NECESSARY ROUGHNESS (153)

FYI
Tuned into a T.V. pilot on the USA Network Wednesday night.  NECESSARY ROUGHNESS is one of those shows that offers fun for families and singles, alike.  A feisty, single, female psychologist ministers to the needs of a professional football team in N.Y.C.


Imagine the story lines.
Today's toughest 'gladiators' learning how to stop causing trouble off the field—stop dropping the ball on the field—and start turning disasters in their personal lives into touchdowns—by—
listening to what a woman has to say!


Now that's my kind of game!
Thought I'd pass the ball to you.
Lots of fun for 'kids' of all ages—and both genders.
PS. My son is one of the writers
:-) 

LIKE IT OR NOT, WE ALL EAT CROW (152)

Sometimes I open my mind and a story moves forward.
Sometimes I open my mind and a poem flows out.
Sometimes I open my mind and reflect over posts from the past.
Sometimes I open my mind and mouth, because it's time to eat crow.
And this is that time. (Ugh!)
Have you ever met a noodle not in need of eating crow?
Needless to say, that gaggle of crow eaters includes my noodle, too.


Today, while rereading several older posts, guess what I found? Negatively focused judgments, sprinkled in, here and there, in which I'd unwittingly put myself down.  Now how's that for a kick in the head!


Each time the root of unconscious negativity floats to the surface, I pull that sludge right out of my brain.  So having spied certain posts in serious need of reconsideration, I got out my wet noodle and kept it close by.  Not for whipping myself—but rather for mixing with marinara in hopes of cooking up something tasty to eat with that crow.


In keeping with the belief that, eventually, each of us gets our just desserts, I'm planning to gulp down a double dip of humility, topped with hot fudge, sweetened 'whipping' cream and a cherry on top.


Speaking for myself, I've never liked the bitter taste of eating my own words. So when it comes time to swallow my medicine, I mix in huge dollops of humility, which help me to accept the sum of my traits as a whole.


Hopefully, as my blog moves forward, I'll catch negativity, popping out of my mind, before my posts fly out into cyberspace.  And now that my noodle's al dente and my mind feels well nourished, that's quite enough for today.
Your friend,
:-)Annie

151d. HUNGARY! (151d)

HUNGARY!
Nineteen and counting!
:-)

151c. TRAIN WRECK IN THE TUNNEL OF LOVE Part 8: FORK IN THE ROAD (150)

Fork in the Road
Two paths
No short cuts


Path one:
Innocence
A confounding blow
Pain
Defensive short circuits
Darkness
Fear
dANGER
Failure to thrive
Shrinkage
Dis/ease
Denial


The path less taken—many miles before I sleep—soundly at night:
Innocence
A confounding blow

Pain

Defensive short circuits

Darkness

Fear

dANGER

Failure to thrive

Shrinkage

Dis/ease

Denial
Courage

Quest

Knowledge

Insight

Rewiring

Expanded perception

Brighter perspective

Self awareness

Personal growth

Rebalance

Understanding

Compassion

Forgiveness

Inner peace

Choices:

Disconnect from oneself?

Disconnect from others.
Reconnect both sides of self?
Reconnect with both sides of others
Accept accountability
Feel compassionate
Resolution of inner conflict

While Annie remains conflicted
She pinch hits for her neighbor

But strikes out for herself

Let's watch Annie miss the fork in the road ...

151b. TRAIN WRECK IN THE TUNNEL OF LOVE Part 7: WHEN FIRE TRUMPS LOGIC (153)

Behind the smokescreen of repartee
Two pairs of eyes
Belie the naked truth
That fires up inside both minds
Once sparks start shooting back and forth
Tis time to sweat the fact
That friendship, rubbing up against fire
Is suddenly so hothothot
That you're a gonner
And why is that the truth?
When fire trumps logic
That means a brain meltdown
Is on the loose
And all hothothot can think to do
Is drop every stitch of clothes to the floor
Unless—
For some mysterious reason
Your subconscious has had sound reason
To bar your conscious mind from playing with fire
And thus does our friend, Annie
Remain as innocent a babe—as in
Innocent of knowing
Innocent of feeling
Innocent of doing
Innocent of any CONSCIOUS awareness
Concerning carnal knowledge
Other than naively differentiating
Male from female plumbing
On the other hand
Unaware of sensation is not synonymous with stupid
As you know, Annie knows where babies come from
So why do sparks fire up anxiety instead of excitement?
Good question my friend, however ...
Stories unfold detail by detail ...
And the next thing Annie feels a conscious need to do
Is to stand up in defense of the new girl on the block ...

151a TRAIN WRECK IN THE TUNNEL OF LOVE Part 6: THINK FOR YOURSELF (152)

How often do we take what we read or hear as fact?
How often do we adhere to theories without considering both sides?
How often might memory and judgment be out of balance with reality?
Why are we taught to think for ourselves?


Lots to reconsider
For example:
It's not about you; it's about them.
Well—what if 'it's' about you, both?

Men are logical; women are emotional.

Ever watch a gang of guys when their team is losing by one?
When their team is losing, big time?
When their team loses, period!


Funny how often I hear anger beating war drums.
Funny, how rarely I hear:  Win some, lose some, no problem.
Funny how easily I'd tolerated tension when standing up for others
Not funny that I couldn't tolerate tension, directed at me ...


As in
When doth it be smart to confront rather than conform?
When doth it be smart to recognize mixed messages messing with thy mind?
When doth it be wise to question whose voice fills thy head, most often?


What is thee to do
When thee comes to see
That thee has been following rules
Which no longer fit the person thee has grown to be?


What is one to do
When necessary changes
Lead to conflict
And tension must be tolerated—all around?


Lots to reconsider
Thank goodness for Walden Pond

Where upon taking time out to reconsider a lot

I learned to listen to instinct, think for myself and redirect my life


Expanding perspective
Lessens undeserved guilt
Heals unresolved pain
Substantially deepens peace of mind—and Amen to all that!

150. TRAIN WRECK IN THE TUNNEL OF LOVE Part 5: FEAR OR FANCY? (151)

One person's fear may suit another person's fancy ...
If Billy is the first cute guy
Who Grandma sends packing
He'll not be the last
As for me
I have no clue that
When a guy feels shy
Attraction may show up at my door
In more guises than I'll ever know
For example, as long as Billy's sparks are clownish
And our banter remains tame
The sillier he gets
The more I laugh
And the more I laugh
The sillier he gets
I'm sure you catch my drift.


Pretty soon, Billy's antics are so wild and crazy
While waiting for me to open my front door that
He's leaping up and down
Throwing himself around on the ground
Yelling my name, acting downright insane
Right outside our living room, picture window
At some point Grandma T.'s had more than her fill
Sobefore I can get to the door
She rushes out, swinging that broom
Yelling: Goniff! (a shady character)

Fershlugena! (messed up)

And saving the best for last—

Meshuggena! (a wild and crazy guy!)

For all she's worth—
And with that, their four legged race, where Billy runs for his life, is on.
Before too long, broom wins over brawn, and Billy stops seeking me out.


Years later, I remember saying:
No question where the women in our family get their gumption!
At this, one of my feisty cousins laughs out loud, while bobbing her head in complete agreement.
You see, Grandma lived with us for one half of each year before flying south to winter at my cousin's.  And I can honestly say that during my youth, I'd never met a match for Grandma's spirit—other than—my Dad's—which means, if we're talkin' breathing in spirit—no doubt about it—I got a double dose.


Today, I wonder if Grandma's
Protective (proactive?) reaction
Had more to do with intuition
Than I'd thought, years ago
When all I could see
Was a silly boy
With a mind of his own
Who's clownish nature
Had often landed him
In more hot water
Than he'd bargained for—not just with
My family's matriarch
But with our teachers in school, as well
And as you may recall ...
Billy will be the first but not the last to peak the ire of Grandma T...
Because—One person's fear of unruliness may suit another person's fancy


:-) Next thing we know a new house goes up next door; a moving van pulls up; a family of five move in, and every bit as curious as George, loquacious little me runs over to see what's cookin' over there  ...

TRAIN WRECK IN THE TUNNEL OF LOVE Part 4: JUMP THE BROOM (150)

I never thought to write about Billy, before
And now I know why that's true
It's not because I didn't like Billy
Because I did
It's not because Billy wasn't cute
Because he was
(And for all I know, he still is.)
It's because I saw Billy as silly
And when a cute guy acts silly ...
Well, silly and threatening do not a matched set make
So when Billy parks his bike at my front door
And rings the bell
And asks me to come out
Time and again
I do
And each time I see him standing before me
I can't help but smile
Just like I'm smiling
Right now!
Because his antics are so over the top
That I laugh and laugh until my face hurts.
On the other hand
Somehow, Grandma T.
(Who'd lived with us)
Doesn't find Billy funny—at all!
In fact she thinks he's nuts!
I know that, because—
Rather than calling Billy
Boychick, bubbula
Or any Yiddish endearment
Grandma sputters
Something like:
Vilda Chaya!  (wild animal)
Ferblunjit! (all mixed up)
Fermisht! (an acute disturbance)
Fershlugena! (messed up)
Goniff! (a shady character)
And saving the best for last—
Meshuggena! (a wild and crazy guy!)
And at those times when Grandma's yelling
This or that
She's chasing
This fershlugena meshuggena
Down the street
Swinging her broom
While Billy
Forgetting his bike
Is running for his life
I kid you not!
And if you'd like to know
Why
This scene repeats
Again and again
Well ...

149. TRAIN WRECK IN THE TUNNEL OF LOVE Part 3: FOUR SWINGING SINGLES (149)

So here we sit, two pairs of swinging singles (can't help it—you were warned—corny as Dad), toes kicking the ground till all four swings are spinning like tops.  Soon, we're so dizzy, laughter bonds strangers into friends.


Next thing we know, good natured banter picks up steam, and quick as six shooters spitting bullets, four minds are shooting zingers, back and forth, but as long as laughter fills the air, no one feels mugged, slugged, or put down.


At some point, while fun keeps cycling round, sparks rickashay (sp?) between one pair of eyes and mine.  Once sparks start to crackle apprehension stirs, my antenna go up, and easy banter flips to fear.  In short, I get shy, because—well—this is a really cute guy—and as you know—


Once a guy starts sparking me, fear splashes out of my hot spot, and my sauciness flatlines.  Need I repeat that this subconscious pattern goes unrecognized for decades to come?  I mean, give me a break—this guy could double for Ralph Macchio's Karate Kid—so what might a tall, dark, high spirited, really cute guy see in me—other than a misfit to tease?


As shards of pain grind good natured fun into the ground, I jump off the swing, on to my bike and shout: Gotta go!  Though I must have stopped at red lights, all I remember is pedaling faster than time, whizzing past Sally's house, our school, Susie's house, Michael's house, Marilyn's house—Joseph's house—and finally—upon arriving home, I stash my bike, dash past Grandma's broom (soon to make itself known to you), and fly upstairs to the safe haven of my tower, which I mistake for a safety net—because, in truth, I've no clue that my inability to tolerate tension (or recognize the awakenings of sexual tension), rips into my real safety net, again and again—just like the net that I'd left in shreds back at the park—where Sally and two really cute guys may still be sitting on swings, scratching their heads, questioning, what the heck got into her?


In short, it's not what got into me but rather which attitude flew out of me that matters.  You see, my safety net is not in my parent's home or at my old school.  My real safety net is wherever I am, because—it's lost somewhere inside my head.  In fact, my real safety net answers to several names.


First, we can call it: SELF CONFIDENCE (during conflict).  Or BEING PRESENT (as in recognizing myself as the person I continue to grow to BE).  Or, catching all the names into one net, we can call the whole kit-and-kaboodle my—PERSONAl VALUES.  (More later)


In retrospect, here's what I think happened:  Any cute guy, whose spark scares the pants off my defense system, will cause me to flee as fast as Achilles had run—before he'd been shot in the heel.  As for the Karate Kid—well—the fact that he'd not been a seventh grader meant he'd had no clue that I'd been deemed off limits by the leader of our pack—thus his instincts did not hesitate to heed his own lead.


Alas, it had been my defensive mistake to assume that sparks, marking mutual attraction, spelled D-A-N-G-E-R for me.  (What doth danger spell without the 'd'?)
Each time hindsight embraces objectivity, I'm empowered to reconsider a memory with twenty-twenty vision.  And each time clarity serves as my guide, it's easy to see how insecurity misperceives love signals for threats.  In lieu of self awareness, negativity, danger and fear blast innocent pups to kingdom come.


Though I'd not blocked the Karate Kid from memory, I'd no clue that my inability to tolerate tension had pushed down a domino that this boy had stood up on its end—until today.  Now that my brain's near sighted lens has been set aside, clarity suggests that had I not run off like a lunatic, he might have wanted to hold my hand.  As to whether that's where our banter may have led, well, your guess is as good as mine, because whenever we passed in the hall, shyness made me avert my eyes.  And so I ask, who shall we deep the rejecter vs. the rejectee?  Love games are a lot like 'Who's on First'.


Now that you've witnessed my apprehensive reaction smash puppy #2 against my defensive wall, perhaps you can see why I say:
Subconscious insecurity is like a serial killer on the loose in the dark. RR&R
And now that I've rewired that memory, I feel the need to reconsider my memory concerning Grandma's broom.


Oh wait!  I just had a thought.  Before we move forward, may I be so bold as to ask you to reread my last post—you know—the one about insecurity being our greatest foe?


If my last poem points out how we foul ourselves out of the game, then my next post—introducing Grandma and her broom—will show you why I'd failed to recognize what Billy (whom you'll meet, along with Grandma T.) may have tried to convey—right before Grandma chased him away ...


You see, in view of today's expanded perspective, my old perception of yet another memory is changing in a highly significant way ...

148. MISPERCEPTION LEANS TOWARD DISTRUST

What if
The greatest determining factor
Leading toward or away
From love and inner peace
Proves to depend upon the data
That you pull out of
The memory bank in your mind?


What if
When thinking of
A certain person or period of time
The data
That you choose
To look at most often
Leans toward the negative?


When thoughts of that person or time
Come to mind
Do you hold yourself accountable
For how often
Your misperceptions
May have put yourself—
Or the other person down?


Or
Is it possible
That your brain
Is in need of a tune up
Concerning those times when
Your negative attitude
Is your greatest foe ...


Because
If attitude is everything
And if timing is, as well
Then common sense suggests
Adding
Self awareness
Into that equation, too


And not until
Thee comes to see
That it doth not matter
Which one thee be—
The pot calling the kettle black
Or the kettle, burning up and boiling over ...
Either way, thee doth not get off scott free.

A THINK TANK IN NEED OF A TUNE UP (147)

I recently read
An article about
Taking good care of
Our brains.


How often
Do we
Stop to ponder
on that?


Though
We think
To take good care
Of body parts


Like our
Hearts
Lungs
And even our feet


How often
Doth we remember
That think tanks
Need tuning up?


What if
All too often
Personal perspective
Lightens or darkens perceptions?


What if
We have no clue
As to when and with whom
We trade reality for La-La Land?


Let's watch
Annie's negatively focused perception
Swing her mind toward
Self-defeat ...

146. TRAIN WRECK IN THE TUNNEL OF LOVE Part 2: PUBERTY HITS I JUMP THE TRACKS! (146)

The tall stand up.  The short shoot up  The thin curve up.  The chubby slim down.  The merry-go-round spins round and round at such a pace that everything blurs, especially changes taking place within me.


If you and I glance back at Mom's photo albums and turn to a page where a classmate in my fifth grade class picture smiles out at us, here's what we'll see:  We'll see Susie's blue eyes, long dark hair, and sweet smile, flanked by two roly poly cheeks.  We'll see Susie looking a heck of a lot like—me!  And that was then.


By seventh grade, the chassis on this roly poly is downright sleek, except for two round mounds, stacked neatly between a slender neck and waist.  And if Susie is missing a spark—well—she's really nice—and nary a boy is in sight, so this friendship feels—safe.  Except for one thing.  Susie can't stop mooning over Elvis.  All she wants to do is play his 45's, close her eyes, sway back and forth, and sigh.  As for me, I sit on the floor in her room, bored half to death, peering out at her from eyes, which belie a self protective wall that cuts me off from any sense of sensual awareness.  And since my mind denies anything hinting of sexuality, I perceive my sweet friend as—well—a little off her rocker.  In short, Susie has matured in an aspect of life that my defense system holds fearfully at bay.


So, the next time a new girl stands next to our teacher in front of the class, I invite Sally to join Susie and me at lunch.  Being that I do not vie with my sister for Mom's attentions (why not?) I can hold my own with this trio.  However, it's possible that three's a crowd where Susie's concerned, because her sweet smile turns upside down, and some how, over time, she fades off the stage into the wings—and the fact that I'm every bit as much twelve as the kids who'd left me behind, my spirit soars with nary a care, flying in formation with a bird, who chirps and laughs and prances around, very much like corny little me.  Hooray!  A bird of a feather, at last!


Needless to say, Susie, Sally and I take our PJ's to every party that receives our eager-to-please RSVP.  But other than that Susie slip-slides away, and our trio dwindles into a duet.


So if you perceive Door Number Three as the end of the show, then perhaps your spirit has not yet thought to feather your nest with a high flying flock of your choosing.  In short, I have no clue, as of yet, that, one day, as my perception of friendship matures, I'll embrace the role of adroit chooser rather than needy 'choosee'.


Oh yes—you may have noticed that I've yet to mention one flock in our class—the flock, which never fails to get shot down.  If this flock flies way under the radar, then perhaps that's because ...
Broken wings and broken spirits are one and the same ...


Each time a bird of this feather is shot down, a dark spot in Annie's memory sparks, and her heart floods with compassion.  Whenever taunts haunt the weak, Annie's spirit rebels; however, she can't rouse that slice of her voice, which had once single handedly sounded out loud in defense of the downtrodden at her old school.  


If Annie's leadership skills are flying under the radar, do not assume her spirit to be dead as a duck.  No matter how much she longs to stand up and turn the tides, instinct suggests that during confounding times, the only course of action that makes sense is to freeze in place until something signals readiness to carve out a new path.  You see, often times, success remains out of range until perspective concerning when to fight, freeze or flee expands. 


Instead of stamping her foot and shouting—STOP!—this ring master develops into an attentive observer of human nature.  You see, with thoughts of bullies looming overhead, Annie's resistance to mean mindedness has not yet regained the inner strength to dislodge the lump of fear inside her throat.  As Annie will not muster the courage to bump that lump until such time as she guides her ducklings to assert their needs, the silenced portion of Annie's voice will not feel free to assert her will.  Though Annie's empathy for every deeply wounded bird is strong, she has no clue how to place her faith in the fact that, one day, the power of one may empower people, the world over, to stand up for themselves.


In short, one day, the assertive side of Annie's mind will resurrect, and her voice will work just fine.  And if you'd like to know when she'll regain the inner strength to stop mob rule from hurling disparaging taunts at the weak—well that change will become apparent when Annie learns how to inoculate her ducklings against the virus of low self esteem.


As for now, it's a beautiful, warm, sunny Saturday, and while pedaling her brand new, blue, three speed racer past Joseph's house, Michael's house, Marilyn's house, Susie's house and their brand new school, Annie's spirit flies as high as a lark.  Upon arriving at Sally's, she parks her bike and with kick stand in place, Annie rings the bell.


Next thing we know, dark pony tails are bobbing from side to side as a well matched pair of fun loving friends jump on their bikes.  And jabbering away, they ride toward a playground, nearby.  And as this pair of high flying spirits swing up to the sky and back down to the ground, a couple of really cute guys, sauntering by, spy two empty swings (or two swinging girls?)  :-)

TRAIN WRECK IN THE TUNNEL OF LOVE Part 1 (145)

One day, a new girl stands next to our teacher in front of the class.  This means I'm not the new kid anymore.  Well, actually, I've not been the new kid for a while.  But the newcomers who'd followed me hadn't attracted my attention, other than the fact that I was glad to be me and not them.  I was twelve.  Nuff said.


This new girl is something else.  She's a tall, blond, blue eyed, willowy beauty.  Sensing her to be as hungry for friendship, right now, as me, I waste no time.
She doesn't eat alone in the lunchroom.  She's invited to join me.  Remember me?  The kindergartner who consoled scared classmates with the fact that their mothers would return to fetch them, just like I knew my mom would fetch me?  And if she's shy, not to worry.  She's sitting next to a little chatterbox, who'd been so social that, at times, my kindergarten teacher, who'd most often smiled at me, would, on occasion, feel the need to scold me, point toward the door, and single me out for time out on the bench in the hall—before the term 'time out' had drifted from sports to unruly kids.  Though I didn't like the scolding, I didn't mind the bench or the hall, because I could chat up other kids and teachers on missions from classrooms to the restroom, the office, whatever.  In short, it took a lot to push my nose out of joint.  When it comes to zipping my lips, well that, my friends, will continue to prove to be a monumental feat.  Thank goodness fate has a profession awaiting me in which I'll be asked to release trains of thought for hours on end.  Lucky me!


So anyway, I invite Marilyn to play, and she invites me back, and though she is not very animated, all is well until she receives her first party invitation, which I do not.  To Marilyn's credit, she does not drop me as fast as my hot spot of insecurity fries my self confidence to a crisp.  You see, as soon as she's absorbed by the high spirited crowd, I perceive her as out of my league and quietly, fade away.


Though perception is one's reality—perception and reality doth not necessarily match.


So having passed on the prize behind door number three, where does that leave me?  Well, life is not a game show—three chances to win or lose—on and off the stage in half an hour.  Life is an on-going, intergenerational saga, which thankfully moves from one stage to the next.  So, let's leave the defensive side of my brain in the wings and watch the positively focused side of my brain, move on to door number four ...  

FYI (144)

Earlier in the day
Posts jet propelled
Straight out of my mind.
Later saw the need
To clean up
Those which had been
Too hastily written
Mission accomplished

143. LOGIC COURAGE HUMOR COMPASSION CONNECTION LOVE (143)

Franklin
Eleanor
Goldie and Will
Annie  ;-)
John and Paul


Whether
I be seen
Or heard
Or read
Or not


My mind
My spirit
My funny bone
My heart
My voice


Seek
To connect
My truth
With yours
I want to hold your hand


As
The path
To positive focus
Beckons
Directly ahead


Tis time to leave
Surviving behind
Thriving awaits our arrival
On to story number three:
A TRAIN RIDE THROUGH THE TUNNEL OF LOVE ...
:-)

WHO SAID THIS? (142)

1.  Let me assert my firm belief that the only thing we have to fear is fear, itself.

2.  The thing you fear most is the thing you must do

3.  Have the intention to enjoy life and to have a good time.  I love being alive.  I cherish every moment.   

4.  I never met a man I didn't like.

5.  The great determining factor, which blocks or releases the flow of success, is attitude. 

6.  I want to hold your hand 

CHEW ON THIS ... (141)

Doth
The daring
Marry
The fearful
For good reason?


If so
What
Might
That reason
Be?

A FEW OF MY FAVORITE THINGS ... (140)

From
You can fool
Some of the people
Some of the time


To
Be the change
You wish to see
In the world


From
I
Have a
Dream


To
Life is either
A daring adventure
Or nothing


From
I see me
Do you
See you?


To
Can
You hear why
I keep reaching out to you?


From
Being a survivor
To
Developing into a thriver

Life
Is not
A dark, fearful journey
Life is a daring, high spirited adventure


Pray tell, my friend
How logically daring doth thee tend to be?

Hooray for the Liberty Bell

Let freedom ring for all


Let's leap into the soup
Let's let the melting pot
Warm up our sense of
Trust

AS THE WORLD TURNS (139)

If
Eyes
Are
Windows to the soul


Then
Spirit
Is
The wing on which we soar


If
As the world turns

Adult attitudes

Are inspired to embrace the positive

Then
Children

Will learn to soak in
The teachings of


Lincoln
Ghandi
King
Keller


Proving
Yet again
That
The power of one is alive and well