tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33471511599009818602024-03-14T04:15:47.914-07:00Poems, Stories and HumannessA work of perception - stories, poetry, thoughts and pictures.
Email me at avm977@gmail.comUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger107125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347151159900981860.post-8294895555691080162021-09-03T11:23:00.001-07:002022-08-08T22:05:34.739-07:00Return surpriseAll content copyrighted.<div><br /></div><div><br /><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr4V8lC9e4gK7h-ljmAdbl9r5_oEgXI43nZPBRruhNRelanlS9RWusjE-n3MqWopsRHMTYlyKc9pxUCNk-rumidtuvxkTMgjsjvQb8g9OIojd_3T2_kvTZxvQoh_AZxDyKj2_xZH1zQFE/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="167" data-original-width="301" height="199" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr4V8lC9e4gK7h-ljmAdbl9r5_oEgXI43nZPBRruhNRelanlS9RWusjE-n3MqWopsRHMTYlyKc9pxUCNk-rumidtuvxkTMgjsjvQb8g9OIojd_3T2_kvTZxvQoh_AZxDyKj2_xZH1zQFE/w320-h199/image.png" width="320" /></a></div><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> pic credit*</span><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>She waddled in and smiled at the raised eyebrows. They could afford to look askance. She had mouths to feed and one more on the way. The prospect of painting doors in a large house made her head spin. She had to stem the rising nausea as she pasted down covering sheets and protective plastic. 7 bedrooms with 7 main doors, 7 closet doors and 7 bathroom doors...they said three bathrooms had two entrances. Sweet lord, she thought. There were just three people. Why did they need so many bathrooms?</div><div>Now she needed them. Her parents, her two children and she with her many trips to the bathroom all used one facility. Just one. What would she do when the baby arrived? For the hundredth time she wondered how her baby's father walked away as he had. She had stayed far away from all entanglements until he began pursuing her. He seemed so invested, so gentlemanly, so loving and accepting. Her parents had been duped too. They declared him worthy of their daughter. The only one to deserve that compliment since her beloved Fernando had left this earth.</div><div><br /></div><div>There was a loud noise and a voice that laughed in shocked surprise, "Delia! Did you make this?!"</div><div><br /></div><div>Carla stopped, nearly losing her lunch. The baby kicked and she wondered if it was in recognition. She had waited since the positive pregnancy test, through months of feeling rushes of love and betrayal for</div><div>Carla stopped, nearly losing her lunch. The baby kicked and she wondered if it was in recognition. She this moment. The betrayal came back in double strength. Baby kicked when he heard his father's voice. He hadn't kicked for her. She berated herself and her stupid tears the next moment and picked up the brush. How she ended up in his house she would never know, just as she wouldn't ask about "Delia" or the other feminine voice that tinkled through the house.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Papa, do you like it?" Delia said.</div><div>"Yes sweetheart! It's the best one yet. When did you buy the plant to put in?" His voice sent shivers down her back.</div><div>"The neighbor gave it to me and I found the pot in a garage sale."</div><div><br /></div><div>"Papaaa!!! You're back!" the tinkling voice, feminine, joyful hit Carla in the chest. Two girls calling him Papa. Where was Mama?</div><div>"Hi Sunshine! I see you girls took good care of home." There was a loud smacking noise, high fiving slaps and general merriment.</div><div>"You can't leave us for so long again. Gloria and I missed you so!" Carla peeked around a corner to see Delia wrestle a tall rangy man onto a fluffy couch. Her heart stuttered in recognition and longing.</div><div>"Yes Papa...we missed you and missed home. We got back two days ago and it's so good to be back. The painters are here for the doors. Why did you ask them to start right away? And why did you get that little closet by the master re done?"</div><div><br /></div><div>Jackson smiled tiredly. The months covering piracy through different trade routes had left him empty and needing just one more warm hug from a particular woman. He hadn't left word before heading out to sea. It had been so sudden and he thought he'd cover just the Atlantic route but it had taken five whole months. He wouldn't be surprised if sweet Carla thought the worst of him. But he hadn't been able to send word to his own girls. It was time to mend fences and head in a meaningful direction with Carla. He knew she was ready for more.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Can you girls help me unpack? I'm going to look in on the painters and take a shower. It would be so good to eat right after." He absently rubbed his flat belly, wondering what they could eat.</div><div><br /></div><div>"I'll order Mediterranean take out," said Delia. </div><div><br /></div><div>"Yeah we'll pick it up too Dad," said Gloria, "Why don't you freshen up. Also, there's a lady in the painting crew. She's pregnant and I feel sorry for her working so hard. Do you think we should get her lunch?"</div><div><br /></div><div>Jackson smiled fondly at his eldest daughter. "You're thoughtful...just like your Mom was. I'll ask her, maybe she doesn't like Mediterranean."</div><div><br /></div><div>Carla, tears streaming down her face, thought that Mediterranean food sounded wonderful, and that she had to hide. There really was no where to go in the tiny half bath that she had been assigned to. She stood, waiting for the moment she would lay eyes on him, feeling terrified and hopeful at once.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Hello," Jackson boomed as he rounded the corner to the half bath and froze, his eyes wide, his smile stuck between beginning and widening.</div><div><br /></div><div>Carla took her mask off. She wore one to keep from inhaling fumes that would affect the baby. Tears chased each other down her pink cheeks and soon, Jackson's rough fingers were wiping them away.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Carla," he said, unable to say anymore, looking at her belly and her agitated face.</div><div><br /></div><div>His daughters came running, looking concerned. </div><div><br /></div><div>"Here, sit down. You must be so tired," said Gloria.</div><div><br /></div><div>Carla shook her head but sat anyway. </div><div><br /></div><div>"Dad? What happened?" Delia's eyes were huge in her tiny face.</div><div><br /></div><div>Jackson knelt and drew Carla into his embrace. "I'm sorry I left suddenly. It was thoughtless of me. I see that you must have tried to reach me and …God I'm sorry Carla. I'm so sorry!"</div><div><br /></div><div>Carla sobbed harder at that. Did he feel sorry that she was pregnant? Didn't he know how much he meant to her? Didn't he know how much she wanted this baby? </div><div><br /></div><div>"I'm n..n..not!" Carla barely managed to get the words out when Jackson drew her up into his arms and went to the sofa. He smelled of Jackson, and clothing worn too long. Carla was in heaven!</div><div><br /></div><div>He held Carla tight and spoke to his daughters, "I was seeing Carla before I had to go on assignment. I am going to marry her. You're obviously going to have a sibling. I was re doing the master because I wanted to ask her to marry me and was sure she wanted to marry me. Now I see we're going to have to hurry it up." <br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Carla looked at their entwined fingers, felt the stress of everything draining from her body. Her relationship was alive, her painting business would thrive, her baby would thrive, she would make sure her family was well, and …. Delia and Gloria's bewildered expressions came into view.</div><div><br /></div><div>She got up and pushed against Jackson's restraining arms.</div><div><br /></div><div>"We had better explain from the beginning to your sweet daughters. You never mentioned them. Not in the three months that we knew each other. You met my whole family and never told me about these precious young women who naturally dislike me right now."</div><div><br /></div><div>Jackson didn't look guilty as he said, "I had to protect them. They lost their Mom in many ways before she finally passed on. I didn't want to introduce anyone to each other until I knew it was safe. Apparently I waited too long."</div><div><br /></div><div>Carla shook her head, took the girls by their hands and sat down. "My name is Carla...I have two boys...they're little and sweet and look just like their father who passed away when they were little. Your Dad is the first man after Fernando that I let myself love. I hope you can forgive the way this has happened. But I'm so glad your Dad is back in my life. This baby needs him.</div><div><br /></div><div>Gloria and Delia held her hands and snuggled closer, saying nothing. Their expressions were thoughtful.</div><div><br /></div><div>Jackson looked at his three best girls and felt like he had finally come home.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Let's take a raincheck on the painting project. I don't want the baby to be exposed to all that toxicity. Tell me you haven't been doing this in everyone's homes!" He glared at Carla.</div><div><br /></div><div>Carla looked on mutinously, "It's my work. My little business. We were short staffed today and I fill in whenever necessary. I can't afford not to."</div><div><br /></div><div>"We'll hire more guys." Jackson said, easing beside the girls. Carla's tummy growled, his tummy growled in empathy and the baby kicked in response. </div><div><br /></div><div>"Now about that Mediterranean food..." Gloria said, grabbing Delia's arm and heading for the door. We will be back in exactly forty five minutes. Dad, you be ready. Carla, there's a little room next to the master that is so cozy. You need to sleep."</div><div><br /></div><div>Jackson stared into Carla's eyes as the front door slammed shut. "The baby..."</div><div><br /></div><div>"He is going to love being the center of attention."</div><div><br /></div><div>Jackson smiled. A son! Three boys and two girls! </div><div><br /></div><div>He rubbed Carla's belly as he made plans for a bigger home. </div><div><br /></div><div>When the food arrived forty five minutes later, the girls found Jackson and Carla fast asleep in each other's arms. </div></div><div><br /></div><div>pic credit - https://photojeepers.com/10-practical-tips-for-babies-at-the-beach/</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347151159900981860.post-27966187878521044092021-03-02T20:00:00.007-08:002021-03-02T20:00:53.482-08:00All content copyrighted.<div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: medium;"><b><i>Unseen...</i></b></span></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5ub_eJZLkp5wLuQtwpCHlCih2qhx3tJlr73O0fTAWdx2So8l9cnq1l4828wLBdqICcuuy-FDj9-EyDDUSKkYXVoywz8DmTgLNDxq6TcOH3IxI68KTEwPejkboHzsPugNvZp6oLg_iCPM/s1024/teahub.io-flower-garden-wallpaper-1024x768-2505359.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="346" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5ub_eJZLkp5wLuQtwpCHlCih2qhx3tJlr73O0fTAWdx2So8l9cnq1l4828wLBdqICcuuy-FDj9-EyDDUSKkYXVoywz8DmTgLNDxq6TcOH3IxI68KTEwPejkboHzsPugNvZp6oLg_iCPM/w591-h346/teahub.io-flower-garden-wallpaper-1024x768-2505359.png" width="591" /></a></div><div><br /></div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: medium;"><i>It was not in the high one relies on to soar higher</i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: medium;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: medium;"><i>Or in the low one hangs on to as a bruised memory</i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: medium;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: medium;"><i>It wasn't in the placid afternoon or half lived nights</i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: medium;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: medium;"><i>It was never ever in the bustling day as one rushes toward goals separate from personal truths</i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: medium;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: medium;"><i>It was in the world behind fortified walls</i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: medium;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: medium;"><i>yearnings voiced away from all who might</i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: medium;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: medium;"><i>connect the dots to make patterns never intended</i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: medium;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: medium;"><i>Truth validating a journey shared yet solitary.</i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: medium;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: medium;"><i>A will that cannot fit into the bounds of a belief.</i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: medium;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: medium;"><i>Best hidden and lived in silence. </i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: medium;"><i><br /></i></span></div><br /><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter;"><i>image credit - https://www.teahub.io/down/iiJiwmm_free-nature-wallpaper-hidden-cottage/<br /></i></span><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347151159900981860.post-22805750028543151722018-02-26T21:08:00.005-08:002018-02-26T21:08:42.972-08:00Her or Me?All content copyrighted.<br />
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Dreams in kaleidoscopic geometry<br />
Is that me I see there?<br />
Me looking at her doing what she does<br />
What is she thinking I wonder and she stares back, as shocked.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi93MXv9MeNfwzRi-qNjf10LOpnLWMkISOrq09-RblVxPa0T7Muvt3B4i4E0Dk2tV9fQY9qH-Al4DbM5-8XFoqGL_RaYc279KKoa5tuS3gmR0ZNo9gPlELYI1xAjZoxNWDzK7hQ_Okue8Y/s1600/prism-ball-66895_1920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi93MXv9MeNfwzRi-qNjf10LOpnLWMkISOrq09-RblVxPa0T7Muvt3B4i4E0Dk2tV9fQY9qH-Al4DbM5-8XFoqGL_RaYc279KKoa5tuS3gmR0ZNo9gPlELYI1xAjZoxNWDzK7hQ_Okue8Y/s400/prism-ball-66895_1920.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image*</td></tr>
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A life in parallel lived in joy, similar destination<br />
yet, the fuel sparks a race forward<br />
the reference life plods on paved streets<br />
moving with a nudge, accidentally<br />
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In how many worlds do I become me<br />
Me that I can embrace?<br />
Me that I can love?<br />
Me that is all that she can be?<br />
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I wait to be her as she peers,<br />
light glinting through<br />
our shared prism,<br />
trying to gather pieces of herself<br />
while I hold back afraid of the light.<br />
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pic credit - https://pixabay.com/en/prism-ball-geometric-body-decorative-66895/ ; Image by stux/5655 imagesUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347151159900981860.post-35489022703745200572018-01-08T10:30:00.001-08:002018-01-08T10:30:09.508-08:00New Year's ResolveAll content copyrighted.<br />
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This January I have decided to focus on my body. In the way we used to. Mindful of what goes in, mindful of sleep hours, mindful of my mind. My mind - the fount of all the victories and tragedies of my yet half lived life.<br />
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The world sounds a new cacophony - the clamor to destroy quicker than another, quicker than one can even say "civilization!" I wonder everyday what we run toward, what we work for, and why we put our selves through the things we do. The bonds and dependencies that form a stable society must be trustworthy and healthy. The goals worthwhile and nurturing to our bodies and spirit. Unless one charts a unique course, separate from the pointless goals mushrooming everyday, it seems impossible not to be carried away by the mainstream.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_oxus7YzniIQZQAQALNZLar3hDdyxDHcNL3ERmaR7vyAqoEI78PdZKiGz7MBr0bSA0bpMlA7bMrqfiZ0avE3tJyYHwntpRnBAHvUQdirdoS315qyySUyBoLhH8Av0Q55IDWAj-jdTJeQ/s1600/560383d208c14c9429828a041b8eeabb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_oxus7YzniIQZQAQALNZLar3hDdyxDHcNL3ERmaR7vyAqoEI78PdZKiGz7MBr0bSA0bpMlA7bMrqfiZ0avE3tJyYHwntpRnBAHvUQdirdoS315qyySUyBoLhH8Av0Q55IDWAj-jdTJeQ/s400/560383d208c14c9429828a041b8eeabb.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
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It would be great to have a healthy mainstream. Full of ideals for mutual upliftment and all round benefit. But then, I sense that there is something else at play here; something that is not of our making, our choice, or even a part of most of our lives. This goes beyond the various forms of discrimination highlighted daily, and the various forms of injustices toward each person/group/race/gender, beyond economics and geography.<br />
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There is something else that is going on, unseen, not understood, and without any scope for its comprehension because we just don't think on those terms yet. As we hurtle from one seemingly disastrous event to the next, it seems vitally important to me to simplify. Simplify my life, my expectations, my interactions and go to the soul of any matter. To be honest, and waste as little time as possible.<br />
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I sound disjointed don't I? It's because I feel that way. Full of questions with a sense of impending, irrevocable change. It will be everything to simplify, and be true. True to what guides me, true to what brings meaning and true to where my heart leads me.<br />
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In all of this, I have to remind myself that fear is never the best perspective from which to view the world. Whether it is fear of people, fear of change, fear of a lack/too much power, fear of loneliness and a fear of intrusion from too many. Fear of death or fear of survival...fear of<br />
too little or fear of too much. Fear of day and fear of night. There really is no point to it. Life will move inexorably toward a preset destination. I simply have to choose how to show up.<br />
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Happy New Year :-)<br />
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*Pic credit<br />
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Image - via www.freephotosbank.com; "Snowy Nizni Lhoty" by photographer Christopher ZachariaUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347151159900981860.post-60863087809749522662017-10-12T09:06:00.002-07:002017-10-12T09:06:21.482-07:00Broken Heart StringsAll content copyrighted.<br />
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I love a good, strong, positive story as much as the next person. Story or anecdote or these days, scenes captured on i-phones. What I don't understand is the compulsion across various media to constantly prod our emotions.<br />
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"Well, if you want to avoid those stories, don't read them!" Him, my husband, suggests this as a remedy for any complaints that I might have regarding news, news reports, and the general trend of things.<br />
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I don't disagree with what he says. One always has the option to not look, not read and stay balanced, and sane. In fact, it is the best remedy of all - to close one's eyes, and mind and parts of one's understanding to the larger issues that we face as a species.<br />
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But how can you ignore the "waves of something or the other" that hit you from everywhere? How does one get through the days in these times "seeing" and "hearing" with much more than one's "eyes" and "ears" respectively?<br />
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I try not to click on those videos-<br />
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Videos that show reunions between people separated by grotesque wars not of their choosing; reunions between army parents and their human/pet children - army parents who serve their country with life and limb, and lose those precious moments the rest of us take for granted because they serve, and children who grow up with pride and dread...only, the fight is growing bigger and the cause is ever more vague.<br />
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Videos that show people struggling with the desire to be parents and the painful realities that are hard to accept. Videos that show foster children waiting for acceptance, and parents who make the connection with them.<br />
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Then there are the videos detailing abuse, and foster children who don't make it after desperately seeking home somewhere. Videos detailing hapless men and women being shot for being the wrong shade, and law enforcement being harassed and abused because one assumes they're all the same.<br />
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Videos detailing dreadful progressions of disease, and the emotional pain of everyone involved.<br />
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I haven't even reached the news articles yet. I have only detailed the travails of people in a first world nation. I haven't gone international, and haven't involved the animals and the slow and sure death of the oceans...not the political machinations that destroy lives, reset the course for entire populations etc.<br />
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Videos detailing utter terror during an attack, a shooting, a natural calamity.<br />
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Videos that churn our collective hearts and stomachs...ours only...but never the ones who perpetuate these miseries on human kind.<br />
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I haven't detailed the emotional wounds that many people share on talk shows, the games played toward some ultimately useless end.<br />
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I haven't detailed the effects of poverty. Of the poor everywhere who suffer in silence without hope.<br />
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We're still talking about a bunch of us who are supposedly not that badly off.<br />
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Life is one non stop reality show and our emotions are the responses...the TV ratings, likes, views and shares...are all our emotions running all over the place while we are still required to be calm and centered to "appear sane" for the rest of the world. Perform and excel...and be everything to everyone. While processing unbelievable amounts of daily tragedy, and constantly exposing our raw wounds for more injury.<br />
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One must talk about issues, must bring light to the dark places in our collective psyche and expose anything that wants less than the best for our fellow men.<br />
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But how do we survive this non stop assault? How do we begin to get anything done beyond "feeling" and "feeling endlessly?" Not a happy feeling alone mind you...a wild, crazy, manic swing from one feeling to the next.<br />
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I resent this because it gets in the way of action. I recognize that without these details, some of us might never know what goes down everywhere, and nothing would change or improve.<br />
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But show us a documentary...not people in the throes of their greatest sadness, passion, disappointment, or love, or victory.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">*Image 1</td></tr>
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Why do I need to see a non stop parade of extremes all day?<br />
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Him says, "You don't!"<br />
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But that would mean that I am not open to the world, not open to change or open to thought. I want to be a part of the change...<br />
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But I can't move with the non-stop assault on my heart every single day. I can only hide behind my screen and write about it, or curl up into a ball, or donate to a cause anonymously, or write stories with intent.<br />
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Because if I were to go out there, I am afraid that the hurt I will feel outside will replicate what I feel from passively viewing the tons of hurt through my TV or computer screen.<br />
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If one has to be a responsible citizen of this planet, there is no way to stay passive. I can claim that I am an old soul and that I would like to watch the goings on from the sidelines. That makes me feel like a bit of a fraud. Whether I am invested in an outcome or not, I am duty bound as a person who lives on this earth to do what I can to better it. And not cause harm if I can help it.<br />
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I also want to gather my inner resources/strength/call it what you will to move forward.<br />
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But one needs to heal. Silence would be ideal for this.<br />
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Pic credits<br />
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1 Photo by Bradley Hook from Pexels https://www.pexels.com/photo/sky-woman-clouds-girl-123335/Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347151159900981860.post-75936149890915721222017-08-28T09:00:00.000-07:002017-08-28T09:01:15.091-07:00Inspired Chicken Little wisdomAll content copyrighted.<br />
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Life seemed rudderless and fraught with worry over the last few months. Apparently, worry by itself "ruddered" my little life boat into even more choppy "worry-riddled" waters. It was such a ridiculous spiral downward - my spirit plummeted with the added weights of worry and dread.<br />
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Every bit of news and every call home made me believe that the worst was upon us all. It was like the chicken little scenario...I think I must've run around thinking that the sky was falling for a good 6-8 months and it has been enough!<br />
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Until the sky does fall, there is not much one can do, is there? And what do we do when the sky falls? Run for cover? Where would we go?<br />
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In the midst of endless negativity and traumatic happenings, I constantly search for a core thought, or a grounding notion. An understanding if you will, of what makes a situation negative enough to elicit reactions that appear illogical.<br />
<br />
My understanding is that people seem to be motivated by a fear of loss. Perhaps it is a fear of losing out or not being the "top dog." Then again, the need to be top dog is rooted in the belief that being ahead of all others in all ways ensures survival - physical survival, ego survival, emotional survival.<br />
<br />
So it comes down to survival and what we perceive as necessary for survival. If we were to whittle our lives down even more, food, water, solid shelter, clothing (optional) are about all that we need.<br />
<br />
The complexity that we have introduced into our lives, once we begin thinking it all down to the basics, was a way to pass the millenia that we have had at our disposal. The ideology, the currencies, the must have foods, the industries, mining more and making more, and everything that represents the facade of civilization, has weakened us as much as it has made our numbers grow.<br />
<br />
Civilization seems to have given men something to value. Over themselves. This process of externalizing value has taken us down unexplored paths, and we take along families, and like minded people, percolate in the beliefs of our tribe, and refuse to let anyone access to what we value. While protecting family and home is noble, we have extended it to resources, countries and ideology.<br />
<br />
Speaking of ideology, never was there a surer way to decimate free thought. One may be happily and peacefully entrapped of their own volition. The current destructive approach toward religion, race, homelands etc makes one wonder if these thoughts existed so negatively through the centuries. How could humans have lived with these isolating thoughts when the continents were much closer than they are today? One wonders how they could have crossed national boundaries/kingdoms and blended into the local population, how trade and migration ever happened, and how information spread the way it did.<br />
<br />
Women had to have been relevant always if they raised sons and daughters who conquered the earth. Women had to have been part of the workings of the world, until their purpose was restricted. And they became the background support staff in an endless battle.<br />
<br />
What exactly are we all fighting for? It seems that we continue to fight for what we have always had. We always had free thought and clean air, and the right to "simply be" was ours. Everything else has been an exercise in some form of mind control. It had to be developed first, and then led one way or the other. Problems continue to be created, and more people dedicate their one and only existence to solving issues that exist solely due to someone's insecurity/greed/intellectual malfunction.<br />
<br />
We continue to fight.<br />
<br />
Toward what end?<br />
<br />
In the end, it seems that we spend much time worrying about the darkness in other minds. Planet earth has 7.5 billion humans and counting...Every mind struggles for relevance...and it finds relevance in either stressing it's uniqueness, or losing itself to what it deems a higher cause. Every one of these minds influences the other. Some loudly, some subtly.<br />
<br />
I just don't know how to tune out!!!<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347151159900981860.post-37286439263205927592016-10-21T21:59:00.002-07:002016-10-21T22:00:47.139-07:00rain and hopeAll content copyrighted.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw_7W8P8dYtoDf1q3G4pCW_uB1E54yEf000XHSYy37MFtDMx_dFmmu3ulDObhKqe0i2mpeN4tK_ibFr1ve_CYvczf3p0SdY7tXw474aBZn_pLsX9PQ5h0lfq_AZzyKCMMDJ8JTjE9f6Os/s1600/ID-1007128.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="198" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw_7W8P8dYtoDf1q3G4pCW_uB1E54yEf000XHSYy37MFtDMx_dFmmu3ulDObhKqe0i2mpeN4tK_ibFr1ve_CYvczf3p0SdY7tXw474aBZn_pLsX9PQ5h0lfq_AZzyKCMMDJ8JTjE9f6Os/s320/ID-1007128.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">*credit</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Thunderclap resounding over parched earth<br />
Promises of a torrent that soaks into cell micro worlds<br />
Earth aromas ripe with expectation<br />
And secret colors tint the green, where buds are poised to spasm open<br />
<br />
Amorphous rain droplets sway<br />
over cloudy precipice<br />
hope and expectation seem to morph this way<br />
Awaiting that change in physical elements<br />
causing a free fall onto the earth<br />
<br />
Nourishing earth nourishing sky<br />
promise and oneness carried to the heart<br />
Just for a while before umbrellas and distrust<br />
shield what the heart from what it knows.<br />
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*Picture Credit - "Stormy Weather" by dan through www.freedigitalphotos.net<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347151159900981860.post-47524214898845478662016-04-11T08:17:00.000-07:002016-04-11T08:17:02.789-07:00reconnecting...All content copyrighted.<br />
<br />
Mini-Baby is supposed to go to school now. He's asleep on the sofa. Snug as a bug in a rug. It is gray outside with occasional spatters of rain. Droplets reaching earth, soaking into it and bringing some message from the heavens about grounding myself. The present is being nurtured. In ways that I can't yet see.<br />
<br />
The poem that I wrote some days ago captured some of what I feel. A disconnectedness that runs deep. Nothing that I chose, but certainly something that hit me when I was busy living my life as a teen. So much has happened since those early years. My insides were in a constant twist, and every action an attempt to make it and keep it real. A true case of fake it till you make it.<br />
<br />
The simplest things seem to help me these days though. Just noticing everything. Being solidly anchored in the present...as in...never leave a moment to drift away...never allow an errant thought unrelated to crop up. And mostly, a stern voice that I listen to...one that tells me never to allow thoughts that spiral into a vortex of hopelessness.<br />
<br />
Being in the present seems to return a lot of energy. Much that I thought I didn't have. It was there all along for the taking. I just couldn't stay long enough to recharge.<br />
<br />
Grounded as the trees that live for centuries...not that I want to. But that is where they get their strength from. The earth itself.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.americanforests.org/wp-content/uploads/2011/11/Giant-Sequoia.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://www.americanforests.org/wp-content/uploads/2011/11/Giant-Sequoia.png" height="256" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image *</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Image* credit - https://www.americanforests.org/magazine/article/giant-sequoia/ via google images<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347151159900981860.post-28192410299860068252016-04-02T19:58:00.004-07:002016-04-02T19:58:53.651-07:00detachment??All content copyrighted<br />
<br />
Detachment is good they say.<br />
Oh to feel anchored in the moment!<br />
Life like the pages of a book...grey pictures and sudden<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWDwbjYdLdyKwVRoPyGGK46wm1CWLhcXDn2dTRBOrxJaLC_fsYUANc6Uu11_jiupRiMulzyoBvwHKwQmTnWYMAwaF36KVAlWh9ykOb_Z7pncws_q6NSDJkX22WC2wVs6sodu_RxfhrgU4/s1600/ID-100347155.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWDwbjYdLdyKwVRoPyGGK46wm1CWLhcXDn2dTRBOrxJaLC_fsYUANc6Uu11_jiupRiMulzyoBvwHKwQmTnWYMAwaF36KVAlWh9ykOb_Z7pncws_q6NSDJkX22WC2wVs6sodu_RxfhrgU4/s320/ID-100347155.jpg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">*Image</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
startling color...missed because<br />
Even sensations are perceived through opacity.<br />
<br />
Neither foothold nor memory<br />
allow a satisfying measure of belonging.<br />
The flow of time ceased<br />
and life's movement is merely seen as though<br />
one appears in many movie frames<br />
all at once.<br />
<br />
Would I know when the movie is over?<br />
Would it feel the same?<br />
Thought and feeling through opacity<br />
Photons of light illuminate everything but<br />
why and how to remove<br />
that shield that allows just<br />
half a life.<br />
<br />
Pain is distant<br />
and I am not me<br />
Love abundant<br />
yet un-absorbable<br />
Knowledge waiting<br />
to be claimed but how can one?<br />
Locked in yet unmoored,<br />
Neither here nor there.<br />
<br />
*Image - www.freedigitalphotos.net; "Vintage Modern" by tuelekza<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347151159900981860.post-64597581908067219542016-03-28T09:19:00.001-07:002016-03-28T09:19:54.664-07:00pour light into a voidAll content copyrighted.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLbq6HfZQmRDjW4C9dCDiwHNpt8ZcKmiSRoj9BCNrlv12gNd1Zvy7Fy8xP0QjICm6DJuFr7RvFWBzV6f9gWokI7etH_uiFjKvKNelONpPNj7HROsttgL8oY589CPFo9z0fzSFlBa2UlOw/s1600/ID-10033756.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLbq6HfZQmRDjW4C9dCDiwHNpt8ZcKmiSRoj9BCNrlv12gNd1Zvy7Fy8xP0QjICm6DJuFr7RvFWBzV6f9gWokI7etH_uiFjKvKNelONpPNj7HROsttgL8oY589CPFo9z0fzSFlBa2UlOw/s320/ID-10033756.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">image*</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Love, compassion and humanity are a two way street. One cannot pour shining light into a dark void that incinerates all that gives life meaning. One cannot make excuses for a void...a void exists, and the light that it devours greedily lies within...the only way it can free itself would be to give back...give back the light, illuminating what lies within.<br />
<br />
Who dare demand that more light be given to those who willingly live in the dark void? If the only goal of life is death, how can life be?<br />
<br />
The only answer is to <br />
leave them alone. They are not ready for your particular light. Your particular hope, and your particular point in time. They will leave when they are ready. They will receive all there is without you...and the void will be less strong then.<br />
<br />
Image* - "Black Hole" by chrisroll, www.freedigitalphotos.com<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347151159900981860.post-43478638764299654702016-01-28T22:09:00.002-08:002016-01-28T22:09:38.430-08:00Steam dreamAll content copyrighted.<br />
<br />
I have to add a new wish to my <a href="http://poemswritingandavm.blogspot.com/2014/06/wish-list-series.html" target="_blank">wishlist</a>. This one could possibly be the most self indulgent one of them all. Yes, I know the world is falling apart. And that I ought to keep the frivolity where it belongs. But, but...when you have a steam room experience like I did, you might understand.<br />
<br />
A good friend took me to through this experience. She "who is bold and brave" first insisted that underneath the white fluffy towel that preserved modesty, only the birth suit need be present. I "who view the world from behind whatever is in front" refused to let go of my underthings.<br />
<br />
"They are going to get soaked." she said.<br />
<br />
"I can't!" I squeaked as she shook her head and marched toward a door with tinted glass.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhODCSKde59uliPPPzl-Bup4CXUGrFk6VGKKyfGFcCnb5PseSopjFv7KjhT3FLDsFNTNDVPh1E-zlGgjuQ6klccfQYf-5N-jqXV3nub_ki8im1_SumaxQXGvW9UWrmOXiEKKJZ6c8IKGE/s1600/ID-100191580.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhODCSKde59uliPPPzl-Bup4CXUGrFk6VGKKyfGFcCnb5PseSopjFv7KjhT3FLDsFNTNDVPh1E-zlGgjuQ6klccfQYf-5N-jqXV3nub_ki8im1_SumaxQXGvW9UWrmOXiEKKJZ6c8IKGE/s320/ID-100191580.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">*Image 1</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I shuffled back to the lockers, barefoot and completely embarrassed. As I tried to do a "flashdance"-esque divestment of underthings, two women floated over to the neighboring lockers, chattering away. They gave me a once over as I focused on holding the edges of the towel between my teeth. I tried not to move too much, lest the towel flaps reveal flabby hairpin curves.<br />
<br />
I scurried out, glad to see my friend holding the door open with glee.<br />
<br />
That first hit...aaaah!!! I think I said, "I see!!!" and then, "Actually I don't..." because my glasses fogged over. She had set the steam on high so that the entire room had warm mist tinged with alpine scents soaking into everything.<br />
<br />
I had a moment of panic thinking that maybe I couldn't breathe. But no, I could breathe easier and all that steam seemed to have the effect of a massage without touch. We talked and talked...and I occasionally forgot my train of thought. Pine-y, mentholated steam came in from all over and I wish I'd been brave enough to allow all of me unrestricted access to that steam. Some day when I feel brave and bold. But that is for another time.<br />
<br />
So my wish is to have a steam room in my house, where ever that will be. With jets and nozzles lining the walls...no lock on the door so I don't panic, and ledges just the same as in the magical steam room I had the opportunity to use. I'd take my body brushes and a big fluffy towel, and just veg out. No need for those glasses. I'd peer into warm steam and celebrate the here and now in a completely unique fashion. I mean, what does one do if one can't look past the steam? Give up happily I suppose.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFQWIYLzU1rD6THHqwsq2BwTFthqLxcq3X7sHTSSPAyMVh9zALWBDx3sqoW_BwTUeXGFq96R7FpL9Wwr1IPaZIrjPWkEhel88mAJfQlaQ0oltBzM5cfR3rvZ4O-kWKHt6VJXGlSU_7c_E/s1600/ID-100110666.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFQWIYLzU1rD6THHqwsq2BwTFthqLxcq3X7sHTSSPAyMVh9zALWBDx3sqoW_BwTUeXGFq96R7FpL9Wwr1IPaZIrjPWkEhel88mAJfQlaQ0oltBzM5cfR3rvZ4O-kWKHt6VJXGlSU_7c_E/s320/ID-100110666.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">**Image 2</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I'm going to have to discuss this with Him.<br />
<br />
<br />
*Image 1 - Scrub Brush Set Stock Photo by antpkr at www.freedigitalphotos.com<br />
**Image 2 - "Young Woman In Relaxation Pose" by imagerymajestic at www.freedigitalphotos.comUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347151159900981860.post-24981904089425751412015-03-20T13:05:00.004-07:002015-03-20T13:05:35.291-07:00ForestAll content copyrighted<br />
<br />
Moss softens edges<br />
jagged points cloaked and pretending<br />
smooth refinement<br />
persistent moisture's soft focus<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbchZY6TO7UtIhT88Ug_z-BnbE847LXyYG19xZ5fm46lG11oKs9mCHQMK3CfRU45vgan9sGu24cqR2xZFEiLwKy4fdMMrYK5e59LgHn37tWJXA6JaTfqOCxvefPm2lA8cJRA1vb1GGVTA/s1600/ID-1007410.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbchZY6TO7UtIhT88Ug_z-BnbE847LXyYG19xZ5fm46lG11oKs9mCHQMK3CfRU45vgan9sGu24cqR2xZFEiLwKy4fdMMrYK5e59LgHn37tWJXA6JaTfqOCxvefPm2lA8cJRA1vb1GGVTA/s1600/ID-1007410.jpg" height="262" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image 1</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
reveal grey with burrows<br />
home to a sudden caterpillar<br />
<br />
Rooted sentinel soar<br />
a play for each pulse of light<br />
each reaching tendril willing green into<br />
shades of emerald down below<br />
-- a dappled forest<br />
<br />
A breath warps<br />
cumulative vapor that saturates<br />
life under the canopy<br />
misty fortress of green and fog<br />
coddling the odd urge<br />
to abandon the vacuous beyond.<br />
<br />
Nurturing womb never burning bright<br />
or darkly lifeless<br />
rustling, bird call or slither<br />
underscoring silence and<br />
illuminating pathways within...<br />
<br />
photo credit - www.freedigitalphotos.net; "Forest" by danUnknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347151159900981860.post-4343842456342079972015-03-20T01:02:00.002-07:002015-03-20T01:03:20.087-07:00Secure ChaosAll content copyrighted.<br />
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Michel de Montaigne - "My life is full of terrible misfortunes, most of which never happened..."<br />
<br />
The above quote sums up my daily musings. The stress I must put my mind, body and spirit under while journeying to the conclusion of every "worst possible outcome" must be comical in the face of my rather mundane life.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC96ATAx0pCLSH2mCBhkjCOkDEUJIXbQBA2FiD0x63wMKHCo6KiSNoHINh-C21U3EybJ5NW2cjmL9EraWmjFR9tXNUdJmasqMhPnnG6rcUAYfhuS_hHqcpMKX-wan3XHCB9LCdlNqxsw4/s1600/ID-100122690.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC96ATAx0pCLSH2mCBhkjCOkDEUJIXbQBA2FiD0x63wMKHCo6KiSNoHINh-C21U3EybJ5NW2cjmL9EraWmjFR9tXNUdJmasqMhPnnG6rcUAYfhuS_hHqcpMKX-wan3XHCB9LCdlNqxsw4/s1600/ID-100122690.jpg" height="310" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image 1</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I do live a very adventurous life...it's all in my mind though. I run down steep slopes that would set my knees quaking in real life and I say outrageous things that I would never dare to other wise. The loss of the happiness of a loved one, or losing the love of a loved one and everything in between is imagined and accessorized with blazing emotion that leaves me wrung out. Wrung out while sitting on a sofa in the morning.<br />
<br />
I had a roller coaster year and a half and finally have some time to do things other than pressing chores. It appears that this is what my mind wants to do first. It wants to do SOMETHING...and so that is to cook up melodrama with my insecurities playing the central, pivotal roles.<br />
<br />
I let this happen for a week or so. Every time I sat down thinking that I needed some quiet time after the prolonged buzz, my mind carefully spun tragedies, disappointments and doomsday scenarios. Try reading the news at this point. The creativity that evil uses to assert itself these days will give the brain a definitive shove toward entropy.<br />
<br />
Then I stopped sitting down and found peace and quiet while allowing my body to move. When I had to sit down, it was with stern lectures to myself about how there is another aspect to life that needs focus. Namely learning...gardening, poetry, building things...just creating...it seems to stop all negative translation.<br />
<br />
That is my new focus now. This allows me a breath of fresh air and hope in the constructed misery that seems such an unfortunate part of my thought process. Create love, create hope, create happiness...it follows that I must think along these lines, and my mind must spin hope and love and possibilities to move away from emotionally chaotic thoughts.<br />
<br />
It appears that it is all about being present in the moment. Being here. As opposed to grabbing at a past or imagining a detailed future.<br />
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Image 1 - www.freedigitalphotos.net; <span style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px; text-align: center;">Red Yellow Texture Isolated On White Background by Sommai</span><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347151159900981860.post-15400163644849511002014-10-11T12:16:00.002-07:002014-10-11T12:16:52.720-07:00Hair my bug bearAll content copyrighted.<br />
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It's mid October and another year nearly over. I can't believe it! Him says that I utter the same thing every year. It's been only 14 years since we've been married, so it can't be too bad. But honestly...the years fly by so fast, and each and every year has had revelations that I've sat with or run with.<br />
<br />
The biggest reveal this year has been a bunch of grey hair. My grey hair. The trouble makers were lurking all these years I'll bet, right under my scalp, waiting to spring out when I got too busy to notice. And truly, I have been so busy that the last thing I remember about this year, was the winter from last year. When we were forced to slow down. And now it's nearly winter again! Back to the point, I have never had quite such an explosion of grey hair before. And before you point out the obvious, I've had grey hair since I was 10. A few strands here and there, that my mother tried desperately to cover up. She imagined traumatic recesses when classmates would point at my head and treat themselves to a laugh. She would smear home made pastes, some sort of pencil, and she would comb it artfully so the 4-5 strands would stay hidden.<br />
<br />
I grew up not caring, and when I went to college, my hair stayed black with suspicious glints, but never more than the wisdom conferring few that showed only if you really looked. (Just like my supposed wisdom, try hard to see...) It was rather nice looking, not thick, but healthy and bouncy and all those adjectives once ascribes to youth. After Mini-Him was born, things changed. The greys still stayed outta sight. The texture changed, but enough home remedies kept the youthfulness locked in. After Mini-Baby's birth, the nose dive that my hair took could be compared to a swallow's dive...only it wasn't nearly as graceful. In addition to scantily dressed scalp, there were stringy greys and many strands that looked like the thinnest filament of cotton wool. Apparently it was a bad case of telogen effluvium. And it would auto-correct at some point. That particular time line is tricky. Because, as I discovered two years and many stresses and frustrations (not related to hair) later, I had to bring about that point.<br />
<br />
Research, hair pulling and many vitamins later, it appears that sleep, exercise, nutrition, low stress, and lots of hair food beats any miracle cure. It's pretty much what my father told me all my life. And what my mother still does.<br />
<br />
I began doing what I should have done in the first place. Even as the texture etc got better, the greys won't quit. And so I was at a dilemma. What could I possibly do, short of using one of those deeply moisturizing colors? And make trips every 2-3 weeks to a salon, or DIMyself at home?<br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">*Image</td></tr>
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Over the weeks that I pondered this, there were worlds falling apart. There was never a day without news that highlighted just how many people's worlds shattered from war, disease and generally something terrifying and unreal at once.<br />
<br />
And then, I looked at my household. I have such a loooong way to go. Such a darned looong way when all I really want to do is play a little. And read, and do silly things. But I don't think I'll have that luxury for a long time to come.<br />
<br />
I asked Him if it mattered to him that in a couple of years, I'll have more grey than black. He didn't look up from his laptop as he said, "huh? No...why would I mind? Do what you like..."<br />
<br />
And so what I'd like is to quit worrying about a natural turn of events. And accept this as who I will be from now on and move on to do what needs to be done. I don't want to be bothered with hair color appointments, and hair changes and skin reactions from using color. No. I'll take care of it, and give it what it needs. I don't think color is it.<br />
<br />
Though a really dark brown henna doesn't sound too bad with jet black hair does it???<br />
<br />
*Image : "Young Girl Looking At Watch" by iosphere through www.freedigitalphotos.net<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347151159900981860.post-70681677479516726222014-10-07T13:11:00.000-07:002014-10-07T13:11:04.378-07:00molten veinAll content copyrighted.<br />
<br />
A mountain headless dread,<br />
nothing to quell the spread<br />
of ash like dead thought<br />
and molten rock with anger fraught.<br />
<br />
Fury comes alive<br />
Dare hope thrive,<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">*Image</td></tr>
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Craters and mouths that brew<br />
words disconnected from the mind that drew<br />
humanity melding and meeting<br />
a body on earth meant to be fleeting.<br />
<br />
Thoughts that resist evolution<br />
a soul's sublimation<br />
a cry for mercy, a heart that cannot process<br />
choices inhumane that apparently lead to largesse<br />
And much like those lost souls<br />
a volcano does explode<br />
to reveal what was bubbling beneath<br />
incinerates, sometimes kindly, cuts off at the knees<br />
<br />
The verdant slopes will become once more<br />
hiding what remains in memories of yore<br />
the ash like dead thought<br />
and molten rock with anger fraught.<br />
<br />
*Image - "Bromo Volcano Form East Java" by TeddyBear[Picnic] through www.freedigitalphotos.net<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347151159900981860.post-52669073426895050382014-10-06T11:42:00.004-07:002014-10-06T11:42:46.343-07:00Mini-Him and Mini-battlesAll content copyrighted<br />
<br />
<br />
Him and I have been hounding Mini-Him. That's the word for it. Hounding...<br />
<br />
It didn't seem that way initially...and we were so certain of our parental insight, that we took away a whole bunch of things that he loves, unconsciously forgot our usual endearments for him, and really, made the almighty "grade" the sole focus of our collective existence.<br />
<br />
He is a good kid, and with a touch of ADD, his days can be slightly challenging. He has nearly always had straight A's. His problem lies in the ability to listen and follow directions. Unless you were to observe it first hand, you would not know exactly how difficult a task this is for Mini-Him. You can see his eyes glaze over the minute instructions are issued...you can see the fidget in his bones, his eyes looking for another focus...and when you finally say, "Repeat what I just said..."<br />
the panicked guilt cross his face.<br />
<br />
Then comes the mistimed chatter. He almost always has something interesting to say. Only, the timing is off. It could be in the middle of someone's conversation, in the middle of a prayer meet, or just when he has been asked to be quiet. He used to be on meds for a few things and I am convinced that they left traces of themselves behind in a restless Mini-Him.<br />
<br />
And yet, on remorse filled weekend mornings of the past few weeks, I wonder what exactly we are doing to him. As I watch him sleep, utter innocence and peace on his face, I wonder why I cannot give him this. This sense of peace, and complete acceptance.<br />
<br />
I've been trying very hard, with an alternately upset and sad Him, to understand what drives us to drive him this way. Is it because his ill-timed comments reflect on our parenting? Or perhaps his grades reflect on the collective IQ of our collective families? Or his intolerance for any kind of "serious" conveys some special dead beat status? What is it that bothers us so?<br />
<br />
He is certainly different from the kids that Him and I were. And he has been through so much more than us. For all of this, he is a large hearted boy. And he never fails to stand up for me. Ever. Why can I not do the same for him? Show him that I love him and accept him?<br />
<br />
I do want him to blend seamlessly into society. I don't want him to suffer from rough edges that will cause judgemental others to push him to the periphery. I most desperately want him to be able to hold a non controversial conversation intelligently, and handle controversy with grace. And yet, I don't know if we are all that well equipped. I guess I am saying, to my shock, that I don't want him to stand out.<br />
<br />
Perhaps I don't want him to stand out in a bad way. But who am I to choose? And force? He is not me. Or his Dad.<br />
<br />
He is quite simply, only himself.<br />
<br />
His grades, his behavior, his choices of conversation, his motivation etc are a function of his thoughts and feelings. And so it seems that my boy is not feeling too good. And his thoughts and mine are far apart.<br />
<br />
He has a special delight in little things, and an awe of achievement, fast cars (only Lamborghinis, no other manufacturers need apply), space and physics, good food, wonderful music, basketball and although he is 12, Curious George.<br />
<br />
He dislikes having to work at anything that he creates....he writes very deep poetry, and refuses to accept that anything could be expressed differently (and why I would try to change something like that is a matter for another post potentially titled "helicopter mom"), he sketches scenery and does not want instruction on depth and perception, and writes lovely essays that he will not rearrange to improve flow.<br />
<br />
And did I mention that he is allergic to direction?<br />
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I really only want for him to live a struggle free existence. To enjoy certain aspects of life easily because who needs to deal with comments about table manners at 25? Yet my boy seems unteachable.<br />
<br />
But he accepts me does he not? I still get asked what flavor I would like when he goes to the local ice cream shop with Him. He will still ask me if I want a bit if his favorite Lays Chile-Limon on the rare occasions that he gets treated to it. And he still opens up to me. I get to hear about every single thing that goes on in his little life. This could be about half an hour after he has been yelled at for something legit I'm sure.<br />
<br />
I'm trying to back off now. I think he is going to set his own trajectory that has nothing to do with me. And the more I try to reset it, and direct him and his future, the harder things are going to get.<br />
<br />
That's just it...I need to back off. My little poet/artist/wannabe astrophysicist musician is going to have to figure things out on his own. He can continue to spill his guts to me in the mean while.<br />
<br />
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*Image - "Holding Hands Represents Paint Colors and Bonding" by Stuart Miles through www.freedigitalphotos.netUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347151159900981860.post-87225331183946334772014-09-03T11:50:00.004-07:002014-09-03T11:51:12.851-07:00For someone I'll never see again...All content copyrighted.<br />
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I used to have this Uncle. Won't spell out the exact relationship just so no one can tell the person I am talking about. This Uncle passed away shortly after Him and I were married. It was not anything that we expected. One assumed that his tall figure would always wait at the airport when one landed, paper rolled under the arm, waving lanky arms excitedly. I understand from my mother's stories about my baby days, that he was everything to me for a while. I must not have felt any of that in my teen years, because I had been nothing short of a b**** to the poor man. That is a strong word for me. I live in a household with many males and they all swear routinely. But this is the only word that I cannot stand. There is some manner of violence to it that I can't put my finger on. So to say that is what I was to this much hassled uncle is to say that I really was a miserable human being for a while.<br />
<br />
I hated him with a passion for some years. Some years, because from the time that I lived with my grandma, Uncle and Aunt, to the time the said Uncle died, it was just seven short years. I often wonder how much my utter disregard for his feelings must have contributed to his overall disillusion. He was all of 59 when he passed away. I believe he died of a broken heart. My Aunt is a good woman, but I think my Uncle was beaten down by life.<br />
<br />
My entire issue started when my parents discussed their particular disagreements with him in front of me. I could never think well of him after. Dad's angst was understandable. To the rational, planned, "never-drop-the ball" type A's, he would have seemed a bumbling buffoon. I spent the years from 13-16 believing it. And the years from 16-18 hating him for it. Hate as in visceral hate. And yet, he never showed me what he thought or felt. Through all of my attempts to ignore him in the home that we all lived in, and through all my attempts to exclude him from the fabric of my life, that in truth, him and my aunt were holding together, he still asked after my well being. Bought goodies that he knew I liked, and never once let on to my parents that he was dissatisfied with my conduct, and that sometimes, as a teenager would, I skimped on helping around the house. Tiny though it was.<br />
<br />
That is not to say that he didn't have his failings. I only failed to note in that time in my life, that everyone did, everyone who lived on after him developed even bigger failings, and that he had been someone who existed solely to take care of everyone around him. He didn't have any children. But he took care of his mother, me, a couple of wild cousins, a sister and generally made everyone else's problems his. Which might be why he could never get anywhere. Of course, no one in the family will believe it. But it is my take on why he might have failed where others atleast broke the surface.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">*image</td></tr>
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Then again, failure, time, success, richness, poverty, money etc are such human constructs. We have become the adjectives that we syllabicated many timelines ago. We structured words to convey expectation and appreciation.We have run since to shape ourselves to be worthy of our own hype. And as in the case of this Uncle, who I now believe was not meant for this world, expect everyone else to fit in as we would. Struggle as we would. And be as fearful of negative labels because that's just what we are afraid will happen to us.<br />
<br />
Uncle just continued living as joyously as he could in his cramped life. And one could tell that he could not feel his lack. That he expected to be loved and appreciated and did not feel poor. He didn't behave like there was anything missing from his life although a great deal had been lacking since childhood. For all the siblings in fact. But he was the only one living where the others had left. He tried to keep his wife happy as he could. And tried to ignore Dad's repeated attempts to beat some monetary sense into him. And tried to laugh and joke and be an outstanding human connection to everyone who ever crossed his path. And continued to ignore Dad's pleas for some sense as he sent yet another lump sum of money that Uncle asked for.<br />
<br />
Money was the construct that broke them in the end. The arguments, the stress and the lost gaiety came from Uncle and Aunty needing more, and Dad having to provide. And still there was so much to Uncle that we couldn't appreciate then.<br />
<br />
I was resentful of Dad having to part with his hard earned money then. And I still don't think that he should have had to fund anyone's lifestyle. But the grey area gets me these days. I mean...so what? So bloody what if he needed a handout every year? And so what if he took trips and ate out and laughed and hung out with friends? Was he supposed to stop breathing from the guilt? He didn't live in a forgiving country. And he told me later that he never in all his life asked for a raise because he believed that raises had to be given. Not asked for. And even I. at 18 knew that not much came from this world without that initial push at the very least from us.<br />
<br />
He didn't belong here. And he was idealistic and impulsive. Loving and carefree. I grew to understand once I was on my own, and struggled for a bit to be understood myself. It all grew into appreciation pretty quickly. And it seemed to me for a short while after I was married, that he would always be there to reach out to. Which is why I never called him after saying goodbye to him at the airport in Aug 2000, as a new bride going away with her husband. He was gone in November. I do not have guilt that I did not call. I feel immense guilt that I burdened him with childishness when he had been so close to death. And when he could have used some affection and understanding. I now believe those two qualities can change so much in people's lives.<br />
<br />
I regret the arrogance that allowed me to think so little of him; regret that it prevented any closeness...<br />
<br />
To a man who had once been everything to me. That manner of blindness is the worst in the world. I hope he knows that I regret my lost teen years that could have been better. For all of us. I hope he knows that I am sorry for being a cause of strife in his tragically short life. And I hope he knows that I love him. I never did tell him that.<br />
<br />
And of course, I hope he knows that the whole bunch of us who judged and withheld appreciation are actually grateful. Even if his life never quite fit our shortsighted framework, he was quite the champion. Our lives had been better with him in it. And better because of him.<br />
<br />
He also loved flowers. And laughter. What a loss! Our loss...<br />
<br />
His birthday falls in the second week of September. This is my remembrance.<br />
<br />
*image - "Gardenia" by panuruangjan through www.freedigitalphotos.net<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347151159900981860.post-52660856719858443642014-08-23T17:37:00.000-07:002014-08-23T18:37:07.667-07:00About the ALS Ice Bucket Challenge and why I think it is a great ideaAll content copyrighted.<br />
<br />
There has been a lot of controversy regarding the Ice Bucket mania that has gripped the nation. One can understand why the thought of celebs pouring ice cold slush over themselves comes across as ridiculous and attention grabbing. And as outlandish as one may be tempted to think it is, I believe that this is an AWESOME way to raise money for ALS and it's victims.<br />
<br />
I run another blog that has so far been devoted solely to ALS research and it's impact upon the victims and their families, and ways to help these people go through an extremely stressful condition.<br />
<br />
We have ways to buy time, scope for remission, and cures for other conditions. There is none of this yet for<br />
ALS. Right from the time that Lou Gehrig and this condition became synonymous, there has been research in many parts of the world. Awareness is not as it should be either. We have pink ribbons for breast cancer awareness and research, a Run for MS, and others where victims can more often than not participate and hope for recovery. In the blog that I update, I advertise the ALS Walk where ALS sufferers are part of the participating population. Every year, one can see them get weaker, use more assistive devices and walk less, until they are spectators and one day, they are not part of anything on this earth anymore.<br />
<br />
And no one has a concrete idea as to why this happens. There are theories, and there is much research. But no proper idea, and no potential for a cure yet.<br />
<br />
It meant as much to me as it does to many of you; a vaguely disturbing, sad condition that one pushes to the corner, much like we attempt to ignore news about poverty, massacres etc. Simply because there isn't a whole lot one can do to change things, and because we would be bogged down with helpless sadness if we thought of these things all the time.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSXxERbf6Srfwmi6YrAgRb4uU2iVmubuIhfYLwdOl0EukI89niUenbwSCdpoXjMOwh9K1WWZe2rNs4EKgBfA1FYv9OAY2tH8LZu0Kftvb-Kv440Js_2d6zOx2LzY3a_PsBHq6fPJrcwGs/s1600/399034j6t2fn598.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSXxERbf6Srfwmi6YrAgRb4uU2iVmubuIhfYLwdOl0EukI89niUenbwSCdpoXjMOwh9K1WWZe2rNs4EKgBfA1FYv9OAY2tH8LZu0Kftvb-Kv440Js_2d6zOx2LzY3a_PsBHq6fPJrcwGs/s1600/399034j6t2fn598.jpg" height="320" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">pic credit - prakorn, freedigitalphotos.net<br />
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Then I met Linda. Linda who was so full of vitality, and bursting with ideas and projects. She had raised two daughters and had traveled the world. She and her husband, Him and I and others were were all on the same project in Panama, and we met during a Christmas party. After a couple of meetings, she told a group of ladies about her twin sister, Laurie, who had passed away from ALS. The profound sadness in her face is something that will take me a long time to forget. Laurie had been as Linda was now. Vital, alive and adventurous. She had been a wife, mother, and do-er of all things. A mild weakness that she noticed in her legs had been no cause for concern. She attributed it to her rather active lifestyle and continued to train and strengthen her body. When the weakness progressed, and subsequent tests revealed the devastating ALS diagnosis, she and her husband attempted researching every possible outlet. Every potential cure, and research study. She even participated in one. Unfortunately her condition progressed rapidly and she passed away in 2006. Her story can be found <a href="http://reachforacure.blogspot.com/2011/08/als-or-lou-gehrigs-disease-story-of.html" target="_blank">HERE</a>.<br />
<br />
Linda has been tireless in her efforts to talk about ALS, raise funds for those suffering from ALS, called <a href="http://reachforacure.blogspot.com/2011/08/als-community-support-groups-goals-and.html" target="_blank">PALS</a>. She has shared ways to help families affected by this on the <a href="http://eachforacure.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">reachforacure</a> blog. Ways to help, in addition to spreading the word, and controversial or not, joining in the ice-bucket challenge, can be found <a href="http://reachforacure.blogspot.com/2012/01/pic-credit-naypong-freedigitalphotos.html" target="_blank">HERE</a>. While individuals suffering from this have their lives taken over in ways that they could not have imagined, their families suffer enormously. Given that the condition causes people to lose any control and strength in their bodies, the constant caretaking wears caregivers down. The financial impact is also enormous. Whether it is the primary bread winner, or a grown child, there is a constant need of supplies and doctor's visits. I can't imagine the impact of watching a loved one degenerate before your eyes, knowing that there is nothing one can do, but make them comfortable for the days that they have left. And this is right from the beginning, from the time of diagnosis. Not a single hope except that the disease might keep the loved one communicating for as long as possible.<br />
<br />
There is much more to this than everyone trying a new trick on themselves. I don't believe that I've seen ALS get as much exposure before and it's great, and it's important, and it is necessary for us to know why this happens so that we can put a stop to it, or change things to make them better. Right now, no one knows for sure. They're just about finding the information in genes. But what causes the progression, why some get it (Linda's ever torturous question to herself and us - why did Laurie get it and not her?), and could it be environmental?<br />
<br />
If you're not up to ice bucket challenges, and would like to help, perhaps the many ways outlined by Linda might offer you some insight, <a href="http://reachforacure.blogspot.com/2012/01/pic-credit-naypong-freedigitalphotos.html" target="_blank">HERE</a>. If you're able to provide help monetarily, Linda's Walk Page can be found <a href="http://web.alsa.org/site/TR/Walks/OregonandSWWashington?px=1590024&pg=personal&fr_id=10188#.U_kvP_ldXX5" target="_blank">HERE</a> and the ALS association's donation page can be found <a href="https://secure2.convio.net/alsa/site/Donation2;jsessionid=521797F5A883E8C633FCF37516263F06.app277b?df_id=27420&27420.donation=form1" target="_blank">HERE</a>.<br />
<br />
There is so much more to all this than a macho dunk in ice. I truly hope researchers find answers and stop ALS's ravaging effects on individuals and their families.<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347151159900981860.post-7401973429597458422014-08-19T11:59:00.003-07:002014-08-19T11:59:59.704-07:00little delight!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
All content copyrighted.<br />
<br />
Little boy shrieked, "follow the bee!"<br />
chubby feet sprung into faster leaps by<br />
green grass bouncing free<br />
<br />
"A rainbow splashed on the grass!!"<br />
tiny shriek and dropping jaw<br />
showed what formal verse could never surpass!<br />
<br />
Of course it was delight<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbfyDNcBitxdB2_1lnmNBhVrS0PwS9K2L_LUnsgGo7Jp05MkAgFUu6QV4HZ50svTTT0BpRjrBgI3g702WTGQwrUeQS30xkK0k01rEq3BkPwhyvEcfL8IBrNeXFZ4XxxZ3RfEBp_wKKXho/s1600/ID-10032220.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbfyDNcBitxdB2_1lnmNBhVrS0PwS9K2L_LUnsgGo7Jp05MkAgFUu6QV4HZ50svTTT0BpRjrBgI3g702WTGQwrUeQS30xkK0k01rEq3BkPwhyvEcfL8IBrNeXFZ4XxxZ3RfEBp_wKKXho/s1600/ID-10032220.jpg" height="285" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">*Image 1</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
to see every flower you could think of<br />
doused in every spectrum of bright<br />
<br />
Tumble into loveliness to rise again<br />
snapdragons' yellow anointing a forehead just as,<br />
morning glories peek from behind ears hidden behind a mane<br />
<br />
That black mane dressed artfully with poppy<br />
wait, before you inhale that clover!<br />
Pick it out while dusting pollen from cheeks glossy<br />
<br />
He thought of me too,<br />
this I knew when he plucked from his chest,<br />
a forget-me-not that matched my dress, rich of the bluest hue.<br />
<br />
The hours spent with one wish<br />
that we could be each color in that meadow<br />
reality such anguish!<br />
<br />
I think now that we were lucky to have just been,<br />
my little boy and me, alive in that abundance<br />
a place, maybe heaven or earth, or somewhere inbetween...<br />
<br />
*Image 1 - "Wild Flowers" by dan through www.freedigitalphotos.net<br />
<br /></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347151159900981860.post-61080177548129386522014-07-29T11:46:00.004-07:002014-07-29T11:48:10.758-07:00to shrug a mantleAll content copyrighted.<br />
<br />
rock in softness to and fro,<br />
gentle sway and a gentle glow<br />
of light sometimes, but mostly dark<br />
slow the pulse, deeper breath,<br />
or maybe the thought won't matter.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDZywXbaw9VIPyAHQmDtCpIZkffBDZ5XfLfYwPOy7q575bv3HZkCjQ8XRarGBsE1IOf_Gngt-AgPwmDmHXMuDIFomBZNu3E3GcRXG2xJT0Ziy4uIbIL2BTC9ds9VRDDXVDLqyEY7aiCCA/s1600/ID-100212463.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDZywXbaw9VIPyAHQmDtCpIZkffBDZ5XfLfYwPOy7q575bv3HZkCjQ8XRarGBsE1IOf_Gngt-AgPwmDmHXMuDIFomBZNu3E3GcRXG2xJT0Ziy4uIbIL2BTC9ds9VRDDXVDLqyEY7aiCCA/s1600/ID-100212463.jpg" height="400" width="321" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">*Image 1</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
perhaps a hum or thrum,<br />
or the sound of elements<br />
as they have been before thought<br />
in the first seconds of the first epoch<br />
the sounds of home<br />
soothing or terrifying<br />
yet changeless into eternity.<br />
<br />
the sounds and sight part of<br />
the elements in me<br />
programmed to draw the cells toward it<br />
Seducer of my will<br />
urges surrender to what will take over<br />
one day<br />
again not of my making.<br />
<br />
soothing and tempestuous<br />
as the womb<br />
or the ocean mighty<br />
whispering, roaring<br />
words of peace<br />
that await all<br />
all who live pushing against<br />
their only rest,<br />
their only cross to bear.<br />
<br />
*Image 1 - Under Blue Water With Sun Shining Above by khunaspix through www.freedigitalphotos.net<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347151159900981860.post-74199907656947473632014-07-24T21:47:00.004-07:002014-07-24T21:47:31.660-07:00For sentimental geeseAll content copyrighted.<br />
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It's strange how our world categorizes and pigeon holes everyone into a certain type. There is the thinking type, and the feeling type...and fun kinda person/or a serious sort, an easy going dude or a high strung man, everyone labeled according to their reactions and the feelings that they evoke in others.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8tFxniz5lkzlSPeu5nQN1pZ-57LB3AfUDlCpbnFP7LbnoiLNLuaAD9INg44I3Zf7dGMu871EievYDus-KDi_3YVyRnNyB8SkAoksgT9bHAdD0DtV4nDNJxI3gk-g2NzWCeQtq7NTY2h0/s1600/ID-10045228.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8tFxniz5lkzlSPeu5nQN1pZ-57LB3AfUDlCpbnFP7LbnoiLNLuaAD9INg44I3Zf7dGMu871EievYDus-KDi_3YVyRnNyB8SkAoksgT9bHAdD0DtV4nDNJxI3gk-g2NzWCeQtq7NTY2h0/s1600/ID-10045228.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">*Image 1<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
That is the point of this bit of writing today. Feelings. The associations the word evokes in our times are the issue for me. The images of well grown kids resenting a little less physical comfort, or folks with every opportunity at their disposal who commit dastardly acts because their "feelings were hurt". Those issues are societal ills. They have nothing to do with honest to goodness feelings.<br />
<br />
Feelings are important. Not so one can wait for them to be hurt so they can complain about the world at large. Not so that we can generate even more politically correct non-statements to avoid trampling on the over coddled sensitivities of a random species of fruit fly. No. Feelings are guide posts. To me at least. They let me know when something is off kilter, when someone is off kilter. The happiness of knowing something is as it should be, the anger that comes from understanding cruelty, unfairness, and atrocity...the love that comes with synchronicity, the dislike of what our body cannot tolerate...or the likes and dislikes that make each of us unique.<br />
<br />
These separate us from robots, psychopaths and anyone who would happily inflict pain without feeling pain themselves.<br />
<br />
I am told even more often than before that feelings are devoid of any logic. How do seemingly intelligent people make such statements? How do researchers go into the neurophysiological reactions involved in feeling "happy", "sad", "love" or "lust" and make blanket assumptions on a species that operates on so many levels? A whole bunch of narcissists then take those blanket assumptions, detach themselves even more from the things that make us all humans and turn every honest emotion into a joke.<br />
<br />
Are we just our reactions? Or are we just our thoughts? Why are we required to operate on one, and rationalize the other? Who benefits from such logical, emotion free interaction? Are we all diplomats working in a high pressure setting trying to set the world right? Or are we all a bundle of feelings without thought to define them?<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSpHbW0XBplX5GZwqBi23kThQeGHZAaCu0KWuVQdnfF_7tINPIz6lk07mniwffy_CF_JyDVz6VjUg-wuBx7KCKYXpKHOMldUE6GeBcsUhGQD4w2Qa-VEeuDg1zfytLMcH0gICKzd82Igg/s1600/ID-10074492.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSpHbW0XBplX5GZwqBi23kThQeGHZAaCu0KWuVQdnfF_7tINPIz6lk07mniwffy_CF_JyDVz6VjUg-wuBx7KCKYXpKHOMldUE6GeBcsUhGQD4w2Qa-VEeuDg1zfytLMcH0gICKzd82Igg/s1600/ID-10074492.jpg" height="207" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">**Image 2</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I cannot imagine thinking without emotion/feelings/sentiment. Sure there are times that we "put our feelings aside". We try to grow in spite of ourselves, and if it were not for those feelings, we would not know that we were limited. A excess of feeling not reined in by thought can cause as much destruction as thought far removed from feelings. Everything that forces one over the other makes us live a lie.<br />
<br />
Thought and feeling must go hand in hand. Each providing depth to the other, and each giving us reason to "be"...meaning live, want, eat well, reach for better things, better ourselves, get out of our particular hell etc.<br />
<br />
I'll be a sentimental goose anytime.<br />
<br />
*Image 1: Colorful Dove by digitalart through www.freedigitalphotos.net<br />
**Image 2 : Silhouette Goose Flying by Vlado through www.freedigitalphotos.net<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347151159900981860.post-7004538184590036832014-07-21T11:36:00.003-07:002014-07-21T11:52:17.286-07:00Preachy nuggetsAll content copyrighted.<br />
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Mini-Him is a year away from the all important 13. His rebellious streak has tagged along since his infancy, when putting him in diapers was next to impossible. Now, asking him to do anything is next to impossible. Infact, asking him not to argue does not seem to merit even a cursory acknowledgement. How can one argue endlessly, getting lost in verbal mazes, and trapping oneself in one's own arguments? So much so, that I feel compelled to rescue him from the clutches of yet another illogical bit of self-defense. He just has to say something to everything. And that is increasing my grey hair population.<br />
<br />
Despite all of this, sweetness and caring remain his underlying qualities...even if they show less and less through the frown on his suddenly angular face.<br />
<br />
I've been trying to explain/direct/order/suggest/non-verbally indicate the important things that he needs to attend to daily. This summer break marks his first foray into the kitchen for reasons other than placing a food request, slamming a plate in the sink, or helping himself to an overdose of chile-limon Lays, one of the only two junk food items we allow him.<br />
<br />
So we started out making very simple pasta. We had store bought sauce too...didn't want to scare off a possible chef with chopping and simmering. We thought to go the Sandra Lee way and keep it semi home-made. Which suits Mini-Him just fine. He was adorably unsure near the stove. We started with the basics. Learning how to turn on/off the knobs, with a hundred safety instructions. How to boil water...more safety...how to put everything he needs where it is reachable...and all those super organized actions that I cannot claim myself.<br />
<br />
It went well and he did well...he learned how to salt foods, how much is "just right" for seasoning, how to use an oven mitt etc. Every so often he had to be warned not to fling his long arms about trying emphasize his point too close to the pasta pot. And to cut back on the drama. The pasta was eminently edible.<br />
<br />
Once done, he just left to eat it by the comp, reading comic books. The dishes and splattered backsplash beckoned.<br />
<br />
It was infuriating and I had to work at calming myself down...because he is only 12. And this was his first time. And he is much better than I was at that age. I knew enough to pop bread into a toaster.<br />
<br />
I've been on his case ever since. Because I think we've been remiss. We've never told him the consequences of "just leaving" things as they are. We threw in some more bits of preaching for good measure. The poor kid is well and truly saturated with advice. He won't look me in the eye and stated that a nutella sandwich is all he wants for dinner.<br />
<br />
Still...those preachy nuggets were important.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgbAY2Et3vMwu_-lJzaXRtRh1iZrvuDW3x3h76VAbZ62WAV0zHoHIJK4PyRRRqkK2M7_vBfdekOjTL0zXQB9Qn7z3PBO6xhMpsLuk9ZSt-yzwwZ_z8UDaybg5nXMsjBDSM91IZoe2zLwA/s1600/ID-100264903.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgbAY2Et3vMwu_-lJzaXRtRh1iZrvuDW3x3h76VAbZ62WAV0zHoHIJK4PyRRRqkK2M7_vBfdekOjTL0zXQB9Qn7z3PBO6xhMpsLuk9ZSt-yzwwZ_z8UDaybg5nXMsjBDSM91IZoe2zLwA/s1600/ID-100264903.jpg" height="289" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image 1*</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<u><b><i>Don't leave a mess for some else to clean up.</i></b> </u>If you don't want to waste your time with it, then make sure whoever is cleaning up your mess is either well compensated, or in total agreement with how important your time is over theirs...maybe you have an exam...or maybe you're late for an appointment. You're handing over your job...basically.<br />
<br />
<i style="font-weight: bold;"><u>Drama has a time and place</u>. </i>Not everyone has the bandwidth or kitchen space for verbal and physical drama. Hand flinging/wringing with spot jumping and expressions that take away from the moment are to be held back; maybe brought forward when your favorite team is doing badly.<br />
<br />
<b><i><u>Look people in the eye, wait for a satisfactory end to a conversation before going back to your </u></i></b><br />
<i style="font-weight: bold;"><u>Ipad. </u></i><br />
You hate being dismissed before you've said your piece right? It is true of everyone! It is easier to figure out if someone is ready to end the conversation if you're watching their face. Easy to tell what a person is if you look them in the eye. And it will be infinitely easier for people to reach out and trust you if you can look at them and meet their eye! If you're in a hurry, say so. Most of the time the video clip you're raring to get back to can wait!<br />
<br />
<i style="font-weight: bold;"><u>Staying organized saves time in the long run.</u> </i>I'd get a stylish shoe thrown effectively at my head if the ladies from college who are my dear friends read this one. But I've discovered through messes and repeated explanations/exclamations and my own frustration, that NOTHING beats organization. No sense in promoting anything else, and disguising inefficiency as organized chaos. It does allow for more gracious living. And Mini-Him being my child, is learning this the hard way.<br />
<br />
<b style="font-style: italic;"><u>Listening is everything.</u> </b>Folks say a lot. And it behooves us to listen. For their sake, and our own. Nothing is accomplished if everyone is talking all the time. And if everyone is arguing all the time.<br />
<br />
<b style="font-style: italic;"><u>A No is a No</u>. </b>Where did we go wrong with this one? Why is NO infused with shades of gray? How can stop mean go a little further? And how did "put that down now" become "5 minutes more? for the next half an hour??"<br />
<br />
<u style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Greet visitors, neighbors and others who acknowledge you with more than a cursory nod before rushing off into video game heaven. </u> We're trying to rigidly enforce this one. By "rigidly enforcing", I mean that we are applying consequences and taking the sacred hours of video-gaming. Yes. No boorish behavior is allowed. People are to be treated with respect. Your moods, excitement and everything are important, but the moment you are required to interact with another creature, your attention is to be all "there." He is required to spend thirty minutes in the company of visitors, ask polite questions, listen patiently, and then ask to be allowed to go. At which point we let him go. If he has done his job. Also, he HAS to watch his mouth! How controversial can a 12 year old get?!<br />
<br />
There have been a couple more since I started writing this two days ago. And I'm afraid he will zone us out. I think he is zoning us out. But it hit me that he probably will stay another 5-6 years at home before heading to college. We all (Mini-Him too) don't have as much time as we thought we did. We've said everything over and over for ages. But we're getting to a point when he can't be just anyway. He would have to accept the preachy nuggets. The hypocrisy needs to be ignored! Yes I was messy! And no...he cannot be. So there. Who said I was fair?!<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7FyVE8QYWOPigZ7XLFONg358Et6KXXv3N9PBJTLcc0bA0lju9ZfsF9NOt67hNV4oHZd7j01rg-z9JQuXn6f6gloPR_VRP_jD5dAPFBpQYTa98-IbY9jowQyM3Trll-fGP66UgV7iAHrs/s1600/ID-100248003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7FyVE8QYWOPigZ7XLFONg358Et6KXXv3N9PBJTLcc0bA0lju9ZfsF9NOt67hNV4oHZd7j01rg-z9JQuXn6f6gloPR_VRP_jD5dAPFBpQYTa98-IbY9jowQyM3Trll-fGP66UgV7iAHrs/s1600/ID-100248003.jpg" height="212" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">**Image 2</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I hope for Mini-Him to be a gracious, put together member of society. Someone who can listen and yet, stand up for what he believes in. Someone who can make it no matter what is thrown at him, and someone who can plan a course toward living his ambitions, what ever they morph into, from the current graphic artist/physicist and comic strip writer combo.<br />
<br />
I'm tired just thinking about it. I need my ginger tea.<br />
<br />
*Image 1 credit - "Chaos Order Post-it Papers Show Disorganized or Ordered" by Stuart Miles through www.freedigitalphotos.net<br />
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**Image 2 credit - "Herbal Tea On White Background" by phasinphoto through www.freedigitalphotos.net<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347151159900981860.post-46653016811697027862014-07-14T13:55:00.001-07:002014-07-15T19:48:23.248-07:00Unscramble withinAll content copyrighted.<br />
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The truth behind our comforting lies stays cloaked in fear. The fear forms a whiteboard against which we present our ideas, hopes...a refracting surface. A place to point to if anyone asks about ambition, hopes and dreams. A collage of "would be's if not for...".It allows us to pretend for ages. A lifetime if the need to look within stays unexamined and untended.<br />
<br />
I've been able to pontificate about this for ages. But I realized when writing my wish list, and more importantly working on the fashion forward article and the follow up guest post by my friend and fellow blogger <a href="http://www.thesilverkickdiaries.com/2014/07/16-things-you-shouldnt-have-to-justify.html" target="_blank">Shabana Feroze</a>, that I am such a giant clucking chicken when it comes to facing ridicule and negative opinion. I knew it and tried to make the fear smaller than what it was. In short, I tried to fake it till I made it...but the only thing fake was my smile of unconcern, and secret attempts to stay on every contradictory person's good side.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj18Ai_kltAaCPlIqDsHGp-RlxqjUVbaL5wpj_WBHzyydKqmgY-IwVtRJDeGMbrDCHvVF1eh379EVngx56uQ4WyrSa-fwUykvQw-a8lP3oL63DDFUyx_WiXsBMCpVDWcuXkGKy8cjWsTuE/s1600/ID-100219044.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj18Ai_kltAaCPlIqDsHGp-RlxqjUVbaL5wpj_WBHzyydKqmgY-IwVtRJDeGMbrDCHvVF1eh379EVngx56uQ4WyrSa-fwUykvQw-a8lP3oL63DDFUyx_WiXsBMCpVDWcuXkGKy8cjWsTuE/s1600/ID-100219044.jpg" height="400" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">by adamr through www.freedigitalphotos.net</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
And while I wrote about hopes for visiting <a href="http://poemswritingandavm.blogspot.com/2014/06/wish-list-series-travel-2.html" target="_blank">Kiribati</a> and <a href="http://poemswritingandavm.blogspot.com/2014/06/wish-list-series-travel-5.html" target="_blank">Montana</a>, and my hopes for a <a href="http://poemswritingandavm.blogspot.com/2014/07/wish-list-series-to-be-fashion-forward.html" target="_blank">fashion</a> redemption, I realized that the only factor that kept me from feeling better about my life in general was my "over conformist" attitude. Especially when every fiber within rebels against everything. No wonder my children are so contrary. I think I've been a mass of knots for ages. And when wondering about fashion choices, every choice I struggled against, and every decision I made was put through a mental council...a council made up of all the people in my life who would be unhappy with my choices.<br />
<br />
Do you know the feeling? That feeling you get when you're being judged and held accountable for doing what you wanted to do? If you're a conformist who hates being one, you know what I'm talking about. The stomach dropping fear, surging rage and going hot and cold at once. Yeah. It can get that bad!<br />
<br />
Now, I'm trying to breathe and stretch and twist it all out. Every little bit of discomfort and angst that makes a comfortable home in my body is being breathed out. Every time I ease into an asana, I put all my latent hopes into my body, and breathe out everything that is holding me back.<br />
<br />
There will never be the perfect time to speak my mind, wear that dress I've hoped to, say what I meant to, write another book, or...yes...practice yoga.<br />
<br />
It seems crystal clear to me, as clear as the popping in my hip indicating a long road ahead to true yogi-hood, that there is no perfect time to quieten enough to hear my own voice. The one that is constantly drowned in others' cacophony.<br />
<br />
It must be now.<br />
<br />
Image credit : "Beautiful Woman Practive Yoga On River in Nature by adamr through www.freedigitalphotos.net<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347151159900981860.post-4681268158578997792014-07-11T19:49:00.000-07:002014-07-13T11:27:26.179-07:00All U Pear Ladies...Fashion sense wish come true! Thanks Shabana Feroze!All content copyrighted.<br />
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So when I wrote my wishlist series, I put down a wish to be <a href="http://poemswritingandavm.blogspot.com/2014/07/wish-list-series-to-be-fashion-forward.html" target="_blank">fashion forward</a>. The stylish and motivated Shabana Feroze of the vibrant <a href="http://www.thesilverkickdiaries.com/" target="_blank">Silver Kick Diaries </a> read my wish/rant. She said that she would help me wrap my head around concepts for my body type. We went about it in a systematic way. She asked me about what exactly bothers me about my body, what goes through my head when I attempt to pick out clothes, and what exactly the discomfort entails.<br />
<br />
I wrote her a long email explaining many things. I am my own psychoanalyst (in jest...) and told her exactly what bothered my mind when I looked at clothes, and exactly what made me uncomfortable. She has addressed everything that is relevant and has done an outstanding job of it! Thank you Shabana! I'm so glad to be sharing this on my blog and have one wish off the wish list!<br />
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I LOVE Shabana's well organized and informative guide. Practical tips too, given my mad mad life! For more inspiration and style tips, do visit the <a href="http://www.thesilverkickdiaries.com/" target="_blank">Silver Kick Diaries</a><br />
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<b><u>Shabana's guest post : </u></b><br />
<b><u><br /></u></b>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><b><i><u>Anne’s
Dressing issues</u></i></b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I
know Anne has been struggling with dressing/ styling herself for some time, so
I decided to help her out. I asked her to send me her most pertinent style
issues via email. Since they’re quite a few, I’ve addressed them one by one in
this post. </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The objective is not just to help Anne, but also to hopefully help
other women like Anne who are busy, young, mothers who sometimes struggle with
shopping and finding their style. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">These
are the major concerns I gathered from her email:</span><br />
<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt;">She doesn’t want to “look ‘posey’ or
overdressed or stand out.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt;"></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="background: white; color: #222222; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">She has a “tendency to gravitate toward safe colors, dull
colors, nothing dramatic.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Her hips are wider than her bust.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt;">She loves sleeveless clothes but has
stretch marks on her arms.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Outfit options and transitioning from
formal to casual.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Suitable jewelry she can wear around the
toddler as he tends to grab it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Make up options for a busy mom-on-the-go
who has dark circles from lack of sleep.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">So
let’s begin.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<u style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><b><i>She doesn’t want to “look
‘posey’ or overdressed or stand out.</i></b></span></u></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I
do agree with her when she says she doesn’t want to look ‘posey’, because
posing implies trying to be someone you’re not. The entire concept of dressing
well is to look <i><u>more</u></i> like who you
are. You dress up to bring your uniqueness and personality through. It’s a way
of letting people know who you are without having said a word. And if you learn
how to do that well, you WILL stand out, but in your own quietly confident way.
And you’ll love it.</span><br />
<u style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="background: white; color: #222222; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></u>
<u><span lang="EN-GB" style="background: white; color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><b><i><span style="font-family: inherit;">She
has a “tendency to gravitate toward safe colors, dull colors, nothing dramatic</span></i></b></span></u></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Obviously,
you <i>want</i> color in your wardrobe. So
all you need to do is go shopping, and try on colored clothes to see what suits
you. I’m not even going to get into all the jazz about what colors work for
which complexion, because that would just be too overwhelming at this point. Just
go to your favourite shop, pick up clothes in the colors you think are
oh-so-beeeyootiful, tell the voice in your head that’s telling you they’re too
bold for you to shut up, and <u>try them on</u>. Some gorgeous colors may not
look that great against your skin tone but some will take your breath away.
Even if the clothes themselves don’t suit you, don’t worry, at least you’ll
know what colors do. If you want, make a note in your phone or a notebook about
which shades looked good on you. Or discreetly take a picture of the shade. And
since you already have a wardrobe full of ‘neutrals’- black, beige, gray, you can easily pair any
color with these.</span><br />
<u style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></u>
<u style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><b><i>Her hips are wider than her bust.</i></b></span></u></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Anne is a typical ‘pear’ shape- where the hips are wide than
the bust and make the silhouette look bottom-heavy. This means that she has a
problem in selecting pants and maintaining a balanced silhouette. But not to
worry, there’s always a solution. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Tops/ Blouses: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">a.<span style="font-size: 7pt; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">You need to bring the
attention away from the bottom half of the body, so tops with interesting
embellishments on the neck, or with wide or scoop necks will do the trick.
Pussybow tops look great and are available everywhere now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLpPJ4xWjln-Go5k49gelXJN7ken-R4WHK1Xo4zCRmrXTY8hGUqfv-TNOqE7vTPWcyTBvQLTgamJIIU4YCKNks-6qZ3KgiJpbDrNaULbdgZDENaLdgfEhlCztMSl36vp79PkhJHjSKdOs/s1600/pussybow+top.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLpPJ4xWjln-Go5k49gelXJN7ken-R4WHK1Xo4zCRmrXTY8hGUqfv-TNOqE7vTPWcyTBvQLTgamJIIU4YCKNks-6qZ3KgiJpbDrNaULbdgZDENaLdgfEhlCztMSl36vp79PkhJHjSKdOs/s1600/pussybow+top.jpg" height="320" width="239" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin-left: 1.25in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">b.<span style="font-size: 7pt; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Look for slightly loose
tops that end just above your hips. This will create balance by adding a bit of
a bulk to the top half while also covering any belly bulges.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg39kaYJsFANBBPpCrU_eBf5gbXl-aeGZtkdRQUejwPhu48T2WE8S5J4j3kBENebpJc1oiOBveu-fOGw4Pllr33Z0V50lV4ApQlUlHnmZK4hW1iieetFKkKOxXa7Lfm0ChDDVOFpsCcLXs/s1600/b..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg39kaYJsFANBBPpCrU_eBf5gbXl-aeGZtkdRQUejwPhu48T2WE8S5J4j3kBENebpJc1oiOBveu-fOGw4Pllr33Z0V50lV4ApQlUlHnmZK4hW1iieetFKkKOxXa7Lfm0ChDDVOFpsCcLXs/s1600/b..jpg" height="320" width="214" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">c.<span style="font-size: 7pt; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The interest can also be
shifted to the sleeves. Look for blouses that have different lengths of sleeves
or bell sleeves, bat wing sleeves, etc. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim2S9yE_aHM_-UTzM1UNZrXno0h2JYk_kqLQWlTrkN8lsxV648YHDhSeWb7iWamtwUlIQTY4PKlwGQ4Yi4tazNL1DJ9VYhPdu4lAviNmW38bKPX0WxMb-uKv6PgFhdDBjbkgTS2tJgClM/s1600/c..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim2S9yE_aHM_-UTzM1UNZrXno0h2JYk_kqLQWlTrkN8lsxV648YHDhSeWb7iWamtwUlIQTY4PKlwGQ4Yi4tazNL1DJ9VYhPdu4lAviNmW38bKPX0WxMb-uKv6PgFhdDBjbkgTS2tJgClM/s1600/c..jpg" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">d.<span style="font-size: 7pt; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Choose tops in different
colors and prints. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgilGRcQRkA_CILalsJBufqnubeJmYQXRrEMC3j1ZjL7LwNUsAREHrzuRmgLAumO0T9WpNviqHpTPmuAkg_FV1Joz28sBYz96s21VziUfgla_1298BPcdCvb07958_CIFT0xEITZc_P_Rg/s1600/d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgilGRcQRkA_CILalsJBufqnubeJmYQXRrEMC3j1ZjL7LwNUsAREHrzuRmgLAumO0T9WpNviqHpTPmuAkg_FV1Joz28sBYz96s21VziUfgla_1298BPcdCvb07958_CIFT0xEITZc_P_Rg/s1600/d.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">2.<span style="font-size: 7pt; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Skirts:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">A-line skirts are your
best bet. They not only cover up your hips, but also look elegant. Look for
ones that end just below the knee for the most flattering look. Avoid pencil
skirts. Unless you want to look like Kim Kardashian. ;)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMllPN8kt9ndNg2GauAGHLXxL4JTL-AFdU73sD_ODXJ5BkfPDgd55UKYc5M8EHz1NF6ViYKQPCjqniyVUl9XywjHzbwlSMWeY0Y1hvTlccl6dqgluNxuggCc9YmiCvEGrhN42s_JFdJhE/s1600/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMllPN8kt9ndNg2GauAGHLXxL4JTL-AFdU73sD_ODXJ5BkfPDgd55UKYc5M8EHz1NF6ViYKQPCjqniyVUl9XywjHzbwlSMWeY0Y1hvTlccl6dqgluNxuggCc9YmiCvEGrhN42s_JFdJhE/s1600/2.jpg" height="320" width="214" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">3.<span style="font-size: 7pt; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Pants:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Boot-cut jeans, straight pants and even flared jeans
are for you. Wide-leg pants are popular now. What I’d really recommend are
Pajama Pants. They’re wide leg, but usually come in a natural material like
cotton and linen, and have an elasticated belt. Great for busy moms. All these
pants will balance out the width of your hips and thighs. But stay away from
the really wide-leg or palazzo pants. Not practical if you’re running around
with a toddler on your hip. Also avoid skinny jeans and capri pants. Remember
that you want to slim the bottom half and bring the eye to the top half, so get
pants and skirts in dark colors like black, navy and charcoal gray. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">4.<span style="font-size: 7pt; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Dresses:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Again, like the skirts, go
for A-line or even Empire-cut. Choose silky materials that will skim over your
beautiful curves instead of unflattering ones like clingy jersey. And remember
to look for embellishments at the top half, and/ or interesting sleeves. Wrap-around
dresses are fantastic for pears.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge1HoydmWwiDSgcquTiNp0LetoY1BSuX3pR_MUk_eIKOWmomnuUwKh5hxs1bXSzIsjDGP6ktSA-hikftUmVi7pCKoWQ4gcsiBDbF_T17lPWq-f9I16W0ezwUdliRXF7tjB8j_TdVuLwwQ/s1600/dress.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge1HoydmWwiDSgcquTiNp0LetoY1BSuX3pR_MUk_eIKOWmomnuUwKh5hxs1bXSzIsjDGP6ktSA-hikftUmVi7pCKoWQ4gcsiBDbF_T17lPWq-f9I16W0ezwUdliRXF7tjB8j_TdVuLwwQ/s1600/dress.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">5.<span style="font-size: 7pt; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Jackets:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Get more
jackets! These help to balance your silhouette. Just steer clear from those
that end at your waist. Slightly longer ones that end just above the hips will
flatter your shape. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">6.<span style="font-size: 7pt; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Accessories:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Scarves are great for you. They can be worn in
multiple ways and they keep the attention to the top half. If you want to wear
a belt, make sure it’s a thin one.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">7.<span style="font-size: 7pt; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Shoes:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">If you don’t have
super-wide feet like mine, try pointed shoes. They elongate the legs. Heels are
great for your body type. Wear them if you’re comfortable in them and you’re
not standing for too long or running around with the toddler.</span><br />
<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-size: 7pt;"><br /></span></span>
<span lang="EN-GB" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-size: 7pt;"> </span></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: -0.25in;"><b><i><u>Outfit options and transitioning from
formal to casual.</u></i></b></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Once you have a few of the basic items that look good
on you, it’s all about mixing and matching and taking the look from formal to
casual or vice versa. For example, a pretty printed wrap-around dress can be
worn to pick the kids from school. At night throw a smart jacket, accessories
and heels on for dinner with your hubby and his coworkers. Or a pussy bow
blouse worn with an A-line skirt for a PTA meeting, and change the skirt to
boot-cut jeans for dinner out with the hubs and kids.</span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<u><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><i>She loves sleeveless clothes but has stretch marks on her arms.</i></b></span></span></u><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">I asked Anne to send me a picture of these and it turns out, the stretch marks are barely noticeable! Really, ladies, we’re not perfect, and that’s okay!</span><br />
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<b style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; text-indent: -0.25in;"><i><u>Suitable jewelry she can
wear around the toddler as he tends to grab it.</u></i></b></div>
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</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Since the baby would pull on grab-able pieces like
earrings, may I suggest flat plate-like statement necklaces? These lie flat on
your collar-bone and chest, look great with most tops and add interest to your
neckline and outfit. And I’m sure the toddler’s tiny hands wouldn’t be able to
grab it. Bonus: You can wear small studs in your ears that match the necklace
instead of dangly earrings that the baby can pull off and hurt you. Try cuffs
for your wrists. Basically, experiment with jewelry that you think wouldn’t be
easy for the baby to pull.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; text-indent: -0.25in;"><i> <u>Make up options for a busy
mom-on-the-go who has dark circles from lack of sleep.</u></i></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><b>Two words: Concealer and lipstick</b>. These two make-up
items can instantly make you look fresher. Choose lippies in bold colors like
deep pinks and reds, to brighten up the face. If you wear lip gloss, please,
throw it away, you’re not a teenager any more. And if possible, try adding an
eyelash curler and mascara to your make-up routine. But if that’s too much,
stick with the concealer and lipstick. Don’t leave home without applying these.
It’s amazing how dabbing just these two on can make you look and feel more
confident.</span><br />
<b style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><i><u><br /></u></i></b>
<b style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><i><u>My
last tip:</u></i></b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Take a good friend on your next shopping trip, and let her pick stuff
for you to try on. Don’t censor her or tell her not to pick that blouse from
the rack because that is <i>so </i>not your
style, just try it on. Go through the entire shop, letting her pick out tons of
clothes. {Or do it yourself, if you’re brave.} You never know what ‘Aha!’ style
moment you hit on while trying something on. Seeing how the material, color and
cut looks on you, you’ll start realizing what looks horrendous on you and what
makes you look like a goddess. And once you know how to dress like a goddess,
just never stop.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347151159900981860.post-39792400637421851762014-07-10T11:18:00.003-07:002014-07-10T11:22:31.198-07:00Give and Give, Take and TakeAll content copyrighted.<br />
<br />
The balance between give and take does not seem to exist by minute. Or hour. Or days...and it seems to me at this frustrating moment, not in years either. I do believe in the universal law of checks and balances, and often pray/hope that I won't have to wait another lifetime to acquire the good, by which time, I'm sure I would not remember or even know that it is "the good from giving" that I am being gifted. If I won't even be me, how does it matter?<br />
<br />
And I think, this last is the point of all our personal/religious/rationalist theories...that in the end, it shouldn't matter. And that the checks and balances exist but may not be ours to witness. Or ours to benefit from.<br />
It would then mean that we're a species as connected as we are separate. I refuse to believe that humanity evolved and continues to evolve (devolve?) at random. And at some point, what happens to one, trickles down/sideways/thru time warps etc to happen to all of us.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjESEXVrtaBcwphwx__QafBkfPESiDOThr7WxwK_DehxZk4XCDUw6ZFxRYHzsdu_eyaN6Z7MJfW2zsEjWD30VpMzxBff299y2RoxGP1gs94_SjXuh4w9iK_7r56pt28untspo9NBOo4PVY/s1600/ID-10010748.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjESEXVrtaBcwphwx__QafBkfPESiDOThr7WxwK_DehxZk4XCDUw6ZFxRYHzsdu_eyaN6Z7MJfW2zsEjWD30VpMzxBff299y2RoxGP1gs94_SjXuh4w9iK_7r56pt28untspo9NBOo4PVY/s1600/ID-10010748.jpg" height="400" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Hands Holding Anything" by m_bartosch</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
If I refuse to help someone/give of myself/put up with **** for the greater good today, I truly do not believe that I will suffer. I think that the suffering will be someone else's to bear...not mine. But down the generations, or in a life that superficially seems separate from mine, someone will bear the result of me holding back. No matter what reason I come up with.<br />
<br />
And that's my conundrum for today, and has been for a while. How much can one keep giving, without making a martyr of oneself, without refueling to give that much more, and without it becoming their very identity?<br />
<br />
"Charity Gave-a-lot? Ohhh she's always there for everyone. She has such a challenging home life yet she never thinks of herself. Only of everyone else!"<br />
<br />
There's so much wrong with this. First, that Charity Gave-a-lot cares nothing for herself, or her home, but has enough resources for the rest of the world. And where is Charity getting the resources from, that she can't try to make it better at home first? Or even, try to make herself better? I understand when folks can't set things right at home because there are too many complexities involved. And giving to others eases some of the heaviness in the heart, and the soul. But where does one draw the line? Between Charity and the home, and Charity and the world? Because Charity can't give forever. Not unless she forgets herself and decides that it is not going to matter.<br />
<br />
And that sooner or later, all that giving will return as good many times over, and she may not see it, or know it, but it will be there, and will be there because of her.<br />
<br />
I'm not sure that I want to be Charity, or if I can make peace with my round-about view of things. I hope I can understand this "endless giving" in a way that is acceptable.<br />
<br />
Maybe I just need to re-fuel; maybe I just need to let go of notions that no longer serve me. But first, there needs to be a balance. Between giving, and how much one is willing to let go of while expecting something in return.<br />
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Image credit " "Hands Holding Anything" by m_bartosch through www.freedigitalphotos.comUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0