In my mind, I'm five years old having a high old time wandering and wondering. In reality, I'm now in my late 60s, wowza! I tell you a lot of creativity is still to be found in this old young self. In you, too, whatever your age. Welcome to my barefoot world!
Ten minutes. He said it would take them ten minutes to get to to the best view of the valley. That was two hours ago. She had to stop and photograph every little bug, flower, cloud, and rock she saw on the trail. No way was he going to see her again, thought Walt. He won’t take any of her calls. No text messages, no nothing, damn it. “That bend is coming up. Just over the rise!” yelled Walt at Agatha’s back ascending even further up the slope. He doubted she would want to see him again either. She could hear his uneven breathing, he figured. That’s why she’s so far ahead. Walt stumbled, falling face down on the rocky trail. As he struggled to get up, he sputtered and coughed and hacked and gagged, and made all sorts of sounds he never knew he could make. “Relax, relax,” said Agatha, stroking Walt’s back with a firm, gentle hand. “Slowly take a deep breath. Now, release slowly. In, out. In, out. Think of your happy place, see it, be there. Breathe deeply, in, out, in, out.” “Wh
1. Some time today (or tomorrow, or the next day), I’ll pull out the oak seedling next to the mailbox. I hope it’ll be easy. It’s more than a foot tall. Could it be considered a sapling? 2. I thought it was a holly plant so I left it alone last year. Who doesn’t like holly come Christmas season? 3. It turns out we have quite a few oak seedlings growing around the house. Some have volunteered in pots, some in the ground. 4. The birds and squirrels must’ve heard me say it would be nice to grow an oak tree or two. Who else would’ve brought the acorns and dropped them at random? 5. The Husband thinks the acorns were introduced by me. I tend to pick up acorns with the intention of planting them, but they mostly are left in pockets, the car, and forgotten safe places. 6. More than likely, the few acorns I didn’t stow away, I cavalierly tossed in the yard, invoking Mama’s incantation of “If they grow, they grow.” 7. So, yeah, acorns have sprouted all over the front and back. 8. Oaks bel
Missy Molly the pinky-nosed (wilde) Cat was perfectly content lying next to the heater vent, getting all cozily warm. “Besides,” she said, in her best Jimmy Cagney voice, “I know those guys aren’t real. See.”
Fifteen things start the questions off at this week’s Sunday Stealing hosted by Bev Sykes of Funny the World . So, here go I. 15 things that make you smile: The Husband, Missy Molly the pinky-nosed (wilde) Cat, friends, rain, a sunny day, flowers, bees pollinating flowers, birds visiting in the yard, a project done to my satisfaction, green hills, singing, painting, gardening, dancing, and hugs 14 things that make you frown: exclusivity, meanness, bullies, tagging, tailgaters, people not listening to each other, wilderness cemented over, litterbugs, liars , spammers, greedy businesses, politicians not willing to work with others, arrogance, and rudeness 13 things you see everyday: the sky, flowers, trees, cars, houses, TV, iPad, books, fruit, indoor plants, journal, pens, and dust 12 things you have always wanted to try: hike the whole Pacific Crest Trail, paddle an outrigger canoe, scuba diving, visit Italy with the Husband, drive cross country with the Husband, pedal my b
I’m participating in a new meme (for me, that is) called Friday Writings , which is hosted by Poets and Storytellers United . Fragment #1 “Come on, Honey. Let’s take you home now,” said the kindly man in blue holding out his hand to the grey-haired, naturally tanned woman sitting pertly on a stone bench in front of the Veteran’s Memorial Building. Six feet away, among tiles commemorating military veterans, was her dad’s, the only connection visible to her past. The short stout woman with knees far younger than her walked steadily beside the middle-aged escort who reminded her of the son she did not have. The sun was halfway to the horizon. Be home by sunset, her parents had told her so very long ago. (to be continued…maybe) To read creative poetry and prose from other bloggers, head over to Friday Writings .
Wild grass of some sort grows through a crack on the patio. I like how they dance in the wind, which is my excuse for not pulling them out. They also offer a photo opportunity. Click, click. I experimented on this photo with the filters available on the iPad. My focus was on the lighting. :-) Time to join up with Art for Fun Friday , hosted by poet Gillena at Lunch Break. Come along, if you please.
Once upon a time, not so long ago and not at all far away, the Husband and I attended a candidate’s forum. We wanted to see the candidates in action, how well they spoke and articulated their ideas, their ease before an audience, their ability to answer questions about specific issues briefly and succinctly, and if they paid attention to their competitors when it was their turn to speak. All that fun stuff that we can’t tell from their campaign statements, their websites, or news articles about them. Here are 13 reasons some of the various candidates for local, state, and federal offices said why they should be elected. Not in these precise words, of course, but these ideas. Vote for me because: I am the face of the demographics of this district. I am new. The incumbent has been in office too long, doesn’t matter that she has successfully executed what I would like to do if elected. I’m the voice of my constituents who want to make sure anyone we don’t like is pushed back to the wal
I did this acrylic painting last year, methinks. My first try at using a canvas this size, as well as it was the first time I brushed on a layer of white paint first. Not over the whole canvas, but a huge circle from which came out the sun. The scene is what I remember of sunrises in the Sierra Nevada where I backpacked so long ago. Gillena, at Lunch Break , is hosting Art for Fun Friday . That’s where I’m heading. Please come join me.
The Husband and I received our second booster shot yesterday. Almost everything the Husband and I do together is fun. And, so it was, as we waited for our shot and for the 15 minutes after receiving the Covid-19 booster to make sure there were no ill effects. We’re fortunate that our primary physician offers the vaccines. It makes the process less stressful and more friendly. The doctor is a perfect host, going from one station to the other to greet patients and make sure we are okey-dokey. We got to sit in the waiting room, front seat to all the action. We watched old and older people shuffle through the door, in and out. Many were couples like ourselves. Yes, we found it crazy to think we were as old or older than the other folks. Most likely, they thought the same thing. I thought I had my vaccine card in my wallet. It was not. The last few days, the Husband asked, “Do you have your card?” Yes, said I, with so much confidence I didn’t check my wallet. Where else would it be? Ver
This morning, I learned that someone under the influence of alcohol or drugs flipped his or her car in the cemetery where my family’s remains are buried. The car landed quite near where my older sister lay. What kind of person does that, race through a cemetery, whether DUI or not? The same kind who shoots into a group of people because he thinks he sees someone he hates but that person was not there at all? The same kind who smoke bombs and shoots in a subway car? The same kind who invades a country? The same kind who walks out on a person who has been appointed to the U.S. Supreme Court? The same kind who ignites the anger of others so that they will do violence and destruction for him, but then pretend dumb about having any part of it? The same kind who bullies others to get what he wants, but when others stand up to him, he cries foul and feels victimized? Disgusting. I suppose the one positive thing I can say about those kind of people is that they remind me I do not want t
The U.S. 1950 Census was released this month, if you’re into genealogy. Unlike the last census, which we answered online, hired hands went house to house in 1950 to note certain information about the residents. I found my family in Section 35-8 of San Benito County, California. That section’s enumerator began her or his (first name is either Alma or Alan) task of interviewing households on April 5, 1950. On the day of the interview, the enumerator noted that Daddy was 45, Mama, 28, and Brother, one year old. They lived on a ranch on Wright Road, just northwest of Hollister, where Daddy was a farmer’s helper who had worked 50 hours the previous week. I wonder if they paid rent or got their housing for free. The federal minimum wage in 1950 was 75 cents an hour, according to the Department of Labor. Mama’s name was spelled wrong, Francisco instead of Francisca. Our surname was written with two r’s rather than one. No big deal there. I don’t know why Daddy spelled Echaore, while Un
I’m seven weeks old in this photo. The Husband thought I was about a year old. A huge baby, was I! Mama said she ate a lot of French bread while she carried me. Could that be why I like crusty bread so much? Cookies? Cake? And all things floury and sugary? Years back I found my birth announcement in our local newspaper. It was on the front page. At the time, the county population was around 14,000, with more than a third of the people living in Hollister, the county seat. I figured the publisher needed something to fill a one-inch gap, because why else would my birth be on the front page rather than an inside page or the back page like every other newborn’s. After all, the birth of a farmer’s helper’s daughter wasn’t important or relevant to anyone but my family. Flash forward to 2021 (although only last year, it seems so long ago). While doing research on gestational diabetes, I came across an article about fetal macrosomia, a condition in which a newborn is larger than average at bi
It took me awhile to figure what day it is when I woke up this morning. Is it Wednesday? Is the green recycling can empty? Tomorrow is garbage day. Wasn’t that just the other day? Maybe it’s Tuesday. No. What did we watch on TV last night?…ponder, ponder….Saturday! Okay, then. Up and at ‘em.
What is this? Not cheese, Borat. This, that to the left in the photo, was my first try at stitching tiny fabric scraps scrunched randomly together on a bigger piece of fabric scrap. Recently, I sewed the piece onto polka dot material that was once part of the leg of Mama’s knit pants. Some may consider this a blob of what the heck. Others, a work of art. Me, fun. Poet Gillena Cox hosts Art Fun Friday on her Lunch Break. That’s where I’m heading. Come join me.
I’ve only come around to wearing the color pink. Mama dressed me up a lot in pink when I was a kid, as well as she’d gift me pink clothes when I was on my own. So, yup, no pink for me. I didn’t care that some people thought it was a good color for me. I do think pink is a pretty color. It’s a burst of sweetness and light, calm and everything nice. Happy Thursday!
Bzzz. Bzzzz. Bzz, Bzzz, Bzzz. BZZZ! Translation: Get out of our territory, dammit! So sniped the black carpenter bees as they buzzed back and forth beside me. I t was past eleven o’clock. Eating time for the bees. “Don’t sting me,” said I, snipping away at the dead daisy and chrysanthemum heads. “I just got a little more to go.” Bzzzzz. Bzzzzz. “Go ahead and eat. I’m not bothering you.” Bzzzz. Bzzzz. Bzzzzz. A honey bee landed on a daisy within arms reach. It paid me no mind. I froze while it did its thing. “See,” I said to the carpenter bees. “That’s all you have to do.” “Drink and be merry” said the honey bee as it flew off. BZZZZ!
What if. . . You Aren’t Here is a destination restaurant in a hoedown punktown of a village. The entrance is the back door. Seating is made up of curtained booths, maximum six, with covered peep holes for the show. Customers place their orders with masked waiters and waitresses wearing bullfighter outfits, sans capes, and old-fashioned roller skates. When the booth bell chimes, the peep holes open to allow the customers to watch the show. Before them are chefs and sous chefs and their crew swiftly and precisely julienning and butterflying, pounding and tenderizing, marinading and dressing, tossing and turning, poaching and grilling, and so forth and so on in the restaurant’s clean and well-lit, state-of-the-art kitchen. There! said the customers in whispers. That’s mine!
I collected rose hips this winter, with thoughts to plant them and see if they would grow. Silly me thought I could and would remember what color of rose each bag of rose hips are. Oh well. I’m going to plant them anyway. I love surprises.
Acrylic paints and fabric scraps are what I used for this creation. First time playing with these materials. Definitely not the last. It’s Art for Fun Friday time. That’s where I’m heading. Come join me. :-)