So I woke up this morning feeling so much better. I’ll write about why tomorrow.

Needless to say it’s been a rough three days and when I looked in the mirror this morning, while I was brushing my teeth, the reflection that looked back at me was that of a puffer fish. My eyes swollen from crying, nose chapped and red and basically just a hot mess on toast.

It actually shocked me, it was so…NOT attractive.

Then I heard a voice in my head and it was that of my late friend Scott from my days in jewelry. Scott was a gentleman jewelry dealer in his seventies, with a head of white hair, bespoke suits and gorgeous antique rings and watches, he was someone out of another era… Let’s face it, Scott was a dandy.

He was also a shrewd judge of character and noticed everything down to the most minute detail.
This man had impeccable taste with the manners to match and although he spoke very little, what he said always hit the mark.

Scott could be a pompous ass, but who cares! — I thought he was divine.

Anyway, one afternoon while he was perusing the jewelry trays and entertaining me with one of the stories from his fabulous life, a customer entered. She gave us both a nod when we looked up but I noticed when Scott directed his gazed back down at his pile of treasures, he had one very raised eyebrow.

After another few minutes passed, I asked her if she needed any help and she very cheerfully answered back that she was “just looking”.

When I directed my attention back to Scott the eyebrow was still arched to high heaven.

Soon after she thanked me and left the store. A minute later without looking up, Scott said in his best faux British accent, “She had a face made for radio” which was his 1950’s gentlemanly way of acknowledging the obvious.

The woman was polite and nice but unfortunately, she was coyote ugly.

I gasped when he said it, but without missing a beat he looked up and winked at me with one of his twinkling, crystal blue eyes.

This morning I heard Scott’s dry, sarcastic voice as I looked in the mirror, “Sweetheart, you have a face made for radio.”

And I started to laugh. And not just a giggle, no it was from my big toe, into my belly, giant knee slapping peals of laughter –– long and deep and after the last few days I’ve gotta tell you –– it felt really good.

I’m sure my husband thought I’d lost my mind.

You guys, I do!
Today, I have a puffer fish face made for radio!

Love you Scott!

I just had to share.

Xox

“Grief, covers you with the weight of a wet blanket, smothers all other emotions, most especially joy”

~J. Bertolus

Here I sit, internally pummeled by the ebb and flow of grief.

It was just a dog, I tell myself, as the terribly underutilized rational part of my brain gets its chance to craft a reason and attempt to soothe me.

Doesn’t matter, moans my heart.

I loved her with all I had. I loved her without boundaries, deeper and wider and bigger than I could have ever thought possible.
She was my baby –– That thought just makes me cry longer and louder.

The rational brain, not used to seeing me like this, ups it’s game, taking a different tack:
You knew how this story would end, it reasons. Everybody dies, that’s the exit strategy we all agreed upon.

You’re right, I answer begrudgingly.

She was old and sick and you could sense the end was near… That’s funny, my rational brain doesn’t usually acknowledge intuition. It was clearly pulling out all the stops.

So why the sadness and the tears? It continued. The question actually had an air of sincerity –– my brain searching, seeking a viable answer.

Love…its about love. When you love someone or something with ALL your heart and soul…well, the pain of  its loss is equal in measure.

I could feel it contemplating, reasoning –– love sounded dangerous.

Then why love at all? When you know it will end this way, with so much pain –– why risk it?

How do I explain?  Deep breath.

Because without that love, without opening your heart that much, each time more, then more, then more again –– life is colorless, black and white, and in my opinion not worth living. The reward is worth the risk.

So…I’ll cry and I’ll feel bad for a while and time will carry me through this; and when I’m on the other side of grief I won’t forget her, I could never do that. It will just start to hurt a little less each day until her memory makes me…smile.

Then I will have forgotten the pain enough to love without borders, ignoring all reason.

All the while knowing how this ends…

xox

* dearest loves, I want to extend my heartfelt thanks for all the outpouring of love and condolences, the emails, notes and flowers. It just affirms how extraordinary she was (is).

What can I say about losing a pet?

They are arguably a member of the family, an integral cog in the wheel that is our day-to-day life. They accept our moods, dysfunction and questionable decisions with a complete lack of judgement and a wash of unconditional love. Who else can do that for us?

We lost Querida (Dita) our precious 9+ year old boxer girl last night.
It was sudden, in her sleep, in the back of my husband’s van that doubles as her pimp ride everyday. The back seat of this vehicle looks like the inside of Jeannie’s bottle, lush and cushy, ridiculously cozy with balls and blankets and toys, befitting such a queen.
She exited this life HER way. No fuss, no muss and no drama.
It was the way I would have chosen for her to go, and truth be told, the way I had been begging her to choose –– the way we all want to go –– instantly, painlessly and peacefully. Right?

Then why do I feel so bad?

Ugh. I write this with such a heavy heart, and I know better….I really do. I know in my heart of hearts that she has merged with pure positive energy and is playing a wicked game of frisbee in dog park heaven…yet, I can’t stop the tears.

I’ve grieved cats before. I lost two of them to coyotes ten years ago. But losing a dog feels different to me in this way: Cats are affectionate, and mine loved me something awful, don’t get me wrong, but I never got a sense from them that they needed me. Not for their happiness anyway. Maybe to feed them and an occasional cuddle and pet, but I was quite aware that the human in their life wasn’t Janet specific – it was…interchangeable.

But my dog? SHE loved her mommy (me) and she let me know it every day.
She’d follow me around, especially this last year or so as her health declined, with her big soulful eyes, finding solace in watching me go through my daily routine. She’d peek around the corner if I wasn’t in the kitchen for coffee fast enough, Pssst, you comin’?
And accompany me to the bathroom to drink out of the bidet. She also stood beside the shower every morning waiting for the hot washcloth to rid her of the smeared make-up. As you can see from the photos, she was a bit heavy handed with the eyeliner.
They love routine. SHE loved routine.

Every morning I play the Gayatri Mantra chant by Dev Premal. It wafts through the house for a couple of hours while we go about our morning rituals. It soothes and calms and helps us start the day without killing each other.
Yesterday was no exception, but I noticed as I raced around, that Dita was standing in front of the computer with the most blissed out look on her face. I mean BLISSED.
I even made several comments to Raphael, chuckling, “Dita is REALLY enjoying the chant this morning!”

That’s what I want to remember.
My Yogi girl, with her snaggle toothed face, looking up at me, blissed out on the smell of incense and the sound of ancient Hindu chants.
As a side note, I play meditations at night to fall asleep. They last maybe fifteen minutes and none of us ever hear the end because –– out -we-go. All I had to do was start the intro and she’d hop down into her own bed, and proceeded to follow the breathing. I’m serious.

Breathe in… the tape would say, and as I inhaled a deep breath, I could hear Dita do the same. And…exhale… Which we’d both do, Dita and I, in tandem. It was so endearing that I would even elbow my husband, are you hearing this?

I’m gonna miss that.

Indulge me for a second while I remember her.

I raised her from an eight week old puppy the size of my foot.
I carried her outside to pee in the middle of the night as a puppy, inside my T-shirt, rain or shine, until she got the hang of the doggie door. It was me she came to when she didn’t feel good, right up until last week.
If I would have had a zipper, she would have crawled inside my Mommy suit.

We were a team, the two of us. Not like her dad and she, different –– in an almost metaphysical way.
We got each other. She understood my moods. She understood English for that matter, always freaking me out when I’d ask her to fetch her blue ball out of a box of tens of toys. She would disappear for a couple of minutes and there she’d be, blue ball in her mouth.
I know every mother says it – but she was gifted.

She held my hand at night, slept with me when Raphael went on his far away motorcycle excursions, and was our alarm clock, waking us all at 6 a.m. every morning. I expect I’ll be late for a while.

She was a wiz at balancing a banana on her nose, and then, on command, flipping it into her mouth, with great pride I must add. She also loved to eat ice cubes.

She hiked the canyons with me from the time she was twelve weeks until her legs gave out, loved to bite the sprinklers, was obsessed with balls, frisbee and playing catch, rode in the motorcycle sidecar like a biker bitch, wore a security vest at my husband’s job sites (with full attitude I might add) was impeccably trained, well-mannered and polite.

She was my “shop dog” at Atik, the greeter, the mascot and the resident rascal. She’d wear any hat, glasses, and reindeer antlers that came her way, she even rocked an orange polar-fleece vest that made my husband cringe with embarrassment.
She was game for anything. I loved that about her.

She knew funny. She had the comedic timing of Lucille Ball.
Dita knew how to make us laugh and loved to do it. But she never overdid it – she was a pro.

She hasn’t been too keen on the addition of the boxer-shark puppy this past year. I think our little plan backfired, calling attention to her advancing age, rather than prolonging her youth. I’m sorry baby.

I look forward to the sadness lifting so I can be more receptive to feeling her around me, because I know that’s how these thing work., and I’m looking forward to her visit.

Thanks guys, I needed to write just a small tribute to her – she deserved it.

A class act till the end, she touched a lot of hearts and will be sorely missed by so many.
Fuck…losing a pet…

xox

I saw this the other day.
Underneath Cheryl wrote: I need to tattoo this on the inside of my eyelids.

And that made me laugh –– Me too!

Because guys, honest to God that’s life’s greatest challenge, isn’t it?

To have the knowledge that you make your life happen, but that you do it together with Universal assistance?

It is such a fine line, a tight rope walk of knowing when to just quit asking, surrender, stop micro managing, stop yearning and pushing and striving, to get down off our high horses, thinking WE know best (because we do –– hey, its our life) and let something greater than ourselves…
Take. The. Wheel.

It takes a lifetime of practice.

I fuck up. A lot.
I zig when I should have zagged,
Talk when I should be quiet,
Make decisions based on fear,
Freeze when action is required,
And sit stewing in self-doubt-soup for much longer than is healthy.

It is always when I’m going it alone…

Then I read something like the saying that Cheryl posted –– and I’m once again reminded to give up the fight!

I do so much better when I listen for directions instead of making up my own.

Divine Intervention…ahhhhhh. What a relief, you can drive this weekend.

I’m gonna put my feet up y’all, how about you?

love you,
carry on,
xox

*This is a Flashback Friday piece written a while ago, about some questionable behavior on my part.

I watched several people walk right by it. I did too. Twice.
Obviously some trash had found its way onto the path and into the planters in front of the door to the Y.

It looked like as if it had made a break for it on the way to the dumpster that lived around the side of the building. It consisted of a few pieces of shredded paper, a power bar wrapper and parts of a banana peel. As I walked around it on my way in, I thought: Gee, someone needs to pick that up.

I’m sure the guy in the way too tight and shiny bike shorts, holding the door for me, thought the same thing.

After my 45 mins of extremely rigorous and effective circuit training (15 mins on the elliptical, 15 mins on the arm machines and 15 mins gossiping with Tina at the front desk)
I sprinted (walked slowly), with Bruno Mars still blaring in my ears, to my car.
When I saw that the trash was still by the doorway, I was annoyed, Jeez, that’s still there? I’d better go tell Tina to send someone to pick it up. And I walked right by.

What.  an.  assbite.

The sheer audacity of my own entitled ass-bite-ish-ness stopped me in my tracks.I looked around. Someone WAS sent to pick up the trash. Me.

I bent down, made sure I got all the pieces, walked back inside and threw it in the can that was next to the door. With my own, two, manicured hands. It took me less than a minute. Probably less than 30 seconds.
Sometimes I just shake my head in amazement…at my own behavior.

Who are we, when no one is watching? Are we assbites that walk by trash, or people in need? Do we turn our heads or pretend we’re on the phone?
Or are we people with some character? I think we can be both.

Back in the day, right after I bought my house, I LIVED at the 24 hour Hollywood Home Depot. I would walk down EVERY aisle like it was a gourmet market. Even the lumber department.

It was dependable, free entertainment, by the fact that it was consistently crowded with a cross-section  of the most unique examples of humanity on the planet. It was the bar scene from Star Wars. AND, they played KROQ, an alternative rock radio station on the store PA after 6pm.

One night (It seemed I always needed a plunger or a dimmer switch at 11pm) in the aisle between electrical supplies and sprockets, was a sharp something or other that hadn’t been put back properly. As I absent mindedly strolled by, rocking out to The Clash, it jumped out and sliced my leg. Bad. Blood was suddenly EVERWHERE. It started to resemble a crime scene and as I looked around for help…crickets. There had easily been ten people on that aisle seconds before, and now it was deserted. Not a single soul.

People freak when they see blood. And a girl in denim overall shorts and Doc Martins hopping on one leg, howling OWWWWWWEEEEE loudly is certainly terrifying, I get it.

They don’t want to get involved.

I’ll never understand that. When you see someone fall, find a crying, lost child, or stumble upon a bleeding new homeowner –– see if you can help.
Be a person of some character. Even if no one else is watching.

Someone must have hunted down an employee, because a guy that looked like my brother, if my brother was COVERED in tattoos and wearing a Home Depot shirt, came to my rescue.
He quickly wrangled the guilty object that cut me back into its cubby, tied a tattered bandana around my ankle and told me to go get stitches and a tetanus shot.
In that order.
He also alerted me to the fact that I roamed those aisles “at my own risk.” Regardless, he was kind as he smiled and helped me back up on my feet.

It was then that my hero appeared. I heard angels singing.

He showed up with one of those flatbed wheelie things, and asked if I needed transport to my car. How chivalrous.

See…now this guy has some character.

Problem was, he resembled a biker/vampire, and I was sure the smell of my blood had beckoned him to my side. I declined his kind offer, and hobbled alone in the dark to my car, looking over my shoulder for a bat, or my scary pale, blood thirsty, knight in shining armor.

With all the cameras everywhere and YouTube video postings, we will all eventually  get caught in the act. But we have a choice. Will it capture us in a random act of helping or hiding? 

Tell me, are you the person that springs to action when someone falls or drops trash? Or have you caught yourself not wanting to get involved? Also, has something happened to you, and no one helped out? I’d love to hear your escapades?

Carry on, 

Xox

I Resist Nothing

Not the traffic,
Not the weather,
Not the donut left on my desk.

Not the automated email reply,
Not the snarky parking guy,
Not the dog/child underfoot who’s a pest.

I Resist Nothing

Not pushing a door that says pull,
Not my itchy sweater made of wool,
Not taking that f*cking DMV test.
.
Not the annoying voice of the lady in line,
Not letting the guy with one item take his turn before mine,
Not that second glass of wine.

I Resist Nothing

Not the desire to take a nap,
Not the last-minute changes to my schedule,
Not taking an extra minute to linger in the rays of the warm sun.

Not the urge to cry when the movie ends,
Not the advise,
Not the compliment,
Not taking the time to have coffee with a friend.

I Resist Nothing

I can be the Queen of resistance. I’m an equal opportunity resistor.
The good AND the bad, so I’m just asking myself, who wins when I do that?

What are you resisting and why?
Carry on,
xox

Thank you little person who goes through my recycling bin on trash day.

I say person because I can’t tell if you’re a man or a woman…and it really doesn’t matter.

It’s that smile of yours that stops me in my tracks every time, reminding me just how good life really is.

Even though you are barely taller than the large blue bin, you manage to get to the bottom of things, underneath the highly top-secret, shredded documents that leave my husband’s office every week, without making a mess. You can even navigate styrofoam popcorn at the holidays without one escaping into the gutter.
That’s a talent.

I’m intrigued with you.
It can be one hundred degrees or fifty, doesn’t matter –– there you are, rain or shine, dressed like a beekeeper, covered from head to toe, with only your tanned face exposed.

Yet, you have eyes that dance with mischief and dare I say…joy?
And inside that smile of yours I’ve noticed, at the most, maybe five teeth.

You are unabashedly happy as you gather our neighborhood’s valuable plastic, cans and glass bottles, and unapologetic, I can tell.
You take great pride in your work as you sift and sort, making sense out of chaos. You find the treasure amid the trash. I admire you for that.

I can be in the worst mood, convinced that my life sucks ass, walk up, see your big toothless smile and it can change my day. You have changed my day — many times.
Because how bad can my life be? You’re happy and I’m not?
That’s a reality check.
That’s a game changer.
That’s a Universal kick in the pants.

There’s big money to be made here, I know that.
I’ve joked a couple of times that judging from the number of wire baskets you fill with the valuable stuff that we can’t be bothered with, you probably have a Mercedes parked a few blocks away, and are wearing couture under your beekeepers outfit, like the Saudi woman do under their burka.

Good for you.

You provide a service and you do it with a smile filled with joy.

Or you’re medicated out of your mind. I have a cynical friend that swears you’re blissed out on some really great shit. “I’ll have what he/she’s having.”

Doesn’t matter.
Thank you for making me happy every damn Tuesday.

Carry on,
xox

“You can’t ride two horses with one ass.”

While I was growing up I used to hear that phrase all the time from my dad.

What? What does that even mean?

This was his reaction to my teenage stress. After he’d watch me fumble and stumble, struggle and juggle; fitting in play rehearsal, singing practice, homework, and my part-time job, he’d admonish me, “Janet, you can’t ride two horses with one ass.”

My reaction was to roll my eyes, snap my gum, turn my head toward the heavens, and exhale the long, deep exhalation of the exasperated teenager. “Okaaaay, daAAAAaad, I get it, make a decision. Do one thing at a time. Gawd.”

I always knew the one thing he thought I should choose to focus on was my job at the supermarket. It could end up being my security, after all, my future, just like it had become his. But truth be told, that was NEVER gonna happen.

He had little patience for my “extracurricular” pursuits. He, as the father figure, the patriarch, the breadwinner, just couldn’t understand what he considered frivolous time wasting.

And I, cast as the dutiful daughter, continued to struggle with not enough asses.

Those extra things were far from superfluous to me, hardly! They were actually my life’s blood –– my passions.

He was unable to wrap his brain around multi-passionate people, and that never changed.
I can’t say that I blame him. Us multi-passionate sorts are hard to figure out.

He’s not alone, there are many out in this world that can’t stand those of us who won’t seem to commit to just one pursuit. “Jack of all trades, master of none” was another of his old school, paternal pontifications.

After a while (years), I understood. I didn’t like it and I was incapable of abiding by it –– but I understood his confusion.

He was from the school of one horse, one ass.

Pick one thing, focus on it, and do it — for the rest of your life.
Then, and only after you’ve collected your retirement, are you allowed to entertain frivolous pursuits. Hopefully, you still have your health, vitality, and a little sass to keep things interesting.

Many in our family died soon after they retired, without enjoying much of life’s extras.

Here’s what I’ve come to realize as I’ve gotten older and hopefully a little wiser.
The things that hold passion for us in life are hardly extras. To me, they are the makings of a life well lived.

Jobs can be had, money made, the focus narrowed, and direction figured out, but it’s the multiple horses that we have the audacity to ride with our one crazy, creative, freedom-seeking-ass, that make us who we are!

Singularly Focused Exemplary Employee is not what I’ve ever wanted written on my headstone.

Badass, multi-passionate, creative, who can’t stay in the saddle; sloppy rider of an entire herd of horses, who you may hear whooping and hollering and having one hell of a ride –– and the time of her life.  Now that’s more like it.

Ride all those horses with your one wild ass.

Own it.

Sorry dad.

Carry on,
Xox

*Below is a recent post from Seth Godin. Man, I can relate, can’t you? What’s your soft spot?

I’ve been in the process of realizing recently that I lived almost two decades avoiding that “uh oh” feeling, too scared to attempt my best work, to be my best self.
My triggers are security and stability, but those are myths, right? They can only be found on the INSIDE.
Anyhow…Have a beautiful Sunday, take it away Seth!
xox

Here comes ‘uh oh’

Working to avoid a feeling merely reminds us of the feeling. And undercuts our work as well.

NOT ANYMORE!

Hey guys,
So…Going out on a limb here.
This is going to be an interesting post. More Woo-woo than most.
If you’re like me, I think most of you will find it interesting at the least, and take it with a grain of salt (and some dark chocolate) if it doesn’t resonate with you.

Here’s the deal. I get emails and follow a few very esoteric “teachers” you might say. Their information comes in the form of channeling or meditations, or just being kick-ass energy interpreters.

Believe it or not, I’m actually pretty discerning; so I read what they have to say, and then I sit with it –– to see how it feels. I like to think I have a finely tuned BS meter.

For the last few months they’ve all been saying the same thing, more or less, and I LOVE when that happens, so for me that’s confirmation.

There are a handful that I have followed since the early 1980’s and pretty much everything they’ve written about has come to pass, so they’ve earned their credibility with me.
Their information is always positive. Without exception.
I can watch CNN if I want to hear otherwise, right?

I remember way back when, hearing them talk about things like yoga, meditation and esoteric teachings becoming mainstream. Things that at the time were very fringe, they felt would be everywhere, even on TV! They predicted it over and over again and each time I scoffed, knowing that it was bullshit, and would never come to pass…Hello, Eckart Tolle, Deepak Chopra, Byron Katie, Abraham Hicks, Hay House, Oprah and Super Soul Sunday!

They also used to talk about technology “downloads” where the influx of energy with regard to triggering certain advances in technology, say like personal computers, (one in every household, like a television –– even handheld computers) was happening at the time. This also sounded like so much bullshit to me back in 1988.
If they’d only been more specific and told me to buy Apple stock!

So now here they go again, and now I have a blog with which to share it.

I think it’s fascinating information and it’s been going around since the end of 2014, and looks to still be on track to come in around March.

So here’s the scuttlebutt on the spiritual streets these days:

There is an influx of energy that is expected to come in, starting in March, that will begin to help us out –– and here’s how:
The human brain only uses a percentage of it’s potential. That’s been agreed upon, right? Some say ten percent and other studies have determined that it’s more like 30-ish percent.

What if the rest of it was storage? Ideas, thoughts, languages, great works and skills we’ve mastered over lifetimes lived on this planet. We’ve all heard about the guy who suffers a traumatic brain injury who then wakes up speaking a foreign language he never knew – fluently. Or the hit on the head that unleashes a previously unknown mathematical genius, or a prolific writer. What if it caused a person to begin to paint – masterpieces. Its happened.

How about children who are born knowing how to read? Or others that play piano or the violin like a virtuoso by the age of three, solve complicated math theories, or remember who they were before they were born?
How could they know that stuff? Does that accumulated information and wisdom remain stored in our brains, waiting to be “remembered” at some opportune time? Are these children simply fast tracking, remembering skills in order to bypass the usual eighteen years it takes the rest of us to come online?

So, it’s about timing, right? The time was right for the tech downloads, a few people around the globe picked up on them and UNDERSTOOD them, and within twenty years (which is the blink of an eye in the scheme of things) we all got Smartphones.

Now the timing is right for a “remembering” energy influx or download, tapping into the brain storage, and even upping brain capacity in a few short years into the forty percentile.

So what would that look like you ask? Apparently, it will start off slow and only if you want it (remember, free will, not everyone invented iPhones) and put simply –– you’ll get really good at stuff. Things you already excel at will get so much easier and better, and supposedly, we could all start consciously bringing forward other things we want to excel at.

Remembering feels different from learning. It’s cleaner, faster and easier.

Want to have a facility with foreign language? Want to retain what you read and listen to with ease? Want to write a book when you’ve never written a grocery list? (I can relate to that one.) Want to ace mathematics, cooking and public speaking? It’s probably all in there, in that storage facility called your brain.

I’d love to think that this is true, to believe that all things are possible, that we can begin to tap into that warehouse of knowledge when we need it, that the energy will allow all of use to fast track, not just a special few.

Don’t you? Hey,why not? Because otherwise, really, what’s the point? Are we here to learn something over, and over and over again?

Let’s all wait and see, I’d LOVE for them to prove me wrong…again.

If this made you laugh or upset you in any way, just forget about it –– oppps, too late, you can’t unknow something…

Carry On,
xox