advice

Hi you guys,
This is a subject I struggle with A LOT.

I’m tenacious to a fault, and some of my greasy (I wrote greatest but auto correct changed it to greasy and who am I to challenge auto correct? Truth be told — they were greasy!) Mistakes happened when I didn’t know when to throw in the towel — cut my losses.

Other people fold the minute things get tough. Wait, what am I sayin’ I’ve wanted to do that too!

I love me some Marie Forleo. I want to be her when I grow up and I love this graphic by Deborah LeFrank, cause I’m visual, I love seeing Marie’s insights all written out.

The ten-year test is genius.

Asking for guidance…learning curve.
..listening when it’s offered…pricless.

Quitters DO win…game changer!

So, is this something you battle with as well?

Which one are you? Do you get dragged or do you let go too soon?

Or both – like me?

Do you have any stories, what did you learn?

Carry on,
Xox

Well, there you are WTHW! Jeeeeez, where have you been?

A reader of this blog recently asked, What the hell happened to What The Hell Wednesday?

What happened is this: I have to sit down and remember a freaky, mystical, WTH experience to write about OR one just comes to me…on a Wednesday…you know, like it does.
Anyhow…

Last week was the tenth anniversary of my dad’s passing, and my aunt (his sister) wrote my siblings and me a lovely email remembering him.

In it she recounted the story of being at his bedside in the days before he died as he kept asking her,”Can you see her? She’s waiting for me.” He was referring to a sister of ours who had died at birth. Even though she was an infant, only living for thirty minutes after she was born, he saw her at the foot of his bed as the end drew near, as a little girl with blonde hair — patiently waiting to take him home.

When I wrote her back I assured her that his sense of humor was still intact on the other side,(she was wondering) and told her this story:

“I also have a Roy story to share:
In September 2005, six months after he died, Raphael and I went to Spain to ride motorcycles, one of the things that I remember him crying over the loss of, he LOVED to ride the wide open vistas, so we definitely have that in common.

One particularly gorgeous day, the temperature was perfect, there was the smell of coffee and bread and freshly mowed grass in the air, and the scenery was beyond description!

I pictured him riding shotgun with me on the back of the bike, taking in the views. “You see that dad, isn’t it beautiful? Use my eyes, take this all in.” I kept pestering him over and over. Still, I got the sense that he was really enjoying himself and his time in Spain (ha!).

One afternoon after once again inviting dad to ride along with me, I couldn’t feel him. After a few hours I realized he just simply wasn’t here. I was crushed. I’d been Sooooo enjoying our rides together.

Toward the end of the day as we crested a hill overlooking a verdant valley below with its quaint village of houses and their red tile roofs; thick black storm clouds hung in the sky and their farthest edges provided one of the most spectacular sun sets I’ve ever witnessed.

“Dad, are you seeing this?” I asked in awe, almost out of habit.

Then I heard his answer and it floored me.

He said:
“Janet, I’ve loved riding with you, and Thank you so much for the use of your eyes and Raphael’s super riding abilities. Although Spain is lovely, you’ve got to quit bothering me. If you could see what I see, every second of every minute, of every hour…well, honey, this pales in comparison.”

Then he gave me one split second’s view with his eyes.

My eyes immediately welled up with tears and my goosebumps got goosebumps. I will never be able to find the word to describe it. Colors I’ve never seen before. Beauty and music and…What a gift.

I know where he is is pure positive energy.

I know I (we) will see him again.

I know he is around us always, and when we think of him, like we are today, he puts his hand on our shoulders.

I know he’s proud of all of us, his love is unconditional.

I for sure know his sense of humor is intact.

I feel him around me and our family often (I actually have a closer relationship to him now than I did when he was alive).
I talk to him, and seek his council often on things regarding my brother and sister and me.

It is my belief that he still hold focus and great interest in the dealings of ALL of the family. He watches over every single one of us, and our shenanigans provide him with some good belly laughs (okay, maybe that just applies to mine)”.

I really do hold the belief that our loved ones don’t just evaporate into the ethers. They remain around us,(I beg my dad to stay out of my bedroom and shower — awkward.) Ready at a moment’s notice to intervene If. We. Ask.

And I’m learning that their personality traits only get sharper. My dad’s a regular comedian on the other side, with a show every night — two on Sundays.

What do you believe? Has a loved one visited you and given you advice or made you laugh? Do you feel them around you when you walk in nature or ride a motorcycle? Please share, I’d love to think I’m not alone here, and I promise not to put your story in a WTHW.(wink)

Carry on,
xox

DEATH IS NOT THE END

When you’re sad and when you’re lonely
And you haven’t got a friend
Just remember that death is not the end
And all that you held sacred
Falls down and does not mend
Just remember that death is not the end
Not the end, not the end
Just remember that death is not the end

Nick Cave – Death Is Not The End Lyrics | MetroLyrics

Bad habit #319 – I offer unsolicited advice.

I know! It sucks—big time.
I’m working on it, but sometimes I can’t seem to help myself.
I write a freakin’ advice blog for God sakes!

It’s a very masculine trait, problem solving, one of the last remaining vestiges of working in a male dominated career and making it a priority to develop only the male side of my personality.
But enough of that, that’s a huge generalization and an exercise in stereotyping. If I try to reverse engineer how I became this way…well…
…I’m the eldest of three, and the younger kids would often need my help with…stop it Janet!
Enough!

You see, if presented with a dilemma I will chew on that bone, sucking out the very marrow of it until I’ve come up with a plan.
Make that three plans.
Usually a Plan A which is the best, (of course), to Plan C which I recommend only as a last resort.

From directions in the car—to what to order at my favorite bistro—to how to dump the chump, if you seem…uncertain—I’m your girl.

But you see, that’s the thing. I haven’t paid enough attention, or taken the time (a minute and a half), to distinguish what’s going on with you.

Is that look on your face the I’m working this out, I’ve got this look? Or, are you lost in a fog of uncertainty only wishing I would open my mouth and help you out? (No one has ever gotten that far so we’ll just have to imagine that one.)

Or this, right out of left field—maybe you’re just making conversation!

It’s a subtle difference (not really), and once I started to observe THE MASTER—I understood, and I decided to take a page out his play book.

My husband has developed a sort of super power.

It was acquired and has been honed after years of having his head bitten off.
Like an exasperated praying mantis after yet another beheading, he started to pay closer attention. He learned how to read me and slowly but surely he has become the Master of Silent Advice.

Now you may be wondering what the hell I’m talking about.

He has mastered the skill of silence. Not indifference, make no mistake—the two can be easily confused and he’s lost his head a few times over that one too.

No, he’s observed me closely when certain situations have presented themselves in the fifteen years we’ve been together and he listens; waiting for just the right moment, because honestly, whether I’ve got things covered or I’m lost in the fog—I look the same.

It’s a nuance thing.

And here’s key, the Golden Ticket so to speak:
He only extends me a hand or offers me advice—when I ask him.

What?
If you wait, someone will ask you?
What a concept, that is genius!

So if you’re around me these days you may notice a strange look on my face as you tell me about your day. Oh God, don’t mistake it for disinterest—I’m literally biting my tongue…listening.

Waiting for you to ask me what I think.

You’re gonna ask soon—right?

Because I’ve got this.

Plan A is genius (if I do say so myself, humility is my next hurdle).

So ask me already!

Being aware you have a problem is the first step…right?

Carry on,
With big, big love and buckets of gratitude for putting up with me,

Xox

As I write this, I can feel the soft, cool underbelly of the big, older dog snoozing on my feet.
The puppy appears to be asleep except her eyebrows give her away. They signal that she is following my every move. She is plotting another caper and is patiently waiting for me to quit writing, get up, and leave.

“Everything that falls on the floor is MINE!”

That is their credo, their theme song, and the canine unspoken agreement.
If I’d let them get tattoos, that’s what they’d say.
But that statement gives ME a pit in my stomach. It sparks a crusty, old, unkind memory that hits me like a sucker punch.

“Everything that falls on the floor is MINE!”, is a quote is from the cover of a book about dogs.
It’s kinda funny, but it got me to feeling and thinking, which makes me run to start writing. Isn’t it weird how something as innocuous as the title of a dog book can trigger an emotion?

“Everything that falls on the floor is MINE!”
That is a declaration of ownership of…the scraps.
The stuff that is tainted enough that it isn’t fit for public consumption.
It can’t even pass the five-second rule.
Most likely the crap on the floor came off the bottom of someone’s shoe — literally.

“I call it! It’s mine!” That’s fine for Fido, but not for us.

“Everything that falls on the floor is MINE!”
It is the cover page and the first rule in the Dog’s Life Handbook.
Not ours. Our first rule is “Call Your Mother.”

But what about us? How many times have you and I settled for the scraps in life?
From the blouse at Target that is marked down to 99 cents but is missing a button, (which as much as we say we’re going to—we never replace), to accepting pity sex from your ex-boyfriend?

That shitty “bridge” job that was just supposed to get you through the summer?
What happened? It’s five years later, why are you still there?

I’ve been so broke I have lived off scraps. Specifically, days of leftovers salvaged from one meal or my sister’s “doggie bag” from El Toritos. The irony of the name does not escape me.

I drove a piece of shit car that wanted nothing more in its life than to shimmy sideways.

I’ve also settled for the scraps of affection thrown to me in a dying relationship.
I’ve been seated at the table. I’ve enjoyed the love feast. But when I sensed the end, I did not push away and say my goodbyes with dignity. I dove for the scraps.
Ouch. Oh, hi Fido, funny to see you down here.

I have pretty healthy self-esteem, but there have been some glaring lapses.
I wasn’t alone. Gwen Stefani of the band No Doubt had a hit song “Bath Water” during that time.
Part of the chorus being: ‘Cause I still love to wash in your old bath water, Love to think that you couldn’t love another, Share a toothbrush….you’re my kind of man.’  UGH.

At a certain point, I’m gonna say around my mid thirties, I said: no more scraps.
And I meant it.

No more second-hand clothes, no more beat up chairs-full-of-promise fished out of dumpsters. Enough of the stuff left on the curb because it didn’t make the cut at the neighborhood yard sale. Enough of the sloppy seconds from lovers. I was finished being broke, I was done with settling.
I deserved better than that. I deserved the best.
The best love.
The best life.
The best-made plans.

“Everything that falls on the floor is MINE!”
That is my dog’s credo, I’m clear about that now and they can have it.

Tell me, have you ever settled for the scraps?

Carry on,

Xox

There come times in our lives when things suddenly change.
They go south,
The wheels fall off the cart.

But instead of becoming panicky—use your art of negotiation!

Children are masters at this.
Watch, listen and learn.
They will negotiate everything from bedtime, computer time, to eating kale.

No subject is off-limits.
If they think they can sway the situation to their advantage, high level diplomatic talks begin.

My friend calls her son Henry Kissinger.
In his world EVERYTHING is open for negotiation.
As much as this irks her, she also admires it.
He’s gotten so good, that sometimes she doesn’t realize until later, that he worked her.

No isn’t always no, it’s a very firm maybe.

Why do we lose that skill as adults?
We kinda take things at face value,
Everything’s a done deal.

If done correctly, negotiating things in life could have a ripple effect.
Using our imaginations to offer an eyelash to the tooth fairy,
so to speak, could inspire others to have that same cleverness when
things appear to go wrong, and THAT’S a world I’d like to live in!
Xox Janet