Grief Beauty Strength

Thoughts are like waves. See them, acknowledge them, then let them pass. (paraphrase) ~Ruth Riffe

I haven’t posted anything in a long time. I have so much I’d like to say, but not sure how to construct it, well, constructively. These words ache to come out.

The past several weeks have been rough; add the tragedy in Connecticut, and I’m a regular waterworks. I’ve been bouncing back and forth between raw grief and ordinary life and it sometimes feels weird. I even struggle now and then with guilt. How can I go on living and laughing and eating cookies when families are ripped apart, never to be the same?

Yesterday, I attended a fundraiser for a dear teacher Ruth at my yoga studio. Ruth called in sick just over a month ago and a week or so later was handed the diagnosis of cancer. All over. She could try treatments, that would maybe extend her life, maybe. And, she’d be miserably ill. She opted to let it take its course. You see, Ruth watched her own husband fight the same cancer just 2 years ago and she knew what lay ahead. Our vibrant Ruth, who sometimes had so much energy I thought it was going to vibrate right out of her and the very walls would start dancing.

We gathered together for her yesterday. We dedicated our class to her. Normally, a teacher leads us with their words, but yesterday, only the names of the postures were called, and we moved into them silently. It was such a beautiful dance. We were all moving for Ruth. I think we were moving for something even larger.
I marveled as tears flowed down my face that I could be so heartbroken as memories of Ruth splashed across my mind, as well as images of the sweet babes in Connecticut, that I could still move and my body could still bend backwards and forwards and dare I say do amazing things. I marveled at everyone’s strength and beauty. I know I wasn’t the only one in the room with a tight heart, not for the aerobic activity, but the sadness welling up and out. And yet, we all followed along, wordlessly and with purpose. It’s one of the most beautiful experiences I’ve had.

It strikes me now that that is how we move on. (Or at least one of the ways). In strength and beauty, we go about our business, and we cry when we need to. It’s very simple, and yet I at least struggle with it.
Ruth will always be with me. The things she taught me both actively and passively will always be with me. The crying and grief will slowly fade out. Hearing Ruth’s voice during class will fade as well, I am sure. But the way she has touched me, just as I’ve been touched by others who have gone before Ruth, they will always be a part of my being, whether I consciously know it or not.
We take time to remember, we take time to honor and then we move out into the world with grace and strength and do each thing to the best of our ability and in love.

Judgement

I have been threatening to write a post on judgement for some time. This is not that time. I'm just going to post a few synonyms to the word judgement, and continue to ponder this word that I think is perhaps misunderstood?


perspicacity


1. keenness of mental perception and understanding; discernment; penetration.
2. keen vision.




Discernment is a term used to describe the activity of determining the value and quality of a certain subject or event. Typically, it is used to describe the activity of going past the mere perception of something, to making detailed judgments about that thing. As a virtue, a discerning individual is considered to possess wisdom, and be of good judgement; especially so with regard to subject matter often overlooked by others.


I'll perhaps cite sources at another time.


Do I even dare to tackle judgement (again)? 

Shallow

Something has been on my mind lately. Shallow. Actually, a lot has been on my mind. So much so, that sometimes I can only speak gibberish.
Judgement has been heavy on my mind....but I'm not ready to tackle that, so I'll stick in shallow waters. Shallow waters can be lovely. Coral reefs need to be in shallower waters, so they can receive light. You can snorkel in shallow water, and cruise around with clown fish.
This crossed my mind as I was talking to a friend the other day, and this friend described someone else's lifestyle as shallow, quickly followed by the no judgement disclaimer. I didn't take it that way. But to really seal the deal in my mind, I started thinking about the beauty of things that are shallow.

Not everyone needs to go deep. Not everyone needs to be a philosopher. Not every observation is a judgement. I'm grateful for all the different people in my life, each displaying their own unique beauty on so many different levels.

Icharus

I haven't had much to share lately. Lots to say, not much to share. Life hasn't been very funny lately.
It isn't funny that I am so afraid of rattle snakes and tip toe around the ranch with my head bent low making sure I don't step on snakes. It isn't funny that I am so cautious. Until I am not. Thankfully, the writhing mound of snakes under the tarp that had been untouched for 2 years until I crouched down and studied the puddles of water still present after all these warm days....they weren't rattle snakes. Lucky me.
Because I pretty carelessly poked around until I was too close for comfort.
Not funny.
It's also not funny that the day after I told my Mom I should be running a company instead of what I do, my boss pointed out a very inconvenient mistake I'd made. Not funny at all.
I was sick about it all day. Except when I was laughing at myself.
It's not funny that I can parallel park my beast of a car in a teeny tiny space as if I'd just slid it in sideways, but I can't make a U-turn on a mostly soft shouldered spacious road without hitting the one random panel of sidewalk and putting a gash in my tire. Not funny. At all.

But really, it's all pretty funny. Life is funny, really. We all make mistakes. We all get a little puffed up, and then maybe taken down a peg. I am sorry I inconvenienced my boss, but I'm going to go with a little humility rather than wounded pride.
I'm going to learn from my mistakes, and slow down a little. And then maybe pick up the pace again. And maybe make some more mistakes. (maybe?) And I'm going to laugh at myself. And stay away from tarps. I'm really going to stay away from tarps.

This guy is the last man standing. The others slithered back under the tarp.

The one about tanks, or me, it's difficult to say

Since this blog originated with the concept of extending grace, more and more I find, the person to whom I need to extend the most grace is um, Me.
I'm a complete mess most of the time, and the only reason I write at all is because I must.

So, here's guilty confession number 237: I am not of strong character. I am a people pleaser. Ooohhh, that's 2. It's ironic, since I am also very outspoken. But there it is. I am an outspoken people-pleaser of weak character. I bet you're jealous.....I am a walking oxymoron. (But definitely not a moron.)

Here's the stage; I've just sat down to a picnic lunch with a handful of acquaintances and friends I have not seen in a while. I am eager to impress. Especially since one of said acquaintances can only recall me based on a very unfortunate crush I had years ago. Gosh, I hope I gave him a better association today. I'm thinking maybe no.
The table is spread with wine, cheeses and bread, olives, pate and prosciutto. A discussion on the humaneness of pate arises. I didn't bring it up, but being the know it all that I am, and only after the question was asked, I contributed to the conversation that pate is often the result of inhumane treatment of animals, look across the table and realize aforementioned friend is spreading generous portions of pate on bread. Shortly thereafter, it was pointed out, not by me, that I am a vegetarian. I felt on the spot. When asked why, I gave my stock answer that there's many reasons, I'm not a militant vegetarian, and I really just don't like meat. I was so anxious to not offend, that I wanted to wave it all away. I felt all sorts of wishing I wasn't such a big-mouthed introvert.
I shared funny stories of the "vegetarian" friend I traveled with in Israel who ate lamb every chance she had. Who can blame her? I shared how, as a child, I often was sent to bed during dinner because I would not eat the meat on my plate. In my haste to control the attention placed on me, I missed out on something. I missed out on hearing that my  friend's new husband is also a vegetarian, and that he and I probably have a lot in common. I missed out on hearing his perspective, and maybe being the richer for it, and perhaps others would have been the richer for it as well. He was about to share his perspective on industrialized food, but the discussion of whether or not we had to eat everything on our plates as children took over.
None of that really resonated with me until much later. That night, I was doing what I do. I read blogs. Other blogs. I don't just read the blogs, if it's a good post, I read the comments. Last night, I read hundreds of comments on a couple posts. What I discovered, which is really not news, is that people just don't listen, or rather pay attention. Comment after comment revealed the reader latched onto one teeny portion of the whole and completely misconstrued the post or the previous comment. Time and again, the author would have to retell what had already been said, and said clearly the first time in my opinion. Commenters preached and pontificated, and I realized I'm not the only misunderstood person on the planet. I get frustrated that I am often misunderstood, but how can I be surprised when I see it happening to others and I'm so busy crafting a pleasing persona, my real person is lost. Everyone has a paradigm from which they operate. Everyone. Some are more aware of this than others. Some can step outside and understand another's point of view. Others cannot or will not. And there's the rub.
What I really take away is to talk less, listen more. Which is really difficult, because I love to tell stories.
That is why I prefer reading blogs and comments. It affords me the time to really hear other people. I am richer every day from the insights and stories others are willing to share. Now to figure out how to apply that in person.
Meanwhile, if you want to know, I will tell you why I am a vegetarian. And, if you eat meat, I am not judging you. Well, mostly not. Maybe a little. No, I'm not.
If you can't make a clear connection between the photo and this post, refer to The Oatmeal.

The one where I use the "F" word

As I fiddle with the color balance levels on one of my camera apps, it occurs to me how much we are responsible for the color of our world. I altered the color balance so much on a photo that a blue sky turned bright orange, and the brown grass turned lavender. The photo may not have any artistic merit; I may be the only person who appreciates it, but for this moment, for something as harmless as a photo, I don't care what other people think.
I do care (what other people think) when it concerns my well being, or the well being of others. What was initially going to be a post about balance is turning into many thoughts on how we color our world. In word, deed, thought and action, we all have a paintbrush. Finding that balance is tricky. Life is about balance and contrast. Day/night. Sleep/work/play. Trust/self-protection. Dark/light. What would you add to the list?
We spend about a third of the time in my yoga class doing balancing postures. I wonder if that translates into real life.
Every facet of life has been challenging my notion of balance lately.
How do we find our balance? How do we find balance in a world that seems to be spinning off its axis?
I feel things acutely. It's part of my genetic code. Sometimes it leaves me wondering if I was the only one who felt the earth move, or if the whole world did. I'm not yet able to decipher that out. For instance, that awkward moment when people don't know if they should clap or not, and then the awkward moment of when to stop...am I the only one who wonders about these things? What is the perfect balance of time to clap? Not so long you're a lone cheering section and not so brief you're the sourpuss barely able to rub two palms together. As a dear friend says "stop thinking." I can't help it. Sometimes, I have vertigo of thought. Spiraling thoughts make me dizzy, and I want to find that firm leg to stand on.
I've been really enjoying a new favorite blog; Recovering Yogi. Usually the stories crack me up. Often, they are self effacing. People have forgotten self effacing I think. They translate it into negative self-talk. But that's another blog post....Recently, someone tackled manners. I have long wanted to tackle manners, as many people around me already know. What I found interesting is the responses to this post. This is all about being in a yoga community, but I'm sure it translates across life.
I'm going to get gross here. Real gross. Leave it to me to use gas as a launch pad for deep thoughts. There was your warning word. I'm going to talk about farts. Right now. Follow me here (if you can stomach it): the author suggested one leave the (practice) room until they can get their gas under control. To which several  responded in different shades of how terrible she is to judge the accidental fart, to which the author responds she wasn't referring to the accidental fart. She understands those happen. Are you so turned off now? Because I'm taking it to the next level. The next comment had me rolling on the floor. "What about the accidental shart?" Yep. I went there.
Where do we draw the line in our collective prudishness/open-mindedness?
Because, this probably isn't a news flash, I would die if that happened to me in class. So should we shame people for bodily functions? No. And, I think we'd all agree that we'd all like to just not have to think about any of the above. But what about the guy who rings out his soaked towel so you can hear a rush of water on his mat while the room is still and quiet? Is that necessary? I've gotten really acceptive of the sweat that happens in hot yoga class. I've accepted gas happens. But if you can help something, do.
Today, I complimented a new (to my studio) woman's top. She thanked me, told me she made it, and that it was the least amount of clothing she could get away with. Followed by, "wouldn't it be great if we could practice naked yoga?" Um, no, no it would not be great. I'll tell you right now, that thought offends my sensibilities way more than the above conversation about gas. But, I can choose to go or not go to a naked yoga class. I can choose to go or not go to a hot yoga class; knowing there will be things that are not my favorite. I can also choose to be mindful of others. I can choose to try not drip all over others. I can choose to not shave my legs when 10 women are in line for the shower. I can choose to respect other people's time and space. I cannot choose whether or not my nose is going to start running. I cannot choose if I have gas...though really friends, I never do that.
Sometimes, I feel like we've gone so overboard in being love and light or being irritable that we don't really know which battles to pick. What I think is okay and not okay is not what you'll think. Somewhere in the middle is balance, no? I think the key is: do no harm, within balance. Be mindful that we share a space in the yoga room and on this planet. I confessed in my last post that I talk about things. It's true, I do. I talk about what's funny, what I want to see change, what's obnoxious. I talk. Here's my choice; if you can't change it, I'm not going to talk about it. If you had a rough day, you've got all my grace. If you're new to something and don't understand, no judgement from me. If you're a selfish prat, then I'm probably talking about you. And when I'm done, I probably still like you. I just don't like that thing you did. The longer I practice yoga, the less annoyed I am in general. But I still expect people to show up and realize we live together and share space. The balance I struggle with is realizing you can't change other people; and realizing you can.

The Scarlett Letter

I wish I could wear a Scarlett Letter. I'd wear a "G" instead of an "A" though. For those of you who are not familiar with the "Scarlett Letter" it is a work of fiction by Nathanial Hawthorne. Hester Prynne has been discovered to be with child by someone other than her husband. Her punishment for such a shameful act: to wear a Scarlett "A" round her neck so everyone would know she is an adulterer. You gotta love the Puritans.
I cheat on yoga with gossip. I don't repeat things told to me in secret, I share observations. It's a tricky relationship for me. I am gifted with an ability to take in a lot of information at one time, which means....I take in information I'd rather not. I'd rather not see your private bits, but if you don't know what to wear to yoga, and I'm craning me head in final spinal and get blasted with your bits, I'm going to tell. And there will be laughter.
Also, I get frustrated with things that are off balance to me, that I vent by talking about the things I'd like to change.
Did I say vent? I gossip. It's true. I'm saying it out loud, well I'm broadcasting it. And, it's something I truly dislike about myself. Because I hate to hurt other people. I hate to be petty. If I had to hang that Scarlett G around my neck, perhaps I'd think twice before passing on information. The kind of information that serves no purpose but a commiseration of how messed up people are.
But then again, how else do we learn, but by being called out? There's a quote periodically making the rounds that says something like small minds discuss people, average minds discuss things and great minds discuss  ideas. I see that. If you'd prefer to discuss how big someone's butt is in those jeans instead of world peace....maybe you're shallow.
Then again....it's not that simple. Is it? I've been reading in the yoga community, and there's interesting discussion about what is annoying, how annoying it is that you're annoyed in the first place, and really who is judging whom. I had to laugh as I read because things got blown so out of proportion, and really, even the best of us can't shake the ego. For example, I'm not judging your worth as a human being when you carelessly slam the door on your way out during Savasana, you're still a worthy being. I'm judging that in that moment, you're obnoxious. And, if enough people talk about how obnoxious the door slamming event is, maybe it will become an idea that we all need to not slam the door. See how that works? Of course, others may not care about the door slamming at all, (in actuality I don't), but let's hear it for courtesy and mindfulness.
I'm not trying to justify being a gossip. I'm serious when I say I hate that about myself. I am saying a lot of bad behavior goes unchecked, and when we fall into the trap of rising above it, excusing it as human nature, it seems to me it just gets worse.
The word that keeps coming to mind as I contemplate these ideas is balance....this post has been sitting here for weeks, because it is such a scary topic to me! And given the Scarlett Letter, I still think Hester would do it all the same.

Guilty Confession Part Two, or Another Crunchy Gravel Show

I believe in my last post, I made a confession of enjoying a Masterpiece Theater program  soap opera. (They changed their name to Masterpiece Classic, but whatever...it's my blog.) This week's confession is going to get a little thicker. I check the Masterpiece website, and, oh my gosh, I'm sharing this in a teeny tiny whisper; I vote for characters I love and loathe. What's more, I check the chart to see how other people are voting. I am sucked into Downton Abbey.

Tonight, I changed my mind about a few characters. Some went down in my estimation while others went up. I'm watching lives unfold, and seeing some characters make bad choices, or be misunderstood, or maligned even, and how it all shakes out. I find it interesting how each week, the chart shifts with the storyline. And, when I see a particularly loathsome character display a change in character, I wonder, can a leopard change its spots? Or, more importantly, the character who has been misunderstood has new light shed upon him or her which paints a much different picture. Or, the character who has been strong and honorable suddenly falls off his proverbial white stallion.

And a thought occurred to me. Maybe it's not  earth shaking to you, but for me, very. If we could view people in the fulness of time, what would we see? Would we have more grace with someone if we knew that one day, they would display better behavior? Would we be more accepting of people if we knew that we didn't know the whole story?

I'm sure some of my friends already live this way. I'm sure most people are not half as judgmental as me. And I don't believe in throwing judgment out entirely. I'm kind of a realist. You know, as George Bush said, "There's an old saying in Tennessee — I know it's in Texas, probably in Tennessee — that says, fool me once, shame on — shame on you. (awkward pause.) Fool me — you can't get fooled again." —Nashville, Tenn., Sept. 17, 2002.  Well, actually, it's "fool me twice, shame on me." I fully believe in the balance between self preservation which comes from discernment which has a flavor of judgment. But, I also wonder what it would look like if I treated people like the characters on Downton Abbey. Maybe today someone appears super dastardly, and so it is. But what if I leave room for interpretation and depth of character? 
It is a balance between discernment and grace. I love being able to see the characters develop in the series, and being privy to information before them, and seeing how they'll receive the information. One writer says "they are always looking to do the right thing." http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/magazine-16731254 I don't agree with that entirely, but where it is true, it is interesting. It has helped me gain perspective I wouldn't necessarily have.

It is ironic, the two favorite characters on the series are completely opposite. One is loved for her outspokenness and wit, while the other is loved for her discretion and kindness. Guess who I am like and who I wish to be like.....
Humans are complicated. Some more than others. I'm sure over time, we all rise and fall in people's estimation. But, at the end of the day, the ensemble of us living and being together is a Masterpiece as well, and we're all capable of doing the right thing, whatever that may be.


*Crunchy Gravel credit to Lisa De Moreas, Washington Post

Another Guilty Pleasure

Tonight, on my way home from yoga, I caught an interview with Gregory Maguire. He's the brilliant author who takes fairy tales and turns them on their head. That is not what tonight's post is about. Sorry. But he did strike a chord with me.
He reminded me of a lost era. He reminded me of my childhood. In explaining how his ideas came about, he reminisced about a time when there were only 3 channels on TV. I came a little later, and can remember  just 10. I thought my family was really super high tech when we had 10 buttons to push, rather than a dial to turn on our television. I could feel a little bit of the excitement from long ago when Maguire shared how the Wizard of Oz was scheduled to air once a year, and it was eagerly anticipated. These days, most kids grow up seeing their latest favorite movie until it wears a hole in the floor. Oh, waxing nostalgic, when The Wizard of Oz came on, it was an event. We marked it on the calendar, we made popcorn, we may have even curled my hair; I'm not sure.
What has this to do with guilty pleasures? Just this: I'm just 30 minutes away from part 3 of Downton Abbey on Masterpiece Theater. It's a period drama, but I won't have a freak out if you call it a Soap Opera. It might be. Only the acting is better, the location is better, the story is better and ooh la la the wardrobe is better. But sure, it's a soap.
I had to wait a whole year for this. Actually, more than a year. It's the same feeling I had while waiting for the next Harry Potter book or movie. Anticipation.

This connection in and of itself is obvious. Least, I think it is. But, just to really drive it home, I recently had a little exchange on facebook regarding Downton Abbey. A friend of mine, (forgive me friend for using you as my foil), wrote: "Managed to watch seasons one and two of Downton Abbey in three nights. Now what?" After a little bit of confusion on my part, as all of season 2 has not yet aired on Masterpiece, I discovered she'd watched it all on some website. And you know what ensued? She was jealous of me that I have several episodes yet to view.
I didn't think about this exchange until I heard the interview with Maguire. And then I realized, I'd been looking forward to Downton Abbey all week. I've known no matter what happens this week, good or bad, on Sunday night there's nail polish, wine and Masterpiece Theater. (Truth be told, if handsome man asked me to dinner, I'd watch it online later this week.) But the point is....it's gooooood to look forward to things. And, it's not often I do look forward to something. Everything is so right here, right now. Tomorrow is crashing in on us instead of being a beautiful wistful full of possibility and mystery day to anticipate. I'm going to take some time to think about some other things I can look forward to. There's a saying that goes, "Why put off until tomorrow what you can do today?" Just for this moment, I'm going to think about replacing instant gratification with, why consume today what you can eagerly anticipate tomorrow?

Words in the New Year

I love words. I collect them like flowers. I mentioned elsewhere, I've been bereft of words today. In fact, I believe I've actually growled several times when I just couldn't find the words I wanted. Perhaps I had the words even, but I refused to string them together, refused to let my thoughts run their course.
I have been told my whole life to keep expectations low. If we keep expectations low, then we cannot be disappointed. I beg to differ.
I had no expectations of the transition from 2011 to 2012. And yet, I was a perfectly disappointed monster last night. I hadn't given much thought at all to what I'd do to ring in the new year. I could care less really. And after having been awakened at 4 am that morning, raging all night did not seem to be on the menu.
When I found myself at an event after all, having left a wonderfully warm and delicious house party, I thought the evening would be a breeze, as I had no expectations. I could just be. So I thought.
That is not entirely true. I could not just be. I had to navigate through crowds of people all doing the drunk bump up and down narrow corridors and on the dance floor. I wished I was wearing hiking shoes, as the flooring inside and out was a death trap. All evening, the heel of my boot managed to find every random hole in the floor or upturned brick. I craved a cane, or even a walker. I might have some rage issues, because I wanted to punch whoever invented the strobe light. Really only cool if you're totally hopped up on drugs. (I imagine.) I'm getting old, and though I've never been the cool kid, I'm now hovering somewhere in the negative numbers of cool. I'm going to have to start paying people to be cool for me. I look like I've been sucking on a lemon, and have to do things like go outside and pull myself together.  Drunk people are maybe fun to watch if you can remain disengaged, but as an empath....not so much.
I told my Mom today that I wished I was Amish. I'll give you a moment to let that sink in.

I learned something today, that I think I already knew. You probably already know it too. You're probably even shaking your head at me right now forming the word "duh" under your breath. I think it is possible to keep expectations too low. I think it is possible I was so blase about the New Year that I had no intention. I think low expectations and  a lack of intention, (and a lack of sleep) equals a very crabby woman wishing for a walker on a Saturday night. Sad. More importantly, if it's true that if you expect the evening to go poorly it will, then you should follow the converse; keep your expectations high.
I think it's possible to create a better outcome no matter where we start. I think always expect the best. Listen to your heart. Stay in good humor. Get enough sleep. Listen to your heart. Be honest. Be kind. Listen to your heart. Laugh. Laugh some more. And always. Listen to your heart. Did I alienate any men? Sorry. Listen to your heart anyway. Even if you claim not to have one. Because that's the other thing I learned. (again.) In my heart of hearts, I wanted to stay home. And I didn't listen to my heart. I have to laugh at how I proclaimed last week that each day is ours to do with what we will, and a week later I gave it away. Sometimes the simplest things are actually the most outrageous.
Today, the first day of 2012, the first words to pierce my heart that has felt like a bleak winter whiteout since 4 am yesterday were from Neil Gaiman. He says:
I hope you will have a wonderful year, that you'll dream dangerously and outrageously, that you'll make something that didn't exist before you made it, that you will be loved and that you will be liked, and that you will have people to love and to like in return. And, most importantly (because I think there should be more kindness and more wisdom in the world right now), that you will, when you need to be, be wise, and that you will always be kind.
Flowers are budding in my winter heart again. The thought of living outrageously unlocked my words, not just words for blogging, but words for living. It is the key that gives me something to be excited about this year. Listening to your heart will sometimes seem outrageous. Listen anyway.
May you have an outrageous year full of kindness, that which you give, and that which you receive. And may you expect the best, and receive that as well. Here's to expecting the best in 2012. (Unless the Mayans were right, and then well, shoot. Expect the best anway.)

Perfect and Embarrassing

Yesterday, Christmas, was perfect. Things I hold near and dear to my heart were missing. Frivolous things like a large flat screen TV or car that runs were also missing under the tree. Well, okay, kind of difficult to fit a car under the tree anyway, so I'll let that one pass. It was perfect nonetheless.

Twenty years ago, perfect would have been defined for yesterday as a large home with 3 or 4 fresh faced children in matching red velvet dresses and dapper sweaters with curly hair and ribbons. It was also defined as a large house with a grand entrance and garlands of evergreen trailing down a stately staircase. It meant a large family gathering with twinkling crystal and a china pattern I'd picked out for my wedding.
Not one of those definitions of perfection have come to pass. And yet, yesterday was indeed perfect. Not everything went smoothly, I even had a bit of a tummy ache. My step dad sometimes says things that are hurtful or just plain obnoxious. But I love him. I didn't get to see my niece and nephew, and I missed them immensely. And, here's the really terrible awful confession that I argued with myself about sharing. I ran out of gas. On Christmas day. I run out of gas all the time. It is my one failing. If someone ever wants to show me love, fill up my gas tank; physically, take my car to the station and fill her up, and I will feel loved beyond measure. I don't need diamonds or a Mercedes. I need someone to pump my gas.  I did something I never do yesterday. I started my car, and then got distracted. I came into the house, stared into space, scratched my kitties, searched for my phone....ran out of gas. And, to top it off, was in denial. My car is on her last legs. She's been good to me. But she's tired. So, I immediately jumped to the conclusion that she threw in the towel. So, I called Mom in a panic. Meanwhile, I found a gas tank on the ranch, crossed my fingers it contained regular 'ol gas, and threw the dice. Ta da. Problem solved and I was off to Calistoga.
Please don't judge me.
So, why was yesterday so perfect? Because it was mine. It was yours too. Did you sense that, know that; it was your day?
There was nothing fancy about yesterday. My mom and step-dad are very modest. They live for their beautiful walking trails, fish ponds and random gardens they've created on their property. Inside is an afterthought, a place to eat and lay their weary heads. Mom prepared simple foods, but she did make my favorite jello. The one with cream cheese and cinnamon red hots melted in the jello. Yum. More than yum, I happen to know she searched high and low for those red hots; they are difficult to find! My step-dad and I bonded over Malcolm in the Middle. I like to see what makes him laugh.
We called my brother and talked to the kids. We took a walk. We exchanged gifts which is basically money hidden amidst bags of almonds or coffee; more practical things,and, always a Christmas ornament. Just to ensure my status as the spinster crazy cat lady, this year's was a cat. Thanks Mom! On that note, one of the girls in the family I work for gave me a gift on her own. It was a packet of cocktail napkins with, yes, cats, and a curled up kitty thing (?) that looks just like my devil cat that wakes their dogs and thereby their whole family at night. I love her to pieces for thinking of me!
We ended the evening watching "The Help". If you have not seen it put it on the list. I was so inspired. My step-dad could not understand why Mom and I would want to cry on Christmas day, or at all ever for that matter; but crying is a beautiful thing. It reveals the fact that I can be moved. And moved I was. Moved enough to not have one single pang of envy for those who have what I want, or think I want. Moved enough to want to do things in this world that have meaning. Moved enough that all I had was gratefulness for yesterday, and for all the things I do have in this life.
I think today is going to be perfect too.

Don't Blink

Two of my girl-friends, Lexi, Zelda and I had an all too familiar and yet still creepy experience the other night. We had decided to hit a brewery after a meeting we'd all attended. (Not AA). We weren't really after drinking or being noticed. We just wanted a glass of cheap champagne and some girl time to debrief.
I'm not calling myself attractive...but I will say, I believe there is something very attractive about women who are genuinely interested in one another and so content to be in each other's company. That's how things were that night. We were very involved in our conversation. And like a moth to a flame....the creeper came creeping in.
We could all see him, out of the corner of our eyes. It reminded me of an episode of Doctor Who. Yes, did I mention I'm a Sci-Fi nerd? I am. Deal with it. There's an episode where stone angel statues have the ability to move and attack, as long as no one is looking at them. I wish I'd remembered that; as long as someone was staring at them, they had to act like a statue. If only I could have just stared the creeper down into a statue. We tried so hard not to make eye contact, it must have given him the strength to intrude on our conversation.
And, it was one of those awkward intrusions. He used big words completely incoherently, and claimed he wanted to know what we were talking about because it sounded like some (insert nonsense here). We suspected there was more than alcohol involved with this yahoo, as the tell tell residue remained around his nose. We walked the tight-rope of courtesy: enough acknowledgement to not be rude, and yet nothing inviting in our manner. And then he did it. He who barged into our conversation like a drunk toddler tried to turn it around and make us feel badly that we didn't want to stop and invite the powder nosed bull into our conversation.
And, here's where I'm going to get all psychological. He knew he was wrong. From his first creeping step in our direction, he knew the odds were not in his favor. I'm sure alcohol made him roll the dice. Prior to that evening, we had just discussed how people like to turn it around. They know they are in the wrong, but instead of just gracefully acknowledging the wrong, they twist it into the other person's fault. And one can remark on his bravery in trying to meet women. I'm not interested in that right now. What I am interested in is how generous we were in trying to let him off gently, and how much of a buffoon he turned into, well, continued to be I should say, since we weren't interested in inviting him into the conversation.
I am interested in this because I want to have integrity. I am pointing the finger here at me. (and him, certainly him.) When I know I am doing something wrong, (which is rare I tell ya, super rare), I want to look at myself and just stop it. If I could stare myself down into a stone statue in those instances, that would be great. If I look back over times I feel like an idiot, I can trace my own creeping steps toward chaos. Catching ourselves at the first step is big. It could save so much drama. Because, I think when our intentions are pure, we don't need to blame others or be offended or cause offense. Sure, creepers will still creep around, but we need only thank them for taking the time to creep by and send them on their way without a second thought.

Happy, Merry, Feliz, Joyeaux

I've been seeing a lot of commentary about the Christmas/holiday choice in words dilemma some people experience.  I know I used to send out Christmas cards with the baby Jesus on them to Jewish or Atheist friends without a second thought. Then I did one of those huge intakes of breath one day when I realized what an awful, unfeeling, terrible monster I am. Then I took a chill pill. Or several....because maybe I'm too relaxed now.
You see, I don't care. If something basically harmless that gives me joy gets your panties in a wad, I don't care. They're your panties. If someone is going to judge me because I took the time to send a card, and it didn't have their politically/spiritually approved jargon on it, then I'd say they should maybe find an actual cause, like child abuse or slavery. You know, something really actually terrible.
There is a war with words lately, and I grow weary. The irony is, I love words. I have affinities with words just like a I do with people. There are words that make me smile for no other reason than the way they sound. Like plum. Say it. I know you want to.
I digress.
The war on words is like nickel and dime-ing the English language. (Which I have just totally abused in that statement.) I am craving something of substance to be said. I understand people want to be heard. People who feel marginalized, or see that other groups have been marginalized by the  campus bully are trying to use words to defeat the bully. And, words are much preferred over war. But, didn't I begin this paragraph using the term "war on words"?
Honor me. That is what I ask. And I will do the same for you. I won't do that by catering to your whim. Can you imagine even trying to ferret out what everyone actually believes? "Hi so and so. How are you today? By the way, what are your spiritual beliefs (this year) so I can procure the appropriate greeting/card for you?" Kind of a cumbersome idea. It reminds me of an old Saturday Night Live sketch when Dukakis was running for president. He tried to identify with every racial group. He, played by Jon Lovitz, ended his speech in about 20 different languages, which was tediously funny.
Can we not have grace with one another? Can we not accept a person's paradigm and know that their intention is not to force something upon us, but just accept the spirit of their words. I celebrate Christmas. It's in my core. I've got my Grandparent's nativity scene, and I don't display it to shove Christianity down anyone's throat; it represents years of family memories to me. But, if you want to spin a dradle with me, I'm down. If you're an atheist and December means annual ski trip, rock on. If you want to do a dance in the woods celebrating the shortest day of the year...I would dance with you but I get too cold too easily. Let's ease up a bit....and maybe go after the real monsters. You know who they are.

Why I am not married:

You probably clicked on the link thinking I would tell you about my troll skin under my clothes being the reason I am not married. No such luck. It was prompted by this: Dylan Stableford gathered together the top 40 stories and videos reposted on Facebook and listed them on a Yahoo News Blog today. I laughed at my predictability at having posted several already. And equally as predictable, posted today's story as well.
Though I have piles of work on my desk, I spent a few perusing the articles I hadn't come across this year.
One in particular has me deeply confused. Was I supposed to find it humorous? You can find it in the above article.
Here's the lowdown: A woman who has been married 3 times shared the six reasons why I am still single. Apparently, having landed a man 3 times makes her an authority. I think Bridget Jones would call her a smug married, and divorced, and married, and divorced, and married and divorced....Her reasons are deeply philosophical. Here's the list, sans inane description.
Cover your ears, she speaks French.

1. You're a b!tch.
2. You're shallow.
3. You're a s!ut.
4. You're a liar.
5. You're selfish.
6. You're not good enough.

Really? Seriously? Here's where I need help; does she really believe this? Or was she just trying to be funny to get to the the last bit? Because, I may be all those things listed, (Those of you who think I'm #1, try not to laugh too hard), but honey.... a lot of my married friends are those things too. In fact, I've often wondered how some friends, (no one reading this of course) ever landed their man in the first place. I've watched women make nagging an olympic sport. Talk about stamina.
Being married is not my goal. Not if it means also being divorced three times. And she's not wrong for being divorced three times; she's not a bad person. She just made different choices, no better or worse than mine.
So, for all those reasons, I say, marriage is pretty much like pregnancy. Some people who aren't expecting it, find they are in that "condition". Others try and try, but for no fault in um, trying, find it eludes them. (But it was fun trying, wasn't it?) Still others take precautionary measures and still land in that position. And others....like the author, find themselves with 3.
There are some mysteries that just can't be explained.
She and I can agree on one thing. It's about love. Or rather, it should be. Being single, married or divorced should all be about love. Loving yourself enough to follow your heart, and loving someone else enough to encourage them to follow their heart.

And now for something completely different: a poem, if you will.

I wrote this about ten years ago, and it's been sing-songing in my head recently. Humor me.

Levity in Love

Tell me truly
hearts consume me
write these words
so please don't sue me
see me happy
see me sad
send me flowers
say I'm bad
kiss me quickly
Never ending
hold me closely
take me in

These walls cracking
crumbling
falling
Naked standing
vulnerable raw
see my heart unwrapped before you
break it
seal it
take it all

Fail

Remember how last week, I wanted to be able to send people on their way with a smile? Well, I need to incorporate that into some other areas of my life. Not a fake smile either; but a compassionate I know deep in my core this isn't really a big deal so I'm going to smile smile.
I have been really frustrated with service lately. How stupid is that? All the things in the world that can get my panties in a wad, and I freak over the kid behind the counter.
I have officially hit middle age. I am so tired of the kid who asks if she can help me as she breezes around the corner into some back room where I can't see or hear her. Not, "I'll be right with you," but "can I help you?" No, apparently, you cannot as you cannot hear me, or see to what I am pointing. Then, when she does come around, I'm not quite ready, so I suggest my friend order. Which she curtly explains to me is already taken care of and she then proceeds to help someone else with a very large order. Not once did she ask if I had any questions. Just a complete disdain for me. (Not me personally, I know she has no way of knowing how absolutely amazing I am. Just that general disdain for anyone who is not as robotic as she is.)
Are your eyes glazed over yet? Mine are. Rants are boring. And this is a rant. This is not the end of my dealings with this girl, but for your sake, I may stop here.
I walked away really frustrated with two things. First, of course, I'm frustrated with the quality of service I experience and hear about. Being accused of bringing your own beer into a restaurant, a beer that had actually been purchased from the bar is just one of the many amazing spectacles taking place in this cozy little hamlet.
The second "thing" I was frustrated with is my self. Why couldn't I just get her attention and assert my needs? Why did I stand there like a deer caught in the head lights staring at the menu on the wall thinking I could wish exactly what I wanted onto the menu. Maybe I stood like that because it didn't make any sense to me. It was a hodge podge  of soups, salads and sandwich's, but what was what? But, I'm ranting again.
The thing is, I can't change people. I'd like to. I try all the time. Through harsh looks, carefully crafted responses meant to zing...Why can't I carefully craft my own desires into something nice to communicate? Like, all I wanted was cheese with a roll. It's that simple. Instead of staring at a sandwich board, knowing I have an aversion to sandwiches, (mayonnaise is the devil and pesto belongs on pasta in my world), it was on me to stop the bus and take control. And here's where the smile comes in. I need to have compassion on those who clearly hate their job or worse, their life. I need to have compassion on myself as well. Instead of being swept into frustration, I need to stop, smile and just say what I want. Clearly. Concisely. Gently. I may get turned down. I may even be laughed at. I may still be talking to a counter zombie. But, at least I'll have some sense of control, and I won't be swept into another rant. What I'm really talking about here is, we can't control what happens outside of us, but we can control our reactions. We've all heard this one way or another. At least that's what I assume. And maybe others aren't as easily as frustrated as I am, though what I read on facebook tells me they are. It helps me to write it out; to see it in action. I don't want the small things to get me down or color my day. I want to wear a smile, and mean it.

Halloween and bye bye.

I've been wanting to write all day. I had thoughts brewing that I wanted to explore. Instead of writing, I came home from yoga and crunched numbers for work, which erased any clever thought I could possibly conjure up. Now, all I can think about is the Spiderman on a bike last night who nearly ran me over. Granted it was Halloween, but it was still unsettling stepping back just moments before a skinny Spiderman sped past me, nostrils flaring, legs pumping about 30 miles per hour. Not exaggerating. It's great for Spidey to blend into the dark when he's fighting evil, so he can sneak up on the baddies and what not. But hey, I'm not a baddy. At least I don't think I am. And I had a difficult time seeing around the car in the dark because Spidey got confused and thought he was pervious man. He made a lap around the block and nearly ran into me again once I was in my car. I think I would have outsuperpowered him in that case.
But really, the highlight of yesterday was sitting in a cafe outside under a heat lamp watching the parade of costumed adults looking for a place to strut their stuff. In the search some of them took it upon themselves to strut it for me. For which I am grateful. Because my day was complete when a man in a red flapper dress walked by winking and flirting with me, cigarette in hand. He was all serious sex beast until his ciggy fell, and then he stumbled in his high heels and took a nose dive. It was at that moment I knew my day was complete.
Meanwhile, somewhere in the city of Sonoma, a friend of mine was shaping our future generation.  A girl about the age of ten took it upon herself to give back one of the two pieces of candy she was given because she didn't like it, all the while greedily eying the bowl for a grab at what she would like. My friend gently turned her around and said, "okay then, bye bye."
I remember when I was a kid, (you know, back when we still had rotary phones) my brother and I would dump our candy on the floor and trade. It built negotiating skills at a young age...rather than the rampant entitlement I am suggesting.
When I read that one house in Santa Rosa goes through 5000 pieces of candy on Halloween, I spit out my coffee.

But, I digress. These stories from yesterday seem to be mingling in that impressionable place in my mind where stories connect and illustrate something for me. And, all I can think is how nice it would be to gently turn people around by the shoulders and say, "okay then, bye bye." Society is working out its brokenness and in that process, people's emotional wounding and immaturity comes out and often knocks on our door demanding we give in to their wants. My friend passing out candy is one of the sweetest kindest women. Really. She has a way about her that is gentle and loving. I can just see the little girl walking away wondering what hit her. Because, it was a kindness that my friend didn't give in to her. I can just see her face though, full of mirth instead of anger. I have a (true confession here) tendency to get kind of confrontational when people are trying to grab from me. I want to be able to just giggle the grabbing away, so instead of me fuming about something stupid; instead, someone is walking away from me not quite sure how they got turned around, and not feeling any thing from me but love and "bye bye." Adios grabby person. While I feel compassion for you, I think it's best you be on your way.

The Myth of All Good

No one is all good or all bad. There;  I can just stop writing now. Of course I won't. I want to, I've been sitting on this  a couple days, because it feels vulnerable. It's a thought that comes to mind when I'm presented with choices I don't feel comfortable making, judgement calls I can't.
Yesterday in yoga, (I really should rename this blog  Facebook and yoga), anyway....as I looked into the side mirror to check the alignment of my profile, I caught a glimpse of the same woman picking at her toe nails who picks at her toes every time we get into that posture. It's like part of the routine now; if she is ever to my right, which is the side the mirror is on, I turn my head to see my posture and get a glimpse of her ritual. And, it drives me nutty. And, it's not my place at all to be driven nutty. But when 5 seconds later the teacher says, "nice job [insert toe picker's name],"I get miffed. How can you say someone is doing a nice job when clearly they are more interested in their manicure than pushing their body?
And it's not my place to judge.
It's not my place to judge.
Again. It's not my place to judge.
When I came home last night and hopped on Facecrack to read a message, I saw the most recent posting in my newsfeed was another side of the Steve Jobs legacy. Steve Jobs passed away this week, and it has been an all out worship fest of the man behind iEverything. With just cause. He changed our lives. For better or worse, he changed our lives. And, the article which I saw that night was the first that called to attention a for worse.
While we are busy linking articles, tagging photos, liking videos etc....workers in Chinese Apple factories work in such horrendous conditions, some are taking their own lives to get out.
I sat with that for a moment. I always like the underdog, so someone daring to post something not glorifying this man was brave in my estimation. I also thought about a totally black and white response. Somewhere in my mind, I felt like I should not like the man who lived in a wealth built on the backs of those less fortunate. And then I felt the tension, which believe it or not was similar to the tension in the yoga room. Of course, there is a glaring difference: her activity does not really harm others, much less at a profit to her self. But, the tension is still the same. For me at least.
Because it is not my place to judge.
I can both herald Steve Jobs as a Master Mind, a boon to society, and I can also work, somehow, toward a society where my leisure is not borne out of someone else's misery.
I think back to what I wrote when he announced his retirement:
I keep thinking about Steve Jobs, and his brilliant career. And, at the end of the day, there's not enough money in the world to keep him healthy. I feel for him. I hope he enjoyed the ride with Apple. I hope he enjoys his retirement. And; I hope we all enjoy our days, and live as if there is nothing to lose and everything to gain.
And in the mean time, I can realize no one is all good, or all bad. We're all on a journey. Sometimes we make choices that make us stronger, and sometimes not. Sometimes we harm others and sometimes it is only our selves that we harm.
One thing I know, if I look for the good in people, I will find it. The woman in the yoga class did deserve kudos because she was in the room at all. Steve Jobs does deserve acknowledgement; not only did he change our lives technologically, he inspired many people. And still! It is not my place to judge. I will make it my goal to not worry about good or bad in people, but to live and love the best way I know how and the rest will just be.

Pandora and Yanni

I'm kind of embarrassed. Pandora thinks I like Yanni. I decided a long time ago, I do not like Yanni. His mustache is way too 1980's Magnum PI and he is way too New Age for me. So, when I enter modern piano composer Dustin O'Halloran and they play Yanni, I get confused.
It's a funny little test of prejudice for me. The Dustin station is a new one for me, and it's taking a lot of tweaking. I love piano, simple, graceful or melancholic and deep; solo piano is one of my great loves.
But I'm very particular about my music. I love a lot of styles and music is life to me. There is bad music though. Sometimes the line is real obvious. For instance, this Sunday at an event in the park. The garage band playing what I think had to have been their first public performance made me want to punch people in the face. It was so bad, I can only compare it to a billion times worse than your pet peeve. I had to leave. I was so depleted, I couldn't tune them out. From what I hear, the line was clear to many people. They were on the crap music side of the line.
The line is not so clear to me with this new Pandora station. I know what I really like, but other songs give me a not so sure feeling. That is, until I click over and see the face. The bush of black hair. The broom over the lip. I cannot enjoy Yanni. That's all there is to it. While I didn't hate the song, I had a sneaky suspicion it would be guilty by association, and sure enough, it was. Dislike. Please, do not play Yanni again. I don't care that your algorithm makes me want to hear Yanni. I don't.
Which makes me think of the bigger picture. How often does something sound okay, but there is a whiff of something we've decided we don't like, so we just decide not to like it? I've been trying to catch myself in that as I'm reading from a lot of different disciplines. It's challenging to receive things in their purest form and not through our filters, built up through years of experience.

I wish life was as easy as Pandora sometimes. You can just hit the dislike button, and it's on to the next song. In a way it is that easy. Just as one day, maybe Pandora will have the perfect Dustin station, maybe I will have a collection of thoughts and perspectives that resonate perfectly with me. For now, I read and listen and cull and collect. I need to wrap this post up and head over to Pandora now. I think a Nordstrom piano player got into my playlist.

Autumn tip toeing toward me

Without fail, Autumn makes her presence known in my life. While I'm still expecting blazing hot days, for it's always hot during the Handcar Regatta which is next week, I'm looking at the mess of pumpkins sprung from my volunteer patch and thinking of cozy nights with a book and a fire.
I've needed a day to myself for so long. A day where I wasn't cleaning my house for company, but for myself. A day to play sappy piano music on Pandora instead of my usual upbeat fare. And, after last night's humbling experience at yoga, I definitely needed a slow day. After lying in the fetal position in the class room for a good long time, someone came in and asked me if I was okay. My eyes welled up with tears, because I wasn't okay, but the fact that someone cared made me okay.
I love summer. I love to be hot and feel the sun seeping into my very core. I dream about that feeling during the dead of winter. I never want summer to end, but when Autumn comes, I can't help but embrace her with open arms.
I've already written an ode to Autumn last year. And as she approaches again this year, all the same feelings crop up. I've been struggling with some things in my life lately, and my lovely friends want to rescue me. I think in the end it will be Autumn who rescues me. She reminds me nothing is forever. She also reminds me you can't have everything all the time. No one wants a fire on a blazing hot day. At least, no one in their right mind. So, I enjoy the hot day on the river's edge soaking up the sun, and I enjoy the cool Autumn night curled up on the couch with a book listening to rain spatter on the windows. Both are good. One is no better than the other, but they cannot happen at the same time. And that's one of the many gifts Autumn brings to me. A knowing that all things happen in their time, and they are good. I need only be present.