tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32745693028717461222024-02-07T15:41:40.301-06:00Of Sound Mind and BodyBonniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02037478211980594624noreply@blogger.comBlogger26125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3274569302871746122.post-62400308440480363222011-05-14T06:53:00.001-05:002011-05-20T23:28:21.335-05:00There Are Places I Remember....<div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: black; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10px; font: normal normal normal 13px/19px Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0.6em; padding-left: 0.6em; padding-right: 0.6em; padding-top: 0.6em;"><div>As my life experiences mount and gather in my head, a theme has occurred to me frequently: There Are Places I Remember…. As we move along in our lives, the memory of certain things, places, and people, stay with us, even if just for a moment every once in a while. Something will remind us: a song, a phrase; I’ve even had memories of past somethings occur to me through fragrances. Such is aroma therapy, I suppose.</div><div><br />
</div><div id="journalBodyText">The place that has always and continues to stand out for me as my best, happiest place to be is on Missile Drive in Enfield Connecticut. Now, I will share with you that this experience goes back over forty years. What happened was, my family moved from Massachusetts to this new place, in the first of a few subsequent moves to subsequent states. I was ready for this experience, at age 13, because we had moved, to that point, infrequently (be careful what you wish for) and because it was a new adventure, strategically placed, as all moves were, during the summer in between school years. I remember we, as a family, drove to what would be our new town, and checked out various homes available for us to live in. One in particular was a unanimous winner; a small, brown home within a sprawling (or what seemed sprawling to a thirteen year old) residential community.I remember enjoying the feel of the place right away, including the surrounding community, and I remember how cool the push-button light switches seemed to me. This was the first place I would have my own bedroom, as opposed to sharing with my sister. Her room was cute because it had some built-in features, but mine was larger, and it was…Mine! I recall the decision was made for me to stay behind, with my grandmother, for about three weeks while the others moved into this home, so that I could finish exams at the end of that school year. Of course, this didn’t sit well with me for a few reasons, but I did manage to get through those weeks and am alive and reasonably well today.<br />
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Just about immediately, other young people my age gathered around the area where my new home was, to introduce their wonderful selves to me. One was George, whose last name I fail to remember now, who was “wicked” cute and lived a few homes down and across the street from mine. One was Skip, last name also forgotten, who was pretty much the neighborhood casanova, also cute but in a different way. He lived across the street on the other side of my new home. Another was David MacDonald. Yes I do remember that whole name; relatively easy. David was a nice guy, always part of this pack of guys, who eventually liked me more than I liked him. Then there was Kate Boucher – she pronounced it Bowcher; not the French version Booshay. Anyway, Kate was an intermittent friend who lived on the next street. My neighbor, Linda, who my folks thought might be a friend for me initially, ended up not being so. She had other friends already established, and was a bit on the snooty side, for some reason. Skip, my friend mentioned above, was completely enamored with her, almost as much as she was with herself. We did ride to school together in her dad’s car, but that was the extent of our interaction. Then there was Laurie Wallace. Laurie and I eventually became best buddies, pretty much inseparable until I moved on. At first, I kept her at a distance, because that’s what the others in the neighborhood did. The only reason for that I can recall is that her family was “different”, having blended nine children. Some his, some hers, and I believe one or two mutuals. Laurie lived, conveniently, directly across the street from me, had her hair in curlers often, and was in charge of handling the younger children almost as if they were her own.<br />
It had been quite a while since I felt the camaraderie I quickly felt within this group. They welcomed me into their circle easily, we enjoyed conversations, kick ball, planning for whatever our futures might be, going through puberty all at the same time. And there was that eventual, inevitable kiss with Skip. Just once as I recall. A quick one at the swing at some park nearby. Peck ~ and it was over. I was, of course, smitten, and feeling more than pleased that “The” guy seemed to have an interest in me. But, don’t forget, there was Linda.<br />
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Today, this place continues to stay with me for the friendships and what feels like so many events packed into the short time we lived there. I remember not having the best school year, socially speaking, but my neighborhood friends, who I could always count on, trumped that situation by far. I can see, in my memory, each of us walking from our respective homes after school each day, to the place in the center of this “village” where we would automatically find each other and enjoy the afternoon.<br />
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We moved from this most favorite of my childhood places, within a year after arriving there. I recall the shock, horror, and complete sadness as my father announced this new move to our family. To New York. I recall, now brace yourselves, blowing kisses to my bedroom, on more than one occasion, as the tears flowed at this upcoming loss for me. I recall trying to figure a way not to go with my family, but found no one willing to adopt me and keep me in Enfield. We called it Thompsonville at the time. I recall the morning we moved, getting into the family car, none of my friends in sight, having said our goodbyes a few days earlier, I suppose. I recall sadly moving away from these cherished friends forever.<br />
Laurie and I remained in letter-writing contact for a few years, as my family moved to New York, and onward to Memphis after my graduation from high school two years later. We did visit Enfield once for maybe a weekend, and I was pleased to find each of my friends there for that short time.<br />
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I loved this place on Missile Drive in Enfield Connecticut; more accurately, I loved these friends who made me feel a part of their lives and I loved having them in mine. I recall them with love and with a caring that will likely stay with me, since it has been quite a while now, and I can still conjure up wonderful memories of them and our time together. Thankful, I am, to have known them and to have had this wonderful experience.</div></div>Bonniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02037478211980594624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3274569302871746122.post-27597775965927549572011-05-08T09:46:00.002-05:002011-05-08T19:21:02.829-05:00An Understanding.....Happy Mothers' DayMany of us lament a childhood which was less than we feel it should have been, less than we know we deserved as those young people trying to figure it all out. It is a fact that each of us had a different experience with our parents back then when we looked up at them in awe, for strength, for security and for that unconditional love. My own experience is certainly not what I'd like to share here today, it was less than I deserved, lacking in many ways, it is what helped form the woman I am today.<br />
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I have just spoken with my mother. For me, speaking with either parent is a chore. It's true. I admit it. And, this is true for various reasons with each of them. My mother is a kind soul who has been afflicted with an anxiety for life as long as I've known her, and considerably before I was in the picture, as she has shared. We are not alike, we don't have the same values or opinions or thoughts; there has been anger between us and a lack of consideration and that unconditional love. Over the past few years, and as a result of both a physical and emotional distance between us, my mom has shared her own experiences of lack and discomfort and "feeling like a piece of shit" as she wandered her way through childhood. She has shared a story of her dad, a silent, ungiving man who could think of nothing to say to his daughter as he walked with her to a job he found for her. Not one word. Sixty years or more after these incidents, she recalls vividly a transference of his silence into lack within her, judged by her father to be less than because he could not find, did not have any words of conversation, camaraderie for her. She has shared stories of a family who was disjointed, walking on opposite sides of the street from each other for reasons no one knew. This, the result of a crazy woman my mother's brother married at a young age who was allowed to wreak havoc on his family for years and until she died. My mother, at one point in her young life, lived with her aunt and uncle for a time while she recuperated from what I would consider to be a nervous breakdown. She was completely intimidated by the man she married, and lived too many years in distrust and lack of individuality.<br />
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It was important for my mother to bring me into these parts of her life. It was important to her that I understand she has remorse that she did not, could not rise to her children's deepest needs, while she continued to push through a life of fear and discomfort and not knowing. And as a result of both parents being human and dealing with life in the best way they knew, they raised two daughters with self-esteem issues and fears, to struggle in adulthood for that "perfect" place as they see it for themselves.<br />
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A while ago, a short while ago actually, I came to an important realization; one which allowed me to move out of that fog and to step higher within my own life. I realized that both of these people did the best they could. As cliche as that statement is, and I shudder to use it, it is truth. While they maintained a life of basic comfort for us, each of them, being human, had their own issues, fears, goals, good and bad days. As my mother spoke, I understood she is not an evil person, I know she is a lovely person, actually, who did not wish anyone's pain, but was dealing with her own. Today, she is much the same as back then, with the exception of the sharing. With the exception of the realizing. What a wonderful breakthrough! The start of healing. While my mother and I might never be close in spirit, I can and do appreciate what she has brought to me within these conversations. I empathize with her struggles. I know now, without a doubt, it is and never was, about me or my sister.<br />
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I am guilty of less than stellar choices with my own son. No one is immune. No one is perfect. Many of us have thought about the past and wonder what life would be if only we'd done......something else. And the best we can do for ourselves and for those we love is to put those thoughts away. The best we can do is work to find what we need, what we love, and pursue those things with diligence and vigor and passion. As we become those people who are happy in our individual lives, we radiate that happiness and joy outward into the universe, for all to take part. We smile more often, we have an aura of love we share easily.<br />
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So to that I say, <i>Happy Mothers' Day</i> to the beautiful women everywhere who have struggled, who have raised children less than perfectly, and who rise above all of that a little every day to become who they want to be. Cheers to us all. And Love.Bonniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02037478211980594624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3274569302871746122.post-16612527658215425322011-03-19T10:30:00.005-05:002011-03-19T10:39:36.610-05:00The Struggle WithinThe weekend has arrived! YaY! I, like almost everyone, look forward to these two little, fleeting days away from the 8-5 week day world. YaY! Especially in the warmer climate, it's a treat to enjoy the sunshine, feel the warmth, be leisurely, coffee nearby.<br />
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I also struggle with this leisure. I struggle with the voice inside which always tells me I could be, SHOULD BE doing more - something unnamed, out there in the universe, something which doesn't call to me loudly enough for me to hear it. That something I believe I long for.<br />
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Today is a perfect example of that angst. Today is a Saturday with a few plans, mostly an unusual occurrence. I also have a few hours before the first event kicks in, and I find myself feeling awkward, guilty, for not having made "more" of these first hours of the day. Shouldn't I go for a walk, or visit that gym I'm paying for and haven't seen in months? Shouldn't I clean the house or at the very least, read something worthwhile? Shouldn't I?! YES!!! The voice screams to me - DO SOMETHING, ANYTHING!! And yet, my deepest, innermost preference is to do what I always do - opt to sit and think and maybe write a bit, and drink coffee and contemplate how long it is until I must move. That is my preference, and if you ask me, that is a flaw in my character. Few, according to me, would settle for this nothingness; few would have this nothing life. But I choose it - every day. And I ask myself why.<br />
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I have no idea the reason I feel more comfortable with nothing than with almost anything. It is who I have always been. It is likely my form of hiding, which, for me is as equally comforting as disconcerting. Nothing I have tried in an effort to be more acceptable to myself has greeted me with the love, the passion I desire to be true to whatever "it" is. I continue my search.<br />
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And in the meantime, the clock ticks. It ticks away the morning, the day, a life. And the voice haunts me to be someone else; the person I believe I SHOULD be; certainly not the person I am. I know...it's a journey, a voyage, whatever the choice of terminology, and it is true. This desire to be someone else will not likely come to fruition; not in this life. All I can hope for is to come to a point where I understand and honor who I am now, with the ongoing changes, as well as the ongoing challenges. And the beat goes on....Bonniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02037478211980594624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3274569302871746122.post-189307184283267222011-02-19T13:56:00.000-06:002011-02-19T13:56:55.985-06:00What About Death?A 42 year-old father of a nine year old daughter is buried in the precious earth today. A man who was, by all accounts, a successful and loving father, husband, friend. A man dedicated, through active military duty, to his country. A man I knew only briefly and slightly; his wife and I were colleagues and friends some years ago. And now he is, suddenly, inexplicably ...gone from his family, his life. And on this day of clouds and barren trees and coolness in the air, I think about him again. I think of that video which shares with us his surprise for his young daughter at school back in December, when he was just home from Afghanistan. I think of that hug and the, "I missed you so much" in his voice. I remember how proudly he shared photos of her. No, I didn't know Mark well, but I know this is an excruciating and deep loss, and most poignantly for a young girl who enjoyed a closeness with her dad that most of us long for.<br />
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Depending on what we believe, we can justify something like this happening, by saying he was a good man so was called to heaven, or maybe his work in this life was done, so he returned to the universe to become ready for the next one. None of us knows, of course, and most of us attempt to justify these horrific events in our minds, make some sense of what has happened, because it makes US feel better. I can't imagine Mark's wife, Cindy and his daughter Samantha standing at his wake, or at his graveside, without my mind screaming, Why? What must <i>their</i> minds be screaming? How many days, years might it take for their lives to be anything close to what they thought they would be? Why do things like this happen?<br />
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There are no real answers to these questions. We work around them the best way we know, until we find our comfort in the loss. But it is at times like these, when my world, albeit far removed from Mark's family's, is shaken. The ultimate realization makes me consider my own spirituality and ways to wrap my thoughts, my feelings around this truth, trying to answer the question of why. There are so many facets of what this event will cause; how his wife will move on, what his daughter's life will now be without her dad.<br />
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Everything changes. Our peace is individual, and found within our intuitive selves, and it is totally human to mourn for such loss. This brings back to me, the absolute truth that we have only now, this moment. We can plan, hope, and of course, that is what we do within our lives, but ultimately, all we really have is now. And with that, my thoughts, my healing and peaceful energy are sent to Cindy, Samantha and the rest of Mark's family, that they find their comfort in Mark's living and accomplishments, and in the love he shared with them all. Peaceful journey, Mark.Bonniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02037478211980594624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3274569302871746122.post-64929496396294938262011-01-17T09:43:00.001-06:002011-01-17T09:45:02.233-06:00Dear Bonnie...A Letter to My Younger SelfBonnie;<br />
omygod, Honey!! Please don't be afraid to lose, to be wrong, to err. The biggest gift you can give to your young self is to try, to put every fear out there to be tested, because the fear will lose. Try everything that is in your heart and mind. It is not an embarrassment to be wrong; we are all wrong from time to time. The real error is in hiding and in pulling the blanket over your head for comfort, because when you do that, notice the lack of breath, the walls closing in. You are smarter and braver than you imagine. To strive every day, to be the best you, is a gift of the universe, the intention of your soul. Baby steps are ok - just <i>step</i> - step out into the sand, walk the miles with a smile. It is amazing out here and I want you to experience, to flourish, to break through that shell to see it all.<br />
Love<br />
BonnieBonniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02037478211980594624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3274569302871746122.post-75651001055914218122010-12-28T10:09:00.000-06:002010-12-28T10:09:49.081-06:00For 2011...and For LifeI am not a resolution maker person. Not that I don't have areas I'd like to improve upon - as a matter of fact, big ones; I just don't wait until one year passes and another begins to make such decisions. Today, though, it seemed fitting that my next steps were awakened as I read a friend's facebook post asking, "What promises would you make to yourself if you knew you could keep them in 2011?" Simultaneously, I recalled a recent conversation with a friend in which she excitedly shared her plans for a more active career, while my desires include less career and more fun. I realized how opposite our goals are, and how deeply I feel mine.<br />
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I am one extremely fortunate woman. In two years I have accomplished much. I moved to a state I love, I live in a community I love, found a great job, and- a plus- I don't hate going in each day! I enjoy excellent health, wonderful pets, a 2001 vehicle which gets me where I need to be. I have a wonderful son and a few close friends. I am at a weight I never thought I'd see, and don't remember being at - ever, and I am happy there.<br />
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My next challenge is to be in love...with me. Truly in love with the person I go to sleep with and wake up with every day. Truly in love with what I see in the mirror, what I feel in my heart, even a pass when mistakes are made.<br />
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Anyone who has consciously made life-altering changes, as most of us have, understands our reactions, those inner voices, are an ingrained part of our programming, therefore, we don't think about them at all. We simply follow the path as always, without recognition; even when the path doesn't feel exactly right. I am fortunate that I do recognize, and I act. My life has unfolded greatly and wonderfully over the past two years, and I can sense that it is now time for this major challenge, so that I will continue to grow and to realize a life of true happiness. I would love to have more friendships, I would love to feel a deep contentment with my life-whatever I make it to be, and I have been considering the possibility that I might want a partner to share with. All of these "wishes" will be granted, when I know my worth, fall in love with my spirit and soul and simply grin at mistakes, brushing them off as one would a falling leaf from a shoulder.<br />
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For me, the process will include catching those inner scoldings and turning them into a softer, kinder voice. To tell myself that I am OK as I am, and the trickier part-to BELIEVE it! Including when my coarse hair is having a mind of its own, including the times I forget a word, do something completely wrong when I thought I was doing it completely right, or even react as I wish I hadn't. Just as importantly, my process will include a deep confidence that we are all here trying to live our best lives--every one of us. There is solace in understanding we are all "one", ultimately, within nature. It is the belief that I am part of something much larger than my small world which offers me comfort within my struggles; that, plus success in achieving a purpose I've determined to realize.<br />
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I look forward to continuing what I have started and to confronting challenges. I know I will find a love for life which will translate into a happiness I have sought, but wasn't quite sure how to accomplish. How interesting, how freeing to know the answer begins here where I am - from the inside.Bonniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02037478211980594624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3274569302871746122.post-15763544664740010732010-12-17T19:38:00.001-06:002010-12-17T19:56:03.702-06:00It's Time....I have a peaceful feeling this holiday season. I was once the excited child, filled with anticipation and joy for that one day a year when things would magically appear under our christmas tree, and the cookies and milk left for santa would be gone in the morning. I cherish those memories! As a young adult, I continued to enjoy making the holiday season special with decorations, gifts, and the camaraderie of friends and relatives. Setting up the day for my young son was especially fun and I loved watching his beautiful eyes in awe on that special morning. The holiday season always brought with it a happy spirit, an anticipation of something special about to happen.<br />
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I have also felt the opposite of this joy for the holiday season. Through various life events, I have found myself all but alone on some christmas days, few gifts to buy for cherished friends or relatives, no special party plans; exactly like those people I read about or saw on television, but never dreamed I would be. From one extreme to the other, to be sure, like the see-saw; very high, and oh so low. It was difficult to believe that I had stepped from one place to the other in one short lifetime.<br />
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This year, there is a sweet difference. There is no doubt, the day itself will hold little for me in the way of special whatevers. Instead of mourning that fact, though, I feel the brink of a new discovery about to happen. I feel a new attitude for this season about to emerge. I believe I will begin to identify what I want it to be, for maybe this, and certainly future holiday seasons. I can buy into the commercialism, the believing these few days each year <i>should be</i> this or that, lest I fall to dust. But I choose not to do that now. I am going to settle with it somewhere in between that child who felt the magic and that woman who sat alone in the dark feeling sorry for herself. Everything changes. This, I must say, feels really really good. Wish me Luck!Bonniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02037478211980594624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3274569302871746122.post-79485142579920757712010-12-15T08:47:00.002-06:002010-12-15T11:00:06.565-06:00Remembering the Day<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black;">Today is December 15, 2010 at 734A, and today is my birthday. I am one of those people who feel birthdays should be "special", celebrated with abandon, family and friends participating, and OK, yes, maybe a few gifts. Today is a special one for me, because during the year just passed, I have enjoyed growth and peace of mind unprecedented in my life. I celebrate that reality. And today, I will not go into work, choosing instead to be leisurely on this cold, wintery day. <o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">As I thought about this day, December 15, it occurred to me that each of us has a special day we call our birthday; that day which will forever be "ours" in that sense. The day we, hopefully, look forward to with plans made, and, similar to the new year, maybe make resolutions for the year to come. I also realized that certain days take us, in memory, to people who were special to us. I thought of my grandparents and the fact that I don't remember when their birthdays were, except I believe my maternal grandmother might have been October 19, my paternal grandfather was close to that date. I have no recollection of my paternal grandmother's birthday. My maternal grandfather died when I was very young, and I never knew when his was at all. These people have been gone from this life for many years, and it is possible I simply forgot after all this time, but it seems to me I would remember if I had helped them to celebrate their special days. I thought of my son, who will always recall December 15 as his mom's birthday, with, I hope, thoughts of times we've enjoyed together in a warm and happy way. Of course, we don't need a date to remember special people, but those days can trigger memories of times of togetherness, of laughter and smiles and eating all the wrong food. Celebrations of life.</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black;">Today, I will definitely celebrate December 15, 2010 as a great day for me, for what life is at this moment and for what it will be each moment I have to live it. I have learned it is vitally important to cherish each day because with each day comes another chance to be better, to live fully and well, to be kind, to recognize I am a part of nature, of the universe, as we all are. And along the way, I will encounter others on their paths, and hopefully, in a few very special instances, friendships will be formed. I cherish December 15, because it is MY special day, and it is MY reminder of a life lived well and looking forward to more.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>Bonniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02037478211980594624noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3274569302871746122.post-83115701396826725272010-12-11T09:26:00.001-06:002010-12-11T17:21:40.894-06:00In Between 5 and 30, You Take What You Can Get<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">I watch him leave again; He is tall, slender, never lingering to chat or to share.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 7.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">An hour for lunch, No, nothing is new, Maybe dinner sometime?</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 7.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">I cherish him now as I cherish that child, who, in my presence, took first steps, went to first grade, learned to swim, batted that ball outta the park.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 7.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">I tell him, often, he is loved, and He returns the favor.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 7.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">And, now, as I watch the car move away from me, the one taking my son, there is a sense of loss - just a twinge.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 7.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">The child, whose world I was once prominent in, is off to his own world now, as I fall into the distance</span>Bonniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02037478211980594624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3274569302871746122.post-79547365452573753192010-12-11T09:25:00.002-06:002010-12-11T17:21:40.895-06:00September 11, 2001<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.8pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It was like being at a wake where everyone tries to move around with normalcy when none exists.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The reality permeated the cells of our existence;</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><i><span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">how could the navigator of that plane not see that large, tall building</span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">?</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Then it happened again, and another went down in Pennsylvania, and I couldn't help but worry where and when the next horror would be.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The day continued with a dull silence and emptiness that could not be erased.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A few days later, I went to a local fair and came upon a beautiful quilt made by a woman who was on the flight to California for a vacation.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">She dropped off her beautiful artwork first, for all to enjoy.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Bonniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02037478211980594624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3274569302871746122.post-87517639259535632262010-12-11T09:23:00.001-06:002010-12-11T17:21:40.896-06:00In Between the Shower and the Window<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">Caught..Dripping with remnants of the warm shower rain.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 7.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">She remembers, just out of there, that she forgot what she needed - and it's over there, past that window of obviousness.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 7.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">Creeping near, her eyes inspect; And there He is, standing, contemplating - what?</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 7.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">She has seen him there before, all sweated and dripping ~ like her ~ and turning with a fleeting nod.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 7.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">He is pretty fine; and Maybe he might take a look now; Will he know she is there at the window with nothing but beaded drops covering nothing?</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 7.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">She hesitates, not wanting him to know that she feels transparent in her display; As she looks ahead and walks, slowly, past the window</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 7.5pt;">.<o:p></o:p></span></div>Bonniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02037478211980594624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3274569302871746122.post-87586795370801030132010-12-11T08:48:00.002-06:002010-12-11T17:21:40.897-06:00You Were My Guy...<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Dad;</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I suppose it is where I live now, emotionally and spiritually, that brings me back to you. This realization only occurred to me recently, and I find it freeing and truthful and so important - for me.</span><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> <b>You were my guy</b>. </span></i><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You were more important to me than anyone, including, most likely, myself. You were strength, character, forthright. You were driven and successful in your career. I will never try to minimize your accomplishments, because you are self-made and, still, I appreciate and respect those qualities.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>You were my guy.</i> Do you know? Did it ever, even once, occur to you, the reality that I wanted, <u>needed</u> your acceptance; that my growth depended upon you to be my guide, my protector, the person who talked to me with interest and kindness? I cannot speak for you, all I have is my intuition and the conclusions I have reached over the years, for lack of knowing you in that way. And, unfortunately, forever in this life, I will not enjoy speaking with you or visiting with you or remembering my childhood with you. I will recall how inadequate I always felt while in your company, how embarrassed I was in so many situations with you as a child, the fact that I've loved you and hated you. Most of all, I will always wish we lived differently with each other. I wrote a blog inspired by words of Lynn Redgrave which were published after her death. It spoke of her own relationship with her dad. I entitled it, "I didn't really know him. I lived in his house..."; her words, which resonated with me immediately.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The purpose of this letter is to tell you how it is for me. In person, this conversation would be overtaken by your denial and insistence that everything was fine. It would be overtaken by your insistence that your own childhood was fine. That is your right, except those lies keep us in the dark for each other. And, I truly believe you are completely unaware that these are my feelings, or if you decided to, that you could have a real conversation of sharing and honesty. I don't believe you could do it, even if you gave it all you had.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So, Dad, I want you to know, <i>You Were My Guy! </i>What a difference you could have made for me in the most positive of ways, for my relationships with men and in how I have seen myself! <i>You Were My Guy! </i>And you failed me. I am so sorry, but you failed me! I love what you were for me in spirit, I hate what you were for me in life.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Today, I am very well, and I have worked hard to get here. Today, the physical and emotional distance between us works well for me. Today, I know you much better. To know <i>you were my guy</i>....brings loving feelings. I have the capacity to give love and hopefully, accept love - some day, in a true sense I haven't yet experienced. Not because you showed me how it could and should be. Not because I remember my father with love for the kindness and guidance given to me when I needed it most. Not because of you at all, except for the struggling to reach out of the hole. Except, yes, you can take credit for the hole and the struggle. Congratulations.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i> <b>Dad, You Were My Guy.</b></i><b>..</b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> Your Daughter, Bonnie</span>Bonniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02037478211980594624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3274569302871746122.post-42029598999551480722010-12-04T10:04:00.000-06:002010-12-11T17:21:40.898-06:00The Winter of Life<b>Winter</b>..<i>It's</i> coming again.<br />
And until I am living in a place much warmer than this, I'm sure I will dread that fact - less now, but still. So, why is it I simply don't get over it; this fact of winter cold? Not sure I have that complete answer, except it pisses me off to be cold. It is insulting and biting and hard. I'm pretty sure this hasn't been a life-long hatred, but rather a carefully cultivated one of years. And still, I cannot say why. Maybe because now, as the adult, I am tasked with all of the chore of it and no longer see the fun. But that still leaves the cold to the bone ache and resentment.<br />
<br />
A couple who lives next door packed a very large u-haul with what appeared to be most of their possessions, including a golf cart, and headed away from here to a place or places I can only imagine. I dream they are going more southward, or maybe west, to chase warmer days and nights, to bask in their freedom and companionship; and I wish I were like them for that simple reason. Then, my mind comes around to "that" love - the one where two people love to share time and space and plans. Yes, I'd love to have that, and I believe I will.<br />
<br />
I am living a life of astonishing emotional strength. I've acquired a depth I never dreamed possible. And it will continue. I already love the adventures to come, and welcome them with open arms. No one could be more grateful. And knowing I am responsible for all of it, spiritually, willfully, is immensely powerful and freeing.Bonniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02037478211980594624noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3274569302871746122.post-5508426838807827182010-11-21T19:36:00.000-06:002010-12-11T17:21:40.899-06:00Where Once There Was Sadness....I am nearly fifty eight years old. How could THAT have happened?! I doubt I will ever again look into the mirror and see what I would truly like to see, except that sparkle, the one I've just found. It's there to stay.<br />
There are many things I could say, or share, about aging. Some are quite obvious: the wrinkling laughter lines, the grey hair (under another color now), gravity kicking in all over the place, even that it is largely an attitude. Aging is for maturity and a wisdom of sorts. Who hasn't heard another say, "If I could only go back and know what I know today"? And, after about age 30, most understand the meaning of that statement.<br />
<br />
For many years, I thought of the time with special friends I once knew, long away from me, as a loss. A loss, for the short time we had together; a loss because I never quite duplicated those special moments. Today, while I would likely still opt to have stayed around them longer if I could, I know those young friendships helped me understand closeness and its value. I struggled with many aspects of my life, because I didn't know my worth, or more accurately, felt I had little. I have been an under-achiever in every aspect of the word, because of fear; fear of not knowing, fear of being wrong or making mistakes, fear of being afraid. I have made decisions based on emotional neediness, and have given away friendships, in some cases, long-lasting friendships, in favor of a kind word or a vague interest in my direction. I would accept just about any behavior, at least for a time, if a boy or man was behind it. I have been judgmental, quick-tempered, angry, narrow-minded, and....sad.<br />
<br />
Spirituality, my version of it, has recently become a part of my life. Not the bible answering, god will strike me dead kind. The kind that understands nature is god, or my preference of term, the universe. The kind that understands through intuition and living in gratitude, that the universal spirit is in all of us. IN us; not a separate something in the sky we call a "him" which no one truly understands, likely because it makes no sense. Spirituality which answers to a generous spirit, graciousness, giving thanks, and even an understanding that asking to be the best I can in this life is an important part of living it. It is an insult to the universe, to god, to be less than. Finding my spirituality was the beginning of life opening for me, and it happened through meditation, in an instant, when I pondered the question of what was missing; how could I move forward? Yes, in an instant! I continue to work on my best life every day. Not, however, without mistakes, not without anger, not without learning what being my best truly means. I now understand that challenges are the universe's way of helping us along the path of growth, and can even be thankful for those struggles.<br />
<br />
I titled this blog, "Where Once There Was Sadness", because that is mostly where I've been, in a general sense. That is true, because I didn't know what I wanted or needed, I didn't know how to speak for myself in any meaningful way. That is true because I didn't know a childhood with love or inclusion. That road will take each of us in different directions, depending upon our realizing - or not; depending upon whether we want to take the time, make the effort to get from here to wherever "there" is for us. I am that person. How fortunate I am!<br />
<br />
Today, realizations are key for me. They help guide me in a direction that feels so right for me now, it is almost like living another life. (Yes, there's a blog about that too). Law of attraction is alive and well and available for everyone to grasp. It expounds upon the value in each of us, shows there is more abundance in the universe, in every way, than we can possibly imagine, and we are all entitled to our share of that abundance. Believe it.<br />
<br />
Interestingly, my mother has recently told me that she realizes I was not happy as a child, and she now hears a difference in my voice, in my hopes and intentions for my future; heck for my today! When others, who know us, can point out these truths, a pretty special revelation occurs; one that supports the universal abundance available to all of us. Because that's what I am doing. I have done nothing more than listen, accept what resonates for me, and live it. And it has made all the difference in this life. If you only knew...Bonniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02037478211980594624noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3274569302871746122.post-3878622327066895462010-09-05T11:19:00.008-05:002010-12-11T17:21:25.030-06:00Two Lives<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I have lived two lives; two distinctly different and fulfilling long term engagements with myself. </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The first was over fifty years in length. Those years took me from birth to about two years ago when I moved to a new state, changing everything completely and utterly. Within those First Life years I did the obligatory school thing, moved three times during high school, married and divorced three times</span></span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">(</span></span><span class="apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">hmm, just noticing the thing about threes</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">)</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">, danced, sang, my sister became my friend. I found I love to distance walk, write, decorate, organize and other anal activities too numerous to mention here.</span></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">My first life was a good one. I will not complain about mistakes in judgment, nor the road I shoulda taken. I was adequately housed, fed, and learned at an early age to be as self-sufficient as one can be at that point. Through those years, I was an average student, unsure of what I wanted, liked or loved, fearful to speak when I should have. I was totally lost within. I married young, lived a good life, divorced and started again. I earned enough money to support my young son and myself, to proudly watch him grow into the exceptional man he is today. I've purchased homes without the assistance of anyone on earth, I went to college in my forties, resulting in bachelors and masters degrees. I have loved, made great friendships, struggled with who or what I am, and where to be. I was fortunate to work in a large corporation for over twenty years, growing and learning there while living in a beautiful area of the country - if we don't consider the winter season. Suffice to say, too long, too much shoveling, scraping, and literally life-threatening road conditions, and if I never ever see another snowflake I will consider that a really good thing. Therefore, the move to another state.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Although I didn't appreciate it at the time, looking back now, I am of the belief that it was likely more a good than bad experience to have lived in different states along the way. I have been privileged to be exposed to different cultures, and learn that this is a huge world, full of opportunity and differences and wonderful open arms. I have learned that not every word or thought that pops into my brain needs to pop out of my mouth. I held anger within, although I didn't know I was angry~then. I learned to be tenacious, lacked patience-mostly with me, and longed to have peace of mind, to know why I felt the way I did, and sought various forms of assistance in getting there.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><i><u><span style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Enter Life Two</span></span></span></u></i><span style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">:</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">EEEHHHAAA!!! This is very new, more profound than I can put into words, magical, miraculous and all the superlatives I can think of which are positive and glowing in nature. It was definitely not an overnight success; few truly exist. As my life continued in Life One, I knew I wanted and most assuredly needed to feel more at peace with me. I didn't exactly know how to get from A to B, although I consider myself extremely intuitive and able to dissect many issues and points. I recently read my journals dating back over twenty years where I lament basically the same issues within myself and my life that I continued to journalize recently. I could hardly believe it! But there it was in print. And it was time to get past it all and to really</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">live</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">. So, the move to the new state has been completely positive, although not without challenges. New state = new place to live, new job, new friends, maneuvering around to new places... Not as easy as it sounds, depending on ones dysfunction, attitude, and tenacity.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I looked for a job for about a year and a half before I found the perfect one. I bagged groceries for a week, cleaned the home of a large family for four weeks, tried to build businesses, applied for more jobs than I can remember. Regardless of my great experience, few opportunities for interviews came my way. All of that intertwined with getting to Bonnie. Getting to the soul, the spirit, the core of who that person truly is and can be for a most happy life. And, fortunately for me, I had time. Leaving my long term job allowed me to have financial stability for a while, so that I could think and read and discuss and reach out to find her; I knew she was there somewhere, I could feel her waiting for the reaching. I worked with a hugely talented life coach, after months of pondering whether that was what I truly wanted and needed.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">It was</span></span></u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">. Within that process, this wonderful woman asked the right questions, bringing out the answers I needed to hear. She guided me through points I could not quite unearth for myself, not for lack of trying. It was a completely and profoundly positive experience which was a major point in bringing me to this Life Two point.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">For me, this has been pretty much a lifelong process. I have not always realized certain aspects, going along in my daily whatevers. Realizations are key for healing, acknowledging and moving on. I learned about Law of Attraction from a new friend, which I have welcomed into my life, let it settle in there, and I tap on it pretty much daily.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><u>It works</u></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">. I figured, if I got nothing more than a positive outlook, that in itself was well worth it. I have received so much more. Believing, understanding that the universe in all its abundance has enough for everyone. What a wonderful affirmation! And, it's true..</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black;">Like any addiction, some major points may be with me always, rearing ugliness from time to time in the form of inner voice or reaction to specific situations. Now that I know what they are, understand why they are here with me, they can be dealt with, while I make it clear I will not go along with those anymore. I am happier today than any point in my life. I have a peace of mind I could only imagine, and I am beginning to like what I bring to this life and to be comfortable within. I will make mistakes, probably bad decisions from time to time. I will likely not be the happiest driver on the road, and I struggle to have patience in many circumstances. I will never be perfect. What I have now is far better. I express gratitude every day for this life, for my spirit, for the person I am. I feel it is now my job to find the special people who will be in my life, to give back, to be gracious and generous. I am ready for my true purpose here; I welcome it lovingly and with unlimited openness for each moment. Mostly, I am humbled and grateful for being me-now in Life Two.<o:p></o:p></span></div></span></div>Bonniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02037478211980594624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3274569302871746122.post-7093704079542099562010-09-04T07:47:00.000-05:002010-12-11T17:21:40.900-06:00I Cannot Be With You<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 19px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Sometimes I shudder with memory; another person walked through my life then.</span></span><br />
<div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I have grown to love solitude, space, time - without you.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I do not feel a </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">need</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> to hear you, to feel you, eventually to know the distance between us.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">To realize what it takes..the trying, trying, the endless creating and waiting for you, causes me to cringe with fear and exhaustion.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I cannot be with you; it matters not the beauty in your eyes as you smile at me, nor the words I once longed for.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I will turn away from the</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">growing eagerness of your touch; i</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">t is just too much and I cannot/will not disrupt my perfect aloneness.</span></div>Bonniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02037478211980594624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3274569302871746122.post-14723679879504554592010-09-02T20:19:00.000-05:002010-12-11T17:21:40.901-06:00Can You Hear Me?<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">She was startled awake by incessant ringing from another room. Slowly, she scuffed across the cold, wooden floor, beckoned to the sound growing louder. As she opened one eye, she found herself facing the sofa, she knelt down to where the noise was emanating from, reached between the cushions, and pulled out a cell phone. Searching the small screen for identification, she saw only a series of stars displayed. She opened the receiver and answered, “Hello?” Leaning into the sofa with the phone to her ear, static was all she heard. “Hello?” she repeated. She was drifting back to sleep, sitting on the floor, when the voice from within the phone answered. “Katie, it’s me.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">“Who is ME?” was Katie’s response, thinking it strange, this person from within a cell phone she didn’t own would know her name.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">“It’s your gram, Katie!” the voice startled Katie awake. Katie’s gram had been dead for several years. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">“Who is this, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">really</i>?” Katie asked the voice. “I’m not in the mood for harassment so late at night.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">“It is REALLY your gram, Katie!” the voice insisted. “I can prove it; ask me a question only you and gram would know.” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Katie’s interest was piqued. Clearly now, she remembered the close relationship with her grandmother, the smell of sugar cookies baking in her kitchen, her rose cologne. She was, indeed, a special person in Katie’s life. Thinking of her, she felt a longing to talk to her again, wishing she could be enveloped in her big hugs. Katie quizzed the voice, “What was gram’s middle name?” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">“That’s an easy one. Rose.” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">She thought of the one thing only the two of them knew. “What was the gift gram gave me that no one else was aware of?” Katie thought to herself, now she had this silly caller stumped, would hang up and get back to dreaming.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">“It was a heart pendant. I gave it to you for your graduation.” the voice answered bluntly, saying no more.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Katie was in shock, still in disbelief that this voice could be her grandmother calling from another realm. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">“Katie, I want to talk to you, to tell you I never meant to hurt you!” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">The memory of when her gram did hurt her rushed back, leaving a sinking feeling in her stomach. Katie recalled when she was in the hospital; when the doctors thought she might not make it. She waited for her gram to visit, to hold her hand and comfort her, and was disappointed that she never did. Katie’s hurt feelings told her the grandmother she cherished so deeply must not care for her after all. Later, she realized her gram could not bear to see her so ill. “I know you love me, gram; I know you felt helpless when I was so sick.” Katie began speaking to the voice she now conceded must be the grandmother she missed so deeply. “I wear the pendant every day; many times it has given me strength because it was from you, gram.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Katie heard a deep sigh, as if she had relieved the pain her grandmother carried through death.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">“I love you, Katie.” the voice exclaimed, as the phone went silent, and the light went to dark. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">“Gram?” Katie realized her grandmother was gone again. As she closed the receiver, she noticed it was daybreak, the sun was creeping over the hills outside her window, and she suddenly felt a deep sense of calm. She clasped the cell phone lovingly in her hands, brought it to her bedroom, and placed it within the box where she also kept the heart pendant. Silently, she hoped there would be another call.</div>Bonniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02037478211980594624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3274569302871746122.post-7786688741951392222010-08-15T11:28:00.000-05:002010-12-11T17:21:40.902-06:00Leaving<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">For all the right reasons, she reached out to another life.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Reality and sustenance called to her with vengeance and light.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">She fears stepping over the boundary; Will it take her back where she doesn't belong?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Slowly now she goes..baby steps on a landmine.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Knowing she is smart, capable and wise, fearing she is not.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">With joy, trepidation, love and angst, she opens the door.</span>Bonniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02037478211980594624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3274569302871746122.post-25921364733095776462010-08-06T08:03:00.001-05:002010-12-11T17:21:40.902-06:00Til Next Time<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">"It's happening again", she thought to herself.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Waiting, again - Waiting for him to keep his word, he said he would this time.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Standing out there, alone, again, the words form in her mind, "You sonofa...!"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">"Perfect!", she exclaims to no one, as the rain descends on her mood.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Her watch tells her it's too late; She is thrown away.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">And she wonders exactly what she will do - next time.</span>Bonniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02037478211980594624noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3274569302871746122.post-83664466214417555492010-08-05T07:46:00.003-05:002010-12-11T17:21:40.903-06:00The Ugly SweaterDarla sat next to the girl in the pretty pink dress, in the front seat of a car that delivered them to kindergarten, where they would sing about being "a little teapot, short and stout", and they would learn A-B-C...<br />
The radio was silent when the girl in the beautiful dress began pushing its buttons, click click click click.....<br />
Thinking, "that looks like fun", Darla joined in, and they continued, click click, until, abruptly, the driver swatted at her hand, demanding, "Stop!"<br />
"She's doing it!" Darla mumbled, feeling the warmth of embarrassment fill her face.<br />
Without looking at her, the driver answered, "She'll stop."<br />
Darla looked down at the ugly sweater she was wearing, striped and red, knowing if she were prettier, she would be allowed to play; and the buttons continued to click click click.....Bonniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02037478211980594624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3274569302871746122.post-69303860081658105482010-08-04T07:46:00.000-05:002010-12-11T17:21:40.904-06:00Going, Going...Gone!<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Nellie sensed fear in their voices, their worn work glove faces told of foreboding.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The orphaned shell, once her farmhouse, spit her out in disgust and anger</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">So, Nellie and her best friend, Roger cat, found their safe place on a tractor in the desolate wasteland where crops once flourished.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">She recalled fun times riding with her dad, and longed to have him beside her again.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">But the world was turning, life was becoming cold, and Nellie knelt on that seat, vice grip hands clinging to the wheel of her flying machine.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">As her parents moved toward her with suitcases and tears, she was the beautiful bird soaring high and far away.</div></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE5rVdfEhzCFMSmKBCrtz4ciZCQ01ZSJVGZDhusRlhWapNtNosnFZ4-B93HRbwKdnaySaewXgPuJovCzoBIrA5tRhUuyxHs6qaHRjc80zeh1P3j8PNzJLAlAiXoN_IXcOcq6GtMTbYHFAw/s1600/Handley+Art.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" bx="true" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE5rVdfEhzCFMSmKBCrtz4ciZCQ01ZSJVGZDhusRlhWapNtNosnFZ4-B93HRbwKdnaySaewXgPuJovCzoBIrA5tRhUuyxHs6qaHRjc80zeh1P3j8PNzJLAlAiXoN_IXcOcq6GtMTbYHFAw/s200/Handley+Art.jpg" width="156" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Art by Mike Handley</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Bonniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02037478211980594624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3274569302871746122.post-38544696457855802832010-08-03T07:45:00.000-05:002010-12-11T17:21:28.686-06:00The PlanShe was a 25 year old mother of six children, waiting for the next to happen.<br />
She married the son of her father's good friend, and they lived on a farm they didn't own.<br />
The soil was rich, the cows gave milk faithfully, and the chickens provided eggs for breakfast.<br />
Every day was the same; there was nothing more to life.<br />
So, in the early hours of that morning, before he arose to tend to the chickens, and while the children dreamed in their beds, she took her carefully-packed suitcase from under their bed, and disappeared into history.<br />
The note she left explained, "sometimes it's better to walk away." and she did.Bonniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02037478211980594624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3274569302871746122.post-8767032223745476692010-08-02T07:45:00.000-05:002010-12-11T17:21:40.905-06:00We're Not Out of the WoodsIt was a lifetime ago I was with him; and even today, I love him.<br />
Just being with him, I instantly sizzled inside, I wanted to swallow every part of him so he would stay.<br />
For years we enjoyed sharing life, with an ever-present distance that could not be explained.<br />
I did not understand when he said, "We are not out of the woods", knowing I wanted more; fearful this is where we would stay.<br />
It ended, sadly; He left the woods, with me behind missing him in my life; maybe today.<br />
But I took with me a sense of giving and patience he doesn't know he gave me; because I was left alone, in the woods; He could not hear me tell himBonniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02037478211980594624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3274569302871746122.post-66646838142523661822010-08-01T07:44:00.000-05:002010-12-11T17:21:40.906-06:00I Believe in Sex!It's a well-documented phenomenon, that, as we age, many seek spirituality in a quest for the meaning of life, for salvation when it's done.<br />
Now that I've reached "a certain age", I am revisiting the issue of belief, and what it means for me.<br />
Today, I decided to believe in sex; it can be spiritual- taking me to places unreachable by vehicle or pony; and talk about "giving witness"!<br />
I have had varying experiences in this area; some leaving me wondering why I bothered to get undressed, while others showed me the way and the hope.<br />
So, I've decided I shall seek more inner sanctum in the area of sex.<br />
If I believe what I read, sex will help me retain some sense of youth, and it's great for continued good health, communing with others, not to mention exercise of vocal cordsBonniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02037478211980594624noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3274569302871746122.post-61300601535512001522010-05-22T07:28:00.001-05:002010-12-11T17:21:40.907-06:00The ConnectionAfter so long, it wasn't easy to trust those feelings..those thoughts.<br />
But she didn't want to give up; She just didn't want to try anymore.<br />
Maybe sometime later; Sometime when they would meet and look into each other with lingering interest.<br />
Maybe sometime later; When they would touch, first gently on their hands.<br />
And that touch flies through her, penetrating places now awakening.<br />
She smiles, her eyes glistening, moving closer into him.Bonniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02037478211980594624noreply@blogger.com0