Pilgrim in the Trailer Park

  They are cutting down trees in the park. Several Norfolk pines have disappeared. This is alarming to me.   I know the bad frost we had has damaged the limbs. The needles became brown and brittle. I know this because we have a Norfolk pine in our front yard. John gently trimmed the dead branches off it, giving it a chance of survival as it is likely not really dead. He treasures that tree; I know this because he intentionally bought it and planted it eight years ago.  They are living creatures, ya know. I’m just bummed that these trees, which lent such beauty to the park, were not given a chance and written off as dead. Three large trees have been sacrificed. Which means it’s starting to look like a trailer park with no redeemable qualities. Atleast we had some trees. We had some real nature to offset the bane of human nature.  I guess we’re screwed. But at least we’ve got the palms, the bread and butter of a concrete jungle ( I am using jungle in the literal se...

  I thought I would get some work done on the dock (yeah, this is my job). There’s a nice picnic table in the center, the wood sun faded and slightly chipping. There’s an empty clay citronella candle pot to use as an ashtray: I am not fond of throwing butts into the wild (it’s the least I can do for society). And I can’t fathom writing without indulging. There’s a nice breeze, and it’s causing the ashes to swirl.   The mangroves have gotten tall; I only know this because the neighbors said you used to be able to see all the way to beachside. I haven’t lived here as long as them, obviously. Our trailer park borders the Halifax River, which is producing healthy mangroves yet loads of bacteria. So I’ve heard. But many people boat and fish in these waters; it’s quite alright as long you don’t submerge or drink it.  I got in the water once, but I was under the influence — yet I live to tell the tale (Alcohol must be a good disinfectant). I was trying to cool off on a hot day...

 My dad’s death certificate said that smoking was a definite contributor to his death. My dad had been smoking since he was a teenager. He loved Newports; he was smoking two packs of kings up until his death. This would bring up two questions, 1) why didn’t you encourage your dad to quit smoking when you knew it was killing him? And 2) why are you still smoking?! Dad had COPd and heart failure. He had a bypass in January of 2019 (which he described as feeling like he just got run over by a truck). I didn’t know that these heart surgeries saved your life in the short term (in his case he had an aneurysm due to burst) but also gave you a limited lifespan, because the bypass is a bandaid, it cannot reverse heart damage (and nothing can be done if you keep abusing your body). His heart was just bad, because of high blood pressure due to stress and smoking, probably life long alcoholism, and the other illicit pleasures he partook of, which he wouldn’t tell me and I certainly cannot tell...

 Burn the backpack and break the crystal. I like the alliteration there. But I’m not writing a poem. Thats the advice my neighbor gave me about some  objects I own that could be harboring bad energy. What am I talking about? I have a backpack I’ve had (and have recently been using in lieu of a purse, because I have so much junk) that was a gift from an old boyfriend. If you didn’t know, which I didn’t, you shouldn’t keep stuff like that from old relationships, especially if you’re trying to purge yourself of the memories, move on, etc.  And the best way to get rid of that s***? Burn it. This is what my neighbor told me, a man of faith and learned knowledge. “Fire is the best cleanser.” So I’ve been walking around with this backpack, literally carrying baggage from this relationship. Could we get any more ironic?… And I’ve been carrying this amethyst crystal around, hoping it would imbue me with some good power. I also wear an amethyst ring my grandmother gave me; she told...

 “It’s a hot one.” You can say that again.  Remember when the model Ts came in any color as long as it was black? Well, you can get the summer in any color as long as it’s hot. You can get extra hot, too. And if you live in Florida like me, you can’t escape it, unless you’re an air conditioning Gypsie. well then you’re missing out on all the fun! But summer fun can turn into summer heat stroke…so please drink your beverages!  I didn’t move down here because I love Florida and love summer and love the heat. Actually, I don’t know why I came here. I’m not an athlete or a beach bum: you won’t find me surfing or biking. I’m one of the those gypsies but without the ac (okay I do sleep in ac, I just don’t live in it). So I tolerate the heat and am grateful when I can break out a sweat, which is the best cooling device there is, and it’s natural and free. But if you’re like my sister, you think sweat is just plain gross. That’s too bad. Summer in Florida is not the end of the wo...

 Was I excited to come back to Florida?  Well, no. Coming back to the real world after Vacationland is so uninspiring. Like the saying, putting a brown paper bag over your head. That’s what I did.  Is it just me? Florida is the place you’re supossed  to vacation (although John swears we were never on vacation (and I did forget my bathing suit)), and not the other way around. No wonder I’m so…backwards? And maybe that’s why I’m having a hard time getting work, cause the sun makes my body think I’m retired, but my mind is, again, wheeling around the International Speedway (I knew I had a death wish).  I’m kind of in a funk, if you couldn’t tell. This is probably stuff I should write in my journal (but I want to share it with…yooou! (That’s an inside joke)). The silver lining of returning to the land of sun and sand: I found a new devotional at the thrift store. A sobriety devotional, in fact. It’s called A Woman’s Spirit. It’s a small simple book with a lot of wis...