Use Your Words

When my children were young and would get angry or frustrated and they would fuss and push, stamp their feet or cry, I would always say to them...use your words! Use your words indeed. I wanted them to put into words what they were feeling and not bottle it up and hold it inside. I wanted them to be able to express themselves....from the heart. Express deep feeling, hurt and frustration and equally joy, pleasure and love. Use your words.

Many people neglect to use their words. So many gifted and verbose people fail to use their words in a personal sense. What a shame that is, what a loss, it's a stinginess, a withholding. Words are meant to be spoken, meant to be shared, meant to be given and enjoyed. I am uncomfortable around people who won't share their words with me. I get a sense of unease, of separation. I do not like it.

No one who knows me would ever accuse me of not using my words. I use them to their fullest each and every day. I love to express my thoughts, feelings and wishes through my words. I love to share them. They are little pieces of me and I am not the least bit stingy with them. I want what's inside me to be expressed, to be known. I am willing to give that part of myself. I want you to know what I think, what I feel. I want you to have my words.

I have found that sometimes one single word can mean all the difference to someone. The simple giving of that one word can potentially turn around a situation, make things right, make things better. One word someone might be waiting for can change everything. One word, offered in peace, solemnity, passion or kindness can exact a tremendous change...open a door to a myriad of possibilities. One word.

Why hold on to them? They are of no value locked inside, held back and squandered. Words are intended to be let go of, feelings shared, thoughts voiced. There is a reason we are told when we are young that one can't take back their words. We aren't supposed to take them back. Words are meant to be spoken.

Indeed

Links In A Chain...

My husband shares his father's name. In fact most of the males on his side of the family name their firstborn males after themselves. Both of my father's brothers gave their firstborn males their names as well. It's a tradition for some, a legacy. I suppose it's a sort of primogeniture, a passing down, the bloodline continued, an honor.

The feminist in me always bristled at this...what of the daughters I wondered? Were they not part of that bloodline? I couldn't help myself.

Of course they are....and I knew that. I didn't need a father's name to carry tradition forth. I didn't need the designation of Jr or II or even the III to feel part of a line of succession that is my family. Nor do my sons need their father's name to carry forth his line. By virtue of our births we are all links in a chain that spans from generation to generation.

I am my father's link, his succession, his legacy. So much of what he imparted to me growing up stayed with me, served me well in this life. My Dad is a merry, mirthful Irishman. Full of wit and charm and a delight to be around but he sent me out into the world armed and ready for what might come. His lessons to me were straight and easy to understand. To this day I can hear him tell me to not give my trust away....to make a person earn it. To be sure a man is worthy of my love before I give it. To stand tall as I walk this earth. To never forget where I came from. His words to me made the links in our chain strong. As strong as the links that were his chain before him.

And so the chain continues, the links are now my children and his lessons to me have become mine to them. So on this Father's Day I can think of no better way to honor him than to thank him for making our chain strong, to make sure that my links hold, to make sure we continue the chain we are a part of. Make sure my children know where they come from, make sure they know they are all links in this wonderful chain, the chain that is our family.

I never needed a "Jr" to follow my name to be my father's daughter.

Indeed.

(Happy Father's Day Dad!)

The Magical Hour

I have been thinking about Midnight this weekend. Midnight. The Magical Hour, the Witching Hour....my favorite hour.

I don't think of it as a supernatural time nor do I associate it with witchcraft. It's more bewitching to me than anything. It's magical in nature, magical in the best sense.

Midnight is often associated with an end, an expiration, a closure. Cinderella's coach turns back into a pumpkin at midnight, her ball gown to tatters. Her wonderful, magical evening comes to an end as the clock strikes twelve. It was as if it never happened, as if her evening wasn't real. That is not what Midnight is for me.

I was out on my deck Friday night, at midnight. I was tired and ready for bed, the house asleep but for me. I sat in the darkness and started to think about who else might be awake, be outside enjoying the darkness. Would they be wondering who else was awake, wondering who else might have the same thoughts as they. I looked at the stars and wondered who else was looking at the same stars, I wondered if they shared my thoughts on the night's magic. What a world of possibility was in that thought. What if it was someone I knew? Someone I knew, looking at the stars, thinking about the magic before them. What an astonishing possibility that was for me.

I closed my eyes, collected my thoughts and imagined that in this magical hour I could send them to whomever might be out there. I sent my thoughts, filled with joy, filled with possibilities out into that magical darkness. I wonder where they went....

Midnight is a beginning. A new day begins at midnight. Everything starts all over again. A starting point yes, a door opening to something wonderful, something magical, something shared. It's a time full of mystery and possibilities. A time when everything you might wish for is possible. In that magical hour anything is possible as long as you believe.

And I do believe ...

Indeed.