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"So is this your profession?", the petite lady in the fuchsia gown asked.
Her dress was ill-fitting, out of date. This was probably her one and only formal party dress. Her hair was short, not stylishly short, just cropped to the nape by cheap scissors in a cheap salon. There was hardly any make-up on her face, just bright red lipstick that did not compliment her ordinary face. But there was nothing cheap, nor ordinary about the words that followed her opening question.
"You have a most amazing gift. Use it well.", she proclaimed.
Thank you lady in fuchsia.
She was a small woman, not more than four feet eleven inches tall. Her eyes, dark pools in large, hollow sockets. Every crease, every wrinkle on her soft, round face told a tale. She was a tiny woman, not more than ninety pounds. Her thin yellow arms with cool sagging skin cared for three boys. All grown. All gone. All forgetful. She has given from her tender heart all that she could give. How did she do that when hardly anyone gave to her? Not her callous, philandering husband, that's for sure.
She must have been prayerful.
Or callous herself.
Her gaze was sharp. Cutting. Silent. Pitiless. She was mostly quiet, keenly observing her surroundings. But when she spoke she had a razor wit. She hit with a hand strengthened by hard work.
Meat. She bred, raised, sold meat in many places. She cooked, served, ate meat all her life.
They say if you ate enough meat you take on the character of whatever animal you took your meat from.
She hit very hard. She hit the farm help once and made his ear bleed.
He fucked a pig. One from her pen.
She had a piggery with fifty stalls.
She smiles readily at whoever asks for it. She trusts. Willingly gives it to whoever shares her life. She's tired and run-down but doesn't know it. Is she denying it? Her eyes cannot hide it. There is no fire there. A flicker or two, maybe. Like when she watched that musical play for the first time. It doesn't last long.
Her dreams are few, her desires always hidden. Ask her what she wants and she replies,
"Oh, don't bother.",
"It doesn't matter.",
And all this time she smiles.
Readily. Willingly. Resignedly.
The saddest smile I've ever seen.
She comes out of the shower - fresh, clean, pristine. She puts on her make-up like she always does. A face emerges. She wears her clothes, all pressed and crisp. Sophisticated, elegant pieces she bought with her own hard earned cash. Shoes and bag are the same expensive brand. Fake diamond earrings match the bracelet on her delicate wrist.
She's all primed. All set.
Or isn't she?
She almost forgets the heady perfume, a costly token gift.
If only I could do the same primping for my heart and soul, then I wouldn't have to work again tonight, she thinks.
The last five days were all about women I have known personally, intimately. Most of the things I wrote about them are true but, I must admit, I embellished a little for effect. I didn't know what to write as this is my first time to join 100 words so I thought about writing about them.
To maintain privacy, I shall not reveal their true identities. I must say though that they all play/played an important role in my life.
It's really interesting writing about women. I think women are all interconnected in more ways than we will ever realize.
Hungry. I need food. I would love to have a great big oily juicy calorie laden sirloin burger from Harvey's right now. Top that with the thickest thick strawberry milkshake from McD's and the largest super sized fries and we're all set. Mmmmyum!
Truth be told it's not food that I'm most hungry for.
Emotional eating is an epidemic here in North America. It amazes me how many obese people there are in this country! I come from a place where super-sized individuals were a rarity. Here it is more the norm.
I choose to have a word salad instead.
"You're so domesticated already!", she said with a smile.
It was a comment uttered with amusement and awe. I knew that much. But I did not readily know how to react so I remained neutral.
The thought rolled around in my head until the next day. As I picked up last night's clutter, as I tossed another load of laundry in the machine, as I tied the knot on the garbage bag. Domesticated. Me. The once "diva", spoiled since day one until ninety-nine ---domesticated.
Then it dawned on me, slowly but surely, like a sip of warm tea sliding down my once parched throat.
I am domesticated. And damn proud of it, too.
I have two sisters, both great pals, both special, both lovely human beings.
It's funny how in spite of being raised in the same environment, with practically the same circumstances, conditions, caring or lack of it, siblings turn out to be worlds different from each other. Where one is practical, the other is whimsical. One plans her life, loves, even her laundry ever so meticulously, the other flies by the seat of her pants.
Ah, but that is precisely what makes it all work out. It is a beautiful thing, individuality. We are all equal but definitely not the same!
Celebrities I find interesting:
Oprah Winfrey. Ellen Degeneres. Tom Hanks. Julia Roberts. Maya Angelou. Ray Romano.
I'm trying to find a link, something that all these individuals have in common that would make for a compelling reason as to why I like them.
They all have a quality that I can only describe as "realness", like soft cotton, like home cooking, like the beach. Nothing too fancy, put-on, or prim and proper. And a good sense of humor.
I guess that says a lot about how I am as a person.
We are defined by the things we like most.
God takes away from people so that they develop a better appreciation of that which they have.
I got to thinking tonight - would J. and I become the good parents that we are now if we were as financially stable as we were way back then? I think not. The abundance of money would have made us more money hungry. There would have been nannies and helpers and service people to dote on us and the kids.
Business first. Family second.
That would have been a very sad thing.
I thank God for the lesson that comes with lack.
I'm having my tubes tied in seven days. One more week before I make a final bow to my baby-making years. One more week before I bid farewell to the functioning tubes that helped bring fort three wonderful children.
One more week and goodbye contraceptives.
I wonder. Will having the freedom to have sex anytime without the fear of getting pregnant make one want it more or would the permissiveness make one want it less?
Will I be mourning the loss of my ability to have children?
Will I change my mind?
For five thousand dollars they can get untied.
Does it make me a bad person to think that the ill fate of a hated individual was well deserved? Does it make me evil to want it to be worse than it is?
I found out this morning that an ex-friend had a brain tumor.
I used to adore this woman. So much so that I wanted to be like her. Then one day the relationship turned sour and I gave up on the friendship. I decided there was nothing to be missed.
She says she misses me.
Question is do I miss her?
Forgive and forget.
My computer was down for the last eight days. I missed eight days of writing here. I wonder if I have been dropped from the roster of members.
Eight days without an internet connection. At first I was missing it badly, then I got used to not having the "distraction". I realize I spend too much time online. I realize I get more things done if I limit browsing. I realize that I have to have more discipline.
I wonder if the last entry has anything to do with my computer mishap.
Do bad thought really bring upon bad karma?
Little snips. Little bites. Little scratches. Little scars.
You would think that it really didn't matter. I certainly thought I could wing it. But I'm beginning to notice the heat, the swiftness of my rebuttals, the quick judgment. It hurts but the filth is deep and depressing.
"When you have talked the talk and there is nothing else left to do or say, PRAY."
God works in mysterious ways. In my life, I am beginning to notice how The Almighty One brings me back to center. When I lose attention, things get a bit crazy.
It works all the time.
There I was in the middle of meditation. We were to "see" what we were meant to do in life, discover our mission, know what path to take. I had a vague notion as to what my mission in life was. Of course it was music. I was a singer then and was in the thick of things musical.
Or so I thought.
The vision was clear enough. A black pen, very much like the Mont Blanc I have now, floating down from above. It had a pair of wings. I remember clouds surrounding it.
Was I to write music?
But it didn't happen. No music was written except for a few snippets, a few lines. There was no flow.
Enter writing workshop for children. A friend hears about it and asks me to help with a school project: write a children's short story book. I said yes, took pen and paper and within minutes had finished the draft for The Red Dot.
There certainly was a flow there. The only thing left to do is to open the gates holding back the current.
Now how to do that I have no clue.
Maybe a few more glory days.
I backed out from the tube tying operation. Somehow it didn't feel right. There was this little bug squirming in the pit of my stomach, not that big a bother but uncomfortable just the same. If this were in the past I would have paid no heed. But I am learning that my instincts are not to be ignored. My instincts are a powerful tool to guiding me to the right direction.
There was peace after the cancellation.
Now I am receiving a lot of positive feedback. Both mothers agree. So does a brother-in-law.
Most important of all, hubby agrees.
I love lists. There is power and magic in them.
I have proven this to be true over and over again. I just don't know why I stopped making them. I have limited list-making to grocery and chores. Not right.
Things to do:
1- Make two thousand US dollars a week.
2- Do pottery.
3- Have a concert with a full-orchestra.
4- Have wedding ceremony on a beachfront in Hawaii or Cebu.
5- Take lots of pictures with my brand new Canon 300D.
6- Vacation in Disneyworld with the kids.
7- Be able to afford a nanny, cook and mayordoma.
I marvel at how sensitive my dear J is. I may complain a lot about his lack of empathy but he doesn't lack for picking up my moods.
I was grumpy this afternoon. I was envious of the beautiful clothes somebody else had. Why didn't I have them myself? Then my ego started to put blame on poor J. In the big picture of things I know he has nothing to do with it. But ego has to blame someone. And that someone happened to be J. I was honest enough to tell him the reason behind the crabbiness.
I am going to breathe today. I am going to pay more attention to here and now. I am going to look more closely at things big and small. I am going to appreciate the goodness of people. I am going to appreciate my own goodness. I am going to laugh more. I am going to dream more and relax while at it. I am going to let go and let Goddess. I am going to taste, smell, feel. I am going to fly more, grovel less. I am going to find glory in everything. I am going to be.
"The rain in Spain stays mainly on the plain."
Great weather, great scenery, great culture. To live or not to live in Spain, that is the question. Am I ready for yet another move? Am I ready for another major life adjustment? Am I ready to learn another language, another way of living?
My head is reluctant. It took a while to adjust to North American living. The fast days filled with non-stop chores were killing me. Now it is a way of life and I have finally adjusted to it.
My heart says "Hey, another great adventure? LET'S GO!
i remember so well the day that you came into my life you asked for my name you had the most beautiful smile my life started to change i wake up each day feeling alright with you right by my side makes me feel things will work out just fine how did you know i needed someone like you in my life that there's an empty space in my heart you came at the right time in my life oh, i'll never forget how you brought the sun to shine in my life and took all the worries and fears...
I have learned that I get really cranky when I'm tired. I "turn-off" quite quickly and without warning. I need to stop and rest or else I start dumping on people and have very bad thoughts about everything.
I want to draw. Paint. To create collages about the stuff going on inside. Maybe this will help unleash some of what's locked up in here. It may be easier, too, since I don't have to be so detailed about it. I can spare the boring, uninteresting parts and put together colorful pictures instead.
Is it ever possible not to judge oneself?
Sometimes I hate that I'm too careful. Sometimes I wish I could just go ahead and do what it is that springs from my heart. Let it leap out onto the here and now and simply stand back and see what happens next. Instead of trying to control what happens next. Sometimes I just want to lash out with no heed for the outcome. Sometimes I want to escape my "perfect" life and go where my soul leads.
Sometime, I just might do it – be carefree, speak from the heart, leap out into the world, lash out, escape.
Pain. Frustration. Desperation. Hopelessness. Confusion. Loneliness. Restlessness. Idleness. Helplessness. Boredom. Separation. Resentments. Isolation. uncertainties. Artistic constipation. Emotional emptiness. Dead-end. Dark. Dank. Heavy. Stinky. Puny. Stupid. Idiotic. Lunatic. Psychotic. Schizophrenic. Weakness. Anxiety. Worry. Gloomy. Cold. Hard. Difficulty. Disaster. Catastrophe. Mistake. Misjudgment. Overconfidence. Arrogance. Pride. Closed-mindedness. Escape. Take flight. Buckle. Stumble. Fall. Negativity. Insecurity. Critical.
Not good enough. Not smart enough. Not pretty enough. Not rich enough. Not creative enough. Not artistic enough. Not funny enough. Not nurturing enough. Not organized enough. Not brave enough. Not fashionable enough. Not fast enough. Not slow enough. Not appreciative enough. Not loving enough.
It came in torrents. Now ebbing, now flowing. The twinges in my chest felt the same. Now coming, now going. The water helped. Warm flow from above, cleansing me of my pain. Releasing. Allowing me to breathe again.
I hold on too tightly, grasping on to life's flimsy threads. I hang on to fragile webs of relationships, brittle cords of promises. I hold on to things uncertain, as if holding on tightly would help keep things the same.
On the surface I love change. I love new places, people, things.
Deep inside is a cowering version of myself.
It's a break I thought we needed. Maybe. It's a break I thought I would like. I don't.
I've learned that in life we do things even if we don't like it with the intent of doing it for the good of everybody. Every Body.
Is that at all possible, though? Can any one thing be good for everybody when everyone has a completely different idea of what's good for them to begin with? Half the time I can't even decide what's good for me much less follow through on it.
It's pathetic if one thinks about it.
I miss hearing him enter our front door. I miss hearing his voice telling his tall tales. I even miss nagging him about the garbage, the bird cage, the clothes strewn all over the floor, the coming home on time. I miss the exchanges on spiritual stuff – thank God we see eye to eye on this one.
I don't miss the loud arguments. I don't miss feeling suffocated, dismayed or frustrated over unfulfilled expectations. I don't miss the dark moods, the tension in the air, the fake smiles. I don't miss the pregnant silences, the cold presence, the quiet desperation.
I found the perfect journal. It's called The Sacred Journey.
I love everything about it – the natural brown hard cover, the cool symbols, the clean lines, clean white paper, even the clean font. I love that it has spaces for doodling, gratitude and clippings. I love that it advocates open-mindedness and respects all beliefs. I love that there are sections for goal-setting. I love that it is aligned with my personal ethics and spirituality. I love that it's almost Janury and I can begin journaling in it.
In all, I love The Sacred Journey journal for being balanced and beautiful.
Great big clouds rolling in the dark, gray sky. Strong winds blowing away scraggly leaves of pale yellows and browns off their scrawny branches. Electric air turning bitter and cold.
Fall is here. We are in the thick of it. The warm and colorful first dance of the season with its fiery hues and blazing shades are gone. Instead, there is this low grumbling sound, an echoing whisper of darker days to come. Withdraw, come inside, hibernate, slumber says the spirit of the season. Recharge, reflect, renew says the spirit of autumn.
I shall obey, oh great spirit of life.
The Tip Jar