Somebody should tell us, right at the start of our lives, that we are dying. Then we might live life to the limit, every minute of the day. Do it, I say! Whatever you want to do, do it now! There are only so many tomorrows. -Pope Paul VI

Happy Birthday to my dear husband!  Today would have been his 51st birthday.  He was 39 years old when he died.  A very young man, whose life was chock full of experiences.  He was the kind of person who bounded through life, touched many hearts and made an impression on every person he encountered.  I truly believe, when he was born, he left heaven with the knowledge, his time on this earth would be short because he lived it, full bore, out loud. In fact, when I met him, he was so wise and had so many adventures already behind him, I thought he was older.  In reality, he was six years younger than I. When we married, my dad in his “practical wisdom” celebrated our age difference with the statement, “This is perfect.  Men die about six years younger than women.  You two will die around the same time.”  That was his way of stamping approval and  blessings onto our union!   There is no doubt in my mind this man was placed in my orbit to show me what it feels like to be loved well and influence my approach to life in the future.  He taught me, taking risk, is the only path to growth.  Adventure, is the only path to aliveness. Understanding and non-judgment, is the ony path to true human connection. And, unselfishness and compassion for others is the only path to God. 

Now, I may sound like a biased, grieving widow who has immortalized her spouse in stone and set up a museum inside her own soul. You need to know, he had his shortcomings too.  He was an utter slob when it came to picking up after himself and his procrastination helped me develop patience.  And, he could be stubborn.  I lived with a new bathroom sink at the foot of the bed for many months.  He vehemently refused help in installing it.  But, this was during the time of his sickness, and to accept help, I think he correlated that with admitting to how sick he really was.  Perhaps our character defects complimented each others and good outweighed bad.  Or, we had both matured enough to see what was important in the big picture.  I am not alone in my reverie of this man.  At his funeral visitation, folks stood in line for hours, backed up, out the door to the parking lot, two days in a row. His funeral mass filled our local church.  They literally shut down the offices where I worked, so my colleagues could pay their respects. At the luncheon afterwards, stories were relayed by friends, family and business acquaintences.  Hysterical tales of golf games fit for America’s Funniest Videos, childhood shenanigans from Sailing Club days, humorous incidents in his coming of age, overseas travels gone awry, and so many adventures.  Others relayed stories of his compassion, and reaching out, often to virtual strangers  with the kind of empathy that only comes from a sacred place.  The sentiment, echoed by everyone, whether a professional or social encounter was, this man cared.  He was present, totally in tune, and saw you as I am sure God sees us.  One of our dear friends said, “The thing about Mark, was when he talked to you, you felt like you were the only person in the world and he was all yours.”  Another good friend said, “He saw adventure and an opportunity for fun in everything.  But, strangely, he wasn’t reckless.  You always felt safe and knew that things would turn out well when you were with him.” Others spoke in tender letters and cards, sent afterwards, of our visible compatibility, adoration and acceptance of one another and called our marriage inspirational, especially in the final year of his sickness.  He loved life, his family, his profession, mankind, and most of all.... me!  Best of all, he made you laugh. Long, hard, belly laughs which coaxed a permanent smile out for the rest of your day.  He saw himself, incidents, and opportunities, as most often containing a bit of humor and chose to look at his glass half full. Even when he was dying. Truth be told, I really think he viewed his life as overflowing, and as such invited others to dip into his energy, time, affection and wisdom.  There is a saying, you cannot give away what you don't have.  He had plenty to pass on. 

 Even the earliest days of my grief, I was eternally grateful that he picked me to share in his life and his transition to his new life.  One of the angels (hospice nurses) who comforted him so much in his final days, gave me the CD with a song by Garth Brooks, called The Dance. It was thoughtful, but not necessary. I needed no reminders of the blessing of my time with him, even when the pain of the loss sometimes became unbearable.  We taught each other to tune into the music of the day, and no matter what, dance. For the most part, that has remained with me.  Thoughts of Mark, eleven years later, bring a smile to my face and a new determination to my heart.  Some friends fear I am biased and too picky.  An honest inventory has revealed, that simply is not true.  I am evolved enough to know that there can be many potential mates for us.  It simply is a matter of identifying what is important to you, and how you feel about yourself, when you are together, and more important, apart. I felt alive, safe, valued and flourishing, in my time with him.  I recognize, those are the feelings I need to have again to move forward with someone new. And, I think that is possible.       

In the years since his death, I have had several relationships, and truly fell in love once!  Although, these didn’t end up being long-term, comitted partnerships, I have come to recognize the lessons contained within each, are important ones I needed to learn.  I am so grateful for discovering I could love another, intimately, again. For a time, I thought Mark snatched my heart, and took it with him, to his grave. I’ve been accused of using the measuring stick of my deceased husband’s qualities, in new relationships. Perhaps early on, this was the case. Although, I think I went to the other extreme and settled on people (some very nice) that weren’t a good fit, just to prove to others I was capable of a new relationship. Of course, this made me, and another human being, rather miserable when we struggled to find some non-existent common ground. And, while chemistry cannot be the only gauge for relationship potential, or it is then merely lust,  it is initially important.   Equally harmful, I took a lot of the superficial commonalities I shared with my husband, and when I found them in a new partner, I read them as positive signs, portending a meaningful, intimate, relationship of shared interest.  Preferences and attributes such as professional, intellectual, social, active, enjoyment of travel, good food, enjoyment of the Arts, are all icing on the cake, and keep you sweetly high, in your fantasies of future fun, for a time.  But, eventually, we all need nourishing substance, to maintain good emotional health.  I forgot about the spiritual qualities Mark possessed, which really captured not only my heart, but infused my soul. It’s not very wholesome to enjoy mutual pleasures if you are privately questioning the honesty of your partner’s words, as grammatically correct and intelligent as they may sound!  And, there is no joy to be found in a shared fine dining experience if your partner has eyes for everyone but you!  Or, is incapable of acknowledging you openly, respectfully and honorably, so you can actually share those things you have in common. Despite my friends' statements about my standards being too “deceased husband like” it is still the benchmark I know I must  seek in order to thrive in love, mutual admiration and spiritual growth.  It would sadden him greatly to think I would revert to selling myself so short, especially after the gifts of love and respect, he generously bestowed on me.

While the shared interests I identified are moderately important, I now know I need those spiritual traits in my next relationship as well.   For those are the virtures that engage the holy parts of us and ignite the best in our partners.  I need humor to get me through life’s tests.  I need honesty in order be intimate.  I need integrity as an example to my beautiful little grand-daughters. I need respect in order to continue to respect myself. I need compassion to recognize I am not alone.  I need loyalty to feel safe. I need courage to inspire me to be brave and welcome change. I need adventure to excite and challenge me. I need support to encourage and prop me back up, as I try to fulfill my purpose.  I found all of these qualities in my husband. I am capable, and have the emotional maturity to reciprocate these virtues as well.   If others think this standard is too high, that’s just fine.  I don’t.  I know what is meaningful to me in a partner, in order for me to  become all that God wants me to be.   Now, tell me, what greater legacy could my beloved husband bequeath, than the fruits of a spiritual  intimate relationship?  And, it's  because of that relationship in all its meaning, and purpose, that I  still have the desire, to move forward, striving for happiness, joy and  love  with another human being.

Happy Birthday my dear!  I know, no matter where you are, you are teaching others the importance of doing it now, with authenticity, love, and tons of laughter. 

Death ends a life, not a relationship- Robert Benchley

You must surrender what you perceive you are, to become what you are to be.....

Twenty-three years ago today, I took my first shaky, baby step into a new life.  Those that knew me then, would have confidently placed bets I wouldn’t survive the year.  My body was fragile and malnourished; my mind was paranoid and irrational, and my spirit had been kidnapped by the insidious evil of addiction. I had tried everything to control it, and virtually exhausted the help available to me. Or, so it appeared. An unwitting statement (by me) tossed out to the universe, on July 17, 1987, evoked a response from the only real help available. God sighed, and said, “Thanks for asking.”  My words went something like this..... “If there is anything out there that can help me, you are going to have to, because I can’t do it on my own.” Surrender, in its simplest form.  A firm, yet tender unforeseen force, took me, spun me around in a new direction, and led me out of bondage, into the sunlight.  When I was in Rome a few years ago, soaking up the splendor of the Sistine Chapel, my eye automatically tuned into Michelangelo’s, “The Creation of Adam”.  I was fascinated by the message contained in this small area of one of the greatest works of Art.  God's muscular arm is stretching and reaching towards  Adam’s limp  hand, extending one of His powerful fingers.  All Adam needs to do, is, ever so slightly, raise his finger to connect with the essence of the Source of all life.  On that day, twenty-three years ago, I raised my half dead hand.  

Life since has been a series of surrenders.  The dictionary defines surrender dually, “to give up” OR “give back”.  I’ve done both.  On July 17, 1987, I gave up. In humility.  The paradox is, there's power in this admission of powerlessness.  This kind of submission acknowledges we are not  random beings bouncing off of life.  This surrender unconsciously tunes into a divine energy and a sense that “something else” may know more about what is necessary and meaningful for our lives.  A sort of awakening as a thin stream of light infiltrates our amnesia of the powerful Source we came from. 

Conversely, in my 23 year journey, I have occasionally given it back;  surrendered the relationship I established with my Higher Power to quiet the voice of reason, when I didn’t like what I heard. I have surrendered my serenity and returned to thinking I was in charge again, and could control people, their journeys or situations.  And, I have surrendered my joy when I have stepped out of the only place I can live, the present. I try to begin my day now, in the same recognition of powerlessness I found myself at many years ago.  Humbly admitting I need guidance navigating the day.  Surrendering to the fact I am not the architect of my life and need some help in reading my blueprint.  Acknowledging  my role as the builder, doing the “grunt work”.  This “giving up” form of surrender astonishingly grants me my heart’s desires. The gifts of surrender have become far to precious in my daily life and I am finding it not only irreverent to give them back, but reluctant to sacrifice them to my ego again. 

To say I am grateful isn't nearly adequate.  I am in awe. The picture God sketched out for me at birth has become a beautiful masterpiece, full of color, texture and depth.  And it is simply a result of lifting the hand which held my paintbrush, and letting Him guide my strokes.  On this day of my rebirth, my heart is full of thanks.  

How many of you have ever started dating because you were too lazy to commit suicide?” - Judy Tenuta- Stand Up Comedienne

Navigating the advice of well-meaning friends after my husband’s death, was just an additional stressor for me. I re-entered the world of socialization, as a widowed woman, as enthusiastically as most folks go to the dentist.  I’m not sure why, but, when you’re a widow, people want to be involved in helping you build a new future more so, than when you get divorced. I’ve experienced both scenarios in my lifetime, and no one really cared much about my social or romantic life when I was “the divorcee.”  Not so after my husband died. Friends would often comment, “You are far too young to be alone the rest of your life. You need to find a companion.”  “Alone?  What about the other 6 billion people that share this planet with me,” I quipped.  They would respond, “Well, you know what we mean.”  I did and it petrified me.  The day of my husband’s funeral, one woman threw her arms around me and whispered into my ear, “You know, you are a very attractive lady and men will want to “hook up” with you, so beware.” She actually used more shocking terms, than “hook-up”, but those aren’t fit for print.  What? I hadn’t even buried my love, and “hook-up’s” were already predicted for my future?  I couldn’t even fathom walking on a tread mill next a member of the opposite sex then! I knew this lady was a bit crazy, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of foreboding whenever I thought about another man. Our psyches have this mystical capacity to protect, until we’re ready to deal with certain information. Mine went into red alert and defended me accordingly. I had been sleeping in my husband’s Polo dress shirt almost every night.  It brought me solace, and early on, if I buried my nose in the collar, I could smell him.  Soon, I was not only wearing his shirt for comfort, it fit me and I hung onto to it like a blankie!  A 30 pound weight gain kept those “hook-up’s” away!  I know folks who saw me during that period likely said, “My God, who swallowed her?”  About three years after he died, my dress shirt cocoon was becoming confining and tattered.  The cushy fat cells that protected me and provided a comfy place to snuggle into for a period, were getting to be too much of an additional burden, literally.  My girlie-girl nature begged to metamorphosize into a slinky, black, lacy butterfly after a long season’s sleep.  Hitting the gym was a positive step as well as removing my husband’s wedding ring, worn on a chain around my neck, like garlic, designed to keep the “hook up” vampires away.  My friends smiled big when they noticed the missing ornamentation and anxiously anticipated my coming out party!  

Now, I live in a very small community.  Our most eligible bachelor wears a bright orange jumpsuit, a bike helmet and pulls a little red wagon which contains all of his worldly possessions.  I think he is relatively fit. He should be, he walks everywhere.  Although I never saw it in his wagon, rumor had it, his uncle left him a priceless Stradivarius.  A man of means too!  I could envision him pulling up to my house.... Madame, your carriage awaits!  And, off we’d go, stargazing; he and I reclining in his “Radio Flyer” trying to find the Big Dipper. Seriously, he was a sweet child of God, but we really had little in common, except for our mutual love of walking.  What’s a middle-aged girl who lives in such a limited testosterone pool to do? 

As if by divine direction, I saw an ad that promoted finding love, using (of all things) an online dating site.  I wasn’t highly interested in finding love, but meeting some new friends was intriguing. So, I logged on, and, wow....Ms. Popularity from the git-go!  It rained men!  All ages, shapes, talents and wallet sizes. Or, so their impressive profiles read. Oh, Dr. Seuss, you were right!  The places I would go!  Now, I possess a number of character defects, but dishonesty is not one of them.  I must have learned early on that lies don’t serve me well.  They grow.... like fungus. And, besides, I’m an open book.  I can’t pull it off.  Even over the information highway.  My pictures were current, my profile honestly reflected my wants, likes and dislikes. Okay, I did stretch the truth some when I claimed to golf.  I should have put “I hack”.  Venturing into the world of internet dating provided an opportunity to meet a spectrum of “available men” (I use that term loosely) some of which made Radio-Flyer man a heck of a prize. I quickly discovered as honest as I was in my profile, many were equally dishonest. Nonetheless, there were benefits.  When dating online, I saved hundreds of dollars on groceries!  I got to know the waiters at one of my favorite restaurants and they soon became my judges, giving a thumbs up or down behind the back of the man of the hour.  I also became quite popular at my local bank. Once a week, on payday, the tellers would gather round to hear the latest escapades, vicariously living through the widow lady chronicles. And, I must admit, I only shared the fairytales, comedy, and horror stories, enjoying the attention and the drama. In actuality, when you meet hundreds of men online, the majority are insignificant encounters, like making someone’s acquaintance standing in line to give blood.  I am not really a newbie to dating per se. There was a ten year gap between marriages and those “hook-up’s” took place the old fashioned way. You know, bars, stores, work, friends of friends. Or, in the case of my second husband, the parking lot of the laundromat. Seriously.  But, that’s a story for another day.  Meet and greets of the internet variety was a new social venue for me and boundaries were not clearly defined.  It was a fly by the seat of your pants endeavor. Sometimes, those pants of mine caught fire, and I ran off screaming for a bucket of cold water to cool my burns. 

Nonetheless, after a few years on again, off again, I consider myself a profile connoisseur and offer up some suggestions for all the Prince Charming’s out there looking for us Cinderella’s.  

1. If you are over 50, I don’t care how great a shape you think you are in, older bodies shift and droop. Keep your shirt on in your pics.  Your personal mirror, mirror, on the wall may reflect Taylor Lautner, the werewolf with the hot body from the Twilight series.  The reality is, man boobs and love handles.  This is not putting your best chest forward.  
2. We assume you do know how to use all the latest technology, including (but not limited to) a cell phone.  No need to post profile pictures with the phone to your ear. It leads us to believe, at dinner, you will be using your I-phone rather than paying attention to us and you are probably far to busy to date anyway. 
3. Post a picture.  C’mon, we know if you don’t, you’re really married.  Internet dating in 2010 has no social or professional stigma’s attached.  If the Pope could date, it would be perfectly acceptable to see his smile on dating.com. Oh.... my mind spins with the writing of that profile!  Virtuous Man of God seeking Semi-Pius Woman.  Mary Magdalenes feel free to apply.  Absolution guaranteed!  And, by the way, if you’re married, did you know they have special dating sites just for you!  They cater to those seeking affairs. This takes the dishonesty and guilt out of the formula!  I find the concept to be rather straightforward with a sort of integrity attached to it.  Piranhas swimming together, in schools. No guppies harmed!  
4. If you list that you are in the $150,000 and up income bracket and then don’t offer to pay for our Starbucks... well, we got your number Howard Hughes. 
5. We do not consider the body and build of a Sumo wrestler to fall into the category of “athletic and toned”. This is only acceptable if you are Japanese and actually wrestle for a living. 
6. If your picture has been on the same site, non-stop, for the past five years, we are going to assume that you are clearly a man with a few issues.  Commitment may be one, but more likely narcissism dictates your drive for better and more. Don’t waste another cent on these dating sites.  Spend it on a therapist.  I know a great Sex Addiction clinic in Mississippi..... And, ladies... run!!
7. If you are 50+ and list that you are seeking women from 25-35, you are sure to lose out on some sexy, middle-aged 50+ divas.  First, we get what you are really looking for; arm candy, a nod of approval from your peers, and sex. This makes you appear a shallow, insecure, cad.  Second, most of us question the intellect in a dude who realistically  thinks a 25 year old would have no ulterior motive in selecting a 50 year old (man boobs come to mind here) when she could choose rock hard abs, a full head of hair and stamina!  Unless of course, your profile picture is taken with you lying in a bed of green (dollars not grass).  In that case, stick the viagra in your daily pill counter and happy shopping! 
8. Finally, if you are going to online date, do it with the same integrity and respect that you would demand if your mom, sister, or daughter was the pursued. If that doesn’t change your perspective, see #6.  
9. Let the games begin!

I’ve accumulated many great memories and stories in my tenure with online love (or lust) and I am sure they will pop up in some form in my writings in the future. I discovered the majority of folks online, are there to mend a broken heart, searching for another human being to fix what feels lonely, or stroking a deflated ego. This is not meant as judgement or admonishment.  I only say this, because I discovered, that’s clearly why I was there. Feeling low? Log on.  Just got your heart broken? Log on. Need someone to reinforce your awesomeness?  Log on.  They say we are brought into each other’s lives to heal the broken parts of us, but it grew tiresome comparing notes and hearing my own dysfunction repeated in a baritone voice. The intimacy created in brokeness doesn’t bode well for long-term success, or even flourishing fun. Perhaps, when one has a healthier, less needy mindset, the energy we send out will draw likeminded  people into our world in a more free-flowing manner.  As we go on about the business of our daily routines, enjoying what we love, we just may encounter others doing the same, and the real mystery of attraction begins.  Scrolling through profiles on a computer screen can be an obsessive waste of time and energy which could be spent living the adventure rather than constantly seeking a fix. Statistics show that one in five internet connections culminate in marriage. That 20% equates to an awful lot of screen time and a burgeoning butt as one sits for hours and scrolls through thousands of pictures, many taken years ago. For now at least, the online scene is not for me. I’m investing in the healthier, universal energy, go on about living, law of attraction scenario!

I recognize, the dating process is a necessary part of entering the world of intimacy and new love. For me, it’s like taking castor oil, straight up, day in and day out.  Once you get past the gag reflex and initial taste, you keep it up, because you know its design is to rid you of the anemia of alienation. Human connections and affection are as mandatory to life, as food and water.  And, so much more satisfying than a tattered Polo shirt.

What a 3 year old guru is teaching me about authenticity and life....

My unemployed status and a conscientious watchfulness of my expenditures, has slowed my participation with entertainment and activities that cost money. It’s not entirely a bad thing as I projected.  The awareness that this stage of my life is really a gift rather than a curse, has opened me up to some of the yummy dessert waiting to be savored. You know,  the sweet, delicious, gooey stuff that we usually enjoy after... if we have room, or time.  I can have it when I choose right now, because I do have the availability to be truly present these days. I have time to listen with my heart rather than a head that swirls with things to do, say, and obsess over. Children have always fascinated me.  Being a grandparent, I view my only task is to love, spoil,  and treasure.  This exemption from responsibility allows me to step back and see my little ones as they are, rather than projecting my own expectations and dreams onto them.  It’s not that I don’t want their lives to be blessed beyond measure.  It is just that I have learned, I don’t have to correct my past, or live my future, through them, as I likely tried to do with my daughter.  I am much more relaxed than I was with her, in allowing them the space to blossom, in their unique way.  My “best intention parenting” has taught me, they were born with their own path already outlined, and as much as I may want something different, it's  egotistical for me to think I can control that. I can shepherd, support and cherish.   Each of my three grand-daughters possess different personalities, temperaments and skill sets.   Being mom to an only child, their individuality fascinates me. I know they all came from the same mommy.  I was present at each one of their amazing births!  All three are incredible little girls. My tiniest one, Cameron is at the perfect childhood age. She is still so fresh from heaven and God’s arms.  She just turned three in April.   Hanging out with her has been better than a library of self-help books and a year in therapy.  In addition to melting my heart simply at the sight of her, she conducts her uncomplicated little life in a manner which would behoove us all to consider.  This miniature mentor has taught me so much about how to live a serene, joy-filled, authentic life.  She has no baggage.  Maybe if I gather up these lessons and tuck them safely away, I can pass that basket back to her someday, when she inevitably begins to allow the world and others to place definitions and limitations on her life. I personally am learning so many lessons from my tiny tutor. She is teaching me: 

Authenticity:  She’s always herself. She hasn’t yet learned to be any different.  She feels what she feels, no labels or judgements.  Her innocence and purity tell her, when she is tired, go to bed; when she’s hungry, eat,  and maybe of greater importance, stop when you’ve had enough. She is overjoyed when she can share a Dora Party Hat with her Mimi and could care less if others think we look silly. She just loves celebrating, her birthday and life. When she is hurt, she cries and when she is angry she’ll let you know, but generally only one time.  She doesn’t hold a grudge, forgives immediately and gets on with the dessert of her uncluttered life. She is never hurtful and has excellent manners which she seems to have been born with.  Instead of saying “excuse me” when she belches or “toots” (she finds it wildly hysterical to hear those sounds emitting from her body) she says “pahhhhdon me”, something her grandpa taught her.  

Lesson: Be who you are.  Feel what you feel. Wear your favorite party hat.  If you belch, toot, or make a mistake, just say “pahhhhdon me”, with love, of course, and move on. 

Delight:  She can spend hours chasing bubbles, fireflies, and puppies, complete with wide-eyed awe and smiles.  She actually prefers these forms of entertainment to expensive toys, trips, and television. She isn’t highly interested in sitting and watching the latest episode of Hannah Montana (DVR’d from the week before, of course) with her sisters. She knows God’s playground is a fascinating place. It’s fun to build sand castles on the beach, pick a bundle of dandelions for her mommy, flitter alongside a butterfly. She doesn’t yet see the entertainment value of a DS Lite, cell phones, or computer games. She doesn’t want to miss something important, so she’s constant motion, absorbing all the nuances of the world.  

Lesson:   If you could spend one more day with a loved one who has passed on, how would you spend it? Playing the Wii? Texting or checking your e-mail?  Or, perhaps,talking, laughing, touching and chasing a few bubbles?

Honesty: If you have a piece of spinach stuck in your teeth, a bird’s nest in your hair, or a bloated belly, without malice, she’ll let you know. Those revelations are almost always spoken with a sparkle in her eyes and a big, loving bear hug. She will also unabashedly point out her OWN green tongue (from an Icee she just savored), shoes on the wrong feet, and erring in the mispronunciation of words.  She giggles about her blemishes, defects, and flaws. If she slips up, and does something wrong, she admits it, immediately. Often with tears in knowing she made a mistake or that there may be a price to pay.  Those dry up pretty quickly as a sense of relief sets in when she is freed from her little secret and discovers the burden of the pretense is a far worse punishment.  

Lesson: Lighten up.  We are all human.  We aren't perfect. There IS beauty (and humor) in imperfection.  Everyone is a mixed pot of character traits, good and bad.  Be honest about yours.   Don't start or end anything with a lie.  Unload secrets right away, so they don't become barriers to serenity and joy.  

Confidence and Tenacity: This precious angel does not take after her mother.  She can’t sing a note in a bucket.  Nonetheless, in her mind, she is an American Idol contestant when she belts out, Kelly Clarkson’s  “My Life Would Suck Without You”.  Frankly, I can’t believe there is a song with that sentiment and I daresay she doesn't know what it means. I get quite a charge out of this tiny girl confidently screeching out the lyrics from her car seat in the back.   Her big sisters rented an American Idol Wii game whereby the potential candidate can sing a song into a microphone and is rated on mostly pitch.  Afterwards, the judges, Simon, Paula and Randy give their feedback.  Simon, (the jerk) was not kind to my little tone deaf diva. She didn’t care, when he was finished, she asked if she could sing “Walking on Sunshine” for them to judge.  She is the kind of child who has always said, “I do it myself”, even when she was younger.  I would watch her struggle with putting her shoes on, or making her own bed (which she does immediately after getting out of it- amazing), or buckling herself into her car seat.  Often it would take her a rather long time to complete her little task, but she did it.  Not only because she kept trying, but she knew she could. 

Lesson:  Just because someone thinks you aren’t good at something, if you enjoy it, do it anyway.  Never, ever quit.  Even if the task seems insurmountable, keep trying, try a new tactic, take a different route. If you believe something with your whole heart, don’t stop before the miracle appears. 

  

Spontaneity: She has this custom ... I can be sitting anywhere with her, a ballgame, a restaurant, her living room.  She'll sidle up to me, push my hair off to the side, and place a gentle kiss on my cheek following it up with an, “I love you soooooo much, Mimi.”  Unsolicited...out of nowhere.  I found myself waiting for the other shoe to fall as she asks me for something.  She never does.  She questions just about everything.  Why can’t I have cake before breakfast, make snow angels at night, by the light of the moon; or splash in mud puddles during a hard rain?  Frankly, I question those things as well and (shhh....) let her do some of them when she is with me.  My dad had this saying, which is great in prioritizing degrees of importance.  In six months, will you know the difference? In six months and even 60 years,  she will remember the puddles and snow angels and the decadent luxury of a cake smeared face at 7:00 a.m. 

Lesson: Tell people you value them, love them, need them without expecting anything in return.  Eat cake for breakfast occasionally, dance in the rain or anywhere really.... just dance.  Take risks.  If it will make a difference in enhancing your joy or others...do it!

Forgiveness: I accidentally pinched her finger in a door the other day.  She looked me directly in the eye and said, “Mimi, you hurt me.”  I, of course was devastated to think I could do anything to bring pain to my little love and kept repeating over and over again, “I am so sorry...”  With tear filled eyes, she looked up at me and said, “That’s okay, Mimi, you didn’t mean to.” Very shortly, she was off and playing with her little friends.  I, on the other hand continued to rehash the incident in my head and make myself miserable.  On the way home, she sensed my guilt as I continued to focus on her baby finger.  I kissed it again.  She looked me square in the eye and said, “Mimi, accidents happen. Can we get ice cream?”

Lesson: Acknowledge pain when it occurs. Let the person who hurt you know they hurt you.   Feel it, grieve it, soothe it.  Recognize accidents do happen.  Most folks don’t intentionally want to cause you pain, physically, or to your spirit.  S- - - happens. Free yourself from the bondage of both guilt and resentment. Free yourself to live in joy.  Forgive, and go get ice cream.    

My hope, is that I will always be open to the simple lessons the smallest of the great ones bless us with. We just need to  take the time to observe, how they walk in this world. God willing, I forgive others, jump out of more airplanes, regroup, rather than give up, be honest with myself, love me just as I am, say yes to most everything, and frequently, wear my party hat! 

Sen. Brown pushing for an Unemployment Insurance Extension

Politics, Angels and Mirrors

I haven’t written in a few weeks. Found myself drowning in a sea of projection, fear, defeat, and exhaustion.  There I was, spiraling into those foreboding places in my mind, ignoring the detour signs which said I could take another route. If I chose.  An apparent glutton for punishment I continued to clutch and claw my way out, and  the slope became more slippery and I descended deeper.  Living in a state of fear and uncertainty are a self-fulfilling prophesy and I clearly know that at this stage of my life.   So many things are out of my control right now, as if anything other than my own response and behavior is really in my realm of change any way!  In my younger days, I was arrogant enough to think I had the power to change everything; especially the world and of course, others.  The learning curve of finally “getting” I can only change me, my attitudes, and perceptions has been steep and I am not into graduate work yet.  Slamming my shoulder up against a lot of closed doors, for some time now, has exhausted me.  Truly, I really feel bone tired.  I didn’t have the energy for loved ones well-meaning “tough love” or “pep talks.”  I didn’t need to hear, try harder, stay positive, get over yourself.  I was in a place that I just knew, no one could relate, and essentially, most of them couldn’t.  And, as I said to them, I loved them enough, I really didn’t want them to identify with the fear I was feeling, ever...So, rather than keep the drama of my feelings stirred up by talking it out, over and over again,  I chose to pull inward and  nurture myself.  I didn’t want to hear that God hadn’t moved, I had... Nor, have patience, or that I wasn’t trying hard enough. For a few days at least, I revisited the old rejection of my Divine genealogy, (self-imposed of course) and identified myself as God’s red-headed step-child!  What I did need was their hugs, silent support, and prayers. His too... I didn’t know how to ask for just that. So, I asked for nothing.  My ego rather enjoys the mask of strength, competence and courage that I slap on my face from time to time. I had myself in such a state. But, I now see, I needed to be there too.  Three absolutely, beautiful, gifts arose out of my terror and confusing week. 

First, I dumped much of my anger in the correct bucket, for a change.  I have been struggling with unemployment for quite some time now. For the first time in my life, I am scared about the country I live in and the caliber of the individuals we are entrusting (and electing) to defend, honor, protect, AND grow this once great land.  Perhaps it is the disease of narcissism which seems so pervasive these days, or just an addiction to greed and power.  Congress has been playing these mind games with the unemployed and keeping us guessing whether or not a new extension will be granted.  As if any individual could live on the less than minimum wage, unemployment insurance doled out like a condescending gift.  Most of us have been paying into this fund for years, (30+ in my case), should we (god forbid) became jobless. Feeling particularly piqued one day, I sat and wrote a pointed letter to Senator Sherrod Brown, of Ohio, unabashedly telling him my story and even more important, what should change,  and how things should operate!  Ranting about bailouts for Wall Street, questioning where the stimulus money to be spent in job creation landed, addressing the lack of health coverage for US citizens, our ongoing mortgage crisis, the paragraphs of my tome grew. It culminated in berating Senator Orrin Hatch’s insulting suggestion that the unemployed should be drug tested!  In my mind, that all REEKS  of Hatch and the pharmaceutical companies sharing cocktails and conversation about big bucks and payoffs to someone other than "the people".   I questioned whether we could even afford to buy generic aspirin on the amount of unemployment received? I would test clean, that’s for sure. I haven't even been able to buy my vitamins these days to maintain my health.  I ended on that note and was completely spent.   No expectations.  I arrived home late the other night, checked e-mail before bed, and lo and behold a message from the offices of Senator Brown.  Embedded in the message was a U-Tube of Senator Brown pleading the case for unemployment on the Senate floor, and included in his pleadings, were snippets of “Rebecca from Crawford county’s” letter!  Somehow, Senator Brown’s acknowledgement of my fears, as well as genuine empathy for my (and millions of others) situation, began to turn my resigned mindset around.  Now, the Senate still proceeded to shoot down an unemployment compensation extension on June 24th, but I felt a spark of the old activist in me and a recognition; nothing changes, if nothing changes.  We can choose to be sheep going to slaughter, whining and bleating all the way, or we can move out of the flow of the crowd, outside of our comfort zone, and ask some questions. Whether it is in politics, professional endeavors, or relationships, our voice cannot be heard, and change cannot begin until we speak!  

The second thing I recognized, is my mindfulness practice does not always mean I will be in a Zen like state.  At some point, I climbed on my high horse thinking I had arrived, The Sage of Serenity! I was  a newbie practitioner for God's sake.  The act of mindfulness is observing, and acknowledging, WHAT IS in the present moment... without judgement. For days, I was observing the fear, tears, hopelessness, frustration and fatigue of my current state.   I was pummeling myself to a pulp in trying to figure out what I was doing wrong, what I needed to change to stop feeling the way I did.  I had built a relationship with my God, was meditating and connecting with Him, being grateful, to the best of my ability.  Then, someone dear to me said, “Hey, right now, your life does suck!”  It occurred to me, all of those feelings were justified and legitimate based on the uncertainties that have faced me. The key was to mindfully OBSERVE, FEEL, and ACKNOWLEDGE them, without letting them define me.  Or, allowing them to become my story.  

The most profound thing I learned, is how incredibly blessed I am in having friends who know me so much better than I know myself.  When my mirror gets steamed up with the fog of my perceptions, those beautiful angels, wipe the glass clean and look into that mirror with me, contradicting my visions and reflecting back, what THEY see.  When I see failure, they see risk-taking. When I see foolishness, they see adventure. When I see impatience, they see desire. When I see delusion, they see hope.  When I see pain, they see growth.  When I see lack, they see a full life.  When I see weak, they see courage.  The kind of courage that allows me to feel sad, angry, hopeless and scared, for a time. The kind of courage that has encountered many obstacles, yet continues to rise over and over again.  The kind of courage that could never “settle” for a lobotomy of the spirit, in order to enjoy the safety and  predictability of a life at the sheep ranch.  

The past week has not been a wasted week of fears and frustration as I initially thought.  It has been one that has reignited my flame of authenticity, no matter how things appear in the moment.   And, it has made me so incredibly grateful.  While I may not have a job, or the fulfillment of my purpose and dreams right now, I have so much more than I could ever wish for.  I have a Light inside, Whose love reaches out, nudges my angels, and says, “She’s doing it again. Will you please go clean off her mirror!”

A true soul mate is probably the most important person you’ll ever meet. They tear down your walls and smack you awake - Elizabeth Gilbert (Eat, Pray, Love)

It seems, I have spent the greater part of my life hunting for the pieces of a puzzle that would complete me.  I've fervently searched for the perfect job, residence, religion, stiletto, and, of course, a man.  The treasure hunt for a soul mate has recently been a source of cross-examination for me and I am freeing myself from the chains of being "not enough" without some dude glued to my side.   Does that mean I never look upon other women and feel a pang of loneliness when they appear to have a mate that is an enhancement to their lives?  Occasionally.  I know the reality is, an unfortunate number of women, are in relationships for all the wrong reasons.   Finances, careers, social perceptions, fear of change often breed complacency. Most often, low self-esteem tricks them into believing they are not worthy of having their needs met.  Or, more tragic, meeting their own. Without a male, we couldn't possibly still be desirable goddesses, could we? The recent news of Al and Tipper Gore's pending divorce, after 40 years of marriage, has been plastered all over the media.  Sentiments have been, their marriage “failed.” How can anyone call a 40 year connection, filled with accomplishment, mutual respect and love, a failure? In my opinion they are role models of authenticity and courage. They are a far better example to their families (especially their girls) than remaining in a joyless state of wedded misery.  Their soul mate connection served its purpose for that chapter in their lives, together. What I find most appalling, is staying handcuffed to a set of vows that provide a convenient means of passing the buck off on a God, who would never require  us to remain in situations that harm us, aren’t healthy, or stifle us from living our joy.  I am convinced those promises that extol, “Til death do us part” may be translated to mean, when my spirit begins to shrivel and die, it's time to part. Not when my physical body expires.  I don’t like placing human qualities on my God either.  And, I think the worst one to assign Him/Her is that of a God of Judgement.  I did that in my younger years.  God was either Santa Claus, or my father, doling out gifts and punishment.  What works for me now, is to believe my Creator is pure unconditional love, simple as that. My Creator ultimately is guiding me towards the same unconditional love as well, but patiently recognizes I have to walk through a lot of lessons to get there. It just might take a number of lifetimes and  lots of “soulmates” to move me in that direction.  I am not proposing anyone take their vows so lightly that at the first sign of trouble, sickness, or boredom we head for divorce court or the exit door. Societies need some sort of decorum and accountability to keep chaos at bay.  What I am talking about is honorably leaving a relationship after prayerfully asking for guidance, and knowing in our souls, it's  no longer serving each other’s greater good.  Moving forward when the depth of our connection, passion and growth has become stale and limiting.  Or, as Marianne Williamson aptly quotes in her book, The Age of Miracles- Embracing the New Midlife, “when you are living in domestic time-share rather than true love”.  

Miraculously, these days, I recognize, I’m perfectly okay in my aloneness.  Am I lonely? Sometimes.  Yet, I’ve felt the same emptiness and isolation sitting right next to a member of the opposite sex I settled into for a night, a week, months and sometimes years, merely to have someone with me.  I guess the same dynamic applies to outward badges of success. I’ve socialized in  luxurious settings, slinky silk dress flowing from my size 2 body, on the arm of the best looking man in the place, and asked myself, what is missing? Why do I feel so sad?  Why is this not enough? It wasn’t enough, because I was always looking for things outside myself to work their illusory magic.  It wasn’t enough because I placed value on stuff, accomplishment, facade’s, and comparison. I lived by the motto's, “When I have, or When this happens”..... But, most of all, It wasn’t enough, because I didn’t think I was enough. My choices reflected and reinforced that. History repeating itself over and over in my relationships, just like the movie “Ground Hog’s Day”.  What was going wrong here?  I was the perfect mate!  I did it all... brought home the bacon, fried it up in a pan, and never let you forget you were a man.  After the hair shirt started to itch and my arms tired of dangling on the large cross, I hung myself on, I took some time to really appraise my perceived failures in finding  a true “soulmate”.  I  asked myself some very pointed questions. What did that relationship say about you? Why were you there?  What was your role?  When I began to turn it around, I stopped being a victim and became a seeker.  I took my power back, opened myself up to becoming acquainted with me, and what I need.  I discovered needs don’t always coincide with wants. Initially a tough pill to swallow, learning what I need was important too, and not getting it was keeping me out of alignment with my purpose.  It was also a giant leap towards forgiveness, for those who hurt me so badly and for myself.   How could they give me what I needed when I didn’t even know what that was? How could I give me what I needed when I didn’t know either? It occurred to me, there was a pattern here. And, my soul mates helped me discover that pattern.

In her book, Eat, Pray Love,  Elizabeth Gilbert’s friend, Tex, who she meets in an Ashram in India, provides a new perspective on a soul mate. He says, “People think a soul mate is your perfect fit, and that’s what everyone wants.  But, a true soul mate is your mirror, the person who shows you everything that is holding you back, the person who brings you to your own attention so you can change your life. Soul mates, they come into your life just to reveal another layer of yourself to you, and then leave.” This definition, combined with my desire to really examine my past relationships was incredibly helpful.  All that baggage hauled in from childhood, and tarnished souvenirs carried from one relationship after another, made me a pretty lousy partner as well.  I know, in every instance, those connections were divine; even the ones that appeared to be so ugly and damaging.  My definition of a soul mate was incredibly limiting.  There is no doubt, my most painful relationships, especially those that ended badly, were the ones that got my attention and forced me to make serious changes in my life.  They also revealed my weaknesses and defects of character. I had to spend some time under the bright, white interrogation lights, magnifying glass in hand, digging through the rubble of a shattered heart.  I kept the pieces that were worth holding onto in the rebuilding process,  and discarded the rest at the quarry of “no longer useful behaviors and attitudes”. I give thanks these days for those soul mates that showed me what I did not want to be, what I needed to change, and that I had to love me first before I could love anyone else in a healthy way.   

It’s not all been glaring character defects revealed. I am profoundly grateful for the soul mate that reflected back to me an image of a  loving woman, full of life, compassion, curiosity, humor, and intelligence.  I primped and preened in that mirror, and grew in my desire to be a better human being, simply because he affirmed all of that.  It was reflected in his eyes, his unflagging support, his attention and pride.  Everyone, should have that kind of soul mate at least once in their life, but most never do. I am blessed. That journey  was way too short, but the magnitude of the gift received, changed me. There is no greater joy than to be with one who explores with you, comes to know who you really are, accepts it all and still finds you the perfect fit for them.  No smoke and mirrors, manipulations, or agendas.   A pure desire to be with one another, innately knowing,  you both should continue to grow together AND separately because you have each other’s best interest at heart. And, even more powerful, the knowing, if it reached a place when the growth stopped, we could have moved apart, leaving in love and a genuine respect  for each other’s life journey.  The breeding ground was the healthy commonality of a 12 step program, and that kind of marriage flourished when such a gift was placed in the complete care of something greater than both of us. 

Someone sent me an e-mail the other day. I’ve received similar sentiments many times through the years, but this really touched me this time around. It read; God doesn't give you the people you want, He gives you the people you NEED. To help you, to hurt you, to leave you, to love you, and to make you into the person you were meant to be. That pretty much encapsulates  Elizabeth Gilbert’s definition of a soul mate. By that description, they don’t have to be of the intimate, couple variety. My soul mates have come wearing many disguises.  They have included a beloved daughter unconditionally loving me, a friend who sees me in the way I want to see myself, a spiritual teacher who gave me healing when I couldn’t make sense of the tragedies that had attacked my life, a dear grandmother-in law who proudly told anyone who would listen, I could be anything I chose to be. I have experienced my soul mate in a  boss who taught me the meaning of professionalism, integrity, and compassion in the workplace, and died way too early;  a gentle therapist who taught me how to forgive my parents, and one most recently who “smacked me awake” with his confrontational style, wit, and perceptible belief in my worthiness as I continued to sell myself way too short.  I often see the faces of my soul mates sitting in 12 step meetings, listening in wonderment, when they echo MY story.  Most recently, one soul mate helped me more, in three and half years, to discover what an extraordinary, compassionate, lovable, woman I truly am. Perhaps his means of revealing this were questionable.  His control, manipulation, selfishness, and disregard for my life seemed to be the only way to get my attention and open my eyes to the reality of my codependent niceness.  A shocking lack of self-love, I thought I had fixed away many years ago. The sign I hung around my neck that said, "My life, needs and time isn't really nearly as important as yours," has now been burned.   I am not bitter, or angry, not anymore. Lessons I learned included the importance of always doing the next right thing, never settling, and honoring my values. The gentleman taught me discernment... how to pick more wisely, while guarding and treasuring my worthiness. Watch what people DO, rather than listen to what they say. Most of all, how to finally walk away, letting go of any relationship whose pattern is incredibly dishonorable and unhealthy. Pretty powerful soul mate connection. 

When we stop looking for “the” soul mate, we see them rise up from all different walks of our lives.  I have come to know, my true soul mate, is God.  If there is to be an intimate earthly soul mate in my future, I think it best if my heavenly soul mate do the matchmaking.  That decision was reinforced in a reading by an uncannily, intuitive and joyful little psychic. It was a part of a carefree day with some like-minded friends.  As he was rattling off all these marvelous predictions for my bright future and informed me I am surrounded by spirit love, (gosh, I really am never alone....) he ended our session by saying, “Oh, by the way, stop looking for a relationship.”  I burst into laughter, and asked him if he had been conversing with my friends or former therapist.  I knew, that was my Higher Power speaking to me.  What a great message.  He knew if I just stopped, for a time.... I would discover I am not only okay in my aloneness, my life is truly peaceful, uncomplicated, full, and adventurous! Why clutter it up right now?! When the student is ready, the teacher will once again appear.  It's taken me almost a lifetime to recognize, my puzzle is colorfully complete, just as it is. 

The Mindful Raisin

I am blessed to be a member of a 12 step program.   Along with membership, comes a tool kit which contains a variety of useful implements I can pick up daily, preserving the quality of my life by maintaining my house (me).  It works best when I leave it sitting on my bedside table where I can easily see it.   Sometimes, I really don’t much feel like using my toolkit.  It can be time consuming and often interferes with what I really want to do.   So, I pick it up and move it out of sight, into the back of the closet.  There it sits, getting all cobwebby.  Before I know it, winter arrives, and I haven’t taken the time to change the furnace filters, or weather proof my windows. A shivering mess, I then remember the tool kit in the closet, and pull it back out to do the needed repairs.  It takes longer, and sometimes I have to call for outside help because I have neglected to protect “my house” from daily wear and tear.  Why don’t I just remember to leave the damn thing on the bedside table, use the tools each day and avoid the cost of rebuilding?  

I have to say, I am much better these days about using my tools. Recently, I have moved the kit from the bedside table to a belt,  buckled around my waist.  I know this foresight has come about in the last year or so with the many uncertainties that could easily plague my serenity.  I'm not saying I have arrived at a place of complete urban renewal, but for someone who has lost her job,  still grieving some lost dreams, and remains stuck in a place I have been trying to escape for the past five years, I am maintaining remarkably well!  And, I am going to give credit to my B & D (Beautifully Designed) tools hanging on my hips. 

Because of my propensity for extremes, I tend to think, if some tools are good, then more are better.    The tools I currently have at my disposal, found in the 12 step process, are more than enough for me to maintain and continue to grow.  But, I believe if I want to evolve, there are some things I could do to help that process.  Several years ago, the term, the Now, the Present Moment came into my awareness. I read the books, joined the study groups, and learned enough to be able to spout the lingo, but sure couldn’t apply the science!  This past, desolate, winter (both weather and of the soul) cooped up at home, I began to try meditation.  My persistent “monkey mind” never really could settle into a state of emptiness, allowing spirit to speak.  Mindfulness was a word that kept popping up for me.  In conversations, on television, in books and articles I was reading. One thing I now do know, when I intuitively sense a message, it behooves me to pay attention.  Something was tugging at me and whispering “sweet mindfulness” into my ear.  I headed to the bookstore and purchased a DVD collection called “Mindfulness for Beginners” by Jon Kabat Zinn.  The first DVD was an explanation of what mindfulness is.  My novice understanding is; it’s the ability to stay in the present moment and observe, non-judgementally. No taking the shovel out and digging up the past, nor, using the periscope to see what’s on the horizon.  Focusing on what is taking place right now, along with the feelings and sensations in that moment, objectively. Sort of like observing from the other side of the room. Yikes...Wouldn’t it be boring?  What would I do without the heart pounding drama of the past or the delusional fantasy of the future? Nonetheless, It felt different from meditation.  Rather than clearing my mind, I would be permitted to have a single moment or object of focus.  I just may be able to handle that.  

Dropping DVD number two in my boom box, I was ready to begin an exercise in mindfulness practice. The first one, instructed me to get a solitary raisin. Of course, I brought in the box. A little chime sounded.  “Sit comfortably in a chair and close your eyes. Dr. Kabat-Zinn, instructed with a voice that sounded like liquid silk. “Now, he said, take your raisin and raise it slowly to your nose.  What does it smell like?”  “Cardboard,” I thought. I had to be careful and sniff lightly.  I didn’t need the raisin embedded in my nostril.  “Now, he intoned, take the raisin and gently roll it between your fingers.  What does it feel like?  Is it, ridged, smooth, moist or dry?”  Hmmm...It feels like a shriveled morsel of food swept out from under the refrigerator!  “Next, the good Dr. said, take your raisin and put it up to your mouth and place it between your lips. Does the texture feel different than when it was between your fingers?”  Still feels like a “food bunny” from the kitchen floor to me. Seems the raisin and I made out for a long time before finally the instruction was given to actually move it into my mouth.  But, “Ahh..ahh..ahh.. don’t bite down,” he says.   You’re kidding me, right?  Now, I am told to roll it over my tongue, feel the texture, nibble gently, releasing a tiny bit of flavor onto my tongue.  Oh, my God!  My life has become reduced to raisin foreplay?  Still, he instructs... “No biting down, just examine the raisin, every crevice.”  Stomach juices are beginning to flow, cry out for fulfillment, and I can’t stand it anymore.  My teeth bite into my soggy raisin and quickly swallow it up!  Waiting to be chastised by Dr. Kabat Zinn,  I am relieved I brought the box in with me and quickly pop another raisin into my mouth before he somehow catches me. I complete my exercise with my new raisin. 

Some things take a lot of practice.  I'm  a creature of instant gratification.  I don’t want to be, and I am working on it, but it's a long road ahead. These days, Dr. Kabat-Zinn and I snuggle a few times a week, in the comfort of my den, and I am getting better!  Many things are subtly changing. My perceptions are different.  I feel as if I've missed out on the slow deliciousness in my life.  When at the park with my littlest grand-daughter, I notice so many delightful details now.  I observe how her little body shivers with anticipation when I get ready to push her on the swing, her giggle of delight when I chase after her, the way she squares her shoulders boldly, showing off her bravery as she climbs up to the top of the big slide now.  Enjoying dinner last week with a good friend, I really notice how easy our conversation is and the incredibly comfortable feeling in her presence. I see how animated she becomes and her eyes soften when she talks about her recent visit with her little grandson. Observing how we mutually dig into the chips and salsa with the gusto of deprived sailors, at sea for too long, makes me chuckle.  This practice of mindfulness is changing how I view my personal realm and helping slow me down and take notice of the beautiful minutia of my life. The ordinary seems to vibrate with meaning and connection most days.   It's enabling me to achieve what Dr. Kabat Zinn asks of us when we start this journey: Begin seeing the world you actually have, not the one you think you are missing - Jon Kabat Zinn  

I think I will. 

How can anyone be expected to govern a country that has 246 kinds of cheese? - Charles de Gaulle

How can I be expected to govern my healthy eating habits when France alone, has 246 kinds of cheese! So much cheese... So, little time. My name is Becky and I am a cheese-aholic. My journey into the land of gluttonous, coagulated milk excess, began at about age five. My father was a military officer stationed in Germany. Most of my recollections of Europe, in those young years, are from the images captured in photographs, now displayed in my childhood photo albums. But, I do have some very vivid memories departing Germany at age 8, making a stop-over in Amsterdam, Holland. Memories include an annual tulip festival (similar to our Tournament of Roses Parade), and a Minature City, an amazing “to scale” duplicate of everything Holland. Visiting the cramped attic space where Anne Frank and her family hid out as she wrote her internationally acclaimed diary, provided me with a good dose of gratitude, even at my tender age. But, the biggest wonder in my young mind was that the Dutch ate cheese for breakfast! We stayed in an equivalent of a B & B and I anxiously anticipated the breakfast buffet served every morning. Tiny, flaky, home made pastries, fresh cold cut like meats, and best of all cheeses, lots of cheeses. Hard, soft, mild, textured, yellow, white, and pungent. No CoCo Puffs, Pop-Tarts, or Long Johns... just cheeses to suit every palate. I clearly knew, I could easily acclimate to this country, language barrier be damned. There was a magical connection. I fit in. I felt powerful. I felt satiated. And, so my habit began.

I thought I had my addiction “under control” through the years but later recognized it was largely due to financial constraints being a single parent on a strict budget. My favorites were definitely the soft creamy cheeses, Camembert, Brie, mild and delicious, followed by the pungent Bleu’s, Stilton, and even the stinkiest of the stinkies, Limburger (on rye with a big slab of sweet onion)... yum! Looking back, I see my gradual descent and “crossing the line”. Even when I couldn’t afford the imported cheeses, my purchases of the generic orange domestic stuff increased. It was no longer about the taste, it was all about getting my fix! Many evenings, in severe withdrawl, I found myself reverting to the brown bag, “Wild Irish Rose” of cheese; pasteurized, processed, CHEESE FOOD!

Truly, I knew I was in serious trouble years ago but continued to deny. My daughter and I, joined the Catholic Church together and decided to make a sacrificial Lenten committment that year and give up something dear to our hearts. Her love, at that time, was shopping. She gave up shopping. Mine, of course, was cheese. A few days before Easter, she came to me and begged me to buy a dress she had seen on sale. She would then pay me back, post Lent. I looked at her, disaaprovingly and said, “Honey, that’s dishonest. You can’t bargain like that with God.” Fast forward to the next day. I am in the kitchen, mircrowave dinging, pulling out a small plate. My precious girl says to me, “Mom, what are you doing? What do you have there?” Innocently, my response, “Cheese.” Puzzled, she says, “I thought you gave up cheese for Lent?” Easily rationalizing, I flippantly replied, “ Oh, well, I gave up cold cheese. This is melted cheese.” Hmmmmm..... can’t bargain like that with God.

Still, I carried on my affair with my fabulous, fatty lover. About five years ago, enjoying a jalepeno poppers lunch, I received a phone call from my doctor. My cholesterol was at a staggering 302/202. He wanted me to immediately pick up a prescription for Lipitor, with the suggestion I watch the fat in my diet as well. Instead, I stepped up my exercise routine to twice a day, seven days a week! Surely, my cholesterol would improve between the drugs and the lunatic in tennis shoes. I hoped. Sadly, there was no way I could acknowleged the role cheese played in those dangerous markers of clogged arteries. I was quickly approaching a life on the streets, hanging out near the local deli, selling myself for a few slices of swiss.

In the final weeks of my decline, I swore off cheese only to circle around into my favorite “Cheese Haus” in Plain City, Ohio. I had promised myself, my daughter, and friends, I wasn’t going to stop. Not this time. Worst of all, when I brought what remained home, after gorging myself, while driving, I hid it. I hid it in the back of the refrigerator behind the Greek yogurt and egg beaters. When my daughter stopped and detected a green fleck between my teeth (remenants of the pepper cheese she had almost caught me snarfing down) I lied. I told her it was a piece of spinach! Shame was becoming a regular state of mind. I was giving seedy new meaning to the term "cheese head".

The other night when appetizing with friends after a fun night at the theatre, I could see it all so clearly. Of all the selections on the menu, I picked mozzarella sticks. I was powerless over my cheese and my life had become unmanageable. Turning my will and life over to the care of Lipitor, exercise and feeble attempts at controlling my own consumption had failed. I was justifying, bargaining, experiencing health issues, hiding, lying and I knew my cholesterol was unmanageable. So, I have admitted, come to believe, and made a decision to turn it over to something larger. With a small caveat. Please, Higher Power... before my next life, when I get my rest break in heaven, may I eat cheese to my heart’s content? The real deal, beautifully aged, made from the milk of every animal known to man. No more velvetta, american slices, or fat free rubber substitute. Nonetheless, in the meantime, if any of you detect the pungent odor of a great Bleu on my breath, for God’s sake, drag me to a meeting!

Just goes to show ya---- it’s always somethin’- Roseanna Dana (SNL)