INCONCEIVABLY BLONDE....

That Barenaked Ladies song has been going thru my addled mind, "One Week," the catchy one that ALL of us scrambled to memorize its quirky lyrics to catch up with the fun little tune....You know the one, suuuuuurrre ya do.  I've been reflecting that it's been just a little over a week since I began the battle to get my life, my health, and my sanity back.  I have been diligently keeping to entering in all the stuff I'm doing--water, food, exercise (or, in my case, somewhat-lack-thereof-but-improving-this-week), into the MyFitnessPal.com app, and I'm even trying to be good about posting at least a weekly entry on the blog portion.  You can read it by clicking on the link here: http://www.myfitnesspal.com/blog/HavaTwizzz/view/settling-in-126842 As I mention in that entry, I'm just settling in.  For the long haul.  I've really been doing a lot of thinking--scary, I know, because now my hair's growing out all crazy and I can almost start twirling

OK, it's been a rough 3 months since Mom passed, and I've been struggling with demons of time-robbing work, stress and frustration and grief, combined with a gradual weight re-gain that somewhat muffled my creative voice.  In the past three months I've started (yet not ever finished) about 6 poems, cried buckets of tears, and haven't accomplished a single goal I've set for myself this year--so I'm TAKING BACK ME. Big shout-out to my longtime pal Pammers for reaching out and clueing me into a free app called MyFitnessPal.com.  I joined a few days ago, trying to refocus, redirect, and reclaim my ME again and get those physical, mental, and creative juices flowin again.  YAY!  So far, I've only lost 7 lbs, but they have a blog aspect in their application that I'm beginning to use.  The weight gain is not the only matter here, it's the principle of regaining control and not giving into negativity.  Three months is LONG ENOUGH.  I know some parts of me

Thirty days...it's been thirty days.... Wow.... I can't believe it, really-- I can't even begin to process how four weeks of missing her, of mourning her, of going through the motions, making lists of things to do (yet haven't even begun to get done) day in, tears out, fitting the pieces back together somehow, some way, but, wow. A month?! I can't quite wrap my head around that.  Nope.  Sorry. Not when the pictures seem so much faker to me than the memories seared into my brain dug into my arms, scarring, dragging me out of my tear-soaked sleepless reverie, kicking and screaming. Tears come, naturally. That they do. Come, that is. Again, and again, and again.... At home, work, in the car, in the damned store, for Heaven's sake-- with the smells, the laughs, the speed-dialing to revel in the great shoes I found on sale, they have two, do you-- oh, wait, what am I doing? I can't seem to think straight these days, let alon

National Book Publicist Edna Farley Loses Battle From Cancer Edna Carol Farley, 74, of Fort Lauderdale, passed away Monday, April 4, 2011, at a Hospice in Fort Lauderdale following a brief battle against bladder cancer. One of the foremost book publicists in the nation, she and her husband teamed to create book tours for hundreds of authors for various publishing houses for over 30 years from their Fort Lauderdale home. Indeed, she was a pioneer in the now-accepted work-from-home mode of business while she and her husband parented their two children as they grew to adulthood. Among the authors Mrs. Farley promoted during her long career were Nicholas Sparks, Brad Meltzer, Dr. Wayne W. Dyer, Nelson DeMille, Dominique Lapierre, Dr. Robert Ballard, Flora Rheta Schreiber, Richard Simmons, John Naisbitt, Jean Carper, Sen. Bill Nelson (D-FL), Dr. Earl Mindell, and Hollywood hair stylist Jose Eber to name but a few. She was known by journalists, radio and tv producers and anchors coast

When I was just a little girl at the ripe old age of three, and precocious as can be, I'd spurned rag dolls and girlie things, embraced all things curiosity. I'd sit on the floor at Mom's feet while she was so busy working, talking while typing-- click, click, click! "Would you like to book an interview for So-and-So? I can mail you a press kit today." Tap tap tap, ding! Return. Return.. Well, I went to work myself, (both then at her feet and now) fishing out crumpled carbon paper wads from her dented little trashcan from the 1964-65 World's Fair, smoothing and smearing them all across the floor, always looking to decipher the mysterious type on the page. Slyly, slowly transfering the telltale traces off my hands and onto the walls while she wasn't looking, while trying to figure out with my eager little mind how to go about ever so innocently becoming half as brilliant and amazing as she. After all, she'd talk

                                                                               I got a shave cut it all off. All of it. Done. So what? It's just hair.... They call me brave but I'm not, not really.... The one who is is the one who lives each and every day in pain, in knowing that she has one less day to spend with us here. Now, that's real. That's brave . Just so ya know.... The one who raised me just the way I am bold, free, unafraid of what you think or say, teaching me that I am more than the sum of my parts. I am more than the sum of these little stubbles of hair on my head Why do you look at me like that? Don't you see the glow around me as I channel her strength to me and become what she already is and more. She's seen, done, and made more than I'll ever be able to-- not that I'd try to duplicate or copycat her vibe, her style-- not by a mile! I have a bit of her in me, in here, inside, sure, no long

What a difference a day makes. Earth breaks, buildings shake people awaken mid-nightmare by screaming, waves, mudslides, and fires teeming far, far away on the other side of the world. Ripples carry worry, building momentum, carrying shockwaves that level everything in their path, even rice paddies and bullet trains. Unstoppable. People making for higher ground, wise and foolish men both, confounded by Nature stretching, shifting, and scratching gashes in the man-scaped cities and towns All without social media, wi-fi or wikis-- whirlpooled, swept, flung all around like toys broken, dropped, left discarded across the majestically mountainous countryside-- Not mine, not yours, not theirs, but HERS.  All HERS. Standing so still, so quiet, at the shore. Faint ripples lapping lightly in the sand, yet stuck in the calm that's the eye of the storm on camera or on screen-- So misleading to lure you to come on out and see the mayhem, transfixed by the

I actually was requested to write something for an end-of-summer/back-to-school  Church family (Ward) social several years ago.... A sprinkle on the cheek, a rumble in the sky. Pack up all the baskets, Fall will soon be nigh. Some sand sweeps past my face, a gust blows through the trees. Shake out all the blankets, Summer's on its knees. Much shorter days of light, an empty beach by day. Tie down all the umbrellas, Fall is on its way. The kids will be in school weathering the storms, while everyone else works, and the toursists start to swarm. So wipe of all the sand, while the setting sun becomes a promise to remember 'Til next summer comes. Written by Eliza Jane Farley (Gomez) August 1999

This is a little something I dug up and resurrected from the deep, back in 1997, actually, LOL.... I am almost there, where I can turn in the sunshine, wearing a grin, and stop. And laugh at the journey I've taken so far. The journey-- But how did it start? From the starting blocks at swim practice-- Did I warm up enough for the race of my life? Did they teach me that holding my breath, blowing bubbles while I flip-turn would thrust me into my journey so far? The journey-- But when did it start? From the tape marks on the lighted stage at rehearsal-- Did I practice enough for the play of my life? Did they teach me that staying in character, singing while my hat fell off would twirl me into my journey so far? The journey-- But where did it start? From the cutout names stuck on weathered doors at check-in-- Did I study enough for the class of my life? Did they teach me that sneaking out trays and sledding down hills while cutting class wou

These lines are observations/reflections of my mom from the perspective of me, an involved bystander, broken-hearted....It's one thing to have to come to terms with a disease that's beating your body, from the inside out, killing you....Then, on top of that, at the same time to have to also experience losing your memory, your control--how mind-blowing and excruciatingly painful--for yourself and your family! I can’t imagine the hell she’s suffering, only support, care, cry, observe, ponder, reflect, and pray--always pray. May God be merciful and grant my mother--my beautiful, brilliant, proud, accomplished, vibrant, giving, selfless, loving mother—peace, love, comfort, and meaningful time left with us and spare her the suffering and the torture of being trapped while feeling her body and mind break down.  Lord, please, hold, wrap, and keep her in Thine loving embrace, I'm begging....I pray they find a cure for cancer, and with each passing day my mom lives, I'm praying

Rub your dreams into my back until they're real-- Until they curl around each synapse-- Until I feel that you won't fade or disappear with day. Kiss your thoughts into my hair until they're real-- Until they penetrate each strand-- Until I feel that you won't loosen up and roll away. Squeeze your words into my skin until they're real-- Until it quivers with each whisper-- Until I feel that you won't leave the sheets cold but just stay. Written by Eliza Jane Farley Gomez February 18, 2011

Let your thoughts dive in my eyes and let your pulse throb on my tongue, as your hands sweep back my mind-- Make me feel that I'm the one. Let your words float in my tears and let your breath flow through my lungs, as your mouth sucks back my heart-- Make me see that I'm the one. Let your deeds swim down my cheeks and let your sighs sing in my ear, as your love soaks in my soul-- Make me know that I'm the one. Written by Eliza Jane Farley Gomez Friday, February 18, 2011

Take a walk with me, won’t you, just for awhile, let your feet take you wherever they feel like walking. I’m not talking about miles away or anything-- or really talking at all-- just take your shoes off, let your toes breathe and wriggle in the sand, take my hand, stand at the shore, let the waves wash away the stored up stress, feel the mess float away. I wonder as you wander if you smell the smile of the sea calling on you to free yourself, to "be still, and know that He is God," to open up and to see this place with new eyes, with new heart, with new ears, listening to words no people speak (but earth, sky, animals do). Connecting you to the world all around you. You can do this, if you want to-- that’s the real question, the one with no right or wrong answer, no first or second or third place-- it’s not a race to the finish, to be fat or be thin-ish. Better ask before time vanishes, conceals, instead of revealing those precious lit

Tell me what you want to know and I’ll show you how I feel. Curl your hand around my heart and I will beat it into real. I’ve got this chance to get it right when all the rest went wrong. I don’t know why I can speak-- Soul’s staccato manifests in song. I wish you could see what I mean, what I feel when you look at me. Pull back my eyes and peek inside at the glow overflowing, seems oceans of time swim in my mouth. Words spilling out so wet, so free, drip down my chin, shimmering true meaning of me rain into you. Written by Eliza Jane Farley Gomez Monday, February 14, 2011

Just when the night begins to slip away, I turn, awaken, begging for it to stay awhile longer, in the dark with me. Stay.                                         Please! Stay—just smooth my fears away.                 Just when the sun emerges from the sea,                                   Chasing remnants of the night into gone. Watch dewy leaves   crispen to me, Reach out, shake off their sleep at my window. Just when the dawn paints colors of the sky by number, streaking ribbons, through the clouds by day, by night, and even in my dreams. So pretty, so simple, yet nothing’s as it seems. I have my path, I take it day by day. I’ll live to make my dreams real, come what may. Written by Eliza Jane Farley Gomez Friday, February 11, 2011

This is my attempt to follow suit with Robert Lee Brewer's "Wednesday Poetry Prompt: #122" on his "Poetic Asides"  for today (which link is listed below so you can get a better idea of why I wrote a sonnet today).  His theme for the prompt was to write a poem based on using the following theme--"one of these days"....can be found at: http://blog.writersdigest.com/poeticasides/2011/02/09/WednesdayPoetryPrompts122.aspx Here's my attempt of using the theme, both as a theme, as actual/literal lines, incorporating them into a Shakespearean Sonnet--enjoy :) One of these days you’ll read me on the page one morning, wonder how it is I seem to share feelings so freely and un-cage those inner monologues of deferred dream. One of these days you’ll hear me in your ear melodizing memories, humming lull-a-byes, unstick self from "been-there- done-that" career, exploring nooks, feel crannies with closed eyes. One of these days you’ll sme

(It's not enough to burn in silence, to tell or show no one.) Burning, burning, burning spirit's ember glowing through, sparks igniting blue in my eyes. How can I see, when all I feel is the blinding blaze that consumes me, enraptures me, brands into my mind the swiftly passing time. Unhealed wounds let the spiritual lava leek, ooze, sear them shut. How can I be glowing? I feel the molten heat, creepy- crawl along my spine, sizzle, flow up from my toes, out my nose. The magma waves pounding, punching through my mortal cave that's my chest.... Is this some kind of test, to see how long I can last? Feel that steam building fast, rising higher and higher to a fever pitch that only my inner cat can hear. Frenzied locomotive whistles, wails, and, screaming, shoots up from the heart and out into the open, evaporating upon contact with the cool, outside. Away from this. This deep organic churning that's burning me up inside, I ca

Note:  I wrote this quite awhile ago, probably about a year or so before Ben and I got married...so that would be probably 12-13 years ago...always loving music, singing all over the place, I've longed for the day to be able to sing my little ones (still waiting, praying, hoping, and dreaming).  Both my mom and dad used to sing to us growing up, from Mom singing us "The Apple Juice Song" to Dad bellowing out in his rich bass his favorite hymns to wake us kids up for Seminary.  I had a dream one night and woke up humming this soothing little melody--so I had to sit down and put some words to it.  A few minutes later I had me a simple little lullaby for babies of my dreams.  Sweet dreams! Sleep, my baby, sleep, my child. Mamma's here for quite a while In the mornin' I'll kiss your smile. Now, sleep, my baby, sleep, my child... Sleep, my baby, sleep, my dear. Mamma's here, so don't you fear. In the night I'll hold you near. Now, sl

Note:   OK, this is mushy me again, but from a different place...   You see, I began writing this after hearing my hubby talk about his experiences when he served as a full-time missionary for our church down in Argentina in the mid-1990s.  Listening to his stories filled with inspirational, transformational experiences, emotional tears, and personal reflections, I  caught a slight glimpse into the journey he took--before, during, and after his mission, and the sacrifice, the service, and the extreme joys and sorrows he must have gone through.  There I was--totally speechless (and those of you who know me pretty well know how RARE that I am ever speechless)...I "sat All Amazed" at this man sitting across from me, bearing his soulful experiences and reflections.... One evening after listing to his mission stories,  noting especially the hardships he experienced as he tried making the transition back into regular life after his mission ended; I quietly gave thanks to my 

(For My Midnight Sun....) Cuddle me close a little longer into your chest, and hold me tight; smile against my half-closed eyelids, kiss my freckles soft and light. I've never dreamed in all my lifetime I could feel love deep as this. I am complete, I am at peace--you have giv'n me this most priceless gift. Your rugged hands stroke back the day's tears and hold mine gentle in the night. You sing to me 'til I am laughing and twirl me, dance with me just right. I thank God each day for you--I found you-- my true soul mate and dearest friend. I blush and giggle when I realize our love's forever and will never end.... Written by Eliza Jane Farley Gomez October 4, 2008; rev. February 3, 2011

Quick note before reading:   OK, I wrote this just reflecting on observations and conversations with and about what my mom's going thru with her treatment n stuff...I've never gone thru this, I think I'd be a BIGTIME wimp--my mom is AWESOME and such a COURAGEOUS person to endure this excruciating process--so I'm just venting a little.....this is therapeutic for me to help me process and understand, and I mean no offense, it's an artistic, healing process of creative expression.  I'm truly amazed by the juxtaposition and irony of healing through poisoning aspects of a disease and the entire process.  Thanks for reading! Killing to heal. That's what they're doing, That's what it feels like what it seems like when it burns thru my veins. Can't remember such pain! Close my eyes,  all the same Sick lump of... Well, well, un-well... what's this hell that I'm living night and day, day after day. Either way, puke and pray that

This is my absolutely favorite picture, and it sits on my desk at work.  Looking at it brings a smile to my face whenever I am down, it reminds me that I'm not alone, that I am loved, cherished, adored, and it showcases the beauty of where we live, the love we share, and the eternal commitment that binds us together forever.  How did I get such a handsome fella for my dearest friend, lover, husband, and soulmate :)  They say a picture says a thousand words--well, this one says that, and much more--at least to me. "How do I love thee?  Let me count the ways...."

Here I sit, back at work, another ordinary work week.... However ordinary it may be, I am grateful to have a cup overflowing once more, and I've spent the past couple of days digesting what exactly has filled my cup, my heart, and my soul.... Well, we had Stake Conference in my Stake this past weekend--for the Pompano Beach Florida Stake--and I found myself hardly able to wait to hear the speakers and the messages.  I feel like I've been running on empty lately, basically barely making it on the spiritual fumes in my nearly bone-dry tank.   Why was my "tank" bone-dry, you might ask? Part of it circumstantial, part of it my own tendencies to "shrink back" to regroup when faced with stressful, difficult, or unpleasant things, and part of it was simply time.  T-I-M-E (or, as one speaker referenced, "how love is spelled in today's world:  T-I-M-E.").  We have Stake Conference twice a year, and it was simply that time again to hear from our l

Here's another old poem I dug up--this got posted and published back in 1996. Thought I'd take a moment to put it up here for y'all to see n stuff :)  Thanks for reading!! Driving  (originally written in 1996, rev. 1/24/11) Make me believe you’ll really hold my hand in silence forever. Push the tears back with your tongue as I kick at the bed. By my eyes you have heard all the good in the world and awaken that untitled song in my mind once again-- the one I never rap my fingers to in the car. The one with the faceless hand in the night that kneads me into choking back air-- it’s too thick. The one that takes voice in the last dripping note of the sky. Make me rely on the touch and the arm of another. Prop up my chin with your kiss as I cry in the crook of your arm. By my words you have seen all the good in the world and awaken that untitled song in my mind once again-- the one I never hum along with in the car. The one with the voiceless

Hey there!  In the interest of trying to keep a minimum of at least one posting per week, I'm putting something up that I wrote a little over 2 years ago and never posted or circulated before.  Why?  Well, it was something very painful and deeply personal to me, and writing about it was healing/cathartic.  Also, in looking back, I'm simply amazed at the incredible changes that have happened over the the past two years--funny how things change, even in the face of a personal or family crisis.  Needless to say, I don't feel the way now that I did when I wrote this--which is precisely why I now can post this and reflect the change I've experienced in this relationship.  Not easy to do, that--but I'm doing it anyhow.  I'm blessed to have the honor of having the fine mother I do; but no mother is perfect, like no daughter or person is perfect....so I offer this very up-close-and-painfully-personal glimpse into something I'm still healing from. I'd encourag

Sometimes when words escape you tongue twists and tangles, scraping the mindless, mangled mouth-- yet nothing comes out-- strangling shout-- moving and stammering you, reducing your daily brilliance into blah blah blah blah . 'Scuse me? You heard me! Blah! Blah! Blah! Blah! Say what?! Ugh!! What was that? Sorry, didn't quite catch that, sounds just squirming all over the place, feeling their way around, up and down, noise and sound bubbling, brewing, bouncing around inside my mouth, kickin' at my teeth to get out-- OWW!  Wow! Hey, now! Settle down! Now, where was I.... Ooooh, wait, what was that? Mmmm... Kinda tasty.... Not bad, not bad at all.... Don't nibble , bite , just chomp down . Like you mean it. You know you want it. Open up wide, now-- say, "Ahhhh." Mouth watering, dripping goodness oozing ripe fullness of being everything you wanna say or do, but won't, can't or don't, right ther

Wave after waves whip back, flip over and over, and crash out on the shore, battered, beaten, and sore-- unable to take any more. Gradually, gingerly wash away the cares of yesterday, and bathe your feet, your mind, your soul in the cool possibility of tomorrow. Lapping away sorrow and pain, allowing you to being again, savoring the new-- if only for a few brief moments-- that only YOU get to feel, get to taste, get to know the wet wearing down the old, while soaking up the yet-to-be. Can't you see the point of it all right now? There! Out there , glistening in the shimmering, off in the distance as the swirling ripples bubble and foam, draping your toes in the ebb and flows of everyday woes, drift off with the seaweed. Roaming the currents, unhurried, slowed by bits of broken bottles tangled, intertwined amidst frayed rope swaying to and fro, calling, begging sweetly to the soft sand to splay,frolic and bask in the warmth that comes with

Am I the only one who has absolutely NO IDEA where the year 2010 went??!!! Seriously, people, it flew by at like MEGA WARP SPEED!!!!! UGH! Massively DISLIKE! Especially since the most beautiful sunset I'd seen in a Looooong time was the VERY LAST ONE of the year!  Take a look at this: Is that GORGEOUS or what??!!  Wow..... Ok, that being said, now, I tried starting off the New Year right-- spent the evening/morning with family and friends--CHECK--errr, well, partially--Mom, Dad, and Brudooski are way over in Houston, while the Hubby and I are over here in SoFLA--so we were kindly enough invited to spend the New Year with Jon and Gilma at their swanky lil' pad down in Midtown, on Biscayne Bay...not bad, not bad at all!! Dress up all velvety-sparkly-painted pretty--CHECK! Did the traditional CHEERS thing--CHECK! Did the traditional KISS the loved one at the stroke of midnight--CHECK--I LOVVVVE this part, gettin to SMOOOCH my man :) Did the traditional watching