Blank Pages

In kindergarten, I was asked what I wanted to be when I grew up. I never hesitated, an actress... or a waitress.

As I grew up and I really began to think about that question, I decided on radio. I plotted and planned how I would eventually own a station in Los Angeles.

Not so gracefully derailed from radio, I moved on to the hospitality industry. I performed great feats to make for the perfect visit to St. Louis.

Then I went to college where I was going to make music videos. That led to the English degree for a future feature writer who settled on administrative assistant.

Today, my sights are set to graphic design and photography.

One of the most important moments of my life happened the day I walked through the doors of Westminster abbey and stood at the grave of Queen Elizabeth. That was the day I realized that I could do anything.

In my mind, I see myself living on the east coast, near the ocean. I work on my laptop while sitting on a rocky beach.

In my mind, I see myself cozied up with notes at a coffee shop in London listening intently to a conversation at the next table.

In my mind, I can feel the accordion play and my body perform the perfect jewel in choreography of my own creation.

In my mind, I'm taking a shortcut through Central Park to an important meeting and I smell the fresh cut grass.

In my mind, I can see the shadows of the skyline build patterns across the tall walls of my loft and I can hear the soft, clear notes rise from the jazz club below.

In my mind, I'm serving dinner to my closest friends and there are at least four different animated conversations going at once.

I hear birds, I hear coin scarves, I hear silence.

I smell pot roast, I smell gardenias, I smell incense.

I see mischievous dark eyes, I see a kitty swirling around my ankles, I see my dad.

I want to create. I want to help. I want to conduct. I want gush. I want to sing and dance. I want to stand in awe of great works of art whether on a canvass of cloth or stone. I want conversations about politics, philosophy and literature. I want to feed my passion to learn. Then I want to teach. I want to make a difference. I intend to fill each page of my life with something that touched my heart.

Yes, I'm the cat lady...

so i'm a cat lady. i'd have a gagillion if i could. but, i've never had a sick animal that needed daily attention.

i surprised myself with the thoughts i had while waiting for the vet to get back with test results. what i was willing to do for this animal and how important he was to me?

was i willing to give him insulin everyday? needles are an unbelievable issue for me. what if he was so sick, i couldn't make him better? when did i really notice that he was loosing too much weight? what would it be like not to have his constant annoying mewing? what if i really couldn't afford to help him? or could i?

only an animal... not really.

i've watched friends spend lots of money on an ill animal. i've watched people dote and focus and maybe take the whole thing dangerously close to what i thought was over-the-top.

but, they are friends, companions, family. i didn't realize how much of my every day this little animal was until now. we know each others moods and habits. he greets me and relies on me. he wakes me in the morning and nudges my cheek before we curl up and fall asleep.

luckily, it's a thyroid issue with a couple pills a day. but, that visit to the vet was a little reality check.

Movin on

I'm closing the doors here. Please stop in to my myspace page

http://www.myspace.com/kymberlieblu

Whirled Species-St. Louis Cardinals

Whirled Species-that just isn't right, but I heard it enough this evening to kinda enjoy saying it.

Congratulations St. Louis, you’ve won the 2006 World Series.

And I discovered pitching.

The last time the Cards took the series, it was 1982 and I was a sophomore in high school. I've always been a fan, but in 2000, I discovered football and baseball took the backseat. Yes, I hear the sighs and see the heads shaking. But, I picked up in the post-season like a lot of folks.

While I was watching the game tonight, I started to notice pitches. I've never really understood pitching and I don't now. But, for the first time, my eyes were glued to the pitchers and barely noticing the batter.

It was like the first time you really understand how something works--when the light bulb goes on and you look beyond to see the mechanics. I have a new hero--Jeff Weaver. And Wainwright is right behind him. I saw Wainwright close the Mets and was so nervous for him that I kept bouncing from room to room.

Tonight, I stayed put. Something very unusual during a sports event. No furniture was turned over. No light fixtures taken out. I was mesmerized by Weaver’s intensity, speed, and accuracy. I even began to recognize strikes and balls without looking to the umpire or listening for the call.

Sports are not for everyone and sometimes they are just an excuse for fans to be stupid. But, when the artistry and refinement are revealed, well, sports can be captivating.

A picture can launch a thousand mantras

People have asked me, “How did you become interested in Tibetan Buddhism?”

It is and isn’t a difficult question. My exploration into Tibetan Buddhism has been long. Sometimes in great leaps, sometimes precariously slow.

I have had two opportunities to share the same ground with His Holiness the Dalai Lama. And I assure you that if you have ever read someone’s account of meeting him, his great compassion will touch you even in a crowd of 100,000. After experiencing HHDL presence, it is difficult to accept that this man is only a simple monk. He is only a simple monk, but he is also the Buddha of compassion.

But the answer to the question? I did have a trigger. There was a place in my life when I was apparently ready to be introduced and it was then that I happened to watch KUNDUN, the Martin Scorsese film about the life of HHDL and the invasion of Tibet.

At the end of that film, I felt like someone had reached in and touched my heart to its farthest depths. I was so deeply offended by the actions of the Chinese and saddened by our human capacity to harm, even in the presence of the greatest source of wisdom and compassion, that I immediately set out to research and discover Tibet and try to understand the position of the Tibetan people.

It appears by the reaction of some people that I have met, that they find this story difficult to accept. Sometimes, I sense an unspoken questioning of how could a movie launch such a fundamental shift in the way I live my life?

Why not? We are a culture obsessed with films, DVDs and the Internet. One of the most successful subjects to transfer to these mediums has been Buddhism. We often attribute negative and harmful behavior to music, movies and video games. Why are we reluctant to believe the opposite could be true?

With this in mind, do not think I am trite when you ask me about Tibetan Buddhism and my first response is a question.

“Have you ever seen KUNDUN?”

Isn't he a bit like you and me?

Today I washed my car. It was covered in approximately 3.5 inches of dust and was giving me heavy guilt. It is after all a 2000 Celica--a car that several teenagers have assured me is incredibly cool.

After a wash, I like to take out my car for a nice air-dry race on the highway. Little beads of water zip up the windshield and off the roof, onto every car I pass. Just add a fitting tune at full volume and it's a 15-minute treat.

I was on the return leg when I noticed a person on the Big Bend bridge...

He's as blind as he can be
Just sees what he wants to see
Nowhere Man can you see me at all?

As I approached I recognized him. Not a man I know, but I man I have seen here before...

Nowhere Man, don't worry
Take your time, don't hurry
Leave it all till somebody else lends you a hand

An African-American man in a red tank shirt, stopped in the middle of the east bound lane, starring down at the oncoming traffic...

Doesn't have a point of view
Knows not where he's going to
Isn't he a bit like you and me?

He's alone on the bridge clutching the fence as though he's trapped...

Nowhere Man, please listen
You don't know what you're missing
Nowhere Man, the world is at your command

How many times have I seen him?? 2? 3 times? Does he see me watching him?

He's a real Nowhere Man
Sitting in his nowhere land
Making all his nowhere plans for nobody
Making all his nowhere plans for nobody

And in an instant he's in my review mirror... an image with his back to me.

Making all his nowhere plans for nobody

Angel in the Cubicle

I like to believe that I live by a philosophy birthed by Virginia Woolf--that to be a successful writer one must have a room of one's own and kill the angel in the house. It is the second part of this philosophy that I'm considering today.

The Angel in the house is a phantom in my head that harps on loyalty, charity, forgiveness and humility. These are not bad qualities, and they are a part of my life philosophy. However, the Angel in my head is also the first lady of martyrdom. Oh woe is me.

The goal is to kill the Angel in the house--invite equality into your living room and express yourself. I have a room of my own. I am married to a man who encourages and supports me. I have ideas and the ability and means to express them. I have succeeded.

But the Angel does not die so easily. She finds other places to live. Like in my cubicle. If Virginia could see our lives today, would she add another point to the list for success? Would she change the mantra? Kill the Angel in the cubical?

I believe she would.

Angel, I'm calling you out. Pack your damn bags.

Slipping through the looking glass

Something caught me by surprise today. I've lost 27 pounds.

You are probably wondering how this caught me by surprise. Well, it did Alice and I'm not sure whose body this is.

I've been overweight since kindergarten. Unpleasant names to cutting comments, I've been "rubinesque" forever. Eventually, I embraced my bodacious bod and began tweaking my self-image to include extra B's (boob, belly and butt). I even learned to love myself. *gasp*

I'm not a career dieter. I sometimes experiment, but I've always been non-committal. My mother is convinced that I lost a few pounds on a diet with her when I was 16. It must have been significant because I've blocked it from memory.

I was raised on fast food--Big Macs, White Castles and Imo's pizza. In my 20's, I learned to cook and ate much healthier. In my 30's, I discovered activities like gardening, step aerobics and of course, belly dancing. But, I never dropped much weight.

A few weeks ago, Weight Watchers came to my office. The rally call came--join the weekly meeting. NO WAY! I'm anti-diet and it cost too much. But when the second session came up and I became inspired by the success of a co-worker, three more of us signed up.

I signed the check and went to the first meeting. Then, I bitched all the way home. I pitched a full out 3-year-old fit. I think I may have even pounded my fists on my friend’s dashboard. I'm not always open to suggestion.

I turned the whole flex point diet into a game and played "how many points is this?" with my coworkers. I didn't really expect results. Just like my college experience when I went to school because I loved it. Eventually, I had 42 hours with a 4.0 before I realized what that meant. This diet has been equally surprising.

Suddenly, I'm facing the possibility of actually achieving a goal I've had for 30 years. I used to say, "If I could just lose this weight, everything would be perfect." Well, I finally stopped believing that and suddenly I’m wearing some fat girl’s pants.

I feel like I woke up under a mushroom and a Cheshire cat just winked at me.

A Prairie Home Companion finds its voice on film

The compelling quality of radio is that it is perhaps the most intimate experience a person can have... next to marriage.

For nearly 15 years, I have scrubbed the tub, folded laundry, and pulled the weeds alone while listening to Garrison Keillor's tales of Guy Noir, Dusty and Lefty, and Lake Woebegone. This evening, I watched A Prairie Home Companion in a theatre filled with people who knew the theme song and got the jokes. It was almost like a meeting of the Secret Brotherhood of the Chatterbox Cafe.

PHC is complete. Completely funny. Completely melancholy. Completely engaging. The stage is set with the romantic accoutrements of a live radio show. Most fantastic are the performances of Kevin Kline, Meryl Streep, Lilly Tomlin, Tommy Lee Jones, Virginia Madson, Woody Harrelson, John C. Reilly, and dare I admit it, Lindsey Lohan. And there are secret gems. Names you'll only know if you've listened to the live show. Names like Sue Scott, Tim Russell and Tom Keith.

As an avid listener, I tried to reign in my expectations. A movie can never fully imitate what you imagine. But, PHC invites your expectations. It gracefully maneuvers where others only clod. The grounding element is the man himself, Garrison Keillor.

This films unique quality is that it fosters and nurtures its best asset, that soft-spoken, unshakeable, dry wit that is the Keillor voice. The medium changed. The characters came to life. A camera moved in for a close up. But Keillor remained the unassuming storyteller who merely weaves his way through his last show—just another Prairie Home Companion.

As the final credits rolled, I realized that there was not a single poor performance, not a plot line I didn't buy or scene that didn't fit. And even more exciting is the pleasure of being well entertained by a movie as satifying as the radio show.

Volunteer Addiction?

Been away, back now. Sorry. Life sometimes hits like a ton of not-so-proverbial bricks.

I volunteered at a food pantry yesterday instead of sitting at a desk all day hating the words "work" and "order". (Job related stress seeping into the happy hatch.)

Anyway, the company I work for, an awesome company by my measure, offers all employees the opportunity to spend two blissful days a year working for a charity. I have had the good fortune to work with Habitat for Humanity and Heat Up St. Louis! Yesterday, I worked at the Food Bank.

Good karma for me. Good karma for the company. That's a win-win.

This is a really cool company policy for other than good karma reasons. First, you get to do something that you know is going to help. And that offers a great sense of satisfaction and accomplishment. For instance, I know that my teammate, Mar and I can haul drywall for a grateful future homeowner fast enough to make the big construction dudes raise their eyebrows. I know I can perform like a circus barker in front of eager football fans heading for a game and actually convince them to part with twenty-dollar bills to help pay heating bills. And, along with 15 co-workers, I can help feed more than 6,000 people in one day.

Secondly, you get an opportunity to get to know people from other departments, people you know only from the hallways. Wow, I work with some incredible folks. It is amazing to see a large group of people put some elbow grease into it, as my mother would say. We don't know each other, but suddenly we are a rock solid team. We'll do what it takes and we'll make it happen. I feel like the Rosie the Riveter, "We can do it!"

Thirdly, you get one day away from whatever it is that is pushing you to reach for the phone to call in sick because you need a bloody break. Amen.

The crazy thing about these volunteer days is that they get me so pumped up that I forget my limits. I forget that I ever had limits. I sleep like a kid that swam all day and wake up grateful to be able to help.

It could be an addiction, I tell ya.