August 5th, 2013
Hello out there. I know it has been a long time since I last wrote but I have so much to tell you. Last we spoke, I was facing treatments and it has been a long, long battle but I survived and here I am. That kind of explains the title. The entire time I was on treatment I kept thinking, "I am getting out of this in a box or a boat". Well, as it turns out I am not in a box and evidently God listened to my prayers cause my circumstances are such that I have to find a new place to live so to make a long story short, for now, I am looking for a boat. I plan on blogging my way through this adventure complete with pictures. Stand by my friends cause there will be much more to come.
March 28th, 2012
This started out as an idea that was an "Edgar Allan Poe type" creepy story that was very easy to run with at first then fizzled out before I could find the ending that I would be satisfied with and would explain my original vision of the story. After struggling for over a year, I have decided I can't find the ending because it is finished. Hope you like it......................
He watches the rain. Sees the glistening drops as they dance leisurely off the eaves. Feels the chill as it seeps through the ancient, thin panes of glass. The same glass that was his salvation and his prison. How many days of rain now? He has lost count. Not that it really matters. It’s been so long, a lifetime really, since he has been outside of these walls. He would welcome the icy cold splash of the rain drops against his rough back. But the Sun. Oh the Sun. The Sun was the best. The warmth, the glow, the tangible life force. Oh, yes. He missed many things but above all else, he missed the Sun.
This is his prison. This enforced trivial existence that fate had delegated a very long time ago as his. But he must be thankful for the gift, even fleeting, of the chance to witness the alternate reality that is unfolding just beyond that delicate, but none the less, restrictive pane of sand, water and pressure that stands as a mocking sentinel to his most basic desires
She will be back soon. This stolen moment was neither to last nor to come frequently. She never leaves this place. She a prisoner of this existence as much as he even if it is by her own doing. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know and mustn’t ever know. He comes here when she sleeps and the infrequent times that he is left to his own devises. He looks out and wonders what might have been and wonders what will be.
He hears the creak and groan of the weathered and worn steps as she approaches. Even without the telling sounds of her impending arrival he knew she was near. It is the smell. He catches the scent of her. The scent of old roses mixed with an unknown element that he can only guess originates from beyond these walls. Brought in on the slight wisp of air that accompanies her movements.
Her movements. They’re all wrong. A slowing of the step. A dragging of the foot not evident before. He has plenty of time to return to his usual position. As he stretches out on the chaise, he awaits her arrival. Yes. Something different. She has been gone longer than usual. And that smell? He stretches once again and tries to appear relaxed. Not prudent to seem too alert or interested. He calms his heart.
Silence. This is unprecedented. Never before has she delayed this long in returning to her lair. He waits with the patience that is as natural to him as each shallow breath that he takes. Still the silence. He slips into a light doze. Certain that she will awaken him as she sees fit.
As he awakes, the first thought that intrudes upon his still sleep muddled mind is the rain has stopped.
October 27th, 2011
When I was in college, my Humanities Professor was as close to a mentor as I have ever had, outside of my father. My mentors’ mentor was Loren Eisley, a poet and naturalist that lived in the first half of the 20th century. One of the essays that Eisley is famous for is ‘The Long Loneliness’. I have never truly appreciated his point of view in that essay until now.
According to Eisley, everyone lives their entire lives alone. You may think that you have friends, are truly interacting with and influencing others but in actuality you are just all alone in your head. What reality is for you may be a totally different animal for someone else. Thus, you may think that you are ‘sharing’ your sorrows or your challenges with someone, when, in reality, you are just living your life alone in your mind.
I must remember this when I am going through the obstacles that lie in my path. I am the only one who can overcome them and I am the only one that is truly affected by them. Any help or ‘sympathy’ or ‘empathy’ I may receive is just an illusion. Only I can win my battles. Any thoughts to the contrary will only weaken my fight. I am the one that I must rely on. Me and my God. All else will fail me.
I wish only to keep this knowledge close to my breast cause in this will come my strength.
September 18th, 2011
Well, here it goes. I have been thinking of what I would say in the event that I ever actually started a blog and I have had a quite interesting dialoque going on in my head all day of the content of this soon to be esteemed piece of literature. Now I got nothing. So I am just going to jump in.
I am female, 52, have two grown children (which by the way are the only kind to have), three dogs, 5 cats, a colony of 4 feral cats, a roommate I can't seem to get rid of, a convertable and a condo.. I write, paint, recently taken up photography both traditional and digitally enhanced. I used to work in the corporate world cause I like to eat more days than not and generally just live.
(Why do I feel that this should be followed by "I am loyal, thrifty, brave, reverent, (can't spell) like long walks on the beach, love sunsets, flowers, butterflies, and my greatest wish is for world peace".)
Wow, this blog thing may be harder than I thought.. Anyway, the bottom line is this: Things happen to me.
Not thrilling, exciting, lifechanging, amazing things. Little bizarre, annoying, not quite catestrophic things that don't really happen to everyone else. At least all of them to one person. This blog should accomplish one of two things. Either you will be entertained (who doesn't like the misery of others) or the strange and inconvienient (spelling again) willl stop which would be fine with me. Either way, somebody wins.
Of course there is the option that stuff (one of my favorite words btw) will keep happening to me, no one will care and I'll just be writing this to embarrass my kids.
OK, that works too.
September 18th, 2011
I am sure you have all seen the bumper sticker, usually spotted in season on the back of a truck (gun rack optional) or on the occasional rusting El Camino, which states “American by Birth, Southern by the Grace of God”. Even though I personally would not choose to proclaim this to the world from the rear of my Chrysler, I do indeed feel blessed to have been born and raised a Southern Woman.
Although the stereotypical “Southern Belle” as seen through Scarlett O’Hara and Blanche DuBois is as mythical as the “Eat all the Ice Cream and Chocolate you want” diet, the real Southern Lady is alive and well.
As with all things, the face of this Lady has changed over the years. No longer are hats and white gloves required attire. Nor are we expected to blush at the slightest hint of a compliment. When 5:30 rolls around, there is a good chance that the Southern Lady is not taking hot homemade biscuits out of the oven. We are even allowed to leave the house when we are obviously “in the family way”.
No, things have changed here south of the Mason-Dixon. Today, the Southern Lady works for a living. At 5:30 you have a better chance finding the lady either making a quick stop at the grocery store or pulling through a fast food drive through than home making biscuits. You see, we have to get the kids to soccer, ballet, gymnastics, or whatever by 6.00.
Yes things have changed. Today the Southern Lady is busy. She goes dancing, bowling, surfing and stir crazy. She plays tennis, pool, poker and hard to get. She washes the car, the dog, the dishes and men from her hair. She fixes dinner, hurt knees, broken hearts and her single friends up on dates.
In so many ways, the Southern Lady of today is like so many millions of women throughout this country.
But, there are differences to being a woman born and raised in the South.
A true Southern woman, no matter what her occupation, income, marital status or age still likes to be a lady. (Here, I need to add a qualifier. As is true in all things there are exceptions. Even in Scarlett’s day there was the occasional Belle Whatling).
In the South, it is not only acceptable for a gentleman to open the door for a lady, but expected.
It is still an honor to be a Cheerleader. It is still the custom to take a pie over to the new people next door, and of course a Southern Lady always, always sends Thank You notes. In the South, the term Darlin’ is a generic form of address for everyone from the bag boy at “The Pig”, to a grandmotherly matron, to the clerk at the local liquor store. (Yes, the Southern Lady has been known to partake of spirits on occasion). I have found only one exception. Highway Patrolmen frown on being called Darlin’. Imagine that.
In essence the Southern Lady is kind, hardworking and realistic. She may be a working mom, an Executive business woman or a stay at home lady of leisure and she may not be baking biscuits, but the Southern Lady knows how to cook up breakfast, light up a room and heat up the night.
And some people say the South lost? I guess it depends on how you look at it.
September 18th, 2011
(I picked this title after I wrote this piece. I love that song! Just downloaded it too!)
Ever wonder how Edison had the time to apply for 1093 successful patents? Or Da Vinci to be such a prolific painter, sulptor with thousands of journals accredited to him??? I'll tell you how. NO CABLE TV!!
That right. Without 708 channels (including pay per view and sports) they actually had (I should say GOT) to LIVE THEIR LIFE.
I guess you may be wondering what brought this on?? I have so many ideas and very little time. (BACKGROUND....... I am not supposed to be here. I had an expiration date that passed about 6 years ago so I am feeling a little pressured to get done what I had in mind when I was young. )
Anyway, since evidently, I am not going to be a rock star, (think they have a max age limit on American Idol) and not an international sex symbol (lol) or a nobel prize winning physisist. (Pretty sure you have to be able to spell =physisist= to win the prize), I need to get busy on what I can realistically take on and finish..
I do have some ideas. Most have to do with my photography. (If I ever sell anything then I can die happy. ) (Just kidding God).
Anyway, I have several ideas of a series of photographs that I want to compile. One is :"Death of Dixie". This is (or will be) a pictorial of the slow decline of a way of life. (If I had ever gone for my Masters, which I am pretty sure you have to have a Bacholors before you do that) I would have done my Thesis on how Air Conditioning ruined the Southern Way of Life. (That is a subject for an entire other posting I will save for lalter.)
Another is "Love in the Low Country. This is a collection of pictures of kisses. Young lovers, old couples, mother and child, man and puppy, you know. Just the "feel so good that you can't help but smile" moments.
I remember that once I told my first Ex Husband. (Just kidding. Not about the Ex but the first) I wanted to be remembered. I meant in the "listed in the history books, made a huge difference, saved mankind" kind of way. He told me I wanted too much. Boy, that pissed me off!! Now I have to admit that he may have not been entirely wrong. Not that he was RIGHT!!. No. Just not wrong.
I do beleive that I have run out of time. As much as I don't like to admit it, I may just vanish like I never was. I think all I can hope for now is that somewhere down the line, my decendants will do something remarkable.
Everyone wants to make a difference. But you never know. Maybe I already have. Maybe my life touched someone in a way that changed the world. Each one of us touches so many lives and we never know the efect we have. I am sure that the young boy that was my first kiss doesn't know that I think of him everytime I here "Doctor My Eyes" or that my Grandmother, when she was still living, knew that when I smell country ham I think of Christmastime at her house. Or that my parents know that when I hear Amazing Grace, I think of the day I was saved at age 8 and they were there with me and what they mean to me.
I need to remember that even if I never do another worthwhile act in my life, I have touched someone. You need to remember it too!!
September 18th, 2011
My life is as one flowing stream
To find the delta of my dream.
I bob and ebb along the flow
sometime quick and sometimes slow
I know not what's around each bend
be it foe or be it friend.
Currents rip and waves shall break
But never more than I can take.
Infrequent pools lie blue and deep
There to rest but not to sleep.
Sleep will come at the end of the day
when I know I have found my way.
My life is as one flowing stream
To find the delta of my dream.
September 17th, 2011
The road untraveled, the song unsung,
Rest at the apex of each day begun.
The potential lies within our reach,
The lessons there, to learn or teach.
But each of us are guilty yet,
of passing on or collecting debt.
Our actions we choose to do or not,
are battles won, not battles fought.
Our lives are but one long debate,
To give our love or fall to hate.
All this I know is all too true,
for you are me, and I am you.