Celebrate Her. You.

A long time girlfriend needed to reminded of this again today. She is 'She'. You are 'She'. We are all nourishing nurturers and give life. Sometimes we all need to remember what's true.

"She"

by Kobi Yamada (Compendium Inc-a yummy site)

She must be something special. She is.

Celebrate her.
She loved life and it loved her back.

Celebrate her passion.
She listened to her heart above all other voices.

Celebrate her wisdom.
She pursued big dreams instead of small realities.

Celebrate her priorities.
She saw every ending as a new beginning.

Celebrate her resiliency.
She discovered her real measurements had nothing to do with numbers or
statistics.

Celebrate her self-esteem.
She was kind, loving and patient…with herself.

Celebrate her tenderness.
She woke up one day and threw away all her excuses.

Celebrate her accountability.
She realized that she was missing a great deal by being sensible.
Celebrate her spirit.
She turned her can’ts into cans, and her dreams into plans.

Celebrate her goals.
She ignored people who said it couldn’t be done.

Celebrate her independence.
She had a way of turning obstacles into opportunities.

Celebrate her magic.
She went out on a limb, had it break off behind her, and discovered
she could fly.

Celebrate her faith.
She discovered she was the one she’d been waiting for.

Celebrate her self-reliance.
She added so much beauty to being human.

Celebrate her presence.
She walked in when everyone else walked out.

Celebrate her friendship.
She just has this way of brightening the day.

Celebrate her radiance.
She made the whole world feel like home.

Celebrate her warmth.
She decided to enjoy more and endure less.

Celebrate her choices.
She decided to start living the life she’d imagined.

Celebrate her freedom.
She colored her thoughts with only the brightest hues.

Celebrate her optimism.
She was an artist and her life was her canvas.

Celebrate her brilliance.
She ran ahead where there were no paths.

Celebrate her bravery.
She crossed borders recklessly, refusing to recognize limits, saying
bonjour and buon giorno as though she owned both France and Italy and
the day itself.

Celebrate her joie de vivre.
She held her head high and looked the world straight in the eye.
Celebrate her strength.
She not only saw a light at the end of the tunnel she became that
light for others.

Celebrate her compassion.
She designed a life she loved.

Celebrate her joy.
She took the leap and built her wings on the way down.

Celebrate her daring.
She said bye-bye to unhealthy relationships.

Celebrate her happiness.
She remained true to herself.

Celebrate her authenticity.
She made the world a better place.

Celebrate her.

Brown Paper Bag

Any kind of plain brown kraft paper is one of my hot buttons. Anything made from it I like. I'll buy something if it has a label made from it. Cards, packages, bags, stationary, envelopes, cardstock, tags, packaging, etc. There is some kind of organic connection when I touch it, bringing the same comfort as I remember when sucking my thumb. Weird? Can't help it, it's true.

Flashy glittery things have never really appealed to me. Natural things appeal more than synthetic things.

I'd rather be at the water's edge than buy a fountain. I'd rather use compost than fertilizing pellets. I'd rather have an old wooden boat than a Bayliner. I'd rather be there in a mud floored palapa than be trapped on a cruise. I'd rather buy from the artist than have a made in china one. I'd rather have a bag of potatoes than a box of instant. The list could go on for miles.

This is a quote from a post last February entitled, "Amazingly Plain and Brown":

I am married to a plain brown potato who is more precious than any words could express. He is priceless. He is my beloved and amazingly plain and brown.

We fit, as not only do I love plain brown kraft paper, but I very much am a plain brown paper bag.

Brown paper bags still come in handy at times, even in our high tech world. Hopefully.

True Colors

Cyndi Lauper's "True Colors" lyrics shake and sort me out at times. What if we saw each other like this? What if we lived like we knew our Maker sees us like this?

But I see your true colors
shining through
I see your true colors
and that's why I love you
so don't be afraid to let them show
your true colors
true colors are beautiful
like a rainbow

A curtsy to you my beloved, for making me, rainbows and so many astonishing colors. Thank YOU! You take my breath away too!

No Fleas

This morning was one of those days. Morning is never prime for me, but this day, well...........hope it makes someone laugh.

We went on vacation a couple weeks ago. Before we left, along with other chores, I gave Maggie a good scrubbing with her special oatmeal flea shampoo so she would look and smell pretty for our friends who were keeping her.

Blinded by sleep and the shower, I reached for shampoo this morning. After thoroughly working up a thick suds, I noticed it felt different and smelled different than usual. Realizing it was Maggie's flea shampoo, I frantically rinsed and rinsed. I'm officially without fleas today. I hope my brains haven't been compromised!

After my shower adventure, I went to the pile of unfolded laundry on the couch and pulled out my jeans. Uh-Oh~ eating well and relaxing sure put some pounds on me. EEEEEK, I couldn't get them up properly and instinctively knew they weren't going to be buttoning. The gap was too far apart. Laying down was not going to help. Huffing and puffing, I untangled from them and disgustedly looked at the tag. They were my daughter's. Can you imagine my relief? You know that commercial, 'These aren't your daughter's jeans" It's a lie. They were!

Today is good. No fleas, ticks or lice and I'm not any fatter than I was before. What joy. And my hair is really soft with a nice sprightly sheen.........

Altogether Nourishing Day

Tess and I watched nourishing movies today. PJ day all day! Mrs Palfrey at the Claremont, How About You and 84 Charing Cross Road. They were so sweet! A movie that is nourishing to your heart and soul leaves you watered, fertilized and 'dug around'. They were honest. Genuine. Hopeful.

After seeing 84 Charing Cross, I think I found my 'imaginary friend & muse to write to'. Don't worry, freak out or laugh, he's dead. In my mind's eye, every post from now on will begin with:

Frank Doel

Marks & Co.

Antiquarian Booksellers

84 Charing Cross Rd

London, England

Maybe I just crossed over into crazy with Gnarls Barkley? When it begins, Dear Frankie, umm, well, that means I've been blogging for 20 years?

Book Grazing at Powell's

Last spring, a friend and I foraged and grazed for 3 days at Powell's Books. Once a year is not enough!

My journal scribbles from that luscious feast has a few treasures.

Here's one from "The Library at Night" by Alberto Manguel.

"Those who read, those who tell us what they read, those who noisily turn the pages of their books, those who have power over red and black ink, and over pictures, those are the ones who lead us, guide us, show us the way."

(Aztec Codex from 1524-Vatican Archives)

Miloli`i

On the flight to the Big Island, the clouds were underneath us. Why do I see hearts everywhere? Heart shaped rocks and heart shaped clouds? All different textures and shapes; pudgy, whispy, giant, slanted, ragged, flat, fluffy, split, lumpy, heavy, rough and smooth.

It seemed like the cloud cover was a heart quilt for 6 hours and it seemed like the volcano had spit out hundreds of acres of heart shaped lava in places where it was loose and broken up.

When we landed, we saw white coral placed on the black lava with peoples' names written, mile after mile. A person wouldn't want to disturb the sacredness, reusing the little pile or rearranging it. They numbered in hundreds! The island was covered with these. I wanted to know the story behind the names. It reminded me of Hugh McLeod's story of the white pebble: http://gapingvoid.com/2009/04/09/the-white-pebble/

We hiked into a hidden beach from the little village. We spent 3 of our 7 days there, picnicking, chunky dunking (skinny dipping for the overweight), snorkeling, sunbathing, burning the bottoms of our feet and drinking every drop of the frozen bottles of water melting in a timely fashion. We had it all to ourselves!

One day we drove to the lava tube which acts like a blood vein, but instead of blood, it transports hot molten lava to the ocean. It is quite a hike to the vista point, walking on black, hardened 'pudding'. Like some giant poured batter or pudding out of a huge bowl, making piles, ripples and puddles.

We all had to have a flashlight to get back without twisting an ankle or breaking our necks. Water was required along with proper shoes. Only Craig had the latter, we limped along floppily with flipflops!

When it was dark, the huge plunks of molten lava sprayed, splashed, sparkled and spit into the surf with amazing power and the deep red of forged iron. Sometimes it was a gurgle, others a massive glump. Hundreds of people watching together, awestruck at the same time, gave us a strange intimacy. Language, race, politics, culture, citizenship and religious beliefs were all different, yet being stunned into wonder repeatedly gave us a unique common unity, unspoken but felt deeply. It was the one and only 'tourist' thing we did.

Kanapala Road to the northeast of the lava tube was beautiful and gave us a picture of what the land probably looked like pre-lava covered. Lush. Green. Fertile. Jungle. We found warm pools, naturally fed in the rocks. Resting high on a bluff, overlooking the ocean, we heard and felt this intense long rhythmical rumble. The surf was so rough in this spot that the rough

lava chunks as big as a coffee table were moving in and out of the surf, roaring as they tumbled together, becoming smooth and round. This too was a black sand beach in the making. We watched, felt and heard. Now I can say, 'I have heard the mountains roar, rocks sing and watched water laugh while it effortlessly tossed boulders around like feathers.'

There were times at different beaches we explored, when one of us would get taken down, tumbled and ground into the sand; laughing hysterically at how powerless we were while getting scraped and bloodied, hoping rescue was close by. We got sand in places we didn't know we had places. Reminded me of my Santa Cruz childhood...

Craig finally got the rhythm of just 'being' instead of 'doing' by day 5. Us girls started immediately~

We grunged in the few comfy clothes we brought. Brita rebelled against flossing. Craig was a good sport in spite of his knee pain. We all scrounged for food when hungry. Tess still chose to laugh and include herself even though she felt dizzy and disoriented. Flying might not be in her future unless we can figure out a remedy.

What we all figured out is that all joy also has pain. Having fun takes work. They go together. I couldn't quit capturing images, storing them in my minds eye, of this family I'm blessed with. Just like we are, it was wonderful. All of it. We worked through the rough spots.

What has stayed with me more than the exquisite beauty of this ocean paradise, is the abundance of green plants thriving, rooting, growing, bearing fruit and flowers ~ on nothing but black, hot, unfriendly, uninviting lava! Bare lava without topsoil or any other kind.

This was the free take away for me.

There is a yiddish proverb that goes something like this: "Every blade of grass has an angel bending low, whispering grow, grow, grow."

Do dat.

Almost Magical Miloli`i

We're home! We had a late flight home to Seattle last night from the Big Island. Our little rental house with the big deck was perfect for our needs. The deck was high, overlooking ragged black lava washed and splashed relentlessly with sparkling white foam. A rare black sand beach in the making.

You know those images and longings for a picture perfect vacation? Quantities of quality time? Everything just right like the baby bear's porridge? Then comes the air sucking gulp of reality. The woops part~ we forgot this is real life part? Brita was car sick, for the entire 1 1/2 hour ride from the airport. Tess always has trouble after she flies from ear pressure making her nauseated and dizzy. The landscape was a bit of a shock. It was so bleak! We couldn't stop for groceries first, as the small trunk wouldn't have held much more, even though we all packed lightly. We would have to go back after unloading, which I was dreading! The beds squeaked loudly with each wriggle. There wasn't a beach, even though we were right on the water. I felt so responsible for every one's happiness, as I had chosen this place! The upcoming week didn't appear to have much promise. We have always traveled a bit eccentrically, but now it seemed like I had stepped over the line of strange!

Craig had the only cell phone, for emergencies. No TV. No wi-fi. No a/c. I had forgotten my stuffed book bag at home. The girls had purposely left their ipods at home. Just peace and quiet, here in nothingness and no-wheres-ville with only togetherness. The togetherness had a cranky taste, those first moments of nesting in.

Miloli'i is one of the last old fishing villages on the island. It is surrounded by lava flows old and new. We didn't know lava had so many different textures, colors and layers! It seemed dark, foreboding and destructive.

The first glimpse of really seeing with new eyes and appreciating the hidden glory was when we noticed the crushed lava used for driveways. Up close, we saw it was sprinkled with bits of lovely green glass, shining and winking in the sunshine. The more we looked, the more we saw. I thought; what if I opened my eyes and heart to the secret hidden beauty of this land that looks so bleak? We all decided privately to do so, making the rest of the story amazing, with an ending better than the beginning.

ithink

• everyone needs compassion
• families need vacations
• mom's can enjoy being homemakers
• cooking simple fresh food from the garden is rewarding
• using fresh herbs is satisfying
• laughing relieves burdens
• living in fear mutilates adventure
• warm hugs restore, infuse and under gird
• hot tea is like drinking courage from a cup
• making love is the cushion that softens the hard parts of life
• losing the list on people is the only way
• freedom to do and not to do is personal
• kissing is one of the most fun free things ever
• life rocks when my girls play the piano and sing duets
• Loverby lives with me in and understanding way whenever it is now
• gratefulness and thankfulness are the bottom line
• a loved woman exudes beauty that outer accouterments can't match
• observing a girl blossoming into a woman is fascinating
• appreciation refreshes the weary heart
• noticing is also worshipping
• sometimes helping is not helping

Sweet Communion

Our church family celebrates communion every other Sunday. It is a sweet lingering time of offering/serving the bread and wine to each other. There is soft music playing for about half an hour while people can be anointed with oil, prayed for by our pastor or women who can pray with women or men with men. It is simple and orderly while being unstructured and it has an ease and rhythm to it, naturally coming to an end. People look full and at peace leaving.

Yesterday I heard a story that brought me to tears. It really became a metaphor and symbol of what we are symbolically engaging in while we remember the life of love, sacrifice and service.

One brother in our church family is in the later stages of ALS. It is a disease that attacks the muscles in either your legs, arms or throat/mouth first, then the rest of the body until completely paralyzed. Ron lost the use of his arms first. He has never lost his smile, which lights up the room when he enters. His legs have recently given up, so he has been in a wheelchair for the first time this month, letting us get used to learning how to best serve him and his lovely wife during this next stage.

Dave pushed him over to the communion table and handed him the small cup and the broken cracker, not fully understanding that he wasn't able to hold it. Craig, standing by, quietly said that Ron needed it to be given to him as his hands didn't work. Dave, probably uncomfortable initially, tried handing it off to Craig, but Craig and Ron both steadfastly encouraged him to see it through. The brother who knew how to help was teaching the brother needing the help to teach the brother who wanted to help, how to do it. True brotherly love and true communion between men offering to serve each other. Sweet, sweet, sweet.