2007

IT WAS

It was... 

...started by attending a wedding and reception on Friday, December 22. The bride, the groom, and the moments were beautiful. Both had been divorced, single parents for about 20 years before finally finding each other. Happily entangled in love, they are now Mr. and Mrs.

 

...last minute wrapping of gifts as a few items I had had personalized were delivered.

 

...a Christmas Eve service that was full of warmth and harmony, with a message embraced by those in attendance. The reason for the season.

 

...watching and listening to my husband and daughter and two others sing O Holy Night with only piano accompaniment during the candlelite portion of the service. Feeling the tingles course through me and my eyes becoming misty.

 

...returning home and exchanging the gifts we had bought for each other. An annual tradition we turned to when we felt that those gifts were lost amidst the ones Santa brought.

 

...going to sleep and trying to contain the excitement the morning would be offering.

 

...awakening before the kids did and grinning at each other, as well as enjoying the quiet that was sure to be the last for most of the rest of the day.

 

...giggling seeing two sleepy-headed young adults come down the stairs and being summoned to the living room to open their gifts from Santa.

 

...feeling a tremendous sense of pride noting their appreciation, surprise, and gratitiude for each and every gift Santa had left for them. Glancing at my husband and knowing he was feeling exactly the way I felt.

 

...a short drive to my mother's house and being greeted with "Merry Christmases" and hugs and kisses from my nieces, nephews, sisters, brothers-in-law, and mother.

 

...decadent how we all literally flooded Mom's house with presents.

 

...deeply moving when Mom gave each person a completely unexpected and selfless gift, aside from her other carefully chosen presents. It brought tears to more than a few of us.

 

...hours and hours of laughter, silliness, conversation, and the most scrumptious meal.

 

...love.

 

...Christmas of 2006.

 

And it was perfect.

 

"For we all seem to give our lives away
Searching for things that we think we must own
Until on this evening
When the year is leaving
We all try to find our way home." ~from Find Our Way Home by Trans-Siberian Orchestra

FAREWELL TO OUR COMPANION

"My little dog - a heartbeat at my feet."  ~Edith Wharton

And that loving heart has now ceased beating. You were the perfect dog to help teach us more about patience, compassion, unconditional love, and joy. Our house will feel a little less like a home without you.

Rest in blessed peace, sweet poochie o' ours.

HOME

If you give this page time to fully load (and do not open the comments), you will hear a beautiful song. It is a Christmas gift to me from Ian, who composed and played the instruments. ::smile:: 'Tis lovely. Thank you, my wondrous friend.

BLUE

My Christmas is a blue one. No, not blue as in depressed. Blue as in the color. It happened largely by accident, and what a lovely accident it has been.

I am always very particular about the gift wrap I use each year. Probably far too particular, and I spend a ridiculous amount of time finding the one that makes me ooh and ahh when I see it. After searching and searching for that special kind, I came across it. It is in beautiful shades of blue with white snowflakes scattered all over it. Yay! I snatched up mega rolls of it.

 

The Christmas cards I mailed depict a blue snow scene taken from a picture I had painted in watercolors. (Winkflash.com does a smashing good job of turning a picture of your choice into Christmas cards~as well as other cards~, and you can write your own greeting inside.) After I had painted the picture, I thought it would be a good one to use on cards. See, more blue!

 

I designed and printed my return address labels, and I was able to miniaturize the image I used for my cards to put on those labels. Even the postage stamps I used had blue on them...snowflakes!

 

 

The other significant blue item is something I have done for my son. He is colorblind. Greens and reds appear as shades of gray to him. Green is particularly difficult for him to distinguish. He has never cared for white lights on a tree, and I can understand why. How pretty is it to look at a gray tree with white on it? In the past, I have used multicolored lights on the kids' tree and white ones on the formal tree. His favorite color and one he appreciates the most is blue. And because of that, I decided it was high time that I made the tree ultra special for him. I bought hundreds of blue lights for it. No other colors, solely blue. (::grin:: Sounds like a K-Mart blue light special, doesn't it?) It fits in so well with my unintentional blue theme.

 

I am grateful the "bad kind" of blue has not crept into my mood this holiday season. I have had moments when I have done battle with the seasonal blues, but I have triumphed over them. Ah, I do so hope that is an ongoing trend.

 

Peace and contentment is what I wish for. Maybe these blues will help fulfill that wish. ::smile::

 

"Blue oblivion, largely lit, smiled and smiled at me." ~William R. Benet

His Christmas Sprites

I giggled and smiled a good amount while painting the just-completed picture above. It is simplistic, but it brought back so many fond memories while I worked on it. During the hustle and bustle of this season, I HAVE to have a painting in progress at all times to find the doses of tranquility I need.

 

Backing up a minute, I received a gift bag at my birthday dinner. The contents of the bag contained things that I love love love. But before I even peeked inside, I was struck by the picture on the front and back of the bag. It depicted four faeries fluttering beside a Christmas tree. I said aloud, "I am going to paint this picture." And I meant it.

 

You see, I automatically associated the four faeries (which I have called sprites) with me and my three sisters. We are as close as can be. We are best friends. We have our own circles of friends we go out with and entertain, but we also include each other in whatever parties we throw. I suppose to some it is unusual to see siblings who genuinely enjoy and appreciate one another as much as we do. To us, it is simply normal. And it is the way I wish it was for all siblings.

 

And then my mind quickly took me to thoughts of my father. Yes, I know I talk about him endlessly, but how can I not? To me, he is the epitome of what and how a father should be. His passing affected me deeply, and I cannot push him out of my thoughts. And why would I want to anyway?

 

So, there we were gathered to celebrate my birthday. My sisters, their husbands, my husband, and my mother. The only person missing was Daddy. Yet, I knew he was really there. Probably shaking his head and rolling his eyes while I gave one of my brothers-in-law a very tame and fully clothed lapdance...yet grinning that crooked grin of his seeing I have not changed one bit. I do know he is proud of all of us. Proud that we have remained so close and include our much-loved Mom in our gatherings.

 

All of that combined made me think of him when I saw the gift bag picture. Daddy was Santa for many years. He pretended he hated the holiday. He uttered, "Bah humbug!" more than once each season. Uh huh. He disliked it so much that he shopped and shopped hunting for the perfect gifts for each of us girls. He freely spent his hard-earned money on us. He was so excited on Christmas Eve that he could not sleep. Yes, even when we were grown and married, he was pacing the house (according to Mom) waiting for all of us and our children to arrive there on Christmas morning at 11:00. And his smile erupted when the first of us arrived and never left his face until we had all returned to our homes. Bah humbug, indeed.

 

Anywhooooo, this painting was oodles of fun to paint. I was determined to make it a three-dimensional picture. I used watercolors first. To try something different, I painted on rice paper that had threads of gold through it. An interesting surface on which to paint. Then when all was painted, I glued tiny clear glass beads on the wings of the sprites and colored glass ones on the garland wrapping itself around the tree. Gold glass bugle beads made up the star at the top with little gold balls at the tip of each of the points. To finish it, I glued on crumpled colored tissue paper to make up the skirts of each of the sprites.

 

My son took one look at it, and he identified via color each one of my sisters. My eldest sister is the yellow one. My elder sister is the blue one. My little sister is the pink one. And moi is the red one. Perfect! I told my mother she is the star shining at the top of the tree. ::smile::

 

The name of this painting? His Christmas Sprites. Yes, I bet he is grinning once again recalling all of our Christmases...and laughing out a Bah humbug!

 

"Wherever is love and loyalty, great purposes and lofty souls, even though in a hovel or a mine, there is fairyland." ~Charles Kingsley

EXTRAVAGANZA

Finally. FINALLY. I purchased the tickets in mid-September. I waited none too patiently for the show. Counting down the months, weeks, days. And it finally arrived. And it was absolutely the finest, most spectacular concert/show I have ever seen...bar none. Broadway shows have not wowed me like this concert did. The Rolling Stones concert pales in comparison. Jesus Christ Superstar runs a pretty close second, yet I am still going to have to say that Trans-Siberian Orchestra performs a show that is second to none.

It was men performing wearing tuxes with tails on stage. Women vocalists in black, slinky dresses. Nonstop fog covering the stage floor. A laser light show. A drum solo that was its own Fourth of July fireworks. Voices that were pure and hit every note. Keyboards that sang. Guitars that were electrifyingly played. A violin that was sheer magic. Flames of many colors that shot upward and then dimmed, only to flare skyward once again. A fountain of flames. It was loud. It was soft. It was shattering. It had substance. The songs had meaning. The storyteller's deep voice set the scene for each upcoming song during the show's first half. It was mesmerizing. Sensory stimulation was overwhelming and heavenly.

 

It was an extraordinary extravaganza. Never will I forget this evening. Never. And I cannot stop smiling.

ANOTHER CANDLE

 

(Please do not leave any comments here. Thank you.)

CHARMED, I'M SURE

"People will believe you when you point out negative things about yourself, but they will not believe you when you mention your positives."

 

It was several weeks ago that my husband took in my car for an oil change. The following day when I got in and flipped on the music to listen to my CDs, I discovered that he had it set to radio. Because I was trying to navigate the car, I could not fiddle around with the settings to determine how to get it back to CD mode. So, I just decided to listen to the radio for a change.

 

I was not gone long, but just long enough to know that what I heard on that radio station would at some point become a topic in this journal. A fellow was speaking. The statement he made was the quote above.

 

It is true, you know. And because of that, I have thought about that sentence ever since that day. Granted, it is a sweeping statement, but a very valid one that is right on the money as it pertains to the majority of people. Such a simple statement that encompasses so much.

 

How and why do people choose to think you truthful when it comes to your less-than-desirable attributes? Does it make them feel superior for that moment in time? Do they temporarily forget that they have little demons of their own that they continuously battle? Is it because admitting that you have faults allows those you tell to feel important that you confided in them? Does it level the playing field in their eyes? ::Newsflash:: The playing field is never going to be level. It just is not. We are all playing the same game, but the rules for it differ, as do the talents, abilities, and determination of the players.

 

And just why is it that the good things about people are usually punted aside and deemed lies? Tsk, tsk. Not a very admirable trait. Are people so miserable that hearing something good about someone sends them into a tailspin? Do bitterness and jealousy and insecurity dip their ugly faces into the picture? I think so. After all, when somebody strives to get/be/do something and fails and another person tries and succeeds, then the word "loser" pops into the brain of the unsuccessful. No one shouted out LOSER. It was the one who cannot seem to attain that which he wants who calls himself that name.

 

It is truly a sad way to live one's life. Why in the world is it so difficult to be happy for others? Why must all the good spoken be called lies?

 

Let me just put it this way. I have said numerous times in this journal that I have lived and continue to live what I consider to be a charmed life. A fairy tale in a way. And it is the truth. The honest-to-God truth. (See, no lightning has struck me after having said that!) At times, I have even been a little bit embarrassed that my world is full of wonderful people, places, and things. I am loved dearly. That, in itself, is a huge blessing. I have never said that my life has been free of major struggles. But maybe, just maybe, my perception of those struggles is that they have made my life the delicious one that it is right now. My "happily ever after" does not mean there are going to be no worries, crises, or other unpleasantness in my future. It just means that I exist in a real world where I choose to see and revel in the goodness that surrounds me, and I will deal with the worrisome problems as they arise.

 

If you take a moment to think about the popular fairy tales read over and over again to children, you will realize that almost all of them have good characters who go through difficult times. Their lives are imperfect and often in turmoil. You will also note that there are always dark characters in the story...the ones who wish to destroy happiness for the others. But in the end, the light prevails and the dark is left to fend miserably for itself. Looking at it that way sure makes it seem less like a fairy tale and more like how life really is.

 

I am who and how I am. The good and the bad. I have some of both. Most people do. I am aware of the bad, and I discuss it. Yet, there is the positive in me that far outweighs any of the negatives. What I share in this journal and with my friends is honest. There are those who cannot be genuinely happy for the good I either possess or receive. For them, it is much, much easier to twist things to make it seem like a fairy tale gone awry. Ah, but that is untrue. And their skewed beliefs only perpetuate their own misery.

 

I spoke to a friend early in the day. One who has known me for going on three years, I believe. An online friend. One who probably knows more about me than anyone else online. I was talking about the quote at the top of this entry. We chatted a bit about it. I mentioned that at times I am naive, which I thought odd considering I am not naive about human sexuality. This friend said that not only was I naive, but that I was also wise in a lot of ways. An interesting combination, he said. I have to say I was flattered. Being called wise is a compliment, in my opinion. Ah, to be wise all the time and not fall prey to idiocy would be bliss! 

 

When my father was mere months away from death and confined completely to a bed with no ability to lift his head or even move his feet, he was being interviewed. A question was asked about his life. His reply was that he has "lived a charmed life." Sink that into your brain for just a few moments. The man was severely crippled from a ruptured brain aneurysm, had trauma-induced Parkinson's disease from the rupture, was diabetic to some extent, was being fed via a tube in his stomach, fought pneumonia and UTIs regularly, had lost much of his short-term memory, and he was confined to a nursing home and a hospital for just shy of six years. That question was asked, and he smiled and said his life was charmed.

 

Yes, it is all about perception.

THANKSGIVING

Warm wishes for a safe, loving, and joyful Thanksgiving Day.

 

Nikki

ENOUGH

Once upon a time in Hollywood and elsewhere, actors and actresses and politicians were at the mercy of the media. Anything a reporter felt like saying about these celebrities went unchallenged. The stars were told not to acknowledge anything false. The advice they received from their agents and managers and press people was to ignore it. That by denying or clarifying what the media printed it actually gave credence to the gossip. And the famous folks went along with the advice they were given. Tabloids had a field day saying whatever they wanted to say about the "stars du jour."

Ah, but I do believe the very first celebrity to say "ENOUGH" was Carol Burnett. She defied the advice. She followed what she KNEW to be the right course of action. When a rag printed that she had been drunk at some function, she was outraged. Having grown up in a household with an alcoholic family member and working very, very hard to keep her head above water and make a success of herself, she was certainly not about to let anyone smear her good name. And God love her, she fought that tabloid tooth and nail. Taking the media to court? Why, who would have ever had the guts to do THAT? Carol did. She did it beautifully, too. And she won. She won because what was said about her was false. It was a case of someone writing what they PERCEIVED to be the truth. It is common knowledge that slanderous statements are based on thoughts or feelings or perceptions and not on actual facts. Bare facts. Not ones that have been embellished with a little more here and there.

 

Carol's victory paved the way for stars and anyone else in the public eye to take on the media. Many cases were won by those who previously held their tongues and allowed the lowest of the low to besmirch their names.

 

I have always been impressed by Carol Burnett for that reason, as well as her obvious performing talent. It is not always easy to put yourself out there in order to stand up for what you believe to be right. Yet, she did it. With a determination that was made of steel.

 

How does that pertain to those of us who write in public journals? There are some of us who have been bloggers for quite some time. We write about a wide variety of subjects. Maybe about our personal lives. Sometimes about our take on society. Poetry and artwork is often shared. Each person leaves his own fingerprints on his writings.

 

Yet, there are tawdry tabloids that exist online. Their sole purpose is to defecate on people they do not like. They like to "expose" others who use online services to their fabrications and partial truths and anything else to make their targets squirm. I think we have all visited journals/blogs like that a time or two, have we not? Have you ever found yourself to be the topic of any of their journal entries? Have you read things about yourself and found your jaw drop from sheer astonishment? Did you wonder where they came up with the information about you? Did anyone ask YOU if the puke they were going to write about you was factual? Probably not. It does not work that way. Their usual mode of operation is to take a fact here or there, twist and turn it every which way, and add to it until it fits what they PERCEIVE to be fact, and go from there. They are reckless with the facts and guilty of projecting their own insecurities onto others.

 

It is my guess that soon enough there will have to be more online restrictions placed on the writers of all the journals. Slander is something that has to be addressed. It NEEDS to be addressed. Freedom of speech carries with it some responsibility. And when it is abused, it needs stopped.

 

I know too many people who have had to take their journals private, because there were those idiots who just had to cause the writers anguish and/or attempt to make their online lives miserable. How fair is that? Not fair at all. Funny how it seems like the people who have positive entries, entertaining commentaries, and nice displays of writing talent are the ones who often become the targets of malcontents.

 

Yes. Enough is enough. Time to put a stop to it. And there are ways.

 

"Truth is not exciting enough to those who depend on the characters and lives of their neighbors for all their amusement." ~George Bancroft

100 YEARS

Lately, my journaling has taken a back seat to a myriad of activities I have been engaging in. I have a million things to write about, yet nothing to say.

My birthday is Saturday. During the whirlwind of these past weeks, I have found myself thinking a lot about my life. The ups and downs and in-betweens that comprise it. There is little, if anything, I would change about any of it. This "middle time" of my days on earth finds me grateful for all of the small and large events that have occurred and the people who have come into my world. Be they fleeting visits or long-term ones, they are appreciated.

 

I am neither 15 years old nor 100 years old. At times, I rest somewhat uncomfortably right where I am. Other times, I am at great ease in this particular place I find myself. Empowered in many ways, vulnerable in others. Ah, life.

 

The lyrics to the following song sum up very well my conflicting emotions:

 

100 Years by Five For Fighting

I'm 15 for a moment
Caught in between 10 and 20
And I'm just dreaming
Counting the ways to where you are

I'm 22 for a moment
And she feels better than ever
And we're on fire
Making our way back from Mars

15, there's still time for you
Time to buy and time to lose
15, there's never a wish better than this
When you only got 100 years to live

I'm 33 for a moment
Still the man, but you see I'm a they
A kid on the way, babe
A family on my mind

I'm 45 for a moment
The sea is high
And I'm heading into a crisis
Chasing the years of my life

15,  there's still time for you
Time to buy and time to lose yourself
Within a morning star
15, I'm all right with you
15, there's never a wish better than this
When you only got 100 years to live

Half time goes by
Suddenly you’re wise
Another blink of an eye
67 is gone
The sun is getting high
We're moving on...

I'm 99 for a moment
Dying for just another moment
And I'm just dreaming
Counting the ways to where you are

15, there's still time for you
22, I feel her too
33, you’re on your way
Every day's a new day...

15, there's still time for you
Time to buy and time to choose
Hey, 15, there's never a wish better than this
When you only got 100 years to live

 

"A birthday is just the first day of another 365-day journey around the sun. Enjoy the trip." ~Author Unknown

BALANCING ACT

Sometimes I want and need to be reminded that the seemingly impossible is possible.

Thank you to my mysterious and good friend for the permission to post this photograph.

Balanced Rock was exposed more than 60 million years ago when the existing Rocky Mountains rose. To make its current shape, the soft bottom layer of shale eroded much faster than the harder sandstone and conglomerate above. Amazingly, the pedestal supporting Balanced Rock has held the 700 ton weight for thousands of years. (Information from The Garden of The Gods Park plaque.)

 

"Yes, you can be a dreamer and a doer too, if you will remove one word from your vocabulary: impossible." ~Robert Schuller

THE REAL BOTCHED JOKE

''You know, education, if you make the most of it, you study hard, you do your homework and you make an effort to be smart, you can do well. If you don't, you get stuck in Iraq.''
~Senator John Kerry

He called it "a botched joke." Yeah, right. He scrambled, as well he should have to cover that ketchup covered mouth of his. At first he proclaimed that it was merely a jab at President Bush that he had messed up. The written "joke" was apparently quite a lengthy one. I read the entire joke as it was originally written. It was posted in the news. He left out not only one word or two. No, he left out more than an entire sentence. A good bit more.

Now, oddly enough, his claim is he only left out the word "us." Uh huh. The spin doctors (Kerry's aides) have said he was supposed to say, "...you get US stuck in Iraq." How curious that his original claim was that the joke was longer, but he messed it up. And suddenly now it was just a one-word blooper. Pfffft.

Liar.

The troops deserve better than that. Far better. And apparently the group of military men pictured above made sure everyone knew how they felt about Kerry's little joke in what is a brilliant "biting" photograph. Bravo!

The only joke in this particular mess is John Kerry. And not even a funny one.

THE SOCKS

I have been wrapping Christmas gifts. Yes, I got an early start this year, and I am thrilled to see the hefty pile of gifts all neatly wrapped. It was while I was sitting on the floor among the presents, scissors, and tape that the following "incident" came to mind.

 

This is a true and personal story.

 

Once upon a time there lived a very poor boy. His parents were loving ones, but wages in his father's line of work were quite meager. They had no extra pennies for even the little extra pleasures most people were able to buy. It mattered not to the young boy. He was happy.

 

One particular Christmas, his family gathered together with two sets of aunts and uncles for a celebration. Also there was his cousin, who was his age. Gifts were distributed. The poor boy opened his gift from the wealthy aunt and uncle. Inside the package was a pair of socks. One pair. The boy was pleased to have new ones, and he expressed a sincere thank you. Next, it was his cousin's turn to open his gift from this same aunt and uncle. His gift? A typewriter.

 

Socks versus a typewriter. The boy wondered why his aunt and uncle would give gifts of such disparity. Had he displeased them in some way? Did they love him less than his cousin? While it did not make sense to him and he lacked understanding, he refused to let his wonderings taint his Christmas Day.

 

The young boy grew into the finest of men. He married and had children and grandchildren. And he always...ALWAYS...made certain that all the gifts he gave were of equal value. He had never forgotten the feelings he experienced from that Christmas of long ago, and he made a point of seeing to it that no one else would ever feel the same way because of his actions. Fairness was one of the hallmarks of this good man, and his fairness extended far beyond only the giving of presents to others.

 

Now, I am sure there are those who read that story and thought, "Hey, the kid was dirt poor and could use the socks. He should be grateful he got any gift at all." Ah, but the boy was grateful. And if that is your take on it, then I suggest you put yourself, your child, or grandchild in that very same situation. The giving of a typewriter to a cousin while YOUR loved one receives one pair of socks is a slap in the face. No matter how thankful one is, the disparity between those two gifts is bound to cause hurt when the presents are dispensed in a group situation. Of course, that was the intention. It was many years later that the boy found out that the rich aunt and uncle were snobs. They looked down on the boy's parents because of their lack of money. And it manifested itself, in one way, in the giving of a lone pair of socks to a child. I think I almost feel sorrier for the wealthy aunt and uncle than I do for the young boy.

 

Life does not always seem fair. We all know that. The only thing we can do is to think about the consequences of what we do. The effect we have on others. We do have the power to be fair in many ways. And in being so, we can make life just a bit kinder for others. A bit easier. A lot nicer. That is the gift all of us should be giving.

 

"I've always felt that when I do something in the name of fairness, it's not just for me--it's for everybody." ~Janet Peckinpaugh

UNDERSTAND

"Run your fingers through my soul. For once, just once, feel exactly what I feel, believe what I believe, perceive as I perceive, look, experience, examine, and for once, just once…understand." ~Sara Ohotto

During the course of my time on AOL, I have varied the quotations I have used on my member profile. Each one has held a special significance that I can relate to easily. Not all of them pertain specifically to me or my life experiences, but the messages are powerful or are take-your-breath-away beautiful ones.

 

The quotation listed above is one I used for a very long time before I moved on to a new one. I recently edited my member profile and once again restored this beauty of a quote to it. Sometimes I think it should have been written by me, but I am incapable of writing with such passion and perfect expression.

 

How many times have all of us wished that others could climb into our beings and understand what it is like to be us? I know rare is the day that I do not wish for that to be possible.

 

Very, very few people have a solid grasp of who and how I am. People who can nod with at least a partial understanding of what makes me the person I am. No one, save my late father, has ever been able to see my complexities and commonalties and come away with a deeper appreciation of all that comprises me. People guess. People assume. They let their biases color their views. But, in doing so, they come no closer to discovering the me who is very real.

 

At times, I want to scream out in frustration. All I ask is to be recognized as who I genuinely am, not who someone wants me to be or expects me to be or thinks me to be.

 

I want to be able to read something that stuns me with its magnificence and have others understand why it has astounded me. To know firsthand why it has affected me so deeply.

 

I want my feelings to be felt and absorbed by others. Let them know the intensity of my pain and joy and love.

 

I want my beliefs to creep into others, so they can have a true understanding of all that has gone into the formation of those beliefs. The small and large bits of life coming together to create the philosophy by which I exist.

 

And, oh, for others to experience all I have would be grand. Yes, the oft enchanted life I have lived has been colorful and blessed, but it has not been without its hardships. There are many events that have shaped the woman I have become.

 

It would be sheer madness to wish for everyone to be exactly like me. Who wants a world filled with people of like minds? There would be no diversity to stir and inspire this melting pot of human beings.

 

No, all I want is but a few moments of people running their fingers through my soul and coming away with knowledge of who I am and why I am.

MARBLES

Yep, I have lost my marbles. I feel sure they have been scattered all over the place and rolled into dark recesses everywhere I have been, never to be found again. Years and years of losing them here and there.

That thought crossed my mind yet again today as I was once again playing "gotcha last" with my daughter. This is an ongoing game we play. Need I tell you that my daughter is 20? We play this game at the oddest times. And both of us are relentless in our desire to win. I swear, I will be on my death bed unable to lift my eyelids, let alone a hand, and my daughter will be proclaiming victory after she touches me. The final words I will probably hear before dying are, "Gotcha last!"

 

Then there was the day I decided I would not pronounce any "L's" or "R's" correctly. It began out of nowhere when the hubster and I were running errands. All of a sudden I began to say things such as, "Wooks wike we awe gonna have wain today." The hubby turned to "wook" ::grin:: at me with a priceless face. I, in my newly developed mode of speech, told him I now planned to go the entire day talking like that. He thinks I am weird. He is right.

 

One of my sisters and I talk on the telephone regularly. And we talk for way too long. It drives me nuts, and it shoots a hefty chunk of my day (two hours seems to be about the average length the conversations last, and we only live several miles from each other). But I love it anyway. My thing with her is that when I hear our phone announce the caller~we have those computerized phones that talk and tell you who is calling~is to answer the phone but not speak. I will sit there in total silence until she finally says something. Usually she calls me a word that starts with a "B." Ha! Like that is going to hurt my feelings!

 

I sing campy versions of Happy Birthday to friends and family.

 

I moon my kids...and my mother.

 

I sometimes stuff a portion of a Kleenex in a nostril and leave it hanging from there while asking my children to give me a kiss.

 

During my father's illness, my marbles really started to disappear. I did many things in an attempt to keep him smiling. One of which was to enlarge a photo of myself and write "Daddy's favorite daughter" across the bottom of it, and then tape it to the ceiling above his bed...right next to the Sports Illustrated swimsuit centerfold that I superimposed Mom's face onto.

 

I whisper things into my children's ears while we are in church. Things to make them laugh when they should not be. I do not laugh, but they do. Hubby glares at me.

 

When I am in the mood to discuss politics with this fascinating male family friend who is more than three decades older than I am, I tell him I will nibble on his ear if we can change our current topic of conversation to politics. (He, by the way, is currently in the process of having a book published. I will be pimping it here big time when all is finalized!)

 

There are countless other marble-less things I do on a frequent basis. Enough so to say that it has been a long time since I had any marbles at all. But, yanno what? I like being this way. So, if you happen to locate my marbles, just keep them. ::smile::

 

"I've lost my marbles." ~Toodles, from the movie Hook

THE JARS

A trip to the beach. Small souvenirs stored in jars. Kept displayed on a shelf, a dresser top, or a table. Little reminders of some moments in time. Your moments.

Guests to your home might take notice of your souvenirs and say nothing. Or they may question what particular beach you visited. Your response would probably be a simple one, and the conversation would change to another topic.

 

Alone, gazing at the little sand-filled glass jars, your mind tumbles into the past. Clearly seeing vivid images of waves crashing onto the shore, bringing with them little treasures for you to scoop up. Gently touching the wide variety of shells, taking in their texture with a lone finger. Hearing the oddly comforting sounds of the power and fury of the ocean. Smelling the unmistakable sea air wafting in the breeze that licks at your face. Feeling your feet sink into the grains of sand and wiggling your toes to revel in the tickle they create. The tip of your tongue slipping across your lips to moisten them after a day spent being kissed by the sun and tasting a hint of salt. A sense of calm surrounding your very being, pulling you into an oasis of blue.

 

Yes, just shells in jars to others. To you, mementos of a time that can be forever recalled within the beauty of your mind.

 

"Women need real moments of solitude and self-reflection to balance out how much of ourselves we give away." ~Barbara De Angelis

BABY STEPS

It is on a seemingly constant basis that I must remind myself to take small steps. I tend to want to run, run, runnnnn in an effort to keep pace with my mind and its rapid-fire ideas and thoughts. And when I run that fast, I am bound to stumble and fall...and fail.

 

In all areas of my life, I throw myself into whatever I am doing. What I do not always take into consideration is that there are times when I am not particularly prepared to tackle the task at hand. Maybe I am setting myself up to fail. Who knows?

 

I am not an artist. I pretend to be one. I like how I feel while I am painting. I like music playing in the background while I wield my brushes and paints. And I try to run. Fast like the wind. Sometimes I am lucky, and I create a painting that pleases me a great deal. Other times, I shake my head and file the painting inside my giant "WTF is this" folder.

 

I sprinted into acrylics painting after having taken watercolor classes. Surely I could handle that medium, even though they are two VASTLY different ones. Never mind that I have not attended any classes or workshops to learn how to use acrylics. Eh, I never was all that great paying attention in classes anyway. I blindly ran with the thick paint and canvas~neither of which is used for watercolors.

 

I realize now I do need to get some sort of acrylics paint instruction. Preferably a one-day workshop. It did not take me too long to determine that while I was working on this swan painting. Surprisingly, the picture is just 4" x 5", but more time-consuming than I have spent on larger paintings...be they pastels, acrylics, or watercolors. Maybe it is because smaller ones are more tedious.

 

Although I got frustrated painting this, I still got pleasure from it. Odd, isn't it? And I do like it. I just do not love it. I call it Serenity. Mmhmm. Swans bring to mind a beautiful gracefulness, and a secluded pond with lush foliage and sprinklings of blossoms is my idea of pure serenity. A place I would like to be.

 

Sometimes I take photos of a painting as it progresses. I did that with this one. A record of baby steps to remind me that I must not always run.  

 

"Life is a series of steps. Things are done gradually. Once in a while there is a giant step, but most of the time we are taking small, seemingly insignificant steps on the stairway of life." ~Ralph Ransom

Z IS FOR...

...ZERO! Yep, this entry is about nothing. Zero. Zip. Zilch. Nada. I had forgotten that I never got around to completing my alphabetical entries, having left off at Y. Now, I am finished with that whole concept. Go me!

I just might be posting a regular entry soon. Okaaaaaaay, Mary? ::smooch:: As long as you expect nothing profound, I can oblige you. My muse is still in absentia, but it is taunting me by giving me fleeting glimpses of it before it runs off again. Pffft.

"The best measure of a man's honesty isn't his income tax return. It's the zero adjust on his bathroom scale." ~Arthur C. Clarke

BREAK

My muse appears to have run off with Dot (see Yo-Yo entry regarding her); both leaving me in the lurch. With their absences, I am reduced to a quiet woman without a creative bone in her body. My paintings reflect it, and my unusual semi-silence on the keyboard is further proof of it.

 

Also, I am very far behind reading the journals of others, and I feel terrible about it. I cannot seem to get in a good block of time so I can catch up on the words of those people for whom I have great admiration and respect.

 

I do not recall ever taking a break from blogging, except when I have gone out of town. I do believe the time is right for me to step away from this blog. It is pointless to write merely to fulfill some self-imposed rule that I post entries at least two to three times a week. I see no sense in that. I will, however, continue to enter my weekly posts for the Self-Portrait Challenge on my blogspot journal, unless my lack of creativity makes that an impossibility, too.

 

Perhaps if I no longer have my own journal to tend to, I will be able to make the rounds to those wonderful blogs and read what is going on in those worlds. I would like that very much. There is truly something about the people whose journals are saved in my favorites that makes me feel balanced. I gain new insights and perspectives, which I believe is a vital part of life...looking at everything through the eyes of others. Be it in my real world or this virtual one.

 

I also need to work through some things, and I am hopeful I can do just that within a short period of time. I could be back to posting regularly in a week or a month. We shall see.

 

Finding myself in a museless place is not where I was meant to be. And I have no intention of staying there for a long time.

 

Be well.

INNOCENCE

I was running errands today, and I had a CD mix playing in the car. The following song, which I happen to love, came on. I think my biggest draw to the song is the lyrics. Rare is the time when I hear them and am not left thinking about them as they apply to me, others, and life in general.

"Holy Water" by Big & Rich

Somewhere there's a stolen halo
I used to watch her wear it well
Everything would shine wherever she would go
But looking at her now you'd never tell

Someone ran away with her innocence
A memory she can't get out of her head
I can only imagine what she's feeling
When she's praying
Kneeling at the edge of her bed

And she says take me away
And take me farther
Surround me now
And hold, hold, hold me like holy water
Holy water

She wants someone to call her angel
Someone to put the light back in her eyes
She's looking through the faces
And unfamiliar places
She needs someone to hear her when she cries

And she says take me away
And take me farther
Surround me now
And hold, hold, hold me like holy water
Holy water

She just needs a little help
To wash away the pain she's felt
She wants to feel the healing hands
Of someone who understands

And she says take me away
And take me farther
Surround me now
And hold, hold, hold me
And she says take me away
And take me farther
Surround me now
And hold, hold, hold me like holy water
Holy water

Granted, we all have our own takes on music and what particular songs mean. That is one of the many beauties of it. We know how it affects us. Much like a painting, each person sees (in this instance, hears) for himself.

 

So, I thought about the overall gist of this song. Innocence. Lost innocence. I am a little too old to always be able to look at life through the eyes of a child. I am not oblivious to the suffering and incomprehensible tragedies that take place day in and day out all around the world. I do not want to stick my head in the sand and ignore the woes of the world. What I can do, however, is find the good and decency and kindness that most assuredly does exist. I can then spend moments of time in innocence. Those precious seconds that once again give me the purity of a child who only sees the wonders surrounding him.

 

Ah, innocence. I do believe we have it, lose it, regain it, lose it, and so on time after time. We cannot help but experience pain at the hands of someone else, an event, or an illness. Such is life. And frequently, our innocence is stripped from us because of it. Oftentimes in the blink of an eye, it is taken. We feel we will never be the same again. We feel jaded. Cold. At least on the exterior. Inside, we are dying bit by bit until that time when we are once again reunited with our stolen innocence. And most of us finally make it through relatively unscathed and hopefully a bit wiser. Until the next time it happens. And the cycle continues.

 

I want to always remain as a child in certain ways. I hope I am resilient enough to make that hope become a reality.

 

"Innocence dwells with wisdom, but never with ignorance." ~William Blake

YO-YO

Gah! The fall continues to affect me in sometimes unpredictable ways. Not all of which are necessarily good.

On the positive side, during the past few weeks, I have won THREE contests (good things happen in threes...not only bad things). First, Debbie at My Big Fat Greek Life held a writing contest to win a Greek bracelet or ring. I won a bracelet for a poem I wrote. Yay! The bracelet arrived today, and it is beautiful. I love it, Debbie. THANK YOU! Second, Jodi at Looking Beyond The Cracked Window had a contest to see who the first person was to guess the five lies she inserted into an autobiographical post in her blog. I won! And I won a painting of hers. My choice of paintings, too. Yahoo! I chose one that reminds me of her amazing creative mind. I cannot wait until it arrives! THANK YOU, Jodi! And third, I won a $300 Best Buy gift card at my hubby's annual company dinner. WOOT! He gave it to me to use. Yes, the number three has been kind to me many times during my life.

 

Downside? I was working on a painting I felt had great potential. I eagerly sat at my drafting table working the watercolors just the way I envisioned them when I sketched the scene. Unfortunately and frustratingly, the painting is now hideous. I am at a loss to determine whether or not I can salvage the mess I created. I was so upset that I carried it into my dining room and left it there. I do not want to look at it for days. Needless to say, we will be dining in the kitchen until I can decide if I should throw away that ugliness my hand and brushes made.

 

Upside? I bought five pairs of jeans yesterday. Yes, five. Blacks, indigos, and grays. They are skinny leg jeans, and I wanted to replace my old ones anyway. Men's dress shirts do look very nice and are comfy to wear with that style of jeans for casual running around or just wearing in the house. Throw in the new boots I also purchased, and I am one happy camper. Curious to see how the hubby reacts. He shakes his head when he takes a gander at my boot collection, as well as all of the jeans I own. ::shrug::

 

Downside? Dot is late. She makes me very weepy when she does not appear on time. Either that or I go into fits of laughter that are uncontrollable. I also tend to retreat into myself more often. Dot, where are you? (Dot is my period. Get it? Dot. Period.)

 

Upside? I have discovered the most fabulous band from Finland. Stratovarius. Oh my! I am obsessed listening to them. The singer's voice is intense, and his range is unbelievable. Perfect lyrics accompany the songs. I am in sheer heaven listening to them.

 

Downside? I have developed a new addiction. Glass beads. I spent a good couple of hours choosing the ones I wanted. I am already thinking about all the ways I can use them. As if I have time for yet another artsy project. It will cause me to put even more pressure on myself to accomplish something worth keeping or giving to others.

 

Upside? I am going to get some blue topaz earrings. I am. Not the ones I saw at Macy's when I was recently there, but ones at my usual jeweler's. I have decided if my mood is going to bounce up and down like a yo-yo, I might as well have pretty earrings on my earlobes so at least I sparkle while I bounce. ::grin::

 

Is it winter yet?

 

"Life is a train of moods like a string of beads; and as we pass through them they prove to be many colored lenses, which paint the world their own hue, and each shows only what lies in its own focus." ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

SIGNS OF THE SEASON

During the past few weeks, I have looked at cottages for sale in the woods and hills about an hour's drive from our house. I imagine myself spending weekends surrounded by quiet and beauty. The hubby has not ruled out the possibility of purchasing a weekend place, but he did say he would do it more as an investment. ::sigh:: That means he would rent it to others. And that would dictate when I could stay there. I do not want restrictions placed on my comings and goings.

I have also talked to him about moving to a new home. Perhaps buying a piece of property and building a sprawling ranch house. We no longer feel we have to stay in this community for their excellent school system. Yet, I saw a stone house in my neighborhood that is for sale, and I adore it. "Can we buy it?" I asked. That was countered with a response of, "But I thought you said you wanted to build a house?" My eyes roll, and I told him that was last week that I wanted to do that. "Well, what about the old historical homes you say you want?" Geez, he just cannot keep up with my weekly whims. Unfortunately, neither can I. And there is always that brick Georgian townhouse minutes from here that I lust after. It would strictly be a "for me" place, though. I do not count it as a family home. It would be my oasis. Just how many homes DO you want he usually asks. How do I know? It depends on the day. I really do not want to move. My home is perfect for us. And the idea of packing up all we own is enough to throw me into hysteria.

 

I went to Macy's yesterday to buy a new chain for a pendant I have. It was the only reason I went there. Before I knew what was happening, my arm had a suede jacket draped over it, along with a matching top, and I had made my way to the jewelry counter. Yes, must get a gold chain. This is why I am here. Uh huh. So explain why my face was poised over the blue topaz earrings that were gazing up at me through the glass and winking at me, seducing me with their Swiss blue color and rampant sparkles. And do tell me who uttered the following words aloud to the salesgirl, "I want those earrings right there"? Mmmm. Oh yeah, the gold chain. I set the clothing to the side while I perused their offerings. I found the perfect length and link style I wanted for my pendant. I asked if I could also purchase the clothing there at the jewelry counter. No, must buy them in that particular section of the store. Not a problem. And as she began to box the earrings and chain for me, I had a brief moment of clarity. What in the heck was I doing? I only wanted a chain, and here I have turned into a shopping sl*t. Ewww. I quickly told the gal not to bother with the earrings; that I would not be buying them. Just the chain, please. She was pleasant about my sudden change of mind. I meandered back to the clothing department and hung the jacket and top back on the rack. I needed neither one.

 

I left the store only to spot a nifty convertible sports car. I want that car. Never mind that I have no idea what kind it is or that I already have a convertible with ridiculously low mileage on it. I shook my head to clear it. I love my car. Why do I want a different one?

 

Finally, I returned home. The hubby called and asked me how my day was going and if I had any plans. We chatted for a bit while I told him that I was going to try to finish going through the mountain of paperwork that needs filed. As of this moment, the papers are still piled on the coffee table, because I spent a ridiculous amount of time matting and framing four paintings instead of doing what I said I would be doing.

 

Yes, fall is making its appearance. Not only in the drop in temperature and the earlier sunset, but also in the way it messes with me. It is a beautiful time of the year, yet it gives me a restlessness, a need for change, and an inability to focus my attention on those things that require it.

 

Eh, I will grow accustomed to it. Just not sure which house I will be living in when that happens. ::grin::

 

"To put meaning in one's life may end in madness, but life without meaning is the torture of restlessness and vague desire-it is a boat longing for the sea and yet afraid."  ~Edgar Lee Masters

THE FLAME

Ordinary to the casual eye

blending with the others

going about their mundane lives

 

A second glance not worthy

of one so plain and simple

already forgotten by the passersby

 

These are but constant moments

in her vast sea of time

overlooked and deemed inadequate

 

Her lips curve in a knowing smile

what seems to be and what is

two opposites of the extreme

 

Holding within her a complexity

of burgeoning passions

only she recognizes and embraces

 

The flame rages in its dwelling

threatening to burn through

to bring forth the reality of her substance

 

She quells the blaze to avoid notice

mediocrity her preferred appearance

one among many

 

Alone

she lets the fire engulf her

and she soars

 

*~Nikki~*

PLEASE, NO MORE LEMONS

This past week has thrown more than a few lemons my way, and I am fiercely trying to make lemonade from them. I think I am winning the battle though, for now.

It began when my daughter's friend was killed in a motorcycle accident. Helmet on. Oil patch on the road the culprit in the loss of control of his motorcycle. Head trauma death. ::sad sigh:: 22 years young. My daughter, who is younger than that, was so traumatized by the news. She clutched me and just sobbed and sobbed on my shoulder. She garnered enough strength to attend the calling hours, the funeral, and the burial service. She is tearing up at odd times. She said she misses his smile. And I miss hers when she is sad like that.

 

My 14-year-old diabetic dog began behaving strangely. A trip to the vet did not result in any good news. Her diabetes is almost out of control, and the vet cannot determine the exact reason for it. Tests need done. One was already performed, but it came back negative for Cushing's disease. Like the vet said, it would have been almost "nice" had that test been positive, because it can be treated. Now, we have to begin the hunt for cancer or a tumor.

 

I took my mother to the cardiologist for what was supposed to be a routine visit. Instead, it discovered that her heart has again gone out of rhythm, and she needs to go back into the hospital for her fourth cardioversion (shocking of the heart). She was very stunned and looked defeated as she stepped out of his office.

 

And, of course, there are also the small lemons that come at you all the time, but you are able to easily dodge them. This time, I guess I was a bit slow, because they hit me and accumulated.

 

I had to do some laborious squeezing to make lemonade from all of these lemons. I think I am making some headway...

 

I had my daughter give our four college football tickets for a game Saturday to the cousin (and best friend) of the young man who was killed. He is a huge fan of the team, and I am hopeful it brings some happiness to him for at least a short period of time.

 

I found out a band I love, Trans-Siberian Orchestra, is going to be playing here in town. Rock opera at its finest from that group. I immediately ordered tickets. Great seats in the area of the arena that I wanted. Four of them. It will be a family affair with hubby, me, and our kids. That was a plus.

 

Saturday evening will be an enjoyable nite out. Hubby's company has an annual outing at a racetrack...harness racing. Outstanding food, good people, and betting! I choose all the winners, and the hubster places the bets. I do not read anything about the odds, I am unfamiliar with all harness racing, so I just go by the horses' names. We never come away winning or losing a lot. The important thing is that a good time is had.

 

I have no painting in the works. I intend to find something that interests me and begin a sketch over the weekend.

 

The weather has been utterly perfect. Slightly cool breeze, lower temperatures, and no need for air-conditioning. Open windows to allow the fresh air to sweep through our home and rejuvenate it.

 

See? I am trying so very hard to fill up the pitcher with lemonade.

 

“Huge lemons, cut in slices, would sink like setting suns into the dusky sea, softly illuminating it with their radiating membranes, and its clear, smooth surface aquiver from the rising bitter essence.” ~Rainer Maria Rilke

ME WITH A G

It was over the weekend that I began this watercolor painting. The photograph from which I worked is of an online friend of mine. Her body is perfection, and I hope I captured at least some of that beauty in this painting. (AOLers? I had to censor it for fear of receiving a TOS violation. The uncensored painting is shown on my "mirror" blog, which you can find HERE.) She has an equally beautiful face, and eyes that are full of life, intelligence, joy, and a sprinkling of mischief. She also has a man in her real-time world who is the embodiment of masculinity and all that is good in a human being.

Her name is Meg. Me with a g. I came to know her through her poetry. One poem in particular literally swept my breath from me, and I knew I had to find out more about her.

 

We have become friends. I learn from her, and I would like to think she learns from me. Her interests are wide and varied, and she fascinates me. I love to send her music. Sometimes I hit the mark, and she enjoys the songs. Most of them are sent for reasons that only she would know. They "fit" a person or situation. 

 

And so, with time, I have grown to know much about her. She is a very sensual woman, and that sensuality surrounds her like an aura, which is evident in her writings and looks. I finally asked if I could paint this picture of her. The shadows playing across her splendid body intrigued me, as did the artistic pose. I am heterosexual, but I certainly can and do recognize and appreciate beauty. I wanted to give a go at attempting to capture it with my watercolors. With her permission, I painted it, then I asked for permission to post it. She granted it. ::smile::

 

Thank you, Me with a g. It is my hope you are pleased with this rendering of you.

 

"The portrait is one of the most curious art forms. It demands special qualities in the artist, and an almost total kinship with the model." ~Henri Matisse

9/11 TRIBUTE TO MASARU OSE

On September 11, 2001, at 9:03 a.m., a man named Masaru Ose was killed. Are you familiar with his name? My guess is no, not at all. Yet, he is a genuine hero by virtually any definition. A hero the likes about whom movies are made or books written.

 

This is my tribute to an unsung hero. Please take a few moments to read about his all-too-brief life, and his selflessness in making the ultimate sacrifice for others.

 

Ose was a Japanese man who lived in Fort Lee, New Jersey. He worked for a company called Mizuho Capital Markets Corporation. Its location was on the 80th floor of the South Tower of the World Trade Center in New York City. He was one of the managers of the approximately 150 employees.

 

Countless searches for a record of his official obituary and a picture of him produced no results. I wish I had a face to put on this man, but maybe in some ways it is better that he remain faceless, so he could be you or me. Or could he?

 

On that September 11th morning five years ago, Ose was at work when American Airlines Flight 11 crashed into the North Tower of the World Trade Center. The President of Mizuho and three employees, Ose being one of them, worked together to successfully evacuate every employee from their offices on the 80th floor. And then. Then. United Airlines Flight 175 hit the South Tower. Ose perished, as did the other three.

 

150 lives were saved because of those four men. 150 people whose families did not have to grieve for them. 150 people who were given the chance to live because someone had the presence of mind to see to their safety before it was too late. 150 people who undoubtedly realize the heroic actions of Ose and three co-workers. And 150 people who were the recipients of the highest form of selflessness.

 

Ose was a mere 36 years old at the time of his death. So very young. Yet so very, very full of decency, kindness, and compassion. So much so that he gave his life to save others. And just how many people do you know who would be willing to give their lives for fellow employees?

 

Ah, the world lost a good and honorable man at 9:03 a.m., September 11, 2001.

 

Yes, Masaru Ose, you are, indeed, a hero. And I am proud to honor your life here in this journal and in my heart.

 

"What is a hero without love for mankind?" ~Doris Lessing

 

This post will remain here through September 11. It is part of a project D. Challener Roe began, and includes over 3,000 bloggers paying tribute to those 2,996 men and women who were lost on that horrifically tragic day in 2001. Click HERE to view the other tributes.

 

REKINDLED

Last year I was going through an unpleasant time dealing with some online nonsense. It was ongoing, and it was stifling. I made the difficult decision to move on. To get away from all of it. I closed my beloved journal, changed my screen name, and left behind all that was familiar. And it is here that I have blossomed. I have always said that from bad comes good. I have discovered more of the good in myself, and I have definitely found it in others whom I have been blessed to get to know. My decision turned out to be the best thing that could have happened to me. It has even added to the happiness I find in my "real" world. I am grateful for all of that.

Just prior to departing from "that other" place, I had long talks with a good soul with whom I had always been close. He knew I was contemplating a change. He knew of my frustration. Better yet, he understood. He was supportive. He and I had a unique relationship. There is a disparity in our ages, yet I do believe he is an old soul in a younger man's body. Like he said, perhaps we knew each other in a previous life, because we have always had a connection.

 

From the moment we met online, there was that spark of feeling like I had met my kindred spirit. He is also the most curious person I have ever known. His mind wants to absorb and explore all that is the world. And his artistic ability is staggering. He never failed to impress me with his artwork and creativity. He, himself, was in the process of making his own online changes. He made a new screen name he intended to use. A fresh start to go with some real life newness. He told me that name. He asked that we stay in touch. I promised we would. And then, he sent me the following poem. Written just for me on the spur of the moment. He never considered himself a poet and did not even write poetry. Yet, he produced this:

 

I Wish You Didn't Have To Leave

 

"I wish you didn't have to leave,"

So said the jay bird to the summer wind

"Your gentle warmth beneath my wing is all I need

This departure I wish you would rescind." 

 

Then the jay bird keened his ear

For the sailing summer breeze speaks light

And only those who truly seek her voice can hear

Her voice of beauty, sharp as night

 

"Young jay bird, fret yourself a little less,"

Said her voice, drifting cool across the meadow

"For though I go, there is something I must impress

And that is this, dear little fellow:

 

Life moves as a cycle, turning in seasons

Time has an ebb and flow like the sea

It tells not why, and gives no reasons

It simply turns, like the leaves of your tree."

 

Jay bird twittered in protest

And quite nearly missed the most important part

"Hush now, child," said the wind brushing softly on the nest

"There is one more thing I wish you to take to heart:

 

My nature is spirit, and so is yours

Not physical, matter is so inconsequential

I am still and always beneath you as you soar,

Because we met, which was not coincidental

 

Let not our friendship be marred

And no more woe, you were meant to fly!"

With a mighty gust she nudged him hard

And the smilin' jay bird rose into the sky.

 

Is that not impossibly beautiful? How I cried when I read it and find myself still welling up. He knew of my love for the wind. He expressed through that poem the anguish I was feeling, but also the hope that comes with change. And he assured me through those lovely words that we would always remain friends.

 

I closed my old screen name. And then the awful happened. I could not remember his new screen name. I had apparently not transferred it when I made my change. Countless times I thought about him. Wondering how he was doing. If his life was going well. If his own fresh start was mimicking that of his real world. It literally pained me to be unable to reach him. To check on him. To catch up on his world. To know that he was happy.

 

Kindred spirits seemingly find each other. It was but days ago that he contacted me. How he was able to do so was even indicative of just how our friendship transcends supposed boundaries. I was elated! It was pure joy to be able to talk to him again. He continues to fascinate me. Enlighten me. And God knows, he is my friend in all ways. When I told him that I had recently read this poem again and wished to place it here in my journal, he said, "It is your poem to do with whatever you wish." Oh, and how I wanted it in here. For others to see and feel the words of this special man.

 

Sweet Seb? I adore you. For always. And thank you for encouraging me to fly.