appreciation

I saw it when I opened the drawer to get my gardening gloves yesterday.

I was cleaning up after the wind. He has made quite a mess in both my front and back yards the last few days. A fine layer of dirt covering every surface. Leaves, twigs, feathers and discarded cigarette butts lay strewn around and piled up in corners.

We don’t smoke.

My Muse does, so I suppose they’re hers. I’ll have to look for the telltale red lipstick.

The wind always does this the day AFTER the gardener comes. NEVER the day before. He has a twisted sense of humor, he thinks it’s ironic.

It always starts the same way. I pick up a stray piece of trash that has found its way onto the porch. I’m usually in my morning get-up of a combination of pajamas, sweats and flip-flops. Next thing I know, it’s four hours later and I’ve cleaned the gutters and power washed the place. I loose complete track of time and ruin my manicure. This time, about an hour and a half in, it occurred to me to get my gloves.

Sometimes I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed.

So…..I open the drawer of a little table outside.
It sits under the dining room windows and contains a trowel, clippers, gloves and other assorted yard taming junk.

And there it was……a perfect bird’s nest. Tucked inside this shallow drawer, next to a box of stick matches.(see photo).

My heart skipped a beat as I just about lost my mind with delight.

The thing is, I collect birds nests. I have a couple of hummingbird and five or six regular ones of various sizes.

I also believe they’re good luck. It’s a positive sign.
Protection…safety…being looked after.
Shit. Who doesn’t want that?

My husband just shakes his head.
Hey honey — Don’t be a buzz kill.

So many things crossed my mind as I gently removed it from its perfect hiding place.
The mama did a magnificent job.

It was big and warm and cozy. It’s a masterpiece, that nest-in-a-drawer. Truly one of Mother Nature’s miracles.

I remember seeing her, this tiny mama bird, outside the window, gathering bits of home building materials while singing her lovely melody. I’ve decided she’s my hero.

I sit every day writing, just on the other side of her temporary home. I could hear the babies. A couple of weeks ago, they were so vocal I went out and looked up in the trees for a nest. It never occurred to me to look in the drawer.

Note to self: I’ve GOT to develop an imagination. That bird has really raised the bar around here.

Two days ago I came across the body of a little tiny baby bird in another part of the yard. It was right under a tree and I could see the remnants of its nest high above my head. That baby had not fallen out. It was pushed. Probably by a crow.

The crows can be jerks. They dive bomb my dogs. I’ve seen them bully the smaller birds.

That made the nest-in-a-drawer even that much more ingeniously resourceful.
“Not on my watch, asshole” was the message it sent.

Don’t you love nature?
Don’t you love tenacious mothering?
Don’t you love gifts, beautiful little surprises?
I do.

This was a great reminder to appreciate the little things in life. If we are present and look closely, they are all around. These tiny wonders.

And….one more reason to love Saturdays.

Xox

Post Script: I’m reprising this post from last May because I opened the drawer this past Saturday to find she had built the second nest-in-a-drawer in as many years.(See below) I’m dying to meet her and take her for coffee. Honest to God, she’s my hero.
Carry on,
xox

Another giant masterpiece found this week. I am rich in bird’s nests.
(yelp)

The Sound Of Silence
-By Simon and Garfunkel

“Hello darkness, my old friend
I’ve come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted
In my brain still remains
Within the sound of silence.”

I woke up on the wrong side of the bed Monday.

I went to sleep in lovely Los Angeles, California and woke up on the dark side of the moon.
It was desolate, deplete of oxygen, and I found myself suffocating in sadness.

I had nightmares all night long, you know the ones. You can’t for the life of you remember anything except how awful they left you feeling upon awakening.
A pit in your stomach, a heart full of dread and a bitter aftertaste as a parting gift.

The dogs are fine, our health is good, the weekend was unremarkable…

So what gives?
There was no apparent reason to feel such malaise, but I have the kind of mind that searches for a reason, so I spent an hour digging up the corpses of buried woes.
It’s the opposite of a gratitude list.
It reminded me of a mutant case of PMS on steroids.
I’m sure you can relate.

Starting with Woe Number 378:
Why can’t I lose that stubborn twenty pounds so that I can be the weight I was MY WHOLE LIFE – until I turned fifty? There is not a bag of potato chips big enough to sooth me. Could it be because I eat the same amount of food that my 6’4″ – 250 pound husband does. Sometimes more? Nah. I didn’t think so.

Number 217
God dammit, some days I’m so God damn old.
I wrote the previous post about it. Hey, maybe that’s what sent me off the deep end.

BTW – I couldn’t write on Monday – just wasn’t feelin’ it. I couldn’t have found an inspirational thing to say to you if you’d have paid me a million dollars. Seriously.
Not sure today is any better, but misery loves company, so I thought I’d share.

I function at a pretty high happiness level, so this felt like shit and I was desperate to feel better.

Sat down to meditate…it felt like the express elevator into the abyss, so I took a pass.

I took off on my power walk like I always do in the mornings. It helps balance me.
That’s when I listen to all the inspirational talks I have on my phone. It sets the mood for the day, and usually when I get back – I’m pumped! AND I’ve accomplished the 10,000 steps needed to keep a flat “writer’s ass” at bay.

Every step from that point on is gravy. Even the ones to the fridge. It’s the law.

But Monday I was so low that the walk only got me to a place where I could suppress the ugly cry.
Tears were right at the surface.
Big ones. Unspecific but insistent, with sobbing and snot and oy, oy, oy-ing.

Number 442
The boxer-shark-puppy has dug up half the back lawn and it is a continuous mud pit. The dried mud is everywhere, paw prints, nose prints, butt prints, you name it; to the point where I’ve stopped sweeping or washing or hosing the outside living area. We all just sit in the filth.
She has also become extremely destructive, eating our plantation shutters, chairs, and a carefully curated list of items she knows I really love.

When I returned from my calming, centering, inspirational walk, the puppy had breached the defensive fort my husband had built to keep her away from the shutters, finding an opening and then dropping in from above, like Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible.
The old dog just watched while she gnawed a shutter-slat into a toothpick.

So I had to beat my dog. Number 12.
There came the tears. I hate training and punishment. I cried my head off – she filed her nails and popped her gum like the brat she is. (Relax – it’s one of those flimsy little coupon flyers wrapped in a plastic bag, so it sounds worse that it feels – followed by a time-out in a small bathroom.)

At noon I recovered enough to go help a friend brainstorm some work stuff, which focused my mind and actually felt really good. As I walked up the driveway upon my return, a light rain was falling. I was at once reminded of the puppy destruction displayed in the side window, the fact that our gutters are filled with leaves and our trim needs paint along with the pit of impending mud in the back.

That acted like a one way ticket straight back to hell.

Which led to the “Come to Jesus” talk last night.

Not the puppy and I – me and my husband.
I think he was a little scared of me in my melancholy state. Probably because I started with the declarative statement: “I know I’m a piece of work right now, and you love me but you’re probably not in love with me – anyway…”
Looking at me like you do a wild beast that’s about to rip you to shreds, he backed away, shaking his head, and silently (that silent part is SO smart) got the crate back down from the attic so that the puppy will live to see another day, and we can salvage some window coverings and continue to sit on chairs with legs.

Then I watched “When Harry Met Sally” to remember how to smile, and went to bed.

Some days are beyond salvaging.

All this to say: Holy Shit! I have horrible days. I do!

Dark side of the moon, sounds of silence, I can’t meditate, so don’t ask me to, beat the dog, see every flaw, cry baby, demon possessed, post menopause PMS, wild beast, unreasonable, pick a fight, non-salvageable days.

Here’s praying today’s a better day.

Dear God (or Source or Whomever),
Every day is a gift.
Filled with potential.
Please don’t let me spend another day in hell.
I won’t call the day wasted, even though it sure felt like it.
I’ll just consider it part of the ebb and flow of life.
It will make me appreciate the good days that much more.

…Oh, that’s sneaky God. That thing you do.

Water never tastes as good as when you’re really thirsty.
Food never tastes better than when you’re famished.
It never feels as good to sleep as when you’re exhausted.

Okay.
I get it.
Wise guy.

Xox

I participated in an interesting exercise last spring.
It was suggested as a kind of fact-gathering, first step.
Part of an online, open hearted, business school that I took.

marieforleo.com/BSchool

What I did was to ask about thirty five people I respected, in the humblest way I could think of, to list my best qualities.
You know – for school.

I assured them it would be over quick, it was for my education – and we would never need to speak of it again!

At first you feel like a real assbite crafting such an email.
It could resemble an ego driven fishing expedition; but really, it wasn’t, and if you could get past the initial “yuck factor” and just write it from a place of heart-filled curiosity, it made it much easier to hit SEND…and I know people could sense that.

The idea behind this, in business speak, is that you can track the responses, and the ones that repeat enough to become your top three are your “greatest hits” so to speak – and those are the ones you could conceivably charge money for.

But what I garnered from this exercise went waaaaay beyond monetizing my personality.

1) If you have the balls to ask people you respect (and that’s an important distinction, don’t just ask every troll you find under a bridge) the emotional payoff is extraordinary.

My people, were honest, to the point, and didn’t pander or sugar coat their response. Come to think of it, that’s probably why they’re my friends.

2). You get HUGE insight into YOU. In a really good way. Stuff you didn’t ever think about yourself.
For me, good listener was in my top three. Who knew? I would NEVER have guessed that.
Big talker, interrupter, chatty, conversation hog – yes.
Good listener? Not so much. That was a truly unexpected surprise.

3) It felt so damn good to be seen. And complimented.
I want to send that letter every year, just to bask in the feedback kind of good.
I felt everyone’s two minutes of attention all the way down to my big toe.

Why on earth don’t we tell people how we feel about them?

The aspects we admire. The things they do better than anyone else.

Without them having to write a dumb-ass email?

Why don’t we compliment those around us, letting them know what they’re doing right in the world?

So much rage comes from feeling unseen and unheard. It kills some people from the inside out.

We’ve become a society that is quick with the snarky review. Some of the stuff I see on Yelp or on blog feeds makes me cringe.

I like to write letters, emails or comments when someone does something right. Positive reinforcement I guess.
I just know how good it feels.

I’ll leave you with two things before I get off my soapbox.

Last Friday my husband made a bank deposit and it never showed up online. So therefore it never happened. You can imagine his anxiety level last weekend. First thing Monday morning he went into the bank with his hair on fire. Not really, he’s bald. But three days of wondering had left him “Where the fuck is my money?” curious.

Seems he had attached a deposit slip from another bank account at a completely different bank to the check…so the manager WALKED it two blocks over and deposited it into that bank.

He did WHAT?! Are you kidding me?

Above and beyond the call of duty – so hubby is writing a letter full of admiration to this guy’s superiors.

You gotta tell people when they’re awesome.

Number two is this: Take a minute and think of someone who would be the most surprised, who feels the most invisible, unseen and unheard – and send them a text or an email with a compliment. Doesn’t have to be elaborate. Just a short “I really appreciate what a good listener you are. Thank you.”

Trust me, it’s going to make their day. Maybe even their month.

Love you guys, I really do! You are loyal and insightful and obviously have very good taste in blogs.

Have a great weekend!
Xox

It’s not cool to be giddy about Christmas and the holidays.
I KNOW!
Relax!
I get it.

I’ve already confessed that the shopping gives me a buzz; as do the white twinkle lights, the tree smell, the carols, the eggnog lattes, and just the general festiveness of the season.

But I still get those looks from those people, (you know who you are) the ones that want me to put a lid on my joy.
To them it is ridiculous, and frivolous – and it makes them uncomfortable.

But why should I?
Why should any of us let others, especially the haters dictate our happiness?

EVER.

I get that the whole commercialization of Christmas has gotten insanely out of hand; yet, I can’t help but smile when I see whole families in those God-awful Christmas sweaters, little kids on Santa’s lap at the mall, the gorgeous, giant tree at the Grove, and houses covered with lights.
 
There is one house at the end of our block that looks like Christmas barfed lights and reindeer all over it; but damn it, I still smile when I come around the corner.

The store windows get me too; I LOVE them.
I have several friends who put great thought and immense creativity
into their store windows, so I know what goes into assembling those mini masterpieces.

The ones in New York reign supreme, but take a walk down LaCienega, Melrose, or Beverly Hills – it’ll blow your Grinchy little minds.

One year, when I was in New York for the holidays, I ran to see the Bergdorf windows, and let me tell you, they did not disappoint.

My chin hit my chest with wonder and amazement. It is definitely true – more is better. There was a window with hundreds of moving parts. There were dioramas and gemstones and an entire window whose contents were painted silver – I was trembling.

Just when I thought I couldn’t feel anymore inspired; that I had reached my quota of Christmas joy, I looked next to me and there was a little kid, with a tiny peppermint candy cane stuck in his hair,(true story) holding his grandma’s hand. His mouth was agape too.

I caught our reflections in the window, and it took all of my willpower not to burst out laughing.

Then, just as I was having the time of my life, a pinched face lady walked briskly by, not even turning to look, but shaking her head with disapproval just the same.

REALLY lady?
You’re gonna kill our buzz?
Don’t judge our joy!
It’s frickin’ Christmas!

Here, have a peppermint candy.

Xox

I’m kinda loving life right now, and I’m proudly, and publicly unapologetic.

Here are just a few of the things that fill me with appreciation.

My health

My hubby (he’s a saint)

I’m at a quandary here, I don’t want to put my beloved dogs before my husband, or after my family…they ARE family, so..
My family (which includes my dogs)

My amazing friends (old and new)

Writing (non-fiction, fiction, essays, the whole caboodle)

My morning walks and hikes with Sally (some of them, the ones that don’t hurt)

Christmas carols (belongs in my Hall of Fame)

Diamonds (they are my best friends)

The fact that I live in Los Angles California, USA.

The fact that I can write this blog without fear of reprisals or repercussions (except maybe occasional embarrassment)

Chocolate (I know it’s high on the list, don’t judge)

Our motorcycle trips

Being inspired (by people, what I read or see or taste or…)

Singing (Karaoke with Orna)

Coffee

The smell of Christmas trees, pine scented anything

Driftwood

Laughing, humor, being silly

False eyelashes (I’m obsessed)

Airplane travel – all travel really

Red nail polish, well…all nail polish

Movies (at the theatre, I love the surround sound and the big screen)

Rainy days

Fires in the fireplace

Hummingbird nests

The color blue

Peanut butter (chunky of course)

Lazy Sunday afternoons reading (just a memory these days)

My garden (nature in general)

White twinkle lights

Tears of joy

The smell in the house on Thanksgiving or any time Raphael cooks

I’d love you to share some of yours! Come on! Be as un-cool as me!

Xox

HI Loves,
I hope this finds you enjoying the long holiday weekend – eating, watching sports, eating, shopping, eating, and hanging with friends and family. And eating some more.

That is my wish for you, for all of us really, that we age with grace and dignity, and kick some serious ass along the way!

much love,
xox

Racing around today, attempting to get things set up for Thanksgiving, I had to stop and remind myself what this day is all about.

It is not about finding seven matching dining chairs – it is about gratitude.

Gratitude for the blessings we have already received – and the ones that are on their way.

So I just jotted down the first three that came to mind:

Turkey basters – For the obvious, once a year reason; and also for their myriad of other uses including: getting the leftover water out of the Christmas Tree stand before you drag it across the room and out the door to the curb. ( Which BTW is one of the saddest days of my entire year, it makes me tear up just thinking about it)

Candles with wooden wicks – LOVE. I’m so sick of burning my fingers, fishing a traditional wick out of hot wax. Many a perfectly good candle has been thrown (out) due to wick drowning. And along those lines, drip-less tapered candles. SO GRATEFUL. If you’ve ever had to use a hot iron to get the wax out of your tablecloth, then you know what I mean.

Tweezers – For my migrating chin hair. Hey, maybe you guys know – Does Makita make tweezers? The hair on my chin/jaw/nose now has the gauge and strength of copper wire.

Okay, so I went first, now YOU go!
Give me three things you’re grateful for.
Come on! You can think of three.

Leave them in the comments below.

PS. Don’t be shy, nobody looks at the comments but me.

Don’t let this kid “one up” you!
Xox

Dog kisses,
Worn thin and soft t-shirts
Hot tea
Birthday cards
Foot massages

Xox

I’m writing this as a self reminder, although I’m sure you could use one too.
Let this salvage your week or at least your Saturday.

I cannot control the traffic or the way other people (idiots) drive.

I cannot control the cable guy, the electrician, the handyman, the trash picker-uppers, the tree trimmers, the guy who’s making my latte, or the air conditioning repair guy. I cannot control the time they will arrive (which is NEVER inside the promised window) how well they will perform their task, or what personality traits they posses, (too chatty, too pissy, too flirty, too…)

I cannot control anyone, or anything about the DMV. Period. End of story.

I cannot control the weather. I can have every app, and alert, but it will seldom cooperate when I hold an event outdoors; and I NEVER have an umbrella or sweater when I need one.

I cannot control my dogs or any animal for that matter. I can guide them and train them, and make suggestions, but they all have minds of their own and there will be slobber on my white walls, water and/or muddy footprints all over my wood floors, and fossilized vomit next to the bed. It’s inevitable despite my best intentions. This goes for children as well.

I cannot control my spouse, or my family. (See above).

I cannot control the government, the postal system, the medical system or the educational system. But I can vote.

I cannot control bad grammar. Their-there-they’re. Its-it’s. I could care less, It’s a mute point, ugh
Dear God, make it stop.

I cannot control the speed or dependability of my WiFi connection, although I still think if I yell obscenities loud enough, it will be shamed into complying.

I cannot control my hair. Where it grows, what color it wants to be, and it’s texture. It’s time to give up the good fight.
While I’m at it, I cannot control eye wrinkles, cellulite, lip lines or dark under eye circles, so I’m done letting Madison Avenue sell me the snake oil.

I cannot control how my garden grows. I can fertilize, weed and trim, but it has plans of its own to which I am not privy.

I cannot control aging. It has a superpower called gravity, and the combination are unbeatable. I surrender…you bitches.

I cannot control what others think of me. It is impossible.
I can carefully cultivate my image; but one false move, one bad outfit, snarky comment, or piece of spinach in my teeth and all that hard work is shot to hell.

I cannot control the manners of others. When a man lets a heavy door slam in my face, as I exit a building right behind him; instead of jumping on his back like a crazed spider monkey…I send him love.

I cannot control what’s happening on the planet. Too many moving parts. (Which is true for all of it – everything in life.)

What I’ve discovered is this: ALL of my suffering comes from thinking that I can control things. I (we) cannot.

But here’s the one thing I CAN control – my perception and attitude. That’s it.

I can control ONLY my own energy and what I bring to the day, to the table, to every situation I encounter – even to the mirror, and THAT can change it all.

As my mom used to say when we were fighting with each other, as kids, “You just pay attention to yourself – watch where YOU’RE going.

Enjoy your weekend!
Xox

Hey Loves,
It must be Wisdom Wednesday or Humpday Happiness or something to that effect because…Here’s more of my man – Jason Silva.
Better than a shot of espresso.
You’re Welcome.
xox