tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1653496339535303632024-02-23T18:03:12.191-08:00Writers RisingKatherine Jenkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16732133918969183030noreply@blogger.comBlogger426125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-165349633953530363.post-12846523643545746772015-05-08T10:54:00.001-07:002015-05-08T10:54:42.541-07:0010 Suggestions for Commenting on Blogs<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span style="font-size: small;">Identify what you want and learn how to ask for it. </span></i></h3>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000702/?ref_=tt_trv_qu"><span class="character">Lisa</span></a>: So I was just wondering if there was one general thing that you've found over the years to be generally true in a general way that would help anyone in any situation?</span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0001724/?ref_=tt_trv_qu"><span class="character">Psychiatrist</span></a>: That's a great question, yes, I would say figure out what you want and learn how to ask for it.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000702/?ref_=tt_trv_qu"><span class="character">Lisa</span></a>: OK. Those are both really hard.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><i>The above quotations are from the movie "How Do you Know."</i> I appreciate this movie psychiatrist's advice as it relates to writing as well. Many writers are intimidated to ask for what they need related to feedback. In fact, it is difficult to know what types of feedback will have a favorable influence on your work. Most of us have experienced that situation where a reader's feedback was tough and caused us to stop writing for a while. The best kind of feedback helps writers to move forward in a writing project. The following suggestions are given to my students so that they can benefit from and give helpful feedback on their class blog projects. They are adapted from Peter Elbow and Pat Belanof's book, <i>S<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Sharing-Responding-Elbow-Peter/dp/0073031798/ref=sr_1_fkmr0_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1430937820&sr=1-1-fkmr0&keywords=Peter+Elbow%2C+Sharing+%26+Responding.+New+York%3A+Random+House%2C+1989" target="_blank">haring and Responding</a></i>. New York: Random House, 1989.</span></span></h3>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">TYPES OF FEEDBACK for Blog comments:</span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I. No Responding:<b> Sharing</b></span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">1. Just read the blog out loud; see what the words sound like. What is your reaction? (Write this)</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">II. Descriptive Responding:</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">2. <b> Sayback</b></span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Write back in your own words some aspect of the post. But say it more as a question--Are you saying...?</span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">3. <b>Pointing</b></span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Write the words or phrases that stick in your mind. Which passages/features did you like best? Don't explain why.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">4. <b>Summarizing</b></span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">What is the main point? Subordinate ones?</span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">5. <b>What's Almost Said or Implied</b></span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Explain what is almost said, implied, or hovering around the edges. What would you like to hear more about?"</span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">6. <b>Center of Gravity</b></span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">What is the source of energy, the focal point, the seedbed, the generative center for this piece</span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">7. <b>Structure</b></span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Comment on the Voice, Point of View, Attitude toward Reader, Level of Abstraction/Concreteness; Language, Diction, Syntax</span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">8. <b>Metaphorical Descriptions</b></span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Describe the blog in terms of weathers, clothing, colors, animals.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">9. <b>Believing and Doubting</b></span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Believe or pretend to believe everything that was written. Offer ideas and perceptions to help the case. Then doubt everything that was written. Say arguments that can be made against what was written.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">10. <b>Movies of the Mind</b></span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Tell the writer what happens inside your head as you read the words in the blog.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">These tips are a way to improve both the reader and writer's experience. Let me know how they work for you.</span></span></h3>
<a href="http://oasiswritinglink.blogspot.com/">Oasis Writing Link™</a><hr color="999999" noshade="noshade" />
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Cynthia Pittmannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12656761837022197235noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-165349633953530363.post-60225411789305286042015-02-17T09:46:00.002-08:002015-02-17T09:46:31.331-08:00VICARIOUS ITALY <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: 130%;"><i>In the garden, the delphiniums were in flower. Through scented twilight the girl in the white dress walked with a step as light as a cobweb. That evening, she hadn't a care in the world.</i></span><br />
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Mrs. Delahunty, <i>My House in Umbria</i></div>
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Mrs. Delahunty: I may be dead next month. The moon may have crashed into the earth. Who knows what dreadful things may come to pass? But at the moment, I'm happy. What else matters? </div>
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Colonal: <i>Carpe Diem</i></div>
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Mrs. Delahunty: I'm never really sure just what that means.</div>
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Colonal: Oh. Seize the day. Embrace the present. Enjoy life while you've got the chance.</div>
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Mrs. Delahunty: <i>Carpe Diem.</i> I'll remember that.</div>
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<i>My House in Umbria</i> </div>
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Lately, I am aware that I have to do just that, <i>carpe diem</i>, because everything seems to have a feeling of impermanence. Not in a dark somber way but in the way that you feel that something's moving and changing. </div>
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I wonder why after you hit a certain age, you wake up with memories of people and places that you haven't thought about in a long time. Often fragments of youth-inspired dreams come back to your mind with a strong force. When I was a teen, I wanted to travel to Europe and it became one of my main goals to tour England, Scotland, Ireland as well as France and Denmark. After much saving, planning and determination, I finally was able to make the unforgettable trip. I think my early obsession with travel was connected to my love of romance novels. Though the love story obsession was left in my teenage years, the enjoyment of other lands and people remained. </div>
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I think that's why I love Maggie Smith in <i>My House in Umbria</i>. The film is set in Italy, where she plays the lead character Miss. Emily Delahunty but (as she tells us) her name is not important. In fact, we learn that she has many other <i>nom de plumes </i>and we realize that she actively creates her<i> </i>own fluid identity. She's a writer of romance novels who feels most alive when she's helping others. In one scene, she invites a group of complete strangers to move in with her after a train explosion. Through her engagement with the other characters, we fall in love with her quirky personality. Whenever I want to imagine myself in another life this movie does the trick. </div>
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If you can watch <a href="http://youtu.be/oWCuqsVcw3M" target="_blank"><i>My House in Umbria</i></a> and not yearn to <a href="http://www.slowtrav.com/italy/vr/review.asp?n=2098">travel to Italy</a>, you are a strong person. If you are having an Italian themed movie night, you might watch <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0328589/combined"><i>Under the Tuscan Sun</i></a> or go out to see<a href="http://www.letterstojuliet-movie.com/"> Letters to Juliet</a>. Both of these movies will make you feel as though you have been in Italy or that it's essential for you to <b><i>go there now</i></b>! </div>
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I have read the memoir, <i>Under the Tuscan Sun</i> (<a href="http://www.bookbrowse.com/reviews/index.cfm?book_number=198">Frances Mayes</a>), and found it to be richly satisfying. I loaned this book to a close friend who found it tedious with detail about the Italian countryside, garden restorations and house renovations. However, I like these<i> </i>details of ordinary life. I like to see how people make decisions and what occupies their time. I'm interested in both real and spruced<i>-</i>up life. (A little magic making fantasy is fine with me.) Another popular book made into film that has an enchanting section on an vacation in Italy is <a href="http://www.elizabethgilbert.com/eatpraylove.htm">Elizabeth Gilbert's memoir, Eat, Pray, Love</a>. (Julie Roberts plays the author Gilbert in the <a href="http://youtu.be/mjay5vgIwt4" target="_blank">movie</a>.) There is another saturate-yourself-in-Italy movie that I have already mentioned in previous blogs, <i><a href="http://oasiswritinglink.blogspot.com/2009/10/wisteria-and-sunshine-mrs-fisher.html">Enchanted April</a></i>, which documents a life transforming month in an Italian Medieval castle. Gorgeous scenery!<br />
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<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="style_5" style="line-height: 21px;">In the </span><i><span class="style_6" style="line-height: 21px;">London Times</span></i><span class="style_5" style="line-height: 21px;">, a small classified ad appears:</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-weight: normal;">“To those who appreciate Wisteria and Sunshine: </span></h3>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;">To let for the month of April - a medieval castle on </span></h3>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;">the Italian Mediterranean shore.”</span></h3>
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Photographs and movie <a href="https://inlovewithengland.wordpress.com/2011/07/27/enchanted-april-movie-review/" target="_blank">review here.</a><br />
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If you want to explore Italy or imagine yourself there in real life, try <a href="http://travelstore.ricksteves.com/catalog/index.cfm?fuseaction=product&id=46">Rick Steves' link</a> to travel. Now I wonder, which movies you watch (or books do you read) that bring you into lovely romantic Italy? Have I missed any?<span style="font-size: 130%;"> </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 130%;">Do you hear Italian music... </span><br />
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Waking up on the Island of Enchantment that is also know as Puerto Rico, I plan to bake a fragrant pan of vegetarian lasagna, toss a green salad and toast garlic bread.<br />
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I promise myself that at every moment<i> I will carpe diem</i>!<br />
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On a side note: my struggling gardenia bush finally bloomed after three years of waiting, hoping, and supplementing it with coffee grounds. <br />
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I like to believe that this momentous occasion is symbolic, <span style="font-size: 130%;">perhaps it's foreshadowing a trip in the near future? </span></div>
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Cynthia Pittmannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12656761837022197235noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-165349633953530363.post-28021952507890151332014-12-11T10:41:00.002-08:002014-12-12T06:53:11.341-08:00On Seeking Home<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i><span style="font-size: medium;">Oasis Reflection: Obstacles are a matter of perception...</span></i><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">La Ventana "Windows" Park in Condado. San Juan, Puerto Rico</td></tr>
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<b>What is your view?</b><br />
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Recently, I've been reading <a href="http://www.raintaxi.com/on-moving-a-writers-meditation-on-new-houses-old-haunts-and-finding-home-again/" target="_blank">On Moving: A Writer's Meditation on New Houses, Old Hauts, and Finding Home Again by Louise DeSalvo</a>. the author addresses the topic of "home"and the strong desire people have to choose the perfect home. I started to think about how often people move and how most of us hope that a new location will solve most of our problems.<br />
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However, I am sure that we bring our problems with us wherever we go. What I mean is that the cause of our dissatisfaction is often not external, but internal. It's part of our personality and/or is shaped by our attitude. I admit that like DeSalvo, I love to travel. I love to imagine my life in those new unknown places; nevertheless, it's healthy to remember that our disturbances come with us wherever we find ourselves.<br />
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What do you see in the photograph above? Do you notice the rock in the center? The water flowing over the rocks to form a small pool of water in the right foreground? Or the deep blue ocean in the distance? Our perspective informs what we allow ourselves to see and experience. The rock can be seen as an obstacle to blocking access to the water or an interesting formation to scale up and over - an opportunity to see the unobstructed ocean from the top. However, what we <i>see</i> remains with us no matter where we go. <br />
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I believe that we have to be bravely curious about our obstacles in life and learn from these ever present <i>rocks.</i><br />
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<i>But today, the Rock cries out to us, clearly, forcefully, <br /> Come, you may stand upon my <br /> Back and face your distant destiny, <br /> But seek no haven in my shadow. <br /> I will give you no hiding place down here.</i><br />
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Excerpt from "<a href="http://etext.lib.virginia.edu/etcbin/toccer-new2?id=AngPuls.sgm&images=images/modeng&data=/texts/english/modeng/parsed&tag=public&part=1&division=div1" target="_blank">On the Pulse of Morning</a>" by Maya Angelou</div>
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Simon and Garfunkel "I am a rock"<br />
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© 2014 <a href="http://www.oasiswritinglink.blogspot.com/">Cynthia Pittmann </a></div>
Cynthia Pittmannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12656761837022197235noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-165349633953530363.post-90019732485963391342014-11-03T07:38:00.000-08:002014-11-03T07:45:12.547-08:00FALLING<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">I fell into a hole.</span></i></h3>
It really was just a broken place in the sidewalk but I had a flash of insight, which is why I' m writing about it here. The fall was accompanied by one of those familiar <i>memories of the future</i> where an event seems to be repeated but it's the first time it happens - as in<b> <a href="http://science.howstuffworks.com/science-vs-myth/extrasensory-perceptions/question657.htm" target="_blank">déjà</a></b><a href="http://science.howstuffworks.com/science-vs-myth/extrasensory-perceptions/question657.htm" target="_blank"> <b>vu</b>.</a> Has this happened before, I questioned. I tried to think of similar experiences of falling. The first memory I thought of happened after moving into a new house in Puerto Rico. I was jogging and following my bliss down a quiet side street<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">in a romantic dreamy fog when </span></div>
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I noticed a large Victorian house to my right that was set in the middle of a lush green yard filled with slightly overgrown but cultivated plants. (It looked like this photo of a sub-tropical <a href="http://www.cityofspringfield.com/heart.htm">Victorian home</a> in Springfield, Georgia.) Still thinking about the possible residents of this romantic looking home, my senses were jarred by the view of a new condominium building project. Reflecting about the possible demolition of the aging house, I was suddenly shin deep in a small metal encased hole in the sidewalk. I was cut and a bit in shock. I realized that the accident happened because someone did not replace a cover over a water meter. At first, I was angry because of the missing cover, but then I wondered why I didn't see the hole right in front of me. I felt uneasy as I remembered that <direplaced a="" accountable="" also="" and="" angry.="" are="" be="" became="" br="" by="" cement="" company="" consequently="" could="" course="" cover="" covered.="" covers="" damages="" dare="" discovered="" do="" employed="" even="" fall="" fit="" foot="" for="" frequently="" gage="" gaping="" government="" heavy="" held="" hole="" home="" i="" in="" increasingly="" indignantly="" irresponsible="" just="" later="" leave="" left="" limping="" made="" metal="" meter="" not="" of="" off.="" off="" or="" over="" ow="" people="" person="" piece="" properly.="" rain="" readings.="" realized="" safe="" seems="" slovenly="" someone="" sometimes="" states="" sued="" take="" tamper="" that="" the="" they="" this="" though="" thought="" to="" trap="" water="" while="" who="" with="" work.="" would="">when I was younger, I was often told that </direplaced><br />
<direplaced a="" accountable="" also="" and="" angry.="" are="" be="" became="" br="" by="" cement="" company="" consequently="" could="" course="" cover="" covered.="" covers="" damages="" dare="" discovered="" do="" employed="" even="" fall="" fit="" foot="" for="" frequently="" gage="" gaping="" government="" heavy="" held="" hole="" home="" i="" in="" increasingly="" indignantly="" irresponsible="" just="" later="" leave="" left="" limping="" made="" metal="" meter="" not="" of="" off.="" off="" or="" over="" ow="" people="" person="" piece="" properly.="" rain="" readings.="" realized="" safe="" seems="" slovenly="" someone="" sometimes="" states="" sued="" take="" tamper="" that="" the="" they="" this="" though="" thought="" to="" trap="" water="" while="" who="" with="" work.="" would=""><br /></direplaced>
<direplaced a="" accountable="" also="" and="" angry.="" are="" be="" became="" br="" by="" cement="" company="" consequently="" could="" course="" cover="" covered.="" covers="" damages="" dare="" discovered="" do="" employed="" even="" fall="" fit="" foot="" for="" frequently="" gage="" gaping="" government="" heavy="" held="" hole="" home="" i="" in="" increasingly="" indignantly="" irresponsible="" just="" later="" leave="" left="" limping="" made="" metal="" meter="" not="" of="" off.="" off="" or="" over="" ow="" people="" person="" piece="" properly.="" rain="" readings.="" realized="" safe="" seems="" slovenly="" someone="" sometimes="" states="" sued="" take="" tamper="" that="" the="" they="" this="" though="" thought="" to="" trap="" water="" while="" who="" with="" work.="" would=""><span style="font-size: large;">I had my</span><b><span style="font-size: large;"> head in the clouds. I was a daydreamer. </span></b><i> </i></direplaced><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCylxW9EegFdBjjPl5mUIT1ECXAI8BL24bpS9Zc2k5IuwLc9iSVNLkPP-Jp5AoZcYlnwA5yWryhJfgT1MUOHJ_ldWh6Uo_p-K4jN-wKtlmJmEQGKzO_FGhnhQjBlvGyIAZjY2dGiDz-hs/s1600/cali_pacific_coast_highway_650x366.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCylxW9EegFdBjjPl5mUIT1ECXAI8BL24bpS9Zc2k5IuwLc9iSVNLkPP-Jp5AoZcYlnwA5yWryhJfgT1MUOHJ_ldWh6Uo_p-K4jN-wKtlmJmEQGKzO_FGhnhQjBlvGyIAZjY2dGiDz-hs/s1600/cali_pacific_coast_highway_650x366.jpg" height="225" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Keep your eyes on the road! (<a href="http://www.weather.com/sports-rec/outdoor-beach-marine/california-coastal-erosion-20120603" target="_blank">photo credit</a>)</td></tr>
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<direplaced a="" accountable="" also="" and="" angry.="" are="" be="" became="" br="" by="" cement="" company="" consequently="" could="" course="" cover="" covered.="" covers="" damages="" dare="" discovered="" do="" employed="" even="" fall="" fit="" foot="" for="" frequently="" gage="" gaping="" government="" heavy="" held="" hole="" home="" i="" in="" increasingly="" indignantly="" irresponsible="" just="" later="" leave="" left="" limping="" made="" metal="" meter="" not="" of="" off.="" off="" or="" over="" ow="" people="" person="" piece="" properly.="" rain="" readings.="" realized="" safe="" seems="" slovenly="" someone="" sometimes="" states="" sued="" take="" tamper="" that="" the="" they="" this="" though="" thought="" to="" trap="" water="" while="" who="" with="" work.="" would="">Once while driving on the scenic panoramic route on California's coastal highway (California State Route 1), I was so captivated and excited by the view that I nearly drove off the cliff. Talk about entering the moment! So I remember that time of falling into the hole and wondered if I was daydreaming. I keep thinking of Alice and <i>her </i>adventures while she was falling into a hole. I'm showing myself in my own <i>looking glass</i> by observing the way I react. </direplaced></div>
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<br />
Thinking now, I remember that I had sprained my ankle exactly twice in my life, and both times I had to be rushed to the emergency room. The first incident happened because I was riding on the butterfly handlebars of a new pink Schwinn bike that my younger brother was steering. (I was twelve.) I was thrilled with the fun loving ride until my foot caught up in the spokes of the front wheel. The second time occurred at the same age. I was when I was sitting on the wheel cover of a tractor driven by my father and my foot slipped into the wheel. In both incidents, I remember the face of the driver, my brother and my dad, looking pained and guilty, which may have contributed to my profound hurt at being wounded. I felt <i>seriously</i> sorry for myself both times. I have an insight as I realize that I want someone else to be guilty and sorry when I am hurt. </div>
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The incident of falling into an uncapped-water-meter hole on the sidewalk repeatedly returns to my mind because I notice that I'm looking for someone to blame. <br />
<br />
Years ago when I moved to Puerto Rico, I complained to my director about the parking problem at work. I am a bit ashamed to admit to it now but I was overly critical. It bothered me that people would park their cars everywhere and sometimes double park so that I could not leave. In busy times, cars were parked on the sidewalks or drivers would create a middle parking lane behind the legally parked vehicles, which made it impossible for them to leave because they arrived early enough to park their car in an assigned space. My director listened to my explanation about being late to class because I was blocked in and she said, "Yes, this is a small island and parking is competitive." Was I supposed to infer that people didn't have a choice but to break the rules? My angry reaction to illegal parking occurred many years ago. I've learned that rules are flexible and subject to interpretation by the drivers.<br />
<br />
The most recent time I fell into a hole, I realized my orientation had changed. I no longer took it for granted that the sidewalk ahead would be evenly paved over. I accepted that I needed to <b>look out for myself</b> in this life. I know I cannot prevent every falling incident (read mistake) from occurring but I noticed that I have accepted responsibility for my own well being rather than blaming others. I realized that thinking or focusing on someone's behavior (rather than my own) resulted in my victimization. I have to pay attention in life.<br />
<br />
Living in Puerto Rico (where my expectations are frequently challenged) has taught me to pay attention. I'm grateful for this experience.<br />
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© Cynthia Pittmann<br />
<a href="http://oasiswritinglink.blogspot.com/2014/10/reflection-on-insights-gained-from.html">Oasis Writing Link ™</a><br />
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<span id="goog_1896081142"></span><a href="https://www.blogger.com/"></a><span id="goog_1896081143"></span></div>
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Cynthia Pittmannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12656761837022197235noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-165349633953530363.post-4079470291602484912014-08-20T12:44:00.000-07:002014-08-20T13:06:13.803-07:00Inspiration for Change<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
<br />
I’m organizing people, tasks, plans<br />
at work and in my dreams. I’m<br />
living my work life twice,<br />
once awake and once asleep.<br />
Let me out!<br />
<br />
Walking down the street,<br />
I’m shucked as new corn –<br />
Exposed, raw, open.<br />
It’s New York City in the fall<br />
Curtains blown through -<br />
caught, held, pinned.<br />
(Muse refuse?)<br />
<br />
Outside the box<br />
walking through Washington<br />
Square in clear air<br />
Green corners filled out<br />
In secret places<br />
rendezvous and parlez-vous<br />
“Bonjour mes amies!”<br />
<br />
Feeling life, living, alive<br />
Holding together, letting go<br />
Convex, concave<br />
light and loose …<br />
willpower?<br />
– it’s now or never.<br />
<br />
<span class="st"> © Cynthia Pittmann 2014</span><br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="360" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/e1CLjF8Q8xo" width="480"></iframe><br /></div>
Cynthia Pittmannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12656761837022197235noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-165349633953530363.post-7281510087126155142014-07-03T12:27:00.000-07:002014-08-20T13:08:12.858-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Oasis Reflection</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> "The moment your judgement stops </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">through acceptance of what is, </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">you are free of the mind. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">You have made room </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">for love, </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">for joy, </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">for peace."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The Eckhart Tolle, <i>The Power of Now</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> The sun is shining this morning in San Juan, Puerto </span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Rico. As the breeze gently </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">catches the ocean mist, </span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I'm reminded of the goodness in this life. It's so easy </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">to forget to notice the beauty that surrounds us </span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">everyday but today I am reminded to accept: </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I'm lucky! I'm so fortunate to live here on this beautiful island. I appreciate my friends </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">and </span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">family all across the States and Puerto Rico who welcome me into their homes and </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">make </span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">room for me in their lives. It's good to know my health, if not perfect is good ! (I've </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">done </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">my summer routine checkups and I'm fine.) </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">I'm looking forward to little pleasures, for example, soon we will have </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">bikes to ride around </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">the town and to the beach! My girl is coming home for a couple of weeks! Oh, yes, </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">happy indeed! </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">In our ordinary moments, we can let go and just be in this </span></i></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">moment and </span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">experience it without any changes. </span></i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">It's lunch time now.</span> My simple pasta is warm and sprinkled with freshly cubed </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">tomatoes. Soft and </span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">sweet peaches, freshly sliced, await. No, I think I'll try a bit of fruit right </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">now with the pasta. Why not?! I'm moving along at an even pace at home and at work</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">...<i>look for this, look for that ..</i><i>.</i>it's a mellow yellow kind of day. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I hope your day is brightly imbued with radiant joy. </span></i></span></div>
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MUSIC NOTES:<br />
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<i>They call me mellow yellow</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>(Quite rightly)</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>They call me mellow yellow</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>(Quite rightly)</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>They call me mellow yellow</i><br />
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<div style="background-color: white; border: medium none; color: black; overflow: hidden; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;">
<br />
Read more: <a href="http://www.metrolyrics.com/mellow-yellow-lyrics-donovan.html#ixzz36FOa65cQ" style="color: #003399;">Donovan - Mellow Yellow Lyrics | MetroLyrics</a> </div>
<br />
<a href="http://www.songfacts.com/detail.php?id=2554" target="_blank">Some comments by Donovan about the lyrics and his inspiration</a>:<br />
<br />
"In an interview with the June 18, 2011 edition of the <i>NME</i>, <br />
Donovan was asked what the song was actually about? He replied: "Quite a<br />
few things. Being mellow, laid-back, chilled out. 'They call me Mellow <br />
Yellow, I'm the guy who can calm you down.' Lennon and I used to look in<br />
the back of newspapers and pull out funny things and they'd end up in <br />
songs. So it's about being cool, laid-back, and also the electrical <br />
bananas that were appearing on the scene - which were ladies vibrators." (What!? These are the songwriter's risqué words! haha) <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUP-4GarrMkeBNpVF0PjxWBimcaLiUKKn5Vo0cPVBnVqbsa57ZzdY1MfexMDvs1UxM_WRoHmVcVcTkfiHjMGKEubEQFu7UmPspu0B4kz_aUq4gcn7lSTnAIcpkey_HRbeqVnAKpFNGLAc/s1600/logo_mellowyellow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUP-4GarrMkeBNpVF0PjxWBimcaLiUKKn5Vo0cPVBnVqbsa57ZzdY1MfexMDvs1UxM_WRoHmVcVcTkfiHjMGKEubEQFu7UmPspu0B4kz_aUq4gcn7lSTnAIcpkey_HRbeqVnAKpFNGLAc/s320/logo_mellowyellow.jpg" height="186" width="200" /></a><br />
<br />
is also published in<span style="font-weight: normal;"><a href="http://asiswritinglink.blogspot.com/2014/07/mellow-yellow-gratitude.html"><span style="font-size: small;"> Oasis Writing Link™</span></a></span>
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<br /><span class="st"> ©Cynthia Pittmann 2014</span></div>
Cynthia Pittmannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12656761837022197235noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-165349633953530363.post-55783899316336543112014-04-09T12:52:00.001-07:002014-04-09T12:57:06.005-07:00Dear Diary<div style="text-align: center;">
I have written in you for years </div>
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You have helped me with my fears</div>
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I have poured all I have inside</div>
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Things that I have learnt to hide.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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You have helped me through</div>
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Confusion, through pain and love</div>
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I have found in your pages</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
All that I am.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
My mind needs your help</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
To straighten out the thoughts</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
To unravel the tangled emotions</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
That are caught in its claws.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I trust you to listen to allow</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Me the time</div>
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For in your world there is </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
No time-</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Just space and patience</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
A place where I can</div>
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Lay the past to rest</div>
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Bearing all of it </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Not just the best.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Your lines give me structure</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
To create a new path</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
You are open and welcoming</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Like a loving old Aunt</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
You lay there waiting for me</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Never pushing or pleading</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Ready for me whenever</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
My heart is bleeding or needing</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
A release.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Thank you dear Dairy</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Thank you for your peace</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
xxx<br />
https://britainsnextbestseller.co.uk/book/index/WriteTherapy <br />
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CHRISTINAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02679973577586791631noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-165349633953530363.post-14092265775442093342014-04-09T05:52:00.000-07:002014-08-20T13:09:14.589-07:00Learning to Appreciate Every - Brief - Moment<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i><span style="font-size: medium;">The hibiscus flower and its short life reminds me that all life is brief as are all experiences. </span></i><br />
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<a href="http://www.garden.org/plantguide/?q=show&id=2133" target="_blank">Hibiscus </a>is
a relatively common flower that I've encountered in California and
other places in the United States. However, in Puerto Rico the Hibiscus
is the <a href="http://www.theflowerexpert.com/content/aboutflowers/stateflowers/puerto-rico-state-flowers" target="_blank">Flower of Puerto Rico </a>and
has some differences from the common flower I've seen elsewhere. They
grow to a smaller size than elsewhere and are individual single flowers
supported by a long leafy base. Nevertheless, I consider all of these
tropical flowers wherever they are grown to be delightful. Knowing that
the bud will open one morning into a flower that will last but one day,
does not detract from their beauty. In fact, when the potted hibiscus
blooms on the porch (as it did this morning), I remind myself to delight
in this moment because in 24 hours this bloom will close and be <i>gone forever</i>. Isn't that an important reminder about all life and experience?<br />
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I'm reminded by the Hibiscus to appreciate the beauty of all life
experience because each event is here now, and never will return in the
same way. For example, our children are only young for a short time.
When the two year old innocence is gone, it is replaced by another
version of that same child. Every stage of growth is wonderful and <i>awful </i>knowing
that it will be experienced as both a blessing and another loss. The
nostalgia you feel when looking at your children's childhood photographs
provides evidence that this is true.<br />
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<span style="font-size: medium;">We have to learn to love, appreciate deeply, and then let go and move on to embrace the next moment.</span><br />
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Every difficult moment has it's own life expectancy, too. We should
cultivate observing the gift in this transitory moment regardless of
judgement. Breathe and
notice. This skill requires attention and a willingness to experience
each moment in all of its thrilling (or frightening) beingness.<br />
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The hibiscus flower and its short life reminds me that all life is brief
as are all experiences. It is indeed important to know this fact and to
confront forgetfulness - to remember, I am alive. You are alive. What <i>are</i> we waiting for? <span style="font-size: medium;"> </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Let us embrace this moment!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="st"> © Cynthia Pittmann 2014 </span></span></div>
Cynthia Pittmannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12656761837022197235noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-165349633953530363.post-79915548450025934032014-02-10T05:02:00.000-08:002014-08-20T13:12:54.622-07:00Life and Letting Go<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Sitting on the porch step perplexed and<br />
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Pondering wherefore, whence and whatever! </div>
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However, how come, hence and finally,</div>
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What goes around, comes around.</div>
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Return, depart and what happened? </div>
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My little boy is growing up, </div>
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Just the way he should. He's </div>
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Moving out and becoming </div>
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All that he wants to be. </div>
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I'm happy-sad, spilling over </div>
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Confusion and curtailed honesty.</div>
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Must be strong. Be well. Be <i>better</i></div>
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But <i>my boy</i> is moving out. Starting</div>
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To fly (I almost pushed him </div>
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Out of this house-nest)</div>
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So say it loud! </div>
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Say it clear! Deep breath:</div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Be well! It's time. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Bye hon. Bon voyage! (and </span></div>
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Buck up, Mom.) </div>
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PS.</div>
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Sending love and hugs! </div>
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<span class="st"> © Cynthia Pittmann 2014</span></div>
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Cynthia Pittmannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12656761837022197235noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-165349633953530363.post-15487267108227029712014-01-26T16:05:00.002-08:002014-01-26T16:05:22.380-08:00Walking into Mindfulness<div style="text-align: center;">
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I am walking everyday for a 30-day challenge - a small step towards a better life.<br />
I am finding that minus 20 weather is a real de-motivator.<br />
But I go because I have committed to this new life one day at a time.<br />
No skips.<br />
I have found that when I do things I don't want to do,<br />
I can either shut myself off to the unwanted experience<br />
or I can enter it, open to whatever it will bring me. </div>
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I am free to choose either one.<br />
<a href="http://walkingintograteful.blogspot.ca/">walkingintograteful.blogspot.ca</a><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-165349633953530363.post-6418368720372612052014-01-24T12:33:00.002-08:002014-01-24T12:36:21.865-08:00Word Surfer: 7 Reasons to Wake Up and Write<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Oasis Feature ~ Creative Writing </span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">"Early Morning Surfer" San Juan, Puerto Rico</span></td></tr>
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Do you ever wonder how to develop your creativity so that your writing ideas are fresh and inspired? I am sure that the key to unlocking new ideas is to foster an ongoing relationship with your creative self. You can develop this ability. Decide to be dedicated to your own projects and make them a priority in your life. If your time is constantly compromised because of work demands, family duties and social commitments, be warned. You have to choose to develop contact with yourself first over being on call for everyone else. If you are a <i>people pleaser</i> making this decision is a lot harder than it seems. It forces you to reexamine how your life is organized and insists that you commit to fitting in alone time which is devoted to writing.<br />
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As a morning writer, you have to have the same dedication as the surfer in the above photograph. Waking up early, he walks to the water, carries his surfboard and enters the chilly ocean long before an ordinary swimmer feels the need to take a plunge. Every morning, you must write a few pages about anything. It does not matter if you write about nonsense because the initial point is to develop the habit of writing. Over time, your writing content will change. Many writing coaches suggest that it is important to write in the morning; however, over the years of my own writing practice, I know that it provides the perfect way to develop your insight and creativity. When you wake up and write, you gain these and many other benefits. <br />
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<i>7 Reasons to Wake Up and Write</i></h2>
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1. Remembering your dreams: When you start a morning writing practice, you are able to remember your dreams better. At first you will likely remember only dream fragments, but later you begin to discover that the more you record, the more you also remember your dreams. Dreams provide you with clues about your life and make visible the creative force of the unconscious.</div>
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2. Understanding yourself better: Writing over time allows you to realize who you are and identifies your values. As a consequence, it becomes easier to say no or yes to people without feeling pressured or compromised. <br />
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3. Clarifying your intentions: Through the process of writing, you may write about why you made certain life decisions. These written explorations help to strengthen your resolve because you remember how you arrived at these decisions.<br />
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4. Discovering hidden motivations: Nothing reveals dishonesty as much as writing a long rationalization about how and why you are right. In fact, the real reasons behind a particular action become clear as you see your words on the page. <br />
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5. Knowing what is bothering you: It is so much easier to know the truth about your feelings if you write down some of the disturbing mental noise that bothers you upon waking. Without writing, these worries often accompany you during the day. Often just writing about anxiety lessens it or may even take it away.<br />
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6. Improving your life: A regular morning writing practice provides you with a sturdy framework that helps to build self trust and confidence. It enlivens your day with zest and lends purpose to the years. <br />
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7. Making ideas real: Dreams and ambitions identify what you desire but writing about them helps you to become proactive. Through regular writing, you are able to move forward and accomplish these life goals. <br />
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Finally, I suggest that you extend your morning practice into your day by carrying a notebook and pen with you everywhere. I do not recommend that you use an electronic device because the temptation is too great. You will take out your smartphone to make a note; for example, and before you realize it, you are surfing the net, socializing on Facebook or reading Email. With <i>paper and pen </i>handy, when you have a few spare moments, you can continue writing and exploring the ever-enriching conversation with your creative self. <br />
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Cynthia Pittmann<br />
San Juan, Puerto Rico<br />
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<a href="http://oasiswritinglink.blogspot.com/">Happy writing! </a></div>
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Cynthia Pittmannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12656761837022197235noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-165349633953530363.post-85237022400648649092013-11-29T07:39:00.000-08:002014-08-20T13:10:31.098-07:00Writing and Walls: 7 Ideas for Overcoming Writers Block<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span style="font-size: large;"> Do You Need Some Ideas for Overcoming Writer's Block?</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Recently, I confronted the dreaded writing problem above. I was involved in a writing research project about autobiography that lasted nearly five years. During that time, I learned many things about myself as a writer and how to deal with my own resistance. What follows is a partial list of ideas to try when you are suffering from any kind of resistance that becomes a roadblock between you and your own writer's journey.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span style="font-size: medium;">l. Don't give up, just give in.</span> Sometimes you need to go ahead and leave the page for a while. Go for a walk. Get a snack. Sharpen pencils. Wash the dishes. Just remember to come back and try again.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span style="font-size: medium;">2. Start writing</span> -<span style="font-size: medium;"> anything.</span> Write in a journal anything that comes to mind. Write a list. When some ideas start coming for your writing project, simply shift to the writing about the project.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span style="font-size: medium;">3. It's no big deal.</span> Accept that everyone who writes gets stuck. You are not inadequate or abnormal. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span style="font-size: medium;">4. Trick yourself. </span>Say to yourself, "I will just write a few ideas here, maybe one page and then I'll stop." Often times, you start to feel like working once you get over the resistance (and it's all about resistance. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span style="font-size: medium;">5. Read about your subject</span>. Caution: Remember that your point is to get ideas or get inspired so put the reading material away or go back to your writing screen after you cull some worthy bits of info or inspiration. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span style="font-size: medium;">6. Bribe yourself.</span> Seriously! Promise yourself that you will give yourself whatever you yearn for (a hot bath, a delious dinner, a funny movie, etc.) and then do it. If you don't give yourself the treat, you will not believe yourself the next time!</span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span style="font-size: medium;">7. Cure boredom. </span>Play music that helps you write. Go someplace unfamiliar to write (Starbucks?). Write on the run (while in transit). </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Okay, this is just a<span style="font-size: medium;"> preliminary list</span>...feel free to make your own. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span><span class="st"> © Cynthia Pittmann 2014</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">More here:</span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><a href="http://visionforwriters.com/visionjoom/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=134&Itemid=144" target="_blank">Vision for writers</a>: Writer's Tips</span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><a href="http://litreactor.com/columns/the-period-part-2-dot-dearth-postponing-the-period-on-purpose">http://litreactor.com/columns/the-period-part-2-dot-dearth-postponing-the-period-on-purpose</a></span><br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"></span><br />
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<a href="http://oasiswritinglink.blogspot.com/">Oasis Writing Link</a></div>
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Cynthia Pittmannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12656761837022197235noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-165349633953530363.post-61912515299564830452013-10-03T05:49:00.000-07:002014-08-20T13:12:22.658-07:00Becoming Visible: Time and Color Gradation <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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One recent Saturday at the<a href="http://artistasdepuertorico.ning.com/profiles/blogs/matricula-para-cursos" target="_blank"> Esquela Artes Placticas </a>in Old San Juan, Puerto Rico, I encountered the concept of color gradation. The painting exercise we practiced was to take a color and mix it with white or black until an ever lightening or deepening shade results. While mixing and studying the color change, I reflected on how color represents time and that the subtle color variations are like moments in life. Most of the time we are not aware of subtle shifts in color. Green is green. Red is red. Blue is blue. Time is like that too because we notice that it's the morning, afternoon, and night. However, when a color is mixed with white or black in varying degrees subtle shades become visible. It is clear that green is a myriad of possible greens. Red and blue are potentials of color in which to dive! Our awareness of time is similar to our awareness of color in that we don't usually remember the moment. Anyone who has practiced <i>present moment </i>awareness knows this shift in perception. If you've gone on a <i>mindfulness </i>retreat, you know what I mean. Even the slogan <i>Just Breath </i>is a focusing practice that brings you into yourself so that you become aware of the real moment.<br />
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I remember a practice that I learned from reading G. I. <a href="http://www.dolmenmeadoweditions.com/4_Gurdjieff/Gurdjieff.htm" target="_blank">Gurdjieff </a>that is called (self) remembering, which is at any moment you turn your attention back on yourself and realize something such as, "Hey, I'm here. I'm alive." It's a practice of noticing that you are in existence. This <a href="http://www.satrakshita.be/self-remembering.htm" target="_blank">self-remembering</a> changes your daily experience of time. I have practiced this technique on and off for years but at one time I consciously dedicated my focus to self-remembering for many daily moments for several months. What I discovered is that it altered my perception of time and my feeling of a solid boundary between my body and the space around it. Most of us experience time and life in chunky ways that are carefully divided by daily (and seasonal) routine. We break it up every day into pieces such as waking up, eating, going to work, exercising, and sleeping. The routine defines how we experience time.<br />
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For most of us, it is only when an event occurs that breaks our daily pattern do we shift in our awareness of time. Consider an unexpected event to your normal routine; for example, the arrival of an out of town guest. Suddenly you find yourself actively engaged in lively conversation at a restaurant well into the evening. <i>It's past your bedtime! </i> You're so engaged in the moment that you forget all about your routine and your strategy of life management that organizes life into predictable chunks of experience. These occurrences let you know that time and pattern are constructs that make your life manageable but also invisible. Unconscious routine can obscure gradations of color. However, a person's ordinary engagement with time can shift by consciously practicing various techniques. To illustrate, the method of periodically focusing on your breath can help you become aware of time and thereby, shift your ability to see, know and engage in more subtle ways. Try the self-awareness exercise below and pace it to your ever slowing and deepening breath.</div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><i>I am here. I breathe. I am filled. I am empty. Inhale. Exhale. A moment. A string of moments. I am in life. I am life. Breathe.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Certainly the experience of breathing is ordinary but the awareness of breathing is another thing altogether. Conscious breathing can deepen your contact with a non-ordinary experience of life. Just as color has degrees and shades within what is normally classified as GREEN; time has degrees and shades that are made visible by strategies of consciously remembering.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><span style="font-size: medium;">Each moment is a prism of quiet vibrancy. </span></i></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">People have asked me that [what is the experience of inner awareness] <br />before, and I always feel that they expect to hear the dramatic account <br />of some sudden miracle through which I suddenly became one with the <br />universe. Of course nothing of the sort happened. My inner awareness was<br /> always there; though it took me time to feel it more and more clearly; <br />and it equally took time to find words that would at all describe it.</span></span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">~~ Krishnamurti.</span></span></i></div>
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<span class="st"> © Cynthia Pittmann 2013</span></div>
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Color Gradations with 20 steps: Complementary, Monochromatic, and Analogous <a href="http://beckerart.weebly.com/color-wheel-and-gradations.html" target="_blank">Demonstrations </a><br />
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Also in <a href="http://oasiswritinglink.blogspot.com/">Oasis Writing Link </a>(TM)</div>
Cynthia Pittmannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12656761837022197235noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-165349633953530363.post-52886835508278461682013-09-17T14:47:00.002-07:002013-09-17T14:47:25.953-07:00Meta<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Meta and Loren Thorndyke lived on a ranch of approximately 140 acres in the hills of Cayucos, California. Those beautiful rolling hills were always covered with three things: the delicious smell of sage and anise, bellowing brown Swiss steers and people. Ours was a large family and Aunt Meta and Uncle Loren’s ranch was where everyone from every side of the family wanted to be. It’s where we brought our friends, boyfriends and girlfriends, husbands and wives, and eventually the next generation of children. It was the center of the family. If our grandparents had lived to ripe old ages, I imagine their ranch would have been where the family would have converged. Since John and Corina Walter had died fairly young leaving such a large brood, Aunt Meta had become the unofficial mother and grandmother for us all. She wasn’t the oldest daughter but that didn’t matter. Meta was everyone’s mother, no matter who they were. Once you walked in that back door, you were family.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Meta Thorndyke was the richest woman I have ever met. She had no money so to speak. What she had was worth far more than dollars and cents. What Meta had was priceless. My Aunt Meta was one of my mother’s older sisters. There were fourteen children in all meaning older was usually measured in months versus years. My grandmother, Corina Gada Walter died at only forty-two years of age. My understanding is her death was caused from twisted bowels from all those births so close together. Of course, in my family, the stories themselves get more twisted each time they are told, so who knows what actually killed her. Still, it makes for good conversation when we’re all together trying to outdo one another with our inside knowledge of all the family’s history. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Meta married in her twenties. His name was Jimmie McCauley and he would remain the love of her life until the day she died. They were married a short time by the standards of that era, however, long enough to bring two daughters into this world. My cousins, Maureen and Mickey were only two and three when their father died. He was a veteran of World War II and had suffered physical trauma which eventually took his life. It was the late forties. Being a single mother of two small girls back then cannot compare to the young women on the same path today. Regardless of the circumstances of how Meta ended up a single mother at such a young age, she lived in a small town with limited opportunities. Her life could not have been easy nor people always kind. She soon married a local rancher, Loren Thorndyke and moved her children into his parent’s farmhouse in Cayucos, California. Cayucos, the city she was born and raised in, the city she would die in, buried near her parents and siblings in the local cemetery. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I asked my aunt one afternoon, while drinking coffee in that same farmhouse kitchen, why she had married Uncle Loren. Had she known him her whole life? Was she in love with him? Was she happy? I can’t recall all of her answers but one, I will always remember. She talked about loving Jimmie McCauley and missing him even then, as an old woman. She spoke of loving my Uncle Loren but more like a brother and yes, she was happy. I thought about that conversation for many years because it seemed sad to me, to lose the love of your life and marry someone you loved like a brother. Then, when I was older, I realized the aunt that I loved, adored really, had planted a very important seed in my heart. It would stay there for many years, seemingly dead. Until, at the very moment I needed it most, watered by my own bitter tears, it would grow and produce the most beautiful answers to some of the most painful questions. My aunt had taken the bitterness of life and used it to grow something wonderful for herself and her daughters. Bitterness, much like compost, can have a lot of death and rottenness about it. My aunt taught me the value of not discarding life or its lessons, no matter how difficult it gets. She taught me to keep turning the ugliness over, watering it with tears when necessary and eventually, miraculously really, it turns into something wonderful and unexpected. It’s rich and beautiful and organic with a smell of the earth that goes deep into your very soul if you let it. My aunt taught me that while drinking coffee at a kitchen table in an old farmhouse. I’m pretty sure she had no idea what an incredible gift she had given me that day. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Life as I have known it for most of my adult, married life has drastically changed over the last two years and all I can think about lately is Meta Thorndyke. I have spent my life trying to do right. I have worried about money and bills, my husband and children, being a good daughter, sister, wife, friend and citizen. I have worried. A lot. Like almost every day, all day, a lot. For the most part, all that worry has produced <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>little to nothing of value. It has robbed me of sleep, peace, joy and freedom. I can see that now. So, where do my memories of Aunt Meta fit into all of this? That puzzle called my life is being pieced together even now.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My life as a child and as an adult was and continues to be tethered to Aunt Meta and her ranch. They are both gone now and yet they both are more alive to me now than ever. There are framed photos scattered throughout my home of my days on the ranch. Days filled with calves sucking our fingers, lambs chasing us on the back patio, picking wild blackberries behind the old creamery and swinging off a rope in the barn only to drop into the sweet smelling hay below us. Nights filled with old mason jars full of tadpoles we had scooped out of the old cement water troughs in the dark, hoping to see them morph into big fat toads in the morning. Then there were the puppies and kittens. The barn cats provided us with kittens on a regular basis and my Uncle Loren’s sidekick, Pepina, would produce a few puppies now and then. After the house was dark with every adult soundly sleeping, we kids would sneak out into the quiet of the countryside night, skies filled with a million stars and head to the old shed where all our soon to be contraband slept. It was thought they would be safe from coyotes there, they were definitely not safe from marauding children. We would each grab a favorite and scamper back into our beds where we snuggled down into those wonderfully worn, handmade wool blankets and slept with our furry treasures. Life was good.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Lest I forget, my aunt also had a monkey named Willa Mae. She had been purchased by my cousin Mickey while at college. Mickey soon realized a monkey and college were not a perfect fit so Willa Mae was sent to the ranch. My Aunt Meta loved that monkey as did most of the rest of us. Willa Mae wore diapers and little preemie sized baby dresses. She looked and smelled like a monkey because she was a monkey but she was also the perfect size to play baby with. It was never hard to find her. She was always in someone’s arms, usually my Aunt Meta’s. But the times we kids could convince her to leave the safety of Meta’s arms, convince meaning pleading with a piece of fruit, she was ours if even for a short time, to dress up and push in a baby carriage. We loved her and cried giant, hot tears when she was buried under the old fig tree years later. I still miss that monkey.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My aunts love of nature, her amazing ability to grow humongous gardens behind the old barn, her lack of care for fashion or finer things, her gnarled hands from years of hard work, her love of family meaning anyone who walked in her door, her love and care of animals, her outspokenness on all subjects, her complete lack of political correctness coupled with her love of all people helped make me who I am today. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I remember looking at my mother’s hands many times and comparing them to my Aunt Meta’s. My mother was the baby of the family and one of the best women I have ever met in my entire life. She shared many of the same qualities that made her sister Meta so great. One difference however was my mother was much more of a city girl than my aunt. My mother had her nails and hair done weekly, she did hard work but of a different nature than Meta. She was also outspoken and an animal and people lover. They were two versions of the same person really. The city mouse and the country mouse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Often, as a child and as an adult, I would hold my mother’s hand, stroking it with love, burning the image of her manicured fingers and diamond rings into my memory. Even then, I knew I would need to remember someday, her hands, when she was gone. It would aggravate her though because I would always say, “Someday, I want hands that look just like Aunt Meta’s.” </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Why in the world do you say that? My poor sister’s hands are a mess from all that mans work she does. Why would you want hands like that?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Because mom, Aunt Meta’s hands are beautiful. You can see her life in them and I can see my life in them.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s true. My life has been in my Aunt Meta’s hands all these years. I have done what I thought I should do, what I needed to do, what was right to do. But through it all, I have seen her hands reaching out to me, drawing me in, offering me more, beckoning me to do what I was meant to do. So now, finally, the journey begins. Again. I get no credit for the coming changes. I have actually fought against what is coming. Thankfully, God, life and probably my Aunt Meta have now forced the fork in the road upon me in such a way that I can no longer ignore it. I get to choose which way to go, to the left or to the right but choose I must and so I am choosing. I am choosing to leave behind thirty-five years of fear, worry and doubt. I don’t need them anymore. I am choosing to live the life I was meant to live. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My Aunt Meta was truly the richest person I have ever met. She didn’t have money or famous friends but her house was always full of food she raised and grew herself, fed to people from every walk of life who loved her. She didn’t have new clothes or fancy fragrances. She wore pants and blouses worn out from hard work and her perfume was an honest day’s sweat. There were no new cars just my dear Uncle Loren’s old pickup truck, battered and bruised from ranch life. She didn’t drive because she was blind from the age of twenty-eight due to glaucoma. Life had often given her manure, scraps and what looked to be worthlessness on more than one occasion and she took every bit of it and turned it faithfully, often watered with tears, into a deeply hued compost and grew the richest, most beautiful life ever.</span></div>
Marlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18000815937078399278noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-165349633953530363.post-1309218205424007502013-09-12T10:22:00.000-07:002014-08-20T13:17:01.079-07:00Courage to Paint<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Sculpture by <a href="http://youtu.be/yC_NUlIRyIw" target="_blank">Jorge Zeno</a>: "LA NAVE DE LOS PINGUINOS"<br />
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Last Saturday after art class I had an undefinable and unsettled feeling. What is this about? I stopped at <a href="http://www.in-stylecorp.com/index.html" target="_blank">Treasures</a> in Old San Juan to talk with the design connoisseur and shop owner, Sonia. I told her how I felt disappointed with my art work that day and she asked me, "Are you getting a grade or something?" It made me realize that <i><span style="font-size: medium;">my standard for work has little to do with outside approval but more with inside resonance.</span></i><br />
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I think I was displeased because I failed to meet my own expectations, i.e., I didn't take risks. We were doing color studies and the idea of form and space was loosely addressed by four exercises.<br />
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My inspiration was blocked and I could only think of color rather than form. <br />
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I painted backgrounds rather than a foreground images. What was that about? I worried that I wasn't being brave. Trust the process and not the product...go with it...sigh...<br />
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I love that "Bubbly" feeling and <span style="font-size: medium;">childlike sense of wonder that erases all sense of risk</span>.<br />
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Here I am back to the page, brush in hand, ...armed with a little inspiration courtesy of Colbie Caillat :<br />
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<span class="st"> © Cynthia Pittmann 2013</span><br />
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Cynthia Pittmannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12656761837022197235noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-165349633953530363.post-72973928689073339442013-08-27T09:39:00.000-07:002014-08-20T13:16:14.393-07:00Spinning Wheels Got ta go round: Revisiting Early Dreams<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i><span style="font-size: medium;">REVISITING EARLY DREAMS</span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;">I had my first painting class last Saturday at the <a href="http://www.eap.edu/en/abouttheeap.html">Escuela de Artes Plasticas de Puerto Rico</a>. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;">It was a class on <a href="http://www.worqx.com/color/color_basics.htm" target="_blank">color theory</a>. I arrived for the first class two weeks ago and the start date was postponed until the next Saturday. I arrived on the next Saturday and discovered that the professor was absent. By the third class, I expected that we might not have class or maybe some other changes could occur. Perhaps the room location would be changed? (Ah, life in Puerto Rico!) It's okay though. I did not mind the changes because they gave me more time to become accustomed to the routine of driving to Old San Juan, which involves finding parking, figuring out how long it takes to walk to the classroom and of course (for me the <i>essential</i> information), locating the nearest place to have a cup of coffee. More importantly, I had time to deal with the stress of revisiting <b>the </b>old dream of studying art. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;">I'm in a period of life called "the redo" as in the common expression, "I want a do-over!" This "redo" does not include everything done in life (meaning regrets) but rather what was not done, which could also, but not necessarily, mean regrets. This understanding signifies that I realize that it's hard (if not impossible) to do everything in one life. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">I highly recommend that you revisit your early dreams. At some point in life, I think everyone should take a look at the remaining memory-bits of their earlier choices (and their consequences) and try to re-construct them. Asking questions such as:</span></span></h2>
<span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">What did I decide? What were the consequences? What choices led to the life I am living now? How would I like to shift the current direction of my life? </span></span></i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><b>Periodically, we should give ourselves permission start again</b>. In order to have a happy and satisifying life, it's essential to avoid<b> heavy regrets</b> about life decisions. <b>It's so easy to say, "It's too late."</b> How many people look back and say, "I wanted to be an/a __________(artist, singer, dancer, musician, pilot, actor or?) and my __________ (parents, husband, school counselor, children, fear, logic, or?) made me choose _______(business, teaching, homemaking, and so on). We all make decisions that blame circumstances (such as the preceding) or ourselves and we accept that their direct consequences; however, we don't always know that, in fact, many times we did not decide. We delayed our decision so long that the choice no longer was visible.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">We don't realize that <b>not deciding is also a decision</b>.</span></i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">On a personal note, I don't think I'm alone when I say that many artistic people find themselves in non-artistic fields just because they did not choose. Certainly, we can argue that our creativity has been put <i>to use</i> in another "more practical" career; nevertheless, that earlier desire often demands our attention. It can still push retired people, for example, to take dance, voice, pottery, modeling class or to show up for an audition at the local community theater. <b>What I'm suggesting is that this "foolish" behavior is worth it</b> and nudging you to start now. Don't wait until you have the time. Further, this choice to actively engage the remnants of the earlier less encumbered you, can awaken the memory of wonder, i.e., the ability to appreciate and experience <b>unencumbered joy.</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Be warned! Making the choice to revisit your lost dreams causes mental and emotional turmoil. For example, for the last few weeks my nighttime dreams have been influenced by symbols of that earlier time in life (and the earlier me) where I changed from being a carefree idealist to a "poser" pragmatist. I choose the word "poser" because those who genuinely know me realize that I remain an idealist. You might say that I suffer from a Pollyanna-ish optimism and try my hardest to keep her under cover. I'm a look for the silver-lining kind of person. Indeed, I force myself to squarely deal with the dreaded practical problems all of us encounter in ordinary life. It's fine. I have no problem with keeping my feet on the ground. However, I know that a real emotional/psychological breakthrough can be made by jumping out of an airplane- of course wearing a parachute! (I did that!) And if that experience was one of your early dreams, you don't actually have to jump out of an airplane but <b>just engage the dream and at least (below) <a href="http://www.myboysandtheirtoys.com/2012/07/summer-fun-with-alex-toys-super-parachute-review-giveaway/" target="_blank">play with a parachute (photo credit)</a></b>. Or maybe go<a href="http://www.seepuertorico.com/interests_and_activities/extreme_sports/zip-lining" target="_blank"> zip-lining</a>? (I want to do that!)</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf1ntEeJUULN3Oa4TVN6jL1QYwe9uPWOczRBvnAGZCH6uy10Z3BOxuTZjyMZDtSQcId6FwuRHR732P21URwEZPwjY3l767WEy5vdvbYUWCi1JVPqNiUElba_36-2D7myBEtzO9vCIM5lCJ/s1600/colorful+parachute.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf1ntEeJUULN3Oa4TVN6jL1QYwe9uPWOczRBvnAGZCH6uy10Z3BOxuTZjyMZDtSQcId6FwuRHR732P21URwEZPwjY3l767WEy5vdvbYUWCi1JVPqNiUElba_36-2D7myBEtzO9vCIM5lCJ/s400/colorful+parachute.jpg" height="280" width="400" /> </a><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">My homework assignment is met with some anxiety. Recreate (with acrylic paints) the color wheel using the <a href="http://www.painting-with-a-palette-knife.com/acrylic-paint/" target="_blank">three primary colors yellow, red, and blue (photo credit)</a>. </span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGDnU6NRxXK_lzBUkOUpZo78yk-miowpZA3cFDOmVA49S7vK3qqJhgeeRjVHcL-50her3GiT1D0Dcps3k_jeXMcZ5cQZBaxBIU3usrtBSLanlGDGvw1I-ZQ1n3L7ou2vBCyBR6tE0_EDnx/s1600/tricolor1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGDnU6NRxXK_lzBUkOUpZo78yk-miowpZA3cFDOmVA49S7vK3qqJhgeeRjVHcL-50her3GiT1D0Dcps3k_jeXMcZ5cQZBaxBIU3usrtBSLanlGDGvw1I-ZQ1n3L7ou2vBCyBR6tE0_EDnx/s400/tricolor1.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">It has to be exactly 15 inches in diameter and "look pretty." How do I do that? Below is what the homework assignment should look like...</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYVknK_kf-9eKaotc3v5ny_-RF1pM-TWJK_F_rouxV-0tDPbzXUBCcbHutu_awJaUi7NlLwtQOk40KExg_hjbawloB6yLgc73ntJ9wAkk6PbpdLhOemmzAHdLzyrTNqY9Msq6d6rYF9hrY/s1600/art-factory-color-wheel.jpeg.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYVknK_kf-9eKaotc3v5ny_-RF1pM-TWJK_F_rouxV-0tDPbzXUBCcbHutu_awJaUi7NlLwtQOk40KExg_hjbawloB6yLgc73ntJ9wAkk6PbpdLhOemmzAHdLzyrTNqY9Msq6d6rYF9hrY/s400/art-factory-color-wheel.jpeg.png" height="383" width="400" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Only, a reasoning and/or creative person must be aware that the brushed in and home-mixed colors might not behave! I am a novice but at least I'm choosing how to <i><span style="color: blue;">spin my wheels</span></i>. I wonder what kind of dreams I will have tonight? </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">"Spinning Wheels" by Blood, Sweat and Tears</span></span></i></span><br />
<h2 style="text-align: left;">
<i><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">What goes up must come down<br />spinning wheel got to go round<br />Talking about your troubles it's a crying sin<br />Ride a painted pony<br />Let the spinning wheel spin... </span></span></i></h2>
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<span class="st"> © Cynthia Pittmann 2014</span></div>
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Cynthia Pittmannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12656761837022197235noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-165349633953530363.post-2046421003078208142013-06-20T07:53:00.000-07:002014-08-20T13:14:37.848-07:00Daily Writing Practice: Remembering Dreams<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<h2 style="text-align: left;">
Remembering Dreams
</h2>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDAlvDJU1kj3vSDJjMwQUtfIVxjC31kbY2rSotSkcUS6l_jUcUveuGH5Z0cwnMBhZGrKya0op5jsyQLqvPldeqFP4COjo_uNrKIjvlgxNuaoVgIcktJja0Vm6u7m2VkdMdH18-v8VEL8Dt/s1600/journal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDAlvDJU1kj3vSDJjMwQUtfIVxjC31kbY2rSotSkcUS6l_jUcUveuGH5Z0cwnMBhZGrKya0op5jsyQLqvPldeqFP4COjo_uNrKIjvlgxNuaoVgIcktJja0Vm6u7m2VkdMdH18-v8VEL8Dt/s320/journal.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
Do you ever wonder how you can remember dreams? Lately, I've been reading Carl Jung's <i>Memories, Dreams, Reflections</i> and attempting to record my dreams every morning. If I can remember my dreams, I will have a view of the <i>hidden me</i>. I want to look into the parts of my personality that I hide from myself - risky business! I consider myself honest about my motives and practice self-witnessing. Maybe that sounds strange but those of you who are in some kind of meditation practice know that witnessing your thoughts and actions (without judging) can yield a tremendous amount of information about yourself. I am looking to find a creative energy source that will bring my writing alive with vitality. I've discovered other techniques to wake up the muse but I would like a more reliable routine that keeps me in touch with my imagination.<br />
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The goal is to wake up everyday, notice what in floating around in my mind and then immediately write down everything in my mind - take a "mental picture" as it were. Words, thoughts, images, sensations, songs and so on. I have discovered that I must notice my thoughts before I move from the bed. I cannot allow myself to talk or engage in any preliminary activity before I write or else I lose the thoughts. Some days I'm successful while others (like today) I get caught up in washing dishes, making coffee, preparing for the day and before I know it - the dreams are gone! What did I dream last night? What influenced my subconscious? Blank! My mind is unable to remember my dreams because I had too many intervening thoughts before I recorded my dreams such as - w<i>hy hasn't anyone done the dishes in two days! It's a good thing I didn't cook dinner last night or else there would be more dishes. How can I get cooperation about cleaning the house? </i>And then my mind goes analytical - <i>Why are we so stuck in these social gender roles that I'm the one who breaks down and does the dishes first?</i> It's enough to wipe out anyone's morning dreams! My thoughts are a giant eraser rubbing out the lightest dream pencil marks first but today, the entire page was all gone.<br />
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Mental <i>palaver</i>! Jung uses that word as in to <i>arrange a palaver</i> to mean conversations he has with the Africans at night. He wants to know if they have dreams and if they provide some kind of insight into their daily lives. He attributes their resistance to sharing their dreams with him as evidence of a lack of trust or "shyness." Jung even offered rewards - cigarettes, matches, and safety pins for sharing dreams but they wouldn't budge. I'm thinking that maybe they didn't remember their dreams because of too much palaver! I have been recording by dreams every morning for two weeks - let's see if some pattern emerges. I have a safety pin in my pocket for good luck. Do you have any dream wisdom to offer? How do you remember your dreams?<br />
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<span class="st"> © Cynthia Pittmann 2013</span><br />
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~Also published in <a href="http://oasiswritinglink.blogspot.com/2013/06/daily-writing-practice-remembering.html">Oasis Writing Link (TM)</a> </div>
Cynthia Pittmannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12656761837022197235noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-165349633953530363.post-22635016607408061122013-02-12T18:37:00.000-08:002013-02-12T18:37:00.757-08:00There Once Was A Girl<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Hey Kel, </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">You died one week ago today. One week. How can this be when
it feels like only seconds have passed? I gave your eulogy. I said something
funny and made people laugh just like you asked me too. Do you have any idea
how hard that was? I think you probably do. It was you getting the last laugh
on me, wasn’t it? It took me days to write and rewrite and rewrite and rewrite.
I finally deleted the whole damn thing the night before your funeral and went
to Cayucos Tavern at midnight. I drank way too much and sang Rolling Stones songs
way too loud. Can you believe that? Me, getting soused until 2a.m. and making a
fool of myself in public. How unlike me, right?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The next morning, I sat in bed and wrote, bawling my head off the entire
time. Did you hear me yelling at you? How could you be so selfish and leave me?
How could I be so selfish and want you to stay? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Anyway, here it is. I mean, just in case you missed it.</span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="font-size: large;">The first
time I met Kelly, she was 10 days old and I was 1100 days old and Char was just
old. My mom came home from the hospital carrying this pink blanket that she
laid on her bed and I thought surely I was finally getting that monkey I
wanted. I remember lying on my parent’s bed, disappointed for a moment that she
wasn’t a monkey but kissing Kelly’s forehead again and again, smelling the
sweetness of her skin. She smelled like sugar cookies to me.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: large; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="font-size: large;">I loved
my baby sister. We had the best times together. Like the first time our mom
left us home alone and Kelly and I decided to build a fort in the living room.
The living room we weren’t allowed to play in because it was reserved for
company. The living room with the brand new Mediterranean, putrid green
furniture. The living room with the giant naked angel lamp. Yeah, that living
room. As soon as our mother’s car was half way out the drive, Kel and I ran to
the garage and got a can of my dad’s infamous twist and tie. Back in the house
we strung that miraculous twirly green wired string from the giant bulbous
putrid green Mediterranean lamp on one side of the room all the way over to the
giant naked angel lamp on the other side of the room. Then off we ran to our
bedroom, grabbed our bedspreads off our beds and flew to the living room
squealing with anticipation. This was gonna be freakin awesome. As we flung our
bedspreads over the twist and tie, the two lamps hurled themselves at us at
something like a million miles an hour. I’m pretty sure I heard the angel
screaming. <o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: large; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="font-size: large;">As
teenagers, Kelly and I went different directions. My life goal was to get
married and quickly over-populate the world. Kelly’s goal was to rule the
world. She started at KFC and ended up in one of Corporate America’s corner
offices. It was downright freaky watching her morph into our dad, Charles
Casas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean she had the business
suits, the Cadillac and minions. I remember her boss buying her a black leather
jacket one Christmas. It was beautiful. I especially liked the writing on the
back of it: The Wicked Witch. It’s what I had called Kelly for years. I felt
jealous many a day at her life. I still didn’t have a monkey and she had flying
monkeys. The truth was, those monkeys loved her. I think a lot of them idolized
her. She deserved everything she achieved. She did it the old fashioned way.
She earned it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: large; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="font-size: large;">As
adults, Kelly and I drifted apart for a minute. We didn’t understand each other
very well. Then the first brain tumor happened and nothing else mattered. Our
differences didn’t matter, our life choices didn’t matter, our faith or lack
thereof didn’t matter. Only one thing mattered. We were in it to win it.
Together. Kelly and every single person she loved and who loved her. We were in
it to win it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: large; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="font-size: large;">For years
I wrote about Kelly’s journey. Some people were amused. Some people were
offended. I was told more than once that I was inappropriate, disrespectful and
rude. I made fun of my dying sister’s circumstances. She was the butt of my
jokes. I posted pictures of her with really bad hospital hair. I put our
private conversations out there for the world to read. There was only one
reader I ever wrote for though. Kelly. She told me from the beginning I was not
allowed to cry. Too many people were crying over her life and it made her sad.
She asked me to write about her life. She told me I had to be funny. The best
days ever for me were hearing Kelly laugh. That and hearing her call me a
moron. Moron meant I had hit a home run for her. Like not that long ago, she
was really sad. And she was worried about me. She asked me where I saw myself
in ten years if I didn’t make some changes. <o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: large; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Well,
Kel, ten years from now I believe I will be in the poor house, jail or a
convent. It’s hard to decide which way to go.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: large; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="font-size: large;">That got
a “moron” from her.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="font-size: large;">Kelly’s
last words to me were, “Say something funny.” She said it twice so I made fun
of her hair. Yeah, right there in the hospital as my sister lay dying, I made
fun of her. A few nights after Kelly was gone, I realized she was talking about
today. She was worried about all of us. She wanted us to laugh. <o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="font-size: large;">In
closing, I want to say thank you. <o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: large; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="font-size: large;">Thank you
Theresa for being the one Kelly would save if we were all on a sinking ship
with only two life vests. We love you.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: large; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="font-size: large;">Thank you
Rachel for loving and caring for my little sister through thick and thin and I
am not talking about her weight fluctuations. We love you.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: large; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="font-size: large;">Thank you
Cher. Thank you. For cooking. For cleaning. For yelling at Kelly to get off her
ass and walk. For laughing with me until we cried and crying until we laughed.
For sleeping with Kelly when she was afraid and sleeping with me when my heart
was broken. Thank God for women like you that sleep around. You’re an angel and
I love you.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: large; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="font-size: large;">Thank you
Char and Debi, for still being alive. I love you both. Char, I promise to let
you put makeup on me and do my hair. You can even take me shopping now and
then. I promise to pretend I like it. Deb, I promise to call you and talk about
Char behind her back like little sisters do. We can laugh and giggle at how old
she is. It’ll be fun. I promise.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: large; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="font-size: large;">To
Kelly’s minions, past and present. Thank you for loving her, encouraging her,
writing and emailing. Calling and visiting. Thank you to “her girls”. Karen,
Gina, Denise, Nicole, Pam and all the rest of y’all for all the weekends. She
dreaded you seeing her before you got there and then did nothing but talk about
what a great time she had with you. How much you did for her, physically,
spiritually and emotionally.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: large; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="font-size: large;">To our
family……there are just too many of us to name but I can honestly say, Kelly
loved every single Walter/Casas family member. She loved you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: large; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="font-size: large;">And
finally, David…..Thank you. I know it wasn’t easy. I know how hard she could be
on you. I also know how much she loved you. I thought it was totally gross when
she told me she was dating a tattooed biker. Then I got to know you. I still
think you’re gross but not because you’re a tattooed biker, just because you’re
a guy. We love you David. Remember…..we‘re still a part of your posse…..or
gang…..or pack……or whatever it is you people call it. <o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: large; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: large; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="font-size: large;">So there it is. Did I do ok, Kel? I made people laugh.
That’s what you wanted, right? I think that’s all I have to say to you for now.
In truth, I am not speaking to you today. I am really angry with you. So is
Char. That’s right, we are talking about you behind your back. Deal with it!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Love,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Me</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-font-kerning: 14.0pt;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></span><br />
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Marlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18000815937078399278noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-165349633953530363.post-12206722263030379682012-08-17T22:11:00.001-07:002012-08-17T22:11:26.593-07:00A Mother's LoveEvery year, during the first weekend in August, tens of thousands of Vietnamese-Americans descend on the small town of Carthage, Missouri to honor the Virgin Mary for helping Vietnamese boat refugees safely reach the United States more than thirty-five years earlier.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM25b4jfl39G1ywRfMqLEqQw1c96CgobwU0Iw4fh9oKzuCcWvcARfJAWK8C7m4rztaSE5X7MBhGpWZiigxs01Fk-iGs3yjv6d-6ZaUbmTZHpl9AGR6fo0KP6XJQO3ow2rVCZBKvWgEUpMU/s1600/Our+Lady+Statue+207+-+Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="400" width="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM25b4jfl39G1ywRfMqLEqQw1c96CgobwU0Iw4fh9oKzuCcWvcARfJAWK8C7m4rztaSE5X7MBhGpWZiigxs01Fk-iGs3yjv6d-6ZaUbmTZHpl9AGR6fo0KP6XJQO3ow2rVCZBKvWgEUpMU/s400/Our+Lady+Statue+207+-+Copy.JPG" /></a></div>
One of those refugees was Michael Vu, who now lives in Dallas, Texas. He was “eight or nine years old” when he fled Vietnam with his family.
“My dad orchestrated our escape. My oldest brother left first, trying to go before us and prepare for us. His name was Vu Quang Thanh and unfortunately the China Sea took his life. He was on a boat with about 100 people, and they all perished, they were never found. His name is on the wall in the Prayer Garden. My dad is still looking for him, still hopes to find him, but I believe he’s dead.”
Michael Vu shared this story while searching for his brother’s name among thousands of others on plaques in the Prayer Garden.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTv29OXnbgquetYdR3NnLT1FnS_eK4Ph4BfbmfysGwG-fJwcKP8B8n7joxUIxIepbZEhKtSiRmXaN28TYk8f2bEMapQav_oCGXr-sP5kkw8cM47lG5zc531NRKa-rYHW_4VyTPfts1TJX-/s1600/Names+in+Prayer+Garden++161+-+Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="300" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTv29OXnbgquetYdR3NnLT1FnS_eK4Ph4BfbmfysGwG-fJwcKP8B8n7joxUIxIepbZEhKtSiRmXaN28TYk8f2bEMapQav_oCGXr-sP5kkw8cM47lG5zc531NRKa-rYHW_4VyTPfts1TJX-/s400/Names+in+Prayer+Garden++161+-+Copy.JPG" /></a></div>
“When the priests here at the Carthage Congregation say daily mass, they pray for these names in this Prayer Garden. They are both the dead and the living. People who need prayer in their lives. For people still in Vietnam who live under hardship, who weren’t fortunate enough to be able to come here. This is the best place to come and pray for them. Family members gather here every year and pray for one another,” Michael said.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjilpt8L2EK2IZIuwIo6cVfhgFgdqG-hCahOewyGOc6F53BGrMInql9Ce3iFbobvWatzrdkGEUgA2zKyPlVcAgLkCPdW4d2TdehsMApzOmQvwajTNhv5UNFJLL2Dlm7RyD1UHoNA6rcQQTF/s1600/Stations+of+Cross+274+-+Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear:right; float:right; margin-left:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="272" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjilpt8L2EK2IZIuwIo6cVfhgFgdqG-hCahOewyGOc6F53BGrMInql9Ce3iFbobvWatzrdkGEUgA2zKyPlVcAgLkCPdW4d2TdehsMApzOmQvwajTNhv5UNFJLL2Dlm7RyD1UHoNA6rcQQTF/s400/Stations+of+Cross+274+-+Copy.JPG" /></a></div>
The Congregation of the Mother Co-Redemptrix organizes and hosts the gathering each year on their grounds in Carthage for one simple reason: the Congregation shares the same harrowing story as do the attendees. In Vietnam in 1975, under orders from their superior, this group of priests and brothers jumped into boats and headed out into the open sea. In the midst of chaos and gunfire, all the members of the Congregation of the Mother Co-Redemptrix escaped and eventually made it safely to the shores of the United States.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkFmv-D7yJ72K8kBBR1xE1kSIsIvxP1X9ahOUVZI0aL-XqVvbINX9zJnbPqfeaOgpkkWhvMZXVONKYAGO85vG60tCrSGKggM1CEM0pDzOsK442PGn1g3k0KkAMi1oJsQWcoODnkQVJt1MD/s1600/Hearing+Confessions+August+183+-+Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="278" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkFmv-D7yJ72K8kBBR1xE1kSIsIvxP1X9ahOUVZI0aL-XqVvbINX9zJnbPqfeaOgpkkWhvMZXVONKYAGO85vG60tCrSGKggM1CEM0pDzOsK442PGn1g3k0KkAMi1oJsQWcoODnkQVJt1MD/s400/Hearing+Confessions+August+183+-+Copy.JPG" /></a></div>
Though members of the Congregation were scattered in refugee camps and on military bases, they were eventually reunited on an un-used seminary campus in Carthage, Missouri. In 1977, a couple of hundred Vietnamese from nearby cities like Kansas City, St. Louis and Springfield gathered on the seminary campus in Carthage for a day of recollection to express devotion to the Virgin Mary. The numbers began doubling each year, until now approximately 70,000 Vietnamese-Americans make the pilgrimage to Carthage to honor the Virgin Mary along with the Congregation.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6lkrgJR9Yq2R1V6TNJ6n3-1qUVoP1X7RqhqKCg0fOc_aq6D9jFyrI4tY6KFNJq7bBEEfxqtV3Sg3sSdnaFgb9qpyGF7O-7T9EX_BCK7b-x98bNTlaXhR6Cuo-sLm5OGXdYzpABVjBIgKb/s1600/Two+Girls.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="289" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6lkrgJR9Yq2R1V6TNJ6n3-1qUVoP1X7RqhqKCg0fOc_aq6D9jFyrI4tY6KFNJq7bBEEfxqtV3Sg3sSdnaFgb9qpyGF7O-7T9EX_BCK7b-x98bNTlaXhR6Cuo-sLm5OGXdYzpABVjBIgKb/s400/Two+Girls.JPG" /></a></div>
“We have a very strong devotion to the Virgin Mary,” Michael Vu agreed. “As we left Vietnam, we prayed to Mary to take care of us. We had a priest on our boat. We had two boats of people. There was a curfew in Vietnam, so we left at dawn. As we left, sirens started going off. North Vietnamese soldiers stopped us. There were about 60 to 70 children below, including me. The soldiers came aboard and questioned us. The priest said, “We’re hungry, and we’re going fishing.” There were fishing nets on the boat. The soldiers let us leave. We believe that praying to the Virgin Mary helped us escape Vietnam. Everyone on the boat believes it was a miracle we escaped. We arrived in Huntington Beach, CA We moved to Wichita Falls TX and we heard about Marian Days there. We felt like we had to go. We go every year. We’ve never stopped. We will definitely be here as long as they have it. It renews our spiritual life. Everyone who comes here has the same unity in their heart, one goal, devotion to Mary. It helps us through the year. It has helped us adjust here in the U.S. We didn’t know anyone, we didn’t know English. There are seven surviving brothers and two sisters in our family, and every one of us received a four-year college degree in the U.S., except for the youngest son who has Down Syndrome.”<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJTyuDTEkeny2tuwT4nEwZ3yzgizwy78ofaBlmTNhafTQBlPJ-O5dNOqqUR_9bAmP9501PkASiZ1s4OFvYYnixcdg2h3S7KAhdoHfB64aG5D_3pzQzsQSHiEgotX4rg8EsTozSY4uWM1La/s1600/Grilling+August+262.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="300" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJTyuDTEkeny2tuwT4nEwZ3yzgizwy78ofaBlmTNhafTQBlPJ-O5dNOqqUR_9bAmP9501PkASiZ1s4OFvYYnixcdg2h3S7KAhdoHfB64aG5D_3pzQzsQSHiEgotX4rg8EsTozSY4uWM1La/s400/Grilling+August+262.JPG" /></a></div>
Over time, “Marian Days” has become a cultural event attracting parishes, families, and communities from all over the United States.
Included in the festivities are Vietnamese food, both traditional and contemporary music, open-air confessions and masses on sloping lawns, speakers scheduled over several days, and a procession through the town with a statue of Our Lady of Fatima. And although the Congregation hosts the event, volunteers from parishes across the United States do much of the work, including staffing the endless restaurants and food stalls sprawled beneath tent awnings. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcQeluzTTengKK0g9vHMxKPEgANmBFHxh_xbD6GpD_SyUrYIDsY3IMpkfrsepE45PAjhpTNiuWaakf4NgWGmAakaire-ZLgjXurl10of9kvZ38s00_AI0_NoowqKLeBt9QibprHcviCVIw/s1600/Tents+at+Seminary+035.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear:right; float:right; margin-left:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="300" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcQeluzTTengKK0g9vHMxKPEgANmBFHxh_xbD6GpD_SyUrYIDsY3IMpkfrsepE45PAjhpTNiuWaakf4NgWGmAakaire-ZLgjXurl10of9kvZ38s00_AI0_NoowqKLeBt9QibprHcviCVIw/s400/Tents+at+Seminary+035.JPG" /></a></div>
Marian Days, while growing from 200 to 70,000 attendees, has evolved over the years and included some growing pains. At one time, wall-to-wall people elbowed for a space to sleep on the seminary grounds and spilled over into the small, bewildered town--and at times the socializing aspect threatened to overshadow the spiritual one<a href="http://travelingtostrangeislands.blogspot.com/"></a>. But many of the social tensions have been resolved and the facilities expanded and upgraded, including the addition of showers, restrooms, a Prayer Garden, Stations of the Cross, and the Vietnamese Martyrs Auditorium. In addition to camping out in tents on the seminary grounds or filling nearby motels, attendees also set up tents on the lawns of welcoming locals, some of whom invite the same families into their backyards year after year.
Jim Kerr is one of the locals who likes to attend every year “so we can eat something exceptional. I just ate pork intestines and it was very good. We love the Vietnamese iced coffee with sweetened condensed milk.”<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvPQOVasgV0WnaDxgG15YkIHZFvGGmK3t1zU13O_WlRhoxwFFWakcdKrCn2vBc9geHS_4s8k7avBwQiSIpX1O05KJvWXwFlQA1YUVOvgVtVhNRvulRUInwP3noK7jjgETDjEwVR6dvSir2/s1600/Incense+Burning+for+Peace+199.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="300" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvPQOVasgV0WnaDxgG15YkIHZFvGGmK3t1zU13O_WlRhoxwFFWakcdKrCn2vBc9geHS_4s8k7avBwQiSIpX1O05KJvWXwFlQA1YUVOvgVtVhNRvulRUInwP3noK7jjgETDjEwVR6dvSir2/s400/Incense+Burning+for+Peace+199.JPG" /></a></div>
His wife Amy recalled, “One year it was raining. We were with our three daughters. We were getting rained on. A teen boy called over several of his friends with umbrellas—they escorted us to the food and kept us dry. One of our daughters grew up going to this, and got to know the people at the parish who run this restaurant (Queen of Vietnam Church in Port Arthur TX). After she was grown, she moved to the Port Arthur area and knows the same people there now.”
Doug Huynh from Hastings Nebraska fled Vietnam in 1975 when he was eighteen. But he says Marian Days is about more than the past. “When you have a hard time now, you ask Mary for blessing. We come to visit her, to pay our respects and agree to come back. There are Vietnamese from all 50 states, Canada and Australia. We meet other Vietnamese people from all around the country. Some families drive 24 hours—8 hours is easy, we can’t complain. My mother-in-law listens to Bible talks and talks by priests. My kids like to hang out with other kids. There is good Vietnamese food.”
Tai Le is one of the teenage boys from Queen of Vietnam Church in Port Arthur who comes every year to work in his parish’s Marian Days restaurant.
“Our parish has a sign-up sheet and we volunteer to work here to raise funds for our church. We also come for the experience of meeting other people and to get to know our faith. The elderly here share their stories and they explain we should go back to Vietnam to learn our history. They tell us you should know history or it will repeat itself. My mother is very devoted to Mary. I choose to go to church every morning at 6 am at home. I don’t expect any rewards when I come here. I just come here to serve others.”<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFt2YnnCkjYy7mFPpJQHGfWoS21-qr2rbZN5Gt4Stu65MWERzXUwOTGelVXKD67osoopXW95eoZNpqwSYLs9EZYGEMye0mPlsKnM5cB6LePxNmqflVIbLRSSVWC3Uny1mVKihyphenhyphenWgIxy8Ft/s1600/Blind+woman.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="400" width="385" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFt2YnnCkjYy7mFPpJQHGfWoS21-qr2rbZN5Gt4Stu65MWERzXUwOTGelVXKD67osoopXW95eoZNpqwSYLs9EZYGEMye0mPlsKnM5cB6LePxNmqflVIbLRSSVWC3Uny1mVKihyphenhyphenWgIxy8Ft/s400/Blind+woman.JPG" /></a></div>
Duyen Nguyen from Arlington TX was blinded in a car accident. “Since 2000, my parents have come to pray for me. Miracles do happen. The doctors said I might see again. One day perhaps I will see again and God will bless me with a miracle. We go to mass here and everything. We go to retreats to listen to speakers. We go to pray and bless ourselves with holy water. Our parents volunteer here. Our church runs a restaurant here. Parishioners volunteer, raise funds for church. We also come for fun.”
Daniel Tran of Rochester, Minnesota floated in a canoe with 29 people for 20 days before reaching Hong Kong. Although a Buddhist at the time, he now attends Marian Days every year as a Catholic with his wife. Indeed, his wife, Yen-Huong, says many Buddhists come to Marian Days as well. Also posted on <a href="http://travelingtostrangeislands.blogspot.com/">Strange Islands</a>
Lynne Walkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14922648906299116923noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-165349633953530363.post-69558712181648656342012-05-22T16:12:00.003-07:002012-05-22T16:12:40.897-07:00What do you do when....<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuekBnY7JvRIBLhhyphenhyphenty6p1b_nnoQ8nO4H6npakp4NcssGnHtd5Hh3M3a0QimKui9MKh2_5ysVA-VEVJwTDEew2INh6G0yFiQDNTZDyT635GjMDg6n6-svRLnCk9_m4TGIhbAAVv5D4Ftc/s1600/frozen+candle+siaphotodotcom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuekBnY7JvRIBLhhyphenhyphenty6p1b_nnoQ8nO4H6npakp4NcssGnHtd5Hh3M3a0QimKui9MKh2_5ysVA-VEVJwTDEew2INh6G0yFiQDNTZDyT635GjMDg6n6-svRLnCk9_m4TGIhbAAVv5D4Ftc/s200/frozen+candle+siaphotodotcom.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo: www.siaphoto.com<br /></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">What do you do when you can't breathe? When something occurs that literally strips the breath from your body and you're suspended in that polarizing moment, gasping. This can take many forms. Some beautiful, some incredibly raw and angry, some reaching a level of sublime happiness, and others so steeped in sadness that it is beyond words to express.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">That moment, when the air is taken from us seems to last an endless forever. Our minds and emotions seize up in a sort of shock as we grapple to understand the enormity of the moment. A whole slew of physiological effects set in...pupils dilating, heart rate increasing, fingertips and lips going slightly numb, slightly tingling, goosebumps hitting at times, sweating occurring at others, stomach twisting and pitching, laughter bursting from us in a glorious ripple of smiling notes, or gut wrenching sobs the next sound we're capable of making. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">Most of the time when this happens,</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><b>we are forever changed.</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"> Uplifted at times, devastated at others. It's one of those very pure moments when everything narrows down to a literal pinpoint of focus. From that one breath suspended, to that next moment when we finally inhale again, the world changes. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><b>We change.</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"> A remarkable shift occurs.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">It's a curious thing, how everything can change in such a blinding, rapid manner. It can happen in a fleeting rush, barreling upon us in a wild, dramatic swirl. Or it can slip through and brush softly as a whisper. Regardless of the delivery, it is profound and dramatic.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">We experience it from the hands of another....from the words of another. Or from our own initiative. Sometimes it is a moment in Nature. Or a song lyric. A fragrance that teases the heart and the memory. A touch so sincere that we cannot resist it. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><b>And we are undone. </b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">Unraveled, or conversely, wound so tightly, so quickly, that we must shatter into a million pieces of delight or maddened grief.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">Peace walks these same halls. As does love. They both grab the breath from us, lifting up and embracing us in an inestimable manner. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">What do you do when you can't breathe? You endure it. Or you celebrate it. You continue to live, accepting that infinitesimal moment that has shifted everything that you are into a new person. And you are born anew, taking fumbling steps, uncertain on wobbly knees and feet. Pared down to your elemental self, vulnerable, naked and alone, and seeing the world through brand new eyes.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">What do you do when you can't breathe and the cold vapor of that crashing moment stuns you? You momentarily become a creature of ice, shards of silvered frost entwining throughout your very cells, turning you crystalline. Waiting for a touch to warm and melt you back to humanity.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">Waiting for a touch to enfold. To stutter-start your breath again.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">There in an indefinable space that simultaneously lasts both a nanosecond and a limitless, echoing eternity...what do you do? You feel. Simply that. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><b>You feel.</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><b>_____________________________</b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">If you enjoyed this article and would like to read more, you can find me at <a href="http://healingmorning.blogspot.com/">Healing Morning blog</a>.</span></span>Healing Morninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03236609802381940498noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-165349633953530363.post-52594751938389059912012-01-29T09:43:00.000-08:002012-01-29T09:43:58.478-08:00My purpose is ________.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_QmfPpQj2gh8XMhkcJ_Zl1NAMjf-rwDRYypW9n68dhKrOfaqHP-g6Q-OfqjreeSDPbxAwIVw87EJLd_xfUBi4b5q2go88Zdz4IeucgxlseDFChVCQ7XbWgG1rOJyN2T1n026nJQvq5qA/s1600/fill+blank.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_QmfPpQj2gh8XMhkcJ_Zl1NAMjf-rwDRYypW9n68dhKrOfaqHP-g6Q-OfqjreeSDPbxAwIVw87EJLd_xfUBi4b5q2go88Zdz4IeucgxlseDFChVCQ7XbWgG1rOJyN2T1n026nJQvq5qA/s200/fill+blank.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo: creepypasta.wikia.com</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">My talented friend, Tameka Mullins (<a href="http://lyricfire.typepad.com/lyric-fire/" style="color: #1700ff; text-decoration: none;">Lyric Fire</a> blog) posted this today on her Facebook page:</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">My purpose is _____________.</span></blockquote>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">She shared her own impression of her raison d'etre in a beautiful manner and I loved the concept. I dashed off my own reply:</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Good question! To write. To love. To recognize the beauty in those around me and give them a shining mirror to see their own beauty. To remember that my words have power and as such, to use them mindfully. To share my heart in an authentic manner. To see those obscure yet breathtaking moments around me and scribe them, painting them onto paper. I do much of this via the medium of writing, but I also do it by simply being Me</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">. - </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">SDS 1/29/2012</span></span></blockquote>
I was immediately struck by the thought that this would make a fun blog post, so I zipped off an inquiry and request to Tameka to use her idea here. She like the idea and here I am, tapping away at my keyboard.<br /><br />It's an interesting, thought provoking question, yes? My purpose is ______________. The fascinating thing is that at any given moment, our answer can and probably does change. We change from moment to moment, after all. With each breath, there is potential for a new experience that will shape and change us.<br /><br />If I had to boil it all down to an inclusive, all encompassing thought, I would automatically say that my purpose is to write. That's why it was my first response above. Writing is such an intrinsic part of my nature that it touches literally every part of my life. I write as a vocation, to make a regular living, and I write as an avocation, to please myself and satisfy my need to create.<br /><br />Probably the other purpose that didn't occur to me when I dashed off my response above is another simple one: To grow.<br /><br />That's why we're here on this Earth School, after all. To grow. To learn. To mature. To become that better version of ourselves on a daily basis. We do this by trying, failing, succeeding. We try on different hats to see how they suit us in myriad applications - relationships, careers, creative pursuits, healthy ambitions, places to live and travel. The list is endless.<br /><br />Tameka's Facebook post gave me an immediate and entertaining challenge and I responded with a stream of consciousness flow of words. Usually when we do that type of writing, it is as visceral and truthful a response as you can achieve. So, in an interesting manner, I gave myself that same mirror that I mentioned in my own comment. I learned some things about myself of which I am already cognizant and comfortable. When I read my words back, I smiled, because the picture painted was that perfect fit.<br /><br />There have been times when I have engaged in similar writing exercises when the resulting picture wasn't as perfect a fit. There is value in that very thing, being confronted with thoughts that we didn't realize we espoused until challenged to give them voice. I've grown dramatically from such experiences.<br /><br />Today's exercise was lighthearted, effortless and fun. Tameka's delightful response further in her thread was:<br /><blockquote class="tr_bq">
<br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14px;">Wow,</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14px;"> Dawn</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14px;">! What a beautiful purpose you have! You give good purpose! LOL!</span></span></blockquote>
Isn't that the BEST comment that she made? "You give good purpose." I think this belongs on a t-shirt, similar to the one posted above. I know I'd certainly buy it and wear it!<br /><br />Why not take a few minutes and play this game with Tameka and I? Empty your mind, take a deep breath and just write. Don't over think it. Just let the words flow until you feel it is finished. Then read your words back and see what you learn about yourself. If you're so inclined, share here with us - I think it will be a fun experience for all of us.<br /><br />I also encourage you to click the link for Tameka's wonderful blog, <a href="http://lyricfire.typepad.com/lyric-fire/" style="color: #1700ff; text-decoration: none;">Lyric Fire</a> and experience her writing. She is wonderfully talented and I enjoy myself every time I pay her a visit. Tameka, thank you for the inspiration for this post!<br />___________________________________<br />
If you enjoyed this post and would like to read more, you can find me at <a href="http://healingmorning.blogspot.com/">Healing Morning</a> blog.Healing Morninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03236609802381940498noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-165349633953530363.post-89387791930298387062012-01-06T18:06:00.000-08:002012-01-06T18:06:19.640-08:00TRY, TRY AGAIN .....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6NCdsXd5xrXiDj-1uWjvRp8-kxDMpmX8xEg18y0RkrgBOTGS3BXhBlMvILMd-ZiUjDiG3tK3lg-9GpoKPBd7aNQF05M7IT3fuTVcquoZFWVBfVCD72eQVDDPCl4OLK05L1dXDPOq_WyT4/s1600/imagesCAYS08E3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="183" width="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6NCdsXd5xrXiDj-1uWjvRp8-kxDMpmX8xEg18y0RkrgBOTGS3BXhBlMvILMd-ZiUjDiG3tK3lg-9GpoKPBd7aNQF05M7IT3fuTVcquoZFWVBfVCD72eQVDDPCl4OLK05L1dXDPOq_WyT4/s320/imagesCAYS08E3.jpg" /></a></div><br />
HELLO OLD FRIENDS!!<br />
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Well, after a year (actually - it's been OVER a year!) I'm back.... at least, I think I'm back! (insert smiley face here!)<br />
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Alas, what BETTER time of year - when making New Year's resolutions - to re-start, jump-start, RENEW my outlet for self-expression and optimism? Due partly to just letting LIFE "get in the way," I've also experienced some major set-backs within my life - I think I've spent the last few months of this year just reflecting on all that has happened in that time-frame. Both good and bad, it's definitely been a roller-coaster of a ride!<br />
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One thing I've discovered in my absence from this page, is that I was experiencing a tremendous amount of guilt during those less-than-stellar moments in my life when I attempted to sit down to spread a positive thought out into the world... I mistakenly felt that I just couldn't do it. I've always known deep within me what I wanted this blog to represent. During all these lower points, I took a (probably) too-deep look at my current situation and ended up developing a major pity-party for myself in the process!<br />
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Besides a major health scare and another open-heart surgery for my husband, ailing parents, financial issues, job searching... I previously thought the year was just going down hill all the way. But believe me, I've also had PLENTY to be happy and thankful for as well this past year... So then, what about those moments that weren't so bad, or so ugly, or so horrible? Simple. Laziness.<br />
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I let myself slip out of the habit of writing - and sharing. The next thing I knew - three months had gone by - then six, then twelve. Isn't that how we let most bad habits take over? Without thinking - without focus it . just . happens .<br />
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And so - my "theme" this evening, if you will - in keep with our traditions of renewal during the month of January - is that it's o.k. .....<br />
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TO GET BACK UP<br />
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TO TRY AGAIN<br />
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TO START OVER<br />
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TO SET A NEW GOAL<br />
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TO DREAM A NEW DREAM<br />
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My mission statement within this blog has always been - and will continue to be - to spread a positive word - or smile, if you will. I hope you will continue to walk with me in that endeavor, while I learn to cut myself some slack in my self-expectations! <br />
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I might not be able to write each and every single day, but I'm going to set a NEW goal that I start by trying to post at least once a week - and hopefully, the good habits return, and I post more than that! And if I don't - I don't. But I won't get all "hung up" about it!<br />
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I sincerely pray that all of you are looking UP at this time - looking ahead to the possibilities, and taking the time to re-charge and re-kindle your batteries. Happy New Year to all of you - I look forward to renewing some blogger friendships, and making new ones!!!<br />
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Pay it forward - spread a smile!!!<br />
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-PamPamela Bousquethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10933486351538669537noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-165349633953530363.post-24657655264705763732011-12-31T12:07:00.000-08:002011-12-31T12:09:55.685-08:00An ephemeral equation<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnPg-1n5ceBsGOlwb7juJBgIZWAneJWae5qLxs_6DouRx-gLmvnhCgHgoKnvpp9luXG0Khyphenhyphen48Y2KsguKYsu5VWeVCMfN14ABliBYENRUoF7bPI6TJzz-CUoWYuEAo6XVulSl4kwSh-7bc/s1600/flickrdotcomeslashphotosslashmonsterslash466981669.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnPg-1n5ceBsGOlwb7juJBgIZWAneJWae5qLxs_6DouRx-gLmvnhCgHgoKnvpp9luXG0Khyphenhyphen48Y2KsguKYsu5VWeVCMfN14ABliBYENRUoF7bPI6TJzz-CUoWYuEAo6XVulSl4kwSh-7bc/s200/flickrdotcomeslashphotosslashmonsterslash466981669.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">www.flickr.com/photos/monster/466981669/<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">We're approaching the end of 2011 and I've taken time to glance back through my blog archives for the year. Compared to the previous two years, 2011 was a slower pace of blog writing for me. The year itself was quite full of challenges on myriad levels, and that's where my focus and energy went. While I've never been one to embrace the concept of blogging daily, I do prefer to write more often than I ended up accomplishing this year.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">This post isn't about typical New Year Resolutions. I've shared my thoughts on that topic many times since I began blogging (</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><a href="http://healingmorning.blogspot.com/2009/12/just-say-no.html" style="color: #1700ff; text-decoration: none;">Just Say No!</a></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">, Healing Morning 12/27/2010), so I won't revisit here.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">What I want to concentrate on is recent events. I mentioned in my last post that life has improved slightly for me. As a freelance writer, I live a constant roller coaster ride with keeping work in the pipeline, keeping my name in constant circulation with networking groups and attending as many of those networking functions as I can. With that much activity happening on a monthly basis, you would think that work would be flowing with no problem. I would think that too, but it wasn't the case for the year of 2011. I have been through difficult, challenging times before, but I can truthfully say that 2011 rates right up at the top of the list of tough times experienced.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">Why am I talking about this? </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><b>Because somehow, in the midst of a truly scary time where I couldn't imagine things improving, <u>they did</u>.</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"> This is a quote from my last post:</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">"<i>I have also just recently weathered some rather trying times where I wasn't sure how I would get from one day to the next. The darkness that accompanied those challenges was quite intense and looking back, I have no idea how I managed to maintain even a wee shred of optimism and belief that good experiences were in my personal pipeline. Somehow, though, deep within me, I did hold onto that small flame of belief. That small flame of pure love, of pure healing, of pure manifestation....it all rested deep within me, despite the trying times.</i>" <a href="http://healingmorning.blogspot.com/2011/11/with-bright-spirit.html" style="color: #1700ff; text-decoration: none;">With a Bright Spirit</a>, Healing Morning 11/30/2011</span></blockquote>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">I've been pondering this for the last several weeks, and even spoke of the whole experience with several friends. What strikes my immediate consciousness so strongly is this: somehow, despite all the fears, all the weariness, all the sense of self-defeat and borderline hopelessness, something within me stubbornly refused to give up. Somehow, some small spark of Life continued to fight the battle mentioned above and I presented enough belief to manifest a new contract. Let me stress that the environment of this new contract is as close to ideal as I can imagine. No small wonder, that, as I did sit down and write out those particulars more than once during 2011. What I speak of is sometimes called Life Mapping, where we write out our wishes and dreams for a specific purpose, then release the request with all its attendant specific details to God/Universe/Spirit.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">I've done that many times in my life, and I admit that there was usually a healthy dose of doubt in the practice. This is rather amusing, considering that I believe in the concept for others wholeheartedly. It was for myself that I held back, that I entertained doubts and allowed niggling voices of insidious poison to creep in. That being said, I reference the above quote from my previous blog post and share the fact that something within me did persevere and refuse to completely give up.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">Speaking with a dear friend on the phone during the week leading up to Christmas 2011, I talked about this realization and said,</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><i>"Knowing that I was able to manifest such a wonderful result with this new work contract in the midst of such doubt, imagine what I can manifest NOW, as I am in a state of new awareness and absolute belief!"</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">That's magical and very powerful, that realization. Universal Law, for those of you who embrace the concept, dictates focusing on those good, positive feelings. Study the emotions and memorize how it feels to be in a space of abundance and happiness, so that you can replicate that feeling again and again.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">This is challenging for many of us, staying in that positive emotion, and I am no different. My childhood mantra regarding finances is one that has programmed a negative energy for most of my adult life. This is where I am focusing daily energy to shift that pattern and change the programming. I am focusing on how I feel each day of this new work contract. I am minutely dissecting how it feels to be happy, to have money flowing into my daily existence, to know that security is being established. I am doing this so that I can amplify these emotions and project them outward so that this energy continues in a looping manner, bringing more of the same to my life on a regular and continuing basis. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><b>The challenge of this mindset is that it is an ephemeral equation.</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"> Belief is at its core, and happiness and positive emotions are the fuel. It is not a tangible thing at first. Tangible results DO occur, but the belief and positive emotions must exist first.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">At a holiday party, the question was asked of us to talk about not a resolution for 2012, but of something we wanted to embrace for ourselves on a purely personal level. My thought was part of what prompted this very blog post, as I said that I had been thinking of how we behave as children. If any child is loved, they have an inalienable sense of entitlement in the purest manner. They simply believe that good things will happen and they believe that they deserve those good and delightful things. If there is one thing I can say with absolute certainty, it is that I am loved in this life. By friends and family, my life is richly blessed with love. Somewhere along the way, however, I lost some of that childlike sense of entitlement to receive good and positive blessings. Please note that I use the word "entitlement" in a positive manner, as it can carry negative connotations. What I am speaking of is that manner children have of believing in magic. I write about it quite often and I still carry a firm belief that magic exists, but I was also putting up roadblocks to receive good and positive blessings for myself. I am in the process of recapturing the sense of how that feels....that sense of entitlement in the purest, most innocent and faithful manner. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><b>Faith and belief are key words here.</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">So, if there is anything even remotely approaching a New Year's Resolution for me in 2012, it is to continue to give daily thought to amplifying and projecting my current level of success so that it can continue and increase in ways I have yet to imagine. I remind myself of my comment above to my girlfriend that so much more is possible. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><b><u>Limits are things we impose on ourselves out of fear</u>. </b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"> That much I know to be true, and it's something that I've excelled at over a lifetime...getting in my own way. I choose, now, to excel at getting OUT of my own way and existing in abundance. I know it is possible. I am living the result of my own wee kernel of belief that refused to be extinguished during the travails of 2011. I believe that that wee kernel of belief, that tiny flame that flickered valiantly in the midst of a great big boatload of darkness can be stoked. As I write this, in my mind's eye that tiny flame is growing into a nice, healthy bonfire. It warms my hands and face as the flames rise. Rather than being a destructive force, this is the kind of flame that does not consume in a negative manner. Or perhaps it does....perhaps the consuming is of those negative thoughts.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">Whatever the case, it is clear to me that I can build this fire. I can increase my own prosperity. I can embrace the belief that I deserve success in multiple areas of my life. I can release my death grip on doubt and fear.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">Many years ago, I was given a writing assignment to come up with a definitive sentence to describe what I wanted out of my immediate experience. This was the sentence that I came up with:</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><br />
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<i>"I want to be like the fluffy seeds of the dandelion puff.....releasing from ties that bind me to a single existence to ride the winds of Life and be unafraid of where those winds will take me."</i></blockquote>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"> I find that sentence, that statement of intent to be a good one for the New Year of 2012. To all of you who continue to visit me here at Healing Morning and offer so many beautiful comments on what you find here, I wish you a beautiful New Year full of blessings.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">_________________________________________</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3f0039; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">If you enjoyed this post and would like to read more, you can find me at <a href="http://www.healingmorning.blogspot.com/">Healing Morning blog</a>.</span>Healing Morninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03236609802381940498noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-165349633953530363.post-39554793943343231112011-12-26T14:49:00.000-08:002011-12-26T14:51:54.190-08:00Birthday Realizations<div>I turned 30 last Monday. While I used to wonder why people felt shy about announcing their age, I think I'm beginning to understand. As I approached this milestone last week, I began to feel more like I was marching to the grave than I ever have before. It wasn't necessarily scary, but it made me re-evaluate all of the expectations I had held of myself. Like, "When I'm 30, I will have accomplished xyz. My life will be settled and I will be a boring adult." For better or worse, I haven't quite managed to achieve most of that.</div><div><br /></div><div>This summer my aunt said to me, "You're almost 30. You should know how to clean a shower curtain." Funnily enough, I missed that lesson in the manual of life.</div><div><br /></div><div>Most days, I still feel like an ignorant kid. But when I was younger, I had more confidence. I was sure I'd amount to something great, like a famous politician. But once college came around, so did the questioning of many systems, including the political and legal ones, as well as society, ideology, gender... In short, I became confused. Which I have remained to this day.</div><div><br /></div><div>If that means I still don't know how to clean a shower curtain, then so be it. I'm busy living my life the best way I know how. And only I can live it!</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="http://beckyblab.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/387177_10151057519120453_516245452_21987938_1499841996_n.jpg"><img class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-1842" title="Birthday" src="http://beckyblab.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/387177_10151057519120453_516245452_21987938_1499841996_n-300x264.jpg" alt="" width="300" height="264" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Re-posted from <a href="http://beckyblab.com/?p=1839">BeckyBlab</a>.</div>Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15413131853942625061noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-165349633953530363.post-358982991245511772011-11-30T18:43:00.001-08:002011-11-30T18:45:02.064-08:00With a bright spirit<b><br /></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE6fmCRn6zLNPMOOyxQ8dVUyilNQdmwKbgXKY-k3Ho47DapVTznEsl0kesL_HETOVuzqFqpeKv4SyQoSKshHwLBNehtXSYQB4exI1p1AhU4jf5M3_w1UfRz-NHY2-kEf05OlEFqHbDZPZ-/s1600/bright+spirit+mandala.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; color: #1700ff; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE6fmCRn6zLNPMOOyxQ8dVUyilNQdmwKbgXKY-k3Ho47DapVTznEsl0kesL_HETOVuzqFqpeKv4SyQoSKshHwLBNehtXSYQB4exI1p1AhU4jf5M3_w1UfRz-NHY2-kEf05OlEFqHbDZPZ-/s200/bright+spirit+mandala.jpg" style="border-bottom-style: none; border-color: initial; border-left-style: none; border-right-style: none; border-top-style: none; border-width: initial; position: relative;" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 10px; text-align: center;">Photo:<br /><span class="P11"><a class="P14" href="http://flickr.com/photos/dancing_sun/4064774892/" id="m_isp" style="color: #1700ff; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">http://flickr.com/photos/dancing_sun/4064774892/</a></span></td></tr>
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<b><i>Healing</i></b>. The word itself is evocative. It conjures up an immediate visceral response with attendant mental images...memories, fears, dreams, wishes. Good health is vital to every living organism on this Earth School of ours.<br /><br />When I think of healing, I think automatically of love and of Light. The pure vibratory expression of love is the most powerful form of healing in existence, in my opinion. When love is present, our whole body just relaxes and sighs, luxuriating in the peacefulness of that beautiful energy.<br /><br />We know from a medical perspective that those who are happy, who feel loved and cared about, who receive regular hugs from loved ones - these are the people who heal more quickly, and who have stronger immune systems. I have always found the healing strength of such a simple thing as a hug to be profound. A simple embrace, the hug, and yet that simple thing can boost white blood cell count in the human body - the part of our blood system that fights off infection and wards off opportunistic illness - and sustain a sense of calm well beyond the physical experience of the hug itself.<br /><br />Just the act of writing my thoughts about healing is increasing my own vibration - I can feel it as I type the words and thoughts. I spent a good part of the 1990s working as a massage therapist, but was never truly fulfilled in that career. The healing part and the knowledge of the human body fascinated me, but massage therapy in and of itself didn't really fit for me. What did resonate was energy work; what many might recognize as the Biblical "laying on of hands", or in the traditional medical world, it is called Therapeutic Touch among other names. I learned that I have an innate ability for energy work, and to this day, although I no longer practice as a massage therapist, I still embrace energy work occasionally. It is effortless for me and is a gift I can bestow upon anyone in pain, whether it is physical, mental, emotional, or as is most often the case, a combination of all of these.<br /><br />When I stepped into the unknown world of blogging over two years ago, I had no idea what I was doing with the concept. It was something I was trying on for size to keep my mind occupied during a very dry period for my freelance writing career. I've spoken of this before and I will doubtless bring it up again - the title of my blog, <a href="http://healingmorning.blogspot.com/" style="color: #1700ff; text-decoration: none;">Healing Morning</a>, was divinely driven. I knew I wanted it to have something to do with healing, and the word "morning" was a play on my name, Dawn. At the time, I had no idea how absolutely appropriate a title this would be, or how the title would grow with me as I grew in my blog writing.<br /><br />You would think, as a result of the strong healing energies around me over a lifetime, that it would come as no surprise that this healing energy would translate into my writing. Yet, it has been a surprise. I did not know, to begin with, that my writing would touch others around the world and instill a sense of peacefulness, calm and healing. That was a vague goal, but at the time that I created this blog, I had thought to focus more on a clinical type of writing application. Instead, I found that I was being drawn to write from my heart and to allow a level of transparency that I had never dared to embrace. I began to share very private concepts here, and opened up about my spiritual side in a manner that I had rarely done before.<br /><br />Again, to my surprise, the articles that I wrote that exposed very personal aspects of who I am, and my healing and intuitive abilities - those articles have, without fail, turned out to be the ones that have garnered the most interest, the most written comments and the most support. I've learned over the last two and a-half years that when I've written an article that makes me more than a little nervous about publishing it, this is when I'm writing and channeling a level of truth that needs to be shared. And that energy is received in similar fashion...in a very positive, honest manner. People respond in kind and tell me they feel a sense of peace here.<br /><br />So, I continue to grow with my blog title. I continue to grow in my healing abilities and I continue to learn that my previous horizons are constantly being broadened. It is a very surreal experience at times. Just recently, I began to recognize a return to that childlike sense of creation that we tend to lose as we age. Children have an innate sense of acceptance that all will be well; they have an equal belief that good things will happen simply because those good things are wished for and anticipated with a bright spirit.<br /><br />I have also just recently weathered some rather trying times where I wasn't sure how I would get from one day to the next. The darkness that accompanied those challenges was quite intense and looking back, I have no idea how I managed to maintain even a wee shred of optimism and belief that good experiences were in my personal pipeline. Somehow, though, deep within me, I did hold onto that small flame of belief. That small flame of pure love, of pure healing, of pure manifestation....it all rested deep within me, despite the trying times.<br /><br />And then, in the midst of an admittedly scary phase, I felt the shift beginning. That knowing, that awareness that I've always had grew inside me. I clearly remember feeling it happening and I admit there was a bit of a struggle....a bit of lingering doubt that it was real. Yet the sense of rightness was so strong that all I could feel was delight and a sureness inside. A glowing, expanding welling of liquid, golden, pulsing brightness is how I would describe it. That is what the energy of pure love looks like to my mind's eye. Many who practice various healing modalities will point out that various levels of healing energy carry different colors and textures. I don't dispute this. What I am describing here, that golden, pulsing brightness is how I experience healing at its most profound. If I could invite you into my heart to see it and experience it the way that I do, I would do that very thing. Since I can't do that, the next best thing is to write it for you and create the image and the emotion, the textures and vibrations with words.<br /><br />This article may seem to have very little point....just a jumble of thoughts about healing. I don't argue that point, as I'm writing from a stream of consciousness perspective, just allowing the thoughts to flow from my fingertips. I will go back and read through this and see if the progression is strong enough to publish the article. I think it will be, because I feel that same sense of rightness as I type the words. This jumble of thoughts is going to make absolute sense to someone...perhaps many someones. You will read this article and smile and nod, recognizing what I am attempting to convey. Your own deep well of healing energy and love will respond and there will be that magical "click" from me to you.<br /><br />In this way, in this fashion, I continue to heal. Myself. My readers. The very air that I breathe in and exhale. The earth that I walk upon, as this energy overflows and spills down from my hands and flows through my feet as I walk. For those who study esoteric concepts of healing, this will make sense. For those who trust in the simple process of honoring the physical manifestation of that spark of the Divine translating into human form, it will also make sense. For those who are searching and wondering, looking for something that will lead them deeper into self-discovery, perhaps this article will light a new Divine spark. It's a beautiful and never ending cycle, of course.<br /><br />With a bright spirit. This is how I write this article, at this moment. That would make a beautiful t-shirt slogan, yes? Healing is such a bright thing, yet very calm and sure. Peaceful and quiet, but also exuberant and full of that childlike sense of delight. I was asked to write an article with the word "healing" as the focus. I sat down to write and did so with a bright spirit. My hands are literally buzzing from the extreme level of energy that has been prompted as a result and I accept that manifestation in the same way....with a bright spirit. With a bright spirit, my friends.<br /><br /><blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i><b>With a bright spirit.</b></i></blockquote>
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If you enjoyed this post and would like to read more, you can find me at <a href="http://healingmorning.blogspot.com/">Healing Morning blog</a>.<br />
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</div>Healing Morninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03236609802381940498noreply@blogger.com0