emerald morning high tide. crabs and starfish on a sandy wet deck. too blue sky too hot for clothes. tall palm shade. sea breeze salt. jumbled eggs marie sharp. conch fried tender. corn biscuit. and a belikin wash. memory as a one trick pony. rain. chill northern fall. gray mist soup. leaves soggy on the slope. wool sweater. one egg boiled. quaker with lumps. dry wheat toast. and a maxwell house wash.

Es el equinoccio de otono.
Ahora las noches se vuelven oscuras y largo.
Tiempo para la introspecion y meditacion.

Un inventario de nuestros dones y bendiciones.

La paz y el sueno.
En la vida continua manana.
La vida continua. La vida continua.

...if the Tale-Of-The-Email were to be told, it would no doubt be all about the slutty neighourhood waitress who slept with the brother-in-law--in a lascivious tete-a-tete set up concocted by the wine guzzling lunatic wife. But then again, even Hollywood might not buy it....

Creepy.
Stalker.
Freak.

Lastimoso usted.
Excluido.

...but you can't...

well...you know the rest......

...I post daily. Often several times a day. I'm sometimes amazed at how dedicated and disciplined and honest I have been, I've been chronicling every new adventure of this journey--the exploits and joys and the successes and the foibles and the failures...and ever' so often--recount and remember a story or tale or adventure or two from the past. So much of a life lived. Really lived. And it has been magnificent in every way. This is really for those who've been along for the ride--or part of it--who cared along the way--who loved and cherished and became family--and for others who want to know and want to get-to-know... Here, I've revealed more of myself and my journey than at any other time or in any other place. There's a reason I've kept it a private journal and that 99% of entries are filtered for friends only... they earned it with their love.

Predictable.
As expected. But no less bizarre.
And disturbing. On so many levels.
 

Just magine, if you will, what you're missing in the 99% of postings that are readable only by friends. Surely, it must be very unsatisfying and even pure agony for you...

But then again, you've never really known or wanted to know--even a small pathetic portion of a most extraordinary and magnificent story... 

Somehow this morning, I stumbled on a local classic album rock station on my little radio and got lost in Fleetwood Mac's "Rumours" . What a flood of ancient awkward lovely memories and vivid sensory images that brought back! It was 1977 all over again. Out of school and aimless--smokin pot at the park with Kim and Woodstock--being totally and madly in love with beautiful Becky, falling for handsome Scott, questioning and experimenting with anything erotic, sensual, sexual, shutting out the hell at the dysfunctional homefront and a general restless feeling of teen anghst and sterile stagnation. And yet, somewhere beneath the uncertainty--a strangely anticipating and prophetic feeling from deep inside that my world was gonna change. That it had to change. And it was gonna change dramatically and forever...

And did it ever. The yawning mediocrity and chilly grays and monochromatic hues of the rust bucket and midwestern suburbia soon dissolved into the sticky wet bursting extraordinary vibrant colours of the Caribbean and beyond. Spirit quests and couragous crazy and hit or miss knowledge and lunatic exploration and recklessness and adreneline and ever expanding fantasticly lucid horizons. From silent coral reef and howling jungle to the hot sands of Miami. From Muddy dark teeming living rivers thru dripping rainforests to the neon flashing hi-lighted coke filled silver spoons of glittery clubs and glam studded parties. From ever green and ever lush to the manic panic thrust of a pulsating glitzy boomtime...Those years were crazy mad with contrasts and chaos and a magnificent life worth living...

When Stevie and the Mac gang sang their songs it was the musical backdrop to that final year of adolescence and innocence and naivete --the soundtrack heard just before the trumpeted coming of the big bang and a life beginning...

While there are several lovely sunflowers all about the garden--this one is kinda special. It seemed to have gotten itself seeded in the peet-pod when I was starting the zucchini's on my deck--and subsequently got planted in the garden--smack dab in the middle of the squash... I had thought about pulling it early on or transplanting it--but the whole plot became neglected and yet wonderfully self sufficient--so I let it go.

Now, it appears to be the proudest and most perfect of all the suns in the jardin...

I  dreamed I had a pet Coati and a Jaguar.

The Coati slept with me curled up on a pillow near my head and the Jag on the rug at the foot of the bed. The Drug Dealer Goon was having a noisy drunken party downstairs, keeping us awake and annoyed.

Just before dawn, the Jaguar stood up and approached the bed, looked me square in the eye and snarled:
"Shall I go down there and take him out?"

"No," I replied, "But I think tomorrow we'll go back to MIchigan and you can help with some unfinished business there."

The Jaguar cocked his head and growled, "Greg?"

"Yep." I said.

"Oh Yay!" ,Squeeked the Coati from his pillow, "It will finally be done."

"Yummmmm"...the Jaguar snarled happily and lay back purring loudly with anticipation as the sun rose over the jungle canopy...

Ian emailed me. I go up there tomorrow afternoon and chat a little bit more and meet his wife. Guess that's a good sign. I'm still quite anxious about money. Even with the proposal I gave him I'm concerned I'll be in over my head for several months. I guess I could throw a big charity benefit rock concert on my own behalf . But really, who would perform for my benefit? The only 'stars' I was ever buds with and chummed with and partied with socially way back in the now-not-so-vivid 80's were Deb Harry and and Harry Casey (KC) and their hanger's on--and that was only because they were in their first has-been stages--post disco-new wave--and I of course, had access to the muy mejor drugs on SoBe. I mean, where are they now? Really.....

Sigh. I wonder if Bono is busy this month?

And of course, today I had a sudden buttload of responses from my own Craig's List posting which is still up-- Two mobile home offerings (even tho I specifically state I am NOT into mobile home living!) and a couple of faded flats in faded elegant Victorians in villages on the Hudson.
One response was promising--from a woman who is a concert flutist and has a cottage in the Catkills which she used to use as her personal retreat but because of finances has been renting it out. We chatted on the phone for some time, and it seemed like a potential match...very inexpensive rent--but I'd pay my own heating oil (goodgodsyikes!)...at the end of the conversation she seemed eager to meet face-to-face--thing is, she'll be in Virginia until the 12th...

Oh well, if the Streamside doesn't work out....

Who wouldn't trust this man with their property?

8x10 stretched repurposed textured canvas with glued integrated salvage frame.
Acrylic craft, spray, house paint, printer ink. Matte finish.

Dunno what I'm gonna do with it quite yet....

"I've been flying solo since long before pluto was demoted"


 

( more bigupcloseinyerface... )

My little raw garden is teaming with life! There are several species of dragonflies, bees, butterflies beautiful silky black ones and showy Monarchs, along with pesky wasps and flies and a gazzillion gnats. On my hands and knees I discover a variety of ground crawlers, spiders both large (huge) and small, crickets and beetles and hoppers and ants. Yesterday as I weeded, I unearthed a little party of worms which tell me the soil is in beautiful hands..er..um...rather--squiggly soil aerators. A few days ago, teensytiny delicate orange and black butterflies showed up en`masse. Up until now, the smallest butterflies have all been white or pale yellow. These little chaps, flutter about by the dozens. This was as good a shot as I could get of only one. Just seconds before, there were at least ten clustered upon the rock...

...this one remained for his closeup.


...And, I have no idea how this rather hefty Zuke escaped my curious eye yesterday.
He and a smallish sister squash just inches away should be ready for yummy within days..

Feeling fairly good. Energetic even. I spent a fair amount of the morning weeding and picking little brown beetles off the squash leaves. They've done a little number on them...but I'm thinking they're under control since the plants continue to outspace their alotted plot! I have tons of cluster vine tiny toms and some larger ones...and my first yellow squash! While I hadn't been able to have a more manicured garden as I had planned, I'm kinda liking the primitive 'pioneer' look of it all. And I can't argue with the fact that it seems to be thriving. I'm very pleased and salivating for the freshies...

North end of the garden with zukes and squash going quite mad
and cukes battling for space in front--beans to the far right
and the herb garden with a few flowery ornamentals--forefront.

A portion of the other end where I planted the 'nuevo' tomato plants.
The lettuce and romain are just now beginning to show some courage...


I had to put a piece of fencing tween the squasheses and the cukes.
They wouldn't play nice and kept growing over each other...
The cucumbers are happy--their little tendrils reach out and embrace the chainlink..


 

( more freshies... )

Now that the recent lengthy bout with the as-of-yet-unknown intestinal episode appears to be dissipating--I'm working on regaining a bit of a sunnier outlook. Lavatory visits are fewer and managable--and today I actually ate a turkey sandwhich. On wheat bread. Hooray for solid foods! Of course, now the usual physical issues have once again come back to the forefront and I'm back to being cognoscente of the nerve and muscle issues of my day-to-day. Sigh. Still, I am better equipt to deal with the ills familiar, than these episodes which come outta left field.

My hands have been aching most of the day--I don't know if they ever stopped--or if I was simply too engrossed--too focused on my intestinal life to notice--or care. But on the positive side, I did manage to complete quite a bit of detail painting before having to put down the brush. And I had a morning walk down the long drive to the road and back. And while I'm still unable to actually defeat the current crop of weedy grasses invading my garden---the freshies planted there are thriving nonetheless. I have a gazillion small green tomatoes drinking up nutrious damp soil, soaking up the sun and preparing themeselves for the eventual burst of red tom harvest flavour. Zukes will be absurdly plentiful--even a couple of the pepper plants seem to have sprung back to life and flowered. Brussel sprouts are sprouting and the leaf lettuce and the romaine are holding their own. Basil was the dominant aroma in the garden today and I can almost believe I could live  quite serenely for all eternity in a lush sensually aromatic herb garden.

I canna in all truthfullness say exactly what has kept me going--urged me forward and propelled me thru my days--these past few years of difficulties. Since cancer felled me, there has been no lingering notable periods of excellent health and vigour--only an on-going and growing list of ailments and limitation--and I am monthly, weekly and daily always only pennies away from ruin--struggling on the edge of ultimate financial destitution. Tho' in the past, I've often been accused as such--I have never considered myself an overtly optimistic sort of soul--or one to always tout the pollyanna sunshine side of life--but as I look back thru the years--and even these recent days--I've come to understand a bit more deeply that somewhere within me there is an inherent curiousness for life. An urgency of exploration that somehow thrust me--or nudges me into the day.

While once that inquisitiveness would have led me up a mountain, or into the jungle, or beneath the emerald waters--where once my curiousness might have handed me mad adrenalin fueled courage to be daring and bold and devil-may-care with my physical and even emotional well being---now, in it's smaller, more compact way it shows itself as a more gentle exploration. Of the sunrise. And it's setting. Of the woods nearby and the ever changing hues of the magic field. Or of fireflies and aromatic herbs. Indeed, my life these days is small. It's boundries are notable and self containing. And it is, I am sometimes wistfully and overly nostalgically aware, nothing like the hugeness and colourful extremes in which I once existed and thrived. And yet, honestly, if I think too long and too hard on the lively adventurer that once was---it tends to tire me and exhausts me and makes me want to have a nap...

I have even wondered sometimes these past few years,on a rare occassion when I'm able to tell new aquaintances some of the stories of where I've been and what I've done and who I once was--if they look over at this outwardly half broken fast aging man with a plethora of ailments and and often old-man gait and manner--if they want to blurt out their disbelief and exclain, "Seriously? You?  Nuh uh uh...what happened?"  And I think I'd have to pause and explain it the only way I could... On my journey I once devoured each and every day like it was a feast that would instantly vanish if it wasn't immediately consumed. And It worked well for me. Yet being satiated wasn't always easy and I was often still hungry for more. More of the day. More of life. Vida grande! I have had a exceptional life that I could have never dreamed possible. But now? Now there is no endless smorgasbord, no banquet laid before me--now I can only glide gently thru the day and nibble and savour the rare tiny morsels I may have once missed. And they are for all intents and purposes sometimes just as divine and delicious and satisfyingly sumptuous as even the regale of my past.

I often complain and I piss and wail and murmer about my ailments. And I should remember more often, those who have no voice to even do so. Of Steven Hawking and all his mad extraordianry brilliance trapped within the twisted physical of extreme limitation. Or of the recent wounded and mangled service men and women returning from war insanity without limbs--who, months later are courageously running in marathons with titanium appendages or playing b-ball in fast racer wheelchairs--and I am humbled and ashamed and all at once grateful. 

I'd like to believe that with all my grousing expressions, my moans, wimpers, whines, and bellyaching about my seemingly endless fragile physical--that I'm still able to temper it with some positive pride and notable satisfaction and gratefulness in what I can and do accomplish when the limitations and the days are less severe. And really, isn't that what it's all about? The yin and yang, the dark and the light. Putting it all into perspective and weighing the fruits against the stones.

At the end of the day--whether it was painful or triumphant--it was my day.
A singular precious gift in which I am beholden and obliged  to be thankful for...

 "I have always relied on the kindness of strangers."

Ah, and yet, If Miss DuBois had had the internet--they wouldn't have been 'strangers' for long.

Had a pow wow with New Doc this morning. I must say again how much I like this Medico. I've seen a lot of Docs these last several (many)years and he's definitively at the top of my list. He listens and takes the time needed as well as talks. So important. And so it appears I haven't lost ten pounds in three weeks. I've lost thirteen pounds. Ugh. So, now it would also appear we're on a new mission to find out what's happening to my gastrointestinal tract--upper and lower---what's with all the on-going bowel problems, the non-appetito and the general fast track to skeletorian chic. He actually wanted to put me in the hospital for a few days so that all the tests could be run there and the 'samples and specimens' would be more readily available to offer up. Silly New Doc! I rather nixed that idea. The very thought of being back in hospital again just gives me an over all unease that I canna shake. And New Doc, being the kindunderstandinglistener that he is seemed to understand and agreed we could do it all on an outpatient basis--tho it would take a little longer. Tha's okay with me. For now.  Unless I'm too ill to function, hospital is, at this time, a nightmare for me.

My heart thumper appears to be in order and my blood pressure fair normal low for me. I was then promptly sent next door for yet another 'first' round of blood tests--gallons and gallons of red stolen from my poor scrawny veins--and then given some very hi-techy vials with colourful lids and instructions on how to collect those unmentionable 'specimens' for the next few days-at home-to be brought back and tested for all kinds of disease and virus and bacteria that I have yet to encounter. Who knows? Perhaps they'll discover some rare gastrointestinal disease within me and I'll be written up in medical journals across the world. I mean, why not? I might as well have something new and exciting, I'm getting rather bored with the idea of a cancer return, and with unpredictability of MS and the heart issues, blah blah blah...

Today hasn't been a kind day.
I find myself dwelling on and so very much missing the vigorous healthy me,
and entangle myself caught in a bit of a nostalgic self pity session.
Doesn't seem like that very long ago I was diving and scaling, climbing and hiking.
Seems only yesterday  there was a me with vigor and strength and a thirst for the clearing up ahead, the unknown on the other side of the mountain or the secrets just beneath the surface of the sea...

Still, I have the birds. And the fresh air and blue sky. And dawn. And sunsets. The magical field and the deep woods. And the bugs and the evening coyotes and the newly emerged hedgehog/groundhog who pops out of the forest edge to stare up at me a couple times a day. And there's the  garden. And art. And a big comfy bed that's always there when I need to curl up and drift off to another place and get a glimpse of the lovely journey that is certain to follow when this one is completed.

I'm making every good attempt to keep pollyanna- positive these days,
but I admit to being weary and frustrated and to slipping 
a bit on the slippery slope into a less sunfilled space.

My life is certainly always a new adventure.
Of a kind.
Just not the same as the ones I once embraced.

 Obama. Rhapsody