Calidore Speaks

Tell Tale Sign . . .

2011-03-02T00:57:00.000-08:00

I had a doctor's appointment today. The good news is that my blood pressures down . . . the bad news is that I have high blood pressure, and type 2 diabetes, and high cholesterol. The only thing I went to see the doctor about was a nagging pain that had developed on my thumb. My thumb! And from that visit, I had to get a pneumonia vaccination, pills for diabetes, high blood pressure & cholesterol. I now also need to schedule an appointment with an ophthalmologist to have my eyes checked and do follow up lab work to make sure that the diabetes medication isn't doing much damage to my pancreas . . . or was it my liver? OY!!

At what point did my body start to fall apart? My doctor gave me the best diagnosis ever -- LOSE WEIGHT! How would that have escaped my attention? He must think I have no mirrors at home. But in all fairness, he's a great doctor and what he had to say was more than just words, and let me tell you he did not mince the words he used.
So, I gotta cut the carbs and a whole bunch of other stuff that's on the pamphlets I got. Next step is to do some research on type 2 diabetes and get started on that walking routine I kept planning on; now's the time for it.

Wish me luck!

P.S. -- as for my thumb, got a brace for it; tiny fracture. It only hurts when I try to grab a door knob to open, twist open a cap or pill bottles, sweep with a broom (very hard to do with the left hand), squeeze a sponge; basically any function that requires my use of the thumb to complete a function causes me killer pain!

Do you know the expression "feeling your age?" Well, I must be feeling somebody's age and let me tell you -- that it totally sucks!

Just Drive TheBus!

2011-02-27T07:38:00.000-08:00

I don't have a car, so I catch the bus to work everyday. That's Monday through Friday at 6:30 a.m. And depending on traffic it could take anywhere from 45 minutes to an hour to get to work. Unfortunately, I happen to be something of a night owl and getting to bed early doesn't always work for me. (Those who know me well, will attest to the fact that mornings are not my thing! Nope, just can't do it!) Also, those who know me well, will also attest to the fact that aside from being peevish about mornings, I absolutely, positively enjoy sleeping! Loovveee it!!

I have no qualms about catching the bus. I mean, I don't have to worry about fighting traffic cause someone else is driving, it's always air conditioned (oftentimes near frigid temperatures), I can always get a seat, and the best reason . . . in the quiet hours of the morning I can put on my earphones, select my playlist, close my eyes and catch up on some sleep.

There's a lot of effort that goes into being a passenger of public transportation. We have our routines that we follow. Like, seats we absolutely have to sit in; (the longs seats that face each other or the two passenger seat), do we sit in the front, middle, or back of the bus? Do we sit near the air or some place warmer? Do we sit where it's quiet or where all the action is taking place? These are all valid questions. And if you, like me, are a frequent bus traveler (no mileage program currently available) those questions have already been answered. And no matter how hectic your day may be, riding the bus remains a constant.

And yet, even the most constant routine can have a monkey wrench thrown into the works. Case in point, when your regular bus driver has rotated out of his route and now you have a new driver. But for the most part, not much changes unless . . .

Unless . . . as it happens, on that particular morning, I struggled to get out of bed, and had to race out the door to catch my bus on time. Slightly out of breath, with beads of perspiration slowly rolling down the sides of my face, I stand at the crosswalk for what seems like ages until the light finally changes just as the bus pulls up to the bus stop. With bus pass in hand, I drag myself up the steps and briefly acknowledge the new driver on my beloved 93 Express. My favorite seats (long seats at the front of the bus) are all taken so I grab the first open seat next to a lady who's bundled up like Nanook of the North and curled up by the window in deep hibernation. I settle in with earphones in place, playlist qued and eagerly look forward to the moment I can close my eyes and drift off to sleep.

From the motion of the bus, I can tell that the new driver is moving that bus along and soon we hit the Zipper Lane and zoom along nicely. Fifteen to twenty minutes into the ride, as I am dozing in and out of sleep, I become aware of a conversation going on between one of the passengers up front (on the long seats) and the driver. I try to push it from my mind because I tell myself that "he's (bus driver) done a good job so far."

At one point along our journey, there's a slight rumble under the tires of the bus. It's only been about thirty minutes (that's a quick ride!) The rumble is a tell-tale sign that the bus is moving out of the Zipper lane and merging onto the freeway near the airport. Since we didn't hit a lot of traffic, I realize my nap time has been slightly diminished and so I close my eyes to get in whatever bit of dozing I can get. It's about this time, that the conversation of the passenger and the driver that I overheard earlier has now become animated, loud, and intrusive (on my sleep time). As we quickly pass the airport, and make the turn towards the tunnel to merge from the H2 freeway onto the H1 freeway, an irritating noise fills the airway. It's the sound of the driver's intercom.

With eyes still close, I feel a scowl begin to form above the brows on my forehead.
**My internal voice:
"Really? We're getting a public address now?!"

**The actual words of the driver over the intercom:
"Good morning ladies and gentlemen! If I can direct your attention out the right side window of the bus, that wonderful smell you're getting is from Love's Bakery!Mmmm...all we need now is some hot coffee, some cream, sugar and we're good to go -- alright!!!"

**Internal voice:
"WTF?! That's what you woke me up for? The smell of bread? I freakin' smell that every morning, but you want to make mention of it now?! Ugh! Someone is in totally gonna get some CRACKS!"

A slight chuckle passes through the bus from the passengers. I gingerly open my eyes (because my thoughts are still in disbelief) to scowl more profoundly in the direction of the new driver. My internal voice begins to shout: "Don't encourage him! He has just one task and one task only -- to drive the bus! That's all. There's no commentary; this is not a tour bus, you are not a tour bus driver, we are not passengers on a tour. No! Absolutely not! Just do your job and drive the damn bus!"

..... to be continued

2010-12-25T09:25:00.000-08:00

Back around the middle of April - March, I wondered if this year would ever end. Now, we are only a week away before the clocks counts down to a brand new year! A lot of changes have taken place, and most of them within the last few weeks.

My sister and her family have moved to Alaska. Alaska?! Her youngin's left late Christmas eve and have arrived early Christmas morning. It'll be a great Christmas for her and the family.

As for me and my family, we'll be spending it gathered around our nearly dried out Christmas tree, eating turkey, ham and some other good eats (hopefully none of which will be dried out). But it hasn't been all tinsel and glitter this Christmas and I can't really put my finger on why that is; my cousin has a theory about that thought. He thinks it has something to do with the fact that we haven't hung the lights up outside around the house. He's said it so frequently that I'm almost ready to believe him.

I guess I just haven't been in a Christmas frame of mind, even with all the colored lights and scented trees, but I am thankful for the blessings in my life: faith, family, friends, work. So, here's to Christmas: lights, tinsel and great smelling trees. For whatever it means to you and your family...best wishes always; and Merry Christmas everyone!

I'm Still That School House Rock Chick . . .

2010-12-12T06:55:00.000-08:00

sometimes people just wanna steal your thunder, you know?! Now it seems the whole, post-your-favorite-childhood-cartoon-character mania on FB was submitted under false pretenses. I don't care, cause I'm hanging on to my good intentions and the good intentions of others. So stick that in your pipe and smoke it!

I'm a School House Rock Chick!

2010-12-05T01:02:00.000-08:00

As posted on my FaceBook page . . .

There are nay-sayers who believe that the simple act of pasting the image of a cartoon character is useless and has no meaning; they've posted blogs about our ridiculous "follow-the-leader" mentality. While I've never considered myself a mindless lemming, I thought the idea of profiling a cartoon image from my childhood to bring awareness to child abuse was a great idea, it was simple, easy and something that I (just one person) could do to show my good intentions; not too mention a little walk down memory lane of all the great things I had as a child and the things that helped to shape me as a person.

So, to all the nay-sayers, I think I can speak for most of us by saying that OUR intent is to bring AWARENESS, if only to ourselves; to bring to the fore front of our minds the hurt and pain of the most unspeakable kind that may have happened to one of us, or someone we know or countless others who have endured or continue to endure abuse of any kind.

Our actions will not change laws or policies, it may not change behavior or erase the memory of the harm caused by others, but yesterday I did nothing. Today, I posted an image of a cartoon character and searched the internet for other images that reminded me of my childhood -- and that made me smile; I also read a few blogs and comments that said, "Yeah, like this is gonna help end violence against children."

So, people of the FB world make your intentions known . . . have a conversation, post it on your blog, think good thoughts or say a prayer. Every little bit helps, you know it does.

An Acceptable Conclusion

2010-07-31T03:38:00.000-07:00

This has been a pretty good summer. . . aside from the heat. We've been able to find ways to amuse ourselves; movies, shopping, hanging out with the a/c running (love it!) or going to the beach. Trayse and I headed out to Makaha Beach to cool our heals and just enjoy the day. . . together.

It was the day after the 4th of July and the beach was practically empty! I mean Makaha Beach on a 4 day weekend: no surfers, no canoe paddlers, no boogie boarders. Just a few scattered groups and with more than enough sandy beach to go around. So, we headed straight for the water, didn't even hesitate. It was cool, refreshing, water so clear you could see your feet touching the bottom. There was a lot of floating and drifting going on between the two of us.

Trayse loves the ocean as mush as I do. Our swimming abilities are about the same: dog paddle and floating. We both believe we could float on forever if we had to. Luckily no one's ever put that theory to a test.

The hardest part about being at the beach is leaving it . . . or rather getting Trayse to get out of the water. A bit of finagling had to happen; like telling Trayse wouldn't be cool to write her name in the sand? We had to do it a few times, the waves were not cooperating. But we finally got the shot!

"John, leave it alone."

2010-03-16T14:54:00.000-07:00

It's not easy letting things go: grudges, heartache, blame, denial, pain, mistakes, failure, insecurities, hate, disappointment, fear, shame, anger, pride, envy . . . the list is endless. We hold onto such things as though it were the driving force of life. We wrap ourselves up in them and find ourselves unwilling to lay aside our burden.

I've hung on to my self-justification for why I stayed mad, for why I couldn't reach my goals, for why I would not put down the burden. This is my personal revelation that the counsel "leave it alone" or "let it go" is often the most difficult to accept or execute, but it really is the only means to find inner peace and acceptance.

It brings to mind the story of a young man who found love, family and a new beginning. When tragedy knocked on his door with the loss of his wife, a new baby girl and a life now as a young, single father he directed his pain and anger toward the doctor who had failed to keep his wife alive. His grief festered and anger began to seep into every crack and crevice of his life.

One night a family friend called on this grieving, heartbroken young father. The words of comfort and counsel from the family friend was this: "John, leave it alone. Nothing you do about it will bring her back. Anything you do will make it worse. John, leave it alone."

The young father struggled with himself. He then decided that whatever else life brought to him, he would heed the counsel he was given.

Now, well into his years, the once heartbroken, young father related this story to a friend. "I was an old man, before I understood it!...I could finally see a poor country doctor--overworked, underpaid run ragged from patient to patient with little medicine, no hospital, few instruments, struggling to save lives, and succeeding for the most part. He had come in a moment of crisis, when two lives hung in the balance, and had acted without delay."

"I was an old man," he repeated, "before I finally understood! I would have ruined my life," he said, "and the lives of others."

Being able to leave it alone, or let it go takes practice and a lot of patience; two attributes that I often lack and need plenty of. But I recognize that it's a process of developing a whole new mindset...getting a better look at the whole picture instead of just snapshots. It can sometimes be a long, hard road before we reach that moment. Experience has shown me how my life becomes entangled when I refuse to leave it alone or let it go and I have felt the calmness in my life when I've chosen to follow John's example.

A Witness and a Warning

2010-03-06T00:02:00.000-08:00

Nothing good every comes from being awoken from a sound sleep at 3 o'clock in the morning. And the phrase "I have some bad news" or "a tsunami is coming" really puts a strong emphasis on that point. I missed taking early morning shots of everyone milling around up at Makakilo park at 5 in the morning, mostly because I was still so tired and was nearing the ever allusive REM sleep when a knock on my door woke me.

We had set up our little band of tsunami-ites near the bus stop area. Traffic was starting to build as more and more people made their way from the lower shoreline and up the hill. Sitting on blankets that were spread out on the cold grass, I tried to grab a few minutes of sleep. But something about sleeping on the cold, hard ground just wasn't working for me. I remember thinking as I looked out at the homes across the street from the park, "Man are those people going to be surprised when they look out their doors and windows to see all of us sleeping at the park!"

As the early hours weened on, I surveyed my fellow evacuee's; the thought of "displaced refugees" came to mind. It was a cold, silent morning as rows of colored blankets and pillows covered the ground beneath the swings and overflowed onto the playground. You almost didn't notice that there were several families already there because it was so quiet. It made me wonder, if the tsunami does hit, then how long? How long would be here? Days? Weeks? Would they relocate us to a shelter? I tried to calm my mind, keep my thoughts from frantically running away. I kept an eye on the slow rising sun and wondered how the morning would unfold. Breakfast was fast approaching.

As morning gained a foothold on the day, I watched a few more trucks and vans pull up on the grassy area and set up tents and grills. We would all be here for the duration . . . however long that would be. The radio station kept us updated on the tsunami. They had estimated the tsunami's arrival around 11:30 am, it would hit Hilo first and then Oahu. As it neared the arrival time, we all headed up to the back of the park that had an unobstructed view of the ocean.

When the hour arrived and then past, I breathed a sigh of relief. But I still couldn't shake the feeling that this was a warning of "things yet to come". I'm sure there are those who probably saw this whole evacuation event as a waste of time and money, but it's no longer a matter of "if" but "when". It behooves us all to have our house in order, to be prepared. I don't mind telling you that the ordeal has put me in a different frame of mind. I'm not sure what frame of mind that is, but it's not the "let's wait and see".

The Best Kinds of Friends . . .

2010-03-02T12:25:00.000-08:00

are the ones you didn't realize would become the "best kinds of friends." It often surprises me that I know such great people. For example, I have a great group of friends that I've know since the fourth grade. Granted, we would all agree, that in the fourth grade we had a different opinion on friendship. But now, our life experiences have brought us closer to each other in ways that none of us would have imagined.

And sometimes, the hardest friends to find, make, and even keep is family. With family, we tend to shine the light more glaringly on faults and weaknesses; not to mention the easy access we have to those "emotional buttons" that we are quick to push again and again, and then just because we can -- we push again. But when the stars align, and all is right with the universe, our greatest asset and our greatest champions and friends will be family.

But not all friendships are long-lasting. We find friends in the most unlikely of places and through the most unlikely individuals. They became momentary friends, because they were a friend of a friend, and the likely hood that I would have initiated the friendship . . . well, knowing me the way I do. It's the mixture and unusual concoction that created the lasting memories of smiles, laughter and even disbelief that "I know those people" or "I use to hang out there." Look at the smiles on those faces . . . it's true; it's genuine. We've become the best kinds of friends. No matter the circumstance, or the duration of the time spent together, the outcome was -- friendship.

Two wrong feet

2009-09-22T22:03:00.000-07:00

I step outside the door to start my day and I can't help but be a little positive that it's going to be a great day; and why shouldn't it be a great day? It's early morning, the sun has yet to show it's bright, shiny face. And for once I am on time for the early morning commute to work . . . on public transportation no less. I love public transportation!

The work day goes on as expected: phone calls, paper work, 1st break; phone calls, paper work, lunch break; phone calls, paper work, 2nd break; phone calls, paper work, work day is over. I'm back on the bus for the long ride home. No worries though, because the bus isn't crowded and I get my usual seat. I take out my book to read and before I know it the bus is pulling up to my stop.

It's a short walk from the bus to my front door. Ah, the front door. Nearly 12 hours later and I am at the doorstep of where my entire day began, my front door. I'm relieved . . . that emotion is soon followed by the feeling of mortification because I now realize that I have been walking around with two different slippers on my feet.

I did something very spectacular today . . .

2009-09-05T22:00:00.000-07:00

I was reacquainted with some very dear friends from school. The last time I saw them we where 13 years old. High school was our next big hurdle and soon we would be caught up with new challenges, new friends, and a new life that would become all encompassing.

It's been nearly 30 years since we've seen each other. Our paths have led us down very different roads of which the terrain has not always been sure-footed. And yet, beyond the space of time and differences, our friendships seem to have grown deeper and feel more meaningful. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow wrote,

"Not chance of birth or place has made us friends
Being oftentimes of different tongues and nations,
But the endeavor for the selfsame ends
With the same hopes, and fears, and aspirations."

I can't help but think that Mr. Longfellow must indeed have had a great many cherished friendships because his words are insightful and wise. I can hardly remember what we were all like back then; what we thought, what we said, what we found funny, or serious. Those memories are like blurry fringes around the corners of my mind. But, I think I can hear the laughter, or see the smiles, or even smell the aroma of shortbread cookies at lunch time. I can vividly recall the tears for a dear classmate that left this world far sooner than any of us would have liked. He is our clarity. He is our center. He is our most cherished memory.

Standing together with my friends, reminiscing about "life back when" I couldn't help but feel very proud of that moment. Does that sound odd? It feels odd saying it. I can't think of any other way to describe that sensation. Do you know that feeling you get like somethings pushing on your chest from the inside trying to get out? Sort of like that. I looked from one friend, to another, and then another. They were talking football, golfing, kids, wives, other old friends that they still haven't seen and it was as if time had never passed us by.

My friend's mother passed away. Today was her funeral. I wanted to be there and show my love and support. I sat through the services thinking of dad and my heart broke to think that my friend was feeling the same loss, grief and pain. After the funeral services we all stood together as friends, and I couldn't help but feel very proud of that moment.

John Ed Pearce wrote . . .

2009-08-21T03:01:00.000-07:00

"home is the place you grow up wanting to leave, and grow old wanting to get back to."

I don't regret leaving. I don't regret wanting to know if there was more life to be lived somewhere other than here. There was. And I did. It was so much more than I ever expected.

I was thrilled to see the seasons change; watch the colorful transformation of leaves; feel the chill of winter's first storm as it rolled down from the mountains and then blanket the city in white. I perspired in the dry desert heat and hid from the threat of lightening storms.

I made friends with the most amazing people I never dreamed I could have met. I grew strong, confident, self-aware, and calm. I had reached such great heights and plummeted to heart-breaking lows, and somehow, I still came out ahead. I strengthened, stretched and tested my relationship with God. And I'm standing at the other end of my trials in full knowledge of God's love for me, and His willingness to forgive, and His belief that I am a far better person than I know myself to be.

Widening my comfort zone became a necessity and a personal challenge. I had to lay aside my typical habits of limiting my involvement in life and in the lives of others. The world had a whole new outlook. It was large and small at the same time. I felt the change too, I was the same yet different. Being open to new ideas, challenges, people, and possibilities eventually made me ready to turn my sights toward home.

Even in pursuit of the unknown, somewhere in the back of my mind I always knew that I'd make it home again. Returning was a dream, a goal, a "someday" possibility. Life away from home had given me the courage to actualize my dream. No longer would I just "wish" that I would return home. Instead, I knew that as I pursued my life goals, returning home would be just a matter of time. I needed to plan and be patient. I needed to implement everything that I had learned and put them into motion. And when a way opened up, I needed to be aware of it and then act on it.

And so, here I am in Nanakuli with the threat of a tropical storm in the weather forecast. It's been 1 month and 17 days since I've been home. Already, I've sat under a tree in the backyard with my 11 year old niece, Trayse-Anne, and picked out shapes in the clouds, we took turns reading to each other from a book I bought her from the country store down the road. We walked across the street to the beach where we saw two turtles. We watched the sky turn several different shades of color at the end of the day, and quietly sat in our chairs under the tree as the sun sank behind the mountain until it was out of sight. And just when I thought the summer days were over, she wanted to walk out under the stars and have me point out the Big Dipper.

I ask you, could life be any sweeter than it already is?

I'll let you know. Aloha!!!

The Long Road Home

2009-08-06T02:26:00.000-07:00

The sensations of the heart are always the hardest to put into words. While reading Crash's final thoughts about leaving Hawaii and moving to Utah, I couldn't help but feel empathy for her. I had been gone for 9 1/2 years, having spent most of those years in Utah and a few in California. It's been a month and 2 days since I've been home. I still can't believe it!

When my aunt passed away last year, things just seemed to point me in the direction of home. They were subtle directions, which is a good thing, because I happen to be the stubborn type. If the suggestion to move home had been clear and straight forward, I'd still be living in California. Crazy, I know. And it makes no sense whatsoever, but you ask anyone that knows me. Try and make me do something that I may have the slightest aversion to or I'm not ready to accept . . . then, I've got lead feet. And right or wrong, I won't budge. But subtle suggestions, hints, and gentle prodding and I'm puddy in your hands! My poor parents! What a tough time it had to have been raising me!

I was all-kinds of giddy when I landed in Hawaii. The air smelled sweeter and purer than any air I had ever inhaled in my life! As we drove from the airport to Waipahu, I was blessed with the most beautiful rainbow that ever refracted light. I actually told my sister to pull over (on the H-1, during heavy traffic) so that I could get a better picture. Yeah, she told me "No," and kept on driving.

I also said things like, "I can't believe just how green the grass is" and "look how pretty all the flowers are." My sisters told me to knock it off and act like a normal person! Granted, it's out of character for me to act and say the things I had been saying, but I couldn't find the words that expressed how I felt about being home! Sweet air, a beautiful rainbow, green grass, and pretty flowers. Amidst all of that, it was hot, humid and I was sweating buckets! But I was home and happy to be sweating in Hawaii!

Guess Where I Am?

2009-07-27T16:20:00.000-07:00

Need more clues?

Does this one help?

Give up?

Home in Hawaii!!!

Alone Isn't All It's Cracked Up to Be (edited and reposted)

2009-06-21T05:08:00.000-07:00

I started reading a new book about a week ago called A Party of One by Anneli Rufus; I got it from my newly discovered bookstore, Paperbacks Unlimited. The title of the book is what caught my eye and after a few minutes of scanning I determined that it would make for a great read. Thus far it has . . . and it hasn't.

It's not that I don't enjoy the book, because I do, but I'm learning that I'm not the lone-wolf I thought I was. Actually, what I've discovered is that I'm not so much a lone wolf as I am someone lacking in a few social skills. **too funny** And I find that I'm not so anxious to join the "lone wolf" club.

There have been times, when I have waved my banner of solitude and "alone-ness" high and quite often in the collective faces of family and friends. I have pushed aside requests or invitations to join in or celebrate with them under the guise of that aforementioned banner. I emphatically believed that my "personal space" could not be sacrificed and I would not abide any attempts to disturb or interfere with my "alone-ness."

I'm on page 79 and I have 194 pages left. What I have learned thus far about being a loner is that -- I am no true loner. I do not have the caliber of alone-ness that is characteristic of Emily Dickinson, "who stayed home for sixteen years and wrote two thousand poems of startling passion." Or the quantitative loner genius of Albert Einstein, who wrote "although I am a typical loner in daily life, my consciousness of belonging to the invisible community of those who strive for truth, beauty, and justice keeps me from feeling isolated." Da Vinci, Michelangelo, Sir Isaac Newton, Rene Descartes are but a handful "for whom two was a crowd." They produced astounding works of art, brilliant mathematical calculations and literary greatness in their alone-ness.

I surmise that the author, Anneli Rufus, writes in regards for those whom would retreat from the world at large if they could, but who do not, because they cannot all become absolute hermits and recluses. Even a true loner must, out of sheer survival, interact with the world at large at some point. To be a true loner is to have the consciousness of wanting to escape merely because others are present. So, where does that put me? Am I chomping at the bit just waiting to get away from everyone?

Alas, I must reconcile myself to the fact that I am not the loner I thought myself to be. I do not (often) desire to remove myself from those that inhabit the world around me. I do not (often) walk among my fellow beings all the while searching for a means of escape. I do not (always) stand alone because I cannot bear to be in the midst of a crowd. Therefore, I am not a true loner.

Rufus writes of one John Fairfax, who set off alone to row across the Atlantic in 1969. Fairfax had lived an extravagant life, but felt his "struggle against humanity" was all too much to bear. While he did at times need to interact with others, he felt that "loneliness" was "not a specter to be feared, but more a cherished companion."

While I may certainly prefer the solitude of my own walls, and acknowledge that I can carry interesting and lively conversations with myself; I equally acknowledge that sometimes I find my own company boring and relish the need for human companionship. And as such, I am grateful for my family and friends . . . for they accept me with all my crazy quirks and eccentricities.

**originally posted on 2/20/09

Emily Dickinson Syndrome...but without the poetry

2009-06-20T05:27:00.000-07:00

Emily wrote in her diary, "It was baking day . . . While my hands work, my mind sets off for wider parts. If it returns with treasures, I inscribe them on whatever is at hand." In another entry she wrote, "Tonight the needle exhausted my fingers -- while my mind flew away. The flight gave them no pause!"

It's the self thought, the reflective, the contemplative possibility of doing something more than what is seen. I often find my mind strolling through a daydream while my hands or body have a different task to complete. I am mutely aware of what I am doing rather than how I am doing it, and when it's done -- I laugh at my attempt.

Emily wrote about writing letters to her friends that she hadn't spoken to in weeks. "As the conversation progresses, my thoughts -- impatient -- speed on -- too quick for my pen. Then I fear they will scatter to the corners and escape to Eternity!"

The physical act of writing use to thrill me when I would set my pen onto my paper and watch as words would flow, then trickle, then dribble, then pause. But it's true, what Emily wrote about her "impatient" thoughts speeding, sometimes I lost them in the act of trying to write it down. My pen used to be able to keep up with my thoughts, but now -- I have to contend with a cramped wrist and pen imprints on my finger. Typing, ahh, now there's a skill everyone should acquire or aspire to obtain. Now, my fingers are quicker than my thoughts. My problem now is . . . spelling.

Emily wrote that she did not go to church on Sunday, but used "the morning of the Lord for writing while the others [sought] his presence in the pews." She had issues. "We two have been at odds --" she wrote. But, even when she was at odds, she admits "I feel as if 'grace is poured into my mouth' and I write what is too sacred to speak."

It is a complicated relationship. God. Christ. The Holy Spirit. Me. Sometimes, I find myself all over the place bumping into things and knocking them over or knocking myself over. Everyone else (God, Christ, The Holy Spirit) is still in the same place, except for me. Right now . . . I'm standing a little off center of everyone.

A Writing Prompt Exercise

2009-06-12T03:24:00.000-07:00

I've been taking a creative writing course online, sort of a refresher; it's been really helpful. I had a writing prompt exercise where I chose a random phrase for the beginning of a sentence and then, I had to complete the sentence. I chose, "My father is . . . ." I think I chose it because I haven't thought about dad in a while. I mean, he flutters in and out of my thoughts often, but I haven't had a real good deep pondering thought about him. So, I chose, "My father is . . ." After an hour, all I came up with was "My father is -- dead." Finally, here's the rest of what I wrote:

My father is -- dead. He has been dead for over four years. Every now and then, when I forget to remember him, I think that is when he is dead to me, too. I hate that. I hate that because I don't want him to be dead. Instead, I want the reason that I haven't thought about him or spoken to him to simply be because I forgot to call. Like maybe, I forgot to call and ask if his knees were still bothering him, and then listen to him say he wished I were there to massage them. Or that I forgot how I came home after a hard day's work and laughed at all the ridiculous messages he left on my answering machine. And then, without a thought, I deleted those messages knowing that tomorrow or the next day there would be more messages from him.

I want the reason that I didn't pick up the phone and say, "Happy birthday, dad" to be because I forgot to call and wish him a happy birthday or that I forgot to send his father's day card on Father's day because I had put off going to the post office for a stamp. I want "inspiration" to be the reason that I sent him a letter out of the blue and included a twenty dollar bill with a note saying, 'Here's your lunch money. Don't spend it all at once.' I don't want the reason that I can't do any of these things to be because he's dead. I don't want that to be the reason, but it is . . . because he is.

Was It Just a Dream?

2009-06-09T03:51:00.000-07:00

**I had a conversation with dad today. I asked him if he wanted to go home to Hawaii. Dad said if I had asked him that question before he died, he would have said yes. But he's gone now and his priorities are not relevant to the world that I or the rest of the family live in. Where his body lies is just fine here in California as it would be if it were in Hawaii.

I told dad that mom won't go to Hawaii if he's here in California. He shrugged his shoulders and gestured with his arms and hands outstretched and said, "Well, whatever your mom wants."

So, I guess the three of us are staying here in California.**

Just throwin' it out there

2009-06-07T19:32:00.000-07:00

I was just reading through Cheri Block Sabraw's blog about grammer. The topic may not be attention grabbing, but Cheri makes learning grammer a lot more fun than I ever remember it being. Ipo, you need to check out Cheri's blog. You'll love her!

She told the story of how her 7th grade English teacher, Mrs. Whooton, had thrown an eraser at her during class! Granted, it was told as a means to get the attention of her students, but it got me thinking . . . about the time my 7th grade science teacher, Sister Eva, threw an eraser at me.

Actually, Sister Eva threw the eraser at my girlfriend Leonelle (our desks were grouped together in fours), who was talking to me. But, I still remember feeling the swoosh of air as that eraser went sailing by and hit the back wall of the classroom. Man, did that get our attention. Sister Eva, stood poised at the front of the class and said ever so sweetly, "I meant to miss."

She could be deadly when she wanted.

Diggin' on it...

2009-06-04T22:02:00.000-07:00

I'm totally diggin' on this concept of blogging. Truly . . . I am. It lets me get in a lot of writing time, time that I always say I'll put aside to actually write, but I never do. Which is weird, because I love writing. I have always loved writing. I love writing in the same manner that I love reading.

When I was about seven years old, I read . . . voraciously. I can't remember a time when I didn't enjoy reading. My parents had purchased a collection of children's literature books, as well as volumes of Reader's Digest (you know, the hard cover type that was sold door-to-door) and I read them. All of them. And when I read them all, I read them again.

Then, I read everything else we had in the house. I read the medical books we had (the pictures were gross), the business books we had (taught myself how to type on a typewriter), my mother's music books (taught myself how to play the piano...not very well), my father's auto mechanic books (learned the basics of how to change the oil and fix a flat), and if I went to the library, I was like a kid in a candy store.

I've read a lot of different articles that give advice about how to blog, what to blog, how to be a better blogger, how to write a better blog, how to sell your blog, how to sell your time to blog, and all that stuff. I thought maybe that was the best route . . . you know, the best way to learn how to blog. But now, I'm not so sure. I've always had my own style, and I didn't really get into blogging just to see who was going to read my stuff; it was more for me. More of an outlet, for me.

So, I'm diggin' the blogging. I'm diggin' on the fact that I'm finding my voice through writing my blog. And that I'm writing. Yea, me!!!

Did you know or do you care...part II

2009-06-03T05:39:00.000-07:00

**I did this a while ago, thought I'd add to the already useless information rolling around inside your heads....**

The correct response to the Irish greeting, "Top of the morning to you," is "and the rest of the day to yourself." (Can't wait to meet an Irishman.)

Hacky-sack was invented in Turkey.

The southern most city in the United States is Na'alehu, Hawaii.

...more?? Okay.

The older we get, the more slowly we breathe. (Great, just one more thing to look forward to.)

It never occurred to the inventor of cornflakes to put milk on them.

Just one more....

The only place in the universe where a flag flies all day, never goes up or comes down, never flies at half-mast and does not get saluted, is the moon.

And now you know . . .

How Much Pomp, Is Too Much?

2009-06-03T03:18:00.000-07:00

I attended my nephews high school graduation. There was a lot of hootin' and hollerin' going on . . . mainly from our section in the stands. But we had good reason, this kid had literally worked his tail off to get to graduation. And, his mother was on that tail to make sure he made it to graduation. So, there was a lot to celebrate. As we watched them enter the field marching to that familiar Pomp and Circumstance tune, it was like a collective sigh from every parent, grandparent, aunt, uncle, friend, and teacher breathed out over that senior class.

And then, the talks began and to be honest they were boring. Truly, boring.

The two student speakers were nervous, and it showed, but that was expected.

The principal spoke on two ideas: relationships and having an edge. Her topic on relationships actually had an additional 3 R's, of which I cannot tell you because, well, I stopped listening to her. (That's just a whole different kind of irritation. When you say your going to speak on Relationships and then come up with additional sub-topics that also start with the letter R, for the love of Pete! Why not just say you've got 4 R's and be done with it!? Ugh!!!) When she moved on to point 2: having an edge, I started to listen again. But zoned out when she started reading off an endless list about people and places that would help these graduates gain the upper hand and have an edge in life. (Again, another level of irritant. When you list more than four or five things, it then becomes a shopping list, hello! A very boring shopping list.) Then she made the most ridiculous comment about how students in China have a higher rate of test scores than students in the United States, "but they have over a billion people, so really how fair is that?" she said. I thought to myself, "Really, is that the comment you want to make, really?"

Isn't there a rule about school administrators being qualified to make public speeches? There should be!

Then a representative of the School Board spoke about -- honestly, I can't tell you what he spoke about. But, I can tell you that he spoke too long and it wasn't at all interesting.

So, here's my take on school administrators speaking at high school graduations . . . if your not a good public speaker, than do us all a favor and pass on the Pomp and leave us to enjoy the Circumstances.

Let me 'splain. (pause) No, there is too much. Let me sum up.

2009-06-02T23:14:00.000-07:00

What is the total summation of a life? I spent most of the evening going through photos. Photos to organize, photos to email, photos to crop, photos that needed more color, photos that needed less color, photos that needed more clarity, old photos that needed to look new, new photos that needed to look old . . . stuff like that. And I came across these two photos. One is a compilation of photos of my aunt that passed away last December. The other photo is a collection of her favorite things: the Lakers and the Raiders.

A few days ago, I was at my cousin's house and she showed me a talk that my aunt had written to present to her Buddhist group. The talk detailed how she first learned about Buddhism, and the course her life was on prior to joining, and the course her life took once she had joined. After giving in to a friend's invitation she finally decided to attend a meeting. That was in June of 1983. She went to the meeting thinking, "What the hell -- if it doesn't change a thing, then oh well!" But that night was a start. That night was the beginning of a philosophy of life that gave her meaning and a sense of purpose; it gave her a reason. For the first time in a long time, she felt peaceful and calm, and she knew that happiness was on it's way.

So, let me ask you again, what is the total summation of a life? When my youngest brother passed away in 2001, I was riddled with guilt because I knew that I was not the sister that I should have been to him. For all the struggles he had in his life, for the all the mistakes that he made, for all the trouble that he caused, his life's course brought him to a point where he was at peace with himself and the person he was becoming. And all the people that traveled so far to say farewell to him was a testament to the man he had become.

Again, I pose the question, what is the total summation of a life? When my father passed away in 2004, I thought my world could not possibly exist as it had before. He was the core of our family, if he was gone then what would become of us? My father, opened himself up to a different way of believing. He stepped outside his tenured beliefs and began to walk and live a new faith. He changed his life for us, for himself. I didn't think it was fair that he was no longer with us. And because of that, I have been upset with God for quite some time now. But I know that dad wouldn't want me to throw away all the things that I know out of spite. I learned more about myself from him than I realized. I learned more about life; more about my mother; more about what I should expect of myself, what he expects of me, and what he expects me to do about it.

Photographs, mementos, journals, and letters, are merely things left by those who come in and out of our lives. But it's the person, it's the life that person lived, the lessons that person taught, the foundations that person established, the love that person represents . . . what is the total summation of a life?

Now, Tell Me A Story About Me

2009-05-20T15:40:00.000-07:00

In a not too distant land, a little girl stood crying. She was absolutely inconsolable, because she was terrified of her aunt. No matter how hard the aunt tried to make the little girl laugh or smile it only made the child cry even harder.

**Trayse doesn't believe me when I tell that story, but it's true.**

The aunt was beside herself, trying to figure out why on earth the little girl was so frightened of her. No matter what the aunt did or said, the little girl would have nothing to do with her. At meal time, the little girl would turn her head away rather than look at her aunt, and if the aunt wanted to play games, the little girl would only play if her brother were close by. Sadly, the aunt reconciled herself to the fact, that her niece just didn't like her.

Luckily, time is a great benefactor. In the case of the tearful little girl and the sorrowful aunt, time allowed for both of them to get to know each other better. As days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, and months into years, the little girl soon became inseparable from her aunt. She was now full of sweet kisses and long-lasting hugs. Her tearful days were now a distant memory, soon to be forgotten.

Time together with her niece became such a precious commodity, that the two of them decided to take a trip. So, they boarded a plane and flew to the beautiful island of Hawaii. The flight consisted of countless trips to the bathroom and the fear that the "little one" might fall in especially since the lavatory was too small for both of them to go in together. Barring a bathroom mishap, the flight arrived with all passengers intact.

The aunt's cousin, Shon, graciously welcomed them into his home and gave them the run of the place during their stay. Shon lived down the street from the beach, so the aunt and her now beautifully tanned niece decided to take a walk. While the sun was warm and bright that day, the tropical breezes were a welcome respite. The ocean was just as beautiful and inviting as the little girl's aunt had remembered; it was sky blue in some areas, a darker looking green in others, and a deep blue farther off in the distance.

They saw a turtle that day at the beach, and tiny, white crabs scurrying along the sandy shore. The squeal of her niece's voice as she squished her toes into the wet sand is what the aunt will remember most. Once, a very long time ago, there were tears that came between a little girl and her aunt. Now, there are memories of a turtle, tiny crabs, squishy wet sand between the toes, the colors of the ocean, and a little girl with lots and lots of hugs and kisses for her aunt.

Tell Me A Story About Me

2009-05-20T14:21:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time, there was a little boy who absolutely loved his aunt. He would wake up early in the morning and say to his mom, "Aunty."

Not more than a few blocks away, a phone would be ringing in the kitchen. "Hello?" The person answering the phone was not at all pleased to be woken up at such an early hour. At the other end of the telephone line, a female voice said, "Come pick up your nephew, he's asking for you." Click.

Minutes later, a car pulled into the parking lot of the little boy's apartment building. The aunt, blurry-eyed and still in her pajamas, looked up toward the top floor of the apartment building as a tiny voice could be heard screeching "Come! Come!" She could make out the sounds of a recurring thump, thump, thump as it echoed in the morning light. A baby bag appeared to be making it's way down the concrete steps alone.

A much louder voice called from over the top banister, "Trysten, will you just wait a minute! Look! See, your aunty's here already. Stop, before you fall down the stairs! Trysten!" The thumping sound stopped.

Soon, a tiny, dark curly haired boy poked his head out from between the railings of the stairwell. He looked down to confirm what his mother had said. There, standing below him was his aunt. A huge smile spread across his face. Quickly, he withdrew his head and pulled his bag closer to begin his quick descent. His mother started down the stairs after him, and his aunt started up the stairs toward him. He was like a bullet once he got started...all arms and legs moving in one direction and one speed: forward and fast.

**That's one of the many Trysten stories that I like to tell him on the rare occasions when he used to ask me to tell him a story. I doubt I'll have many more opportunities. He's going to be a freshman in high school next year.**

Eight Earthly Winds

2009-05-20T02:27:00.000-07:00

Earthly Winds 1 & 2: Gain and Loss
Last year I moved to California from Utah. I spent the next eight months getting reacquainted with my aunt. I learned more about her in eight months than all the years I've been on this earth. I worked a job I didn't particularly like, just because I enjoyed the time she and I spent together.

Earthly Winds 3 & 4: Honor and Disgrace
She lived a hard and crazy life growing up. The stories I could tell you...but then someone would have to die, and the police would get involved, and it would get all messy and ugly. Better for you to just use your imagination...she lived a hard and crazy life. She has numerous nieces and nephews, grandnieces and grandnephews...and everyone of them would tell you that she was the bomb-diggity! She was the cool aunt! She was the aunt that would take you in when you were on the run, she'd threaten to beat your butt if she ever caught you smoking weed (as she carefully rolled her joints in front of you), she treated you like an adult when your parents still treated your like you were 10, she was always ready and willing to thrown down in a Jack-In-The-Box parking lot, and she wasn't afraid to say "don't make me get my gun out!" Nam-myoho-renge-kyo was her lifeline to peace and tranquility...and she needed a lot of it!

Earthly Winds 5 & 6: Praise and Blame
On the many long drives that she and I traveled on the way to work, our conversations often turned to her years growing up on the streets. I would have to compare her to Charles Dickens's character, the artful Dodger. She was innovative and clever, and could take care of herself. There were moments though...moments when I could hear the anger and frustration in her voice. It's the voice of that lost kid wanting to ask why her, why not someone else to shoulder the load; why not someone else to be responsible; why couldn't she just be the happy-go-lucky kid? But then, I'd see her take a deep breath and let it out...and the moment would pass. Nam-myoho-renge-kyo, is like the roar of a lion! That's how I'll always remember her.

Earthly Winds 7 & 8: Happiness and Pain
No matter how many times I have to walk into a hospital emergency room, the icky feeling that settles in my stomach always feels like it's the first time I'm experiencing it. Does that make sense? I don't think it's the waiting that gets me unraveled, it's the feeling of not being able to control the situation. It's the realization, that willing something to happen or not happen isn't enough; it's like striking out at the wind, and being spun around and around because there isn't anything solid to connect with. She was scared, I know she was. I know she was, because I know I was scared for her. She was scared and she never would have admitted it. I know she was scared, and I would have never admitted that I was scared for her. But I remember her love, her life, her strength, her courage, her kick-ass attitude, her laughter, her dreams. I remember her. I will remember her. I miss her.

The Breakfast Club

2009-05-17T03:40:00.001-07:00

Have you seen the movie, The Breakfast Club? I just caught the tail end of it last night, but I'm sure I've seen it at least 10 times or more since it first came out in 1985. There's a scene in the movie where the five kids (the brain, the jock, the basket case, the princess, and the criminal) are sitting on the floor in the library, and they're beginning to open up, share things and learn things about each other and themselves. It's essentially the pivotal part in the movie when they learn that while everyone is different, they're all pretty much the same. It's not exactly the "ah-ha" moment but, when I watched it last night, I realized that I had had my own "Breakfast Club" scenario in high school.

There were five of us (Daniel, Junior, Claudia, Selena and myself) that had talked our way out of history class under the guise of doing library research. Over the course of the school year, the five of us had all become acquainted with each other just because we had taken the same history class together. Daniel was the star athlete, Junior had transferred during our junior year, Claudia and Selena were popular and intellectual, and I was -- well, just me. I had friends that I hung out with, I was on the track team, and I guess I was fairly well liked by most of the people I knew.

This was our senior year, and I had never really taken the time to get to know Daniel, Claudia or Selena prior to that class; whereas Junior and I quickly became best friends the year he transferred in and we were pretty much inseparable. Junior and Daniel bonded over football, Claudia and Selena were friends with Daniel, and I guess the circle of circumstance just worked its magic and drew us all together.

My "Breakfast Club" moment happened on that one day that we had sweet-talked our way out of class, and got a pass to the library. We took a table towards the back and initially settled down to get some work done. But really, who were we kidding? It was freedom! After about five minutes of small talk, and spreading out books and paper to make it look legit, we began to share stories about ourselves. Some of what we talked about has faded from my memory, but I realized that the people sitting at that table really weren't all that different from myself. Daniel was funny and had a quick wit that I admired, and he had the ability to laugh at himself. Claudia and Selena weren't the enigmatic geniuses that I thought would never give me the time of day. I found myself coming to the realization that we three had a lot of things in common. And, Junior was what I had already known him to be . . . a really great friend. For myself, I think they all found out some things about me that they didn't know . . . and they still liked me.

I have nothing negative to say about my high school years. I had a great time. I had fun. I had a lot of friends. I have tons of great memories to draw on, but I think watching the movie made me realize that I missed out on opportunities of getting to know more people. But, I think that was sort of the point of the movie. Comfort zone; step outside of; bubble; burst.

Born on the 7th of May

2009-05-15T03:21:00.000-07:00

My brother and I were both born in the month of May; he's four years older than I am although he would never fully admit to being "that" old. Ever since we were kids, we always celebrated our birthdays together not because it was cute or quirky, but because his birthday was on the 4th and mine was on the 7th, and with four children in the family it gets expensive celebrating individual birthdays within the same month.

My last real birthday party that I had with my brother was when I turned 7 and he was 11. To be perfectly honest, I never minded the combined birthday parties. We had the same friends, same relatives, and board games were big back then so gift giving wasn't a big deal. My mom and dad packed up our big blue Ford station wagon with four very excited kids, and loads of food, drinks, music and headed to the beach. I remember we had a white cake decorated with yellow flowers and green leaves made out of frosting and it said "Happy birthday Danny and Rita." I thought it was the prettiest cake I had ever seen. We played dodge ball, swam in the ocean, ate barbecue, had games and prizes, and then cake and ice cream. The party lasted well until the sun went down and the memory has lasted even longer. It was the best day ever! I love how that moment is such a vivid memory.

As we all got older, there weren't so many actual birthday parties; we had birthday dinners at the restaurant of our choice instead. It was nice, but nothing compares to that one specific birthday. So, on the occasion of my birthday, I declare my 7th birthday as my official birthday memory for all future birthday celebrations. And should my brother and I decide to have another birthday like that again, I will definitely send out invitations.

Dear Diary...

2009-04-10T19:49:00.000-07:00

There is no one in the world that knows more about me than "Dear Diary." Since I was fourteen years old, I started writing to "Dear Diary" and our relationship has continued to blossom. Sometimes I'm hesitant in what I write to "Dear Diary," because I'm afraid that I'll be a disappointment. But "Dear Diary" has never raised an eyebrow or objection about anything that I've written. Instead, "Dear Diary" has remained steadfast and faithful and has never judged me. Sometimes, when I don't feel like writing to "Dear Diary," we sit and reminisce. I can't believe how much "Dear Diary" remembers. "Dear Diary's" memory is astounding. There are instances that are crystal clear to "Dear Diary" that I may have completely forgotten. More importantly, I can't believe how much "Dear Diary" continues to teach me even after all these years. There are times when I have written to "Dear Diary" in absolute assurance that certain actions of mine were true and correct or my treatment of others were justifiable, but as time passed and "Dear Diary" is in the mood to reminisce again, in the most non judgemental way I am brought to see the real truth of my actions. "Dear Diary" is my most truest mirror and my most dearest confidant. There are times when thoughts run ragged in my mind and without "Dear Diary" I would drown in them. And then there are moments, the most solitary of moments, when I feel so weighted down that "Dear Diary" is my only solace and comfort. I'm most grateful for the times that "Dear Diary" has forgiven me when I have
been lapsed in writing. I would sometimes have dry spells that last months and when I finally do write to "Dear Diary" I'm playing catch up with all the events that have happened. I feel bad that I've treated "Dear Diary" so poorly, but never a harsh word is spoken about my absence. Even now, when I've put off writing to "Dear Diary," there are so many things that I could have or should have written; I feel neglectful but at the same time I know that "Dear Diary" is patient and knows that when I am ready to write . . . I will.

Living in Envy

2009-03-12T20:25:00.000-07:00

It's been nearly a week and a half. I still can't believe they did it. My sister and her family have moved back to Hawaii! I spoke to her yesterday and there was a sound of relief and lightness in her tone; it was as if she were smiling through the phone. I am so envious of her...happy, but envious. I could "hear" such a huge change in my sister's voice. She kept saying, "I'm so glad to be home." It made me even more homesick. I wanted to jump on the next plane out of here. I wanted to just shed everything that's holding me here and head on home to Hawaii. **sigh**

Hail To The Chief

2009-02-28T22:06:00.000-08:00

I have never taken an interest in politics. I claim no political affiliation (much to the disappointment of my father, a long standing Democrat). And yet, this past presidential campaign had captured my interest as never before. I found myself watching with growing interest some of the more high profile candidates. I wasn't very informed on the politics of the candidates, but still I listened and I watched and I waited.

The first time I ever heard Barack Obama speak was in 2005. He was receiving an award from the NAACP. I didn't know much about him other than he was senator of Illinois and I don't recall much what he said. I do remember thinking how eloquent he was, how passionate he seemed to be, and how he could possibly run for president one day and have a really good shot at it.

In a speech given at a dinner fundraiser back in 2005, Mr. Obama stated, "The battle lines may have shifted and the barriers to equality may be new, but what's not new is the need for everyday heroes to stand up and speak out for what they believe is right." He may already have been grooming himself for the White House.

Fast forward three years and presidential candidate Barack Obama is spiraling up the polls and generating a historical ripple that would change the face of this nation. He campaigned in Utah when I was still living there. The news reports showed a huge following in a predominantly Republican state. The press coverage showed a mass amount of people showing up to support him. That was impressive.

At the California Democratic Convention, he said "if we don’t meet those challenges, we could end up leaving our children a world that’s a little poorer and a little meaner than we found it." He sounded sincere, concerned, hopeful, truthful...he sounded like he really wanted to make a difference. And I believed him.

When he says, "Our government should work for us, not against us. It should help us, not hurt us. It should ensure opportunity not just for those with the most money and influence, but for every American who's willing to work. That's the promise of America, the idea that we are responsible for ourselves, but that we also rise or fall as one nation, the fundamental belief that I am my brother's keeper, I am my sister's keeper." I believe him.

And when he rallied the country under one banner and reached out to those across the globe, he spoke to the world saying "This is our chance to answer that call. This is our moment. This is our time, to put our people back to work and open doors of opportunity for our kids; to restore prosperity and promote the cause of peace; to reclaim the American dream and reaffirm that fundamental truth, that, out of many, we are one; that while we breathe, we hope. And where we are met with cynicism and doubts and those who tell us that we can't, we will respond with that timeless creed that sums up the spirit of a people: Yes, we can." So says, President Barack Obama. And I believe him.

http://www.boston.com/news/politics/politicalintelligence/2008/07/mccain_rips_oba.html

Paperbacks Unlimited

2009-02-04T05:33:00.000-08:00

There is a book store down the road from where I live; I've passed it every day for the past 2 months. I look for the sign, even though I already know what it says, and as I come up on it, I read it and it makes me smile. Yes, that's odd, weird even, but it does...so, there! Two months is a long time to deny myself the opportunity of perusing the endless possibilities of literature. I was hesitant to go inside because, well don't laugh, but I didn't want to be disappointed. I didn't want to find that it was a crappy store full of crappy books. That would have been so disheartening and....crappy.

Paperbacks Unlimited, which is the name of the store, is a literary treasure trove. They have a large selection of genres to choose from, which I can attest to because I walked the length and width of the store in the course of 3 hours. It didn't take 3 hours to walk through the store, it took me 3 hours of perusal within the store. I shop in bookstores like some people shop for clothes or shoes. We are all addicts of one thing or another. I publicly acknowledge that I love British literature best, but I would never presume to limit myself to any particular genre, because . . . well, I love books.

So, imagine my surprise when I found a book entitled "Danny Boy, The Lengend of the Beloved Irish Ballad." I've always had a fascination with the song "Danny Boy." I'm sure it has a lot to do with the fact that my brother's name is Danny, but ever since I was about 7 or 8 years old, and I heard Doris Day sing "Danny Boy" I was hooked. And now I have a book about the song.

3 interesting facts about the song "Danny Boy."
1.) The words were written by a British lawyer (Frederick Edward Weatherly) who wrote it on a train on his way to work in 1910.
2.) The tune for the song "Danny Boy" is based on an old Irish melody called Londonderry Air that is over 300 years old.
3.) The lyrics for "Danny Boy" had been filed away for 2 years until Weatherly was sent a melody and was asked to write lyrics to compliment the music. He dug the lyrics of "Danny Boy" out of his old files, and with only a few alterations, a new song was born.

The author, Malachy McCort, wrote that the song "has a profound effect on people from all corners of the world, a trait it shares with the truest of any work of art." As much as I love the song, "Danny Boy," I never once thought of it as a work of art. But, McCort is correct in stating that the song has the capability of reaching people everywhere, and after having read the book, I can see the artistic value of the song.

A melody was performed by a blind Irish fiddler and his tune is carried across the sea and mingled with the words of an English lawyer who creates "a song capable of describing, at least in part, the contents of the human heart." Any rendition of the song will cause a lump in my throat and bring tears to my eyes. The words are full of longing and sorrow, faith and hope, loss and reunions. It's all of those adjectives and more.

Aren't books wonderful?

A Paris Window

2009-01-21T07:55:00.000-08:00

I took this picture as I stood on the bridge across the Seine river in Paris, France. My cousin and I maneuvered our way through the underground metro (which took us at least 30 minutes because we kept getting turned around) and made our way street level; cars, crowds and buildings far older than anything we had ever seen rose up in front of us. They were old and ornate, they bespoke of queens and kings, of revolutions and royalty. And here I was standing in history; standing on the streets of Paris!

We walked down the Champs Elysee and sat on a bench where we ate baguette sandwiches, chocolate crepes and drank Orangina. We watched the cars and the beautifully dressed people go by. I had always dreamt of such a moment, but never really thought it would become a reality, an actuality. It was beyond my dreams!

Sometimes, I am in awe of some of the things that I do. Isn't that a weird thing to say? I executed a plan which put Sonja and myself on a plane to France and surrounded us in a culture and language that was foreign on so many levels.

The reality of my life is that I sometimes bog myself down with too much thinking and sensibility. I put my mind into overdrive and can literally think myself out of things that I really want to try or what I imagine myself capable of doing. I can be so irritatingly practical at times.

I stood in front of Notre Dame! See the picture? That's me -- standing in front of Nortre Dame! How unbelievably incredible is that?! I often dreamt of what it would be like to walk the halls of the cathedral, look up at the stained glass windows or sit on the church pews and soak up the atmosphere. Now, I don't have to wonder any more. It was awesome!

Of all the photos I took while in Paris . . and trust me there are a lot of them, this next picture is my favorite. TAH-DAH!!!

A picture of our window looking out on the street below. We stayed on the 5th floor in the Hotel de Paris, which is in the 19th district. Basically, we were on the outskirts of the Paris district. We were hard pressed to find any Americans in that area. And still, we strolled the streets as if we belonged. We became prolific in saying, "Bon joure" and "merci" to everyone we met. And we even ordered croissants in French. Can you beat that?!

And every night, after our daily adventures, I would sit on the window sill and look down on the street, listening to a cacophony of Parisian sounds below: sirens that echoed in the night (we found it was a regular occurrence), and sounds of laughter and music floating up to our open window . . . I was thrilled by it all! I was in love with Paris! I love Paris!

It was exhilarating knowing that I had done something so out of the norm, and out of character! I want to carry those feelings and memories of being courageous. It's so empowering! So, I think I'll make a copy of my Paris window and carry it around with me. It'll be the reminder I need to always be courageous enough to just . . . try.

RE: Email on Burundanga Drug‏

2009-01-13T22:40:00.000-08:00

So, I got this email from my cousin in Hawaii. You know how it goes: spams, forwards, junk mail, alert! alert!, this was so cute, I just had to send it, etc., etc. The gist of the email was that some lady at a gas station was approached by some guy who gave her his business card. She drove away and noticed the guy following her; she also noticed a strange odor on her fingers and began to feel dizzy, and couldn't catch her breath. With some quick thinking on her part (so the email goes), she got away, the man drove away, and thus we now have an email about drug-laced business cards.

The email states: "This drug is called 'BURUNDANGA' and it is used by people who wish to incapacitate a victim in order to steal from or take advantage of them."

I replied to everyone (42 people) who's email was attached to mine . This was my reply:

You know how sometimes good intentions get the better of you? This is one of those times. I read the email below about the drug-laced business card and I thought to myself "how crazy is this world getting? You know?" And then, it got me thinking...can someone actually ingest a drug (of such high toxicity) into their skin just by holding onto a business card? Really? On a business card? Who are these people handing out these cards? High-level espionage spies?! And why go to all that trouble to stake out unsuspecting women at gas stations? And if such a thing were taking place among the general population, wouldn't that be something that the press would have jumped on? I mean, come on, that would be a HUGE storyline!

So...I googled the name of the drug "Burundanga." As it turns out, it is a drug which originated in Columbia; similar to date-rape drugs and often used on unsuspecting tourist, so the story goes, which you can read on the following website which also has copies of the aforementioned emails: http://www.snopes.com/crime/warnings/burundanga.asp According to the website, the drug is typically "slipped into the food or drink of the intended victims, or it is packed into cigarettes or sticks of gum." The website also indicates that the drug cannot be absorbed through the skin, and there are no legitimate reports of it having happened here in the United States. Basically, (and thankfully) the drug is currently only associated within the regions in and around Columbia.

And now we can all rest easier....one less crazy situation to worry about! Ahhh.... :) Rita

Sometimes, I have way too much time on my hands. LOL!

The "Four" Tag

2009-01-02T15:22:00.000-08:00

Four Things I did today:
1.) Made breakfast for my uncles and family.
2.) Went with my uncle to pay off funeral services for my aunt (it's been a tough month).
3.) Picked out an Urn for my aunt's ashes (I think she would like it).
4.) Sent out online obituary to Honolulu Advertiser for my aunt.

Four Things on my To-Do List:
1.) Get back on my work schedule.
2.) Pack away my aunt's clothes for my uncle.
3.) Organize my aunt's financial paperwork for my uncle.
4.) Get my own bills organized.

Four Guilty Pleasures:
1.) Sleeping...it's my favorite past time.
2.) Alone Time...just to get away from everyone.
3.) Food...of all varieties. Ummm...yummy.
4.) Wanting to hibernate to read and write.

Four Random Facts:
1.) I really, really like croissants.
2.) If I could do without a cell phone, I would.
3.) I want to go to my high school reunion this year...it's in Vegas!!
4.) I'm thinking of moving back to Hawaii...still in the thinking stage, only.

Save Me!

2008-12-19T02:30:00.000-08:00

I think my dad was exceptionally proud of knowing that at one point in my life, I was a card carrying First Aid/CPR certified individual. He made a point of showing me his own card. It was a bonding moment for the both of us. Mind you, my card stated that I was certified to bandage or save a life . . . whether I could remember how to bandage or save a life was another question. But it felt exhilarating to know that I had accomplished such a huge task, and having the card in my wallet was pretty cool. Dad had a much cooler card, but I won't quibble.

My First Aid/CPR certification has long since expired and I never got around to renewing it. I've always thought that if the occasion ever arose I could probably still swing the whole First Aid/CPR . . . no sweat. I've watched enough ER shows to be able to pull it off. How hard could it be?

I was put to the test. It shook me to my core -- and even now, I'm sure I did it all wrong. The thought that someone's life was in my hands and in my ability to count and breath life back into their body, was frightening. Even though I appeared to be calm and collected, inside my heart was pounding out of control and my mind was racing trying to remember, "Was it 3 quick breaths and 2 compressions or is it 2 breaths and 3 compressions? Or is more than 3 or less than 2?" My cousin was able to get a hold of the paramedics and fire department and they came quick. I pushed ever conceivable thought out of my mind for fear that I might start screaming words! thoughts! phrases! gibberish!

The sound of sirens in the distance never sounded so beautiful to my ears. They were coming, I told myself. Help was coming. They would help. They can help. They were calm and reassuring. I never doubted that they would know what to do. It was like watching a well oiled machinery up close and personal. My father was a fire fighter for over 30 years, and watching these men (men of his own calibre) working in such close quarters and still appearing cool, calm and collected; I was so proud of them...of their effort, their care and their compassion. It's an image that I will carry with me always. Thank you!

This Much I Know....

2008-12-17T22:40:00.000-08:00

1. Most people generally put their best foot forward when they meet you for the first time...it's usually what they do with their other foot that can be surprising.

2. How a person treats their significant other when he/she thinks no one is looking will either lift your heart or crush it.

3. People who generate unsolicited kindness toward others absolutely gain my heart. I aspire to be more like them and am always in awe of them.

4. People who are confident in expressing their thoughts and ideas always gain a smile from me. I draw inspiration from their ability to be articulate. I admire that gift.

5. In solitude, we often show our truer self. I wonder why we don't trust ourselves enough to show it to others?

6. Sometimes a person can be hurtful without intent; sometimes a person can be intentionally hurtful.

That's all I got so far...glean what you will.

A Stream of M&M Consciousness

2008-12-10T02:13:00.000-08:00

I've got the M&M's out and Frank Sinatra crooning in the background. For some reason I'm just really in a Frank Sinatra mood. Ahhh...old blue eyes, he really does the trick.

**eyeing an M&M suspiciously...could be icky***

I went to visit my aunt in the hospital this evening after I got off of work. Something has been gnawing at me for the past few days; something my cousin said to me. She stopped by the house to drop off something...or pick up something. Anyway, it was just a casual comment, but after she left I found myself sitting there on the couch in a stupor of thought.

**ohh, that was a bad one...yuck!**

It was one of those moments when you have a thought or an idea perched just on the tip of your brain, but for some reason you can't really get it to take a solid form. It took a few days for me to sort it through. When I went to work today, it was the same routine except for the fact that I purposely left the radio off in the car. I just didn't feel like having excess noise in my head. Without the radio, and my usual don't-talk-to-me-in-the-morning mood, the silence allowed me ample opportunity to slide my thoughts left, right, up, down, pick it up and move it in the corner to make room for other thoughts.

Now, that I think about it, I'm sure my cousin must have been a bit confused as to why I hadn't turned the radio on. I think he's somewhat use to the one sided conversation he has on our drive out, but without the radio to fill the silence it probably made it a bit more weird.

When my aunt first went into the hospital, she was diagnosed with pneumonia and she needed to be treated for her asthma and a nagging cough she couldn't get rid of. I took her to the emergency room and stayed with her all day when they finally admitted her. I stopped by to visit with her several times after work each day. They moved her from one floor to another and she had a host of doctors all trying to diagnose her condition. The pneumonia they covered, the asthma was treatable, but the cough just had them stumped. Then the doctors were saying that they suspected she may have a tumor in her lung. But, at that point, it was all just speculation and also the worst case scenario. No one was saying anything definitively, it was just something on a list of things to rule out.

**orange, red, yellow, brown, blue, green, hmm...I thought there were more colors**

The worst case scenario turned out to be cancer on her lung, but they caught it early and chemotherapy should put things right again. Okay. Then, I missed a visit and went home right after work...too much paper work, gotta prepare for the next day's work load. Everyone's busy, rush, rush, rush...another day ends, another missed visit...it was a long day, even more paper work and the next day's work load is going to be crazy. The weekend comes and goes. No visit, no reason.

**I'm running low on M&M's**

When my cousin stopped by the house I told her, as she was leaving, to say hello to our aunt. As she was walking out the door, she said "Why don't you call her? I'm sure she'd love to hear from you." I paused. Even as I paused, I couldn't believe that I had paused. I mean, really? What was that all about?

**eww...that one was really bad. Yucky, yuck, yuck**

My aunt's husband told me that they were still running more tests on her. They were going to send a scope down her throat to determine if the cancer started in her lung and if it had spread, or if it had started somewhere in her stomach or pancreas and spread to her lung. Everyone is being very positive and very optimistic. Did I mention that? That everyone is being very positive and optimistic? Positive and optimistic. Positive. Optimistic.

**the M&M's aren't working...and I have eight left**

"So, they said it's cancer." She said it so matter-of-fact as if the diagnosis was harmless as the common cold. She started her first chemotherapy this evening...I was there. I'm glad I was there. I smiled at the nurse as she happily came in to explain the process. She was positive and optimistic. I smiled at my aunt, and laughed, and talked about work and all the mundane things that will show I am also positive and optimistic. Her doctor said the cancer started from her pancreas and spread to her lung. My aunt is positive and optimistic. She told her doctor she refuses to accept anything less than a full recovery. They will keep her in the hospital for three treatments of chemo to monitor her response and then she will be able to come home as an outpatient.

**I have two M&M's left...I'll name one Positive and the other Optimistic and I'll eat them**

Just so you don't think I was totally off point, I figured out why I paused...and why I stopped going to the hospital. You don't need to know why, just that I figured it out. Funny how things work out like that, huh?

**It's a good thing I'm done cause I'm out of M&M's...thanks for the smooth vocals Frank!**

Blogging on a Blog

2008-12-09T23:58:00.000-08:00

Last month I blogged about the need, nay the desire for quiet...shush, is basically what I wrote. It is often my mantra when the decibels start to increase beyond my liking. In my effort to drive my point home, I used my cousin as an example. That probably wasn't very nice now that I've had time to reflect. I've also toyed with the idea of removing the blog in question, you know...just in case. LOL. I shared my blog with another cousin (who happens to be the brother of the cousin I blogged) who found the humor in what I wrote, but still...it's a bit mean of me to say those things about him, right? It's all true, mind you, but still...

I don't know why I don't like a lot of noise. I much prefer quiet and solitude to the noisy, rambunctiousness (is that a word?) of the world around me. Sheesh, it makes me sound like an old person. LOL. Hmm...well, I guess I am, sort of...getting there anyway. I'm fairly certain I was a loud, noisy, obnoxious child growing up. Weird. Oh well.

Do You Hear What I Hear?

2008-12-09T01:10:00.000-08:00

Christmas carols are playing on the t.v. in the background, and the neighbors Chihuahua's are barking up a storm next door. It's 1:12 a.m. I've been thinking how weird it will be to not have snow this Christmas. Granted, I've complained for the majority of those years regarding the snow, but when you don't have it anymore...well, you know how it is.

**ooh..I just found a stash of M&M's**

My aunt went into the hospital just before Thanksgiving. She had a bought with pneumonia and hadn't been able to shake it. Long story short...she got a second case of pneumonia and finally decided to go to the hospital. It's going on 3 weeks now...they found a shadow on her x-rays and have been trying to determine what it is. The results are finally in..she has cancer. It's in my head and I'm able to completely understand and process the meaning, but...not really.

She's an extraordinary woman, my aunt. There are a handful of people that I credit for laying the foundation of my childhood: my grandmothers (Sasa & Luisa), my father, and my aunty Nu'u. As a child I spent a lot of time with my maternal grandparents,

**eww...I got a yucky M&M**

we all did. At any given time, there were at least 8 grandchildren all under the age of 12; on a good day we were at full force with 11 grandchildren all under the same roof for a whole weekend. My aunt was the designated babysitter. At the tender age of 6 or 7, I had no idea my aunt was still in high school. I didn't even know what being in high school meant. I always thought of her as one of the big people, a grown up. She took us (all of us) to the store to get candy, she drove us around to do errands, she fed us, made sure we took our naps (can you believe we took naps...all of us), and took a shower before bedtime, and made sure we went to bed on time: 8pm.

As I got older, I began to realize she was totally cool. She drove a cool car that she actually knew how to fix if it broke down, she had an insane music collection that she let us play whenever we came over to the house, she never yelled or screamed at us, and she taught us a lot of cool and interesting stuff (that we would or could never do at home). But what I love the most about her is that she always seemed fearless. She spoke her mind, stood her ground, and she would not hesitate to kick your ass if you messed with her.

I'm not sure how I deviated from the Christmas theme to aunty Nu'u. Funny how things happen that way.

**yuck, yuck..another icky M&M**

I'll tell you more about her another day...I can barely stay seated. Mornin' all!

I don't want to move again...ever

2008-12-02T21:31:00.000-08:00

Next to having to get up early in the morning, I absolutely despise the act of moving! I have moved (on my own) a total of five times. Five! And this last move is only temporary, but necessary. But still, it doesn't make the moving process any less horrid. I am absolutely thankful for my family that have helped me out every time that I did move (and pawned my stuff off on them that I didn't want to lug around with me).

I tried to do a change of address online...simple, easy, and it alleviates having to mail in a card which could take however long it takes to process, or from having to go into the post office. But to complete the online process it is going to cost me $1.00. Granted it's a small price to pay to do an address change online, but really? A dollar? They say it's to prevent fraudulent changes....so, they're going to charge me a dollar?! See, that just adds to my frustration of moving! So, now I will have to go to the post office and make the change in person. Great!

On a much lighter note...with the help of my family, it took me two days to complete the moving process. Day 1 was the back-breaking move from the apartment to the storage unit, and day 2 was the cleaning of all the assorted items that I forgot to shove into the moving truck. The miscellaneous items were finagled into the storage unit where they will remain until another move is attempted to a more permanent place of residence. Again, my family was instrumental in the final clean and move, which I am most grateful. If it weren't for them, I would have sat down in the middle of all those boxes and had a massive breakdown. My aunty Nu'u always says, "that's what family is for." Man, am I glad I got family!

Hope Aboundeth

2008-12-02T21:11:00.000-08:00

"Sad soul, take comfort, nor forget
That sunrise never failed us yet."
~ Celia Thaxter

Did you know or do you care....

2008-11-28T23:55:00.000-08:00

In old England, hanging day was Friday, and the hangman's pay per job was 13 pence. That combination, however unreasonable, added another eerie aspect to superstitions about Friday the 13th.

Another one? Okay...

It was the early day Mormons around Salt Lake City who became most widely known for their "dog coats." The less affluent of them shaved their dogs and wove the cuttings into course cloth.

Just one more...

You know what started the huge popularity for T-shirts? World War II. All armed services required GI's to wear GI underwear.

And now you know...

A new word, a new day

2008-11-28T23:47:00.000-08:00

Machiavellian: (adj) Suggestive of or characterized by the principles of expediency, deceit, and cunning attributed to Niccolo Machiavelli.

sentence: It was all done with Machiavellian cunning by which he could gently and gradually bring about the knowledge of their brother's secret.

Charlie Chaplin said...

2008-11-28T12:23:00.000-08:00

"You need not be famous to write something worth remembering, worth preserving, worth publishing."

Every Tid-bit Counts

2008-11-28T12:15:00.001-08:00

It is the written word that I love. It is the written word that frees me from the jumbled, stumbling elementary vocabulary that I tend to spew in conversation. I have always had a love affair with words. They have mesmerized me, transported me, sheltered and succored me, and yes, they have even eluded me. But whether the written words are my own or someone else's, I take note of them . . . I jot them down . . . I hold onto them . . . I journal them so that one day (like this day), I can share them. I hope you like them. I hope you share your words.

Flicker Search on Thanksgiving

2008-11-27T14:38:00.000-08:00

I'm in the process of packing and moving, so I'm thankful for the time to get it all done, the time to take a break, the time not to gorge myself on turkey and fixin's, the time to be in my own space, and...for all of you. Happy Thanksgiving!Questions:
1. What is your first name? . Margarita
2. What is your favorite food? Beef Wellington
3. What school did you go to? Waipahu
4. What is your favorite color? Sky Magic ~
5. Who is your celebrity crush? Dwayne the rock johnson
6. Favorite drink? Strawberry and Cream Frappaccino
7. Dream vacation? Fontana di Trevi - Particolare
8. Favorite dessert? Leonard's Bakery
9. What you want to be when you grow up? Literary Soon-to-Reads. Stuff on my short list, 2004 (annotated)
10. What do you love most in life? Immensité - Infinity
11. One word to describe you. A strong will
12. Your nickname. I'd Like Mornings Better if They Started Later*

Concept:
1. Type your answer to each of the questions below into Flicker Search. http://www.flickr.com/search/
2. Using only the first page, pick an image.
3. Copy and paste each of the URLs for the images into fd’s mosaic maker. http://bighugelabs.com/flickr/mosaic.php (choose four columns and three rows, also choose individual URL's)

**all photo credit: 1. Margarita, 2. Beef Wellington, 3. Waipahu 1995, 4. Sky Magic ~, 5. Dwayne the rock johnson, 6. Untitled, 7. Fontana di Trevi - Particolare, 8. Leonard's Bakery, 9. Literary Soon-to-Reads. Stuff on my short list, 2004 (annotated), 10. Immensité - Infinity, 11. A strong will is better than a vain wish., 12. I'd Like Mornings Better if They Started Later*

"We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?"

2008-11-24T00:57:00.000-08:00

Brilliance is not a word I would use to describe myself. But the question posed by Marianne Williamson in her book A Return to Love, struck a reflective cord. She followed up the question with another question: "Actually, who are you not to be?" It got me thinking. Brilliant. You can't see the slight smirk on my face that indicates doubt. Gorgeous. You also can't see the raised eyebrow indicative of doubt and skepticism. Talented. My thoughts are jumbled like a jigsaw puzzle. Fabulous. It can't be me.
Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.
I'll be honest, feeling inadequate is one of my fears. But, having others recognize just how inadequate I am, that is my biggest fear. Maybe that's why I never go for the big dreams. But, what if feeling inadequate is not my deepest fear? What if, my deepest fear is being "powerful beyond measure?" Do you know what that reminds me of? "Where much is given, much is required." Man, I never really got that verse in terms of my daily life. Spiritually, I got what the reference meant, but I guess I blew it in the daily application. We are powerful beyond measure. If that statement is true, do you know what that means? I mean, do you really know what that means? If I am or you are "powerful beyond measure" than there is nothing that is out of reach. All things are possible. The magnitude of that phrase is sensical, but at the same time incomprehensible. It's like staring out into the Milky Way and not knowing where to place your focus. If I close my eyes, I can just barely make out the truth of that statement, but the full shape, body, substance is still blurry. I have a feeling, a sensation of what that statement means but it's going to take time to manifest itself to me.
It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us.
What would it take to claim that power to shatter the darkness and illuminate my world? What would it take to shake the fear, doubt and skepticism and stand bold and be courageous? What would it take to overcome what frightens me the most and accept being brilliant, gorgeous, talented and fabulous?

We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God.

I know that I am a child of God. Granted, I am not the best or most behaved child of God, but I am His child. I've never thought of it as Sunday school rhetoric or scriptural platitudes. So, in understanding that I am a child of God, it should follow that He would expect all of his children to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented and fabulous. There would be no question of the adjectives He would use to describe His sons and daughters. Wow. That's profound...and humbling.

Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you.

Gosh, that statement sounds like something Professor Chase would have said. Professor Chase would have followed that up with "now that you know it, do something about it."

We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us, it's in everyone.

My sister has three children: Travis, Trysten and Trayse. They are our future. As the adults in their world, we try to teach them how to best live a good life so that when they are adults they will be good people. We try to teach them to walk a better path than we have. We teach them to learn to be leaders so that they will know whom they are following. We teach them to love and respect each other, so others will show the same to them and their siblings. We teach them to love God so that they will always know they are not alone in this world. I need to remember to do the same.

And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.

My younger brother Joseph was known for his famous one-liners. His best friend Troy, who spoke at his funeral, reminded us of a few of them: "Come, let me give you a free hug." "Be good to yourself. Be good to somebody else." "For you the world. For now, a ride to work." Joseph's life reminds me that being brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and fabulous isn't as far-fetched as I thought.

(Thanks to Ipo for posting the poem on her blog. It was the catalyst that got me thinking.)

fyi...Siana, these are my photos and not stock photos. I expect you to be impressed with them ;)

And the fog rolled in....

2008-11-18T23:13:00.000-08:00

I saw the most magnificent scene today as I was driving around Mill Valley, CA. It was just the briefest of glimpses; a few clouds seemed to hug the mountain side. Granted, I couldn't watch too closely since I was drivng, but I pointed it out to my cousin and he got a bit excited by the whole scenery.

As we drove on through the east side of Mill Valley, the fog began to move more swiftly. It snuggled up close and personal along the little mountain ranges, and then it lazily sprawled itself out over the valley floor and the lake nearby. It reminded me of passing rain showers in Hawaii. I used to love to watch the rain as it moved like a watery sheet gliding without inhibition across the island. Even more spectacular, was watching it fall from the sky and end in the sea; there seemed to be no specific point of origin or destination. It just...was.

Weather is intriguing, don't you think? I mean, it has no agenda other than to exist as wind or water or both. Even in it's most terrifying state, it is still a wonder. It's hard to contemplate and drive at the same time, but those few thoughts did manage to seep in as I maneuvered my way through traffic.

And then, my cousin, pointed out just the tiniest hint of metal sticking out through the misty fog...the Golden Gate Bridge or maybe it was the Richmond Bridge. How cool is that? I keep reminding myself that I need to take my camera with me when we go to work, because work encompasses several miles to and from home. I've seen some beautiful art work, some strange pieces and even the bizarre. And each and every time I say, "I should have brought my camera."

(fyi..these photos are stock images. I don't own them.)

Tagged

2008-11-18T03:15:00.000-08:00

1. Link this post to the person who tagged you: Ipo
2. Post the rules on your blog (SEE!)
3. List 6 random things about yourself.
4. Tag 6 people at the end of your post.
5. Let each person know they have been tagged and leave a comment on their blog.
6. Let the tagger know when your entry is up.
**I can do random in general, but random specific? That's going to be a toughie.

1. I have more books than I know what to do with and if I had my way, I'd buy even more.

2. I'm taking a line out of Siana's radom-ness and state that I fall under the Chinese sign of the Horse. Of all the things I've read about the Horse sign the following comes as close to who I am: "Being born a Horse, there are many contradictions in his character. Horses are proud yet sweet-natured, arrogant yet oddly modest in their approach to love, envious but tolerant, conceited yet humble. They want to belong, yet they are burdened by their need for independence. They need love and crave intimacy yet often feel cornered, pressured. But the truth is, the Horse is an individual, who depends only on his wits and his labor to get what he wants." That's me in a nutshell, people.

3. I love to learn, but am the worst student ever (I see Ipo nodding her head). I've been that way since grade school. I'm not sure why. Maybe if I send a shout-out to Dr. Phil he might do a pyscho-analysis on me. I think excelling in school, like in life, requires being out in front and I don't do well out in front. It's a character flaw.

4. Growing up, I never fantasied about getting married. I never wanted to be married or to even have kids. I wanted to live in the city, have a cool career, and be independent. I think for the most part, I've done the majority of those things. I'm still not sure about marriage (I won't say never) and kids are probably a forgone issue.

5. I think I would have joined the military out of high school, if but for one small issue . . . I don't like people telling me what to do. hee...hee...hee ;)

6. I am stubborn to a fault (and that's all I'm going to say on that).

And I Quote...

2008-11-16T11:57:00.000-08:00

"Write about daily life as you would write history." Gustave Flaubert

"Those who have the full love of Christ, inspire others to do what is right -- not force them." Howard W. Hunter

"Genius is recognizing the uniqueness in the unimpressive." Anonymous

"He drew forth a phrase from his treasure and spoke it softly to himself -- a day of dappled seaborne clouds." A Portrait of the Artist As a Young Man, main character Stephen Dedalus. James Joyce

"There are only two ways to live. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as if everything is." Albert Einstein

"Compared with what we ought to be, we are only half awake. We are making use of only a small part of our possible mental and physical resources. The human individual . . . possesses powers of various sorts he habitually fails to use." William James

Lessons in the classroom

2008-11-15T11:26:00.000-08:00

I didn't know he noticed me sitting silently in his class and hoping beyond hope that I could muddle through without ever being called upon or that I could hide behind the head of the student in front of me. Those of you who had Brother James Walker know that that could never happen. He noticed. He noticed everyone. I don't know if it was my look of apprehension or if he thought I really had something intelligent to say or if he just wanted to get me to say something in class.

Presumptuous sophomore that I was, and in the beginning stages of my English major career, I had two classes back to back with Brother Walker: creative writing and introduction to English literature. A friend of mine gave me fair warning that two English classes back to back would be challenging at best, but to have Brother Walker as the professor for both would be collegiate suicide. My first day, was a hit and miss. Creative writing was a breeze and I knew I would absolutely love being an English major. The class was small and intimate and I didn't mind because everyone seemed just as nervous; we'd all be nervous together. There is much to be said for solidarity. Br. Walker was funny, witty, intelligent and very encouraging. I knew I would learn so much from him. I vowed to do my best in class. So, how bad would my second class with him really be? Surely, my friend had been exaggerating. Br. Walker was great!

And then darkness settled into the land and all was lost.

Intro to English Lit was my first official class on a long list of classes for becoming an English major. It was very intimidating. I soon lost all bravado gained from my previous class. This class was larger and more boisterous. These students were real English majors. They seemed much more confident and assured. I, on the other hand, felt dead in the water. They already knew each other; I was the odd-man out. I knew life in this class was headed for disaster when Br. Walker started taking attendance. He was sharing some light banter with a few students in class that he knew by name. He knew their names?! A gnawing sensation grew in the pit of my stomach. I didn't want him to know my name! I wanted to remain nameless, faceless! I wanted to be a number on the attendance sheet and in some way still be able to absorb all that he would teach me. And then, it happened. He called my name and paused...for a long time. He looked around the room and then his piercing blue eyes found mine. There was a moment's hesitation as he struggled to recall where and why...and when it clicked, his eye brows raised just a little. "Aren't you in my creative writing class," he asked? I nodded and said, "uh, huh." (Boy that sounded like someone who should be an English major.) "And now, you're in this class?" Again, I nodded. Someone in the class said, "You have him twice? Good luck!" The class laughed, because they all knew the truth. No one in their right mind would take two classes from Br. Walker in the same semester! "You must be a glutton for punishment," said Br. Walker. And then he added, "see me after class, and if you want to drop, let me know." I knew then that I would never become an English major.

That was a tough semester, and I struggled through each and every class. We studied different genres in creative writing class and had to submit a piece for publication in the school's literary magazine. Intro to English lit opened a world that I had no idea even existed. We studied Wordsworth, Coleridge, Byron, Shelley, Keats, and learned all things literary...and then wrote about it. I wondered if anyone ever had a nervous breakdown from becoming an English major? I'm sure I came close several times that semester.

There was student in my English lit class named Bob, who was taking the class for the second time. Bob wasn't geeky or square. He was a surfer (which is why he had to repeat...too many days in the water and too few days in class) and all his sentences included the word "dude" in one way or another. Brother Walker teased him incessantly about having to retake the class, but Bob loved talking about Wordsworth and "all things literary." So much so, that he often made references to Mr. Wordsworth and Br. Walker in his column for the campus newspaper. I was in awe of Bob and Brother Walker. Bob was the student that I wanted to become (not the repeating student, but the lover of English literature). Brother Walker was the professor that I wanted to learn it all from.

Brother Walker has since retired from BYU-Hawaii. He might still be living in Hawaii or has returned to his native Canada. But he is forever ingrained within the person I have become. What struck me most about him was how his gaze never left mine as I struggled to put my unintelligible thoughts into words and have them come out sounding like a would-be English major. He would stand there and let me string my elementary vocabulary into something coherent and then he would push me to up my game in each class, each semester, each year.

I never told him how much he inspired me to strive to be a better reader, a better writer, a better lover of British literature. I never told him that through his efforts I came to love being an English major more than anything. I never told him how much I love him for all the lessons he taught me as a professor and as an individual. Thanks for noticing me, Br. Walker.

I Got Me Some Education

2008-11-14T21:26:00.000-08:00

When I was a student at BYU-Hawaii, I took a history class from Professor Lance Chase. Professor Chase had been notorious for his blunt remarks, and his keen sense of "student fear." In other words, he knew when a student was unprepared and he could zero in on the target. His words were like ice-picks chipping away at lame excuses about why the reading assignment wasn't done, or why you couldn't make an intelligent contribution in class, and most importantly he could strip away the use of the big $10 dollar words. Professor Chase could weed through the rows of students, and always, always find the unprepared victim.

I found myself in that predicament one time too many (and oddly enough I love learning...lol). I was given a "special invitation" to meet with him in his office. My initial reaction was "Uh, yeah right." The only way I would go was kicking and screaming. Knowing how ruthless he was in a roomful of students, it made me shiver to think what a personal confrontation would be like. I'd rather jump in front of a bus!

So feeling the way I felt, and knowing what I knew, and thinking what I thought, I could not understand why I continued to agonize over whether or not to meet with him. After all it was an invitation not a summons. He never said, I had to meet him. He merely suggested that I meet with him. The bottom line? He scared the bejeezus out of me and I would have to be a masochists, right? So you can imagine my horror and trepidation as I found myself contemplating the unthinkable, worse than that, I soon found my feet walking in the direction of his office; and horror upon horror, I was standing outside his door trying not to hyperventilate as I watched in slow motion, my eyes wide with terror, as my arm rose up and my hand clenched in a fist knocking on his door.

My legs nearly gave out when his voice from the other side of the door said, "Come in."

Just one word repeated itself over and over in my mind, "Run!"

He offered me a chair and then posed the dreaded question, "So what's the problem?"
It wasn't a "I'm concerned for you, what seems to be the problem" kind of question. It was more of a "So, what's YOUR problem that I gotta drag you into my office" kind of question. This was an "adult" conversation. I hadn't had many of those and I cringed to think that this would be my introduction to a no-holds bar tete-a-tete. I prayed for a hole to open up and swallow me.

***Interjection: Yeah, I'm not going to bore you or humiliate myself with the remainder of that conversation. Everthing he said to me hit home...hard. I'm grateful for all of it. I'm most grateful for his last comment as I was leaving his office.***

"I give you credit for coming," he said. "Not many would have--considering the circumstances. It took a lot of guts. I admire that."

And with those parting words I was out the door. It felt like I had gone a couple of rounds with Mike Tyson. I was emotionally drained and yet, I felt as though I were walking on air. I had survived, and more importantly I had learned a very valuable lesson (here's the money shot so pay attention) -- excuses only matter to those who aren't willing to invest in you. So why bother with those people? To the ones that do matter, all they want to know is that you gave it your all, and you did your best, beyond that it's all just fluff.

SHUSH!

2008-11-14T02:35:00.001-08:00

Sometimes the act of speaking is just too perplexing for me. People speaking bubbles. BUB-BLES!! Some people talk just to fill the silence that surrounds them. I say, enjoy the silence...shhhhh. Speak not. Speak less. My current job requires a lot of travel time on the road. I work with my cousin and he has an insatiable desire to talk. He'll talk about the obscure, the wife (newly married...ick), politics **rolls eyes**, religion **rolls eyes in opposite direction**, music, family, work, traffic, cars, money problems, the list (unfortunately) goes on and on. All of it, is enough to make me scream and then drive into the guard rail. Talking. Yes, peace and quiet is all I require in the early hours of the morning (refer to previous post regarding Mornings). Seriously, don't feel compelled to fill the void of silence. Enjoy it. Embrace it. Silence it. Please, just shush.

Goodbye to Brother Joseph

2008-11-14T01:18:00.000-08:00

They called at dawn to say, "He's gone and you must hurry home.

Call mother, father, sister, brother. None must tarry -- none."

They called at dawn, what an early hour to be wakened by such news.

It was a dreadful task for them, which they did not refuse.

I called at dawn to say, "Mother dear, your darling boy is gone.

And we must gather to our home. None must tarry -- none."

I called at dawn, the messenger, the bearer of bad news.

There was a dreadful mournful sound, that grew -- and grew -- and grew.

We flew at dawn to our island home, with heavy grieving hearts.

For we had lost the very best, the sum of all our parts.

We flew at dawn to our island home, travelers from afar;

For Him, we'd spiral round the globe no matter where we are.

We stood outside the doors at dawn, together huddled near,

He sent his love in silence, ours laid in his sepulcher.

We stood beside his earthen mound as parting words were read:

"For since by man came death...also the resurrection of the dead."

I stood beside his grave alone, and read a card he never sent:

"Dear R-, my only comfort is my faith in you, and your faith in God."

I stood beside his grave alone, and clutched his final words:

"Thinking of you always. Love, your baby brother, Joe-boy."

Just A Thought...

2008-11-13T03:09:00.000-08:00

When I was a young girl living on Kipou Place, I would stand in the driveway at night and stare up into the sky. I was amazed by the beauty of the stars. I wanted to be able to lie beneath them all night long -- unfortunately, the mosquitoes made that impossible. But on the nights that I was able to do my star gazing, I found myself contemplating the most amazing thoughts:
-- I thought how talented God must be to come up with the concept of stars, moons, galaxies and the way they twinkle in the night sky. I can hardly comprehend the creative process of something as vast as galaxies, planets, suns, and the universe.
-- I thought how cool it was to see a shadow ring around the moon. It made the moon seem mysterious.
-- I thought God seemed nearer to me when I looked up into the heavens at night. Sometimes I would cry and tell God my problems. It was easier to talk with him then.
-- I thought he heard me better when I stood under the stars; if felt like he did.
-- I thought dreams seemed more attainable if I stood outside and stared into the twinkling lights above.

There are many things that block my nightly views of the sky now; walls, street lights, buildings, being too busy, forgetting to look up; sometimes I catch a glimpse of the moon and stars through the branches of a tree, or around the edge of a building and I feel the urge to knock down a wall or uproot a tree. I want to be able to lie under the night's sky and feel the glory of the moon and stars, being totally enraptured by their beauty.

History In The Making

2008-11-12T09:19:00.000-08:00

A new president for the United States! And it's a "wow" moment for all of us. All the newspapers and t.v. reports are calling this election "historical." It is. I never thought I'd ever see an African-American president, but seeing as how this is America, I don't know why the possibility should have eluded me. Think of all the possibilities that Americans thought would never come to fruition: wars and politics, advancements in science and technology, social and economical changes, etc.

In my 42 years on this earth, I've witnessed many historical events, some I may not have considered influential, and then there were those that I couldn't even wrap my brain around, and those that changed my life forever. One of those historical moments that comes to mind, is when I saw Haley's comet in 1986 ( I thought it was cool), and then the Hale-Bopp comet in 1996 (thanks to my nephew who pointed it out because he was studying it in school). We watched it in the sky for at least 3 days. It was magnificent.

In 1990 (there's no timeline, just working off of my memory), I worked an after-school program for the YMCA. It was one of the best jobs I ever had especially since I usually have an aversion to children, mainly because I don't know what to do with them. Fortunately, my sister had a child and I got to practice on him; it prepared me for that job. I think that was historical in and of itself, but the moment of history I progress to is the Persian Gulf War that broke out in the summer of that year. I had never known so many people who were called to war. Friends, family, acquaintances all were being sent to or being prepared for war. I watched it on the news every morning. Missiles were being fired, explosions, gunfire, demolished cities, and then the body count on both sides began to grow like a ticker-tape on the stock market. How was any of this possible? In my lifetime, how could I be a witness to such a war? A co-worker, who had just turned 19 and was currently in the reserves, came to work one day and announced that he would not be coming back because his unit had just been called to active duty. He was only 19 and they wanted him to go to war; where there are missiles being fired, and things exploding and burning, and people being sent home because they're....dead? A knot began to grow in my stomach. I think it was there all along, but it became more noticeable after that day. I really don't like war. I really don't like it at all.

The first Polish pope made a lot of headlines in 1978. I'll never claim to have been edified in the history of Catholicism, but I knew enough to know that a Polish pope was a big deal. Besides, I thought he was pretty cool and he made a lot of headway within the church. He taught me an important word...solidarity. Solidarity. I don't claim to know much, but I know he wanted desperately to influence change. I could feel it when I heard him speak. Solidarity. So many people hated him and tried to cause him harm. He never gave up and continued to work to help his people, his faith, his religion. Solidarity. He once said, "Do not abandon yourselves to despair. We are the Easter people and hallelujah is our song."

9-11 was one of the greatest tragedies that I have ever witnessed. It was like watching an action adventure film without the popcorn. In all my life I have never been privy to such knowledge that evil existed in the world. I mean, we hear that there is evil in the world; we read that there is hate and animosity; words are spoken of such an evil that brings despair and darkness to one's heart. But to know it, to know of yourself that there is such evil in the world made me fearful. But even in my greatest fear I found my heart clinging to the hope that God has a purpose and a plan. I believe. I may, at times, doubt and fear and even despair; it's a weakness. I acknowledge that. But yet, I believe. I do believe that in all things God has a purpose and a plan. I believe.

3 John 4: "I have no greater joy than to hear that my children walk in faith."

And now, we have a new president of the United States. Wow. Let's all say it together: wow!

Oxford University researchers....

2008-11-09T00:43:00.000-08:00

compiled a top ten list of irritating phrases. It's a list of phrases that have rubbed your last nerve and you just can't stand to hear it any more.
1) At the end of the day...
2) Fairly unique (they didn't like it because it's an oxy moron)
3) I personally...
4) At this moment in time
5) With all due respect
6) Absolutely
7) It's a nightmare
8) Shouldn't of (grammatically incorrect)
9) 24/7
10) It's not rocket science

It's an interesting list, don't you think? Let's try them out.
1) Well, "at the end of the day" it's all about the numbers.
It is a rather trite phrase, but it fills out the sentece very well, don't you think so?
2) It's not a "fairly unique" assumption about what is considered an irritating phrase.
Oxy moron, I get it.
3) "I personally" believe that redundancy is alive and living in my basement.
I had a history professor that would cringe at phrases like "I personally" or "it's my opinion."
4) I cannot comment on that issue "at this moment in time."
Comments for #3 apply here. By the way, redundancy does not really live in my basement.
5) "With all due respect" to the Oxford University researchers, but why is this phrase annoying?
What does that phrase really mean?
6) I "absolutely" enjoy the use of this word as it is only used to give emphasis to a statement!
Need I say more?
7) I can "absolutely" state that I have never used "it's a nightmare" as a phrase unless I were describing a scary movie or a bad dream.
Hmm...yeah, that's about it.
8) I "shouldn't of" spoken so grammatically incorrect.
Yeah, that was lazy on my part...I couldn't think of anything else to say.
9) All 7-eleven stores are open 24/7.
They don't have 7-eleven in the U.K. maybe that's why.
10) It's all about gaining perspective, it's not like it's "rocket science."
There really isn't much that's like "rocket science" is there?

I'll Say A Prayer For You

2008-10-28T02:01:00.000-07:00

Going to church was a given; it was expected. Since we were children, we went to church every Sunday. There was Ash Wednesday, mass on Holy Thursday, Good Friday, Holy Saturday, Easter Sunday, Lent, services for Stations of the Cross, the eating of fish on Friday, midnight mass on Christmas Eve, and any other religious holiday throughout the year. Going to church on Sunday was an indisputable fact.

By eighteen, my religious associations were not as solid as they used to be. By the time I had turned nineteen, I went only because I was too afraid to say, I didn't want to go anymore. But stubborn resolve won out and I finally mustered up the courage. One Sunday morning, I calmly stated to my father, that I would not be going to church. I had reached a religious peak and had no other mountains to climb. I wanted to get down. I knew that there would be resistance from my father, and I had to be ready for anything. I weighed my options should the ultimate threat of "this is my house and these are my rules" was used against me. Mom had always used that threat on a regular basis, but not dad. However, it was possible that it could very well become dad's trump card. I'd be surprised if he used it, but the possibility existed. It would become the proverbial "gauntlet" being thrown down. So, I was ready for anything--or so I thought. Dad's response deflated every possible scenario I had prepared.

"Are you sure?" he asked standing in the hallway in front of his bedroom door. He smelled of Vitalis and aftershave. His voice was calm, and there was not a hint of anger. But, I could see the look of confusion and disappointment on his face. I felt a chink in my resolve, but stubbornness was my alli and I held firm.

I was standing in the doorway of my bedroom still in my bedclothes. I had been up for hours, but felt the clothing would be for added effect (I'd been planning this for a while). Mass started at nine and dad was ready to leave the house at eight. You could always count on dad to get to any event at least an hour before it started. He stood a few feet away in his pressed slacks, white belt, newly polished shoes, and starched collard shirt. I waited, not really sure what would happen next. This could be the quiet before the storm. It was an unexpected event. No one had ever made such a bold move in regards to church. This was big! Whatever reaction I was expecting from him never came. Mom on the other hand was shouting from the end of the hallway near the kitchen. I was used to droning out her voice. Dad looked to her and then back at me. In a light tone he said, "I'll say a prayer for you."

I smiled and said, "thanks, I appreciate it."

I could hear the car backing out of the driveway. Mom was probably giving dad an earful about why he didn't make me go to church. I knew he would try to convince me in other ways to go back to church, but today marked a turning point in our relationship. I had made my first adult decision and dad had recognized it as one.

Hoot! Hoot!

2008-10-28T01:31:00.000-07:00

I absolutely hate mornings! For me, mornings shouldn't begin until 10am and even than it should be considered dawn. It takes me forever to get up in the morning. I mean, I have to trick myself into waking up by setting the clock at least 15 minutes faster; I also hit the snooze button on the radio (because I know I've got a 15 minute window of sleep), but to make sure that I don't really go back to sleep I place the clock in an area away from the bed so that I have to get up to hit the snooze button and shut off the alarm. Isn't that the most insane thing you've ever heard? All that just to get a few more minutes of sleep. And then, I read somewhere or heard it on some t.v. show that all my efforts are in vain because the body can't really catch a few zzz's in 15 minutes, it takes longer than that for the body to calm down and get back into a sleeping pattern. So, I guess the bottom line is that even though I hate mornings, I really don't accomplish much by hitting the snooze button; I should set my clock for the correct time, and then get out of bed when the alarm goes off. I really hate mornings! It should be banned! Let's start a petition. Who should we send it to?

"Earth has not anything to show more fair..."

2008-10-27T00:13:00.000-07:00

that is the opening line of a poem by William Wordsworth. He is a poet of nature, however in this particular poem, he lauds an urban landscape. In the early morning hours he is surprised to find peace, tranquility and breathtaking beauty in the surroundings of the city. It is an unexpected surprise.

He writes the "City now doth, like a garment, wear the beauty of the morning;" I can dig that. Sometimes I find myself walking through life with my head down, pushing onward through the crowds never really taking the time to witness "the beauty of the morning; silent, bare,/Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples [laying]/Open unto the fields, and to the sky."

I need to remember to look up once in a while. ;)

Here's Your Lunch Money

2008-10-25T14:10:00.000-07:00

This is my favorite picture of dad. When I write or speak of dad, I just say "dad" and not "my dad," because I like the idea that I can include others in his life and share him with them. There are a list of things that I admire about dad, but the one I'm most grateful for was the way he loved. He had a way of putting you at ease, making you laugh, he could draw you into his conversation, he had the greatest insights, and he always had your best interest at heart, and he was never ashamed to show his love.

I stood up to express my thoughts about dad during the family services on the day of his funeral. I said that of all the things I had ever wanted to do for dad, standing there on that day speaking about him was not one of them. It was naive to think that such a day would never happen, but it was something I never wanted to see happen.

Each morning, since the day of the funeral, I woke to a new day and went through the motions of living-- because, after all, life goes on. But it didn't stop me from being astounded at how the world continued on without dad. In my heart, I felt a sense of bitterness and outrage! How dare the world act as though dad's death was just another event in a series of events that happen day-by-day...and life rolls on by! I wanted acknowledgement of his loss by some thing, some one. I wanted the world to feel my loss! I wanted the world to acknowledge that my father was a good man, a great man!

It is difficult to walk the line between child and adult when I think of these things. The child in me would greatly prefer to sit down on the curb and cry my eyes out; the adult in me realizes that it is only temporary. But I still long to be the child, and openly mourn my father's loss. I stare deeply at his picture and the words "come home, daddy" are stuck in my throat wanting so much to be spoken out loud. But saying those words would only make it more painful--and saying it wouldn't make it so. But dad, I want so badly to say, "come home." I want to scream those words from the roof tops if I knew it would make a difference. I miss the happy sound of your voice, and I miss holding your hand. Holding hands with you was one of my favorite things to do. I miss the letters you would send me and your "here's your lunch money" post scripts. I miss you dad. I miss you every day and I'll miss you even longer than that.

Seven Random Things

2008-10-25T05:04:00.000-07:00

I am currently new to the blog sensation and have decided that as a means of taking up "the gauntlet" from MYSTERIESinPARADISE, I will tackle this assignment. It's a bit lofty, but I'm always up for a challenge.

1. Last year I flew to Europe (Paris, specifically) for the first time and they didn't even stamp my passport. What the heck is up with that?!

2. Why did Ford put the control for it's high beams on the same lever as the turn signal. While driving at night, if I use the turn signal and press the lever inward unintentionally, than the high beams go on. That's irritating. And to all of you that have been subjected to my high beams unintentionally, I apologize. I should write to Ford about that...it's annoying me!

3. Last week I was feeling very depressed by the financial pressures in my life and had mentioned it to my cousin. As we talked about this, that, and the other it began to dawn on me that I have been using the word "depressed" incorrectly and too readily. My use of the word "depress" took the accountability off of me and onto some unknown factor. The culpability was some intangible force that had waylaid me and therefore, I was unable to strike back. Stating I was feeling "depressed" implied an inability to cope with things in my life. It dawned on me, while speaking with my cousin, that the correct word choice should have been "discouraged." Being "discouraged" implies that while I may currently feel the pressures of life, I am not incapable of correcting or dealing with my situation. Sometimes, it is so easy to grab onto words and expressions as the catch-all diagnosis of what ails us. I think I'm going to try to be more aware of my word choices.

4. Have you seen the Axe body spray commercial with the chocolate scent? There's a scene where the guy is made entirely out of chocolate and he's standing on the bus hanging onto the strap; a woman is seated near him and as the bus continues down the street, she quickly leans over and takes a huge bite out of his chocolate butt. I didn't know whether to be appalled by the brassness of the commercial, but seeing as how I found myself laughing uncontrollably and had quickly called my cousin to tell her about the commerical, I guess it was more shock than appall. It still makes me laugh, and I tell as many people as I can about it.

5. I always tell people (when they ask) that I don't cook. I collect receipes of all types and have probably only made a handful, which weren't that bad. But still, if someone asks, "I don't cook."

6. Ralph Waldo Emmerson wrote that "it is a luxury to be understood." I don't know why I remember that. Interesting.

7. I read the most profound thought by St. Therese of Lisieux. She wrote: "I understand now that perfect charity consists in bearing with others' faults, in not being surprised at their weakness, in being edified by the smallest acts of virtue we see them practice." That is so cool. I love it!

Introductions

2008-10-23T09:50:00.000-07:00

This is Gemini. She's my aunt's dog. She's a pretty little thing (when she's not trying to steal food off your plate, or stick her nose in your crotch) and she loves to chase a tennis ball early in the morning.

The last dog I had was named, Hooch. He was smart, and playful, and loved to hang out with me when I worked out in the backyard. When Hooch was just a pup, I used to take him for walks after dinner. But that crazy pup, would walk just as far as he wanted (which was always in one direction) and then he'd sit down and refuse to take another step. So, I'd have to carry him back home. I started taking him on shorter walks when he got older and heavier. He just didn't like long walks. That crazy dog!