writer

Mary Widdicks is an incredibly hilarious, very successful fellow blogger who’s topics are family and kids. She has generously agreed to allow me to guest blog. How cool is that? Please check it out. Thanks Mary!

Xox Janet

http://outmannedmommy.com/2014/05/26/motherhood-calling/

Mary Widdicks is a 31 year old mother of two boys. Once a cognitive psychologist, she now spends her time trying (and failing!) to outsmart her kids. She is the writer behind the humorous parenting blog Outmanned (www.outmannedmommy.com), where she turns for entertainment when she can’t take any more fart jokes or belching contests. Her work has been featured on parenting sites such as Mamapedia, Mamalode, and Scary Mommy. She is a regular contributor on BLUNTmoms, has been honored as a 2014 Voice of the Year by BlogHer, and is currently a finalist for The Indie Chicks’ Badass Blogger of the Year award.

When I was working in Estate Jewelry, we had a bench jeweler, David, on the premises.
He had a set up, kind of like the glass blowers have at Disneyland. He worked in a veritable fishbowl. There he sat, in a glass enclosed booth at the front of the store, working his alchemy with his torch and tools.
When people would drop off their repairs, especially a badly damaged engagement ring, David would put his other jobs aside and get to work. The woman would then press her nose against the glass to watch. I would walk over, put my arm around her shoulder and gently shepherd her away. 

“Oh, you don’t want to watch this.” I’d whisper. “Go get a coffee and come back in an hour or so. Better yet, I’ll call you when it’s ready.”
She’d kinda look at me funny, wondering if I was serious, and then, when she saw the look on my face, she’d hand me her number, grab her purse and go.
I knew that while she was gone, all hell was going to break loose on that bench.

I was being kind. I was sparing her the horror that watching the process would undoubtedly cause her. I also didn’t want to pick tiny pieces of broken glass out of David’s hair, after she jumped through the window to strangle him.

What I knew, from years of observation was this: During the process of fixing, rebuilding and restoring the ring to its former glory, it was going to get ugly. And by ugly, I mean the catastrophic results of the biggest shit storm you’ve ever seen. There would be broken bits and diamonds scattered everywhere, as he deconstructed it. At a certain point it wouldn’t even resemble anything close to a ring. It would look like a pile of platinum scrap with some shiny bits. It used to horrify me, in the beginning, when I would walk over to check on the progress of a repair. I’d gasp and stop dead in my tracks with my hand over my mouth and tears in my eyes.
And I was a jeweler.
No one should have to watch that kind of carnage. It’s cruel.
I wanted to save clients THAT experience.
David explained that in order to build it stronger, he had to tear it down and basically start over. Not just anyone could get away with that. He was a sorcerer, my Merlin, he preformed feats of incredible alchemy and he was a master at antique jewelry restoration. When I eventually handed the ring back to the client, it looked good as new, actually….better.

No civilian is allowed to watch a surgery, that is reserved for other doctors, and the reason is the same. During the “putting you back together” portion of the procedure, there are blood and guts all over the place. It doesn’t look like the patient could possibly live.
It appears that there are too many guts OUT of the body, to go back IN the body. Too much blood loss to survive. We would puke, and then faint in our own puke; so they save us the stress and humiliation and hand us back a cleaned up, sewed up, repaired, person…… Better than new.

I was having lunch today with a friend, and I told her I feel as if lately, I’m at the jewelers bench or on operating table, and I’m watching the carnage of the rebuilding of my life. It’s in the ugly stage of reconstruction, with bits lying everywhere. It looks NOTHING like my former life. And I’m not being a pro about it today.
I’m the novice, gasping with my hand over my mouth and tears in my eyes, in complete terror.
I know better.
I would tell YOU to avert your eyes.
I need to look away.
It seems like a shit pile right now, but it will be good as new soon……..probably better.
I AM a pro and experience is on my side.

*What happens if you have something left over after you put all the guts back into someone? Is it like the two extra screws that remain behind, and don’t seem to belong anywhere?
Just wondering…….carry on.

Xox 

Sometimes, no, often, nope, daily, I get overwhelmed inside my wonderful life.
It’s wonderful on paper, and I juggle as fast as I can to keep up the charade.
It’s nothing that is overtly obvious, but I know that this house of cards could come crashing down at any minute. That, or my head will explode. I’m not certain which will come first, so I think I’ll just out myself, with the knowledge that I’m probably not alone.

Are you waiting for some epic admission? Too bad.
It’s nothing major, just SO MANY little things that add up. Like dripping water on my forehead.

I have many addictions. Thankfully, they will NOT be the death of me……unless I slip and fall on melted chocolate.
But some of them frustrate the hell out of me.

I have a coffee table book addiction. I have since before I owned a coffee table.
Between those and all the novels and best sellers, it looks like a freaking library in here. Here’s the thing. If I divide how many hours I’ve been alive by the hours it would take to read all these books….it’s never gonna happen. Most are partially read. I can see scraps of paper sticking out that I grabbed and used as a bookmark, half or three quarters of the way through.
I will need to reincarnate to get caught up.

I also confess to a magazine addiction and I have the good fortune to have numerous subscriptions. I’ve even culled the lot, trying to be realistic about what feels relevant enough to take the time to read. No more Allure or People for me. Alas, the stack still grows larger and more daunting by the day. It’s like they posses the ability to reproduce. One Elle Decor turns into three, and when I look again; there are five. Same with my O magazines. I have every unread issue back to January, which I briefly scanned and became aware of the fact that I hadn’t lost that “pesky ten pounds of holiday weight,” because I hadn’t yet read the article.

Why do I even continue to get the decorating or “shelter” magazines? My lifestyle store closed, and my house is decorated within an inch of its life. It is not realistic for me to lust after a house in Marrakech or to muse over a $4000 toilet. My favorite shelter mags were Domino and Better Homes And Gardens, and they went out of business. So now I’m left with House Beautiful and Elle Decor. House Beautiful still has too much chintz for my taste, and Elle Decor can be annoying. Like a super model telling me she can eat whatever she wants and never work out or diet. They make fabulous look too easy.

To further prove my inadequacy, there is a stack of unread books on my night stand.
It includes Fifty Shades of Grey. Sadly, I can’t even find time for the lady porn.
All I’m going to say is: I start out with the best of intentions. I want to stay current, and sound smart at parties. I can’t remember the last time I read the book BEFORE I saw the movie. Sometimes I lie.
There must be 25-30 partially read books on my iPad. If I start reading one of those before bed, the others, on the nightstand, stage a mutiny. There must be some kind of seniority or Union I’m not aware of. 

When I really want to rub salt in my wounds, I glance over at the pile of unopened mail. Nothing important, really; no checks or anything. I have a way of sniffing those out.
Nope, the pile consists mostly of health insurance notifications. If Anthem doesn’t have a check in its hot little hands on the first of every month, they send me a notification that I’ve entered a 30 day grace period. It’s my little game.
I have an automatic payment set to pay them on the third.
Fuck em. I like living in a state of perpetual grace.

The rest of the pile is just stuff that needs to get filed…….when I’m good and ready.

I realize these are “white people problems”. I’m too busy writing to read.
Oh, Boo Hoo.
It makes me laugh when I get plugged up about this stuff because I realize how fortunate I am to not have to worry about clean water or my immediate survival. That is, until the nightstand books, that unsavory bunch, figure out how to kill me while I sleep.

What are the things that pile up around you and drive you crazy? Do YOU have stacks of unread books ,magazines and mail? Any suggestions to quell my addiction? I’d LOVE some suggestions!

Xox

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

—Michele Longo O’Donnell

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Carry on,
Xox

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

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

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

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

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

Then I wised up.

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

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

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

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

That you have to get sober to start the turnaround.

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

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

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

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

Believe me, I’ve tried.

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

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

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

Xox

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

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

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

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

THIS TOO SHALL PASS.

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

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

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

Xox

The Vessel Of Divine Mischief
This was on Caroline Myss’ Facebook page yesterday morning. She posts a prayer daily. I follow her because; well; because she rocks. I’ve read all her books and I’ve seen her speak many times. Her writings and lectures prompt profoundly deep and thoughtful soul work. It is neither frivolous nor trite. It is not for the dabbler. I know her to be easy to laugh in person, but not a cut up….AT ALL. There is no inner stand up comedian seeking an audience in Caroline. That’s why I loved this Soooooooo much.

Caroline’s Daily Prayer:
Today I ask for the courage to be a holy troublemaker, a vessel of divine mischief. People far too often assume that there is no humor in spiritual guidance, no “lightness in Light” but the truth is, it is we who are heavy, serious, and burdened by the fears that drape human existence. Let me be a vessel for divine mischief today.

Yes! SHAZAM! That is my mission statement. I am the vessel of divine mischief. My patron saints are:
Our Lady of Perpetual Naughtiness
Our Lady of Divine Irreverence
Our Lady of the Perpetual Potty Mouths
And finally: Our Ladies of General Bitchiness, Brattiness and Snarkiness
My divine mission is to deliver spiritual humor, because this shit can be mind numbingly serious. Don’t get me wrong, I have a deep respect for the material, I just think the delivery system can be lightened up a bit.
Yesterday, I went on WordPress Reader to look up the category of Spiritual Humor.
That is how I tag my blog. I wanted to see what the other vessels of divine mischief were up to. Guess what? I’m the only one.
What?
How can that be?
No other Holy Troublemakers?
That’s all at once awesome……and a crime.

When I first started writing, a year and change ago, it was very different. You can go way back and look. The writing was straightforward, clear and succinct. It wasn’t the least bit funny. The muse trolled my brain for wisdom accrued and then delivered it in the written word, without any trace of my personality whatsoever.
On a motorcycle ride in September of last year, we had a very close call.
(look up Total Loss of Control, the links are not working)
I was still posting every day, so I told the muse to write about the experience. She put out her cigarette in her gin and tonic, gave me the once over and told ME to write it: In my own words. People dig that shit.
Gulp

As I’ve continued to use more of my own life experiences and continue to write in my own voice, that naughty, sassy, funny part of me has shown up.
I’ve become the vessel of divine mischief.
What I write may sometimes be inappropriate and I might not appeal to everyone. Do I want to appeal to everyone? Most certainly not.
I’ve gotten the courage to be the Holy Troublemaker for all the world to read.

When I tell people at dinner parties that I write a Spiritual Humor blog, they look……relieved.
“Don’t get me wrong, I love Deepak, Eckart and Marianne, but man, they can be intense.” they’ll lean in and whisper, while chewing in my ear.
I agree. This was the blog I wanted to read, so I had to write it.
People DO dig this shit, and I dig you people.

I worship at the altar of several other writers who I think should be in the Spiritual Humor category, even the Hall Of Fame.
Anne Lamott, Tosha Siver, and Liz Gilbert. I also love anything the late Nora Ephron ever wrote. She would have killed it in this category. But at least on WordPress for right now, I have it to myself.

Tell me, do you love yourselves some spiritual humor? Since you’re here, I’m guessing you do. Does it make it easier to digest? What’s off limits? Anything?
I’d love to hear about it in the comments below.

Xox

On any given day I can come up with 3 or 4 topics to write about.
That doesn’t mean that they will ever amount to anything, and they may never see the light of day, but they are light-bulbs over my head, just the same.

Once in a while a piece will start to display iambic pentameter, and the words will fall into rhyme…so obviously THAT one will be a poem.

It never ceases to amaze me that a poem can fall out of little old 21st century me!
Poets in my mind are wild eyed, chain smoking, anti-social, angst ridden, recluses, that live in 17th century Paris or 1950’s Greenwich Village.
I am none of those things.
I’m white bread, Wonder bread really, what prose can Wonder bread write?

When poetry was given as an assignment in school, I would lobby for my parents to pick up our family and move to somewhere where the teachers were kinder, and realized their student’s limitations.
I’m sure I just over intellectualized everything I wrote, because that was my nature.

And as everyone knows, poetry doesn’t originate in your intellect!
As a matter of fact, your brain has no business, poking its nose into it!
Intellect does not compose good poetry. Intellect composes the essay you write to get into MIT, not poetry.
For that, you need to get to the heart, or better yet, the soul.

Age has helped me there. When you turn 50 you get your AARP card AND, if you’ve worked hard, and asked God really nice, a more direct route to your soul.
You won’t have to walk anymore dark alleys, or navigate a river of tears to get there.
You already have my friends, so…you’re welcome! 

The only thing God, or Source, or the Muse requires is that we share any and all
soul derived art or writing or whatever, with the world.
If you get stingy with your soul gift, it can get revoked. I don’t mean immediately, but the Universe runs a tight ship.
If you don’t suck up your courage and show at least one other person the freakin’
Haiku that you woke up and wrote, well…all bets are off!

That’s why I post a poem when I write it, on this blog.
I just close my eyes and push “post”.
It’s not my USUAL style of writing, (as if I have a “style”, ha!)
But what I’m finding out is I can be quite schizophrenic in my writing styles.
There are a bunch of voices,inmates,trying to break out of the asylum to be heard.
So I’ve decided: Who am I to deny them their long overdue freedom?

Have at it, you wild eyed poet part of me!!
Write your crazy, sometimes really poignant poems!
You know I’ll post them, because you, my creative new friend, I would miss you if you left.