The Toenail Dialogs

If you ever want to find out what the real priorities are, on your to-do list during the holiday season, give yourself about 30 minutes less time than everything will actually take to do, and don’t figure in the unexpecteds, such as a daughter having to go to the doctor to get a strep throat swab (it was negative, thank goodness), and eldest son’s flight arriving 20 minutes early. Let’s just say, pedicure was one of the first items crossed off the list. It was interesting to watch my mind, trying to spin how to handle the chipped, grown out, faded sparkly blue polish now only about half on, my nasty toenails:

Pollyanna voice in my head – Hmmm, well, you could do your own pedicure really quick. Saves time and money! 🙂

Bitchyanna other voice in my head – Are you kidding?!? That will look even worse than how trashy it looks right now, you slobby fool. Why don’t you french braid your hair while you’re at it – ha!

Pollyanna voice in my head – Well, you can just make it a point to only wear boots, clogs and sneakers for the entire Thanksgiving break, therefore no one will know, that you aren’t so perfectly coiffed.

Bitchyanna – Sure, the kids won’t think that it is strange (and secretly start worrying about your mental health) when you are donning boots with your robe, at breakfast, and what are going to do, wear cowboy boots to the beach? You live in Florida, for goodness sake! You used to make fun of the Floridians who wear Uggs. Now YOU look like an Alaskan Inuit any time the thermometer drops below 63 degrees. Ridiculous!!

Pollyanna – Well, your priorities are in the right place. It’s good to show the kids that it is not necessary to be the picture of perfection. Love, family, turkey (and definitely stuffing) – that’s what matters.

Bitchyanna – You know dumbass, you are almost 50 right now. Learn to manage your time better. Maybe start by spending less time in your head, having a wacky dialog between two fake personas, about your damn toenails. Just a thought . . . .

Me (with my personalities, all integrated back into the reality of the moment) – OMG! I have to get to the airport now. Stat. What’s the next, non-necessity thing that I can take off of the list?!? Can I cover up the mildew smell with Febreeze on the damp clothes in the washer if I don’t put them into the dryer until I get back?!

Pollyanna and Bitchyanna – Well, here we go again . . . .

As the Mother Goes

“I hope this year has a good ending.” – FofF (Twitter)

Me, too. On a side note, I love the author’s pen name, “FofF”. Our wonderful lawn maintenance guy is named Ed. His business is called Ed’s. Whenever we need him to do something extra in our yard, I love to say out loud, “I need to call Ed of Ed’s!” It just cracks me up for some reason. I even look for things for Ed to do, so that I can say out loud, “I need to call Ed of Ed’s!”

This weekend I got a little friendly reminder/kick in the pants from a girlfriend on a text chat. We were all ranting about everything that we have to do for the holidays. Now this friend has been mothering for about a decade longer than I have, and she even has a grandchild. She is very wise. She said something to the effect, “Ladies, we only get so many
Thanksgivings and Christmases in our lives . . . . As the mother goes, so does the holiday.”

It’s so true, isn’t it? Who can’t relate to the saying, “When Mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy”? Perhaps focusing a little less on what needs to be done and more so, on who needs to be loved (including ourselves), would make the holidays even more pleasant and memorable for everyone. Of course on that same chat, another friend quoted an article that was discussing a study that showed that socializing with extended family and friends makes the average person long for peace and quiet within 3 hours and 54 minutes.

So while socializing this holiday season, after about 4 hours or so, (a little less or a little more, depending on how introverted or extroverted you may be), here is my prescription for you (and for me). Go to your special place, by yourself, ideally outside in nature, but perhaps you can just conjure it up in your mind. Take some deep breaths and take ” . . .time to step out into a season – something to do with what John Muir called ‘washing your spirit clean.’ ” (Robert Genn) I think that taking the time to “washing your spirit clean” would be an excellent gift to give to ourselves and thus, it naturally becomes an extended gift, that of being of clean spirit, as we spend time over the holidays, with the people whom we love and cherish.

*****FYI, from Wikipedia:

John Muir also known as “John of the Mountains” and “Father of the National Parks”, was an influential Scottish-American naturalist, author, environmental philosopher, glaciologist, and early advocate for the preservation of wilderness in the United States of America.

Sunday Soul

This year is different

I’m trying to put a definition on something that has never been.

I am trying to fit the new

into old, worn out, torn boxes.

How do you live outside of a long experienced paradigm

Completely?

Elon Musk and his triangle truck

Inspiration.

Readers, I have decided to turn Sundays into “Sunday Soul” and to play around with poetry on my Sunday posts. It feels strange to me because it is not something I have spent a lot of time doing. Trying to write poetry, when you never really have, is kind of like going to your first pottery or painting classes. I don’t have my footing. I don’t really know what I am doing, but I am enjoying the experience. It feels lonely up here in the blogspot. I sure wish you guys would play around with some poetry in the Comments section. It can be our own neat little virtual coffee house poetry reading, every Sunday.

So, I hope you don’t mind the format change. Unless I have something truly pressing on my mind that must come out in prose form, Sundays here are Adulting – Second Half are dedicated to poetry. I hope the rest of your day flows rhythmically, and softly, peacefully and profoundly and poetically . . . . .

Open, Honest and Real

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In this day and age, the above principle is a tough ship to navigate. I feel like I know three camps of people: people who epitomize the acronym “TMI” and let it all hang out, to just about everyone they see, meet or greet in real life and on-line, and then they are utterly shattered when they are used or taken advantage of; then there are the people who are so private, so completely protected by a wafting sense of mystery and secrecy, leaving everyone who meets them totally frustrated, always yearning to find the hole to scratch and find the actual beating heart and true, open, flowing emotions, under the veneer of steely, calculated collectedness; and finally, there are a vast amount of people who work desperately to keep up and preserve a cheerful, carefree image for everyone, online and offline to see, but in person, seem to be staving off a loneliness and a yearning for connection, underneath the flimsy, cardboard, surface-y, semblance of it all. I think that I have vacillated in between all three of these camps, for most of my life.

People who read my blog often comment on the fact that I don’t mention my family members’ names. People who know some of the major crises I have experienced in my life (by this middle time in life, we all have gone through at least one or two “major biggies”), are sometimes curious why I don’t choose to write about these events. The reality is, I’m still navigating my ship of disclosure, trying to find the waters that are comfortable to me. At the same time, I am not a pirate. I respect the other ships on the sea, and I steer clear of their own private, personal journeys. Their journeys are not mine, and their ships are made to sail along different waters, than where I am headed. Even if we do find ourselves in the same pool of calm or stormy seas, I can only speak for my part of the adventure. How I am experiencing the waves and the turbulence, and even the calm, still waters, may be different than the other ships, because they are built differently that I am, and they carry different cargo and baggage than I do.

In the end, as important as authenticity is to me, and as much as I value real, heartfelt connection, I value the relationships at the sacrosanct table of my life, far more than anything. It’s a fine line to cross and to navigate, especially as a writer. Recently, I was telling my husband how frustrated I am by the fact that my life feels so full of little, aggravating interruptions and I often wish that I could disappear for vast amounts of time, to just focus on writing. But then the “aha moment” came to me, that all of my writing comes from my day-to-day experiences and my interactions with the people at “my table” and even the people standing around the table or even with the people, in the far corners of the rooms of my life. These experiences are priceless to my understanding of myself and thus the extension of myself, my sacred practice of writing, which helps me make sense of that deeper understanding of myself.

Today, with this honest, candid inside view of my thought/writing experience, I have invited you, my faithful friends and readers, to some very special seats, at my table. Thank you for taking the seat, and allowing me to share. I hope that you will sit and stay awhile, and I promise to keep your seat empty for you, when you return again. It is then that I will give you the same warm smile that I wear on my face right now, thankful for your place settings, in my life, making me feel worthy, understood and connected and open and honest and real.

Minutes of Unrest

Good one from Think Smarter (Twitter) this morning:

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My husband and I watched 60 Minutes last night. I have a love/hate relationship with 60 Minutes, because I love the unique stories that the show presents, yet the show really stirs me up emotionally. Too much. Last night, I felt muddled wondering if mining our ocean bottom is really an answer to prayers and a wonderful, vast, unexplored resource, or the last natural environment on Earth that we have left to destroy. I just don’t know. And then the story about Sesame Street making a special TV show, especially for the children who have grown up in tents in refugee camps in the Middle East (miraculously, many of these tents have satellite dishes), touched me to tears, but then, it also made me sick to my stomach, imagining one child, much less thousands, growing up in those fields of desperation. I then found my thoughts wandering over to my shallow side, getting hypercritical about Lesley Stahl’s earring choices and her moppy hair style, which spurred me into some curiosity about Lesley’s age. Lesley Stahl is 77 years old!! She is still an interesting (because she, herself, is curious and interested), sharp, objective reporter. Lesley Stahl has written a book about how much she loves being a grandparent, and she and I share the exact same birth date. Shame on me. Lesley Stahl can wear her hair and her earrings any damn way that she wants. Lesley Stahl is awesome. Simply awesome. Back on the pedestal, she goes. (See, I told you, 60 Minutes puts me in a conflicted state of mind, which is not a restful way to end the week.) 60 Minutes should NOT be aired on Sunday nights. But, it is a good contrast to and break from football . . . . . and then, the conflicted mind continues on and on and on . . . .

Sunday Soul

I’ve been haughty and I’ve been humble.

Humble feels better.

I’ve been valid and I’ve been vulnerable.

Vulnerable feels more connected.

I’ve been smart, salty and sassy.

But that was all to cover and soothe

My sweet simple soul.

I dined by myself last night.

Table for one.

It was

Delicious.

“Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquility.” – William Wordsworth

“Poetry is thoughts that breathe, and words that burn. ” – Thomas Gray

Readers, I’m feeling like today is a good day for poetry. Please take the time to write down the poetry flowing from your heart today and please post it to my Comments section, if you have the inclination. Love, peace and poetry are my wishes for you today. Tranquility.

Conversation Starter

My youngest son called me up the other day, with a nervous tone in his voice. One of his best friends from high school, a boy whom we all adore, but who definitely has some wilder tendencies, was visiting my son at his university last weekend. (they go to different schools) I held my breath wondering what my son’s confession was going to be, and I instantly was wracking my brain as to what the boys might have gotten themselves into, in their youthful exuberance.

“I don’t want you to be disappointed in me,” my son stammered.

This is the time in the conversation when I wanted to scream, “Just spit it out, dammit!!” Many times in previous years, I have screamed those very words to all four of my darling children, during times of high hormonal content in my bloodstream mixed with bad sleep from the previous night, but this time, my son actually caught me at a calm, post- relaxing, meditative moment, so I remained quiet and patient.

It turns out that my son wants to change his major to a less practical major, one which really interests him much more. Phew. Exhale. Sigh of relief.

“You could NEVER disappoint me, except in moments that you would deliberately hurt yourself or hurt other people from bad intentions and actions,” was my first and instant response. We then had a nice conversation, weighing the pros and cons of his decision to change his course of studies. Me, being the forever dreamer/optimist, focused a little heavy on the “pros”, whereas his father, who is visiting the boys this weekend for his brother’s annual fraternity “Dads’ Weekend” and is far more practical and level-headed, will probably focus a little bit more on the “cons”, when he has breakfast with my youngest son this morning. (My husband and I balance each other out quite well, in that way.) Still, in the end, it is my son’s decision with what direction that he wants to take his life, and I trust that he will find the right answer for himself.

“Honor thy father and mother” is one of those biblical edicts that has caused stomachs to churn for centuries. It cropped up in my head, as I felt the disappointment in myself, that my son feared talking about his major change with me. Everyone has a different idea of what “honor thy father and mother” actually really means. Now that I have been a parent for almost 24 years, I have seen this edict from all different angles and I feel more firmly in my ideas about that edict, than I ever have before.

My husband and I chose to bring four children into this world. We did this for us. We wanted the experience of parenting. We wanted to build a family together. My children’s beautiful souls graciously accepted the challenge of being our children, despite not asking to be born. They have fulfilled their commitment to us, by allowing us the magnanimous experience of raising them. I am honored. I am more than honored, by that fact. I am utterly grateful. I hope to have a satisfying relationship with all of my children and their families for the rest of our lives, but that is up to all of us, as adults, to be healthy, considerate, loving people, who have and who accept healthy boundaries – people who anyone would want to have a satisfying relationship with. When we are adults, it becomes a mutual thing. There are no “shoulds.” I am not a selfless martyr. I chose to have my children. I also have a life outside of my family and that is important for all of us, for all of our ultimate growth experiences in Life. I do not care to have any relationships with any other people that are heavily based on fear, guilt, control, obligation or shame – not my children, not my husband, not my extended family, not my friends, not even with myself or with God. I choose authenticity. I choose healthy Love.

I think that it is very sad to use the Bible to make excuses or pardons for inflicting our ugly behavior (without repentance), the kind of negative behavior that we sometimes and most often, inflict on the people who are the closest to us – the people whom we love the most. I read something recently that said the true way that we honor our parents and our family name is basically, by not being a jerk. We dishonor our parents by leading lives filled with deceitful, criminal activities. “Honoring” speaks nothing of the intricacies and delicacies of a mutually satisfying relationship.

I know that not everyone sees things the way that I do. I am comfortable with that. I love the variety in this world. It has taken me a long time (probably most of my life) to figure out my current life philosophy and I understand that this current philosophy is more than likely to evolve and to grow and to change, as I do. The people whom I most intimate with in life with, are also in the ever-changing process of growth and unfolding. I respect that. My conversation with my son this week, spurned a lot more thought, introspection, and contemplation than just my opinion on his career goals. It is said that relationships are “people growers” and I like to think that my son and I both experienced some healthy individual growth from our conversation. This individual growth helps the garden of our relationship to continue to bloom in a healthy, satisfying way for both of us, a relationship with its roots being firmly planted in the deep, rich, nourishing soil of authentic Love.

Whole Paycheck

They say that you should never go to the grocery store with an empty stomach. I have oft heard this wise wisdom repeated throughout my life and I absolutely believe in its truth, in totality. I actually overheard that proverb said three times over, in a grocery store, just yesterday, as I steered my “filled to the brim, with things toppling over the top of it” cart towards the cashier.

It all started when I realized that we needed more gut shots, beet flavored. Costco got us hooked on this ridiculously expensive juice which is rather awful tasting, but decidedly helpful in the digestion arena. Like many things that Costco has gotten us hooked on, over the years, just when we are at the point of “I can’t ever live without this stuff”, Costco puts up one of its asterisk warning symbols on the price sign, and then quickly discontinues the item, leaving me, the desperate shopper, fumbling, all alone, in the dark, with no direction to go. Costco can be cruel.

Now, to order the said beet shots online, Amazon would charge $25 a bottle because they have to be delivered, cold, in a refrigerated delivery truck. (the beet juice is good, but it isn’t THAT good) So, the closest place that I could find, which regularly stocks 1-3 bottles of this stuff at any given time at a price more reasonable than $25 a bottle, is a local health foods store, similar to a smaller Whole Foods. I mentioned to my husband and to my daughter that I was going to get some more beet juice, if they wanted to ride along. Much to my surprise, both decided to come. It was a beautiful, cool, crisp, fall day and I did have the convertible top down, so I was figuring they just wanted an outing and some fresh air. Nope, not really. It turns out that they were starving. So was I.

Now these types of grocery stores are not the types of stores where people typically “load up”. People typically walk around in these stores with small, eco-friendly, sparsely filled baskets. These stores don’t even have “normal sized” carts. I think that the workers and the shoppers in these types of stores secretly hold the belief that eating is really rather kind of a nasty, gauche thing that you have to do, to stay alive. They all look at each other serenely, knowingly, and with an air of superiority that seems to say, “Yes, we have to eat to stay alive. But WE will only fill our bodies with small, expensive, tasteless nuggets of nothingness to keep ourselves alive and alert for one more day. WE are in the know of the correct ratio of just enough sensible calories to sustain the CORRECT level of alertness. Wink to you, fellow smart, healthy consumer.”

Further, there are absolutely no bargains in these types of stores. There are no BOGOS as far as the eye can see. Sales are gauche in these parts, too. The “Whole Foods/Whole Paycheck” absolutely applies to Whole Foods and to every knock-off store like it. But, since the three of us didn’t bother to fill our tummies before we headed off for a couple of bottles of beet juice, instead we decided that instead of going out for dinner, we would “eat in” last night and our dinner would consist of everything that looked good to all three of us, in every single aisle of the store. By the time that we got home and laid everything out that we had bought, our counter top looked like it was helicoptered in from The Old Country Buffet, minus the chocolate fountain. (but we had at least six different desserts to make up for that loss.) We had managed to buy out the store, of everything they had on the low end of health and the high end of sugar and calories (but hey, it was natural cane sugar – no chemicals). I purposely threw the receipt right into the garbage before giving it another look. I didn’t want to get sick, as my stomach was gorged. Luckily, the beet shot which I just took this morning, has me all straightened out and back to even keel, and in good senses. There will be no more impromptu family trips to ANY type of grocery store, except for right after a large dinner.

Cigam Era Skoob

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Hello my favorite readers in the world!!! Thank you so much for supporting me and my blog. I appreciate you so much! New readers, Fridays are really light here at Adulting – Second Half. We keep it surface level on Fridays. On Friday, I list three favorite products, services, books, songs, websites, ideas, etc. and I encourage you to add your favorites to the Comments section. Please check out previous Friday posts for more favorites. Here are today’s favorites:

Books Are Magic merch – I am very excited to get my black Books Are Magic t-shirt, scheduled to arrive any day now. Books Are Magic is an old-fashioned, awesome, “hope that this type of store, never ever goes away”, book store in Brooklyn. They sell all kinds of merchandise, such as mugs, key chains, pennants with the fact, “Books Are Magic” printed on them. My favorite quirky item is a t-shirt for kids. It says “Cigam Era Skoob”. (Despite my many years of studying Latin, I had to look that one up. It’s “Books are Magic” spelled backwards. I know . . . Duh! Back then, anyone could take Latin.)

Joy For All Pets – Despite having living, breathing versions, I want one of these pets. (or maybe even two) These interactive, high tech stuffed animals were designed by Hasbro to give seniors a pet to love, without the mess, fuss, and expense, of a real pet. They are about as life-like as you can get in a machine, and they have brought comfort to seniors, all around the world. I have also have seen videos where people have purchased Joy for All pets for children who can’t have live pets due to allergies and housing restrictions, etc. This is like West World, without the creepiness. Just love . . . and joy for all.

Angry Orange Odor Eliminator – “Smells Like Heaven, Works Like Hell” is printed on this concentrate’s bottle. I like this stuff so much, that this may be a repeat, on my Friday Favorites. If you have a nasty smell somewhere that just won’t go away, this is what you need. I have never experienced a better bad odor eliminator, in my life. I order mine on Amazon and a little goes a LONG way.

That’s it for today! Have a wonderful, three day weekend!!! Books are magic! Life is magic!

Falalalala, It’s November

I had dinner with friends last night. While walking through the town to get to the restaurant where we were meeting, I noticed Christmas lights everywhere. They were adorning shop windows, street lights, and there were even a few animated Santa Clauses. One building had already changed its spotlights, to bright red and green. (and keep in mind, here in our town, it’s still 85 degrees outside)

My eldest son, who lives outside of New York City, texted a picture of the interior of a NYC German restaurant where he had met his friends for dinner, this past weekend. I’ve attached the picture above. The decorations are decidedly amazingly beautiful. But how long do decadent holiday decorations need to be displayed before “amazingly beautiful” turns into “claustrophobic-ally repellent”? Is it the subconscious Grinch in me, or even more so than ever before, are we going to skip right over Thanksgiving this year, into Christmas-on-steroids?

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