tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-149431722024-03-12T15:47:53.956-07:00Pausing at the Trumpet VineWhere the hummingbird comes like a small green angel...Sharonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00171192266365174524noreply@blogger.comBlogger628125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14943172.post-16029044333430643302023-01-12T16:31:00.001-08:002023-01-12T16:34:04.460-08:00The Night I Met Roy Buchanan<p>
</p><p style="background: white; line-height: 15.8pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">It was a damp evening in San Diego
in that fateful month of December 1980. The murder of John Lennon only
eight days earlier still left me stunned and morose. But this night we were going
to try to see another guitar player. Roy Buchanan, who was virtually unknown to
me, but was a guitar hero of my boyfriend at the time. The only hitch was that
Roy was performing at a 21 and over club and I had only celebrated my 18th
birthday six months earlier. We made the ol’ college try only to be turned away
at the door. So, we decided to just hang around the parking lot area and try to
see what we could see. In our exploration of the premises, we found our way to
the alley behind the club. Down the alley I could see a small travel trailer. I
could tell by the loud conversations that it was packed full of people. A few
people were milling about outside the trailer in the alley. As I begin to
nonchalantly walk up the alley towards the trailer my boyfriend was whispering
emphatically for me to not go any closer. But it had become apparent to me that
the guitar player that he is so infatuated with was sitting right there in the
trailer at the little table, the kind of trailer table that drops down into a
bed. There are mostly guys in the trailer, and maybe two or three women. I
recognize Roy sitting at one side of the table. By now my boyfriend is
practically trying to physically pull me away from the trailer entrance but
I’ve already smiled and flirted my way up to the door way and stepped up and I
say, “Roy, Your biggest fan wants to meet you.” And I pull my boyfriend into
the trailer.</span></p>
<p style="background: white; line-height: 15.8pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p>
<p style="background: white; line-height: 15.8pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Roy smiled and immediately made us
feel welcome. Like not only did we belong there but he was expecting to see us,
that kind of welcome. He asked us if we had tickets for the show and that’s
when we told him of my age problem. He started asking about us, how we met,
where we were from and telling us about his personal life, his wife and family.
He showed us pictures in his wallet. We discovered that he and I both hailed
from the great state of Virginia. He then devised a plan to tell the management
of the club that I was his long lost cousin from back home and that he wanted
me to be allowed in in spite of the age problem. But the club would not relent.
He did, however, manage to get us a seat in the artist’s dressing area where if
the door were cracked open we could see the stage from the wing. So, he did
this for me after having just met us. After the show he invited us back to the
trailer. And this is when I truly got to know Roy Buchanan.</span></p>
<p style="background: white; line-height: 15.8pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p>
<p style="background: white; line-height: 15.8pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">He said he wanted some weed. We said
we had some weed but we only had a little water bong, travel sized you might
say, to smoke it in. Roy claimed he’d never smoked weed out of a bong before.
So I may have that distinct honor but who can say…? Just some of the many
things we talked about that night from two in the morning until four a.m. He
said his favourite Jimi Hendrix song was Spanish Castle Magic. He told us many
tales of the rock and roll world he traveled in. How the Rolling Stones had
asked him to play in the band after Brian Jones died. How he had asked John
Lennon to play in his band after The Beatles broke up, but of course John,
wanted to do his own thing with Yoko. And then the damn burst and Roy sobbed
over the loss of our mutual hero John Lennon. He was holding my hands in his
hands across the table and we were commiserating on the dire state of the world
where someone would take the life of such a peaceful soul. He said his
strongest memory of meeting Lennon was how red his hair was and how short he
was. We were all crying now. He asked us what other musicians we liked. Of
course, I told him I loved Jeff Beck and the Grateful Dead. That’s when Roy
told us that Jeff Beck and Jerry Garcia were angels sent to earth to protect
him. This he told us in the most clear-eyed manner you could imagine. He made
us believe it by the strength of his belief.</span></p>
<p style="background: white; line-height: 15.8pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p>
<p style="background: white; line-height: 15.8pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">By now most of the band has left the
club and the little trailer party and headed back to the hotel. When one of the
band tries to get Roy to go with them Roy tells them that he is going to stay
with his new friends (meaning us) and we agreed to get him to the proper hotel
by daybreak. And we continued to drink (non-alcoholic, of course, wink, wink)
and smoke (medicinal only, ahem…) into the wee hours of the morning. It was
then that Roy told us the strangest tale about how he’d gotten the inspiration
for his latest album My Babe, how he’d lost all his money and caught pneumonia
after being put in jail and subsequently beat up by the cops and how the cops
had tried but failed to stage a suicide attempt to cover up his death from
their beating.</span></p>
<p style="background: white; line-height: 15.8pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p>
<p style="background: white; line-height: 15.8pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Cue the eerie silence….</span></p>
<p style="background: white; line-height: 15.8pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p>
<p style="background: white; line-height: 15.8pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Yes. That is exactly how Roy met his
ultimate demise some eight years later, in a jail in his home state of
Virginia. The cops claimed it was suicide. When my boyfriend, who had become my
husband by that time, and I heard the news of his death and those details, we
just looked at each other in stunned disbelief. How could he have predicted his
death with such vivid accuracy? I still don’t know what to think but I do
have the journal entry of that night, and these are not just aged memories</span></p>
<p style="background: white; line-height: 15.8pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p>
<p style="background: white; line-height: 15.8pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">That night after we had dropped Roy
off at his hotel as promised, we discovered he’d left behind a guitar strap in
our car. We considered keeping it as a souvenir of our night but as Roy had
trusted us with his personal post office box address in Virginia, we decided it
would be better karma to return it to him. Every time we saw him after that
night he always remembered us.</span></p>
<p style="background: white; line-height: 15.8pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p>
<p style="background: white; line-height: 15.8pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The epilougue to this story occurred
in 1995, when I got the chance to meet my hero, Jeff Beck backstage at the
Concord Pavillion. After waiting patiently for hours, I finally got to speak to
Jeff and I got to tell him my story about Roy and how Roy thought of Jeff and
Jerry Garcia as angels. Ironically, this was just a few weeks after Jerry’s sad
passing. So it caught Jeff’s attention and he seemed happy to hear that Roy
thought of him in that way. </span></p>
<p style="background: white; line-height: 15.8pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p>
<p style="background: white; line-height: 15.8pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">And that is why I still call him my
friend. I don’t think I will ever accept the facts surrounding his death, I do
know that tragically a great musician, a husband and a father is no longer with
us. Fortunately, we have some great recordings and video to stir our memories
of a kind and special friend he was to us that night and how we grieved
together and spoke of many wonderful and mysterious things. A night I won’t
ever forget.</span></p>
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></p>Sharonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00171192266365174524noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14943172.post-68340706857206660222013-06-14T18:19:00.000-07:002013-06-14T18:22:04.766-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QlEnO4akfMc/UbvAk8nw_qI/AAAAAAAACHE/SHSuXeFXvGM/s1600/from+earl+nissen+post+re+shaman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QlEnO4akfMc/UbvAk8nw_qI/AAAAAAAACHE/SHSuXeFXvGM/s320/from+earl+nissen+post+re+shaman.jpg" width="320" /> </a></div>
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If I've learned anything about myself in the past year it is that I know
deep within that I am strong enough to walk away from anything that
does not serve my higher purpose and anyone that does not honor that
innate wisdom. </div>
<br />Sharonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00171192266365174524noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14943172.post-43780698282763730772013-06-11T21:36:00.004-07:002013-06-11T21:36:59.726-07:00SoulCollage® ~ Blessed Creatrix<a href="http://www.soulcollage.com/about-soulcollage" target="_blank">SoulCollage ® </a>is a creative and satisfying collage process.
You make your own deck of cards - each collage card representing one
aspect of your personality or Soul. Use the collage cards intuitively to
answer life's questions and participate in self-discovery. Joyfully
deepen your understanding of the relationships between your personality
parts, you and your family/community/world, and you and your dreams,
symbols, and Spirit. The book, <em>SoulCollage</em><span style="font-family: tahoma,sans-serif; font-size: 5pt;"><sup>®</sup></span><em> Evolving,</em> tells how to make and use the SoulCollage<span style="font-family: tahoma,sans-serif; font-size: 5pt;"><sup>®</sup></span> cards individually and in groups.<br />
<br />
You can view some of my own SoulCollage® works <a href="http://shiva2731.blogspot.com/search/label/SoulCollage%C2%AE" target="_blank">here.</a><br />
<br />
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<br />Sharonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00171192266365174524noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14943172.post-76939878429675283612013-04-01T14:56:00.001-07:002013-04-01T14:56:01.732-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Sharonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00171192266365174524noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14943172.post-6565712944783031232013-03-24T17:26:00.001-07:002013-03-24T17:35:15.199-07:00Palm Sunday in Palm Springs CaliforniaIt was the kind of morning the desired a pot of tea rather
than the usual cup. Cobalt ceramic teapot. Peppermint tea. Three bags. After
fourteen days straight of harsh driving winds, sideways blow-in-your-face,
show-no-mercy to your mail, your groceries, your trash, never mind your hair.
Howling winds in the daytime a wind turbine at night. After fourteen days of
that, the all-too-rare quiet morning descends upon this place like a heavenly
calm. I wasn’t the only one to notice, not likely, not with that mockingbird
serenading the Leo Moon at three a.m.
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It woke me from a full and dreamy sleep. I listened for a
moment to its charming chirping chatter. Thinking I must have slept until dawn,
I glanced at my cell phone; 3:10. Really?</div>
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Is it a nightingale? It sure sounds like a mockingbird. I
must be dreaming. I try to keep my brain cells from igniting. </div>
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<i> Chirp chirp chirp… bleedle bleedle bleedle… whoop chirp
whoop chirp whoop whoop… </i><br />
<i> kneeddeep kneedeep kneedeep… reverb reverb reverb…
tweet tweet...</i></div>
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It was no use. I get up just to make sure I’m not dreaming.
I see no bird in the darkness, only a moon shining above the western hills as
bright as the sun. Well, the bird’s just confused the moon for the sun, simple
as that. But the longer it chirped and chirped the more convinced I became that
today was going to be different.</div>
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And she continued to chirp until dawn, when I rose and
looked out the window again. A tiny cottontail rabbit hopped about the empty
field that my window looks out on. The mockingbird was perched atop the
telephone pole. I knew it was her. I’d become intimately familiar with her
vocalizations. There she was singing her little heart out. I grabbed the
binoculars to get a better look. While holding the glasses up to my eyes a
hummingbird whirred at my ear attracted, no doubt, to my shimmery purple shawl.
A dove cooed in the shadows. Three crows cawed in the distance. A rooster
crowed in a neighboring yard and then it dawned on me. It’s Palm Sunday, in
Palm Springs!</div>
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It was going to be a glorious morning. I’ve learned not to
tempt fate by assuming that a good morning will stretch into a good day. Those
temperamental winds would rise up and roar without a moment’s notice. I brewed
the tea, set a bowl of strawberries and Cheerios on the seldom-used patio table.
I sped two bright yellow Oriels and a less bright plumed female. By the time I
grabbed the camera they had hidden themselves but I managed to capture a few
blurry shots. </div>
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I set the teapot on the table and offered grace and gratitude. As
I opened my eyes a hawk swooped down low with its wings fully out stretched
right over my head, over the table and just over the rooftop. It was nothing
short of magical. </div>
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And the mocking bird? She’s still singing her heart out.</div>
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Sharonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00171192266365174524noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14943172.post-60103157814166694452013-02-07T21:04:00.002-08:002013-02-07T21:04:17.885-08:00Drama<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-iJhM-MwHgJ0/URSHNHDWS1I/AAAAAAAACEc/cIEvxFe7YWU/s1600/drama+hummingbird+snake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="273" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-iJhM-MwHgJ0/URSHNHDWS1I/AAAAAAAACEc/cIEvxFe7YWU/s320/drama+hummingbird+snake.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />Sharonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00171192266365174524noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14943172.post-16996444419934462322012-10-07T22:29:00.000-07:002012-10-07T23:16:36.793-07:00Ascent Into Sky<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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Standing
at the gaping maw of a dry and desolate wasteland, I pause teetering between
past and present. Behind me, the lush verdant landscape perfumed with breezes
of cedar and pine, and the soft focus of salty sea air and misty fog. Where my
soul was once nourished by the gentle sustenance of dear ones, beloved kith and
kin, and my heart was light and carefree as an indolent butterfly in fragrant
field of wildflower. A dread now set upon me of knowing what a fool I was to
ever leave such a splendor and that awareness set a tonnage upon my feet so
that I was weighted immobile in my sullen and dreary reminiscence.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My
companion touched me gently on the shoulder bringing me back to the task before
us. I tore myself from that cherished landscape, the way one tears oneself from
a warm and comfortable bed to face the cold light of dawn. Now I saw the
blinding glare of a hot and caustic sun scorching a withered and barren terrain
scattered with stones pale and dead like the bones of pre-historic beasts. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I
am weary,” I say to my companion. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He
smiles indulgently, and allows me rest in the shade of a withered cottonwood
tree. The parched, noxious air smelled of wet dog. We shared a less than
refreshing drink from a too-warm canteen.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Cruel
and unforgivable it was to have caved into the circumstance that brought us
here, proffering a blind trust in the unforeseen misrepresentations. Yet,
knowing full well that little choice was in the offing. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“It
feels as if we’ve been abandoned in hell’s hottest half acre,” I bemoan. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>A
momentary hope flares up within me as a dying<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>fire’s ember ignites a spark to fly, an unreasonable hope
that we could just turn back, that my companion might allow himself to be
persuaded, that we might spare ourselves the agony of this grief as if it were
a bad dream. Yes, why not? Wasn’t it a thousand times more beautiful in the
place we’d just left. How under appreciated it seemed to me now! Could he not
see that I was more fragile than I’d thought, still clinging to my childlike
awe and wonder and deserving of some small measure of happiness back in my cozy
cottage, with its window box roses and lilac flower? How I longed to return and
cease to play the hero and martyr! I would never complain again if I were
allowed to return to that enchanted splendor.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Already,
I was growing faint from the triple-digit heat.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“We’d
better keep moving,” said my companion. “We’re likely to get a heat stroke if
we hang around here much longer.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He
stood and offered me his hand and gave a knowing smile; there was neither
contempt nor sympathy in that smile, neither harshness nor compassion. There
was nothing but an understanding, nothing but a shared knowledge. His smile
said: “I know you. I know your fear and how you feel, and I have by no means
forgotten the failed hopes and dreams we shared.” He could reach into my soul
and into every rabbity ruse of cowardice and every feigned gratuitous daring to
unearth a brighter side of such rugged desolation.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>For
three days into this journey the near gale force winds had been blowing
non-stop down from the stony mountain, whistling through the mostly abandoned
dwellings that dotted the dreary landscape, scooping up sand and small pebble
and pelting us with stinging bitterness. We fought against the mighty headwind
like intrepid nomads. I hated him and loved him as one condemned loves and
hates his executioner. More than anything else I hated and despised his
stalwart leadership, his unfailing knowledge and ruthless conservatism and I
hated everything in myself that rebelled against his rightness, the wish to be
more like him, that unquestioningly followed him.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My
companion was now several yards ahead of me and was moving deeper into the desert
and toward the distant mountains that lain ahead of us. His steadfast
willingness, a duty bound certainty to reach the mountain before nightfall was
the fuel that propelled him. I, on the other hand, was content to linger
passively, noticing a scorpion slowly winding his way across the sand, or
stooping to grasp and admire a rock with dazzling flecks of gold. The wind in
my face forced me to tuck my head down and to lean into the wind with my
shoulder. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>By
the time we reached the foot of the mountain the crepuscular sunlight had faded
and sunk below the horizon painting a flame work of color in the sky. In this
faint light the ruddy mountain appeared somewhat less menacing but there was
not a moment to spare as we traversed up a creviced ravine into the belly of
the mountain to make a shelter for the night. By the time we found a shallow
cave where we could fit our sleeping mats, darkness had overtaken us. My
companion had the forethought to have gathered enough dry sticks and twigs to
set us a small fire. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Unloading
our packs it became immediately apparent to me the fundamental differences in
our respective preparations. My companion’s pack was loaded with supplies
essential to staving our hunger and for the unforeseen emergencies that are
part and parcel of such a journey as this through an unforgiving wilderness. My
own was packed with sentimental trinkets, a photo of my children, an heirloom
necklace passed to me from my late grandmother, little books and paper and pen.
He shared his store of crackers and dried fruit with me and we prepared for
sleep. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
Milky Way winked at us through the cave opening and the quiet of the starry sky
brought a sleepiness over us and we settled down speaking only what words were
truly necessary. I passed the night in a restless dream filled sleep fighting
off the fears of such an unfamiliar and disconsolate sojourn. I dreamed that a kaleidoscope
of bright blue butterflies encircled and covered my head and lifted me into the
night sky. I flew higher and higher into the sky and felt as light and carefree
as a bird and I was able to see the full scope of the path behind us and before
us and just as I came crashing to the ground I came awake.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
woke to the rustling sounds of my companion packing. The winds had died down in
the pre-dawn hours and in its place were large cumulous clouds heavy and dark.
A rumble in the distance gave a foreboding to my companion and I. As I quickly
packed up my sleeping mat, the pitter pat of raindrops began to fall upon the
mountain and the dusty trail. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“We
need to get to higher ground,” he said flatly. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Quickly
we scurried further up the ravine stumbling in our haste. Lightning split the
distant sky and a clap of thunder shook the ground. Just then the dark sky
cracked open and fat raindrops began to fall. Within moments the path before us
was muddied and our footing was made even more irksome.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Stop!”
I shouted, so full of fear and frustration that I wondered if this was yet
another dream and if it were a dream then I should wake myself with my shouts.
“Stop!” I bellowed. “I cannot do this. I cannot go on.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My
companion stopped and looked at me with an all-knowing glance from his rain
soaked face.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Would
you rather we turn back?” he asked, and before he had finished speaking I knew
full well that I could not say the word that I so desperately longed to say.
“Yes, say yes, say it,” my whole being begged of me. But logic and
responsibility held me fast like a leaden weight. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I
will. I will, I will!” my companion gave retort to my silence, in his first
display of emotion since beginning this journey.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Knowing
how far we had come, the treacherous journey that had brought us this far and
the wide abyss of time and distance behind us convinced me that to return was
impossible and I said nothing and continued to take up the journey. My companion
sensed my silent acquiescence and turned on his heels leaving me to follow
behind. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>For
over an hour the rain fell in buckets and then just as suddenly as it began it
ceased. Rivulets and streams flowed past us carrying the newly fallen rain down
the face of the mountain. Tiny purple flowers seemed to awaken in its path.
Little puddles of fresh water pooled in the hollows of the rock. We stopped to refill the canteen. Staring into the water’s reflection I could see my face.
Gone was the gentle hope and carefree demeanor of a youthful countenance and
replaced with the deep lines of loss and longing and dark eyes swollen wet with
tears. I hardly recognized it. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Just
then a hummingbird hovered directly in front of me. It seemed to extol a
message of endurance in its steady humming. Levitating its iridescent body with
the ease of<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>its flight, it
glistened and shone in the sunlight with a dancing metaphor of my own
resignation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I must continue. I
must survive,” was the lesson I took from this holy messenger before it darted
away and upward toward a tuft of desert sage wedged within the crevices of the
mountain. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Now
the climbing was easier and our pace quickened somewhat. A newfound brightness
increased within me and the rocky path smoothed out before us. The blue sky
reappeared and with it the mid-day heat. I tried to exert my will more intently
as the passage became more passable. At times like this I kept pace more
easily<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>with that of my companion
over long stretches. Or perhaps the heat served to slow his efforts. We
continued together now in a mutuality of purpose. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Upward
we climbed past Barrel Cactus and Beavertail Cactus and Crucifixion Thorn
Bush.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Up the steep and rocky
slopes we continued arduously climbing higher and higher with parched lips and
glistening, furrowed brows. Along narrow and perilous, tremulous cliffs we
continued our ascent until, at last, the zenith was within view. And upon the
summit there grew from out of the stony abutment a strange and lonely Desert
Willow. Sturdy and squat with many strong branches it reached up unyieldingly
between heaven and earth. And among the branches perched a large, black crow.
With its shiny black crystal eye looking questioningly at us as though we’d
crept into his domain like thieves. And we all conferred with one another in silent acknowledgment until the big black bird began to caw a frightful call.
Hardest to bear was its steady gaze into the very depths of our souls.
Continuing to caw, caw its harsh call that seemed mock our insignificance. And
within that calling I seemed to hear it say ‘you don’t belong here’. All at
once I realized the purpose of this perilous journey, the very realization of
this purposeless hardship. I don’t belong here. I belong nowhere and yet
everywhere. And suddenly the crow with one fluid motion lifted up from the
branch and spread his wide black wings and soared heavenward, circled and then
disappeared into the burnished sun. And then, just as suddenly, my companion
looked into that bright sun and leapt from the summit and into the silent sky.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">(c) 2012</span></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Sharonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00171192266365174524noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14943172.post-75894380504438485132012-09-29T23:17:00.000-07:002012-09-29T23:17:17.601-07:00Medicine Wheel
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<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rg4bHblUCEc/UGfjShU0EYI/AAAAAAAACDo/uGiTGMZFVq4/s1600/medicine+wheel.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rg4bHblUCEc/UGfjShU0EYI/AAAAAAAACDo/uGiTGMZFVq4/s320/medicine+wheel.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
The Medicine Wheel is becoming.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Dreaming indigenous form</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Creative directional aid</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Blind inner act of power</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Gathering stones in the midday sun</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
I’m sure I look crazy to some</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
To the few who even notice</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
I hear their howls of laughter</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
I feel the biting cynicism</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Perhaps I am crazy</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
I know I am dizzy</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
If only from desert heat and dehydration</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
I break from this circle to replenish</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Still it calls me back</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Seeking those closest to me</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
In my own backyard</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Standing my ground</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Searching for meaning and purpose</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Assembling a semblance of truth</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Some of the rocks sing to me</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
“Pick me. Pick me. I want to play.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Some are too stubborn to move</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Others hold their angry heat</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
And burn the palms of my hands</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
The circle widens</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
My own search ripples outward</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Gathering from the front yard </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
And the abandoned lot next door</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Leaving no stone unturned</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
A datura flower wilts in the sun</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Trumpeting hallucination of tears</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Trailing my own footsteps</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Mirroring my altered vision</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Buried treasure, an old coin or two</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
A piece of purpled glass</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
A bit of bleached bone</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
They’re buried there.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
The Medicine Wheel is becoming</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Showing the beauty way</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
To who knows where</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
No one sees the inward progress </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Searching for a way back</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
A way out and forward </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Returning to Self.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8s2r2h-Ggz0/UGfjWllqtxI/AAAAAAAACDw/Luhi9JQGxX8/s1600/wheel+sat.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="227" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8s2r2h-Ggz0/UGfjWllqtxI/AAAAAAAACDw/Luhi9JQGxX8/s320/wheel+sat.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mArIy9mdZ5g/UGfjat4cduI/AAAAAAAACD4/3GGBJjW9BzQ/s1600/heart+rock.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mArIy9mdZ5g/UGfjat4cduI/AAAAAAAACD4/3GGBJjW9BzQ/s320/heart+rock.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
(c) 2012 </div>
<!--EndFragment-->Sharonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00171192266365174524noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14943172.post-91405830596222208472012-09-14T06:24:00.000-07:002012-09-14T06:28:42.746-07:00My stories are like children to me, I'd rather not let go of them. I'd rather keep them close to the breast, nurturing, refining, bringing out the best in them, and showing them off in their Sunday finery. I just want to protect them from the scrapes and bruises of meeting their own destiny and if I let them go too soon, I may think of something later that I could have done better. I prefer to tuck them in at night secure in the self-satisfied knowing that they'll be there for me in the morning.<br />
<br />
But, like me, they're getting older and soon I will have no choice but to let them try their wings and leave the nest of my good intentions. Ready or not... because sometimes we do our best work on Wednesdays.Sharonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00171192266365174524noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14943172.post-57148989394563700032012-09-13T09:35:00.000-07:002012-09-13T09:35:04.852-07:00Rain Dance<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yssIzmK1OFA/UFIK_XEn9NI/AAAAAAAACDU/2AoccIsxWGY/s1600/rain+goodess+blessing.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yssIzmK1OFA/UFIK_XEn9NI/AAAAAAAACDU/2AoccIsxWGY/s320/rain+goodess+blessing.JPG" width="186" /></a></div>
<br />Sharonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00171192266365174524noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14943172.post-63682423444081116182012-09-10T21:15:00.001-07:002012-09-10T21:43:34.836-07:00Just things...Tomorrow is "9-11" an anniversary that everyone is familiar with by now. But one that many are not aware of is that it is also the three year anniversary of my having been "laid off". I won't get into all of the circumstances that led my losing a job that I'd had for 13 and 1/2 years, other than to say my life has not been the same since. I have been ignored and shunned by some of my closest blood relatives and suffered some of the worst indignities of my 50 years on this planet.<br />
<br />
One of the most insulting comments that sticks in my craw came from a well-meaning but totally clueless friend of a friend. Upon learning that we were selling many, MANY personal items on eBay just to survive and eat, this person glibly commented that, "It's just things."<br />
<br />
For those of you who may not get it it, let me explain. Saying "It's just things" is something one says to oneself when having to endure such ignominies in order to try to be philosophical and circumspect, if one can. But for one to say this to someone else who is going through such an ordeal, when one is not going through a similar ordeal, when one has a home, plus two vacation homes, when one has a movie screening room and large flat screen televisions in nearly every room in these homes, it comes across as a cruel and lacking of all compassion and down right RUDE.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
I just share this so that the next time someone says they are going through a life challenging ordeal, sometimes the best thing to do is to just listen and NOT offer empty platitudes in an effort to sound spiritual and metaphysical. It does not help.<br />
<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1XhyFT1-4Sw/UE7BPXIQ11I/AAAAAAAACDA/zXv7MqH7UE4/s1600/silence.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="231" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1XhyFT1-4Sw/UE7BPXIQ11I/AAAAAAAACDA/zXv7MqH7UE4/s320/silence.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />Sharonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00171192266365174524noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14943172.post-40057755811134166842012-09-03T23:20:00.000-07:002012-09-03T23:20:10.215-07:00Sorrow<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gATk9G73cZQ/UEWcFbP9UbI/AAAAAAAACCs/vXGyWzhoLr8/s1600/light+&+shadow.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gATk9G73cZQ/UEWcFbP9UbI/AAAAAAAACCs/vXGyWzhoLr8/s320/light+&+shadow.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal">
"O, what spirit this ....?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That taketh hold of my tendon’d wrist, arthritic hand<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To maketh written prose, in shades borne black and white<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The colours of my wretched soul’s, exquisite torment?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
SO, is this doubt .... ?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So long without, joy long lost by none, but I, who sees<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Labours by which, fruit-bearing toils, and nectar flow in
bounty<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Though choose to run, through fingered hourglass, into
life’s dry creek bed?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
THOU, you asketh I .... !<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Share not the wealth of sorrow unto the fold, and let shame
unto the river<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But taketh solace in the winter of your madness, and folly<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Fore change ever blows its wind, upon the desert shores of
love!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
ALIVE, she cries .... !<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As wind, the very winds of Hell rush through her fair,
glowing curls<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She pleads to the sky, “God’s forsaken I, and those whom I
love!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A feast of friends, moonlit skies and ancient spirits hear
her wail!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
ALAS, be told .... !<o:p></o:p></div>
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Here now unfold, these truths of strength and struggle <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Against Hell’s wrath, its wind and furnace, we face our
treacherous ‘morrow<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It will be with, our head’s held high, without self-serving
sorrow!"<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
~ words and image by Lew Campbell (c) 2012</div>
<!--EndFragment--></div>
Sharonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00171192266365174524noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14943172.post-10195971531167135422012-08-10T11:21:00.002-07:002012-08-10T11:39:08.623-07:00Stuck in the Sand Pit (a continuing saga)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yxYmXS48dVw/UCVH0FmnPFI/AAAAAAAACAk/dpF0iXmBrds/s1600/moon+desert.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yxYmXS48dVw/UCVH0FmnPFI/AAAAAAAACAk/dpF0iXmBrds/s320/moon+desert.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Where I live is a small community of modest homes in the
desert just outside of Palm Springs ‘neath the San Jacinto Mountain range and
overlooking the San Gorgonio Pass Wind Farm. At the far end of my sandy back yard stands a six
foot cement wall which encloses a massively failed, exclusive gated community
called “The Cove” consisting of approximately 50-75 “custom” homes and an
equally failed golf course, which now amounts to 18 holes of continuous sand
pits and which is home to a parliament of Burrowing Owls. </div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kabOEpazjzo/UCVIe8w7aNI/AAAAAAAACAs/AehFEHWwX1A/s1600/owls+cement+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kabOEpazjzo/UCVIe8w7aNI/AAAAAAAACAs/AehFEHWwX1A/s320/owls+cement+2.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">(photos taken on previous visit)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This morning I took a walk down the street to the
south-western entrance of this gated community to see the owls as they give me
some comedic pleasure in watching them defend their nesting area that consists primarily of broken cement slabs, rebar and the remains of the unfinished sewer
drainage system of The Cove and the graveled broken paths of the defunct golf course. However, as I
approached this morning I noticed the addition of a chain link fence having
been erected around the broken gated entrance that prohibited me from entering
this quiet posted "No Trespassing" area. I am sure that the fence erectors felt obligated to defend the
perimeter based on such considerations as vandals having ravaged the
abandoned construction project for anything they can turn over for a quick
buck. And I am sure they felt it within their prudent diligence to stave off
potential liability lawsuits that would have inevitably been filed should one
of those vandals hurt themselves out there amongst the ruins. But it pissed me off, not only because
it derailed my morning walk but also because of the fact that more money is
being spent to protect what amounts to, in my opinion, pure vandalism of the
natural environment by greedy developers who had the foolish audacity to build a golf
course community in the desert in one of the hottest, driest and windiest parts
of the state and then walking away from it because it failed to turn a
profit. And now it sits in ruins
awaiting, I assume, the next economic upswing. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_QDokDRsd_s/UCVJe27xjOI/AAAAAAAACA0/BL-K4pUmEV8/s1600/golf+cart+paths.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_QDokDRsd_s/UCVJe27xjOI/AAAAAAAACA0/BL-K4pUmEV8/s320/golf+cart+paths.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
(golf cart path on the back nine)</div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-po3JixmmteQ/UCVJ-iqLJeI/AAAAAAAACBA/mW4jBkklXK0/s1600/sewer+cap.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-po3JixmmteQ/UCVJ-iqLJeI/AAAAAAAACBA/mW4jBkklXK0/s320/sewer+cap.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
(Desert Water Authority sewer cap)</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zMxwjSS73Dc/UCVKEw_LV2I/AAAAAAAACBI/HV7c_OHl2P8/s1600/sprinkler+head.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zMxwjSS73Dc/UCVKEw_LV2I/AAAAAAAACBI/HV7c_OHl2P8/s320/sprinkler+head.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
(Sprinkler head - for waterin' ...the DESERT!)</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-V8l4bDPMPOA/UCVKOqJNkSI/AAAAAAAACBQ/Myu3pBW66aA/s1600/desert+water.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-V8l4bDPMPOA/UCVKOqJNkSI/AAAAAAAACBQ/Myu3pBW66aA/s320/desert+water.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
(Water Meters)</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Xg5Ty-CMJKk/UCVKWar2jCI/AAAAAAAACBY/rYZ3R6XuCS8/s1600/space+waste.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Xg5Ty-CMJKk/UCVKWar2jCI/AAAAAAAACBY/rYZ3R6XuCS8/s320/space+waste.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
(Space Waste? No, waste of space.)</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KtkCts8dc68/UCVKbEvb9OI/AAAAAAAACBk/XfrSB23EZHc/s1600/vandalized.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KtkCts8dc68/UCVKbEvb9OI/AAAAAAAACBk/XfrSB23EZHc/s320/vandalized.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
(Vandalized Rainbird watering system)</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0l-JOuKBBNs/UCVKhLTNttI/AAAAAAAACBs/HXLlgP4bwec/s1600/urban+waste.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0l-JOuKBBNs/UCVKhLTNttI/AAAAAAAACBs/HXLlgP4bwec/s320/urban+waste.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
(Urban waste)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I would estimate that only about 15–20 % of the custom homes
are currently occupied. Even fewer are occupied
full-time, as most are 2<sup>nd</sup> (or 3<sup>rd</sup>) “vacation” homes,
such as in the case of our current landlords. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The circumstances surrounding our
involvement began when we were presented with the seemingly generous
once-in-lifetime offer of living in one of these exclusive homes and becoming
the caretaker of this gated community with the task of showing the homes to
potential investors. We were told of living rent-free with a potential income
of $2000/month for the caretaker role. (The circumstances leading to our even
considering such deal fell on the heals of two plus years of unemployment and
our own subsequent dire financial downturn.) But the deal fell through when yet
another multi-million dollar investor backed out at the last minute, at which
point we were consigned to live in a much more modest home also owned by the
landlord/real-estate “investor” outside of the six-foot walls and having no
prospects of gainful employment. Which is where I find myself today having moved five hundred miles to a place sight unseen. And which begs the question, 'Who is the bigger fool'?</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ps6qlF3X4pw/UCVODgU6aZI/AAAAAAAACB8/xTUsJUfQ3S8/s1600/loco$.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ps6qlF3X4pw/UCVODgU6aZI/AAAAAAAACB8/xTUsJUfQ3S8/s320/loco$.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
"Welkome 2 DA 'HOOD - W.S." (W.S. = WestSide)</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Nxh_OKwywhU/UCVOGt-P7II/AAAAAAAACCE/CFSG_2tuniM/s1600/loco+money.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Nxh_OKwywhU/UCVOGt-P7II/AAAAAAAACCE/CFSG_2tuniM/s320/loco+money.JPG" width="180" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
(Crazy f*&$#@^ Money!)</div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jnH3O2c7RRw/UCVOcCeKHUI/AAAAAAAACCQ/sjQm4l2ZfbQ/s1600/not+impressed.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jnH3O2c7RRw/UCVOcCeKHUI/AAAAAAAACCQ/sjQm4l2ZfbQ/s320/not+impressed.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Wizened owl is not impressed by your foolhardy waste of money.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ykTCoOfhy60/UCVOqQH5rhI/AAAAAAAACCY/uD6lh41HPPw/s1600/strike+a+pose.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ykTCoOfhy60/UCVOqQH5rhI/AAAAAAAACCY/uD6lh41HPPw/s320/strike+a+pose.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
"I will dance a jig on your failed dreams and your fences won't keep me from flying."</div>Sharonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00171192266365174524noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14943172.post-26522981818559579702012-07-04T22:49:00.000-07:002012-07-04T22:49:41.683-07:00SoulCollage ® ~ Quetzalcoatl<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lNoOyIRd7Nk/T_UlWoBCRgI/AAAAAAAACAY/yvPT2NI_jik/s1600/Quetzalcoatl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lNoOyIRd7Nk/T_UlWoBCRgI/AAAAAAAACAY/yvPT2NI_jik/s320/Quetzalcoatl.jpg" width="209" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am the One who is Quetzalcoatl.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am the Feathered Serpent, Toltec ruler, shamanic helper
and Lord of the Aztec dawn.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am the One God of the Sky.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I give you resistance to the winds of misfortune.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I give you sustaining maize, holy books and the sacred calendar.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I give you my heart as the Morning Star, a link between
Heaven and Earth.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I want you to bring me offerings of birds and butterflies
and to sacrifice only your ego.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You will remember when your own inner transformation brings
higher wisdom to the collective consciousness.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When time and timelessness are meaningfully conjoined and
the cycle of days begin and end as the serpent swallows its tail, you will
remember.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You will remember when the God of Heaven returns to its
rightful temple within the human heart.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<br />Sharonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00171192266365174524noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14943172.post-5951759215944369962012-06-29T12:33:00.000-07:002012-06-29T12:33:17.659-07:00Part-Time Job Search ~Brian McGackinWake up, log on, you're life's a mess:<br />
you're on Craigslist hitting refresh.<br />
It is boring you to death,<br />
this part-time job search.<br />
<br />
Though all your savings have been spent,<br />
you know your 'rents won't help with rent.<br />
Feeling it'll never end,<br />
your part-time job search.<br />
<br />
You're an adult now so don't you think it's cruel?<br />
Forced to take jobs you had back in high school.<br />
JCPenny by day, Chili's by night;<br />
working overtime just to get by.<br />
<br />
If I'm with friends and I see you<br />
at Best Buy for an interview<br />
I'll pretend you're shopping, too,<br />
it's not a part-time job search.<br />
<br />
You'd do undercover security at the mall,<br />
or work a country club polishing golf balls.<br />
You would take some data entry if you could,<br />
but they won't hire you; your resume's too good.<br />
<br />
I've got something I must tell,<br />
you're not alone in low-wage hell.<br />
I've been doing it as well,<br />
a part-time job search.<br />
<br />
I get excited when I see<br />
job openings at Dairy Queen;<br />
at least I'll get some free ice cream<br />
from this part-time job search.<br />
Sad to be on a part-time job search<br />
You and me: part-time job search.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JkAuyY9YgQU/T-4CcDeacxI/AAAAAAAACAM/nsDTZtgFobI/s1600/Min+Wage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="264" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JkAuyY9YgQU/T-4CcDeacxI/AAAAAAAACAM/nsDTZtgFobI/s320/Min+Wage.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />Sharonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00171192266365174524noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14943172.post-41901274319156960152012-06-17T18:14:00.000-07:002012-06-17T19:12:45.691-07:00Desert Excursions<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
A photo-montage from what will likely become my regular walking rounds. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-iPSREI6EOVw/T9jZ2i0mE2I/AAAAAAAAB-c/lDAwj2KEIH4/s1600/desert.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-iPSREI6EOVw/T9jZ2i0mE2I/AAAAAAAAB-c/lDAwj2KEIH4/s320/desert.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
San Bernardino Mountain Range to the Northwest.</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Q38_ZmAridA/T9jaewr5ruI/AAAAAAAAB-k/Z3iWp6PCwD0/s1600/ten+gun.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Q38_ZmAridA/T9jaewr5ruI/AAAAAAAAB-k/Z3iWp6PCwD0/s320/ten+gun.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Our neighbors. Doesn't look like we'll be borrowing a cup of sugar any time soon!</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qqeynx8yptE/T953Cm1bIYI/AAAAAAAAB-0/knjWPWIMFLE/s1600/ten+shells.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="292" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qqeynx8yptE/T953Cm1bIYI/AAAAAAAAB-0/knjWPWIMFLE/s320/ten+shells.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pW8m3MWEYfg/T953LyVJGAI/AAAAAAAAB-8/N5JXoy16lKM/s1600/flag+framed.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pW8m3MWEYfg/T953LyVJGAI/AAAAAAAAB-8/N5JXoy16lKM/s320/flag+framed.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Some of the more interesting rock formations I stumbled upon.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FzD-SwzFYK4/T956RyCWVuI/AAAAAAAAB_I/E0N5njWiPTM/s1600/desert+family.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FzD-SwzFYK4/T956RyCWVuI/AAAAAAAAB_I/E0N5njWiPTM/s320/desert+family.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Just a little further into the canyon was this interesting wind-blown desert shrine.</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-W4NKeMvU130/T957e8LzhgI/AAAAAAAAB_c/Ca8cgJzoVEQ/s1600/tanned.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-W4NKeMvU130/T957e8LzhgI/AAAAAAAAB_c/Ca8cgJzoVEQ/s320/tanned.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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Girlfriend needs some zinc oxide lip balm. Stat!</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-L-oycEtVbM0/T9571lk_80I/AAAAAAAAB_s/9B6pp2p4tMw/s1600/pink+teddy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-L-oycEtVbM0/T9571lk_80I/AAAAAAAAB_s/9B6pp2p4tMw/s320/pink+teddy.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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A little pink teddy.</div>
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A pair of shoes, for emergency use only.</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-M6DD23M2yXY/T957w2iCn6I/AAAAAAAAB_k/bzk6ROCnQLw/s1600/desert+shoes.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-M6DD23M2yXY/T957w2iCn6I/AAAAAAAAB_k/bzk6ROCnQLw/s320/desert+shoes.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Even in the vast desert of Southern California, the steadfast Canadian Mounty can be counted on to save a damsel in distress!</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QJcUIhddU2o/T958NkuhfjI/AAAAAAAAB_0/D8577n48kCQ/s1600/mounty+on+patrol.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QJcUIhddU2o/T958NkuhfjI/AAAAAAAAB_0/D8577n48kCQ/s320/mounty+on+patrol.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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An intrepid desert wanderer...</div>
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The desert is not for sissies and I am no sissy. But that does not mean the desert is for me. </div>
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The mystical beauty of this ancient desert floor is not lost on one who seeks to find beauty in all likely and unlikely places. </div>
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The desert winds blow in a new discovery with every dawn and every night shifting sands hide as many secrets as stars dot the twilight sky. </div>
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Every day one must reclaim territory, reaffirm presence, otherwise the desert will take over. Whether it's sweeping the sand drifts out of the corners or chasing a critter deeper into his burrow, one must make a stand or become a whimper lost to the howls of whining, sand-whipped winds.</div>Sharonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00171192266365174524noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14943172.post-22675279922592113142012-06-13T10:52:00.001-07:002012-06-13T10:55:04.925-07:00Marilyn Monroe Statue in Palm Springs, California<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Just about a week before we arrived in Palm Springs, Marilyn Monroe made her official debut in Palm Springs. Well, at least, this sculpted replica by artist <a href="http://www.sewardjohnson.com/collection/collectIntro.html">Seaward Johnson</a> of the famous subway draft scene from the classic movie The Seven Year Itch. I love Marilyn but, personally, I think it is the ultimate in tacky kitsch but the locals seem quite taken with her. So I had to do what the locals do and snap some pictures of her, all 26 feet of her!</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7WT_rnCfceA/T9jRbc2-TxI/AAAAAAAAB94/8RnKGGb_ysU/s1600/mm+face.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7WT_rnCfceA/T9jRbc2-TxI/AAAAAAAAB94/8RnKGGb_ysU/s320/mm+face.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-m24Dn532su0/T9jR2Mw7JkI/AAAAAAAAB-A/7zkQwBlhAKM/s1600/mm+skirt.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-m24Dn532su0/T9jR2Mw7JkI/AAAAAAAAB-A/7zkQwBlhAKM/s320/mm+skirt.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZszcdpqxXTQ/T9jR77aC4DI/AAAAAAAAB-Q/Efdy16ewwSE/s1600/mm+ps.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZszcdpqxXTQ/T9jR77aC4DI/AAAAAAAAB-Q/Efdy16ewwSE/s320/mm+ps.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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She is kinda cute, I just hope she's wearing a high SPF!</div>
<br />Sharonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00171192266365174524noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14943172.post-86029300353629703622012-06-10T13:23:00.000-07:002012-06-10T13:39:15.302-07:00Life in Palm Springs has proven harder than imagined. And believe me, I never imagined it would be easy. This is the start of a log of (mis)adventures and honest feelings about not just the hardest thing I've ever done but quite possibly the biggest mistake I've ever made in my life.<br />
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I will attempt to make a written record of the unmistakable beauty of the place as well as my frustrations in dealing with different personalities of those directly involved in bringing us to the desert.<br />
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This saga is just beginning and far from over... (The fat lady hasn't even begun to warm up....)<br />
<br />Sharonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00171192266365174524noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14943172.post-80940475600739459582012-04-17T09:30:00.000-07:002012-04-17T09:30:24.056-07:0021 grams...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-J9DcLNEbEzY/T42agwCd4fI/AAAAAAAAB9o/eBusFRkD7FE/s1600/h'bird+sits.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-J9DcLNEbEzY/T42agwCd4fI/AAAAAAAAB9o/eBusFRkD7FE/s320/h'bird+sits.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="p1"><i><span style="color: purple;">How many lives do we live? How many times do we die? They say we all lose 21 grams... at the exact moment of our death. Everyone. And how much fits into 21 grams? How much is lost? When do we lose 21 grams? How much goes with them? How much is gained? How much is gained? Twenty-one grams. The weight of a stack of five nickels. The weight of a hummingbird. A chocolate bar. How much did 21 grams weigh? </span></i></div><div class="p2"><i><span style="color: purple;"><br />
</span></i></div><div class="p1"><i><span style="color: purple;">~Paul Rivers</span></i></div>Sharonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00171192266365174524noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14943172.post-366082468507799252012-04-01T16:46:00.000-07:002012-04-01T16:46:53.439-07:00Facebook Love Affair<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i style="font-size: 11pt;">Let’s have a Facebook love affair</i></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><i>It’s the latest thing, have you heard?<o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><i>You’ll friend request, I’ll accept<o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><i>Then hang on every word<o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><i>You’ll stalk all of my photos<o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><i>And my friends list too<o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><i>Where in the privacy of my home<o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><i>I can do the same to you<o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><i>We’ll comment with discretion <o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><i>Exchange a few fun pokes<o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><i>You like all my cat pictures<o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><i>I LOL your stupid jokes<o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><i>Let’s have a Facebook love affair<o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><i>We’ll never have to meet<o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><i>You can make funny comments<o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><i>On the pictures of my feet<o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><i>We can have a private convo<o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><i>To escape the noisy crowd<o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><i>And tell each other secrets<o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><i>That we’d never say out loud<o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><i>I’ll PM you my number<o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><i>But you’ll probably never call<o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><i>Instead we’ll just post funny things<o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><i>Upon each other’s wall<o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><i>We can share our sexy pictures<o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><i>The kind that makes one red<o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><i>And cause one’s thoughts to roam<o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><i>While sleeping alone in bed<o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><i>We’ll engage in playful banter<o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><i>Spiced with bawdy veiled allusion<o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><i>And cause our friends to shake their heads<o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><i>In baffling confusion<o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><i>We’ll have our first disagreement<o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><i>Over you liking that other girl’s status<o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><i>And how many jokes can one tell<o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><i>About the occurrence of flatus<o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><i>Let’s have a Facebook love affair<o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><i>Until the bubble bursts<o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><i>And be the stronger of the two<o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><i>Who clicks on Unfriend first</i><o:p></o:p></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;"><i><br />
</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">(c) 1 April 2012</span></div><!--EndFragment-->Sharonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00171192266365174524noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14943172.post-19579802873443708212012-03-12T21:50:00.001-07:002012-03-12T21:55:27.092-07:00The Humming Bird ~ Emily Dickinson<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span></i><br />
<i>A route of evanescence <br />
With a revolving wheel; <br />
A resonance of emerald, <br />
A rush of cochineal; <br />
And every blossom on the bush <br />
Adjusts its tumbled head,-- <br />
The mail from Tunis, probably, <br />
An easy morning’s ride.</i><div><i><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I write these words because I must, because I hope for the kindness of your favorable reply.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Because I am torn between my intense desire to see you, talk to you, share with you and the terrible dread that the only way I should ever be able to properly say hello is to make love to you;</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Because I could run to you with child-like, wide-eyed wonder only to have you punish me with apathy;</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Because to simply imagine the sheer brilliance of your presence causes me to stammer nervously;</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Because the mere touch of you could strike a lightning bolt of current through me that I should be riven from the deep, dark well of all prior existence.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">You have no idea how terrified I am of you. I am more scared of you than I am of a toothache, or heartache, or bankruptcy, or rats.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Because you have so many differing sides and shapes to you:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Lover. Fighter. Poet. Crow. Hawk. Bear. Wolf.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">How can I possibly change my own shape to follow yours? </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And yet, if you were to turn into a dragon I believe I would come to love scales and claws and become desirous of kisses that singe. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Be merciful as I become acquainted with your mercurial transformations and take pity on me should I get burned. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">As it is with courage that I abandon myself in trust to your chivalric nature for I am a blind fool stumbling through a labyrinth. Take my hand. Show me the way to your heart.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Patiently yours,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">[illegible]</span><o:p></o:p></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-small;">(c) 2012</span></i></div>Sharonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00171192266365174524noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14943172.post-71190192773524334912012-02-08T00:11:00.000-08:002012-02-08T00:11:49.524-08:00Sexy Stories and Prurient Prose<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ftni2x4LrWU/TzIt-UW415I/AAAAAAAAB9Q/ftvMTm7lUTU/s1600/Nocturnal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ftni2x4LrWU/TzIt-UW415I/AAAAAAAAB9Q/ftvMTm7lUTU/s320/Nocturnal.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>Some friends of mine have put together a wonderful anthology of erotic stories called <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00761F7RM/ref=tsm_1_fb_lk">Nocturnal Desires</a> that I hope you will want to buy. These are seriously talented writers and the stories are hot but not without plot! With half the proceeds going to research for Multiple Sclerosis you can't help but feel good about it. To be read alone or with a friend...Sharonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00171192266365174524noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14943172.post-91796623642094313992012-02-05T00:15:00.000-08:002012-02-05T00:15:36.026-08:00<span style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><b><span style="font-size: large;">M</span>y <span style="font-size: large;">B</span>eloved</b> … </i></span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>is a harsh and punishing winter wind</i></span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Pushing my hot buttons</i></span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Testing my love</i></span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Testing myself to stay</i></span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>True to myself</i></span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Amidst the howling and growling</i></span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>I do not run from the mirrors held up</i></span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>I do not worship the paucity of praise</i></span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>But humbly sit at those harrowed feet</i></span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Intent upon sweet aphorisms falling</i></span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>From a storm's colossal egress.</i></span><br />
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(c) 5 February 2012Sharonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00171192266365174524noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14943172.post-2460659079238966712012-02-04T11:42:00.000-08:002012-02-04T11:42:12.908-08:00Having known love, I will allow all things to come and go – to be as supple as the wind and take everything that comes with great courage. Life is right in any case and my heart is as open as the sky.<br />
~Kama Sutra<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TxWGCakpj6o/Ty2J1lEVBJI/AAAAAAAAB9I/KjWY-KinoX4/s1600/stardust.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="400" width="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TxWGCakpj6o/Ty2J1lEVBJI/AAAAAAAAB9I/KjWY-KinoX4/s400/stardust.jpeg" /></a></div>Sharonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00171192266365174524noreply@blogger.com0