THE GIFT

Some Christmas presents come by surprise. Sometimes they cannot be wrapped. Sometimes they cannot be seen. Neither the giver nor the recipient is even aware such an exchange is going to take place. These are often the most delightful of gifts. I received mine today from my son.

It began with a request he made. Would I please see if I could find a particular Christmas song by a particular group? Although I had never heard of the band, I felt certain I would be able to locate the song he wanted. I easily found the song and also some other ones with titles that were familiar to me. I did not listen to any of them prior to the downloads. He and I often appreciate the same bands, so I assumed their music would appeal to me. Throw in that I adore Christmas music, and I did not expect to be disappointed.

Now I am literally searching for the words to describe the music of that band. The name of this group is Trans-Siberian Orchestra. I will include a link to their official site at the end of this entry. I listened to each of the songs, and I am completely enthralled by them. Yes, I am bedazzled by them. Ah, I love when I am held captive by music. My son's gift to me is a musical appreciation for a group previously unbeknownst to me.

I sit here playing those Trans-Siberian Orchestra Christmas songs over and over. Such an incredibly powerful and intense collection of music by this band. With almost every song, I feel as if my emotions are being yanked all over the place. There are the chilling and driving melodies combined with a gentleness and sweetness. I never know quite when one emotion will be replaced by another. By the end of each song, I have a smile on my face that is literally radiating and goosebumps covering me! My preference is actually their instrumental songs. The vocals take away from the rich beauty of the instruments. Fortunately, I collected more instrumental ones. And not all of their music is Christmas-oriented. Metallica joined them in a wonderful rendition of Requiem, which I love.

I have always enjoyed Christmas songs. There are some I dislike intensely. Jingle Bells does not do a damn thing for me. Deck The Halls is another thumbs down. I do not especially want "cute" music. I want to hear the ones that make me FEEL something (other than annoyance). I want to be swept away to a place in my mind where nothing else intrudes. An oasis where the music touches my soul and my heart for those moments. I am left content.

There are some pleasant memories associated with many of the Christmas carols. I laugh about one recollection I have. David Bowie has long been a favorite singer of mine. I bought his albums (yes, ALBUMS!) and memorized every word to every song. I even found him to be an intriguing person to sketch. My parents were more than aware of my infatuation. While they gave me the wrinkled nose look when I had his music blaring in the house and my mother tried to tell me his voice was nothing compared to the great singers of the past, I said they were not trying to HEAR him. They were listening to the song as a whole. It was rock music in their book, and that meant ICK to them. Well, I should thank good ol' Bing Crosby for changing their perspective about Bowie. One year on his annual Christmas show, Bing had Bowie as his guest. My parents were floored. I was elated! I felt like I had already "won" just because Bing had obviously declared Bowie a worthy enough performer to guest star on his program. And then it happened. Bing and Bowie sang together...a duet of Little Drummer Boy and Peace on Earth. It was glorious. My parents were stunned. Truth be told, Bowie outshone Bing. I am quite sure my parents even felt that way. What a voice! My smug little self sat there on the couch beaming. And I never saw or heard another negative thing about Bowie from them after that nite. ::smile::

Music is a gift to our ears and our souls. I treasure it.

   Trans-Siberian Orchestra - Official Site

"When I hear music, I fear no danger. I am invulnerable. I see no foe. I am related to the earliest times, and to the latest." ~Henry David Thoreau

AND

"If I were not a physicist, I would probably be a musician. I often think in music. I live my daydreams in music. I see my life in terms of music." ~Albert Einstein    

ME AND MINE

      

Photographs capture moments in time. I have a lot of pictures, and I enjoy looking at them. The advent of digital cameras certainly has made it very easy to transfer the photographs onto the computer. Scanners are great for copying pictures that were taken before the arrival of digital cameras.

Holidays always get me to thinking about how swiftly time passes. With those thoughts, I invariably either go through photo albums or look at the pictures stored here on my computer (but also backed up on CDs).   I cannot watch the videos we took of our children. I get so sad. It overwhelms me when I see them crawling and jabbering. The time has passed in a blink of an eye, and they are no longer the little people they once were.  I suspect one day I will be able to watch those films without falling apart.

Anyway, I came across some pictures of my precious children. I have never had distinctly clear pictures of my kids in my journal. Something about their privacy I have wished to protect, and I usually fiercely do so. However, they said they did not mind if I wanted to put a couple of photos in here. To all of you parents out there, you will understand what I am referring to when I say they go from small to big in the beat of a heart.

This first picture is them in front of the playhouse we built for them: ::sigh:: And here is a shot of them more recently. They morphed into grownups almost behind my back it seems. Geez, I am wild about them. (As every parent should be about their children.) I look at them and my heart goes crazy. I can still see bits of the tiny people they once were in them today. The shape of their fingers, the way they smile, the texture of their hair. It is a very good thing that I do not dislike any particular age. There is something wonderful about each stage of a child's life. The "terrible twos" do not exist for me. Neither do the allegedly "wretched teen years." I say with total and absolute honesty that I enjoy them however old they are. And while they may have physically grown, they will always, ALWAYS, be my beloved babies.

Now, in perusing additional photos, I had to laugh. My family refers to me as a chameleon, because I never look the same in pictures. We are not talking mega years in between the shots, either. Within a short period of time, I transform drastically. Maybe it has something to do with needing change in my life, and my fondness for it.

The following are pictures of me taken on Thanksgiving Day, 2003 and 2005 (at that charming club). Yes, I have cropped out my sisters and my mother, since I have not asked their permission to include them in this journal. It amuses me how we four girls automatically line up in our birth order and pull Mom in the middle of us.

                   

Lordy. Check out the blonde to brown tresses. LOL! Yep, I went through a "I want to be a blonde" stage. I liked it at the time, but it has been something of a nightmare returning it to its natural color. It is still not the right shade...it is too dark, and I am not liking that. Then there are the bangs to no bangs and curls to straight look, as well as the lipstick is obvious (because it was taken prior to eating our meal) to the lipstick is totally gone (post-meal photo!), and the small smile to a wide one. The only thing I have not changed is my fondness for leather. How fun to mess around with one's appearance.

Left the same amidst these changes is who we are inside. There has not been one iota of change there. That goes for me and mine. And it makes me smile.

"You've got to do your own growing, no matter how tall your grandfather was." ~Irish Saying

POST-THANKSGIVING COMPETITION

                              

Ah, Thanksgiving Day is over. Snow swirled in the wind, chilling us but making us feel so alive. I received and gave bunches of smooches and hugs. Pictures were taken, much to the dismay of the children who were far more intent on wanting to devour their plates of food. Our meal was fabulous, the conversation alternated between interesting and entertaining and downright hysterical, and a good time was had by everyone. I have to be thankful for that...each and every day.

My father-in-law bought us a little "just because" gift. It is an antique glass Dazey paddle churn for making butter. (I collect antiques and already have a large wooden butter churn.) It is a pretty large one. Maybe four quarts. He and my hubby are going to make butter tomorrow. ::grin:: Isn't that cute? I was instructed to get online and find the directions for making it. I did. I found them. I printed them. Everything is all set for the big butter making ordeal tomorrow.  

Now during the course of my search for the recipe, the phone rang. It was a friend of my husband's. He is also quite knowledgeable about antiques. He and hubby discussed the butter churn my father-in-law gave us. Those suckers are expensive. However, this friend happened to mention that the pint-sized ones are more rare and more valuable. Uh oh. Hubby's mistake was telling me that.  

You know? Sometimes things are NOT our fault. Why? Simply because we do not want them to be! Such is the case in regard to the following. I began to search online for these rare small glass paddle churns. eBay had some. I want one. I did not until that friend had to go and say they are rare. Therefore, it is his fault. I began bidding on one. It was VERY rare~only one-half pint in size. I told the hubster that I'd probably only spend $50 and then I would stop bidding. No problem, said he.  

This is only my second time bidding on eBay merchandise. I won the first time I did it. I found an antique spinning wheel that was beautiful. I was shocked when I was the winner, because I honestly had no clue what I was doing. I knew what to do this time around. The minutes began ticking down on this tiny churn, and I felt certain someone would top the maximum bid I had set. I got notification that it had, indeed, been topped. I had to hurry to place my new bid. I did, and briefly I was winning. Then another notification arrived saying that someone had outbid me, and I only had X minutes to bid again. I did. I went to $210. Mere seconds were left. I FELT that little glass paddle churn in my hands. And some prick upped it to $212.50. While I was frantically placing my new bid, time ran out. I was pissed. I lost. No teeny churn for me. On the plus side, no honked off hubby to chastise me for spending $150+ more than I said I was going to spend. ::laugh::  

I do have my eye on another one that is pint-sized. It should be most interesting to see how high the price goes. Curious to see how high I go, too. I do not like to lose. This is almost like a game to me. And when it comes to game time, no holds barred. I am a competitive broad.  

On a totally different note, please allow this page to fully load. I have a song~an instrumental piece~that will automatically play. Someone I came to know composed it and played each of the instruments. It is hauntingly beautiful. It also seems to capture who I am. It is difficult to explain, but I identify intensely with the song. The gentleman who created it gave the song to me to do with as I wish. It is MY song. And I love it. I just wish I knew where he was and what he is doing now. He has such talent. I will always think of him because of his kindness and because of his gift with music. I do miss him. ::sigh::  

Well, my house is alive with the sound of snoring. Time for me to check back with eBay. I hope all of you had the happiest of days!  

"Competition is the spice of sports; but if you make spice the whole meal you'll be sick." ~George Leonard   

TRADITION

       

 Our Thanksgiving Day is spent in a somewhat unusual way in comparison to the majority of families. It is a tradition we have had for a number of years, and so it has become very much a part of how we celebrate.

  There was a time when all of us girls, our hubbies, and our children gathered at Mom and Daddy's house for the scrumptious Thanksgiving meal. We girls would help Mom by bringing side dishes and such and also assisting her in whatever way we could. The men did the manly thing...which was nothing. ::grin:: Except for the carving of the turkey which was Daddy's duty (he was a trip with the electric knife), the guys just waited for all of the food to be set out.

 We always had a lot of fun. Our family gets along so beautifully. And my God, we laugh a lot. One year as Thanksgiving approached, Daddy came up with an idea. It was actually more of a decision than an idea. He informed us that he felt Mom did not get to fully enjoy the holiday, because she was so busy cooking and making certain everything was just so. Therefore, Daddy had made reservations for the Thanksgiving meal at a private club. We were none too sure how we felt about that. It seemed so un-Thanksgiving-like. We did find it sweet that his concern was for Mom, though. The reservations were for 11:00 a.m., and that would allow those who had in-laws in town to be able to have dinner with them later in the day. Since the club was more of a dressy place, we had to dress appropriately.

Thanksgiving Day arrived. We entered the ivy-covered old stone building and made our way to the dining room. Oh my! It was beautiful. Crystal chandeliers, a grand piano, floral arrangements, white tablecloths. But it was the food that sent everyone into orbit. There were massive tables filled with anything and everything you could imagine. The little ones thought they were pretty snazzy getting to choose what they wanted and how much. The idea of being able to return for more thrilled them. Waiters and waitresses saw to our beverage needs and the removal of our plates as we went up to get each course of food. I do not like stuffing. (Eh, I KNOW it is tradition, but it just holds no appeal to me.) BUT they had oyster stuffing. Mmm. Only my grandmother made that, and it was the only time I would ever eat it. That year, I piled some on my plate and loved it. The turkey was done to perfection, as was the ham and the salmon. The dessert table should have been photographed for a food magazine. It was gorgeous. All that food, all delicious, and I must have the world's smallest stomach. I cannot eat enormous amounts. When I am full, I am full. Daddy sat at the head of the table and literally beamed throughout the meal. He knew he had scored big time with all of us! Plus, he got to enjoy seeing his entire family at one heckuva long table eating and chattering and laughing. He was in his glory. And Mom was spared cooking and cleaning. It was a huge hit. It was decided we would repeat it the following year. (We have also had occasional Easter meals there, too.)

During the years Daddy was ill, we were able to take him there for Thanksgiving one time. He was in his wheelchair, and he had to be fed. But it kept him a part of something he began. Sadly, he was never able to attend again. It seemed he always developed pneumonia or was in the hospital at that time. Then, he grew too weak to even sit in a wheelchair. We still went to the club each Thanksgiving. I was the lone dissenter. I did not want to go if he could not join us. Majority ruled and I did not want to disappoint the rest of the family by not going, so I went.

We are once again going there this Thursday. My father-in-law will be joining us. He is planning on spending a few days here with hubby, the kids, and me. I do have a very good time. I love being with my family. But there is always a twinge I feel knowing that that one very special and very loved person is no longer sitting at the head of the table casting his twinkling eyes upon us. There is some comfort when I think he is probably smiling because we have kept his tradition very much alive.

Happy Thanksgiving to all of you and yours. Nomatter what, we have much to be thankful for.

  "To speak gratitude is courteous and pleasant, to enact gratitude is generous and noble, but to live gratitude is to touch Heaven."  ~Johannes A. Gaertner

ANGEL O'MINE

Naughty...

              OR

Nice...

 

Angels. For as long as I can remember, I have had an extreme interest in them. I am drawn to them in many ways. I wonder about so much in regard to them. What do they see? Are they truly around us all the time? Are we assigned one to watch over us? Are there good angels and bad ones? Or are they all good? How did they come to be angels? Can we become angels after we die? The Bible says no. I do not think I necessarily believe that. Is it possible your human friend is really an angel in disguise?

I collect angel figurines. Have for years. One of my Christmas trees is decorated with only angel ornaments. I use the word "angel" to describe some of my favorite people who I feel are extraordinarily kind and thoughtful individuals. I love to sketch them. Drawing their wings is fun. If you notice in the artwork of famous painters, angel wings are depicted in various styles. Of course...has anyone actually SEEN one and therefore is able to give a definitive description of how the wings of an angel genuinely appear? Nope, not to my knowledge.

One of my friends I refer to as my human guardian angel. She is beyond incredible. I believe she really is my angel. I am sure people will think I am loopy (okay, maybe I am...but, dammit, the woman IS an angel). However, there have been many occasions when this wonderful lady has had such insight and awareness of situations that are beyond commonplace occurrences.

She has numerous times warned me of dangers that will befall me or a member of my family if caution is not exercised. I recall her being agitated once by an overwhelming feeling that I or one of my sisters was going to have a car accident due to a bad tire. She urged me to have my car checked, as well as those of my sisters. Bingo. One sister did have a tire that was in very poor shape and certainly just an accident waiting to happen. She told me she had visions of a nest of wasps that she was worried would pose problems for me (I have bad reactions to stings, but she did not know that at the time). She wanted me to make sure there were no nests around the exterior of my house. Bingo again. Just a few feet from my patio door, there was a massive nest of German wasps. They had gotten inside the wall, too. By the time an exterminator came, I was killing them by the dozens INSIDE my house. I avoided getting stung, but I was definitely jumpy as all get out. There are many other examples I could give of how this woman has watched over me, but I think you get the general idea. It is the following, though, that cements in my mind that this woman is an angel...

She has never known my father, nor has she ever seen a picture of him. She does not know his name or anything about him. He was dying when I came to know her (and he did pass away about a month or so after I met her). Of course, I talked about him during that horrific time. She knew of the fierce love and devotion I had for him. After his passing, she would tell me about him. (Geez, I am welling up thinking about these conversations we had.) She saw him. She described his physical appearance to me. In detail. My hair practically stood on end listening to that. He was happy, she said. He also had some quite pensive moments. Sometimes she would see him sitting on a large rock with a dog next to him. I asked her to describe the dog. And in detail, she did. A more perfect description of the Airedale we used to have could not have been told. I had goosebumps listening to her. Another time she saw an older man next to my father. Again, I asked for her to tell me about his appearance. It was his father, my grandfather. (We are not talking vague descriptions here, people. These were specific and unique physical traits.) One time she described a woman who was with Daddy. The startling part about that was she mentioned a very unusual character trait along with the physical description. I was puzzled as to who the woman might be. I called my mother to ask her about what I had been told. Mom was stunned. The woman so carefully described was Daddy's mother, my grandmother. She passed away before I was born, so I never knew her. I had seen pictures of her, but I certainly knew nothing about her personality. Mom could not get past that this friend of mine could possibly be aware of such a key character trait in Daddy's mother.

This friend, aka my human guardian angel, has many times contacted me solely to tell me she has "seen" Daddy and that he is worried about one of us in the family. It never fails to amaze me that each time she mentions which family member he is concerned about, it is one who is going through a difficult time. There are also the additional glimpses into things she sees regarding Daddy and his presence. It is breathtaking many times when she reveals them to me.

At times, she almost freaks me out. She will tell me, in what I think is a very cryptic manner, of things regarding me. Things I will do but do not yet know of them. That drives me nuts, and I try to get her to tell me exactly what each thing will be. But, she will not. She gives me clues but not enough for me to get a handle on what it could be. She says she does not want to alter how it was meant to be by having me know of it. My actions need to be as a result of what I believe I should do, not what I THINK is expected. It is during casual conversation that I happen to mention this or that, and she will say, "Remember when I said you were going to do something that would..." And by God, it will all fall into place that it was what she had spoken of earlier. If we have not had any communication for a period of time, when we finally do talk, she freakin' KNOWS what has been going on. She also guides me by suggesting I pursue certain things. She encourages me. She is a voice of reason and calm. And she is so very nice and decent.

Yes, she is a human guardian angel who somehow got stuck being assigned to me. I am thankful.

"All God's angels come to us disguised."  ~James Russell Lowell

                                             AND

"Friends are kisses blown to us by angels."  ~Author Unknown
     

STILL THE SAME

                                                  

It is Friday, MY day of the week. The day when I feel a spring in my step and certainly in my thoughts. It is a good day. However, today is the day I had been somewhat dreading in my HOW ARE YOU? entry of November 6.

Yeppirs, it is my birthday. My husband filled my ears verrrry early this morning with the sound of him playing Happy Birthday on his guitar. My mother filled them with her singing Happy Birthday to me over the phone. I smiled big time both times. My kids? They have smooched me and hugged me and spoken their wishes for a happy day for me. My friends and sisters have sent me cards and gifts. Could I be any luckier to have such people in my world? Nope.

As much as I love giving gifts to others, I LOVE getting them, too. One of the presents I got today is some gadget that can be used to write and draw on digital photos. It is called Graphire4. It is a toy for me! I will be spending time learning how to use it, because I think it will be a blast. Along with the wireless mouse and the new keyboard I got, I imagine I will be in computer heaven.

Now that little girl pictured above is yours truly. I am guessing I was about five or six in that photograph. It is one of my all-time favorite childhood pics. Why? Because it is SO me. It still is. I was looking at it, and I started laughing...hard! I really have not changed much since then. (Eh, my maturity level has maybe gone up one or two notches, though.) I am still melodramatic when I speak. My hands are still moving along with my mouth. I am still a chatterbox. I still love denim skirts. That little flash of a bare shoulder is still one of my favorite looks~even though I am sure it was unintentional in that picture. I still love to have my shoes match my outfit. And I most certainly still love being happy and having fun.

You can pile on the years, but you just cannot change the inherent nature of a person. I love the little girl depicted above. She was and still is spirited. Good for her!

Happy weekend to you and yours. ::smile::

"And in the end, it's not the years in your life that count. It's the life in your years." ~Abraham Lincoln

THE TIE

      

I had a personal experience not very long ago dealing with the whoring of America. It angered me, and I felt as though there was no way to win against it. I cannot say I DID win, but I sure did not lose, either. The final score was Bedazzzled1 with one point...corporate whores with one point. Gee, I have to say I was pretty darn proud of myself.

I will be deliberately vague explaining it, but that is my right. After all, that has not been taken away from me by Time Warner (yet). Also, the story is an extremely personal one. Specifying names is not necessary to get across my point. It most assuredly happened, and it is completely true.

Once upon a time there was a man who worked at a bigggggg university. He really wanted to build a brand new multimillion dollar state-of-the-art facility to replace a similar one that did not have quite all the bells and whistles. It was to be one of the finest in this country. His rationale was that bigger means better and better draws more people and more people means more money coming in to the school.

Finding the other big wigs at the university to back his idea was a piece of cake. All they needed to do was figure out how to fund such a venture. And that is when they decided to whore out every part of the structure to anyone with enough money to buy it. Price tags were put on virtually anything associated with it. Construction commenced.

The big boys with their big wallets bought up the things with the hefty price tags. Those would be things like naming rights to the entire facility. Get the picture now? More and more such things were bought up, all so they could plaster the names of their companies on them. No big deal. Right?

WRONG. It was not okay with this broad...and not with quite a few other people who found the pimping ignored some of the rich history and tradition of the university in its efforts to fund this huge structure. Without the contributions (nonmonetary) and accomplishments of certain individuals, that big new structure would never have been an idea in anyone's brain. There was an outcry from groups of folks over that aspect. Naming rights for anything had to be BOUGHT even for the name of someone who was one of the main reasons, if not THE reason, success and prominence had come to the university in that particular area. Screw that.

I was disgusted. I had seen how other colleges had junked up every square inch of their allegedly beautiful buildings with advertising banners. Then to learn that there was not even going to be a gratis pass for the gentleman responsible for having the school be nationally recognized? Oh wait, there was to be a room with his name put on it where alumni could gather. Sorry, not good enough for me or for others. His name really should be slapped on the part of this giant structure that was his forte...his shining moments. But, alas, the tacky people who owned numerous companies and corporations felt it was more appropriate to honor their DISCOUNT FURNITURE STORE. Oh yes.......class just oozes out of their every pore, eh?

I began what I call a pen pal relationship with the man who had the idea to build this potential white elephant. I carefully penned my words to him after much thought. I listed the many reasons why I felt the gentleman I knew deserved more than a room in a massive structure. I received a letter in return detailing the costs of such a vast undertaking and the necessity for sponsors to help defray the expense. Okay, thanks. I responded by pointing out how in similar situations when new buildings were constructed that a person was honored by having the facility called by his/her name. We went back and forth like this for a time. It was always kept civil, even friendly. We began to occasionally speak on the phone about it, too. It all boiled down to the almighty dollar. To hell with tradition. To hell with history. To hell with anything that kept another buck from finding its way into the coffers of the university. Yet this man had nothing but the highest regard for the gentleman I knew.

I persisted. I told you I am one persistent woman. I was not lying. ::grin:: The day arrived when I felt a fair deal had been struck. I received a phone call from the man telling me he had awakened in the middle of the nite with what he felt was a perfect solution...and it had no price tag attached to it. I was all ears. (Let me just state here that money was not really the object when it came to honoring the gentleman in some prominent way. Principle was the issue. And principle defined the gentleman. To pay for him to be honored would have been whoring at its worst. Something he would have never tolerated.) The Board of Trustees had the final say in the approval of his idea, but he felt certain it would be passed unanimously. I was quite pleased, and I awaited his next phone call informing me whether it received a thumbs up or down from that unpredictable group.

All thumbs were up. And I was beyond excited. Now there is a road bearing the name of the distinguished, successful, kind, and decent man that runs parallel to this new building and leads to other roads. It is not just a short little street, and it regularly gets a hefty amount of traffic. But the joy for me is to see the street signs at the beginning and end of this wide road. For they hold the name of that wonderful man. And it is as it should be.

Let the big boys pimp out themselves. No one attending any function in that monster facility is going to buy discount furniture because the name of the store is written across a large portion of it. But EVERYONE will notice the name of the road they HAVE to take to get to the function and the functions taking place further down the road. ::big smile::

Yep, Bedazzzled1 was pleased with the outcome.  

"Advertising is legalized lying." ~ H.G. Wells

MY BLEAK HOURS

I have always been a creature of the nite. I think we are born predisposed to a specific body clock. Some of us are morning people who awaken all cheery and ready to take on the world, and equally ready to crawl into bed relatively early at nite. Then there are those, like me, who thrive on the hours of the nite and abhor the morning...relentlessly smacking at the snooze button on the alarm clock.

My hours do not fit neatly into what is considered the "norm" of day-to-day life. I am able to toy with my body clock and arise early in the morning when necessary. Obviously, I had no choice when I was in school. Plus, I have children. No mother sleeps in regardless of the time she went to bed.

The nite has always suited me. I love the sky then, and the quietness outside that is really not silent...just different. My mind seems to come alive and be abuzz with all sorts of thoughts and wonderings and ideas. I know it is my most creative time. Many of the ideas I have been most proud of came to me while the majority of people are sound asleep. Perhaps it is the lack of distractions that enables me to think more clearly and get in touch with my whirling brain. Even though my family is in the house with me, they are all sleeping. I am essentially alone. Maybe I am like a star that glows in a dark sky and goes unseen during the bright daylight hours.

For many months now, sleep and I have not been on very good terms. The Sandman must be hurling amphetamines at me instead of the sand he is supposed to be sprinkling. I am almost incapable of staying asleep for longer than three hours. It is a minor miracle if I have five or six consecutive hours of sleep. I cannot seem to find a way to undo this dreadful pattern, no matter how hard I try.

I have discovered there is a specific window of time that is almost haunting to me. Those hours are approximately 3:00 a.m. until around 5:00 a.m. It is then I no longer feel the embrace of the quiet dark, but instead the harshness of it.  What earlier I took comfort in, somehow turns into a hint of fright. My thoughts are not creative or productive then. They turn into whispers of sad memories, painful recollections, and bittersweet moments. And being alone turns into feeling lonely.

If I am going to cry, it is then. If the phone is going to ring to bring me shattering news, it is then. If I am going to experience self-doubt, those are the hours. And the stark realities of an imperfect world creep into the foreground of my mind.

I try to find something to do that will crowd out the feelings that have arisen. I might work on a painting...but it does not busy my mind enough, so I abandon it. I play music, but the songs I choose end up being ones that twist my heart. I read but seem to get stuck on a page...reading and rereading due to lack of focus. Television is never on my agenda except when sporting events are on (yes, I even love watching golf tournaments). However, overall, TV annoys me and makes me edgy. The last thing I need between the dreaded middle-of-the-nite hours is to feel edgier.

Those two hours are overwhelmingly bleak ones for me. I am grateful they last such a short time. Because when the stars fade and the restlessness is just about to consume me, it is not much longer before I peek out the window and am greeted by this:

     

And suddenly the frailty of my soul is replaced with strength and a renewed sense of self.

"The same stream of life that runs through my veins night and day runs through the world and dances in rhythmic measures." ~Rabindranath Tagore         

VETERANS DAY

                        

"Those who expect to reap the blessings of freedom, must, like men, undergo the fatigue of supporting it." ~Thomas Paine

Today is Veterans Day. I knew why we celebrated it nationally, but I did not know the particulars of how it came about. With a little web surfing (as the Sandman continues to overlook me each nite), I found some interesting information.

                   

World War I ended the 11th month, the 11th day, the 11th hour in the year 1918.  It was proclaimed "the war to end all wars." And for 20 years, peace did reign. It was in 1919 that November 11 was named Armistice Day in gratitude for those who fought for that peace. In 1938 Armistice Day officially became a legal holiday renamed Veterans Day.

As of 1971, these were two statistics I found staggering:

There have been more than 38 million Americans who have served their country in the military service. Of that number over 28 million are still living; and,

Living veterans and their families, plus the living dependents of deceased veterans, make up about one-half of the population of the United States.

Those are massive numbers. I was unable to find more recent figures, but I think the enormity of those that existed in 1971 tells an incredible story.

I, myself, am the daughter of a veteran. It is with pride that I say that. It does not mean I am always pro-war and blindly support any and all opportunities to go into battle. However, I have profound respect for those soldiers who answer the call when they hear it. It is not their decision to fight, but those of our government. And have we not ALL reaped the benefits of their dedication and love for our country throughout the years?

It seems we should be thinking about those facts today and saying a mighty huge thank you.                     

"Americans, indeed all freemen, remember that in the final choice, a soldier's pack is not so heavy a burden as a prisoner's chains." ~Dwight Eisenhower 

BEFORE & AFTER

                                   

John Scalzi has a "Monday Photo Shoot" assignment in his By The Way journal for those wishing to participate. This week's theme was "Before and After" photographs. In his words, "Your Monday Photo Shoot: Do "Before and After" photos on any subject you like. The idea is to show change over a bit of time. Some easy ideas would be haircuts, cleaned-up rooms, kittens growing up into cats, and etc. And yes, this means you can dip into your collection of old photos (they certainly qualify as "before")."

I thought the possibilities were endless. A million things ran through my mind that would certainly qualify as before and after. I finally settled on a sketch I drew that became a painting. While I am not overly thrilled with this particular painting, it was my first time to sketch nudes. It was also the first time I used a technique where you ink the lines after you pencil them...THEN fill in the areas with watercolors. It was a fun and different thing for me to try.

Here is the pencil sketch (the BEFORE):

And here is the finished ink and watercolor painting (the AFTER):

Yuck. Having to resize it to fit nicely in this journal seems to make it look bluckier than it did before.Oh well. At least you get the gist of the before and after!

"I was leafing through a magazine where there was a before-and-after picture of a woman who went from a size 5 to a size 3 by liposuction. Was she serious? I've cooked bigger turkeys than her "before" picture." ~Erma Bombeck

 

HOW ARE YOU?

Being outgoing does not mean I thrive on attention. In fact, I shrink from it at certain times. Maybe it has something to do with wanting to be in control of when or if I receive notice. Getting caught off guard by a flood of attention triggers my flight reaction. Tears might surface if it is a touching situation, and I would not want others to see that.

As another birthday creeps up on me, I am reminded of the year I had an "unbirthday." It was horrible. I had a feeling my husband was going to try to pull off a surprise party for me. I did not want one. Under normal circumstances, something sweet like that would cause my eyes to well up...a definite no-no that would unglue me in front of friends and family. But that particular year was anything but normal, and I was sure I would sob nonstop if a party was held.

I repeatedly told my husband that he best not dare do anything in honor of my birthday. I wanted nothing. I wanted not to be the center of any attention. I was very firm and probably almost hysterical in tone of voice as I told him that.

For as long as I can remember, birthdays were a big deal to my father with his four daughters. As we were growing up, the birthday girl got to choose a restaurant and go out on a "date" with Daddy. Just Daddy and the birthday girl. Mom stayed at home preparing the cake of our choice, made from scratch. It was always a special time to be with him without anyone else around. To be the focus of his attention was wonderful.

Once we married, the one-on-one dinner dates with him stopped. In its place was the first phone call of the day from Daddy. The one wishing us a happy birthday. He never missed a year. And he was never caller number two or three. That phone rang early, and it was Daddy with his wishes for a happy day. It always set the upbeat mood of the day. He loved his girls.

My unbirthday year was wretchedly sad. Daddy had suffered the brain aneurysm. He had spent those many months in the hospital and rehab center. He came home, and we were trying to make that work for his sake. Within two months, it was painfully evident his health was declining. He was severely crippled and becoming even more so. I saw him daily. I saw him physically slipping away from us. The repeated trips to the emergency room were taking a toll on his health and abilities...what few he had.

On the day of my birthday, I received that annual morning phone call from him. My eyes lit up and a smile burst onto my face when I heard my Daddy's voice. But, it was a tiny voice. It was so very soft and very quiet. He kept repeating, "How are you?" I waited for those two words. I just needed to hear him say them. Then it would really be my birthday. My mother was holding the phone for him, and I could hear her saying numerous times, "Honey, tell her happy birthday." Instead, all he could say was, "How are you?" Over and over and over.

I was very cheerful and told him that his number three daughter was packing on the years. I joked about anything and everything I could think of. All the while I was silently pleading for him to wish me a happy birthday. He never did say it. I told him I loved him before we ended the conversation. I was so sad and so scared. I knew it was the beginning of the end for him.

As I hung up the phone, I fell apart. I am not sure the last time I cried as hard or for as long as I did then. As far as I was concerned, my birthday did not exist. It would not be celebrated, because it was truly an unbirthday in my mind. The one thing that had always made it feel like it was MY day had not taken place. Therefore, it was not happening. Thankfully, my husband had honored my wishes not to put any emphasis on the occasion. I would never have been able to charm any partygoers in my state of mind.

It was but a few days later that Daddy was rushed to the emergency room. He never got to live at home again. His remaining years were spent in hospitals and a nursing home slowly withering away. And that unbirthday of mine exists only because my birth certificate says it does.

"Our birthdays are feathers in the broad wing of time." ~Jean Paul Richter

THE LITTLE THINGS

         

Patience is not a virtue of mine. I want information yesterday, to learn how to do things the first time I try them, and for bad things to go away right now. These are not always possible or realistic desires. On the plus side, I AM persistent. Therefore, I am usually able to ultimately get the information I need, learn what I want, and cope with the bad things that refuse to leave.

Lately, in between working on my paintings, I have been fiddling with my Paint Shop Pro. That is the program almost everyone uses to make gorgeous tags and graphics. Trying to understand its operation was akin to me reading hieroglyphics. I would get so frustrated and walk away from it. But, I hate to give up. When time allowed, I would park myself here and try again. Well, voilà! I have learned how to do several new things. They might not be the BEST looking yet, but previously I could not do them at all. ::patting myself on the back::

I get so excited when I am able to perform the needed steps to create something. I have learned how to make water reflection ripples, add sparkles to pictures, animate certain graphics, etc. A small deal in the grand scheme of life, but one that leaves me with a big ol' smile on my face.

I have to say, the little things in life really do string together to make our lives complete. They may not be the stuff that on our death beds we recall, but they surely added a needed lift to our days here and there during the time we lived. I am grateful for all things...both big and small. ::smile::

Have a grand weekend!

"Never neglect the little things. Never skimp on that extra effort, that additional few minutes, that soft word of praise or thanks, that delivery of the very best that you can do. It does not matter what others think, it is of prime importance, however, what you think about you. You can never do your best, which should always be your trademark, if you are cutting corners and shirking responsibilities. You are special. Act it. Never neglect the little things." ~Og Mandino  

A REMINDER

                                

The past couple of sleepless nites, I spent a good deal of time reading all of the entries in Judith Heartsong's October Artsy Essay contest. I think the collection of essays may be the best of the ones I have seen since I started participating in her contests.

The subject she asked us to explore seemed to require each of the entrants to delve deep inside and bring forth something not generally shouted out to the world. I cannot believe the incredible revelations each of the writers so richly described. The emotions ran the gamut from crippling hurt to pure joy. I was moved countless times during my readings.

And today I have thought about people in general. We are so different, yet so alike. We do for them, talk to them, make time for them, like them or dislike them, and we react to them. Sometimes how they are with us is puzzling, maddening, or unbelievably cruel. If there are days when we feel fragile, it becomes all too easy to let the words or actions of others define us. A strong sense of self is necessary to avoid being caught in that dreadful web. And it is worth every ounce of energy to escape it.

Here is a gentle and profound reminder to those who might be struggling trying to prioritize what is and is not of importance. It is attributed to Mother Teresa, although I am not 100% certain this is one of her many teachings. Whoever wrote it was blessed with superior insight into the psyches of people.

"People are often unreasonable, illogical, and self-centered; forgive them anyway.If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives; be kind anyway. If you are successful you will win some false friends and true enemies; succeed anyway. If you are honest and frank, people may cheat you; be honest and frank anyway. What you spend years building, someone could destroy overnight; build anyway. If you find serenity and happiness, they may be jealous; be happy anyway. The good you do today, people will often forget tomorrow; do good anyway. Give the world the best you have, and it may never be enough; give the world the best you've got anyway. You see, in the final analysis, it is between you and God; it was never between you and them anyway."

That is brilliant.