I am so lonely and weary. More than anything I wish that I could be with my family celebrating the 4th of July tomorrow. Sparklers, and lightning bugs and hamburgers on the grill. Loud obnoxious aunts, uncles and cousins. Oh, how I miss the chaos so very much. Oh, how I wish I could be there with them. I would do anything. There, I am a daughter, a granddaughter, a niece and a friend. Here, I am nothing.

I am happy because I am alive

I am happy today because I am alive. I have opened my eyes to one more day. My husband has a day off of work, and although we were up early, the sky was flawlessly blue and the sun bright and warm. We went to an eclectic cafe on the East side of the river called Tin Roof. We sat outside on the patio on the perfect little corner table. My seat was also the seat of a perfect little sun beam. It warmed the cool morning as I sipped my soy latte. (Soy latte...the server probably knew I was a West sider by just ordering that drink...) It felt like we were on vacation; when else do we get to enjoy breakfast together on a Thursday morning? It is moments like these that I bottle up. I soak them in. These moments are what bring joy to life. It's not necessarily the big trips or expensive dinners. It is the small things. The warmth of the sun. A soy latte. Sharing a morning with my husband. Enjoying the blueness of the sky. It is glorious to be alive.

America has Culture...and I'm proud to be a part of it!

Some people say that America doesn't have a culture. People look at the Chinese or Indian or the Mexican to exemplify a strong cultural presence. Often times older generations of immigrants are saddened by the younger generations' loss of traditions and care of original heritage. It's true that America is perhaps one of the youngest counties in the world; however, young doesn't mean culturally void. I'd like to say America has a very defined culture. Perhaps we don't flounce around in colored robes, but people recognize Americans around the world. Thus, if Americans are identified, then Americans have a definitive culture. Although flawed like every human being, America stands for freedom and hard work. America is blue jeans, BBQs, family picnics and ipods. We strive to be the best we can be, and have every opportunity to do it. American culture is not inferior; it is perhaps newer and more culturally homogenized, but nonetheless, it stands out. People can turn their noses up at the U.S., but the immigration centers continue to be flooded with applications. People risk their lives and freedom to reach the border. If American culture is not a true culture, then why is there such a desperation to be identified with it? I thank God that I am an American. Although I am not proud at many of the ways our culture has turned morally, I still recognize the strong roots of a free nation. I know how very blessed I am.

Words that spilled forth this morning.

Little pieces of me come tumbling down,
I am a shell, not a person.
I am incapable of thought, or reason.
Sometimes I am overwhelmed at the thought of forever.
Everyday is the same.
People busy themselves with their lattes and suitcases.
They drive, here and then there.
In a hurry,
to do it again and again and again.
I hear of evil, of those who want to destroy us.
People look to their saviors for reassurance that we will remain strong.
I do not feel strong.
I am weak. I am a little piece. A puff.
The tide will wash over my footprint. and that will be it.
Pieces of me scattered. Carry on. Carry on.

A Woman's Endless Search for the Magic Bottle

When you think about all the physical pain we women go through each day to dress and impress, its no wonder we savor the nights alone adorned in the most sacred attire: our ugliest sweat pants, the hoodie with the chocolate sauce stain and free, unobstructed pores. I was in the beauty aisle in Target the other day looking for yet another facial miracle in a bottle when I noticed a little wrinkled old lady examining the bottles of facial lotion. I imagined that she had to literally move the sagging skin above her eyes to see the labels in her basket of anti-aging elixirs. As she tossed one more wrinkle cream bottle into her basket, I couldn't help but laugh at the irony. Why would an old lady, who clearly was already acquainted with gravity, bother with all the beauty products? I then started to feel guilty. Why can't she still be a woman, hoping that the "promise in the bottle" will actually be able to work its magic on her wrinkled and weathered skin?! I believe all the women who peruse the shelves of magic bottles have the hope that they will uncover the magic formula that will transform their facial terrain. Why else would we slather on green goop, polka-dot our pores with cream and try so desperately to scrub away the frustrations we see in the mirror each morning? But alas, all our hard work, our toil and tears comes to nothing as our hope and dreams are shattered with a new breakout or another mark of age. Weary, we toss out another bottle, along with our optimism. Oh the toil of womanhood. We vow to be content, but where do we find ourselves in a few days? We are back, scouring the aisle ways in Target, searching, hoping, praying to discover the true miracle serum this time around.

The comparisons are truly uncanny.

Oh, the life from inside

Chester stares out of the window longingly as a crow teases her in the trees. Does a cat think? I think that Chester thinks. Perhaps she wonders about life outside, of that strange world she's never set a paw in. Perhaps she wonders about how the crow would taste if only she could attack it. Too bad Chester doesn't have claws. Oh, such a sad life I think sometimes. Poor Chester can only look out from the inside. I think many of us suffer from the "house cat syndrome." We are content with our daily lives, yet sometimes peer into the world of others, silently wondering if we've missed out. However, I do believe that if Chester were an outdoor cat, she would dream of life inside. Likewise, if we had gone down another path in our lives, we would dream about the life we are living now. Sound wisdom from a house cat. They actually have a pretty good life, although cleaning myself with my tongue really doesn't appeal to me.