~Cultivating Life~

Monday, December 26, 2011

Cycling, Swiss Miss, Security Risk!



Best Christmas Gift this year:

Witnessing Obama’s security detail taking down and frisking a slight, 12 year old, freckle-faced, cupie doll, bicycling by the official vacation residence via her Sunflowered Schwinn—SEEMINGLY out to enjoy the sunny Kailua day….OR perhaps she was wielding a firearm in that Hello Kitty knapsack of hers….or a knife, cleverly concealed in her bedazzled Lisa Frank notebook?! Either way…it’s always those ones….you know, the fresh-faced, pre-pubescent peeps that look like they’ve skipped right off of the Swiss Miss Cocoa label that you have to be wary of…

*Way to protect and serve guys…I can sleep safer now, knowing you are out there taking care of the hardened criminals!

Monday, December 12, 2011

Stained Glass, the South, and Sweet Memories~


A steady work in progress, my Kika is undergoing a makeover. Or, as I like to call it, a renovation. As many of you know, I recently acquired a beat up (but oh so lovely to me) guitar. She is in extreme need of some TLC, but I am not daunted. I want her to feel gorgeous and I want her to sing when all is said and done…so I have not rushed it.

In fact, the very day we met, I drove her home, invited her in, and have since left her to acclimate and simply BE. As I have gone through my days, I have kept my eyes open for beauty…and love….with which to decorate (and renovate!) her. I wanted her to become a true part of me…and who I am is so much of where I come from, and who they are. I called my mom up, and asked a favor….for her to send some sentimental slivers of home via the good old United Parcel Service.

One of my favorite memories from growing up in the South, is going down to the basement art studio that my mom had, and simply watching her create. I remember sitting for hours, and just taking in the magic, her joy in the process, her beauty in motion. I remember her pottery wheel, and how I loved to sit with her as she guided my fingers over the wet clay—observing--amazed as it shifted shape between my tiny (toe)-thumbs. I can still see the huge, cavernous firing kiln, waiting open-mouthed and ready to receive the newest creations of clay.

If I close my eyes, I can hear Carole King, James Taylor and Carly Simon floating through the air…dancing from my mom’s lips in various keys….yet they were all beautiful to me. My favorite part was the towering stained glass bench, glittering with shards of sparkling, stained glass—a kaleidoscope of potential pictures---each a puzzle just waiting to be solved, and soldered together. The smell of the iron still singes my nostrils, and the ssssssssizzle sound it made as the lead liquefied…how I miss that cacophony of creation.

It is this stained glass sentimentality that I sought to bring to my newfound friend---an adornment attaching her to the sweetness of the South—and my childhood joys and blessings-- and mama was gracious to oblige. Mahalo, Mrs Susan Miller, here is a start….thank you for the present pieces, and mahalo for the memories. I love you.

Sunday, December 11, 2011

Alii Makua~




He is a mysterious little lion-man, and not particularly fond of being held.
Rather,
He would be out and about,
Running, exploring, discovering what lies there beyond the yard,
and its tall, green jungle grasses.

When the sun is out,
he will stretch out his sinewy self,
elongating his graceful feline form
up, up and out...
toes curling,
paws pulsing...
out, in, out, in---reaching for his mother's milk....
even though she has long since left.

It's as if sometimes he will forget this absence,
and experience it anew all over again.
Opening his golden, orbed eyes,
aware~

It is a rare jewel,
those instances when he deems me safe enough,
warm enough,
permanent enough, perhaps?
That he allows his personage to plop down in my lap,
nuzzle my neck,
and lets in love.
These are magical moments---rare as moonbeams,
and fleeting just as fast.

I cherish these sweet snippets of softness...when you know you are safe, and you let me in.

*Allow me to introduce Alii Makua....know him, love him.... just don't fence him in~

Sunday, December 4, 2011

Flexibility--and flinching~


"Flexibility" is my F-word.

You know how when you were a little kid (or if you are like my adorable mom, well into your….ah….late thirties...coughs) when you utter those choice words, you lower your voice to a conspiratorial whisper, a hushhhhhhed, humming helluva utterance that is emitted with feeling...

Yes, flexibility ranks high up there in my vault of (oh so "uh-oh") vocab. As with its more common F-bomb counterpart, even hearing its name audibly can cause my entire body to physically react—shrinking away from its ugly frame, as if I have been struck by a blunt force trauma to the brain. Shivers run up and down my spine as I take the spoken word and slice it apart slowly.

After the initial shock (and retro-active, repugnant revulsion) experienced the moment the entity hits my eardrums, comes the secondary (less immediate—and decidedly more calm) reaction of a running back strategizing my next crucial move. (please do notice the term, RUNNING…lest the irony not be missed here)… My instinct is to flee, creating as much distance between this F-word as is humanly possible—and with the utmost speed! Yet, I am learning to fight this panicked, cowardly urge more often than not these days, and plant my twinkle toes firmly in the hot, Hawaiian sand—and let ‘em burn….melting away that manic mentality as well—the one shouting oh so loud to turn, leave, go, run, and hide from (whispers) the dreaded …CHANGE.

And, as each day I fight that temptation to flee, I grow:

Stronger.

Braver.

Calmer.

Fuller.

Freer.

So I’d like to finish this post with a better F-word….freedom…from worry and fret, and from creating ghosts for the future (as I do believe the past has plenty of its own to account for)….and I say bump them all (insert Ross and Monica’s double-fist dramatic diss move (with great hutzpah and pizzazz!) here________ boom boom !))

Thursday, December 1, 2011

The Morning Mehs~


Maybe it’s the holidays. Maybe it’s the break neck pace. Maybe it’s the (whispers)… menses :/

But whatever it is, it was operating in full force this morning as “it” proceeded to wreak havoc on my mental state, paying complete and total disregard for my usual upbeat personality with which I greet the day. The brilliant sunrise, the piping hot cup of morning java, even the toasty warm weather did nothing to dispel…this cranky state in which I came to dwell.

A run. Yes, that’s the ticket. Always a run will refresh anything within me feeling dead…so off we go~ Lacing up the shoes, tugging on my tank, and prepping the ponytail…wide open road, I am ready for you. First step, followed by second stride---now breathe. BREATHE~

The first mile is always the hardest…my muscles aren’t awake yet either…and by the inaudible cries of shrill protest, paired with an irate sense of gross injustice at being drug from their deep slumber and warm bed for this brisk (and brutal) outing—they appear to be non too pleased with this parlay into the pre-dawn paradise of Hawaii’s roadsides. "Shhh" I soothe, as I try to assure them (as well as my brain—which is also putting up quite a fight) that it will feel better soon.

And yes, slowly but surely, as I push through…the muscles begin to let go, I feel them stop resisting, and rallying the troops to work with me…and flow. Likewise, my brain braves the battle of “giving it up”--you know, the worry, the stress, the everything. Gradually, as my legs lift and lengthen, my heart regulates itself to a steady and true beat---thud, thud, thud. My feet somehow match the rhythm—thud, thud, thud-- and all becomes atune—an amazing harmony that heals.

As I continue, the emails waiting to be replied to, the proposal from the client that needs reworking, the latest “misunderstanding” I had with my person, or the helpful, constructive criticism (ah, “advice”) I recently received (unsought of course…) –they melt away—replaced by a myriad of mixed emotions:

Physical Exhaustion.

Mental Limits Reached.

Detoxification.

Purification.

Release.

And I realize again why I run. Sometimes I need to get so tired, that I can't fight myself anymore. And I "get it." I let go, and I realize I am just too damn tired to handle anything else but lying there, with open palms, and letting every other mother 'effin thing pass away...as I listen...and let go.

One day I will figure a way to get to this point of priceless perspective and healing honesty without the need to pound the pavement first…and I do, at times--in moments of shining self-awareness and acceptance, but it is a process…and I know everyday, as I continue to put one foot in front of the other…stride after stride…I am making my way “here”.