Eat, Pray, Love Lite - The story of a rural woman with an urban heart: Journey with her as she travels from her own fridge in the kitchen, to pre-meditated, meditation in the den. Final stop... the bathroom mirror which whispered sweet affirmations into her ear. A happy ending.... She fell head over heels, crazy in love, with the person standing right before her eyes!

Yippee! The movie, based on Elizabeth Gilbert’s smash book, Eat, Pray, Love, came out this weekend. The hype this book created had to be good for tourism in Italy, India and Indonesia!   Everyone could use a good Liz Gilbert experience just once in their lifetime.  If done as well as she did it, one lifetime is probably all you’d need! Three unique destinations.  Three life altering experiences.  1) Cultivating a healthy relationship and genuine appreciation for the sensuality of food as one of life’s pleasures, rather than a means of control, deprivation, medicating, or eating away emotion. 2) Connecting with your true self and reaping the benefits of forgiveness, and, 3) Meeting your perfect fit... the love of your life, in the most beautiful location on earth;  a fairy tale come true. All in one single year!  C’mon...what are the odds? I’ve spent a lifetime just trying to find any old self, true or not. It’s possible, this year, a reunion has finally taken place.  “Helloooooooo, Rebecca.... nice to finally meet you.  I’m Becky!”  Now that we’ve met, we’re working on best friend status. I really like the old broad.  I asked her, “Where you been all my life?” She said, “Right here. You didn’t have time for me.  You were trying so desperately to insure others liked you, you couldn’t see that I already did.”  I digress.  Back to Elizabeth Gilbert’s book. I am not a big fan of the Nicholas Sparks genre, love conquers all and everyone lives happily ever after...... sigh.....This  is just not a realistic gig for me.  Perhaps, I have a deep seated envy of the population that believe in that kind of innocence. My daughter is among them.  I feared this book would be like that. Girl experiences double heartbreak, goes to Europe to heal and wait out her divorce. While waiting, she swears off men, eats her way through the best pizza known to man (really substituting food for man). She decides to go to India, as her pants are now too tight and perhaps, being locked in an Ashram indulging in the brown rice diet program, will be the ticket to finding weight loss and herself. While in the Ashram, she drops two sizes, and discovers she must forgive, in order to clear her karmic airspace.  Emerging an enlightened, skinnier, human being, she is open to new beauty and potential frolic on the beautiful beaches of Bali.  Fade out.... final chapter, there she goes, walking hand in hand, on the beach toward the land of milk, honey and commitment, with some sexy, worldly, foreigner. Flash forward to her new book, ten years later, Purge, Rage, Hate.... Stripped of her money, again, divorce pending, she can’t afford to work through her issues this time gallivanting across the globe.  She spends a weekend in a cheap hotel room in Soho, meditating to the sounds of the local hooker and her parade of Johns in the room next door. Is this all too cynical of me? Am I writing my own story here?  

I know I am being wildly irreverent and I apologize.  That was the mindset I had when I opened the book initially, two years ago.  When I closed the book, I was sighing and clutching it to my heart, hoping to shove some of her wisdom into my own soul.  I did. She changed my perception on a number of things and I annoyingly quote her fairly often these days. I fell in love with this book, and Elizabeth Gilbert.  She has the confidence (and humility) to strip bare, expose herself, and invite you into the bedroom of her vulnerability.  Right where all her secrets are kept.  You feel her suffering, see her revelations, and experience her joy.  She is the kind of person you want for a best friend. Your secrets would be safe with her because they mirror yours, and it’s creepy and not much fun, to be with someone who has none.  And, this is what made her story beautiful, and believable, rather than just another glorified love saga.  Yes, she found her grand love. But, before that, she took your hand and let you walk that painful path with her, peeling back the layers in each country, as she moved forward into her happily ever after.  

The buzz her story created is pretty amazing. Interest in Buddhism has skyrocketed as well as “spiritualcations” (spiritual vacations).   I recently read an article in a woman’s health magazine of a group of young women, who quit their jobs, as well, to travel and “marvel” at something.  I am not discounting the bravery and faith it takes to venture out into parts unknown.  But, I do know that making a geographical adjustment isn’t necessarily the path to enlightenment, forgiveness and love.  Can be a heck of a lot of fun while doing it, but we all have to come home, and guess who comes along home with us?  

Two years ago, I was blessed to travel, for two months.  I became immersed in each culture and savored every moment and morsel. It was my adventure of a lifetime. The final days of my trip, I reflected on many things. Three countries, eighteen accommodations, many more destinations, witnessing snatch your breath away majesty, in its natural form, as well as man-made Art that made me weep.  I still felt this  urgency to return home.  I discovered that enlightenment can also be found in our own surroundings and in the eyes of the love we encounter  in our daily connections. 

This last year has been an Eat, Pray, Love journey for me as well.  The majority of my enlightenment has arrived, quietly, within the four walls of my own home.  I have rediscovered the pleasure of good food. Not only the taste, but the serenity of the preparation.  Somehow, over the years, I must have decided I wasn’t worthy of the time it took to prepare lovely, nourishing, meals. That was reserved for friends,family, and special occasions.  Food was fast and furious, kind of like my life, consumed most often standing up at the counter! I didn’t think that same pleasure, I so freely gave my loved ones, was mine to enjoy.  How lovely it is to now sit at a table, cloth napkin, pretty dishes, nutritious, delectable food, filling my belly as well as sustaining my soul. My Pray took place in my personal Ashram, my favorite spot in my house.  It is a holy place by nature, because so much of life has played out there.  Hearts have broken, tears have been shed, secrets revealed, joy shared, intimacy savored, comfort provided, and a blessed life passed on to begin a heavenly life, all in this small, solitary room. It’s as beautiful in its meaning as Bali could ever be.  The shelves reflect photographs of happy people and times, meaningful trinkets and treasures.   Windows overlook God’s playground, glorious year round, but especially so when the trees are frosted with the white stillness of winter.  A fireplace, roaring,  acts as a fire Mandela in losing conscious thought and slipping into  the space inside, where God resides. Over sized comfy chairs welcome sprawling into childlike poses. All the while, listening to instruction from some of the inner work greats; Jack Kornfield, Jon Kabat-Zin, Dr. Wayne Dyer, as they help me slow down my mind enough, to allow stillness, prayer, healing and Love, to enter.  Back to back days spent in my haven, pried open  the door to forgiveness and allowed it  to  finally swing wide open.   And, lastly....my love.  I discovered her in my bathroom mirror.  I had seen her around for many years, but never really paid much attention to her.   How could I miss those bright, happy eyes and joyful smile?  I am happy to report she is everything I always dreamed of.  I accept her as she is, flaws and fluff, because those are the things that make her special to me.  And, I made a commitment (perhaps for the first time in my life) to always treasure her, never leave her, and unconditionally love her, forever.  

Don’t wait for the time, or the money, to take your Eat, Pray, Love journey.  Begin where you are, with what you have.  Venture into parts of yourself that are yet unknown.  I promise, you will discover there is so much to "marvel" at, right where you stand. 

Poem of the Day....

This poem touched something deep inside as I was getting ready to write today.  This encapsulates my journey in this last year and says it much better than I can.  When I heard this "new voice"(I'm not sure when exactly that happened) and discovered it was my own, everything changed.  I actually trusted and rejoiced in the sound of it. It spoke authentically, kindly, with forgiveness, compassion, and great wisdom.  It is no longer silent, blended with the voices of others in order to fit in, be loved, nor quieted by fear of rejection.  I'm sure I  jumped when I heard it.  It's been docile for many years.  It said, ever so softly, "The sentence is served, and it's your time."  Do it now, do it for you, do it your way.  Do it because it's your destiny. Trust.  Love yourself." 

The Journey by Mary Oliver

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice—
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do—
determined to save
the only life you could save.

Alex “Bug” - Angel of hope and healing....

Ten years ago today, God sent the tiniest messenger to remind us of His immense love.  This little bundle came to us in the form of a baby girl, swaddled in dreams, new beginnings, and kisses from heaven. I think she may have been a bit reluctant to leave the comfort of her heavenly home, as her momma spent 24 hours in labor!  But, then, she had no idea how wanted and loved she already was.  I don’t think there could have been a more eagerly anticipated child.  For a number of reasons.  First, the previous year had been one of heartbreaking grief with the death of two very important members of our family.  Second, her poor momma suffered horribly in the summer heat and signs of toxemia, led her doctor to sentence her to the sofa for the last weeks of her pregnancy.  The days prior to  our little one’s birth, I sat with her during the day, watching over my own child like a lioness protecting her baby cub. I waited on her, made her lunch, watched others babies being born on A Baby Story presented by the Lifetime channel. We talked about her own birth,  all the new gadgets available for mom and baby these days, and, the importance of names.  When I asked my daughter what name they had selected, she sighed and said, “Mom, we need to see what our baby looks like in order to pick the right name.”  I laughed, “Don’t babies all look alike?”  Several times a day I would climb the stairs and enter the wonderland nursery decorated in “John Lennon Collection” accessories; fairytale animals, soothing blues, greens and yellows, the words of John’s tune, Imagine, in my head as it sprung to life and dreamed of the day when our baby cried the sweet sound of possibility into the room and our lives. 

The evening arrived and so did our baby girl.  As, she encircled her tiny hand around my finger, she wrapped herself around my heart, forever.  When her parents announced her name, Alexandria Catherine, they were right.  She WAS an Alex!  Often, when I was privileged to baby-sit my new granddaughter, her parents would leave, she would be in my arms.  When they returned home, much later, there we’d be, in the same position.  I’d spend hours staring at her sleeping face, sniffing the freshness of her little fuzzy head, and kissing the teeniest rose bud lips, over and over, resuscitating with her oxygen and filling myself with healing.  She was a reason to move out of the sadness, and leave a new legacy... one of courage, happiness, love, and joy.

As a baby, she was sensitive to her environment as well as the moods of those around her.  She was affectionate, loved to cuddle, and was the best at “eskimo kisses” and “snuggle-buggys”.  Perhaps this is where her mom came up with her nickname, “Bug.”  At an early age, she showed signs of this ethereal love of mankind, religion and God.  Every night she slept with her rosary, given to her by her great-grandma, often seen during the day as well, clutching it in her little hands, and praying!  I recall a time when she was 4 years old, she overheard a conversation between her mother and I. Tugging at my shirt, she said to me, “Mimi, I will pray for you.”  She dropped to her knees, grabbed her rosary and offered up a plea to God, for her grandma!  This love of God, spills over in her compassion for others.  She cannot stand to see her friends in trouble, her sisters hurt, or any living thing suffer.  She is quick to pitch in and defend, help and support.  Curious about everything, at 5, she studied her book of the Saints, knew their names and what they stood for (great-grandma again).  At 6, King Tut was a fascination, and I promised her, someday, I would take her to Egypt.  Age 7, it was dinosaurs and land animals;  8 brought an interest in sea animals and marine biology.  Until she learned she would have to move near the ocean. This was just too far away from her family!  Her family is the most important thing in her world, and I think it just might always be.  Recently, she is fascinated by disasters, and real-life mysteries.  She can site every detail of the Titanic’s demise, personal tales of human loss, and all the particulars of this cataclysm.  She is obsessively curious about what happened to Amelia Earhart and will tell you, rumor has it, a makeup case was found on the ocean floor in the South Pacific.  She questions everything about the Lincoln and the Kennedy assassinations and cross-examines every theory.  She reads, researches, and her thirst to figure it all out is unquenchable. As I glance at my own bookcases, I see this desire to find the answers to life’s mysteries, a genetic trait, inherited, from her Mimi (me).  Her mom encouraged her to pick up a fun fiction book at the library the other day.  Not for our Alex.  Her selection was a book about Katie Couric, her life and career in journalism.  She also, delightedly shares a love of writing with me.  Her written project, last school year, produced a ripple effect in dropped jaws at the imaginative nature of her assignment.  In school she is smart; elementary age, summa cum laude status.  Her curiosity is not limited to learning though, and she participates in dance, basketball, baseball, cheerleading, choir, and this year has expressed a desire for swimming and Girl Scouts. Whew! 

She is also very much her mother’s daughter.  Emotional, a sap for the sentimental stories of life, a classic girly-girl.  Although, she never was much interested in Barbie Dolls, or traditional girl toys, preferring books, science oriented toys and craft projects.  But, like her mom, she can put together a trendy outfit just glancing through a closet, has an eye for design, and inherited her mother’s voice and love of music.  When her great-grandma asked her to sing a solo at her great-grandpa’s funeral this Spring, this brave little girl, stood before the crowd of mourners at our church, and in her perfectly pure voice, sang, You are Mine.  Again, jaws dropped at the priceless gift she gave her grandpa, of not only her talent, but also the bravery in walking through her own grief and fear, to honor him and her family.  This integrity, ethics and understanding of the Golden Rule,  comes from her daddy as well as inheriting his honesty.  She can be counted on for the truth!   

Ten years old...she is growing up.... Sometimes that makes me sad, but mostly I feel excited to witness the evolution of this already awesome human being.  She makes me smile in her explorations and I can see she is torn between the two worlds of being a little girl and having fun with her sisters, and acting like a big girl with her friends.  Happily, the frolicking in the water at the pool, beats out the walking around the perimeter, gossiping with the older girls about the little 13 year old dudes.  She did share with her mom, one “hot” little 13 year old had a “four-pack”!  Guess the six-pack doesn’t sprout until about 16 or so!  Thank heavens!  

Today is so special.  Her god mother drove all the way from her home in Chicago, a whirlwind trip in one day, returning to work tomorrow, just to celebrate this birthday with her! A very unique and caring lady who is important to all of us as well, and we love her so much.  Alex seems to be surrounded by that kind of unselfishness and love.  I think that has contributed to her own tenderness and desire to pay it forward. Currently, she has this affinity for the Peace symbol.  It adorns her clothing, her back pack, her folders, and her walls.  Perhaps, she assimilated that from her “give peace a chance” John Lennon nursery, ten years ago.  Or, it’s another genetic thing from her Mimi’s late 60’s hippie experiences during the height of the Vietnam War. Wherever it comes from, a desire to be fashionable or a part of her genetic make-up, to me, she symbolizes, peace, love, healing and hope. 

Finally, I would be remiss if I didn’t mention one of my favorite things about Alex. Her voice.... Truly, it is like receiving a call from an angel.  The sound is so incredibly melodious and soothing.  When she calls and leaves a message, I have been known to save it for those times when I need a reminder of the blessings in my life.  The drive to become a better person, instigated by such a tiny being, has never been more apparent then when I reflect back today, on the birth of my first granddaughter, a true gift from God.   Happy Birthday, Alex Bug! 

It is rare that one can see in a little boy the promise of a man, but one can almost always see in a little girl the threat of a woman - Alexander Dumas

Three Little Divas...

Yesterday was a day of celebration at the wedding reception of my cousin’s oldest daughter.  The reception hall was huge and packed with family, former coaches, teachers, and many of their young friends. The newly-weds both grew up in the same small community where everyone knows everybody.  I personally have been trying to escape from this intimate environment almost all of my adult life. I finally recognized I needed to stop pounding my fists against my perception of the bullet proof dome holding me here. I have surrendered to the knowledge, God opens doors in His time.    Ahhhhh.... there is a degree of serenity in that release. I can see the benefits to small town living.   Being a big fish in a teeny metro area is attractive to some.  Additionally, the “it takes a village living” mentality provides a level of support, comfort in time of need, and sharing joys with others occurs more often here.  That bonding is difficult to find when you are just a number, in the masses.  I can also see, it could instill a sense of security, appreciation for simple pleasures, and values, in the young people who are raised in these rural areas today.  And, I think, that it can make for much more grounded early beginnings, than when there are so many diversions; kids grow up too early, feel pressured, competitive, and entitled. (Am I convincing myself here?)  That sense of community was clearly reflected in attendance at this wedding! A chunk of the town showed up to congratulate and celebrate! 

The bride and groom are absolutely drop-dead gorgeous young people that would shame the Barbie and Ken on top of any wedding cake. Seriously, they could have been models for a Vera Wang gown and a Ralph Lauren tuxedo.  A beautiful young couple bravely stepping into a new life phase.  And, everyone there had a blast celebrating that passage with them!  This paternal arm of my family (I have so many family branches it takes intricate diagrams to explain, so I rarely do) are close knit, love to party, and the joy of children are a huge part of their lives.  So, the little ones were in attendance and whopping it up with big people as well.  I heard they even savored some “Shirley Temple Cocktails”, a treat that had me reminiscing about my own childhood and my desire to be a big girl. They rocked out to Lady Gaga, and slipped along the dance floor to the Electric Slide. What a breathless, sweaty, treat it was to join them!  

Now my cousin is a total man’s-man, and his children, all three, are girls!  These exquisite little beauties are championship softball players too, so that likely fills some of his need for his macho sports fix. Along with their sports, these young ladies enjoy fashion, a great stiletto and revel in being girls.  Lovely, athletic, feminine, sensitive, and competent would be good descriptors.  During the father/daughter dance, I was chatting with my aunt who had tears in her eyes when we watched her son, so tenderly holding his smiling daughter as they rocked back and forth on the dance floor.  I could envision him using this same movement to soothe her when she was a baby.  The mutual adoration was apparent. My aunt said, “You know he is crazy about his girls.  He told me, Mom, I wouldn’t trade any of my girls for a boy.”  Amazingly, you know he means it.  In the past, I asked my cousin if my son-in-law could talk with him about raising girls, since he is in the same boat with three little divas of his own.  Rick, said, “Sure.  But, I will have to tell him, how much I have enjoyed my girls. I can’t imagine having more fun with boys.” Of course, I shared that last night with my son-in-law who rolled his eyes some, but then echoed my cousin’s statement about not being able to picture a life without his little women either.  And, I know even with all their occasional drama, he sincerely means that.  A father is a daughter’s first love and the relationships they enter in the future, tend to mirror what they have seen as an example with the first man in their lives.  My grand-daughters are blessed to witness a man who loves their mother deeply, provides a framework for them to cultivate personal interests and social skills while instilling manners and values.  And, he does all this with no formal training in the care and upbringing of emotional, creative, fascinating, intelligent little beings with hormones far different from his. I think he and my cousin were given this gift because God knew they could handle it, and they both do it so well.   

Looking out from the dance floor at the crowd in the room, I saw a sea of females... All ages. It was interesting to note, they outnumbered the men in the group.  Now, the men were either off doing their guy thing in the bar with the television tuned into some sporting event, or my conjecture about a shift occurring in females outnumbering males, was verified at the wedding last night.  I had this conversation with my daughter last week, and she not only rolled her eyes, I think she said something like, “Oh, brother, mom.  You are taking your new age mentality too far!”  I told her, I read, the number of male births is declining.  In the United States, it has remained at 49% girls, 51% boys, for decades.  I find the theories on why boys outnumber girls pretty interesting.  The first is,  males are more fragile and male infants are less likely to survive their first year.  Also, its no secret, a man’s expected lifespan is less than a woman’s.  The slightly higher conception rate is nature’s way of equalizing. The second theory is Y-bearing, male-producing sperm, may have a speed advantage over X-bearing female producing sperm, more often winning the race to fertilize the egg, and resulting in more male conceptions. I am sure you can see where I am going with all of this....   Spending your time on earth as a male, competitive since sperm, trying to be top-dog, the first to arrive, grab the brass ring, have it all, doesn’t leave much time, or room, for relaxation, reflection, or fun.  This can wreck havoc on an already fragile male, lacking the stamina and resilience of his female counterpart.  My hypothesis... are you ready for this? When a male’s lifetime is complete and he has his respite time in heaven, he decides girls really do have more fun and this time around he's gonna switch genders!  And, of course those of us who have savored the fruits of being a female, aren’t willing to give the male gig a shot, next time around.  We want to come back as females again. Therefore, the birth rates are shifting!  It’s something to think about.... 

Seriously, there is no better time to be a girl than this century, especially in this country.   We have so many choices available to us these days. Education is obtainable for woman, which in turn provides us with the ability to support ourselves. The glass ceiling has been shattered and we can truly follow the career path that suits our talents.  We can buy our own homes, cars, vacations and jewelry. We can choose to marry or not.  We can choose to have children, or not.  And, we can choose to love a man with all our soul, because we see his soul, not because we need his protection, wallet or social standing. Our foremothers, endowed us with resilience and the ability to bounce back from loss and disappointment. We are innately born into a state of generosity, nurturance, and sustainability.  And, we know how to have fun.... something our male counterparts seem to struggle with. In April of this year, I was fortunate to hear Paul Young, the author of “The Shack” speak.  The controversy the book created in the secular and non-secular community was a mystery to me.  In my opinion, any message which provides healing and comfort is a gift.  During the Q & A session, someone probed why Mr. Young made God a woman in his book.  He said something I thought was quite profound.  He stated, the book was written as a healing tool, full of metaphors about his own life.  He went on to say, most of the suffering in this world, is generally at the hands of men; war, abuse, crime, and religious restrictions.  He needed to make his God, a being of comfort; gentle and nurturing, full of unconditional love.  For him, that embodied the female gender.   

Bevy of Beautiful Females
 2 to 70 something!

On the dance floor last night, I saw this bevy of beautiful females, ages two to seventy-something, all at different phases of their life cycle, dancing and rejoicing at the union of two, happy young adults. It was interesting to step back and silently witness the chapters of the book of “female” unfold. The exuberance of youth, the self-consciousness of puberty, the arrogance of teen, the adventure of young woman, the protection of  mother, the acceptance and confidence of middle age woman, and the wisdom and understanding of mature woman.  I felt comfortable, honored to be a part of and protective of the sisterhood.  And, I felt a sense of gratitude at the good men, who have the ability to accept the awesomeness of the girls they have been entrusted to raise.  And, proud of their bravery in not being intimidated by the threat of a woman.  For, it is a greater threat   to mankind if we allow such a perfect creation to be minimized by perceived gender preference or entitlement.     

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!”