Hello! Welcome to my first Fēldz Ov In-kwe-rī (Fields of Inquiry) Forum Post. When it comes to penning on the old onion skin I am not a woman known for being short on words when I speak. In truth, I find the written word so much more powerful in different ways than the spoken word. It allows my brain to breathe and place things in some sort of chaotic, yet organized (hypnotic but not chronic), order. It affords me a venue to truly craft the point, feeling, picture, emotion, or scene that I am trying to convey.
Writing allows me to take a break from the congressional conglomerate that is forever quibbling in my cranium. The “Congressional Conglomerate” you ask? Well, let me fill you in as several colorful committees are rattling around in my head. They follow in order of recognizable sanity to asylum-worthy degradation. I have thus far discovered the Committees of: Conveyance, Diplomatic-Schism, Fiduciary Ménage, Philanthropic & Faith, Swiss Zone, Arts and Culture, Domestic Architecture, Persnickity, Screwuppiness, Down Right Ka-crazy, Snafubar, Empathopenic, and finally (and typically least attended to) the Depleted Self-Care Committee. Don’t kid yourself…you have your committees wrestling around in the old brainpan, take a tour “up there” and you will find them, drugged-out, laying on a couch with 3 springs sticking you in the back, and smelling like old gym socks in a rain puddle…..but maybe that’s just my head…..
I find these committees incestuously familiar to those found in our country’s framework. They continuously bicker and lobby for center stage like siblings fighting over who gets to ride shotgun or who crosses the imaginary my-space/your-space line in the back seat. Usually, one committee will edge out the others to rule the day. The Arts & Cultural Committee is the one I relish the most. It gives me refuge, allowing me oodles of “whoosha” moments, thereby facilitating a much-needed sojourn to my happy place of Zen (insert mental picture of not-so-super flexible me with scrunched up face in Lotus pose.)
In my new post-military journey, I find the "committees" have fallen rather silent, with the Artistic Committee seemingly away on holiday. I find myself pondering (a word of southern dialect meaning “to think pensively”) what I am going to do when (if?) I grow up. I am certainly not of an age to put out to pasture like an old mare. So, what will my next adventure be? What does my future hold? In this quest to discern which brush-laden path to follow, I think I will take the opportunity to spread my proverbial wings (not my Levitical ones) and view the world from above the trees. It is time to squirt some WD40--the pros call it Kroil…but that’s another conversation--on those rusty hinged doors and replace the musty restrained silence with thought-provoking conversation. It’s time to pull out the witches' broom used as last year's Halloween prop and clear away the plethora of cobwebs in my head. It's time to enjoy and get lost in what feeds my soul—needs that have been relegated to an afterthought out of obligation; be it to the uniform, someone else's agenda, standards and codes of conduct, and prescribed—if not expected—neutrality and impartiality. In a nutshell, I no longer have to be "Switzerland". The Swiss-Zone Committee can enjoy all the Mai-Tai’s on a beach in Punta Bulata it can handle. My thoughts, opinions, beliefs, and talents are mine to reclaim and be shared if I so choose.
To be clear, it is not as if I’ve held radical thoughts in reserve...quite the contrary. I simply felt an internal responsibility and prudence to do so. In defense of our nation's principles, I afforded others the space and freedom to speak their mind; now I have (and have earned) the opportunity to do so.
So come along and join me as I explore a myriad of subjects. I LOVE having fun with words and language that make people think, but I am not an English professor and will make mistakes from time to time. I do not profess to be an authority on anything I write about (unless specifically stated), but merely a participant on a conglomerative journey we all experience. So join me if you dare In Fēldz Ov In-kwe-rīwhere I will put my analytical hat on and present a pithy analysis of topics of the day. Share in my life's gifts and the "everyday" through a questionable sense of humor in Bī-wā Va-guh-bon. Help me celebrate the creativity and talent of Thə Ärtz. We'll open the pantry and peek inside the Nā-kəd Spens' cupboard to level up our culinary talent. And by all means laugh hysterically--a good pity party of tears may be appropriate here--at the Grit ən Grīm of home renovation.
No matter the topic, I will always endeavor to be creative, earnest, and sometimes even provocative in my quest for knowledge as an authentic “life artist". It is my time to live life the way it was meant to be…
"It (Life) should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well-preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming “Wow! What a Ride!”. – Hunter S. Thompson
One of the secrets of life is to keep our intellectual curiosity acute.