Pilgrim in the Trailer Park

Today John and I went to drink kava. I didn’t feel anything. “All we are is dust in the wind…” (Kansas). The bartender, Dawn, gave us the low- down: she explained to us what kava is and what it is used for. First, she gave us kava in its raw form. Then she joined us in a toast of “Boola!” She told us “it’s got a very earthy flavor.” I didn’t mind; I thought it tasted like tea. So we ordered a strawberry kava drink, and Dawn served them in little coconut cups. It tasted good. It did not, however, give me the feeling I anticipated. John said he did feel it. “It’s kind of like the mushrooms.” I was bereft of any elation or sedation or unity or oneness.      Then we went to downtown New Smyrna beach. I wanted to go to Cool Beans coffee shop, but they were closed, so we just admired the bamboo and orchids on the patio. I got an espresso at a little outdoor bar. “Don’t you want cream and sugar in that?” he asked. “No, the suffering is part of the experience,” I said. We walked ...

It was a beautiful day to go to Ponce de Leon Springs in Deleon Springs, Florida. It is populated by huge live oaks, their majestic branches lounging on the ground. I took a picture right away. We moseyed on down to the spring; there were a lot of people in the cold water. I came prepared to get in, I just didn’t realize how cold it was. John and I dipped our feet in first. Then he lowered his body in. “It’s not so bad,” he remarked. I didn’t believe him. I was content to submerge my legs and feet. But then I thought, I came all the way here to experience spring water. There was only one way to do it. So I lunged forward into the water, a bit of a shock to him. When I came up I grabbed the ledge for support (you can stand in it. It’s really not that deep) and rested my arms on the hot concrete. “How’s it feel?” he asked. “Cold,” I said. Well, I got in, so now I could get out. I had just enough upper body strength to hoist myself on the ledge. I felt proud; it was worth it.   We at...

  John and I went to the park to feed the turtles. We’ve been doing that a lot lately. Yesterday only four showed up. Today twenty-two showed up. That’s a lot. I was standing on the dock watching the turtle frenzy when a little girl came up to me and handed me a small flower. That is so sweet, I thought. She went to give one to John too, but he wasn’t paying attention. “ John, she wants to give you a flower,” I said. “Oh, thank you,” he replied, as he took the flower and continued showering the water with cat food. That is just the sweetest thing ever , I kept thinking to myself. She doesn’t know us and we don’t know her, but she is just being herself. Leave it to a child’s heart to spread love. To a lot of people it wouldn’t mean anything. She’s just being a kid, they would think. And that’s true. Kids lack the inhibition we adults have.   In the Bible, Jesus says in Matthew 19:14 : “ Suffer little children, and forbid them not, to come unto me: for of such is the kingdom of ...

  Sherman was our black and white tuxedo cat that we kidnapped from the park. Sorry, “catnapped.” Seriously we did. He was this stray (well we think he was stray) that kept showing up and would eat all the food we could give him. He had a clipped ear. I thought he was a girl because he had a cute meow. At first we called him Sweetie. But after we found out he was a boy John named him Sherman, after a Sherman tank (trust me I did not come up with that name). And was he a tank…picking him up was like a sack of potatoes. He was not fat, more like meaty or girthy. Sherman got used to our home and used to go in and out the kitchen window. But he really liked the bed and would lounge on it for hours.          He went missing a couple months ago. It’s so weird ( like i said, mysterious cat traps in the park…hello!) The night he went missing we found mysterious blood in the backyard. Before that he was staying out really late. Then he never came back. After a mont...

Why did I name my blog pilgrim in the trailer park? Well the second part is obvious: I live in a trailer park. Riverside Mobile Home and RV Park, to be exact. But “why pilgrim?” as John asked. Well, in college I read this book called Pilgrim at Tinker Creek by Annie Dillard.  A lot of people in the class couldn’t stand the book. I loved the book; she described nature with a poets heart, she took simile and metaphor to the next degree, she owned the adjective. I can’t remember a lot of it now and I don’t own a copy (but I just might buy one). It is described as “ the story of a dramatic year in Virginia’s Roanoke Valley, where Annie Dillard set out to chronicle incidents of ‘beauty tangled in a rapture with violence’” ( thriftbooks.com ). So I put a spin on her title and made it my own, although my writing doesn’t compare with hers. It’s an aspiring inspiration.  As I remember, Dillard journaled her way to quit smoking, as she famously survived on chocolate milk and cigarettes ...

 We pulled up to the kiosk and the beach people scanned our license plate to verify that we have a beach pass. We do. We found an open parking spot. We set up our towels by the car (why go out in the sand if you don’t have to? Plus the cooler and radio are conveniently located in the trunk). John pulled out a crossword book. Strain my brain in this heat? Well, the answers must have melted right out of me. I was ready to go in the water. We decided to warm up to the water by playing frisbee first. I gotta say, my aim was better today. But John threw one to the side and as I went to grab it a big wave splashed on me. Oooh! That’s the fun of it. Well, now I was ready to get in the water. It was cooler and clearer than I remember. At first I tried to beat the waves, but after a while I just let them hit me and finally dunked under one (holding my nose like a nerd).  Two other ladies were in the water and asked us have you been out to the sandbar? And why don’t you go out to the sa...

 Life is too good to feel bad. Whenever those bad feelings come up, you say to them, like my Spanish grandmother in her broken accent, “Get-the-hell out of here!” Today I watched the sunrise in pink and peach and flesh colors (I got up at 5:30: amazing). One clump of cloud sported neon pink, the rest were grey. My boy cats joined me (misery does not love company). I heard a meow above my head: Grey was on the roof! “How did you get up there? And can you get down?” Oh yes, he’s fine. The sunset continued to morph into orange, encompassed by a powder blue sky. Streaks of cloud brushed by a haphazard painter. And now the clouds are morphing white. A lot of people are out this morning: runners, bikers, dog walkers, like my neighbor Rodney with his beagle, Sammy. Did they see the sky? Are they aware of progression? Do they see the birds (swallows?) transcendent in flight? Was it an act just for my benefit? It has everything and nothing to do with me. We are made of stardust, after all. ...