One Single Impression: Doorways

This week's prompt for One Single Impression was "doorway." I'm not feeling well and I did these too quickly and impatiently. If I had better sense, I'd just wait and post them another day but I have my rules and I do OSI on Sunday so for better or worse, these are sort of badly framed and I don't like the colors and I think I had another one in my head that I have misplaced. If I remember it, I may add it later. So...

Doorway to dark side
OSI is now posted
Even though it sucks

Camera Critters: Angel Joy

This is my first time joining in with Misty Dawn's Camera Critters. Sundays are usually reserved for One Single Impression - and I will probably post that in the morning - but Angel (aka the world's naughtiest kitty) has been exceptionally photogenic this week. She is always photogenic but she has outdone herself (at least to my doting eyes), so I thought I'd post some pictures of her.

This first one is a bit older than the rest. Most days since I got my new camera, I sit at the back door and watch for birds and critters to photograph. Angel thinks this is bizarre behavior and doesn't approve of anything which she doesn't get to participate in. Early on, she would walk around crying, jump up onto my back or into my arms (she still does that) or find her way onto the top of the refrigerator from where she would make her dismay at my behavior clear.

Over the course of a couple of months she has mellowed considerably about the process. Not completely - she still jumps into my lap and fusses on and off - but now she will often lie on the table next to me and only act up intermittently. As long as she gets a little attention from time to time, she seems to have made peace with my new strange activity. Some days I turn the camera on her. Some days she lets me do that.

Have a lovely day!
Check in at Camera Critters and see all the other wonderful critters who are out there.

Saturday Wordzzle Challenge: Week 19

It's week 19 of the Saturday Wordzzle challenge. Anyone new to the process can refer back here to find out how it works.

The words for this week's ten word challenge were: fabulous, aristocrat, tricycle, soft summer breeze, cat litter, silver-tongued devil, curtain rod, lilacs, Abraham Lincoln, garbage can And for the Mini Challenge: strangle-hold, revelation, dormancy, tripod, space cadet

Here's my ten-word offering for this week.

Oh, the magnificence of the words! Reading Walt Whitman’s poetry always made Amanda feel fabulous. “Oh Captain, My Captain,” she explained to her son, is about the death of Abraham Lincoln. Sitting on the porch reading to Marcus, a soft summer breeze wafting the scent of lilacs, would have seemed more poetic without the tricycle, the garbage cans and the box of assorted curtain rods, clothes hangers, cat litter and other trash sitting out by the curb. Why couldn’t that silver-tongued devil who had charmed her all those years ago have been the aristocrat he had appeared to be to her naive teen-aged heart? It was so unfair. But even as this thought went through her head, she caught a glimpse of her young son's shining face and thought maybe she was pretty lucky after all.

And here's my mini challenge:

Despite the revelation that her cancer was in a state of dormancy, Lila still felt its strangle-hold on her spirit. Setting up her tripod and organizing her cameras for today’s shoot, she moved like a space cadet, her mind bouncing here and there as though she feared that accepting the good news might jinx it. Still, while her head grappled with accepting the good news, her body seemed to sense its reprieve and she gradually relaxed into her work. Then, slowly but surely, hope seeped into her spirit as well.

And the mega challenge:

Abraham Lincoln was a lilac Siamese cat, a feline aristocrat, and not-so silver-tongued devil who had very decided opinions about cat litter, fine cuisine, home décor – well, just about everything. He could hardly believe that a fabulous kitty like himself was now in the hands of the strange person who was currently manhandling him. One minute he had been dozing happily in the soft summer breeze on the veranda of the mansion and the next he was struggling against the strangle-hold of his current captor. Looking at the chaos around him – curtain rod at a rakish angle on the window, a rusty tricycle in the middle of the room, the reeking garbage can in the corner he expected his captor to be a real space cadet, but it seemed she was anything but. Trapped in the physical dormancy of his semi-drugged state, he watched as she efficiently set up the tripod and aimed a camera in his direction. “If you want Mr. Lincoln back in the White House,” she declared loudly, “You had better pay up… Here’s proof that I have him….” It was then the joyful revelation struck him. She was not planning to keep him. He was being held for ransom. Hope was restored. His beloved humans would never abandon him! Help would soon be on the way and he would be returned to his proper kingdom and total control.

***************

This week's vanity wordzzle used the words: Thumbelina, morose, pooper scooper, saline solution, dyspepsia, aromatic, finesse, monumental.

“Do yuh want dis Pepsi heah?” the waitress asked in her thick Brooklyn accent. “Dyspepsia?” Disoriented, Marge looked up from her reading. “Whose got dyspepsia?” It was not surprising that her mind went to such things because Thumbelina, her sweet diminutive 15 year-old Siamese cat had just been diagnosed with kidney failure and Marge was immersed in research. She was at that moment reading a pamphlet from the holistic pet supply store describing natural and alternative treatments for kidney disease in cats. Marge was desperately looking for hope wherever she could find it. The idea that Thumbelina could die was overwhelming, monumental, impossible. It could not be permitted. She would not let it happen. From the vet she had learned how to give infusions of saline solution. Thumbelina’s small wiry body squirmed fretfully under her hand each night, but she had already developed a bit of finesse at grabbing her quickly and sliding the needle gently under the skin while this good and faithful friend bitterly decried such callousness. But the treatments helped, and true to her nature, Thumbelina was a forgiving spirit. Following each treatment she would stalk off and lick her wounds and then come quietly back for a hug and a special treat. It was just not possible that God would take her. “Well?” the waitress asked, irritated. “Oh, the Pepsi. Yes. Yes. Fine,” she said, and went back to her reading. This was interesting. Aroma therapy. Couldn’t hurt. The book listed a series of aromatic fragrances and herbs which she could burn or boil or use in various ways. She would buy them all. She would burn and rub and do whatever. As she finished her soda, she felt slightly more hopeful, less bitter and morose. She rose to leave, almost forgetting the bag of purchases from the pet store – a new pooper-scooper, some special herbal treats, and, best of all, a great new toy. Looking at the toy, she told herself again that she and Thumbelina would get through this. They just had to.

Next Week's Ten Word Challenge will be: handy, operation, gratitude, parallel bars, the color purple, manic depressive, Puget Sound, fragmentary, perpetual motion, secretive

And for the Mini Challenge: sympathetic, filet of sole, mysterious stranger, elephantine, music

Thanks for playing. For those who are new, here are some guidelines to make the process more fun.

Enjoy! See you next week.

DON'T FORGET TO ADD YOUR NAME TO MR. LINKY!!!!!

I'm a Staaah....

Oh, the joy, the honor!!! Oh the responsibility.... Aggggghhhhh!

I have been twice honored in the past 24 hours. Not one, but two beautiful awards from two wonderful people. An embarrassment of riches!


First the amazing, brilliant, witty, superlative writer Dianne at Forks off the Moment has bestowed yet another generous award on me. This one is called the Arte Y Pico award and - as you can see - is as elegant as it's name. It's got rules with it, though. I hate rules, but...




1) Pick five (5) blogs that you consider deserve this award for their creativity, design, interesting material, and also for contributing to the blogging community, no matter what language.

2) Each award has to have the name of the author and also a link to his or her blog to be visited by everyone.

3) Each award winner has to show the award and put the name and link to the blog that has given her or him the award itself.

4) Award-winner and the one who has given the prize have to show the link of “Arte y Pico” blog.

My five choices for the Arte Y Pico Award are as follows:

Stacey Huston at A Focus in the Wild. Stacey writes poetically about her exquisite photographs of wildlife. I love the music collection on her site too. Always a joy to visit. Like a trip into the wilderness with a musical accompaniment.

Anna Carson at Anna Carson Photography. Anna is a gifted photographer and her wonderful color projects have introduced me to some of my favorite people in the blogosphere, a world of beautiful photos - her own and others, and last, but not least - a new way of looking at the world through my camera lens. I've participated in Projects Green and Blue and am eagerly anticipating the next color challenge that is coming up in July.

Jay Simser at Bailey's Buddy. Jay is a regular participant in my Saturday Wordzzle Challenge, adding his own special twist to the process every week. I am awed by the prolific variety of his posts. I don't know how he finds the time to share so many posts on such a wide range of topics and still do all the things he does in his life.

Jay at The Cynical Bastard. Jay is the best kind of cynic - witty, but - I'm sorry Jay - as big hearted as they come. He's another regular at wordzzles. He is currently doing a series featuring Darth Vader in Las Vegas. It's brilliant and I can't wait for this week's installment.

San at A Life with a View. I'm relatively new to San's blog, but I find it delightfully creative. Make sure you take a tour of her gallery in Santa Fe, New Mexico. It's just beautiful.

Carletta at Round the Bend. Carletta's photography is lovely and she has been a kind and loyal blog-friend to me. Last week she took her readers on her travels through West Virginia in a series of wonderful posts with pictures and cool history and geography lessons.

OK... that takes care of the Arte Y Pico Award. My gratitude to each of you for being out there. My gratitude to Dianne for the award and for the greater reward of her friendship, outrageous praise and continuing encouragement.


Now on to the second! award granted to me. (How cool am I?) San at A Life with a View generously gave me this beautiful Special Scribe Award. It doesn't seem to have any rules. Yippee! I'm going to pass it on to three people.



Michelle at Full Soul Ahead. I discovered Michelle's site during autism month through Linda at These are the Days (see below). Michelle writes about autism and life with honesty and wisdom that enriches the reader.

Linda (Snoopmurph) at These are the Days. Linda is my niece Cindy's good friend. It was her encouragement - for good or ill - that got me to re-start this blog. Linda writes on a wide range of topics with an love, humor and a tender eloquence that reflects her beautiful, loving and generous soul. I'm proud to be her adopted aunt and glad that my niece and her children have such a good and wise friend.

Sandy Carlson at a Writing in Faith. Sandy Carlson is one of the people who keeps One Single Impression going and that alone should get her an award, but... I wanted to give her this award not only for her own wonderful blogs, but because I swear she is everywhere. She not only posts prolifically, but I find her comments everywhere I go and they are always thoughtful and incisive. I think that's pretty cool.

and last, but not least...

Dianne at Forks off the Moment. I know she just have me an award, but that's not why I'm giving this to her. Dianne is such a remarkable writer. She is eloquent, passionate, kind, funny, generous, creative... She was one of the first people I met in the blogosphere and her kindness and encouragement kept me going early on.... and still does. She impacts so many people, both with the wit and insight of her posts, but with her generous and unfailing encouragement.

WHEW!!! Now I have to go tell all these nice people that I have given them awards. Wow. Awards are wonderful, but they are exhausting.

Thank you Dianne and San for your generous gifts to me. Thank you to all the people I've passed these awards onto just for being the people that you are.

(My apologies for the weird changes in type face and size. I'm not sure why that has happened. I tried to fix it and it seemed to get worse, so I'm just leaving it as is....)

Skywatch Friday

Week two for me of Skywatch Friday. I make up in quantity what I lack in variety, I guess. Sky Watch Friday is hosted by Tom at Welcome to Wigger's World. Drop by and you will find hundreds of links to beautiful sky scenes from around the world.

Poem of the Week: The Dream

You can click on the image for a larger version.

A Chatty Wordless Wednesday: Birds, Bugs, a Flower and a Spider Web

It's been a very busy week in my back yard. "We" are still recovering from the tree tragedy (lightning strike) which took down half of one of my pine trees. The up side of all the angst and mess and concern for the remaining half of my tree is that its remains seem to have created a bird's paradise of sorts. Plus I think there are a bunch of nests with hatched babies because there seems to be a lot of activity and flying back and forth.

For some reason no matter how hard, I try, these little guys usually come out blurry. Finally got one who is in focus. Isn't he cute? These guys toy with me. They hop around on my porch but they don't sit still for a second so by the time I have refocused they are gone. I think it's a plot to drive me the rest of the way over the edge.

Mr. Cardinal insists on hanging out just out of reach of getting a really clear picture so I have dozens and dozens of sort of blurry ones. The little woman (see below) was kind enough to pose a bit closer.





Even Mr. Woodchuck came by for a quick visit but decided not to linger.



This bug photo isn't very aesthetically pleasing but I've never seen a bug like that before. He was huge and he/she/it sat on my porch for quite a while. I thought he was kind of interesting. He looks like he might be injured towards his rump.


Again, this isn't a very well framed photo, but I just thought the spider web was interesting. There were three or four of them spread out on the lawn one morning earlier this week. Haven't seen them since.








I just thought his was kind of funny. Think of it as me running away because I once again posted too many not very good photos .... and was very wordy when I was supposed to be being wordless...

HAPPY WORDLESS WEDNESDAY!!!

Just a reminder that there's still time to enter The National Wildlife Federation's Annual Photo contest. It's still open for entries until July 1st. It's out of my league, but so many of you are so talented...

Ruby Tuesday and Tragic Tree Tale Continued

Maryt/The Teach over at Work of the Poet has something called Ruby Tuesday which features red. I hope nobody minds if I combine Ruby Tuesday with an update on the tragedy of Mother Nature's fit of pique last weekend. One of my beautiful pine trees was struck by lightning and pretty much split in half. I was very lucky that it fell relatively benignly across my back yard, didn't catch fire and did no harm to anyone or anything other than one of my other bushes. I'm praying very hard that the remaining half will survive. It's getting reiki at least twice a day and lots of fervent wishing on my part. Removing it would cost the equivalent of of about 1/11th of my total yearly stipend, so financially it would be a disaster, but if it dies I'll have to take it down as it would become a threat to my neighbor's pool and work shed. Above and beyond all that, though, I love that tree and I hope very much that it will survive.

Here is a before/after shot. You can click on it to see a larger version.

This is the scar from the lightning strike....


I'm very lucky that one of my neighbors is cleaning it up for me. He works for a lumber yard so he borrowed the boss's saw. He didn't ask for any money but I gave him a little bit and will try to give him more over the course of the summer. It's a HUGE job. This is only about 1/3rd of the trunk portion after he sawed it into pieces. The branches alone - with a few pieces of log - filled two pick-up trucks.


The Town of Hancock is great in many ways. If you call them, they will drop a pick-up truck like this one and leave it overnight to be filled up. So far we (well Shawn, my neighbor) has filled up two trucks and he and I both estimate that it will take three more at least.

Notice that the truck has these big red lights... part of my Ruby Tuesday offering this week.

One up side of the tree tragedy is that birds seem to be drawn to the corpse. My yard has had a pair of cardinals and a host of other birds who are now hanging out in great numbers by the chopped up trunk and branches. I wish they would come a little closer... or that my camera had a 15x zoom instead of ten... Still, I'm enjoying watching them and getting even these sort of fuzzy pictures of them. Besides being beautiful, Mr. Cardinal here is part two of my Ruby Tuesday offering.


Have a lovely Tuesday.

The Alphabet Backwards: "J" is for ?????

Well, it's the dreaded Alphabet Backwards day and today's letter is J. What a wonderful range of possiblities J offers - Joy, judgement, jelly fish, jamboree, jambalaya, juvenile, Jesus, June, July, Jasmine...

Jumpin Jehosephats! What should I write about? I was going to write about impeachment again (aka justice), but since next week is the letter "I," readers have lucked out on having to read through another tirade.

I'd do a tribute to George Carlin and his Jokes, but my friend Dianne has already done a wonderful job of that.

I'd write about jogging but since I can barely walk across a room, that would just be insincere an silly. Then there's jealousy, but that's not something I really experience. Envy sometimes - you know - the I'm glad you have that but I'd like it too kind of thing. I thought about writing about jaguars (the big cats, not the car), a magnificent and endangered species that I'm particularly fond of... I've had dreams in which I turn into a jaguar, which I thought was pretty cool. But I don't really have a lot to say on the subject that you can't read at the Defenders of Wildlife site.

I'm adding this late. I was reminded by Jay Simser at Bailey's Buddy that he's a Jay, so I thought I'd add a link... and as long as I'm acknowledging Jays, there's also the other Jay, at Cynical Bastard. They are both wonderful and are great wordzzlers to boot.

So I'm going to do a total cheat today and say that "J" is for JUST DON'T WANT TO DO THIS. How's that for cheating?

Maybe it's this beautiful June weather. It's a gorgeous day here today. Makes me feel joyful at the beauty. I'd call it Spring fever but it's officially summer now. Whatever the reason, I'm copping out on writing something meaningful and still crossing the letter J off my list. Just like that.

My apologies. I wanted to post couple of George Carlin clips, but they aren't very polite, so I decided instead to post some pictures of Jamaica. I visited Jamaica many, many years ago and loved the beauty of the country and the kindness of the people. So here's a little beauty for your day. The second video is Jamaican Bob Marley singing about War.

And so I creep quietly away from "J" late in the afternoon on a Monday in June. Wishing you Jokes, Justice, Joy and Jolly times.

One Single Impression: Melody

This week's prompt for One Single Impression was "melody." Only managed to do 5-7-5 once. Just couldn't get away from six syllables for the last line for some reason... not that it matters that much in the end, but I do love the game of trying to keep to the count and still have some music/meaning to the words.

When I used to sing
Voice lifted by melody
That was joy indeed

The comfort of song
Wrapped in arms of melody
My heart takes solace

Melody is mine
I love to let my voice rise
Invoking harmony

It’s like touching God
To sing full voice – melody
But harmony is love

Much as I love the melody of song
I love too the music of words
Rhythm and cadence
Flowing sound
Telling as much as
The words themselves
Words have energy,
Power
The same sentence
Spoken with a different heart
Vibrates with a different feel
Written or spoken
Words carry the spirit of the speaker
Truth has its own music
Resonant and clear
Melodic to the soul

Slavery by Another Name

I borrowed this photo from Mr. Blackmon's website. If you click on it it will take you to his site.

I watched Bill Moyer's Journal last night. It was conversations about racism and slavery and it was an awesome program. Each of the three segments was rich in information and profound discussion. The segment that blew me away, though, was a conversation with a writer from the Wall Street Journal named Douglas Blackmon who has written a book called Slavery by Another Name. What he documents is mind boggling and explains much of why this nation has had such difficulty healing the scars of racism.

What he discovered is that although immediately after the Civil War, freed slaves actually did have a fair measure of freedom, that over the course of the next 20 or 30 years, a series of laws were put into effect in the south that effectively forced blacks back into a form of slavery that was simply not acknowledged as what it was. The scale and the shamelessness of it is stunning. And equally stunning is that in a free country we have allowed ourselved to not know.

I don't know why this surprises me really. I remember being shocked by my own willing ignorance before I went to college and took some black lit classes. I had always know that there were lynchings... I wasn't that ignorant - but it wasn't until I was in my 20s that I understood just what lynchings were. My idea of a lynching came from cowboy movies. It was evil and ugly, but it was quick and clean. I had no idea - and I don't think I was alone in this - that lynching in the South often involved torture and castration... and that crowds of onlookers cheered these murderers on. That stunned me. Both that it happened and that in a free country with a free press, we could allow ourselves to remain ignorant of it. This wasn't ancient history, either. These lynchings were happening while I grew up.

Bad as they were, though, I am stunned to learn that laws were used to erroneously arrest black men and women and quite literally sell them into servitude. It wasn't called slavery. But that's what it was. And this began in the 1930s. It explains so much about why black anger is still so raw and fresh.

I couldn't figure out how to imbed the Bill Moyer's clip here, but I can provide a link to it. PLEASE take the time to watch it. I highly recommend the video of the other two segments too. A profound program.

Blackmon has his own website for the book also called Slaverybyanothername.com

Saturday Wordzzle Challenge: Week 18

It's week 18 of the Saturday Wordzzle challenge. Anyone new to the process can refer back here to find out how it works. I wish somebody else was to blame for the selection of words and phrases because I really hated this week's collection and had an awful time coming up with anything coherent. Hope the rest of you did better than I did.

The words for this week's ten word challenge were: solitaire, pathological, grackles, alternative life style, manifest destiny, polarization, ugly duckling, folding chairs, flibberty-gibbet, hand grenade And for the Mini Challenge: marathon, the butler did it, curtain, hand cream, flatulence

Here's my ten-word offering for this week.

Samantha wished she had not turned the news on. Listening to the pathological maniac sitting quietly on an old rusty folding chair passionately explain why he had thrown a hand grenade into a school full of young children made her feel despondent and hopeless. He sat there, clearly insane, using phrases like manifest destiny, polarization and alternative life style to explain his "purpose." It made her want to scream. But she was not sure who she thought more vile, the maniac or the media who aired his insanity with voyaristic delight as though it was entertainment and not tragedy. Turning off the TV, she was grateful for the distraction of a game of solitaire and then the squabbling flock of grackles outside her window. "Poor ugly duckling birds," she thought, gawky fliberty-gibbets of the bird world. She had thought them hideous once, but time and familiarity had given her a strange affection for them and tonight, she was more than usually grateful to have them entertain her and remind her that there was more to life than dead children and mad men.

And here's my mini challenge:

Matilda lay groaning on the sofa, her stomach in knots, punishing her with nausea and flatulence alternately. Is this the way the curtain goes down on my life, she moaned? Watching a Columbo marathon? This episode was called “The Butler Did It” and involved a hand cream magnate who was trying to frame the butler (with whom she had been having an affair) for the murder of his wife. "I should have such problems," she groaned again, as perhaps the smelliest fart in the history of farts made it’s way out of her body. She knew it was really, really bad because, Fluffy, her ever faithful poodle, who seldom left her side was quickly disappearing into the next room. This is the way the world ends, she groaned. Not with a bang but a fart.”

And the mega challenge

Having always been an ugly duckling kind of girl and a notorious fliberty-gibbet, Lula May Markey had never anticipated a life different from her humble beginnings. Who would have thought that the daughter of a pathological, lying drunk who thought flatulence was a skill, would one day move from a world of rusty folding chairs and grackles in the “garden,” to such a magnificently alternative life style. She thought about the polarization of the two halves of her life. If she could have thrown a hand grenade into her father’s trailer and blown him up with it, she would have done so gladly, but instead, with her husband’s loving assistance, she had simply closed the curtain on her past. The wonder and joy of her new life was mind boggling a shift from cruelty and virtual slavery to lavish luxury. Here at Manifest Destiny Mansion, if something unpleasant needed doing, the butler did it, not her. What was perhaps more amazing was that her resurrection into a life of hand cream, caviar and solitaire diamonds – more amazing and wonderful – a life of tenderness and love – had been brought about by a big goofy dog. “Marathon, you wonderful goofy mutt, she whispered, rubbing his ear. “Thank you.”

***********

This week's vanity wordzzle used the words: boob, effervescent, dictator, macadam, monolith, zoom, toggle bolt, macabre, Budget Rent-A-Car, monster, file cabinet

The Budget Rent-A-Car Chevrolet Capri sat dead, hood open on the burning hot macadam of the empty highway. Martin was muttering something about fan belts and toggle bolts and she knew from the way he spoke that he had no idea what he was talking about. Her usually good-natured and effervescent personality was no match for the heat or the endless emptiness that seemed to stretch for miles around them. There was no traffic zooming by, no other travelers to offer solace of rescue. The only hint of civilization was a macabre looking black monolith in the distance. It looked sinister and she thought it more likely to house monsters than kindly farmers. She was frightened, and that made her cranky. “Dim-witted boob,” she muttered angrily. “If you weren’t such a stupid, abysmal jerk of a dictator we wouldn’t be in this mess, Martin, and you may as well stop pretending that you have any more idea than I do how to fix that car. We’re going to die and it’s your fault. “Yes, dear, you may be right.” “Damn.” She hated that about him. He never got upset about anything. Didn’t matter how angry she got or how unfair she was being, he would just smile sweetly. Only once in the 25 years of their life together had she seen him angry - the time early in their marriage - when he had found her rummaging in his file cabinet. She had intended it as a gesture of love. She would get to know about his patients so she could be a more supportive wife. He had raged on about privacy and confidentiality. She had been very young then, and when, taking a breath, he had seen the devastation on her face, he had calmed down and explained more gently. It made her feel tender towards him again and she thought to herself that if she were going to die in the middle of nowhere, she couldn’t have better company. “I love you, Marty,” she whispered, “but next year I plan our vacation.

Next Week's Ten Word Challenge will be: fabulous, aristocrat, tricycle, soft summer breeze, cat litter, silver-tongued devil, curtain rod, lilacs, Abraham Lincoln, garbage can

And for the Mini Challenge: strangle-hold, revelation, dormancy, tripod, space cadet

Thanks for playing. For those who are new, here are some guidelines to make the process more fun.

Enjoy! See you next week.

DON'T FORGET TO ADD YOUR NAME TO MR. LINKY!!!!!

Skywatch Friday

Oh dear... another thing to get hooked on. I don't know that I'll do this every week, though, because never leaving the house means that it will be the same sky all the time with different clouds and I'm not sure how exiting that is for anyone. But it has been an exceptionally beautiful week for clouds/sky, so here are a few pictures out my back door. Sky Watch Friday is hosted by Tom at Welcome to Wigger's World. Drop by and you will find hundreds of links to sky scenes.

Poem of the Week: Called by the Spirit

CALLED BY THE SPIRIT


Called by the Spirit
We back away
For fear of being burned, consumed
We let the holy fire within us die
Called by the Spirit
We do not hear
That the voice cries from within
To be set free
To set us not afire but alight
And bring us to communion
With our God.

- Katherine E. Rabenau

This doesn't really have much to do with the poem but I always like to have something visual and not just text and I think these photos are very cool so I'm adding them. And they do kind of show the fire within... In the summer of 1996 a friend and I did a healing workshop in New York City. We had made friends with a woman who did aura photography and as part of the workshop everyone - including us - received before and after aura photos. I think the workshop had about 12 or 15 participants and I was doing reiki on all of them throughout the evening, so I was really on fire so to speak. I just think these are amazing.




















I'd like to ask a favor of everyone. Part of what made me think of these photos is that my niece, Diana has been trying to improve my reiki site. This weekend she offered to move it onto a much slicker wordpress website than my geocities site that I made myself. I'd love to know what people think. (I'm pretty sure I know the answer, but... ) Diana is still working on the do-over site since I was all freaked out about my tree when she broached the subject with me and I'm not that good at change anyway - even good change. So anyway. What do you think?

Oh - and if you think of it. The aforementioned Diana and her significant other have started their own web design company called Xondie. They are pretty darned talented in my opinion. If you know anybody looking for web design help, they are the best. While I'm bragging about her, maybe you could check out Diana's Foodscout website too. It's an awesome source of information on nutrition and food.

Good Reporting: Lara Logan

(please scroll down for Wordless Wednesday)

I love this woman. I wish there were more like her. Her words at the end about people being tired of the war are profound. The second interview is older, but I love her passion. They are each about 7 minutes. If you have to choose listen to the one from last night's Daily Show.

Wordless Wednesday: An Odd Assortment

HAPPY WORDLESS WEDNESDAY!!!

I was all set to be truly wordless and then I remembered that I got this in my email today. I'm sure most of you know about it, but just in case... The National Wildlife Federation's Annual Photo contest is still open for entries until July 1st. It's out of my league, but so many of you are so talented...

Not Really Heads or Tails Tuesday: Obesity

(Please scroll down for Ruby Tuesday.)

Went to sign in to Mr. Linky and discovered that Heads or Tails Tuesday has been canceled. The theme was to have been wait or weight. I chose the dark road of weight. Since the post already up - except for what I'm adding now - I'm going to leave it.

I cheated though. This is one of two articles I wrote several years ago on the subject of obesity and agoraphobia. For those with nothing better to do here is a link to the other one. Weight is a profoundly painful issue for me and has been so for my whole life. Although I was not always obese as I am now, I always FELT obese even when I weighed a 118 or 125 pounds. One of my keenest memories is standing next to my closet feeling fairly good about myself at 118 pounds and having my mother come in and say to me, "If only you lost some weight, you could be so pretty." The history of my mother and her obsession with my weight is a long and painful one. Anyway, here's what I wrote.

I am not in my body
It is filled instead with fear
And voices, many voices
They are angry with me
And I don’t know why
They are angry about that too
“Stupid girl,” they say,
“How could you not know?”
My body is big – very big
It is like a costume I wear
So people won’t see how small I feel
So people won’t see my fear
Or maybe that’s why
I’m not really sure
It doesn’t work, of course
And now the voices scold about that too
“Stupid, ugly, fat girl,” they say,
Have you no shame?
Ironic they should ask that
Since it seems I am made of shame
Shame and fat and fear and nothing else

~ Katherine E. Rabenau

Obesity stinks. There. That’s it. I’ve said what I have to say. Obesity stinks. You don’t get to enjoy your food. Everyone thinks you do nothing but eat, which isn’t the least bit true. You don’t get to wear pretty clothes. Even though the selection of clothing for the size-ually challenged has improved, it still isn’t very good and of course the way things look on the skinny models in the catalog has nothing to do with the reality of what they look like on an actual fat person. Adding insult to injury, the darned things cost more than the pretty clothes that skinny people wear. Grrr. There are a lot of things about the big outside world that are not friendly to the morbidly obese. Bus seats are designed for space conservation and normal bodies, not outsized ones. Movie seats, airline seats, restaurant booths can be difficult, uncomfortable, or for the very obese, even impossible to manage. No wonder we stay home. We are not welcome out there.

I’ve been pretty lucky (except for my family) in terms of people being overtly unkind to me about my weight, but many people aren’t so lucky. I am so shy and anxious when I am out in the world that the cruelty may just pass me by. And anyway, there’s nobody out there who can be more unkind to me than I am, which has just reminded me of an exercise I did in therapy a number of years ago. I think I will share it here because while it is my personal inner dialog, I don’t think that my self-hate falls far from the norm. We each brew our pain out of the cauldron of our unique life experiences, but in the end, by and large it is the subtleties that are different, while the core of self hate remains constant. Dr. Jim as I called my awesome therapist, assigned me a series of writing assignments at one point in our work together. It was some of the most profound work we did together and since I like to write, it was also fun. I don't remember exactly what the assignment which brought her to life was, but one of the voices born of these assignments belong to someone named "Madeleine." I have to say that I kind of love this dark, cruel, Madeleine side of myself. She’s so incredibly mean that it’s hard to understand why, but I think what I love about her is her certainty. She has no self doubt. Madeleine is pure in the truth and depth of her cruelty and hate. I think I admire that certainty. I think that loving her, finding her amusing, is also a way of protecting myself from how annihilating her hatred of me is. But enough introduction, Madeleine speaks quite eloquently for herself:

Madeleine watched with disgust as the large woman moved laboriously down the street. It was bad enough to be that gross and ugly, but how could she dress that way, with the wrinkly cellulite bulges packed into her pants so that every ripple and wrinkle and fold of flab hung out there like an affront to all decent people. How could she wear clothes that rode up and bunched and curled and let the contours of her grotesqueness show? How could she?! Did she have no pride, no shame? Bad enough to have had so little control that she was huge and ungainly, but to walk around like that, to force other people to look at her. Ugh. It was disgusting. It was thoughtless and inconsiderate. It was shameless. Oh, she knew fat people had rights, but they didn't deserve them. They looked horrible and they took up too much space and even the best of them looked slovenly. Clothing was not designed for those kind of contours. Nor should it be. They deserved their shame these women who ate and ate and ate and did nothing to control themselves, but still, they should have some pride, some consideration for the feelings of others. But no, they were content to be eyesores, to wear clothes that fit too tight. It was disgusting enough when these little thin women did that, let their bodies be outlined, their nipples showing underneath their clothes, their legs bare and arms and throat. But when these huge monstrosities did it, it was obscene. Why, some of them even wore shorts these days! Shorts. And you could see their fat, stumpy legs, and then, what really repulsed her, the knees, screaming attention to the huge, dimpled thighs, that no longer even looked human. It was crude and vulgar and low class to look like that. You did not see any fat Rockerfellers or Kennedys. There were no fat writers or singers or lawyers or business people. It was a sign of some congenital dementia. It was a sign of stupidity and ineptitude. It was a sign of greed and venality. Fat people ought to die or be locked up somewhere for the protection of solid citizens like herself, so they could not cheat and steal and eat more than their share. And they oughtn't to be allowed on buses and trains either. It wasn't crowded enough without confronting one of these monster women, these one- person crowds? It made her skin crawl just to look at them, made her want to vomit up her lunch as though her body wanted to make sure she was never like that. She wanted to push that woman into a ditch somewhere and leave her there stranded and helpless, trapped there by her wicked mounds of flesh to be eaten by rats while she struggled like a beached whale to right herself and get away. "Yes," Madeleine thought, "that would be justice."

Well, Madeleine, is an extreme voice. She does not sugar-coat her feelings or cloak them in the social niceties. It’s clear exactly where she stands. Unfortunately, I don’t think that she stands far from the place that many or most of us who carry an extra body around to punish ourselves for being human stand, if we really admit the truth. She does not stand far from where our culture stands. It does not approve of fat people. Actually, it does not approve of fat women. Men, for some reason are not judged as harshly for extra weight as women. But that is the subject for another day and topic.

The messages that we as individuals take from society are ultimately only reflections of our inner vision of ourselves, the voices of our inner Madeleines and Marges and Marys. The first step in disabling them of their power is listening to what they have to say. Hearing it for the cruel insanity that it is. One of the “agreements,” in Don Miguel Ruiz’s book The Four Agreements is to understand that the cruelty that life dishes out to us “isn’t personal.” That’s true of the voices of judgment that come to us from outside, but also true of the internalized mothers and monsters whose voices often dominate our lives. Ruiz’ analogizes it to being offered a cup of poison, which you can choose to drink or not to drink. For so much of my life, I have dined on that poison as though it were nectar from the gods.

Madeleine’s voice inside me will not be silenced easily. She has been there almost forever. Instead of being charmed by her certainty or fearfully drinking her brew of hate, I know that I have to stop and listen with my heart. However powerful she may pretend to be, Madeleine’s voice is a voice of fear and loneliness. I also have to face the truth that however the seed of her malevolence was planted in me – by my mother, my brother, society, a rapist – in the end, Madeleine is me. Since I am no longer a child, I am responsible for her behavior and her words. And also for my own. So instead of partaking of her poison the next time she offers it – and she will – I think I will offer her a bowl of chicken soup, maybe, with a lot of love and hope and even some forgiveness mixed in. “Hush, Madeleine,” I will coo to her, “It’s ok. I love you just as you are.”

I wish I could say that I had lived this last paragraph. I haven't. But I'm still working on it. Too many people share this kind of pain. I think it is sad and destructive and wicked and I wish we would change our ways because too many people - especially young women - suffer needlessly and think less of themselves when they have no reason to do so. What a tragic waste.

Ruby Tuesday

Maryt/The Teach over at Work of the Poet has something called Ruby Tuesday which features red. There isn't a lot of red in my little world but there is some. Today, I thought I'd share some photos of one of my reiki bears. His name is Pierre LeBear. He is sweet and charming and very, very red. I hope you enjoy meeting him. Angel, as usual, insisted on participating so Pierre, being the jovial fellow he is, decided to embrace her participation. As you can see, she was not amused.

I think I'll add a picture of the roses in my back yard because I think they look really pretty and are a good distraction from the body of half of my big pine tree that is still sprawled across the bulk of my little yard.

The Alphabet Backwards: K is for Kindness

Oddly, I was wondering all week - what on earth can I do for the letter "K"? All I could think of was kangaroo and my first name. (It's been a rough week.) Then on Saturday when, after lightning came through and killed half of one of my big pine trees, my neighbor was by within a half hour to ask about it, I realized that kindness was a shoe-in for this week.

I'm very blessed by my neighbors here, particularly Shawn S and his mother who live in the big house across the street - the one with the yard that looks like a park. All winter long, Shawn clears everyone's snow. He doesn't ask anything in return. Says he has the blower and might as well use it. I do pay him to mow my lawn twice a month, but when he knocked on the door and asked about my tree, he didn't ask for money when he said he'd take care of it. I gave him what I could afford - not nearly enough - anyway, but this was - and still is - a HUGE job. He spent all yesterday morning and early afternoon, sawing the old tree into sections and putting the branches into piles. This afternoon, I guess, the town - which is a pretty nice little town - will bring a big truck - and (after he gets home from a full day of work) he'll move everything out to the road and load it up.


My life has been rich in kindness. So many kind friends and strangers. Finding my house was the result of the kindness of multiple people: My friend Rosalie who drove me around looking when I was close to giving up; Sue Martin who worked at New York State's HOYO office and worked very hard to help me as well as helping me keep my spirits up when things didn't look so good; and my niece Diana who helped with encouragement and a bunch of money.... so many people. I started to try and list them and the task is overwhelming.

Alas, even as I'm awash in feelings of gratitude, today I also seem to be drowning in a sea of self pity. My brain is refusing to put coherent thoughts together. It just wants to wallow in worry and self pity even though there is nothing to worry about or feel sorry for myself about. How lucky can I be. That tree could have fallen and hit my house... or the neighbor's house. It could have done a lot of damage and it did almost none. I could be without kind neighbors.

There is another piece of the past two days that I wasn't going to talk about. It's a kitty thing. I discovered yesterday that one of my girls - probably Tara Grace - has been peeing on the guest bed. I'm not sure when or why this has happened. Like the tree, it's a nuisance, not a happy thing, but not the end of the world. Yet I'm reacting to it as though it is - and by completely disconnecting from my brain and my feelings.

These kinds of events bring my inner demons dancing merrily into the light. The crazy voice in my head thinks I should be out there chopping up that tree. I should be out there carrying big logs to the front of the house in preparation for removal. I should hoist the mattress on my shoulder and drag it off to the junk yard or run to the store and find something to fix it with. Not only that, I should never have let it happen... and if I weren't a mental case, it never would have. (My inner demons think kindness is for sissies and suckers.) It is when these things come up that my agoraphobia becomes torture on a grand scale. And the monster who has locked me in my house gets to beat me up for listening to it.

So this is a pretty pathetic treatise on kindness. More a self-pity rant. I apologize for that. I am in fact very blessed with kindness from so many sources. But I'm going to leave off here and post this because there's another big storm about to come through. I may add some more pictures of Shawn's hard work once the weather passes.

And I want to thank all of you for your kindnesses. For reading my words, for kind comments, for the kindness that you all do in your individual lives and write about on your blogs. You all enrich my life and I'm very grateful for that... even when I'm feeling sorry for myself.

One Single Impression: Transience or Permanence

This week's prompt for One Single Impression was "transience or permanence." This is sort of a hodge-podge of thoughts and ideas, plus two poems for my tree that got struck by lightning yesterday afternoon. Half of it was struck away and I'm hoping that the other half will survive. Everything is haiku except this first one.

Because we do not fear it,
We let laughter flow through us
Transient, healing, pure
But shame holds anger permanent
Intransigent as stone
Weighing us down like lead
Maybe we should find a way
To move the anger through
And hang on to the laughter

Transient as days
Time befriends eternity
Vast as an instant

Moment by moment
Eternity finds itself
Fluid and constant

What was God thinking
My flaws are steady as rocks
My virtues fleeting

Mother Nature Got Cranky

Wasn't feeling well and decided to take a nap this afternoon. Not long into it, Tara Grace started fussing and crying in a way that was out of character. She usually loves naps. Eventually - since I wasn't getting any rest anyway - I got up and a few minutes later a massive storm came through. The rain was coming down so hard you could barely see through it. Then I heard a funny noise in the back yard. When I went to look I saw that one of my big trees had its second hit this year - a major one this time. I hope what's left will survive.










I was surprised to discover these roses yesterday. They seem to have survived the storm...

Saturday Wordzzle Challenge: Week Seventeen

It's week 17 of the Saturday Wordzzle challenge. Anyone new to the process can refer back here to find out how it works. Three of this week's words (prenomial, vituperative & inexplicable) came from Jay Simser. If anyone else wants to send me some suggestions, I'm more than open to them... or if someone wants to take responsiblity for picking all the words for any given week, I'd love that too.

The words for this week's ten word challenge were: prenomial, inexplicable, tangerine, masks, chocolate cake, panorama, librarian, Stonehenge, meek, florid And for the Mini Challenge: vituperative, bunny rabbit, house warming, sanitation, triangular

Here's my ten-word offering for this week.

The whole thing was inexplicable to her and Gloria hated that. “What the hell is all this about? Prenomial? Who wrote this crap? I’m an actress, for God’s sake, not a librarian. She was working her way up to a full blown tantrum. “Where the hell is Charlie! Get me Charlie NOW!” she bellowed in full diva voice. “And Where’s my chocolate cake? I want my damned cake! And make sure it has tangerines on the side this time, not oranges. Is there not one competent human being left on the planet? CHARLIE!” she shrieked even louder. Meek and mild-mannered, the aforementioned Charlie – who had the misfortune of being both Gloria’s manager and her husband - glanced pensively around the panorama of the huge theater as though looking for a means of escape. Looking at the huge Stonehenge set currently under construction, he muttered softly, “Oh to be in England…” Then, trying to mask both his anxiety and his irritation, he glued a huge smile onto his face and entered the arena. “Gloria, magnificent one…. You bellowed?”

And here's my mini challenge:

Building a house deep in the country had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now that it was completed, some of the romance of living in the country had begun to fade. The gala house warming two weeks earlier had been a great success, but continuing days surrounded by only crickets, crows and bunny rabbits was beginning to wear on them. Since she had discovered that Triangle Sanitation did not offer garbage services as far into the country as their little “retreat,” Marsha’s enthusiasm for country living had waned considerably and her hostility towards her husband Howard had taken on an increasingly vituperative tone. For his part, Howard, who had envisioned country living as idyllic, was hoping that maybe Walmart or some big gas company would offer to desecrate his land and free him to return to the miseries of city living.

And the mega challenge:

Looking around her new home as she prepared for her house warming, librarian Paloma Parker felt inexplicably happy. The citizens Triangle Township had welcomed her with open arms and kind hearts. The vituperative slander and scandal of her previous job was behind her and had turned out to be more of a gift than a tragedy. Despite seeming meek and diffident, she was actually quite an adventurer. A look at the collection of exotic masks and other art piece that decorated her walls as well as the photos from her travels gave quick evidence that she was quiet in demeanor only. Of her travel photos she especially loved the panoramic view of Stonehenge which she had taken on a recent trip. She also had hung some more unusual shots. Her favorite of those was of a building and garbage truck, each labeled with the peculiar name Prenomial Sanitation. She loved words and had always wondered who had named that company and why. Alas, research had proved fruitless and nobody at the company had known either. It was one of life’s unsolved mysteries. Next she cast a happy eye on her collection of porcelain bunny rabbits from around the world and gave a sigh of contented pleasure. She felt truly at home here. With a last check of her banquet table, she gazed the assortment of foods from deviled eggs to tuna salad to her signature triple heaven chocolate cake decorated with slices of tangerine and strawberries and felt very pleased. Then, moving to answer the door bell, she gave a quick smile to the florid-faced woman in the portrait on the wall and said, “It’s a new day, Mom. And a better one.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

This week's vanity wordzzle used the words: antennae, paper bag, schmuck, devotee, brass tea kettle, cactus, Rubbermaid dish drainer, rocking horse, buried treasure, fleet of foot, nomenclature

Peter's imagination had always been bizarre. He could not help it. Even as a small child he had seen things differently. His sister saw a rocking horse, but Peter saw a grand stallion, wild and untamed, fleet of foot. Even now he simply saw things differently. Where some people saw a cactus, Peter saw a plant creature waving a greeting. His wife - whom he had also seen differently when he married her - thought he was a schmuck. "Grow up you weirdo," she had shrieked at him only this morning. Harry, his agent and an ardent devotee of Peter's art, had told him it was only a matter of perspective and then had changed it to nomenclature. "One woman's schmuck is another man's genius. Buck up, Petey and see what you can do with this lot. Harry had gone hunting again for buried treasure. Once a week he would go to the city dump and haul back three or four large paper bags full of magical items for Peter to transform into new wonders. He loved the anticipation of wondering what Peter would come up with. Tonight's haul, he thought, was exceptional: an old dented and burned down brass tea kettle, a large yellow Rubbermaid dish drainer, two brown and two green glass bottles, and a bent TV antenna. He loved to watch Peter's face - like a child's opening presents. And then, either right on the spot, or a few days later, Peter would work his little miracles. The dish drainer would become a dragon or a rhinoceros, the antenna and bottles part of some giant bug. Things like that. You just never knew what Peter would do, but one thing you could be certain of was that it would be unexpected and that was what delighted Harry so. When Peter was around, ordinary things became extraordinary, and because nothing was mundane or predictable, life took on just a little extra sparkle. In Peter's company, Harry felt his own imagination perk up, pay attention and be glad. Harry could hardly wait for his next trip to the dump.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Next Week's Ten Word Challenge will be: solitaire, pathological, grackles, alternative life style, manifest destiny, polarization, ugly duckling, folding chairs, flibberty-gibbet, hand grenade

And for the Mini Challenge: marathon, the butler did it, curtain, hand cream, flatulence

Thanks for playing. For those who are new, here are some guidelines to make the process more fun.

Enjoy! See you next week.

DON'T FORGET TO ADD YOUR NAME TO MR. LINKY!!!!!

Fable of the Month: The Hole

Well, it's Friday the 13th and I haven't got anything much to say, so I thought I'd post the "Fable of the Month." This is a silly little story I wrote as part of a class exercise years ago. I'm not going to let the fact that it isn't a fable and it isn't very good daunt me. The paintings are by Degas.

THE HOLE
by
Katherine E. Rabenau

Miranda was ecstatic! Her hair was piled atop her head with all the elegance of a grand dame. Her eyes were huge and mysterious in exaggerated stage make up, and her soft pink tutu was a child's dream. She was a fairy princess! No, better. She was an honest-to-God ballerina, about to make her debut - at Lincoln Center, no less! The day was magic. Everything was magic. She was magic! In a short time her cue would come and she would float onto the stage and...

It was just at that moment that she saw the hole. It was only the size of a dime, high up on the thigh, where the skirt of her tutu would probably cover it, but in Miranda's mind, it was enormous, with huge gobs of flabby cellulite flesh pouring out like lava, in grim, wrinkly waves. It was a nightmare. It was a horror. It was beyond ugly. And there was no time to change. The cue she had anticipated so eagerly was now a thing of dread. From ecstasy, Miranda had lunged directly to despair. Shame washed over her. Her glorious hair, her lovely face, her grace and talent became as nothing next to THE HOLE. In her mind's eye, it grew larger and larger with each passing second. How could she go out there looking like this?!? Would that vast sea of faces see her? No! Their eyes would be riveted to the damned HOLE. It would glow out at them like a beacon, a wrinkly, fleshy horror, and all else would be lost in its hideous glare.

"I can't go on," she moaned. The humiliation would be too much. It was too awful, too inconceivable. There was no God, no justice. All her training, all her work, her dreams, sunk into a cursed little hole in her damned tights. The injustice! "I can't go on," she moaned again. But of course she had to go on. The ballet had already begun and the others were counting on her. It would be torture. It would finish her career, but go on she must.

"Two minutes," came the voice of the stage manager, and suddenly she heard the sweet call of the music pulling at her feet, and then came her cue. All else was forgotten and there was nothing but the music and the dance.

THE END

Articles of Impeachment Against George W. Bush

(Scroll down for this week's Poem of the Week.)

Earlier this week, Dennis Kucinich offered Articles of Impeachment against George W. Bush. This has gotten more coverage than his Articles of Impeachment against Dick Cheney, but not much.

Whether or not Congress has the integrity to act, I'm so grateful that there are people like Kucinich (D-Ohio) and Wexler (D-Florida), who care enough about this nation and about justice and who have the courage to take action. Where is our national outrage? These charges aren't about somebody being stupid in his private life - they are about actions which have caused hundreds of thousands of deaths, have virtually bankrupted the nation, have violated our Constitution and our fundamental ethics....

WHY DON'T WE CARE???? Why in the face of the outrages committed by the Bush administration, is Dennis Kucinich like a voice crying in the wilderness? I'm sad for my country. And I"m angry with her too. While I appreciate Obama's talk of change - and I like him - where is his voice or Mrs. Clinton's on this subject? I don't know that we can rebuild this nation until we take responsibility for what we have done - or allowed GWB to do in our name. That means publicly trying him and his hench persons and holding them (and therefore ourselves) legally responsible for their crimes against this country and the world. It's a mixed metaphor, but I can't think of anything better, so sweeping the Bush administration's crimes under the rug will not clean our systems of the poisons they have injected into it. While I believe deeply in the power of positive thinking, I think happy thoughts alone will not suffice. (I'm adding this late in the evening. Should have added it earlier. Here is a link to the actual articles of impeachment so you can read them if you wish to do so.)

I hope you will listen to at least this first speech. It will only take 7 minutes of your time to do so.

This one dates back to when he offered articles of impeachment against Cheney last year. Tucker Carlson is (in my opinion) a jerk. Kucinich is a national treasure.

On a lighter note, I stole this from Jay Simser's blog (Baily's Buddy). It's called WHY I'M VOTING REPUBLICAN...

Poem of the Week: Waiting for the Unicorn

WAITING FOR THE UNICORN

Always in my mind
Rides the dream
Silver light and darkness
Diana in the moonlight
Stalking shadows
Bow and arrow poised
Waiting for Apollo
To drop burning from the sky
Revealing unseen beasts
And beauties
Waiting
Eternally waiting
For the arrow to fly
And waiting too
For the unicorn.

Katherine E. Rabenau

Truly Wordless Wednesday: After the Storm

(Please scroll down for the last installment of Project Blue)

HAPPY WORDLESS WEDNESDAY!!!

Farewell Project Blue Conglomeration

Today is the eleventh and final day of Anna Carson's Project Blue. It's hot and humid here and the muse has apparently decided to vacation elsewhere for the final day of Project Blue. I close with what feels like a fizzle. Not that the rest of my posts were that great, but I just couldn't make anything work the way I wanted it to today. The big cross-like thing would not cooperate no matter what I did. It was a house-warming gift when I got my first apartment 41 years ago. It's old and worn out and discolored but it's precious to me. I came up with what seemed like a very cool way to photograph it, but I couldn't make it work - not after dark anyway. I may try again in the morning and if it works, I'll add it. As for the rest...

The little blue bear was a gift from my nephew many years ago.



I am a compulsive worrier. My niece saw this and felt she had to buy it for me. It is sage counsel and a good reminder to me.

Donna O'Toole - a wonderful friend - made this for me in the dim past. I don't know how to honor the place Donna held in my life. Losing her friendship - or at least losing track of it - still makes me sad.

Ok... I'm adding this... It's still not right because I don't really know how to use the camera except to just point and shoot, but it's at least the idea of what I wanted to do...


This is the cover of one of my friend Saggio's CDs. His music is wonderful.

This little birdhouse is on the tree in front of my house. So far, I've never seen any birds in it, but I hope maybe one day someone will move it.


My nephew's gift again.


Looking forward to Anna's next adventure in color. Thanks to Anna for hosting this project and to those of you who have been kind enough to visit and leave kind comments.

My Project Blue posts include:

Blue Skies
Seldom Used Objects
A Box and Some Rocks
Peace
A Strange Assortment
Viviane's Gift
Blues around the House
Clouds and Blue Skies
Blue Madness
Odds and Ends
Blue Conglomeration

Ruby Tuesday; Charcoal on Red

Maryt/The Teach over at Work of the Poet has something called Ruby Tuesday which features red. I wasn't going to do Ruby Tuesday this week. So much blue, so many photos... and I'm not sure how much red I have in my little world, but I did take this picture last week, thinking about Ruby Tuesday and I'm thinking... what the heck....

This is a self-portrait by an artist friend I knew in New York City. I shared one of his paintings earlier in one of my Project Blue posts. He was (at the time I knew him anyway) truly a tortured soul, but oh, so talented. I have lost touch with him, but I hope he is still painting and doing well. His name is Don Madia.

Project Blue, Take Ten: Odds and Ends

Today is day ten of Anna Carson's Project Blue, which draws to a close tomorrow.

This first picture is just sort of goofy, but I like it anyway, even though I couldn't get the card to be readable.


My assistant Angel had her reservations about the blue in this screwdriver and she didn't think much of this placement.

After putting some effort into adjusting the position here....

She concluded that the screwdriver project was unworthy and should be scrapped....

This picture is kind of weird and I'm not sure why I'm posting it. This is a necklace that a friend gave me many years ago. She brought it back from Sedona, AZ. The reason I kind of like this despite the stark white that I had behind the face is because of its similarity with the face on the book. Wish I could say this was clever planning. Pure accident. If I'd been planning I would have done it differently.

This is the back of the necklace.....

Tara Grace felt that she should be allowed to participate in Project Blue since Angel has done so. This is her contribution.


My Project Blue posts include:

Blue Skies
Seldom Used Objects
A Box and Some Rocks
Peace
A Strange Assortment
Viviane's Gift
Blues around the House
Clouds and Blue Skies
Blue Madness
Odds and Ends

The Alphabet Backwards: Looking for the Lovely

(Please check below for Project Blue)

Ok... I'm feeling lazy. I thought about writing on loneliness this morning or longing, but my heart isn't in it. It's a languid hot day here on the East Coast. Only in the 70s at the moment, but destined, according to the weather bureau to go up to 95 or so. Doesn't feel as humid as it did yesterday, which is nice. But I digress... I wanted to use the word languid. I love words. I suppose I could write about love, but that would require a lot of effort and thinking and talking about layers of meaning and I just don't feel like doing it. I would recommend a wonderful book by Don Miguel Ruiz, though, called The Mastery of Love. I read it during a very difficult time in my life and it helped me to survive.

Anyway, I decided to do something a little different this morning. Not sure if it's a good idea or not. A couple of years ago there was a children's book contest. You had to write a children's book of 100 words - no more than that. I decided to enter and I really loved what I wrote. It was a rare occasion when I actually thought I might win. (I didn't. Sigh. Didn't even come in 3rd or any number.) Anyway, my book was based on the concept I so love from Hawaiian Mysticism: Energy flows where attention goes.... and it's called Looking for the Lovely. I tried adding a few little pictures so it would seem illustrated. Wish I could draw.

Amanda awoke feeling sad and scared. It was the first day of school. Her family had just moved to Beckersville and she hadn't made any friends yet. "What if nobody likes me?" she asked her mother. "What if I don't belong?"

Her mother smiled, hugged her, and said, "Look for the Lovely."

"The Lovely... what's that? How can that help?"

"The Lovely is anything beautiful, anything that appeals to your heart and spirit. "When I was about your age, I too was feeling alone and unsure of myself. Grandmother Lucy taught me about looking for The Lovely.

"The Lovely can be anything - a flower, a kitten, a blue sky, a pretty tree, a friend's smile, or even a kind word or a funny joke. The Lovely is anything that lightens your heart or gives you joy - and it is everywhere if you make the effort to look for it.



"I don't see how that will help," Amanda mumbled, "I want to BE the lovely that everyone else looks for."

Her mother smiled at her. "You already are The Lovely to me; you're very pretty - inside and out. The magic of looking for The Lovely is that it not only draws the good and beautiful to us, it somehow reflects our own beauty outward at the same time. Let's practice right now while you eat your breakfast.
I'll go first: I see you, of course, fluffy clouds in a blue sky and my favorite sugar bowl. Now it's your turn.

Amanda smiled for the first time that morning: "Your face, Mom... and Mittens kitten... And Dad's galoshes," she giggled. "This is fun! "



On the ride to school, Amanda was amazed at all The Lovely she saw: "Look at that tree, Mom!" "And that
funny looking dog!"

In class, she continued to look for The Lovely. She noticed the beautiful pink of her teacher's dress... And a bright orange butterfly floating outside the classroom window. She was so absorbed in watching for The Lovely that she completely forgot to be worried about not knowing her classmates.

When a girl tapped her on the shoulder and said "Hi, my name is Jenny," Amanda smiled, broadly.

"I'm Amanda... You have the prettiest hair," she said, still absorbed in looking for The Lovely.

"Thank you," Jenny blushed happily, "Miss Smith said you're new here. That was me last year, so I thought you might need a friend."

"Do I ever!" Amanda blurted out. "I was so scared about coming to school this morning! You can't imagine!"

"Really? You seemed so relaxed and happy that I felt less shy about saying hello."

Amanda laughed, "My mother taught me a game this morning called Looking for the Lovely."

"I got so absorbed looking for lovely things that I forgot how scared I was!"

"How cool. Can I play too?" Jennifer asked.

"Sure. Want me to go first?"

That was the first day of a life-long friendship. For the rest of their live they always looked for beauty and magic... And it was LOVELY.

The End

This all reminds me of another very simple - and similar - concept - that has changed my life. About four years ago, I read this article by a man named Alan Cohen. He talks about using the mantra "Thank You for Everything. I have no complaints whatsoever." No matter what happens, or how bad it seems, try approaching it with this thought (even if you don't feel like you mean it) . For myself, I have round that doing so shifts my relationship to my situation. I also think that it opens the door to the Universe to bring in something new and better. There is great power in gratitude and putting your focus on what is beautiful and positive.

So that's my post for today's Alphabet Backwards. Only eleven letters left! Yippee! May your day be filled with love and loveliness.

Project Blue, Take Nine: Blue Madness

Today is day nine of Anna Carson's Project Blue. It started innocently enough. I got all excited because I realized that the kitty brush was blue. Blue is starting feel scarce, so this was good news. I thought, I'll try to be artsy with it to see if I can make it more interesting.... Angel helped with the first one (and several others). The third one isn't that good, but I like it anyway. Then I was looking for something and I found the ribbon. "Ribbon!" I thought. I have BLUE ribbon! So I took some pictures of the ribbon but they seemed boring, so I was trying to think of a way to make them interesting. I tried combining it with the brush but that wasn't that didn't really do anything for me. Then I thought I'll put Viviane's silk up... then I started adding things. Blue things. Some things I've taken before, some new. Soon they were all piled in a big disorderly heap of blue. They aren't good photos... and these are the best... but... they are blue. Blue, I tell you. That's all that matters... Must find blue. "Must photograph blue..." I was muttering as they carted me off...









My Project Blue posts include:

Blue Skies
Seldom Used Objects
A Box and Some Rocks
Peace
A Strange Assortment
Viviane's Gift
Blues around the House
Clouds and Blue Skies
Blue Madness

Project Blue, Take Eight: Clouds and Blue Skies

Today is day eight of Anna Carson's Project Blue. Feeling kind of blah and uncreative and unhappy with these clouds/blue skies (except the last one which I really like). I don't know why I am pretty much incapable of posting only one picture, one poem, one anything despite the fact that less is often more. Hope you all have a lovely day with only the prettiest of clouds and no rain (unless you need rain in which case I hope you get rain).









My Project Blue posts include:

Blue Skies
Seldom Used Objects
A Box and Some Rocks
Peace
A Strange Assortment
Viviane's Gift
Blues around the House
Clouds and Blue Skies

One Single Impression: Pets

This week's prompt for One Single Impression was "pets" Any excuse to share pictures of Angel and Tara Grace works for me. The haikus may be so-so, but aren't they just the most beautiful kitties ever?

Not sure why the top haiku for Angel isn't readable. You can click on the picture for a larger, easily readable version, but if you don't want to do that, it reads:

Paradoxical
Angel Joy is all sweetness
And a dozen imps

Project Blue, Take Seven: Blues Around the House

Today is day seven of Anna Carson's Project Blue. I couldn't decide what to post so I'm doing a bunch of things from around my house.

The Blue Bird of Happiness. The bigger bird was a gift from someone I was engaged to - such a mistake - for a brief time in 1978. A friend gave me the little one just a few weeks ago. Maybe the blue bird of happiness is even happier now that she has a friend.

This little pitcher is something my parents brought back from a trip to Europe. I'm pretty sure they got it in Wales. My mother taped a lable to the bottom that says "LLESTR / LLATHRLIW COPR / TRADDODIADOL / CYMREIG . I like the surprise of the blue enamel inside.

I tried to get a picture of Angel playing with this little globe.... the world at her paws.... She considers it - along with just about everything else I own - to be hers. She was too fast for me, though, so I just photographed it this way.

This painting was painted by a wonderful artist named Don Madia. He lives on Greenwich Avenue in New York - or he did 8 years ago when I knew him. I met him at a singing class and ended up doing a lot of reiki for him. He paid me in artwork. This photo doesn't do the painting justice. I should probably have tried a few more times but ...

From the sublime to the ridiculous. Tara Grace won't use this claw scratcher but Angel is quite fond of it. She likes to play with the little mouse toy that hangs inside. I never used the catnip that came with it. She's not stoned in this picture, she's just goofy.

This is Maxwell Smith Bear. He's one of the bears I use for long-distance reiki, though I don't use him too much these days. He was handy to have along when I went out of the house. If somebody needed reiki I could just slip him out of my hand bag.... I named him Maxwell as a pun. It must not be a very good pun because I always have to explain it and people still don't think it's funny. Maxwell is a healer bear so his name is a pun for Makes well... I think it's funny. Smith is embroidered on his foot. Hence Maxwell Smith.

One of my pretty rocks. I should know what it's called but I can't think of it at the moment.

My Project Blue posts include:

Blue Skies
Seldom Used Objects
A Box and Some Rocks
Peace
A Strange Assortment
Viviane's Gift
Blues around the House

Saturday Wordzzle Challenge: Week Sixteen

It's week 16 of the Saturday Wordzzle challenge. Anyone new to the process can refer back here to find out how it works. I don't know about anybody else, but I thought this week was really hard to do.... and I came up with the words so I have nobody to blame but myself. For next week's challenge, three of the words came from Jay Simser. If anyone else wants to send me some suggestions, I'm more than open to them.

The words for this week's ten word challenge were: spaghetti, larkspur, Prilosec, roaring lion, adamant, green green grass of home, paradox, filibuster, face cream, trout fishing And for the Mini Challenge: jury of ones peers, barking dog, a wing and a prayer, liver, sprained ankle

Here's my ten-word offering for this week.

“Where the hell is the Prilosec,” Alex shrieked like a roaring lion. Frantic, he pushed aside face cream, band aids, Vaseline, and a host of other things in his desperate search. “You’re killing me, Susie. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that spaghetti and my stomach don’t mix. I’m adamant about this. No more spaghetti.” In the other room, Susie shook her head. Oh, the bitter paradox of it all. Here was this selfish son of a bitch screaming at her about killing HIM, when she had succumbed after weeks of his virtual filibuster on the subject and had given up her longed-for vacation in Aruba to end up here in this hellish cabin so he could go trout fishing and she could wait on his sorry butt. Oh, how she longed for the green, green grass of home and her beautiful garden. The larkspur would be in bloom right now and she could be sitting on the patio with her feet up, sipping a nice glass of wine and enjoying a lovely meal of whatever she wanted, delivered to her door by some local restaurant. Many thoughts, many retorts raced through her mind as she listened to her husband’s petulant rant. Images of him buried under a mountain of spaghetti, drowned in tomato sauce flitted through her mind. But she would exact her revenge at another time. Instead, she answered mildly, “You chose this vacation, dear. If you don’t want spaghetti again tomorrow, I suggest you catch some fish. “

And my mini challenge:

Jumping quickly over the wire fence, Martin managed to avoid the barking dog. He had, it seemed escaped the grip of justice on a wing and a prayer and as well as a sprained ankle. But he had escaped. He had no desire to face a jury of his peers. Few, he thought, would sympathize with a lily-livered coward like himself for stealing from a little old lady, especially in the cause of paying off his bookie.

And finally the mega challenge:

Larkspur Lingwater hummed happily to herself as she removed the thick layer of face cream and gazed contentedly in the mirror. It was one of life’s odd paradoxes that now that she was no longer young and pretty, she none-the-less felt happier about herself. It was one of life’s miracles that two things as unlikely as a barking dog and a sprained ankle could have converged to bring love into her life when advanced years should have guaranteed perpetual loneliness. Nor was it theirs a love of desperation or solitude. Henry was all she had ever dreamed of - a roaring lion of a man, passionate, stubborn, adamant about his beliefs. But he was kind and tender too. One minute he could be filibustering on some topic like the obscenity of torturing ducks in order to harvest their livers and the next he would be waxing eloquent on the American legal system and the virtues of being judged by a jury of one’s peers. Where she had lived her whole life on a wing and a prayer, he had about him a solidity that was comforting without being stifling. Her make-up now complete, she blew herself a kiss in the bathroom mirror, popped a Prilosec (just in case the trout fishing expedition had not born trout and they were reduced to an meal of spaghetti) and headed for the kitchen just in time to hear the voice she so loved joyfully singing (that’s what he called it anyway) – the green, green grass of home. Then the door burst open and the love of her life announced, “Your hero has returned.” ”And you have brought fish, brave boy!” “So I have my love, “ he chuckled, sweeping her into his arms. “Tonight we shall feast.”

This week's vanity wordzzle used the words: Protuberance, fiddlesticks, Tai Chi, fundamentals, Persimmon tree, courageous, glow, top hat, tired, fountain

“Fiddlesticks!” Jack Moscowitz muttered softly to himself. “Fiddlesticks times 2 and then some. I will never get it right. Never.” He was tired, but his skin was still glowing from his recent workout with Master Yin Lee. He leaned against the water fountain and drank deeply. The water slid comfortingly down his throat, but did not quench the deeper thirst of his soul, and he looked down bitterly at the protruberance that was what remained of his right leg. Mr. Yin Lee was teaching him the fundamentals of Tai Chi, teaching him also the mysteries of Eastern philosophy. Mr. Yin had told him he was courageous. He did not feel courageous. He felt helpless and emasculated by the loss of his leg. He had been a dancer, you see, before the accident and Fred Astaire, in top hat and tails had been his idol, his vision for his own future. Now he could only wobble gracelessly. The magic was lost. He was lost. Mr. Yin was not helping. “Be like the Persimmon tree,” he had crooned this evening and gone into a long, silly tale about the tree and its fruit. Jack did not want to be like the Persimmon tree. He wanted to be like Fred Astaire. But he never would be now. “Fiddlesticks,” he muttered again and then wondered what Fred Astaire would have thought about Persimmon trees. And feeling inexplicably comforted, he put on his coat and headed home.

Next Week's Ten Word Challenge will be: prenomial, inexplicable, tangerine, masks, chocolate cake, panorama, librarian, Stonehenge, meek, florid

And for the Mini Challenge: vituperative, bunny rabbit, house warming, sanitation, triangular

Thanks for playing. For those who are new, here are some guidelines to make the process more fun.

Enjoy! See you next week.

DON'T FORGET TO ADD YOUR NAME TO MR. LINKY!!!!!

Project Blue, Take Six: Viviane's Gift

Today is day six of Anna Carson's Project Blue.

I thought I'd share a wonderful gift I received from my friend Viviane. She lives in Athens, Greece and paints fabric for a Swiss designer who then creates dresses and other items of clothing. Sometime around Christmas, I received a package with these nice blue Greek stamps on it and a beautiful blue tunic inside. I apologize to Viviane because my photos don't do it justice and after two cross-country moves and three after that, I no longer own an iron to press the creases out. The photos don't do the color justice either. But I did the best I could....

If you click on the stamps you can see them larger and see more details.






My other Project Blue posts include:

Blue Skies
Seldom Used Objects
A Box and Some Rocks
Peace
A Strange Assortment
Viviane's Gift

Poem(s) of the Week: Love Poems

I'm kind of especially insecure about these, but I'm posting them anyway. Fortunately, nobody much reads the poems of the week. That makes me sad and also relieved most weeks.

Your back looked so lonely facing me
But still, I thought I might offend it
If I moved (ever so softly) close
And so I lay there
Stopped
Because your back
Looked as lonely as my arms . . .
Which just didn't seem possible

- Katherine E. Rabenau

Moving through the uncharted jungle
Of your moods
Your mouth, arms, and chest
The close, fierce embrace
Which threatens to erase all sign
That I have been here beside you
I am afraid, so afraid
That like some evil snake
You will swallow me and go your way
Forgetting that I ever was

I lie here
Still
Beside you in the thickening grass
Which seems to grow between our resting bodies
Camouflage my thoughts in silence
While instincts too strong for mind's control
Prepare, defend, attack
I will not die so easy in this love as you may think
King of the jungle though you be.

We neither of us want, I think,
This secret war we wage
We do not mean to stalk ourselves like beasts of prey
Or hide within the thorny deeps of our own fears
Alas we do not die within out loves, they die in us
And we are left to chart our jungles alone.

- Katherine E. Rabenau

Project Blue, Take Five: An Odd Assortment

Today is day five of Anna Carson's Project Blue. I'm was dredging around in my imagination for something to do... and came up with the following odd assortment for day five.

I think this little book is kind of pretty and has lots of nice blue to offer.



And then I thought "my eyes are blue. I wonder if I could get a picture of my eyes." Not as easy as you might think - at least not for me - not without looking kind of cranky or cross-eyed or frowny. Not sharing my face, though I did accidentally get one with most of my face in it. My niece Diana likes it, but...


I count the "portrait" below to be one of my "life treasures." It's not really blue, but it has blue in it, and I really like it. It's a picture of me drawn by a little girl I met about four years ago at a vegan Thanksgiving. It was a wonderful evening. I had dinner with her and her family a month or so later and she gave me this picture as a gift. It's very flattering and I'm very fond of it. Delfina is probably 9 or 10 now. She was six when she drew this. Pretty amazing, isn't it?


One more eye. I wish I had decent eyelashes. My sister's children all have magnificent eyelashes. My father had long, pale eyelashes. He was a red head. My mother had very short eyelashes. I got her length and his paleness (in the eyelashes, not the hair). Very irritating. I've got mad scientist eyebrows too. Sigh.



That's it for today. The eyes have it. (Sorry. I tried to resist that... I really did...)

My other Project Blue posts include:

Blue Skies
Seldom Used Objects
A Box and Some Rocks
Peace
A Strange Assortment

Peace Blast, Wordless Wednesday and Project Blue (Take Four)

Twice a year for the past four years, Mimi at Mimi Writes, hosts something called the Peace Blast. It's cyber event bringing together the combined energy of people from around the world in sharing our love of, hope for and belief in the possibility of peace. I've tried to approach this in a way that combines it with Wordless Wednesday and Anna Carson's Project Blue and draws in the energy of all the wonderful creative people who participate in those memes, while still honoring the principles of both. Of course I'm putting a lot of words here but I'm seldom really wordless. Honoring Project Blue was pretty easy. To honor the idea of Wordless Wednesday, I posted the Peace Blast Earth banner (also blue) and put the bulk of my words into the body of one of my photos which I messed with using Paintshop Pro. I did write some other posts on peace which anyone who wants to can read here or here. You can click on the first graphic for an easier to read size.


(Well, I have to add some more words. Sorry. Angel, the world's most mis-named cat - has many naughty talents. One of these is popping open the boom box and removing CDs. I keep coming up with ways to thwart her and she keeps figuring out ways to thwart me back. This week she has been at it again but her shenanigans gave me an idea for project blue that also felt in tune with the Peace Blast and WW. The CD she popped is a lovely blue one called AWAKENED HEART. The artists, Saggio and his wife Barbara are friends who were extremely kind to me during my time in Arizona. They are incredibly talented. Saggio's music is a gift of Spirit and is both beautiful and healing. Kwan Yin here is the Goddess of Compassion and I liked the idea of her holding the CD. Certainly both compassion and awakening hearts are a key to creating a peaceful world. )



Happy Wordless Wednesday, Everyone. I hope you'll check out other the Peace Blast and even add your own voices to the chorus.

My other Project Blue posts include:

Blue Skies
Seldom Used Objects
A Box and Some Rocks
Peace

Ruby Tuesday

Maryt/The Teach over at Work of the Poet has something called Ruby Tuesday which features red. I think I probably have better photos of this bush - which I just love - but I'm impatient to hunt through the literally hundreds that I took all through the Spring. I wish I was a better photographer with a better camera because this bush is just so magnificent. The flowers literally glow in the afternoon sun and it draws bees and hummingbirds. Now that it is past it's flower - there are one or two blossoms still left - many (but not all) of the leaves have reddish edges. I took the last photo this morning. My camera is fighting a truckload of dirt on the glass, but hopefully you can still get a sense of how pretty it is.

Project Blue, Take Three: A Box and some Rocks.

Today is day three of Anna Carson's Project Blue. A number of people inquired about yesterday's breakfast photo. This box is my response to those questions. For the additionally curious, you can find out more about Schwan's here.

The middle picture is a rock I painted when I spent a few days in a retreat center in the desert in the middle of nowhere in Arizona (long story). I messed with the background (not very well) because it's currently hung on my wall, held up by nails and the white looked even yuckier than the tan I changed it to.

The bear in picture three has a bluish cast in some lights, but not doesn't really look blue in this photo. The rock is sodalite.






I'm borrowing Robert's idea of putting links to my other Project Blue posts, so here they are:

Blue Skies
Seldom Used Objects
A Box and Some Rocks

The Alphabet Backwards: M is for Miracles

Well, it's Monday, which means I have to face the dreaded Alphabet Backwards. The letter "m" offers so many choices that it's almost too much... a myriad of modest and magnificent many-faceted meanings from the mystical to the mundane, the menacing to the melancholy march madly through my mind.... What to choose? Mysticism, mystery? Music? Martyrdom, military, mania, manic-depressive, magnolias, marigolds, marijuana, monkeys, mandolins.... the list goes on and on... a mad mosaic of choices. Ok... I'll stop and pick something, I promise. Just had to get that out of my system. The muse has spun the wheel (had to get one more in) and it has landed on the word MIRACLES.

Years ago, when I still lived in Manhattan (M word for NYC) and still left my house, I was madly in love with a brilliant (and very handsome) pastor, so I went to church a lot. Tiny Christ Lutheran Church on 19th Street and First Avenue, under Rick's ministry, was a magical place. I wish I had my scanner so I could share some photos, but you will have to imagine things, I guess. We shared our little stone church with a renegade Catholic congregation that was "church-less." I forget now the details of their estrangement from the diocese, but they shared not only our little building, but our community life as well as some worship services - something virtually unheard of in the 1970s. Rick (besides being witty, charming and handsome) was my kind of pastor. He was less bound to liturgy than to love of both the human and the divine. He didn't care what I believed or didn't believe. He felt that the church was about community and living the Spirit of faith. Because of this he created a wonderful family of people where I felt safe and welcome. He changed my life in many ways. He taught me to respect my own voice, to offer my opinions because they were worth something. He taught me to protect myself from my brother's dark malevolence. He persuaded me to go into therapy and get help that I desperately needed. He taught me to share my singing voice as well as my ideas. He taught me a lot about love. He was a gift and a miracle in my life and changed it forever and for the better. He died 20 years ago of a brain tumor and the world is a poorer place without him.

But that isn't actually what I meant to talk about. Seems I can't help but meander towards my goal (another m word). A group of us had a discussion at one point - I forget what led up to it - about miracles. Much to my astonishment, I was the only person in a group of about 10 people, who believed in miracles. The only one. It stuns me still. I think life is a series of almost minute to minute miracles. Look out the window. Look at a tree. Look at an automobile. Look at a flower, look at the sky, look at a cat or a bird or a bumble bee. Look at your own body, no matter what kind of shape it's in. Look at the blue sky or clouds or ... Is there anything that ISN'T a miracle? But even if you want to toss that kind of miracle aside, there is still the human capacity to learn and think, to invent healing techniques. Modern medicine is a kind of miracle as is herbal medicine.

Then there are things like reiki, the healing art that I practice. I certainly consider that to be miraculous. The people in this conversation didn’t think there were miracles in what they referred to as “the Biblical sense.”

Reiki belies that for me. Crazy as it sounds. I can sit with a teddy bear in Hancock, New York and impact a cat or human being in Maine or anywhere in the world. It astonishes me, but it happens. Doubters may be able to dismiss the impact on people as self-delusion, but how do you explain the response of animals, who are too smart to refuse a gift of healing or to rationalize it away. Our minds and spirits are capable of so much that if we only opened ourselves up to the possibilities we could change the world overnight. (I have to admit that I talk a good show, but I’m not so good at follow-through on this one. Still, I believe that we are capable of making our own miracles if we choose/learn how to own and harness our potential.) I was fascinated years ago to learn that researchers working with people who are “multiple personalities (this is an interesting article on the subject) ” who – in one body – had diabetes as one personality and didn’t as the another. Seems pretty miraculous to me. I couldn't find an article to back that but I remember attending a lecture (similar to this one) with a spiritual teacher and doctor named Brugh Joy, who talked about his experiences with multiple personalities and other kinds of amazing medical experiences.

Alas, I had a long phone call between that last sentence and this one and have lost my momentum, so I'll end with the thought that we have miracles around and in us - both individually and as a society. The power of the mind and the power of love, particularly when we harness them together - well, there are no limits.

There are miracles of beauty and nature that are all around us and there are things like reiki, like the power of prayer, like using our thoughts to create positive things that are at our disposal all the time. I thought I'd close today with a reminder that Mimi Writes is hosting a "peace blast" on Wednesday, June 4th. I think this is an awesome idea - to harnass our love of peace and the power of positive thinking. Just click on the link to her site, pick up a blank globe graphic, sign it and return it to her. She has detailed instructions. I'll post mine again on Wednesday.

Let's enjoy the miracles around us and let's make some miracles of our own.

And that's it for the letter "m." Have a marvelous day full of merriment, magic, music, and miracles.

Project Blue, Take Two: Seldom Used Objects

Anna Carson's Project Blue is on it's second day. I thought today, I'd offer some seldom used items from around the house. The first picture is is not seldom used... it's the breakfast (served on a blue plate) that I almost burned in my enthusiasm for trying to photograph blue things this morning. It actually tastes much better than it looks and I like it crispy, so...

The "Wonder" lamp is something I bought in the late 1960's or early 1970's - either during one of the two famous black-outs or for a camping trip - I honestly don't remember which. It's been with me for at least 45 years and it's only on it's 2nd battery, which tells you how often I use it. Still, it has come in handy during power outages. Doesn't give much light, but some... Cleaning supplies, alas get much less use than they should. Much less. My mother is weeping in Heaven. Had to include the last two photos in which my assistant appears. The profile one is her Alfred Hitchcock imitation.

One Single Impression: Freedom

This week's prompt for One Single Impression was "freedom." Alas, I had already written and posted a bunch of things for next week's prompt which is "pets," when I discovered this. Well, next week will be easy, I guess, since it's already done and not last minute like this morning's effort. Anyway, here's what I came up with. I added an old non-haiku poem and a VERY old poem at the very end today.

Freedom, oh, Freedom
I long to unlock the door
Of my self-made jail

~~~~~~~~~~~

Struggling to survive
Oh economic freedom
Why can’t I find you

~~~~~~~~~~~

Freedom is at risk
Not from outer enemies
But from “friends” within

~~~~~~~~~~~

Watching hawks in sky
I hunger for such freedom
Earthbound as I am

~~~~~~~~~~~

I've posted this here before, but it fits the topic and I like it, so...

~~~~~~~~~~~

I wrote this poem when I was in 2nd grade. Unfortunately, it took me almost 40 years to even begin to break free of the emotional damage of my somewhat psycho family, but hopefully in some ways, at least, I'm starting to live the words I wrote at age 7.

Project Blue: Take One

Anna Carson is running another color project starting today. This time it's Project Blue. Afraid my first contribution lacks imagination. A lot of really amazing photographers usually participate in these things, so if you like creative photographs, I recommend that you check it out - or even participate yourself. Afraid my first take isn't very creative - blue skies was all I could come up with.