Like pathways, roads fascinate me. It might be the natural metaphor that roads imbue. Or it’s a simple how we leave and […]
I’m all about free speech. I’m all about the right to own a weapon. But the difference from me and Mrs. Geller who recently hosted a free speech event to mock another’s faith, and the difference from me and the two men who brought their legal guns to shoot down those who wish to mock their faith is a chasm wider than the distance from here to Neptune.
I’m hardly a wiz-bang psychic and woman of the crystal-ball sight. And I wondered if others get these premonitions that eventually impact their day-to-day life. So I asked friends on Facebook, “PREMONITIONS. Do you get them? And more importantly, how many were spot-on? Do you act upon them? Do you get them about other people? Is this silly mumbo-jumbo?”
Oh I do care and am concerned about the health of our oceans. But I’m not marching in the streets, writing letters to the editor, or shouting on talk radio shows. What I do is edit and write a blog called Neptune 911 that reports, from solid and reliable sources, news about the oceans. My concern doesn’t come from Google-U. It comes from direct experience and seeing the issues with plastics in the ocean, university sponsored workshops led by leading oceanographers, marine biologists, etc.; and webinars sponsored by same universities and the National Science Foundation
Wee buildings in crayon colors lined the dirt lot next to the Veteran’s Hall.It’s a local Lion’s Club property called Pinedorado. There, eight chili-heads brewed up their best concoctions. Besides the beauteous aroma, the quest for trophy-winning chili trumped our nation’s political divide. There was joy, friendship, and the real America—volunteers, community and visitors waiting for the tasting and judging to begin.
One of the drawers had stacks of books that I keep for the grandkids. A coloring book of local animals and a box of 16 crayons stood out. I flipped through the book, saw the picture of a blue jay, opened the box of crayons and started coloring the black outlined sketch. Wow. That felt really good. I turned to the page with a bobcat, and colored that too. That night I brought the coloring book and 16 crayons to bed with me and colored a frog and a deer.
I was hooked.
I don’t believe in the phrase “color blindness.” To imagine my life without the colors of my friends and associates, without other venues of religious faith, without other world visions, without other cultural behaviors, would make my world so absolutely beige. I don’t like beige. It would be like eating plain mashed potatoes every night. Blech! I want yuzu sauces, curry, smoked paprika, and chili peppers with my parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme.
The bargain juicer literally exploded while I juiced grapes! A centrifugal juicer, the juicer’s strainer basket/shredder disk dislocated itself, blasted through the plastic top cover like a terrorist’s bomb. Then the shredder disk rocketed into the air, spun like a UFO, landing 20 feet into the living room. Grape remnants stuck to the kitchen ceiling, the dining room chandelier and cabinets—about 10-feet west—and some plastered the TV screen in a protective cabinet.
“This is like living in a third-world country with high-end tax bills!” I screamed while scrubbing the bathroom with the captured water, which was not going to leave enough water to flush the toilet later on. I took a break. When I looked at my garden, the artichoke plants drooped like my sullen mood. They needed water. Thank goodness we captured some rainwater from the roof into a 300-gallon tank that sits in the driveway. It’s the new drought fashion accessory.
This story can also be read in The Cambrian Embedded just over my right eye is a one-inch scar. I was a tad […]