love

I don’t think this needs any explanation.
Love you guys, Carry on,
xox

openingtothepossibiltiy.com

“Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all”
~Alfred Lord Tennyson

Hey you guys, how do you handle it when a project goes south, a relationship doesn’t work out or you lose your iPhone?

Processing loss.
What does that feel like to you? Kinda like you wasted your time and it,(the love, the attention, the years spent) was all for nothing?

Like a failure?
Do you go over and over the reasons in your head? All the coulda, shoulda, woulda’s?
Are you your own judge and jury, sentencing yourself to twenty years of sit ups and lunges for bad choices and various other transgressions?

Or is it more like a bump in the road?
“Okay, I gave it a shot. A ton of my time, energy and devotion went into this thing but the time has come to give up the good fight. I’ve been here before and I know how this works. It’s gonna hurt for a while, I’ll spend some time alone, licking my wounds; I will cry and scream and kick my dog until I rally, getting back on my feet…and then I will transfer all my contacts and info into a new phone and try to get on with my life.

I’m thinking it depends on the clarity of the ending. Some are clear-cut, easy to see; while others are ambiguous, shrouded in doubt.

Maybe you’re more like me — somewhere in the middle? Even occasionally ambivalent?

Don’t get me wrong, I can come unhinged, feeling completely abandoned when the book that I love or the TV series that makes me laugh out loud ends. When I see one lost glove I actively mourn their mate. So there’s that…

It gets worse.

I had a pair of huge, overstuffed down pillows that cost me more than I made in a month — for twenty years! I purchased them in Austria on vacation (naturally, I would have NEVER spent that on pillows at home — I didn’t even need pillows, I was pillow shamed by the rosy-cheeked Austrian goose down pillow lady in Salzburg) and then I lugged them all over Europe with me like a high-end, dough-boy gypsy — for three weeks.

Train stations, airplanes, restaurants, if I was on the move, they were with me. Why I didn’t ship them home I’ll never know.

Dammit I loved those guys.
Recently I made the long overdue decision to toss them. They were stained, lumpy and I’m sure mite infested. It took me FOREVER to make the decision, after all, we had been through so much together. I could only part with one at a time. It took me fifteen minutes to get up the strength to lower it into the disgusting black trash can on the morning of pick-up. Tears filled my eyes when it came time to do the same with the second one. I told my husband, late that night that I felt bad because it was so cold outside.

He just snarfed, he doesn’t understand when I give emotions to inanimate objects.

Remember when I couldn’t part with our ridiculously expensive sheets? (which I’ll have you know were also a vacation purchase).
http://www.theobserversvoice.com/wp-admin/post.php?post=4471&action=edit

Yet I’ve been known to walk away from commitments and projects, friendships that I deemed toxic, and even some romantic relationships — and never look back.

Ice queen or pragmatist?

I’m not sure which response is better so therefore I’ve come to the obvious realization that I suck at processing loss.

I am the Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde of endings.

Some things I am able to love and lose without much heartache at all, others gut me. I walked around in a marshmallow head stupor for five years after a bad break-up.

I’m either in tears about parting with a favorite sweater that is riddled with moth holes; unable to cope with decisions regarding my long dead business; or on the other hand throwing away mementos and keepsakes, photos, art projects and drawings from times gone by like a cold-hearted pirate separating his booty.

All this to say, I may not know shit from shinola but I do know this:
Death is sad;
friends come and go;
break-ups hurt;
gloves are made to be in pairs;
failure is inevitable;
And all loses are not created equal.

So, I’m in a quandary you guys and I’d love to know…

Which one are you? The sentimental saver, big-hearted devotee of all things you’ve loved? Or the cold, hard, rational pragmatist who understands loss and is able to move on unencumbered.

Or are you both and it depends on the loss?

Carry on,
xox

The other day in the comments section of my blog about aging, my blogger/friend over at Gemini Ascending answered the question I so brazenly posed at the end:
“Okay you guys, what little thing (dying your hair is a little thing, you can always dye it back) can YOU do to halt your aging process and help yourself look more like you feel inside?”

She said she was the same age that I am and that she was going to get the tattoo she’d been wanting.

Now me, being the ever curious nosey-pants that I am, I couldn’t just say great or good for you, I had to ask what and where?

“The tree of life on my shoulder” was her reply. I thought that sounded like a fantastic idea but again, I just couldn’t leave well enough alone.

The thing is you guys, I feel like I know all of you — like you’re my friends, especially when we converse via the comments, then we’re like BFF’s (said in a Valley girl voice while flipping my hair and loudly chewing gum). So I reacted like I would to any of my friends, like we do to each other, “I double-dog-dare you to do it, and share the picture. You have until the last day of your 57th year…game on!”

I know, it’s a bit confrontational, especially directed toward an absolute stranger, but hey, what the hell, I tell you guys EVERYTHING and I showed you a picture of my purple fringe.

Here’s the thing: A Double Dog Dare is a relic from my tween days, so that being said it is petty harmless.

Still, it is the ultimate, last word in dares. It means that I just did something a little dangerous and often utterly terrifying and now I want you to join me. There is no going back after a double dog dare. You either do it; or you walk the walk of shame.

Then yesterday, in my inbox was the most recent blog post from Gemini Ascending with the title I Double Dog Dare You.

Gulp. Shit. Had I gone too far? I didn’t mean anything by it except to nudge her toward her perfect tattoo. I’m not gonna lie, I was afraid to open it. Take a look:

https://geminiascending.wordpress.com/2015/05/03/i-double-dog-dare-you/comment-page-1/#comment-209

Whew! Crisis averted. She was up to the challenge. I knew she would be, I had just underestimated the persuasive power behind The Double Dog Dare. It has an alchemy all it’s own and I have to be more careful when I throw it down. Things will change, people will dig deep and find their courage and shit. will. go. down.

So I learned my lesson; for about twelve hours.

Today (Monday) at the dentist, my beloved hygienist, during our one hour, mostly one-sided gab-fest, mentioned aging and her girlfriends and how happy she was that she hadn’t jumped on the retirement bandwagon. Several of her close friends had retired and then gone right back to work out of sheer boredom. One retired couple she knows eats breakfast, takes a walk, eats lunch, takes a nap (yawn — kill me now)…you get the picture.

“Why aren’t they traveling, being philanthropic or taking classes?” I inquired, amazed. “I know” she replied, “I would keep so busy!”

“What would you do, maybe take a dance class?” Uh oh…here I go, even with five of her fingers inside, my mouth starts asking questions.

“Yes!”  she exclaimed, and then told me to rinse.

She went on to explain, “When I was twelve to fifteen I used to take tap, I even took it when my girls were small. One of my patients is a choreographer and when she was here six months ago it came up somehow; anyway she told me about a tap class for people over fifty.”

Since her hands were otherwise occupied my mouth took the opportunity to cross-examine ask her about this class.

“Well, why aren’t you taking it? Did you call? You’ve GOT to do this!”

The conversation had struck a cord with her I could see it in her eyes, “I know! I just never got the info from her, we were supposed to exchange emails…”

I could feel the words start to bubble up. They began in my big toe, rose up into my belly; moving again to my throat; then my lips started forming the words…

“I double dog dare you to take the tap class Jeanette!” Now I’d gone and done it again — thrown down the gauntlet; pulled out the big guns.

The Double Dog Dare hung in the air overpowering even the sound of the drill in the next room. Now, you have to be careful with what you say to your dental hygienist lest she get all Marathon Man on your ass. Luckily she seemed open to the idea so I was safe for the time being, I just needed to keep my mouth shut; well open, but just nodding; no talking.

“You know” she said, all excited, “She’s due back in here for a cleaning this month, I’ll ask her for the details then.”

Her face lit up and she looked more like her fifteen year old self with every passing minute.

“I bet the girls at the desk have her contact information, why wait?  Email her today, in the subject say, “I feel like tap dancing” and give her your personal email address. She’ll be cool with it — after all, she offered the info.”

My teeth cleaning was over so I could safely say that and then make a run for it.

You’re right, she will, I’m going to look up her info right now.” She was practically skipping.

“Hey Jeanette…do the recitals at the end of every session. They’ll scare the shit out of you and when you’re waiting backstage with your family in the audience you’ll think to yourself: What the fuck have I done? and then you’ll go on that stage and you’ll be fifteen again…it’s intoxicating…and the adrenalin is good for your skin.”

That stopped her in her tracks, she spun around and her eyes were like a deer’s in the headlights. “Oh well, I don’t know about that…” she stammered, feeling the fear.

“At our age what do we do that scares us? Think about it. We stick with all the stuff we’re good at. I Double Dog Dared myself into doing musical theatre a couple of years ago and it was the most terrifying yet exhilarating thing I’d done in decades. Just do it!”

“You’re right” she said like someone who has just been told they have to do something excruciating, like give up sugar for a year.

“Janette; call her, take the tap class and dance in the recital…I Double Dog Dare you.”

Damn I’m pushy.

And sometimes, I swear to God my mouth says stuff my ears can’t believe; but as I left she gave me a big, long hug and thanked me. For reminding her about dancing and feeling alive and aging and feeling fifteen again.

Whew, another disaster averted and not a bad day at the dentist.

Ok you guys..I double dog dare you to take a least ONE action. Something you’ve been putting off, waiting for the perfect time. We’ve been focused on age related activities but it can be anything!

Come on — what’s it gonna be?

Carry On, and on, and on,

xox

(No that is not a picture from the 1930’s Grapes of Wrath, that’s my brother and me, post Camp Fun Time one summer in the 1960’s)

It felt like summer here in LA last week.
With temps in the nineties and clear crisp blue skies, we’ve seemed to have skipped spring and jumped straight into July.

I’ve noticed that summer or anything resembling summer, does something to my molecules.
It makes them…dance. The longer days, the warm nights, all conspire to make me…restless.
And …happy.

Why? What does summer mean to me?

The feelings run deep, stemming all the way back to my childhood, which got me to thinking…

Summer is visceral, it’s cellular memory, and as a kid in the San Fernando Valley in the sixties summer meant:

Lemonade stands;

Sleepovers;

Looking for lady bugs armed with my bug jar and figuring out just the right leaf to ladybug ratio for their survival;

Walking all the way to the dime store for an Abba Zabba;

Bare feet so dirty we had to wash them before bed;

Flip flops (always blue) and ice cream cones (rocky road) from Thrifty’s;

Zinc Oxide on my pug nose (sunscreen hadn’t been invented);

Watermelon;

The street lights coming on after seven;

Hosing down the cement walkway to make it slick enough for our own homemade Slip N Slide;

Running thru the sprinklers and the smell of wet grass;

Collecting and then spending hours wetting and pasting green stamps in book after book in order to get ourselves a kiddy pool;

Short pink cotton pjs;

Root beer floats at the Drive In;

Red Vines at the weekly kids matinees at the band new multiplex in Panorama City where I saw my first movie made from a book I had read and LOVED, Islands of the Blue Dolphins
(totally radical concept for me at the time);

Staying up late,(sneak eating Red Vines) and reading the latest Nancy Drew by the dim light of my little desk lamp so my sister with whom I shared a room, could sleep. (I just saw some of the same old editions I used to read at a little neighborhood second-hand store and I teared up. Those are some gooooood memories.)

Charcoal and lighter fluid barbecues;

How different the classrooms and the entire school for that matter felt during summer school;

Culottes and tanned legs so skinny they look like pipe cleaners;

Camp Funtime (war-paint, beaded necklaces, and lanyard see the picture above);

Frozen grape Kool Aid Popsicles;

Selma’s (our neighbor’s aunt) beautiful built-in swimming pool;

The long drive to the beach with a car full of kids and then shlepping all our shit down to the water’s edge.

Egg salad sandwiches at the beach;

The hum of air conditioners;

Dodger baseball games on the radio At ALL TIMES (the voice of Vin Scully);

So when the weather gets into the nineties like it did last week and it releases all these great childhood cellular memories, I’m suddenly reminded that summer is my favorite season.

Until I think of Christmastime…

What triggers your spring or summer fever? What’s your favorite season and why?

Carry on’
xox

“The moment we cry in a film is not when things are sad but when they turn out to be more beautiful than we expected them to be.” – Alain de Button

Ha! I love to keep you guys on your toes! Look! It’s a Saturday morning with Jason.

Have a great one!
xox

Simplifying Life

More than I wanted money, I wanted Freedom.
Money = Freedom, I wanted me some of that!

More than I wanted Love, I wanted Belonging, Adoration, Security and Value (someone who knows my worth),
Love = all those things, and oh baby, I wanted me some of that!

More than Love, Freedom, Security, Belonging, Adoration and Value, I wanted Peace of Mind,
All of those things = Peace of Mind, and Peace of Mind = Happiness.

Now I KNOW I want me some big piles of that! (covered in chocolate).

And that’s what it boils down to you guys: I want what I want — Because I  know that I will feel happier having it.

Simple as that.

That made me realize how conditional my happiness is (and how high maintenance I really am), and the fact that I’m just starting to really grasp the concept of chasing happiness all over hell and back while it sits at the kitchen table with coffee and the paper, patiently waiting for me…

What about you? I don’t think I’m alone in this?

Thoughts?

I feel a part two of this post coming soon…

Big love & carry on,

xox

This is so fucking good you guys that I read it three times today…and I wish I’d written it. Especially nessesary with all the changes in the air right now.
It’s by the beautiful and brilliant Daniele LaPort
Take it away Daniele!

“I call all of my power back to me now. I am whole and complete. (Say it with me now.)

I call all of my power back to me now. I am whole and complete.

I was moving out of a house recently and told a friend I was going to smudge the place. (You know, “smudge” — you burn some sage and clean the energy out. Stay with me, this is going to get more logical for some of you. Actually…it will probably get weirder.) So, Cool Friend asks me, “Why bother smudging? You’re leaving.” Fair question. Usually you want to clear out the energy of places you’re moving IN to. “Because, I want to take all of my energy with me.” I clarified.

“Huh,” nodded Cool Friend. “That’s a new one. I like it.” I skipped the sage and went for vocal incantation. More direct.

I’ve been quietly working with a particular energy worker for the last year+. Ataana. Thanks to Ataana and my cosmic crew, my energy tool kit is super-activated now. This is one of my choice instruments:

I call all of my power back to me now. I am whole and complete.

At my old house, I walked through every room and repeated the magic formula. I call all of my power back to me now. I am whole and complete. Then I dropped the keys in the mailbox and got on with my new life. Clean. Free. All my power with me.

LIFE. It’s all energy. You know this.

When we give energy away willingly, intentionally, with positivity, we get stronger. We become truer, purer, bigger. Power-full.

When we give our energy away unconsciously, under duress, as we are victimized, or taken advantage of, when we over-give out of a sense of deficiency or obligation, we … don’t get stronger. We constrict, we get depleted, we start to stiffen from fear.

You are always in relationship with your life force. Ideally, you want access to your FULL life force. Not just half it because some of your power is on obligation-loan to the needy, or stuck in a past life, or knotted up with the person who did you wrong, or tangled up in dreading the future. Painful events create fissures that your power gets trapped in. You want to empty those pockets and get your gold back.

I call all of my power back to me now. I am whole and complete.

Words have incredible power. You know this.

THIS IS HOW POWER RETRIEVAL WORKS:

You don’t want to ever run into that person. The very thought turns your stomach. Get bigger than it…. I call all of my power back to me now. I am whole and complete.

The love songs that make you sick. Own the beauty. Sing it for someone else. Take it back. I call all of my power back to me now. I am whole and complete.

The scene of the crime, that words that broke your spirit, the time you got rejected — painful stuff … those situations all have your energy inside of them, waiting to be freed up and restored to you. I call all of my power back to me now. I am whole and complete.

The places that you used to go to, but avoid now, extract your mojo out of them…I call all of my power back to me now. I am whole and complete.

The years you tried to make it work, poring, praying, pleading, dancing on egg shells … take back every plea, take back every prayer — take back every time you wished for it to be different than it was — it’s over now. I call all of my power back to me now. I am whole and complete.

The incident that traumatized you. The blow that caused the wounds. Call your strength home. Snap it back from the betrayer, from the abuser. Take it all back. NOW. I call all of my power back to me now. I am whole and complete.

Triggered agony, symbols of defeat, waves of anxiety, emotions of disempowerment, memories that really hurt. Transmute it all into fuel. …I call all of my power back to me now. I am whole and complete.

For all the times you were quiet about deception and disrespect, quiet about the life force that was being syphoned from your generous nature. Speak your power into fullness. …I call all of my power back to me now. I am whole and complete.

THIS IS AN ONGOING PRACTICE

Part of your old chapter will follow you in to your new chapter. “Stop resenting that have you to deal with this,” Ataana would say to me. “Every trigger is your power wanting to be called back.” In that case, instead of resenting the shit out of recurring triggers, get excited when you trip on them. Like this: Negative feeling happens. A-ha! THERE’S where my power has been. Right where I left it.

I call all of my power back to me now. I am whole and complete.

Take your power back so you can put it to wonderful use. Because if it’s floating out there, someone else is going to plug into it and hoover on your juju. Yes, it works that way.

You have the power. Maybe you left some of it somewhere. It’s still yours and it will always be yours. Go get it.

I call all of my power back to me now. I am whole and complete.”

Thanks Daniele, genius advice.

xox

I’m convinced that one of the main differences between an optimist and someone who walks around with a black cloud over their head without an umbrella; and horribly mis-matched shoes is this:

They believe, as I do, that we get more than just one thing to love

Ask anyone with multiple marriages under their belt if there is only one soul mate per lifetime. (don’t ask mid divorce).

The answer is no.

Optimist. Faithful to the belief that if your true love ship has sailed, just stand at the dock, another will come along.

I’ve loved several men in my life, each relationship was equally powerful but drastically different, and at the time, in the moment, I was convinced they were my one-and-only soul mate — the connection was that intense.

I loved some with only my head; a few exclusively with the region below my waist; but only a couple with all my heart, and they were spaced decades apart.
Thank God I had optimistically stood on that dock waiting, albeit impatiently, for another ship to come in. If I hadn’t, the loss would have been profound.

We get more than just one thing to love.

I found comfort in that because I often got distracted by my phone or the lady with one pink roller in her hair, and I worried that I’d miss my golden opportunities as they passed me by.
Now I know better.

But only because I’m older and wiser (ha) and because I know that as we change and grow, preferences shift and we start to want something different, something…more.

Thank God those ships kept coming — When situations ended I stood waiting for a virtual fleet of ships to come into port — I think I saw you there, (I could tell it was you even with the hat and sunglasses.)

And they always come.

Guaranteed.

This applies to careers as well.
By the time you get to be my age, (our age) you’ve worn many hats so to speak.

I loved working at the Antique Mall, I adored acting and singing, I loved being a jeweler, I LOVED my store, and when that ended I loitered long enough on the dock that writing found me— and it may be the all time love of my life.

We get more than just one thing to love.

I used to LOVE playing jacks as a kid, probably because I was inexplicably good at it, (good eye/hand coordination, that’s all) then I LOVED Barbie’s and Monopoly.

One summer as a fifteen year old I LOVED riding my bike up and down the hills the ten miles to the beach and back everyday. (now just the thought make me want to puke).

I had a friend who LOVED to ice skate, you could find her at the rink every morning, six days a week at 5:30 a.m. She was obsessed. Soon she became so good she started to compete.

I’m not exactly sure what happened, an awkward growth spurt or becoming boy crazy, but one summer she lost interest and all that changed, and by the fall she LOVED horses and started training and competing in dressage.
Now she owns a successful interior design business. Go figure.

Obviously she spent a lot of time on that dock, catching one ship and then the next, and the next, LOVING each one that came along.

We get more than just one thing to love.

More than one great love,

More than one fantastic hobby,

More than one way to wear our hair that makes us look the way we envision ourselves,

More than one goal in life, or purpose, or destiny (yes, I said destiny)

More than one thing that we are better at than anybody else,

More than one chance…

We get more than just one thing to love.

Marinate in the thought of that all weekend,

Bon Voyage! and Carry on,
xox

I was going to write about the fact that there are a whole bunch of us, right now, about to make a leap.

Thinking about making a leap,

Just waiting for the …courage to make that leap!

But instead, all I want to say is that we should all get together energetically; because we’re better together you guys. So let’s leap as a group — lets be fucking brave!

Who’s with me?!

Ready…
Set…
GO!

xox

Well, there you are WTHW! Jeeeeez, where have you been?

A reader of this blog recently asked, What the hell happened to What The Hell Wednesday?

What happened is this: I have to sit down and remember a freaky, mystical, WTH experience to write about OR one just comes to me…on a Wednesday…you know, like it does.
Anyhow…

Last week was the tenth anniversary of my dad’s passing, and my aunt (his sister) wrote my siblings and me a lovely email remembering him.

In it she recounted the story of being at his bedside in the days before he died as he kept asking her,”Can you see her? She’s waiting for me.” He was referring to a sister of ours who had died at birth. Even though she was an infant, only living for thirty minutes after she was born, he saw her at the foot of his bed as the end drew near, as a little girl with blonde hair — patiently waiting to take him home.

When I wrote her back I assured her that his sense of humor was still intact on the other side,(she was wondering) and told her this story:

“I also have a Roy story to share:
In September 2005, six months after he died, Raphael and I went to Spain to ride motorcycles, one of the things that I remember him crying over the loss of, he LOVED to ride the wide open vistas, so we definitely have that in common.

One particularly gorgeous day, the temperature was perfect, there was the smell of coffee and bread and freshly mowed grass in the air, and the scenery was beyond description!

I pictured him riding shotgun with me on the back of the bike, taking in the views. “You see that dad, isn’t it beautiful? Use my eyes, take this all in.” I kept pestering him over and over. Still, I got the sense that he was really enjoying himself and his time in Spain (ha!).

One afternoon after once again inviting dad to ride along with me, I couldn’t feel him. After a few hours I realized he just simply wasn’t here. I was crushed. I’d been Sooooo enjoying our rides together.

Toward the end of the day as we crested a hill overlooking a verdant valley below with its quaint village of houses and their red tile roofs; thick black storm clouds hung in the sky and their farthest edges provided one of the most spectacular sun sets I’ve ever witnessed.

“Dad, are you seeing this?” I asked in awe, almost out of habit.

Then I heard his answer and it floored me.

He said:
“Janet, I’ve loved riding with you, and Thank you so much for the use of your eyes and Raphael’s super riding abilities. Although Spain is lovely, you’ve got to quit bothering me. If you could see what I see, every second of every minute, of every hour…well, honey, this pales in comparison.”

Then he gave me one split second’s view with his eyes.

My eyes immediately welled up with tears and my goosebumps got goosebumps. I will never be able to find the word to describe it. Colors I’ve never seen before. Beauty and music and…What a gift.

I know where he is is pure positive energy.

I know I (we) will see him again.

I know he is around us always, and when we think of him, like we are today, he puts his hand on our shoulders.

I know he’s proud of all of us, his love is unconditional.

I for sure know his sense of humor is intact.

I feel him around me and our family often (I actually have a closer relationship to him now than I did when he was alive).
I talk to him, and seek his council often on things regarding my brother and sister and me.

It is my belief that he still hold focus and great interest in the dealings of ALL of the family. He watches over every single one of us, and our shenanigans provide him with some good belly laughs (okay, maybe that just applies to mine)”.

I really do hold the belief that our loved ones don’t just evaporate into the ethers. They remain around us,(I beg my dad to stay out of my bedroom and shower — awkward.) Ready at a moment’s notice to intervene If. We. Ask.

And I’m learning that their personality traits only get sharper. My dad’s a regular comedian on the other side, with a show every night — two on Sundays.

What do you believe? Has a loved one visited you and given you advice or made you laugh? Do you feel them around you when you walk in nature or ride a motorcycle? Please share, I’d love to think I’m not alone here, and I promise not to put your story in a WTHW.(wink)

Carry on,
xox

DEATH IS NOT THE END

When you’re sad and when you’re lonely
And you haven’t got a friend
Just remember that death is not the end
And all that you held sacred
Falls down and does not mend
Just remember that death is not the end
Not the end, not the end
Just remember that death is not the end

Nick Cave – Death Is Not The End Lyrics | MetroLyrics