In response to "Beautiful".

So my sis thought I was being too down on myself in that last post. But in reality, I wasn't depressed or self-dissing at all. I just was stating random, deep thoughts that I had had in a waiting room the other day. I actually wrote most of that last blog on scratch paper while looking out the window in an office. My thought process began to go in that direction because I was thinking how the office was so blah and bland but just outside the window was...beauty! I apologize if it sounds like I have an incredibly low self-esteem right now.....it's not that. It's just contemplation put down in type.

Beautiful???

Who defines beauty? I demand answers! What is the definition of beauty?! In what culture should I move to where 'I' would be the definition of "beautiful"???
If a definition could or should be settled upon, whose to say some hyper, self-proclaimed intelligent won't scuttle up and stomp that particular definition into an oblivion?!
Where can beauty be found? I myself am ever searching. Ever longing.
All who you'd ask, would agree that it's location is ever changing moment by moment, breath by breath, touch by touch. We, as a race, are continually searching for beauty. Striving to attain beauty. Oh to arrive but only for a moment....but the moment is always fleeting.
For a woman, beauty is an unforgiving master; a slave driver that rides you, always in back of your thoughts. Pushing. Nudging. "Do more! You're so close. Just a bit farther. THEN you will be beautiful. More beautiful than....."
Go ahead! Fill in the ..... with whomever you choose. Women are notorious for being able to glance around a room and unconsciously see who might be more/less attractive than they are. Why do we do that? A waste of time, it is. For the open-and-shut truth is, there is NO arriving at "beautiful". There will always be a falling short, an 'almost made it', a 'you're so close but look at her'. There will always be someone prettier, more intelligent, more chiseled abs, smaller feet, bigger melons, longer hair, shorter hair, wittier, better in the kitchen, better in the bedroom! OH MY GOSH! Seriously?! When does it end?
How about this? I, for example, am not beautiful by this world's standards by any means. To be blunt, for starters, I just don't have enough chest to fill that position. When asked in a pole, "Name a beautiful woman.", I guarantee that 99.99% of people would NOT say my name. I'm not down on myself, just realistic.
So why am I not beautiful enough? Why, in a line up of suitable women, would most men pass me over? Oh! May I present the list to answer that?:
I'm chubby, gray haired, wrinkled, dry skinned, dry scalped, dry knee-ed (is that even a word?), stretch marked, thin haired, bad breathed, ogre-like resemblance in the morning, etc., etc, etc.
There it is!
The cold-hard facts.
A nice sterile list.
Impersonal, but true.
Insulting, but true.
Cruel and unfeeling, but true.
Not in any way does this list define 'beautiful'.
Nor does it 'define me'.
These physical flaws do...not...define me.
They also don't disqualify me for the 'beautiful' award!
However, some may disagree and I pity them.
I truly pity them simply because they are still in need of a bit of growing-up, another handful of life experiences to be thrown ever-so-abruptly into their faces. Life is notoriously efficient at changing your definition of 'beautiful' at every turn! This world's definition of beauty? It is fleeting. Temporary. Ephemeral.
Case in point. Is a woman no longer beautiful after her stomach has been stretched during her pregnancy? Has her beauty, or dare I say her exciting appeal, been left behind once she loses a leg suddenly? Gray hairs and saggy wrinkles, for sure, disqualify her for a pin-up photo shoot? But....is she....can she....still be beautiful, desired, enticing, magnetic, alluring, magnifique?
Beauty is temporary.
It is ever changing. Can be found in every moment in which you turn your neck and choose to notice the divine.
Beauty is in a young couple's wedding night. Beauty is in a book on a coffee table. Beauty is a flower petal on a lake. Dirty little finger prints on the wall. A baby's first smile. A wheel chair on a basketball court. In a Children's Hospital Cancer Ward's play room. An 83 year-old woman kneeling over the grave of her husband of 60 and 3/4 years. A kind word spoken to a wounded heart.
Beautiful is undefinable. Beautiful is never constant.
Beautiful is there, if you but look for it.

Papa you are missed

I wish to honor my Papa.
I would love to write with such eloquence and brilliant word pictures, that it would cause your mind's eye to truly understand what this man meant to me. But the reality is, that there aren't words sufficient enough to express my Papa's true value to you. To elaborate on a feeling of the heart using mere words, no matter how strong said feeling might be, is like trying to explain the taste of ice cream to someone who can't taste....It simply is inadequate.
So I will quietly say this.
My Papa was a rock.
An amazing rock.
A rock that had many layers; faithfulness, strength, courage, humility, patience, respect, honor, compassion, dignity, diligence, honesty.
And just like when a rock is hurled onto the smooth surface of a lake, and that tiny, seemingly insignificant object immediately transforms the entire texture of an immense surface area?
Well,
THAT is the persuasion of legacy that my Papa has left.
The ripples that are still radiating, caused by my Papa's life will be seen and felt for decades to come.
I will love you forever my dear Papa.
You ran your race well....

Strive to not forget

Must not forget the crippled old man, hobling along my neighborhood street.
Must not forget the widow who's gray, gray in heart and head.
Must not forget the armless , her heart seems strong but not by far.
Must not forget those on the ground when I am in my bed.

Must not forget the mom worn out, no help from husband when needed most.
Must not forget the broken man, can't seem to get it right.
Must not forget the boy, grown-up too fast when daddy never came back.
Must not forget that I've been blessed much to my heart's delight.

~me~

The Little Boy and the Old Man

Said the little boy, "Sometimes I drop my spoon."
Said the old man, "I do that too."
The little boy whispered, "I wet my pants."
"I do that too," laughed the little old man.
Said the little boy, "I often cry."
The old man nodded, "So do I."
"But worst of all," said the boy, "it seems
Grown-ups don't pay attention to me."
And he felt the warmth of a wrinkled old hand.
"I know what you mean," said the little old man.

~Shel Silverstein~