A Sticky Situation!

Dear you,

It is quite difficult to concentrate in this beach-zone during the smoothest of times, but after this weekend?  Woo. I am suffering from super-fuzzy focus.  There was that horrible anniversary Saturday, the overturning of Roe V. Wade, and then the strangest Russian coup attempt ever.  The hangover effect of all that isn't helping as I try once again to find the perfect place to move.  I am kicking myself (quite challenging for someone with a bad knee) for not having gotten this done last year, the year before, the year before that etc.  Anyway, action must be taken. Once more, with feeling.

I Google "warm, liberal towns to retire in" and get lost reading testimonies and viewing local photos.  Two hours later, I grow weary, give up (for now), but do one more Google search just for fun:

"Stuck in Florida"

I wanted to listen to other people in similar sticky situations, hear their advice or humorous takes on being wherever they are.  But the machine is very literal; I got results like this:

Florida horse stuck in pool hoisted to safety with crane  (How did he get in the pool in the first place?)

Worker gets stuck in Florida sewer trench (Did he die from the stench?)

Florida man accidently gets stuck inside tornado while driving (Uh, why "accidently"?  I know this is Florida, but why would anyone intentionally get stuck inside a tornado?)

Florida State Fair patrons get stuck upside-down on ride (Did they all post upside-down selfies?)

Naked man rescued after getting stuck on Florida drawbridge (I don't even want to know.)

So sticky life goes on in Florida, literally. At least this absurd act of Googling made me feel better about myself. My clever cat will never require rescue by crane; I don't have to do poop-related labor; I wisely avoid  tornadic activity and freaky state fairs; I always like to dress for success when crossing bridges. (Spin that as you will.)

Enough procrastination. 

End.

Joyce

#Pride and a Better God

Dear you,

Pride month, and all over the nation (the world perhaps), we are celebrating all people's right to simply BE.  Even in the deep red Florida Panhandle, there are Pride events in little places like Niceville.  Thank you Niceville for being more than nice. Surely the local chapters of Moms for Liberty are peeing their proper panties and decrying these gatherings as godless. Well, their "god" is something to consider.  And reject.  Let a poet clarify what I cannot:

Prayer/Oracion

BY FRANCISCO X. ALARCÓN

I want a god

as my accomplice

who spends nights

in houses

of ill repute

and gets up late

on Saturdays

a god

who whistles

through the streets

and trembles

before the lips

of his lover

a god

who waits in line

at the entrance

of movie houses

and likes to drink

café au lait

a god

who spits

blood from

tuberculosis and

doesn’t even have

enough for bus fare

a god

knocked

unconscious

by the billy club

of a policeman

at a demonstration

a god

who pisses

out of fear

before the flaring

electrodes

of torture

a god

who hurts

to the last

bone and

bites the air

in pain

a jobless god

a striking god

a hungry god

a fugitive god

an exiled god

an enraged god

a god

who longs

from jail

for a change

in the order

of things

I want a

more godlike

god

AMEN to that.

Happy Pride Month!

Joyce

Brace Yourself!

Dear you,

It's my birthday month and I am not aging gracefully.  In fact, I am really pissed off. My left knee blew out over a week ago. The cause is perhaps too much action, too many hamstring curls and 80's style aerobic play (see photo).  Whatever the cause, age or chosen action, I found myself in that section of Walmart no one wants to be in, the one stocked with aids for the infirm.  So unattractive, all of it, the bunion buttons, hernia wraps, and my "aid", the knee brace.  I think it's called a sleeve. 

Well, it could be worse.  I could be indicted!  Just like my fellow Gemini "pal", Donald.  Read the indictment.  Pick your favorite Trump quote from a witness.  This one cracked me up:

"I don't want anybody looking.  I don't want anybody looking through my boxes, I really don't. I don't want you looking through my boxes."

What an idiot. Doesn't that sound like a petulant nine year old?  I cannot believe we are trapped in this endless hell dance with Trump and his devotees.  The man is so twisted, so corrupt, and so possibly able to dodge this latest indictment.  Ooof.  Is our democracy suffering from some sort of degenerative disease, like my knee, is it too just ready to call it a day and check out?  I don't think the Walmart infirmity aisle is stocked with a cure for our Donald Disease.

My birthday wish?  Perfect success for Jack Smith, Esquire.

Maybe this time, maybe this time, we'll win . . . 

I shall hobble on!

Love,

Joyce