In The Shadow Of The Iris

This is Ordinary

Sun, 25 May 2008 22:07:50 GMT

With permission and encouragement, because I've never done such a thing, I'm going to address a specific email here within an entry. ....so for you my friend, I'll try this direction and I imagine the comments from others will also be a difference in perspective and opinion. I am after all just a voice of individual process, nothing more, nothing less ~ ~ ~ ~

Trust me, bad things have happened in my lifetime. Things I suppose I could allow to coil around my ankles and hamper my every move. I am human, and no where near immune to the facts of life. I can claim negative, sad, traumatic, horrid, depressing, frustrating, heartbreaking....and so on. If you are alive, you will have pain. That is truth. And the odds are on the fact, someone out there is dealing with something far worse then what you, I, see as bad.......

That is ordinary.

If I take a snapshot of just the last two months of my life, and applied it to conventional and acceptable process, I would have a "right" or "inherited" reason to be pissed, depressed, bawling, stressed and generally down. Truth in snapshot. ***after thought modesty removal***

I know sharing this much wasn't needed, but rather a perspective of my challenges. Now, you'll see that not all things are peachy keen in my world. I typically don't mention things like that because I do not desire sympathies, strokes, and dramatic infusion. It's not needed. But I can see why you may have thought I had the world in my hands. In a way I believe I do actually, but not the way you implied. Regardless of the issues I'm dealing with, I'm beyond thrilled to be alive and gifted another day to explore life. Simple, but good enough for me to feel grateful and appreciative of what I have.

So that's two months, all things I have absolutely no control over, and despite it all, I think today is a gorgeous beautiful day. Could that imply I'm rowing in a personal boat of denial? I don't believe so,I've had my sadness, my tears and allowed bad days to happen. Tis human to grieve, have a bad day, embrace a sad time. However, the bad things have happened, are still happening and I honestly believe playing victim over them is not the sort of direction growth, understanding, healing and greatness, in spite of it all, is found.

I wasn't always this way. There was a time that I basked in the glory of my past, my guilt's, and my glorious pains. Moments like that can be found in the archives of my journal. I haven't always made good choices, and have no doubt I will make more bad choices in life. I have rained hell down on my heart and mind just to sit and lick the very wounds I created. I own my choices, and I assure, I've done some terrible things in my life that I will continue to live with. But here's the thing, my past is my past, your past is your past....our historical realities...I see the difference between you and me, is the fact I no longer allow my past to define my future, whereas you let your past dictate your tomorrows mind set.

It seems only natural that one allows a yesterday to establish a tomorrow, but I encourage you to shift that mentality. We are the makeup of our history, but it's just crazy to allow such a thing as something that happened 10 years ago to effect your today. Let it go. I'm sure as you read that, your pain swelled up demanded and justified it's overbearing presence, but you can stifle that thought, I promise, by over ruling it's persistent need with a more powerful emotion called acceptance. You have to choose which you'd rather give the louder voice. It's yourself after all. Truth. No one could tell me a past issue that could warrant an entire life lived in day in, day out, pain and despair. No history is worth that self inflicted sentence. Reprogram.

You wrote that you have a hard time feeling happy for someone else who expresses happiness, greatness......that's your ego talking rather then your heart. Yes ego, because ego would rather think they are bad at something, just as you believe you are. Trying to measure your own ego against another persons successes is a fruitless maneuver that will never bring you personal joy. We are far too individual, with individual lives to play 'theJones' against our family and friends. Those that do, are participating inan empty game that never ends.

The way I see it, everyone possesses that great and powerful concept of choice. There are those who have taken the 'bad' in their past, learned from it and although it will never be erased, they apply it in a positive manner to their future. And then there are those who allow a past to shackle their thoughts, behaviors and somehow feel justified bythis mentality. If you have convinced yourself this thought process is perfectly right and earned, try unconvincing yourself that it's not. Otherwise you choose to keep rowing that boat in the middle of the desert without water. Boats don't move very far in sand.

As for your greatness, I could mention several things I think are great about you. But I won't. This might hurt, but here's the deal. Anyone that needs compliments, or others to point out what's good about them, or fill their bucket of greatness is again rowing in a desert. For me to do that, is akin to giving you a quick rain storm. You need to fill your own lake with a wave of positive thought and changes. The notion of depending on others to do it for you is an unreliable source of personal nourishment. I see a hundred reasons you could feel confident in yourself, but you see a few past histories to drag you down......shift your focus, and believe in it. Once you do that, and I do compliment you, you'll actually believe me............

Each sentence I've written should have started with I believe.....and ended with, my personal opinion. I'm no therapist, but you asked for my opinions. Everything I've written is my personal view point. It's only truth for me, and suggestion based on my history and knowledge. I imagine it's made you uncomfortable and I will say, Good. Uncomfortable should inspire a change of position to find content. You deserve content, we all do. And when the next hard thing comes along, which it will, you'll be better able to handle it's motion. I believe in you my friend.........

And that is, just a thought~

**after note, the person I was writing emails with asked me to do this entry, and encouraged me to be be bold and honest. Their questions and thoughts weren't an attack on me personally. It's all good. Friend is well meaning and I hope this entry helped, rather then offend**

~Ness~

Mon, 19 May 2008 15:38:20 GMT

I was thinking this weekend that I wanted to start a revolution of some sort. Something swanky and worthwhile. Something that would require a theme song, a possible parade and perhaps something akin to fantastic parties. But then, I had to go and ruin it by doing some research on revolutions. Turns out, they are all rather violent and borderline revolt-ing.............

So I suppose I'll now settle for just finding a niche in life that will keep me swinging along with greatness. ((But I still want a theme song)) I've decided since we are all bound for greatness, and I really believe we all have something extraordinary to claim in life, it's about time I discovered what my greatness is all about.

Claiming I have greatness does go against the grain of what is considered socially acceptable of course, so I understand some humility is in order here...... For some reason it's considered bad manners to coast along and say to another person, "Hey, I'm full of greatness, did ya know that?"

But, it is perfectly acceptable to say to another, "Oh, I'm a complete mess, life is rough and I'm drowning on a daily basis" That dialogue is A-Ok, but owning a piece of greatness is akin to arrogance, bragging or the Mack Daddy Deadly sin, Pride.

Why Is That?? Perhaps I'm the clueless one here and am teetering on the edge of black listing my journal. Either way I'm going for it.....

I publicly claim, that I have pride in myself. Gasp. There, I'm not deleting it, I've typed it, I have pride in myself and I'm quite certain I'm full of greatness, realized and undiscovered........I know I will never be the greatest at anything, no one really is, but I will find my greatness, I (everyone) deserve as much.

Now I just need to discover something worthy of my theme song and potential one lady parade. Since greatness comes in many forms, I figure the skies the limit for opportunity. I find questioning my motivation can simplify my direction. I know my greatness is not found in money, business, politics, religion, material things, and the standard American dream theory. But I desire fireworks and a sense of Wow, I did that.........somewhere around here, my unrealized greatness, is just waiting to be claimed.

I also know, that no one can guide me to my greatness, not the sort of greatness I seek. I can't compose a personal theme song if someone else writes the lyrics~~~ So now I just need a mission to accomplish. Whether it's climbing a Mountain I would rather not, swimming to the Ocean via rivers fromIdaho, starting a humanitarian cause, baking a cake that's not from a box, etc etc....... the opportunities are limitless.

Awhile ago I wrote something for myself. I wrote, " In a world scattered with broken glass, the love and support from my family and friends always keeps me safe. In a world abundant with fears and choices, I have always felt love was bigger then any mistake I have made. In a lifetime of opportunities, I have risked often, failed with grace and succeeded with humble gratitude. But above all, I have never known a single day without a hint of extraordinary."

Now, I just need to add a touch of greatness to my journey.

Have you touched base with or more importantly, claimed YoUr gReAtneSs today?

Just (observation) curious~~

Self

Tue, 13 May 2008 16:03:29 GMT

It's been awhile I see, so I will brush off ordinary excuses and go with, I had been stretched out on my back, hands behind my head, staring up at the underside of my Iris plant watching the world drift along waiting for some gorgeous blooms.........until life reached down, gave me a resounding bitch slap and with that smack I've had to make a choice, crawl back under my soft zone, or emerge right along with the blooms.

So here I am, at all things ignored. I don't feel so well, in fact, I'm fighting off sad and would be perfectly content remaining silent and blissfully depressed. (For the season and reason of my grief, one could, if they wished to satisfy the curiosity factor, visit my other journal at Lavender Black ) But sad and depressed are different then simply quiet and observing, so movement is in order and this residence is one I can achieve progress.

I had to read something, a paper I wrote that will probably be the hardest thing I'll ever write, this weekend in front of 120 people. Public speaking is something I wouldn't say I love, but I've never been that evasive of it either. I've given classes, pulled of speeches, la de da, not a big deal, but this weekend I experienced a sensation I doubt I'll ever forget and it quite possibly scared me for life in the public speaking arena.

When I walked up to the podium, turned to face the crowd and introduced myself, I was as steady as could be expected. I had given myself numerous pep talks, internally bitch slapped my emotions so many times they were under check, and re-read the material ahead of time so much, I almost knew all 4 pages by heart.

Then I started to read. Somewhere in that very first paragraph I felt my fingers start to tingle, and that sensation continued with every word for 4 pages, to weave it's way through my entire body. The only part of me that didn't fail was my voice. I somehow managed to keep it steady and true the entire time, but by the end my entire body was shaking numb and I had to steady myself by holding the podium before attempting to return to my seat. The shaking was so horrendous, the people in the front row could visually see my struggle.......

I've now deemed my bodies traitorous reaction an internal implosion of emotion held so tight it had no where to go but within itself. Which sounds much better then a possible anxiety attack, a meltdown of physical body control or a plain old panic of the third power. I expected near perfection from myself, and realize now how often I place unrealistic expectations on my own responsibilities, that I would never place on another soul. It was all rather surreal, but I survived and today, I'm again honored I had the privilege.

This is what I appreciate when bad things happen. People come together. Things like schedules and appointments, cleaning house and TV programs become ridiculously irrelevant. When bad things happen, focus turns from self serving to self sacrificing. People come together in ways, that one would think they would want or more importantly, need......all the time. Why is it so hard to maintain self sacrificing and holding people close during the ordinary week? It is of great mystery to me.

I took a late night walk with my Father Saturday. He said something I haven't and won't forget. He said, "This is why I can walk down this street free from guilt, should haves and could haves. I was a good son, I told her I loved her often, I visited her every single week, I offered my help even though she never asked and I never expected anything in return. She did the same for me. I can live with that."

Body betrayal aside, I can live with everything I did as well. It's all good.

Ahoy~Contrast

Mon, 17 Mar 2008 06:19:57 GMT

Although my chair seems to be swaying to and fro, I thought I would try a sea worthy entry while my latest adventure is still as fresh as just landed sea food.

You see, I did what is considered, by my standards, a 'commercial vacation' something I typically avoid.....at all costs. A cruise seemed the quintessential beacon of prepackaged hoopla, but a week ago I found myself walking across the plank of an all inclusive festivities driven Mexican Riviera Cruise. <gasp>

I could make excuses for my irrational choice in escape. For example, I was cold here in Idaho and down south held promise of warm air. Or, I couldn't find anything better to do. Then again, I could say, I was curious, the travel channel and all. Of course, there's the truth, which is I got talked into it by a gang of sea loving travelers. Either direction I lean towards, I sucked it up, tucked my passport in my pocket and headed into skeptical waters.

I think I'll spare everyone my opinions of the cruising life .I fear I could go on and on about my observations on El Shipper Skipper. Except this, if you like to eat, and I mean A LOT, book a cruise, you'll be rolling in food heaven.

What fascinated me the most on this excursion was the contrasts I discovered everywhere I turned. While at sea, I couldn't find anything better to do then simply watch people. While trapped in a space that 80% of that huge mass you see on the outside is actually staterooms the size of sardine cans, that leaves 20% of space for everyone to amass in. Observation heaven.

First and foremost. People are extraordinarily different in size, and general appearance. That may not seem such an original statement or observation, but when you are in a space that's holding 200 people sauntering around in a state of undress....bikini's, Speedos, barely there poolside attire, it really can evoke a sense of amazement.....the human body is incredibly unique even though we all sport the same basic form. Contrasts and uniqueness. Body buffet style.

By the time we hit land and I could abandon ship I was extremely ready for a change of scenery. We personally choose to stay off the beaten path. No shopping needed, my gang wanted to see people, places and things.

Being in Mexico really opened my eyes to how monochromatic we live in America. We, at least the places and people I know, are a banal bunch. With our beige walls and earth tone houses. It occurred to me that unlike Americans who want to fade into the landscape and not be outright noticed in our neighborhood, the Mexican culture celebrates bold, bright and colorful. The colors of their homes contrast the landscape. Their personal adornments send signals out to notice them. A church I visited was laden, to a point that would certainly be considered tacky in America, with statues and alters.

But contrast goes both ways. While I could admire the beauty of their homes, their paintings and adornments, I couldn't ignore the bars on every single door and window. In all three ports we visited, I couldn't ignore the trash, that was practically everywhere. It was a conflict of observation. To see beauty, everywhere, pillared by immense piles of trash. Sad.

One of my greatest moments was seeing a cemetery in Mexico. Holy High Honor. That culture doesn't just bury their dead, they shroud them in alters, shiny things, flowers, tombs, kites, houses, and statues. The cemetery I saw was an entire Mecca. The bigger, the brighter, the better. A visually distracting and enchanting world I have never seen nor realized existed before. I have officially requested the most gaudy and visually delightful cemetery space for myself when I pass on. I no longer want a monotone tombstone. Hell no, I want to be the purple house on the lot, I want a shrine that says, "Here lies Rebecca, Make she sparkle in peace" ........

And Contrast of wealth. By sea at night, I was eating a 5 course dinner that I would often push to the sides of the plate because I couldn't finish it all.....and by day on Mexican soil, I would witness people sifting my discarded food out of the trash can. It was a very hard reality to absorb.

In Mazatlan we used a tour guide who spoke broken, barely understandable English. His name was Cesar, and although his English was questionable, he finished every -single -solitary -sentence with, "Okie Dokie" ..(it's funny, ha ha, for about 30 minutes, but trust me, after 2 hours, okie dokie gets a bit old) ...he explained that despite our heartstrings, we were never to give the tiny children of Mexico money. He explained to me, who already had her purse basically open to anyone who asked, that if I gave them anything, it's one more day their parents will keep them out of school. Ouch. Seeing poverty at such a high dosage, at every corner, and feeling helpless to well, help, was something I doubt anyone with an ounce of compassion could feel immune. Contrast, in it's ugly form. It hurt my heart.

I suppose I could write for another hour (or two or three) about my experience, but I'll spare anyone who's made it this far. Since my mind still thinks it's on a ship and I've been swaying around the house all day, it's probably time to get some sleep. I'm sure tomorrow I'll start catching up on the 330 email alerts I have in my box (you guys can certainly write, A LOT in a week!) tomorrow, or the next...........Okie Dokie?

Interior

Mon, 03 Mar 2008 07:13:10 GMT

So, it took a few comments from well wishers, a few mental "Huh's," a bit of research and discovery...to grasp the realization that for the second week in a row I was graced on the list for a Guest Editor pick.
Which I thought both humbly and appreciative, "Wow, thank you Marc!" Who is currently residing over at Grains Of Sand (a wonderful journal I must add)
And then.........

Well~~ and then I thought, "Oh no, Holy *&*%$ (or something a bit like that) if I had known that little piece of info, would I have really tossed out a mental health admission yesterday, of the questionable variant for my second debut?"

Seriously, lets think about this. You met a person for the first time and they say "My name is Rebecca, I have a few screws loose, but pull up a chair, make yourself comfortable, randomness and zero predictability are likely to hold center stage here."

Marc, my dear friend. That was a good one. The no warning part.
*Gotcha style*
(smile)
And for those of you that come by these parts of their own free will, with full comprehension and understanding of the type of person I was before the Guest Editors picks.....well, you can't blame me!
~That's all I'm saying~
And if your new, well, I swear, it has never been proven that any harm or trauma has fallen a single visitor.
Yet.
I mean.
Ever.

Ah Oh, I'm in one of those writing moods. Sometimes I think maybe I have 'split personality writing style', if there is such a thing. I never know which I'll get when I sit down to a keyboard. As a prolific writer of the wanna-be who knows sort, this can create a problem at times. Which of course, is why I can explain the assortment of started, mid-way, finished and never gonna happen writings cluttering my hard drive. 'Nuff said.

Has anyone read any good books lately? Well, I haven't. Which I'm getting a wee bit tired of, to say the least. Why hath all the authors forsaken me... lately? If I have to skim another book out of sheer boredom I think I may just.....(complete the sentence in any way you see fit, as long as it includes fire, thank you)

Anyone? Anyone? Book recommendations always taken, embraced and savored like a fine piece of chocolate. Speak up, or forever hold your peace and good book. Please ~~
Fine print: I enjoy all genres. I am not prissy, nor chicken. Bring on the horror, the fantasy. I am not highbrow or low brow. (Although erotica sinks low enough I don't count it as actual literature, plus, I have children in the house here people) I'm not snobby or pretentious about my book picks. If Nora Roberts writes a good one, I'll read it and try to ignore the fact I think she has gremlins in her basement pounding out her 500 books per year. I'll read the Nobel prize winners, and the discount bin at Barnes and Noble. All standards have been burned with the last 10 books I've read.
P. S. I hold no recommendations personally accountable. Promise.

On the heavier side of life. I am finally justified (injustice!) in my earlier complaints about the snow. I spent the day taking a drive up to my cabin in the Mountains to get a good visual on the damage the snow pulled off this year. And let me say, Snow, is no longer my friend. We have split up, parted ways, flipped each other off rigorously and will forever be intolerable with one another. Snow, in all her merciless glory crushed in the entire roof of the garage. 4-wheelers, crushed. Camp Trailer, crushed. Should I go on?
Rebecca -10
Snow (laughing, hahaha) +20

It could have been worse. As always. And that fact, in a sad sort of way, helps. For me, it's a crushed roof and material items. But for others, who had something much worse happen today, my roof is nothing. That my friends is the truth and beauty of perspective.

It seems to me that in every single situation that has a person thinking 'why me,' a simple glance over thy shoulder provides all the perspective needed to assess reasonable reaction. I have never, ever, personally encountered a problem that I couldn't glance over my shoulder and say, "it could have been much worse."

I'm not sure if I'm ahead, or behind, or above or below, but I should probably just stop here. ( I feel that other writer in me sneaking out) Thank you Marc for several things. The element of surprise. The beautiful words you write in your own journal. The words you wrote about my journal. The writers you included me with.The gesture, from both yourself and Indigo the previous week, has not escaped my interior. Thank you..........

Daisy Day

Sat, 01 Mar 2008 16:59:42 GMT

Although I once again feel devoid of respectable chitter chatter, or type-oh-worthy material, I thought I would try "throw the paint and see what materializes" theory. I got up at 5:00 a.m., which is an unnatural hour, in my humble opinion, for anyone to be awake. But today seems like a good day to start early.

The first of March marks another seasonal survival period for me. January and February are brutal to my daily peace of mind. It's a time frame that has the ability to snake bite my insides and decay my smile. I suppose conventional wisdom could say I suffer from the cliche effects of seasonal affective disorder (S A.D.), but I would prefer staying away from any sort of labels and simply understand I struggle though certain times of the year.

Each year is different, especially with my growing surface knowledge and understanding of my own interior. It took awhile, but over the last few years I've realized, put my finger on it per say, that it's 'normal' for me to tank into darkness during the first two months of the year. The yearly goal for me, now, is to keep a window cracked open and reasonable conscious perspectives close at hand. If I maintain that, I don't feel like I'm one step away from black despair of the indescribable ~~

This year I went the direction of hyper-manic, which made me a slave to my impulses, made for a lot of sleepless nights and unexplainable creations......but kept me productive in the day to day. It was a nice change from years of past. I wasn't swallowed whole by black corridors and silent landscapes.
I've kept the Lavender Black at bay...................

Permission and Patience. Those are the factors in my life that have made all the difference. I used to fight, kicking and screaming against the hooks of a bad day, a sad day, a bleak day, a black mood. I used to think something was wrong with me when those type of days rolled into my world like a fog. I used to think there was something immeasurably wrong with me when I couldn't control and maintain a daisy filled flower attitude.

It took awhile to understand I was being quite unreasonable to think everyday should be calm, beautiful and as stable as a mountain. It was rather pompous really, to think I could go through life without waves, ebbs and flows, ups and downs. Permission to feel as my mind wanders and patience to discover the next destination, tis my dose of Prozac.

Did..I just admit I have psychological issues? (I know, I know, you've all known that about me for quite some time, haven't ya) I suppose that's a reasonable admission, and better then just saying I may have a touch of whacko within me <grin> I haven't met very many people who don't have some sort of visible screw rambling around loose in their minds. Although I understand why I would like to pretend life is just peachy, it does make for a bland illusionary assumption.......
Truth threads its way through eventually, always~~~~

Wishing for Daisy Day's

And accepting the weeds as they emerge.

Rebecca Anne

Roll Call

Thu, 21 Feb 2008 18:22:13 GMT

I feel almost a pang of guilt? No, not guilt, it takes a lot to self inflict the all mighty essence of guilt upon myself. More like, I feel like I better get my booty on this page, officially, since Indigo over at Raven's Lament put me up for a Guest Editors spot and I've failed miserably at revving up the writing and giving fresh material for visitors. Thank You Indigo!

So here I am. I do have a marginal reason for lacking off. A viral plague of disease and sickness has infiltrated my house and attacked the kiddoes. Fever. Hacking. Sniffling. The whole spectrum of delightfully miserable symptoms.

I for one, have not gotten it. But I feel like a walking, cursed, potential. Like at any moment the Gawds of sickness will strike me down for hugging, kissing, nursing and generally doing the Mommy thing, while they were ridden up in bed for 3 and 4 days. Unless the high content of Diet Coke deposited formaldehyde that has accumulated in my body can fend the bugs off, I'm toast~~

In other news, we had a mini-earthquake here in Idaho this morning. Evidently I missed the entire thing. Or walked through the momentary jiggle and didn't even notice. Which is sort of a bummer. Things like that rarely happen in my parts, so I suppose it's a big deal. It must be, because the news stations in my town held the TV hostage for 3 hours with "breaking news story" even though the actual earthquake happened in Nevada.

My town is still small enough to get excited, WAY excited, by the most miniscule of news. I do hope the people in Wells, Nevada are all right. As for the people in Idaho that felt a 'wave'.....I say, relax people, it didn't even really 'happen' to us. Then again, we are Idaho, we do have to get our kicks when we can.

I do wish I had something more interesting to write about. Being cooped up in the house has limited my observation and interaction thought processes. I've been left to meddle in my own mind and own devices for days on end and that isn't exactly a good thing. A good example of what happens to my mind and thoughts can be found in the video below....................................................

On a side note. If you had emailed me your address, you should have received a note in the mail from me by now. If you haven't, please let me know, because that would mean I messed up. I do appreciate all the addresses I was gifted, and after a visit to the doctor to unlock my hand from the paralysis that occurred after writing so many (smile) , I felt remarkably satisfied by the experience. Thank You everyone~~~

Ok, this booty call is borderline mundane and I can't be having that. I shall return again, and hopefully with something more interesting then quarantined plagues, jiggle waves in the dirt, my brain on letters and a sheepish goodbye~~~

Delightful

Tue, 12 Feb 2008 16:51:15 GMT

I have a circuit of coffee shops I visit. Coffee shops, I've discovered, are a perfect atmosphere to read, write in ones journal, write letters to other people, scribble in my notebooks and enjoy something tasty while doing so.

Coffee shops can be a bit pretentious. Especially if you show up alone, laden with important things like a pen and paper, or worse, a laptop. Usually, and I'll give it a 90% ratio, I leave my laptop at home. I used to be able to drag my laptop to coffee shops and get a considerable amount of writing done. That is, until basically every damn safe haven added wireless Internet to their menu. I admit it, I cannot resist wireless temptation.........

I go to these places for several reasons. One, typically, there are no distractions. There is no lint on the floor I feel obligated to pick up (like my house), there are no pets there trying to bat a pen out of my hand. One should turn off thy cell phone and adhere to Library etiquette, which never happens in my own home. I don't get distracted by pretty things, shiny things, noisy things, time sucking avoidance........plus, usually I get a good cup of java to sip at my leisure. Bonus.

But yesterdays excursion to the Java Shop was different. Instead of falling into my own rabbit hole like I typically do, I was distracted by 4 woman. Delightfully distracted actually.

Now, in case your thinking about doing the coffee shop circuit, Real Estate is an important factor to consider. Never sit too close to the counter. Stay away from the front door. Avoid sitting by the sugar, creamer, napkin bar. Avoid the spot next to the bathroom. A good corner, is prime location, but you practically have to stand in line for such a dream come true, or stake it out from the middle and watch the person who's sitting there for signs of leaving. The Lap Toppers usually grab all the wall tables, because they need that energy producing plug in. Yesterday, I was stuck in the barren sea....the middle......

The 4 ladies that changed the entire dynamics of my day were older. Ok, much older then what I normally see at the coffee shop. In their 70's? Maybe a mixture of 70's and 80's? I'm not good at telling ages. Hell, I used to think 35 looked so old and here I am, 35, thinking hey, this isn't so bad. They were also clearly on a date, with each other. A coffee inspired, mid-day get together. Dressed to the nine's, sparkling with jewelry (a shiny distraction for me) attired in individual, but signature sassy outfits.

In no way did they observe the library etiquette of hushed tones and quite chit-chat. These 4 were whooping it up. I simply had no choice but to pull out a notebook, start taking notes, sketching them and all out eavesdropping.

It was all gossip. Stories. Past and Present. Current affairs and salacious rumors. I would have sworn I was listening to 4 teenagers talking it up about everyone, and everything they had heard over the past week. It was wonderful! The eavesdropper/observer that I am was entertained for over an hour by these ladies. The things they talked about..........well, it fell nothing short of unexpected, remarkable, unique and sometimes downright hilarious. They were like busy bee's, buzzing around flower top topics, never pausing for more then a moment on one petal.

The highlight for me was when, (After they had all mutually agreed that Hillary Clinton had had a facelift) they somehow got on the topic of Scientology. One of the lowest toned ladies there made a statement that produced, a blow of my cover, chuckle from me.

She said, "Well, I don't know who shoved that Scientology butt plug up Toms (Cruise) rectum, but someone needs to tell him aliens don't give a hoot about what religion we all partake in."

Classic, I tell ya. Bloody Classic.

I took over two pages of notes on these ladies. I couldn't help myself. It didn't hurt to look busy anyway <grin> I really admired the way they bantered, and laughed. They laughed and gorgeously laughed. They disrupted the entire normal coffee shop vibe and I adored them for it.

I don't always take time to physically visit with my friends. We all seem so busy, so wrapped up in our own lives, that most months the best we can achieve is late night phone calls. I aim to change that. If just sitting next to 4 beautiful woman, listening in on their conversation warmed my heart like it did.......I'm certain doing the same thing with my own friends would do wonders, for all of us. I made some calls yesterday, caught a few friends off guard and gave them a time and the place.

This week is about connection, when it really comes down to it. Forget about all that fleeting romantic commercial crap. This week is a subtle reminder to keep the people you care about in your mind, and hopefully in your arms with a good old fashioned hug. I plan to do that this Thursday with my friends~~~~

And now, I would like to thank twopeople from our little community that surprised me with the Kindness/ Nice Matters Awards. Thank you, very much ladies. I'm always rather word tied, tongue tied, when it comes to such things. (now you know how to shut me up) So I will simply say your beautiful words are cherished and you gave me a smile a mile wide....

Thank You Kath @ Secret Garden
And
Thank You Michelle @ (((Reflections)))
Both Beautiful Ladies with Beautiful Journals.

And I Treasure the Beautiful in Life~~

An Abstract Idea

Tue, 05 Feb 2008 17:18:34 GMT

I would like my newest entry to resemble light and fluffy, like a marshmallow. I would have said snow, but my love of snow is dwindling amidst the clear staying power it has around my homestead.

I've decided snow is just an illusion. When it starts to fall (back in December) your overcome with a sense of peace and silent contemplation of your surroundings. Snow muffles the hustle and bustle of life and hints at the simple things like hot chocolate, cozy blankets and Christmas.

However, after the snow has landed, and stuck like Elmer's glue for well over a month, it takes on a whole new essence. Stark. Blinding. Plain. Monochromatic. Being presented with a monochromatic world conflicts with my abstract mind. It breeds a simple cliche called "Cabin Fever" of the worst kind. I want the hell outta here.

Thank you everyone, for your well wishes for my Father. He's doing as well as can be expected. I've assessed the damage and told him to blame my Mother for the amazing eye shiners he has acquired. (She didn't love that idea, but I know I detected a smile in his swollen canvas) His face is not monochromatic in the slightest. The body can produce a brilliant hue of colors when aggravated! As for his nose, only time will reveal what he ends up with. At the moment, no one is saying a word about it's appearance. It's hard to offer up an opinion on something that has what looks like a million stitches from forehead to bottom lip.

Light and Fluffy. Fluffy and Light, like a feather swirling in the wind. I don't think I can achieve fluffy and light today. I'm just not feeling the vibe of such a squishy idea. Perhaps if I had more caffeine in my system I would feel the bounce of a light and fluffy day. Hmmm, now I'm just adding fat to some filler to achieve some filled up space. Not a good idea, nope, never, because even I know that comes off as erratic and sporadic and will land firmly at the foot of whacko.

Speaking of whacko, I would like to try something. But as I put this out there, forget I ever said whacko. Just clear thy mind and thing pink posies and white daisies, the vision of pure and innocent, nice and sweet.

As for that something I would like to try, it would take a measure of trust and curiosity on your part. Oh, and an email and home address in my box would help. That's right, I'm openly stepping over the boundaries of Internet guidelines and requesting the address of anyone who would enjoy receiving a note via snail mail. In case you all forgot, that sort of mail requires an old fashioned thing called a stamp, typically purchased from a post office. Unlike email (which I know I am horrendous at) , it's something I rather enjoy doing, a hobby of mine, (mind) I suppose. And just so it's clear, nothing whatsoever, is expected in return. Nadda, nothing. I know snail mail is my thing, and would never expect one in return...I am just of the belief that sometimes, occasionally, it's nice to receive something in the mail other then a bill or tree killing junk and I like to be the one sending. Confidentiality is of course treated like a vault.

References provided if needed...... from people (actual Internet friends) I've been writing for some time... (you know, to prove I'm not a maniac whacko) So, go for it, email me, you never know....right? <grin>

~~Carry On~~~

Circling In

Tue, 29 Jan 2008 17:36:57 GMT

I wonder if you guys out ( envision my hands splayed starting at the middle front of me, and then swooping out wide) thereeeeeeee.....ever write an entry that right after you've posted you become irritated with yourself (now envision me looking at you with inquiring eye gestures) by the content? Because I do, I have, and a good example is my last one.

The truth is in the pudding, my last entry for example, although my ailments are annoying, somewhat concerning and downright agitating at times, I shall live. I will continue to be me, I will adorn my battle gear every time I go outside and I will continue to flip off the sun with my middle finger in the most enduring way I know how. But my entry was simply the outer rung of a ring of concerns I carry lately. Not for myself, but for others.

Because, although I've always been vigilant about my skin care, the honest moi needs to acknowledge I had the cards of fate stacked against me to begin with. I know this because I take so much after my dear Father and he has skin cancer as well. Since I am fiercely protective, I would never blame him for my ailments, but there, that's out there as well.....Genetic Inheritance at it's finest.

His skin cancer is the most common of all, I actually have up stepped him by going straight to squamous cell cancer a level higher.....His is Highly treatable, won't kill him, and he's been dealing with it for a long time. But......in him I see a piece of my propensity filled future.

Although Basil cell skin cancer is the baby of the group, it has a nasty side and my Dad will start paying the price for it tomorrow. El Doctors Slice and Dice will be removing one whole side/half of his nose tomorrow.....(yes, the basil cells have grown fingers all up through his nose, tiny red dot on the outside, a whole party train growing on the inside)...then on Friday he goes back for more surgery to start the cosmetic reconstruction of a nose taken by a simple, highly treatable, non worrisome skin cancer. So in my female/mere human perspective, I have a moment of Holy fuck, that could be me, holy shit, I hope he's ok, holy hell, I'm worried, for a varied number of reasons.

This is probably far more detail than really warranted on my journal, but it's my party and I'll explain if I want to.......So, in order to recreate a nose, they will borrow cartilage and skin from various other body parts. Once that's installed, they will then start the long drawn out process of cutting his cheek skin and forehead skin in order to 'pull it' over the hopeful nose to be, and let it 'grow' for a bit with the help of balloons and skin stretching. Once and hopefully that comes together, they will again surgically try to create the resemblance of a nose. Brilliant.

I personally think that entire process sucks. Eloquent I know. But sucks with a capitol S. So now you know why I'm a wee bit paranoid and sensitive of my own sketchy skin future. It's akin to riding a canoe down a river, I am following my Fathers wake and he's hours away from going off a recoverable waterfall I will someday be going off. The difference is, unlike my Father, I skipped stage one skin cancer, went straight to stage two and I've had 9 (I think that's the current number) pre-melanomas (the Niagara Falls of all waterfalls) removed from my body...(my dads had one, uno)..and all of them are now swirling black and full of propensity behind my little boat.

Sigh. It is what it is. Well, now that I have that out and off my skin (pun intended) I need something else to focus on.

How about, I can't drink tea. I wish I could. I've tried, ohhh I've tried. I'm quite envious of people who can drink tea. I wish I knew how you tea drinkers can do it. I want the ritual. I want the fancy shmancy tea sets and a designated tea time to kick back and gaze out on the world.

I want to drink green tea, for all it's important health benefits. But when I've tried to gag it down I choke up, my eye's bug out and I run to the nearest sink to eradicate it's vile taste. I want to drink cinnamon tea's and orange tea's. I want to have an entire world of tea festivities and flavors at my beck and call, but alas, they all make me want to hurl.

I think it's really the ritual I covet. The, dip your little tea bag, or use those sweet strainers on a chain I see. I even want the fragile little tea set and I want to have a tea party...and I want a teapot to scream at me from my stove letting me know it's time to kick back......A forced focus of the simple things. There is little enjoyment to pulling back the aluminum ring on a diet coke. Sure, there's that moment of 'pop' a fresh soda can make, but otherwise, it's an empty ritual full of formaldehyde.

If I counted up the money I've wasted on tea over the years, searching for the elusive flavor I could learn to appreciate, well, I'm certain I could have purchased something that didn't end cold and poured (spit) in a sink. So, if you're still laboring through this long ass entry, and you're a tea drinker, I commend you, el lucky one.

I've decided to add Hospice volunteer to my little universe. I go in for 'training' later this week and believe I start next week with my first patient. I'm not sure why I decided to do this, other then I would like to believe people at the end of their lives might have something to say, and I would like to hear it.....really hear it. My understanding is I'm just a visitor, I can read to them, talk to them, and simply be someone who cares. I like that. The only piece I'm worried about, is the obvious, losing them in the end and that end is soon for any hospice patient. I'm not sure how I will contain that factor inside myself, but I'm sure I'll work it out. Has anyone else done this out there? If so, I would love to hear your perspective on what to expect.......................

Ok, that's enough rambling for one day. This entry should count as two, one for thoughts, two for sheer random space quantity................