Uncategorized

Tomorrow I’m having an organ removed.

The organ is my uterus.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Carry on,
xox

Hi guys,

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

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

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

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

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

We all need to remember that!

Carry on,
xox

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

Get up, and make coleslaw instead.

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

Don’t do that, make coleslaw instead.

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

Get up and make coleslaw instead!

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

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

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

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

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

But let’s flip it around, shall we?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Their achievements surpass even their wildest dreams!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

http://www.elephantjournal.com/2017/01/rare-astrological-event-all-of-the-planets-align-turn-direct-its-time-to-leap/?__prclt=ituSQnbi
.

When the state of my world seems turvy topsy and I find myself feeling blue, I like to go to the movies in the middle of the day, BY MYSELF. There, in the dark, from my seat in the very middle of the back row—I find solace. I can weep openly at the sad parts, the not so sad parts, and the previews while shamelessly appreciating my shriveled movie house hot dog drowning in mustard as if were an overpriced piece of wagyu beef.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I have to say, I was shocked.

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

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

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

I’ll take it.

Carry on,
xox

“They say that anger is just love disappointed.” ~ Lyrics from “A Hole In the World” by The Eagles

You know its funny; and not in the haha way, more the ironic variety, that the times when I’m in emotional pain, when I should be writing—I can’t.

My friend the Book Mama says: write when you’re bleeding.
I find myself too busy at triage, what with the tourniquets and numbing agents to have anything at all coherent, let alone pithy to say and I know you all expect yourselves some pith from me.

How do these other folks do it?

Some people are great at it. Brilliant really.

Liz phucking Gilbert got rich off of it for chrissakes.
Glennon Doyle Melton, hello?
Hemingway was in constant emotional turmoil while he crafted his gorgeous prose.
Nora Ephron cried the entire time she wrote the hysterically funny book about her cheating husband who fell in love with her friend—while she was pregnant.

My trials and tribulations are not nearly as epic as any of theirs — yet I find myself uncharacteristically silent.

December was the cruelest of bitches as months go and like any good bitch she pulled at my hair and held my face underwater during our wet t-shirt catfight.

All bets were off. Nothing was fair. I was caught off guard—blindsided. And just to make matters worse the timing sucked because, well, you know, Christmas…

I hate feeling bad at Christmas and will do almost anything to fa la la my way out of it. This year there weren’t enough fa la la’s on the planet to keep my head above water.

I know many of you guys felt the same.

I’ve talked to a few of my friends, the ones who have a high tolerance for uncontrolled sobbing, and they’ve shared their stories of various friends and family members who seem to have been possessed by an intolerant, angry, asshole who blamed them for all of their angst. Lots and lots of disappointed love.

Did any of you experience this phenomenon?

This December I lost my shine. Someone I love held me solely responsible for everything that went wrong for them in 2016.—and in a fit of rage they became my judge, jury and executioner.

Oh yeah, and Happy Holidays!

My friend Kim suffered the same fate. Her best friend stopped speaking to her for no apparent reason and then that friend’s husband publicly shamed Kim on social media where, at the end of a Facebook diatribe, he actually said Happy Holidays. Can you even believe that? “We are morbidly disgusted and disappointed in you and we can no longer bring ourselves to speak to you. Happy Holidays!”

WTF people?

I don’t know about you all but I have my own fallen expectations and disappointments I don’t need anybody to pile theirs on top—thank you very much. Besides that, I think there should be ground rules for raging. Stick with the “I feels” and stay away from the “You ares” because later on, when the dust has settled, no matter how much you try to walk back the things you said—they cannot be unheard or unfelt.

Words are powerful things. They are the first weapons drawn in a battle. And if they’re aimed just right (and they always are by the people who know us the best), they find all of the tender spots and in the process—they kill love.

I felt sliced and diced in December which left me at a loss for words. Maybe they seeped out of all the little holes left behind. Maybe I’ll still be sweeping up consonants and vowels from the cracks of my floor in July. I don’t know. What I DO know is that I will do what I always do—what WE always do—right ladies?

I’ll lick my wounds, pull up my big-girl panties, find my words, and eventually look for the miracle in the mess. A big juicy one lives there I’m sure.

Until then you can find me scarfing down anything chocolate that isn’t nailed down and plotting my revenge (kidding. Maybe…).

Here’s hoping this finds you all happily eating salad.

Carry on,
xox

Hey you guys,
This is from last year, but we did it again a couple of days ago on New Years morning.

A couple we love was staying with us so before I would agree to serve them breakfast — we gathered up some scraps of paper and scribbled notes to ourselves. I’ve noticed that hungry people in pajamas will do whatever you ask of them.

We wrote down things we want to change, things that went well, single words that hold a charge, sayings that carry magic, curse words, blessings and more. Then we chanted some incantations and danced naked (well, maybe only I did that), and into the fire they went!

Instant Resurrection wth a side order of transformation. Brought to us by fire.

I highly encourage you all to do the same. Because who doesn’t need some resurrection? Especially after surviving 2016 ( the year that was supposed to be unbearably light.)

Carry on,
xox

Goddamn, I love rituals. Beginnings and endings. Marking time. Rites of passage.

I figure that love seeped into my DNA after sitting in a smokey Catholic church inhaling Frankincense for pretty much my entire youth (it may also explain a ton of other crazy attributes I’d rather not go into).
What it DOES explain is my obsession with incense, focused prayer, incantations, and human sacrifice. Well, that and the fact that I’m certain I had a past life as some kind of mystical druid sorceress taken right out of the pages of Mists Of Avalon.
Or better yet, Merlin.
But more likely the medieval court jester who wore a silly hat, sported pointy shoes with bells and lived under a bridge with the trolls.

Anyhow, I decided to take everything that had to do with my failed business and burn it.
A perfectly legal Ritual Sacrifice. Of paperwork. Paperwork that held power over me.

2015 was the year of dealing with paperwork. I would have rather had a root canal without Novocaine.
I finally found it in me to throw what merchandise remained into an auction and dissolve the corporation which had been insolvent for several years but had retained a kind of sick sentimental place in my heart—like a shitty high-school boyfriend or a threadbare flannel nightgown.

I basically broke up with ATIK. It was time. Actually, it was way past time.

The relationship had become unbalanced. In a nutshell, it had become completely, horribly and totally dysfunctionally one-sided. I was doing all the emotional heavy lifting, holding the history of our love together while Atik went on an extended five-year vacation with a stripper named Trixie, forgetting my name and the fact that we once meant the world to each other.
Oh well, shit happens.

Once the litigation shitastrophy dust had settled I was left with a HUGE satchel that I’d been toting around for years filled with tons and tons of legal fuckery.
It was heavy in all the ways you can imagine and others you cannot. It lived in a shed in the backyard as physically far away from me as sadistic legal paperwork feels comfortable and even though it’s my office— I seldom went back there. I hated that thing.

So I decided to burn the contents as a ritual releasing of the old dragged-behind-a-car energy of 2009-2012 in order to move on.

2016—The Year of Unbearable Lightness. Burn that shit and get on with it!

So I did.

I had to let it go. Stop life-support. Kill it. Put us both out of our misery.

Time of death of Atik Inc. 12 p.m. December 26, 2015.

After quickly going through the toxic waste of debauchery to make sure I wasn’t, in my haste to dance naked in the flames, torching something important, I started the gas in my fireplace, set my intention “DO NOT EVER Darken My doorstep with your toxic bullshit AGAIN!” (I cleaned that up. It was much worse than that).

And then I said thank you to the worst thing that has EVER happened to me for all of the valuable insights and gifts it has delivered. I really did you guys but it’s taken me six years to get there.

Then I squealed with unabashed joy as I watched it go up in smoke. All of it.

My husband came in from outside and said the smoke smelled really bad. Oh, I bet it did.

That paperwork held so much sadness and failure and hopes dashed. It was filled with terse language and mean words. Horrible words. Words that cut me to the core. Words that human beings should never say to each other. Mad words. Words filled with rage wrapped in legalese.

I’m surprised the smoke didn’t get all Voldemort and come back inside the house and strangle me. I’m telling you, that was a satchel full of failure and it wanted to finish me.

But, I have already risen from the ashes—I am FREE.

I may have a had a little help with my pyro-ritual. There may have been a fellow recovering broken-hearted soul who was throwing his/her “annus horribilis” into the fire right beside me.

So now WE are free.

I cannot recommend this ritual highly enough.

Please, please consider doing this with anything toxic from your past. You don’t need a fireplace! I did it many years ago to free myself from a relationship whose grip I could not escape. I just put a large metal pot in the kitchen sink and lit a match burning all the old photos and letters. Many years later I did it again in my backyard on a rainy night (you may remember that post).
http://www.theobserversvoice.com/wp-admin/post.php?post=1877&action=edit

Fire is healing.
Smoke is healing.
Endings are healing.
Rituals are healing.
Starting a new year feeling lighter is healing AND freeing.

And I’ve come to realize I’m a bit of a pyromaniac.

Love you all & Carry on,
xox

Ruby supervises the process about half-way through.

My friend Michele wrote this to all of her friends recently and I have to say, right on my sista from another mister!

Carry on,
xox

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he didn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Merry Christmas everybody!
Xox