Dona Nobis Pacem - 2011

Took a while to post this, had to get rid of the cobwebs...

So... Here's how it works. Every year, I write a post for Queen Mimi's BlogBlast For Peace. Every year, the initial spark of inspiration comes from a song I hear. A few notes, some lyrics, a feeling... and off I go.

Imagine my surprise when this year the lyrics that jumpstarted my post were:

"Crazy, but that's how it goes

Millions of people living as foes.

Maybe, it's not too late

to learn how to love

and forget how to hate..."
- Ozzy Osbourne, Crazy Train

That's right, people. ... I went to my peaceful place because of Ozzy. On the Crazy Train. That's way outside the box for most people. I know. But then, just goes to show... Peace is everywhere, even where some might not expect it. I imagine past visitors have come to expect a kumbaya feel good song from me, the peace hippie bee. And I come up with Ozzy. Stop looking at me like that, I don't control it.

But here's the thing: he goes on to say "You have to listen to my words"

*insert rocking guitar riff HERE (headbanging optional - air guitar twang compulsory - and I'm watching so go on, do it... you know you want to, besides you already think I've lost my mind, do you really want to upset me?!)*

We've been saying this all along... Words matter. It's why we believe that blogging, tweeting, facebooking for Peace makes sense.

Because words matter...

And then I see this video and I get it. Change... the music changed, my words (well my quote) changed... because "crazy" has been defined by some wise people as "doing the same thing over and over again, expecting a different result". Guess my muse planned this all along.

Now go forth, and try something different, in the spirit of Peace. If we want Peace, something is going to have to change... *wink*

Remember to be mindful of the words you use.

Anndi's Peace "Jukebox" 

I had to... this song started this post after all!

My more traditional peace hippie bee kumbaya most perfect peace song... with Arlo

One Love

Trying something different...

Maybe we should develop a Crayola bomb as our next secret weapon. A happiness weapon. A beauty bomb. And every time a crisis developed, we would launch one. It would explode high in the air - explode softly - and send thousands, millions, of little parachutes into the air. Floating down to earth - boxes of Crayolas. And we wouldn't go cheap, either - not little boxes of eight. Boxes of sixty-four, with the sharpener built right in. With silver and gold and copper, magenta and peach and lime, amber and umber and all the rest. And people would smile and get a little funny look on their faces and cover the world with imagination.

~Robert Fulghum

I blame zombies, again - Raven's Saturday Wordzzle Challenge

So many of the bloggers I visit have participated in this fun challenge hosted by Raven. I've been impressed at the caliber of writing my friends have exhibited, and honestly, I've been intimidated. But, I figure since I've been a bit zombified this week I could always blame my poor writing skills on my weakened state. So here goes... I can't promise to participate every week, but who knows?

Please visit Raven (click here) and other inspired bloggers who consistently rock my world with their outstanding contributions to Raven's Saturday Wordzzle Challenge.

I'm sticking to the ten-word and the mini this week... just getting my little toe wet so to speak (do you like the red polish? it's new...)

The ten words or phrases she has pulled out of her hat for us this week are: invincible, falling leaves, two-year-old, fusion, grizzly bear, Jamaica, delivery, popsicle stick, caviar, lap-top. We are instructed to use them in one short (I tried, really!) paragraph.

My ten-word wordzzle:

“Little sister”, sighs Laura, as she runs her finger across the picture she uses as a screen-saver on her laptop. It's her favourite picture, taken when she was five and Meghan was a spunky red-haired two-year-old. In this picture, they're standing in front of the old lake house where their family spent every summer vacation and Thanksgiving dating back to when their father had been a toddler himself. In autumn, it's the perfect place to walk among the falling leaves. Laura still has the log cabin they made together out of popsicle sticks during one of their weekends by the lake. She got to keep it because Meghan had chickened out of a bet and backed out of eating the caviar their father had double-dog dared them to try. She remembered Meghan’s meltdown and grizzly bear growls, and smiled. The then 8 year-old Meghan had vowed, through tears of rage that she would never let anything stop her from getting what she wanted ever again. Who would have guessed that someday that very same girl would backpack through the Andes, survive a hurricane while on vacation in Jamaica and grow up to be one of the preeminent experts in a field as complicated as nuclear fusion. Laura thought her sister was invincible. And now, she found herself sitting on the porch of the lake house waiting to take delivery of Meghan’s ashes so she could sprinkle them in this place that had been so dear to both of them. Meghan the fearless finally did try caviar you see, but she died of a violent allergic reaction.



She also gives us a mini-challenge. Here are the words (seriously, how does she come up with this stuff?): toad stool, liquid lunch, counting sheep, manacles, Jurassic Park. Oy!

12:41PM text from me: You're off to what promises to be a very long liquid lunch at The Manacles Inn with Bob, that advertising rep that looks like the first victim in "Jurassic Park", and Tim from sales. If you wake up with your tongue feeling like you've eaten a basket full of toadstools, you should know your car is parked in front of the little art gallery on Fifth Street that has a painting of counting sheep in the front window. Good luck.

You know... that was fun!

Thanks Raven.. hope you won't hold this against me. Zombies are quite persuasive you know.

"A word is not the same with one writer as with another. One tears it from his guts. The other pulls it out of his overcoat pocket."

~Charles Peguy