Welcome to the Blogs section. Below is a list of Blogs posted by members. A Blog is a journal you may enter about your life, thoughts, interesting experiences, or lessons you've learned. Post an opinion, impart words of wisdom, or talk about something interesting in your day. Update your blog on a regular basis, or just whenever you have something to say. Creating a blog is a good way to share something of yourself with others. Reading blogs is a good way to learn more about others. Click here to post a blog.
Just One of Those Tiny Little ….
Today I got angry. Oh yeah, I know that probably sounds quite droll, but for me it’s a bit of an event. There are some very good reasons why I don’t allow myself to get angry any longer, but that’s another long and boring story that dredges up more of the past than I care to think about right now.
As I get older I realize that I have less and less control of the world around me. Of course, the reality is that I’m just realizing that I never had any control, but you know, when you’re young and full of piss & vinegar you just don’t see the truth. I think what upset me was that for a moment I got angry with another person; somebody I don’t know other than through simple correspondence. A nice person from all accounts, but for a moment I allowed myself to believe they were different than most and then they did that damn human thing and made an overall judgment about me without even knowing me. I think it wasn’t really anger, just good old fashion disappointment.
Years ago, when I turned on the emotions again after turning them off back in the military, I learned the penalty. Nobody told me it was like water backing up behind a dam. It just stores up until you open the valve and then there’s that flood of emotions. Actually it’s more like bank account because it comes out with interest, compounded, huge … and you’re never prepared, at least not fully. Once I got a handle on it I had a lot better understanding why so many of these kids that are in the military end up taking their own lives. It’s just impossible for many of them to deal with. They are good, clean kids trying to grow up fast and survive in impossible situations that most can’t handle. A lot of them bury the feelings, but a few just can’t do that. Of course the ones that are successful don’t realize that those buried feelings are that time bomb that will explode sometime, perhaps a long way in the future, without warning and doing more damage than one could ever imagine.
Life is full of those tiny little lessons and they show up all sorts of ways. I remember my dad always using a particular metaphor to make a point. He’d say “I cried because I had no shoes, until I met a man that had no feet”. It was kind of morbid but I got the point. Little did I know that in just a few years later, walking off a hot LZ carrying a half dozen boots with feet still in them that the little bell, you know, the one that rings when you “get it” would go off and the old man’s metaphor would take on an entirely new, painfully morbid reality of it’s own.
Yep, it’s just those “tiny little’s” that seem to make all the difference some times and worst of all, we never know when the point will come home. I wonder how many of them are still buried out there with my name on it, but worse yet, I wonder how many of them I’ve sprinkled into my own kids lives and how they will discover them.
I promised myself that I won’t get angry again. I know it’s a promise I can’t keep, but God and Grandfather know it’s one that I really want to …..
As I get older I realize that I have less and less control of the world around me. Of course, the reality is that I’m just realizing that I never had any control, but you know, when you’re young and full of piss & vinegar you just don’t see the truth. I think what upset me was that for a moment I got angry with another person; somebody I don’t know other than through simple correspondence. A nice person from all accounts, but for a moment I allowed myself to believe they were different than most and then they did that damn human thing and made an overall judgment about me without even knowing me. I think it wasn’t really anger, just good old fashion disappointment.
Years ago, when I turned on the emotions again after turning them off back in the military, I learned the penalty. Nobody told me it was like water backing up behind a dam. It just stores up until you open the valve and then there’s that flood of emotions. Actually it’s more like bank account because it comes out with interest, compounded, huge … and you’re never prepared, at least not fully. Once I got a handle on it I had a lot better understanding why so many of these kids that are in the military end up taking their own lives. It’s just impossible for many of them to deal with. They are good, clean kids trying to grow up fast and survive in impossible situations that most can’t handle. A lot of them bury the feelings, but a few just can’t do that. Of course the ones that are successful don’t realize that those buried feelings are that time bomb that will explode sometime, perhaps a long way in the future, without warning and doing more damage than one could ever imagine.
Life is full of those tiny little lessons and they show up all sorts of ways. I remember my dad always using a particular metaphor to make a point. He’d say “I cried because I had no shoes, until I met a man that had no feet”. It was kind of morbid but I got the point. Little did I know that in just a few years later, walking off a hot LZ carrying a half dozen boots with feet still in them that the little bell, you know, the one that rings when you “get it” would go off and the old man’s metaphor would take on an entirely new, painfully morbid reality of it’s own.
Yep, it’s just those “tiny little’s” that seem to make all the difference some times and worst of all, we never know when the point will come home. I wonder how many of them are still buried out there with my name on it, but worse yet, I wonder how many of them I’ve sprinkled into my own kids lives and how they will discover them.
I promised myself that I won’t get angry again. I know it’s a promise I can’t keep, but God and Grandfather know it’s one that I really want to …..
does love across the miles helps any one of us ?
phone
tv
internet
magazine
career
family
babies
church and any others beliefs
looks
places where we are born or brought up
society
those who have endured of their bad experience in love
comfort and joy
planning their new life in new places or countries
environment
travelling abroad
tv
internet
magazine
career
family
babies
church and any others beliefs
looks
places where we are born or brought up
society
those who have endured of their bad experience in love
comfort and joy
planning their new life in new places or countries
environment
travelling abroad
The end of days
In 2012 the poles on the sun will reverse direction. This will cause all animals, such as birds, that use magnetic navigation to die. The result will be havoc in the sea, A dead sea will cause an extreme shortage of food, and most of the world will die off. To make matters worse, the shift in the sun's magnetic pole will change the dynamics of the astroid belt and send it on a collision course with earth.
Long story short, better get some lovin before it's to late.
Long story short, better get some lovin before it's to late.
I believed
I believed in the one perfect moment.
Love arriving gently with the spirit, lasting, true and free.
I believed in the one perfect answer,
yes to everything good and right,
solace in the wretched night.
I believed in one perfect heart,
bringing trust, understanding and kindness,
noble in the godless world.
I believed in the one perfect love,
wings of heart to soar upon,
random, fateful, then was gone...
By Sheila Blair
Yes, I used to believed in one perfect thing but now, I've learnt that I shouldn't to expect or believe in something which I think it's really perfect because it'll probably untruth
Love arriving gently with the spirit, lasting, true and free.
I believed in the one perfect answer,
yes to everything good and right,
solace in the wretched night.
I believed in one perfect heart,
bringing trust, understanding and kindness,
noble in the godless world.
I believed in the one perfect love,
wings of heart to soar upon,
random, fateful, then was gone...
By Sheila Blair
Yes, I used to believed in one perfect thing but now, I've learnt that I shouldn't to expect or believe in something which I think it's really perfect because it'll probably untruth
Age range gap
You probably wouldn't notice it much unless you were around 35. Have you ever noticed on these dating sites there are a lot of 20's and 40's, a few 50 and 60, but the mid 30's there seems to be a gap, hardly any profiles.
Gone fishin'
He couldn't find any lures, so I suggested he use the little red wiggly person that I found when cleaning his room - I'm sure you've seen those things - they're sticky until they get used too much. He stuck it on the hook. I watched my youngest son prepare to join a friend to go down to the river .....and I felt sad and hurt. I had promised that I would fish with him when we first moved back up here to PA well over a year ago and had not. I knew that although we now lived close enough, his father would not take the time to do so. And I again felt the pangs of that relationship from which I moved (back up here) and how my then mate promised again and again but didn't - he would brag about fishing, said he'd take my son........oh, blah, blah, blah.
The truth, ....... well, a truth........
......even had I taken him, it would have been out of guilt, and my son would have felt that. No, I'm the one who didn't take him fishing; me, moi. I'm the one responsible for my relationship with him. My apology is not for those men in his (my) life with little to no integrity. Equally, my wish is not limited to that man who will soon be in my life who does have integrity (where are you?). My apology is that I didn't take the time to spend with my son. My wish is to find that time and to love it.
I love my son and I'm responsible for my relationship with him and for what I didn't make happen.
The truth, ....... well, a truth........
......even had I taken him, it would have been out of guilt, and my son would have felt that. No, I'm the one who didn't take him fishing; me, moi. I'm the one responsible for my relationship with him. My apology is not for those men in his (my) life with little to no integrity. Equally, my wish is not limited to that man who will soon be in my life who does have integrity (where are you?). My apology is that I didn't take the time to spend with my son. My wish is to find that time and to love it.
I love my son and I'm responsible for my relationship with him and for what I didn't make happen.
Temptations
The fun thing about the job market is the temptation to do something rash. I’ve had some interesting offers that would boggle the mind. The best one to date was to take a 12 month contract where I would be spending approximately 10 of those months on the 7th continent at the NOAH weather station. Hmmmm, sounds a bit too much like my last marriage, but that’s a different story.
Anyway, this afternoon I got one of those calls from a former employment candidate that have suddenly regained interest. Actually, it just took forever for them to get through the process so now it might just happen. Wow, moving to a different state, new friends, etc, etc is a bit scary but when I consider what I’ve got around this city, it sure couldn’t get any worse, in fact there are a number of benefits that would be helpful in the long run.
And if that were not interesting enough, another lead wants me to come visit them to interview. They are further North (brrrrrr) but are offering nearly twice the salary and a bonus structure that is 25% of the salary. That’s nearly enough money to be scary.
So, what to do, what to do …. I’m thinking it might be time to break out the old dart board; it would be easier!
Anyway, this afternoon I got one of those calls from a former employment candidate that have suddenly regained interest. Actually, it just took forever for them to get through the process so now it might just happen. Wow, moving to a different state, new friends, etc, etc is a bit scary but when I consider what I’ve got around this city, it sure couldn’t get any worse, in fact there are a number of benefits that would be helpful in the long run.
And if that were not interesting enough, another lead wants me to come visit them to interview. They are further North (brrrrrr) but are offering nearly twice the salary and a bonus structure that is 25% of the salary. That’s nearly enough money to be scary.
So, what to do, what to do …. I’m thinking it might be time to break out the old dart board; it would be easier!
Finding the right page
It is coming up to six in the morning now, my appointment - along with everyone else who will be at this particular clinic this morning - is for 9:00 a.m. I will get there just after eight and I will not be the first to arrive.
The one thing I never got used to in New York was walking in to a room full of people, saying 'good morning, afternoon, or evening' and having no one respond. Here if you catch someone's eye on the street it is appropriate to offer a greeting, smile or nod of the head in acknowledgment that you have seen and been seen. If you join a room 'in progress' you say hello.
This morning when I say good morning there will be a chorus of good morning's back and a few smiles. And people will stare. The older ones will be trying to figure out who I "feature' (look like) that they know. Some will be certain they know me. Many of them do. From time to time I become a public figure.
Others will look at the lighter tones of my skin (one of the odd by products of being quite ethnically diverse is that when you put me in a group, suddenly preconceptions about me ring false.) and wonder why I am not in the private part of the hospital. Younger people with dreads will make judgments about me that if made by me about them, would lead to war.
I just looked back over what I typed, quite quickly, with my right hand and corrected about six typos. Capitals are the most difficult as my left hand scuttles forward to help (it knows it has a job) and despite its best efforts it misses the key it aims for.
Poor sad left hand. There is a surreal quality to holding something in your hand and watching the grip you have relied on all your life just melt away while soap, pens, coins, whatever become animate and eel their way between the fingers that used to help me talk as well, and now make random flights through space and time or, more and more, cling tightly to my side because they no longer recognise the edges of my world and graze their knuckles on a wall they no longer feel coming.
I talked to my left side last night. I made a promise. One that scares me. I will do whatever is necessary to bring it back. It has taken me a while to make the promise, because I do not break them once made except in dire circumstance. And I do not actually know what I have just committed myself to. I was hoping for more information first.
Then I looked at the pattern of the last few weeks, answers on the verge of coming, then withdrawn, the waiting, the uncertainty that has been so bloody unsettling. I realised there is one area where I can be certain, and maybe the lesson all along has been the need to reaffirm the things I have always known.
I can give up the uncertainty any time I want to. I can just have faith and commit to the program wherever it takes me. Show up, cooperate and do my best to heal. Bring back my left side. I will admit to an ongoing scepticism about the need for steroids though. I will not know the outcome of this until I look back on my life.
I have lost the moment frequently in the last few weeks. Waiting for appointments in the future. Looking forward as though somehow my eyes have gained the super power needed to see through the veils, the tapestry of time. around the corner from what is to what will be.
I have this moment, and I know I will do whatever is next -right now a cup of tea and shower- and the forums, the blogs are always a'room in progress' so good morning and good living to you.
The one thing I never got used to in New York was walking in to a room full of people, saying 'good morning, afternoon, or evening' and having no one respond. Here if you catch someone's eye on the street it is appropriate to offer a greeting, smile or nod of the head in acknowledgment that you have seen and been seen. If you join a room 'in progress' you say hello.
This morning when I say good morning there will be a chorus of good morning's back and a few smiles. And people will stare. The older ones will be trying to figure out who I "feature' (look like) that they know. Some will be certain they know me. Many of them do. From time to time I become a public figure.
Others will look at the lighter tones of my skin (one of the odd by products of being quite ethnically diverse is that when you put me in a group, suddenly preconceptions about me ring false.) and wonder why I am not in the private part of the hospital. Younger people with dreads will make judgments about me that if made by me about them, would lead to war.
I just looked back over what I typed, quite quickly, with my right hand and corrected about six typos. Capitals are the most difficult as my left hand scuttles forward to help (it knows it has a job) and despite its best efforts it misses the key it aims for.
Poor sad left hand. There is a surreal quality to holding something in your hand and watching the grip you have relied on all your life just melt away while soap, pens, coins, whatever become animate and eel their way between the fingers that used to help me talk as well, and now make random flights through space and time or, more and more, cling tightly to my side because they no longer recognise the edges of my world and graze their knuckles on a wall they no longer feel coming.
I talked to my left side last night. I made a promise. One that scares me. I will do whatever is necessary to bring it back. It has taken me a while to make the promise, because I do not break them once made except in dire circumstance. And I do not actually know what I have just committed myself to. I was hoping for more information first.
Then I looked at the pattern of the last few weeks, answers on the verge of coming, then withdrawn, the waiting, the uncertainty that has been so bloody unsettling. I realised there is one area where I can be certain, and maybe the lesson all along has been the need to reaffirm the things I have always known.
I can give up the uncertainty any time I want to. I can just have faith and commit to the program wherever it takes me. Show up, cooperate and do my best to heal. Bring back my left side. I will admit to an ongoing scepticism about the need for steroids though. I will not know the outcome of this until I look back on my life.
I have lost the moment frequently in the last few weeks. Waiting for appointments in the future. Looking forward as though somehow my eyes have gained the super power needed to see through the veils, the tapestry of time. around the corner from what is to what will be.
I have this moment, and I know I will do whatever is next -right now a cup of tea and shower- and the forums, the blogs are always a'room in progress' so good morning and good living to you.
Gift from a friend
Last Friday I awoke, and was halfway across the room when I realized I was moving smoothly and with negligible pain. I didn't, in a word, feel "sick."
Oh yes. Which is not to say I am not still tiring too easily, or am ready to go full tilt. Instead I have crossed that illusive "I am going to be okay" line.
Yesterday, a friend of mine took me out to lunch. It was a fine spring day, and the restaurant (The Looking Glass -- one of my favorites) offered delectable luncheon sandwiches: mine was a chunky chicken salad with mandarin oranges and walnuts, served on a delicate croissant, with a side Mesclun salad and raspberry vinaigrette. The decor is straight out of Alice in Wonderland, a bright room with an odd mix of tables, wrought iron chairs, upholstered and heavily cushioned chairs, hand-painted ladder back chairs. Whimsy. Frivolity. The place makes you smile. Its outdoor terrace is surround by a sheltering bamboo fence. The pond has Koi, and the first shoots of summer water lilies, and a brass figure of geese flying...
We moved to the Amish store for fresh cheeses, ground Elk, specialized flours, hand packed herbs and spices, sweet homemade butter and other goodies. After dropping them off at my friend's home for refrigeration, we continued on to Rotary Park, an underused park hidden of a downtown road.
For the first time since February, I was outdoors. In nature.
We drove as far we could into the park, then walked around photographing the dogwoods and other flowering trees. We rode back to a small parking spot beside a brook that a week ago was over its bank but now meandered leisurely, babbling, bubbling and chattering, calling to us to venture closer.
We listened. On the edge of the stream we collected fossil rocks, and eyes the tangled curling roots of tree half-uprooted by the high water. Our respective artist eyes were intrigued, culling forms and images, studying the way the sunlight played off the water.
We walked up the edge of the stream, not chatting very much, instead absorbing the awakening of the earth. A few fiddleheads here, a cluster of bright purple flowers there, dark plum trilliums scattered throughout ... we watched minnows scurrying about in the shallows, and I wondered if there might be a brown trout hidden away in the rapids upstream.
I didn't walk far before I became tired, but it was such a wonderful tired.
I pulled the sunlight into me, and savored the heady, musty scent of water and wet wood. I listened to the music of the brook and let it soothe me.
As we headed home, we agreed that our next "girl's day out" would be a picnic lunch there. A couple of folding chairs. A sketchbook or a novel to read. And the sound of that crystal clear water meandering past us.
I thanked my friend for the gift of that day. For choosing to share that day with me. For being my friend.
Oh yes. Which is not to say I am not still tiring too easily, or am ready to go full tilt. Instead I have crossed that illusive "I am going to be okay" line.
Yesterday, a friend of mine took me out to lunch. It was a fine spring day, and the restaurant (The Looking Glass -- one of my favorites) offered delectable luncheon sandwiches: mine was a chunky chicken salad with mandarin oranges and walnuts, served on a delicate croissant, with a side Mesclun salad and raspberry vinaigrette. The decor is straight out of Alice in Wonderland, a bright room with an odd mix of tables, wrought iron chairs, upholstered and heavily cushioned chairs, hand-painted ladder back chairs. Whimsy. Frivolity. The place makes you smile. Its outdoor terrace is surround by a sheltering bamboo fence. The pond has Koi, and the first shoots of summer water lilies, and a brass figure of geese flying...
We moved to the Amish store for fresh cheeses, ground Elk, specialized flours, hand packed herbs and spices, sweet homemade butter and other goodies. After dropping them off at my friend's home for refrigeration, we continued on to Rotary Park, an underused park hidden of a downtown road.
For the first time since February, I was outdoors. In nature.
We drove as far we could into the park, then walked around photographing the dogwoods and other flowering trees. We rode back to a small parking spot beside a brook that a week ago was over its bank but now meandered leisurely, babbling, bubbling and chattering, calling to us to venture closer.
We listened. On the edge of the stream we collected fossil rocks, and eyes the tangled curling roots of tree half-uprooted by the high water. Our respective artist eyes were intrigued, culling forms and images, studying the way the sunlight played off the water.
We walked up the edge of the stream, not chatting very much, instead absorbing the awakening of the earth. A few fiddleheads here, a cluster of bright purple flowers there, dark plum trilliums scattered throughout ... we watched minnows scurrying about in the shallows, and I wondered if there might be a brown trout hidden away in the rapids upstream.
I didn't walk far before I became tired, but it was such a wonderful tired.
I pulled the sunlight into me, and savored the heady, musty scent of water and wet wood. I listened to the music of the brook and let it soothe me.
As we headed home, we agreed that our next "girl's day out" would be a picnic lunch there. A couple of folding chairs. A sketchbook or a novel to read. And the sound of that crystal clear water meandering past us.
I thanked my friend for the gift of that day. For choosing to share that day with me. For being my friend.
Some Pain....
Everybody has got some pain
...some scars are physical
some are unseen...
Scars are not to remind pain
but to remind us of how simple our lives are.
At last,
we tumble and sometimes scars are left to be seen.
Don't scratch the scars
because that will widen the wound.
Let it be....
...some scars are physical
some are unseen...
Scars are not to remind pain
but to remind us of how simple our lives are.
At last,
we tumble and sometimes scars are left to be seen.
Don't scratch the scars
because that will widen the wound.
Let it be....
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