My Story

My Story:

After the illness and death of our only daughter, my husband and I decided to rent a boat and go sailing in the gulf of Mexico for a month. This is where, on New Year's Day 2005, we were caught in a storm, shipwrecked and my husband drowned. I have been on this island, which seems to be caught in some kind of portal or other dimension, ever since, free to explore philosophical and spiritual thoughts, yet physically unable to leave.

Other characters seem to be able to come and go as they please however, as I have met a few of them since being here. They visit me every once in awhile. Aquaman and Gypsy Queen were the first to appear. Gollum showed up after, then came El Alejandro and Stick-Paul, into whose dimension I was able to go a few hours before being pulled back to my island. More recently, Mr. Tumnus has been around.

Other than rare visits from these characters, I have the constant chattering of monkeys and sqawking of parrots to fill my days.

Every once in awhile, when the wind is just right, and I am able to power up the make-shift generator I made (I am handy aren't I?), charge my satelite phone, which has internet access (even out here), I am able to post a little something on my current life as a shipwrecked woman. Don't bother trying to rescue me just yet. I doubt you'd find me anyway. This seems to be one of those Bermuda Triangle things. I'm not sure I'm even in the same dimension anymore. But hey, the satelite phone still works, how cool is that?


Wednesday, January 2, 2008

A new year...

It has been three years now since that boating accident that took the life of my husband and stuck me on this island. I still miss him, in spite of enjoying the solitude. One does not care for a person and forget them so easily. It was on New Years Day three years ago that I ended up here, the result of a carribean holiday gone wrong.

It is funny how a person can be lonely, yet not alone and then turn around and be alone but not lonely. Perhaps it is because in my solitude I feel the presence of God even more and I am never alone. When life is reduced to the basics, gathering food, making shelter, getting fire, it puts life into perspective. Everyting else is superfluous.

I have become more effective in gather food in the past years and now I have time to dedicate to such things as weaving. I have tried weaving different grasses, and I have gotten so good that I have invented different patterns of weaving. The floor of my hut is full of grass mats. It is art, it is creative, but most of all it is useful.

I sing all the time out here, because there is noone to hear me but the monkeys. I sing to hear my own voice, any voice, a human voice. I sing to praise God for the beauty of this creation that I can no longer ignore.

Yes, some persons do stop by from time to time, and I am mostly glad to see them, but I am more often alone than not.
Written in the sand by at

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