tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12951132710620381402024-02-19T18:10:53.789-06:00tikvah {hope}tikvah means {hope} in hebrew; it is the spirit which fills my soul and continues to draw me toward my best life.jodiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09995837091781515679noreply@blogger.comBlogger281125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1295113271062038140.post-82518030597584810932013-08-17T21:27:00.000-05:002013-08-26T21:39:51.485-05:00Nia {post 4/30}<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6meqEk67cyZCK4lLvO2hmc-4AEjDlFTkRLbsgc9DfVBrag1wOUnN7nQKoa8nFWtM4Wxjmn9Gw1rXx0KbeZ7u7UQbBghDWFHt9l-kRT2f8rWY_Tr-3BU7z_ZwBt_KF1pRUhVr0cVUYX0le/s1600/feet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="269" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6meqEk67cyZCK4lLvO2hmc-4AEjDlFTkRLbsgc9DfVBrag1wOUnN7nQKoa8nFWtM4Wxjmn9Gw1rXx0KbeZ7u7UQbBghDWFHt9l-kRT2f8rWY_Tr-3BU7z_ZwBt_KF1pRUhVr0cVUYX0le/s320/feet.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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i love my feet. feet that can dance like a four-year-old, twirling in front of the mirror at the YMCA. shaking her hips and not worrying what anyone else is doing, lost in the music. during <a href="http://www.nianow.com/practice" target="_blank">Nia</a> the other night, i was transported back to that room at <a href="http://kripalu.org/article/1361/" target="_blank">kripalu</a>, the drum beats pounding like my heart. that girl in the grass-green dress, hair wild with sweat, those first few wobbly steps toward healing. there is something about getting lost in the rhythm, being completely overtaken by the moment. not worrying about style or grace, but dancing for the pure, whimsical spirit of it. Nia is like that for me. a celebration of femininity, of power and strength. these are the experiences i need to keep returning to.jodiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09995837091781515679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1295113271062038140.post-3669383861057169102013-08-16T21:21:00.000-05:002013-08-26T21:21:42.345-05:00kaleidoscope {post 3/30}<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR1IUrtf9z7uAy1slXwVSamg4Hvh_K35gtK0dX6O-lb8vndlUrfmhL3wrvVV6TlRPtd_v3mvUuLF8p-dnMGsyB-o8t4r5um17ZvJny94X5OhqDucvTqP755hyphenhyphenWvuNV-8GIc4Sec34Kot2R/s1600/kaleidoscope.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR1IUrtf9z7uAy1slXwVSamg4Hvh_K35gtK0dX6O-lb8vndlUrfmhL3wrvVV6TlRPtd_v3mvUuLF8p-dnMGsyB-o8t4r5um17ZvJny94X5OhqDucvTqP755hyphenhyphenWvuNV-8GIc4Sec34Kot2R/s320/kaleidoscope.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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"what do you want to be when you grow up?" i never realized how completely ridiculous this question is. how are we to know, at say 7 years old, what we want to be? at 36, i still don't know what i want to be. and i definitely don't want to grow up. i believe we grow <strong>into</strong>. that over time, we grow more toward a complete picture of ourselves. we become more comfortable in our own skin. we bloom into something more magnificent as the years pass. i have enjoyed that evolution, the transition from one side of myself into another. never losing the past, but using it to refine the image. we turn the dial of the kaleidoscope, ever-changing in its beauty.jodiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09995837091781515679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1295113271062038140.post-70443124792743064022013-08-15T20:58:00.000-05:002013-08-26T20:58:42.351-05:00pink {post 2/30}<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBlS9iplEWFnW1KQHNDB-XYM8CEma1IkUAh5Up3RMexu_T4cX-1yHUOD20-VgnnEdjT735Z2rbD_HKmrJEkLMFXYVfHkBwuUAleivfhLZD06T_H-ipNpbIInWm8v1da4Wu3bBdowR3dxAI/s1600/pink.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBlS9iplEWFnW1KQHNDB-XYM8CEma1IkUAh5Up3RMexu_T4cX-1yHUOD20-VgnnEdjT735Z2rbD_HKmrJEkLMFXYVfHkBwuUAleivfhLZD06T_H-ipNpbIInWm8v1da4Wu3bBdowR3dxAI/s320/pink.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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i am looking at my daughter, exploring her reflection in the mirror. does she understand it is her own image looking back at her? what will she think when she does this in one year? in 16? will she like the nose her dad and i gave her? will she smile at her pretty skin, will she like her teeth? her hair? i think back to that writing class at the jung center all those months ago. d and i both writing of this baby girl not yet conceived. and now she sits in front of me. the pink i always hated has crept into her wardrobe, her toys. and i am embracing the femininity of it all. delighting in the dresses, the rag doll given to her because it has dreadlocks like her mama. jodiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09995837091781515679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1295113271062038140.post-5781785460167923392013-08-14T20:48:00.000-05:002013-08-26T20:59:00.325-05:00illuminate {post 1/30}<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA-iiPJEp-4A_bLgXy5aPlduPT_vwWTuVqbIlgO8Bsk5m4plU35_BSN7pvQq_lWv4sZF57Q6ixBs-UMIRZIfoTdv3KnYQLt19doPgUWUfhX_MoZqFbqzIEbOGhzcUIsOnXKGoepR9dubXh/s1600/shine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA-iiPJEp-4A_bLgXy5aPlduPT_vwWTuVqbIlgO8Bsk5m4plU35_BSN7pvQq_lWv4sZF57Q6ixBs-UMIRZIfoTdv3KnYQLt19doPgUWUfhX_MoZqFbqzIEbOGhzcUIsOnXKGoepR9dubXh/s400/shine.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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for so many months all of my creative energy was channeled into this new life I see before me. this bright-eyed, curious little being I could not have imagined would bring so much joy to my heart. and as I settle into this motherhood thing, I feel the pull of the ink to paper, of my dusty camera beckoning me. that old familiar call to create. to pour myself onto the canvas and feel the weight of the brush in my hand. I am ready. ready to infuse my art with the magic of a child's smile. to share the light that has illuminated all that I do. to start reeling in those old parts of my life that have been floating free all these months. i'm ready to sail again.<br />
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<a href="http://www.christinarosalie.com/just-one-paragraph/" target="_blank" title="Just One Paragraph"><img alt="Just One Paragraph" src="http://www.christinarosalie.com/mytopography/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/30Days30Posts1Paragraph_badge.png" style="border: currentColor;" /></a></div>
jodiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09995837091781515679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1295113271062038140.post-4790295974894162332013-08-13T21:35:00.001-05:002013-08-26T21:22:02.811-05:00commit<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxJ8Fr_mEqxz_RWeTxfBuQJCgBtuFfhj_RT9_MjSloYHWsXxbgfINmZKm1a0UOK0ncdBI862UO-yvP1ORxOqeDMpMLaEr8OZPSlbooNLYnUdI-TShd16sakxsx9lSgRYxJbx7J6VIl88DZ/s1600/time.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxJ8Fr_mEqxz_RWeTxfBuQJCgBtuFfhj_RT9_MjSloYHWsXxbgfINmZKm1a0UOK0ncdBI862UO-yvP1ORxOqeDMpMLaEr8OZPSlbooNLYnUdI-TShd16sakxsx9lSgRYxJbx7J6VIl88DZ/s320/time.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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it's as if my muscles have forgotten the motion. as if the slow dance that was pen flowing along page has lost its music. i need practice. need to write more than thank you notes and to do lists. i need one hour a day for ME. to write, meditate, return to my yoga practice. i will turn this "need" into action. i commit to 30 posts in 30 days. i commit to my membership at the ymca. i commit to the self-care i preach daily to my patients and their caregivers. i will get up early...warm-up to the day slowly. in that quiet space between night and morning, i will delight in the silence made just for me.<br />
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<a href="http://www.christinarosalie.com/just-one-paragraph/" target="_blank" title="Just One Paragraph"><img alt="Just One Paragraph" src="http://www.christinarosalie.com/mytopography/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/30Days30Posts1Paragraph_badge.png" style="border: currentColor;" /></a></div>
jodiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09995837091781515679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1295113271062038140.post-69086704742212788202012-07-20T09:33:00.001-05:002012-07-20T09:33:20.834-05:0036 by 36...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjsSTC7kBQeRy2MBWQrxfvrNjJb5hg6fzaB4jCwD6cAEUHol8-8oPq-WeYpmld5HfoLdwzTzNAa6jMTMjMM_bwRC4U0M8egr_ztP8VLsUpfcqIi-UJq9Mj1xhwh3avTo52cAPxv1lOGpfP/s1600/waterfall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjsSTC7kBQeRy2MBWQrxfvrNjJb5hg6fzaB4jCwD6cAEUHol8-8oPq-WeYpmld5HfoLdwzTzNAa6jMTMjMM_bwRC4U0M8egr_ztP8VLsUpfcqIi-UJq9Mj1xhwh3avTo52cAPxv1lOGpfP/s400/waterfall.jpg" width="270" /></a></div>
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<ol>
<li>deliver a healthy baby</li>
<li>dance with david</li>
<li>start painting again</li>
<li>swim in the ocean</li>
<li>pass the LCSW exam</li>
<li>take a writing workshop</li>
<li>revisit the houston museums</li>
<li>stop cursing</li>
<li>dye my hair red</li>
<li>praise my body</li>
<li>buy fruit from a roadside stand</li>
<li>speak in public</li>
<li>plant a tree for baby</li>
<li>run a 5K</li>
<li>submit an article for publication</li>
<li>attend a play or musical</li>
<li>complete my conversion to judaism</li>
<li>go to a waterfall</li>
<li>finish my audio course on writing</li>
<li>gather stories from my grandmothers</li>
<li>dream bigger</li>
<li>take an encaustic class</li>
<li>bake an apple pie</li>
<li>read 12 books</li>
<li>wear flowers in my hair</li>
<li>have a picnic</li>
<li>complete random acts of kindness</li>
<li>eat a passionfruit</li>
<li>marry my husband</li>
<li>blow bubbles</li>
<li>plant a garden</li>
<li>color outside the lines</li>
<li>write 3 chapters of book</li>
<li>go fishing</li>
<li>ride a waterslide</li>
<li>read something inspirational every day</li>
</ol>jodiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09995837091781515679noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1295113271062038140.post-23565240051902556742012-07-20T09:13:00.002-05:002012-07-20T09:24:01.434-05:00today i am 35<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
Here is last year's 35 by 35 list...let's see how I fared:<br />
<ol>
<li><div align="left">
go to blanco tx - antiques</div>
</li>
<li><strike>participate in ARToberFEST</strike> </li>
<li><strike>make s'mores at the beach</strike> {it was actually at a bonfire, not on the beach}</li>
<li>take salsa lessons again with d</li>
<li>go to the drive-in in ennis </li>
<li>write 5 chapters of my memoir</li>
<li><strike>finish my death/dying course</strike></li>
<li><strike>bake x-mas cookies with mom/geg</strike></li>
<li><strike>read one book a month {minimum}</strike></li>
<li>do a triathlon with my sister</li>
<li>fly a kite</li>
<li>go to dewberry farm</li>
<li>make tamales with my mother-in-law</li>
<li><strike>spend the weekend in wimberley</strike></li>
<li>go to schlitterbahn</li>
<li><strike>celebrate my 3rd anniversary of being smoke-free</strike></li>
<li><strike>get my bike fixed</strike></li>
<li>submit an article for publication</li>
<li>find a local Nia class</li>
<li><strike>make my {famous} tiramisu</strike></li>
<li>attend a book reading</li>
<li>create a lovely outdoor space</li>
<li><strike>sustain my writers group</strike></li>
<li><strike>watch my dreads start to grow again</strike></li>
<li>catch a fish on my father-in-law's boat</li>
<li><strike>learn everything i can about hospice social work </strike>{this is neverending}</li>
<li><strike>go to the rainforest at moody gardens</strike></li>
<li>buy a new lens for my camera</li>
<li>create a CEU presentation</li>
<li>go to an outdoor concert {this is happening next month!}</li>
<li><strike>take a romantic getaway with d</strike></li>
<li>recycle more</li>
<li>get a pedicure</li>
<li>go to new mexico in the RV</li>
<li><strike>be brave.</strike> {if getting pregnant isn't brave, i don't know what is...}</li>
</ol>jodiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09995837091781515679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1295113271062038140.post-85901531999501360692012-07-12T20:21:00.000-05:002012-07-12T20:21:02.915-05:00alive<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg68QOnq4TcuT_CxCJ3KJlhrJdrGtWztRwrt8B6t7obpbPbKxNGpyKKTezrYsx9B10wFLlXIbgAq-8iB7Ar7-25flOXPD4I1g64Fv2BCW-JzaBdEc8_TEHH41k-EPvm_o4xFlr-huKymExS/s1600/proud+momma.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg68QOnq4TcuT_CxCJ3KJlhrJdrGtWztRwrt8B6t7obpbPbKxNGpyKKTezrYsx9B10wFLlXIbgAq-8iB7Ar7-25flOXPD4I1g64Fv2BCW-JzaBdEc8_TEHH41k-EPvm_o4xFlr-huKymExS/s320/proud+momma.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
this book is intoxicating. it is everything i have been, i am, and long to be. it is as if i can smell the watermelon as they slurp the juices in the backyard. can feel the warmth of the july night where the fireflies skitter across the sky. i want to sit cross-legged on the carpet with my own sweet child in my lap, annoyed at her clinginess, and then roar like lions the following morning. i want to hold my own book in my hands--live the writer's life--hire a babysitter to allow me precious hours to create. i want back to my own writing, the ability to pick at random an entry into my heart--to see who i was then, to feel her pain and triumph. we pour ourselves into the pages, onto the screen, we open our hearts for others to see the blood pulsing through arteries. it is messy, visceral, it is this primitive urge to feel ourselves in another, to join this tribe: of women, of authors, of mothers, of humankind.<br />
<br />
i am lonely in my creative abyss. i feel isolated from my words, the ink, the flattened pinkie after an hour of hungry scribbles. i want to be she of kripalu, in the flowing green dress, she who writes before she thinks. she who is brave in print, whose tears stain the pages and allow new life to slowly fill the receding pool. my belly now swells with new life--different now, not light and love needed to save me, but a different breed. this light radiates outward, it is the pride of the momma lion, the radiance of the queen bee. it is knowing i am creating something beyond art, beyond my own hand. this is fueled by a power deeper than that which i am blessed. the love bubbles up, i feel it as a flash--a knowing wink, a passionate glance--it is shy, but unmistakable. <br />
<br />
and in that moment: i am alive.<br />
<br />
*************************<br />
<em>this post was written after an hour {or more} of devouring the book "Great With Child" by Beth Ann Fennelly. it is soul food for my fragile soul. </em>jodiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09995837091781515679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1295113271062038140.post-11876420020889130212012-03-29T19:51:00.000-05:002012-03-30T05:52:42.190-05:00still grateful...after all these years<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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i started a gratitude journal about 7 years ago, while attending the murder trial for my little sister and brother-in-law. i was trapped in a hotel room in macon, georgia for over 3 weeks and somehow ~ miraculously ~ i was able to find 5 things to be thankful for. on days i struggle to find even one...i force myself to continue this exercise. the entries are all captured in the same little notebook i started in 2005, each year seems to increase in number of entries. on a day that started out in the yucks, i'd like to share a few things i've shown gratitude for:</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<ul>
<li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
compassionate strangers</div>
</li>
<li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
finishing a book</div>
</li>
<li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
walking in the sand</div>
</li>
<li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
laughter</div>
</li>
<li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
creative outlets</div>
</li>
<li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
my family</div>
</li>
<li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
good hair days</div>
</li>
<li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
the back porch</div>
</li>
<li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
my legs {to run}</div>
</li>
<li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
hummus</div>
</li>
<li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
clean laundry</div>
</li>
<li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
talking to mom</div>
</li>
<li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
learning</div>
</li>
<li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
falling in love</div>
</li>
<li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
the opportunity to grow</div>
</li>
<li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
mechanical pencils</div>
</li>
<li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
fresh air</div>
</li>
<li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
forehead kisses</div>
</li>
<li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
a full belly</div>
</li>
<li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
evening strolls</div>
</li>
<li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
teamwork</div>
</li>
<li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
meatloaf</div>
</li>
<li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>hope</strong></span></div>
</li>
</ul>jodiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09995837091781515679noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1295113271062038140.post-74442294225824807962012-03-26T19:37:00.001-05:002012-03-26T19:37:35.590-05:00dreadlock update<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDH4xK2V2J97JpCTKc4-9fz0rfdRDLlTuFopLZ-3woQYTJhgSPk0KzD36OuP5fqEYz0WUYj3447zY0gVevavqSWLOPeqIBXqS7efVuWjKwdkbArsqja7_bpPD_BEmQ5JoM39wVWyEiNYFX/s1600/after+loc+doctor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDH4xK2V2J97JpCTKc4-9fz0rfdRDLlTuFopLZ-3woQYTJhgSPk0KzD36OuP5fqEYz0WUYj3447zY0gVevavqSWLOPeqIBXqS7efVuWjKwdkbArsqja7_bpPD_BEmQ5JoM39wVWyEiNYFX/s320/after+loc+doctor.jpg" width="257" /></a></div>
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i haven't written about my dreadlocks in a looooong time, so here's the latest. i just celebrated my one-year dreadversary and as a gift to myself i went to <strong><a href="http://locdoctor.com/site/" target="_blank">the loc doctor</a></strong> in austin, tx for some much-needed maintenance. the above photo was taken just after my appointment {see me smiling?} if you'd like a full timeline over the course of the year, you can check out my post on <strong><a href="http://dreadlocktruth.com/dtforums/30/8189" target="_blank">Dreadlock Truth</a></strong> or all of my youtube videos <strong><a href="http://www.youtube.com/user/jodiekim1?ob=0&feature=results_main" target="_blank">here</a></strong>. believe me, it wasn't all gumdrops and cotton candy.</div>
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i have learned so much about myself, about commitment to a dream, perseverance, and the glory of a good scarf. i can hardly believe how many strangers have reached out to me as a result of my hair, and all of the new friends i've made in my various online communities. as silly as it may seem, this year of compassion toward myself and the courage to keep going, despite looking like a fraggle half the year, has been transformational. i have challenged traditional beauty norms and redefined my own definition as a result.</div>jodiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09995837091781515679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1295113271062038140.post-33232004706298798952012-03-22T22:50:00.001-05:002012-03-22T22:50:26.797-05:00the trailer hood<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCSO5RdrNYwUlDyMM3dHVP2RtwmU2D46YqYTww_0ZR8KgY8pAmFtWHyT8uJde2-AZrmooSzEB8XtNED3JJwpKdBJb7g5t1VpzmcPdbSutyePwZoTYWOsI5aoHv7UWJ4faMicHWVKuZ3GHl/s1600/home.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCSO5RdrNYwUlDyMM3dHVP2RtwmU2D46YqYTww_0ZR8KgY8pAmFtWHyT8uJde2-AZrmooSzEB8XtNED3JJwpKdBJb7g5t1VpzmcPdbSutyePwZoTYWOsI5aoHv7UWJ4faMicHWVKuZ3GHl/s400/home.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
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<img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMP63gcex9ZZQUgmPEWnT7DH7zBHW5WYwcMF0M7ocXY3xc2rHibgWZ5kIsEP8Y5lWLVfdnhtIs3-Ep1PfSmjWAI6Aa18JzGkTQXOsWUwiO_7m1eFUEJWcqHudApuS3eRttL_K3UG00TSd0/s400/bloom.jpg" width="400" /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4gc9j7Jo-ME7q0oAO9hWpfF9l1VF1HwTl94sGoT3QfuexwGbiSb_nCDJRDKFgl8AYighylzPy1sEnYUhL7akPIxYQt0wiQxNevDBXfwbHoeqsrzauOZSw88wIBjnnQrrWomZ1HacN_fym/s1600/bluebonnets.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4gc9j7Jo-ME7q0oAO9hWpfF9l1VF1HwTl94sGoT3QfuexwGbiSb_nCDJRDKFgl8AYighylzPy1sEnYUhL7akPIxYQt0wiQxNevDBXfwbHoeqsrzauOZSw88wIBjnnQrrWomZ1HacN_fym/s400/bluebonnets.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUZzZK3gvXHJYfVPDW6uN7e6HL2b2jwbSYDcUoJrW5rXoZ3Y4xTekQb0d-9kQvd_nGpNNqCoJSa9FRidnQTh7IPi0nQFI3PMT2kUqmc_ldWqMBRByz7IVw_o_IRwU50Y1fBCDC9iplqgzg/s1600/swing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUZzZK3gvXHJYfVPDW6uN7e6HL2b2jwbSYDcUoJrW5rXoZ3Y4xTekQb0d-9kQvd_nGpNNqCoJSa9FRidnQTh7IPi0nQFI3PMT2kUqmc_ldWqMBRByz7IVw_o_IRwU50Y1fBCDC9iplqgzg/s400/swing.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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it was too nice to stay inside tonight, so i took a little stroll around my neighborhood. </div>
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enjoy your tour of the sweetest little RV park in texas!</div>jodiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09995837091781515679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1295113271062038140.post-20604877798216003142012-03-18T22:45:00.000-05:002012-03-18T22:46:25.007-05:00pink<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggVLAuohpwE1ipesTBmrTauXiIna1rgb3HLdfxu8xxTLZlkKaykRONUvhUmiNoXTAZCyiIvXFTgNQlKq_1W9WfN_k5CB-2QR-BgJJNErpNxnllW1rmVLSM2ZWduY9NnMPn60OngY5cScUh/s1600/pink.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggVLAuohpwE1ipesTBmrTauXiIna1rgb3HLdfxu8xxTLZlkKaykRONUvhUmiNoXTAZCyiIvXFTgNQlKq_1W9WfN_k5CB-2QR-BgJJNErpNxnllW1rmVLSM2ZWduY9NnMPn60OngY5cScUh/s400/pink.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">i think
of ballet slippers, watermelon, my collection of pigs…all memories from my
childhood. i associate pink with little girls, not grown-up independent women—and
certainly not the one i've become. i never associated myself with pink dresses
or tutus, these things reserved for my sister jamie or newborn babies brought
home from the hospital. </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">P</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">INK IS
FOR GIRLS.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">and i am
a proud tomboy. my color would more likely be green for the hills i'd roll down,
into the dirt of the baseball diamond at hines school. or the brown of the tree trunks i'd
shinny in 3rd grade. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">sure,
there were ballet slippers and tutus for a time—but these are not the antiques
i pull from the old trunk of my memory. these are someone else's childhood.
mine is blue, the aqua of the pool where i spent mornings perfecting my 25 yard
butterfly, the sky which cradled my kite as i dodged to avoid the trees
overhead. denim overalls and blueberry muffins taken on road trips to nearby towns
for yet another swim meet. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">i think
now of babies—of the little girl we see in our dreams. i think of feminism and
gender roles and tiny pink booties sure to arrive gift-wrapped with bows. will
she be pink, like the aunt jamie she will know only from photographs? or will
she be fire-engine red like her mother's wedding shoes, the flaming orange of
her daddy's artwork adorning the walls? how will she find her own color—and
avoid being bound by that which society assigns her?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">i come
back to the image of watermelon, huge slices hacked off and handed to small
fingers. to be eaten barefoot in the grass, juice streaming down elbows, seeds
spit into flower beds. these are the pinks of my memories, of childhoods spent outside
where children are meant to play. all of these thoughts converge as we spend
afternoons contemplating the future of this life not yet created. how my
childhood will influence hers, how i want for her the safety and love and
energy of my own. and i wonder...can this place exist in the world i now inhabit?</span></div>jodiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09995837091781515679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1295113271062038140.post-26619641151338958932012-02-25T09:30:00.000-06:002012-02-25T09:30:01.900-06:00make a wish<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL3xo5rlyB6qWz1wpHvc10sKL2xGGh8BrVDhO_9bfYxbCVZgVSpY43Pfjf2rYBlY2vqGPWQ-wStTO5u7slWqVfQG33ZB-EsWBbz05UEhEr-ruSKT5mckhyphenhyphenM0sTtYoaKyPie95GhsaTh0EK/s1600/wish.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL3xo5rlyB6qWz1wpHvc10sKL2xGGh8BrVDhO_9bfYxbCVZgVSpY43Pfjf2rYBlY2vqGPWQ-wStTO5u7slWqVfQG33ZB-EsWBbz05UEhEr-ruSKT5mckhyphenhyphenM0sTtYoaKyPie95GhsaTh0EK/s400/wish.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>jodiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09995837091781515679noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1295113271062038140.post-88423394997031687632012-02-24T21:25:00.000-06:002012-02-24T21:28:46.228-06:00awaken the artist<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhODxBmBz8c9B1Mr-uEU27rn4xLKw7GKF4qQD4cVxgDg0Cs5Sdof0YJtK3i5OQGoT5AAVL28o6TSucLdMzV4iQc4pcMECYMzVAKTPZ0XuAdymYyE4cdsddsMjOk1lRPHY7WPJOh3rC_f64P/s1600/red.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhODxBmBz8c9B1Mr-uEU27rn4xLKw7GKF4qQD4cVxgDg0Cs5Sdof0YJtK3i5OQGoT5AAVL28o6TSucLdMzV4iQc4pcMECYMzVAKTPZ0XuAdymYyE4cdsddsMjOk1lRPHY7WPJOh3rC_f64P/s400/red.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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i <span style="font-family: inherit;">forget the sheer pleasure of viewing the world through my photographer's eyes ~ how every splash of color ignites excitement, how juxtapositions of shape and design bring my surroundings into the realm of art. the ability to transform what i see in nature into the crisp reflection on the screen days later. and how an image can rejuvenate my tired soul ~ bring me back to the path: the warm breeze, the sound of children laughing and puppies barking hello across the park. the power of an image to awaken my writing after months of hibernation; how so much emotion can erupt from one click of the shutter. </span><br />
<br />
i am still in awe of my love for the camera ~ the ability to capture a moment in time, preserved as if trapped inside a bubble, floating freely into the universe. as with any piece of art, each will see something new inside the bubble ~ the emotions which arise as individual as the eyes which view it. and it is my hope, that with each small creative step i take, others will be inspired to view their surroundings with an artist's eye. to find beauty in the mundane: that ray of light escaping the cloud becomes cause for delight, to celebrate the vibrancy of every day.jodiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09995837091781515679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1295113271062038140.post-66914635857524622982012-02-23T18:20:00.000-06:002012-02-24T22:00:58.396-06:00imprint<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_FG8xdIAddw99UR9S6Vet2B1iAH2TuE6l1w1I2he1_qSOOeIC52rHNikQFNYf-xVUmdQLNQV49W-AzyQsZkBy1p96rX-iSH4t1U-uq5fqT8IfSC1qsVtFdUvCSnwMIJQ-TUo0zLF9tmeN/s1600/imprint.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_FG8xdIAddw99UR9S6Vet2B1iAH2TuE6l1w1I2he1_qSOOeIC52rHNikQFNYf-xVUmdQLNQV49W-AzyQsZkBy1p96rX-iSH4t1U-uq5fqT8IfSC1qsVtFdUvCSnwMIJQ-TUo0zLF9tmeN/s400/imprint.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">i see this image and think of the ways we leave an imprint on those around us. how those we have loved leave a mark on our hearts, how we in turn snuggle our way into theirs. i have been thinking a lot lately about the impact i have on my patients and the families with whom i may only meet once or twice. and i reflect on the indelible marks they have left on my soul. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">i have been missing my jamie-girl lately and dedicate this post to her…to the innumerable ways she impacted my life, in the 24 years she was a part of mine.</span></div>jodiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09995837091781515679noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1295113271062038140.post-78739042646165465702011-11-14T19:44:00.000-06:002011-11-14T19:44:24.310-06:00the jar<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEWgE4-SMsSWYYtgPuubp5JK9oU2eiQqyFocAOnh6kmUWF8I86KQDDNXB47AstuImKux5uOBoGkf25bbFGbQdK072pyYCCjxyEwDJhRnWcHTdlN2c_tZ-gB_Z9SJ2DhUrZExZJyF3qm6Gt/s1600/doodle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="286" nda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEWgE4-SMsSWYYtgPuubp5JK9oU2eiQqyFocAOnh6kmUWF8I86KQDDNXB47AstuImKux5uOBoGkf25bbFGbQdK072pyYCCjxyEwDJhRnWcHTdlN2c_tZ-gB_Z9SJ2DhUrZExZJyF3qm6Gt/s320/doodle.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
it is here, all around me...if only i could capture it. bottle it up, like the fireflies in june. poke tiny holes in the lid of the old mason jar, allow it to breathe...to stay alive for everyone to enjoy. <br />
<br />
but you can't bottle it. i want to believe it's too big for that. it would fill the jar and spill out over the edge...honey thick, running down the sides. the welling-up comes again...so much kindness, so much love. <br />
<br />
it is here, all around me.jodiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09995837091781515679noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1295113271062038140.post-19474345599477849862011-10-24T12:26:00.000-05:002011-10-24T12:26:08.518-05:00let it in...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuzGKAlEeq_n3drD_8dajiwTx5w5EfzdcMIu1AByKnP9RGSRFejtE0tCff8hz7hnZj2ulrWK_lntehry_9nhZOW4bRPwzvvIx-kN2uNAeiJtYooSAy_CvZPUv-6pLlvsxofqJlQTao0p2z/s1600/love+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="260" rda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuzGKAlEeq_n3drD_8dajiwTx5w5EfzdcMIu1AByKnP9RGSRFejtE0tCff8hz7hnZj2ulrWK_lntehry_9nhZOW4bRPwzvvIx-kN2uNAeiJtYooSAy_CvZPUv-6pLlvsxofqJlQTao0p2z/s320/love+copy.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<em>from an old journal excerpt:</em><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">love is my most powerful weapon against fear, anxiety, depression...</div><div style="text-align: center;">and i have a great deal available to me,</div><div style="text-align: center;">if i only let it in.</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div>jodiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09995837091781515679noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1295113271062038140.post-33811766416291725022011-08-23T22:06:00.000-05:002011-08-23T22:06:45.812-05:0035 by 35...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4rI45i3S61CK9W06iFRxbBnxO0qfqLITNKszTYho4dcmgBXSBIbPiLxKDA1u_uPf_n1VpFn_2eWqCHzDb-QKBGcRDs6HhuJQNAAL9iSdzWvxPywRsif3TswDDUaYcjRw1zR6oQR6AUU87/s1600/b-day+hat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="322" qaa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4rI45i3S61CK9W06iFRxbBnxO0qfqLITNKszTYho4dcmgBXSBIbPiLxKDA1u_uPf_n1VpFn_2eWqCHzDb-QKBGcRDs6HhuJQNAAL9iSdzWvxPywRsif3TswDDUaYcjRw1zR6oQR6AUU87/s400/b-day+hat.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>my cousin katie and i for our birthdays in 2010</em></div><br />
okay, so i wrote this in my sweet little moleskine over a month ago {the big day was 7.20} and it's finally making it to the screen. here we go....<br />
<ol><li><div align="left">go to blanco tx - antiques</div></li>
<li><div align="left">participate in ARToberFEST </div></li>
<li><div align="left">make s'mores at the beach </div></li>
<li><div align="left">take salsa lessons again with d</div></li>
<li><div align="left">go to the drive-in in ennis </div></li>
<li><div align="left">write 5 chapters of my memoir</div></li>
<li><div align="left">finish my death/dying course</div></li>
<li><div align="left">bake x-mas cookies with mom/geg</div></li>
<li><div align="left">read one book a month {minimum}</div></li>
<li><div align="left">do a triathlon with my sister</div></li>
<li><div align="left">fly a kite</div></li>
<li><div align="left">go to dewberry farm</div></li>
<li><div align="left">make tamales with my mother-in-law</div></li>
<li><div align="left">spend the weekend in wimberley</div></li>
<li><div align="left">go to schlitterbahn</div></li>
<li><div align="left">celebrate my 3rd anniversary of being smoke-free</div></li>
<li><div align="left">get my bike fixed</div></li>
<li><div align="left">submit an article for publication</div></li>
<li><div align="left">find a local Nia class</div></li>
<li><div align="left">make my {famous} tiramisu</div></li>
<li><div align="left">attend a book reading</div></li>
<li><div align="left">create a lovely outdoor space</div></li>
<li><div align="left">sustain my writers group</div></li>
<li><div align="left">watch my dreads start to grow again</div></li>
<li><div align="left">catch a fish on my father-in-law's boat</div></li>
<li><div align="left">learn everything i can about hospice social work</div></li>
<li><div align="left">go to the rainforest at moody gardens</div></li>
<li><div align="left">buy a new lens for my camera</div></li>
<li><div align="left">create a CEU presentation</div></li>
<li><div align="left">go to an outdoor concert</div></li>
<li><div align="left">take a romantic getaway with d</div></li>
<li>recycle more</li>
<li><div align="left">get a pedicure</div></li>
<li><div align="left">go to new mexico in the RV</div></li>
<li><div align="left">be brave.</div></li>
</ol>jodiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09995837091781515679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1295113271062038140.post-61050540000778609522011-08-09T08:45:00.001-05:002011-08-09T08:45:00.461-05:00cool off...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYw78d-IDBHLka9V-cTo1sd_hqH00c1-Y-PeHjCIiVZwo5-5OmaUD0Uxcyne97ibdO1HwKLyTu9CSORzQsNTErd9OFp7P7_pyFfAqvemJHZBlha87wBN5hkDFH9hHpCp0PDVai95xYUBtO/s1600/bleu.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYw78d-IDBHLka9V-cTo1sd_hqH00c1-Y-PeHjCIiVZwo5-5OmaUD0Uxcyne97ibdO1HwKLyTu9CSORzQsNTErd9OFp7P7_pyFfAqvemJHZBlha87wBN5hkDFH9hHpCp0PDVai95xYUBtO/s400/bleu.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>jodiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09995837091781515679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1295113271062038140.post-19370934026534839742011-08-08T06:56:00.002-05:002011-08-08T06:56:45.866-05:00good morning<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKeevmg7FupRBA4D9hiL9bRl3v_TJVB38P4Hru_7G36eBhXJ9ghs-vfFqx50h_8RqkvD42WpKiT7SoEkV4Zu3qSi2VGY7_N4u2OQ3SlYyVWcaM2MEoUVXedgQydicvHFFU0_0k6u0PAa8Z/s1600/shine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKeevmg7FupRBA4D9hiL9bRl3v_TJVB38P4Hru_7G36eBhXJ9ghs-vfFqx50h_8RqkvD42WpKiT7SoEkV4Zu3qSi2VGY7_N4u2OQ3SlYyVWcaM2MEoUVXedgQydicvHFFU0_0k6u0PAa8Z/s400/shine.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>jodiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09995837091781515679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1295113271062038140.post-11968190569602924762011-06-07T22:17:00.000-05:002011-06-07T22:17:39.107-05:00love.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHZ5ezZUZF2SZKq2aAk6fM5NCy0uFaK-YsmUajO54aQAXxMMu6TErj9fdv6Sys3ZTkSbSbGF1yzqIarC7QcuZdqRYRnT-4BBvjFaAE2UXvEqgZGDjTcAc3RM4ellJTs9LciiTRk_zE6T7N/s1600/love.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHZ5ezZUZF2SZKq2aAk6fM5NCy0uFaK-YsmUajO54aQAXxMMu6TErj9fdv6Sys3ZTkSbSbGF1yzqIarC7QcuZdqRYRnT-4BBvjFaAE2UXvEqgZGDjTcAc3RM4ellJTs9LciiTRk_zE6T7N/s400/love.jpg" t8="true" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">Love is an act of endless forgiveness, a tender look which becomes a habit. ~Peter Ustinov</div>jodiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09995837091781515679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1295113271062038140.post-83740346220989006082011-06-01T14:26:00.000-05:002011-06-01T14:26:03.023-05:00swerve<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbFAh3piRJu7fETGw7d4YKh2CLT-FxKq20WzPNFxrpM0t1xg1qaPw9rD08mA3lnQ5hR8XCdzdU8XJkjAsnvYsyU05Au06fUeL21KZIiSnIo8H9EbLgy6Yg4SbbVM_FXEeQ7DfhS5hwI1pJ/s1600/swervy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbFAh3piRJu7fETGw7d4YKh2CLT-FxKq20WzPNFxrpM0t1xg1qaPw9rD08mA3lnQ5hR8XCdzdU8XJkjAsnvYsyU05Au06fUeL21KZIiSnIo8H9EbLgy6Yg4SbbVM_FXEeQ7DfhS5hwI1pJ/s400/swervy.jpg" t8="true" width="400" /></a></div><br />
as i was trying to decide how to write what i've been feeling lately, i started looking through my archives for a photo to go along with the post. the image above was taken over a year ago on a glorious spring day when my husband went to a conference on the SMU campus and i wandered around with my camera. this sculpture is actually a moving art piece...it squiggles along like a snake above the water. when i went to name the image for this post i immediately typed <em>swervy </em>{i am notorious for making up words}. and in doing this, i instinctively typed swerve in my google search bar to find the definition. here is what <a href="http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/swerve">merriam-webster</a> had to say:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">{Synonym Discussion of SWERVE}</div><br />
<strong>swerve, veer, deviate, depart, digress, diverge</strong>...to turn aside from a straight course. <strong>swerve</strong> may suggest a physical, mental, or moral turning away from a given course, often with abruptness. <strong>veer</strong> implies a major change in direction. <strong>deviate</strong> implies a turning from a customary or prescribed course. <strong>depart</strong> suggests a deviation from a traditional or conventional course or type. <strong>digress</strong> applies to a departing from the subject of one's discourse. <strong>diverge</strong> may equal depart but usually suggests a branching of a main path into two or more leading in different directions.<br />
<br />
i continue to find it amazing how the universe puts everything right where i need it, at the exact moment in which i need it. yesterday morning i woke up lazy and stayed in bed to read while d was getting ready for work. it was a book i started months ago, and abandoned when i no longer needed it, but picked up again recently. it is titled <em><strong><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Writing-Way-Healing-Telling-Transforms/dp/0807072435">writing as a way of healing</a></strong></em>, by <strong><a href="http://writingalife.wordpress.com/">louise desalvo</a></strong> {whose blog is great too}. the words poured into my parched soul, overflowing my writer's heart with joy. i spent most of the morning working on timelines for my memoir and blissfully focused on writing. <br />
<br />
then last night, i cried in bed. i was tired and overwhelmed and anxious and irritated. i was freaking out about our {summer adventure}, money and jobs and "irresponsible behavior." i was the polar opposite of the joyful creative soul of only 12 hours prior. and the fact that my mood could swing so wide in the course of a day was making me even more frustrated. but after a good cry and talking it through with david, i realized something i have known for a long time. <br />
<br />
taking the road less traveled isn't supposed to be easy. sometimes, going against the grain can cut you wide open. and in those moments when my dreams are so close i can feel their breath warm on my face, it can be really damn scary. i think i was crying for the path i am leaving, the sharp turn i have made in the direction of my wildest dreams. i am anticipating the bumps ahead, blazing this trail so few have traveled before me. i am gathering the support i will need and the tools necessary to navigate the ever-changing terrain. <br />
<br />
watch me while i swerve.jodiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09995837091781515679noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1295113271062038140.post-38021107548136260552011-05-27T10:31:00.000-05:002011-05-27T10:31:37.945-05:00dreadlock love<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio_ySZhrSKrynR-f3lj2hrIZJzylPQP6PQTbVRYjptvgQfO3VXf7heB9YdGoDtrIUnMWD_0_jYjclS_9U6JKMhp0NywY9YMJDe2WJzlMDd_aMfYTkut-qckNXp3hBrQ35xvebdzGijpom4/s1600/spin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="332" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio_ySZhrSKrynR-f3lj2hrIZJzylPQP6PQTbVRYjptvgQfO3VXf7heB9YdGoDtrIUnMWD_0_jYjclS_9U6JKMhp0NywY9YMJDe2WJzlMDd_aMfYTkut-qckNXp3hBrQ35xvebdzGijpom4/s400/spin.jpg" t8="true" width="400" /></a></div><br />
i haven't done a dreadlock post since i <strong><a href="http://jodiekim.blogspot.com/2011/03/dreadlocks.html">first got them</a></strong>...mostly because i've been doing <a href="http://youtu.be/XQTFgj9-Iok"><strong>youtube videos</strong></a> of my progress and haven't really had much to WRITE about them. but today i do. one of my artist lovelies, <strong><a href="http://www.dirtyfootprints-studio.com/2011/05/anew.html">connie at dirty footprints</a></strong>, recently cut off her dreads...just about the time i was falling deeply in love with mine. i adore what she wrote in her post {alongside the most incredible self portrait sketch} "sometimes hair is just hair."<br />
<br />
i've been thinking a lot about this journey i've been on to find my true path and live my authentic life...it sounds all oprah-y onscreen, but it is truly how i've felt over the past year. when i decided to commit to dreadlocks i hoped that they would teach me about patience, about trusting the process, about the spiritual journey toward truth.<br />
<br />
but some days, they're just a mess of knotty hair.<br />
<br />
i have learned to love all their loopy madness, the frizz and itchies, and altogether craziness. i have learned {again} that life is beautiful in its imperfection, that although i still get anxious about the future, i still worry and obsess and become impatient for everything RIGHT NOW...it will all work out in the end. i trust that in a few years i will have gloriously imperfect locks, that i will have finished the book, that life will still be messy and i'll still have to tell myself to breathe when the yucks come rushing in.<br />
<br />
i am only two months into my dreadlock growth...i have a <em>long</em> road ahead of me. i know that it is just hair. but i also secretly hope that i can take all this love i feel for them today and spread it out into the world.jodiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09995837091781515679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1295113271062038140.post-5613903768432513242011-05-26T17:08:00.000-05:002011-05-26T17:08:34.908-05:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB1WCiHQ1Gfw9FQrKoxR-ZmlCkuKVgxg4catc3i-psdVghPcLd34P1ygb99P9R04mjHT_qzD8tE4_Nk_gt45e0timQKMJTrD5E8qzMbBjZriEugD1mViFB0A7Gb1LXcPfqkaqAxWH2YAW8/s1600/love+n+peace.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB1WCiHQ1Gfw9FQrKoxR-ZmlCkuKVgxg4catc3i-psdVghPcLd34P1ygb99P9R04mjHT_qzD8tE4_Nk_gt45e0timQKMJTrD5E8qzMbBjZriEugD1mViFB0A7Gb1LXcPfqkaqAxWH2YAW8/s400/love+n+peace.jpg" t8="true" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div align="center"><strong>things that tingle my happy places....</strong></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">pelicans soaring along the bridge </div><div style="text-align: center;"> blue moon drafts with an orange slice</div><div style="text-align: center;"> climbing the tree along the highway</div><div style="text-align: center;"> fresh paint</div><div style="text-align: center;"> the smell of charcoal from the grill</div><div style="text-align: center;"> no line at the post office</div><div style="text-align: center;"> reconnecting with my inner student</div><div style="text-align: center;">super dooper dreadlock loops </div><div style="text-align: center;"> legs dangling over the seawall, licking ben & jerry's off the same spoon as my baby</div><div style="text-align: center;"> a hug from my patient when i leave the house</div><div style="text-align: center;"> driving along the ocean, windows open wide</div><div style="text-align: center;"> painted toenails</div><div style="text-align: center;"> shaking my booty at Nia dance class</div><div style="text-align: center;"> ripe raspberries that remind me of grandpa</div>jodiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09995837091781515679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1295113271062038140.post-39674373949340494042011-05-18T22:08:00.000-05:002011-05-18T22:08:10.514-05:00i am not a monster...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikMnz5Gm8NZG6LIRGUd14416_43OoHKPPEBshAoNOLUMBQQaidvSwt3g-3CLmuxAEec8UdmpoFxjWcm6yHiK4sYV1zLnzZ8L4PMCy1waeK0ZZaihYT6Uv6v2Z-zH0hzyXRmRulRvXHhHYD/s1600/glow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikMnz5Gm8NZG6LIRGUd14416_43OoHKPPEBshAoNOLUMBQQaidvSwt3g-3CLmuxAEec8UdmpoFxjWcm6yHiK4sYV1zLnzZ8L4PMCy1waeK0ZZaihYT6Uv6v2Z-zH0hzyXRmRulRvXHhHYD/s400/glow.jpg" width="266" /></a></div><br />
i have been wanting to go to the <strong><a href="http://www.rosenberg-library.org/">rosenberg library</a></strong> since we moved to galveston...and finally had the chance to go! i was just wandering the memoir section (my mind and reading habits are all in one place these days!)...and stumbled on <em>My Invented Country</em> by <a href="http://www.isabelallende.com/"><strong>Isabel Allende</strong></a><strong>. </strong>i was having a really rough day and decided i needed a glass of wine and a seat overlooking the crashing waves with my lovely new book. i could not have prepared myself for what she said to me in those few moments of peace...<br />
<br />
from <em>My Invented Country:</em><br />
<br />
<em>Once I heard a famous Afro-American writer say that from the time she was a little girl she felt like a stranger in her family and her hometown. She added that nearly all writers have experienced that feeling, even if they have never left their native city. It's a condition inherent in the profession, she suggested; without the anxiety of feeling different, she wouldn't have been driven to write. Writing, when all is said and done, is an attempt to understand one's own circumstance and to clarify the confusion of existence, including insecurities that do not torment normal people, only chronic non-conformists, many of whom end up as writers after having failed in other undertakings. This theory lifted a burden from my shoulders. I am not a monster; there are others like me.</em>jodiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09995837091781515679noreply@blogger.com1