Do you see my bunny friend hiding in the foliage?
Surrounded by Silver Shield, Pride of Madeira, Jade, and whatever random ground cover I can propagate, my bun managed to shelter himself perfectly within their protection.
#wordlessWednesday
(Because I’m not sure WordPress allows us to use the word “assholes” in a post title.)
A little slice of life from SoCal, and a reminder that sometimes the best course of action is to stay away from other humans.
While it was still relatively cool with a marine layer and an onshore breeze, I decided to take a walk.
I usually walk anywhere between four to ten miles, and today I thought I’d walk around the lagoon and a bit more, probably four miles or so, ‘cos I have a lot to do later on.
It’s a beautiful day, the birds are out, families are walking, and we were all respectful of social distancing.
Well, ALMOST all of us.
I swear, I don’t know what the hell is wrong with some older post-.menopausal white women with short blonde (to cover the gray) hair.
I’m not shaming them, as I sorta fit the description myself apart from the short hair and wheat belly Trumpian bitterness. (Inside joke for my local peeps,)
I decided to take the long way home and detoured to a public path that winds around a subdivision that once upon a time was a gorgeous habitat for a lot of coyotes and bobcats and even deer and mountain lions. It WAS spectacular. All that’s left as mitigation is this path.
Whenever I encountered another human, we waved hello and each moved to the opposite side of the approximately six foot wide trail, to respect the state-mandated distancing.
Then this happened.
An older couple approached. He was a nondescript white man; she was the person I previously described. I tried to anticipate which side of the path they would move to and I moved to the opposite. Then, in sync, they moved to the other side, so I moved away, thinking we had a silent communication glitch.
THEN, the woman stood in the middle of the path facing me with her arms outstretched, as if to block my way, and they demonically laughed.
I AM NOT KIDDING.
They OBVIOUSLY must not have realized that despite my tiny size, I’m a fire-breathing dragon with the cussing ability of a merchant mariner–and possess zero filter.
I said, “That’s really fucked up.”
He said, “Then don’t walk around here.”
I said, “What. the. fuck. I’ve lived here for thirty-five years.”
Like a toddler, he responded, “We’ve been here for forty.”
I said, “You are full of shit.”
…snd I kept walking before the incident escalated. I wish I had thought to take a pic of them, but I just shook my head at their abject stupidity.
Who would think it funny to deliberately defy the guidelines to keep everyone safe from this virus? (While I’m not even sure what Covid IS and how it got here, I’ll play along for the greater good.)
Why bother being such assholes for no apparent reason? My hair was in a ponytail and I wore a hat so I can’t even think it was because they hate curly hair.
In the old days, an encounter like that would have ruined my day, but now I realize it’s their problem and not mine, and I don’t take on their negative energy.
However, I confess that it felt really really good to breathe a little fire, hee hee.
For me, when hell breaks loose all around, there is solace in symmetry and succulents.
My happy place. No matter what.
Garden; verb and noun.
Breathe.
Happy Saturday!
I love these little matching pots from Daiso. They kinda sorta remind me of Chanel quilting. The plant saucers, also from Daiso, were meant to hold ginger and wasabi for sushi.
Nothing but a round sunny yellow plate with a variety of succulents, but they bring joy.
–It’s difficult in times like these: ideals, dreams and cherished hopes rise within us, only to be crushed by grim reality…I still believe, in spite of everything, that people are truly good at heart.
–How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single moment before starting to improve the world.–No one has ever become poor by giving.Human greatness does not lie in wealth or power, but in character and goodness.
Really hot for the beach…
And probably super crowded, too difficult to maintain proper social distancing, so I’m here:
with a couple friends …
and some mulberries that aren’t quite ready…
along with some pretty pretty flowers…
I’m enjoying all the lush and colorful garden because pretty soon no matter what I do, the grass will turn brown ‘cos we probably won’t have more rain until next winter and the dry hot SoCal Santana winds make watering a futile effort.
It’s been a long while since the gardens at Casa de Enchanted Seashells were honored by the presence of a four-legged child. When we had a completely empty nest, there was supposed to be a lot of travel and other fun but that didn’t really happen, at least not in the way I had happily anticipated.
This was my beloved Bandit…
…and my beautiful Border Collie boy –Victor at age sixteen, enjoying his senior years at what was to be his last Christmas before crossing over the Rainbow Bridge, sitting in the place of honor because he deserved it.
Lately, something odd and mysterious has been going on here. I’ve discovered tennis balls and other toys that simply seem to randomly appear out of nowhere, some even in the middle of the lawn, as if a game of fetch was still in progress.
See?
There’s a monogamous pair of coyotes that visit me on a regular basis and I have a wildlife camera set up to record their activities, so I know the balls don’t come from them, although that’d be super cool if they were bringing me gifts to thank me for my vocal support regarding coexistence with wildlife, instead of vilifying and murdering them.
But…
My yard is completely fenced in–not that coyotes care about that–but to emphasize the fact that a normal domestic dog roaming the neighborhood couldn’t possibly find a way in, and certainly not with a ball in his or her mouth.
I like to think it’s the spirit of my Victor sending me a gigantic message that he’s still chasing tennis balls and he’s up there with Sabrina and Stella Rondo and Beowulf and Tovah and Bandit and Misty and Tawny and Blackie, all my beautiful children who were so very loved and cherished during their lifetimes and beyond.
Here’s my most special part wolf, Beowulf, and a MUCH younger me.
I was part of a covert rescue operation and bottlefed him every two hours. I was his mom and he was my perfect boy. We were inseparable. Soul mates.
Yup, I really do miss them all so very much.
But where do the balls really come from?
On Friday, in solidarity, I attended a Black Lives Matter march and demonstration in my city.
There were eloquent and passionate speeches by local black leaders; I’m not sure of their names, though—afterwards, the microphone was given to current and former Carlsbad residents of color who spoke, sometimes emotionally, about the discrimination they had faced here growing up or on the job.
In a moving way but not angry or raging, one after the other shared their negative interactions with the local police that were vastly different from mine. The crowd was mostly young but very diverse, and the common theme was “thank you for coming, thank you for hearing us”.
The only negative incident I personally witnessed was an angry white woman screaming that she wasn’t a racist but then she walked away when no one took the bait and engaged with her toxicity.
I wish that more of my neighbors had come out to lend support instead of fearmongering and condemning and criticizing the efforts of our younger generation who have (rightfully) decided that ENOUGH IS ENOUGH. They should be ashamed of themselves.
Maybe the truth is that they’re a little or a lot racist and the reality is that it’s hidden MOST of the time.
I was proud to be there and to witness this historic event.
I took a LOT of pics and videos ‘cos a pic really is worth a thousand words.
Tear gas, rubber bullets, martial law, curfews, civil unrest, racism, police brutality–exactly HOW many planets are in retrograde now?? ‘cos something’s going on and it’s beyond the plot of any science fiction story. We’re living in a neverending episode of the Twilight Zone.
Add to that list, Ebola, earthquakes, a possible supervolcano in Yellowstone, the pandemic, record unemployment, food lines…WTF.
What I find to be quite troublesome is the way #blacklivesmatter and the ensuing outrage about yet another senseless murder is the number of people in my little SoCal beach town that are right wing racists who hide behind their so-called “christian” facade. It’s absolutely DISGUSTING and there’s always just the tiniest little hint of anti-Semitism in their rants and comments. That orange puppet really brought out true colors in people, didnt he? The mask has slipped. It’s ugly and depressing, and I’ve lived here for 35 years.
This is a fun little graphic:
I haven’t yet attended a march or a gathering, but I probably will. We need to do something, stand up, show up, become part of what’s happening and not allow hatred to continue.
We are not the enemy.
This is what it is: “the action or process of resisting authority, control, or convention.”
In 1773 it took a bunch of angry white boys (many of them dressed as Native Americans) destroying shipments of goods and burning down a city to begin the process toward ending tyranny and oppression. It was called The Boston Tea Party and was the precursor to a certain revolution and the beginning of a new country. Somehow “we” forgot that and decided tyranny and oppression were okay for some people – we “forgot” it for 200+ years, in fact.
A phoenix can’t rise without ashes.
I know what it means to protest in order to express an objection to what someone has said or done.
I do a lot of protesting. I protested against the use of animals in labs. I protest to honor the animals that die so people can wear their fur. I protest against factory farms. I protest in favor of being a vegan.
I protest against puppy mills, animal abuse, the killing of wolves and coyotes–I protested to save my lagoon against being raped and pillaged by a rich developer–I protest for my right to choose what to do with my own body–yeah, I know what it means to protest.
I speak up –and out– A LOT.
But I’m really sick of white people thinking that the lives people of color are less valuable. At this point, if I was any other color than what I am, I would be BEYOND angry.
Angry for the deaths of George Floyd, Ahmaud Arbery, and Breonna Taylor. And before that, let’s not forget Trayvon Martin, etc, etc. etc.
THIS is a rebellion.
It’s an old story that needs a new ending.
I lived in Detroit during the riots in the late sixties. I remember my mom and dad talking about the National Guard and how disgusted they were that conversations and circumstances had so egregiously broken down that there was no way to convey change OTHER than riot and rebellion. Chitchat hadn’t worked. Racism is pervasive. All Trump did was bring it out in the open. It’s always been there. Ugly and malevolent, a symptom of a deeper malady in our society.
(That’s when we moved to Cali, which caused me to lose interest in becoming a doctor and much more focused on my tan and beautiful surfer boys, but that’s another story.)
I have a friend who graduated from high school in Louisiana in the nineties and she told me her prom was SEGREGATED. I could not believe this type of behavior still exists. It’s a different world down there, down south. According to her, not much has changed since the days of slavery and lynchings. That’s why she left, she said.
My mom lived down south too. She hated it. As the daughter of a rabbi (my grandfather), she experienced her own share of racism and anti-Semitism, and was vilified not only for having black friends, but for standing up for and with them when they were refused service. She told me she actually saw signage that said “For Whites Only”. Her stories of that disgusting inequality stuck with me; maybe why I’m such a rebel.
I also used to live in La Mesa, where the crowds were hit with rubber bullets and pepper spray. I thought about joining the rebellion, but didn’t. That doesn’t mean I won’t the next time.
We have an obligation to join the rebellions and stop police and the government from targeting and killing people of color. We have an obligation to show up and speak up, and when possible, record the atrocities.
Justice.
Like Michelle Obama said, “…it’s up to all of us–Black, white, everyone—no matter how well-meaning we think we might be, to do the honest, uncomfortable work of rooting it out.”
Here’s the whole statement from Michelle Obama:
“Like so many of you, I’m pained by these recent tragedies. And I’m exhausted by a heartbreak that never seems to stop. Right now it’s George, Breonna, and Ahmaud. Before that it was Eric, Sandra, and Michael. It just goes on, and on, and on. Race and racism is a reality that so many of us grow up learning to just deal with. But if we ever hope to move past it, it can’t just be on people of color to deal with it. It’s up to all of us—Black, white, everyone—no matter how well-meaning we think we might be, to do the honest, uncomfortable work of rooting it out. It starts with self-examination and listening to those whose lives are different from our own. It ends with justice, compassion, and empathy that manifests in our lives and on our streets. I pray we all have the strength for that journey, just as I pray for the souls and the families of those who were taken from us.”
Targeting people just because of the color of their skin is immoral. Sometimes there’s no other way to effect moral change than with a NONpeaceful response when no one seems to listen to the words.
Power to the people.
IMHO, this is one of the best descriptions of what it means to hold space.
There will be times when you have to release and trust the awakening process. It may not be an easy thing to do, especially when a connection exists. Let others know you are there, offer support when asked and hold space for them in a kind, loving manner. The rest is up to them and The Universe.
Holding Space The Creator Writings, one of my fave blogs.
I had heard the term but couldn’t wrap my brain around it, and as a slightly OCD Taurus who likes answers to questions and details and timeframes to be specific in order to feel safe, holding space is a confusing and nebulous and ephemeral concept, but I’ve been determined to understand because it resonates deeply with me. I’m relentless when it comes to understandING.
It’s a way of not doing anything when I’m all about doING and fixING and solvING. (All of those ‘ing” words that we’re trained to edit OUT of our writings.)
To hold space is to do nothING but BE.
BeING.
That very beINGness of taking a breath and stayING silent and havING faith and trust that everything is happenING as it should–well, that’s nearly impossible for me.
But here I am. I am. So hum.
Enchanted Seashells | Princess Rosebud 