Feb 15, 2010

Mamaw Osborne
We love you and you will be missed!

Feb 13, 2010

Birth & Death

Tonight as I sit with many family members, surrounded around my mamaw's hospital bed, I begin to think and then finally realize that birth and death aren't very much different at all. This train of thought may simply be coping mechanism, but here is my rationale:

Birth: Anyone who has ever viewed a birthing video, or has given birth or witnessed someone giving birth knows that childbirth can be very ugly. There is a lot of waiting, a lot of pain, a lot of bittersweet moments, several on edge moments, etc. Most of the time, you have family and friends gathered around you providing support. There is blood, sweat and tears. Oh, and did I mention needles (I hate needles by the way)? The final outcome, however, is beautiful-a baby is the end result. A baby who is seeing the world for the first time, a baby who is feeling his/her mother's touch for the first time. A baby who is feeling emotions for the first time. It's a beautiful thing.

Death: People, in most cases, die with their friends and family surrounding them. There is blood, there is sweat, and there are lots and lots of tears. There are needles too (unfortunately). Family and friends shed tears one moment and then laugh about great memories the next. Like birth, there is a lot of waiting as well.

Tonight, I tried to look at death, not as the end, but as a new beginning, a rebirth.

Signing off...

Feb 12, 2010

To Mamaw!

If I were...

If I were anything but me, I'd be...

I admit, I stole this from another Blogger:)

If I were a month, I'd be October.

If I were a day of the week, I'd be Thursday.

If I were a time of the day, I'd be 7:30 pm.

If I were a planet, I'd be Jupiter.

If I were a sea animal, I'd be a starfish.

If I were a direction, I'd be northeast.

If I were a piece of furniture, I'd be a bookshelf.

If I were a liquid, I'd be clean pool water.

If I were a gemstone, I'd be Emerald (or Ruby) can't decide.:)

If I were a tree, I'd be a weeping willow.

If I were a tool, I'd be a hammer

If I were a kind of weather, I'd be a cool, Fall day.

If I were a musical instrument, I'd be a piano.

If I were a color, I'd be bubblegum pink.

If I were an emotion, I'd be fear.

If I were a mythical creature, I'd be a fairy.

If I were a fruit, I'd be a mango.

If I were a sound, I'd be the sound of someone typing.

If I were a car, I'd be late 80's/early 90's model, chocolate brown, Volvo Station Wagon (I've always wanted one).

If I were a food, I'd be Eggplant Parmesan.

If I were a place, I'd be the library.

If I were a taste, I'd be vanilla.

If I were a scent, I'd be vanilla.

If I were an object, I'd be a yoga mat.

If I were a body part, I'd be an ear.

If I were a facial expression, I'd be a big smile

If I were a song, I'd be Eye of the Tiger

If I were a pair of shoes, I'd be a pair of Chuck Taylor's

If I were a flower, I'd be a pink carnation.

If I were a material, I'd be burlap.

Signing off for now...

Feb 10, 2010

Poetry Week

Hi Dear Bloggers,

I'm deeming this poetry week even though the week is almost over. I plan to post one of my fave poems each day for the rest of the week. Today's Poem is Mirror by Sylvia Plath:


I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
Whatever I see I swallow immediately
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.
I am not cruel, only truthful-
The eye of a little god, four-cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
it is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
I think it is part of my heart. But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.

Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me,
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
I am important to her. She comes and goes.
Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me and old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.
"In me she has drowned a young girl." This to me, is the most profound line in the poem. It is difficult for any woman who is growing older to look into the mirror, and over time, essentially see a stranger looking back at her. Each morning I notice a new blemish, wrinkle, gray hair, etc, while overlooking the positive attributes. To all women out there, the next time you look into the mirror, rather than pointing out your flaws, instead embrace your beauty.:)
Signing off,