H o n u g i r l Jason: I want to be an aeronautical engineer for the military; I would like to be a pilot, and a pastor (not really in that order). I think that means I have to go to college a few more years; but that’s really what I want to be – oh and I'd like to play professional basketball and be a good musician too.
Jeffrey: I just want to be me!
Jason: But what do you want to “do” when you grow up, you know, to make money or somethin'?
Jeffrey: Oh, I’d like to drive a monster truck and race cars. What kind of degree do I need for that?
[ mom is grateful big brother answered first -- without hestitation in fact -- the answer just rolled off his tongue while Mom was holding hers ... huh?? ]
Jason: Probably a physics degree; you'll need to know about trajectory of cars as you run them over. It would also be very helpful in determining speed, adjusting suspension and other important factors for racing too.
Jeffrey: Oh, that would be good. I’d like to be an artist too – I’m going to paint my truck pink!!
Mom: I want to grow up to have a good self-concept & be at least half as smart as my boys!
There's a common theme to my blog thinking lately…
WHY?
Why is it that I can have an ongoing mental blog while driving in the car, taking a shower, waiting in the grocery line … and even while roaming the parking lot looking for my all-too popular style SUV . . . yet, when I sit down with fingers on the keyboard, I find myself staring vacantly at my light purple very blank screen.
That noise you couldn't possibly have heard seconds ago was my mind expressing a high screeching sound … PFFFFPFPPFPFTTTppppppppppppppppfffffffffffffffffffffhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh pfpfttt … you know, like a balloon releasing air and flying about one's head. Ever try catching a balloon as the air exits?
WHAT?
What is up with that anyway? What gives? What is wrong with my blog thought retention gene? Hmmm. What are you doing still reading this jumble of words?
WHO?
Who said you could just sit there and laugh? Feeling no sympathy?! Well, you're not being much help at all!
It's not as though I am without material for blogging. Oh, my life, my boys, my friends give me all kinds of great topics to blog; but I find it necessary to wait until the day is over to blog it all.
However, by then I'm so wiped out from thinking at work, then catering to hungry boys after daycare, play time, home work review, shower time, reading time, night time routine to find stuff for back packs, notes for bus rides, money for lunch finally then comes bedtime (for them anyway).
WHEN?
WHEN will I ever complete a blog without over editing or cramping my brain to remember what made it such a good topic to write about in the first place. Sheeshh!
When does a girl let go and just enjoy her new authenticity? I'm not complaining -- I'm holding securely to all my happy smiles and the unique, funny way I see the world now, uncontrolled by a specific view (besides it wasn't my own and was rather limiting)… no regrets, no takebacks - no way!
I WONDER?
Wondering if it's an electrical short from the keyboard that travels through my fingers, up my arms and all the way to my brainoidal blog memory – uhh, clearly there are voids or data would remain intact for future use.
WHERE?
Where in the world do those mental blogs go when they flutter and fizzle out of my brain? You think they'd be kind enough to land on a piece of paper somewhere so I could retrieve them later, maybe let me scan them in so I don't have to worry about losing them through my finger tips.
So the final question is:
HOW?
How in the heck am I going to recover the blog thought that disappeared as I sat down?
Great idea… I'll avoid it altogether and ramble on about next to nothing until I have vented a little frustration and can go to bed with a clear mind.
Hah! Nicely done, blog friend.
That will work, until such time I'm in bed and poof… 
that's right, I remember now!
SUCH TORTURE!!!
can ya, HUH ???
A Missing Dash
I stood at the cemetery overlooking the flowers I'd just placed on their graves. The orchids I selected would have pleased her for sure – they were her favorite flower. For him, to be remembered at all would be a blessing – my presence alone would have wrought smiles.
For a moment I admired how nicely the grass had grown in to cover the unattractive dirt rectangle I remembered from my previous visits. It had been so hard to place the flowers in the holders, bending forward there was no mistaking the earthy odor of fresh dirt on the grave. I know it would have been offensive to her to see such an ugly brown patch untended through the winter months, and puddles of rain turned muddy during the spring showers… it was a bright, warm day and finally the grass had grown to a lush, dense green and had spread evenly across both their graves. She would have been pleased. After primping the flowers I stepped back to take in the contrast from the green of the grass to the multi-colored bouquets that now brightened the space where their headstones would be.
So much time had passed; yet the lacking marker was another reminder that even in death we cannot make others act on our priorities. I knew it was ordered… I had so hoped to have one more piece of evidence that their journey in life would be marked permanently in stone. The length, at least, is noted by the dash that holds the place between dates of birth and death. Alas, their journey was over, but no stone… no dash.
It was at that moment, after taking in the sights, smells, and sounds that suddenly my knees went weak, my eyes filled with tears, and attempts at speech were futile – oh, not for loss of words which were flowing rapidly in my mind, directly from my heart.
Tears poured uncontrollably as thoughts burst wildly through the peace that existed moments before. Suddenly, I wanted time back – to tell them how much I miss hearing their voices on the phone; to say how empty I felt without the hugs we always shared to greet each other. They certainly would understand how I longed for a few more hours on their couch sharing stories and awaiting words of wisdom or the witty quotes and jokes that always made me smile. I wished I could hear each say my name one more time – I truly miss the unique way it sounded when it left their lips. I had rarely stopped to think that one day I would no longer feel the same warmth or joy I had always experienced in their presence… to feel genuinely at home, deeply loved and always their own.
Although, genetically… I was not their own. They had many daughters by marriage, but their own sadly didn't survive; hers was an extremely short dash. Somehow, through many years I remained 'theirs' by more than mere association. It was through an unconditional love we couldn't sever and a soul connection that would shake me to my core when their lives were disrupted in any way.
It was then I actually prayed that I could speak with them, as I desperately wanted to express that our amazing soul connection did not dissipate when they left – it remained ever present in my heart – now shared with members of their family.
The tidal wave of tears finally subsided as the memories took their place to comfort the ache that had stolen my peace. The solace of truth was enough… their pain is gone, they remain eternally united, they have accompanied their own daughter, who waited a very long time to welcome them to their heavenly home. It was selfish of me to want them to stay.
So, in the loving, joyful voice they'd always known from me, I spoke my heart and departed with the same words I always said when I left them… "I love you!" Indeed, it is my consolation that those words were spoken often between us and that they were the last words they heard me say before they left this world.
God continues to restore my peace about the missing dash for my loved ones. Whenever I need, He reminds me that He loves them deeply, they have no cares now, He completes their stories, and that soul connection… it's His reminder to me that love has no boundaries!
Life is a journey we live the dash, never truly prepared for the pain of losing the ones we love or the immense empty space that exists without them. Live well, laugh often, and love always as if the dash ends with your parting words.
from the heart of an almost-sister, sort of daughter, and soul/friend connection for a lifetime…
A exerpt from the past...
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not condoning a complete loss of self… body, mind & spirit in this zone. I definitely have my place of spiritual calm and have relied on more than one spa visit or masseuse to rescue my body, but there’s a mental haven where I find escape while the world around me takes its separate path.
Yes, a safety zone for some may include bottles, pills, or toys … but that aside, left to your own devices, where do you go? While you’re thinking, I’ll share mine. This is an internal place where there’s complete silence, truly free from outside noise; no chatter from friends, demands from family members, ring tones from phones or clicking of a computer keyboard … hmm glorious.
I simply envision a small, opaque exclusive bubble that surrounds me as I think; a hint of purple glows inside. If I concentrate on the bubble itself my eyes begin to focus on tiny green specs moving across what seems to be sand… it is sand, oh so sweet a vision, hundreds of sea turtle (fondly called “honu”) hatchlings are slowly finding their way to the sea. It’s their first fight for survival, to reach the sea is safety, and to succeed is to live!
My first thought – Live. Inside my bubble I meditate on Friendship, Grace, Courage, Peace, Trust, Confidence, Power, Choice, Fear, Regret, Loss, Patience, Freedom, Harmony, Faith, Laughter, Desire, Love, Joy … not a complete list, all part of my secret, hidden world that lays open for examination.
Why meditate on Fear, Regret, and Loss? Often what I don’t understand, or take time to consider, creates more confusion than actually looking straight at it and calling out its weakness. Oddly enough, the bigger it seems when I turn away, the more trepidation it creates, and the more likely I am to try to avoid an encounter. That’s why I include the painful with the pleasant… its called Wisdom, Experience, the Past all good things to ponder.
Thoughts of Blessing, Family, Health, Wealth and Gratitude are also sprinkled midst the walls of my bubble. It’s a safe hideout for sure… that’s the only way to find what thoughts are worthy to share after my retreat. I’ve learned that randomly blurting precious words is to waste them, especially if they fall on the ears of Pride, Insecurity, Hate, Blame, Anger or otherwise unsafe listeners. An encouraging, caring listener is who to look for when resuming reality.
To trust yourself while you retreat completes your momentary escape – actually, isn’t that the very reason we need to utilize the safety zone – restore self trust. We have forgotten to trust what our spirit confirms to our minds. We have allowed other sources to dissect our truth and ultimately lose our will to fight. Don’t wait… go now, take whatever time you need to locate your truth, align your thinking, strengthen your resolve and fight to live.
Take your path to the sea like the hatchlings… swim little honu… succeed… LIVE!
Self-control would be helpful.
He’s robust… taller than his peers, by at least six inches; has a solid build carried by feet currently sized at a manly 9½.
He’s outgoing and friendly… no one is a stranger; always lending assistance to others.
He’s articulate… expresses his thoughts and opinions with anyone willing to listen
He’s confident… gives oral presentations without fear.
He’s respectful… walks around the car to open my door; extends a hand for support.
He’s creative and artistic… loves to write fantastical stories; invent, design, and create; drawing pictures to express the many facets of his stories, designs or emotions.
He’s a guy of tender spirit… acknowledging heart matters more than life’s tasks.
He’s intelligent and smart… academics seem easy; common sense is natural.
He’s witty… loves to share stories and quips to make others smile, giggle, and laugh out loud.
He’s affectionate… holds my hand on the couch reading books, during movies; and says “I love you” frequently.
He’s a great, no an incredible writer… anyone reading his stories is awed by his talent.
He’s only weeks away from being 11 years old… on Thanksgiving Day.
He’s a man in the making… shoe size, body odors, and preadolescent interests publicize the undeniable proof.
He’s my son… it brings tears to my eyes.
Not only the sentiment in that statement. But so much more.
Acknowledgement. Gratitude. Identity. Acceptance. Pride. Reminiscence. Relationship. Compassion. Delight. Love.
~
Friday was his school conference. Revealing, as usual, his brilliance. He’s advanced in every subject. Completes his work ahead of time. Excels in reading and math far beyond grade. (Not intended to sound like bragging.)
The given description frames a picture of a very confident, talented, kid with a lot of potential being unveiled. Written this way intentionally to ensure you fully understand how I felt during his late night revelation.
My heart sunk as this son (almost my size) ended his long, tearful disclosure with “Mom, it’s just hurts.”
Love. Rescue. Protection. Combat. Anger. Frustration. Sadness. Worry. Comfort.
… and a little of “don’t you dare” just for kicks!
How can any peer look up (literally) at my son and say “I think you’re stupid;” or tease him about caring for the special needs kids and his defending others, as he is big enough to ward off potential harm to them.
Yet, this courageous giant in my world has a wounded spirit. Hmmph!
Then with a sniffle, he continued sheepishly… “Mom, sometimes I want to punch them in the nose – but I know it’s wrong.”
Truth is… me too!!
~
I know how he feels, I feel the same way and… I’ve found that those peers of childhood grow up to be adults who use words as weapons.
They use conversations as battlegrounds and remain combative toward open-minded ideas. Rather than learn to develop a positive self-concept they throw daggers at others with intent to wound or sting; thereby avoiding potential intimacy or personal responsibility.
Grrr.
~
So there he sat on the couch pulling in his bottom lip and blinking away the last of his tears.
I guess it comes down to being courageous enough to know who you are and what that means to you, not them. Not everyone can face themselves in the mirror and say I like me enough to let you know me too. When I accept me… I am open to accepting others.
However, sometimes in combat or conversation we have to pull out a shield and arm ourselves with a confident self-concept to defuse the weapon of words being used on the battlefield. You must follow the rules of engagement set out at school… be kind, safe, and responsible.
Maintaining a lot of self-control to not punch someone in the nose.
Live From Your Heart!
Your skin may be the largest organ of your body – but it is merely the surface; the part that others can see of you. So much so, that a joke or a smile can disguise great pain on the inside.
Your skin is but a shell of yourself. You are charged to protect it, to care for it; you may even go to great lengths to maintain a youthful appearance. It’s lovely that your shell can be attired with expensive clothing, perfected by stunning makeup or adorned with exquisite jewels – but does this make you truly alive, engaged in life?
Does all that provide any indication of what it’s like to really live?
Often we smile on the outside when we are hurting inside. This is necessary for a time… when a positive expectation or attitude can yield positive results or an effective outcome. It should not be allowed to hide your truth for a lifetime – hiding will begin to destroy your self trust.
We must not allow ourselves to be confused by 'good attitude' over authenticity!
Live from your heart!
Your heart is unseen by others – not a large organ but without it you cannot live. To disguise what resides there, may reap disastrous results.
Your heart is the core of your being … physically, emotionally, spiritually. You are trained by experiences whether good or bad to guard or share it, hide or expose it, close or open it – doubt or trust the heart’s response.
If you guard, hide, close or doubt yourself from your core, you may find that your heart is no longer engaged in reality. Then you will die certain death, because without a heart the body cannot survive and similarly without engaging your heart – you cannot truly live!!
Matters of the heart are a delicate topic, as people rarely find it easy to expose their true selves – honestly identifying that they have been wounded in the past by another person’s words, deeds or attitudes. It’s not uncommon to want to be strong and assume that continued endurance is reflective of great strength. In believing only that, we then begin pretending that the way we chose to deal with our heart is common…
doesn't everyone live this way?
Conversely, when we are faced with feelings of love for someone we initially are afraid to let down our guard and openly risk the truth of the heart. Worrying whether we should be first to admit the depth of these feelings. Do you risk exposure of the unguarded heart? What if the truth is not well-received or worse, not reciprocated? We doubt our worth to be loved, we hide what we truly feel, and could ultimately close the door to authenticity again.
I submit that the risk to be authentic is worth the price you must pay to achieve it. Even if it brings with it unsettling fear, a daunting journey into uncharted territory or worst of all rejection, you will experience life – authentically.
It is then that you will see the contrast. A bitter-sweet perspective. You can feel the pain because you are alive... the worst pain you "feel" on any given day is better than being numb for the rest of your life!!!
Being alive to feel the pain, you can also truly feel joy or love or pleasure.
Hold onto the hope that one day you may find the true identity of love without limits… unconditional and fulfilling. The small details of life will begin to have meaning, bring pieces of clarity, and understanding – the picture develops more clearly all the time.
Feel the fear… do it anyway.
The look in the eyes of another when you are first to risk your love is a beautiful thing. The truth lived well brings new faith; a hope that things to come will be better than that which you have lived so far.
Choose to live authentically – take a risk; find the joy of living from your heart!
j.entry 7.4.2006
Where the heck is it?
I am desperately looking for a pressure relief valve. Got relief?
No kiddin'.
I am about to blow off the steam and somebody could get hurt. =\
What pressure you say?
Let’s see.
That self-applied, stressful kind… pushing me to accomplish, succeed, inspire, achieve… “just do it” and “be all you can be.”
ALL = be everything to everyone. (aka ... pressure cooker)
Yes, that’s it! Nothing too big to tackle. Hah!!!
Suffice it to say, I have maintained a positive attitude more often than not (really).
I've held the line when my grip was weak.
I've stood in the face of adversity when it was easier (not better) to succumb.
And for the most precious and amazing thing: I've found the gleam of childish delight behind the eyes of two boys, whom I've never known so authentically.
Personally speaking, I avoid the victim role. I’d rather be a heroine in the story.
I want to uplift, encourage, believe in, support and yes, rescue others from their lowest places.
I want to make a difference.
Leave a legacy.
Be a person of influence.
I want to overflow with blessings so that I can share the excess with anyone I touch.
~
Today is Tuesday.
I’m lost in thought. I ponder what image will be reflected in when life's puzzle is complete. It is my desire to create the image as it was meant to be for this new family unit of three.
I am barely able to admit I have been feeling minutely discouraged; my vision is blurry.
Yes, a wee bit whiny even (voice sounding slightly discontent).
I’m happy. No mistake. I’m grateful.
Although I am frustrated that my rose-colored glasses are tweaked; darn lenses appear old and yellow and every thing is a creepy color… worse yet, and I am not very fond of yellow.
While looking at life through those yellow lenses – difficulty is easy to identify.
Life’s challenges loom like treacherous mountains. The prospect of change feels as impossible as extreme sports would for the non-athletic.
Just like a pressure cooker with no valve – hey, still looking here!
Then come the hurdles of unanswered questions – how? what if? when? why? where? seriously?
Oh fine. Since I’m being honest.
Prepare for the whining: but I want to… it would be easier if … that will take too long… do I have to… whahhhhhhhhh!
~
Tonight I will remember to wear my tooth guard for grinding.
So long, treacherous thoughts of Tuesday.
Tomorrow, I continue my search… without glasses!
"Lord, can I get some help on that pressure relief valve! Seriously!!"
HonuGirl 
