Writing is my friend ~ Reading is my cousin
Don’t wait. …
I was in her apartment. It was a two bedroom, one bath, concrete hovel. It was navy housing. The war was going on and I loved to smoke pot and listen to Cat Stevens. I was in the company, of a stranger, strange neighbor.
She shared with me that her parents were in the KKK. She was so proud, of her father in his robes, when she would attend rallies with them. She told me about the philosophies, of the KKK. They wanted to keep the white race white.
She boasted that her boyfriend, of the time, was a leader, during the 1964 St. Augustine Rallies. She claimed they fed a black man, to the hogs. She laughed.
I was silent. I loved Cat Stevens. I was twelve.
I went to visit a relative, who worked in the Georgia education system. She was so proud of her job. She told me how stupid the black children were. They just had to deal with them, but it was so difficult and a waste a time. My backbone straightened and I came down upon her with an intellectual vengeance. I showed her who was stupid.
I walked out, went home and rarely ever visited again. I was 36..
I had a friend that I admired. She was an artist and a middle school teacher. I went to her class, to see the students work. She let me know, which work, was from black children. She said they had zero creativity.
I could no longer be her friend. I was 40
I was close to an older woman, who told me her Daddy owned nigger town. She made the claim, that black people could only go so far in education. They couldn’t cut it. They would quit and give up. And she abhorred Venus Williams. She believed that Venus had destroyed women’s tennis. She was a highly respected and affluent member, of the Jacksonville community.
I stayed by her side, until her death. I was continually shocked at her class consciousness and racism. I am in my sixties.
I still like Cat Stevens
Racism, friends and family, and overgrown children who don’t know how to be civil.
Yes, for God’s sake, don’t ever speak up. Don’t loose it. Hold it inside. Sing a song. Look the other way. Take it on the chin. Pull yourselves up by the bootstraps. Dodge the bullet. Don’t throw water on the burning cross, that would be too uncivil.
Am I Civil – sometimes.
Am I Confused – hell no!
I saw a post on Facebook, concerning a protest. It was a rally, planned for today, to solicit, once again, the removal of a Confederate soldier from it’s high perch, in Hemming Park. It’s centered in, the ever angry and racist city, of Jacksonville, Florida. My hometown.
It’s a city, with a large black population. People who were brought here from Senegal, Africa, to be slaves. They are mostly all hemm-ed up, in a part of town, the North West Quadrant.
If you didn’t intentionally, or accidentally drive through there, you would never know it existed. – It’s shocking.
Last year, the muses inspired me, to go down there and do some photography. It never happened.
I had planned to attend the rally today. However, things changed. The Confederate soldier was removed, from the park. Now that some time has passed, I suspect, to keep it safe, for a future re-positioning. But let’s hope not. Maybe, it will be put in a museum.
Today, the rally is going to be in front of the Jax Courthouse. They are protesting police violence.
My still small voice, said, Don’t go. So, I’m not going.
I will be in my house, in my chair, breathing and meditating.
The rally is at three. I will be present, I will have my eyes closed and I will be One with the Universe.
That is what I should do –
Be still and Know
there will be peace
I’ve done something unusual today. I am on my porch writing. I am in my daughter’s alcove. It’s where she comes outside to smoke, on her too brief, visits with me. It’s on the street side of my home, where I have two, white rockers, in between a round table, covered with a nice table cloth from a second hand shop, around the corner.
It’s almost becoming too light, for me, to feel at ease, out here, in my bathrobe. In my too thick, soft, warm and embracing coat of comfort ~
2 the easing or alleviation of a person’s feelings of grief or distress: a few words of comfort | they should take comfort that help is available. • [in singular] a person or thing that helps to alleviate a difficult situation: his friendship was a great comfort. 3 US dialect a warm quilt.
The wind blows hard through the tree, across the street. It makes the rushing sound of impending rain. Rain that will pass us by, today, The bird, that sang alone, is now in concert, with others near by and blocks down the road.
The first car passed at 5:26. They were in a hurry.
I took the picture above, in yesterday’s evening. Around the bend were hoards of people. Everyone enjoying themselves. Children swimming, on the edge of the dangerous currents, of the Nassau River. Not a care in the world.
Back to my right, are fishermen. Some good and others, not so good.
We had to leave when the fish started biting, due to one of the many laws and regulations, here on Amelia Island. You cannot be on the beach, after sundown.
I took all of the comfort that I could out get, in my afternoon hours, walking with my feet in the sand. Smiling at all of the people; Latin, Asian, People of Color and Anglos. We were of different cultures. We were all mixto, and no problemo.
But not far down the road in Jacksonville, there is protest and riots, in the streets. They are working towards compromise, but I can’t help but feel, that the white people want the black people back in their cage.
I am a wild thing.
I live on this Island, that is over run. It is being inhabited by greed. The greedy ~
greed·y| ˈɡrēdē | adjective (greedier, greediest) having or showing an intense and selfish desire for something, especially wealth or power: greedy thieves who plundered a defense contractor. • having an excessive desire or appetite for food. ~
Everyone wants their slice, but the pie is only so big.
So, the Island has become pie in the sky.
I sit on my porch and enjoy the breeze, momentarily, unhindered by the stench of the mill. I enjoy nature and I wait on it’s Mother.
She will have the final say so.
There will be peace.
There is peace.
Be Still and Know ~
All of my photos. All, of the waves, I’ve ridden. The numerous adventures that I have been on. They seem distant and unreal.
But right now, I have more important things to do.
I am huddled up and hunkered down, with my daughter and my husband. We are on an adventure of sorts. All time, is a happening. Moments and events to be remembered.
From past experiences, I know, that what I want to return to, is no longer there. Dreams are eroded, repeatedly. But that has never stopped me from creating more.
When your glass castle, becomes concrete. Sit on it. It will soon turn to illusion.
We are born, to soon learn, that we are going to die.
I really don’t know about other people’s inner lives. Communication has a way of drifting. It’s ethereal. And yet, it’s can be heavy, as a tombstone. An albatross. A spirit of unrelenting fear. Or, it can be as equally uplifting as a hot air balloon. Raising you above, to elevate you, and present a wide angle view. A unique and exhilarating vista.
I have experienced both.
I am a part of humanity. I accept it. I surrender. I give in.
But when other people share with me their optical illusion of life, such as; Continue reading You’re Going to Die!!!!!!!!!
Yes, it’s true I am a cynical old woman.
Yesterday, I was reading a thread on Facebook, in a group Fernandina Surfers. It was addressing the issues of lifeguarding, in the time of pandemic. However, it touched a nerve in me, that was yet, another one of those issues of aging.
The word that set me off in their dialogue was “enforcement”. I dislike enforcement, therefore, according to the dictionary, I am cynical.
I made the simple comment, of having mixed feelings, concerning lifeguards. Some, white haired, old man named Bert, called me a cynical old woman. I know lifeguards have their place, but that’s part of the problem. I don’t want a sixteen year old, with braces, telling me where and how to swim. They will look at me and my grey hair and think I shouldn’t go out deeper than my waist.
Reading the comments, on the thread, my mind reflected on vivid memories, of being a child and swimming, in the ocean. I would bend my knees and duck under the waves. I would feel it pass over me. I learned about the rhythm of the sea. I was taught about run outs, and how to deal with them. I swam far out beyond the breakers. I swam every day all day long, only stopping for lunch, a rest, and then back out until the sun went down.
No lifeguard. – I would not have been allowed.
I swam in the salt springs of Florida. They were freezing. I would dive and check out the caves; my mother put a permanent fear mark, of caves, in the depths of my being. The same as the currents in rivers. The St. John’s River will swallow you whole, and only a fool would ski there. After civilization moved in, I was whistled at and removed from an area by security, because of alligators. I have swam, in that spring since 1960. I’m sure alligators were there before then, as they are now. It’s Florida!
I’m sitting on my couch, my daughter laying sixty feet away, suffering with cancer. I have chosen to not write about this, in the past, because it’s too personal, too overwhelming and there has been too much conflict.
I came home from Costa Rica, February 18, 2019, on an emergency ticket. I went straight to the hospital and proceeded to fall apart. Little by little, I have pieced myself back together, as I sit on the sidelines and watch her CANCER process, played out with the doctors, my sister and her father.
I disagree with everything they do.
I’m about living, not dying.
It’s all quite complicated.
Cancer is personal.
Flower or no flower.
Is this or is this not a pandemic? A bus driver, here in Jacksonville, FL, was coughed on by a passenger. In a homemade video, he complained. He died.
The buses are still running in Jacksonville. WTF
One day oil ~ One day wind ~ One day driving ~ One day walking ~ Only the strong survive ~
Life has got a habit of not standing hitched. You got to change with it. If a day goes by that don’t change some of your old notions for new ones, that is about like trying to milk a dead cow. ~ This is a quote from Woodie Guthrie. A simple, complicated, brilliant man. The author of This Land is Your Land – Just remember – this shit ain’t new. –