1.

Living on the Shores of the Pacific

It’s not merely the waves

or the sun or the sand

It’s more than the spray

or the crash or the splash

It’s not only the sparkle

or the rocks or the fish

It’s the wonder of it all

A whipped cream of an ocean dance

With the vapors and song of the shore

———–

2.

Peaches

From high upon a wooden shelf,

I lift a can of peaches.

Juices meant to savor later,

while tucked inside my feasting bed. 

Now licking sugar from my fingers,

I am startled by the truth: 

Your sweet syrup is my craving—its

candy meant for spilling on my tongue.

3.

in the snow

but all is to be dared, because even a person of poverty

finds strength in the sight of children playing in the snow

their shrieks from the sled as they brave the hill

their bobbing and ducking from snowballs

who among us has not wept with empty pockets seeking joy

as the view from the top of the slope cracks open our hearts?

the days come quicker now; aches and caution greet us

we never knew before about staying steadfast in our waking time

we were filling our minds with dreams of frozen fingers clinging too long

to the snowy childhood memories of riding by the seat of our pants

Maybe I’m biased. I wrote these. Happy New Year.

I saw Elvis Presley in a library once

He was chewing gum

I don’t know what flavor it was, bubblegum maybe?

How many times I’ve gone back to that library

I haven’t counted

But I never saw Elvis there again

Instead, I found books about World War II

And one about how to make a tent out of nature’s gifts

I might use that information in the forest someday

Once in a while I go to the library just to breathe

It’s noisy in the world and I need quiet

Breathing in the silence makes me whole

There are so many subjects and so many writers

The pains authors  go through must be tremendous

All so we can sit with their words for awhile

A big, bright room filled with the smells of books

Mingling with the whiff of ages past

The library houses new beginnings for us

Maybe Elvis Presley needed a new beginning

Or maybe he was hiding from the noisy world

I guess Elvis and I had something in common

He might have been nothing but a hound dog

Crying all time

But one day I saw him in the library chewing gum

Remembering how I came to get my first bra…

Standing naked in the shower after gym class, there’s no hiding the fact that I am breast-less. With all eyes on me, I’m certain everyone is laughing at my flat chest. I stare at my nipples. All I have are these little nipples. No bumps or swelling where the breasts are supposed to be. Why can’t I have boobs like Betty’s? I’d even settle for smaller ones like Patsy’s.

Later that Tuesday in the courtyard after lunch, Betty yells at me, “Hey Susie, why don’t you have any boobs?” She asks me that question in front of about fifty million girls. My hands clench into fists. I run to the restroom. Rocking back and forth, alone in a stall, I hear my best friend, Karen, rushing in, no doubt, with the sweet intention of comforting me. I scream at her to leave me alone. What does she know? She has breasts. Maybe they aren’t as big as Betty’s, but they are respectable. Covering my face with my hands I pray, Oh dear God! Swell my breasts. Please?

It isn’t until five days later, right after church, that I muster the courage to ask Mom to take me shopping for a bra. “Really?” she asks.

“Yes, Mom! Please?”

“Sure honey. How about next Saturday?” Her quick response and knowing smile assure me she understands.

I’m counting the days. Little else seeps into my head during the week. Hurry Saturday! Blessed Saturday! It’s similar to, maybe better than, waiting for Christmas morning.

And then the unthinkable happens on Thursday: Richard sits down next to me as I begin unpacking my lunch. I don’t particularly like him, but he’s one of the cool guys and it feels good to know he wants to eat lunch with me. Karen is absent today. I think she has the Asiatic Flu; it’s going around. So it’s just Richard and me.

I grab the apple from my small, brown bag, but I put it aside because I’m saving it to eat after I finish the half sandwich Mom packed. Oh, yum. Baloney and cheese with lettuce. The lettuce is tinged with brown around the edges, but it’s fine with me. Warmed by the morning San Diego sun, Richard and I talk easily between bites, which surprises me a little. Things are going well when just as I’m finishing my sandwich, Richard drops this bomb: “Now I know why you’re so flat-chested, Susie,” he says matter-of-factly, “You only eat half a sandwich.”

What? No! No! No! He did not just say that to me. My body collapses in on itself. Making matters worse, I imagine that the whole world has heard this zinger.

One of the cool guys has just broken my 7th grade heart with his words. All the color leaves my face. I break eye contact with him. My silence is louder than anything I could say. Richard, obviously uncomfortable, waves to a friend, tells me he’ll see me later, and goes off to join the noisy group of boys moving together like a school of sharks. Clutching my flat chest, I can hardly breathe. Fine! Go on, you creep. I vow never to speak to him again.

After what seems like forever, the sting from his words begins to diminish. I inhale deeply and refocus my thoughts onto the shopping trip. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

When the big day arrives I awake earlier than usual. I’m not sure what I expect from getting this sacred garment—a bra—but I am convinced there is magic involved. On that Saturday, in the store’s lingerie department, I move in close to the long rows of padded bras. Because I am afraid to touch them, I plant my feet and stare. Images of what could be swirl in my head.

From the corner of my eye I see Mom shaking her head. I know what she is thinking. Susie, it would be as if one day you were as flat as a pancake, and the next day you were as voluptuous as Sophia Loren. Of course. If she buys me the padded bras I’ll have to begin a new school on Monday.

The bras Mom and I finally pick out are all white, in soft cotton, with just a tiny touch of lace on the upper portion of each cup. Well, cup is the official word. My first bra cups, however, resemble something more like teaspoons. In fact, unofficially these little garments are referred to as training bras. So it is with a new, bright outlook that I whisper to my chest, “Guess you girls are my breasts in training.”

In the end, Mom and I settle on three bras—all size 28 triple A. And while bras may not come any smaller, the one I’m wearing provides a huge supply of much needed self-confidence. Shoulders back, head held high, chest proud; I am glowing from the inside-out, as I enter the holy rite of passage into womanhood.

It’s All in the Game

I am 12 going on 13; it was about the same time I traded in my hula hoop for boys

Bathing in the aromas of the forest plant life—resin, pine needles, and leafy branches of an oak tree—awakens memories of my youth at family camp in the Cuyamaca Mountains east of San Diego, California.

.

All us cool cats are in the basement of the meeting hall having a blast, talking, dancing, listening to the latest hits on a record player. The parents are upstairs square dancing, and that makes sense because all the parents are square.

**

“I want to dance with Joey,” I whisper to my girlfriend, Kathy. “He’s a dreamboat.”

“You should wait for a slow dance,” Kathy says, “but he’s been dancing with Sandy.”

“Yeah, you’re right, and he hasn’t paid attention to anyone else tonight.”

I sit quietly hoping he’ll turn his gorgeous baby blues in my direction. 

“I’m flat as a pancake and Sandy’s got a classy chassis. She’s so stacked, I can’t compete with her,” I sigh. “Let’s hit it, and go freshen up.”

Secretly my plan includes walking past Joey to bump into him. Accidentally on purpose.

 “Whoa girl. Watch where you’re going,” he winks at me.  Sandy gives me a dirty look.

“Oh, sorry, Joey,” and I try to look into his eyes as seductively as a 12 year-old going on 13 can. Just brushing against him makes my body tingle. Everything in the room, including the sounds, disappear, and I’m floating in the clouds.

When we get into the restroom, Kathy and I bust up with laughter. 

“That was a smooth move!” Kathy says when we stop laughing, “He’s got your number now!”

We reapply our lipstick and pinch our cheeks to give them some color before tucking our blouses into our pedal pushers and walking back into the room.

Rockin’ Robin, by Bobby Day is blaring from the record player. Oh Rockin’ Robin we’re really going to rock it tonight! We snap our fingers to the beat.

“Let’s grab a soda,” Kathy says and moves toward the refreshment table.

I trail behind her and look over my shoulder at Joey. Sandy has split the scene, and Joey is making moves toward me. I turn around to follow Kathy, my heart in my throat. Coming up behind me, he whispers in my ear, “Wanna dance doll?”

My knees almost give out. “Uh—yeah, sure.” I know my stuttering response is nothing close to alluring, but he grabs my arm and pulls me onto the dance floor. Tommy Edwards1958 chart-topping single, “It’s All in the Game,” is playing. 

Just as I hear the part he kisses her lips and caresses her waiting fingertips, Joey pulls me close, and I melt into his arms. 

Like the song says, it’s all in the game. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gtizr2G_7Bk

You may recall that the NY’s Eve Baja Midnight Party had to be cancelled because of inclement weather and Covid safety precautions. If you purchased tickets for that, you should receive an email and you are all set to join us for this “make-up” party. No joke. But expect lots of hijinks and fun on April 1st, 5-9PM at Baja Beans in El Pescadero.

Do you like to dance? Do you like to listen to great live music? Then you are in luck folks. David Raitt, Thom Berry, Glen Peterson, and Ashbolt will be there to entertain you. You can come for dinner or just to enjoy the music and dance. There will be a cash bar. (See the flyer above.)

This will be a fun way to support the El Pescadero community food bank. If you can’t make it, consider a donation. We are a completely volunteer organization and serve those in need in our community.

See more information about the food bank here: http://www.bajadreamsplus.com/?p=4382

Mil Gracias Amigos

For I am Heat

I remember with shame the weakness of my first attempt to embrace my victim. In the beginning, my pitiful gift of heat came as a rush of energy—almost a pleasure to her. The failure to cause her proper torment showed my weakness. 

On my second go, I resolved to make her miserable. Determination brought forth my strength—bit by bit, and with practice I had my victory! Pride filled me when finally my blast incinerated her. 

Since then, always somewhere in the middle of her chest I take hold. I hunker down for a while gaining strength. She feels the flame of my evil intent. I know she does, because she fidgets, pulling at her clothes. It is her feeble attempt to get some air movement between her skin and her garments. My vehemence occupies all of her—tissue, muscles, veins, cells, and best of all, her confused, unhappy mind.

I move faster and farther, invading her arms, shoulders and neck before flushing to fill her cheeks. Her ears turn red; she is engulfed, sensing nothing but the burn now. Next, I race from her upper body, pulsing down to her toes, before rising again to disrupt her brain. I bring wicked waves of heat and she knows not how to rid herself of me, her uninvited visitor, her bringer of change.

It gives me great joy to know the ride with me forces her to burn in a hell of my making. In her ear I hiss, “Nothing can stop me.” I laugh as her hair forms into ringlets. Drops fall from her face onto her white blouse. Drip. Drip.

She focuses every ounce of her resolve, longing for relief from my hot, tight grasp. Ha! She can’t get to the window for some sweet air or rip off her outer layer fast enough. She’s frantic. “Open the window for God’s sake,” she says. “Where is the damn fan?” 

I do so relish the time we have together. Her body is my vessel; I am her furnace. It’s my purpose, my job to make her blister with my blaze.

But it is enough for now. I am bored with her, though satisfied with how pathetic she looks flapping her fan, pulling at her clothes, soaking up hot sweat with a handkerchief. Her fever lessens as I release my grip, but I can’t resist jeering. I vow to occupy her again. Soon. How I cherish knowing she dreads my return. 

For weeks, months, possibly years, she will suffer with anticipation of my inferno. After all she’s been through it’s a dirty trick, I know. 

And that’s why I make my flame so fucking hot. 

to dream again 

with a cautious distance

safer, but vulnerable still

using bits of hindsight 

leave behind turmoil

gut wrenching disillusion

criss-crossing conversation

severe smudges of outrage

remove emotional stress

leverage a stronghold on joy

brave acceptance of reality

no more peril in waking

I want to catch a note of happiness

a glimmer of felicity

try some internal reflection

with a goal of brighter vision

I want to un-remember

If you didn’t show up at Los Cerritos at 6:45AM this morning, or if you don’t live here, you missed the show. The Incredible Cloud Show. But not to worry. I’ve got you covered.

It just got better and better.

The sun started coming up over the mountains in the east. Look what happened then.

I can’t get over how much fun this cloud show was.

I hope you enjoyed the cloud show. I know I sure did. We went swimming after I finally put my camera down. The water is about 84 degrees F. My life is rich with delights here in Baja California Sur.

Ever wonder where donations to the Pescadero Food Bank would go? There are so many local families here in Baja California Sur who are doing the best they can, but need some help. Many of these people are pickers in the farm fields here, others are infirm and dependent upon adult children or other family, as they cannot care for themselves.

While their needs are greater than food, as many have no permanent shelter or transportation, the Pescadero Food Bank volunteers, and those who donate money, are providing these deserving families with bags of staples once a month. 

Here is a sampling of families we are giving to. These are descriptions without names, so as to maintain their privacy.

Family #1 

A 31 year old woman is a field worker, but this job is seasonal. Her children are ages 6-16, and they have no permanent shelter; rather their home is a series of tarps. The father visits occasionally, but provides no support.

Family #2

This is a multi-generational family consisting of a mother and father in their 50s, two adult daughters and their 7 children, ages 2-12. Their home is a cement structure with a dirt floor, with no doors or windows. The adults have seasonal work in the fields.

Family #3

A blind, bedridden woman in her 70s has an adult son who lives in a structure behind hers, but he is unemployed.

Ranch Families

These multi-generational families can raise animals and grow some food, but often have no transportation to come to town, and they lack the staples that the food bank can provide. 

The photos I’ve included are of homes in El Pescadero, BCS where the food bank donations have gone.

What these families receive from the Pescadero Food Bank, given once a month, can provide some help. 

Each offering we provide costs $526 pesos or $26.30 USD (depending on exchange rate)

Items include:

maseca (corn flour)—2 kilos

harina (white flour)—2 kilos

milk—4 cartons

eggs—flat of 30

rice—2 kilos

pinto beans—2 kilos

lentils—1 kilo

garbanzo beans—1 kilo

oatmeal—1 kilo

cooking oil—1 kilo

soap (sometimes a bar, other times small bag for laundry)

In addition, beginning in 2020, Suenos Tropical has donated vegetables in season (whatever was leftover or “seconds”).

In the past, we have also used Pescadero Food Bank money to buy and distribute

formula

diapers

adult diapers

glasses

insulin

There are many of us who live here in Pescadero that have plenty. These people we help are the have-nots. Please consider donating to the Pescadero Food Bank. Any amount will help us to continue to help those in need. Big thanks. Big love.https://www.pescaderofoodbank.org

 
 
Time out, time in, time out.
 
Have fun, give hugs, get love.
 
Take a shower and get clean.
 
Um, six words can’t encapsulate me.  

I only live for the moment.

He said, she said, who cares?

Too little and far too late.

And eventually we all will die.

The mailman brings me bills. Damn.

I had three sons. No daughter.

Wherever he goes, black clouds follow.

It’s the summer of my life.

It’s hard now, but easy later.

Where should we go? To Mars?

Let them eat cake. Me too.

I found happiness in my heart.

Who put sand dollars on the beach?

When will I ever learn? Tomorrow?

“Life’s a bitch, get over it.”

“I’m not very good at this.”

“I don’t know, do you know?”

I dance like I am invisible.

Time’s change, People change, That’s life.

Be bold, work hard, stand tall.

Watercolor by Susan