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| Adoption love (or: sometimes miracles happen) |
| 06.03.04 (6:32 pm) [edit] |
On the 15th of June, 32 years ago, I gave up my daughter to a couple still married. I met her when she was 18. We were wearing the same earrings and the same shoes. She loves sushi too. That is trite, she is not. I have two beautiful grandchildren, an awesome son in law and she and I laugh much and cry too. There are 10 thousand if if if conversations, but these days, we live pretty much in the now. Tonight I got this email (excerpts) from her after she sent me some scary pics of dust storms in the midwest she lives in.
I am blessed with two more amazing children who make me laugh and cry and think and who teach me always. But this one is the unexpected gift in a world where miracles are hidden or so obvious that we don't even see them.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Btw, -- here comes 32. Is that POSSIBLE? Is that ME? Let's
see, I like wine, I know sushi I like and don't like, I can talk about
sex and strange body functions. I can purchase tampons without having to buy 25 other things. I can joke about "jail-bait". I don't go without moisturizer. YEP, I'm almost 32. TA-DA!!!!!!
I love you so much! Thank you for my birth day. I wouldn't be where I
am today without you.....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I truly am the luckiest woman in the world.
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| Back to the gardens |
| 05.27.04 (6:58 am) [edit] |
After almost a month of business craziness, I turned in my resignation at the hotel. All the rumors of why no one works for this man proved true. But the headache I've had for two weeks is gone today, so this must be a good thing. Right now it just feels like yet another cycle in island living.
An old friend is coming over from St. Croix tomorrow for the weekend. Last night he called so I could listen to a great guitar player that I've not heard play in a couple years. Steve cranked it up and I got a tinny cell phone speaker version of his amazing classical/flamenco guitar sounds, amid a lot of laughter. How can a place be 50 water miles away and so very far? It will be great to have Joe here. He's bringing a bottle of mamawana, a herbal kick your butt rum drink that Norma makes up in the rain forest. I don't know exactly what is in mamawana, I only know you can't drink a lot of it. Uh huh.
Should be a good Memorial Day weekend!
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| Rain World |
| 05.15.04 (4:00 am) [edit] |
Poor tourists! Poor old people! With the downtown area torn up and rain the past three days, the streets are like some WWII movie, mud and rocks and holes and trenches. If OSHA drops by, the island is going to come to a screeching halt.
Yesterday I got out of a friend's jeep and stepped down one foot away from a 6 foot deep trench where water and electric lines will go - no fence, no sign. They are getting real near one of our two gas stations (don't think 7-11 mini market, think two gas things up a ramp on a dead end street, difficult to go to in even the best of times). Since these guys have hit electric and water mains about 10 times I'm a wee bit worried, as the hotel I manage is about 15 feet away from the gas station. Oh well, if it all blows up I guess we'll get that bridge the mayor wants. Right now the new joke in town is some Clever Dick putting up signs saying PAVE IT AND LEAVE. Great idea!
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| Seriously bewildered |
| 05.13.04 (5:17 pm) [edit] |
I haven't been able to write these days and sort of wonder if I can now. Tuesday was my daughter's birthday. She had to work so I called her to cheer her up. But.
She told me her ex boyfriend, still a good friend, told her that his sister had killed her 3 children. These are children that he and my daughter have held, loved, knew.
The old boyfriend lives on an island near me and I called him and told him to come be with me, whatever, if it would help, because while they are no longer together, we've always been close. He said when he got back from whatever he needed to do he'd sail over and stay awhile. He just kept saying, this is something you read about, this is not them, this is insane.
But it is them, three sweet children who I have watched grow from their births, in pictures from their grandmother (how often we'd say we hoped if we went over it wouldn't be an evening of dragging the albums out, AGAIN, but they were so cute we'd once again be drawn in, cooing), who also lives on an island nearby, an island I used to live on, a woman, another grandmother, her daughter, she is my age.
Insanity. Insanity.
And that mother chicken...she still sits in my yard in the pounding rain, her chicks under her, and it makes me scream. This is what mothers do, protect and love, not destroy because of their selfishness. How how how can a chicken know this, and not a human being? I can't understand, and I am glad of that. Very. And sick. The world is full of horrors these days and I can't pretend in paradox.
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| Mother's Day Chicken Lesson |
| 05.09.04 (3:26 pm) [edit] |
I have a lot of wild chickens around here. They start crowing at 3 a.m. and stop long after dark. They also like to nibble in the garden and because I can't trap or kill them (oh, I could but I can't), I spray them with the hose. Usually it barely takes the sound of me picking up the hose and they run away but this chicken was letting me blast her, basically like a human being hit with a fire hose.
I didn't understand it until I heard the cheep cheep of babies, maybe 8 or 9, scuttling around. She was willing to take that blast to make sure they were safe, now frantic in fear for them but still offering herself as the target. As soon as I saw the babies I thought, it's Mother's Day, you get a reprieve...because. Because there is no one in the world who wouldn't want a mother that fierce, that steadfast, that willing to protect us as children in the event of danger. And how many of us never had that? For such a brave mother - I salute. We mothers love the best we can and hope for the best. Chicken mothers too.
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| Prayer Feathers |
| 05.07.04 (7:03 pm) [edit] |
I didn't know who to talk to but i wanted to talk to family. One daughter not home, so the other, but I got my son in law, who I love for his own self. He is himself, but he is also Potowatomi, and I told him about the prayer feather because I knew he'd understand.
We talked a long time and he told me about prayer feather fans, how I could send this message out, the prayer out, of peace and good, that the community, gathering feathers and sending out the prayer of good for all of us, not just Beau, but for Beau, how healing it could be.
I looked up prayer feathers online and was shocked to see the commerical use of them...you can buy prayer feathers, with no explanation of history or use...sometimes the world really scares me a lot. Sometimes as much as I love the PFM of the internet, I see at the same time the lack of human touch. Love hate...no. I don't hate it, but it worries me, that so much knowledge can be spread in an instant and to find out why...may take so long someone will not follow through.
I love my son in law and bless the universe that he answered the phone. My daughter was pulling up in the driveway with my granddaughter but I was too weary to speak, I knew Ryan would tell them what it was about.
Prayer feathers. This is a simple place, maybe they will understand. That is for tomorrow.
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| A Strange and Terrible Day |
| 05.07.04 (5:48 pm) [edit] |
This morning in the gardens I came across a feather, brown on one side and black on the other. I had been reading a book about centuries old Indians who tied feathers to trees for a prayer and so I picked the feather up and tied it to a tree. I wondered why I was doing it and realized I really didn't know, so my prayer was for the good of this island. I didn't know.
A call came to my job at 12:30 that a friend of mine had died on his boat. Beau...how do I describe Beau? He'd been in Viet Nam, he had blown out his knee right before I met him. A gentle soul, sweet, with a bit of a lisp but not a lisp really, a speech defect if you will, but simply Beau. I'd often talk with him on the ferry back and forth to the big island, where he'd go for VA treatment, laughing about tricking the psychologist about his drinking, which started early and ended late. Beau was a serious alcoholic of the sweetest sort, who was offered *help* many times and chose his own road. He lived on a friend's boat and that is where he died.
When I heard about it I went down to the dock. He was still on the boat and island insanity was reigning. A young cop was there and we were waiting for the ambulance to come back...they'd been there and left, waiting for a ME who had to fly over from the big island. I sat next to Rebecca, we only wanted to insure some dignity when they took him off the boat, but that was not quite in the cards. The cop and some locals spotted a baraccuda and one went to get a spear gun. They shot the barracuda as we sat there, hollering and laughing, while a couple people went onto the boat and looked at Beau (which I could not do, who WERE they?).
We waited...and waited, for the ambulance to come back, more people showing up all the time. The man who shot the fish got his boat and came around to get it and while we sat there, a man dove into the water, got the baracuda and carried the fish dripping blood down the dock - the cop more interested in the fish than in Beau.
Finally it all came together, no ME around. Two ambulances and one truck. They went on the boat with a white plastic bag. They came up, carrying him roughly and laid him on the dock. A man came up to us and said, If you can't give us 300.00 we can't take him to the big island. A woman had 200.00 and I had 100 (bizarre, I NEVER have that sort of cash on me) and we handed it over and they loaded him onto a board and put him on the truck. But there was a moment...Beau's arms stiff...and the cop with his boot lifed to kick it down - my insides clenched and ready to kill - but he stopped himself looking at us - and they loaded him for the trip to the airport.
More bizarre moments, his ever present fanny pack not found, was he murdered? So insane to think of that here but yes, it could happen - but no, they found the pack and all the money and we have to think he fell and hit his head and died. He died. A world without Beau.
Rebecca and I went to have a drink to breathe again. Tonight was a party to welcome a sweet woman to the island and a man who is a friend held me for a long time, asking and saying are you ok? petting me like a forlorn pet....which I needed badly. All night he came to me to do this and finally, after letting Kelly know how happy I was to have her here I had to go, to come home and write this out because...let the prayer feather fly, let Beau be free, but oh I miss him I miss him his sweetness, his being, his silly stories. I miss Beau and at the same time release him...as I did, his body on the dock, be free be free be free, it is not you there, please, you are beyond this now.
It hurts.
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| Hummingbird bath |
| 05.07.04 (4:55 am) [edit] |
Usually when I'm watering the gardens a couple of hummingbirds flit around in the spray, but this morning was different. A baby hummingbird landed on an almond tree leaf 200 times its size and kept wallowing around in the sheen and drops of water there, tossing its little head down over and over again, turning from side to side; just generally having a fabulous time four inches away from me. I kept expecting it to do little hummingbird flips and burst into song, or at least ask for a scrub brush. A banana quit hovered nearby in the spray, watching and taking its own bath in mid-air.
It's already hot and very still. Time for a shower myself, and the hope that I can enjoy it like a hummingbird.
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| What a night |
| 05.06.04 (7:13 pm) [edit] |
After work, going for a drink and seeing two guys I needed to see, one for screens for the hotel and one to clean up the office computer, ending up being invited to dinner, a huge slab of meat shoved into the car window and the instructions CUT OFF THE FAT!!! We went to get another bottle of alcohol and then to Steve's house to start the meal, the guys taking over but Linda and I making a salad. Linda, who for the whole year she's lived her, I thought she was gay and finding out on the ride home that she was nothing close to that. No wonder I likd her so much! Very private on an island where little is private. But she is moving back to the States so maybe it was time to tell.
An incredible dinner, and the guys cleaning up, and home again oh...while I'm writing this a yell in the darkness, MJ MJ MJ and it's another Steve, getting in his kayak to go back to his boat, saying good night. GOOD NIGHT, indeed.
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| Being an American |
| 05.06.04 (4:12 am) [edit] |
Reading the news this morning off the BBC world news edition, which is how I start every morning, I feel completely ill. Completely versus partially, which is how I've felt the last mornings, reading of the American (and British & who knows who will be pinned next?) abuse of Iraqi prisoners. This feeling started when it was announced that Hussein was a target for assassination. I wondered when the laws had changed that Americans now were free to murder *enemies* with support and encouragement from our government. Didn't that used to be the secret stuff of the CIA and spy novels? Something had radically changed in the way we were going about war, and this present, now made public, abuse is simply a follow up of a logical progression in barbaric methods.
And this is my country that is being named. Living out of the mainland US, it is often easy to ignore current world events. I doubt the news that is shattering headlines around the world will show up on page one of our paper here, which isn't even our paper, that comes out once a month and has nothing outside of local events and personality profiles. But sometimes the fact of being an American is unavoidable and I feel a shame as if I personally had something to do with what is happening, guilt by association as it were, despite the fact that I know hundreds and thousands of US military are not involved in such behaviour.
Today's headlines make so much in my world petty and ridiculous in comparison. It may be a feeling that passes, but truthfully, it doesn't ever go away, it just simmers under my daily life, waiting for this event or another to erupt, reminding me of the fact that I can leave America, but it never leaves me. Oh for some news that would make me want to wave the red white and blue in pride.
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| Night riding |
| 05.05.04 (6:38 am) [edit] |
I couldn't resist the urge to go sailing with my landlord last night, knowing it was the full moon and the weather was perfect.
We headed out before sunset to catch La Bella Luna rising full and she came over the cloud line huge and mellow yellow while we whipped along in a strong wind. By the time we got to the bar/restaurant I was soaking wet. Kevin was bartending and as acerbic and funny as usual, while I drank too much wine and The Landlord had a couple of beers. I vaguely remember dancing with The Landlord to some music Kevin put on, and there are no bruises so I must have kept my feet on the floor. A good thing. And now I'm remembering a long conversation about how, if he would just listen to me, his life could be perfect. Ah, the brilliance of alcohol induced thinking!
The sail back is sort of a blur, except that I thought I lost my smokes until this morning when I found them right where they should be in my backpack. Soggy shorts & t shirt on the floor and a bit of a blurry head but a vivid memory of the full moon and fast sailing. Not a bad way to start a day off...now if I just would ignore the news, but I can't.
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| Virago |
| 05.04.04 (2:19 pm) [edit] |
Virago - a woman of great stature, strength and courage who is not feminine in the conventional ways. A bold turbulant woman
I read this word last night in a book called Confessions of a Failed Southern Lady, a true book, the author probably in her 70's when she wrote it. The word was taught to her by her first woman lover, and in explaining what it meant the woman told her it had the Latin root of vir, meaning male. Which of course led me to think of Viagra...but oh how I love the word virago! I am not a lesbian, but they count as amoung my best women friends, which took me awhile to figure out, but I think I have. There is no rivalry in our friendship, no tug of war when a man is involved. We love each other for the reality of intelligence, laughter, cooking together. They know I am hetero and rejoice when I meet someone I enjoy and hope I am well when it is over, but otherwise we are simply friends. I've rarely been close with other women, maybe two in the long run of life have survived the years, maybe two I could say I count on that I met as an adult, both long secure in good marriages, and gleeful of what they call the chapters of my adventures.
Today, a mostly day off, the weather perfect after rain, I walked out to the gazebo to read and walking by the gardens thought how incredibly fortunate I am. The world is insane with hatred and death and I have this small spot of tranquility, whether it is from the staccato of jack hammers working on the new plaza, or the news I devour of the world until I can't stand to read another word, I have this place in the world, water almost surrounding me, herbs and flowers, the sounds of children (sometimes annoying, of course, but usually laughter). I have the waving hands of locals who have welcomed me, the rare night out with expats assured of laughter. But most, I have this peaceful, very simple place. And I can attain to virago...secret to me, but shared in this writing to unknown others, with a grin I hope.
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| Slamming Rain |
| 05.04.04 (4:54 am) [edit] |
The rain was crazy last night, slamming onto the tin roof and filling my water catchers - this morning flowers opened that might have waited days and the wind doesn't stop. An Italian woman from NY asked me, her hair blowing straight back, if this was normal. "The SAND, my GOD!" she kept saying, and obviously it was true, her face was flecked with grains of sand sticking hard. I told her this was rather unusual, though May is a bit of a rainy season here. But it was hard to resist wiping her face...
Now it is grey and blowing still, and while it is 80 degrees the air feels chilly to me. To paraphrase Scarlett, I'll nevah be cold again!
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| Grey Monday |
| 05.03.04 (5:11 am) [edit] |
Right after watering the garden it started to rain. This could put the kabosh on diving for Adrian and May this morning but most likely not. If not, I'll have the hotel on my own today and can make all the mistakes I've been worried about on the computer. On the other hand, it should be quiet, as this is one of the dead times in the year for visitors, though yesterday there were hoards of people who couldn't get on the *last* ferry off the island, sitting in groups on piles of luggage hoping a next one would be sent, which I'm sure it was but I went home. A group of eight came in asking to rent a room for a few hours so a pregnant woman with them could take a rest.
I've never gotten stuck on the other side before and hope it never happens, though I've also never been on the ferry when I don't run into 2 or more people I know coming back to go have drinks with or chat with while waiting and on the way back.
Ah, now the sun is out and I'm sure there is a glorious rainbow somewhere, going to go check.
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| New jobs and other madness |
| 05.02.04 (2:43 pm) [edit] |
I forgot just how tiring it can be to start a new job - new systems, computer stuff, long hours (but four days off after tomorrow - I hope). But in the middle of that is the madness of trying to dislodge the people there from before, whom I only mildly thought about before and now have to listen as they rant and rave because their cash cow is being taken away.
Much better was my daughter's call this morning, as usual at 3:30, so she could read me some poems by Pablo Neruda, who she is obsessed with at the moment. This was one she told me reminded her of me. I told her she could read it at my funeral as ashes go to the sea...and being my daughter, she laughed and agreed.
XXXIV (You are the daughter of the sea) - Pablo Neruda
You are the daughter of the sea, oregano's first cousin.
Swimmer, your body is pure as the water;
cook, your blood is quick as the soil.
Everything you do is full of flowers, rich with the earth.
Your eyes go out toward the water, and the waves rise;
your hands go out to the earth and the seeds swell;
you know the deep essence of water and the earth,
conjoined in you like a formula for clay.
Naiad: cut your body into turquoise pieces,
they will bloom resurrected in the kitchen.
This is how you become everything that lives.
And so at last, you sleep, in the circle of my arms
that push back the shadows so that you can rest--
vegetables, seaweed, herbs: the foam of your dreams.
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| Crazy Joanna and My Grey Hair |
| 04.29.04 (5:45 pm) [edit] |
Walking to the hotel this morning I met up with Crazy Joanna, who has a fantastic new hat (they are making a movie here and she says she is in it, which I have no doubt could be true) and this morning at least, no teeth, an event that happens every few months that means listening to endless details as to the why of it. She was rattling on and on, to me and everyone nearby, my exboss included, asking if we'd ever *done it* and if not, why not. As I walked up the stairs she howled "MJ, I can see your you know what, stop showing off, damn you!" Having on a pair of baggy shorts, I worried a bit, what exactly could she see?
At the end of the day, after Arlene had driven us into a two foot hole in the new, unfinished parking lot on the plaza and 5 men had picked up the front of the SUV and gotten us back on solid ground again, and back up to the hotel to learn more, we were finally on our way down when an older man at the foot of the stairs asked how much a room was. We barely knew but tossed out some answer and he kept looking at us while I was thinking, oh god, is he looking up my shorts?
He seemed satisfied with our answer and we headed toward Arlene's vehicle and were inside when he came over to us, looked in the window and said to me, "You have the most extraordinary grey hair, it's really remarkable" and walked away to his very grey haired wife who was sitting on a bench staring at us. Well, my hair, being a topic of too many conversations as it is definitely Hair by God or Wind, is nowhere near extraordinary, though re-mark-able might qualify. I'd actually noticed in an outdoor mirror earlier in the day that it sure as hell was getting seriously beyond salt and pepper, and should I do something about it?
I don't know where I'm going here. I only know how weird it was for a white haired half bald portly kind man to comment favorably upon my hair. Maybe tonight I will shave my head.
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| How to make people laugh on a small island |
| 04.29.04 (4:05 pm) [edit] |
After a morning spent with Adrian and May trying to learn all the computer ways of working a hotel (after many years of having done hotels with more rooms and less clicking) Arlene and I went for lunch at the best cafe here. It was packed, almost all locals, including my now ex boss (ex boss to myself, Arlene and the other member of the Dream Team, perhaps an instigating factor?) who practically yelled to the room, oh look, it's the new management team of Kokomo's. This brought forth a lot of laughter, as our new boss is rather renowned, and not in homage to the good. He himself told me on the second meeting (two years ago, after turning him down the first time he offered a job, by far not the last) "Really MJ, I am not a cockroach, no matter what you hear". Well, probably knowing more about how his businesses have been run (through) than he, I knew it would be some ripe gossip to actually accept a job from him, but I wasn't expecting a low handed move from a boss I worked my ass off for in a competing business. He did apologize later, and my "Watch and learn" along with "what the hell, it will be fun and if it all slides, we walk" tamped the amusement a bit, but I'd not want to go to town tonight to hear 87 times what a mistake I've made.
Tomorrow to the other island to learn about internet cafes and then back to see if I really can figure out the computer bits. Three days a week working, four off to do my own garden thing, this could work right well.
Is that the wind still blowing?
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| Growing up? |
| 04.29.04 (5:25 am) [edit] |
I'm always amazed when life just slides into a 180 turn, whether I stress wildly or just sit back and watch the flow of it. In that zone, I suppose it's easier to see when to put toes in the water and when to jump in, having less interference of my own making so much noise I can't see, hear or function rationally. This time it was not so hard to listen, maybe the endless rounds about the mountain of that lesson are finally bearing fruit.
Last night was the first dinner of what we all independently called the Dream Team, laughing to hear each other say it out loud. May and Adrian grilled sausages and chicken, having the sausage the Greek way with lemon slices for garnishing. It was such a small thing but made for a taste I'd never experienced (yes, I'm sure there is some brilliant analogy here but it's still early in the day).
The idea of working with people I really respect as well as genuinely like is exciting. Having worked together before in very different circumstances, we already know our thinking of how things ought to go is almost always on the same track. The difference this time will be if there are screw ups, they will have to be owned by us. A good thing.
Breezy again today, as if so much can be literally as well as emotionally blown away. With sunshine to light the path.
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| Succumbing to the numbers |
| 04.28.04 (11:31 am) [edit] |
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Today I said yes to the Greek, after he made me an offer I couldn't refuse. Well, I made him an offer and he accepted it and threw in a bit to sweeten the pot. If it all goes as it sounds (and not bloody likely but close would be very good) there will be a new internet cafe/bar/bookstore on the canal side. I toss in some hours of shared hotel management and play it as it goes. His last words as he headed up the hill were "You're on your own now, I'm a phone call away if you need me." Since that would be NY, I will try to call infrequently, even with super low rates it shouldn't take long to say "Send money."
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| The best friends make you laugh |
| 04.27.04 (4:13 pm) [edit] |
I certainly was done with writing online tonight but got this from a friend of mine (I guess 40 years counts as long time friend) and it was too good not to share.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Are you tired of all those mushy "friendship" poems that always sound good but never actually come close to reality? Well, here is a "friendship" poem that really speaks to true friendship!
Friend,
When you are sad, ...I will get you drunk and help you plot revenge against the sorry bastard who made you sad.
When you are blue, ...I'll try to dislodge whatever is choking you.
When you smile, ...I'll know you finally got laid.
When you are scared, ...I will rag you about it every chance I get.
When you are worried, ...I will tell you horrible stories about how much worse it could be and to quit whining.
When you are confused, ...I will use little words to explain.
When you are sick, ...stay the hell away from me until you're well again. I don't want whatever you have.
When you fall, .I will point and laugh at your clumsy ass.
This is my oath, ...I pledge 'til the end. Why? ...you may ask? Because you're my friend!
Remember: A friend will help you move. A really good friend will help you move a body.
I'm not sending this as a chain letter...I hate them..don't pass it on if you don't want to..and don't reply to me if you don't want to...I already know who my true friends are and aren't...
(Send this poem to ten of your closest friends and get depressed because you realize you only have 2 friends, and one of them is not speaking to you right now anyway.)
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| So it goes |
| 04.27.04 (3:33 pm) [edit] |
No gift shop. The woman who was running it a few times a week had company from the states and decided not to open - typical, but good, no money spent there.
While walking around and running into people I heard news, of course, so I went to check it out and it was true. A friend is leaving, who moved here a year ago who loved this place so much she bought a sailboat even though she never sailed in her life, but she says now how while nothing is particularly wrong, how no bad thing happened, it has become too small here for her. That is what happens if you go to happy hour every night with the same exact people, which I don't do (but I, having lived on islands, knew the road to insanity, she was just having a good time after 20 odd years of working for unions in the northern US).
She is going to drive around America and decide on a place to live (I suggested she check on the Outer Banks of the Carolinas), but I think mainly she wants to drive...and drive and drive, something impossible here. As one of the more sane people I know, I'll miss her, but that is the reason she is leaving, whether she knows it or not and I think she does.
Islands do that to people - if you are not careful, you can slide on slippery slopes and do it so slowly you think it is just the normal way of life, normal being the word to look out for since it is normal here to be quite abnormal. At least for the expats...the locals could probably be transplanted to someplace like a small town in the mountains of some southerly state in the US and fit right in...if they changed their language, skin tone and way of life.
While I sat talking with her, another friend showed up, having heard the rumor and coming to check it out. I was surprised more didn't arrive while we were there, but they were probably at the bar debating on the why's of the subject.
The guy who showed up is a complete gadget freak and has to travel far and wide to get what he needs to feed his habit, as the most technology to buy here is a blender. I told him about my vinegar thing and he told me about his trick stuff where I could write on the labels in my own handwriting and have it reproduced forever. As he put it "What is with this WRITING???" He was going to go to Germany to buy a piece of equipment for his diving, but decided to buy some new camera stuff instead. He's writing a book about this place, with fantastic pictures, and wants to buy an 800.00 tripod to take a panoramic picture of sunrise to sunset from the highest point on the island. I have no doubt it will be beautiful.
While we talked, her new puppy Sadie bit the hell out of my hand, all puppy wiggles and leaps. Sadie is going to America too. Good.
But I found out a really exciting thing, that there is a new ferry to a nearby island three times a week now that can get me there and back on the same day (time thing is always a problem here). I've been to this island and it has a GREAT gourmet store and some good restaurants, so it would be well worth a day trip at 5 bucks round trip for the ferry (not bad for a trip that takes over an hour). The old ferry was for workers and meant either spending the night or spending about six hours on ferries to spend about two hours on the island, so this is a big deal here. Woo hoo!!! So my friend and I will go over on Friday and I will try and flog my vinegars (IF the wax arrives and IF Nadine got the printer ink). Otherwise we'll just go because we can.
And the sun goes down, as usual. Consistancy, even if it's really strange, can be really comforting.
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| Flying flamingos |
| 04.27.04 (6:52 am) [edit] |
Flamenco gift shop is closing today. Patty and I are going to see what the last sales are - she already bought the only shoes I wanted out of the place - I want those wispy curtains that aren't for sale, of course...you can't buy curtains here...well, really lousy shower curtains, but not quite what I mean.
The vinegars are beautiful. Purple lowers from the thai basil have turned the vinegar a delicate pink and yet the color of the flowers remain. One of the orange hibiscus bloomed today with a dozen almost ready - and I'm anxious to see how the color will hold; will it turn the vinegar pastel orange?? The whole edible flower thing has me psyched, and all this time I've pretty much avoided many flowering plants in favor of herbs...duh me.
Of course the printer ink wasn't in the store yesterday but Nadine the owner is going to a big island today and has my order. Hopefully it won't be 3 x's the cost of going myself. But then I can do the labels. Wax coming in the mail this week I hope. If it's all in time I can set my table up on the weekend and play bottling for dollars.
The wind is up, little waves are breaking on the rocky shore outside my window and the water close in looks brown and awful, though sun gliints help. The harbour view farther down at the end of the yard is blue and beautiful. I'll look out the door instead of the window...an easy decision on life view today.
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| Carry on |
| 04.26.04 (6:30 am) [edit] |
When I quit my job, it was because of old injuries to my arms that for some reason have flared up again. A doctor says work less, surgery or no use of arms...have you tried not using your arms lately? It's a lesson in being humbled, not my favorite sort, but when forced, quite effective. So I think of things I used to carry with ease and things I carry now, like I used to carry my children as babies, braced upon my hip.
Some things I used to carry or move:
Furniture
Appliances
Boat parts big and small
Luggage (the not rolling type)
Groceries
Books, lots of books, lots and lots of books
Things I carry now:
Hardly anything, that's why god made backpacks and rolling luggage.
Yesterday I carried a huge pot to sterilize my vinegar bottles. I couldn't carry the lid and was too embarrassed to tell my girlfriend (who loaned the pot to me) why, so I said I didn't need the lid. After adjusting it four times to go about 500 feet I hoped like hell I had some foil to use for a lid...
Today I will ride my bike to town to get some ink for my printer at seriously inflated prices, if they have any. I will go to the mayor's office to talk to a friend. I might go to the one market that sells fresh meat. And then my arms will hurt too much to do anymore. I will, most likely, run into my old boss (a trip to town means you run into 10 or more people you know so I try to space the trips) who will cluck with truly sincere sympathy and the hopes that I get *better*. And I will feel very foolish, for not being strong, which is also foolish.
So then to make myself feel better I will come home and try to pound rebar into the ground as fence posts for the chickens that will live here soon - not the wild ones that already live here, but the ones a friend is giving me, fancy ones that lay the most lovely brown eggs. Her husband promises that if I don't want them all to just take them, and he will butcher some for me, but not around his girls. If I hit rock with the rebar and I most certainly shall, I'll stop and play with plants, which require no carrying, only tender touches that remind and reassure me that life does indeed push up through rocky ground and can flourish, no matter what shape it takes.
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| Search engines - the first one is free, then you are hooked... |
| 04.25.04 (8:45 am) [edit] |
I love search engines. How did I get from searching for edible flowers to becoming a consultant? And being a consultant has always been a fantasy of mine, though I prefer the word ombudsman, un PC though it might be. Frankly, I really prefer the title Queen of the World (in my world I'm AM the Queen, but it's a very small world).
This isn't my ego speaking, but of course it is. It's just that...I don't understand why things in the world are so confused when with just a bit of tweaking and common sense, a lot of the bumps, ridges, cravasses, potholes, anguish, hatred, and boiled over bad tasting foods could be just fine.
Take business. I've had tons of jobs, and quite a few of them temp jobs. Each time I have taken a temp job I get accused of working too fast and pissing off the regulars. Well, I have this funny idea about *work* - when you do it, do it, and then go play. But not being motivated by job security, finances or medical benefits gives me a different slant on things. I do have a great time though, which in my accounting of things makes for a right nice wealth on its own.
Also, I don't watch television and haven't for about - oh dear god - well, 30 years seems way too long but it's about that. I don't mean I NEVER see television, I just mean I don't have one so when I do see it, I'm sort of like a deer stuck in the headlights of an oncoming train, with a complete duh expression. I don't get laugh tracks, since most of what provokes them doesn't strike me as funny. And what I do think is funny, no one else is laughing about. My children say I simply do not know how to watch television. They would know. Although I cruelly kept my daughter from it until she was six. One day she asked me what country Burger King was the king OF...and I thought maybe I'd gone too far. Which is another saying of my children...Mom, you've gone too far. Well, they used to say that and then I really did go far (but not too far, really, I can get back) - we talk by phone now and it is good.
Let's say (the royal let's) you hire a new secretary. An employee calls in with some bit of info and asks it to be relayed and the secretary says it shall be done and a call will follow to confirm. Two hours pass and no call. So the worker calls back...the secretary indeed has the information required but, ALAS!!! hasn't the phone number of the worker to call back. This is stupid. Time is wasted because the secretary hasn't had the common sense to find someone with the worker's phone number. Kingdoms could fall, lives go on hold, chickens escape across the road, but. Should the secretary be fired? No. Because, while the secretary may be a bit of a dullard, it's not really the fault of the secretary. The fault goes to the TRAINER (and backward from there), who didn't make sure the secretary had a list of all workers and all phone numbers. And why didn't that happen? Because most likely the secretary was plunked at a desk after taking a PC test and left at it, hoping like hell not to make too many mistakes before figuring out what is going on with this new employment.
And as to edible flowers? I'm looking for a consultant.
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| Island Sunday |
| 04.25.04 (6:54 am) [edit] |
A typical island Sunday...sky insanely blue, water a hundred shades of the same, boats moored for the weekend, and quiet. Well, quiet except for the drumming from over the hill. I have no idea where it comes from unless it's Ricky, practicing for a non existent band gig. Maybe the bagpipe man will play soon. He lives on his boat and sometimes I see him going down the street, his Australian bush hat, his hiking boots, his intent look. He never seems to sweat, which very well may mean he isn't human. The sound of bagpipes wafting over the harbour is weird and wonderful and sometimes I go onto the dock and applaud him. He can't see me or hear me, but he's worth the applause, not only for his playing but because he is yet another one-er here.
I maintain that most of the ex-pats here would either be in jail or in an insane asylum if they lived in the States...and maybe at one time or another they were. The sun and heat usually mellows them out, but not all of the time. Anyway, weirdness shows in lots of ways.
One of my favorites is Crazy Joanna (as opposed to Swiss or Diver Joanna (rarely in the islands does anyone know a last name, it's Crazy Joanna, or Construction Bob, or Scary Terry...). Joanna is in her seventies and at the age of 40 joined the Barnum & Bailley circus, soon after that moving here. She is either really funny or really a pain in the ass, usually when she mixes her meds with alcohol. She gets tourists to buy her drinks and the rest of us groan and head the other way, knowing we are going to be accosted soon with weepy eyes and grasping hands. Otherwise, she makes me laugh, screaming down the street that she loves me she wants me she wonders if I'm fucking my boss yet because he sure is a honey!
Sunday morning interruption - Patty out my window, calling for a chat before going out on her kayak, ideas for vinegars, cleaning a spider's nest from the craft before heading out. Patty does massage and healing sorts of things and is a bit witchy, the locals call her brouha, affectionately. She tells me the flowering leaves for bouganvilla are good for many things, and all I hear is that they are edible so will look beautiful in vinegar, as will the orange hibiscus getting ready to flower again. Some hot peppers, small and purple will as well. And I'm all over the map - not unlike Joanna, to go the circle, so am going back to the garden with a coffee and and a spade. One of them will win.
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