A Hug on the Sidewalks of Manhattan

Standing inside the outer lobby of the Regal Cinemas on Broadway between 13th and 14th, across the busy New York sidewalk, slightly upstage of the pedestrian traffic, I caught sight of a hug in progress.

But to call it a hug seems rather understated, as I felt the ease of affection displayed upon this public stage, and marveled at the depth of love, trust, and heart exchanged by both parties who, in that moment, seemed unaware of the march of feet and time happening around them.

The young boy, possibly 7,8,9 years of age, had both of his arms wrapped tightly around, and both his legs braced firmly on either side, of an older male guardian.

The guardian, possibly in his late 30ties, 40ties, early 50ties, had his arms wrapped fiercely around the young boy, his eyes closed, giving and receiving love in equal measure.

When the guardian eased his embrace, he stood in place while the young boy, whose feet were now firmly on the ground, held onto the older man's waist for a brief moment.

Then breaking free and taking the lead, the boy crossed over to the right hand side of the man, and proffered his left hand.

Contact made, they continued on their journey.

The display of love, touched my heart. The fact that this young boy was so comfortable in his physical display of affection, and his male guardian was just as open hearted in the receiving and in the giving of love, made me stop, made me pay attention, and, in the witnessing, honestly, made me love.

Four on the Streets of Flatbush

On what would become a rainy weekday morning, as dawn groggily rolled out of bed and began to light heaven's lamps across the sky, making their way across the street, the female guardian held the hand of one child, while a slightly older sibling held the hand of the other.  But suddenly, as they neared the sidewalk, the older sibling and his young partner, broke out into a run, whose driving force appeared to be simply for the pure enjoyment and exhilaration to be found in the experience. Behind them, still in the street, the female guardian and her little one maintained their pace. The guardian probably thinking nothing of the impromptu race, her mind perhaps filled with adult type or caregiver concerns, while the little one by her side either wishing he had been an active participant or content in his role as a spectator deriving a quiet joy from simply  bearing witness.

I know I derived a quiet joy from simply bearing witness :)

Consciousness in Action on the Downtown No. 5 Train

The downtown No. 4 train was packed.

When I got on, I glanced around for a place to sit.

The couple who boarded before me were each navigating large pieces of luggage but managed to find an area to stand in front of a seated family of four.  The family was comprised of a female guardian, a male guardian, a young boy, possibly, 4/5/6 years of age, and a young girl, possibly, 5/6 years of age, sitting on the male guardian's lap.  The young boy was sitting very close to the female guardian and absently twirling a lock of her shoulder length brown hair in his right hand.

"Would you like to sit?" The female guardian adjusted her glasses as she spoke to the couple with the luggage.

The couple declined.

"Are you sure? We just have two more stops?"

Again, the couple declined, this time, smiling and verbalizing their, "Thanks."

I tuned out but not before filing away the thought, 'I don't believe I have ever witnessed someone with young children offer up their seat to someone else before. I'm sure it happens, case in point, but I don't remember seeing it before.'

With that in mind, I settled into my standing position next to a pole.  Wrapping my left arm around it for additional balance, I closed my eyes, letting my mind wander as the train closed its doors and continued the journey to the next stop.

A few minutes later, I tuned back into the world around me when I heard some laughter followed by a sound of displeasure. Once again I found myself observing the family of four.

Something had occurred that had the little boy laughing and the female guardian untangling his hand from her hair. It appeared that the male guardian hadn't seen what occurred but echoed the boy in laughter.

"You're laughing," the woman addressed the man, exasperated. "But he just clocked me in the face."

Suddenly serious, the man looked at the boy. "You don't clock Mommy in the face."

Undoubtedly triggered by the word, "clock" and the seriousness with which it was delivered, the little boy started laughing again.

"It's not funny," the mother replied. She didn't raise her voice.  But there was also nothing passively aggressive in her statement or demeanor.  She was calm, focused and completely serious. "You have to apologize."

"Sorry, Mommy," the boy replied, traces of amusement still coloring his expression.

Steadily watching her son's face, the mother shook her head and repeated, "No, you have to apologize."

"Sorry, Mommy," the boy said again, this time with the humor gone, but eyes withholding contact.

"No," the mother repeated. "You have to apologize and mean it."

A few moments of silence passed, and then the boy looked over at her, and made eye contact. "Sorry, Mommy."

All this time, throughout this interaction, the Father has been quiet but completely focused on the exchange.

Once again, although this time unprompted, the boy repeated, "Sorry, Mommy," and something about this final one convinced her and she accepted his apology.

After a brief moment, the father raises his right hand, and a few seconds later, the mother meets it with her left, culminating in a gentle high five.

I loved it. I loved everything about this interaction. I loved how the mother stayed on topic with her son. I loved that she patiently waited for him to transition from humor to connecting to the seriousness of the situation.  I loved that although the father was quiet, he was very present to what was happening and his support of her was crystal clear. I loved the gentle high five. To me it said, 'Good work. I support you. We're in this together. Team Parents, Go!' I loved that even when the child saw the initial humor, both parents patiently held space for the seriousness of the situation.  One didn't blow it off. Neither blew it off.  Neither party came across as frustrated.  Neither party emotionally or physically threatened the child.  And the length of the journey taken to communicate the seriousness of the situation didn't feel rushed.  The child said sorry a number of times, but the mother knew the difference in those notes and waited for the one that rang as the most conscious.

I loved witnessing it all.

Observation on the sidewalk in Brooklyn

Above me, night steadily carpeted the sky. I had left work about an hour before, and now, after a 45 minute train ride, I was at the Junction, awaiting the bus, awaiting the start of the final leg on my journey home.

Standing in a sea of people, I glanced down the street, hoping for a sign of the bus.  I stretched my neck, I leaned forward, I leaned backwards, I watched others play out a variation on this theme. Time passed, but still no bus.

A mother and her young daughter wove their way through the crowd.  It was the young girl who initially caught and held much of my attention.

Smartly dressed, her accessories included a black winter hat, a white knit chunky infinity scarf, and stylish ankle length brown suede boots.  If I had to guess her age, I'd seesaw between Kindergartner or First grader.

Swaying slightly from side to side, clearly engaged in the solitary playful exchange prevalent in most of her generation-- that oftentimes inevitable exchange with an invisible other,-- she made me smile.   I watched her wiggle and dance in place, with her left hand in her mother's right, and in her right hand, almost prize like, a cookie still housed in its clear plastic. She cradled that cookie in a manner that told me she would savor it when the first opportunity presented itself.

Daughter's hand firmly in her grasp, her mother's singularly focused attention was on crossing the street against the light.

Watching as they made their way across, mother, keenly vigilant, daughter blissfully unaware but feeling safe and free to dance and play, I thought of my own mother and how, many, many, many years ago, we two, on countless occasions, must have been engaged in the same living tableau.

On Target in Target

Target. On a weekend. Even the self checkout stations had a long queue.

Glancing back to where I stood in the regular line, I noticed that the customer in front of me had unloaded her shopping cart items onto the conveyor belt and then abandoned said cart.  Directly in the path of customers still awaiting checkout. Of which I was numero uno. 

I looked at her now abandoned cart, seeing its great potential at leading a double life as a pedestrian roadblock.  I looked back at the customer who paid me no mind, engaged as she was in conversation with the cashier. So I made a choice.  I had hands, and I knew what I was about to do wouldn't negatively affect anyone around me.  And so, setting peace as the intention, I chose to get out of line and push the cart a ways away to where it couldn't even entertain a short stint as a human speed bump.

Then I got back in line behind the customer just as the cashier was telling her about available bargains, if she were so inclined, on one of her purchases.

The customer never noticed that her shopping cart had been moved. But I did notice feeling a little better.

As she was finishing with that transaction, the cashier looked up at me, and made eye contact. Then treating me to a warm smile, said, "Hello!"

Instinctively, I found myself meeting her in that warm energetic space with a, "Hi!" of my own. That's when I realized I was interacting with a very present, making-the-best-of-it-in-this-our-given-circumstances young lady.  

Perhaps it's because I'm a Supervisor in a Customer Service position, but during any outside of work customer service interaction, I'm always so appreciative of those who are not only doing the work but are also choosing to be present and engaging. I get that it can be hard and, in the case of cashiers, they're on their feet for their entire shift and interacting with all manner of energies. But when one chooses to be present, chooses to defeat the temptation called, autopilot, I have found it makes it easier to make peace with how long the race to the front of the line feels.

As if reading my mind, she then asked, "Did you have to wait a long time?"

"It was long-- well it felt long, but-- it was okay."

And then, with unexpected empathy, she replied, "I'm really sorry about that."  

"That's okay," I heard myself say.  "In fact," I added, "What helps is you smiled, connected and said hello."

"I wish more people reacted that way," she said, almost wistfully.  She was still smiling, as she turned off her cashier light to signal she was close to the end of her shift. 

Then after letting the customer behind me know she would be her last one, she continued.  "I've had people get upset or not respond or threaten that they would be contacting corporate because they've been waiting in line for a long time.  They see these empty registers and they don't realize they're not working. Trust me, if I could make them all work, I would!"

"Well, again," I automatically found myself saying, "I know I appreciate the fact that you chose to connect with me."

I had learned something new.  The idea that there were registers that didn't work had never crossed my mind before. In the past, anytime I had found myself wondering which of the long lines I would join, 9 times out of 10, i thought that the reasons they were so long was because Target had cut down on its employees. 

"I saw you getting out of line earlier and thought you were leaving," she said as I finished paying and was retrieving my debit card from the chip reader.

"Ha. Yeah. No. The lady ahead of me left her shopping cart and I needed to move it to activate my peace of mind."

We laughed.

And with that, we were at the end of the interaction.  She wished me a good day.  I thanked her for her help and left Target thinking how lovely that interaction was.

I didn't get her name but I know I'll recognize her when next I see her.

You Were Made For This by Clarissa Pinkola Estes

You Were Made For This by Clarissa Pinkola Estes (Jan. 28th, 2008)

Ours is not the task of fixing the entire world all at once, but of stretching out to mend the part of the world that is within our reach. Any small, calm thing that one soul can do to help another soul, to assist some portion of this poor suffering world, will help immensely. It is not given to us to know which acts or by whom, will cause the critical mass to tip toward an enduring good. What is needed for dramatic change is an accumulation of acts, adding, adding to, adding more, continuing. We know that it does not take everyone on Earth to bring justice and peace, but only a small, determined group who will not give up during the first, second, or hundredth gale.
One of the most calming and powerful actions you can do to intervene in a stormy world is to stand up and show your soul. Soul on deck shines like gold in dark times. The light of the soul throws sparks, can send up flares, builds signal fires, causes proper matters to catch fire. To display the lantern of soul in shadowy times like these -- to be fierce and to show mercy toward others; both are acts of immense bravery and greatest necessity. Struggling souls catch light from other souls who are fully lit and willing to show it. If you would help to calm the tumult, this is one of the strongest things you can do.
There will always be times when you feel discouraged. I too have felt despair many times in my life, but I do not keep a chair for it. I will not entertain it. It is not allowed to eat from my plate. [...]
In that spirit, I hope you will write this on your wall: When a great ship is in harbor and moored, it is safe, there can be no doubt. But that is not what great ships are built for.
--Clarissa Pinkola Estes

I Woke Up this Morning

I went to bed last night a person who believes in love. I went to bed last night a person who tries to be a better, kinder person in action and in thoughts. I went to bed last night a person whose moral default strives to be conscious and empower myself and others from a place of consciousness.  I went to bed last night a person who believes in compassion, in respect, and in playing my part to the best of my abilities in this massive stage production of comedy-tragedy-theatre-of-the-absurd-theatre-of-cruelty-fantasy-adventure-musical-drama called life. I woke up this morning and although I am still that person, there have been changes.  Some old characters now have more prominent roles and the stakes appear higher than ever.  But looking within, I, too, see I have been visited by change.  And this a change I welcome wholeheartedly. This internal change is to now pursue my aforementioned objectives with greater passion and unwavering focus. My circumstances don't have to define me-- ultimately, I get to define me. Along the way, there may be tears, feelings of anger, bewilderment, frustration, but I will always, always,  return to love.  I will always, always, champion, love.

Sock Limbo

I have several pairs of socks that incrementally slide down my ankles only to bunch up at base of my heels.  I know this to be case as I've often experienced it when one sock is doing it and the other pair is not. Over the weekend, I decided to really take the time to match up my socks.  This meant putting together the pairs that like to do the limbo with my ankles.  Today, I put on one of these special pairs and sure enough they've slid down to the base of my heels.  I did this to myself😜

A Marvelous Start to a Monday!

Once upon a time, a lady who depended on public transportation to get to work, left her house about 9 minutes later than usual.  As she had good reason, she made peace with her delay and hoped for the best.  And so, with backpack on and plastic bags in each hand, she exited her home.

One bag held extra items for the day including her lunch and snacks.  The other two bags held the trash and plastic containers for recycling. Dropping off the latter bags, she unlocked the front gate, walked through, and locked it behind her.

Given the fact that the bus stop was about a seven minute walk from where she lived, and it was a cold Fall morning, and she had headed out later than usual, she began to speed walk.  As she walked, she put on her headphones, downloaded the latest episode of a podcast, and pressed play to listen an already downloaded episode of another frequently listened to podcast.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a bus driver exiting a store.  She had just passed his off schedule bus parked near the sidewalk she was currently traveling on.  Suddenly, and very much to her surprise, the bus driver called out to her.

"Good morning! Come on, I'll give you a ride."

She stopped in her tracks, podcast still playing in her ears, unsure if she had heard him correctly.

"Really?!" She asked, all the while fumbling to turn off the recording.

She missed some of his answer, but caught up as he said, "You're going to the Junction, right?"

"Yes!" She exclaimed in awe of this unexpected gift of kindness and generosity. "Yes! Thank you so much!"

She quickly got on the bus and sat down.  Then she changed her mind and went to stand next to the glass casing enclosing the bus driver.  The combination of the glass and the volume of the driver made it difficult to truly engage in conversation. But she asked him if he was just starting or ending his shift.

"Starting," he said. "I wish I was finishing."

"Well, I hope this turns out to be a truly wonderful shift for you," she replied still tickled at being given a lift to the train station.

She watched as the bus driver passed the stop she would have been waiting at, and recognized the lone man waiting for the bus-- a bus which was probably still 15 to 20 minutes away.

She watched as the bus driver efficiently navigated the street path next to the sidewalk path she would walk on occasion to get to the subway station--about a 30 to 45 minute walk.

Finally, the bus driver pulled over to let her off.  She thanked him.  She thanked him with heartfelt gratitude.  She thanked him for making her "heart beam at such unexpected kindness."

He smiled, saying, "Anytime" and wished her a good day.

Still beaming, the lady made her way to the train station, got on her train and made it to work at what would be her normal arrival time had she not left the house later than usual.

When she got to work, she thought, 'What a marvelous start to the week! What a marvelous start to a Monday!'

A Poem by Mark Nepo

Breaking Surface by Mark Nepo

Let no one keep you from your journey,
no rabbi or priest, no mother
who wants you to dig for treasures
she misplaced, no father
who won't let one life be enough,
no lover who measures their worth
by what you might give up,
no voice that tells you in the night
it can't be done.
Let nothing dissuade you
from seeing what you see
or feeling the winds that make you
want to dance alone
or go where no one
has yet to go.
You are the only explorer.
Your heart, the unreadable compass.
Your soul, the shore of a promise
too great to be ignored.

Working on Forgiveness

"I forgive you for not being the way I wanted you to be. I forgive you and set you free." -- Louise L. Hay affirmation from her book, You Can Heal Your Life.

I recently felt hurt in an exchange with someone I care about. I had asked a question from (my perspective) a place of love, and was told "Mind your own business." The reply was so unexpected and I had been so emotionally open and invested that the next thing I knew, I found myself fighting silent tears. I didn't engage any further, was careful to hide my tears, and as soon as the opportunity presented itself, I made my way to the bathroom and cried.

I gave myself permission to cry. I rationalized that a part of me was hurt, and that innocent feeling part-- that inner child--, required help. So the adult part of me, gave her space to cry. It was the safest way for me to get the hurt out or at the very least assist the healing process along.

Later, when I realized that future imagined interactions with this person had me planning to interact from a place of hurt, I reached for a mantra. The one that came to mind is from Louise L. Hay's You Can Heal Your Life: "I forgive you for not being the way I wanted you to be. I forgive you and set you free."

My thinking was I would say this mantra over and over until it felt true for me-- however long or short it takes. And I'll know it's worked when I can think back to the exchange and not feel hurt.  As I committed to saying it, I genuinely felt like I was helping myself via this action than taking ones that would tempt me to wall myself up with hurt.

I wanted to change the potential effect of the initial exchange. I'm the one inhabiting this body, so I'd like to help it be more of a home as much as I consciously can.

For more on Louise L. Hay's thoughts on Forgiveness: http://www.louisehay.com/forgiveness/

The Claire Experience at the BBG

Sitting by myself on a bench at the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens, a little girl suddenly ran over and tried to hoist herself up next to me.  When the mother came over and asked her to say hello, I learned that the little blonde, blue eyed adventurer's name was, Claire.

My favorite part of the Claire experience was when she climbed down and came to the other side of me and then proceeded to explore the texture of the arm of the bench. Running her hands over it a few times, I asked her what she thought of it. She said it was smooth and long and she wanted to climb it. Hearing this, her mom, now sitting next to me where Miss Claire had been minutes before, called out, "If you need any help from me, just let me know." And two seconds later, Claire did just that. I loved how her mom allowed her to explore and at the same time reminded Claire she was close by and ready to help if she requested it.

As Claire was very comfortable being physically up close and personal, her mom suggested climbing the arm of the bench closest to where she was sitting.

She carried and arranged Claire according to her wishes, and then they sat for a few minutes-- Claire on the arm, Mom on the bench. I learned as mom disclosed to Claire that she had a Simon & Garfunkel song stuck in her head the same way Claire sometimes had Itsy Bitsy Spider stuck in hers. When Claire started sucking on her thumb, her mom suggested to her that it appeared she was tired and fighting a nap. She asked her if she wanted to be placed in the stroller. Claire  immediately took her thumb out of her mouth and responded with a very clear, "No!" But a minute later she decided she wanted to lie down.

Well according to mom, she could only do that in the stroller, and so, as she was being secured, Claire began to cry. Her mom promised she'd push her around for bit before heading home, and then told me Claire was overdue for a nap.

And so I waved goodbye to mother and daughter, and thanked them for the delightful interaction.

Try to Communicate, Try

The last time I saw my father, he had already begun his transition out of this life.

We didn't live in the same state and so I hadn't seen him for some months. But we spoke on the phone almost every week. The last phone conversation we had, about a week before his passing, was shorter than most --his voice was faint. I told him I'd be coming to visit the next weekend.

That week, my mom got word to one of my brothers that if there was a way for him to come home, however brief, it was important that he try. He's in the Navy and at that time was off shore and quite a ways away. But he promised he'd do everything he could.  My other brother was already in the process of moving back home to help my mom.

As I journeyed to my Parents, part of me sensed that Death was on the doorstep, but another part felt there was a chance that maybe he wouldn't get inside.  I prayed. I said affirmations. I tried to stay positive. But when I arrived and saw him, I knew Death had already entered the premises and was giving him time to say goodbye. Not literally say goodbye because at that point my dad was no longer speaking and there was't any indication that he could hear us. But his eyes were open and he was still breathing and I knew in my heart he was holding out for my other brother to get home. By this time, I had confirmation that he was on his way and so my mom and I told my dad and asked him to hold on.

From the moment I saw my dad, I knew his transition was inevitable and I basically began mourning. I was only there for the weekend but I sat with him and helped my mom and other brother do what we could to make him more comfortable.

My mom was/is amazing. My other brother-- the one who was in the process of moving back home-- was/is amazing. My brother in the Navy, ditto.

I left on a Sunday. My brother in the Navy arrived on Monday. My father passed on Tuesday morning.

It's been three years this past September 10th and while the feeling of loss is not as consistent and all consuming as it was-- particularly that first year-- now and again, the tears take over and I just have to give them room and permission to be what they choose to be.

My dad and I were really close. I think of the good memories but I also wish I could have been better at communicating during our not so pleasant interactions. When it came to the latter, I was, honestly, passive aggressive. I didn't speak up when things annoyed me or when I wasn't onboard with how he was going about things and I would get so upset because he didn't seem to see things from my own perspective. But that wasn't fair. How could he see things from my perspective if I didn't give voice to my perspective? As I am my father's daughter, I feel it's fair to say he, too, kept things inside. Actually, looking at my immediate family, I would say it's a shared communication trait that was most likely passed down, but now, my brothers and I, to varying degrees, are working on learning to be better communicators.

I apologized to my dad today for the times I didn't speak up. I apologized for not knowing how and for choosing the default of loaded accusatory silence.  I know I--we-- did the best that we could based on what we knew and what we learned from those we grew up with. And while I can't actively practice better communication with him, I'm trying with my mom, my brothers and with others.  I think Maya Angelou is quoted as saying, "When you know better, you do better." I'm sorry I didn't know better when he was here, but I'm trying to do better now. Not always "successful" and not always in the moment, but in my own way, I'm trying.

I write this to say that unless one speaks up--actually, unless one communicates (because speaking up and communicating aren't exactly the same concept), it's not fair to believe that others involved know what one is feeling. What may seem "logical" -- no matter the general consensus-- is still  a subjective perspective.  If something doesn't sit well and the choices are between choosing loaded accusatory silence versus communicating, genuinely give the latter a try. I'm sure life will give us plenty of opportunities to practice.

Seen on the Bus- A Snapshot of Sweetness

White and grey hued clouds peppered the blue expanse of sky as I got on the bus to begin the first leg of my morning commute to work. As I stood, holding on to a pole, swaying with the push and pull of the vehicle, I noticed two fellow passengers.

They were of Hispanic decent and looked to be Father and daughter. He was dressed in a blue denim jacket with a matching denim hat and jeans. She was perched sideways on his lap facing my direction, and underneath her off white cap, her shoulder length hair fell straight as black rain. She looked to be about 3 or 4, and quietly smiled to herself when her guardian--again father, I think-- drew her in for a hug. At one point, we made eye contact and I smiled a quick hello.

When their stop was approaching, he picked her up and she, in turn, curled her arms around his neck in a hug that spoke of love and trust and sleepiness. Then as they exited, he called out to the bus driver in a clear, strong voice, "Thank you! Have a good day!" And the little girl, now cradled over his left shoulder, expressed her goodbye with a shy wave of her right hand.

A snapshot of sweetness at the start of my day.

Seen on the Subway-- Love in Action

I boarded the subway train and sat across from a man.  He looked to be in his 50ties.  Next to him sat, what felt to me to be, a version of his teenage self-- so strong the nature of their shared facial features. Both were so focused on the electronic trip map that announced the upcoming station stops that I concluded they were either visitors to the city or just simply concerned with missing their exit stop, or both. Eyes steadily trained on the map, they exchanged a few words--indecipherable to me due, in part, to my headphones, the faint volume of their conversation, and, to a greater degree, the drowning underscore of machinery in action that was our train as it sped along the tracks. At one point, the older man reached out his right hand  and grasped the right shoulder of the younger man, pulling the latter slightly towards him resulting in a snapshot that spoke of love and pride. Despite the gesture, they still kept their gazes turned out, still resting on the map. But now, the young man was smiling. And so the combined effect of the shoulder grasp and the smile that followed, touched my heart and made me smile, too.

Why am I getting Upset?

Sitting on the subway train heading into work this morning, a young man got on and sat next to me. I saw him take a swig of his Pepsi, turn on his music-- he had ear phones on-- and begin to bop and sway. Soon, he got more comfortable and started lip singing the lyrics-- quietly for the most part, but once in a while, a sound would break through the silence. As he got even more comfortable, he added hand gestures-- basically, his version of channeling the original artist either giving a live concert or recording in the confined space of an isolation booth. At first, I found myself getting irritated. Observing this, I soon realized this was because I was concerned he would start singing in full voice. A few weeks back, I got on the train with another passenger who also had on headphones but insisted on singing explicit song lyrics, loudly. So loud that those already in the car and every new passenger that got on kept looking in his direction. I think it’s safe to say we were all wishing he would stop, but at the same time, none of us felt it wise to approach him. First off, he was a Goliath of a man. Secondly, if this Goliath saw no issue with singing explicit lyrics in a crowded train, full voiced, what was to stop any request to tone it out down from resulting in potential physical or emotional violence? At one of our stops, two cops actually came on and spoke to him about his conduct. He waited until they got off, the doors closed, and then resumed his loud rendition of the song playing in his ears. This was after he cursed them out for daring to approach him in the first place. Returning my attention to the young man sitting next to me, I made myself observe what was happening in real time. He wasn't singing out loud. He wasn't being what I would consider noisy or inconsiderate to his fellow passengers. He had on quality headphones because even though we were sitting right next to each other, I couldn't hear the music. And honestly, he was simply enjoying himself-- like I would if I were playing music I loved in the privacy of my home or in a car with friends (except at home or in the car, I would be singing loudly ;) :D Basically, I came to the conclusion that I just needed to calm down and not use past memories (Goliath) or imagined future concerns (this guy breaking out into song in full voice) as excuses to get upset at something that wasn’t actually happening in the present.

Rainbow in Brooklyn

Rainbow in Brooklyn. With awe and delight, I noticed it as I walked up the subway's stairs, joining the evening commuter traffic out on the busy sidewalk. Of all the reactions I took note of, my favorite was that of a young man and woman, mid to late twenties, trying to cross the street against the traffic light. Despite the humidity, her Raven black, shoulder length, slightly wavy hair was down. His long, dark brown hair was held in two intricately styled French braids. As they were crossing, he pointed out the rainbow. His expression gave nothing away about his feelings at seeing it, but I was drawn to the fact that had he noticed, and then pointed it out to her. Her expression, previously furrowed brow intent on finding a break in the car traffic, gave way to a slightly stunned yet understated look of surprise, as she vocalized her appreciation with the single word, "Sh*t."

Man and Child, Subway Turnstile

One of the realities of commuting via public transportation, is seeing several of the same faces day after day. Like the recurring background extras on an often watched television show, I can't help but take note of them. When taking the subway train, one of the pairs I enjoy observing is a father and daughter team.

He's usually dressed in a long sleeved dress shirt, a tie, dress slacks, carrying a slim messenger bag and his daughter's hot pink and purple colored backpack. She looks to be about 5 or 6, her braided hair gathered up at the ends in a little bun sitting neatly on the top of her head.

Every time I have seen them, the father hands her his metro card, she stands in front of the turnstile and swipes it through the card reader next to it. She then stands tiptoe to see the screen on the card reader that lets commuters know how much money is left on the card or, in some cases, when the card expires.

Now, in my experience, because the little children don't pay the fare, most usually duck under the turnstile to get to the train side.

But, without fail, as soon as this young lady is finished swiping, the father lifts her up over the turnstile, before pushing through himself.

I have often been able to see the expression on the little girl's face when lifted and have enjoyed watching her shy smile slowly transform into a delighted grin.

Nice work, sir.

This is one of the "little" things she'll remember fondly when she thinks back on this time in her life.

Encounter in the Natural World

So, I'm sitting on a bench at the Brooklyn Botanical Garden, and suddenly, a baby robin flies over and lands near me. I am startled as the little bird cries out, opens its mouth, keeps it open and appears to be looking in my direction. Well, a few seconds later, mama Robin lands next to baby and she has a worm in her beak. She feeds baby Robin, pauses a bit (I'm thinking to figure out if I'm going to be a problem) and then flies away. So then I'm left with baby Robin. Baby Robin moves closer to me-- bold, brave, fearless and I guess still quite hungry--and I move away. The last thing I want is to get in the way of mama and baby Robin bonding or be perceived as a threat by mama Robin (she may not be visible to my eye but that doesn't mean she's not nearby). After a bit, baby Robin continues his/her journey and I once again take my seat. That was pretty cool and startling to witness up close and personal-- like I was watching something on the Nature channel 😃 And then a butterfly flew right by my face. I'm talking close enough for me to feel like, "Woah!"

What If There Were More Kisses?

What if there were more kisses? More heart felt, unconditional displays of affection?

This is what crossed my mind on the subway ride home after I saw an African American woman lean over and plant a kiss on the forehead of the little doppelgänger sitting next to her.

Immediately, a smile of surprise bloomed on the little girl's face and she paused in the act of playing with a pez dispenser to share an extended moment of affection with the woman.

She looked to be about 5 or 6, her braided hair adorned in white beads and a single orange bow. The orange color matched her pants and was replicated in some of the colored beads on her white open toed sandals, which in turn showcased glitter colored toe nail polish. Her top, a dark blue, long sleeved denim.

We journeyed together on that train for about 20 more stops and in that time I saw the woman, who I learned went by the name, "Mommy," kiss the little girl about 4 more times.

Touched my heart. Made me smile, and as I write this still makes me wonder, "What if there were more kisses?"

What can you do? Shine Your Light

What can you do? You breathe. Even in the midst of fear.  You breathe. Deeply, as best you can, even if tears are streaming down your cheeks. You tread as gently and as compassionately as you can even in the midst of rage-- yours and theirs. And you shine your light. You shine your light. You have a responsibility to that light. It's yours. It's sacred. You practice shining every opportunity you are provided with and you teach this in words, and if you can't speak, then in actions, and if you can't act, then in thoughts.  You practice and teach this to those you love. You allow yourself to pause. You allow yourself to check in with the intent of shining your light and sometimes you'll be surprised by your light because in the heat of it all you could have sworn there was no light to turn towards, no light to turn on. So, you check within, seeking your light and you allow however much of it you find, however much of it you connect to, to shine. That's how you reconnect to your strength. Now, don't get me wrong. You can shine your light and still feel the fear. If fear is on the scene, then fear is on the scene. But just because fear is there doesn't mean you can't shine your light in spite of the fear. You can shine your light. It doesn't really matter what the other person chooses to do. What matters is what you choose to do. You are the one walking in your shoes, surrounded by Friends who see the bigger picture because they've been with you since way back-- I'm talking way, way back, even before infancy.  We don't have access to all the puzzle pieces.  That bears repeating.  We don't have access to all the puzzle pieces.  But we can put together what we have and ask those same Friends to help in whatever way they can. Ask those same Friends to help us shine our lights in the best way possible-- specific to the specific situation--aligned with the best possible outcome for all involved.  We can shine our light. Fear wins when we allow it to incapacitate us or when we allow it to dim our lights. Acknowledging the fear, acknowledging that there is fear on the premises is one thing. Allowing it to be all we see and feel and breathe in and breathe out is a disservice to our spirit. Death comes in many forms-- some forms seemingly more permanent than others. So what can you do? Shine your light.  And sometimes? Sometimes, it will softly illuminate. And sometimes? Sometimes, it will blindly enlighten. Sometimes. But what it does is what it does. The part you play is being responsible for what you put out into the world. So get clear on your intention and no matter what comes, you shine your light. 

Shoes

These are not the shoes I wore to work this morning. These are not the shoes I wore from 7am to 5:55pm today. These are the shoes I purchased at 5:56pm from the Whole Body store in Chelsea because when I stepped outside my office building around 5:45, the sole on my left shoe decided to start falling/melting apart. I believe that the 90 degree temperature had a hand in it.

So from 5:45 to 5:56, I shuffled/dragged my left foot down the street and gave a silent prayer of thanks that Whole Body was nearby and that I remembered they had a small footwear section. I went to that section. I did that thing of deliberately searching the section about three times-- each time slower than the last-- just to be absolutely certain my size wasn't hidden in plain sight. It wasn't. Highly concerned, I turned away.

The next store with footwear was on 23rd and one avenue over. I was on 25th and couldn't fathom how I'd get there without having to succumb to walking barefoot on the hot city sidewalks and streets. Barefoot.  Bare. Foot. 

Looking around the store, perhaps a bit desperately, I saw a wall with a small selection of flip flops. I rarely wear flip flops in the city, so I hadn't even been thinking of flip flops. But in that moment, if I could find my size, guess who'd be going home in flip flops?

Size found, I shuffled over to the register. The young man who rung me up asked if I needed a bag. I declined stating they would be on my feet before I left the store as the ones I had on were not long for this world. He kindly got out the scissors, cut off the tags and then pointed me towards a section in the store where I could sit and make the exchange. Afterwards, new shoes on, old ones dropped of in the first trash can I located outside the store, I could once again walk the city streets and sidewalks with the pace of someone on a mission: the mission to get home.

I am grateful I found footwear. I am grateful I had the money to buy said footwear. I am grateful that if the sole had to come apart, it came apart where I could do something about it. I am seriously grateful

Man, Woman, Child. Connectedness on the City Streets

A man and woman walked out of the Buy Buy Baby store and merged with the flow of the sidewalk traffic.

She was pushing the stroller. He was carrying the little girl. And although I was a few steps behind, I could feel their connectedness.

 It was in the way they related to each other. They were together in that space-- even whilst engaged in separate activities-- her, pushing the stroller, him, slightly in the lead, but at the same time every so often turning back towards her, all the while cradling or shifting the little girl so they could both be comfortable.  I could feel the love. The love the adults had for each other. The love the adults had for the little girl.  They were aware of each other and the energy around them came across as open and relaxed.

And I think that's part of what kept me looking at them-- that easy, open connectedness--out there on the busy city streets. Speaking from personal experience, it's far too easy to be caught up in one's own world-- even when traveling with familiar faces.

At one point, the little girl turned and we made eye contact. Pacifier in her mouth, her pretty, dark brown eyes, calmly met and held my gaze. Her hair, styled in two puffs, brought to my mind images of Mickey Mouse ears. I smiled at her.

As her parents made their way across the street, I was the first to break eye contact. But a few steps later, I glanced over just in time to see the man kiss her on the cheek and the woman's smile bloom at the sight.  The little girl then reached out her left hand towards the woman, who immediately treated it to an enthusiastic, playfully dramatic,  audible kiss.

Although I couldn't see the little girl's face, I like to believe that she was delighted.

I know I was :)

Seen from the Bus Stop : To Run or Not to Run

From the moment she stepped out-- no, bounced out-- of the Deli,  energy personified, I was drawn.

I was across the street. My work day had ended about an hour before and now, carrying grocery bags in one hand, a six pack of Bounty's Paper towels in the other, backpack on (living a double life as my sometimes oversized purse), I was awaiting the last leg of public transportation to take me home.  If it wasn't for the bags, I would've walked the 30 minutes.

Seeing her across the street, I thought, if I had her energy, I would've walked the 30 minutes.

She looked to be around three years of age, had curly, black hair, and wore a purple top covered in patterned white flecks, over dark slacks.

She had exited the store with what I took to be a recent snack purchase-- its brown, sleeve-like wrapping, bringing to mind those that housed thin, flaky, buttery tasting crackers. She also moved about three steps quicker than the guardian who had most likely purchased the aforementioned snack.

Leading with the package in her right hand, she veered off in that direction until her guardian's comment had her swerving to the left.  But before she could leave him behind again, he made another comment, and this time succeeded in pausing her in her tracks.

Although I couldn't hear him, I had a sense of what was going on. It was a warm, summer evening and he was an older gentleman whose physique currently leaned more towards that of Santa Claus.   His demeanor appeared patient as he continued to speak, and while it was clear she was listening, she was also looking off into the distance, her tiny body fully facing the newly agreed upon direction.

He wanted her to hold his hand, and at the same time seemed to want it to appear as though it was her choice.

A few seconds passed. She offered him her left hand.  They took about two steps. A few seconds later, she let go and tried to speed up.

Once again he stopped her with seemingly patient words. Suddenly, she smiles, surrenders her package, and breaks out into a run.

Package in hand, the guardian tears into the wrapping-- it looks like crackers or chips--, and at the same time calls out, that she needs to slow down.

When she gets to the end of the sidewalk, she turns and waits for him to catch up.  Then with her hand again in his, crosses the street, before promptly freeing herself to resume running.

Watching her run, and silently cheering her energy and tenacity, I definitely had a moment of thinking, "Ah, youth!"

And then I found myself wondering if he had requested the snack as a ploy to get her to stay with him?

Well, whatever his intent, to my mind, they both got something out of it. She got what appeared to be what she had wanted all along-- to run and move about on her own terms. And although she may not have given in to staying with him, he got the snack 😜😉

Happy Father's Day 2016

Upon those who are bestowed the title of Father, and are thus in thoughts, actions and words, genuinely doing their best to touch, nurture and enrich the lives of their children from a place of love, to these fathers who have been, to these fathers who are, and to these fathers who will become, you have my deepest gratitude and heart felt admiration. Showers of blessings upon you this Father's Day. And with love, with respect, and with many, many thanks, cheering you on❤️

A Boy and his Stroller at the BBG

In direct opposition to his guardian's request, the little boy, who looked to be about three years old, kept pushing his stroller, away from said guardian, and across the grassy knoll before stepping down onto the concrete sidewalk.

It's possible he could have been ignoring his guardian. But an argument could also be made that he was just so focused on his adventure with the stroller, and was therefore too caught up to even register the request.  There is a third possibility: that the truth of the matter was a combination of both scenarios. And the more I watched him, the more I leaned towards this third possibility.

This was the second time I had noticed them.  The first time was about 15 minutes earlier when the guardian "hid" behind a tree, and encouraged the little boy to find him.  Even then, the little boy's fondness for the stroller was apparent as he insisted on pushing it over to his guardian and, still pushing, proceeded to follow his guardian's movements around the tree.

Now that the boy found himself off the grass and about 10 feet away from his guardian, he decided he was ready to head back.  Slowly maneuvering the stroller around, moving his feet in the slightly unsteady march young children often engage in when acclimating to walking, he once again pushed the stroller but this time, it wouldn't budge.  As he was now closer in proximity to me, I could clearly see his look of surprise, quickly replaced by that of confusion.  What he hadn't figured out yet was that the area he needed to get back to, now required a step up.

I knew his guardian was sitting in the grass, watching, but my first instinct was to help the little boy.  I almost did.  But then I decided to wait, rationalizing his guardian was being attentive, and that, if necessary, the boy would call for assistance-- if not in words, then at the very least, via sounds or gestures of distress.

So, I watched.

After a few tries at pushing and meeting with the same results, he leaned on the handles, exerting enough pressure to lift the front wheels of the stroller to clear the drop separating the sidewalk from the grassy knoll.   And with that hurdle (or in this case, brick) cleared, he was able to push the rest of the stroller up, step up as well, and once again find himself firmly back on the grassy terrain.

I was so happy for him I could have cheered out loud!  But I didn't. I'm almost certain though that I had a big smile on my face-- so proud of him and his accomplishment.

And I was also happy I had given him the chance to work it out without quickly rushing in to fix it -- especially since he had never expressed a need for help in the first place.

Thanks for the lesson, stroller pushing kid 😉🙂
---- seen at the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens.

A Man, A Door, the Beauty of a Silent Exchange

To the conscious brother who held the door open for me this morning, thank you. Thank you—not only for holding the door open for me--, but for my general experience of you on the whole. You see, prior to our paths crossing, I had already noticed you.

I was walking a few steps behind when suddenly, the manner in which you carried yourself, caught my full attention. In that moment, out there, surrounded by the backdrop of moving cars and pedestrian traffic, your energy spoke of one comfortable in his own skin. Your walk was both quiet confidence and grace personified—a perfect visual study of relaxation and control. And despite the added weight of the messenger bag in your right hand, your form was flawless, your stride, even and balanced.

When you reached the building entrance, you opened the door, started to walk through, but then stopped and made a point of looking back. By this time I had caught up, and expecting you to make your way inside, slowed down to follow your inevitable lead. Imagine my surprise, when you made eye contact, stepped back out the door onto the sidewalk, and then held the door open for me to walk through first. Actually, judging by your smile of acknowledgment as I practically beamed my thanks, I’m pretty certain the expression on my face gave voice to the aforementioned surprise and the pleasure felt from the experience.

Once inside, we boarded the already waiting elevator alongside two other passengers. I’d like to think that if we had been alone, I would have struck up a conversation. The truth is though, we’ll never know. But there a few thing I do know. I do know the floor you got off on ;) I also know that this floor houses, amongst other things, the Physical Training Department of a nearby school. So, indulging conjecture, maybe you’re a physical trainer or training to become one—which could explain the things I noticed about you earlier on the street. But while I don’t really know if you are a Physical Trainer or one in training, I do know I very much enjoyed our actual--albeit brief-- interaction. That silent exchange spoke volumes about you and still has me smiling even now--several hours after it took place. And so, for touching my spirit and helping to contribute to my being a bit more conscious in the world, I thank you :) 

Happy Mother's Day

To all who embody the role of, mom, in every heart felt sense of the word, for all your thoughts and actions born from presence of mind and unconditional love, for showing up, for caring, for working so hard, for the challenges you navigate everyday-- both the witnessed and unwitnessed--, and for touching hearts and shaping souls in the best way you know how, thanks, thanks, and forever, thanks. On this Mother's Day and everyday, Cheering. You. On❤️

Two Running through the Subway

As they were speed walking across the train station terminal, the little boy--who looked to be on the small side of 5 or 6 years of age--glanced up at the older woman, two steps ahead of him.

There was enough of a similarity in their facial features to support the conjecture that they were related-- either as Mother and son, older sister and little brother, or maybe even Aunt and young nephew.

Trying to keep up, he moved quickly, exaggerating the swinging of both arms as if to help in propelling him farther than his little legs could carry him.

Already in the lead, and showing no signs of slowing down, the woman seemed to pay him no mind.  But it also occurred to me that, perhaps, she was just confident that he wasn't too far behind and therefore felt no need to check in on him.

Now, a few feet ahead of the boy was a display that had a square opening just wide enough, high enough, and tempting enough for him to want to climb through. And so, unable to resist, he slowed his pace and satisfied the pull for exploration.

As this was unfolding, the female paused mid stride and happened to  look back at her young charge at the exact moment he was climbing through the fixture's opening. And to my pleasant surprise, despite the fact she had to pause, and despite the fact that he had taken a brief detour, she didn't appear to be upset.  She didn't scold him. She didn't silently judge him via facial expression or physical demeanor.  It felt almost as if she had allowed him the space to be a kid while trusting they would be able to make up the time spent.

From my vantage point, it was easy to see how appealing the opening had been. But I'm relatively certain that those responsible for setting up the display, had never envisioned that it would call out to a specific group of society in the manner in which non realistic structures found on playgrounds call out for exploration by those same aforementioned members of society.

I liked that he had felt comfortable enough in her company to indulge in his own mini adventure and I very much appreciated bearing witness to the calm with which she responded.

When he climbed out the other end of the display, he promptly broke into a run, caught up to her, and together, made their quick exit out of the station.

Dandelion Fluff Genie

On my walk home from the subway station-- I decided not to wait for the bus-- I saw a dandelion fluff float by. I tried to catch it, but alas, was unsuccessful in the attempt. So, via my thoughts, I said something to the effect, If I catch one, I'm going to make a wish. Well, closer to home, another opportunity presented itself, but again, it floated by too quickly. I actually had a better chance at catching the earlier one, as this one teased me with its presence by floating by on my periphery.  I think I laughed and thought something along the lines of, Oh man--so close (or maybe something a bit more colorful 😜)!  When I got home, I decided to do some sweeping. I opened up the front door and began my task and guess what floated inside? Yep, my very own make-a-wish-dandelion-fluff!  So, I finished sweeping, made my wish and released it back into the wild. I'm looking forward to my wish coming through, but really rather tickled that my wish granting opportunity, literally, came to me :)

To the Man Standing on the Uptown Train

To the man on the uptown train across the platform from where I waited to make my downtown connection. Thank you.

I watched as you found yourself suddenly standing in front of a newly vacated seat on your very crowded train. You had what looked to be an iPhone in your left hand and a black leather strap-- presumably connected to a bag-- hanging off of your right shoulder. Your framing through the subway car window gave the impression as though I was viewing a character on a television show with the volume on mute. Not a surprising connection if you entertain the idea that, in any given moment, anyone being observed is a character starring in his or her own drama, comedy, documentary, etc.

I read your lips as you singled out passengers standing around, "Do you want to sit down? Does anybody want to sit?" You asked about three times. Finally, when no one stepped forward, you turned around and claimed it for yourself. At that moment-- the exact moment when you sat down--you made me smile.

I don't know how long you had been standing for or how much longer your commute was going to be, but speaking on behalf of all people who have ever boarded a train or bus hoping for a seat, I thank you for the asking. It would have been perfectly understandable if you had just decided to take the seat as soon as it was vacant-- that being the normal practice particularly for a seat directly in front of you. And it's not a foregone conclusion that because you're a male you have to offer the seat to any women in the vicinity. At least not to me. I mean it makes my heart beam when I bear witness to this. But I also know men get tired too and that no matter how physically fit someone looks on the outside, it's possible he may be dealing with something else on the inside.

But the heart of my reason for smiling? The fact that you sat and, once you sat, the way that you settled into the seat, told me you were happy to sit. And after witnessing the bit that transpired before the sitting, and then to see/sense you being happy in the experience of sitting? Well, honestly, that made me happy too.

Sitting in the Space in Between

Sometimes I want to connect but realize or feel there to be a pit to surmount.

A pit of past and present painful perceptions--

perceptions not necessarily objective so

maybe it’s all in my head.

In times like these, I’m grateful though for the conscious self--

the self that desires to connect.

I’m grateful that that objective self remembers to ask for divine assistance with surrender,

and sets the intent that all unfold in a manner aligned with the greatest and highest good for all concerned.

And so, in the interim, while the powers that be--the faeries of the Universe--play their part,

both selves—the objective and subjective—sit in various degrees of comfort/discomfort, 

awaiting miracles.

Reflecting...

A moment ago, I realized I was perpetuating a pattern I used to patronize at one point in time—a pattern that I have worked on healing and not giving into—but now, when I’ve just consciously perpetuated it because it actually felt more healthy for me given the particular circumstances I found myself in—carrying it out felt, oddly, but clearly, disappointing. Disappointing to the point of being surprised by tears. This helps me realize/remember that actions considered unhelpful in some circumstances can be absolutely valid in others. I don't believe there's any danger in perpetuating it in the manner i used to--the manner that I worked on healing. But it is possible when I choose to use it now as a more healthy approach to certain circumstances, I may continue to encounter that surprise of tears--at least for some time,-- because, on a heart level, I'm saddened that I even have to employ it at all.

Guarding My Light

I take responsibility,

though your unawareness

influenced my decision to lock in my light,

I take responsibility.

I remember turning the lock

and surprising my eyes when tears blurred my vision.
'Tears? What happened? Whose tears are these? Why are they here?'

As I, too, was surprised, I looked down,

and in the looking, I understood.

I had shut in my light

when I shut you out

Writing Prompt-- what am I?

Writing Prompt-- visualize yourself as something. What is your essence, what is it used for?

In and of myself, I have stories to tell-- of whence I came and what once was. In my present form, while I can be discarded, I seem to exist in order to be of service and the service I provide is to affect. I can be thought important, or appear unassuming, but certainly there's more to my make up than meets the casual eye. Depending on how I'm handled, sometimes I'm rough, sometimes I'm smooth. Sometimes I can be seen in a pack. Sometimes I'm literally by myself. And sometimes, but not always, I can pressed upon with varying results . I'm paper :D

Writing Prompt: Laughter… Tell us who, what, and why that happens

This is the memory that this prompt had me revisiting.

My youngest brother picked me up from the bus station.

He was in the process of moving back home to help our mother.

My father wasn’t doing too well and was in fact the reason for my visit. It had been several months since I had last seen him, so I didn’t have a visual on how he was truly doing. He had been in and out of the hospital a few times in the past year but, again, I hadn’t seen him since the previous Christmas, and because of not having had access to a visual, I was determined to continue entertaining optimism.

At one point during the drive to the house, my brother mentioned that our father hadn’t eaten for a few days. I expressed my surprise at this. Earlier, when I had spoken to my mother over the phone, she specifically said my brother had given him some, “muffin.” When I brought this up, he looked at me and said, “Muffin? I didn’t give him any muffin.”

Sticking to my story, I repeated, “She said, earlier today, you gave him some muffin.”

After a few seconds of silence, he shook his head, did a camera take to the heavens and started to laugh.

Wanting in on the joke, “What? What’s so funny?” I asked.

Still laughing, he looked at me and said, “Morphine.”

What had sounded like, ‘muffin’ to me, was actually, ‘morphine.’ Sometimes, with certain words, my mother’s accent can give it a different meaning. Case in point.

And so, we cracked up.

And I needed and appreciated it.

It felt so good to be gifted with that moment and join in with him on that laugh. It felt just as wonderful to share that laugh in a later conversation with our other brother who, at the time, was also en route. It's a perfect memory for what turned out to be such a life changing time.

It’s the only memory of laughter I can connect to that visit.

A Couple on the Subway Platform

Rush hour on the Subway platform.  People milling about, some making connections, some waiting to make connections, all a step closer to their next destination.

Amidst the crowd, an older couple materializes. A man and woman, both with salt and pepper hair -- both easy on the pepper.

I noticed him first. He wore glasses and his upper back was a bit rounded in a way that made me think of someone who wore backpacks for a majority of his life. Maybe, once upon a time, he was an avid backpacker -- the way some people were once pub crawlers or avid coffee drinkers. Or perhaps he was just someone whose shoulders had a proclivity towards rising up -- maybe whilst sleeping -- one would be amazed to learn of the things one does whilst sleeping --, so that now, after years of being comfortable or unaware in this practice, had finally settled on up as its go to position.

She, his traveling companion, appeared the more modestly stylish and aware of the pair. Case in point, noticing his hair's state of disarray, she reached out and began finger combing it into place.

He patiently waited until she finished the section she'd been working on, and then, without missing a beat, reached out to finger comb her hair. She ducked and waved his hands away. He laughed jovially and a minute later, allowed her to finish finger combing the other side of his head. He even assisted by turning around for her.

Not too long after the grooming, it appeared he asked a hygiene question. She leaned in, smelled his breath, then shook her head and patted his shoulder reassuringly. A moment later they were holding hands.

Shared laughter, looking out for each, comfortably & discreetly navigating private affairs in public, holding hands.

Glad I got to witness one of the many faces of Love, in action.

Dinosaur at the Laundromat

Earlier at the laundromat.

"Mommy! Mommy!" the little boy called out. He looked to be about 3 or 4.

"Mommy! Mommy!" He called out again.

When certain that he had her full attention, he paused, then stomped, growled loudly, curled his hands--dinosaur-talon like--, and proceeded to stalk his mother--slowly, deliberately and full of undeniable relish.

His mother was one of the two attendants on duty.

She, in turn, mirrored his curled hands but as soon as he was within reach, grabbed him and hugged him.

He gave a repeat performance.

Twice :)

Loved it 😊

Brava, to mother and child💐

Still Mad, What I Wrote Based On a Writing Prompt

I'm taking an online writing class.  The instructor gave the following prompt for the day:

☼"The role of a writer is not to say what we all can say, but what we are unable to say." - Anais Nin
Writing Prompt:
Question - What have I been unable to say? What is insatiable in me to say if I could just get it said?☼

Here was my reply:

The truth of the matter is I’m still mad.

Yes, I do believe everything happens for a reason and that things are always working out for me and that we ended the way we ended because it was healthy and necessary.

But I am still mad.

I am mad at the events that led up to our amicable—at least on the surface—goodbye.  I am mad that I kept my silence for as long as I did.  I am mad that I tried to make things work even though at times I felt like I was the only one trying.  And I am mad that as soon as I started to speak up and make requests, you decided it was time for us to part ways.

And while I’m still sorting all of that out, yes, I still do believe everything happens for a reason and things are always working out for me.

I am grateful I don’t live there anymore. I am grateful I haven’t seen or heard from you since.  I am grateful every time I’m on the bus and it picks up passengers at your stop that you’re not one of them. I am grateful for that amicable—at least on the surface—goodbye.  I am grateful for the latter because I believe that one day it will feel 100% real and I’ll no longer add the words, “on the surface.”

I’m working on forgiveness.

I’m working on forgiveness because I know things are better for me this way.

I’m working on forgiveness because living there had stopped being nurturing to my spirit and leaving was/is a blessed, invaluable gift from the Universe.

I am working on forgiveness because I can say, without a doubt, the totality of the experience of you has contributed to my growth.

I am working on forgiveness because, underneath it all, I think you did the best you felt you could do.

I am working on forgiveness because one day when I see you, I genuinely don’t want to be mad any more.

But if I’m being honest with myself, at this time, I’m still mad.

Learning lessons

Sometimes, it takes an experience of sticking to one's beliefs on a matter, to realize it didn't actually have to be so set in stone. Sometimes, it takes an experience such as this to realize there was another road available-- the one called, Compassion. And sometimes this realization occurs, not so that one can "go back" and choose again, but instead for one to remember the lesson, and file it away for present and future application. So, good luck with the lessons today. However you fare, hope you get something positive out of them. And good luck to you in advance for when they show up in future pop quizzes-- because they are bound to show up in future pop quizzes ;) wink emoticon

FB Pic and Friendship Card Inspired Painting With Words

With a critical eye she stood in front of the mirror, studying all angles, surveying the outcome of hours of preparation.

Adjusting the sunset red shawl softly framing her face, its length wrapping around her shoulders and ending at the middle of her back, an assortment of bangles underscored the gesture.  Substituting the gold hoop adorning her left ear for a much larger one, intricate patterns of shapes and colors drew attention to hennaed hands.

Satisfied, she smiled, the effect eliciting a twinkle in her eyes no amount of glamour paint could ever hope to replicate.

Under the shawl she had paired a canary yellow dress, with comfortable, fawn brown, knee high boots.  Then striking a pose--  arms akimbo, and with her right hip cocked to the side for show--, she laughed.

Tonight was the Costume Ball and everyone she knew was planning on attending.  Her friends-- although lately she'd begun to feel a distancing change in their once effortless camaraderie--had suggested going together as part of a theme. But she had felt the inexplicable pull to decline, opting instead to embody a theme of one.

In the past, she would have fought the pull to set out on her own.  In fact, upon hearing her decision, even her own mother -- a woman who kept her own counsel and thus, often appeared mysterious to her only daughter--had softly remarked, "You've begun to accept yourself."

Maybe, she mused, her eyes reestablishing a connection with those of her mirrored self. Maybe I'm the one that's changing and not them.

It had been a fortnight since they last spoke on the subject of the ball, and ever since she had respectfully declined their offer, their gatherings had increasingly begun to feel isolating, and uncomfortable. Deciding to take steps better aligned with her peace of mind, she begged off further get togethers citing an increase in her responsibilities and a desire to spend time preparing for the ball.

The last she had heard, they were attending as different fairy tale princesses.  And though some would think the choice rather unimaginative, she knew them to be a creative lot and knew their costumes would be inspiration personified. But this night, she too, would allow herself to shine, accepting her own seat at lady Inspiration's table.

She had been practicing and was now ready to let others in on her long held secret.

FB Pic, Energy Reading, Painting with Words

Awake, but with eyes still shuttered against the light of day, languidly, she stretched out over the expanse of the queen sized bed. Taking a gloriously, deeply pleasurable breath, she felt her limbs sigh in satisfaction.

Well, if limbs could sigh in satisfaction, I rather imagine it would feel like this.

Her lips curved upwards at the thought.

After indulging in another full body stretch, she opened her eyes, and gazed caressingly at her surroundings.

Perfect, she thought.

Brilliant, she added, a second later.

Turning the extra room in the house into her own personal library-study-bedroom had been an inspired stroke of imagination and one she gave thanks for quite often.

Apart from the comfortable bed's forest themed canopy bed frame and the picture window currently dressed in emerald green curtains, her other favorite part of the room was her wall of books housed in sauder barrister lane bookcases.

Patron to a variety of genres, it was so easy for her to spend countless hours traveling to other worlds and locales without ever having to leave her home.

She did, of course, leave the room, and her home-- everyday in fact-- for business and other forms of pleasure. But when she returned, particularly to her room of books and comfort, it was always with great delight and enthusiasm for her next literary adventure.

Two Together On a Subway, Woman and Child

When the subway doors opened, a woman and a young boy got on. 

Another passenger, a man in his mid to late 20s, who had been sprawled out in a seating section that normally serviced two, quickly got up and offered the area to them. 

The woman, who looked to be in her mid 40s, smiled her thanks, continued holding on to the subway pole with her right hand, and gestured with her left that they were okay with standing. 

As the doors closed and the train resumed its course, a shift in gears had the young boy, about 4 or 5 years of age, who had not been holding onto the pole, suddenly sliding backwards. Surprise, elicited from him a drawn out, "Woah!" and a delighted grin. Quickly, he looked up to the woman as if to say, "Did you see that?!" She, in turn, met his eyes, shook her head and then perfected a camera take to the heavens whose subtitles could have read, "Lord, help this child?" 

The boy giggled.

Returning his attention to the pole, he spent a few more times deliberately making a game out of holding and not holding on. A game which, from an adult's point of view, would most likely be called, Tempting Fate. And so, not coincidentally, a few moments later, the woman made her way to the previously declined seating section and gestured him over.

Obliging with youthful exuberance, he flopped down into the seat, and rested his head against her upper arm. With quiet affection, she leaned slightly towards him, patted his knee twice, and then resumed sitting back up again.

Visually exploring his immediate surroundings, the boy noticed a sign on the connecting doorway between the train's cars and asked what it meant. 

"Do not lean on the door," the woman read out loud. She then proceeded to explain that sometimes the doors can open unexpectedly and so, to avoid falling and getting hurt, signs are posted to help people stay aware. 

He pondered this for a moment and then, seeming satisfied with her answer, asked about other signs on the train. 

One thing I admired as she answered his questions to the best of her knowledge, was how present and comfortably engaged her energy stayed throughout their exchange. But there was something more in the experiencing of it. Physically and energetically they were, undoubtedly, together. But the other thing I felt and found myself admiring was, to paraphrase Khalil Gibran, the spaces in their togetherness. Space to grow. Space to be. Honestly, felt... free. 

When the train arrived at their stop, she once again leaned over, patted his knee twice, and this time, standing up and clasping hands, exited together.

Three Get on a Bus

It was a winter coat, hat, gloves, scarf type of day as the bus pulled up to the stop and three passengers got on.

The first to board was a young girl who looked to be about 7 or 8. She wore a black coat and a black winter style hat. The logo on the hat brought to mind the intimidating monster like mascots adopted by various sports teams. One might say the image's tough demeanor seemed rather appropriate, shedding insights on it's wearer who had boarded while struggling with a large black tote.  Although, physically, she teetered under the extra weight, her facial expression looked to be that of pride and determination. One could almost hear an inner mantra chanting, "I've got this. I've got this. I've got this."

The young girl had taken a few steps into bus but then ambled back to wait on the next boarding passenger, a woman, in the process of paying the fare.

The woman also wore a black coat and hat. Draped over her left shoulder was a red and white blanket with the name, "Rosaleen" embroidered in several places in red. In her left hand she carried, even in its folded state, a cumbersome looking dark blue baby carriage and in her right hand balanced a child of about 2 or 3.

This little girl wore a white and leopard print covered coat, a blue winter hat depicting cartooned humans on the front, and dangling from her left hand-- fastened to something underneath the coat-- was a single mitten whose color matched the blue on her head. The mitten's twin, clearly not dangling from her right hand, appeared to be missing.

Fare paid, the older girl proceeded to look for a seat. Behind her, the woman navigated herself, the carriage and youngest girl into a vacant seat towards the front, left side of the bus.  As an older gentleman was already seated directly across from the woman, the older girl settled down two seats over on the right hand side of the bus.

A short time later, the woman leaned over to speak to the child she was carrying. But betraying no emotion regarding the nature of the one sided communication, the child's only response was to alternate between staring out, expressionless, in front of her, and looking down at floor of the now moving bus.

In fact, the only thing that did draw the younger girl's attention, as well as that of the older girl's, was the sudden movement of another young girl who had already been on the bus.  Whatever it was that occurred had the girl with the tote surreptitiously throwing glances out of the corner of her eye, while the younger child, without any pretense at secrecy, simply just stared.