Saturday, December 31, 2011
This Is A Test
Friday, December 30, 2011
What The Hell Was Going On With Blogger?
Has been six months now since I've been able to post anything. What the hell was going on with blogger.com? I don't know, only that whenever I tried to post anything blogger.com would just save it to drafts. Now I can start blogging again. For a while I thought something was going on with my computer, maybe a virus or something.
Anyhow, navyecho4sierra is back online. 2011 almost over and 2012 just around the corner.
Married Amy on 20august2011 in Las Vegas. Here I go again!
My oldest daughter, Victoria, moved out of my house in Hitchcock and in with my sister. We'll see how that goes.
I am well, thanks to God. One day at a time, lots of prayer. Must be dashing along now, bills to pay, house to put in order, etc, etc. More to follow later.
Anyhow, navyecho4sierra is back online. 2011 almost over and 2012 just around the corner.
Married Amy on 20august2011 in Las Vegas. Here I go again!
My oldest daughter, Victoria, moved out of my house in Hitchcock and in with my sister. We'll see how that goes.
I am well, thanks to God. One day at a time, lots of prayer. Must be dashing along now, bills to pay, house to put in order, etc, etc. More to follow later.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
First Ever Broken Bone
Sprang my left ankle when I was hiking about on Sandia mountain in New Mexico last month and didn't give it another thought. I returned home to cycling, mowing the yard, taekwondo, working on my feet, etc etc. This wasn't my first sprang ankle after all. I would tape it up when doing taekwondo and ice it up afterwards and after work. Would also eat up the motrin like candy.
Four weeks later, I'm wondering why it hasn't healed. I truthfully thought I was just over doing it, nothing serious. I decide to go to a doctor for an xray and find out it's a fracture. Not the real bad kind, just a chip of bone off the interior aspect of my tibia at the very end of the bone where it connects into the ankle bones. Thank God the tendons and ligaments were intact and undamaged.
Now I'm in a walking boot splint for 3 weeks until I return to a podiatrist and decide if they're going to do surgery to remove the chip. I sure hope no surgery, surgeons, surgery scare me. I'm a nurse and used to work a minor surgery clinic as a navy corpsman. I want no part of the knife if it can be helped. The podiatrist is 80-90% certain that I will heal well enough without surgery. The bone chip may or may not reattatch itself. Will learn more after more xrays june 10.
So, I am babying this thing as best I am able, wearing the walking boot splint at all waking hours and at work. The only times I remove it are to shower and to sleep. 43 years old and my first fracture. As of this writing, it only hurts after work, and the swelling is all but gone. There's only minor edema, nothing really and the discomfort is more of a dull ache than a pain. The walking boot splint is a pain in the ass, but I do not want surgery so I am following doctor's orders.
More to follow next month so will just limp along now until the xrays in june.
Monday, April 25, 2011
Went To New MexicoTo Visit Dad
Went to Alburqurque, New Mexico to visit my fathe for a week. My father was born and reared here in Galveston, Texas but moved out about 8 years ago, soon after my grandparents passed, when he was married to Dion. It was the first time I have spent more than a weekend under my father's roof since before I was 18 years old and my first time flying since 1993, before my daughter Judith was born.
The flight out was pleasant enough. I am older and, I hope, wiser now than when I last flew. I really was as excited as a child about the entire trip, flying, getting away for a bit.
I stayed with my father and his wife, Jerri. They live well and comfortable. From their backyard on a hillside he has a great view of the Sandia mountain to the east. When the sun sets, the light hits the mountain just right about 7:00 pm or so and the mountain is bathed in a red like a giant slice of watermelon. Sandia is watermelon in spanish and hence the name of the mountain.
That first day, my father drove us up to the crest of the mountain. There was ice and snow in the depressions and canyons and in those shadow covered areas not getting full sunlight. Atop the mountain are some radio towers and a visitors center. The wind was howling and cold and it was nearly noon in mid april. Thankfully I had my leather jacket, watch cap, and gloves. The snow was whipped about all over and the wind did howl. Ice seemed to be coveringthe ground at almost every placed I stepped. I was wearing jungle boots and jeans but no socks. Thank God for the jungle boots.
The following days we would drive out from the city into the surrounding desert and mountains. The landscape is stark and beautiful. Reds, browns, tans, and grays are punctuated by srips of green where there is a river or other water source. The land is hard and rocky. Mesass rise for hundres of feet up from the desert floor and the roads twist through and over canyons and hills and mountains. Black rock surrounds ancient and extinct volcanos now just knobs up from the desert floor.
The land is seemingly empty punctuated by peublos, native american communities, small about the area of the CYMF. They are all over. in the valleys, atop mountains, crowing mesas, and like an oasis out in the middle of nowhere. The buildings seem ancient, made of earth and wood and local brick. The newer buildings are tribal offices, schools, clinics, and some homes like out here on the coast. The defining feature I liked out there were the high brick or cement walls enclosing the backyards and the low ones forming little patios in the front. They offer nice degrees of privacy and some protection from the wind which would eat up a wood privacy fence like the ones we have down here.
The natives live in these small simple structures with propane and wood for heat and large outdoor earth ovens to bake. The streets are narrow. The only luxeries I saw outside were new trucks and satelite TV dishes. They live simply. In the burbs and the cities are larger modrn homes emulating the natives, but they lack character like the pueblos.
At acoma sky city, the home of the acoma natives atop a mesa in the desert, is the oldest continually occupied urban area in the United States. The people and the village have been here for over a thousand years. The road up atop to the mesa is less than a hundre years old and is a twisting, steep way. The REAL way up and down is a rock stairwell with hand and foot holds worn into the rock from hundreds of years of ancient natives, invaders, explorers, and the current locals who still live in their ancestoral home. This was the way I took down, much safer than the bus ride back I placed my hands and feet into rock worn smooth by original inhabitants of our country and the invaders who are also part of my heritage. It was a real spiritual visit.
I asked permission to enter a kiva, this is the native house of prayer, like a church, and was denied. I did not press the matter. They did let me visit the mission church in their pueblo, still active after hundres of years. The natives called my father and I "bro", I suppose because of our facial features, color, and my father's ponytail. WE were ASKED permission for the tour group to enter the cemetry. The land, all of it, is sacred to them as are their resting ancestors who have gone on before. My heart and soul swelled, spiritually, emotionally, I didn't want to leave but stay and study and learn and pray and really get back to nature in a way I won't feel again for some time. Maybe even to heal.
These people are not my closest relatives. My grandmothers were born in northeren mexico, the land of the Yaqui, the Apache, the Comanche. They were light complexioned women like the spanish people of europe. My grandfathers, one born in Galveston, Tx and one born in San Marcos, Tx, were dark skinned men like my mother and brother. I am told by my mother, Apache blood runs in her side of the family. A great grandmother was said to be full Apache who may have killed a man with a hatchet she was said to carry after he beat her severely. The body was never found. This story I heard from my mother, she heard it from her grandmother and an aunt. Both sides of my family have the high cheekbones and the deep spiritual eyes, from work and prayer and the sun and life.
At one point of my visit we went up into the Jemez mountains. These were by the far the most beautiful.beuatiful black volcanic rock and red granite. A river cuts through the canyon floor. Sheer rock walls rise up on both sides. In the canyon are hot springs, a zen monostarie, spas, churches, it's a beautiful and spiritual place. I could really feel God there. We stopped by a place called Soda Falls. The rock seems to be ancient coral and a sulphiric smelling spring bubbled up from the rocks. The purest of water. The river banks are sporadically spotted with homes here and ther. Mostly miles of stark beautiful landscape. The wind sang through the canyons and gorges
Some of the other places I visited were Santa Fe, New Mexico, a yuppy expensive city. There is a church there I read about on the internet with a spiral staircase with seemigly nothing to hold it up as if to defy gravity itself. I studied it and concluded that it must hod its own self up some how. It was standing before me. Simple remarkable engineering like a strand of dna helix. It was mysterious and self explaing at the same time. As if to say, "What's the big deal? I am here, I exist, I am standing before you. No tricks or gizmos. Just accept."
The shopping was typical touristy shit, kokopelli and native american art out the ass, beautiful stuff. The purpose of my visit was my father. On the flight back home, all I thought about was the different light I see my father in now. I am 43 years old now, a father, divorced, and going through stuff. I saw how I am like my father in many ways and how I am not like him. I am happy to say I am my father's son and I am happy to say I am my mother's son. I am the result of both and their teaching and love. It was the proverbial acceptance in a big way.
Amy did not go with me, she worked. My daughters did not go with me. I went alone. It was neccessary this way. For many years I have made excusesabout not going out there, like I did about the ACTS retreat, and when I quit making the excuses and went, it was great.
I feel as if a great weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I am not my mother or my farther. I am my own self. My brother would go out here almost every year and tell me our father was well and to go myself. I finally have.
My father and his wife Jerri are well, I don't worry as much now. He lives well, seems happy, has issues to work through stil. We both do. Jerri is gracious and good, making a home for themselves. My brother Xavier is well enough. He is still young and has to get his head out his ass, but he will be OK. He has to get there himself.
I returned home a renewed man, cooking for Amy on my days off. Reaching out to my daughters and mother and my father and brothers and sister in a new way. I see myself in a new light. The trip was therapeutic, healing. I can't wait to return. I feel a new zest for living.
The next time I go I'll take Amy and perhaps my daughters or perhaps Ill go alone again. Next time, I'll stay somewhere else anad see my father toward the end of the trip for a little while and maybe enjoy the landscape and city for my self, exploring all by my self.
I can apply this to my own life and attitudes here and now. I can't wait.
The flight out was pleasant enough. I am older and, I hope, wiser now than when I last flew. I really was as excited as a child about the entire trip, flying, getting away for a bit.
I stayed with my father and his wife, Jerri. They live well and comfortable. From their backyard on a hillside he has a great view of the Sandia mountain to the east. When the sun sets, the light hits the mountain just right about 7:00 pm or so and the mountain is bathed in a red like a giant slice of watermelon. Sandia is watermelon in spanish and hence the name of the mountain.
That first day, my father drove us up to the crest of the mountain. There was ice and snow in the depressions and canyons and in those shadow covered areas not getting full sunlight. Atop the mountain are some radio towers and a visitors center. The wind was howling and cold and it was nearly noon in mid april. Thankfully I had my leather jacket, watch cap, and gloves. The snow was whipped about all over and the wind did howl. Ice seemed to be coveringthe ground at almost every placed I stepped. I was wearing jungle boots and jeans but no socks. Thank God for the jungle boots.
The following days we would drive out from the city into the surrounding desert and mountains. The landscape is stark and beautiful. Reds, browns, tans, and grays are punctuated by srips of green where there is a river or other water source. The land is hard and rocky. Mesass rise for hundres of feet up from the desert floor and the roads twist through and over canyons and hills and mountains. Black rock surrounds ancient and extinct volcanos now just knobs up from the desert floor.
The land is seemingly empty punctuated by peublos, native american communities, small about the area of the CYMF. They are all over. in the valleys, atop mountains, crowing mesas, and like an oasis out in the middle of nowhere. The buildings seem ancient, made of earth and wood and local brick. The newer buildings are tribal offices, schools, clinics, and some homes like out here on the coast. The defining feature I liked out there were the high brick or cement walls enclosing the backyards and the low ones forming little patios in the front. They offer nice degrees of privacy and some protection from the wind which would eat up a wood privacy fence like the ones we have down here.
The natives live in these small simple structures with propane and wood for heat and large outdoor earth ovens to bake. The streets are narrow. The only luxeries I saw outside were new trucks and satelite TV dishes. They live simply. In the burbs and the cities are larger modrn homes emulating the natives, but they lack character like the pueblos.
At acoma sky city, the home of the acoma natives atop a mesa in the desert, is the oldest continually occupied urban area in the United States. The people and the village have been here for over a thousand years. The road up atop to the mesa is less than a hundre years old and is a twisting, steep way. The REAL way up and down is a rock stairwell with hand and foot holds worn into the rock from hundreds of years of ancient natives, invaders, explorers, and the current locals who still live in their ancestoral home. This was the way I took down, much safer than the bus ride back I placed my hands and feet into rock worn smooth by original inhabitants of our country and the invaders who are also part of my heritage. It was a real spiritual visit.
I asked permission to enter a kiva, this is the native house of prayer, like a church, and was denied. I did not press the matter. They did let me visit the mission church in their pueblo, still active after hundres of years. The natives called my father and I "bro", I suppose because of our facial features, color, and my father's ponytail. WE were ASKED permission for the tour group to enter the cemetry. The land, all of it, is sacred to them as are their resting ancestors who have gone on before. My heart and soul swelled, spiritually, emotionally, I didn't want to leave but stay and study and learn and pray and really get back to nature in a way I won't feel again for some time. Maybe even to heal.
These people are not my closest relatives. My grandmothers were born in northeren mexico, the land of the Yaqui, the Apache, the Comanche. They were light complexioned women like the spanish people of europe. My grandfathers, one born in Galveston, Tx and one born in San Marcos, Tx, were dark skinned men like my mother and brother. I am told by my mother, Apache blood runs in her side of the family. A great grandmother was said to be full Apache who may have killed a man with a hatchet she was said to carry after he beat her severely. The body was never found. This story I heard from my mother, she heard it from her grandmother and an aunt. Both sides of my family have the high cheekbones and the deep spiritual eyes, from work and prayer and the sun and life.
At one point of my visit we went up into the Jemez mountains. These were by the far the most beautiful.beuatiful black volcanic rock and red granite. A river cuts through the canyon floor. Sheer rock walls rise up on both sides. In the canyon are hot springs, a zen monostarie, spas, churches, it's a beautiful and spiritual place. I could really feel God there. We stopped by a place called Soda Falls. The rock seems to be ancient coral and a sulphiric smelling spring bubbled up from the rocks. The purest of water. The river banks are sporadically spotted with homes here and ther. Mostly miles of stark beautiful landscape. The wind sang through the canyons and gorges
Some of the other places I visited were Santa Fe, New Mexico, a yuppy expensive city. There is a church there I read about on the internet with a spiral staircase with seemigly nothing to hold it up as if to defy gravity itself. I studied it and concluded that it must hod its own self up some how. It was standing before me. Simple remarkable engineering like a strand of dna helix. It was mysterious and self explaing at the same time. As if to say, "What's the big deal? I am here, I exist, I am standing before you. No tricks or gizmos. Just accept."
The shopping was typical touristy shit, kokopelli and native american art out the ass, beautiful stuff. The purpose of my visit was my father. On the flight back home, all I thought about was the different light I see my father in now. I am 43 years old now, a father, divorced, and going through stuff. I saw how I am like my father in many ways and how I am not like him. I am happy to say I am my father's son and I am happy to say I am my mother's son. I am the result of both and their teaching and love. It was the proverbial acceptance in a big way.
Amy did not go with me, she worked. My daughters did not go with me. I went alone. It was neccessary this way. For many years I have made excusesabout not going out there, like I did about the ACTS retreat, and when I quit making the excuses and went, it was great.
I feel as if a great weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I am not my mother or my farther. I am my own self. My brother would go out here almost every year and tell me our father was well and to go myself. I finally have.
My father and his wife Jerri are well, I don't worry as much now. He lives well, seems happy, has issues to work through stil. We both do. Jerri is gracious and good, making a home for themselves. My brother Xavier is well enough. He is still young and has to get his head out his ass, but he will be OK. He has to get there himself.
I returned home a renewed man, cooking for Amy on my days off. Reaching out to my daughters and mother and my father and brothers and sister in a new way. I see myself in a new light. The trip was therapeutic, healing. I can't wait to return. I feel a new zest for living.
The next time I go I'll take Amy and perhaps my daughters or perhaps Ill go alone again. Next time, I'll stay somewhere else anad see my father toward the end of the trip for a little while and maybe enjoy the landscape and city for my self, exploring all by my self.
I can apply this to my own life and attitudes here and now. I can't wait.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
The Ides Of March
Here it is the 15th, the ides of march. Japan got it big, earthquakes and nuke plant meltdowns or about to melt down. Bad times for the japanese. Still cold over there.
I have these ays off from work and have things to do around here, change the oil in the car, the bathroom, the backyard, find a side job, the house in hitchcock, the list goes on and on. I can forget about going out to the nude beach or the museum district or a coffeehouse or anything like that. Have to get up off my ass and get to work.
ice and quiet in the house right now. Amy at work, no house mates since august, and it's pretty outside. Want to spend the day writing poetry and working out. Must get busy. More to follow later.
I have these ays off from work and have things to do around here, change the oil in the car, the bathroom, the backyard, find a side job, the house in hitchcock, the list goes on and on. I can forget about going out to the nude beach or the museum district or a coffeehouse or anything like that. Have to get up off my ass and get to work.
ice and quiet in the house right now. Amy at work, no house mates since august, and it's pretty outside. Want to spend the day writing poetry and working out. Must get busy. More to follow later.
Friday, February 11, 2011
4 Glorious Weeks
Amy has been with the VA for 4 weeks now and it has been absolutely glorious. She is on days, 5 days a week, fromm 0800-1600, mon-fri, weekends off. I'm on nights, 1800-0600 on a rotating matrix, with every other weekend off. We see each other when I am off and briefly coming in or leaving for work.
I love the peace and quiet and solitude. As soon as she leaves work for the morning, I turn off the TV and curl up with a cup of hot strong coffee and the paper or do things around the house without interruption. Sometimes it's running errands or honey do's. Whatever it is, it's great. Most mornings, I'll soak in the hottub in the back yard. especially when I get home from work. One evening off, Amy even joined me ;).
This is the way I was hoping for when I first left Dana and the divorce proceedings were getting started. Peace and quiet and solitude. I didn't have the money to live as I do now then, still do not. Still have a lot of issues and concerns on my plate, My daughters, money, work, Amy, me, the list goes on. All told life has improved significantly these last 4 weeks.
Some of the things I have been doing, soaking in the hottub, stretching, enjoying a dvd or cd, praying, working out a bit, seeing my children, helping out my mother around her house, catching up with old friends and aquaintances. One day even playing tourist in the museum district up in Houston.
Can't wait for the days to turn comfortably warm and pretty. Am looking forward to some fishing, cycling, yard work, the nude beach, and any number of outdoor activities. We have a barbacue pit bought last summer we still havn't fired up yet!
It's been glorious and then some. I feel so much better these last few weeks and am looking forward to a brighter tomorrow. More to follow later.
I love the peace and quiet and solitude. As soon as she leaves work for the morning, I turn off the TV and curl up with a cup of hot strong coffee and the paper or do things around the house without interruption. Sometimes it's running errands or honey do's. Whatever it is, it's great. Most mornings, I'll soak in the hottub in the back yard. especially when I get home from work. One evening off, Amy even joined me ;).
This is the way I was hoping for when I first left Dana and the divorce proceedings were getting started. Peace and quiet and solitude. I didn't have the money to live as I do now then, still do not. Still have a lot of issues and concerns on my plate, My daughters, money, work, Amy, me, the list goes on. All told life has improved significantly these last 4 weeks.
Some of the things I have been doing, soaking in the hottub, stretching, enjoying a dvd or cd, praying, working out a bit, seeing my children, helping out my mother around her house, catching up with old friends and aquaintances. One day even playing tourist in the museum district up in Houston.
Can't wait for the days to turn comfortably warm and pretty. Am looking forward to some fishing, cycling, yard work, the nude beach, and any number of outdoor activities. We have a barbacue pit bought last summer we still havn't fired up yet!
It's been glorious and then some. I feel so much better these last few weeks and am looking forward to a brighter tomorrow. More to follow later.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Hottub Love!
Each time Amy and I hop into the hottub, we wind up making love. Fitting, as this hottub was the first place Amy and I made love in any capacity in October 2008. A month an a half later, I was moving out of my house in with her and inquiring about a divorce. Powerful stuff, that hottub love!
Our bodies entwined together. I enter her. She sucks me off. We experiment with a couple of positions - doggy style, seated, her riding me, balancing on the edge. Only our inaginations limit the possibilities. Our love making over flows to the indoors.
We are oblivious to the neighbors and what they may see. Hope they enjoy the show. I'm always nude in the backyard anyway unless I hear children in their back yard. I will have to invest in a privacy fence completely around the back. Currently, the privacy fence encompasses most of the backyard, not all of it. A small section has only open chainlink between the yards. If only to cover that small section. Oh the joys then!
When the housemates were here, they only fucked in it once which I am aware of. I watched for a bit. Sue and I were in the tub together that first night in October 2008. I made love with Amy only, Sue retreated to the front porch to read a book. Oh well. They never maintained it though, that task always fell to me. I was the one who drained it, disinfected it, filled it, shocked it, etc, etc.
Now with Amy in Houston at the VA working days, I make it a point to occasionally fire it up before I go to work so it will be hot enough when I come home in the morning. Unfortunate for me, I am alone when I do soak unless Amy is here. I enjoy a beer or two, shower, get some sleep. The wonders of the heat and water and the outdoors, nude. Yeah absolutely no clothes allowed in the hottub. No exceptions. I'm sure they foul up the filtration system or chemical balance of the water or something or another.
I soaked for a few minutes today, about 15 or so. Twice. I'm about to go back for another dip. More to follow later.
Our bodies entwined together. I enter her. She sucks me off. We experiment with a couple of positions - doggy style, seated, her riding me, balancing on the edge. Only our inaginations limit the possibilities. Our love making over flows to the indoors.
We are oblivious to the neighbors and what they may see. Hope they enjoy the show. I'm always nude in the backyard anyway unless I hear children in their back yard. I will have to invest in a privacy fence completely around the back. Currently, the privacy fence encompasses most of the backyard, not all of it. A small section has only open chainlink between the yards. If only to cover that small section. Oh the joys then!
When the housemates were here, they only fucked in it once which I am aware of. I watched for a bit. Sue and I were in the tub together that first night in October 2008. I made love with Amy only, Sue retreated to the front porch to read a book. Oh well. They never maintained it though, that task always fell to me. I was the one who drained it, disinfected it, filled it, shocked it, etc, etc.
Now with Amy in Houston at the VA working days, I make it a point to occasionally fire it up before I go to work so it will be hot enough when I come home in the morning. Unfortunate for me, I am alone when I do soak unless Amy is here. I enjoy a beer or two, shower, get some sleep. The wonders of the heat and water and the outdoors, nude. Yeah absolutely no clothes allowed in the hottub. No exceptions. I'm sure they foul up the filtration system or chemical balance of the water or something or another.
I soaked for a few minutes today, about 15 or so. Twice. I'm about to go back for another dip. More to follow later.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
