Tuesday, March 30, 2010

Real Relationships

In response to my last post, Girl Talk, in which I asked how you feel about trying to change your mate, my good friend, NB, responded:

"God and "L" (her husband) told me it's my job. He never gets anything done unless I put on the _itch attitude. But I have retired from that job. Somehow it takes my joy away from the day."

I understand what she meant. Part of our job, in a relationship, is to be a helpmate. I guess the question then arises, how do we bring about the best in each other and not the worst?

On the surface, it seems such a simple question. Since all we are doing is trying to bring out our partner's best attributes, they should be grateful, right? What if our well intentioned attempts backfire? What if our joy is diminished at always having to take on the role the fire starter? Do you feel frustrated by always having to be the enforcer? Or the wage earner. Or the bill payer. Or the laundry picker-upper.

And if you are the partner that is always expected to change, how do you feel? Do you feel that your partner is bringing out the best in you? Do you like the constant reminders or do you resent them?

When we focus so much on changing what is wrong with the other person, is it our way of avoiding working on our selves? I don't have the answers here, folks. This is the Wonderland. I only wonder about the answers to more questions. That's why I'm asking for your opinions.

Since NB has officially retired from husband directing, I wonder, if and, how he gets to those things that need to be done left on his own? For myself, I know it is easier to see the Wonder Husband's faults than my own.
I'm pretty sure he thinks I'm perfect and don't need to change a thing. Maybe I should ask him. But, I'm not sure I want to hear the answer.

Saturday, March 27, 2010

Girl Talk

Overheard at the salon:

Pete's 35 and he's never been married. Wonder what's up with him?

Just because he's not married, doesn't make him gay. My husband was 36 when we married.

Isn't it hard when they're older when they get married? I mean...don't they have habits that they don't want to give up?

Yes, it's harder. But shouldn't you want to love the person just the way they are and not try to change them?

(Group Chorus)

OH, GOD, NO! That just doesn't even make sense!


I admit I've tried to change the Wonder Husband. My success rate is not high. If it were, he would never again wear white crew socks with Birkenstock sandals. Or wear his baseball cap 24/7. Or leave the Boraxo hand cleaner on the counter by the sink every time he works on his cars. Or think that the floor is where you leave your dirty clothes. Or continue on with other habits I want to fix . It's not that I don't' try to change him, it's more like I can't.

He tells me that if he were too perfect, other women would just want to steal him away from me. But, I disagree. If what I overheard at the salon is correct, no matter how perfect the man, there's extensive remodeling to be done. I think men decide what they will and will not allow their mate to change. Which is probably one of the biggest rubs in a relationship.

How do you feel about loving the other person just the way they are and not trying to make them change?

Thursday, March 25, 2010

Assisted Living

Ya know? Some days...assisted living sounds pretty ding-dang good.

"Mrs. L, your breakfast is ready."

"Why, thank you, Trudy."

"Mrs. L, now that you've had breakfast, would you like to go outside and sit in the warm sunshine on the patio with the other guests?"

"Don't mind if I do, Anne."

"Mrs. L, I have a bit of free time before I fix your lunch, would you like me to wash your hair?"

"Ohhhh...that would be lovely, little one."

"Hey, Mrs. L, we've got a bus load of us going out to the Indian casino on Wednesday. Wanna come?"

"George, sign me up! It's senior double points day isn't it? I think they're giving away a Viper this month. I'd look good in a blue one with a big, fat racing stripe down the center of the hood. I'd let you have it and you could drive me to my doctors visits, okay?"

"Mrs. L, come into the living room when you're done with your nap. There's a bunch of young people here from the church to play music and sing for us."

"Be right there, Carol."

Dai-sy, Dai-sy,
Give me your answer do!
I'm half crazy,
All for the love of you!
It won't be a stylish marriage,
I can't afford a carriage,
But you'll look sweet on the seat
Of a bicycle built for two!

Been that kind of a week, folks!
Happy Friday, Eve!

Tuesday, March 23, 2010

Animal House

Miss B.B. La La

Whenever I pickup up a book or watch a movie about animals, I know there will usually be some kind of tragedy that unfolds. Bambi and Old Yeller taught me what it felt like to have my heart disintegrate into a dusty powder when the finger of death pointed my way. More recently, Marley & Me and The Art of Racing in the Rain gave me a refresher course.

You know. The sad tales that force the tears from your eyes to run, in salty rivulets, to the basin of your mouth. The ones that make your breath heave and shudder and your chest ache, but not so much that you won't go on to the finish. Tales that find the perfect ratio of sadness to joy.

That's how I feel whenever I accept a dog into my family. I know that the pleasure of our journey far out weighs the grief over their loss. Every time one dies, I say never again but, a few months later...here we go again. One of my dogs, Miss B.B. La La, turned 10 years old. She is strong and healthy and full of snarky playfulness. This decade of human years equals some kind of fuzzy canine time that's supposed to make her about 70. Her life span is dwindling.

This 10 year mark is one that I notice, not her. I notice how her already white fur is turning just a shade whiter. How she turns her back to me, puts her ears down and pretends she can't hear me when I call her to go outside. How she'd rather watch the other dogs play than join in as much as she once did. Her breathy whisper, "woof woof," as she gently wakes us in the middle of the night to go out, no longer able to hold her stuffin' until morning.

But, I also notice how she still puts on her 9:30, nightly Butt-Scratch and Sniff show. The funniest show on Earth. As regular as clockwork, she gets up off her pillow, eyes glinting with mischief, scratches her butt on the floor and shoots straight up, more than a foot, while turning and sniffing her butt in mid-air.

I wish I could catch it on video. In that moment, she's as agile as any gymnast. She contorts as well as any pretzel bending contortionist during her, thrice repeated, high flying aerial act. Then she comes over to me, nuzzles my head and schnarfles up the jasmine scent from my hair into her nostrils. For her finale, she hides her head under the sofa cushion with a curtsy as she waits for applause.

We're still enjoying the laughter together. The tears, gathering like a thunder storm along the periphery of my emotions, are still a ways off. Even though I know tragedy will surely unfold, this is a story I'm glad I didn't put down.

Miss B.B. La La getting a birthday kiss from Maaco the Thunder Dog

Saturday, March 20, 2010

Howdy, Vern! Welcome, Autumn!

Give Vern, the Vernal equinox, a great big "HOWDY." The day we've been waiting for, since the Groundhog promised only six more weeks of winter, is finally here. A day of equal light and dark.The first day of spring.

At Equinox, I always feel like those of us on the top of the Earth and our friends at the bottom, are poised on the balance point of a teeter toter. For one day, we float in space, kicking our legs and squealing, as we wait for our weight to carry us to one side of center or the other.

As we welcome spring, Autumn, the Autumnal equinox, is making her grand entrance into the lower half of the world. I wonder if the down-under-lings are looking forward to a darker shade of cool as much as we are a lighter shade of warm.

Where ever you live, stop for a moment. Take a big whiff of the newly seasoned air. Notice what your environment looks like right now. Feel the powerful change a comin'. Grab the reigns, make a big wish and hold tight as you ride this magnificent bucking and kicking rock to the next power zone of the year.


Wednesday, March 17, 2010

My Lucky Day!

Photo: "Double Rainbow in a Storm Over Mt. Lassen" by Jim Tomsich

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

I'm as happy as a leprechaun with a new box of Lucky Charms. I received notification from Jim Wisneski, Editor of Soft Whispers Magazine, that my story, Moira of St. Brennan's Land, was accepted for publication. It will be included in his Un-luck of the Irish anthology which is available today. To read my submission, and those written by other outstanding authors, pop on over to Soft Whispers Magazine. Scroll down the side bar and click the link for UnLuck of the Irish Anthology. Let's give Jim a great big shout out and a pitcher of green beer for publishing my story.

Wishing you four-leaf clovers.
Wishing you a full pot of gol
d at the end of the rainbow.
Wishing, you all, the luckiest day of your life.

Drinks are on me.

Bartender...a round for the house!

[The camera pans back to show the wildly crowded pub patrons cheering and hoisting mugs of beer]

[Fade to black]

Tuesday, March 16, 2010


The post, My Lucky Day, will be up tomorrow. Just had premature e-publication. Oops.

Monday, March 15, 2010

Hand-y Work



Sensitive information gatherers of my world. The world of fascia, muscles and soft tissue. As a body worker and healer, along with my heart, they are my most precious tools. Objects of wonder.

My hands have eyes and ears and a mouth. Oh, they're not visible to others. That would be quite scary. But, I know they are there. They see and listen to what the body I'm working on needs. They tell me what to do.

Soft tissue speaks. Perhaps "communicates" is a better word. It makes its injuries and wishes known to those who can become still enough to hear. As I work, I don't need to see with my physical eyes. For me it is better to shut out any external stimulus that could confuse my senses and intuition. Shutting my eyes, I disengage my brain and let my hands wander the hills and dales of muscles, tendons and bones.

I feel the tissue become warm and malleable as the blood comes into an area. I find trigger points, round, hyper-irritable spots, in the muscles. I sense pulses, softer than a whisper. Pulses different than those of the heart and the breath. Pulses that traumatized tissues send as invitations to my hands causing them to linger until the pain and throbbing ceases. Spasmed muscles melt under my hands as I coax them into submission. I can feel a headache through my fingertips. My hands know the instant the body relaxes, lets go of the outside world and moves into the calm "eye of the storm" that is always within us.

People thank me when I am done. I take no credit. I am only the open vessel through which the Creator sends this flow of healing energy. The conduit. The channel.

I am humbled by my gift.
I give thanks every day.

I am in awe of my hands.

Saturday, March 13, 2010

Breathing Deeply

I have been locked in Techno Hell for a year now. Old computer died. New computer had Internet connectivity issues and operating system issues. Bought new laptop so could take new computer in for repairs. Got new computer back. Works good. Put laptop on wireless router. Works good but for some reason can't receive e-mails. Upgraded to Windows 7 on new computer and now it's locking up again. Have to take it back to Dr. Geek to undo what I did but, need to get laptop to receive incoming e-mails first. My BlackBerry gets e-mails but, for some reason, not all of them.

I'm a nerd but, I wish I was a techno geek. I pray every morning to roll over in bed and find the husband in a Geek Squad uniform instead of his birthday suit. In my next life I will be a geek, I will be a geek (clicking heels together) I will be a geek. Until then, I'm just trying to breathe deeply and work through the problems one at a time. But, not too deeply...have you seen all the trees in bloom. Achoo!

Have a great weekend.

Thursday, March 11, 2010

Aurum: Shining Dawn

Photo: Wikipedia

I'm still fussin' with the universe. Can't get my mind off of the utter magnificence of this planet we were born to ride. This big piece of rock that glitters like gold. Literally. Our planet is covered with gold. The only problem is that most of the pieces amount to the size of grain of sand in the Gobi Dessert. They are very tiny but numerous. The large veins that bristly prospectors dreamed of, and killed and fevered for, are located in only a handful of locations.

Millions of years ago, a super nova exploded. The heat of the discharge mingled with star matter and fused into gold. The explosion jettisoned particles of the metal far out into the universe. Some found their way to the newly forming Earth and became a part of its composition. This cool, tasteless metal is like no other. No wonder ancient alchemists failed to turn other metals into this lustrous, prized substance. They were no match for the power of an exploding star

Au is the symbol for the chemical element gold. It comes from aurum which means "shining dawn" in Latin. An appropriate name for something that was formed during the dawn of Earth. This icon of wealth and prestige has lured mankind to seek it for millenniums. Since gold never wears out and is always recycled, it's possible that some of the gold jewelry you wear was once a part of King Tut's mask or Roman coinage. It's has its place in our past, present and future. This metal is but one of many priceless treasures we've received from the universe. Its enduring nature is synonymous with humanity.

Tuesday, March 9, 2010

Alien's Jam Satellites

Zooming into a small fraction of the UKIDSS UDS field, the deepest infrared image ever obtained over such a large area. The zoom shows a relatively nearby spiral galaxy. Many of the faint red objects in the background are massive galaxies at distances of over 10 billion light years. Photo: Scientific Blogging-Science 2.0

I admit it. I am completely enamored with the universe. I never tire of reading about the cosmos. Or looking up into the vast ocean of space. And don't even get me started on the out of this world images sent back from the Hubble telescope. Their spectacular colors and exotic shapes are like a fine wine, intoxicating. I don't know why it just dawned on me that when we look further out into space, we are looking back in time. Looking 10 billion light years away is the same as looking 10 billion years back in time. I am in awe of the fact that nearly everything that has been in our universe since its beginning, is still there. Really!

One of my friends is an amateur cosmologist. A cosmologist is an astronomer who studies the evolution of time-space relationships. Last fall, he attended an astrophysics conference at his Alma mater. The scientists spoke about how they were having trouble getting a good look back because there is so much interference caused by the large number of satellites in orbit. One astronomer at the conference was able to arrange for all of the US satellites to be shut off for 24 hours. Another knew someone who had enough clout to get the Russian's to agree to shut theirs down for the same amount of time. They couldn't tell military what they were doing because, well, you know, they're all about the drama. They'd have gone nuts.

They discovered a couple of large galaxies which disputed existing theories that larger galaxies were formed by aggregate. In looking at the moons of Saturn, they found one with water. Water equals life. They only needed another half hour to see what happend at the Big Bang when the 24 hours was up. The satellites were activated again ending the episode. Scientists pretty much agree that the universe is 13.7 billion years old. And now they can tell what was happening up to 10^(-43) seconds (1/10 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000) of its formation.

Of course, one bloodhound reporter for a rag mag, like the Enquirer, sniffed out the part of the story where the satellites had been shut down. His take on the event? Alien's Jam Satellites. Since they found water on one of Saturn's moons, that may one day be true. But not that day.

Saturday, March 6, 2010

How do Editors & Agents Decide?

Okay, I just signed up for Rachelle Gardner's First-Ever Webinar. Rachelle is an agent with WordServe Literary Group. Representing both fiction and nonfiction, she has been in publishing for fifteen years. Why? I'm really not sure. I haven't written, nor am I in the process of writing, a book. I do have a couple of ideas doing gymnastics across neuro-synaptic clefts...mere sparks of barely recognizable story lines, but that's all.

This live webinar, How do Editors & Agents Decide?, is hosted by Writer's Digest. The cost is $79 and will be held next Thursday, March 11 at 1:00 pm Eastern time. It will last 90 minutes. There will be a live Q&A chat with the speakers so you can have your questions addressed. The cool thing is, that once you register, you will be able to access the archived information for one year.

I think, like many of you, I am intrigued with writing. I read your blogs. Many of you have written books. Some have published, others not. Some self-published their work. Others were accepted by agent's who helped them sell their work to a publishing company. Many of you write short stories. Some published, others not. Some only aspire to write blog posts. But the common thread I see as I read is, that each person wants to improve in their own way.

Ms. Gardner's webinar will discuss, in detail, the three-tiered approach that all publishers look at in evaluating potential books: the idea, the writing, and the platform. For more information, go visit the links I've provided. Whether you want to write short or long pieces, for fun or for profit, it looks like this class will provide a smorgasbord of ideas on which the gray matter of your brain can feast. Right now, I write for fun, but the for profit part wouldn't hurt my feelings one little bit. Since, mama ain't gettin' any younger and she hasn't hit the lotto yet, she's goin' to class. CYA there?

Thursday, March 4, 2010

Soul Train

Good Goddess! So many people are leaving the planet. I look around and see all these spirit souls rising, like wisps of mist on a pond. Their rain like scent spritzing the air as they pop out of our awareness to the Other Side. The exodus has been clipping right along since last summer when Michael Jackson swung the gates of Neverland wide open. I personally know many beings who've chosen to go just in the last two weeks. Then there were the hundreds of thousands who exited from Haiti. And recently, more left from Chile.

My spiritual teacher spoke of this last year. She said that everything is accelerating on Earth. This is the beginning of a Great Shift. New energies are being generated on this planet and in the universe. People who are frail, sensitive or compromised won't be strong enough to handle these changes. Some may simply choose not to go so fast.

Billions of us are currently living on the planet. Even though we've lost hundreds of thousands of beings, it is nearly impossible to see the hole left by their exit. I'm sure that if I went to Haiti, I would witness, firsthand, the space vacuumed of human existence. But from here, it almost seems unreal.

It makes me wonder why all these deaths are occurring. Random chance, as some suggest? A changing of the guard? Are those of us who remain really the lucky ones? Or is there something else going on that we don't know about? Like, a collosal party and we're the nerds who aren't cool enough to get an invite.

I see Michael wearing his gold lame military jacket, sweeping a stray, sticky Jheri curl off his forehead as he stands on the platform of the terminal. He waves passengers on board the train with his white, sequin gloved hand. His other hand holds his crotch while he shouts, "HEE HEE. All aboard the Soul Train, home of the swankest party in the Milky Way. Next stop Neverland. I told you my last tour would be a thriller."

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

Family Traditions

The days have tipped and spilled over into March. Falling like cards in a never ending game of 52 Pick Up. You know, the card game where someone, like your brother, asks you if you want to play 52 Pick Up? You say YES and he throws all the cards to the ground. Then he tells you to pick them up. I wanted to kill my brother! Okay, maybe kill is too harsh a word, but I definitely considered some form of bodily injury as he leered and laughed at my indignant card gathering. Of course, that didn't stop me from finding an unsuspecting victim of my own as soon as possible.

Did get you get tricked into that game when you were a kid? It's one of those things you only fall for once. Unlike Snipe hunting. I think we fell for that one a couple of times before we figured out that my aunt and uncle were sucking down High Balls and having a great laugh at our expense. Who needs to spend money on entertainment when you have a few gullible, Gumby-brained kids you can send out on fools errands.

(A typical family scene at Our House)

Auntie Dot, we're bored. What can we do?

Hmm...clean your room? Wash the dishes? No? Okay...hows about going Snipe hunting?

What are Snipes, Auntie Dot?

Oh, they're these really rare albino worms that are worth a lot of money. You find yourself one of those and you can buy $5 worth of candy. Yeah, the good stuff like those Tootsie Rolls and Pixie Stix that you like.


Sure, kid! Here. You guys take these brown paper bags. Sneak, real quite like, over there to that tall grass by the swing set. Lie on your belly about 10 feet away and Army crawl closer. Open your bag and lay it on its side. Then you wait. Take these nails with you too. Lay them in front of the bags. The Snipes are attracted to them because they use them to build their house. That'll keep you busy for a while...I mean, it takes a long time to catch 'em so you have to be r-e-a-l patient. Every once in a while, you have to call them like this:

" Here, Snipe-Snipe. Here, Snipe-Snipe."

Hey, can you bring me and Uncle Red that bag of chips before you go hunting? No, not those... the B-B-Q ones. Thanks. Run a long now and don't come back till you catch one.

We could hear thier laughter as we tip toed out to the grass. They were so happy for us.


Well, of course, we never caught a Snipe because it was a goose hunt, an impossible imaginary task. And what does this have to do with March? Not much, really. Except that at this point in my life, it feels as if the days fall endlessly to the ground. I am forever trying to pick them all up but I can't because they just keep falling. The spring that once seemed impossibly far away is almost here. And spring is the best time of year for Snipe hunting.

Oh, you don't know about Snipes? How about Pie Stretchers? Well, it's too early for pie stretching, that's best done in summer. Let me show you how to catch a Snipe.