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Hell is other people and I am on the highway to hell today--because the locals are all in church this Wednesday morining praying for heaven, but nobody wants to die to get there, in French-speaking Fort de France.

Praying is like rain dancing--it rains because the locals never stop dancing!

Travel is a what-have-you-done-for-me-lately kind of affair.  I say a lot of things in summer that I don't  mean in winter. In New York, where rudeness is a fashion statement, a winter up North is nature's way of saying "Up Yours". In fact, winter is not a season---it's an occupation. Therefore, that would make me unemployed here in the tropics.

When I am in the zone and  am in my happy spot,  I don't "really" notice if it is Winter or Summer weather, nevertheless---

I'm sticking with The Caribbean.

What if my current ports of call  can become the best option I could ever hope for? I’ll never know unless I spend the time and energy “watering the grass” as it where. I find this irrigating.

All Thai'd up-
The grass isn't greener on the other side; it's greener where you water it.
The last time I realized that  was while visiting a Buddhist temple in Bangkok- Look closer, the left patch of grass is greener where the water is.


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