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.
The Art of Conversation
I ran into an old friend a few weeks ago and we went out to lunch. That's when it occured to me that the art of conversation is gone, at least menaingful conversation. Of course we opened with the usual small talk, the standard what are you doing, where are you living, hows the family stuff. It was when I started asking him real questions that things went down hill. I ask him his view on the current presidential candidates, his response? "I don't care" and so it went on and on with every question.
I don't understand what happened to my friend. Sure it was him, but clearly he wasn't the same. In fact when we were at lunch I thought I was with a complete stranger. Here was a guy that used to have an opinion or thought about EVERYTHING. We often debated over topic after topic, often in heated exchanges but always respectful of one another. Yet now he had nothing to say, about anything and it threw me for a loop to say the least. We ended lunch and saaid our goodbyes, stay in touch stuff and went on our separate ways.
I couldn't help but think as he walked away how sad I felt. I clearly had lost my friiend for whatecer reason. I may never know what happened to him. I had asked in a joking manner, but he said he hadn't changed so I dropped it no sense in arguing the point when he had insisted otherwise.
Which brings me to a question in general. Why as a society have we stopped talking about the real issues we are confronted with on a daily basis? It seems no matter where you go these days an intelligent, thought provoking conversation is impossible to find. Has the art of conversation died? I think it has at the very least taken a step backwards. When good conversation is scarce, it's not a good thing. We remain stuck in one place, not evolving or changing. Maybe it hasn't died, maybe I'm just looking for it too hard or not in the right places. I don't know the answer, but I thirst for the knowledge to find it.
I don't understand what happened to my friend. Sure it was him, but clearly he wasn't the same. In fact when we were at lunch I thought I was with a complete stranger. Here was a guy that used to have an opinion or thought about EVERYTHING. We often debated over topic after topic, often in heated exchanges but always respectful of one another. Yet now he had nothing to say, about anything and it threw me for a loop to say the least. We ended lunch and saaid our goodbyes, stay in touch stuff and went on our separate ways.
I couldn't help but think as he walked away how sad I felt. I clearly had lost my friiend for whatecer reason. I may never know what happened to him. I had asked in a joking manner, but he said he hadn't changed so I dropped it no sense in arguing the point when he had insisted otherwise.
Which brings me to a question in general. Why as a society have we stopped talking about the real issues we are confronted with on a daily basis? It seems no matter where you go these days an intelligent, thought provoking conversation is impossible to find. Has the art of conversation died? I think it has at the very least taken a step backwards. When good conversation is scarce, it's not a good thing. We remain stuck in one place, not evolving or changing. Maybe it hasn't died, maybe I'm just looking for it too hard or not in the right places. I don't know the answer, but I thirst for the knowledge to find it.
finding my birthfamily
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my quest started 5 yrs ago to find an older sister.It had bothered me all my life that I had a sibling out there whom I didnt know.But surprises were in store....
Last year i found a sibling,who like myself ,was put up for adoption in England back in the 60's.she was a younger sibling I had known nothing about.Anyway ,we pooled information and with what I had i was able to trace my birthmother to new mexico.Not knowing her new last name,I was stuck.Even her ex husband couldn't help me as he had not been in contact for years.
Well this past Christmas eve,my half brother called me and the wait was over.Thanks to the ex husband(his dad) contacting him I have now found not only my older sister but all the rest of my siblings including my birth mom.I have talked to my older sis who was the only one who knew about me and the other adoptee.I have a total of 8 siblings when I thought I only had one.We plan on meeting soon and I am both excited and overwhelmed that this search has been successful.
my parents and sister have been totally supportive in my quest to find my roots.My next project is to get my dad's name and find him.
This is for both medical and emotional reasons.
Stay tuned for updates!!
Jan 19
My birthmom will be calling tonight.i am excited,nervous and scared all rolled up in one.will post more later.
my quest started 5 yrs ago to find an older sister.It had bothered me all my life that I had a sibling out there whom I didnt know.But surprises were in store....
Last year i found a sibling,who like myself ,was put up for adoption in England back in the 60's.she was a younger sibling I had known nothing about.Anyway ,we pooled information and with what I had i was able to trace my birthmother to new mexico.Not knowing her new last name,I was stuck.Even her ex husband couldn't help me as he had not been in contact for years.
Well this past Christmas eve,my half brother called me and the wait was over.Thanks to the ex husband(his dad) contacting him I have now found not only my older sister but all the rest of my siblings including my birth mom.I have talked to my older sis who was the only one who knew about me and the other adoptee.I have a total of 8 siblings when I thought I only had one.We plan on meeting soon and I am both excited and overwhelmed that this search has been successful.
my parents and sister have been totally supportive in my quest to find my roots.My next project is to get my dad's name and find him.
This is for both medical and emotional reasons.
Stay tuned for updates!!
Jan 19
My birthmom will be calling tonight.i am excited,nervous and scared all rolled up in one.will post more later.
The continuing adventures of Furball
Furball does not actually answer to any name. He responds to the sound of running water, the clink of a fork on china or the snap of pop top can. Verbal cues are just not in his repertoire.
I see very little of Furball now. Apparently my job is done. I rescued him, resuscitated and fed him. Introduced him to the greater world of catdom and now am a place where kitty chow and the occasional chicken grow.
He has been restricted to the porch because although he used the litter box provided apparently he views the whole world as a toilet. Especially any neat pile of freshly laundered clothes.
And then there are the fleas. It got to the point that I was bathing him everyday to keep him and my apartment flea-free despite diatomaceous earth and myriad other natural non- toxic to Furballs and to Bajan recipes, and then in desperation driven by an inborn dislike of having little creatures bite me on the ankles I bombed the place. Three times.
At least now the little buggers that hop onto my ankle are really little. I think I am killing them off one generation at a time. Keeping Furball in does not work. he yowls. The minute he goes out, the gang appears and they rush off to some cat mall somewhere filled with mice and crickets to be caught and bring home more fleas as presents . So he gets a separate apartment for those time he drops by for a place to sleep and do his laundry.
This morning as I filled the kettle I could see Furball and the fluffy tailed nitwit who is his closest friend playing hide and seek around a tree trunk. Necks stretched as little whiskered faces edged an eye and eartip around corners while the other ear turned backward listening for any approach from the rear.
Paws were lifted and placed with exquisite care not to disturb a blade of grass and give a warning and they circled the tree in both directions, always a tree trunk apart for about fifteen minutes then they suddenly met in the middle and exploded upwards, paws spread wide as if to hug, then chased each other round in kitty orbits that covered the whole of the backyard before they saw me watching and twinkletoed it up the stairs so fast their paws blurred.
The truly fascinating part was by the time I prepared two plates of food and opened up the backdoor, my porch was a seething mass of orange and white cats plus a grey tabby and a calico. it appears my breakfast guests have increased their number to seven.
Someone is spreading the news!
I see very little of Furball now. Apparently my job is done. I rescued him, resuscitated and fed him. Introduced him to the greater world of catdom and now am a place where kitty chow and the occasional chicken grow.
He has been restricted to the porch because although he used the litter box provided apparently he views the whole world as a toilet. Especially any neat pile of freshly laundered clothes.
And then there are the fleas. It got to the point that I was bathing him everyday to keep him and my apartment flea-free despite diatomaceous earth and myriad other natural non- toxic to Furballs and to Bajan recipes, and then in desperation driven by an inborn dislike of having little creatures bite me on the ankles I bombed the place. Three times.
At least now the little buggers that hop onto my ankle are really little. I think I am killing them off one generation at a time. Keeping Furball in does not work. he yowls. The minute he goes out, the gang appears and they rush off to some cat mall somewhere filled with mice and crickets to be caught and bring home more fleas as presents . So he gets a separate apartment for those time he drops by for a place to sleep and do his laundry.
This morning as I filled the kettle I could see Furball and the fluffy tailed nitwit who is his closest friend playing hide and seek around a tree trunk. Necks stretched as little whiskered faces edged an eye and eartip around corners while the other ear turned backward listening for any approach from the rear.
Paws were lifted and placed with exquisite care not to disturb a blade of grass and give a warning and they circled the tree in both directions, always a tree trunk apart for about fifteen minutes then they suddenly met in the middle and exploded upwards, paws spread wide as if to hug, then chased each other round in kitty orbits that covered the whole of the backyard before they saw me watching and twinkletoed it up the stairs so fast their paws blurred.
The truly fascinating part was by the time I prepared two plates of food and opened up the backdoor, my porch was a seething mass of orange and white cats plus a grey tabby and a calico. it appears my breakfast guests have increased their number to seven.
Someone is spreading the news!
Life
I enter the direct experience of my feelings,frustrations.
I understand that I must confront what I have avoided in the past,
In order to bring myself into balance my ADDICTIONS and COMPULSIONS.
I enter my feelings during MEDITATION
Observing my toleration point.
I understand that I must confront what I have avoided in the past,
In order to bring myself into balance my ADDICTIONS and COMPULSIONS.
I enter my feelings during MEDITATION
Observing my toleration point.
My son's first job
Today is the first day of my son's very first job.
Well, I mean he has mowed lawns and such, but today he started at a 9-5 type job.
I am very proud of him.
Now, I don't expect that he will keep this job very long. Mornings aren't exactly his forte, and being both awake and verticle by 7:30 in the morning is nothing less than obscene to him.
He has gotten a bit spoiled as a homeschooled kid because "school" doesn't have an actual start time and end time. This job will be a learning experience about things like consistently being on time and the consequences of oversleeping.
I have to admit he looked terrible this morning. His eyes were saggy and he walked with a bit of resentment in his posture for having to be awake. I advised him to put on his happy face and reminded him this was the means to his goal (ehem,,, paycheck).
He has never received an allowance. Not because I have any fundamental issues with giving kids allowance, just because as a single parent household, money's always been a bit tight.
He has 3 goals for his newfound income. He wants to get contact lenses. Then he wants to get his first car. Then he wants to get a ring for his girlfriend.
I don't know if it will all work out that way.
For all I know he'll come home today grumpy, disappointed, and never want to go back again. Or he might work until he gets his first paycheck and decide it's not worth it. Or he might find that working is exactly what he needed in his life and it may open all new doors for his perception of the world.
Regardless of how it turns out, 2 things I know for sure:
1. He will learn from this, and
2. I am proud of my son.
Well, I mean he has mowed lawns and such, but today he started at a 9-5 type job.
I am very proud of him.
Now, I don't expect that he will keep this job very long. Mornings aren't exactly his forte, and being both awake and verticle by 7:30 in the morning is nothing less than obscene to him.
He has gotten a bit spoiled as a homeschooled kid because "school" doesn't have an actual start time and end time. This job will be a learning experience about things like consistently being on time and the consequences of oversleeping.
I have to admit he looked terrible this morning. His eyes were saggy and he walked with a bit of resentment in his posture for having to be awake. I advised him to put on his happy face and reminded him this was the means to his goal (ehem,,, paycheck).
He has never received an allowance. Not because I have any fundamental issues with giving kids allowance, just because as a single parent household, money's always been a bit tight.
He has 3 goals for his newfound income. He wants to get contact lenses. Then he wants to get his first car. Then he wants to get a ring for his girlfriend.
I don't know if it will all work out that way.
For all I know he'll come home today grumpy, disappointed, and never want to go back again. Or he might work until he gets his first paycheck and decide it's not worth it. Or he might find that working is exactly what he needed in his life and it may open all new doors for his perception of the world.
Regardless of how it turns out, 2 things I know for sure:
1. He will learn from this, and
2. I am proud of my son.
Unstable conditions...
The wind is slamming all my doors while the rain is setting people on a mad dash for shelter. Bajans do not like the rain. I, with my British mother, am an anomaly. I do not carry an umbrella with me at all times to shelter from the sun. I do not retreat to the nearest overhang when rain threatens. I do not run shrieking for said overhang when rain actually falls.
I am considered - the kind would say - eccentric because I am untouched by rain. Indeed, I have been known to walk through it unshielded and reach my destination with no more than a damp drop or two on my shoulders. Not some supernatural skill, merely raindrops so widely spaced one can just avoid them if one is in a mood for mischief. Alas, I frequently am. In a mood for mischief.
In NY in the snow I would create footprints that seemed to pass through mailboxes and trees, here I content myself with seemingly magical powers for walking through the rain and staying dry, needless to say it does not always work. If needless why did I say it? Because I could and it fit the rhythm of the sentence that I wanted to create.
Right now the rain has stopped and the air smells green with moisture. Dark brown secrets as the high notes with just a trace of slaughtered frog, murdered by some careless car, washed from the road into the wind by Nature's birdbath moment.
I have spent six hours clearing clutter. Opening the pathways in my life for chi to flow and spur me on my quest for deep self-caring moments. It is a melancholy truth that I am much nicer to other people than I am to myself. Not that I treat myself badly.
I leave relationships and jobs that suck; I eat well, I lavish books upon myself whenever I travel and can sink into the heaven of a bookstore of more than 40 square feet! I say no when I do not want to do something, say it and make it stick.
I also expect that I will cope, on my own, with whatever life and the Universe choose to offer me; a broken car horn, a leaking tap and I head to the internet for instruction rather than the phone book for a plumber or mechanic. I do not ask for help, an echo of a childhood where I was the oldest and expected to be perfect, expected to cope, expected to perform.
And now I stumble over deep pockets of anger that have seethed for years and tell myself I am wrong for feeling it. Which blatantly is bullshit. Or b*llsh*t if I have to be PC. Which I abhor. A mealymouthed hypocrisy which makes perfectly good words unusable and stands on the sidelines cheering each time our soldiers kill. And there's a piece of anger peeping out if ever I saw one!
So I am practising to embrace my rage and pamper me. to treat me how I would wish to treat a child of mine. I read somewhere that we keep giving birth to ourselves.
I wonder what this me will grow up to be....
I am considered - the kind would say - eccentric because I am untouched by rain. Indeed, I have been known to walk through it unshielded and reach my destination with no more than a damp drop or two on my shoulders. Not some supernatural skill, merely raindrops so widely spaced one can just avoid them if one is in a mood for mischief. Alas, I frequently am. In a mood for mischief.
In NY in the snow I would create footprints that seemed to pass through mailboxes and trees, here I content myself with seemingly magical powers for walking through the rain and staying dry, needless to say it does not always work. If needless why did I say it? Because I could and it fit the rhythm of the sentence that I wanted to create.
Right now the rain has stopped and the air smells green with moisture. Dark brown secrets as the high notes with just a trace of slaughtered frog, murdered by some careless car, washed from the road into the wind by Nature's birdbath moment.
I have spent six hours clearing clutter. Opening the pathways in my life for chi to flow and spur me on my quest for deep self-caring moments. It is a melancholy truth that I am much nicer to other people than I am to myself. Not that I treat myself badly.
I leave relationships and jobs that suck; I eat well, I lavish books upon myself whenever I travel and can sink into the heaven of a bookstore of more than 40 square feet! I say no when I do not want to do something, say it and make it stick.
I also expect that I will cope, on my own, with whatever life and the Universe choose to offer me; a broken car horn, a leaking tap and I head to the internet for instruction rather than the phone book for a plumber or mechanic. I do not ask for help, an echo of a childhood where I was the oldest and expected to be perfect, expected to cope, expected to perform.
And now I stumble over deep pockets of anger that have seethed for years and tell myself I am wrong for feeling it. Which blatantly is bullshit. Or b*llsh*t if I have to be PC. Which I abhor. A mealymouthed hypocrisy which makes perfectly good words unusable and stands on the sidelines cheering each time our soldiers kill. And there's a piece of anger peeping out if ever I saw one!
So I am practising to embrace my rage and pamper me. to treat me how I would wish to treat a child of mine. I read somewhere that we keep giving birth to ourselves.
I wonder what this me will grow up to be....
Interesting
I just wrote a blog and when I did the font size and colour thing the whole page turned an odd colour and disappeared.
My immortal words (Hah!) are nowhere to be found. Believe me I have looked!
I guess it was meant for my eyes only.
My immortal words (Hah!) are nowhere to be found. Believe me I have looked!
I guess it was meant for my eyes only.
Aonther Birthday.......
My birthday arrived right on time as usual at 12:01 January 12th. LIke every year I didn't have a choice as to weather I wanted it to or not. I suppose I could pretend it isn't here, but nobody else will and that would make denial pretty difficult. It's not that I don't like the day, it just gets tiresome at times. The "wow you're getting older" or "you're an old man now" blah blah blah routine is rather annoying sometimes. Family and friends seem to think that I'm an idiot apparently at this time of year(yes I really do know how old I am, I can count to ten too). I know what you're thinking right now too, lighten up it's all in good fun right? Perhaps I'm bothered by it because I don't do it to others when it's their birthday. A simple Happy Birthday is all that really needs to be said right?
I have also noticed as I get older I find myself not enjoying them as much. Not that I'm crabby or miserable, I enjoy life 365 days a year. It's just not as fun as when I was a kid growing up. Wearing those silly hats amd blowing those crazy noise makers and all. Yeah I can do that now(and I have in the past) but I'm not that innocent child that views the world as an innocent place as only a child can.
I've seen wars that I don't agree with nor understand. I've seen poverty and starvation in a country that sends billions overseas to other nations while children here go to bed hungry. Homeless who cannot find shelter from the cold, but billions being spent to rebuild countrys we've blown up to begin with. Medical aid to foreign lands while my own fellow countrymen cannot afford healthcare. I could go on and on, but you get the idea.
Which leads me to this conclusion-perhaps I don't enjoy birthdays as much because I long for the days of my youth when the only real problem I had was having a bedtime.
Oh and forgive me if thisw sounds like a wandering, senseless rant. i'm new at this whole blogging thing, cut me some slack. It is my birthday afterall :)
I have also noticed as I get older I find myself not enjoying them as much. Not that I'm crabby or miserable, I enjoy life 365 days a year. It's just not as fun as when I was a kid growing up. Wearing those silly hats amd blowing those crazy noise makers and all. Yeah I can do that now(and I have in the past) but I'm not that innocent child that views the world as an innocent place as only a child can.
I've seen wars that I don't agree with nor understand. I've seen poverty and starvation in a country that sends billions overseas to other nations while children here go to bed hungry. Homeless who cannot find shelter from the cold, but billions being spent to rebuild countrys we've blown up to begin with. Medical aid to foreign lands while my own fellow countrymen cannot afford healthcare. I could go on and on, but you get the idea.
Which leads me to this conclusion-perhaps I don't enjoy birthdays as much because I long for the days of my youth when the only real problem I had was having a bedtime.
Oh and forgive me if thisw sounds like a wandering, senseless rant. i'm new at this whole blogging thing, cut me some slack. It is my birthday afterall :)
Small town memories
I have many memories of this little town. We used to vist now and then when we lived in Springfield. One of ours visits stands out in my mind.Way back then the highway to here was real narrow and bumpy. My brother and I loved to go visit Grandma & Grandpa. Grandpa was a real cut up and grandma was a great cook. They were great fun. We would get Grandma laughing so much when we were playing uno, that she would spit her teeth out. Once she spit them out over the side of the boat when we were on the lake of the ozarks. The water wasn't very deep,and my Dad was able to go down an get them. Anyway. The thing that stood out. We were on one of our visits,I was 3 I think. My Dad and Grandpa went down to the shed to look at Grandpas new Allis Chalmers garden tractor. 1.It being a tractor and 2. It was Grandpas. I had to be there. Well,Grandpa pulled the tractor out of the shed, and Dad drove it around the garden a little.By the time Mom,me,and Grandma got down to the shed. Dad had made it back to the shed. Dad shut off the tractor and him and Grandpa started talking about what was going in the garden next year. This was in the late 60's, so the tractor had a muffler that looked like a coffe can. Being 3 I had no idea it was a muffler. I thought that a coffe can did not belong on my Grandpas tractor. So grabbed it. It didn't come off. But all the skin on the inside of my hand did. My hand is throbbing now just thinking about it. There was no lasting damage. My hand is fine now. But I will never forget that pain. Later on I would hurt myself alot more. Those are different stories.
Defamation
Today I read an article of someone being accused of a terrible act. There were many hate comments posted towards the accused. In the eyes of the law, the person is innocent until proven guilty, but in the eyes the public, the person is guilty on being accused. The public conviction towards that person will not go away, even if that person is found innocent. I think the media should only be allowed to write negative things about a person that has a guilty ruling.
Do you think it is defamation on the part of the media to ruin an innocent person's life?
Do you think it is defamation on the part of the media to ruin an innocent person's life?
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