Emerging

I’m coming out of a hole. Digging up. While in one I never comprehend the walls and floor are dirt. That the light is low. That communication is muffled at best. There’s no love, no laughter. Numb to everything else, I bury myself in ancient reruns and audio books and the rest of the world, myself included, is shut out.

It’s not until I stick my nose above the dirt that I recognize there is a world and it’s alight with living. Because whatever I was doing was not living.

Don’t think I’m bi-polar, since this didn’t start until sometime around or after age 55. Some holes are very bad and I can’t find my way out for a month or more. Others are short, as I believe this to be. How would I know, really, since there are no timepieces in holes. I almost wrote hell. Don’t know when I dig in or how long I languish therein.

Luckily, this wasn’t a sinkhole.

I bought paint. And new drapes. Clawing my way out, one purchase at a time. I buy, therefore I am.

Night

The Brindleton Bay docks at night.

Sims 4.

I dunno; my brain is stuck therefore I cannot think of anything else. Oh, not sims. Another sister popped up, a lovely person who will probably visit this summer. Well, you know the Cracker Box. I’m mentally rebuilding the thing; painting, new rugs, some plants…. a new master bath redo would be grand, since I took a sledgehammer to the original and it sits… like a demented shell of the room it was… with a toilet. I would never take out a toilet willy-nilly.

What was I saying? Oh, yeah. Sims.

Bree Bear

This looks like any other crafted bear, right? It’s not. O.D. makes special occasion/bereavement bears so she made one for Breagha, who passed on August 5, 2019.

The outside is made from Bree’s favorite bandannas and inside Tonie put her favorite pink Wooba toy and some of her hair.

Yes, I broke down when she handed the bear to me; Bree is finally home again. And now, after not dreaming about her, she’s there when I sleep. I’ll cherish this little bit of Bree as long as I live.

Thank you, O.D.

The Aftermath

…of Wilma.

As I wrote in the last post, I put this here not for anything or anyone other than myself. It’s what happened after a Cat 3 ran over us in 2005. Nothing like Andrew, but still…

Thank God it’s cool!! If this had happened in August we’d be miserable. Even a normal October day is usually warm and humid. Two colds fronts equal another miracle! Before she left for home Tonie and I went to Publix for staples and of course she left for home with one of my bags. A heartfelt thank you to Publix for opening their doors! Without power they may have been trying to get shed of some perishables, I don’t know. That’s what I’d do, anyway.

The line outside Home Depot is long, considering the generators haven’t arrived. We need a generator and a new gas grill (not to worry, we have two generators now). Cleaning the fridge and freezer out.

Dammit, Tonie left with my trail shoes!

Continue reading “The Aftermath”

Wilma

Ran across this account of Hurricane Wilma’s aftermath while cleaning out my desk. Though I wrote about Hurricane Andrew’s passing, it’s certainly not for consumption. Our experiences after Wilma, though, are simply boring. Putting it here to save it.

Hubris and the Hurricane or How We Found our Miracle

::Cue the Gilligan’s Island theme::

Continue reading “Wilma”

Pink Sky at Morn

As usual I went out with the dogs early this morning. The day was breaking. Soft tendrils of pink floated across the western sky.. then billowed, like cream in coffee. Then upon entering the back yard, I saw much the same, but on a grander scale: the eastern sky was alight with corals and pinks! Alive with color, pinks alone wove their way north then settled west, as if the angels were knitting.

No, I can’t take a decent photograph of the sky.

That’s not pink, silly.

Not this morning. Dug this out of my drafts folder.

Continue reading “Pink Sky at Morn”

Oldies

My digital picture folders start with May, 2004. Thought I’d pull some out into the fresh air.

Plumeria
At a park
Same park, hugging on the man.
YsD. I miss her.
…and me, for some reason.

There were a couple of young Breagha, but I can’t.

Loathsome August

I do hate this month so, so much. Here I am, larking about the place… dogs in tow, fire extinguisher in hand… (I’m not a good cook) and 1,000 miles away a fecking great bloody hurricane storms up the Texas/Louisiana border lashing everything half to death with the waters of the Gulf.

It’s not as if I wanted the blasted thing here, but there is an element of… guilt… for some reason. We south Floridians have had so many similar ‘episodes’ that we might be better equipped to deal, if you understand me. We’ve had to rebuild our homes. The cracker box has Cat 4 windows (even if they did install them wrong side around – shhh… don’t tell the man!), a new roof and new doors that Jesus himself, should He decide to come round for a cuppa, couldn’t manage without a key.

A Cat 4 is catastrophic anywhere, though. I’m not looking at the aftermath because I don’t need to – August 24, 1992 is still fresh in my mind. Hurricane Andrew blew in as a Cat 5 and changed the landscape… and many lives… forever. Laura will do the same as those before her.

People ask -as if no one’s thought it before- “why would you live in such a place?” Gee, why would anyone live in ‘tornado alley’? There are many reasons, but most important among ours is money. Will we move when the man retires? I don’t know. There is the ocean, after all…

This is just to say: Feck off, August.

Create a website or blog at WordPress.com

Up ↑