Debra Joy

The Following of Fridays

2011-06-03T11:09:00.000-07:00

Following people around is an inherent habit of the human being. It may be because we think other people know more than we do.

Or we just don’t want to miss anything. We long to be included.

We long to know what other people are doing and thinking and of course wearing, but most of all we want to know, “What are people talking about?.”
We can’t help ourselves! We are nosey. Anyone on Twitter will shamelessly admit to it.

When we were kids, we followed other kids around in school just to find out what they were doing. Some things will never change about us and that’s a good thing. We learn from each other through our watching, our listening and by following each other around!

The culture on Twitter broadens this concept of follow the leader and takes it to dizzying heights with endless heartfelt listings. It has redefined the follow factor and opened up its capacity far and beyond the 140 or less limitations. What translates in a tweet can be felt and ingratiated so out of the box it is mind blowing!

We cook dinner, and thousands of people will know about it. What used to be a single daily task is now a full blown conversation among thousands of people! What used to be the simple running of errands has now become the “I’m At The” game of “smart “nesses, social media mavens and tweetoholics.
Why do we care if someone just dropped their dog off at the groomer, or changed their mind about which grocery store to go to down the street? Because we follow them around and what used to seem to be meaningless tasks, have now become points of interest simply because we are listening. It reveals the nature of us truly, people care about people! It doesn’t matter what we are doing or where we are, we want to know about it.

So I’ll ask the question; Do these mundane pieces of seemingly meaningless tidbits of information clutter us up inside or distract us too much from our own lives? The ability to now know things about each others lives in an instant instead waiting days or even weeks, has ramped up our minds and our culture. It has a stimulating effect for more doing. As we watch others and now have immediate access to what others are doing we accelerate our own actions and behavior. We have the ability to absorb more information than we ever thought was possible in a single day. I like to call it the “Lucy and Ethel Effect”. Beyond pretending to borrow that cup of sugar just for an excuse to find out what antics Lucy was up to next, we are the Ethel’s with our ears up against the wall of humanity. Our ability to do this has afforded us opportunity to in fact assist change for human rights as has been played out right before our tweeting eyes in numerous circumstances.
Our fondness of following each other around is an essential part of our human nature and the “Following of Fridays” gives us the permission we all really wanted, to revel in it!

Happy Follow Friday Everyone! Follow me!

*****

Disarming the Heart

2011-05-03T10:38:00.000-07:00

You are his teacher and he is my son,
He does the best that he can
Books on his back soon as you are done, my strong little brave little man

Who puts these ideas in his head then,
All about gothic and dread
President’s whores, terrorist wars
Instead of my golden rule
He’s fighting off danger in school

Don’t blame this on no taliban man,
Or a need to even the score
Disarming hearts is the only way we can,
Give Love an open door ... or lose even more.

Disarm our hearts, let's change our minds.
Let's take the time to redefine ...

10 years later it’s just gotten worse
We're a land full of contraband
We are held hostage in body and purse
and it’s not just cause of one man.

I may be a gramma, sometime in March of next year
And it breaks my heart, right from the start
Before she even gets here
She’s already hostage to fear.

Don’t blame this on no taliban man
As the walls came tumbling down
We have not done all we can ...
Before we heard the sound ...

Disarming hearts is the only way we can,
Give Love an open door ... or lose even more.

Disarm our hearts, let's change our minds.
Let's take the time to redefine

We know our own hearts, we know where we've been
We knew from the start who's to blame for what sin
Yet we're challenged by hope and we linger with fear
Who would have smote what was cradled sincere?

Don’t blame this on no Taliban man,
Or a need to even the score
Disarming hearts is the only way we can,
Give Love an open door, or lose even more...

~ djs

Hello, this is a song you will soon hear that I wrote for my legally blind son as my children and I struggled through 9/11 etc ...
I feel it is currently appropriate which is why I chose to share it

It's message speaks for itself

We can all disarm our hearts in the little things we do daily,
Have more patience with others...
Lean less on the horn while driving
(the horn can be as offensive as throwing rocks and can frighten elderly drivers, use only for safety as it was intended, not to just let people how annoyed we are at being in a hurry)
Listening requires an open heart as well as ears
Hug your people as much as possible
Let's Embrace our differences, we learn to expand our wellbeing in doing so

Humanity is family, while we all may not see eye to eye,
we can make love the first intention.

Just my opinion, thank you for taking the time to care enough to read this.

I appreciate you, bless you & all that surrounds you ... ~ djs

******

A Shiver Runs Through It ... this cold economy

2011-04-16T10:47:00.000-07:00

As spring reaches out to take her turn and summer totally just takes cuts in front of her, I’m feeling completely snowed in by this cold economy. Up until now, I have been a patient observer even through the downward spiral of unemployment, and the overwhelming rising price of gas, among so many other things. Now a quiver goes up my spine as I face the hard truth, it has seriously brought me down ...

and Please! I don't need a pep talk I need a *gulp* J O B.

Our culture is changing so rapidly an old school girl barely has a chance to shift gears and catch up. But you should know, I was once one of the first people that I knew, to use computers at work and now they have taken over our lifestyle. I was once a switchboard operator with cords, cables and rotary dials and now phones are attached to ear balls. Once upon a time I was a powerhouse in boardrooms, partnering people with purpose to get a project done over donuts and coffee, and now in person meetings are replaced virtual conferencing. People have forgotten what it was like to pick up a telephone and catch up, instead preferring to direct message in social media. All around my neighborhood, beloved libraries and bookstores are closing, and people are being forced into seeking content online. Even utility bills are encouraging me to go paperless. (Do you smell a through line?) After having been through identity fraud, that’s where I draw the line. Excuse me, but there has to be a balance here somewhere. Closing libraries isn’t green people. The Books Are Already Printed!

Yesterday, I went in person to a staffing agency, (they, who shall not be named) of which in the past I had amazing success with I might add, even using this agency to employ others when I needed to staff up as a manager, and was treated with complete disdain for dropping by. I was unceremoniously told I must go back online to request a meeting! By the way, the office was completely empty! It wasn’t like the line was out the door. As I went out the door I took it with a sense of humor and made the 3 girls laugh who worked there, but I could smell conspiracy. Hello!?! Really!?!

I went online and endured some difficult testing which was stunning, to apply at a store which is local to me just for convenience. Irony? Every village that was ever missing their idiot seemed to work there, meaning why not me! No response. Maybe I didn't pass the test? Over the last year and a half I have averaged thousands of online applications with only one “in person” interview. Excuse me, but there has to be a balance here somewhere. Forcing our humanity into a box ie; "Internet" is not going to make us disappear. People have to be able to afford the Internet or at least a cup of designer coffee for wi fi!

Now look, I have moved with these changes and adapted them as a part of my own life and truly feel there is huge value in technology. I'm the first in my family to champion the miracles of Twitter and what not, and I certainly don't really miss the rabbit ears on my television. But when the Internet goes down, we'll all be stranded in mid air waves, without even a book left to read by candle light at the rate things are going.

When it comes to career and looking for work, the model is completely lacking in humanity on every level with one exception, relationships. I have met some of my dearest friends in person from Twitter, which is rare. Usually if someone already knows you out of “the box" they are usually receptive to you. In the olden days, I used to go into a place and was hired on the spot. Doing this is for some reason is hugely discouraged now, but I’m brave and chase pavements regardless. Why? Because just being in the box alone is not enough to get a response! What else can a person do? Aside from blinging out my resume, or sending gifts I can't afford to potential employers, which I have also done! Somehow I believe I am not alone in my quest. I’m sure there are many of you out there trying to get your stilettos in the door just like me.

It seems my life has always been a work in progress, which is what life is really all about anyway. But through everything I’ve been through there was always one constant, work. Since the time I was 12, I worked. I worked when I was in abusive foster homes. Through several abusive relationships, I worked. When I was nursing precious babies and changing dirty diapers, I worked. I became a hero to myself and to my children because I worked. I was the man in the family. Even though my story is tragic, the results have been magnificent. I refused the hardships as destiny and forced the joy in and believed. Once learning the word "choices", I choose to be an inspiration and count my blessings in life.

I evolved and grew into my own authenticity, working smart and through hard work. It was the very least I could do for opportunity to show my gratitude for her. I often thrived by her kind generosity and was always grateful to at least be able to stand among her guests. Now with even opportunity herself standing at the back of the unemployment line, I stand watching, completely affronted at the mistreatment and flagrant disregard of my grand hostess. Both of us left to the mercy irony.

I’m done taking it on the chin now Mr. Naughty Economy, you need a time out. Don’t you dare wait till I’m homeless to help me! I’m putting you on the naughty seat and you’re not to get up until I tell you to, or you're going right over my knee! If you don’t behave I’m so gonna hurt your feelings …

People who can’t even spell economy are talking about you. You had no right to treat opportunity like a schmatta. She’s your sister!

I'll send a shiver through your monotony and find a way to employ others. Take that stimulus, I could turn you around so fast it'll make your head spin.

I'm the something from nothing girl, Remember me? *bootstraps* ...

Anyway, I'm not sure what exactly I'm going to do about all this, but something, I'm definitely going to do something ...

*sigh* stay tuned ... the saga continues ...

Throughout history people have done amazing things when forced into change. It is possible for us to all work together to decide on how technology will impact our humanity. It's our responsibility.

Want to help me donate books to sad people!?!
YOU CAN!

***

"Emergency Repair Kit for Broken Heart" by Ruby Bell

2011-03-25T13:23:00.000-07:00

Have you ever been dumped in a text message, DM box, or a post-it note?
Has a friend or loved one?

"breaking someone's heart on purpose should be a federal offense" - Ruby Bell

Highly Recommended!!! The "Feel Good" Hand Holder!!!
Please Purchase here to help the 'under dog' >
https://www.createspace.com/3461861

Read The Reviews!!!

http://www.amazon.com/Emergency-Repair-Kit-Broken-Heart/dp/1453635785

Portions of proceeds to will be going to ...
my mother's last wish and assist the: "Women's Recovery Association" http://www.womensrecovery.org/

Want To Help Me Donate Books To Sad People?
YOU CAN!!!

Thank for your loving support!

***

***

When "Love" is Around

2011-02-12T11:06:00.000-08:00

When "Love" is around, I tend to let it in, no matter what fine specimen of Adonis walks in.
To the point I might as well wear a t-shirt that says "I'm with Uh Oh".
It never comes in wearing an "under construction" sign over its head,
consequently forcing the deconstruction of Debbie in its wake.
In some cases barely allowing me to escape its grasp alive!

When "Love" was around in the beginning it pursued me relentlessly. Taunting me in doorways and often sending holograms ahead of me to distract my attention, appearing to be shiny armor guys who really wanted a ride to the bus stop or their bar bill paid.
Ah love, Ah amore ... the stuff that Dean Martin is made of baby...

When "Love" is around it sends its warm surges through my veins and intoxicates me as I force my tiny feet into vintage shoes again. It quivers my spine and changes my mind and I flounce. That's right I said flounce. In all of my full on boa regalia I soar with my feathers on clouds and make breakfast.

When "Love" is around it tends to favor sports over my melting Puccini on a Saturday, as it leaves evidence of itself everywhere, shamelessly unaware.
Still I tend to sing in the kitchen, as I clean up the bacon grease and I never seem to mind massaging its neck.

But love likes to go first in the bathroom and forgets to bring me coffee.
It thinks I can carry half my own body weight uphill for 3 miles in 100 degree weather when I'm on my period... then thinks its okay to hand me a shovel when I have to use the restroom.
It likes to think I always taste like sugar, I'm made of rubber, pay my bills through osmosis and I'm always aware where its shoes are when I stumble over them.

When "Love" is around there is always a sense of adventure. As a spirited woman I embrace the antics and all of its foibles, knowing full well I won't be able to get a word in edgewise when it keeps me up past 3:00am.

Nevertheless, love itself will always be my hero. It has such a winning way in all its crooning even though it's spoiled rotten and often broke my heart.

One day it will claim me as its champion, because I’m sure it knows how hard I've held to the beauty of its loving essence, even when I had to wash the soap. ~

**********************************************************************************

"Emergency Repair Kit for a Broken Heart"

2010-11-01T21:14:00.000-07:00

(20 or so things you can do while you're waiting for time to step up and heal all wounds)
by Ruby Bell

My Pen Name is Ruby Bell, more to come on the story of Ruby Bell later.

Emergency Repair Kit for a Broken by Ruby Bell > Available on amazon!

http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1453635785

"Rejection is anarchy to the human heart, blinding paths for self discovery and can put life in a stronghold"

Every single one of us has suffered from some kind of loss, or at the very least we know someone who is going through some variable of heart break. Perhaps even someone who can't stop calling you, because someone has dumped them in a cruel way.

Well after having suffered from many of my own repeated losses, I realized I just was unable to heal.

Finally, I gathered everything anyone ever told me .. and all the things I felt or needed someone to say to me during those painful times and ...

Quite by accident & then very on purpose I created this feel good hand holder for the broken heart.
It really works! I am living proof!

It has already been acclaimed by a licensed therapist and I have also been told it's something that everyone should read even if they never had a broken heart!

Please help me create awareness for the worst invisible injury on the planet - Rejection.

Book Launch party news to come soon!

Thank You all so much for your loving support.
~ djs

********

The Ocean is My Mentor

2010-06-03T11:16:00.000-07:00

It almost seems as if I can feel the ocean screaming. I have always felt connected to the ocean, beyond connected really. The ocean is my mentor. Throughout my life it has mothered me, healed me, and sang to me.

Now, I can feel a definite change as I stare in gaping mouth at the flagrant disregard for humanity and our precious earth, by so called commerce. I watch our Atlantic Coastline taking the full brunt of humanities assault with humility it seems for now. But I know her so well. Once she lifts her head up from her fatal injuries she is going to have her say. As any mother worth her salt, she will admonish her children for having forsaken her as they kneel weeping at her feet inconsolable with guilt. Well one can only hope. We humans have taken more than has ever been our right to, from our mother earth. We have had the luxury of taking this earth for granted from the beginning of time. The very blood of her existence, water, is poisoned because of the greed of her children. Like any mother, she gives willingly, but I don’t think it will be quietly. There is a horrific lesson to learn here when we all will eventually get the “howler” on this one.

The entire catastrophe is insulting and makes me personally feel ashamed for these people in charge of such a huge responsibility. It has become painfully obvious that they lack not only integrity but the maturity to handle so great a responsibility. Oh wait that’s right, greed is never responsible for its behavior is it? Ok well let’s just say that is true. Everything in equal measure to consequence is a universal law. The one thing humanity cannot get around. Oh it may seem to for a time, but sooner or later karma washes up unto shore and makes toxic sand cookies.

Every one of us has seen mother earth take back everything that was always rightfully hers. But she has been a good mother to us. We should handle her not with fear or brute force, but with love. We have pummeled, pumped and purged every part of her precious resources. From rocks we get diamonds. We build kingdoms and legacy for generations to inherit. Our homes, our clothes our technology all gleamed from the bounty this world has to offer. Yet we still have so little regard for the life the earth gives us and for human life itself which is evident by war and neglect and worse. We can recycle, turn off lights, we can call ourselves “green” thinking we are somehow giving back. But compared to what we have already collectively taken, can we honestly say we are giving back? Sometimes the best way to give back is not to take in the first place.

The one thing every country has in common regardless of culture is the wanting of “stuff”. It sickens me to watch leaders play tug of war games over oil instead of learning how to share and embrace diversity and care for one another. Basic principles I struggled to teach my own children seem to be lost on the mighty. Now the mighty may not even have a sandbox. At least not one they’ll be willing to wiggle their toes in. We have no idea what the impact this BP event will have on our great grand kids.

I’m so confused why we don’t learn from our mistakes. For example; in the 1800’s our government gave land to farmers in what is now referred to as the “dust bowl”. These farmers were encouraged to farm the land, seems innocent enough. But in doing so they scourged the earth of its protective foliage which kept the earth from rising into dust storms in four states. By the 1930’s the area suffered long droughts. As the winds rose, they blew miles of earth thousands of feet into the air and traveled at up to hundred and fifty miles an hour. These were called “black storms” and would last up at three days at time and one of these storms hit from Alabama to New York City. The loss of life was catastrophic and some of the regions hit by these storms have still never recovered, so much for commerce, right? The government was apprised of the situation years prior but did nothing until it literally showed up on their doorstep.

The point is, we have many of these references and we still don’t learn. The precious eco systems are not going to just stay and play nice in areas we’ve “decided” to designate them in. We have wild life reserves, and call ourselves protecting forests, while our hand is still in the cookie jar with drills piercing the earth like needles digging thousands of miles for oil. How do we actually know what the impact will be because of this? The earth works in perfect and delicate balance with itself. Oil may in fact protect or rather lubricate some greater part of our planetary core. Perhaps keeping plates from shifting even more violently then they do, perhaps even assisting a greater balance with gravity as it relates to our solar system. We don’t know everything. This is acutely apparent with our situation in the gulf.

As children of the earth, we can do more to secure and preserve what is left of it. How? By shifting our priorities and changing our collective minds and value set. If we work together and value life itself over “stuff” I believe it will have a global impact on our humanity, on our commerce and its integrity and ultimately our planet.

The tongue and cheek approach our media is taking with this BP tragedy cannot in any way minimize the devastation it’s creating. Nor can there be an attempt to “manage perceptions” to the public which is what most of corporate America does. Our manufactures have found a way to put petroleum, which is a derivative of crude oil in everything we use, by “managing our perceptions”. It’s in everything from our lotions to our cosmetics. Perhaps there is no way to stop everyone from driving cars, but maybe we can do something on a smaller scale, by each of us refusing to buy products containing petroleum. Aside from alternative fuel sources, we have alternatives to other things as well. By the way, hi Jojoba and hemp oil how are yah!?!
I am just a nobody and maybe my little two cents on all of this may seem to be naïve. But we have to start somewhere and make a stand with greater intention then we have ever had before. Shame is not enough. Some loss can mean forever. If we don’t mama’s gonna get the last word. She always does.

By the way must read article in Herald de Paris “It’s Not a Spill” http://www.heralddeparis.com/?s=It%27s+Not+A+Spill

Want to see if the products in your cabinets have petroleum?
http://www.cosmeticsdatabase.com/

Greed cannot, must not win.

*****

Hope Lives among Us

2010-05-20T21:23:00.000-07:00

My son Isaiah has been once again nationally honored for his contributions and recognized as being a champion of hope. The event was a celebration of the 50th birthday for The Los Angeles Department of Mental Health hosted at the California Endowment Society in downtown Los Angeles.

As I tagged along in mommy fashion, I found my heart wretched cleanly from my chest throughout the day. As I gawked in sheer amazement at his artwork for the event and the outpouring of love and adoration for my son’s shining achievements, I was struck in awe and a little bit paralyzed. Watching him charismatically weave his way as he was surrounded by celebrity as well as professionals in the Mental Health Care industry was nothing short of stunning. His bright humility, moved with sincerity warmth and kindness, neglecting no one.

We soon watched the tearful video he created in company with his mentors, which inevitably moved hundreds. >>> http://dmh.lacounty.gov/News/press_room.html

His story, as he tells it, is his testimony of hope for all he has been through and his purposeful effort to transform his pain into art.

As he talked about his trauma of being homeless or rather "houseless", it hurt to the core of my existence. He talked about our family struggle and the ripple in the water effect it had on him. In my attempt at listening as an objective observer, all I could feel was beyond grateful. Even though sequences of actual events are a bit blurred in the translation, his heart bursted through every precious reflection. It is his story and the telling of it, is his right to champion for his own healing and the healing of others as it turns out.

The LADMH and their affiliates of this event, deal personally and professionally with all issues dealing directly with the voiceless of our American society. In a land of the free, there are so many shackled and imprisoned by the stigmatism of a mental and/or emotional infliction.

The seemingly voiceless, are creating a world of hope walking with an invisible limp. All the while, the language they speak is about wellness. I was enthralled as I heard testimonies from war veterans, the hearing impaired and the physically paralyzed, to the victims who have lost family members to suicide. Every person now apart of an advocacy program mentoring others through hardships they themselves had been through.

The list is endless and came up close and personal when our Key Note speaker Mariette Hartley addressed us with her own brave and heart wrenching story. As she mentioned the term PTSD, I was capsized. Having been in stronghold from within throughout the day, her bravery unraveled my heart.

The power of her warm words made me realize how powerful my son was as she mentioned him several times having been moved by his story, but also how alone I had been feeling for years. She melted me and made me realize it was time for me to come forward.

When I was first diagnosed with PTSD, I attempted to write the about the experience of the trauma I had suffered in a paper I called Corporate Cancer. However, since then I made a conscious decision to attempt to keep moving forward, with my maimed inner self. Not because I was in denial but honestly because I felt no support for what I was going through. There simply has been no voice for it and even though I worked within the healthcare industry to support my sons, most of their young life, there was no advocacy or support. After all every mama needs a village and unfortunately the one that surrounded us was severely lacking. Sometimes it seemed there just wasn't enough "village" to go around.

The fact that my son found the resources I needed all along is not lost on me. This is so telling, the ways of the ironical vortex and how it always seems to find a through line. Needless to say, I too will be contacting these people and finally get the care I have needed for years. So in truth my son will by default also be healing his mom.

The life events and traumas which created my sons story is only one among many thousands of people who have suffered throughout the world as well as throughout history. But the difference my son makes is the voice he is willing to give to his story through his art and his generous heart and soul. My job is done. My baby son can be one of the finest human beings on the planet.

So, should I discuss the hardships we all suffered that made this so? The truth is if it could happen to us, it could happen to anyone, and often does. An entire family can fall apart from one single trauma. Whether it is a lengthy hospital stay from an illness, to a car accident, job loss, loss of a loved one, or even something as seemingly simple as a broken heart.

I could say if I hadn’t been diagnosed with PTSD, he could be already teaching and sitting in a bistro in Europe by now discussing philosophical art and its impact on humanity. I could talk about long painful nights in worry about my all children and my own illness. But really the truth is, Isaiah has become the person I ultimately wished him to be as I cradled him in loving sincerity. Now he is well on his own life path which screams to the universe his right to exist, much the same way he kicked while in the womb forcing me to my knees. Today he brings the universe to its knees, in souring hope. I know I don’t regret a thing, as long as whatever it was, it got him here; to these moments of triumph and understanding as he waves his banners in colorful benevolence on canvas.

Isaiah’s story began before he was even born, before I was born. But the one he tells is appropriate and timely. In response, I can only say I have always been proud to be his mother, and likely would have found him in friendship even if I hadn’t been. My testimony is I am grateful others value and love my son as much as I do. There is no greater gift for any unselfish parent.

In Isaiah’s artwork is a logo which was coined the “stigma buster”. If someone else had created such a logo during our little family’s time of trauma, there may not have even been a story for him to tell. When he was born, he looked as if he’d been dipped in gold. Now he has the heart to match. What more could a mother ask for? Thank you Isaiah, my sweet baby son, your artful banner is healing my soul.

I would personally like to thank Gina Perez with the Pacific Clinics for her warm mentoring, kindness beyond the call of uh oh from the very beginning.

My gratitude continues for Kathleen Piche, LCSW with LADMH for championing Isaiah right to the steps of everyone’s heart.

To his older brother David, my sweet son, who has never let go of his brother’s hand in caring and love.

I would like to also say thank Mariette Hartley for her beauty and bravery. She truly is a triumph of spirit. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for embracing us.

For anyone dealing with these tragic circumstances, please never give up. I have seen for myself that there are resources and more importantly PEOPLE who not only care, but understand. There is HOPE among us.

See more of Isaiah’s beautiful artwork > http://www.dhfineart.com/

“Stigma Buster Website” > http:/dmh.lacounty.gov

“Breaking the Silence” by Mariette Hartley & Anne Commire

National Council on Alcoholism & Drug Dependence Inc. - helping individuals a& families facing addiction 800-622-2255 800-622-2255).

"National Center for PTSD" -clinical care & social welfare for US Veterans/General public- http://bit.ly/3E6Y76

"Suicide Prevention Action Network USA" -opening minds/changing policy/saving lives-http://bit.ly/11h5x

"It's very hard to be useful & unhappy at the same time" ~Spencer Tracey

"A man sees in the world what he carries in his heart." ~Johann Wolfgang Goethe

"Nothing and no one is a lost cause" ~ djs

* jussayn *

******************************** ~ *********************************

***

Brothers & Sisters

2010-05-12T08:12:00.000-07:00

At the request of my sister, I am back to watching the television program “Brothers & Sisters”. The show pulled me in when it first aired, for my fondness of Sally Field and for the obvious title. I stopped watching after my mother passed away because it was serious "in your face family" at the time and I just could not deal. There are elements of the show’s heart and story lines that can speak a hard reality.

Being able to relate to some of the story lines, can be like reliving them. But now, being pulled by my sister, I’m again taken in by the warmth of Nora’s kitchen, sweet banter and fast paced hydro-drama. Through Kitty’s cancer and barrage of sibling eye rolls there are the tugs that yank on my own life strings.

I suppose it’s silly to compare my family to the Walkers, because in truth we are nothing alike. We are not running for senate or together running a family business or dating people from Paris. But we are survivors, my own siblings and I. We walk the planet in testimony to it. We all have our own warm kitchens and conference call rally every now and then. But we have no one person at the helm in control like Nora. We had our mother as a touch point of comfort when she was alive, but we are all ships with our own sails and I might add, without a neutral common port.

We are blessed with a great bond and are given to hysterical comedy and music between us. But we are not very good at the hard eye rolls or the rally. When something happens of course we are all there for one another. But we are not very good at listening to each other either. So when one of us is in trouble or has discovered an anomaly, we often run rapid in judgmental terror to try to fix it, or we sail off in the direction of a disconnect button. All of us are guilty of doing this to each other. We are also extremely charismatic and have a lot to share at once, whenever we get together. Everything is always important and cannot wait, which is something we do have in common with the Walkers. Vibrating with high emotion, we also can not help but run toward each other in deep sentiment.

Above all there is always the element of surprise and our random acts of kindnesses we give each other, even though we are infected with conversation "interruptUS". In truth, we never really learned how to work together except when it comes to the kitchen or our music. It fascinates me. When we cook, it is a poem of pleasure as we gather around the table by candlelight and toast mom. When we sing, all four of us are the loveliest blend of harmony anyone has ever heard.

Now personally, I have never been very competitive. As a matter of fact, the discovery of this took me a very long time to understand about myself, coming to the conclusion in loath, even for the word "competition". So when the green eyed monster of sibling rivalry rears its tenuous head, I have mostly recoiled. In doing so, permitting my siblings the limelight of conversation or song. This gave me a deep appreciation and value for observation. Of course I have my own frustrations with each of them. But I do get my point across and my turn. We are each mini powerhouses, not to be trifled with. Even stranger to me is we have so much in common, yet we spin in separate orbits. A curse and a blessing. But, whenever we do join forces, we are together a stronghold of intention unbreakable. It is all a perfect balance of contractions and perfect imperfection. My brother and sisters and I, are so very lucky to have each other. Maybe we don’t have Nora’s kitchen as a common port, but we have four of them at any given time.

I’m glad my sister changed my mind to watch the show again. Aside from dreamy Gilles Marini and tearful moments, the show gives me warm perspective about our own little family. Maybe we are not very good at the conference call rally, but we mostly hold each other close to our heart squeezed marshmallow centers, such as we are. I would not change us for the world. We just need patience, a lot more wine and a gentler eye roll. Oh, and the listening part.

I’ll be watching … thanks kid :) *kisses & grins*

"Speak kind words and you will hear kind echos" - unknown

"The National Mentoring Partnership" -a resource for mentors & mentoring initiatives - http://bit.ly/dN9bg

***

My Gifted Life

2010-04-24T10:54:00.000-07:00

I don’t think there was ever a time I wasn’t grateful for at least something unless maybe when I was sick. Even then I still remember being awed by a pillow or moved to tears at the ice cold touch of a commode.

Throughout my younger years, there was rarely a moment I wasn’t abandoned, neglected, abused or taken advantage of. But by grace, I didn’t always know it at the time. Youth comes with it the gift of naivety, with me especially.
My mind thought in flowery ribbon rainbows. No matter what the hell was going on, somehow a little switch would flip, misfiring bullets of pain and offset them with pink bubbles. They acted like tiny shields of crystal armor, forcing my eyes toward beauty through tears to a different picture of hope and to believe in the best in people. Everything would be alright. Somehow believing even at the tender age of nine, the intention in my big heart would make it so. It did.

The channeling of cartoon noises may have doomed me to a giddy up Pollyanna perspective. But somehow I think it served me well. Perhaps it was a way of keeping positive. Also from the time I could walk, I heard music in my head. I now have a treasure trove of art songs, each one providing therapy all along the way, giving me sanctuary. Moments of art I could create like a painter paints on canvas. Only my heart was the canvas and all I needed was a pen. They alone birthed their own little world inside of me. In the face of life’s brutal realities, my mind cut me a break. The combination of trauma and fantasy, gave me the ability to create something beautiful beyond it. Even to push boundaries past everything which was locked up in my skin.

Ok, so what, my parents abandoned me leaving me with burdens much too big for my tiny shoulders. I stood tall with my three foot self and grew inner muscle. I also didn’t have to answer to them. As a result, I learned to cultivate who I wanted to be as I ran in the opposite direction of their behavior. In truth I was spared the possibility of becoming an addict/alcoholic. Even though I was not always completely dependable in every situation, I was resourceful and no one has ever had to be responsible for me.

Ok it’s true, I did wish to have someone to fall back on once in a while. But I didn’t.
Surrounded by flakey people, I cultivated my own sense of values. Even morphing inner abilities to create footholds which gave me planks of foundation I could count on. Being a nurturer, it brought me great comfort when I became the something from nothing girl.

Ok, so what, I suffered abuse. No one deserves it and I don’t think I needed an extreme experience to figure it out. But I did learn how to be a friend to myself, eventually. Now I am a cushion of comfort to others as well.

I am an extremely flawed parent, but I am honest and in the end, I never gave up. So, I thank my sweet children for loving me anyway. When I look at them, I know the world is a better place because they’re in it. Their benevolent cores raise higher banners than I could have ever waved in my lifetime. My ability to make them laugh is one of the greatest gifts to my soul, I could ever ask for.

So I never had a golden net, but I became one by default.
No one has ever had a right to judge me. My overall survival is not even by chance. I believe I exist because my heart was full of love no matter what.

So, thank you selfish controlling husbands and lovers who failed to value me. I appreciate my own time now.

Thanks mom and dad for giving me just enough of your good stuff and leaving me in charge of the rest.

Thank you so much lunatic abusers. You gave me a deep appreciation for irony, the ridiculous and absurd. Now I am the life of the party.

Thank you, sorry excuse for a healthcare vortex I once called a career. Even though you gave me a nervous breakdown, it taught me how to be nicer to myself.

Thanks to you; stupid dumb broken production company. Because of you I am finally learning how to rest. A gift of time I am using to reflect, forgive and create the life I have always wanted and didn’t realize I deserved.
The list goes on.

As for the really good stuff:
For every hand that held mine with intention of fusing hope into my heart. I am so grateful, thank you, the magic worked.

For the precious eyes of my children and all of my family and friends; I can see you and know you love me deeply. I hold you inside me. I light candles for you to be blessed and cared for. You are kissed and adored and my love for you back can fill up the universe to bursting. What gifts you are. Not just to me, but every person who is blessed to know each of you.

More of my own gifts are becoming apparent to me, but at forty nine, I don’t know where I belong or what to make of them yet. Perhaps my songs will create their own path of destiny, warming others in friendship within, they way they do for me. After all, a song can save a life, even in the face of complete devastation. I am living proof.

My anatomy screams with gratitude. Now I am not ashamed. I am raw authenticity and lucky to be alive. I give myself a little wink in the mirror. I dance in public and walk in the rain with my face up to the sky. I’m even that girl who sings in the grocery store and believe it or not, everyone smiles back and some even sing with me. Just think, the real journey has just begun … happy birthday to me ~
So blessed, so very blessed.

National Council on Alcoholism and Drug Dependence Inc. - helping individuals and families facing addiction (800-622-2255 800-622-2255)

"The National School Lunch Program" -contact this agency to ensure nutritionally balanced meals for kids- http://bit.ly/cf6NrV

National Center for PTSD: http://www.ptsd.va.gov/

~ *** ~ *** ~ *** ~

Boxes of Joy

2010-04-10T11:09:00.000-07:00

After almost four years, I’ve finally done it. Pulling out all of the boxes from my little shed was a task I dreaded and loomed over my head like a Linus cloud. I guess I really just didn’t want to do it. Go through my mothers things and donate them to her charity. Not to sound as she would say, maudlin, but I knew what was in there. The emotional tugs of heart had everything to do with the fact that her DNA was in them all. In her brushes, her decorative soaps and I could smell her essence as I sprung her clothes from their cardboard prison.

So many memories of hugging her in certain outfits, knowing these were all things she touched. I wondered how long she had some this stuff. It was likely years and years. In combing through these things of hers, I found myself spending hours trying on her clothes without looking in the mirror. When I finally looked up I realized I was looking like an old lady from Boca and said bubbye, to the purple silk jump suit, wild sparkly sweaters and Half Moon Bay sweatshirts that didn’t fit anyone in the family but me. I am as small as my mother was, all except the shoes. In trying to do the right thing, I left out some soft and squishy things that still held the smell of my mother for the rest of my siblings. Just in case. As it turned out one of my sisters was very glad I had cared enough to do that.

My mother cracked me up. She was a very funny woman and her sense of humor was also beaming from all of her belongings as well. My god, how many tubes of lipstick can one woman use in a lifetime. If nothing brought me to tears this did, as I recall her quirky way of saying Estee Lauder. A funny little rewiring thing began to happen to my brain as I chided myself for my own drawer full of happy purchases that came with free gifts. Which is every girl’s secret happy place the “gift with purchase” And I realized, my children would one day do what I am doing now. My goodness, they already think me as eccentric, they say they mean it in a good way, but I can only imagine what they would say about most of the things I’ve chosen to keep. This also became painfully clear when I actually put one of my mothers sweaters on my oldest son. Bless his heart, he kept it. But it was very telling to me I really needed to rethink my approach.

Holding on with so much intention to stuff was silly. But I also realized it was an over compensation for a lack of interaction. It was time to get real with it. Front zipper robes are not my thing. Knowing my mother I don’t think they were even her favorite either. She was too glamorous for them. I remember seeing her inner glow flowing about in negligees with matching slippers. It’s strange to me now seeing only happily printed flannel nightgowns. Her glamour finally revealed itself among her purses. The woman had little purses inside of each purse that matched, from her gold evening satchel to her cigarette cases. Anything I am choosing to keep, I don’t really keep for myself, but more for my sisters and our daughters as expressions of who Grandma was. As the oldest sister I feel it my duty to find a way to keep the best of my mother alive. It’s upsetting how a person can be reduced to boxes of stuff. She is not her stuff. When you walked into any room my mother was in, you had a particular feeling like something wonderful was going to happen. She had a way of creating an atmosphere of beauty around her and an aura as if company was coming.

My mother was special and will be remembered in the hearts of her children and those who knew and loved her. Not many could ever forget a woman named Joy who lived up to her name right down to the sparkle in her eyes. Even through all of the hardship and dysfunction, my mother somehow found a way to give her children something incredible. Aside from the fact that I can’t look at a kitchen tool without thinking of her, my siblings and I have each other thanks to her. We are all expressions of her. And now I’m letting go of her belongings as legacy, even though I am thoroughly convinced she haunts them. In doing this I learned something, the legacy of letting go. Oh but I did keep the lipstick, how could I help myself…

So Mom, if you can hear me, I’m sorry it took me so long to go through your things and fulfill your wishes. It was really hard to do because I miss you so much and I hope you can forgive me. I am also so sorry for other things that you know about, just between you and me before you passed, which were unresolved. Yesterday sister found a sealed card to me you never sent. It looks like Thanksgiving. I can’t seem to open it yet…

Spring cleaning and looking for place to donate?
Please consider: The Women in Recovery @ www.womensrecovery.org
Thank you.

***

No Love

2010-02-12T16:03:00.000-08:00

I may just be the Rodney Dangerfield of the “I get no’s” regarding love. It’s strange really. Because anytime I ever heard anyone complain about wanting to find love, I always seemed to have had it, at the time. Being a serial monogamist has well assisted the illusion of love being in perpetual motion for long stretches at a time. When in truth I was merely opening my legs prospecting for the hope of love. Now it seems irony is holding its belly in hysterical laughter and pointing at me. It’s cracking up, because I think it knows I really don’t care if I have it or not at this point. Actually I’m leaning toward the not wanting it part. The long hours I’ve spent at the knees of friends encouraging them away from their tears to believe and not give up hope on that special someone out there waiting to meet them, leaves me furiously mocked.

You see the problem is, something in my programming told me I was supposed to be Donna Reed. An apron, my swishy skirts and pointy vintage shoes are in the closet as proof. But nothing else in my life experience has ever supported it. But also No one ever told me I Didn't HAve to get married. A baby boomer, orphaned at 9, mesmerized by TV and mentored by characters like Bewitched and I Dream of Jeannie, only assisted my propensity toward delusional. Living my life in bubble thoughts in my head, saying words like darling, with flashes of Ziegfeld Follies kicking up can cans in response to traumatic events. I really didn’t stand a chance. I still have a pop out closet brimming with boas and opera gloves in almost every color, pretending in testimony.

All of my loving affairs were benefactors of this frivolity. Some knew me others had no clue who I was and are likely still scratching their heads in perplexity. One almost lover once told me I was "in every sense of the word female”, which I took as a compliment even though the implications may have had everything to do with my menstrual cycle. When I took to my fainting couch there wasn’t much anyone could do who wasn’t toting a heating pad.

With all my props, and passion, I don’t think I was really good at sex, although some of my lovers professed I was, most of them even declared undying love for me. I think I had that little thing called abandon which creates the element of surprise and spontaneity but also lends itself to fantasy. I was really good at that. No wonder they liked me. But fantasies move on into real life. I was never very good at that. I seem to still be the place people like to escape to, but not the girl anyone ever really wanted to take care of. There she is, did you see her? Pollyanna just popped up her coiffed head again. When I see her now, I yank on her pearl necklace and listen to the baubles clank as they bounce off the hardwood floor.

Most of my lovers were even illusions. What this really means is when I saw them for who they really were, the reality check left my nose print in the wall, where I slammed into it. You see, I have the uncanny gift of seeing a person as they are in their highest evolved self. Not what they truly are the moment I happened to crash the hell into them. Such evolvement would have taken many more years of other lovers besides me, to cultivate.

Oh falling in love was always fun. So many feelings, pulsing surges you think are going to burst the skin from the inside out and light up the world and inspire a hopeful forever from a lover. Oh yes I have been there, from the crooning to the pining.

I tried to take the Zena Princess Warrior approach to love, but she was after my generation. I’m not that girl, even though I do have a funny little whip hanging on my bedroom door. I never used it. I do have a slight temper and can be moody. But I’m not even good at being angry, wishing beyond my Jeannie blink, I was a hot blooded Italian woman flinging plates when I found a fiancé in my own bed making love to another woman. Or the time I was struck mute at the discovery of the husband leading a double life then later another fiancé having unprotected sex with men while we together. If ever there was a girl who had a right to break dishes it was me. Instead I left or forgave, cried and kicked them out, or all of the above, always a lady and one in dire need of a tantrum. I definitely got the E ticket when it came to experience and should be awarded the E in effort even though I was attracted to all the wrong people. Such is the plight of most women I know.

There was a song in a commercial from the seventies; the lyrics go something like; “I can bring home the bacon, fry it up in the pan, and never ever let you forget you’re a man, ‘cause I’m a woman, w o m a n.”, as she whipped her hair about along with the kitchen towel. Talk about your subliminal messages. Oh and I often heard this drill of the ideal woman; “A cook in the kitchen, a whore in the bedroom, a lady in public, a mother to the children”. Check them all off the evah loving list then darling, because I’m it! The most unselfish person I ever met was me and they still cheated. Hilarious! Because most men, LET me … without reservations bring home the bacon, but none of them let me be a woman, let alone stay long enough for me to heal the fractured little girl that lived inside me. I am doing that all on my own. Listen people I even wrote a handbook for the broken heart. Take that lemonade! I can’t just have a broken heart no I have to blaze a trail about it and write my own tool to get over it. No Donna Reed here.

From the idiot savant healer guy, some musician guys, to high powered executive guys, they all now have a place of honor in my walk of shame and I am their widow. Irony of all ironies none of them were “Daddy” which is what I was supposed to be attracted to according to textbook psychology. Unless of course I take into account the word “coward”, which is something they all had in common including my father.

Some of the men I’ve met would have made perfect companions in a retirement home when I’m 88. Then maybe I could have laughed with them over meds, as they regale their tawdry stories of debauchery and deceit. Oh please, I’m not bitter and I am certainly no cynic. No Pollyanna worth her salt ever could be unfortunately. No, I gathered all of my flowery essence and my apron and took it to the gay men. Becoming a Grace to a Will was the perfect answer to my woe-be-gone heart, which can be quite satisfying. It has the close proximity of a lover without the pitfalls of sex. The excitement of funny banter and tantalizing recipes makes good use of my apron strings as well as my boas, without Fred Flintstone yelling at me. I only wish I had done it sooner.

No, no love for me I think. It’s better this way, because most of the time I'm not lonely. I enjoy my own company and have much work to do. Besides my karmic ally may have traded in the possibility of so called love for myself so my children would get to have it for real. So far so good, three out four of them have found their soul mate it seems, which are pretty good odds. Shhhh… can’t say it to loud, knock on Formica, I don’t want to jinx it. Believe me I’m no martyr sacrificing my heart on the anvil of wishes. I’m too exhausted to be in love, let alone get married again. I want the universe to use the energy and continue to give it to them because they are going need every ounce they can get.

Truthfully it is liberating to decide no love. It is a purposeful decision. It is succinct and in perfect timing with my plans that were so often interrupted by my wildly clinging hope for love. Although as a song writer, my insatiable desire was often a catapult for my music. But it was also an appendage, an albatross, the monkey on my back. So all of my tears just ended up creating a spring of well water, which is a wealth of reference now for me to use, instead of abuse within myself. That’s ok, I’m ok. I’m lucky to be alive. I’m even more blessed to have grown children and a reason to have survived my demons for higher purpose stuff. What else is a girl to do? What would you do in my place? Would you counsel me at my knee and beg me not to give up? Please don’t. I know anything is possible. It wouldn’t surprise me if I did crash into someone again, it would just be my luck.

There are plenty of opportunities for mischief any time I let myself out of my Jeannie bottle bedroom and powder my bewitching nose. But being on this side of the wall has its perks. I have control of my time, my dinner, and my dvr, for as long as we both shall live. I buy my own flowers, take myself to the movies and still sing in the shower. What more could a person want? What ever passion once left under my pillow, was not lost on me, because it still can leave me wondering. Not enough to hold its hand again, but just enough to light candles with romantic notions and to keep my lipstick handy. I think that something about love must have at least liked me a little. Because when I am feeling quite myself, I can create the aura of it and most importantly dream a little. If you could be a fly on the wall of the doll house, at any point in time, you would find me still swooning to Puccini. Would I make someone a good wife? Anyone lucky enough to find out would likely say of course. The real question is; do I want to be? uhm .. Not so much. But then you never know …

Hope you had a Happy Valentines Day Lovers … have a saucy romp for me … *wink*

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The Hope Garden

2010-01-09T14:48:00.000-08:00

***

Caressing hope I stumble from within. Such a glittering shiny thing this faded jewel, even now.

But just like the majesty of the rose, hope too has her thorns. I buried my face in her fragrance for as long as I can remember. She lifted me and taught me patience for her.

As she grew, I grew. And many times, I confess, I plucked her from her stem long before she was ready. But not before her precious seedlings made their way to the soil of my life. Dry, rocky, but once nourished and fertile, which I watered with every ounce of inspiration I could find. Even attempting to will my soil to remember its once fertile luster.

But I did not understand. Hope being a direct descendant of faith, can be broken, defeated and destroyed. It can even come to withering powder, like the petals of a flower dusting the earth and carried away with the wind. Really, this is what is commonly referred to as a reality check.

How many times have we all tried to mend a most treasured object with glue? Even though whenever we look at it or handle it gingerly, from that moment forward it will forever still be broken. You can’t put petals back once they are died off the stem. Well, some people have I suppose and proceeded to call it art. But in the potpourri of all the broken things in my life it has not been art, even though I watered with tears in hope of not art, but worth. A flurry of glittering beauty that always remained precious even though they all came to be broken.

As I look back on my life in truth, I can see these pieces whole, even though they are but a beautiful glimmering mutilated mess winking up at me in hope. And now the soil in me is no longer able to render fresh seeds. A sad story for my little hope garden.

Years of taking life experiences and willing them to forge and cultivate the person I am, in hope of being whole, well rounded and strong. Even hoping beyond hope I would be of some value to others. Using pieces that don’t seem to fit together to create something from the nothing they would be, if I had not attempted to fuse. Perhaps in refusal to give up hope I did this.

I inherited broken. But because it was seemingly gifted to me that way, I did not see broken. It is only now as I handle these worn pieces inside me and watch them bleed my heart from hope that I understand. The stories and the reasons behind all of these relentless metaphors, are far too lengthy to explain here, but I'll say this.

We look out our windows in hope of seeing something. We have children in hope of sharing and having more love or legacy. We light candles with hope for light and in hopes of honoring lost loved ones. We eat in hopes to fill ourselves and nourish our bodies for health. We learn, we listen and we cry, we work, we love, we heal and we even change all for the sake of hope. The list goes on. I write this in hope.

Writing this is likely one of the most selfish things I have ever done. How dare I dissect hope in a time when our culture is teetering on a hope for hope it self. To expose my own dried up garden when a collective consciousness is hungry for the bounty of a well tended and thriving one. I can only give my own truth as my feeble and humble excuse. It is a last rendering from my victory garden that survived the wars of my life thus far. This singular seed is called forgiveness.

Like drops of wine, this nectar came from my flowers once full in hope. Even after they dried and came to dust, forgiveness was left in bounty to nourish me when anything I ever loved was lost to me. Through countless horrors and hardships, loss and personal torment. When ever I permitted myself to sup on the essence of forgiveness, hope was restored to me. This is how I was able to survive and now it is my gift to give.

The beginning of a new year is always filled with a chance for new hope. A chance to start again or continue on healing.

My only hope is stored up in all of things I have been able to find forgiveness for. My life cannot survive without it and every moment is work.

Undertaking the task of forgiveness is lifelong and endless. Like pulling unforgiving weeds. They are constant, seem to come out of nowhere and can suffocate the life out of even a well tended garden. I have had to furiously force it from within me and through me. Learning to recognize when it is required and forgiving even when it isn't. Finding out, forgiveness is the glue, the mender of hope and the difference between false hope and the miracle of pure hope.

I understood this when I forgave the flowers that died and planted again. I forgave the dry soil and tilled. I am learning to forgive myself for my past peril and the hurt I have caused others. In not knowing what to do next when hope seems remote, I forgive myself for hopes loss and hope it will forgive me back.

Whatever else is leftover can all only be restored in what I can muster to tend to next in my garden. I wish I could say that forgiveness comes easier in time or with practice, but it does not. But I can say the bigger the blooms of hope restored in me, there are as many precious pearls of forgiveness in equal measure. I can also say the moments I was able to bury my face in the blooms, it was sustaining for long periods of time. I can say, when I was filled with it, others around me seem to be too.

It is winter and my weary plot seems buried under ice. Perhaps the spring will reveal what was left there waiting to grow wild. But for now, I'm willing my words and the essence of the music I hear, to manage my heart and return hope back to my garden and bloom in forgiveness once more for the thorns.

***

The Castle Fairy

2009-12-06T00:05:00.000-08:00

In a moment unexpected I saw her. She was a little glimmer of dancing light out of the corner of my eye. Of course I thought it was my imagination playing tricks on me. That is until I heard her voice. It sounded like a bell and a whisper at the same time in my ear, so sweet and distinctive. She’s a tiny little thing like the little flash of light you see from a crystal when it just catches the sun. Her charm and heart however, are as big as any human I have ever met.

Our surprise meeting came when I moved into a 1941 bungalow near Studio City. My move was not an easy one after much turbulence in my life, but I finally landed in this charming little place, now fondly referred to by friends as the dollhouse. But it took at least 3 years for me to really “move in” meaning boxes unpacked and finding my footing there. As a matter of fact, for almost two years I mostly lived in one corner of the place at a time. Then there was the unexpected passing of my mother and the accumulation of her varied treasures that came to me as a result. Needless to say, it has become an evolved space and still moving energy.

In my first month there, almost immediately after having setup my vanity and sorted my linens, which by the way is something my family refers to as enchantment, there she was the twinkle of light. Having not yet grown accustomed to the various lighting of the place I thought nothing of it. It was not until I started to feel a sense of someone making mischief around me for no reason at all that I began to change my thinking.

Random items, mostly small, would come up missing after I had just placed them somewhere special. It happened so often I began to test the situation purposefully.

A gold stone charm my mother had given me years ago, was in a crystal dish. I decided to place it a box before bed. That night as I lay down to sleep, I saw a light glimmer dancing on my pillow. I fluffed it off again, thinking I was being silly.

The next morning as I was getting ready for the day, I happened to notice the gold stone was back in my crystal dish and not in the box where I had placed it. Second guessing myself, I put it back in the box. The day had been a very hard day of work and travel and when I came home I dropped into bed forgetting completely about it. The next morning there it was again, the gold stone in the crystal dish. This time I said out loud, “my goodness, who are you?”

While unpacking other trinkets that week, I came upon some fridge word magnets my sons had put in my Christmas stocking one year. Delighted at the find, I began to play with them on my fridge, just at random and before my eyes quite by “accident” I had unknowingly formed the following sentences: “you are ancient fire” “laugh joy woman” “purple dreams come to greet you” “castle fairy”. I laughed out loud at the sweetness of it. Looking around I said; “well nice to meet you castle fairy. I suppose you prefer the gold stone to be in the crystal dish.” Immediately I saw the light glimmer flash to the left of my eyes and I laughed in sheer enchantment. That night for sake of sanity I decided to put the gold stone in the box again, just to make sure.

The next morning I went immediately to look and it wasn’t in the crystal dish. I opened the box, and my gold stone charm was gone! I looked everywhere for it, under and over everything thinking I had made a mistake, even practically tearing apart my entire bedroom to no avail. I finally had to abandon the search and move on to other things requiring my attention.

The rest of the day seemed like a series of not being able to find things and grew very frustrating. With a relenting sigh, I put my hands on hips and said out loud; “ok little one, I give up, come out, come out wherever you are. I’m sorry for doubting you.” Nothing happened, and I went to have dinner.

Upon returning home, I began writing, when I heard the little bell whisper sound and saw the little flash of light to the left. My little house had a sudden rose glow all around and I was filled with a burst of complete laughter and mischief. I was starting to dance around like a little kid when I remembered my gold stone and ran to the bedroom. Looking in the crystal dish, it wasn’t there, by habit I looked in the box, and there it was on top of everything. Promptly I put it in the crystal dish. It was as if my little castle fairy had apologized too by putting it in the box. My way of letting her know it was better suited in the crystal dish, gave us a clear understanding of each other.

You will be happy to know, I do have witness’s who can attest to other similar stories over the years about my enchanting little friend. She doesn’t disappoint just because I have company. Her mischief is goodhearted and intended to lighten the hearts of others walking heavily into the dollhouse.

Recently I have been out of town and thought of her tumbling around in my treasures from my mother at home. Today I remembered something I had forgotten in thinking of her.

I met her when I was seven. It was Christmas time, and my mother being an enchantress in her own right had a way of creating a fairyland around us throughout the entire house when we were small.
There was a huge tree by the fireplace dressed and bursting with light. There were elves swinging from the tops of doorways, which were all trimmed full with garlands of live pine, sweet treasures and little white lights. The atmosphere she created was simply magical, from the smells, to the details on the tables, to the fragrant flowers that seemed to find their way everywhere. It was the aura of her beauty expressed with her hands in artful love.

On this Christmas Eve, there were treats on all the tables in every shape, size and color you could think of. Something called ribbon candy, which I can never find anymore, and little hard candies that had a pretty little flower in the center. I also remember dusted white powered sugar cookies that tasted like cinnamon as well as iced raisin cookies. Candy Canes of almost every size, including one that turned out to be mine, practically the size of a walking stick.

We were all gathered around the fire in our pajamas waiting for dad to come home. The music was playing and my mother was putting finishing touches on the tree. I happened to be sitting a bit away from everyone, because even at a very small age I can remember loving to look at my family and just watch them. I was sneaking my peek this time, when I saw the little light to the left of my eye. It went from the little elf swinging above my head, to the middle of the room, dancing around a little bit then came back towards me. Then it sat down in mid air in front of me at eye level. Then there she was. I vaguely remember it seemed she was crossed legged and very animated telling me some kind of story. In my child mind I accepted this as I accepted all things magical then. As she continued in her bell like a whisper voice, I remember looking past her at my family, wondering what they would say about this lovely sight. But they were all engaged with the other things that had their attention.

My eyes filled with tears as I thought of this today. There she was my castle fairy in front of my eyes, and the light of my family beyond her. Little did I know what fate would befall us all, shortly thereafter … or the miracle of our reunion years later … Both with my family and with my little enchanted wonder.

Oh how she loves Christmas. She swings on the tinsel and sneaks bites of cookies. Last year she played so much in my tree, I had to keep adjusting the ornaments. She’s been a bit quiet lately. But she often goes with me on my walk up the hill. I realized she has many relatives in the area. Most are in Europe. I also had the distinct impression she came from a long line of castle fairies, and was exclusively assigned to me. Maybe she was even there through the dark times and I just didn’t notice because I was too sad, frightened or confused. In any case she is here. She looks after the dollhouse when she doesn’t decide to steal away in my purse and say hello when I’m away from home.

When I am in other people’s homes I can sense little energies sometimes. But I understand they are not for me to sense, but are there for the inhabitants to discover or merely be unknowingly comforted by.

I often wonder if everyone has a castle fairy. I want there to exist a flash of sweetness to lift the hearts of those that walk heavily into their own home. Maybe even you have one. You never know. Anything is possible. Believing so, makes a grateful heart. As a result of my belief that anything is possible, I am able to take nothing for granted. Magic is a sense of something beyond what is apparent or understood.

Life has so many twists, turns and dark corners. Sometimes we are unable to imagine fairies in twinkling lights. But the same magic is also found in the eyes of children, their delightful laughter and watching their wondrous discovery as they explore with innocence the world surrounding them.

Hope is inspired by the simplest most precious things, that only an open mind can buy. This holiday season, wrap a little bit of hope up in your heart and be a loving experience for someone else. When we emanate loving experiences, we receive loving experiences. Love is the true essence of all things magic and lifting. Also maybe just for a moment, be willing to take a second look at the little glimmer of dancing light just to the left.

Donate to bring a smile to a needy child this holiday season: http://sleeptrain.com/page.aspx?nid=143

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

love is what happens when you open your heart, give your heart a break, let love in.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

the blessing of giving ...

2009-11-18T19:05:00.000-08:00

He had his hand out as I exited the grocery store ... pushing a cart filled with flowers & all the ingredients to put Thanksgiving left overs in the fridge for my sons. Perhaps a silly thing to do in the middle of July, but we were celebrating our new home together and the best gift I could think of was to cook for them.

As I saw the man, I dipped into my pocket and thought, whatever comes out, he can have it. As it turned out it was a hundred dollar bill. He looked at me with such shock it sent a lovely chill through me. Then much to my surprise, he insisted on helping me load my groceries into the car. Not a word was spoken between us. I just looked into his very kind eyes filled with pain and humility.

As I drove off, in my rear view mirror, I was very grateful to see the man leave his perch by the door of the store and walk away. I never saw the man again but often think of him, in hopes he is putting Thanksgiving leftovers in his fridge for his kids somewhere. Upon my return home I told my sons about the man and let them know they'd have to wait two more weeks for the new back packs for school. Both of my sons eyes filled with tears which I thought were disappointment, but instead they embraced me in a huge hug and said; "mom, you are so amazing." What price would anyone pay for a moment like that I wonder? The reaction from my sons was priceless to me.

All of my children and I, were no strangers to hardship and unforeseen circumstances. As a single parent, there were always continued struggles, but I was what my kids called a fun mom. My objective however, whether in humorous adventures or deep discussion, was always to show them compassion for things outside themselves and the little grove we had, and to have some perspective. Perhaps this was what gave them the sensitivity they have for others. I once came home from work, to find my youngest son entertaining what a appeared to be a homeless person in our living room. What would YOU do?? Well I thought I had taught them a bit about discernment too, as well as how to keep us all safe and to be protective of their mom.

In this case it turned out as a lesson for me, in learning to trust in my son and the things I had shown him in our talks and by example. Which I must say is one of the most profound gifts I had ever received as a mother. To be able to trust in your child's judgement, heart and sensibility. My children are grown up now and are amazing treasures to the earth and my greatest contribution to humanity. In every moment I choose to give, in teaching them, I received more abundance than I could have thought possible. They now lead in their own ways, in heart and example. By the way, those Thanksgiving left overs gave delicious a whole new meaning that year ...

"Resources For Homeless Persons" -http://bit.ly/3MeBPO & "Homeless Shelters & Soup Kitchens"-http://bit.ly/1Wu60U

Salted Wounds

2009-10-20T17:35:00.000-07:00

As I woke up on the bathroom floor, I realized I must have either hit my head or fainted. Pulling myself up I got to my feet. My head felt wet and throbbing and I could not stand on my left foot. Turning on the bathroom light, my heart jumped at my reflection in the mirror. Aside from looking like a raccoon with my makeup running, my face was swollen like a balloon. I had a black eye and a small gash to the head on the right. Upon further inspection, bruises to legs and arm, one was pretty nasty looking, the size of a saucer. Quietly opening the bathroom door, the house was dark and still except for the snore. I wondered how long I had been in there.

Hobbling in attempt toward the living room, it all came flashing back in vivid heart wrenching. It was supposed to be a surprise. I'd have the tree all decorated by the time he got home from work and he would walk into wonderland. What a joke that was as I looked at the brutalized tree in it's fallen glittery bits, broken all over the carpet. I'd never seen anyone do that before. Just take an eight foot Christmas Tree and use it as a weapon. Pain shot up through my foot as I forgot, not to put weight on it. I likely came out of it pretty good considering, but it was clear I was going to have to go to the doctor this time. Feeling terrified at the thought of having that conversation with him, I began to shake and decided to let him wake on his own.
I sat and cried, not because he hurt me, but because I just didn't understand how he could forget to love me. Was I so starved for any appearance of affection I was willing to take anything to get it? The very thought of this threw my body into convulsing sobs all over again in self loathing.

Coming back to my senses I looked around the living room. Gazing at the fallen tree I thought how very much alike we were in this moment. A beautiful broken disaster. I remembered then my mothers Christmas Trees and then the one I drew on a cardboard for my siblings, after they had left us. They forgot to love us too. How does that happen? How do people just leave or fly into rage if they say they love you? Was it all connected? So many questions came to my mind in an attempt to puzzle it out.

After he woke up, there were the typical apologies that found their way to the conclusion that it was all my fault. I also ended up with a concussion, walked with a cane for six months with a torn ligament and had to wait to go back to work until the eye healed a bit. Adding salt to the wound, I knew he was never going to change, it was up to me to change. It was then I realized I would leave and never come back. I would never allow my children to move into this house. Even if I didn't think I deserved better, they did.

This was a decision I had to continue to make over several years before I realized the choices I had. Requiring me to dial back my threshold for pain. It took even longer to come to the revelation that I could create my own choices. Life didn't just have to happen to me. My life was for me, not against me. No one had ever even said the word "choices" to me until I was well into my thirties. Had I understood this during the years of abuse I had subjected myself to, I would have called the authorities. Safety, security and love is a right to every human being. The choices others make for themselves in behavior or lifestyle is theirs as well. For me it was a long journey to discovery, but I am one of the lucky ones in this regard.

Although I'm battle worn, many others don't come out of these circumstances with their lives, let alone their dignity. Nicole Simpson is a tragic example. It doesn't matter what walk of life a person comes from. Domestic violence, psychological abuse and even worse atrocities happen daily. Even when it bewilders our minds at the how or why of these horrors, it can't and mustn't stop us from creating awareness and putting an end to it. This starts in our own homes and in our own hearts by example in the decisions we make. But there is much more to do beyond the perimeters of ourselves. We can all make an effort to educate and spread the word of hope. Had someone done so for me, I may have been spared many years of torment and neglect.

The lives of others can be spared now with the many more resources and advocates available today. Respect is the key element missing in human exchanges manifesting abusive behavior. If humanity had pure respect for itself, there would be no war or even a reason to put locks on doors. No one person has the answers. The resolve of humanities issues, requires a collective awareness and the will to create like minded consciousness. It can happen like a snowball and gain momentum the more we combine our understanding and unify intention. I've watched prejudice fly out the door in the face of tragedies like 911, where people do come together and unify for a moment in time. I believe it's possible for us to do the same, for the sake of love itself, for humanity forever.

We hurt ourselves when we hurt each other. We love ourselves when we intend the highest good for each other and back it up with loving action.
Once upon a time, there was a little girl who believed in "The Golden Rule"; "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you" guess what, I still believe.

You are not alone. Call, don't wait: Domestic Abuse Hot-line & Resources:
National Domestic Violence Hotline> http://www.ndvh.org/
National Coalition Against Domestic Violence> http://www.ncadv.org/

*****

What's a Twitter?

2009-10-01T14:51:00.000-07:00

If my son had come home from school asking this question, I would have likely believed his school friends had come up with yet another expletive. Or there was going to be some required homework on my part, in order to answer him. *grin* Something I often found myself doing during my children’s high school years.

But he’s 24, and as he hovers over my shoulder in baited curiosity, I laugh at his response as I show him my Tweet deck in all its buzzing glory. “Wow, What IS that?” he gasped. Prior to this moment, I had been subjected to all manner of assumptions about my online activities of late, having been too busy on Twitter to bother trying to explain, which would also require further diagnostics for my own self discovery regarding it.

By the way, It was quite novel for anyone to see me glued to the computer, the telephone no, they were used to that. Being an extremely social person and having had a high profile career most their life, my children were unfortunately subjected to my constant barrage of phone activity. While my work and my writing often found me at the computer before, they were curious to see me now so engaged in laughter and intensity. So in order to refute what otherwise would have been left to imagination and to avoid additional inquiry, I stopped everything (as mothers do) mid stream, and attempted to explain.

When I got past the quirky tools, the system dialogues, rules of 140 characters or less, and novelty of celebrity interactions; I showed him how Twitter is an online community full of some of the most amazing people I have ever had the privilege to meet. There is heart, etiquette, understanding, compassion and caring which all took me quite by surprise.

I happened upon it purely on a fluke. Having gotten laid off my job in the entertainment industry. I thought it might be a good resource to network and find possible future employment. I had no idea I would find a life! By this I don’t mean a virtual life, because much of it has more meaning than that.

Intention is everything in all things. People can feel the intentions of others through time, space and distance. Twitter is no exception to this rule. The intentions of support and caring bleed through the cyber box and into real time, real life experiences for all of us. Twitter has become a tool for us to connect not only with people we may not have otherwise met, but to also cultivate awareness of issues for all of humanity. People all over the globe are coming together in these exchanges in order to communicate and assist hard and meaningful change for others. From celebrities, wealthy socialites to the homeless, they all have a voice. Many are championing causes on behalf of the sick and those affected by catastrophic life events. Some are mentors who bother to take the time to share their life experiences in hopes of making a difference.

I started out cautiously with mere funny banters with others a little at a time. As I began to friend some truly gifted and amazing people I became less leery and more revealing about myself and my personal interests. To my ultimate surprise, others appreciated my contributions of flavor and in site which had not otherwise been apparent to me.

I must also say, it took being apart of this community to realize how disconnected and unaware I really was even through all of my own life experience. The difference Twitter has made for me was the broad spectrum perspective of communal effort. The people I engage with are without prejudice or discrimination and are open and welcoming on all fronts. Rarely this is found in our neighborhoods, schools or work places.

Though the Twitter community is no stranger to controversies, the choices afforded about them expand globally. Each user initiates their own level of responsibility according to their own ability and resources as well as the life experiences they bring. Culminating active and worthy solutions for others in doing so and often finding resolve. Even bridging real life communities in some cases one tweet at a time.

While my friends there have often seen me refer to myself as the-girl-box, in initial jest, I have had to back step my own poke in fun at this. It amused me at one point to coin the phrase, but after having the opportunity to cultivate my own friendships that are truly meaningful to me, I have since realized there really is no box. It is a soulful transmitter, reaching hearts, connecting dots beyond a time and space continuum in higher purpose.

So, no sweet son, it is not a glorified chat room. Though I couldn't have told you what a chat room looked like until now, for now I am often lead by the hand to chat rooms from friends here for all manner of reasons. Charity events and fund raisers, blog radio shows and the like. I have even lead others to fun things as well, that some have found delight in.

The one thing I've neglected to say is there is pure love with those whom I have found on Twitter. Pure and unconditional. In our world of technological rampage, economical downturns, and societal breakdowns, there is something wonderful this way comes in cyber world. Authenticity can be found in anything you bring authenticity to. Like attracts what is like minded in the physical world, as well it does in what appears to be a virtual world.
A profound blessing for me is to now see the difference I can make with my energy and contributions.

A cord was struck in me long forgotten until recently. As a young girl I was a "wave the banner" kind of girl. Attending "No Nukes" at the Hollywood Bowl on what was called Survival Sundays and "Save the Whales" events were a regular part of my routine. When life changes occurred, I sadly had to put down my banners and attend to my own survival. Now as a direct result of being a viral part of the Twitter community, dear friends are not only helping me to heal old wounds but showing me how I can help heal others. So I'm personally blessed to have an opportunity to soon pick up my banners again, but now on a much more universal scale. As a matter of fact something very important is about to come out of me that may have the potential to help a lot of other people. Not something I would have ever expected to happen.

So, what's a twitter? Not a video game, honey. Nor a toy to be played with or taken for granted. It is a place where lives come together to share in hope, in love and inspiration that once upon a time didn't have this platform. It is a place where people honor and respect each other no matter what walk of life they come from or where they are going. We can't help being drawn to it. Some of us, me included can't help our obsession with it. Twitter Name: @SchuggaJoy

Where ever it is friendships are born so sacred is the meeting place.
After all, we are all only human. ~djs

***

Feed Me ... part 4

2009-09-23T14:27:00.000-07:00

***

“The little girl bent slowly to gather them. Careful to not let any of the tiny delicate pearls escape her. She lingered, looking at it thoughtfully. Then her little body shook with tears as she blew. Like fairy lights they glimmered in the air as her tiny will forced them off the pod, scattering her wish into the great universe. Wiping her eyes, she looked down at her dirty sock crunching down into her shoes. As she tried to adjust it, she peered behind. There they were her younger sisters and baby brother trailing behind. She waited for them to catch up. As she took her brothers hand she noticed his was nearly as big as her own which came to discussion the rest of the way home. Having no key to the apartment, the door was always unlocked until they got home. Upon opening, the air was cold and strange smelling, like old potatoes. It was dark and felt damp. She moved away some trash to clear a path for them to get to their bedroom. There was one trundle bed and a TV. They all gathered immediately around the TV she looked to scrounge something for them all to eat. They worked their way through a box of graham crackers, a box of Jell-O and some peanut butter. Then she attempted to get everyone cleaned up and washed faces with the wash cloth. This always led to fighting and everyone started crying again. Not really knowing how to calm her siblings down she forced them back to the TV, or played cuddle games and at last resort, she sang. In this dark and dismal place a sound of sweetness carried. Four melodic tiny voices sang themselves to sleep. As the little girl thought of her sweet sisters and baby brother she cried in her blanket so they couldn't’t hear her. Her tiny heart lurching in hope of her wish flower for their parents to come back and love them. That night she dreamed she fell asleep behind the cereal boxes in the grocery store.”

Closing the door quietly, so as not to disturb his mistress, the ancient one shuddered. He knew he shouldn't’t have gone so far so soon, but he could not help himself. This wondrous creature enchanted and delighted him and restored hope for his very existence. The beauty of her struck his core stirring a much forgotten desire. “Oh how little she does not yet know” he thought. Her very existence, her survival brought him back … feeding him … with her unquenchable need for him. He pondered longingly over her delicate strength, fusing himself to her very essence. “My little one who shouldered so much shall soon be unburdened except for me” He thought. Throughout time he waited for her as he waited for no other. He saw her at first conception and knew she would be his hope, an unspoiled precious one without an ounce of greed. It pained him greatly to know of her suffering. But only this could have brought him back to his divinity forever. Even though he already knew he just had to pull another memory from her that night, to watch it come off her lips. Her sweetness pulled at him. Lifetimes of his treasures wasted on vanity and unworthy prowess tormented and depleted him. But now here she was. It excited him just to think on it. He stood silently outside the door and could feel her steady breathing as he inhaled the beating of her heart. He wanted to go back in and envelop her. But her rest is crucial and he knew she would not rest and he can easily over stimulate her. He waited in aching as he had waited for so long. At last, at least she is here and he knew what he would do when she awoke.

He thought carefully as a rush of sensations came over him, then from deep within his pocket he drew a tiny withered seed … that once came flurried at him on a tiny wind from a wish flower ...

Passion itself has his own peril, but can also be fed from broken …

the blessing continues ...

***

Feed Me part 3

2009-09-15T19:37:00.000-07:00

Streaming tears … I upped from pillows in an aimless direction, wildly flinging my gown out of my way, so I could run … then stopped suddenly … in the blur washing over my eyes .. I was not in the place I thought I was. … Confusion took over the terror although I could still feel the treacherous pain coursing through to my bone. What was it, where had I gone? I stumbled a bit … Then there it was, the relief of the warm sensation coming back … walking from my bedroom I could still feel it working it’s miraculous way through me calming the piercing pain like a soothing elixir. The sweetness of the sensation was now becoming palatable as I allow it in welcoming.
He’s still here. Whatever had tangled me up in the night was a dream. Oh how real it seemed like so many others. But how should I dream so now, with a whisper so softly crooning in my ears as I fell off to sleep … only to be plummeted off into wretched sorrow …

“… walls replete with sadness crying all around me, lying in heaps at the bases, weeping women. But their tears were falling up the walls as if trying to send the ache up into heaven itself. They went on for miles these poor souls and the room seemed to go on forever. How beautiful they were as I watched them in pensive curiosity. Some in long billowing skirts others in old muslin. I could not see their faces for all of their lovely heads were covered and turned towards the walls. The sounds of their torment began to overwhelm and I began to scream and cry out … as I fell to my knees in shaking they started to turn towards me. My screaming stopped abruptly in gazing, wide eyed wonder at what I saw … all of the faces were my own, the eyes looking back at me were mine, looking at me imploringly to not succumb but to rescue me, or them or us. Beauty once cherished now discarded and held captive in grief. The sound of it rang loudly in my ears. Like a symphony gone horribly wrong screeching … I began to run to them and away from them even flinging myself to the floor in an attempt of escape. As I did so the pain only intensified and I thought we would all be ripped to shreds from it … “

No wonder I jumped awake, anyone would with a dream resembling a John Malkovich moment! Quivering … I walk back to my bedroom to take notes, clearly these dreams are the ravings of a mad woman. Or they are trying to tell me something. I certainly have no intention of going back through my own portal for discovery. Aghast at how these horrors find their disruptive way into my sanctuary. Pangs of hunger rumbled, but I had no desire for actual food, when another wave of pleasure washed over me. The warm wonderful glow of knowing he is there is satiating. In preparing for the day I begin to ponder; dreams, secret things our minds feel in fears not acknowledged. Or it could be a safe way to reveal unhealed wounds with some passivity. The tiny child within me recalled yet another dream that lived in real time which required passivity on some level to survive the trauma. A pang welled up in my throat. The sound of weary women weeping everywhere haunts me as I force myself into the moment. I can feel the essence of my ancient master calling me into this new day. Eagerly, my heart is open in immediate anticipation. So many blame my poor dear for their inability to contain themselves when he is around … not his fault for he always tells the truth. His mighty secret will soon burst from me and heal them all in my telling of it. As the warmth of the current tenderness inspires me, my dream is set aside but not forgotten. Feeling refreshed and excited, I allow the crooning energy to call me out. I can feel you passionate stranger. Oh how delicious is your recipe. Almost a distinct impression that someone was going to make me dinner. Knowing full well there are others who are hungry too waiting for me to share. My abundant cup overflows to sustaining in the care of this glorious company, with no sign of foreboding dream as we sit down to dine, I am supplicated … leaning in to dare a glance across the table … my eyes are finally met … And to the sound of his voice … Passion burns a hole ... right through my veins … feeding me more from broken ….

to be con't
*
*

Feed Me .. continued

2009-09-11T13:05:00.001-07:00

Curled up on the lap of Passion … would seem by it’s implication to be a contented place. But in fact it is quite the opposite. Having crooned me unto the lap of him, I realized my state and began to reel in laughter in the face of irony itself as well as to my house guest. “Come, you now, oh wicked one? For I was bent with repose on my steady need of NOT needing you, a discovery which was long overdue! You know this! You were there and then disappeared taking everything I so adored about you, with you. So now you come to shake me awake as if I had been sleeping. Which I was, but I had made a decision for sleep. I was pretty much the sleeping beauty of humanity, lying in wait for the desired ever lasting slumber. Sleeping has its perks you know. For one, you want for nothing BUT sleep. And in sleeping, one needs less. Which goes a very long way to having “green planet” if you know what I mean. For another it is calm. It is uneventful. Zero drama, which is highly underrated by the way. But you would know nothing of this. Isn’t this right you willful creature? So now I’m awake and compelled into longing, for longing itself. With an unquenchable need to create and to love with complete, unabashed abandon. Simply because you exist! You are enchanting me ... so enchanted I am. Perhaps, being what you are, knew this thing about me. Even knowing what glorious music will come of it among other things. You also knew full well, how I would respond to you, like a pied piper bringing others with me into your intended adventure. As it happens, my ancient friend I have. I am lit from within. Here I am on your alter of turbulent fire which is sure to consume me and I don’t care. I celebrate your mastery of human desire. For you knew I was sick, like so many others hungry and aching while sleeping, for this exact knowing ness by which you have graced my doorstep. It is the complete ecstasy of absolute passion for your sake alone. Because desire get’s exactly what it wants always. The poor human heart cannot help its desires ever. It is the trick of treat you start out with isn’t it? Even weary wounded sick, stupid dumb broken me, still could not help the desire of my own heart. How exclusively wonderful you are. Oh how you know me so well. I just want to ... ” In response to my rant I was stopped in mid sentence by the most passionate kiss I had ever tasted ... and decided to make us both dinner. …to be continued ... unsteady as she goes ... djs

Feed Me

2009-09-08T14:48:00.000-07:00

Feed me from broken, you ancient fire … which tapped on the shoulder of my soul and shook me from slumber … the place it has touched is seared and swollen and has taken me unaware … consumed I stand now breathing nothing but desire … to what do I owe this great honor to be so visited. Angels with wings with much better deeds have less. Yet compelled, devour I ... hungrily every golden glimmer of this awakening honeyed light. Slowly traveling, these droplets by design, bleed into my quivering bones. The course they use ... appears to create rivers as they fill me and I am taken.
My captor seems to take great amusement in watching me writhe in the pain and pleasure. Whose source I cannot see clearly for my eyes, turned within ... in watching wonder. Wounds once scarred over, are now openly gaping and throb. For this nectar has opened me up. Moaning escapes my lips and surprises me. Paralyzed I try to reach for a limb, for some sense of myself and feel no hands. I am suddenly not my body and am becoming my captor’s glorious essence and fall in abandon. On the floor of this mighty kingdom I lay in complete surrender. Rushing in pulsing surges as this surgical master feels me naked, I wait in aching need. Fevers shiver as I am eagerly fed more by this ancient one. I can feel the tender hands upon me into every secret place. My body rises in urgency of its own accord. Longingly supping like a newborn in this swaddled place, a rapture of joy bursts through my skin. The power of this skillful attention to me forces my eyes up and I am plunged into the brightest blue. The gaze washes over me, as the tears purge me, into further depths … I am bathed in light and begin to dance as I am lifted above the earth high and reaching, casting colors in prisms as it coos and woos me … and in my ears a familiar voice in laughter says “see, I’m not finished with you yet."

And so I write; “Oh you elusive character. Where the hell have you been? Look, I know I didn’t come to the door when you knocked those last few times, but you had your own key. How you love the excitement of the chase. You are in fact the very encasement of a tease. But how you croon and I have missed you. It’s about time you showed up, I was beginning to wonder where you had gotten to. Planning on staying a while? I see you brought a suitcase. “Then I proceeded to curl up on the lap of Passion … the ancient universal fire, my new roommate as well as what’s for dinner … to be continued ~ djs

*********

*******************

An Embrace of the Heart

2009-08-31T21:12:00.000-07:00

...makes all the difference in the souls journey to it's highest potential, With all of the many "words" I have written in song, prose, scribe & scribble, I am forever awestruck by one singular simple truth with every one of these expressions; it is never enough. The human heart and all it's complexities bewilders humanity enough to run from itself into a lack of authenticity. My fault is, through all of my own bewildering experiences, I have been constantly running against the flow of the excepted path. Rather choosing to run to myself whenever in the world I could find my last breadcrumb and steal it from the waves of life which were amused in washing my trail away. As irony would have it, I would be gifted with authenticity as a direct result of this upstream journey. Others craving authenticity are attracted to it and I cannot help but give it away for it really isn't mine but universal truth. The difference we can make to someone else, makes all the difference in the world of possibilities. It is the difference hope makes. It is the difference between a choice of life or death, love or hard neglect. We are warm and held up by everything we are given by those who embrace us truly. To lose my footing now was like a gift in a strange way, for an encouraging soulful embrace has prompted my response to these things, which otherwise would not have been written.. Having the faith of a friend is a treasure and a responsibility in equal measure. To express the imagery here feels like an excavation in my attempt. The treasure, you hold close and deeply while working to be worthy of it. The embrace is the key that unlocks the piece of hope that says you already are worthy of it. Music has the ability to translate these emotions as nothing else does. But even music cannot take the place of an embrace of the heart. This was in fact the missing link in my discovery in my engagement on this earth. The one thing that makes everything I hear matter to me. To feel my heart embraced. It happens to many who tend to give too much away misguidedly loving and reaching out for that that one thing not even knowing what that one thing is. It is what every single person wants and needs to survive and thrive well and nobody even knows it consciously, To be embraced in their heart. I feel as if I have been given a great secret, a mystery solved. This is singing to me now with all the intention and passion it inspires. I can hear music in everything, from the noises in the street, the wind in the trees, in water and even in the way I can feel the very heartbeat as I am endeared to someone. But I have never heard music like this before,"in an embrace" When I hear a melody, it permeates my soul first, so if you are plugged in, you can hear them too. The melodies. You can feel them, they will torment you, bleed you out and they will purge things and flush things. But I now see how it can lift and move things standing in the way of love and adorn you with the finest regiment every heart deserves which is the essence of love itself. This is what I found in one embrace, where strength can be found, where love abides. A friend found a miraculous way of revealing this to me in one moment, in one willing embrace of a tender heart ...

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The Scattered Heart

2009-08-26T14:10:00.000-07:00

I left my heart in San Francisco and in a dumpster bin
Found a piece of it in No Ho and another in Marin

In a box back stage at Poly & at the Orpheum
At the Beach in Venice and the Dresden Room

I left a trail of heart crumbs along a desert road
In a tent in the Sierras and once in a commode

On a birthing bed and in a wishing well
How many places could they go I really couldn't tell?

It took some time to scatter ... this tiny little heart
The shards like glass escape so well ... far reaching and apart

Pieces found in drawers, in some pockets and a book
Some more were found in bars, and one was on a hook!

Tell tale glimmers found in corners even as I swept
On rocks and in the ocean and in all those secrets kept.

Underneath a bed, in a dojo and a pool, another little shred was found perched up on a stool!

One was on a lounge chair taking in some sun! One was in my pillow poking me in fun.

I had to chase one down the street as it was picked up on a shoe
It kicked up dust in blinding lust and down the sewer flew!

Some were in New York, Catalina and Bel Air, off a boat in Palisades can’t take me anywhere!

New Orleans and Vegas and even Malibu, Ohio and Route 66 even got me too.

In cracks and paper bags from Puccini to the Cure, if I have them all I really can’t be sure.

I gathered all these pieces in my skirt just like a shrew, took them back to dollhouse to try to find some glue.

Pieces like a puzzle this silly mass of glass....
was spread about the dollhouse floor ... for years until at last ...

One barren summer took to bliss ... a cauldron fired up a kiss, the music wafted through the air and all my pieces brewed in there … I could see them in the pot, glistening jewels made of my lot, how long I stood there in my gaze ... in watching wonder magic glazed. It shook in violent rapture as my eyes dropped in some tears, the mixture took them captured as if purging ancient years. A surge of passion rushed and moaned ... in joyous laughter sculpture groaned. And there it was like stories told ... no more glass ... but made of gold, my heart … in love and strong to hold.

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Stuff My Mother Gave Me

2009-08-21T12:34:00.000-07:00

My Mother gave me glamour, wit and bounty tables, fresh cut flowers, Half Moon Bay and Christmas wrapping labels.

Fenton glass and recipes, singing in the car. Midnight mass, and snowball fights and banter at the bar.

Baby Ruth Bars, Weeping Willows, reading until dawn. Humming Birds and music boxes fishes in the pond.

Random acts of kindnesses, tootsie pops and rolls, band aids, candles, folding hands, and simple sounds of home.

Shiny knights in armor holding court inside my head, pretty sheets and pillows to tuck me into bed.
Bubble baths and perfumed powder, the cuteness of a poop.
Planting seeds in flower pots and smoking on the stoop.

Paintings of the ocean and a forest pink. Banana curls and baby baths in the kitchen sink.
Words to live by, incense, purpose from the pain, pebbles, crayons, paperdolls and a love for rain.

A road less traveled, a love for sex and the telephone, a life unraveled, galleries and an ice cream cone.

Savory from the kitchen wafting flavors from the brews, years of tears and candlelight and pretty little shoes.
Keys and open windows, giggles in the dark, Jeopardy, the paper and a change of heart.
Mistletoe and rosaries, white gloves and Halloween, cheesecake tote bags, Snoopy and Montana hills serene.

Tinkling bells and sisters and baby brother too; serenity prayer, and elegance, a willingness to do.
Seashells, music, coffee, pearls, a ring of black hills gold, the golden gate, a treasure chest and a story still untold.

A love for words and painted toes, failing teeth and eyes. Matching scarves and sweaters, and homemade pumpkin pies.
Books and dreams and center stage, and Cachuma Lake, Looks & schemes & lollipops a prayer my soul to take.
Elves in doorways swinging, magic, music, strife, change, sofas, pots & pans, she also gave me life.
A heart that’s full of singing, and a crystal bird, dark and scary places, a chance to now be heard.
The beauty of her eyes and laughter, chips from benchmarks made, embrace I ever after all the things she gave …. A will to make a difference to light now from the cave. ~djs

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A Little Something for Mama,

2009-08-13T10:19:00.000-07:00

Well it's been 3 years now since I was able to kiss you. That last kiss and the feeling of your sweet powdered cheek is a burned memory in my mind. Through all of our talks at the table with coffee and cigarettes looking into your bright ocean blue eyes, it occurs to me now that I still have so much more say and so many questions to ask you. Your arms are forever reaching mom, and sometimes I can even smell your perfume. What would you say to us now if you could? Your children want and miss you. I know in those last days I was unable to sing to you the way you knew I could, my voice just wouldn't come out. But since you dipped your lovely toes into heaven things have changed. Is that you running interference from your new perch? I wonder. Our lives have all been so turbulent and all the pains are still healing. But you were right about forgiveness, it is the key to everything. You earned our forgiveness and more. One of last things you said to me was to forgive myself. I suppose I could interpret that in application to so many things even pertaining to you. How many nights did I cry for your children and my own. But you likely know this and so much more now. I wish I could see you. We were like girlfriends you said once. But it was much much more, we were the essence of broken women everywhere clinging to each other in hope. By design our ability to forgive laid a foundation for hope in a most unexpected way. We have you, mine have me. Now there is magic in the air mama, and I am even writing music again. Your birthday is tomorrow. As I feel fall approaching in my bones it used to bring us all so much joy to pickup the phone and discuss our recipes and plans of gathering. The truth is I feel the essence of you every single day. Your aura of celebration is best described as "companies coming". It's one thing to have flowers on the table, quite another to make them feel magnificent. Thank you for giving me that glorious gift because I have it too. You even found a way to give us our own bridge. I am keeping my promise to keep us together as you wished it and will continue. You are so loved, and we keep you close to us. With all this said, I wanted you to know about a very special song I wrote for us for you and for me, and for the children we have both cradled and cried over. Because I believe it was the truth in your deepest heart what you wanted for your children and what I hoped for as well for mine. I love you, your daughter Debbie

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