bliss

Happy Independence Day to all Americans who are reading this far and wide.

Carry on you independent ones,
xox

Thank you little person who goes through my recycling bin on trash day.

I say person because I can’t tell if you’re a man or a woman…and it really doesn’t matter.

It’s that smile of yours that stops me in my tracks every time, reminding me just how good life really is.

Even though you are barely taller than the large blue bin, you manage to get to the bottom of things, underneath the highly top-secret, shredded documents that leave my husband’s office every week, without making a mess. You can even navigate styrofoam popcorn at the holidays without one escaping into the gutter.
That’s a talent.

I’m intrigued with you.
It can be one hundred degrees or fifty, doesn’t matter –– there you are, rain or shine, dressed like a beekeeper, covered from head to toe, with only your tanned face exposed.

Yet, you have eyes that dance with mischief and dare I say…joy?
And inside that smile of yours I’ve noticed, at the most, maybe five teeth.

You are unabashedly happy as you gather our neighborhood’s valuable plastic, cans and glass bottles, and unapologetic, I can tell.
You take great pride in your work as you sift and sort, making sense out of chaos. You find the treasure amid the trash. I admire you for that.

I can be in the worst mood, convinced that my life sucks ass, walk up, see your big toothless smile and it can change my day. You have changed my day — many times.
Because how bad can my life be? You’re happy and I’m not?
That’s a reality check.
That’s a game changer.
That’s a Universal kick in the pants.

There’s big money to be made here, I know that.
I’ve joked a couple of times that judging from the number of wire baskets you fill with the valuable stuff that we can’t be bothered with, you probably have a Mercedes parked a few blocks away, and are wearing couture under your beekeepers outfit, like the Saudi woman do under their burka.

Good for you.

You provide a service and you do it with a smile filled with joy.

Or you’re medicated out of your mind. I have a cynical friend that swears you’re blissed out on some really great shit. “I’ll have what he/she’s having.”

Doesn’t matter.
Thank you for making me happy every damn Tuesday.

Carry on,
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

How did it get so late so soon? 
It’s night before it’s afternoon. December is here before it’s June. My goodness how the time has flewn.
How did it get so late so soon?
~ Dr Suess

I could smell the pan burning, but it didn’t make any sense, I’d only put the veggies in the steamer five minutes before.
Must be something burning on the bottom of the pan was the conclusion my brilliant critical thinking had brought me to.

I was in the middle of writing a fiction piece that’s been keeping me glued to my seat, basically taking dictation, curious to find out what happens next.

The smell got stronger, to the point that I was forced to check it out, and not a moment too soon. The bottom of the pan was about to burn through! That’s impossible I thought, but much to my surprise it had not been the five minutes I was sure had passed (and I’m really good at estimating time – ask anyone) – it had been forty.
Oops.

That was the second time this week that I’d lost time while writing.

On Tuesday I’d actually lost a huge chunk – an hour and a half – I’d actually missed an appointment.
If you’d have asked me right then, under oath, how long I’d been writing I would have sworn “fifteen minutes.”

So the time warp phenomena has decided to pay me a return visit. I love that. You know I love me some good phenomena.
It’s been over twenty years since I’ve lost time.
I started to loose forty five minutes of time when I’d meditate, on a regular basis. Back then it used to freak me out, now, besides having to make excuses and put out fires, I think it’s cool.

Note to self: Don’t cook when you write.
I’ll have to show this to my husband, since I write all the time – it’s a virtual get out of jail free card.

Isn’t time fascinating? It really is just an illusion.
You get a glimpse of that when we change the clocks backwards in the fall and forward in the spring.
Time is so completely malleable, it morphs according to our state of mind.
 
Doesn’t time draaaaag on when it’s the day before you leave for vacation?
How about when you’re doing something you despise, like taxes or waiting in line at the DMV?

Doesn’t it seem to move at light speed when you’re having fun? The perfect meal? Falling in love? Moments spent when you’re in bliss? “Oh, it’s over already?”

Then there’s the flow or the zone – a place of no time.

Elite athletes report a loss of time during peak performance, when they’re in the flow. So do artists and musicians – even writers. It’s also called being in the zone.

This zone has been described as a state of timelessness; a distorted sense of time; feeling so focused on the present that you lose track of time passing.

According to studies, what you are experiencing in that moment of flow, is a state of complete immersion in an activity.
It has been described as being completely involved in an activity for its own sake. The ego falls away. Time flies. Every action, movement, and thought follows inevitably from the previous one. Your whole being is involved, and you’re using your skills to the utmost.

My husband experiences it while riding motorcycles – and surfing the web.

When do you get in the flow and lose time? What activity causes that to happen for you?
I’d love to hear your experiences in the comments below.

Xox

This level of creativity leaves me giddy…and grateful…and hopeful. Take a look.

Xox