you want to interview me?

Yesterday I got a call from a young woman who started the conversation with “you don’t know me but…”  and went on to explain an assignment she had been given in one of her classes at the local college; to find a person she didn’t know and set up an interview complete with video.     

“I love everything about your store and think you would be really interesting to interview,” she said.    

I laughed. 

Said,  “okaaay.”

And then stage fright set in.

What if I look fat?

Or ramble and sound stupid?

What if I’m not as interesting as she thinks I am?

What if the story is boring?
And she’s disappointed?

 Because, (as the demon voice tells me) when it comes right down to it, all I did was follow a dream, find a place to house it, and ordered a whole lot of stuff to fill it.  And now, three plus years into it, I show up each day to sell it.      

 “What’s so great or interesting about that?” I (with a small amount of insecurity) ask a friend later as I recounted the conversation over coffee.

She paused in mid sip to look at me.

Said, “Really, Dani? Are you kidding me?  Everything about you is interesting.”

 I looked back at her.

Said, “Really? You think so?”
 “Yes, I do.” she said (emphatically).

 I laughed. Nodded my head. 

Said, (a little more confidently) “Yea – I am pretty interesting aren’t I?”
“Downright fascinating.” she replied, extending her coffee cup to toast me.

Of course she’s my friend.

And just a wee little bit prejudiced in my favor.

But I’m going to go with it.

Trust her on this one.
Remember I am a Queen.

Try to keep it in perspective.

We’ll see.

My interview is at 2:00 today.
And (as I tell myself) it’s not like she’s Oprah and a hundred million people will be watching.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

Well - if you're interested that is.

(grin)

letters

source: Google images

Last night I was reading through my emails and came across a link to a website that deeply touched me.  It’s called “Dear Robin” - and it was started by a woman that turned her grief at her friend Robin's recent death into a cathartic, healing online space where people who have lost someone can leave their letters – saying the things left unsaid, or the things they wanted to say one more time.

Life has shown me (first hand) the importance of saying the things that are important to say in the moment, because sometimes it’s easy to put it off - thinking we’ll always have tomorrow until the day we don’t, and the opportunity to say the things we wanted or meant to say is ripped away from us without notice or warning. 

So I try to live in each day as though the last thing I say to those I love just might

be the last thing I get to say to those I love.   

Because in some cases it has been.  And in some cases I've been left wishing I could stop the clock and go back - not just to say the things that were (for whatever reason) left unsaid, but also to say the things I did say one more time because "I love you" can never be said or heard too much or too often.   

As I read through the letters on “DearRobin,” I thought about that. 

I have a beautiful blank journal sitting in my art room and I’ve been wondering what I wanted to do with it – how I wanted to fill it.  I know now.  It’s going to be a book of letters to those I love; those I hold; those I miss. 

Because although I try to always say the things I want to say in person and in the moment, I’m human and sometimes I can get caught up in the petty stuff that doesn’t matter as much as the important stuff that does.      

That, and (on the other side of things) I won’t be here forever either and I want to record it all -  as a daily reminder to me, yes, but also leaving something behind so there isn’t any doubt about who I was, how I loved who I loved, and what filled my days and my heart with joy.

Just in case.
Because even if it is said, it can never be said too many times. 

Not from my heart anyway.

(sigh)

Andy, Kelly and their "love child" Reeb

My youngest child, my precious little baby boy turns 30 next weekend.  Thirty. And he's getting married in May.

I don't have a problem getting older myself - I'll be the first one to tell anyone the best thing that ever happened to me was my 50's.  But my children?  I'm finding out that's a little different story. 

There is a part of me that wanted them to stay my little boys forever, even though I knew they had to grow up and move away and I would have to share them with the world.   

(sigh)

But, as I found out last March, the best part of letting them go to start their own families is grandchildren and I can't wait until my house is full of precious little princesses and princes.

So I guess I'll smile and be gracious about the whole thing as my last little boy blows out the candles on his cake next weekend.

All thirty of them. 

Time flies when you're having fun. 

the right question



http://www.bonesigharts.com/store/good-friend

This week I have had three separate conversations with three unrelated people – and to summarize, each woman is struggling with a “friend” who is critical and negative within a relationship that was best described (in our mutual assessment) as toxic.

My question for each of them was why there was a question about it in the first place.
Seriously.
Stay with me here……

To my way of thinking, life it too precious and short to work that hard at holding onto a relationship that is that painful, stressful, non-supportive and/or disempowering.  That forces us to change or compromise who we are in order to get along and play nice.

I’ve been in those kinds of relationships. The ones where I constantly walked on egg shells, edited what I talked about, downplayed my happy, minimized my good, dimmed down my light, and filtered each word before it came out of my mouth, measuring it’s potential to ruffle, rile or incite the other person.

And still, even with doing all that for the sake of keeping the peace, have them pissed off at me for reasons I never could fully understand or avoid.

Bleck.

I am reminded of a story from my counseling days of a woman whose husband wanted eggs for dinner – one fried and one scrambled. So she prepared the eggs as he requested and set the plate down in front of him. He stared at the eggs before glaring up at her, saying with disgust and disdain, “try again dumb-ass - you fried the wrong one.”

There are some people in the world for whom nothing will ever be enough. No matter what you do or don’t do; say or don’t say. You will (in their mind) always fry the wrong egg.

It is said that insanity is doing the same thing over and over while expecting different results and enabling is creating a comfortable environment for unacceptable or unhealthy behavior.

Why keep going back into the kitchen to start over – taking the same container of eggs out of the fridge; putting the same frying pan on the burner and thinking (hoping) this time it will be different?

Why do we so often feel obligated to put up with others’ meanness - justifying and making excuses for their unwarranted and undeserved bullying and abuse?

Instead of simply walking away.
Rolling up the welcome mat.
Drawing the shades and putting the “gone fishing” sign up in the window. 
Planting our feet and saying,

I am sovereign and being in my inner sanctum as a friend is a privilege.

I deserve to be surrounded by people who love me and cherish me and think I’m all that plus a little bit more, and I will not settle for anything less than that.

Why?
Because we don’t believe it ourselves.
And that's really sad - for a whole lot of reasons.
But most especially because we can’t attract to ourselves what we don’t have within ourselves.  
We can’t.

I speak from experience.

So for me the important part of the conversation isn’t about how you can get along with a critical mean person and maintain a friendship/relationship that feels toxic more often than it doesn’t.

Nope.

It’s about why you think you have to.
Or need to.
Or want to.
Or should.

It’s about whatever it is inside yourself that keeps you settling for less because you don’t believe you deserve more.

That’s the question to ask and where the change begins.

Well....at least it was for me.

it isn't you - it's me.

According to statistics there are:

• 800 million active users on Facebook
• More than 50% of active users “log on” to Facebook on any given day.
• More than 2 billion posts are “liked” each day.
• The average Facebook user has 130 friends and is connected to 80 community pages.

Wow.

I’m not one of those 800 million people.
Active or inactive.
I don’t do Facebook (or Twitter) – never have and don’t have any desire to start.
Truth be told, it scares me.

With 800 million active users, Facebook obviously serves a positive purpose for many - I just don’t see it (or want it) for me. It’s enough to live with the daily pressure of being “liked” and accepted out in the world, and although being in my fifties has helped me let go of  ALOT (most) of that, there is still (and probably always will be) a little residual pressure that remains.  I (read *I*) don’t need to add another device to measure myself with or against to the mix.

What if no one liked me? What if I wasn’t the average user and didn’t have 130 friends or wasn’t connected to 80 different communities? Would I take it personally? Would I assume there was something wrong with me and wonder what it was and how I could fix it?  Who I needed to be instead of me?

Would I “log in” each day and base my sense of accomplishment and worth on how many friends I had, how many requests for friends I had, how many "likes" I had, how many things I posted that were passed on from community to community – person to person?

Yea, I would.
Truth be told, I would.
Even though I would love to say I wouldn’t.

I have a tender heart under this strong and confident exterior.
I can be vulnerable that way.
And I'm ok with that.

And what about the “liking” back? What if some of the “friends” on my page weren’t really people I wanted as friends? What if I didn’t really want to be in that circle or associated with those people? In the non Facebook world I can just quietly and discretely avoid them without anyone else knowing. Be polite and courteous in their presence but keep my distance otherwise. Would I have the courage to deny them “friend” status and publicly dislike them or “un-friend” them?

I wouldn’t.
Truth be told, I wouldn’t.

I wouldn’t ever want to hurt anyone’s feelings like that.
Regardless of whether I thought they deserved it or not.
It's not necessary. Or kind.

So I (read *I*) stay away from it.
Because I know myself that well.
What I sometimes (still) struggle with – even being a queen.
How easily I could fall into comparing myself and coming up short.

I won’t do that to myself. It’s not worth the risk. I've done it before and I know how that story ends - not well for anyone and especially me.

So when you tell me how wonderfully awesome it all is for you and encourage me to try it before dismissing it, please understand why I won’t go there. Why I stand firm in saying “no thank you.”

And also, please know it isn’t personal.  It isn't about judging you (or Facebook for that matter) – it’s about me. Selfishly about me and knowing myself well enough to know what’s best for me and likewise, more importantly, what isn’t.

Really.
Truth be told.
You can trust me on this one.

i am soooo excited!!

Jane Cunningham: http://www.reframingyourstory.com/index.html

I started blogging in 2008, and over the years I have met some of the most amazing women and made some of the most powerful and life enriching connections. 

Like my soul sister, (Queen) Jane.

Years and years ago (in my wilder and crazier days) I met a Maori woman who tattoed the third finger on my right hand with a sacred symbol.  And I've watched The Piano, Once Were Warriors, and Whale Rider no less than hundreds of times over the years.

There is something about New Zealand that has always drawn me in - the land, the history, the culture.

But nothing and no-one more than Jane.  From the moment we first "met", I have felt what I can only call a "reconnection" of a sacred bond that I am sure we have shared with each other across many lifetimes.

I just love her.  For a hundred thousand reasons.

And NOW....now,  she has created and is offering something incredible out into the world and I am so excited!!  Excited that she's offering what she's offering for her, (realizing her dream) and excited to sign up for it myself and reap the rewards of what I know will be an awesome experience for me!

You have to check it out.....it's all about "reframing" your story and it's absolutely and divinely delicious!!   

This is what she says about it: "All of us have them....that part of our personal mythology where the ogres lurk.  Those stories we would rather orphan and leave in the cold, but are such a big part of us we trip over them again and again.


I want to take those stories, bring them into my magic workshop, hold them close to my heart, use my intuition and Reframe your story so you can see your story healed and hear it in a different way.


When your story returns to you it will be upcycled - minus the crappy bits but with the treasure visible for you to read over and over again....."  

I don't know about the rest of you, but I have a couple of stories that qualify for reframing - and I can't wait to have her take them into her magic workshop and hold them close to her heart and work her transformation.

And with that, I'm off to fill out my questionaire and get the process started!!

You know I'll keep you posted!!

The first Christmas after my sister died, I took my niece and nephew to the mall to see Santa.  A local hospice had set up three trees, filled with mirrored star ornaments to commerate and remember loved ones who had died. 

My nephew wanted to make a star and after writing her name and spending a long time circling the trees to find just the perfect spot, he placed it on the tree. We stood there for a long time in front of that tree, looking at her ornament, a shiny little mirrored star that said simply "mommy" in the handwriting of a 5 year old.

As we walked away and headed up the escalator on our way to Santa, my nephew kept turning around for one more look at the tree.  I pulled him close to my side and made a comment about being really sad, and he looked up at me, saying, "Oh no auntie, I'm happy.  Look at all the people mommy has to play with in heaven."

Yesterday was the anniversary of my mother's death, and the day Steve Jobs lost his battle with cancer.

I can't help thinking about the words of my nephew all those years ago and that all those we have loved and lost now have another person to play with in heaven.

Rest in peace Steve Jobs.  If there is one thing you left us to hold onto, it is the truth behind your words, "Those that are crazy enough to believe they can change the world, are the ones who do."

And these words, which will be my constant reminder:

Remembering that I’ll be dead soon is the most important tool I’ve ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because almost everything — all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure — these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart.” – Steve Jobs

       

what if.....

So tell me......

What are YOU waiting for?
What do you have to loose?

I mean really, seriously - what's the worst that could/would happen if you stood on the edge, turned your face to the wind, reached out with both hands and jumped?

What if you felt the tingling of fear - but went for it (what ever it is) anyway, without more than a minute's hesitation; more importantly without guilt or apology or making excuses?

What if you laughed out loud at everyone and anyone (including yourself) who said you can't do what ever it is you dream of doing because you're too big or too small or too much or not enough; because you don't deserve to wear a crown and hold the brass ring and be everything (everything) you ever dreamed of being with the possibility of a half cup more?

What if , when the little voice inside your head taunted "you really think you're something special don't you?" you simply answered "yes" and let that be your final answer?  

What if right here, right now, in this very moment, you took ahold of your life with both hands; pulling it in toward you, holding it close to your heart in a protective embrace and planting your feet firmly beneath you in a warrior's stance said,  "no more" to waiting or denying, giving yourself away, or giving up on yourself before you even  got started?    

What if you quit breaking the promises you make to yourself and started doing all the things that are on the list of what you wish you could or want to do with your one "sacred, wild and precious life" before you die?

What if the answer to "what are you waiting for?" and "what do you have to loose?" was, "nothing"?
NOTHING.
Not one single bloody g-d damned thing. 

If the answer to "who says you can't?"  and "what's stopping you?" was a confident,  "no-one (not even yourself) and nothing?"

And then you went out into your day to prove it?

As Glinda the good witch said, "YOU always had the power."
You did.
And still do.

What are you waiting for?

Just wondering y'all.
Just wondering.

makin' the phone call.....

Sometimes I really do.

Seriously. Pick up that phone and dial that number.
Like now.

Especially after yesterday.

A page from the story of my life right now : It started with me trying to get dressed with my limited selection of clean wardrobe items. (I can’t get up and down the stairs to do my laundry and don’t trust the hub to do it for me.) So I pull a pair of jeans out of the pile and attempt to put them on. Except I couldn’t button them because between the infusions, epidural steroid injections and cortisone over the last month, my fingers are (uncooperative) sausage stubs, I can’t see over my puffy cheeks, and my belly could be switched out with Buddha’s right about now and no one would notice.

So I get all frustrated and cranky and try to get them off, except the pain medication I’m on amps my internal (resting no less) body temperature to (roughly) 173.8 degrees Fahrenheit, and any activity makes it worse, so the jeans were sticking to my sweaty legs and wouldn’t let go.

It got ugly from there.

And no, it doesn’t take rocket science to figure out I AM NOT A HAPPY PERSON, nor am I having a whole lot of fun these days.

I’m pretty much cranky and irritable most of the time.
Prone to hissy fits (as my grandmother used to call them) and full on temper tantrums.

But all alone in the house with no-one to help me, I FINALLY get the jeans off and put on what has (for the most part) become my new uniform – a roomy “mumuesque” sundress that slips over the head, grab my crutches (yea – they’re back) and head out to the kitchen for a dish half gallon of (my new “cool me down” comfort food) - Spumoni ice cream.

I don’t know whether it was my huge cat laying in the middle of the floor; refusing to move or the hem of my sundress getting caught up in the rubber tip of my crutches, but the end result was that I lost my balance and tripped into my crutches, jamming my foot, falling over sideways - twisting my back and (as I would later learn) breaking a toe on (what was up until then) my good (walking) side foot.

(muffled scream)

Being all alone in the house, I was feeling like the old lady in the commercial crying out, “help me - I’ve fallen and I can’t get up.”

But I finally did get up and then….THEN……finally getting into the kitchen, and now needing my Spumoni more than ever, I find that the big pig my husband has scarfed down the last of my Spumoni without telling me OR replacing it. The freezer shelf is empty.

I see red. Start screaming (screaming) at him like I’m a crazy woman and he’s there. Imagine myself in a courtroom saying, “And that, your honor is when I decided he had to die a slow agonizing death and I beat him with my crutches.”

The only thing that saved both of us was that he wasn’t home.

Anyhoodles……so here I am today. Scowling and pouting with my arms across my chest, grousing (at every opportunity) about my pitiful lot in life. The ice cream thief hub (who conveniently stays just out of range of where my crutches can reach) won’t let me out of the recliner where I sit still somewhat plotting my revenge held hostage with heat packs wedged against my lower back, an ice pack taped to my bruised and swollen foot with the broken toe, and enough muscle relaxant in me to keep me immobile and somewhat harmless (to myself and others) while he tries to redeem himself by playing Florence Nightengale.

Which is (all things considered) probably a good thing.
I don't think I'd look good in a prison orange jumpsuit.  Even with a crown.
Just sayin y'all…….
Just sayin.....