BloMo

It seems I’ve always been a little bit on the fringe. Whether it be high school, a big party, a community gathering, or cyber space, I’m just not quite in the groove with the group.

After a lifetime of feeling a bit off-center from the flock, I’ve resigned to chalking it up to social awkwardness with random bouts of hermitdom.

Take NaBloPoMo (or National Blog Posting Month), the current challenge this November inspired by the famous NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month), which offers inspiration for writers to ‘just do it’ in November. Write that novel, or post a blog a day for a month, depending on the acronym of choice.

I NaBloPoMo’d back in 2010, before there was a widget (or if there was one, I was ignorant in the fringe where I dwelt). Tried 40 days instead of 30 (worked for Jesus and the Buddha, was my reasoning). I guess it worked for me, too, as here I am at the end of 2013, still blogging away in the Archives, with over 750 posts accrued.

But ever-lingering in the eddies while the rest swirl in the center currents, looks like I unwittingly chose November to question all things daily-postable. As in, I decided to rebel against my own self, and pause on posting for days last week. Why? I began to question whether I had anything worthwhile to share. Wondered if this drive to produce a piece every day was simply offering up shoddy work in the name of a daily post.

Just as I dove deep into pondering, November kicked off and my fellow bloggers began showcasing their new commitment to a blogging discipline. I guess I didn’t get the memo while deep in existential meditation, though I am borrowing the logo for this post.

NaBloPoMo_November_blogroll_large

In summary, here’s the snapshot.

I’m still up before the sun this morning. As usual, the house sleeps while I type. The ocean waves are pounding that winter surf sound and I can hear them crashing in the distance, though the break is at least two miles away.

This morning will be a bus stop drop off for Jeb, as usual, though when I say goodbye, it will be for seven days, as the Bohemian and I climb aboard an airplane this evening. My husband has been chosen as best man for a wedding, all the way in Kalamazoo. By his side, I’ll try to be the best woman I can be.

I may write about the journey, or I may immerse myself so completely in the experience that I do not become the reporter. I may post blogs daily, or I may pause entirely on the Archives.

Who knows?

Clearly, I’m in need of a change-up, and a trip to the mid-west is what the Powers That Be are granting. So be it. I’ll take it. Thank you.

I may not be able to post the official NaBloPoMo badge to my home page, but I know I’ve been exploring this artistic dedication to share words with the world for years now. These things have cycles.

If I was laundry, I’d say I’m in the second rinse.

Chicago

I’m humming Peter Cetera melodies in the kitchen these days. Doing dishes to the ’80’s croon

…if you leave me now, you take away the biggest part of me…

The Bohemian gets a last-minute request to be the best man at his friend’s wedding. Quite a distance to travel from here to Kalamazoo (yes, really, the wedding is in Kalamazoo). I thought it most practical for him to go without me. I’d stay behind and care for Jeb and Moodah the dog. Make sure the plants get watered.

But then there was Peter, singing love songs between every rinsed plate.

…ooo-ooo-ooo-oh, baby please don’t go…I just want you to stay…

Well, I didn’t want the Bohemian to stay. I wanted him to go and lovingly support his friend on a very special day, who was marrying a professional dancer. Yet I knew the wedding would be filled with two-step celebration. If I stayed behind to hold down the home front, would the Bohemian be left solo on the dance floor?

For days we mulled over our responsibilities while Peter Cetera serenaded me. Why Peter? Well, the bride and groom are from Chicago (as is the Bohemian, who had a life there before he came to this island to climb coconut trees, surprisingly meeting me, and subsequently gaining a family). So, the trip is rooted in the Windy City, with a road trip to Kalamazoo for wedding nuptials with a rousing mix of dancing Americans and Czechs.

chicago_logo

And so there is Peter, and that most well-known band, my closest connection to the city from an era of my past (think many junior high school bus rides listening to Top 40 through metal speakers).

And then there is my husband – the best man (which, he most certainly is, in my eyes).

In the end it was decided. We will be two-stepping together, all 20+ hours of flight time to Chicago. Yes, the practicals seemed to fall into place, and the powers that be, allowing us to take a short, but sweet, excursion together in the month that marks our one year anniversary since our very own wedding.

I’ve never been to Chicago (or Kalamazoo).

Lift off in 11 days.

Top of the World

2013-09-23_awa_view_top

We needed to shift our world view.

The timing seemed auspicious. A full, “Harvest” moon. International Day of Peace. Autumnal Equinox.

Juice was in the air and the Bohemian and I were going to go immerse ourselves in it. Cloud juice that is, in the highest altitude on our island.

We walked through forest realms, looking closely at its infinite world of minutiae. We took our time, nibbling on purple lilikoi along the way.

lilikoi
lilikoi
lichen on the forest floor
lichen on the forest floor
peeling bark on guava tree
peeling bark on guava tree
fern - uluhe (Hawaiian)
fern – uluhe (Hawaiian)

Then, at the end, as we wove through a path of grass waving tall above our heads, the stalks parted like curtains to a stage. We stepped out, suddenly to find ourselves standing at the edge of everything.

photo courtesy of the Bohemian
photo courtesy of the Bohemian