Dahlia. Couldn’t resist!
Along with dahlias of five other colors, these blooms will grace my garden next Frday. Now to keep them alive until then. J
http://ceenphotography.com/2016/03/23/flower-of-the-day-march-24-2016-double-daffodil/
The prompt today was “nerve.” Here is where that one word led my mind.
Curve
I admire those who have the courage and the verve
to choose a filmy cut-out dress that shows off every curve,
for I admit I have neither the figure nor the nerve!
There is no scale for bravery, no ruler and no gauge
for those who memorize their lines and stand up on the stage
reciting without benefit of the printed page.
Some men face off lions in the lion’s den,
and women face off dangers from the selfsame men,
while I sit home and face the dangers of the brush and pen.
Some may find their courage in the finest wine––
others at the bottom of a tankard or a stein,
but my imagination is where I go for mine.
Conviction is so easy when it’s written on a page
unhindered by imprisonment in cell, compound or cage
or the threat of facing zealotry’s cruel rage.
Some of us are lucky in the details of our birth:
our health, our parents and our looks–our beauty and our girth,
but most of all the place that we are given on this earth.
There are others not so lucky, born to famine and to drought
or to repressive governments where those who have the clout
give no room for self-expression or enquiry or doubt.
This is where it takes pure nerve to stand up to the strong
who’ve exercised the cruelty of power for so long
to say at threat of life and limb what you feel is wrong.
I say these things in safety from a place that is secure.
I need not rage in silence. I need not be demure
or face punishment for thoughts that others deem impure.
I’m lucky in the problems that I face from day to day,
for nothing that I want to drink or wear or do or say
is labeled with a “thou shalt not” or listed as a “Nay.”
I admire those who have the courage and the verve
to speak truth as they see it and face the cruel blade’s curve,
for I admit I have neither the valor nor the nerve!
(For Raif Badawi–– sentenced to 10 years in prison and 1,000 lashings for writing his beliefs on his blog and Ali Mohamed al-Nimr, Dawood al-Marhoon, and Abdullah al-Zaher—all minors sentenced to death by beheading simply for attending demonstrations. Incredible to realize I would be put to death for what I am saying right now if I lived in Saudi Arabia or Egypt.)
I wrote a poem for NaPoWriMo last year that would suit this theme well. See it HERE.
https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/price/
(Click on first photo and arrows to see enlarged views of all photos.)
http://jennifernicholewells.com/2016/03/22/color-your-world-razzle-dazzle-rose/
This little woodpecker wakes me up most mornings, pecking away 80 feet or more up one of my palm trees. This morning it brought a gift by bringing my attention to these beautiful palm blossoms that I usually only notice floating in my pool.
http://ceenphotography.com/2016/03/21/flower-of-the-day-march-22-2016-daffodil/
Priceless
How much is the purse––how much the papaya per kilo or the platanos? It seems as though in Mexico, we are always asking or being told the price of something. It is strange how rarely we had to ask this in the U.S., for everything there carries a price tag. Try some time to purchase a dress when there is only one like it on the rack and the price tag has fallen off. It is impossible. There is an established price that no one knows except some elusive price person perhaps filed away in a closet between pricing sessions. When the price tag falls off, the garment goes in a pile, perhaps to be reduced or sent to some limbo especially established for tagless garments, but not on your back, where you would prefer it to be.
In the U.S., the only comparison to Mexico is perhaps the garage sale, where pricing is often a matter of bargaining. Both seller and buyer establish a worth in their own mind and they each move toward that goal from a different direction. “Five dollars,” “Two dollars,” “Four Dollars,”Three,” “Sold!”
On the beach in La Manzanilla, where I just spent two months, I bought 32 bobbleheads over the time I was there. I didn’t really need even one bobblehead animal, but the children I bought them from a few at a time were so cute and funny in a natural uncalculated way. The little boy was so kind and protective toward his little sister, and she was so nonassuming and innocent. If this was all sales technique, it certainly worked, but I am a pretty close observer of minutiae and everything about these children seemed unplanned and fun. To them, “selling” was involving you in their play as they lined up cowboys on the backs of cows to face off with a rotund moose or bobblehead monkeys.
“Cuánto cuesta?” I had inquired when they first held out his large box, her smaller one full of bobbleheads to me. “Veinte,” they replied in unison, and then “Twenty pesos.” Although I’d always paid ten pesos for these little treasures in the past, I didn’t question the price, knowing that the U.S. dollar had soared to be worth nineteen pesos. These silly little toys––intricate and well-crafted, were certainly worth a dollar, which is what I’d been paying for them when the exchange rate was closer to ten to one. Like the price of everything else, it had probably been raised to reflect inflation. And so I paid the price without bargaining, and encouraged friends to buy from my favorite beach duo as well, even after I found them in both the weekly market and souvenir stores for ten pesos each.
As my time to leave approached, I spent less time on the beach or on my porch and since I’d already purchased at least one of every species that appealed to me, as well as duplicates as gifts, Edgar and Flo, sensing the inevitable, reduced their visits to my porch.
During their last visit to me, “This is a family,” Edgar explained as he lined up three zebras–one fatter and taller than the two others that stood either side. “A mama and two babies,” he said and then, quickly, “No, a papa and two babies.”
“No mama?”
“No.”
“Will they get a new mama?”
“No.”
I know Edgar and Flo have a mother and two older brothers, so this little story is purely imaginary and, like his flute playing and their little songs and arrangements of animals on the steps of my house for the many afternoons they’ve visited––priceless.
To read and see more about Edgar and Flo, go to
https://judydykstrabrown.com/2016/02/26/tower-of-bobble/
(The daily prompt word was “Price.”)
Since it is almost Easter and since lilies always remind me of Easter and my mother, this post is for her. Both my mom and dad loved flowers and trees and every house in the somewhat arid little town where I grew up always sported trees, petunias, pansies, trumpet vines, tulips, peonies, sweetpeas and roses––but never lilies. They were for Easter, as a potted plant to be thrown away after the blooms faded. I don’t think it ever occurred to us that they could be planted.
(Click on first picture and arrows to view enlarged gallery.)
http://ceenphotography.com/2016/03/20/flower-of-the-day-march-21-2016-tulip/
Friends
(When I walked the Ajijic malecon with three good friends yesterday, I came across these friends frolicking in the lake slightly below us. They were having such a glorious time and I identified completely, since all the swimming I did prior to my twenties was in stock dams (and occasionally the river) back in South Dakota. I have no better memories of childhood and I’m sure these children will feel the same way. A little water to splash in, something to investigate along the way, sun and your friends––what more is needed for a perfect day?
(Click on first photo and then on arrows to see full-sized photos.)
Life goes better with the dance,
so do it when you have the chance!
(Click on first photo and then on arrows to enlarge photos and view.)
(CLICK ON FIRST PICTURE AND THEN ARROWS TO VIEW ALL PHOTOS FULL SIZE.)
https://beccagivens.wordpress.com/2016/03/20/sunday-trees-227/
