My blog, which started out to be about overcoming grief, quickly grew into a blog about celebrating life. I post daily: poems, photographs, essays or stories. I've lived in countries all around the globe but have finally come to rest in Mexico, where I've lived since 2001. My books may be found on Amazon in Kindle and print format, my art in local Ajijic galleries. Hope to see you at my blog.
I just planted this hibiscus a little over a week ago and this is my first bloom. I think it is my new favorite. I planted another new one as well but can’t remember the color. I’ll share a photo when it blooms again as the original flower faded and fell off.
Marriage is “legal tender,” a permit to fuse— a government license for a couple to amuse. Some cohabit without it, in a sort of ruse which causes all the neighbors to gossip and accuse. If they were more nondescript, perhaps they could just use masks or garments to disguise, to obscure and confuse their detractors, but alas, there’s no means they can use. At six foot six, identities aren’t possible to lose.
I think my cousin’s sons might be taller than six foot six, actually. Next to my sister Patti, they seem to tower. Their photos are used for illustration purposes only. Neither to my knowledge has committed any action to make the neighbors gossip.
The words of the day are tender, neighbor, nondescript and fuse. And the links, in case you want to play along, are below:
When I’m in the mood for moping, with no energy for coping, reticent to kowtow to boss or parent or guru, when I’m feeling less than zealous, down-at-soul, depressed or jealous, concerned with what I seem to lack, I go and lie upon my back in bed or hammock or in pool in water steaming, tepid, cool.
The point is getting horizontal on a surface that is fontal, foam or tightly woven and hung in a garden, loosely slung. And there I dream or inspect trees for butterflies or birds or bees. I watch their habits, or I dream joining that unconscious stream that says the world is not my biz. Only what is closest is.
And I pull inward to a world where all the universe lies furled. Then, enlivened, I get up to write or play with dogs or sup, rejoining that space and clime I’m meant to live in for a time. I do what I have power to
to civilize this human zoo.
“Think globally,” they used to say.
“Act locally.” Still true today.
Dogs following their masters, close upon their heels. Dogs waiting under tables, patiently, for meals. Dogs sitting at attention, or looking for their balls. Dogs patiently waiting for their masters’ calls. Dogs upon the sofa, singly or in pairs. Dogs listening for a certain car, on the carport stairs. Some dogs travel as luggage. Others stay at home. When masters get their leashes out, that’s when they get to roam. Sitting on the rooftop or waiting on the stairs, some dogs live as singles. Others roam in pairs. Strolling ‘round the pool or sunning at the beach, one dog or another is rarely out of reach. Some dogs simply have to finish what they start. First it’s just a little tug, but soon things fall apart. Then they get in trouble for what was meant as fun That’s why they look so innocent after they are done! Why were they given teeth at all If they weren’t meant to use them? It wasn’t their intention, when they started, to abuse them! Their collars and their leashes incite their excitation asharbingers of their favorite form of recreation. But other types of collars are labelled cones of shame. Hard for dogs to understand that they are not to blame. Dogs are made for leaping. Some even look like goats. Some roam the world au naturel whereas others wear coats. So many different types of dogs and different types of masters. But all agree their good points atone for their disasters.