Late Bloomer......

I used to call myself a late bloomer. Usually with a shrug of the shoulders and a sheepish grin.  My self-deprecating humor is one of the defense mechanisms, I use to put myself in my place, so you don’t get a chance to. This self proclaimed moniker came about due to my perception of  the order which life should flow.  This is how it should be....You’re born and move into a childhood of protected fun as well as reading, writing, and arithmetic.  As  you grow, you gradually learn essential tools encouraging movement from childhood into young adulthood; skills like sharing, patience, obeying the rules, and manners.  You become a teenager, forget all the rules because you now know they are not meant for you!  You date, fall in love, date fall in love, and move on and go to College.  When you leave College,  you get your dream job. Time for Prince Charming or Kim Kardishian to arrive. You marry. You work hard, buy a house, make a name for yourself, and have children.  Life evolves and so do you.  You discover most of what you paid bucks to learn in College, is relatively useless in your life today.  Late middle-age, you begin to suffer a few losses;  grandparents, possibly parents, some friends and through these trials you develop character traits such as compassion, appreciation, gratitude and perhaps, a thirst for discovering the meaning of your existence develops.  Also called a mid-life crisis.  You finish raising your family, maybe change jobs to pursue your purpose and live out your days in ecstasy knowing your life has been normal, orderly, because you  have made good decisions and  followed the timeline of civilized society.  Right?  Perhaps.  At least this was my interpretation of how a life got to be named “a life well lived.”  I liked the flow of it.  Its practical evolution made sense to me.  Because it sounded so perfect, THAT  was my expectation.  My real life never seemed to measure up to standard. Those milestones and that story, just didn't play out that way for me.  

I’ve lived so much of my life in reverse.  I was an old lady at 8, the emotional burden of my highly dysfunctional family and their problems resting on my small shoulders.  I really believe I was born old, and wise, a female Benjamin Button.  I also, romanticized... the stork had an anxiety attack at my delivery, freaked out, and accidentally dropped me into the wrong household.  But, later, in my teenage years, I discovered I really was adopted, by one parent (ahha... my stork story was a reality). Until.... I met my blood parent and didn’t seem to fit there either! Since, I was already a grown-up at puberty, it seemed fitting to get married at 19.   By then my immediate family had all gone their separate ways through divorce and addiction.  I was already quite skilled at taking care of others and their needs.  Why not start my own family?  I did and became a super responsible young wife and mom. Yet, no matter how hard I tried to create the picket fence life, with my husband and little daughter, others in my story found the picket fence confining.  It was not to be. I was  left to raise a daughter at age 26. I was brighter than average, but with my education predominately centering around the emotional care of others, I was really left floundering.   I escaped for a time into the arms of oblivion and addiction.  It was cozy to be unconscious for awhile.  Repercussions began to arise and bad things happened.  I wasn’t such a good caretaker anymore. I didn’t even have a clue how to take care of myself.  Six years later I emerged, ill and emotionally battered,  but addiction free.... a newborn baby (me) cohabiting with an adolescent daughter.  The adolescent daughter became a teenage daughter and I dated  right along with her.  Losses weren't new to me either, the majority of them happening before I turned 34. That part of the story wasn't  supposed to happen until I began getting grey and wrinkly.  I grieved as I watched grandmothers, aunts, uncles, some friends, and my own mother pass on.  By 45, I had lost my beloved soul mate too and this  left me reeling.  Recognizing  I had exhausted the luxury of becoming unconscious in pills and booze to numb my pain,  I spun out of a 17 year, successful career, right into the seat of higher education. College...the old lady in the classroom.  Experimental job hopping followed as well as rather unfulfilling man hopping. This became the new life for this 50 something year old woman.  I was living the life of a young twenty-something!  Is it any wonder I called myself a late bloomer?  

This revisit to a few of the chapters in my life was prompted by my long recovery process during my recent illness.  When I get lonely, I've been known to visit a very busy head, one which swirls with liveliness and activity.  It isn't always the best place to hang out if you're looking for good, clean, fun.  I can get into some serious trouble there.  Especially when the potty mouthed  brain cells gather and start a rumble.  This "late bloomer" label resurfaced one boring day as I indulged in a mental walk through the memoir of my life and times.  This little self-serving (with a larger than healthy dose of self-pity) day dream was interrupted as I noticed, and shook my head in disbelief at the blossoms on my Hibiscus plant resting in my kitchen bay window.  It's a tenacious little sucker! Admiring it gave me a whole new perspective on late blooming.  


I've had this plant for five years.  We have a little history.  When I first got it, it was stunning; flawless, shiny leaves, profuse colorful blossoms, perfectly poised on long stems.  It didn't stay that way.  Through the years, the plant got brown and sickly looking, leaves falling off onto the window sill.  Often, the spindly, barren stems indicated its days were numbered.  Sometimes, I'd make a concerted effort to nurse it back to health.  Other times, in disgust, I just unkindly ignored it and secretly wished it would just naturally expire completely.  It never does!  This summer it was gorgeous, lush and full.  By Fall, it was inflicted with little white mites all over its leaves.   Fed up, I stuck the plant out in an unheated room in the house with the secret hope it would just freeze out and die.  Post holiday, I hadn't checked on it in weeks, I went out into the room and there it stood.... mite free, budding, getting ready to  burst into full bloom!  I couldn't believe it! It's never followed a predictable pattern of development.  It grows, becomes lovely, regresses, looks ugly, grows again only to become the prettiest plant, no matter how I take care of it.  It's not seasonal.  There is no pattern.  It just grows and blooms when its time to grow and bloom.  It has no idea whether it's Spring, Summer, Fall, or Winter of its little chlorophyll saturated life.  Pretty much like the progression of my life.  Perhaps we both have our seasons mixed up, or maybe our internal Source  guides our growth and progress based on our unique needs and contributions to this life.  

I’m not a late bloomer.  I’m kind of a perennial......... for all seasons.    

Our attempts at control and strictly ordering our life in a rigidly intentional manner, is relatively futile.  We have a destiny and a divine timeline that directs our soul towards a specific purpose. We are always right where we need to be, when we need to be. When we fight its flow or try so hard to swim upstream, when we get there, we often find we're exhausted and  it isn't what we anticipated anyway. The big picture is a puzzle. The discovery of what pieces fit and when they're placed doesn’t matter. Sometimes it's better and more fun to  take our time in figuring it out. Trying one after another, and re-trying later, after several others fall into place.   All that matters is that the puzzle will eventually come together in a sacred way.  Makes no difference that I was Yoda at 8, or that I went to College at 47.  It doesn’t matter that I was an overly responsible wife and mother at 19, then dated along with my teenage daughter at 34.  It's irrelevant that I finally found my soul mate at 38.  In my 50’s, I’ve jumped out of an airplane, savored a "sans clothing" spa, and flirted shamelessly with a cruise ship Captain, twenty years my junior.  Now, in my late 50’s, I'm  the inquisitive 5 year old driving my Higher Power crazy with my incessant why, why, why questioning. 

We all come from the same divine seed.  We push outward, we bud, we grow; tall and strong.  We bloom. We’re exposed to the elements, lose our leaves, shrivel and take cover underground for a time.  Somehow the soil gets  fertilized again, with hope; with new knowledge.  We catch a glimpse of the light and the warmth of our Creator. We timidly venture upward and outward, over and over again. We reach out,  a burning desire to, perhaps, pursue something we missed earlier on.  It’s taken all of our experiences, in no particular order, to create the beautiful, individual blooms of our unique life.   It’s the mites, the brown leaves, the cold air, and the dormancy that makes the blossoming so much lovelier, no matter how many years the plant has been around. 

Don’t worry about what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive and do that. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive. - Robert Thurman 

We Plan. God Laughs......

This bit of wisdom was a text from my daughter.  A quote from a speaker at her business conference over the weekend.

 Day Fourteen - cooped up in the white elephant (my house).  My face is healing slowly, and I can walk by a mirror now without shuddering.  The pain in my scalp, ear, teeth, and left side of my head has diminished to a mild discomfort. The manner in which I’ve spent my days in the first weeks of 2011 isn’t quite what I had in mind. I was ready to crash through all those limitations I had placed on myself the last few years, like a Biggest Loser contestant busting through the “before” poster.  I was planning to block my ears to the negative naysayers by singing joyfully, at the top of my lungs. My self-awareness and confidence was strapped in my back pack as I confidently headed down  a much gentler path and adventure road, gratefully, one day at a time.  

Instead of a list of resolutions I could beat myself up about not achieving at years end, I decided to find a word, a sort of mantra, to focus on and send out to the universe as an Intention.  My word was BLOSSOM. I figured that was a good fit since I spent last year nurturing, feeding, and letting my Creator coax me back into healthy vibrancy.  It was time. Time to take the practice and apply it moment by moment.  Time to create something positive wherever I found myself potted. I really wanted to take this carefully cultivated and relatively weed free spirit out into the world and spread a little beauty- and kindness. Growing Shingles was not what I had in mind. This wasn’t blossoming. My petals had the blight. 

Yet, the words “there is a season and a time to every purpose, under heaven” kept echoing through my head.  Probably due to the time available to peruse I-tunes and some of my oldies favorites.  The Byrds, Turn, Turn, Turn was one of them. It appeared to be a time for me to blossom in inquisitive, quiet ways. A time to read..... old newspapers; everything from the Wall Street Journal, the Columbus Dispatch, the Cleveland Plain Dealer and really local papers detailing the week’s Kiwanis meeting.  The papers were daily gifts from loved ones who also brought jello, tapioca pudding, and other soft comfort foods. I borrowed David Sedaris new book, Squirrel meets Chipmunk thinking it would leave me in stitches, as most of his work does.  His ability to turn the mundane into a hysterical event, sarcastic wit, and self-deprecating humor, are normally right up my alley. This newest book was a little over the top for my taste; beautifully crafted but sort of sad and sickening.  The first few stories I forced laughter, but somewhere about Chapter Five or so, I wondered if Aesop’s ghost had taken over Sedaris’ body as the fables became gruesome and depressing.  It just went on and on. I can hardly meditate now, at least not when reflecting out my kitchen bay window anymore.  When the squirrels scamper by in my bucolic back yard, I’m distracted.... wondering if they are seriously dating or what pick up lines they’re using!   Much easier on my damaged head and gentler to the spirit was Regina Brett’s new book, God Never Blinks.  Reading it, I felt a soul sister connection as the events in her life seemed to mirror so many of mine.  The big difference....she seems to have “gotten it” MUCH earlier in life than I have. Thus, her personally detailed, 50 life lessons.   I would highly recommend this book as a graduation, anniversary or milestone birthday gift. I was introduced to Regina’s column in the Cleveland Plain Dealer, several years ago, and became an instant fan. Her  honesty, humility, spirituality and love of life is palpable in all her writing.

It also appeared to be a time to catch up on the television of this decade.  I’m not a big boob tube watcher.  Most of the shows folks have been talking about, I've never seen. Now was the time to sit and watch marathon, back to back sessions of Millionaire Matchmaker, Beverly Hills Housewives and Jersey Shore. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it certainly was a shake your head in disbelief experience.  How about those housewives?  We wonder why we have serious bullying issues with our youth?   These botoxed, bulimic, potty-mouthed Stepford wives, are just  middle-aged versions of Mean Girls.  And that, is just how they treat each other!   Yikes... With friends like that.....  I guess, this venue is so popular there are “Housewives” shows from all the major cities, each series giving us a taste of how “the other half lives, where they live.”  I gained a serious appreciation for my half....... you know, the poor... the tired.... the hungry.... the compassionate.  Curiosity led me to Millionaire Matchmaker.  Why in the world would successful, wealthy folks need someone to fix them up?  A few episodes of this show reinforced an old line my dad used to use, “not for all the tea in China” (or my line...no matter how many zero’s are on the portfolio) could I endure even a one-nighter with any of these charmers!  I’m not sure where they find their candidates, but a better name for this show might be, “So You Want to Date A Physchopath?”  I could barely tolerate the episode where the millionaire took his date (first date mind you) to a Sex Museum, but the millionaire who exposed this sweet, young kindergarten teacher to eccentric food by ordering her meal for her ,bordered on gruesome. Now, I am not talking exotic as in deep-fried crickets or shark-fin soup.  This meal began with an embroyo cocktail and spiraled into the stuff upset stomachs are made of.  Ahhhh....then we have Jersey Shore- every parent’s worst nightmare. It’s a cross between an XXX-rated The Godfather and Girls Gone Wild.  The nightly prayer on every parent’s lips, "Please God, don’t let our son bring home Snookie or let my daughter move to the East Coast to shack up with The Situation."  I was trying very hard to find the redeeming aspects and popularity of these shows.  The only value I could find was the reinforcement of the great lives, friends, boyfriends and spouses we have been blessed with!  My gratitude was the highest it had been in two weeks. 

Some of my channel surfing was wholesome. I landed on the food channel and spent a good 8 hours drooling over delectable, fresh food reminiscent of my European vacation a few years ago.  My fave was the episodes of The Barefoot Contessa. Her farm co-op delivered fresh fruits and vegetables weekly. The market basket brimming with color and good health was eye candy but it was an out of body experience as she whipped up such delights as an arugula, green apple, red onion salad with chunky smoked bacon and blue cheese. My mouth watered at the tomato, basil, cheese bake with homemade olive oil and rosemary infused croutons. The bite sized hot zucchini pancakes incited the beast in my stomach and made demanding, growling, noises. It did spark my creativity as I indulged in the preparation of a "from scratch" Caesar Salad this week, anchovies, home-made croutons and all. Hey, the doctor did say I needed to load up on the fresh fruits and veggies! 

This, my dear readers, is how I have spent my last few weeks. Nothing like what I had planned.  Nonetheless, at the next social gathering, I will dazzle you with my knowledge of the similarities between the moral conscience of animals and humans; tell you why Kelsey is leaving his marriage to Camille and how much its going to cost him;  let you know that in the dating world there are bimbos, cougars and himbos; reassure you if someone from the Jersey Shore calls you a b- - ch, it is truly a term of endearment. I can advise you which of fresh, garden greens flavor and pungency are complimentary to various dishes. Most important of all, I have it on good authority, The best is yet to come (Lesson #45) and It’s okay to get angry with God.  He can take it (Lesson #8). 

Maybe this week I will spend some time meditating with my new Mandela coloring book. I’m  not making any plans!  

I’m sure I heard God laugh.  


P.S. A little update. I must look better. I ventured out for a few hours today and my littlest grand-daughter said to her mom as I walked towards their car, "Mimi looks cute today!"  A few weeks ago she was recoiling in horror. This time, I laughed.... with God. 

“Operation Self-Esteem-- Day F- - -ing One” - Elizabeth Gilbert (Eat, Pray, Love)

I'm convinced this is a good depiction
of the photo of me on file at the
Doctor's office.

I had a busy, fun holiday this year.  My focus was on enjoying it, moment by moment. I really concentrated on eliminating any of the negative thoughts that pervaded last year’s season.  No more of that kind of energy from me this year!  I appreciated and savored every bit of it; the shopping, baking, cooking, eating, partying, seasonal events, out of town guests, and family.  Did I feel any stress?  I didn’t think so.  Seriously, I savored it all and put on my floating fairy godmother robes, waving my serenity wand over everything that landed in my path. I was patting myself on the back for my spiritual growth in my ability to remain grateful and mindful this year.  Was I a little tired?  Somewhat, but not profoundly.  Post New Year’s Eve, I felt “flu-ish”, nothing that a good dose of Tylenol Cold couldn’t handle.  Then, I woke up Monday morning, and found this tiny, little blistery thingy under my nose, right in that adorable little crease that separates one nostril from another.  A little zit... somewhat sore.  I went happily on about my day. By Wednesday morning, I looked like Rocky Balboa after his first fight with Apollo. My upper lip was grossly swollen.  Under my nose, the blisters had multiplied and had a sort of brownish cast to them and they patch worked themselves onto the left side of my face, prominently on my left cheek inching up towards my eye. A self-proclaimed research scientist, ( a deserved laurel due to my patience and abilities to dig through mounds of Internet information others would never find) I knew the diagnosis was looking bleak, and a little frightening.  Certainly more serious than the over the counter remedies I was nickling and diming towards my cure, could handle. Beginning to really panic, I knew I had to haul my monster face in to see a professional. I needed a magic potion that could only be obtained from the heavenly script pad. 

I'm generally pretty healthy and  haven’t even taken the time to obtain a new family physician since my former “hottie” doctor moved two years ago. I thought he was irreplaceable, with his beach boy blonde looks and professionally whitened teeth.  It was irrelevant to me how skilled he was in the practice of medicine: I felt better just sitting in his office dreamily looking up into his baby blue eyes as his stethoscope connected with my chest.   I have to give credit where it’s due. He was a phenomenal doctor as well; thorough, compassionate, kind, and skilled.  So, I didn’t try to replace him. I hadn’t counted on my health betraying me in such an “in your face” (har...har....) manner.  I  now didn’t care if my caregiver had no hair, and flashed old yellow teeth.  A witch doctor would do. 

I wasn’t comfortable driving myself... my face hurt.  The physical pain emoting from my skin was closely matched by the sickness in my stomach every time I glanced in a mirror.  I enlisted my daughter to transport me to a medical facility.  

Because I hadn’t been a patient in a long, long, time and never with this new doctor, I had to sit through a registration process AND get my picture taken... You heard me. What kind of sick mind thought this one up?  Let’s photograph the ill!  If they live, we can send them a before picture along with the bill!  They’ll be so grateful they won’t even argue about the cost. Through swollen lips I pleaded with the sadistic, little clerk who asked me to look into the light of the camera and I mumbled some threat about karmic paybacks. She looked at me with very frightened eyes as she snapped away.  Egads, my face was so monstrous they would have to do fingerprinting next time I came in just to verify my identity!   I would have been a cheap candidate for the witness protection program.  No one would know me and I wouldn’t even have to move! It was all very humbling.... 

Equally mortifying, was to leave the house sans make-up. I don’t even go to the gym without SOME make-up - lip gloss at the very least.  Although no amount of Mary Kay could have covered whatever party was taking place on my skin. It was like an entity had crawled inside it and was fighting to get out, leaving marks and blisters in its path. It comforted me some to hide behind my biggest Jackie O sunglasses as I slunk in to the see the doctor.  Heads turned...... I don’t think it was because they were awed by the resemblance between the 35th  President of the United States’ wife and me. 

The verdict... Shingles. The Varicella Zoster Virus.  The same one that causes chicken pox.  It lies dormant in the bodies of those of us who have had chicken pox.  When our immune system is depressed, the potential is there for it to attack the nerves, in my case the cranial nerve ganglia, and cause eruptions and a world of pain.  It can also damage the eye, or the hearing, if it spreads. The healing can take quite some time; kind of like a difficult pregnancy with the relief of birth.  The reward of having shingles, at term,  you get to gaze lovingly into a face you once knew.  As I left the doctor’s office his final words to me, "You need to work harder at eliminating stress, take better care of yourself.... keep meditating." 

As I came home, prescription bottle in hand, popping the first 800 mg. pill in my mouth, I was really, really pissed.  And, confused.  I think, to the best of my ability, I have eliminated the stress in my life.  What was the lesson here that I need to learn to help me to just get through this and move into acceptance? I have been tooting my own horn about falling in love with myself in the past year.  And, I have, in many respects.  My spiritual life has expanded so much I am filled with peace and awe most of the time.  My emotional world is nicely balanced now: realistic and centered in what is best for me, knowing that leads to a better me for those around me. Yes... me, me, me with the best outcome for everyone else!  I have fallen in like with the person I discovered in my inner world explorations. In fact, she’s a helluva nice gal.  So what was this about stress?  

Well.... well... well...A body can have stress too.  I have spent a great deal of my time this past year or so seeking, exploring, examining and fine tuning my spiritual body.  But, I have sorely neglected the physical one.  In my attempts to focus on my soul’s purpose, I had forgotten about the vessel which is the worker bee in putting that purpose into production. This was the lesson.  Love the vessel.  Treat it as you would your own child. It is your child.  It’s not enough to grow through learning and practice.  Human form has to be nurtured and maintained in order to stay healthy.  Good nutrition, restful sleep, calm surroundings, exercise, vitamins, regular check-ups on an on going basis are an expression of self-love too. 


Let’s be honest, our self-esteem is certainly impacted by the physical condition and appearance of our vessels. Mine plummeted this week.  

With that revelation, I headed for the bathroom, stared at the creature in the mirror for a very, very long time.  I planted a big blistery kiss on lips that looked like a bad Botox job, and said, “Hey beautiful, how about if we take a nice, long soaking, lavender bath. It’s time I started to take care of YOU kid!”  

Operation self-esteem, Phase II has begun.

The universe does not require you to stress for good things. - Alan Cohen 

Change is inevitable..... progress is optional - Jack Welch

I found this old journal entry cleaning out to make space for the new.  It's just Good Feng shui.    The message is clear.... don’t get too caught up in any particular moment... it will change and it has.... Praise God.... for the lessons, (I've learned a few), the progress, (self-awareness and acceptance), the freedom (from the anger, resentments, and self-pity) and a return to serenity (even in the midst of so much uncertainty)!  It's pretty personal, but its only through sharing that we resonate with the heart of another. If you are having "one of those days, or weeks, or years"  rest assured, it will change, and it does get better!  Happy New Year! 

Big smiles in Rome two years ago

Journal Entry Dated October 24, 2009

This has been going on about a week now; the butterflies beating against the lining of my stomach and a spirit so saturated with sadness, it’s heavy, and difficult to move it along the path of life.   There’s that, and the fact, that I know I have piled on at least 10 pounds during this past year of the drama... “Nightmare on Becky Street”.  It isn’t enough to watch my rapidly growing ass spread across the back of my lethargic, relatively immobile body, but to contemplate the need for  anti-depressant medication, a side affect being weight gain.... Ugh.  It may be the pharmaceutical feather duster I need in clearing the cobwebs long enough, while God works his magic in helping me uncover the joy that's still there... somewhere... buried way down deep. Seriously, I believe it’s going to take a back hoe to dig out the piles of manure others shoveled into my life for several years now.  I know my signature zest for living is there somewhere.  I look at pictures of me, hardly recognizable, from last summer, in Europe, and see glimpses of deep gratitude, serenity and joy memorialized in those Kodak moments. 

Let’s just keep it simple......GOD, PLEASE HELP ME!  

This depression is quite different than what I experienced before.  I don’t cry all the time or feel anxious and obsessed.  That could be because I am all dried up.  A desert of a human being, barren, and stripped of any emotion.  I do know that isn’t entirely true.  If I want to smile, I just need to stop by and visit three of the most fabulous, happy, authentic, little divas in the world... my granddaughters.  I spend the majority of my days seeking answers and trying to drench my soul in those little girls joy, memorizing wise quotes, reading insightful books, and meditation; if 5 seconds of respite from my monkey mind qualifies.    My bookshelves look like a psychiatrist’s office! So many attempts at piecing together this puzzle named My Life.  Or, maybe what I am really doing is using a bit of advice from a former boss who said to me, “If you throw enough shit up against a wall, some of it’s bound to stick.”  There's certainly plenty there to throw. Maybe that philosophy is at the core of my piss-poor ongoing life choices, too much shit sticking, because rather than stopping and getting still for awhile, getting acquainted with me, and just accepting and being, I am always throwing more up against the wall trying to find something to make me feel better...... And, the compost pile grows.    My personal library houses authors running the gamut of M. Scott Peck (I sure as hell feel like I am on The Road From Hell Less Traveled) to Sylvia Brown (C’mon my dearly departed husband, throw some crumbs from heaven for crying out loud). A wise friend said to me once when I used the crumbs from heaven line, “How about tossing yourself some crumbs?” I wanted to tell her, shut the #@%$ up, but I knew she was on to something.  Truly, I could start my own self-help colony here. It might behoove me, this time, to find some like minded people genuinely seeking enlightenment to hook up with, rather than picking the same dysfunction over and over again and expecting different results.  

Symbol courtesy of my friend and
phenomenal artist, Tim Gorka. He
posted it on a Holiday float entry
he created (Noel). Clever!
I saw it in a different light.
A sort of sign...  Perfect! 

I need to recognize when I see the "L" written clearly 
all over a face, it DOES NOT necessarily mean "Love".  My therapist actually chuckled at that "sic" joke. He's a good guy... He agrees.  He says, "No more scum bags".  I argued that slur with him in my typical nicey, nice, codependent manner.   I told him everyone has value and is just working through their own stuff. Ick.  Disgustingly martyr like of me.  Giving everyone, but myself, a break.   His response, 
" Maybe so, but if the bag fits my dear, let them wear it." His style of sarcasm, wit, and humor mirrors mine and somehow it makes me feel healthier to see that.  I tried to squelch it for awhile, to please others, believing it to be a serious flaw.  I've discovered, I kind of like my tarty tongue.  It serves me well in coping with how ludicrous life and folks (including myself) can be.   My shrink has this same twisted, humorous, confrontational style.   We get along well.  This great guy with the framed artwork verifying his knowledge and accomplishment decorating his walls, and those impressive PhD initials after his name, simply ended our last session saying, "F--- him... he is not even close to worthy of you."  That's why I love him.  He keeps it simple-gets right to the point, no fancy-smancy physcho-babel. 

It has just recently dawned on me that perhaps, my desert of the soul, can be turned into  a positive process. In Ann Lamott’s book Plan B, she talks of the beauty of the desert.  Many of her spiritual friends find stillness and refreshment there in its barren starkness.  To spend time there is an exercise in quietly searching for the cactus in bloom, despite the scorching sun and heat so intense it's difficult to breathe.   Maybe I need to just change my therapeutic mindset. Stop reading and seeking.  Endure the heat for awhile. Just be still, develop some gratitude for the black hole I’m feeling now, knowing it is really through spiritual emptiness that we can be filled.  Maybe in reality, I am doing what I always do, the perfect addict that I am – trying to cram all these feel good words from The Sages, down inside to make the pain go away.  Could it be through the pain, just by being still, I will come to move beyond this daily “joyless ride” and begin to see a certain beauty in the reptilian desert feelings?  And, maybe.... just maybe, someday, notice the small, brilliant flower nestled inside the thorns of that prickly, unapproachable cactus? Just observing non-judgmentally and accepting?  Perhaps I can begin to view those people who hurt me so deeply this year in that manner, God’s creations, cactus flowers... beautiful simply because they too are the essence of God.  To be observed and admired, from a distance; not worth the price of reaching out to touch only to be painfully pricked each time.   I do know that every time I touch, and  the cactus flower does, what cactus flowers do, there is another healing involved that seems more difficult than the last.  I am just human and our fragile bodies can only take so much suffering. After awhile things just don’t heal like they used to.  They scab over a bit, but the tiniest little bump produces howling new pain.  Eventually the scabs become scars, but they look hideous, and obvious, and scare others away.   

A segue here....I became a blonde again, sort of…  Another attempt at fixing the outside up in the belief that the inside will somehow improve. Ha! I think that somewhat lends to my melancholy today anyhow.  I was looking for something “different” rather than the same old pure, white blonde "hooker hair". So, I told my stylist to go at it and turn me into a ravishing new creature.  Well, lets be honest, you can’t turn a sow’s ear into a silk purse, and I have been feeling pretty “sow like” lately.  But, being the adventurous soul that I am, albeit a depressed explorer, I told her to do whatever she wanted to do.  She too, felt my Blondie look was  becoming a bit much, and so inserted swatches of color.  The swatches of color, she called “strawberry blonde” are really a gentle word for RED- American flag RED.   Imagine bold red streaks on my white blonde locks.  When she swiveled me around in the chair, my horrified expression was enough to make her say, “Give it a day or two and several washings and if you don’t like it, call me, and I'll do something different next week.”  Great, not only do I have an ugly aura of doom and gloom, and a bigger butt, but I now look like I am costuming as an old rock star; perhaps Lady Ga Ga at 60, for Trick or Treat.  All I need is a pointy bra and some fishnets. I could have cried. Reactions were mixed.  My son-in-law just said, “Hey, I rarely notice hair. I’m a guy.”  My three little angels said, “Oh, Mimi, you look rockin!”  Rockin? Red flag word (pun intended)....The final nail in this “new do’s” coffin came when the teenage cashiers at the video store stared, wide-mouthed at my hair and said, “Cool.  We like your hair!”  They were about 15ish.... maybe.  I’m sure they were in awe that someone as old as me could be such an adventurous (or stupid) old soul. Old Queenie Becky was a silly old soul, a silly old soul was she.  She called on her stylist, she got hot pink hair, which made everyone roar in glee!    I am sure it will come up in the middle school cafeteria next week.  “Hey, you should have seen this old lady that came in to rent a movie Friday night.  She had pink and white hair… really.  I didn't ask for her ID, but I'm pretty sure it was Grandma Strawberry Shortcake.” I am really not into any more controversy or further reductions to my self esteem these days. Foolishly handing my life over to the whims and dysfunction of others these past years has given me enough of a dose of  misery to last several lifetimes.   My health and immune system can’t take too many more of the Rum Raisin ice cream breakfasts not to mention the entire wheel of Brie cheese for lunch, and the candlelit Potato Chip (the large bag mind you) dinners. The more I try to stuff that gaping hole inside with instant gratification, the wider the gap on the zipper of my jeans. Way too much comfort food, falling down on its task to comfort.   And, in actuality, those kinds of fixes tend to stretch out the hole inside even more.  I've tried to fill it through the years with alcohol, drugs, work, men, compliments, exercise, and now crackers and cheese. Good God.  What's next?  Maybe stuffing it with prayer and a good God?  What?  You say He's already there?..... Time to try a lot more of this?  How?  The prayer.... simple.....just keep repeating this mantra- please help me, please help me, please help me....OOHHHMMMM...... His response.... Shush..please listen, please listen, please listen.

Time to head out on the adventure road
 in 2011 and LIVE my examined life!
Please note the dashboard... BYOTP!
(Bring your own toilet paper)

God bless us everyone.... Joy in 2011!  And, thanks so much to all of you who have supported me, my endeavors and my cathartic blog this past year! Many, many,blessings.
CARPE DIEM! 

"When I get lonely these days, I think: So BE lonely, Liz. Learn your way around loneliness. Make a map of it. Sit with it, for once in your life. Welcome to the human experience. But, never again use another person's body or emotions as a scratching post for your own unfulfilled yearnings." — Elizabeth Gilbert (Eat, Pray, Love)

I wasn’t planning on posting anything pre-Christmas, but an episode of The Today Show the other morning, featured a segment on the Loneliness Epidemic. Apparently, surveys show ten years ago, 20% of the 45-49 year old population, claim to  suffer from loneliness a good majority of the time.  Today, that number has increased to a shocking 35% suffering from Chronic Loneliness.  These figures do not include the demographic who are recently widowed, unemployed or divorced.... life events which could justifiably trigger loneliness.  The lonely appear to be people in relationships, with children, and great careers. What’s going on?  Folks have the mobility and opportunity for more engagement than ever before.  Our calendars are stuffed full and we  are busier than we’ve ever been. Combine that with the social networking capabilities and it hardly seems there would be a second of the day whereby we couldn’t have all the socialization and connection our little hearts seem to desire.  So, what’s the deal? 

This episode coincided with a party I was at recently and the question was posed, “Aren’t you lonely?”  It took me by surprise, and even more shocking was my immediate, thoughtful, response.  I said, “Sometimes...  Mostly not.  I am as busy as I want to be, and I am really comfortable with the stillness and my own company.”  Later, at home, alone, lying in bed, I thought about my statement and wondered if I was just convincing myself.  Most of my life I have crammed way too much work, activity and people into my overflowing days only to feel tired and sad a good percentage of the time.  Why now, when my life is so quiet and simple, and I am alone so much of the time, do I feel so satiated and content?

I remembered Elizabeth Gilbert talking about loneliness in her book Eat, Pray, Love and found the quote.  It’s a beautiful statement of acceptance, mindfulness, and growth.  None of us are exempt from the FEELING of loneliness, and, what really is so bad about experiencing the FEELING of loneliness?  It’s really no different than feeling sad, when we are sad, or content when we are content. They are just feelings and don’t define us.  In actuality, they are all meant to be felt in order to engage introspection, catharisism, or push us to towards acceptance or change. 

There have been many times in my life, I have felt incredibly lonely lying next to someone else, in a crowd at a party, and sitting in a facility bustling with people.  What causes the feelings of loneliness when we are surrounded by people, have a significant other, or chatting away on Facebook?  

The key is authentic intimacy.  We all want to connect with people who accept us, know us and really, really get us.  This kind of intimacy can only be achieved when relationships are functioning in a healthy way.  Facebook and all the technology gives us a false sense of connection that will never fill us,  because it’s all about illusion, the image we want others to see of us. The Today Show moderator related it to being on a diet and eating celery to fill us up, when in reality it creates more hunger.  Real intimacy is about experiencing the good, the bad and the ugly and still accepting the other’s humanness.  We can only achieve that by looking into the eyes of another, taking their hand, listening and really hearing them; providing a safe haven for them to be who they are, as they are.  Yet, if we are unable to do this with and for ourselves, how can we expect to have the capacity to do this for another?  

A light bulb went on.  I discovered why I am not lonely these days.  I have developed an intimate relationship with none other than myself!   I know this woman (me).  I know her defects (she has plenty).  I know her attributes (she has plenty).  I have spent quality time with her. I have looked her in the eye and been able to see her soul, the Godly part of her that has taught her to cut herself some slack, drop the goal of perfection, be herself, authentically feel what she is feeling, eliminate the shoulda-coulda-woulda’s,  be honest with herself and others, and have some fun- because she is fun.  I “get” me now.  I’m great company. And, that makes all the difference in the world.  

Elizabeth Gilbert states her desire to no longer use others bodies or emotions as a means to feel better. It’s only temporary.  For the first time in my life, I no longer feel the need to suck the energy from others in order to feel the rush of a false completeness.  I have found it by becoming best friends with the eyes in the mirror, and the holiness within.  Being alone may be a state of being from time to time, but loneliness is really just a state of mind, and the mind can be always be changed. 

Discovering our Holiday wings.....

I love this time of year.  For me, even with the commercialism, stress, and bustle of an inordinate number of seasonal activities, it’s a mystical, holy time.  From a religious perspective, whether you’re Jewish, Christian, Buddhist or of other beliefs, historically, December is the month of hope, enlightenment, freedom and new beginnings. I tend to   put on my Bah-Hum Bug repellant and avoid those with an Ebenezer mentality. Even if you don’t like certain aspects of the holiday, there is an undeniable air of love, generosity, and beauty about it.  From a purely asthetic standpoint, it’s magical.  I was struck by this, today....early Sunday morning, sipping a frothy Starbucks Sumatra cappuccino, (YUM - made by me.. ahem) sitting at my kitchen table, watching the biggest snowflakes I have ever seen drifting down, quickly coating any traces of green in my backyard.  It was dusky and the neighbor’s Christmas lights were sparkling through the trees at the back of my lot. It looked like an invasion of a hundred tiny fairies, (or Christmas elves) decorating the landscape for the upcoming festivities. As the sky lightened up, set against the purity of the snow on a branch of a tree, were two of the reddest cardinals I have ever seen.  I was moved to tears by the stillness and surreal Christmas card beauty right outside my window. 

I’m a sap this time of year too, easily moved by the smallest things.  I cry at the televised version of A Charlie Brown Christmas and Santa’s arrival at the Thanksgiving parade. My eyes well up at stories of charitable acts, or watching my littlest granddaughter’s face as Santa enters a room.  I have been known to weep looking at the Nativity at my church, an older couple walking through the mall holding hands, and even a Christmas card the other day, from a very special family that I admire.  

And, the smells!  I toured our local historic gem,  Kingwood Center Manor last week. Evergreen wreaths tied with berries and cloves greeted us at the front door, and provided just a sampling of the aromas that awaited inside...Orange slice ornaments, cranberry strings, angel hair pods, and aromatic herbs hung on a tree decorated solely with God’s ornamentation. It was eye candy for sure, but, the best part was the pungent, spicy perfume that permeated the entire room.   My nose has been pleasured so much in the past week.  The odor of shortbread cookies browning in my oven, freshly made wassail in a silver punch bowl, and the hickory smell of a crackling fire in the fireplace... where the stockings are already hung with care.  A recent shopping expedition took me past the perfume counter in a department store.  Someone had just sprayed Chanel #5.  It stopped me in my tracks.  As I sniffed the air, the tears started to flow, right in the middle of Macy’s.  They were good tears.  I was transported back 50 years to the vision of my mother, white ball gown mushrooming out around her tiny ankles showing off the 3 inch silver heels.  I can still see her perfectly coifed black hair, bright red lips, slender neck encircled by a rhinestone choker.  The most memorable accessory to her holiday party attire, was the smell of Chanel #5 wafting over me as she bent to kiss me on the check and told me to be a good girl for the babysitter.  I can never smell Chanel #5 without remembering the enchantment of my mother’s snow princess appearance at Holiday time. 

The sounds of the holiday evoke the same sentimentality and move my heart to a peaceful, faith filled place. I look forward to the predicatability of the processional hymn on Christmas Eve, Joy to the World, reverberating from the pipes of the organ at church.  I have heard it many, many times but it always bring chills, and jubiliant hope inside my heart.  Carolers are a bittersweet reminder of a Christmas Eve many years ago, when a local family extended their voices and generosity, right on our front porch.  A perfect gift for my very ill husband who was unable to make it to Mass to revel in the beauty of the music.  A dreamy respite by my tree, with O’Holy Night playing in the background is a ritual and a profound reminder of my spiritual obligation to be thankful every day for the gift of Jesus and His presence in my life. 

The best sound of all to me, is the tinkle of bells.  Every time I hear them,  gratitude fills my heart and I am reminded, what really makes this holiday so special to me.  This time of year, I feel a bond with George Bailey, from It's a Wonderful Life.  There were some Christmas’ many years ago, that I found it difficult to see my value as well.   Several "Clarences" appeared and helped me to recognize just how much one person’s life can impact another.  At the time, I felt like George, and really didn’t think my angels looked like much, fallen angels with no wings.... Angels Second Class.  They have truly earned their wings, First Class status, as well as a special spot, forever in my heart. I am blessed to have had many more "Clarences" pop up through the years to remind me, my life is meaningful, I have much to offer, and no man/woman is a failure who has friends.  I toast them all, for I know, I am the richest woman in town!  The bells are also triggers to joyful Christmas’ past.  I like to think of  them as kisses from those who cannot be with me in person, reminders that they still think of me. 

I love this time of year.... every snowy day, coffee savoring  moment of it. The best Holiday entertainment of all  for me is the silent watching, smelling, listening, and remembering.   

Never in a Million Years - A jog down memory lane to exercise my gratitude muscle....

Perusing the free lance writing opportunities the other day, I came across a contest for a magazine article that was topic driven.  The beginning sentence read,”I never in a million years thought I would........”  There’s that never say never decree, which I am trying to eliminate from my vocabulary these days!  Samples were cited to engage creativity. Like, I never in a million years thought I would get divorced; or, I never in a million years thought I would go back to school.   Hmmm.....Check mark.  Check mark. I have truly done so many things in my half a century on this earth; most people don’t get to experience them in several lifetimes.  How could I select a single experience, or just one life changing moment? Looking back, many of the changes that made a difference,  I entered into kicking and screaming, guided by an invisible set of hands shoving me in a direction I was either too scared to venture into, or, just flat out didn’t want to go.  I am not the best at selecting the path of what’s best for me. Quite frankly, I vacillate between charging ahead like a bull with my fingers in my ears, past the voice which screams "HALT".  Or more often,  ignoring the one that whispers, I know you’re scared and can’t see the benefit of this path, but take it anyway.  My second thought was, a million years is a really long time.  With so many lifetimes ahead of me, (God knows I need all of them for corrections to be made) I didn’t want to jinx my karmic bucket list and cherry pick my future! I’m sure the magazine was looking for the  transformational choices we make in our lives, but it still was impossible for me to choose just one, or ten, or even twenty.... So, I didn’t.  All of my “never in a million years” acts have helped to form the person I am today. 

 I can easily think of about a million tiny things (well, maybe hundreds) I never thought I would do.... like, eat escargot, bathe a deceased person,  cut my hair short, dance on a bar, wear a bikini again, date someone 17 years older, date someone 15 years younger, go a day without makeup,  wear ugly comfy shoes or elastic waist pants (horrors), selecting comfort over style. Getting naked in a spa in Europe was a big one as well as jumping out of an airplane.  As we age, and grow-up emotionally, we do tend to stretch our adventure wings more because our experiences have shown us that risk-taking and exploration are the best path to aliveness, freedom, and growth.  We learn through the process of success and failure that if something doesn’t kill us, it does indeed make us stronger, and braver.  

On a larger scale, I never in million years could imagine being able to forgive my parents for robbing me of my childhood, essentially abandoning my needs, and then later,  establishing loving relationships with both of them, growing to accept and appreciate their humanness before they died.  I never in a million years thought I would hear my mom’s wisdom coming from my lips, or mirror my dad’s work ethic and careful frugality. My God, I didn’t want to be like them at all.  I never in a million years thought I would have just one child.  I wanted a posse of kids.  My one child's spirit and nature became the biggest blessing in my life.  I never in a million years thought I could take such good care of myself and her as a single mom.  I never in a million years imagined I could get sober and live in freedom from the bondage of addiction, one day at a time, building to 23 years now.   I never in a million years thought I would have to bury my love, survive the grief of his death, and still be able to remain open to possibility of loving again. I never in a million years thought I could take so many risks, move beyond the numbing comfort zone of a steady financial dependability to pursue dreams or engage in some once in a lifetime opportunities that forced me to make the choice between security, or honoring my heart.  

 Looking back, so many mountains climbed, risks taken, sadness and joys experienced: moving  forward, no matter what, through the fear, metamorphosing into the unique woman my Higher Power asks that I be.  How is all of this possible?  I guess if I had to pick the one "never in a million years" I would  feel authentic writing about, it would be that I never in a million years, would have believed I could confidently relinquish control and have enough faith to know my life is playing out exactly as it should, no matter what.   When I turn my will over to my Higher Power, on a daily basis, the adventure begins.  The bottom line is,  it’s all about trust. That's the key that opens the door to limitless possibility. I'm like a toddler, wide-eyed with disbelief and wonder, taking its first stumbling, wobbly, steps towards a Higher Power who beckons me to just keep walking in His direction.  I just know He loves me enough to not let me fall any harder than on the padding of my bottom if need be.  Sometimes, we need to fall... to learn how to get back up,  step more carefully, or take a little break.  Trusting that anything can happen tomorrow, in six months, one year, or ten years. I CAN safely dream and believe my story is unfolding beautifully.  My predominant role is to stop, pray, hear, and step  forward  confidently in the direction of my God, who wants so much more for my life than I could ever in a million years, imagine.  

What's your never in a million years?

Shopping is a woman thing. It's a contact sport like football. Women enjoy the scrimmage, the noisy crowds, the danger of being trampled to death, and the ecstasy of the purchase. ~Erma Bombeck

Black Friday! The biggest shopping day of the year.  For me, it started a day early.  Post turkey feast, my daughter and I excused ourselves from the family gathering and scooted over to a store which decided to open its doors early and get a jump on the other retailers in grabbing consumer dollars. I decided the exercise would be excellent in combatting the 10,000 calories I consumed earlier in the day.  Unfortunately, it was all negated by the self- condemnation of partaking in an activity I said I would never, ever, do;  enter a store on a major holiday.  The guilt drove me to an extra piece of pumpkin crunch later that evening. Additionally, the caloric burden of having to eat my words, sent me into shame overload.  For years now, I've spouted my indignation at the retail establishments forcing their employees to work on Holidays for the few extra bucks it would add to their bottom line.   My rants about greed and a departure from family values were endured by my friends and loved ones.   I said, " Hey, nothing was open when I was a kid and we got by.  Holidays were sacred family time."  I should know better than to castigate others.  As we left the store in the pouring rain and drove away, I noted the tiny throng of poncho clad people, huddled under umbrellas outside the Toys R’Us,  due to open in six hours.  I heard the words.  They were emitted by my very own vocal chords....It was like viewing it in in slow motion.  My mind screamed....  Noooooooooo!  Stop! Don't say it!  Too late..... There they were.... those words, right in front of me.  I said, “That’s ridiculous. Nothing could entice me to endure that to save a few dollars. I will never do that. ” Horrified,  as I sputtered and tried desperately to shove them back down my throat, I could see it all so clearly.  I have yet to learn the karmic lesson of,  NEVER SAY NEVER.   Flash forward a few years.  There I am, shivering outside Best Buy on Christmas day....  blizzard conditions:  resorting to setting the post holiday ads on fire for a bit of warmth as I wait for hours for the doors to open so I can purchase the  bargain of the year.   When will I ever learn the lesson of non-judgment?

I do love to shop. I would make an incredible Personal Shopper.   Most of all,  I really enjoy the process of shopping; searching out the perfect gift for special people, something they love or wouldn’t buy for themselves.  A gift befitting their personalities, hobbies, or tastes. I’m not an underwear and socks kind of benefactor, unless of course, that’s your passion.  Often, I spend weeks just looking for the right thing.  So, in preparation for the 2010 gift giving season,  I have been all over the state this past month, experiencing the full spectrum of a variety of stores as well as perusing the Internet for just the right things.  My adventure has uncovered some gifts that have left me scratching my head.  Each to his own, something for everyone..... that’s one of the things that makes human interaction so awesome. In my shopping travelogue here are just a few of the items I have come across. I daresay, you probably will not (note: I did not say never)   find them under my tree. 

• A chokeable Sarah Palin doll.  She comes complete with accessories;  tiny Pit Bull, lipstick, and rifle (deer head and banana clip for her hair sold separately).  Pull her string and hear the shrill, Pee Wee Hermanesque voice say, “Yip, Yip, Yip, You Betcha, Absolutely,” and best of all, “In what respect, Katie?” Buy her, get Todd free. Todd comes with just one saying, ‘Yes, dear.”  

• How about Victoria’s Secret Bombshell Fantasy Bra.  3,000 brilliant cut Damiani diamonds, valued at 2 million dollars.   I mean seriously, wouldn’t we be able to feed the  entire population of Somalia with this over the shoulder bolder holder? The only breasts I could ever imagine worthy of this extravagance might be Mother Theresa’s.

• Bacon of the Month Club... What?  How many pig gourmands could there possibly be out there?   Obviously much more popular in the Western world... certainly a niche market. Buy the two year subscription, receive a free thigh master. 

• And of course, there’s the timeless classic, The Chia.  I actually received one of these once.  This year’s model, Obama Chia.  Within weeks of watering, just pluck bits of the President’s hair and toss it into your salad.  A real herbal treat and the kind of gift that just keeps on giving because, it keeps on growing! 

• How about a black Christmas tree? Who puts one of these up? The Munsters maybe?  It looks like something Edward and Bella Cullen would construct  for baby’s first Christmas?  Can you imagine the ornamentation?!!  No angel hair on this tree... maybe a little werewolf hair... He, he, he.

• I’m always on the look out for unique stocking stuffers, especially for the kids. I found a Rudolph candy dispenser!  Wind him up, he trots around expelling teeny little candies from his............ I decided the kids could live without it. 

• For the holiday table.... Get a jump start on those  January 1st weight loss resolutions!  Buy a Tofurkey?  Seriously, I saw one at Trader Joe’s.  You know what they say about tofu picking up the flavor of whatever it's cooked with.... As my eyes glistened with the excitement of venturing into new culinary territory, my daughter glared menacingly at me and said, “Don’t even think about it, Mom.”  She is intensely traditional.   She’s in her comfort zone with holiday food and doesn't mind feeling “crapulous” post Christmas dinner.  It's just a necessary result of the celebration and indulgence of the day  for her.  Puffy bellied naps after eating, sprawled in front of the fire, are part of the holiday festivities.  In case you’re wondering, crapulous is indeed a word and seems very fitting for this day of holiday food orgy.  It's a suitable description of the aftershock of our Christmas  dinner and was my e-mailed "word of the day" awhile ago from Merriam Webster’s expand your vocabulary lessons.   It means, sick from excessive indulgence in eating and drinking revelry.  Yes! Yes! Yes! Send the Tofurkey to Big Lots in China. 

Happy Shopping to all and to all a good buy!