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That thing that goes off in the highest pitch ever scares the living shit out of me, and I’m a dog. I’m a kick-ass, laid back dog, but that horrific screaming chirping thing sends me to my people’s closest looking for the darkest, quietest place.

But that doesn’t even help. I’m a dog for fuck’s sake and I can still hear that horrible white, round bird that lives on the ceiling.

It rattles my nerves. Literally!

As I tried to escape it I literally started shaking. It was uncontrollable. It wasn’t until my mom took the bird off the ceiling and pulled out its guts that the noise stopped. I was so shaken up I tried to climb out the window but my mom found me and sat down on the sofa with me. She let me curl up next to her and she petted me and talked nice to me and rubbed my ears until I calmed down.

I fucking hate that bird!

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So this is my new challenge, suggested to me by friend and photographer, Gidget Clayton.

Each week or month I come up with a theme, then ever day I post something, anything about it. I toyed with changing my blog name to 365 Days of BJW Post, so I could have a wide range of topics, but hey whatever, I’m blogging and that’s what I want to do.

My frist theme is going to be 365 Days of BJW Post.

So we’ll see what I come up with… kinda exciting and very liberating. Whew! I did it.

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It’s Thursday, July 22 and as I sit on my balcony in Maui, Hawaii  watching the sun rise I wonder: What is my dream?

This came about because yesterday I had a gentleman on my flight that his seat mate said, “was living the dream.” The gentleman he was referring to was a soft-spoken, extremely well-mannered southerner that grew up in South Carolina but now lives on the island of Maui.

His soft, honey-dripped accent drew you in as much as his sparkling aqua eyes. His baby white hair and sun kissed skin gave him a boyishness that made me think of my own blue-eyed, blond little boy back home.

“South Carolina,” as I thought of him, knees bounced constantly as he picked at the hem of his madras shorts. South Carolina also talked “a lot” his seat mate said.

I think he was a nervous flyer.

This soft-spoken, tan, possible nervous flyer was also a surfer.

“He surfs all day and is a pharmacist at night,” his sate mate told me, “he’s living the dream.”

After more probing and conversation I found out that the seat mate also lives on Maui. He’s a promoter, DJ and radio manager for one of the stations on the island. I think it’s 91.7, but I cannot remember. Never-the-less, I told them they both were living the dream. That most of us want to just be able to live on one of the islands. They laughed and agreed. But, “Radio Man” as I have gone to calling him, and I both think South Carolina really is living the dream.

Which is why I’m sitting here this morning sipping my Kona coffee watching the sun rise over the ocean wondering: What is my dream really?

Am I living it and missing it because I’m too busy fighting my current state? Always questioning, “what should I be doing and why aren’t I doing it?”

Or, am I to busy searching for it, the “perfect” routine, that will allow me to make my life fall together and live my dream that I don’t even knowwhat my dream is?

I don’t know.

What I do know is this: I LOVE the life I’m living. I have a wonderful, generous husband (who is doing what he loves), a happy, healthy little boy, and the opportunity to sit here on this beautiful island sipping coffee waiting to surf.

But is it my dream? Am I living the dream and does it even matter?

I sip more coffee, lukewarm now, the sun is almost fully awake. My daily meditation book, The Book of Awakening by Mark Nepo sits on the table beside me and quietly calls my name.

The cup is empty when I set it down to pick up my book. I start my morning read and think after this, a little yoga and some Hang Ten time. Maybe there I might begin to find the stirrings of my dream.

What’s your dream? Are you living the dream? Or do you ever wonder if you too are missing it or if it even matters?

I’d love to hear your thoughts and insights, so please share.

Live the life you love,


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Well the overnight flight from Honolulu, HI was shorter today than our trip out but eegads it was hard to stay away this time. I didn’t get much sleep before we checked in downstairs at 8:35 p.m. I had only 2 1/2 hours sleep for my nap. Oh well, I had lots to read while the passengers clocked in their REMs. My favorite read last night was “The Girl’s Guide to Saudi Arabia,” by Maureen Dowd in July’s issue of Vanity Fair.

Her deadpan delivery of things such as when young Saudi girls come of age, they won’t get the same kind of thought provoking book On Becoming a Woman like Ms. Dowd received from her mother, no, these Suadi tweeners will “…have a black tarp thrown over their heads.

The imagery creates for me a Bugs Bunny kind of picture, part disbelief part chortle. Yet, her years as a skilled journalist allow the reader to really know the depth of the problems and see the “real” Saudi through Ms. Dowd’s encounter.

She even  entertained herself  by trying to see how long it would take for a male Ceberuses to dash in front of her to block her movement to the front area – the men only area.

I am now more intrigued by the lifestyle of the women of Saudi and thoroughly enjoyed Ms. Dowd’s tone and take.  I look forward to many more interesting reads that also give me a good chuckle. I was able to stay awake on my midnight ride home over the Pacific thanks to Ms. Dowd and her “wit-full” writing.

I can only hope to write half as well as her someday.


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What the hell are these little bugs that keep landing in my wine? Okay, so I could probably find what these pesky nat-like flying creatures that hover around my browning bananas and softening grapefruits are, but I don’t.

We live in central Phoenix (also called CenPho buy some), a neighborhood with fruit trees, irrigated lots and massive trees, things which don’t readily come to mind when thinking of the Arizona desert, unless of course your family owned an orchard or you grew up around the irrigation canals as a kid.

I didn’t notice the bugs then.

Of course, now I do – as they continually land in my delicious and reasonably priced red wine (Layer Cake’s Malbec for the curious). I keep slipping paper towels or my SPF’d fingers into my Ikea wine glass to give them a raft to float on or mash them into bits. Either way, the irritation of them landing in my glass creates more frustration than the fact of Hawaiian Tropic or bug gusts mixing with my wine.

Then of course as I write this, I wonder to myself, hmmmmm…. what DOES that say about me?

It says this: I LOVE my wine, I’m practical and well, I’m not too hung up on germs.

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On of my most repeated phrases is, “You have nothing to fear but fear itself, so do the thing you fear the most.” It’s my version of a line from former President Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s First Inaugural Address.

I’ve said it for as long as I can remember. I’ve followed it maybe half the time. Yesterday those words came back to haunt me, and quite “Frankly” they surprised me.

As I sat in my stylist Jody’s chair at Sachi Salon in Scottsdale, I read last month’s Elle magazine. In it I found an article that subconsciously I must have been looking for.

Kristen Wiig, currently of “Saturday Night Live” (SNL) fame, was quoted as questioning her life.

“What am I doing with my life? It sounds so cheesy, but there’s something very powerful about looking in the mirror and asking yourself a question. Because I think it’s really hard to lie.

I had to be honest too. I had to ask myself , “What am I doing with my life?”

As a late bloomer, late college graduate and late decider of things I saw this as a wakeup call. So, it’s with that simple, but insightful article I have decided to do the thing I fear. To leap into my “new” career and just do what I’ve always wanted to do: write.

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