Nothing Moved But Me

I do not feel alone.  Start something with great ambition and upsight (I made that word up and really like it), only to find the fizzle shortly fizzled out.  A new, universal tradition.  But unlike a lost diary, here sits the blog, patiently awaiting my return, heaping absolutely zero shame from its neglect.  This could be a wee bit of the (my) problem.  A grandparent, parent, pet, or bff who, because they've always been around, gets neglected and therefore I cheat myself out of the joys of those relationships. (JOY, for the record, is my favorite word. Now that I've nailed my favorite song, I'm working on identifying more favs - more on that to come, I say.)  While this blog cannot give or receive hugs, it is a way to connect and on some level, hopefully give a little back.  So, for today, this is really real -
I will continue at a pace that is all my own, remain open to possibility and, most of all, work on maintaining my upsight.

Will it go 'round in circles?  Yes it will, of that we can be sure.

A show-stopper in her youth, at twice the age with her bag of tricks half-empty, she still turns heads.

Music will find you everywhere.

What we're all hoping to find....a little peace among the rubble.

Connecting.  It's enough.

I finally know my favorite song.

First 45 - Hey Jude.  My mom almost nipped that when she overheard me asking my dad to bring it home to me. She thought I'd said I wanted a record named "Hate You".   First album - Tapestry (but you already knew that).   I'd been cutting my teeth on AM radio for years, even building one from a crystal set with my dad.  The favored feature on my clock radio - you know it wasn't the alarm - was the sleep timer, which I always set to the max to ensure subconscious programming.  I was a WKY devotee, no KOMA for me - too many letters and no Danny Williams.  It was from this box of white plastic that I learned about the loss of Jim Croce, listened to Muhammad Ali knock everyone out and cheered as the Oklahoma Sooners defeated that other red team, the Nebraska Cornhuskers.  My record collection grew every Saturday when new releases and my allowance aligned.   I hit the jackpot when I inherited a hand-me-down Hi-Fi, whose only downside was to have an excellent bass tone, prompting my parents to change my name to "Turn Down That Bass Kimberly".

Quite possibly,  my relationship with the 8-track player in my first car  is far more memorable than the best (and worst) boys, drama ridden girlfriends,  and teachers' attempts to teach me something I didn't already know.  What I wouldn't give to shove that hot pink Led Zeppelin rectangle of escape into the machine strapped to the dash of my '60 Falcon, not put on a seat belt, and push the track selector over and over until it landed right on Immigrant Song.  Scratchy box speakers in the back seat, hole in the floorboard, not a lick of heat and life was GREAT.   I have loved a lot of music, but just the other day during a walk on the beach, I finally realized what my favorite song is.   I may be the last one to know, since it has been pointed out to me, not so gently, that I hum or sing this song A LOT.  So, for today, this is really real -  My favorite song is "Happy Birthday".  But any Led Zeppelin song is a close second.

I want to meet all the nice people in the world....

I'm happy to admit my skepticisms - about politicians, nutritional content, the true value of sunscreen, how often to floss, moderation vs. indulgence - among others.  But one thing continues to surprise and please me.  There are nice people everywhere.  Recently I visited Aspen, Colorado for the first time.  I confess my preconceived notion of the playground of celebs, rich, Fendi/Gucci/Dior sporting svelte, pierced, rockers, cooler than cool, players.  Instead, I met kindred spirits - lovers of music, musicians, beautiful blue skies, coffee shops with more outdoor seating than in, blue bicycles, rugby players in clown outfits and the celebration of them all.  I'm no fool....there are curmudgeons everywhere, even the occasional rude & snotty clerk.  But folks like the FedEx man in the Auburn shirt with infectious smile and robust laugh more than make up for them.   I will contemplate the symbolism of Aspen - the possibility of the third point of my TN-FL-? triangle, for now.  So, for today, this is really real - I believe in the goodness of people and their desire to connect and will celebrate my insatiable need to collect friends.

An Oklahoma connection - always.

A Nashville connection.

An Aspen connection.

A 30A connection.

Lynn and Alexandra

Pondering their next move.

Suzi + Kim = mustangs.

Aspen committee meeting.

That Cheryl's always smiling.

Nathan and Kate.  Winners in every category.

Mason Reed and Heather Larson having fun in the Library.

A pause...

Pauses in most everything leave time to see or feel what is really real. I found this to be a perfect example.

Why Must I Compare?

Everyday, yes, every day, if I took a phone call with a voice asking me if I am a lucky, blessed and fortunate person, I would without hesitation reply 'yes'.   I would end the call and promptly proceed to carry on thru that everyday day blind to the precise people and circumstances constituting my previously declared status.  I scan CNN, HLN, Yahoo reports for world conditions and now read warnings of impending oil on beloved white beaches, as well as on wildlife whose only possible infraction against BP oil was to poop during a fly-over.   For the past three days, the Nashville area has been under siege by the same Mother Nature who brings us glorious sunsets, harvest moons and roses of an indescribable color.  Too much of a good thing is not, in this case, a wonderful thing and can only be compared to the insufferable absence of hydration.  So, for today, this is really real - I am a darn lucky, blessed beyond merit, fortunate with every tick of the clock woman and most days I do not live like one.  But I want to.

Take Me Home

Genes, in addition to jeans, are interesting things.  Certainly, I ordered ten toes, one nose, a snappy personality and the usual equipment, but never thought to check the 'red hair the color of pure copper', 'one eye just a little bit different shade of ocean than the other', 'quirky and confident taste in clothes', not to mention 'stellar and breathtaking use of body for dancing of all sorts' and 'enviable ability to speak foreign languages, even those she has not learned' boxes.  I have my very favorite daughter to thank for many things, including the cessation of my long-held practice of sun broiling my body.  So, for today, this is really real - the unit of measurement has yet to be created for the love a parent holds for a child.  Had it been, I would have broken and set the record on May 28, 1985.  I love you, Celia Rose.

Yes, I Could Do What You Want; No, I Won't.

Yes.  Only one more letter than No.  But with that one letter-space difference comes a relinquishment, real or implied, of the right to use the small word in a reply to requests, in todo.  Recently, while enjoying both the sport and stories of the Winter Olympics, I thought just how many times the athletes must have said "no" to requests for their time as they kept their focus on the quest. Undoubtedly, there were times of conflicting emotion, and that is where our similarities end.  The conflict between Yes and No is woven through life and becomes, for me, the basis of determining the degree of conflict or calm.  So, for today, this is really real - I will say Yes to you when I have concluded that I can be the best me once I have, and I say Yes to me to resist pressure, threat, shame and even reward.  For No to you (this time) is Yes to me.