6/2/1977…I read this in my junior high school yearbook and smiled.
6/2/2019….When he was put in a critical thinking scenario, the whistling began as a coping mechanism. The subject was unpleasant so he was attempting to birdcall it off.
6/2/1977…I read this in my junior high school yearbook and smiled.
6/2/2019….When he was put in a critical thinking scenario, the whistling began as a coping mechanism. The subject was unpleasant so he was attempting to birdcall it off.
Every time I watch my favorite sports team play, I have a tendency to get overzealous and my voice go hoarse. It hit me that my husky, raucous, and guttural voice that takes place of my normal one is not strong any longer, but a weak form of what was once there.
Is this what we do in our blogging at times? Is it that my voice may come across too strong or too opinionated? At other times, my blog may become weak because I do not tackle the blogging topic with full veracity. Truth for me though may not be the same truth for another. Yet we all know that there are universal truths in our world.
After taking a break from the daily blogging world the last 2 months , I have come to realize I prefer to allow myself freedom to write as I choose. As an individual I am as complex as they come. This brings for interesting thoughts that flow in my head and scream to come out. It is in my blogging I can find voice, yet learn to tame it so I do not go hoarse. You would think going gusto for the team and screaming with all your might for them to win is an awesome thing. I suppose it is, but at the end of the game and may I add at the end of this game we call life, does that hoarse voice show strength or weakness? All I know is that my throat could do well to have a throat lozenge just about now.
Happy Blogging Friends.
Today I did not want to blog. My ongoing efforts to write seemed futile.
I grabbed my coffee though and came to the computer and thought about one of my favorite films Forrest Gump! What would Forrest do? Laughing out Loud–I thought-he would continue with the race and run until he was done.
I realized I am not quite done with blogging. I am purpose-driven and working on a goal. I have picked up a few new bloggers that have engaged with me about their lives and I am touched. The blogging is worth the effort I thought. It is helping in a way I did not know it could.
Today is a new day.
Ten years ago most commentary we would read would be one-sided. Your favorite news paper or magazine would run an article perhaps on some political subject that left you fuming. I mean you were pissed off. Today they are dying by the dozens.
Since then a little thing called a blog took over. It popularity soared. Blogging has perhaps become the watchdog for when other forms of media seem to be getting it wrong or missing alternative solutions.
This is what attracted me to it. If you’ve never realized that blogging has an extensive network of helpful links, you would be mistaken. The visibility of what we have is an experience like no other.
It is a wonder that so many that blog are actually writing about the very subject of blogging. I like that because it helps with perspective. So I continue my quest and wait for my Forrest Gump MOMENT. How about you? Can you explain to me what keeps you going on with your blogging?
Dedicated To My Sons:
In a yearning desire to bring my happy and sentimental past to life again, my family traveled with me to my childhood world of Hawaii for my 50th birthday. Such nostalgia is easily brought back to my inner being as my sons experienced my old life. They too were “plunged” into instant gratification of a world they may have never known if not for my insistence to vacation there.
It is with wonder bringing dreams come true for me to be with my kids in Hawaii. Living in Hawaii for four years as a young person with my own parents was the epitome of pure joy. How can you describe something to someone else unless they experienced it themselves?
Immersing my life’s past to my children’s’ present time in Hawaii makes for a true experience now merged forever.
Showing a whole new world to them is like painting on canvas. The artist’s strokes begin with a lone girl enjoying the sand on the beach. As the artist’s rendition begins to evolve, two other figures are captured in the drawing. They are my own boys on each side of me laughing with love that comes through with each stroke of the artist’s handiwork.
This life can only get better as merging a past with its present brings on amazing memories into the future.
Walls are a part of our lives in one way or another. There are the walls of your home and then there are the invisible walls people put up to close off the world. Both have the same distinction to protect a person from intruders.
When I was 14 years old, there was an enclosed tunnel made out of cement that I had to walk through everyday to get to school. The typical teenage writing was on it’s walls with some girl writing her undying love for some guy. It was a mystery to me that someone would want to be writing about love on a cold, damp wild wall. Yet here I was captured each day by its graffiti. There was no way to walk around it. It was the only way to school.
Reminded by my conscience that writing on a wall is destroying someone’s property, I never engaged in this activity. I did not want to wrangle with words that someone else would read anyway. It seemed pointless and leads to someone reading useless crap. Yet I wanted to write something, but not empty chatter as was the case with 90% of what was written on those stone walls.
One particular day I stopped as I was exiting the tunnel and said to the walls, “Give me 14 more years and I will show you something!” I then turned away from that tunnel to never walk through it again. It was my last day of junior high school.
As I have aged my childhood now holds some sacred truths. I learned that writing is good even if it is graffiti. Here I was a lonely girl holding on so long ago to those walls. They became a part of me without even understanding their impact. Every 14 years in fact I have taken stock of what I could show those walls.
Local newspaper clipping from my teenage years playing softball. Childhood memories are so important to who we become later in life.