miracles

What I know for sure besides the fact that salted caramel anything has become my Kryptonite and that those shoes with toes creep me out—is that those who have crossed-over use technology to reach us.

They do this because technology is a frequency, think Wi-Fi, and well, now so are they.
It’s easy for them. So much easier than moving furniture or materializing at the foot of your bed. That stuff takes work and our dearly departed ones tend to be lazy. They are always looking for the path of least resistance and since if you’re like me, your phone or computer are always within arms reach, this makes getting our attention a cake walk.

Please don’t argue with me on this.
I didn’t believe it at first either. And I’m not saying I’m one thousand percent sold on the concept, but…being that I’m not as gullible as you might think, I stubbornly ask for proof—which has been provided to this professional skeptic repeatedly. Over and Over and OVER again!

It has become irrefutable. Ask my tribe. I send them example after example which has made believers out of (most) of them.

The past few days I decided to have some fun with this recent discovery of mine. The one about technology.

Almost every morning, unless I’m not feeling it or a gooey cinnamon bun has my name on it (I believe there is an unwritten law that states that it is immoral to hike with white icing on your face), I take a 3.5-mile hike in the hills above my home. Unless I’m distracted, talking my head off with a friend, the only thing that gets this ass up those hills is live streaming NPR, a juicy podcast or something inspirational on YouTube straight into my ears via my phone and some comfy ear buds.

The last quarter-mile is all uphill. A slow vertical ascent that takes my breath away, pisses me off, and makes me want to cry and vomit—all at the same time. At the end is the parking lot where I hug my car and wait for my heart rate return to something life sustainable.

Unfortunately, right at the base of this climb—at the same red brick mailbox—the WiFi cuts out—and I’m left to listen to the voices in my head. Two which are cheering me on and the other 1,065 which scream at me in no uncertain terms—that I am an idiot and this hill is certain to kill me.

For months, I have suffered the same shattering disappointment at exactly the same spot at the base of that fucking hill.
Silence.
Until Wednesday. That day I asked my disembodied friend to extend the WiFi signal past the familiar brick mailbox to the top of the first hill. The “killer” as I like to call it.

‘Just let me continue listening to Abraham to the top of the killer’ I asked playfully. Then I laughed at the absurdity of asking for an internet connection from someone marinating in Pure Positive Energy—not lottery numbers or stock tips—and the fact that this has become my new normal.

Sure enough, the signal remained strong, cutting out at the very top of the killer hill just as I had requested. I was jubilant! Not only for the audio distraction on my way up the hill but for the sign I received from my friend.

“All you have to do is ask, and then not care”, I heard her say, so I decided to try again the next morning.

Thursday, as I approached the killer, I decided to ask for something more audacious.
If this was a game—then why the hell not?

‘I’d love to listen to Morning Becomes Eclectic all the way up to the parking lot’ I requested. Then I waited with a huge smile on my face as I chugged slowly up the killer hill. I lost the music briefly at the mailbox…but only for a second.
Sike!!

As I crested the top of killer hill and continued on to the dirt path I couldn’t believe my ears! WiFi! On the most remote part of the hike!
I can’t tell you how I got to the parking lot. I’m pretty sure I skipped or floated. It was everything I could do not to yodel my joy at this technological miracle.

Once at the parking lot, I did a sweaty slob-kebob dance to celebrate the music that was still going strong in my ears!

How was that possible? Was it a sign? An answer to my asking?
Someone I told yesterday, I can’t remember who, surmised that the neighborhood had probably just gotten tired of shitty internet and boosted the signal. I thought the timing was interesting, but I’m not gonna lie, it burst my miracle believing bubble a little bit.

This morning, Friday, I just assumed that the boosted signal would continue all the way up to the parking lot …and beyond, but alas, right at the brick mailbox…silence.
What?

I tried to get it to work as I slogged along but it was behaving badly just as it had for months.
Suddenly, about fifty yards from the end, the music came back on, strong as ever. It actually startled me in the middle of an argument with my disembodied friend who insisted that MY WiFi connection had nothing at all to do with a boosted signal.

‘It was the answer to an asking, a sign, a game’, she insisted, ‘and as long as you remember that, the music will play uninterrupted.’

Man, I love not taking life so seriously! Treating it like a game. You guys have to try it! It beats the alternative.
I’m starting with the small stuff until I get the hang of it. Come with me!

Carry on
xox

I forwarded this to my honey yesterday. He is two weeks into a minor but highly annoying post-surgical recovery.
“Thanks”, he said, nodding his head, “I needed the reminder”.
“Me too”, I replied as I reassuringly rubbed his back. Then I thought of you guys.
I think at one point or another we ALL need the reminder that everything is energy…and we are a self-healing masterpiece/miracle in a meat-suit.
Love you,
Carry on,
xox

Your body has self-healing superpowers
by psgrout

“Life is not about healing; it’s about accepting that we are already healed.”–Annie Zalezsak prescription-pad

Yesterday, I invited readers to share a meme from the old paradigm, a meme they are now re-writing, thank you very much.

A wonderful reader named Bob brought up a meme that is in our face night and day. “Getting old means your body is supposed to fall apart.”

This meme is such a big player in the current paradigm that I thought it deserved its own post. We are constantly being slapped around with the crazy idea that our bodies are plotting against us.

Just watch an hour of television. The drugs ads warn us into great vigilance:

Better watch out for this symptom.

Make sure you’re aware of that problem.

It’s only a matter of time until your body is going to reach out and strangle you.

Here’s the ad I’d like to run:

Your body is a self-healing masterpiece.
It is brilliantly equipped with natural self-repair mechanisms that fight infections, repair broken proteins, kill cancer cells and keep you in tip-top shape. The only thing that ever stops it from doing its job is your ridiculous belief that it is not your closest ally.

I got this story the other day from a reader of E-Squared. It was one of a long list of things she says she manifested:

“I regulate my own health.
If I ever feel like I am going to have an allergy attack or something in my body hurts, I simply give myself command not to entertain it, and the allergy attacks and pain go away immediately. I used to pop anti histamine almost daily in spring and summer seasons. I have not taken any allergy medicine for a while now. I simply tell myself, I don’t believe in allergies and I am the overlord of my body and nervous system. My body obeys what I ask, nicely of course 🙂

“Using this, I have stopped allergy attacks, aches and pains, fever, upset stomach etc. experimenting with my own abilities is just so much fun! Anytime I meditate, I reach a new level of self control and enhancement of my ability to control my own health.”

And lastly, I thought I’d re-run this blog post from a year ago about this very topic. Enjoy!!

“It’s supposed to be a professional secret, but I’ll tell you anyway. We doctors do nothing. We only help and encourage the doctor within.”–Albert Schweitzer

At the party of “anything is possible,” there’s always the one cranky uncle who sits over in the corner. More times than not, the belief that stubbornly refuses to budge is the body as in “My mind has no control over my health, disease, aging, weight and any other fool thing my body decides to do.”

So today, I’ve got a packet of Reese’s Pieces and, like Elliott who was able to lure E.T. out of hiding, I’m hoping to lure out that curmudgeonly uncle to at least take a spin on the dance floor.

Reese Piece No. 1: Dr. Lissa Rankin’s book, Mind Over Medicine. After years of being a physician, Dr. Rankin finally got fed up with the seven minutes she was allowed to see patients and the refusal by her colleagues to acknowledge the most powerful component of a person’s health: their beliefs and their thoughts. Initially, she was as hard-nosed and closed-minded as any doctor, but after investigating 50 years of peer-reviewed medical literature (New England Journal of Medicine and Journal of the American Medical Association, to name a few), she found ample evidence proving that beliefs play a powerful role in a person’s biochemistry and to ignore those findings was irresponsible, a betrayal of the Hippocratic Oath.

Reese’s Piece No. 2: The body is wired to heal itself. Our bodies are self-regulating, healing organisms, constantly striving for homeostasis. But instead of teaching our children this all-important fact, we teach them they need someone or something outside themselves to heal. The minute they get a fever or an earache, we rush them to that all-knowing doctor. This, at a very early age, cements in the fallacy that our bodies can’t heal themselves. Most of the thoughts in our default setting are planted before age 5.

Reese’s Piece No. 3: Placebos are often as effective as drugs. Patients have been able to grow hair, drop blood pressure, lower cholesterol, watch ulcers disappear and cure about every other symptom after being treated with nothing but sugar pills. It was their belief they were getting “medicine” that cured them, not the medicine itself.

Dr. Bruce Mosely, a surgeon and team physician for the Houston Rockets, performed arthroscopic knee surgery on two of ten middle-aged, former military guys. Three of the 10 had their knees rinsed (without the scraping) and the other five had no surgical procedure at all. It was an exercise in just pretend. After two years, all ten believed their surgery was a success. What Mosely discovered is that the bigger and more dramatic the patient perceives the intervention to be, the bigger the placebo effect.

Reese’s Piece No. 4: Our beliefs are the hinge on which our bodies function.
Rankin tells the story of a guy with tumors the size of oranges. After begging his doctor to try an experimental new drug he’d read about, he was treated with the drug and his tumors disappeared. Several weeks later, reports hit the airwaves that this new drug was not as powerful as originally thought. The tumors returned. His doctor, by now savvy, gave his patient a placebo, telling him it was a stronger form of the drug and that the ineffective trials had been using too little of this powerful drug. Once again, the tumors from his stage 4 lymphoma began to disappear. Finally, the FDA pronounced the drug ineffective and pulled it off the market. The patient, who had been rapidly recovering, died within a week.

Okay, enough candy. I could go on and on about how 79 percent of medical students develop the symptoms they’re studying. Or about the woman with a split personality who has diabetes in one of her personalities and normal sugar levels in the other.

But I’m not a doctor and would never dream of prescribing anything.

But I do know this:

We should teach our children that their bodies have self-healing superpowers.

And we should quit hexing ourselves by looking for disease.

And we should remember that if chimpanzees can lower their blood pressure at will, something Harvard doc, Herbert Benson, discovered in his research, there’s probably not much we CAN’T do to heal ourselves.

Uncle, are you ready for that dance?

Pam Grout is the author of 18 books including E-Squared: 9 Do-it-Yourself Energy Experiments that Prove Your Thoughts Create Your Reality and the about to be released, Thank and Grow Rich: a 30-day Experiment in Shameless Gratitude and Unabashed Joy.

Nobody likes a bragger.
Or a holier-than-thou-cow.
Or a mime, or a scary clown. Nobody.
Am I Right?

How do we feel about magic?
We LOVE magic!

And surprises? Well…we tolerate surprises. Especially the ones we really don’t know about which are few and far between because of our control issues, but that’s another story.

Tuesday I was visited by some real life surprise tuxedo magic!
I know! Tuxedo magic.
Not to be confused with a magician in a tuxedo.
You guys—freaking tuxedo MAGIC.

Hubby and I were invited to a New Years Eve party which is as rare as a unicorn sighting but add to that the fact that it is BLACK TIE.
Ohhhhhh F.A.N.C.Y.
And completely out of our wheelhouse until they start making plaid flannel formal wear. Then we’re down for it.

Anyhow, we really like the people who invited us and we have met and actually approve of their friends (which is even rarer than a freaking unicorn—it is struck by lightning while wearing the Hope Diamond, rare), so we RSVP’d and then promptly forgot about the fact that we had to rustle up formal wear until…Tuesday.

It’s called denial. Deal with it.

Raphael’s tux was easy peasy. We rented it lock, stock, and shiny shoes in twenty minutes flat.
It was a no-brainer and he’s going to look stunning.

My outfit was going to be another story.
I fantasized about wearing the gown I was married in which isn’t a typical wedding dress, it’s a gorgeous gown that is begging for a second go-around, but that was fifteen years and ten, fifteen, twenty-ish pounds ago when my boobs resided in another zip code much farther north than they do now so I couldn’t even bring myself to try it on.

I like to avoid masochistic situations and when your Spanx tell you there’s no hope—well, you should listen.

In my imagination, (that vivid, lying scoundrel that lives inside my head), I toyed with the idea of wearing a tuxedo myself.
Not the Victor/Victoria woman in a boys tux sort of thing, no, I wanted the YSL straight from the runway, sexy-ass tuxedo Kourtney Kardashian rocked at her mother’s 60th birthday bash.
At a 90% discount. So something exactly like it but completely different.

I talked about it. I asked some people. I made some calls. There was snort-laughing and I wasn’t the one laughing so it wasn’t funny.  I decided to drop it.

As my dad used to say: “People want ice water in hell”.
Picture me standing naked and thirsty in hell begging for water, some ice, and a designer tuxedo.
Got it?
That was me the past couple of weeks—sadly misguided by an active asshole of an imagination.
We ALL know this is never going to happen.

In the midst of all this malarkey, I happened to glance across the street one day at a second-hand store. Something shiny was in the window. Something that would be perfect to wear New Years if I had the arms, legs, and body of a pipe cleaner.

Still, it stuck in my mind that a second-hand store could be my fancy wardrobe salvation.

So I waited until the last-minute, you know like you do.

Tuesday my trusty stylist and brutally honest friend Kim and I met at Wasteland.

The place smelled like hope and teen spirit and after ten minutes of pawing through dreck, Kim found the designer rack.
Little known fact: Heaven provides special, luminous spotlighting for designer racks at second-hand stores. I can’t explain it. It just does.
That spotlight led Kim directly to a black designer jacket. A tuxedo jacket. Then the matching pants. In my size you guys, I kid you NOT!

Listen. Can you hear the angels singing? (Sometimes a miracle comes with its own soundtrack.)

My heart was pounding as I raced to the dressing room fully aware of the truly miraculous nature of this find, and hoping that it wasn’t a two glass of wine and too much cheese-induced dream.

My boobs perked up. Even my Spanx were hopeful.

And it fit.
Like it was made for me. AND it was 90% cheaper than the original price. (So cheap it was FREE!) Surprise!
Even Kim, my wry, side-eye-wise-guy stylist/friend called it. Tuxedo perfection.

It was my end of the year, surprise, magical tuxedo miracle! In Studio City California for the love of God.

Note to self: If I can manifest a designer tuxedo for no money in Wasteland. Then I can manifest the “hard stuff”. I can make my own magic!

So I say dream big. Wish for a freaking designer tux to show up. Go ahead, do it! Then keep your eyes open because it’s likely to show up in the most unlikely place possible.

Happy Magical New Year and Carry on,
xox

* Oh, bless you, The Divine Danielle LaPorte! We’ve been addressing this A LOT in my life as of late.

Take a look and then get out there and enjoy your weekend my loves,

xox

Yoga isn’t going to make you impervious to criticism — because criticism bites.

Meditation doesn’t make divorce less brutal — because divorce is rough no matter how it goes down. Green juice won’t keep the creep at work away — creeps like to creep. And prayer will not make your illness less intense to deal with — physical burdens are…burdensome.

For a lot of self-helpers, and juicers, and cosmic troopers who have been at it for a while there comes a pitfall — and you can trip into it on your first hot yoga class, or after ten years of regular meditation and fervent prayer. It goes like this: If I’m doing all this spiritual work, why does shit keep happening?

Variations include, but are not limited to: I’ve worked really hard to get my ego in check, why am I still so jealous of her?… I’ve had so much therapy, why aren’t I over this yet?… Been doing my abundance mantra for 40 days, but I’m still freaked about money… Take my supplements religiously, but I keep getting sick… I totally opened my heart chakra in that weekend workshop, but like, I still think he’s a total asshole.

Spiritual practice won’t stop shitty things from happening. Here’s the truly holistic picture: Life is full of shitty things, circumstances, feelings, emotions, and people with crazy-shitty motives.

You can still get your heart broken when you’re enlightened. Illumination doesn’t spare the body — pundit Jiddu Krishnamurti dealt with wretched migraines, the beloved Thich Nhat Hanh recently suffered a debilitating stroke. Tragedies strike. Tsunamis engulf. Life hits, heals, caresses, and batters every one of us — the saints, the do-gooder’s, in sun salutations, and in repose.

But this…

Here’s what soul practice does: It helps you handle the hard stuff when it comes. Every conscious in-breath/out-breath you take carves out space in your being for the ineffable mystery. And you really need to leave room for mystery if you want to stay sane. All of your dancing, and asanas, and sweaty finish lines are making it much easier to unfold, rather than grip and grind. The prayers, the declarations, the incantations… they’re an IV drip of grace, streaming into your nervous system.

Spiritual practice won’t make you super human. But it will help you fall in love with your humanity.

You get to choose your response to even the things you can’t prevent. When you’re down on yourself because you can’t get over it, when the Creepy Creepertons are on your very last nerve, when you’re tired of being tired, or your heart is in pieces…the best

Danielle LaPorte

http://www.daniellelaporte.com/?inf_contact_key=0c40520a67c0c00592ae82ccb6d9d8984e2ec4480c14ca5f6143d580ca3d4517

It’s noon on Monday the 21st and I should be on my way to the airport as I write this. Instead, I’m eating a peach (which looks and tastes suspiciously like a cookie), and pondering the fact that we postponed, (a much more accurate and less sad-sacky word than cancelled) our motorcycle trip to Italy last week.

As I think back on the last seven days, it’s hard to deny—many, many miracles have occurred.

By Wed—Thurs of last week, almost as if by magic, reports came back from various friends and family members; “I’m feeling SO much better!” they all enthused with great…enthusiasm.

Whew, that came as such a relief.

Because they had no idea how much their health and wellbeing had been weighing on me, and the fact that I was about to go off the grid for two glorious weeks (oh, did I write that? I meant to just think it), had tied me up in knots.

So of course when we canceled, postponed the trip—everyone miraculously recovered.

Emotional shitshow on Friday—postpone trip on Saturday—Wednesday—Miraculous recoveries all around! Yeah.

By golly, isn’t that just so..so..

The same was true on hubby’s job front.
Inspectors who swore on their mother’s grave that they could not possibly show up before he left—did. These same stone-hearted men who were impervious to bribes and copious amounts of tears and shameless begging; called out of the blue—all chipper and accommodating—showed up on time the next day (gasp) and passed not only the rough electrical—but the framing as well. (You have no idea what a big, hairy deal this is. I called the Vatican to have this miracle sanctioned, only to be told the Pope is really busy right now—something about Cuba).

Anyhow, refunded vacation money started to show up in our accounts.
Wait.
What?
Refunded money you say?
I know! We even got $1000 of our motorcycle deposit back. From Italians. All the way in Italy.
Miracles #2, 3 & 4.

Long suffering lumber showed up. Drywalling commenced. Lions and lambs lay down together and I lost three pounds!
Tuesday it even rained a big, sloppy, tropical rain—in California.
Well, now you’re just showing off.
More miracles?
Will it never end?

Laughter even made a brief appearance in our home over the weekend. (Don’t get excited, it was a guffaw really—we’re not out of the woods yet).

But it sure started to feel like it.
How about this unexpected side effect? So many things started to right themselves that it made it hard for disappointment to enter the picture.

Here’s the thing you guys, we made one really hard decision.
We stopped the bleeding that was killing the lead-up to our trip.

We called it. (I’m big on doing this now when something ends because I think attention must be paid)

Our Splendid Italian Vacation. Time of Death: 8 a.m. Saturday September 12, 2015.

Another miracle? Did it resurrect in three days? Nope—The vacation will have to wait—But our life did.

It turned its badass self around and starting behaving more like our wondrous, well oiled, things-always-work-out-for-us life again.

“Things are going so well, maybe we shouldn’t have cancelled”, hubby announced over lunch on Saturday.

Is he fucking kidding?

If we hadn’t called it quits I’m convinced the shitshow would still be in town.
And if we were still flying out today—I can guarantee you that the wings would fall off the plane.

Carry on,
xox

*HAPPY SUMMER SUNDAY YOU GUYS!
After the week many of us have had, I felt like I needed to show you this recent post from Danielle LaPort. I need the reminder. Shit storm, followed by a miracle. The natural order of things. Good reminder. Whew!
Carry on,
xox

You’re on the verge of a miracle. #Truthbomb elaborations

A Course In Miracles defines a miracle as “a shift in perception.” I love that, because that definition covers a lot of bases. You can choose to believe in spontaneous healing and create a physiological miracle. Or you can simply decide to forgive someone you thought you’d never, ever forgive. “It’ll take a miracle,” you might have thought. But often, the miracle comes from within. And you can create that miracle anytime by changing your mind about something. Let it be easy. Let it be grand. Let it be now. Let it be so.

~Danielle LaPort

I saw it when I opened the drawer to get my gardening gloves yesterday.

I was cleaning up after the wind. He has made quite a mess in both my front and back yards the last few days. A fine layer of dirt covering every surface. Leaves, twigs, feathers and discarded cigarette butts lay strewn around and piled up in corners.

We don’t smoke.

My Muse does, so I suppose they’re hers. I’ll have to look for the telltale red lipstick.

The wind always does this the day AFTER the gardener comes. NEVER the day before. He has a twisted sense of humor, he thinks it’s ironic.

It always starts the same way. I pick up a stray piece of trash that has found its way onto the porch. I’m usually in my morning get-up of a combination of pajamas, sweats and flip-flops. Next thing I know, it’s four hours later and I’ve cleaned the gutters and power washed the place. I loose complete track of time and ruin my manicure. This time, about an hour and a half in, it occurred to me to get my gloves.

Sometimes I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed.

So…..I open the drawer of a little table outside.
It sits under the dining room windows and contains a trowel, clippers, gloves and other assorted yard taming junk.

And there it was……a perfect bird’s nest. Tucked inside this shallow drawer, next to a box of stick matches.(see photo).

My heart skipped a beat as I just about lost my mind with delight.

The thing is, I collect birds nests. I have a couple of hummingbird and five or six regular ones of various sizes.

I also believe they’re good luck. It’s a positive sign.
Protection…safety…being looked after.
Shit. Who doesn’t want that?

My husband just shakes his head.
Hey honey — Don’t be a buzz kill.

So many things crossed my mind as I gently removed it from its perfect hiding place.
The mama did a magnificent job.

It was big and warm and cozy. It’s a masterpiece, that nest-in-a-drawer. Truly one of Mother Nature’s miracles.

I remember seeing her, this tiny mama bird, outside the window, gathering bits of home building materials while singing her lovely melody. I’ve decided she’s my hero.

I sit every day writing, just on the other side of her temporary home. I could hear the babies. A couple of weeks ago, they were so vocal I went out and looked up in the trees for a nest. It never occurred to me to look in the drawer.

Note to self: I’ve GOT to develop an imagination. That bird has really raised the bar around here.

Two days ago I came across the body of a little tiny baby bird in another part of the yard. It was right under a tree and I could see the remnants of its nest high above my head. That baby had not fallen out. It was pushed. Probably by a crow.

The crows can be jerks. They dive bomb my dogs. I’ve seen them bully the smaller birds.

That made the nest-in-a-drawer even that much more ingeniously resourceful.
“Not on my watch, asshole” was the message it sent.

Don’t you love nature?
Don’t you love tenacious mothering?
Don’t you love gifts, beautiful little surprises?
I do.

This was a great reminder to appreciate the little things in life. If we are present and look closely, they are all around. These tiny wonders.

And….one more reason to love Saturdays.

Xox

Post Script: I’m reprising this post from last May because I opened the drawer this past Saturday to find she had built the second nest-in-a-drawer in as many years.(See below) I’m dying to meet her and take her for coffee. Honest to God, she’s my hero.
Carry on,
xox

Another giant masterpiece found this week. I am rich in bird’s nests.
(yelp)

Hello my Peeps!
Just wanted to share a quick message. Yep. I got a message from the Universe yesterday.
But I’m getting ahead of myself, because I love this stuff, and I’m excited.

This shit NEVER gets old! I’m telling’ ya!

So as you’ve read, I’ve been a bit blue lately, and I’ve just kinda been following it.
Yesterday, at the car wash I had an Ah Ha moment. You know, just like you do at a car wash.
Complete clarity (and a clean windshield).
It hit me like a bolt of lightning!
I knew what it was! Some old, childhood, feelings had been triggered. I could even identify them.

Security and stability, or lack thereof, and feeling dis-empowered as an eleven year old girl.

Then I had the realization that those feeling were like a program running in the background of my life, and just like what happens with your computer, it was slowing things (energy) down.

Eureka!

Now I’m going to be uncharacteristically non-specific with the rest of the details – for now.
But I know I’m on the right track. You wanna know how I know?

Later in the day I spotted an unopened 2014 calendar of inspirational sayings that was laying on my office desk. It had been hiding its inspiration under a stack of papers and old files. I grabbed the now useless box to throw it away, and then decided to have one last crack at it before it became garbage.

I opened it up, asked it what I needed to know, running my thumb rapidly through the entire year.
When it randomly stopped, I pulled out the page to take a look. What wisdom did 2014 have for me?

“Are you kidding me?!”

Well, that’s a picture of the page above. I’m covered with goosebumps again, just like I was at that moment.

As many times as this has happened to me – it NEVER gets old!

There are signs EVERYWHERE, letting you know if you’re on the right track.
Sometimes all ya gotta do is ask.

Love you guys, Have a great weekend!
Carry on,
xox

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

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

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

This year was pivotal in a couple of ways.

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

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

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

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

I helped him refine his taste in jewelry.

You’re welcome Amal.

I’m telling you, we had it.

Oh timing…you are a cruel opponent.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Whoo Hoo! Come on 2015!
Xox

“There’s been a fire in a radar facility causing the shutdown of O’Hare and Midway airports” the newscaster reported on the news early Friday morning.

“Raphael!” I yelled down the hall, smelling the coffee he was busy brewing to give us the morning jolt we needed, “you’ve gotta see this.”

I was soaking wet after just getting out of the shower, it was 5am and we were scheduled for a 9am flight to Chicago.

The weatherman was making a stupid joke with the helicopter reporter.
‘Get back to that O’Hare fire’ I said aloud to the TV, but they ignored me and cut to traffic.

We checked our flight status online and made sure we’d get the texts of any updates, and continued to get ready.
Since everything with United Airlines looked okay, we braved the 405 freeway and headed toward the airport. It would take us a fat hour with traffic.
Can I just take a minute to marvel with you, at the amount of traffic that’s already on the road at 6:30am?
Gridlock.

I gotta say, Carmagedddon was totally worth it – God bless the diamond lane.

We left the car in Lot C, took the shuttle to the terminal and the morning was going so smoothly at that point, I’d forgotten about the Chicago debacle.

As we entered Terminal 7, a smiling United Airlines representative met us at the door.
“Good morning, can I direct you anywhere? Where are you headed?”

“Chicago” we both said at the same time. (Jinx, he owes me a coke)

She dropped her smile, “Oh, those flights are all cancelled, you might as well go home.”

Raphael took out his phone “but I haven’t gotten any texts about that, I’ve been checking the status.”
Just then, on cue, a text came in: Delayed until ten, it said.

That was news to the rep. “The board has all flights to the Midwest cancelled…”
The three of us were now all looking at the Departure board, Cancelled had turned to Delayed – it was news to her.
“The situation is obviously very fluid” she sputtered, getting on her walkie talkie looking thing.
As we went around her, toward security, I suggested she might want to stop telling people to go home, yet, that’s what I heard her doing as we wheeled away.

Observation #1
Some people just can’t operate “off book” and highly fluid situations throw them for a loop. Even though the board had changed, no one had verbally informed her yet, so she was sticking to her story.

I wonder how many people turned around and went home when she met them at the door?

Which brings me to Observation #2.
Don’t be a lemming.
Lemmings don’t think for themselves, they will literally follow the leader off a cliff. Assess a situation, ask around, determine the best course of action – FOR YOU. When people meet you at the door and tell you to go home…
Just don’t be a lemming.

We breezed through security, (although they did pull me aside to be swiped down and frisked; as the clear security threat that I am) and went to our gate.
DELAYED – 10 am DEPARTURE.
People were milling around in various stages of discombobulation.

Observation # 3
People don’t like change. In general and especially while traveling. I’ve always found change inevitable while traveling, and some of the biggest detours have provided the best experiences.

We left all the screaming and crying and gnashing of teeth behind, and went to sit and eat a civilized breakfast since we had an additional hour to kill.

As we ate, I could see the the BREAKING NEWS ticker on CNN talking about the fire in Chicago. Over seven hundred flights had been cancelled.
We were in good spirits. The trip to Chicago was for a big party. It wasn’t the end of the world if we didn’t get there.

Right then and there we decided to take it out of United Airline’s hands and leave it up to the Universe.
We high five’d it. It felt like a relief.

We received a text as we finished our coffee, it read: your flight has been cancelled, we have re-booked you on a flight to Houston and then a transfer to Chicago. You will arrive at 10 am TOMORROW.

Yeah, no way.

The customer service line was three hundred people long. I’m not kidding.

Again, it was NOT a happy place.
Another frazzled United rep with a computer thingy was going down the line, asking people where they were headed and apparently trying to re-route them.

“Chicago? Yeah, you’re not going to get there today” she gingerly informed the couple ahead of us.
They were upset. Chicago was home, and they just wanted to get home.
“We got a text that we’ve been re-booked through Houston” my husband interjected while the rep was looking at her shoes, feeling helpless.

“Oh, well, I guess just go to the kiosk and enter your confirmation number and you should be able to check on that.”
So we did.

Observation #4

Sometimes the Universe sends angels. They can appear as a harried Airline representative – and a kiosk.

At the kiosk, after entering the thirteen letters and numbers that had confirmed our now cancelled flight, up popped our names and the Houston/Chicago re-route.
It appeared in that moment that it was going to take us over 24 hrs to get to the Windy City.

Then it appeared; down on the bottom left hand side of the screen, an unobtrusive little button: OTHER OPTIONS

I pressed it and a miracle occurred.
LAX – CHICAGO O’HARE – 11am – arrival – 4:45pm

We looked at each other; I pressed CONTINUE

PICK SEATS 
What?! There were seats on a flight that left today? In an hour and a half?

Everyone was telling us to go home, or circumnavigate the globe to end up in Chi-town.
It looked like there were about twelve seats available. Really? That didn’t seem feasible.
We picked two in the exit row (with the extra leg room for my six foot three big handsome) crossed our fingers, toes and eyes and hit CONTINUE

The kiosk did a little dance and then spit out two perfectly miraculous boarding passes – just like that.

We were literally right next to three hundred really aggravated people, in line being told they had no options.

We couldn’t believe our good fortune until we were sitting in our seats, taxiing down the runway. Then we toasted with Ginger Ale.

Observation #5
You can jump on the bad news, why me, aggravation bandwagon, take NO for an answer, and go home; OR you can give the F’d up situation to something more powerful than the airlines, not even break a sweat, and wait for the miracles to occur. We choose the latter.

I’m writing this in my seat on a very full flight (so other people obviously got the Universal memo) and I’m feeling very blessed and NOT *overclamoured.

*one of my new friends from our flight, Derek, made up this word about the mood in the airport today; we loved it so much he’s entering into the Urban Dictionary. Look for it 😉

When have you felt overclamoured and turned it around? Did you get a miracle?

Sending Chicago Love,
Xox

That evening’s Chicago sunset