Mama Cheri’s Cabin

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It’s nine o’clock on a Sunday. It’s beautiful weather out – for here. Never mind that my nose is suffering from the chemically polluted air. My nose works hard to protect me; to save my life.

I work hard to protect me; to save my life.

I recently read Uncle Tom’s Cabin. What a good book. The characters became important to me. I wanted them to live – to survive – to overcome the evil, atrocities of their everyday existences.

Faced with being separated from his family, due to the harsh circumstances, called slavery, Uncle Tom accepted. He put his faith in Jesus, and a life beyond. He had faith that Christ was the answer.

This is not what I want to write, a commentary on Uncle Tom; Little Eva, Prue and Aunt Chloe. I do – but it has the feeling of being off track. I want to tell you about Mama Cheri’s Cabin. Continue reading “Mama Cheri’s Cabin”

The Boss’s Prescription

20120425_081829If I were the boss, I would not allow anyone to see a doctor, for any illness, that would result in a patient taking Cymbalta, Prozac, Zolaf or any of those other psychotropic drugs… A person should be able to meditate and exercise, and over time, relieve their anxieties and depression. There’s no need to experience these things.  Continue reading “The Boss’s Prescription”

Must Be Nice

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAIt is nice.

To me.

Would you like for this to be your stove. Probably not. Would you want to live in a five hundred square foot house. Probably not. Would you really want to leave your culture behind and learn another language to survive. Probably not. Would you be OK with an occasional snake or scorpion in your house. Probably not. Would you drive a thirty year old car and work to keep it running, on outrageously rough roads. Probably not.

My life is nice. It’s customized. Continue reading “Must Be Nice”

A New Dream

10506903_606963249417221_7116768009090220566_oHere I am, waking up in this foreign land. Three weeks ago, I was settled in my casita; making my life, building new and mending what has been tattered and torn.

A phone call changed everything. A fall changed everything. My eighty-two year old father-in-law, sounded weak. We knew we had to go home. Home, to our other home. The tickets, the TSA, the missed beats in my rhythm. The changing of tunes.

He’s no longer with us now.

One day that will be me. None of us get out of life alive.

We wake up in one dream, we sleep, and we wake in another.

Over and over and over and over and over ~