Thankyou Al Gore
Thankyou Bill Clinton
Thankyou.
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Lost in Translation
uri-i-nal (yer-en-el) n. and v. a declaration concerning the current status or location of the person being spoken to. "If you think urinal lot of trouble now, just wait till Daddy gets home!"~Jeff Foxworthy~
from his book, "Learning to talk more Gooder"
It sure would be nice if the whole world knew how to talk "more gooder" as comedian Jeff Foxworthy says. I know it beats talking badder!Today, while sitting in the bookstore, I watched a little guy with skinny tanned legs and a summer crew cut get torn down by his parents with the most hateful words I have ever heard said to a small child not even five years of age. The redneck in me wanted to deck the tar out of them but since I was in the New Age bookstore of a friend, I remained quiet and listened while sending them love. He was so cute, well behaved, bored half out of his mind and tired. Considering all of that, I thought he was quite well mannered and patient. Obviously, both parents cared deeply for their son and wanted to set a good example as I listened, probably to impress me as well, but their form of discipline was so brutal and non effective. They didn't know how powerful words are to our environment. How easy it is to change a situation with our breath and tone. Rather than state the obvious to our children such as, "you are a bad boy! when we get home, you are going to be real sorry. don't touch anything we told you, why don't you ever listen? you make mommy cry because you are so bad." I could feel my own body react and shut down, can you imagine how this boy felt?
We have the power to build or destroy with our mouth. It is much easier for our children to hear complimentary words such as, "I know this is boring and you are tired, we are almost finished." or, "you are such a patient young man, thankyou for not touching the books." I guarantee the results will be fabulous and you will be on your way to becoming a fine tuned magician.
"Happiness is a how, not a what; a talent, not an object."
~Hermann Hesse~
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Sunday Paper
"Life is a great bundle of little things."
Oliver Wendell Holmes~
Taking life for granted is a tragic blindness. We can be so consumed in our own world, we fail to see the greatness in others. Do you appreciate dedicated work that leaves invisible finger prints on your life? The weekly trash collectors, mail carriers, garden artisans, to name a few. Every Sunday like a sacred ritual, two scoops of coffee to eight cups water, comfy chair, big fat newspaper! It's always there, never fails and I enjoy the moment for one hour, sometimes two. Today, there was a typed letter from James Mason. Who? Never heard of the guy. Oh, he's the "News Guy" and responsible for getting my paper delivered, says the letter.
James is an independent contractor who works seven days a week for me and my neighbors. He is paid eleven cents a paper and whenever someone complains to the "big guys", he is charged five dollars which turns his week into a very bad one. Not a good profit for what he says is usually a stolen paper or even worse, a wet paper due to a reader's sprinkler system. They even have a wet paper complaint policy which means more money out of James' pocket.
My second cup of coffee comforts my lack of awareness. Paragraph four talks about the lines of cars who wait for newspapers. James is there by 1:00 a.m. and rolls the papers at the deteriorating mall close by. That explains why the paper is in my yard by 3:00 a.m. By cup three, I want to phone James and thank him! Next month, when the bill needs to be paid, there will be a tip included.
Instead of washing away finger prints, I think I'll pay closer attention to the lines, appreciating the hand made things of life.
Oliver Wendell Holmes~
Taking life for granted is a tragic blindness. We can be so consumed in our own world, we fail to see the greatness in others. Do you appreciate dedicated work that leaves invisible finger prints on your life? The weekly trash collectors, mail carriers, garden artisans, to name a few. Every Sunday like a sacred ritual, two scoops of coffee to eight cups water, comfy chair, big fat newspaper! It's always there, never fails and I enjoy the moment for one hour, sometimes two. Today, there was a typed letter from James Mason. Who? Never heard of the guy. Oh, he's the "News Guy" and responsible for getting my paper delivered, says the letter.
James is an independent contractor who works seven days a week for me and my neighbors. He is paid eleven cents a paper and whenever someone complains to the "big guys", he is charged five dollars which turns his week into a very bad one. Not a good profit for what he says is usually a stolen paper or even worse, a wet paper due to a reader's sprinkler system. They even have a wet paper complaint policy which means more money out of James' pocket.
My second cup of coffee comforts my lack of awareness. Paragraph four talks about the lines of cars who wait for newspapers. James is there by 1:00 a.m. and rolls the papers at the deteriorating mall close by. That explains why the paper is in my yard by 3:00 a.m. By cup three, I want to phone James and thank him! Next month, when the bill needs to be paid, there will be a tip included.
Instead of washing away finger prints, I think I'll pay closer attention to the lines, appreciating the hand made things of life.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Thankyou Michael Jackson, You Will Be Missed
"Give sorrow words. The grief that does not speak whispers the o'erfraught heart and bids it break."
~William Shakespeare~
Last night, I was ecstatic, delirious with anticipation. Something was trying to speak through me and the only thing I could compare it with was the feeling when you're going to board an airplane or pickup someone you love from the airport. I asked if anyone was expecting company that I didn't know about but the answer was no. Then the music played. I heard instruments being tuned up for a concert and yee gads, nobody else heard it. A musician was coming to town is what my heart was saying and he would be talked about internationally. My town? No way. The butterflies and excitement continued until I went to bed but without any other clue except that I knew angels were involved in a very huge way!
Today, as I was trying to maneuver into the correct lane during butt to butt rush hour traffic, I heard the tragic news of Michael Jackson's death. My bubble had just been popped and yes, I mourn. Every station was playing his songs. My family loved him and my friends loved him. My memories are hugely connected to his music and my creative mind can't understand why other people labeled him as odd. He tapped into the endless field of possibilities with his talent that most people dare to even imagine.
I'm so touched that he is being welcomed hugely into Heaven which brings comfort now but jealous that we have lost another musical genius. After my busy errands today, there is a strange name on my machine. I read it three times and then happily screamed that it was my ninth grade best friend who I've lost contact with. How did she find me thirty some years later?
Maybe she heard Michael's song, "I'll Be There" or maybe it was "Ben", either way she found me. I will speak of the fun he created and not his quirkiness. After all, wasn't I myself gluing eggshells on the back of a Careers game board at two in the morning? Who are we to talk?
~William Shakespeare~
Last night, I was ecstatic, delirious with anticipation. Something was trying to speak through me and the only thing I could compare it with was the feeling when you're going to board an airplane or pickup someone you love from the airport. I asked if anyone was expecting company that I didn't know about but the answer was no. Then the music played. I heard instruments being tuned up for a concert and yee gads, nobody else heard it. A musician was coming to town is what my heart was saying and he would be talked about internationally. My town? No way. The butterflies and excitement continued until I went to bed but without any other clue except that I knew angels were involved in a very huge way!
Today, as I was trying to maneuver into the correct lane during butt to butt rush hour traffic, I heard the tragic news of Michael Jackson's death. My bubble had just been popped and yes, I mourn. Every station was playing his songs. My family loved him and my friends loved him. My memories are hugely connected to his music and my creative mind can't understand why other people labeled him as odd. He tapped into the endless field of possibilities with his talent that most people dare to even imagine.
I'm so touched that he is being welcomed hugely into Heaven which brings comfort now but jealous that we have lost another musical genius. After my busy errands today, there is a strange name on my machine. I read it three times and then happily screamed that it was my ninth grade best friend who I've lost contact with. How did she find me thirty some years later?
Maybe she heard Michael's song, "I'll Be There" or maybe it was "Ben", either way she found me. I will speak of the fun he created and not his quirkiness. After all, wasn't I myself gluing eggshells on the back of a Careers game board at two in the morning? Who are we to talk?
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Friday, June 5, 2009
First Friday
His dreads are surprisingly clean
with a smile to melt butter
which softens his $6,000 price tag
on art I wouldn't have the guts
to show.
This place is full of irony
and the hoards of people
showing off their tanned bodies
are starting to mess with my
sense of identity.
Now I'm the odd piece of artwork
that's lost its over priced tag.
with a smile to melt butter
which softens his $6,000 price tag
on art I wouldn't have the guts
to show.
This place is full of irony
and the hoards of people
showing off their tanned bodies
are starting to mess with my
sense of identity.
Now I'm the odd piece of artwork
that's lost its over priced tag.
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