gratitude

At The Precipice Of Compassion

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*Below is a post by Dr.Lissa Rankin,(I follow her on Facebook).
She is an MD who over the past few years has fully realized the body/mind connection. Last year she became “one of us” in the fact that she had a mystical spiritual experience, and is now in hot pursuit of the how’s and why’s by traveling the world talking and studying with shamans, healers, and the like. She is thoughtful, and wise and full of curiosity, and i really admire her.
When I read this I could think of about fifty gazillion of us that needed to hear it.
xoxJ

Take it away Lissa!

“Think of someone that’s making you crazy.
Now close your eyes and really feel how it feels to experience your emotions around this person. Let yourself really go there. Feel it in your body. Then open your eyes again and shake it off.

Now try something different if you dare.
Think of that same person, but don’t give yourself even an ounce of permission to think of yourself as a victim of this person’s actions or behavior. What if everything that’s happening in your dynamic with this person is perfectly orchestrated by the souls of both of you to help you grow? What if you have, at least on some soul level, invited this person into your life as a teacher? What are you learning from this person- patience, resilience, forgiveness, acceptance, the ability to love without conditions or attachment?

Now close your eyes again and think of this person, but this time release all your judgment and righteousness and call upon every lick of your empathy and compassion.
Can you see how maybe if you were in this person’s shoes, you might behave the same way? Can you try to understand why he or she is how he or she is? Can you feel the opening in your heart as you soften? Touch your heart with your hand. Can you feel it, the love inside, the Divinity within you that is not separate from the Divinity within this other person? Can you open your heart even more and find gratitude for this person, for all you’re learning from him or her, for the blessing it is to have this person in your life?

From that heart space of love, compassion, peace, acceptance, and gratitude, do you notice a difference in how you feel in your body? Do you notice any call for inspired action arising?”

Lissa Rankin

Saying Goodbye to 2014

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Thankfully for me personally, this year didn’t suck.
There have been some years in the recent past that could not end fast enough for my taste, (you know who you are 2009 – 2010).

I’m not sure I can say the same for the world at large, but I’ll let the journalists who are fond of charting those kinds of negative things, write about that, and you can choose which to read – humor or horror.

This is my blog, so naturally it’s funny and it’s all about me ;-).

This year was pivotal in a couple of ways.

First, it was the year that I finally came out of the closet – as a writer.
I owned it. Full time.
I went on a Mack Daddy writing retreat with other Mack Daddy writers and they didn’t vote me off the island. I’m writing a book based on this blog, co-writing a musical and helping a friend edit her book. Seems I bought the T- shirt and drank the kool-aid – and I couldn’t be happier. Who knew?!

Second, I gave up any and all hope I still held, that George Clooney would settle down and get married…to me. That was a hard one – we had something.

I used to sell him jewelry back in the day, and bake chocolate bundt cakes for him when he was just ER George Clooney, not GEORGE CLOONEY the movie star.

We used to tease each other.
I’d bring up “Facts of Life” storylines, tell him his credit card was declined – while threatening it with scissors, and make supermodel jokes because he was too thin (which he was, despite the cake) – and he’d put his arm around me or call me “his girl” and watch my face turn poinsettia red while I geeked out.

I helped him refine his taste in jewelry.

You’re welcome Amal.

I’m telling you, we had it.

Oh timing…you are a cruel opponent.

This was also the year we got our boxer-shark puppy which has been a blessing and curse.
I’ve written about maybe two percent of the shenanigans she’s pulled.

She’s a bitch, a trouble maker and a giver of NO fucks.
If she were human, she’d smoke cigarettes, have earphones permanently implanted, a bright blue mohawk and a pierced tongue. She would be the Girl with The Dragon Tattoo.

Currently she has mange. Or man-gee as my French husband calls it.
Yep, MY dog, who is bathed twice a month, and lives the life a Kardashian would envy – has mange. A friend I told recently, sympathized, “Oh yeah” she said, sipping a cocktail, “It’s like when your kid gets sent home from the expensive private school with head lice”

I can only imagine, but I felt a special bond, a kinship with her – she’s shared my mortification.

All kidding aside, it’s been a pretty great year.
I found my calling, expanded my furry family, and witnessed a Clooney miracle.

Gratitude. I’m filled with gratitude for the blessings that came my way, and hopeful that the ones that seemed to skip over my house will re-visit me in the coming year.

So y’all, how was your 2014? Are you happy to see it end?
What are some of the highs and lows you can share with the group? I’d love to hear about it!

Whoo Hoo! Come on 2015!
Xox

A Not-So-Cool Rampage Of Appreciation

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

Nothin’ special happened.

Maybe it’s the time of year, or a string of good hair days – I’m not sure. All I can tell you is that although it appears as if the entire world has gone to hell in a hand basket…life is good.

And it’s good for you too – really.

Every morning the sun comes up and gives us another chance. Another day to make things right, to make a difference, to love and be loved. I’m sorry. I know it’s not hip to think so; but that’s fucking AWESOME.

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

Hard Feelings With A Side Of Blame – An American Thanksgiving

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Hi Loves,
A few of you asked me to re-post the Thanksgiving essay from last year. I hope it helps ya’ll to keep it together!

I also wanted to add how extremely thankful I am for all of YOU and your big, open, hearts.
Happy Thanksgiving to all my American friends!
xoxJ

Thanksgiving in the U.S. can be brutal because of all the Norman Rockwellian expectations. Unfortunately, what we imagine as warm and fuzzy, can quickly turn cold and prickly.

Even though everyone at the table is somehow related, dinner etiquette can morph
into a kind of blood sport. Back handed compliments and thinly veiled sarcasm abound, and it’s just not Thanksgiving unless someone ends up in tears.

Add a tons of carbohydrates, lots of judgement, a dash of shame, with a pumpkin pie chaser and voila – Hilarity ensues!
NOT.

When you put together people that only find themselves sitting in the same room once a year, there isn’t enough alcohol on the planet to keep you in “that loving place”.

It can turn into a real numb-fest.
The carbs numb you down,
The booze,
The sugar,
The football,
The sour cream onion dip,
Yes, you heard me. It all numbs you down, so you can smile and remain polite, making sure that everyone lives to see another holiday.

But let’s all try to remember, shall we, that everyone has the highest of intentions when they pull up the driveway.
And each year can be a fresh start.

When you make forgiveness the first course, it helps you remember that everyone is just doing the best they can and it makes the rest of the day play out differently.

My family is loving, relatively sane, and really quite civil – now.
I think that’s because we’re all so damn old.

The last time we served crazy for Thanksgiving was during the Reagan
Administration.

Gone are the comments lobbed across the table by uncle Bob, that are meant to be funny – but aren’t – followed by that uncomfortable silence.

So…let’s all practice forgiveness, humor, acceptance and gratitude; choosing to operate from the heart, remembering the true intention of this day.

Take a deep breath, put on your best holiday smile, and listen with love, as your well intentioned aunt gives you her unsolicited opinion on how much she dislikes your new haircut.

Happy Thanksgiving,

Xox

HOW MY FRENCH HUSBAND HIJACKED THANKSGIVING

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It happened over several years, with the subtle finesse we’ve come to expect from the French.

He entered our family just under fifteen years ago.
He is a foodie extraordinaire and an accomplished cook in his own right, but he ingratiated himself in the beginning, acting as the sous chef for my mother who is the culinary queen of our family—then slowly, skillfully, and sneakily—He hijacked Thanksgiving.

The only demand he acquiesces to is that it must be an ORGANIC turkey.
“No antibiotics, no hormones…no taste” he sing-songs sarcastically under his breath as he places the order every year.

I suppose we should be grateful that he hasn’t decided to switch fowl on us yet. Next year it could be pheasant or duck in the center of the table.

See, that’s the thing, we, my siblings and I, we LOVE and crave all year ‘round, my mom’s traditional Thanksgiving feast.

The one we ate as kids. The meal whose perfection is so sublime it should never be messed with. EVER.

Yet…the now reigning chef in our holiday kitchen—the one with the red passport—HE  little by little, year after year has modified each dish so completely that it bears little if any, resemblance to the original.

And my mom doesn’t give a hoot!
She’s just so thrilled that someone has taken over the culinary heavy lifting; along with the fact that I finally found a husband—and he’s French—that she sits back and happily eats what she is served; doling out the compliments like Tic-Tacs at a cigar shop.

Benedict Arnold.

This European guy feels no sense of urgency—he doesn’t start the turkey until late morning.

I remember waking up as a child, the house already heavy with the aroma of a turkey that had been in the oven for hours. Now I sit and watch the Thanksgiving parade, eyeing him suspiciously as he lingers over his coffee and sudoku.

You can’t rush the French—about anything, most especially cooking—it shows disrespect and they just won’t stand for it.

Yet…he shows the old hen no respect. He’s rude to her, slathering her with butter and olive oil and then flinging her, breast down, legs in the air (the turkey, not my mother) into a 500-degree oven for the first twenty minutes.

His mashed potatoes are loaded with creme Fraiche, truffle salt, and a pound of butter…yet oddly enough—not a single calorie. Oh, the French.

His vegetable of choice is the brussel sprout. The recipe is so elaborate,  with shredded bacon and gruyere in a balsamic reduction; that he’s only allowed to make them every other year.

That allows us to have the green beans in mushroom soup with the dried onion rings on top for the alternating years. He would never deign to eat that slop. We, on the other hand, squeal with delight in gleeful anticipation of this mushy mess of soupy goodness while his face assumes that pinched look of French disapproval.

Maybe the worst atrocity against the holiday is the stuffing; or lack thereof. He was raised in France. They don’t know from stuffing. They have bread pudding.

This year he is repeating the mushroom and leek bread pudding that he served last Thanksgiving. It really is delicious, don’t get me wrong, it’s just not my mom’s stuffing and it doesn’t go well with gravy – if you can imagine that.

As long as we’re talking gravy. His gravy is ridiculously smooth and savory, I’ll hand him that.

No one can figure out how he does it and I still haven’t caught him in the act of making it. I’m convinced it is delivered by Trappist monks to the back door just before we sit down.

He doesn’t care much for cranberry sauce so my mom still makes hers, which is not that crap in the can. Hers has chunks of real berries, more like a chutney and…oh sorry, I drooled.

Yams and sweet potatoes are not his things either so he’s given us the okay to make my mom’s killer Sweet Potato Casserole. It is heart-stoppingly delicious. La petite mortit is THAT good.

Then there was the year he decided no pumpkin pie. Instead, he whipped up a pumpkin-ish, cheese-cakey, soufflé sort of thing—and a Tarte Tartan.

It’s been ten years, and I’m just getting over it.

His last act of hijackery is the fact that he does not deliver to the table a perfectly browned bird ready to be carved.

Nope, no Norman Rockwell moment at our house.

Instead, with knives so sharp they can slice a tomato, he carves the turkey up in the kitchen like a skilled butcher, arraigning it artistically by sections on a white platter; placing the drumsticks on the sides like exclamation points. I’ve actually come to appreciate the expediency of serving the bird this way.
White meat on the left, dark meat on the right.
Voila!

But this is a day about giving thanks and although He has hijacked this most American of meals, I must admit that we are lucky and ever so grateful to have this Frenchman in our family.

Every. Single. Year. He takes us on another culinary adventure, expanding our palates by spending weeks shopping, hours chopping and delivering to our family such a carefully thought out and meticulously prepared and delicious feast.

We love you!

Now let’s eat!

Happy Thanksgiving!

Gratitude Tuesday

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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.

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Don’t let this kid “one up” you!
Xox

May All Our Ceilings Become Floors

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Hi Loves,

I was lucky enough to be in San Jose this weekend for the last stop of the Life You Want Tour and I gotta say; it was a privilege to breathe the same air as Oprah and all the great teachers that spoke, told stories and brought us to tears…every time.
I’m still processing. I’m sure I’ll write some take-aways soon.

Below is what Elizabeth Gilbert (my new BFF) wrote about her incredible journey. I’m sure if you’d have told this author a few years ago that she would be giving 45 minute inspirational talks to auditoriums of over 10,000 people in 8 different cites across the US she would have thought you were crazy!
Yet, that’s become her latest accomplishment – touring with Oprah.

Dream big, then surrender, because the Universe has even bigger dreams for you than you could ever imagine.
xoxJ

*Thank you to my beloved sister Susan for making this weekend happen and keeping me laughing the ENTIRE time…even through tears. I love you.

Take it away Liz-

DON’T WASTE THE TEACHINGS…

Dear Ones –

Well, it’s FINISHED. The incredible ride of Oprah’s The Life You Want Tour has come to an end.

8 cities, 8 arenas, 8 dresses (ah, the dresses!), and 8 chances for me to soak in the lessons of some of the wisest teachers alive.

I feel so changed by this experience, in ways I didn’t even know needed changing. Somebody asked me yesterday what my next quest will be, and I can honestly say that all my questing is going to be internal for a while — working on OPENING even more. Opening to more grace, to more compassion, to more spirit, to more empathy, to more love, to more joy. I just feel like knocking down whatever walls and ceilings and doors I have built up in my soul over the years..knocking it down and letting all the light in — all the light there ever was.

It’s good to have a goal, and mine is clear now: MAKE (EVEN) MORE ROOM FOR GRACE.

Last night I had the opportunity to thank Oprah in person. It was so important to me to get it right, to communicate not only my gratitude, but what I am taking away from this incredible encounter. I told her that when Nelson Mandela died, the most moving tribute I read to him was a simple line somebody put on Twitter:

“If you were lucky enough to live in the time of Mandela, do not waste the teachings he had to offer you.”

Well. I consider myself very lucky to have lived in the time of Oprah Winfrey, and I consider myself insanely lucky to have witnessed her goodness in person. (As I was able to tell her last night: I’ve never seen a moment where she lets her greatness interfere with her goodness…which is a beautiful lesson in and of itself.) And the only gift I could think to give her for all that she has offered to me is my sincere promise that I will not waste her teachings.

Gonna carry it forward.

Gonna let in all the light I can reach for.

I’m talking about some next-level spiritual business here, my loves! (As one of the other teachers said on stage yesterday: “The ceiling you walked in here with is the floor you are walking out on.” Cuz we are moving UP, UP, UP.)

May all our ceilings become floors.

May we never waste each others’s greatest teachings.

Thank you all for coming on this unforgettable journey with me!

ONWARD!
LG

Another God wink
My sister took this picture of Liz and me in the lobby of our hotel on Friday afternoon while everyone was milling around waiting for the event to start. I, as usual, was foraging for food…and then there she was. We hugged – a lot (she’s a hugger) and talked, and I must say, she is as incredibly kind and down to earth a person as you will EVER meet.

xox

The Best Things in Life

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

Make YOUR list

Xox

Sunday Gratitude

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

Happy Sunday everyone!

Xox

You Don’t Look A Day Over Two Hundred

imageDear America,

Home of these United States.

Happy Birthday, Girl.

I am eternally grateful, even after traveling the world, make that especially after traveling the world, to have won the cosmic lottery, by having had the good fortune to be born in your golden state.

I have traveled this country, sea to shining sea, mostly on the back of a motorcycle, and I’m here to testify that it really does have purple mountain’s majesty and amber waves of grain.

It is gorgeous.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve seen the trash, graffiti and poverty through these rose-colored glasses, but by and large, this country is a heart swelling great source of pride for me.

“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.”

That last pursuit, the pursuit of happiness?
We are blessed that Thomas Jefferson had the wisdom and foresight to write that into The Declaration of Independence.
No other country in the world gives its citizens the RIGHT to happiness.
Who knows what that means, what happiness looks like?
To them it meant emancipation from British Rule.
Happiness means something different to everyone, but we are entitled to it thanks to that sacred declaration, and by God, we go for it.

The American people I’ve met all want the same things from life: Love and a good cup of coffee.

Americans are hard workers. Some of the hardest in the world – check the stats.

We love our pets
Damn, we love our kids.
We are an irrepressible bunch. We are gregarious, out going and LOUD.

We are innovative, curious, quick minded and clever.
We willingly give directions to people who look lost.
We don’t take NO for an answer.

We are MacGyvers, most of us are industrious enough to fix pretty much anything with gum, a paper clip and dental floss. It’s in the water.

The Americans I’ve met, will help a stranger in a heartbeat. They are generous and kind.

The United States is only as great as the sum of its parts; in reality it is only a landmass with man-made borders.

It is the people who make it great and make me grateful to have been born here. 

(Italy was my first choice, I’m sure, but you can’t get an apartment or pay a bill without greasing someone’s palm AND it has no infrastructure.)

Travel outside the states and you’ll share my appreciation for :

Clean water
Indoor plumbing
Hot running water,
A toilet with Real toilet paper
Things that work as expected
Ice cubes
Cold anything really
Decent French fries
King size beds (not two beds pushed together)
Street signs that actually give you correct information.

7 eleven (the ability to buy tampons or Motrin or band aids at 2AM)

Personal space (other countries don’t have the same personal boundaries we do.)
We were standing in some line in Europe, (where they are big on lining up for things to which Americans would say “No fucking way”) when my husband looked over at me with the saddest mix of incredulity and humiliation. The old man behind him was standing so close that if he even so much as puckered his lips, he would have kissed the back of my husband’s neck.
It freaked him out and he’s French…. So, personal boundaries.

A relatively dependable police force and fire department.
A somewhat workable bureaucracy. (Just try to get your VAT tax back)
Real cabs that don’t have hoodlums for drivers
Soap
Pillows that are thicker than 1 inch.
CUSTOMER SERVICE.

I’m serious, these are things we take for granted that some other countries just haven’t figured out yet.

Happy Birthday America. I do love you. You don’t look a day over two hundred.

My birthday wish for you this day is a big fat cake with tons of candles, heaps of vanilla ice cream, and the most badass fireworks display ever, complete with marching bands and a fly over by the Blue Angels.

Too much? Nah, we’re Americans.

*Addendum: there are some things that other countries do that kick our ass.
My husband was riding in the middle of the Namibian desert last year and he had cell phone service – like four bars – four bars is unheard of in LA.
The electricity was dicey, but he was able to FaceTime me every night.
So, yeah, they’re killing it with cell phone service.

Want to wish her a Happy Birthday? Put it in comments below and I’ll forward them to her.

Much love,
Xox

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Hi, I’m Janet

Mentor. Pirate. Dropper of F-bombs.

This is where I write about my version of life. My stories. Told in my own words.

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