later the same day.........a happening.......

Here I am again, but this time I'm sipping on a well earned glass of wine...or two. I've mellowed since this morning when I began what I thought was a happy little ditty of a piece and turned into a sourpuss rantsy pants piece. What has mellowed me beside some crushed grapes? Well, it turns out, I'm psychic. I've always known that I had intuitive powers, but now I believe I'm psychic. I was also bit on the arse by my own predictions.........my own desire to avert yet another freaking "happening."

Before i get into my little admission.......my explanation of my psychic arse biting episode, let me give you a chance (if you haven't already) read my earlier post this morning........ I'll wait......

Scroll down and give it a read...... I'll just sit here and hum a Bay City Rollers song, take a few swigs, fill up my glass............while you read.

s-a-t-u-r-d-a-y NIGHT.......

Ok. Caught up? Good.

So.........I was writing about the dread I was feeling about waiting for a happening?? It happened. And, if this is the intensity of the happening I have to deal with, I'm going to be alright. Not only that, I just may get to laugh at the absurdity of life.....how if you wait long enough, you learn that holding pride too close knocks the stuffing out of that notion and quick.

This afternoon, the much anticipated overdue birthday party for my number 1 son took place. I had arranged to have the school gym for a couple of hours. This was the preferred site for all involved. Given the precarious weather we have had since July, an outdoor fiesta was too dicey. 11 year old boys are too darn rambunctious to be bouncing indoors in my house with hockey sticks and bouncey balls. Been there done that.... So, the gym was a GREAT venue. As a huge bonus, I was offered full access for free because of all the years being head honcho fund raiser at the school.

Last Wednesday while doing my best to multi-task my way out of drowning in my list of "to-do's", I stopped at the school to fill out the necessary forms for access to the gym.....you know the ones designed to sign your life away and to cover their no fault asses. I hadn't been in the school since last June and got caught up in a variety of conversations with staff.....catching up, filling them in on the kids.......me wondering how the annual Christmas bazaar planning was going and feeling a keen sense of belonging as well as continuity. So, yappy, yappy........somewhere along the line, the principal gives me the key to the school. I think. 'Cause I can't remember. I know there were keys involved in the discussion but whether or not I was given one or was told that the school would be opened on Sunday is a bit blurry.... it still is. Usually that was the case. If I had needed to use the school facilities for a meeting or setting up for the bazaar in the past, someone would be there to unlock it.

Papers signed, off I head back to work....with my list of todo's.........content that things were set up for Sunday's boy basketball birthday bash at the alma mater. The next day however (thursday) I get hit with the stomach flu and am out for the count for an intense short period. All bets are off on the completion of the to do list let alone my ability to focus and organize. It's all put aside until I can get back on my feet.

Fast forward........everything is ready for the 2 hour gymfest.....sports equipment.....drinks, cake, cut up watermelon, loot bags, and all the essentials packed..... I had arranged to be at the school 1/2 before the boys arrived in order to take charge! Charge! What a funny concept that is?? I mean who really is allowed to take charge when destiny is in the cards?

As soon as we pulled into the school parking lot, I'm struck with a lost and foggy thought.......hmmmmm...........I think I was given a key to the place.........hmmmmm...........

Let me tell you............the level of anxiety I was feeling right at that moment turned me into a peri-menopausal hot tamale.......knowing 10 boys and their parents were about to show up and I couldn't for the life of me remember where I had put the key???? It was then and there when I realized that not only was I psychic, I had been bit in the arse by my own prediction of a happening taking place. I caused the damn happening......... I had this urge to run away and choke myself.

Mad dashes ensued.... The "goods" and the family were dropped off in the parking lot and I rushed home to tear apart the house in search of the key all the while bashing my memory trying to remember what I had been wearing the day I had visited the school and got all caught up in conversations and catch up.......the day before I ended up praying to the Porcelain Gods. Scramble, scramble searching in pockets, under the bed, in the washing machine....I dug into my bottomless pit of a purse to no avail. In a flash of insight, I grabbed a bunch of sweatshirts for the boys who would no doubt show up in gym shorts so that the party could take place outdoors in the school playground and the telephone book to try and track down a teacher to save the day. This was plan B. Thank God the weather was nice albeit a little coldish.

I arrived back to find everyone assembled.......the boys trying to figure out what sport they wanted to play and not having much agreement.......my son on the verge of tears because of the chaos...........and the male parents standing around talking men talk. My daughter had put in her i-pod buds and removed herself to a picnic table to work on her art project. I had to face my own music and admit that I had completely fucked up my son's birthday party. I also informed everyone that this would be my very last kid's birthday party.

Once I got the boys set up to play road hockey in the parking lot, I made a bunch of phone calls to no avail. But, the boys were focused and I focused on trying to find my happy hostess persona while organizing the goods on the steps of the school. There was an air of disappointment for sure, because they were all so pumped to return to their old school gym and have it to themselves for the afternoon, but somehow we managed to keep them moving along scoring goals. There was one sourpuss (isn't that always the case???) who kept making mean comments and not wanting to play along. It was very tempting to choke him or at least restrain the little shit. Instead, I kept the thoughts to myself ...... well until his comments were heard and felt by the birthday boy, and then during a pep talk with Max to try to buoy him up I think I may have used the term dickhead to describe his friend. ah well.............Max has heard worse. He watches Will Ferrell movies. He hangs out in playgrounds. He has the ability to read the lips of pissed off hockey players on the ice.

Off to the field after the road hockey game slowed to a halt........and the urge to play soccer baseball was voiced.....except by sourpuss boy whom I'm tempted to ask who it was who peed on his cornflakes, but held my momma role model tongue.

It took a bit to get them organized again........teams and all that, but success was achieved. All of a sudden, a car pulled into the parking lot and out popped an eager beaver teacher. She very smilingly and lovingly believed me and my plight and opened the side doors to save the day and then headed up to her classroom on the second floor. While the boys are attending to the game, I moved the cake and other sundries into the foyer. Then, I placed someone's sneaker in the door to keep it ajar and went up to the field to announce that we had access to the gym. The boys, all full of vim and vigour, raced past me to the door. The first kid there is the dickhead sourpuss........turned out I used his sneaker to keep the door ajar. Unthinking, he grabbed his shoe and let the door shut.................LOCKED out again with the birthday cake inside glaring at us!!

I couldn't believe it. I felt like I was in the middle of some Abbott and Costello meets Seinfield sitcom........A happening that continued......I felt a bigger bite in the arse and cursed my psychic abilities. My desire to choke the sourpuss kid escalated but this time I'm not alone. Every single kid wanted to pile up on top of him. My son Max's tear ducts are ready to explode. I'm ready to sit down to laugh and cry at the same time. Off went my husband to circle the school to find the teacher's classroom window to try to yell up to her and get her attention as I try to unsuccessfully re-engage the boys to return to the field to pick up on the soccer baseball.......

It all looked lost until all of a sudden, we hear a whoop from the back of the school. My husband was a success......the teacher had been alerted by his incessant yelling up to the second floor and she came down again to re-open the door. THANK GOD!

In we ALL went.............and I breathed a very big sigh of relief as I threw the basketball in the air to start the game. They all stayed way past the end of the party. That's a good sign of a successful one isn't it? Think I'll refill my wine glass.....and toast to the end of a day.

My New Year.

I would love to live
like a river flowing
carried by the surprise
of its own unfolding

John O'Donahue

It's morning though the darkness still hangs her drapes closed longer as a means of letting us know that the autumn splendour is working behind the scenes preparing to begin her show. A sneak peak of orange moves up from the horizon. Summer hangs on producing the harvest of her season. Transition seems to be in the air all around us, which induces reflections and forward thinking. It's difficult to be in the moment while going through a transitional period. I wonder why that is.........is it the comfort level? Fear of the unknown? Our desire to plan ahead as an instinctive means of survival? I don't know.

Birthdays too are transitional touchstones in our lives. They are like our personal New Year's....a time of reflection and of looking forward, wondering how the year will unfold.........wondering what is in store. Today is my New Year's. I turn 48 today. And as I write this while watching the sun begin to rise with the drapes of night lifting up to allow for a new September day to unfold, I smile in anticipation.

Soon, the river below my house will be visible for me to see. Soon it will unfold as it always does, carrying surprises in its flow. I will continue to learn to strive to do the same thing.


It's a beautiful morning, and new beautiful new year.........fresh and vital in its early unfolding. I will enjoy this day and all that it offers. I will be looking towards the future too because today I open a special savings account to save the money to attend the next Greenbelt Festival in August 2009. I will be there to take it all in, and to sip some Cointreau with a few beautiful friends.

Carpe Diem.

between the covers

Lying within me beyond the white

are a blend of memories

created by a garland of colourful threads

gathered while living my life.

Lying within me behind my eyes
are complicated thoughts
pulled through ongoing analysis of patterns
sorted while living my life



Lying within me beneath my skin
are a mountain range of feelings
spread wide open, coursing through my system
expressed while living my life



Lying within me embedded in my heart
are caring connections
satisfied intimacy of deep well moments
nurtured while living my life.



Lying within me basking in my light

are reflecting shadows

arched in mystery, flickering awareness
questioned while living my life.



Lying within me benefitting my soul
are parts of you
formed in trust, evolved from sharing
welcomed while living my life

barefoot and reverent?

a little too cold to be barefoot

definately barefoot in spirit

A friend asked me recently when had I returned to the church. Given that we were having a amiable conversation about religion, this was a legitimate question. Anyone listening to us would've assumed that I have taken a baptismal dunk into the river.....that I had reached some personal conclusion about where I stand with respect to my beliefs. My writing sometimes seems to cut right to that place of worship. My reading interests have most definately changed to a more inclusive look at Christianity. My conversations, even with the people I'm counselling seems to have altered, simply because my thinking is more receptive to the topic.

My answer? It now seems like a broken record..........."I am comfortable figuring it out on my own, right now. I have my whole life to figure it out." I'm beginning to think this sounds like a cop out.

I am most definately seeing my world around me with a different lens and am happily willing to accept that a leap of faith may bring an acceptable answer to some of the occurances around me which before required a more specific, more scientific answer.

Doubt has lessened.

Leaping has increased.

Possibilities have opened up

But am I willing to commit?

What holds me back from crossing into a more secular lifestyle of regular church going, hymn singing, psalm reading attendance?

I don't like to follow along in a congregational pack? yes.

I slip into my own writing mode on Sunday mornings where I can independently consider certain topics connected to faith. yup.

I still have doubts that I feel compelled to figure out before I make any formal commitment? uhuh.

I'm not good at keeping it together while singing hymns. partially.........

I'm not looking for another membership to add to my life. I really don't like joining groups. affirmative.

Fear...............? hmmmmmmm....... is it fear?

Of what?

If I am honest, it's probably the same fear which keeps me in a holding pattern with moving forward with my writing. Both of these pursuits re-emerged at the same time a couple of years ago, and now they seem to go hand in hand.........more than that, they are intertwined, holding each other up, supporting and feeding each other. So, you'd think this would give me the fortitude to pull it together enough to at least make a more committed step in one of the venues.

What is it that I'm afraid of?

It has been said that we are all afraid to reach the end of our lives only to find out that we didn't matter.........that we never left a footprint as our legacy. These two pursuits hold such meaning for me. I guess I'm afraid that if they don't work out that perhaps my life will end up being a bust. Better to stay in the comfort zone than move out into the open to take that risk?

My religion......

What if I don't fit as a church going person committed to God? What if I can't find a place to call home? I do like a sense of barefoot reverence. I'm not a good lemming. I can't swallow something even if I'm told it's good for me. Can a misfit like me move from the fray and find a place where I feel like a belong? Jesus likes the Ragamuffins, but is there really a place for us

in the formal structure of the church? What if it just doesn't live up to my expectations?

My writing............

I am more clear about what I want to do with it and where I would like to go with it than my religion. But, what if I pull it all together and send it out to publishing land and then nothing happens? Would I be able to handle that rejection? I want my writing to be my future...........I want it so much that it seems to stop me from going for it. Is my timing right? Is the type of writing I do publishable? It makes my head hurt second guessing myself as I sit in stall mode.

As much as I am a strong individualist who does many things in my life on my own, independent of others.... As much as I am fully aware that I am a leader, that others perceive me as that, that it is expected of me..... As much as I am confident in my decision making, my creative problem solving, my vision and ideas, for some reason I feel this unrelenting need for someone to take the lead on both of these journeys. It would be so wonderful to have someone call me up and say..........."Hey! Let me help you here. I know how to do this................."

Are you there God, it's me Muskie.............I could really use some help here. And could you bring me a few kleenexes? I think I hit the nail on the head. My cheeks are all of a sudden soaked.

Returning to the rough waters........

Time to put the canoe back in the water.

We're gonna shoot some rapids along the way

As much as I love being at home and seem content to be home for long stretches of time, I thrive best when I'm busy. Juggle, juggle ........move, move .........plan, plan ..........dobeeedooooo........meet, arrange, listen, write, drive, organize, teach, learn, laugh, talk, strive, stretch, refresh, irritate...........

Did I say irritate?

Yes, I'm back at work meeting with people who are living each day to the best of their ability only to be pushed down and marginalized every step of the way. And, what is my natural role in this work that I do besides counselling and consulting?

Irritating. I'm a full fledged shit disturbing irritater. I can't help it. Issues and concerns meet me at my office door. As much as I have been told to "stay under the radar" and "keep my head down so as not to pull the focus spotlight in my direction" ......... this advice given lovingly by folks who don't want to see me hurt by the system we work in..... as much as I've been warned and told ......... I simply can't do it. I see injustice or mistreatment and my head just about pops off.

Then, I go to bat.........for the mistreated and misunderstood. Radar? What radar??? I can't find the radar let alone work under it. Where's the fun in that?

Sure, I can be diplomatic. I am a respected leader. Many seek me out for consulting or spilling their stories. But, for some reason these attributes are not wanted in my environment. My questions or challenges to the rules and policies of the day go against the status quo most people are comfortable living with.

I seem to refresh their irritation. By doing so, I seem to refresh my own irritation.

Yes, I'm back at work.........loving the encounters and the stories and the feeling of being needed. I love hearing the person stories and know I can help them deal with some of their obstacles........or more importantly help them deal with their own obstacles. I love the interaction, the communication, the pace, the drama, the successes and the triumphs. I want to be there to help them bear their sorrow, share their dilemmas, speak of their beliefs. I want to work to understand what it's like to live with Schizophrenia, how difficult it is to have a child with Attention Deficit, when it's time to say stop to violent abuse. I want to be surrounded by these strong willed defiant people who tackle mountains EVERY day and live to see another beautiful sunrise with hope in their hearts. How do they do it???

I want to understand. And then, I want to help them fight the systemic marginalization....the rules and policies.......the bullshit........the insincerity they hear in the voices who hold power. You can't change the system extensively unless you can work inside it. That's my theory anyways.

It's what I do. I irritate, advocate, communicate, demonstrate, complicate, negotiate, and commiserate. And in return? I get a whole lot of smiling thank yous from the ones who matter. Hugs too. Lots of hugs. And in the long run? Perhaps some system changes will take place......

That is what matters.........it's a messy process, but a good fit for a misfit like me.

I'm back at work, ready to refresh a few irritations, including my own. It feels right. However, I get the feeling that some don't have the same feeling as I do.

Tell Me Your Story

I first posted this piece as an introduction to my other blog, Grace Notes and it seems apropos to post it again here as my contribution this weekend for Sunday Scribblings. The prompt this week is "collector personality." Though I don't have a collection of salt and pepper shakers, coins, stamps or stuffed animals. My home isn't an Elvis shrine, nor a tribute to Martha Stewart (NOT that there is anything wrong with any of those collections), I do have a collection-like personality..............for sharing laundry......

____________________________________

When we tell stories, we touch hearts. If we talk about theories and speak about ideas, the mind may assimilate them but the heart remains untouched. It is the story of a specific person that is the way to the heart."

Jean Vanier

How would you reply if someone was to ask you, "tell me your story?" Would you hesitate at first? Would you remain a closed book for fear of your tale not being liked? Or would you accept the invitation?

If you decided to tell your story, where would you begin? Right at the beginning when you were born, or somewhere in the middle, or where you are right now? WHERE are you right now? Most likely in a place where you're comfortable......and then perhaps move on from there.

What words would you choose.........ones to describe you, your roles, what you look like or would you choose to describe yourself by your familial history? Or would you get right down to how you feel about yourself............what is it you're thinking and how does it make you feel? I'd like to hazard a guess....the answers may be impacted by the person is who is asking the question and by the time and place of the asking. The question takes on a completely different meaning if it is thrown out at you during the course of a job interview rather than relaxing in an environment where you feel comfortably safe to reveal some of your story. If time is of the essence, your answer would be curtailed and left hanging....... Ah, but if you had the time, what would you like to share?

Tell me your story.......

I love learning of people's stories which is a good thing since my lifework involves being a collector of sorts as well as a storyteller myself. I love to see where a person begins their tale, what a person shares........do they jump right into their own history with both feet, or do they dip a toe into the waters first to see if it's safe? And what do they focus on? Do they focus on their external roles and responsibilities, or is it more of an overall summary of life? Do I get to hear about their feelings, their aches and pains, their wishes and regrets? Only if they are willing and comfortable sharing with me. I love being the recipient, when one is trusted to be the engaged listener........it feels like a cocooning of hearts. It feels like time stops and the rest of the world carries on without notice.

Tell me your story........and I will tell you mine. It's all I have to share with you.

A chance to explore similarities and differences........and it often makes me late for a destination. The running joke in my family when I was an adolescent (OK, as an adult too) was that if I took the car to go to the convenience store, a ten minute errand at most, expect not to see me for at least an hour. Why? More than likely I was caught up in collecting stories.....or sharing my own. Yeah, I'm a nosey parker, but I think I was born with a story collecting gene or something. It's not like I have a neon sign over my head flashing......"spill your story to this one," but I must send out some type of vibe and don't even know it.

I'm not complaining.........nosirrreeee.....in fact........I love it...especially the spontaneous spillings. Honestly, when it happens, I feel blessed. We live in the very best place in the whole world for spontaneous enlightening stories to be shared because we traditionally embrace the spoken word. Maritimers know the social and interactive connecting magic of personal expression.

Tell me your story..........and you will become part of my own personal tapestry, as I will yours....

Community is formed on the openness and receptivity of neighbours and strangers, of understanding that perhaps the book jacket and preface of our stories, and the events that enhance them may be very different.... your cover may be flashier than mine, mine may be more traumatic than yours but when the stories touch the heart, it is when there is a realization that we are all human beings who feel the same feelings..........love, hurt, grief, pain, sorrow, joy, contentment, frustration, excitement, fear.....that you will find your heart touched. Simply put, the fabric of our community is as rich as the stories we choose to share.

Blogging is heaven for tale spinners and keepers, as I have found out over the past two years writing on my site as well as reading and always learning through the reflections others choose to share. My blog has offered me a window into the worlds of others throughout our global community, has fed my keen interest in people and has added many beautiful threads to my own life tapestry. Though it is a virtual place, the blogworld has the ability to sweep you up and touch a part of your heart where people stories dwell. It surely wasn't something I expected when I first started writing online.....but it is a dwelling I embrace wholeheartedly now, as I continue to add to my collection of stories.

For more collections, visit Sunday Scribblings........

“This is my simple religion. There is no need for temples; no need for complicated philosophy. Our own brain, our own heart is our temple; the philosophy is kindness.” -The Dalai Lama

I seem to be sitting on a precipice of sorts wondering where I will head with respect to many aspects of my wavering faith. High up on a ledge I sit, my legs dangling in the air....and with every breath I encounter a new question, a new doubt which leaves me baffled and lost. If only I could wake up one morning in a state of assurance instead of suspended belief. Do I need proof to cross the line from spiritual abyss to some sense of spiritual maturity? When does one know when they have developed a level of spiritual maturity? What is spiritual maturity anyways? What does it look like? I've read the term inserted in various essays and books I have picked up over the past couple of years and yet I have never questioned it until now.

My closed minded stubborness which kept the God door firmly closed for so many years completely arrested any learning or development in understanding religion. Give me proof or piss off was my attitude. I wanted hard facts...........an observed miracle........a clear sign.......a personal encounter to kick open the deadbolted door which stood between my heart and God. It didn't happen. My belief that faith needed proof suspended all and any spiritual growth.



Nothing monumental occured........no bolts of lightening, no visits from the Virgin Mary, no whispers from God happened to me when I first noticed the light filtering through the door again. It was a combination of smaller moments which arrived at a point in my life when I felt vulnerable, when my guard was down that offered the hope of possibility. I had stopped searching long ago and yet, I was holding the door closed with all my might up until this point. When I finally sat back to take a rest or maybe it was to surrender the tug of war I was having with faith versus proof........all of a sudden I began to wonder about the mystery again. I also realized how much of my energy was being wasted on keeping the Holy Spirit at bay instead of using it to ponder, question, listen..................to be open to wondering.....to be open to expanding my understanding of love.....to letting my actions as a human being be led by love for my fellow man.



Since then, I have wandered not so aimlessly asking many questions and finding some answers. And yet, I still sit outside of the formality of the church setting........high on a ledge with my legs dangling. Is it time to take a plunge? Is it time to expand my spiritual growth to become a member again within a congregation?



One of the awakening insights I had earlier on was that it didn't matter if I knew my faith was unwavering. It didn't matter if I didn't know the words to prayers or the scriptures which I learned as a young adult. The words and the stories would find me in time. No rush, because religion and spirituality is a journey and not a clear destination. I guess that's what spiritual maturity means. Human development is comprised of learning and personal growth.....emotionally, cognitively, physical and spiritually. It never stops. Our inquisitive nature feeds the need to ask, ponder, listen, absorb, wonder and wander. Spiritual maturity has no end. One doesn't receive a diploma when one achieves this milestone because it is infinitely expansive as the heavens. A degree in spiritual maturity doesn't exist even if you read every blessed purpose driven book out there.



It's all in the living..............isn't it? Living and sharing our love?



As much as I would like to continue being the captain of my own learning,of my own pace I do feel a void. I feel the need to sit in a church on a regular basis, to take part in the rituals and the flow of the service again. I need the familiarity of how it was and is and will be. Whether I find this right away or not, I think it's time to take another step out of the wilderness in order to seek out another signpost. Maybe I'll stand up on the ledge and taken a plunge, but make sure I have a harness on just in case?



I believe I'm ready to find the right pew. I wonder if they are ready for me?

captured reflections.......

captured reflections

What I love more than anything about writing is the opportunity I have to take a snippet of my life, and to find the words to expressively reflect my perceptions of it. Whether it's an older memory or a recent one that has occured during the course of the day a chance to capture it with a net of descriptives fills the reflection with another dimension. A poem, a quote, a concept, a memory, or one single thought are all seeds which grow in my imagination. Writing empowers the growth of the seeds. Writing about it brings the reflection forward.

An unexamined life is not worth living..............who said that? Though I have a tendancy to analyze ad nauseum because well, that's just how my brain is wired, taking the time to reflect on the day, the week, the year feeds my learning. Reflections offer refreshed perspectives which in turn allow for broadening how I view my world or the world beyond my front yard. It helps me understand human behaviour........my own as well as others. Using my net to pull in the words, I can make an attempt to put my reflections out there for others to consider.

Writing may be considered a solitary pursuit, but it doesn't feel isolating or lonely to me. Rather, it's the activity of conjuring up the original idea before it is integrated with the right words where solitary is found. I feel more alone when I'm still "in my head" so to speak than when I'm sitting at the keyboard allowing it all to flow out of me. It's like I'm holding my breath as the ideas solidify. Writing lets me exhale..........it breathes life as I go through the process of directing the flow of the oxygenated words stored inside me and then out through my fingertips. And as I breathe, I feel more alertly focused and spiritually connected to others.........past and present.

And when one feels spiritually connected, one never feels alone.

captured perspectives

random bits.....

beauty from my garden

Kamsin tagged me a week ago asking me to identify 8 random facts about moi. Given that I seem to be an open stream of conciousness......yapping away on this blog ad nauseum, I was kind of stuck.......what can I share on a website that a) I havent already spewed about and b) that I'm comfortable sharing? So, believe it or not..........(canuckguy, I'm particularly thinking of you......) I was a little stumped. Actually, I think I was suffering from overthinkingitis, a dangerous ailment I strive to conquer today.

Let the randomness unravel.................

1. I'm a lefty. No, that doesn't mean politically. I'm a southpaw left handed person living in her right mind, trying to navigate a right handed world. Though I bat and golf right......almost everything I do is in a left handed way. One day, I will write a whole post on this, because believe it or not being left handed has impacted much of how I view the world AND the world is set up for right handedness.

2. I hate flying. Since the terrorism attacks, I hate flying even more. I think this fear has to do with being left handed, oh and not having any control over my destiny while sitting in an uncomfortable seat beside a snoring stranger who needs to bathe while some pilot whom I'm never met, or even seen takes me up into the clouds like this is a normal thing. Too much thinking........ what I try to do when confronted with flying (and this is a must when I have two kids in tow whom I don't want to freak out completely)........I sit back and fantasize my way through the take off and landings...... and no, you will not find out what it is I fantasize about.


3. I can makes the noise of a pig grunting with my throat...... kids love it. So do some grown-ups.



4. If a picture is askew on a wall, I have to fix it before my attention can return to where it should be. This also goes for something that doesn't seem to be in the proper place. I'm not a fussbudgety kind of person normally.......just when it comes to decor and balance. perhaps my left handedness comes with a feng shui option......don't know. I do know it is something I inherited from my mom and have passed the non-askew gene onto my daughter.



5. When I'm teaching, I love to be spontaneous. However, the way to do this AND stay on track is to have done the homework ahead of time. Lesson plans, objectives, outcomes....all the good teaching plans need to be completed. THEN I can head up in front of a group and let it unfold as it will........spontaneous, revealing, sharing, interactive learning.



6. I'm very intuitive. In fact, I know you're reading this right now. Scary, eh?


7. I truly believe in kindred spirits. They are few and far between, which is good because it makes them all the more special. There is a transcendent connectiveness not felt with others in our lives.....and a feeling that you can spill out your inner thoughts and feelings without hesitation. These human beings don't randomly enter your life, though sometimes it appears that way on the surface. Kindred spirits are gifts.



8. I'm on hiatus this week......... just me and Max and our imaginations. Not many plans, some good downtime to clear our heads. Today, we are going to pick strawberries which neither of us has done before. I'm going to teach him how to make jam. I predict he'll be bored out of his mind! I may have to bribe the kid with a trip to the water slide. Since I LOVE waterslides too, this won't be a drag.


oh..........i've thought of many more randoms bits, but will leave those for another day.



Enjoy your day.....and thank you Kamsin. I'm sorry it took me so long. I will leave it up to you to take this activity up if you would like.......or perhaps you could write about one random thing about you and see where it takes you in your own writing..........or not. :)

here i am.....................

"Look
I understand too little too late
I realize there are things you say and do
You can never take back
But what would you be if you didnt even try
You have to try
So after a lot of thought
Id like to reconsider
Please
If its not too late
Make it a cheeseburger

Here I am
Yes its me
Take my hand
And youll see
Here I am
Yes its true
All I want
Girl is you"

Lyle Lovett

Multi-hued me

A good friend recently told me that I have a "presence" when I walk into a room. I'm noticed. No one had ever told me that before and I take his comment as a compliment. Though, I'm unsure if that's the case. Maybe it is.......I don't know because I'm not in the room watching me walk into it. I do often feel a sense that others glance up occasionally, though I am able to slip into place (I think) unnoticed if I want to. And, there have been many times when I have been introduced to someone for the 19th time and they proceed with the intros like it was the first.

I feel this presence thing most when I'm up in front of a group of people teaching or delivering a speech. But, doesn't everyone who has this opportunity feel the same way? I don't know.

The Meyers Briggs personality indicator consistently captures me as an ENFP.......Extroversion, Intuition, Feeling, Perception. The most predominant traits are the first two......I'm an intuitive extrovert. What feeds my intuition are my feelings. What is expressed through my extroversion are feelings. The good, the bad, the ugly; Tenderness, happiness, joy, compassion -- Frustration, impatience -- Anger, sarcasm, bite.

Sometimes, being an extrovert I will act on my intuitive feelings too quickly, catching people unawares......I will impulsively hug someone, or show my empathy............I will also try to set boundaries if I feel mine have been crossed. If I feel attacked or if I feel my family has been attacked in any way I don't hold back. It is a strong protective reaction I have........like when you have to slam on the brakes in the car and your right arm automatically reaches over to protect the passenger.

Piss me off, and don't expect me to walk away............I am working on it........really and truly I am.........there are times when it would be best to do so. This of course is normally learned in shameful hindsight and regret. I do try to capture feelings before they are flying out of me. It may be the Irish streak and the Scottish lass in me......... :) Yes, let's blame in on the Darby side of my family..............


But, do I have a presence? Hmmmmm? Feelings do emanate from me, even if I am trying to restrain them. If I had to describe myself in colours of feeling, red would be my foundation. Inside, I am multi-hued red which to me conjures up warmth, love but also firey heat of anger and everything in between.

RED..........glowing through my skin from my soul. Shades of red.

The deep purple reds are joyful exhuberance always ready to set my feet dancing fast or taking a rolling run at a hill in the summer. It is the colour that shoots out of me when I'm in the middle of a party and everyone is having FUN. It is the colour I love to wear in the middle of winter when dreary is the tone of the day and I want to zazz it up.....

Fire-licking orangey red traditionally represents my passion. It's very hard to contain if I'm feeling orange. If I'm in a meeting for example, and I'm supposed to exude a calm water blue when in fact I am bursting at the seams with some passionate idea a sense of wanting to share it like a child whose just been given a tub of their favourite ice cream and a spoon. I can do blue, but orange-red takes precidence more often than not.

Blood red is life, which pulsates through us all. Consistent, reliable, oxygenated, needed........for living life. It is the blood red, a balance of all the red hues which represents compassion for me. Compassionate love, compassionate desire, compassionate action..........it is blood red that I strive to show with my presence.

Sometimes it gets a tinge of another colour...............sometimes my blood red runs cold with disdainful hurt. Sometimes my blood red runs overheated with excitement. Sometimes my blood red runs smoothly in a flow of balance..........when a smile is a smile and not a mask of another colour.

And sometimes, when I'm calm, safe, quietly still, the red in me fills my heart with comfort and brings a sparkle to my green eyes.

Do I have a recognized presence when I walk into a room......well, I guess it depends on the hues of red I happen to be wearing. Oh, and the bright red ruby slippers..........they help me get noticed too.