Life

Tomorrow I’m having an organ removed.

The organ is my uterus.

I’d like to say it’s nonessential but that’s not altogether true.

It’s a decision that’s weighed on me for years. I’ve held onto it at the urging of doctors and well because I don’t like invasive anything, regardless of how much trouble something is causing me. Some people run courageously toward surgery. I run like a scared little girl in the opposite direction—which is not always the smartest decision.

What I do is I holistic it to death. I acupuncture it, tincture, and energy work it until it’s no longer a bother.

That has worked for me with everything. But this organ has given me a run for my money. It’s wanted my unwavering attention for the past twenty-something years.

Fuck. I’m fifty-eight. I’m tired of the fight. I’m waving the white flag. I’m over it.

Due to the fact that I chose NOT to have children, this organ has been as useful to me as an oven is to someone who doesn’t enjoy cooking. Oh, again, I guess that would be me, so… the oven gets it next.

Anyhow, it has been a long time coming and I won’t bore you with the gory details. I’m only telling you about it because:

1. I may not feel up to writing this weekend.
2. You SO wish you could be a fly on the wall in post-op. I’m told I’m hilarious in post-op. That I need to stay under the influence of the copious amount of chemicals (anesthesia I’m guessing), and take it on the road. Seriously. Hey, maybe Facebook Live?
3. I’m not sure how I feel about yanking out one of the only organs that make me different than a man.

Thoughts: I’ve grown things in my uterus my entire life. Just not people.

I’ve never professed to be maternal. Nurturing, yes. Maternal, not so much.
Maternal involves self-sacrifice. The kind that is not convenient. The kind that pays dividends that are not always obvious. It has been my observation that you must possess a certain amount of altruism to be maternal. High levels that replace all of the blood in your veins, influencing every decision you make.

That cause you to miss a hair appointment that took you months to get in order to pick up a sick kid. Stuff like that.

I’d like to say I’m that person—but we all know I’m not.

More thoughts: Maybe some of us stand in line for the standard issue female body even though we have an inkling we may never use it to its full potential.

I feel sorry for my uterus. It drew the short straw. Maybe next time it can be a Duggar womb.

But ultimately I get the last say so I’m saying a very grateful, heartfelt but emphatic…goodbye.

Carry on,
xox

Hi guys,

There was a time back in 2013 where I would sit up in bed, in the dark, first thing in the morning, and write down whatever came to mind. Often, it was poetry. I’m not kidding. Like, rhymey with a message kinda stuff.

I’d marinate in this early morning creative soup and jot down my notes for about fifteen minutes and then get on with the rest of my completely ordinary life.

I say that because even though they were just this side of craptastic as fine poetry goes, it felt special and rather extraordinary and I regret not doing it anymore. These days you can find me practicing my tandem snoring and drooling routine until the last possible minute because, well, I want to medal when it becomes an Olympic sport AND I write all day. The poetry has a myriad of entry points in twenty-four hours—so why write in the dark?

But lately I’ve been thinking…maybe I should pick up this habit again. Couldn’t hurt, right?

This one made me snort laugh. I hope it has the same effect on you because:
Everything can be reduced to a food analogy.
And nothing too serious is going on here. Just livin’ life.

We all need to remember that!

Carry on,
xox

Whilst sitting and lamenting that your life is in shreds,
Tis no faux pas, there’s been no flaw,
Even though you’re filled with dread.

Get up, and make coleslaw instead.

The Universe may leave you for dead,
Life thrown it up in the air, water to tread,
You keep ruminating, running it through your head,

Don’t do that, make coleslaw instead.

You can take lemons and make lemonade,
Or you can find problems that sour your day,
The choices are easy when acceptance is present.

Get up and make coleslaw instead!

This is a post from waaaaay the hell back in the summer of 2013. Do you even remember the summer of 2013? Yeah, me either!

Anyhow…it felt timely due to the fact that we all have this fresh, new year to work with so I thought I’d share it with y’all.

If you were one of the oh, I don’t know, fifteen readers I had back then and you can’t be bothered with a flashback—go make yourself a sandwich!
And Carry on, xox

“If one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with success unexpected in common hours.”~ Henry David Thoreau

You frequently hear the saying: Make your dream a reality.

But let’s flip it around, shall we?

You often hear someone who has accomplished something monumental say
“This feels like a dream”
or
“This is more than I could have ever dreamed of”.

That happens when the Universe takes a desire and runs with it!

When you put something out there and then you only feed it with feelings of accomplishment,
you feel assured that it will come to pass.

Like the athlete who after practice envisions crossing the finish line first, over and over and over again.

How about the actor who feels so prepared, so perfect for a part that he is relaxed and confident at the audition?

They know what they want and they stay out of their own way! Their reality then reinforces this by giving them feedback that they’re on the right track.

The athlete starts winning all his competitions,
The actor gets his parts.

This is where it gets interesting.
Even when things “seem” to go awry, we are being guided to our dreams.

The Universe now has taken the reins and is running the show.

When you can take these detours in stride and maintain your resolve by not getting discouraged;
not listen to the negative voices—both internal and external,
THAT is when…

The athlete gets the last place on the team to the Olympics and WINS  A MEDAL!
The actor gets not the lead, but a supporting role and then wins an Academy Award!

Their achievements surpass even their wildest dreams!

And THAT ladies and gentlemen is how you make your reality a dream.

Hi all,
Whether you believe in astrology or not, Clarity, love, miracles? This all sounds pretty awesome to me!
Carry on,
xox

Rare Astrological Event—all of the Planets Align & Turn Direct: It’s Time to Leap.
The Elephant Journal~via Kate Rose

“Be fearless in the pursuit of what sets your soul on fire.” ~ Unknown
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On Saturday, January 7th, we will experience a rare astrological event—all planets will turn direct.

During most years, at any given time there is at least one planet in retrograde motion, however, it’s not unusual to see a few in that motion as well—but rarely do all the planets turn direct at the same time.

This phase of action will last until February 6th when Jupiter turns retrograde.

The reason that this is such a big deal is that it’s happening in a very auspicious manner. Venus has moved into Pisces, and Mercury is turning direct at the start of the New Year.

It’s clear that this is a time for movement, for action and for exploring whatever it is that has been calling to us for some time.

Astrology is not about a one-time chance that will never happen again—we just have the option as to whether we are going to walk in fully into what is waiting for us, or if we will need a gentle push in the right direction.
What is meant for us will always hit its mark in our lives right on time.It’s not possible to mess up our life’s plan so severely that we feel desperate and without hope. Yet, even with that being the case, sometimes the divine orchestrates such an event that it’s impossible to ignore.

We missed something—something big—something that, quite possibly, we didn’t think was meant for us.
We left it behind in 2016, thinking that it was over—that we were making the right choice and that we had better things waiting for us.

We thought we were being adult about it.
But really, we missed an important part of a conclusion we drew too soon.

The thing is that we can say we are moving on, and that we are going in a new direction, but sometimes—no matter how far we move—the divine force in this world moves us right back to where we were.

With Mercury just ending, a fog is lifting, and there is clarity about a situation we had thought was all figured out—and because Venus, the planet of love, just turned direct in the loving and ethereal sign of Pisces, it seems that there is a matter of the heart that hasn’t yet been decided.

No matter how much we think we know the ending, sometimes the universe shows us that this was only the first act.

This next month—whether we want it to or not—possesses the ability to change everything in an instant.

Where you once felt stuck, things will suddenly fall apart to reveal new information and alternate endings you could never have imagined. Where you once struggled could give way to ease.
And indecision could suddenly become nothing but a faded memory of a time when your head and heart fought battles over your future.

The truth is that no great moment comes without first creating chaos, so the potential is there for January to be like that child’s snow globe that they can’t resist shaking up just to see what might happen next.
But that’s also what we have to remember—none of us knows how this will play out, and none of us knows what the ending of any of this will be.

We are being guided. We are being given clear heads and courage—moments of realizing exactly what is occurring and what those feelings are that flutter throughout your heart.

In February, we will have the last eclipse in a cycle that began last September, so anyone who thinks that they can just leave 2016 in the dust hasn’t really understood that the reality is there are never any true endings.
Situations morph, evolve and transition—sometimes more beautifully than we could ever anticipate.

The one thing that we have to remember during this month is that we aren’t being fooled. Perhaps this month, more than any other in a very long time, we will see clearly the matters of our hearts. We will find the words where we previously struggled, and suddenly sense will be made from everything that has transpired for perhaps the past few years.

Once in a while, there is a stitch in a time—a moment where things just suddenly fall into place. A moment occurs when the planets truly align at the finger of God, and all along we realize that this was his plan.

Perhaps we will finally understand that we were never off course—we’re just blind to the destination.

All of this means something. There are no coincidences—only synchronicities.
It’s been said that we can ask the universe for all the signs we want, but that ultimately, we see what we want to see when we’re ready to see it.

January is asking us just one question: “Are you ready?”
Are you ready to see everything that you were too scared to open your eyes to before? Are you ready see the life that is meant for you?

Perhaps there are no final choices or endings, but once in a while, the universe and God conspire to give us a chance at having the life we’ve always prayed for—our only job is to listen.

Our mission this month is to be open to change, so we can let ourselves be led to where we need to be, instead of planting our feet in resistance.
Because once in a while, miracles really can happen—but only if we let them.

“What good are wings without the courage to fly.” ~ Atticus

http://www.elephantjournal.com/2017/01/rare-astrological-event-all-of-the-planets-align-turn-direct-its-time-to-leap/?__prclt=ituSQnbi
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When the state of my world seems turvy topsy and I find myself feeling blue, I like to go to the movies in the middle of the day, BY MYSELF. There, in the dark, from my seat in the very middle of the back row—I find solace. I can weep openly at the sad parts, the not so sad parts, and the previews while shamelessly appreciating my shriveled movie house hot dog drowning in mustard as if were an overpriced piece of wagyu beef.

I feel free to be the only one to laugh out loud at innuendo or irony like I’m privy to some inside joke the screenwriter wrote just for the two of us to enjoy.

Most of the time I go to the movies with a long face and come out with a broad, Cheshire grin. Today was no exception.

I had a skip in my step as I left the theater, and it wasn’t because the movie was a musical.
The thing that cheered me up more than words can express is the fact that the actress in this particular film is exactly my age and looks a good ten years older. I’m not being catty, it was impossible not to notice. It was all I could do not to squeal with delight at every close-up. I even overheard a couple of women in their sixties commenting about it after the show. What they said was, Wow, she looks like us!

It was so surprising I almost walked into a pole Google-ing her age. We are both fifty-eight.

Now, living in LA I have seen this actress around town and I have figured out why she has aged, let’s say, not as elegantly as say, Dame Helen Mirren.
I usually see her over my giant plate of french fries and whatever is accompanying them. Sometimes a salad, sometimes mussels, most times ranch dip. There she is, alone in a booth, in her black on black on gray with big dark glasses, quietly sipping her clear broth. Every time I see her. Me the fries—her, the clear broth.

I also spot her occasionally on my killer hike. She usually goes early, early, when only the trainers with their chubby clients are boot-camping it up the hill. She blasts past me with her big sheep-dog looking dog barely out of breath. She is remarkably fit and trim. Skinny really, and therein lies the rub!

Gaunt does not age well. Everybody knows THAT! A little extra weight plumps up, well, everything, most especially the face. She may have my long-lost flat stomach and slim hips but holy cow, it looked as if she had loosely draped layers of flesh-colored fabric around her neck. I can say that since I feel bad about my own flesh-colored scarf most of the time.

I have to say, I was shocked.

The next thing I have to say is good for her! She IS one of us!
You have to admire the fact that she has had absolutely NO work done on her face, eyes, neck or hands. Maybe she is a giant chicken shit like me, but it’s more likely that she just doesn’t give a fuck what we think. The fact that her contemporaries are shot so full of Botox that every emotion registers as surprise makes it refreshing. Her courageous choice to allow her self-realization, self-possession, or self-worth override her vanity makes her believable and authentic and I have to commend her.

I also have to thank her for lifting my spirits more than any plate of fries ever could have.

There are just some days when you want to feel like you’re doing something better than anyone else. Today she helped me, for an hour and thirty minutes, feel like without the benefit of anything other than good genetics—I was killing it at being fifty-eight.

I’ll take it.

Carry on,
xox

*Hi Loves,
This is a post from Christmas past. I think it was way back in a simpler time — 2013.

Anyhow…it’s a crowd favorite, the number one most requested holiday post because it’s all about my husband and everybody roots for my hubby. Right? I mean, he tolerates me and that is no small feat.

He’s no saint, believe you me. He’s a procrastinator extraordinaire as this story will reveal, and a curmudgeon rapscallion of epic proportions.  HOWEVER, all that being said, the man never ceases to amaze me with his common decency.

Here on Earth 2.0, I miss common decency. I think we all do.

So here’s a dollop courtesy of my own, personal Avatar. I’m immensely grateful for him, all of you, and your decency and continued loyalty. Wishing you and yours the happiest of holidays and an amazing 2019!
xox

AVATAR
av·a·tar
ˈavəˌtär/
noun
1.HINDUISM
a manifestation of a deity or released soul in bodily form on earth; an incarnate divine teacher.

I met my husband when he was 47 and I was 43.
To say I kissed a lot of frogs along the way is an understatement!
And since he’s French there’s also a certain irony there.

On paper, I looked über normal.
I had a great job, a house, a relatively “normal” family, lots of good friends, two Siamese cats, and a Partridge in a pear tree.

But as you all know by now, I had my dark, hidden secret.
I was a closeted seeker.
Devoutly spiritual.
I did yoga,
I meditated twice a day,
I could have been a monk.
Well, except for the red lipstick and nail polish…oh, and the sex.

Anyway…
I’m pretty sure I blurted it all out after a glass of wine on one of our early dates, half expecting him to excuse himself, saying he was “going to the restroom”, only to discover he had made a run for it!

But he didn’t.

It ends up he was a seeker as well, having worked with
a Peruvian shaman along the way—so I should have seen this coming.

For years, I had sought the counsel of a channel, a friend who had the ability to call in “beings” of higher wisdom. So, I invited her/them over to “meet” my new husband. I’m not exactly sure what I expected, but what they did was to completely ignore me and practically fall all over themselves (in a nebulous, ghosty way), calling him “Great Avatar”.

Then they explained that I am the “consort” to this great being.

What? Really?
Like the Cleopatra to his Marc Anthony?
Uh, nope. Nothing like that.

More like the Robin to his Batman.
The Abbot to his Costello.
The Kato to his Green Hornet.
The Elaine to his Jerry.
The Heckle to his Jeckle.

Well, not exactly. I have to aquiece to the undenialble fact that, gulp,
He is my teacher.
I am grasshopper.

I just rolled my eyes, thinking that infinite wisdom must have mistakenly ‘Avatared’ the wrong guy—but the irefutable proof of it happened again—for the gazillionth time on Christmas Eve day.

He told me the story with tears in his eyes that night on our way to dinner.

He is a typical man in the sense that he waits until 3 p.m. on the 24th of December to start his holiday shopping.

So…there he was driving while famished, navigating an overcrowded parking lot with nothing to sustain him.

He had becoome Hangry (hungry + angry).
You get the picture.

Finally, after circling eight-thousand times, he saw a car ready to pull out of its space so he positioned himself, left blinker on, and waited…and waited…while the person sloooooowy backed out of the coveted spot. Meanwhile, on the other side of them was a little pickup truck that has the same idea. My husband seeing what was about to happen, aggressively blocked the spot with his black Porsche and pulled in. (Don’t judge, just because it’s a Porsche and a pickup truck, just don’t do it!)

As the pickup truck drove off, the driver made eye contact and flipped my husband the middle finger.

Oh, don’t worry, that stuff rolls off his back…he’s French, remember?
But still, it was Christmas Eve for cryin’ out loud!

No matter. He walked into a local joint to grab a quick burger and realized while he was eating, that middle-finger-pickup-truck-guy was eating with some of his buddies a few tables over.

So, he got out a pen and wrote a note on a napkin.
He then attached $20 and handed it to the waitress to deliver to the guy…and left.

The note read:
Even though you flipped me the bird,
It’s Christmas Eve.
your lunch is on me.
The black Porsche.

While walking away he glanced back to see the guy showing the note to his buddies as he stood up to search the cafe for this mystery Santa.

So decent, right? It brought tears to my eyes you guys!

He’s my hero.
He’s my teacher
He really is an Avatar.
(And said without any eyeroll whatsoever) It is an honor to be his consort/grasshopper.

Merry Christmas everybody!
Xox

There are Masters walking among us you guys. Teachers. Wise ones.

They don’t wear white robes. They don’t levitate or walk on water (well, not in public).

They wear the disguise of a mere mortal.

Sometimes, the ones we tend to overlook the easiest. The unassuming. The forgotten.

The harried waitress, the sweet kid at the Christmas tree lot, the homeless guy in front of Starbucks.

Read this short story about just such a Master from my wickedly talented writer, sister-friend, Mel—in my other sister-friend’s new magazine! #lovemytribe

Then go and grab yourselves some holiday cheer!
Carry on,
xox

http://www.huntsvillelifemagazine.com/single-post/2016/12/18/A-LESSON-IN-HUMANITY

You are going to be so happy to know this!

As I was digging through my totes of Christmas decorations this year, at the very bottom, buried by an old, torn tree skirt that is too sentimental to throw away yet always escapes me when its time to take it to be mended, and an old reindeer antler headband for the dog, (which still makes me guffaw with laughter and infuriates my husband—because dogs have no business wearing hats or headbands)—was the Troll Angel.

“Sister girl, where have you been?” I squealed.

She looked up at me with those oversized eyes, cotton candy mohawk and the same bad attitude she displayed thirty years ago. God I love it when inanimate objects freeze in time!

You see, the Troll Angel was the tree topper for my sister and me when we lived together in the 80’s. It said Yeah, my face looks like this because I have a Christmas tree up my skirt—what’s YOUR excuse?

It was irreverent and full of sass. Just like us. Which got me to thinking…

We keep ornaments for a lifetime but treetoppers change with the times. I think a treetopper may just be an un-unsciency marker of where we are in life.

This is mine these days. A vintage 1960’s brightly colored version of Aunt Barbara. All business in the front —and party in the back. Tipsy…topsy..turvy. Kinda like the current me.

But, seriously! Think about it. I had a guy friend back in the day when we were a decade shy of thirty, who displayed an old deflated basketball on the top of his tree. It was from some high school championship game he…blah..blah…blah…anyway…through the years it got so old and frayed it started to looks like Wilson from Castaway. God bless him, he kept it that way until he got married. Then that girl started calling the shots and threw that thing out faster than you can say #Christmasbuzzkiller.

My accountant’s tree wears a Santa hat. Wow. What an imagination!

One mixed faith couple I know have a Star of David on the top of theirs. I think nothing says Christmas like compromise.

Many well intentions are housed in a tree topper.
Here are a few examples.

This one says: “Dog people can be scary.”

This one says: “Diane, get my flute!”

Okay, you guys. Go look at your tree. What does the topper say about you? It’s uncanny, right?

Happy Holidays & Carry on,
xox

I don’t know about you guys but I love “unknown”. “Unknown” is so wise and says the greatest shit. Which leads me to believe “unknown” knew I needed to remember this now more than ever.

Carry on,
xox

Hi everyone,
One more week to go!

I hope this finds you not too stressed out and enjoying at least some of the cheer the holidays have to offer. Me, you ask? I’m coping with regular meditation, lots of self-care and…oh who am I kidding? I’m polishing off chocolate chip cookies at an alarming rate!

Listen, this is the season of giving and I’m such a giver (ha) that I wanted to pass along this podcast to you guys. It’s longer than normal so I’m doing it on the weekend because it’s totally worth a listen!

The interviewer is my favorite bookmama Linda Siversten, founder of my favorite book tribe the Big Beautiful Writers Group, and she’s sitting down for an in-depth chat with one of my favorite gurus and her pal Guru Singh.

They talk about life, creativity, the “ambrosia” hours, his book Buried Treasures, (which I read this time last year and loved!)  Even the election results!

Listen to it while you wrap presents. While you’re sitting in the airport or stuck on the freeway. I listened while I ran errands yesterday and the time flew by!

Okay. Here you go. Gird your loins. You will make it through these last seven days, I promise.

Love you,
xox

https://www.amazon.com/Buried-Treasures-Journey-Where-You/dp/1497594324/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1482070677&sr=1-1&keywords=buried+treasures+guru+singh

bookmama.com