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Elizabeth Gilbert.
I love her. I devour anything she writes.
Her advise to help us navigate failure and success? You do the same thing for both. WHAT!?
Watch. It’s only 7 mins.
It applies to anyone….about any endeavor.
But now, as a writer, this has a whole new meaning for me.
Xox
I know for some of you school is back in session, I can tell by the traffic.
When did we vote an end to summer the second week of August?
I didn’t get that ballot.
Are you happy about it because your kids are out from underfoot, or did it fuck up your end of summer trips?
Counting this one, we still have three more August weekends. Let’s not rush summer out the door.
The smell of Suntan lotion, watermelon, peaches, cherries – SUMMER
Seagulls, the Dodger games on the radio, more specifically, Vin Scully’s voice calling the game, tan skin, saltwater, lifeguard towers, colorful beach towels, sea glass, hot sand, the hum of air conditioners, flip flops, cold beer, ice tea, all Mean Summer to me.
What’s your best memory from this summer….so far 😉
Happy Summer Sunday!
Big sandy, saltwater hugs,
Xox
Mary had a little lamb,
Whose fleece was white as snow.
And everywhere that Mary went.
The lamb was sure to go.
I had a couple of revelations last weekend.
The first one I’m not proud of, but I think it’s important to know yourself, and I’ve become uncomfortably acquainted with my lack of tolerance for anything that whines, cries, looks to me to entertain it, or needs my constant attention and approval. In other words, it was validated once again, that I would have made a terrible mother.
I just lack that gene I guess.
The second I’ll tell you about later.
My husband was off racing high performance sports cars.
I know.
I want to come back as him in my next life, as MANY others do, so….take a number and get in line.
This left me alone with the boxer-shark puppy and the old girl, and when they are left with only one parent, they become dogs in sheep’s clothing.
They follow me EVERYWHERE and it’s been driving me INSANE.
And the whining. Hello? It’s torture.
Yet, there they are, every day. One with the face of an angel and the body of a super model and the other with a snaggle tooth, a limp and the face of an old Hungarian bubby.
Even in the bathroom. Which reminds me of the stories my sister used to tell about her two toddlers crying and knocking on the bathroom door, while she tried to have a moment. I thought those stories were a riot. Shame on me. I should have had more compassion.
Note to self: My compassion gene seems to be missing as well.
My two little lambs cry outside my bathroom door, and the puppy has taken to body slamming it in hopes of getting inside to drink from the bidet. Who taught them THAT filthy habit?
They have taken it upon themselves to become my two tiny tyrant time keepers.
They make sure I wake up at six sharp, by licking my face and play/fighting either right on top of me, or positioned close enough to where I get sprayed by flying drool, covered in hair and can feel the heat of their sweet and sour dog breath on the back of my neck. They want to make sure that I’m aware that it’s six AM and they’re STARVING.
They can’t understand how I can find happiness outside of chasing a ball, chewing on an orange plastic pretzel, or licking my own ass.
They whine if I’m in the kitchen past their boredom tolerance time allotment, which is approximately three minutes.
Same with writing, watching a movie, and any other task that seems mundane….to them.
Yesterday I was in the shower, the one place I can find some peace (although the puppy is just on the verge of joining me in there as well) and I was contemplating throwing down some kibble and water and leaving for the weekend (to pick up my Mother of The Year Award). Shit, the puppy would totally be fine, she is my renegade.
The older dog is the do-gooder, people pleaser. If I gave them each spare change and sent them out to buy me a cow, Dita, the old girl, would return home with a prize, grass-fed Heifer. Ruby would saunter in pregnant, with magic beans and a hell of a story to tell.
The two of them will get up from a sound sleep next to me on the couch, to follow me in circles (I do lead them in circles to see if I can shake um) following me outside – to the kitchen – around the bedroom – into the den and back – whining the whole time.
They double team me, telling me their big doe eyed doggie lies to convince me I’m a hack and a terrible person.
Which brings me to the second revelation:
We all have doubts, fears, worries and obligations that follow us around like whining little bitches, demanding our attention, just like these two canine creatures. Except…my thoughts are more like wolves in sheep’s clothing – merciless predators.
The stuff that follows you everywhere, stealing YOUR time, and convincing you that you’re no good.
They don’t have to wake you up at 6 a.m. because they don’t let you sleep –– at all.
Yeah, those guys.
Husband (he now only has one name, like Cher and Elvis) isn’t bothered by any of it.
He never hears the whining, he doesn’t mind the wake up calls and he doesn’t trip over them like I do all. day. long.
They are just dogs. And THAT is the reason in a nutshell why he maintains his level-headed, good-natured sanity, while I take the slow slide down the rabbit hole. (Slight exaggeration) He has the innate ability to let things roll off his back. They don’t stick. And THAT’s his trick to life. Don’t sweat the small stuff.
I’m working on it.
Don’t sweat the small stuff.
Got it.
I don’t have to trip over my doubts and worries, or watch them follow me around in circles. How about if I just tune out their chatter, like husband tunes out the whining?
Okay, good idea.
Now, what about the old girl and the puppy?
Those two furry obligations? They are the trouble I’m willing to keep in my life.
The others….not so much
What annoyances can you ignore and which just HAVE to go? Tell moi.
Big, big love,
Xox
*Those cushions were white five minutes ago.
“A woman would never make a nuclear bomb. They would never make a weapon that kills. They’d make a weapon that makes you feel bad for a while.”
– Robin Williams
The death of Robin Williams has really cut close to the bone for so many of us.
Is it because we’ve watched in awe as he’s demonstrated his in-the-moment, out of body, brand of free form humor since Mork and Mindy?
Or
Is it because another beautiful human being has lost their fight with depression and addiction?
I used to love watching the people around him, from Johnny Carson and Barbara Walters to Charlie Rose, try to keep it together as he drifted seamlessly, and hilariously from discussing one of his movies, into a dolphin, a monkey or a dude on quaaludes.
“We had gay burglars the other night, they broke in and rearranged the furniture.”
~ Robin Williams
I had the privilege of seeing him at a small club on the Sunset Strip in the late 1970’s, just before his big TV break. We heard there was this guy who was nuts, and was about to become a huge star, Hollywood was all abuzz.
His standup act was a rapid fire, stream of consciousness barrage of curse words, accents, impressions and crazy voices, all improvised, as he ran back and forth across the stage for almost two hours, soaked with sweat and high as a kite. The act was filthy, filthy, filthy dirty, but not mean. It never was. I always liked that.
“Do you think God gets stoned? I think so … look at the platypus.”
~Robin Williams
The audience was filled with uptight industry execs and young people from the music, TV and movie worlds. We had NEVER seen ANYTHING like him.
The laugher was so loud and ceaseless, that I missed a ton of what he was saying. I thought people were going to have strokes; their faces beet red, all bent forward, barely able to breath – from laughter. I’ve never before or since witnessed anything remotely close to that night. He was Divinely inspired, with his high wire comedy act.
It felt courageously dangerous.
It’s a toss up which serious movie of his was my favorite. He was such a gifted actor, even more so because we all knew that wild side he was keeping behind some big thick, metal bars deep inside, delivering someone else’s written lines.
But the light from his huge heart always leaked through.
I wrote earlier this week about the unexpected death of a friend’s brother, and how we need to tell the people we love, that we love them – because they could be gone tomorrow.
Rita Wilson urged everyone today to do the same, because of Robin.
We also have to take depression seriously.
If you or someone you know is suffering from depression, please don’t isolate. There is nothing to be ashamed of. Please tell someone. Reach out, because you are NOT alone. As Anne Lamott wrote so passionately, with her unflinching honesty and understanding of the subject: don’t step off into the abyss. There can be resurrection.
“In America they really do mythologize people when they die.”
~Robin Williams
The number for the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline is 1-800-273-TALK (8255)
…and you may not marry them ,date them, or even like them very much. But you should thank them.
Love you,
Xox
“Miracles can happen, even to those who are small, flammable, and dressed all in black.”
― Lemony Snicket
This being a Flash Back Friday, it gives me the opportunity to recall events, places, people and bad hair styles from my past. So, when I sat down to write, this story of a mystical experience I had back in the day came to mind.
It is just one of many I experienced back then.
If you recall, I was having a hard time of it back in the early nineties.
I had a good life. Great job, money, travel, the whole shebang, but I had opened myself up to a very life altering spiritual experience – awakening is a better word, and it had knocked me on my ass – spiritually speaking.
(I wrote a few posts about it. You can find them under We Have An Agreement in the search section of the sidebar)
I was having a hell of a time staying grounded which has its own set of problems, the worst ones being, I HATED how I felt and I could find NO joy in life.
“If this is enlightenment? It sucks and you can have it!” I’d yell to no one in particular.
It is my understanding, garnered from the very extensive and exhaustive study of ME and my experience; that the Universe in order to keep you in the game, lays a carpet studded with mystical miracles at your feet. In a blatant display of showoffery, they are so IN YOUR FACE that as whacked out and pissed off as you’ve become – you still see them.
So, I’m a wackjob on my way to work a jewelry show, and I stop at a drugstore on my route to get my favorite gum at the time, Carefree peppermint. It came in a hurt your eyes, bright yellow package, with twenty four delicious sticks of yumminess that you’d pull out from the top. It was one of the few things that made me happy, so of course the drugstore was out of it. Nothing else appealed to me, so I left – gum less and grumpy.
As I pulled onto LaCienega and waited at the light across from the Beverly Center, I could hear the radio in the car to the left of me, even with my windows up, blaring the Rod Stewart song “Have I Told You Lately That I Love You.”
As I shot the two young men with the questionable musical taste, my best exasperated, too cool for school, are you f-ing kidding me, stink eye; the one closest, motioned for me to roll down my window.
Did I mention that they looked like angels? GQ model angels, with big white toothed smiles? But since it was West Hollywood I just assumed they were gay and going to ask for directions.
I rolled down my window at the longest red light in history, and the beautiful model/angel reached out to hand me something. I know I made a WTF face as I pulled my whole body to the left to be able to reach my arm far enough to take what he was so intent on giving me.
It had a bright yellow wrapper. It was a stick of my Carefree Peppermint Gum!
I kid you not.
I sat there, holding the gum, with my bottom jaw hanging in my lap, while the drivers behind me began to honk, as the light had been green for a second already, and they were very important and I was making them late.
The two smiley guys were up ahead, the Rod Stewart song still hanging in the hair like cheap perfume.
If you know that section of LaCienega heading south, you know there are several lights in quick secession that are synced up in such a way that they are perpetually red.
It’s a joke, but not the funny kind, and if I hadn’t been on my gum quest I would have avoided it at all costs.
So in less than a minute I am again stopped next to my new best friends, who are still smiling, Rod is still singing, and I’m composed enough to mouth Thank You while holding up the gum.
We did that for three lights until they finally turned left. Either the song had finished or they were embarrassed that they had given me their last piece of gum.
Okay, so I knew that was weird. I’m not even sure I told anyone. I had turned so dark and odd at that point, dressing all in black with pennies in my shoes, that I don’t think anyone was taking anything I said seriously anyway.
Here’s the kicker.
When I got back to the shop after doing the show in Santa Monica for three days, I went about my usual mindless tasks, one of them being to check the answer machine.
Yes, early ninties, remember? Cell phones were the size and weight of bricks. We all had answer machines, and the one that day at work told me it was full.
73 messages.
Jeez.
Okay.
Press Play.
Have I told you lately that I love you?
Have I told you there’s no one else above you?
Fill my heart with gladness
Take away all my sadness
Ease my troubles that’s what you do
Yep. Rod Stewart, THAT song, every message until the tape ran out.
Explain that away.
I guess I just needed minty fresh breath and to hear that I was loved, and BOY did I!
Xox
Tell me the story of your miracle!
Xox
Here’s the audio if that’s what you prefer.
https://soundcloud.com/jbertolus/rod-stewart-carefree
Being in my fifties, most of my friends have grown kids.
But since age is just a number and I’m just immature enough, I have several younger friends with very small children, kids under the age of ten.
I was talking to one of these younger moms and she asked my advise.
Not about mothering of course, since I forgot to have children, but about the level of commitment she and her girlfriends have to their kids and their spouses, and how they don’t take time for themselves.
Seems she was chatting with a friend of hers, a fellow mom, and they were joking about how clueless their sons and husbands were. That without their loving guidance they would be feral, running in packs, eating garbage and living under bridges with trolls, and that it was an all-consuming job with no time off for good behavior and no vacations.
We laughed of course, but it all sounded very familiar to me because that has been a recurring theme for most of the moms I have known.
“If it weren’t for me they wouldn’t eat, or they would live on Cheetos and Dr Pepper and be spindly and stupid from lack of proper nutrition.”
“If it weren’t for me they would wear the same filthy clothes, brush their teeth once a month when they showered (or fell into some water and called that a bath) and their ears, fingernails and feet would be caked black with dirt and their lice would have lice.”
“If it weren’t for me they wouldn’t have one manner, as a matter of fact, they probably wouldn’t have much of a grasp of proper English, or any social graces whatsoever. They would grunt while never looking up from their phone, iPad or computer. They would be complete social misfits.”
In a nutshell, if it weren’t for the tireless sacrifices, commitment and love to these guys (and girls) they would be just shells of their current magnificent selves.
They would have NEVER made the team, passed fourth grade, gotten that big job, done a speck of homework, learned music, gotten braces, written that speech, etc, ect , ect.
It’s okay if it’s a two-way street – but let’s get real here – it can be very one-sided.
So I listened, and laughed and then got tough with her – because I love her – and she asked.
“That’s all ego talking. You have to justify all that time and energy so you tell yourself basically, they’d be nothing without you.”
Is any of that true? Probably not. As a gross generalization, woman DO tend to bring out the best in men. And children. And small animals. And other women too.
I explained to her the oxygen mask theory. It’s amazing actually.
The airlines have to tell you that in the case of cabin depressurization, it is imperative to put the oxygen mask on yourself FIRST and then your child (hopefully your husband can put on his own or you have bigger problems than you think.)
They give you permission to go first; which seems completely counterintuitive to mothers –– so they have to be reminded.
“You and your girlfriend have to put you oxygen masks on first, otherwise you’re no good to anyone.”
Then a thought entered my mind like a lightening bolt. I got chills it was so profound. It was Divine Guidance. I certainly didn’t come up with it, it was too good.
“Oh Jeez, hey, I just got this.
If you really believe what you’re saying, who would YOU be if you had devoted the same time, energy, commitment, sacrifice and LOVE to yourself, that you have put into your family all these years?”
Then we both teared up.
Holy shit that’s big.
If you’re devoted to making everyone around you great, when is it your turn?
A ton of woman do it when they become empty nesters, but why wait?
This doesn’t apply to only kids and family.
I did it with my boss and my job, until I wised up, woke up, and set boundaries.
We make their lives easier, smoother, more fun and better, while we lose sleep at night.
I think it’s time for the oxygen mask first thinking to prevail, and taking the time to figure out how to make our own lives become great too.
Are you with me?
Can you relate to this kind of sacrifice and commitment to family? Have you found a balance? Let’s hear it in the comments.
Big love to the moms out there,
Xox
*This is a little poem that the Universe dropped at my doorstep (it does that occasionally) about a year or so ago. It’s always good to get these little reminders to change our perspective. I’m also attaching another chant by Deva Premal that I’m obsessing about since you all loved the one to Ganesh so much 🙂
Sending Sunday Love,
XoxJ
YOU CANNOT SEE ME, WHEN YOU’RE LOOKING FOR WHAT’S WRONG
I’ll be hidden, out of sight,
In the middle of a fight.
Being snarky?
Passing judgement?
With nothing nice to say?
It will seem that I’m not with you,
As I stay above the fray.
Don’t look for my agreement,
when you justify your meanness.
I cannot see things as broken,
I can only see them whole.
While you see someone in ruin,
I can only see their soul.
We’re on separate paths,
you and me,
When mistakes are all you see.
Fault is always found,
when you’re looking at the ground.
Lift your heads up higher,
if it’s truth that you desire.
That is where you’ll find me,
when you start to see the sun,
In the eyes of those around you,
there is light in everyone.
Consider them as flawless,
like I do with you each day.
Do the best you can,
choose kindness,
If that doesn’t work…
then pray!
Chant for Serenity
Holy Cow.
Jesus, Mary and Joseph.
There’s some weird energy out there and it’s been difficult to keep an even keel.
I feel the huge need for ice cream and donuts and pasta carbonara; that’s my sign that some shit’s about to hit the fan.
I kept it together yesterday. I made a salad for dinner even thought I wanted to carb load.
Uh oh. Rough water ahead.
Watched something on HBO last night that I shouldn’t have, I know how non-existent my tolerance for violence and especially violence against animals is, so I kept having to leave the room – but I could still hear it.
BTW, I’m no critic, but the show, although highly acclaimed, sucks balls. So fucking dark, no redeeming qualities or message, just gloom and doom and twisted violence.
What’s wrong with you people?
‘Nuf said. “Hey, horrible, horribly popular show, you will not be adding me as a viewer.”
So it should come as no surprise that I had nightmares.
The one I had right before I woke up, heart pounding, sweating and feeling defiled, was that someone; a team consisting of a sinister fat man and a middle aged woman from that fucking show, had my boxer shark puppy. (Cue sinister music)
Once I discovered her after she’d been missing for awhile, they would not release her to me.
They were holding her for ransom for the sum of $300,000-!
He, the fat man, actually informed me of that figure with a straight face.
I knew I didn’t have that in my wallet, so I started beating them both with my red, five inch stiletto heels (you know, the ones you run around looking for your missing puppy in.)
I grabbed the dog while they were defending themselves against my very brave and surprisingly effective shoe assault, and ran from the scene, scream crying and barefoot.
Then I woke up, winded from running and still in fear’s grip.
Whew. That was a close one.
I know enough about dream interpretation to know that what matters most is how it made you feel. I felt anxious and afraid for my eight month old puppy, who I’m madly in love with, but tests my patience every day.
But, it was just a dream and I needed my coffee – bad.
Mistake number one: coffee won over meditation.
It’s always a fight and I can tell you how my day will go, by which one wins.
I needed a reset. I should have meditated the fear away while it was weak.
Los Angeles has switched weather with Mumbai the past few days, so we have been opening up the house, all the doors and windows in the morning for some fresh, cool-ish, non air conditioned air. The dogs love it. They run around out back through the sprinklers while it’s still cool, doing their doggy business, while we have our coffee, faces buried in our iPads.
This morning I noticed that it had been awhile since I had been slimed or my feet stepped on with muddy paws by the puppy. When I listened….too quiet.
Just like a toddler, that is NOT a silence you want to hear.
I stuck my head out in time to see her playing rambunctiously with a dying mouse on the lawn. It was just barely breathing, not a bite mark on it, it had clearly been poisoned.
I screamed for her to stop and screamed RAPHAEL at the top of my lungs.
That is his signal to come quick with a shovel because some form of wildlife has breeched the perimeter and it’s not okay.
Although most would call where we live the burbs, it is teeming with squirrels and possum, raccoons, skunk, coyote, mice and tree rats. I have no idea why, but they often pick our property on which to make their earthly transition – to die.
I love it and I hate it.
They must know the big guy lives here and won’t let them suffer.
It’s barely seven o’clock and poor man has to finish off a dying mouse.
Thank God for him.
I could NEVER.
The older dog is……indifferent.
The puppy? She’s in a frenzy and since I’ve now shut all the doors, she’s looking for a place to make a break for it. I close the gate to the grass, leaving them just the small poop area.
We agree that someone is poisoning the rats and mice, which is sad I suppose and was really just a matter of time (there are SO many this summer and they’ve been very conspicuous and vocal at night) and we don’t want her looking for bodies in the bushes, woodpile, etc.
No sooner do we finish that conversation and he walks back into the house; I spot her doing the one sided game of catch with another dying mouse in. the. poop. area.
RAPHAEL!
Shovel, kill, toss. Its seven fifteen. It’s been that kind of morning.
So did the fear of her safety manifest this threat to her safety?
I did call the vet; he said she’d have to ingest the poisoned rat to become poisoned herself.
Whew.
What the hell? When I dream of travel or food or sex with an A-list movie star (you know who you are) they NEVER appear in my real life, damn it.
FEAR is a POWERFUL emotion. Let’s just be clear about that.
If you stay stuck in its grip, shit will go down.
I hightailed it to the gym with chanting in my earbuds and shifted the energy.
Then I drove back to Shangri-La.
Do you ever let your dreams color your whole day? How do you break their spell?
Tell me, I’d love to hear about it. I clearly need the help 😉
You’d rather listen? Okay!
https://soundcloud.com/jbertolus/shovel-kill-toss-its-seven
Love from Wild Kingdom,
Xox
