drowning at 7 feet sea level
The man and I hadn’t been to a proper sit down restaurant since before covid started… and six months before that. I don’t like eating out anymore. The tables seem closer together these days and people are loud, especially children. One of my favorite sounds is kids playing out in the yard or street… but transfer those cries and screams to a booth behind me and food is the last thing I want. Escape becomes a priority.
Continue reading “Escape”
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.
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.
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”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.
Not this morning. Dug this out of my drafts folder.
Continue reading “Pink Sky at Morn”
My digital picture folders start with May, 2004. Thought I’d pull some out into the fresh air.
There were a couple of young Breagha, but I can’t.
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.
I think this picture adequately describes my mood.
In other news, my long time stylist retired. Yes, I am bereft. Guess my long, stringy hair will remain that way…
Yep, it got me. Preparation for our new fence led to cleaning out weeds and… rash. But I can’t find the plant. Every year… but I can never find it. How crazy is that?
Meanwhile, I’ve got a massive canna near the front door. Think I’m hoping that it, along with the v. large green thing on the other side of the walk, it will discourage visitors. Let me tell you, Amazon drivers are not easily intimidated by foliage. Thankfully, neither are Whole Foods delivery drivers.
Yesterday we had a Publix delivery… (Of course I’m spoiled now.) Our first smoker. The bags were horrible; they smelled like they’d been sitting in a giant ashtray and someone had exhaled smoke right into them. We almost vomited. My allergies went insane and I was drugged and in bed by 7:00p.
I did contact Instacart and they “unpaired this shopper from all of your future orders.”
The fence went in yesterday, but I’ve yet to get any good pictures.
Later, gators. Must soak my arm in salt water. Oh, hell yes it’s infected! Grrr…
pamibe 