Monthly Archives: March 2019

My Answers to “Twelve Things”

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Twelve Things I Would Most Like to Know About You

 

Who in your opinion is the sexiest man who ever lived?

Paul Newman.

What favorite food do you rarely eat and why?

Chocolate pudding with vanilla ice cream. I rarely eat it because I’m too lazy to cook the pudding.

What would your closest friends be most surprised to find out about you?

I am not really as confidant as you think I am.

Who is the most famous person you ever met and what were the circumstances?

I met Jackie Gleason out in the jungle in Kenya in 1967 and John Wayne at the Laramie, Wyoming airport in 1969. The story of meeting John Wayne is given in my blog.

What famous person would you most like to have as a close friend and why?

I think Michele Obama. I am reading her book right now and she seems like a smart, funny, loyal friend who obviously has some stories to tell.

What is your biggest regret in life?

Being overweight for so many times in my life, including now. See that chocolate pudding answer above? I just had some for the first time in years.

What is the strangest pet you ever had?

A Raccoon. He was also the best pet I ever had.

What is the item of clothing you have owned for the longest period of time?

The skirt I wore for my wedding.  It is an Anna Konya gypsy skirt made of dozens of different strips of material sewn together.  I love it but haven’t worn it since I stopped doing art and craft shows.

What object in your house holds the most nostalgic value for you?

A mayonnaise jar in the shape of a China bulldog. It’s head comes off and it’s tongue is the handle of the China spoon to dip the mayonnaise out with. It was inherited from my mother who was given it by her sister when she was a little girl.

What question do you wish you had asked a deceased relative but didn’t?

I’d like to know how my grandmother met her second husband, how my dad proposed to my mother and what my birth was like.

Who in the world (relative or not) do you most resemble? 

I feel most like I imagine my mother felt, look like her sometimes, when I’m skinny, but look  like my oldest sister and grandmother when I am overweight.

What is your favorite footwear?

Croc Sandals (not clogs.) They are the only shoes I really feel totally comfortable in and since I live in a subtropical climate, they are always appropriate–until I go north of the border.

Okay, now I’d like to see your answers to the same questions. To take a chance to win money for your favorite charity, go HERE to answer.

 

Twelve Things I Would Most Like to Know about You 

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Twelve Things I Would Most Like to Know About You 

If at least twenty-five people answer these questions and either give a link to their blogs in comments below or send the answers to me via email, Facebook or Skype, I will have a drawing and contribute an amount equal to the number of responders (up to a limit of $100) to the winner’s favorite charity. Please let me know if you do not wish to have your answers published, as I might share some of them on my blog.  Okay, the race is on! I’m going to be very disappointed if no one plays along.

Who in your opinion is the sexiest man (if you are a woman) or woman (if you are a man) who ever lived?

What favorite food do you rarely eat and why?

What would your closest friends be most surprised to find out about you?

Who is the most famous person you ever met and what were the circumstances?

What famous person would you most like to have as a close friend and why?

What is your biggest regret in life?

What is the strangest pet you ever had?

What is the item of clothing you have owned for the longest period of time?

What object in your house holds the most nostalgic value for you?

What question do you wish you had asked a deceased relative but didn’t?

Who in the world (relative or not) do you most resemble? 

What is your favorite footwear and why?

Okay!!! The game is on. Don’t make me say at this advanced
stage in my life
that no one wants to play with me!

HERE are some more challenges you might enjoy entering, but finish mine first!!!!

Share Your World, Mar 25, 2019

QUESTIONS:

What is the best pick me up that you know of?  To shake you out of the blues? A funny movie or to write. Chocolate doesn’t hurt, either.


writing

thebalancesmb.com

What would be the title of your memoir? Michelle Obama already took it: Becoming. Hers is a wonderful book, by the way. I’m reading it now.


eating

Wellness and Nutrition Center

Where do you like to go when you eat out? To Viva Mexico, a gourmet Mexican restaurant in the small town near where I live. Always faces I know, friendly staff, incredible food and often music and dancing.  It is the place where “everyone knows my name.”


luck

Above The Fray

Do you believe in luck? I believe in synchronicity. I think it is sometimes viewed as luck.


gratitude

flickr.com

Gratitude Question:

Aside from necessities, what is one thing you couldn’t go a day without? My computer, I must admit.

 

These questions courtesy of Zombie Flamingos at: (https://sparksfromacombustiblemind.com/2019/03/25/share-your-world-3-25-19/).

Fountain of Flowers: FOTD March 31, 2019

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I dined beside this glorious flower-filled fountain at El Patio in Tlaquepaque, Mexico with my friends Dan and Laurie a week or so ago.

In need of more flowers? See Cee’s beautiful bearded iris HERE.

Facing the Inevitable. Alone.

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Facing the Inevitable. Alone.

Tilting at windmills or slaying dragons is too retro for my taste. I’d rather just have a man who tickles my funny bone, or at the very least one who tickles my fancy. At my age, I am between vulnerable stages. I don’t need anyone to save me financially or ego-wise. I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to house and feed myself for the twenty or so years I have left and unless I have a serious decline in mental and physical power, I will always have blogging to salve my ego–a few loyal followers who still want to hear what I have to say.

Whatever I have made of my life, it is a pickle of my own choosing. I have not been jinxed or done ill to—at least recently. What I have I deserve. What I don’t have, I deserve. I don’t look forward to that day when fate will serve me a bitter dish, but that part of me that has to binge-watch *”After Life” or listen to an Audible book to get to sleep at night knows it one day will. In spite of my niggling lifelong conviction that I’ve been left on this planet by some foreign species and that I’ll be picked up soon and whisked off to a life unending, that part of me that needs constant distraction knows that I am human and therefore vulnerable.

Those with partners may think my title here sad, but there is another way of looking at it. Those of us unmatched and “unespoused” have only one inevitable death to face. We need fear no phone call when parted or unwelcome discovery when together. The only death we need fear is our own.  We have half of the dread that the happily paired must face as they approach a certain age.

With increasing regularity, when with friends my own age, after we have hurriedly (I hope) gone over the ills of today—knee replacements and hip replacements and intestinal disorders and the ilk—we eventually get around to discussing various methods of insuring the end we desire over Alzheimer’s or stroke. I have a high bridge picked out. Various friends have pill stashes. Everyone knows which friends, in spite of their obituaries, have already made this choice.

What we fear most is waiting too long and forfeiting the choice and spending the rest of our days in some repository for the walking dead—those antiseptic storehouses where they partition off residents unlucky enough to have not experienced a swift death—those cursed either with an active mind trapped in a body turned to stone or the reverse. What living hell is this, that so many of the aged are now preserved in part who in an earlier age would have been afforded a dignified death?

There is something about writing to multiple prompts that takes us into a part of our brain where otherwise we might have not gone. So it is with this seemingly pessimistic rambling into the dark side of my brain. Although nothing I say is fiction, still, perhaps the balance is wrong. Here is no discussion of the birds outside my early-morning sunlit curtains or the components of my morning smoothie that await my hand in compiling them. It does not mention friends that still stimulate and amuse, relatives that still fill my heart.

It overlooks those twenty potential years that I hope will lead up to whatever end I face. These are just words that I shed during a side trip through consciousness. Do not call me or consult with mutual friends, worrying about my state of mind. I am in no way suicidal. I am not morose. I am simply wandering through a few alleys where I think we must all wander from time to time, and as we grow older, where we wander more frequently. For in spite of my title, I don’t really think I wander here alone.

* “After Life” is a new show on Netflix, written and played by Ricky Gervais. A bit dark, but worth binge-watching if you’re in the right frame of mind. Along with the four prompt words, it is perhaps what put me in the mood to write this piece. I have a feeling it is more Ricky Gervais’s attitude than my own.  Well, maybe a wedding of the two.

 

Prompt words today are pickle, retro, dragon and jinx. Here are the links:
https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2019/03/31/rdp-sunday-pickle/
https://onedailyprompt.wordpress.com/2019/03/31/your-daily-word-prompt-dragon-march-31-2019/
https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2019/03/31/jinx/
https://fivedotoh.com/2019/03/31/fowc-with-fandango-retro/

Flying Kites

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Flying Kites

Since I was a little girl, trying to construct my own one-dimensional classically-shaped kite out of tissue paper and raw wood sticks, I’ve always been fascinated by kites.  Kites were a bonding medium between my husband’s youngest son and me and I remember once taking a new boyfriend up on the hill to fly a kite after our first amorous encounter and actually, never seeing him again. I’m sure I’ve become the subject of one of his scornful “weird chick” stories.

Kites eventually evolved into more exotic shapes than those first fragile little assemble-it-yourself kites that came as paper and string tightly wound around a disassembled skeleton of unsanded sticks sure to provide a number of slivers during assembly. In my twenties, I bought a lovely cellophane kite in the shape of a jellyfish that actually traveled with me to Mexico twenty years later. It was the kite I’d sailed off the pier in Huntington Beach, in the sand of beaches near L.A. and from a campground north of San Diego.

I can’t remember what has become of it since I moved to Mexico eighteen years ago. Perhaps it is in a box somewhere or perhaps it eventually disintegrated and was thrown away, but my fascination with kites did not expire with it and so when I saw the kite vendor next to the road that runs between Ajijic and San Juan Cosala, I immediately pulled over, turned around and went back to examine the glorious three-dimensional fabric kites.  They were in the shapes of birds of prey, dragons, fish, and other fanciful creatures.  I chose a hawk and a dragon and bought both.

I couldn’t wait to get home and go up to my roof to fly one.  Ground level at my house furnishes too many places for a kite to get tangled up in: bougainvillea vines, palm trees, roof tiles and phone lines. I went up the stairs to the second level terraza and unfurled the hawk kite.  It was a windy day and it did not disappoint, but soon rose to the full extension of its string. Real birds occasionally circled around it, wondering no doubt what weird bird was this.  But after a few minutes, when I looked down from the mesmerizing sight of my own kite hovering far above, I noticed in amazement a similar kite soaring high above my neighbor’s house down below.

Not one but two men were up on the high dome of their house flying a kite! Now I must say that I had lived in my house for sixteen years and had still never met these neighbors.  There is an empty lot between us as well as high walls surrounding both of our properties, as is the norm in Mexico.  Tall trees and weeds have grown up between us and they are just occasional weekend visitors to their vacation house. We share a gardener, Pasiano, and that has been the extent of our relationship for the now 18 years I’ve been residing here.  But they seemed to spot my kite the moment I spotted theirs.  I waved from my high perch. They waved from theirs, further down the hill. And I think we both felt a momentary sense of unity.

Since then, that kite has resided, rewound into a tight bundle, in my umbrella stand, along with its fellow kite, still a virgin and as a result, more tightly and professionally wound.  I don’t know why I’d never thought to fly either of them since then, but as I was packing to go to the beach last January, my eye fell on the umbrella stand.  No need for an umbrella at the beach, but a kite?  Yes!  I chose the more flamboyant red dragon kite. I would finally see it fully extended!  The cord was stuck into the cellophane sheath that surrounded it–a flat plastic structure with the strong braided nylon cord wound tightly around it.  Into my fully-packed car it went.

Once I arrived in La Manzanilla, the kite took up residence with my art supplies, sticking up out of a large plastic box that sat on the dining table bench behind the table, which was never used for dining but instead became my computer table and art center. There was much to do–greeting old friends, working on music for CD’s to go with my children’s books, writing groups and readings, planning art activities for friends, swimming, beach combing, dining, dancing, observing the nightly parades that streamed by my house, dealing with the all-night LOUD music from nearby bars, coping with the muffler-less motorcycles that streamed by my house at 3 in the morning.

It was a month after I’d arrived at the beach that my eye fell on my long-overlooked second kite.  It was a nice windy day on the beach. I’d seen at least one other kite flying–something I’d never witnessed in the ten years I’d been coming to this relatively sleepy little town. Here were no high-rise hotels or swinging discotheques like the ones in Puerto Vallarta or Mazatlan.  Here were little restaurants and night spots frequented by the ever-increasing number of American and Canadian writers, musicians, actors and artists who swelled out the population of the little town for 6 months of every year—those months before the humidity and heat grew too intense to bear.

So, finally, I took my wonderful kite out for its inaugural flight. Assembly required only crossing two long slender plastic spines and slipping their ends into pouched slots on the snout, tail end and two front legs of the dragon and attaching the cord to a center ring. The long expanse of the cord was wound around a flat plastic spindle that had been packaged up with the kite.  I slathered on sunscreen and went out to my back porch that overlooked the beach, descended the stairs and began to unwind the cord.  The kite rose immediately into the air, born by the strong coastal breeze.  It shot upwards and upwards and upwards and––then it was soaring up and over the long line of vacation rentals and restaurants that lined the beach and I was holding the cord winder to which, it seems, the cord had not been attached!

Within seconds, my beautiful kite was gone with the wind and out of sight.  I ran quickly down the beach to a small restaurant that furnished ingress to the main street of the little town that fronted the house I rented every year.  I ran out onto the street, madly looking up and down for my kite, fearing to find it plastered against the windshield of a wrecked car or in broken splinters, shards and rags after being run over. I looked up and down, up and down, then ran to the center of the street to finally see it, a block away, held streaming behind the form of a small girl on the back of her mother’s motorcycle, speeding down the brick-paved street into the distance. I ran after it, shouting, creating quite a spectacle of myself, then stopped, realizing they would probably make the circuit around the plaza and come back again, as all the other motorcycles always did.  But alas, I never saw the motorcycle or the little girl and mother or my beautiful new kite again. They had vanished into the labyrinthine sand streets of the little town.

For another month, I looked for it in the skies above the beach. The house I rent is only one building away from the main paved entrance to the beach and the hub of beach life, but alas, it never appeared.  I console myself with the thought of the astonishment of the little girl as it soared over the rooftops and within her reach—her delight as she held it streaming out behind her, her other hand securely clutching her mother as they created a beautiful spectacle witnessed by everyone watching that day from sidewalks, benches or the inside of stores, restaurants and galleries along that main thoroughfare. Witnessed by me, standing center-road, regretting its loss.  But at night, before I fall to sleep, as I look for the ten thousandth time at the paintings that cover the walls of my bedroom, I imagine that little girl in her room, my splendid red dragon kite tacked to the adobe wall in front of her bed.  Her little miracle.  Her treasure, perhaps, for the rest of her life.

 

 

 

Prompt words today were kite, scorn, labyrinthine and instant. Here are the links:
https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2019/03/30/rdp-saturday-kite/
https://fivedotoh.com/2019/03/30/fowc-with-fandango-scorn/
https://onedailyprompt.wordpress.com/2019/03/30/your-daily-word-prompt-labyrinthine-march-30-2019/
https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2019/03/30/instant/

I Laughed So Hard at These Autocorrect Bloopers That I Was Afraid I’d Have a Stroke!

Click on it and hopefully you will see them all.  Hope it works.  I laughed so hard that the cat left the room! Click on the right arrow on each frame to move on to the next.  Thanks to Linda Crosfield for sending them to me!