Merry Season and All the Jazz

I have a feeling, that if I don't do an entry today, I'll get swept down the holiday super slide and won't find myself back here until 2007.
That doesn't seem very neighborly.

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

I wish I could write a lot of sweet nothings, ambitious hopes and sappy seasonal sentiments. Well, maybe I could, but I think I would laugh myself into a sincere bootkick off AOL, so I won't try. I'm just not feeling the vibes of such moods.

I am feeling a healthy dose of nostalgia towards my enduring year of 2006. Thats tricky internal clockwork. I've had my good, my bad and the humble experiences I'll go to my grave with. Just another dime a dozen, in the good old timeline of Rebecca Anne. I'm alive, it's all good.

I'm opposed to New Years Resolutions, but mentally encourage New Years Reflections.
Those reflections are a workload to sort out in the corridors of my mind. It seems many of them would prefer to tenaciously hold out in the shadows instead of letting me time stamp them into history. I suppose thats the price a person pays for leaving things unresolved.

I thought I would be cute the other night and write a personal story, using an old premise. I stuck myself in the robes of Ebineezer Scrooge, complete with Christmas past, present and future. Doing such things, simple writing like that, can either be a testament to my boredom or ability to parallel memories and history, with the connection of possibilities and opportunities.
Either way, by the end of my story I hadn't saved a destitute family, but I had wrote an end I'd like to claim someday.

I printed it out, addressed it to myself and tossed it into my 'read in 5 years' folder. I'm strange like that, I write my future self notes, letters, reprimands and encouragement. Another thing for my quirky box of traits. (Can't believe I admitted that here, I need a new shower curtain)

I still think Scrooge and the Grinch are sorely misunderstood souls.
Think about it.

As soon as the jingle has left the jangle of Christmas Day, I'm outta here. The kids can grab what they can carry in two arms and we're off to my cabin in the North 'till 2007. I need the Mountain Snow, thekids need the sledding, I need the geothermal swimming pool and the kids need a week devoid of electrical distractions. I need my sanctuary where even cell phones can't dial in or out and the kids need to get freezing cold. Nighttime bonfires in the snow and hot steaming cocoa complete with mini-marshmellows.
Just a few of my favorite things.........
Now that is a season of winter wonderland I can embrace.

Be safe, take care, and see you in 2007

~~~~~~

Slice And Dice

Currently, I am struggling to grasp a certain concept and have decided I need the input of other powerhouse brains. Indulge me for a minute or two........

       To explain my current state of question, I must first admit I did something quite out of the ordinary for me. First of all, I watched TV. Second, I watched bad Reality TV. Since I'm so out of the loop of mainstream television, I have no idea if this is an embarrassing admission or not, but here goes, I watched two rerun episodes of The Swan.

       Thats right, I gave up two precious hours, sitting mouth agape, trying to understand the basic, 'what the f***" questions this program kick started in my mind. (For those who may possibly be as clueless as I was about this program, in a nosejob, it's women who sign up to be cosmetically enhanced, redesigned, spliced and diced, in the effort to win some pageant at the end of the series, *cough*, I mean, better their lives by surgical reproduction)

Heres what my mind can wrap around:
~ intake the 411
~ get jiggy with the possibilities.

No one is opposed to looking better in life.
Got it, I'll get in that line.
Everyone could use alittle refresher in both appearance and attitude sometimes.
I'm down with that.
I'm not even opposed to cosmetic surgery should one choose that route on something they don't exactly appreciate about themselves.
To each their own in my humble opinion.
I do believe dressing in nice clothing makes anyone walk alittle prouder.
It's hard to feel glorious in baggy sweatpants, no matter the occasion.
A simple or regular makeover would put a smile on anyone, I'd like to think.
The same person would still be smiling on this inside, just a bit brighter.

I know a person who takes care of themselves physically <simple walks, jaunts outside can perform miracles> it cleans and clears the mind.

Here's what my mind can't wrap around:
~Rejecting the implications
~Revolting the notions
~My personal naive moment?

     

       Here's what I saw, before the makeovers. Woman, who did nothing with their hair, no makeup, wearing the most unflattering outfits possible (intentional by the producers)?  They were portrayed as dowdy, simple, and as unflattering as possible. Their personal
....." flaws " .......were pronounced as much as possible. For example, a nose that was in their opinion to large, or teeth that weren't white enough, or boobs that were tiny or sagged and on and on.........with the camera zooming in on them to really drive the point of their alleged imperfections. 

        I listened to the stories of these various woman and one reoccurring theme was present in them all. They were teased as children, about their nose, or their lips, or their chests, or their pinkie finger.....take your pick. Evidently, because of these childhood scars, teasing, personal insecurities, etc., they have let their lives dive down a spiral of shame and embarrassments. The women were miserable. The women were convinced they were ugly etc...the woman were also convinced they had low lowww self esteem (I should state that I hate, dislike, and completely disagree with current mainstream views on the self esteem movement) ..... As I listened to one girl explain, that when she was little the kids would tease her about the nose she hated so, and that all she wanted was to feel good about herself again, I thought, well that makes sense. But.............

       But, here's my confusion. I do not understand why, oh why, do people allow things like old teasing, childhood remarks, or perceptions one believes others had/have of them to drain them out, depress them out, haunt them, dictate their choices and mental states of mind, beyond the age of 20 <?>

       Simply put, why in the world does anyone ever, give another person that much power within and over their thoughts and image?

       I was not immune to teasing, who was? I could list a quick 10 things that I endured growing up that fell into the horrendous zone. I remember crying about it. I remember the hurt from it. I'd love for anyone to state they escaped childhood without some sort of hurtful teasing. But there came a time, in my mind, my world, when I realized those people were full of shit, or if they were right, why should I care, I don't even remember their names. There came a time when I realized I gave far to much power to other peoples perspective, or opinion.

       I guess, I just sit here tonight and think, why would anyone want to wallow in the opinions 10 year olds dished out? Why would anyone look in a mirror and think, "Yep, that nose is still as large as Shithead chanted in my ear 15 years ago" and actually give it merit? Does not compute.

       Of the four woman I watched being sliced and diced, I can honestly say, they didn't need it, not physically, not in the way that show butchered them into unrecognizable plastic babes. To be brutal, I think a bottle of hairdye, an actual haircut, a touch of makeup, some Crest whitestrips, ditching the sweats and tennis shoes for jeans and black boots would have done a bang up job, on all of them, without the knife. But then, I guess if they couldn't see the natural beauty I saw in all of them before they got sliced and diced, I suppose..........it's a mute point. Beauty, is such an abstract preference......

       My main shock and awe, still comes back to why in the world does, would, anyone allow teasing from childhood, set a tone in concrete, set an image, that brings tears to their eye's 10,15,20 years after the fact? Why would anyone give that much negative staying power to a shadow of a 10 year old that doesn't even remember your name................

Psst. If your one of those people, who reads this journal, who still cringes over past comments someone made of you....I'm telling you right now, take a deep breath, take one final moment to see if you can even remember their name and say, "Fuck Off, I gave you far too much power for far too long" and then smile, take back all your power, and then tell me to fuck off for telling you what to do :o)

~Pardon Thy French~

Random Nudge

Trees Up. Check
Lights shimmering. Check
Various presents purchased. Check
Measurements on current Christmas spirit. Lukewarm. Check enough.

Inspiration to write anything ~ critically low.
Forced, point blank writing *Nudge* ~ in progress.

Fa La La La La, La La La.
(choke, mumble, and dramatic jolly crumble)

I've decided that sometimes, writing in a public journal such as this, is a bit like taking a shower just behind a gigantic clear window display at a department store. I'm not sure if I should strategically cover certain attributes, close my eyes and pretend no one can see me, or put on a show that would merit water cooler chit chat.

Truth is ~ I sputter on the mechanics of this Internet world sometimes.

*Nudge*

.......silver white winters that melt into spring...... I simply remember my favorite things, then I don't feel so bad.....

I inhaled a breath this year and tumbled through spring in a swirl of cause and effect. I exhaled and summer became one jagged timeline pulled through the sand. I opened my eye's and watched the last of Falls leaves drift to the ground. I caught a light breeze and held on for months and months. There are places a person can go, where no one knows your story, and you can blend into the landscape without a care in the world.

Silver white winter has grabbed me by the heels and hauled my travels back to the solid ground. It's an evil twist of reality. However, I realize, one should not be privy to the extended freedoms I've experienced this year. It creates quite a painful disillusion to ones place in this world. I'm back in the jail cell I was once content with and now it looks eternal ordinary.

Biding time now, holding out for the invincible spring that thrives on a light breeze.

*Nudge*

.......and the greatest of teachers won't hesitate to leave you there, by yourself, chained to fate........

The writer of this song was indeed a poet of words. The teachers I've regarded in my life, the mentors, the inspirations, are those who left destination, choices, and fate completely mine to construct (or destroy). Individuality is a terrible thing to let another tinker with in my humble opinion. Even the worst of attitudes, of mentality, of accountability and responsibility has the opportunity to change, alone, and solitary. I find I smile when I hear someone say "I have changed this about myself" and frown when I hear someone state "I have changed this about another person." I suppose I find it arrogant to claim such power over another person. The power of suggestion holds enough ambition to teach. I believe.

*Nudge*

......yes, I would, if I could, I would, let it go.......surrender.....dislocate........

I've heard the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, yet expecting a different result each time.

Let me write that again.

The definition of insanity is doing the same thing, over and over, expecting a different result each time.

I think that sums it up.    
Enough said.

*Nudge*

........Do you hear what I hear? A song, a song high above the trees ....With a voice as big as the the sea..............

Happy Holly Days
and all that jazz

Oh Shite

I noticed this morning that it was December 7th, 2006. Time has flown by since I last posted here. I've been AOL journal MIA~~

Quick calculations enlightened me that I have precisely 19 days, including today, since I may be able to squeak something productive out yet, until Christmas morning arrives in my little homestead.

       This may have no wow factor to the majority of the population that already have their Santa hats on, but to me it means oh shite, time to muster up some festive spirit and get a flying reindeer move on things. 

       Now, I haven't been oblivious to the impending holiday. I've witnessed the all out spectacle the neighbors achieve with their glorious lightshows in my neighborhood. My home currently looks like a big black hole in the middle of the Las Vegas casino strip. Any day now I could receive a community vote of no confidence and the little neighborhood elves will run power cords from their own homes to lights they have secretly strung around my yard. Trust me, I know these people, it could happen.

       I've even attempted a couple of out of home, out of body adventures in Christmas shopping. Ho Hum, even shopping couldn't kick start my festive mood. I paused in one store, closed my eye's and tried to allow the Mannheim Steamroll some music spirit into my bloodstream. Nope, nadda, I checked my pulse and everything was still flowing in the same manner as two months ago.

       I'm starting to think old Scrooge and Mr. Grinch were simply misunderstood souls. I'm not really muttering Bah humbug under my breath, I don't denounce the holiday really, but for me, over the years that Christmas 'spirit' changed within me and I'm having a difficult time recapturing the magical part of it.

       What's magical about giving one of your daughters a new IPOD just because it's the only thing she can think of? The 'spirit' factor got misplaced somewhere along the lines of time in me. I certainly don't blame my daughters for their requests. Ask a child what they would really really like, you'll get an honest answer. Nothing wrong with that. I know my daughters well enough that they never ask or expect anything in the way of material items. Christmas is just the bonus exception to the family motto.  
      
       The fact I've designed a non-religious family creed makes this holiday a bit tricky. If you don't work in the religious capacity for "the reason for the season," you're left with, I love you, I want to give you something to show it. Well, the entire "I love you, I want to show it by giving you something" does not even come close to the way I've raised my daughters and how I function. Back to square one.

       I know how the magic of this season can seep into my spirit. I've felt it in Christmas pasts...... Some of the best Christmas moments of my past are when I had no money whatsoever. The focus of the season wasn't on what I could buy for others, but what I could do, even in the smallest gesture, to let others know I loved them. My Christmas past shows me laying on a couch, with my head resting in the special shoulder nook of the man I loved, watching Christmas lights, was far more important that what he gave me. I wish I could have bottled up those emotions and stashed them with the Christmas decorations in the attic. Each year simply taking a whiff of those old feelings would do the trick.

       Maybe thats why the mistletoe hasn't smacked me on the lips of festive moods. I've segregated myself from so much this year, people, family, friends, real life and assumed the role of hermit/troll crouched in a solitary stance, that to really enjoy this season, one must be surrounded by others. Christmas isn't tailored for the solitary confinement souls. My current non-excitement in Christmas, isn't due to stress, nor worry, nor obligations, it's the undefinable indifference thats getting me~~

       I think today I give myself a goal, a boost, a reindeer hoof kick to the arse. I will force myself to purchase a nice smelly pine tree today. I will brave the cold attic and drag boxes of decorations down to festivize my homestead. I will crank some Little Drummer boy music on and dance around the home in a Santa hat. Fake it till ya feel it right?

       I've noticed if I ask 10 people what Christmas means to them, I'll receive 10 different  reasons for the season that all encompass the basics. Perhaps, as I've gotten older, those reasons continue to change for me and this year, I'm struggling to embrace mypersonal definitions. But damned if the quiet truth doesn't continue to chant in my thoughts, it's all about love towards others.......isn't it?

Sentimental Picture

       The leaves are falling heavily this week around my world. Everything has lost it's color, turning a dull dead memory of the coloring contest I consider fall. I've been a bit mesmerized watching these leaves drift to the ground. Perhaps I have too much time on my hands, but my computer looks out a large window and they are hard to ignore.

       
| View Show | Create Your Own

I think I've wrote down about 20 metaphors for falling leaves. The one that is floating through my thoughts today, is in the way photographs are like the leaves on a persons tree of life. My tree is fat full of photographs to illustrate where I've come from, what I've done, and in a real way, mirrors what I am all about..............

       The way I see it, there are four ways to capture history, past, memories and a persons life in a way others can also examine it. The first and foremost is through writing. I got that one down pat. The second way is through video, and I'm a complete failure in that department, I have a video camera and rarely, if ever, use it.  Third is through telling stories, campfire story, in person, to people who will actually listen and remember......... And Lastly, through ... photographs.

Photography compliments my nostalgic characteristics. 

       I'm a sentimental fool. There is no use in denying that. So for a sentimental heart such as mine, writing and photography makes my world go round and round, in a good way. I also love to view other peoples photo's, invite me over to your house and you'll likely have to pull out a photobook for me to examine. It's my thang. I love the visual poetry aspect to memories............

       I discovered this little RockYou website via pilfering the link off someone's journal. Damned if I can remember who's journal it was either.......sorry :o) It was interesting going through my files and files of photographs compiling some of my favorites. When I watched the finished product I was happy with the history I've captured. I believe in the notion that a snapshot really can be worth a thousand words. I like to think my snapshots tell a story of someone who spends an enormous amount of time outside and surrounded by children.

       If you have a vault of digital photo's saved on your computer I would love to see other people's photo history. A bit like me coming over for a visit, parking my butt on your sofa and requesting a photo album to stroll through. If you do the RockYou thang, please let me know and leave me a link to your journal so I can come watch a piece of your history~~~

Landing (Thankfully)

       On my way home from California this week I had a nice little jostle to the mind. Now, traveling by airplane requires the extremely careful practices I've established via thousands of air miles.

       First and foremost, I must sit on the right side of the airplane, against the window. Careful positioning is my only chance at being able to scribble, write and entertain myself. If I sit on the right side of the plane I can shield my writing from whoever sits shoulder to shoulder with me. If I sit on the left side, whomever sits on my right <which always happens> can sneak glances and peaks at my work. I don't appreciate that natural human tendency, peeking.

       Second, the minute I sit down I extract an arsenal of hints to display to anyone who sits next to me. The Ipod comes out and although I can't turn it on, I put the headphones in, a book on my lap, and a journal in my hands. I would like to think this screams, "I'm all set to fly for 2 hours, I have my entertainment and therefore no idle chit chat is required." I'm not sure if it makes me a flying snob, but I really don't want to engage in conversation on airplanes. Some people do not grasp my hints. The thing is, I'm far to hyper to be trapped in such tiny confinements for such torturous time frames. If I don't entertain myself via writing, music and window gazing, I'll go a bit nutso. Conversation, especially bad conversation, just drags the seconds out longer and longer.

       Now, typically I enjoy a bit of turbulence. It tickles my amusement ride mentality. It doesn't bother me in the least. I consider it a bonus usually, which either makes me twisted in the head or just proves how bored I am flying. This last trip home gave me loads of turbulence for my flying amusements. However, at one point it got worse then the normal bumps and jumps I'm accustomed too. I was attempting to write at the time and once I could no longer maintain a straight sentence I wrote (looking in my handwritten journal) "ok the airplane turbulence is getting a bit irritating here, Bye Bye Birdie" and closed up shop.

       But then.....as the bumps and jumps became all out jars and shimmies, I opened my journal up again. Visions of the plane going down by the head into a nice Mountainside flashed across the mind, I couldn't let my last sentence in life be "ok the airplane turbulence is getting a bit irritating here, Bye Bye Birdie"

       So I started to scribble again and my next sentence was "On the other hand, I should keep paper and notebook close in case we go down and I have 10 seconds of terrifying moments to leave remarkable last thoughts......."

       Last thoughts. Double Gulp. It was within that sentence I thought, holy shit, I have a lot of unresolved things. Coupled with another nasty hard bump by the plane I slightly panicked. The truth is my panic wasn't about dying, I've never, ever, been afraid of that. I've always pictured I would face death with a defiant bring it on attitude. My panic was about other people. Friends, family, the people I love. In hindsight I find it comforting to know that once I let myself think it was a possible in the moment, death, my entire thoughts were consumed with the love I felt towards others.

       I don't talk a lot about l.o.v.e. I think thats because although I embrace it, always have, to it's fullest, I haven't honored it the way love deserves. Hence my unresolved issues. That doesn't sit well with me. When I strip down all the nonsense in my life, I know the majority of my thoughts, my actions, my turmoil's, my choices, resolve directly around the great expanse of love. In my world, love trumps everything else. No matter how I role the dice, the love side always lands right side up. What is more real then love?

       If love really is a person last thoughts before taking their last breath in life then what could be more important? Today, I can't really think of anything. 

      
I suppose I'm just thinking out loud today..........it does a mind good to be jostled around a bit.

       The last words in my journal ended up being,
"Landing (thankfully) no dire writing required"

love is more thicker than forget
more thinner then recall
more seldom than a wave is wet
more frequent than to fail

it is most mad and moonly
and less it shall be unbe
than all the sea which only
is deeper than the sea

love is less always than to win
less never than alive
less bigger than the least begin
less littler than forgive

it is most sane and sunly
and more it cannot die
than all the sky which only
is higher than the sky

e.e. Cummings

Because I Can

       So I'm here again, a real banner week in the quantity count of entries. I realized my desire to escape here is in direct proportion to the amount of other writing I've been up too. Ya know, the writing that has the desire to be published prior to death if I'm lucky. The more I write over there in Microsoft word, the more I find minuscule excuses to defect from it.

       This is a real contradiction of priorities I face every day. All I want to do is write, which I do <journals, handwritten snail mail, handwritten journals, notebooks, book> , yet in the same stroke of the keyboard, I'm looking for every excuse I can find to avoid the writing that I should be doing. Now, I've gone and read the 'advice on writing' books several well known authors have graced us wannabe's with. Because what's better then actual writing? Reading how to do it <insert implied sarcasm please>

       What snakes around my neck like a noose is the schedules these people claim to maintain. So I wonder, does it just look good on paper to say they wake up each and every morning at 5:00 a.m., write for 2 hours, take Fido for a mind cleansing walk for 7 miles (each way), then return, eat breakfast, review notes, do a strict 30 minutes of business correspondence, then write until 3:00 p.m. Is anyone really that damn disciplined? I really need to find an author who comes clean, coughs up and writes something along the lines of  -this is my life as a writer called The Real <really> Deal. -

       In it I would expect to discover a parallel universe, soul searing kinship of the writing sister/brotherhood. I can't be the only person born with a serious addiction of writing who exhibit's one or more of the following routine downfalls:

1) If I can ekk out one single extra spare second in the morning worth of sleep I will do so gratefully and gracefully <hiding under the covers, hitting snooze 4, 5, 10 times in a row> 5:00 a.m. is a time I've heard of, I understand the dials on the clock spin past it's terrifying implications, but I have no desire to find out what 5:00 a.m. writing feels like.

2) After performing an exhausting relay race with the snooze button on the alarm clock, it takesatleast 2 full cups of pure caffeine jolt to pry my wicked heavy eyes open. Until the full impact of caffeine has seeped into each capillary of my body, no plausible thought, speech, or coherent writing can be experienced. Intense wall gazing can be observed at this time.

3) Push power button on laptop

4) More wall gazing while casually sipping 3rd cup of liquid inspiration. Turn on Bose stereo system with various artists singing for my current mood.

5) Open Microsoft Word. Reread prior days writing, fidget aimlessly, attempt to ignore the welcoming beacon of AOL icon distraction.......fail, click on AOL icon

6) Journal surf, favorite web site surf, waiting for a wave of conscious to wash me off my surf board straight back to Microsoft Word........whooosssssshhhhhhhhh back to work.

7) Write, write, write. Review, delete, correct, rewrite, reread. Progress made, one paragraph. It's all good in the alternate universe. Drink Diet Coke for extra caffeine boost.

8) Time goes VERY slowly in the alternate universe. It drags like a snail crossing a highway. Just once, I would love a day were I've written and written and oppss, discover 4 hours has passed. forrrggetttabbouuutttiiitttttttt...............

9) Go outside, throw ball for dogs, promise them a 1 mile <round trip> walk later on when all hope of words has fallen under a ton of mind bricks.

10) Return to computer, write some more on said book, become overcome with the need to defect again, go write entry in journal about absolutely nothing of importance.

Feel Better, go back to the jail of possibilities.
Bye.

Forward Thinking

""I had this thought the other day- Ignorance could have been bliss....or an empty excuse for a conscious..........

I thought this would be interesting to write about..the dynamics of not knowing and how easy it is to miss what is ugly...and yet...searching inward creates other problems..sight...has to have compassion...otherwise...the heart evolves with surprises.........What do you think?......""

Asked and inspired  By Raven of  RebukeTheWorld

Raven, you do know how to get the wheels turning in my mind. I've chewed this around, thought on it, pounded it with my jackhammer brain and I'm not sure if I surfaced a bit wiser or a bit mystified.

Although connected, your questions and thoughts have several different aspects that can leave a thinker like myself repeatedly pounding my head against a wall.  Toss the same question at 5 different people and you'll get 5 different ideas, so my opinion is the result of one possibility, one notion, one perspective and I'll have to assume you were looking for my specific ideas on your thoughts.

The breakdown: "Ignorance could have been bliss....or an empty excuse for a conscious.........."

I have a really hard time with ignorance as bliss or an excuse for anything. I have to believe on some level that if something is effecting a person, to some degree they feel it, perceive it, deny it, acknowledge it, ignore it, pick your poison, but they know it.....Pick an experience, any experience and with some poking and prodding we humans can retrace the files in our mind and find plenty of times, moments, where we either choose to ignore an issue, deny it's appearance or existence, and move along like nothing was there worth stopping for.

A conscious overshadows any form of ignorance. A conscious is a basic human trait not a single one of us can escape it's persistent voice. Ignore, yes, deny, yes, pretend all is well in fantasy land yes, but deep down or on the surface, we cannot escape our conscious mind.

Which brings me to: "the dynamics of not knowing and how easy it is to miss what is ugly.."

       Just as I find beauty in almost everything, there needs to be ugly to define that beauty. Without the contrast, a person can feel like a compass with no direction. There is no value on something unrecognized. I believe everyone has a level to which they reflect on things in life. From simple observation to deep exploration of a solitary or collective feeling, emotion or experience.

       If a person doesn't care, or isn't interested enough to seek out beauty not defined by conventional definition, they probably wouldn't notice ugly parading down the street. Thats personal and thats all right, it's a choice, or a desire exhibited by every individual. If I had a wish for humanity it would be that all people continue to reach for new levels of conscious, for within exploration comes discovery, more beauty, more ugly and more reaching.............

Which brings me to: "and yet...searching inward creates other problems..sight...has to have compassion..."

       In my humble opinion, searching inward is the only path to breaking free of the mediocrity of what is expected. Does it create problems? Yes, because we are all born with a box of expectations in life. When, if you do good, you will be rewarded, do bad and you will be punished is the driving force behind living. And protect our own and compliment others, works 80% of the time, why not? Which by the way, I believe is a superficial way to live life. A person can become disoriented and confused by seeking answers not found in conventional thinking.

       We all have our own innate sensory balance to life, influenced by every single stimuli we've come in contact with. How can we expect to provide true compassion to others if we don't even understand the power of our own inner mentality? The illusions of normalcy plagued my mind for many years, still does, and the inherent longing within me will continue to fight the confines of conventional. Responsibility to the world around us, within us, through us and between us, is a beautiful way to fuel compassion.

"otherwise...the heart evolves with surprises........"

Ah, the heart, the driving emotional fuel for which we all can measure our influence in life. As long as our hearts beat, we can love, as long as we can love, we will connect, as long as we connect, we can find meaning to everything. Heart/Love is capable of such extraordinary things. I could write for an entire day about what love means to me, but when it comes down to it, yes, love, the heart, takes my breath away with surprise. If there is one common thread to be coveted by humanity, it's our ability to need and provide love. Love is beauty and ugly and hope and desire and turmoil and connection and perfection all bound up, full of possibilities I cannot define. Love is the evolution of our very conscious nature and needs.

       You know, I'm just a thought, a notion and words behind an idea. I think what I think, and challenge everything I conclude. I have more questions then answers, I have answers without solution and I have solutions without conclusion. I could be right, I could be wrong, I could be close, and who's to say. My notions are no more important then the people I will touch shoulders with today..... I think peoples thoughts and idea's hold more power then I, or anyone else can comprehend. Evolution of thought process is something I find remarkable and frustrating. But I know this, all thoughts effect my life and the closer I move to the surface, the more I discover the contrast in this world.

Forward movement I will always seek..................is there anything else you would like to ask of my thoughts?

The Holy Motherload

Why couldn't I have been in Atlantic City, strolling along the ocean side, taking a break from sinful driven casino fun and have spotted the holy Mother load of messages in a plastic sack??? Good Gawd, some people have all the luck.

Article found here:Letters to God Found Dumped in Water - AOL News

Someday......someday I will find a message in a bottle, a scrap piece of paper, a note written on a napkin stuck in a Coke Bottle, it's a mathematical destiny. I spend an enormous amount of time on waterways. Then again, I probably stand an equal chance of finding a dead body during my flyfishing escapades too. It's occurred to me, that it's always a fisherman in the news who finds the corpses in the water. Personally, I'm holding out for the message in a bottle, I could do without the frightening death discovery.

I read the article with deep interest of course. Then I made the investigation move of clicking the message board to see what people had to say about these letters to God, Alter, and the Pastor they were addressed to. What surprised me the most was the horrible words about the man who found the letters, and placed them for sell on Ebay, which he later retracted.  Here are some examples of what I found.

"The people who wrote those letters wrote their private thoughts TO THEIR PRIVATE GOD - NOT to the pastor, NOT to AOL, and NOT FOR US TO READ. Publishing this story is akin to raping their privacy in my opinion."

"He NEVER even opened his mail!  He must have been one sorry excuse for a Pastor."

"Those letters were "prayers."  They were heard the moment they were poured from the heart; if they were sincere prayers they were heard.  Nothing can separate us from the love of God....It may even be part of His plan to bring them forth." ( I really liked this person thought process)

"This guy must really be a peice of crap. Selling someones hopes and dreams on ebay. I"ve heard it all now "

"The moral thing to do with these letters is have aceremony of prayer for the individuals who sought God in this manner.  It sounds alot like a type of confession between these individuals and God which should remain sacred.  After the prayer service these letters should be burned as an offering to God for these writers.  Despite anyone's faith these letters are like a personal diary and some bear the inner pains of humanity.  I pray for these authors and their intentions."

"I think God should get a good attorney and sue the bad bad person who did this.  I bet God can afford good attorneys."


There's over 1400 posts in regard to this discovery and the destiny of the letters. The thing is, I don't see that it was an atrocious example of a Pastor to not read those letters. I certainly don't think anyone should hunt down the writers and return the letters and I honestly don't think any harm will come by finding the letters.

These letters are the personal prayers, dreams, desires, and hopes of humans abound. Do I think they should be published for our rubber neck curiosity, not really. But I don't think the prayers of these people, their words and desires, have been diminished by the discovery of their letters.

Isn't a prayer but the affirmation of a persons needs? Whether it's said kneeling before your bed, at an alter, in church, on a letter, in our minds, or said out loud. In my humble opinion, a prayer is but influencing the mind to focus in a certain direction.

Whether it is sending a positive influence to someone in need, or focusing my attention on things that need changed in my life. I believe there is immense power in prayer, but do not rely or place credit of change to another (pick your avatar) , I give the power of affirmation <prayer> to myself.

Prayer is a forward motion. Placing our desires in writing is a concrete form of forward motion. The writers of those letters were able to assert their desires and send them away to someone they trusted.

This isn't a bad thing. Does it matter if he read them? I suppose it depends on the individual. If a person believes their desires, hopes, needs rest in the hands of another person, then I imagine they feel neglected. Ifthe person felt better, more focused and empowered by their own forward motion, then I wager they will not be let down to discover their letter may not have been read.

Of course, one of the main furors over the found letters is privacy. Since I hold my privacy on a priceless level, I can understand the sentiment. However, one cannot assume anything written in solid form will remain private, ever. I'm of the opinion that if you don't want anyone in the world to know about something, for godsakes don't write it down. 

Basic writing 101, Lesson #1, if you write it, it will be read, and you cannot control who will possibly read it. If I died today, who knows, my writing could end up on Ebay, I would hope it wouldn't.........but it could happen and if that possibility didn't settle well with me, then I would need to burn it all, bonfire style.

Speaking of Ebay. After reading the article I did a quick search and to my personal delights I found letters for sale, old diary's, and other pieces of history, thoughts, peoples handwritten words for sale there! I am a voyeur of humanity and for me this was a fantastic discovery. Just yesterday I commented to Kate over at  An Analysis of Life  that I have desperately searched for books in diary form. My new discovery has lead me straight to the real deal. I'm hooked already, I created an Ebay account, and have every intention of spending loads of money on my new collection of old handwritten letters and journals.

So I thought about it, would I have been a person who would have bid on the letters that man found? I'll bite my lower lip and answer honestly, the answer is absolutely. Obviously the man doesn't hold his discovery as the treasure it really is and is willing to let the letters go. He chose at first to sell them, and honestly, that was his choice to make. I would have been a buyer, because I would be somone who would honor and cherish such a treasure. According to the majority of the message board posters that would make me monster.

In my eye's, it is a collection of humanity in a rare and beautiful raw form. An example of life and the power of thought that should be cherished. Would I have said a prayer for each of the people, yes. Would it honor their wishes and desires? I suppose thats a matter of opinion. It does appear the right thing will indeed happen. The man has decided to donate the letters to a church. Good for him, and the letters. Everything always has a way of turning out beautiful..........

RandomNothingNessOfTheIrrelevantKind

I have nothing but everything to write. No direction, no inspiration, nadda, zilch, blank. So, in spite of that, I will type until something breaks through the red tape of my mental blockage.  Sometimes that mentality works, other times it's just an example of pure crap. (Kinda like what I've just written) Does anyone else wander around with a million thoughts, ideas, stories, yet are unable to form a simple sentence to wrap everything into one destination? Yes? No? Freaky? Oh help me, I'm in a mood........
~~
       So I've seen various mentions for the VIVI awards. I read hints and such about controversy, but haven't read anything with specifics. Which is fine, I've never mingled in the political agenda that is sometimes found within this community. So this morning I thought I would visit nominated journals and exercise my journalgivenrightsofvoting. I suppose the issue I'm having would be like going to the voting booths on the 7th and blindly punching chads without knowing what any of the politicians stood for. For the most part I know nadda, zilch, a tiny example of those journal writers. Ok, fine, I got time and some writer blockage, I'll visit, gather some inspiration, bask in the writing of others and gleefully go vote for my newfound favorite journals. Starting with what would be my natural favorite categories. Yes, well, allrighty then....aren't personal tastes a bitch sometimes. Moving on. (ok, I just don't get it on some certain things, just does not compute, ekk this does not sound good) 

       Last year I knew the majority of the journals. Does that mean back then I was in the 'group' and this year I am a nobody, a social outcast, who's completely outta the loop? Did an entire population of new writers come along, start a new school and I've been left back in grade school, clueless like? I think I really need to get up to speed. I just need to find a few extra hours in the day to investigate the new school.

       I was happy to see a few journals I know in a few of the catagories, journals that are really good ones at that.....yessss...I get to vote. And what's the deal with private journals in this mix? Isn't the point of private being the definition of no access unless invited? Doesn't that kinda exclude alotta peeps, like me? Are we supposed to askfor invites? Hell, if thats the case, I would like an invitation to each and every private journal out there. Yep, that would be very cool............in the name of investigation of course.

If your here, reading my words, and you've been nominated for somethin' let me know k, leave a brochure on my doorstep, list your qualifications, party affiliations and your promises I'll expect to see while you hold office. Alittle bribery always helps, so I've heard. I like paper, pens, stamps, books, and slush money always works, non-sequential order please.

~~

      If a tree falls in the forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound? Or more importantly, if someone remains silent and doesn't choke out their truths, are they lying to those who ask to hear the truth? Guilt by silent omission style?

~~

       Jehovah's Witness peeps came to my home yesterday to explain the phenomenon of 'false religion' to me. I was bored, needed distraction and let them come in, a pop quiz style of debate (is how I looked at it) I'm not sure if their God was keeping score, but I believe I held my own. I've been in a bit of a confrontational mood this week, God shoulda warned em.' 45 minutes later it was deemed I was a hopeless heathen and I deemed them courageous messengers. It was jolly good fun.      

~~

       The squirrels in my backyard are winning the war on my outdoor furniture. So far, they've ripped open 2 more cushions and padded up their winter nests like cozy cotton mansions. I'm not amused. Retaliation: I will withhold their nut smorgasbord for exactly one week. The neighbor will have to make up for my depravation tactics. I left my Jehovah's' Witness pamphlets in their food box, they can pad their nests with 'true religion.'

~~

       My Mother always said, "If your (you're) in a bad mood, don't take it out on everyone else" I'm certain she meant voice.....she never mentioned writing.................

~~

       I'm thoroughly irritated with the book choices I've chosen lately. I need heart. I need connection. I need writing that delights my reading senses instead of creating a yawn of frustration. I need something that makes me laugh out loud and cry in all the right places. I need something..........anything.........that makes me stay up until 3:00 a.m. because I simply cannot stand the thought of putting it down for the evening. Is there NO book out there that can do this for me???????? Anyone? Suggestions? Reviews? Hell, I'll take a bodice ripping, Fabio influenced, pulsating crush of words if it has the ability to entertain me at this point in time. Yes, I'm that desperate for decent literature. If anyone suggests the Bible I may toss you on the food box with the pamphlets and rats with fluffy fur coats.

~~
       LordyLordy, I'mInAMoodyMoody

~~

       I was trying to solve the meaning of life the other day. I'll have to get back to you on that one.

~~

       I'm ready for that slush money now. Unmarked of course.

(P.S. Congrats to Dan, Raven, Kate, Gerry, Fred for your nominations!!!! A twenty will do, or a stamp or two) There is no doubt I believe you deserve the awards~~ If I missed any of my other friends who have been nominated let me know!)
      
~~

 

l(a


le
af
fa


ll


s)
one
l


iness
      
e.e. Cummings

 

Message Gone Skyward

       I have a debatable self prescribed condition I have labeled as my own form of compulsive addictive personality. I find few things I am passionate about and that is where my focus remains fixated. I wish I could persuade this personality trait of mine to be passionate about house cleaning chores, but try as I have to convince my mind that would be a good thing, it's never gonna happen.

        Some of my compulsive addictions pass away with time, things like eating only cold cereal for 2 months straight or painting for days on end. But some of my addictions have grown deep roots, one being why I am here. Writing. 

       So if your someone like me, you write when you wake up. You write all day long. You wake up at 3:00 a.m. and reach for the emergency notebook on the nightstand. When your not writing, you're thinking about what you will write when you get a chance. You drive with pad of paper next to you and learn to write without taking your eye's off the road. (Unless you live in Idaho, don't worry your safe) An addict like moi never, ever leaves the home without her writing survival kit....pen...paper. Ever.

        So one of the things I've had to figure out with my compulsive writing, is where's a good place to bury it all. Sometimes throwing finished notebooks and journals up in the attic is adequate. When I die off, someone will discover enough random writing to keep them reading for months. But sometimes just letting my words sit in a musty attic is not enough.

       I am extremely lucky and have pen pals <although I'm still searching for a more meaningful label then pen pal> which welcome my snail mail words in great numbers. Frankly, I buy a lot of stamps and stationary. Truthfully, my handwritten mail is an addiction all on it's own, but I consider it a good one. I adore the fine art of writing a letter on wonderful stationary, slapping a decent stamp on it and sending my words off to be safely held elsewhere. But to explain the importance of this to me, would require an entry all on it's own.

       Next, I have this forum to catch random writing that doesn't want to be handwritten. I've been leaning on this arena for almost 2 years now and although I'm not entirely addicted <notice the lack of entries this year> I still find it's walls and community comforting and extremely interesting.

       Some things I write, I burn up. A ritual I personally adore, but it could constitute me as a crazy pyro, so forget I mentioned it. Some things I write, I place in an envelope and address it to one of my daughters who will hopefully read and understand them someday. I've written letters to my daughters since they were tiny little things. There's hundreds and hundreds of letters just waiting in trunks I call the memory keepers. The notion that someday I will gift them with hundreds of memories we had all forgotten about, advice I want to give, insight into who I am and what I am about etc...... Details do tend to smear with time..............

       Which finally brings me to the last thing I choose to do with my words. It's a bit quirky, even a teensy bit cliche, but until today I had always enjoyed the ritual of it. The whole 'message in a bottle' concept. Because I was born with the pen and paper affliction I have always searched words out. As a little girl I would comb beaches, river banks, any body of water that might possess the elusive message in a bottle I had heard about. Much to my dismay, I have never found one.

       Being the optimist in every situation, I decided since I couldn't find one, I would start sending them out. Which I have done, a lot of them. Nameless, faceless messages I send merrily down any body of water I happen to be near. There's some lessons to be learned when attempting this type of activity. One, being that wine bottles, although pretty, are not the best vessel. Being a recreational water person, I know tossing anything glass into water is not smart. So, a while ago I found cheap plastic wine bottle impersonators to substitute as my bottle. I can seal them up with wax and feel confident they won't sink like the Titanic on their journey.

       This morning I had my fake bottle, sealed up, full of random writings I was willing to part with and took it to the river. I took the familiar steps down the riverbank. I sat by the water watching for a while as I always do, did some more writing. Finally ready, I heaved it out into the middle of water to watch it's disappearance around the bend. All good right? Wrong.

       My message in a bottle was pirated. An unprovoked attack of the bird nature. My smile dissipated as a large seagull came swooping out of the sky, dived down on my innocent bottle, plucked it out of the water and flew away with it. Robbed. Stripped of my ritual by the claws of a scavenger.

       I couldn't believe my own eye's. Can a person not even do a simple thing like littering the river with my idealist notions anymore? I felt completely and totally robbed. Visions of that bird taking my words into the sky wasn't my idea of a meaningful morning. Doesn't that pirate know how long it takes to successfully wax up an opening let alone write a few pages of handwritten word?

       Then my mind began to wander, has all my bottles been plucked out of the sweet cradle of water by scavengers? Has any bottle even made it a mile down the river in the past? I'm afraid witnessing this crime has tarnished my message in a bottle visions. Then again, this may explain why I have never found one~~

Beautiful Things

"Mom!" she shouted, "Come look at your table!"
       Table didn't seem to fit the alarm in her voice, but I sped up my walk to observe what she was looking at. Indeed, the umbrella on my large patio table had been pushed over by the wind, resulting in a million tiny pieces of broken glass top.
       I think she was waiting for my rant. Or even a bit of the same alarm she had used, but I was transfixed by the sun shining across the tiny little pieces. I was mesmerized by the patterns it had created. And what I said to my daughter was,
"Isn't that beautiful?"
She gave me one of those looks, the ones I've established that someday she will remove my words from her neat little mind file and present them as evidence gifts to her shrink, and said, "Mom, you think everything is beautiful."

She's right, I do.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

       If beauty is in the eye of the beholder, then all anyone need do, is open their eyes wide. It's easy to find beauty in general, the sunrise and sunset, the appealing allure of a beautiful woman, a flower, a popular piece of art, our children's smiles, a river placed against natures backdrop.......all things I can count on, there's comfort in the dependency of the ordinary.

       There are so many things I see beauty in. A fires flames, falls graceful outdoor coloring contest, the disorderly mess in one of my daughters room and the organized tidiness of the other. The artwork on my walls and the thousands of leaves now gracing my yard. The beauty of a black and white photo and a single written sentence of another persons words. Beauty is around me and in me, on my walls and in broken tables. I only need glance 5 feet in front of me to discover something that satisfies my mind and eyes.

       While I marvel at the things I can see within my vision that are beautiful, it is the things I cannot touch, nor hold, or explain, that delight me the most. I cannot see an idea, yet I find it full of extraordinary beauty. I cannot touch it, nor hold it or place it in a box or hang it on my wall, but I find the very notion of idea's glorious. I imagine my idea ofbeauty is wholly defined by my own motivations and experience. My individual idea's that are sculpted by what has inspired me are mine and mine alone. I see beauty in those possibilities.

       Feelings can be beautiful. A man holding my hand while we walk down the street is something I've come to love and regard as the beauty of connection. Having a man gather me up in their arms when we are falling asleep is one of the most beautiful feelings in the world, to me. A feeling of both comfort and love combined is more beautiful then any painting I could own.

       The beauty in people astounds me above all other things. When I read of a tragedy or witness bad things happen to those I know, I bite my lower lip and wait. For in negativeness, and ugliness, beauty has a way of revealing itself. People come together and show the beauty of compassion. People band together and show how generosity can transform need into beautiful. Beauty always trumps ugly. Beauty tempers chaos. The way I see it, people find the way to beauty in all things, whether they realize it or not. You only need to look at any ugly in this world to see people come together at their best. This trait in humanity is divine beauty.

       I wish for myself, that a time will never come that I take for granted the beauty in all things. My grandmothers voice, my daughters everything, a handwritten letter, the feeling of rain on my face or a tear down my cheek. The glorious beauty in a smile or asking the questions filled with 'why.'

       For I believe in each moment, in every day, I only have to observe, to notice the beautiful in everything. On the days when I have let ugly erode my thoughts, I take comfort that beauty will reveal itself once again. Beauty is but a word, a starting point of a definition I can design on my own. I like that about beauty, it's subjectiveness.

       Beautiful means much more to me then what just satisfies the eye. In my opinion, that is a beautiful thing all on it's own. So yes Shelby, I do find everything beautiful and I hope with time, you will understand what I mean..............

Does Not Accept

This is a banner week. I've been home for 5 days and this will be a 3rd entry in one month. I'm rolling the dice of normalcy. I've puttered around my home, attempted normal behavior for a woman my age, and even went to work. I'm sure once I fall back into the rhythm of routine I won't feel so out of place, but for now I'm a fidgeting soul.

       If I place tiny words to the feelings I have, I come up with one notion. I feel like I've been on an amusement ride for 8 months and it's just pulled up to a yanking stop. The toothless carnival men are shoving me down the steps and I'm still glancing longingly at my old seat. I'd like to purchase another ticket, but know I need to wait awhile before I embark on my next ride. As always, I just need my beautiful watchtowers of time to align once again with my desired destinations.

       I loved my travels and believe I've given my daughters many unforgettable memories. I took trips both alone and surrounded with others. It was the final 12 days that I spent the majority of my time in solitude. Although surrounded in the evening by a mob of male hunting buddies, I spent my entire days wandering through the Frank Church Wilderness, alone, testing both my mind and body.

       Putting yourself in such an environment is a bit of a catch-22. A person can deeply appreciate the beauty of ones surroundings and be wholeheartedly fearful the next moment. The area I traversed is so dense I could never see 40 yards behind or beyond the canvas of trees. A little matter of wolves making their presence known at all times added to an already eerie feeling. Wolves are loud, singers of impending kills and final dinner bells. Daily they splinter off from their main packs and communicate by howling in the winds. For a single person like me creeping through the Forrest, the symphony would grind on each and every nerve I possessed.

       By the time I would arrive soaked from the rain, snow, sleet and bankrupt of all nerves back at camp, I was ready to claim human inability to walk and sleep in the next day. Every night my resolve to go on another day would be depleted. Thoughts of giving up, idea's of feigning sick would march across my mind. Yet, eachmorning I would get up, stand beside the Wilderness posting sign, and dive off to the bottom all over again. I pushed myself and it felt good. I convinced myself I could continue and I did.

       I can't count the amount of times every part of my body would shut down, quit, and pretend dead halfway up a Mountain. Every part but one, my mind. I realized that no matter what the situation, our divine minds will do what it takes to get us past the things we think we cannot do.

       I suppose my mind had an easy time convincing my muscles that it's either make it to camp, or be wolf kibbles. But the sentiment is the same. It's comforting to know this powerful source of inspiration I carry around. I know in the future, maybe tomorrow, maybe in a year, maybe many years from now, I will be faced with things that will kindle idea's of giving up. I know if all things about me shut down, lose hope, there is one part of me that will never throw in the white towel. A piece of me that does not accept exhaustion, or play parlor games with defeat. There's comfort in that knowledge. 

I just need to remember..... always trust in it~~~


       
Note: That picture is the actual jumping off point for me. Wilderness, for those in more civilized area's, means- no roads for hundreds of miles-no motorized vehicles, EVER <unless you want a huge federal fine> only accessed by foot or horse. I hiked to the third ridge back and covered the majority of the country in that picture. A beautiful place for a creative mind like mine. I gave all the ridges and Mountains pet names. Designations like Purgatory Lane, Dante's Peak, Hell, The Abyss, Mother F### Butte, Wolf Kitchen, and so on........
             

Each Our Own

"It is those negatives that always stand out. Always. Why?
Many reasons, for each are our own."
Jodi~~Looking Beyond the Cracked Window(deux)

True to my personal nature, my previous entry has been another burr in my brain since I posted it. Since then, I've been demanding my thoughts to come up with something, anything that I could segway to and push it down from the front and center position on my journal. Jodi provided just the ticket for me, thank you girl!

It's the inner critic in me thats an uncontrollable beast I've yet to learn to shove into a closet and lock the door. In me, it seems to be the loudest, most obnoxious aspect to my inner workings. It morphs into all forms ugly, it materializes at the most inconvenient times and typically manages to bully all good thoughts into the corner to hide.

For Example: This last 12 days in the Wilderness- Internal Daily Rebecca Dialogue

Your going to have a heart attack and die walking up this cliff of a mountain
Yes, well, your sentences are too long and confuse people
Oh shut up, I have more important things to conquer right now
Your grammar sucks and you'll probably trip on a few extra adjectives going up this hill
Does life flight come save people who lay down on a mountain side and refuse to climb anymore?
Well maybe if you told them in short sentences and pronounce your nouns correctly they'll consider it
Shove off critic, we're going to be bear food if we don't make it off this Mountain
You should write an entry to everyone, just to explain your lack of perfection on your journal
Seriously, I told you to shut up 900 feet down the hill and I really don't feel like thinking about anything but a nice warm fire right now
Now you know how people feel when you write a sentence thats 900 feet long
I'm dying, I'm wilderness hike kill, first the wolves will naw on me and then the bears will feast on my scraps
Everyone will say, "There's the bones of that girl who didn't use spell check"
Yes well, I'll be able to bounce a quarter off my ass from the work out I'm getting this week (positive thinking)
Who cares about an ass if you write random crap that makes no sense
If I live to walk off Purgatory Mountain I swear I'm shoving you in a shallow grave
Just make sure you use good grammar, spelling and sentence structure on my gravestone
Shut up

I'm not joking. All because I read one sporadic comment on my journal at 5:00 am the morning I left. Twisted, I know, but there nonetheless.

Now, because I admit all this here, it would almost appear I'm a rather insecure person who needs approval from all directions or I crumble into a ball of wound licking emotions. When in reality, I have always felt I have strong character, self assured, confident and I do all things without the need of approval from others.

So why in the hell do I let little irritants like something I take as negative, harass my mind like I do? Is it a generic human nature issue? A self absorbed issue? Jodi say 'for each our own' reasons. And it is that question I propose to myself. Is it the perfectionist in myself, in others, that creates the unmanageable beast of critic thinking? I wonder, do men participate in mental harassment like us woman do? <alittle insight would be nice guys>

A person I know and trust told me once that I am beyond ruthlessly hard on myself. I nodded in agreement, I know I am. If I go the politically correct direction, I glance at my childhood and draw a nice big blank. Nope, the parents didn't beat perfection, expectations nor put me down while growing up. They were just the opposite, encouraging without obligation, cheerleaders without expectation. So there goes that reasoning.

I'm not a pleaser person who jumps to make others happy at my own expense. But I would do anything I could in my power to help another in need. So I know my issue isn't about what others think or believe about me. I would never crack on someone else, but I have no problem tying my own hands to a whipping post and going to town. This part of me is frustrating. Can someone inform me at what developmental stage does that shitty part of the human mind ease up at? 35? 40? 50? 80 or on my death bed? Did I miss the day they passed out critic mercy cards?

Jodi proposes we each have our own reasons for blowing up the negatives, giving them their own pedestal to radiate from and harboring them within. I suppose I'm still searching for my personal reason why I perform such circus mind acts. Perhaps I need that shrink afterall :o)

Straw, Icing, and the Final Button

I've had 12 days in the wilderness to contemplate what I would like to write when I got back into civilization. I've gone from highly agitated, irrationally irritated and good old fashion confusion.

I've looked at the top of my journal, I've glanced at the bottom, and studied the sides. I've checked the dusty corners and rattled the squeaky headlines/entries for clues that would explain the recent happenings in my journal. I can only go back to the first question I had in my mind. A simple question really.

A one word-er
~~~W H Y~~~~

WHY 
or what motivates people
both currently and in the past
to feel the need to comment, email and generally rain on my parade by pointing out things or mistakes they don't like about or in my writing?
WHY
being the mystified question
in my mind
~

Now, I believe, and I could be wrong, that I've taken the mature position by addressing all concerns, complaints, and unneeded suggestions personally via the email system. To which I believe the majority of it was smoothed out nicely and I hope this entry doesn't crumble the progress that was already achieved with those specific people.

Howevery, evidently that direction isn't working, because I keep getting the same invasive, unsolicited sideswipes about design, not content. <Did a group get together and decide it's pick on Rebecca's writing techniques for a while or is it all coincidence of interesting timing??>

SOoooooo............heres the deal. An explanation of my journal writing. In depth, down and dirty.

This space is unedited, typically UN-thought, sporadic and a simple corridor for the stream of conscious thoughts I have running untamed through my mind. I sit down and I write, I don't use backspace nor the delete button. I do NOT go back and reread what I've written. I always resist the urge to look back over my shoulder at my writing here because I KNOW myself and I would instantly start to edit/delete myself, my words, my writing and my thoughts.

I do not care about any of the following on the pages of this journal, and yes, I realize that because of this, I may not shine my writing in the best light, but here goes...... Spelling, grammar, sentence length, word definition, correct placement of ,.?! :;" ' , nouns, adjectives, dialogue, sentences that make sense or don't, and I certainly don't use any type of journal format.

I would like to think that in this space, if I would like my words to go on and on like a Virginia Woolf sentence, and use 20 commas, and write 10 metaphors and (and put in parenthesis anything I feel like)  before I take a breath and end it with a period, I can do that because why in the world would anyone care enough to point it out as an issue and actually suggest I change MY writing because it's difficult on them, instead of that person just accepting my writing is my space and keep their displeasure to themselves, it is that type of WHY that I cannot grasp..............breath now.................(I can even use 40 periods for emphasis if I should feel the need)

I'm not a confrontational person, so I already know I'm going to hate this entry the moment I post it. Then again, I'm also not a person that ever willingly, knowingly, and intentionally <how's that for some pretty adjectives?> sets out to hurts a person feelings or tosses jabs on a whim. So when people do it to me, or others, I'm always left mouth agape and scratching my mind for answers and reasons.

Even now I'm worried about the very people who have sideswiped me over the last year with negative emails, concerns, suggestions and comments about my writing. Thoughts like, "Will they be hurt that I did an entry like this?" or "Will I piss off someone by my blanket outcry for no more sideswipes."  Specifically, because it really isn't one person, or one comment thats finally done me in. It's an accumulation of unwarranted smacks that has me finally calling out that the straw finally broke my back, the icing is dripping from my cake and my last button was finally pushed.

My writing here is not perfect. I have never claimed it was.
My writing here is not scripted. I have never claimed it was.
My writing here shows warts and scars and dents and dings because it's my free zone.
My writing here is what it is, anything that happens to flow from my mind to my fingers.
My writing here has no agenda, no flow, no direction and should be devoid of expectation, obligation and guidelines.

On the flip side, the writing on my book is painfully slow and I take great care in the perfection of each and every single little word. Then I place it in the hands of trusted individuals with red pens and ruthless critique practices to butcher it all over again. In that arena, I am ready for critique, I am ready for the red pen, I am ready to be ripped to shreds so I can put it all back together again.

I am not prepared for, nor do I desire, critique on these pages. I am perfectly capable of doing that myself should I choose to do so. I don't think it is necessary. I do not believe it is needed. I have never asked for it and I shouldn't have to worry about it. What irritates me the most about this entry is the fact that I've received far more praise and encouragement from the people who have passed by then the negatives. I shouldn't even give these sideswipes a second thought, but like a burr stuck in my sock I need to eradicate it somehow.  

I have been gone from home, life, and online journals for a long time. I've traveled far and wide for the last 8 months and hibernation is calling my name. I've had many new visitors I need to welcome and in turn visit their journals and I look forward to that. I've neglected my correspondence and visiting the journals of old friends, and I assure you I'll be back to my comment spamming very soon.

All I ask is when a person visits my personal journal, they take it for what it is. Nothing but words from a little lady sitting in her office in Idaho. When the desire plops itself in my writing lap I would like the freedom and clear mind of not worrying about if my sentences are perfect, without flaw and ready for publication.

This entry is to the point and if I offend anyone I apologize. I wrote an entry along these same lines, only nicer and more passive over a year ago, perhaps a refresher is due.........Concrete

It should be quite clear now, my purpose, or nonpurpose of this journal.
I write the good, the bad and the ugly and I'm fine with it~~

It's all Good

The Puzzle Of Parent

       Yesterday I attended the funeral of a man I never met, the husband of a woman I've long considered a mentor of mine. What struck me the most during his service was how the family spoke so highly of his devotion to both his children, and the children who were lucky enough to call him grandfather, uncle, neighbor, teacher, and friend. At the end of his service we were treated to a video that showed the years of this mans life, from the long Beatles style hair to his final chemo reduced bald head and almost every single picture contained this man covered, surrounded and engaged with children. Starting with his own babies all the way to tiny grandchild playing on his hospital bed with him. To both a human and a mother like me, it was absolutely beautiful.

       I don't get it. I do not, or cannot comprehend where this type Father figure, parental role model from a male gender, has fallen to the wayside in my current day and time. Maybe if it was handed to me specifically, my own individual battle with the man who can claim birth certificate rights on my daughters paperwork, I could possibly believe I just picked the lemon out of the bunch. But I hear it from other Mothers, I see it all around my circle of influence and friends, and my previous job was a daily peek into the sad dynamics of families.

       I asked my X-husband recently, " Why exactly was it that you gave yourself permission to just be dad by title and remove yourself from an actual parental role?" His eye's slanted, a sure sign of irritation, he swallowed several times thinking about my question and how he could avoid my possible word trickery and ultimately decided playing stupid was his best chances. He said, " I don't know what you mean."

       I explained to him that in my world, a dad doesn't show up on time, a parent does. In my opinion a dad blows off performances and games to work, a parent doesn't. In my mind, a dad doesn't help financially support their child, but a parent will give their last nickel to make sure their child has something they need. In my optimistic approach I would believe a dad would stay in a job, city, world and let their children slip away from them in honor of money or other self involved reasons, claiming no choice and a parent would move to the ends of the earth working for a garbage company in order to spend as much time with their child as possible. In my idealistic fantasy land, a dad entertains on their scheduled time with the help of Chuck E. Cheese and Cable TV, a parent will look their child in the eye and talk about their day, friends, school and life. And most importantly, a dad will either by choice or show of actions let their children know how unimportant they really are in his life, and a parent will show a child exactly how important, how much they love them and how he has made his children #1 priority in his life. And on and on..............

       My speech was of course absorbed with the usual 'if I run she can't get me and I won't have to worry about it until my next visitation' demeanor my X likes to cower under. Fine, but the fact is I will never stop fighting for my daughters, even with him. Because when it comes down to it, I know they miss him, need him, want him, but his time is running out as they get older. Only he's too stupid and self absorbed to realize it. It was much easier when they were younger to cover for him, but as I always assumed, the truths would come out and his are starting to stink to high heaven. I never had to mention a word to my daughters in the process............

       A friend of mine, a stay at home Mom of 6 years was informed last month by her soon to be X-husband that he was tired of coming home to her. She was mundane and just a Mom. He never understood why she wouldn't hire a nanny to watch the kid like his high power female coworker did for her 4 children. My friend devoted her previous 6 years to raising their son, and supporting him while he worked to create a business.

       He barely earned the title absent Father, always saying, "As soon as the business is running good I'll be home more, we'll take vacations, I'll put more effort into being a Husband and a Father." As soon as..........as soon as..........life isn't ran on some sort of 'as soon as' I complete this task guideline! She had a feeling it was coming, but what she did not see was this. After his first initial consultation with the divorce lawyer and upon spying the financial repercussions of his choice, he suddenly has a 50/50 custody request of parental rights. For the man who hasn't taken the time to be home on a single one of his child's birthdays in 4 years, this is most disgusting in my humble opinion.

       So why am I mumbling about this today? I spent the evening fresh from a beautiful tribute to a man who devoted his life to child and I just kept asking myself why........why does men like my X-husband, my friends soon to be X and so many other men we all know in our lives regard Fatherhood as an interchangeable job? Do it when it's convenient, when it fits his needs, when it's not messing up dates, or their job or the personal lives they created separate from the one that includes children?

       I'm both an idealist and a realist. I know it's not easy when you have visitations and custody schedules. I know that no matter what, in a divorced family no one will have a 100% daily influence in their child's lives. But aren't kids worth striving for that 100% mark the best we can? I know it's not just men/dads, I'm perfectly aware there are Mothers out there that exhibit the same tendencies I've written about in absent Dads. For the Fathers that have custody of their children full or part or are happily married and show their children what a real parent, Father, is all about I both applaud that and admire it beyond imagination. In my perspective that is priceless and I hope these men realize what a beautiful thing they are doing by being a real Father.

       The need inside me to be a parent is just as strong now as when they were safely inside me during pregnancy. It has never diminished or quieted with time. How does with any gender, a parent become a distant part of their childs life? How does this come about, or is allowed, or acceptable?? (Note: Obviously I am not including drunks, druggies, criminals, abusers and any other vise that falls into the 'you lose your parental rights card' in honor of protecting child)

       I know I'm one of the lucky kids, and maybe it's because of the era I grew up in, but I have a Father that was always there for me, in every single way, still is. Perhaps today I am just sad that my daughters have never had that. There are many things I have a hard time grasping, holding, understanding and this subject is in a world of its own. I know every single hair on my daughters head, I know what each single separate smile on my daughters faces mean and I know in an instant what they are feeling by they way their eye's look. But my X, he never took the time or interest to care and that is a puzzle of choice I cannot find an answer for.

       How does ANY parent emotionally and physically check out of a childs life? I have pounded that square peg mercilessly into a round hole and no matter how I try, look at it, manipulate it, I cannot understand it.

       I have found comfort in realizing my X had the choice. He's had it from the moment they were born. He had the choice to make them a priority, he's always had the choice to show them love and security. He's always had the choice to schedule his life around them rather then try to schedule the girls into his life. He's always had that choice and the only power I've ever held was giving/showing him the opportunity.

       I wonder if my X realizes that if he were to pass away today, at his funeral the only achievements he would be praised for is his fine work ethic and ability to hold the roof up at the local tavern until it closed, his friends would be so proud............sad.      

A Pit Stop

       Since I am basking in a two day reprieve at home, I thought it was finally time to eradicate my previous entry, and replace it with something, anything, that doesn't reek of forlorn and misery. It was careless and rude of me to leave such parting words when I wasn't going to be around to follow up. I apologize to those whom I worried.

       The facts. This has been a very strange year for me. Unlike any I've ever waded through before. Starting with a surgery in January that knocked me for a loop. Another medical issue in March that essentially pushed both my mind and my well being over the edge of reasonable control. What I now view as reactive instinct, I took off. Literately. As soon as I was well enough to board a plane or drive a car I was gone.

       Things are kind of blurred together now, but I know I have been in Washington, Oregon, California, Mexico, Utah, Montana, Wyoming, Nebraska, Yellowstone National Park, and through a few of those places more then once and of course around Idaho. The longest stretch I've been home since the end of last March was I believe 5 whole days during July, which killed me. During those days I felt like a trapped bird.

       I haven't worked <my real job> I haven't wrote <my book workings> I haven't participated in a single responsible thing this year. For the analytical curious types, I assure, I never won the lottery, but I am self employed, made enough $ in 2005 to tide me over for an extended time, throw in some residual income I have each month and it's a deliberate recipe for the freedoms I create. Maybe thats too much information, but it's a scenario I dreamed about many years ago, and it's finally come to a point where I can up and leave in a days notice and travel far and wide for as long as I wish. It took work, and thought, and I'm actually proud of the opportunities I built for myself.

       During my travels I've had an abundance of thinking time. I've had beautiful days, and downright shitty days. I've had plain old ordinary days and days words can't describe because they were so divine. I've mended some broken thoughts in my mind and cleared some issues that have plagued me for more time that I wish to admit.

       A turning point cameright after my previous entry <now deleted> A trip to Montana that both soothed my soul and mended the frayed edges of my mind. The things I wrote of, the things I needed to do, I did. Piece by piece I stacked myself back up, settled my internal compass and have found myself back on track, finally. That trip, I hold selfishly for myself...........

       Since my trip to Montana I've spent time hunting, thats right, I do more then just fly fish. If you're a member of P. E. T. A.  I would suggest skipping this next segment. First I spent a lot of time on the desert Antelope hunting. It was a successful hunt for me and I enjoyed the solitude and stationary stance that type of hunting provided. Next, I went to Nebraska for Antelope, an unsuccessful hunt that got changed quickly into an Elk hunt in Idaho.

       Until yesterday, I have been walking miles and miles everyday, standing on top ridges, climbing domineering mountains, watching the most beautiful sunrises and sunsets. Playing cat and mouse with amazing bull elk and soaking up every second my beautiful partner in life, nature, can provide. I had chances to take a bull, but I kept passing. I wanted more time, I wasn't ready to come home to city life, bad angles, excuses I came up with every time not to notch an arrow. It's all good. I get to go back for another week or so this month.

       Two things happened while I was hunting. Fresh from my trip to Yellowstone and all that I carried lightly with me, I found inner peace. I found my smile again, and I feel like my mind is finally clicking along like it used too. It wasn't until this last week that I realized sometime, a while ago, my mind had stopped thinking in it's imaginary tones.
      
       When I'm good, when I'm all right, my mind is a floating river of idea's and thoughts. Idea's for writing line up and march across my thoughts day in and day out. Like a person who wakes up one morning blind, my mind woke up many months ago devoid of creative notions and possibilities. While I was walking those mountains, moments kept creeping up where I would have killed for pen and paper. I hadn't realized that where I used to never go anywhere without my writing journal, I hadn't been carrying it withme since the beginning of the year. Now, I can't stop writing................I can see the words again!

       Tomorrow I leave again, Washington/Oregon, and I have other trips planned this month. I think, that around November sometime, it will be time to hibernate at home for a while. Until then, I'm off enjoying what life has to offer me right now..........

It's all good, It's all good~
       

            

Happy Dear? Chicken Not~

I interrupt my scheduled summer off, to expose a fellow journalist, a possible menace to journal society, and a voyeur by his own admission. After careful investigation, I am of the opinion that no one is exactly safe from Omar, the dark and menacing writer of  Detached And Indifferent Expressions  .

Circumstances leading to this investigation started with a pilfered and altered picture of an unspecified derriere <see entry below>. Throughout the journaling community numerous innocent parties found their computers violated and containing this picture with specific, threatening, posting instructions. Even I, succumbing to pressure, added it to my journal to rid it's implications from my world.

All evidence of origination pointed to a specific detached and indifferent journal as the culprit. Upon picking up a shovel and digging alittle deeper, it was found that this journalers fascination with the posterior anatomy of the human figure was not limited to just this one picture. Infiltration into this computer and his world was not easy, but discovery was worth possible prosecution. The truth comes to fruition............

A direct quote by the guilty party from a reliable sources, his journal

"Where was I, oh yes....I saw a picture...and was inspired. And I decided what better way to honor such beauty, such perfection, such....INSPIRATION, was to once again share my fascination with the <inaudible> derriere. I am a connoisseur of great butts. I check them with my peripherals (right now I'm sitting at my desk, and I just peripherally checked out a slew of butts), I check them with aplomb, verve and delicacy. I am a fan of the <inaudible> figure. It is ingrained in my DNA!!"

       An inside source has disclosed this evil persons fascination goes beyond the scope of an occasional glance. Pictures located deep within his computer shows a collection of various butts in different states of dress, with a particular fondness for the hard square lines of the male design. 

       More disturbing, was the discovery of a certain half eaten piece of briefs found in his office trash can. Insiders from his office claim they were standing by his trash when something struck them as 'odd.' The coworker waited until Omar left his haven to use the copier and retrieved the offending article with two paper clips fashioned as tongs from the trash. The coworker then confronted Omar who simply replied he had not read the finer details closely enough. "Sensuous With Taste® Edible undies® are sold as a novelty item only, and has no nutritional value. Garment will dissolve in water or excessive moisture."

       One last discovery was made during this investigation that cannot be ignored. Fake, implied, implants of the removable nature, were discovered deep in the confines of this mans closet. Thats correct ladies, the backend you see walking by is enhanced, jacked up by ass end enhancing butt pads.

       This all just goes to prove, you can't believe everything you see in the great expanse of Internet world!!!!! So cover your backsides, hide your inclines and valleys. And most of all, be very very wary of people who call themselves the great and powerful lords of our universe, you never know if behind all that huffing and puffing is padding...................................