IN SEARCH OF MERMAIDS

Well, it finally happened. I am off in search of adventure with my home on wheels, or the Gypsy Wagon, as she is fondly known. We've parked her on a small island off the gulf coast of Florida.

What is it about palm studded isles that unleash the artistic muse? There are more artists here than Pablo could shake a paint brush at.

I could hang out at Lovegrove Gallery and Gardens all day long. The space vibrates with a creative buzz. I feel so fortunate to have two pieces of her art hanging in my makeshift office on board the Gypsy Wagon.

Then there is Bonnie's place. I spent almost an hour in there, talking and laughing with the artist. She's a real treasure and I can't wait to take one of her classes while here.

Wandering through the art environs, I started to feel a sense of mystery. Not in the Sherlock Holmes genre, more of the metaphysical kind, a feeling that something or someone was calling me. Then I saw them, the mermaids.


They are everywhere; in the galleries, in gift shops, in taverns, restaurants and even the bathrooms. They've sung their siren call into my heart and I am obsessed. I am on the hunt for the perfect mermaid.

I may have found her basking beneath the celestial orb that controls the tides of her ocean home,

hanging around on a fingernail moon,

or, if I'm so inclined, hanging around my neck.

Perhaps a tattoo would consummate the sense of myth, mystery and feminine sovereignty I am seeking. That's a tall order, since most of the woman/fish tattoos I've seen are of the male fantasy variety.

I did find this beauty. She reminds me of Hollywood legend, Rita Hayworth. I see her rendered with auburn locks and sea green tail.  Definitely a mermaid who is slave to no man.

The hubby isn't too fond of the idea of a tattooed wife.  I'm not too fond of being told what to do.

Confrontation or personal declaration of freedom to be? Stay tuned.

Well, the rain has stopped and the sun is coming through the palm fronds.  Time to return to the hunt.





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Some of you might notice that I run Google AD Sense on this blog. It’s making me fabulously wealthy  – NOT! Of course, one can’t disparage Google for that. I think it has more to do with my outstanding number of followers – more specifically, the lack thereof.

My college daughter recently posted an installment on the blog she started as a class assignment for critical writing. She didn’t waste any words in pointing out that the million or so bloggers looking for their fifteen-minutes of fame would do better to stop writing what they think people want to hear, and instead write their passionate, unvarnished, maybe even ugly, truth.

So, for now, I won’t worry about followers or fans, I’ll just try to write closer to the bone of my truth (not always easy when I know the whole fam damily is reading – oh well, sucks to be them.)

Back to Ad Sense. The idea is, that based on the blog post content, random ads for products and services that should interest my readers will display.  Clicks on the ads accumulate cents for me (cents, Ad Sense, get it?).

Let me just say that I never did this hoping to make money.

 Well, okay, I hoped that maybe I’d make some money from it, but I never really thought I would. Looks like I was right about that.

Anyway, I recently noticed a trend in the ads that are displaying.  Weight loss products would be the nice thing to say, but these are blatant  LOOSE BELLY FAT ads.  Then there are the sales pitches for anti wrinkle creams and cosmetic dermatology.

One installment netted me an ad for Goddess Dresses.  Now that’s what I’m talking about! Just one nagging little detail though – it was on a post that contained a picture of my middle daughter and two of her diva friends at their high school prom. Hhmmm.

Where are the ads for cruises to the Greek Isles?  How about luxury health spas, Jaguar sedans and little blue boxes from Tiffany’s?

What on earth did I write that netted me the ads for a popular piney-scented cleaning solution and another well known germ destroying spray.  Yikes!

Okay, maybe I understand the ad for a marriage counselor practicing in my neighboring state. I do rant about the institution of marriage now and again. But am I to glean from this situation that some powers that be, sitting on their sweat-pants clad butts in ergonomically correct chairs at Google headquarters, are presuming that my readers are an unhappy bunch of, germaphobic, desperate housewives who shop
for their daughters prom dresses in the mini-diva, designer department?

Goddess! How depressing is that?

Here I was thinking that my audience was made up of strong, confident, self assured women setting their worlds on fire and dancing across their bridges one step ahead of the flames.

I apologize, dear, loyal (few) readers.  I’ll try, in future, to follow my daughter’s advice and give you a little something to set it off.

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GET A ^ LIFE at MAD Goddess