~Let THEM Eat Cake~

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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.

Turkish Tarzans~

We woke up late (a luxury we are most definitely NOT allowing ourselves to get used to). Breakfast with our brothers. Add a new guest couple, recently moved in, to the mix…blessings abound. Carbo-loaded, laughter infused, energy boosted and charged with caffeine (Turbo-style Turkish, of course), and we are ready to greet this day.

Our morning swim across the channel has never felt so good. The current was strong, but we were stronger. The ocean’s pull was a welcome resistance, providing a challenge—something to shoot for and overcome…a goal. And, when we finished—fully spent—too tired for troubles—no energy left to waste on worry…we thanked Jah for all the cares castoff—collected now at the bottom of that salty sea—having slicked off our slight shoulders in the somewhere in between~

Morning melted into afternoon. Days here dally about; yet somehow we fill the time. Fellowship, peace, sunshine, and laughter—all merge as we go about our work in a moderate manner. Languid lengths of hours…merging into one 24 segment cycle.

Evening time now. Not yet night, and the morning having made its quiet exit long ago…the slight lull lingering in the space now left. What to do? Are we hungry? Not yet…the bountiful breakfast became brunch (and quite possibly will suffice for dinner as well if the fullness and satiety of our stomachs has its say). In fact, we can imagine its say would go something along the lines of: “lütfen! artık”….(“PLEASE, NO MORE!”) J We realize that we should probably write something today, but here at the hotel our family is such fun, not much penmanship or productivity is projected to occur. To town we go, then…

One dolma down (that’s a Turkish bus…and...after the first, we believe we may only “need” one, as our legs are suddenly not so tired anymore…* funny how claustrophobia, cramped spaces and odiferous aromas of various unidentified genres--and origins--can do that…*)…and we are deposited into the depths of the bustling, big town (try to contain your excitement..I know…it’s alot to take in all at once). From the one grocer, to the two main (and only!) drags, one really must pace themselves to absorb it all J

Okay! Focus, Ponopeople, we are writing tonight! Hmm…surveying the town square (which, we have to admit, is ROCKIN’ tonight!) we see that the town is represented in full force…all twelve of them. Woo-hoo *hands raised, fists pumpin’—fanfare *. Productivity and writing in mind, we skirt around the square’s edge in search of a place to perch our poetic awesomeness. There! Spotted!—a little corner of bench right by the sea…far enough away from the crowd, yet still enough atmosphere around to inspire—we have arrived! We launch into writing mode…Notepad: CHECK! Pen: CHECK! Lucky handmade ring from Ari: CHECK! Water: CHECK (hey, this writing can be tough..one must stay hydrated!) Black and white spotted feline friend avec notebook: What the (C)HECK?.... and enter our new kitty co-pilot. * Fabulous * just wonderful…now, if we could just have you, Miss Kitty, scoot over a * tad * …so we could * maybe * just see one corner of our paper…yes, thank you, that would be SUPER…* sigh*~

After humoring the little furry freeloader (yes, we fed her too….such pushovers), we sent her on her way, and set our focus back to work. Pen poised, we pondered plot, characters, setting, rising action, falling action, and climax... * as in, the head trauma we just underwent as the band of biker boys, avec little sisters in tow..avec SPLAYED SOCCER BALLS…awesome! BUMP THAT—literally (we are assuming they had the same idea…) * sigh *~ As we turn to give them all an EVIL “Hey what the HOO?” glare-with-a-nostril-flare!---our eyes rest upon the cutest, most adorable, infectiously endearing imp that we have ever seen. * Goners *…..we smile despite ourselves—In that instant the throb of our (now dinosaur egged) heads dissipating.

* Sigh…* ...* smile *... *sigh *…..Resigned, we allow ourselves to revel in the rambunctious rowdiness that is now enveloping us. Looking around at this tribe of tiny Turkish Tarzans, we know we are surrounded…we drop the pen, and reach for our camera (our own version of raising the white flag)… and surrender, swept up in the silly sounds and sweetness of youthful bliss….we are being held captive-ated~

Just Like The Moon~

Barcelona

I awoke early. Bouncing out of bed, I was eager to get to know you. You slept. You made me wait. I tried to go back to sleep and be patient, yet I felt restless...listless...lost. I am a morning person, didn't you know?

As I waited on you, I had time to think; time to pace the chilled marbled tiles, giving my icy feet time to remember (and grieve for) the warm, Hawaiian sand they'd so recently burrowed beneath. I had time to worry...to fret over how many mornings alone I would spend during our time together--time to calculate that loss in not just days, but hours...minutes...seconds...moments...and loved ones. I looked outside. Not even the sun would shed its light; instead making me wait in momentary darkness. I felt you were closed entirely to me, Barcelona. Even your shops and markets had no warm welcomes for me this morning....signs seemed to scream in resolved solidarity: "CERRADO!" I was awake, alone.

Unaffected, you took your time. As mid-day approached, I (being nearly at my wits' end, and certainly almost out of patience) watch as you nonchalantly amble towards me. Slowly, you beckon your day to begin, acknowledging noon in an unhurried aside. I follow at your heels, anxious to see who you are; what you are all about; to discover why you are so beloved among your people. To possibly understand why those who arrange their entire lives just to stay near to you possess such fierce loyalty in your name.

You stroll down the street, round three corners, cross one plaza, and slow. Sidling up to an unassuming sidestreet cafe, you enter...no introduction necessary. This is your spot. Here your table is ready--your coffee and croissant are waiting to warm you. I eat as well, feeling energized by the welcome repast. Yet, still, I wonder what it is exactly that is so special about you. You seem so quiet; almost rude; arrogant in your way. I wait to see.

You settle the bill and I assume we are on our way. My heart drops as I watch you leisurely reach for the daily news, shifting your weight ever so slightly--settling in. We sit for what seems like hours, observing as people pass. Your neighbors, your friends, your colleagues...all greeting you in quiet nods and familiar double-kisses from cheek to cheek. Your streets begin to slowly grind their gears--street vendors pedaling their wares; citizens shifting their paces into one slow and steady, collective hummmmm (yet in a reserved and almost regal way). I begin to see glimpses of life in you, Barcelona.

We share a lite lunch in a little cafe, and you open up a bit more in conversation. Gestures are more animated, and your muscles along your jawline (as well as your stiff upper lip) become more relaxed. I think I may have even caught a brief and fleeting glimpse of a grin at one point.

I begin to get excited, but now, where are you going? "Siesta," you say?!?!? But...isn't that just an exotic and very European-ese way of saying..."NAP?!?!" (as in the kind I used to be forced to endure back in the day...in Mrs Frye's Kindergarten class...while relegated to an orange foam mat that I DISTINCTLY remembered smelling of a grievous mixture of urine and cheetos?...) Well, if so (and I sadly fear it is), to be quite honest, this idea of wasting so much of my day away when I could be getting to know you, leaves quite the same odious stink to my senses). * Boo *.... Yet, I humor you, and we place our days on hold as we sleep. * sigh *

We awake and, surprisingly I feel refreshed. Almost, yes, almost as if this is morning anew. YOU bounce out of your bed and leave ME in the dust! There is much to do, you say, as I dash after you. We make our way through the (now bustling) streets; streets awake and alive with people yelling, heralding their family and friends across the avenues. I dodge children and papas giggling through a frenzied futbol session in the square...watch as a tiny curl-crowned Spanish princess passes by, greedily gobbling up her gelato--a tiny pink trail of sticky sweetness the only evidence remaining of her afternoon's delight.

Arriving at the pub, we sit. We eat. We drink. We laugh. And..I watch you come alive...mingling, dancing, reveling in fellowship and light. It is not until now that I see you, Barcelona. You, to me, personify the very rhythm of your days. We got off to a slow start. I only felt darkness from you...until I understood and looked closer. You, too, shine....the moon to Hawaii's sun, you are now understood, and recognized, with respect and newfound wonder.

I collapse into bed as we return home. How about tomorrow, new friend, let's sleep until noon....

And the Centipede Saga Continued...

And the centipede saga continued: We (Rainbows and I) got to the ER, saw the crowded waiting room, and resigned ourselves to the probable reality of a long night ahead. Upon checking in at the front window, I was presented with a Samson-sized stack of medical forms to fill out—mostly asking me to describe my presenting symptoms, my insurance, * OH! Or lack thereof! * and my medical history * what HAVEN’T I broken, bruised, or sprained….sheesh *~

I sat down to record all the details of my me-centric melodrama that had been taking center stage in recent days. My symptoms were nothing to shirk about…first of which being the centipede bite on my right temple * that’s right folks…an angry little scorpion-like bug bit me on the friggin’ face! * This bite was not only inconveniently located, but it also rudely decided * without consulting me, mind you! * to become infected—oozing all kinds of future scab-age and crustiness * ☹ Oh, and yes, did I mention that this bite, once becoming infected, had now apparently birthed little bacteria babies who appear to have a particular affinity for yours truly’s face?… * it must be the cheeks *~ Not to be mistaken for a lazy or unindustrious infection, this spawn of Satan had “shared the love” all over my entire body—hands, legs, shoulder, chin, etc …* the bawdy slut *~

I continued on recounting the pain and torture that was mine to bear… *angst, torment…NEOSPORIN. * After I felt that I had sufficiently soaked up every bit of sympathy that anyone reading later would have to muster, * or maybe when it was really just when I ran out of room/ lines on the paper for whining * I placed the pen down * cue hand to forehead in a grand sweeping motion of passion-filled, “poor me” proportions. * As I moved to return my own forms for registration, I surveyed the rest of the room, thinking of how each individual case/ client would fill in their charts specifically.

Directly adjacent to my line of sight, I saw a child clinging to his mother—wailing from the unknown, nameless pain. The mother occupied herself by looking around frantically for something ….anything—to ease her son’s suffering. A helpless frustration painted across her person. As she is called to the window, the young boy (well upwards of 10 or 11 years of age) clings to her. She carried his feeble frame across the room, as to not leave him alone in his misery. They are called into the inner sanctum of swaths, gauze and delicious drugs—while I resume my scanning.

A young Asian girl, only about three or four years old, is lying stretched out across the stiff, plastic seats. Her cheeks are flushed, and her legs and arms are splayed limply about her body. Her mother quietly strokes her face and hair, then closes her eyes. I imagine this mortal Madonna lifting up a silent prayer for deliverance and relief~

There were a few other couples that I couldn’t quite tangibly see what the issues of concern were in particular. However, the worry on the significant others’ faces were enough to let me know that each yet to be diagnosed duo was, indeed, serious~

Without a doubt, my favorite fellow sufferer was a tall, thin fellow who looked to be about my age…maybe a few years younger. As he strolled in with his two friends, he was upbeat and positive. I was so sidetracked by the smile on his face, that I, at first, did not notice the inflamed, red bites and scarlet sores that laced their way up his entire body. The infection’s sores licked their way up his leg like flames on fire—you could practically feel the searing heat from where I was sitting. I groaned with every step he took, placing myself in his shoes. I must have been staring, because I caught his eye, and what a smile * I think he showed me every single tooth that he possessed!* greeted me!~ The young man turned to the woman at the check in window and answered her question of “Checking in?” with a light-hearted quip along the lines of: “Yes, I have requested an oceanfront room with a Jacuzzi tub…reservations under ‘MosquitoMan.’“ …..he catches her eye as he shrugs his shoulders in self-deprecating, humble humor. *he even gets a slight twinge of mirth from Nurse Wratchet herself …I swear I DID see the corners of her mouth curl upwards ever so slightly…*
I find this interaction to be…

FANTASTIC. AMAZING. SOBERING~

Giggling to myself, I thought back to my recently filled forms—those detailed descriptions of my dramatic health crisis….all the sores, the pain, the frustration, the humility—in a few small moments—firmly placed in their proper position(s). Thank you….again and again—perspective~

The Power Of One~

Yesterday. My morning. I rose with the sun, whose radiant rays found me with a hopeful heart. The birds were chirping. A soft breeze skipped across the North Shore. Not a cloud could be seen for miles. I was fully present in this moment and knew that I had a delightful plan for the day just waiting to unfold.

I had called my friend Lam, and we giddily arranged to meet for a picnic in Ala Moana park on his lunchbreak….he even promised it would be complete with my favorite…sushi J Yes, this day was going to be fantastic. Sitting on the beach. Catching up with one of my favorite friends. Being soothed by the soft ebb and flow of the Waikiki waves. Yep…everything was coming up roses~

* Cue the thorn(s) *....

Before it was time to meet Lam, I had several errands to run…all disappointingly indoors—one was even located at what I have non-lovingly dubbed as the dreaded “Ala Moana Monster Mall.” Each time I frequent this establishment, (which I attempt to keep at a frequency less than * or at least equal to * the number of times teenaged kids WILLINGLY discuss "the Birds and The Bees" with their parental units), I have noticed that I most often leave the premises with at least a slight twitch, or a nervous tremor. I just can’t wait to get back to my car and chant my Stuart Smalley-esque affirmations…* most often as I rock to and fro in the drivers seat * “I am me…and I am okay!” J Yes folks, here at the Monster Mall is where it’s all happening…frenzied and frantic consumerism at its finest.

As I was running around, being bumped and jostled….careening into bony elbows, and doing my best to avoid the little midget children zigzagging haphazardly to and fro underfoot, I kept myself sane by reminding my heart that in T-minus two hours I would be on a beautiful beach with my bestie. One more deep breath, and on we go! Finally, after all errands were completed, and I feel as if I have run the Honolulu marathon as a three-legged race * my partner being a 400 pound, blind man with asthma ,* --the time for my perfect picnic had arrived! Oh joy!

With a skip in my step, and a sparkle in my spirit, I swing wide the sliding glass door opening into the parking lot. And what, I ask, is awaiting to greet me? RAIN. Dun Dun Dun! L I was crestfallen. My idyllic day is ruined….rained out…woe is me~

Eeyore, embodied in human form, I reach for my phone. As the grey storm cloud looms over above me, I type my companion a text, announcing our day’s doom. The death sentence for our perfect picnic contained one single word of depressing finality--: RAINING.

The instantaneous response I received back contained also one word--: RAINBOWS.

Awakening Awareness~

Lam saves ONE full day. With just ONE word….and ONE different pair of eyes~

Praised be such beloved souls who surround us in life…who see the scattered light that breaks through....and who choose to focus on all the beauty that is promises~

Perfect Perspective~

Weddings. Oh, yes, a wedding! That once in a lifetime event (one hopes at least) that every young girl dreams about her entire life…that climax to all teenage angst-ridden romantic longings of finding “the one!” The fairytale ending; The beginning of a new and exciting chapter in life; A tangible initiation into adulthood; A ceremony symbolizing newness, and the offering of hope to a couple embarking towards a bright future together. A W-E-D-D-I-N-G! Let us all please pause for one collective romantic ……* breathy sigh * (Were your eyes lifted heavenward, your heart all aflutter, and your hands clasped together as well? ….Kudos to you, then)~

Yes, weddings are a big deal. And at these weddings, most expect a beautiful and dramatic cake as one centerpiece of the event. This past week, yours truly was commissioned by a dear friend, for help in creating one of these said confections. And when I say “creating”…I really mean “constructing”…for this cake morphed into one monster mo’ fo! Literally seeming to come alive, (in the sense that it GREW, and GREW, and GREW in epic proportions, as we toiled over its triple-layered tiers!), by the time our little cake-monster fully developed into adulthood, I was quite ready for it to leave its nest of birth and fly far, far, far away…oh, very far…*at least until I had a full nights’ sleep!* …then maybe I would have more feeling of love for my sugared-spawn~ And that’s a big maybe…

Okay, maybe I jest at how stressful this endeavor was for my colleagues and me. And maybe, * I mean we are talking about me! * I may have embellished a few details to make your heart twinge ever so slightly more deeply. Guilty as charged J However, the fact does remain that we were, indeed, working under an immense amount of pressure in regards to being the bearers of the bride’s one and only wedding cake. There were to be pictures (insane amounts at that)…so many, in fact, that by the end of the evening the beautiful and blushing bride will feel as if her face is about to melt off, --her cheeks, most noticeably, will ache for want of rest…the ceaseless barrages of “And, SMILE!” bounding at her all evening from the frenzy of well-wishing photographers * professional and otherwise * ~ As well as pictures, there was to be the absolute adoration of the attendees to attain, * as well as the possible scorn and snobbery of the what I call the “Gucci-guests” to avoid * Yes, it was, indeed still a certified stress-inducing undertaking.

As we went through the process of making the cake, I realized intermittently that I would go through peaks and valleys of my emotional mountain. * What a crazy a** hike that is most days, my friends... and NOT one for the faint of heart, I assure you! * As we laid out the initial blueprint of the cake construction, I felt my heart starting to beat slightly faster…that old familiar bead of sweat began tickling and teasing my brow, in hopes I would let it escape down my cheek….yes, the two telltale buddies that herald the arrival of Andy’s overwhelm. * Valley one * I noticed this and staved off the approaching angst by being proactive and suggesting a list be made…order this chaos, yes please…haha, bastard buddies..you lose, and my beloved (oh how beloved!) control has been restored to the scene! * Peak one* Such continued the day, (peak to valley to peak) for a marathon stretch of well over twelve hours. After having painstakingly rolled fondant, measured layers, stacked and sealed seams, fluted flowers, piped icing, and aesthetically adorning all, (and, of course, making sure it was, indeed, colored to match) my friends and I were so exhausted. Applying the finishing touches, we surveyed our creation.

My eyes immediately went to the * what I know must be blatently obvious! * one stripe that was slightly off center. My friend Sharon was crouched closely to the bottom layer, convinced that the entire cake was crooked. “Was that flower supposed to be there?” “Did the bride want beads lining the edge, or would she hate these?” “Oh my Gawd! Is that a crack in the fondant?” Yes, I warned you the entire process had not entirely been a walk in the park! Our perfectionistic perusal continued as we microscopically went over the surface of the cake. Enter the third helper, BJ, who took one look from across the room and exclaimed with such affirmation and excitement: “AWESOME JOB GUYS! Looks great! ” I stopped, Sharon stopped…we looked at each other…we looked at BJ, weighing his intentions * yep, pure *.... and then we stepped back and took a second look.

What a beautiful cake it was--Made with love and the best intentions…filled with sweetness and infused with such hopes and blessings to a couple beginning their new life together. This cake, was indeed, perfect~

Banana Breakfast~

Interesting morning already, and it is only 8 30 AM. Brings much to think about. Perspective to me is always an amazing thing. Today I woke early * especially for not having the morning shift at the Gallery * and decided To cruise into town to get some coffee before a run. I never like to park and leave money around, or have to carry it with me, so I grabbed just enough for my soy yogurt, Powerbar and coffee…and I was on my way!

As I pulled up to the store, I ran in glancing at my watch…thinking I had plenty of time it’s gonna be a great morning! As I poured my coffee I let my mind wander to all the beautiful things I would see on my hike. I was already itching and ready to go go go. I felt a (non too gentle!) Tap... (more like a smack) on my shoulder, followed by a booming voice…it bellowed “ HEY LADY! YOU GOTS TEN CENTS FO’ A COFFEE FOR A SISTA? “ As I reached down to wipe up the coffee I had just spilt all over the counter (I did say BELLOWED? Right?) , I turned to see the smallest little peep of a woman child staring UP at me with these huge (yes, bloodshot red) almond eyes.

As I opened my mouth to tell her” N-to the “eff”-O!,” I realized I technically DID have it…and then some. I set my coffee down, and refilled what was now her cup of joe…asking her how she liked it fixed. She eyed me suspiciously…then after a moment of sizing me up, apparently deemed me sincere and proceeded to tell me exactly how many sugars and creamers she desired…”*AND DON’T YOU GO FO’GET DA LITTLE BITTY STRAW, EH? IT’S MO’ BETTAH THAT WAY!* “ Alright. Sheesh.

So, coffee in hand she stares impatiently at me as I head down the aisle to grab my yogurt and Powerbar. I get halfway down the aisle as she shrieks…”SHO’ IS NICE THAT YOU GETTING SOME BREAKFAST IN YO’ BELLY THIS MORNING, AIN’T IT SISTA?” Shoulders sag….Enter realization that THIS is a perspective moment…a pono opportunity in the making that I REALLY REALLY am not “feeling” exactly. I stop, turn and backtrack to the woman. Okay, lady, I have 6 dollars exactly. You have just burned up one with the coffee…leaving “US” with five for breakfast. How would you like to spend it? I handed over the bills. She greedily grabbed the green and sped away down the aisle out of sight. “I’ll just meet you at the register” I half-heartedly muttered/ offered up to the ether.

Three minutes later and around the corner she spins, wide grin on her face. Hands full. She plunks down a hot breakfast burrito from the deli, a spam musubi, two hard boiled eggs, her cup of coffee, and a freckled, bruised midget banana from the “penny bin”. “*We GONNA PAY CASH SISTA!*” the woman proudly announces to the cashier. The cashier (as she is ringing up “our” morning feast) keeps trying to catch my eye…I avoid it on purpose and try to act natural. She finishes ringing up the items and, as she is taking the bills, grabs the lady’s hand and says “ISN’T IT NICE OF AUNTY TO PAY FOR YOUR BREAKFAST?”…the woman shrugs her shoulders and grabs her stash and runs…I am left with a half-assed thank you wave via her rear view…and a crappy, rotting banana for the interchange. haha, oh boy

I look up and finally make eye contact with the astounded cashier. Who asks me if I realize I just paid 6 dollars for a rotten banana. “Yes.” I replied, still laughing at myself and the absurdity that I am sure this represented to her (and I must admit, even myself at that moment!) She went on to inform me, “You know, that lady begs off of everybody you know…she never work, and so she doesn’t deserve nothing...she hasn't earned it.” “Nope, I guess she hasn't "earned it" has she?” I replied…and FELT the smile for the first time that morning. AS I got in my car to drive away, STOMACH GRUMBLING, I realized the pono-moment wasn’t necessarily for the ungrateful woman who walked away with my breakfast in her belly…it was for me, and for that cashier…to think of what everyone deserves and doesn’t deserve, about "worthiness" and motivations…and perspective.

One of my favorite set of lyrics is by Songwriter Ani DeFranco…she says all that I could say “Mo Bettah”:

I do it for the joy it brings
because i'm a joyful girl.
Because the world owes me nothing
and we owe each other the world.
I do it because it's the least i can do.
I do it because i learned it from you
and i do it just because i want to
because i want to~

May we all love and be loved not in proportion to what each “deserves” or has "earned"…because I sure want and need so much more love than that~

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...

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.

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~

'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~

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!