somepinkflowers

of what use are grasshoppers and why are there 10,000 feasting in my yard now

Warning! Warning! Warning!

Normally I try to feature lovely pink flowers or sweet white seashells over here on my blog.

Or maybe exotic locations, like Daytona Beach, where I have tromped about...

What you are viewing here today is the damage done by a monster*size grasshopper to one of my favorite amaryllis bulbs last season.

Not exactly a work of art during the best of times, most amaryllis bulbs could pass for an old onion.

After my new bulbs bloom during the Christmas holidays I routinely plant them outside to bloom over and over and over again in my yard the following spring.

Well, that is the plan that has served me well over the years.

The plan that worked until the monster*sized grasshoppers took over a few summers ago.

This spring, in a last ditch rescue operation, I relocated my outside bulbs into indoor pots and placed them behind a locked screen door out of hopper harm's way.

We will see, we will see...

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, the baby hoppers are back in full force. Inch~long black ones with high hopes of growing HUGE by eating my dear garden.

Clearly, clearly LOTS of grasshopper hanky*panky was going on end of last summer right out there under my nose.

For days I traveled far and wide to find a cure to rid my yard of the 10,000 babies. Each hour they multiplied and doubled in over-all size. No joke.

"I could sell you this poison," explained Janet at the local hardware store, pointing to the bottle on the right, "but it wouldn't kill them and you don't want it NEAR your herbs. Do you have squirrels and birds in your yard?"

"You might try that mixture," explained Jim at Home Depot, pointing to the can on the left. "Of course, it will cost you $40 plus the $55 sprayer and you might want to wear a HazMat suit. Do small children play in your yard?"

So,
right now I am looking for a group of 8~year~olds who would be eager to gather up the baby hoppers at a penny a piece. Maybe a nickle for the larger ones. I'll even spring for some rocky-road ice*cream at day's end.

Also, I am willing to throw in a jar so each volunteer can carry their collection of insects back home ... into another neighborhood ... far, far from mine.

If you cannot find me for a day or two I am over here busy, busy designing a Baby Grasshopper Collecting Girl Scout Badge which is my Plan B.

We will see, we will see...

 

collecting little red*wings

Clearly, clearly in another life*time I was a scientist who walked beaches collecting shells for naming.

I was a scientist who harvested seeds for drawing, not for planting.

I carefully pocketed acorns & seed pods & hoped for the best as far as insects were concerned.

I tried to stay away from poison ivy & poison oak & Certain Evil Snakes.

Audubon & Darwin were Great Friends of mine but I only wanted the cast off pieces of old nature.

I did not want the need of killing things to look inside.

And to this day my desires are simple.
I want to look Close Up at the beauty of seeds & shells & left~over nature bits.

I want to share them with you.

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 the natural history museum, london

Quickly, quickly come with me down Cromwell Road.

Imagine you are the great, great, grand niece of Audubon, or the far but fond cousin of Darwin.

Mind the small ones as we field*trip over here!

Fair warning:  If birds in cages give you grief, turn back!

Whilst we are not visiting all 90 million specimens housed at the Natural History Museum, remember this is no zoo.

Embrace the scientist that is in your heart and walk with me through the Bird Wing of the Museum.

The Bird Wing!

I know, I know!
But it is here that we learn to call the bits & pieces by their name.

Crissum.
Rectrices.

We look eye-to-eye with wondrous creatures from the past.

We get up-close-and personal with the everyday.

We watch future Audubons at work.

Maybe this one cannot travel to the jungles of Africa to capture her subject.
{{ Her water smuggled inside a recycled plastic bottle unless she paints with apple juice. }}

Here is the cousin of the ones that mate under the full moon near my own bedroom window.

Even in this state, the feathers call to me to touch.

Behind glass they perch and soar. They waddle and list.

I image that if I worked in London I would want to work here.

Unless, maybe, I could obtain a dream*job dressing windows down the road over here.

This place is a Noah's ark of dead things, I know.

Still I am drawn here time and time again.

It is here I think upon the poor dodo.

Also, I worry about the species that are disappearing even as I type this word.

Some birds I have at home but here they let me openly adore.

Another artist hard at play. This one with colored pencil.

I imagine how he spends his day.
Sitting in his own chair brought from home.
Coloring.

"On my way to draw the owls, dear!" he shouts out to his wife as she weeds her garden. Or maybe she is over at Hyde Park sketching the fresh & tall digitalis.

Down the hall school children are laughing.

But, here, now, there is the quietness of respect.

Always remember to look up and down the hall.
Here we could see everything, if only we had time.

I leave you with the blue-winged kookburra and dreams of northern Austrailia.

Diversity!
I am so in love with it.

 

making medium muffins

Straight away let me tell you this----> You are not perusing a tutorial on Encaustic Anything.

Everything I learned about encaustic painting I did learn from this one over here.

What you are reading now is a Love Story~~a waxy crush, if you will~~ started sometime ago by this one.

I am besotted with this part--->
the way one can, embed with wax, giving things a dreamy look...

From time to time I photograph my somewhat artistic endeavors and share them here but tutorials are bothersome for me due to: 

1. Details.
2. Interruptions.

I am not so keen of measuring things exactly, growing up next to my grandmother as I did, where we eyeballed most thingies in the recipe department.

Grandmother's Egg noodles:

• Pile some flour on the counter and make a well in it with a spoon.
• Crack open a brown egg and drop the inside parts into the flour well.
• Fill up one half of the egg shell with water and pour the water in the well.
• Throw away all egg shell bits unless an egg*shell art*project is planned.
• Sprinkle with a dash of salt and, maybe, some bits of fresh parsley.
• Knead from the outside in to make a plump yellowish ball.
• Roll out and cut into lengths using a sharp knife.
• Let noodles dry over a wooden spoon held in place over the counter with a heavy Mason jar filled with dried field peas.
• At dinner*time simmer noodles in chicken broth until tender.
• Eat.
• Yum.

The above is not my Grandmother's Egg noodles.   It is a slab of beeswax.

Whilst writing this posting thus far I have been interrupted by phone by my mom, who will be 89 on Thursday, who lives 2 towns away in an Assisted Living Facility, who thinks every day she is still at work at the local high school from whence she retired about 25 years ago...

"I had to work yesterday on a holiday!"my mom complains, referencing Martin Luther King Day. "We ALL had to work over here even though the news was all over the TV!"

Having learned the way her mind works these days I go ahead & jump right in.

"I am so sorry you had to work, Mom!" I answer, a heartfelt & true ~loving daughter. "Everyone there knew that you could be trusted to run things while they were off."

"It was a day of service, Mom. You did a great service. You will get off next time and someone else will take a turn." I am on a roll here, getting into useful deception. It helps to have a creative mind sometimes.

"Plus, Mom, you got paid 2 times your normal pay!" I am out~and~out making things up now.

"Well, OK!" she says feeling wealthier.

So.
No tutorials from moi.

Let me just say this--->
You need to melt in  Damar Resin with the beeswax in order to keep it stable for painting. Stronger. Something like that.

I like the witchy mixing up of things, melting away on the burner. I enjoy the getting~ready~to~proceed parts.

Mostly I long for a cauldron.

I am hoping Damar Resin is a sustainable resource.
It often contains wee bugs and twigs like lovely Old Russian Amber.
{{ I love that it does.}}

The mixture must be strained, although, I rather like The Odd  Dark Thing swimming around in my wax.

Not one thing in the world smells as good as beeswax melting.
Unless it is sugar cookies, with a touch of cardamon, baking.

In my garage studio I keep the door wide open to safely ventilate.
Birds fly in sometimes to see what is up.

As my wax medium muffins cool I see the world reflected in my efforts.

Each one is filled to the top with possibilities galore!

On a cool day the wax sets quickly.

Each little muffin will go on to Bigger Things.

Don't they look yummy!

What happens next to the wax, you want to know? Some will be introduced to color.

This is one of my little encaustic paintings right here. But I need to motor.

Gene, who cuts my grass religiously and with much enthusiastic energy, wants to talk with me about Early Poison Ivy Control Methods.

We will see.
We will see.

If you get an art crush on wax or want to see more dreamy encaustic paintings:  Do pop in over here and tell Judy I said hello.

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

PS--If you thought you saw my naked foot up there in this photo, well, you did.

Yes, I know I was standing on a cold concrete floor in the winter*time.

Yes, I know I was standing near melting Hot Wax. Yikees!

I think better with my shoes off. What is a girl to do?

 

full*moon~itis

Does this ever happen to you?

You are sleeping away just fine having The Best Travel Dreams Ever and then, suddenly, without any warning what-s0-ever------>You wake up wide~eyed, sit~plum~straight~up~in~bed awake?

With me it can mean only one thing---->
The full moon is out there in the dark sky messing with my circadian rhythms.

I reached over to check the time, to see if I should just go ahead and get on up, and then I knocked my sweet little alarm off its home base and it takes a tumble...

Sweet little alarm falls onto the rather large & cumbersome stack of books which I keep beside my bed for emergency night-time reading. This opens up the back and the wee battery rolls  W A Y  under my bed.

I don't care how old I get I am NeVeR going to reach under my bed in the dark of night.

If I turn the light on now I know I will never get back to sleep...

Finally, finally the sun creeps on up and here I am.
Worn out. From doing nothing. I could have been reading.

I could have been playing Angry Birds or Words With Friends.

How long have I been awake?
Why, I have no idea.
I am completely thrown into a time~warp loop!

That moon!

 

why, i have no idea

What are those yellow thingies crawling on my milkweed plant?

Are they the babies of the bigger orange & black striped bug?

Of what USE are these yellow fat insects?
Were the striped bugs snacking on them like popcorn?
Or maybe these guys were sucking then down?

Why, I have no idea...

One minute everything is hunky-dory in my friendly & quiet milkweed neighborhood.

Red and yellow flowers blooming under the hot Florida sun.

Bright bundles of blossoms shouting out to any & all butterflies to just drop on in and rest a spell.

Then these guys show up in amazing numbers.
I do not even remember inviting them to tea.

I might add, the stripey bugs seem to find my tall milkweed plants an ideal location for intimate~~but seemingly long~lasting~~encounters.

Leaning down close..and closer still... I could almost here their mating call...

At first I thought the wee yellow bugettes were the rapid result of spirited intercourse between the larger bugs.

But NO they are not.

The big striped guys turned out to be milkweed bugs {{ go figure! }} and the fat, roly-poly yellow ones are yellow aphids.

I might add that I gleaned this bit of insect knowledge this morning on the Internet whilst I had my morning tea.

As I skip my way through life, working on one scout badge right after another, I am joyfully amazed at how my education grows rapidly between my front yard garden  and my front porch swing thanks to my sweetly accommodating laptop.

Thank goodness.

Yesterday morning when I left the house at 8am~~ taking my dear mom to her great grand~daughter's first birthday party~~the gas at the corner station was selling for $3.72 a gallon.

Last night when I drove by the Same Station at 10pm~~after the Selana Gomez concert where I happily volunteer~~gas was selling for $3.64.

What happened during the day to cause this drop in gasoline prices?

Why, I have no idea...

I guess some things just happen naturally.

i will never be really ready

"I saw the UFO hovering over a cabbage fields near Hastings," this artist told me about 100 years ago. Fritz was sitting in the filtered shade on St. George Street while his tropical art works were spread out behind him, hanging on a cool coquina wall. His eyes were roving as he went into story-telling mode.

Clearly, like me, he did not want to miss a thing.

Because I was wide eyed and constantly on the watch for signs,  because this fascinating man was an artist and not a scientist, I believed him with my whole heart.

UFOs hover over cabbage fields not far from my own home.

I am nothing if not patient when it comes to waiting for certain things.

I am nothing if not vigilant when it comes to watching for signs.

A person never knows what can be just out of reach, sitting there right around the corner.

On the evening of Friday, February, 18, 2011, I was traveling east across this bridge in my hometown. Rising tall and quick across the river as at one time this bridge had high hopes as the St. Johns River possessed dreams of being part this masterpiece of construction.

Sometimes the thoughts & plans of certain scientists make my head hurt. Especially when the mass chopping down of old large trees is figured into the equation.

To me the bridge is now a dinosaur with his nose sniffing the lack of commerce on one shore whilst his tail rests gently on the swampy other side. Nothing much seems to be happening here.

On the evening of Friday, February, 18, 2011, I was traveling east, racing up the back of the dinosaur, headed home across the glassy river.

That was when I saw it.

In the place where one might expect to see a few stars popping out in the gloaming, there was this fattest, roundest golden disc hanging in the sky.

The sight plum took the air right out of my lungs, right out of the entire jeep, I am thinking.

Now, I am not saying it was perfect in every fashion, this amazing, flying roundness. Mock-marked it seemed, with craters and such.

I remember think, " Holy cow! I am not ready for this! Aliens are landing and I have not even had supper. Plus, I just finished my last bottle of water."

No.
Really. This was my first thought: food & water.

My second thought was, " Dear Lord, let the aliens look like George Clooney or even Keith Urban but nothing like this."

That was when I noticed the craters and such again.

It was just the big fat moon. Glowing wide and flat and in my face.

I could have touched this big fat moon had my hands not been cemented to the wheel at 10 & 2.

Man.
My feelings were so mixed!
I have waited so diligently with complete & faithful abandon to reason.

Because my jeep is a No Phone Zone, I called no one to point out the big fat moon. But I savored its full flavor all the way home.

By the time I pulled into my driveway the moon was over-head and back to its normal pie-in-the-sky size. No biggie.

But last week I came to the party prepared!

On the evening of Saturday, March, 19, 2011, I was sitting on the beach when the sea gave birth to the largest moon in recent history. A super full moon!

 

I meant to take photos but instead I simply bathed in the magic light and danced around a bit for good fortune. I may have chanted a harmless wish which will not be shared here at this time.

I could not take my eyes off the big fat moon. Did you see it?

Let me just say it looked something like this.

I am nothing if not patient when it comes to waiting for certain things.

I am nothing if not vigilant when it comes to watching for signs.

A person never knows what can be just out of reach, sitting there right around the corner or hanging out over the sea.

On the evening of Monday, April, 18, 2011, I will head back to the beach for the full pink moon.

Let me know if you want to come.
{{ I am not promising a thing. }}

tourist tuesday and the hot chocolate near the sea

In yesterday's warm sunshine I walked beside the calmly sleeping sea near my home.

Surfers--perched on rainbow-colored boards--sat on the ocean's peaceful back waiting for the next big wave that would never come quick enough to suit their purpose.

I walked along the shore a greedy thief pocketing mostly-broken shells as they are my favorite kind. Chipped and imperfect they harbor personal and private histories I will never know.

My finger rested perfectly at home in one pink shell and I found solice like a child sucking her thumb. And I should know about such things.

So much in mother nature is offered up to us and too often we take it forgranted. I guess this is human nature as however can we walk around all the day long saying:

"Wow! Would you look at the color of that flower!"
"Oh, my goodness! What do you think about that redbud tree!"
"Holy crow! Did you see the size of that seagull?"

If we noticed every little nature miracle we might never get anything else done otherwise.

I grew up on this sweet beach and never gave thanks for her until I went away to college and she went missing.

Isn't that always the way? You do not know what you have until it is gone.

When I travel I always think to myself, "I may never see this again!" and then I pray I will. I hope and pray again.  Sometimes I rinse and repeat this mantra many times over the course of my stay.

I bet you are the same way. I bet you do the same thing.

I have made every attempt known to women*kind to plop down near foreign shores whenever I can possibly manage it.

I plop down and after taking 10,000 photos I sit back and give thanks for my good fortune.

Never have I wondered what would become of my fine view if the earth quaked and the sea rose up. Never have I pondered all the treasures that would be lost.

In yesterday's warm sunshine I walked beside the calmly sleeping sea near my home and thoughts of tormented Japan plucked at my heart.

if you have arachnophobia, happy halloween and see you next week

A baby ringneck snake wandered into my hand yesterday.

Before you panic or think I am overly brave, the black and orange snake-let was smaller than some of the earthworms I have working for me over here in my garden.

Plus, I had on my sturdy gloves.

Truthfully, baby reptilia was headed the other way when my hand reached out for his wiggly body. I did cuddled him softly and released him later down near the creek so he could feast on fat grubs and such.

I hope you understand I could not help myself. I had to pick the wee snake up as he was dressed nicely in Hallowen colors like so many things in nature are.

That was when I realized I had not shared my summer beachhouse friends with you.

Here in Florida we have tons of hairy-legged, black-and-orange, golden silk orb-weaver spiders which dance high in the trees and fly on gentle breezes to go wandering.

These guys have a leg-span as wide as your hand and spin huge artistic webs that catch unsuspecting and near-sighted damselflies.

Sometimes I yell, "Look out! Duck! Go the other way!" but the glimmery damsels seem oblivious to English.

Then we have the happy and bold jumping spiders who are smaller and wooly looking.

The jumpers have a smiley way of looking at the world and never seem to bother me.

I think they must be safe and harmless, too.

But I could be wrong.

today is labor day here in the US of A

Only ants are working in my neighborhood.
No energy will be spent by me
unless I make tea
or turn a page in my book.

expanding my point of view

Down US1, ten minutes from my kitchen door, the sun slides out of the sea to hang in the sky to dry. 

Across the porch, ten steps from my front door, something has been munching on the hollyhocks.

Me and Earl Grey are trying to decide which direction our day will take. Head for a quick dunk in the Atlantic or preform some much needed garden maintenance?

Which will it be?

Two major pests haunt my gardens, front and back, if you do not count the armadillo.

In the name of domestic tranquility I have assigned the backyard, down near the creek, as Official Armadillo Territory.

What they do back there is nobody's business. Come along to the front yard and they stand to be relocated into a laundry basket, topped with an old cookie sheet, and then transported by Jeep west across the railroad track. They never make it back here. I am certain.

I give fair warning.
Families may be separated.
Think twice about moseying around to the front of my house, armadillo family!

Grasshoppers and slugs drive me up the garden wall.
They are the two pests that take up TONS of my valuable time as I WOULD NEVER THINK TO STEP ON ONE AND SQUISH IT.

I spray no pesticides. I belong to the Church of Relocation.

Grasshoppers and slugs are gentle moved by hand down near the creek where the black snakes swim and the owls feast.

I'm just saying...

I own about  2 dozen pairs of garden gloves as I also must wrestle from time-to-time with poison ivy.

I gather up my grasshoppers and my slugs with covered hands as the feel of them on naked skin makes me feel puny and fainthearted.

The grasshoppers are all crunchy hard with sharp elbows and hairy, barbed feet. The slugs are slimy, tough and squirmy. If this description makes you feel all puny and fainthearted, why, I do understand.

I have never quite figured out why I like squirrels as they are only rats with fluffy tails. 

It is the same with raccoons. Aren't they only 'possums wearing fluffy tails?

Rats and opossums do not melt my heart or make me think of sweet storybook characters. Not one bit.

Likewise, when a slug wears a spiraling shell, my feelings go soft and kind as with fluffy~tailed squirrels and raccoons.

"Look!" I kindly point out somewhat breathlessly, "a little snail making its glossy, iridescent trail!"

Even snail eye~stalks do not offend me, wildly waving about as they are apt to do.

When I see a shell-less slug sluggishly making a journey I know straight away he is doomed to the Nuisance Relocation Program.

Why, oh, why am I so prejudiced? I have no idea.

My day would be simpler if critters just flew in, poked about for a short time, and then flew out.

Take the nectar! Take the pollen! Leave only microscopic footprints, please!

This would satisfy me to no end.

Instead, many garden annoyances move right on in permanently, eating holes in scalloped leaves, deforming blooming pink~perfections, throwing parties, and, in general, spoiling the view.

Down US1 ten minutes from my kitchen door the sun slides out of the sea to hang in the sky to dry.

A quick dunk in the Atlantic wins hands down.

It is August now, no hurricane is brewing and I am playing in the surf while the getting is good.

Everybody has to be somewhere. Every thing needs breakfast.

These hollyhocks have had a good run since April. Already the blossoms are fading and shrinking in size due to the sweltering heat. Soon it will be time for marigolds.

Finishing the Earl Gray, I turn my back to certain destruction and head on out.

To the snail, to the grasshopper, my hollyhocks may resemble the last of the strawberries or the final cherries of the season.

I am just not going to worry about it today.

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 tomorrowland

Time just zooms by.

Blink and it is another day.

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

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

Wrong.

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

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

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

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

I know.

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

And so I did.

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

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

Oh happy birthday day!

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

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

Time just zooms by.

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

Thank goodness.

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

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

After all, Cape Canaveral was only miles away.

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

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

Necessity is the Mother and so on...

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

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

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

Look up.

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

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

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

It just goes to show you.

Time just zooms by.

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

They played over here.

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

Not the original band? Not the original band?

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

You do the math.

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

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

Time just zooms by.

Does anybody really know what time it is?

I digress.

Pardon the rant.

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

Anyway.

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

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

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

"Right on, " I might answer.

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

Listen.

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

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

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

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

Time just zooms by so watch this space.

 

Maybe by then I will have my own Astro Orbiter.

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?