Staying on track or a new direction?

I left what I call a “political blogging” group in September 2008. It was taxing and my strength seemed destroyed because the I could not manage my life. It proved to be too much responsibility for me, even though I was the “least” of the writers. My role was to open the hearts and minds of those who would choose peace as a rule.

Ironically it took leaving the political group to discover another group concerned with “mental health issues.” I went for help to restore my mind, body, and essence. Things fell into place after that, as I read and listened to their “living problems.” Living as surely as all the positive choices they made. Living but finding new direction. Living and staying on track. So new to the subject of “what is” my mental health; feeling fear of the “what if I can’t learn, retain, survive the truth?” It has been a while since I began traveling with friends and supporters of an ‘empathetic community’ of bloggers.

A re-evaluation might be helpful to determine the next move for my life. There’s a list I’ve put together of questions, ideas, subjects, problems, and all sorts of things that I want to know. I just look at that mess of tracks in the photo and wonder if I can somehow travel several at a time? I remain positive that I have many answers within myself. I may need to blog them out.

Zimbio restored my zines!

I’m back on my island: Zimbio Island, a place of luscious lands, different peoples, with various topics and tropics of interest. Hooray!

Thank you Zmbio for helping me to get both wikizines restored and reopened. My blogspots are already loading into my zines.

a piece of history

It angers me to think that childhood was full of cruel jokes. Jokes played on me and each other.
Jokes of competition:
“I have, but you don’t.”
“I’m smart, but you’re not.”
“I’m loved, but you are a slave who must settle for what you’re allowed.”
And my personal favorite:
“If I want what you have or what you have been promised, then you won’t get it.”

I used to sit and cry about not getting my Grandmother’s china cabinet. It was promised to me when I was nine years old. I was the only one ever allowed to play with the special items inside of it. May sound silly to you, but I loved that old piece of furniture.

Seems my Grandmother left it to my Dad and it sits in his house. He decided he wanted it and I could have it after he passed away. He tried using it against me to get favors done until I’d had enough of the game. I went out and bought one; he was really angry about that. A reaction I didn’t really expect.

So what I gleaned from this was what I call, “dangling the carrot”. Farmers would attach a carrot with string to a pole. Then dangle the carrot in front of the nose to get their mule to move. The mule would continually try to grab the carrot. As soon as the mule would get close, the farmer would yank the pole and move the carrot away. I didn’t feel like being the mule.

The best part is… I don’t want to be the farmer either. Just proves that though I’ve been through some strange stuff, I don’t have to exhibit the same behavior. I don’t feel the need to compete with or for people, places or things. You don’t know how freeing that is. I don’t feel the need to be jealous of others, wearing my insecurity on my sleeve. There is no one else like me.

A note to my reading and writing friends

photo by Karen Marshall


It has been my pleasure to have two wikizines on the Zimbio website. However within the last nine months my zines have suffered damage from various incidents. Many articles have been lost that cannot be replaced. Some I do not have copies of, especially, if it involved a computer “crash.”

You may have read: (1) “Remove the Rose Colored Glasses,” or (2) “Arch-ing.”

As of February 23, 2009 both were deleted from viewing and their accounts closed. My apology, and I hope this does not bring any inconvenience to any of you, my fellow readers and writers.

~dcrelief~ will remain on “Blogger”. I am always grateful that you read along. Your comments are always welcome and greatly appreciated.

With heartfelt gratitude,

Dixie

Post script: You’ll be the first to know if I create a new Zimbio wikizine!
Hmm; what would we call it?

Used words

Something I want to say
My heart just wants to let it out
The thoughts just repeating within
And they’re used words, used words

Something I want to do
There’s no way I can be wrong
To take the time to touch life
With used words, used words

Something I want to feel
And all alone I’ll have it
I know somehow that life will be
About used words, used words

Something I’ll have to live
Take my chance and find my peace
I know alone that life will be
Used words, used words


*photo: Hieroglyphics found in Great Pyramid titled, "The First Time"

A turn

I don’t always know
What’s on the other side?
Of where I’m leaving
Will I be grieving?

I don’t always see
The best reality
But hear me
Don’t fear me

I’m moving
I’m walking on through
Taking a turn
I thought I’d take

A turn

I don’t who will be
On that side to greet
And hug me
Sweet words pour on me

I’m moving
I’m walking on through
Taking a turn
I thought I’d take

A turn

dedication to LR

To my friend, LR, who doesn't care what I do as long as I'm happy.
Finally after 605 blog articles, a dedicated blog to you. How good is this?
Thank you for your support, friendship, and patience.
Love, Dixie

Tree House

It was the finest tree I ever owned and I gave it to the guys.
No more climbing it you see; would be a tree house to the skies.
We saved a little money and my Dad sure helped us out.
To ward off all the bad guys we made a sign that read: “Keep Out!”

The floors were laid with heavy planks and fastened down with nails.
The spaces left between allowed the planks to gently swell.
We had to have two railings: a foot rest and one for arms.
A rope was added to a branch to escape from any harm.

Our tree house christened “Nautilus” was ready to be shown.
My heart was all aflutter ‘til I saw the sign and groaned.
“No Girls Allowed, and this means YOU and we will take a stand
To drive you far away from here and curse you off this land!”

Girls will laugh and girls will cry but I could not do either.
I smiled a smirk, turned with a jerk, and left them for the ether.
My dogwood tree it beckoned me and off I went to climb.
Then slowly let the tears escape while citing funny rhymes.

They never knew the pain I felt; I buried it inside;
And still today when I recall the tree house I confide,
That though I never saw the top and no one bid me in,
I never want to be as one that's “not allowed” again!

"Remove the Rose Colored Glasses"

Finally on Zimbio I was able to get my wikizine working again. So many twists and turns to maneuver. Lots of other zines to check out. I did not want to lose mine.

I would personally like to thank "Tony" and the staff for investigating the problem.

Most sincerely, dcrelief

Burning both ends

If you don’t mind
I’m reliably blind
The candle is my only glow

It speaks to my heart
It renders life’s spark
For sharing the path that I go

While burning both ends
I must never pretend
That I have the answers for show

My new candle’s ready
In time I am steady
To light up the night and sow

Sorting

I was helping a friend of mine sort socks from the dryer. Two adults and five children make a lot of socks to sort. Any white socks with orange stripe or orange color were for the youngest one. I continued as each child had his or her own assigned color. Don’t laugh, it worked perfectly; it did not take as long as I first thought.

If only I could sort through my own life that way. Assign a color for billing, a color for shopping days, and a color that told me to drive this day. But then, why couldn’t I use a color system? With the limitations I have that are not going away, I need the simplicity of a system works better than what I have now.

My issues are all together, herded together like wild animals but not as pretty and interesting as the animals. I found this photo, of a painting, from years ago and was pleasantly surprised when my eyes focused on the horses. How many were there? Translate that to my issues: how many were staring back at me waiting for me to focus on, sort it out, and resolve?

Lately I’ve had some pleasant distractions that help me to relax and get some issues off of my mind. There has immerged a priority list to work on. So do I take the orange magic marker (crayon) and put a dot on the calendar to help me sort? I’ll have to get back to you. I need to count the number of color crayons I have.

Any suggestions: reply to the lavender dot. O

seeing the beauty of a lifetime

Many only see beauty in life. Many look only to the outer beauty. But we all know the secret. Look beyone life, beyond death, and envision a beauty that displays the entire essence of the life lived.


Like a leaf that "says" I've been here for all seasons this past year. I'm leaving buds to come and give you more beauty for the coming year, and those beyond.

Or a ninety-two year old man who has seven children grown, ten grand children grown, and now four great grandchildren growing. It's about the seeing.

Stop Grinding

Lately I keep grinding out the same old answer for the same kind of mistake. That can't be right. My mind must be wrong? I cannot fathom what is so hard to get past. What is it I need to do?

A pesky thought. Obsessive and domineering when it wants to be. Please just go away. My mind is not into fighting. There must be a solution.

How about two wheels and grind the thought into meal? Then make some muffins.

As We Are

As we are
We are strong.
We are beauty
We glide through the sky
Touching the clouds
Tasting the rain that waits
That waits to fall

We glow and shadow
Tendon to tendon
Our colors praise
The universal design
The design of all
Mythically tainted

We sculpt ourselves
We choose our colors
Of all seasons
That come up
Teasing the sky
Until we return
As we are

The Comment

You’re often in my life when I need you
You hang at the bottom of the page
And when I take a look at you come later
I know that it’s not me who is the sage.

Some times you have a name, you just don’t give it
Some times you leave a wink beside a kiss
At times you have a title that’s important
Many times anonymous is the most bliss

no more holidays

Once upon a time I used to write whatever I wanted to write. The comment function was turned off because I was afraid someone would want me to write for them. I did not say that I refused to help anyone. I try to be generous with my gift. Not that I have a great talent or need to be praised a lot. I just liked to write.

So right now I’m going to write about Valentine ’s Day for those who hurt from not receiving one. Or maybe we had someone special and that person no longer exists for us. Maybe a childhood class was exchanging cards, and one child got left out; once again a holiday that sets people up to be hurt.

When do we as a society see the things that hurt us? The pain we harbour often comes from childhood. Then we grow up and do the same thing to the next generation. I remember finding out about Santa the hard way. I was mad. Why lie? Okay that’s all I wanted to write. Oh, one thing: think about what you tell your children before you tell them. One day they might grow up to be you!

Thanks, Dixie

Readers and followers of this blog

Thank you for taking time out to visit my blog. Quite a variety of hysteria sometimes, but “dc-relief” is always looking for relief!

Some of you have left comments; it is great to know what someone else thinks of a subject or experience. That spells relief for “dc”. Feel free to jump in and let me know what’s happening in your world.

In combination with the valentine thing, I give you my pencil shavings in heart shape. Words are not the only way to say: “Here’s my heart.”

(Oh, that was nice; thanks.)
(Don’t mention it.)

An enticement to write

“I speak when I cease to be at peace with my thoughts.” Kahlil Gibran

For the longest time Gibran’s words were my mantra and I increasingly seemed to ‘speak’ all the time; I could no longer shut up. My thoughts filled volumes of air space. Some friends and family who had never given attention to their own thoughts gave mine even less. Alas there were few left who understood my ‘need’ for expression; as if I were a balloon and would pop if not gently deflated. Until one day it was suggested that I ‘blog”… put all of my thoughts to flight.

I don’t remember what took me to Zimbio; a portal featuring magazines that individual members creat. Pick a subject and write. So I made a “wikizine’ as they are called and wrote from art to politics. “Remove the Rose Colored Glasses” asked everyone to ‘couple’ with my thoughts and together create something new: an effort at synergy. What I found was that most members dealt with specific subjects while I was allover the spectrum of life. I began to look around for something a bit more enticing until it found me.

It had been so very long since I had written anything other than children’s stories. Today I’m not convinced that I impact anyone, but remain content to have my words grace a few pages. There is a ‘freeing’ for me to see my thoughts, read my thoughts, and give them wings to fly. My hope: I needed them to leave me, allowing more mental space to continue exploring the world around; more emotional space to explore what others’ feel; and more physical freedom to explore thoughts that I once thought too taboo to dare mention. Why? Because I had everything balled up inside of me and this enticement to write became a gift.

Like a new creature living in a far-away cave I only played with leaving my space for years. My space that I was sure was comfortable, yet had it been comfortable I would not be here today. Comfort did not entice me to write. Disappointment in the cave came often and I longed to breach its boundaries; move or be moved. From somewhere beyond my sight a light shone and came to rest within my view. My inexperience with writing and exploring cautioned me while my “National Geographic’s” self pleaded to let others share their world with me. Maybe they too were no longer at peace with their thoughts. I wanted to hear. Their lives were the enticement I needed. Slowly and surely I moved toward the cave’s opening and looked at the majestic ocean that lay before me: its only one wave at a time, one enticement to write. I took a deep breath and swam out to meet the day.

Caring for the doctor

My favorite doctor is also my Fibromyalgia coach. He speaks to all of his patients as they pass through the halls or the lobby. “Mrs. Watts, I’ll see you in a moment.” “Hello Dixie, where have you been keeping yourself; have you been painting?” It’s the kind of concern that patients appreciate and want to reciprocate by caring for the doctor.

I’ve known this gentleman about eleven years and every year his entire family goes on a scuba diving trip in the Caribbean. Now with one son married, another engaged; it was getting harder to schedule the time. He was a tad sad.

“Why don’t I do you a painting to cheer you up, and keep the dream alive? I know you’re redoing the office, so I let me re-do the bathroom?”

“What?” He was quite shocked. “My wife is doing the office. I don’t know.”

“If she likes the painting, tell her I want to finish the room in like style.”

It was great seeing the look on his face when he saw the “Triptych” or the three panel set of paintings. Each panel is 28 inches width by 22 inches in height. This photo was made near the last stage at my home. The room’s lighting is strange so I came back in with additional paint to highlight or deepen a few shadows.

Now days when people are kind I have a tendency to want to remember them and their kindness. The wife is very pleased to have a Caribbean style rest room; she even placed some tropical fish. They entire family made the trip last year! The office girls tell me he is constantly showing off his Triptych. ;)

Caring for the doctor is caring for your self. I am still amazed when I see them hanging on that long wall.

Simply a test

This is simply a test of wills... have no fear.
I am attempting to fake out Zimbio and make them think I still exist on their site.
If they lose I get to keep my zine: Remove the Rose Colored Glasses.
If I lose I'll have to remove something different to stay on board.
Here we go. Excuse the interruption to your regular dcrelief day reading!!

Love, hugs, and happy stuff like that. dc

Rising

Often I do not see the progress I’ve made
‘Till more thoughts are answered from life in the shade
I don’t know why I’ve forgotten the sun
And all of its strength that gives me great fun

The shore washes clean from the sea foam at play
The sun takes a dip and has gone its own way
Tall rocks appear daunting but soften in light
Of the full moon that’s rising on my thoughts tonight

Arching

Many of you may not know that I wrote the Zimbio wikizine called, “Arching”; just an online magazine type publication. Arching dealt with childhood sexual abuse, the adult survivor, as well as physical and mental cruelty.

“Arching’s” and my goal was to explore me, the person I am today through visualization backward through times, events and characters. At one time I even had a male partner to aide me in defining moments, concepts, and contraptions. (lol) I suppose you could have called it a “cathartic” blog, releasing emotions through experimentation of the spiritual, mental and physical planes.

A person who handles a bow and arrows must be strong to control the bow, patient to let the arrow fly at the right moment, and in quiet focus. Okay so much of that I flubbed or made mistakes with. Still when I look at this icon I get the feeling that life is stronger and so am I. Indeed, today I know she was the best choice, I am positive just looking at her.

Trusting

~Charlotte January 20, 2009~

I’ve had a bad run of trusting for a long time. Some people say it’s all in my head. Some people say, hey, you’re blinded, what could you know for certain? All I know is that I’m getting over the reason I even considered to trusting, ever again.

I had swells of deep contentment, love whispered on my lips, and a hand touching my face; all of that has left. Tears want to fall but I defy their choice that makes me appear weak. I am secure in knowing I will remain alright.

For me there will not be trusting. I’ve always felt the cold stare at the playground. Home life was filled with fear. Don’t make me trust you. Don’t make me trust you. Tell me I don’t have to trust, and then maybe I will. At lease give me a choice.

Weathermen are always wrong: “Well, maybe some snow, maybe a little snow, mostly cold and frost, snow is always possible.

A positively silly blog

(I'm in the wrong blog! Wtf?)


Miss Daisy Duck crinkled her left eyebrow and winked at the “Donald”.

Donald spoke up then, “You silly duck, why are you winking at me? I need some quackers, do we have any quackers?”

“Sure we do, Donald; come over here and I’ll give you a nice big quack!” She winked again. ;)

Okay a silly joke I made up so I could write a silly blog. The point for me is to stay positive. And this is okay today.

It’s hard for me to talk negative when I’m thinking (and winking) positive. I get serious and then stop winking. No, no, give me back my duck! Give me my positive life.

Do I care what anyone thinks about me anymore? Absolutely not! I like being a private, serious, happy, person. Yes, I am nuts too, but I like it. When you read my profile, that’s really who I am! I would not have anyone mislead, but I think I have been blown out of proportion. In a polite way…I love it when one of you says: “what is she thinking?”

Originally I opened this space to write. Just to write stuff without following some sort of pattern. I did not choose to blog, as in “a journal of postings concerning an on-going daily account.” I chose to be a writer, and basically I have just been “goofing off”.

Looking back I see where I had developed a different perspective. I changed my direction from where I was in September 2008. Today I find myself facing a decision I need to make for myself. To stay where I’m at or go back to the “profile” person I still am?

So in order to maintain positive anticipation I’ve called out my ducks to give me a bit of a laugh at it all. My ducks don’t know about mental distress. They figure everyone gets a bit “daffy.” (I hope you know Daisy, Donald and Daffy Duck.) I am feeling very positive right now. Losing the fear of another anxiety attack happening is freedom. Pure bliss and my ducks are on the pond. Smile for the photo finish. Quack….quack…quacks. A positively silly blog!

(dedicated to David)

Drawing

I've been drawing for a long time. Every subject, every face, any place, and plain old space whenever I get the chance, Until within the last six months or so, I've hadn't had the head together to do it. I have Fibromyalgia; when the fog rolls in, my brain rolls out.

Hopefully I salvaged my drawings the other day when my computer took a big hit from a virus. The
computer is sitting on the floor waiting for me to get back to run diagnostics again. I am going to give this my best shot.

On this "newer" computer, hand me down I have completed two drawings just for fun. It seems to distract me from "obssessing over my losses of the other hard drive. Like a kid, I want to kick, scream and rant about it, but it doesn't help. Taking action to try and solve the problems gives me a great feeling that I'm doing something I need for me.

Kick some leaves

A friend and I were hanging out the other day. She asked, “how is it that some trees loose their leaves while others are covered for almost all winter?’”

I think I gave some scientific answer like: “hmm, maybe they’re just different trees.”

We had a good laugh while continuing our journey around the smallish neighborhood we haunt; only now we were tree watching. A nice crisp chill was in the air and each bound in and out of the vehicle brought an icy feel to our cheeks.

Those leaves lay there tempting us. The wind would send top layers scurrying as bottom layers remained in place from a shower the day before. They crunched beneath our feet and the release of a nutty flavor with each crunch arose to our noses.

Sometimes life is that simple. I see something today that I did not notice yesterday! Like trees that are beautiful in the fall, whose leaves do not drop at all. Maybe we’ll go kick some leaves.

Still Looking...

Trying to find something I can afford and still exist otherwise is proving to be tough.
This little charmer was recommended as "the best buy of the sea", and "best by the sea." But I'm thinking: "it's not the best for me."

Oh I love to hear the roar of the ocean and watch those walls of waves come crashing through to the shore...? I'm exillarated by glancing out a second story window watching sharks at play? I'm moved to tears as scores of playful dolphins race around the base of the framing?

My concern is: does it have a stove that works? No stove? Still looking.

a hard drive

Many of you who follow my blog know I have a bit of trouble driving on the road. In a quick summary, I hit a dog, felt terrible, developed a Post traumatic shock disorder thing; little or no driving in about seven years. Devastating yes, but today is different.

The hard drive to my computer was viciously attacked by spy ware that promised to save me after it attacked me. How cold hearted is that? For the first time in my life I wished I could find a big bug and drop it in “their” site. I spent three and half hours trying desperately to get free, and save my precious hard drive.

I’d like to find their address so I could send my request for compensation of them, losing for me, over 500 posts, articles or blogs (what ever you call them is fine by me.). I lost approximately 384 photos. I lost all of my children’s stories. Lost the only Christmas story I ever wrote. Everything on that hard drive: four blogs, three wikizines! Time to get a usb; run them on hard copy print, and you know what?

After I calmed a down a bit, I felt like going for a drive around the block. At 10:30 pm where do you go? I sat in my little van and played the only radio station that’s received (no joke.) Got out, slammed the door and started setting up the new used computer that’s been waiting for me in the dining room to give it a test drive. Yes sir, a hard drive there too. I’m still loading stuff in.

Giving it time

It looked so cold, the water black
bumped next to banks with large white drifts.
Where would my mind go?
I’d like to take one of those colorful boats
bump on down the river, not a doubt, not a shiver.
Where would my mind go?
Frost on top and limbs covered so completely
smallish birds that chirped so sweetly.
I was giving it time.
Where would my mind go?
I was giving it time.

The last time was just long ago...

In March of 2001 I traveled to my beloved beach three or so hours away. It would be cold, wind blowing down on the shore, with waves crashing loudly. I would sit there as long as I could stand, pencil in hand, sketching everything around me. Seaweed washed up in the foam, tiny crabs bubbling in the wet sand, and the wonder: the curious seagull. At the end of my day I would take my sketches back to the place I was staying and paint, on canvas: “the catch of the day.”

By the fall of 2001 I had finished therapy and felt elated to finally be free. No more appointments, no more traffic into town, and no more prescription medications. I was so totally free. I felt the urge to be charitable. Yes, share the joy. Share my joy.

I made a plan to give some money to my uncle, a very sweet person. I had asked what he would do if he had (______) amount of money. He had immediate answers. I handed him the envelope and together we cried knowing that his life would improve too, from my shattered past. Two improved lives moving on. Normally I would not want to share any charity, keeping the information deep inside to remain humble. I reveal this only because of the depth I plunged to within a few moments later.

Leaving his home I traveled to look at a van parked in a yard that I thought to purchase. I was almost there when a beautiful Malamute came charging across my path. An Alaskan breed of dog used for pulling sleds. So incredibly large and gorgeous with a totally free expression on it’s face. It was like he had never tasted freedom. He’d run from a house across the street when someone accidentally opened the front door. No collar, no tags, just that wide open run straight in front of my vehicle. If only I could convey how happy it looked, to be free.

I was in a Grand Prix, low rider, it was awful. I sat on the side of the road and cried, shaking uncontrollably. I could see people but I couldn’t hear them. I did hear the police ask, and then begged me to leave. They were afraid the owner would shoot me; running around with a revolver in his hand. At that point in time I wish he would have. I wasn’t feeling well. I felt responsible for taking the life of the most beautiful creature I had ever seen; eyes were the same color as mine. So I’m crying thinking… I just did a good thing, why did a bad thing happen?

I bought the van two weeks later and it stayed mostly parked for almost five years. Driving became quite scary. I was so busy double and triple checking my surroundings that the muscles in the neck and shoulder would tighten. A friend came along and has been driving ever since.

Now it is time for change. It is time for me to re-think what I’m missing. I miss the ocean, and it just may be the one thing that inspires me to take the plunge and rejoin the driving world. So every day I go out somewhere and tell myself I will drive again on a regular basis. My good friend has helped a lot and will continue until I am ready. The last time wasn’t the “last” time; it was just a long time ago. We anticipate good things to come.

Angel

In a dark light I stood between two worlds, one below and one above; one full of pain, self-rejection. The above hovered nearer and nearer until I could feel its love. A strong positive rush of warm air circulated and wings began to unfurl; six beautiful wings I had. And they were light and bright and my peace swelled as each feather detached from the cares of this other world. This other world which sought to hold me down; sought to daily fill me with negative blood for circulating and coursing through my veins. A poison so strong I would require others to help me reach release.

A light from behind me began acting as a dryer for the new dampened wings. They lifted more and more as the light shone brighter against my back. I reached out in the dark, arms first, then each pair of wings separately. Three glorious pairs of wings, what was I indeed?

I remembered, as a child at seven years old, meeting the three angels in my backyard. One spoke, one wrote, one continually smiled, but I did not know anything more about them. We communicated mind to mind, but I did not know what that was about either. Sometimes I still hear them. Though I have not been able to see them, I hope to some day. I would like to know what they told me, as I have forgotten.

My wings completely dry I begin to rise and move freely. I can move away from the negatively now. The other world appears dark to me now and is disappearing even as I watch it. The world of promise and positive living is warm and draws me near. I go. I go.

I am going to start listening to me!

What better person to tell me when to wake up, when to eat, when to go outside, when to shut off this computer, when to ride my bike, and on…. People all around me do this everyday, living. I haven’t been living but existing.

I have many friends in my computer world but have lost touch with my outside world and have dwindled down to one friend I stay in contact with. What am I thinking? I have to stop. When I am able to see people I could take advantage of the moment. There is nothing and no-one to tell me, “no,” besides me.

When I don’t listen to me I get wrapped up in listening to others. Because I have a mental cognitive issue and a past history of self-abuse, I get lost in the “world” of another person, hoping to leave my own behind. I fantasize about what I want before looking at the logistics. Then unfortunately due to my lack of self-knowledge I hurt another and another, and on…

This past history of self-abuse started out with my being abused by adults. Yes, adults telling their children strange rules they must obey or suffer their mother’s death or the fires of hell. Pure sickness that drives children to madness; but they don’t see it. It’s corporeal punishment time. Stand in line for the belt or bring me a limb from that tree… and this is the polite stuff. The other abuse is horrible and I cannot go into it here.

This morning I began to make notes of the life I want. Since the one I have is not it, I allow myself to dream a bit. I’m listening to what I want for myself in order to be a healthy thinking person; in time, a healthy thinking friend to insiders and outsiders.

I’m returning to professional therapy, having really “recognized” a behavior pattern I’ve had for years; forever? It is serious and I find I cannot live with this behavior any longer. I hope to avoid medications but at this writing I am willing to do whatever it takes to stop this behavior. Other than this,I like me. I like a lot of what I already am, moving toward liking all of me.

Flight 1549 New York to Charlotte

[[On one of the coldest days of the year, a passenger jet carrying more than 150 people was forced to make a water landing in the frigid Hudson River. US Airways flight 1549, with 150 passengers and five crew members, crashed into waters just west of Manhattan after taking off from LaGuardia Airport en route to Charlotte, N.C. "I was driving down 72nd Street [on the west side of Manhattan], and I saw the plane falling, falling," one eyewitness, Spiro Ketahs, told TIME. When it hit the Hudson, he said, the water gushed like a volcano. Said Adam Weiner, an employee at MTV who saw the accident from his midtown Manhattan office building: "I was sitting in a conference room on the 39th floor, facing the window. All of a sudden I see a plane gliding into a river. At first I didn't realize what I was seeing. Then spray went up, and you could tell it was a jetliner. Then a couple seconds after, the door blew off and you could see the raft blow up." from Time News 1-17-09]]

It’s always a bit unnerving when news of any plane crashing comes on the news. The people of my home town are no different, maybe a bit more worried. We’re not a large city so it’s easy to know someone, or someone’s relative, who might have been on the plane.

I listen for the chatter but there is none. The stores are quiet as everyone waits to hear the news. At the local diner(s) all I hear are clanking silverware or glassware. Everyone is listening to hear something and I listen too. But I hate silence. I could wait no longer.

“Hello, where are you?” I asked my friend, via a private line.
“Driving as hard as I can go to New York; yes, that’s my team, same team… again.”

For a moment we traveled back in time to September 13, 2001, when the silence was too deafening again. At that time she was driving as hard as she could go to New York. Her team in World Trade Center Tower 1 had decided not to go back inside after given an “all clear” signal from Tower operators on September 11, 2001

Well wishes to the Bank of America Team and my hard driving friend! See you at the airport again.

There

There’s nothing I want to write about; could give a damn about anything this minute. Maybe I will the time you read this. But I refuse to delete it once I drop it in. Why because I do that so much that people now wait to make a comment after the post has been hanging up for two days. Really I cannot blame them either. I mean, you work to figure out the perfect comment and go back to place it and the damn post is gone. What’s that about?

It’s about a writer experiencing fear of losing my mind and not being able to get it out before I explode or implode. One makes a bigger mess, I guess.

I have no subject I want to write about so I’m rambling. If you don’t like it go some place else today because this is my moment of zaniness. I’ll come to your blogspot and read your zaniness.

I want to win. I want to win. I want to win. I am fighting with everything I’ve got. I will win. I will win. I will win. I will because I want to win. I was meant to win. I was meant to have a life that I love.

This week I will be designing my new life. Item by item. Step by step. Positive thought by positive thought. Layer upon layer of love.

I grew up alone. I don’t mind living alone. I would like to visit people occasionally. Occasionally someone might like to visit me. Life on life’s terms only happily living my life. You will see. I will write blogs and show photos of my new home. And you’ll say: “Remember when she wrote that strange rambling post about...”

What are your thoughts?

I opened an email to find a cutesy little flower with bears adorning the edges. Ah, life without “E” cards, where would we be? Yet, there was an element of truth that the message could be right:

"Be kinder than necessary, for everyone you meet is fighting some kind of battle!"


Most of my twenties were spent care-free. Of course the occasional marriage did upset a few things. My thirties were drugged and not much can be remembered. My forties started off right but hit a snag when I had a mental health melt-down. Today and I don’t feel so inclined to share where I’m at, but everyone I know may be fighting some kind of battle. So it’s possible that everyone I “meet” is too. My own history shows I wasn’t exactly focusing on anyone else having a battle. Now I feel a bit wiser, possibly more aware of my surroundings.

What are your thoughts?

How do I apologise for not knowing then, what I know now?

I used to call myself a writer and was proud of my accomplishments. In my zeal to help others feel good about their writing I have torn my self to bits. I have done this to my self. No help; like I was ashamed to be considered any good. What is wrong with me? Why do I do that?

Time has marched on and I met some really great friends and again I start telling myself I don’t deserve such friends. Are you beginning to see a pattern? Yeah, so am I. Only it’s taken me years to really get this far.

Lately I think of what I want from life and how happy that would make me. The next minute I’m in anguish trying to find solutions to get my dreams materializing. Today the place at the beach got flushed. My niece is selling her home and moving to Sweden. No, can’t buy it, lots of money needed for that one.

My entire life cannot be one big “boo-boo” right now can it? A friend of mine reminded me that according to the “Changes 12-step program” “feelings are not facts.” These feelings hurt, so am I being hurt by invisible assassins?

For the last three months I’ve heavily relied on people to help me understand; some more than others. I don’t feel like playing a dying martyr to my own death so I’m challenging myself to find more solutions and new ones for the ones that have evaporated.

I’m returning to writing. If I move I’ll let you know. If I have great friends they’ll show up here when they can. When I get divorced I’ll throw a party. And when I flush those feelings I’ll be back to being dcrelief!!

A Snow Crystal

This is a snow crystal that has had a blue coloring put on it so we can see the different parts that each one has. Photographed under an extremely magnified resolution we see sights most people never see.

I immediately thought of the opening and closing scenes of “The Grinch”; life on a snowflake, a snow crystal. Almost looks like something mechanical. Small wonder the things that fall from on high resemble stuff we build down here. Kind of resembles an old engine dropped down out of a vehicle.

What does that have to do with my life and my blog world? The smallest things can still make me say “ah,” and I am free to write about them. Maybe you’ll say, “ah.” All together now: “ahhhhh.”

Little Steps

Lately I've been taking little steps
to improve an area that really wants to bother me.
Yet those little steps
keep me strong
walking on
in the direction I want and need to go.
For tonight's meditation on peacefulness
I'll light my first candle for my peace of mind.

I'll light the second candle for you.

He didn't go to Jared's

"My Country is Winter"

Quebec, Canada

The Canadian Snow Sculpture Team

Click on the link to see her blow snowflakes!!

http://www.snowsculpture.com/

Another little place to cherish

When I count the number of times I’ve moved I feel sad to have invested time only to lose it later. Yet when I count the reasons for leaving each place, moving to another little place, I know I did what I thought best for me. So again I shall be moving to another little place.

Arrangements are incomplete like most things in my life. I have eight projects but I’m actively working on three of the eight. This past weekend I picked a project for fun; pure, simple fun. At least I’m trying not to take myself and life so seriously. In the back of my mind there’s a voice that says: “C’mon, just have some laughter in your life. Where’s your sense of humour? Where’s the play?” Everything is fine until another voice says: “Excuse me but we have eight projects? Hmm?”

Too many voices, no more Pepsi for me; “Muhuhahaha” has taken the forefront and is planning to move. (You go girl.) She’s flipping coins, she’s packing stuff, she’s making a list and checking it twice… you know that one right?!

Are there any of you that sit here faithfully, reading my blogs, and wonder if there’s anything more to me than tapping on a keyboard? No? Then go to the next paragraph. If yes, continue reading here >. When I moved to this little place the green grass is the two photos did not exist. The yards were solid, hard orange clay! The grass in the front yard is beautiful, though there’s no photo here. So I took plugs every year for three years and transplanted them to the back yard. They almost stay green all year now. This has been my favorite little spot. None of the furniture is worn out because I’m usually the only one using it. Everyone has gotten busy, busy, and busier. Somehow this fact makes it easier for me to move now.

Another little place is on the horizon. Will I invest in its life? Of course because an investment in its life is an investment in mine; another little place to cherish.

The most loved and the most loving family member

When I was very young my parents found a dog and brought him home. He was part terrier and cocker spaniel; we loved this little dog and “Whiskers” became our hero, our best friend, our out in the rain, sleet, snow and hail buddy. Wherever we went, he went. No need to tell about the time he and I got into a box of fresh fried chicken? And that time we got sick headaches from eating ice cream too fast? And certainly not about that year we dressed him up as a vampire for Halloween so we’d collect more candy? Yes, we were shameless.

Eventually “Whiskers” passed on which brings me to the point of this blog. He was just like a person to me. In fact he was the most loved, and the most-loving, family member. What would I do without him?

One day not long after “Whiskers” death I was driving through the countryside and thought I saw him running with children through a field of flowers. I was so sure; I pulled my car over, and watched this dog for quite a while. Then it dawned on me: if I were the energy or essence of “Whiskers” I would want to come back and have more children to enjoy my life with! In that instant I knew that just because he was gone from my sight, did not mean he was gone forever. I wanted him to live with children. I wanted him to have the best life he could. He would want the same for me. He would want the same for me.

Post Script: D.S. my love and quiet meditations offer strength and positive thoughts to you and your loved ones. Embrace the energy or essence of what your loved one gave you and share it with others in your own way, in your own time. My warm wishes to you, dcrelief

a holiday interlude

Muhuhahaha!

Solutions

“The idea is to admit and accept that you're experiencing mental distress and that something needs to change. It is better to try and focus on solutions rather than letting the problem(s) overwhelm us.”

The above quote is from the Changes 12 step Program of England. I looked at that quote and realized the hundreds of times I have tripped over the words and actually preformed the action in reverse. Did it work in reverse? No, because I sat in the problem. By not looking for a solution I kept traveling in a circle. What made me stop? I got tired of having some pain one afternoon.

I had no control over my emotional pain. Like the bunny with the batteries, I just kept going, and going, and going. The batteries ran down in an exhaustive heap and I cried the rest of the week. Big sobs, crocodile tears, I was really incredibly sad. Then I remembered that, “there could be a solution.” Imagine that, a whole week went by before I remembered to look for a solution. I knew one thing. I didn’t want to sit in my problem, that long, or ever again.

My life is a bit different today. My gratitude speaks when I share what I’ve learned from others with others. For every problem there’s a solution.

Steps

I joined a twelve step program and yet I’m a bit confused. At any given time I can be working on several steps and several problems and suddenly they come together solved.

See the photo? Some days that’s how it feels to be navigating my brain. But that’s progress. Shhh; don’t tell anyone. I think I like this.

Moving the Bugaboos

In my life there have times when despair seemed to be my middle name. Crazy ideas hung out in my left ear, twisted ones lived in my right ear; bugaboos moved in everywhere and I was depressed, down trodden, and feeling yucky.

The stuff had lived for so long in my head; they were now taking over my heart. What could I do to make them stop bothering me? I sat and listened to my personal resources. Those happy things I like to do to keep me from dwelling on sad and ugly stuff. (Like writing, painting, drawing, photographing, and playing on my computer.) I also typed to friends in a certain portal that offers some mental health coping skills.

Then one day I listened as a resource friend talked about her project that keeps happy events at hand. It gives her comfort and helps change her attitude. I could do something like that, I thought. A “happy box” or whatever it was. Only I was going to do a sad and ugly file on my computer. Slowly and carefully I would begin to remove every negative emotion that gave me a problem. I would stay positive by giving all the thoughts a nice-looking home.

So I found this photo that I’d had for a long time. I know it’s the imaginary play land of “Harry Potter”. No problem, this was my choice to send the old bad bugaboos to. So now I have a computer file I call “Hogwarts” and it even has sub-folders inside.
Really bad stuff goes to where the snake lived. Partly scary goes to Prof. Snape. Happy, but obsessive stuff goes to those crazy doors and stairways. That’s it. They all live in there as soon as I find one in my head! Nobody has been banished to the woods but you never know; it could happen. Muhuhahaha.

(dedicated to: d.s.)

Tiny Tyke suffers abuse from Head Penguin

Allo! Alistair Cookie here. Today I bring you a scathing tale of terrors. A narration so horrific, you will not believe… well let’s begin.

As many of you already know there are many holidays celebrated in the last month of every year. (Yes, it is already troubling me that I’ll have decades to experience this!) As per our schedule, Mom and I went to the shopping mall. You remember the big building with all of those stores and the Santa that no one noticed? (Ew) Yes that place, only this time, every shop was decorated. Hmm, they call it decorated. It was a frightening affair with lights of every color, bows, trims, balls, bells, and stuff I won’t know until next year. (Can someone save me from this?)

I call this place “Moms’ Mall” because of the huge amount of Moms that shop there. This time of year there are also Moms’ Moms. Oh it’s a big thing, this holiday super duper gimme time. Little tykes like me can end up sitting for hours on end in our strollers waiting for our Moms to finish grabbing packages! Then the packages end up dumped in my lap. Oh yes, make the tyke responsible for Aunt Martha’s peach cologne; a-a-a-achoo!

Just when I think it’s over where does Mom take me? Oh my yes, it’s the “Penguin Palace” dressed up in blue this year with pastel snowflakes and penguins of all sizes. Well, all of my problems are solved. (What photograph?) A terrible thing has occurred. My Mom wants a photo taken while I sit in a little scooter in front of the Penguin Place. (Didn’t we just go through this a couple of weeks back with the guy in red? Wait, did you say ”scooter”?)

Battery operated, the latest “Hasbro” and suddenly I felt that I could do one of those TV spots. (“Want to have fun; this is the one, drive ‘lil tyke bike.”) The head penguin placed me on the scooter with every intention of guiding my every move, but I carefully maneuvered my foot over his hand and, oops, there I went…………..*

The photo you see is of me, as I passed the backside of the Penguin Place for the second time. Oh joy of joy, I thought. Keep a good charge on your scooter and it shall serve you well. Hold on I’ll be back around and tell you the horrors of today’s narration.

Third pass and they yanked me off of the scooter. It crashed, I cried, and then seven more tykes cried. I could not believe they gave me that scooter and then took it back. What’s wrong with these people?