A New Countdown

I'm all grown up now.
I turned 33 in reality age this month.
I gained at least 2 pounds and received 10 more gray hairs on my head.
There are 3 more laugh lines around my eyes, those are good though.
My journal turned 10,000 hits this month.
Minus the 9,000 hits I personally made, it's good to know people come by for a visit.
Thank you everyone!

And to Judith, Mirror, Mirror on the Wall/jtuwliens  I'm most happy it was you who added that defining 10,000th hit. Your journal brings me such joy. I never leave your pages without a smile, a touch of inspiration and occasionally doing alittle Rebecca Happy Dance. I recommend everyone go discover the gift of her beautiful writing, inspiring entries, and fabulous humor.
So for you, Judith, I offer one fine virtual Cuisinart Toaster for being my 10,000th visitor.
May it bring you years of joy and perfectly toasted virtual bagels.

This virtual Cuisinart Cast Metal 4-Slice Toaster features a brushed stainless steel housing with die-cast end panels that will look great on your virtual kitchen counter! Toast virtual bagels and bread to perfection with the 6-setting control. You know I adore ya, and only the best for you!

Now I just have to get through these teenage moments of the dreaded 10,000's.....If we make it to 20,000 without any jail time, hospital visits, tos violations, and anything else that can be typically associated with the 10 through 20 zone............Onward and wayward, here we go, lets see what else wants to grace these entries. Those teenage years are unpredictable, you never know what might emerge!

Claim 10,000

A milestone is a milestone and I just noticed I'm quickly approaching the big daddy of 10,000 mark. Now I understand it may not be as exciting as being the 1 millionth customer at McDonalds, no free cheeseburger offered here but, I'd love to know who the person is that clicks me over into the 5 digit zone!
Stand up, don't be shy, claim your journal given right of inducting a person into a whole new numerical realm.......

Bug Attack

       I'm back, alive, with no major injuries to report. The first aid kit was only pulled out 4, <only two included actual blood> times this weekend to administer Motherly care on minor issues.

       Young Evil Kenival loved her new armor, she felt it gave her a much more powerful "look" actually I believe her words were......"Oh Mom, I look so cool now and even if I wreck it will be no biggie!" It's funny, before I headed up there I had resigned myself to accepting the heart attacks, foregoing any sort of panic attacks and keeping my mouth shut. My own Mother didn't share my vow, she went into one screeching, rant and rave "That child's going to either die, or I'm going to watching her!" Yep, we both threatened my Dad with full responsibility and liability.

       I do have one gripe about this weekend. The damned bugs. Three of them to be specific. Now, normally as long as we aren't talking about those horrendous things everyone else in the world refers to as <gulp hate writing it> worms <double cringe> I don't really care about bugs. I am typically indifferent, spiders~no big deal, beetles~look how cute they are, crickets~mighty musical, bees~go love on a flower...........

       First riddle for you~~~Whats the loudest noise in the world when your trying to fall asleep? Your thinking of trains, parties in a hotel, cat fight outside, a loud clock, your own mind, a snoring partner, a fly buzzing around the room..........well it's none of those. It's a damn mosquito. Period. I've decided without a doubt, this is the worst noise in the world to fall asleep too. I think they know it too. I swear they must hide somewhere on the ceiling until the light goes out. Then they proceed to dive bomb your head, right past your ear , daring you to fall asleep, and it's sooo LOUD. After crawling out of bed to flip on the light to wage battle, the skinny little jet bombers just go back to their hiding spot and wait you out.

       The ramifications of falling asleep are impossible to justify ignoring them. You just know if you actually do fall asleep, you'll wake up to find your face has become a bumpy graveyard of blood sucking destruction mounds. Hiding your head under the blanket is not a solution. For one, you can't breathe, and two, at some point during your sleep, your sleeping mind will know it's not breathing fresh air, toss back the covers and we're back to waking up to face of blood depletion aftermath.

       Bug number two~ Another vampire. Two ticks this weekend. Now, Idaho has it's fair amount of ticks, but this is the first time they have ever dared intrude up at my cabin. Everyone is blaming it on the very wet spring we've had, I personally didn't care for any of the excuses. When I find a tick running across my arm when in bed, I'm suddenly not a happy cabin camper. Two blood sucking bugs in one weekend, while I'm trying to peacefully rest. I might as well have been up actually camping, at least I'm prepared for such things there! Ah blissful sleep, wasn't to be had this weekend!

     I have to add, when you have discovered just one tick on yourself, for the next 48 hours your mind will play tricks on you at least once every hour, you'll just feel something crawling on you, your skin crawls with recognition that another vampire is looking for a place to call home. Ya, that mind playing tricks on you stuff is such fun!

       Bug number three~ Normally I don't mind these bugs, but the damn thing stung me 5 times in the way upper ranges of the back of my thigh this weekend, so I'm a bit pissed at them as a species right now. Wasps. Mean little buggers with multiple stinging abilities. Wasps are like woman, one sting isn't enough, they have to keep sticking it to a person until they are sure they have gotten their point across. This little monster managed to sneak up the back of my shorts while I was sitting and the minute I started walking, started it's assault. Now, the question that comes, is what the hell do you do. Your walking, it's broad daylight, there's multiple people around, it's stinging basically your ass, and jumping around yelping doesn't help. You have no choice but to drop your pants and beg for mercy. Ya, that was a sight to behold. I didn't even get the satisfaction of smacking it, it just flew away, laughing all the way..................

       I understand the point of a bee, or wasp, bring on the flowers and such. But does anyone know the purpose of a mosquito or for the love of nature, a tick? Beside doing blood transfusions I see no relevance to these pesky little shits.

Why can't all bugs be like the butterfly?
       Gotta love bugs.
It was a great weekend!
Really, I had a good time.
And I'll be ready next time.
Can we say Bug spray?
Score one for the bugs, Zip Rebecca

Gone Fishing

       Adieu, farewell, I'm off to see the wizard. Ok, that may be an exaggeration of my personal Emerald City, but I am off to the Mountains for the holiday. My cabin awaits my arrival where I will be forced to participate in some fresh air, beautiful sunrises and breathtaking sunsets. I believe, if forced, I will also be finagled into some fine trout fishing, and leisure naps on the river bank.

I know, rough, I can feel your empathy already. My last mission to accomplish before leaving town, is finding full body armor for my youngest daughter. It seems, I have a bit of an Evil Kenival on my hands. I purchased a Polaris Scrambler 4-wheeler for my little darlings to scoot around on around the cabin this winter. The last time I snuck up to the cabin was their maiden voyage on the thing. Here's about how it went..........
      
       Shelby 13 year old: First rider, she claimed maturity, age and used her pleading eye's that usually buckle her eager little sister into getting her way. Shelby leisurely applied gas, and meandered around the property at a nice little pace that never once made me cringe.
      
       Kaitlyn 10 year old: From the moment her little tiny butt hit that seat, her small hands gripped the handle bars, her head bent down in a brilliant racing stance barely peeking out from the helmet, she was off like a NASA rocket. Now of course, the child claims afterwards that she never ONCE heard me hollering to slow the hell down through her helmet and the sounds of the scrambler..........but I think she knew damn well she was on rocket speed and Mom wouldn't be happy. She stayed up on the side of the mountain for what seemed like the LONGEST time, she found every possible mound and discovered she could jump them, all four wheels off the ground. <Yes, by then I was walking my big butt up the mountain to catch this little tiny run away Evil Kineval>

       I managed to get her off the Mountain and back down to the cabin. Now, my darling Father had watched from his cabin porch his little granddaughters spectacle of jumping, racing, skidding out, ripping around tree's and felt the need to come join the chewing out session. I was in the processof explaining why I have no need to scrap her off a tree and he jumped in to explain she had raw natural, albeit alittle crazy, but natural talent. Basically, he jumped to her side of the negotiations.

       So full racing attire must be purchased today, along with a better helmet. I can appreciate an adventurous streak in anyone. So I will suck in the cringe and let my little Ricky racer fly <within reason, of course> My Father has committed to teaching her the fine art of racing and safety. And we'll all hope we have no need for a hospital anytime soon!

       Have a wonderful weekend everyone! Get outside and enjoy....................

This is the ?

       To accept or not, that is the question I'm quite certain, just about everyone has been faced with during the pressures of Christmas/Birthdays, or any other cause for present celebration.

       I had a good birthday, it was calm, nothing out of the ordinary, simple, just the way I like things. With my first paragraph, you can already assess there is a proverbial "but" coming your way. I received a gift, that both surprised me, shocked me, and left me spinning in a, what the hell do I do, state of mind. 

       The gifter, whom I love dearly, had recently come into some money. Evidently the gifter felt the need to do something pretty amazing for me, which the thought of this gift touched me deeply.

       This is where the pressure of appreciation and guilt wrap a most beautiful bow tie around an emotional struggle.

       The gifter knows of my love of art. Art is a glorious testament to beauty, life, and creative imagination. We all know this. Art is also deeply personal, in my humble opinion. In simple terms, this wonderful, thoughtful person bought me an expensive, limited edition, with all the certificates, hand signed by the artist, bells and whistles, very popular artists painting. It is huge, it is gorgeously framed.

       It is not me.

       OUCH. So close, beautiful idea, wonderful thought, brilliant notion actually. Wrong artist. This is where guilt wraps it's pretty little claws around my conscious. As I sat on the floor before this gift I felt the clutches of "what do I do" grab hold, meanwhile this persons excitement and elation of giving me such a gift swallowed my panic whole.

        This person has been to my home, the gifter in their excitement proclaimed the perfect wall I have in my home for this painting and I sat there a bit dumbfounded. Dumbfounded with a plastered smile. I couldn't help but think of the painting I won from Judith HeartSong, had just received in the mail and looking at this painting it was clearly on the oppositeend of the spectrum. I love my Judith painting, adore it, can't stop looking at it. This painting, I'm just torn as to what to do.

       So when does the line cross from ungrateful, and unappreciative,<because I really was NEITHER>  to letting someone know that the thought of a gift was glorious, just a tad wrong. Now before everyone thinks I'm a spoiled brat who should be grateful of such a gift, let me point out, this is something I will need to incorporate into my home. Something I will have to see every single day for probably the rest of my life. I don't love it as I should. I hate to think of the money spent for this gift! Hmmmm I do sound like a brat here, I'm just so torn! The one 3-D friend I confided in, said I should immediately return it and get a painting of an artist I adore. She felt the gift wouldn't be tarnished by exchanging it. I disagree.

       I personally can't bear the thought of disappointing this person. I think doing something like that would crush them. I might add here, this gifter, took an enormous amount of time and energy getting it to Idaho <I was told the whole story of how this person had seen the print in a magazine, thought of me, searched it down, etc., etc...>  So for a few days, it's been sitting in the big old monster of a box it was shipped in. I've pulled it out a few times, to just study it, see if a measure of love would be found. Nothing yet........but I'll keep trying. In time, maybe it will grow on me, it will be a looming presence, thats for sure.

       To return or not, this is the question thats haunts good intentions.....

Double 3

A double shot of three's.

       I really am an even number kinda gal. I love the feel of a good 10, and of course 20 has always been my golden number. 2 feels good, and solid 12 is a typical pick on the lottery numbers. There's always been a shifty feeling I get when using odd numbers.
      
       Maybe it's because anything with the odd word in it I try to avoid. You know, stay away from what you might possibly be. I don't like the word oddball, it's a screwy take on just about anything it's assigned too. I don't use the phrase "oddly enough" in any of my repertoire, again, odd is just not my cup of tea, even if the shoe fits.

       So imagine my shock when my first due date, for my first daughter Shelby, flew right by the beauty of February 14th a great, and comfortable 2/14 even extravaganza and emerged into life on March 3rd. 3/3 I thought to myself, how can this be?? I am an even gal and now I have a most important 3/3 on my hands.

       My next daughter Kaitlyn, was due on April 4th. I thought all along, thats a good omen. 4/4 ahh comfort. I really wasn't worried about an early March arrival, my last pregnancy went two full weeks overdue. Imagine my surprise when on 3/30 she decided she too wanted to be a double 3.

       I've really tried to warm up to one odd number. The great and powerful 3. On this date, the beautiful even number of 20, I find myself with two feet into the double 33 age bracket. Maybe, just maybe, this year I will find myself in tune with my age, there has to be a reason 3's are so prevalent in my life, even with my oddball aversion to odds. Oddly enough, <ok, I couldn't resist> I am looking forward to this next year of my life. I have a lot to work on, a lot to sort out, but going into it, and being reminded of the significance of double 3's in my life, I look to my daughters and know without a doubt, I have accomplished one precious gift in life. 

       In them, I have succeeded like no other endeavor I've attempted. I realized with a sleepy smile this morning how lucky, I really am. Those two secretly set their alarm clocks last night to intentionally wake before me. I woke up to a loud rendition of "Happy Birthday" that had me laughing and smiling from the minute I woke. They both jumped in bed with me and we snuggled for 30 minutes, it was a glorious birthday present, no one could have bought for me.

       So today I say, bring on the double 3's, I'm ready to accept that oddity, embrace the certainty, that 3's are meant to be in my life, and they really have become one of my very favorite numbers.

Muse Mail

Mail. I have a love, hate relationship with mail. When I was young, pre-bills and responsibility, I had visions of having pen-pals across the world. I would sign up for various ways of correspondence, kids from other schools, pen-pals from other countries. Some of them were moderately successful pen and paper friendships, some never made it past an initial "Hi, my name is Rebecca will you write back?"

       My desire for pen and paper friendships, in the hands of a shrink, would probably indicate I was much more comfortable hiding behind such a technique to avoid putting myself "out for consumption" on the playground. I was a painfully shy young girl. I eventually gave up on the notion of having exotic friends around the world and settled for myself and handwritten journals, but my love affair of finding special mail for me in the mailbox never died.

       I finally did find one fantastic pen-pal. My Grandmother Mary. She lives in the same town as me, always has, and I think I realized she would answer my letters back, although a phone was within hands reach or I could just drive over to her home, when I had wrote her an in depth thank you letter when I was about 18. She wrote me back, pages, and I relished it. In turn I wrote her back and so a tradition began. For 14 years now she has been my steadfast pen pal. Her letters have gotten shorter, her writing worse, and in turn, my writing has gotten much bigger so she can read it, but we still write about every two weeks. Those letters mean the world to me and thankfully, I had the insight to save them from day one. When I go to her home, I find myself touched and slightly embarrassed about the way she displays my letters around her house. I have a rather large family and have no doubt many a relative has read my words to her.

       My hate for mail arrived about the time I had two little children, found myself on my own, barely enough money to eat, with bills from every direction arriving daily. I had three piles for these envelopes. One was for white letters, which meant they weren't quite on the hunt for me. One pile was for colored bills, which meant way overdue, the other pile was throw away, a non priority. I hated myself and mail during that time, I began to hate that my mailman could see just based on the envelope that I wasn't paying bills. I can't tell youhow happy I would feel when stuck between the bills was a savior of a letter from my Grandma, usually a cheery yellow, with flowers and stickers stuck all around.
      
       I'm not at that place anymore, and eventually my mail stopped being colored, with big delinquent stamps across the top. But even now, I recoil when even a simple bill like the power comes in my mail. I can pay it, but the fear those years installed in me isn't something that just drains away even when you can write the check.

Painting by Judith Heartsong, Judith HeartSong , now safe, happy and cherished at my home.

       I've been excited for a week now for the mail. A rarity for me. Yesterday, in the mail I received something so beautiful, so divine, I haven't settled down since. If I could have hugged the mailman without getting maced, like an attacking dog, I would have.

       She is here, my light, a vision of my muse, an inspiration for me to look too everyday. I have a vision that's been in my mind for as along as I can remember. A notion of what my muse, creative inspiration, the side of me that helps me write, would look like. The first time I saw one of Judith Heartsongs Light series paintings it captivated me. Mesmerized me in fact. For I felt like I was looking at a portrait of how I had always envisioned my muse to look like.

       The painting I have now here, sitting beside me, is perfection. I am thrilled to have her here, and again, I find the simple words of thank you, seemingly inadequate to express how lucky I feel to have this painting.
      
       Judi, thank you for showing me your light, for adding balance to those around you and for blessing me with a piece of your within.

Ism's

       I pulled up today to your typical stoplight. Nothing unusual about a stoplight right? I'm minding my own business, and then I hear it. The obnoxious revving of an engine. So unable to resist, I glance to the lane next to me and the male counterpart is slouched down, one hand resting on the wheel and with a half cocked smile to me he again revs his engine, a couple of times to muster a nice roar from within. With a laugh a thought jumped into my mind.......Male-ism.
      
       A Male-ism, since I find no place for it in a common dictionary, is a term I use to describe a behavior that is gender specific and isn't regulated to just one single person. A Male-ism is by my definition, something men, in plural form, can be found doing across the nation.
      
       Now, as an observer of people, I always try to formulate an equal opportunity type of opinion. There are most certainly Female-isms. Does this one ring a bell with everyone, ahh heemm........"Do I look fat in this outfit?" Typical Female-ism.

        As a female, I know I can pose this age old question to another female friend and feel most comfortable with the outcome, men on the other hand, would consider that a Female-ism. They know without a doubt when this question is posed to them, it is truly the kiss of death, of which the only way out is to run.

       So with my first example of Male-ism, I have to wonder what the attraction is in revving an engine. Is it some sort of primal mating call, meant to impress the lady in the little car next to you? Maybe I get it this revving of engine Male-ism because of the car I drive around town. Tell me this happens to you other ladies out there! I could also throw on the fact of burning out tires in a screeching show of manhood, or blaring a stereo so loud my heart starts to keep beat with the woofer system two cars away. Male-isms at their finest. And we can't blame the young bucks either, men of all ages perform these acts of car bravado.

       I know what the Female-ism point of asking if I look fat in something is. If it's posed to a female friend, I really DO want to know if my ass looks like a flattened out heart, the size of Texas. If the question is posed to a male, I want to hear I look damn good, no matter what.

        If a male revs his engine on the starting line <not the Indy 500> but at a stoplight, what is he hoping for? I need to know this. Just as the meaning of life is an important question posed to those of us who can't stop questioning things, this rev question has it's own important mysterious implications that I must know.

       There's a ton of other Male-isms and Female-isms out there. It would be interesting to compile a list, so for those taking the time to read the start of my documenting such "isms" help me out!
      

       Male-ism.....toilet seat up
       Female-ism..... putting make-up on in the car
       Rebecca-ism...... Wondering about all that is important and all that is 100%  irrelevant :o)

Letter to Anne

Anne,
        Reasonable time frame has a way of eluding me and I will apologize for waiting so long to write. If honest be written, I've been reluctant to write this. I can already feel a sense of disappointment radiating from you. When I listen closely, I can hear the sounds of breath releasing in a forfeitable sigh of resignation.
      
       Your advice really doesn't fall on deaf ears, as much as it may appear as so. I hear them day to day, an echo disguised as desired wishes. I can't explain excuses, and I don't dare justify misguided choices. Whether it's a dependable voice, or pen and inked to be remembered, you are always there, and never dismissed.
            
        Easy. I really appall that word and I wish you would drop that from implications. It would seem things should, or possibly could, or simply would, be easy if there was a map to distinguish if you make choice A, it will lead you to result G. But hence, careful now, choice Z will lead you to result JN and babe, you better be prepared to live with that! I know, you warned me about results. I haven't found anything easy about any of this. I'm sorry I let you down. Get in line to dish out the penance.
      
        I need help my friend. A fault line has broken through my foundation and I haven't been able to repair the damage. All the things I could have done, and all the things I didn't do, has left me clutching on to the edges of fault, teetering on the brink of fall and I don't have the tools to mend it. I'm terrified I will fall into the dark perils and never emerge on the right side of destination.
     
        I keep listening to the recordings of words you've left imprinted here in my mind. Anne, you can be my worst critic, a wise adversary, and a forbidding force I never seem to escape. When the day breaks, I already feel I'm swimming in your shadow. I'm either one step ahead of where you hope I'll be, or 10 steps off course. And yes, for the last couple of Months, I've been off course. Thats probably why I've declined communicating with you. It takes so much emotional strength to face you, and lately, I've felt completely depleted of such energy.
     
        A division of labor, idealistic motions, and self preservation. I am the intensive version of fear. Fear is as foreign and habitual, as our friendship is comforting and intimidating. Are we the facet of life and persecution, or the result of choice and destiny?
      
        I am either the coward for standing still, or the saint for preventing further chance of hurt. This is the question that keeps me company during the night.

If I persist in questioning my entire life, will I end up on the other side of life holding on with two hands to the . at the bottom of a ? mark..............

       Does everyone walk a solitary road with hopes of crosspoints and parallelisms? I seek the answers that maybe shouldn't be asked. Is it too much to assume the voices that carry us along are more of a hindrance then a cheering section. Sometimes, I wonder who should have more power at the helm, you or I. I think it's unfair that you get to shout orders while I have to set the sails. One wrong move, and we're headed in the wrong direction again and I have to turn around and face you.
    
         All I ask from you, my precious shadow friend, is don't give up. There's still a cup full of hope, an ounce of strength, and a drop of horizon left.

As Always,
Rebecca

      

Penitent

A conceited woman,
Would have reason to turn the mirror around.
Took the paint and covered any reflection.
Maybe, just maybe, I listened too hard, looked too deep, waited for a sign.
Distant, 800 miles or in the same room, sounds the same. If I'm to take the blame, I accept with gracious tenacity.
I never claimed to be conventional.
Reaching into that which is diverse can enlighten, and frighten even the best of simple. Still, confusion can be found in so many different strands of hope.
Distant grows heavy.
If I could hold the hands of time down with a force even past couldn't mar, I would.
Taken from the sight, listened in the night, with the veil of darkness I could almost feel it.
Labyrinth of a road.
A humble woman must carry a blanket of choices gone awry.
A mirror turned away from self proclamation.
I may not understand it now, but my destination will be revealed.
When the night is soft, and the hollow quieted.
Penitent is from within.

Point & Counterpoint

Point & Counterpoint
The lady of Fire and Brimstone, ok, thats just a nickname I've given her <you know I love the challenge Jodi!> , Jodi from Looking Beyond the Cracked Window.... has started a new journal called Point & Counterpoint . I think it's a wonderful concept and signed myself up for the program. Two writers, male and female, are given a topic, idea, question, to personally write on. Both writers are featured in her journal on the topic. You can also post your thoughts in your own journal. Since I'm a handicapped typist now and entries are going to be few until I can stop plinking with my braced hand, I'm posting my answer here too. I think it will be most interesting to see everyone's comments on the questions, the difference in male and female answers etc.............


The Question
It is said that time is money. Most of us have to trade one for the other...BUT...If you
were granted full unconditional use of both...How would you draw the line between
self-preservation and selfishness? How would you get what you want AND want what you
get? Would you feel the need to offset the consequences of your materialism by thinking
globally and acting locally...What would you do?
 
       Unconditional use of both. I sense both an incredible freedom within those guidelines and a heavy burden of responsibility. As a woman, I think we all dream of a life without brick walls, restrictions to the amount of accomplishments we can contribute to those around us, and a desire for personal space.

       Time given freely, without worry of bills, appointments we don't want, responsibilities that bind our time to outside influences, would be a sense of freedom I personally covet. In this circumstance I believe for self-preservation I would live as anonymously as possible. Creating a safe haven in which I could pursue all my passions. Writing, reading, gardening, horse riding, fishing, camping, hiking, this list could go on and on. I've found, money can only buy so much. Once you own a car, a home, food for your family, selfishness would come from wasting money on things you don't need. I really don't think anyone needs a Bill Gates compound/lifestyle, therefore hopefully true selfishness wouldn't come from the amount of money at one's disposal. I have to believe time would be what was basked in, held dearly and this is where I could very potentially and selfishly keep as much of it to myself as possible.
      
       Time freedom, would throw a yellow brick road of possibilities in front of anyone with a desire to pursue any avenue they desired. When the stress of money is relieved, you could wander aimlessly between opportunities without regard to consequences.

       Money makes the world grow rounder and rounder. For me personally, money is simply a tool that either binds or liberates. A life without a lot of money can have happiness, be fulfilling and desirable. A life full of money can also have happiness, fulfilling and desirable. I think when money becomes a controlling factor of emotion and material things, is when it sinks it's hooks into a person like an anchor on a boat. I personally have been both penniless broke, and have had a fat balance in my bank account. During both phases of my life, the desire's in my heart had nothing to do with money itself. Self preservation was always found from the things that couldn't be bought.

       Given unconditional use of money would be glorious in it's ability to help others, yet again, a huge responsibility with many burdens. Thinking locally and globally, it would provide the ability to ensure those around you were provided with the "tool" to release the hooks, and drop anchor. To help the family that is working multiple jobs to make a mortgage payment, to ensure charities and nonprofit groups had the funds to accomplish their missions, to fund all the worthy causes so that no one is overlooked, again, this list could go on and on............I think the burden of this blessing would be distinguishing between "need" "must" "necessity" and "handouts" I think anyone would struggle with the task of making the decision of how far would your charity reach, and to whom would benefit.

       The gift of time, the gift of money, blended together would indeed be a horizon that you would never see sunset. The possibilities that would come in personal growth, exploration and relief to others would be endless. But looking between the two possibilities, if given a choice, I would pick time over money anyday. Money is the tangible green dollar bill that slips easily through my hands, time is what I can never quite grasp hold of and hang on too. If given both, the question of what would I do, seems like it should state something more like , "what wouldn't I do?" Because I would fulfill all my dreams, and reach both hands out to give the tools to anyone willing to accept my gift, so that they may also, walk their own yellow brick road.

Plinking

       Happy Late Mother's day to all the ladies.

       I've decided to brave plinking a short entry in tonight. My youngest daughter says that if you aren't sporting scars from stitches, have stories of casts and hospital/doctor visits, you aren't living a life of adventure. Well, tonight my hand is sporting it's new brace, I'm knocked up with some hydrocodone and well, you know, life is feeling good and fuzzy now.

       Because the why is irrelevant and isn't anything to claim a great story by <all right, all right ok I'm embarrassed> we'll just say, I made it a few days out of pure stubborn victory on my part, and didn't let alittle broken something ruin my weekend. Never!!

       In true Rebecca style, I've eluded having any sort of cast placed on my defunct parts. I'm 4 for 4 now. The last 4 things I've broke, I've tossed such a pathetic fit, that everytime I've managed to get a removable brace instead of a cast. You just can't fish with a cast on your arm, you can't wade in a river with a cast, but you can fish carefully if you removed your brace, and with a robot boot of a cast you can strap it around your waders.......you get my drift.

       Ok, plinking and drugs is making this tough. I'll just say, it was a great weekend that even alittle pain, and a whole lotta rain couldn't ruin. It was good for our friends to get away from town, and let nature add it's own token of healing to a time in their lives when things were so dark. I'm speaking of the ones who lost their daughter just a few weeks ago. <I will write more about it as soon as I think I can get away with not wearing my brace for a few minutes of writing>

       Plink Plink, click click, oh the fun I create for myself! Hoorraahhh Adventure.........

Brimstone

Have you ever hit save on a comment on someone else's journal and afterward thought, whooaaa what the heck are you saying? I did that recently, probably out of curiosity, because I knew Jodi  Looking Beyond the Cracked Window.... is a creative soul, and might throw some questions at me that would toss me for a loop. She did not disappoint. Fire and brimstone kind of stuff :o) Here is an interview that I deliberately threw myself into the pit. She's a damn tough Barbara Walters!

1. A mysterious individual approaches you. This person has given you an assignment that you MUST complete. You are to organize a "secret society" with the members from all over the the globe. It is your sole decision who is on this society's board. What is the name of this secret society? What is the function? Who are the Board members(12), you hand select? {You may select anyone, male or female, young or old, living or dead, fictional or nonfictional. And why these people?
Ok, this one I'm going to have to raincheck. I have an idea, but I'm afraid it's needs to cook alittle longer in this mind of mine.
 
 
2.If you were to interview yourself, what would you want to know? And how would you answer?
Ouch. This is a tricky sly little question now isn't it. I see this two ways. One, as which questions could someone have asked to get the down and dirty details I like to tap dance around, or two, what questions do I always have lingering around in my mind. Either way, I'm toast here. To make this easy, I'll ask myself one single question, I'll make it a hard one because it touches both those angles and we'll see how much is revealed. I think if I asked something like "What do you think is more important, sky or dirt," she'd crawl through this web page and kick my butt.
Rebecca's interview Question: What was the Month of March all about and why the major downfall into April?

***Times Up****
Ya, Ok, well this is going to be erased SOON. By tomorrow morning it will be off the record, if you dropped by prior to that, you got the scoop.......if not, sorry, it was a one shot deal. Damn, did it get really hot in here or what!
 
3. Walking along your journey, you happen to turn around to reflected on moments past. When you notice a figure walking along your path. This figure is far away in the distance, that part in the path you trekked long ago. The figure becomes familiar-you realize it is one of your daughters. Your actions? Reactions? Emotions?
       This is a little tough too. Simply because it's such a future question of which I hope never to be so far in the distance I don't immediately recognize my daughter. I can say, I hope that one day, as I look back over time, I hope I see the beauty that radiates from them that I do today. When I look to my daughters I see such individuals, both shine in their own unique way. I see similarities between them and I, I see profound differences, I see girls who are looking to their own futures even now. I love the excitement in their eye's in each new discovery. If I do my job right, I have no doubt our own paths will always cross.
I failed this question didn't I? :o)
 
4. Pick a piece of art (painting, sketch, sculpture,etc) that would most resemble you.
   -------a book or character in a book that would most resemble you.
  --------a movie
   -------a song.
I knew this interview would be like fire and brimstone. Tough. Because it is a piece of art I go back too and just gaze at time and time again. I will have to pick Sleeper in Lost Dreams by James Christensen. I grew up with his artwork in my home, so my attachment is quite a long affair. <~~~

About the book. I just cannot answer this one. I've tried, I really have, and if it comes to me someday I'll let you know.

Movie, oh your killing me. Can I be Laura Croft from Tomb Raider? A nice adventurous life, kicking alittle ass from time to time, living in a mansion, poised, with a killer accent. Otherwise, I claim the 5th on this question too.

Song, this is alittle easier. For this, I will claim Tori Amos, Crucify.
 
5. Explain to readers, anyway you would like, what the title of your journal means, most importantly....to you. 
Inspired by this song..AOL Music: Goo Goo Dolls: 'Iris'...the words written out for me to read day to day, in one of my journals, written by the one person who's ever been trusted to read my handwritten word..............a song dedication from him to me.
       In the Shadow Of The Iris represents something I walked away from many years ago, something I've not outlived, not outgrown, gotten past, or forgot. This something was a someone, this something was a chance, this something was a life I could have had, it was there, this something was a feeling I've never replaced. It's complicated, heartbreaking, yet some of the best memories I hold dear in my life. It represents how in one choice, it can have you struggling to get out of the shadow of it's consequences.

      The hardest part about seeing the title of my journal everyday is it's reminder, it's also the sweetest part of my title, again, the reminder. I almost stepped out of my shadow in March, in fact, for a weekend I did. The sun touched my face again, a hand held mine in safety, and I felt like the Iris, beautiful. But consequences and choices put me right back into the shadow again and thats an anger at myself I'll have to carry for now. Outlast, remember that little entry? Something is the patience and my shadow is the guilt.

 
BONUS:
Pick one of these 3:
A. What motivates you?
B. If once a week you could relive a time in your life, when would that be? Why?(every week it would be this period in your life...so every Wednesday you would be 12; just as an example.
C.What is it about acceptance(of who we are, where we are & why) that you find most difficult?

I just had to open a window, it's getting REALLY hot in here. I think I'll save the bonus forwhen I post my answer to number one......................

This must be spill my guts week at AOL. Is there a feature for that??