Tag: family

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.

Angele Dulin

My grandmother. Brought from Paris. (Suresnes, Hauts de Seine, Lee – de – France)

I want to know the story. More. I have scoured ancestry.com and discovered more than I wanted to know, at the time. She was sixteen years old and lied to, by my grandfather. She was a WWII war bride. She went from Paris to Bainbridge Ga. Her name is on the walls of Ellis Island.

What a history my family has.

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.

We are all still surviving.

My grandmother committed suicide in March 1957. The most popular song of that year was The People of Paris.

How to Create a Character *

You have one man, with volcanic rage, simmering below the surface of his skin. You have one woman who is iron clad and formidable, prepared to protect the family at all cost. Each has their own story, steeped in alcohol, violence and money. Smiles would turn to grimaces – smile, frown – smile, frown – it was a dodge ball game. You would eventually get slammed.

Then take the kid. Twelve years old, eager to please; anxious to get every detail correct.

The man had given orders, “Go saddle up my horse”. Continue reading How to Create a Character *

Ocean Educated

My mother would drive us out of the swamp, to the ocean once a year. Then in 1966 she bought the beach house. – she kept one hand on an oak tree and the other on a palm – thank you Mama – Now I get to pass it on. It’s not for everybody. Thank God ~

!Costa Rica!

An international tourist destination. The once, lonely planet spot on the map, that people were scared to go to, is now a place that people, will sell everything they own, sight unseen, and traipse down here. Convinced they have found paradise. The tropics.

I had the smallest snake in my shower with me. I killed it. Then I had a tiny scorpion on the shower curtain. I killed it. This was in the last week.

As I am beginning to write the monkeys have begun to howl. I love that.

I have my Red Bull. Red Bull and monkeys make the world go around.

Continue reading !Costa Rica!

Complicated/Simple

If you can live your life successfully and make it look simple, you are a hero. Life is tough as hell. First – your born – and maybe you have the good fortune of doting parents. But many of us didn’t. You got kicked around. Filled with anxiety.

Bukowski has a repeated line in one of his poems – people are not good to people – people are not good to people – people are not good to people. Reading this, I felt I knew exactly what he meant. People were not good to me. I was a little fat. I could not speak up for myself. I became prey.

Continue reading Complicated/Simple

Bukowski

I have a lot in common with Bukowski. As do many others. And that was why his writing became so popular. Like me, I could relate to his life. We have many differences as well. Who knows, after all, it was only about an hour long interview. So, how much can I really compare. He doesn’t like people. He liked a solitary existence and he liked to drink beer. He said his childhood was a hell.

A big difference between him and I was; he wrote. And he worked. I worked here and there, but he was more successful at keeping a job than I was. He would write about his experiences. I couldn’t do that. Until I finally did. Also, he said his only concern was for himself. I have been entirely too co-dependent in my life to make such a statement.

And he always wrote in first person. He didn’t write for “success”. He wrote to stay alive. (check)

He drank a lot. It looked like his choice was beer. (check)

I no longer drink beer. I quit at thirty one. I walked through the doors of AA. When I came in, it was different. A different time a different world and I loved it. It’s had its rocky moments. But I overcame them all. – Then the judges started sending in all their D.U. I. people. And in the early nineties, people began to substitute psychotropics for their inventories.

Now I have tremendous conflict in meetings. I have fat boys, that don’t like what I say. Good Lord they need to look in the mirror and while they are at it, they should record the stupid shit that they are saying.

I was all well and good with the conflict. I have always heeded to the last paragraph on page 19. Respect everyone’s share. Then started the attacks. I have been verbally attacked in the past, but this was a barrage. I believe it a result of ageism and the new hate for old timers, in general. They look at me with my grey hair and choose me as prey. They have no idea.

For example: One guy looks like Homer Simpson. He says that only the first eighty eight pages, in the Big Book count. He is disparaging of women’s shares. He wanted to buy a 5000 square foot house. And he wonders why he can’t get along with his wife. He was in meetings for 14 years and never worked a step. Now he has and he is on fire for everyone to be like him. FMR — One meeting, I was sharing my experience, of my first sponsor being Buddhist. He screamed at me, “This has nothing to do with Buddhism.” blahblahblah – The other fat boy is just fat and he thinks he’s good looking. He cut me off. He didn’t want to hear what I had to say. He thinks he is interesting.

My thoughts behind this is – What would it have been like if Bukowski came to a meeting.

WOW –

I am so inspired by his words. Because I know they are true. But in a meeting he would be a challenge. It might be a better option for some people to just stay home and write.

Who needs fake authenticity.

Hush

Hush

 

I have a ghost She sings me lullabies I am her child.

I am underwater Her voice filtered By particles of oxygen.

With her I can breath I can harmonize I am her mother

Express Yourself

Here I am again. Who cares? I do.

I have been doing a lot of writing off line. My daughter’s passing away. My conflict with family. My internal struggles have been too much to put out there. So, I write on paper. And I write in my Pages App. Cancer is Personal. My Family is a Cluster F*CK

I encourage anyone and everyone to write. It is medicine for your soul. No one is going to care about your being more than yourself.

EXPRESS YOURSELF