Pilgrim in the Trailer Park

 Today the power went out, so John and I went to eat at Boondocks in Wilbur by the Sea. It’s a tiki bar restaurant attached to a marina. We took note of the pelicans on the pilings. More fascinating were the swarms of catfish in the water; at least one hundred fish waiting for scraps to be thrown overboard. I figured our hush puppy appetizer would make a good snack for them, but we ate them all. I ordered a bacon cheeseburger and John got a regular cheeseburger. I ordered mine well done (sorry). Both burgers came with homemade potato chips and coleslaw (fries would have been too heavy on top of hush puppies). John gave me his pickle, like he always does. We gave the leftover burger and chips to the catfish eagerly waiting below. I don’t know how fish can eat potato chips (fish and chips!) but they disappeared among their writhing bodies. As soon as you throw a scrap in they go crazy. It’s almost a repulsive sight, so many slick, squirming fish pulsating together. I think of ants. I...

I saw the sunset, How can paint fly? I’m Lucky and I’m out of Strikes I’m winning, like Charlie Sheen (not) I’m living the High Life But I’m not high I am more than just getting by I found a twenty and I think I’ll buy a coffee I will meet you on the dock Did you know I like wearing hospital socks? I can be sad, like Plath Pulling at my hair I see movement in the air (really) I know you don’t care for the spiritual, So I’ll try to be literal: (When I see you in Heaven) She sees Angels, really… Now I’m turned on, I’m tuned in, Forget what you know about sin. “It is still a beautiful world. Be careful. Strive to be happy” (the Desiderata).

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 ...