Aye Captain

Aye Captain, we're going down by the head and there's no land ahoy!
She looks pretty sweet over there doesn't she~~>     Don't be deceived, this is a potential teen :o)

       It's started. I've been mentally preparing myself for this for 12 years, and 11 months. But tonight was my first taste of the urban legend, dare I say it, teenage daughter. Sure, there have been subtle hints, and not so subtle ummm growth hints, but so far, the coast has been clear. What I have on my hands is a 5ft 4inch, 96 lb,  size one women's clothes, blonde hair, blue eyed, and unmentionable other stats, 12 year old who has cleared the looks of a 15 year old. Have mercy!
      
       Let me explain.
      
       After school, 12 11/12 says to me, "Mom, I have a dance next week, I'm dying to go is that all right?" <She casts the bait>
    
         Gullible fish Mom <thats me> "Sure sweetie, <thinks a microsecond> This isn't a date kinda dance is it?"
      
       12 11/12, "Oh no Mom, I'm going with all the girls. I got mostly A's on my report card, I thought this would be a good treat for me." <she sets the hook>
    
         Hooked Mom <thats me> "Sure darlin, I see no problem with that." 
      
       12 11/12 "Great, I knew you were such an awesome Mom <Thats an extra yank to make sure the hook set is good> , it's semiformal, can we go look at dresses and shoes tonight?"
      
       Like a fish thats been hooked, Mom <thats me> starts to swim as fast as she can the other direction, but it's too late, she's already hooked firmly in the jaw, she attempted some spectacular jumps, twists, but it was too late. She was halfway in the net.

       The stuff nightmares are made of.............
The Mall

       12 11/12 "Oh Mom, isn't this beautiful?!!" <Smiles and worship overcome her demeanor>

       High Alert Mom <thats me> "Well, it's a pretty color, but there doesn't seem to be much to it." This Mom is no fool, she knows choosing her words carefully is critical. One wrong step and she could sound like her own MOTHER, the very thing she vowed she would never do when it came to clothes!

       Enter stage left. Bona fide teenager working part-time job. Belly bared to show everybit of non-stretched skin, perky everywhere and just soo damn helpful!

       Bona fide teen, "Oh that dress is just perfect! You must try it on! Oh and this one and this one and this one!" She pauses, takes a look of assessment of me, decides I must have enough of a wallet, and carouses through another rack of more spendy styles.

       Panicked Mother < yes thats me> sits down with younger daughter on bench to await the procession of absolutely inappropriate dresses Thing 1 and Thing 2 have picked out. First one, strapless, sparkly blue, short short, did I mention SHORT? I can feel the sweat beading on my forehead.
      
       12 11/12 "Oh Mom isn't this just beautiful" <Insert whimsical voice here>
       Bona fide teen "Oh you look just beautiful, it clings in all the right places! But you'll probably want to wear a G-string with this one because I can see your underwear lines"

       Stricken Mom <thats me> " How about we try another one on, you never end up with the first dress you try on" I mentally wonder if they are on to my ploy.

       Second dress, shimmering blue, tiny little spaghetti straps, again, can I mention short, huge low dip in the front, can we say cleavage shots? The Mom <thats me> pulls her hair off her neck, it seems the room is getting really warm.

       12 11/12 "Oh, I like this one too!"  Does a few spins for the audience <Thats Me, the younger daughter who I might add is gushing about how lovely that dress is, and the bonifide teen>
       Bona fide teen "I don't know, I think you looked much more sexy in the other dress"

       Horrified Mom <thats me> " I don't really think 'sexy" is the look we should be going for here" The tone came down to a subtle threatening tone. 
      
       Bona fide teen looks at 12 11/12 and <I'm not making this stuff up> rolls her eyes. It suddenly felt like an Indiana Jones movie where the walls are moving in to kill them off, with sharp blades sticking out just to make sure the job is done correctly. 
      
       12 11/12 moves into dressing room to prepare to shock and appall the Mother. The flabbergasted Mother <thats me> moves in close enough to see there are no gray hairs on this little bona fide tarts head of hair.

       Authoritarian Mom <ya thats me> "Look, I have no desire for my 12 year old daughter to look sexy, nor is she going to be buying a G-string, so lets get this straight before she gets back out here, you better find her something that covers it all up, or no commission for you, got it?"
      
       Bona fide Teen, "Oh, I figured she was at least 16 or so, I had no idea."
      
       The next dress to come forth the Mother <trying to be crafty> bribed the younger daughter to tell her sister it looks awful. A 12 11/12 will listen to 9 year old, not Moms tastes and comments.
      
       Third dress, yikes <axed from the mix via 9 year olds comments, she quickly collects her quarter before the 4th dress> , fourth dress, oh gawd no, 5th dress, why won't anyone show dear old Mom <me> mercy, and so on.............. The 12 11/12 is set on the first dress, remember? The 'Oh not in this lifetime little girl are you walking out of my house in that nonexistent thing!' Oh, thats what the Mother was thinking by the way, ya, thats me.

       So it came down to actual tears. Tears! I cannot believe the time has arrived. We walked out of that store like this. Nine year old merrily skipping towards the gumball machine with her bribery funds and two frustrated souls following.     

         The 12 11/12 dragging feet slow as molasses running down a tree, wistfully glancing back at the bona fide teen holding the beautiful dress that stole her heart. She will never be the same, I've already ruined her. Silent tears of  deprived fashion roll down her crushed face. 

       
       The Mother <again me> , who has barely survived the entire traumatic experience, appalled that she just performed a speech she thought she would have been able to skirt around this evening. The old "I sound like my Mother once did" adieu. Cursing those "other Mothers who supposedly let their daughters wear such items" And feeling sad because she knows how disappointed the 12 11/12 is. But the Mother <yes thats me, crusher of dreams> kept tossing pails of water out the boat all night, survivor of the decency clause......

      But one thing sunk into the depths tonight. My "awesome Mother" status suffered a sinking blow, I think Shelby <playing the part  of 12 11/12>  may have tossed that cool label off into the oblivion with an anchor firmly attached.

What, oh what to do. Anyone have a lifevest for this boat?
Captain the ship sank tonight
Score Mother, one, daughter, zip
End saga Teenage daughter Scene 1

Sometimes

Sometimes. We circle back. Sometimes.

              



       Always so surprised how complicated words and thoughts, simple grace and desired solutions fall so quickly through my grasp. I close my eye's, find that simple truth and begin to know how much I really do care. I've deleted and wrote, deleted and wrote this entry several times over the last few days. Can't make it past that care part. Care, what do I care about? No, it's not about what I care about. I know very much what and who I care about, it's about this piece hidden inside my chest. My silence makes me a coward.  
      
       I read something once that said, "If a fish kept his mouth shut, he wouldn't get caught." There's a lot of simple truth to that statement. But I know keeping my mouth shut has been both my saving grace and my divine downfall. Delete more damn deletion.
      
       All right, here's the deal. For those of you whom frequent my journal. Here is a disclaimer. Sometimes, I have no choice but to let the somewhat eclectic, sad, frustrated, pissed off, beaten down soul in me loose. Some of you have been able to piece together there is a mysterious air of sadness, something just not quite right in my life and this is true. I've gotten a few of those "Your not telling the whole story" emails. For those who have confronted me, bravo, perception is a brilliant thing of which I can admire. Riddles and rhymes are my best forte. I think as I continue my journey, all will be revealed in time. Time, is my nemesis. Silence has always been my safety.
      
       I've been struggling writing tonight, because honestly I was worried "you" wouldn't understand, think I was nuts, run as fast as you could to the other side of Internet world.  So throwing caution to the wind, like throwing paint to the canvas for a beautiful abstract feel, Just me, a journal, and my train wreck of thoughts, tonight I write............

       And I have to know what ever will become of me. Looking to the end. What is the truth. And I need to know. Now that I have fallen, what will become of me. I know how to bleed without the cut. I know how to hurt without the hit.
      
       Once forsaken what should have been cherished. I don't understand how that can be forgiven. Can we sometimes find our way back. Kicking the heart that needs you, where's the humanity in that. Night after night I feel it.
      
       A wave ebbing and flowing, wearing the rock down until it's a smooth stone with no dimension. Pretty to look at, nice to touch, but looks like all the others laying in the sand. What a beautiful disaster I've become. Barely a smooth rock, simply a shell. 
      
        If my thoughts are mine, then why did I allow them to be banished for so long. Empty rooms, broken lights. See a smile and nod in appreciation. And I have to know what ever will become of me.
      

       Looking to the end see the light. Follow me. I know the sound of wings in flight. I know what part of me has been hidden. I crave. I miss. Careful, strangely mystifying and simple. What. Intriguing and obstinate. Why. Confident and calamity. It hasn't been allowed here in my world. Uninvited pauses.
      
       My silent consideration will make up for all that I lack. This wicked madness is my lesson. Bring me to my knees and lighten my load. In the arms of my angel comfort will be mine. My shadow can feel the touch of sunlight now.  I want you to see me. You'll know who I am.
      
       Audacious. Labyrinth within the quest. Did I really need one to follow the other. Sometimes we circle back. Steady now. Kowtow with a polite smile. As always my truth lies in between. It's my story, audition for the length. It will all seem clear, as soon as this disappears. When there is nothing to fear. Into the bayou my shadow will swim.  I will know what will become of me.

      Thank you for the touch of inspiration on my shoulder this evening.

The "Scream"

    Interesting days are so fun to look back on late at night and just sigh with relief that it's summed up as one for the books. Oh, wait, I guess in my case, it's just one for the journal!
      
       I know I don't normally write about my daily adventures here in this world. I'll gander the meaning for this is, I've just lived through the last 24 hours, I really don't feel like rehashing it so quickly. I need time to muddle it all around, find a reasoning, see if anything fascinating or perplexing happened, reduce it to simplicity and then rant about it in my own personal style. It's just how I simply process things.
     
       Ah, how I ramble off topic. Back to my 2 o'clock. My youngest daughter it seems is gifted under the classification of her school testing. <I already knew the little bug was a genius, didn't need IQ tests for that, but I'm biased as all Moms are, so what can you do?> So she was selected to be part of a "special" program at school. Now, I've been a bit torn about this program. Honestly, most of the time it just seems like a free for all. But young Kaitlyn is bored in regular class most of the time, so at this point I see no harm in it. Today was Parent teacher conferences in the G. A. T. E.  program. (If your curious that's supposed to mean gifted academically talented education)

       Now, this conference is different then you may think. There is no parent teacher "conference." This is the talented children giving presentations to first their own parents individually, then as a group. Kaitlyn informed me, and her father, how wonderfully she is doing in her class. She is currently studying all forms of art expression and had done some beautiful renditions of some Picasso and Edvard Munch. It was fun to watch her spit out some pretty gifted and talented words to describe her achievements. My eye's wandered over the many posters adorning the walls and realized I've signed her up for a vocabulary class too!
      
       Ok, off topic I meander again. See, this is why I should always chew things around in my mind before writing! The funny part of why I'm torturing myself and probably anyone else reading all these rambling words, is this.
      
       It is my darling daughters turn to stand next to my sitting body and begin her presentation. The adorable gifted teacher is starting to hush everyone up and at the microsecond everyone comes to a screeching halt of chatter, my daughter makes this statement "WOW Mom, your gray hair is really starting to show!" Remember she is standing, I am sitting..........the silence blared as loudly as her compliment.
      
       Ok, one might think I would be able to stutter out some sort of intelligent remark. But no, I was stunned into silence. Yes, I can be silent. Can we say 10 shades of red? Emergency calls to my hairstylist!  All eye's were instantly on me, a creepy vibe overcame the room as we all questioned our own midlife status.  Suffice to say, therapy shopping put a bandaid on the wound this evening, and a canyon in my checking account.

       Out of the mouths of babes is starting to give me gray hair..............

            
    Lets just say, if Edvard Munch was sitting in that room, he would be able to paint an entirely new version of "The Scream"

Opinion

James Christensen Sleeper in lost Dreams

Main Entry: opin·ion
Pronunciation: &-'pin-y&n
Function: noun
Etymology: Middle English, from Middle French, from Latin opinion-, opinio, from opinari
Date: 14th century
1 a : a view, judgment, or appraisal formed in the mind about a particular matter 
2 a : belief stronger than impression and less strong than positive knowledge b : a generally held view
3 a : a formal expression of judgment or advice by an expert b : the formal expression (as by a judge, court, or referee) of the legal reasons and principles upon which a legal decision is based

         I've had an interesting week when it comes to opinions. I've laid witness to several debates on opinion. I've witnessed the negative effect on one person specifically in regard to opinions. I've seen how the opinion of one, can cause doubt and retraction on another. This effects me deeply, when I see another hurt by a form of opinion.
     
            I understand that many people, including myself,  believe wholeheartedly in their own opinion. We all form opinions on basically everything we encounter in life. How can we not? It's the process and sorting of human nature. But where does the line form, from a simple opinion to downright judgmental justification?
       
          When I looked up the specifics of opinion, I see first a view, then a judgment, an appraisal formed in the mind about a specific subject. Thats just it, something formed in the mind is neither tangible or absolutely right. I see nothing about an opinion being RIGHT. An opinion is just that. A thought that is decided upon in the mind of a singular person. Does an opinion make that person right?
      
           I am of the opinion that anyone who rapes, murders, does bodily harm to another human being is evil. I find that 99.9% of people would agree with my opinion. I think the ethical, moral, decency of all people understand this position. I am of the opinion God is a superior being, that should not be labeled as one "specific" religion to which all must lay claim. I can only guess a margin  of the population would agree with my opinion.
       
          So does that make my opinion wrong? I don't think so, I am singular, I am of an opinion formed with my own free will. If someone tells me they are of the opinion their religion represents God in all ways, is their opinion wrong? I don't think so, they are of their opinion, singular and of their own free will.
    
             So here is where my concerns have stemmed from. I encountered the opinions of another that were vicious, one sided all encompassing and heartbreaking to me. Interesting enough this person doesn't even know I exist and am now making an example of his opinion. I read his comments in anothers journal and was just horrified.
   
              I just cannot understand, I try to reach into my most understanding parts of my soul, yet cannot touch such one sided hatred. I wrote this tonight to another, who was apologizing for this person and talking about taking away from her own journal entries, in regard to this situation. I can safely add it to my journal without any reference to the person it was wrote to and the person it was about. All in the name of figuring this perplexing issue out for myself!

I wrote:
***I am going to go truly opinionated here, and here's my thought. It's not just with this situation, but basically anything. Any person who draws a line in the sand like that in the name of a one sided opinion is the person I've found usually to bring things like hate, mistrust, breakers of peace, animosity and pain. So someone as closed minded and hurtful as blank is someone I will avoid, because adding fuel to his hate is unwise***

       It seems to me, that if you form an opinion and are unwilling to take the time to understand another opinion, you are putting yourself in the dark. Obviously, I am an opinionated little twit with all sorts of idea's floating around inside this place I call my mind. I may find my opinions to be right on target with my singular self, but I always and I mean always, keep myself open to new opinions. I am willing to straddle the fence, find out what another knows, understand why they feel strongly about something I may not entirely agree with. Asking questions to anything and everything brings such amazing insight. I refuse to stick my head in the sand and ignore the possibilities among us. Even the possibility I could be dead wrong.
      
       I find when an opinion is formed and held to so strongly that it becomes "truth" to someone, lines are drawn, emotions emerge, irrational behavior ensues. Radical opinions can be so dangerous. I believe if you hold onto an opinion so tightly your unwilling to see another view, the disservice you do to your cause and your integrity is untraceable.
      
       Whether it's opinions about politics, childrearing, books, marriage, hunting, tide with bleach, work, God, swiffer sweep or hand mopping, opinions, thoughts, art, you name it, you already have an opinion. Be open to new inspiration, others opinions, for those who are closed off to others can fuel the worst kind of animosity. I have come to the conclusion that in regards to opinions, we can stand to the left, we can stand to the right, but we must be willing to step to the center every once in awhile.

        Whew, tis good to get all that off my chest, yes, I was extremely bothered and find my opinion becoming more and more emotional. My own nemesis. Taking my own thoughts to heart and to bed!
       
       Of course, we all realize this entire entry is just my singular opinion................

To Be Fair

I thought to be fair to all genders, I would post ....... James Christensen - "Burden of the Responsible Man"

                                           

 

Pink Afterthoughts

         James Christensen - "The Responsible Woman"

                 

       As always, to every ying there is a yang, and that would be my parents. Everyone knows by now that I learned my appreciation for nature and the great outdoors from my Father, but there were two sides to my growing up, and my Mother had her form of influence on my character development.
      
       Long before the likes of Martha Stewart living there was my Mother, a domestic goddess, with cooking abilities that rival any chef, a quilter, a crafter, she has a room in her home that is strictly to warehouse her numerous art projects, literature, musical instruments and crafts.
      
       She loves music of all sorts and is a musician in the aspect she loves to play numerous musical instruments, guitar, piano, and the bagpipes to be exact.
     
        She loves going to theater, plays, book readings and art galleries. She loves New Age and metaphysical things and always took the time to enlighten my world with these things.  
      
       My Father is honestly and truly oblivious of the art collection she has adorning their  home. I have to assume he thinks some of the prints hanging around the home were purchased from K-mart and his lack of art understanding is bliss in my Mothers eyes. 

       My Father is the definition of a penny pincher, and if he knew some of the James C. Christensen limited edition signed prints hanging around were indeed expensive artwork I think he'd give himself an early heartattack. If he realized some of the Bev Doolittle prints were something more then a framed poster we'd be pumping prozac into him for fear of deep monetary depression.
      
       My Mother did her best to show her tomboy of a daughter the finer things in life, and I credit her with my love of art, my love of reading, my over active imagination. I grew up seeing the sides of two worlds that ironically meshed quite nicely together.
      
       Don't get me wrong, it wasn't always easy. Clothing was a definitive battle at best. My Mother and I would stand on the opposite sides of the clothing rack, she'd be holding some sort of frilly pink concoction and I would be standing on the other side holding a T-shirt and black jeans. I'd win on the argument of personal style and go into philosophical mind determination, using her own words about individuality against her.
      
       Cooking lessons were her least successful endeavor. I'd stand trying to concentrate on the proper ways to slice a carrot staring out the window at a beautiful day with wishful longing. She'd sigh and finally say "Oh go on with you!" I'd fumble over my legs as fast as I could, running out the door to find what my Father was up too.
      
       But with time, things circle back upon themselves. I find myself taking an interest in cooking these days, I find myself calling her more and more for recipes from my past, instruction, advice. She teases me and says the domestic goddess is emerging. I don't know if I would entirely agree with that, but Hamburger Helper gets alittle old after a few years :o)
      
       I know I find myself spending more time learning her crafts now, her forms of artwork. We go to Art Galleries and my appreciation of the different mediums she loves grows into my own loves. Right before me, I've realized I'm just as much a part of my Mothers loves as my Fathers loves. I know when I was younger, I thought I was nothing like her at times. But isn't that the age old quote, "You swear you'd never be, but before you know it, your a twin to your parents?"
      
       I've had difficulty describing my childhood sometimes. Because honestly, it was pretty damn good. My parents were together, they supported each other, they didn't drink, do drugs, smoke, they didn't beat my brother and I, <don't interpret that as we never got a spanking because trust me we did!> they didn't fight in front of us, we did things together as a family constantly. I've found as I emerged into the world how truly lucky I was. Where I thought my life was the norm, it feels more like an oddity now. It seems to be a rarity that I find people who had a stable Beaver Cleaver family life like I did. But all that could be another entry.........
      
       My Mother is my creative muse, a strong woman and someone I've come to admire and cherish for the things she exposed to me. I may never be a domestic diva, a cooking goddess, a Tide with bleach and downey only kinda gal, but I'll always love her for not giving up on the eternal tomboy!

The picture above is called "The Responsible Woman" I find such relevance in James Christensen's rendition of all that we as woman carry around with us. If you could see this finely detailed picture up close, you'd see so many tiny little details, as in all of his work.

The picture to the right, is of us at a yearly Scottish Clan <I won't say which one> Society dinner. My Mother plays every year with her fellow bagpipers. Yes I know, I am not wearing the plaid, I can only comply so much before I must put my foot down and stick with my comforting black :o)

Thank you to everyone who left comments, words of wisdom, encouragment, stories of their own on my previous entry. I appreciate them more then a mere word smith like I can express..............

Think Pink

This picture was taken at Thanksgiving. I might add, pink, is not a color I normally wear, that shirt was bought in her honor and she was well, tickled pink to see her daughter wearing something she would consider a color!  

        A moment for an update this evening. For those of you that have been reading for a while, you know my Mother was diagnosed with Breast Cancer this last Fall. I am happy to say today was her last treatment!!!!
       
       I took her out for a celebration dinner and although tired and weary, she was happy to be done with that part of her battle. The girls and I had made some cards for her, because my Mother adores anything handmade. I also had purchased a survivor bracelet for her to wear.
     
        I was unaware that in the world of Doctors, she is not considered a survivor until she has made it 5 years cancer free. I surmise to say, my education into the world of cancer continues to grow. It also rested a bit heavy on my heart to realize that although the surgery is done, the treatments are done, there is still a long quiet road ahead.
    
         I knew she had more follow up treatments, plus would be taking some sort of daily remission drug for several years to come, mammograms several times over the next year, etc., etc. But for some reason in my mind I had thought  today would feel like a milestone rather then the beginning of a very long wait.
        
        I've been rather mystified through this entire phase of my life, to be honest. I know she is well, and will no doubt be fine. For these are the things you must tell yourself over and over. I take comfort in her strength, her desire to stay positive and the smile on her face. I just need to find comfort for myself in knowing she will do everything to avoid a reoccurrence.
 
        One thing I must add, since I'm on the subject. I've found an enormous amount of support from family and friends through all of this, buthere'sone pointer for some people. If you find yourself saying this to someone who has breast cancer, think long and hard about it.
        If the words "Don't worry, tons of woman get breast cancer and it's so curable these days!" and your saying it in a nice cherry voice that reeks of dismissal. You are in essence telling this person, "Don't worry it's like catching the flu, you'll be over it in a few weeks, no biggie."           
         It has been shocking how often this comes from well wishers. I understand people are put in a difficult situation with this news, words are hard to find, cancer is an ugly word. But just think if you were the one standing there, with cancer invading your body, no matter what type it was, and someone was in an undertone of well wishing, telling you it's really no big deal. I've witnessed this with my Mother and am torn everytime. And that is JUST A THOUGHT.....to really think about......     

        Nasty little cancer cells, how dare they invade my beautiful mother. Maybe I need to express alittle anger thats lurking around in here. Maybe I just want to cry for the stressful, full of worry, experience. I know I have been leery of expressing my own fears and concerns to my Mother. Through this time I felt it needed to be all about her. Almost like I have been afraid of adding fuel to her own fears, which I can only imagine are 100 times worse then mine with my own pain, fear and worry.  
       
       Maybe I just needed the Doctors to say, you've finished the hard part, your officially a survivor, we just need to keep a tight monitor on you. That I could have taken comfort and assurance from......... 

                                                                              

"I gain strength, courage and confidence by every experience in which I must stop and look fear in the face.......I say to myself, I've lived through this and can take the next thing that comes along. We must do the things we think we cannot do."
Eleanor Roosevelt

Simple

I found this on Sorting the pieces, Sistercdr's journal and found myself intrigued. Her answers were wonderful and I suggest everyone take a peek at her corner of the world. I decided it was a challenge I'd like to propose to myself so here's to pulling the mask off for a bit of honest from within, rolling up the sleeves..........

I am not: afraid to write my mind

I hurt: when others are in need, hurt, pain, struggling, lost

I love: my family, nature, myself, honesty, writing

I hate: people who intentionally hurt others, oh and worms

I fear: I will never feel complete

I hope: I make a difference in the lives of the people that I care about

I hear: when people talk

I crave: understanding and connection

I regret: the things that haunt me, bad choices, irreplaceable moments lost

I cry: rarely, but I'm learning how

I care: about my children, life, people

I always: listen to music, carry a journal for writing and stop to listen to people

I long to: break away from mundane, do what I am passionate about, love who I am passionate for

I feel alone: everyday

I listen: if people need to talk, I stay silent

I hide: behind silence and written words

I drive: with loud music, no road rage and all the time

I sing: never, but I love to listen to music

I dance: everyday with my children

I write: because in writing I have a voice, no boundries, no rules

I breathe: the best when I am in the mountains

I play: as often as possible

I miss: Feeling safe, secure and loved

I feel: I take in others issue's to much, take in others problems too much, take in others pain too much, it doesn't leave much room for myself and I allow myself to fall to the wayside

I know: I have a purpose, a mission, a journey, a moment in time

I say: These are my thoughts

I search:  for the good in everyone, for the answers my mind won't stop searching for

I learn: through bad choices, through experience, through always searching for truth

I succeed: through tenacious hard work

I fail: when I lose sight of whats most important to myself

I dream: of a golden horizon, of a touch of inspiration on my shoulder, of the why not's

I sleep: because I have too

I wonder: If I make the right choices

I want: my actions to catch up with my thoughts

I worry: that time will beat me

I have: so much more to accomplish

I give: everything I can to anyone in need

I fight: within myself

I wait: for the right moment, for the right time

I need: courage

I am: a riddle

I think: Humanity needs kindness

I can't help the fact that: I feel the need to dig alittle deeper in every aspect of life

I stay: Hidden until further notice

 

Inspire

Bowing to the Tech Goddess of Journal Land, thank you Jbenjack, Moments in My Life, I have now entered the level of wrap around text.

Main Entry: in·spire
Pronunciation: in-'spIr
Function: verb
Inflected Form(s): in·spired; in·spir·ing
transitive senses
1 a : to influence, move, or guide by divine or supernatural inspiration b : to exert an animating, enlivening, or exalting influence on <was particularly inspired by the Romanticists> c : to spur on : IMPEL, MOTIVATE <threats don't necessarily inspire people to work> d : AFFECT <seeing the old room again inspired him with nostalgia>

I've known what inspire means indirectly and directly to myself personally. After doing a quick reference check I was intrigued by the first definition of inspire. Lets read that again, 1 a : to influence, move, or guide by divine or supernatural inspiration.
         Doesn't that have a beautiful ring to it? This I was unaware of, divine or supernatural inspiration, would be the defining definition of inspire. I will be honest and say, up to this point, I had never really given credit to any sort of divine or supernatural influence when it comes to my inspiration. I was blinded into believing inspiration was found within oneself, solely and individually. Thats not to say inspiration hasn't come for me in the form of spiritual thought, feeling, association, but I believed inspiration is the desire to accept what is set before you, a choice from within. Take it or leave it mentality.
         There is the obvious, I can look upon a majestic river and become inspired. Does the credit of inspire come from the river? Or from within myself? Is it a one time bond between both eye's, river, and the room of inspiration from within? I find myself leaning towards the partnership of all encompassing, my favorite symbol, the circling of everything. My individual definition of inspire I find changing within.
         I choose to explore this topic after a friend was using this word, inspire, frequently while describing the possibilities of new love. Her excitement, her words, the type of writing that brings smiles and excitement for her and awe and emptiness for someone like me.
          Is the inspiration one can receive from another on the level with divine and supernatural? I believe those possibilities are certainly there. If you partner yourself with someone who is willing to stand next to you at that majestic river, hold your hand, and open the airwaves for the inspiration, why not?! If you find yourself standing at the river with someone who is muttering hurry up, it's just a river, any possibilities of a shared, divine moment is shattered.
         Inspiration for me comes from so many area's. I am inspired to write when the supernatural divine thought is kicking to be placed on something tangible. I am inspired to pay my taxes so the tax man doesn't come knocking at my door. I am inspired to hold my values and ethics above all things so I can sleep at night. I am inspired to do many things. These are from within, of mind and spirit. Spirit, so does this constitute the divine? Or the supernatural?
         That last paragraph was all about me. But what I've found, and came upon the realization after reading my friends thoughts, I is just that. Me, myself and I. Thus lacking in the "someone else" inspires me department. I have learned a wonderful, divine, lesson in life. I have learned what it feels like to have inspiration, inspire, desire, hopes and such tossed around and locked up with a quite secure box by another. Now, how I allowed this lid to be placed is but a metal manipulation process I can recognize now, and was uncomfortably aware of at the time. I found the key some time ago, unlocked it, and have been attempting a bitter fight out, with some degree's of success. There is a process into the box, and a process out.
         The more inspiration I find, the more inspiration becomes a bigger entity. I find inspiration from reading how two people can go on a search for white snow geese, drive for hours. I find myself picturing the hours of talking, laughing, or possibly simply enjoying the scenery, listening to music, together, inspiring the other. I find inspiration in a sentence of a book, or the lyrics of a song. I see what I see and feel what I feel.
         I feel the power of my own inspiration and become mystified at it's grace and strength. Maybe I'm just a dreamer, but I have to wonder if the power of two inspiring minds could really be a force so powerful it falls into that divine and supernatural state. I want to feel the touch of someone else's inspiration on my shoulder.
         Inspiration. Is a beautiful word. I find beauty in the way it is written, the way it sounds in my mind and all that it represents. So to my friend, if you have truly found inspiration from another, the type that reaches deep down inside, shakes you up, opens your eye's to new possibilities, step out of your box and embrace it. It is rare and precious, but you already knew that, didn't you........................

My Flyfishing Mentor

     I've been meaning to do an entry to clarify a few misunderstandings in regard to my flyfishing, and since chatting about something pleasant sounds like a good plan, I'm on a mission to do just that tonight.
        I received several emails congratulating me on my essay about my Father and a few of them mentioned how wonderful it was he taught me flyfishing. I corrected a few people via email response, but thought maybe that general assumption was out there. So here's......clarification for my own piece of mind, or maybe just an excuse to relive good times, neither here nor there, one must follow where the mind leads..................
       My Father did teach me the fine art of fishing. We used things like Mepps #2, which was his all time favorite, spinners, salmon eggs and whatever found it's way into the tackle box.
        There was another item used in the family forte of fishing enticement. I hate to even type it, I hate to admit such a phobia, but here goes <I might add, my skin is already crawling> the most awful, mindboggling, horrendous creatures on this earth. Worms.......yes my friends, I know you all must be quaking in your seat as much as I. Worms, I hate. I don't use the word hate often, seldom, basically never, but HATE is the word for these nasty little things.
       Now I've been told this is a wee bit irrational. I've been told it's down right ridiculous. I know what I know, and these things are the stuff nightmares come from. Ask me if I had childhood nightmares, and I'll tell you horror stories that all involved worms. Now, before you reduce me to some sort of wimpy, prissy, can't handle a worm kinda gal. I'd like to add I have no problem with any other insect out there. Toss a tick on me, I'd toss it right back at ya, I am forever the "remover" of spiders in my home, I pick them up, toss them out, bee's you might ask.....no problem, I'd grab one from the air if need be, but toss a worm at me and I will very likely kill you.  It would be a lesson you would only learn once.  
       Having gotten that admission off my chest < I know, my stock just plummeted lol> I can say it was rather tough growing up afraid of these things. Ridicule was abound. Salmon eggs were my best friends and I prevailed as a fisherman.
       When I first got AOL way back when, I believe it was AOL 2, I found a chat room called the Great Outdoors, of course it was filled with frivolous chat, but occasionally I got lucky and could chat some good old outdoors stuff.
        This is when I met Thomas, AKA Tom. I'm not sure who IMed who first, but if my mind isn't playing tricks on me, I believe he did, and I believe he insulted me right off the bat. I understand our minds can play tricks on us, to play a time out like we would like to remember it, so I could be wrong, but I believe he basically commented about my profile claiming I fished. I of course said yes, and he asked me if I flyfished, I had to reply no. At this point he insulted me and typed something to the effect that I wasn't a real fisherman then. And that began my conversion to the real world of fishing. Real being subjective here.    
       I began to study the possibilities. My first discovery was the cost could be wildly expensive. This was a time when something like money was nonexistent, nadda, zilch. I was the manager of a business, on salary, who worked from dawn till dusk, and brought home the same pathetic paycheck every two weeks. My hopes were dashed to try this new level of fishing. But fate would have it, that I was driving a company car and got hit by another motorist, rear-ended. I honestly didn't think it was a big deal, a tinge of whiplash and I was back to work in two days. I didn't give it another thought. About 2 months later I got a call from an insurance company, saying things like "settlement" "take care of your needs" blah blah, will you take 500 bucks and never look back? I kinda stuttered an all right, hung up the phone and sat in amazement.
       The check arrived and I sat back, holding it in my hands wondering what I could do with such fortune. No one knew I had it. It was like my little secret, all mine. I did the unthinkable, I forked out $250 dollars for a flyfishing rod setup. The first one I told was Thomas. He congratulated me, and began instructions. He sent me emails, describing how to do things, sent me to websites with pictures, I riddled him with questions. Then in the mail arrived one of the best gifts I ever received. Flies, tiny little flies handmade just for me. There was even a fly in this batch I could adore, a worm! This was a match made in heaven.
       I started out slowly, I imagine if anyone was watching from the side of the mountain they got quite a laugh. Me hooking myself in the forehead, hooking the tree's behind me, dodging incoming flies and flyline tangling in my hair, choking my neck. I was a mess. But perseverance is something ingrained in me and slowly I began to figure it out.
       It's almost humiliating how my first fish was caught on a flyrod. Imagine me standing there on the side of the river, my flyline is rolled completely out, laying in a mesh of pattern, a mess, just out in the water. A complete mess I'm trying to unravel and realign. It was then I notice alittle further out my flyline is moving around, out towards the current. I began to frantically pull my line in my hand and yes, a little trout had picked up the end of my mess and caught himself. That was not my ideal moment.
       But all summer I practiced, and practiced and came home at nights for guidance from my mentor. I started to catch fish, I started to understand ecosystems and underwater habitats. I learned things about bugs I never thought I'd want to know.
       I eventually got the chance to meet Thomas, flyfish with him. I was so unbelievably nervous, for so many reasons, but most of all I was so afraid to fish in front of my mentor. So I watched him, for hours, marveled at how each cast was truly an art form. He kept looking at me, sitting on the bank, waders on, flyrod laying beside me, encouraging me to join him and all I could do was smile. Eventually I did get the courage to fish next to him. Honestly, I can't even remember if I caught a fish that first time, all I remember is how nervous and excited I was. He could probably remember, he carries memories with him like no other. 
       There were a lot more fishing trips and more to the story, for the two of us, and time took us places I'm sure I'll relive here in my journal. His gift is another that I will carry with me forever.......... But those will be saved for another entry. (Have I hit the limited total of 25,000 characters??)  
       The nice little caveat, is since then, I have taught my Father the fine art of flyfishing and can safely say, he no longer teases me about my worm phobia.......................

Borrowing

    It's been a tough week and I'm afraid the challenge has become bigger then me. Why I can't just rant and rave with simple irate phrases like, "I'm getting really tired of all this %#$&," I don't know.
       Instead I'd rather let myself ramble and it would come out like a riddle something to the effect of........Something tells me I've been here before, it doesn't mean I can approve, I could scream, because I wanted too, but something tells me I've been here before. All I can see is what I fight, why won't what I fight, let me be. I know what I have to do, to make it real. Something tells me I've been here before..........

So, rather then lose myself in another "moment" of expose' ........I'd rather lose myself in something a friend gave me in a card a while ago. When all else fails, borrow someone else's goods.........
                                    

Problems of Interpretation
Of the Natural Scene
The world of stone and space
and sky of simple
growing things of antiquities of man
and the antiquities of nature reveals to all
people the patterns of eternity.
He who knows the jubilance of mornings and the quietness
of dusk, the flash of waters in the sun,
the solemnity of storm, the rigor of the sky
and the endurance of the arid lands attends the rituals of spring,
the living fires of autumn, the quietness of winter and becomes one with the world
Ansel Adams

       Ansel Adams photography. What mere words could compete. I won't even try. But within the branches of this tree I see myself right now. Frozen, resting, waiting for the revival of spring, the touch of sun, new beginnings and growth.
       I took a drive today, for when all else fails and one needs to hide, freeze to death fishing, or drive to a Mountain top, music blaring as loud as my stock stereo can be pushed. Today I choose the drive. I think I found a song I would like to write my timeline  too. That piano song I'd like to set the tone with, if only I could compose, I wrote of earlier.........So again, when all else fails, I'll  borrow the likes of another. David Lanz, Cristofori's Dream, it's perfect.  It has the perfect blend of ebb and flow, circles around inside itself, calm moments, dramatic strokes of the keys, almost silent pauses and then bursts of musical notes ending with a soft finale I only hope my end will be.......perfection.

 

Confession

I've resisted the overt desire to change the last sentence in my previous entry because of fear it somehow begged for compliments. When it was just a sentence to a long vent. Or maybe that should read, delete an entire paragraph. Or possibly I just feel overwhelmed by the comments left.  Because just as a comfort level of no longer dismissing my personal thoughts settles in, the age old unease of acceptance of praise, over comes my within.
       I've taken the time to explore enough female makeup to understand that we, on a general dimension, find it easier to accept the negative. We take it, package it up, and place it in that room inside us, as an arsenal of defense when faced with accepting a positive. Praise of my writing here on my journal, has brought smiles to my face, confirmation in my mind, and kicked open the doors of the arsenal of weapons.
       Impressionable. That was me. I have no formal writing experience, never had a forum of opinion to discuss my writing except once. However significant or insignificant this time was, it made an impression. Even writing this I can see where it may fall, but for the moment I must.
       Creative writing class in High School. One of my most impressionable times in my life. I thought, with exhilaration, this would be a place for me. But I was meet with a teacher who had guidelines, who had a formula, that did not fall into my writing style I guess. I consistently received a meager B in his class. For basically a straight A student who loved nothing more then writing, this was perplexing, frustrating and discouraging.
       At time's I would receive an A for content, and a F for grammar, spelling, punctuation. <This was a time computers were never used> eking out a mere B if I was lucky. At time's I would receive an F for writing content, he would say, "You strayed way to far away from the guidelines." I would sit in his class and hear the praise of another writer he adored and listen to him read their paper that I thought was stoic, rehearsed and uninteresting. Honestly, I thought I must be whacko, for my writing did not fit his world, but he was the writing teacher! I had thought it was creative writing, but it wasn't. I fought back, I really did, but ultimately he won, him and his guidelines, I transferred out, and protectedmy writing in privacy.
       So since then, this has been my first public display of the written word, my journal. So when I read compliments I find myself stricken with his words, his opinion. And I know of course he was just one person, and I'm really trying to kick that door closed again. I thank all for your opinions, came to cherish them actually. A bandaide of sorts for the damage done once to someone so impressionable. So this is my first attempt to overcome those fears and accept without internal revolt your opinions.
       Picture this, your someone that has always had no more then 10 bucks in your pocket, and someone hands you a million dollars.......overwhelmed is a good description right? Thankful, appreciative, awe struck, but overwhelmed. And that my dear friends is how I feel.
Like the beautiful and talented Jazz would say...........

Thank you from where it counts!!!

Center

Clearing out some clutter............

 
       At time's I close my eye's and know I am at the center of my self. Indifference and wickedness cannot touch me here, for I am at the center of my percipience. I cannot be hurt or touched, for I am at the center of my thoughts. I hear the voices, I am not immune, but they cannot come here, keep knocking in vain. Thinking about talks and tears of rain, hopeful sunrises and lost sunsets. For I am a woman who must feel, taken in because I must.
       Sand through a spinning hourglass, a tiny person with an enormous burden, creates a still juncture in time. I smiled wickedly when I think of the Mother who said to her daughter, this too shall pass. In those moments of exterior silence I hear the mystical sounds of piano notes, flowing, moving me across the keyboard. If I could just compose my life's music across these keys I could rival with the best..........
       I can close my eye's and find myself in the center. Ghosts and skeletons, tomorrow's and memories, it's almost funny how they all have my smile. Given resolutions and decisive stalling. The need for someone to accept all that is wonderful and love all that is forbidding. It's both black and it is white. For I am at the center of my power.
       I knew a woman once, she's a young woman looking at all the choices given, closing her eye's against the suns touch and she cannot be hurt by anything the world sets before her. She hasn't lost her way home, she's see the most beautiful things and stands at the center of her world. She smiles a wicked grin and bows before life in a gracious nod of respect. If you look close enough, you can see the doorways to a thousand thoughts in those eyes. She is there, in the center of her sun.
       In this proud life I am given the freedom of choice. I look down clear and empty paths, or the ones riddled with vines and overgrowth. I glance at pristine rivers, I can take the boat out, I can wade in slowly. I can pull on hiking boots and descend into a canyon or hike to the highest peaks. Always a choice when I am at the center of my intuition.
      Wicked world and mercy streets. I may not  be heard. But I can write. I can write the most beautiful, melancholy, vivaciously happy things and not apologize. I can express anything my center speaks and when I close my eye's, I am at the center of my imagination.

Just A Thought, No More

                                                                  

       I had the pleasure of receiving some thought provoking, unabashed thoughts from another here in the journal world. One of the words of advice she gave, of which I have been contemplating much over the last few days was this, in regard to my tendency to end everything I write with the words Just a thought. She wrote............

       "I used to do that until one day I realized that I do not remember any philosopher ever finishing what they had to say with anything dismissive about what they had to say,"...
      
       I read that sentence not once, not twice, but three times, until the true meaning came full force into my mind. I, who treasures the mind and thoughts I have, had been undermining my own value.
       The ironic thing about this, is that, as we know, I like to lurk around reading others journals. I can't tell you how many times I've taken the time to read small entries, novel length entries, any entries, where at the bitter end, the writer finalizes their own thoughts with things like......
"This is probably a bore to anyone reading." Or "I know this is all just stupid stuff for anyone to read." Or better yet, " If you made it through all this I'm sorry it's not interesting." Dismissing their own thoughts, with the cancellation of one sentence. I always want to add in their comments section, DON'T DISMISS WHATS IMPORTANT ENOUGH TO WRITE. But I don't, for that could be construed as negative and I can't even fathom writing a negative thought in someone else's world of writing.
       So when I realized saying Just a Thought, was indeed dismissing myself in a bit more subtle, but dismissive point, I lurched. A thought is one of the most valuable gift's we have in the beautiful thing I call life.
       So here's the deal. I will no longer dismiss my own thoughts with a flip of the writers wrist at the end of anything I write. It is not, just a thought, it's My thoughts for which I freely claim, really enjoy and like to share. Good thoughts, bad thoughts, silly thoughts, day to day mundane, exploratory adventure, philosophical reaching, and heartfelt stories.

       There's a bit of philosopher in all of us. Whether it's about the issue's of time and value in our lives, whether hand mopping or swiffer sweep is better, whether our memories are more important then our futures, or even whats the best philosophical way to get our kids to help clean up the house. It doesn't matter what the subject is, but the opinion is priceless........

 It's all mine to claim. So I sign off today saying........First, thank you to Dalene, for your wisdom will not be forgotten.........and second..........

These are my thoughts.............

Search and Rescue, Journal Links

       I've realized this evening as I stare at my unlined, unencumbered blank page I have absolutely nothing to type about. Oh I've tried a few times. A few paragraphs of nothingness, easily wiped out with a swish of the mouse. A few see spot run, look at that dirt on my floor moments, but I thought my few visitors out here might be disappointed with my lack of creativity tonight. For I am in one of those I'm feeling silly tonite...... So I've decided without further adieu I would like to promote some of the journals I've found out here in Journal land that are interesting, thought provoking, and fun. 
       First I must explain my desire to read interesting journals. Since before starting my own journal here, I found the general journal page ala AOL and of course this piqued my interest. I am an addict to journals, this I know, I stand before you and do not hide, read my confession. But ahh I was an addict before the convenience of typing and spell checks! I actually do that handwritten stuff too, have since I was a mere little one, time dating and starting every entry with "Dear Diary." Little did I realize then that Diary was a figment of my imagination, my invisible friend, it was my own mind I was conversing with.
       Public journals I thought? How can this be? Now being an individual with individual tastes in style and writing, some I found to be ummm politely, lacking in personal interest to myself. I just realized no matter how I write this, the potential to offend is out there. I mean no offense, as I said, personal tastes.
       So I started journal linking, i.e., go to one journal, read, then hope there is a side bar with other journals to skip to the next, if not, I found I can find some interesting journals in the comment section. This should be a good reminder everyone........leave your link!! Anyway, I'm always lurking around finding great journals. The different styles of writing, visually pleasing journals, mind inspiring, inspirational, inquiring, funny, heartwarming, and of course the list can go on and on. Once you find a common thread it's such a wonderful feeling to know others out there have the same feelings as you, think along the same lines, LOL know your not some foreign alien imported from another world.
       Ok, Ok, on and on I could probably ramble, so here are just a few journals I've come to enjoy and obviously there are more I could list and will in the future. Because finding great journals is time consuming and a lot of work!! If I can just save one person from the agony of a long journey and point them to some great places, then my work is done for the evening..................I'll only pick 4 for tonites showcase, no order of preference, random special.........so if I missed you tonite to the MANY journals I visit, I'll get to you soon enough. My email box is starting to fill up quickly with all my alerts everyday if this tells you anything!
    

   In the world of mind workouts, thought bench presses and inner growth power, you just have to visit My Journey Home by Desoulsheartbeat. Warning, if you have no interest in taking a peek deep inside the foundation of your mind, stay clear. Do a few mind warm ups before you head over here. But once you do, you'll find yourself looking at the choices of life in a whole new light. I highly recommend this special ladies little corner of the world.....

   Ok, this next one, you could all accuse me of being biased since I won the Heartsong award, but I'm here to say I visited this journal LONG before my 5 minutes of fame :o) So my bias doesn't count <Of course I'm biased I just love this lady> Judith HeartSong by Judi is a feast for the eye's, a buffet for the senses, a treat for sore eye's. Her artwork is beautiful, gracious, and can bring a smile to anyone with a human DNA. And here's the bonus, her writing is as beautiful as her artwork! If we could all be so talented!

   I've yet to figure out how she found my journal, since she's not AOL, but thankfully she left her url so I could find my way to hers!  My Incentive by Vicky is just simply put, beautiful. A word smith, a writer, a poet in her own right. Her flow of words, thoughts, idea's, knowledge, power is just fascinating and I make sure and visit daily because there is always a new and interesting passage to feed my mind with. Her exploration is a path I find enlightening, and engaging. Head off to wherever her land resides and when you leave a comment, you must claim you are HUMAN! I get a kick out of that everytime.........

    And my last one for tonite will be.....eenie minnie minny moe....so many to pick from, lets go with Moments in My Life by Jbenjack. I remember back when she was just a beginner journaler, and now she has a digital camera, graphics and she's off and running. It could be her refreshing attitude, her adorable stories, that grinning face looking back at me, but I just adore her journal. Go take a peek for a nice little treat! Plus as an added bonus, this lady recommends great books to me and I always love a good book recommendation!

Alright, my work is done, thank you for enduring  a somewhat off canter silly mood this evening. Happy reading!

Ohhh and leave your link, it takes the whole search and rescue part out of the almighty journal seek!

I Have Mail

       It's such a beautiful thing when you get something in the mail other then bills. But let me tell you, when you received something that is actually beautiful, well thats a whole other dimension of mail fun. 
      

        I spoke of things such as value in a previous entry and I can't even begin to explain how much I already value and love my painting. Thank you so very much Judi, Judith HeartSong. 

       Inspiration can be found in so many things, and you Judi, know what kind of inspiration this will be for me. I will have it hung, here in front of my computer. A reminder, an inspiration to gaze upon.

Value

Main Entry: [2]value
Function: transitive verb
Inflected Form(s): val·ued; val·u·ing
Date: 15th century
1 a : to estimate or assign the monetary worth of : APPRAISE <value a necklace> b : to rate or scale in usefulness, importance, or general worth : EVALUATE
2 : to consider or rate highly : PRIZE, ESTEEM <values your opinion> 
    

   Recently I was posed with the perplexing issue of providing someone, something of value. The more I thought about the entire concept of "value" the more frustrated I became.
        I realized as I wandered about my home how little I hold things of value. I realized how little I put into material things and how I disregard them without much thought. I have cheap things throughout my home, I have expensive things about my home, little things, big things......but thats just it. They are all just things that clutter up whats important to me. Monetary value is insignificant to me and my world.
       Sentimental value, now this is something I can relate too. Things with meaning, things that are relevant to both my heart and my soul. These are the things I cannot part with. Value is found in things on my plateau of the world, that have no significant monetary value. 
        It is with this thought, that I question whether the things I hold of value, would be in turn, of any value to another person.
       It's interesting, I used to hold things, material things, as a token of status, an achievement of sorts. I used to dream of having the money to buy this....or that. The thoughts of I wish I had, or if only I could buy.......There were times in my life where money was so scarce I could barely afford food, much less nice furniture or expensive beds. Those were the time's I relied on my writing, reading borrowed books, making things, creating, to fill what I thought was a void. I remember during those times I had seen a journal. A very special journal. My heart went out to it and I just knew I wanted it. Leather, with inscriptions engraved beautifully across the front. Replaceable inside writing book. Beautiful, and also $55 dollars. I knew there was no way I could ever find a way to purchase it.
       But someone knew I loved it, and purchased it for me, a gift. The value was not in the $55 dollars, the value was in someone else's desire to bring a smile to my face. The value has evolved into my love of this journal, for it is the one that is never far from my grasp. I can afford one of these journals now, and yet, have never had the desire to purchase one. The meaning would be worthless, the value just 55 dollars.
       I have lost a few things that I valued, priceless things, that even now in my mind can never be replaced. As I mentioned in my entry The gift behind my Legacy, my father had given me a buck knife with my initials on it when I was very young. It was priceless and somehow I carelessly lost it on a mountainside in my early twenties. I was devastated and while in the outdoors, I was lost without it. A Christmas after that, my father replaced it with another and I have cherished and protected this one with a tenacious mother bear hold.
       I have had two pennants given to me, one an amethyst, and one a diamond. Both valued not because of the monetary value, but cherished because they were gifts from two very special men. I wore them both religiously close to my heart, I regarded them both as my comfort and a blessing, and they both slipped away. One mysteriously, the amethyst, and one right before my eye's into the depth of a river, the diamond.
       If they were to be lost, it seemed fitting the one would disappear mystically, for the amethyst and it's healing power were mystical and a mystery to me. Although I haven't forgiven the river for taking something so precious from me, it seems fitting that the river would swallow my diamond away. At the river, I was there, as half of a whole, and it was a poetic reminder.
       The things I value, if reduced to tangible items, are few. I thought of the age old question, if your house was burning down what would you save if you only could carry an armful. (humans and pets aside) I see now, it would be my journals for my memories and thoughts are valued, if only in the illusion of my mind. My memory envelopes to my children, two empty necklaces, a knife and a special group of keepsakes I love, all things given to me with love from others. I think I could let the rest go. Ok, one more thing, one item, I actually purchased myself, my flyrod. For it's significance is remarkable, in my world of perception..............
     How is value perceived, described, defined? How is it weighed between two people, the giver and the taker? How much thought did we all put into a present of value during the holidays? Did we give what would be cherished or just useful? 
       I know there is nothing I value more then something I cannot procure myself. Whether it be handmade, created, the gift of written thought and of course something given from the heart.

        So I look to the right and I look to the left and find myself in strange waters. For if I am to reduce myself, or a gift, to a measure of value because I dearly want to make a person smile....... Would the recipient be satisfied, nullified, grateful, or mystified.      

As always, just a thought.....................  

About Face

I fear there will be no future
For those who do not change.
Louis L'amour

       There is something about the New Year, that sends a person reaching deep down inside, into a quandary of thoughts. Questioning the past and the future, weighing significance against irrelevant. 
       The 1st, of the 1st month, in a new year. You can do an about face, stop looking to the previous months and face the coming 12 months with new hope. A refreshed optimism. A clean slate if you may. Is it an illusion <?>, of course, the same things that haunted me a week ago have not disappeared. Maybe I just feel a renewed inner effort to stand again, fight and make the things happen that I so badly desire.
       I am an eternal springtime optimist. In the depth of winter I calm, my desires for change are silent, rebuilding, remounting. I toss thoughts and idea's around with silent tribute. A smile on my face and a fight wagering inside.
       The caged bear inside me paces about, waiting for the signs of spring. Rebirth they call it. Spring, a time of renewal. Everything has had it's time to rest, sleep away the cold and isolation. I've had time to reflect, redefine what has been wonderful and what had become irrelevant.
       March. In my world, it's an eternity between the holidays and March. March is the month I have begun to be truly be desperate for every year. Looking for signs of life daily. Waiting for the crocus to appear from the surface of the earth. Waiting for the buds on the tree's. March, there's something pretty special about March. Both my daughters were born in March. One daughter was due on Feb. 22, but she wanted to wait until the first of March, one daughter, was due April 6, but she decided the last week of March was when she wanted to start her life. It seems only fitting........
       The truth is, by the end of every year, I am tired. And even if it's only an illusion I keep tucked here in my mind, I wake up New Year's Day with my perspective intact, rejuvenated and ready. What kind of adventures will I take this year........what kind of difference can I make in my own life..........and the lives of the people I hold dear in my heart..........what types of experiences will I reflect on next December when I again settle into quiet reflections......... will I be the person I want to be, find the courage to make the sacrifices and changes I know I must..........

       "Life could only be understood backwards, but must be lived forward"
Kierkegaard

       No New Years Resolutions for me this year. The major changes I desire were here a month ago, and here today, and I know I'll be standing at the edge of that cliff tomorrow without a parachute in hand.
       They say there is an air of sadness about those who quest for the perfect in everything. A wandering soul, searching, us INFP's are. Searching for the unique, searching for such things such as soulmates, perfection, internalizing others pain as if it was our own. A causality in my own right.
       Amazing how your own words, your own mind can backfire on you. One sentance takes your emotions down a path you had rather not divulged. Typing does that to a person. Writing, can be an ali or your own undoing. Tonight, I fear, it's going to work away from me. Too many thoughts running around in here to be let loose at my fingertips...............

Midnight Pipers

I risked life and limb to get this picture last night. It's never a good thing to flash a camera flash in the dark at a group of marching pipers. I had been warned not to do this. My Mother saw me getting my camera ready right before they started.

 She said. "You'll blind us if you take a picture!"

To which I replied, <with a whiny voice of course> "This is an IMPORTANT night, tis the first time you've played your bagpipes since your surgery in November, I'm taking a picture."

She said, "Oh you and your sentimental moments."

To which I said, "You know it." and then snuck off into the crowd to prepare for the official blinding. And let me tell you, it was a BLINDING. I should have test flashed to know the true effects before hand. They didn't dress up last night like I thought they were going to, but sounded beautiful nonetheless. Because it was a sneak attack on my part, I didn't get a good angle and you really can't see my Mom in this picture <sad> but she is there, playing for the first time since her surgery <breast cancer, surgery in November and it was the breast that she has to hold her bagpipes against.>

Twas a good night. Vicky, I didn't find a nice strong dark male to knock out and drag across my threshold, so I'm hoping the dark coffee I toted home will have to do!!! But I had the coal with me, does that count??