life lessons

“Human beings are works in progress that mistakenly think they’re finished”
~Dan Gilbert from TED 2014

There is a young, female photographer, Chino Otsuka, who is photo shopping her current, twenty something self, into pictures from her childhood. It’s really quite remarkable. She’s able to get the shadows right and all the little details that make it absolutely seamless.

My jaw dropped when I saw them.

That got me to thinking.
Because my jaw doesn’t drop often, therefore it must trigger my brain.

As I admired Chino Otsuko’s photographs, they reminded me of an exercise I did once in a workshop.
Last Wednesday, at our Women’s group, we tried it, and it rocked.  It’s pretty powerful, and can be amazingly healing.

You go back as your present day self and sit down next to your younger self at time of turmoil or change. 
So, think about that for a minute…
What if we could visit our younger selves?
Like a visitor from the future, what would we do or say?
“Damn, you’re beautiful and your body rocks and you’re convinced you’re a fat pig.
Here’s some stock tips?
Fashion advise?
Quick, get me a scissor so I can cut off that mullet?”

Through the course of our lives, we’ve all had times of despair.
If we saw the “us” from that time, would we even recognize him or her? Would we pass her on the street and smile, or cross the street to avoid eye contact, and that dark cloud overhead?

Go back in your memory, to a dark time in your life.
How old are you? What are you wearing? Where are you? What time of day or night is it? Look around and gather intel.
Now, feel the sadness, betrayal, fear…..all of it. Really go back there.
Then remember, you’re just visiting and it’s part of the past.

Now, go and be next to “you.” Sit in the car, or on the stairs or stand on the beach.
It’s a bad time, so comfort them. Would you put your arm around them? Wipe their tears? Crack a joke?

No one could know better what you needed at that time, than you…….so do it.
After awhile, start to talk to them, the “you” from that painful time in the past.
You’ve made it through to the other side. Tell them. Give them hope. Tell them how you did it.

Say gently: This Too Shall Pass. Whisper it. Don’t make eye contact or they may slug you.

People say that potentially irritating phrase all the time for a reason……Because it’s true.

In that moment of doubt or pain, we are convinced nothing can change, or worse yet, that the change will kill us.

We’re convinced we are finished; when this is actually a journey and we are works in progress.

Don’t tell them how long it’s going to take or what collateral damage will be left in its wake.
One woman said she would have given up if she’d been told it would take ten years. She could barely stand one more minute of her pain.

Be kind and compassionate and let them know that all will be well.

THAT you know for sure, because here you are!

You didn’t die, you didn’t give up. You put one unsteady foot in front of the other in that slow march out of hell.
But look at you now.
Like a Phoenix from the ashes, you have emerged strong and brave and ready to kick ass.

It really is an interesting exercise and I suggest you give it a try.

I’d love to hear where you met your past self and what you said. Tell me about it below.

Carry On,

Xox

Even though my neck is developing a waddle, my arms are jiggly, and my bra size is a 36 long, I’m FAR from dead.

I feel great, look pretty darn good for my age, and I want to just give life a big slap on the ass for providing such incomparable entertainment, (because we all came here to be entertained, right?)

Here’s to fifty and beyond!

1) No more zits. That’s huge for me. I literally had chin acne up until five minutes ago.

2) More free time because of reduced mirror time.
I can’t really see anymore but I’ve decided that using the magnifying mirror is masochistic, so, if I have an occasional chin hair or stray lipstick creeping into the creases above my lip line, cut me some slack.
While I used to relish getting ready in the morning, these days the routine ends with me throwing my arms up saying: “Okay, f*ck it! This is as good as it gets.”

3) My BS meter is finely tuned,
I can smell a “phony baloney story” a mile away.

4) I BE WISE.
Not necessarily smart, more like crafty and clever.
I may not have a ton of what some would call common sense, or be very tech savvy,
but I have a keen street sense. In other words, “I be wise in the ways of the world.“

5) People expect less of me because my hair is gray and I often wear more sensible shoes (idiots) so when I get off the back of the motorcycle or I’m funny or say something current, they’re like, “Damn!”

6) My bucket list is getting shorter —and it seems suddenly attainable. Bo Shizzle!

7) I have felt all different kinds of love (except for a child…next life.)
But I DO know the difference between dog love and cat love, teenage crush, misguided 20 something love, sibling love, infatuation (not to be confused with love), lust (also not to be mistaken, under ANY circumstances for love), “I love you, but I’m not in love with you, love”, platonic love, love of country (don’t wince, travel; then come talk to me) And last but certainly not least—Self-love.

8) I give less F*cks.
I have so few left, why waste them? My inhibitions are almost non-existent. I offer my opinion, I don’t shy away from conflict, I’ll sing first at karaoke night and I’ll dance in Greek restaurants.
There’s not much that scares me anymore, much to the horror of my introverted spouse.

9) I stopped asking why. It was just SO exhausting. I wish I’d stopped decades ago.

10) I realize that I may have more years behind me than in front of me, and that doesn’t make me sad (most days)—on the contrary, it mobilizes me.
Listen, times a-wastin’!

Okay, you over fiftys! What can you add?
If you haven’t reached fifty yet, what are you looking forward to?

Xox

“When you learn, teach. When you get, give”
~Maya Angelou

I couldn’t let the day pass without paying homage to the Mother Earth, Goddess, poet, teacher, Maya Angelou.

They are paying tribute, as well they should, on all the media outlets today.
In the car on NPR this morning, I heard a hysterical story, told in her own deep, melodic voice, about waiting in an airport bar for her mother to arrive, and it made me tear up.
You could hear in her voice that the story tickled her.
Ah……that voice. Unmistakable. A real gift to her poetry, and the world.

I remember reading I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings when I was about fifteen or sixteen. It resonated not because I was a young black girl growing up in the Deep South, because that could not have been further from the truth, but because it spoke of freedom and self expression, two things I was desperately seeking in those days.

I just went to look at my dog eared, water stained copy and alas, I must have leant it to a friend.
Damn me and my book lending!

I collect quotes, as demonstrated by the Quotes page on this
blog.
Every wise thing ever said, I tend to attribute to Maya Angelou.

I had a friend (who has since passed) who knew the source of
pretty much every quote. She would joke that if she did get stumped, she’d attribute them to either Mark Twain or Maya Angelou and people wouldn’t blink.

The quote at the top about teaching, is one that comes to mind often, and it gave me permission to start the women’s group. When you learn, teach.
Thank you Maya Angelou.

“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.”
This one gave me permission to write this blog, so you have Maya Angelou to thank….or blame.

“I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”
One of my spiritual teachers would remind me, that when we die, we watch a movie style life review. There is no sound, just feeling. We have to re-live how we made others feel in every interaction of our life.
That’s some sobering shit, huh?

“You are enough.”
This one’s like a haiku. Enough said.

“When someone tells you or shows you who they are; believe them the first time.”
OMG. This was my mantra in the dating world. I should have had that tattooed to my forehead. (Thank God I re-thought that.)
I was a serial benifitofthedoubt giver. But I eventually learned. When a cute guy, at a party, drink in hand, would ask me out and then quip “I’m not really the monogamous type, or I’m a bad boy, or you’re really not my type”, I learned, from this quote, to run for the hills.

“Love recognizes no barriers. It jumps hurdles, leaps fences, penetrates walls to arrive at its destination full of hope.”
This quote is why I’m married. At forty two, love was so freakin tired from the decathlon that my hope was putting it through, it walked through a wall, and delivered to me….my husband. Whew!

Here are some of my other favorite pearls of wisdom from that greatest of life’s teachers, Maya Angelou:

“If you don’t like something, change it. If you can’t change it, change your attitude.”

“If you have only one smile in you, give it to the people you love.”

“Bitterness is like cancer. It eats upon the host. But anger is like fire. It burns it all clean.”

“One isn’t necessarily born with courage, but one is born with potential.
Courage is the most important of all the virtues, because without courage you can’t practice any other virtue consistently. You can practice any virtue erratically, but nothing consistently without courage.”

”I’ve learned that you shouldn’t go through life with a catcher’s mitt on both hands; you need to be able to throw something back.”

I’ll end with this one. So wise, so profound and so true.

“My great hope is to laugh as much as I cry; to get my work done and try to love somebody and have the courage to accept the love in return.”

God’s speed Maya (may I call you Maya?)

Xox

“If you’re looking for sympathy you’ll find it between shit and syphilis in the dictionary.” 
― David Sedaris, Barrel Fever

Once upon a time, I hung out with a shaman. 
He was my own personal “pocket shaman.”
He went everywhere with me, and helped me through all the wild things that were happening back then, with his wild eyed magic, his herbs and teas and his amazing energy work.
I was NOT having a good time with my spiritual awakening. I was a sick, whining, complaining, crying, hot mess.

He did love me, so he was somewhat indulgent. But he was so much further along on the spiritual path than I was at that time, that after awhile, he wouldn’t tolerate my behavior.
He would not continue to hear my complaints, no matter how valid. He could not bring himself to listen to my stories of victim hood for one. more. second.
He would just turn and leave the room…….while I was in mid sentence.
With my head in my hands, weeping, I’d beg for his advise about a situation that was causing me intense emotional pain, and his response would be: “We’ve discussed this, you know what I think you should do, I’m not talking about this again with you.”
WTF?! “Don’t you want to help me?”
“I’m not helping you by continuing to talk about it. If you want to stay there, if you want to summon a co-complainer, someone who will join you at your pity party, go call a girlfriend.”

I started to hate him. (I don’t want to say hate….. but I’m being honest here). 
I remember screaming at him to listen to me.
“You’re NOT my friend, you DON’T love me!”
“I DO love you! but you’re right, I’m not your friend, I’m your teacher, I’m here to help you. I will not come join you in your pain. A true friend would not keep you in this misery”
I remember slugging him hard in the arm as he turned and walked away.
Not my proudest moment.

“It is terribly rude to tell people that their troubles are boring.” 
― Lemony Snicket, The Blank Book

My friend Wes is similar. He wouldn’t commiserate with me when both my cats were killed by coyotes within a week of each other, and it almost ended our friendship. He just wouldn’t go there. He listened with compassion, when I cried about it in the beginning; but he wouldn’t indulge my need to keep talking about it, and stay in the “why” of it. He would get quiet, make a joke, or change the subject all together.
God, that was annoying.
He did it again when my business went south. I remember being at dinner with him and feeling so hurt and angry, because he seemed bored with my plight. He listened, but he wouldn’t engage. It was so freaking frustrating; like standing at the net with my racket and my opponent won’t return my serve.
Over and over and over again.
I felt ENRAGED!
The rage inside felt familiar; very similar to what I had felt toward my shaman friend years before. I had to restrain myself from hurling my body across the table and stabbing him in the neck with a fork.
Note to self: I am a pacifist ONLY if you indulge me, by listening to endless hours of my sad, sucky stories.

Staying in wounded victimhood has it’s own special high. With all the words of encouragement and people trying to help, it keeps you from having to stand on your own two feet, move forward, and take some responsibility.
Sympathy can be addictive.

Here’s the thing. They both loved me a ton, and they reacted in the most loving way possible. They wouldn’t stand with me in the energy of my pain for any longer than necessary. It’s a kind of spiritual “tough love.” I get that now.
And they did it at their peril. I felt abandoned and betrayed, and I lashed out accordingly. I strung together tirades of four letter words that would have made a drill sergeant blush, and there were long periods of time where I didn’t see either of them. I wasn’t ready to move on. I wanted to beat the dead horse and then some.
They would not meet me there. They stood in the place of my healing, of my wholeness, not my woundedness……….and they waited for me there.
It took awhile to join them, but eventually, I did.

I want to caution you: Please, Don’t try this at home. It may not go well. People want a shoulder to cry on, and if you take that away; they may punch you.
Be advised, there will be hurt feelings. But it IS the more loving act.
Maybe someone is loving you this way right now.
Food for thought.
Carry on.

Any thoughts? I’d love to hear ’em.

Xox

When I was a kid, I walked a mile straight up our street, to my little Catholic Grammar school, St John The Baptist De La Salle. When I wasn’t struggling with my overstuffed, fifty pound ( my mom weighed it) book bag, the one that was covered in the same blue plaid as my skirt (groovy, I know, don’t be jealous) I was looking at all the houses that lined my path.

It was one of the residential neighborhoods deep in the recently developed, middle class, suburban sprawl of the northern San Fernando Valley in the early 1960’s. Where once there were only orange and lemon groves, now stood, one to ten year old tract homes. I remind you it was the sixties, very cookie cutter; they lacked imagination and color. Some were ranch style with big lawns in the front, the garages in an alley around the back. Others had driveways with some generic plants in the front. They alternated, with the floor plan switching up every so often. Every few blocks the pattern would repeat itself.
It was new families, new sidewalks, sprinklers and the hum of “central air conditioning.” 

As an eight or nine year old I was already full of opinions. I knew which of the houses on my walk, I liked the best. Being the anal, Type A, control freak that I was, I preferred the ones that were well maintained, and I actually felt sorry for the ones that weren’t.
If the lawns were perfectly manicured, mowed and edged, the bushes clipped and the roses in bloom, I figured all must be well on the inside too. If the paint was peeling, the lawn needed weeding, and the place was a wreak, well, I thought maybe life wasn’t being so kind to those occupants. I noticed the screens that were brown with nicotine at the corner house, where the man smoked like a chimney, and I actually got frustrated when people chose bad window treatments, like beads, which were all the rage, or kept foil or sheets pulled up over their windows.
Couldn’t they see how that screwed up their curb appeal? Didn’t they care?

That was when I learned two very important life lessons: Things are not always as they appear, AND, some people pay more attention to what’s going on on the outside, than on the inside.

There were two houses that I can still remember loving. One was a light yellow, with white and yellow roses in the front. I approved of their window treatments and I even thought the decorative screen door was charming. It also allowed me to catch snippets of music, TV or conversation as I walked by. A nosey eight year old’s dream. I still love to catch a candid glimpse of how other people live. Although…..
One morning as I walked by, I heard an augment. It sounded bad. I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but a man and woman were definitely yelling at each other. It stared happening on a regular basis, and went on for years. It was like, “okay, it’s 8:15, and in this corner, wearing the pink housecoat and slippers and weighing in at one hundred and forty pounds, the middle class champion…..” 
I began to pick up my pace, speed walking, just to get past without getting any of that vitriol on me.

Interesting observation number one: Life on the inside seemed to be a hot mess, while outside from the street, there didn’t appear to be a leaf out of place.

The second house was white with blue trim. It had the driveway in front, with two cars parked side by side. I watched the slow steady climb to prosperity that the house revealed on the exterior. It had a very fancy dichondra lawn, which required ridiculous maintenance. My mom tried one once. She was out there every afternoon with cuticle scissors and tweezers. I’m not kidding. It makes maintaining a bonsai tree look like a walk in the park. Anyway……beautiful house, stunning, professionally landscaped yard, a gardener and two cars that got nicer and more expensive every couple of years. I never heard any yelling. I really never heard or saw any people or signs of life. It was the perfect picture of suburban utopia, and I LOVED it.
One day, miss nosey pants here, noticed there had only been one Cadillac in the driveway for a couple of weeks. After that, the lawn started to get overrun with dandelions, and the flowers that seemed to magically appear in full bloom every couple of weeks were dried up and dead. Signs of human occupation appeared now on the crispy brown front lawn. A bicycle haphazardly discarded, like the rider had just flown off in a full sideways skid and disappeared. Trash and old papers collected on the porch. One afternoon I noticed a reddish curtain hanging, like a velvet tongue, out through a newly broken front window.
Not long after, a For Sale sign appeared. Divorce had beaten the shit out of my favorite house and apparently the family inside. That was shocking to me. Everything looked like it was going so well for them. I never saw any signs, there were no arguments for public consumption.

Interesting observation number two: Sometimes the exterior circumstances can reflect SO perfectly what’s happening on the inside. Mimic the slow decline. It can be unexpected, no yelling, no shot across the bow, and it’s heartbreaking.

Which one am I? Do I put up a good front when the walls are crumbling down?
I used to. It was exhausting. When I divorced my first husband, people were SHOCKED. No one saw it coming. Not even him.
But I’ve changed. I’ve become pretty transparent.
Ms. Cellophane.
I’d like to say I hide things. Save face. Maybe for a day or two, but I’m more like the second house. When my shit hits the fan, I don’t think anyone around me, who sees me, is surprised. If I were a house, MY big red velvet tongue would be hanging out a broken front window.

Which one are you? Have you encountered both? Were you surprised?
Tell me, I’d love to hear about it.

Xox

“We have perfected the attitude of worry. If we don’t have something to worry about, that worries us.”

—Michele Longo O’Donnell

Stress is a thug and a thief. It’s a thug because it has such little regard for our well-being, and a thief because it absconds with BIG chunks our time. It adds up. Stress, that jerk, has looted months, if not years, of accumulated hours from my life. So, I have no problem giving stress the finger, whenever I can. I take great glee in pissing it off.
Here are the Top Ten things that piss stress off. Practice them wisely—and often.

1) Rest. Stress HATES when we’re well rested. We make better decisions, we’re on our game and less likely to muck things up. Naps, long weekends and vacations are its Kryptonite.

2) A Sense of Humor/Laughing. Have you ever tried to laugh while completely stressed out? A real, deep belly laugh? It’s almost impossible. It’s akin to keeping your eyes open when you sneeze. The two CANNOT coexist.

3) Asking for help. Stress can’t stand it when we realize our limitations, delegate and ask for help. It needs a frazzled, overextended, perfectionist, control freak as a host. Calling in the Cavalry BEFORE you’ve reached your wit’s end sends stress the silent Jedi signal: This is not the droid you’re looking for.

4) Believing you have enough. If you believe you have enough time, money, resources, help and happiness, you will be invisible to stress. It will pass your house and go torment your neighbors.

5) Exercise. Yes, it is possible to outrun stress. You can outrun it on the treadmill, or with the dogs at the park. Once that heart rate goes up and those endorphins kick in, stress will NOT be able to keep up. Stress carb loads, always goes for seconds, eats peanut butter out of the jar with a serving spoon, and parks illegally in the handicapped space, so it never has to walk far. Stress hates a fit body and a clear head.

6) Organization. When you’re well organized, meaning, you know where everything is, and can easily find it, stress has a shit fit. How can it fuck with you and mess with your head, if you can immediately come up with your passport, keys, glasses, insurance papers, rent check, stamps, cat nail clipper and both of the same black sandals?

7) Behaving like a grown up. Stress despises adult behavior. Stress is counting on us to NEVER grow up. It adores a good temper tantrum and will do everything in its power to keep us from getting our ducks in a row. As a matter of fact, it is heavily invested in the prospect of us not saving for retirement, avoiding responsibility, making uninformed decisions and never planning for the future.

8) Self-care. THIS pisses off stress almost more than anything. Getting a massage, doing yoga and meditating. Those are three of its mortal enemies. It throws its hands up, shakes its head and walks away in defeat. It can’t take hold of a peaceful mind.

9) Not caring what other people think. Once you drop that bad habit, stress will have to go find another victim. Don’t feel bad for a second. There are millions.

10) Awareness. Stress has a full-on hissy-fit when you call it out. It can’t stand that you know its name or what it looks like. It would rather stay anonymous, in one of its many disguises. As a headache, an ulcer, colitis, hives, over eating, over spending, depression, and anxiety.

I told you, it’s a thug.
It knows, that once you know why it’s there, it’s days are numbered.

Can you think of more ways to piss off stress? Tell me what you do, I’d LOVE to hear some comments!

Carry on,
Xox

I have a slogan for when things get messed up: Wait for the turnaround.
~Debbie Harry~lead singer of the punk rock band Blondie
( If you don’t know that – shame on you)

I’ve always been a “fix it” kinda gal.

If you present me with a problem or a mess, I’m gonna brainstorm it until I find a solution.

I’m going to fight it and wrestle it to the ground, I rarely take NO for an answer, and everything is figuraoutable.

I’d like to think I’m a lot like Debbie Harry…in more ways than one.
Truth is, I have waited for the turnaround…after I have exhausted every other option known to man – and then some.

Then I wised up.

I bet that wasn’t her slogan at 25 or even 35.
That’s the kind of wisdom you gain with maturity; the end result of many, many, many, mess hp’s.

Fifty – I’m going to guess that she came to that epiphany after fifty.
It’s around that age that you realize that there can even BE a turnaround.
That there will ALWAYS be a turnaround.

After fifty THIS you know for sure: You have to pick yourself up off the bathroom floor to be ready for the turnaround.

You have to make it until the sun comes up, because in the deep, suffocating blackness of 3am, you can’t even imagine a turnaround.

That you have to get sober to start the turnaround.

That tears make your eyes that much more capable of seeing the turnaround.

That sometimes you have to be alone, inside the silence, to listen for the turnaround.

That your wounded heart, with its bandages and skid marks, has to open enough to let the love in.
That love, is hidden in the turnaround.

Note to self:Look away.
The turnaround doesn’t reside anywhere near the mess, so if you stay digging around in that pile of shit, it will allude you.
You can’t stalk the turnaround, you can’t cajole it. You can’t bargain with it, or coerce it into place. AND……you certainly can’t rush it.

Believe me, I’ve tried.

When things are messed up. When they are epically trashed. There WILL be a turnaround. History has proven it.
It comes in its own time. It can take years or days or even just hours. Look at every disaster, natural and man made. Things appear bleak, all hope is lost, but eventually the dust settles and in rides…….the turnaround. Remember 9/11?
We were in shock, then despair, then pissed off, then….wait for it…we emerged stronger and more united than ever.
Humongous, miraculous, turnaround.

You gotta love Debbie Harry. Gorgeous, Sexy, smart, 70’s-80’s rock star icon and a guru after 50. Just like me. 😉
I bet she never thought she’d be quoted in a spiritual blog. There’s a first time for everything…even for you; Debbie Harry.

Tell me about a big turnaround in your life. I’d love to hear about it.

Xox

The Muse is clever. She’s a “broad” that has a way with words.
When I sat down to write about the recent energy, with all its starts and stops, she announced: “That’s the Law of Divine Constipation at work. You have the urge to go……..butcha can’t. Frustrating, huh?”
That’s an understatement.

And that’s a new one on me. But I kinda love it. And it describes things perfectly.

Some issues have resolved themselves easily and effortlessly. New projects sailing into fruition, “Like a knife thru buttah.”
Others…..well; others have had a high level of constraint or restriction; a pronounced lack of ease. You have the urge to move quickly on something, only to be thwarted at every turn.

Yep, constipated. Feels like cement. Like you ate a wheel of Brie or a box of matzoh.
Except; you’re compelled to go, go, go.
We’ve all felt held back before. The difference to me is the urgency. I’m raring to go, but there isn’t enough Milk of Magnesia on the planet to get things moving.
It’s going to take TIME.
Even with this overwhelming need to push…….we’ve gotta be patient.
The Muse did tell me a mantra to repeat when the Divine Law of Constipation pays a visit.

THIS TOO SHALL PASS.

I don’t know about you, but patience is NOT my thing. I don’t even reside in the same zip code as patience. It is my tormentor and my teacher.
But it’s been explained to me that when this constipation takes over, it’s got its reasons. It’s here to serve us. To slow us down. It’s for our benefit. It’s Divine after all.
This spiritually guided constipation comes into play so projects have more gestation time, more time to “cook.” It’s saving us a ton of time and trouble, trying to “get out” of something we have impetuously rushed our speedy little butts into. The object of our desire is clear, our course is set, we are just in a holding pattern waiting for all the pieces to fall into place. It could even become something better. Pushing soon could mess things up.
Well……..when you put it that way.
I thought it was just here to make me miserable, when it’s really here to SAVE me from misery. Nice.

I’m sitting things out, for now, waiting for The Universal Laxative of right timing to kick in.

How about you? You feeling the effects of This Divine Law?
You eager to start something, but getting nothing but red lights? I’d love to hear about it.

Xox

If you think you’re too small to make a difference, try sleeping with a mosquito
~The Dalai Lama~

It seems mosquitos are very effective teachers.
To some they teach tolerance and non violence.
They test your patience as they make their presence known.
They draw you into the present and make you pay attention.
Me? With me they bring out my deepest, darkest killer instinct. My inner Dexter.
At three in the morning, when I hear that high pitched whining in my ear,
I Want. Them. Dead.
So much for non violence.
And I’m the girl that carries spiders outside.
I’m a card carrying pacifist until the mosquito shows me otherwise.

Just when you’re certain of your enlightened state. At the moment you know who you are and what you stand for, you can leave it to one of God’s tiniest creatures to bitch slap you back to reality. Or leave crazy, itchy, welts on your ass.
She has a wicked sense of humor.
If THAT doesn’t get you off your high horse….

So……I’m a pacifist unless pushed. Good to know.
Can you be a conditional pacifist? What IS my breaking point?
Those are important questions that can lead to self discovery……..or not.

Here’s what I know for sure.
I know I can snap if my sleep is interrupted.
I have been known to scream obscenities at ignorant drivers.

Then there’s the little dog. The puppy. The boxer-shark puppy.
IT has been sent by God to torment; I mean test me.
I have swatted the puppy on the rump for numerous infractions. Not hard, don’t go all PETA on me. It’s a swat to get her to pay attention to my stern face. She has made a mockery of my stern face. My stern face is a joke to her. The older dog cowers, she points and laughs.
Forget about NO. NO has become useless. To her, it means HI and SURE. She thinks it’s her name. It is yelled so frequently it has lost all of its bite. 
Talking about bite; that one tests my patience with her incessant biting.
She bites when she’s playing. She bites when she’s tired. She bites to make a point. She bites AIR. 
She bites the older dog on her Achilles. Little bitch. I scold her. I forcefully push her away. I “time out” her. When all I really want to do is bite her back.
She wields an unbelievable amount of power in our house. She is small, but her presence is mighty. She is my teacher. She makes me question my parenting skills AND my pacifist membership.

OMMMMM…………Back to a loving place………..Between the Mosquitos and the boxer-shark puppy, I have some serious spiritual work to do.

Who or what is your trigger? I’d love to hear who tests your patience, tolerance and all around spiritual practice. Tell me about it in the comments.

Xox

Last week I wrote about revisiting past traumas for healing.
http://www.theobserversvoice.com/?p=2345
That’s been working out well. The puppy is her demon self again.

This week has been about revisiting chaos…and finding, or better yet, restoring order.
At least I’m trying. And to be fair I’ve succeeded in several endeavors.
One of them has NOT been this blog.
Holy shit on a cracker; the transfer of this blog to a different host, and the cosmetic changes were supposed to appear overnight, while most of us slept; like the Easter bunny. Sorry Thailand.
But they have not and for that I’m sorry. One email read: it was like my parents moved and forgot to tell me! Ouch. I am so sorry…….cupcake?
In hindsight, this was probably not the week to try this. Lesson learned.
Remember the post about just accepting “what is”?
Yeah…trying to practice what I preach.
Just bear with me, don’t jump ship and be a fair weather follower.

Nevertheless…
I am known for being pretty darn organized. Not like my sister organized, but close.
Martha Stewart kneels at my sister’s feet in deference.
There is a black file cabinet, in the back office that is in a perpetual state of organized chaos. You know, like that drawer in the kitchen.
There has been some denial disguised as paperwork, that has been screaming for my attention, and it finally received it this week. You know that sinking feeling as you walk by that shit? I’m determined to un-sink my life right now.
I blame this freaky energy.
Hot pink Post It’s are like 911, top priority, PAY ATTENTION TO ME NOW, don’t keep walking; in my system.
One folder that has a big hot pink Post It on it, is labeled Domaine Names.
That folder is filthy dirty and all curled in on itself, like a dead spider, after being salvaged from the water of my store’s flood. On the outside of the folder, barely legible, are all the account passwords and the nuclear codes.
I have been receiving emails from Go Daddy about the domaine names expiring for weeks. Each one escalates its urgency. Large fees are mentioned, automatic renewal, blah, blah. I don’t want to renew. Go online, right? Trouble is; I can hardly read the passwords, and they don’t work.
Chaos.
This is going to require phone time. With an automated system. I’d rather have needles stuck in my eye, so I’ve just walked by it…for a looooong time. Today I called and after giving my social, my tax ID number, my SAT scores and my bra size, I was transferred directly to Tad. His condescension was only exceed by Jeffrey’s this morning at my Web hosting provider, so I’m used to it. It’s like breathing air to me now, just part of life. The painful experience was over in half a second, like eyebrow waxing; aided by the fact that the credit card on account had expired. Why didn’t they just say that in an email?
Another end to THAT story.
I’m going to make a ceremony out of shredding that file.
I do that in life with things that annoy me. When I no longer required birth control, I took my diaphram out in the backyard, poked tens of holes in it with a sparkler, and lit it on fire. We have pictures.

Literally half of the top drawer of that large file cabinet is devoted to stock accounts, or should I say PAST stock accounts. I was very active in the stock market in the 90’s and it helped me buy my house. Thankfully, I was out of the market before this latest crash. I get statements from ETrade every month, which I never open…but I file them, as I have since 1995.
What I did do in August of 2001 was to create a custodial account for my nephew, who was 5 at the time. I bought him a few shares of Disney and Krispy Kreme, kid’s stuff. A month later was 911 and I remember looking at a statement and the account had lost more than half it’s value.
The next time I opened a statement before yesterday was 2008 and it looked bleak.
So, I’d just file them away, unopened. Yesterday, walking back to the chaos of the abyss, it dawned on me that he’s about to turn 18 in two weeks. In California, at 18 he can legally take possession of that money. He’s also graduating high school, and off to college in the fall. I opened the statement and holy shit, there’s some real money in that account now. I got on the phone with Hank at ETrade (passwords were obsolete from lack of use) and they’re sending a check. I toyed with the idea of just transferring the account to him instead of a check, but….he’s 18. That’s the difference between getting a polite “Thank you” and a hug. I’m going for the hug. There was also a windfall of $15 left in one of the old stock accounts, so yipeeeee, I’m rich! Drinks all around!

The ending of both of those past experiences makes me SO freaking happy.
I can crumple up that hot pink Post It, shred that file and take great pleasure in putting another nail in the coffin of my dearly departed Atik.
And that little stock account that could? Hell, it actually produced some money and my brain cells fired to remind me, all at the perfect time.

It’s been a productive week so far.
How about you?
I’d love to hear some chaos restoring stories.
Is this energy pushing you to put things in order?
Tell me about it below.

Xox