The flesh has been torn from the bones of my soul
My breath has come up short
Life’s distance in years is a highway
I crawl past an angel wing
The flesh has been torn from the bones of my soul
I exhale
Overcome by guilt and shame
I run to be with others
The flesh has been torn from the bones of my soul
I inhale
I am alone
I fly
I AM A WIDGET/Gallery Lover
My soul is enmeshed with these subjects. Each photo a memory. A person impressed in my being, like words in print. They tell a story. I know these people intimately, as I look at them over and over through the years.
If you are on an iPhone and you tap the horizontal bars in the right corner, my widgets will appear. They are mostly photo galleries. The first is always changing order. The other two are stationary. I recently updated all three. I am sad to say, that it took me two and a half months to follow through with this task.
I am getting back to this writing. Mostly in first person. The snap shot encapsulate my life. And my love of the people that I share this planet with. I am fascinated by people.
My instagram https://www.instagram.com/everydaypaparazza/ has 800 portraits. Check them out. Yes, there is a turtle and a guitar. But most are people. Every day, extraordinary people. That was the purpose of the site. I wanted to link it as a widget in the sidebar but was unsuccessful.
Most of my unsuccessful technical endeavors go by the wayside until I am ready to tackle it.
In the meantime, I browse-look at my photos and read other’s blogs.
I am a happy widget.
As a side note to my sidebar – Many indigenous people do not want their photos taken. They believe their souls will be stolen. I encountered this at The Moon Dance in Costa Rica and with the Mayans in Guatemala. I could have snuck their photos but I backed off.
My soul is entwined.
We are One.
I called a legitimate sister to discuss yet another sister who has showed up on our 23 and Me Ancestry. I don’t know why she would find it a hard to believe that this is our sister. Joan Ariel. DNA does not lie.
Continue reading 66 – Thoughts on Bull Shit
This is my spot. It’s probably the last time I will get to stand here. To be on the beach enjoying the sunset. Here’s where I have fished for forty years. The island has been overrun by people who love the view, but are not beach people
God Bless them – each and every one.
Please Allow Me To Sting Myself
I do and I have. One should never put their writing out there until it’s ready.
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
I have arrived~
Seahabilitation
The best is yet to be..
I am En Route 66. I will be heading out on the trail tomorrow. There will be no GPS. Only get up and go. Kind of like my surfing.
I keep journals. Note books – I use them to help me find peace and sort my life out. Thoughts on friends and finances.
I make changes in my life. However, I have the tendency to repeat. When writing things down, it becomes obvious.
The photo on the left is of my friend Connie. She was loved by many people. I had written about being with her when she passed, 2015. In the photo, we were at the funeral of Rachael Sutton. (She initiated Starting Point – you know it or you don’t.)
Connie passed with lung cancer.
As she was dying, she told me stories of her life. They were great stories. She didn’t want anyone to know. They were antics of her mother, Hazel. Poor Hazel.
I never knew Hazel, but I admired her in a way that Connie couldn’t. She wasn’t my mother.
Fish Eye Farm 