Upside Down Kris

  Giving Thanks About a year ago I started my blogging journey with a post about Thanksgiving. It was a post Thanksgiving post that I hope held the excitement of both posting and Thanksgiving. A lot has happened since then, and I am certainly grateful that I have had a way to convey both journeys of blogging and life. I have decided that this Thanksgiving day will be truly full of thanks, a reminder of everything that I have and that I am. I have often thought that I would like to make gratitude a part of my journaling...I already write a "to do" and "to be" list...why not add a "to be grateful for" list? And what better day than Thanksgiving to begin giving thanks every day? My eyes are gushing as I write this. I'm not sure exactly why. All the things that I'm grateful for are passing through my brain as if I'm a passenger on a train, and it's almost too much to take. I am struck by how utterly obtuse I have been in letting them go by and ...

  Autumn The leaves shimmering in the wind on the treetops like chandelier drops....Autumn is here. As much as Summer is a charming companion for lightning bugs and the warm rosiness of sundown, Autumn is infinitely more interesting. Colorful canopies of golden brown-green, suffused sunlight mixed with dampness, chestnuts and Halloween...she is so varied and temperamental you never know exactly what to expect. As apt as fall is to describe the cadence of the dancing leaves, I think the name Autumn adds much more elegance to the season. Swirling through the leaves and name is a call for florid adornments.The sumptuous splash of different hues seems to accompany the trees to a ball or majestic bash, lending to the idea of regalness.  However, Autumn can also be quite subdued. Autumn's sobriety shows when she drapes a heavy gray cloak on the sky. In this way, she gives an idea of ancientness in her cool preparation for Winter's arrival, although she ...

For the fun of it I write for   the fun of it...for the goofy or gracious words, the play on words, the onomatopoeias and metaphors, even the alluring alliterations. I love the backward or inward glimpse into language, the heart through the pen which is connected to my fingers, arms, then veins and back to the heart again.  Through my capillaries runs life and life is what we're here for–the light, the goldness and the goodness, the preciousness, the diamonds that we give through our words or the pearls of wisdom we choose to take...or maybe we throw them into the ocean, hoping someone will grab them, hoping someone will see who we are. And so we are all valuable stones with veins of ink running through us even if we may not feel it. Maybe the point is to discover the hues of our own personal ink, paint our exterior with it, break it out for others, and offer what is softened from the hardness of life.  Maybe some people have gone to clay and are already soft. May th...

Intention is Everything Intention is everything. I really wish I had known this as a kid. Think of language: the same sentence could mean something totally different depending on the intention behind it. Take a simple phrase like: "Oh, that's great"...does it always mean that something is fantastic? Or could   it mean the opposite, infused with the right dose of sarcasm?  We realize the importance of intention subconsciously, picking up on truth or hurt, benevolence or snideness just by the tone of someone's voice or the inflection of their words.  Although it's not just the saying that creates intention but more the doing . This morning I really tried to concentrate on my muscles as I did Pilates. I had watched a video recently with Anat Baniel (a dancer who wrote a book about exercise and children with special needs) in which she talked about the importance of focusing on your muscles in movement because that's when true improvement happens.  So, I aligned ...

  Out of the Gray The world goes by gray or forest green. Sometimes there are whitish squiggles leading somewhere into the fog, or big blobs of blackened green as trees. The land is landish and the fog is flat, forming an indistinct horizon. The scene outside the train would have been food for impressionists. It gives the feeling of being suspended, of sky searching for land and land searching for itself. I am glad to be behind glass, feeling protected from the drabness. As long as the florescent lights of the train illuminate a little too much, the blue of the seats stays shocking, and the red line shows the way to the exit, I am safe. Gray is for people outside the train, not me. I am where there is bright. I will not fall into the smoke. I am aware this is a selfish view of my position, but maybe it's also self preservation. I don't want to be pulled in a direction I don't want to go. The train is flying past the gray and I paid to be on it. I worked to be on it. And n...

  Park Perfection A pigeon crosses my path of vision as I follow its reflections in the park as well as my own. I am a backdrop for the light as it filters through the swirls of the white chair. I am sitting on cold, painted metal, but that doesn't lessen its charms in the October light. I am Chinese shadows representing a hooded figure with coffee. Am I the one in the seat or in the shadows? Which one represents me more? Maybe I like what I see in the shadows. Broadening my view, there are many fountains spraying out of thin poles.They could be grand parasols or delicate masts mounted with a cream colored sail. Some in the shade are tied around the waist so they can't set sail, but they still leave their mark in the autumn air, saluting it. Beyond the park of poles majestic trees form a magnificent back drop for this fall scene. They are a delicious medley of greens muted with reddish or yellow tones.My favorite is the tree with his leaves mimicking the weeping Willow. Maybe ...

Silence's Charms The Silence of the day slips into me. She is not overt with her intentions...she just creeps up out of the waiting concrete and the clocks that are cloaking their clicking. I am ready for it-whatever she may bring. The truth is Silence has no plans: she's just hanging out. It's not like she is lurking in the darkness, ready to strike. She simply stays and adds to infinity.  She is not to fear. It is our walking into silence that we fear, of not waking from it somehow. However, she's just sitting on her comfortable cushion in no hurry at all, just content to be . She would be surprised to learn that so many of us are threatened by her. I lose my outlines in her, putting her on like a cloak. I wear her because I like her smell: that still scent that warms the air. I love her voice which says all the more in its echo. If I really listen to her, she is streaked with knowing. She also has blips of the day, maybe in the vibrations of moving ...