Living a Quotable Life

My Seven Links

2011-08-21T23:59:00.000-05:00

I have been nominated for this initiative (I refuse to refer to this one as a meme.) by the exquisite Michi who only recently added her voice to the grand blogger chorus. For this, I am grateful. I dare you read her personal manifesto. Inspiring. And so, I am immensely pleased to be included amidst the talent pool of this particularly project. The rules for the 7 links prompt is found here on Tripbase.

The Categories

My most beautiful post
My most popular post
My most controversial post
My most helpful post
My post whose success surprised me
My post I feel didn’t get the attention it deserved
My post of which I am most proud

Let me take a moment here to discuss the opportune moment this particularly challenge presented itself to me. As you can tell, not much has been happening on these pages of late. Not much at all. I have reached a point in my life where, for the moment, Living a Quotable Life is no longer serving its purpose in my life… not that I was ever capable of defining that purpose. There was never a common theme or direction. It is time to quit. Here. For now. I am not abandoning the blogosphere for I have decided to tell more tales from my childhood and I feel this new focus or drive needs a new home. Follow me, if you will, to…

WHITE AFRICAN TOMBOY…

I will begin with a few modified posts that will be very familiar to long time readers of this blog… while I work on new content… and we will see where it leads. I hope, that by visiting my past, there will be renewal in my present. African Tomboy should also serve as some sort of legacy for my boys. I find it fitting to go on hiatus from Living a Quotable Life with the following list of posts as they are all a piece of who I am and what this blog has been to me.

MY MOST BEAUTIFUL POST
Where I Am From. (October 15, 2009)
I don’t wax poetic often and when I do it is usually dark and tragic. This piece, of which the template is adapted from a poem to be used in the classroom, is one of the most beautiful compositions I have written. At least, it is beautiful to me. Two years later and I wouldn’t change a word.

MY MOST POPULAR POST
Top Ten Fictional Places (March 30, 2009)
I love this post. In truth, it is in my top 5 most popular posts of all time; however, since #1 is also the most controversial, I saved it for the next point. One of my most brilliant science fiction geek moments lives in this post. You will know it as soon as you read it.

MY MOST CONTROVERSIAL POST

To Love And Be Loved… (December 13, 2007)The question was simple: “Do you prefer to love or be loved?” This post has the single most hits of any other post I have ever written and the count increases daily; however, my mention of Godly ‘Agape Love’ has caused me to receive more than one angry email on how God does not exist or how posts about love should not be fictionalized or that it had no place in the words I was writing. In retrospect, it is not the most eloquent of posts. My own answer to the question still rings true… which is why I have likely remained single since my divorce.

MY MOST HELPFUL POST

Resolutely Silly (January 6, 2009)

This post is, by an incredibly wide margin, the best New Year’s Resolution list I ever did write. You would think that only I was helped by this list; but, I had an email or two or a few from those (some who found it years later) thanking me for reminding them that resolutions should not be so stressful and that new beginning can begin at any time. There is likely one that is for more applicable to this topic but this one came to mind first and I was instructed not to over-think such things.

MY POST WHOSE SUCCESS SURPRISED ME

An Alton Apprentice (or two) (November 30, 2007)

Ah, the early days. This post has one comment. Not so “successful” by blogging standards. It did, however, get routed to Food Network personality Alton Brown’s production company… and I got a response from them asking for my address. He wanted to send something to my boys. He did. He sent an autographed cookbook with a note to “K &amp; K” (my boys) telling them, “Keep cooking but let mom help!” There were also a few kitchen accessories and some Cutlery Induced Epidermal Repair Strips (aka: Alton Brown Band-Aids®).

MY POST I FEEL DIDN’T GET THE ATTENTION IT DESERVED

Dark Frontier or New World (June 20, 2008)

The problem with a personal blog is that worrying about a personal post not receiving enough recognition seems ridiculously more self-indulgent than even the concept of… yes… writing a personal blog. Early on I decided I was writing this for me and if someone liked what I wrote or learned something from my mistakes then that was success enough for me… even if they never told me. Comments are good. Links are great. But, I’ve never demanded them or judge the worth of a post or of my writing by either of those things. Occasionally, I have a bit of a rant concerning a topic of some import. This was one of those rants. Few read it. Oh well.

MY POST OF WHICH I AM MOST PROUD

Origins (January 6, 2008)

Me, a history… the short but multi-faceted version. (This will make its way to the new site.)

Now, the writers I recommend for this exercise are (forgive me if I nominate someone who has already participated):
Mark Stratton - Poet, Writer, Renaissance Man
Jason Benoit - Soul Bearing Truth Teller
Patti Murphy - Totally Doesn't Suck At This. Might Still Be A Buddhist Tomorrow.
J.N. Sciolino-Moore - Simple. Because she's awesome.

There you are. Do enjoy them and, please, do come visit me at White African Tomboy.

"There’s a trick to the 'graceful exit.' It begins with the vision to recognize when a job, a life stage, or a relationship is over — and let it go. It means leaving what’s over without denying its validity or its past importance to our lives. It involves a sense of future, a belief that every exit line is an entry, that we are moving up, rather than out." ~Ellen Goodman

Driftwood Cottage: A Book Review

2011-07-24T17:07:00.001-05:00

A Moment of Perspective: With my penchant for classic or highly acclaimed English literature it may come as a surprise to most that my first book review on this site is a novel from the romance genre. My reasoning is two-fold. First: I was asked. Given the opportunity, I chose not to decline. Second: I have a respect for the writers of the genre. After two years of university and then two years off from university in which I got pregnant, got married and gave birth to my eldest son (in that order)… I went back to school. It was there, in the midst of brain strain from simultaneously reading Chaucer for one literature class, Shakespeare for the next, Tennyson for poetry class, Sophocles for drama and Aristotle for literary criticism, that a friend suggested I pick up romance novels as “light reading” to rest my mind in between assignments. I scoffed. Then I followed her advice. What I discovered is that romance writers (most of them, anyway) have a ridiculously astounding grasp on humanity… emotions, fears, motives, etc. They also have a gift for composing dialogue. Yes, sometimes that dialogue is incredibly cheesy. Yes, sometimes the stories are over-the-top; but, very often they are real and tangible, though fictional, character driven tales of life.

Driftwood Cottage: A Chesapeake Shores Novel

Author: Sherryl Woods

Publisher: MIRA Books

Single mom Heather Donovan’s dreams of home and family are tantalizingly within reach when she settles in Chesapeake Shores. The welcoming arms of the boisterous, loving O’Brien clan embrace her and her son. But accepting their support seems to further alienate her son’s father, Connor O’Brien. His parents’ divorce and his career as a high-powered divorce attorney have left him jaded about marriage.

Then everything changes. Will the possibility of a future without Heather make Connor look at love and his career differently? Heather’s just about given up on her old dreams—of love, of family and especially of Driftwood Cottage, the home she secretly wishes were hers. It’s going to take a lot of persuasion—and some help from the O’Brien family—to make Heather believe that some dreams are worth fighting for.

Heather is a woman who has given up on her version of Happily-Ever-After once realizing she wants more than Connor O’Brien, long time love and father of her son, is willing to give. Despite becoming involved with him knowing Connor’s strong negative feelings toward marriage, reinforced by his career as a divorce attorney, Heather decides that she does want the wedding ring… and so she walks away to make a life on her own in Chesapeake Shores, the town where Connor was raised, and where his family opens their lives and sometimes meddlesome hearts to Heather and little Mick. She opens a quilt shop and lives in the apartment above. Connor’s visits to see his family and his son strain the resilience both he and Heather have to their own stubborn viewpoints.

Driftwood Cottage has two major strengths: characters and location. Connor comes from a large family and the presence of someone in the O’Brien clan becomes expected in almost every scene. Each appearance draws more information, good and bad, about Heather and Connor onto the page while simultaneously feeding the reader snippets of family history or teasing with enticingly delightful future stories. Every character has a background due to the charming world Sherryl Woods has created in Chesapeake Shores. Despite being the fifth book of the Chesapeake Shores series, Driftwood Cottage manages to keep new readers from feeling entirely detached from preceding story lines... which is no mean feat for the author.

Sheryl Woods has a gift for painting a picture with words and for making the reader genuinely care for the characters in her pages. I intend to spend some more time in Chesapeake Shores in the near future. Had Driftwood Cottage been a stand alone novel it would have been good but it is the power of a completely thought out and realistic community that gives this book its magic. And, just because it’s a romance novel and the preconceived notion is always there that things will all work out in the end doesn’t mean Driftwood Cottage doesn’t have a surprise or two hidden between the front and back cover. Overall, it was a lovely escape to a seaside town where I got to visit for a short time with one amazing family.

My one major disconnect? The cover art. It does not work for me... or the story.

On a traditional rating scale, I give Driftwood Cottage 4/5 stars… or hearts, as it were.

“Though there were a lot of words on the tip of his tongue, things he wanted to say but knew he shouldn’t, Connor turned and walked away. Unlike so many times when they’d parted, for some reason this time felt a whole lot more like goodbye.” ~Sherryl Woods, Driftwood Cottage

Musings from Barnes & Noble Café

2011-07-18T23:20:00.000-05:00

“Well I’m just people watching the other people watching me; and, we’re all people watching the other people watching we.” ~Jack Johnson

Does anyone really need a book titled The Secret Language of Cats? Lady, your cat is indifferent. If you do not understand your cat then your cat does not want to be understood.

There is a middle-aged schoolteacher type and her mousy elderly mother (the resemblance is simply too stark for the relationship to be anything but as stated) discussing a book titled Good Girls Just Don’t Get It. Uh… research?

A child throwing a tantrum in French is just as frustrating to the parent and as irritating to the “audience” as a child throwing one in English. “Angry Child” needs no translation.

Why share a dessert when you are both drinking your own Vente Mocha Frappuccino? You have maxed your caloric intake for the entire day with one beverage. Why sweat those of a whole brownie vs. a half?

There is a woman with a stack of magazines. I don’t think she intends to purchase a single one. (She didn’t.)

There is only one person with a laptop. She is also the only person in the café (minus the baristas) who is younger than me.

I should start a book club.

Order the spinach quiche. It looks and smells divine. Not to mention, the woman consuming it clearly looks as though she is having a special foodgasm moment.

People still read V.C. Andrews.

I should write more “thank you” notes like this chick next to me. I envy her dedication… or I am pissed at her for making us non-note writers look bad. It’s one of the two.

I am guilty of always thinking someone in a crowded public place looks familiar to me.

Some people should be banned from having the opening to The Lion King’s “Circle of Life” as a ring tone. Those very same people need to remember there are places where a phone should be on silent.

If your pen dies in a Barnes & Noble Café… the baristas will likely loan (or give) you a spare. Common occurrence, me thinks.

Two Months More

2011-07-17T20:02:00.002-05:00

“I can live for two months on a good compliment.” ~Mark Twain

There is a small Mexican restaurant located in a strip mall somewhere in Pine Bluff, Arkansas called “El” something or other (I could ask or look it up but I do not feel so inclined.).

The food is lovely. Authentic. Not Tex-Mex. The colors are bright. The staff is very friendly and glad to greet each guest come to dine. And… there are more varieties of Patrón on the counter at the bar than I have ever seen in one place before.

A waiter there thinks I am beautiful.

He said so… to my cousin as she paid and I was walking through the door.

“She is beautiful,” he said once with a nod in my direction and then, with a bit more urgency as if to emphasize his point, “She is BEAUTIFUL!”

My cousin inquired if I heard the compliment as we neared the car. I had not. I really was not too far out of earshot… not at all considering how acute my hearing.

I think, in truth, I simply wasn’t listening.

Self-Talk

2011-07-16T21:37:00.001-05:00

"Every waking moment we talk to ourselves about the things we experience. Our self-talk, the thoughts we communicate to ourselves, in turn control the way we feel and act." ~John Lembo

I have decided, sitting in this Barnes & Noble Café with not one starving artist but a lot of individuals substantially older than I (the others must all be at Starbucks), that I must do something different with my life. My days are far too ordinary. Not boring. Ordinary. Really. There is too much work to be done… never-ending parenting, chaos and, oh yes, the job. These things do not allow for an over-abundance of boredom. Not to mention, I find those who suffer greatly from being bored are as such because they are ultimately boring. I am not boring.

What?

What do you mean, "What?"

What do you want to do that is so different from what you are doing now?

I have absolutely no idea.

You better figure it out before you become bored or, worse, boring.

Perceptions

2011-07-10T23:56:00.000-05:00

“I am surprised at the way people seem to perceive me, and sometimes I read stories and hear things about me and I go ‘ugh.’ I wouldn't like her either. It's so unlike what I think I am or what my friends think I am.” ~Hillary Rodham Clinton

Facebook Status (July 9, 2011): “Describe me using (3) adjectives. (I'm curious to see if a particular one shows up... at all.) A n d... GO!”

It appears much like a vanity quest. It isn’t. I was discussing with a friend my very, very real lack of dating life and the word “intimidating” came up. Granted, I brought it up… but only because it has been mentioned before by others… over and over and over again. I simply wanted to see if that one word surfaced in a random poll. It didn’t. Included in the responses are:

Poetic. African. Witty. Pretty. Smart. Awesome. Maternal. Beautiful. Passionate. Cerebral. Cultural. Sarcastic. Multifarious. Forthright. Kenyan. Jedi. Supermom.

They were generous. Yes, I am flattered. But… intimidating? Not so much.

At least, I do not think I am intimidating… but I am me. My perception is different than the individual perception of my friends, acquaintances and coworkers; and, quite clearly, I have no idea how I come across to the rest of the human species.

The Wanderlust

2011-07-06T00:11:00.004-05:00

"Travel is like adultery: one is always tempted to be unfaithful to one's own country. To have imagination is inevitably to be dissatisfied with where you live." ~Anatole Broyard

I haven’t set foot out of the United States of America in more than nine years. Which, seeing as I am a born American and vote in American elections and carry an American passport, doesn’t appear as shocking in nature to my casual acquaintances as it really is. In fact, I live and work in an area where people are born, raised and die without ever setting foot outside the state… let alone the country. They don’t understand me and my flippant, yet deeply seriously, remarks about needing to leave the USA from time to time, if not permanently. I am okay with that. I certainly don’t understand why they feel the need to live within a stones throw of all their “kinfolk” from the time they enter this world until the time they leave but I don’t judge them for it and, for the most part, I am not judged in return. Traveling, it appears, is not for everyone. For me it is vital.

The first time I was on an airplane I didn’t even have to set foot on it. Seeing as I was a mere four months old and incapable of walking, my parents did that for me… stepping on board with me in their arms or cradled in a piece of cloth and slung across my mother’s back African style. That’s where we were headed, by the way: Africa. Kenya, to be exact. My parents and older brother had already spent four years making a home there as missionaries. I was simply the new addition. In the month between December 1, 1974 and January 1, 1975 I was initiated into the ranks of world travelers around the globe. We trekked through five states, six countries and nine airports. I spent my first New Year’s Eve on an airplane over the Sahara Desert between Rome, Italy and Addis Ababa, Ethiopia.

From that month of my life until age twenty I was a regular globe nomad. Every four years we returned to the States for a year (give or take a month or two). My father arranged our itineraries so that we stopped in different countries leaving and returning to Kenya. We also never seemed to spend that period of time in the same state. I have come home from school in Mississippi (Kindergarten), West Virginia (Fifth Grade) and Louisiana (Tenth Grade). To me, a childhood of perpetual motion was a gift and I will be forever grateful to my parents for it; however, those memories and experiences often serve to heighten the discontent I experience in my current all but stationary life.

My last trip home to Kenya was over sixteen years ago.

Eleven years ago I became a travel agent. I did it in part because I knew I would be good at the job, partly because I could live vicariously through my clients and partly because I thought it would also afford me the opportunity to get on an airplane or a boat or a train and go anywhere. But travel agents don’t receive the perks that people seem to think they are afforded simply for doing the job. There are a few… here and there… but the perceived floodgate of free travel for agents is a myth.

In 2001 a bunch of religious radicals decided to hijack several airplanes and use them as missiles against Americans. In the midst of the carnage, anger and pain I shared with my fellow Americans, I also had to cope with the realization that my time in the travel industry needed to come to an end before the agency where I worked closed its doors. In 2002, two months before leaving the agency, I took advantage of my one and only travel perk and went to Bermuda for three days. It was a business trip, a familiarization tour of the island in order to better sell it to my clients, which left little downtime for exploring the off-the-tourist-trail parts of a new destination that I adore discovering. But, I did get to enjoy the country and it was another stamp in my passport. It was also the last.

My passport expired in 2003. I didn’t renew it because future travel was not a blip on the radar of my life and I preferred to have an expired passport with visa stamps from varying countries than a valid passport which would have remained blank. An empty passport is just sad. The other stark reality? I simply couldn’t afford the renewal cost.

NOTE: The above was composed as the beginning to a potential autobiographical travel journal rediscovering, as an adult, the places I had explored in childhood. I was planning a trip to much beloved England at the time and the entire piece was constructed solidly in my mind... before the trip fell through. Therefore, my passport remains expired and I remain stateside and the book remains 3.15 chapters long and entirely unfinished.

From This Too, I Rest

2011-06-29T14:07:00.004-05:00

“Do not push so fast ahead, do slow down a bit! Otherwise you won't catch up with yourselves.” ~Franz Grillparzer

Yesterday was my final day of work for this week. Oh, I will return on the very same day next week; but, for a time, albeit brief, I will have some rest.

From this too, I shall abstain.

I need to feel pen on paper again. I type quickly enough that my fingers can almost pace my stream of consciousness and, though often useful when I am feeling rushed or when a topic flows easily, that gift can suppress the mind. Thinking on paper give freedom to scattered thought. There is no [Backspace] key.

It is a good time for reflection.

Not to mention, I do not have the convenience of an unlimited data plan on my cell and my parents have satellite internet and a non-working wireless router… and that is where I will be for a few days. The boys crave grandparent time.

See? It is a good time.

Consider me unplugged.

We That Never Was Us

2011-06-27T23:47:00.001-05:00

“O body swayed to music, O brightening glance,
How can we know the dancer from the dance?”
~William Butler Yeats, Among School Children

Why do we dance this charade?

You cloak your words amid the blindingly beautiful plumage of a peacock’s narcissistic strut. Tapping around innuendo, I coerce from you one feather… then two… masquerading behind false confidence.

You taunt with promise.
I feign indifference.

We tease the unknown.

I curtsy.
My eyes seduce from behind veil of steel.

You bow.
Your hand extending with burning anticipation.

We touch… Fire to Ice.

I melt.
You mock.

We pause…

Footsteps echo far.
Illumination dims.
I waltz alone behind the curtain.

We that never was Us deteriorates in dark silence.

Bittersweet Aftertaste

2011-06-26T14:36:00.001-05:00

Mount Kenya Safari Club - June 23, 1993

"I have learned that if you must leave a place that you have lived in and loved and where all your yesteryears are buried deep, leave it any way except a slow way, leave it the fastest way you can." ~Beryl Markham, West with the Night

I have been asked, on many occasions, what my choice would be in terms of a “dream job”. My answer changes depending on mood but it always includes travel. It wasn’t always so. At one time I intended to be an English teacher for high school students in their senior year… British Literature. Lucky(?) for me, life intervened and I didn’t finish my university degree. Had I completed on time then I would have been in the classroom before I realized that I really do abhor teenagers. (Oh, I love my own. Sort of. I’ll get back to you on that one.)

I have had a taste of this travel job or that one from time to time. In fact, I was a travel agent for a while. I thought my agency was going to go out of business (It didn’t, but it came close.) so I left. In my professional career… that’s the closest to “dream job” I have had the pleasure to come near; but, while quite tasty, it wasn’t the ideal daily meal either. I survived off the concept of “those who cannot go… send”. One should not live vicariously through one’s clients but I find myself doing it again as I now work in a resort.

The summer after my first year at university, however, I had the “job” of a lifetime though I didn’t get paid… monetarily. There was a professor from the U.S. Midwest who used to come teach classes at the seminary my father helped to found in Kenya. That summer he came to Kenya for a much different purpose. He had put together a tour group… made all the arrangements… planned the agenda, etc. He asked if I would be available, since I had returned to Kenya for the summer, to go along and be the group’s unofficial tour guide.

It was delectable.

That opportunity taught me a lot about people and about myself and even about my Kenya… as we visited places I had never been before and I had to do a bit of research after I received the itinerary. I remember vowing to take my “job” seriously despite having no professional experience and that is what I did. I also kept a journal. I dug it out as I began writing this post to discover that, after a few days, I simply stopped writing. Odd; however, what there is I now find extremely disjointed and juvenile. I enjoy the prompt of memories it evokes though reading it is quite painful.

I should have realized years ago how pleasing that particular two weeks of that particular summer was to my palate and changed the course of my life accordingly. Upon returning to school I should have switched career paths, studied anthropology or international business or something less I-adore-English-literature and more I-have-to-get-back-to-Kenya.

Oh, how I sometimes wish an aftertaste was as sweet as the original bite.

"But, for a little while, this is the place for us -- a good place too--a place of good omen, a place of beginning things--and of ending things I never thought would end." ~Beryl Markham, West with the Night

A Mild Jolt

2011-06-23T23:13:00.002-05:00

Diani Beach - Mombasa, Kenya - 1992

The healthy being craves an occasional wildness, a jolt from normality, a sharpening of the edge of appetite, his own little festival of Saturnalia, a brief excursion from his way of life. ~Robert M. Maclver, Sociologist

My father is a firm believer in vacations. It has taken every day of my life until today to realize that fact. Ridiculous, really, because he took them as often as possible. I do remember seeing him study Hebrew under a palm tree or reading a memo or two… always a little bit of work along for the ride; but, work on the beach is highly different than work in an office.

This realization has brought about an even greater longing for a “real” vacation than I had earlier this morning. Reason being? I haven’t had one in a ridiculous amount of time... a vacation... not the longing. That's standard. And, I have always been bothered by the fact that I did not have the means or opportunity to take my children on vacations like I took with my parents.

While growing up, our vacation location of choice was Mombasa, or sometimes Malindi, Kenya. There is no predicting what deal I would make with the devil to be in Mombasa right now. But, since I cannot be there, I have managed a very little time off (2 work days + a 3-day holiday weekend) next week. As I work in a resort and it is our busy season... it feels like a coup. It also won’t be enough but, at this point, I have no clue what would be enough. I also will not be on a beach or in a European cathedral or at a Broadway musical. I definitely won’t be in Mombasa or Rome or experiencing any form of wildness; but, I will be with my boys at my parent’s home.

It is time off… a brief excursion... a very mild jolt.

For this I am grateful.

I’m sure everyone at work is grateful too.

I am getting kind of stabby.

They should probably hide all sharp objects until I leave.

Not Unhappy

2011-06-22T10:35:00.001-05:00

Click the book to access the author's page.

“Never being happy isn't the same as being unhappy, is it?” ~Fame, Film (1980)

I am not unhappy.

I realize, in reading recent posts, that it must seem as though I am a rather miserable human being but that is not the case. Tired? Yes. In dire need a vacation that will not be coming any time in the near future? Yes. A little frazzled? Yes. But… not unhappy.

I purge my feelings on paper or… on blog. It’s what I do. I write and then say, “Whew! I feel better.” You should see my journals.

One of my favorite books on the planet (I think I have referenced it before.) is Eric G. Wilson’s Against Happiness: In Praise of Melancholy. It is exactly what it sounds like. He points out that without melancholy we wouldn’t have the paintings of Van Gogh or any number of other amazing artists. Without melancholy we wouldn’t have the music of Beethoven or the poetry of Keats. I do not know how you feel about it… but, Hooray melancholy! If you ever read my poetry then it will be clear to you that I never write “happy” poetry. I have tried. It does not work. I am not comparing myself to Keats or Poe or Byron. Not at all; but, creatively, melancholy works for me.

There is a difference between normal human melancholia and put-me-on-death-watch depression. I am getting pretty darn good at recognizing the difference. Or, if I feel the latter coming my way, I tell those around me. They begin to watch my behaviors. If things don’t change for me then I jaunt of to the hot doctor and beg for new meds. It’s a cycle. Woo bipolarity. But, if things do improve with a little time, then I know I just needed a little time to let it improve. Profound, huh?

Americans are impatient. They don’t like to wait for things to get better; hence… this country is ridiculously over-medicated. Read here what Wilson has to say:

Surely all this happiness can’t be for real. How can so many people be happy in the midst of all the problems that beset our globe—not only the collective and apocalyptic ills just mentioned but also those particular irritations that bedevil our everyday existences, those money issues and marital spats, those stifling vocations and lonely dawns? Are we to believe that four out of every five Americans can be content amid the general woe? Are some people lying, or are they simply afraid to be honest in a culture in which the status quo is nothing short of manic bliss? Aren’t we suspicious of this statistic? Aren’t we further troubled by our culture’s overemphasis on happiness? Don’t we fear that this rabid focus on exuberance leads to half-lives, to bland existences, to wastelands of mechanistic behavior?

I for one am afraid that our American culture’s overemphasis on happiness at the expense of sadness might be dangerous, a wanton forgetting of an essential part of a full life. I further am wary in the face of this possibility: to desire only happiness in a world undoubtedly tragic is to become inauthentic, to settle for unrealistic abstractions that ignore concrete situations. I am finally fearful over or society’s efforts to expunge melancholia from the system. Without the agitations of the soul, would all of our magnificently yearning towers topple? Would our heart-torn symphonies cease?

I want to get to the bottom of these fears, to see if they’re legitimate or just neurotic grumblings. My feeling right now is that they are valid. This sense grows out of my suspicion that the predominant form of American happiness breeds blandness. This kind of happiness appears to entertain a craven disregard for the value of sadness. This brand of supposed joy, moreover, seems to foster an ongoing ignorance of life’s enduring and vital polarity between agony and ecstasy, dejection and ebullience. Trying to forget sadness and its integral place in the great rhythm of the cosmos, this sort of happiness insinuates in the end that the blues are an aberrant state that should be cursed as weakness of will or removed with the help of a little pink pill.

Let me be clear. I’m right now thinking only of this specific American type of happiness. I’m not questioning joy in general. For instance, I’m not challenging that unbearable exuberance that suddenly emerges from long suffering. I’m not troubled by that hard-earned tranquility that comes from long meditation on the world’s sorrows. I’m not criticizing that slow-burning bliss that issues from a life spent helping those who hurt.

Likewise, I’d like to be clear about this: I don’t want to romanticize clinical depression. I realize that there are many lost souls out there who require medication to keep from killing themselves or harming their friends and families. I don’t want to question the pharmaceutical therapies of the depressed. Not only am I not qualified to do this (I’m not a psychotherapist marshaling evidence, but a literary humanist searching for a deeper life), I’m also not willing to argue against medication that simply make existence bearable for so many with biochemical disorders.

I do, however, wonder why so many people experiencing melancholia are now taking pills meant simply to ease the pain, to turn scowls once more into smiles. Of course there is a fine line between what I’m calling melancholia and what society calls depression. In my mind, what separates the two is a degree of activity. Both forms are more or less chronic sadness that leads to ongoing unease with how things are—persistent feelings that the world as it is is not quite right, that it is a place of suffering, stupidity, and evil. Depression (as I see it, at least) causes apathy in the face of this unease, lethargy approaching total paralysis, an inability to feel much of anything one way or another. In contrast, melancholia (in my eyes) generates a deep feeling in regard to this same anxiety, a turbulence of heart that results in an active questioning of the status quo, a perpetual longing to create new ways of being and seeing.

Our culture seems to confuse these two and thus treat melancholia as an aberrant state, a vile threat to our pervasive notions of happiness—happiness as immediate gratification, happiness as superficial comfort, happiness as static contentment. Of course the question immediately arises: Who wouldn’t question this apparently hollow form of American happiness? Aren’t all of us late at night, when we’re honest with ourselves, opposed to shallow happiness? Most likely we are, but isn’t it possible that many of us fall into superficiality without knowing it? Aren’t some of us so smitten with the American dream that we have become brainwashed into believing that our sole purpose on this earth is to be happy? Doesn’t this unwitting affection for happiness over sadness lead us to a one-sided life, to bliss without discomfort, bright noon with no night?

My sense is that most of us have been duped by the American craze for happiness. We might thing that we’re leading a truly honest existence, one attuned to vivid realities and blooded hearts, when we’re really just behaving as predictably and artificially as robots, falling easily into well-worn “happy” behaviors, into the convention of contentment, into obvious grins. Deceived, we miss out on the great interplay of the living cosmos, its luminous gloom, its terrible beauty.

The American dream may be a nightmare. What passes for bliss could well be a dystopia of flaccid grins. Our passion for felicity hints at an ominous hatred for all that grows and thrives and then dies—for all those curious thrushes moving among autumn’s brownish indolence, for those blue dahlias seemingly hollowed with sorrow, for all those gloomy souls who long for clouds above high windows. I’d hate for us to awaken one morning and regret what we’ve done in the name of untroubled enjoyment. I’d hate for us to crawl out of our beds and walk out into a country denuded of gorgeous lonely roads and the grandeur of desolate hotels, of half-cracked geniuses and their frantic poems. I’d hate for us to come to consciousness when it’s too late to live.

I thought to try and edit down that passage but I feel the world at large, and Americans in particular, need to be aware of how wrong we are to fear our melancholia. It is not to be feared. It is to be harnessed… and I am taking the time to tap into it while it is present.

I may be a tad more melancholic than my friends would like me to be at the moment, but I am not (and you know me to be true to my word) unhappy.

For more of Eric G. Wilson’s work you can visit HIS BLOG or purchase his books from Amazon. His latest is My Business Is To Create: Blake's Infinite Writing which garnered a reaction from me akin to… Gasp! Blake! I do so adore William Blake.

Brain Questing

2011-06-20T20:32:00.003-05:00

A friend of mine was leaving work this afternoon when, in the course of the usual “see you later” discussion, I blatantly suggested we go out for dinner. She accepted. I don’t really have the money for dinner… not after this past weekend when I treated another good friend and fellow single mom to a night out. She needed it. And, quite apparently, I must look like I need dinner tonight for my friend offered to pay.

Then this happened:

Yep, I announced to my entire Twitter feed that I had no desire to be alone with myself. Awesome. I always have been brutally honest to a fault. Someone should stop me. Maybe. Okay… not, but a filter would be nice.

And then, before I could complete my post, this happened:

With my boys staying with their father for the bulk of the summer, I have more time on my hands. It is not time I am particularly fond of having. When they are here I don’t get much time to be overly cerebral. The sheer madness and cacophony of motherhood prevents it. When I am alone… it comes at me regardless of what I am doing… from every angle. I can be cooking, writing, reading, walking, working out (more of that should be happening), watching TV or any other manner of activity and my brain will find an opening and start to over ponder, well, everything. E-V-E-R-Y-T-H-I-N-G!

Dang brain questing.

“Where does it come from—this quest, this need to solve life's mysteries when the simplest of questions can never be answered? Why are we here? What is the soul? Why do we dream? Perhaps we'd be better off not looking at all. Not delving, not yearning. But that's not human nature. Not the human heart. That is not why we are here.” ~Heroes 1.1, TV Show

Conquering Everest(s)

2011-06-19T21:48:00.002-05:00

There are a lot of things in this world with which I don’t deal too particularly well. Some, such as racism and blatant ignorance, rile my anger and I make no effort to hide it. Others, especially those that are ridiculously personal or hit me on a much despised emotional level, end up internalized and running amok within my psyche. Two of those in the latter category have taken over this week: Hope & Insecurity.

I know. You are wondering why I have a problem dealing with Hope. It’s a positive thing, right? In theory? Yes. But Hope, falsely given, is… I’m trying to find a word more severe than “cruel”, but it seems to be the only one coming to mind. False Hope is cruel. And, over the course of adulthood, I have been presented with Hope, falsely so, over and over again. Unfortunately, false Hope looks exactly like Hope until far too late. People wonder why I am wary and jaded. I am told I have to take down my barriers, let people in and be vulnerable. I am glad that works for most people and some day it may work for me; but, as of yet, I have found that the positives do not outweigh the negatives for me.

Inability to deal with insecurity is a lot easier for most individuals to understand. It seems we all have them in some form or another. My insecurities are raging right now. Recent events have compounded some of the more deeply embedded vulnerabilities. More misplaced trust in false Hope has even created or revealed insecurities I was unaware I had. But, now they are here.

I deal… as best I can… with what confidence I have left.

“It is not the mountain we conquer but ourselves.” ~Sir Edmund Hillary

[In case you were wondering… I bailed on the #Trust30 writing challenge. I found myself suddenly much uninspired by the prompts. I still enjoy reading the responses by others but, personally, it is not for me any more. C’est la vie.]

15: One Thing

2011-06-15T22:07:00.007-05:00

Do your work, and I shall know you. Do your work, and you shall reinforce yourself. ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

[In celebration of Ralph Waldo Emerson’s 208th birthday… we pledge to write... #Trust30.]

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Take a moment, step back from your concerns, and focus on one thing: You have one life to achieve everything you’ve ever wanted. Sounds simple, but when you really focus on it, let it seep into your consciousness; you realize you only have about 100 years to get every single thing you’ve ever wanted to do. No second chances. This is your only shot. Suddenly, this means you should have started yesterday. No more waiting for permission or resources to start. Today is the day you make the rest of your life happen. Write down one thing you’ve always wanted to do and how you will achieve that goal. Don’t be afraid to be very specific in how you’ll achieve it: once you start achieving, your goals will get bigger and your capability to meet them will grow.

(Author: Colin Wright)

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This is, to date, the most difficult prompt for me to address. There are far too many “one thing(s)” in my life…all equally important. Some are selfish. Others are ridiculously unselfish. And… one would probably save my life. How to choose?

[elevator music]

This is the part where I tell you I was able to decide on one thing but it is something I am not quite ready to share with the world… yet. But, I’ve started a project to document my “one thing” and someday, when I am ready, I’ll make it public.

I promise you will all be the first to know.

14: Hidden Paths

2011-06-13T20:16:00.010-05:00

When good is near you, when you have life in yourself, it is not by any known or accustomed way; you shall not discern the foot-prints of any other; you shall not see the face of man; you shall not hear any name; the way, the thought, the good, shall be wholly strange and new. ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

[In celebration of Ralph Waldo Emerson’s 208th birthday… we pledge to write... #Trust30.]

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The world buzzes about goals and visions. Focus. Create a vivid picture of exactly where you want to go. Dream big, then don’t let anything or anyone stop you. The problem, as Daniel Gilbert wrote in Stumbling Upon Happiness, is that we’re horrible at forecasting how we’ll really feel 10 or 20 years from now – once we’ve gotten what we dreamed of. Often, we get there only to say, “That’s not what I thought it would be,” and ask, “What now?” Ambition is good. Blind ambition is not. It blocks out not only distraction, but the many opportunities that might take you off course but that may also lead you in a new direction. Consistent daily action is only a virtue when bundled with a willingness to remain open to the unknown. In this exercise, look at your current quest and ask, “What alternative opportunities, interpretations and paths am I not seeing?” They’re always there, but you’ve got to choose to see them.

(Author: Jonathan Fieldsl)

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The Pulsing Heart vs. The Logical Mind: In the struggle for purpose, each perceives itself as the more powerful… the one to be heeded… the one that is right.

Are they both not correct?

Why the battle?

Can the yearning of the heart and the reasoning of the mind not call a truce and converge into a clearly distinguishable common path of life? We of the human species pick sides. Some of us listen to our hearts. Others are ruled by good sense. In my experience it is a rare occurrence, though not impossible, for a person to listen to both.

It is my nature to long to follow my heart. I don’t.

Living in this chemically imbalanced body, which habitually adapts to each new medication within a matter of months, forces to me to question the validity of every “natural” impulse. In truth, there has probably been many a path I chose not to walk down because I questioned my own judgment. Hopefully I saved myself from making terrible mistakes… most of the time. Odds are one or more of those paths should have been followed.

“What alternative opportunities, interpretations and paths am I not seeing?”

I don’t have a clue. I don't allow myself to see them.

My current path is to bring up my boys to be modern day knights. That is the goal. That is what I do every single day. I'm raising my kids and preparing for the me I really want to be once they are grown. In the meantime, I work in hospitality. Time for me will come. True, more preparation should be taking place. I need to take off the single-minded blinders and start letting my peripheral vision pick up on what I may have been missing.

Problem is… those blinders will probably require a crowbar.

13: Finding the Mojo

2011-06-13T00:14:00.013-05:00

I'm the blonde wielding the "weapon" which, incidentally, I keep by my bed.

“I will not hide my tastes or aversions. I will so trust that what is deep is holy, if we follow the truth, it will bring us out safe at last.” ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

[In celebration of Ralph Waldo Emerson’s 208th birthday… we pledge to write... #Trust30.]

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Think of a time when you didn’t think you were capable of doing something, but then surprised yourself. How will you surprise yourself this week?

(Author: Ashley Ambirge)

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In high school, every single time I went to tryouts, I never thought I would make the sports team for that particular semester; which, had you known me in high school, you would realize was a completely ridiculous notion. Beth in high school = Jock. I was naturally athletic.

I remember finding out in first grade that our school had a “Sports Day” and I was fascinated. That day is when I discovered I could run a sprint faster than anyone in my class. Oh, I had been good at kickball and other P.E. Class (physical education) games but this was different. The next year, in second grade… at the age of seven, my friend A.S. and I trained for Sports Day. TRAINED. We took it very, very seriously.

Still, as I got older, every tryout was unnerving. Every one a chance for failure. Yes, every time I made a team I was truly surprised. [Except track, of course, but I assumed responsibility for track events personally. After all, track isn’t exactly a team sport. I was on a team but it was individual performance that mattered most. The other two sports of my choice were basketball and field hockey.]

Then I lost my mojo. The reasons are numerous. Among them are an incredibly difficult pregnancy in which I gained over 70 pounds, a generous amount of time spent in the bowels of self-loathing (aka: depression) and living with someone not so keen on the idea of me losing weight or rediscovering that mojo I was missing.

I have written here, on this blog, over and over again about how “now is the time” for me to take control. I will no longer allow the excess weight to define me. I will no longer use the pregnancy excuse or the inevitable bipolar medication weight gain excuse. True? Yes. Still excuses. I get fired up. I get ready to make a change. I stick with daily exercise and a healthier diet for two weeks… maybe a month… and then my good intentions fade into oblivion. I have motivation issues.

The urge to do this is reclaiming my every thought... again. Wouldn’t it be lovely if I surprised myself this week with the motivation of my seven-year-old self and the mojo to back it up?

12: Petrified of the Amazing

2011-06-12T10:00:00.009-05:00

These are the voices which we hear in solitude, but they grow faint and inaudible as we enter into the world. Society everywhere is in conspiracy against the manhood of every one of its members. ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

[In celebration of Ralph Waldo Emerson’s 208th birthday… we pledge to write... #Trust30.]

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Is fear holding you back from living your fullest life and being truly self expressed? Put yourself in the shoes of the you who’s already lived your dream and write out the answers to the following:

Is the insecurity you’re defending worth the dream you’ll never realize? or the love you’ll never venture? or the joy you’ll never feel?

Will the blunder matter in 10 years? Or 10 weeks? Or 10 days? Or 10 minutes?

Can you be happy being anything less than who you really are?

Now Do. The Thing. You Fear.

(Author: Lachlan Cotterl)

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Put myself in the shoes of the me who has already lived my dream…

… the me who many never live that dream?

Maybe this is my dream. Clearly it is my purpose. Or, it is now.

I lived so many tortured years feeling angry and guilty that I was forced to live with the consequences of my own not-in-my-right-mind actions. Not normal actions, mind you… I can deal with those. Accepting responsibility has never been my problem. Coming to terms with decisions that I made and actions I took prior to my bipolar diagnosis, however, has been the most difficult personal reconciliation of my adult life. One ridiculously manic summer, the year I turned nineteen, drastically altered the path of my life… for many more minutes than ten and years far beyond ten.

Here’s the kicker: Given a time machine and the chance to change it, would I? Likely not.

This is who I am… although something is missing. I have yet to pinpoint exactly what that something is to me… but I know it is vital. I know that when I find it, I will be unstoppable… and that is my fear. Yes, to an extent, I am petrified of the amazing within me.

Can I be happy with less than who I really am? Yes.

Can I be content? No.

It’s time to start pulling back the layers in search of what I am missing. Hopefully I will know how to control what I find.

11: Divine Idea

2011-06-10T22:09:00.015-05:00

“Imitation is Suicide. Insist on yourself; never imitate.” ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

[In celebration of Ralph Waldo Emerson’s 208th birthday… we pledge to write... #Trust30.]

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Write down in which areas of your life you have to overcome these suicidal tendencies of imitation, and how you can transform them into a newborn you – one that doesn’t hide its uniqueness, but thrives on it. There is a “divine idea which each of us represents” – which is yours?

(Author: Fabian Kruse)

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A “divine idea” that represents me sounds suspiciously like my motto from my last post:

“My job is not to impress people, it’s to intrigue them.”

Perhaps I am fated to be one day ahead of the prompts. Or not.

I do have a divine idea. Quite grand, in fact. It’s one I have had for years though I cannot claim that it is unique. It is very possible someone else has had the very same idea. It would be lovely if it were implemented. And, yes, I guess it does represent me… in a way. I am extremely analytical, I like to solve problems and I care deeply about both humanity and this planet.

My idea? Interstate aqueducts. Hey! Do as the Romans do… or did, right?

Here in the United States we have this ridiculously semi-organized interstate road system that interconnects all over the place. We also have a water problem. Some places have too little… others have too much. There are even areas humans were not necessarily meant to populate and, yet, we did. Ahem! Las Vegas. We built reservoirs such as Lake Mead to be the main water source for these slightly uninhabitable locations and expected them to last forever. They are not. The aforementioned Lake Mead, for example, is dropping rapidly. We people are using the water out of the lake faster than it is going into the lake. It isn’t about to be a problem. It’s already a problem.

Instead of funding more dams or levees or dikes with the vain notion that humanity can control or stop water, why are we not using that money to construct an aqueduct system that runs parallel with the interstate system that already exists in order to divert it?

Aqueducts with reversible pumping systems could help us lessen a disaster in one area in order to alleviate a disaster or drought in another area. The recent floods in the Mississippi River valley alone would have refilled the rapidly shrinking Lake Mead and other disappearing reservoirs with water to spare. I’m not suggesting we change the landscape of our country. There is no need to alter the beauty of the deserts of the southwest by turning it all into lush farmland although, as the economy continues to deteriorate, perhaps that isn’t such a bad idea either.

But, I’m not an engineer. The concept seems simple to me… possible, even. Underground? Above ground? Probably a bit of both. With our technology… we can do this. Every time I take a road trip I find myself analyzing the landscape and interstate interchanges just to try and prove myself wrong because… seriously… has no one else thought of this before?

This is my idea. It is divine.

PS – I think Emerson is wrong. I don’t believe imitation is suicide, but… that’s a tangent for another day.

10: Be You!

2011-06-09T21:09:00.015-05:00

Uh.. yes, that's me. Names removed to protect the guilty.

“To believe your own thought, to believe that what is true for you in your private heart is true for all men, that is genius.” ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

[In celebration of Ralph Waldo Emerson’s 208th birthday… we pledge to write... #Trust30.]

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What is burning deep inside of you? If you could spread your personal message RIGHT NOW to 1 million people, what would you say?

(Author: Eric Handler)

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My advice: BE YOU! I could get political or force a cause for which I am passionate (Ahem! Global warming.) down your throats; but, I’m convinced the world would be a better place were we all predisposed to BE OURSELVES without absorbing the negative influences others have on our personalities.

I adopted a motto in high school… immortalizing it in my twelfth grade yearbook (see photo):

“My job is not to impress people, it’s to intrigue them.”

In seventh grade I began attending Rift Valley Academy, a boarding school in Kijabe, Kenya, by my own choice. I had other options but I wanted to attend RVA. That year my brother was a senior and his athletic, very good looking presence made me one of the more popular junior high students. That ended with his graduation.

Things changed once he was gone. Teasing about my size began. I was small. Very small. The quintessential tomboy, I also didn’t give much thought to clothes, hair or make-up. I spent two rather miserable years during eighth and ninth grade. I took solace in the confidence and instruction of one very influential teacher and sports. I played junior high basketball (my weakest sport) and junior varsity field hockey my ninth grade year; but, then… I earned my varsity letter in track … as a freshman (Which, I just realized for the first time, isn’t mentioned in my yearbook photo. HA! Varsity Track 9, 11, 12.). Apparently that prestige meant something and just before the end of that year being in my presence was no longer taboo… and I hated it. I wanted to be liked for me. In truth, to this day I really have no idea why I was so disliked those years. It doesn’t really matter now.

The following year, in tenth grade, we were located in the States and I was away from boarding school for one year. I chose to not play sports that year, despite being asked, and I think my body took a breather. It decided to grow. I had just passed five foot at the end of the prior school year. Ten months later I was five foot six inches. I began to care more about my appearance. With the new body came a better wardrobe, make-up and a rather glorious mane of hair.

I returned to Rift Valley Academy to visit at the end of my classmates 10th grade year since the USA school year ended earlier. It was a Saturday and there was a rugby tournament. I wanted to mingle and visit. I found myself introducing myself to astonished faces. People I had known for years didn’t recognize me. Again I found a semblance of “popularity” and again I despised it for what it was. I made two pledges to myself that day for when my junior year began in September:

1) I would never treat anyone as I had been treated during those eight and ninth grade years.

2) I would be me. Only me. I wouldn’t accept popularity simply because I was more cute or prettier. I would do what I could to befriend everyone.

That’s when I coined my motto and tried to live as such. And, my final two years of high school were amazing. I know, we aren’t supposed to like high school, but I did. At least… my junior and senior years. My commitment to being me didn’t work for everyone. There were those who didn’t like me for it and I chose not to care. After all, I wasn’t there to make a good impression.

It worked for me.

It can work for you.

9: Bene Gesserit

2011-06-08T19:48:00.011-05:00

“The other terror that scares us from self-trust is our consistency; a reverence for our past act or word, because the eyes of others have no other data for computing our orbit than our past acts, and we are loath to disappoint them.” ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

[In celebration of Ralph Waldo Emerson’s 208th birthday… we pledge to write... #Trust30.]

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Emerson says: “Always do what you are afraid to do.” What is ‘too scary’ to write about? Try doing it now.

(Author: Mary Jaksch)

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I think we have pretty much established here that I will write about pretty much anything. And… if I don’t write about it here then I’m definitely writing about it somewhere. It’s what I do. I purge. There have been times I’ve written things and then burned the pages. That’s serious purge. I have kept my sanity by purging my fears on paper since I was in elementary school.

What is ‘too scary’ to write about? Nothing, really. So, I give you this:

“I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear... And when it is gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear is gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.” ~Frank Herbert, Dune

8: Dimensionally Transcendental

2011-06-07T22:28:00.012-05:00

“There will be an agreement in whatever variety of actions, so they be each honest and natural in their hour.” ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

[In celebration of Ralph Waldo Emerson’s 208th birthday… we pledge to write... #Trust30.]

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What would you say to the person you were five years ago? What will you say to the person you’ll be in five years?

(Author: Corbett Barr)

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5 Years Past

I know you are scared. In truth, I would be worrying about you if calm and stoic was all I sensed from you right now. This shows you care. No one gives up on twelve years without second thoughts. You will do this and, yes, it will be hard. You will be fine. The boys will hurt, you know this, but they will be okay too… in time. Three pieces of advice: 1) Do not let yourself get drawn into ridiculous arguments or rehashing of behaviors. 2) Do not jump into anything else too soon. Seriously. 3) Quit trying so hard to leave Arkadelphia. It’s not so bad. There is a reason you are here but it is not going to be realized for a few more years. Have patience. Oh… and call your grandfather.

5 Years Future

I refuse to make any assumptions about where you are in life right now. I hope you are happy. No, that isn’t enough… I hope you are content. I hope you are not alone. I hope you are pursuing something you love even if only for your own personal satisfaction and not any sort of monetary gain. And, for the love of biscuits and gravy, I hope you stopped eating them and started truly taking care of yourself. Let me see you. Yes! Good girl.

Pardon me, but does anyone have a TARDIS I might borrow for a moment?

7: Being Realistic

2011-06-06T15:10:00.005-05:00

© Warner Bros.
“Our arts, our occupations, our marriages, our religion, we have not chosen, but society has chosen for us. We are parlour soldiers. We shun the rugged battle of fate, where strength is born.” ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

[In celebration of Ralph Waldo Emerson’s 208th birthday… we pledge to write... #Trust30.]

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The idea of “being realistic” holds all of us back. From starting a business or quitting a job to dating someone who may not be our type or moving to a new place – getting “real” often means putting your dreams on hold.

Today, let’s take a step away from rational thought and dare to be bold. What’s one thing you’ve always wanted to accomplish but have been afraid to pursue? Write it down. Also write down the obstacles in your way of reaching your goal. Finally, write down a tangible plan to overcome each obstacle.

The only thing left is to, you know, actually go make it happen. What are you waiting for?

(Author: Matt Cheuvront)

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There is nothing wrong with “being realistic” when, as a natural dreamer, I need a bit of realism to bring me down from La-La Land. There are certain scenarios, and mine definitely qualifies, where responsibility and realism and rational thought absolutely must prevail. Being bold can have both drastically good and bad consequences. I know this from experience.

There are many things that I’ve wanted to accomplish but being “afraid to pursue” them hasn’t exactly been the problem. I’m not afraid of much... except love. Yes, love. More accurately: Being loved. Pursuing other accomplishments doesn’t scare me but doing so would likely not be in the best interest of my children at the moment.

The big “to do” on my list is finishing my college degree which, for a myriad of ridiculously valid reasons, has been on hold for many, many moons. I actually applied to a local university this time last year and I was accepted; however, I never made it to enrollment for the fall semester. Thank goodness. There was a series of events that took place last fall that would have forced me to drop out… again. Can you imagine how disheartening that would have been? To go back to school after x-number of years only to withdraw a few weeks into your first semester back? Had that occurred, my dream to finish would have been shattered forever. As it is… I’ve merely put back on the shelf and I am waiting for the right time.

That’s why we have logic. Some dreams should be pursued. Others should not. Certain dreams are meant to be realized only at certain times. “Being realistic” is what helps realize what is important and what is not.

Tread carefully when peering over the side of the bridge everyone else seems to be jumping off of in the name of personal satisfaction. You might just slip before getting your bungee harness attached… dragging your dependents with you.

Quote from the rest of that really long prompt:
“Next to Resistance, rational thought is the artist or entrepreneurs worst enemy. Bad things happen when we employ rational thought, because rational thought comes from the ego. Instead, we want to work from the Self, that is, from instinct and intuition, from the unconscious. A child has no trouble believing the unbelievable, nor does the genius or the madman. It’s only you and I, with our big brains and our tiny hearts, who doubt and overthink and hesitate.” ~ Steven Pressfield, Do the Work

6: Alive & Spinning

2011-06-05T23:25:00.002-05:00

“Life wastes itself while we are preparing to live.” ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

[In celebration of Ralph Waldo Emerson’s 208th birthday… we pledge to write... #Trust30.]

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If you had one week left to live, would you still be doing what you’re doing now? In what areas of your life are you preparing to live? Take them off your To Do list and add them to a To Stop list. Resolve to only do what makes you come alive. Bonus: How can your goals improve the present and not keep you in a perpetual “always something better” spiral?

(Author: Jonathan Mead)

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Why is it that we, as humans, think we can change things once we are faced with our own mortality? We all die. Today. Tomorrow. One week. Whenever. Would I change what I am doing right now if I only had one week to live? No. Not really. What I’m doing is providing for my two boys. There are days when I am barely hanging on by the finest thread but I am managing. It is this that does not allow me the freedom to just jaunt off in search of a dream that may or may not ever become a reality. Are there other ways I could make money? Sure. Would I have the health benefits? Retirement plan? Life insurance? No. My children need me more than I need my passing flights of fancy.

Giving my children what they need fills me with more life than any job. Do I think there is more for me out there? Yes. Am I stuck on the spiral? Pretty much. You have to admit it’s a pretty groovy spiral.

I am happy enough.

Of course, it does not matter if I’m doing what I’m doing now or if I have the ultimate I-can’t-believe-I-get-paid-for-this dream job… one week? I’ll quit everything and spend every single moment with my boys.

5: Travel Is My Tequila

2011-06-04T23:40:00.008-05:00

“If we live truly, we shall see truly.” ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

[In celebration of Ralph Waldo Emerson’s 208th birthday… we pledge to write... #Trust30.]

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Not everyone wants to travel the world, but most people can identify at least one place in the world they’d like to visit before they die. Where is that place for you, and what will you do to make sure you get there?

(Author: Chris Guillebeau)

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I have this friend who claims she can’t drink tequila because it makes her clothes fall off. In short: It’s her weakness… her drug. For my closest friend it is music. Clarification: Ridiculously amazing guitar.

Me? Travel is my tequila.

Travel excites me more than pretty much anything. How blunt can I be to illustrate this point? I am an incredibly sexual being who has been celibate far longer than I care to admit; however, if I was offered one amazing night with a gorgeous and skilled man OR one day in London all expenses paid… I would choose London. I can find a man in London but I can’t find London in a man. Ditto for Prague, Sydney, Edinburgh, Manila, Santiago… you get the point.

Therefore, this question is evil. E-V-I-L! My “I want to visit…” laundry list is actually pretty short. It reads: “Everywhere!”

And, yet, I have a place in mind. It’s a place where I have already traveled rather extensively because I lived there: Kenya. Duh. I’m homesick. Really, really homesick. It’s been a long and painful sixteen years since I set foot on the African continent. There is also the not-so-small fact that I desperately want my boys to visit the country where I was raised. It is vitally important to me.

What will I do to make sure I get there… with two other individuals in tow? I don’t have a damn clue. Publishers Clearing House? Generous benefactor? Lottery? Sugar daddy?

4: Post-It

2011-06-03T19:48:00.002-05:00

That which each can do best, none but his Maker can teach him. Where is the master who could have taught Shakespeare? Where is the master who could have instructed Franklin, or Washington, or Bacon, or Newton? . . . Shakespeare will never be made by the study of Shakespeare. Do that which is assigned you, and you cannot hope too much or dare too much ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

[In celebration of Ralph Waldo Emerson’s 208th birthday… we pledge to write... #Trust30.]

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Identify one of your biggest challenges at the moment (ie I don’t feel passionate about my work) and turn it into a question (ie How can I do work I’m passionate about?) Write it on a post-it and put it up on your bathroom mirror or the back of your front door. After 48-hours, journal what answers came up for you and be sure to evaluate them. Bonus: tweet or blog a photo of your post-it

(Author: Jenny Blake)

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Post-Its posted. They read:

"How do I resurrect within me the murdered and

buried traits that I need to be wholly me again?"

I’ve got a skip day to ponder this little development that I’ve chosen to never actually write down. On Sunday I may or may not have something to write about it.

[Jeopary Music]

It's 2256 on Sunday and I've got nothin'. Really. Truth is: I would have to go pretty far into the rabbit hole of my mind to deal with this particular question and that isn't the wisest course of action at the moment. It is deep and dark in there. I am already battling the urge to slip into a few months of severe melancholia. Spelunking in the brain cave would only make that worse. I find it best to stay up here on the surface for the time being. I'm not shallow. Not really. I'm a survivalist.

3: Belief

2011-06-02T23:27:00.002-05:00

It is easy in the world to live after the world’s opinion; it is easy in solitude to live after our own; but the great man is he who in the midst of the crowd keeps with perfect sweetness the independence of solitude. ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson, Self-Reliance

[In celebration of Ralph Waldo Emerson’s 208th birthday… we pledge to write... #Trust30.]

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The world is powered by passionate people, powerful ideas, and fearless action. What’s one strong belief you possess that isn’t shared by your closest friends or family? What inspires this belief, and what have you done to actively live it?

(Author: Buster Benson)

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Belief. Wow.

Beliefs are faulty. Weak. Individual beliefs change as often as some of us change our hairstyles or even our shoes. Passion in a belief is not enough to protect it. One must have faith. Complete trust in the intangibles of a belief is its strength. And… I’m not just talking religion though the words “belief” and “faith” traditionally summon up religious discussion even when not intended. Remember, people actually believed this planet was flat.

What do I believe?

Renewal.

It’s a broad term, I realize.

Renewal.

If I were not able to be renewed then I would no longer live on this earth. I live in a body that, due to various chemical imbalances, often takes over for the not-so-good. Depression often leaves my loved ones wondering how to reach me. Mania often leaves me picking up the pieces, living with the circumstances of vital decisions made in an unhealthy state of mind and wondering exactly what happened last week… last month.

Renewal of Mind.

Renewal of Spirit.

Renewal of Body.

Renewal of Hope.

Renewal of Soul.

Renewal: This I believe.

2: Today

2011-06-02T20:08:00.010-05:00

Your genuine action will explain itself, and will explain your other genuine actions. Your conformity explains nothing. The force of character is cumulative. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson, Self-Reliance

[In celebration of Ralph Waldo Emerson’s 208th birthday… we pledge to write... #Trust30.]

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If ‘the voyage of the best ship is a zigzag line of a hundred tacks,’ then it is more genuine to be present today than to recount yesterdays. How would you describe today using only one sentence? Tell today’s sentence to one other person. Repeat each day.

(Author: Liz Danzico)

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Come back. I shall “repeat each day” as instructed... but only for the month of June.

June 1
I wish I were the one leaving for vacation.

June 2

There is a towel on the floor by my bed and I can’t help but wonder why no one has picked it up and thrown it into the ring on my behalf.

June 3
It's possible the only relationships I don't eff up are those between me and my boys.

June 4
'X-Men: First Class' is the far superior X-Men movie except for that whole Summers family chronology thing.

June 5

I dislike yard maintenance quite intensely.

June 6
In ten days I'll have a sixteen year old in the house.

June 7
White blood cell powers activate!!!

June 8
I miss the summer vacations of my childhood.

June 9
It feels like Friday which means it should be Friday, damn it!

1: Fifteen Minutes

2011-06-01T22:22:00.005-05:00

We are afraid of truth, afraid of fortune, afraid of death, and afraid of each other. Our age yields no great and perfect persons. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

[In celebration of Ralph Waldo Emerson’s 208th birthday… we pledge to write... #Trust30.]

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You just discovered you have fifteen minutes to live.

1. Set a timer for fifteen minutes.
2. Write the story that has to be written.

(Author: Gwen Bell)

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It’s always been a race against the clock, my life. At times… a sprint. Other times… a marathon. This last fifteen minutes, still that of no fame, lingers. The taunt of the last tick and the very final tock tempt from me no revelation. No confession. Strangely, no regrets.

Imprints of a life lived attach to glistening grains siphoning through my immobile hourglass… and plunge into oblivion. One tear… two, for the children I leave, fall too. Hardened salt diamonds, long suppressed behind stoic eyes, shatter on dry cheeks. Shards of silenced pain, anger and sadness litter my breast… melting in the scorching warmth of a soul in solace.

I breathe.

The air of freedom is sweeter.

It is finished.

14:59

Hindered Indexing

2011-06-01T20:39:00.004-05:00

“I think housework is the reason most women go to the office.” ~Heloise Cruse

Last Friday, when I was supposed to be at work but was at home instead doing housework because I’d taken the day off, I tried to sever my right index finger from my body. In truth, “try” is not the most accurate of terms for what happened. Let’s go with “involuntary self mutilation”. I was washing dishes. There was a glass. It broke in my hand. Just call me She-Hulk. Or don’t.

My initial reaction was something akin to…

Huh?

Are you kidding me?

Look at that.

F*CK!

…and not a word uttered aloud. No tears. No drama. I have had worse pain. Seriously.

I found some gauze and medical tape and proceeded to bandage my finger as tightly as possible. I’m right-handed, in case you were wondering, so the dressing… as affixed by my less dexterous left hand… could have been neater. And tighter.

Two hours later (Yeah, I know.) I changed the dressing and made the determination that I would have to make my way to the hospital emergency room. The blood. It was still flowing. Have you ever tried to sign ER admission paperwork with a less than capable dominant hand? It isn’t easy. But… after a gratefully short wait, a discussion with my nurse about how she sliced the top of her left index finger off while shaving (Home is dangerous!), a tetanus shot, abrupt ER doc who proceeded to pull the wound apart before telling me it looked as though it would knit itself just fine (Hence, no stitches. Bastard.), a much tighter pressure bandage, a bag full of supplies for future bandage changes and a $100 copay (Whew! Insurance.)… I left.

It should not need clarifying but the index finger, folks, is the one next to the thumb. It is not the “isolate by itself and point to the sky in anger or frustration” middle finger but the “Look mom! That person has five heads!” pointing finger (Hey, I would point too if I saw a person with five heads.). It’s been five days and I have learned a few things about how much I use this particular finger in every day life.

Typing is difficult. Writing with pen and paper is ridiculously hard. I’m managing though sometimes it is still rather painful.

Showers are, shall we say, entertaining… or they would be if anyone was watching me. It is easier to simply hold my right hand up over my head monkey style than to take the time to tie a glove or plastic bag over it. I have the basics covered. Hair washing, body washing, shaving… unless, of course, I manage to slice off the top of my left finger in the process… are all possible with only one hand.

Lids and caps are evil. I managed to get the cap off the lawnmower gas tank yesterday using only my right palm but I knew I could not get it tightened back on. When I instructed the teenager to proceed with mowing the lawn he paused and pointed. “Why isn’t the gas cap back on?” he inquired. “Because I’m bad at screwing things right now.” I stated with frustration and without clearly thinking that thought all the way through. Teenage laugh-snorting followed.

How do you hold a fork? I bet the index finger on your dominant hand is most likely involved.

Murphy’s Law: If you have a rather sensitive injury on any part of your hand then you will smack the injured area on things you didn’t realize could hurt you… repeatedly.

Drawers are not meant to be explored without being pulled out fully. Ditto for the bottom of a kid’s backpack.

Still, nothing is impossible. I manage just fine. The bandage is now between the joints as opposed to covering the finger for forced immobilization and the wound closely resembles a healing cut of average depth now as opposed to a gash. That’s a plus. Not to mention…

The kids have no choice but to do the dishes as I still can’t get the bandages or the healing wound wet. Win!

Now, anyone have a great scar story I can adopt? Something better than household chores?

Sigh.

I should have just gone to work… or found a way to fund a life of leisure.

Livin' On A Prayer

2011-05-11T23:05:00.000-05:00

“I am as poor as Job, my lord, but not so patient:

your lordship may minister the potion of

imprisonment to me in respect of poverty; but how

should I be your patient to follow your

prescriptions, the wise may make some dram of a

scruple, or indeed a scruple itself.”

~William Shakespeare, Henry IV (Act 1, Scene 2)

I am officially, quite literally, livin’ on a prayer. Again. Tommy & Gina had it better. At least they had each other. Lord knows… I’m not even living on actual money. I never see money. Not cash, anyway. Not really. Not anymore. Who am I kidding? Paycheck to paycheck is nothing new. I’ve been livin’ on the same prayer for just about every day of my holy-crap-I-now-have-to-be-the-adult life.

It’s getting tight.

Tighter.

Too tight.

Am I wheezing?

Gasp.

The cost of gasoline went up another fifteen cents per gallon today.

How long would it take a fat girl to walk 14 miles (one way) to work?

I sure as hell wouldn’t be the fat girl for too much longer, would I?

This is not a good plan.

Yet.

Suddenly life with that camel herder my brother tried to sell me to in Israel when I was eleven doesn’t seem quite so disturbing anymore. Simpler, yes? (Truly you know I jest.) I could have had my pick of any number of Masai warriors too…

Dear (Whoever has the power),

I’m pretty sure the lot of us truly can’t continue to make it if these startling economic trends continue. Even I, the one who loathes all things math related and who is not entirely politically savvy, can see without any sort of correctional vision instrument that things are fucked the hell way up. Fix it. Do something other than talk. I am in no need of a hand out. I work. I always have. While nice at the time, that pididdly stimulus check I got a few years ago… along with most of America, solved nothing. Let’s not try that again. And, I know I need to lose weight and all but starving myself just so my children have food to eat is really not an ideal option. Niether is walking 14 miles to work. It hasn’t come to that but, damn it, we’re sure heading in that direction. Full. Speed. Ahead. Can you not see the inevitable crash coming? Something must be done.

Sincerely,

Speeding rapidly from lower middle class to borderline poverty,

One of 13(+) million single parents in the USA,

Frustrated as hell,

P.S. – If I could move back to Kenya then I would be there already.

P.P.S. – If you leave me some sort of ridiculous political comment or bash any past or future President of the United States on this post then I will delete it without hesitation. Take your debate elsewhere.

Conscious Song

2011-05-10T21:00:00.003-05:00

Those who wish to sing, always find a song. ~Swedish Proverb

There is a lady here at work who has the single most thankless job in hospitality. She is a housekeeper. You may think you know what takes place in hotel rooms but unless you have worked in the industry for any length of time then, trust me, you are clueless. Nastiest. Job. Ever.

This is a job that I could not do… for any amount of money. If times were even more tough than they are now (God forbid.) and I had to resort to cleaning up after the filth of humanity in hotel rooms… I definitely wouldn’t do it with a smile. Well, I would smile, customer service and all that, but there would be no truth in the grin. No joy.

She smiles.

This lovely lady with this horrible job… she smiles. A lot. And, she means it. Every day. She has a past, as we all do, and it wasn’t a particularly pleasant or happy one... at least, not a lot of it. And still, she smiles. She also has this theory that every woman on the planet should be told that she is beautiful… Every. Single. Day.

She smiles. She smiles and she greets me and my other female coworkers with “Hello beautiful!” or “Good morning beautiful lady(ies)!”… Every. Single. Day.

This amazing woman has made a conscious choice to be happy and to make others feel appreciated and beautiful and to do her job with joy.

I wish, with every fiber of my being, that her attitude was highly contagious so that those around her would begin singing the same song.

Personally? I’ll be content if I can manage the oomph to simply hum along.

Weather Weary, Weather Wary

2011-04-26T18:21:00.002-05:00

Arkadelphia, Arkansas (March 1, 1997)

National Weather Service:
http://www.srh.noaa.gov/lzk/?n=tor030197.htm

I am not one of those people who will stand at a window and marvel at the majesty of God or the power of nature during a thunderstorm. Oh, no… not me. Au contraire. I hate the things. No, “hate” is not too strong a word for how I feel. I really, truly loathe them… and I fear them. Greatly. Then again, growing up they were not much of an issue.

Oh, everyone has seen footage of storm front rolling over the Serengeti. We had some pretty impressive storms but tornadoes were never a threat. Hurricanes were never a threat. Earthquakes? Sure. My high school sat on the edge of a massive fault line and within sight of two volcanoes. Truthfully, I never gave that reality much thought. “It is what it is.” was my feeling on the matter. I know. My attitude was all very Kenyan… Hakuna Matata. (Yes, it’s a real phrase. It was not coined by The Lion King writers. Disney gets no royalties for that one.)

The storms that ravage this part of the USA, especially in the spring months, are bloody insane.

One week ago, on April 19, 2011, it began to storm. Violently. There has been a little calm here and there… mornings of eerie quiet warmth as the humidity climbed higher and higher eventually reaching a breaking point amid ideal storm conditions. Tornado warnings have been prevalent. We have been forced to seek shelter more than once. Over and over again I have piled myself, a teenager, an 11-year old and a dog into a closet (a sizeable one) and we have waited.

We have been safe. For this, we are truly grateful. Others (Prayers, this eve, for the small town of Vilonia, AR.) have not been so lucky.

I am weary.

I am also wary… with good reason. I remember.

Most people laugh or chuckle when I tell them I live in Arkadelphia, Arkansas. The name amuses them. I get it. There was a day, however… when most of the country (USA) heard of Arkadelphia. On March 1, 1997 Arkadelphia was almost obliterated by an immense F4 tornado. I was here. Well, I lived here at the time. That particular day my then husband and then 2 year old child where visiting my parents in Little Rock, Arkansas at a home they were living in for just a couple months between retiring from missionary service in Kenya and going to work at the corporate headquarters, International Mission Board, in Richmond, VA. We were away from Arkadelphia but we weren’t exactly safe. Word that Arkadelphia took a direct hit reached us just as the sirens began to blare. That other F4 tornado on the map? The one in Little Rock? It hit mere blocks from our location… taking out homes and businesses. What was supposed to be an afternoon visit with my parents turned into a three day stay. Arkadelphia was cut off. Only emergency personnel were allowed into the area. The town was on every major news channel in the country.

We were safe. Family was safe. For that we were truly grateful. Again, others were not so lucky.

It is predicted that tonight will bring a “significant threat” for developing tornados. Storm number one developed on top of us around 3:30pm. It has been eerily calm since. I now hear thunder.The closet has been stocked with water, blankets, flashlights, batteries, etc.

We are as prepared as we can be. For this home we are grateful. We hope we are lucky… again.

“After every storm the sun will smile; for every problem there is a solution, and the soul's indefeasible duty is to be of good cheer.” ~William R. Alger

Triple D

2011-04-23T21:13:00.002-05:00

The Sea King’s Wooing, William Bell Scott, 1858

It ain’t your average bra size. In fact, it has nothing to do with bra size… gutter brain.

The three Ds are the once unconscious way I used to, as a newly single woman in her 30s, rate the various men that crossed my path… Do-able. Date-able. Don’t.

Yeah.

My cognizant awareness of this method took place after a friend, knowing that I found a certain mutual acquaintance attractive, asked why I simply didn’t ask him out. My answer was simple: “Oh, he’s do-able but he’s not date-able.” It shocked her. It definitely surprised me.

It goes a little something like this…

Do-able

Yeah, you’re hot. (You don’t have to be “traditionally” hot either… just hot to me.) I’ll admire. I might admire a lot. I could even possibly consider hopping in the sack with you. But something about you makes dating an impossibility. Maybe you hate kids. Maybe you can’t get your act together. Maybe I’m fully aware of your recreational drug habit. It could be a myriad of traits that make you ineligible for relationship status… but your still do-able, hot stuff.

Date-able

You have the potential to be the right guy. I can’t even begin to explain how rare it is that this occurs. Even when it does… staying here is difficult. Hey! I’m picky. A lot of guys transition from Date-able to Do-able as I get to know them. And, more rarely, from Date-able to Don’t. Most common is the transference from Date-able to the newly adopted Dude.

Don’t

Oh, hell no. Don’t even try and don’t make me list the reasons why.

And… for the purposes of friendship, added for this post, a fourth:

Dude

I have a lot of dude friends. Always have. Hello? Tomboy. Dudes tend to be less melodramatic. I like that.

“It is the woman who chooses the man who will choose her.”

Paul Géraldy, French Poet

Gilderoy Lockhart and the Dancing Bows

2011-04-20T23:38:00.002-05:00

Photo by David Standridge via Arkansas Symphony Orchestra

“God comes to us in theater in the way we communicate with each other, whether it be a symphony orchestra, or a wonderful ballet, or a beautiful painting, or a play. It's a way of expressing our humanity.” ~Julie Harris

I went to the symphony for the first time on Saturday.

In a word: Mesmerizing.

Despite my penchant for all things rock-and-roll, I have always enjoyed (sometimes secretly) classical music; however, my education on the subject was limited to Looney Tunes and movie soundtracks. I will never forget hearing Samuel Barber’s “Adagio for Strings” for the first time in the movie ‘Platoon’. Haunting. Beautiful. The summer I turned thirteen, I remember my father’s insistence that we visit the home of Mozart while on a stopover in Vienna, Austria. It confused me. I had never known my father to be interested in classical music; but, I was taking piano lessons at the time. It makes sense now. Later in my life I would be glad we had made this stop, he claimed. He was right. Of course he was right. My upbringing in Kenya allowed for much exposure to culture… just not classical culture.

After high school I attended a fairly small, Christian, liberal arts university… with an amazing music program. I was an English major. So, while I attended a few on campus performances here and there, that particular part of university life wasn’t exactly my scene. My cousin, on the other hand, who attended the symphony with me, is an amazing flautist… and vocalist. She attended the same university. Her major? Yep. Music. I know she enjoyed the performance, but I think she really enjoyed watching my reaction.

I loved the music. Then again, I knew I would… despite never hearing any of the pieces previously:

Menuet Antique by RAVEL

Symphony No. 36 in C Major, K. 425 (aka: Linz Symphony) by MOZART

Pictures at an Exhibition by MUSSORGSKY (orchestrated by RAVEL)

You should look them up, especially “Pictures at an Exhibition”, and give them a listen. There were, however, two things I found as fascinating, if not slightly more so, than the music:

(1) Watching the rise and fall and sweep of the bows as they glided across the strings was hypnotizing. Despite each being wielded by a different ridiculously talented human hand, the seemingly choreographed movements were nothing short of spectacular. Dancing bows… performing the most elegant ballet. Hypnotic.

(2) The conductor for Arkansas Symphony Orchestra, Philip Mann, is amazing. A-m-a-z-i-n-g! He didn’t merely conduct. He educated the audience about the history of each piece and teased us with snippets from each… pointing out intriguing bits for which we should be listening. But, when he did conduct… DAMN! He was animated and spellbinding and clearly passionate about the music and his musicians. My cousin wants to play for him. I can’t blame her. Plus, and I had to point this out to my cousin post-symphony for fear of her (God bless you, luv.) Snow White high on crack laugh… He looks like Gilderoy Lockhart. He even has a wand and most excellent hair.

I know. I brought Harry Potter into my symphony experience. Considering the masterful John Williams brilliantly brought the symphony into my Harry Potter experience… Are you surprised?

P.S. We both greeted the younger couple that sat to my right… perhaps because, age wise, we were in a stark minority together. During the intermission my cousin, who is more than a little geeky like me, pointed out that one of them was wearing a Paramore shirt and she was carrying a Spiderman tote bag… yet, they were still at the symphony. “I know!” I exclaimed. “They’re our people!”

Feet

2011-04-11T18:40:00.004-05:00

Oh mercy, I just posted my little piggy toes on the internet.

“Come, and trip it as ye go,
On the light fantastick toe.”
~John Milton, L’Allegro

I have small feet. No, really. I have ridiculously small feet compared to my height. At 5’6” I should have a larger foot. I don’t. I wear a woman’s size 7 (American). There are times, courtesy of the foot spreading phenomenon born out of pregnancy, where I push into a size 8. It’s rare. It all depends on the shoe. Or… I wear a solid boy’s size 6... 6 ½. Boy’s flip-flops are cheaper. So are the snow boots. I know.

My mother is 5’4”. She wears the same size shoe.

My cousin is shorter than my mom. Her foot is bigger than mine.

I’m the tallest woman in my office. I have the smallest foot.

You get the idea.

I also have nubby little pinky toes.

They amuse my children greatly.

Sidebar: I have a former sister-in-law who shares the same afflictions of small feet and nubby toes. In truth, her foot size is likely a teeny tiny bit smaller than mine. It’s good to not be alone.

As the mother of boys, my foot became the first “Look! My feet are the same size as mom’s!” growth measuring device. It was the summer of 2009 when I realized that, when buying new shoes for Big K (age 14 at the time), I could try the pair on my feet and be assured that they would fit him. He’s always been a little on the smaller side than most of his classmates so it was a milestone for him. Now, almost two years later, his foot is substantially larger and he is, quite literally, centimeters from finally passing me in height. The distance can no longer be measured in inches. Trust me when I say that he slides up next to me to compare… Every. Single. Day.

Little K, however, is one of the biggest kids in his class. He and Big K are five years apart in age but it was only one year later, in the summer of 2010, that Little K’s feet equaled mine in size. Woo. There was much rejoicing… on his behalf. I rolled my eyes. I then sent a Facebook message to the aforementioned former sister-in-law to warn her. Comparisons would be made when she was next visited. Mocking was inevitable.

Little K now comes up to my chin. He will be eleven this month. Big K is preparing himself for the day when his little brother becomes his bigger little brother. It’ll happen.

Until that time comes, they continue to mock my small feet and my nubby toes. The latest game? Shoving a bare foot in my face and wiggling that pinky toe independently from the rest of the toes on that foot. They can both do it. I can’t. My nubby toe doesn’t have that freedom. It’s useless. Boo.

They laugh at it.

Feet… they are worthy of mirth.

Related:

I abhor socks.

Boots are sexy.

Slippers are evil.

I always need more flip-flops.

Shoes are worn due to societal expectation…

… and sometimes thorns.

Deep End

2011-04-07T20:52:00.001-05:00

I jumped.

No life preserver.

No safety line.

Head first.

Two feet forward.

Whatever.

You get it.

Certain things can only be held at arms length… or 10 foot pole length… or across the country length… for so long. I’m in uncharted deep water; but, the initial flailing has waned. The panic is gone. I’m treading in calm waters… riding the ripple effects of my plunge.

Relieved.

Curious.

Peaceful.

“Sometimes you find your destiny on the road you took to avoid it.” ~The International, Film (2009)

Day Ten: TERRIFIED

2011-04-02T20:57:00.005-05:00

ONE CONFESSION

I want to make it through the lonely to the other side.

I’m terrified that will never happen. I’m equally terrified it will.

Confession & title drawn from the song 'Terrified' by Katharine McPhee with Zachary Levi.

“Who knows what true loneliness is—not the conventional word, but the naked terror? To the lonely themselves it wears a mask. The most miserable outcast hugs some memory or some illusion. Now and then a fatal conjunction of events may lift the veil for an instant. For an instant only. No human being could bear a steady view of moral solitude without going mad.” ~Joseph Conrad

Find days one through nine at the following:

Ten things I want to say to ten different people.

Nine things about me.

Eight ways to win my heart.

Seven things that cross my mind a lot.

Six things I wish I’d never done.

Five people who mean a lot.

Four turn offs.

Three turn ons.

Two images that describe my life.

I now bid adieu to the 10-Day Meme. And, I thank you for stopping round for a quick read.

Day Nine: Images

2011-04-01T17:45:00.008-05:00

“In their splendor, images effect a very simple communion of souls.” ~Gaston Bachelard

~~Day One: Ten things you want to say to ten different people right now.~~
~~Day Two: Nine things about yourself.~~
~~Day Three: Eight ways to win your heart.~~
~~Day Four: Seven things that cross your mind a lot.~~
~~Day Five: Six things you wish you’d never done.~~
~~Day Six: Five people who mean a lot (in no order whatsoever)Day Seven: Four turn offs.~~
~~Day Eight: Three turn ons.~~
~~Day Nine: Two images that describe your life right now, and why.~~

Day Ten: One confession.

TWO IMAGES THAT DESCRIBE MY LIFE RIGHT NOW

TWO:

Mom,

… how come this is this?

… why is that that?

… is black still your favorite color?

… why do people only care about Mario?

… am I the only one who gets Luigi?

… can I have such and such.

… will you rub my back?

… are you playing Angry Birds again?

… can I use that porta-potty over there?

... what is for dinner?

… are you listening to me?

… how come high school is all drama?

… why do you like Cyclops (X-Men) so much?

… can we keep it?

… will you DVR the Kids’ Choice Awards?

… how come you don’t like yellow?

… is it supposed to rain?

… why do you think Peter Parker is a tool?

… what is a “tool”?

… will you make your cookies?

… do you play the Wii when we are gone?

… who’s texting you?

… would you date “Chuck”?

… can we have Chinese?

… what would your life be like without me?

… do I have to?

… why are farts so funny?

… how come you are laughing?

ONE:

It’s Spring! I bask in the sun. I bide my time in its warmth. Someday the wind will come and blow me away from this stagnation.

Day Eight: THE SEXY

2011-03-31T18:30:00.006-05:00

That’s right. Today’s prompt is about what makes me look at a guy and think “Huminah-huminah-huminah!” You’ll find the more deep and meaningful attractions listed in Day Three.

~~Day One: Ten things you want to say to ten different people right now.~~
~~Day Two: Nine things about yourself.~~
~~Day Three: Eight ways to win your heart.~~
~~Day Four: Seven things that cross your mind a lot.~~
~~Day Five: Six things you wish you’d never done.~~
~~Day Six: Five people who mean a lot (in no order whatsoever)~~
~~Day Seven: Four turn offs.~~
~~Day Eight: Three turn ons.~~

Day Nine: Two images that describe your life right now, and why.

Day Ten: One confession.

THREE TURN ONS

THREE: Biceps

Mmmmm hmmmm. Biceps. There’s just something about a guy with really strong, beautifully defined arms. And… tattoos of the tasteful/meaningful/well-done variety well placed on those arms result in bonus points.

TWO: Eyes

Windows to the soul… blah, blah, blah… pick a cliché. Not only can I get lost in a man’s eyes, but I can also find myself in them. And him. You just have to know the right way to look into them. Master that and all will, quite literally, be revealed. Eyes that are intriguing in color/shape while simultaneously embracing life are absolutely irresistible.

ONE: Voice

I have always embraced and appreciated and found myself more than mildly intrigued by a great male voice; however, years of working in customer service, specifically answering phones for a living in various call centers or places of hospitality, has given me the gift of distinguishing the nuances of human speech. The right voice can be bloody well intoxicating. The wrong one… or the wrong words (Dudes, be well spoken.) and, well…

“When you first entered the restaurant, I thought you were handsome, and then, of course, you spoke.” ~As Good As It Gets, Film (1997)

There are other, shall we say... more personal, turn ons. That information is not for the public. No, not even you. Or you. Stop asking.

Day Seven: PEACOCKS

2011-03-30T10:00:00.005-05:00

“Desperation - it's the world's worst cologne.” ~Singles, Film (1992)

Day Eight: Three turn ons.

Day Nine: Two images that describe your life right now, and why.

Day Ten: One confession.

FOUR TURN OFFS

FOUR: Dishonesty

Love needs trust. Liars need not apply. Truth is golden, appreciated and deeply respected. If I ask you if my ass looks large in a particular pair of jeans and THEY DO… then tell me my ass looks damn massive in those pants. I won’t want to hear it from someone else later or witness staring smirks directed at my expansive behind. [Note: This is hypothetical, of course. Not the size of my ass, mind you, but the question. I don’t think I ever asked my ex, or anyone else, if my butt looked ridiculously large in a pair of pants. I’m just not that neurotic. Nor do I like putting people in a position where they feel compelled to lie to me.]

THREE: Blatant Ignorance

There really is no excuse.

TWO: Small-ish Stature

Okay, here’s the thing: I tried not to put a super shallow answer down but I couldn’t really help it. If you are shorter than me… it ain’t gonna work. If your hands are smaller than mine… it ain’t gonna work. If your shoulders aren’t as broad as mine… it ain’t gonna work. You get the gist. We can be friends, sure, but I won’t be attracted to you.

ONE: Narcissism

I love a confident man. I can even deal with a bit of arrogance. Narcissism, however, is just plain ugly. Hideous, even. Foul. Disgusting. Vomitous. Icky. If you haven’t figured it out yet… I don’t like it.

Trust me, there are a hella lot more than four. This is likely why I've been single for the four years since my divorce.

Day Six: SURROUNDED

2011-03-29T20:18:00.002-05:00

"How many goodly creatures are there here!

How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world

That has such people in't!"

~William Shakespeare, The Tempest

Day Seven: Four turn offs.

Day Eight: Three turn ons.

Day Nine: Two images that describe your life right now, and why.

Day Ten: One confession.

FIVE PEOPLE WHO MEAN A LOT

FIVE: He of the long silences and many lifetime absences. He knows who he is.

FOUR: The one and only joyful cousin I have ever been close to or truly cared about having in my life.

THREE: Parentals. No, really… they’ve been married so long they are now one unit.

TWO & ONE: Big K & Little K (Seriously, there is no way I’m putting them on separate lines. But, seeing as they are polar opposites of one another, I cannot combine them into a single unit as I did the parentals.)

Day Five: SPICE SWIPING

2011-03-27T10:00:00.000-05:00

Regrets. Oh, damn. I know… never say “never”. I call bullshit. And, yet, despite all the crap I’ve had in my life, there is little that I can actually say “I wish I’d never done” because negatives, when multiplied, make a positive. See? I paid attention in math class. A little.

~~Day One: Ten things you want to say to ten different people right now.~~
~~Day Two: Nine things about yourself.~~
~~Day Three: Eight ways to win your heart.~~
~~Day Four: Seven things that cross your mind a lot.~~
~~Day Five: Six things you wish you’d never done.~~
Day Six: Five people who mean a lot (in no order whatsoever)
Day Seven: Four turn offs.
Day Eight: Three turn ons.
Day Nine: Two images that describe your life right now, and why.
Day Ten: One confession.

SIX THINGS I WISH I’D NEVER DONE

SIX: There was a road trip in 1994 meant to bring answers and peace. It only further complicated, quite literally, e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g about my life.

FIVE: I moved back to Arkansas. Possibly, I made the right decision. Probably, I didn’t.

FOUR: I had an amazing collection of salt & pepper shakers in college… and a parmesan shaker… and a red pepper flake shaker. I didn’t buy them.

THREE: I became fat.

TWO: Have you seen my temper? I lost it. Over and over and over again… always at the wrong time.

ONE: I let the perfect Clark Kent type walk away without asking him out (see #3). It left me with that whole vile “not knowing” vibe. I hate that.

Day Four: RANDOM BRAINWAVES

2011-03-26T10:00:00.000-05:00

Let’s keep this one to the shallow kiddie pool, shall we. If we jump into the deep end of my brainpool there is a great risk of drowning a horribly bizarro death.

~~Day One: Ten things you want to say to ten different people right now.~~
~~Day Two: Nine things about yourself.~~
~~Day Three: Eight ways to win your heart.~~
~~Day Four: Seven things that cross your mind a lot.~~
Day Five: Six things you wish you’d never done.
Day Six: Five people who mean a lot (in no order whatsoever)
Day Seven: Four turn offs.
Day Eight: Three turn ons.
Day Nine: Two images that describe your life right now, and why.
Day Ten: One confession.

SEVEN THINGS THAT CROSS MY MIND *A LOT*

SEVEN: Space! Space! SPACE! There’s a space in the words “a lot”! Seriously, people, “A” [space] “LOT”! How fucking hard is that to remember?!

SIX: Single motherhood is not for sissies. Hell, motherhood is not for sissies.

FIVE: Lord-a-mercy, I’m tired.

FOUR: “Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming. What do we do? We swim, swim.” ~Finding Nemo, Film (2003)

THREE: I have so many more things I should be doing right now.

TWO: I hate people.

ONE: I love people.

Day Three: THE ARMOR CHINK(S)

2011-03-25T10:00:00.005-05:00

© Hugh MacLeod, Gaping Void
“Fortune has something of the nature of a woman. If she is too intensely wooed, she commonly goes the further away.” ~Charles V, Holy Roman Emperor

Pardon my lengthy hiatus between Day One and Day Two. I had a mini-vacation complete with Bon Jovi concert, faux safari, meanderings in the place ‘o birth and a renaissance faire. In short: I was preoccupied.

I now move on to the mushy ~~vomit~~ gushy heartfelt Day Three. Blurgh. It’s bad enough to reveal one chink in my armor… but giving you eight of them is crazy frightening. I also have to differentiate greatly between this day and Day Eight. Some answers could be the same. That being said… we’ll gear Day Eight toward the more attraction/sexual references as it is quite obviously meant to be as such anyway.

~~Day One: Ten things you want to say to ten different people right now.~~
~~Day Two: Nine things about yourself.~~
~~Day Three: Eight ways to win your heart.~~
Day Four: Seven things that cross your mind a lot.
Day Five: Six things you wish you’d never done.
Day Six: Five people who mean a lot (in no order whatsoever)
Day Seven: Four turn offs.
Day Eight: Three turn ons.
Day Nine: Two images that describe your life right now, and why.
Day Ten: One confession.

EIGHT WAYS TO WIN MY HEART

EIGHT: Realize that a girl like me is impossible to find (Thank you, Secondhand Serenade, for the lyric.) and tell me as much. If you hint at it… I’ll probably miss it.

SEVEN: Be unpredictable yet stable.

SIX: Give me my space. I’m not a clingy person therefore I don’t do well with clingy people.

FIVE: Smile. Fakers need not apply. Smile with your eyes. Smile with your body. Smile with your entire soul. Let that smile radiate outward and fill the dark spaces.

FOUR: Geek speak works wonders. Hot nerds welcome. Seriously. Speechify about Wolverine’s entire back story or debate the finer points of Death Star construction and I might get a little doe-eyed. Just a little.

THREE: Be honest. All the time. Do you have it in you?

TWO: Make me laugh. HA! Do it again. Go ahead. I dare you.

ONE: Be able to hang with my boys… the polar opposites. Accept both of them and their bizarre idiosyncrasies for what they are. Prove the force is strong with you.

Day Two: OVERSHARING 101 (Finally, I know.)

2011-03-24T20:17:00.002-05:00

"Imperfection is beauty, madness is genius and it's better to be absolutely ridiculous than absolutely boring." ~Marilyn Monroe

What more can I possibly reveal about myself after compiling 300 RANDOM FACTOIDS about me into one massive list? Need ideas on how to overshare? Yeah… click that link. I’m tempted to ~~steal~~ borrow from it to complete day two of this endeavor. I won’t. But, I’m tempted.

~~Day One: Ten things you want to say to ten different people right now.~~
~~Day Two: Nine things about yourself.~~
Day Three: Eight ways to win your heart.
Day Four: Seven things that cross your mind a lot.
Day Five: Six things you wish you’d never done.
Day Six: Five people who mean a lot (in no order whatsoever)
Day Seven: Four turn offs.
Day Eight: Three turn ons.
Day Nine: Two images that describe your life right now, and why.
Day Ten: One confession.

NINE THINGS ABOUT MYSELF

NINE: I abhor large paper clips. Seriously. I dislike them quite intensely. Someday I am going to count how many paper clips I touch/use in the course of one day at work and then you’ll understand why this seemingly inane revelation is not quite so.

EIGHT: “8” is my favorite number. True Story. It’s followed closely by “13” which was always my sports jersey number in high school.

SEVEN: I pawned my wedding rings and it had nothing to do with the need for money. Good thing, too. I didn’t exactly get much for them. They were cool, slightly Elfish in design, but not extravagant and no longer needed.

SIX: I suffer from Attention Deficit… Ooooh! Shiny! Disorder. That’s A.D.O.S.D. for you acronym whores.

FIVE: I own ♪ FIVE SILVER RINGS ♫ which I wear quite regularly… but no gold. I’m not a fan of gold although it probably suits my skin tone better. Ask me if I give a damn about gold or silver matching my skin tone.

FOUR: I don’t do cold. I hate Old Man Winter with a level of fiery passion that only a sun sign Leo can. Air conditioning is often the bane of my summertime existence… yet simultaneously my savior from humidity. Heat good. Humidity bad. When I get cold, my body begins to shut down. This includes my brain matter.

THREE: It’s a good thing we share (mostly) the same taste in music because I take over the sound system in my cousin’s car every time I get in. Truthfully, I try to take over the music in anyone’s car I ride in. Rude? Probably. This is me not caring.

TWO: I like television. A lot. I have tried to detox. I have failed.

This is the part where I tell you I have stared at that “ONE” for the last four days. Tapped, I tell you. I’m all tapped out. Sigh. The following could be determined via deductive reasoning by anyone who has even the tiniest sliver of knowledge about things that interest me.

ONE: Mythical Creatures: I am fascinated by them. Well, most of them. I don’t care much for those of the equine variety although I would choose Pegasus over Unicorn and Centaur over either of the former. No, I prefer Gryffin, Sphinx, Dragon, Manticore, Phoenix… R.O.U.S.-es. You know, the more intimidating ones.

There you have it. If you read this then you know a little more about me. If you read the previously composed 300… then you’re insane. And bored. Or both.

Day One: STFU!

2011-03-15T15:13:00.006-05:00

“‘Then you should say what you mean,’ the March Hare went on. ‘I do,’ Alice hastily replied; ‘at least - at least I mean what I say - that's the same thing, you know.’” ~Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland

I do not know if I am truly prepared for this venture; however, I can always fall back on my natural talent for bullshit if necessary.

Sidebar: It is a talent and it does, apparently, run in the family. I attended the same Christian university where my father and brother attended. It was there that my Old Testament Studies professor asked if I was my father’s daughter. After I responded in the affirmative, he chose to tell me that I bullshitted like the rest of the family. I later… and by “later” I mean the next morning due to the eight hour time difference between Arkansas and Kenya… called my father to brag. Preacher man laughed. I then called my brother, who was in seminary at the time, and he too enjoyed a right good chuckle.

Reminder: These are the questions I’ll be answering over the next ten, fourteen… twenty days. I know. It should be one a day. I make no promises that such a thing will happen. They will, however, all get answered.

Day One: Ten things you want to say to ten different people right now.
Day Two: Nine things about yourself.
Day Three: Eight ways to win your heart.
Day Four: Seven things that cross your mind a lot.
Day Five: Six things you wish you’d never done.
Day Six: Five people who mean a lot (in no order whatsoever)
Day Seven: Four turn offs.
Day Eight: Three turn ons.
Day Nine: Two images that describe your life right now, and why.
Day Ten: One confession.

TEN THINGS I WANT TO SAY TO TEN DIFFERENT PEOPLE RIGHT NOW

TEN: “Take a lunch break, already!!!!”
The roof is being replaced on my place of business. It’s a large roof. This has been going on for days and will continue for even more. The roofers must take breaks in shifts because the banging never ends. I would pray for rain but that would only postpone the inevitability of them reaching the spot directly over my desk. I’m going to go flirt with the project manager and see if he won’t hold off until Thursday or Friday to reach this area. I won’t be here Thursday and Friday. This plan is good. This plan is sound… a far better sound than that damn BANGING!

NINE: “How about coffee?”
See key words “project” and “manager” in number TEN above.

EIGHT: “Get. Your. Ass. In. Gear.”
Uh, yeah… I yell at myself. I answer too. I blame that on the crazy.

SEVEN: “Favoritism of students does not become you and it makes them feel like shit.”
This is the irate mother speaking.

SIX: “Change the channel.”
I love my father dearly. But, his choice of television entertainment (I use the word “entertainment” loosely.) drives me crazy. He’s getting far more conservative lately. FOX News is a staple in his home. FOX News makes me want to stab myself in the eyeball with an ice pick. Also, Mike Huckabee, decent enough guy that he is, doesn’t walk on water. Let’s leave that to Jesus. I can’t say this to him “right now” because I’m not in his home. Then again, I never will because: 1) I simply have far too much respect for him to say it aloud and 2) It isn’t my house.

FIVE: “Why are you LOL-ing?”
Let me say here that I just broke a personal rule. I vowed to never type “LOL” in my life. And… now I’ve done it. Twice. Boo. Dear friends who put this at the end of every text or email or instant message: You know who you are. Stop it. Stop it now. You didn’t laugh out loud. Odds are you didn’t even chuckle.

FOUR: “How do you still have your job when you never actually do your job?”
Let’s shoot that comment into the atmosphere and just see who it chooses to rain down upon.

THREE: “Don’t you think it’s high time you came to visit?”
Yeah. Okay. Moving on…

TWO: “My ass is twitching. You people make my ass twitch.” ~French Kiss, Film (1995)
Not you people…but there are such people. Speaking of those people…

ONE: “Shut the f*ck up!” (aka: STFU!) [I edited. Bite me.]
I hate your voice. No, really. Not just the words, though those are usually of a rather asinine nature, but your voice itself causes me physical pain. As does your grammar. Stop speaking. <-- So says the woman who breaks grammatical rules on a regular basis. I still think one should fully understand aforementioned rules before one should be allowed to break them. It takes a fair amount of style to break the rules of language on purpose… primarily for artistic value or emphasis. Breaking the rules because “this done just be how I is taught to speak” is ignorance in action for anyone who ever set foot in a classroom. Listen to the people around you. Learn. This applies quite specifically to two individuals of my acquaintance… and they aren’t my children.

I have a lot of “I love you!” and “Thank you!” comments I throw out regularly. I usually don’t have trouble doing that so I didn’t include them here. In fact, I usually have no trouble vocalizing pretty much anything I want to say. Ask my boss.

Bidding Adieu to Shared Walls

2011-03-14T14:26:00.002-05:00

I remember the day I moved out of the house I shared with my then-husband. It’s hard to forget when you re-start at the beginning. Literally. It was January 1st.

That was four years ago.

And, so, for four years, two months and six days… I have shared walls with others. I have also dragged myself to the laundromat (most) every week. Oh, the joys of apartment living.

Sidebar: You would think, after seven years of dorm life throughout junior high, high school and college, that sharing walls wouldn’t be such a big deal for me. You would be wrong.

I’ve moved. Again.

I say “again” because my unwritten ‘divorce recovery’ plan seems to be running on a two year cycle.

January 1, 2007 – I moved out and into the first apartment I could find. It was a two bedroom. The boys don’t like sharing a room.

January 2, 2009 – I moved out of that apartment and into a three bedroom apartment within the same complex. More of a duplex, I only had to share walls on one side. No one above. No one below.

March 6, 2011 – Adieu, shared walls. Adieu.

Still renting. Progress? Perhaps, in another two years, I can buy. Sigh.

The teenager, conscious of this every-two-year trend stated, “Mom, I hope we don’t have to move again in two years. I hate moving.” I responded with, “I don’t, but you do… college boy… get out!” Yep. Mother of the year. They still love me.

So… that’s where I have been of late. It isn’t so much an excuse as it is a reason for my absence. Organizing. Packing. Purging. Moving. Unpacking. Sort of unpacking. Proud if I get to one box a day unpacking. Sick of unpacking. I ended up with a ridiculous amount of time off work courtesy of bloody stupid all day utility appointments. That’s a racket, I tell you… especially when my 8:00am-12:00pm internet hook-up appointment arrives at almost 12:30pm despite the reminder call I received at 8:15am from the company. And, don’t EVEN get me started on how I feel about Centerpoint Energy.

This particular move has been far from smooth and I couldn’t have done it without some pretty amazing coworkers/friends and an extremely understanding boss.

“If I were asked to name the chief benefit of the house, I should say: the house shelters day-dreaming, the house protects the dreamer, the house allows one to dream in peace.” ~Gaston Bachelard

UP NEXT? I’ll be doing the following meme which I obtained from AGGASPLETCH. I’m quite positive he’s doing a far better job of answering these questions than I will… but any port in a storm, right? Or, in this case, any rain drop in a drought.

Day One: Ten things you want to say to ten different people right now.
Day Two: Nine things about yourself.
Day Three: Eight ways to win your heart.
Day Four: Seven things that cross your mind a lot.
Day Five: Six things you wish you’d never done.
Day Six: Five people who mean a lot (in no order whatsoever)
Day Seven: Four turn offs.
Day Eight: Three turn ons.
Day Nine:Two images that describe your life right now, and why.
Day Ten: One confession.

Aren’t you just giddy with anticipation?

Don’t answer that.

Violent Delights

2011-02-13T22:34:00.003-06:00

Romeo and Juliet (1870) by Ford Madox Brown
Current location: Deleware Art Museum
I was watching a movie the other day that I swore I would never voluntarily watch. It won’t do you any good to ask which one because I don’t intend to tell you. Or anyone. Ever. As expected, it wasn’t a very good film; however, in the midst of the watching, something dawned on me…

I kinda sorta really miss those all encompassing early stages of teenage ~~obsession~~ love. Yeah.

I don’t miss the wretched pining and weeping that comes after or during… even though I only recall behaving in such a manner on a singular occasion since I was usually the one doing the ~~running away~~ leaving.

Remember? No walls. No baggage. Just blind stupidity. Heartbreak be damned.

Good times.

"These violent delights have violent ends
And in their triumph die, like fire and powder,
Which as they kiss consume."
~ William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet

31 Movies

2011-02-11T09:19:00.003-06:00

I stole this from Avitable. Yeah, I did. Meme + Movies = Duh! He came by it through legitimate meme etiquette. Tag, you’re it. Of course, it’s supposed to be a 31-day writing project, but as Adam states so eloquently, “I’m not writing 31 fucking posts about movie titles.”

Word.
I concur.

Day #1: Favorite Movie – The Lord of the Rings (2001-2003) Don’t make me give you the “it was supposed to be one book therefore it’s one movie speech”… again.

Day #2: Least Favorite Movie – The Notebook (2004)

Day #3: Favorite Comedy – Hot Fuzz (2007)

Day #4: Favorite Adventure – The Mummy (1999)

Day #5: Favorite Horror – Halloween (1978)

Day #6: Favorite Suspense/Thriller – The Usual Suspects (1995)

Day #7: Favorite Animated Movie – Howl’s Moving Castle (2004)

Day #8: Favorite Guilty Pleasure – The Phantom of the Opera (2004)

Day #9: A Movie You Never Expected To Love – Love Actually (2003) Ironic, huh?

Day #10: Biggest Let-Down – Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace (1999)… and II… and III. Boo.

Day #11: First Movie You Saw In Theaters – The Black Hole (1979)

Day #12: The Last Movie You Saw In Theaters – Sanctum (2011)

Day #13: Favorite Documentary – The 11th Hour (2007)

Day #14: Favorite Satire – Fight Club (1999)

Day #15: A Movie With Your Favorite Actor – Oyster Farmer (2004)

Day #16: Favorite Movie Based On A Book (other than #1) - The Princess Bride (1987) Pssssst! The book is even funnier.

Day #17: Favorite Movie With An Actor You Hate – Stranger Than Fiction (2006)

Day #18: Movie You Can Watch On Loop – Grosse Pointe Blank (1997)

Day #19: Favorite Movie Based On A Historical Event – 300 (2006)

Day #20: Favorite Movie Based On A Historical Figure – The Last King of Scotland (2006)

Day #21: Favorite Musical – White Christmas (1954)

Day #22: Most Over-Rated Movie – Forrest Gump (1994)

Day #23: Most Under-Rated Movie – 25th Hour (2002)

Day #24: Movie With Best Soundtrack – High Fidelity (2000)

Day #25: Favorite Black and White Movie – Psycho (1960)

Day #26: Cheesiest Horror Movie – The Happening (2008) The cheesiest and the worst. So bad.

Day #27: Favorite Oscar-Winning Movie – Out of Africa (1985)

Day #28: Favorite Made-For-Television Movie – SHARKTOPUS! (2010)

Day #29: Favorite Movie Based On A Television Series – Serenity (2005)

Day #30: Favorite Re-Make – The Departed (2006)

Day #31: Favorite Sequel – The Dark Knight (2008)

There you go. I tried not to over think my answers... or duplicate. First instinct and all that jazz. Be advised, there is no permanency in this list.

“The movies we love and admire are to some extent a function of who we are when we see them.” ~Mary Schmich

Beth & the (Broken) Power of Juju

2011-02-07T13:50:00.003-06:00

January 9, 2011 - "Hoth", AR

“Wherever you go, no matter what the weather, always bring your own sunshine.” ~Anthony J. D'Angelo [Sunshine = Juju. Work with me here, people.]

It is official. My juju is broken… and my hoodoo and voodoo too.

I have been able to convince myself and, on occasion, my children and some highly gullible acquaintances that my anti-winter juju is sufficiently powerful enough to hold back the threat of “this is not supposed to happen in Southern Arkansas” ice and snow stormage. Year after year the predictions come. Year after year the forecasters are wrong. A little dusting here. A bit of ice there. Maybe a little slush. Weather happens. Inevitably. But, for the most part, when I see a winter storm forecast I start sending my “I really freaking hate winter” juju vibes into the atmosphere and we are spared.

Illogical? Yes. But, it keeps me sane (It's all relative.).

This warped illusion would never work if I lived north of the

Mason-Dixon Line. I don’t. Why? Drastic winters. Duh.

One month into bloody twenty-eleven and the truth of my broken juju is abundantly apparent. We’ve had not one but two “major” (Again, it’s all relative. Really.) snows… and Wednesday brings yet another one. My juju cannot stop it. The weather front is coming, so saith my weather predicting knees, and am powerless.

I see only one solution to this problem.

Somebody send me back to Africa.
My juju needs an equatorial recharging.

Other Duties As Assigned

2011-02-03T18:39:00.001-06:00

Tricky phrase. Work bureaucracy.

“When are they just going to create a new position for you?”

These are the welcome yet laughable words heard today. They came from a coworker who doesn’t even witness the full extent of everything I do. Sigh. At least people notice.

The “other duties as assigned” portion of my job description is ridiculously out of control.

Woo.

But, I have a job.

Woo!

It isn’t an excuse for my lengthy absences from the interwebs; however, it is a reason. A damn good one, in fact.

“Accomplishing the impossible means only that the boss will add it to your regular duties.” ~Doug Larson

(That quote applies to single-motherhood as well, by the way.)

And... I Still Have No Gills

2011-01-15T20:53:00.003-06:00

“Ocean: A body of water occupying two-thirds of a world made for man - who has no gills.” ~Ambrose Bierce

I hate cheerleaders. Okay, fine. “Hate” is a little strong. I have a general dislike for cheerleaders. Then again, I’m not here to talk pep squad… except that I am here to throw my own voice into the “Rah! Rah! Yay EARTH!” chorus… which indirectly makes me a cheerleader for the planet and, though I adore the planet, I hate (No, really. Hate.) that particular association. I should delete this whole paragraph. Mmmm… nah. This is me, people. I’m always like this.

You want to know something even more disturbing? Not only am I not here to discuss cheerleading, I’m not really here to talk about global warming either… or how Mother Earth is supremely pissed at humanity… or how desperately I want to hug Leonardo DiCaprio because he cares about my Mt. Kilimanjaro and is using his fame for good. Like I need an ecological excuse to want to hug the new, improved, super sexy, manly Leo… but I digress. Again.

My point is this: I’m damn cold.

Shall I connect the dots before the grey matter within my noggin’ runs amok again?

I love this planet.
I believe in global warming.
I’m a cheerleader for all things “recycle”, “green”, and “make a change”.

But…

(Funny how there is always a “but”, huh?!)

…I am, and will always be, a complete and absolute failure at water conservation. I have lived where periods of mandatory reduction of water usage was dictated... necessary… where the water supply was cut off throughout the city for all but one or two hours a day. Pardon me while I shudder at the memories.

But, now, I live in a first world country that I sometimes loathe. A country that, for all its faults, provides me with a seemingly endless supply of clean water. It’s a crime that millions of people on this planet have no clean water or any water… when our planet IS water. This is the part where I tell the rest of you to conserve all the water you possibly can… so that there is always enough for me. I know. I’m a terrible person. I won’t be winning a humanitarian award ~~anytime soon~~ ever. I simply cannot give up water.

I love it.

I love water inside my body. I cherish the sweet nectar that is a tall glass of freezing cold water laden with a mountain of ice cubes. Oh, how I love ice. Crushed ice. Yep, I’m a crushed ice cruncher. Make of that what you will. I may never leave my current job simply because the greatest crushed ice maker in the world (slight exaggeration) is located there.

I love water on my body. I want to live near the ocean and dive in it daily. I like to play in streams, rivers (sans carnivorous reptiles, hungry hungry hippos or elephant poop), waterfalls, swimming pools, fountains and even lakes… although lake and pond waters are my least favorite forms of the substance of life. Followed by snow. I really, really hate snow. It snowed this week. I was in hell. A cold, hard hell. Oh, and tears. I find tears are decidedly not in my favor. There is a reason “tear” is a homonym. “That salty substance pouring out of your eyeballs” often has a lot to do with “that ripping sound coming from the organ in your chest”. (Don’t mind me. Digressing again.)

I adore showers and baths. Long showers. Full baths. Scalding hot water. Once, twice… multiple times a day. I shower to get clean. I read in the shower. I sleep in the shower. I bathe to relax. I shower or bathe post-workout. I shower to escape my children. I bathe to get warm. Oh, yes… my point.

Remember my point? Up at the top. Below the babble. Well, below the really out-of-control babble. Whatever. “I’m damn cold.”

Every winter I find myself wishing I was a tropical mermaid (Distinction needed. Have you seen those uber-cold loch water, nasty Harry Potter mermaids?) living in the “Great Blue Hole". (Click the link. It isn’t anything naughty. I swear.) Then I wonder if mermaids suffer from dry skin. On their top halves, that is… not the scales. I might as well have scales because my skin positively hates (no exaggeration) me right now.

Yes, now. I should probably mention here that I’m in the bathtub. Now. Yep. I got in here specifically to get warm... hence the topic inspiration. No, I’m not a chronically cold-natured person. My equatorial blood simply cannot handle northern hemisphere winter. Yes, I have the computer with me. Sort of. In my small ass apartment the toilet is close enough for me to sit in the bath and type on the laptop sitting atop the toilet seat.

Sometimes I put it on the edge anyway.
One day it will fall in.
I’ll be super warm that day.
And dead.

Then the cheerleaders can laugh at me.

As I Dream

2011-01-11T21:48:00.003-06:00

The Dream, Henri Rousseau, Museum of Modern Art

“We live as we dream -- alone.” ~Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness

When I lay me down to sleep, my mind involuntarily latches on to one of four or five rather elaborate fictional realities which have been created by my imagination. Fantasies, for a lack of more befitting word; however, they are far less blatantly erotic than the word “fantasy” suggests. And, if I let my subconscious fall deep enough into the fabrication, then I can often manipulate my dreams into the same story. While this is something I have done for most of my life, I have come to realize that I am doing it more often of late.

I feel far less alone when I do.

Confession of a Reformed Award Show Junkie

2011-01-11T15:19:00.002-06:00

“It isn't about the prize. It's about the gloating, the rubbing the nose in, the ‘nya-na-na-na-na-we-beat-you’ taunting that comes with the winning.” ~Chicken Little, Film (2005)

I like to see people win things. A lot.
I’m also a bit of a pop culture addict; therefore, the televised award show was once my crack. There was a time when I watched them all. No, seriously… All. Of. Them. Ask my ex. Better yet, don’t.

You may think there are a lot of award shows on television but you really have no idea... unless you suffer/have suffered from the addiction. It is real and it is powerful. At some indeterminate point in the last four years I unconsciously broke myself of the habit. For the most part.

Imagine my surprise when I arrived at work the other day and office chatter revolved around this year’s The People’s Choice Awards… which I didn’t watch. I knew it was on. Vaguely. I generally have a beef, however, with “The People” in that title. For example, “The People” voted the latest Twilight flick as the best movie of 2010. Uh huh. Yeah. Those people need a collective clunking together of their heads. There is also the little detail about how “The Industry” doesn’t really give a damn what “The People” think. Case in point: Moonlight. Voted ‘Best New TV Drama’ for 2007 by “The People”… I was part of “The People” that year… it was cancelled six months later courtesy of the writer’s strike of 2008 and industry bureaucracy.

I’d just like to point out here that “The People” voted another Alex O’Loughlin headlined series, the revamped (Heh. Heh. Vamped.) Hawaii Five-0, as the ‘Best New TV Drama’ for 2010 (I checked out the winner list online.). I may threaten bodily harm to certain industry executives if this show goes the way of Moonlight. Seriously. I love it. I love it more than I love my one season of Moonlight. That’s a lot. Yes, I have a TV problem. Bite me. Mild tangent over.

I don’t trust the opinion of “The People” but there are still a handful of awards shows that I do watch. Some faithfully. Some not. This award season I’ll be watching The Golden Globes. I don’t think the Hollywood Foreign Press should be handing out awards but the show itself is usually rather entertaining due to silly celebrity behavior. I may or may not watch The Grammy Awards. I’ve had a great distaste for popular music of late but the nominations for Mumford & Sons gives me hope for the music industry. That leaves me with The Screen Actors Guild Awards, The Academy Awards and, maybe, The Emmy Awards.

Watching four, perhaps five, awards shows a season? That’s light. Okay, so maybe I’m still mildly obsessive. But, in the midst of the entire “the winner is” hullabaloo there are usually moments of pure, real, unedited humanity… good and bad, silly and serious, genuine and fabricated. Of course, there is always the inner devilish hope that someone trips or falls on stage. That being said, The Golden Globes are this Sunday.

Is it worth it? Two words, one name: Ricky Gervais

Between Point A & Point B

2011-01-06T09:18:00.002-06:00

I drive a combination of street to interstate to scenic highway on my fifteen mile drive to work… usually on auto-pilot since I have to be there at 0730 and I typically don’t truly wake up until 10-ish. No traffic, mind you. We’ll just chalk that up to one of the positives of small town life. On the way home I typically drive the slightly more leisurely route of scenic highway straight into town… right-left-right-left home. Thrilling, eh? I’d shake it up a little more if I could, but unless I want to wander through “Do I hear a banjo?” country or meander up and down a couple of extra streets just for the hell of it then this little bit of routine in my life isn’t likely to change anytime soon.

Hence, it bores me.
I don’t like to be bored.

I decided this week to pay more attention to things on my drive to and fro. I don’t have a Bubba-will-run-over-me-with-his-big-damn-truck death wish therefore literally stopping to smell the roses is not an option. Not to mention, it’s winter. There aren’t any roses. Hell, there are no roses any time of year.

Pine trees? Yes.
Yards all a-clutter with broken vehicles? Yes.
Barney Fife? Yes.
River? Yes.
The highest gas prices in the state? Yes.
Livestock auction barn? Yes.
The occasional spectacular sunrise? Yes.
Dead skunks? Yes.
Shoe hanging on power line? Yes.
Soy bean field? Yes.
New taco stand brilliantly located right next to Taco Bell? Yes.
Billboards? Yes.
Crystal shop? Yes.
Deer? Yes.
Wal-bloody-Mart? Yes.
Damn, I wish we still had a Piggly Wiggly.
I just wanted to write the words “Piggly Wiggly”.
SQUIRREL!!!

Roses? Not so much.

Also, a hefty portion of my drive involves crossing a dyke [see picture]. It is way too far down from highway to lake water on one side and way, way, way too far down to the valley on the other. I dread breaking down on the damn thing or getting a flat tire. The last thing I need is thoughts of me and car tumbling to our deaths, though I do keep a screwdriver in the car (to break the window) in the God-forbid, off chance that I get run off the road one day and into the lake. Crap! I’m thinking about it. Purge! Purge! Purge!

Still, my drive trumps toll booths and bumper-to-bumper traffic and smog and crazy taxi drivers and even earlier mornings due to the battle that must be fought in order to reach the office. I know it trumps all those things because, in that other lifetime of mine, I robotically did the traffic thing… every single morning… every single evening.

I miss the conveniences of the city.
Sometimes I even miss having a real career.
The commute I do not miss.

“Some of the secret joys of living are not found by rushing from point A to point B, but by inventing some imaginary letters along the way.” ~Douglas Pagels, These Are the Gifts I'd Like to Give to You

Impossible is Nothing

2011-01-05T12:59:00.003-06:00

For better or worse, I like to write my own stuff. Imagine that. So, while I will link to a few things here or there, I can only think of one instance, in four years, where I’ve sent any passing readers off in another direction to read the words of someone else instead of addressing a topic myself. That being said, you MUST GO HERE and READ THIS as soon as possible.

How ‘bout a snippet?

“There is literally no person on earth who hasn't been seriously effected by the word "impossible", for better, or worse. And there isn't a person on earth who, at some point, has let the word stop them.

Yet, every so often... somebody chooses not to hear it. Every so often, unexplainable things happen which leave people and professionals shaking their heads in bafflement. Every so often the word is passed around, and somebody decides that they are going to make possible whatever they were just told is impossible. And magically, the universe, or God, lines things up that shouldn't have ever been "possible" at all.

Then, and only then do we witness the impossible happen.”

Stop dawdling here and just GO READ IT!

Email it.
Share it.
Like it.
Tweet it.
Digg it.
Stumble it.

Tattoo it on your back.

Whatever.

I dare you to not be inspired by the impossible.

"Impossible is just a big word thrown around by small men who find it easier to live the world they've been given than to explore the power they have to change it. Impossible is not a fact. It's an opinion. Impossible is not a declaration. It's a dare. Impossible is potential. Impossible is temporary. Impossible is nothing." ~Muhammad Ali

Word of the Year: 2011

2011-01-03T15:09:00.004-06:00

Before the Mirror, Pierre-Paul-Léon Glaize, The Metropolitan Museum of Art
As my initial foray into the world of a word for the year was a spectacular sham, you would think that I wouldn’t partake of such an exercise again. You would be half right. I didn’t intend to participate. In fact, I had not given the concept conscious thought; but, true to form, my brain had other ideas and I have discovered myself using one word over and over and over again during the last three days…

PRIDE

I thought about using “dignity” or “honor” or “satisfaction” because the word “pride” conjures up a bit of guilt ingrained from thousands of Sunday School lessons geared toward the evils of pride. The Bible, of course, differentiates between “arrogant pride” and “pride in a job well done”. It would have been lovely if those teachers had done the same. So, yes, my selection is purposeful. I want to feel pride. Pride. Pride. Pride. Good pride.

On New Year’s Eve I went by a local chain clothing store to pick out part of an outfit for the evening’s festivities. I don’t often buy clothing for myself. One: I hate shopping. Two: It isn’t in the budget. Three: I hate shopping. But, with everything 50% off and my wardrobe really beginning to look more than a little bedraggled, I thought a piece or two on sale was worth the expense. Let’s just say the total was about just a bit more than double what I intended to pay upon walking into the store. I knew this at checkout but chose to slide that debit card through the payment machine and leave the store with my new purchases as opposed to asking the clerk to put back an item or two... which I perceived as an embarrassment.

Bad pride. Bad girl, Beth. Bad.

What I need is to regain/retain personal pride in certain areas of my life.
I don’t want to just “be proud”; I want to “have pride”. It’s a subtle distinction but an important one. I want to OWN my pride… my Kingdom of Selfdom.

I want to have personal pride in myself as a mother. (On the up and up.)
I want to have personal pride in my work. (Never much of a problem.)
I want to have personal ~~pride~~ ~~comfort~~ pride in my body.
I want to have personal pride in my home.
I want to have personal pride in managing my finances.
I want to have personal pride in how I live each day.
I want to have personal pride in writing & journaling.
I want to have personal pride as a woman. (Still recovering.)

Good pride.

“Pride is a personal commitment. It is an attitude which separates excellence from mediocrity.” ~William Blake

Musings on Success

2011-01-02T15:43:00.004-06:00

I have a fear.
Me.

I have been accomplished.
I have fed off success.
It was fleeting.
But, in that time, I hungered for it.

I have seen, in the smallest of doses, that which I am capable of accomplishing when I give 100% of myself. It’s frightening. And… somewhere along the way I bowed to that fear.

Giving in to fear is easy.
Embracing success is formidable.

Accepting the power of oneself is fear personified.
“She knows there's no success like failure
And that failure's no success at all.”
~Bob Dylan

Centric

2010-12-31T10:36:00.003-06:00

December 31 – Core Story
What central story is at the core of you, and how do you share it with the world? (Bonus: Consider your reflections from this month. Look through them to discover a thread you may not have noticed until today.) (Author: Molly O’Neill) [The #reverb10 project.]

Since 1994 I have allowed Life to dictate how I Live.
“One of these days… ” <------ Core.

No more.
What is Life without Living?

Empty.
Consequence and Circumstance will no longer hold me hostage.

“One of these days I’m gonna jump off that shelf
Hit that ground runnin’
At least that’s what I keep tellin’ myself
I’ve been sitting on the fence for way too long
Warmin’ that bench as chance moves on
And believe me that ain’t the way to live
And this barely getting by is really getting old
And it’s hard to turn the wrench on a rusty bolt
But someday, somethin’s gotta give…”
~Christian Kane, Something’s Gotta Give

Things don’t just “give”.
Waking up every day and going to bed every night is not Living.
Those are just the bookends.
It’s what’s in the middle that counts. <----- Core.
It’s time to Write those empty pages.

Watch out!
I’m about to go Nuclear.

Chaotic

2010-12-30T19:35:00.005-06:00

Photo © Kevin Dooley
“I have great belief in the fact that whenever there is chaos,
it creates wonderful thinking. I consider chaos a gift.” ~Septima Clark

December 30 – Gift
This month, gifts and gift-giving can seem inescapable. What’s the most memorable gift, tangible or emotional, you received this year? (Author: Holly Root) [The #reverb10 project.]

2010 was full of unbelievable blessings.
I was given the gift of sleep.
I was given the gift of awakening.
I was given the gift of mobility.
I was given the gift of history.
I was given the gift of pride in my home.

2010 was also beyond chaotic.
I tend to thrive in chaos.
It makes me stronger.
It’s a gift.

Yep, that pretty much sums it up.

Cue That Song From Rent, But Not Really

2010-12-29T19:09:00.003-06:00

“When a defining moment comes along, either you define the moment or the moment defines you.” ~Tin Cup, Film (1996)

December 29 – Defining Moment
Describe a defining moment or series of events that has affected your life this year. (Author: Kathryn Fitzmaurice) [The #reverb10 project.]

In 2010 I allowed far too many moments… circumstances… random happenstances… to define me and not the me I want to be. And so, for me, the “define your great moment” of the year subject has become far too tedious.

A year.

Twelve months.
Three hundred sixty five days.
8,765.81277 hours.
525,948.766 minutes. (See? There it is. The song. Sort of. They cheated.)
One standard year.

How many “defining moment” opportunities is that? Countless. Yet, I have less than I can count on one hand and those have been regurgitated here in full… somewhere… in some month… sometimes twice. I have milked them dry. Clinging. I’m finished.

I shall now make every effort to remember the mundane. To bask in the moments I have forgotten. To focus on every moment for every moment is defining.

Remove any one second or minute or hour or day from 2010 and I would not be the woman I am now. The woman who is stepping into 2011. Despite everything, even the “terrible, horrible, no good, very bad days”, I find that unacceptable.

Listen to Mr. Dickens for he “speaks” with timeless wisdom:
“That was a memorable day to me, for it made great changes in me. But, it is the same with any life. Imagine one selected day struck out of it, and think how different its course would have been. Pause you who read this, and think for a moment of the long chain of iron or gold, of thorns or flowers, that would never have bound you, but for the formation of the first link on one memorable day.” ~Charles Dickens, Great Expectations

Igniting Time Present

2010-12-28T17:45:00.002-06:00

“Time is the fire in which we burn.” ~Star Trek: Generations, Film (1994)

December 28 – Achieve
What’s the thing you most want to achieve next year? How do you imagine you’ll feel when you get it? Free? Happy? Complete? Blissful? Write that feeling down. Then, brainstorm 10 things you can do, or 10 new thoughts you can think, in order to experience that feeling today. (Author: Tara Sophia Mohr) [The #reverb10 project.]

I want to achieve contentment in the now… to recognize that there is a time for everything and the time for some of the wants I have for my life may have not yet come. I want to be set aflame by the notion that this is my life and I want to have a burning passion to devour every single moment I am given.

I cannot alter the ashes of Time passed.
I can only prepare a spark for Time future.
But, I can choose to ignite Time present.
I want true contentment with what I have and where I am. I do not want to confuse contentment with resignation or apathy. I want to continue to burn for more.

How will I feel should I achieve such contentment? Sizzling! On fire for the here and now.

I have experienced moments of pure contentedness but they are rare. Elusive. Keeping that fire continuously burning is a constant struggle. There are sparks I can light… today… tomorrow… daily. Lack of diligence is my perpetual downfall.

Behests ‘o Beth
Meditate thy mind.
Own thy attitude.
Move thy body.
Do thy deeds.
Journal thy feelings.
Show thy smile.
Mind thy money.
Respect thyself.
Ignore thy excuses.
Love thy world… and all in it.

Every fire must be stoked.

Kissing Joy As It Flies

2010-12-27T09:41:00.004-06:00

Prompt: Ordinary Joy
Our most profound joy is often experienced during ordinary moments. What was one of your most joyful ordinary moments this year? (Author: Brené Brown) [The #reverb10 project.]

I have a problem with the word “ordinary”. It’s a dirty word like… “average” or “normal”. And, with no offense meant to the author of this prompt, I particularly have a problem with the word “ordinary” preceding the word “joy”. I find any moment of pure joy, large or small, to be far from ordinary. That being said…

MOMENT OF JOY

I posted this picture already this year but looking at it still gives me the same joyous feeling which, if you know me at all, is rather miraculous. See, I took it on the way to work. That’s the sunrise… as in morning… and I am NOT a morning person. I usually drive to work on auto-pilot. That morning I had to stop in the middle of the road (not a major highway) just to get the picture. Apparently I needed a few reminders that day of ordinary, in-the-present-moment things for which I should be joyful.

I needed to be reminded that I was blessed with yet another day of life. Joy.
I needed to be reminded that where I work is beautiful. Joy.
I needed to be reminded that I have gainful employment outside the confines of a corporate box and can, though things are more than a little tight, provide for my boys. Joy.

“He who binds to himself a joy
Does the wingèd life destroy;
But he who kisses the joy as it flies
Lives in eternity's sunrise.”
~William Blake

Sous Chef(s)

2010-12-26T13:01:00.003-06:00

Photo © smitten kitchen
“He who controls the Spice controls the universe.” ~Dune, Film (1984)
This is how you geek up a food post.

December 26 – Soul Food
What did you eat this year that you will never forget? What went into your mouth & touched your soul? (Author: Elise Marie Collins) [The #reverb10 project.]

Three years ago I wrote a post about “catching” my two boys watching Food Network instead of their usual Nickelodeon or Cartoon Network fare. [Sidebar: I sent that post to Alton Brown’s production company. They responded by sending a signed, personalized copy of one of his cookbooks to my boys. I hid it until Christmas that year. They still talk about that Christmas present and show it to people regularly.]

Fast forward to the present and 2010 was the year they both began seriously helping in the kitchen. It is the 10-year old, however, who exhibits passion. He has, quite literally, smelled and tasted every spice in the cabinet. Just last week he was helping my cousin bake a batch of Butterscotch Thins (cookies) and I overheard this:

“Can I try a butterscotch chip? I’ve never had one before because I don’t think I like butterscotch but I can’t possibly cook with them if I don’t know what they taste like.”

Word.

There is much debate between the boys as to who makes the best spaghetti… me or their father. Trust me, my ex can cook. I love that the boys try to compare the two when his is far more American traditional and I’ve taken a more healthy and organic turn with mine.

My best dish this year? Spaghetti… prepared by my boys under my tutelage.

There is something parentally satisfying about watching a 15-year old boy and a 10-year old boy stand over a pot of sauce with tasting spoons having a lively discussion about what’s missing… how it needs a little bit of this or a little bit of that.

Have they mastered spaghetti? No.
Was that batch perfect? Absolutely.

Truth

2010-12-25T10:47:00.002-06:00

“All photos are accurate. None of them is the truth.” ~Richard Avedon

December 25 – Photo (a present to yourself)
Sift through all the photos of you from the past year. Choose one that best captures you; either who you are, or who you strive to be. Find the shot of you that is worth a thousand words. Share the image, who shot it, where, and what it best reveals about you. (Author: Tracey Clark) [The #reverb10 project.]

“All photos are accurate.” Is this me? Yes, it is.

“None of them is the truth.” Is this the real me? No, it is not.

The truth is I don’t let people take photographs of me. Not anymore.

I have control issues.

There was a time when you couldn’t separate me from a camera… being behind it, that is. I was pretty good too. In high school and college I spent hours in the dark room. Creating. I still have my old Minolta® complete with bells and whistles… lenses, filters, etc. It needs a good cleaning and the flash needs repair but I’ll never give it up. It hasn’t taken a photograph in at least ten years. I can’t afford film. I have a couple digital point and shoots (a gift) which do for day-to-day shots of the kids and stuff. Oh, to have some rockin’ digital equipment…

I digress.

The picture?
Photographer: Me
Equipment: Webcam
Location: Living Room

Yes, I digitally tweaked the color a bit.

I look hopeful. Peaceful. Pretty. The disembodied head angle hides my fat. My hair doesn’t look blonde. I am blonde. My eyes look fantastic. I like my eyes. I could be praying… with eyes lifted… and I don’t do enough of that anymore.

Perhaps

2010-12-24T21:50:00.002-06:00

“The future is called ‘perhaps,’ which is the only possible thing to call the future. And the only important thing is not to allow that to scare you.” ~Tennessee Williams, Orpheus Descending

December 24 – Everything’s OK
What was the best moment that could serve as proof that everything is going to be alright? And how will you incorporate that discovery into the year ahead? (Author: Kate Inglis) [The #reverb10 project.]

Alrighty then…

I don’t have a damn clue.

There are things that happen in this world that are, simply put, not OK. Things are not always alright nor can we know that all will be alright.

That’s all I’m going to say on the subject in order to avoid getting The Collective’s knickers in a twist. Know that I am not an eternal pessimist. I don’t live my life on pins and needles waiting for the next bomb to drop but neither do I assume that everything in my future will be okay.

Perhaps it will be. Perhaps it won’t. And… that’s alright.