Carolina Blue


Carolina Blue glimmered this week —

On the sultry shores of the south —

On the week of the 4th the sea was murky, dismal, and gray —

Ocean Isle 2016 4th of July

I suppose the lack of storms accompanied with the intense heat

soothed the tumultuous seas.IMG_0016

Thank You, God, both the occasion —Blessed was I  to be there to see.


Amazing how things change in a matter of weeks — or, sometimes  minutes it seems — Shrimp Tales and Tides

Ebbs Flow, Swells Swing, the Sun, Moon, and Stars sing  ever-changing songs of God’s Mood Ring —Beneath the Toiling Sea—Oceans of Emotion— and some of its own — but mostly revealed on the surface… Reflections of you and me.





Braille writing 2020

I should begin by giving thanks to a fellow blogger who inadvertently inspired me to write this entry as his subtle style of writing often does. In fact, I  just left his site, where I caught myself  floundering out a comment twice as long as one of his profound post.


As my style of writing often does.

As I was saying, however, I caught myself, writing a comment longer than the post which I was responding to, and yes, caught is the operative word here.

Hmm ? I asked myself.  Why am I wasting all these words on his site when I myself am in dire need of a fresh post on my own site? Just between us, I’m being  facetious, as he always keeps the threads going with friendly, yet, well-informed replies.  Nonetheless, I really did need a fresh post, and here it is: 

Upon reading one of his intriguing post on how his emotions, mood, and demeanor never seemed to affect his writing ability and style when he was younger, but have been creeping up and whispering sweet nothings in his ear while he is trying to construct a  sentence of late, I  began to reflect on my own state of mind, while writing, and pondered the questions his article raised.

Of course, I am not sure of the age difference between my fellow blogger, and myself, but,   I think it’s probably substantial; even leaning toward my being older than he’ll have become by the time I drop-kick the bucket. But, he may be catching up fast, judging by the apparent ping^pong game going on in his head while he’s writing these days. 

Why, I can remember walking 32 miles, to the nearest highway, barefooted—uphill, in the snow, — and did  I  mention it was uphill? Oh yeah. And then rolling down the other side of the hill, becoming en-wrapped in an ever-accumulating abominable snowball the size of  Cleveland, before crashing into the school bus, that would then shuttle me and my 14 brothers off to the nearest school house two states away! And  all of this, before the Butt-Crack of Dawn!

 No, wait, that was a different story… My Mother’s story actually. I don’t even know how it ends.  I’m not quite that old.

Okay, that’s probably enough of my feeble attempts at being funny at the expense of my younger friend, whom, as you will see, had a much more serious look at the face of his inquisitive blog entry than this one does. And, I really doubt he’s getting old at all. So, don’t mention the tiny little crow’s feet beginning to spider their way out from the edges of the dotted little- i (s)- in his post.

No, and he shouldn’t be too worried about that little ping^pong game of the left brains sardonic jeering, at his right brained musings —I’ve had that for years. 

Okay, all you online psycho-analyzers, No, I Will NOT LIE ON YOUR CASTING COUCH TODAY! This is my time to dig on the young guy who, probably isn’t, but, may believe himself to be getting a little old

Besides, just as I told him, as far as the constant ping^pong game taking place in my head- I rather attribute that to just being born with a right minded hard-drive, the size of a ping pong ball, without the left brained sense of realizing that it takes two to play ping pong, so, you might say, it gets a little abused. And, that’s all there is to it. So to all you psycho-analyzers, there’s nothing else going on here…

Or, up there for that matter, just a little friendly competition between two conflicting parts of my head. But, I digress… Where was I? Um..Oh yeah…

I was about to respond to my  younger,( but catching up fast ) better looking fellow blogger’s inquisitive post, which, somewhat begs the question — does this happen to every writer? Why, yes, it does—I think. I mean, just because I started off this way doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen to everyone else. Does it? Never mind. Don’t answer that …

So, my new found, dashingly, young, writer friend, ( with more dark hair on his head than Fabio) Yes, I  find it more difficult to write at times also. There are times I find that my thought process seems hindered, or distracted to the point of having to stop and think a paragraph ahead of myself. Like when I am tired, (or jealous) almost seems as if  I am another person, having to write things in my head three different ways before typing it three different times, where otherwise, the words would flow through me like the warmth of a 12-year-old single-malt scotch once did. Hey, now that sounds like a good idea, does anyone have a — Oh, never mind.

Depending on what I am writing, however, I’ve noticed this can add to the cadence of my words.

I recall, just recently, an instance when I was exhausted before even beginning a post, in which I was determined to publish before retiring for the night. As I  sat there, and struggled, and  fidgeted, and typed and deleted, to the point that I thought, wow, I have really had to put a lot of  extra thought into such a  menial topic;  what’s up with that?

I remember thinking, well I guess that’s a good thing; It certainly should  be a good read once I finish, seeing as I anatomized every other word, and over analyzed the next three, all the way through it.  Then, of course, came the final word and then the editorial assessment reading, which had the continuity and flow of  a flashing airport arrival/departure sign.

Okay, yes, that was the sign that sent me off to bed, after hitting -Save Draft- instead of the publish key. And a good thing it was too, as, upon reading it the next morning I found that It was an Email addressed to the white house asking the price of the cheapest rental car on the lot. No, Actually, I found the next morning that it took only changing a few words to put it back on the runway ready for a smooth take off – if  I do say so myself – and, I do. Hey, this is my story and I’m sticking to it. Or, when I catch myself I’m sticking to it anyway.

Nonetheless, as I see it —Just as a  seasoned journalist with a national   

headline agenda to meet, possessing- even on a bad hair day- a much more disciplined approach, and better-stocked tool box between their ears than someone like say — okay than someone like me, must depend on and yet harness their emotions. They must meet a deadline and deliver the news in a non-opinionated way— the same as I do, of course — I mean — in more of an abstract creative kind of way. Shouldn’t I also use my emotions, or sometimes, let my emotions use me. Without different personalities, there would be no originality.

Ergo, as the content and character of our writings, embody a large  part of our individual spirit, and personalities, I believe we can more than assume they evince our emotional demeanor at the time we are writing them, and of course, once they are painted onto the canvas.

So, just as our reactions to emotions affect our social life and well-being, we also have that realization, and responsibility, to help shape the article into what we want it to deliver to the readers. After all, a large part of our soul is used to try to manifest what our spirit is saying, in any creative writing. At least…that’s what the voices in my head are telling me…

Okay, here’s a Link to a Real Writer, and a good blog pal…Tell him the old man sent you, but, don’t tell him that I said he’s a wild-eyed guitar playing traveling musician, who better never come near my daughter. Okay, you can tell him that…just don’t tell him that I spoke well of him in any way, shape or form!