~Cultivating Life~

Saturday, December 26, 2009

All Clear~
























Oh, this morning! Oh, this morning!

I woke up with the sun. "Merry Christmas!" was on my lips and a smile adorned my cheeks. *Cue crashing realization that I, indeed, was scheduled to work today.* --Shoulders Sag--Audible Sigh (okay, maybe it was more like an agonized groan)--Hands on Hip--and yes, there was also one (or two?) stamped feet. Oh, this Morning! Ugh, this morning!

As I scanned the room, what would catch my eye but my Ziploc full o' zazzle! I clutched desperately for the small pouch of glitter (the one that I keep on hand for such times as this....you know, those dire emergencies...) Oh, salvation of sparkle! --Do please redeem my bad attitude from this pit of self pity~ (And it did!) I decided to take it one step further and go all out (none of you should be surprised by this one bit), as I rocked the festive green and gold glitter tagteam today....so I pretty much (if we are using our imaginations--having the red hair, coupled with the green and gold glow--was my own friggin' Christmas ornament!) Oh, this morning! Glow, this morning!

At work the patrons were in full holiday spirit. The families file through the gallery...fathers holding their children's hands, babies clutching their mothers and napping in their strollers. All are jolly and bright, out and about after a sweet time of togetherness unwrapping gifts, reading the Christmas story and discovering who Santa deemed "good" this year. The gush of good spirits is overwhelming, rushing over me like a tidal wave. It is beautiful to see. It is painful to feel. Oh, this Morning. Alone, This morning.

I could sense tiny tears pooling at the corners of my eyes. I quickly reached up to paw away the proof of my self-indulgent "sorrow." As I looked down at my hands again, I see I have smudged my glitter....I was covered in resplendent sparkles, but all I could see was green. Oh, this Morning. Low, this morning.

I asked myself if I was indeed, my own little version of the "green eyed monster"...was it jealousy that was presently creeping its way in and blackening my heart? Not exactly....but I wanted to place what was bothering me. I was not begrudging of the people their time shared in rest and vacation with their families and loved ones, nor was I angered by the fact that I was having to work on Christmas day. No, I realized that what I was envious of, was that all of those people coming through those doors, once they bought their pastries and drinks, would make their way home together. For the first time this day I realized that the sights and sounds that were assaulting my eyes were not the people themselves, but rather what they symbolized to my heart....*home.* I looked around at the girls I work with--the fatigue that furrowed each brow--the frustration of finding themselves taken away from loved ones in order to serve strangers--yet, simultaneously, upon closer examination, I also witnessed the team effort and human spirit that rallied as each sought to stave off the spirit of negativity in order to bless and love all who entered in to their small sphere of influence. I saw in this moment, that we were all in this together...and that joy and peace was *and had to be* within each of us. Oh, this morning. Home, this morning.

I left work and got to my apartment. It had been a long day...yet a good one. I walked into the bathroom and turned on the faucet. I bent my face towards the water and felt its cool, cleansing kiss upon my cheeks. As it washed over me, I opened my eyes to watch as the swirling green remnants disappeared. I willed myself to continue my gaze until the all the green was gone...



Saturday, December 12, 2009

Semantics~














I have been remiss in writing for awhile. Mea Culpa. I believe that most of my thoughts regarding this were simply that I was too busy with life and living to take time out to write. This thought pattern has caused me to think upon what exactly I see the role of writing as playing in my life.

I remember when I was at University, I saw myself as writing to live. Writing was my sanity in times of distress, my companion in lonely hours, and my saving grace when all else failed me. On those days when all seemed to overwhelming to process, I could sit down at my desk--delve into my thoughts, pen my frustrations, and trudge my way through the murky waters of life armed with what I saw as my only appropriate ammo--*bring out the Bic guns...* I realize many would say that this is a frightening position to find oneself in--being so dependent upon writing as a source of solace and stability. I would agree.

Knowing this, I always believed then, that the ultimate goal would be to convert the pattern of “writing to live” into “living to write”. I would have peers who seemed to eat, sleep and breathe writing. They voraciously read books, and intelligence, wit, and candor seemed to ooze out of their every pore. I loathed them (okay, maybe they just really, really irked me…) These peers could be overheard on a daily basis waxing eloquent about their next literary masterpiece, or how many pages they had written in their upcoming manuscript. And, to be sure, when all was finished, and the fruit of their labor was unveiled…it was almost always sheer genius and superbly divine. Yes, those that lived to write…as if it was inextricably tied to their very essence of their being…were indeed talented….yet I was not one of them. I *still* am not one of them…although I have often tried to be. I find that, although I enjoy the creative process of writing (and the literary, evolutional journey of reading as well)—I do not crave these things with an insatiable appetite. Although I, too, am able to pen semi-coherent and (albeit sporadically) thought-provoking workmanship, I have no illusions that Alfred Nobel will be knocking down my door any day soon. No, I do not live to write...

Today, in the wee hours of yet another crisp, Hawaiian morning….I am outside watching the sun rise over the jagged cerulean waves. I am waking--writing this small entry--musing, seeking, hoping, wondering---*being*. I think I am one that will just live AND write. I will not master either most likely, to the point that it embodies all that is within me…neither will probably overtake the other due to its sheer genius or notoriety—or even stellar quality. But, this morning, I am starting to see small glimmers—beginning to believe—awakening to a new awareness, that sometimes having a little of both (in so many areas) is best. “Just” living and writing can be more than enough—and this "place" is where I find myself...and make my home today.

Thursday, November 19, 2009

So much can be said with one pair of scissors...one tube of goo~




















Change.

Forward Motion.

Wandering Feet.

The sense that something--ANYTHING--is not stagnating in life..

These are the things that I was thinking of as I brought out the scissors today. (And the red red RED dye). For some reason (no, this will not surprise those of you who know me well!) during times of change or otherwise emotional/ milestone seasons/ chapters in my life, I change my hair. Yes, you heard me...my HAIR.

Sometimes I have gone softer...a brown--gentle and unassuming--gently grazing my shoulders. It was a season of steady practicality...the university years of study and diligence...the LU code among many others was strictly adhered to...brown seemed fitting...neautral...earthy.

Then there was the brazen blonde phase....hello Los Angeles...bring it on! Bright and shining; a new chapter filled with possibilities, and why the heck not go for a brilliant and bold change?Ante up, awaken to new possibilities and broader horizons--lighten up (quite literally)...and, yes, we are still (sort of) talking about hair...

So, the long locks of childhood...those sweet, sturdy braids...were soon shorn for the sake of style...something more grown up...sophisticated...sleek. It was necessary (of course). Then, once the separation from childhood seemed sufficiently solidified...the lustrous locks were reinstated; once again given free reign. A restoration of sorts....for a time...only to then be whacked off in a lop of liberation...a claiming of my freedom to choose...*yes, about my hair*

Short signified simple. Long lent itself to a portrait of femininity and grace. Yet there were exceptions in my mind (there always are, aren't there?) Short has also meant strong and independent. Long also harkening to times of healing and wholeness after a shorn winter--although the shorn winter stood for freedom from the old dead locks of summer that had grown heavy and cumbersome--too difficult to manage. (Hair...yes?)

So much can be said with one pair of scissors...one tube of goo.

Tonight the mirror reflects a radiant, redheaded wanderer. Short and touseled...quite messy in fact...the image staring back seems jarring at first. The dead ends have been cut out...the length is lessened...weight has been lifted. Simplicity reigns...yet not without cost...for she will miss the beautiful braids, the cascade of curls tumbling down her back. Stark, blunt, razored edges abruptly end...refusing to caress her shoulders. They demand to stand alone, independent and free. The almost violent vibrancy of the red...is shocking enough....bold enough...to keep her awake-- and make her feel alive...and life, to her, is more important than anything else...( yes, even hair)~


Thursday, November 12, 2009

Fluidity~
















A conversation with a friend of mine last night sparked so many things in my heart and mind. We were talking about life and choices. Forks in the road—and atlases hard to decipher (some that are quite possibly meant to be so). My friend was quick to remind me of the perspective that, when adopted in life—causes one to see these things as negative, positive, or merely as “being.” This perspective, as he kept describing it, I recognized as what I now call “the fluidity of life.”

For so long I lived in the future…in “what if’s” and “maybe I shouldn’t s.” I was so concerned over the consequences of my choices. Every little detail of my life needed to be laid out before me…to be figured out in intricate detail. The finality with which I saw facing each decision I ever made is heartbreaking. This year especially, I have come to learn that life is about making many, many choices. Some will be spectacular, and cause such a flow of life and joy and “rightness” to flow fast on their heels. Some will just be recognized as the fitting one. But not all of them will be great—many will be downright idiotic, reckless and yes, even foolhardy (in the light of hindsight, of course). Yet (oh how I love that one small word!)…YET…these decisions will be actively made…issuing forth signs and evidence of investment in myself and the journey…of engaging in life and its ebb and flow…of being a willing and viable participant in the process of pursuit.

There is fluidity to life. I see that now. The world is open. God is available….He gives me choice…He opens doors (plural) and allows me to venture….to journey…to embark. I was scared before…of making a mistake. Now I see fluidity. I will make decisions. I will make them boldly. I will go all out (For the win!)…and I will walk in those decisions, and the light offered by them. I will recognize those that bear fruit--beautiful fragrant sources of sustenance and satiety. And I will see those that are barren…and then I will reassess. And I will live~

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

Nostalgia (and a bit of insomnia)~






















Everyday I think of Some Really Random Things I want to bring back and rock out old school style.

Just to name a few:

1) Hi Fives...if something is good, you have to give it its due (Up Top!) *And none of that halfway mess...no way---I am talking all out, fully committed, arm entirely extended, make that sweet slap sound...with enthusiasm....and if, by chance, there is a jump involved, that is okay too (the more lift and air obtained, the better)*

2) Glitter *and lots of it!* (See my earlier post 'All That Glitters' for more reasons to don the dazzle)~

3) And speaking of dazzle... ANYTHING "bedazzled"....*Place, Push and Pop!* (I wanna be known as the "Bedazzler Queen")..... https://www.mybedazzler.com/

4)Crimped Hair. After all, who wouldn't want their hair to look like it just came out of a waffle fry maker?

4) Banana Seat Bikes....oh, the memories I have of riding around with my friends together *the more the merrier, people* Bring 'em back!

5) Slap Bracelets. These were oh so cool and stylin' (And who doesn't want to admit the times when you were able to "slap" a bracelet on a "frenemy" with complete, passive-aggressive satisfaction (albeit applied with a little more force and gusto than possibly necessary?)...

6) MC Hammer "pants"... *oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh-whoa-whoa....it's hammer time* (again)

7) Really Big Hair--like the Texas big--(maybe this particular one is simply b/c of my recent biking mishaps...it is so hot to wear a helmet here...and I think this could quite possibly provide a two-for-one deal of sorts--form and function...class and cushion....style and *oh who am I kidding?*.....

8) Saved By The Bell...One last hurrah....beat the dead horse...why not!?!?! *The Golden Years?* Bayside Retirement Resort...Beach Bingo with Belding, anyone?

9)The Robot, The Percolator, The Roger Rabbit, The Hammer dance (and any other random steps that make the dancer appear *to the untrained eye* as if they are having a seizure, or simply needing to make a pit-stop by the nearest loo)~

10) And, finally....to round out my list of ten (there are so many more, but this is a good representation of my recent random musings).... Naptime...just like when we were in Kindergarten...complete with our own neon orange foamy, cushy mats, and lullaby or WeeSing music piping in the background.....*And, yes, I'd like a juicebox too, please*...

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

Struggle not denied..
























I received an email from a friend of mine who I thank God for everyday. He was challenging me to give voice to the struggles in life that I (and that we ALL) face. I do believe that this blog would not be complete or balanced unless it brought to light (honestly and openly) struggles...plain and simple.

For what it is worth, this is my picture. As always, I welcome your own portraits, paintings (finger-paintings I am partial to, of course).

-------

Nestled in this nook,

Tucked away from prying eyes

This feathered bird prays:


Awaiting hope’s birth,

Sweet child of emblazoned sky

“Dispel this darkness.”


A chill in the air,

I reach out for my sweater,

Feathers not enough


October is gray

And winter has come too soon

I was not ready


Knitting, not preening

I make haste in a panic

Clothing nakedness


Slowly haste gives way

Surrendering sheer fatigue,

A delicate fade


Captive tears once trapped,

Angrily assault my gates

They are free to go


Succumbing at length,

I have become that last leaf,

And loosen my grip


Choosing to let go,

I dance and swirl to the ground,

Winter has not won~

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

the Who





















The more I read of Anne Lamott's book (overtly about how to write)...I am struck with the awareness that this book (for me) is more about how to LIVE. Listen to Lamott's description about plot and see if you do not agree:

"Plot is the main story of your book or short story..[...]...Plot grows out of character. If you focus on who the people in your story are, if you sit and write about two people you know and are getting to know better day by day, something is bound to happen.

Characters should not, conversely, serve as pawns for some plot you've dreamed up. Any plot you impose on your characters will be onomatopoetic: PLOT. I say don't worry about plot. Worry about the characters. " (Bird by Bird)~

As I read this, I was shocked to have a mirror held up to my own face. So many times in my own life, I worry about plot--my plot. I want to, like the writers (who are the majority I might add) that Anne Lamott warns against, sit down at my desk of life and pen my plot narration. I already know the background...to be sure, there are a few spots that I would gloss over and "tidy up" for the reading audience for starters. I then want to know the ending first...I want to know exactly what is going to happen so that I can plan for my story's timing and progression to "make sense." In my mind, if I know the ending, I can make everything in between fit perfectly...the rising action, the arc of the climax, the falling action, and the resolution...my plot (my life) all arriving at my (the author's) boxed conclusion and appointed destination (immaculately wrapped, and all tied up in a pretty pink bow, of course.)

Lamott is the first to open my eyes to the fact that I have it all wrong in these moments. The times that I am so preoccupied with what is going to happen in my life, coupled with my paralyzing preoccupation with the future and how it will unfold, many times causes me (just like many writers) to prematurely push my plot--leaving all actions feeling forced, ill-timed, and unauthentic--calculated, contrived and not to mention a huge amount of exhaustive work. These actions become the misguided byproducts of wasted energy-- of soul leeching toil and labor.

I am struck with the continued theme of patience that winds itself like a golden thread throughout Lamott's counsel regarding writing (and life (?))-- Patience with oneself (as the author and observer). Patience with the plot (as it unfolds in its own time). Patience with the characters (as WHO they are slowly (painfully even, at times) emerges, giving way to WHAT they will do/ accomplish). Patience with the process.

This last commitment of intentional patience is the one which strikes me the most. Patience with the process. Ponopeople--Our plots will be messy. They will most assuredly never turn out the way we had outlined in our first (or second, or even third!) drafts. The endings may have to be re-written. There will be times when we will have to backtrack, or press the pause button on the plot...go back and edit and fix some things before we can move forward towards the next chapter. All of this will seem to be a painfully slow and tedious process most of the time. But, to be sure, we will arrive with a complete book....a brilliant work of non-fiction--a poignant portrait of life and truth--of beauty, and the ugliness that often leads to it~ We will have round characters--characters made of flesh--characters who drive the plot, because of WHO they are...because of who WE are.

Write on, my friends...


Thursday, October 8, 2009

'Effin Messy (A Tribute to Finger Painting, Flaws and Freedom)


















I am in the middle of reading the book Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott (extremely good, by the way) and I came across this passage regarding perfectionism. She is directly referencing the process of writing, yet I have complete faith that a lesson about life is fast on its heels... Such wisdom and awareness could not go undocumented here:


"Perfectionism means that you try desperately not to leave so much mess to clean up. But clutter and mess show us that life is being lived. Clutter is wonderfully fertile ground--you can still discover new treasures under all those piles, clean things up, edit things out, fix things, get a grip. Tidiness suggests that something is as good as it's going to get. Tidiness makes me think of held breath, of suspended animation, while writing (LIFE??) needs to breathe and move."

For some reason, as I read this passage (the whole chapter, really) I could not get the image of children finger painting out of my head. Kids--- ten-tentacled--caked to the core with a rainbow pallet of bright blues, radiant reds, and glittering greens--they "stroke". Swirling and twirling--swinging wide-- joyously launching globs and blobs of pigment with reckless abandon. Hues hurtle heedlessly towards the canvas--splashing; spreading; saturating every inch of naked space--clothing it with color. A spirit of frenzied freedom breathes life into the previous pallor.

Children are no respecters of lines...this is evident as one surveys the carnage of a canvas that was once so tidy and neat. Yes, I say, carnage....for the children have feasted upon their freedom of flaws...having satisfied themselves upon the sweet surrender of sterility. And it was good~


Thursday, October 1, 2009

Wind Resistance~




















I live in a place that enables me to be out in the sunshine and air 365 days out of the year. This is quite possibly the main reason I chose to live here. I have learned many things about myself over these last few years especially--one of them being that I must (yes, must!) get at least some pure, Vitamin D laden sunshine every day....and I soak it up like a sponge...yes, I love it~

Riding my bike is one of those things that has always been a favorite exercise. I find it cathartic and exhilarating. I love to pedal fast, fast, fast...the wind whipping your hair and the salty air of the ocean stinging your face, yet you never mind because you feel invigorated--you feel alive!

Yesterday morning I set out once again on a favorite ride of mine. It takes me along the waterside all the way to this beautiful peninsula point of the bay, and it is breathtaking. What I find interesting is that, no matter how many times I go on this ride, I always downplay the extreme difference of the ride TOWARDS the peninsula versus the return ride. Allow me to explain: going to the point the wind is at my back and the giddy expectation of arrival at the delightful destination spurs me onward with great anticipation and joy! I always arrive, a personified portrait of zen and tranquility, and remind myself how much I LOVE this ride! As I sit and bask in the sunshine and have all my endorphins surging through my veins....I exhale and know, "This is bliss!"

However (no, it never fails!) I soon come down to earth and realize the truth in the saying, "What goes up, must come down" or, in my case, "What goes forth, must return"... so...I head back home. The SECOND I turn my face homeward and take that initial pedal forward, I know. Oh, I feel it in my bones!--this is going to be a long ride home.

The wind yesterday was worse than most days...as I pedaled, I looked to my right and left and realized I was barely moving....cars whizzed past the poor "effed" cyclist caught in the windstorm (I swear Hawaii had a tsunami--at least the friggin' winds!--I don't care if it wasn't officially announced--I was in a hurricane of gale force!). The looks on these peoples' faces ranged from polite pity, to commiserating compassion, to downright comical hilarity as they came upon the spectacle I am sure I created. *Small girl, relatively small bike, huge gale-force winds, futile (yet furious and frantic!) pedaling!* (The theme song from the Wizard of Oz-- when the wicked witch of the west was chasing Dorothy on her bike resounds in my ears: "Doot doot doo doo doot doo- dooo!!!!) *pedal pedal pedal*

As yet another huge blast of wind bitchslaps me in the face, I remind myself how much I HATE this ride! I exhale and know, "This is HELL!"

I somehow make it home....beaded with sweat, cherry-red faced, wet spaghetti-noodled legs...and collapse into a quivering mound of gelatinous humanoid goo on my living room floor (Forget making it to the couch...it is entirely across the room...psh~) I slide into the sleep of the dead, greedily grasping every last minute that I can before the alarm rocks me violently back into reality. Torn from my sweat induced slumber....I awaken reluctantly, yet all aglow with the sweet surge of seratonin. I head to work (on my bike again) and my workday begins.

This morning I am awake early again. I contemplate my morning ride. How I am looking forward to it! I do love that view...and the ride back is not so bad...but, oh, that view is spectacular...and so worth it...

(and I realize, in this moment, upon this thought/ mindset, how very much all of life is like this). Wind, be damned!

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

The Beatles were onto something...


















In follow up to the most recent blog thought (the quote about what love truly is and looks like in real, everyday life,) I wanted to post a few things on my mind from my interactions of the recent days:

This morning I was reading some Anais Nin, whom I must admit I really admire, even though we see very differently on many subjects. Nin spoke her mind, and was not afraid of voicing (at least what she saw) as truth. I value and respect that in her, and any human for that matter. I came across this quote in my reading today, and it has awakened an inquiry into many things in my heart. She stated that:

"Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings."

This quote is chock full of so many things we could talk about and voice. I read this and am both saddened and, yet, given hope simultaneously. Let me explain. I am saddened because I see love dying all around us. I witness marriages failing, friendships being severed, families being torn apart, and children who are abandoned and scarred. It seems that everywhere one turns, there is a casualty of "dead love" in our midst~

A man came into the coffee shop just last night....it was a mere ten minutes until closing time, and it had been a long day. I was ready to go home, yet the look on his face as he checked the clock and growled at me: "I still have a good ten minutes until I have to be out of your hair, young lady!!!" pierced my heart. This man was bitter and hardened towards life. He knew it....and you better bet everyone around him knew it as well. I uttered a small and exasperated prayer under my breath for patience and fortitude...and a speedy exit....God, as He often does, seemed to have a different plan. (gee thanks, JC)~ *sigh*

Long story short, the man proceeded to growl and gripe his way through a lengthy (oh how it was LENGTHY!) diatribe of negative comments about the coffee, the weather, the ungodly hour that the shop closed *gasp* (I do believe he felt inconvenienced!), life in general, and basically anything he laid his eyes on. The Beatles song "All You Need is Love" piped in the background... (The irony was not wasted on me)~

I asked the crotchety old man if he liked this song. Actually, my exact words I recall being completely over the top (in hopes to diffuse his rancor): "Oooh-wee! This song makes me wanna smile, and dance! You are a closet dancing man, aren't you, my friend?" The man eyed me in silence (my guess is he was wondering what I had been smoking on my break,) then let out a long sigh. His heavy shoulders slumped, and he simply said: "Sometimes love isn't enough."

My boss came to usher him out and shut the doors, it was closing time. As I watched him shuffle away, I kept waiting for him to turn around one last time...he never did. I hoped the man would come again. I wondered about the "love" that this man had experienced in his lifetime. How had humanity been blind to his need(s)? What betrayal had stolen the sweetness from his palate, leaving only a taste, bitter as gall? What countless errors had been committed, when such a man only had one more chance left within him to give, his heart having been wounded so many times before? What shallow, anorexic "love" had caused this man's spirit to go without, leaving him starving for affection and sustenance of any kind?

And what separates any of us from becoming this man?

I wonder all of these things as I sit here on my computer recalling the day. And YET, YET!!! (I love that word YET!)....here is where the hope of that quote resonates in my soul: Nin says that Love dies only when there is ignorance and inaction. Which means to me, that, in finding HOW to replenish the source, there is hope that Love will LIVE!

But, here is where the "Pono" comes into the picture: I would pray that we would not only settle for Love to survive, but that we would seek and desire to take it a step further, and have love THRIVE. It is possible....and I also know it begins with each of us~



Monday, September 14, 2009

Love: Pono Style~
















Aloha all,

Was sent this amazing quote by a fellow sojourner of ours today who thought that it embodied the true Pono style spirit (and I quite agree!) Keep those thoughts, comments and YOUR additions coming, Ponopeople! It is the reason this blog was started in the first place, to empower, encourage and edify one another along this journey we call life. I look forward to walking with you every step of the way! (Feel free to follow up this posting with any of your quotes, etc that you feel also captures the pono philosophy....what a great way to bless others who visit this blog today....and the writer just so happens to like being blessed too, so keep 'em coming!)

"heard this definition of love today: doing all you can to help another reach his or her fullest potential"~



Sounds like a challenge~ Sounds good~

Friday, September 11, 2009

All That Glitters~



















I've often asked myself where is it that we (people in general) lose that child-like joy we grew up with? I think you all know what I am talking about. Go to any public park, or spend five minutes with a small child and you will see the wonder and amazement, and yes, sheer exuberance with which they live life. Where, I ask, do we as adults lose that joy and vibrancy? Many of you already know my swinging story (oh, yeah....) but that is just one of many instances when I have felt almost tangibly an ache or grieving moment for the loss of naivete and the lightness of being that seems to inherently come to children.

All of that to say, today I was reminded afresh that I am not the only one who yearns and desires a return (in any way possible, and even in small doses) of that childlike joy. Allow me to explain. I work at a coffeeshop six days a week, for minimum wage...I am a baker and barista and friendly caffeine dealer workin' the 'hood....and I love it....absolutely, positively love it. I am able to, with every person that comes through and pays for their daily cup o' joe, to have a small window of opportunity to just love on them, and smile at them, and make them laugh--something good--anything good I hope to brighten their day.

Lately I have taken to spicing it up a bit and getting a little more whimsical with my eye makeup...I live in Hawaii, so mostly I never wear any makeup...but I thought this morning I would just do it...and mix it up and have some fun with some glitter makeup that my friend from LA who is a makeup artist sent me. The note with the bottle said "Apply Sparingly Around Eyes and Cheeks"....well, two things were amiss with these instructions from the get-go...First (these manufacturers obviously do not know me...moderation? me?) Secondly, (any one of you who knows me also knows that sparingly covering the circumference of my Irish lass cheeks is a misnomer....sparingly? come on, guys!)

So...true to form, I completely disregard the instructions and just have at it. In a moment of sheer impulse I tossed a handful of the stuff in the air above my head and lifted my face into it as it rained down on me. It was fabulous! I felt insane....wild even....as I channeled Tink in Peter Pan, I checked myself in the mirror. WOWZERS was I glowing and glittering and shimmering aplenty! I checked the clock in a panic...oh well, got to get to work, Andy's going to have to rock it out and own this glitter!!! I always say: "All you gotta do to pull it off is to put it on!" (And man had I put it on!)

What amazed me about as the day went on, was how so many people who came through the line for coffee reacted to something as silly and simple as over-exuberantly applied glitter. Some stopped and smiled. Some complimented me on my "Huzzah and Gumption"....many confessed that they wished they had the guts to rock some glitter. One woman shared that she was "too old" for such fun makeup. The men, young and old, seemed to find it fascinating and whimsical...and yes, I even received a hi-five (up top!) from a 60 year old woman who said the glitter just "made her day." But one common thread was repeated: a loop of comments simply saying how "fun" and "whimsical" and "free" my makeup looked.

I was certainly glad it was a hit, but more than that, I began to wonder and think.....and realize just how much we as humans long for joy, even in the little things. How we thirst for freedom to be whimsical and light. To breathe and allow ourselves the space to be silly and overly exuberant and unrestrained. To let go and be light.

Yes, I did just write an entire blog post centered around the excessive use of glitter. My use of glitter. It was ridiculous, it was over the top, it was silly, it was JOYFULLY applied...and it was good.

Wednesday, September 2, 2009

Haole Haiku~



















Perched upon my bench,
Gazing longingly as cars pass by.
Thanks for the ride, ******s!

A strange family,
Trannies, bums, haoles, rastas,
Flank my side in turn~

A small, elfin child
in exultation, declares:
Mommy! I smell pee!

Lovely shades of blue
best describe colored faces
nostrils flare and fuss~

Gasping and giggling,
intermittently curses rise
blue faces now green~

The mommy "shushes"
stifling her own tickled grin
all eyes glaze over~

Laughter on my lips
thinking of my present life
praise be randomness~

Tickets should be sold,
displaying all da kine,
this traveling carnivale~

This rolling riot,
always a new adventure,
aloha the bus!



--------------------
Also, I returned home to read this in the paper....coincidence? (I think not!)

*I especially like the part reading that breaks it down for us (and I quote) "It doesn't matter if it's body odor or offensive fumes that emanates from clothes, personal belongings or animals"*

???

http://www.examiner.com/a-2196678~Honolulu_seeking_to_ban__BO__on_buses.html?cid=rss-Hawaii_Headlines

Monday, August 31, 2009

E Komo Mai~













I am beginning this blog at the request/ suggestion of my mentor and surrogate mother. Best I can describe as to what I desire it to become is simply my own musings about everyday life. What I see through the eyes of a 27 year old Peter Pan who is constantly asking herself "What does it mean to grow up?" (And why do all the grown ups that I know seem so pissed off at life, ornery and disgruntled?)

I have been a gypsy of sorts since reaching the year of 18. I feel that the world is amazing and has so many things to see, people to meet, stories to hear. These restless feet have wandered all over, just seeking.....seeking truth, beauty, simplicity, and also seeking how not to seek and, rather, cultivating the art of letting myself "be."

I am a mess. A beautiful and complicated, silly mess of a woman-child. I like to think I am funny at times, seeing the world in my slightly askew way. I am healing. I am hoping. I am learning. I invite you to come along and dance with me. Make mistakes with me. Laugh at the insane situations I daily find myself in, and revel in the amazing thought that we share so much in common....even the little things...like laughing through pain, toe-thumbs, cabbage patch kid cheeks, crooked teeth, frizzy, afro hair, and the shared desire to burst into spontaneous song. (Yes, indeed) Nice to meet you. As we say in Hawaii....E Komo Mai~