nurturing thursdays: a simple ending…

There are moments…usually quiet ones…where I find myself contemplating life’s purpose.

While I may not practice my Catholic faith as religiously as I did in the past, I continue to believe in a benevolent God from whom I received the gift of my life. What I make of it will be to my credit or discredit. I will either return to His loving embrace, or turn my back on Him forever.

The talents with which I’ve been endowed don’t make the headlines. No one bears witness to them except those closest to me, and these I can count on one hand.

Having just returned from settling our daughter into her new home thousands of miles away, I’m comforted knowing that she is surrounded by furnishings that remind her of our cozy, little family. My husband and I poured our hearts into making every inch of our daughter’s apartment functional. She, meanwhile, went off to her new positions as a dancer with a small, contemporary company by day, and a teacher of energetic, young dancers by night. Returning to an apartment glowing with all the love two parents could instill in it, meant the world to our deeply appreciative daughter.

I admire and respect those whose talents bring them acclaim in their communities or throughout the world. How they manage to share themselves with so many is unfathomable to me. They deserve whatever accolades are sent their way, as well as our humble thanks and congratulations.

As we were en route back to our home, sitting side by side on a cramped airplane, I would intermittently reach for my husband’s hand. Attempting to slumber, I rubbed my thumb along the length of his, pleasantly contented in our synchronicity after all these years.

With eyes closed I reflected upon the end of life.

I thought of Robin Williams who had audiences in stitches with his genius for comedy.  Yet while his public adored him, Williams obviously didn’t think he was up to the task of continuing to live the life he’d carved out for himself. Learning that he had Parkinson’s Disease, as revealed by his girlfriend after Williams’ death,  probably brought down his “house of cards.”

Sad when life gets so out of hand that we forget the first substantive moment from which all others evolved.

It matters that our lives make an imprint, large or small. Just as in the film “It’s A Wonderful Life,” our existence is attested to by those whose lives we touch.

When my life ends, I would simply like to be caressing the hands of those I love…who have loved me in return…warts and all. I have made a difference in their lives…

…my existence matters.

………hugmamma.

Enjoy more inspirational posts at
http://beccagivens.wordpress.com/

BPD and parenting

A writer whose hope soars heavenward, even as she stands in quicksand. Her life…a prayer.
………hugmamma.

kelzbelzphotography

A while ago I was asked by a fellow blogger about parenting and bpd (boarderline personality disorder) and how it affects my parenting and children. Most of my mental illness is minimised for them. They don’t know about my attempts or self harm. They know mummy was very sick and sad and was in hospital a few times. They know I’ve been in therapy and group. I’ve discussed the ins and outs. Why I did it, basically what it involves. I’ve been honest now when mummy is sad. It’s ok mummy is allow to cry or get angry sometimes. But mummies skills will make it better. They have both seen how low I was, and now how stable I am. I’ve had to gain their trust again. They were both scared they would have to move out again. It’s ongoing with their trust. It can take something simple as me…

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On Meeting Robin Williams, Twice in a Lifetime

A sweet story of Robin Williams in the part of…an ordinary man. Hugs to this generous soul for allowing us to see the humble side of a genius.
………hugmamma.

Obzervashunal

Robin Williams memories As a remembrance to one of the greatest comedic minds of our times… R.I.P., Robin W.

I only just learned he passed. I found the news on a blog post and instantly recalled the two times I met the incredibly gifted artist, named Robin Williams.

The first instance was a chance meeting, me walking down an unassuming sidewalk at dusk stuck in my thoughts when a puppy jumped on my leg. I didn’t do much thinking, I simply bend down and started playing with him. The voice offering an apology was one I knew also without the use of my thinking apparatus, Robin Williams was saying sorry for his puppy… who couldn’t talk (I think!).

We actually talked for a few minutes, mostly about the puppy. I remember having the feeling he needed not to be recognized, but to be treated like a regular guy walking a friendly, cool puppy. …

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three dimensional…

Just like my writing, I think of myself as a three-dimensional person. 

I’m compassionate and I’m edgy. Those who have followed along with my blog since its inception in 2010 have probably gathered as much.

Humor, of which mine is the tongue-in-cheek variety, lightens the stresses of everyday life.

To always dwell in the softness of clouds is not my life, and therefore not my writing.

I leave sweetness to those who handle it more deftly.

Others perceive what they will from what I write.

I myself tread lightly when looking into their souls.

For I know not from where they have evolved.

As they know not from whence I came.

Veils lift…shadows give way.

Accept what’s there,

…as it is offered.

………hugmamma.

goldilocks…who’s that sleeping in my bed?

Fellow blogger Following My Joy posted the youtube video at the bottom of this post to her site  at
http://followingmyjoy.com/2014/09/01/its-raining-cats-and-dogs/

Her post reminded me of my own pets Mocha and Sitka. I guess it’s true that when it comes to canines and felines…kitties have the upper hand…or so they like to think. Is it fearlessness, egoism, or…just plain ignorance?

 

Meanwhile, as my kitties demonstrate…blood is thicker than water. Brothers Sitka and Juneau have no problem sharing tight quarters. On the other hand, when Sunkist was still with us, she made no bones about her displeasure at sharing HER space with Sitka. 

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long gone…the wild, wild west…

Repeated several times on CNN news this morning were the compelling stories of American hostages being held by the government in North Korea, as well as by ISIS terrorists in Syria. Anyone listening to their pleas for release must feel compassion for them and for their loved ones back home. No one would want to trade places with either the captives or their families.

I must confess that while my immediate reaction is one of sympathy, there’s also a niggling feeling that Americans tend to take risks without sufficient thought as to the consequences. Yes, I’m sure they reflect upon the matter, but not enough to dissuade them from their course it seems. 

For better or worse, we Americans tend to think we can go anywhere, do anything. We rationalize our thinking by either following our God-given right to do so, or our sense of morality. Meanwhile, we don’t take into account that other cultures might feel the same way about their rights and moral obligations.

That I can understand the other side’s viewpoint is perhaps owing to the fact that the Hawaiian Islands, my birthplace, were annexed by the United States against the will of the reigning Monarch, Queen Liliuokalani, and the majority of natives. 

Of course the transaction was not a simple one. It never is. There was enough finger-pointing to go around. However, the Western businessmen who prodded the U.S. Congress and President Cleveland into making Hawaii a Republic had railed against the natives as being ignorant heathens unable to rule themselves. 

Of the 150,000 Hawaiian residents, fewer than 800 were allowed to vote for the ratification of the Republic of Hawaii.

“Why is that?” you ask.

King Kalakaua, the queen’s predecessor, was unable to secure the intervention of other foreign powers to help thwart the efforts of his opponents. He was forced to sign into law a constitution which required voters to own property. It became known as the Bayonet Constitution. According to the well-written book Princess Kaiulani, Hope of a Nation, Heart of a People by Sharon Linnea…

This effectively took the vote away from most native Hawaiians and gave it to virtually every Western businessman, even those who weren’t citizens. Why did so few Hawaiians own land? For centuries, Hawaiian land had been overseen by the alii and his people–the concept of owning land was completely foreign to Hawaiians. When Western businessmen had begun to want to own Hawaiian property (and reap Hawaiian sugar profits), land formerly governed by alii had been parceled out to the Hawaiian people. Native Hawaiians, often unable to read English, had had no understanding of how a piece of paper could mean that they “owned” mountains or lakes or coastland, and they had been happy to sell the deeds to Westerners for cash in hand. In this way, many Hawaiians had ended up homeless in their own country. Now, according to the new constitution, the Westerners had bought up votes along with the land. The running of the country would now be in their hands.

Yes. I have empathy for fellow Americans who find themselves in life or death situations. However my eyes are also open to those who might feel we are trespassing upon their territory, their religion, their culture. So the fact that our government must tread lightly when our citizens find themselves on hostile turf is not altogether unexpected. 

…the days of the wild, wild west…are no more.

………hugmamma.

(Photo courtesy of Wikipedia)