Grow (W)here You Are Planted

 what you mean is During this bitch of a time. I hope you are well and I pray your days are filled with beauty and hope and constant realization of your strengths and abilities, of everything you already have within yourself.  I pray all of this goodness finds its way to everyone you love like I pray for the same to shoot straight for the mark...or the heart...to everyone I love and everyone they love and they love and so on and on through to the ends of the earth and into all of eternity so that even our ancestors can feel the joys of overcoming and standing tall in the light.   All the future kids are so set. but really, when has it not been a difficult time? When has everything been so 'just right' we couldn't contain ourselves? The goal is not happiness, it's the luck to be able to have so much to be thankful for and even more to work toward.  Yeah, I said toward...not towards.   My Lola dog naps while I type and it looks like it's going to rain...again...I'

 We get so used to this, our particular combination of skin, heart, and soul.  And we should, how else will we find the way to fight for ourselves and for the love we are and for the love we want to add to our lives? The love we need to share with you?? How much time is spent learning the wrong things just because 'that's how it's always been done' when we could just be and trust and learn to live and flow with each other? How much lovelier would the nature around us be if we could just earn to be? I dreamed of him last night.  I woke this morning in a hazy memory of pastry chefs in a white room with tall wooden tables, his chef jacket felt soft against my skin.  He looked into me in the golden light and I felt truer than I'd ever felt before.  He asked me to kiss him.  I did.  I can still feel him in my air... such a calming presence reminding me of love. Image by  Игорь Левченко  from  Pixabay  

 My momma was born in Kenosha, WI.  She came to Earth three years after her sister, the fourth in a line of siblings born two years apart.  As a child, her favorite response was 'in a minute'.  The running family joke was she had been saying those words since before she was born...hence the 3-year difference between her and my Aunt E. That extra year, and being the last child, gave her something she often mentioned as one of the luckiest parts of her childhood.  See, when she was born, there was finally a little money in the bank.  The rest of the kids had jobs and could pay for their own fun, and all the punishments had mostly been had.  Linda came into a world where she and her mother Susan could get to know each other a little differently.  They could spend uninterrupted time with each other.  I hope she never felt guilty because of it...I hope I'm not sharing too much by sharing it here. I feel it timely to let you know that my momma was white of French and Czech* desce

 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