Hi, readers. ForgottenMan here. Judy asked me to post this photo taken yesterday at their writing retreat. All seems to be going well there.
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Wed., Feb 18–Soon off to Quinta San Carlos!!!

An earlier writing retreat Across the lake at Quinta San Carlos. That empty chair is for me, since I’m taking the photo.
I woke up at 6:22 to the sound of hot water streaming into my pool. The intake pipe must have been left open the last time the pool filled up on Monday and enough water has evaporated since then to leave some room for it. It is pitch black and cool outside, which makes me hesitant to go out and turn the drain on. An additional contributing reason for staying warm inside instead of venturing out in my nightgown is because I’m not going to be here to use the pool, for in less than 4 hours, I’m leaving with 7 friends for a writing retreat at Quinta San Carlos across the lake. Two of those people are staying with me now—my friend of many years, Linda Hanna from Oaxaca, who got in from where she had been in Chiapas last night, and Judy Reeves, who arrived from San Diego two nights ago. Judy will lead the retreat.
We are trying to remember how many years ago the remaining members of the women’s writing group I started 24 years ago started this retreat. Over the years we have met in Puerta Vallarta at least two times, in La Manzanilla, Cuyutlán, Acapulco, at my house in San Juan Cosala. and two other times at Quinta San Carlos. Four of the members of the original group have passed away, one moved back to the States, and Judy Reeves brought two of her writing friends from the states to join the group, so only four of the original people who met for years at my house and who published the anthology Agave Marias are left to attend the retreat. We have added three new members this year, who with Judy Reeves brings the number attending the retreat to 8. We look forward to the new company.
My bags are packed. I’m readiy to go. So you might not see me here for the next three days. Or perhaps I’ll write something worthy of being seen by this beloved audience, and I’ll give you a peek at some of the results of the retreat. Gloria, Leslie and Gina––we’ll miss you.
Hibiscus and Poinsettias for Terri’s Flower Hour
“Everyday People” Will Heal Your Heart
Too much heartbreaking news lately. Go Here to hear and see this wonderful video that will heal your heart a bit.
Beach Art, for the Sunday Whirl Wordle 744
Beach Art
The salty beast of tides slides in with silver on its edges.
It is a vault that leaves its treasures on the beach’s ledges.
Bones of fish and brittle shells and by-the-wind sailors
with wings trimmed off by tide and sand—those best of the sea’s tailors.
The jawbone of a shark or ray lies tilted on the sand.
Debris spread out like stitches by nature’s tidal hand
that slathers daily riches that an early walker saves,
collecting them while listening to the voices of the waves,
then sorts them into stories as she gives them a new life
with scissors and with fingers––with glue pot and with knife.
Click on photos to enlarge to see details.

This little piece of driftwood looked exactly like a bear. I didn’t touch it. Just mounted it on a piece of driftwood. It sold immediately.
For the Sunday Whirl, prompt words are: jaw debris stitch slather voices beasts tides salty vault edges silver tilt
Beloved
Beloved
Each morning when I wake
to shrill alarm or sweet bird song,
depending upon the requirements of my day,
you are the first to greet my opening eyes.
You rest there on the pillow next to me
in the bed where first I, then you,
have fallen to sleep the night before
too soon, too soon,
before half our words were said.
It is the first stroke of my fingers
that brings you finally to life.
Your countenance lights up
and the same love words
I revealed to you last night
are returned to me.
My hands caress
and new words come easily
first to me, then to you.
I touch gently all
your fine smoothness,
getting back
everything that I give
equal measure,
continuing our long love story
of give and take
as I shift your light frame onto my lap
to stroke your separate parts
from question mark to exclamation point.
Could a PC ever rouse this passion in me?
No way, MacBook Air. Thou art my love!
The SOCS prompt is “Love” of course. Happy Valentine’s Day !!!!
“Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire” for Fibbing Friday

For Fibbing Friday, the task at hand is to define these words:
1. lowkenuinely: A lowest ranking in one’s range of knowledge or insight
2. gruzz: Those scruffy short whiskers it is the fashion for men to leave on cheeks and neck, as though they haven’t bothered to shave for a day or two.
3. nerf: A nerd with gruzz.
4. 41: A steak sauce created from mixing Worcestershire Sauce and 57 Sauce.
5. AFAIK: Someone who is not genuine.
6. agentic: Able to grant wishes.
7. aura farming: A lightbulb factory.
8. bed rotting: An untended flower patch.
9. blep: A softly rolled terrycloth washcloth specifically used for erasing ink errors.
10. bloatware: Photographic filming equipment specifically engineered to make a character look fatter than they really are.
Illustration created with the help of AI.
Home Traveler for dVerse Poets
Home Traveler
Alone, or with the teeming throng,
I go on journeys short or long.
Walking by choice in foreign places,
I study unfamiliar faces.
But when I finally go to bed,
I journey farther within my head,
those trips to town forgotten while
I journey mile after mile.
Eschewing trips to foreign places,
I journey into inner spaces.
For dVerse poets
Creation
Creation
I chop my life up into bits, incongruous and varied:
struggles, victories, tragic loves, the day that I got married.
Clashes create beauty as pains mix up with cheers,
making a lovely pattern as each new piece appears.
In stories as in patchwork quilts, all bits are not roses.
Part of the beauty comes from the pain that it exposes.
We put our art together, fragment after patch
and no pattern emerges if all the pieces match.
A convenient truth of works of art as well as that of life:
beauty’s found in perfection, but also found in strife.
Sweet berries come with brambles and each rose has its thorn.
Both great passion and great pain predate the time we’re born.
Perhaps pain is the awful price that we have to pay
to experience the pleasure of when it goes away.
So with the ugly fabric that finds a place to fit
when contrasting beauty is stitched in next to it.
Life is a lovely story, but not all of it is writ.
Why were we created if not to add to it?
In taking all the pieces we’re provided with,
We take part in creation by adding to the myth.
The What’s Going On prompt is Creation




