subtitle: Blessed today by choices made more than four decades ago.
When I think of being seventeen years old, two songs spring to mind.
The first is the one by Janis Ian, which had quite a bit of airplay my senior year. It isn't that I could relate to all of the lyrics, but I was quite shy and kept to myself a lot. (Sounds pretty much like now, eh?)
The other song was not released until five years later. That was Stevie Nicks' tune about looking back at a time when she had gone forth "with an age-old desire to please". That phrase, and the danceable beat, struck a chord with me at my first duty station post-divorce.
I had been on the edge of seventeen when I had enlisted in the U.S. Navy.
I had done so for a variety of reasons, not the least of which was to shed the responsibility of tending to my three brothers.
As the eldest child of four, I'd been daytime caretaker since I was about ten.
The military would make me responsible only for myself and my actions.
What a welcome change of pace that would be!
Plus, I would learn about computer electronics, I would get on the pill, and I would get to travel - bonus, bonus, bonus!
Plus, when my enlistment was completed, I'd still be able to attend college and have it paid for by the Chapter 34 benefits.
I share my birthday with John F. Kennedy and his words of advice in his inaugural address have always meant much to me.
"And so, my fellow Americans: ask not what your country can do for you - but what you can do for your country."
Voluntarily giving six years of my life to this country I call home, and in the name of the many freedoms we cherish that others do not have, seemed the right thing to do.
And it was!
And I so enjoyed the experience that I added an extension of time!
In fact, I had considered staying in for twenty years, but then I would have forfeited my educational benefits and that was not an option for me.
Who would have thought those eight years would still be granting me benefits?
I know my seventeen-year-old self did not have a clue about such life-long bonuses.
I was blessed back then, and I continue to be blessed for a decision I made during my senior year of high school.
I know Daddy was opposed to my enlistment. If my parents had not been divorced, and if Mama had not had sole custody of me and my brothers, then who could say how different my life would have been?
As it was, I was volunteering at the Savannah Science Museum and learning a bit of physics and electronics there.
That sparked my interest in AEF, so to speak.
(A little joke! Love those puns!)
I had scored very well on the military placement test and had every branch of the service courting me, which was actually rather nice, as having options is a good thing.
I decided to go for the Navy, as I knew I would always have a beach close at hand.
(smile)
Mama had to co-sign in order for me to enlist... and she had.
She had not wanted me to leave home, but she knew this was important to me and she respected my decision, even though she had not agreed with it.
That is truly how a parent's love should be.
I was so blessed!
The Navy blessed me with two years on the sun-drenched beaches in Panama, a year on the clear-blue Gulf shores in Pensacola, two years at the rocky little beaches of Okinawa, and fifteen months on the sun-setting pink beaches of San Diego.
So much travel at places I'd otherwise never have been!
Afterward, I had 42 months of financial support while I attended college. That helped support me well into my first year of graduate school!
Blessings and more blessings, those were.
Still to come were even more that I had never even dreamt of having.
Honors at baseball games, for being a veteran.
Free meals at restaurants, for being a veteran.
Discounts at music and theatrical events, for being a veteran.
Seaworld Orlando even granted me free access to their theme park!
Blessings and more blessings, those are.
But the largest benefit I have had is through my Veterans Administration Health card.
I have had that benefit for about fifteen years, maybe more.
Even so, I had not made use of it until about six years ago.
After Sam Johnson had a stroke at an early age, my husband and I saw a need for health insurance, so we bought it through his work (at a large radio station cluster). I had kept that after the divorce, up until my full-time gig at Armstrong. There followed three years of paying into that health insurance plan, until loss of that job in the fall of 2013.
Ever since then, my only health coverage has been through the VA.
What a blessing to have that available to me!
Even more so, it's been a blessing to have it be free.
Of course, the reason it is of no cost is because I have been so poor.
That makes it that much more valuable to me.
Remember back in May, when I thought I was having a stroke and went to the hospital?
I had the good sense to follow protocol during that scary time, notifying the After-Hours VA Care first, following their advice to seek immediate emergency care.
I repeatedly showed my VA Health Care card to all medical personnel at the local facility.
That has worked out in my favor.
Two of those medical agencies have tried to bill me for that emergency service.
I had called the VA Patient Advocate last month concerning the invoices.
They had sent me the list of payments made by the VA to those entities and noted they were all considered "paid in full".
Yesterday, I spoke to the VA Community Care program.
As per an act of Congress, literally, those entities which are continuing to bill me are violating the law.
Once the VA has paid the invoices for medical care, those bills are considered d-o-n-e.
It doesn't matter what the total amount due had been, nor did it matter what percentage of that amount was actually paid.
After the VA was done with their processing of the bills, the accounts were to be considered "paid in full" by all parties.
What a relief to know!
As I told the young man I spoke with, I'm so grateful that I had enlisted when I was just a girl of seventeen.
I could have had no idea the repercussions of that decision would still be impacting my life in so many ways.
Such a blessing...
i thank You, God.
I thank you, Mama, for believing in my dreams.
Tuesday, September 17, 2019
Monday, September 16, 2019
four musicals and a concert, too
But it was breakfast today and contains food that was inspired by a musical!
Wait, that isn't quite right, either.
The actual truth is I was at the grocery store last night, in an area I don't tend to frequent, and I was inspired to buy a food, based on the musical I had just seen.
Yes, that's it exactly!
I had just seen "Beauty And The Beast", the 1991 musical wrapped around such a flower.
Why was that animated musical meaningful for me?
Well, I had known when I was buying my ticket at the cinema that I was at the right place, right time.
See the penny peeking from under the register?
(smile)
Each one was very different, demonstrating the many styles of that form of entertainment.
Earlier, I was ushering at the Lucas' Musical Matinee.
That was one from my youth and, amazingly, I knew quite a few of the words to sing along.
That Broadway musical was "Hello, Dolly", from 1969, and what fine dancing there was!
I even danced for five of those songs!
The Lucas had the Savannah Philharmonic's season opener and I ushered!
I very much loved the Bernstein and Gershwin, but that last Mussorgsky piece was my favorite!
Many thanks, Keitaro Harada, for "Moon River", too!
(P.S. He loves musicals and opera, just like I do!)
I'd stopped by Ben & Jerry's and they had my favorite: coconut almond fudge chip!
I had just sat down at Johnson Square when I heard a violinist granting me some ice cream eating music -
"Somewhere Over The Rainbow", "La Vie En Rose", and "My Way", as I finished and just before he departed.
i thank You, God!
I'd treated myself to "A Year With Frog And Toad", the musical based on the children's books about the friendship of two amphibians.
I was welcomed to the show by "The Rainbow Connection" - just Sam Johnson's way of letting me know he was with me.
Many thanks, Vann and Thomas, for the fabulous show and for taking a few moments with me afterward!
Then there was the show-tunes and classical concert on Saturday, plus the impromptu violin solo in the park, all following the kid-tunes musical.
And it had all begun on a full moon Friday the 13th, at the full-moon folk-and-gospel musical about witches!
What a delightful smorgasbord of songs!
I'm so glad Kaye and Barbara had been able to join me for that first one!
We three Georgia peaches were flying our colors that night -
and we hadn't even planned our attire in advance!
I guess it's true what they say: great minds think alike!
Hahahaha hahaha!
i thank You, God!
Friday, September 13, 2019
tragic love and closed minds all around
This was not an "Appalachian legend", as one local paper called it.
The other local paper referred to the tale as "subversive", though that's not it, either.
So, just what is it?
"Dark Of The Moon" is an American play written during World War II, wrapped around "Barbara Allen", a centuries-old Scotch ballad of love gone wrong. The Collective Face Theatre Ensemble kept the original time period intact, as well as the setting in the Smoky Mountains of North Carolina.
It's important to realize, in this day of instant communication options and a tv in every room of a house, that life in the 1940's was very different. There may have been a phone in the community, but that would have been for emergencies. No television would have existed there for another decade. Television was not in the United States until the mid-1940's, and then sparingly. My mother used to talk of the families gathering at the home of the one neighbor who had a tv, to watch a televised show. My mother was born in late 1937. That memory was from her childhood in Augusta, Georgia, folks, a well-populated city. Remote locations, such as the Appalachian areas from Georgia to New York, would not even have had television reception. Any news or culture from the outside would have to come in print or by radio, but that would have been AM only, with spotty reception. Indeed, it wasn't until after the Appalachian Regional Development Act of 1965 that many remote areas had electricity, as they lacked roads and many other services.
That meant that in such a rural mountain community, regardless of locale in the northern or southern USA, life lived seventy years ago by the younger people was nearly identical to that of their grandparents, with almost no influx of new ideas or new people.
Take a moment, please, to imagine that.
.
.
.
Now, consider a tiny community in a valley in those isolating mountains. Their entertainment had to be made on-site, consisting of folks using home-made fiddles and such. Singing and dancing were highlights, folk songs and ballads brought by the original settlers from their European homes in mountainous terrain. Those folks - Scots and Irish - brought their accents, their customs, their superstitions, and their religion with them. The town had endured for all those years, continuing the hard life of their ancestors, taking care of their own and avoiding strangers.
Another tiny community lived on a nearby mountaintop. Their origins? Who knows. Their entertainment was also made on-site, using local materials as well as their bodies to provide the rhythm for their dancing and singing. They practiced a pagan religion involving moon idolatry and were called witches by the townfolk in the valley below. Their group had endured for all those years, continuing the hard life of their ancestors, taking care of their own and avoiding strangers.
Both communities were self-marginalized from the rest of society.
Both communities wanted life to continue as it always had.
Both communities allowed their folk to have sexual freedom.
Let's take a moment to consider that scene.
.
.
.
From the midst of that stagnation in both communities arose two youths who dared defy tradition for the sake of love.
Witch-boy and the auburn-haired girl from town had met one night when the moon went dark. Lunar eclipse, perhaps? In the heat of the moment, they had sex, resulting in her becoming pregnant and him falling in love with her.
Maybe not quite the tale of Romeo and his Juliet, but certainly star-crossed.
(Get that little joke? Because of the moon and such, right?)
The witch-boy, John, is determined to be with her, even though he will have to change his form and his life. No more riding the backs of eagles, no more lolling about all day. As a human, he will have hard work in the fields ahead of him. Nonetheless, he chooses that path of most resistance, as that path will be shared with Barbara Allen.
For her part, the garrulous and promiscuous lass will pledge to be true to him alone, for an entire year, as his wife. That act would require her to go against her community of stranger-haters.
She is not alone in that task of rebellion against her community. The witch community is also full of stranger-haters and is not willing to release John to life as a human, to life with a human.
It's a hard row they've both chosen to walk, beset by saboteurs on both sides...
but they're in love and are willing to walk that path.
Do they succeed?
Of course not.
I said this was a tragic romance.
.
.
.
I found the story very entertaining and quite well-acted - bravo, y'all!
But I most enjoyed the music, both the rollicking folk tunes and the old-time religious hymns. I even found myself silently singing along to all of the hymns except one. They aren't the songs from my Methodist experience, but I recalled them from my youth as a Southern Baptist. (These town folk weren't Baptists, though, as dancing would not have been sanctioned.)
I highly recommend the play, folks.
If there's one lesson from this one to take to heart, it's this:
We all need to get out more.
We all need to interact more...
with people from different geographical areas...
with people having different cultures...
with people with different faiths...
with people who walk different paths.
Each and every one of us.
Each and every one of us have so much to learn from another.
Amen.
The other local paper referred to the tale as "subversive", though that's not it, either.
So, just what is it?
"Dark Of The Moon" is an American play written during World War II, wrapped around "Barbara Allen", a centuries-old Scotch ballad of love gone wrong. The Collective Face Theatre Ensemble kept the original time period intact, as well as the setting in the Smoky Mountains of North Carolina.
It's important to realize, in this day of instant communication options and a tv in every room of a house, that life in the 1940's was very different. There may have been a phone in the community, but that would have been for emergencies. No television would have existed there for another decade. Television was not in the United States until the mid-1940's, and then sparingly. My mother used to talk of the families gathering at the home of the one neighbor who had a tv, to watch a televised show. My mother was born in late 1937. That memory was from her childhood in Augusta, Georgia, folks, a well-populated city. Remote locations, such as the Appalachian areas from Georgia to New York, would not even have had television reception. Any news or culture from the outside would have to come in print or by radio, but that would have been AM only, with spotty reception. Indeed, it wasn't until after the Appalachian Regional Development Act of 1965 that many remote areas had electricity, as they lacked roads and many other services.
That meant that in such a rural mountain community, regardless of locale in the northern or southern USA, life lived seventy years ago by the younger people was nearly identical to that of their grandparents, with almost no influx of new ideas or new people.
Take a moment, please, to imagine that.
.
.
.
Now, consider a tiny community in a valley in those isolating mountains. Their entertainment had to be made on-site, consisting of folks using home-made fiddles and such. Singing and dancing were highlights, folk songs and ballads brought by the original settlers from their European homes in mountainous terrain. Those folks - Scots and Irish - brought their accents, their customs, their superstitions, and their religion with them. The town had endured for all those years, continuing the hard life of their ancestors, taking care of their own and avoiding strangers.
Another tiny community lived on a nearby mountaintop. Their origins? Who knows. Their entertainment was also made on-site, using local materials as well as their bodies to provide the rhythm for their dancing and singing. They practiced a pagan religion involving moon idolatry and were called witches by the townfolk in the valley below. Their group had endured for all those years, continuing the hard life of their ancestors, taking care of their own and avoiding strangers.
Both communities were self-marginalized from the rest of society.
Both communities wanted life to continue as it always had.
Both communities allowed their folk to have sexual freedom.
Let's take a moment to consider that scene.
.
.
.
From the midst of that stagnation in both communities arose two youths who dared defy tradition for the sake of love.
Witch-boy and the auburn-haired girl from town had met one night when the moon went dark. Lunar eclipse, perhaps? In the heat of the moment, they had sex, resulting in her becoming pregnant and him falling in love with her.
Maybe not quite the tale of Romeo and his Juliet, but certainly star-crossed.
(Get that little joke? Because of the moon and such, right?)
The witch-boy, John, is determined to be with her, even though he will have to change his form and his life. No more riding the backs of eagles, no more lolling about all day. As a human, he will have hard work in the fields ahead of him. Nonetheless, he chooses that path of most resistance, as that path will be shared with Barbara Allen.
For her part, the garrulous and promiscuous lass will pledge to be true to him alone, for an entire year, as his wife. That act would require her to go against her community of stranger-haters.
She is not alone in that task of rebellion against her community. The witch community is also full of stranger-haters and is not willing to release John to life as a human, to life with a human.
It's a hard row they've both chosen to walk, beset by saboteurs on both sides...
but they're in love and are willing to walk that path.
Do they succeed?
Of course not.
I said this was a tragic romance.
.
.
.
I found the story very entertaining and quite well-acted - bravo, y'all!
But I most enjoyed the music, both the rollicking folk tunes and the old-time religious hymns. I even found myself silently singing along to all of the hymns except one. They aren't the songs from my Methodist experience, but I recalled them from my youth as a Southern Baptist. (These town folk weren't Baptists, though, as dancing would not have been sanctioned.)
I highly recommend the play, folks.
If there's one lesson from this one to take to heart, it's this:
We all need to get out more.
We all need to interact more...
with people from different geographical areas...
with people having different cultures...
with people with different faiths...
with people who walk different paths.
Each and every one of us.
Each and every one of us have so much to learn from another.
Amen.
Monday, September 9, 2019
i've been measuring the rooms
Now that the latest hurricane threat has abated, I've had time to come to a big decision.
The long and the short of it is: I've invited Michael and the twins to move in with me.
After tomorrow, the baby machine will no longer have any legal parental custodial rights, and that is good news.
She betrayed the trust and the innocence of children, for the last time.
She and her mother also left them financially stranded.
That has placed an inhumane amount of strain on my nephew.
I had known of the financial bind, so that is why I recommended that my first niece and her little girl lodge with him and the his girls.
My thoughts had been an easing of finances for both of them.
Then came a fourth little one, thanks to a careless, drug-addicted, cousin.
Still doable, I had thought, for the sister and brother team.
No, not really.
Not when both work full-time and barely have a social life.
Not when one is attending classes to advance in his job and now has a crying baby in the house to compound the usual noises of children squabbling and playing.
Too many stressors on the two parents and on their toddlers.
I had thought I was helping by arranging play dates with me.
The trips to Forsyth Park to splash in the fountains, with dinner after...
the trip to Fort Pulaski to picnic in a different setting...
the hot afternoon at the playground at Lake Mayer last weekend...
those had been welcome diversions, as well as free for them...
but had no real effect on the day-to-day strain.
Then, about two weeks ago, Christina said something that brought it all in focus for me.
She had come by to recharge - i.e., get a hug - and we'd talked for over an hour.
She's trying to buy a house, as the mortgage would be cheaper than any rent will be.
Most of the reason she wants her own place is so she can keep the floor toy-free, as her two are little enough that everything on a floor goes into the mouth, as it might be food.
Michael's girls, on the other hand, are soon to be five years old and don't have that issue, but they do tend to leave toys scattered about, as kids do.
The situation has become more than contentious, more like a powder keg.
She told me that Michael has been losing his temper and is reminding her of her father.
That's what gave me pause: all she seems to recall of her father - my middle brother, Ronnie - is his drunken rants and his fearsome temper.
Well, I guess that would be right.
She was only ten or eleven when her parents divorced.
Michael was only five or six and does not recall life with his dad.
By the time of the divorce, Ronnie had been losing control for at least three years.
It's hard to say when it all started, at this point, twenty-five years later.
What can be said, though, is Michael is now at the age that Ronnie was when he began his spiral downward.
Christina doesn't remember the fun-loving jokester that her dad once was.
She doesn't recall how sensitive and giving a man he had been.
Too much time has passed and she was too young.
Now, though, she is close to the age I was as I watched my brother step away from friends and family and dive into a bottle.
Sure, we all tried to get him to go to rehab...
and he did, several times...
but he did so because we wanted him to go there.
And now, it's twenty-five years later.
I still remember the Ronnie of our youth, and treasure those rare times we share when he allows himself to be as he was then.
I cannot bear the thought of Christina losing her brother as I lost mine.
I cannot bear the thought of Michael allowing himself to change like that.
It's not that I think he would want to do so, but life can become overwhelming.
What Michael has in his favor is his strong love for his daughters, his welcoming responsibility for their care, and his true joy at spending time with them.
Ronnie loved his children, but he had resented the added pressure of being responsible for caring for two more lives.
That isn't a conjecture on my part; I know that to be true.
Given a choice, he would have opted to do as I did and not have children.
However, I had the surgery to guarantee my option.
He had never had a vasectomy.
Choices.
Yesterday, I made Michael an offer of life in my safe harbor for him and the girls.
It's not an offer I have made lightly or rashly.
I had told him last weekend that I thought I might do so, but it's been several months, truly, since I first thought about opening my home to little ones.
When Christina left Hinesville, I told her she and Miyah were welcome here...
but, she had declined.
Too many breakables on low shelves, too much disorder, too great a disruption.
So, she had moved in with her brother and his twins.
I admit, I was relieved.
As much as I love the "littlest girl", and think of her as a superhero, I absolutely do not have the energy to keep up with her for more than a few hours.
Still, the idea of putting my extra rooms to good use stayed with me.
That's why, when Michael was talking to me last weekend, I made the tentative offer.
Today, I had what I think may be a brilliant idea, to minimize the stress of the move on both me and my two beloved great-nieces.
I even took my measuring tape in hand to see if it was a viable plan...
and it is.
My king-sized bed will fit in the front bedroom, my Ocean Room.
Moreover, it will even fit in the same orientation it currently has.
That means Alyssa and Leila can have my huge bedroom as theirs, giving them ample space for playing and strewing toys about.
I'll have to let Michael know I've measured the rooms and that he and the girls will fit.
(smile)
i thank You, God.
The long and the short of it is: I've invited Michael and the twins to move in with me.
After tomorrow, the baby machine will no longer have any legal parental custodial rights, and that is good news.
She betrayed the trust and the innocence of children, for the last time.
She and her mother also left them financially stranded.
That has placed an inhumane amount of strain on my nephew.
I had known of the financial bind, so that is why I recommended that my first niece and her little girl lodge with him and the his girls.
My thoughts had been an easing of finances for both of them.
Then came a fourth little one, thanks to a careless, drug-addicted, cousin.
Still doable, I had thought, for the sister and brother team.
No, not really.
Not when both work full-time and barely have a social life.
Not when one is attending classes to advance in his job and now has a crying baby in the house to compound the usual noises of children squabbling and playing.
Too many stressors on the two parents and on their toddlers.
I had thought I was helping by arranging play dates with me.
The trips to Forsyth Park to splash in the fountains, with dinner after...
the trip to Fort Pulaski to picnic in a different setting...
the hot afternoon at the playground at Lake Mayer last weekend...
those had been welcome diversions, as well as free for them...
but had no real effect on the day-to-day strain.
Then, about two weeks ago, Christina said something that brought it all in focus for me.
She had come by to recharge - i.e., get a hug - and we'd talked for over an hour.
She's trying to buy a house, as the mortgage would be cheaper than any rent will be.
Most of the reason she wants her own place is so she can keep the floor toy-free, as her two are little enough that everything on a floor goes into the mouth, as it might be food.
Michael's girls, on the other hand, are soon to be five years old and don't have that issue, but they do tend to leave toys scattered about, as kids do.
The situation has become more than contentious, more like a powder keg.
She told me that Michael has been losing his temper and is reminding her of her father.
That's what gave me pause: all she seems to recall of her father - my middle brother, Ronnie - is his drunken rants and his fearsome temper.
Well, I guess that would be right.
She was only ten or eleven when her parents divorced.
Michael was only five or six and does not recall life with his dad.
By the time of the divorce, Ronnie had been losing control for at least three years.
It's hard to say when it all started, at this point, twenty-five years later.
What can be said, though, is Michael is now at the age that Ronnie was when he began his spiral downward.
Christina doesn't remember the fun-loving jokester that her dad once was.
She doesn't recall how sensitive and giving a man he had been.
Too much time has passed and she was too young.
Now, though, she is close to the age I was as I watched my brother step away from friends and family and dive into a bottle.
Sure, we all tried to get him to go to rehab...
and he did, several times...
but he did so because we wanted him to go there.
And now, it's twenty-five years later.
I still remember the Ronnie of our youth, and treasure those rare times we share when he allows himself to be as he was then.
I cannot bear the thought of Christina losing her brother as I lost mine.
I cannot bear the thought of Michael allowing himself to change like that.
It's not that I think he would want to do so, but life can become overwhelming.
What Michael has in his favor is his strong love for his daughters, his welcoming responsibility for their care, and his true joy at spending time with them.
Ronnie loved his children, but he had resented the added pressure of being responsible for caring for two more lives.
That isn't a conjecture on my part; I know that to be true.
Given a choice, he would have opted to do as I did and not have children.
However, I had the surgery to guarantee my option.
He had never had a vasectomy.
Choices.
Yesterday, I made Michael an offer of life in my safe harbor for him and the girls.
It's not an offer I have made lightly or rashly.
I had told him last weekend that I thought I might do so, but it's been several months, truly, since I first thought about opening my home to little ones.
When Christina left Hinesville, I told her she and Miyah were welcome here...
but, she had declined.
Too many breakables on low shelves, too much disorder, too great a disruption.
So, she had moved in with her brother and his twins.
I admit, I was relieved.
As much as I love the "littlest girl", and think of her as a superhero, I absolutely do not have the energy to keep up with her for more than a few hours.
Still, the idea of putting my extra rooms to good use stayed with me.
That's why, when Michael was talking to me last weekend, I made the tentative offer.
Today, I had what I think may be a brilliant idea, to minimize the stress of the move on both me and my two beloved great-nieces.
I even took my measuring tape in hand to see if it was a viable plan...
and it is.
My king-sized bed will fit in the front bedroom, my Ocean Room.
Moreover, it will even fit in the same orientation it currently has.
That means Alyssa and Leila can have my huge bedroom as theirs, giving them ample space for playing and strewing toys about.
I'll have to let Michael know I've measured the rooms and that he and the girls will fit.
(smile)
i thank You, God.
Sunday, September 8, 2019
hurrication fun
I'd like to claim that new word as one of mine, but it isn't.
"Hurrication" was coined by Kevin and refers to "a period off from work caused by a mandatory evacuation for an approaching hurricane".
I'm sure it was partly inspired by the timing of Dorian with Labor Day weekend.
(smile)
Neither of us left the city.
The governor had placed his order very early, to begin at noon on Labor Day. Schools had closed; folks had been moved to a location deemed safer; and Dorian lingered too long in the Bahamas, apparently getting its groove on... and nearly self-destructing its eye wall from its jamming-out winds.
I had kept both of us apprised of the situation, thanks to my monitoring of NOAA.
Monday had found both of us doing yard work and getting odd looks from our neighbors. Yard work is what you do after a storm, right? Well, usually, but it's also good physical labor for getting out of your head, as you may recall.
My two bags of yard debris went into my shed for safekeeping.
I went in search of... I don't know, something that felt 'normal'.
I found, too!
Nearly everything was open!
Not the American Red Cross center, but that was okay.
The Jalapenos on Abercorn was right there, with my very favorite "relaxing, summertime food"!
That's what I told Edgar as he brought the shrimp ceviche to me.
I even sent this proof of normalcy to the bear... but not one of my mussed-up hair which hadn't yet been brushed for the day.
In my defense, I had expected most places to be closed by evening.
My hair was in order for "Tina Tuesday", which found the two of us getting "Ready Or Not" in Pooler.
What a deliciously funny flick!
Then back to town for the Olive Garden, where I ate every bit of the carbonara chicken and shrimp!
He ate all of his food, too.
It probably helped that we knew Wednesday was to be a day at home.
But Tuesday was definitely all ours!
Thursday morning found me dining on an old favorite: dinner for breakfast!
With danger gone with the wind - just a little joke - I emptied the cooler.
The sausage felt a bit soft, so I cooked it.
Oh! Look, I had some onion, too, and apple slices... and sauerkraut!
A true Brunch of Champions!
Photo to the ex! John in Pooler! Paul in CA and Penny in the FL!
Then it was time to wrest Kevin from his home before he got "twitchy", as he calls it.
Off to the Royal for "Dora And The Lost City of Gold"!
No, really, that's what we saw -
it was quite funny and rather surreal and I loved the Bollywood dance number at the end!
Dinner was served at the Jalapenos close at hand - his suggestion!
He really does know what I like.
(smile)
More of what I like was to come as we returned to Savannah to beat the curfew.
He was driving, naturally, and we were talking about all manner of things, as per usual, with a few surprises thrown in.
Nice to know we still have those, considering how many years we've known each other.
(smile)
Friday found him back to work and nearly all back to 'normal'.
Well, except me.
I felt a bit disoriented and confused about what day it was.
The blood center was still closed.
Drats, what to do?
Well, the bedding could be washed and more yard debris could be bagged, right?
So, that's what I did, having a lovely visit with Nami and then enjoying a relaxing time at home.
Saturday was the first day that felt 'normal' to me.
I'd gotten rid of some old medications at Memorial, then joined Christina and her girls at Chick-Fil-A, where I proceeded to "have it my way".
That's right!
No strawberries in my fruit cup!
Not a single, solitary molecule of
the ester that makes them poisonous for me!
Thanks for the "Red Alert"!
Afterward, it was off to Lake Mayer.
Michael and the twins were already there and waiting for us!
After about two hours of playing in the sun, on swings and slides and things to be climbed, everyone was ready to exchange our shadows for the shade.
What a hot day!
Time for us to return home and sit in the cool for a while!
I had about an hour before Barbara and Carolyn were whisking me off to the wonderful world of... Pooler!
Hahahaha hahaha!
First, we had a rendezvous with the devilishly handsome "Saaho" at the Royal - Bollywood, for real, with eyes that could bewitch and a body for sweet dreams!
More films with Prabhas, please!
Appetites raging, we got as far as the Longhorn - perfect!
Today has found me again at home, sure of which day this is: Sunday.
Glory to God!
Billy gave us a sermon that told of how he and his wife ended up parlaying a copy of a Tedd Browne album into a few thousand dollars off the house they were trying to buy from a local civil rights lawyer, Aaron Buchsbaum, back in 1998.
All because the man had heard the singer, once upon a time, at the restaurant Billy's dad had owned.
I do so enjoy Reverend Hester's stories about connections between diverse people.
It truly is a small world.
As for me, sometimes my taste
buds develop a small range of desired foods.
That's why I deliberately chose Jalapenos of Sandfly for lunch.
My third encounter with shrimp ceviche this week!
Hallelujah!
"Hurrication" was coined by Kevin and refers to "a period off from work caused by a mandatory evacuation for an approaching hurricane".
I'm sure it was partly inspired by the timing of Dorian with Labor Day weekend.
(smile)
Neither of us left the city.
The governor had placed his order very early, to begin at noon on Labor Day. Schools had closed; folks had been moved to a location deemed safer; and Dorian lingered too long in the Bahamas, apparently getting its groove on... and nearly self-destructing its eye wall from its jamming-out winds.
I had kept both of us apprised of the situation, thanks to my monitoring of NOAA.
Monday had found both of us doing yard work and getting odd looks from our neighbors. Yard work is what you do after a storm, right? Well, usually, but it's also good physical labor for getting out of your head, as you may recall.
My two bags of yard debris went into my shed for safekeeping.
I went in search of... I don't know, something that felt 'normal'.
Nearly everything was open!
Not the American Red Cross center, but that was okay.
The Jalapenos on Abercorn was right there, with my very favorite "relaxing, summertime food"!
That's what I told Edgar as he brought the shrimp ceviche to me.
I even sent this proof of normalcy to the bear... but not one of my mussed-up hair which hadn't yet been brushed for the day.
My hair was in order for "Tina Tuesday", which found the two of us getting "Ready Or Not" in Pooler.
What a deliciously funny flick!
Then back to town for the Olive Garden, where I ate every bit of the carbonara chicken and shrimp!
He ate all of his food, too.
It probably helped that we knew Wednesday was to be a day at home.
But Tuesday was definitely all ours!
With danger gone with the wind - just a little joke - I emptied the cooler.
The sausage felt a bit soft, so I cooked it.
Oh! Look, I had some onion, too, and apple slices... and sauerkraut!
A true Brunch of Champions!
Photo to the ex! John in Pooler! Paul in CA and Penny in the FL!
Off to the Royal for "Dora And The Lost City of Gold"!
No, really, that's what we saw -
it was quite funny and rather surreal and I loved the Bollywood dance number at the end!
Dinner was served at the Jalapenos close at hand - his suggestion!
He really does know what I like.
(smile)
He was driving, naturally, and we were talking about all manner of things, as per usual, with a few surprises thrown in.
Nice to know we still have those, considering how many years we've known each other.
(smile)
Well, except me.
I felt a bit disoriented and confused about what day it was.
The blood center was still closed.
Drats, what to do?
Well, the bedding could be washed and more yard debris could be bagged, right?
So, that's what I did, having a lovely visit with Nami and then enjoying a relaxing time at home.
I'd gotten rid of some old medications at Memorial, then joined Christina and her girls at Chick-Fil-A, where I proceeded to "have it my way".
That's right!
No strawberries in my fruit cup!
Not a single, solitary molecule of
the ester that makes them poisonous for me!
Thanks for the "Red Alert"!
Michael and the twins were already there and waiting for us!
After about two hours of playing in the sun, on swings and slides and things to be climbed, everyone was ready to exchange our shadows for the shade.
What a hot day!
Time for us to return home and sit in the cool for a while!
Hahahaha hahaha!
First, we had a rendezvous with the devilishly handsome "Saaho" at the Royal - Bollywood, for real, with eyes that could bewitch and a body for sweet dreams!
More films with Prabhas, please!
Appetites raging, we got as far as the Longhorn - perfect!
Glory to God!
Billy gave us a sermon that told of how he and his wife ended up parlaying a copy of a Tedd Browne album into a few thousand dollars off the house they were trying to buy from a local civil rights lawyer, Aaron Buchsbaum, back in 1998.
All because the man had heard the singer, once upon a time, at the restaurant Billy's dad had owned.
It truly is a small world.
As for me, sometimes my taste
buds develop a small range of desired foods.
That's why I deliberately chose Jalapenos of Sandfly for lunch.
My third encounter with shrimp ceviche this week!
Hallelujah!
missing the point
Today marked a critical turning point.
A vote was to be cast which would set the future in motion for this group of people.
My name had been checked against those in the register and I was granted a ballot.
I placed myself in the very first row, to cast my ballot as early as possible.
Breakfast had been early and I had missed the proffered lunch.
I even gave my name and phone number to another, to be notified of the outcome.
Instead, after a chance conversation, I had resolved to stay and hear the results myself.
Prior to the start of this special meeting, folks were talking, as is natural.
Then a person sitting behind me said something inappropriate that prompted me to respond.
The person had said, "I know how everybody ought to vote. If they can't vote the right way, then I hope they just stayed home."
The person had completely missed the point of this special event.
I told the person, "The whole point of our being here today is to insure that everyone here has a say, to insure that everyone's voice is heard."
Another person spoke up. "Yes, that's the purpose of voting, to allow everyone to cast a ballot and be represented."
"That's not what I mean," I said. "The entire reason for today's vote is to insure that everyone has a voice every time we are together."
The initial person had kept their mouth shut, no doubt recognizing their mistake.
The other person did not speak again, so neither did I.
The special meeting had begun with an announcement.
Even though we would go through with this long-awaited voting process, the outcome, regardless of direction favored by the two-thirds majority of voters, would not lead to any immediate change in our group's operation.
Instead, we would continue in a holding pattern, as we had been, moving forward only in time, but not in action.
This vote, which we had thought would be the first step in a series, was moot.
The next step that would have been taken in the series had been removed, rendered null and void by the external powers that be.
How did the vote turn out?
Was the measure under consideration passed or denied?
Those questions are truly of no importance.
How will our group weather the very vote itself?
Ah, my dear, that is the crux of the matter.
For now all know that all are definitely not all in agreement.
Let's hope the future does not hold a witch hunt in store.
After all, the point is supposed to be that everyone has a voice that should be heard.
A vote was to be cast which would set the future in motion for this group of people.
My name had been checked against those in the register and I was granted a ballot.
I placed myself in the very first row, to cast my ballot as early as possible.
Breakfast had been early and I had missed the proffered lunch.
I even gave my name and phone number to another, to be notified of the outcome.
Instead, after a chance conversation, I had resolved to stay and hear the results myself.
Prior to the start of this special meeting, folks were talking, as is natural.
Then a person sitting behind me said something inappropriate that prompted me to respond.
The person had said, "I know how everybody ought to vote. If they can't vote the right way, then I hope they just stayed home."
The person had completely missed the point of this special event.
I told the person, "The whole point of our being here today is to insure that everyone here has a say, to insure that everyone's voice is heard."
Another person spoke up. "Yes, that's the purpose of voting, to allow everyone to cast a ballot and be represented."
"That's not what I mean," I said. "The entire reason for today's vote is to insure that everyone has a voice every time we are together."
The initial person had kept their mouth shut, no doubt recognizing their mistake.
The other person did not speak again, so neither did I.
The special meeting had begun with an announcement.
Even though we would go through with this long-awaited voting process, the outcome, regardless of direction favored by the two-thirds majority of voters, would not lead to any immediate change in our group's operation.
Instead, we would continue in a holding pattern, as we had been, moving forward only in time, but not in action.
This vote, which we had thought would be the first step in a series, was moot.
The next step that would have been taken in the series had been removed, rendered null and void by the external powers that be.
How did the vote turn out?
Was the measure under consideration passed or denied?
Those questions are truly of no importance.
How will our group weather the very vote itself?
Ah, my dear, that is the crux of the matter.
For now all know that all are definitely not all in agreement.
Let's hope the future does not hold a witch hunt in store.
After all, the point is supposed to be that everyone has a voice that should be heard.
Wednesday, September 4, 2019
safe after the storm
Just to let everyone know, I posted the following on fb.
"As Dorian goes past, scraping its long fingers along our coast, I am safe,
as are those I know and love -
what a blessing."
I thought to also post it here, for those who are not on that site.
Now, to relax before I succumb to sleep.
"As Dorian goes past, scraping its long fingers along our coast, I am safe,
as are those I know and love -
what a blessing."
I thought to also post it here, for those who are not on that site.
Now, to relax before I succumb to sleep.
Monday, September 2, 2019
dorian, juliette, and three more
Dorian has been the top weather story in Savannah since Tuesday...
almost a week ago...
but that's not the only hurricane out there.
This image is from NOAA's Geostationary Operational Environmental Satellite 16, also known as GOES-16 or GEOS-East.
It was taken yesterday at 4:20 PM UTC... or 12:20 PM my time.
That would have been roughly twelve hours before Dorian, as a Category 5 hurricane, made landfall in the Bahamas...
where it has been spinning in place ever since.
That means Dorian is the white pinwheel of Florida's east coast, which means West Palm Beach is getting massive surf and wind action, too, as that city is well within the hurricane's 100-mile-radius reach.
The map, however, distinctly shows a line of five sites of swirling trouble, looking as if they were pearls strung on an invisible necklace.
The one classified as Disturbance 2, located between Mexico and Florida, has been gaining strength in the Gulf's warm waters.
Disturbance 3, meanwhile, is a bit further out in the Atlantic Ocean, and may not prove to be a threat.
The one to watch, however, is simply called Disturbance 1, over by Cape Verde off Africa's coast. It's strength has been growing at an alarming rate.
And where is Juliette?
She's still a tropical depression, but she's due to become a hurricane tomorrow.
East Coast news has ignored her because she's off the West Coast, in the Pacific Ocean.
She's looking to be a lady and leave folks alone, just spinning her skirts in those waters...
for now.
Right now, the news is that Dorian's eye wall is failing, battered by its own super fast winds, causing the hurricane to start to dismantle itself as if it were exploding.
That would place those reckless winds whipping more of the ocean waters against more of Florida, but may be a saving grace for the rest of the USA.
I'll have to see as the day progresses.
Sunday, September 1, 2019
not quite a day of rest
biggest little brother.
As I was preparing for church, he was cruising
around through the crazy grass ocean that
I call my yards.
He even left an untamed swirl around my tulip
tree, just the way I like it.
(smile)
Thanks, Smitty, I appreciate all you do for me!
favorite minister.
Reverend Billy Hester is back from summer
vacation and not a moment too soon, as yet
another hurricane is lobbed hither.
I'm especially grateful for his message today,
even though it carried a sad note: another
favorite professor had died in April.
O'Connor group's post, about the scheduled Memorial Tribute in December for Bob Strozier.
He was the man who introduced me to William
Faulkner's works, whose classes gave me a
reason to have a non-science book in my hands
at all times, and who encouraged me to write.
Billy's sermon was about John Suchower, the only
His encouragement of my work in theatre - as set builder, lighting and sound operator, prop mistress, wardrobe mistress, and even one night upon stage - helped me transition smoothly from the military world back to civilian life.
I know that Sooch is quietly laughing, somewhere, because he managed to die on April Fools Day.
What a blessing to have known him!
UMC, as sixty-four members of its congregation
gathered for one last "Listening Session".
This was the final opportunity for questions prior
to the vote next Sunday on whether to dissolve ties
between our franchise and the world organization.
Asbury Memorial would have to buy its way out, of
course, but then would be free to truly welcome all
to "God's church", as we have come to know it.
"A Gracious Exit", a special series of newly created
steps to dissociate from the UMC and the moral quagmire that can no longer be ignored.
I officially became a member of the congregation today, after calling this place my church home since 2004.
My vote will be among those counted on September 8.
i thank You, God.
I had expected "BIG Coffee Hour" - i.e., lunch -
as this is the first Sunday, but the lunch will
be next week, in conjunction with the special
Church Conference for the vote we must make.
Using the five remaining shrimp I had, plus the
leftover rotisserie chicken, I made a quite lovely
"fancy" salad - bon appetit pour moi!
(smile)
Now, I must go to work on my yards, front and back, before I rest.
Because the grass and weeds were so high, I now have lines of hay - I kid you not -
deposited all over the place.
Out I will venture, rake in one gloved hand, lawn bag in the other!
Wish me luck...
this is going to take a while.
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