shellfishie

This is a beach but not the ocean. We were on Chesapeake Bay, the Western shore, three days ago.

For Memorial Day, this takes me back to my paternal grandparents’ house, on Topsail Island in North Carolina. The two small black items are fossilized shark’s teeth. As the water erodes the shore, the fossils wash up. My grandparents walked the beach every day and as kids we learned to hunt and spot the shark’s teeth. The white tooth has been replaced by black stone. They are shiny and that curved pointed shape stands out with practice.

My skills returned on the Bay beach. We found other fossils: a fossil dolphin tooth, fossil coral, fossilized bone and wood. The sand and sky and foliage and shells are so different from my Pacific Northwest beaches.

Happy feet

This is for photrablogger’s Mundane Monday #111.

Though it isn’t a mundane Monday, is it? I always miss my mother on Memorial Day because her birthday is May 31. The end of May makes me a little sad. She died of cancer in 2000. But…. my feet look like hers.

It’s a selfie with shells and a beach, near fish… A shellfishie….

Dance ready

This is a not very stealthie stealthie. I am ready to dance. The shoes have a story. My daughter and I went to Los Angeles for spring break years ago and to see my friend MP. She is a dance friend, and probably the person that I have danced two step with the most. We usually danced east coast swing in the Washington DC area, but every so often there would be a really good two step song. She led.

MP said, “You have to go to this store,” and handed me an address.

“I do?” I said.

“Yes. The owner designs shoes and has them made in Portugul.”

And yes, I did go and bought three pairs… ready to dance.

Burning

Rumi’s chickpea poem: http://www.superluminal.com/cookbook/essay_chickpea.html

I took the stealthie on the first ferry from Seattle to Bainbridge yesterday morning. A quiet ferry with very few sleepy people…..

 

The dust stirs
This is not Konya
I am safe

Water falls from the sky on the dust
This is not Turkey
I am safe

The sun warms the dust
I am not of Islaam
I am safe

A seed stirs in the dust
I am not of Christian either: raised atheist
I am safe

A plant grows
I am not a man: a woman
I am safe

Peas ripen
I do not read the Koran
I am safe

Peas are harvested
I have no mystic tradition nor teachers
I am safe

Peas are dried
He does not ask a question
I am safe

Peas are soaked
He is not religious
I am safe

Peas are placed on slow heat
He chooses sex not love
I am safe

Peas come to a slow boil
He refuses love and leaves
I am safe

The ladle of the Beloved smashes down
None of it matters
I am not safe