See below...

This speaks for it self....March is over - and I feel mentally, physically, and emotionally beat down. Please someone throw me a shovel so I can bury myself.

“I always knew looking back on my tears would bring me laughter, but I never knew looking back on my laughter would make me cry.”
~Cat Stevens

Quit cha complaining............

We all complain.

A pastor in Missouri has come up with an idea that he thinks may just stop you from whining and he shared his method on Oprah.

There's no shortage of those complaining in this place.

A Kansas City Pastor Will Bowen believes if everyone stops complaining the world would be a better place.

Bowen has come up with the purple complaint bracelet and challenging people to quit complaining for 21 days.

He says that's how long it takes to break a bad habit.

Here's the how it works, if you complain you have to put the bracelet on the other wrist and start all over again.

This idea has exploded in popularity and according to will, 1.3 million people in 80 countries have requested the free bracelets.

Order form: (they are free)
http://acomplaintfreeworld.fobby.net

“As selfishness and complaint pervert and cloud the mind, so love with its joy clears and sharpens the vision”
~Helen Keller

Random thoughts of useless words.....(part two)

In case I have done this bit of rambling in the past I have decided to continue and thus (part two) has been created.

Do you think as a people we could do without certain words, if hate was not a word, would we still have war; if hunger did not exist would children die.

So here is my list of words we could do without:

HATE; LIES AND MORE LIES; NUCLEAR; ANGER; MOLISTATION; ASHAMED; BEATEN DOWN; CUT DOWN; CRITICIZED; DEHUMANIZED; DISRESPECTED; EMBARRASSED; HUMILIATED; INFERIOR; INSULTED; INVALIDATED; LABELED; LECTURED TO; MOCKED; OFFENDED; PUT DOWN; RESENTFUL; RIDICULED; STEREOTYPED; TEASED; UNDERESTIMATED; BOSSED AROUND; CONTROLLED; IMPRISONED; INHIBITED; FORCED; MANIPULATED; OBLIGATED; OVER-CONTROLLED; OVER-RULED; POWERLESS; PRESSURED; RESTRICTED; TRAPPED; ABANDONED; ALONE; BRUSHED OFF; CONFUSED; DISAPPROVED OF; DISCOURAGED; IGNORED; INSIGNIFICANT; INVISIBLE; LEFT OUT; LONELY; MISUNDERSTOOD; NEGLECTED; REJECTED; UNCARED ABOUT; UNHEARD; UNKNOWN; UNIMPORTANT; UNINFORMED; UNLOVED; UNSUPPORTED; UNWANTED; ACCUSED; CHEATED; FALSELY ACCUSED; GUILT-TRIPPED; INTERROGATED; JUDGED; LIED ABOUT; LIED TO; MISLED; PUNISHED; ROBBED; ABUSED; AFRAID; ATTACKED; FRIGHTENED; INTIMIDATED; OVER-PROTECTED; SCARED; TERRIFIED; THREATENED; UNDER-PROTECTED; UNSAFE; VIOLATED; CYNICAL; GUARDED; SKEPTICAL; SUSPICIOUS; UNTRUSTED

I see where my life has been changed by just one word – how about you.

Never talk defeat. Use words like hope, belief, faith, victory.
~Norman Vincent Peale

"Hope" is the thing with feathers-- That perches in the soul-- And sings the tune without the words-- And never stops--at all
~Emily Dickenson

“Tears are words the heart can't express”
~unknown

“They may forget what you said, but they will never forget how you made them feel.”
~Carl W. Buechner

Why DOES it take so long....

When you have to visit a public bathroom, you usually find a line of women, so you smile politely and take your place. Once it's your turn, you check for feet under the stall doors Every stall is occupied. Finally, a door opens and you dash in, nearly knocking down the woman leaving the stall.

You get in to find the door won't latch. It doesn't matter. The dispenser for the modern "seat covers" (invented by some one's mom,no doubt) is handy, but empty. You would hang your purse on the door hook, if there were one, but there isn't - - so you carefully, but quickly, drape it around your neck, (Mom would turn over in her grave if you put it on the FLOOR!), yank down your pants, and assume "The Stance." In this position your aging, toneless thigh muscles begin to shake.

You'd love to sit down, but you certainly hadn't taken time to wipe the seat or lay toilet paper on it, so you hold "The Stance." To take your mind off your trembling thighs, you reach for what you discover to be the EMPTY toilet paper dispenser. In your mind, you can hear your mom's voice saying, "Honey, if you had tried to clean the seat, you would have KNOWN there was no toilet paper!" Your thighs shake more.

You remember the tiny tissue that you blew your nose on yesterday - the one that's still in your purse. That would have to do. You crumple it in the puffiest way possible. It is still smaller than your thumbnail. Someone pushes open your stall door because the latch doesn't work. The door hits your purse, which is hanging around your neck in front of your chest, and you and your purse topples backward against the tank of the toilet.

"OCCUPIED!" you scream, as you reach for the door dropping your precious, tiny, crumpled tissue in a puddle on the floor, lose your footing altogether, and slide down directly on the TOILET SEAT. It is wet of course.

You bolt up, knowing all too well that it's too late. Your bare bottom has made contact with every imaginable germ and life form on the uncovered seat because YOU never laid down toilet paper - not that there was any, even if you had taken time to try.

You know your mother would be utterly appalled if she knew, because, you're certain, her bare bottom never touched a public toilet seat because, frankly, dear, "You just don't KNOW what kind of diseases you could get."

By this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is so confused that it flushes, propelling a stream of water like a fire hose that somehow sucks everything down with such force that you grab onto the toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged in too.

At that point, you give up. You are soaked by the spewing water and the wet toilet seat. You're exhausted. You try to wipe with a gum wrapper you found in your pocket and then slink out conspicuously to the sinks.

Now, you can't figure out how to operate the faucets with the automatic sensors, so you wipe your hands with spit and a dry paper towel and walk past the line of women still waiting.

You are no longer able to smile politely to them. A kind soul at the very end of the line points out a piece of toilet paper trailing from your shoe. (Where was that when you NEEDED it??)

You yank the paper from your shoe, plunk it into the woman's hand and tell her warmly, "Here, you just might need this." As you exit, you spot your hubby, who has long since entered, used and left the men's restroom. Annoyed, he asks, "What took you so long, and why is your purse hanging around your neck?

What really does take us so long and why women go to the restroom in pairs.
It's so the other gal can hold the door, hang onto your purse and hand you Kleenex under the door.

Time is the coin of your life. It is the only coin you have, and only you can determine how it will be spent. Be careful lest you let other people spend it for you.
~ Carl Sandberg

I am often taken by surprise.

By random acts of kindness extended with motives so pure as to be wholly invisible.

And mean streaks with motives so transparent it's difficult to believe what you see.

By relief, penetrating the very marrow of my bones.

And disappointment so deeply felt it leaves a bruise.

By the quick evaporation of the night.

And the swiftness of the morning's arrival.

By the sheer will of an underdog.

And the steady heart of a champion.

By the gentle warmth of the pulsating sun.

And the bitter cold of the biting rain.

By how quickly the aroma of frying chicken can transport me through time.

And the way a good cup of tea, dancing on my tongue, can secure me in the present.

By unguarded joy.

And the intensity behind an honest smile.

By the undeniable power of the written word.

And the uneasy necessity of the spoken kind.

By the enemy within.

And found strength.

By uncommon bonds.

And open minds.

By the rawest of realities, and by the simplest of pleasures.

And the uncanny ability they hold to still take me by surprise.

The moments of happiness we enjoy take us by surprise. It is not that we seize them, but that they seize us.
~ Ashley Montagu

Life is like a blanket too short. You pull it up and your toes rebel, you yank it down and shivers meander about your shoulder; but cheerful folks manage to draw their knees up and pass a very comfortable night.
~ Marion Howard

Always remember to be happy because you never know who's falling in love with your smile.
~ Unknown

Visual DNA

Read my VisualDNA™ Get your own VisualDNA™

The Sound of the Soft Shoe Dropping

She is the shining light, the one who is trying to have it all together. She is the happy place within the family dynamic, the calm withn her sisters firestorm. We speak about her with puffed out chests and twinkling eyes, struggling to keep the boastful arrogance out of the words of pride that tumble out at the least instigation.

She called me today, well into my workday, sobbing into my ear. I can hear She's miserable, and as is typical, misery builds on misery, swelling a single drop into a pounding rain, overwhelming as it batters, drowning our defenses. I can't hold her, or hug her, or stroke her hair as she sobs into my shoulder. I can't shake her, or talk sense into her eye to eye, or walk with her, to prove the path she's on is just a temporary diversion, not an ending destination.All I can do is listen intently as it pours out of her in unintelligible sobs, translating as I go, heeding signals and signs. All I can do is respond in measured tones, aural comfort food doled out by the earful. All I can do is feel her pain, when all I want to do is bear it for her.

All I can do is worry, and then I pick up the phone and call the asshole who has made my baby cry. I will spare you all the details (they are grusome with some choice words) but in a nutshell he will NEVER call her again. Ah collection agencies - what would we do without them!!

I cry a lot. My emotions are very close to my surface. I don't want to hold anything in so it festers and turns into pus - a pustule of emotion that explodes into a festering cesspool of depression.
~ Nicolas Cage

I start to feel like I can’t maintain the facade any longer, that I may just start to show through. And I wish I knew what was wrong. Maybe something about how stupid my whole life is. I don’t know. Why does the rest of the world put up with the hypocrisy, the need to put a happy face on sorrow, the need to keep on keeping on?... I don’t know the answer, I know only that I can’t. I am so tired. I am twenty and I am already exhausted.
~ Elizabeth Wurtzel

"If you sit by the banks of the river long enough, the body of your enemy will come floating by." ~ Unknown

"In raising my children, I have lost my mind but found my soul."
~ Lisa T. Shepherd

If truth is beauty, how come no one has their hair done in a library?

(Lily Tomlin. Gotta love her. )

I tend to agree with her sentiments, as expressed above, on the issue of hair. My own hair has usually been an afterthought at best. I mean, it's there. And yeah, it's prominent, by virtue of it just being there, atop my head, all crowning glory and whatever. But if it were up to me - and trust me: I'm married; it's not up to me - I'd shave my head bald and cross "hair" off my list of things to think about on any given day. I have no talent or patience with my hair. Even when I noticed a few wayward strands of gray appear here and there, the thought of coloring it, of getting on that endless merry-go-round of upkeep over my HAIR, had zero appeal.

None.

Whatsoever.

That said, this weekend afforded a little different perspective on the subject. I spent the entire weekend working out on the yard cleaning up and each night felt the effects of oldeness. My knees would shame a prostatute, my fingers hurt just to bend them, lets not even talk about my back. By the time Sunday night rolled around I had a major migrane (one I haven't seen in years). So by this morning I felt like I had a hangover as I stepped into the shower. While I was brushing my wet hair I flipped my head over to grab up the scraggly bits into a pony tail, the light fell across the underside of my hair, revealing a startling piece of knowledge to my virginal vanity.

All that glitters is not gold (and I think I am getting a receding hair line!!)

Silver.

Okay, okay. Silver may be too kind.

All that glitters is, clearly, gray. Although I can say from experience, when singular, random strands of gray migrate into massive bunches and are displayed in flagrante under horrifically accurate lighting, gray looks a whole lot like silver.

I'm not above admitting there were tears. There were unintelligible mutterings. There were sympathy seeking sniffles. There was, ultimately, a thought of early bed time, marred by dreams of wrinkles and sensible shoes.

For the first time in my life my hair oriented vanity leaped to the fore of every nerve ending and every sweeping reaction, drove every thought and every action. If I were to pluck every one of them out I would surely be bald (ok maybe not bald). But with my thinning hair and old body I was hoping the "old thing" would take it's time and - it has chosen not to.

The last time I had tried to get my hair done (a gift from my girls ) I was a nervous wreck. In a good "the more things change the merrier, everything old is new again" terror filled excitement sort of way. But in the end just could not do it....in fact I sat there and cried.

Change is so hard in many ways.

Gah.

Hair brings one's self-image into focus; it is vanity's proving ground. Hair is terribly personal, a tangle of mysterious prejudices.
~ Shana Alexander

How old would you be if you didn't know how old you were?
~ Satchel Paige

I'm not offended by all the dumb-blonde jokes because I know that I'm not dumb. I also know I'm not blonde.
~ Dolly Parton

Looking into the future

Last night was a fun night with my nannie. A full 7 hours with just her and me. Well and a room full of people waiting for the renouned physic "Sylvia Brown". We have been waiting for this moment for many years hoping to get picked to ask our question - we didn't. Maybe not knowing is better. If I knew that someone I loved was not going to be with me for the rest of my life I think it would alter me to much.

I can however pay her $750.00 and get 1/2 hour of her time on the phone............nahhhh. I think I will just stay where I am in my space of time for I am a collector of souls. Wandering through this wonderland is among my greatest fascinations and purest simple pleasures at the moment. Casually peeking in on the lives of strangers, seeing their innermost thoughts, gleaning those facets of their personalities they are willing to share with the world at large.

I never cease to find myself amazed at finding boundless numbers of feelings that speak to me by baring the souls of their keepers. It all breeds a certain easy familiarity, doesn't it? Sometimes, like a fly on the wall, it seems like eavesdropping on thoughts I have no right to hear. But at other times I am completely drawn in to the feeling that I'm a participant in the lives being spun.I laugh out loud. I cheer for victories, as big as beating cancer and as small as a successful day of potty training. I have been swayed to rethink myself by an eloquent, well thought out argument. I have been moved to rail in protest at rants that go against my grain. I've been touched by the grace with which people face their disappointments. I've been inspired by the will with which people overcome their fears. And I've been left awestruck by gifted, insightful souls.

But sometimes I cry. Sometimes the souls are left unguarded and defenseless, exposing the shockingly jagged shards that are the harrowing frailties of human nature. And when these moments of weakness turn into the words on a page, those sharply drawn edges, whose frightening profiles belie a stark fragility, pierce me with stunning, cunning swiftness, penetrating deeply. I recognize the painful parts of a former self.

The words remind me of familiar gaping wounds that were not so easily healed. Comments beg to pour out of me, words of encouragement or empathy. I want to envelope them in a vast cyber hug, assuring them..."you will find your way...it can get better". I want to offer stories of shared emotion, to make them understand they are not alone. But I know from experience that the only solace, the only peace, the only answers, will come from deep inside themselves. Even then, only when they are ready to find it.

If I could, I would roam the world like Johnny Appleseed, scattering the seeds of hope in every damaged, hurting soul. I would water the plantings with insight drawn from a well of strength. I would painstakingly weed out moments of bitter disappointment and overwhelming exhaustion. I would stand protective watch, guarding the seedlings from storms of despairing doubt and ferocious fear. And soon enough, the hope would begin to sprout and bloom, stretching itself to meet the light of a brand new day full of breathtaking promise.

Instead, all I have are words silent tho they may be.


"It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out of your door," he used to say. "You step into the Road, and if you don't keep your feet, there is no knowing where you might be swept off to."
~ J.R.R. Tolkien

Well done is better than well said.
~ Benjamin Franklin

It is well to remember that the entire population of the universe, with one trifling exception, is composed of others.
~ Andrew J. Holmes