Meet Me Later At The Clothesline

Hey Folks - Perhaps some of you have noticed I haven't been posting for awhile. I've got a couple important projects I'm currently working on which are prohibiting me from writing for this blog. I'll keep in touch and let you know what's up. In the meantime...just enjoy life, scatter joy, and remember...you are LOVED. Peace! Linda

Life Without Harley

October 2009 was a difficult month for me. First, I had a stroke of which I have previously written, and then a week later, to the day, I had to put my beloved boxer, Harley, to sleep.

I was introduced to my boxer boy when he was a four day old pup. At six weeks he came home to live with me and be my true love, canine love. I was re-modeling my house at the time and as I sat on the floor painting baseboards, he slept on my lap, wearing stripes of paint up and down his soft puppy body like a zebra. He rode in the car with me wherever I went, his nose print and boxer slobber coating the windows. He was my constant companion, the only constant in my ever-shifting world.

Harley was more kangaroo than dog, jumping straight up 6 ft into the air in his exuberance to go for a W A L K. When off leash he bounded like a gazelle, grace and beauty in every movement. He loved chasing lizards and was drawn to tall grasses where he pounced with his front paws, creating mayhem among the lizard population, thus enabling him to chase to his heart’s content.

He loved to be on the loose and running more than anything and so to this end he spent most of his waking hours trying to escape the confines of the house. Like an inmate, he moved from door to door, bumping each one with his nose to see if he could open it. It was many years before he stopped doing this but not before he got hit by a car, twice. During another escape episode, in his effort to avoid recapture he snagged a chicken bone he found in a neighbor’s yard and as I tried to coax him back to me, he inhaled, aspirating the bone down into his windpipe. This resulted in a $600 vet bill. The kids and I spent considerable time chasing him down, I in the car and they on foot.

I bought an RV in 2000 and took the kids on a trip across the country. Of course, Harley came with us. Every time we opened the door, we were on red alert to prevent his escape. We didn’t always succeed and there were times I was so frustrated with him I was ready to drive away and abandon him in that Oklahoma sunflower field or in that church parking lot. But, I didn’t, couldn’t…he was part of me and our family.

With all his escape antics, Harley had terrible separation anxiety. He cried, howled, whined and barked himself hoarse when left alone for any length of time. With his separation anxiety came a touchy tummy causing an almost daily episode of vomiting. Through the years I experimented with all kinds of food, but really, he was just a hot mess. But he was MY hot mess and had embedded himself deeply in my heart.

As most boxers, he viewed himself as a tiny little lapdog. He sat in front of me when I was comfy on the couch, his head on my knee, eyes beseeching me to allow him up. At the tiniest movement of my head, indicating permission, he was up, curling himself into a tight circle, pressing hard against me. The weight of this body was a lovely reassuring presence, a constant in my ever-shifting life.

I’m guessing that all his leaping and jumping may have been his undoing. I’d noticed a few days prior to my stroke that he wouldn’t eat. He seemed to want to eat but just wouldn’t. When I finally caught on and raised his food dish he seemed fine and happily ate those missed meals.

Then the stroke happened.

My family cared for him, took him to the vet, afraid to tell me of his poor condition which deteriorated rapidly while I was in the hospital. He was in excruciating pain, even the slightest movement of his head caused him to cry out. He lay on blankets and passed his urine and feces where he lay when he was able. He was fed soft food with a spoon and given water from a turkey baster.

I returned from the hospital after 4 days. Barely able to make the smallest decision, I was faced with the most difficult : to euthanize my darling boxer boy. Actually divine grace was freely bestowed upon me during this time. Since I was recovering from a major brain injury, I didn’t FULLY experience this horrendous loss as I might have.

The afternoon before his death, I wanted him moved outside to lay in the warmth of the sun where he loved life the best. My family carried him on his blankets, litter-style, into the late October sunlight. We lay in the sun together, my best buddy and I. Me, with my brain a mess, and him, with his old body failing him. I lay down beside him on the ground, sobbing into the soft brown hair of his neck, unabashedly, uncontrollably, inconsolably.

The next day, he was gone.

And God, do I miss that dog.

Lake Time

If you’ve been reading this blog for awhile, you know that I spend a few minutes every morning at the lake near my home. I immerse myself in the nature that surrounds me, pray, get still and calm my mind before the work day begins. I’ve found myself going earlier and earlier to the lake each day.

The above pictures show how serene things have been at the lake the past few mornings. I’ve NEEDED this serenity because inwardly I’ve festered with chaos. How blessed I am. Rarely do I leave this place of gratitude and now as the war within settles down, I can again embrace all that I know to be true of the Universe. It is kind. And all is well.

I sincerely hope you have a quiet place to go each and every day to prepare yourself for the onslaught of life. This lake ritual of mine keeps me sane, not just sane but wholly wondrous of what the day will bring.

And, yes, that IS a gator cruising along in the above picture.

HAVE A BLESSED AND GLORIOUS DAY!

Slowing Down

The “Slow Movement” that has gained some attention and interest recently has captured me. I’ve been “working” at slowing down in many areas of my life during the past couple of years. I started this…well, I started “thinking” about this back when I became interested in the simplicity movement. Obviously, they go hand in hand. Or one would think.

Last year I broke my ankle and that physically slowed me down quite a bit for a short while but apparently I needed another, deeper lesson to slow me down further. A stroke did the job.

Yes, last October, I suffered a stroke. I was blessed, repeatedly blessed, not only because I have no long lasting or devastating effects but also because I was at work when it happened. Had I been at home it is doubtful I would have even called 911.

I had experienced, over the previous year, many small (what I NOW know) TIA’s. A TIA is a transient ischemic attack, kind of a warning stroke. I thought they were just these weird dizzy spells. My age, never having smoked, fairly good cholesterol and great blood pressure made me an unlikely candidate for stroke, yet still, I had one.

This slowed me down.

I was in the hospital for 4 days. I underwent physical therapy and this was when the damage revealed itself. I had a lot of difficulty with my balance though most of that returned within a few months. For awhile afterward, and still now on occasion, I felt “tippy”. My kids loved the phrase and used it frequently. I did not love feeling tippy. It left me feeling very vulnerable, hanging onto chair backs, door jams and running my fingers along walls for security.

Outwardly, I looked fine, I guess, and I returned to work after only a week. I felt my job was to convince everyone that I was doing just great. But I wasn’t. My greatest fear was that I wouldn’t be able to read or write. I did have some difficulty concentrating for awhile after the stroke but gradually I regained my stamina. I only wanted to sleep. My damaged brain just wanted and needed rest but…

The second half of last year was filled with events that caused me to do some re-evaluating of how I was living my life: choices I had made and continued to make on a daily basis, conditions I tolerated and, of course, the speed of my life. I discovered that rushing around does absolutely nothing to get you to your desired destination any quicker and certainly with a lot less peace.
Connections with people encountered on a daily basis become superficial and meaningless without slowing down. Even pets become just another check on the to-do list.

I wish to exhort you here to please try and slow down:

• 
  · When you walk the dog or pet the cat
  · When you fill the outside bird feeder
  · pull weeds
  · Fold laundry
  · Make a cup of tea
  · Put away the dishes

Take a few extra minutes to connect with your neighbor and really engage with the child to whom you are reading that book. Slow down and enjoy feeding your baby and when you are at your particular place of worship, get quiet, get still, experience the experience.

PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! do whatever you can as soon as you can to slow down.

Do it before life makes you.

Peace

For years I’ve been searching for peace,
Talking about it,
Waiting for the kids to grow up so I can finally get it.
I’ve gone to church looking for it,
Counted my breaths in and out, in and out,
Fingered meditation beads,
I’ve sat in the woods for a week,
I’ve crossed the Rockies in an RV,
I’ve sweated in the sun,
I’ve shivered in the wind,
I’ve retreated and visualized,
I’ve chanted and repeated mantras,
But still I remained without that which I sought,
Until the day I caught a fleeting glimpse…
That was the day I looked deeply into my own eyes and realized,
Peace is not doing,

Peace is being.

Peace is available at any moment.

Kayaking with pelicans

I went kayaking at Ft. DeSoto Park near Clearwater yesterday. OMG what a gorgeous day it was. Though the water temp was a tad cool, that made no difference to me. Above are some pics of the water, the beach, and a whole slew of pelicans standing on a sand bar till I startled them into flight.

The Nature of the Beast

My yard, especially the front sidewalk area, has become an overgrown jungle with grass/weeds growing willy-nilly all over the place. You can’t even hear cars traveling down my road because the growth has extended over the curb and into the street creating a nice lush green carpet between me and my across the street neighbor. Keeping this stuff under control in Florida requires tools that I do not currently possess, though I am saving for them and hoping that as the cooler weather arrives, perhaps the growth will be stunted a bit.

So in a heroic attempt to attack this mess, I borrowed a gas powered weed-eater and an edger. I’ve never really had a good relationship with small gas-powered engines. For me, operating these is a lot like attempting a dance competition with someone you’ve just met moments before. You just can’t help but step on toes, bump into each other and swing while the other sways.
With these small engines it’s all about pushing this button 3 times…or maybe 5 times…”it just depends” and moving a nearly hidden lever this way but then backing it off that way if the engine doesn’t immediately catch and then, if the autumn solstice hasn’t quite been fully realized or if Jupiter and it’s moons are out of sync, well, chances are you may never get the blasted thing started!

So I called the individual from whom I borrowed these handy dandy pieces of…lawn equipment and was told, very calmly and with that tone that people who have no problem operating this stuff often use to those of us who are small engine challenged, “you just need to understand the nature of the beast.”

Well I think I do understand the beast!

I understand that whoever invented this stuff, hopefully, is roasting in hell at this very moment. I understand that, were it not for peer pressure, most of us would not care a lick if our sidewalks were not edged just so. I understand that Sundays can be spent in a much more soul and spirit relaxing manner that wrestling on the ground with buttons, levers and the smell of gasoline all over one’s self.

I understand that I’m going electric all the way.

That’s what I understand.

A Glorious Gray Day

What a glorious morning it is! Heavy grey clouds move moodily across the sky, the dark water churns with discontent, birds call loudly, rudely to each other…or maybe to me.


This is the first morning in six months that my time at the lake can be enjoyed with the car engine off, windows down. What a difference that makes. The waves slapping against the boat ramp can be heard, the wind rustling through the cattails, the bull frogs honking…all can be seen, heard and felt rather than the senses diluted through the windshield of the car.


This is a morning I struggle to leave the lake and go on to work. I want to stay here all day. I enjoy the dreariness of overcast days. They call for hot tea, blankets and a thick book.


Oh well, one can only wish.

Big Smile

On my way to a new client appointment...yeah! The first one in at least 2 years. Big smile for that.

Grace

What do you think of the well-worn phrase, “There but for the grace of God, go I.”? Someone may say it when they pass a homeless man sleeping under the awning of a business at night or they see someone biking down the highway, bags of groceries dangling from the handlebars, or they see a handicapped person in a wheelchair. The phrase always seems to be applied to an individual deemed “in worse shape” than the speaker.

The phrase, when studied, has a particular ring to it, like God loves the homeless person or the handicapped person or the bike-rider LESS that someone with a bed or a car or with a better working body. As if they are not benefactors of grace.

Or when someone says, “Uh-oh, I’ve fallen out of the good graces of…” Then it’s as if you must “earn” grace. But grace cannot be earned. It is freely given.

Personally, “grace” is one of my favorite words. I love how it feels in my mouth, tastes on my tongue, the warm, safe feeling it elicits. “Unmerited favor” or “favor rendered by one who need not do so”, or “clemency”, or “divine protection” – these are common definitions of grace.

To me, grace is that my heart and lungs and kidneys and liver do their thing with no effort on my part. Grace is a beautiful sunset. Grace is picking green beans off the vine. Grace is the deep peace that washes over me at unexpected moments, taking my breath away. Grace is falling into love. Grace is.

Life and all of its abundant graces is grace.

"Life begins at the end of your comfort zone."

Neale Donald Walsch

Leaving Meat Behind...Part 1

I became a vegetarian about 5 years ago. I just discovered, slowly (like I discover everything) that I felt better when I didn’t eat animal flesh. I must insert here that I still ate fish. I’m not sure how I decided that fish wasn’t animal flesh but I reasoned that since I didn’t feel poorly after eating it that it must be OK.

As the years progressed I became aware of the problems associated with farmed fish and the toxicity of unfarmed fish. Still I decided I’d cut back on the wild-caught and just eat it once or twice a week. That till I learned that our oceans are 70% fished out. Now I was in a conundrum. I didn’t want to contribute to the extinction of any creature.

One afternoon I was hanging out at the lake near my house and a young boy was fishing for tilapia by throwing out a net. Over and over, as he pulled in his net, he would grab the fish and throw them onto the grass where I watched them suffocate. One fish was tossed only a few feet from where I walked. I swear he looked right at me. I looked away. I couldn’t watch his agonizing death. At that very moment, I decided to “consider” not eating any more finned fish.

Maybe a year or so later, while at the now-ex’s river house, I sat along the edge of the canal in the late afternoon, fishing, a cold beer by my side. I found fishing to be fun and relaxing and I rationalized that I would just catch and release. But that evening, I ended up with a bucket full of nice-sized fish. The neighbor came over to clean them and within an hour they went from swimming along happily living their lives to swimming in hot boiling oil.

Nope can’t do that anymore, I decided, though I did continue my catch and release practice until one time I had so much trouble getting the hook out of the fish’s mouth, causing unbelievable damage to him, that I finally quit altogether. How cruel, I thought. Who’s to say how much pain they feel? I know a hook in my lip would hurt.

Still I ate shellfish and mollusks.

About six months ago I made the decision to research all aspects of the farming and meat production industry and after my investigations, I decided I HAD to go completely vegan. I’m surprised at the responses of other people. EVERYONE, and I mean everyone, has an opinion. I do not try to persuade or evangelize anyone to my way of eating. It does have its difficulties and I’m still learning but it is a choice I’m very content with.

How to Access Peace

When do I “feel” peace within myself?

Is it when the bills are paid?
Is it when the weeds are pulled and the grass is mowed?
Is it when the laundry is done and the shopping is completed?
Is it when the house is cleaned, the projects done?

NO! It is when I am pursuing my dream, my passion.

Even though is FEELS like all that “doing” gives me peace that is not true peace. I feel peace within when I am being true to myself. At the moment of this writing, the sound of a woodpecker brings a smile to my face and I have a sense of peace. This is because I feel connected to the whole. My cat, Georgia, sits beside me and my doggie, Rhapsody, happily hunts for lizards nearby. These things bring me peace and I’m doing nothing but drinking it all in. I am being “in”, connected to, all that is.

“When we try to pick out any one thing by itself, we find it hitched to everything else in the Universe”.

John Muir.

Eckhart Tolle writes in Stillness Speaks: “We depend on nature not only for our physical survival. We also need nature to show us the way home, the way out of the prison of our own minds. We get lost in doing, thinking, remembering, anticipating – lost in a maze of complexity and a world of problems.

We have forgotten what rocks, plants and animals still know. We have forgotten how to be…
To bring your attention to a stone, a tree, or an animal does not mean to think about it, but simply to perceive it, to hold it in your awareness.

Something of its essence then transmits itself to you. You can sense how still it is, and in doing so the same stillness arises within you. You sense how deeply it rests in Being – completely at one with what it is and where it is. In realizing this, you too come to a place of rest deep within yourself.”

To me this is true peace and only in the place of stillness and peace can I know for sure what my passion is, what my truth is. All the “doing” in the world smothers any awareness that might be at the periphery of my consciousness.

Try it today. Let go of the to-do lists and just "be" in nature. See how that feels.

Let's Pray For Him

The last person that came to my desk yesterday, approached me reeking of a discontented and rotten attitude. I first tried to humor him with my charm. That, it was quickly apparent, wasn’t going to work at all. He was just plain rude…and mean. And probably psycho.


He complained about EVERYTHING and I don’t mean the normal exasperated and frustrated complaining of the average person. I can usually have them laughing and eating out of my hand within a few minutes. This guy was hardcore unhappy. Deep down. Even my manager kept a close eye on this guy. Perhaps she feared for my life. Or his.


He ranted and raved about the price of this and the procedure for that. He said he was a combat veteran so shouldn’t he get a break. When that didn’t work he went on to tell me…LOUDLY…how much cheaper everything is in West Virginia. Then I made the mistake of saying Virginia, leaving out the west part. He jumped all over me for that. I responded with the now popular catch-all phrase of “whatever”. I got the look of death for that one but by then I’d given up sending any “luv” to this dude.


He pronounced he was going to send some emails to the powers that be and a bill for his transaction to the state attorney general.


I wish I’d had a stamp. I would gladly have given it to him.

Really, you have to feel sorry for someone who is so horribly miserable and unhappy that they can come into a public facility and show their butt without any conscious awareness.

What a poor tortured soul.

Let's pray for him.

Progress is impossible without change and those who cannot change their minds cannot change anything.

George Bernard

Nightime Express

A very pregnant woman came to my desk today. She was enormous enough to populate a small country. We talked about pregnancy and all the lovely accompanying conditions of that not so delicate condition. Though it definitely has been awhile since I’ve been pregnant, my youngest, a son now grown, certainly put more than the average wear and tear on my poor body.
Unpregnant, I have a bladder roughly the size of a lima bean but when I was fully “in bloom” that tiny bladder could hold about ¼ of a teaspoon at a time. Especially toward the end. And ladies, you know how it is at night. As soon as the sun goes down, the path to the bathroom becomes well-trodden.


I slept closest to the bathroom and all through the multiple trips each night, I usually didn’t turn on the light or flush so as not to disturb the father of my soon to emerge child. As I perched in the dark on the throne one night toward the end of my pregnancy, I became aware that I was not alone. Aside from the snoring from the bed, I was fully confident no one else should be in the bathroom with me. Besides, I reasoned to myself, the bathroom was tiny, Spartan even. Shower stall, toilet and sink. That’s it. Just the bare basics. There was no room for another person. So what was THAT that just dashed across my feet?


I let out a small scream and began pounding my feet on the floor as if I were rehearsing for a tap routine on “So You Think You Can Dance.” I jumped up and flipped on the light, no longer caring a wit about anyone sleeping, after all, I was defending the life of my precious unborn. I didn’t see anyone or anything which was a good thing because the light apparently didn’t disturb my bedmate one iota so I doubted that a full out assault would have brought out the knight in shining armor.


The next few nights I was on high alert when I used the restroom. Good thing too because around 5am early one morning after multiple nighttime trips involving early labor which resulted in numerous number 1’s and a few number 2’s (hey, early labor gets the body cleaned out and ready for the main event), I decided to turn on the light and take a peek around. And what did my wondering eye cast upon.

A mouse!

Yes, gentle readers; God’s truth here, a mouse was in the john sitting on one of my turds and wads of toilet paper. Now how did he get there, you may ask. Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, I don’t know the answer to that. My more immediate and pressing observation was that just moments prior to this discovery, my rather generous-sized ass had hovered mere inches from his whiskery little mouse face! Why he might have reached up at any second and tried to gain purchase by grasping my flesh with his pointy little rodent teeth! But I, breathing a pregnant (pun intended) sigh of relief, could continue to carry my unborn darling without such a horrific episode which might have caused years of therapy for both myself and my tiny baby.

I called to my then-husband, “Paul,” I said with some urgency, “There’s a mouse in the toilet.”
Literally, without batting an eye, he responded, “Flush him down.” Then he returned to sleep leaving me alone to determine the future of this living being who was just trying to…trying to WHAT?

With my hand on the handle, the mouse and eye locked gazes, looking deeply into each other’s eyes, I…

So what do you think I did?

What would you have done?

Go Deep

I am such a blessed woman. Nearly every morning of the work week, I drive the block and a half to the lake near my house to apply my make-up for the day. It starts my day off in beauty and serenity. I’m able to sit in the stillness that only nature can provide.




As human beans, most of us live in a place of repetitive and conditioned thinking. Our minds take us back again and again to the broken record of repetitive thought. This is why I love coming to the lake each morning and immersing myself in the sights, sounds and smells of nature. That’s never a repetitive experience and here I am free to go beyond myself. The movement of the water, the tree branches, water grasses and the birds remind me of the ever-changingness of life.




There is a grey heron that seemingly waits for me every morning. Shortly after I arrive, he departs, but not before he has looked at me directly, admonishing me to go about my day with the awareness that it might be my last but also with the carefree light-heartedness as if it were my first. And then he flies away, leaving me to choose. I look forward every morning to my few moments with that bird. He reminds me that I can decide “how then shall I live”.




I challenge you to reach down DEEP, beyond thought…to that place that is still and free…free of the hamster-on-the-wheel repetitive thought, free of judgment…free to just be.

“Meditation brings wisdom, lack of meditation leaves ignorance. Know well what leads you forward and what holds you back, and choose the path to wisdom.”

Buddha

Peer Pressure at Wal-Mart

I did my bi-monthly shopping at Wal-Mart the day following my colonoscopy. I opted to ride in one of those electronic cart thingies due to my injured right heel. That would have been perfect had the damn contraption not run out of juice mid-way through the store.


I’m a very deliberate and frugal shopper. My money has to stretch a very long way so I prepare a detailed shopping list and stick to it like crazy glue. NOTHING goes into the cart willy nilly. Using the back of my list, I add each item as I go, being sure not to go over my budgeted amount. Other women, seeing me carefully negotiating the price of each item, perhaps feeling a sense of camaraderie, offer their suggestions, with friendly smiles, about this item or that.


I was in the laundry detergent aisle, deliberating over prices and brands when a woman, apparently one of the afore-mentioned sort, informed me that the brand she selected was as good as or maybe even better than the brand that I had in my cart. And cheaper. I thanked her profusely as if she’d given me instructions on how to de-activate the bomb I carried in my cart that in a second would destroy pretty much all of humanity. Reversing my electric cart, I traded my choice for hers. She smiled triumphantly, gave me a thumbs up and rounded the end of the aisle to continue her campaign on another hapless Wal-Mart shopper.


The second she was out of sight, I placed her choice on the shelf and went to grab mine, hiding it under a huge bag of cat food, just in case I ran into her again.


I felt my electric cart running slower and slower, feeling intuitively with my sharp mechanical sense, that I would soon be completely out of power. Next aisle was the toilet paper one. I had always used Scott. Big fat rolls, easy on the sewer system. As I was reaching for it, another woman, red hair flying out behind her (her electrical cart was better juiced than mine) sailed by and yelled out, “Get Northern, it the best.”


Now I began wondering if it was my apparent handicap that elicited such seemingly helpful input or was it ‘Help Your Neighbor Day’ at Wal-Mart? Or…maybe these were disguised marketers for the companies in question…?


But I guess the bigger question is why do I feel compelled to acquiesce. This is Wal-Mart for heaven sake, not Macy’s or Bloomingdale’s. Who gives a crap what another shopper puts in their cart. The biggest question of all, why does that shopper…ME…feel the need to bend to this pressure.


As I pondered the enormity of these issues, the cart completely died. Still seated, I scooted the cart to the front of the store, which exerted quite a bit of effort, where I transferred everything to another cart with hopefully more juice and, quietly, like a spy on surveillance, scooted quietly around the store finishing my shopping!


$3.oo under budget

Thar She Blows...

I had my very first colonoscopy on Friday. If Dr. Oz could do it so could I. Everyone I talked to about it…and that was a fair amount of people…all said the prep was the worst of it. Of course, I didn’t inquire as to the working order of their feet. I felt I was at a distinct disadvantage in the “running” to the bathroom department due to my continuing heel injury as a result of that damn bougainvillea thorn. Were they lame as a horse? I made those many trips to the bathroom at a cross between a hobble and a poorly trained 3-legged foot racer, which, by the way, I am quite good at, or was, “back in the day”. In fact, I have a blue ribbon proving my expertise in such an event. In addition, during my adventures in “prep” land, I slipped and fell causing further insult to injury. I’ll leave it to you, my intelligent readers, to deduce what I might have slipped on. And no, it isn’t what you might think!


My oldest son spent the night on my couch as he was my driver the next morning. Between my ever-increasing trips to the bathroom, I pulled out sheets, pillows and a blanket for him. I instructed him that should I pass during the procedure…what? you ask. Do you think such a thing couldn’t happen during such a routine event? Of course, there is always the possibility and I wanted my preferences followed to a T.


Lifting an eyebrow and cracking a joke, he finally smiled and indulged his mother. Yes, he would tell this person but not that one, and yes, the animals would be taken care of according to my wishes…blah, blah blah.


You may have already concluded that I’m still alive and well. The staff at the hospital bent over backwards to assure my comfort (except the nurse who blew my vein while inserting the IV). I also sensed an air of desperation, post procedure, as they asked for good feedback on the satisfaction survey.


Hmmm..wonder why.

Maps

I was married at the ripe old age of 19 and stayed that way until I was 44 yrs old. I had 4 children and homeschooled them for 12 of those years. Regardless of the hopelessness of the marriage, I did have a very regimented rhythm to my daily life. Children tend to do that to you and home schooling only makes the schedule that much more rigid.


I spent NO time at all forecasting my life, my future, a distant map of how I expected or even hoped my life would be in 5, 10 or 20 years hence. Children, their needs and educating them defined my days, months and years. Looking ahead to the time when I would be divorced, make major life changes and be the parent of adult children was never a blip on my radar screen.
Sound familiar?


So, now, here I am. I’ve spent the past 12 or 13 years since my divorce flying by the seat of my pants or on the coattails of another, not even thinking about the fact that my time wearing this earth suit is not finite. I have limited time remaining. Rather than make endless lists of places I want to visit or experiences I want to have and projects I want to complete, I am now working on maps, actual steps with an actual time table to give me more concrete parameters. Though I rebel against rigidity, there is no way to get from here to there without a plan. “If you fail to plan, you plan to fail...” preparing for the future is typically ignored because of a preoccupation with today. Of course if you’ve read any of my stuff, you’ve heard me preach loudly about living in the moment but that does not preclude planning for the future.


So I’ve started with predicting, as best as I am able, how much time I have left, how long I intend to work where I currently work and where I want to live, work and be in the next 5, 10 and hopefully, 20 yrs. For me, getting my health in order is TOP priority because everything else falls to ashes (pun intended) without good health. I’ve set up a daily and weekly plan with goals and rewards for attaining such.


Next are my finances. Though I don’t have a heavy debt load it is enough that I need a plan to unencumber myself. I have not worked for a company or corporation to rack up a retirement so I have zip, zero, zilch in that department. I definitely need a strong plan on how I will accrue enough funds to not be a burden to anyone as I age. That plan is currently in the works.


There are many other areas of my life that need investigation but I, like many of you, can only handle a few biggies at a time. Send good vibes my way as I breathe in this moment and plan for the next.

Pete the Pelican

Last spring I had the delightful and memorable experience of meeting Pegleg Pete the Pelican. Somewhere along Pete's life he had lost his leg. He could have gotten tangled up in fishing line nor assorted other litter and debris, he could have gotten an infection of some type or, horror of horrors, he could have lost it in the jaws of a gator. In any event, he not talking about it. He's doing just fine. He's learned to hang out at a marine gas station that sells bait fish to fishermen along with other supplies. He's after the fish, of course, and he's very selective, refusing anything that is not to his taste.

I'm always amazed at how animals, without whining or complaining, never give up, until the day comes when they must. They accept whatever befalls them with grace and dignity. Oh would I live so cheerfully! Acceptance, surrender...yes, but not with an attitude of defeat. Rather an attitude of cheerfulness and creativity. As it has been said, "When one window closes another door opens."

The smallest and, seemingly, least significant member of the non-human world can illuminate truth, if only we have the eyes to see.

Today take a moment to look, really look. And see.

Blessed

I am a blessed woman

Grace is bestowed, indeed abundantly showered, upon me daily.

Stillness opens the floodgates to the beauty that surrounds me and flows through me.

I can only access that stillness in the present moment. You, too.

Right NOW.

Stop.

Breath.

Feel the wondrous beating of your heart.

You are not beating your heart.

It is being beat for you.

You, too, are blessed.

Amazing.

To the mind that is still, the whole universe surrenders.

Lao Tzu

Shrinkage

I've shrunk...like literally. I've gone from the amazing gargantuan height of 5'6" to 5' 41/2". What a blow!

Seriously, this is devastating! I'm too young too shrink.

This morning I opened the door heading into work and at that moment remembered today was the health screening day. Right off the bat I got weighed...that's a separate story and one we will NOT explore today...and then my height was measured. This is when I received the horrible news. I made the lady do it 3x because I just couldn't believe it, absolutely certain she was incorrect. Finally, she allowed me to read those awful numbers. My eyes blurred with emotion. How could this be? When had this happened? Why didn't I know.

I'm too young too shrink! Shrinkage occurs when you're like 70 or 80...not at my still youthful age!

At this rate I'll be eye level with my mini-doxie by next year!

Should I put lifts in my shoes or hang from the door jams for hours or submit to a torture chamber stretching rack?

OMG...I'm too young to shrink!

THE QUEST

To dream ... the impossible dream ...

To fight ... the unbeatable foe ...

To bear ... with unbearable sorrow ...

To run ... where the brave dare not go ...

To right ... the unrightable wrong ...

To love ... pure and chaste from afar ...

To try ... when your arms are too weary ...

To reach ... the unreachable star ...

This is my quest, to follow that star ...

No matter how hopeless, no matter how far ...

To fight for the right, without question or pause ...

To be willing to march into Hell,

for a Heavenly cause

And I know if I'll only be true, to this glorious quest,

That my heart will lie peaceful and calm, when I'm laid to my rest ...

And the world will be better for this:

That one man, scorned and covered with scars,

Still strove, with his last ounce of courage,

To reach ... the unreachable star ...

"If thou tastest a crust of bread, thou tastest all the stars and all the heavens."

Robert Browning (1812-1889) English poet

I awoke this morning, the darkness of dawn still sneaking through the blinds, to the delicious sound of rain on the aluminum roof of the screen porch right outside my bedroom. I love the rain. I breath in deeply at just the word “rain”. As I snuggled under the covers, listening, I determined that today would be a bread-baking day.

I, HAD, originally intended to go kayaking today but an injury to my foot caused my plans to change. Last week-end I stepped with all my barefooted weight, onto a blasted bougainvillea thorn. It penetrated my heel so deeply that it required pliers to remove it. Can’t tell you how sore that was and it necessitated a trip to the doc for a tetanus shot and a round of antibiotics. Yup, that is just the way I wanted to spend my money, right? Plus walking around on the sole of my foot caused other body parts to react…and not nicely. Anyway, didn’t think kayaking would be the smartest idea and then the rain this morning…so…making bread seemed a nice diversion.

I stopped by the French bakery near my home on my way to the store to get bread-baking supplies and bought two chocolate croissants…OMG they were heavenly. Still warm from the oven, the crust flakey and tender and the chocolate warm and delicious. A Saturday morning doesn’t get any better than this!

I decided on a San Francisco sourdough recipe that I’ve had for 40 yrs but haven’t made for a while so it required making the starter so I won’t actually be making the bread today. It takes a few days for the starter to…um…start. My second bread is a quick, non-yeast batter bread with sunflower seeds and a yummy date-butter. I’m salivating on the keyboard as I think about how good this one is. Again, I’ve had it for many years.

If any of you want these recipes, just leave a comment and I’ll be more than happy to oblige!!!

Have a wonderful weekend.

I love you all.

"Good bread is the most fundamentally satisfying of all foods; and good bread with fresh butter, the greatest of feasts."

James Beard (1903-1985)

Meet Mr. Jim Roan

During my many years of pet sitting in which I spent hours every day in the car listening to audio books in just about any genre, I grew a list of my favorite authors and favorite topics. In the self-improvement area, my all-time preferred and much loved, was and still is, Jim Roan. He did not start out as an author and speaker but developed into a great one with time and by working on himself, developing his craft and his skills. By the time I was accidentally introduced to this amazing teacher, he had already become articulate and so inspiring to me and I’m sure thousands of others.

Check him out by listening to his audio book, The Art of Exceptional Living. I think you may be moved to take action as I was. One of his more profoundly insightful points is this: “Just a few small errors in judgments committed every day will, over time, result in "MISTAKES COLLOSAL!”

He uses several well known and humorous examples to illustrate his points. I listen and listen again to this phenomenal speaker and teacher. How I wish I had his style and communication techniques.

Well, I AM working on me.

"Success is the sum of small efforts, repeated day in and day out."

Robert Collier

Feline Philosophers

In the past…and not too terribly distant past…I often have found myself, chameleon-like, morphing into someone I am not, adapting behaviors that are so unlike my true nature, in order to please and appease the object of my affection. Now I am extremely aware of how toxic, twisted and unhealthy this is but nevertheless, I do it. A friend of mine, upon first meeting a new love interest of mine, took me aside and said, “Linda, you are not acting yourself and I think that stinks because you are very cool just the way you are!” I would wave her away, thinking she pretty much had no idea what she was talking about but yet…in the end…she knew.

Rather than confront either the apparent mismatch of the match or stand up to an issue, I, unconsciously restrain myself, physically, mentally and emotionally, to adapt to the energy and expectations of the other. Sooner or later that MUST result in an explosion, inner, outer or both. I believe my inner organs cannot take the pressure and I’ve experienced some dramatic physical manifestations merely by trying to maintain status quo.

Cognitive dissonance sets in and severe consequences result. “Cognitive dissonance is an uncomfortable feeling caused by holding conflicting ideas simultaneously. The theory of cognitive dissonance proposes that people have a motivational drive to reduce dissonance. They do this by changing their attitudes, beliefs, and actions. Dissonance is also reduced by justifying, blaming, and denying.” Wikipedia

I have three cats, actually, the youngest, Georgia, is the only one who chose me and I chose her. Willow, my 9 yrs old cat was left with me by an ex-lover years ago and Morey, somewhere in her late teens, was left with me by my most recent ex. I can’t help but notice that these cats do not suffer from this co-dependent behavior. They do not concern themselves with pleasing the other to the point of losing who they are. The younger one seems to watch over the older one, but also continues to roll on her back in the sun, suddenly jumping up to attack a leaf, never worrying that the older one does nothing more than lie in the sun, napping all day long. The older one suffers no guilt when she throws up her breakfast and the younger one does not appear to care either. At times there appears to be real affection one for the other but without duty or guilt.

So I strive now to be myself, my wonderful, invaluable, brilliant, lovely and powerful self.

Come with me. Let’s meet at the top.

Moment by moment

We lose the power of the moment because we are so rarely in it. We're reliving the past or speculating about the future. We continue to believe that tomorrow's the day when I'll be more capable, more weathy, more fit or more loving. Meanwhile, I'm just putting in time, dreaming of better things but not making any concrete move to realize them.

When you find yourself thinking of the future or the past, bring your awareness into the present moment. Really experience how you feel and what's happening around you, without judgement. If we can treasure each moment, our lives will be rich, no matter what we have accomplished.

"Lost, yesterday, somewhere between sunrise and sunset, two golden hours, each set with sixty diamond minutes. No reward is offered for they are gone forever."
- Horace Mann -

Everything is Relative

I'm amazed and frequently dismayed at how often I feel sorry for myself. I talk alot about gratitude. I talk about it because I have discovered it is the one tried and true remedy for pulling myself away from my own pity party.

If you knew me well, and we were to have a face-to-face conversation and you were, lets say, whining about this or that, I'd start forcing you to list all the ways in which you are blessed. Soon you would either cheerfully (or not) join in on the game or get up and walk away...anything to shut me up.

However, sometimes I need a real in-my-own-face kind of wake-up call.

Last year at about this time, I was hobbling around on crutches and a cast having fallen down and broken my ankle. I went back to work relatively quickly as I had very little "sick time" accrued. One day a guy came to my desk and as we were chatting I (apparently trying to garner some sympathy) hiked my leg, cast and all, up on my desk to show him how pitiful I was. With my dirty toes protruding from my colorful cast I smiled at the nice young man.

He smiled back at me, and then, smoothly with ease and grace, lifted his leg up and placed it on the desk next to mine...it was a prosthesis.

Talk about a humbling moment!

With obvious embarrassment, I slumped back down into my chair, dragging my broken bone with me. But, at least, I HAD a bone, and skin to stuff it into. He, with amazing compassion and tact, removed his "leg" and we proceeded with business as usual.

In Memory of Dudley

I’ve been doing some more pet sitting lately, of which I am very grateful. I have missed the laid back, unhurried times I spent with all my animal clients. You don’t know what you miss till it’s gone. Today I had two sits which were uneventful and pleasant. As I rode from one house to another, I passed a home where I once made regular stops. I wanted to share this experience with you and though it happened a few years ago, thinking about it and re-living it brought it vividly back to mind.

I used to care for Dudley, an aging but delightful apricot standard poodle. Dudley had become one of my favorite dog clients. Surprisingly, I had discovered that my affection and respect for older animals was profoundly more intense than for their younger counterparts. A mature, yes, even a geriatric animal has so much more to offer than a youngster. Their wise, soulful eyes and calm demeanor seem to communicate deep understanding and appreciation for human love and caring.

Dudley’s owners, Jane and Bill, had given me the garage door opener allowing me access though the garage and into the laundry room which was the same way they entered the house. Dudley was highly protective of his home, and entering with a key through the front door may have elicited some aggression. I was quite happy to avoid that - old or not, the dog still had big, pointy teeth!

William greeted me at the door with noisy barking and lots of tail wagging. He wasn’t much of kisser but he allowed me to kiss the top of his long nose and pat his chest. As I leashed him for his walk, I noticed he hadn’t eaten his dinner from the previous night – again. Dudley was one of those dogs that went on a hunger strike when the owners were away. Normally, this was of little concern – most dogs can stand to lose a pound or two - but because of Dudley’s advanced age, I always worried about him. In addition, the old man had some health issues, like heart and liver disease, so I always kept a sharp eye on him and breathed a huge sigh of relief each time I arrived and he was OK.

We ambled around the block, both of us savoring the gorgeous morning. I enjoyed these walks with Dudley. He sniffed this bush and that and nonchalantly left his autograph on every tree and mailbox post we passed while I admired the elegant homes and landscaping in this upscale neighborhood. His calm demeanor relaxed me and I felt better than I had in days.

We returned to the house and as I washed out his water bowl and filled it with fresh water, Dudley stretched out on the cool tile and heaved a great sigh. I sank down beside him on the floor and lifted his head onto my lap. I sat for awhile with the old guy, scratching his curly head and enjoying the quiet serenity we shared. Glancing at my watch, I realized it was time to go. I reached down and gave him a goodbye kiss on his long nose.

“See ya later, old man,” I said. He wagged his tail and looked up at me, chin still resting on the floor. I left the house, not knowing that this visit was the last one I would ever have with him.

I experienced an uneasiness all day long to which I had no solution. I guessed that inwardly I was worried about this thing or another and managed to just push this discomfort away.

As I traveled back toward Dudley’s house that evening, the now-familiar feeling of unease that I’d experienced off and on during the entire day began to wash over me once again. What in the world was the matter with me, I wondered inwardly. I rolled down the windows of my Jeep and deeply inhaled the cool evening air, trying to shake this malaise. As I turned down the quiet street where Dudley lived, I glanced at the other homes lining the road, each one heavily curtained by mature trees and overgrown shrubs. A warm glow twinkled occasionally from between branches of the foliage and here and there I could see the lights from a television set or glimpse a family gathered round a dinner table. The evening was quiet and serene with the sounds of crickets and frogs greeting me as I parked in the drive and opened the garage door with the opener I kept in my glove box. The garage light came on automatically and as I cautiously entered, my heart began to race and my stomach jumped and lurched uneasily. Reaching for the door knob, it suddenly occurred to me that I heard no familiar barking. Hot tears of fear, panic and dread jumped to my eyes and my heart pounded in my chest as I slowly opened the door.

“Dudley,” I called softly, my voice quavering. “Come here, old man. Let’s go for a walk.”

Flipping on lights, I slowly walked around the corner to the kitchen. The old dog’s silent form lay motionless on the floor, just where I had last sat with him early that morning. Oh God, please no, I silently pleaded, as I held my breath and stared intently at his side, hoping, praying, to see some movement. My heart breaking, tears flowing freely down my face, I sank to my knees beside him and stroked his curly head. There was no rise and fall of his chest, no response to my touch. His big, brown eyes stared ahead glassily, the playful twinkle forever extinguished. I sat beside my friend for a long time, crying unashamedly at the passing of this wonderful creature, postponing for as long as I could the phone call I was next required to make. I understood now why I had been so out of sorts all day long.

Somehow, I had known.

Boxes and Nests

I love boxes. I'm not absolutely sure why but some how a good sturdy box brings me comfort and security. I'm not quite ready for an intervention by that show Hoarding:Buried Alive but I do love a nice collection of boxes. Lucky for me I no longer have to go dumpster diving for them because I work at a place that produces many boxes for me to snag on a daily basis!!! In fact, just today, this very day, I received in the mail a catalogue for those of us who love boxes. It's called ULINE. I never heard of it but they are "Shipping Supply Specialists". How did they know?

There are many, many great uses for boxes. Here are a few ideas:

• A disposable spitoon for those guests who chew
• A temporary window replacement
• A splint for a broken bone
• Cardboard boxes make great furniture (ottoman, coffee table, headboard)
• Backpack
• Jewelry
• Compost container
• A cozy dark nest for new kittens or puppies
• A handy container to ditch dirty dishes when unexpected company is ringing the doorbell
• A wagon (just attach to a skateboard)
• Snow skis (just use plenty of duct tape)
• Always have small carboard squares on hand to level that pesky wobbly table at Starbuck's

My favorite is to use a box as a hiding place for the purchases you make that you are hiding from your significant other. Weeks later you wear it and when asked "Is that new?" you reply, "No, this old thing...I've had it in the closet for ages".

For the many years that I was married raising 4 children, moving was WHAT WE DID. One year we moved 5 times in that 12 month period. Boxes were the landscape of my life. All I ever wanted was my own nest, a place I could put my plants IN the earth and not have to transport them from state to state, city to city, house to house, in pots. I wanted to paint the walls the colors of MY choice and have the same pediatrician for my children's entire childhood.

Friends, of which I had few considering the many moves, would say, "How do you do it, Linda? I could never move so frequently." And I'd respond with a cheer I never felt, quoting the pithy plaques that had been given to me: 'Home is where the heart is' and 'Bloom where you are planted'.

But sooner or later the buds wither and fall off before any blooming can take place and the heart becomes bruised.

Now I have a little 1940's cottage that I adore and have put my heart and soul into it. Indeed, I have bloomed - a few weeds here and there but that's ok.

I was cutting back another bouganvillia a couple weeks ago (with much the same results as the previous prickly man-eater) and in the process I found a small bird nest. Nobody was home, no eggs or fledglings, rather late in the year, but I carefully replaced that nest. Maybe the former residents will return to their nest in the spring. And they will arrive with no boxes. How do they do that?

Always We Begin Again

Each Day

At the beginning of each day,

after we open our eyes

to receive the light

of that day,

As we listen to the voices

and sounds

that surround us,

We must resolve to treat each hour

as the rarest of gifts,

and be grateful

for the consciousness

that allows us to experience it,

recalling in thanks

that our awareness is a present

from we know not where,

or how, or why.

When we rise from sleep let us rise for the joy

of the true Work that we will be about

this day,

and considerately cheer one another on.

Life will always provide matters for concern.

Each day, however, brings with it reasons for

joy.

Each day carries the potential

to bring the experience of heaven;

have the courage to expect good from it.

Be gentle with this life,

and use the light of life

to live fully in your time.

Taken from Always We Begin Again

Promise Yourself

The Optimist Creed

Promise Yourself-

To be so strong that nothing can disturb your peace of mind.
To talk health, happiness and prosperity to every person you meet.
To make all your friends feel that there is something in them.
To look at the sunny side of everything and make your optimism come true.
To think only of the best, to work only for the best, and to expect only the best.
To be just as enthusiastic about the success of others as you are about your own.
To forget the mistakes of the past and press on to the greater achievements of the future.
To wear a cheerful countenance at all times and give every living creature you meet a smile.
To give so much time to the improvement of yourself that you have no time to criticize others.
To be too large for worry, too noble for anger, too strong for fear, and too happy to permit the presence of trouble.

Here We Go Again...

Unbidden, unexpected and uninvited

Scalding as acid rain

They appear with the sweet sound of greeting.

Familiar yet alien, warm

Yet chilly; distant

As a London fog.

Control impossible;

Brakes leaving

Rubber as red hot

As the ever-present

Knife

Again and again,

Cruelly twisted in my still beating

Heart.

Copyright 2010 Dragonfire Publishers

Dancing With the Dolphins

I love kayaking, love it, love it, love it. It’s a fabulous way to be IN nature in a relaxed and meditative way. However, I no longer have an easy way to transport my kayak so I’ve had to be imaginative and (from the above photo) improvise.

My plan was to go kayaking on Saturday. I wanted to travel on the interstate to test out my strap down system for its maiden voyage on top of my little PT Cruiser. I’d been trying out various methods and decided that the day had arrived. During my practice sessions, people had driven down my street and stopped to ask if I needed help. I must have been quite the sight pushing that 16ft boat weighing nearly 100 lbs on top of my little car. But I decided the day had arrived to give it a go.

I drove for 2 hours, stopped a couple times to check my tie down system. I was heading to the intercoastal waterway near Cape Canaveral, usually relatively calm with mild currents on quiet days like Saturday. I found a spot off the highway to park my car and launch my yak. I was some concerned about one of the straps because I had had trouble during my practice sessions getting it to release properly. On my way out the door I had grabbed a pair of scissors and stopped at Ace Hardware to purchase another strap in the event that an emergency amputation was required.

After pulling, straining, jerking and lots and lots of cussing interrupted by moments of deep breathing along with trying to get spiritually connected to that stupid strap, I finally decided that it needed to DIE and I was more than happy to be the handler of the weapon…otherwise I would not be paddling that day and THAT was not an option! I severed the strap with one snip and launched my boat and off I floated.

The water was glassy smooth and lovely. Bright blue skies and fluffy clouds promised good weather and I was in heaven. Within a few minutes I noticed some splashing about 100 feet ahead. I paddled closer, curious. As I approached I wondered to myself, “Could it be dolphins?” Yes! Yes! Yes! A small pod of three dolphins, feeding, cavorting with obvious joy, thrashing and splashing about playfully. I got close enough to hear them blow air out of their blow holes. They let me very close…within 4-6 feet, seemingly oblivious to my presence. I hung out with them for an hour or more, just watching as they played and danced with each other, my spirit joining in with them, watching as they flipped over on their backs, exposing their baby pink bellies, smiling that adorable dolphin smile. What a privilege! What an honor! It was SOOOOOOOOO worth the struggle with my kayak and the stupid straps and the sunburn I now carry on my back.

I went to see Avatar this afternoon with my adult boys and their funky and odd friends. It was a rainy afternoon and perfect for a movie and popcorn which I ate until I was sick. But Avatar was amazing, spectacular and I could have watched it again immediately. I loved it. Did you?

But a couple years ago I went to the beach on Labor Day and my experience that day was much different than today. I was intent on getting in a little sun and surf on that Labor Day weekend. I happily anticipated settling into my brightly striped beach chair, shoving my feet deep into the sand and losing myself in a novel.

As I drove over the bridge spanning the intercoastal waterway and glimpsed the Atlantic beyond, I found myself taking deep, relaxing breaths. It was still quite early in the morning; the sun had just peeked up over the horizon moments before. I parked my car on the beach and hopped out, putting on my baseball cap and applying generous quantities of sunscreen. I grabbed my sunglasses, refilled my insulated coffee mug from the thermos, kicked off my flip-flops and headed down the almost deserted stretch of sand for a walk.

The surf of the Atlantic was much too rough to find very many shells that were still intact but the hunt was what I enjoyed. I wandered lazily up the beach for a long while, searching for treasure and watching the antics of the sea birds as they cavorted with each other and searched for their breakfast. As I turned back to return to where I had parked, I spotted a starfish, lying just out of reach of the waves which had carried it ashore. The arms of the animal wriggled ever so slightly as it struggled to return to the sea. Gently, I dug into the sand underneath it so as not to touch it and possibly damage it, I carried it into the ocean. As the surf ebbed, I placed the starfish onto the ocean floor and watched as the surf returned, powerful and forceful, kicking the little guy back onto the beach. Repeating my efforts several more times, always with the same result, I finally gave up, concluding that perhaps, he had lived a full and complete life as a starfish and this was his final dance - with me!

I walked back to my car, somewhat subdued and introspective as I pondered the mysteries of life … and death. Even the death of a starfish. I got my beach chair and towel, cold water and more sunscreen, and, of course, my book. Dragging everything down to the surf’s edge, I situated myself precisely where I wanted to be and settled in my chair, relaxed and content.
Before long, the rhythm of the waves, the calling of the birds, the heat of the sun, lulled me into a hypnotic sleep. My head rolled back and rested awkwardly on the back of my chair and every so often, I’d startle awake, conscious of a kink forming in my neck and saliva drying on the side of my mouth, but too relaxed to care.

All at once though, I awoke in alarm and pain. A Frisbee floated nearby in the frothy surf. The water had crept up with the tide. My eyes, barely able to focus in the bright sunlight, spotted my water bottle floating near the Frisbee. As I slowly turned my head toward the voice speaking to me that belonged to the Frisbee, I squealed in pain. A jellyfish had arrived with the most recent wave and had, apparently, stung the living crap right out of me. I jumped up as quickly as I could but I hadn’t gotten my land legs yet and proceeded to fall right into the middle of all the tentacles of that fearsome creature. My book, forgotten, was tossed away in the surf.

“Ow, ow, ow…” was all I could manage as strong arms helped me to my feet.

“Come on, get away from here. That is a Portuguese Man-O-War jellyfish and he has some powerful venom,” said Frisbee voice, calmly but firmly. Looking at my arms and legs, I saw lots of tentacles still clinging to – and stinging – my skin.

“No shit! Damn that hurts! Ow, ow, ow,” I continued to say. Frisbee voice helped me further up the beach and away from the surf then motioned for a lifeguard. The lifeguard, hopped down off her perch and, pleased to finally be able to drive the little cart containing all manner of medical paraphernalia and lifesaving equipment, merrily arrived where I stood, as I continued repeating the highly intelligent phrase, “Ow, ow, ow!”

The calm and serenely deserted beach from early this morning was now jam-packed with people, all of whom seemed to be crowding around me, murmuring at the unfortunate situation I was in but gratified to find something interesting to break up their day.

“Hi, Rhonda,” said Frisbee voice to the lifeguard when she arrived, “This young lady has just been stung by a Man-O-War.”

“Hi, Garrett, how ya doin’? What are you doing here today? ” she asked with a flirtatious lilt to her voice as she jumped out of the cart.

Oh, this is just great, I thought to myself through clouds of pain. These two are trying to hook up right while I’m experiencing an almost fatal encounter with a creature from the sea.

“Well,” said Frisbee voice who had just been identified as someone named Garrett, “it was just such a gorgeous day today, I thought I’d take off and catch a few rays. I wouldn’t go near the water for the next couple weeks though with all those Man O’War coming ashore.”

“Yup,” said Rhonda Cutie Pie, “lots of tourists have been getting stung the last couple days.” She examined my arms, legs and feet which were swelling and becoming bright red. She straightened up and as she went to the cart to get a bottle of something she looked at Garrett coquettishly, “Would you like to go get a bite or something when I’m done here? It’ll be time for my lunch if Larry gets back on time to relieve me.”

I looked at the two of them crabbily, “Excuse me. Do you two think you could postpone your date setting until I’ve been taken care of, please? I happen to be in pain.”

I pretended to ignore the look Miss Cutie Pajamas sent to Garrett as she began spraying, willy-nilly, a strong smelling solution all over me.

“This will remove the tentacles and help take the sting out, ma’am,” she said, overly polite. As she sprayed the vinegar on, I could see the tentacles lifting from my skin. Garrett and Rhonda both worked to carefully pull them off, trying to avoid getting stung themselves.

“Phew! What is that stuff?” I asked, wrinkling my nose.

“Vinegar and water,” she answered, matter-of-factly. “You’ll need to get ice on these welts as soon as possible and it would help if you took an antihistamine to help with any reaction to the toxins. I usually have some on hand to give to sting victims but, unfortunately, I’m all out,” she said with obvious insincerity.

“Hey, Rhonda!” someone in the crowd called out, “Did you tell her about the old-fashioned way to take care of jellyfish stings?” People began to snicker.

“And what’s that?” I asked.
Someone in the now large crowd said brightly, “Pee on it.”

Everybody laughed. “Better yet, I’ll pee on it for ya, baby,” someone said, a tad too enthusiastically. I looked up. A heavily tattooed man of about fifty years of age with a six-month pregnant belly on him, obviously from enjoying too many Budweisers like the one he was clutching in his hand at that moment, gave me the thumbs up. I smiled weakly and turned back to the lifeguard.

“Actually, that’s not the correct treatment for a Portuguese Man o-War sting,” I couldn’t tell if she was addressing me or conducting a mini lecture to the crowd of onlookers, but she actually sounded like she knew what she was talking about. Turning back to me she said, ”As I’ve already told you - ice packs, cortisone cream and an antihistamine are what you need immediately. You may need to see a doctor because of the number of stings you have. You’ve got a lot of toxins running around in your body.”

She was packing up her medical equipment, that is to say, her plastic spray bottle of vinegar, but turning her attention back to Garrett, she continued to flirt conspicuously and unabashedly.

Garrett said to me, “Looks like the ocean claimed some of your stuff.”
I looked out into the ocean foam to see my chair being tossed to and fro. My book had disintegrated into a soggy mess, pages floating forlornly here and there, flipping in and out of the surf. My water bottle and towel were nowhere to be seen. I was feeling pretty miserable. The pain seemed to come in waves, hurting intensely for a while and then subsiding a little. I stood still, just looking out into the ocean, lost as to my next move. The crowd had wandered off, the excitement of the moment gone, back to their blankets and picnic baskets.

I was feeling completely wretched by the time I arrived home. My relaxing Labor Day at the beach had turned into a nightmare. But one I will never forget!!!

Here’s a tip…go to the movies and stay away from the beach when the jellyfish are prevalent.

A Yummy Dinner

I won't usually share recipes because that's not what this blog is about but I did fix a delicious dinner tonight and thought I'd contribute this recipe. It's not an original. It's from Alicia Siverstone's book The Kind Diet, a vegan cookbook. Yes folks, I am a vegan but we will not get into that tonight. Now to the recipe. I paired it with one of my favorite wines, a red which my cardiologist INSISTS I have a little of every day. Who am I to argue with a professional, right?


Here it is:

Summertime Succotash

1 T Earth Balance Butter

1 t. olive oil - (I pretty much doubled that)

1 c diced red onion

1 garlic clove, minced

1 10 oz package frozen baby lima beans, thawed

1 c fresh or frozen corn

1 c cherry tomatoes, halved

2 T fresh parsley, chopped

2 T fresh basil, chopped ( Since I grow both these herbs, I just walk out to the garden and snip what I need)

1 T white or red balsamic vinegar

Heat butter and oil together in a lg skillet over med heat. Add onion, saute for 5-7 min. Add garlic, cook another min. Stir in limas and saute for 5 min. Add corn and tomatoes and saute 1 min longer. Remove from heat, stir in herbs and vinegar. Serve warm or chilled.

Especially good with a spinach salad minus the bacon, of course.

Enjoy!!!!!!!!!!!! I did.

What We Resist...Persists

I’ve had a bit of a rough week this past week as I continue to struggle with my new status of no longer being a part of a couple. An emotional rollercoaster, this ride is. I haven’t posted to my blog because my mind becomes paralyzed and I just can’t seem to write. However, one of my main desires in starting this blog was to connect with people, people I know as well as people from around the globe that I don’t know. The threads that connect us are our experiences and if I don’t share where I am on any given day, then those threads cannot weave with yours and become the lovely tapestry of compassion, hope and understanding.

I do try to talk myself out this place of disjointed thought, out of the sad feelings, convinced I can talk myself back to feeling “normal” again. But normal is not really where I am headed. I don’t want to go back. Going back to my “normal” I view as a bad thing. I am now seeking a new paradigm, a healthier world view for myself.

I don’t believe I am a lot different from you…human beings hate pain and do everything within their power to escape it. And I’ve tried to escape it in many ways. I find things to do to distract myself from the feeling, from the discomfort. Yet I know that true and genuine healing is what I seek, not a giant blanket band aid to cover it up. I find it so much more soothing to treat myself with gentle kindness and tell myself to go ahead and feel the pain, ride it like a wave, understand that “This too shall pass.” Because if I resist what is, then the discomfort, the sadness, continues multiplied many times over. But if I ride it, surf the breathe of it, it becomes less threatening, less scary. Much like labor in childbirth. And I am in labor, I am in childbirth, birthing a new life for myself, on where I can be true to me at all times. And YES, DAMN IT, WANT WHAT I WANT!

My little mini dachshund, Rhapsody,(pictured above) has chronic disk disease and like many of her breed, her little back has caused her episodes of paralysis. I’ve noticed that she doesn’t fight it, she just accepts where she is and sooner or later, with hyper-vigilance on my parts and the proper combination of meds, she eventually gets back on all 4 feet. She doesn’t bemoan the fact that she missed that once-in-a-lifetime cruise to Alaska or oh-my-gosh why does this always happen to me or play the blame game, if only mom hadn’t taken me on such a long walk. Things just are what they are. She surrenders to it.

I met an amazing woman this week at work. She was making a document change and I was helping her. I had to send her home for some additional documents that she had forgotten. She didn’t whine and complain, moan and groan, she just smiled and said thank-you, accepted the facts as they were presented to her. She was completely non-resistant. She was also 82 years old and embodied non-resistance.

As we got to talking she told me she felt really great. I’m always curious about older folks and love to chat with them, maybe pick up a nugget of gold here and there. She did say that her shoulders were a bit sore from running the weed-eater all over her entire yard because she didn’t have a lawn mower. Mind you, she’s 82! Then she proceeded to tell me how blessed she was because her son bought her a lawn mower so now she can cut the grass properly. I said, (leave it to me to stick in my own 2 cents), “Why didn’t he just mow it for you?” She said her children let her do what she feels like she can do. Looks to me like she can do most anything! Not a grumble or complaint came out of this gentle soul. And her secret to a long life, (of course, I asked)…"take care of the temple and let God take care of the rest."

Byron Katie says there are three kinds of business in the world.

· There is your business
· There is everybody else’s business
· And there is God’s business

And taking care of my own business is a full time job!

Eckhart Tolle says:

Surrender comes when you no longer ask, “Why is this happening to me?”

Know that when a week or more goes by with no posting, I very well might be resisting SOMETHING!

Please, please, please...leave comments. I want to hear how you all are doing.