spiritual

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Elizabeth Gilbert.

I love her. I devour anything she writes.

Her advise to help us navigate failure and success? You do the same thing for both. WHAT!?
Watch. It’s only 7 mins.
It applies to anyone….about any endeavor.
But now, as a writer, this has a whole new meaning for me.

Xox

Love Is Friendship Set On Fire

“Love is friendship caught fire; it is quiet, mutual confidence, sharing and forgiving. It is loyalty through good and bad times. It settles for less than perfection, and makes allowances for human weaknesses. 
Love is content with the present, hopes for the future, and does not brood over the past. It is the day-in and day-out chronicles of irritations, problems, compromises, small disappointments, big victories, and working toward common goals. 
If you have love in your life, it can make up for a great many things you lack. 
If you do not have it, no matter what else there is, it is not enough.”

I can’t remember when and where I came across this poem. I collect anything and everything that touches me, like some people collect recipes. From quotes, to photos, poems, essays, books, notes, even people. 😉
I feel this poem.

I love the title. The thought that when friendship heats up, through acceptance and familiarity, it catches fire. And abracadabra! You have love.

There is a chance it will burn you, this flame of love, but if you don’t dance close to the fire, where you can really feel the heat – what’s the use.

What I Do know for sure, and agree with wholeheartedly…
You can have all the shoes, money, fame, power and whatever else you desire, but if you don’t have love in your life, NOTHING will ever be enough.

Happy Monday – Love You!
Xox

I know for some of you school is back in session, I can tell by the traffic.
When did we vote an end to summer the second week of August?
I didn’t get that ballot.

Are you happy about it because your kids are out from underfoot, or did it fuck up your end of summer trips?

Counting this one, we still have three more August weekends. Let’s not rush summer out the door.

The smell of Suntan lotion, watermelon, peaches, cherries – SUMMER
Seagulls, the Dodger games on the radio, more specifically, Vin Scully’s voice calling the game, tan skin, saltwater, lifeguard towers, colorful beach towels, sea glass, hot sand, the hum of air conditioners, flip flops, cold beer, ice tea, all Mean Summer to me.

What’s your best memory from this summer….so far 😉

Happy Summer Sunday!

Big sandy, saltwater hugs,
Xox

Sometimes the Universe delivers to you the hard scrabble lessons that you need in order to grow.

You can either resist or comply.
If you resist, it will revisit you, getting larger and more complicated in its delivery until you are forced to pay attention and acquiesce.

You know how I know that?
I am currently being supported by a man
Ugh………
AWKWARD (sung in high voice)

In a very deliberate attempt to be my own person and pay my own way, I got a job at sixteen, while I still lived at home.
Also, my dad made me. But that’s beside the point.
He insisted it be at Von’s supermarket, but rest assured, I would have started earning my own money at that age if it killed me.

I wanted to buy my own food (I HATED what was served at home).
I wanted to supplement my clothing budget. Sears and JC Penny’s-OUT, Bullocks Wilshire- IN.
I wanted to buy my own shampoo and make up, and get my hair cut where and when I wanted, and pay for it myself
AND
I wanted to stop taking the bus and buy a car.

Everyone in my family has a very strong work ethnic which has come in extremely handy for me, since I like money.
I like the financial freedom it gives me, and I’ll work my ass off to get it.
I’ve held two jobs at one time, with eight hours in between to sleep.
I like to spend it or give it away without explanations, excuses or apologies.

This independence has been a badge of honor I’ve worn all my life.
Hi, My name is Janet, I pay my own way.

So you can imagine how I feel at this stage of my life, mid fifties, with no job and no income stream.
I never saw this chapter coming.
It wasn’t how I’d imagined my life would be.
But hey, shit happens, right? Get over it.

I can sit around wanting things to be different, which is like trying to give a cat a bath, or I can embrace – Where. I. Am.

I’m being supported. Not by the state, or strangers, but by a man. Husband.
I hate even writing that.

My bad. My lesson to learn. Obviously.

But look how lucky I am. He is willing and able.
I would totally do it if the situation were reversed – no question about it.
I am the only one that has a problem with the arraignment.
Note to self: When shit hits the fan and you ask the Universe for help, it’s not polite to say “Oh, not THAT!”

I’m reminded of the parable about the man and the flood. 
There is a terrible flood and a man is trapped on his rooftop as he fervently prays to God to be saved.
After awhile, a boat comes by, but the man won’t get in. He’s waiting for God to save him.
Next a helicopter hovers overhead and throws down a rope. The man won’t take it. He yells up “I’m waiting to be saved by God.”
A second boat appears and still the man declines. “I’ve prayed to God and He’s going to save me”.
Soon, the man drowns and goes to Heaven. As you can imagine, he’s pissed.
When he finally sees God he exclaims, “I was praying so hard for you to save me, why did you let me down?”
To which God responds, “I sent you two boats and a helicopter, what more did you want?”

Just because what is supporting me right now feels foreign to me, doesn’t mean it’s not the answer to my prayers. As a matter of fact that’s how I KNOW it’s sent from God.

It just irked me to have to be supported.
Until I read the definition.
Supporting someone is noble and at times, necessary.
I’ve done it many times without giving it a second thought.
Being the receiver is much more difficult, but I’m starting to think that it can be just as noble a task – when your head’s in the right place. (Work in progress)

SUPPORT
sup·port
səˈpôrt/
verb
1.
bear all or part of the weight of; hold up.
produce enough food and water for; be capable of sustaining.
be capable of fulfilling (a role) adequately.
2.noun
give assistance to, especially financially; enable to function or act.
provide with a home and the necessities of life.
give approval, comfort, or encouragement to.

I’m definitely at a crossroads in my life and I’m not passive at all. I’m actively pursuing a couple of different ventures, but while I do, it’s nice to be able to eat and have a roof over my head, and believe me when I say- I have SO MUCH MORE

Yin and yang
Light and dark
Ebb and flow
This too shall pass.

What irks you right now that you KNOW is part of a bigger plan?

Love, love,
Xox

Mary had a little lamb,
Whose fleece was white as snow.
And everywhere that Mary went.
The lamb was sure to go.

I had a couple of revelations last weekend.

The first one I’m not proud of, but I think it’s important to know yourself, and I’ve become uncomfortably acquainted with my lack of tolerance for anything that whines, cries, looks to me to entertain it, or needs my constant attention and approval. In other words, it was validated once again, that I would have made a terrible mother.
I just lack that gene I guess.

The second I’ll tell you about later.

My husband was off racing high performance sports cars.
I know.
I want to come back as him in my next life, as MANY others do, so….take a number and get in line.

This left me alone with the boxer-shark puppy and the old girl, and when they are left with only one parent, they become dogs in sheep’s clothing.
They follow me EVERYWHERE and it’s been driving me INSANE.
And the whining. Hello? It’s torture.

Yet, there they are, every day. One with the face of an angel and the body of a super model and the other with a snaggle tooth, a limp and the face of an old Hungarian bubby.

Even in the bathroom. Which reminds me of the stories my sister used to tell about her two toddlers crying and knocking on the bathroom door, while she tried to have a moment. I thought those stories were a riot. Shame on me. I should have had more compassion.

Note to self: My compassion gene seems to be missing as well.

My two little lambs cry outside my bathroom door, and the puppy has taken to body slamming it in hopes of getting inside to drink from the bidet. Who taught them THAT filthy habit?

They have taken it upon themselves to become my two tiny tyrant time keepers.
They make sure I wake up at six sharp, by licking my face and play/fighting either right on top of me, or positioned close enough to where I get sprayed by flying drool, covered in hair and can feel the heat of their sweet and sour dog breath on the back of my neck. They want to make sure that I’m aware that it’s six AM and they’re STARVING.

They can’t understand how I can find happiness outside of chasing a ball, chewing on an orange plastic pretzel, or licking my own ass.

They whine if I’m in the kitchen past their boredom tolerance time allotment, which is approximately three minutes.
Same with writing, watching a movie, and any other task that seems mundane….to them.

Yesterday I was in the shower, the one place I can find some peace (although the puppy is just on the verge of joining me in there as well) and I was contemplating throwing down some kibble and water and leaving for the weekend (to pick up my Mother of The Year Award). Shit, the puppy would totally be fine, she is my renegade.
The older dog is the do-gooder, people pleaser. If I gave them each spare change and sent them out to buy me a cow, Dita, the old girl, would return home with a prize, grass-fed Heifer. Ruby would saunter in pregnant, with magic beans and a hell of a story to tell.

The two of them will get up from a sound sleep next to me on the couch, to follow me in circles (I do lead them in circles to see if I can shake um) following me outside – to the kitchen – around the bedroom – into the den and back – whining the whole time.

They double team me, telling me their big doe eyed doggie lies to convince me I’m a hack and a terrible person.

Which brings me to the second revelation:
We all have doubts, fears, worries and obligations that follow us around like whining little bitches, demanding our attention, just like these two canine creatures. Except…my thoughts are more like wolves in sheep’s clothing – merciless predators.

The stuff that follows you everywhere, stealing YOUR time, and convincing you that you’re no good.
They don’t have to wake you up at 6 a.m. because they don’t let you sleep –– at all.
Yeah, those guys.

Husband (he now only has one name, like Cher and Elvis) isn’t bothered by any of it.
He never hears the whining, he doesn’t mind the wake up calls and he doesn’t trip over them like I do all. day. long.

They are just dogs. And THAT is the reason in a nutshell why he maintains his level-headed, good-natured sanity, while I take the slow slide down the rabbit hole. (Slight exaggeration) He has the innate ability to let things roll off his back. They don’t stick. And THAT’s his trick to life. Don’t sweat the small stuff.

I’m working on it.
Don’t sweat the small stuff.
Got it.
I don’t have to trip over my doubts and worries, or watch them follow me around in circles. How about if I just tune out their chatter, like husband tunes out the whining?
Okay, good idea.

Now, what about the old girl and the puppy?
Those two furry obligations? They are the trouble I’m willing to keep in my life.
The others….not so much

What annoyances can you ignore and which just HAVE to go? Tell moi.

Big, big love,
Xox

*Those cushions were white five minutes ago.

“Miracles are like meatballs because nobody can exactly agree on what they are made of, where they come from, or how often they should appear.”
― Lemony Snicket

Hi my loves,
Here’s another WTF Friday miracle story. And it’s a GOOD one.
It’s been in my head, writing itself for days. I haven’t thought about it for over twenty years so it’s persistence proves to me that it’s a tale that wants to be told.

It shows how the Universe will take care of us NO MATTER WHAT when we are on our path. 

That being said, I will endeavor to tell it as I remember it, without embellishment, exactly as my mini Yoda, pocket-shaman relayed it to me.

He told me the story one rainy afternoon as he was brewing a pot of something that smelled like a combination of the bottom of a cat box and the inside of my high-school gym locker. He would roll his eyes and stare at me with complete exasperation, as I literally gagged that shit, I mean tea, down every day, with the promise that it would help me feel better. Remember, I wasn’t doing so well energetically at that time, and he was the humor-free shaman that the Universe had assigned to my case.

So…here goes.
Once upon a loooooong time ago, T,  (my Yoda) traveled the world for years with the intention of soaking up knowledge from different teachers and learning ancient healing techniques that in remote parts of the world are only passed down verbally.

As weeks turned to months and months to years, he had started to run out of money and was exhausted both mentally and physically.

He couldn’t remember exactly which country he was in, Nepal, he thought, when he found himself walking many hours on a rocky dirt road, looking for a place to eat and potentially stay the night.

“On that kind of journey, you often stay in local people’s homes” he explained, “Trading something you’ve gathered along the way for a bite to eat and a place to rest your weary bones.” He had collected a couple of beautiful scarves, precious beads, dried fruit, and chocolate, things that were easy to carry and could be used in lieu of currency.
He also offered a healing when appropriate.

As he tells it, he was hiking along, in a kind of walking meditation, on a steep mountain road, when he suddenly looked up and saw a tall tree next to a wall with a huge wooden door. He swears it appeared out of nowhere.

A Monastery perhaps? he thought.

He stood in front of the wooden door for a long time after knocking.

Nothing. No answer.

He knocked again, louder, three more times with no reply before he walked away.

Five or six steps up the path he thought he heard the creaking of heavy wood and straining metal. He turned around to see a very tall man in long robes standing at the entrance.

He tried all the local dialects in an attempt to communicate with the man, but to no avail.  It was then that he noticed the intricate embroidery on his robes—which meant he wasn’t a monk, so this wasn’t a monastery.

He acted more like a doorman, silently nodding and gesturing for T to go inside.

He was intrigued and decided to comply. As he walked past the giant, dandily dressed man, he was surprised to feel how much cooler it was inside the dark shadows thrown by thick stone walls.  It appeared to him to be an ancient and enormous labyrinth of rooms.  He could hear birds singing and the trickle of fountains and everywhere he looked were elaborately colored tile walls. The floors were covered with Persian rugs made of ceramic tiles as the silent gentleman-doorman led him down a long hallway to a large bed chamber that was set up like a spa.

One side of the room was dominated by a thick, cushy mattress sitting on the floor that was overtaken by tons of large pillows and surrounded by voluminous drapes of fabric.  On a round table covered in mosaic tiles was a pitcher of water with fresh limes, and bowls of figs and dates. The other side had a large step-down tub/pool with a private bathroom, which was highly unusual.  In that part of the world, the baths and toilets, which were generally holes in the ground, were most commonly shared.

The man motioned for T to put down his heavy pack and rest.

T tried to explain that he had almost no money and that even if he did he could never afford to stay in such a grand establishment, for this could never be someone’s home, it must surely be the most beautiful hotel he’d ever seen.
But before he could finish… without a sound…the man was gone.

When he sat on the bed to figure out what to do next, he realized just how bone-tired he really was. The next thing he remembered was waking up surrounded by the long shadows of dusk.
After enjoying the facilities, soaking in the deep pool of cool, clean water and putting on fresh clothes, he left the room in search of the tall quiet guy or anyone else who may be in charge so he could apologize for falling asleep and give them what little money he had left.

The place was huge, covered floor to ceiling with ornate tile which left him visually disoriented while attempting to navigate a very complicated floor plan that kept leading him back to what appeared to be a large dining room.

The long table was surrounded by many chairs and lit by the glow of numerous candelabras. It was also completely covered, end to end—with food! Steaming hot plates of saffron rice with raisins, sauteed eggplant, and different meat dishes with flat bread and fruits of every variety.

He noticed only one place setting, it was at the head of the table. This must be a feast for the owner of the establishment he thought. Good, now I can talk to someone, and maybe get a bite to eat.
The smell of all the delicious food was making his stomach churn with hunger.

Just then the silent gentleman appeared.  T took out his money and started asking if it would be possible to talk to the owner and get something to eat; but the man again motioned for him to be seated at the head of the table. Bewildered, T sat down and the man with no words started to serve him. Guessing by now that maybe the lovely man had taken a vow of silence or was profoundly deaf, he ceased talking and started eating, figuring the owner or some other guests would come along soon, (even though he hadn’t seen another soul), allowing him to clear things up.

Certainly all this incredible food wasn’t just for him.
But it was.

The way he told it, that night was some of the best food and wine he’s EVER tasted.
And it was the best bed he’s EVER slept in, and the deepest sleep he’s EVER slept.

I can’t remember exactly how he discovered it, I think he saw the date on his watch, but at some point, he realized that when he woke up at dusk that first day, he had actually slept over 24 hours and it was dusk of the next day!
“No wonder I was so hungry.” He said, laughing.

Back at the Villa, he wandered around, getting lost in its beauty, never seeing another soul. He spent his hours admiring the opulence, swimming in the pool of clear cool water, eating whatever and whenever he felt like, and resting—deeply— something he hadn’t allowed himself to do for many months.

Occasionally, he would see the quiet man whom he had stopped trying to communicate with.
They seemed to do just fine without words.

He could have stayed in this Nirvana forever, but after three days he decided to leave, lest he take advantage of his benefactor’s generosity.
As he was leaving, he wrapped all his money and some valuable red amber beads in the best scarf he had, and put it on a table by the door. It wasn’t nearly enough for all the luxury afforded him, but it was all he had.

The days of rest he’d gotten gave him a new sense of purpose and he was able to do some healings to earn money, so he continued on his journey.

He figured it was about a year later when he was passing through that part of the world again that he wanted to go back and stay at the beautiful retreat. This time he had plenty of money to pay!

He climbed the steep  and dusty road, remembering all the twists and turns until he found himself suddenly at the top.
He must have passed the place while lost deep in anticipation of the food and wine, although that seemed impossible.
He walked back down the road slowly and deliberately now, finally seeing the tree to his left….but no wall, no large wooden door, and absolutely no villa.

He stood there for a long time, doubting himself, knowing he was standing in the exact right place.

He would NEVER forget this road and that tree with the giant door and the man who never spoke.

After awhile another traveler, an old man with a skinny goat, walked into view.
As the man passed, T asked him what had happened to the grand villa that had stood right in that spot just a year ago.

“I am a very old man, and I’ve lived at the bottom of the hill all my life, and I can assure you, there has never been any building, let alone something grand on this road”.

T thanked the old man, handing him several bags of almonds, and stood there mystified for some time. Eventually, he made his way back down the hill and stayed in town with the old man and the goat.

“The Universe provides just what we need when we need it” he assured me with the conviction miracles instill in people who have been beneficiaries of just such an event.

That is just one of many, many meatball miracles that happened to him on that journey to seek wisdom. The Universe provides.

I love that story. How about you?
Xox

“A woman would never make a nuclear bomb. They would never make a weapon that kills. They’d make a weapon that makes you feel bad for a while.”
– Robin Williams

The death of Robin Williams has really cut close to the bone for so many of us. 

Is it because we’ve watched in awe as he’s demonstrated his in-the-moment, out of body, brand of free form humor since Mork and Mindy?
Or
Is it because another beautiful human being has lost their fight with depression and addiction?

I used to love watching the people around him, from Johnny Carson and Barbara Walters to Charlie Rose, try to keep it together as he drifted seamlessly, and hilariously from discussing one of his movies, into a dolphin, a monkey or a dude on quaaludes.

“We had gay burglars the other night, they broke in and rearranged the furniture.”
~ Robin Williams

I had the privilege of seeing him at a small club on the Sunset Strip in the late 1970’s, just before his big TV break. We heard there was this guy who was nuts, and was about to become a huge star, Hollywood was all abuzz.
His standup act was a rapid fire, stream of consciousness barrage of curse words, accents, impressions and crazy voices, all improvised, as he ran back and forth across the stage for almost two hours, soaked with sweat and high as a kite. The act was filthy, filthy, filthy dirty, but not mean. It never was. I always liked that. 

“Do you think God gets stoned? I think so … look at the platypus.”
~Robin Williams

The audience was filled with uptight industry execs and young people from the music, TV and movie worlds. We had NEVER seen ANYTHING like him.
The laugher was so loud and ceaseless, that I missed a ton of what he was saying. I thought people were going to have strokes; their faces beet red, all bent forward, barely able to breath – from laughter. I’ve never before or since witnessed anything remotely close to that night. He was Divinely inspired, with his high wire comedy act.
It felt courageously dangerous.

It’s a toss up which serious movie of his was my favorite. He was such a gifted actor, even more so because we all knew that wild side he was keeping behind some big thick, metal bars deep inside, delivering someone else’s written lines.
But the light from his huge heart always leaked through.

I wrote earlier this week about the unexpected death of a friend’s brother, and how we need to tell the people we love, that we love them – because they could be gone tomorrow.
Rita Wilson urged everyone today to do the same, because of Robin.
We also have to take depression seriously.
If you or someone you know is suffering from depression, please don’t isolate. There is nothing to be ashamed of. Please tell someone. Reach out, because you are NOT alone. As Anne Lamott wrote so passionately, with her unflinching honesty and understanding of the subject: don’t step off into the abyss. There can be resurrection.

“In America they really do mythologize people when they die.”
~Robin Williams

The number for the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline is 1-800-273-TALK (8255)

…and you may not marry them ,date them, or even like them very much. But you should thank them.

Love you,
Xox

I read something this weekend that touched me, and reminded me about those certain sweet aspects of our connections with each other that get swept aside because we think we have all the time in the world.

The man who I worked for in the jewelry business for almost twenty years lost his brother on Tuesday in a very sudden and unexpected way.

Damned heart attack.

That loss will reverberate throughout their family in untold ways and my heart goes out to each and every one of them.

I didn’t know him well, but having been to family birthdays and holiday parties over the years, I’d met his wife and kids and we’d had our share of kitchen duty and kid clean-up casual conversations. He was an active outdoorsman, family man and cut up.
He had the huge grin of a Cheshire Cat, and I always liked him.

I was hoping to find out if they were having any kind of service for him, where I could go and extend my condolences, so I checked the obituaries in the LA Times.
He hadn’t suffered a long illness, and was only in his early sixties, vital and active, so his obit reflected how hastily it had been put together. It was short and sweet.

I scrolled down to the comments and although not too many people have felt compelled to comment beyond their shock and sadness, there was one that was so personal and tender, it really touched my heart.

It was written by his yoga teacher.
Apparently he had had a regular yoga practice for many years, (which makes me like him even more) and he had been to class on Monday, the night before he passed.
She wrote that some people bring something special with them to class; and that she will miss his presence.
She explained that he fell into the category of students that made her happy when she came into the room and saw them on their mat, in their usual spot. She said that she had wanted to say goodbye to him after class, but often people are so peacefully zoned out that she doesn’t like to disturb them, and she regretted not having her last hello/goodbye with him that night.

That was the takeaway for me.
We all skip those little moments.
The simple hi or goodbye, maybe even a nod or smile or that split second of eye contact to let someone know that you were happy to see them.
We respect their privacy and skip the hug.
Then the next day- they’re gone.

Her simple words reminded me of something I think we all tend to forget.
Life’s too short and I hate regrets, so if I see you, I’m going to say hello and probably hug you.

Love you all, big hug,
Xox

“A man will be imprisoned in a room with a door that’s unlocked and opens inwards; as long as it does not occur to him to pull rather than push.”
~Ludwig Wittgenstein

From yesterday’s Ted Talk by Michael Neill.
That quote still gets to me. When I think of all the tears and energy I’ve wasted all those MANY times I’ve pushed instead of pulled.
How about you?

Happy Sunday my loves!

Xox