Booo

I received a postcard with this picture on it this morning, from the elusive El Musey.
On the back it says,
"Wish you were here, having a fabulous time, let me know when the coast is clear"




I was not amused. I'm following the post mark.
I've booked my flight and I'm off to retrieve me. First I'm going to lash her a bit for leaving at such an inopportune time. I will assure her the voting is over and the coast is clear.  Bask in some rays myself, then drag her happy butt back to Idaho and demand slavery type creativity.

Until I return, I wanted to wish everyone a Happy Halloween!!!

Posse on Broadway

  Since my creative muse has decided to embark on an unscheduled vacation, I must take measures into my own typing. That muse, what a picky, fickle temperamental slice to the makeup of my dynamics. I'm becoming rather irritated with my muse right now. If I find out she's basking in some exotic beach soaking up some sun or something ....^*&%(^)*...... I've decided to write her up, no pay and all benefits placed on administrative probation. Obviously EL Musey, didn't bother to notice it was vote week, the traitor.

       Since I'm left on my own, I am forced to ruminate off the material that's placed in my lap during day to day mundane. The best I can come up with right now, thats been floating around in my mind this evening is MUSIC.

       This has been on my mind for two distinct reasons.

For one, there has been an evil Lord of Barry Manilow stalking my pages. Now, usually I'm rather eclectic in my personal music tastes..........for example~

I have music from one end of the music sheets to the other. Pulling up my Media Player here on the laptop I see a broad range of music, from Alanis Morissette at the top <great for those times a female is irritated with the male species type music> to David Lanz <my muse claims this one> onward to Disturbed <angry music> down to Eminem < who knows moods> and even father down we have things like Fiona Apple, Kate Bush, John Mayer, Lifehouse, Colors, Marilyn Manson, Seanachie,Sir Mix Alot, Tori Amos, U2, and the list could go on and on and on  <NOTICE there is no Vegas Nights Barry Manilow on there, I'm not a member of his fan club like some people>

       The second reason music has been on my mind is because of my 13 year old teenie bopper. It seems, that along with the numerous other changes this morphing human is going through, music has become her most important accessory.

       I have always loved music, a connection, an inspiration, a feeling or emotion can be found with simple notes.  In my humble opinion, some of the most glorious poets are musicians/songwriters. A single song cantransport me to a place or a time, sometimes a good memory, sometimes a sad memory, and sometimes just a feeling that I cannot assign at all. Usually at my office, I'm packing my IPOD around being anti-social, enjoying my own little world without the distraction of office chatter.

       My daughters have always been subjected to my music, always on at the house, always ready for an impromptu dance from any of us. So it comes as no surprise that they are just as needy about their music as I am.

       Except, now, I feel like I'm being kicked off my Queen of the home stereo system, Dictator of the car stereo music and first choice music pedestal. Specifically the 13 going on 18 year old. She and I, are coming to a real live throw down about this entire music concept. We come home and she has gotten in the habit of rushing to the stereo and putting in her music. We get in the car and before I have the ignition turned on, she's flipped the radio station or slid in one of her CD's.

       Mutiny I tell ya, and I'd place money that she's paid off her little sister to swear allegiance to her music choices over mine from here on out. They, little woman, are ganging up on me and my obviously good music choices. No worries, I can take 'em.....

       Tonight I tried something. I was wicked. Driving along to a school dance, Shelby had already beat me to the music and I had a thought.

        A twisted little notion of fun actually. I turned the music, completely off. The silence was deafening, I smiled and looked at both wide eyed daughters with the slightly quivering lower lips and said, "So darlins, how was your day?"

       In unison, they whipped out a flippant "It was good Mom," And the 13 year old squeaked a horrified, "Mom, you just turned off my favorite song!"

       I smiled again, and said, "Oh, I didn't realize that Shelby, but how about we talk for a little bit instead of listening to music tonight" Add another wicked smile~~

       It was fun. I also realized playing that little trick elevated me to status of a clueless parent, because I should have realized how devastatingly important listening to that song was at that exact moment.

       Essentially, tonight, I became my dad, because he used to do that to me ALL the time when I was a teen. Being a parent can be loads of fun, you just have to pay attention to the little opportunities that present themselves.

       That should teach them to dominate the music choices!!!

But I did hear that Colin Firth has excellent music choices and appreciates a good stomp......

Random #2

Who would have thought............not I, said the person behind the screen.

       I am a deer caught in headlights, or the squirrel who keeps diving across the street just daring a car to hit them. A traffic jam of thoughts is not good timing, when one should be dazzling all the new visitors who have been coming by said Iris journal.

       Would it be overkill if I again, said Thank You to everyone? Ohh, ok, it is? Then I won't. Strike that sentence from the record. This is all about the honor system anyway, and let me say for the record, I appreciate the honor system.
      
        I think, because I have a 10 car pile up in my mind right now, the only thing left to do is random lighting style writing and see what happens. Scary, I know. But I'm laughing in the face of writing fear this evening, flexing my mind muscles and throwing caution to the wind. I can be tough like that. Are you convinced? Nope, neither am I~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

       People watching report: I was wrangled into a home party this last Friday.
Now, before you think I've found a source of fascination at a Tupperware party, I can assure you, this wasn't the normal in home party. This was woman only and included electronics and various other gadgets. Now normally, electric's and gadgets, I would assume fall into the male range of life. Nope, this was called "Essence of Romance" and well, I was in for a shocker or two, oh hell, my jaw was on the ground most of the evening.

All I'm going to say about this party, was that the most innocent looking woman, the shy, the hiding in the corner ones, seemed to be the ones who had the most knowledge of each and every single item displayed for our viewing and passing around pleasures. I was so blown away, at one point, by a certain set of pearls and a certain tiny little quiet woman and her detailed explanation of their, Ummm, delights, that I almost choked to death on some sort of finger food.

Note to self, in this type of environment, with this type of merchandise and drinks abound, leave all preconceived notions at the door. And that's all I'm going to say <admit> about that night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Comments report: A certain someone, a dark Lord or power crazed lunatic, I haven't decided yet, deposited blasphemy in my journal today. That's right, this person is still on a rampage and must be stopped. The large next to his name, must have effected certain rational thought process, or else it's all that Butter. A comment left, filled with Barry Manilow lyrics, the horrors in my own journal. I'm looking for vindication, if anyone has any dirt on this Lord of Evil, please email me asap. Stomp my friend, Stomp~ This could be your chance Sneakz! I'll pay a ransom. Whats going to happen if he earns the Title of Lord of the Blog? Have mercy on us all.......... thats a most loving stomp by the way ::Grin::

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Necessary Picture incorporation: The last time we checked in on the writer Rebecca, she had just devastated Tarzan with a despicable sub plot twist, leaving him unconscious on the ground and his gorgeous Jane walking away with another man. Since then another mastermind writer <Jodi> sent a picture that Rebecca's dying to incorporate into her enthralling tale. Details to follow, although a preview is in order.........

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Journal Names: In my quest of catching up with everyone's journal, I really started noticing and paying attention to the Titles everyone has assigned their corner of Internet space. I realized, I was reading the most amazing names for books that could be found. If your an author, looking for book title inspirations, and of course, don't mind plagiarism, the AOL community is a beautiful place to start.

On the line, I really paused, and stopped to read everyone's titles over the last two days and found myself scribbling notes of idea's for entirestories based on peoples journal names. Now, no worries, I'm not one to plagiarize, but if a book is ever published based off an inspiration I found from your journal name, I'll give credit where credit is due!
I need to do an entry based on this discovery of mine, you'll see what I'm referring too and I believe I could make a few of your laugh over my minds creative twist on your journal names :o) Take a look at all the Titles in your favorites list, some very creative minds went to work on these!

 I am curious, does everyone feel like their journal name represents themselves on the whole? Partially? Or not at all?

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sweet it rolls and Time does toll: I can listen to the center of my hurt and understand the relevance of my lessons. I can look into the design and know it was not created alone. Violence and Smiles are just as important to my wisdom, as my need to hear my voice. Today, is good. Contemplation, is a glorious sedative.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A Humble Pause~

So much to type, so much to say, so much to convey..............

I'll start with one of the simple mannerism and hope it can express how I've been feeling since yesterday...........

Thank You
Thank You
Thank You

       Five Vivi Awards nominations.
<insert humble pause, astounded gulp and
appreciative grins from the shocked Rebecca>

Is this a good time to admit I'm rather shy about this type of spotlight? It's taken me two humble days of awe, to eek out the courage and words to write about it. Even now, I'm struggling but will type on............

I'm honored and grateful, to be listed side by side in every one of the categories with these other writers. The categories, that I was nominated for, are probably what humble me the most. Every single one of them, I feel so honored that my writing has warranted such nominations.

I have a feeling my Most Well Written nomination is going to revoked if I don't gather myself up off the floor soon and get to writing something besides humble awe :o) All right, I need to try something different and this might be the ticket~

Journal Of The Year~

Adventures of a desperately fat housewife - tillysweetchops
ChaseNKids - chasenkids
Ellipsis... - ondinemonet
In The Shadow Of The Iris - justaname4me2
Judith Heartsong - judithheartsong
Just One Girls Head Noise - his1desire
Random Ramblings - xzasporated1
Unhinged - andreakingme

Lady Of The Blog~

ChaseNKids - chasenkids
Ellipsis... - ondinemonet
In The Shadow Of The Iris - justaname4me2
Judith Heartsong - judithheartsong
Looking beyond the Cracked Window... - jouell2925
My feelings are real... - globetrotter2u
Nwanyioma's Journal - viviansullinwank
A Pennies Worth - blondepennierae

Most Thought Provoking Journal~

HAH! - chasingmoksha
In The Shadow Of The Iris - justaname4me2
Judith Heartsong - judithheartsong
Just One Girl's Head Noise - his1desire
Looking beyond the Cracked Window... - jouell3935
My feelings are real... - globetrotter2u

Most Well Written Journal~

Adventures of a desperately fat housewife - tillysweetchops
ChaseNKids - chasenkids
In The Shadow Of The Iris - justaname4me2
Unhinged - andreakingme
the wizard of ahs - architek

Most Creative/Original Journal~

Adventures of the 2-Faced Baseball - upseted
Ellipsis... - ondinemonet
In The Shadow Of The Iris - justaname4me2
Journey to Peace - freeepeace
Judith Heartsong - judithheartsong
My feelings are real... - globetrotter2u
Robbie's Ruminations - krobbie67
The Soundtrack of My Life - pollysci

Most Likely To Have Heart Failure

In The Shadow Of The Iris Rebecca Anne AKA Justaname4me2

All right, that last one, I am the sole designer and creator of that award, and I nominated myself yesterday for it, voted and already awarded it. So if you were hoping for that one, too bad, it was a dictatorship like system. :o)

Oh you doubt me? Your laughing at my mock award huh? Well, peek at all those journals in those categories. Add a bit more awe and astound to this writing venture and it will be clear why I deserved the prestigious heart failure award.

I would like to thank Patrick Patrick's Place for his time, efforts and bringing such an amazing accumulation of journals together in one place for everyone to explore. And to those behind the scenes people who haven't been revealed as of yet. Thank You!!

Congratulations to everyone and all journals.
This really is a beautiful place to be.

Thank you for all the emails and comments I've received!!!!

I really do appreciate it, far beyond my writing abilities can express.

 I can hear the music coming on and the curtain falling now BUT....one more thing

 

Expression

Last night, in my handwritten journal, I was staring at it's blank pages willing myself to write something, anything, and then a thought stuck me. A smile grew across my face and I had a feeling, like that of Christmas morning, come over my demeanor.

       I wrote in large letters with abandon and true thrill, gifting myself with this realization...............

~I Will Never Run Out of Words~

       Who would have thought, thinking, writing such a thing would make me feel so glorious, but it did. Possibly, it's not meant to be explained, maybe my love affair with words and the expressions they can create for me, is partially mixed with crazy writer mentality, but it's there, all me, nonetheless.......

       I've also realized, that within my journal, I've provided a partial, fair representation of the person that is me. Words that paint the picture, show the expression and give the impression of my world.

       Going back over the entries I've presented to the public for representation of myself, I found some interesting discoveries about myself. I've found through writing, I'm willing to show the world that I am a fly fisher and sometimes dare devil in my outside activities. I'm willing to share the topics that I come across day to day that leave me pondering and wondering about humanity and the people in it. I'm willing to share my thoughts on about every topic whether they are blazing fires of brimstone or as simple as getting a speeding ticket. I've only just begun to share my personal struggle with writing a book and the aggravations it's given me. There are also many things I don't talk about, details of my life, day to day going on's, specific people, my daughters I'll write about occasionaly, and never about work..........

       I've also brought a personal struggle with my past/present into my pages. Going through my entries, I've realized that through my writing I've showed that I struggle with something, something from my past that I made wrong choices about.

       It is something that breaks my heart and also provides for plenty of writing inspiration. Words paint a picture and I've realized that I've only shown half a canvas to the people who bless me with their visits and wisdom. The reoccurring theme of many of my entries in which I speak of my horizon, past, and choices gone wrong, is actually something I'm still faced with day to day, something that isn't over and part of my past. It's a chance, that I still have, that I still covet and still struggle with. Patience is still waiting for me, and the clock towers of time are getting louder and louder. My choices in my past on this one said topic, are still very much relevant to my present and my future.

       I know details would shed some light, but in this manner of public forum, I will admit I walk a fine line between my reality and these cyber pages. This is why I skirt the finer details. This is why I leave so much of myself still shrouded in the shadows. My pages here, are my sanctuary yet, I must keep some things shadowed, for my own peace of mind and to protect certain facets of reality.

       Peace of mind........ Regrets, can certainly hinder any notion of peace of mind. Regrets are the consequence of choices gone wrong, choices that, had a person done it different, the outcome of a day, or a month, or a lifetime could have been so different. I hope, bringing this up here, doesn't betray a personal conversation I had with another person here online, but the topic, has been on my mind since I wrote this in an email..........

<<I question, though, how much regret a person can carry as a burden on our shoulders. Is there a solution for us, living with regrets we cannot escape? How much regret will encompass my life before I can feel free to no longer crumble under it's weight? Do you see a time, when you can lay your head on your pillow at night, and not let the list march it's way across your thoughts? This is the peace I crave...........>>
 
       The response I received back from this person, was perfect and has settled something deep in my heart. And I thank you, for your insight and wisdom. It will be treasured.

       My pages, show a lot of the dark in my life that isn't easy to sit down with a person in my reality and have a chitchat about. My entries are the things that I can't share in my "real" world, at least without them sending for a shrink.:grin:: People, just don't sit around talking about thoughts and moods, choices and chances. Anything, isn't a topic for good dinner fare.

       I do have light in my life, and hope, the beautiful and glorious things I appreciate every day. I consider myself lucky in many ways. I've created a world around me that gives me opportunities to travel, explore, sit home all day writing, take a 10 day sabbatical or take my daughters fishing for an afternoon. Maybe today, I just want to say, I'm hopeful, good, content and there's nothing in this world that would keep me down.........

Through writing, we start a canvas, painting a picture with our words,
expression in it's simplest form~

Depth

A week ago, I was a typing, writing, creatively motivated individual.
This week I am an empty vast of writing haphazardness.
Is there a drug for neurotic writing disease?

Need an example of neurotic writing disease? I typed this little mixture this morning, indicative of my mood? Absoulutely~~

There's something here inside me that I cannot assign.
Although, I desire a label.
It doesn't claim a word and won't project a purpose.
It's what I wish I could share the most.

Thou shall not feel my dirty little secrets.

Me and You darling, together in tragic mistakes.

That train of thought and words go on and on, in words after words.
A disease I tell you, incurable and uncontrollable.
Although, I have an excuse this week. I'm all about the triggers. Triggers are indicative of my mood of writing. Like a woman with PMS, my writing follows up and down, a life of it's own, within it's own moods.

Words from my horizon on Sunday and during this week, set the motion of self reflection, questions and temperamental writing. Which of course is perplexing, because the words from my horizon were welcomed, wonderful and appreciated. Absorbed with enthusiasm and gratefulness.

       I was proposed with a question this week. I was asked, "The year is coming to an end. Are you happy with what's happened this year and where you are right now." That type of question is like pulling a trigger on a loaded gun.

       In March I stood at the intersection of choice. Two paths that lead in different directions. One I had been marching on for some time and one I had been coveting from a distance. A true test of mental courage and life changing chances.

I failed myself that month, I failed my horizon and I failed my choices. I hung my head and continued on the path that I had hoped so desperately to remove myself from. 

       Granted, that may sound rather steep, but, it's a fact. This week, I've revisited that time. Not only in my online journal, but in my handwritten journals. I've read a passage I wrote in my handwritten journal several times this week, trying to understand my motivations and thought process the week absolution never came. I've realized now, that I let fears dictate my choices during my moments of change. I allowed circumstance and obligation to override heart and dreams. Fear. I became a coward. It's a fact, written in relic form, and carved in my history. There's no Band-aide or reconstruction that can modify my past. That frankly irritates me this week and provokes my writing.

       I've also been thinking a lot about the Judith Heartsong Artsy contest. I'm in such a trigger induced mood this week, the only things that come to mind are of negative light. That is not good. I'm also a week behind in catching up with everyone's journals. I bow for understanding and will catch up with everyone soon.

       I'm unaware of the depth, which I can write each time I sit down.

When a marked me, is to emerge,
The reasons are of belief. In face of the darkness and chance.
There is one person.
From flat on my back, I have seen where the darkness hinders and the light gives graceful reprieve.
I want to move on, hand in hand with my passion.
What do I know
through the shame and the grief, is a combination of years and hope.
I still hold onto belief.
I will test the hands of time for someone to see me
Surface of life, beneath my belief, continues with real moments and conflicting motivations.
There is one person, who likes the way I keep score.
Something real and something purposeful is all that you see and all that is ME.
Me and You darling, together in tragic mistakes.
Wanted, cherished pieces of me.

ONE ME

The one thing I would most like you to know about me........

Is the theme for this months Judith Heartsong Artsy Essay contest.
Details found here.......October's Artsy Essay

       And no, this isn't my entry. This is me coming to grumble and mumble and see if I can spark something a bit more interesting then ME is terrified of the most harmless creature in the world, worms.

       Actually, they aren't necessarily harmless, there's tape worms, thats dangerous and crazy disgusting.  Intestinal worms, those outta get people running for their nearest doctor. But honestly, I don't even really worry about those type of worms. Although, if I was told I had worms inside me, it would be an instant mental hospitalization and intravenous knock out drugs until they were gone. Awake, would not be an option. Ok enough hebbie jeebies for the morning. <shudder>

       Actually, I am here to say the entire content of the question is giving me fits from hell.

I've realized it's a rather point blank personal topic.

I don't fare well under direct personal topics. 

      Evasive writing has it's draw backs. Ever since I read the question my mind has gone into lock down muddle through the muck, 'whatcha gonna write on this one Rebecca' mode. I wonder how others are making out with this topic. I never visit other entries until either I post one, or the contest is over. Keeps me honest, and uninfluenced that way.

The topic contains the word ME.

       Me has all the potential for personal admissions. Me and I, don't usually look through the same glasses in unison. The ME in myself is mentally revolting about writing ONE thing. Although ME is singular and ONE is singular, the I in me is scattered to the four corners of human.

       Yes, thats the kind of mutated thought process that goes through my mind. Welcome to the fun house. Step right up, cheap tickets.

       So I've thought about it, and I've picked through all the categories of possibilities. Several of the categories of ONE and ME, are fairly easy. I don't like easy. If it's easy, well I'm bored. So, going the easy route won't happen. Maybe thats my entire problem, I seem to take warped pleasure in taking the hard route. Take a simple thing and discard all possible easy routes and walk right up to the tougher choices. I don't even want to self shrink that one~~

Tougher choices=challenge.
Challenge=Tougher choices
Tougher choices=reaching into do not enter levels
Do not enter levels=ME

       Judi, Judith HeartSong your scaring ME this month ::Grin::

 I appreciate a good scare.

I hope everyone is putting their ME to the challenge this month and joining in on the contest!

Into the Mist.........

       The last time we peaked in on the wanna be writer/author Rebecca Anne, she was twisting her insides and manipulating her brain through a labyrinth of dialogue and description. 

      The consumed writer was precariously balanced in a tropical tree writing and watching her characters Tarzan and Jane while they swung from vine to vine performing a flirting dance with destination, treehouse of passion, in close sight. We read as Rebecca wrote Jane's passionate dialogue that left us on our seats in anticipation.

       "Tarzan, your muscles and man thong make me ache from my dark place of desire and I must take you into my treehouse of passion." Jane said breathlessly.

       The distracted writer, brushed away another mosquito that threatened tropical disease, and paused over her laptop to balance it again on the tiny branch. She was ready to write a passage that was sure to leave both Tarzan, Jane and the readers breathless, when suddenly she was over come with a subplot twist. With fingers uncontrolled and thought that was quite twisted she wrote the following passage.

       Tarzan ran his hungry eyes over Jane's marginally covered body, adjusted his man thong the only way a truly macho man could do, obvious, then grabbed Jane around her 24 inch waist. With a crushing kiss to her mouth, he hauled her to his side, wrapped a strong hand around the vine and swung their bodies through the thick jungle air.

       The warped mind of the writer followed the swinging of Tarzan and Jane, she wrote in the smiles of Jane's face and the howl of Tarzan's jungle fever AHHHYYAAA echoing through the air and then she did it, she threw the readers for a mind bending twist.

       Whack. Was the sound that vibrated through the tropical forest. With one misguided vine grab, Jane's hero and man of dreams in a thong, took them for a header into an unavoidable  tree. Upon impact, Tarzan released the flesh of his Jane and let her slip to the soft canvas of undergrowth below.

         Tarzan, still holding his vine, lifted his hand to the wetness on his temple. Blood, he thought, that figures. His grasp slipped on his vine and he felt his body impact the hard ground next to the soft grasses Jane had fallen in. His mind spun and he looked up to see Jane, standing with two hands on her hips above him.

          He knew what was coming. While his mind was fading, he wished for a quick and merciful coma. Before he could slip into the comforting abyss of mindful rest he heard the words even a jungle atmosphere can't escape.

       "I told you to take a right at the coconut tree back there!" Jane said in a boiling voice. "I'm walking!"

         The last vision Tarzan saw before he passed out, was his beautiful jungle goddess walking into the mist........with George of the Jungle!

<insert revision, rewite note, due to outside influence/brilliance from Sandi @ Life Is Full Of Surprises those last 5 words are her's to claim a cut of the royalites>

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

       Thats right, I'm still having a glorious time writing a book. Without saying the word sarcasm, let me try that again.........."Thats right, yeppers, ohh boy what fun, I'm still having just a glorious time writing a book!"

       Writing a sarcastic tone without writing "Rebecca is full of sarcastic tone today" is all part of the fun involved in writing........

       I realized yesterday, that I am a slow writer when it comes to these books I'm working on. I've read of others that have flipped out an entire book in two months and that leaves my jaw dropped on the ground and drool slipping obscurely down the side of my mouth. How can that be?

       I wrote across a piece of paper yesterday this........   REBECCA=Turtle and tacked it on the wall in front of me. Self Mockery. In the race of writing a book, I would certainly assume the role of the turtle. 

       Now for a rather hyper, get crap done NOW type of person, this is a new concept. Normally I stand in the focus, achieve, finish and move on racetrack of life. If I self shrink myself, I can admit it's because if I don't finish things in a timely manner, I will become distracted by something else new and interesting. My level of focus will completely shift. 

       Slow as the turtle stems from writing, re-reading, editing, re-writing, add a bit more writing, editing again, delete delete delete, write some more, re-read..........and on and on and over and over. One step forward, two steps backwards. Three glorious steps forward and two steps backwards. Welcome to my world..............

       So what does a person do when they are on the rat wheel running in circles? Come over to this screen and write something I can finish in 30 minutes. Journal time. Finished, fast as a rabbit, done, and complete. HAH. I can find a place where writing doesn't progress at the pace of a snail.

       Now..........back to waking Tarzan up..............
      
P.S. if the above story makes no sense to you, you may need to read this  Me Jane, You Tarzan  so you know I haven't completely lost my basket of writing induced senses~~

Concrete

A thought is just a thought, floating around in this abyss I call my mind.
Every thought has possibilities. Something powerful, or exploratory. Perhaps introspective or just an observation. Sometimes humorous or deeply emotional. Occasionally even painful or my essence of happiness.

In my world, writing is akin to pouring concrete.
A thought poured into writing, has all the chances of becoming solid form, but no matter how quickly I wish it would dry, there is a space of time that it is still wet and vulnerable. This concrete can be easily enhanced or marred by outside influences.

This is the risk to reward of writing in a public journal.

       Have you ever come across freshly poured concrete? Although there may be signs posted everywhere, "Caution Wet Cement" the natural inclination is to duck under the yellow tape and scratch your initials in the still drying matter. A delightful way of leaving your stamp on something that will become set in stone.

       That is how I view comments.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

       I have come across far too many entries in other peoples journals lately that have expressed personal dismay over comments or emails they have received from people that hurt them to the core. This saddens me to the core. (Edit note: No, I haven't received anything but wonderful amazing comments here on my journal and if I minus the one email I received informing me a person would no longer be reading my journal because of my Prayer entry, all is perfect in my neck of the woods.)

       I am not immune to mistakes and I made a terrible mistake commenting once on a journal myself. I followed this persons journal religiously and left encouraging comments over and over. Supportive and heartfelt wishes for someone dealing with many not so pleasant things. My mistake came when I crossed the line by reading an entry, becoming emotionally distraught over the writers situation and commenting in a more forceful, here are some possible solutions for you manner. I know I wrote my suggestions out of shear concern and frustration over the journals situation, but I crossed an invisible line with the writer.

       My reward for my comment was a searing entry wrote the next day that ripped my concern and idea's to shreds. Although I was horrified that my comment had evoked such a tirade from another person, and I was deeply hurt that my concern was mocked as such, I learned an invaluable lesson.

       I learned that instead of scratching my initials in the writers cement, I had taken the liberty of placing one big old foot print mark in her world. Without realizing it, I ignored the yellow caution tape and stepped in her wet cement. Did I think the writer handled my misstep in a good way? Not at all. Have I ever commented there again? Nope, no thanks, because I believe the writer crossed a line with me too. Will I remember that little atrocity my entire timeline of public journal writing, your damn right I will~~ Two stomped on slabs of concrete is never a good thing.

       I believe words are the most powerful thing in the universe. Perhaps, some don't view words as such or understand the meaning of that sentence. Through words a person can convey something powerful, meaningful or insignificant.

       Through the power of words you can make a persons day, or with one un-thought sentence you can break them. Some of the most devious voices in my mind aren't thoughts I conjured up, but something someone said to me once, that I haven't been able to remove from memory, my concrete.

       When those words come to the forefront of my mind, I have to wonder sometimes if the person who said them, whether two years ago or ten years ago, would have said them if they knew I would never be able to forget their stomping in my concrete. That concrete dried, with their marks firmly set in stone. Tis a fact I cannot ignore. 

       That brings me back to comments. I find comments to be priceless gifts granted to me. Through comments I have discovered so many beautiful things about people, myself, and the world around me. I have discovered probably the most beautiful thing of all.

I am not alone. I am not alone...............

       Maybe this entry is just a reminder to myself to use caution when reading other people thoughts. The freshlypoured concrete is delicate and can be manipulated for enhanced beauty or it can be stomped on with possible permanent impressions. Journals are so unbelievably personal, they are the very lifeline into our inner workings, a privileged peek that really isn't surpassed in any other manner. It's the care and respect to the writer that needs to be adhered to above and beyond anything we might be personally thinking about said topic when commenting.

And thats just my wet cement of thoughts, always ready and accepting of the initials and impressions. Just no stomping please~~

And to Jodi    Looking Beyond the Cracked Window....  Thank you so much for your beautiful entry and poem. I will hold those concrete words near and dear to my heart forever~

Random

Random Observations of my week~

Signs of the Times.  Calling all prophecy believers, sign watchers, prediction callers, and anyone else that can predict my impending fortune/future. What type of sign is it when you wake up quietly and peacefully on a Saturday morning with a gigantic grasshopper resting quietly on your arm staring at you?

       I believe in my sleep induced state, I was not elevated to the point of screeching like a baby and flinging this obvious sign from the abyss against the wall. Instead, I never twitched, I never flinched and laid there staring this bug down. Honestly, I think someone slipped this bug some valium. We stared each other down for a while, until I couldn't take it anymore and I placed him on a book next to my bed. Since then, he hasn't moved and I've transported him into my office and he's now sitting on the book next to my computer watching me.

       I've checked, he has movement and he's not dead, he's just comatose. Zoned out and creepy. What's most ironic, is this entire summer, I never saw a grasshopper in my yard. So I don't know if he's just seeking refuge from the chill outside, or he's been sent here to give me a sign~  Hmmmm or maybe it's a sign I need to hire an exterminator. Either way, it was an interesting way to wake up!

Mommy Heart attack of the Week. My 10 <oh and I can't forget the 1/2 as she points out> year old daughter sat me down for a meeting about a most serious topic. It seems she decided it was about time she started shaving her legs. This kid is a smart little cookie when it comes to working me and she brought evidence. A list of exactly 7 other friends who already shave, proof she is clearly out of the loop.

        She also made me look up close and personal, at the offending hair on her legs. And the closing of her argument, statement and case, "Mom, clearly I'm growing into a young lady, I don't think it would be fair of my own Mother to deny me of this next step into taking care of my own body."

Damnit.


Bookstore Graveyards. Walking around the bookstore the other day, I was sickened by the piles and piles of graveyard books. Books that didn't earn a right to live contentedly on the bookshelves of their genre. I've realized, that if you are an author of a book, it would be devastating to go into a Bookstore and find your book in the graveyard, newly reduced clearance piles. Note to self, stay away from graveyard piles!

       Sub observation on books. Nora Roberts. How can one human knock out so many damn books in a year? The woman must have subservient writers stowed away deep in the dungeon of her mansion, typing day and night. Little Umpa Lumpa types that she'll grant a new blanket to if they produce a best seller. Her quantity is astounding.

Organization from the battlefront. I spent over 2 hours this morning, subscribing and organizing my journaling experience with bloglines. Now, I suppose I should have asked someone before I confronted the demons of organization, so if I did it wrong, don't tell me! But I signed all your journals up under the atom feed rather then the other one, rss or something. I ask, why give a person a choice? Just make a button for the right one and be done with it!

       I expect good things from my time invested. Hopefully, I will be efficient, organized and finally on the ball when it comes to visiting other journals. If this little gift of magical organization doesn't work, well then I throw in the towel, will quit my day job and focus 100% of keeping up with journals. It's my last hope~~

        Sub subject, alerts. I have not been getting all my comment alerts. Not even close. This is frustrating. Yo Joe, whats the deal?

Adonis David begs for another chance. The Godlike Golf instructor called me this week. He was saddened by my no shows of golfing extravaganza. I explained to him that although I had enjoyed my experience up until the point he used me and my flat chest for a freak sideshow, I wouldn't be returning. He pulled out all the charms an Adonis figure could conjure, but I wasn't to be swayed. If you missed that entry it is here Foregettaboutit~

       I explained to him that he was lucky I hadn't used my golf club to whack some balls that were located about 3 feet higher then the driving range. I'm certain I heard the swishof a hand on theother side of the phone fall to a protective gesture in the 3 feet region. He apologized quickly and we were done. I will no longer have Adonis David in my life, good-bye my lovely vision of golfing magnetism.

Non-dwelling, worrisome concern.  I learned that sometimes, when someone is going through something difficult, they don't want a lot of fuss. In fact, a very special someone told me point blank I could not dwell. This is a very difficult mission for a clucking hen like myself. Being muted in a compassionate moment, well, thats almost damn impossible for my natural tendencies. I glued some chicken wire to my mouth, taped some concerned typing fingers together and did my best. I know I failed a few times, but I'm certain my intentional slip ups made sure this beautiful person knew I was thinking of them.

       Thankfully, test results came back in the clear and many of us have been able to let out a sigh of relief. In fact, I pried off the chicken wire and performed an instant happy dance over the good news. Judith, I'm so very grateful you are going to be fine.


Thats all, just some random lightening bolts from the force that dictates what shall be written.

Now, I think it's time this grasshopper and I come to a mutual understanding about his time in my home. Have a wonderful weekend everyone.................

Shadows of Humanity

       In this darling thing we call culture, there is such a diversity of people. Tonight I'm not talking about the ethnic backgrounds, color, heritage, religions or familial status differences in people. Not tonight, this entry is not about anything that can be found in a constitution, amendment, law book or college application.

       I'm talking about people in general. Walking, talking, driving, sitting, stationary, looking, breathing, thinking humans. We all know one of those right?

       Would it be wrong to admit I am both fascinated and sadly disappointed in humans? Like a scientist who watches mold grow on a piece of bread, I watch people with my mental microscope, taking notes, making observations and big surprise here, reflect on them later.

       There are several forms of human I do not understand. I attempt to understand, I really do, but usually I am left mouth agape and irritated. Now, there are so many forms of humans that I do not understand, that to name them all and detail my issues, would mean I would be starting a 20 part series. I won't go there. But for this evening, I'd like to ruminate on a few that have been particularly irritating me lately.

       The Negater.   The negate human has an uncanny ability of trumping any and everything a person has to say. If a person jumps a creek, then that person has hurdled a river.  I happen to know several negate humans, thankfully they are all work oriented, so I only have to deal with them sporadically. With the two specific people I have nominated for this category, I've began a new scientific test this fall. I've intentionally come up with some statements that I know will throw a negate human for a loop. It's became a test of the twisted mind, these negaters and I.

       The Low Handed Goodwisher. I do not like people who make a statement while throwing in an underhanded slam. For the person who says "I think you look wonderful today, and wow, only you could wear such a hideous shirt and get away with it." In my realm of thinking, I believe it's a choice, that which comes flowing out of your mouth. The Low Handed Goodwisher is a closeted sinister meanie. Those who flaunt a goodwish and continually spoil it with an underhanded smack should learn to only voice half of their statements.

       The Comedian Dodger. I do not believe comedy is a convenient springboard for demeaning people, cutting people, insulting people and then diving behind the guise of humor. I think this is an underhanded way of slapping people around and then smiling behind a cloak of self proclaimed innocence. The most fabulous humor to be found in this world isn't at the expense of another person. Call one of these types of people to the podium of accountability and they snivel and whine how unfair the entire things feels. Thats right, I have no tolerance for this mentality. I've seen far too many people hurt by such antics.

       The Screecher. These forms of human come in all shapes and sizes. They are like the one who ruined my lunch today at a restaurant. I do not understand the need to screech and holler in a public place how your meal was brought to you wrong. The screecher has no issue ruining an employee's day and everyone else's general atmosphere. Why is this? I just do not understand the justification it requires to screech as such. Things happen........diagnosis, heart attack by the time they are 50.

       The Rights Yacker. This is a tough human to crack. Talking rights are a divine little gift we all have been granted with. Voice rights are the foundation of our nation. This is a good thing. But what happens when some people use the right of a voice for podium style speaking of any damn thing they feel like? What happens when it's again, like the Comedian, at the expense of others? I am NOT talking about political issues here. I'm speaking of just simple day to day voice.

       Perhaps I am in La La Land when I say, and believe, there is a time and place for every thought and opinion. It's my humble observation that typically, rights yackers will yack and holler anything and everything they damn well please, at the expense of others around. Inappropriate timing is the biggest clue your in the presence of a "be damned with everyone else, it's my right to speak this very moment,"  human. This category comes down to the simple question, is this subject appropriate for the moment. Is this the time and place to throw out such opinions? Would this be a highly inappropriate moment to say something? If the answers could be yes, I think the majority of us would wait and talk about it later. It appears, Rights Yackers couldn't care less.  

     The Over Analyze human. This is a human who thinks too much and wishes they could just walk down the street without noticing the cigarette butts on the ground and the discarded lottery ticket on the sidewalk. For the cigarette she wishes the person had walked the extra 20 feet for the trash can, for the lottery ticket she sees a tiny little dream laying discarded. This human wonders what it is about this place that brings her such comfort and what it is about humanity she can't quite grasp. Thats right, without naming names it's there. This is the type of person who needs to lighten up.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I think above all, I don't understand the traits in people who seem to intentionally choose the road of demeaning, destroying, or upsetting other people. Maybe I'm just to damn passive in this world of mine.  Or perhaps it's about what my personal tolerance is for things and under the guise of individuality, I should make a better attempt at tolerating such character traits in people and not let them bother my interior.

Some days, it takes one Comedian Dodger and one Screecher to topple this thought process into the darker side of humanity.
~~~~~~

By the way, I now feel completely schooled in the history of Bucky.
I love something done in good fun and I've seen many smiles around because of one picture.
I still got my nook, so I'm happily snuggled there.
So for the good natured person sitting in the corner singing "Send in the Clowns"
all I can say is........


"One Soldier Stands Tall"

and Colors fits you much better!

We Interrupt This Program......

~For a Very Special Public Broadcast~
~This is only a Test~

"Bucky's real name was Russell."





Had this been a real emergency, links would have been provided.
Directions and instructions spelled out, but remember, this was only a test of my public broadcast system.

And now, back to our regularly scheduled program.

My First Shiner

Things have been taking a wee bit of heavy thought process around these pages lately, so today I thought I'd lighten it up a bit. Now, to appropriately lighten things up, it's as simple as looking at my day to day adventurers.

       I recently announced I was leaving my golf glove and PGA tour seduced thoughts on the putting green, in lieu of a boxing rink and some flesh pounding boxing gloves. On Friday night I participated in my first boxing event and received my first shiner. Now before you think my new coaches threw me into a rink like raw meat to the wolves, I need to explain.

       It was an actual boxing match, in which I dressed nicely, good jeans, nice top and of course my black bitch boots, and I had to purchase tickets to watch. So no, I wasn't fighting. So how did I end up with a shiner next to my left eye anyway? Well, I wish I could say some pumped up, viciously scary woman decided to pick on me and I engaged in a fist to fist, fight for your right to watch boxing brawl, but it wasn't even that good.

       No, this shiner is the result of a fist to fist, jump for your right, for a flipping T-shirt.
      
       Now, this was my first experience at a paid boxing match. The moods were set, the crowd was pumped up, and I discovered much like I've seen on TV, they also hire local strippers to walk around holding up numbered signs between rounds wearing practically nothing. One of the girls, I really felt bad for, but resisted the urge to go up and whisper in her ear that the G-string wasn't covering the big pimple on her butt......but well, thats a whole different thought process, getting back to my shiner...........After a few different matches, about 10 of the grotesquely undressed strippers/rink rat babes <you men will have to tell me what they are supposed to be called> got into the rink with a few boxes that contained wrapped up T-shirts from the local Golds Gym.

       The crowd went wild.You would have thought they were throwing gold bars, or tickets for one night stands with the rink babes. I happened to have purchased good seats, on the floor and as can be expected, the rink babes couldn't throw very far. I think it's hard to toss anything when your standing on 5 inch, platformheels.  Plus, if you throw too hard your boob will pop out of the Band-Aid across your chest, anyway, I'm drifting again, back to the shiner. The whole crowd from behind surged upon my expensive seating area.

       Then I saw it, a precious coveted T-shirt was tumbling it's way directly at me. I stood in anticipation, put my hands out in front of me, ready to spring a mid-air grab when all hell broke loose. I was attacked from behind, from the sides, and from above. The above attack was what did me in. It seems, this man was so hell bent on receiving a T-shirt for Golds Gym he was willing to take out anyone in his path.

       I believe he thought he could rocket himself into the air above me by jumping off the seat behind me and using me as leverage and a landing pad. All I know is that I buckled from his weight and he did indeed swipe my T-shirt from my hands and he came down on me, while somehow I took an elbow to the eye.

       Yes, I was pissed.

       After untangling him off me and instantly placing a hand over my eye to make sure it was still there, I stood up to my full height <bitch boot adds extra inches> and looked down on this little pip-squeak holding what should have been, my pink tank top from Golds Gym. I verbally whiplashed him, yes I did, but details would cross the TOS lines, sooooo think creatively. I'm not proud and I whipped him like there was no tomorrow. He felt bad enough to hand over my pink shirt and quickly disappeared into the crowd.

       My eye was throbbing, but I'm tough enough, I ignored it. It wasn't until I got home that evening that I noticed a bluish shadow and a strange swelling. I didn't mind the color, it was the swelling I didn't take a liking too. I looked like an unbalanced creature from Star Wars.

       My T-shirt is safely in the hands of my daughter, she likes pink. I almost kept it and had it framed with the words "First Shiner from a Boxing event" but then, I'd have to explain that it wasn't from a real fight.

       I really thought I was ready to catch a T-shirt. I've been to enough weddings to know the special techniques required for catching a brides flower bouquet. Precise positioning, perfectly timed jumping moment, grab and protect to the chest like a football. But NOW I know, if you have bad positioning, simply launch off the back of the person in front of you. This enables you to get higher then everyone around and you'll have a nice cushy landing pad. But, elbows in, so I can't get sued.

And how was your weekend?

Fields Of Life

On certain days, I feel like a weed growing 10 feet tall in the middle of a field of flowers.
On other days, I feel like a sunflower growing 10 feet tall in the middle of a thorn patch.
       And then on some days, I realize maybe I'm not as unique and strange as I sometimes perceive myself as.
I'm human, I take comfort in that.

Case in point, my entry on praying.

       I honestly didn't realize other people struggled with that verbiage, feeling, and concept as I do.  I assumed I was being my typical strange weed self, to even take issue with it and write about it. Hell, to be honest <no pun intended> I figured everyone else in the world was out there sending, saying, labeling, writing pray with emotional abandon and a flick of the typing finger.

       Imagine my surprise when the comments started coming in, that expressed the same sort of discord or difficulty with the actual word, not the meaning, but the essence of a simple word that can carry such an amazing impact.

        Call it selfish reassurance, but I relished in the fact I wasn't the only one who struggles with this tiny little word. I gleamed some wonderful advice from the comments  and some beautiful email.  I didn't feel like I was shipwrecked on my own island with just a piece of paper with the word pray on it.

       I know sometimes what I write about is about as unpredictable as a slot machine in Vegas. Be it teenie, or be it huge, through my entries, I am able to put tangible to the thoughts and the majority of the time, by the participation of others, I've found I'm not such a solitary weed, flower, island or thought as it sometimes feels.

Thank You

       I'd like to show one comment that really smacked me upside my overactive thoughts.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There is no adequate word in English that has the same connotation as the word "to pray."  I wish I knew one too, because I'm sure that my own concept of prayer is not only different than the majority of people here in the US, but even a large plurality of those who share my faith.  "I'm thinking of you" seems sterile on paper, but if it's heartfelt, there's nothing sterile about it.  What it says to me is "if there's anything I can do for you, tell me, and I'll do it the best I can."
Comment from redsneakz - 10/3/05 3:43 PM

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

       Chuck from  Separation anxiety is also a Guest Editors pick this week. There are many good reasons his journal was chosen. I recommend a visit~~

Thats all for today.
Just a thought from the eclectic fields of life...............

Praying

Main Entry: pray
Pronunciation: 'prA
Function: verb
1 : ENTREAT, IMPLORE -- often used as a function word in introducing a question, REQUEST, OR PLEA <pray be careful>
2 : to get or bring by praying
intransitive senses
1 : to make a request in a humble manner
2 : to address God or a god with adoration, confession, supplication, or thanksgiving


       Twice this morning I was faced with the descriptive writing task of telling someone I am thinking of them, wishing for them, hoping for them. This, for personal reasons, is always a conflicting moment for me. As a loosely labeled Atheist, the concept of pray, praying for someone, is a tough written word hill to climb when I don't want to sound or feel hypocritical.

       For reasons only I can decipher, I've always felt praying/to pray, was a cornerstone concept held by those who believe in religion. Things like, I will pray to God for guidance, I will pray to God for forgiveness, I will pray to God for understanding, I will pray to God for your health, etc. etc.......... Therefore, negating the usage of the word by someone who doesn't pray to anyone. Meaning, me. I know this is a self imposed off limits word, done to myself and by myself. That is why I am fishing around today writing about it~

       So that brings me to these thoughts. The desire to wish someone well, to send good thoughts to someone who needs them, is just as strong as the next person, yet I've been unable to translate a specific word for this feeling, that doesn't feel hypocritical or borderline nonchalant.

        As I journey through journals, write people notes, I find myself at a loss to what to type. As many can probably attest too, I will normally say, "I'm keeping you in my thoughts, or sending you my very best wishes from Idaho."

       The concept is the same, the wording just doesn't seem as powerful as, "I'll pray for you." Of course, this could be a self conjured issue of no real consequence, but darnit, it's something that bothers me.

        In the world of someone who doesn't believe in a God, I find the concept of praying just as powerful as the next person. It's one of the things I admire about the religious community. I grasp and always feel very thankful when someone tells me they are praying for me, or my family. I find it a beautiful thing in which I can gather strength and hope from.

         Praying to me, is my meditating. The power of thought, the strength of putting the thought into an action of desires, concern, wishes and hopes. I just haven't found a cornerstone word that I'm comfortable with that encompasses the feeling I know I have just as strong as a religious person. I just don't think the words "I'll meditate for you" comes off as the correct way or truly sincere way of implying my strong desire to let someone know I'm thinking of them.

       I look to the dictionary sometimes, as my force of understanding and meaning. Today I looked up the word pray, and found myself very interested in the first description.

~To make a request in a humble manner.~

       I'm going to chew that over for a bit, and see if I can make it stick in my world. Maybe, just maybe, someday I will feel comfortable with saying "I'll pray for you" in this humble manner and not feel hypocritical. And for today, I'll try it out for the first time in over 10 years...............

I pray for the safety and health and happiness of everyone I know. 

Now, see, that seems so much more powerful at conveying the very feelings from deep within me I have. Verses saying "I'm thinking of you" that just can't seem to capture the sincere emotion I want to convey.

VIVI Awards

A busy little buzz has been bizzziiiinnnn around Journal Land for over a week now. After visiting our newest Divine Editor in Chief last night, Jodi and her great and powerful pages  Looking Beyond the Cracked Window....I was finally seduced into a visit. Over at Patrick's Place I read through several entries explaining, highlighting information, and then I found the list of awards and categories.

I felt like a deer caught in headlights.

       I'm sure everyone else has seen the detailed, finely tuned categories <since I am typically a week behind in just about every quiz, tag, game and questionnaire> .

       There is a plethora of choices and as I scanned the finer details, I realized they covered just about every unique type of journal out there. The deer in headlights apprehension, stems from realizing I wanted to participate in this fine venture, but I would have to designate, on my own accord and opinion, which journals fit best in which category.

       Now, I've been journaling for almost a year. During that year I've collected links like a bag lady collecting cans. I attempted a high society collection of email alerts and recently claimed bankruptcy and turned them all in. Back to bag lady style, collecting links in my favorites folders. So I look through all the links and wonder how in the world I'm going to be able to designate individual journals to the esteemed categories. This is one of those moments where I placed the back of my hand to my forehead, Scarlet O'hara style and sighed a meaningful  Have Mercy~

      
       Then by all thoughts human, I realized I could be nominated and that froze me like a squirrel taking on a car in the middle of the street. Thoughts of oh, wow, maybe I should dust up the old journal, spruce up the sidebar, write something spectacular. I digress, thinking like that is the most assured way of freeze up writing, kinda like the deer or squirrel on impact :o)

       So I'll leave my cobwebs and same old, same old and concentrate on the enormous task at hand. Figuring out just which categories everyone fits in! I believe the only easy one is the Canadian journal. As far as I know, Paul Aurora Walking Vacation is the only Canadian I visit frequently and really enjoy reading his works, so I have one picked <ya me>

        Then I pursue through my favorites and I wonder to myself lets say, about Judith over at  Mirror, Mirror on the Wall . Love her journal she's a beautiful writer, I'm a loyal reader, but is she most emotional? Best theme <breast cancer> ? And then there is Jodi over at Looking Beyond the Cracked Window....,  you never know what's going to be on her entries, and I've read her probably the longest since I started journals, but since there in no category for fantastic eclectic writing, I need to figure out where to stick her. <wanna give me a hint Jodi and Judith?? I have one more narrowed down, most humorous, thats a pinkalicious pick, Reflections of Ari if your looking for humor and fantastic writing abilities, she's the one <ya me, 1 more picked> and MANY more to go~~


       I think I counted 30 or so categories for the VIVI Awards. Lets spread the love everyone and get on the boat with this fun activity. Oh, wait, how about this, and if you've visited my pages you know I NEVER tag anyone. I officially tag everyone to make a list, check it twice and vote for your favorite journals.
      

More links: To read about submitting a vote VIVI Awards

To Cast your Votes:Main Page @ viviawards.bravehost.com - A Bravenet.com Hosted Site

Ok, there, Now I think I'm up to date~