No Prom Queen 
I have this picture in my mind ~ as I lay in my bed of comfort.
Like a soldier -years gone by – the war is over.
What happened to Vietnam? Where are all of the naked babies, covered in flies?
Where are the dead bodies, scattered, limbs askew?
Where are the exploding buildings, silent, in flames?
Did Saigon fall hard like a rock into a pool of charm and drift like an empty raft on to a shore of safety?
Or did it run away in Nikes?
Fights*Battles*Fought*Lost
LOST LOST LOST
Snapping peas in harmony
long rows of squash
walking lines of berries and straw
life was good
Growing balanced watermelons
under the waves of clothes
they baked
dry in the sun
life was good
Now I have an orchard
I reap and I sow
here a while~there a while
life is good
THANK YOU MAMA
Radar could hear the choppers delivering the wounded to the MASH Unit in the Korean War. He had that sense.
Old timers on the trail west could put their ear to the ground and hear the hooves of approaching horses, be them friend or foe.
What do I hear?
I hear the chatter of distant cyber antics. I hear the past and the present. I mean the future. I mean the present. Those two just won’t stay still.
I also hear the fan running.
With patience-and coffee-I possess my soul.
Hhm…. That sounds conflicting.
Such is life and airline delays.
pura vida
I went to the beach yesterday, with my camera. The waves had died down and there was a chill in the air. Not my favorite conditions. But I was glad I was there to capture this image.
This little one was spending the day at the beach with Mom, Dad and her brother and sister. What a life.
This is a journal. I’m not trying to sell anyone anything or trying to convince anyone of anything. I don’t have a focus, other than my life and my thoughts.
If I have to claim a point of view ~ It’s about becoming a better person and service to others.
Would that mean that doubt and negativity never exist?
Friend or Foe
I was walking along the bank of the Jacksonville River, taking random pictures, when I saw this man. He was outstanding; the pink shirt, his dreads and the grey in his hair; a striking individual.
I asked him about taking his picture and I was taken back by his voice and diction. I was expecting a James Brownish type voice. His voice was clear and educated. It so, didn’t match his exterior; in my judgement.
I’m glad I took this picture that day.
It’s like writing this blog.
It hands me back my soul-when I think I’ve lost it.
I woke up this morning calling on a mantra, to heal my monkey mind. I miss Costa Rica. I miss my garden and the family that lives with me down there.
I miss the love.
I browsed through my photos and one of my Nicaraguan adventures caught my eye. I went as a photographer on a Christian mission trip into three areas; Manchester, Tipi Tapa and the La Chureca dump. (if you can, please read the link on La Chureca for the facts) I hid behind the camera at times to hide my breaking heart. It was an overwhelming experience.
These two live at the dump. A shanty town has developed there, housing the families that have come there seeking work. They go through the waste and recycle what’s there. I don’t know the exact facts, but it looked like a lot of other country’s excesses, such as old computers, are sent here because of their danger to the environment. The workers are hard at it in the day, earning a few pennies to support their families.
I elbowed my way around to make sure this woman, got these shoes. I wanted her and no one else to have them. As I watched her, throughout the day, she was quiet and reserved. In this picture, her eyes seem to tell a story~a book perhaps. Those discarded flip-flops became very important to me. A person needs shoes you know. And a little color and style never hurt anyone!
This little girl chased the bus as we were leaving. She seemed so happy!
I love this photo and the girl’s shirt. Her eyes are as bright and full of life, as her shirt is dingy. It’s a positive thought/that we can change the world with our imaginations.
I know that as I sit here, in my room, in a place that I find myself not wanting to be, that these people are still at the dump. They have little food. And what they do have is what is brought into them by missionaries ~ a lot of rice and beans.
I’m glad I have these pictures to reflect on. I don’t pity these people. That day, yes, I saw poverty. And when I left, I thought, now I know what dirt poor really is. But I also saw happiness and love amongst these people. One that I don’t see around me here in the middle of all of this decadence. Maybe I need to open my eyes.
I’m going to use my imagination and look to the best of the best of what God has given me in my life and move on.
Why not ~ it’s the better choice.
I think my mantra worked.
If you were to walk in MY shoes, this is what you would be wearing.
This is my mother, Hilda JoAnn. Today is her birthday. I’m thinking of her. I am proud to be a part of her lineage. She was, “born at the right time”. Which was December 27th, 1933. She flew away, January 16th 2007.
I use to dream of Julie Andrews being my mother. I just knew, that if she were my mother, I would be so happy. And, of course, I would have a wonderful voice. Life would be a musical.
Being Hilda’s daughter, was kind of like being in a chorus line. She was our leader and we were all her followers, but I couldn’t dance and I couldn’t sing.
My mother was a phenomenal woman. She was Irish Catholic. She got married at the age of fourteen, had five children, and made a fortune. How did she do that?
She lived with my father, until widowed. They were a team. I watched them work, play, laugh, and fight together. They played a lot of cards. She took us to church, but didn’t go, until the end of her life. She waited on the priest to receive her rights, before she would leave.
She answered the altar call, when we went to hear Joel O’Steen preach. She acted like it was a convenient time to stretch her legs. She wasn’t fooling me.
She told me, that no matter how bad things are; the sun will rise again in the morning.
She had, what people would call, a good attitude.
She also said, “if you don’t have something good to say about someone, then don’t say it at all.”~ she practiced that.
She was smart. She must have been. Having limited formal years of school, she was educated. She was an avid reader. I never knew, until I was grown, that when she was in her reading chair; she had ear plugs in. I told you she was smart.
She wasn’t scared of Y2k. She knew her math. She owned paper, and pencil.
She outran the IRS, but they caught her, after her death.
I never saw a grey hair in her head.
I believe my mother was a great example, of being dealt the hand called life, and playing it well.
She gave me my love of the ocean.
So, I surf. Who needs to sing?
P.S. She was a good cook.
P.S.S. She was a great cook.
I’m looking to the future ~ the only way I can do that is to stay in the now!