Gentlemen and Gentlewomen

Flora in the MorningI can always tell when I’m skirting an issue. I tend to become incredibly verbose and convoluted. I work diligently on a post, revising and revising and revising….

Another method of *cough, cough* derailing or diverting. *laughs*

I wonder if I can make these statements without generalizing too much? Ahhh well, I’ll try it on for size anyway. We as women have been taught we can do/be/have whatever we want. We as women can be President, Scholars, Doctors, Clergy, Engineers, Construction workers, World Class Athletes, and/or Millionaires. We don’t have to be content to read the book anymore….we will write or re-write the book. Use your brains, be strong, follow your path. Not the path scripted by society. I was overtly taught that women are limited by men and their fear of a loss of power and money. We are not inferior or subservient, nor should we be so. And I agree with those statements. However, it would be far too simplistic to blame all societies ills on “Women’s Lib”. And I’m not trying to. That discussion is a post of another color.

Women are not taught how to let men be men, they’ve said. I’ve had this conversation repeatedly in the past year, and even more frequently in the past two months. Brotherfriend and I discussed this subject again a few nights ago. The conversation lasted well into the night. Each time I was told, you just don’t understand. I tend to agree on both counts.

Like most, my lessons about relationships and men were primarily learned from watching family interactions. The unfortunate truth is, at least for me, is that I was never taught about men in any remotely constructive way. There were the usual discussions indicating that men do not hit or bully women. And that’s about it. Shit, no one gave me an instruction manual. Did you get one? Can I borrow yours?

My father, although proud of his daughter’s accomplishments, protested loudly when I told him I was again tackling any home repair instead of calling the repair MAN. He almost fainted when I called with questions about re-wiring some of the house. And groaned when I attempted washer repair. Huh? But in all of it, for whatever reason, neither he nor my mother every questioned why my husband wasn’t helping me. The covert message is we as women are supposed to deal in whatever way we need to, to ‘get ‘er done’. Not to EXPECT help. Because after all, we are capable, right? Fine and dandy. I am. I will. And there in lies a fundamental problem for me now.

No one really explained how to be a Gentlewoman. To be fair, I don’t really think men have been properly instructed on being a Gentleman either. But with that said….It is not even remotely close to demeaning or a loss of power for women to ask for help. Or expect help with physically challenging tasks. It is not demeaning or a loss of power for women to wait for a man to open a car door. Or pull out a chair. Or help put on a jacket. Or get the car and bring it around to the door warmed up and ready to go in the rain or snow. I’m not talking about basic manners like saying Please and Thank You. I’m not talking about women being expected to make the coffee for the office (although I do because I want my coffee in the morning and I don’t mind sharing).

So what’s so wrong with a little “Old Fashioned” anyway? Certainly I don’t expect a man to pay for everything. Or do everything for me. But stepping back a bit and allowing a Man to do perform Gentlemanly acts is pretty rewarding. Perhaps that is what being a Gentlewoman is all about? Perhaps too, Men ought to step back a bit and let women be a Gentlewoman as well. It’s not always about equality. I think it’s more about recognizing each other’s gifts. If Women are a gift to Men, aren’t Men a gift to Women as well?

Hmmmm…..Am I missing something here?

Artwork by Sharon Hudson.

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Tuesday Thoughts

Always listen to your doubts, Rosa.

Not just because they might teach you of your fears,
but because, sometimes, they might teach you of your wisdom.

Lovin’ it all,
The Universe

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doin' it

At times, I tend to get stuck in the indecisions of thinking and wanting instead of doing….waiting for something to change, but knowing full well I am the only agent of change in my life

Oh Hell…..Just DO It…..Yah…..

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Sacred Life Sunday – no words

Sacred Life Sunday
.
.
.
just listening……
.
.
.

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Sacred Life Sunday – sweetness is

Sacred Life Sunday

A bakers dozen of Sweetness…

Juicy Mangos

The smell of rain

Colorado Peach Mead

Sparkling blue water

Ripe Papayas

Lightening bugs

Rainbows

His smell

Laughter

Thunderstorms

Snow covered Spanish Peaks

Dew on a spider web

A heartfelt hug

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Snakes and snails and puppy dog tails

Thinking about it all, I was allowed more masculine activities for the time in which I was raised. The early 60’s still had a certain air of strict gender roles with respect to toys and playtime. No skirts or frilly dresses, purses or dolls for young Rosa; not by default such as a lack of money; but more from personal choice and pure stubbornness on my part. Being clothed in frilly, girly clothes necessitated staying clean. Impossible when one small, feisty girl child is trying to hop a 6 foot fence without getting hung up, playing stickball in the street, or helping in the garden.

When I was growing up, dirty was the norm during the day with a long, hot bath before traipsing home or sitting down for supper.

It was a long, deep, shiny white claw foot tub. So deep in fact I thought I could easily drown. I needed a step stool to climb over the edge and sink myself into the hot water. If the tub was not covered with a long sheet of thin plywood it was an easy affair. But when it was covered with plywood…

Mi Tio, Mon Oncle was simply a little boy trapped in an adults body. Although he was not allowed under any circumstances to keep the snakes in his bathtub. Or more properly, my Aunt’s bathtub. He did in fact keep them in my Grandparent’s bathtub, which was conveniently located in the apartment next door.

12 Step program for surviving bathing with Snakes, Snails and Puppy Dog Tails:

1) Peer under plywood knowing full well there would be a parcel of snakes in the tub.

2) Get 5 gallon paint bucket from kitchen.

3) Find Grandpa to remove plywood.

4) Reach into tub and scoop a handful of snakes.

5) Place in bucket and repeat until done.

6) Rinse tub.

7) Find step stool in kitchen and drag into bathroom.

8) Fill tub.

9) Climb in tub and soak.

10) Drain tub.

11) Towel dry and dress.

12) Replace snakes in the tub.

Ahhhhhh….wishing for a long, deep, shiny white claw foot tub.

With or without Garter snakes….


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Sacred Life Sunday – Seeing

Sacred Life Sunday

I’ve been taking time this week to tune into the changing seasons. What you say? Seasons in the tropics?
Yes, *laughing* even in the tropics there are signs of Spring. Or rather, subtle sighs of change.

I’ve noticed that the Sego palms have sprouted a great tufts of new growth. Lovely gray-green fronds a foot high are reaching for the sky. Small babies at the base of momma are also pushing tender new growth.
There are a few trees that have burst into bloom this past week. One with dark green leaves and scads of bright yellow flowers, and one a brilliant orange. I’ll have to find out exactly what they are. And another I just noticed, not that it was totally bare before, is now sporting small, bright green leaves.

I’m sure if I looked a bit closer I would find other signs of change.

We tend to get caught up in the humdrum of life as we go to and from work or carry out our errands.

Sometimes we just need to slow down a bit….meander instead of rushing along….and take a closer look.

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Honey Tears

memories drip
sweet tasting
honey tears

strong hands
watery graves
invoke reverence

Sunrise
Sunset

salty lips
warm breeze
cool rain
foggy views

Sunrise
Sunset

smiling eyes
moonlit beach
surf pounding
dreamy sleep

Sunrise
Sunset

whispered words
winding roads
hidden waterfall
rainbows edge

Sunrise
Sunset

minds join
blue jean sky
jungle growth
clear water

Sunrise
Sunset

moments remembered
silky sand
footprints fleeting

soft waves
wash away
honey tears

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Living Skeletons

I came across this website many years ago searching for botanical art. It excites the botanist in me. But then again, I’ve got my own claim on geekiness, lol.

I love the delicate and graceful look produced by such a seemingly harsh diagnostic technique as x-ray. The images are not at all dead, yet not quite alive either. It’s as if they exist in an intermediary, ephemeral plane. Living skeletons.

HibiscusFour Callas

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A Six Word Meme

Thanks to Shannee, otherwise known as Greenwoman, I was tagged for a six word meme. It’s a good thing too, because otherwise I probably would have never participated. LOL. But I think she knows that….

The Rules: (cuz there are always rules, yes?)

1. Write your own six word memoir
2. Post it on your blog and include a visual illustration if you’d like
3. Link to the person that tagged you in your post and to this original post if possible, so we can track it as it travels across the blogosphere
4 Tag five more blogs with links
5. And don’t forget to leave a comment on the tagged blogs with an invitation to play!

So here’s what spilled out of the corner of my mind which was not really thinking much at all, as I entered the elevator and ran downstairs to grab groceries, feed the meter….

Sensual Goddess, Woman/Child, Live Passion.

Wow. Well, given the nature of my last post here, it’s not surprising

I like this photo even tho I am not into tons of body art. But she oozes Goddess and passion. Sensual.

Deviant Art

Since I don’t really know anyone else here well enough yet, I’ll refrain from tagging back. For now, lol.

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Sacred Life Sunday – The Beat Goes On


I received an alarming phone call on Tuesday from my Mom. Seems my Dad has been running on only two cylinders these days. A electrical misfire where his heart is concerned. Wednesday afternoon he had a pacemaker. Thursday afternoon he was home. He has no restrictions other than not lifting his left arm over his head for a few weeks. Over the next few months, they will fine tune the pacemaker to his rhythm.

Sacred Life Sunday

He sounded upbeat as usual and mentioned how he wanted to travel by helicopter to the hospital where he was receiving the surgery. I laughingly let him know that if he had to go that way he probably wouldn’t enjoy the trip very much. I found out yesterday that he asked anyway. He really did. And he explained the bonus feature of this wonderful new device. He’ll be able to tell if anyones microwave is malfunctioning. *giggles* True to form, my Dad the Engineer with a warped sense of humor is going to test this out for all his friends. My children are now calling him “Bionic Gran’pa”.

He’ll be 75 in a week.

I’m glad he’s still with me.

Taking a moment to savor family….

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Metal Cages

Hooked to kitchen window and the decaying brick facade was our lifesaver in case of fire. In the late afternoon before my father came home from work, my mother would let me crawl out the window onto the fire escape. It was my favorite place sit. I could step through the solitary window and out of the dreary, stagnant kitchen.

fire-escape1 The great exoskeleton of black iron reached from one story above street level to the window of each and every apartment. I couldn’t go anywhere…there was a hinged gate far too heavy for me to move. Besides, I’d sure have my fanny tanned but good for even trying. The worse punishment would have been not being allowed to sit in my barred cage where life was cut into long slices bisected by black twisted strips. Through these slices I watched as the world meandered in and out of my vision. The sounds, sights and smells of the city tickled my senses.

I must have been about 4 years old, but it still seems like I spent a lifetime looking through those bars. Time flows at such a different pace for a child. I spent forever there watching…

I think I flashed on this memory because I frequently sit with my elbows on the ledge of my apartment and lean out the window as I watch the world flow by at a maddening pace. Watching…


Photo: Frederic Friedel

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Sacred Life Sunday – Listening With My Heart

Sacred Life Sunday

There is a window that opens from one heart to another. ~Rumi~

My goal this week was to practice listening. More specifically, to listen with my heart, without expectations, and to not twist what was said into a fantasy of what I thought I wanted to hear…

It wasn’t about finding some hidden truth or discovering some higher state of awareness. It was about the act of giving myself wholly to the moment when one imparts their truths to me.

It didn’t start out for any other reason than I have this realization that I sometimes talk over people. Not out of wanting to be patently rude, although it is….I think it’s more out of the nature of the exchange itself. Especially if it’s thought provoking. Stimulating. Exciting. The justifications are unnecessary. The reason absolutely unimportant.

What I found…and maybe that’s the hidden truth, the higher state of awareness…I found when I listen with my heart, others readily give theirs. What I found was a whole lotta Love.

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Passion & Intensity

He quietly and patiently explained again, in terms I was finally able to hear, You’re 5 foot and barely 100 pounds soaking wet. People take one look at you and assume your size equates to your demeanor. Bad assumption. You’re very expressive, you know. There is no mistaking what you feel. Your entire body moves. You face is expressive. Even your voice. Big has nothing to do with size. I’d hate to take you on in a dark alley. You would kick my ass. Now I’m not scared you could physically kick my ass. *laughs* But in others ways, you can.

Many years ago my dear friend Trixie told me, There are only thee things that scare me. God, my Mom and you. And not necessarily in that order. Shees...she sounded so…reverent.

Various bosses over the years have said the same in not-so-many-words. Most friends have told me at one time or another; You scare people. I don’t think of myself as “scary”. Truthfully, most times I just don’t give a shit what others think. But this one. This one kinda leaves me feeling a bit sad. Don’t know why this repeatedly comes to the forefront.

Where I see, feel or taste passion and intensity is where I stop to feed. It has to be palatable. I need…no, I require Passion. I require Intensity. I require Depth. Not just from everyone else. From everything. From myself. From relationships. From life. Here is where I can actually define “IT“. Here is where I draw a line. That which is “flat” just doesn’t hold my interest. And where it is flat, I tend to move on. It’s that simple. If it has no spark…no zing…it simply doesn’t matter. I have no energy for it. I walk away and search for what does…

This is one of my favorite videos and one of my most favorites tunes. It not only speaks to me, but it absolutely resonates in me. It’s all about Passion. It’s all about Intensity. It’s all about Depth. I want it ALL. I want it up front and personal. I want it in-my-face. I want it as intimate as it gets. Give me the Heart of it all…make it Real. ::grin::

I’m not really sure why I need to define myself at this point in my life. Somehow it seems critically important.

Maybe it’s about time I defined what I’ve always known about myself.And where I struggle in an attempt to make it less so…

it’s about acceptance. My own. About giving it a voice in all the chatter.

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Sacred Life Sunday – Being Content

Sacred Life Sunday

I struggled with this post last night and through most of this morning. Thinking about the what…is…so damned Sacred about my life, other than I live it.

I thought about pussy willows at the Farmer’s Market yesterday. A harbinger of spring. Which in and of itself is a pretty silly concept in a tropical climate. But the sight of them made me smile. So I bought them.

I thought about family and the long conversation with my oldest this morning. He and his wife, my daughter, a wayward son and his wife, and her sister are all coming for a visit in June. *smiles* Maybe I’ll even pony up the fare to get my youngest here. That kind of Sweet O’hana time makes my heart sing.

I thought of a few friends too. I sent a multitude of packages to the mainland yesterday. Precious friendship, despite the distance.

Finally, with nothing in particular in mind, I gave up in disgust and left for the beach. When all else fails, I head to the beach. *shrugs*

I sat for a few hours, alone. Surrounded by people. Alone. At one point, I realized I was smiling. And it was good. Overtly and tacitly, Good. With a capital “G”. For the first time in a very long time, I am content. Not in a lazy kind of way, not at all. I have dreams and plans, wishes and desires. I finally feel content not to be in a relationship. Content to be alone.

That’s what’s so very Sacred today….being content. Acknowledging it and relaxing into it. *smiles*

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