Tag Archives: writing

HNBR: Part 4 of Day 4

On the back of the carriage seat we rode on through the Mackinac State Park, someone had placed an apt sticker. We knew what row we were in because of that.

We had 7 minutes to run over and look at this natural formation. The scientific reason for this phenomenon is erosion but the Indigenous story was much better. The beach down below was relatively quiet. It was quite a difference between the beaches in Portugal and Michigan’s. Our driver yelled Marco and we responded with Polo so we knew we had to get back to the tour.

I almost forgot this little beauty. At the butterfly conservatory, there was a terrarium out on the porch with a sign that read “Warning! Attack Turtle” only it was empty. We found out why when the guide at the Wings of Mackninac explained that she took this little tortise out with her when she went on lunchbreak so the newly found friend could enjoy a rich harvest of dandelions.

After we left the tour carriage, we walked down a steep hill. At the bottom of the hill, across from a large park, we found this church. The door was open. We agreed that going in as UU’s was rather obligatory. The hymns and readings were still up from Easter.

We found this directly across from the entrance. We took it seriously, quietly ushered ourselves in, sitting in a pew farthest from the door. A family was in there and the kids were making all sorts of uncorrected noise. After they left, we settled into the peace only to have two older women come in, sit at the back, and talk on their phones. We stayed until we’d looked up the hymns and readings.

Water dancing on the haint blue ceiling. Jen and I were lightly surprised to see such a cajun tradition carried on that far north.

For some reason, there are two signs for the Mackinac State Harbor. We got pictures of both.

I’m vibing with the wooden version of the sign, what about you?

This is one of my favorite pictures of Jen because I was making her laugh so hard she was literally doubled over. I’m not even sure what I was saying to her, but it sure did get her giggler.

A gigantic lilac bush that smelled utterly pure.

A bit of VanGogh brought to you by the Detroit Institute of Arts. It was just hanging around on the harbor path.

Beauty comes in so many subjective forms. These pretties were just hanging out in a field of grass we walked through.

I’m pointing to the seal and the letter M because…Mare.

The view from our room at the Cedar Hill Lodge.

HNBR: 2/4/1 Deal, Travel and Tears

Hokey Jalapeno! The night of the 30th was shredded by my inability to sleep because I was so danged excited, my client kept calling me then hanging up for two hours, and the torture of last minute pack it or you’ll forget it type of things. If you’re an ADHD person like me, last minute is the best time for us because it forces focus. It is for me anyway.

DAY ONE

However, 7 AM rolled around on the 31st leaving me no choice but to load up the suitcase I packed last minute with the cleanest clothes I could find that were weather appropriate. I pulled into Madam President’s driveway exactly at 8AM. We loaded up, said see ya, and drove north.

As we sat at the stoplight to turn north on I-75, Jen the Bestie captured our start into the wild.

Jen and Mare in the car heading onto 75N.

The Welcome Center just over the Kentucky State Line. It appears there used to be a large golden horse on an empty base, but all that’s left is this little fella. We look like cartoon charicatures of ourselves in this one.

Obligatory awesome. That’s Jen.

This my version of keeping the baby quiet.I really appreciated the spirit of the day. The frivolity of youth in the hands of ridiculous wisdom of an aging Mare.

The skyline peeled off the steep grade like it was a curious city. It asked the question of me, “What could you give to contribute to the welfare of this city?”

Then it forced me to sit in a poorly designed parking lot that went from four lanes, down to three, down to two, down to one.

The first of the reductions, I dawdled a bit getting over safely into the next lane for the first one, but I quickly figured out that the earlier the better, but granted grace to a few people who just learned the same lesson. By the third one, My Abide was struggling. We were all on the same road, just trying not to be there. I granted grace to a swastikkkar and a white honda. The fourth and final reduction, I decided I just wanted to get where I’m going.

A short cab box truck decided to be a last minute Lucy. He started easing over into the lane I was using. I blew my horn continuing with my resolution. He had to slide behind me. I’m pretty sure an entire flock of that pretty middle bird were flying past my window like arrows that couldn’t find their mark.

Pure Michigan is their welcome sign.

I enjoyed the weather reports for the most common destinations found in Michigan proper. This picture was hard to capture. I’m just a bit shorter than Jen. I was on my tiptoes to her flat-footed. We were about to laugh so hard we were crying real tears of joy. We didn’t know.

My Mom, Linda, and my dad, Dave, are the testament to our arrival safely at their home. Andiamo’s Pizza is freaking top hat.

DAY TWO

This is my favorite shop when I visit my Rents. They even have doggo sundaes. Of course I got one for my boyfriend.

I like that this picture shows sweet and salty at the same time.

The Rents and my boyfriend awaiting their treats.

They all said Sis. Every last one of them. Today I’m William and Jen is Laura according to our coke options.

If you want to hear more about the story behind the title, let me know in the comments. I’ll tell you the story that gets the most requests in a 48 hour timeline. The possible topic titles are:

  1. Subpar Subway in Love, 2. Our plan for Climax (MI), 3. Adventures in Membership, 4. The Meeting of the Republicans

Suicidal Hotdog

We went to The Greens for my dear friend Steven’s birthday party.

The we is my friend/client Bob. He was a bit reluctant to go, but he quickly learned that people he’s known forever were in attendance. He and I had pizza, soda, birthday cake, and quite a few laughs.

Steven was absolutely charming as always. I was so glad I got to spend time with him outside of church. I wore the snazzy jacket he made which made people gush, then gasp in disbelief when I told them who made it. I think both of our egos were well stroked.

The reason I mentioned the suicidal hotdog is because of this:

Who thought it was a good idea to make a hotdog beg for you to eat it? Notice his eyebrows. I know it’s a he and probably designed by a man, because:
The weiner is bigger than the bun! Let’s not even talk about the fashionable socks and shoes, okay?
Bob wore the perfect shirt to make this photo happen by pure kismet. It made me giggle something awful. Note the ejaculating mustard bottle in the hotdog’s other hand.
…which entirely makes THIS picture even funnier. What can I say? I have the humor of a 12 year-old boy.
The front of Bob’s shirt also says “Bite Me” which is from a bait shop he went to years ago.

My people were all there. It was delightful fun. The music was quite a mix from several decades. Trivia was to be played later in the evening but Bob and I went back to his house so he could shower and do his evening routine.

I’ve been staying with him since last Thursday morning when Covid hit where he was staying. This has pros and cons, my being here. I miss my solitude, but I love the adventures we’re having. He’s funny, smart (although he commonly talks badly about himself which irritates me), and, like me, has the humor of a 12-year-old. I’m okay with that.

You are so very loved. I am so very loved. Fuck the world’s bullshit. Love is ALWAYS the answer.

Hands of a Creator

“I don’t have the personality to be God.” I stated to nobody in particular. “I just can’t bring myself to allow others to worship their perception of me.”

I have found myself on the top of a pedestal. I’m not really certain when that happened, but when I’ve heard others talk about me, whether to my face or behind my back, I found myself precariously perched on top.

I consider myself a good human, not a good person. A good person isn’t allowed to make mistakes, trash relationships that no longer work, or draw boundaries around what is good for them. A human, on the other hand, is perfektly within their rights to do any, all, or none of those.

I’m embarrassed when people call me an angel. I know how often I roll my eyes or mutter under my breath while I’m doing something for another human who probably can’t do what I can as well. I feel negativity, but I allow it to pass unless it’s harming me or someone I love. I’m emotionally fly by the seat of my pants. I give because I enjoy the feeling I get when I do. But, in spite of that, it’s harder for me to feel joy when doing something for myself (at this time.)

I can’t tell you the last time I laid one of my beloved paintbrushes to a canvas to create. Yes, I’ve been writing which is cathartic in getting my thoughts out, but painting is coloring in the emotions that are overwhelming. It focuses them in a different way than words can. It allows me to express emotions without self-criticism or judgement which I tend to do in words.

When I write, everything has to be in order. Everything has to make sense to myself and for others. Every idea that pops into my head is best written down so I remember what is important to me, what my goals are, and how I’m going to do what makes me happy.

Art, in any of it’s forms, is a way for me to run around emotionally naked. It encourages me to let go of the control I think I need in the written word. With colors, forms, shapes, patterns, etc., I can bring the darkest, the most joyous, the mundane to a life that is visible. It allows me to fight my demons in public without holding onto them any longer. I miss that.

Yet, here I sit typing away as if this is the only way I can be “seen”, when at the beginning of this writing, I talked about the pedestal I’m perched upon. I want to jump off of that pedestal and spread my emotional wings again. The euphoria I feel when I do that is worth it. I’m making time as we speak to allow space for something so crucial to my well being.

I don’t have the personality to be God, but I have the hands of a creator that are longing to spring anew.

Binge reader

I gush distracted through my days

but when I choke with disgust, starve for poetry,

I dig out their works and cover my ears to the world

The common world where words are disposable,

no longer present pleasure

but tedious imaginings

of short-handed, short-sighted vulgarities.

The world where “u r ok” is acceptable bastardization.

Ready for a binge

Ready for a binge

I burrow into my favorite comfort foods

like a fork bringing sustenance to my body

I allow them to enter my veins with lusty anticipation.

When I ingest Joel, E.I. Wong, Roads, or Cardiff

I’m blissfully transported, transposed into a new trajectory,

rescued by the unsuspecting, unaware, shiny knights

The breathless depths of my immersion

puddle into my lap, spill onto my blouse

leaving me with short-lived shielding against ignorance

besotting my sensibilities with undulating vocabulary

I lift one last feather towards the wings of Queen Bird.

The final dollop of delectable dessert.

Deep sighs topped with a satisfied burp from my binge-filled indulgence;

Gratefully sated by the authors of still-life slices.

The Month of May I Please

I believe in good things. I believe in great people. I believe that talking to the ceiling and looking to the sky will get anyone through anything (I’m living proof) if they want to see the change happen. (Barring major health issues because I’m not sure how it works with that thank goodness). But I’ve been given something I’ve dreamed about my entire life; Happiness.

During the month of April I participated in a NaPoWriMo via Magaly Guerrero. It was a challenge to complete but I did it and, if I do say so myself, kicked out some pretty decent poems too. Then May rolled around to my front door while I was beset with grief over the loss of my best friend, Gary Buckets.

Gary Buckets

Gary Buckets

Gary Buckets is asleep in the picture, not dead. I wouldn’t do that to you.

Anywho, the month of May rolls in with teary eyes, a feeling of resounding loss that even as I write this hasn’t quite escaped my heart. But, I’ve been artistically on a roll. I’ve just published my first book, broke it up into two other editions (three of them for sale), had art displayed, have art in an auction I take Knoxville Pride in, and have a solo show coming up on June 20th.

The deepest feelings I’ve expressed artistically are something I treasure about myself. I wonder how I got so lucky. I mean, I’m rarely with money in my pocket, but yet I rarely want for anything I need. I have limited mobility, but I’m always where I seem to be needed most. I’m a hard worker, but I’ve had more fun painting, drawing, and experiencing life in full color, full emotion, full on/head on in the month of May, then I’ve a recollection of doing. It’s been an extraordinary bout of love, grief, joy, peace, spirituality, conviviality, writing, poems, and art.

The only thing I did differently in this month was saying Yes to what fills my heart with the most joy. If that means serving, then I’m doing it. If it means transporting, okay. If that means sitting with a friend whose heart hurts, then so be it. I’ve listened to my intuition every day with such great success that I will continue to do so. It works. What’s weirder still, to me anyway, is that not only am I happier, but other people around me seem to find happiness easier too. They seem to take my challenge of “Why not?” seriously and have tried some pretty extraordinary things which, good or bad, have all taught grand lessons of fantastic proportions.

I encourage you, my friends to do the same for thirty days. Follow the bliss that is your heart. The negative voices be damned. You are worth every bit of this joy. I keep saying this, even in a recent post, but it’s true. It really is. The world needs YOU! The YOU that you’re meant to be, not the one you’re told by outside people you SHOULD be. Give it a spin. 30 days. If you can’t commit to that, I’ll show you a quick way to learn to fall madly in love with yourself in three days if you’ll trust me.

May I? Yes, please!

Now you can do more than like me! Patreon!

Mare Martell I now have bright red hair instead of blonde. (to be fair)

Mare Martell
I now have bright red hair instead of blonde. (to be fair)

http://patreon.com/MareMartell

If you like what I show you here, you can become a patron of Mare Martell.

Through Patreon, you get to choose how much, how often, whether you want to go per piece or monthly. You have control over what you give to me. In return, I’ve set up some possibly ridiculous rewards for your kind consideration. I’m new to this so the rewards may change for a bit at first, but have no fear my faithful companions, we will persevere and allow you and I to enjoy a symbiotic relationship.

I’m holding out my top hat, drop some dollars in it, won’t you?

YIELD!

I’ve been curiously absent these last days from posting what normally is a lot of work. I try to schedule those, by the way, so that they don’t all hit at once. I suppose I could schedule them for different days but I post them that way for a reason. Think of it as clearing off my mental desk in preparations for the next idea (and there are some days with a LOT of them) to manifest.

I was working at a factory on a rotating shift. The days were 12 hours long and usually 2-3 in succession with 2-3 days off in between bouts. Back in May I had surgery on my foot to correct an ongrowing issue (my nerve had grown around one of my main foot arteries, good pun, eh?) and within a couple of months I felt amazingly good again. I could walk! I could dance! I could jog (sort of, think Mario running without turbo). I felt so good I applied for an got the job. For three months I worked diligently to maintain my personal belief and work ethic by being consistently in attendance, observant to detail, and team oriented. I believe I maintained that throughout my employment.

A few days ago, while working a position that required far more dexterity than my hands could handle, I lost feeling in my fingers. Not only did I lose feeling in my fingers but I lost grip as well. I could no longer hold onto the parts. My co-worker refused to switch jobs because she was fine. I explained that I was not. She refused again. I went and spoke with my supervisor and told her that I couldn’t feel my fingers and my hands wouldn’t hold onto the parts. She said, “Okay.” and walked away. When I don’t feel heard, my frustration level doesn’t take much to push me over the edge. I just plain waited until break and contacted my employer. I was told to go home, finish out the next day and they’d find me something else to do.

From my previous post The heated battle, you may recall that I’ve been struggling to find something better suited to my gifts, needs, and requirements of financial responsibility. I believe I’ve found this particular niche. Jamie Lopez asked me a peculiar question which incited ridiculous thoughts in my brain. I only half committed to her idea. But the thought was persistent. It stood up and plinked my forebrain like a form of water torture. It whispered, “You should do this. You should do this. You should do this.” I tried to ignore it, but it was really difficult when that’s all I could focus my attention on doing. I consulted with my Mama, tossing the idea in the air with clumsy juggles, sparking further ideas until the seed had firmly taken root. I let it rest in the “earth.”

Without much ado, a couple of nights ago, my Uncle Les called me. He’s not a frequent caller, but when he does, I always know that I’m so loved by him and my Aunt Liz that I look forward to when he has time. He called me up and asked me, “Hey, do you remember Jim Bob?”

“I do. That’s Aunt Liz’s nephew, right?”

“Yes. I was thinking about you and I usually do, by the way,” he continued.

“Thanks!” I interrupted.

“You’re welcome. Anyway, his wife works out of her home. I thought of you because you’re a compassionate woman and an excellent writer, I think you could do what she does.” He stated firmly. “I think you need to be doing this.” And he explained word for word what I’d talked to my mother, was inspired by Jamie, and pondered about for two weeks.

Now, I don’t know about you, but I’ve learned that paying attention to the omens when they come that clearly is a wise move. Otherwise, the Universe quits presenting the idea to you and gives it to someone else. In the past couple of days, I’ve retrieved my EIN (Employer Identification Number), set up a Paypal, applied for a business license, bought and started setting up a domain, secured an 877 number, and applied for information about advertising.

Although it may seem as if I’ve been slower than normal or that I’ve taken a vacation, I’m actually working towards being able to do what I love more than anything to do which is write for a living. This is scary stuff in my book, but I feel the have to becoming more prominent. It’s really strong and I know it’s right.

On November 3rd, I’ll be launching the site, the business, and making sure that I have myself priced accordingly. How weird is that? With the time on my hands right now, I can make sure that I’m able to deliver top quality of a valuable and perpetuating service that everyone will need. I’m so excited that your patience is allowing me this time to bring this idea into full bloom. Let’s see what happens, shall we?