If you think life is grand, if you do not want to miss a thing, then go to Vanessa's Hauntingly Magical Celebration.
She was so thoughtful to dream up this stellar event. We all do love her so!
Then pop in here and here and here and here...
Oh. Yes. Sign my guest book and leave a wish. It might come true.
Who is to say?
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.
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.
Last night I flew like the wind with my owls.
Well, they swooped down from the mossy-dripped oaks and zoomed ahead of me while I rode my bike in the gloaming trying to catch up. I never did. I never do.
I am ever~hopeful.
Riding my bike in the evening is one of my all~time most favorite things to do. I guess I am always trying to travel in one way or the other.
In the evening my neighbors are inside eating their supper or getting ready to pop something in the microwave. The news is on. The dog has his bone.
Transition time. Chow~down time.
Outside the front yards are mostly vacant. A scattering of lawn furniture sits here and there rather naked and exposed. Cars are cooling their heels in driveways.
"Why do we drive on the parkway and park on the driveway?"
I will never know.
Sprinklers shoot out water to revive the sun~fried Florida grass.
Even numbered houses water their lawns on Tuesday and Friday; odd ones on Wednesday and Saturday. Or the other way around.
We are all about conservation over here.
God waters on Sunday and Monday in my neighborhood.
In the early evening critters start to hunker down. They curl up, touch noses and rest. They have emptied out their furry pockets for the day. The change sits in a shallow dish upon the chiffonier. Done.
Nocturnal creatures are just putting on their dancing shoes. They have Big Plans.
A night out on the town under the oaks. A trip to the creek for happy hour where it is always 2~for~1.
Some animals overlap a bit and move around together during sunset time. They avoid each other in the silvering light.
As the days turn shorter the raccoons are confused and, possessing no golden pocket~watch, are out waaay too early but do not know it.
I slow my bike down to a creep~a~long. Raccoons and I are surprised to see each other. We apologize in our own fashion by ignoring one another.
"What raccoon?" I think, looking over my shoulder to the right.
"What person?" the raccoon thinks, looking over his shoulder to the left.
We are so polite in my neighborhood. Most of us.
The brown, marsh bunnies are eating up the plants in the doctor's side~yard.
I am not about to turn the nibbling rabbits in to our HOA Board for I would eat these flowers, too, if only I could.
Here today; hare tonight; somepinkflowers gone tomorrow.
A red shouldered hawk scoops up his last lizard~treat of the day. The yellow~eyed anole barely notices as he is still busy swallowing a tasty green tree frog.
Who knows what delicious snack the frog had in his tummy.
The wild things in my neighborhood are big into the Eat or Be Eaten concept.
Me? I am busy looking up. I want food for my eyes.
I want to feast on fading color and fuzzy texture. A blue sky turning purple and pink and gray is my dessert.
I hunger for the sweet morsel of a lingering cool shadow.
Where are my owls? Which tree now?
Why can I not Peter~Pan after them? Move from limb to limb. Leap~frog from tree to tree. Leap, fly and owl~swoop as we go.
I think happy thoughts to beat the band and the best I can do is pedal my bicycle faster and faster still. Trying to catch up.
I am ever~hopeful.
Everywhere I go I look up and up and up.
When I travel I am the same way.
What does the top look like? What is on the roof? How high up can I see?
What is there just out of sight? Why am I not up there, too?
Even place should have a climbable Eiffel Tower. A manageable cathedral dome.
A lighthouse standing tall and proud and open for 24 hour viewing service.
A tree with stable wooden planks leading to the tippy~top.
I want to see up and go up and be up.
Why?
Well, so I can look down. I guess.
Lately I have been having the worse time seeing up close. This has been a spot of bother.
I could not see well enough to sew on one little blue button if my life depended on it. Not that I simply needed glasses to see. Not like that. It was a different type of not seeing properly.
The vision in my left eye was beyond blurry. It was starting to go wavy and wonky in the middle. A bit of a rough patch.
A tea~stained, tear~drop shadow always there.
"Wait one minute, left eye!" I said, "What is this wavy and wonky business?"
My left eye said absolutely nothing. It just sat there all silent and pouty like.
So I took my left eye to The Local Specialist. My right eye went along for the ride.
They are like that. Two peas in a eye~pod.
"Ooops!" said The Local Specialist who sent me to another Kind Doctor.
This Kind Doctor was a retina man who explained it all to me like this:
"somepinkflowers," the Kind Retina Doctor said, talking with expertise and kind understanding, "clearly you have been looking out of this eye for quite sometime. You have plum worn a hole in your retina."
Hole In My Retina! Get Out!
Good Grief!
"Fear not," the Kind Retina Doctor continued on gently, "I can fix it for you but it will take a bit of time."
"OK" I said hopefully, not wishing to own one finely working eye and one seeing with wavy and wonky vision.
"Have a go at it!" I said, faking my bravery as I have been known to do from time to time.
"Have at it, Kind Retina Doctor." I said."My eye is in your hands."
So.
With a head and heart full of clear visions from the past, I am waiting.
I am bidding my time until my turn.
Meanwhile, I am busy looking up every single day.
Every where I go I look up. Up , up , up.
I am practically falling down from looking up so much.
Next week I will have the procedure to fix my eye with a Magic Bubble.
Then I will rest quietly in a darken room where I will look down, down, down for a few weeks. The Magic Bubble in my eye will gently push on the teeny hole at the back of my retina. Gently squashing it flat, pushing it back into place with quiet persistence.
And then my wavy and wonky vision will be all better.
Oh my goodness. Oh my goodness.
Please excuse my manners!
What was I thinking?
I waltz into your life and pluck you up from the comforts of your own computer.
I carry you half way around the world and plop you down in Venice without a second thought. Just like that. Most~likely you had no time to grab an apple or even a protein bar.
And then I forget to feed you! My bad.
I am so sorry and positively embarrassed. {{ Please do not tell my grand~mother. }}
I take you here and here and here and here and never give you one drop to drink.
Hang on. I can make this right...
Here. Sit right down here. This minute. Next to the Zattere vaporetta staton.
I will order us some house wine and we can people*watch. My favorite thing to do.
The wine is chilled to perfection and will transport you as no house wine ever has before.
Trust me.
See. Wasn't I right about this?
Maybe we should have a second glass as long as neither one of us is driving.
Taste this bread, will you. Yummy.
Did you know carbs never, ever count when consumed in foreign counties. It is stamped on my passport.
Plus, carbs do not exist in Italy. I have been told the olive oil dissolves them or something.
Maybe we should sit here all afternoon and pretend we do this every summer.
Maybe we should simply rearrange our lives so that we actually DO do this every summer.
How does one arrange wealth?
I keep forgetting...
Do you see that hunky guy looking at us. So hot but sweet.
Oh, my gosh.
He is coming over here...
Wait...Wait...Wait...
Is that Robert Downey, Jr.?
Why, yes, I believe it is. With his good friend Johnny Depp.
I so love and greatly appreciate when this kind of thing happens, don't you?
Oh my and now here comes this one, too...
Let's just order a pizza and hang out here on the Fondamenta Zattere with the guys.
This will just have to wait until later. Let's stay here at this sunny cafe all afternoon and...
Wait...Wait...Wait...
I could be wrong, but...isn't that Geroge Clooney?
Did you think I would take you so far away--to another country, to another side of the world--and then leave you hanging out on the church steps with the children?
Did you give a thought to the treasures contained within Our Lady of Health? I wonder, were you curious?
Did you think maybe some day I would get around to sharing the wonders inside?
Well, this is that day...
In Venice on the Grand Canal where the waterway spills gracefully into the lagoon there sits this Baroque Lady. She holds court.
Built in the mid-1600s by the grateful survivors of a dreadful plague to honor the Virgin Mary, this church has been waiting for you for the longest time.
So do come inside.
La Salute Church is free and open everyday. A small fee will get you into the sacristy where you can enjoy ceiling paintings by this one.
Possessing her own vaporetta stop you can pop in--coming and going down the canal--whenever you have the time.
If your boat is too crowded, jump off and rest here.
The light shines differently through the dome windows as the sun travels across the sky.
I know, I know. That happens everywhere around the world but here it seems stronger. You will want to compare the value of morning light to late afternoon light. Go more than once if you are in Venice.
Mostly I want you to try and visit at least one time.
Some will ask, "Don't all Italian churches look the same?"
I am here to tell you, "No."
Yes, there is that amazing architecture with the grand sculptures and huge painting by The Masters but it is something more. Each has its own personality.
I cannot put my finger on it exactly.
Every where, every where artists have put their best talent forward in faith.
Layers upon layers of the highest quality surround those in prayer.
Only the best for The Best.
In the coolness and quiet of a holy place the years add another nuance not found in museums.
As the earnest prayers float up and out they must truly leave a bit of shining hope behind.
This is the only thing I can figure.
Light makes its way both in and out.
Never can you forget the reason for this place.
Side~chapel paintings by this one one honor Mary.
The Assumption overlooks those with faith enough to light a candle.
I never quite understand how Venice floats above the sea. Everyone says she is sinking but is the truth that the sea is becoming broader with global warming? Is the Adriatic spreading wider onto her land?
How does Venice stay afloat? Wooden pilings driven into the muddy ocean bottom. Strong tree timbers. I imagine sunken tree tops supporting her to be Christmas trees planted deep within the silt holding Venice like a star on top.
And if this is true, then one of the stars shining near the very tippy~top might be this Holy Place.
If you think Christmas trees could not support all this fine but heavy marble let me tell you a secret: Some of the marble is actually brick covered in a fancy dress of marble dust.
There...I have said it.
Not all is as it appears to be...
You know me. How I never want to miss a thing. Well, I must confess that I am a sucker for a cool retreat away from the maddening crowds on a hot day. When traveling I seek out such places and am never disappointed when I duck into a nearby church.
A simple chair can make all the difference to the balancing of a day when away from a comfy hotel room.
Maddening crowds hardly ever linger long in such quiet corners.
Sometimes I get caught up in the smallest of details.
The pattern carved into the wooden kneeling bench, the colors of the tiled floor. Textures and materials. Different but complimentary.
If I sit still and do not hurry I can imagine this place filled with workers crafting such a wondrous building. I can imagine the artists bringing in their work to hang in perfection.
All the things that had to happen in the world, all the stars that had to line up in the heavens, before I arrived at this moment I am so privileged to share now with you.
Here.
Take this moment. It is yours ...
If the average tourist spends only 3 days in Venice I wonder how much of that time is spent in La Salute Church?
I do not know the answer but if you visit and sit a while on one of those chairs, if you look around and appreciate, then maybe you will want to hesitate a bit at the door.
You will want to turn and have one more look...
But isn't that the charm of Venice? How you can ever get enough of anything in Venice?
The entire city just draws you in and in and you know the world will not let her sink.
If compassionate Mary can save Venice from a bitter and deadly plague how can She not hold back the rising tide?
"Watch Nana make the rain stop, " she promised her young grandson.
We were all three sitting on the covered front porch watching the rain sprinkle down from a partly cloudy sky. From where I sat I could still see the clear blue sky over the neighbor's house across the street.
In Florida it can rain hard in your front yard, beating down the bushes, and then be all sun-shiny in the back. It happens all the time.
Only five minutes earlier Brayden and I had escaped the house to have a nature walk in the sunshine.
This rain had come from nowhere. Completely uninvited it had plopped down fat drops to spoil the plan. To rain on our parade.
We headed for shelter on the front porch to count the lizards. His Nana had come out the front door to check on things.
Just 2 months shy of 4 years old, Brayden was not always certain about the power of an adult.
Somethings were pretend and some things were true. And can't a daddy and a mommy do most anything at all? Catch a fish. Make a cake. Anything at all.
Could his Nana stop the rain?
Emotions danced across his round face.
Is this pretend? Is this true? Could his Nana stop the rain?
Brayden looked to me for confirmation. An auntie should know about these things. An auntie could be trusted.
"Let's see how it is done." I answered his questioning glance.
"Let's just wait and see." I shrugged my shoulders.
Carefully his Nana took down a hanging baskets tucked under the front porch eave. A lantana, I think it was. Bone dry and in need of a good soaking.
She placed the plant gently on the ground in the soft grass peppered with pine straw.
The rain splashed on everything evenly. It was an equal opportunity rainfall, giving refreshment even to the sidewalk.
Brayden's eyes watched his Nana. He watched the plant enjoying a bit of wet relief as the leaves turned a darker shade of green.
And still the rain fell softly down.
I moved back and forth a bit more in my white rocker, smelling the rain and enjoying the view.
I could hear the rain frogs croaking their thanks to the sky.
Small and bright lime-green sometimes the rain frogs hide under the rocker cushions. The frogs hunker down in the cool shade of the cotton pillows. They snuggle under a button-tufted dark space, sit still and try to turn flat.
You need to lift up your rocker cushion and look each time before you sit down. Or else.
After all this is The South where rain frogs and green lizards make themselves right at home wherever they want.
You just have to train yourself to look.
Brayden's eyes followed his Nana as she took down another plant and placed it next to the first one sitting there in the rain.
Then she took down another one and so on until all the plants were getting a free bath.
Then Nana went back inside, having moved all the plants to a new and improved location.
Brayden and I rocked and rocked those rockers to beat the band. And the rain came down a bit slower.
We rocked and laughed and giggled. We watched the plants and waited for the rain to stop.
And, well, you know it did.
We watched the sun shine move back to our side of the street.
The rain stopped dripping off the trees. The gutters stopped shooting out little rivers into the flower beds. Things got quiet.
"My Nana stopped the rain," explained Brayden, climbing down off his rocker to get a better look at the sky.
"Yes, she did." I replied.
"Look," said Brayden, "A squirrel is crossing the road!"
And he was right.
A brown fluffy-tailed squirrel was making its way across the steaming asphalt road. He took a jag around a rain-puddle and hopped into our yard.
"Why is he coming over here, Auntie somepinkflowers?" Brayden asked.
"Well, maybe his Nana lives over here. " I answered because I was his auntie and I can say such things.
"Yes," Brayden said, "Maybe his Nana lives over here with my Nana."
And I said, "Yes. That is what I was thinking."
"I wonder," said Brayden, " if his Nana can stop the rain?"
I do not know if his name is Leo or Leon but it does not matter in this instance.
He knew his place was to stand guard over the pale and resting princess while she slept. While the dreams played on.
Not an usual job really if you stop to think about it. He was not the sort of lion to whimpily accompany a pale and confused princess down a garden path. That was not his style for this guard lion was Truly Magnificent and Brave.
Magnificent and Brave beasts all around the world stand guard over beautiful ladies. They tend to inspire. They often provide companionship and encourage creativity.
That type of thing...
Her story is a common one. Nothing magical about it really.
This pale and weary princess had been standing on her feet all day posing in the garden. Now the heat was so unbearable she could not accept to be draped in even the thinnest of cloth.
And haven't we all had days like that? I know I have.
"I will just curl up against this cool stone and snooze for a bit," the pale and exhausted princess thought to herself. "With my winged lion standing guard I will be fine. Even bad dreams will not reach me. When I awake we can both go out for pizza."
And snooze on she did. While her lion stood ever vigilant. You know how they do.
Thank goodness she was wearing sunscreen, is all I can say. It must have been 95 spf for she did not turn red or even one shade of pink.
The pale and sleepy princess did however have the most amazing dreams...
She dreamed not of a handsome prince who would kiss her tenderly but she dreamed instead of owning a valid passport, one that would be accepted in every country around the globe.
She dreamed of owning 1,000,000,000,000 never~expiring American Express Reward Points suitable for redemption on the airlines of her choice.
She dreamed of owning the lightest of all carry~on that could manage all her shoes with ease and still fit comfortably in most over~head bins.
When she dreamed of owning Time Unlimited she stirred a bit, restless in her sleep, ready to be moving on, eager to hit the trail...
"Oh, the places I will go!" she muttered in her sleep. "The things I will see!"
She was a pale and Venetian princess, after all, and longed for more exotic venues.
"Oh, dear," the guard lion whispered, heaving his wings in familiar resolution. Clearly he had heard it all before. Maybe a couple of times. Or more.
"Here we go again!" he went on, "If she mentions this place one more time I might hurl."
"Ssshhhhhh," I say to the somewhat impatient guard lion as he soldiers on.
"Hush!" I continue, "Please do not wake the pale and travel~hungry princess. Just look at the smile on her sweet face. Such contentment we should all possess."
Instead, to you, my dear readers, there with a smile of understanding on your own dreamy face, I say this ----->Do leave here suggestions of an exotic city , a country town, a mountain retreat where the pale and curious princess might enjoy a visit.
Lean in close and whisper lightly into her pale and receptive ear. Breath names of locations full of roundy vowels and heaping with possibilities. No place is too far away, no place is too nondescript.
Like so many of us these days, this pale and hopeful princess does not want to miss a thing. Even while the dreams play on...
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.
"How did you get here?" I wonder with alarming regularity.
"How did you get to this place? How ever did you make your way to be right here for me to find?"
I wonder this about the girl with the Russian accent who works behind the Lancome counter at the department store near my home in St. Augustine.
I wonder this about the new, red~haired bartender who works Thursday nights at Harry's in my little Florida town.
I wonder this about the yellow seashell that washed upon the public beach on Lido, the shell that jumped into my hand and would not be put down.
"What ever happened in your life to bring you right here?" I wonder, thinking of all the places that people and things have been before me, of all the places they will go after.
Who touched the brass handle that opened the window of my little room? The chambermaid, well, yes, but before that?
What traveler closed it last and where was she going next?
Did she sleep well in this room, that traveler, and then awake every morning around 8:00--Tuesday through Saturday-- as the produce vendor under the window sang a beautiful aria, never missing a note?
Did she watch him gently polish each apple as he sang? Did she notice how carefully he arranged the white asparagus in hay~stack shapes along one row, propping them up just so to balance?
Did she watch his pride and enjoyment of each loving task?
I hope she was not the type who wanted to sleep until 9:00. Or 10:00. Or later.
Well, who would in Venice?
If you are out late, you would just stay up to greet the early morning on the Grand Canal. You would watch the boats bring in the freshest of flowers and fish and apples and asparagus.
Then you would go to bed at noon and no amount of singing would bother you one bit.
Well, you know me. I do not want to miss a thing.
I would not complain about one aria or even ten.
I am up with the sun. I am up with the song, leaning out the window trying to spy my apple-of-the-day from way up here on the second floor.
After breakfast I stop for my apple, only dreaming of the asparagus, as I am off for my adventure.
By the fourth day my singing~produce~guy packs up a handful of juicy~ripe cherries for me, "No charge."
Now I am spoiled for life. Ruined. Plus the fruit is delicious.
I love my room here and know it will always be mine.
Even when I am home, I will own it. Even if I never see it again, in my heart it is mine.
But know this, I would gladly share it with you.
As I share it with you now...
Above my bed is the most wondrous of lights. Venetian glass made not far away, most likely.
somepinkflowers of a light~fixture. Beautiful by day, magical by night.
Like they knew I was coming.
Who made this light? That it would shine down on my Italian vacation and make me smile with delight.
I stand on top the bed on tip~toes and still can not reach to touch it. I try on more than one occasion but no.
Thank goodness for a zoom lens.
I wonder too much maybe about people and other little things. Where they are going and where they have been.
Who sat in this chair and rested? Who looked in this mirror and smiled?
Of all the magic powers of invisibility and flight, of super~human~strength and amazing~time~travel, what one magic power would I want?
I cannot say for certain but wouldn't it be lovely to have the power to know the stories of things?
How they came to be where they are...
How did I possibly know to pack the blue shoes that would sit so nicely my little rug?
I have so many pairs of shoes, in so many colors and these are the ones that fit my temporary home stylishly without discourse. Harmony all around. Go figure.
The glow of the warm walls, warm wood, warm lights overhead.
Who went before and left me goodness, I do not know, but I thank them all.
And how about you?
"How did you get here?" I wonder.
"How did you get to this place? How ever did you make your way to be right here in room #2?"
I am not certain.
But I think it is grand that you did.
We both had wandered through this world but I never expected to find him here waiting for me.
He never said a word. People just go where they will. And then he turned up here.
From the moment I arrived his eyes haunted me from every corner.
Between the darkness on the street. He watched.
Always patient. Sightly smiling. Apart. Cool.
Doctor, my eyes have seen the years and, yet, he looked just the same.
Alone in this watery city, I felt safe as he stood guard over me like I was somebody's baby. A sentry from my innocent years. My ever-present protector.
For one week I felt his presence as I jumped on a vaporetto here, popped into a basilica there.
His voice sang in my head. My own rock~&~roll Where~is~Waldo as I crossed the island one canal at a time.
Then one day, just like that, he was gone. Maybe he had better things on his mine. Who can really say?
His smooth face no longer keeping me company, his eyes no longer watching. In my heart I felt certain I would see him later anyway ...
But, I was not alone for very long...
By the second week of vacation I had a friend.
So comforting to know, as I ventured miles and miles from home, all I had to do was call out his name and wherever he was, he would come running to see me again.
All I had to do was call...
Yes, I do know that you are expecting shots of Venezia with colorful masks and extravagant gondolas floating down narrow canals but guess what.
Surprise! This is not the place today for that.
In fact, I am not so sure I took any photos of colorful Venetian masks at all as they spook me out sometimes.
I am a what~you~see~is~what~you~get kind of girl and sometimes masks throw me for a loop.
Mostly masks make me feel a bit uneasy. ( I have control issues, no doubt. )
Anyway, I left you on an island basking in the sun a few weeks ago.
You should be all tan and relaxed from hanging out here near my house. Maybe you caught some fish.
Now I plop you down gently on another island. A segue before canals and such.
I think I told you how much I love a good island--and I do--but what I love more is to collect oceans and seas.
Caribbean, Ligurian, Sea of Okhotsk, Gulf of Mexico. The names roll out of my mouth fat and full of salty mystery and geographic wonder.
I want to see all the seas in the world. I want to stick my toe in each and every one.
I am working on it.
Several times I have shown you my ocean. The one I have played next to all my life thus far.
For the longest time I thought all bodies of water were they same but I am here to tell you they are not. They are not all dressed like my Atlantic.
When I first saw this very flat one I said "No way is that a real sea!" and, of course, I was correct as it was only a gulf which is way different from an ocean.
There were no crashing waves to speak of. You can walk forever before the water flows over your head! More like a flood plain, really, until you get way out there. ( Or unless there is a hurricane brewing but that is another story. )
Under normal conditions the Gulf of Mexico is not like the pushy and somewhat bossy Atlantic Ocean.
Then I saw the Caribbean so clear and blue and friendly.
"Such a friendly sea," I thought to myself.
Until the day I saw one of these under my john~boat feeding on one of these!
Yikes! With oceans and seas you never know what could be there just under the surface.
When I finally saw this churning ocean I was beside myself with disbelief.
The wave action was so immense and powerful, like the wildest thing in the whole wide world and always moving, never still. Seemingly angry at California, for some reason. Cold and standoffish.
I have respect for that powerful water~body monster , a king among the seas, the president of all the oceans, if they ever take a vote.
I was so sick crossing this rough sea twice that I prayed to die both times but fortunately I did not.
Either time.
I have photographed ugly oil tankers perched on the edge of this Russian sea.
At night I slept in a teeny blue cot under a pile of blankets in an unheated room in a small fishing camp. At night I had to pee in a bucket and in the morning I brushed my teeth with vodka for lack of water.
It wasn't so bad. I do like sleeping next to a sea.
I have hiked high into the lemon~tree~covered mountains by the Ligurian Sea.
Steep, steep trails where Germans walked by me singing songs and laughing like this hike was a piece of cake and all the while I knew one miss step would be all she wrote.
I met a nice old man who shared his drink with me. We sat and smiled and nodded and drank and could not even talk the same language.
It was a good hike near a lovely sea.
Last summer I tried to take photos of the sea near Barcelona but when the beaches are full of naked people I always feel awkward playing with my camera.
Does that ever happen to you?
The thing about oceans and sea is that all the good stuff to see and photograph is either underneath the water or on the edge where the water meets the sand.
So I am giving you the edge of the Adriatic Sea.
Here. Take it. Take this edge and look around.
Now you are wondering where are all the people?
A beautiful day, lovely weather and no folks--naked or otherwise-- sitting on this beach.
What gives?
Oh, here is one...
A tourist like me with a camera. I think he is looking for some informazioni.
So. This is the public beach on the far side of the island Lido off the coast of Venice.
Anyone can come to this beach and rent the little play~houses by the day or week or season.
It was quiet and still the day I visited. Neat and tidy in May.
There are hundreds of these little attached cabanas and I fell in love with them all.
Maybe you have such treasures on your beach but we do not have them on mine. We drive to the beach wearing our swim suits underneath t~shirts and shorts or clandestinely change in the car.
The white and cyan changing rooms on Lido are the best. I want one badly. I want to hang up a damp beach towel to dry in the breeze.
And a pink polka~dot, string bikini to be my national flag waving. As long as I do not have to wear it.
Wouldn't that be fun?
The sand here is not as white as the sand on my beach and the seaweed is different.
That is what I enjoy about the edges of my collected oceans. They are all so different and each is wonderful in its own briny way.
Do you want me to tell you why the public beach is so empty on a warm and sunny day? Why this side of the island is so bare? Why I have the entire thing almost to myself?
Well, I will give you one hint...
Something else was happening on the Other Side of the island.
Can you figure it out? It was all over the sports page in every newspaper all around the world. ESPN was there. Tons of handsome Italian men were there, too.
And so was I...
Sometimes when traveling it is good to stop and rest. To put your feet up. To take in the view.
Even if you are simply moving through every~day life in your own neighborhood: Go ahead and kick back a bit. You have my permission. Just plop down. Here----> X
{{ Stillness is way under~rated, I think. }}
There are few places I enjoy more than a good island on a warm day.
Minutes from my home is Anastasia Island where I grew up and older and tanner most every summer of my life to date.
A well~known highway called A1A runs through the middle of this long, skinny island.
On the east side of Anastasia Island is the Atlantic Ocean and on the west side is the Intracoastal Waterway which runs down most of the east coast of the USA.
At the southern most end of my summer island is this bridge.
If you follow A1A, it will take you here and here and eventually here.
On the Intracoastal Waterway side of the island you will find mostly private homes $$$ and razor sharp oyster beds.
But not here on the south end where I am taking you today.
If you want to come here to this beach on the week-end or later in the summer time when school is out, well, just forget about it. Maybe you should just go here instead.
You would not even be able to park near this beach on the week-end for all the people who know a good thing when they see it.
So. I am taking you here on a Tuesday.
I hope you brought your SPF 15, at the very least.
I am taking you here during low tide so we will have a beach to walk on.
You want high tide, you better be in a kayak or something.
Watch where you step, please.
If the shorebirds are hanging out on this stretch of beach, they have priority.
Be mindful, is all I am saying.
Yes, watch where you step and look down.
You will find bits of sea*treasures that are smooth to the touch.
Some of these treasures will want to come home with you which is OK but check your shells carefully.
You might find one of these sleeping inside.
If you do, please put it back where you found it.
If you put it in your pocket or leave it in your car you might be sorry the next day as salty dead things can smell to high heaven.
Trust me.
As you look around here on the bit of beachy island you will notice 4~wheel~drive trucks parked here. This is OK as they are not harming this area.
The tide brings more sand here day by day. You would not believe how much is deposited here by the tides and currents and the occasional hurricane.
Yes, I know what you are thinking. Sometimes the hurricanes take away what they give.
You never know from year to year.
One year's beach is another year's underwater.
Sea turtles do not nest here as most of the time this beach is under water when the tide comes in.
If a turtle should make a left turn instead of a right and end up here by mistake then the Turtle Patrol will protect the nest.
When I ride my bike on the beach sometimes I come here under the bridge for some cool shade.
If the sand is packed hard it is a pleasure.
If the sand is soft and mushy I have to push my bike or turn around and wait another day.
That's life for you. You never know.
Every day on this beach is a good day.
Shells sunning. Birds feeding.
Fish swimming in the deep water under the bridge.
Look close into the broken shells and you might find shark's teeth.
What!
Yep, shark's teeth. They are black.
See that water under the bridge...
Well, shark's teeth come from the sharks that swim there. I have seen them.
I have found the teeth on the beach, I have seen the sharks in the water. Both.
But not on the same day.
Little crabs and shrimp live in the tide pools formed by the pilings.
It is fun to squat down and look into each little tide pool to look for teeny sea critters .
Oysters attach themselves to the pilings.
Oysters make a fine start to a watery neighborhood and soon others move here, too.
Underneath the Matanzas Inlet Bridge is rather a holy place to me.
These pilings remind me of this place and of this place, too, in a way.
I hope you like this island.
I am going to leave you here for a few days while I go off to another island.
Just stay out of the deep water and you will be safe.
Oh, and wear your SPF 15.
Where am I going?
You know how I like to make you guess!
Let me just give you a bit of a clue. It is far, far away and it rhymes with Benice.
That is all I am saying.
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 $$$$, and, another thing, it is All Those People.
Mostly I would simply rather go some other place. A place where there are authentic castles. Not ones made in my life time.
In a stroke of marketing wisdom, seen only during recessional times, the head cooks over at Disney decided to let folks in Free on their birthday.
How can you refuse that kind of bargain? When you live 2 hours away like I do, you have to snap up a deal like that.
And so I did.
A 'birthday guest' must still pay the $$ 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.
When I sat down to write this post my roof was not leaking.
Rather, I did not know that it leaked. Now I know. It does.
Leak.
The rains came up from the east and it started pouring. Pouring.
I remember thinking to myself, "Well, I hope I get this posting finished before a storm comes along and takes out the power."
That is exactly what I was thinking when I started hearing this: dripdripdrip...
Which is now one of my least favorite sounds: dripdripdrip...
Anyway. I will worry about that later.
I wanted to tell you what happened yesterday.
While at the beach walking and taking in the fresh air I found a puffer fish sitting in the sand.
Holding court, yes, but clearly she had not planned this, her final journey.
I say she because through the pearly, shark-teeth-shaped spikes on her back you could look down and see her rosy body. Even with the sharpnesses she looked so girly. A flower sitting on the white sand there in the February sun.
Six inches long and blown~up roundy, as was her way to fly, there she sat facing out to sea. Looking wistful almost.
As is my nature, I took her sitting there as a sign. What could I learn here, I wondered? What is Missy Puffer Fish trying to tell me?
Apparently along the way, Missy Puffer Fish made a wrong turn.
She turned left at the last wave when a right wave was called for. Now she sits high and dry and I am too late to save her as one missing eye points out this fact as I circled around.
Now she is toast, or at least lunch.
It happens to the best of us.
We turn left instead of right and then: boom! We find ourselves sitting high and dry in the noon~day sun when what we want is low and floating along in the calm shallows. Or something.
Me? I have the faith of the well~traveled. Hardly ever do I turn into toast.
Things happen. Another train will come along. The cafe will open again at 4. A roof can be repaired.
dripdripdrip...
I dance along and try not to carry too many burdens, too much baggage.
I try to seek out the Creative Approach, looking for the Art in Life, the Art of Life, the Art of Living Life.
I try to take the time to slow down and look around whilst I am multitasking.
You know me. I do not want to miss a thing.
A road~trip is good for the soul in the same way that biodiversity is good for the pond.
Differences make me feel more alive. I have learned to look up. From this one I have learned to Deep Listen. From this one I have learned to Pay Attention.
When traveling my eyes are bathed in new~found wonder and my heart sings, "My goodness! Will you just look at that!"
In Florida a short road trip can take a person back in time, back to nature.
Or not.
Much of my favorite Florida has gone missing. But still I look.
In Florida a short road trip can take a person to the airport and then up and faraway to amazing places.
But all states have that, don't they?
All states have roads that can take you back in time to when you weren't or forward to where you think you want to be.
Sometimes I find sustenance in the most common of places. The Most Common.
Yes, in the least likely of locations I might find a thing or event that transports me to where I need to be.
In Florida on a short road trip I am in the flow and enjoy the unusual.
And, as always every where, I try to welcome the new and different. I do not want everything to be just like at home or why bother?
{{ I make a habit never to compare toilet~paper OR ice~cubes OR the lack of either when I travel anywhere. Seriously. Such bad form. I mean, really. I feel certain you do not compare, either, but go about the earth well~prepared... }}
I try to see myself differently. I forget the everyday and go along for the ride.
Even though I am just a regular person, when I travel I become somepinkflowers~in~wonderland.
I bet you do that, too.
I hope you do that, too.
In Florida a short road trip can sometimes force you into decision~making even when you do not want to think much. There is TONS to see and so little time.
Why, even I cannot be everywhere at once. And I have tried.
I bear up and Pick Just One. My fork in the road. The fork I use to eat up my yummy adventure.
In Florida a short road trip can encourage you to let things take you Over The Top.
For someone like me who thinks that biodiversity is good for the pond, a trip to central Florida where giant mice sport white gloves, is a fun place to visit once every 10 or 15 years or so.
Some days I feel I have turned left when maybe I should have turned right.
Still, I have no plans to end up sitting high and dry any time soon like the girly Missy Puffer Fish. But who is to say?
You know me. I do not want to miss a thing.
While I dream of this place and this place, also I long to drive here and here. As long as I can, I will dream and plot and plan. I hope you come with me.
Except now I must go deal with: dripdripdrip...
I have never been a big fan of January. Nothing personal.
I don't know about where you live but here in north Florida January is about the least popular month on the calendar. I think it is because she is such a fickle lady. You never know what to expect. She is always bringing surprises.
And not the good kind of surprise either. Not like a friend dropping in with a fine bottle of wine to share or an interesting book to loan.
I am not complaining about January. I am just saying...
January can bring tropical rain or she can dump freezing temperatures. So last week she brought, completely uninvited, a solid week of nights with hard freezes which completely killed this and this and this.
I am so completely upset with January that I have decided to leave town for the next few minutes and I am taking you with me. Hope you do not mind. Hold on.
I am not taking you all over Barcelona. I am just going to plop you down for a walk in one of my favorite places. A special park which you may have heard about. Park Guell.
But first watch out for the unfriendly dragon. She is guarding the park entrance. You must throw money at her BEFORE you snap her photo or she will speak angrily to you in Spanish or in Catalan. You might not understand her but she will not be smiling at you when she is talking loudly and quite fast.
Well, that is what she did to me.
I am not complaining about the unfriendly dragon. I am just saying...
Anyway, in case you have not visited here before, I am all gaga over this guy. Truly I am.
He was one of the most amazing, creative men of all time. At least in my book. If he were still walking around on this planet I might have to belong to his fan club and if he did not have a fan club, I would most likely start one.
See. I am gaga over Gaudi.
The truth of this park is that it was at the time considered to be a major flop.
The main patron, Guell, decided that Barcelona needed a housing development far, far from town, high on a hill. This was to give the folks a place to be away from the noise of the city in the mid~1900s.
So a park was designed first and plats were measured out.
I think that Gaudi and Guell thought, "If you build it they will come."
But the people did not come. Only two people liked the idea and built homes here.
Man, if they had only known then...
What started out to be an exclusive garden city encircled by mansions never blossomed into much.
Fortunately for you and me and thousands of locals and millions of tourists, my friend Gaudi had a running start on the construction of the park.
And what a park, indeed.
Right at the front of the park Gaudi built two pavilions to be used by the gatekeeper.
Rumor has it Gaudi was inspired by the story of Hansel and Gretel when he was building.
Go back and look again at my first photo, if you like. I will wait right here for you...
Everywhere you go in Park Guell you will see Gaudi's artistic touches. A friendly dragon fountain {extremly friendly, by the way} and the monumental Hypostyle Hall.
I love how Gaudi was building Green even then. Using up bits and pieces of broken glass and plates in grand ways.
Do not forget to look up.
Every where you look is a curve and a flourish.
Nature fashioned from rock and metal. Nothing is left plain~Jane; nothing ordinary vanilla.
Everything Gaudi created used several flavors with swirls of whipped cream and then nuts and sprinkles on top.
He was that kind of guy. Everything or nothing.
Now you see why I am gaga over Gaudi.
This artist doodled with every medium known to man. See.
Look all around you.
A column to hold up the roof was so much more. A column is a lady balancing fruit on her head here. A column is a tree over there.
What was a failure back in Gaudi's day--a subdivision that did not sub divide--is now a great adventure and a fine destination all rolled into one for kids of all ages.
Aren't you glad I brought you here?
You have no security lines at the airport, you have no jet~lag in your brain and you have not spent a pocket full of euro and, yet, Here You Are.
Oh happy day!
Did I mention the Park Guell is at the top of one massive hill?
Did I mention the bus drops folks off way, way down there at the bottom of the hill?
Well, next time I will take more shots of the hill I climbed. the winding step road I walked to get you here. {You are most welcome. Think nothing of it.}
I am not complaining about the hill. I am just saying...
Would you just look at this.
It is the back of a most comfortable winding bench that meanders around the large square at the top of the hill.
Some people I know could sit here for days looking at this bench covered in shattered ceramic detritus.
On a sunny day this is The Place to sit and people watch.
I could sit here all day. You go look around and I will wait here for you.
I do not mind one little bit.
Go ahead and climb to the top of the hill. Look out over the square where children play soccer and over the alcoves where lovers smooth. See how far you can see.
To the left you can make out the spheres from this Gaudi masterpiece. Although not finished it is most amazing.
You know me. I do not want to miss a thing.
And, naturally, I will always find somepinkflowers draping.
Down there is the long, long line for refreshments.
You should be very happy I stopped here first to shop for us, to select a small, healthy snack.
I was not a Girl Scout for 8 years for nothing.
I am not complaining about the long, long line. I am just saying...
Before we go home you might want to stop in the gift shop to purchase something made of tile.
Maybe a little friendly dragon or the ubiquitous T~shirt.
What did I want to buy here? Why the walls, missy, but they were not for sell.
If you can translate this sign please let me know what it says. I think it is an environmental message in Spanish or in Catalan.
If it says something naughty, never mind and pardon me, please.
Now I am going to take you home....
Just... Like... That...
Hope you enjoyed this brief escape from January-in-your-town where it may be cold and snowy or hot and muggy.
By the way. You can come back here any time you like. Just be sure to watch out for the unfriendly dragon at the front gate.
I am not complaining about the dragon. I am just saying...
My name is somepinkflowers and I am ever~so glad you dropped in for One World~One Heart.
Come with me into my back yard where we have parties at the drop of a hat and where music grows like mushrooms after the rain,
Where the moss sprouts up fluently in several languages on my old coquina wall.
This is Florida, after all, where Humidity keeps her summer palace...
If you have ever wondered where worn~out butterfly wings might go to rest, where the too~small~casings from an aging lizard might find refuge....
If you have ever wondered where flashy minnows hide from hungry blue herons on hot, steamy summer days ...
If you have ever wondered where broken bottles bloom into baby glass flowers, where these guys hide from Cajun cooks...
If you care about such things...
If you mind does wander and wonder as mine is apt to do...
Well, often these bits of flotsam, jetsam and detritus end up here in my back yard...
Down the shady ravine, near the narrow creek where the pileated woodpeckers satisfy their hunger...
Where the hooty owls make their nests in live~oak trees draped with Spanish moss. Noisy, dating, mating owls that keep me up all hours of the night with their shenanigans. Man!
But that is another story.
Anyway.
Here is where I keep my verdant necklace. On the lichen bed.
My verdant necklace is the treasure I will give away as part of One World~One Heart.
If you are ~lucky~ you might win the verdant necklace.
I do hope YOU win...
I am not saying the verdant necklace is magic, or that it will change your life.
But who is to say?
Certainly I believe in such things. If the moon is full, for instance, or if you make a wish...
Must you slay a dragon to win the necklace? Give me tickets to a rock concert? Name a lovely shade of nail~polish in my honor, perhaps?
Nooooooo...
So simple to win really.
Leave me a comment telling me please, where you would wear the verdant necklace if it were to make it's way to your neck of the woods.
Tell me, please, where would my treasure travel? What state? What county? What party? What event of global importance?
The winner will be drawn randomly and announced here on February 12, 2009.
I will do my best to contact you from your comment but it would be lovely if you popped in again to visit.
One World~One Heart
A little treasure made here by me and sent there to you.
Random connections made...
Oh happy day!
Isn't life grand.
Thanks ever~so, Miss OceanDreamer.
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Dear One World~One Heart Participants,
Welcome! I am so glad you dropped by to visit but do know this----->I am on holiday and, while your comments are being collected with gentle~care, none will be posted until I return which will be in plenty of time for the drawing on February 12, 2009. Please post your comment only once as my small mail box tends to over~flow when left alone. {{ Who knows what is going on in my absence...Keep an eye open, will you, please....}} Oh happy day! Isn't life grand!
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Note on February 12th, way early in the morning, sort of...
Oh My Goodness!
Look at all the names! I am off to pick the winner which may take all day as my Random Number Generator is down near the creek. Hang on and come back in time for tea!
somepinkflowers **~
What if birds sing because they are happy?
What do you think? Do birds feel joy?
Scientist know that birds sing sometimes because they are looking for a temporary hot date for Saturday night.
A few sing because they are ready to make a commitment for a life~time.
Birds also sing to let other birds know where the good stuff is.
"Seed, seed," the ever~present cardinals in my backyard cheep. "Get your bird seed over here, everybody. Plenty for all. Fly on over."
But I am asking what do you think about this---> What if birds sing because they are happy?
"That somepinkflowers! " you are thinking. Does she not have enough to do down there in Florida with hurricanes coming at her left and right?
One, two, three BAM! Or, one, two, three almost BAM! Some hurricanes barely sliding by to the left, some to the right.
Suffice to say, I am a busy bee but my brain races and I do wonder about such things as the happiness of flying, chirping things.
This book came across the desk in my direction last week at The Library. Two-hundred thirty six pages about why birds sing. At first I thought the book was someone's dissertation topic. Maybe it was a publish or perish piece.
Rothenberg is a professor here after all so it would be understandable.
I checked out Why Birds Sing for several shallow reasons, including these two--->
I have been told not judge a book by its cover but slap an attractive drawing of a bird on the cover and I'll check it out ever time. Every. Time.
Anyway, after I got the book home I notice 4 pages of Suggested Reading, 12 pages of Chapter Notes, 2 pages of Illustration Credits (!), 8 pages of Index and 7 pages marked CD Listening Guide which included credits like this---> Recorded live at the Tampere College of Arts, Finland, October 2003.
Also, sprinkled throughout the discourse are line-drawing and charts with captions like this ----->
See what I mean about dissertation topic?
Still, there was that attractive drawing of a bird on the cover.
So my question to your remains---> What if birds sing because they are happy?
Well, I would be happy if they did. :-)
I am an unlikely candidate for such philosophical questions and, yet, I do wonder about such things.
I do know this. Artists often create because it makes them happy.
Some artists I know will travel great distances in order to gather around a table to create.
Under the tutelage of a talented one , several did write and paint and cut and paste and fold and tape to create.
A person could write a book about how all this writing and painting and cutting and, well, you get the idea, could make certain artists happy.
As if in a meditative state these certain artists created. To the mantra of 'please pass the scissors' they did art all the day long.
And, at the end of their time together, these artist stacked their folded booklets, lined them up between flip~flopped feet and photographed the results.
With energy and amazement for what they had accomplished, their collective hearts did fly.
Each page different but holding images shared from one's distant past or another wished~for future.
"Here take this idea, this schemata, and make it your own," we said to each other. " I gift it to you, my art. I insist upon it."
And in the end, pleased beyond imagination, with surroundings in complete disarray, these certain artists were happy. Yes, they were.
I should know because, like a bird singing her happy song, I relinquish my little booklet here for your perusal.
No Chapter Notes, Index or Suggested Reading will follow. Just this---> myriad thanks to my generous, artistic friends who helped me sing with joy, helped me fly home with my creative souvenir.
I am beside myself with good fortune. I am one happy bird singing.
Even when I travel by myself I do not move around the cabin alone.
I remember to bring along my extra~large serving of patience and my ever~expanding, fertile imagination. Most likely this does not surprise you.
And, naturally, I now take my opinion every where I motor.
Most recently I was headed home from this and ended up spending more time here than I originally thought was necessary.
Hey. Things happen. A little storm here. A wee problem there. After a while these issues add up. Still, I do my very best to practice the art of traveling well.
A plane that is to fly me decides to take a snooze. I have no control what~so~ever.
I take out my patience and sit down to rest my bones. I let things percolate. Maybe do a bit of this or that .
I might find a quite nook and do some of this or maybe some of this, trying to find my now grounded center.
If delay after delay occurs I belly up to the bar and order one of these.
Oh, and just so you will know: Calories consumed at an airport do not count are double value and go immediately here.
Just so you will know.
One thing that never fails me is my camera. If I want time to fly, I get an idea and bring out the Kodak.
Click, click, click. Shooting photos will--without fail--take my mind off my troubles.
My camera is also like a man*magnet.
Well, my camera actually works best on very short men, say around 4 years old, it seems.
Sometimes props are useful, too.
{{ My chrome green shades were a gift from Karen and I think they will be my newest favorite traveling accessory----->the glasses AND my winged messenger from Susanna. Gotta keep those both with me for all future airport visits. That's the ticket...}}
I almost forgot to come home I was having such a good time there with my extra~large serving of patience and my ever~expanding, fertile imagination.
Plus, this cutie DID invite me to Salt Lake City to stay at his lake house. Maybe next summer, I am thinking.
What do you think about traveling alone? Your opinion matters.
In the whole wide world there must be at least 501 destinations on my To Go To List .
That number may seem excessive to you and, yet, I might actually be under estimating here.
You know me. I do not want to miss a thing. I am madly in love with life and all the good~stuff it has to offer.
It is a daunting task but I aim to travel to those places that call my name.
"somepinkflowers," the world calls, "please drop in here and visit my holy sights."
And so I do. You can imagine what happens. Once is never enough.
For every new place I visit, I want to return there again and again. I want my past journey over again plus more for I am an oh~so~greedy traveler.
I would not have it any other way.
Once I watched an interview on television with this prolific author. He wrote and wrote so many books and each one was mighty thick and involved a ton of research.
"Aren't you running out of ideas?" the bland and uninspiring interviewer asked him, as if such a talented writer would ever have his river go bone dry. As if.
"Oh, no!" replied the wise sage, "I could never live long enough to write all the stories I have within my head."
When this writer died at the ripe-but-still-youthful age of 90 we all lost out as his head was still full. One can only imagine tales left unwritten.
As with so many folks that died young or died old, we have all lost out.
Well, I have nothing much to leave the world but still I want to see it all, to hold the images until the end of my time.
My list goes on and on while time runs out and out. I could never live long enough to visit all the places I have within my heart.
If you had asked me one year ago, "somepinkflowers, do you plan to visit Philadelphia? The very heart of your own democratic country?"
I would have answered, "No."
Nothing personal, dear Philly. You just did not seem sexy enough to fit my needs.
Recently I was invited to Philly to meet with a group of women who I knew in Bloglandia but not in real life.
Ah, the world is so amazing. Truly.
I have known this creative, dancing one and her family from afar--through her blog-- for almost two years. And this oh~so~talented {and color~loving} one, too. And this thoughtful, match~making sweetie.
And so on, I have known for a while across internet space this dear with the amazing eye for light and shadow and this gentle one with the smooth skill to capture baby smiles and puppy grins.
Through this generous~hearted, multi~media artist we were invited to Philly and we jumped on the chance to gather, to view art and make some art of our very own.
I made new friends who love words and make lovely photographs and who love to travel, too.
How can I tell you how special it was? Well, I cannot.
Instead, here, I share with you some of my new eyes.
While I cannot be every place I long to be, I now have extensions of myself who will show me a few sights I cannot visit on my own.
I will not tease you or taunt you with my good fortune, just let me say this: I have added extra eyes so I can see the whole wide world. A travel~slut like myself can never be everywhere, can never see it all.
Or can she?
You know me. I do not want to miss a thing.
For the longest time I wondered how I would see it all and now I know.
Here I am piecing it all together.
The blue~sharpy bits of my past and the smooth~pinky bits of my future are joining up with my expanded team, here and now. It feels so comfortable to know I have my peeps catching things with their little Kodaks for my eyes and yours.
In the whole wide world there must be at least 501 destinations on my To Go To List and for the first time I understand how all these places will be mine.
Gee whiz, thanks, yous guys! So nice to hug your sister~neck, to hear your accented voices , to gaze into your simpatico~eyes, which are now my eyes, too.
Carry on, all of you, my missies. Carry on...
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