Thursday, April 15, 2021

 Another Post About Being Addicted to Sugar:












Three weeks ago I began trying to cut sugar out of my diet. The first week was a golden success! I felt empowered. Though it was very hard, dreaming of desserts every minute of the day and stuff like that, I didn't break. After day three I wasn't as mentally tortured and went through the rest of the week without breaking. Week two was more of the same type of mental war as week one, but I managed pretty successfully I would say. This week has been an absolute nightmare. Sunday I tried to give myself a cheat day. Caramel/cheese popcorn that I had ordered 2 months ago to support a fundraiser timely appeared as if by magic in the mail, which I shared with the family rather than inhaling all on my own. And later in the afternoon, I also had a few cookies. This is good for me. Listen, I know how to do desserts and sweet treats, and caramel corn and a few cookies are nowhere near my typical deep sweet dive. So, I checked it off as a reasonably sweet "cheat" day. Then, on Monday I struggled so badly (mentally). I didn't break, but I was so moody and down on myself. Tuesday was more of the same, wallowing in my inability, although I didn't break. Yesterday, I just couldn't take any more mental torture. I relented and ate the first sweet treat I could find in the house. There were still some cookies in the pantry, and I had 5 of them. Then this morning I had waffles with butter pecan syrup. They weren't good. The cookies, the waffles... It wasn't worth it. The batter was reactive on my tongue like there was an imbalance of baking soda in the mix. It was just gross. And the cookies were just blah. I don't like processed off-the-shelf sweets anyway, so I am actually pissed off that I ate that crap anyway. I either instance, there wasn't a feeling of "OMFG! That was so good, this is why I miss eating sweets!!" Like I imagined was the issue and used as a rationale to go ahead and indulge. I know more clearly now that giving in yesterday "fed a craving" like settling up with a fiend. I observe with more awareness of the truth behind it. It didn't feel indulgent it felt relieving. Like I had finally shushed the voices in my head begging for sugar, like a shameless thirsty toddler talkmbout "You got games on yo phone?"

I am an addict. Plain and simple. Sigh... I know that I need to embrace the notion that there will be days I will fail at this, and when it happens I should admit it to myself and to an accountability partner, pray for strength to change what I can, and get back to the discipline at hand rather than give up completely. But I am feeling pretty defeated. What if this just keeps happening? I have to figure out how to believe in myself cause right now I don't have the faith. And I have to get some more successful days under my belt, cause this one day good 3 days bad rollercoaster sucks. Why can't I do this...? ugh...

Tuesday, March 30, 2021

Time Lapse Resolutions

It has occurred to me, as I was searching my brain about where to write down some thoughts this morning, that this blog of mine still exists. "I wonder if that blog is still up, it's been years since I've logged in," I thought to myself. I sat down to the computer, "What are the names of popular blog spots these days?" I thought. "Blogspot, hmm, maybe that was the platform I used to use. Blog, blogging, blogger... Blogger!" That's it! So, I typed in the website, pressed enter, and lo and behold here it is. I was even still signed in. I was forwarded directly to my posts/edits on the main page. And there staring back at me was a list of blogs. Some published and a swimmingly long list of unpublished ones. 

As I perused through the list I thought how accurate a reflective snapshot this is of how I flounder through life. Doing work up to a certain level of progress before giving up. Starting and Stopping projects or resolutions. And speaking of resolutions... ironically, (and oh so predictably) it was a resolute thought that had brought me to this blog today. 

I am kicking sugar. 




There. I said it. Without a hint of syntactical ambiguity. A demonstrative declaration. But don't misunderstand. I am terrified and unsure. This sugar thing all started as my way of observing/sacrificing during Holy Week this week. No sugar. No social media. But I can't help think about the fact that I really need to kick sugar for good. After Holy Week is over, shouldn't continue eliminating sugar consumption forever?

Can I do this?

What will be the status of my sugar intake next month? Next week? Tomorrow? Heck, two hours from now even! I don't know if I can succeed with this. I am deathly afraid of failing, of starting something again only to give up once it gets too hard or once I lose interest. It has only been one full day since I started. Today marks the start of day 2 and it is already hard. I've had to drink my morning cup of joe, ahem, with NO sugar. Yuck! For someone who needed a coffee so desperately every single morning without fail... now, without sugar, I don't want it! It's possible that I never actually liked coffee in the first place. So, maybe I have kicked coffee too? Yesterday, I had a carb-filled lunch, penne pasta with pesto. A healthy choice, or so I thought. No meat no sugar equals healthy, right? Ah, but that's the interesting thing about sugar, yup, it's in pasta. After your body metabolizes it of course. But now we're philosophizing, I mean... which came first? The chicken or the egg? After I ate that bowl of pasta I was incredibly sleepy, and incredible desperate to soothe with a sugary treat. But I was holding fast, determined not to fail so quickly. But how was I going to get through this moment? My thought was... if I couldn't have cookies with lunch, why stay awake and torture myself. "Take a nap! Give in to the sleepiness. That's what I'll do," I thought. This also was the only thought I could find, it was the only thought that felt right. Seeing that the carbs I had consumed had highjacked any of my reasoning or problem solving skills, I retreated to my bedroom. I closed the door behind me, (oops!) remembered that I was also trying to observe Holy Week, yelled at my speaker "okay google, play Isreal Houghton" and fell to my knees and prayed. 

"God, please help me. Help me ignore this deep desire to eat something sweet!"

I spent what, I don't know 30 mins. or so on my knees praying, and later climbed into bed and fell asleep. It was a win, at least in my eyes. Sure, I'd slept through the craving, but what's more is that I didn't give in to the craving.

Sherri Shepherd archived an Instagram live, and I watched it this past Sunday afternoon. "Sherri Can't Cook" she kept calling the segment. She was baking muffins that were packed with healthy ingredients and absolutely no sugar. Natural sugars from fruits, but that's it. She'd kicked sugar a few years ago, and knows exactly why she did. Someone had asked her how she resists the temptation to fall off her diet, and she indicated that it is crucial for her to remember her why. "Why are you doing this, Sherri? For my son," she said. As a type 2 diabetic and as someone who is addicted to food, her words, she was at death's door. She was stuffing her face with a candy bar one afternoon when her son turned to her and asked who is going to take care of him when she died. Sherri decided right then and there that it was foolish to willingly choose death over life just for a 30-second-sugar-relief. It was at this point during the live that she went off-script, so to speak, and coasted into an inspirational lecture about healthy eating and taking control of what you can control. "I am a sugar addict," she said. "You have to look at it that way. Make it a serious problem. Some people are addicted to drugs, but I am addicted to food. And I can't do moderation. I had to kick sugar cold turkey. If I say I'm just going to have one cookie, I know that it's a lie. I can't have just one. I'll eat the whole row!" I was blown back. As she talked about the way she used to turn to food for comfort and celebration or to cure sadness and happiness. To pass the time, to halt the time. To observe any and every reason and season, food was the culprit. Her friend. Her all and all. I could relate... And if I could relate to what she was expressing, behaviors specific to her personal experience, was I too a food addict? 

Hello, my name is Anita, and I am a sugarholic.

There. I said it. Without a hint of syntactical ambiguity. A demonstrative declaration. I am terrified and unsure. But This I do know; I don't want to miss out on living a full, healthy, long, life because I refuse to get control of the thing I can control. And I think it is within my privy to control what I eat. One striking takeaway that I keep thinking about after listening to Sherri Shepherd's Instagram live is what she said about spiritual purpose. If I paraphrase what she said it would sound like this:

You have a purpose in your life. We all do. And girlfriend... if you can't move without pain, or with spunk, or with lasting energy you're probably less likely to fulfill your purpose. And if you are found not living up to that purpose the somebody out there loses and the enemy wins. If you are fulfilling your purpose, what's beautiful about that is someone will be inspired by you. Each one of us can inspire one or two others. Then, those one or two others will walk in their purpose which will inspire one or two more. This inspiration cycle will create a domino effect of encouraging others to fulfill their purposes, and the world will become a place where we are encircled with beautifully energetic inspirational purposed driven love. I starts with one. It starts with me.

What is my why?

Sometimes it's hard and daunting to wear the responsibility of changing the world. What Sherri admonishes is true, and I honor it. But I know I am not there yet. I want to change the world, but I am still nervous that I will fail. I still have growth to do in this area, accepting failure. Doing it scared. You know... mentally strong kind of stuff. But "To Change the World" is not my why yet. And that's okay. "For my son" is not my why either. I have 4 kids. Oh! They are so beautiful. They are a fulfillment of my dreams in so many ways. I love them dearly, and I want to live to be here for them. To advise them and watch them grow. To see them go off to college, marry, build their lives... all that. And it is very important to me. On a 1-10 scale, it's a ten! But... it's not my why. If my why is going to help me say no to a thick, luscious, rich, triple chocolate fudge cake slice, drizzled with chocolate ganache, who am I kidding-- 2, slices... okay THREE slices... and two scoops of ice cream on the side... Thinking over how much I love these moody, hot-tempered teenagers of mine who leave mounds of trash and dishes for me to pick up after, and who are the reason I sometimes hide in my room from won't do the trick! And my husband, he's wonderful too. I want to live out my days with him and be healthy for our post-kid bucket list. But let's face it, husbands leave more chores undone than kids do. I love him, but he's not my why. 

This is what I do know. I want to live. Moreover, I want to do more than sit here and continue stiffening up. I want to move without pain. I want to be flexible again. I want to be strong- like move couches by myself, the way I used to, strong. I want to travel long distances without swelling up or having my body go into shock from "travel trauma?!" SMH. I want to live to an old age, well over 90. And in that old age, I want my heart, bones, and muscles to thank me for how I kept them well during my younger years. I think these are my why.

So, here I go... starting something, again. Send your prayers and thoughts my way, I am going to need them!

Sunday, September 11, 2016

Art; our level of Discomfort vs Comfort

So I just came across this quote on on IG:


LIFE
BEGINS
AT THE END
OF YOUR
COMFORT ZONE
by - Neale Walsh



And this is why it's so interesting.  There is always guidance given to us that support the notion that we can't live in the space of personal success, or even find our best selves when we are ridden with self doubt, or in-confidence, or whatever kinds of things that cause "discomfort", right?  The notion is always presented to GET OUT OF YOUR COMFORT ZONE.  So this may be true in a lot of instances.  But what I think is a worthy juxtaposition is the embrace of discomfort.  Embrace is always better than rejection.  Right?  This is applicable in every area; but lest I digress let me stay in the realm of creating art pieces.  Embracing what makes you uncomfortable is an interesting approach- once you welcome those feelings and thoughts and apply them to your process, a break through happens.  I have come to understand more clearly why I have to find inspiration; process that information; and then embrace every emotion, stigma, critique, and admiration that comes flooding in.  Cypher through all of that and see what remains.  What remains in most cases is probably my personal art piece.  When living outside your comfort zone (as this Neale Walsh suggests) you may just be living outside the "process" of finding yourself..... Just a day before coming across Walsh's quote (again, because I have seen it time and times before now) I had a bout with my processing habits.  Like most, I critique my efforts; obsess over my piece; obsess over my thoughts and critiques about my piece, and slowly die emotionally for a couple of hours or days.... But then IT happens.  I come back to the piece and I've figured out where I want to go with it.  This process hasn't ever been something that I had noticed, let alone appreciated until now.  Some crafter ladies that I respect a lot had an online chat about "design style" and the crust of the chat concluded that design style isn't a thing for them; it's more about how they get inspired and use that inspiration to force out what their eyes see and what their hands do naturally.  It's the inspiration, forged to fit within their space.  One crafter tagged it her "comfort zone".  This made total sense to me.  I mean we all already do that!  We are inspired by everything around us, and we use that inspiration to begin processing down what we want to produce as a result of meeting such inspiration.  I define this as a direct opposition of GETTING OUT IF ONE'S COMFORT ZONE.  And honestly I think it's just a play on perspective.  I chose to believe that a directive that is commanding NOT to do something a certain way is less productive than a gentle coaxing or nudge toward a direction, or in other words EMBRACE.  Positive vs Negative.  Embrace vs Rejection.  My deduction of all this has left behind my own quote:
"FIND INSPIRATION • FIND YOUR COMFORT ZONE • DO IT FOR THE LOVE OF ART"

Thursday, August 13, 2015

It has occured to me that I may be ready.
Ready to let go.
A few years ago, I was introduced to the idea that I could, that I had an obligation to embrace, my anger; my resintment; my fear.  I was given permission to feel these emotions, when for so long I thought that to be good was to not feel these emotions; give forgiveness in place of the acknowlegement of my pain.  So I did.  And with a vengance did I! It seems that I felt anger only at first, I lived anger, I embraced anger.  I became anger... it was the only emotion I had. It was the only emotion that I could connect with. I would pant back and forth between this anger and resentment, and these emotions have guided my choices and my life for the past few years.  Soon a third, more core emotion surfaced... that one called fear. I was afraid to let go of this new found freedom. Freedom to play and frolic about within a category of emotions that were not granted to me before, off limites to me before now, never afforded to me before, or even approvable to me before a few years ago.  It was my understanding, and I came to this understand through many different types of teachers, that to live in any form of acknoledgement of pain, which would then lead to fear, which leads to self preservation, which leads to anger and resentment, was a road not to be traveled by thos who wish to be good, approved, or accepted. What I didnt know was that to embrace this path of emtional dedication means that one will in fact continue past those first four areas of emotion on to other emotions. what I didn't know was that if you allow any emotion to flood over your life moment, the flooding pattern will push you through a continum past those first emotional reactions. The very thing I was afraid to be, taught not to be, warned against becoming; that is a life commited to and consumed by botterness, became an inevitable life moment because of my making the decision to control emotion rather than feel it, live it, experience it, swim in it-- even be willing to drown in it.  For it was at the moment that I allowed myself to face fear of drowning that I sank.  It was also then, that as I began to sink, that I became rescued.  I became aware of my inability to retrieve my own self from the sea of overwhelming pain.  It was at this awareness that I called out for help.  I was at the call for help that I found help, and began finding my way to safety.  Safety is what I wanted, needed all along. Not knowing that in order to arrive at safety, I would have to nearly die first.

I thought I had died. I mean, that is what I had chosen to do.  Not out of hast, although it had to be a quick choice as I hadn't much time to do so, but I was brave and chose to sacrifice my life for to save a life that was worth reliving... and somehow I have washed up onto a beach.  Trying to catch my breath I cough repeatedly.  Because my lungs are full of the ocean's sea, I am gasping for air, and I am not very dure yet whether I am actually alive, saved, and safe.  But I think so. Clearing my lungs, and trying to arrive any sense of barrings, I think it best if I get myself up shore a bit further away from the ocean's sea, up beach toward the away from the danger.  So with a tenacious crawl, and a final heave I fling myself onto my backside, falling backward.  There I lay in the sand, the waves ease up the beach, where I am still close enough to feel the leftover cascade kiss my feet, but in no ways in danger of the tide anymore.  I am safely ashore.  Out of the oceans's sea, emerged from the depth of bitters, at least for now... but,yes, I am ashore, rescued and safely arrived through them. And this is how I know I must be ready. For it I were not ready, I am sure that I would still be a prision of the ocean's sea, in the depths of bitters, with my lungs full of bitter fluids.  I've been there, somehow emerged and alive through it, and for now I am glad to be ashore...

I flee to the forest near by. At least in thought, because though I can see the massive forest in view, I've only enough strength to hearl myself a few short feet toward it.  So I guess I will rest here; maybe I need to reflect on what all has just occured anyway...

As I lay here I can't be sure that I am not still somewhat afraid. Oh yes, because the ocean's sea that I refer to as the danger wasn't all that dangerous in the beginning. I was invited to a playdate, to come and frolic in the ocean one day. This ocean was a beautiful ocean, the most pretty of all the oceans. Reflective of sunlight as the wind blew sparkling waves of an endless spectrum of tourquoise and blue... It was tantalizingly appealing to jump in. And jump in is exactly what I did.  I swam a while. When I tired, I would swim back to shore.  On another day, the ocean would call to me, and I would feel the urge for a swim, and there I'd go... back to the ocean for a dip. This happend for months on end.  The ocean and I became one and the same, I was like a fish- and anytime I was away from the ocean, I longed to return.  Most everyday, for hours I swam, and froliced, and lay upon the beach. One day, I swam for a very long period of time and became to tired to swim home, and so I turned over on my back and floated a while. Oh, I'll rest, I thought to myself, relax and regain the strength to swim back. How relaxing it was. Just me, the ocean holding me up, the tide gently splashing waves up and over my ears and up on my eyes, though never completely over my face.  And I would look up to the sky.  I was in my most ultimate happy place.  There is a kind of quietness and thinking that occurs when your ears plug with the floating about of waters, a pleasant aloneness... but God was there too.  I could sense him smiling on me, maybe through the sun that shined a warmth on the esposed parts of my face as I floated there.  My breathing slowed, my mouth parcially open atested to the saltiness of the ocean, and giggled to myself, noting to relax my jaw, keep my mouth open if I wanted, but lick the ocean wettness of my lips no more.  Completely me and one with the ocean drifted.  Before I knew anything else I was asleep.  I had come to relax so deeply that I had fallen asleep here in this beautiful quiet and friendly ocean.

At some point I attained conscientiousness of a sequence of events.  A sort of movie picture featuring a young girl child, and her day to day.  I watched this film of sorts, a bit unsure of my surroundings, hadn't I been swimming today? Had I swam back to shore, and walked home? Was I in my bedroom in my bed? I was dreaming, I do believe that, but I had not remembered at all awaking from the nap I had slipped into on the ocean earlier, nor do I recall swimming ashore, nor do I remember walking home.  Ah well, it didn't matter at the moment, because this film of sorts, what seems to be a sort of playback of some young girl's childhood, was far more interesting.  There were imaginative and vivid scenes being displayed on screen of my inner eyelids.  I must be dreaming, here still on the ocean, I thought, I could see and feel the sunlight's warmth on the outer skin of my eyelids.  The drama began its layout. The storylines highlighted partiular things that had happend, some followed a sort of timeline it seemed, other occurances seemed to jump from time to time.  One scene was synched with another where the young girl wasn't very young at all, she had on the same clothing and looked very much the same, yet older, then all at once the scene pulled back to the younger version of the girl.  And how the zoom of a scene would come in ever so close to her face. She was beautiful.  Her hair was plaited into the most glorious crown of cornrows.  They dangled down a little bit past her ears barely to touch her neck, and at the ends of each braid there were attatched several white flower shaped beads that dangled and chimed a bland song, a sound you'd get if you took two smooth stones and clapped them against each other.  Whenever she ran, jumped, or turned her head in hurry, those beads sang and clapped against each other.  Eagerly watching this film of sorts, this playback, a scene continued and there the young girl's mother, I assume, called for her.  She turned her head in a hurry and a few of those beaded strands of braids charged for her face, slapping her right in the eye.  In reflex she clinched her eyes shut while still attempting to run toward the direction of the call.  Yelling back "comin" she tripped- twas such a clumsy thing to watch as she fell over the tree stump there behind her.  She managed to catch her fall with both knees forced a top the stump, and both hands forced down onto a pile pebbles. These pebbles were placed around the tree stump to keep grass and weeds from crowding around the tree stump, that would then make it a comeplete eye sore in the yard. It was a beatification technique. A solution. One of the young girl's father's famous solutions.  He was a fixer.  I somehow know the story of that tree stump- the young girl's father had the tree cut down after it had been struck by lightening during a storm.  A large section of that tree detached when lightening struck it that evening, and one of the branches came crashing down on the dormer part of the roof and window of their home.  That dormer was never replaced, in fact that dormer window was the part of the young girl's bedroom.  The damaged dormer was demoed, and made into a flattened roof, and where the girl's bedroom used to have a window, and an extra four feet or so allotted by the dormer, now was closed off, brought further into the bedroom, reframed, and dry-walled flush and square. There was talk had, something about there not being enough insurance money to re-build the dormer and clean up the tree... this solution was cheaper.  It was cheaper to have the tree cut down rather than fully eradicated, and it was cheaper to make the dormer a flush square room with no window then rebuild it. It is what was the best thing to do. Her father knew what was best, and he know about insurance, and he knew a lot of guys who could fix anything for cheap.  The young girl and her mom re-arranged her bed away from that new wall and put her dresser there.  The perfect place for a furniture piece that needed a flush wall to be juxtaposed to, and the perfect place to move her bed away from.  Thank heavens the young girl, afraid of the lightening storm, had crept into the hallway to sleep outside her parents bedroom that night, her bed being just under that dormer window, and just where that tree branch had come crashing in. I am not very sure how I came to know all this about that ole tree stump, and the young girl's bedroom.  I'll bet it's like one of those times when, you know, like de-ja-vu, you just have a strong feeling that you know something about someone? Somehow?


  And as I dreamed I felt these reactions. It was as if I was reliving it all. Reliving my own beginnings, but feeling them for the first time.  Why had I not felt this before, how could I have lived this at one time and not felt this way then? It was very strange, strange in the way that dreams are you know.  Displacing, and unsure.  In fact I came to wonder if it was even me that was the feature character in this dream.  But it was me.  The details were to familiar, the smells were to recognizable.  I had been there in those scenes before, in that kitchen, on that couch, in the bed.  I was me.  I knew that much for sure.  And once I realized that I couldn't pretend that I wasnt the main character in this playback, the relaxed state I had been in change very quickly to panic.  I was terrified, because I hadn't known before how to live through that trauma, and here I was again, living it. There was no waking up from this nap, what was to be a lesuire pleaure filled afternoon of swimming in beauty of an ocean, became a rage of dnagerous tides. The tide carried me, further and further away from shore, and away from home. The stronger the tide became, the angrier I became, and when I would become more angry I became more aware of the bleak chances of waking up.  I found myself in a state of complete awareness, and this awareness was so complex and multifacited.  I understood that I was asleep, yet I felt fully awake.  I seemed to have full control over how I wanted to feel and react as the scenes of playbacks scrolled by, yet I knew that I had not enough control over what was happening to even awaken myself.  And in the midst of all that I could sense that God was smiling down on me, somehow directing this whole production. A God that I did know was fully love and nothing elese, but was still allowing this danger to be upon me. This was happening.  I was in full on danger, being washed here and there accross the ocean, as a corpse let out to sea by pirates. And it became this way truly. As if pirates had roped me and schackled my arms and feet, I began to sink. Relaxing was no more- it had been so long now since I knew what it meant to relax against the waves.  I was in panic mode.  I was in full on fear.  This sea emotion had taken over me, yet everything in me was saying let it happen. Let it happen? Let myself drown? Just, die? Here and now, in this ocean, in this sea, this was it? I was drawn to this potientally freeing place to play and swim and frolic, tricked into given way to the tide, and now I will die here?  This was my state of mind you see, because I was not waking up- yet I was fully aware that I had become somehow shackeled and roped.  I was fully aware that I was sinking beneath the air access into the depths of this ocean and sea, yet I was unable to save myself- and strangly, though afraid, I wanted to stay. As my life trauma played back for me to watch, I felt empowered. Purposed. I was intent on saving that girl, the maincharcter of my playback.  She had no hero. Someone, maybe the director, had forgotten to cast the hero. So I had to find a way into the film. Fully aware that I was roped and shacked and drowning wasn't so bad now, now that I had purpose.  I had a plan... the plan was to drown. To die, here, now. Right now- right at this scene, because maybe this would be the gateway into the playback.  And I needed in.  I was due to arrive in the script.  So I gave in to the danger of the sea and ocean.  I took control, or so I thought,  And now you will see the danger. Now you will see how plainly out of control I was. Here I thought that I was fully aware and in control, but there I was in roped! Shackled! Drowning! And willing to drown now! Willing to die, because I became fully aware that this must have been my purpose.  The reason I came to know about this sea at all must have been for to go back in time and save my tramatized self. I thought, it couldn't be an inplausible notion, die now, live again... I am always open to the possibility of miricales and the relm of the unknown. It was possible. So I decided to die. Right there, in the ocean and sea. God had other plans.  

So here I am. Not in the sea any longer.

Wednesday, March 5, 2014

Will I practice?

Well,

I did! I practiced piano today! Just finished actually...

I set my timer on my phone for 30 minutes, promising myself that I won't torture for long, and sat down at the piano. When the timer went off, I was just getting fruatrated and slightly overwhelimgly upset at the compexities I had begun to feel. But literally, as those feelings began- it was a few seconds later that I was saved by the bell. And rather than soldier on, ignoring the timer- I took the alarm as a sign to keep the promise I had made to myself... do not torture yourself. Enjoy this! A victory step!!!

I almost missed my window of opportunity to even get to the piano today. I had already decided well before my first piano lesson yesterday, that I would set practice times during Thaniel's naptime. But, I fell asleep along with Thaniel while helping him down for his nap! Well, some time later- while having great sleep, I got a text message from Toya- and that woke me up!  Once the disorientation fizzed out, I realized that I had fallen asleep rather than gotten up to practice. So, instead of snuggling back in to Thanny's slumber- I laid him down and went to the piano. This was another vicory step for me!

I downloaded an app for keeping time, a metronome app- opened my lesson book and went to it!  You know... It feels weird practicing a lot of what I already know, but am so very rusty with, and it is equally strange to have this unnerving tap in the back of my thoights that say "everything you are playing now will be soon heard by your piano teacher... Now she may not judge you harshly or with negativity (you're hoping anayway!) But she will judge you. How do you feel about that?" I ask myself... and I don't quite know how I feel about it. It doesn't frighten me away from the task of practicing at the current moment... another victory!  And all the miracle I need today ��

Tuesday, March 4, 2014

1st Piano Lesson

I envision Bill Murray's character Phil in the movie Groundhog Day- older, stuck in an unfavorable situation (the same day repeating itself) but making use of it! Learning! Improving! Not counting his life as a sumation of; too late to change!

A quote jumped out at me. It was posted on a sign visible from my van while I was on campus yesterday as I went to pick up Todd from Smith Hall....

"Its never too late to be who you might have been- George Eliot"

This piano lesson is me, pickng up where I left off years ago as a chold. Taking on the challenge to be who I might have been. Not allowing my life to wither away like grass having not left my foot print there. Facing my fears. Being brave enough to be volunerable around a stranger. Letting her (Ivy) see my flaws- Why? So that I can grow! Attain this skill! Accomplish! Prepare and equip myself with the means to sasisfy my discomfort, my anger, my hurt, or my need for pleasure-- by playing a tune. After all it is music that heals, and brings joy to the soul.

And all of a sudden, anymore, those silly; fearful reasons I had to never do this doesn't matter. What DOES matter, that which I can no longer ignore are the many reasons that call on me to be brave; these reasons show me why I have to do this.

Monday, November 4, 2013

WEEKEND ROUND-UP

The Me I Want To Be

On her latest album, India Arie titles a song "Just Do You."  It is a motivating song, with challenging lyrics.  I would give anything to rise to her challenge, and attain the secrets toward becoming the person I want to be rather than the person who is tortured by dreams that seem unattainable.  India says: just do you-, and while her advise is simple, I just don't know how.

I would think that "just doing me" would require me to convert to the me I want to be.  The me that wants to be selfless, thoughtful, and generous.  My heart is inspired and moved with compassion to share with people who are grieving, or in need.  I often desire to seize opportunities to give gifts of thought, and to help people feel a bit of joy in their time of difficulty.  I fill with an aching desire to be a small source of joy to them in their time of loss and pain, and I can rarely ignore it!  In those times, however, when my inner me should show up... some how something takes over and convinces me to refrain from any action that represents this state of mind.

Something keeps me from reaching out to people in need and sometimes I think that I am this obstructing force all on my own.  That I am the something that is making my own conversion impossible.  When I learn that someone is in need, when faced with the decision to submit to my inner desire and engage in action (something as simple as taking over a nice, warm dinner) I remain inactive and distracted like the walking dead who is not living on point and with purpose.  A prisoner of binding chains, I submit to objectives opposite of my heart intentions while countless days continue to pass with me do nothing to become my ideal self.  I continue watching moments of opportunity come, and go.  These moments escape me, leaving me feeling empty, disappointed, and unfulfilled.

I've had several opportunities this past month to rise and embrace India Arie's challenge because there have been a lot of deaths in the community I live in.  When a death occurs it symbolizes the highest time of need for support and love from friends and family.  The recent deaths occurring around me have presented me with numerous opportunities to share love, to be thoughtful, and to show acts of generosity.  Left behind are some people I know barely know, and some are ones who I am close to, but they all are folks who are equally deserving of my empathy, selflessness, thoughtfulness, and generosity.  For me not to try to comfort them in some way is a complete rejection of my inner desire.  I may excuse myself from time to time of this inner desire thinking; "because I don't know them too well, they aren't expecting anything from my anyway." But if this is a reasonable excuse in some cases, then I definitely should have an un-obstructing go ahead in those situations involving people I am close with, right?  Well, just this past weekend I had a chance to appease my inner desire.  I was presented with a chance to show selflessness, thoughtfulness, and generosity with someone close.  A dear friend.

She is sick, and has been stuck in bed for days-- a caring, wonderful, sweet lady who I'd say is a friend of mine, someone who wouldn't fit that lack of closeness description I tend to lean on as an excuse for whether or not my rising up to act as my ideal self is fitting.  In this case this past weekend, I weighed our closeness, and decided yes, I should exercise kindness here!  I wanted to go over and bring her a "get well" gift, or go over and do her heart some good by just being present with her.  I could even bring my children over, let her see and play with them- which is something that brings her heart joy.  However, once again, I let the entire weekend pass without doing what was in my heart to do.  I would get distracted by everything; television, sitting on the sofa, running MY little unimportant errands- and honestly the thought of her would escape my mind during these distracting moments.  Yet, there were also moments when I would remember her, and imagine what I would say to her upon arrival, or during our visit.  Coming to a sense of finality to rise to the occasion, I would think through what time frame would work best for me to head on over to her place.  The plan, in my mind, was now in place.  Arriving to this thought felt right.  It was fitting.  It was my chance to seize the moment---- be my ideal self.  All that would be left was just to DO it.  But I didn't.

And this is how it goes, every time.  It is in these moments of ponder and planning, I feel it.  The weight of chains holding me back from being my ideal self.  This is how I can ask, how do you just do it?  How do you convert yourself?  When I imagine what it would be like to be the me I want to be-- selfless, thoughtful, and generous-- that is when the potential for imagery to convert into reality is at its closest point of reach.  All there is left to do is to stop thinking, stop imaging myself as my "ideal" self, and BECOME my "ideal" self. In that moment is when you either convert or stay the same, and because when I am afforded these instances I debunk them, I can only derive that I must be prisoner to something currently unknown and beyond my control to conquer.  These chains confine me to the act of honoring the imagery of my ideal self and leave me unable to project acts of generosity, and thoughtfulness.  As if the act of imagining my ideal self is the only way I will ever witness some form of my ideal self.

Oh how tortuous it is to my soul to imagine myself as loving and living freely all the while I am but a prisoner to chains that stunt me just shy of an arms length to the prize!!  A hostage, I am, to my own sensing of self and purpose.  So close even to the point of psychological imagery, yet so completely distant from reality. Any ability I have to keep to the agreements I make within my inner self time and time again to be selfless, to be thoughtful, and to be generous seem fleeting and unattainable.  And on some level, strangely enough, I think I hear someone saying...

"Keep imagining.  For if we dare to imagine that which seems unattainable as suddenly attainable, all desire that is not will one day become that which is."

Are there any other precious scribblers out there like me- struggling to be the person you can really feel and sense living there inside you; hiding deeply, deeply, down within?  How do we break free from these forces that cause us to continue playing the role of some unknown, unwanted self rather than becoming the person that we truly want to be.....?




Imagining still,
me.... scribbleneetly





Thursday, October 24, 2013

BITTER SWEET

Funerals are never the type of event that I (or anyone, for that matter) looks forward to attending, but it is the kind of event that must occur regardless to my preferences.  The passing of my great uncle wasn't a joyous occasion, but attending the service provided my family a chance to have a pretty awesome day.  

We traveled to Gary, Indiana for the service.  On the way to my Great Aunt's house, we were able to see the home where Michael Jackson and the Jackson's grew up because my Great Aunt lives just around the corner!  My kiddos, now distracted by fame and fortune, thought that this part was the ultimate highlight and single purpose of our trip! Ha!!!  We had to remind them that we were in town to bury a family member and that people would be sad, not happy to see Michael Jackson's childhood home.  They tried to contain their excitement-- but not before posing in front of the house and demanding a family photo shoot first!  

~bitter sweet~

My great Uncle's passing away also became what was a wonderful excuse to see family, and family friends that we hadn't seen for ages.  It was heart healing to lay eyes on this side of my mother's family that I hadn't seen in a long while.  In addition, while the woman who I was named after has long died, her two best friends who are still alive, were at the service.  It was great to see them, and to be seen by them!  I was able to show off my husband and children to them, and it was great to ponder on the fact that my kids are at the ages that I was at the last time they had seen me!!  It's the circle of life!!               

~bitter sweet~

So yeah, I wouldn't say that I like attending funerals, but again...  Who does?  
I am glad, though, that I was there.  
There to say goodbye, and there to say many overdue hellos.  

~bitter sweet~






(Charles; me; Alora; Aryanna; Theo; Tj)
(Michelle)
(Charles)



(Aryanna; Tj; Alora; Elenore)

(Me-Me; myself)

(Brooke; Thaniel: Alana)

(Shawn; Charles: Ladonna)
(Jay; Charles)
(myself; Brandi)
(Brandi; Charles)


(Charles; Aunt Mable- Uncle who died wife, and my grandmother's sister)
(Uncle BC- Bob Colvin and my grandmother's sister; Charles)
(dad; mom; Uncle BC; cousins)
(Uncle BC)

Friday, July 20, 2012

Hello messy Scribblers!

Today I have for you a cute, nicely distressed card of congratulations to a friend of mine who is getting married tomorrow. It features a square of fabric from a charm pack that I had laying around- I've been wanting to merge paper and fabric for some time now, and I think I may be on to something :p
Take a look at the video below- Enjoy!!


Tuesday, July 3, 2012

Home Mixed Sangria

Hello happy scribblers!

So I have for you tonight a share...

I have yet to meet a bottle of wine that I didn't like (or if I didn't like, I still didn't drink- LOL).  But I loathe yellow tail wine! *okay tell me how you really feel neets!*

LOL I know, I know... But I don't like any of yellow tails ferments. But I must admit- on a cheap budget, any wine will do! Ha! So my hubby was at the store and he knew that I wanted some wine and this is what he brought home, along with some sierra mist -- the summery cranberry splash (his fav) -- and all of the sudden I had a brilliant idea! Mix, baby mix!  So... I poured some yellow tail, and topped it off with ice and a splash of the SMCS and voila! Its really tasty! As a matter of fact it tastes very, very close to sangria-- I was so geeked that I had to instagram and blog about it. Let me know if you decide to give this mix a try- I bet you'll be pleasantly surprised, and if not- at least you'll have a nice buzz for the evening :p
Enjoy your fourth of July celebration! **I had forgotten that it was coming up until my kids asked me at dinner tonight what special plans we have- talk about being spaced out! I don't know where I've been!! Oh well... I guess I'm more enamered with the upcoming birthday I have on Friday- Whoot, Whoot!! lol. Maybe I'll have another round of my new found "sangria" cocktail**

Happy and messy scribbles to you all! gnite :')