Three days. Three motivations. Day 3.

This is my final post in response to A Guy Called Bloke and if you follow the above link, you will receive double motivation. ๐Ÿ˜‰โœŒ๐Ÿผ

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 ๐Ÿ˜„! 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 ๐Ÿ˜‹!

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. ๐Ÿ˜ โ›ฐ ๐ŸŒŠ


And this…

because of this โค๏ธโœŒ๐Ÿผ๐ŸŽถ๐ŸŽถ๐ŸŽถ J

Three days. Three motivations. Day 2.

A Guy called Bloke nominated me to share my motivations and I happily oblige, feeling motivated to share my inner thoughts. Why not? ๐Ÿ˜œ๐Ÿ’•โœŒ๐Ÿผ

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! ๐ŸŽจ โ˜”๏ธ๐ŸŒต๐ŸŒผ๐Ÿ„๐Ÿ๐Ÿ‚๐Ÿพ J๐Ÿ•Š๐ŸŽถ๐ŸŽถ๐ŸŽถ

Three days. Three motivations. Day 1.

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.

Whatโ€™s Your Favorite? (reblog)

Whatโ€™s Your Favorite
โ€” 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. ๐ŸŒŽ๐ŸŒ๐ŸŒโ˜€๏ธ

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. ๐Ÿ’™๐Ÿ•Š๐ŸŽถ๐ŸŽถ๐ŸŽถ)

The fear of sharing my writing (reblog)

Donโ€™t know who you are but I hear a heart beat faster than my own.

Someone read my mind and wrote down the words. I recognize the spellings. Perhaps off a vowel or two. Maybe i am missing some consonants. But i am ready to embrace the โ€œmeโ€ who was afraid of their shadow.

If i kept half what i think to myself, i would drive myself back to sickness. I am. I was. I always will be a cyclone. A storm brewing is never calm but always refreshing because who doesnโ€™t like the smell of rain when the sun warms the soul?

Bring the sun in and let your face shine. Some one will find us beautiful!!

Revolutionary Musings

When it comes to writing, I am trying to be less fearful about sharing what iโ€™ve written. Sometimes I donโ€™t want to upset people with an unpleasant past or offend them or turn them off, driving them away; thinking Iโ€™m a weirdo. I think I am at a point where other peopleโ€™s opinions stop being important. Its about using writing to come to terms with the past and possibly help someone else, a creative outlet for the things I canโ€™t say out loud. Itโ€™s a journey and a gift as well. So what Iโ€™m saying is that if you like my writing, great. If you donโ€™t then thatโ€™s fine too. All that matters is that I am proud of my writing and the things I have posted so far. I will continue to write regardless of the positive or negative ( silent) reaction I may face, including this post

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Judge and Jury

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.

Thursday Doors โ€“ February 1, 2018

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?

No regrets

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. ๐Ÿค— And if i end up pushing you aside, it is my fear, not your lack of love.


Answer Me This, Magic Land

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.

Word Press

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

find myself

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

drink deeper

let the air rise higher

form clouds for the dry soul of their lives.