Kim E. Williams

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2010-03-11T17:47:00.001-05:00

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I Don't Remember Being Forgetful

2010-03-11T08:00:00.000-05:00

Let me just first say that my memory isn't that bad. In fact I have an excellent track record of memorizing lines for plays, poetry, and countless talks, speeches and other messages. However, if you ever visit my family down in South Carolina, within 15 minutes you will begin to hear stories about my childhood and one of them will no doubt be about my forgetfulness.

There was the time when I was 7 or 8 years old that my mother sent me to the front yard to empty the waste basket into the large metal outdoor trash can. For those too young to remember (there's that memory again) they look like this.

So, out I went to empty the trash and apparently while on my way back to the house I came across one of the neighborhood dogs wandering through our front yard. Dogs wandered in those days (can you imagine that, or do you need another photo).

Now it seems perfectly reasonable to me that a 8 year old boy would stop and play with a readily available dog. The story, as my mother tells it - endlessly - is that i came back inside (after a prolonged time) happy and clueless of the fact that I had left the waste basket in the front yard. Therefore, I am forever deemed "forgetful."

To me it is a simple case of priorities. Which is more important: an empty waste basket, or a wandering dog?

That's my story and I'm sticking to it - like white on rice.

Rushing from Past to Eternity

2010-03-09T08:00:00.001-05:00

Meet Tom Rush

From the cramped space of my college dorm room and the defined limits of my young adult life, the voice of Tom Rush, gentle and filled with melancholy, touches my mind, my soul and reminds me that there are those who capture life in ballads and tunes hauntingly impassioned.

Tom Rush has both lyrics and music that are of a time gone by. Heck, even for the years of his popularity, he was singing stories and a style from the days of cowboy ballads and hobo songs.

Look him up. Take a trip on some of his lyrics, or just sit back and have your heart rocked lovingly by Maggie from "Ladies Love Outlaws."

Bloggers' Words - Is It You?

2010-03-08T20:58:00.001-05:00

Bloggers' Words

words on my screen

tokens of life well lived

speaking of actions, attitudes

options, for living

words of one's journey

signs, revealing and deep

challenging me to thrive, live

choose, grow

words launched into timeless space

floating in e-land, wandering

coming home and sinking deep

lifting, my heart

sings

words from you, my friend.

Beautiful Day

2010-03-06T18:52:00.003-05:00

One day last month I had the privilege of meeting not one but two of North Carolina's nicest and most beautiful women: Nadia Moffett, Miss North Carolina USA and Lauren Ashley, Miss North Carolina Teen USA. As you can see, I was thrilled.

What is more, both ladies were well spoken, professional and honored by their role.

Lauren Ashley, Miss NC Teen USA

Nadia Moffett, Miss NC USA

The Sea - A Poem from Memory

2010-03-05T08:00:00.000-05:00

The Sea

Swirls of foam around my ankles

Wiggling toes intwine archaic sands

Minnows dart, carving the tidal plane

Sun bares upon my bare back

Gulls sing anthems of the dawn

Waves rise in the distance, announcing the coming change

Hear it roll closer, ascending

Fleeing tides rip sand and shell away

Sand moves beneath my feet, as the wave breaks

Salt burns, eyes and nose

Water cascades off of me

Surpries of familiar currents

Laughter swells within my sea

My soul welcomed home

Bellows joy

Another - Kids say the funniest things – Story 002

2010-03-04T09:00:00.001-05:00

I have already said, my youngest step daughter (now 22, and a senior at ECU) is the family ‘funny saying generator.’ It seems to be her role to interpret life situations in, well comical if not correct ways.

The traffic was very heavy and hearing her mother complain about it, this wiley 7 year old said, “Remember mom. It’s rough hour.” It was, but made more enjoyable by her comment.

Another one for the memory books…

Kids say the funniest things – Story 001

2010-03-03T09:00:00.000-05:00

My youngest step daughter is the family ‘funny saying generator.’ It seems to be her role to interpret life situations in, well - comical if not correct ways.

There was the time, at 7 years old, when she was riding with her mother past the local cemetery and said very matter of fact. “Look mommy. There’s the brave yard.”

Makes sense to me.

Always A Story

2010-03-02T08:09:00.000-05:00

I viewed “The Legend of 1900” this week. I enjoyed the film - a fanciful story of a child that grows up on a commercial steam liner in the 1900's develops a mastery of piano and yet never sets foot on land.

There were several memorable moments and charming characters.

One quote that sticks with me is this: “You're never really done for, as long as you've got a good story and someone to tell it to.”

Isn’t that the truth. It's soon time for a story...

From Dusk to Dawn

2010-03-01T08:17:00.000-05:00

From Dusk to Dawn

Before dawn
The moon looms
Bright, bold
Shining through the film
Of clouds
Sliding across her
Like lace gliding off your
Shoulders
Last night…

An Open Letter to Hallmark

2010-02-28T08:48:00.007-05:00

Dear Hallmark:

Thank you for your wide and creative selection of cards. As a man, it is most helpful that you provide me with cards that speak of love, commitment, passion and adoration between a husband and wife. At each season and holiday, when I reach to purchase a card – I am glad you have thought through these details for me.

I would like to make one request, however. Can you please not design these cards to appeal to me just in order to sell them? Yes, I like brown, tan and other earth tone colors. I am a bit uncomfortable holding flowery, glitter laden and sparkling cards that sing love songs. And yet, even at the risk of making me uncomfortable can you NOT design any cards that will result in my wife saying – “How nice. You picked this one because you like the colors – didn’t you?” I promise I will buy whatever you sell, just help me out will you?

Sincerely,

Theguythatlikesearthtones…

Can Kim Come Out and Play?

2010-02-27T09:40:00.001-05:00

"One of the most obvious facts about grownups to a child is that they have forgotten what it is like to be a child." - Randall Jarrell

I know many creative adults, and I think adults – as a whole – get a bad rap. We are creative, fun, innovative and playful creatures. The idea that adults, by virtue of their age and place in society, have lost the desire or ability to be playful and creative is bunk. Bunk I say!

Even the most conservative minded business professionals I know are ready to laugh and dream if given a moment to do so. Perhaps it is the fact that children who grow up must develop some ability to set aside play and work through periods of methodical and measureable activity that is seen and misunderstood as losing the child-like gleam of creativity. Just because we can suspend fantasy doesn’t mean we have lost it – or its power.

The perspective of a child might be that we are not willing or able to play, when in fact it may not be a smart time to lay aside work and reason for fancy. The challenge, for us as adults, isn’t so much to learn how to play. Our challenge is learning when to play (enough) and when to be serious and analytical – and even that statement isn’t right because good creativity is often hard, detailed work. The issue is about balance in how we spend our time, how we rest and relax, work and produce and remain energized spiritually.

Carl Jung reportedly scheduled time each day, for a period of years, to simply go outback of his home and play. This play allowed him to better free his inner creative self and in some measure reinforced the most profound pieces of his thinking – his work.

I guess I’m advocating that we give a little thought to how much time we are spending in the realms of the adult and child each week… I’m just saying.

On Having Lunch at Panera - Repost

2010-02-26T08:00:00.000-05:00

The din resonates

Countless voices frantically

Proclaim facades and personas

Below the cascade

Simplistic souls stand

Wall flowers alone and longing

Within, a voice asks

Shall we dance?

*I wrote this one a while back after having lunch at Panera Bread.

5 Things I Want You - Bloggers to Know

2010-02-25T08:10:00.000-05:00

If you are a blogger you should know that...

1. Your blog probably means more to me, than you know.

2. If you comment here, I will visit your blog.

3. Comments are the sustenance of my blogging existence.

4. I come to your blog for your writing, not ads.

5. If you want linkage, just ask.

Writing Prompt - Dolphin Musing

2010-02-24T08:09:00.000-05:00

Dolphin Musing

Using a writers prompt, I penned these words and posted them elsewhere previously. May they bring you some of the peace that they brought me this day.

"Write a one-page description of what it would be like to swim with dolphins."

It seems like more than a few years ago. I stood on the bridge spanning the inlet at St. Augustine, Fl. Statuary of regal lions poised themselves as sentries guarding access, an access now in no need of guards, concrete or otherwise, a mere gateway from one tourist infested section of the town to another.

That evening, late, I stood on the crest of the low bridge and gazed blankly into the grey swirl of sea below. Small caps of sea foam occasionally formed and then faded, improbable punctuations, a writer's words quickly deleted returning the emptiness to the page. I had been unable to write for weeks. My mind blank, no, so filled with images and sensations falling over each other in chaos that no assembly of words could seem to contain my thoughts. So there the formless confusion of my mind was met by its reflection there in the dark sea.

The first one almost escaped my attention. A thin slice of light grey broke the ocean plain, a small twist of foam, and it was gone. I strained to see. I heard the song. At first I thought it was the wind carrying children's voices, softly to my ears. Then I saw them, dolphins. They swam below me, hiding just beneath the sea's veil, shadows, wisps of silver form. I leaned over the railing, dangerously far. They circled below me, entwining among themselves. There where three of them, two adults and a small one. They seemed unaware of anything but their own dance. What grace and poise they created with movements so fluid and quick; touches so gentle and tender.

I fell. Somehow my foothold failed and although I grabbed hold of the rail, my body already hung over the side and my one handed grip wasn't enough. I tumbled the few feet and into the surf. I felt the sting of the water's chill. It had barely warmed from these early spring days. Something brushed my side and I felt myself being pushed toward the surface. I lifted my head to the night air, rubbed the salt water from my eyes, and as I began to tread water, was astonished to see the smallest of the trio of dolphins floating just inches from my face. It rolled onto one side, exposing one eye to the surface and lifting a fin as if to wave. I laughed. I heard them sing again. A gentle high note that seemed to hang in the air and settle in my soul, even more, it settled my soul.

The two adults were on each side of me now, and as I shifted my weight and began floating on my back, I could feel them moving around me. Soon, there dance included me. I joined them. I swam gently, rolling my body with the shift of the currents, allowing my hands to touch them and then the sea. I closed my eyes and listened to their song and swam with them.

Perhaps it was the caress of the sea, or the magic of the moment, or maybe just the release of my daily constraints, but, my head spun in delight and I felt a drug-like euphoria rise within my being. I was at once lost in bliss and fully present with myself.

Later, they bid me farewell and I felt a bit of sadness as they vanished into the darkness of the night and the vastness of the sea. I know that I found something that night. For even now, years later, I can close my eyes, breathe in the smell of the sea, and hear their song, the song I learned the night I swam with the dolphins.

Amusing Myself - Critical Conversing

2010-02-23T08:21:00.000-05:00

Amusing Myself

Me: You are dancing again.

Muse: Yes.

Me: Have you missed it?

Muse: The dancing?

Me: Yes, the dancing.

Muse: Yes, but I have missed other things more.

Me: Really? What?

Muse: I have missed the attentive look on your face as you treasure me.

Me: Treasure you? That is a bit assumptive of you.

Muse: Perhaps, but I see it tonight in your eyes.

Me: You annoy me sometimes with you self assurance.

Muse: I'm not so assured, so confident about most things. But, I know you.

Me: Indeed you do.

Muse: Dance with me.

Me: I already am.

Muse: Do you love me?

Me: Always.

Muse: I'm glad.

Me: So am I, eventhough it keeps me forever troubled.

Muse: Troubled?

Me: Perhaps unsettled would be a better word.

Muse: If you were not unsettled by me, you would be worthless, you know.

Me: Yes, and sometimes I get tired of the desire, the longing, the...

Muse: Amusement?

Me: You make me smile.

Muse: I make you laugh.

Me: And dance.

Muse: I dance for you.

Me: Thank you.

Muse: You make me laugh.

Me: I know. I know. Shut up and dance.

String Quartet

2010-02-22T19:46:00.000-05:00

String Quartet

It is a mess at first

The bow strikes and glides across a single string and back again

The note wobbles for a moment

Then settles to a steady call

Joined then by the rocking and striated rhythms

Of another set of strings

And another

Then another

The tatters of sound assemble

Like clouds and squalls

Of a sea storm

Then silence before the storm

Slowly comes the rain

The thunder

The wind

Singing softly its message

We are awash in a sea

Of harmonies and melodies

Here it is useless to navigate

This storm will take us where it wills

Surrender is always

The best option

When accosted

By beauty

A Blogger's Identity Problem

2010-02-21T15:06:00.003-05:00

I have enough trouble keeping up with my identity without Blogger making my life difficult.

Blogger announced (as I’m sure you have heard) that they are discontinuing FTP posting support. To 99.5% of those who use blogger – this is apparently not an issue. I’m one of the 0.5% that it does affect. My blog is a part of my larger website, and as such has an address that is an extension of the main domain. Website is www.kimewilliams.com. Blog is www.kimewilliams.com/blog. I use blogger to write and push my blog files, via FTP, to my web host and the /blog directory. This keeps all of my files on my host, connects them nicely to the main website (for search engine indexing) and easily reflects the connection between the larger website and my blog. I like it this way. Blogger isn't going to let me continue this after May 1, 2010.

There are several solutions but each of them creates its own problem. I could use Blogger's custom domain option, but this will result in a domain change and communicating that change to a large numbers of links, listings, etc. (It took be three months to get my blog listed at Technorati and going through that again isn't appealing). I could switch over to another FTP client (Word Press would work, I think), but then I lose some of the connectivity offered through Google (friend connect, blogger profile listing, etc.). Then there is the RSS feed change problem associated with the change...

So, frankly, I’m undecided on how to address this change. Any suggestions? Anyone? Anyone?

Writing Prompt - Spider's Web

2010-02-19T07:02:00.001-05:00

Write for ten minutes, beginning with the following sentence: “I’d often thought I’d like to watch a spider spin his web from start to finish; now I had little choice.”

I’d often thought I’d like to watch a spider spin his web from start to finish; now I had little choice. I could feel the throbbing in my leg, and as I shifted my weight was reminded of the restraints that held me here, bound in this bed, tilted on my left side, staring out of the window. The spider had arrived a few moments ago and begun his web.

“Why me,” the thought came to me again as my mind drifted back to the events of last week.

“Kim, come here,” Erin’s voice called from the base of the old oak tree.

Erin and I were best friends. We had been since elementary school, and here we were, now in our twenties wandering the old wooded lots behind what remained of Beachwood Elementary.

“I still can’t believe they are going to tear down the school, Erin. I mean Beachwood has always been there,” I commented as I arrived beside her at the foot of the old oak tree.

“I can’t believe it is still here,” Erin remarked.

“I know. Look up there,” I pointed to the gnarled branched above our heads.

The planks of wood still spanned the distance between the branches. I remembered the many times we came running through these woods and scampered up the tree to our “fort.” There we had talked about all of life’s great topics: girls, boys, teachers, parents, and high school.

Erin put her hands on one of the short boards that still remained nailed to the tree, making a ladder up to the fort. She took hold of the board and pulled. It held. Erin looked over her shoulder at me and smiled.

“Come on,” she teased, and began scampering up the side of the tree.

“No way!,” I exclaimed and continued, “I am twice your size. We aren't kids anymore, Pixie!”

I always called her Pixie when I wanted to point out that I was about twice her size. Erin was always a small, thin girl. Today was no different, although, she had shaped up nicely over the years. It is amazing what breasts and a firm butt can do to transform a twig of a girl into a beautiful woman. She laughed from her lofty position in the branches overhead.

--ten minutes up--

In The Sand*

2010-02-18T08:00:00.001-05:00

In the sand

Our foot prints

Hearts

Shells

Kisses

Lines left by the tide

Castles

Dog paws

Cans

Bodies

Tears

Clothes

Dreams

Names

Our Life time

In the sand

*I grew up at the beach. I spent a great deal of time day and night, wandering the shores, feeling and exploring the sands of that shore and all that could be lived and love. There isn't much I haven't done on those shores. There is a lot of life lived, left and found there...

IF, by Rudyard Kipling

2010-02-17T08:09:00.000-05:00

I was named after the book Kim, by author Rudyard Kipling. Early in my childhood, my mother introduced me to one of his poems. It has always challenged and inspired me in life.

If you can keep your head when all about you

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

But make allowance for their doubting too;

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,

Or being hated, don't give way to hating,

And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;

If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster

And treat those two impostors just the same;

If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken

Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,

And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings

And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings

And never breathe a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

To serve your turn long after they are gone,

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,

' Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,

if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,

If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,

Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,

And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!

-Rudyard Kipling

Quit or Endure?

2010-02-16T08:00:00.000-05:00

So, how do you know if it’s time to quit?

I started a Novice Yoga class five weeks ago. I have made it to three classes. I missed the last two for work reasons, and this week isn’t looking too good. The truth is I don’t really want to go. Here’s my problem – I don’t know if I should quit.

I know there are times when it is “good for me” to push through resistances to activities that are good for me. I often have exercised when I didn’t feel like it. I have eaten fresh foods when I wanted less healthy options. Yoga is good for me. I feel good after each class. I can’t say that I enjoy Yoga. I don’t really look forward to going and I’m not motivated to practice between sessions or improve my postures – other than when I am actually in the class. Yet, the once weekly class can’t do anything but help me with flexibility and strength – both things I need.

Am I being a wimp? Am I fighting progress? I don’t really know. Is it time to “man-up” and go or quit?

Simply Move

2010-02-13T09:43:00.001-05:00

Hanging on the wall in my office, there is a picture of a tree that changes color and definition to reflect the four seasons. As you walk by the angle of the print causes the tree to shift from a winter scene of bare branches and snow, through sprouting spring foliage, the full greening of summer and then the autumn leaves of fall. From my desk seat, it always looks like autumn.

I like seeing the different images of the picture. The variety, changing colors and images offers a nice change from what is often the static unchanging art of an office space. There are times when I will just move to a different place in my office to see and enjoy the picture differently. It isn't that I don’t like seeing the fall tree, I do. I like seeing the other images, too.

Here’s my thought: My living is often the same way. It is easy to settle into the same routine, the same patterns of moving through life and soon – everything seems to look stagnant. In the same way I have to get up and move to a different place in my office to see the variety of the tree picture, I can move to a different place in my living to see life with new colors.

From a simple move, like visiting a different coffee shop, to a more dramatic change, like ending or starting a new relationship, we can experience the very different seasons of our living. I’m not advocating change for change sake, but I am encouraging myself to remember that sometimes I need t move a little and change my perspective in order to appreciate the rich variety of life.

I sat in a meeting yesterday with a successful local entrepreneur – a very rich man. He was clearly tired, almost exhausted throughout the meeting. After we had finished our business discussions, the conversation shifted as he explained his fatigue. He had spent the previous evening volunteering at a local homeless shelter. As he begin to tell the tale of his time helping others that night his energy lifted, his spirit soared and the conversation moved me to a different place. The business of life glowed more brightly than the drab hues of the previous conversation about his business.

Get up. Move. See. Enjoy.

12 Words Stolen by The Internet

2010-02-11T08:00:00.002-05:00

This week another innocent word was commandeered and made to serve a new master and a new meaning. The vocabulary of our world is being stolen and redefined. Words are re-purposed right before our eyes!

Google announced the launch of a new Social Tool and it is named “Buzz,” Google Buzz to be more precise. The Internet is now buzzing (the way the word use to be used) about Buzz. This re-purposing of innocent words isn't new. Here are some others…

Tweet – use to be a sound a bird made.

CD – once referred to a bank note, Certificate of Deposit

Web – was once something a spider wove

Net – was a web of rope used to catch fish

Wave – use to refer to something you rode with a surf board, then a thing the spectators did at games, and now is something that belongs to Google – in beta.

Flicker – was the way a flame moved

Picasso – was a painter you studied in art class

Mouse – was a small rodent

Windows – were part of a house

Friend – was someone you liked and spent actual time with from school, work, the house next door

Caffeine - formally linked to beverages is now another - you guessed it - Google Product

What is a writer to do? What’s next - Microsoft ‘Prose’ or Google ‘Poetry?’

Red House Talking - A Poem

2010-02-10T08:00:00.000-05:00

During a visit to Levering Orchard, I spoke with one of the owners about his childhood memories of home, a house that now stands empty and in disrepair, yet a dominate fixture overlooking the orchard. It seemed to speak to me.

Red House Talking

heat scared twisted tin

metal remains of the shelter of generations

once marking the boundary between security

sky and seasons' harsh torments of ice and wind

once shielding mother and child and keeping

home hearth's warmth within

sentinel timbers stand charred

remnants of hard taught lessons

essential knowings of words and deed

those shadows of learning that walk with us

stand undaunted, proclaiming our way

through life's course

holding us to right of way

pane-less windows black and lost

tell of eyes peering outward

watching for familiar faces

tracing memories in winter's vapor

smudged glass and

of curtains drawn tightly muffling

the magic giggles of life long love and randy youth

now the boundaries of roof and wall

yield openly, freeing lives long bound here

as prolific gaps

grasp not even nature's breeze

releasing it to dance delightfully

resting on my mind and dream

before wafting on

leaving a whisper of

a voice talking with

a red accent