Far From Nothing

One of my favorite networks is The Red Room. It's slow-moving and quiet, but I actually have more views there of my member page, than anywhere else. So I wrote a blurb entitled, "A Writer's Goal - No Regrets," just for The Red Room. 

This brought a comment from "a Southern writer whose work explores the connections between deeper universal truths and the daily moments of our lives" (her own description) which reminded me of, well...me. That meant I had to look at the blog of Marissa Mullins. 

When I visited, I read "A Post About Nothing" from March 7th, where Marissa poses personal social issues that concern many of us at times. Of course, just that alone would make her post Far From Nothing. The following are my somewhat disjointed comments I left on her site (with a few minor edits), which may stir up your curiosity just enough to click on her link also, Paucis Verbis (Latin, transl. in a few words).

(At the time of this writing, Marissa is unaware that I decided to promote her, but I did thank her for inspiring today's post. Little did she know what she was getting herself into when she commented so beautifully on my Red Room post.) 

These are my comments, meant to both inspire and challenge ~

It appears to be true that those who choose the path that caters *not* to greed and over-desire are small in number, and are seeming to become even less as time goes on. In some ways, they're just harder to notice because the Charlie Sheens and the Mel Gibsons of the world simply stand out so overly-much.
 

When people have become complacent or 
frustrated from living without answers, often 
they will buckle, bend or break to the strain. 
Some are simply stronger than others - that 
doesn't make them better, smarter or right - 
just stronger (and only in some areas).

All people crave to be filled within the deep crevices of their souls with some sort of fulfillment where they can be at peace. The knowledge of God and what He does for a person can satisfy that yearning; but even that awareness and understanding comes in so many different flavors, people have a hard time deciding which one.

To help people, there first has to be a mutually recognized want and need. Remember, you can lead a horse to water, but you can't make him drink it. The key? A mutually recognized want and need. A very wise person once said that need is defined as the space between where someone is now and where they want to be. No space? Then there is no want, and therefore, no need.  All of us need-meet-ers should be mature and wise enough to accept this - at least in theory.  

And, I might add, that those on the receiving end of a need-meet-er's generosity, should be allowed the freedom to get on with living their lives as they see fit... however lacking we feel they may be... yes, even if it's our significant other. And that's definitely, Far From Nothing :~)

What Am I Made Of?

At times I need to stop long enough to simply remind myself of what I'm made of. No stories or anecdotes. No poignant universal truths. Just a glimpse at the chewy caramel center of who I believe I am - (also posted on my Facebook, About You):

There is no person on earth who fails to intrigue me, and thereby touches my soul in some significant way :~) [Each person holds many gems - I like collecting gems.]

When I'm asked: Why do you do the things that you do? Then I reply: Through the years I have learned that my friends don't need an explanation, and the rest wouldn't understand even if I gave them one! [And, I afford my friends the same privilege - no hypocrisy.]

Quite often people seem to take me way too seriously... probably because I often speak with a lot of conviction and passion. Actually, I'm much more like a young willow: I bend and don't easily break... and when a storm blows in, I'm still standing after the dust settles. [Humor always helps - on both sides.]

The results of an IQ test I once took called me a Visionary Philosopher. I would tend to agree. I believe in living with no regrets and always seeing the bigger picture... the one that involves eternal verities. This keeps my life simple and makes it possible for me to love others. [I crave and easily follow anyone's vision when it contributes to individuals becoming a vital part of the bigger picture that all of eternity holds.]

Do you know what you're made of? Have you put it in writing? Please, take the time to read it aloud to yourself... just every once in awhile :~)

Without

I now live life
Without
So many things:
Without
Unhappiness
Without
Great heaviness
Without
Hate's cold embrace
Without
Indifference
Without
Prejudice, and
Without
Those small regrets.

 (Written from Lisa Cihlar's prompt "small regrets or small egrets - your choice.")

Meg's She Writer Blogger Ball Redux

...hosted once again by the Author of the best selling novel, The Wednesday Sisters, and approaching the release of her 3rd book on March 22nd, The Four Ms. Bradwells, say "hi!" to Meg Waite Clayton at her blog, 1st Books: Stories of How Writers Get Started, by clicking on the little bookcase:

While you're in that neck of the woods, you may want to look over the posted list of other bloggers at the "Ball Redux," and drop by their sites as well, leaving a comment or two as you pass through.

And for all my fellow She Writes' Bloggers ~ "Hello, and welcome to my pond!" Please, allow me to introduce my lovely koi to you (left to right): Bacall, Shadow, Bogie, Fuego, Azul and Wasabi (the white one in back).

As long as I have your attention, do take a look around. You actually might enjoy reading yesterday's post, "I'm Not Heavy...It's My Heart," or, written a week earlier in a little more humorous vein, "Moose Face!" Let me know what you think and maybe I'll see you around the Ballroom floor :~)

I'm Not Heavy... It's My Heart

Heaviness comes in different sized packages with a vast array of trimmings. But no matter what the shape or content, it will make an individual feel small, and at times, insignificant. It is really nice to know there is a way to remedy it.

                       Heaviness in the heart of man maketh it stoop: 

                                 but a good word maketh it glad.

Quite some time ago, I was given the challenge of learning how to lay fresh sod. I had to travel on the back of a flatbed truck to the sod site, load the rolls onto the truck, ride back to the landscape site, unload and roll out the sod, then carefully tuck in all the seams. There was one tiny detail I hadn't given any thought to - the area had just endured one of its worst torrential downpours in years! 

I had to draw on a lot of my core principles that day - like mental stamina and how to pace myself. The sod was very heavy. It took 2 to 3 people just to load and unload each and every roll! By the end of the day, my mud-caked boots and throbbing legs were telling me that plodding through mud was far more than just a cliche.

That was the same year (my early 40's) when I had the opportunity to snowshoe for the first time - with a 15-20 pound day pack at nearly 10,000 feet in the Colorado Rockies. "What a blast!" I thought...until I discovered how much snow accumulates on top of each snowshoe after every 3 or 4 steps. No biggy. You just shake your foot to flip it off and keep moving.

Unless, of course, the snow happens to be ultra-sticky.

That little day pack began to feel terribly heavy after navigating a couple thousand feet of steep uphill terrain, causing my entire body to bend forward, stooping under the "load." Finally, my shortness of breath convinced me. I wasn't just carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders, but like the mythical Atlas, it was the entire celestial sphere!

I recovered from both of those adventures in pretty much the same way - by indulging myself with a lingering steam bath and cool-down shower, followed by a scrumptious meal, and a night of leisure with a good movie and my closest friends. There were lots of good words being shared about what I had accomplished, making my heart quite glad and proud of myself.

Yet the plodding in mud is felt by everyone at different times. The toil, and at times the drudge in life - as if painfully tramping through mire and wet. Or perhaps it's the weight of the world that's felt - being burdened with too much responsibility for a single person to bare. We may not always have the opening to make a heart glad with a good word, but I believe I have found the next best thing...

                                          The Value of a Smile

                                                       ~ Anonymous

My Daughter & her Friend

It costs nothing, but creates much.

It happens in a flash,

And the memory sometimes lasts forever.

It cannot be bought, begged, borrowed or stolen,

And it is of no earthly good to anyone,

Until it is given away.

So, if in your hurry and rush,

                                          You meet someone who is too weary

                                          To give you a smile -- leave one of yours.

                                          For there is no one on earth who needs a smile

                                          Quite as much as he who has none left to give.

Challenge the Pond-er

Here's a good way to challenge *me.* ~ 

(Please note: This is assuming you are a member of Facebook...hhhmmmm)

Pick one of my *Likes* from this link: Pond-er's fb Page. For more than just the 5 featured ones in the sidebar, click on Info, located below the picture. Then, let me know what you chose by sharing it on my Pond-er wall...and if you like my page, there's a button for that, too :~) 

Now, let's see if I will have a story to tell about it - to post on my blog. I'll let you know if I picked yours by leaving a comment on my Wall, under your post. And besides, there's always a fun or challenging moral to all my posts (well, almost always) - to tuck away for some motivated moment in time :~)

Moose-face!!

To get the full effect of my story I'm about to share, first I need to direct you to the Healing Morning blog, Can I Get an Alien? Go on...click the link and enjoy the ride.

Now, here's the expanded version of the comment I made concerning the Alien...

My husband and I had this happen in the first year of our marriage...nearly 25 years ago I might add. Ours is "moose-face." It was said (or thought to have been said) aloud by my hubby in the middle of a terribly intense argument.

I could swear he called me - out of the blue - a moose-face. When I exclaimed, "What d'ya mean, I'm a moose-face!!" he couldn't figure out why I (that's right - I was supposed to be the culprit) suddenly brought up the word moose-face.

"Moose-face?" he retorted, "Why'd you call me a moose-face!"

Quickly and vehemently I replied, "I didn't call you a moose-face! You're the one who called *me* one!!"

He yelled, "When did I ever call YOU a moose-face?!!"

Shocked at his question, I shouted back at him, "Just now!"

In disbelief he cried out, "I was only repeating what YOU said!"

It soon was like the old Abbott and Costello routine Who's on first? - only with mega-volume, in a car parked next to a public park, and late at night.

But, in only a matter of another minute or two, we had completely stopped arguing and had begun to laugh sooo hard we were crying - trying desperately to catch our breaths. To this day, when that word pops up in conversation, we end up ROFLOAO, even as do our friends who've heard us tell the story many times.

We never did figure out what word he actually said that night. It didn't seem to matter. And, we still cannot - for the life of us - recall what we were arguing about in the first place. Does it matter?

It's nice, though, to be reminded of these things, because humor indeed relieves pressure and makes life a lot more worth living :~)

Impact of a Tiny Impression

Near the end of our four days of minuets (i.e.the She Writes blog hop) I met Julie, who has a really nice blog, What Else is Possible? Long story short, she chose my blog along with 14 others, for the One Lovely Blog Award. Thank you Julie!

This is my first recognition of this type, so of course I had to put it in my sidebar, right? Right. And when this writing becomes one of my "Older Posts," and readers will no longer be able to easily access her link, they'll still be able to discover the wonderful person who gave me my first award - because clicking on that sidebar image will take them to her site. Cool, huh!

Here are the rules for this award:

• Accept the award by posting it on your blog together with the name of the person who granted the award and their blog link.
• Pass the award on to other blogs that you have newly discovered. 
• Contact each of those bloggers to let them know they have been chosen for this award.

If you're wondering what all of this has to do with the title of this post, you'll need to read the one I posted on Feb. 17th: Tiny Impression With an Impact. If you still don't understand this title after reading the other post, then please write to me...I check my comments every day...even when I don't publish a post :~)

And here are the recipients of this "One Lovely Blog Award" from me:

 1.  While the Dervish Dances
 2.  The Slight Detour
 3.  OEBooks
 4.  Janel's Jumble
 5.  Anne K. Albert
 6.  Anglers Rest
 7.  A Few of My Favorite Things
 8.  Margaret Atwood: Year of the Flood
 9.  Mary Akers
10. Mystic Mom
11. Lessons from the Monk I Married
12. Healing Morning
13. Good To Grow
14. The Feminist Breeder
15. The Riddle of Writing

P.S. Just don't ask me what happened to the comment box on this particular post (??) It's a *v-e-r-y* long story, but long story short, it's gone.

Tiny Impression With an Impact

Welcome to all She Writers!

Such a splendid idea initiated by Meg Waite Clayton (her newest book, The Four Ms. Bradwells, to be released this March) for the She Writes' bloggers to have a "blog hop" or "group ball." Why do I say that? Because visiting one another's blog sites is very much like a dance. 

Writers, coming together, lightly touching...with words...as if each were moving in time to some inaudible minuet by Mozart. Passively engaging, pausing...turning...now forward, and back...then quietly, fading...away.  

And finally, all is still, as if it never was - except, perhaps, the lasting impression left by a single comment that piques the memory of that brief yet often bittersweet interlude.

Imagine, for a moment, the impact it might have if every time I visited another's blog, I paused long enough to leave my mark in the sand - a tiny impression that I was there - a comment, or "Hi, just passing thru," or even just a :~) That single tiny impression may be all that writer needs for encouragement, motivation, inspiration, or to challenge what they know how to do best.

And for a writer, doing what we do best is...to write :~) 

For the list of other She Writes' bloggers dancing this weekend, please click here.

Conversation With Self

Ego:  Not writing lately?
Id:      Can't get into it since I fell.
Ego:  Still recovering?
Id:      Honestly, it's quite hard to tell.
Ego:  Is it writer's block?
Id:      Nope, lots to say - maybe a quell.
Ego:  A little moody?
Id:      Could be? Who knows?! What the--? Hell's bells!
Ego:  Ahh...next week, perhaps?

Super-ego: Enough with all the questions!!
                                                                       ...'k?

Slow Time Down, Jam Things Up, and Often Start Over

This morning I felt like my days were getting by me unnoticed, and time slipping right through the proverbial fingertips, when a nostalgic tag line came to mind:

         Like sands through the hourglass, 
         so are the days of our lives.

My memory told me I first heard these words filtering through the air when I was a young child, intently building a house of tiny bricks on our family room floor. But memory cannot always be trusted. Apparently, this statement was first used in 1965 by television announcer, Ed Prentiss, for the dramatic serial debut of Days of Our Lives.  This means I had already taken a big intimidating bite into my teen years when my mom began to faithfully watch that show.

What a vivid picture for my young mind! I did not want my life to just slip away like those sands. Those words were just a simple simile, but I rebutted them as if they were allegorically true: What if some grains of sand were a little bigger than the others, wouldn't that cause them to slow down or even jam going through that narrow opening? And besides, hourglasses are turned over when they're done; you just start over. I knew my life would be different. I would slow time down, jam things up, and often start over.

By slowing time down, I actually fit a lot more into my life. Have you ever had a day where you felt that so much happened, it was like living an entire week in one day...in a good way? When I plan my day way ahead of it arriving, I really do slow time down.

But planning a full day also means things can get bottled up - jammed at the gooseneck, so to speak - when even one part doesn't go...as planned. Have you ever had something take 3 hours to complete, that should've only taken half an hour? Some of those other great plans I had for that day will simply have to be placed on hold. But that's okay, since I know how to slow time down.

Then there's the uneventful kind of day where nothing gets accomplished, nothing happens, and it just seems to go by unnoticed. Ever have any of those? If I have two or more in one week, let alone back to back (yikes!). Well, that's where I've got to just flip the hourglass and start over.

Actually, I love "overs." Overs is like hitting erase, only better. There is absolutely no trace, no residue, from what was there before. Memory? Ah heck, you can't totally trust it anyway.

Both my husband and I *love* to do overs. When it's something pretty serious, we even add a "pinky shake" just to seal our agreement. It's a pretty smooth arrangement that works quite well for us.

When it comes to just me though, I seem to always forget I can do overs. But today?... Today, I remembered. Today was an overs kind of day... just for me :~)

A True Critic

Po Bronson co-wrote the book Nurture Shock, and after reading his Red Room blog of Jan 19, 2011, I’ve concluded that I can’t critique what he’s written. Why? Because I haven’t raised kids myself, where it worked out great, and then endeavored to write about it. 

Doing things the wrong way and realizing it didn’t work, doesn’t make anyone an authority on a subject. Henry Ford observed the way automobiles were being made and knew it wasn’t working. But it wasn’t until he actually came up with the solution of an assembly line method of production, and proved that it worked, that his way became the standard for comparison. 

It’s not until you’ve actually experienced what it’s like to do something right and you've proven what works – where it turns out the *best* - that you perhaps become an authority on the subject. At that point, you’ve actually earned the right to be a true critic. At least, that is what I've come to believe about myself.

Of All the Things

The other day I received an email with the following quote:

                    Of all the things I've learned in life, I know that change is 

                    the strongest truth.

                                                    ~Janice Van Dyck 

Briefly I considered the words, then immediately I wanted to change them. I thought: Change is perhaps the one constant in life, but it is not the strongest truth.

Carefully, I reread it and began to acknowledge that she was not talking about me. She was speaking of all the things she herself has learned in life.

But my thoughts grew louder within me: There is a simple principle - a law - the strongest most powerful law in the entire universe. It's the Law of Believing...all believing equals receiving and all receiving equals believing. It is a greater law than all the other laws of physics, because it transcends everyone of them.

I even began to wonder if others would read what she wrote and even...(gasp)... agree with her! At that point I finally realized I was being tempted, to not only pit the knowledge and understanding I've acquired in life against hers, but to do it in writing. And I didn't even know who she was!

Pausing, I asked myself: Do I really want to get into that kind of writing? Do I really want to start picking apart what others say - whether I think it's relevant or true or vital or not?

Without hesitation, I replied: No, I don't. Absolutely not! There's a place for commentary and opinion writing, but that's not where I want to go - not at all.

Logically, the next question is: Then where do you want to go, Kathy? The answer is simple. I have one purpose - one mission:  

I write with the belief to both inspire and challenge the human experience, welcoming criticism, for there is no person on earth who fails to intrigue me, and thereby touches my soul in some significant way.

It is not my intention to cast opinions that tend to judge the relevance or validity of what someone else may have thought or concluded. My desire and goal in writing would be defeated if I wrote in a framework that might tear down the very place another has reached by scaling their own mountain(s). Honestly, how welcoming would that be?

Totally unaware, Janice Van Dyck has touched my soul in a significant way. She has pushed me to reconsider my purpose and to decide whether or not my mission is still real to me - still where I choose to be. And - of all the things I've learned in life - she has inspired me to write of judgments and comparisons that we, at times unknowingly, superimpose on one another.

Although we've never met, please allow me to say, "Thank you, Janice."

Persnickety

Hi all. My primary reason for posting this is simply to say, "I was here." For the past week my thoughts have had to turn to budget planning. Unless I harness both my time and money, I will not have the energy to go where my vision wants to take me.

Meanwhile...written from a poetry prompt just for fun, and dedicated to all cats who demand to be let outside, then refuse to go when they find out how blistery it is:

Persnickety

I would never unlock the door for
Persnickety the cat -
That high-minded, snooty, and snitty,
Double-minded li'l "brat."
Until he learns how to treat me right,
That I am where it's at,
He can just dream from the window sill,
And that's enough of that!

Okay, you've probably already guessed...I don't own a cat. But, since I did at one time, I feel I have "rites of passage" on this one. And besides, I have a dog that when she insists she has to go out to relieve herself, I hook up the leash and escort her out back, just to find out all she wanted was to eat snow! And, of course, by that time I'm about to freeze my you-know-what off. Yeah, I know,...guess it makes me out to be a faux cat owner that's easily faux'd by a dog. Somehow, it seems there should be a lesson in there, somewhere...but, just to be real...I don't see it :~)

The Architect of My Soul - The Rooms

There is a type of house cleaning I would rather avoid, and then there is the kind I actually relish. The first strikes me as a mundane chore; the second, an anticipated delight.

My mother often voiced how much she hated doing housework because it would never last. She would say, "As soon as I get it all cleaned, someone has to come along and mess it up. It never ends!" I was highly influenced by her remarks, especially when they supported my childish whim towards laziness.

Later in life, I had the privilege to learn that when you've cleaned something, it has the benefit of blessing the very next person who comes along to use it. It's an admirable attitude of service that makes the task worth doing. I've also seen how keeping my house clean keeps my health stronger. Dust-free breathing seems to become more critical the older I get. Imagine that.

In spite of these rich reasons for enjoying the work, along with my deep-rooted conviction to work "heartily as to the Lord," my childhood paradigm tends to win over when it comes to housework, and it all becomes a mundane chore.

But, there is a kind of house cleaning that I am eager to take on each week, or at least monthly. I know others who prefer entering its doors only once a year, but it would become way too daunting for me to follow their steps. This house is my own soul, and the doors open wide to each of the rooms that makes me... me. Those tiny rooms that mysteriously weave together, become the very fabric of my being.

Around 500 BC, a Greek philosopher named Heraclitus, concluded that change is central to the universe. Today we hold that change is the only constant in life, that nothing and no one is ever static. This would mean that at any given point in time, I am either growing or dying. There is no space between the two. Each of us can choose which way we want to go. Personally, I think a growing plant is
                                                                     far more enjoyable than a dying one.

I recently came across this quote by American journalist and Pulitzer Prize-winning, syndicated columnist, Ellen Goodman:

We spend January 1 walking through 
our lives, room by room, drawing up a 
list of work to be done, cracks to be 
patched. Maybe this year, to balance 
the list, we ought to walk through the 
rooms of our lives... not looking for 
flaws, but for potential.

This is the style of house cleaning that, for me, is an anticipated delight. This is where I can imagine and redesign that fabric because I am the architect of my soul. And, who knows? Perhaps, within the process, I will even discover the room wherein lies the change needed to turn a mundane chore into the exciting.