1/2 Dutch

Because my brain is so often huffing and puffing its way through an editing gauntlet, one of the things I look forward most to on my day off is . . . nothing. Well, no, not nothing; that would boring, and then I’d become restive, which is a fancy word for twitchy, which isn’t pretty–at all. The nothing I speak of is more of minimal something, requiring very little of me cognitively:

Pictures.

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In Good Company

The sun shines best when there are those present to receive its warmth.

Lives are full. Schedules are packed. And ambition never sleeps. Yet, still you came.

This is a very quick post to simply say, Thank You. The last couple of days have been abundantly warm and sunny . . . because of you. Because you found time in your day to stop what you were doing and be a part of something that is very special to me. Along with your congratulations and accolades, many of you followed the new blog, liked was was provided, and offered your thoughts for me to savor. Some of you — I’ll have you know — I could actually hear your raucous cheers through the speakers. And a few of you gracious beings went so far to plug the book on your social networking sites. Gloria, Michael . . . thank you. You can find these lovely people at the links below.

http://theblissfuladventurer.com/

http://gloriarichard.wordpress.com/

One expects such support and kindness from family and friends, those you have walked beside during the storms and rainbows; but from those you have never met? No matter where this road leads, where it suddenly ends and I must turn in search of another, I will have been blessed because kindness touched my life.

And so I shall wend and wind,

taking full oath in that which is staunch and blind, never to

forget what harkens in the rise of the curtain, the fall of the blithe.

Sweet serenades of company and bliss, a marching fathomless fleet to awaken one’s

kiss.

Happy Friday to you, friends.

~ Cara

awakeningfosterkelly.com

A Treasure of Incomparable Worth: Father

Shoulders and calves. Oily scalp and big teeth. Sense of humor and charisma. Eloquence and fetching smile. Temper. Sweet tooth. Optimism and open mind. Intelligence and sophistication. Impatience and obstinacy. Cynosural wit.

My father gave these things to me. Some I didn’t want. Many I will always be grateful for. All of them make me his daughter.

***

She will start out small. Small hands. Small feet. Small smiles in the thick of sleep. She will not stay that way, however. She will grow. And you must grow with her.

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I Start to Awake.

I woke up with something loud on my heart.

Does that happen to you? For me, it’s quite normal. I imagine that on the slippery tunnel ride out, whatever dreams I might’ve been having leave their foggy imprint on my brain — like a carbon copy — staining my conscious mind.

I am not an expert on sleep, nor do I purport to understand how dreams effect the mind; but being someone who both dreams and sleeps with regular attendance, and then wakes up (Or at least I think I am awake; ever since seeing Inception, I’ve had to wonder if . . .) I can strongly argue a case wherein I hypothesize that, the manner in which one wakes will set a tone for that individual. Maybe not for the entire day, but for some time.

If I were an artist — the kind that uses color rather than colorful language — and I attempted to draw my mind in its unconscious state, I believe it would resemble something like this:

Or perhaps this:

Nonsensical. Incomprehensible. Bizarre. Erratic. Dysfunctional.

I dream loud. And if possible, I’m busier asleep than when I am awake. So, more often than not, the first minutes of my morning are not the quiet ascent into wakefulness, but weighted with the certainty that something unfavorably odd has slunk off into a cavern, where it will wait for me till nightfall.

On this particular morning, I lie in bed for a while trying to define the loudness, staring at the popcorn ceiling, and wondering what it might manifest into; or, if it would stay hidden from me. It does that, you know. There was a puppy to release from the confines of the bathroom, however, and coffee awaiting me in the kitchen, so I decided to leave it be for the time being, and begin my morning.

Today is my day off, and while I look forward to the day in which nothing is expected of me, this day is most often accompanied by wildly eminent expectations. Is there a bit of irony there? I don’t know. Irony is one of those abstruse trivialities I keep a constant wary eye on; I just don’t trust it. I don’t even get it, truthfully. So I turned my back on it, or I didn’t, and I read a magazine. I get magazines.

And as I sifted through the rubbery pages adorned with lovely pictures, Pandora’s finest providing soundtrack, I suddenly knew what it was.

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