Grow (W)here You Are Planted

 I hate confrontation.   Hate is a strong word and gives the 'thing' too much power.  Instead I'll say confrontation is one of the challenges in life that I am working through.  Don't get me wrong, I am no shrinking violet, but when I must confront a situation or person I do it with the grace of a slow ripping, super sticky band aid...on an arm...a very hairy arm. springing through - Rebecca Scott I know you've felt it,ugh...it is a sharp pain and you watch the hairs pull and pull and you have to stop, concentrate, maybe even close your eyes and just rrrrRRR RRIP that sucker off as fast as you can . That's what it feels like to me when I confront you.  It won't feel nice and it's almost like if I have to do it then you will also suffer how bad I am at it.  It'll happen fast and feel detached no matter how long we've known and loved each other.  My only hope is that the rest of our relationship exemplifies my love and respect for you enough to cov

 Ok, so this is the thing. I'm not sure what the deal is here.  I started a blog years ago but have been less than consistent posting my writings here.  I want to change that.  So here we go. Zona Colonial by Rebecca Scott I'll start with a re-introduction.  I'm not sure if I really introduced myself at the beginning of this and, if you have read any of my posts, you have a pretty good idea of who I am.  Yes, all three of you that read this blog are pretty fantastic.  Heck, I'm not even sure it's the same three reading my posts every time...heh...no matter.  I am writing for anyone reading that might feel 'less' or 'stranger than most' or just wants to see what strange and unusual Dominicans who live in Florida write about when left to their own devices. Mini Publico by Rebecca Scott Parked in Bani by Rebecca Scott There we go. I was born on a sunny afternoon in Santo Domingo in the Dominican Republic to an American mother and a Dominican father.   B

I wish you could see what I see. You are bright  and strong and beautiful. We are all made better because you are here.

Image by  FelixMittermeier  from  Pixabay I’m having a day. The kind of day that feels like everything is going wrong. I can’t get my Internet to work which means I can’t work which means I won’t get paid which means my scheduled-to-actually-worked score will decrease which means I’ll get fewer hours which means I’ll make even less money. and I’m already not making enough money because this is a part time job plus I’m not receiving the $600 a week unemployment insurance because people in other situations, in other places are making decisions that affect me directly and I have allowed that to be the case by not taking full control of my life much earlier because I was still putting myself together with the pieces left after many years of grieving in the place where my heart broke...where I spent so much time trying to rebuild instead building anew. And let's talk about control...I mean control as much as ‘control’ means to me not what it may mean to you, what the dictionary def

 ok so this is the thing do I really love to write? or do I just know that it would be a great way to make money? The fact that I ask that question might mean I'm in it for the money. The fact that I've been writing since I was 10 years old is more telling, I think. I remember buying a new notebook entirely with the plan that I would begin to write the story of my life.  At 10, I already knew I was living an extraordinary life full of extraordinary people and the experience was and would continue to be worthy of sharing. I also know, right around the same time, that pressing that button on a camera felt just as good as that first breath after a deep dive in the pool.  Every time. Image by  Free-Photos  from  Pixabay   I found the first two photos I took entirely with the mindset that I would become a photographer.   My aunt and uncle, Eileen and Don, were photographers who also happened to be a music teacher and lawyer.  The story goes they met in the elevator while my aunt was

Image by  Norbert Pietsch  from  Pixabay I am living. I walk around and do things. I sit and relax, maybe watch t.v. or tickle my Lola. During any and all of these moments, thoughts travel in the universe that is my mind and they grow wings...or wheels It's so easy for me to get lost in thought that I forget to share.  I forget that I should be sitting in front of a screen with a keyboard.  I should be spewing the things that are happening in my head. I swear so many of these thoughts just happen. and I get to spend time wandering and flowing the path that they create. I always see thoughts and ideas as energy speeding right past just above our heads...the creative ones are just the ones that decided to grab one or two or... Some thoughts have created indentations on the path like an old rickety horse drawn cart slowly making its way through a town,  patiently on its way home. Other thoughts are new and, while I'm in them, I can look around and see colors and shapes. Sometimes,

River Ridge, Georgia, 2011, Rebecca Scott               You know those lovely Sunday afternoons, where you finally relax enough to just be? You're home alone or at your best friend's house just aiming your eyes at the TV. The sound is down because you're both tired and want to enjoy the sound of the rain outside. You let yourself go in and out of consciousness, napping most of the day. Then you hear the rain slow to a constant, slow drip just outside the open window. I call that a gray day. It might actually be gray with clouds and fo g or it might even be sunny and so hot nothing seems to move. Those days are life for me. They mean I have finally reached a moment where I can breathe. All my muscles are unwound and my breathing is slow and deep. Occasionally one corner of my mouth turns up...all by itself, as my mind wanders into and out of memories. When I moved to Florida, I worried I wouldn't get perfect gray days anymore. For over 20 years, Georgia pro