A smile of encouragement...

A smile of encouragement
at the right moment may act like
sunlight on a closed up flower;
it may be the turning point for a struggling life.

In my ongoing process to learn about life through me, I find that smiles really do help. Lately I wonder if I should carry a small mirror. When I take myself too seriously I can "have a look, have a smile," and keep going. [;)

Just for fun...

Marvin's mother invited her boss home for dinner. It was Marvin's job to set the table.
But when it came time to eat, his mother said, "Marvin, why didn't you give Mr. Brown a knife and fork?"
"Because," said Marvin, "you always said he eats like a horse."



It's raining cats and dogs today.
I know. I just stepped into a poodle.

Tales of Text from the High Chair

Alistair Cookie: Narrator Extraordinaire
Campaign poster-child for “Double-Choco-Chip” cookies

Hello again to the readers who love my great narrations. To those who don’t, give it time: I’m cute and funny. Just look at this face; makes you want to pinch those little cheeks, right? Well, don’t you do it, just love me from afar.

Normally I enjoy a trip to the great outdoors. But oh, what to do on those rainy days? You know those inside days? Shh, ready the cookies, and see what I have found to make us all happy. (Crunch, munch, slurp). From my glorious high chair I survey the great land before me. My Papa looks up and smiles so sweetly at me. He has determined that I need a new sand box. This time it would have a lid to prevent my cat Fluffy from entering it. Fluffy couldn’t help herself. She and I would often “text” each other about such things. There were no secrets between me and old Fluffy. This is where our story begins; a tale of text from the high chair. (Ahem, crunch, crunch.)

From the table there came a low whirring sound… and then music! Ah, the fun phone had been left on! Steel drums started banging and tanging, and lots of little people “sanging.” Then I read Fluffy’s text message: “I know you.”

I giggled loudly and texted back: “I.O.U. 2.” It was great fun and I lost track of time texting my cat, enjoying the great banter. That Fluffy has thousands of jokes! I ordered the vendor six pack of 6,000 jokes. Though I’m not sure what a “vendor” is, nevertheless, there are 6,000 citty cat jokes coming soon to a location near me!! (Ha, ha, ha, aha! Crunch)

My Papa returned to the kitchen, and with great excitement, he talked to my Mum. I don’t recall seeing him this happy, ever. Yet, he had thousands of orders he’d received for the new sand box invention. Oh, perfect day!! Even without the shining sun, the room was brightly lit. My Papa went back to his phone, punching in letters, while mine, simultaneously, requested Fluffy’s citty cat vet number.

I asked my Mum, “Is the ‘cc number’ the same number the vet gives Fluffy for a citty cat check up?”

Papa looked up and spoke, “Alistair, please hand me your phone.” At that moment Fluffy appeared and I knew the text time was over. I handed the phone to Papa, and watched as he left for the great outdoors. He stood by the old oak tree for the longest time. He’d look at one phone and then the other. I watched as he began shaking his head: “no, no, no, and no.” Finally Papa’s laughter was really ringing through the trees. I knew he must be reading Fluffy’s jokes.

Something for David

"A Day In The Life: Dave's Progress" has an interesting and humourous blog posted. His "Chapter 27: Confessions of a Bibliophile," will delight readers and those who especially like to collect books; Bibliophiles collect books. Or is the fact that they collect books, what makes them Bibliophiles? Oh well, not to worry, I'll return and read it for a fourth time! It's that much fun!

Meanwhile you know me and my photo madness? I typed in "bibliophile" to search and got this wonderful photo. This one is for you, David.

http://mb1023.blogspot.com/

I can tell the farce from the trees...

Farce: 1- A play marked by broadly satirical comedy and improbable plot. 2- The broad humor characteristic of farce or pretense. 3- A ridiculous action, display or pretense; farcical.

I can tell the farce (forests) from the trees. What I can’t tell is: why do people who climb the trees, turn around, and then cut them down?

Yes! Some people expend great amounts of energy to surround their trees with others. Lives upon lives are added and the play spends tighter; the plot thickens. This then is the farce; the farce of no return for many. People ensnared in the farce.

Loss becomes so much fun for the farce lovers; they wait patiently to down that tree. Bring the large axe and a long wagon to haul the timber to the river.

Prime each timber, telling them, they shall be great soon. They shall be great fun. Tease them with moments they’ve wondered about. Dare they ask, risking a barrage of unkind words? No they are silent; fearing that the farce will not be with them anymore. The great farce addiction is about to hurt them; they know. They steady themselves and wait for the axe first blow.

A chop, chop, chop, is heard above the silent weeping, as so many send great thoughts skyward. Forgive the climber. Forgive the primer. Fall, do not bow, at this farcical moment. In a tree, close by, sits a climber who denies any part of the hate that is happening. (Such charming chops, he thinks.)

“There’s never been a farce or a ruse or a joke better than this; silly others believing such dribble. All the timber had to do was stand there and be silent. I would have let them live. I could have”. He glanced to the right, watching as another farce fell, and smiled.

Families.

a "looney" tune?

Brought to you by the 21st century "Union" label.


I'm a prepper;
she's a prepper;
wouldn't you like to be a prepper too?

Timing

Pregnant Male Seahorse: 'any time now'


Timing can be so frustrating. I can wait and wait for something to happen, and it seems to be forever until it comes to pass. Or, suddenly, an event or circumstance is thrust upon me, catching me by surprise. Believing that things happen too slowly or too quickly is an illusion. Timing is perfect.

“If we could untangle the mysteries of life and unravel the energies which run through the world; if we could evaluate correctly the significance of events passing; if we could measure the struggles, dilemmas, and aspirations of mankind, we could find that nothing is born out of time. Everything comes at its appointed moment.” ~Joseph R. Sizoo

Sorting

I’m sorting through the madness I call mind
On my way to rediscover life refined
I won’t stop at all the sites
Just the happy, hopeful bytes
I am grateful for the people who are kind

I am sorting through the madness of my mail
To eliminate those things that truly fail
No more ads and sticky spam
Just the stuff that says, ‘I am’
A lucky girl with many chances to prevail

I am sorting through the box of my feelings
Looking forward to the rush of blissful healings
As each feeling finds some grace
There’s a smile upon my face
As I realize that life solves all misdealings

Little Lives

I’ve long held a passion for the creatures called seahorses. Until I touched one and looked “him” directly in the eye, I knew nothing. In that very instant I knew the meaning of the universe: to give and be given to.

Several years ago I was walking along a shore at the Outer Banks of North Carolina. It was a blustery March day and I walked facing the sun to feel warmth upon my face. In the water lay a smallish dark green lump I thought to be seaweed. I removed a glove and scooped up what was a six inch seahorse! He was so still, I thought at first it was dead.

It lay there, and then a tiny contraction in the tail caught my attention quickly. I soon realized the water in my hand was almost gone and the seahorse was looking for more water; its home after all. I spoke aloud, “Are you alive?” As if to answer, “Yes,” it raised its head, which looked just like that of a great steed, and looked directly into my eyes. I could see the soul of the tiny creature as the last couple of drops of water approached its nostrils. I had to act quickly.

Into the ocean I waded some ten feet, water up around my thighs. Gently I placed the tiny seahorse into the area before the tide approached. I hoped this would give it a chance to survive, without being dragged back in by the undertow; the same undertow I was beginning to feel at my ankles. The tail kicked and off it went. I turned to wade out, so elated by the look on that tiny face. Such trust and love that emanated; I cannot explain it. In the moment I was so glad it would not be part of my beach treasure, but would continue living. It wanted to live.

Another thirty or so feet down the shore, and I came upon many seahorses that had already died, and were stiff upon the sand. A lady was collecting them as decorations for her shop artistry. My heart jumped to my throat, but she explained that it was “their season” to come and die upon the beach. She handed me one about 2.5 inches long, nowhere near the size of the one I’d just returned to the ocean, yet the same form and color as the other. That “light” was gone from the eyes; this one having come in and embraced the season.

Today I look at the eyes of little lives; they tell me a lot about myself.
I want to live.

The Roundabout

Thank you: Elizabeth Evans for the photo use.

A photo that brought back instantaneous memories of sheer joy and treasured squeals! Many times my friends and I would make the trip down to the park to ride the roundabout. “Please hold on to the bar.”

Usually an adult would get us started. We’d whirl ‘round and ’round, and it was no surprise if one of us got sick. Often it was that one of the Moms would grab some cool water from the fountain to place on a forehead to stop nausea. “Someone stop my stomach from moving too.”

Today I ride by abandoned playgrounds where the equipment was painted with lead paint. No one wants to spend the money to tear them down, but no one wants to offer anything new either. I shudder to think how much lead did I absorb from the favorite, and often visited roundabout? Yet the memories, the laughter, and the friends make it seem so far a way, and less worrisome.

Today I called the city to see what a new roundabout might cost. Thinking it might be nice to give something back that was so simple, so endearing, and so much fun. Would you believe the bureaucratic tape costs more than the roundabout? Then there are the maintenance clause costs, the taxes, the inspections, and so on. Whose getting a ride?

Happy Nuts-ster?

Just think about it.

Are we done yet?
Have those silly rabbits left?
Can we please have a squirrel day?
Like a ‘Happy Nuts-ster” day?

No, this doesn’t rhyme. It’s not meant to rhyme.
I’m serious though! We could hide nuts.
Lots of children eat nuts.
If they can’t find them, well, we squirrels would help do our part.
We would take care of the environment.
No nuts shall be left behind.

Besides it’s not like leaving a boiled egg for a year.
You might grow a nut tree or a nut bush.
Just think about it.
Meanwhile, Happy Nuts-ster!

In regal beauty... the red Gerber bathes

An awe-inspiring flower did touch my heart one day
And though its beauty yielded radiance, I had no words to say.
I watched the petals form and fan in no short span of time.
While gradually I felt its power that swayed this regal rhyme.

A sprinkling of the rain fell softly and hung.
Round beads as golden glass on the petals they clung.
My eyes filled with wonder and small human tears.
This beauty before me was tender and dear.

A bath from on high caused the glistening and shine.
It prompted my memory to also be thine.
Put all of my trust in the lord of the lathe.
And seek my own duty… as the red Gerber… bathes.

Hop to it

I’ve worn out my legs
You still want more eggs
In pink or in blue
Delivered for you?

Hard candy and pop
Cute baskets each stop
With ribbons and card
And stuff made of lard?

Sweet chocolate bunny
Why is that so funny?
Marshmallow dream stuffs
I prefer cream puffs

My feet on vacation
There’s no more occasion
The end of the season
With hop to it reason

Taking Action

Some days I feel no more mature than this photo of a family member. I feel small, unprotected and indecisive. Recent events and helpful friends have helped me see that I need to take action. I need to get things moving in the right direction to have a better life. Yes, and even get down in the dirt when need be. Walk toward the dreams I can create in reality, one at a time.

I’ve written previously, that as a child I was very much alone; maybe too much so, as there was so little or no interaction with possible friends. I still fear having friends. It is a big responsibility to do the right thing for myself and others. It takes me time to realize my mistakes with friends and then I work very hard to correct my previous action or inaction. Such is that case for me lately.

My head is so cluttered that I often misconstrue what’s really being explained. I’ve taken to writing down notes to remind me of what is the best plan for my life. The hard part is: sometimes I have to retreat in order to move ahead. Sometimes I need “me time” to stop and look at where I’m at. The present is where I need to be… not jumping back and forth between past and future.

Then sometimes I have to let go of a friends to make sure I have their best interest at heart. I need to put judgments aside and let people live the way they chose. I need to realize that they are human like me, trying to survive and lead a happy life. That means making a conscious decision, on my part, and taking action; the adult thing to do. ~Dixie

A Wednesday wink

A guy goes to the supermarket and notices an attractive woman waving at him.
She says hello. He's rather taken aback because he can't place where he knows her from.
So he says, 'Do you know me?'
To which she replies, 'I think you're the father of one of my kids.'
Now his mind travels back to the only time he has ever been unfaithful to his wife and says,
'Are you the stripper from the bachelor party that I made love to on the pool table with all my buddies watching last year???

She looked into his eyes and says calmly, 'No, I'm your son's Sunday school teacher.'

Her Thorn

It pricked her hand and then she bled
This sullen rose she’d always fed
No blossoms here in two long years
With only thorns to prompt her tears

She’d cut it down if she were mad
To stop the times it made her sad
Yet purposely it served her well
And helped her find a voice to yell

Then tears did fall and cleanse her thought
Relieving her of what life wrought
Into a tiny handkerchief
She breathed the air and felt relief

Her Rose

She walked her dream and looked around
With smallest flowers on the ground
The yellow bees were buzzing by
She spied a rose, and heard it sigh

The tiny drops of dew were clear
And playfully as she came near
The thorns did glistened but obeyed
The hand that once had held the spade

The hand that held a knife to prune
A blossom tender for her room
Did cut the rose, a fragrant scent
She’d not return ‘til this one spent

Letting Go

‘Sister’

When I was three, I realized
That I was not one of ‘the guys’
I wore a dress for outside play
While they wore pants; it was their way

I was a girl and they were boys
I sat and listened to their noise
So much delight there in the dirt
Yet when I played they all were curt

‘You can’t do this, you’re just a girl
Go to your place and leave our world.’
They did not care that I’d object
Nor that I felt their cruel reject

My place of beauty and delight
A sanctuary in my sight
It had four trees and lovely ground
From there they couldn’t hear a sound

I played and sang a song for them
Hoping one day that we’d be friends
Yet things continue to be the same
I am their ‘sister’, without a name

I apologize for this rather sad tale of childhood experience. However, it was in taking note of this situation, that I realized the answer to another. I have always felt rejected by my siblings. If they were allowed to ‘reject’ me, then might my parents also have been rejecting me? Three year olds do not have the capacity to ‘work through’ feelings and issues the same way that adults do. It has taken me some time to figure out my gut feelings on rejection. The hardest issue has been my rejection of self. In my zeal to embrace me and others, I have become a control freak.

Today I will stop forcing things to happen. Instead I will allow things to happen naturally. If I catch myself trying to force events or control people, I will stop and figure out a way to detach. I need peace and harmony as I let go. Just let it go.

Appreciate all life (part 2)

The painting: “The Diver and the cave”, by dcrelief

After many years of a medicated life and feeling numb to anything or anyone, I finally chose to come off of the medications and take my chances on finding some normalcy again. Yes I had some issues that had plagued for a long time that needed addressing. And I also found out that I had an illness called Fibromylagia which had induced my original depression. I wasn’t clinically depressed; however the damage done by the medications left me without a life. My mind fought hard to regain the cognitive abilities and my body, so racked by side effects, would never be the same.

Along came the day I decided to take up painting again and I wanted to do a study in black backgrounds. Reflective of my feelings at that time, black was invisible, which is how I felt. Since then black has come to be the very show piece for allowing my paintings, pictures, and photos to “pop” off the page.

This first painting called, “The Diver and the Sea Slug” was so easy and yet I spent three days fighting my insides, screaming at me, that I could not do a painting. I decided to just blank out my thoughts and let the brush and colors flow as they would. I soon learned that divers always travel in pairs! Thus along came painting number two: “The Diver and the cave”.

I did the painting for a friend and his wife, using a combination of photos they had. I listened in amazement as they told of the things they had seen underwater; the precious view they had developed for all life. From the tiniest sea creatures and larger mammals traveling great oceans, to the very divers in their group, each form of life has a place in the great cycle of existence. Though some may disappear and new ones come along, it behooves us to appreciate all life.

Hmm, each form has a place? I wasn’t sure of mine but this was a beginning thing to find me, and see what I could be… again… anew.

Some Days

The Commodore Six was speeding along
I stood by the road, with my road-singing song
‘One for a Chevy, two for a Ford
Three for the Hudson’ that snagged me onboard

I went through the grill except for my hand
My legs and my torso now wrapped the oil pan
My right hand was busy as I pulled some wires
I listened for music but only heard tires

The engine was strong and roared through its courses
Quite pleased with the power of six hundred horses
The trip uneventful, I bored of black top
And promised to leave at the very next stop