Quirk and Circumstances... |
Blogging | August 21, 2010
Last August I wandered into a cigar bar and had a few martinis’ to celebrate my sister Amy’s life on the anniversary of her death. I do not smoke, so the martinis were medicinal in order to control the choke factor of my honey flavored cigar. I also remember her on her birthday in July but the end of a life is significant in many ways and hers is no exception. Death is the best teacher I know. I have met him through friends and family over the years but only once had the privilege to help shepherd someone over and sit by their side as they went. Another one of the many things Amy gave me; she taught me how to live.
So in celebration of life--mine, yours and Amy’s-- let’s look at some of what we have lived through so far-- besides the basics of surviving the homes we all grew up in which is monumental, because those homes made us mental. Our house, Amy’s and mine, was a particular cornucopia of nuts. It was there we got a first taste of all that life has to offer, love, disappointment, laughter, struggle for acceptance and regret. And of course talking about regrets leads me to bad fashion and particularly those captured in school and holiday photos. The ugly truth is, well we were ugly. Sometimes we merely made ugly choices and Kodak was there to document those precious memories. Ah yes childhood is a proving ground, a place to learn about the ups and downs of the world on a shaky carnival roller coaster.
One memory of a particularly harrowing dip that comes to mind was when my mother, Terry-bell, in trying to save money made me a pair of pants. She hated to sew and unfortunately for me that hatred bubbled out in her choice of fabric, thick green and red plaid scratchy wool. The pants she made had an elastic waist, not to give you the wrong impression there was a waistband, because there was not. What was there was was a bunchy strip where the fabric was folded over a piece of elastic so the pants would stay in place. I cannot say whether she recycled the elastic from our old underwear or not and refuse to even look further to see if it was out of my grandmothers bloomers. Ok, not only was the material an abomination but so was the cut. It seems that what she knew of crotches in pants was that the legs came together. The placement of the crotch in the pants in relation to the human body was not accounted for what so ever. So in wearing said green and red plaid thick scratchy wool pants my pant crotch was almost level with my knee causing me to get caught in the crotch of the pant when I walked. I was already tall then; legs and arms all akimbo, so picture a praying mantis trying to walk in thick wool plaid low slung crotched pants. I was drowning in them. I believe these pants were an early form of birth control and put me at the bottom of everyone’s dance card in the school and outlaying area from Long Island NY to Toledo Ohio.
Yes, my mother made me wear these monstrosities until they had help unraveling in the wash. But other choices that proved embarrassing were not always my mother’s doing. An example is when Amy would don a particular fetching outfit when she was feeling fun and fancy free. It was her homemade super hero garb. It consisted of white long johns belted with a thin red plastic disco belt. There were black sock boots on her feet, and some kind of thin red filmy 1950 lingerie bathrobe tied around her neck by a red silk ribbon used as a decorative bow on the robe for a cape. And those who understand the role and responsibilities of super hero’s know silk capes are a bad call here but hey Amy was only about 10 years old at the time so you have to let that tactical error in judgment go. The cape fell down her back with the arms bodice of the robe flapping out behind her as she zoomed from room to room. She had cobalt blue socks on her hands up to her forearm and a bright red full face ski mask on her head. As if this was not enough she added a jaunty little multicolored Scottish cap with a pom-pom on top. Really it was quite a stunning ensemble.
Now think back to what your particular bad outfits were, a style, bad haircuts, was it a 1980 mall perm like I had? If nothing comes to mind look down at what you are wearing now, because you might be a repeat offender and don’t know it. If we didn’t know we looked bad there were always other confidence crushers in our childhoods we have hopefully moved past. Did you have glasses? A full set of braces so when you ate your sister told you it looked like a train wreck? If you were me you had both of those birth control devices through puberty. When it was time to get my braces put on the orthodontist asked my dad “why does she need them?” My dad replied without a beat “she’s cutting down trees in the backyard and dating a beaver.” Willy-boy was old school in tough love and so were his daughters.
Amy had a beloved stuffed German shepherd with a rubber face. It was an awful looking creature she adored. People in supermarkets would stop my mother looking down on Amy who would be clutching the beast and ask my mom why in the love of god did she have our dog stuffed? It was that creepy. Unfortunately for Amy the stuffed animal became more unstable as Amy grew up and it was not uncommon for her to find that he had hung himself while she was watching “The New Zoo Review”. Siblings are evil, twisted and sometimes very funny while teaching each other about life’s hard knocks and where to hide your stuffed animals. It was a fine balance of humor and torture in our house which I find as I get older is exactly like life.
That balance of humor and torture, of joy and sorrow, yin and yang, The Captain and Tennille is what the show is all about folks. Sitting in the Cancer Bin at the bedside of a brilliant, hilarious, vibrant 36- year-old woman in camouflage pajamas, a feather boa while watching “Shaun of the Dead” and cracking wise is how to live in the process. Sure we survive alright but don’t get out of our box or appreciate the wondrous ride life can be.
Life is about stringing the high points together to make the dips, tunnels and abysses livable and mutable. Which is all they are. My sister Chris told me recently after having not read my writing for a while that in reading it again she realized how much she missed it, that it filled a hole in her she had forgotten about. I could not think of anything to say to that, and still can’t. It is the nicest thing anyone, much less someone I adore has ever said about my work. That is a high point I will remember when I hit another low, I will remember the welling up of gratitude and love from my core for her and hole on tight when life takes another plunge.
Years ago I was walking along 7th Avenue in Manhattan with my roommate Barbara who was dealing with a break-up and talking about how horrible life was. I pointed out to her that there were good things to focus on too, but in the end truth be told none of us was getting out alive. She told me that was the stupidest thing she ever heard someone say. I shrugged it off. Years later she said she finally understood what I had meant. In the end we die, so it’s best to be present and live the best life we know how while we can. We are transitory creatures and so is this roller coaster, so sit back, belt in and enjoy every dip, roll and hair raising spin it takes you on because when the ride pulls in to the platform and the wild eyed Carney with no teeth lets you out you will be glad you did. Amy was.
Health & Wellbeing | August 14, 2010
This past winter I purchased a whimsical piece of art by Leigh Standley. Along with wonderful colorful images she has the phrase “I am fairly certain that given a cape and a nice tiara I could save the world.” It appealed to me on many levels, as a counselor, life coach and as an overall know-it-all. Saving the world or myself starts with change, new ideas, beliefs and behaviors to follow suit. In theory this is wonderful stuff but put to the test much trickier to do. Some folks are ready, willing and able to look at themselves honestly and want to change, grow and own that they have to change their behavior for a desired outcome. Some don’t, which is all fine and good-- I can respect someone who is happy with where they are and are clear on that. We all fall into that category during periods if not the entirety of our lives. Then there is that that small cross population, which says they want to grow, learn and move toward making changes yet…in reality not so much. To be clear I have and do fall in all of these categories on any given day, subject area or Sybil style personality having been triggered.
There are many flavors of these behaviors I have demonstrated in the face of change, I will try to document a few here to make my point and show my stellar ability to make poor choices.
“The Collector” is the first that comes to mind, I buy the latest and greatest book or tool on how to change whatever it is I am looking to change. It could be weight loss, organization, spiritual, career, romance, anything really. I rarely read the whole book, sometimes none at all; I might go to lectures or book signing by the authors but cannot commit to a class or workshop for such. Each new tool I purchase is touted as the Holy Grail and sits on a bookshelf until it is relegated to the closet filled with yesterday’s grails. There is no follow through or use of any of the tools I find longer than 24 hours. When I moved west this last time I had a Holy Grail garage sale.
“The Hummingbird” is when I take “The Collector” to the next step. I buy all the accoutrement for the desired change and generally buy the best, tools, books, crystals, clothing i.e. hiking if I want to get fit or gym clothes for the gym, all the accessories I will need to delve into the change process. I sign up and take a workshop, a class, get a video and start to work at it in earnest. Shortly down the road I hit a tough spot. That spot can be I meet resistance (both internal and external,) when it becomes uncomfortable or when I challenge old beliefs and behaviors. As an example when a trip to the dentist for root canal naked with my hair on fire while listening to Celione Dion music sounds better than going to the gym I know I hit a nerve. I don’t always know what it is but usually it is the size and weight of the Titanic and I need to look at it. Sometimes those around me find my new behaviors threatening and try to sabotage or push back. When friends or family see you trying to get fit and they are couch potatoes they will try to entice you to stay home and be a french fry . Sometimes that spot can be boredom if the desired change does not hit the manufactured time line I have set for success. Here I lose momentum and becomes disillusioned. Like when I didn’t lose 40lbs in 10 days while only eating cabbage soup and doing Kegel exercises I gave up. At this point rather than pushing through to the other side I look around for the next expert’s book, class or system to invest in. Trying hummingbird style landed me with $500 pair of back country skis, gym memberships in every state I lived where I would go for the first 2 months, scads of workshops, classes, and a close personal relationship with Mayflower Moving because what better way to change than start fresh in a new state! Problem was I was still doing the same thing that didn’t work for me in the last state. Ok, there may or may not have been law enforcement challenges involved in some of those skips, uhh, moves.
“The Researcher” I cannot say this better than Mother Teresa did, “Creating change is serious business, either in yourself or the world around you. One cannot be will-nilly about such endeavors” Now that I think about it this might have been said by Chef Boyardee, I get those two mixed up. “The Researcher” does just that, studies what method is the best, then chooses, umm maybe, rush to judgment is not an option and there is new data coming in at any given moment so picking anything is delayed. I buy reference books, talk to experts, organize and collate facts and figures and then think. I spend a huge amount of time thinking about how best to go about my desired change. I do not want to choose wrong, or start anything without all the angles covered, explored and documented. The end result is I never make a misstep or a mistake. Because I never start anything. Mistakes and missteps are great learning tools, embarrassing yes, sometimes you fall down and go boom in yoga on your first class or three and everyone giggles… uh I heard. But making a misstep has taught me what not to do, which lead me down the road to what works. Researching the road ahead left me behind in a Stuckies at the truck stop doing calculations and eating pecan logs. On a side I found out those little bastards can be rough on your teeth, taste nasty, not to mention that it was a waste of some 20 years and made me fat, I am just saying.
“The Lawyer” here we have someone who argues or handles the counter point to any given point for a living. In this carnation I will come to you for advice on change, of course I don’t want it I want to justify my current choice. But I don’t always know that going in, I’ll ask “What can I do to find the relationship I want, lose weight, and find a job that makes me feel fulfilled and get in touch with my higher self.” As a Life Coach folks also come to me with these types of questions when they are going through transitions and need someone to help. Unlike a bank teller let’s say, who might find these types of questions disconcerting when folks are coming to the bulletproof glass with relationships woes and deposit slips. I get paid to ask people questions that help guide them to their truths. This is kind of a discovery mode, I can make comments, give suggestions on small steps but mostly I want them to come up with what works for them and makes them comfortable while going forward.
But back to me, if a friend or family member has achieved a goal I would like to achieve, I ask what steps worked for them. As they offer up each small discreet step I shoot it down with why it won’t work for me. Every point, every piece of minutia they mention I tell how it would never work because of things like, I don’t get up that early, stay up late, eat any form of fruit or vegetable, are too busy, my brain does not work like that, the stock market could go in the dumper again, I don’t want to make a mistake and have to start again, school is expensive, I am out of tin foil and the aliens are listening in to my thoughts…blah, blah blah. The reality is that all of these counter points are true because I believe them to be, because I choose behaviors to support those beliefs. So yes Virginia if you choose the same behavior over and over you get the same outcome over and over. Expecting a different outcome is the definition of insanity. I have spent a good deal of time justifying behavior that no longer served me. I grew up in a house where verbal jousting was an art and if you didn’t stand up for yourself and your beliefs you got steam rolled over and someone took your pork chop. It was an ugly dinnertime at the Freeburg’s house every night at 6pm sharp cloth napkins and all. I learned to focus on why things wouldn’t work, what was too big, too scary, and the impossible. It was safer than focusing on what I could do, what might be uncomfortable for me to look at, my ability to own my actions and mistakes.
The above list is an example of some of the types of reactions I have to change, to trying to move forward or not. You may see people you know other than me in there, you would especially see me if you are one of the poor sods I have cajoled into trying to help me or guide me. Sorry about that. What I know is this. Very few people listen unless they are ready to hear, nobody reads information whether it is an email or a book unless they deem that information important and are ready, nobody acts and continues to do so unless they choose to go forward, however crooked forward might be. You cannot force someone to grow, learn or change no matter what kind of muddle they are in. I know it was best for folks to stand back be supportive and let me flounder however difficult and frustrating that was. I am also learning to let those who come to me not quite ready to invest in themselves flounder. I will have to go to my learned friends to see how they stood patiently by and supported yet did not scream in my face the solutions to my woes. I am deaf on many levels it seems.
So here it is some folks will ask for help but are no way looking for it. They just want a fan, a witness, sympathy or to justify their beliefs. I have learned this after having been on both sides of the equation. I cannot take it personal when someone asks and does not take my advice and can only ask others to do the same with me. Because I can promise you that my inaction or wrong turn has nothing to do with you at all, it’s all about me. I used to think someone was serious about needing help for the first 137 times they asked me and as I bumped up against the above behaviors I was frustrated and mad. Now I understand after the 3rd time they seek me out for advice or help for the same thing perhaps I need to stand back and honor where they are in their journey as my wise family and friends do with me.
The reason we say that the teacher appears when the student is ready is we are all teachers and students. Most of the time however the teacher part of us is on coffee/martini breaks waiting. We are waiting for that flash of intent from someone, intent on learning, growing, changing. For me doing anything before someone is keyed in is like offering to push a jackass up hill. It doesn’t go well for anyone involved and demonstrates that I am the bigger of the two asses even though I am wearing a cape and a tiara.
Health & Wellbeing | July 31, 2010
Recently I was walking on the beach with a friend of mine who was frustrated with life and the waiting game he was caught in. He said he felt like he was biding his time till a job fell into place. All signs pointed to the end of August early September. That part felt good. What to do till then with no money felt shitty. This boy was used to having money, to flying around from city to city to play, doing what he wanted when he wanted with little to no thought to the price tag. He was unaware of fun on the cheap; boy was he a lucky bastard to have met me.
It is no secret that I like to have fun, love to laugh and am up for any adventure. These skills sometimes place me in the role of Julie your cruise director from the Love Boat but I soldier on because it’s a gift. I have a knack to find fun, laughter and wonder everywhere. It’s just how I roll. There have been times in my life where I earned a six-figure salary and was a very unhappy person. Not that being broker agrees with me but figuring out what makes me tick and choosing better sure as hell does. I started with identifying what sucked in my life and removing those things. Doing so made me lighter, happier and I was better able to find people, work, and activities that made me feel whole. This is all good stuff, and stuff I learned to do on the cheap. The best accessory to finding a good time other than me is the right attitude. You have to be serious about finding joy every day, about being happy you are alive and well and frankly as my dad Willy-boy said, “everything else is gravy.” He was right. If you are alive and well that is all you need to get where you need to go.
Where we were headed on this morning was wandering the beach and talking. What things did he love as a kid, what things did he do in the past for fun? We were mining the past for clues to the now. Sometimes this works sometimes it makes you nostalgic for what you used to be able to do and now can’t, so we left yesterday-land and moved on. This was all well and good but things were not getting any brighter. I needed to take charge and direct some social activities. I offered up a half a dozen suggestions but he was distracted. I let the subject drop and just lead my friend as best I knew-- like a Sherpa in the wilds of ennui.
What I know about life is how you see things is how they are. And if you see them as lousy they are. To shift that mindset is a tricky thing and no one-thing works consistently. Each one of us has to figure out what makes them laugh, what makes them feel loved, nurtured, and what makes them lighter. For me walking or yoga calm me and get me grounded. Talking to someone that I love helps do the same and usually laugh as well since I mostly only hang with funny people. Life is short my man, what is the point of being here if you are not enjoying the ride? Other things that work for me to feel good is when I try something new, a new place, food, activity, anything like this gives me a buzz. I love a learning curve and ‘new’ gives me that. So when I feel like I am stuck and I am killing time in life, because I am waiting for a job, money, a lover or a sandwich, I know I need to get an attitude adjustment. I look in my bag of tricks and pull out something that helps center me, reminds me to take back control of what I have control of and let the other things fall away. Sometimes it is just bubble wand and bubbles, other times feeding huge scary bat rays at Sea World which gum at your fingers like a toothless pony in a broken down rodeo.
If the first thing I try doesn’t work I go back to the bag and pull out another, music, movement, a good book/movie, the beach, each move gets me closer to fine. Each thing in my bag is cheap or free. I am in control of my amusement, my choices, my ability to allow, engage and enjoy. We all are, which in my opinion rocks.
When I work with kids in grammar school sometimes they tell me how they don’t want to grow up because things get harder, the school work, jobs that they will have to hold down, responsibilities of being an adult. I am an adult, that is true I have taken care of myself solely my entire life, I have good credit, have owned multiple homes, moved from state to state, held very prestigious jobs and generally done well for myself. I am not however grown up, that is just plain silly and of no use to anyone. Grown up is a make believe term deeming that one should be serious about things one should never be serious about which is practically everything. Hello? It’s not like we get out of this alive. So back to the kids I point out to them that getting older and being an adult rocks. Point number one I start, I get to eat candy whenever I want, I can have ice cream, pizza or pie for breakfast. Their eyes grow large like saucers at this. Point two I continue, being an adult means you can drive. Bingo, game over, I win. There is nothing better than freedom to go where you want when you want. Even if you have to scrounge the sofa cushions for gas money it is always worth it.
So after our walk I suggested a roof top burger joint to my dear forlorn friend, a man who eats one meal a day. Yes indeedy from the time he gets up to the time he goes to bed he eats non-stop and is built long and lean. A frickening crime against nature with the things he consumes but don’t get me started. This suggestion pulls his head up off his chest and he stops in his tracks, “a burger?” We amble up to the roof for a kick ass burger where he starts to lighten up despite the ½ grass fed beef and fries he was chowing down on. He finds that by looking through the window in the stairwell he can look straight through to the window on the other side and see the beach. He is now able to find the goodness at will now I notice. He is happy, he is sated, and the things that do not matter are falling away. He is planning his next meal, and then a day at the beach with all the appropriate accoutrements of sandwiches, chips, snacks, beverages and beach chairs for napping. He is getting lighter by the minute; I will soon have to tether him to the table as he will be up like Bullwinkle in the Macy’s day parade. Then he kicks it into overdrive by remembering he has one last Zebra snack cake left in his fridge. He is waxing euphoric about every bit of minutia of these crack like snack cakes. He points out crack is whack, and he can stop the Zebra’s anytime he wants “ Yes Whitney” I murmur. We were wandering back to the car at this point and laughing pretty hard about nothing and everything. It’s the little things we string together that build a great morning, a wonderful day and a beautiful life, not the big ones.
He loves to walk on the beach and that usually is a good place to get him heading in the right direction. Talking was also good, especially to someone with my sparkling wit, or more like 5th grade sense of humor. Each of these are things he has in his bag of tricks--which got him so far on this day--he still was not where he wanted to go. So I helped him to remember to reach in to that magical bag and pull out the big guns, food, glorious food. By the time we were driving back home he was telling me to stop because we were laughing so hard. Ok I was laughing, he was snort-laughing and trying to drive. Me, I was trying not to pee on his car seats.
We always have the ability to see things differently at a given moment, wanting that, wanting to get out of the bat cave and into the sunshine is about making the choice over and over to move to the light, the laughter and the snack cakes.
Blogging | June 28, 2010
It has been one year since the birth of “Quirk and Circumstances” my blog on Flickspin. The goal, mission and hope was that it would force me to write at least one column a month no matter what. Notice that I didn’t say, well written, well thought out, informative or any such nonsense. Just written and posted on a monthly basis. It took years for my friend Tony to get me to do this, I am reluctant to share my writing as I am a nut who can’t spell and is hell on grammar. And those are my good points. But Tony is tenacious and at last I acquiesced, for this I am in debited to him. My guess is that debt will be worked off by testing recipes for his homemade Kim chi soup every time I see him. The soup has a proper Korean name but as I can not spell in English I will let that go…
As for “Quirk and Circumstances” some months I hit the goal of one piece and other months I managed to write more than one which is some kind of a miracle given my overall slacker attitude, social life and hummingbird attention span. Where was I?
The point in writing this blog was to try my best, to fling something original and true out into the dark abyss of the internet and see if it connects with anyone. It was also to give me a deadline to work to; though I have had other writing projects this year, the blog had the only hard deadline. My other writing projects included finishing the edits and rewrites on my first book and writing a second book which I am currently in the throes of rewrites on. I also may or may not have been party to some urban spoon/yelp reviews, ghost writing for psychics, and some bumper sticker creation and all the goodness that comes from that.
What I learned is I don’t have to want to write, have anything to say when I sit to write, be sober or in my sound mind to produce a piece of writing. Yea, yea that’s enough out of the peanut gallery out there… The point being you, or I in this instance, don’t have to have the stars aligned to be able to produce, you just have to show up and do it. Then do it again the next day, and the one after that. It’s just like driving at night, you can only see 30 feet in front of you but that’s all you need to get where you are going. Doesn’t matter if the whole way is losing 90lbs, writing a blog/book/birthday card, becoming a tri-athlete or working at becoming a better person, you just show up and try every day to do your best.
I would like to thank the readers; yes it’s true that is plural. I have been fortunate to get some very funny, very thoughtful comments on my blog. I have had friends who are shy send lovely notes with comments rather than put something on the net. Thank you one and all for those wonderful and encouraging words. It makes the frustration of sitting and staring at the blinking cursor and my subsequent cursing at the blank spot between my ears worth it to hear from you. There is nothing worse than to write something you don’t think stinks and send it off with love to the Flickspin gymnasium and have it stand at the wall by the bleachers all gussied up and never asked to dance.
For my fellow writers, the ones who have been supportive, competitive, an inspiration and even painful lessons, thank you for the fine wine, excellent dinners, laughter and the shared love of the word. You make me try harder, write better and think more. We are an odd lot, we see patterns where others don’t and by pulling those threads we sometimes can make sense of chaos. Unfortunately other times we just make more chaos, no wonder this is a solo effort, eh?
Then there are my trusty cohorts who show up ready for adventure, or misadventure whether that is tasting deep fried butter at the country fair, wrangling mother opossums, getting their toenails painted a bilious green on their first man-pedicure or screening the likes of “Romance and the Sex Life of a Date” at a date stand somewhere out in the wilds of Palm Desert. Being open to life, willing to laugh at yourself and standing up for me when I didn’t even know I needed someone to do that are gifts beyond measure and words, ok that and the ever ready bail money.
Writers know there are muses everywhere but my favorite lives in Denver. She is an artist, teacher, philosopher, writer/editor, Goddess, brilliant, careful thoughtful reader, side kick extraordinaire and champagne ho. There is no way I could write without her much less bother to draw a breath. It is simple as that. Whether it is a road trip, a day of art, an exorcism or 2 or 3 bottles of champagne the experience is exponentially better when she is there to share it with.
I will try harder to write more this next year, I will try harder to tell a better story and try to get into more interesting trouble to write about. Ok that was a lie right there, I don’t have to try a lick at that, hell I don’t have to leave the house. Thanks to Flickspin for providing a site that is well managed, easy to use and has a heart. In the end we know it’s all just quirk and circumstances…cheers all!
Philosophy | June 26, 2010
Words are tricky twisty things. Don’t get me wrong I love them, I just don’t trust them. I trust action; action bears shades of intention and truth. Not wholly mind you but enough to get a bead on, enough to steer into or away from someone or something. Your best tools are your gut, your intuition, faith in yourself and your moral compass. The most important word in that sentence is ‘your’; not your teachers’, not your parents’, not your lovers’, not your best friends’, and not your religious icon/pop stars’. It’s easier to look outside ourselves for the answers, seek out experts, not so easy to go within and trust ourselves much less make peace with what we find there. I am sure this was even more difficult for Diane Duyser of Hollywood, Florida who put half of a 10-year-old grilled cheese sandwich with the image of the Virgin Mary up for action on eBay in 2004.
“Mrs Duyser says she noticed the image burned into her sandwich as she was about to tuck into it in autumn 1994. ‘I went to take a bite out of it, and then I saw this lady looking back at me,’ she said, according to the Chicago Tribune.” Mrs Duyser went on to say, ‘the sandwich has never gone moldy since she made it 10 years ago.’”
I think having faith for Mrs Duyser was difficult in the beginning but the lucky break of wining 70k at a local casino helped her hold true to her vision of the Velveeta Virgin. The universe is a kind and generous place and there are signs of that everywhere. Of course if you are looking for signs of death and destruction they are out there as well. How you see things are how they are, simple as that. Not so simple to change your orientation of glass half full, half empty or what the fuck I’m gonna spill it anyway... but it can be done.
We can’t control what goes on around us, we sometimes have some small influence but we own how we react to what is presented to us in any given situation. We have control over ourselves and we have the choice of being accountable for our actions or not. You show up or you choose to deflect, defer or keep so busy you can’t get still enough to hear your truth. There are lots of different ways to get lost out there, but only one way home. But you say you need an expert opinion? You don’t trust the words of a champagne soaked, red headed slacker Amazonian princess… fine be that way. Here’s what a few crusty old dead guys have to say:
“To find yourself, think for yourself.” -- Socrates
“Self –trust is the essence of heroism.” -- Emerson
“Just trust yourself, then you will know how to live.” – Goethe
A brilliant sensitive man once told me he only lied to himself. I pointed out that if we only lie to ourselves we in fact live a lie and lie to everyone around us. I understand it’s hard to trust yourself enough to be who you are no matter what those around you are thinking or doing. Really it’s spooky stuff. People want you to be nice, to be cooperative, and to be complacent. Anyone who knows me knows I am none of those things; I can be when I choose, but I rarely do.
I choose cranky when I am tired or hungry, I choose to cheer folks on when I believe in and love them however annoying that can be, I choose to stop and marvel like a three year old at small flowers on public walkways that peek up between the cracks of concrete. I also choose that when someone pokes at me with a pointy stick enough I stop letting them get within range. I am not a well-liked woman in many circles but I am well loved in a few, and that counts more than I can say. That is all that matters. Finding your truth, your true north and holding fast to that. That is your currency in life and that is where you shine.
Words are beautiful things but that is all they are unless your words, thoughts, and deeds are aligned. There are two ways to make choices either from a place of love or a place of fear. Only one works… no guess on which one. When I look back to where I messed up I came from a place of fear. I was afraid of rejection, confrontation, being found lacking so I did something out of fear or avoided something or someone because of fear. When I do that things go in the crapper. When I do something based on love-- I am not talking about being in love I am talking about kindness, compassion, love… love--well things seem to work out; even though they might not be easy they are always right.
So this is a lot musings in the ether, in the philosophy of living and a little bit of grilled cheese. Sometimes that is all life is a wandering about, looking inside and finding out what you are hungry for, and sometimes that is a blessed grilled cheese sandwich. Bon appetite.
Philosophy | May 30, 2010
When I do things well I do just that, I get out of my own way. Whether it is writing, mediation, painting, yoga, or mischief, all them is done better without thinking. The quality of the work, creativity and fun is exponential to how much I release control and trust the process, the muse. I know this sounds easy but for a girl who lives in her head and has a touch of OCD, ok several hands full, this has been and is a hard fought battle.
I have just finished a rewrite of my second book. The fact that I can say I have a second book at all is a testament to what I am saying. I wrote a mystery during Nanowrimo this past November which I wrote about in another blog and will put a link to at the bottom of this piece*. Nanowrimo is a challenge where you commit on a website writing community to write at least a 50k word book, fiction, from scratch starting November 1st and have to be done by the 30th. I did it and was thrilled. I have just finished the first reading and doing the first rewrite for that book. What I found out doing this is that the book is fairly cohesive, funny, detailed and clever. I am sorry to say however I had nothing to do with that. The reason being I don’t remember writing any of it. I just simply got out of the way and followed where the characters lead me. Each twist and turn was a great adventure and very much a surprise.
So here is the “Ah Ha” moment Oprah is always going on about. Things can be as easy or hard, as big or little as you chose. I choose this book to be fun, easy and an exercise in calling myself forth. What that means in clinical terms is “pull your skirt out of your back pocket Mary and butch up.” I did and it was a breeze.
I started a writing group a month or two ago. I didn’t do it on purpose I knew I needed to get back to writing more seriously, my friend David loves to write but had not done it in a long time. I approached him to see if he was interested in messing about with writing and before I knew it 3 or 4 other friends heard and joined in. Most of these folks have wanted to write but have not done very much. Most of them think it has to be perfect, professional, Pulitzer out of the gate. I couldn’t spell my name correctly with those kinds of critics, editors or saboteurs sitting ringside in the creative process. Being creative, making something out of nothing and editing live in two different camps in my experience. You can’t think your way into creativity whether it is making art or making love, you feel your way there, you tumble head first if you pardon the innuendo.
Having been in other writing groups and having facilitated a few of my own over the years I am attempting to show them that there is a certain wonder, magic and very bad grammar when you let go. They are resistant but sooner or later I might have to resort to getting them liquored up with pen in hand, for now we mess about, write, and laugh. I have had this “getting out of the way” experience in many of the arts, painting, and photography, even dance which is a new and terrifying endeavor. I started yoga a year ago and always have my best class when I unplug my thoughts, stop trying and just move.
People believe that success comes from discipline, structure, method, process – not true in my case. Success has come by doing something despite the fear, despite being uncomfortable in the learning, unsure of my ability. The only way to fail at something is to stop trying – or better yet not try at all. I know a lot about that last one. I spent a large portion of my life sitting on the side lines and being a critic, an observer and a voyeur. What I learned is it’s exactly like Lotto; you have to be in it to win it. You have to love to be loved; you have to fail at something to succeed. And as I have said all of this is easier if you don’t over think, in fact if you don’t think at all and just trust.
Now I am sure you can see the wisdom to this theme when it comes to most things. I am also sure the addition of mischief to that list is an eye brow raiser. Please let me illuminate. A few weeks ago my friend Susan was leaving for the UK for an extended stay. She had been fighting with a squatter in her garage and it had gotten ugly. It seems the squatter though evicted came back and had a litter. Mama opossum was a bit of a tart and got herself in a family way. Susan wanted them out before her trip but Animal Control would kill them and the green option conservation folks told her to turn on the music and lights to chase them out. That just turned her garage into Varmint American Bandstand and her neighbors were unhappy with that. A side note to that I don’t care what you say a opossum is not built to Salsa, they are Cloggers from way back. Not politically correct but true.
The conservation folks also recommended a special elixir that would chase mama and the brood from the garage condo and look for safer and quieter lodging. Along with a few other friends, I had heard about the ongoing opossum battle as the trip got closer but did not gage how it would impact Friday night burgers, beer and tater tots at our favorite joint The Station. The night is all about the tots really, the love of the tot is mighty and is woven into some of our trailer park-school cafeteria-DNA. What happened that night in the name of chivalry and mischief was pure and unplanned. It started when Susan announced to David and John at the restaurant “I need male urine, drink up boys.”
Nobody blinked except the waitress who after taking the drink orders high tailed it out of there. Susan explained the conservation folks told her to put male urine around her garage to scare the opossum away. Being resourceful she tried a different flavor but it didn’t work. She needed to pull the big guns out or get the boys to. After negotiating the terms of how to evict the opossum physically and the possibility of running a wet ring around the garage we ordered. By then we had the second round of drinks and had lots of fun planning the equipment list, for me getting my camera was paramount because this was going to be good; for them: flashlight because well rangers carry one and for more adult beverages because well that’s what makes for good elixir.
There was one tense moment when David stood up to go the men’s room. Susan made him swear he was only going to wash his hands for dinner. I thought for sure she was going to follow him in, and so did he. After dinner Susan the designated driver drove us back to her house for Mission Hysterical. The boys begun by moving the cabinet which had become the home to the opossums. They spoke in negotiation terms to the opossum, pulled out draws of the cabinet/home and ferried stray babies who had not glued them selves to mama to the backyard. Then they used a broom to guide mama out after flipping the cabinet over. I ran around them like a CNN correspondent taking some very bad and very funny pictures. About 30 minutes later they had avoided anyone getting hurt both by a bite from a cranky and possibly rabid opossum or the critter wranglers themselves. Susan was elated.
Then the question came “do you still need the elixir?” Susan shrugged and John ready to be relieved and off the firing line for public urination took off for the bathroom inside the house. David at the time was out in the yard still making sure the babies that were separated from the mama were safely in the shrubs so she could find them. When he walked back to the house he asked Susan if she wanted him to pee on her garage. Not a question a woman gets often so she smiled and shook her head yes. She knew what she wanted. This was a no camera event as I had not gotten in touch with David’s handler for this type of photo. We waited inside for the deed to be done and after the fact I was given the opportunity to document the result.
What that night offered was a chance for my friends David and John to show up and help in an unusual way, in an unplanned way, in an uncomfortable way and they did it in spades. They were able to go with what the universe offered up and jump in. The amount of laughter, bonding and mischief that took place over this evening was more than we had planned or would have gotten by hanging out at The Station or watching a movie at my house. The Awesome Opossum Critter Wranglers were born that night. The memoriam sticker reads “Ossom Possum Critter Wranglers – We can piss on your problem. We aim to please.”
You see a muse can appear in many forms and it is up to us to watch and listen for it, then get out of the way for the learning, creation or mischief…it can appear in the form of a friend, an inner voice, a scruffy grey haired, steely eyed, pointy nosed lover, or a opossum.
* http://www.flickspin.com/pearhater/blog/a_tale_of_two
Blogging | April 27, 2010
A few weeks ago I got an Evite to a girlfriend’s birthday party in downtown San Diego in the Gas Lamp district. She had chosen a trendy cool restaurant for a dozen or so of us to have dinner and later hit a club for some more cocktails and dancing. I can tell you right then my head swam at the last line of that invitation. I had not been in a dance club for about 15 years and back then it was a different birthday extravaganza in San Francisco--I would have rather been clubbed like a precocious baby seal then repeat that fiasco.
I am an introvert. I have people skills which all introverts don’t have, some of us simply grunt and point, but me I have my charms. That charm however, does not extend to over 8 people at any given time, so large functions can derail me. I was good for the dinner part of the night as I knew 8 of the 12 people going and they are warm, funny, delightful people who know me just enough to find me engaging and not enough wonder if that new medication they saw on that TV commercial during Dr. Phil might be just what I needed. Going to a dance club however was something I had sworn off years ago but in this instance I would be going with a group of friends, would be drinking my body weight in martini’s and it would be part of my present to the birthday girl. I thought I could man up and put on my party heels that would not send me to the ER before the night was over and try again.
Oh wait, I HAD done all that last time in San Francisco. That time the birthday girl’s name was Tony. We went with a group of close friends to a gay club to dance and celebrate and I drank my body weight in martinis. I was a bigger girl then so we are talking enough Saphire gin to float a boat, ok, ok a yacht. Aw hell…you see where this is going. By the end of that night in San Francisco with thumping house music, glistening nearly naked gay boys, gallons of gin, and day-glow stick necklaces when my friends finally rescued me from behind a huge potted palm in the corner. That corner and its foliage was the safest place I could find in that swirling sea of the great unwashed. When they got me outside on the sidewalk they found out that I was muttering, swearing to God, the Universe and Liberace that I would never be drug to a dance club again. I was young then, I didn’t know it’s bad to say “I’ll never” to the Universe, it’s best to say “I would rather not” because saying “never” really means I need to do this again cause I am a ninny.
This time I figured I would attend the dinner and dash off before they trotted over to the club. I was more concerned with hunting around my closet for the right clothes that proved attractive and comfortable, an oxymoron at it’s best but what I can say it’s hard being a girl. I ambushed two friends of mine to give me feedback. I thought straight guys would be good at this. What I found out was no, no they are not. No, because they are frightened, with good reason.
First, I show John all three pairs of shoe options after getting the general OK on the skirt and shirt ensemble. He came to drop off a birthday card and knows damn well he did not sign up for this. I know because I could hear him screaming in his head as I did my best Vanna in the shoes I was parading in front of him. He had friends in town and could not attend the night’s birthday dance party and thought he had escaped this type of torture, silly rabbit.
“Ok these are the classic match with this pencil skirt” I prattled “as they are paten leather pumps but walking in them is dicey. Drinking and walking could lead to major medical bills” his eyes had glazed at the term “pencil skirt” but I went on.
“The second choice are these heels, they are opened toed and easier to walk in and still work pretty well with the retro thing I got going on.” The last were a casual sandal the safest but least attractive I added when I had showed him what they looked like with a half turn. He had been muttering through most of the fashion show. “ those are nice, that works, what ever you are comfortable in, that’s nice, those look good, whatever you like…” he was praying I could tell. His prayers were answered in the form of David. David was attending the gala and we were going to cab it from my place as not to deal with parking downtown.
I gave David a hug at the door and John screamed “run, man run” ok only in his head but I am pretty sure David heard the telepathic man message because he broke out in a sweat but barely flinched when I told him I had to show him three pairs of shoes I was trying to decide on. He was steeling himself. I did the show again. David made all the right noises and gave me more constructive feedback as to style and function. As he was the one in all likelihood who would be sheparding me to the emergency room when things went boom I had to give him a hell of a lot of credit, it took nerve to okay the second pair of heels which were as high as the first but a little easier to walk in.
John’s comments on the rerun of the show were to David only. “It doesn’t matter what you say, they wear what they want anyway you know... don’t look them in the eyes when you say that they sense fear…” and things of the like. Both these guys had been married and what I was doing it seems was cruel and all too usual punishment. I have never been married and had only had the option of getting a straight guy’s opinion on clothes so few times it was fun and a novelty. I really did want to know what they thought. Once, when trying on a grey taffeta dress from Banana Republic that made me look like a washer woman from the eastern block I was happy when my boyfriend agreed with me and laughed as hard as I did at the dress. I don’t know what they do to the mirrors in the dressing rooms to make you think you look good but its pure black magic.
So John took off like a big girls blouse to see his friends and David and I headed downtown. He telling me it would be fun to go dancing and he would protect me from well… he really didn’t know, but he would. Oh man this could be ugly. Downtown was already pretty busy when we got there and it was only 7pm. The restaurant was filled with bachelor parties, birthday parties and 20 and 30-something’s out for the hunt. We had a great meal and I drank only half my weight in martinis. It was time to move the party to the club I was lubricated enough that I thought I could try it for a little while. I followed my friends or rather was towed in hand by my friend Cindy a tiny woman who seemed to grow super human strength and speed due to the sake she drank and we teetered trotted our way through the crowded sidewalk. Me, all the while saying “slow down I don’t have medical insurance” I think she thought I was kidding. I was not, me on 3 inch heels is like the statue of liberty coming crashing down, no good can come of it.
We get to the door and we have to pull out our ID’s I look ahead to see that there is an embryo in charge of checking them. When I get to him he starts to look up at me and gets as far as my neck and waves me on. “Time for that tuck,” I think and I slip into the dark club. Getting inside I find David has already paid for me. I thank him and insist I buy the first round. I insist because I didn’t carry a flask for the walk over to calm the anxiety that was welling up like a tsunami. I needed a martini stat in order to not go in search of another palm tree. The young woman who bartended sported leather hot pants and fishnet stockings which made David’s eye’s pop out. The bartender in San Francisco the last time I club hopped had the same outfit on but he had a whole other topography south of the equator. She did a quick job of providing us with libations and we all stood there taking in the scene.
There were monitors with artful pictures of naked woman, black walls, sofa’s in dark corners and a DJ in a cage. I gulped my martini as my friends moved to the dance floor one by one. I do dance. It’s seldom and not unlike Elaine from Seinfeld so it’s a public service that I not. After 30 minutes or so I was alone at the bar being crowded in by youth. I decided to take a walk and look around before I left to stretch out my visit. I moved around the bar to the other side of the dance floor and a guy sidled up to me shoulder to shoulder. He was proud he was as tall as me and grinned at me. I grinned back and thought, “Wow I could have given birth to you.” Looking over the room the only people I could not have given birth to were the ones I came with. Yikes, time for nanna to go home. I thought I would hit the ladies room and then make my goodbyes.
The ladies room air was thick with desperation, glitter body paint and CK perfume. The girls and I am using that term all to literally here, had their hands down their dresses, tube tops and shirts pulling their breasts up and out as to position them in a serving style manner minus the silver tray. I did not miss a beat in step as I swung around and retreated toot-sweet from the cloying “I need to get a new boyfriend, get laid, and find a mate” cloud that was the ladies room. The level of panic to hook-up in general had amped considerably since we walked in; the venue had already doubled its patrons.
I found out later that 20-30 minutes after I left the club had become jam packed and bikinied go-go dancers appeared on ledges and on the bar which prompted my friends to flee as well. By then I was happily home tucked into bed still wide awake to receive the phone call at midnight as to how my cohorts exit worked out and how crazy the club had gotten. Ah the wisdom of age. I had bolted when the time was perfect, there was a taxi waiting as I stepped out of the club. God, the Universe and Liberace were kind to those who know how to grow old gracefully, with humor and cab fare. The next morning as I rolled over in bed and stretched the first stretch of the day I rubbed my eyes. In doing so I saw a dark mark on the inside of my wrist and looked closer, what was there was my stamp from the night before. It simply said “I strut” I laughed and thought “damn straight cookie even without medical insurance.”
I am a former Readiness Engineer, Project/Program Manager, Sign Master, Special Investigator and current School Counselor and Life Coach.
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