In response to The Daily Post’s weekly photo challenge: “Half and Half.”
Oftentimes I ride my mountain bike along the challenging roads in the mountains of La Buitrera, Colombia and I see a distinct separation of the sun on part of the mountains and shade on part of the mountains. “A painting in front of me” I think. The beauty is formidable. May God grant me this beauty forever, and if I die tomorrow I hope my view is just like this wherever I go.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Don’t You Forget About Me.”
As I grow older I have come to realize the young me shaped this older, wiser me. As a young woman I loved to have fun, to push the limits, a free-spirited gal with a lot of friends. Then life happens. We find out reality is not dancing the night away without a care in the world. Life evolves, and so do we. I look back fondly on not being concerned with much except living. Life’s problems were few then.
Fast forward to now. I’m a survivor. I have stood through adversity and found my niche. I have used all of life’s harsh lessons to my advantage. I am now living a life that is fulfilling to me. I’m unconcerned about what others think. I have fewer possessions. My life is simple. I know walking away from misfortune is a step forward. I have shown others that you can start over and be successful.
Success to me is not monetary. Success is to live a soulful life, a life of originality, a life of your passion. We all have our dreams. We might think about them and even state them out loud when we are younger. But do we ever get the chance to fulfill our dreams? Research and documentation of people on their deathbeds show that their biggest regrets are not taking time to enjoy your life and then finding out it is almost over. In other words, finding your vision and then living it. I have done this. I could die tomorrow and my legacy would be she lived her dream. I left disaster and have found my peace. I think anyone who knows me would have one thought if they heard of my passing. “She was doing what she enjoyed before it was too late.” She took the knowledge she had gained during her years on this Earth and savored every precious moment left through her animals, nature and an environment free of the unnecessary possessions. She lived her truth. She left this world as a soul survivor. Continue reading “A Soul Survivor”
In response to The Daily Post’s weekly photo challenge: “Door.”
I am an expat living in Colombia, South America. I find that the doors here could tell many stories. I look at them and I wonder, where will this door lead me? I also wonder how old they are. Many of the cities here are very old. Buga is a city founded in 1555. I wrote a blog about this wonderfully fascinating city with a history of a miracle. The doors are ensconced by mystery.
There are many old Hacienda’s in Colombia. Some doors lead outside to magnificent beauty. Some doors show the life lived long ago, a life one can picture of the Colombian people who are rich with culture. Then there is the life of Colombians who contributed to history but not in a good way. La Ruiza was one of the many hacienda’s Pablo Escobar had in Colombia during the 1980’s. It is a fascinating journey into a time of decadence and drug wars. This hacienda remains untouched from so long ago, but the doors tell a story too. Sliding doors that show a style long ago abandoned. Not only the style but the way of life. Colombia is now a leading contender for expats and tourists. Please feel free to check out my website or my Facebook page to come visit and see the new Colombia. Rich in history and safe for tourists.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Choose Your Adventure.”
When she bought the farm she had no idea how much land she actually owned. She knew the little church in her pueblo was on her land. There was a legend often repeated by towns folk. They said there was gold buried by the Indians on her land. Sometimes at night when all was quiet she would hear strange sounds like a door opening, or knocking, but she dismissed it as the wind and an overactive imagination. She liked the mystery that surrounded her home.
One night it was really stormy, the basement entry was left open and she could hear the door blow open and creak from the rusty hinges. She heard her dogs howling. The wind was making the curtains blow in her bedroom. She got up to close the windows, as the rain really started coming down in torrents. She saw a shadow run across the land. She knew it was nothing, probably an opossum, but with the dogs growling and whining she needed to investigate. Flashlight in hand she went out into the night. She felt no fear as life on the farm included storms, power outages, and sometimes storms that came out of nowhere. She just wanted to shut that creaking entrance-way to the basement and go back to bed.
She could hear that door moving as she approached the basement. The dogs were all around her, and there was no reason for fear…her dogs were her mighty protectors. She entered the basement and flipped the light switch. Nothing happened. Now, there was no electricity and the storm grew stronger. She entered the basement although she just needed to close the door. The flashlight led her and she saw an opening she had never seen before. There was a passageway that looked like stairs going down. She put the light from her flashlight on this space. She knew better, but she had to descend. She found herself in a tunnel. She knew she was crazy but kept walking along a dark pathway. Her dogs were behind her. She started to ascend. She was at a trap door; which she pushed and it opened! She shown her light around and she was inside the church that was on her land! The opening was the storage area of the church, and a key was plainly visible. “Where does this key fit?” she wondered. She grabbed the key and ran back down the passageway as she now felt frightened. The key clutched in her hand. She re-entered the basement. There in front of her was a sight that was unexpected…it was like the basement had shifted. It was no longer storage for her suitcases and old clothes. It was a city that was from a time past, a place that looked nothing like the world she lived in. There was a church with an old wooden door, the door was incredible with inlaid carvings. There was a keyhole. She wondered if the key she held tightly in her hand would fit. She walked over and put the key in the door: it turned and clicked. She pushed the wood slightly, and she watched as the door opened to a magnificent room filled with light. Her being felt lighter, her heart pumped rapidly. She saw sights she never thought she could see in her life. “Was this a dream, or did she enter Paradise?” She saw people from her past, some dead, some still alive, but they were in front of her at this moment. She wondered how she became entwined inside this time warp. There were her parents, her daughter, a friend she knew had died too young. There also were people from her present world, they were still alive. They all were smiling and trying to talk to her. The sounds came out as melodic, like a choir of angels singing, but she couldn’t really hear what they were saying to her. Then she was given a letter, she was able to understand every voice at once: “Burn this after you read it!” She took the letter and all the glorious sounds disappeared. She was standing in the basement once again surrounded by suitcases. The letter was in her hand.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “In a Crisis.”
I know I react well in emergencies, I trained for over thirty years to do just that. It is something the flying public does not take seriously, although they should. We flight attendants know a lot about safety, first aid, terrorism, hijacking, disagreements between passengers, complaining, and most of all being nice to even the worse of the worst. Everyone should read this post, share it and take it seriously if you fly for travel or business. I might be retired but I can still act quickly if I need to. When I fly now I am a passenger, but I am an aware passenger that takes in everything around me. I am ready to help in an emergency. I thank my training every year for thirty years for that! Flight attendants are not on the plane to serve drinks and food, they are there for safety. Over the span of my thirty years of flying I had to prepare for an emergency a few times, luckily we always landed safely. Not to mention the medical emergencies I encountered many times. These emergencies are more common and your flight attendant knows CPR, how to check symptoms, they have at their fingertips difibulators, also emergency supplies for most illnesses. We even have the ability to call a medical person to talk us through all situations that could arise.
I read so much stuff about the airlines all the time, but the one thing I never read enough of is how we the flight attendants are the FIRST to respond in any given situation. We are the ones who alert the pilots. We are the ones on the frontline while providing vital information to the cockpit. We are the ones who look for passengers that might be able to help and we are the ones trained to safely seat you in an emergency landing. We also serve you and act professional while doing so. Next time you get on a plane that has been delayed for whatever reason, remember when you are taking your frustration out on these savvy stews, they are NOT there to stow your luggage, or to re-book your flight. They are there to make sure you can exit the plane in an emergency. They are there to help you if you have a heart attack or any medical emergency, they are there to get you safely from point A to point B. They give the flying public good customer service, and this is part of the job description, but the sole reason you have a trained professional and not just a person off the street who can make a cocktail is for one reason only. We can save your life if we need to.
In response to The Daily Post’s weekly photo challenge: “Broken.
A time will come when you no longer run with such carelessness. You will lay quietly in old age and sleep away your days. No longer will I worry about a broken bone. But then I will worry about the years left with me. For now, I try to keep you still, comfortable, and without pain. Heal quickly dear Orion, and remember our love for you will never be broken like your leg. It will just get stronger with the passing years.