This is my final post in response to A Guy Called Bloke and if you follow the above link, you will receive double motivation. 😉✌🏼
Ok. So, I am sitting at Hash Imports, waiting for my Jag. The garage door bit off a chunk of the trunk (aka boot for Englanders) and the damaged plith is being put back on the car’s booty!!! Hurrah 😄! They tell me it should take an hour. (Long story how this happened which i am not going to explain.)
Regarding English and its many forms, and reasons why it is difficult to learn, even for English-born speakers, here is a handy How to Understand English Words. Since i will be moving to Boston soon, this The Wicked Good Guide to Boston English or Ten Words to Know in Boston will come in handy for other reasons. BTW I love me some chowdah. Which i made over the weekend with Lake Erie caught walleye. So yum 😋!
Since i will be walking, biking or taking public transport in Boston, what will happen to my Jag? Hurt feelings much? But that’s what the country side is for… motoring in my Jag to the ocean and mountain vistas!!! Cannot wait. 😝 ⛰ 🌊
because of this ❤️✌🏼🎶🎶🎶 J
A Guy called Bloke nominated me to share my motivations and I happily oblige, feeling motivated to share my inner thoughts. Why not? 😜💕✌🏼
Glad you bother to read my posts at all! What, with all your responsibilities, who am i to take up your time?
This is the path unfolding before me. A red carpet spread to the ends of the earth, piled high with rocks and sand and twigs and leaves. Accompanied by the fragrance of flowers and promise of new Days. While Nights wander aimlessly toward silence and i reside peacefully as billions of stars awaken.
Oh! This too! Or better yet, make some of your own art! Grab a brush, paint, and go! 🎨 ☔️🌵🌼🍄🍁🍂🐾 J🕊🎶🎶🎶
Introducing A Guy Called Bloke’s newest poem… and I kindly thank Rory, the guy or the bloke behind the words penned so swell, for nominating me to share some motivation for the next three days. Aka, the hum in my drum can become your purr with a considering stir.
I am happy to oblige Sir Rory. But i am not responsible for any side affects my words may have upon my readers. So my advice: Read responsibly.
i am motivated knowing other people get it. it being me. and me not showing fear but courage. today i exist deeply. i am the silence.
I nominate any blogger, who has time and courage, to participate.
What’s Your Favorite
— Read on #WYF Revenge of EveColor. A favorite color.
I increasingly notice shades and hues now that I started dabbling in paint. Even as a photographer, i was not in tune with the varying light and dark of the world, as now. I am at a peak heightened state to my existence and have never felt so alive, or as noticing of each small death, as today.
So what is my favorite color? I have asked a few people that and they choose calming colors, as i once did. At the conception of my son, an orange ball of hope swelled inside and burst onto the scene of the world at his birth. He was close to being born at the back of a NYC taxi cab and made his appearance at the hospital before the doctor arrived. Life has not had to wait for him since… he forges his own paths in all circumstances.
The color orange in life is energizing. So appropriate that my color has changed as i was asleep for so long. I am eternally grateful for the sun and the birth of my son. For the vibrancy and hope they bring to my life.
In all circumstances, Luke has been my rock. When my world trembled in 2008 it was no different. He tirelessly carried me when my legs broke from under the weight of grief.
He is every mom’s hope to have in a son. He is my sunrise and sunset and all that exists in between. He is orange.
He is currently studying for his Ph.D. in Material Science, focusing on batteries at The Ohio State, Columbus, OH. Environmentally conscious, his goal is to develop stable eco-sources of power. He rocks my world and i hope he can bring his dreams to fruition.
And as a mom, what ever girl finds herself in the gleam of his eye, please realize even the stars adore your beauty and grace. 🌎🌍🌏☀️
Happy Writing, J (i have always wanted to write a fitting tribute and he is so deserving of accolades, being as humble as he is. 💙🕊🎶🎶🎶)
Church is poetry. Poetry is life. A life well lived.
i only judge myself because i am the only person i truly know.
Institute of Art, Chicago, first floor Modern Wing
i witness you, accept what you deem worthy of me to embrace. all the while i remain absolutely blind to the intricacies of the painting you are.
you may lift the curtain a tad. invite me in and under the mask. allow me to get a little closer. do i know you? are you afraid of me or i of you? do we really even know the other? or bother to know? will i be willing to lift my mask too?
Crow on the Wire has a Sunday confession that sparked varied personal thoughts. i hear because i listen. not sure I understand why politics is as divisive as it is. perhaps it is being set in our ways and feeling comfortable with our habitual years? only changing, transforming, because we finally see the truth. or are we bending truth to match a defined enlightenment? Not sure.
The Chicago Temple, United Methodist Church
In the Choir
i may agree. i may disagree. i may not have an opinion at all about you. rather hide myself discreetly, knowing you won’t bother to understand how i feel. or why i do, as i do.
justice is most important, so, the final verdict given about me is my own to dwell upon. i hand you the privilege of judging yourself too. i decide what needs to change with me in order to be more loving towards you. and i pray your willing as well.
this process of transformation does not work when we judge each other. how i react if you decide not to accept me is my choice. my question then becomes “will i remain in my old ways? and why?” along with wondering why i should change at all.
Norm 2.0 Thursday Doors
What doors could have been opened? Had life been different would you have entered? If we are deliberate can dreams still become our reality? What doors should we open despite the possible pain?
Do you accept fate? Or do push wide open the forbidden gate?
I have no regrets in life. Not even when the outcome was less than favorable for me. I am better for the experience. The stretching. The climbing. Mostly the listening, even hearing the quiet. Witnessing the fear. The hiding.
The challenge for me was to share intimately with another, and i did so.
Connection to another, whether spiritual, intellectual or physical, gives and takes. When we take, we fill an empty place that was left ravaged by circumstance. When we give, we pour from the soul.
So i do not regret giving to another who needed something, more than i needed. The act of giving itself fills up. The thanks and smiles are more than enough for a girl who has learned to never regret the road.
And perhaps, since i am working on my patience, this is a test of true friendship. I will never purposely jump ship. Even when the tests are excruciating and i wish, pray, for death, I will remain as long as people decide i am worthy of them. To witness I AM a heartfelt existence and friend. 🤗 And if i end up pushing you aside, it is my fear, not your lack of love.
Is there a home in the world for us?
We have our own snow in the Midwest.
Still, it is magical to stare wonderingly at the pristine beauty of a country, In the Middle of Snow, who relatives, generations before you, once called home.
That family once honored the past with stories of Finland. The great-grandparents who entered the US, through Ellis Island, settling in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, being comfortable with the familiarity of their homeland in a foreign country, told those memories. Settling, they built a family, in a village of Finlanders, joining the ranks of those who worked the iron ore mines, who supped on pasties and ran together, in unencumbered flesh, through the snow, to warm themselves in saunas. Together.
Today alone. Scattered snowflakes.
I always welcome to know more about my heritage, hence my search for Finnish blogs. I need connection. This circle of life i yearn for, feeds the purpose of answering who i am.
But who can answer the why questions? Why leave home, slowly abandon your language and culture, to come to a wild land that is not necessarily more welcoming. The answers remain as vague as the memories. I am destined to melt, never fully knowing. Remain fluid, never answering the question but providing a journey for my children.
Generations past, echoes that grow ever faint.
you feel all too familiar.
i watch the faces -past
a shattered mirror i glance
and all the screams come echoing back
were they your words or mine -unsure
i boldly go where no man settles
in hearts of gold at every turn
running faster than daddy told me
as i pass i hear the echoes
in a forest -taller
as i search rocks and leaves
only the messages have vanished
my only relief, a pocket of rocks
as i swallow harder
let the air rise higher
form clouds for the dry soul of their lives.