Disturbingly Stupid. Oh…and still in love!!

(99.999%. Yes. That sounds about right.) Every human being in the world is an individual – unique and different. Different hair colour, different facial features and fingerprints, different levels of stamina and metabolism and varying degrees and types of talent, thought processes and problem solving skills  Some of us are homely, some are pleasant looking, some are strikingly attracive for no identifiable reason. And then there is is what we call “beauty”…external and skin deep, or internal with a beautiful heart, or both….(oh my merciful heavens! like the man I’m in love with! Inside and out, one out of only two of the most beautiful men I have ever come across or known in my many years of life! Yep. Still in love! And nope…he still doesn’t have the vaguest notion that I exist! 😀 ) or…well, you get my point.

But I digress.

With all of this individuality floating around amongst we “higher life forms” on this planet, there exist traits which are, still and yet, intrinsically common to the state of being human. Well, being human is, in and of itself, a right common trait, dontcha know. Sort of. Depending. (boy was that a totally unecessary bit of observation!! 😀 😀 ). But all kidding aside, being human involves a lot of  “we’re all the same under the skin” stuff. Stuff like curiosity, fear and fearlessness in the face of protecting those we love, survival instincts…and falling into the state of being stupid. Disturbingly stupid..

As newborns and infants, we all start out on this journey of learning with blank slates. Parents and other people who are bigger and, hopefully, smarter than we aid us into growing into “knowledge thirsty” children. Of course we then take a break in this wondrous experience of life and become completely clueless teenagers who think we have all the answers to life’s deepest questions, when in fact we really don’t know ‘ish about anything except how to push the limits of our parents’ patience (well, perhaps not all of us, but a good percentage of us). We finally progress into (sometimes) intelligent adults with enough history and experience behind us to avoid making stupid mistakes. Note that I quantify “…we progress…” – with – “(sometimes)”.


Just remember this: being stupid knows no demographic boundaries. Hence, being Disturbingly Stupid can sneak up on you, pretending to be just another friendly, helpful learning tool. Think about it…someone dares you to race across six lanes of highway traffic. On foot, no less. Just as you are two feet from the far side of East Bound, a car clips you and sends you flying, Tourist Class, into the next town over. Experience, in a voice dripping with obvious sarcasm, says, “Brilliant decision, Sherlock.” On the other hand, Disturbingly Stupid visits you in the hospital (or morgue) and greets you with a smirk and a head shake and the ironic comment, “I’ll wager that you won’t do that again any time soon.”

Experience vs. Disturbingly Stoopit.

Another example…

As you all know by now, I had a stroke in December of 2016. I went from this (a few months before):

and this 


(small size pic because I hate seeing myself like this)




….to this:








Not so much one of the “Beautiful People” anymore, huh?

It scared me. I never wanted to go there (above pic) again. I told myself, “No more being stupid and thinking you can remain invincible after 40.” And a year later, I had “improved” to these points:












Now, after nearly two years (and getting in a lot of practice with makeup so that I could comfortably look at myself in the mirror without gagging), I have reached this close to what I used to be:












Now mind, I don’t look nearly this good sans’ face makeup (foundation. conturing, blush and highlighter), but my eyes again have that look that they used to have…bright, sometimes piercing, and self-assured. I can walk without that rubber-legged wobble (although my equilibrium is such that sometimes you’d think that my steering wheel has been tied to a perpetual right hand turn!). Where the right side of my face had slid off of my skull, most of it has found its way back, halleluiah!

After nearly two years of determination, last week I bought a pack of cigarettes…which is why this part of my post has been included in “Disturbingly Stupid…”

Just don’t overdo it,” my friendly, helpful learning tool told me. “Everything in moderation,” that tool said.

By the end of the first cigarette, when I tried to get up from my hidden seat behind the tree to go inside (because, living with my youngest son, I had to sneak to practice my newly rediscovered vice) I almost did a face flop. Equilibrium and right side mobility had gone a bit missing. I managed to get into the house thinking, “Well that’s not a good sign.” Do you know what that tool tod me? “Oh that’s just the same reaction you had at age 12, when you had your first (experience of an oxygen deprived brain…sic).”

And I fell for it!

Three days and 20 cigarettes later, I was little better than when I was released from the hospital in January 2017. All that progress…BANG…down the tubes. And the tool is still trying convince me it’s just trying to “help”!

I’ve found my way back to being at pre-stupid recovery. I’m much better now…and much wiser and aware of the weaknesses to be found just in being human. Being around smokers really doesn’t bother me as of that day….I now control that particular weakness.

Moral of story: Don’t listen to all the tools out there who are pretending to help. Don’t be stoopit. But especially don’t be Disturbingly Stupid.


“Well now, what have YOU been up to?” Collecting Inspiration, of course! Oh – and I’ve fallen in love. Don’t ask.

Hello, everyone! It’s been ages since I’ve posted anything original and I’ve decided that I’m far overdue in updating The Old Fossil Writes. It will take a few days, but I’ll try to give a brief  “catch up” today…answer a few questions that some of my friends have emailed me and such – – like “Well now, Pearl, just what have YOU been up to?”

For one: I’ve fallen in love!. Don’t ask.

These past 14 months have been kind of trying. There have been ups, downs, tears, laughter, frustration after frustration and some really lucid moments when who I was before 8 December 2016 erupted from the depths, kicking and screaming. During these months, I’ve had ample time on my hands to reflect on my life and analyze my priorities, recall my dreams and goals, and try to get a grip on why I wound up where I am, who I am and why I am the person I’ve become. In this space of time, I have also inadvertently collected vast amounts of inspiration, and that from some very surprising people and places.

And I’ve fallen in love. Don’t ask.

I’ve actually stayed pretty much aligned with my social media, but even that has undergone some major changes. And while I have missed so many of you (but thanks to you guys who dropped me a line now and again, via email, Twitter and Instagram!), I have made a number of new acquaintances as well. It’s been altogether interesting to learn about the histories and cultures of even more countries than I have previously been introduced to…and, indeed to find how similar they are to my own American Indian forebears.

Enough of the where’s and on to the results of all this thinking:

Try as I might, I can’t seem to pick up the thread of the Folded Dreams novel. I’ve tried re-reading “…the Beginning” and even going over and over the many drafts of the novel since the beginning. No joy. Nada. Zilch. Kuchh nahin. Nothing. So I’m left with the question of whether I should take these new found insights, or seeds of ideas, or whatever you want to call them, and try to find a place to insert them into one of my books-in-progress, or simply start a new story. If I opt for a new story, it may still fall under the genre of Visionary Fiction, but only just.

I’ve started painting again. Still not having full control over fine movements in my fingers makes wielding a paintbrush difficult, but who says I must use just a brush! There are other art implements I can use…the earth, the sea, even animals offer up their various treasures…or even my hands (I’ve not used my hands to apply paint to canvas in years). And then there are those oil paints that my youngest son got for me several years ago – I don’t know why oils terrify me so much, but I’m going to give them a go. And canvasses larger than 24″ x 18″ ( or whatever that size was…stupid short term memory). I’m seriously thinking of going for a big, blank wall.

Sculpting and carving will, of a necessity, have to wait.

Did I mention that I’ve fallen in love? Don’t ask.

So that’s the basics of what I’ve been up to: collecting inspiration, meeting interesting people, both online and off, and doing a lot of introspection. Oh! And I’ve lost that horrid stroke related weight and started wearing a bit of make up again!! There’s more on my mind, but that can wait. Like that bit about me falling in love. Yeah – he doesn’t know – so don’t ask.

It Doesn’t Rain, but what it Pours

Thanks to Morton’s Salt (trademark) 🙂

So it looks like I’ve not posted anything here on The Old Fossil since July. I could have sworn that I had, but I suppose I’m thinking about Facebook and my other WordPress site, Balance the Circle. It’s not surprising that my mind is confused, though, because it’s been a rough year all the way around. In fact, it doesn’t rain, but what it pours….especially these last two months.

Terrible storms.

On September 5th, I lost one of my older sons who lived in Connecticut. He was healthy as a horse until he hit his 20’s …then, every illness that has plagued his dad’s side of the family hit him. All of it. Diabetes. Blood pressure issues. Cardio-pulmonary disease. Kidney disease, ending in renal failure…he’d been on the transplant list for years. I think the only thing he escaped was cancer.

He was seconds away from 50 years old.

The following week, my daughters (from one of my late-husbands) lost a paternal cousin who was like another brother to them, having been raised alongside of him for many years. He was, I believe, in his late 30’s.

I spent the month of September in Connecticut, cherishing what was left of my family, and being there for my 2 daughters from that marriage. My flight home was scheduled for October 14th. But the rain wasn’t over.

My eldest son in Florida has been married for a little over a decade. His wife’s mother is one of the most amazing, good hearted, funny women who has ever called me “Friend”! She spent time with my youngest son’s son, teaching him all the swimming, floating and “jumping into the deep end!” skills the rest of us were at a loss to get through to him. She also helped me immeasurably with giving me awesome ideas on how to adapt my son’s pool to an efficient therapy regime.

On October 5, my son phoned me in Connecticut to tell me that this sweet woman had passed away in her sleep. She was only 59.

I’m almost afraid to wake up each morning, for fear that I have lost yet one more cherished friend, family member or confidante. So I have a word with my Maker before I sleep, and then again before the sun’s rays come peering through the blinds at my window in the mornings. It’s not that I mind the rain – “just not so much an’ all the time,” as my first, late husband used to say.

I much prefer the saying, “It doesn’t rain, but what it pours” to relate only to Morton’s Salt.

I’m Still a Writer, Damnit! (some grumble from the pity jungle)

It’s been one of those days where you find you’ve taken two steps forward and three steps back – then fell backasswards off of a cliff. Want to come to my Pity Party, anyone?

  1. I’ve had a stroke. Can’t remember squat, like:
    *how to type
    *how to use a pencil
    *how to spell
    *how to walk
    *how to talk
    *how to dress myself
    ****how to finish the novel I was in the middle of when I had this blasted TIA, which was a hard won, one-third of the way to completion.

I seem to have gotten lost somewhere, those parts of me that make me – ME. I do know who I am. It’s locating me inside of this dumfuggled, scrambled, crambled, muddled, fuddled and befuddled, addled, dizzy, woozy, muzzy, groggy, foggy, dopey and dazed brain of mine that causes me such agitation.

It’s so frustrating. I get flashes of the whole the snapshot of what “Me” entails. Then it’s gone.

I know the basics: I’m married – and of a necessity, due to my limitations, separated from my spouse. I know I’m an ordained minister, an arm chair philosopher and a student of Nature and that I maintain websites connected to THOSE parts of me (which are woefully out of date).

I also know that I cannot pursue any religious ministry because my filters
are all out of kilter and “the ‘f’ bomb” slips out every now and again, along with certain other, less shocking profanities. In any case, no longer clergy material.

But I AM still a writer, damnit.

At least, I think so.

“I think, therefore I am…”, or so the saying goes. So, yes, damnit…STILL A WRITER!

You just watch – – I’ll come away from this experiece with all sorts of creations under my belt (Good Lord willin’ and the creek don’t rise!)