Accommodation wanted …

Long time dedicated city dweller seeks refuge from noise, dust, pollution, pesticides, pests, fake food, fake news, cable news, bad news, politics, pretense, phonies, tantrums, devices, notifications, updates, alarms, watches, rushing, waiting, frustration, stress, crowds, line-ups, surliness, extremes, excess and most of all, bullshit.

Year-round temperatures between 60 and 75 degrees are preferred. Would love to fall asleep to the sound of the ocean and wake up to the sound of birds and wind chimes.

Pets outnumber humans three to one. Tap water Continue reading

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Words to live by …

Do not ask your children

to strive for extraordinary lives.

Such striving may seem admirable,

but it is a way of foolishness.

Help them instead to find the wonder

and the marvel of an ordinary life.

Show them the joy of tasting

tomatoes, apples and pears.

Show them how to cry

when pets and people die.

Show them the infinite pleasure

in the touch of a hand.

And make the ordinary come alive for them.

The extraordinary will take care of itself.

I cannot tell you how much I love this. A fellow WordPress blogger and Facebook friend of mine recently posted it on her timeline; and I haven’t been able to get

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Day 329. Who’da Thunk?

I’m a city gal.  Always have been.  Probably always will be.  Born that way.  At ten years old I asked my parents if we could move to an apartment downtown.  At the time we only lived about caledona ten or fifteen minute drive from the centre of the city, but to me it seemed like we lived in the middle of nowhere.  I hated it.  Well, that’s a very strong word.

I didn’t hate it.  I just longed for the excitement of the city.  The rhythm.  The pulse.  The energy.  There was always something going on.  Constant movement.  And I felt it.  I responded to it.  It made me feel alive, even as a child.

When I was nine years old, my parents sent me to summer camp.  Sleep-away.  It was fine.  I had a good time, except for the two overnight camping trips we took.  Definitely not my cup of tea.  I was NOT one with nature.  Gathering wood for the fire was a pain — literally.  I stumbled and dropped a whole load on my foot.

Major ouch!

Wasn’t crazy about the smell of damp earth.  Smelled mouldy to me.  Dank.  Funky.  The food we cooked all tasted of dirt.  Or at least I thought so.   I could not get comfortable sleeping on the ground.  And when morning came, I was far from pleased to see I’d been sharing my sleeping bag with a skunk.  Thank God I hadn’t been sprayed. Continue reading

Day 60. A Milestone

It’s been two months, since I first had the crazy idea of attempting to write something new, every day, for a year.  Sixty days.  Sixty stories.  Sixty different topics.  Six hundred and twenty-one tags.  Forty-four thousand, seven hundred nineteen words.

And sixty grande Pike’s to keep me going.

Damn!  That’s half a novel’s worth of work.  That’s one mother load of a blog.  And I’m not even close to being done.  Done in, occasionally.  But not done.  I’ve written on more subjects I could ever have imagined, from aging to atoning.  From beauty to books.  The Caribbean to cycles.  Distractions.  Entertainment.  And fantasies.

On googling.  Health and history.  From ignorance to intentions.  Joy and love.  From mischief to  music and naturopathy.  Politics and prejudice.  Refining to rituals.   Continue reading