Wednesday, March 28, 2012
My heart breaks often, more than I would like to admit. It shatters into slivers of twisted words, painful memories and misunderstood circumstances. Fortunately, I always find a way to repair it; whether taped with apologies, glued with forgiveness, or plastered with reassurance.
I tend to be the type of person who can’t wait for the debris that clouds my feelings to settle under my feet. My forgotten pain becomes shadowed by fresh life experiences that are turned and tilled until they have become an intricate part of the soil that nurtures the bountiful garden of my life.
Sometimes past events labor to collect enough remnants under its fingernails of circumstances to reopen the scars where my heart has healed. But it is the circumstances that happen without warning that breaks the mended seams. And every time I must fall to the floor as I hurriedly collect all the tiny pieces. Carefully and diligently I keep patching and filling the space where the damaged bits are lost forever.
Today my heart has grown and changed, always expanding to collect the stray dreams that haven’t found a place to settle and the forgiveness that never left. My heart has matured to an ageless collection of memories and feelings that make who I am today.
Thanks. Write you later!
Monday, March 26, 2012
I had to think about this prompt; simply because I really didn’t know if I had 23 words relating to one particular “anything” I could write about. But once I sat silent for a moment it hit me and I instantly knew exactly what 23 things I wanted to list.
So often, like any of us, if you asked me to ramble off 23 things that pissed me off, my mouth would start flappin’, words would begin to roll across my tongue, and there’s no doubt I would start dropping four letter words while my arms flew spastically around bitchin’ about every last thing in my list of 23.
But not today! Today I am going to list 23 things I am grateful for. I’m going to find 23 words that label my gratitude with broad strokes encompassing the entirety of my life. So here I go (in no particular order).
1. Life (Without it we wouldn’t be).
2. Endings (Endings create a space for something new to begin).
3. Creative Thought (Thoughts by thinkers have enough power to create).
4. Freedom (Without it we wouldn’t have self expression).
5. Nature (The ultimate example of renewal and forgiveness).
6. Choice (It creates the ability to make mistakes and grow).
7. Law (Keeps us in order).
8. Gravity (Without it we wouldn’t be grounded).
9. Decision (The first step in Cause and Effect).
10. Memories (Gives us the ability to file life experiences).
11. Vision (To see what we want and where we want to go).
12. Speech (We communicate our dreams and appreciation).
13. Money (Gives the ability to barter and show gratitude).
14. Love (The absolute highest expression of all life).
15. Euphoria (Keeps us aware of a power greater than us).
16. Touch (Heals even the most broken of us).
17. Laughter (Perfect expression of the existence we deserve).
18. Peace (State of being, that is our birthright).
19. Spirituality (Makes our lives our own).
20. Friendship (Mirrors what we put out into the world).
21. Family (Supports and keeps us thriving).
22. The World (Gives us unlimited possibilities).
23. The Universe (Where everything as we know it exists).
So there you have it~ my list of 23.
Sometimes we are so busy looking outside of ourselves for gratitude that we don’t even notice it is created from a spark deep within us.
With the deepest of gratitude, from the depths of my heart~ thank you for hanging out and reading my ramblings! And I’ll write you later!
Saturday, March 24, 2012
Simple pleasures what a complex oxymoron. Sure we believe pleasure is simple, and as we should believe. But what is simple becomes involved when we stop to think about how intricate everything is that gives us pleasure.
The Sun dancing across our exposed skin, the rain tickling against our taut cheeks, the warmth of milk chocolate as it melts into our tongue, the contagious laughter of our children, watching the wind twirl and bend a field of wildflowers; all are pleasures that dictate simplicity but requires an exact and multifaceted choreography of nature. Actions much more complex than the pleasure it evokes within our souls.
It gives me pleasure to simply listen to music; granted I don’t ponder the elaborate beats and notes that create the melody, but I take pleasure in the feelings it brings to the surface. The deep swirling romance or the bellowing joys of laughter appear effortless enough and are pleasurable beyond any explanation.
Writing gives me pleasure, the images and scenes that crowd my head as characters hurl through life experiences. Scores of events I can’t wait to bang out naturally across my screen; even when my spoken words can’t help but stumble and trip across my tongue.
Above all, the most pleasurable thing in my life is simply watching my family discover the unlimited possibility buried within their souls. When I get to glance at the flawlessness of their creative process and the blaze it ignites in their lives.
Yeah, it’s the simple things in life that give me pleasure, even when I don’t understand the complexity of it all.
Thanks for hanging out with me and I’ll write you later~
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Actually the prompt is…Talk about a time when you saw your mother or father as a person independent of his or her identity as your parent. WAIT A MINUTE~ they are something besides my parents? At Forty mumble, mumble, years old I’m supposed to believe that anything else matters more than the fact that they are my parents and my children’s grandparents? Sure they have lives outside of ours, sure they have jobs outside of my life, but come on; they signed an irrevocable contract, to be known as my parents the minute I came bustin’ into this world screaming. Good, bad, or indifferent, even through thick and thin, it isn’t my fault I didn’t come with a manual. Maybe they should have read the fine print. No returns or exchanges and the California lemon law does not apply!
Okay so maybe I’m a little older than most who realized in their teens or early twenties that their parents have a life outside of their children’s. But, am I really that selfish to want to believe in the magic of pedestals and the idealism of complete parental knowledge?
Truthfully, I can’t tell you an exact moment I realized my parents actually existed outside of my little world, but what I can tell you is~ now that I am a parent and in my forties, I’ve come to realized they were just as young, inexperienced and frankly sometimes scared just as shitless.
I am humbled by the choices they had to make for my brothers and me, I am grateful for the wool they kept over my eyes when life became hard, and I appreciate the values they cultivated in the garden of my soul.
One day, when my children are grown and are experiencing the blessing of parenthood, I can only hope they realize, their father and I did the best we knew how in raising them without a manual~ just like our parents had to.
Thanks for hanging out and reading my ramblings even if it is a little off topic~ I’ll write you later!
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
There are so many thoughts running through my head as I write this prompt. Like an ocean swirling with vicious fists and painful stabs under the façade of serene surface rolls—I too struggle—death stole a mother’s breath today.
I don’t second guess the Universe or flaunt disparaging phrases asking why. The Universe doesn’t question or create grievances to test my faith against any fear.
I know what faith is, I know my life is steeped in total faith that there is a power greater than me. Therefore, I would never suggest or ask why; it isn’t my place.
Besides, no amount of questioning will ever change the outcome. I don’t think any voice of reason would be able to articulate a feasible reason grand enough to justify stealing a mother’s last breath. So I must have faith that this power greater than me answered the calls of its duty when she transcended this life.
What validates her existence; her mark on this world isn’t about grieving for what was lost, but celebrating what was found. The memory of an action, the recall of an event, those are the reasons to rise above the despair and sadness and begin to awaken within us the place where we know Faith will always kick fear right in the ass.
When we can believe in a power greater than us; a power we can’t see, taste, or touch and we know beyond any doubt it will always have our backs (no matter what),then and only then we will truly understand what Faith is. Faith is having total belief in something, even when you can’t see it.
Thanks~ I’ll write you tomorrow
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
Funny how when I think back on the things, I shudder at the thought that my three boys would even attempt some of the things I did. In the eyes of my parents I was golden; and birth order had everything to do with it. See I was the youngest of 3 and the only girl; so by the time I came around, my parents had already used up all their spankings and disciplinarian tricks on my brothers. Not to mention, I learned from an early age, if I tattled on myself, I would get in less trouble, if any trouble at all.
Let’s face it; by the time the third kid pops out, parents have lightened up or tuckered out. They’ve learned what works and what doesn’t or they’ve become so busy with wrangling the other two, the third gets away with everything. Hey, I know I got away with so much more than my brothers….WAIT, I take that back, it’s not that I got away with more, I just didn’t get in trouble for things I did because I always confessed before my parents found out. My brothers on the other hand—they have stories that would curl your toes and make your knees buckle, so confession wasn’t always the brightest option for them.
I remember this one time my brothers and I were playing hide and go seek, right before Christmas and it was my turn to hide, well I ran into the garage and opened the door to a little room thinking nobody will ever find me. Little did I know, my parents were playing hide Gretchen’s Christmas present and she better not seek or we’ll take it back and she will get nothing under the tree. At least that was the on-going threat in our house around Christmas time.
There it was, the most beautiful sparkling purple Montgomery Ward’s bicycle with a white shiny vinyl banana seat! My breath escaped me and I lingered in a moment of suspended, oh my god, what did I just do.
I knew if my parents found out that I saw the bike before Christmas they would take it back (that’s how they rolled). I couldn’t tell them I saw it and risk losing it. Beside the dangerous part of my secret was, my brother followed behind me and was witness to my blunder. Of all things to find and of all places I decided to hide that day, why was it there and why a new purple bike. So it took everything I had to trust that my brother wouldn’t tell our parents and to keep it a secret. I sure wanted that bike, so it ate me up alive that I found it and didn’t tell them.
It was so distressing in fact, that I can’t remember if I was the one who told on myself or if it was one of my brothers; but needless to say, my parents found out. I was so scared that the purplishous Montgomery Ward’s bike with the shiny white banana seat wouldn’t be tucked next to our Charlie Brown tree on Christmas morning. My stomach was in knots, because I wanted that bike so badly. I wanted to feel the wind tug at my hair as I zoomed down the parking lot to Shop and Save. I wanted to take it out and ride with my friends around the neighborhood.
Well Christmas morning came and along with it—the anxiety of not knowing if my parents decided to take the bike back or not. I had the self talk that if it wasn’t there I would never forgive them but if it was there, I would love them forever.
I ran down the stairs, my feet barely touching the ground, my throat was froggy dry, my hair tangled almost to a beehive, and my heart thumping as fast as a jack rabbit. I had to be the first down to see if my Christmas was going to be tragic or tremendous.
I turned the corner and scanned the family room. Tucked next to the Charlie Brown Christmas tree was the Montgomery Ward’s purplishous bicycle with its shiny white banana seat and a huge red bow. My parents never took it back and I got my bike. That year I inadvertently got away with knowing what my present was before Christmas morning. But believe me, from that day forward, I never opened that little storage room again.