door, which is how all the pets arrived at my childhood home. {Well, not counting the goldfish won at the fair but that is another story.}

"Here, take this!" was how I saw it then, a gift, a dog, a cat plopped down from The Universe.

Maybe it was more a gift from God, "Here, you need this."

Most evenings I walk my neighborhood with the dog walkers. They have adopted poor-little-dogless-me and as one neighbor has two little fluffy-pups the mathematics of it all works out fine.

Sometimes I am the official pepper-spray holder as we have the occasional free-roaming rogue. Especially during hunting season one might find a working-class stray wandering lost and confused looking for a misplaced deer or turkey.

Normally these strangers listen to my voice of reason as I calmly explain, "Run! Fast as you can the other way, Lost Boy! I do not even know how to work this pepper-spray-stuff. Please get out of Carson City. Pronto."

This normally works as none of  our dogs look or smell like deer or turkey. Things turn out OK.

A temporary lost traveler wants to go home to his own kennel and kibble. These hunter-types are often misunderstood. They are simple souls and are plum worn out when they reach our hood. Two times now we have matched them back up to owner.

Just so you will know: I have never actually had to USE the pepper-spray even though I stand at the ready.

We walk prepared and trusting with our dogs into the dusk. If an owl hoots, we pick up the wee ones and tuck them under an arm.

When one of my peeps is feeling puny or has a project working I step up and volunteer for the official dog-walker position.  I might take Katie and give her one good loop around so she can do Her Business.

Katie always knows something is up. She is no fool.

She knows me but I am not The Momma. Katie drags her heels every step of the way until we get to the half-way mark. Smart cookie that she is, Katie takes off like a bat out of hell when she is on her way to her own place. When we get to the home-stretch, it is Katie by a mile.

How could Katie know she is half done? How does she know that at the very point she is now heading back to the one she loves the best?

See that is what I love about dogs. They so know stuff we do not know.

They look up at you with those old-world eyes and say everything you want to hear without even moving a muscle. Sometimes they smell and drool and we love them anyway.

On your worse day, your dog loves you.

I keep thinking I wanna a dog, gotta get a puppy, wanna do it now, dog, dog, dog....

But not yet.  I want to go here first and then here soon and so on. {Plus my pup needs to be an Inside Dog because we have these down near the creek.}

The day after I no longer have a working-away-from-the-house-career I am going to let The Universe bring me a gift.

I do not even care what breed he happens to be. I just want him to be loving like this one. OK, yes, and a cutey~pie like this one over here or, maybe a simple noble dog, like this one.

Well, will you look at this one!

I feel confident that the right dog will find me at the best time. I am sending out waves of love to The Universe to be on guard for the perfect one. I do not want to miss a thing so I will be ready.

In the mean time, back here at the ranch,  I curl up with old  Spike-the-cat, old Spike-the-inside-cat, and we are happy. He knows my ways and is busy trying to teach me how to slow down. I have never once seen him multitask.

Spike has me in the palm of his paw. He is just what I need.

hearts are flying and i am so thankful

For the longest time I thought my daddy was a Yankee.

Not that there is anything wrong with being a Yankee, or anything, but as a Florida born-and-raised child I thought North Carolina was part of The North.

After all, we did drive north every summer to visit my dad's family in Greensboro and it did take us forever to get there. It was UP north.

I may have been geographically challenged or just young. I suppose if asked I might have said that South Dakota was part of The South but no one ever asked me. Besides that, we never drove to South Dakota.

We never had the need.

I have never been to a funeral in the real north. I have never been to a funeral anywhere north of Greensboro, North Carolina, so I am not much an expert on funerals around the United States.

I have not been to many funerals in my long life. If you added them up, I do not think it would take both hands to count them all. Well, maybe, just.

It is not that I don't know people. I do. I know a ton of folks but most of them live practically forever. Thank goodness for that. Or maybe I was away at college when the older aunts and uncles died.

I was away at college a lot. Off and on.

The other ones, the people who die, at least lately, have been cremated and had their ashes scattered out to sea while guitar music floated gently down from the dunes. Beatle songs, some James Taylor, a bit of John Prine.That kind of thing.

Usually there are several big dogs wearing colorful bandannas and acting well-behaved at such events.

It is like the dogs know.

 

I do not mean to be gruesome here, but that is what I want for myself. Say in 30 or 40 years.

I do not want anyone messing with my hair after I have passed on. No one would get it right. You just cannot blow my hair and have it look like me. And I do not want to look like someone else for my last part.

But maybe that is just me being controlling.

Plus, I do not want people to look at my  face with a still tongue. A silent tongue. Not me.

Mostly I want to be cremated and sprinkled out to sea. I want to float around in the sun and let that be it.

The Mediterranean Sea would be a great place but that might be too much trouble. Any sea would do nicely. Even over here where I hang out now would be OK with me.

I am going to take a wait and see attitude about the whole thing.

 

The first friend of my mom's who stopped by after my daddy died brought us cold, roasted chicken and potato salad. I guess they do that up north and out west, too. They bring on the chicken, roasted or fried.

This sweet friend of my mom's covered the table with food--rolls and freshly steamed asparagus dripping with butter-- while she talked about the good times she remembered sharing with my parents.

She had lost her own husband a few years back and she knew what we needed even though we did not. The last thing I wanted was food and yet we ate and ate and ate.

I wanted to never get up from that table.

I wanted to be 12 years old forever. I wanted to not have to be in charge of anything else ever but washing the dishes and putting the left-overs away.

That is what I wanted.

 

I know I say this all the time but it is true: I love how things turn out.

Even in bad times things seem to turn out OK.

My mom and dad had planned their funerals years and years ago so we had to do very little decision-making. Bless them.

The funeral director knew my family and went over everything like he was a relative or something.

Maybe he is. I'll have to check.

 

My daddy wanted two songs sung at his funeral. They were not Beatle songs or James Taylor or John Prine.

They were the two songs that where sung at his own mother's funeral about 100 years ago.  She was my Granny and this might have been my first ever funeral.

I seem to remember the church being very hot and the windows were wide open. I could see the blue sky.

Everyone was given a paper fans printed with the name of the funeral home on the back side. On the front side was a photo of sun shining down through the moss-hung trees. The sun's rays fell on pink flowers blooming near green, green grass. Heaven on earth, it looked like to me.

The card-board was attached to a tongue-depressor-looking piece of thin wood. We all fanned and fanned to beat the band. Moving the air.

I remember thinking dramatically, "I am going to keep this fan forever!"

It might be in my attic still.

I will let you know if I find it.

If you are southern, you might could guess that one of the songs would be Amazing Grace which is perfect for such events. This song is a good place to let go of the tears you know are going to come out anyway. There is no holding back with Amazing Grace.

Maybe it is early programming but I cry every time I sing this song. I am not even going to pretend to be embarrassed. If I just hear the first few bars of this song my eyes get wet and I know to look for a tissue.

Sometimes I can be so southern.

The other song my daddy wanted was On the Wings of a Snow White Dove which is a real tearjerker, too, but if that was what my daddy wanted, that is what he was going to have.

 

I had no idea what to do about those songs. Time was short. I did not want taped music one bit.

We talked to the preacher about who should sing. About who could sing.

My cousin Charlene would have been perfect but she was out-of-town in Atlanta. So we prayed about it and ate more cold chicken and potato salad.

Then we let it go.

More food came our way. More widow-ladies.

Macaroni and cheese and fried chicken. Seven-up cake. Walnut-apple cake. Fruit, fruit, fruit.

My daddy's two sister arrived from out-of-town town, one from Texas, the other from North Carolina. Each was chaperoned by grown-up cousins I had not seen in forever.

Finally my cousin Charlene arrived from Georgia and took the music issue to heart. She arranged for my cousin Norma Kay to play the piano. Two cousins I had known from day-one. Only yesterday we were were playing dodge-ball and swing-the-statue and dressing doll-babies.

Now they were going to sing at my daddy's funeral.

These cousins of mine had done duets before and both are so talented I cannot help but brag. In a very short time--while I ate food I was not hungry for--they practiced my daddy's requested songs.

Amazing Grace and On the Wings of a Snow White Dove. 

Cold chicken, potato salad, macaroni and cheese and seven-up cake.

It could not have been any better.

I only wish my daddy could have been there.

I will always be grateful to my family and friends who sent messages of sympathy and understanding during this ever-so sad time, who dropped-off food and flowers and tight hugs.

I cannot thank you each here but I do thank you everyday still, in my heart.

Thank you so much.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The afternoon I left my home to go visit my daddy, for what turned out to be the last time, I received a wonderful box of sugar cookies with pink icing. They were from a friend who sent them to me because she thought I could use them "right about now."

Go figure.

The first friend of my mom's who stopped by after my daddy died brought us cold, roasted chicken and potato salad. For dessert we shared these sugar cookies made before they were even needed.

I wanted to never get up from that table.

I wanted to be 12 years old forever, eating sugar-cookies with pink icing. Without a care in the world. With my daddy napping in his chair there in the living room, cross-word puzzle half done. Waiting.

That is what I wanted.