Next Trip

What’s next? When living in a time suspended between past and future, planning a new adventure beats the hell out of dwelling on how much I miss my honey, so what’s next? 

An adventure frequently includes some peril such as the distinct possible of being alone on a boat dock late at night and the cell phone battery dead due to all the pictures you took. It happened to me last January in St. Thomas, but rather than that scenario I hopped into a private car with people I’d never seen before. My heart beat fast and I kept wiping moist fingertips on my pants. Fear  gave way to euphoria when I recognized the light in the distance as my hotel. The lines of waiting cabs left before I caught the ferry from Water Island, where I sat less than six feet away from a piano being played by Julian Gargiulo. The stars were out metaphorically; it drizzled sporadically during my time between heaven and earth, a surrealistic evening absolutely worth the peril.  

Memories give the heft to your soul, most of mine are of evenings enjoyed with my husband. That night, I thought about a Tennessee Williams play in which in the movie version Elizabeth Taylor belts out, “Maggie, the cat, is ALIVE! I’M ALIVE!” We were kindred spirits in that burst of joy  of life. Welcome to a positive, no wonderful memory during my time alone.

If only I could write a story to entice you to come along for the ride, I’d be a good writer, but I’m having enough difficulty in becoming the responsible  adult again. I just want to run away and play. The list of I shoulds grows but I get to prioritize. This could be fun.

Cuba calls me back. My sister from another life lives there. We met in  Trinidad in 2013. Have you ever had an energy connection with someone across a crowded room? This could have been a scene in the movie, Cloud Atlas, with Hallie Berry and Tom Hanks. Of all the people currently on the planet, two of  my best are in Cuba. 

In what Kirt would call, “One of your but firsts,” I want to attend another writers conference and spend more time in Florida. Old dude chic resonated on the Gulf Coast last year during my trip to Orlando from New Orleans. It’s funny that in my twenties I had a fantasy about driving Florida alone in my TR6; come to think about that car would still be fine for the drive if I can still drive stick. 

The hunt for an affordable airfare or what free music offerings are in the area begins my planning stage. This time the search includes writers’ workshops and conferences. Maybe its all in my head, but I think my writing gets better after a little effort. 

Love Affair With Parks

Sitting in a shady city park with statues, and flowers, and people passing, I resonate with peace and excitement at the same time; how delicious!

I remember having lunch in a small park in downtown Chicago when I worked in the Loop. The stress and boredom of meaningless job drained into the trees. As teenagers, we’re required to hold at least one job we hate; right?

From the age of eight when I first saw Spanish moss hanging from ancient live oak trees, I fell in love with City Park in New Orleans, which remains on the top of my list.

The tree lined park, Plaza Antonia Quinones can be proud of its beauty with a fountain and a stage for horns from the San Juan Philharmonic playing tonight.

Havana’s wonderfully ornate light poles delighted me as I strolled with my dearest friend through the park in the shade of overwhelming statues adorning Cuban government buildings. Horse drawn carriages offering tours were under scrutiny by my brave animal advocate friend.

She boldly strode up to a man whose horse kept licking its lips. “Go immediately to a water trough; your horse needs water.”

Have you ever seen a senior lady with her back up? She radiated command. Those ladies who have ever gotten their backs up know what it’s like to be so filled with moral outrage your eyes are bloodshot. The water station was visible from where we stood. The man dutifully complied.

Havana also had beautiful horses and carriages. I insisted on riding with a handsome dappled gray. What is it with women and beautiful horses? My heart skips that beat, sweet!

Where ever I go I spend time in local parks; only one gave me bad vibes. I left quickly. On the island I call home watching loving families play in the parks and on the beaches remains a great time soaking up vibes.

Memory took me down many paths in many parks. Considering how important parks have been in my life I pray that people running the world realize how important they are to my stability.  

Best Advice

I’ve screamed and cried, and then languished for twenty months, sharing my pain in my blog and online in Daily Strength Widow/Widowers’ Support Group.

“I don’t know who I am without him,” was my big lament.

A widow in the group told me,

“Be kind to yourself; treat yourself well each day.”

Meditating on that opened a most pleasant way of thinking for me in my time of crisis.

Lavender soap and body oil replaced sales brands in my bath. Modest luxuries I used as part of daily rituals made me feel better about myself, when I really didn't give a shit about mush.

Movies were replaced by boat rides to restaurants overlooking a tropical lake,

and then I spent some extraordinary time in Louisiana with my Aunt Margaret before she died this last November. We bonded in ways I never expected; nor would her sister or my cousins believe.

If it’s meant for you, God stick’s it right in your arms. God gave me a sister of the heart in Cuba, who for three weeks treated me like precious cargo. She showed me what is felt like to be loved by a sister.

In one of God’s truly mysterious ways, I met another sister of the heart in New Orleans; how I met her is another story, but soon Lt. Linda and I will be paling around the Crescent City.

Thanks for the advice on Daily Strength! I need all the positive I can get in my life. Healing after losing the love of my life is hard.

Kirt had my heart; the pieces of my heart need to find places to love and be loved now that I am accepting his death. Yes, there’s still hesitation, but no longer raw pain. I’ll call that well improved.  

Que Pasa Cuba

Hi,

Friends, who read this blog on a regular basis are wondering:

what in the hell happened to her?

The short answer is Cuba!

Yeah, no kidding; I really went to Cuba to visit a sister of my heart, who just happens to be the vice president of ANIPLANT, the association in Cuba, which advocates for animals and plants.

On Saturdays, in a park west of Habana, any number of people bring their dogs to train, and visit with other “dog” people.

After about thirty years of earning my living as a professional dog trainer, I consider myself a connoisseur of dog training styles, so watching competitors preparing for the Pan American Dog Show was a lot of fun.

The heady days of Cuba’s capitalist past peek out through once grand town homes divided into apartments. People, dogs and cats hang out in the streets.

For old car fanatics, Cuba is the best. My husband, Kirt, would have been toe tapping excited to the sherbet array of colors an old Chevy can come in here.

Coming from the USA, aka the land of billboards in your face, I missed all the roadside sales pitches. Fidelism’s grace Cuban roadside billboards.

I have many stories to share with you. It’s good to be home with Smoki, Blondie, Chi-Ping, Robert Redford, and Lucky. We’re expecting company next week, so I’m going to make every effort to get organized. Smile.