This artist is a Great of our time. Once a young woman painting dots on herself, a horse, circling. The ultimate of femininity. She removed herself from society. She now lives in a mental health facility; and there she creates her art. It is incredible. You can look her up. — A few years back, I saw her work showcased on the morning news. They had deep concern of her smile. And that is how it is. Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow SMILE SISTER SMILE….Fat Chance
My father was born into poverty. Deep poverty. He was born into violence, as his father was. That was the excuse for his insanities. He wanted out and he got out. He fought his way out. – And what is the excuse for mine. Too much money – not enough love. Surrender is my strength. Bow before God. Give. Belief. Faith. Receive. Know there is enough.
Good morning y’all. It’s 3:30. A good time to write. I have been absent, due to the fact that people were reading this blog.
And AI’s interference. They are demeaning. I get enough of that walking in the street. I don’t need to be bothered, and I don’t want to be told by them about my writing.
I know people are loving it. They’re writing books left and write. This is dangerous. The dumb down of America.
Ok, enough of that.
I am going to have to re-familiarize myself with my blog. An entire gallery widget was removed. And I don’t know what’s happening with my photos, but they keep tagging them screen shot. That might mean that someone has stolen them and it looks like they are the photographer of my photos. That’s what I get for being so damn good.
I am full of complaints.
My family….hahaha. Now that people actually read this shitty blog. I have to think about what I say differently. Yes, I will be censoring my mind. A self monitoring, censor. Not AI coming at me. Go figure. – Me censoring. This is a bold statement I just made and possibly untrue. As some of my stories might be. Not all, but some.
It’s a new start. Difficult, but worth it. Many of the best things in life are earned. Trudging the road to our happy destiny.
Putting this post together is difficult. I have to read. I have to think. It’s good exercise.
By the way. Have you ever tried Pilates?
Noir – are you out there, buddy.
—– add on —- I’m searching for my categories – Dates and years. AI has prompted me to choose The New You. I guess they mean the new me. noOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!
Yesterday morning I woke up at three o’clock and ran out the door. I visited a family friend, It was the eighty fourth birthday of a Ticano matriarch. I consider her a mentor. I have always favored wise people.
I enjoyed myself, driving on the road from Potrero to Negra, remembering all of the years that we were the only gringo’s on the road. I could see the night stars. A rare occurrence in my life now.
Construction here is insane. It takes hours to drive a forty-five minute distance.
I found out after leaving that they were cutting my path off to get home. Construction 7-7. Oh great!
So, I circumvented and went through another route. Of course, they were working on the road too, I had to leave the road to go around them. Their equipment was antiquated. Their process silly. The first rain will wash away their work.
I hit something. It broke something off of the bottom of my car. I stopped and picked it up. I had sounded like I had a flat tire. But that was not the case.
Thank God, I broke down in front of the nicest people’s home. And we have a motorcycle for extra transportation.
Rooster, who is an expert mechanic drove the car home.
I had fun with the family. Speaking my Spanish.
If you go to another country you really should work on learning the language.
We got the vehicle home. Me following the Rexton with our motorcycle.
I can’t wait to sell this place. I would have never, ever been here if it hadn’t been for the Meza’s.
But I have faith in God. He is bigger than the Meza’s and he doesn’t lie to me.
Then I heard something in the night – opened the door and was bit by a bat. Great…..
I will not be daunted.
It’s not what I wanted.The waves are breaking beautiful at Avellanas and I am here in Potrero.
Patience and perseverance is the key to all success..
Yet another coincidence. Opening my blog, this prompt was directed at me.
I feel like I need to say something about the statue being removed from Confederate/Springfield Park. I had no idea this was taking place. I think many people didn’t know. There was no uproar like the recent past of Mayor Curry’s term in office. Recently people fought hard to remove other statues honoring the Confederacy.
Some have compared it to honoring Hitler. That got responses. “How dare you!” But truth be known the whites were fighting for the right to enslave a race of people. To maintain the right to treat them like animals. To own them. To make money off of their labor. To violently whip them. To rape the women. To believe in White Supremacy. That is like Hitler. He believed he was of a superior race. Well, guess what? He wasn’t. He lost the war. His beliefs were wrong and the opposition prevailed.
Jacksonville is a hard headed city. Severely slow to change. For the most part it is Baptist. Evangelist. Continuing to boil the soup of racism. People will deny it – but
The statue needed to come down.
It was said, that maybe it could be placed in a cemetery, by the graves of soldiers who fought in the Civil War.
I thought of Gravely Hill where my ancestors are buried. Wonderful, historical, people who were branded miscreants an evil by a local writer. I was shocked. One Tommy gun toting gangster does not define the whole group. Not to mention, they were people of their time. This cat might be a bit prejudice as he touted his father as being like Jimmy Carter after having told a story numerous time about his father enjoying the story of a black man being killed.That is not like Jimmy Carter. Sorry.
We twist the past into the present. We color it with whatever Crayola we choose.
The statue is a woman holding a baby. She portrays the mother of the south. The Confederate South.
For one thing, that concrete Southern lady could not go there because the section my ancestors are buried in is historical. It is a part of Jacksonville public land. It’s on land that was once a plantation. It is as Southern as it gets. They were all Crackers by birth.
I cringe to think of that statue being there further prompting the fictitious idea that there was something good about slavery and white dominance.
But many do not see it like that. They continue to romance the idea of the south, with our Confederate Jasmine.
We have a distinct culture. Saying hello, nodding, hugging, fighting, and drinking sweet tea. No matter if we only went to the fifth grade or have a PhD. We are part of the United States. And that encompasses a large land mass. Separated by our cultures. In New York they hate the Puerto Ricans. Out west they are still circling the wagons. South West it the whites against the Mexicans. Every division of our country is divided by our pasts. Our culture is disappearing. Along with the statue all of our ways are being erased. And truth be known, there are many things about our way of being that I much prefer over anything northern.
It’s funny, most people that I meet from up North assume because of my Southern drawl, I am uneducated and untravelled. Ugh. Prejudices abound.
A fellow Westsider, portrayed my family as people who are low IQ and mocked our Whitehouse/Westside accent like we are toothless fools. Good Lord. One extreme to another.
We have ALL been through a lot. Things have changed. We were forced to change by affirmative action. We were forced to integrate.
I have beautiful stories of people my age who grew up in this era. I also can tell ugly stories.
Today as I am writing this. Having lived through the 64′ riots. Yes, I was a child but I remember them well. There is no way I am going to portray all of the black people as being good wonderful, minstrels in LaVilla minding their own business and all of the white people as being evil killers. That is a convoluted and twisted image to portray in this day and age. Yes, it will get you attention and sell your books. It will coincide with todays climate of opposition, separation and hate. Why take these painful steps climbing the stairs out of darkness, only for a hand to reach out and push us backwards.
I am for peace.
It’s much more difficult to walk a path of peace. Than to stir the pot of problems.
Take a look at Jacksonville. Because of affirmative action forced on us, fighting and scratching all the way, we have educators, firemen, policemen, city workers, meter readers, electricians, plumbers, who are people of color. We have neighbors of color. Many interracial marriages. ( Which by the way, produce the most beautiful babies you’ve ever seen.) This is not the old south. This is the new south and it’s going to get newer.
With people like Donna Deegan, our mayor, pulling us forward, the change is accelerating. Once again we’re feeling the pain, like babies cutting teeth. But it’s just another progressive step towards equanimity. Jacksonville is growing up.
One day it could very well, ALL be people of color. Does that mean we will all be happy, joyous and free? I don’t think so. People are people.
But in the meantime, I will not participate in the hate and denigration of all white people.
My race is human.
I am a Cracker by Birth / A redneck by default / A peace activist through reading, writing and education.
She’s a glass star – fragged and parted…She’s on the path of love and fresh starts…With the wind at her back – the sun on her cheeks – the meanest of life has set her free… she tracked and she grappled…the horse it was dappled.
You hope to catch a fish. You hope the rain holds off. You hope your house is still standing when you return home. You hope your mother loves you. You hope that someone will love you. You hope for the health and wealth of your young ones. You hope that your family will find peace and love and fun. You hope that all the finances you have acquired will last you throughout your life. You hope that you don’t lock your keys in your car. You hope that your confidant stays true. You hope that the love you put forth in the world will be reciprocated. You hope that your new found sobriety will bring you closer to your family. You hope people will treat you right. You hope for your safety on the road. You hope to get your work done before you die. You hope that hope is hope, but hope is expectation. Hope in one hand and defecate in the other and see which one produces. Who is hope? Where did hope come from. She lingered in Pandora’s box. A glittery, tingly, flighty, thing. Curious. Don’t open the box. But yet it was. And all the evils flew through the air. They jetted to Mars. They dug tunnels. Once the lid is open it can not be shut. Ever. I hoped for a family. I hoped for a new life. I jumped into hope and summer salted, a tumultuous life. I hope that the good people in the hospital did not pull the plug on my son. I hope he was not alive when I heard him crying in the morgue. I have dallied and danced with hope. I have been the quintessential fool. I don’t hope. I know better. And yet I hope. Hope whispers in my ear. I hope I don’t fall off that mountain top. I hope I catch that wave. I hope for peace and tranquility. I still see the doctor talking to my daughter, her body riddled with cancer. Like the con man that he is, offering her hope. He won her hope to view her cancer. To get a look into her body
He bought the car his daughter, Hope had hoped for. A BMW.