admin, Author at Adulting: Second- Half

I’m Motivated to Be Inspired

After watching history’s most boring Super Bowl last night and waking up to a gray Monday, I had difficulty deciding what to write about and even more difficulty getting the gumption up to write. It seems fitting that lately I have been pondering the difference between motivation and inspiration. Today seems like the right day to ponder it on-line.

Motivation typically comes from outside forces. You feel compelled to do something because something inside of you says that you “should” do it, or you may face consequences that you don’t want. Motivation comes from a reason or a “motive” for doing something, so that you get the result that you do want. Our sources of motivation are typically external. You are motivated to get a new car, so you go to work and save your money. You are motivated to fit into your new bikini, so you go to the gym. I am motivated to write this blog post, because I have made the promise to myself and to my readers that I will write a blog post every day.

Inspiration is internally generated. The word literally means, “in spirit.” When you are inspired, some internal passion is bubbling up inside of you just screaming to come out. Inspiration typically isn’t as concerned with “the end result”, as it is something that just wants to be created, for creation’s sake. After driving away from our eldest son’s first apartment, driving away from his completed childhood, and coming to the realization that the stage of my life, that was mainly focused on raising and molding four young children, will soon be coming to a close, I was inspired to start writing my blog. I was inspired to internally and publicly explore what this stage of life means to me and to my family.

My husband asked me an interesting question the other day. He said, “Would you rather be a beacon or an icon?” I answered “Beacon,” without pause, but that is mostly because I like living under the radar. I wouldn’t want to have to wear make-up to walk out to my mailbox, for fear of paparazzi jumping out of my bushes. I like a level of anonymity. Further, I liken beacons to be like lighthouses, and I like to think that my experiences, perceptions and lessons learned, could be helpful not just to me, but to others, as well. I think that today’s day and age has way too many icons and not nearly enough beacons.

Anyway, sometimes my blog posts are just coming from motivation to stay on track, keep my promises to myself and to others, and sometimes my blog posts are so inspired, that I have jumped out of bed to jot down my ideas and have panicked when my computer doesn’t boot up fast enough, as the words seem to be spilling from my heart at record speed. I imagine my readers are perceptive enough to see the difference. It would be ideal to live life in a state of constant inspiration, but for times when that passion lies dormant, motivation is enough force to keep the train moving on the tracks, until the next spurt of inspiration comes along.

Less, Bowl, Dance

“Just for the record: happiness is not bullshit.”
― Andrew Sean Greer, Less

I picked up Andrew Sean Greer’s Less yesterday and I’m almost halfway through the book. The book is all about an aging gay writer’s last minute worldwide trip to avoid the wedding of a former lover. I have very little in common with the hero of the book, other than the hero is turning 50 and I am 48. It wouldn’t be my typical book choice ordinarily, but Less won the Pulitzer Prize. I wanted to experience what Pulitzer Prize writing is like these days and the book does not disappoint. It has been an adventure and a glimpse into a life which is very, very different from mine and yet I find Arthur Less, the book’s protagonist, to be so relate-able and easy to empathize with. Even though we are very different people, Arthur Less and me, I connect with his humanity, his humility, his fears of aging and his need to laugh at the absurdity of it all. I think as people, we are always concentrating on what makes us different, unique, special and differential from each other, because deep down, we really know that at our very cores, we are all, and in sometimes a delicate, fragile, exquisite way – very, very much the same.

Later tonight, I will watch the Super Bowl with my family and the rest of most of America. I will connect with my fellow human beings, in a vastly different way, than I am connecting right now by reading an insightful, Pulitzer Prize winning book. And yet, in both activities, I am and will be engaged, in beautiful human connection. The rapport felt when an author expresses the very feelings and thoughts that I have had churning inside of me from time to time, is very similar to the relational laughter being shared at the audacity of the funny Super Bowl commercials or just the general anticipation and excitement in the air, for the “big game” tonight.

“Sharing a life together is sharing steps in time. The music is different to each of us, but how beautiful the dance.” – Vinay

I Accept

God grant me the

SERENITY to accept the things I cannot change;

COURAGE to change the things I can; and

WISDOM to know the difference.

I think that the Serenity Prayer is one of the most important prayers ever written. It is so simple and spot on. Simple does not mean easy, but if we can master and live the serenity prayer, then it naturally follows that we have peace.

Acceptance is one of life’s most difficult lessons – especially as Americans. We are taught to be doers, achievers, hopers and believers. Acceptance has a ring of “giving up” to it, and that just goes against our DNA. But acceptance is not really giving up. It is surrendering the people and the circumstances over which we have no control, and offering them up to Bigger Hands. It’s dropping the “heavy as a boulder” bag at Bigger Feet and trusting that Bigger knows what is best. It’s asking Bigger/God/the All Knowing Universe/the All Loving/ the All Wise to give us peace among the people and the circumstances that frustrate us the most, yet we cannot change. Instead of asking for others to change, we ask for acceptance and peace, and a different perspective, amid all that we cannot change. We ask for focus on what we do have the ability to change – ourselves and the way we look at our lives.

I have so many examples in my own life when I tried to force my will, my wants, my ideas of what was best, on to people and situations that weren’t going to budge. I exhausted myself trying. Finally, in my most tired, spent moments of frustration, I knew that I had no other choice but to surrender my issues to my Higher Power. I was depleted. More often than not, when I stopped trying to fix my broken toys and I handed them to the Expert, that is when things really started turning around in my situation and I could breathe again. Often, situations got “fixed” in ways I could never have imagined, but looking back, the solutions were often miraculous and awe-striking, and nothing my limited mind would have conjured up. If I believe God to be an All Loving presence, the Creator of all that is, why wouldn’t I trust the judgment of God? God/Creation gave us free will, and in many ways, we have run a muck with our free will and really created some horrific disasters. But if we finally give those disasters over, God will turn them to Good. It’s what God does. Pain, in that sense, is a gift to us. When we finally reach our limits to Pain, is when we finally come to our senses, to hand that Pain over to be worked on by Bigger Hands. The Bigger Hands will lead us to what we need to do, to assist with our problems. Sometimes that can be as simple as looking at the problem through Bigger Eyes and seeing it in a different light.

“When you find no solution to a problem, it is probably not a problem to be solved, but rather a truth to be accepted.” – curiano.com

“Sometimes you don’t get what you want because you deserve better.” – u.fo Twitter

You See, I’m Friday

Somebody out there: You can’t make everybody happy. You’re not a taco. (seen on the internet)

Friday: Um, well, actually, yes, I can. You see, I’m Friday. (just the Truth)

Happy Favorite Things Friday! Rabbit, rabbit, rabbit, readers!!!! New readers, I don’t look beyond the surface on anything, on Fridays. Fridays, I keep it light and list three favorite products or websites or books or songs, etc. that are currently adding joy to my life. I sure do wish my readers would share their favorites in the Comments section. Hint! Hint! I’m always looking for new delights in my life. Please see previous Friday posts for more favorites. Here we go! Here we go:

Keter Easy Grow Patio Garden Planter – My husband and I both have farming in our blood. However, neither of us have the time or the inclination to do a lot of weeding or hoeing. We keep this attractive, elevated planter on our covered lanai and we grow all different lettuces, some cilantro, celery, strawberries, etc. all in this one container. It makes for delicious, fresh salads, harvested right outside of our door. It’s like an instant farm market where you don’t have to pay or wait in line. This lovely planter even has a built-in water gauge to let you know when there is too much or too little water for your lovely, giving plants. My husband researched and found this one. Great find, honey!

Charmin Toilet Paper with the Scalloped Edges – I didn’t even realize, at first, that my toilet paper had scalloped edges, but now that I do realize that it has scalloped edges, I’ll never go back to straight-edge toilet paper. I’m not sure why this brings me so much pleasure, but it does. I hope the novelty doesn’t wear off. The scalloped edges make the paper tear off so much easier and it looks so cute! As my friend likes to say, it’s the little things that make life so great!

Mids Tomato Sauce – Yes, readers, this is tomato sauce in a jar. Please forgive me for being such a mediocre cook. We have tried a lot of jarred tomato sauces in our years of being a family, and this one has become our holy grail sauce. It tastes amazing and comes in many different varieties. I can’t even be lured away by BOGO sales to buy any other tomato sauce. For all my other mediocre cooks out there, this one is for you!! Mediocre Cooks of the World, Unite!!

Happy Super Bowl Weekend, my friends!! Since the Steelers aren’t in it, I’m watching the Super Bowl for the commercials and Maroon 5!

“Let’s barely watch the Super Bowl together.” – someecards

Are You Serious?

“What is funny about us is precisely that we take ourselves too seriously.” – Reinhold Niebuhr

“Let us not take ourselves too seriously. None of us have a monopoly on wisdom.” – Queen Elizabeth II

When I was a kid, one of our favorite family past times was for my father to set up the slide projector. (the one with the round tray that would click noisily through the slides) Then, my mother, father, sister and I would laugh heartily at the old family pictures. We would giggle at the bouffant hairdos, the bad Toni perms, the funny glasses and even us kids would laugh at ourselves, with our pigtails and our bell-bottomed gauchos. Many of these pictures were just a decade old and yet, they were outdated enough, for us to find them to be laugh-out-loud hilarious. What’s even funnier, is that we were watching these slides in the 1980s with our enormous hair and shellacked bangs, in our mauve and teal-colored family room.

I have been binge watching The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel. My youngest son has watched a couple of the episodes with me and a few times he has commented on the fact that he can’t believe some of the ways that they talk on the show, or what they do and wear, really happened. He finds it to be ridiculous. The show takes place in the late 1950s. Most of us “second halfers” in adulting, have parents who were kids and young adults in the 1950s. Yet when we watch shows like Maisel and Madmen, they seem otherworldly . . . from a time long, long ago.

Bottom line is that almost everything that we consider stylish, tried and true, and important and crucial right now, is likely to seem funny, trite, silly and sometimes, even impossible to understand, in the very near future. Everything that is weighing heavy on our hearts right now, is more than likely to work itself out, to the point that we will eventually have a hard time remembering what had upset us so much. And this cycle happens many, many times over, just in our lifetimes. Why would we take anything too seriously, when we fully understand that this cycle happens, again and again?

“I don’t believe in being serious about anything. I think life is too serious to be taken seriously.” – Ray Bradbury

K-9

I hate to bombard you with dog stories, readers and friends, but hey, this is my life. This is my blog. And I have two dogs. I had to write this story down to help me to process, review and understand this unsettling true event that just happened to me. Yesterday, I took my dogs for a walk. I haven’t missed a walk with my dogs since I wrote Ralphie’s Revenge, for obvious reasons. (see previous blog post)

To give you some background, let me introduce you to my dogs. We have an adolescent male Labrador retriever named Ralphie, who might as well be named “Marley.” He’s textbook lab – high energy, HIGH energy, and overwhelmingly friendly. Ralphie is NOT at all clued in, as to when people and other dogs aren’t particularly friendly or into his friendliness and boundless energy. Finally, Ralphie is certainly not aware of his own strength. We also recently adopted a beautiful, sweet eight-month-old rough collie puppy named Josie. Josie spent her formative puppy months on a remote farm. We are trying to work with her, for her to realize “Josie, you’re not in Kansas anymore.” Actually, Josie’s from Wisconsin, but it’s the same idea. I think that she thinks that suburban Florida is akin to New York City. Josie is still getting used to anything louder and stranger than crickets. The thing about collies is that they have very skinny heads and long snouts. They humor you when they wear a collar. A collar is just “for show” when it comes to collies. Josie (as did our previous collie, Lacey) has the Houdini-like ability to slide out of her collar in seconds flat, no matter how tight you think you have it on her. I think choke collars would be pointless on collies. So the other day, when an older man got a little too close to us when we were walking, while he was driving a wee bit wobbly on his bike, Josie pulled out her collar instantly and I was left with a limp leash and an invisible dog at the end of it.

So yesterday, I was peacefully walking along with our dogs and I decided to take a side street, where I don’t typically walk along. I was enjoying myself and I just wanted to shake things up a bit. I was lost deep in thought, when out of nowhere, from a big, wide side yard, bounds an enormous German Shepherd. Now, I think German Shepherds are beautiful and in the right hands, they are probably fabulous family dogs. However, I have baggage. My husband still has a scar from being bit by a German Shepherd as a kid and I, myself, was bit by a German Shepherd right on my derriere, when leaving a small country gas station. I think that the shepherd didn’t realize that I DID pay for my gas. I am not a good Alpha when it comes to dogs. If we had a German Shepherd, or a Doberman or a Pit Bull, the first time it would show its teeth, even as a puppy, I would happily hand over, to the puppy, my house keys, and my car keys. I would offer to sleep in the garage, eat kibble, and give the puppy my steak. There is a good reason why we have a lab and a collie. They fit my temperament.

Anyway, in the split second that the ginormous German Shepherd is bounding towards us, I am flashing forward in my mind, to what I thought was going to happen. Ralphie was going to go into insane, overwhelmingly annoying mode and he was going to overpower my grip on his lead and break free. Josie was going to go into Houdini mode and quickly become fast-moving prey as she ran free from her collar, the leash and the frightening scene. Some way or another, I was going to become the German Shepherd’s dinner, trying to salvage me and my dogs. So, I started screaming loudly, “Hello!!!! Help!!! Help!!! Hello!!!” to try to preempt what was bound to happen.

Well, what actually did happen was really quite different than I had imagined. And part of me thinks that the way that I imagined it happening may have been a better, and certainly, a much less embarrassing outcome.

The German Shepherd stopped right at the edge of the yard and looked at me quizzically, as I screamed maniacally. He then turned his head back and looked at a big, huge, stern looking, macho man for direction as to what he should do about the crazy lady. The man appeared from behind a large white Bronco that I then noticed had the words, “Sheriff K-9” painted on it. So, it was just another day, on the job, dealing with high-strung crazies, for this police officer and his trusty K-9 . . . .

“Really, ma’am?!? Really?!? It’s okay,” is the what the perturbed man said to me.

I was truly horrified and mortified and everything-fied.

“I’m so sorry, officer. I’m sorry. I’m not crazy,” I stammered. “My labrador can sometimes be a big pain-in-the-ass and I was just concerned that he might trigger your dog.”

“Yes, labs (he said “labs” kind of pointedly, like he was really thinking something else) CAN be a pain-in-the-ass,” is what the police officer said to me and he looked at me and kind of sighed, probably sizing up what kind of risk I was to myself, or to my dogs or to the neighborhood. He then called his smart, Chewbacca-like companion to the Bronco and I quickened my pace home.

I’m not sure what the meaning or moral of this whole event was to me, or if there really even is, any kind of meaning or moral. I’m just happy that it’s over. And I am truly grateful for our wonderful police officers and our amazing police dogs, from the bottom of my heart. They have to put up with a lot, even when they are off-duty.

Mt. Saint Mommy

“Instant gratification takes too long.” – Carrie Fisher

My eldest son and his girlfriend came to visit us this past weekend. My eldest son and my husband have a proclivity for authentic German food and my son’s girlfriend had never tried authentic German food, so I had a plan. There is an amazing, popular German restaurant about 45 minutes from where we live, that my husband and I had been dying to try, but we couldn’t get reservations. So, I finally got reservations, way in advance to my son’s visit, for our family to go there this past weekend, as a special treat.

The restaurant is a teeny, tiny, intimate establishment run by a family from Munich. As we entered the very packed restaurant, everyone seemed surprised to see us – the guests, the hostess, the cooks, the accordion player, all had the same look that said, “What are you doing here?”

I marched up to the hostess, whose stand is kind of right in the middle of this teeny, little hobbit-like building, and right in front of the entrance of the kitchen, announcing my reservation, for my party of six. The hostess looked flustered as she fluttered through pages, in her primitive reservation notebook. She timidly admitted that they had mistakenly marked our reservation for the previous night and that there was nothing available that evening.

The restaurant got hushed. The accordion player stopped playing. I suspect some of the guests were hoping for a little drama and excitement to go along with their strudel dessert. My family started edging towards the door. You see, I don’t embarrass easily, and my family knows that about me. They saw that I was about ready to erupt. I was standing in the middle of that tiny little beehive, filled with people and gravy and strong German beer, and my explosion was imminent. I’m a very nice person, until I’m not. I have a very long fuse, but the end of my fuse is not pretty. I’m a fire sign.

Luckily, the owner of the restaurant, an efficient, calm, structured woman, saw what the end of the imminent outburst could look like, as I was firmly implanted in the middle of her restaurant, growing larger in my stature as my insides were bubbling and rising to the surface. I had given my family the “mom/wife stink eye” that made them all freeze in place before they could slide out of the door. The owner fully accepted, in that very moment, that we weren’t going anywhere, without a frenzied fuss, at the very least. Everyone in the restaurant held their breath. The accordion player’s arms were shaking from holding the instrument up in the air, suspended from play. And then, with a few orders barked out in German, the owner of the restaurant rearranged the whole seating chart of the establishment like it was an efficient game of musical chairs. She poured large, “on the house” glasses of wine, encouraging her other guests to move to other corners of the cottage and everyone happily and quickly obliged.

In the end, we had a wonderful time. The food, drink and company were marvelous. The accordion player stayed a little longer and played some particularly merry tunes. I look forward to going there again and I will put in an extra call to confirm my reservation next time. Mt. Saint Mommy didn’t erupt after all. False alarm.

“Embarrassment and awkward situations are not foreign things to me.” – Paul Rudd

Full Hearts

“I’ve always had a theory that some of us are born with nerve endings longer than our bodies.” – Joy Harjo

I’m a sensitive, spongy person. I wish that I weren’t. I try to put on a persona that I’m not sensitive. Sometimes that works, but then my weak tear dams tell a different story. I once asked a wise woman if it is a bad thing that I’m sensitive. She said, “No, it’s not bad or good. Sensitive is just what you are. Sometimes being a more sensitive person can make life a little bit harder, but it can also make life more intensely beautiful, and rewarding too.” Ah, the two sides of a coin thing . . .

“We cannot be more sensitive to pleasure without being more sensitive to pain.” – Alan Watts

Happy Monday, to all of my fellow empath friends. I appreciate your beautiful, full hearts!! I think that God gave us the gift of these delicate, yet rugged, perceptive hearts, because God knew that we could handle, enjoy and convey, the pure beautiful intensity of Life. Mondays can be rough, reflective days for us. But they also can be joyously, miraculous days, too.

“Sometimes I think,
I need a spare heart to feel
all the things I feel.” – Sanober Khan

Hey Friend

“I’ve decided my 2019 will start on February 1st. January is a free trial month.” – Daily Positive Information

My friend sent the above quote to our group chat the other day. I love it. I find it to be very true. I always feel like a racehorse at the starting gate on the first days of the year, eager to gallop towards my goals and ambitions and desired changes, but usually right around this time, I feel slowed, muddled and frustrated. I read something recently about the fact that most successful CEOs only schedule about 40-50% of their time because they are fully aware that interruptions and diversions and surprises are the likely to happen, in the course of any particular day.

It seems that when we consider our resolutions or at the very least, our intentions for the year, we sometimes get so excited that we forget that life still happens. We envision going full tilt on our dreams and visions, forgetting that all of the mundane still needs to be addressed. Haircuts, car repairs, getting sick, taxes, grocery shopping etc. are all facts of life that aren’t going to disappear so we can fully focus on just what ignites our passions. Maybe that is why resolutions/intentions are so quickly put by the wayside. Maybe it is better to start the year, fully accepting that 40-50% of our time is probably already taken up by the banal, day-to-day, need-to-dos in our lives. Our job is to make sure that we are filling that other 50-60% with the stuff that makes our hearts sing. Maybe this natural slowing down of our excitement for change and growth is a healthy thing, to make sure that we are headed in the directions that we really want to go to, in our lives.

“Hey friend, don’t you dare forget, as you are creating a new you, that there’s a whole lot about the old you that is worth keeping.” – Toni Sorenson

Ralphie’s Revenge

On Thursday, I didn’t take my usual, several miles long walk with our dogs. It started out as a rainy day and I wanted to get errands done, but also, I wanted to escape a little bit, to get away from the mundane – to get the “hell out of Dodge”, so to speak. Ralphie, our Labrador retriever, doesn’t, at all, appreciate when we miss a daily walk. He can’t speak, so he lets his anger and frustration be known, in other ways.

As my husband and I settled down on the couch, to watch The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel Thursday evening, Ralphie eyed us carefully and deliberately, up and down. He then went to his toy tub and carefully chose one of his stuffed animals. I think that Ralphie purposely picked out the newest, cutest one. He brought the stuffed animal behind the couch, where we were sitting, and he slowly and methodically, tore the poor, little, helpless stuffie, into a million little pieces. Ralphie made sure that we heard the seams ripping, and the fabric shredding effortlessly, in the clutches of his powerful jaws and sharp teeth. I tried to pretend like I didn’t notice. I feigned indifference, but I was admittedly, very relieved when Ralphie’s tooth finally pierced the poor little toy’s squeaker and I no longer had to hear its wailing squeals. Friday morning, I had a huge massacre of stuffing and crinkly paper and cloth carcass to clean up, having been mercilessly spread, all over the floor. Ralphie left the murder scene as a warning, I am sure. I couldn’t stop flashing back in my mind, to that horse head scene in the Godfather movie.

Friday, I took the dogs on a long, long walk. Ralphie, by the way, is a Dudley Labrador retriever. Dudley labs are yellow labs with pinkish-brown noses and lips, as opposed to black noses. A woman asked me about his coloring once. I told her that Ralphie is a Dudley lab. She thought that I had said that Ralphie was a “deadly lab.” When we figured out the miscommunication, we both laughed and I said, “I don’t think that there is such thing as a deadly lab!” Now . . . . I’m not so sure.