If you are bored – you are boring. I always say I am not a jealous or envious person because I am fascinated by my own life. I’m the kind of person who can enjoy watching the grass grow. I almost got bored thinking about what bores me. I drew a blank. Then the grass took off.
*This photo was taken in Cordele GA. My granddaughter drove as I snapped shots with my Canon 7d. One of my favorites. This shot is symbolic of the South. Coming apart at the seams.
Google it.
I have been a student of the Hippocrates Institute for twenty years. It’s real. I initially went there because of a friend, given a prognosis of 3-6 months. The oncologist said – “we are going to cut out you lymph nodes. You will have no taste or saliva glands. You will have to carry a pump spray.” He thought, why would I do that, if I only have months to live.
He heard of Hippocrates and signed up. I talked to my friend the other day. He still drinks wheat grass and green drinks. He works out. Twenty years with cancer in the rear view mirror.
I thought, “Why wait to have cancer. Why not learn about my health now and circumvent this disease.” I have been to the institute twice and can’t wait to go back.
I have yet more testimony.
Both my younger sister and my daughter were diagnosed with stage four cancer, a month apart. My sister went to Hippocrates right away. She has been cancer free for five years. She has never looked sick and she plays pickle ball every day.
My daughter on the other hand was influenced by my older sister. Steeped in processed food. Over indulgence and vats of wine. She is an RN and favors all things western. She chases psychotropics, antibiotics, tests and more tests.
When I offered to pay for my daughter’s visit to Hippocrates, her reply was, “MaMa, that would be doing nothing.”
She lived eighteen months in excruciating pain. She passed. She chose MacDonald’s milkshakes over green drinks.
Cancer is personal.
Characters in Carl Hiaasen novels. All of them. Miscreants and law abiding. Rich and poor. They are all in Florida and like people I have known in my life. But these folk are in the book and removed from reality. My preferred habitation.
* this photo is one I posted in my instagram @everydaypaparraza – yes that is Flea. Bass player for Red Hot Chili Peppers and my friend Ellen Zoe Golden. Miami journalist turned New York publicist.
It was 2005. My mother took myself and my sister shopping. She was in a wheelchair. My sister had her checkbook. I chose the shoes in the picture, which are from another blog post. Worn Out Complaints
I chose those shoes and my sister said no, you really need to find a less expensive pair. Those shoes were 75 dollars. I said no. I want those. I got them. My mother had so much money. My sister just didn’t want me to have them.
The same way when I was fourteen, she wouldn’t allow me to be on the journalism team. I couldn’t sign up for art or music. She put me in horrible low level classes that I could have stood up and taught. Those classes and her dominance over me sent me on a dark and negative path.
This post hit a nerve.
I walked, hiked, traveled and danced in those shoes.
I had to learn to stand up for myself.
I am now a flip flop millionaire.
I quit complaining and started walking.
I am an individual. Stranded. Weighted down by politics and economics.
I float ~ when the tide rolls in.
Oh hell yeah – I stayed one step ahead of the shoe shine, two steps away from the county line. Just trying to keep my customers satisfied. Satisfied.
*I have written about it throughout my blog* My writing is full of the truth. Confessional. That is why it is obscured. But it can be unearthed. You have to want to know.
*The photo is of my 1991 Toyota that I drive on Amelia Island, FL. Land of the rich and famous. One time sunny place for shady characters. Some consider keeping this rusted, mule of a vehicle, on the road – criminal. I have fun.
*Catch me if you can.
*Whitehouse/Westide is a part of Jacksonville FL – It is called Zone 4 – which is across the board, known as a heart rate zone. It is where I am from.
*whoops – I read the prompt wrong.
Papa rolled his stones. Six feet under and no one was thinking about him. MaMa was hanging on. She rolled in dough. Controlling with the point of a finger, a smile, good food, love, narcotics and alcohol. That’s the way I remember it. That’s two fascinating people right there.
The law of averages. Who wants to be average?
*One of my scribbles.
Home is a contentment of heart – no matter where I am. I dream of the next wave.
*This is a photo of painting I took in front of a gallery in Jaco’, Costa Rica.
Fish Eye Farm 