Sunday Soul

After the Holiday

It is time for the introspection.

It is time for the resolution.

It is time for the digestion . . .

In the body, but also in the mind . . .

And in the soul.

It is time to clean up the messes. All of them.

It is time to post the happy moments in the memory books . . .

The memory books that you can touch and the ones that just echo in your heart and can be recalled whenever you ask them to, or even when

you don’t.

It is time for the integration of another full experience into the essence of the creation that you call your life.

Was it like what was in your anticipation and imagination? Or did you let the celebration be free to be whatever it was supposed to be for you?

The culmination has arrived and it has passed.

The rumination has begun. It will pass, too.

Completion. Resignation. Fascination. Satisfaction. Appreciation.

Ascension.

The old, but somehow also new and slightly different routine . . .

Awaits.

Okay, readers, you know the drill. Sunday is poetry play day. Please don’t leave me hanging up here. I am so new, unskilled, and apprehensive, messing around with this poetry thing. Yet, it intrigues the hell out of me. We are doing this workshop style, so please post in the Comments section, the words that you are hammering and mixing around, the very thoughts that are stretching and flowing in your fascinating, interesting, free-flowing minds. This is a safe place. I promise. I have veto power over any hateful comments. Plus, there are no hateful comments, because you are all so much more talented, creative, fun, giving, spirited that you ever give yourself credit for, ever. So give your ingenuity away to people who will treasure it, in a way that you can’t. It deserves to be acknowledged and enjoyed.

Happy December!!

Time for Roses

“If we take care of the moments, the years will take care of themselves.” – Maria Edgeworth

I read an article recently that suggested that we overestimate what we can do in a year, but underestimate what we can do in a decade. I’ve been milling that idea, around in my head for a while, as we come to the close of another year and also another decade. I am not really sure if I agree with that statement. As a faithful journal/paper calendar keeper, I can assure you that we very often do so much more, in even a day, than we give ourselves credit for doing. Maybe it’s just that we judge a lot of what we do as meaningless or inconsequential. But is that true? It’s all in our perspective, isn’t it? If we were to become physically incapacitated, our daily routine items, the things that we do mindlessly, could all of the sudden become major triumphs and delights. And how many times in just your life, have people who “are just doin’ their jobs” made a noticeable difference in your life? The friendly cashier who cheered you up on a down day, the thoughtful delivery person who helped you carry something heavy into your home, the receptionist at the doctor’s office who was able to find a way to “fit you in” to any already packed schedule, because he or she just sensed that you needed to feel some relief and healing. . . . these people may not have seen any of these actions as particularly important uses of their time or movements towards their life goals, but for you, on that particular day, their doings were difference makers. So, wouldn’t it be a wise use of our talents and gifts and patience and time, to make life a little easier for others? Isn’t that a worthy goal in life? And if we do any reflecting, I imagine that we all do these very acts of kindness, on a daily basis. These are the little things that improve life for everyone. These are the little things that lift the energy of the entire planet. The planet is heavy, but if we all do our part in the lifting, our Earth is so light that we don’t even give the lifting of it, any thought or any merit. Lifting the world’s energy is something that we all do, almost every day of our lives. That is something. In some ways, it is everything.

The older that I get, I find that it is worthwhile to have life goals to pursue, but also every bit as constructive to savor the every moments. It is also vital to accept the surprises as part of “the plan.” Nothing is in vain. There is value to be found in everything, even in “wasted” time.

“Regret for wasted time is more wasted time.” – Mason Cooley

“It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important.” – Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince.

All is Well

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Happy Thanksgiving, my wonderful faithful friends and readers! You are appreciated and loved, more than you could ever understand. Thank you so very much for being part of the moment that I get so excited to experience every single morning. I love sitting down to pour out my heart and my inspirations and my ideas and my silliness and my reflections and my confusions. And you hear me! And you support me! And you nod along with me! And you shake your head at me! What a blessing and a gift that you give to me, by acknowledging my blog. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

This blog is not a chore for me. It is a big part of my heart. It is my blossoming of a part of me that was dormant for so long and is coming into the light, and everyone who has supported this blog has been such a crucial part of that process for me. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

You are kind. You are caring. You are interesting and connected to life. I am blessed to have you come into my life. I am blessed to feel a sacred connection to each and every one of you.

Okay enough mushy mush! Go enjoy a wonderful day of family and friends and parades, and dog shows, and feasting (and the wonderful anticipatory smells that come before the feasting) and napping and more feasting! I have overheard it said, at least a dozen times this season, from various people who I have interacted with, that Thanksgiving is their favorite holiday. It IS such a wonderful holiday. Thanksgiving is quiet, peaceful, warm, unassuming, mindful, simple, cozy, comforting, loving, unpretentious, humble, virtuous, awe-striking . . . . what’s not to love about this holiday, and yet Thanksgiving does not beg us to love it or to even acknowledge it. It just soothingly invites us in, with arms wide open. In a world which sometimes seems increasingly faster, noisier, attention grabbing, glitzier, angrier, more isolated and divisive than ever before, Thanksgiving is the reminder that at the core of everything, there is a simple, grateful peace that remains steady. Thanksgiving is a reminder that life is abundant and flowing and pulsing, like a regular, soothing, calming heartbeat, enclosed in a warm, clean, soft blanket of the deep intuitive knowing, that in every moment of stillness, at the quiet center of everyone and everything, All is Well.

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.