I'm only passing through. I'm a guest here, for whom everything has been provided. I put a little dab of something on this, carve a little slice of that from that, and make my mark on the world full of other marks, knowing full well I won't (Even if I want to!) outstay my welcome.
Take your melancholy for a walk. Make your peace with unknowing. No one can know it all, nor do it all. Not every day is a red dress or an invitation to a party. The library may have some answers, but certainly not all. Pretty much everything ever written boils down to, "Could be." And don't worry about fortune cookies. They don't know a damn thing about you. Just put that melancholy on a leash and fill your lungs with fresh air while welcoming the daylight or night lights from outer-and-your-own inner space.
Shoes are pretty much like a lot of other things. Keep them clean, make them shine, and they'll get you quite a ways down the road.
I am older now...I have peeled away the chaff of frivolity, unplugged the iron-hot of me, heated up the cold, and now look at simple matters with relaxed, rocking-chair eyes. No longer do all things need to meet with my approval. Some things are harmless in their difference. I have learned to let them be.
Niagara Falls, screaming, hurls itself downward, obeying gravitation.....A sparrow falls breathless from striking a window pane it didn't understand..... Thousands of people with Sunday attitude strike canvas and tap keyboards, trying to capture the life and color nature hangs on landscape... In a corner, behind a downspout, a tiny kitten freezes in the snow.... Every day is a lesson in humility.
Even if intentions are good... truth passed through half a dozen mouths frequently ends up badly distorted, or totally gone..
The greatest snub I ever got from a person cannot be matched by the superior attitude pawed at me by my cat.
Athletic games or not, nobody runs faster than a coward.
Art and literature repeatedly prove that Beauty-and-the-Beast and Jack-in-the-Box and Jack-the-Ripper live in the same neighborhood.
Advice becomes excrutiatingly abundant when you least solicit it.
Many of us use an occasional vile expletive triggered by emotion or circumstance, but the conversational "habitual, full-wash of obscentiies" suggests lack of discipline and intellectual poverty.
I used to worry about what other people think of me, but now I worry more about what I think of me, and I try to make positive choices. Truth be known, the "others" were probably never thinking that much about me anyway.
This is my escape from any troubled moment of the day.... I walk upon the night setting lost in the gentle touch of the breeze. I am removed even from the clothes I wear, my muscles loose. My curiosity is heightened and I bend without any kind of grace at all to investigate this and that that sparkles beneath the moon. I am the main character of this scene, important here, as much as any one being can be important, before the sun comes out to gild the world and force focused movement upon the masses.
Haven't we all had one of these dates?..... Ants struggling in a pool of spilled wine as someone leans in to kiss you, or you them, and a head is turned because somebody knows it isn't going to work. It isn't so much disinterest really that makes one or the other wrap it all up. It is sometimes the careful look ahead to a clear picture of great difference between two people, a vision of no future.
I like colored candles, but not those tall, white tapers....for no other reason than I once held a cooling hand by their flickering, feeble light, and darkness came too soon.
Passion is a dizzying, dazzling trip, a merry flounce about, a fluttering veil that disguises truth. For some, it will only snag and lag. For others, the result--- a gigantic rip and separation.
He gave me diamonds, rubies, and emeralds -- often inventing occasions for his generosity, "Harvest day of a cucumber," "The day the 'Reader's Digest' arrived," and I accepted them with gratitude though jewelry never meant 'squat' to me. The real treasure was in his eyes. But they are closed now, and I am still here, left behind to fondle a collection of diamonds, emeralds and rubies in ring, bracelet and necklace settings ---that I can no longer bear to wear.
The only thing that seems permanent is time, with all the transformations and intentions within it. So, I try to keep my mood centered, in balance, so I will always be intimate with life's terrain, and enjoy my fellow man, the wind, the snow, the sun, the pouring rain.
I love my memories of kites and roller skates, the early world of wonder, challenge-- the silent going up, up, up, the clickety-click of rolling down.
I sometimes have to remind myself that it matters much less where I came from or where I might have been--- than what I do now that I am here.
I once had a little fish that entertained me with its flick and glide. It weakened. I said, "Live, live, please live." It didn't, and was buried in the toilet. I found three tiny orphaned bunnies, and nurtured them, and said, "Live, live, please live." One by one, they died. I buried them. And I was sad, and mad about it all, thinking like a spoiled brat, that my want, my will gave me absolute right and certain claim to get exacty what I wanted.
With investments, as with swimming, don't dive in until you know how deep it is.
I don't like to hear young kids cussing, but I do understand that it's most likely that I-think-I'm-acting-like-a-grown-up-thing. I do wish people would leave God and Jesus out of it. But there are times when impulses kick the crapwords out of you, and other times when, "Oh, fiddlesticks!" and a light tap on the shoulder simply doesn't make your point. I try not to cuss in public, but in the privacy of my home, I sometimes let it (and maybe a lamp) fly.
I don't have time to judge anybody else. I'm too busy keeping myself in line.
My life has not always been perfect. I could point fingers and say, "Your fault," or "Your fault," or "Your fault," or "Mine," and I might be right about that, and I might be wrong, but fault is not the real point. The point is that a mistake was made and corrected, and a lesson was learned that forwarded me on the journey toward being a better person. I brag about nothing that I own, nothing that I have, nothing that I have done or can do. I brag only that I paid attention. I grew a little bit each time a mistake was made. I got stronger with each step. "Watch out, tomorrow, cuz I ain't done yet!"
I remember when I was thirteen and fell madly in love with a farmhand. He was an older man, probably fifteen, and he led the horse for my first riding experience. I must have loved him for a year or so, and I think he surely realized it from my moon-pie glances. Now and then, I think about the love that did not pass the test of sound rationale and deep roots, that was based on the fact that a boy, albeit cute, led a horse for me at a time when I loved horses. The heart is notorious for strange choices, misconceptions, and blunders. When I look back, I see quite a few "weed romances," but I remember best that farmboy. Sure, there was a strong "earlier" crush that I will always cherish, but the farmhand was my pubescent first.
I am putting a lot of effort into that difficult virtue of patience, waiting for progress, improvement, change, revelation, and never sure of true desire or direction, certain only (and comforted by it) that I cope with a fundamental element of human struggle.
I have always liked fences, not so much as a barrier as a reminder that personal reach has a respectful limit.
Goodness depends on recognition and acceptance. Recognize. Accept. Do good. I speak to you but I address myself, fully realizing that the end of bigotry, all correction must begin at home.
I am the lucky one. I am not a diplomat, not a diplomat's daughter. I am not in company of great riches, do not have a lot of money. What I say does not turn heads, does not stop conversations, does not change a thing, but I am at evens with myself, in harmony with the beautiful variety of mankind, a friend of nature that lets me stay, so by all these conditions-- accepting of myself. I walk every day without resentment, in full gratitude. I am the lucky one!
There was once a tree that invited me to climb it by having such accommodating limbs. There was once a patch of ground that encouraged me to dig in it by breaking into just such engaging chunks. There was once a sky above me like a magnifying glass on all the opportunities ahead....The tree has since died and fallen, the patch of ground is now capped with concrete, but the sky, the glorious sky, still hangs optimistically deep and wide above me, with long fingers of wind still whispering, "Look up."
As I stand here like a fork, with my shadow fading from the pink side of the day, I think about the spent parts of nature, the spent parts of life, of myself (a lot of flower petals in the mix because life has been good to me), I think, I hope, I wish I could come up with something profound and helpful to write, a shortcut to wisdom, or at least something amusing to cushion discomfort...but the realistic side of me pushes the dreamer aside, saying, "You understand it is all play-knowing, don't you? We're all a bunch of dumb-asses. The world is on to you!"
You won't find me on Mt. Everest. I won't be on a Harley speeding toward a canyon jump. I won't even exceed speed limit by more than five.... but now and then, if I'm feeling really daring, I take off my shoes and throw them outside the fence. So, if you walk by my house...duck.
Life is often a bunch of loose ends. Reach out. Grab a few. Tie together what you catch, and be happy with the percentage.
There are nights when I lay motionless for hours, deep in sleep, cough myself awake in the morning, and find my limbs full of aches from non-movement.
There are nights when I wake repeatedly with confusion, alert to the smallest sound, perhaps the tap of a moth beating on the porch light I forgot to shut off, the dream-breathing of a pet, or just the unrest of not immediately knowing what day it is, or having a strong feeling that something has been forgotten, misplaced, misinterpreted.
Although the second is not the best for physical rest, I find it inspiring somehow to know, or at least to feel, that I am not held captive by the mundane nature of a day, that I am not resolving my mind and my fat to the shape of my bed, but that there is something left to be accomplished, something to be shared, in some way dealt with, something-- whatever, on a journey that will not accept half-assed resolve, so scratches for my attention almost audibly... "Get up, silly woman, and fix or finish something."
The bite-marked moon. Weeds, branches reaching up, reaching down, hanging around. The debut of another day blushing in opposition. A breeze sliding by and wearing a paper hat. A fine day indeed! More than enough reason to smile!
You have no power in your past; only in the present.
No one ever climbed a mountain by merely staring at it.
Go slow if you must, but keep going.
One well-done task is better than a hundred only well planned.
Keep working on your "good" until you make it "better."
Often, what we think, say, read, share is trivial, or heartbreaking, serious or laughable, but much of what we experience in life, even from this soap-box arena, can be categorized in mind to support a future understanding.
I have not always got what I prayed for, but I have always got in a better position to understand.
Shouting is often heard as loud noise only. The message is lost in fear. Stay calm to be understood.
Talent will get you into the race, but perseverance carries you to the finish line.
The biggest success I ever had was the big bounce I got after I hit rock-bottom.
We tend to believe people love us in direct correlation with what love we think we deserve.
The more disappointed we become with ourselves, the more we complain about the world.
You can't fix yourself by breaking somebody else.
If you want to find the true character of someone, give him power, or a lot of money.
Innocence by its very nature is vulnerable to the attack of experienced altercation and theft. With your acquired strength and wisdom of scars, protect the young who are the epitome of purity.
It is sad that our shame often does not come from what we do, but from what others see us do.
Disguise yourself long enough to others and you will eventually become unknown to yourself.
Life takes us in many directions, with all things borrowed, nothing ever really ours, but if we are lucky, life starts with those who love us, and ends with those we love.
Many roads lead to the same place. Some are relaxed and scenic. Some run through harsh terrain. Determine your needs. Develop your timeline. Match your machine to method. And now the important thing, move....
There is probably nothing more ordinary than the desire to be extraordinary.
Excessive love of someone is not proof of their worth.
Problem solving: Consider all options. Eliminate the impossible. Question the improbable.That which is different or unconventional might still work. Cull. Somewhere in the mix you will find the answer.
Imagination is not more important than knowledge, but there is more of it.
Daydream: A pleasant drowning in the great tank of sky.
Sometimes we all need to remind ourselves: Quit dragging that bag of fossils! Get on with your life!
Thanks to DNA and self-dicipline: I am as strong as I need to be. I am not a rag doll. There will be no stitching me back together. Those who visit my life can also go. I will find my own way home
I was born slowly, red, to my dad's chagrin-- without a teetie-weetie. Although we liked many of the same things-- pancakes, chocolate, pecans, the outdoors and dogs, and we were close, we were always minutely separated by that son-symbolic lack of teetie- weetie.
Because my parents taught me HOW to think, and not WHAT to think, I grew up with little prejudice.
When I feel small, unremarkable, unneeded, unnecessary -- empty, I fill myself with the simple, mostly unappreciated beauty of a dandelion carpet, a floating bird, the solemn majesty of a tree proud and independent, but not without problems--a dead branch here and there, and find comfort in knowing that for everything there is a use and proper place and moment, and though I may never be a lighthouse striking out a vivid path to guide the masses, never be a wild stallion, leader of any pack, I can be a modest flashlight cutting out a private, cozy path, an old farm horse plotting a familiar field in domestic company..... and find joy in it.
When you run into a bad situation, something that stinks of crap, or other lost causes, and can truthfully say, "I did everything that I can," give it one more go before you concede that acceptance is the only way out.
If I were to score my life accomplishments on distance rather than persistence, I could have done it all on a tank of gas....but that doesn't mean I'm giving up.
Old age comes quickly-- days become decades in a minute, with this slipping, that slipping, until it becomes a joke to itself. Humor is a requirement for survival of senior citizenry, salve on the dilly-dallying of forgetfulness, anti-acid for gut rumble, absorbant batting on the leak of body fluids, and a megaphone for a comic plea of, "Slow down, time. Let me try again to do all things better."
It is not possible to lie to someone without imposing equal falsehood on yourself, nor can you steal without self depletion.
A friend is someone like you, or unlike you with understanding, respect and affection. Choice of a friend based on what another might be able to do for you is no more than hostility disguised in a Sunday suit.
Some days I would like to be a big rock surrounded by the river. I would like to have a remote, nostalgic bath of waves in the moonlight, with the breeze blowing big comfortable pillows of clouds above me. I would like to be on a lavender journey with watercolor and acrylic thoughts, no stress, no one depending on me, no worry.... This one is for Lori, precious daughter, who has too much stress in her life.
Small sounds are released as night thins, and I set imagination on them......a snapping like a teenager, open-mouthed, chewing gum.... the rustling of a hypochondriac rattling pill bottles while trying on another ailment... a woman scratching at the bottom of a designer purse for loose change to give the homeless.... I don't know what the sound really is. Maybe merely a cat burying its dirty business. But, since I was a youngster with skinny legs and streaming hair, I have liked using mind more than feet to entertain myself. And so, the priming of another day of small, nonetheless, enjoyable adventures, and great appreciation for a beating heart and continued breathing.
Burglary is not one of my major concerns. I live simply, not a matter of economics, rather choice. And no prescription meds. If someone broke into my house, they would probably LEAVE something, and the only thing they might take would be PITY ON ME, or TAKE UP A COLLECTION.
Have you every stomped, complaining, through the house, saying, "Damn you, dog... Damn you, cat.. Look at the mud you tracked all over the floor?" And they scattered.... Then you looked down at you shoes and realized you were the culprit. Misplaced blame....there's lots of it in the world, and many times it is finally identified pretty close to home.... I'm sorry I hollered at my little cuties. To apologize, there will be quite a bit of lunch meat in my afternoon.
Huh? A high percentage of problems exist because people don't always explain themselves well, so we often don't understand each other. I always carry crayons so I can draw pictures, and, of course, enough so I can hand out some for others to use on me.
It could be said that I am a bit like a pink drink at a bar, not likely to be taken seriously. I usually relate in the abstract rather than the absolute, am probably just looking for a little attention, and hopefully, a smile.
I've been wrestling with the odds all my life, and the odds always win even though I often play dirty.
You can't blame the world for not tickling your fancy if you refuse to show the world where it is.
Life is a constant ritual of maintaining balance.
Each minute is scarcely furnished, barely there. I wish time would pause a bit so I could take a good look around.
Think chronologically, theologically, politically, scientifically, theoretically, therapeutically, whatever, but for the fun of life, leave a little room for magic.
I am the daughter who stayed put, affixed to rural setting by the glue of aromatic dirt, stapled into the land by the braid of water flung over the dam, hypnotized by the bagpiping of birds, totally mesmerized by the beauty of it all
Suppose it 's a warm day. The wind is brushing water.... Under an umbrella of trees, a small child lays splashing in a plastic pool, believing he is swimming.. At the edge of a river an old man, ankle deep, inches inward, thinking if he chose to, he could still navigate the current. The trees are in full leaf, at prime, hanging on tight. My, how I admire confidence in all its stages!
Today, as every day, I wake my dog-- half Rottweiler and half something else, and he puts his paw on my hand. I think about loss because he is old, 19. I will think it again as he shows less interest in his food bowl, in his walk, and wants again to sleep, and I know soon he will not hear those things that used to make him perk and bark, will not hear my voice, close to his ear, whispering his name.
Spring is not only a beautiful and amazing quilt of colors, but also an incentive for each of us, in our own special way, to bloom.
Although beauty is arguable and diverse, all things in nature have value and purpose, even if we have not reached the intellectual level to recognize it.
Listening to an alternate viewpoint can be rather like listening to Charlie Brown's teacher, or watching a mouth move above a malfunctioning microphone as you mentally prepare your own rhetoric.
Both looking at the sun and falling in love cause temporary blindness.
Gossip is human wind that scatters garbage.
Have you ever wondered why when you buy a diamond, it is "clear" and "perfect." but if sold, it's "flawed." Maybe something else should stand for promise. How about a matching pair of Samsonite luggage and a vow to travel the rest of the way together?
Dreams come and go. Reality stays. Often I have to remind myself to give it a fair share of attention.
Whenever I rattle on like a coin in a clothes dryer, I remind myself to speak only when words improve upon silence.
What we fashion, does it soar? Or does it grovel? Is it noble or ignoble? Is it true or false? Are our ideas, ideals, principles, philisophy of any value if not pushed beyond expression?
As a wee child, I was afraid from time to time. Every shadow pulled my breath away, and I cried. I didn't know until the "babying" ended (I think I was five) that I always had the power within myself to make fear stop.
Sometimes I stop at the river. Old trees guide my eye and point out the progress where I once glided contentedly, and knew trust and safety as my father rowed.The memory pleases me. It flows smoothly. No words...just the rhythmic slapping of the oars. Sunshine on my face. Nothing expected. Nothing given. Nothing taken away. Peace.....the ultimate pleasure.
Victory is seldom instantaneous... Why stop, when every trial and error brings you closer to the answer? Heat up life's leftovers, add an ingredient, or toss them if you waited too long to dare taste the remains... and start again...
There are no absolute endings. Something always lingers. Something continues.
A true friend understands your silence as well as he understands your words.
May your day be filled with hands....
one to tap your shoulder.... one to pat your back......one to nudge you forward.
Salute to artists:
When I was small, it wasn't the words that made me want to read. It was the pictures!
I want to know the flux, the vortex, the mechanical equation, the magnetic pull of it all. So much to see, to feel, to hear, to taste -- to learn! So little time!
Hello, animal lovers!
Sadness and disappointment is seeing a mink playing on a river bank, and hearing your companion describe it as-- "a coat that would look good on you."
I went for a walk this beautiful morning, and I bent to pick up a beer can here, a pop bottle there, an empty cigarette pack. I remembered there was a time, I, too, littered. That was before I extended claim beyond my clothing, my house, my vehicle to include ownership, with all the rest of mankind, of this great world-- and then decided to take as much responsibility for it as it has always shown in generous offerings to me. I don't mind bending over here and there (That's good exercise too.) while I walk and while I wait for those who still toss things to come to some sort of comparable conclusion.
The Comfort of Nostalgia: It's difficult to define. Was it rooted in simplicity?
Black and white tvs? A string of paper dolls? Playing Red Rover? You know, back in the times when, right out of high school, you got married, maybe to the first person who asked. Wait a minute, that wasn't right. On second thought, I'm better off here!
I wake on vast waves of "hows" and "whens," wanting to know the answers to undefined questions. A dream perhaps... I remember my laugh-and-run father steeped in the smell of whiskey and cigarette smoke, saying.... "Think, girl. Call it and rest. It will come to you." Ha! It's too early for a new day, for some dream-invoked, cheap philosophy of life.. I have to go to the bathroom. Maybe that was all this is. Even that can wait. I roll over and go back to sleep.
Stuck in a rut, and loving it! I bought a new garbage can so I could cram the old inside the new. That's about the size of a "new start" at my age.
Like most people with tasks to complete, I spend a good deal of time thinking, playing with ideas, trying to make something into something else, but at the end of the day when I am home with the certainties of my life: my desk, my chair, my soft bed, my dog nearby, and cats, the reality is satisfying, sufficient, poignant, and I wouldn't change a thing.
I don't understand this "comfort of nudity" thing. I think my mother emerged from her bath already fully dressed, right down to heels and silk stockings. My father, on the other hand, sometimes bathed outside with a garden hose. That, however, didn't stick with me. I do bathe in the nude, at least so far in life, but I quickly reach for apparel comfort. Flannel is my favorite.
We will always grieve lost loved ones. The memories come back hard, pull at our hearts and faces, and forever, now and then, we will weep for times broken off hard, leaving damage, with no way to keep in contact. We are all together in this vast aloneness, and know that as long as we have loved ones, the freshness of other loss will visit us until our own last moment. Let us love hard, fully, and express it while we can!
I have the great luxury of a life wherein I lost nothing yet of great importance or lasting signifigance to the greed, poor taste, violence, dishonesty, or connivance of another, and where all change tutored me toward better understanding. As such, I sometimes know what I am talking about, sometimes not, and sometimes my head is so far up my a** that I can see my ancestors. Don't hesitate to point out the difference!
A long time ago, disappointment-numbed, in the third day of my depression, I realized the world has no debt to me. I stopped wiggling fingers for assistance, picked up a pen to figure out my own puzzle, bent down to tie my own shoes, and walked on.
I am not saying that serenity and sanity exist simultaneously within the psyche, rather that a mind on friendly basis with the world tends less to fragment.
We cannot say we are honest until we tell the truth when gain would come only if we lied. We cannot claim virtue until when tempted, we resist. We cannot be repentant no matter how many times we say "sorry"- until we change our ways.
A best friend knows what's important to you, who you really are. I knew I found one when he brought me laughter, and dandelions in a jelly jar.
Some people are too spontaneous to make promises, too adventurous to sit still, and as such, are seldom satisfactory choices for serious relationshipmps....but, by golly, they are captivating friends.
We all have the right characteristics to go wrong. With another day, another test!
Run, walk, crawl -- your comfortable pace, but move ahead.
Fill your days with useful content, not like store bags, drawered, filled only with each other. You may not recognize the last day of your life. It could look like all the rest.
I wake up. It's around 3 a.m. The world is still silent. It seems too early to be morning, yet too late to be night. I hear a car moving on the street outside and I think someone is ahead of me in the progress of their day. But then, someone is always ahead, doing something, accomplishing something while I am just getting up, reaching for a pen to make my list.
Oh time, oh precious time, let me stay a little longer! Let me hear the Spring song, and that of summer, autumn, and another winter, and.... Though abilities be weak and stamina waning, my good intent for this world and all the colors of its rainbow is still strong.
Walking through another day, looking for clarity, shape, and definition, and struggling to break from a cage of insufficient participation in a world needful of unanimous support.
I watch a silly little kitten, playing with a stick. Can't you see there is no merit in it, no gain? Or am I missing the point of it? A moment of undiluted enjoyment!
Be alone sometimes. Draw from the calm, comfort, and simple luxury of being. Take off your shoes. Wiggle your toes. Oh, and of course, eat chocolate.
Approach love like a feather duster rather than a chain saw. You're less likely to get hurt.
Remove all power from those you trusted with your love, and who hurt you. Don't keep them in your life by hating them. Eliminate them totally with indifference.
As a small child, I climbed to the top of a hill to talk to the sky. I later failed to pinpoint other certain locations, accepted illogical conclusions, collected misconceptions, and swore by some of it. Finally, I concluded that what I know at any certain time is not all there is to know. The truth is always larger than our understanding, and keeps on growing in the just beyond. We are at our best when trying to catch up.
I like storms. Sudden darkness. Strong wind. Heavy rain. Thunder calling out its name and cracking the white whip of lightning with deadly aim on black of night. Perhaps I should have the good sense to be frightened, but I get caught up in amazement and fear eludes me... "You never were right!" my mother used to say mixed with laughter-- another kind of sweet storm in my memory.
Invest in people. Be generous with attention. Perform a random act of kindness. Share a strength, forgive a weakness. Discourage and disable the rise of evil in the world, and when it rises in yourself, and it does in all of us, recognize it quickly and swiftly strike it down.
Sometimes I sit on my front step and talk to neighborhood children. So as not to arouse suspicion of evil intent, I never invite them inside. Where did the innocent "milk-and- cookie" days go and leave us in a swamp of evil where the unspeakable is so often inflicted upon our children?
Take a good look at all your years,
send your kids to school in clean clothes, feed them healthy meals, protect them from others, protect them from themselves, accept your responsibility, and smile. Know at the time, and not later that it's all so worthwhile and all so very good.
My Wish For You: Take the stage, dear friend. Live this day happily, fairly, well, and nursed by your precaution - so that you might receive the roses of your own satisfaction at curtain call.