Pageturning

Every day it is the same thing.  Pick up the book, turn the page and move on.  Oh, sure, sometimes you turn back to see if you really read something correctly.  But then you find that you are not exactly in the same place.  Your reality has shifted.  You don't feel exactly the same way you did when your first read the words on the page or wrote them in your journal.

So you turn the page.

Time to move on.  It is always time to move on.  You have to leave the past to the past.  There is no future in staying on the same page.  In order to find your truth you must keep on turning pages.  And sometimes, when you leave a particulaly pleasant, comfortable and comforting passage behind, you can't help but mark that page for future reference.  But when you do turn the pages back, it is never the same.

So again, you turn the page.

I can be difficult.  Moving on is not always easy.  The now is where you want to stay.  But every now becomes a then, and every future, the present.  It just keeps going.  You must pick up your book, turn the page and move on.  The lovely thing is, though, no matter what book you are into, once read, it is a part of you. You cannot undo the experience.  You can only let it be.  If you remain on the same page too long, well, you will never know what happens next.

So you turn the page.

And move on.

PK is M.I.A.

There is nothing worse than not knowing.  My kitten (just over a year old) is missing.  I last saw her Friday evening.  My neighbor reports she thought she saw her Saturday morning across the street.  Two squirrels (something new in our California neighborhood) were taunting her from the tree.  Until then, I figured she had simply wandered off and was visiting neighbors as she often has done.  Of course, she has never been gone more than one night.  Now its three going on four.

Not knowing is very difficult.

I am generally optimistic.  Having found no kitten parts, I can assume she is still alive somewhere.  She is very pretty and very friendly in her way.  Someone could have just picked her up.  I did.  When she was just about eight weeks old, I found her at the Riverside Plaza in the hedges on the west side of Forever 21 (formerly Harris'/Gottshalk's Department Store).  She was crying. It was 7am.  The dogs were very concerned.  We picked her up.  We brought her home.  We adopted her into our lives and times.

We named her Plaza Kitty--PK for short.

Now she is missing.  How does one sit with that?  I know she is just a cat.  No, she is our cat.  She has a personality and a history (albeit short) with us here.  How does one sit with not knowing?  I think about those news reports where people have gone missing and I cannot even begin to imagine that torture that comes with not knowing.

Not knowing is just plain hard.  Even the worst answers with verified certainty are better than what the mind can conjure up.

And yet, I comfort myself with the belief that she is okay.  She may come home.  She may not.  Not knowing, it is easier to think of the better possibities than to dwell on the worse.  Is my glass always half full rather than half empty?  I guess this tells me that it is.

Still, not knowing is far more worse than anything I can imagine.

PK come home.

Like the Sun Going Down on Me....

Not sure why, but this song that this above line is from popped into my head when I sat down to blog just now.  So I did a video search on Youtube and found the one below.  I really like the music, the words are interesting and of course, its Elton John.  I was on my front porch, watching the sun go down. Seemed fitting.  

But then I read this line and heard it as I played the video: "Although I search myself, it's always someone else I see".  Yes, I do search myself, often, but you probably figured that out if you read any of these blogs.  But what resonated with me was the part that says "its always someone else I see."  Not sure why, but I think it might be because looking inward I usually see what I think others see.  Who is that, that "someone else"?  

I believe we are all different in different situations and with different people. We adjust ourselves according to the situation.  Human beings learned long ago to be flexible in order to survive.   

If I look long enough, the facades melt away.  I begin to see the someone at my core who is the real me.  It is the one who is consistently there; the one who never changes.  It is the essence, the soul, the spark of life.  It is God who there, at the center of all that I am.  And whatever you believe or don't believe about God, it seems there just has to be someone or something that is behing all that we are or hope to be.

So when the sun goes down and the night begins, I turn inward and know.  I know the Truth and I can rest.  I then remember just who this someone else I see, is.  And in the still of the twilight, it is very much like the sun going down on me.

Went Skiing in 1969--An Emlematic Poem of Sorts

Went Skiing in 1969--A Poem of Sorts

Just for fun, I wanted to share a little poem I found in some very old papers I found in my garage while cleaning it out.  This is a silly little poem that shows I had my same sense of whimsy in high school as I do now.  Perhaps that is the sole reason I survived high school...and many of the years since.

In case you are wondering, my little stick men haven't really evolved much.

The Benefits of a High Fiber Diet or How I Learned That Prunes Can Be Hazardous to Your Health

Cardboard? No
Delicious? Yes

Time for a bit of health awareness.  Everyone talks about fiber these days and the importance of staying regular.  This seems to be a part of the human condition.  There are very few television shows aimed at persons over the age of 30 which do not feature at least one commercial for Fiber One.  "It makes me sad," says one young husband when his wife tells him he should get more fiber in his diet.  The friendly store clerk admonishes the dubious shopper, "Cardboard, no, delicious, yes."  

I have found Jamie Leigh Curtis extremely inspirational in her preaching on the benefits and delights of eating Activia yogurt.  It seems it will not only bring joy to your taste buds, but regulate your system in a gentle and safe manner.  I have to admit I do enjoy those little cartons of creamy goodness, but one is max because all you-know-what will break loose, oh, well, maybe that is a bad metaphor, but you get what I mean.

The recommendation for five servings of fresh fruits and vegetables daily (or something like that) would seem to cure all ailments.  If we were to watch our diets as religiously as we watch our money, we would probably not need anything to restore order to our digestive systems.  The sad thing is cheese and potato chips like ice cream and Snickers bars simply taste too good to not have some once in a while.  "All things in moderation," said wise old Ben Franklin.  That I am afraid is not always the American way these days.

So I do agree that a high fiber diet is important to overall health.  I loveKellogg's Crunchy Raisin Bran for breakfast.  Once I tried eating prunes on a regular basis.  Trouble was, they taste so very good, I ate too many and, well, the results were disaster in the making.  So now a good prune danish is on my list of treats...best of both worlds I say!

There, this wasn't so bad, was it?  And maybe raising our level of awareness about the serious nature of a sometimes humorous subject could save your life. A good diet does consist of a healthy dose of fiber, vitamins and minerals, and other fresh offerings available these days year round.  But the best medicine of all, as Reader's Digest used to feature, is laughter.  Hope this brought a bit to you.

Watch Your Tongue

I admit it.  When I was a kid I could be sassy, a real snot.  I knew sarcasm and used it freely.  Maybe it was teen-age angst.  Maybe I was just an impatient, impertinent, impolite brat at times.  My guess is that it was a misdirected attempt to exert power.  How stupid.  In retrospect, I wish I had done what my mother often admonished me to do and "watched my tongue."

Watch Your Tongue...Ha!

Now smart-Alec that I was, I would actually try to watch my tongue.  I would get cross-eyed and ultimately, I could never see more than the tip of my tongue.  That is, of course, unless I looked into a mirror after being sent to my room.  By then it seemed pointless to watch my tongue, so I would go to bed.

Okay, I know the coded meaning of this warning.  Be careful what you say.  Mind your manners.  Be nice.  Bottom line: don't be a jerk.  Well I guess it finally sunk it.  I do watch my tongue now, in the metaphorical sense.  My tongue is for savoring delightful tastes and help my teeth chew.   It is also for helping me communication, in a respectful, mannerly fashion.  

Next time you feel the urge to be petty, to make a caustic remark, to lash out, remember, tongues are not for lashing, and that's not what they do.  Tongues are our friends.  Use yours wisely.  Remember an acid tongue burns.  It burns not only the intended target, but any kind of self-respect you may have earned.  Be kind.  Speak softly.  And of course, watch your tongue.

Such Language

When I saw this cartoon this morning, it took me a minute to figure out what the problem was.  Then I realized that the five "fellas" sitting on the stools at the counter are some of the traditional symbols used to indicate there is some cursing going on.  These sybols are generally in the daily and/or Sunday funnies when someone has just been slammed by a flying piano, chagrined by a telling insult, or is just plain angry.   So the off-color remarks come flying out and are, symbolized by (in this context) meaningess characters.

Now cursing and swearing were forbidden in my house growing up, at least they were forbidden to me and my younger brother.  My father could curse like the blue collar worker he was.  His frustration level was low.  Sadly, the words we that burned our ears then,  are rather commonplace today.  Never more than an "s" here or a "d" there and sometimes an "h-e-double toothpicks".  I never heard the really "bad words" that until I started junior high. Even then, I was still too afraid (or too prim) to use them myself.  To this day, such language generally does not cross my lips.

Now I have to admit, though, that occasionally some of those words do slip out.  For instance, last Friday I was at Sizzler with my friend Marty for our usual Friday lunch together.  We discuss everything from religion to politics, social mores to economics, etc.  We'd had our usual spirited chatm then, as is our custom, we went to top off our lunch with a small ice cream cone from the dessert bar.  Marty got his and went on, and then I pulled the lever for the swirl combo and to my great dismay, the lever came off and the soft-serve came pouring out.  I jumped back, stomped my foot and, well, I have to say, the "s" word came right out with no trouble.

The staff at Sizzler came rushing in and fixed the dispenser and cleaned up the mess.  A few minutes later, our server came to the table with a big smile on her face, stifling a laugh.  "Another customer war story?" I asked her.  She nodded her head.  It was funny I have to admit, but I still was embarassed by my lack of decorum.  It just shows how easy it is to slip into the foul mouth spewing without ever intending to.

When I was in college I took a lot of psychology classes.  It was my major.  One thing I remember discussing in Psych 101 was the psychology of language.  "Words," said the instructor, "have no meaning other than what we give them."  To prove this, she recited a couple of the more forbidden words.  There was a bit a tittering amongst us freshmen, but the point was well taken.

Still, I don't care for foul language.  These days however it is very hard to avoid.  Movies, TV, even the newspaper, magazines and books are full of it.  And modern music couldn't exist it seems without the nasty rants.  But I have to remind myself of what the instructor said so many years ago.  Words are just sounds with meaning we give them.  Another lesson learned about language was in an English class.  "Using foul language to express oneself just shows a poor command of the language."  There are much more polite ways to express displeasure, frustration and/or anger.  Such language.  

Ultimately, it is not what you say, but how you say it.  Not your words, but your intent.  To paraphrase the Golden Rule, "Speak unto other as you would have them speak unto you."  

And that, I must say, is my last word on this subject....for now.  Such language indeed.

The Middle

From the Middle of Nowhere
to  You

How am I today?  I'd say I'm fair to middlin'.  Somewhere in the middle between fine and okay.  I grew up in the middle west, so I know something about hot and cold and middle temps.  I grew up in the lower middle class.  I also have always had to watch my middle.  It may be mean but its the middle that people watch.  And I have to admit I did not know that to "middle the said" is a nautical term for folding it.  In Middle English middle was spelled middel.  I was feeling stuck in the middle with you, until I learned the Stealers Wheel classic was co-written by the group's guitarist Gerry Rafferty and keyboard player Joe Egan, not Bob Dylan!  

Okay, why is this muddle writing about the middle in all its forms?  Middle this, and middle that,  middle left and middle right.  Middle middle middle.  Middle ages, middle men, middle names, Middlemarch.   I have to admit my reason is right smack in the middle of rational thought and pure insanity.  You see, if you repeat middle over and over it quickly loses meaning.  Middle middle middle.  The cat and the fiddle.  Harry Potter in the middle of the muddles.  Oh, and that cat with his fiddle might piddle right in the middle of a riddle with no time to diddle.

Okay, I have beat this to death I suppose.  This is the end of the week, not the, (dare I say it?), middle.  Best time to be silly I say.  So like the chicken who stood in the middle of the road because she didn't know which way to go and had no good reason to cross,  I am between and betwixt in the middle of a whimsical rant.   And I hope you enjoyed the trip into the heart of the middle 

There was a little girl,

            Who had a little curl,

Right in the middle of her forehead.

            When she was good,

            She was very good indeed,

But when she was bad she was horrid.

---HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW

The Why and The Wherefore

I have recently been reminded of important question I often fail to ask myself.  The question is, "Why?".  I seldom stop and ask myself, "Why, pray tell, am I {fill in the blank}?"  Usually I ask the other questions that lead to some rationale for an action: "Who?  What? Where? When? and sometimes How?"  But often I forget to ask, "Why?"  Without the "why" it is easy to get caught up in the facts and the actions, but without an understanding of why one is doing something, one might find oneself in mindless pursuit of soulless goals and objectives.  The why is what gives meaning to any and all human activity.

I have this feeling that if I start taking a moment to ask myself why I am participating in a given event, I would often take a different course of action.  Perhaps then I would not find myself involved in things I really don't want to be involved in, don't have interest in, or are not really good ways to spend my time.  The why of the commitments I make would certainly illuminate the wherefore of how I live my life.

So I will start here and now.  For what purpose am I writing this blog?  What is the reason I share my thoughts with you, gentle readers?  What causes me to go on in a semi-regular fashion?  What, dear ones, is my intention?  The truth is, I love doing this.  I love knowing that someone is out there reading my thoughts and musings.  I like getting feedback and the occasional accolade.  Bottom line: it makes me feel good.  I feel fulfilled in some way.  It is a good practice to hone my writing skills. And I truly believe one day it will become something more than just thoughts and musings...whatever that might be.

So next time I am asked to do something, I will surely ask for the who, what, where and when of it; but I will give greater attention to the why of it.  Knowing why the door is closed can lead knowing whether it should   be opened.

For what purpose, reason, or cause; with what intention, justification, or motive: Why is the door shut? Why do birds sing?  

Loose Change

Sometimes when you reach into your pocket you are surprised to find some loose change.  It may not amount to much, but it is somehow reassuring.  Its money for goodness sake.  If you are smart, you take it out of your pocket and put in a glass piggy bank.  Actually, any piggy bank will do.  Even though it seems at first the loose change does not amount to much, if you put it aside, as into the belly of pink ceramic piggy bank (like I have) it will one day add up and be a tidy little sum

It occurred to me when I found some loose change in my pocket a while ago that thoughts are like that.  You find them drifting through your mind all the time.  You grasp onto some thoughts and you let others drift on by.  Constant and never-ending, the river of thoughts flows through your mind.  It is up to you to what your thoughts add up to at the end of the day.

Loose change becomes large somes of money.  Random thoughts become great ideas.  If you collect your thoughts, just as when you save your pennies, they become much more.  Hold onto the best thoughts you have and cultivate them into something worthy.  And then the trick is determining which of your thoughts are the ones you need to give hang onto.  

I (Will Always) Love Lucy

The I Love Lucy show premiered the year I was born so I can literally say I have watched Lucy all my life.  I remember when I was very young I beleived my grandmother, who was quite a comedian herself, was actually Lucille Ball and what that crazy redhead on TV.  Looking back, I can see of course they looked nothing alike, but still, they were boistrous, funny and tender.


I honestly don't remember watching Lucy in first run episodes until later in the 1950's.  By then she had moved from the city to Connecticut and soon went from the weekly series to hour specials.  And she was in black and white.  In fact it was the first thing I wanted to see on TV when my grandmother bought her first color TV: Lucy's red hair.  By then it was The Lucy Show or maybeHere's Lucy.  Seems like until her death in 1989, there was always a Lucy show of some sort.  And as bad as some the later ones were, I, in fact most of the country, still loved Lucy.


Lucille Ball the real person once said, "I'd rather regret the things I've done than regret the things I haven't done."  She proved that every time she stepped in front of a camera.  She also did so much for women during her career that really goes unnoticed.  And if you check out I Love Lucy reruns and pay very close attention, the themes and comedy of the show really parody and satirize many human foibles and political mores of the day.  It is subtle, but it is there.  And perhaps that is why the reruns seem so fresh, even after the umpteenth viewing.  No matter how many times one has seen the chocolate factory episode or the wine stomping one or the bread baking show or vitavegamem or when the Martians landed, one finds oneself laughing like it is the first time.


Yes, I love I Love Lucy and I loved Lucille Ball for all the wonderful laughs and fun she gave us.  On this the 100th anniversary of her birth and the 60th anniversary at hand of the premiere of the pre-eminent situation comedy of all time, I raise my glass to that fabulous redhead and salute her for living life so as to have regrets for what she did...along with all the great memories that go with them.

A Foolish Consistency

Ralph Waldo Emerson said in his essay, Self Reliance, that "a foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds."   I have always loved that quote.  First, the word hobgoblin just resonates with my inner sense of word play.  And to imagine hobgoblins in little minds reeking havoc and having their fun with those who would remain unconscious delights the theatre of the absurd I call my mind at times.

A friendly but troublesome creature, hobgoblins are fond of practical jokes.   The term "hobgoblin" has grown to mean a superficial object that is a source of (often imagined) fear or trouble.  In any case, when little minds are inhabited by the hobgoblins of practical jokes resulting in fear or trouble, it is time to break the grip of consistency and try a new thought or two.

Seems to me we are plagued with the hobgoblins of foolish consistency of late and it is not getting better.  Why think we when you can simply surrender your mind to a talking head or bombastic politician?  Maintaining a consistent path in the meadow simply creates a rut.  Many fresh views are missed along the way.  As Emerson went on to say, "with consistency a great soul has nothing to do." There lies within all of us a great soul yearning to be free.  We have just to break the hold the tried and true has on us and risk a new way of thinking.

Sometimes consistency has its place, such as in child-rearing or watering your garden.  But even then adjustments must be made for extenuating circumstances or periods of draught or rain.  To maintain the status quoleads one to the box which, in my estimation, we should be striving to think outside of.

Albert Einstein once said, that "Insanity [is] doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results."  I fear we as in the human race have gone somewhat insane of late.  We keep doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.  The poor soul who dares give voice to a different way of thinking risks being drowned in the sea murky, muddy unconsciousness.  Consistency it seems, is revered because it is comfortable.  Consistency appears safe. It lulls one into a false sense of security.  Ultimately, the security is proven false and the hobgoblin rule the day with "fear and trouble".

What I thought yesterday is may not necessarily be what I think today just as what I think right now is not necessarily what I will think tomorrow.  Yet if anything is consistent in my thinking, it is that it is foolish to go along with  hobgoblins as they lead little minds along.  That will always be true.  Emerson said it best: "To believe your own thought, to believe that what is true for you in your private heart is true for all men, —that is genius."

Go on now, time to

Walking the Arts

I went to Arts Walk in Riverside tonight.  I checked and I didn't need a passport.  I comforted myself by knowing I have a good ear for other languages.  I took art appreciation in college for heaven's sake.  And I know just enough about color, design, lighting, symbolism and abstract expression to be, well, to be somewhat dangerous.  

Whenever I have gone to Arts Walk in the past I have always felt the rush of creative energies.  There is something in the air when artists gather.  My senses become heightened.  I actually remeber when I thought I could live the life of an artist.  I used to believe I could exist quite comfortably in a fifth story walk up garret on the left bank of Paris.  Beret optional.  A free spirit living expressly for the sake of expression.

I snapped the above picture with my cell phone.  Impromtu found art.  The sun was low in the sky shining through this stained glass window.  I thought that this was a moment that would not come again.  The color would never be the same and no one else would capture this moment.  This moment was a one time thing.  And that, I believe, is what art is.  A moment in time captured and shared...yet not alike in experience for those who view it.

That is why I love Arts Walk.  Like going to museums or theatre or concerts or whatever, it is all in the experience and the experience is completely unique to the individual.  The essence of the art form transcends the moment, the past and the future.  I love to see the artists and the patrons and the homeless and the street people and the security guards all, the sprectrums of humanity, and feeling the observer, connected yet alien among them, I walk.

I do believe our environment affects us.  We need to surround ourselves with things that inspire us and reflect us and comfort us and most of all, challenge us.  The arts are who we are and we are the arts.  So there you have it.  And just think, this blog would never have been had I not gone to the Arts Walk tonight!  See, I do get something out of being amongst the arts. 

Romancing the Muse

My enthusiasm often runs ahead of my ability to build the foundations.

As I meditate or daydream and am inspired to do wonderfully creative and marvelous things, starting is easy.   Except when it's not. Sometimes it flows freely sometimes and sometimes is quite illusive.

The muse knows what the muse knows and does as the muse will do.

Tie a string to it to try and control it or rein it in just whithers away.

The muse cannot be tamed.

You can throw a lasso around your muse all you want; it will always slip away.

The muse is its own inspiration.

The best you can do is open your heart and your mind and your spirit to it as it speaks to you. 

Take what it gives you and use it to create something.

Enjoy the warmth of its fire before you.

Only then can you befriend your muse.

There Are Many Things That Need To Be Done

Oprah Winfrey once said, "Yes, there are many things that need to get done, but in this moment I have to do nothing"

Imagine: doing nothing.

In this moment.  Nothing.  

Nada.

Zilch.

Just being.  Nowhere to go, nowhere to be.  Nothing to do, but nothing.

Can we really do nothing?  Is it possible to just stop and let the moments wash over you, pass, and go on their way without having to use them or interpret them or make them meaningful?

Do nothing.  The concept intrigues me.  A bit like meditation I expect, but even in meditation, you are doing something.  But nothing.  Having to do nothing.

Of late I have been caught up in the business of busy-ness.  Doing this, doing that, going here, going there.  None of it really in my skin.  

Yes, there are many things that need to be done.  That is just a fact of life.  There are things that if left undone might lead to minor disasters or goals not being met.  But what about the sacred self?  What about taking time to just sit, to do nothing.

It is usually nothing that needs to be done most of all.  And sometimes nothing gets done which is not always a bad thing.