Being Queen

Scattering Joy

2012-01-28T09:04:00.002-06:00

Yearsago I started journaling a gratitude list. I had a mentor at the time who had given me a two week assignment, and Ican remember telling her (after a week) that this whole gratitude thing wasstupid and wasn’t working. She told meto keep at it for another two weeks. Andthen another. And another, and well, here I am all these years later stilldoing it. It wasn’t stupid and it didwork then and still does today.

So I’mcruising around the internet the other night and come across a blog with areally fun project called “The Little Bliss List.” As creator Liv Lane writes, “It’s like a gratitude list, but rather thanjust being thankful for the things I have…I want to be thankful for the way Ifeel….sharing a list of the bliss in my midst, reflecting on moments over thepast week where I’ve caught myself in a sense of wonder, contentment, and truejoy.”

It doesn't take more than that to convince me!

I’m in!!

So, so, so in.
Sharing bliss andscattering joy.
Love it.

My onelittle word for 2012 is embrace and my tag line is, “let your life be wonderful”and I can’t think of a better way to do that than by practicing gratitude andsharing blissful joy.

Although the goal of the party is to post a little bliss list every Friday, I figure it’s okthat I’m a day late the first time out of the gate – somehow I don’t thinkbliss cares what day it’s shared…….as long as it is.

So without further ado, here’smy little list of 5 things that brought bliss into my midst this week – and where and when I felt a (sincere) sense of wonder, contentmentand true joy:

1.) Facebook. Yea I know – I balked and fought it for along time. But I have reconnected with aside of my family that has been long separated and estranged. And it feels wonderful. (In fact I had a conversation with my niecejust this morning!)

2.) Mynew “Smash” journal. When the box fromAmazon came, I couldn’t wait to open it and pull out my journal! I touched each page, even held it up to mynose and took a deep breath. There’sjust something so magical about the smell of a new book – especially ones withblank pages just waiting to be filled.

3.) Redtulips. I LOVE red tulips. 3 dozen ofthem on my desk in a round vase that used to belong to my grandmother and whereshe always arranged her red tulips too.

4.) Mygranddaughter, the most precious Princess Olivia. She doesn’t just walk now, she runs. To everything – with her arms outstretchedand wide open. And the way she brings methings, saying, “grrr” (which I know means grandma) demanding my undividedattention and settling for nothing less. (As it should be.)

5.) Thesweet customer who came into my store bearing a piece of triple layer chocolatecake for me yesterday and presented it to me as she told me how much she lovesmy store and everything in it and how much joy it brings her to spend time herein the “sanctuary” I’ve created.

more and less

2012-01-17T07:13:00.001-06:00

“There comes a time in your life when yourealize

you have more yesterdays than you have tomorrows.”

(Grey’s Anatomy)

I am now a card carrying memberof that club
I have more yesterdays than I do tomorrows.

I’d never thought of it that way.

Well – never as more than a fleeting thought anyway.
And it’s kind of weird to think about really.
But important.

Statistically speaking, average life expectancy figures give me another30 years – and while on one hand that seems like a lot of time, on the otherhand, it doesn’t feel like nearly enough.

Especially when I look at my children. And my precious baby granddaughter.

Knowing with a certainty thatbrings tears to my eyes that one day, long before I am ready, I will be calledto leave them.

And just that quickly, I’m thinking about those tomorrows (and my lifein general) in a different way.

How will I spend tomorrow?

What kind of yesterdays will I add to my existing accumulation?
Will the glass holding my last remaining years be half full or halfempty?

Will I raise my glass in a toast, holding it high in anticipation forwhat is still to come or will I look at what has already been consumed and holdonto sadness or complications or resentment or worse, regret for what hasalready passed by or happened and can’t be changed?

And maybe ( just maybe) it’s not about doing and seeing and being morethan I already am and having more than Ialready have as much as it’s taking what I’ve done, the places I’ve been andeverything I’ve seen and sitting down comfortably in the middle of my life - lettingit be good and easy and graciously simple for the rest of my life.

Yep – it’s somewhat weird to think about.

But it’s important.
For me anyway.

Because this is where I choose.
Where I set the intention and the mood and the stage.
The proverbial hill where I plant my flag.
Where I decide whether to live in the years that hold my yesterdays or theyears that hold my tomorrows.

The choice seems so much more important to me now than it did when I wasyounger and had time stretched out in front of me in what seemed like anendless supply.

And I want to choose wisely.

Intentionally.
Consciously.
Mindfully.

Every moment of every day of every year of the rest of my life.

Because I can’t get any of those yesterdays back. Or change them.
Only the tomorrows.

It’s kind of ironic – at the start of the year I declared January as theofficial “let your life be wonderful” month, but now I realize that one monthis not nearly long enough. There’s awhole lot more wonderful out there and I am going to be in pursuit of eachsecond of it.

“There comes a time in your life when you realize you have

moreyesterdays than you have tomorrows.”

Yea.

And maybe that realization changes things for you.
Like it did for me.

It is said that at the moment of our death we are held accountable not just for what we did in our life, but also for what we didn't do. The opportunites for happiness and joy and love and laughter we let pass by.

I don't want to miss one more moment of any of that.

And so I look at the glass in my hand still holding enough liquid totake some lusty gulps and I raiseit in a toast, “For all that has been, thank-you. For all that will be, yes.*”

Bring on the wonderful - for tomorrow and for yesterday.

For it all.

However long that is.

(*a simple prayer by Dag Hammerskjold)

Happy New Year?

2012-01-07T07:35:00.000-06:00

The New Year typically finds many of us reflecting on where we are in our lives and thinking about improvements we'd like to make. Most of the time, our resolutions center around things like losing weight, exercising more, eating better, or taking time for ourselves, etc.

Most of us start out with commitment and resolve only to find ourselves back where we started in a matter of weeks or months. All we really achieve in this cycle is an increased sense of frustration and guilt because once again, we didn’t keep at it and follow through with what we told ourselves we were going to do - and then we’re left feeling awful about ourselves.

It’s time to stop that insanity.

The longest spiritual journey ever undertaken is the 18” between

your head and your heart.

Ask most people what they want for their life and the “thinking” answer comes easily. They’ll tell you they want to be happy, or have a life surrounded by love. They want to be more authentic, live wholeheartedly, or be successful. They want to have more time to pursue their passions or their dreams.

So, if it’s so easy to identify the want, why do most people find it so hard to envision it, integrate it and live it?

I’ve found it to be 3 simple things: intention, definition, and action.

Want to know more? I have a step by step guideline to help you!! Click here for Chapter 2 of The Divine Gift of You - and start building your foundation for a really great 2012!!

no thank you

2012-01-05T09:16:00.000-06:00

Distance yourself from negative people. – Every time you subtract negative from your life you make room for more positive. Life is too short to spend time with people who suck the happiness out of you. Let go of negative people, for they are the greatest destroyers of self confidence and self esteem. Surround yourself with people who bring out the best in you. (Mark and Angel Blog)

Yea.

That’s my new mantra for 2012.

Where I say, (politely but firmly), "no thank you" to people who suck the happy and confident right out of me.

Especially since right now, I feel like I’m a pawn in the middle of a battle of wills that I don’t want to be involved in or fight.

(sigh)

It started out with a person who is known as a bit of a bully telling me (angrily) what I can and can’t do, or what I should and shouldn’t do about something that isn’t any of her business in the first place in front of people who then felt it was their right to tell me (in my personal opinion just as forcibly as the bully) what I should and shouldn’t do about it or take from her.

And even though they tell me they are just looking out for me, (and I believe they believe they are) what they don’t see is that from my end, it feels the same.

It’s just another version of bullying.

No matter how prettily it’s wrapped.
Or how empowering it seems on the surface.
It’s still being shoved on me.
Forcibly. Passionately.

Both sides are (in effect) telling me what I should and shouldn’t do in a situation based on their own perceptions, personal agendas and/or triggers, about what's right or wrong, and no matter what kind of positive spin they try to put on it (whether for me or for them) or how well they justify their stand - to me, it all shakes down to be the same thing in the end.

And the hypocrisy (am I the only one that can see it?) makes me want to bang my head against the wall in frustration.

So, feeling a little battered after the latest onslaught, I was debriefing with my bff on the phone:

“What did you say?” she asked.
“Nothing” I say, somewhat dejectedly, “I just sat there and took it.”
She laughs. “No you didn’t,” she says, “I know you better than that. You were saying all kinds of things back to her in your head and formulating a plan for how you would handle her in the future weren’t you?”
“Yea, I was.” I admit with a smile.

And we both laugh because she knows me inside and out - exactly what I do and how I do it in my own way and in my own time.

Years ago I came up with the perfect antidote for situations that leave me feeling somewhat impotent. With the help of a simple little graphics program, I take the offending person’s head and put it on a cow body.

imagine a mean, negative person's head on this body

It works every time.

In the privacy of my own mind.

Without taking hostages.

Much better (for me) than the thought of an ill prepared and awkward confrontation that has my heart pounding and my stomach tied up in knots.

Yep - it might have looked like I sat there and “took it” to others looking in, but the truth is, I didn’t.

So this is my stand and where I plant my flag; just because you can take someone on and battle it out, doesn’t mean I can or want to or should, nor do you have any right to expect me to. Likewise, just because you didn’t stand up to a bully in your own life doesn’t mean you can force me into doing it so you can live vicariously through me.

Maybe if we all thought about that before forcing solutions on others that aren’t ours to force, the world would be a little gentler and kinder place.

Bullying is bullying whether it's for "good" or "evil."

And sometimes what appears to be a positive on the surface is really nothing more than a negative in disguise.

Just sayin’ y’all.

Food for thought.

For what it's worth.

(wink)

(she waves) bye, bye 2011

2012-01-01T09:30:00.105-06:00

OK – 2011 is over. And I can’t say I’m exactly sorry to see it go.

In fact if my truth be told, I’m kinda like, “Good-bye, good riddance – and may the door hit you (hard) on the ass as you leave.”

Now don’t get me wrong – in many respects, it was the best year ever! My granddaughter, the (cherished) Princess Olivia was born. And I can and will say she is truly one of the brightest and most sparkly lights in my life – for many reasons too numerous to list. And I will hold to my heart and treasure forever the memory of my son’s face as he placed his precious newborn daughter in my arms and said “here, Grandma.”

It doesn’t get much better than that.

But 2011 was also one of the hardest and heaviest and most painful and (at times) overwhelming years I’ve had in a while.

When I stood on the threshold of 2011 and chose my “one little word” for the upcoming year:

truth – as in tell the truth, know the truth, seek the truth,

I had no idea what kind of truth seeing and telling and seeking and discerning lessons and opportunities for growth I would be given.

Nope.

I was pretty much only thinking about Jesus saying, "And you shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free" as I (ok - naively) envisioned myself frolicking (merrily, happily, and joyously) through 2011’s meadows of sunshine and light, saying “no thank you” when I wanted to, or “I don’t want to” when I didn’t, without feeling encumbered or responsible or obligated or guilty.

You know – that kind of truth telling.

But the universe had other plans and lessons for my one little word.

This quote was on one of my 2011 journal pages:

When a person shows you who they are, believe them the first time. When a person tells you who they are, pay attention and listen closely instead of arguing with them because you want them to be someone else. (Maya Angelou)

All I can say is be careful what you wish for because it just might be granted. Because in my case (in this case) it was.

Certain people I thought loved me showed me they didn’t. Certain people I thought were my friends showed me they weren’t. Certain people who told me they would be with me forever, left without a goodbye.

Every single relationship I had was shoved up under the light of uncompromised truth. I accept that it had to happen, and in fact I opened the door for it to happen and asked for it by choosing truth as my focus word. And, I can also say that right now today, I am in a better place for it – clearing out the muck and yuk of toxic or negative relationships leaves wide open space to focus on the good, positive and supportive relationships, which is what I wanted in the first place.

It’s just that, well (inserting a whine here)…..it was a bitch and some of it really, really sucked - you know?

Then, as if all that relationship moving and shaking and upheaval wasn’t enough, my own body turned against me as a final hurrah, and I was forced to become really cognizant of the relationship I had with it too.

The doctors thought I had leukemia, but the tests showed I didn’t.

So then they said lymphoma, and I was poked and prodded and force fed glow in the dark chemicals and scanned – only to find out it wasn’t that either.
And then I had to have a hysterectomy with 8 weeks of recuperation.
And I was barely recovered from that when my back went out and I was unable to walk (without crutches) for 6 weeks.
And although I’m walking (for the most part) on my own again, I have had to make major changes in lifestyle and I’m not exactly always gracious about it. (Although I’m working on it.)

Then, the whole back thing brought up memories (flashbacks) of the night I went backwards down a flight of stairs and laying on the cold cement floor of the basement, told my nine year old self that there was no-one I could ever trust to protect me or help me and I was (and always would be) on my own. I had stuck to some version of that story for 45 years and it really needed to be held up to a new light of truth in today.

All of that mentioned above left me a little too aware of my powerlessness.

A little more vulnerable that I’m comfortable with.
And a little scared.

(pausing to catch my breath)

So you can see why, at the threshold of 2012 where I once again choose my “one little word” – I was a little gun-shy.

But as they say…..no guts, no glory, and I have always been a bit of a scrapper. I am a queen and it’s not in my nature to shrink and hide in the corner.

But I can be a little less arrogant.

So, (taking a deep breath and ok – crouching down just a little bit) here goes……

My one little word that I release out into the universe for 2012 is:

em·brace

1. to take or clasp in the arms; press to the bosom; hug.

2. to take or receive gladly or eagerly; accept willingly: to embrace an idea.
3. to avail oneself of: to embrace an opportunity.
4. to adopt.
5. to take in with the eye or the mind.
6. to encircle; surround; enclose.
7. to include or contain.

That’s it. Embrace.

As in embrace the wonder and joy and blessings in my life. As in embrace giggles and laughter and fun. As in embrace deservedness, and sovereignty and sacred. As in embrace love and friendship and family. Embrace it and hold it close to my heart.

This is where I have always laughed out loud and said, “Let the games begin!”
“Come and get me, my one little word.”
With gusto, “Bring it on!”
Maybe that's where I got in trouble - sounding like I was throwing down a gauntlet or something.
So this year I'll still say it, but change the tone of my voice.

And add something.

A humble (yes really) little plea.

Hey Universe, I'm still feeling a little battered and dinged from 2011, so could you maybe be a little gentler with me and my one little word this year?

Please?

(Seriously. It can't hurt to ask.)

Right?

a week....just a week

2011-12-27T09:47:00.000-06:00

Christmas was wonderful this year.
I got all the things on my Christmas list.
Well…everything but snow for a white Christmas.
And a miraculous recovery for my back.

But that’s ok. Everything else more than made up for the absence of those things.

This year we added a princess to the family and there’s just something about a little 8 month old with her eyes open wide, drawing in her breath, reaching out her hands and saying “ohhhh…” to all the pretty and sparkly that brought a little added magic and wonder to the day.

She even said “grandma” as she came to sit on my lap. (OK, so it sounds a lot like “Guh” but I knew what she was saying!!!)

And it was really awesome to receive a phone call from my youngest brother saying “Merry Christmas” first thing in the morning – especially since we’ve been estranged and haven’t spoken to each other for years.

And texting the day’s events as they unfolded with another brother. And calling all the various and sundry relatives to wish them a Merry Christmas across the miles.

It just felt so good. And complete. Everyone present and accounted for in each other’s lives.

It was quiet and peaceful. Warm and comfy.

I kept looking around the gathering and thinking about how blessed I am. Truly blessed – in the things that matter most.

The things of the heart.

That’s what I’m carrying into this week – as I am surrounded by the extraneous details – like a week of ordered bed rest or sitting in the recliner to give my back a chance to rest before going in for my final epidural, and a new full set of MRI’s.

And although I initially balked at being shut-down and shut in this week – after yesterday, when I spent the day napping and resting and watching movies I’ve been wanting to sit down and watch but haven’t had the time, I thought I just might be able to do this sitting still thing – and actually enjoy it without bombarding myself with all the hundred thousand things I “should” be doing instead.

For a week.

Just a week.

So, I’ve got a couple of movies ready to stream on my laptop.
And a couple of books I’ve wanted to read on my nightstand.
My new ergonomic pillow.
And fuzzy red fleecy sheets on my bed.
My comfy lounging wear.
A tin of Christmas cookies on my lap and a cup o’starbucks in my hand.

Because the doctor said so, y’all.

And I promised to stop arguing with him about what I need to do to take care of myself.

Well....for this week anyway. (grin)

wait.....

2011-12-26T14:20:00.000-06:00

.....you missed one.

Right there - see it?
That unwrapped gift, right there by the tree.

The best present you could ever give.
Or receive.

The most important one to open.

Ohhh.....I get it (nodding my head in understanding)....
you were saving the best for last.

Of course!

It's here!!
And it's awesome.
Just waiting to be unwrapped.

Click here for the scoop!!

i sent you

2011-12-22T08:58:00.000-06:00

Past the seeker as he prayed, came the crippled, the despairing and the broken. His heart breaking at the injustice, the man stood before God and cried out with great passion, “Great God, how am I to believe in your loving benevolence when you see such suffering in the world and yet do nothing to stop it?”

God replied, “ I did do something. I sent you.”

(Sufi teaching)

“I sent you.”

Last week we all heard the stories about random strangers walking into K-Mart and Walmart and paying off lay-away balances. Or the woman who stood in the toy aisle at Target and handed out fifty dollar bills; the man dressed up as Santa handing out hundred dollar bills and the person in the Starbucks drive-through who handed the clerk five hundred dollars and told her it was to pay for as many people’s orders as it would pay for that day.

And that’s only the stuff we heard about. The stuff that made the news and went viral.

Behind those front page stories are the untold stories of hundreds of thousands (and more) small, random acts of kindness.

Because there are those who remember our most important reason for being here.

To love each other and take care of each other.
Those who witness the despair and the broken, and more than just talking about it,
do something about it.

In big ways and small ways – it doesn’t matter.

With money or without.

What matters is the intention.
And the action.
Most importantly, the extended wide open heart behind the action.

The opportunity to put love (in whatever form) where it is most needed.

Because we belong to each other.

And we need to take care of each other.

Because even a loving and benevolent God can’t be everywhere and do everything on His own.

He (unlike we) not only knows that, but graciously accepts it.

Which is why he sent us.

To fill in the gaps, patch the holes and finish the sentences for each other when it is most needed.

So no-one has to do this thing called life alone.

Or feel alone - bereft.

So we all have someone to witness us, in our joy and in our sorrows.
So that we, having been witnessed ourselves, can witness others.

In ancient tradtition, it is taught that we experience (first hand) that which we are to heal in ourselves – all the barricades we’ve built that have hardened our hearts and keep us from living wide open love so that we can then “pay it forward” - using our own experiences to extend compassion, hope and healing to others.

Not bemoan our lot in life.

Or complain about all the pain and suffering in the world.
Neither of which changes anything and only puts even more suffering (albeit our own) out in the world.

“Great God, how am I to believe in your loving benevolence when you see such suffering in the world and yet do nothing to stop it?”

And God, smiling upon us as He takes our hand patiently explains, “I did do something. I sent you.”

That's what I'm thinking about today.

gotta share this......

2011-12-18T09:33:00.000-06:00

"When you stop chasing the wrong things you give
the right things a chance to catch you."

As you know, I am an avid blog hopper. I LOVE reading blogs. And I love when I find a blog that inspires me so much, I spend hours reading all the archives - just to soak it all in.

That's how I felt when I came across Marc and Angel's blog. It's an awesome blog full of lists on various topics - in fact the above quote is from their "30 things to quit doing to yourself" post.

Ok, so at the risk of sharing "too much information" - I have a bulletin board on the wall directly in front of my toilet. You might be tempted to think that (or me) wierd, but hang on......it's the first place I go in the morning when I wake up. And so, my bulletin board holds the things that inspire me, the things I want to remember, the things that I want to start my day thinking about.

Makes sense doesn't it?

Things like: "When you stop chasing the wrong things, you give the right things a chance to catch you."

I encourage you to hop on over to "Marc and Angel Hack Life" and do a little reading. Especially the "30 things to quit doing to yourself."

I can't think of a better springboard for some empowering New Year's resolutions.

Seriously - it's that good.

hey santa....

2011-12-17T08:08:00.000-06:00

“I’m dreaming of a white Christmas…..”

One of the really good things about moving from the West Coast to Wisconsin was the guarantee of a white Christmas.

As a person who grew up in sunny SoCal, there’s just something about snow that makes Christmas, well, a little more festively Christmas.

But this year, for the first time in the 12 years we’ve been here now, it looks like that’s all it will be - DREAMING - of a white Christmas instead of having one.

(My inner child stomps her feet, crosses her arms across her chest and pouts.)

I want snow.

If I have to live here, separated from family and long term friends during the season of gatherings - I at least want to look out the window and see snow to bring a smile to my face and make the loneliness a little more bearable.

And I want it now.

Is it really too much to ask?

The part of me that still believes in magic listens to the weather forecast and says, “what do they know? They can’t predict the weather that far in advance” while the part of me that lives in this scientific realm of technology is wondering where to buy that snow in a can stuff that I can spray on my windows to at least give the illusion of snow covered windows from the inside of my house.

Yep, I want snow. Lots of it.

(sigh)

I’m off to write a letter to Santa – hoping there’s still time for it to reach him. I’ve been (pretty much) a good little girl this year, and I’m keeping my fingers crossed that he has more pull with things like weather than the forecasters.

I’ll keep you posted!

strangers?

2011-12-15T08:39:00.001-06:00

One time I saw a young girl alone with a baby. It was a crisp winter morning and her hair shone dark purple in the sun. She was panhandling outside the Holiday Inn and the door clerk came out and told her to be on her way and quit bothering people and she said “but I have no place to go” and I wondered if anyone would recognize the Madonna and Christ child if they happened to meet. I remember thinking it’s not like there are any published pictures and purple seemed like a good hair color for a Madonna so I gave her a dollar just in case. (Brian Andreas - StoryPeople)

What would we do if we were faced with the purple Madonna?

Would we notice?

And if we did, would we hurriedly walk by, averting our gaze and thus minimizing her existence? Would we tell her to be on her way, whether overtly or covertly, by our words or our avoidance?

Would we give her a dollar and continue walking, feeling good for doing something nice for another or would we stop and talk to her? Give her not just money, but something much more important – giving her acknowledgement and extending our heart. Maybe even offer to hold the baby for a while so she could rest her arms, maybe hold her hand for a while so she would know she was not alone - even if only for a few minutes?

Out and about in the world, I think about that a lot.

There was a song in the 80’s that asked the question, “What if God was one of us? Just a stranger on the bus trying to make his way home?”

We don’t really know, do we?

Yesterday I was at the salon. Sitting out in the 'holding zone' / reception area, waiting for my turn to be beautified, I took in all the activity around me. I love watching people and observing life as it unfolds around me.

So, I watch....people sitting, coming and going. And I kid you not - each and every person
was in the middle of a cell phone conversation and/or texting, and/or face buried in a
magazine.

Well except for me and one other woman who is watching me watching them and grins at
me, saying, "It's a statement of the world isn't it?"

I laugh nodding my head and we strike up a conversation. About nothing in particular - about stuff that's important and stuff that isn't. About woman stuff. "Small talk" as it used to be called. She tells me of a book she's been reading and we find out we have much in common. We talk some more.

She asks me about my cane, and hearing my story tells me she’s sorry I have to be going through all this. It's a bittersweet Christmas she tells me, going on to explain that her daughter-in-law just miscarried the first of the month and it would have been her first (and long awaited) grandchild. "I'm so sorry" I say, meaning it with all my heart because I’m a new grandma and I can’t imagine the world without my precious little princess. My heart not only heard her pain, but saw it - in her eyes, in her posture, in the way she bowed her head and looked away, just for a moment.

I reached out and put my hand over hers. She laced her fingers with mine. And we sat there for a moment, silent - honoring, connecting and healing by shared, conscious presence.

We both could have so easily missed the opportunity to reach out to one another – to take care of one another, to be there for each other.

Covertly or overtly.

Plato wrote; “Be always kind, for everyone you meet is fighting their own battle.”

We all long for someone to care about us, to notice us, love us, smile on us, be kind to us, maybe even hold our hand or embrace us in a hug – letting us know, in the midst of our battles, that we aren’t alone. That we matter.

The purple Madonna outside the Holiday Inn, the stranger on the bus just trying to make their way home, or the person standing next to us in line - does it matter? For in the end, I believe we are all looking for the same thing - a tangible, heartfelt connection - someone to say "I'm here, I see you and I care."

Out and about in this world of busyness, technology and "social media" - I think about that a lot.

Maybe we all should.

the divine mother

2011-12-14T09:21:00.000-06:00

I’ve been reading Clarissa Pinkola Estes newest book, “Untie the Strong Woman – the Blessed Mother’s Immaculate Love for the Wild Soul.” It’s a perfect read for this time of year – as we await the birth of the son (sun) and the transition into the new year.

And I’ve signed up for Shilo Sophia McCloud’s “The Red Madonna” tour.

I can’t wait for that!

About five years ago when I was doing research for my thesis on ancient women’s spirituality, I met (and got to spend a weekend with) an incredible woman named Dale Allen who wrote, produced and performed a one woman play titled “In Our Right Minds.” It was an anthology; tracing the history of women from the ancient Goddess to modern day, and although there were so many aspects of the play that profoundly impacted me, this song has stayed with me through the years. (It’s a rewrite of “O Holy Night” called (now) “O Holy Dawn.”

As I read further into Clarissa’s book, the song keeps playing in my mind, especially this part:

“Rise to your feet, hear the ancient voices of love within - feel her strength and love within. O love Divine, O love, her love Divine.”

2012 is said to be the year of the divine and sacred feminine. A time of reconnection – a time to bring the sacred mother back from her exile.

She’s calling us - her daughters, home. Home to her, home to love, home to the sacred circle of our inherent divinity. Have you heard the whisper or felt the stirring deep within your heart and soul?

the divine gift of you

2011-12-10T10:43:00.000-06:00

A while back my dear friend and soul sister Big Juicy Jane told me I was Christmas.

I laughed out loud with glee and clapped my hands together in delight. It was (then) and is still (now) one of the most awesomely bodacious things anyone ever told me about myself.

So it's the season of gift giving - and as I think of the gifts I'd love to give out, the gift of belovedness keeps coming up.

The great Jesuit philosopher Henri Nouwen wrote that our greatest purpose for being here is to give each other the gift of our inherent belovedness. That has become somewhat of a life mantra for me - I try to live it, walk it, embody it and fulfill it.

So at the beginning of December, as I sat down to write out my Christmas gift list, I heard the whispered calling and knew what I wanted to do.

I wanted others to know themselves as Christmas, to be given the gift of themselves as dear Jane had given it to me.

I've been creating a workshop called "The Divine Gift of You"
And I offer it freely, devotedly, lovingly from my heart and soul to yours.

It's almost ready.
And I'm really excited to unveil it.
So excited that I'm not going to wait until it's all done to start spreading the word.

Each week I'll be putting up a new "chapter" here on the blog.
You can follow along here.
And to add a little icing to the cake, I've created a gathering place if you'd like to take the journey in the company of an incredible group of women over at "Being Queen" my private online "NING" community.

So - here's the preview - click here
And if you want to join the community - here's your special invitation.

I'm on a roll.....

2011-12-08T08:41:00.000-06:00

Ho! Ho! Ho!

Yep - I’m on a treat making roll!

My little club cracker cookies* turned out so well (I’ve already made two more batches) that yesterday I decided to make my famous (guaranteed success) Red Hot Cinnamon Candy Popcorn.

(*My dear friend Sally Sunshine told me the cracker cookies are actually called “PMS Cookies” – which, given the salty and sweet nature of them totally fits! Oh, and by popular request, I’ve included the recipe below!)

OK - back to the popcorn!

A little warning if you decide to make a festive little batch…..
It’s addictive.
Seriously addictive.
Especially if you love candied popcorn.

I started with a little helper:

My favorite present under the tree! (which is where she wanted to be most of the day)

And then gathered up all my ingredients:

4 bags of microwave popcorn – popped. (I use “buttered” popcorn but you can use plain)
½ cup butter (do not substitute margarine or spread for the butter)
½ cup sugar
½ tsp salt
¼ cup light corn syrup
1 cup cinnamon ‘red hot’ candies
¼ tsp baking soda

And got started:

Preheat oven to 350

1. Melt butter in saucepan.
2. Stir in corn syrup, salt and cinnamon candy.
3. Bring to a boil and continue to boil (stirring constantly) until all candies are melted and dissolved.
4. Reduce heat to medium and boil without stirring 3 minutes.
5. Remove from heat; stir in baking soda.
6. Pour mixture over popped corn – mixing well.
7. Spread on cookie sheets and bake @ 250 for 30-40 minutes, stirring every 15 minutes.
8. Immediately turn out onto waxed or parchment paper to cool.
9. Once cool, break apart and store in airtight containers or zip lock bags.

And voila!

It’s red and bright and cheerful and festive!!
And incredibly yummy!
Enjoy!!

And now….. as promised, the recipe for “PMS Cookies”:

Keebler Club Crackers
1 cup sugar
1 cup butter (no substitutions)
1 tea. vanilla
½ - 1 cup (depending on taste) sliced almonds

Pre-heat oven to 350
Line cookie sheet with parchment paper
Lay out individual crackers side to side, filling the cookie sheet
Melt butter in saucepan
Add sugar and vanilla
Bring to boil, stirring constantly to avoid burning
Boil for 3 minutes (start timing at the first sign of “bubble”
Pour mixture over crackers
Sprinkle almonds over top, patting down carefully (mixture is hot)
Bake for 10 minutes.

Take out of oven and let cool
Break apart and store in airtight container or zip lock bags.

So how about you? Got a really easy holiday treat you make?
Share!! Share!! Share!!

Let's start our own little "recipe exchange" right here!!

tis the season to be merry

2011-12-04T11:10:00.000-06:00

The season of baking and candy making is upon us.

Can I get a Ho, Ho, Ho?

I love the whole concept of baking and cooking and creating meals and fixing food.

Of gathering people around my table and feeding them.
I can loose all track of time watching The Food Network channel.
And spend hours perusing Allrecipes.com.
I dvr “Chopped” so I don’t miss an episode.
I idolize Nigella Lawson and Paul Deen.
Along with buying groceries, I also throw all the food/recipe magazines in my cart at check-out. My cookbook collection spans two full shelves in my pantry.
One of my favorite movies is “Like Water for Chocolate.”
I once stole a magazine from the doctor’s office waiting room for its really awesome cupcake recipes.

Yep, you could say it’s a passion with me and I live on the fringe of obsession.

And you would probably think, given what I’ve just told you, that I’m a great cook.

But, you’d be wrong.

Sadly, (shaking my head) you’d be wrong.

(sigh)

It’s not that I didn't try.

Each time I'd find a new recipe, I would be filled with positive intention and anticipation, but then, despite my “you can do this” pep talk, whatever I’d made never turned out the way I thought it should turn out, or looked like the picture, or lived up to the expectation I'd placed on myself.

Bleck.
I would always end up raining on my own parade.

In my defense, I come from a long line of perfectionistic and phenomenally great cooks on my maternal side. I mean REALLY, REALLY GREAT cooks who made everything from scratch and could turn the simplest ingredients into a (literal) work of art – laying out a spread on the table that had people drooling over the sight and smell alone.

So the push for culinary excellence is deeply embedded in my psyche.

And now, it’s the Christmas season. Time to do a little festive baking and candy making – filling decorative plates with delectable morsels. The pictures of holiday delights grace the cover of every magazine on the stands – taunting me.

I can’t avoid it.

Or divert my gaze.
Or stop myself.
It’s literally everywhere I turn.
And I fall victim to the allure – setting myself up for failure.

Because I come from a long line of phenomenally great cooks and think I should be one too.

Until this year. Yep, "take me out of the oven I'm done" I say.

I sampled these great little Club Cracker Cookies at a Holiday Open House recently. “OMG” the hostess laughed when I raved about them and asked for the recipe. “They’re so easy, my 13 year old daughter and her friend made them.

Really?

My heart skips a beat.

Easy enough for a 13 year old?
I can’t get into my kitchen fast enough.

And all I can say is stand back and behold girlfriends:

Yep – I made these.

They turned out beautifully!
And they're beyond yummy.

I laughed out loud with glee and delight as they cooled on the counter.

And although I know the long line of phenomenally great cooks that make up my lineage are rolling over in their respective graves, I’m proud of myself.
And I had fun.

Years ago I told my husband I wanted piano lessons for Christmas. So he went out and bought me a piano and 6 months worth of lessons. I was so touched, I cried. I went to a month’s worth of lessons before I finally realized that although I love the piano, I was definitely one who was meant to enjoy it rather than play it.

And that’s okay.

Because we all have the areas we excel in and the areas we don’t.
That's the way it was always meant to be, before we got all caught up in being super powers and putting the pressure to excel in everything upon ourselves.

I can walk into a room and design it from the ground up with ease. I have an incredible eye for texture and design and color and flow. Likewise, I am phenomenally great with fashion – and can transform an outfit with a few well chosen and placed accessories. And I definitely have a gift for talking with people - making them feel welcome and comfortable and at ease.

So….so what if I’m not exactly a kitchen goddess?

I love the concept of baking and cooking.

I enjoy watching cooking shows and reading cooking magazines and books.
I enjoy being in the kitchen when I feel like being domestic.
For the simple pleasure of it and the joy it brings me in the way it brings me joy.
I admire Nigella Lawson and Paula Deen - but I'm not them.

I am me.
And that’s more than enough.
So, I’m enjoying my festive little cracker cookies.
Because it is the season to be jolly, merry and bright after-all.

Ho! Ho! Ho!

kicking off december in style

2011-12-01T09:13:00.000-06:00

Yeah!! It's December. I LOVE December. I love the magical festiveness in the air - the sights and smells and specialness of it all. And yes, being a Queen, I especially love dressing up and bedecking myself in glitter, sequins, sparkle and shine.

Especially when it comes to shoes.

With the back situation as it is, I've been wearing industrial type clogs with orthopedic inserts. And while they serve their purpose and I really do love my Danskos, there is just something about putting on a sassy little pump that makes me laugh and believe I can still twirl and dance my way across a floor.

Yep - so when my eyes first feasted on these beauties, there was no question they would be my "go to" attitude adjustment "must haves" and I clicked on "add to cart" without hesitation.

So I do have them - they were delivered yesterday.

And they're on my feet right now this moment.
Every time I look down, I laugh in delight.

That's what December is going to be about for me- remembering and embracing the joyful wonder that surrounds me.

There are plenty of opportunities for the profound and reverent in the holiday season - but there also needs to be room for fun and laughter.

And that often comes in the simplest ways.
With simple things.
Like a pair of sassy and bejeweled red slings without orthodic inserts.

Really.

speaking of grandmas

2011-11-29T08:29:00.000-06:00

The most loving relationship in my life was with my paternal grandmother. From the moment I was born, I knew without question that I was one of the great loves of her life and the cutest and most precious little princess that ever inhabited the earth.

In fact she’s the one who made sure I (and everyone else) knew I was a princess – and never missed an opportunity to tell me how cherished and precious and loved I was.

When I told her I hated my curly red hair and freckles, she told me each freckle represented a kiss from an angel and my curls were where they had run their fingers through my hair as they sang me to sleep with their lullabies.

I still think of that today, 50 years later – and it makes me smile.

I spent many weekends with my grandmother – and we had our little rituals – a stop at the drugstore (back in the day when they had soda fountains) for hot fudge sundae’s and then to the bookstore, where we’d spend hours browsing the aisles, and then back to her house where she made coffee with a french press, pouring us both a cup with lots of cream and taught me the fine art of sipping it slowly through a sugar cube held between my teeth.

(Uh-huh – no surprise that today, my favorite comfort food is a hot fudge sundae and my favorite places to seek sanctuary are Starbucks and Barnes & Noble.)

My favorite place to play was in her closet, and nothing was off-limits. I put on her silk dresses, fur coats and embroidered velvet dressing gowns, clipped her diamond earrings on my ears, fastened her bracelets around my wrists, rouged my cheeks and put kohl around my eyes – and stayed that way for the whole weekend.

I felt beautiful. And sovereign.

She never made me take it off – even when we left the house and went out in public – and when people would comment, she would say (with pride), “My granddaughter is a free spirit” smiling politely at those who dared to question my eccentricity or the appropriateness of my attire.

She was like a fierce lioness when it came to me – protecting me from the harshness of the real world – a world that was trying to fill my head with its lies of being too much or too little – not just as a child, but also into my young womanhood and my own evolving roles as wife and mother.

My grandmother’s house was a fairy tale Queendom where I reigned, and there was nothing I couldn’t do or be. I was witty and smart and creative and she not only encouraged me, but also applauded me.

And loved me deeply. And never missed an opportunity to let me know that.

Now I am a grandmother myself - blessed with a precious little princess of my own. And one day, when she tells me she hates the freckles that will surely grace her cheeks (like my gradmother's and my dad's, and mine and her daddy’s), I will pull her into my lap and tell her each freckle is where the angels kissed her goodnight just before singing her to sleep with their lullabies.

Along with all the other stories I will tell her - stories that leave no room for her to doubt she is one of the great loves of my life, or that she is a princess – born to one day be a queen.

It’s going to be easy – because she is all that, but also because I have the best role model to emulate – in my own grandmother. There has never been a question in my mind of what kind of grandma I want to be.

I want to be to my granddaughter what my grandmother was to me.
Love. Purely and simply and gracefully and unconditionally.

Yesterday was my day to have the princess. We sat in the recliner and read books together – which is something she already loves doing. Later, I hauled out my grandmother’s french press and the little coffee cup that was mine as a child and will now be hers, telling her the story about the tradition we'll soon be sharing.

She giggled – showing off her two brand new little teeth. I added sugar cubes to my grocery list.

And then, I asked her if she knew how much her grandma loved her - and for the second time that day, she held her arms out to me.

I think she does.

But I'll still be taking every opportunity I'm given to tell her.

my precious

2011-11-28T19:54:00.000-06:00

The Princess Olivia - 7 months old

Monday's are "grandma day" with the Princess. This morning, as my daughter-in-law was lifting her out of her car seat, I said (as I always do) "there's my precious" and she giggled and held out her hands to me for the first time.

It just doesn't get much more precious than this - and she knows it.

But then of course she does - she is, after all my granddaughter - and I don't miss a single opportunity to tell her.

change

2011-11-27T09:19:00.000-06:00

I am Catholic, and for about 40 years I have recited the same prayers and petitions and proclaimed my faith with the same words each weekend during mass.

Until this weekend - the first weekend of the new order of worship.

I will admit, there was great comfort in the old familiar. Of knowing exactly where we were in the mass and what was coming next. Of knowing what we were saying and why. Even if it was a little rote.

For instance, at the very beginning of Mass, the priest always greeted the congregation by saying "The Lord be with you" and congregants responded: "And also with you." The response is now : "And with your spirit." During the Eucharistic Prayer, church goers previously said “It is right to give him thanks and praise.” Beginning this weekend, the response is “It is right and just.”

During the reciting of the “Lamb of God,” the faithful no longer say “Lord, I am not worthy to receive you.” The new verse is “Lord, I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof” and, in the Nicene Creed (profession of faith) the phrase "one in being with the father," is replaced by "consubstantial with the Father."

The changes, we are told, is so that the mass can be celebrated in English to better reflect the way it was celebrated in Latin. A closer and more literal translation. More formal and less colloquial.

I don’t like it.

It feels cumbersome.
A little distant.
Too formal.

I liked the user friendlier colloquial aspect. I liked a more touchable and tangible language to connect with God. I mean, (outside of the mass) I dare you to use “consubstantial” in a sentence.

For the last month, the church has been preparing us – we were given the new prayers to study and learn in preparation for the change this weekend. I know change takes time, and this will take time – especially for those who, like me, have been praying and proclaiming the same words each weekend for decades.

And finding comfort in them.

Being comfortable in them.

I don’t know about all this, and I could argue several points about the language and literal translations and changing times and culture.

But then I think about how Shakespeare’s plays are performed in the language they were written – even though we don’t speak that way today and times have changed.

“The Lord be with you” the priest says extending his hands.

~~"And also with you."~~ "And with your spirit." We reply, extending our hands back.

(moment of silence)

We’ll see how it goes…..

Thanksgiving

2011-11-24T08:00:00.000-06:00

What are you grateful for this Thanksgiving? Write it on your hands with big bright Sharpies and then, place your hands next to your heart.

May you have love that never ends,
lots of laughter and lots of friends.
May happiness be yours, in whatever you do,
and may God send many blessings to you!

May you always walk in sunshine.
May you never want for more.
May angels rest their wings right beside your door.

May joy and peace surround you,
On this most blessed day,
May happiness be with you now,
And bless you ever more.

(Old Irish Blessing)

It's mine and I like it.

2011-11-20T09:46:00.000-06:00

In the retail world, it’s already Christmas. In my quaint little historic downtown district, this weekend is the kick-off and I’ve been working 12 hours a day this week getting all the decorating and arranging and merchandizing done before the downtown tree lighting, parade, and my “open house” on Sunday.

It’s been a daunting task – mostly because it is the one place my otherwise controlled perfectionism reigns. Even though I’ve had plenty of offers of help, I choose to do it all myself because I have the vision inside my head and I want it the way I want it.

I’m really possessive that way.

OK – maybe a wee bit egotistical even.
I want it to be awesome.
Magical.
Bodaciously delicious and fun.

I own that about myself and will be the first one to openly admit it.

Even when I whine on occasion about all the hard work that goes into it.
I live, vicariously through my store.

And for me,my store is more than just a store with a bunch of inventory to sell. It is a sacred space – a place to gather women and start conversations. It’s an outwardly creative expression of me – who I am, what I’m about, what’s important to me and the message I want to share.

It’s my canvas.

A work of my finest art.
A reflection of me.
It is.
And personal and at times, self indulgent.
I’ll be the first one to admit that too.

So, last week I’m bustling around and getting a lot done - finally feeling a little light at the end of my chaotic boxes to be unpacked and stuff to be put out tunnel when a woman walks in off the street with a briefcase and suitcase full of jewelry in tow. She introduces herself and tells me she wants to show me her wares which (as she emphatically assures me) will fit perfectly in my store and sell like crazy.

I look at it and disagree.

She goes all arrogant and patronizingly pushy/shovey with me and ends by saying, “Dani, in order to be really successful, you need to think outside your box and be brave enough to order something that isn’t your personal taste because being successful isn’t about carrying just what you like or don’t like, it’s about carrying what your customers would like.”

I look at her dumbstruck.

Oh no, no, no sweetheart.
You better back that truck up.

“You see all this?” I ask motioning around me, “It’s mine and I own it - and because it’s mine and I own it, I get to make all the rules and decisions and define success on my terms – not yours. I’m the Queen and this is my domain and you have no right to come in here with your unsolicited advice and try to take what’s mine from me. In fact, I’d suggest you take your own advice and think outside your box – being brave enough to accept that not everyone wants to buy what you are selling just because you’re selling it.”

Seriously.

My point here isn’t about some woman who walks into my store off the street and tries to force me into buying jewelry I’m not interested in buying. Nope – it’s about life in general - the principle and the practice behind this specific incident.

It’s about all the people who sit on the sidelines looking in, paying more attention to what we’re doing than what they’re doing; waltzing into some portion of our lives thinking it’s their right to tell us what we should be doing instead of what we’re doing, or how to define the things that aren’t theirs to define in the first place , trying to sell us something we didn’t ask for or don’t want and then manipulating us into feeling bad or wrong or guilty for not wanting it or buying it so we’ll buy it.

No thank you.

Your truth isn’t necessarily mine, just as my truth isn’t necessarily yours. What makes each of us come alive, what brings us joy, what brings laughter or tears, what we want surrounding us and filling our spaces is as personal and individual as we are. What you are inspired to build might not be what I’m inspired to build, but I will respect you for what went into building yours if you can respect me for what went into building mine, instead of trying to tear it down and change it.

And -when you have walked along a similar path and shared similar experiences, I’ll listen to where you were, where you are now and what you did (for you) to get from there to here with an open heart and mind. I might even change some things based on your experiential wisdom. But I won’t listen to apples trying to speak orange.

Nope.

I won’t.
Just so we're clear y'all.

So today, I’ll open my doors and I’ll serve you cookies and hot chocolate at my fourth annual "Holiday Open House". I’ll talk and laugh with you, and tell you stories about everything on the shelves of my store. And yes, I’ll hope you love the things I love as much as I love them and you’ll find something you can’t live without and you’ll buy it. But if you don’t, I’ll hope you at least had fun while you were here and cheerfully wish you a happy holiday as you walk out the door.

And I'll be thinking about that saleswoman telling me what I needed to do to be successful - and I'll laugh. Because honestly, I think I have a really good handle on it. By my terms and definition anyway.

XXOO

time will tell the rest

2011-11-15T09:33:00.000-06:00

I have a box of treasured mementos on the top shelf of my closet. An eclectic gathering – each representing a fragment of my life. One of the items in my box is a photo of my brothers and I - taken when we were children . We’re lined up on the swing set in our backyard; squinting in the late afternoon sun and smiling for the camera.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve pulled that picture out of the box over the years, holding it in my hands as tears filled my eyes.

Tears of sadness and regret.

Tears of longing.
Tears of wishing it could have been different.

Oprah Winfrey once defined forgiveness as giving up the hope that the past could have been any different.

I have done that for myself. I have accepted my past; the absence of my father, the conflicted relationship with my mother and everything in between because I can truly and sincerely say I came out a better person for it. I didn’t fall into the familial pattern of addiction, alcoholism or abuse or pass it on to my children.

But I can’t say the same for my brothers, it’s there for each of them in some way, shape or form - especially my baby brother, who after outrageous accusations followed by six years of absolutely no contact with me, suddenly calls me last week.

I missed the initial call – and after listening to his message on the answering machine, said (ok – I admit it - cynically) to my husband, “he’s either found God or AA, and/or he needs money.”

So I call him back and he’s found God and sobriety and asks for my forgiveness.

And I tell myself he is my little bro.

And I love him – despite and in spite of everything.
Family is everything to me.
And he knows that.
How can I deny him another chance?

So I say yes.

I want to believe he’s changed.

That there are no ulterior motives.
It is what it appears on the surface.
That he’s missed me as much as I’ve missed him.

I tell him I didn’t do the things he accused me of doing.

He tells me that’s not important – and we aren’t going to bring up the past because it’s too painful.
It is painful. But it’s also important. To me.

Forgiveness as giving up the hope that the past could have been any different and accepting it as it is or was. I’ve done that in almost every situation. But I haven’t forgotten it.

In Al-Anon 12 Step circles, there is a question to ask oneself when dealing with unresolved resentment; “do you want to be right or do you want to be happy?”

I want to be happy.
I want my brother back in my life.
But ….. I also want vindication.

(Bowing my head somewhat ashamed)

I do.
Not for the past, but for the present.

I do want to bring it up and talk about it because it’s still hanging out there – untethered.

I want him to take back what he accused me of doing.
I want him to admit he wronged me so I can be righted.
Because as it ended up it wasn’t just between us - other family members turned against me to take his side, and it all got really, really ugly.
And broke my heart.

So here I am.

Searching my heart and my soul.
Praying to be given whatever I need to be given to do the right thing, regardless of the rights or wrongs of the past.

And my phone rings.

It’s my brother.
He needs money.
A substantial amount of money.

And I start crying.

Because I suddenly realize I didn’t want to be right at all when I told my husband, “he’s either found God or AA, and/or he needs money.”

I wanted to be happy.

I just wanted my brother back.
Without ulterior motives on either part.
Because he’s missed me as much as I’ve missed him.

So I said yes.

Because from the moment they were born, they belonged to me and it was my job to take care of them.
Old habits die hard.

I took the photo out of my box and held it in my hands as tears filled my eyes. I kissed my finger and put it to each face, before tucking it back away on the top shelf of my closet.

I don’t know how this will play out now any more than I have in the past when I’ve searched those smiling faces for clues. All I know is that for right now, we are all present and accounted for in each other’s lives and I will let that be enough.

Time will fill in the rest.

just one?

2011-11-03T09:42:00.000-05:00

So in the interview, she asked me what I’ve learned about life and what one message I would most want young women of today to hear……

Hindsight being 20/20 and all.

And I laughed. For several reasons. One, because it’s just like a 20 something woman (with her whole life ahead of her) to think the experiences of 5 decades can be summed up in one brief (and profound) message; and two because I remember what it is to be a young woman with my whole life ahead of me – wondering what a 50 something woman knows about life in the world that I live in.

So what have I learned about life?
My life?
A woman’s life?

Lots.

I know now that my greatest contribution to the world was never what I did in the doing, but
rather who I was in the being. That the kind of person I was from my heart was much more important, and more clearly defined “success” than the degrees I accumulated, the job I held, the house I lived in, the car I drove, or whether my work was published or not.

I know now that there were no ultimate solutions outside my self and that I was always
the source for the acceptance, approval and connection I sought in other people, places
and circumstances.

I know now that despite all the people I tried to blame at various times in my life, no-one but me held myself prisoner to unobtainable (and unrealistic) standards of perfection; expecting myself to have all the right answers for everyone and everything all the time.

I know now that “I don’t know” is sometimes the best answer.

I know now that true strength isn’t about being stoic or self sufficient or doing it all myself, but rather being able to ask for help when I’m over my head and pretending to be in control when I’m not.

I know now that despite the times I felt otherwise, I was never alone – there were always those who were there to guide me, encourage me and love me on my journey – if I had just loved myself enough to allow myself to be loved, guided and encouraged without judging myself needy or weak or somehow lacking in the process.

I know now that life didn’t have to be lived with such busyness, urgency, intensity and
always in terms of “tomorrow.” That I didn’t have to fill every second of every day being productive – and how important it is to leave room to do nothing more than sit back quietly - exhale and let go, and accept that despite my best attempts to confine it, control it, schedule it and/or manage it, life still happened on life’s terms more often than not.

I know now that the biggest difference between God and I is that (unlike me) he never, ever, thought he was me and more capable of doing my job than I was.

I now know that ‘not having time’ for myself was a self-created, isolating and limiting illusion and that it wasn’t ever about “finding” time, but rather making or taking time for what filled my heart and fed my soul.

I know now that life is precious and we aren’t guaranteed tomorrow to do or be or say the things we didn’t get to in the today.

I know now that my commitment to another’s happiness cannot be greater than their commitment to their own happiness and no matter how hard I try, I can never be the source of another’s happiness just as they cannot be the source of mine.

I know now that no person can ever love me enough to make up for how much I don’t love myself if I don’t and that I cannot give out what I don’t have within myself.

I know now that seeing my life as the glass half empty or the glass half full is a choice that is mine and mine alone. And that the good and bad in my life is only as good or bad as I allow it, define it or perceive it to be.

I know now that birds of a feather do indeed flock together, and misery loves company, but so does happiness and it is more than ok to be a lot more consciously discerning about where I fly.

But most importantly, I know now that anger, resentment, grudges and anything else that stands in the way of love is meaningless in the broad scope of what’s truly important. I know now that true grace is in the quiet and silent moments of just being, and true joy is in the simplicity of taking a breath and being fully present in the moment with those I love and those who love me.

And I know now that I know these things because I AM fifty something. I am a little more tired and a little less self absorbed; certainly much more prepared and willing to listen and learn the things I was moving way too fast to hear in my 20’s and 30’s and even into my 40’s.

So in the interview, she asked me what I’ve learned about life and what one message I would most want young women of today to hear……

And I wasn’t thinking of “young women” but rather my own daughters (in-law) and my precious granddaughter when I said,

“You are a blessing and a gift to the world. Remember that in everything you do and act accordingly. Put love first – always. Give yourself permission to say “yes please” when you want and “no thank you” when you don’t. Make and take time for what fills your heart and feeds your soul – without apology or excuse. And be kind – in your words and thoughts – especially with yourself.”

I’m not so sure the “young women” of the world asked for my sage advice, but my family is kind of a captive audience. Whether they want to be or not.

It is one small advantage of being the Queen Mother……..and I rather enjoy pulling rank every now and then.

you want to interview me?

2011-10-19T10:03:00.000-05:00

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

2011-10-17T09:00:00.000-05:00

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)

2011-10-14T09:53:00.000-05:00

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

2011-10-13T08:07:00.000-05:00

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.

2011-10-10T11:06:00.000-05:00

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!!

2011-10-07T09:29:00.000-05:00

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!!

2011-10-06T08:39:00.000-05:00

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.....

2011-10-04T08:40:00.000-05:00

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.....

2011-10-02T09:35:00.005-05:00

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.....

just sayin......

2011-09-30T09:55:00.000-05:00

source: tumblr

I was reading about a recent study where researchers found that women are the unhappiest we’ve been in 35 years.

I know, right? At first glance, a big “huh?” came to my lips too.

I mean, we’re all living large and creatively our loud, running around with wolves (and packed calendars), and as the 80’s manifesto on womanhood proclaimed; not only bringing home the bacon, but also frying it up in a pan (perfectly crisp no less), while never letting our man forget he’s a man, and um, (what’s the rest?) oh yea, roaring. (Well – some of us anyway.)

So, what the heck would we have to be so unhappy about?

The University of Pennsylvania researchers who conducted the study say, “While it's wonderful that women have more choice and opportunity than ever before, the increased opportunity and subsequent pressure to succeed in so many dimensions may have led to an increased likelihood in believing that one's life is not measuring up.”

Well, (slapping the side of my head) shut the front door, Francis.
Ya think?

Which reminds me of Katie Makai’s observation that, women will prowl 30 stores in 6 malls to find just the right outfit to feel good, but haven’t got a clue where to find inner fulfillment or how to wear joy anymore.

Could all this unhappiness be because we’ve been brainwashed into believing that our fulfillment comes in places it doesn’t exist and from trying to force our round selves into too small square holes?

If it’s true that we’re unhappier than we’ve been in 35 years, (and I believe it because I talk to women every day) I can’t help but think it’s because we’re living in a world that doesn’t fit us or honor who we inherently are. We aren’t hard wired to compete with each other and find ourselves lacking. We are hard wired to nurture each other. To support, affirm and empower each other. To tend the fires of hearth and home and create unified and loving community.

We were made to create, sustain, birth and bond; to tend, feed and nourish. Structurally, our bodies were designed to enfold and our arms were made to hold. We were made to be soft and seek peaceful comfort – in mind, body and spirit. We were made to love and follow our hearts – trusting in our intuition, inner knowing and sense of timing.

“……the increased opportunity and subsequent pressure to succeed in so many dimensions may have led to an increased likelihood in believing that one's life is not measuring up.”

What if (starting right now today) we stopped measuring ourselves against each other (or anyone else) and sat ourselves down, asking what made us truly happy and then, listening to ourselves, did what our hearts told us to do? What if we never had to feel embarrassed or ashamed or “less than” as a result of our individual choices? What if, at the end of the day, we didn’t care whether we “measured up” in the world outside ourselves? What if we finally took our power back and defined for ourselves what “living up to our full potential” and/or success meant?

And what if it was all bodaciously and deliciously not just more than enough, but also a half cup more?

I think they’d have different results to that survey, but then that’s just my (not necessarily humble) opinion and what do I know anyway?

Yea.
Just sayin’ y’all.
(wink)

2011-09-28T08:17:00.003-05:00

Oh yea. What if we spent today remembering and reconnecting? Would it make a difference?

for this we pray....

2011-09-26T11:33:00.002-05:00

Twenty something years ago, one of my dearest friends and I combined our spiritual traditions, and starting with the Penitential Rite from my religion, and praying an Al Cheit from hers, we created our own fall ritual.

Rising with the sun and packing up our journals, we would head out Hwy 22 to the Reservoir, a sacred place for both of us where we felt the majesty of God all around us in the splendor and beauty of nature. We spent the full day in silent reflection and writing, the only words we spoke out loud being lines from the prayers and petitions we recited together as we walked the paths, sat on the earth, turned our faces heavenward and let ourselves soak up the reconnection and oneness with ourselves, each other and God.

I was thinking about those times a lot this week. Missing them. Missing her. And thinking about how, despite our best intentions otherwise, the practice fell away into our fondly revisited bank of “remember when” in the wake of moves and miles apart and time zones.

So my phone rings at 5:30 am central.

“Are you up?” a voice asks.
“Yes” I say, (even though I wasn’t) stalling for time and trying to figure out who’s calling me at this time of the morning.
“Go to your computer – I sent you a picture.”
“What are you doing up and why are you sending me pictures?” I say, realizing it’s my friend and it’s 3:30 am her time.
“Just go check your email.” she says.

So I do. And it’s a picture of the Reservoir:

And then she tells me that she’d been thinking about our fall ritual a lot this week and how much she missed it, and that if we both looked at the same picture of the same place at the same time, it would be like we were there together and we could pray our prayers as the sun rose.

And so we did. Just like old times.

Starting with mine:

I confess to almighty God and to you, my brothers and sisters, that I have sinned through my own fault in my thoughts and in my words, in what I have done, and in what I have failed to do; and I ask blessed Mary, ever virgin, all the angels and saints, and you, my brothers and sisters, to pray for me to the Lord our God. May almighty God have mercy on us, forgive us our sins, and bring us to everlasting life. Amen. (Penitential Rite)

Adding hers:

We violate that which is Eternal when we violate ourselves: for our failures of truth, for acting out of fear, for paralyzing ourselves with our thoughts, for perpetuating vindictiveness by not forgiving, and for sustaining guilt.

We evade that which is Eternal when we evade ourselves: for those times I turned a deaf ear on the cries of children, and for those times I turned a deaf ear to the small child within me, for those times I believed I was alone, and for those times I believed my temporary difficulties were permanent.

We deny that which is Eternal when we deny our own depths: for the misdeeds we have committed with our bodies and our souls, for not being present in the moment, and instead being caught up in worry and fear, for not allowing ourselves to rest and to play, for focusing only on our shortcomings and not on our strengths and beauty.

We betray that which is Eternal when we betray ourselves: for the blessings I lost by not trusting myself and others, for the pleasures I failed to enjoy, the opportunities I failed to grasp, for withholding love and support, for being judgmental of myself, for doubting my ability to be loved and receive love from others.

By these namings, I acknowledge my errors, confront them, accept them, and commit myself to avoiding them in the year ahead. By these namings, I let go of fear, regret, bitterness and resentment, and in recalling this pain, I take responsibility for it, heal it, and commit to replacing it with joy in the coming year.

And I seek atonement.

And ending with ours:

Amen.

all these years later....

2011-09-22T09:16:00.000-05:00

Monday was my mother’s birthday. She would have been 73, and even though the 6 year anniversary of her death is coming up next month, my heart still skips a beat when I think of living the rest of my life without her.

I miss my mom.
I want my mommy.

The bereft little girl within me stomps her feet and screams in outrage at being left alone.
The bereft woman within me lets the tears of sadness and longing roll down her cheeks in silence.

Even now, all these years later.

I knew I would miss her, I just didn’t realize how much. I miss our phone calls. I miss our conspiracies and our laughter. I miss the security of knowing that however rocky our relationship may have been, she was never more than a phone call away.

And our relationship was rocky. We loved and hated each other with equal passion. My mother and I had been estranged off and on for a lot of years before she died, but for the last year and a half of her life, we worked on putting the pieces of our broken relationship back together.

Sometimes it was really good and sometimes it was a painful rehash of past history and resentments. My mom hadn’t really changed, but I had. Distance had given me perspective, compassion and understanding. And maturity.

I finally understood it was never about me personally, and I let her off the hook. And in that last week of her life, I never left her side. I climbed up into the bed with her and held her head to my heart, stroking her forehead, kissing her temple - whispering all the things I wanted to say into her ear.

For the first few days, she resisted me, but by the end, she held my hand as tightly as I held hers, and tried really hard to whisper back.

Maybe that’s what I really grieve – that brief period of time when nothing else mattered, when there was no history (hers or mine) big enough to come between us in those last days.

On the last day the hospice chaplain came out of her room into the sunroom and told me she was hanging on because she didn’t want to leave me alone in the world. All these years later I still remember that October day so clearly, the crispness in the air, the smell of wood burning in the fireplace, and staring out the window at the birdhouses and chimes that lined the eaves around the deck as a soft breeze blew through.

I nodded my head as the chaplain told me what I needed to do, and I walked down the hallway to her room, looking at each family photo that hung on the wall before climbing back into the bed with her. We lay there, face to face and I reassured her that I would be ok and she could go even though what I really wanted to do was hold on as tightly as I could and beg her not to leave me.

She died before I got the chance to ask her how I was supposed to live the rest of my life without her, because some days, even now, all these years later, I don’t know. I just don’t know.

Monday was my mother’s birthday. She would have been 73. And if she was still here, I would’ve flown out to be with her this week like I always did on her birthday. And I would have snuck out to buy her balloons for every year she was alive, and taken her out to dinner and made her wear a crown.

I miss that.
I miss her.
I want my mommy.

I so do.
Even now, even still, all these years later.

And Mom, if you’re reading this, Happy Birthday – I love you and I miss you.
More than either of us knew.

for the love of progress

2011-09-20T08:25:00.000-05:00

Yesterday was spa day – my day to sleep , rest and rejuvenate.

Those of you who have been reading my blog for a while know I have a chronic immune deficiency which requires an IV infusion of immunoglobulin every 6 weeks. Without it, my body has no resistance to bacteria, and even the simplest of infections becomes life threatening.

(I ended up in the hospital for 5 days and almost died from a pimple 4 years ago – not exactly a dignified way for a Queen to check out – ya know?”)

Ever conscious of the power of positive thinking, I dubbed the four hour infusion process “spa day” and the IV administered immunoglobulin my “go juice.”

Whatever works – right?

CVID as my illness is dubbed, has numerous side effects – one of the most impacting (for me) is chronic inflammation throughout the body. Which equals pain and sore aching muscles.

As if the immune deficiency wasn’t enough to deal with all on its own, I also have serious spinal issues due to an old war injury. For the last 3+ weeks, I’ve been unable to walk without crutches – because of serious inflammation in the back/spine and the resultant (excruciating) pain.

The best course of treatment for my spinal issues is a steroid epidural – which would be relatively simple in most cases, except that the steroids, along with bringing relief, also suppress the immune system. And I need three of them, 2 weeks apart.

Connecting my pitiful dots?

So the epidurals and the infusion of immunoglobulin had to be coordinated within a six week window.

And in that meantime I was in misery. Total and complete “I can’t do this anymore” misery. The ONLY thing that brought any relief were a combo of muscle relaxants and high level narcotic pain medication that pretty much left me non-functional.

I had conversations I don’t remember having. I lost whole days. I wet my pants. I fell (deeply) asleep sitting up at my computer holding a dish of ice cream and once in the middle of eating dinner with my head down on the table. I cried over nothing and laughed at things that weren’t funny. I felt bullet-proof.

(If you were the unlucky recipient of any of that – I sincerely apologize - really.)

BUT………..
I had the first epidural on Thursday, the infusion yesterday and in between slept 12 hours at a stretch.

And………
today is Day 5 off of crutches!!

Woo Hoo!!

I still have pain and I walk a little falteringly and I have two more epidurals to go – but I can handle it with a whole lot less medication than I was having to take.

And I put that in the “very good thing” category.

Oh – and in case you’re wondering, yes……I’m keeping my promises:

to listen to and honor my body.
to not push it so hard.
to lay it down and let it rest when it’s tired.
to never again take walking for granted.
to kiss my legs (I can’t reach my back) every day and say thank you. outloud.

I’ll keep you posted.

opening to who I am

2011-09-19T16:00:00.000-05:00

I receive all kinds of inspirational messages in my inbox each morning, and one of my favorites is my “morning bone sigh” from Terri St. Cloud. I lovingly call her St. Terri of the Clouds and if you know her, I’m sure you understand why. She’s the self made woman behind Bone Sigh Arts – a woman who shares the journey we all share, in words and images that speak to our hearts and souls.

Like this one that came today:

“ to let the love in
she had to put the fear down.
to put the fear down
she had to trust herself.
to trust herself she had to believe in herself.
to believe in herself she had to love herself.
to love herself she had to open to who she was. ”

“to love herself she had to open to who she was……..”

Who am I?
And what is it I have opened to?
Beyond and beneath the surface?

It might surprise you.

Not that what’s on the surface isn’t me – it is. But only a part.

And it’s not (for the most part anyway) that I purposely hide it.
It just doesn’t always come up in conversation because I no longer feel the pressure to marginalize or minimize myself by being the first one to tell you how imperfect I really am underneath that surface.

If you’re around me long enough, you’ll eventually find out for yourself because I’m too busy living me to live anything or anyone else these days.

I am creative, and passionate and eclectic and artistic.
I hate (hate) housework.
I am a free spirit.
I am smart and witty.
I read trashy romance novels for diversion.
I can be incredibly hard on myself.
I am fun.
And a loyal friend.
I spend too much money on clothes and accessories.
I don’t like everyone or want to hang around them.
I can be selfish.
I am compassionate (sometimes to a fault).
And a voracious reader.
I am kind.
I hate shaving my legs.
I won’t go out in public without make-up.
I create sacred space and have an innate ability to gather people together.
I believe in love.
I can get whiney.
I can be gossipy and judgmental.
I am a natural leader and teacher.
I love philosophical conversations.
I do a lot of service (volunteer) work.
I’m a mini hoarder.
I was bored by the book “Eat, Love, Pray” and didn’t finish it.
I try to live my life as a good person.
I procrastinate.
I make people laugh.
I cry at sadness.
I have days when all I want to do is nothing.
I’m a great mom and I have amazing children.
I’ll drink almost anything but plain water.
I don’t always finish what I start.
I make promises to myself I don’t keep.
I love my husband.
I get on my knees and pray every day.
I don’t like exercise.
I try to always do the best I can with what I have.
I’d rather eat out than cook.
I don’t facebook or twitter or want to learn how.
I am not neat, organized or tidy.
I have big dreams.
My desk is buried under piles of clutter.
I am somewhat daring and take chances.
I’m great at encouraging others.
I love being a grandma.
I once bought new underwear instead of doing a load of laundry.
I don’t always love myself.
I’m really bad at returning phone calls or answering email.
I can care too much about what other people think of me.
I’m generous and love giving things to people.
I practice please and thank you as a spiritual act.

So there you have it.
Me.

I’ll tell you that one of the greatest benefits of being in my 50’s is that I am (finally) able to be ok with who I am. To accept it and me. To no longer feel the need to point out my pathology in detail at every opportunity or think of myself as something broken and needing to be fixed.

It took a lot of years to let go of that – but having done it, I no longer feel like a fraud in my own life.

I am just me.
Gloriously human.
Warts and all.
Over all, I think I’ve turned out rather amazing.

There are some things I’m working on because I want to improve certain aspects of myself.
And there are some things I’m not working on because I’m ok with how it is or I am.

In the end, it really IS all about putting the fear down, trusting in myself, believing in myself and being open to love.

“ to let the love in
she had to put the fear down.
to put the fear down
she had to trust herself.
to trust herself she had to believe in herself.
to believe in herself she had to love herself.
to love herself she had to open to who she was. ”

Yep – that’s the story I want to share today too.
And St. Terri of the Clouds, if you're reading this today, thank you for the daily words that so often say exactly what I'm feeling with such simple profundity!

for the love of comfort food

2011-09-12T10:41:00.000-05:00

Growing up, the only kind of cereal allowed in my mom’s pantry were cornflakes or cheerios. Once in a while we might score and get sliced bananas or raspberries on top of our cereal but never, (and I repeat - never) were we allowed to sprinkle sugar on top. It was plain old (boring) cheerios or cornflakes each morning.

Like typical children, we begged and pleaded at the grocery store, but the answer was always a firm and non-negotiable “NO.” I believe my mother would have willingly died before she would’ve allowed a box of sugared cereal to sit on one of her shelves.

Which is not to say I didn’t have my outside sources for the contraband.
I did.
Sleep-overs at girlfriend’s houses and weekends at grandma’s.

The first thing my grandmother and I did on our weekends together was head to the grocery store. She would push the cart up and down the aisles and tell me I could have anything I wanted.

Anything. And not just cereal.

So I would choose all the really cool, yummy stuff – like TV dinners and canned chicken noodle soup with oyster crackers, boxed mac and cheese, a couple 6 packs of Tab and Dr. Pepper, Wonder Bread, chocolate milk and Fruit Loops. Oh, and a can of Spam so she could make her famous fried spam sandwiches slathered with Miracle Whip on the Wonder Bread.

All of which my mother would have died fighting before allowing into her house or feeding to her children. For my mother, the gourmet, food was art. For my grandmother it was about love and comfort and nurturing.

I haven’t been grocery shopping in about two weeks and my cupboards were (sadly) resembling those of Mother Hubbard. So, with me needing some groceries and my hub needing some stuff to finish a project, we head out to the Wal-Mart Super Center.

“You have your list?” my hub asks.
“Right here.” I say showing him.

I hop on a motorized cart, he grabs a basket and we each go off on our separate ways to accomplish our tasks and fill our lists.

But, the most amazing thing happened over on the cereal aisle. There I was, reaching for the box of Kashi, when I SWEAR I heard my grandmother tell me to toss away the list and pick out anything (everything) I wanted.

Really. Clear as a bell, I heard it. In her voice, the same way she used to tell me that when I was little.

I got a little teary eyed.
And I crumpled the list – going up and down the aisles, gathering my goodies:

Fruity Pebbles, Cocoa Krispies, Lucky Charms, Sugar Puffs and Captain Crunch with Crunch Berries. Cinnamon Life, Sugar Pops, Fruit Loops, and chocolate Frosted Mini Wheats. From there I headed off to find a loaf of wonder bread, a jar of miracle whip, 2 cans of spam and a half rack each of Tab and Dr. Pepper. Oh, and as I passed by the dairy, I threw in two half gallon cartons of half and half and a big flagon of hazelnut creamer for my coffee.

Grandma would have been proud.

“Ok - I’m done.” I say, motoring up to my husband in the hardware department.

He looks in my basket. At the nine boxes of cereal , loaf of white fluff bread, jar of miracle whip, 2 cans of spam, gallon of half and half and the creamer. A minute or two goes by.

“What happened to your list?” he asks.
“What list?” I answer.

He looks at me. Nods.
“Well then, let’s go.” he says (cherrily) and we head towards the check-out.

“Wow, you must really love cereal.” the young checker says as she scans the boxes.
“Love it. In fact I could eat it for breakfast, lunch and dinner.” says my husband.
“It kinda looks like you’re going to.” says the checker, giggling.
“Yep.” says my husband (resignedly) looking over at me.

Last June as we were celebrating our 31st wedding anniversary, a young woman, newly engaged, asked me my secrets for a long and happy marriage. I told her I didn’t know if there was a secret to it or not – and I still don’t.

But having a husband who loves me and (for the most part) indulges me in my idiosyncrasies and is willing to eat a bowl of cereal and fried Spam sandwich for dinner - and pretend he likes it sure helps.

All I can say is - that's LOVE.
It so definately is........

remembering 9-11

2011-09-11T12:11:00.000-05:00

source link

Ten years ago I was out west visiting friends and family. I was having such a good time, I had called the airlines in an attempt to change my flight back home so I could stay an extra day and fly home on the 11th. But, the only available ticket was on a flight that departed at 6:05 am, so I decided to keep my original ticket and fly home as I had been scheduled – on September 10th.

I’ll be the first one to point out that had I been able to change my flight and fly home on the 11th, I wouldn’t have been anywhere near the planes that went down that day – I was clear across the country on the West Coast. But an hour into my flight, I would have been on one of the planes that were diverted to Canada and landlocked there for 3 days until the air space was cleared for safety.

Being unable to change my flight didn’t have anything to do with keeping me safe or away from terrorism. I believe it was because, quite simply, I was meant to be home on September 11th - to do the work I was doing at that time as a grief counselor and lay minister. I believe I was brought home a day early to be at the vigils and lead the prayers that so needed to be prayed as we all staggered and were brought to our knees in the wake of terrorism and unfathomable tragedy.

The same prayer I pray today on the 10th anniversary of 9/11:

Today we humbly ask, Father, Mother, God,

that you would wipe the tears of all in need of comfort.

That you would warm the heart of one who would grow cold from bitterness.

That you would lift the head of one who is bowed down in sadness.

We pray now for the strength to rise again, build again, and love again

We pray that you will help us rebuild our broken lives and mend our broken hearts.

We pray that we might be an instrument of peace in a world that suffers, we pray that you

will give us the courage to face evil and the faith to believe that good will never be

defeated, and there is no darkness more powerful than the light of love.

Hold us close to your heart, Father, Mother, God, through our tears, and our sorrow.

May we see a vision of a new tomorrow, but may we also always remember that day, that

time, that our hearts felt - for ourselves, for those who went down in the flames of

buildings and airplanes, for their families and loved ones, and for the world that grieved with

us in our great tragedy.

Every one of us remembers the tragedy of that day clearly - the looks on the faces of those on the street, survivors and those searching for lost loved ones, the looks on the faces of the emergency personnel and first responders, and the incomprehensible devastation of Ground Zero.

But amidst those images and remembrances, I hope that today we also give thought to the days that followed 9/11 – when we grasped what was truly important to our hearts – when we reached out to one another across time and distance, when we forgave old hurts and laid aside inconsequential and/or petty differences – when we made time in today for what we had been putting off until tomorrow.

The Dalai Lama was asked what he felt when confronted by man's hatred and fear. He replied that he felt great compassion.

Not sorrow, or helplessness, not rage or fear, but great compassion.

And when asked what should or could be done about the violence in the world, he replied, "Turn towards one another and pray, unceasingly and without end."

That’s how I started my morning today. In prayer. For those who lost their lives, for those who lost loved ones, for those that have lost their belief in light overcoming darkness, good triumphing over evil, and love being more powerful than hate, for those who are still trying to make sense of a senseless act, for those who hold onto hatred and fear.

I pray. Today and all days.
That’s all any of us can do.
The prayers matter.
And make a difference.
Really, they do.

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.

Where there is hatred, let me sow love;

where there is injury,pardon;

where there is doubt, faith;

where there is despair, hope;

where there is darkness, light;

and where there is sadness, joy.

Amen

(from the prayer of Saint Francis of Assisi)

for the love of shopping

2011-09-10T09:15:00.005-05:00

And somehow, it all came together perfectly.........

Our very own Fairy Godmothers, Widdershins and Deosil were there...

I had the perfect pair of shoes...
(modeled for you here by a stunt double)

The "OPEN" sign was lit......

and the store was stocked with really, really cool stuff arranged really prettily.....

Don't you just want to hop in your car and come on over? (wink)

for the love of dreams

2011-09-08T06:33:00.222-05:00

Almost exactly three years ago, I quit my "day job", threw caution to the wind and followed a dream. I always laugh when people talk about formal "business plans" because mine was (quite literally) "why not?" with a little bit of "if not now, when?" thrown in for good measure.

"If you build it, they will come." (Field of Dreams)

The vision and passion behind the dream was to create a gathering space where I could empower women by giving them the gift of their own inherent sovereignty and divinity. And so the retail gift shop and wellness sanctuary was built. From the ground up.

And it was (if I do say so myself) a masterpiece of beauty, born out of love.

Shift Happens.

A lot happened this past year - all of it bringing me to a place where I knew I had to take a step back and look at where I was and where I wanted to be. Under the pressure of increasing overhead and a declining economy / recession, owning and maintaining a business wasn't fun anymore. The joy was gone and I wanted to get it back.

Some things had to go so that some things could stay. It was time to scale back and simplify. That's when I decided to move. Driving through downtown one day, I saw the "For Rent" sign in the window, and the rest is, as they say history!

my new space at 914 Clinton St.

The new location is only a block west of where I was, but I am nestled across the street from a coffee shop and tea house, next door to an art gallery and a hop, skip and jump away from a really cool restaurant with roof top dining. This neighborhood is like an artist's colony and I am so loving it already!

beautious and spacious - my blank canvas

So, when I first opened my store, I started off small and added to it over the three years - bringing in furniture, fixtures and display (as it's known in the trade) bit by bit and piece by piece. I had no real concept of everything I had until we started moving it all:

I have a lot of furniture, fixture and display. Not to mention box upon box of inventory.

It all came over all at once. Nestled, propped, lined up and stacked into every corner, nook and cranny. Standing in the middle of it, I can admit it was rather daunting. But just as I asked myself "where do I even start?" the girlfriends showed up - bearing gifts of coffee and candy; graciously offering up their time, creativity, companionship and able bodies!

We've spent the last 4 days unpacking and arranging and hanging and the blank canvas is being filled in and coming together. Beautifully and bodaciously. The vision I had for what I wanted it to be is coming to life. And I am so beside myself excited!

Today is our day for the finishing touches so I can be open for business at 10 am tomorrow. And although there's still a lot to do, I'm not worried. I know it will all come together and by tonight we'll be dancing with the music and toasting to the future.

I'll take pictures to show you!

So yes, today I surround myself with the love of dreams, and visions, and passions and creativity, and girlfriends. And a husband who patiently moves the heavy stuff and seems to have just the right tool for whatever is needed!

for the love of kindness

2011-09-06T08:15:00.004-05:00

Right now I am in medical limbo as I wait for doctors to coordinate and medical records to be transferred so I can be enrolled in a pain management program and hopefully (keeping fingers crossed) find relief from the pressure against my spine and muscle spasms in my back.

I am still on crutches.
I hate them.
I hate being dependent and reliant on them.
I hate not being able to move around freely.
I hate that I can’t just get up and go any place I want to get up and go.

Although (as I shared in a previous post) I have dealt with “back issues” for a whole lotta years, I don’t know what brought on this nerve condition so quickly - I was walking one day and the next day I wasn’t. And as the days turn into weeks with no easing up or improvement, I wonder what’s ahead of me.

This has forced me to replace my arrogance with humility – acknowledging the limitations of my physical body instead of always pushing at it and fighting against it which is what I have done for years.

Some days I nod my head with resolve, knowing I’ll do what I need to do just as I’ve always done what I needed to do in various other situations. At the least, I’ll “endure”, as Cinderella put it on a previous post.

Some days I cry.

And some days I try to strike up a deal and bargain with God.
“If you just let me walk again, I promise I’ll listen to and honor my body.”
“I promise I won’t push it so hard.”
“I’ll lay it down to rest when it’s tired.”
“I’ll never take something like walking for granted again.”
“I’ll kiss my legs every day and say thank you. Out loud. Every day.
Really, I will. I promise.

For the record, let me just say I don’t believe this is some form of punishment or punitive action from God – I just figure he knows some people who know some people and he’s got definite influence in all the right places. It’s worth a shot anyway. Kinda like W.C. Fields, “looking for the loophole” – ya know?

On another note, it’s been interesting to see and live life from a different perspective – as a handicapped person. To be the recipient of eye rolling, impatience, intolerance and yes, prejudice.

Like when I stopped at the speedy mart on my way into work for a cup of coffee and a woman cut in front of me to get to the door and then let it close on me instead of (kindly) taking 60 seconds to hold it open for me. Or the person who glared at me and sarcastically said, “excuse me, do you mind moving out of the way?” as I tried to maneuver myself, my purse, my purchase and my crutches through the check out at the grocery store.

Believe me, I don’t want to be in your way anymore than you want me to be in your way.

But then there are other times when I truly witness the kindness of strangers, like the two little boys on bicycles who asked me if I needed help as I tried to carry some stuff from the parking lot to the store. Or the man who got up from his table at the restaurant to hold the door for me yesterday when I went across the street to pick up lunch. Or the woman who was walking by on the sidewalk at the same time I was trying to unlock the door and stopped to help me get inside, and then asked if I needed her to help me in any way.

So where does LOVE come in today? In the kindness of strangers as they pause in the midst of their busyness to reach out a hand. To offer a simple courtesy.

Simple acts of random kindness.

“Be always kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.”

Some obviously – like me on crutches.
And some not so obviously.
But battles all the same.

What simple acts of kindness can you share today?
It does make a difference.

Really, it does.

day five: for the love of school

2011-09-05T08:17:00.000-05:00

oh yea - with a book bag like this I would rule the halls of academia.

Back in my day (geez – I can’t believe I’m old enough to say that…) the Tuesday after Labor Day was when school started. I remember the excitement even though it’s been 48 years since I went to school for the first time. My mom told me I was up at 5:00 am, fully groomed and dressed, eating my bowl of cereal; my “book bag” propped up and ready to go by the front door.

And unlike some of the other first graders who held onto their mother’s hands and were reluctant to be left alone, I independently found my cubbie, stored my stuff, sat at my desk and told her to leave.

I guess I knew even then that I was born to be a student and I would love it there. Being in the hallowed halls of learning was my sanctuary and refuge. In fact, I was one of those kids that never wished for school to end and summer begin. And I counted off the days until I could get back there.

I miss the first day of school. I miss signing up for classes, gathering up the syllabuses and heading off to the campus bookstore to peruse the aisles for hours – “filling my order” for everything I’d need for the upcoming term.

Mostly I miss the heady aroma and sweet smell of new book bags, and spiral notebooks, and text books and freshly sharpened pencils.

If I had copious amounts of discretionary income laying around, I’d be back at school today - working on my Ph.D. in something - not that I need the degree, or want it, but just to have a valid excuse for being back in school and spending every single second of my time reading and studying and taking notes and writing papers.

Yep – I LOVE(d) school. And the first day of school.
How about you? Got a story about the first day of school you’d like to share?

day four: for the love of family

2011-09-04T21:23:00.006-05:00

Grandma always made you feel she had been waiting to see just you all day,

and now the day was complete. ~Marcy DeMaree

As our kids got older, Sunday became the day we made time to be together and share a meal around the dining room table. Both boys could pretty much always be coerced with promises of homemade chocolate chip cookies or a big pot of soup and homemade bread.

As they grew up and went out on their own, those home cooked Sunday dinners became even more important to me – a way for this mama to call her children home as a reminder that no matter how old they may have become (in years) or how big they were (in stature), they would always be my precious little boys (in heart) and I would fuss over them and spoil them just like when they were little.

Truth be told, I could have had them stay my precious little boys forever.

But life called them to it, and all I could do was let them go, with blessings I didn’t always want to bestow and having to share them (graciously) with others when I wanted them all to myself. They are both incredible young men my boys, one married and one about to be married, and if I had been the one to choose their mates myself, I couldn’t have chosen better than they did. I am blessed and lucky that way and I know it – showing my appreciation at every opportunity. My daughter in law and soon to be daughter in law are the daughters I never had myself and I love spoiling them too.

So , back to my point……yesterday was Sunday and mama needed her mama fix, which is (again) to gather her children around the table and share a meal. Except mama is neck high in the middle of a huge and overwhelming move (my new store location) and the thing that is getting ignored is my house and so even if I could find my kitchen in the mess that used to be my house, I couldn’t move around in it anyway because I am still on crutches.

(sigh)

But not to be stopped, we make plans to meet at a restaurant we all love and frequent. So as we’re being seated, I clear the space next to me for my granddaughter to sit. And the minute I’m seated, I take her into my lap. Enthralled, we’re all involved with each other – catching up for lost time so to speak.

But I keep getting interrupted by things like having to look at a menu, and ordering, and being part of a conversation and then being told to eat.

Oldest son: I used to be the center of attention.
Husband: Me too.
Me: (holding my graddaughter – oblivious to everything around me)
Oldest son: She used to feed me bites of her food like that.
Husband: Me too.
Youngest son: Well what about me? She cut my meat for me until I was 22.
Oldest son: We should’ve just handed Mom Olivia and ordered her a mint and she’d have been happy.
Husband (ever budget conscious): Yea – I could’ve saved the price of her entrée.
Oldest son: Next time.
Husband: Remind me.

I look around the table. At the men I love – and I know they’re feeling displaced. They used to get all my attention. But as cute and precious as they are, they don’t fit on my lap anymore, or let me smother them in kisses or laugh in delight when I blow on their bellies like this:

The princess Olivia - 5 months

But the next time we're together I'll try my best to give them equal time.
Even though I can't make any promises.
Seeing the picture I'm sure you can see why.

day three - for the love of bliss

2011-09-03T10:35:00.000-05:00

Ode to Hafiz from Christine Mason Miller on Vimeo.

This is where I would LOVE to be today and what I would LOVE to be doing.....

home.
at the ocean
walking in the surf
the smell of sand and sunlight combined
the sound of the waves playing my favorite song
the breeze in my hair
gulls overhead
a paint brush in my hand
and Hafiz.

Bliss. Oh yea.
That would be bliss.

Where would you LOVE to be today and what would you LOVE to be doing?

day two: for the love of brave girls.....

2011-09-02T21:21:00.000-05:00

I am a card carrying and proud member of the Brave Girls Club. I LOVE Brave Girls and everything it stands for. I LOVE Melody Ross – both her writing and her art. I LOVE reading the blog and I subscribe to “A little bird told me – your dose of daily truth.” I’ve done Soul Restoration 1 and 2 (and LOVED them), and one of my goals for next year is to attend the Brave Girls Camp in person.

I wanted to share this piece of love from the Brave Girls blog. (If you think the words are great, you’ve gotta see the pictures that go along with it - click on the link above to see it!)

Once upon a time, you were a little girl…

Life was simple and carefree...
You dreamed big dreams without even knowing they were big...
And you did the things you did because you felt like it…
You weren’t afraid to try new things…
because everything was new…

You didn’t worry about what other people thought…
Or what they said…
You were YOU because you didn’t know how to be anyone else.

Are you starting to remember?
Can you start to feel her again…even just a little?

Cause guess what, sweet girl…
She’s still in there.

Will you remember her?
Please find her again…then listen to her.
She is so wise….
When you find her remember:
She has a tender heart.
Speak kindly to her.
Make sure she knows that mistakes are okay.
Be patient with her as she learns and grows.

Love her.

Run through the flowers with her, play make-believe, dream big dreams, believe in goodness, find joy in everything around you, make life simple the way she liked it.

It might take time…but find her….she is you…
…the real you.

for the love of (dance) shoes

2011-09-01T08:02:00.000-05:00

I always wanted to be a dancer. Mostly for the shoes. I love dance shoes. (Well ok – I love shoes period, but I especially love dance shoes.)

It's been a love affair for as long as I can remember.

When I was little, my grandmother let me play in her closet. It wasn’t the fur coats or vintage dresses or even the jewelry that drew me in – it was the shoes. My grandmother loved to dance and she had quite the collection of glittery ballroom dance shoes for me to choose from.

When I was 8, I begged my mom to sign me up for tap lessons. Admittedly, I really didn’t care about tap dancing per se, but boy oh boy did I love the shoes.  I wouldn’t take them off – I wore those buckled patent leather Mary Janes everywhere I went and all the time – even to bed.  (I thought they made me really cool - tappity, tap, tap, tap.)

Then as a teenager I became enamoured with flamenco. But again, it was really all about the shoes (and ok – the flower behind the ear and red lipstick.) When everyone else was wearing water buffalo wedge sandals with their wrap around tie-dye skirts; I wore my dainty soft leather tee-straps and clicked my heels dramatically. (I thought I was all kinds of exotic and mysterious - ole'.)

And..... of all the things I ever bought on my travels, my most prized souvenir/possession was a pair of purple suede shoes I bought at an outdoor market in Argentina just so I could take tango lessons from a guy named Oscar who was suavely latin with dark smouldering eyes and who wore a walnut around his neck. Ok – so that was one time that it wasn’t entirely about the shoes, but they did play an integral part.  (Cheek to cheek, I pretended I was Evita and he was Che.) *blushes*

(pausing to regain my composure)

But of all the dance shoes I have ever owned, nothing comes close to the shoes my best friend gifted me with to celebrate “the big move” as I “dance my way” into my new store location.

I pulled them out of the sack and was (literally) struck speechless by the audacity and bodaciousness of these “stand back and take notice; bow down before greatness; all hail the Queen; I rule“ statement of these shoes in....(dramatic pause) red (and I do mean red) glitter (no less).

Just begging to be filled by my feet.

“OMG” I squeal upon first look.
“They just screamed Queen Dani and I knew I had to have them for you." my friend says.
“Absolutely,” I affirm a little breathlessly, “Did you get hurt fighting off the crowds to get them for me? ”
“Just a couple scratches” she shrugs, “But it was worth it.”
“Oh yea,” I say nodding my head vigorously, “I can do some serious dancing in these babies.”
“Yep…or ass kicking.“ she points out.

These shoes were not made for amateurs or the timid – they were most definately made for a Queen, and not just any queen either - nope, they were made for me.  We were destined to be together.

I’m sure you’ll agree - once you feast your eyes on THIS:

bow down

Yeppers, I love these shoes.
I so seriously do.
Because they DO scream all kinds of me for a whole lotta reasons.

Whether I put them on for a little dancing or for some kicking ass (and taking names.)

And I love my bestie, who understood how much I needed these shoes right now. And because I know she probably didn’t really fight off any crowds of people getting them for me, but let me believe she did because it makes me laugh to think it.

That's my story on, this - day one of 30 days of love.
Do you have a story of shoe love and/or best friends?
I'd love to hear it - please share!

all i can say....

2011-08-31T15:19:00.000-05:00

Do they make these in a red glitter model?

When I was nine years old, I fell backwards down the basement stairs – coming to rest in a heap on the cold cement floor.

I couldn’t move.
I tried to get up.
I tried to push myself up.
I tried to drag myself across the floor.
But I couldn’t move.
And then my mom tried to pull me up by grabbing onto my arms and dragging me.
But that didn’t work either.

I was paralyzed.

So I laid my head down on the floor and closed my eyes. What I have always remembered most about that night is the soothing and calming feel of the cold cement against my cheek.

So soothing I didn’t cry.
Or make a sound.
I just laid there silently in the stillness.

I thought about that floor Monday as I sat in the doctor’s office listening to the latest prognosis on my back.

For the last six months I have been unable to stand upright on my own for any extended length of time. Or walk without being in pain. Or get through a day without relying on pain meds of some kind. I’ve been in and out of doctor’s offices and gone through a whole battery of x-rays and scans. And physical therapy. And traction. And an epidural.

But in spite of all that, for the last week, I have been (for the most part) unable to walk without the aid of a cane or crutches. Those who see me like this ask what happened, what I did, what suddenly brought this on - seemingly (to outside appearances) overnight.

It wasn’t overnight. So, I tell them about my backwards fall down a flight of stairs; the severe bruising in my spinal column and two fractured disks, and now, 45+ years later, the accumulative repercussions of the injuries on my back from then to now. (It’s a long and depressing list.)

Yes, it’s been bad for a while now, but I’ve been really good at denying how bad it was and hiding the reality of my pain and the increasing difficulty in standing or walking; not just from everyone else, but also myself.

Because I don’t want it to be real. I want to be able to make it go away by sheer force of mind and will if nothing else. (Which isn’t working.)

I remember laying on that floor and being unable to move. At nine, I didn’t know to be afraid my inability to get up could be permanent. Today I do. And that in itself is really, really scary. Terrifyingly scary.

And so I stick my fingers in my ears and close my eyes and wish my cheek was against the cement coolness again so I could make it all go away like I did back then.

There is no surgery option to “fix” this. Nothing to make it go away completely. It’s in the black and white of x-rays and MRI’s, and numerous specialist’s interpretations.

And I don’t have a plan. I always have a plan for dealing with stuff like this, but I don’t now. I don’t know what to do or how to do it. And that’s scary too.

It sucks.
It just really, really f*cking sucks.

For right now, that’s about all I can come up with to say.

speaking of spaciousness (and white)

2011-08-30T09:11:00.000-05:00

It's official. I closed the doors on the artist formerly known as "Three Sisters' Spirit" at 308 W. Broadway in beautiful historic downtown Waukesha Friday.

And now the move to Clinton Street and the incarnation of "Three Sisters' Uniquities."

Isn't it beautiful, serene and spacious?

Can you see why I'm so excited to start creating my vision and manifesting the dream within this space?

I'll keep you posted on the progress!

change

2011-08-25T23:06:00.026-05:00

I decided to recreate and redesign my blog. Lots of wide open spaciousness and white.

You know – room to expand and breathe.

It is so far out of my comfort zone I have to laugh at my reaction (and myself)
I’m squirming in my chair.
Fingers poised on the keyboard.
It’s going to take some getting used to.
Right now I don’t like it – and it’s taking everything I have to leave it alone and sit with it for a while.

And while I can appreciate it's design value and artisitc expression, it's just well.....
I don't know.....
All spaciousness and white.

Keep in mind I am a free spirit.
My grandfather used to call me his little Scottish gypsy.
And my husband will swear that I was a magpie in a previous lifetime because I am drawn to anything that’s bright and sparkly and glittery.

I love change.
Especially in things that involve creativity.
I get bored really easily with the “same old” - whether it’s how my furniture is arranged or the colors on the walls in my house, or my blog or website.

So what’s funny to me is that in spite of how often I change the design of things around me – one thing is constant and consistent in all my change-ups:

I create caves.
And containment.
Not wide open spaces.

I fill up wide open spaces with stuff I call my little treasures.
And a pallette of deep rich color.
Spaces wide enough to allow me to fully stretch my wings, but with secure parameters to bring me back to center..

Which is why my art room is painted a deep earthy purple, and my bedroom is a deep meadow grass green, and my office is a carribean turquoise and my kitchen is a deep tomato red.

Not white.
Not one room in my house is white.
Or what anyone would call spacious and wide open.
Or void of sparkly, glittery stuff.

Yep – this is going to take some getting used to.
In any event - it'll be interesting.
I'll keep you posted!

i wonder

2011-08-24T10:54:00.000-05:00

“God looked around and asked for the hundredth time,

“What the hell did you do with my wife?”

(Sera Beak – the Redvolution)

Growing up in SoCal, I am no stranger to earthquakes. When you grow up with them, you learn to recognize the language – the color of the sky and the eerie stillness and hush that precedes the movement.

When, for a brief moment, time stands still and the cacophony of noise is silenced. Was that God asking, for the hundredth time what had happened to his wife?

Heav'n has no Rage, like Love to Hatred turn'd,

Nor Hell a Fury, like a Woman scorn'd.

William Congreve (1697)

And yesterday, was it her; scorned for centuries – answering “look what they have done to me” in a voice that called (yet again) to be heard?

When sleeping women wake,

mountains move.

(Chinese Proverb)

Yesterday there was a 5.8 quake on the east coast and mountains moved. Was that our hands reaching out and our voices rising in unison with hers?

East – the direction of fire and new beginnings; of creativity and creation; of the rising sun and of vision, inspiration and leadership.

Did we notice the symbolism? Connect the dots?

Was that the Great Mother, (Earth), as the woman scorned, raising herself up and crying out loud against the disregard for her tender soul, the desecration of her body and the justification of her exploitation?

I shake, I shout, from time to time,

but no attention is paid to mind.

Did we, her daughters, pay attention?

I’m your mother, hear my beating heart,

hear my beating heart.

(Mother Earth Speaks – Joanne Shenandoah)

Do we now awaken from our self imposed slumber and go to her, unafraid of mountains moving? Do we hear the impassioned pleas of her beating heart?

Is it time? Is this our call? Is this Mama, standing on the back porch at dusk calling us home to her?

Just wondering y'all……
Just wondering.

finally, the words

2011-08-23T07:30:00.000-05:00

It's been an intense 8 months for me. Full of change and shifts and grabbing on and letting go. I have sat in the middle of it perplexed and confused and yet paradoxically, in those moments I've also been secure - knowing the upheaval was in divine order.

I've reached out and stretched out and pulled in and curled up. From sitting in doctor's offices to sitting on the lakeshore, I have searched for the words and images to explain where I am and what I've been feeling.

And then.....this morning the words come through another into my inbox. Words that describe it and explain it and put it into a context I have struggled to express for myself. Words I myself could have written, but didn't.

So, I take these words from the amazing and awe inspiring Tama Kieves and (now) share them with you:

_________________________________________________________________

When All Heaven Breaks Loose: Losing Control of Your Life--Thank Goodness

There’s a lot of change in the air. It’s a good thing. Buddha said that all suffering stems from trying to hold on to your chocolate mousse. Well, he didn’t say that. He said we try to make things permanent. The nature of reality is fluid. Real life cracks open, breathes, disintegrates, and expands.

Life is designed to shimmy.

You didn’t come here to nail a bird to the ground. Things move. Life flies. It’s not about the stock market, the job market, or climate control. It’s about learning how to thrive on the lack of control.

Boys and girls, we live in dynamic times. We live in dynamic times--- because we are dynamos. We are dynamos being roused into our powers.

A Purpose in Pain:

“The voice of eternity within us demands to be heard,” says the philosopher Soren Kierkegaard “and to make a hearing for itself it makes use of the loud voice of affliction, and when, by the aid of affliction, all irrelevant voices are brought to silence, it can be heard.” That’s a high-class way of saying that pain can help you listen to the limitlessness within you. Every atom within you hums with the music of the spheres--and an occasional Mick Jagger riff. You are not merely the circumstances of your life. It’s time to part the veils. It’s time to expand your experience of awe and discover your spirit.

When all your white-knuckled answers fall away, you can listen to and honor the open-handed direction within you. There is a life beyond the life you know. There is symmetry and intelligence in the “chaos.” There is meaning and ease. “Letting go” and moving into new circumstances is not a death. It’s the birth of a larger part of yourself. Best-selling author Marianne Williamson writes that “Every challenge is a challenge to become who we really are.”

Pain is an invitation to surrender to this greater universal love. It’s a demand to breathe more deeply. It’s the guru that won’t leave you alone. It’s the master that forces you to let go of control so that you can release yourself from the future and the past-- and discover your True Self right now. Your True Self doesn’t need things to turn out a certain way for it to feel secure and alive. Your True Self has master tricks up its midnight blue sleeves, and stardust on its eyelashes. It has more options than you know how to count. In a stillness not of this world, you will find movement not of this world.

I’ve Been Letting go of Control Lately:

I’ve been letting go of control a lot myself these days. I think it’s because my life is changing again, and the Unknown has hacked its way past my security system, says “Boo!” around every corner, blows bubbles, and howls with laughter. Among other things, I am releasing a new book next year, redesigning my business and website and tossing a hundred balls in the air that I can’t possibly catch. The work load seems unthinkable --so I am beginning to think new things. There are just too many variables that I have no control over-- and lately I don’t even seem to have that much control over myself. Part of me is just sitting down in the middle of the road. She refuses to do what I ask. I’m only asking her to put the stars up in the sky, work without ceasing to make up for about 30 years of lag time, and carry the weight of all my hopes and dreams on her back, but she refuses. Something else is going on. I know enough to know that there is direction occurring through this willful lack of focus. My “rebel” is an oracle.

Finally I am “letting go”—trusting that something else is going on, something like transformation. I feel as though I’m relaxing, not because I’m lazy, but because I’m present to the signals of a higher order. “It’s not in my hands” isn’t a statement of abdication, but a statement of abundance. When you turn toward greater powers, you have greater power. Maybe it’s the call of my natural instincts or, maybe, a new found spiritual wisdom-- but I am not interested in conquest. I am drawn to collaboration—with the Flow of Life.

A New Way to Succeed:

I’ve been sharing with friends lately, “I don’t want a life that I can make happen. That’s not the success I’m interested in anymore.” This is what I mean: I know how to climb. I know how to scrape. I know how to pound hours. That’s not what I want. I don’t want a life of power tools, strategy, and commandeering. I want a life that comes for free. I want a perfect storm. I want a creative adventure that courses with a momentum of its own. At last, I trust the Artist, the Architect, the Bus Driver and the unseen dimensions of life affirming life. I trust the Fierce Energy that gave me my desires and dreams in the first place. I don’t see surrender as resignation. I see it as using my abilities. Why use manual power when you’ve been given automatic? Go with the technology.

Yep, I want to succeed like crazy, but now I want to succeed through an energy in the Universe ushering me towards this success—not because I’m a maniac. That means I’m willing to allow the Universe to decide. I’m giving up control.

Mind you, I’m not giving up on my dreams. I’m not giving up on my desires. I am not giving up on taking actions on my own behalf at every minute I can. I am not letting go of my passion or integrity for a minute. I am giving up on taking actions-- that don’t feel guided. I am giving up on doing what I think I should do, what others insist I do, instead of what I feel my soul is asking me to do. I’m no longer taken with the notion of working hard and jamming results. I’m going for broke this time, because I’ve already done broken. I’m going for the experience of grace in my lifetime.

It’s pretty simple. I don’t want to fight reality. I want to cherish it. I want to love my life—whatever it is. I want the Greater Will of a Greater Intelligence to move me towards a greater place. I know it sounds so passive. But let me tell you when you’re a driven ambitious freak who can will herself through Harvard Law School (while controlling her calorie intake to about 5 carrots a day so that she can keep up her pre-existing commitment to anorexia,) this kind of surrender is anything but a nap on the couch. It’s an active commitment. It’s a statement. It’s a line in the sand. I’m throwing out the tap shoes. I’m donning my sandals and walking on holy ground. I am a Freedom Seeker. I no longer want control. I want love and faith.

So join me if you will. Trust your Higher Self. Surrender to your good. You may have learned to fear change. I invite you to welcome it. When change is in the air, Spirit is in the air. Let this Power do for you what you cannot do for yourself. Take three deep breaths and let go of your future and your past. Enter the sacred. Enter the fullness. You don’t need to know how everything is going to work out. You don’t need to know how you will turn oxygen into brain and kidney cells. There are powers beyond your intellect, but not beyond you. Welcome to your freedom.

Source: Tama Kieves' monthly email newsletter http://www.awakeningartistry.com/
©Copyright 2011 Tama J. Kieves. All rights reserved.

big guns

2011-08-20T09:14:00.000-05:00

OK – did someone put something in the Kool-aide yesterday or what?

I mean seriously girlfriends – I felt like that guy in the commercial who’s half an hour early for the flash mob, only (in my case) it was more a case of being half an hour late for the crab-ass sit in.

I (obviously) missed the invite - especially the part that told everyone the dress was black cloud over the head formal and I was hosting the party at my store.

Yep – as the day went on, I became more and more convinced someone shook the trees and put something in the Kool-aide yesterday. It’s been a while since I’ve seen so many Whiney Winnies, Negative Nellys and Debbie Downers showing up in one place at the same time.

Showing up in MY place at the same time.

Not knowing I was hosting the party, I was (to say the least) totally unprepared for the onslaught and it got ugly. Especially when they started demanding party favors and ice cream with their cake and all I had on hand were a handful of Tootsie Rolls in my candy dish out front.

What was a Queen to do?

I did the only thing I could do. The thing I always do when I don't know what else to do and the world seems a wee bit overwhelming for my tender heart. I straightened my crown and retreated to my office, where I pulled (from it’s secret and sacred place) the big guns as I call it ….

(disclaimer - don't say you weren't warned...........)

(Oh Johnny, Johnny, Johnny....be still my beating heart.)

And - all was instantly and profoundly right with the world.
The cavalry with reinforcement was here.
Holding this in my hands, I am invincible.
Hear me roar. (Or purr.)

Seriously.

The big guns work every time.

Oh yea. They so do.

reconnecting to holiness

2011-08-19T09:10:00.000-05:00

When I was a little girl I would pin a black scarf over my white headband, put rosary beads around my neck, and (much to my mother’s chagrin) pretend I lived in a convent, forcing my little brothers to play “church” with me as I passed out cookies as communion.

And in the ensuing years, I have studied diverse theologies, sat at the knees of priestesses, wise women, shamans, healers, and mystics, meditated in ashrams, made pilgrimages to sacred sites, walked labyrinths, spent time in hermitages and monasteries and spiritual retreat, been anointed with oils, placed my naked yoni on a bed of moss, taken my place in groves and grottos and circles and tents, laid my body prostate - heartbeat to heartbeat with the earth, had sacred symbols drawn into the palms of my hands, danced on moonlit beaches and made a practice of observing (and honoring) the Sabbath every Sunday.

Yes, I have been blessed to experience and live sacred and holy first hand – to have it fill me and nourish me - embracing it deeply within my heart and soul.

(From Al-Anon) Step Eleven: Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood Him, praying only for knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry that out.

But somewhere over the past year, I got complacent and negligent - both in my seeking and my conscious contact. I let outer details and responsibilities take priority, putting my spiritual practices on the back burner, in a smokescreen of busyness, telling myself the sacred and holy was so inherent within me, it would always be there to sustain me.

Until it wasn’t.

And in the last two months, feeling the longing deeply within my heart, I’ve been working to bring that holy and sacred connection back into my life.

I’ve even heard the words of Sister Ann from my second grade catechism classes echoing in my ears lately, “We are temples for the Holy Spirit and God works in mysterious ways through all of us as His messengers …”

I have always been drawn to holy women – those who embody sacredness and reverence and a deep, abiding and inherent connection with God(dess). I draw great inspiration and grounding from them.

Women like Oprah Winfrey. So it shouldn’t have come as any surprise that the other night I just happened to turn on the TV for background noise as I cleaned up the kitchen, and the TV just happened to be tuned to the Oprah channel, and the show “Season 25 – Behind the Scenes” just happened to be on and it just happened to be the episode about her very last Oprah show.

The TV comes on just as Oprah is talking about her last elevator ride to the last show. About how every day, for the last 25 years she has used that solitary elevator ride down to the studio to center herself with a prayer and an affirmation:

"In God, I move and breathe and have my being."

My head swivels around and I zero in. Take a breath. And stand there in the middle of my kitchen – my attention not on the sink full of dishes, but on her words. She quotes one of my favorite lines from the philosopher Dag Hammerskjold, “If the only prayer you ever say is please and thank-you, it is enough” and the episode ends with her saying, “All glory to God.” Tears fill my eyes.

Holiness doesn’t have to be big. It can be as simple as an utterance of please and thank you. As simple as an acknowledgement and an honoring.

But it does need to be conscious. Mindful. In the moment present.

I wake up the next morning thinking about all that. Thinking about how it doesn’t matter why or how I forgot how important the conscious connection is in my life, but that I am ready to pick it back up now.

As if the pause never existed.

I sit myself down at the computer to write my blog – and then take a break to check in with what my blog buddies are writing. And go figure - one of my holy women friends (Sally Sunshine) is writing about the same episode; struck by the same words I’m writing about!

And the words of another dear friend ring in my ears – “Is that odd or is that God?”

I vote for God on this one. He’s good at the gentle nudge.
And choosing the messengers.

All I had to do was say please and (now) thank you.

2011-08-16T10:40:00.000-05:00

"The world will not fall apart if we step into our grace and express our vastness.

It is more likely the world will stop falling apart when we do."

Geneen Roth

What if I told you today was the day?

The day to step into your grace and express your vastness? The day to make a commitment to live YOU in all your bodalicious uniqueness.

Today.
Starting now.

The day to quit hiding and/or pretending you are anything less than the magnificent creature you are; to sit at your own knee and hang on your every word; to be totally and fully intrigued by your mystery and enthralled with your wisdom; to delight in your deliciousness, and to marvel at how well life looks on you; the day to giggle with coquettish glee at all that makes you divinely, curvaceously, abundantly, woman; the day to laugh loudly at your own jokes; to quote yourself and to be inspired by the vast and unlimited potential of your inherent creativity and passion.

What if I told you today was the day?

Today.

The day to follow where your heart leads, to say yes to yourself, to grab the brass ring with both hands and hold on tight; to give away a little less and hold on to a little more; to do what you want to do and not do what you don’t want to do.

The day to park yourself smack dab in the middle of YOU and savor every single second of every single bit of you.

What if I told you today was that day and that no one else can tell of your fire, paint with your words, or sing with your voice like you in the middle of you?

That the world needs you to express you.
That I need you to express you.

Right now.
Today.

Would you believe me?
Would you do it?

2011-08-15T15:08:00.002-05:00

I am convinced that if we would all make a pact to deal with mean and difficult people in the way described below, there would be a whole lot less mean and difficult people in the world or in the way of kindness and common courtesy.

Seriously. I do.

Steps for dealing with mean & difficult people

1 ) Recognize that mean & difficult people exist; and you will eventually encounter them. There isn't a thing you can do about it. The first step is all about facing reality: If you think you might be dealing with a mean and difficult person, you're probably right. When in doubt, proceed as instructed below. The headaches you save will be your own.

2 ) Do not call them out because it will frustrate them. They'll probably become become more mean and difficult, but just stand your ground and be confident.

3) Be aware that some people simply aren't compatible. Sometimes, a person who gets along with everybody else quite well is a mean and difficult person for you personally. Most relationships between people contain many shades of gray, but some people simply mix as well as oil and water. It is common to hear your mean and difficult person proclaim (loudly) that "Everyone else likes me so what's your problem?" This is an attempt to shift the blame to you, so don't buy it. It doesn't matter how this person interacts with others. The fact is, the way the two of you interact together is terrible. Remember that blame never changes the facts.

4) Understand that it's not you, it's them - and that they have a complete mastery of blaming skills. If you're dealing with a mean and difficult person, you're probably being told on a regular basis that every conceivable thing is your fault. It isn't. As the saying goes, "It takes two to tango." Chances are, the more often they blame you, the more they themselves are actually at fault. Keep in mind that this is not to be used as a way to blame them. Blaming is what mean and difficult people do, and they do it well. Instead, you are only facing the facts, for your own sake. That being said, here's a simple way to tell: If you accept responsibility for your own faults and resolve to improve yourself, it's probably not you. Remember, mean and difficult people "can do no wrong."

5) Defuse them. Stay calm, don't spit angry words at them, and whatever you do, don't cry - this will only stimulate them to do more of the mean and difficult behavior. Try ignoring them. Try looking away or starting another conversation, with a totally different topic. Find something you can agree with or praise them for. Do not, under any circumstances, join them in bashing, blaming or complaining. Do not bad talk to their face or to anyone else because then you are sinking down to their level. Add something positive. Redirect by focusing on something, anything, positive in the situation or in the conversation. Whatever you do just stay calm!

6) Realize that you cannot deal with mean and difficult people the same way you deal with everyone else. In some ways, they need to be treated like children. Give up all hope of engaging these folks in any kind of reasonable or rational conversation. It will never happen, at least with you. Remember what happened the last fifty times you tried to have a civilized discussion about the status of your relationship with this person. Chances are, every such attempt ended in you being blamed for everything. Decide now to quit banging your head against a brick wall.

7 ) Protect your self-esteem. If you have regular dealings with someone who tries to portray you as the source of all evil, (or all the bad in their life) you need to take active steps to maintain a positive self-image. Remind yourself that this person's opinion is not the truth. Understand that oftentimes, mean and difficult people are particularly "fact-challenged." If the attacks have little basis in raw fact, dismiss them. You can't possibly be as bad as this person would like you to believe you are. Do not defend yourself out loud, however. It will only provoke the mean and difficult person into another tirade.

8 ) Guard against anger. If it helps, consider the fact that your anger is actually a precious gift to the mean and difficult. It's something they know inside and out. Anything you do or say while angry will be used against you over and over again. Mean and difficult people have amazing memories, and they will not hesitate to use a nearly endless laundry list of complaints from the past against you. Ten years from now, you could be hearing about the angry remark you made today (which you didn't even mean in the first place). Mean and difficult people will seize anything that provides them the opportunity to lay blame like it was gold.

9) Give up self-defense. Understand very clearly that you cannot beat these kinds of people; they're called mean and difficult for a reason. In their minds, you are the source of all wrongdoing and the cause of all angst, and nothing you can say is going to make them consider your side of the story for even a second. Your opinion is of no consequence, because to mean and difficult people, you are already guilty and just awaiting sentencing, no matter what.

10 ) Understand that eventually, you and the mean difficult person will have to part ways. Whether they are a friend, a boss, a parent, even a spouse, the time to leave will eventually manifest. Maintaining a relationship with a mean and difficult person is, literally, impossible. They don't have friends, they take hostages. If you can't (or won't) make a physical departure immediately, make a mental one. In your mind, you've already left the relationship. The only thing left to do is wait for physical reality to reflect that fact.

11) Avoid letting the mean and difficult person make you into a "clone" of them. If you aren't careful, you could find yourself adopting much of the offender's own behavior, even if you aren't voluntarily trying. Eschew blame entirely by understanding that this is just the way the other person is. These things define the mean and difficult person's actions, and nothing you do can (or will) change any part of their past.

12 ) Be a manager. Until it is over, your task in the relationship is to manage the mean and difficult person, so that he or she deals less damage to you. As a manager, your best resources are silence (it really is golden in cases such as this), humoring the other, and abandoning all hope of "fixing" the mean and difficult person. They do not listen to reason. They can't (and even if they could, they wouldn't). You can't convince them that they have any responsibility for the problems between you. They don't recognize (or if they did, wouldn't try to improve) their flaws for a very logical reason; they don't have any flaws. You must understand and manage this mindset without casting blame and without giving in to anger. It's far easier said than done, and you will slip from time to time, but as time goes on, you'll become a better manager.

13) Realize that mean and difficult people engage in projection. Understand that you are going to be accused of much (or all) of this behavior yourself. If your mean difficult person gets a look at this text, they will point out that it's a page about you. Prepare yourself for the fact that the mean and difficult person's flaws and failings will always be attributed to you. Remember, in their minds, you are at fault for everything! They will have an endless supply of arguments to support this, and if you make the mistake of encouraging them, they will be more than happy to tell you why you are the mean and difficult person, and how ironic it is that you are under the mistaken impression that it is them.

14 ) As hard as it might be, interact with mean and difficult people from a place of detachment with common politeness and courtesy. It won't change them or make a difference in how they treat you, but it will help you take the high road and feel better about yourself.

growing is forever

2011-08-13T10:14:00.002-05:00

Growing is Forever from Jesse Rosten on Vimeo.

This is so beautiful, I had to share.
(I've actually walked in this forest among these giant redwoods.)

what if I told you...

2011-08-04T13:32:00.001-05:00

They were wrong.

Every person who ever told you or in any way left you feeling that you weren’t good enough or pretty enough or talented enough or smart enough or loving enough or enough of enough.

They were wrong about you.
So wrong.
And I wish you could know that for yourself like I’ve come to know that for myself.

I wish you could forget everything you think you know about yourself; the litany of every less than or not enough message you heard so many times you came to believe it and went on to tell yourself over and over again through the years.

I wish the place that holds those words could be purged and the empty space left behind could be filled with the words that would reach across time; words from my heart to yours; words that describe who and what I see when I look at you.

Yes - I wish you could see you as I see you – the traces of the woman that would grow from the child and the traces of the child still left within the woman – all of it, each and every sovereign nuance of it, beauty filled and sacred.

But as much as that is my wish, I know there is nothing I can say that will change your mind if you aren't ready to change it.

I can only continue to hope that one day you will have whatever you need to be able to let go of everything they told you in their attempt to confine you and instead nod your head and say, “they were wrong” with heartfelt knowing and conviction.

Instead of holding on to it one day longer.
Instead of searching for a way to make their wrong somehow right.

I understand. Really I do, because once upon a time someone said the same words to me I am now saying to you, and I tried to hold on to the wrong too. Until she told me what she had been told about herself by people and asked me if I thought they were right or wrong.

“They were wrong”, I answered, “So wrong.”
“Uh-huh,” she replied “So I’ll make you a deal - I’ll believe you if you’ll believe me.”

There were plenty of people who told me that I wasn’t good enough or pretty enough or talented enough or smart enough or loving enough or special throughout my lifetime and I heard it so often, I believed them.

You would tell me they were wrong.

There were plenty of people who told you that you weren’t good enough or pretty enough or talented enough or smart enough or loving enough or special throughout your lifetime and you heard it so often, you believed them.

I will tell you they were wrong.

And we would both be right.
We so would.

midwest town or hell?

2011-07-29T10:38:00.000-05:00

I have become firmly convinced (especially in this last week) that if there is a hell – I’m living in it.

Don't try to change my mind - it's pointless.

Yep – right here, right now in a small unassuming little Midwestern town.... is where hell is located. Sweltering heat, a humidity factor higher than the outside temperature (which is in the high 80’s to start with) and gray, gloomy overcast skies.

The air is so thick and heavy, the moisture of it accumulates on my skin like dew. I can’t move – my body is sluggish. And I can’t breathe. I gasp for air. I wheeze. And sweat gathers in places on my body I didn’t even know could collect sweat.

Yep – this has to be what hell feels like. Outside.

And inside? Another kind of hell for sure. Frigid central air conditioning that sucks every ounce of moisture out of the air – my skin flakes and peels, my throat is dry and hoarse, my contacts dry on my eyes. My hell is a cave – with the windows and doors shut tightly and the shades and curtains drawn.

Yep – this SoCal transplant is having a really (really) hard time dealing with this. I am cranky and irritable. Snappish. Prone to temper tantrums.

I don’t even like my own company.

And I hate my hair. Can someone please explain how hair can be lank and limp and big and frizzy all at the same time? Because to me - it defies logic. (not to mention every hair product on the shelf guaranteed to tame it.)

(drumming fingers on desk)

It sucks to be me.
Here.
In this Midwestern version of hell.

There’s only one thing to do – and I’m off to do it. My husband is hiding somewhere in this meat locker cold that used to be our home.

I’m off to find him.
And kick him.
It’s all his fault.
He’s the one who brought me here in the first place.

Hey – I told you I was cranky and irritable.

Hell does that to a person.

creativity as a spiritual act

2011-07-27T08:27:00.000-05:00

Creativity is not some namby-pamby pastime. It is not merely the poem, the watercolor, the song. It is the act of humans describing the great mystery of Life Itself. Creativity is an act of faith, of hope, of love. It is virtuous, revelatory, prophetic. It is our prayer lived out. It is the heart reaching up to the brain; the brain whispering I love you to the heart. This union-the merging of thought and feeling- is what enlivens us. It gives birth to the images the future is sending us. When we create we are receivers of the future, open to signs from Mind-at-Large that guide us, gift us, and light our way.

(Jan Phillips)

I have been taking part in a six week program - a monastic experience where we use our creativity as a means of contemplative prayer and meditation. Each Sunday we gather by the lake, and after the initial guidance, spend the next four hours in silence – surrounded by our pencils, paints and easels.

We are creating in layers – first came the prayers written on the canvas, then came the “background” in (as our facilitator explains) the colors of God, and then the basic outline of our image in gold. This week we will begin filling in the image we’ve created on our canvas, and at the end of our six weeks, we will have a painting of the Madonna.

There is such a sense of communion with not only spirit, but also each other on those afternoons – even as we sit outside in the sweltering heat and humidity of a Midwest summer, seeking shade under the branches of the trees. The breeze blows in off the lake, and in our shared stillness the sound of our pencils and brushes across the canvases become the only sound; a holy song – a witness to the depth of what rests in our hearts now expressed.

We become sacred vessels in our little contemplative gathering circle – priestesses, wise women, mid-wives and healers.

“This” I think to myself, is coming home; living who we were meant to be as sacred channels of creation and creativity - connected in our own holy trinity of mind, body and spirit with hours of languid stillness stretched before us to savor and sip. Peaceful and still, serenely, like the Madonnas we are creating – we hold divine space, first within our bodies and then outward through our hands, blending the harsher lines of our sketches into a calming blur of softness with our fingertips.

Yes - our creativity is more than some namby-pamby pastime we dabble in between “to do” lists and laundry piles and errands and habitual busyness.

It is holy.
It is divine.
It is reverent.
It is please and thank-you.
It is a petition and a promise.

“Creativity is an act of faith, of hope, of love. It is virtuous, revelatory, and prophetic.”

And it deserves to be treasured and held and expressed as sacred.

the princess

2011-07-26T10:57:00.000-05:00

Happy 4 Month Birthday Olivia Jade.....

(what did grandma ever do without you?)

the Princess Livi

(she's in the middle of telling me a story - and yes, her eyes really are deep indigo blue)

She's discovered her feet.....

(look at those chubby little baby legs - don't you want to kiss them?)

This....is how I spent my day yesterday.

All day.

In love.

with my little princess...

isn't she precious?

new beginnings and fresh starts

2011-07-20T08:13:00.000-05:00

I’ve heard that we teach to others what we ourselves most need to learn.

Interesting concept – eh?
I believe it because it’s been proven time and time again in my life.

For example....I’m facilitating a workshop called “the Sovereignty of a Woman” and we’re talking about core foundational beliefs. I say: “ if one of your core foundational beliefs is that you are loveable, you will have successful relationships - attracting and surrounding yourself with people who validate and affirm (i.e. proving to yourself) your “loveability.” On the other hand, if your core foundational belief is that you are un-loveable, you will find yourself in relationships that are full of conflict and surrounded by people who are incapable of loving you (for whatever reason) thus validating and affirming (i.e. proving to yourself) how “un-loveable” you are.”

swallow, Dani.
and breathe.
another layer of the proverbial onion is about to be peeled.

yippee.

I think about the last three years and the relationships that have come and gone. The people who took and took and took, the people who lied to me and about me and, ultimately betrayed me without a backwards glance.

Yea those people.
What the hell was I doing?
What was I validating and affirming there with them?
Because I gotta tell you, after 20+ years of (diligently and deeply) working on myself, I thought I was done with all that crap.
Seriously.

A whole bunch of voices came flooding in from the shadows and roamed, free range through my head, settling into the most strong and powerful: “you can’t trust anyone because everyone is only out for themselves and in the end they will always (always) betray you and your heart will be broken.”

A haunting (and taunting) voice from my past rises from the dead.
Or so I thought.

I spent a whole lot of years fighting that particular voice; searching for ways to prove it wrong and in some cases, looking for the loophole - which I found.

Or so I thought.

But, “you can’t trust anyone because…” had fallen off the consciousness wagon and resumed its errant ways, once again seeking validation – becoming a true assessment and/or statement because I was (albeit unconsciously) back to attracting truth to it like a picnic table attracts flies.

Bleeck and yuk.

No, no, no – I say stomping my foot.
No more.
Pull me out of the oven and stick a fork in me.
I’m done.

YEARS ago my spiritual mentor and teacher told me one of the reasons I continuously tripped myself up and got in so much trouble was because I trusted people and loved God. “You have it backwards,” she said, telling me I needed to switch it up – trusting in God and being a reflection of love to others.

I obviously forgot that.

And for years I had a prayer that I prayed each and every day – humbly asking that all the outside “stuff” that kept God from coming first and me from being authentically and heartfully me be removed from my life, and then simply asking for the willingness to be willing to let go of that which needed to be removed.

Before I got myself so busy I forgot that too.

But now I remember.
And I’ll be praying it again.
Starting with please and ending with thank you.
New beginning and fresh starts.
Out with the old, worn out and self defeating.
Seriously.

God smiles from ear to ear and says, “Dani!! Yes!! I’ve missed you!! Now pull up a chair because we’ve got a lot of catching up to do….”

And so I sit.
Smiling back.
Because it feels so blessed good to be back.

the way we pray

2011-07-19T23:01:00.000-05:00

“Be. Here. In this moment. Now is all there is, don’t go seeking another. Discover the sacred in your artist’s tools; they are the vessels on the altar of your own unfolding. Look at this cup of holy water, washing clean the brushes. See the blank page awaiting your blessing. Gaze on the colors before you, each one a name of God: Saffron, Cobalt, Azure, Ruby. Say each one slowly and taste its juice in your mouth. Let this be your prayer. Brush them across the page with your anointed hands. First the small strokes, then the larger sweeps. Lose track of all time. This too is prayer. Listen for the words that rise up: Awaken. Envision. Sing. Alleluia. Place marks on the page to say I am here. Luminous. Illuminated. This is your sacred text. This is where God’s words are spoken; sometimes in whispers, sometimes in shouts. Be there to catch them as they pass over your sacred lips, tumbling so generously into your open arms.” (Christine Valters Paintner)

I attended a spiritual retreat on Sunday - a full day of using art as contemplative prayer. The words quoted above were the words read to us at the start of the retreat, just after being told that the root of the word contemplation means “to make a temple with.”

Which was what we were there to do - make a temple of connection between our art, our prayers and God.

In color and words. First with small strokes and then with large sweeps. Each an alleluia.

I can’t think of any testament more beautiful or affirming to the sacred and holy that is so gracefully held within our creativity.

Or the importance of making and taking time for it to be expressed.

Reverently.
With our anointed hands.
And across our sacred lips.
As a prayer.

retrogrades and pauses

2011-07-13T08:43:00.000-05:00

Astrologically we’re into a Uranus (the planet of expansion and forward movement) retrograde period right now. Through December no less.

After all these years of following the stars, I understand retrogrades and the purpose they serve although that doesn’t mean I like them or graciously accept them. I have been known to whine and balk on occasion – it’s just my nature whenever anything threatens to clip my wings or hold me back – especially when it’s not on my terms.

Which this retrograde so isn’t.

“On July 10, when Uranus goes retrograde in on-the-go Aries, every fiber of your being will want to move. You'll be eager to forge ahead with your plans now, now, now! However, your actual goal will require you to pause, step back and assess whether your plans are in tune with your needs.”

“Oh great.” I say to no-one and nothing in particular. “This is not a good time for the pausing or stepping back.”

Really Uranus - it isn’t - I plead my case. And to prove my point, I forge ahead – crossing my fingers and deviously plotting how to sneak in under the retrograde radar.

Yea right. As Dr. Phil would ask, "How did that work for you?"

I babysit my precious granddaughter, the Princess Olivia, on Mondays and Tuesdays. Like a true princess, she demands attention, and like a dotting grandma Queen, I give it. So yesterday we spent the morning having all kinds of fun with her new found ability to giggle and laugh out loud.

Like all days with the Princess, I put off anything else but giving her my undivided attention until nap time. Except yesterday, the Princess didn’t want to waste a precious second of grandma time by napping or doing anything other than being held or sitting in my lap as she told me her stories.

“Livi, Livi, Livi” I say at one point, admittedly (I’m not proud) a wee tiny bit frustrated, “Grandma has things to do – I can’t just hold you all day.”

She looks at me very seriously and then laughs as if to say, “Grandma, that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard you say.”

And she was right.

I didn’t get anything on my “to do” list done yesterday. I didn’t get the fliers for the store printed, or place the orders I needed to place, or work on my neglected blog, or prepare the committee chairperson report for the biz meeting I was scheduled to attend last night.

Instead I held my precious granddaughter in my lap and smothered her with kisses.

And the world didn’t miss a beat – going on just fine without my busy doing.

It takes a lot of work to run a Queendom and there is a lot I have to teach her about wearing the crown and holding the scepter. But for right now it isn’t so much about being a queen one day as it is about being a princess right now – with a grandma who grasped the sacred importance of pausing to delight in her newly discovered giggles.

Woo Hoo!!! (and a last call)

2011-07-04T09:57:00.000-05:00

My workshop, "The Sovereignty of a Woman" starts today!! Of all the workshops I've created and facilitate - this is my personal favorite. Eight weeks of embracing our inherent sovereignty - planting our crown firmly on the top of our heads and wearing it in bodacious glory.

Really. (It's the only way to live.)

If you meant to sign up but didn't (for whatever reason), you still have time (registration will close on Wednesday) and there are a few spots still open! Click here for all the details - and if after reading about "The Sovereignty of a Woman" it calls to you, I'll meet you in the classroom!!

(I'll be the one with the crown of flowers in my hair and sparkle in my eye.....) wink!

the motherlode - new moon in cancer

2011-07-02T08:08:00.000-05:00

Exactly six years ago today, I was in Idaho, spending a week with my mom. I loved those ‘get away’ weeks - sitting outside by the river, listening to music , shelling fresh Dungeness crab under the moonlight and eating it with our fingers, and talking about everything from Sartre & Kafka to Dr. Phil & Oprah. I loved our forays to the farmer’s market to buy fresh goat cheese, homemade wine and patchouli scented soaps and bath oils. Mostly I loved that during those times I didn’t have to be a grown-up wife and mother and grandmother. That although I was ( underneath the expensively maintained and colored hair) as gray as she was, she indulged me and my ‘flights of fancy,’ called me ‘sweetiecakes,’ and told everyone I was her spoiled rotten princess.

I miss my mom. I miss our daily conversations, I miss how she would share my outrage at the injustices in the world, I miss that sense of security that came from knowing whenever I needed her, she would be there to kiss my boo-boos and make everything all better. I miss having a mother and being her daughter.

And even though I wear the crown of queen proudly, I miss the days I was a Princess to her Queen.

“If it’s not one thing, it’s your mother.” (Wynonna Judd)

Now, I don’t want to gloss over reality here – the relationship with my mother over the years was the most conflicted and tumultuous relationship of (both) our lives. There were the times my greatest joy was in being my mother’s daughter, and also the times when I passionately wished I was anyone but my mother’s daughter. It was hard at times to love her, and then there were the years I believed she sat up at night making a list of ways to insult, criticize, blame and/or ‘get me’. To steal a nursery rhyme, “when it was good it was very, very good and when it was bad it was rotten.”

It’s the ‘very, very good’ parts I choose to hold onto today. It’s the relationship we had, especially in the last year of her life, I grieve the most. All the rest of it was just drama and illusion, and isn’t important anymore.

I had no idea how much my mother’s physical death would impact my life or how profoundly I would feel her loss. I would have added some conversations to the many we had towards the end if I had known. I would have asked her how I was supposed to live the rest of my life without her, because still today, six years later, there are the moments when I don’t know how I am going to do it and I weep with longing.

So, in the realm of divine timing, it comes as no surprise that this New Moon is all about “mother love.” Cancer rules hearth and home with its archetypal mother energy. Add to that a Sun/Moon/Venus (Goddess of Love and the Mother of the Universe) type conjunction, and well – there we have it - the lay of the land – a mother lode of mother love just waiting to surround and envelope us.

I am my mother’s daughter, whether it’s on the physical (mom) or spiritual (Great Mother Creator) plane. That is my heritage, my lineage, and my genealogy. It is the blood that flows in my veins and the image in which I was created. Magna Mater, Mama, Mother, and Goddess – I am of her and she is within me.

My mom died, but I know she is sitting on the cusp of the moon, looking down on me and I hear her voice within the calling of this new moon.

The New Moon that now guides the child in us to turn our bikes around and remember. The stars are starting to dot the sky, darkness is coming, and our mother stands on the back porch, calling us home from our travels.

Is there anything better than the communion that happens when, once home from our travels, we crawl into her lap, rest our heads against her heartbeat, and feel her arms encircle us, holding us close as we tell her all the places we’ve been?

Be(YOU)ti(full)

2011-06-30T09:55:00.000-05:00

http://weheartit.com/entry/9823293

“ she had rainbow hair -

soft, glittery, shiny, iridescent rainbow hair.

and veins full of flowing stars.

she had light.

and she was love.

and when she forgot,

she sat in the sun

and let the beams dance with all her colors.

the rhythm, the beat, the ruckus, always reminded her again. ”

(~terri st. cloud)

And when she forgot she sat in the sun - letting the beams dance with all her vibrant colors; finding the rhythm that would reconnect herself with the beat of herself.

There is such a profound sacredness in those moments. I sit in the stillness and it feels sacrosanct and holy as the remembering washes over me - filling me with a sense of communion and wholeness and acceptance.

In the center of those moments, feeling the completeness, I wonder how and why I allowed myself to ever forget in the first place, and with passionate conviction I promise myself I will never allow myself to forget again.

And I mean it. I really do.
I make that promise to myself from my heart.
With all my heart.
A sacred and unbreakable pact, I agree as I shake hands with myself on it.

But at some place in time as the days or weeks or months go by, I find myself in a place of having forgotten again.
Yes, again.
And my heart cries within the betrayal.

I want to stop forgetting.
I want to live in the remembering.

Last night I came home, put on my comfy lounge around clothes, made myself an iced mocha, sat myself down in front of the computer and indulged in one of my favorite pastimes; blog hopping.

And I found a whole bunch of really cool and inspiring blogs – in fact my desktop is full of little blog icons that I plan on revisiting. (In all my spare time.)

Anyway, as I read, I found a challenge that totally intrigued and inspired me called “30daysofbeauty”. Although the challenge was issued last April, and those 30 days are now up, I’m motivated to venture out on my own anyway.

Seeing as how tomorrow is July 1st – I thought “serendipity!” – a great way to start the month!!

A month of remembering. A month of beauty and me.

So the challenge is to ponder on what your beauty means to you - where you find it in yourself, what you think makes you beautiful and then everyday for the next 30 days you make a list, answering the prompt, “I am beautiful because, …”

Beautiful. Me.
Be – YOU – ti – FULL. Me being the “U” in beauty filled and full.

And so I’m bringing me, the one with soft, glittery, shiny, iridescent rainbow hair and veins full of flowing stars, and light and I’m going to sit in the sun and let the beams dance with the rhythm and beat of all my colors.

And I’m going to enjoy each and every nuance of the ruckus.

Wanna join me?

the question of enough

2011-06-28T21:49:00.000-05:00

The sacred and sovereign Jane over at morethingsithinkabout posed the questions:

does honey ask if it is golden enough? sweet enough? nourishing enough?

does grass ask if it is green enough? soft enough? tender enough?

does a sparrow ask if it is flying beautifully? hopping enough?

does the sky ask if it is blue enough? wide enough?

why do i ask if i am good enough? kind enough? smart enough?

Yes.
Where, when, why and how did it start - this questioning of enoughness?

Because there was a time when we never thought about whether or not we were enough. A time we pulled out our dress up clothes, wearing tattered veils and crowns of flowers - dancing around the backyard to music only we could hear with wild abandon and laughter, believing in magic - knowing (with certainty) that we were born to be queens and we were only biding our time.

And we never thought to ask if it was enough.
Or if we were enough.

Back when we believed we could do anything we wanted to do.
Be anything our imaginations beckoned us to be.
Before we were taught the words to the question that would take away our magic.

And we started asking.

simple pleasures

2011-06-26T23:06:00.001-05:00

simple pleasures

Year by year the complexities of this spinning world grow more

bewildering and so each year we need all the more to seek peace and comfort

in the joyful simplicities. (Woman’s Home Journal – Dec. 1935)

The joyful simplicities. For me today that was being in the kitchen baking cookies. In my career woman, empty nester life, I don’t spend a lot of time in the kitchen. I especially don’t spend a lot of time baking.

I come from a long (maternal) line of really great cooks and even better bakers. The kind who rarely followed a recipe or measured with any utensil other than their eye or the palm of their hand. Yep - multiple generations of women who could produce 5 star restaurant worthy meals and desserts effortlessly.

And then there was my paternal grandmother whose signature dish was something called “Green Fluff.” To be fair, I will say she didn’t have to follow a recipe or measure out the marshmellows, cool whip and box of instant pistachio pudding to create it - as long as the main ingredients came out of a box, tub or container – she could pretty much produce it effortlessly too. Whatever “it” might be – which wasn’t always (God bless her for trying) identifiable. Or edible.

So anyway, when the genes got dispensed, I got mostly hers. With just enough of my mother’s side to be able to follow a recipe when need to. Or want to.

Like today in the kitchen baking cookies. Not just any cookies, but my mom’s famous oatmeal raisin cookies. From the recipe in her cookbook, in her handwriting with little notes in the margins.

And as I measured and blended and dropped by spoonfuls and the smell of baking cookies filled the house, I remembered back to other Sunday afternoons, baking cookies with my mom; my little brothers lined up at the breakfast bar, waiting for the cookies to come out of the oven, and all of us eating the first ones out of the oven while they were still hot.

Which I did today, even though I was alone in the house and my brothers are too far away to line up at my breakfast bar. But with Joan Baez singing in the background, it was beautiful and sacred and peaceful - and I felt my mom all around me. (Which is probably why my cookies turned out so deliciously.)

The joyful simplicities. Like spending the afternoon baking oatmeal raisin cookies.

girlfriends

2011-06-25T07:56:00.000-05:00

can you guess which would be me?

I love and cherish my girlfriends.

There's nothing like the embrace of a girlfriend - especially when you've both been attacked by a couple of (unrelated) mean people and need the exclamation point of a well timed and incredulous "how dare she" spoken out loud just before the pinkie pledge of "I've got your back sister" that only girlfriends can give.

Which is how yesterday played out. Me and my bestie, exchanging our pinkie pledges, drinking a tall cup of really good coffee, eating crumbly scones dripping in butter, going to an art gallery (where I bought an incredible painting) and just in general, hanging out and savoring each other.

I love our time together. I love her. She who has been by my side through the years to laugh at my jokes, indulge me in my eccentricities, cry with my heartache and everything else in between. I love the ease, comfort, and kindred flow of our friendship whether it's spent in quiet whispers or laugh out loud - in the easy or the tough.

Speaking of laugh out loud - she told me about a blog she had read and when I got home I looked it up. I laughed (tears in my eyes and holding my sides) out loud all the way through it because it so totally could have been about me, my husband and my bestie rather than the author and hers.

So yes, (raising my coffee mug) here's to summer afternoons and girlfriends and the power of friendship!!

And, if you want a great story about girlfriends, check out this hysterical blog!!

XXOO,

QnD

the company we keep

2011-06-24T09:57:00.000-05:00

The single clenched fist lifted and ready, or the open hand held out and waiting.

Choose: For we meet by one or the other.

(Carl Sandburg)

I’ve made a decision: If you can’t play nice and get along well with others, you aren’t welcome on my playground.

Yeppers - I’m done, done, (read my lips) dee-ohh-enn-eee, done with mean, bitter, angry, unreasonable, miserable and negative people.

At the beginning of this year (as I do every year) I chose my “one little word” which was “truth.” The intention behind choosing my word was to tell the truth, seek the truth, discern the truth, know the truth, and (most importantly for me) accept the truth.

What I am learning is that the truth isn’t always pretty, not everyone is good at heart, and no, just because someone chooses to jump off a bridge doesn’t mean I'll jump too.

Insanity: doing the same thing repeatedly yet expecting different results.
Enabling: creating a comfortable environment for unacceptable or unhealthy behavior.

“When people show you who they are, see them.

When people tell you who they are -- believe them."

Maya Angelou

I used to champion the cause that mean, bitter, angry, miserable, unreasonable and negative people didn’t really want to be that way, telling myself to take the high road because they were drawn to me because I had something to give them or teach them about not being mean, bitter, angry, miserable, unreasonable and negative people. (i.e. I could love them into niceness.)

I’ve changed my mind. The truth that is emerging for me is it’s not that they were drawn to me at all, it’s that, quite simply as the old cliché goes, “misery loves company” and the kind of company doesn’t matter to them – just that it’s company.

Don’t misunderstand my emergent truth as a hardening of my heart or lack of compassion or concern. I understand that if all a person has ever known is meanness, sometimes all that exists in a person is meanness, and all there is for them to give back is anger and meanness.

My heart breaks at the thought of what must have happened in their lives to make them the person they live out in that life of mean today. I know first hand the pain that lives behind the anger, the shadows that feed the mean and the hopelessness of it ever changing that creates the negative.

Believe me, I do.

But all that exists in a person doesn’t have to be meaness – that’s a choice, and even if all that exists in a person is anger as a result of there only being mean, they don’t have to direct it towards innocent bystanders - that’s a decision. I have first hand knowledge about that too.

Which is why I now wave my white flag of surrender, declare my space a no fly zone and quit calling it anything different than what it is.

Angry, mean, bitter, negative and miserable people are that way because they choose to be - period. All the excuses, justifications, and rationalizations in the world don’t absolve or change that fact.

After many years of fighting against it, I now accept that what they choose for their life is their karma, and not mine. It’s not my problem to take on, worry over or fix. I’m no longer willing to be more committed to changing them than they are to changing themselves.

Their anger, bitterness, resentments, unreasonablness and misery are not about what I have or haven’t done to them, it’s about what they have or haven’t done to or for themselves. It’s about how they choose to stand in their own life; their choices, reactions, actions and perception. It really is all about them - an inside job so to speak and frankly, it needs to be kept that way.

Maya Angelou was once asked how she deals with angry and unkind people. She replied that if they show up, she immediately removes herself from their presence. If they are in her house, she kindly and respectfully asks them to leave, sending them on their way with love, prayers and blessings.

I can’t think of a better lead to follow so that is what I choose to do too.

“Vaya con Dios”

Henri Nouwen wrote that the greatest purpose of our existence is to reflect and give each other the gift of our belovedness to God. Mean, angry, bitter, negative and miserable people do not give or reflect the gift of my belovedness to me, nor can I, caught in the middle of it, give them the gift of their belovedness back.

It’s a no win situation and everyone looses. Everyone gets hurt. Mean takes prisioners.

Angry, mean, unreasonable and negative people have the right (by their free will and choice) to be mean, angry, unreasonable and negative. Just as I have the right (by my free will and choice) to be loving, kind and happy.

And to avoid them. I’m letting go of mean, angry, bitter, negative and miserable people. Walking away.

Bye. Bye.

I won’t look back but I will pray (with all my heart) that those lost in the darkness of angry and mean find their way into the light of love and their hearts are healed.

Because I am going to fully live the joy that fills my life. I am going to reap the rewards of my choices and decisions to walk towards the light and out of the darkness. I am going to skip with gratitude, continue to say please and thank you every day and connect with all the positive and good and grace and love that surrounds me.

Yes, misery loves company.

But so does happy – and THAT’S the company I am choose to keep.

.

the beauty of ordinary

2011-06-23T09:14:00.000-05:00

I believe we’ve all had those moments when life was just comfortable as it happened. Or the moments we wish we could do over – the things we said that we wish we hadn’t; the things we didn’t say but wish we had; the things we’ve done and regretted; the things we didn’t do and regretted not doing. But I also believe we’ve all had those moments that were so incredibly filled with grace and we were so spot on the mark that it felt like we hit the game winning home run ball right out of the ballpark and into the next county as the band played and the crowds cheered.

That’s life – and whether it’s life on life’s terms or life on our terms, it is filled with the moments that are sacred and profound, as well as mundane and ordinary.

Which is why (as I’ve talked about before) I disagree with the current trend that tells us we should be living life happily, creatively, big, bold, expressively and profound in every moment.

I don’t know about you, but behind the smiley face façade, some days I’m elbow deep in sequins and flinging handfuls of glitter in the air and some days I’m ankle deep in dog shit and wondering how to get the stink off my feet.

And so this pressure to fill each and every moment up to overflowing, of trying to create something really special out of nothing really special is not just a self defeating sure fire method of setting ourselves up to fail, but also exhausting.

(shrugging shoulders – just my opinion for what it's worth y’all)

Some things are mundane or routine or ordinary – and really, should be left alone to go on about their way being mundane, routine and ordinary – giving comfort in their boring non-eventfulness.

To my way of thinking, if everything was a big production, nothing would be a big production, if everything was special nothing would be special because there would be nothing left to compare it to or measure it against. And, if everything was “take your breath away” momentous we would suffocate from lack of breathing in oxygen.

My laundry pile is just my laundry pile. Seriously. Taking pictures of it and spending hours photoshopping it to go in an art journal and make a statement of depth and meaning didn’t change it or my feelings about it one bit. Same with my husband’s pile of used dental floss on the coffee table or random tools left on the counter in the bathroom.

And how about those family gatherings I worried were too boring and thought needed to be interactively deep bonding experiences between parent and childrens so I spent hours printing out little strips of paper with prompts to facilitate meaningful conversation around the dinner table and my kids looked at me like I was crazy and told me all they wanted to do was come over and just “hang out” and eat my potato salad and rice crispy bars?

Uh-huh. My case(s) in point.

We don’t always have to be doing more and being more. We don’t have to always be performing or directing a Broadway production. Sometimes life is more about little skits on a stage in the backyard. And sometimes it’s nice to just sit in the audience and take it all in.

Sometimes it’s nice to just simply look upon sunlight as sunlight - dozing off in the warmth of it rather than try to capture it on a canvas or write it out as a poem.

We don’t have to fill up every moment with meaningfulness or find profound around every corner - nor were we meant to. Sometimes the best thing to do is nothing and sometimes the greatest beauty that exists in the world is in the ordinary moments of life unfolding, quietly, comfortably and uneverntfully - more than enough as it is - without an agenda.

Really. Just try it.