The Queen Bees Were Buzzin´

I didn’t plan on it.

Didn’t mark it on my map.
Didn’t know that turning left just past the Duomo would land me right in the middle of something radiant, defiant, and vibrating with life.

Buzzing could best describe the sea of shining, sparkling sass that was filled to the brim with absolute queen bees…

The annual Milan Pride Parade wasn’t on my itinerary, but it unfolded around me like that page in your favorite book, the one you didn’t know you were meant to read.

Was this what my soul had been thirsting for? I couldn’t be sure, had no concrete evidence per se, but there were signs…

A lone flag tucked into a back pocket. Hearts drawn in eyeliner, scrawled across cheeks stretched taut with wide smiles. A sea of revelers, fed by a slow river of people winding through the city´s streets, daringly crossing divides.

As I stepped into this slow river, it turned into a flood.

The sound came next. Drums. Bass. DISCO. Laughter that didn’t ask for permission. The kind that started down deep, bubbled up from the caverns of the soul, then erupted, unfettered, free, and absolutely feral.

Every few steps saw a kiss, a cheer, a hand reaching out to pull someone into a dance. Ibsen´s Tarantella waltzed through my brain. It was madness, it was joy, it was divine.

It was an act of rebellion that reverberated like a sacred shout from the rafters, this holy invitation: Come to church.

I stood there watching it all stretch before me, powering through the city like a freight train of possibility.

And still, somehow, it felt gentle.

A man nestled a flower just above another’s ear, his fingers tracing the smile lines as they crinkled across his forehead.

A mother lifted her child onto her shoulders, offering a better view of all the magic, not the parade, but the people.

A stranger caught my eye and shared a smile as if, somehow, we were both in on the same secret.

“Love is love” was the wordless message exchanged.

It didn’t need to be said. Still, it was shouted.

With every pair of arms holding tight to one another. Through the exhales of deep breaths long abated — as if the world, for once, was tilting the right way.

Love Letter to Prague, Sort of~

Praha. 

How to describe her.

Prague is that high-maintenance Eastern European beauty who shows up late, smokes in your face, and somehow still makes you feel lucky just to be in the room with her.

She is effortlessly stunning, at times outright hostile, and absolutely worth all that emotional whiplash.

This city. 

Is such a tease. She shows you her beauty, then hints there is more to come. The cobblestones, proverbial crumbs keeping you on the path, and hook. 

Twisting lanes spill into grand squares, and cathedrals rear up from rounded corners, towering over you. They know they are commanding your attention, inspiring awe, and generally besting you in every category. It’s almost like they’ve been waiting centuries just to make you feel small. And it hurts, and humbles, so good.

The rooftops blush in the sunset, and the water of the Vltava hums below it all, like a secret being kept. Prague is the kind of place that could melt even the most jaded traveler into a puddle of poetic mush… if only she wasn’t so busy ignoring you.

Because just as you’re about to fall headfirst into the romance of it all, Prague lets you know she is far more than some one-dimensional Disney beauty. The message, or shall we say text? No, definitely sext, is clear. 

And that brings us to the sex machine museum.

Yes. That’s a thing. 

Tucked away in this fairytale landscape is a quirky little shrine to kink, complete with rusty contraptions, a whole lotta leather, and a gallery of “devices” that would make even the feisty, sex-positive Freud short-circuit. 

If you are anything like me, you’ll vacillate wildly between myriad emotions: morbid curiosity, mildly embarrassed fascination, and utter confusion/horror intermittently. You will also stay longer than you meant to, and most likely leave wondering why half of Europe seems to be okay with swinging from the rafters. It’s emotional whiplash round twenty-two, or something similar (I’ve lost count, to be honest), and it’s perfect. Because this is Prague. She seduces you with stained glass, then smacks you with a mechanical spanking bench.

And I think that’s kind of the point.

There’s a defiance to her, a brazen middle finger unfurled. Like a gorgeous cup of warm, velvety coffee, with a whiskey kick. There’s a chill in the air that isn’t the weather. Customer service that borders on existential protest.

But somehow, weirdly, I respect it. Maybe even love it. Certainly am fascinated and intrigued by it. In a sex machine museum vacillation of emotions type of way. 

Because Prague doesn’t beg to be liked. She doesn’t bow or bend to the man (or in this case, woman — love is love).

She doesn't smile just to please. She dares you to look deeper, past the Instagram charm and fairytale castle turrets, into her onion-esque maze of bizarre layers—the hedonic, the haughty, the horny. 

This is a city with a dark sense of humor, and zero interest in your approval.

Of course, we find that kind of intoxicating.

~I am, We are~

 

Most mornings I wake up and have to remind myself.

Like when Court-Court passed away.

Too soon,

it was unjust.

it was not fair.

I open my eyes to the sun sliding between the shades,

before so warm and welcome,

its beams are too bright,

too much.

THIS is too much.

I am a new bride,

I love my husband with my whole heart.

This is my honeymoon phase...

should be.

could be.

Most mornings I have to remind myself,

He loves me. chose me. Pursued me. Promised me.

And, this is my honeymoon phase....

should be,

could be.

*This is not my angry epithet,

Consider it my WHAT THE *EFF IS that??

I am here. I have not moved.

Truth, grace, goodness, and love.

Thrive still.

and they water hope, here in my heart.

growing a garden.

that should be,

could be

beautiful,

bountiful,

blessed.

I am a new bride.

I love my husband with my whole heart.

I exist.

I am real.

I AM.

We ARE~

~Sweet Potato, Serenade~

She cooks you sweet potato, you don't like aubergine
She knows to boil the kettle when you hum bars from Grease
She senses you are lonely but still she can't be sure
And so she stands and waits, stands anticipating your thoughts

How can she become the psychic
That she longs to be to understand you
How can she become the psychic
That she longs to be to understand you

He brushes thoroughly
He know she likes fresh breath
He rushes to the station
He waits atop the steps

He's brought with him a Mars bar
She will not buy Nestle
And later he'll perform
A love lorn serenade, a trade

How can he become the psychic
That he longs to be to understand you
How can he become the psychic
That he longs to be to understand you

So give her information to help her fill the holes
Give an ounce of power so he does not feel controlled
Help her to acknowledge the pain that you are in
Give to him a glimpse of that beneath your skin~

~Let THEM Eat Cake~

-->

I've been hearing alot of things, from alot of people these days of late. Words of encouragement and pithy platitudes offered with good intentions, of course, among other not so lovely, lingering lyrics of a tune that tempts my soul to shrivel up and die. (Thanksssssss). Words wasted on a wandering gypsy soul seeking only goodness, love and LIFE.

Anyway, I was told today that marriage (and monogamy for that matter), for most men, is like the best slice of chocolate cake. At first sample, it is sweet and satisfying and the best thing you have ever tasted. But then, after having it every day, it becomes too sweet. Too boring with no variety of flavor. Your tastebuds tame, accustomed to the offering. Bleh. So you want different dessert...a new cake...hell, maybe a cookie, or in my case, he went for the HO-HOS (plural)....

But the way I see it, marriage (and hell yes, monogamy), is like a whole helluva heapin' helping of oats. Steady. Steel Cut. Stick-to-your-ribs. OATS. In the morning, they are there to get you started with whole-grain goodness.....greeting you....warming you....sustaining and steeling you for the start of the day, for the moment when you make your exit out into the world, solo. And at night, they are there, they can take whatever form they need to to meet you...muffins, wholegrain bread, a kind, nurturing dessert that doesn't drag you down.

And just when you think maybe you could get tired of them, oats can reinvent themselves. Add to them, bake, cook or stew them a different way, they can adapt...with you, for you...inside of you. Oats.

Steady. Steel Cut. Stick-to-your-ribs. Oats.

~Fabric of A Family~

-->

Once silk,

soft upon my skin,

the color purple,

like royalty

dyed.

A cohesive quilt,

designed.

With deft fingers,

spun in skill,

The fabric of my family.

Arms,

Extended to their limits,

Fingertips,

reaching for the remnants

curled around this olive branch

holding onto hope

holding out for healing.

This schism

senseless.

Now the sun smiles,

its shadows cast.

don't say it sweetly,

rather speak plainly.

salt in the wound doesn't scare me.

Like Thomas,

I would touch and see

to believe.

That what is said exists.

We are.

He is.

I am.

Family.

Or Can be.

For words are wondrous beings

chameleons changing color

adapting

blending as best they can

for survival they shift

they are scared.

And even now,

I refuse to be the fig,

I will not wither on this vine,

And though the desert is dry,

There are still streams of water to be found~

Impromptu STAPH Meeting~

I have a STAPH infection. It is gross. * Whines * However, as I am sitting here in my mandatory “rest-mode,” I am seeing that this whole situation has given me great fodder for ye olde blog…as well as many lessons learned…always, it seems….lessons learned.

The day began as normal as possible here on the North Shore. The game plan for the day was to spend the day packing, so I set to it. My friend, (who has requested to remain nameless) so we will call him “Rainbows” J was supposed to come help me move. Once he arrived, it was certain that I was NOT doing anything other than heading straight to the ho-po to be checked out. At first, I shied away from this plan…I didn’t want to inconvenience anyone…”Rainbows” taught me my first lesson of the night….to accept help and love from others. Always a tough one for us, yes?

First, we made a stop that Rainbows insisted on….a visit to his friend who is a nurse so that she could take a look at, and clean, my lesions. I was VERY MUCH opposed to this! I, a vain woman, was in no way feeling the desire to meet ANY unknown new friend with gaping, oozing sores on my face. * No thank you, sir! * But, Rainbows won out (as he often does in our friendship!) and on we went.

We got to Nellie’s house and I immediately felt at home…lesions be damned! because these were some amazing people who just wanted to help. Nellie’s companion graciously opened the door wide, and before I could even get out the apology for monopolizing their Saturday night, he lifted his hand in a wave of welcome…all the while placing the kettle on the stove…preparing the way for blessed tea and sympathy. Blessed soul~

I followed Nellie into the bathroom and, as she was dressing my sores, we got to talking about her giving up her Saturday night…I thanked her again. She looked at me kind of strangely for a second, and then gave me the biggest hug, reminding me of the truth in her heart that, according to her, it was SHE that needed ME—SHE that "needed to be needed"). She went on to tell me a bit about her, and what she has been going through in her life lately…a dry spell if you will. I shared with her how I believe in seasons of life…encouraging her that she is simply in her winter season…and that Spring indeed, must be coming. Such hope fills me at that forward-thinking thought!…this moment too will pass~

The night continued on: the dressing of my wounds, the scraping of my face, the angry bleeding, the humiliating vulnerability, and the hurting. After all is said and done, Nellie moves to clean me up and send me on my way….she apologetically reaches for a HUGE bandage for the side of my head. "Sorry!" she says…."I know this looks not very pretty, but if you don’t mind I think it will be better” …I respond immediately with, “Girl, you do whatever you have to, I have resigned myself that this AIN’T gonna be pretty!” As we both dissolved into laughter, I look at myself in the mirror…and see our reflections—two daughters of this earth just trying to make it as best we can, encouraging one another through our winters. * And no, I WASN'T a pretty sight….but “This” was beautiful * ~

Chicken Sits~

I have been thinking of the role of parenting often lately. Pretty much, wherever I look in life, it has been at the forefront of my mind. From taking joy in my closest friends’ (and family’s!) newly announced pregnancies, to both witnessing (and being a * not always welcoming * recipient of) parental “care and concern,”...it appears to flank me on all sides. J

I am at that magical age in life (actually, the more I think of it…when are we NOT?) when parents (and all other surrounding parties/ friends/ loved ones) feel the need to offer “help” and guidance in my “finding my way” in life. Whether it be relationship advice, financial planning tips, career guidance, or even the occasional * gasp * “intimacy admonishments”—our parents/ loved ones are always waiting and ready to pounce * ahem *--“gently” proffer their priceless pearls of wisdom~

Protection is one of the main themes I see flowing like a golden thread in the universal cosmic connection that people (parents especially) all share with one another in relating to their loved ones. Yes, protection—that dogged desire to tenaciously guard those we love from any and all possible and unknown threats…even when they have not asked for it…and quite often when they altogether vehemently oppose it!

A chance encounter that I had the blessing of happening upon strikes a vivid picture and analogy for this concept in my mind. About a week ago, I had traveled across the island to drop off a friend at his house. He lives out in the country, and as I rode up and parked in the driveway, I noticed in the corner of my view a mother hen surrounded by a cackle of baby chicks.

He had to go inside to pick up a few things, and I settled in to wait for him. As I waited, I kept my eye on the small processional of poultry that was making their way towards my vehicle. Remembering I had my camera in my backpack, I unbuckled my seatbelt to reach for it. At that moment, the mother, upon hearing the click, frantically placed herself in between my car and her babies…one by one, she clamored to collect her offspring beneath the folds of her feathers. The babies seemed mostly annoyed and frustrated with her antics. Some even appeared frightened by the vehemence in the execution of her protective instincts. The mother would chase and scoop, hem and holler…and then actually SIT on top of the chicks as she bore them to her breast. Try as they might to escape, the mother was dogged in her efforts and eventually grappled them all, managing to cover them within the safe confines of her person completely. As the drama unfolded, I was just taking it all in—realizing how much we have in common…poultry and people~

As I continued to watch, I ran the gamut of emotions. I was at once humored, saddened, angered, puzzled, and enlightened. I FELT and empathized with the baby chickens…the frustration, the oppression, the confinement (they were being SMOTHERED by gosh!) I know all too well that desperate desire to run away and just be FREE! (I also know what it feels like to sense someone sitting (or sh**tng!) on you)…not good….not good at all~

To be fair, however, I also sensed and empathized with the mother hen’s situation…she perceived danger and was attempting to do everything in her power to keep her babies safe. Her desire to nurture, to protect at all costs, to have her children’s best at heart and pursue that best violently…courageously….FIERCELY even—is breathtakingly beautiful and awe-inspiring to me.

My companion returned and I regretfully started the ignition, pulling into reverse. As I backed the car away, I strained to watch the little family as long as I could.

The last I was able to see, the bittersweet struggle still ensued…

Isolation, Preparation, Self-Preservation~

This past month, ever since I found I would be leaving my home, friends, and what has now become my Ohana (family), I have been somewhat of an emotional roller coaster. Granted, no one would have known this by simply looking at me. But, rather, I know myself, and am able to clearly see the signs that show my stirred state of mind.

I recognize it in the small things, seemingly insignificant to most, yet for me, they are classic signposts that I am “going through a season”. This season, what I see as yet one more transition, is riddled with change, yes THAT DREADED CHANGE * shudder *.

I realized yesterday that my life here I am so happy with (and in). Some days everything within me is gravitating to that “Don’t rock the boat” mentality. “Just stay Andy Beth….you love your little life here!” I will chant this mantra over myself, and then stop and remember this amazing opportunity and blessing that has been laid before me by God…this challenge, if you will * for He KNOWS it is a huge obstacle of fear to overcome for this stability loving soul! * I often feel that He has given me specifically this option in life because it involves risk…and trust…and spontanaiety…all of which now don’t be shocked too much I NEVER would have chosen of my own freewill and accord. Really. Don’t get me wrong, I love trying new things…but I PLAN to try new things, and I PLAN on how I will go about them, and I THINK AHEAD of all the outcomes and make all arrangements according to how I am confident * based on my precise ahem calculations * that things will inevitably turn out exactly as PLANNED *tied pristinely with a pretty pink color-coordinated bow, thank you *

What struck me most with this upcoming season of change is thinking about how very much of my home I will be missing here. The little things…like daily coffee with my good friend Lamm, the sunset swims with my girls, evening bonfires on the beach with the funniest and over-the-top jokesters I have ever met, sunlit bike rides that make me feel more alive everyday, buying fresh honey from heaven and calming kava from the local man in his roadside stand, or even going to the market and “talking story” with my favorite cashier.

My first reaction to this present predicament is a defense mechanism I have often used in the past…isolation. In my oh so strange mind, I somehow believe that if I simply stay to myself these last few weeks, and train my heart to “not need anyone”… and become that lone wolf…then I will be more “ready,” or that it will make things better and easier to tear myself away when the time for departure comes. I noticed myself beginning these patterns earlier this week…politely refusing invitations to parties, opting to do yoga at home versus attending my favorite beachside class, embarking on early morning solo hikes and bike rides versus joining my buddies who have a pretty amazing little group going most days, or even shyly eschewing beautiful souls who desire to take me out * in the convoluted notion that this will somehow make me less lonely “in the long run, of course” *

This week I tangibly sensed my masochistic insanity. In my seeking of self-preservation, I was drying up from lack of fellowship and love like a raisin left out to bake in the sun. I knew I had to stop this negative pattern of being paralyzed by fear…and I also knew I would have to do it afraid. So, rather than pull away from these relationships and invitations in my life, I am striving to sprint towards them as if my life depends on it (for in actuality, I am realizing it does).

This past week was spent in complete community and fellowship. I have been blessed to experience the intimacy of friendship and love that I have only dreamed of, and read about, in favorite books…agape love such as that which was found in the apostle Paul’s Corinthian Community--that realistic, tangible love and mutual concern that Hollywood movies find boring and non-screen worthy, yes…that GOOD stuff of the everyday.

I used to fear this type of closeness. I was a master at placing walls—realizing that to be so open and known, is to be made vulnerable—and vulnerability to me, was dangerous. I still see the "danger,"-- yet I am now understanding that there is such breathtaking beauty in risk….and unfettered freedom to be found in offering oneself up to the amazing possibilities of all things yet known~

At Second Glance~

I woke up this morning and looked out my window. It was cloudy, rainy and windy on the North Shore. Boo….big Boo. So, I did what I do best…ran AWAY from the darkness and ick!!! Ran far, far away * okay, DROVE far away .* I decided I would drive and not stop until the sun shone again…which, if you live in Hawaii, you know isn’t too difficult to find. My wheels rolled towards the rhythm of the seas…finally making their way to Waikiki. And, ahh, the sun was resplendent! People were out in full force, thoroughly enjoying the day. Good call, AB, good call.

I knew I should write an entry today, yet I have a rule with myself that I can’t write anything I don’t FEEL—or that is really authentically tugging on my heart or mind. And as of 8-friggin’-AM this morning…not much of ANYTHING was I “feeling” to write about J So….I decided to take a run, praying that along the way something would speak to me (this tactic has never ever failed me , by the way…life just seems to happen and inspire when given enough time and room).

No, it never fails. I was running along the path in this amazing park right on the water. It is a popular venue, making it a fantastic place to people watch. As good as any airport I have ever been in, hands down.

As I ran, I noticed a familiar sight…or familiar event(s), I should say—Wedding Photo-Paloosa! Everywhere I looked, it seemed, there were blushing brides and glowing grooms! To the right, to the left, flanked on all sides—by frills! The lace, the bouquets, the tiaras, the satin, the bows, the chiffon, the BLING!

A smorgasbord of sensory overload….the blinding white garments glistening in the sun as the photographer extracts every emotional image possible from the cooing couple. * Click, click, smile, laugh, GAZE--oh GAZE!-- into each others’ eyes* --and repeat.

One might think that, after every single day (and on every single jog) of being (what some would call) ”bombarded” with adoring couples left and right…that I would be desensitized to any emotional response by now….yet I am not. Like clockwork, every day, and with each couple I come across, DAMNIT!, I can’t help myself but to smile, slow my pace, and breathe it in.

Yes, breathe it in…but what is this “it” I ask myself? Is it love? * swoon*…no, not exactly, for my common sense and logic sadly reminds me that, despite my romantic feminine heart, two out of four of these couples (at least) will not even make it to their second wedding anniversary. So, no, it’s not love that I am smitten with here.

So, then, again I ask: “What is ‘it?’’ I look again at the sun-kissed smiles. I strain my ears to hear the lilting laughter, making its way to me across the sky, as if floating on fairies wings. I look again…and I see all the tangible sights; hear the audible sounds; but I feel and know… HOPE. I look around me at these couples, gazing into each others’ eyes…adoringly clasped in embraces…and know that, to me, it is more than an embrace, far-reaching beyond a shared smile; it is the symbol of what is to come…hope. The hope they have with a brand new beginning. Hope at the idea of a life ahead…together. Hope looking forward to an added chapter of their lives’ books. Hope for a change. Hope for more of the same something that is good and wonderful. Hope for possibilities. Hope for something shared. Hope in belonging. Hope in knowing. Hope in being known..…and it is breathtaking.

Webster’s defines “Hope” as: “a belief in a positive outcome related to events and circumstances in one's life…[..]…the feeling that what is wanted can be had or that events will turn out for the best.”

So, yes…I call what I witnessed today hope.

Surprisingly this day’s display of beautiful brides does not particularly produce an intense aching in my soul…nor am I taking away from this jog a picture of love. No…. "bah, bah, rah, mama”… *unlike Lady Gaga, I don’t necessarily want a romance*…But I WILL take some of that hope, please….and thank you~

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~

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~

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.