Category: December 2020

One Law

Daily writing prompt
If you had the power to change one law, what would it be and why?
View all responses

The law of averages. Who wants to be average?

*One of my scribbles.

Celeste

After a long and arduous walk across Costa Rica, Celeste finally laid eyes on the Caribbean. The town she arrived in was bleak, the ocean was overwhelmingly the ocean.

Celeste has been threatened all of her life. First is was the darkness of her home. Then it was socialization. She had to wear awful clothes, pray on her knees and talk to other children. It all seemed so pointless.

She swam at four. Rode a horse at three. She was born to be wild. Her mother introduced her to the beach. Things were good for a while. Then she left home at seventeen. Ill equipped. She suffered years of abuse from a violent, abusive husband. She was forced to live inland. Gulping in city air, burning her feet on asphalt and rubbing shoulders with hoodlums and creeps. Celeste maneuvered herself through life. She learned. Her internal life was one of question, always question. What the f*ck is going on?

Celeste’s external life was out of the box. She was called eccentric. She was smart, not dumb. She heard the walls call her an idiot. But she knew that was not true.

She died a while back and had crossed Costa Rica walking. She had to get herself across the border and into Panama. She could do it. Celeste could do anything. Anything she wanted.

Everyone else could go swim with the current. Bling Bling. Get yourself a red hot mortgage and burn yourself to the ground. But not Celeste. She believed in swimming against the current. Fuck the lifeguards. Fuck Apple. Fuck Facebook. But Instagram – she’ll keep Instagram.

With a bucket full of ocean water in one hand and a paint brush in the other, she began to create her new reality.

66 Routes

Do you see anything wrong with this bridge?

This (my writing and viewpoint) reminds me of my life. My history as an artist. My years of living. “Girl, you don’t know where your bread is buttered.”

“Yes I do, I smear wonderful tasting butter on Ezekiel bread. I do what is good for my health. Mental, spiritual and physical. It has made me vastly unpopular. Well, as unpopular as I can get, being a nobody amongst nobodies.

When one sets out to do something, write a story, buy a house, catch a wave, track fish, deal with social climbing South Afrikaners, wrestle with new age realty contracts, log a WOD, pull a weed, read a book, share about a book, there are always decisions to be made.

Life can be complicated.

So, they built the bridge too short. Just don’t tell anybody.

Buried at Sea

This is just a journal. Nothing more or less. Just words typed on a digital page. Important only to me.

After the funeral fiascos over the past five years, and the refusal of my two oldest sisters to relinquish funeral plots, following their bold embezzlements from my mother’s inheritance, I decided to be buried at sea. The ocean has been my refuge, my entire life.

The other day I had one of the worst days. It involved lifeguards, called Nippers.

I lost it. I couldn’t believe these little boys, which they are in my eyes, the same as I am an old lady, in theirs. They even name themselves small boys. They removed me from the water. I was removed from the water, by little creatures that nipped and bit. I just cussed.

I wish the best for them. I hope they “save” many people. I hope they “sell” many surf instructions. That was their mantra as they were asking me to leave the water. “I am surf instructor.” Hearing that, over and over, just did something to me.

I feel buried at sea, before my death.

I apologized to them for my behavior, but the beligerent boss, (short, red head) turned his back on me.

He had a assumed I was a rich tourist. He erred in his eagerness to possibly rake in 65 an hour, which is what they charge as “instructors.”

You know what they say about assumptions.

I love the ocean. I will just go somewhere they’re not.

That was the mistake in the first place.

A synonym for nipper is nuisance.

God Bless us All

They actually named themselves after a Mongrel dog. A little nipping terrier dog. I call that fitting.

Follow Your Bliss

I have been following Auntie Bubba for years. From back in the day when there weren’t as many blogs. You wrote and posted. The title and image would come up on a page. You could browse and read. They hadn’t yet come up with the algorithms that steer you like cattle through a gap. She lived as a nanny, in Paris, when I first set up a reading list. Then she moved to San Francisco. Got a scooter. Went swimming down by the SF bridge. Moved out of an apartment. Got money. Went to school. She’s is or was a burning man participant. She figures out how to make things happen for her. She documents it.

I have sponsored people much younger than myself and I advise them to check out her blog. You can do. You can achieve. Right now she is having surgeries, and she gets in the pool to enhance her recovery. A life hiccup yet another thing I advise people to do. Heal. But will they do it?

I too follow my bliss. And yes, it’s hard work. A lot of letting go.

We only have one life – that I know of. I’ve been on one adventure after another. I am getting older and you would think it’s easier. But it’s not. It’s the same. You have a plan, obstacles, hurdles and dismounts. The idea is to enjoy the journey.

Writing helps.

I can look back and know where I’ve been. WOW….it’s a lot.

I am planning a trip to Bocas Del Torro and it feels daunting. Every thing use to be dirt cheap. I don’t like spending money. Now there’s the COVID issue. Planes don’t have flights they use to have. You have to meet mandatory dead lines on tests.

WTF – you use to only have to consider marauders and murderers. Now, that isn’t even an issue. I guess they are staying home to be COVID safe.

Now it’s high priced rooms and boat trips…..I can do this. – More will be revealed.

Thank you Auntie Bubba. You are an inspiration. Life is out there. Do it!

I am taking an ounce of my own advice.

Family History

Ancestors Ancestors and more Ancestors

Mary Frances Lowe Peterson was my great – grandmother. She lived on Blair Road, on the family farm. She was born and raised on the families land tract. She was there, when my mother woke up, as a five year old, smelling smoke and hearing a crackling noise. She alerted the family, saving their lives. A night they never forgot! They lost everything, but themselves. The little, curly haired cherub, became an instant hero. Mary also lived with my Grandmother, Elizabeth Peterson McInarnay, on Phyllis St. The family had built a house there, following the farm house burning to the ground.

They rebuilt the farm house.

Continue reading Family History

Not A Poet

I am not a poet. I have a beat. I have an attitude.

I have been beat ~ down

I have been lifted up ~

I have placed my weight so far out, that I hindered my chances ~ a brief encounter

stalked by an engagement of force that left me

waiting for breath

I am not a poet.

Cow Town

I am, in the count down, to exit. Yet, another exodus. Sure, it’s a vacation, and I am a tourist in Costa Rica, but it’s more than that. It’s a continuance of a dream. Yes, I know my abode will be there waiting, behind the fence of hibiscus, surrounded by bougainvillea, birds of paradise, a large mango, cacti, lemon trees, avocados and oranges. It always feels magical when I enter through that gate. It is my Oz.

The house is on a dirt road, adjacent to a large farm. No crops just land. It was originally a Spanish land grant, to the family that still owns a portion, of the tract.

A hotel, with all of the amenities is in front of me, and on the ocean. Their neighbor is the Costa Rica Sailing Center.

The town of Flamingo/Potrero is currently constructing a large marina. Playa Potrero, Pasture Beach, the one time home to a herd of cattle, that stormed the beach, in a slow saunter, to get their dose of salt from the ocean, is now going to usher in boats and more boats. You can’t have both. Cows and boats don’t mix.

Such is progress.

Here, I leave behind the billowing smoke of two paper mills, on the island, Amelia, which is also an international tourist destination.

Paper mills and high end condos don’t seem the perfect match either. Gone are the days of sand dunes and shrimp boats. Ah, who cares.

I have goals for myself. I always do.

I have to thank my sister Deena, her grandchildren, and my Crossfit group for the outcome of my most recent days; friends and family. And I don’t want to forget God, who never forsakes me.

This year is ending, and I have to say I had the one and only Christmas that I have ever enjoyed. I have surfed on Christmas days and they were great, but I was hardly aware it was Christmas.* I have remembered yet another great December 25th. It was the first one that Rooster and I were together, in 1983.

My goals for the future are my health and my attitude.

I look forward to it all.

Day by Day.

Como Las Vacas ~ Live Like the Cows