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Category Archives: True Life

Beaches

12 May

0223
Ailsa over at Where’s my backpack? is trying to get us all in the summer spirit with this week’s Travel Theme: Beaches. Although my weather has improved in the past three weeks, it is definitely not beach-worthy yet; however, I’m game for a little wishful thinking! I’ve included the obligatory sunset shot above, taken in Turtle Bay, Oahu, Hawaii (I like the contrast of the bright sun right next to the ferocious downpour).

As a child, I loved our infrequent trips to the beach because it meant family time…playing in the surf with my dad, running back to Mom with shells I’d found, burying my brother as deeply as possible in the sand. Now, as an adult, I value the beach for different reasons. The sound of the surf beats away stress and the salt air purifies both my body and spirit. I can walk for miles, my mind completely blank, because there is no room for thought with so much to take in around me. I spend a lot of time with my head down, searching for shells and sea glass and whatever other curiosities the relentless waves might have pushed ashore, but occasionally I look up long enough to spot something interesting nearby.  In the gallery below I’ve chosen some of the people and things I’ve come across on different beaches around the world.

Digging for treasure, Studland Beach, England
Limpets waiting for high tide, St. Michaels Mount, England
Seaside still-life, arranged by nature, Studland Beach, England
Hammock, Phuket, Thailand
Sunset photographers, Outer Banks, NC
Shipwreck, Outer Banks, NC
Fisherman, near Kamakura, Japan
Looking for dinner, Oban, Scotland
Evidence of the receding tide, St. Michaels Mount, England
Sibling sand engineers, Zushi Beach, Japan
Tide pool, Kynance Cove, Cornwall, England

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Posts I commented on today:
Travel Theme Beaches (Being Mrs Carmichael)  new blog of the day
Silent Sunday: Happy Alpacas (Cee’s Photography)
Storms (The Squirrel Nutwork)

 
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Posted by on May 12, 2013 in Challenges, Photography, Sunday Best, True Life

 

Love

11 May

100_4445Love is a many splendored thing

Today, bloggers who needed a little help nailing down a topic in order to fill their page (yes, that’d be me) were prompted by The Daily Post to analyze whether there is “a single idea or definition that runs through all the varieties of ‘love’,” be it love for a parent, child, spouse, friend, pet, place, or other inanimate object.

Most people would probably agree that love takes different forms, but I’m not sure anyone, including me, can clearly explain why. I can tell you that the love I feel for my hubby is different than the love I feel for my mom, and neither are the same as the love for my friends. One love is not greater than the others, they’re all just different. I imagine the difference is linked to the other factors and emotions that come with those relationships–physical intimacy, emotional vulnerability, trust, loyalty, dependence, obligation. What all of my people loves have in common, though, is fulfillment. Each of these loving relationships fills a gap in my life, answers an echo in my soul, lives in a sheltered place in my heart. I give love and receive love in return, so my world feels balanced and whole.

My people love is on a whole different plane than my love for inanimate things, although I’d argue that the love of those things still makes my world feel more balanced and whole. The places and things that I love move me, stir my soul, fill my heart, expand my mind. I love the Outer Banks of North Carolina and the Orkney Islands of Scotland because they speak on a visceral level to some primitive, unnamable part of my being–I feel a connectedness there that I feel nowhere else on earth. (Orkney is a recent find, so I suspect in future travels I might stumble across other locales that elicit the same response.) I love music in general, and certain songs in particular, because they first touch my heart and mind, then resonate within my soul. I love books because they challenge my perceived truths, introduce new ideas, spark memories, and inspire my future. I love my childhood Raggedy Ann doll, my dad’s softball glove, the threadbare Snoopy Red Sox t-shirt I stole from my hubby, and my grandmothers’ class rings because they remind my heart of my people loves. I love Oreo cookies because…well, sometimes love requires no explanation. 😉

Bottom line, the different loves in my life make me who I am, drive me to be a better person, and fuel my happiness. Best of all, these loves are not jealous, leaving me free to add new loves as I move through life and discover other people, places, and things that stir my soul.

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Posts I commented on today:
Friday Fictioneers–Bottles of Hope (Braided Stars)  new blog of the day
The Date (Sarah Ann Hall)
Hen Party (castelsarrasin)

 
6 Comments

Posted by on May 11, 2013 in How It Is, On Me, The Daily Post Prompt, True Life

 

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Hygiene

09 May

101_3000Question 79
For $20,000 would you go for three months without washing, brushing your teeth, or using deodorant? Assume you could not explain your reasons to anyone, and that there would be no long-term effect on your career.

Ewww. No! Absolutely, unequivocally, without a doubt, no. Not even for ten times that amount. Heck, even the scrungy castaways on Survivor, who are only marooned for 39 days and are playing for $1 million, get to splash around in the ocean and pick their teeth with sticks.

I admit to being a bit of a clean freak. I can’t stand to go 24 hours without a shower (two days of sponge-bathing after knee surgery was torture). My teeth feel fuzzy now, just thinking about not brushing for three months. And the days of going without deodorant without causing offense have long since past.

While I do care what other people think of me, not being able to explain my sudden lack of hygiene would take a back seat to my disgust with myself. Even if I had no career and no other reason to step outside my house in those three months, even if I was guaranteed not to have to be in contact with another living soul, I could not stop bathing, brushing, and deodorizing. I’d be crawling out of my skin in less than a week.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I hear Mr. Bubbles calling me.

Gregory Stock, what on earth were you thinking when you compiled The Book of Questions? Some of these questions are just gross!

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Posts I commented on today:
Benefits of Trimming Your Tomato Plants (Joe’s Musings)
Silly Seagull (Northwest Photographer)
Road Trip (Chalk Outlines)  new blog of the day

 
6 Comments

Posted by on May 9, 2013 in Deep Thought Thursday, How It Is, On Me, True Life

 

Housecats

08 May

100_1194Until a year ago, when some form of evil kitty cancer stole her, I had a lovely cat named Alina. She was strictly an indoor kitty, as her former owner had already had her front paws declawed when I adopted her from the SPCA. But even if she hadn’t been declawed, she still would have been an indoor kitty. I wanted a companion to sit on my feet while I worked in the office, a silent friend to listen without judgement when I talked to myself, a warm furry body to purr by my side on those nights when the hubby was away on business…and the cat would need to be inside to fulfill all those wishes. Tell me, what is the point of having a HOUSECAT if it is going to live outside?

Unless you have a farm and need a cat to hunt the mice that are stealing grain from your barn, I don’t understand the rationale for putting a cat outside. Why have a pet if you never see it? The Humane Society of America says that free-roaming cats live, on average, less than five years, compared to a life-span of around 17 years for indoor cats. Outdoor cats don’t die peacefully or painlessly; they are killed primarily by cars, but also by poisoning, animal attacks, traps, human abuse (you’ve heard that serial killers often start with animals, right?), exposure, and disease. With all those risks, it seems that only an irresponsible or uncaring owner would allow his/her cat(s) to wander around outside.

Plus, outdoor cats can really piss off the neighbors. Despite my general love of cats, I am quickly growing to despise the black and white feline that roams my neighborhood. First of all, it is a snob. It scorns all my gestures of friendship and trots off, snooty nose in the air, whenever I approach, which really hurts my cat-lover feelings. Secondly, it has crapped in every one of my flower beds–there’s nothing quite as revolting as the smell of cat feces emanating from my gardening gloves because I innocently scooped up a pile of dead leaves from under the rose bush. (Despite online reports, lavender is NOT a deterrent, as I have two thick rows of it on either side of the front walkway that are hiding plenty of evidence of its uselessness underneath.) Thirdly, the cat routinely sprays my car tires, marking its territory and making it impossible for me to roll down the windows on the back country roads without gagging. (If I didn’t live in a land of 240V mains electricity, I’d consider stealing a page from my grandfather’s book and hot-wiring the hubcaps as a deterrent.) Finally, and worst of all, the neighborhood cat kills the birds in my garden. Last year, I came back from a family-emergency trip to the States to find a decapitated pigeon on my patio. (I’m guessing the head was on a bedpost somewhere.) Ewww. This afternoon, I looked up from the kitchen sink to find it murdering a sparrow in the back yard. So now I’m officially a pissed-off neighbor.

If you are going to have a cat, keep it in the house–not only for the health and safety of the cat, but for peace and goodwill among the neighbors.

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Blogs I commented on today:
Spirit Animals (Underachievers Anonymous)
There Is No Tragedy in Falling (…So Help Me Cats)
A La Ronde, Exmouth Devon (Anglers Rest)  new blog of the day

 
6 Comments

Posted by on May 8, 2013 in Observations, True Life, What's She On About?

 

Flying

06 May

Showing off
Today we flew. At speeds around 85 mph. For just under a minute. No wings required. Just us on a wire. A mile-long wire, stretched 500 feet above the lake at the bottom of a disused section of what used to be the world’s largest slate quarry.

The hubby has been zip-lining before…the normal sit upright and sail between the treetops zip-lining. Me, never. So why wouldn’t our first experience zip-lining together to be at Europe’s longest and fastest zip wire, ZipWorld Snowdonia in Northern Wales? Why not just throw the girl right in at the deep end? Forget those little baby treetop zip lines…those are for sissies.

I did not puke. I did not cry. I did not wet myself. I did not even balk when the hubby said, “Let’s go first,” on the shorter warm-up wire, Little Zipper. I admit to cheating last week, when I watched a couple videos online of inaugural rides taken by various news reporters covering the grand opening of the attraction a mere five weeks ago. Since this zip line is engineered so the rider lies horizontally beneath the wire, I didn’t see any potential for tummy-dropping free-falls like you’d get on a roller coaster–a fact that went a long way in easing much of my pre-flight fear. However, lying on the Little Zipper platform, looking straight down 72 feet, listening to the instructor radioing to the finish line to be sure all was clear on the wire, hearing her count down 5…4…3…2…1…, then feeling the wire lurch when the brake was released on my cart, I was scared.

I did not scream. I did not cry. I did not close my eyes.

For the entire 20 seconds, I looked down at the slate rushing beneath me. I felt the wind in my face and the sun on my back. I listened to the wheels of the cart singing along the wire above me. I saw the hubby pass me on the left as he flew down the neighboring wire. I watched the catch man on the finish platform growing larger and looking decidedly unconcerned as I rushed at him at 45 mph. Caught like a plane landing on an aircraft carrier, I did not mow him down, and as he unhooked me from the wire, I couldn’t find the words to answer when he asked how I’d liked the ride. Elated and high-fiving the hubby, I waited for the rest of the group to descend the Little Zipper so we could travel up to the quarry’s rim for the Big Zipper.

Even though I had just survived the Little Zipper and now knew what sensations to expect on the zip line, lying on the Big Zipper platform, looking straight down 500 feet, listening to the instructor radioing to the finish line to be sure all was clear on the wire, hearing him count down 5…4…3…2…1…, then feeling the wire lurch when the brake was released on my cart, I was SCARED. 

I did not scream. I did not cry. I did not close my eyes.

For nearly one minute, I looked down, I looked up, I looked sideways. I watched piles of slate left over from centuries of mining operations drop away as I soared out over the aqua-blue lake at the bottom of the quarry. I noticed a wind-whipped tear slide off my cheek and roll around the inside of my goggles. I felt the wind slapping the straps of my safety helmet against my cheeks. I breathed (apparently a lot of people forget to do that). I heard the song of the wire deepen as I flew past the lowest point and began the uphill journey of the last quarter-mile. I smiled when I saw the catch team tracking my approach with a radar gun, timing their signal for when I should apply the brakes (throwing my arms out perpendicular to my body). Caught once more like a plane landing on an aircraft carrier, I still could find no words to answer, “How was your ride?”

I hope my stupid grin said it all.

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Posts I commented on today:
Riddled Rara: On Voice (Rarasaur)
Weekly Photo Challenge: From Above (Yarnspinner)  new blog of the day
Reflections on A to Z 2013 (Tropical Territory)

 
3 Comments

Posted by on May 6, 2013 in How It Is, Monday Mix, True Life

 

Weed?

04 May

102_1644Mystified by blooms in my garden

Shhh, don’t say anything out loud in case we jinx it, but it appears that spring might have finally sprung here in jolly old England! The April showers that started in 2012 and have pretty much continued unceasingly since, have finally cleared. This week has been a string of mostly sunny days, complete with temperatures in the 60s and bright blue skies, setting the stage for the legendary May flowers. This much anticipated meteorological blessing has caused an eruption of early (well that term is relative, since they are a full three weeks later than last year) bloomers in my garden (British English for flower beds), from daffodils (or are they narcissus–or is there even a difference?) to tulips to grape hyacinth. A couple shrubs have also begun to flower, including a sassy forsythia under the front window.

My trouble is, lots of weeds are also blooming. I can recognize the dandelions, whether in full yellow glory or just popping up, and the prickly sprouts of a new crop of thistles. The little daisies that are carpeting the back lawn are cute, but not supposed to be there. But what about the pretty pink flowering specimen in the picture above? It looks too fancy to be a weed, yet its position on the very edge of the flower border leads me to believe it was not planted intentionally by my landlords. Should it stay or should it go? There are many such mysteries in my garden, so I’ve adopted a very open-minded approach to weeding: One man’s weed is another man’s wildflower. If I like the looks of an unknown bloom and its accompanying leaves, it stays. If it looks, well, weedy, then it goes. I’m sure the passing neighbors alternate between, “Why is she digging that up?” and “Why on earth doesn’t she dig that up?” I figure if the landlords had been concerned with preserving their plantings during the lease period of the ignorant Americans, they should have either left me detailed sketches and instructions or a highly qualified gardener.

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Posts I commented on today (well, actually yesterday…this is a scheduled post while I’m antiquing in Wales):
A to Z is over. What next? 1, 2, 3…? (A few drops of ink)  new blog of the day
Friday Fiction–Star-Crossed (elmowrites)
Gramp’s Library (Embracing Life from a Writer’s Perch)

 
2 Comments

Posted by on May 4, 2013 in How It Is, Observations, True Life, Uncategorized

 

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Yabusame

29 Apr
The first of three targets along the gallery
The starting signal
The archer lines up his horse.
Ready…
…aim…
…fire!
The white flag signals a bulls-eye.
Retrieving his arrow with a bow of his head.

Yabusame is a traditional Japanese martial art in which a mounted archer rides at full gallop, releasing arrows from his bow along the way. It is said to showcase the highest level of skills to which a samurai warrior could aspire, for he had to be both an excellent horseman as well as an exceptional marksman. Today’s yabusame ceremonies preserve the ritual and customs of ancient Japan for the younger generations, rather than demonstrate the might of an army of warriors in order to maintain peace in a feudal land. They are staged along a 279-yard gallery down which the horse runs at full gallop. When given the starting signal, the mounted archer, wearing traditional samurai costume, aims his arrows at three small cedar plank targets along the gallery, spaced 77-yards apart. The entire length of the course is run in approximately twenty seconds, and after each archer has made his run, the entire company returns up the gallery single-file to collect its arrows. Yabasume ceremonies are held in various locations across Japan throughout the year…the above photos are from the April 2009 demonstration at Tsurugoaka Hachiman-gū, a sacred shrine in Kamakura.

 
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Posted by on April 29, 2013 in Challenges, Observations, Photography, True Life

 

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