Business proposal...

Was due the only time that was 'available'. Had I not completely forgotten, time would have been made. Again, it's an indicator of a major shift and overwhelming moments during the transition. The lesson is learning to manage at all times, within reason...

Everything comes back to it's all about the next generation, and one child in particular in the forefront. Lifechanging events lead to more lifechanging events over time when there are common threads, spun into rope, that can become like steel.

Now

No more time; not getting any younger. Life is too short; the time is now. Age means nothing. Jerry Lewis was right about one thing: underneath it all, everyone is nine years old. No one looks different from anyone else any more, all that shows is how evolved each one is, by what they say or do. My child is an old soul, torn between two worlds. Still working out the complexities of our intertwined relationship and how it melds with our respective purposes. He doesn't know his yet, nor would I. My purpose is to allow others to see they can choose much 'earlier' than I did. When my son is ready, he will either decide for himself or ask for guidance. I must continue either way; part of the reason for going on is my child, the rest are important as well, and will be included as they wish. I'm to simply be out and accessible, doing more than talking, accomplishing more than influencing. The latter will come with the former.

Better at picking battles, wishing there were none to decide between. Though that wouldn't be life on earth as we know it otherwise. The contrast creates the distinction between why there's so much effort and the potential rewards. Every single moment involves a choice. Like the wings of a butterfly against a breeze or flowing with the air currents. Sometimes it's all just timing, or so it would seem. Action, keep going, persist, don't stop. Keep breathing; 'the ability to take a deep breath' is checking into the moment of place, in touch with what is to be done, in the right place at the right time. Live well, choose, go, and be. In honor of one legacy, the one being created is only visible through what comes later, through actions and choices as small as the beating of butterfly wings from one moment to the next, until they all add up, and the mark in time is what remains.

Between...

Two worlds, two homes, two existences. Apologies for being late; not enough of me for all that needed to be done, again. It will get easier; must stay in the moment and focus on the priority, therefore, 'blog entry' came in second once more. There are other factors, of course: different time and place to name just two.

When it's easier, there's to be no tardiness, only more exposure and volume. Fatigued to the point of mind exhaustion, for the first time I can remember, here. The physical can only take so much at any given time, ignoring my age or otherwise.

Missing my best friend, the one that's 'forever'. Filling the days and going home late, as it's not truly alive yet, or isn't when there isn't other life there, the exceptional kind. All is preparation, work is not so much a chore as part of a process with a goal.

Missed a deadline, because there's only one of me; it was for all basic purposes self-imposed, with witnesses. I would have been happy for anyone that made it, even if I didn't, unless perhaps everyone made it other than me, though that isn't what happened. We're all on the same team, so there's only the marker for what's next: re-defining where we are and beginning another day differently.

Always watching or sensitive to children, remembering mine when he was all of the ages that seem like only yesterday. He remembers as well, with reminders of pictures or toys kept that survived the 'favorites' and were not let go.

Waiting, or not

Can't remember a time when my timeline matched everyone else's; my child and I are in sync: we don't procrastinate on priorities. Even without constant updates, it seems I'm regularly ahead of what others take time with, or I'm moving things along when no one else seems to be (except for occasionally not posting 'on time' when other things are being attended to). This is all only perception; my mind doesn't seem to stop.

"Massive Action" is part of a quote by a friend that is neither new nor old. I act like I write, in very long sprints, rarely if ever comfortable resting. There's no time for rest at an age when most are beginning to wind down, there's no stopping now. There are no options, only to keep moving forward.

Everything is so fragile, and timely. It's raining out. Pouring. Glad to be inside, though not for long. Someone is still uncomfortable, much more so than I. I feel them almost as much as if it were me, sometimes as much: the reason stopping or resting is not an option. Someone cannot speak for themselves. Someone cannot say what they really mean. It isn't safe to do so. This is more common than most are aware or think about.

The right words at the right time; the right information at the right moment can mean life or death, or at best an entirely different outcome, which can go in either direction. Uncertainty is only a given, what causes fear is moment to moment. Some claim it's all from within; having seen so much, even that theory remains in question. Those who have not experienced or remember what happens in childhood for many can only comment on popular thought. What's hidden is the fabric of the landscape, like the soil that holds the trees. Never mind the forest; that's just the surface. Seems only the unconscious knows the surface isn't all there is, most of the time.

So close; so far away

Was in front of the screen to write on the usual day, and priorities that could not wait came before time ran out; the same for the next day. It's the first time every effort was made to be in the right place was made when just being there wasn't enough. One person having to do what no one else can do; things having to be done before anything else. Overwhelming. It may be the last time such constraints exist; I certainly hope so.

The last illness took a tremendous toll: unprepared, frustrated, not comprehending why so much time passed with little or no improvement. No chance for proper rest, no back-up. No nurse. No family nearby. Fortunately I'm ill so infrequently. Dragged myself here another day as another day still was not an option.

A bike tour detoured all traffic; the last two years and this one the route went right past our front door, where my son 'refreshed' everyone with his rotary-powered Superman watergun as they rode by. He's not here this weekend. He's far away, to a place I would not have taken him. He'll be back. He would be happy the race didn't have railings this year so that he could get closer to his targets with the water gun.

One year he had enough water guns for all of the children two doors down, so the bikers encountered a wet ambush. Only one other year was it cool enough for the water to be unwelcome. Today it was missed and would have been met with open arms off the handle bars. Saw a bike with three seats and helmet covers that looked like jesters and fish; lots of bright colors. I could only see them go by from the window, staying horizontal as long as possible until coming out for what cannot wait.

Every day it's something that can't be put off another day; feeling better would make a big difference. Where's my sense of humor? Congested in my chest, the kind that hasn't gone away for too many days now. Got material, and no energy to even sit up at home to get it all down. Where's the limo when you need it most? Where's the personal assistant? Where's the support? The results of years of effort? Any day now. Any day.

For Saysay

There are things children understand (or not) at certain ages that are moments to be savoured. At a party not long ago I reluctantly or sheepishly agreed to do a stand-up comedy routine which was recieved with delight and eager anticipation to the event organizers as I thought to myself there was no way to know how it would go.

Turned out it was an overwhelming success with much laughter and applause with requests for not only an encore; it was requested again at yet another gathering. Time now does not permit exploring this now exposed 'talent', though the spark has been lit for later development, particularly with empowering children, which is a long-term commitment.

As today took place, I asked a known and cherished nearby person of minor age what today's theme should be. As we tossed around ideas, I was reminded of her presence at the very gathering where the 'debut' took place, going on to say my son (the inspiration for and author of earlier posts) had found one of my original real-life 'jokes' very funny, though not another, both that were on an online form that was filled out.

The one he found funny enough to laugh out loud to had happened more than once; the more recent one (a 'first original' that the attendees of the gathering thought was extremely funny to the point they wrote it down) he didn't understand.

I was grateful; his not understanding meant that for now part of his precious innocence is still intact. His age borders on vulnerability to everyday exposure to what might not be inappropriate, though preferably in a perfect world he would not know until much later.

By the same token, my young lady 'consultant' for today had the same response. For today, in a small way, innocence is preserved, and there is gratitude for this and all that others may take for granted.

Most important in all of this is the children, so the part that they found funny may not be new to all: exercising a 'right' in a politically correct way that gets attention and makes one memorable, usually for the better. The census notwithstanding, in the many other forms we find ourselves filling out when necessary or voluntarily, there are often questions that many of us see as routine, and some of us find rather offensive in the sense that we are all more than part of a group, culture, or population, to name but a few. So when I encounter a form that requests my race (optional or otherwise), when possible, I will choose "Other" and fill in the box: Human.

"The Life of Harry Houdini"

"On or around 1883 a boy named Ehrich Weiss and his brother, Theo, started a little circus.

Ehrich called himself The Prince of Air. He did the trapeze. All the kids in the neighborhood went to see it.

The trapeze was made of broomsticks and rope. Ehrich’s mom made him a trapeze outfit. One of his tricks was picking up nails with his eyelids from the trapeze.

The brothers quit grade school, but kept their show going. Ehrich had always been into magic.

He and his brother had a magic show at the same time Ehrich was working in a locksmith shop.

He could pick any lock in the shop.

Ehrich’s favorite magician was Jean Enguene Robert Houdin. So Ehrich thought he could get his stage name from Houdin. He would add an ‘I’ to ‘Houdin’ to be ‘Houdini’ and change his nickname, ‘Ehrie’ to ‘Harry’, and ‘Harry Houdini’ was ‘born’.

Harry and his brother called themselves ‘The Brothers Houdini’. When they were performing in Coney Island, Harry saw a woman who was also performing, named Bess. Harry met Bess.

They fell in love and got married. He started performing with Bess instead of his brother, who kept performing, but never grew as famous as his brother.

Harry and Bess moved to England and Harry got work as a magician and escape artist, for a week. Harry’s employer said there were too many escape artists, but if he could break out of Scotland Yard, he could have six months of work. Harry never let a challenge go by.

Harry knew that most of London’s handcuffs could be opened with only two types of keys, and he owned both of them. At Scotland Yard, he was put in a cell naked with cuffs chaining him to

a stone pillar. The guards checked anywhere that he could be hiding extra keys, but Harry was hiding them where nobody thought to look. He was holding them in his throat.

Superintendent Melville assured Harry that he wouldn’t be getting out any time soon. But Melville was amazed, as seconds later, he heard chains and handcuffs clatter to the floor. Then Harry’s employer gave him six months of work.

When the six months were up, Harry and Bess moved to New York. They had two kids and Harry became very famous. They bought a huge house with a library with over four thousand books on magic.

Harry learned how to escape out of a straightjacket, but later on performed it with an added twist.

He would perform it hanging from a five story building. One time he performed, there were strong winds and he got pushed into the building and badly bruised.

In 1926, Harry was performing in Montreal, Canada, when two schoolboys confronted him backstage. Both of them had heard that he could take any punch. Before Harry had time to clench his muscles, one of them hit him hard several times in the stomach. Harry had a strong pain in this stomach that night. He went to the doctor and the doctor said his appendix had burst and needed to be removed, but Harry chose not to do it right away.

Harry should have cancelled his next show, because he was sick and injured, but he still performed the next day. He went onstage with a temperature of a hundred and four degrees, but during the intermission he collapsed backstage. He was rushed to the hospital, but it was too late. He was dying.

Harry died the next morning on October, 31st- Halloween. Harry was buried in the coffin he planned to use for his “Buried Alive” escape. He had fought death many times and he was used to winning, but this time he would lose.

I chose Harry Houdini for my book report because I’m into magic and Houdini is my favorite magician. He set an example for all magicians that followed him."

Dog Drill

Have reached a new decade and made it for over a month now. Asked my child what to make this about for the month and he said "dogs". So the first thing I thought of was 'The Dog Whisperer', to whom I'm grateful for what he has taught us so far.

Had dogs when I was my child's age, and was not taught how to appreciate them. Everything is about the example one is presented with from which to follow.

We couldn't do his homework assignment on the subject this month, as the dogs we know are domesticated, and the former was for animals in their natural habitat in 'the wild', past or present. The wish to focus on the inspiration of the dog whisperer is a reflection of the impact instilled since being exposed to his work for the first time. 'Amazing' again, how exposure to something different can have an effect on someone, which can be said for a lot of things, positive and otherwise.

He wants a dog, it is his wish second to our having a bigger place, which he made his first wish of the new year with his new Stone of Dreams from a Disney show.

Didn't get emotional when my son made that wish aloud, though it would have been very easy to, or I didn't show it at that moment. He can still cry, though part of him is very different and it's better now if the tears he does see are kept to a minimum.

Anyway, our dog will be worth the wait; let the healing begin, and thanks to all the other angels like Cesar who live for and amongst us.

Turning the corner

This time tomorrow, it will be another decade, another birthday, another turning point. This year is no exception in that having a birthday at a time when others are celebrating makes for leaving out the details of one's personal reality, for better or otherwise. It's not about age, as this has been happening since adolescence or as long as can be remembered. It's just too much at once: a birthday and major holiday at the same time, not unique to anyone who is familiar with the same.

So the celebration is deliberately a quiet one, known only by those close. Forgotten almost as soon as it's mentioned to anyone who might overhear, unless one is a celebrity. Still no regrets there. There might have been another child, though not the same one, who has been a gift and a miracle. As fragile as ever, who brought on the reckoning of another childhood lost, though not so much as others. Knowing the latter neither compensates for or lessens the impact when it's your only family, one's only child, grandchild, nephew, cousin, with their own precious life that passes in minutes, hours, days, and weeks that will not be replaced.

To some, we are not unique, depersonalized and labelled from the moment help and protection is sought. Categorized, stigmatized, triaged, stereotyped, profiled: our social conditioning, the biases of our respective environments, or simply social pressure, sometimes called 'politics', for lack of a better term. No wonder so many times 'no good deed goes unpunished'. In a different environment it's nearly impossible to imagine what happens to others, much less the long-term impact, especially early in life. For those who survive the connections and progression becomes very clear over time, yet those considered elders without awareness or knowledge continue to repeat history.

There is always something to be grateful for, yet for those whose loved ones are unaccounted for or whose whereabouts or state of health is unknown there is no peace. Not everyone loves children, not even their own; for those who do life is never the same once the completely unexpected changes everything forever in the blink of an eye, the stroke of a pen, an uninformed statement, all at once. Over time, there are many tears unknown or ignored, the source unrecognized. There are premature deaths, literal and of the spirit; personalities become completely different from abrupt changes in environment and exposure. And we wonder what is wrong with the current generation or the one before, as if it had nothing to do with the decisions of those who never touched them 'in any direct way'.

Perception is not what we see, any more than what we're told. The evolution of a spirit is only as good as its environment and support system in many regards, though not all. No child deserves to have their childhood taken. Looking at others through different eyes and listening to the words of souls without knowing where they came from one cannot distinguish between who is actually the child, as the most wisdom often comes from who is thought to be the latter.

So as the fireworks go off and confetti descends, the choice is to remain silent, for now.

Domino Effect

I know you didn't notice, unless you were already a follower; I did it again, not remembering the entry day until after the fact, one day earlier than the last...

A big struggle this year has been distinguishing where personal responsibility leaves off and outside circumstances begin, on a very large scale. Call it a blessing or a curse, love it or hate it, when not in the tunnel vision of ‘survival mode’, I’ve been alternately criticized then praised for being able to see ‘the big picture’. To keep that perspective, and a sense of sanity, I seek out to read or listen to anything inspirational and uplifting, including stories of those who have overcome very difficult odds. Sometimes those who tell the stories are not those who have gone through them, though rather others who have become inspired by them as well, who can insert them into a text to make a point. Still, they are not the individuals who endured the same hardships, though they very likely and have had trials of their own.

The media often knowingly shapes our perceptions, though individuals can become extremely defensive of being ‘brainwashed’, for lack of a better term. It is the very thinking they are fed on a daily basis, the uncontrollable need to pick up the daily news or watch it on TV that shapes decisions and judgments. The ‘extremely wealthy’ in our society are largely not affected by what controls the masses; in many instances, the former are the ones who also create the media. Not only today is the gap between the ‘classes’ widening, what most don’t know is the divide between the ‘Haves’ who have consciences, and those who do not. The latter want others to stay poor, and their discontent cannot be satisfied by any dollar amount, thus the extreme rate of their incomes being spent on material trappings, clubs, perks, ‘favors’, and so called ‘self-improvement’ attempts that often abruptly become replaced by something else if any real self-reflection becomes ‘uncomfortable’.

Resources and those it can influence takes precedence over examining root causes that affect and harm many innocent lives the media sometimes tells us with a shred of integrity are in fact the casualties of self-interested decisions several degrees of separation away. Too often, however, we are pounded by the ‘popular wisdom’ that others should pick themselves up by their bootstraps, even if they don’t have boots, or lost them to a higher bidder.

Going to a job one sometimes hates, picking up the paper and coffee, allows us to become numb to how that job, paper, and coffee came into existence sometimes on the backs of innocent children, women, and the elderly. It’s shocking to many that there could even be a connection of these ‘elements’ to each other. The ‘other half’ of the ‘Haves’ will tell a different story. Our discontent and everyday mundane ‘routines’ become an illusion, a ‘shield’ that permits the madness to continue.

We didn’t create the paper (but we bought it and read it, and used it as conversation at the water cooler so as to get along and attempt to bond with the coworkers we are ‘forced’ to coexist with, who make decisions about others). We didn’t make the coffee (but we bought it, harvested from the backs of workers that include children, women with child, and their parents and grandparents in underdeveloped areas). The jobs we hate we cling to, knowing that without trading the hour for the dollar we are much closer to those who reach out with a cup on the train we cannot make eye contact with. The pay that’s never enough is squandered on the ‘necessities’ of newspapers and coffee, to have something to do during commutes so as not to make eye contact with anyone, lost in our thoughts of discontent, reading all that’s ‘wrong’ with the world, in the paper, that we paid for, that paid the ‘Haves’ without a conscience, that we complain are ‘robbing’ the ‘Have nots’, yet it has nothing to do with ‘us’…