December 24, 2007 - Running on Empty

November 22, 2007 - A funny thing happened at the chiropractor's office

November 7, 2007 - Oooh, la L.A.!!!

September 30, 2007 - Fun Cult Classics

September 22, 2007 - The Well

The Well

 
            Walking through the dark and lonely forest of her dreams, she heard a sound both strange and familiar.  It pulled at forgotten strings within her with a primal urgency, and altering her course, she let the sounds of sadness and frustration guide her path.
            Upon reaching a clearing in a moonlit wood, she spied a knight in armor of black.  He sat at the edge of a well with his back to her and seemed to be hard at work at some task.  It became apparent that whatever chore he was attempting was not lending favorable results as the despairing sounds which led her there were coming from his lips.  She moved toward him cautiously, ever on her guard and did get a better look.  His armor had many battle scars, some old and some not quite.  He wore a sword at his side which no doubt had seen much use in this man’s life.  Although he appeared strong and capable, success at this moment seemed to be eluding him and his sadness over it hung in the air and weighed heavy upon his shoulders.  She stepped a little closer, meaning to make herself known to him.  
            “Good evening, milord,” she said.  “I heard the sounds of thy labor as I was walking and did come to find the source of such despair.”
            He turned to look at her, surprised someone was there.  She met his dark gaze and found a reflection of her soul.
            “Good evening to thee, milady,” he replied.
            “To what end doth thee struggle so over this well?” she asked.
            Sighing, he replied, “Dear lady, I have been wandering far from home and from those whom I cherish for quite a long time and my soul is both weary and dry.  I have been through much, not all of which has been of a good nature and I stopped here for rest and to drink from this well.  Tis a beautiful well with sparkling water which seems to hold the promise of nourishment for a parched soul.  Alas, each time I reach toward the water to bring a handful to my lips, the level doth drop just out of my reach.  Tis this I labor over, milady.”
            She was thoughtful a moment, considering his plight for she was painfully familiar with the enchanted well.
            At last, she said “Most noble knight, that which thou doth try to drink of is the Well of Happiness.  Its source runs deep within these grounds from a cool Spring of Contentment.  Many times I have moved to touch its enchanting water and found it able to elude my fingertips.  It is said that sadness may never touch it, and as I carry much of that within my heart, I gave up long ago.  Tis beautiful to gaze upon, however.”
            The knight considered her words as he looked into the well. He could see himself reflected there upon its mirrored surface and he began to count each dent and scrape marring his armor.  Knowing every wound inflicted left its mark upon his person, he saw plainly why he met with failure in drinking from this well. Too weary to continue his journey, he turned to the woman.
           “Would that thou might find it possible to sit with me a spell and talk, I would be grateful.  Steady companions are not a thing known to me of late, and I would be most appreciative to thee for the company.”
           Intrigued by this visitor in her land, she answered with a slow nod of her head and moved to take a seat nearer to him.  He did not spark the typical fight or flight response in her and as they talked, she felt a loosening of a knot within her chest.  Conversation was simple and easy on her tongue and she was very at ease in his company.  His words not only spoke to her ears, but to an ancient and mysterious part of her, the essence of her.  His eyes on her were like warm hands kneading tense muscles along her neck and back.
            What they might speak about, he did not care.  He was fatigued to the bone, in sore need of the healing balm of friendship, and this lady did seem kind.  She did not appear the warrior type yet there was a strength about her which he noticed she held tightly about her as a cloak.  He vaguely wondered how she came to wander these woods alone.
            As they talked well into the night, they found they had much in common in some ways.  They spoke of good books they had read and fine performances they had seen.  They spoke of families and friends, of loves lost and found.  Forgetful of their problems for this time, they found great joy in each other’s company, and smiles shone and laughter sounded where just before there had been emptiness.
            Dawn began to break on the horizon and the knight knew he must return to his duties in the field.  She understood this and accepted it, glad only that she was able to know him for this night.  His touch upon her would last a lifetime, she felt.
            Not wanting the encounter to end, he sighed heavily and picked up his helmet to prepare to leave.  He thought about her loneliness in these woods and the battles she would face herself on her own journeys.  They stood together, finally not speaking at all, and embraced gently, both giving and receiving strength and hope one unto the other.
            Tenderly, he whispered to her, “When battles wear thee down and thou doth need me, come here to this place and think of me.  In this place, thou art safe, I am here.”
            He then brushed his lips across her brow and cheek.  She found her body answered of its own accord, eager to taste his lips upon her own.
            In the urgency to hold her ever closer, the knight’s helmet fell into the well with a splash.  Both the woman and the knight reached to grab it before it sank forever.  To their great surprise, their hands plunged deep into the sparkling water. With the helmet forgotten, they stared in amazement as the ripples in the water settled and the mirror-like surface returned.
            As the sun lazily spread its brilliance upon them, they studied their reflections.  She noticed the dents and scrapes which had been present in his armor were now mended and it shone with a bright polish.  He looked at her and saw that her cloak had fallen away from her and her strength was now carried in the warmth of her smile and in the light shining in her eyes.
            They slowly cupped the sparkling water in their hands and offered the other’s lips a drink.  It was a drink from the well of happiness which is fed from a cool spring of contentment deep within.  It is said that sadness may never touch it.

September 15, 2007 - Checking Out

June 23, 2007 - Self Portrait

My Self Image

I have historically never had a problem with the idea of growing old.  Of course, this mindset was always conjured while the face looking back at me in the mirror was still young and unlined by life’s hills and valleys. My hands were not wrinkled and time had not painted the brown spots of age on their backs.  All the perky anatomical parts of me had not yet decided to sit out the last few dances of the decade, opting for mass over movement.  In time, I began to dread the face in the mirror each morning.  When did my eyes start to look so tired?  When did my hair turn from the smoothness of youth to the coarse wiriness of age?  Where did those lines on my forehead come from?  Of course I never took the time to answer any of these questions before sliding the medicine cabinet door open to move my face out of frame. 

One day, I thought how nice it would be to feel beautiful again.  I decided to put up a reminder note on the bathroom mirror that simply said “Beautiful” with a smiley face on it.  Instead of dreading the tired and puffy-faced person who always showed up in the mirror, I began to admire my eyes looking back at me because they have been the movie projector of my life. They have blessed me with all of my visual memories, seeing holes in the toes of my tiny red sneakers that were made when I gave up on trying to walk and resorted back to crawling because it was faster, the shiny bits of glistening shale in the sand at the beach, the first time I saw Ricky, and the first time I laid eyes on our newborn daughter.  The list is long and they are blessings every one.  My eyes aren’t tired.  They are well used and still looking at beautiful things every day with a greater wisdom. 

(My Hair)

My hair will never be cut and styled as it was so easily done years ago, although it is a great sport about hair color.  It doesn’t mind being red, or auburn, or surprisingly pink.  It is full and wavy and sometimes rests in ringlets on my shoulders that I would have killed for back in my spiral perm days of the 80’s.  It has come to life on its own, freely reacting to the world and the weather, never doing what is expected of it and fully rejecting conformity.  My hair has told me that its time to move on from certain things and embrace newer and inevitable beauty.  I’m taking some life lessons from my beautiful grey hair.

(My Wrinkles)

When I hold no purposeful expression on my face at all, people often ask me “what’s wrong?” and surprised by their question, I tell them “nothing is wrong”.  Then my brow will furrow on purpose from wondering why they asked me that in the first place.  It occurred to me that my “normal” expression must be one of troubled thoughts or sadness.  My facial wrinkles are part of the body’s projected statement to the world about how I feel and where I’ve been in life.  Knowing this, I practice smiles every day.  When I think a happy thought, I smile.  When I hear something funny, I let go of the reigns and laugh out loud, and then hold that lingering smile just a moment longer.  When I witness a kindness out in the world, I try to reflect what I feel on the inside of me to the outside of me.  Today, I strive for wrinkles.  I squint in the sun.  I smile often, and find reasons to laugh every day.  I want people who don’t know me to look at me and be in awe of how good my life has been.

(My Hands)

My hands, my hands, my hands…. I see them every day.  They grip the steering wheel every morning on the way to work.  I see them lying still on the keyboard here waiting for instructions from my brain.  They are wrinkled and spotted when they are resting inactive in front of me.  When I first began noticing this, I wondered when it could have happened.  Then I remembered something very treasured to me: my grandmother’s hands.  Aged and bony, papery-thin skinned and darkly spotted….and very loved.  I remember holding one of her hands in both of mine and feeling every vein and wrinkle and joint.  They were the hands that tickled me, that clapped for me.  Those hands picked wild berries off the trees and waged berry wars in the back yard.  They were the hands that pointed my eyes up to look at a squirrel or a bird in tree branches heavy and pregnant after a summer rain, and they were the hands that would shake those same tree branches to shower my face with a splash of unexpected water from the leaves.  So my hands are becoming.  My hands have the same power of love as my grandmother’s did.  And I notice when my hands are idle, the wrinkles are there to be studied and mulled over.  But when I hold my daughter’s hand, they are gone.  I like to think its love.  And then I smile.

June 3, 2007 - My Friend Steve

April 8, 2007 - My shot at a feast

April 6, 2007-Feast One Hundred Thirty Eight

Appetizer
When you travel, which mode of transportation do you prefer?

Soup
Have you ever met a blogging friend in person?

No, only talked to them by phone.

Getting out of bed this morning.

Main Course
If you could have dinner with any one fictional character from a book or movie, who would it be?

Dessert
Fill in the blank: One day, I hope to see _______________.

A Christian in need reaching out for help, a Muslim clasping that hand and not letting go, while telling the Jewish man nearby to call for help. An ambulance arrives driven by Catholics, who rush the hurt man to the hospital where his life is saved by a Hindu physician. 

March 31, 2007 - Problems, Peeves, and Solutions

March 25, 2007 - Springtime Cometh

January 22, 2007 - Something squirrely this way comes

January 13, 2007 - Where does life begin, really?