New passwords all the way around. EEEEk What an undertaking! New phones. New phone service provider
New phones. New phone service provider, Tendonitis making the programming a challenge.
Hopefully, I will be in a position to write more often.
Thank you for your patience.
Mr. Horton and I were enjoying a popular tourist’s venue. We paid a lot of money for each other’s ticket.The outdoor theater setting was a perfection of light and temperature. There were no disappointments for either of us. the performances were well done, the costumes brilliantly colored and uniquely creative.
For we two avid people watchers there were bonuses to see all around us. At the generous break time, we waited in line for our sandwiches and drinks. Sprinkled about were tables and shades and lawn benches.
A man sat with his head bowed to the back of his hands. His fingers, shoulders, and every part of him sagged, deeply to the ground. A woman of unknown relationship, leaned toward him and asked. “Do you want me to call the pilot and have the plane readied? Side to side he shook his head, a frown consumed his mouth, his eyes, and his forehead. Seeing his motion, she hurriedly said. “We could go to Denver or San Francisco. Anywhere really.”
“No. There is nothing there, anywhere really. No.”
We took in their wardrobe of wealth. The woman’s expression was clearly on of loving compassion. Their skins glowed with vigor and health and a clarity in their eyes that could only be from physical health. Diamonds sparkled at her wrist and neck. Faint fragrances came from them each.
Yet he answered genuinely, and heartfelt from his perspective. “No. There is nothing there, anywhere really. No.”
Friends are in from Virginia. We enjoyed a flavorful meal and lots of laughter interspersed with conversation last night.
Tonight will be a family meeting with the all-American, and a favorite of various Pizza choices. Thanksgiving and a birthday celebration are the reasons for the gathering.
Recently my thoughts have turned to people who are quite special on a planet of so many billions of folks. I’ve looked at the statistics of how many people are literate, who can read. Then when I compare that information with how many people who can write, actually form letters onto a surface and use them to convey their ideas, thoughts, instructions, then the numbers drop, dramatically. To further refine the criteria and include people who draw and paint and compose music, design buildings, create world’s of fiction in novels, is to see a minute percentage of the global population.
I believe this teensy-weensy percentage of people are Divinely Appointed to use their words. Maybe I and we do not know what to do with those words, or how to use them. Limiting or denying our story, our perspectives, is not an option.
Libraries are littered with texts written by people who had no intention publishing. Diaries and journals and mathematical calculations reach across centuries to speak into our awareness today.
I believe there are people who are special. They write of their experiences, some of which are thick with horrors and traumas and tragedy, yet they rise high and beyond the reach of the foul damning monsters and become stars to guide other people, people they will not ever meet or know of, through the darkness.
So many times I’ve wondered ‘What is my purpose?’. Not a question asked by just me. So many as to be countless are the people I have heard question the same thing. Now, on this day before Thanksgiving, six plus decades into my life, I know the answer. Finally, I put things together in my thoughts to come to a ‘Duh!’ moment.
I’m born into a nation of constitutionally protected freedoms and liberties I was taught. I read, I write, I paint paintings. I use my words to tell stories. I have the liberty to do anything I want.
Many years past, I fell into a state of joy using Pastels as a medium for my expressed visions. These heavily pigmented sticks are expensive as art supplies go; about four dollars a piece, and go quickly on a surface sanded especially for painting. Considering that my works are large-ish two feet by three or so feet, it takes many sticks of color.
The vibrancy that meets my eyes with their use is stunning! Breathing the dust is not so pleasant. Often I wear a mask and rubber gloves. It is tedious and tiresome sweeping or vacuuming the mess.
But. What Pastels do for a landscape is beyond compare to other mediums.
Also, in those decades past, I began a journal of works I would create. Sketches, notes, photographs and more photographs of different but similar places, lighting situations and different looks of weather, were accumulated. These plans were as thorough as a person born in late August or early September could make them.
Hours were used in the study of my medium. More hours were used in studying other artists who used Pastels as their medium. Google research over several weeks to determine the finer points of using or not using evaporatives or fixatives. I chose abstinence of those products.
Countless were the weekends my beloved and I spent strolling galleries, museums and various outdoor events of truly great artists.
Deep and lasting in their effects, have been the meditations and contemplations and joy from working the hours, sometimes in the triple digit hours, creating my art.
Hard work, lots of lifting, ladder climbing, and great entertainment and lots of fun, did I experience having a ‘show’ of my art. Especially, my sweet face showed wonder and awe.
The truest of the true art were the people who looked at my precious, carefully created works and earnestly wanted me to know what they paid for framing (five and eight hundred dollars) their cheap and wrinkled copy cat prints, beneath cheaper plexiglass and crooked mats. They, more than one, showed me pictures, of their living room wall, their hall wall, their dining room wall……….
Curious to me were the people who were so bold as to hint, strongly hint, that they had just the place to hang a work of mine if I would be so kind as to gift it to them. Assuring me they like the same colors I liked. Then there were hints, more hints, and pictures more pictures.
That suddenly, that unexpectedly, the two words and all that they mean in the way of experience and definition happened to me Saturday the 13, about 1:35.
My car will be what is called, Total-ed. The physical injuries are still hurtful, problematic and scary. Doctors and their tests, lots of tests, will soon absorb my days. I’ve become a statistic. I’ve had nightmares related to the accident. I had to empty my car of all the stuff I stored for future use, and carried place to place.
To, I am learning the fine details of maneuvering in a giant monster of rental vehicle. The radio is so very complicated. There are blinking lights and dials and buttons to push and an assortment of options on a touch screen. I haven’t heard any sound from it as yet though. It has XM and other Satellite stations, it can talk to me and tell that it is time to have its oil changed, and yet it doesn’t communicate with other star’s inhabitants. Drat.
The difficulties presented with the accident are so many and among so many other confusing ways Ex. The ‘Other guy’s insurance’ will pay for extra collision insurance: 15.99 per day on the rental they had me get ( five days after the accident) but they will not pay co-pay at the Doctor’s or give me insurance with which to see the Doctor. I have to pay all that, then they will ‘discuss’ paying the charges with my insurance……….Discuss…..
There well also be ‘loss’ on my car. For some reason the Other Guy’s Insurance people seem to think I should know that already, accept it without a blink, and make no challenge to them……
The Other Guy’s Insurance People I have talked with are so friendly, and they refer to me as Miss Alice, all sweetness and light, all the while the victimization of me, my peace, my safety, my time and my money, are frequent and catalogued. When I question them or challenge what they are doing and not doing, then they say: Oh we have to do it this way. Oh we can not do it any other way.
Hmmmm.
A Dearheart speaking of personal weight. ‘Am I fat?’ Was the question posed to me.
Hmmmmm. Before I answered I considered so many things. The Questioner is one of those seriously attractive people. Drop dead, stop people in their tracks and make them turn around to look again, attractive.
Then I considered other folks and their ‘ weight issues’.
First to mind was me. I thought I had a ‘bug’ or a twenty -four hour virus, when I became sick. Over the counter Pepto Bismol, bed rest and lots of water would bring back to health in no time. Not so. The next day I was so sick I didn’t know I was sick. The third day movement from my bed was very difficult and especially exhausting.
When my husband returned, late the third night, and saw my state of bare existence, he insisted on taking me to the Doctor.
I could barely stand, much less walk. In the Exam room I collapsed.
The Doctor came in and with just a few questions diagnosed my condition. Then he told me flat out. “You could have died. Or gone into seizures. You’ve lost fourteen pounds in four days ( I had stopped by for a Blood Pressure check five days before and was weighed then). I was so humbled and grateful. And grateful for having been ‘overweight’. Without that ‘excess weight’, truly, I might have died.
I recalled another acquaintance. After diligence and near starvation, forty pounds were gone in two and half months time . This person said, “Look at these legs! Aren’t they fabulous?” There was talk of a wardrobe that now fit, once again.
Two weeks later, this person was diagnosed with Lung Cancer. Two-thirds of a lung had to be removed. The weight fell off as if it was in fifty pound weights, and twenty pound weights. Not long after that the Chemo began. There was more weight lost. Then Death’s release.
In the days of this person’s struggle, I often thought of the forty pound loss. Often I wondered if it would have helped give strength…………………
Now, today I am a little bit or maybe a lot overweight. I walk to maintain Cardio health. I am cautious of the dense, heavy calories in Pork. And I eat a lot of vegetables. Easy in these Aux Arcs. Our flavorful fruits and vegetables are sought world over. Yet, I am ‘overweight .’
Usually a hat tops off my look, although the wearing has little to nothing to do with my attire.
In the spring and summer my hats are worn to cover my head, specifically my hair.
This hair is known as ‘natural curly’. The title is a bit of a misnomer.
Kinky-curly-matting-like- frizzy felt that takes loft like silver wings sprouted halo-like is more accurate. Humidity or no humidity, my hair is equally, atmospherical frizzy.
The length is better at shoulder or longer. The weight helps stretch out a lot of the curl. Shorter lengths have allowed it to curl into a frizzy-kinky mess that then becomes an hour-long combing through the matting, session.
So a hat is worn. Doubling as shade for my eyes and skin, a hat hides the enemy hair.
Besides the shade, and the hiding of hair, wearing a hat seems to be a bit of a unique look. In the spring and summer most of my hats are made of straw or light weight fabrics. In the winter, they are more constructed and have warmer fabrics. And for some reason, the hat seems to invite comment from strangers.
Nothing offensive, just comments: Nice hat. Colorful cap. Be sure to keep your hat on. I have no idea about why or a reason for that last one, but I have heard it several times from different people while wearing different hats. Hmmmmm.
a sound of automatic nail guns fills the air at dawn.
The neighborhood’s roofers are busy early! Some have started before daylight with lights and fans and noisy stinky generators powering all the equipment.
We wait for our new roof’s turn, a week, maybe two and then in one day, maybe half a day the transformation will happen. Gone will be the brown-beige. A new, deep, charcoal-black will replace that color.
More importantly, the security of no leaks will give us a lot of peace of mind. New turbines for pulling out the heat will replace the ones that were damaged and broken.
Nuisances of noise and the sounds of people walking around over my head though it may be, it is as it is. Our costs have been minor really.
We can only be grateful.
Social media sites were filled with amazing photographs. Outside there is a vibrancy to color of plants with new vigor, that made me praise our Creator for creativity, diversity, color and scents.
Wow! After the Lightning even the fragrances of flowers were more intense. The bursts of energy does wonders that are just beyond our ability to understand or predict until after it has happened.
Sometimes our lives have similar events of flashes of power and changes that at the beginning may look like problems, negatives and damage.
However it comes to my attention, I must acknowledge the vast diversity of new paths, new economic boosts of local workers, and the presence of solutions, betterment, positives and lots of lasting good things.
While walking yesterday I found two long screws and a long nail. Each in an area where drivers often park their vehicles. Picking them up and putting them in my walking pouch, soon I forgot all about them.
Today, walking in the same area, I looked down. There was a quarter. Another step and there was a penny. Tucking them in my walking pouch my hand came to the screws and nail. Reminding me again that there is lot more than me.
Reminding me again that six days back a crumpled and wadded five dollar bill came to my foot’s fall.
There is a kind of Lightning in all the ways of our living. Some people will not see it. Others will not see it and will argue vehemently against its existence. Of course they will not see it either.
Me? I am expecting Divine, extreme, manifestation of powerful Lightning-like events, prosperities, people and ideas.
Same old – same old I’ve heard people say. The sequence of a week of days, mine, varied little. Meals were routine, garments were changed, places visited were the same places visited on other days. There were conversations, ‘hellos’ and’ goodbyes’ and ‘love yous’ were said. Really, not one ‘new’ thing.
The route I walked every morning was the same. Each and everyday, I go to the same places at the same time, but also, I gasp in awe and marvel anew at the peace I live in, walk in, shop in, rest in. That there are people who love and care for me, in spite of myself, often leaves me gaped mouthed.
The closest thing to chaos in my world was a car accident at an intersection I approached. Fifteen seconds before my arrival one driver ran his red traffic light and collided with two cars. Air bags and seat belts did their work and lives continued to be lived. Hassled with the hassle of police reports and insurance and possibly new vehicles, but the people lived.
Fifteen seconds. A Day of Peace.
The Emergency crew were close enough to hear the accident before the 911 call was made. In less time than it took for me to turn around to go another way, EMT were on site and helping.
Fifteen seconds. My peace continued.
In other parts of the world there are bombs and threats of bombs. Thirsty people have only nasty, disease and mine polluted waters as their drink of choice. Losses of family and friends, the people who loved them, are common experiences. Very common. Many are numb with grief, the horrors life has shown them, and despair.
In the discount store other people’s conversations drop like firecrackers with short fuses. Clearly, from what I see and hear, people are making many of their own messes and then talk loudly and long complaining in public places of their life’s chaos.
Over and over again, one employee goes from co-worker to co-worker, saying. “Did you hear?” and then repeating the same story of upset and bother.
I’m reminded of an experience earlier in the morning in another place. While waiting in line, a lady in front of me dropped her handbag. Contents spilled and rolled and kept rolling. Me and other folks in line swept with hands and scooped and tried to make it all right. Bills of money, and coins and lipstick were returned to her. No complaints were spoken by anyone. A few compassionate ‘Awws’ were said, and I may have said,” Bless your heart” .
The lady was blushing and grateful as she stuffed everything back into her purse. We waited, the counter clerk waited. It was no big deal.
Fifteen seconds. My peace continued.
Alice Horton's Real Life ~~~ 