somepinkflowers

minor inconveniences

"What it comes down to is the small things," Tim explained as we ran and puffed our way along the 15 mile route.

Catching his breath, Tim goes on, "After much suffering in silence and even angry words, it is the minor inconveniences that does us in every time."

Tim, his wife, Jan and I were training for a half*marathon race.

About 20 people in our running group all start out together early on Saturday mornings but it was us three who seem to fall into the same pace after about mile 3 .

We were neither in The Slow Group or in The Fast Group which has often been the story of my life.

Tim, Jan and I were in The Steady As She Goes Group but we always finished the race. No matter what.

Tim was a Life Coach and flew to different cities giving presentations to groups at corporate conventions. Helping people work smoothly together in spite of their differences. Building esprit de corps.

Tim was a motivator extraordinaire.
I'll say...

Whilst we moved steadily across the miles I would pick Tim's brain as it was there for the picking.

Plus, as you well know by now, I am filled with questions. Always.

What makes some move on?
What causes folks to quit their job?
Why do married people throw in the towel?
What signal tells our brain we have simply had enough?
Why do we hit the road after being in the same place for so long?

I find Longevity to be an interesting topic on many levels.

If one cannot hang in there with satisfaction, one cannot hang in there for any great distance.

In road races.
In life. And so on...

"It is the minor inconveniences that occur over and over again , day after day, that will be the end of any relationship," Tim explained.

"If every day your husband uses the scissors and does not put them back, if you ask him kindly to please put back the scissors and he does not, because after all it is such a small thing, if day after day you have to go find the scissors, eventually you just get Fed Up."

"Hunting for scissors is such a minor inconvenience.
But you get the idea. Scissors is just an example."

That day after this run I stopped at the store and bought scissors.
All kinds of scissors.

Scissors for the kitchen, for the bathrooms, for every room in the house. Years later, to this very day, I see my scissors in every room waiting.

Quiet little symbols to remind me to Pay Attention To The Small Things.

Not to cut things in two, these scissors standing at the ready, but to keep things together.

tourist tuesday and notre-dame cathedral, paris

How is your neck doing these days? Loose, limber & able?

I ask because I have been doing TONS of looking up lately and there may be repercussions.

I bought my iPhone a new app for Christmas!
It is called Star Walk.

For $1.99 I bought the entire universe which in my book seems quite the bargain.

Naturally, because Star Walk is So Amazing, I have been pushing it on {{boring}} all my friends.

I think they are starting to hide when they see me coming at them.

My cell clutched in my right hand whilst wearing a dreamy expression on my glowing face can only mean One Thing these days.

"You have to look at this!" I insist.

I flap the phone skyward waving it to beat the band, stirring up the GPS until all manner of stars pop up gleaming.

New~agey music plays softly through the teeny speakers.
I am such a sucker for ambiance! Supernovae dancing!

"Just look at that!" I say thrusting my turquoise phone under a captured glance.

I easily share the entire universe I have come to own.
That is just how I am.
I would gladly give you the world and now with Star Walk I can.

"I bet you think that is a star, don't you, " I point to a wee golden dot pulsating on my phone screen and then to its matching actual twin in the dark sky over our heads.  

"... but it is not!"

I try to pause for effect but so jOyous am I, timing is now NOT my strong suit.

"That glow is actually Koronas-Foton which is an orbital observation satellite sent up by the Russians in 2009!"

I am rewarded with the glazed eyes of the missing~in~action.

Clearly my friend has better things on her mind like, say, her grocery list.

Difficult for Koronas-Foton to compete with eggs and bread and cheese.

As I mentioned the other day, several of my friends have been selecting powerful words to guide them through 2012.

This one wisely chose the short but sturdy word:  UP.

UP is everything, really.

UP is the best way to feel.

UP is the sky overhead with Koronas-Foton, whether we care about it or not.

Every where I go folks are looking UP for one reason or another.

Thank goodness.

If you should find yourself at any point in your life in Notre~Dame Cathedral, take a seat and look UP.

When your are in Notre~Dame you are at the very center of France from which all distances are measured.

Look around, too, while you are there, but do look UP.

The outside of Notre~Dame is a wonder, too. The facade is amazing. There are few things I enjoy more in life than a well~placed flying buttress.

I could walk around Notre~Dame all the day long and shoot 1000 photos. 

Mr. Boredom would never even show his face.

Well, I say that because I have done.

Today we are just sitting here inside Notre~Dame where it is warm and people~filled.

Always, always it is about the light, isn't it?

Light shining in and out and UP...

Glowing faces in candle light.
Faces looking down and out and Up.

Today I give you Notre~Dame and candles and Koronas-Foton and UP.

2012 is going to be such a time of sharing!

haiku my heart loves a virgin a day, part 2

plastic flower love,
behind rusted window bars,
Your peace still shines on...

over here we honor the madonna--
as an offering of beauty & light--
during the first 12 days of december.

i hope you have a moment to visit a few...

a virgin a day and johnny depp

I watched this movie for the 3rd time this week-end.

Not because it is my favorite movie but because I had the DVD checked out from the library when I sprained my toe at a Christmas party last week-end but that is another story.

Whilst I sat with toe propped high and packed with a small, unopened bag of frozen baby English peas I needed comic relief of the Johnny Depp kind.

Could he BE any cuter running around the red-tiled roof tops of Venice wearing blue-striped pajamas? I think not.

Anyhoo, Angelina Jolie aside, the most glam star of the movie is clearly Venice.

I love Venice.
Who does not love Venice?
To love Venice is to love life in all its aging-and-no-one-is-getting-any-younger-over-here glory.

Nothing decays quite as well as watery Venice.

Standing proudly over the city is the watchful dome eye of the Basilica di Santa Maria della Salut, built to honor St. Mary the Saint of Health and Salvation. Perched over the entryway arch is Mother Mary, as seen in my photo above. 

It is here where I spent my coins lighting candles and making deals with God for the Good Health of all those I love.

I bet you do the same thing, somewhere...

BTW, no one I love has yet come down with a case of the plague.

If you go here you will see more Madonnas housed inside the Basilica. They will take away your breath and then give it back to you refreshed.

I would never lie to you.
Well, I would never lie to you about Mother Mary.

~~~~~~~

Meanwhile over here we honor The Madonna--
as an offering of beauty & light--
during the first 12 days of December.

I hope you have a moment to visit a few...

dia de los muertos, dia de bloglandia

Today on Dia de los Muertos I honor my father
who taught me many things.

How to make a fort of newly raked leaves & then jump in it.
How to ride a red two~wheeler on the hill of our driveway without falling.
How to catch a softball in a well~worn leather glove.
How to root for the Home Team and eat popcorn at the same time..

How to make a kite from an old newspaper with rags for a tail.
How to beware of over~head wires.
How to have patience when the wind would not come.
How to take turns with my sweet sister.

How to catch a blue~gill bream, to clean it
and to fry it up in a pan.

{{"Get it off, daddy!" my mother said I shouted
and then she wrote this
on the back of the documenting b&w photo
of My First Fish Caught Ever in the History of the World.}}

My daddy taught me how to rise early in the day--
whilst others were still sleeping--
to pick up the best shells along the beach,
a skill I find useful to this very day.

My daddy taught me how to stand outside under the trees--
on a little stool because I was so young--
to open oysters at a ricketty wooden table.
How to slide the salty blobs onto a saltine cracker
and eat them
on
down
even when my mom & sister would not.

How to spend vacations with family
even thought they might live 4 states away
and we would have to Make Time to travel there  to visit.

How to visit old people in the hospital
when I really only wanted to play outside in the Florida sun.

{{ At the time I had no idea he was training me
to care for him many years later, to care for my dear mom now.}}

Today on Dia de los Muertos I honor my father
who ate my first hard biscuits made from scratch
over and over again until I finally got it right
and he never once complained.

Then he turned around and did the same
with my powdery brownies too dry to swallow.

The scrambled eggs were yet another story...

Today on Dia de los Muertos I honor my father, Max,
with love and memories both overflowing.

I try to remember everything about my dad
but really it takes no effort at all.
None. What so ever.

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

{{ This posting is part of the Dia de Los Muertos celebration organized by rebecca at recuerda mi corazon and Stephanie at Mango Studio for Dia de Bloglandia. Follow the links for more of the Art of Remembering where we honor those we love who are no longer here. Hey, daddy! }}

dia de los muertos the art of remembering

today i am over here in my studio--
remembering my daddy
and
building his altar
for dia de los muertos

 

{{ every sunday in october please join us
in the art of remembering }}

for days and days i waited

By nature I am not a patient person.

I will flip the pancake too soon before the perfect little bubbles have formed. Every time.

Patience is illusive to me as a new born butterfly.

:-)

Which brings my lesson...

I bought the fennel. And the dill. And the parsley. Flat-leaf AND curly.

I weeded. Watered. Waited.

They came, the butterflies, and left me 10,000 white teeny pearl eggs which started to wiggle and grow.

Every morning I watched.
Every afternoon I counted.
I never actually interfered but after each storm I rushed to count again.

The numbers dwindled as they are apt to do.

Fourteen yellow, black & white striped caterpillars grew thick as my little finger then conjured lime~green chrysalis magic.

This young, black swallowtail I watched all morning long as she Became and flew away.

By nature I am not a patient person.
Having her way, Nature is patiently teaching me my lesson.

Oh happy day!

almost always it is really up to me

"You get to choose," she said.

"There will be Pilates in the shade on the terrace behind the pool if you want to come."

If you know me at all, you know I hate to miss a thing.
I want to do it all even when I cannot.

Slowly, slowly I am learning how to choose. To choose wisely for me.

I am listening better to my head and heart and trying to select the Right Thing for me.

Sometimes others have a sweet hold on my hours.
Because they love me, because I love them back.

Mostly it is up to me to weigh things, to find the balance for myself.

I know you are the same way.

Busy weighing this and that ever minute of the day, mostly without even dwelling on it.

This is just what people do.

Seeking your balance. How to spend your time. Your energy.

Living somewhere between what you Want to do and what you Need to do.

Does it ever get any easier to decide, I do wonder?

Somethings are a Given. We have no choice.

Most decisions are not that urgent and mighty. We just float on down the stream left or right.

We seem to all end up in the right place.
Have you noticed?

Almost always it is really up to me.
Almost always it is really up to you.

To buy the boots, to savor the sweet, to say yes.
Yes.
Yes.
Yes.

Taking a breath I said No to the Pilates in the shade on the terrace behind the pool.

Instead, I followed my whispering desire to strike out on my own. 

And that is when I found these sunflowers tucked away in a garden.

Growing there with onions and pomegranate trees  in a tidy plot of properly cultivated salad vegetables and small fruit trees.

Standing strong and tall under the clear Moroccan sky.

Sunflowers heavy~headed and each nodding with one billion seed~babies. They could have been anywhere in the whole wide world practically, these sunflowers.

But here they were.
Standing next to me.

tourist tuesday and inside seattle jenny's garden

Last evening whilst strolling down by the creek to check post~Hurricane Irene water levels, three bats did swoop down at me to give pre~Halloween greetings.

Let me just say this:  I could not have been more pleased!

To come upon small unexpected pleasure is what I live for.

Unexpected pleasure is the stamp upon my Happiness Letter. It is what gets me through my up & down day.

Earlier this summer when it was still Spring~like in Seattle I visited this one.

From the moment I pushed open the tall, wooden gate to Jenny's front yard unexpected pleasure washed over me like calm, warm seawater in a shallow tidal pool.

Front & back yard, I hardly knew where to look first...

I felt most welcomed by my thoughtful hostess and her well~placed fancies.

And while the entire venue was magical in feel...

I was quickly drawn to details of soothing color and surprising form.

Oh happy day!

The flowers were praising the sun.

The little bits were blessing us all.

I wanted to be an elf  to play here all the live~long day.

Let me just say this:  I could not have been more pleased!

As Hurricane Irene sludged her proddy way up the coast last weekend I renewed my happy ways by taking comfort in small unexpected pleasures.

I curled up with a good book and a cup of hot tea as the wind~bands played around my garden.

I take comfort in knowing that after the storm Nature will return to Her blooming, self~cleaning manner.

Tree tops snapped by wind will sprout double the branches. Sodden flower~heads will fall and become home to slimy but useful snails.

Nature will right herself, this is do know.

I hope my friends up the coast did not suffer too greatly.

I hope good fortune smiled down on you in your possible time of need. I hope you had a good book and hot tea and maybe even cake.

No matter what The Crazies say about there being Hurricane Hype----->  high speed winds and encroaching seas are not to be ignored.

As nature rights Herself  I send you 2 wishes this day:  May you come upon small unexpected pleasure. May you have the time to drink it up.

tourist tuesday and the catedral of santa eulalia, part 2

A Disappointment can loom large if you let it.

Sometimes a Disappointment will lift its ugly, pock-marked head and point its black, beady eyes in my direction.

Mostly when a Disappointment happens I simple attempt to look bored and give a fake yawn as this buys my heart time to recover gracefully.

You might want to try that trick sometime if a Disappointment should ever look your way, which I hope it will not.

Go ahead. Try this---->Yawn, yawn, yawn...

I stood looking,  looking,  looking for the famous Bridge of  Sighs one fine May day only to find a false facade urging me to buy this.

I had come all that way...

Thank goodness Venice had other sights on which to feast, is all I can say.

Once I popped in here expressly to view this, I think it was. 

This amazing colored etching was off gallivanting around. Out of town visiting others. On vacation in New York or maybe elsewhere giving a seminar. Something. Somewhere where I was not.

I guess I should have phoned ahead.

Whilst I am happy that important things get cleaned, spruced up and persevered, sometimes I miss seeing The Actual Thing.

This was the case a year or so ago when I visiting the Catedral Basilica de Barcelona.

You might remember I showed you the tip top of this cathedral over here. 

I could not show you the front of the church as it was under wraps being washed to perfection. No one wanted this beauty tobe seen with her makeup off, I am thinking.

These things will happen when one travels. You show up and The Thing is off gallivanting or under wraps.

A Disappointment will lift its ugly, pock-marked head, and look in my direction.

So I went ahead and did this--->Yawn, yawn, yawn...

Then I said to myself, "Oh well, self, I guess I will simple need to come back here later. "

Today I present you the inside of the Catedral of Santa Eulalia.

Here a chapel. There a chapel.

Everyplace an opportunity to pray for patience and to pray for further travel opportunities.

A place to practice yawns in a peaceful location if no one is about to think you are rude.

Does your camera gravitate towards gargoyles?
I know mine does as we have so few of them in my home town.

Hummm...does this one look as if he might be giving a yawn, yawn, yawn...

Lately I have learning to watch what I wish for or else I might miss something else and stumble upon Disappointment.

Did you ever wish for a pony to live in your back yard when you were a small tyke? Maybe you were blowing out birthday candles and a wee pony popped into you sweet head.

"I want that!" you thought excitedly with assurance.

Did that happen to you?

Were you disappointed when a pony did not appear?

Or maybe one DID appear and then you  had to learn how to muck out the stall when THAT had no place at all in your original wish.

"Who?" I ask you, "Who would wish to muck out a messy pony's stall? Day after day after day?"

Well, certainly not moi.

Now I mostly ask for general things when I make a wish like Having a Pleasant Day! or possibly finding a new red wool coat by Calvin Klein on sale for only $89.

When Disappointment looks my way I yawn, yawn, yawn and move on through my life.

I will catch the Bridge of Sighs next time. I feel quite certain. I think it will not go visiting after all and it will be sparkling when I do see it, no doubt.

I have stopped asking for a pony in the backyard as wouldn't it trample all over the azaleas growing there anyway?

Now I look for the seagulls on the beach and find I am rarely disappointed.

Now I simply make myself available to geese in a cloister and then move on to the next possible adventure.

tourist tuesday and the catedral of santa eulalia

I will climb the tallest thing I can find so that I might look out to get the lay of the land.

I did that here and here  and here.

What you see in the photo above is the roof of the Catedral in Barcelona. You are looking at the backside of the front of the steeple.

If you could climb around to the front of the steeple and look down you might find Catalonians doing the sardana. This is not my most faovite dance in the world but I love when folks are having a grand time, don't you?

Most of the Catedral was built between 1298 and 1450 but it was not completed until the 20th century.

This was the view southwards. If one could see forever one would soon see the Mar Mediterrania and her treasures.

This view is looking more towards Montjuic and the Museu d'art Catalunya. I liked how the tall palms in the court yard look a bit like greenish mushrooms sprouting up.

Everywhere I go around the world things are broken and need to be fixed. Or they are dirty and need to be cleaned.

It happens to the best of us.

Once when I went here to see this lady, she was out getting spruced up. These things happen and I try not to take it personally.

My personal travel guru says, "Always plan on going back!" So I do plan.
And sometimes it all works out.

I will climb the tallest thing I can find so that I might look out to get the lay of the land.

Also, I climb the tallest thing in order to catch a glimpse of others doing the same thing.

I have no idea who these people are walking around on the top of the Catedral in Barcelona. Our paths will never cross again.

Wouldn't it be a hoot if this handsome gentleman turned out to be your uncle Charlie from Chicago!

Man. That would so make my day!

Maybe somewhere there are photos of me standing near a newly-added elevator.

"Look!" someone I do not know may be saying Right This Very Minute to someone else I do not know, "Who is that curly-haired somepinkflowers taking 10,000 photos? I bet she needs them for a blog or something!"

For me--with a photo of a person I do not know-- it is all about adding a splash of needed color or capturing a useful leading line.

A unknown person is just a moving, breathing bit of art to me most of the time.

Sssshhhhh. Do not tell my secret...

Sometimes I try to figure out if the posted signs are meant for me or not.

If there is a word that looks like 'peril' or 'electrocution' or 'death'  I do stand back.

For some reason I really wanted to walk out here amongst the flying butresses. But I did not. Not this time.

"Always plan on going back," I reminded to myself.

Here are some more people I will never see again walking on the church roof with me in Barcelona.

Why are they looking down when all the great stuff is clearly Up High?

"Look up! Look up!" I want to shout.

But maybe they know something.

Yes, I will climb the tallest thing I can find so that I might look out to get the lay of the land.

But lately I have learned to look straight down, too, because you never really know.

Even in high places flowers might just surprise me.
Thank goodness.

 

tourist tuesday and isola di san giorgio maggiore

"We are going to Italy next month," my cousin explained. "Maybe you can give me some tips."

"Well, yeah!" I thought to myself. "Your best tip would be to take me with you!"

I THOUGHT that but I did not say it for fear of seeming overly pushy.

My cousin and her family were flying into Rome, going on to Florence and then taking the train on to the Cinque Terre for some hiking.

Yum~yum.
Just thinking about this journey made my heart jump for joy. I could smell the pizza Margherita, I could taste the limone gelato.

Why, oh, why, can I not go every where with everybody?

Children were involved in this my cousin's first time trip to Italy and 4 adults.

Time was limited. Venice would not be viewed.

Me?
I am still over here with Venetian dreams dancing fresh in my memory. I longed for my cousin to see Venice.

Why, oh, why, cannot everybody go every where?

All afternoon my cousin and I, towns apart, communicated via cell phones and syncopated laptops.

"Click here. Double click there." I was so bossy.  I just know it. I was.

"Here, let me send you the link. This is a great place to stay! Be certain to go here. Are you writing this down?" 

I was beyond bossy.

But my cousin would miss Venice!

One of my favorite ways to get a visual handle on Venice is to leave her and look back at her from a far.

A five~minute vaporetto ride from St. Mark's Square is far enough to get the big picture.

When you jump off the boat turn around and take a good look back.

Then look up at the San Giorgio Maggiore Church built by Andrea Palladio.

You may recognize his style.

I think you can take an organized tour of the church but I like to meander along on my own with a paperback travel guide.

Tintoretto's works are all over the place.

My personal fave is his Last Supper because he paints in a few cats which I think gives it a nice touch.

I am not one bit Catholic but in Italy I feel Catholicism washing over me in the best sort of way.

I spend all my pocket~change on candles and say prayers for everyone I know. I cannot help myself.

I might even have said a prayer for you.

A church with a bell tower is a wondrous thing if you can climb to the top.

These bells rang whist I was perusing the skyline.

The sound went through me and resonated for the longest time. My heart felt strong and clear.

To climb high in a strange land is one of the best things I know to do.

Only if I had had limone gelato in my hands when the bells rang could the day, would the day, have been better.

To climb high and look higher.
To climb high and look down.
To climb high and look out and around.

To be in Venice and climb high and look down and out and around...

This was really heaven.
Not Heaven, but heaven~ly...

I guess Heaven would have been if  I were swimming in the posh Ciprani Hotel swimming pool with the rock stars.

From this angle Venice looks very manageable.
A person can just walk and walk and walk.

You aren't ever truly lost because you just run right up on the other side of the island.

Then you just turn around and go back.

It takes my breath away to think of all the art and architecture that calls Venice home.

To have this vulnerable island flooded over with the encroaching sea is unfathomable.

So many people from around the world visit Venice.
So many people from around the world want to save Her.

On every corner there are artists drawing and painting Venice to beat the band.

Even more people, like me, are snap~snap~snapping away to record every square inch.

Everywhere I looked I found amazing composition.

{{ I snapped this shot for my friends over here and here who have together taught me the importance of Rust Observation and Appreciation. }}

 

Here is what I am hoping--->
I hope my cousin makes it someday to Venice. I want her to see the low~slung beauty of this small chunk of land. I want her to walk among the few locals who are left to call this place home. I want her to see the waves of people who come to view the miracle of the man~made islands and the somewhat~confusing~but~always~enticing canals.

Mostly I want her to see me riding by in a vaporetto, waving and snapping her photo.

Oh happy day!

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

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

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.

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

Other Dia de Bloglandia postings are listed HERE

You will want to visit them all.

bonnie raitt, bubble and me

Lately I have found such comfort in Being Clueless.

For the longest time I thought that pleasure thrived and blossomed in Knowing.

Not being one of those kinds of ponies, I have learned a new trick. Maybe you already know about the freedom that comes from Giving Up Control. My sister has been preaching this to me for years.

Me? I have come late to that altar.

When the bubble moved into my left eye to work its magic I was all "Oh, no-ish!" but put on a brave front to get it fixed, fast. A brave front wearing a bit of an eye-patch for weeks.

I traveled no where but to FaceDownLand where all things are acceptable style-wise.

Thank goddess.

Everything wonderful depends on vision over here in my world.

Well, Vision and Voice are my 2 big things, really.

But you know that.

And then there is Listening, too.

When I found out Bonnie Raitt was going to be giving a concert here earlier this year I was beside myself with happiness. Her voice just carries me away.

Plus, her heart seems strong and sure.

I have followed Bonnie Raitt for years and years and so on.

As Leslie emailed it so perfectly to me, "Oh, I love her. I had all of her albums when I had albums."

Me, too! Only I motored on up to her CDs when they came out, having learned my ways with 8-tracks and knowing my personal weakness to own music.

Bonnie Raitt concert tickets went on sale while I was in the midst of family stuff and things with my dad. Other things took all the space in my heart. I could not plan that far down any road.

The concert tickets were quickly sold out.

Then, as life is apt to do, things changed.

I cannot remember the details but something happened in Bonnie Raitt's life. I think she was in the midst of family stuff and things. Maybe other things took all the space in her heart and she could not sing.

So, she had to change the date of her concert. Moved it from earlier in the spring until now in October.

Well, those with tickets already for the spring had their turn to snap up the seats. Then quickly, quickly THIS concert was sold out, too.

But you know me. I am ever hopeful. I just put it on the back burner and moved on. 

Then spring and summer happened and I traveled and beached and worked.

One day Susan at work gave me a Bright Idea. "We should be volunteers at the Amphitheatre!"

So that very day my application was in the mail and soon I was seated at a volunteer meeting.

I love how life works out sometimes.

I was set for big things! To view and hear great things!

Then Hole-in-the-Retina showed up and made me humble. You will never know how humble.

Hole-in-the-Retina took away my vision in trade for a possibly healing bubble and put me out of action for the longest time.

With a right eye seeing for far vision, my left eye now had fishbowl vision. Specks of black flotsam swim around in there where no goldfish dares to go. 

I am calling the black floaty stuff eye*confetti. A homecoming parade for my sweet Vision. When it arrives, there will be celebration. I will let you know.

This past week I started back to work slowly where everyone was so thoughtful and helpful. I just cannot tell you how fortunate I am. Truly. 

In the midst of weird&blurry vision I have surrounded my self --without even knowing how--by loving and understanding friends and c0-workers.

I am so touched how even strangers soldier on up to help the bumbly-stumbly.

Saturday I drove for the first time in weeks. It is 3 right turns, a few miles straight and then one left turn and I am at work.

I know, I know. I should have given Fair Warning. Especially as the few miles straight is on US1.

Remember, the bubble in my eye is smaller every day. Now I am looking through only about 1/3 rd of a fishbowl.

Saturday Night was the Bonnie Raitt concert. I was there as a volunteer. My first night out with bubble. We had the best time. Just me and bubble and Bonnie Raitt and hundreds of people with various imperfections, some visual, some not so.

I was a Stairway Greeter. This meant I stood where folks walk into the amphitheater and look at their tickets trying to read the little numbers of where to find their assigned seating.

"What do I do now?" is written all over the faces of those new to this venue. I had my little flash-light and COULD SEE the floaty numbers.

My job as 4th in line, after arms are waved and fingers pointed, my job was this--->
"Ladies restrooms are to the right; Gentlemen are to the left."  And this---> "Please take advantage of all the fine concessions.  Step right this way, please away from the stairs!"

That is all the time allowed for loquaciousness.

We loved that concert. Me and my bubble. And hundreds of other people. {{And I discovered this one, the warm-up guy, for the first time--->  Who knew?}}

Still, I am not seeing my best but loving life with a different vision, the same voice.

Lately I have found such comfort in Being Clueless. So many of us are. I fit right in.

I had the quietest Sunday on record. I took my audio book from Elizabeth B and went for a lovely walk. I took these shots with my little Canon set on Who Knows What.

I had the quietest Sunday on record and late last night I found my cell had been set to Silent from before the concert the night before. {{ Sorry about that, Constance. Sorry I missed your call but you went with me anyway and here it is. }}

Embracing my cluelessness I walk on.

BTW, did you know that a person can get poison ivy by playing lovingly with dogs that have been tromping in the fall breeze down by the creek?

Me neither...

{{ but now i know }}

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.

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.

looking up for a sign

Last evening before the gloaming took its turn at the day, I charged up the 12V for my Black & Decker Quantum Pro cordless power drill and sent out a silent plea to the green~flash Florida sky.

A screw needed minor adjustment inside my white jeep, Blue, and nothing satisfies more that the use of a good power tool. Especially a tool long time rested in a dusty case sitting on an even dustier garage shelf.

Even though a simpler tool might have accomplished the job, it was the heft of the B&D I wanted. If you know what I mean.

All week it has been one thing after another for Blue with her persistent little needs.

New tires, new alignment, new valve gasket cover -----> new this, new that, NEW EVERY THING.

Never wants, always needs with my Blue.

Was it time? Was she trying to tell me something I did not want to hear?

Then to make matters worse, and isn't that always the way, I received an unsolicited letter in the mail.

"Now is the time!" the uninvited notice did shout, " Every one qualifies! 0% APR for 72 months on selected models! Step right up for your 'Cash for Clunkers' trade in!"

What?

What? What? What?

Cash for Clunkers trade in ?       What?

CLUNKER? 

Say it is not so! Not my sweet, ten~year old ride!   My Blue is practically pristine and she takes me every where I want to go that does not require air travel.

No! Not a clunker, my white jeep named Blue!

Confident with the solid weight of the B&D in my hand, I sent out a question to The Universe.

"Oh, heavens above, tell me what to do, please." I sent out my question in a clear and precise manner. No dilly~dally here.  "Should I purchase a new car or should I soldier on with my aging Jeep?"

"Grant me wisdom." I requested. Then I paused and searched the sky.

The sky said nothing so I fixed the wobbly screw.

I put the Quantum Pro back to sleep in her sturdy black case.

Then I felt someone looking down at me.

Then I felt 2 someones looking down at me.

"Are you  my sign?" I asked each someone as they sat watching me from the tree tops.

"Whoooo?" they both replied.   {{ Like I did not see that coming... }}

"You!" I answered somewhat impatiently, all the while reaching serendipitously for my beach camera, my some~what sandy point & shoot as it sat there waiting--as always--on the passenger seat of my car.

"New car? Keep the Jeep? Which will it be?" I remained calm, patient and beaming with hope as I waited for the reply.

The light was fading fast. I got off a few sneaky snaps.

Each someone looked at the other someone.

Clearly, neither someone wanted to commit.

"Tell me what to do," I pleaded but did not grovel one little bit.

With blithe unconcern both someones flew quietly away. To snack on a snake, for all I knew.

A single feather drifted down and landed on my Blue. One feather. Bright white tinged with light brown.

On Blue's roof. Back near the bicycle rack.

My sign.

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.

and somewhiteflowers, too

Yesterday I had to have Emergency Dental Surgery. 

I know.

It sounds just terrible but it really was not as I was given some very interesting Alice~in~Wonderland drugs to take before, during and after.

Not that the pills made me larger or smaller because they did not. I did not fall down into a rabbit hole or have tea with a mad hatter. Nothing quite so obvious as that.

Just a simple, every~day, unobtrusive paradigm shift.

And haven't we all had those?

What the pills did do was make me extremely unconcerned about some minutia and then unbelievably fascinating with others.

{{Well, maybe you know all about this kind of thing and I would not be at all surprised if you did. Nor judgmental. Not me. Things happen.}}

About one hour before the appointment I took one little pill. Nothing to look at really. A sneeze could blow it out of your hand into the next county. It was that insignificant.

Now, I do not mean to push drug~usage onto anyone. I do not even drink colas or teas that contain caffeine. If I even LOOK at too much dark chocolate I am buzzing off the wall, awake all night with wild heart~beating.

So do not get me wrong here. I was never the Wild Hippie Girl who swallowed This and That.

No, I was the Flower Child who baked my own bread, made my own jam and worked in the food coop in exchange for organic cashews and fresh Zellwood corn.

Body=temple kind of thingy.

About 10 minutes after I swallowed the pill I noticed the white azaleas sitting on my kitchen table as I slowly ambled past on my way out the door.

I really, really Noticed Them.

They were simply Glowing. Turning this way and that, posing, they begged me to take a few snaps.

And so I did.

And then a few more.

I was completely mesmerized. At that very moment all the planets in the world combed their hair and smiled at me.

We had such a bond working here. Those white flowers, the planets and me.

The sun, coming in through my window, was singing to me in honey tones of goodness. The flowers were practically purrring in the warm sunshine. Their petals velvet with never~ending softness.

Why in the world should I have Emergency Dental Surgery when the entire world was so bright and promising right there by my kitchen window?

Why? Why, indeed?

If I placed my head down on the pine table the energy magnified by the water, which sweetly nourished my flowers, would certainly heal my wayward tooth. Clearly this was my ticket to perfect teeth, healthy gums and unimagined riches.

A rest in the sun watched over by somewhiteflowers.

Clearly my ticket to everything.

But that was yesterday.

If my driver had not been waiting I might still be at the kitchen table with my addictive camera, my enticing white azaleas and my drug~induced visions of bay~window nirvana.

Today I sit easy and upright with pulsating Frankensteinian stitches above molar #3.

I remember nothing of the actual Emergency Dental Surgery procedure. Thank goodness.

I sit here at the table gentle swallowing Dannon All Natural, No Artificial Anything strawberry yogurt. A few of the browning azalea petals fall gently down to rest on Pine Table Street.

The temperature dropped 15 degrees on this the first day of Spring here in Florida. The wind outside my window is whipping itself into an oak~pollen froth.

Where is my singing sun? Where?

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.