BreathSpace

Shake Well

2012-01-19T06:43:00.000-08:00

This week, I purchased a bottle of homeopathic medicine to give to my husband and as I read the instructions on the bottle to "shake well", I paused to think.

Engaging in my lifelong pursuit of fun and free amusement, I began to allow my body to shake, quiver and jiggle.

When I stopped moving I began to wonder if I had shaken well.

And who would be arbiter of my efforts?

Would the Secret Shake Patrol come knocking at my door in a few moments to notify me that my gyrations were insufficient and they did not appreciate my mocking behavior?

I began to think about how many bottles containing liquid ingredients advise( or admonish) us "to shake well before serving or using." And were there other such day-to-day, ordinary instructions that I was ignoring or taking for granted?

Perhaps any sense of low self-esteem I have dealt with in my lifetime could be traced back to my cavalier or inept shaking skills.

I had better become more mindful of Life's plentiful and ubiquitous little instructions to see what and where else I might be missing an important opportunity for self-fulfillment.

Till then, join me now in a shake, rattle and rolllllllll.

Occupy Spirit

2012-01-09T11:58:00.000-08:00

(This is from a daily guide I submitted to Agape's Inner Visions Magazine for January 5th)

OCCUPY SPIRIT

January, 2012

“Though you may not have any real results at first, simply continue; you will reach your goal. When you begin to become conscious of your interior life and begin to live more or less in touch with the world beautiful that is within you, you will find that you can live in this high, peaceful state the greater part of the time...” Christian Larson, The Ideal Made Real

In New York on September 17, 2011, the Canadian activist group AdBusters launched the now famous “Occupy Wall Street” event that has replicated itself across our nation.

Washington Post, writer Cornel West described this as a "democratic awakening", citizens feeling out of control of their lives take matters into their own hands and occupy different places making a political statement calling for change. This form of civil unrest and civil disobedience is to me, reminiscent of what our New Thought forefathers, Emerson and Thoreau wrote.

I see all this as an opportunity for another call: a spiritual awakening. Therefore, I am asking you to join me in the Occupy Spirit Movement. What makes my campaign so advantageous is that it requires no physical movement or geographical locale other than your own mind and heart; and it has immediate and lasting results.

By choosing to occupy our own minds --taking control of our thoughts by means of our spiritual practice -- we begin to occupy Spirit (and thereby fully allowing Spirit to occupy us); and move our lives and the world into the ideal made real.

Affirm with me: This year, this day, this moment, I choose to occupy my place in Spirit. As I affirm that God lives, moves and has Its being in me, I take active residence in this heavenly state of well-being, love and joy. And so it is.

1 January, 2012

2012-01-01T00:58:00.000-08:00

It's finally here-- the New Year, 2012.
2012 doesn't even rhyme with anything. Which is a good thing so that goofy NewAgers can't make an easy affirmation out of it.
"Hey it's 2005, time to come alive" Or, "2008 is going to be great!" You get my drift.
This year, 2012, will have to stand on its own merits as will I.

As I sit here and listen to firecrackers going off in the neighborhood, I wonder if that happened when 2011 arrived. I don't think so. I think it is because so many of us are truly celebrating and welcoming these new 365. No wonder the Samoans wanted to skip a whole day just to get to 2012 faster.

Since I didn't get some of my loftier projects done today as I had hoped--neither the closet nor the desk got any cleaning or organizing attention --I felt even more compelled to be awake for midnight. I did manage to run errands, tend to my flu-felled husband, go shopping, get the dog groomed and do five loads of laundry.

So it is all the more important that I began/begin the new year very mindfully.

At 11:45 p.m. I got into a very hot Epsom salt bath with lavender and began to recite the Hoʻoponopono prayer (ho-o-pono-pono) the ancient Hawaiian practice of reconciliation and forgiveness until midnight. Then I washed it all away and entered the new year with self love and peace of mind. Ah.

Now I can climb into my clean sheets and sweet slumber. It may be New Years Day (off) for most. But for me, it's a work day.

Bring on those black eyed peas!

Boxing Day, 2011

2011-12-26T15:08:00.000-08:00

For the past few months, I have been in many boxes:
--Too much to do, not enough time box.
--Personalities and politics at work have been challenging box
--Everything and everyone else takes precedence box..
--Lots of holidays and events to distract me box.
--I don't have time to learn the new features and vagaries of current blogging box...
...therefore, I have not written a new blog post since October.

Not for the lack of trying.

I began several and ran out of time or energy to complete; and then this weird thing happened. I began to feel an odd sort of guilt for not writing. It felt not totally unlike when I was a kid and I knew I had stayed out too long and was going to be late but didn't want to call my Mom to tell her because I'd hear a lecture. And yet, the longer I procrastinated, the harder it was when I finally had to come home and face the music.

Told you it was weird. Especially when you consider that I absolutely love to write. It is one of the finer pleasures in life and offers myriad layers of satisfaction.

My Anglo-philean nature does acknowledge the true meaning of Boxing Day. I feel as if I participated in that yesterday--which was typically Christmas Day for most-- in that I held a "Come As You Are on Christmas Morning" Sunday service which included some charitable actions. And today, I am being charitable to myself by staying in my PJ's and staying off the computer except for the luxurious choice of writing. (I have not even turned on my iPhone today.)

I am going to ride the slipstream of the new year energy and just glide back into the rhythm of writing as if no time had passed.

Where was I . . .?

Grief Stew

2011-10-06T21:25:00.001-07:00

As I sit here tonight typing on my MacBook, I cannot help but reflect on the enormous impact Steve Jobs has had on my life. I don't wish to be so self-absorbed here---I realize that he, Wozniak and all of Apple Computers have made a significant difference in the world as we know it---but this is my blog and Mr. Jobs is one of my heroes. And even though I did not have the privilege of knowing this man personally, his passing is no small thing to me and I am mourning the loss of this creative visionary.

I would not be on any computer if it were not for a Mac. I started on a Mac and have never looked back. The simplicity and creativity associated with Apple Computers always made sense to me. Frankly, I do not understand the appeal of other PC's. Macs just match my right-brained inclinations and natural order. Putting myself through ministerial school, I did not just work for Apple because it was a job, it was because I believed in the company. Wasband David and I were known to spend our weekend's at Fry's Electronics hovering around the personal computer section eavesdropping on customers comments, confusion and frustrations and we would quietly step in and guide them over to the Apple section and educate them on their options.

I began on the first little Mac from 1985. That sweet little one box, 64 kb machine that did amazing things. I also recall my first experience with the world-wide web when I joined something called "e-World" which was a cyber community dedicated and inhabited solely (soul-ly) by MacHeads and I ended up running a chat room on spirituality. I am a loyal MacEvangelista.

Emotions have the better of me right now but I am trying to be proactive to shake my way out and yet allow for myself the space and place to grieve. Last night my dreams were filled with my personal feelings of grief and loss about many things, many people.

Much has transpired since my last post that I am uncertain as to know where to begin. The saving grace is that it is now officially autumn. For me, that really makes almost all things tolerable. Even my tenderness and sadness. It's been a long cycle of disappointment and loss over the past few months. And anyone who knows anything about the process of grief understands that one circumstance of death or loss usually opens up a Pandora's Box of other, often unresolved grief bits of yore. The disappointments have been building for awhile and came to a head which means now allowing things to shift into better alignment.

The grief? Well, that's trickier. A beloved congregant and friend died a few weeks ago and then we held her memorial service. I was privileged to walk with her through her final week of life and to be at her bedside when she passed. Being the seasoned professional I am, I found places along the way to let my sadness surface and release so that I could be present for her, for her family and for her angelic caregivers.

In the midst of that, I dealt with a different kind of loss when the iconic soap opera staple, "All My Children" went off the air after 41 years of episodes. I realize I risk being misunderstood and ridiculed because I am throwing this into my grief stew when there is real death to deal with but please pause and withhold your judgment for one moment for me to explain. (After all, ins't judgment just an act of ignorance or misunderstanding anyway?)

Coming from a dysfunctional and broken home, raised by a single parent, we moved a lot and I did not know any semblance of a traditional--dare I say?--normal family life. Being a sensitive and atypical kid, I was often sick and was frequently absent from school for long periods. Even though my grandmother watched her C.B.S. soaps during the day, I was not a fan and in fact, preferred all the game shows instead. Yet one day in January, 1970, I was home with some ailment or other and I landed on A.B.C. during the lunch hour and the premiere episode of "All My Children." While waiting for "Password" and with nothing better to do, I watched the show. And I guess I never stopped.

Of course, I did not watch every day. I did finish high school and I did enter the adult world where one often had a job during the day. But I did eventually get a VCR in the 80's and my Wasband, David and I got very attached to watching the young love story lines. (Perhaps for David, he got hooked because a friend and former co-star was one of the young female leads at the time). As the years went on, I watched less and less and less. However, when I would find myself at home during the 12:00 p.m. airing, I would tune in and see what Erica or Adam might be doing and who or what was new in Pine Valley.

Pine Valley, the fictional small-town in which the characters lived and loved became more consistent and more like family or community than anything I had experienced in real life. Some people could go home to their relatives for the holidays, I tuned into "All My Children." So when the show ended, I felt another loss. A piece of my childhood; a sure-thing was now over.

I am not resistant to change. In fact, I often court it. After all, I am dyed-in-the wool Religious Scientist that thrives on change. And yet, when there is a lot of change--especially change that feels like loss--occurs simultaneously, it can wreak emotional havoc.

Our church center is moving causing enormous changes. People and things are changing and it creates stress at the very least. We had another beloved church member collapse at work last week and it was touch and go until yesterday. Our community held its collective breath as we did our prayers to see this member and her family through.

Last week, the mother of one of my dearest friends passed away in her sleep. I knew Dorothy of course, but it was her daughter, Jane who filled in for me as a 'surrogate mother' through my tumultuous childhood that I was closest to. And now, my prayers go out to Jane as she deals with the loss of her mother. Dorothy's memorial is this Sunday in North Hollywood but I doubt I will be to travel there to be there for Jane as she was for me when my mother died. Therefore, it is no surprise that this week, my own mother has visited my dreams for the first time in years.

And now, we have lost one of my adult heroes, Steve Jobs. Again, he was not a personal friend but who he was and what he did was very personal to me. I have only felt like this two other times with "celebrity V.I.P.'s". The first time was when Gene Kelly died ( not only did I have a huge crush on the guy, but his artistry in the M.G.M. musicals filled my soul as well as kept me entertained as a by myself latchkey kid watching T.V.); and when Jim Henson died. Both of these men were in my mind, creative geniuses who changed the lives of millions of children and fans by honoring their innate gifts and being able to share them with the world.

When I woke this morning after having my dreams filled with recollections of friends and phases gone by, it was no wonder that I felt heavy laden and sad. My dreams played out like a nocturnal touring company of "Our Town" when Emily replays poignant moments and memories of people and times gone by.

"Oh earth, you are too wonderful for anybody to realize you. Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it--every, every minute?" Emily in "Our Town" by Thornton Wilder

Hence, grief stew.

Complex. Chunky. A mixture of people, places and things that are the bittersweet ingredients of my life that is no more. Laced with salty tears this stew sits in the pot and every so often it does bubble over and I experience the sadness and loss that is mixed with my reverence and gratitude for life.

This is something from Apple's "Think Different" campaign and I had it read at my ministerial installation and I have it framed because I consider it my personal credo:

"Here’s to the crazy ones. The misfits. The rebels. The troublemakers.
The round pegs in the square holes.

The ones who see things differently. They’re not fond of rules. And they have no respect for the status quo. You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify or vilify them.

About the only thing you can’t do is ignore them. Because they change things. They invent. They imagine. They heal. They explore. They create. They inspire. They push the human race forward.

Maybe they have to be crazy.

How else can you stare at an empty canvas and see a work of art? Or sit in silence and hear a song that’s never been written? Or gaze at a red planet and see a laboratory on wheels?

We make tools for these kinds of people.

While some see them as the crazy ones, we see genius. Because the people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world, are the ones who do."

Godspeed my friends.

Body Parts

2011-07-23T22:23:00.000-07:00

Maybe 'only children' ponder life differently about their bodies than children who have siblings.
Or maybe it's cultural. But here is what I have been pondering of late:

When circumstance or choice puts someone I care about physically touching me, I am quite content. It is often desirable and usually quite enjoyable. In this case, I am not talking about purposeful snuggling or hand-holding. Rather, those moments when sitting next to a friend or loved one and bodies touch. There is comfort and familiarity.

However, at least for me, I don't think this applies when positioned next to acquaintances or strangers.

Last night, while attending a concert and sitting in a theatre with very closely attached seats, I was distinctly aware of spatial boundaries. There is often that awkward moment when one person has his/her arm on the chair arm and you move to do the same and there is not enough room for two. One person usually moves their arm and lets the other person (the original tenant?) remain. Perhaps, even an "excuse me" is whispered.

There are some people who do not have or do not understand spatial boundaries. These people enter into and remain in an uncomfortable proximity without ever sensing or balking as if it might be too close. These are the folk who leave their arm or elbow on the theatre seat arm whether you join them or not. These might well be the same people who walk up to you while you are speaking with someone else and they stand all too close as though they were presumably welcome into your preexisting conversation.

It's almost a Murphy's Law for me when it comes to parking spaces. I have noticed that many times I choose to park in a spot that has one or even two empty spaces next to me on both sides. When given that luxury, I park there consciously so that I can effortlessly open my car door without concern about my door hitting the car already parked to my side. Despite there being numerous other parking spaces available (and sometimes spaces even closer to the store or presumed destination) invariably another car comes and attempts to pull in to my left. Not only that but as I am leisurely exiting my car, I look out and see that driver waiting impatiently for me to get out and close my door so that they can park right next to me. When all the while there are at least or two other spots in either direction that would have suited just as well. Go figure.

Need I even mention elevator opportunities?

And then I have been wondering why it is that when sleeping next to someone and he/she places or leaves a body part on top of my body then that person falls asleep their body part feels like dead weight and I move it away. Yet, when I fall asleep with my arm or hand resting on my leg or my belly, I don't mind it at all. I fall asleep and it feels natural to have my arm or hand anywhere I want to place it. Doesn't my arm also fall asleep heavily, too? Or if I sit with my foot tucked under my bottom while sitting for too long, my foot 'falls asleep' and is heavy-laden and I can't walk on it till the tingling stops.

I even like being close to and sleeping closely with my animal companions. A three-dog night is pretty groovy to me (you could throw in a cat or two in that mix). Even though as puppies, you usually see litter mates piled on top of each other as they sleep, I notice that if I fall asleep with my hand on my dog she eventually shakes me off or gets up and moves to a new location on the bed or the floor.

Several years ago, there was a wonderful Oscar-winning animated film by Nick Park that was titled "Creature Comforts". In one scene, there was a mountain lion telling his story and he happened to share that even though he lived in a pack community he "needed his space." I still remember that amusing scene partly because the lion had an unexpected but lilting South American accent and partly because I agreed with him.

Excuse me, would you mind moving over just a little bit?

Active Duty

2011-06-27T20:48:00.000-07:00

It's Monday evening, June 27, 2011 and the winds (of change) are blowing heartily.
Why is it so significant to detail this information? It's because in a little over 12 hours I will be wrapping up my three week leave of absence and return to work at the Chico New Thought CSL.

As dusk settles, I am keenly aware of the fact that my R & R now has to shift back to a higher gear. My goal will be to find a healthy balance between work and overworking. Innately, I knew that I would need at least three weeks to get a handle on this idea of putting into practice resting and restoring.

The first week, it was hard to unwind from the driving buzz from which I seemed to operate. I vacillated between "Ooh, I wanna do this project (chore)" and " I'm just gonna chill and read a magazine even though it's not even noon." When I would hear from friends or people from church, there was just the slightest admonishment in their voice or emails about not doing 'shtuff'. "This is your time to rest and relax." "Yes, but how can I relax in the middle of such a mess..." I would start some version of a cleaning or organizing project and then pull myself up short, stop and switch gears to something more well, mindless.

One of the hardest challenges was how to manage and balance checking e-mails. I have three active e-mail accounts: two personal and one from the church office. As with most email programs, when one account loads, so do the rest and you can see the mail come in and often read the subject line(s). It has been very difficult to ignore e-mails. Which ones to read? Which ones to answer? It turned out that in a few instances, it was very fortuitous that I did read and respond to certain e-mails. I'm sure I confused some people when they would get an answer to one email they sent and no answer on the very same day they sent other information. Ah well. I did take the time to Unsubscribe from dozens of e-mail newsletters or commercial mailings and really trimmed the amount of e-mails I receive daily down to less than 100. That is a habit I plan to continue on my return.

At the start of my hiatus, I made a lengthy list of the things I wanted to accomplish on my generous time off. Here is a recap of how I fared:

THINGS I DID NOT GET DONE:
--clean the bedroom closet
--organize all my files
--join a gym or yoga class
--take a meditation retreat
--clean the refrigerator
-- read all the books on my "to-be-read" list
(although, I have seven new books on my nightstand that I have started and two in the guest room)
--finish writing the sequel to "How May I Love You Today"; complete the edit on my book on prayer and affirmative living; and the other book on pastoral care that remains in my laptop
--clean out my car
--start cleaning out the garage
--complete my scrapbook from my Installation; and the new scrapbook I bought for photos of Chai

THINGS I DID ACCOMPLISH:
--bought lots of new books to read (including fiction) and visited the library thrice
--walked the P.V. High School track (almost daily)
--played with Chai, Beau and Belle
--cleaned my bathroom
--did lots of laundry
--got caught up on the posting into Quicken that I had ignored
--took a trip to Los Angeles to participate in a tribute for my beloved drama teacher, Marilyn Moody and our famous principal, Jim Tunney, who were inducted into the Fairfax High School Hall of Fame
--while in Los Angeles, I got to visit some very dear, longtime friends I had not seen in years
--read all the backlogged magazines that have been sitting on the coffee table for months
--watched a lot of movies and television shows
--listened to CD's and updated my iTunes
(including the Broadway soundtrack to "The Book of Mormon" and other showtunes)
--spontaneous bursts of dancing
--learned more about how to effectively use my iPhone
--long phone chats with my friends
--unscheduled cat naps with the cat (and the dog)
--cleaned and re-organized the guest room/prayer room
--began work on the new class I start teaching next month
--Don and I created a current Vision board

I certainly have contemplated a lot during this time off. Perhaps I didn't learn a lot of new things but instead, began to revisit and refresh many previous ideas or concepts. There was one quote that I had read awhile ago from Abraham-Hicks that tried to explain that we never really get everything done and we're not meant to. I regretted that I didn't keep that quote to re-read each day as part of my spiritual practice. Yet, I have been reminding myself of that every time I faced another chore or project I wanted to tackle.

Tonight, I am setting an intention to return to my workday routine tomorrow without it becoming routine; nor to have it spiral off track. I want the renewed and refreshed me to return to active work status with ease, grace and joy. In advance, I have already planned some scheduled R &R along with other ideas for ways to keep the creative juices flowing for more wholeness and balance.

Reporting for duty, sir.

P.S. As my synchrodippity would have it, before signing off, this arrived in tonight's e-mail:

"All is well, and you will never get it done. Life is supposed to be fun. No one is taking score of any kind, and if you will stop taking score so much, you will feel a whole lot better — and as you feel a whole lot better, more of the things that you want right now will flow to you. You will never be in a place where all of the things that you are wanting will be satisfied right now, or then you could be complete — and you never can be. This incomplete place that you stand is the best place that you could be. You are right on track, right on schedule. Everything is unfolding perfectly. All is really well. Have fun. Have fun. Have fun!"--- Abraham -- (Excerpted from the workshop in Tucson, AZ on Tuesday, February 20th, 2001 # 118)

A Poet's Heart

2011-06-22T23:53:00.000-07:00

My plan was to write and share my recent exploits of the wonderful Los Angeles trip from which I just returned. But that will have to wait.

Tonight I am called to share another story more recent. This is a timely love story.

With the 100+ degree heat here in Chico, we did not leave for the high school track until 8:40 p.m. Don, our dog, Chai and I began our laps around the track walking quickly in hopes of getting in the one mile before dark. Around the track, we noticed two young men strategically placing tea light candles along the perimeter of the oval track. Curiosity prevailed and Don asked the busy young man what he was doing.

"It's my one year anniversary with my girlfriend and I am inviting her here to have a picnic in the middle of the field."

I can hear the "Awwwwwwwwwwwwws" even over the cyberwaves.
Is that not one of the most romantic things you have ever heard?

Our romantic hero was somewhere between 18-22 and determined to surprise his girlfriend with something special.

I offered to help as he and his friend, Andre had quite the daunting task ahead of them. Don chimed in that he wanted to help, too. Don and I completed lap number three and headed to the water fountain for Chai before returning to assist the young man.

The problem was that even with the heat, there was a strong, balmy wind that would not die down. We tried lighting several tea lights to no avail. I began to walk around the track to test different locations to see if there were any structures within the bleachers that offered enough of a barrier to keep the little lights lit. Don suggested to our hero that he walk his girlfriend around the track and point out to her his good intentions. We told him he needed to either create luminaria bags or get glass candle holders to contain the flame.

Don and Chai headed back to the car but I couldn't forsake this Romeo at his hour of need. I suggested that maybe they light the candles later on at the end of the evening in a romantic ritual of declaring their love. At that point, he called for his friend and started to take off. He hollered back "Would you watch our picnic basket and stuff till we get back?" "Yes, sure." And they ran off. . . To where?

I wondered as I stood there with the dark of night quickly descending how long they would be gone. The only two other people who had been walking the track left. I could not see Don or Chai anywhere. It continued to get darker. I decided this would be a good time to do some cool-down stretches. I tried to call Don to see where he was and tell him what I volunteered to do but remembered he had left his cell phone at home to charge. Okay..... Now it was pitch black and I am standing on the oval track all by myself and wondering what the hell I was doing. Was I crazy? Where were Don and Chai? I couldn't leave the picnic basket and walk halfway back to the parking lot to find them so I began waving my flashlight app from my iPhone in hopes Don would see me and return to join me. Nope.

I assuaged my apparent whimsy with the thought of the depth of true love that this young man was willing to go for his special lady. Surely, that was worth a middle-aged woman standing all alone on a high school field at 9:30 at night. Yes, it was. It had to be. Our Romeo has a poet's heart that needed to be expressed and I was going to stand there for as long as it took even if Don returned and tried to convince me otherwise.

Not too much later, the handsome young man returned carrying a large ice chest that was rattling with the sound of glass. I asked him what he had and he said he had gotten bunches of glass candle holders and he was now going to encircle a place in the middle of the field and set up the picnic there and then call her to finally come and meet him. My heart smiled but in the dark it went unseen.

As I was leaving I asked him his name. Jakeen (my phonetic spelling) and her name, Gisella. How poetically romantic that they weren't named Tom and Sue but their very names were audio contemporaries of Abelard and Eloise. I wished him well and told him to have a wonderful evening and thanked him for caring this much.

Walking back towards the parking lot, Don was sitting and waiting on the bench with Chai at his side waiting for me. He said he never saw my flashlight waving (Note to self: Use lighters instead of phone apps for any potential concert waving needs).

Gisella, my wish for you is that you were able to truly embrace what your poet labored to capture for you. And that for Jakeen, you continue to honor your heart in all your endeavours.

"For every beauty there is an eye somewhere to see it. For every truth there is an ear somewhere to hear it. For every love there is a heart somewhere to receive it."

- Ivan Panin

My Sunday Confession

2011-06-14T21:32:00.000-07:00

Although I am no longer a practicing Catholic, I feel that it is time that I make a personal confession.

I have a secret passion: I love to take a Sunday nap while listening to a MLB game on television. Don't get me wrong, I love to watch baseball. However, there is something so sweet about starting to watch a game and allowing myself to drift into a soft slumber. And it gets even sweeter when I have the luxury of a lullaby by the euphonious voice of Vin Scully.

My formative baseball years were while growing up in Los Angeles and listening to the master announcer, Vin Scully call a game. After Sandy Koufax retired, I found myself becoming a devout Big Red Machine fan in the 70's, I would still listen to Vin. I fondly recall many a game when it was Reds vs. the Dodgers and I felt like I was having double my pleasure, double my fun.

With our recent subscription to DirectTV, we have the opportunity to watch many of the MLB games and not just the one on the network television schedule. We get to watch all our favorite teams. (Don is an rabid Tigers fan). My allegiance is more eclectic these days. I still have great fondness for the Reds; add in my former geographic allegiance to the Dodgers; I lived in San Diego enough years to become a Padres fan; now I live nearer to the the eternal Southern California nemesis, World Series Champion SF Giants; and I was born in Chicago so you can count on my rooting for the Cubbies. I still favor the National League even though Girffey, Jr. played for the Mariners for many years.

Tonight, I am watching the Reds at Dodger stadium. I enjoy watching Dusty Baker (former Dodger) manage the Reds. Brandon Phillips reminds me of the Girffey/Foster/Morgan countenance and swing of the Big Red machine. Reluctant to admit that I am pretty much unfamiliar with the Dodger players with the exception of Tony Gwynn, Jr. for obvious San Diego history; and Matt Kemp because his name reminds me of my beloved 'brother' Matt Kaump.

Happy to report, that for this game, I am once again listening to the dulcet tones of Vin. Ahhhhhhhhh. But I am not napping tonight. It tickles me that many of the other teams have two announcers to do what Vin does all by his lil' ol' self--and he does it better.

As I type, the score is tied right now in the sixth inning. I don't really care which team wins because I'm happy just listening Vin call it all.

My Left Foot

2011-05-21T22:12:00.000-07:00

...no, not the 1989 Irish film with Daniel Day Lewis.
My left foot-the one that matches my right foot.
But that is the dilemma of which I am writing. My left foot doesn't match my right foot.

The other night, I was stretching and I had my legs upright in the air and I looked at my feet. I suddenly realized that I would not recognize my own left foot if someone were to show me a series of feet photos (which is fun to say out loud) and ask me which one belonged to me. I stared at my right foot and by golly, yes, that is my right foot, I would know it anywhere. But wassup with that leftie over there?

When did my feet change? What else has changed beyond my instant recognition?
Of course, I could ask that question about many other body parts but that would be too personal and a bit disappointing of late.

Had I become so mature that I would no longer be able to identify or claim 'myself' in a line-up? It's been stated that people look different from each side of their face--just ask most actors as they prepare to have their headshot photos taken--they prefer to be photographed facing in one direction. "Shoot me from my best side."

I remember an article when I was younger that attempted to point out that most people--especially women--have no real concept of what their body type looks like. Usually women think that they weigh more and most men think they are in better shape than they are. I have always thought of myself as taller than I actually am until someone reminds me otherwise as they loom large over me; or I try to get something off a shelf and require the assistance of a step-stool or a tall husband. (Today, I happened to refer to my being of shorter stature and someone corrected me. "No, you're fun-sized." I think I now prefer being compared to candy!)

Yes my body has changed from when I was a very young girl paying rapt attention to all parts and facets of my body out my curiosity and wonder.
Now I am curious and wonder about all my parts.

WordPlay

2011-02-02T20:34:00.000-08:00

If you know me, you know I love words.
All kinds of words. Writing words, reading words, speaking words and even inventing words.
Although, one need not invent too many new words because there are plethora of very suitable and attractive words that rarely get used.

Using alliteration--even saying the word itself-- makes for a merry mouth matched only by the frivolous frolic of oenomatopia--which is better as a process than in pronunciation.

According to the Oxford Dictionary, the word onomatopoeia originates from the Greek word onomatopoiia meaning 'word-making'. The Merriam-Webster Dictionary reports the onomatopoiia is derived from the Greek onoma 'name' and poiein 'to make'. Onomatopoeia is the formation of a word from a sound associated with what is named (e.g., squeak, cuckoo, sizzle). However the word onomatopoeia can also be used to describe the use of such words for rhetorical effect.

I love dictionaries, too.

Words I Love To Say:
(not necessarily their meanings)
--efficacy
--acquiesce
--mellifluous
--esthetics
--malevolent
--Starbucks

Words That Piss Me Off:
(they don't sound like what they mean)
--hyperbole
--penultimate
--antediluvian
--regurgitate

Words That Used To Be Fun:
(they mean things differently now)
--gay
-- shrink

Words That Are Antiquated:
(they should find new space in our lives)
--antimacassar
--chiffonier and chifforobe
--divan (without the chicken)
(Hmmm. Seems I only found furniture words)

Words That Are Hard To Pronounce Or Use:
--omphaloskepsis
--ubiquitous
--inveterate

Words I Have Made Up:
(they should be in dictionaries...)
--synchrodippity
--songolio
--schnoogle
--snuffle snouts
(gee, do I only make up 's' words?)
--hysteroonies
(guess not..)
--compatience
(oh wait, that is in the Merriam-Webster Open Dictionary)

Well, this is a work in progress because I hear, read, write and say words all day long so I can keep adding to my list.

In perfect James Lipton fashion, what is your least favorite word; what is your favorite?

Stuperstitious

2011-01-02T21:10:00.001-08:00

In true Norm Crosby fashion, an unexpected Malaprop, stuperstitious popped out of my mouth as I was sharing with a friend about the 'stupid Southern superstitions' to which I still give credence. I realized that maybe stuperstition was a better word after all.

One stuperstition, eating black-eyed peas on New Year's Day always amused me. For awhile, I resented it and rebelled. After all, I am a New Age Religious Scientist and no one or no thing is going to predicate my prosperity. And then, this year, I realized that my mother's hackneyed tradition actually has new thought legs. She told me that eating black eyed peas on New Year's Day meant that we would always have food on the table and never hunger. It was true. Although, we were by no means prosperous, we never starved or were homeless. Maybe there was some merit to this idea after all. The peas merely represented an outward symbol and affirmation of our bounty.

What other Stuperstitions did I grow up with?
--If your right hand itches you will meet a stranger; the left hand, money, honey
--When walking with someone and you each pass opposite sides of a post or pole, you have to declare
"Bread and Butter" so that you won't have an argument later on. As I got older, I turned that into a sing-song, "Bread and butter. Let's not fight cuz' we love each other."
--What you do on New Year's Day, you do throughout the year (Again, this is new thought based creating a mental equivalent of that which one desires).
--If your apron gets wet while doing the dishes you're going to marry an alcoholic. (Explains why I am rarely in the kitchen or wear an apron).
--"White Rabbits" has to be said 3x on the first day of a new month. This was not one I grew up with but learned from my Wasband's traditions.
-- Something about if you spill salt on the table, you have to toss it over your shoulder to prevent something negative from happening. ( I never really paid attention to this one because I never liked or used added salt).
--Find a lucky penny on the ground and it means good luck. Some people won't pick up a penny if it is face down but I think that is nonsense. A penny is always good fortune and it reminds me of a dear friend who passed away years ago. Linda Van used to think that when she found a penny on the ground it was her deceased mother sending her a message. Now, I think it is Linda saying hello to me.

I am sure I have more stuperstitions lurking in my past conditioning. Including ones that I made up just for my own amusement:
--When a squirrel crosses in front of you on the road while you are driving, it is going to be a good day.

Maybe it would do everyone some good if we created our own, personal new stupterstitions that make us smile and remind us to be mindful?

Any suggestions for this New, Happy Year?

I Wonder As I Sqaunder...

2011-01-01T11:16:00.000-08:00

Perhaps 'squander' is too harsh a word here but it better fits the holiday song I am singing this week. I hum this melancholy tune because my holiday week off from work is coming to a close and I realize that the majority of the time I have spent so far has been on domestic chores and projects. Not that those chores or projects aren't viable and in need of attention, however, that was not the thrust behind this special week of time off to contemplate and envision the new year.

Logic dictates that if the place from which I do that contemplation and planning is uncluttered and clean, that my reading, meditating, visioning, etc. would be enriched and freer. Well, yeah, maybe. Yes, the tasks need doing but they always need doing. The ongoing maintenance of life is just that--ongoing. But this extra time off is supposed to be for grander things and to allow for unencumbered time to read and write and ponder.

I pondered all right. I would write a blog and spend way too much time trying to edit it and find a new template. I pondered how dirty and dusty the tangible world can get especially if you don't wear your glasses to see to clean. I even took a hot epsom salts bath to soak, read and ponder the grandiosity of life. And all I pondered was how round and pink I am.

"Mining the moment for something that feels good, something to appreciate, something to savor, something to take in, that's what your moments are about. They're not about justifying your existence. It's justified. You exist. It's not about proving your worthiness. It's done. You're worthy. It's not about achieving success. You never get it done. It's about "How much can this moment deliver to me?" And some of you like them fast, some of you like them slow. No one's taking score. You get to choose. The only measurement is between my desire and my allowing. And your emotions tell you everything about that." --- Abraham

Those of us with any variation of AADD or OCD, etc. have a hard time doing one task without it leading to a full-blown project. I think I am only going to the sink to rinse out my coffee cup and wipe the counter until I see how dirty the top of the stove is; and how many crumbs have settled under the toaster; and how worn the sponge has become so let's give everything a good once-over before throwing the sponge away. You get the picture. An hour has passed, the kitchen is clean (except the cupboards because that would have required me to get the stepstool and I didn't want to get distracted) and the focus or direction I had for my writing is now a distant memory.

Harumph.

It feels as if I have squandered or frittered away this precious time. Yes, I have done some creative things and yes, I have enjoyed my free-time. But I had different ideas for the use of that 'free' time. Why is it that my variation of OCD doesn't seem to apply to the creative stuff as effortlessly as it does to the mundane minutiae?

Excuse me, I have to go do nothing for awhile.

" I xeroxed my watch. Now I have time to spare." Rod Schmidt

Boxing Day + 1

2010-12-27T17:44:00.000-08:00

Yesterday was Boxing Day. A holiday originating from England back in the Middle Ages. Unlike the name, this day has nothing to do with watching marathon repeats of "Rocky I-V) or standing in line arguing with the customer service clerk while trying to return less than desirable gifts. As with any urban legend or holiday tradition, this one has a few different definitions:

Some historians say the holiday developed because servants were required to work on Christmas Day, but took the following day off. As servants prepared to leave to visit their families, their employers would present them with gift boxes. Another theory is that the boxes placed in churches where parishioners deposited coins for the poor were opened and the contents distributed on December 26, which is also the Feast of St. Stephen. As time went by, Boxing Day gift giving expanded to include those who had rendered a service during the previous year. This tradition survives today as people give presents to tradesmen, mail carriers, doormen, baristas,etc. 

This got me to thinking--uh oh--about what other boxes we create in our lives. Cardboard, plastic, wrapped, large, small, (do Russian nesting Dolls count?), etc.

Remember the song in the 1960's written by Malvina Reynolds and made popular by Pete Seeger? "Little Boxes". It described our penchant for living in little houses that all start to look the same. The inhabitants and contents all began to match the ticky tacky prototype that stereo-typed us for a generation or two. And we ride around in motorized boxes to our cubicles and classrooms carrying our boxed lunches.

We're conditioned to want to adapt into certain behaviors and life-styles by which we begin to conform to society's expectations. We are then at risk to lose our own authentic styles and choices. Bigger, better boxes to squeeze into.

"I am just a poor boy
Though my story's seldom told
I have squandered my resistance
For a pocket full of mumbles such are promises
All lies and jests
Still a man hears what he wants to hear
And disregards the rest"

"The Boxer" - Paul Simon & Art Garfunkel

This year, my version of the Christmas box didn't match up. Things happened took precedence over getting all the cards mailed or the presents wrapped. I didn't complete all the projects on my list nor much to my chagrin, did I keep my own tradition of viewing the network airing of "A Charlie Brown Christmas". There were different commitments and responsibilities that intervened and took precedence. I had become grouchy and impatient because 'my Christmas box' was being tossed around, denting the wrapping paper and dimming its sparkle. Fortunately, under the wire on Christmas Eve, I had my own Scrooge-like moment.

Christmas doesn't come in a box--or a bag--or a card or anything else but inside oneself. Don't let anyone else tell you differently. Not the retailers, not the advertising media not even the clergy. Christmas is purely an inside job and it is as magical as each one of us chooses and allows it to be. Dr. Seuss and Charles Dickens were trying to tell us that all along.

This Christmas was different. The Candlelight service that I gave on Christmas Eve probably appeared to be the same but was not coming from the same place or mindset from which I wrote it. Many of the words were the same, the same carols were sung but I was different. I didn't get to wrap most of my presents till Christmas day itself. "Charlie Brown" was viewed on Christmas Day this year because Don bought me a copy of the DVD. (Now I can watch it any 'ol time I wanna). I had taken myself out of the Christmas Box that I had inherited and created over the years and was now letting my HolyDay be as wondrous as I wanted.

As I approach the new year, I have this week off from work-- a rare gift indeed. My intention is to examine what other boxes need to be unwrapped or discarded. Since I desire to live and work outside the 'proverbial box', I endeavour to stay mindful of who I am and why I am here; so that I remain open at the top for creative inspiration and action.

And with a slight homage to my favorite urban cowboy, Cole Porter, I declare...

"Let me wander over yonder till I see the mountains rise;

I want to ride to the ridge where the west commences
Gaze at the moon until I loose my senses
I can't look at hobbles and I can't stand fences
Don't box me in . . ."

Animals R Us

2010-12-12T14:51:00.000-08:00

The animal kingdom has long served me as my greatest spiritual teachers. The past few weeks are no exception.

Already feeling a bit anxious and vulnerable about an important brainstorming meeting with church members and the Board of Trustees, I was driving to the meeting, trying to stifle a sudden onset of tears that welled up. I turned up the car radio and began singing out loud to distract my thoughts.

Then off to my left, I saw a large deer that had obviously been hit by a car and was now left dead on the side of the road. I needed no further incentive to let the floodgates pour as I saw this beautiful, lifeless creature. I was angry and sad all at the same time. Then my ego caught me because I felt that I didn't have time to stop and pray over the animal (whose spirit had clearly already departed) because I was the only one with the keys to open the building for our meeting, I didn't want to be late and leave people standing outside in the cold. That made me angrier and sadder and I cried harder.

I didn't want to be out of emotional control for the meeting but I also did not know how to regain my composure. But nature did. As I got closer to the intersection for my turn, I noticed up ahead what I thought were some of our local geese wandering in the street. That seemed unusual for our geese. For all though they amble around the lake and sometimes are on the corner walking along the grass, I had never seen them actually walking across the street. Yet, as I pulled up to the signal I was started to see that what I assumed were geese turned out to be three full-grown turkeys! Turkeys? Yes, turkeys with that little red bobbly-neck thing and all. These turkeys were completely ignorant to the traffic signal and were walking blithely and catty-corner across the street without a care in the world. And they actually gobbled. (This city girl had never heard turkeys gobble except in cartoons or movies). Fortunately, traffic was minimal and no one was behind me so I pulled slowly over to the left lane and kept a keen eye on my rear-view mirror in case I needed to jump out of the car and notify approaching drivers. The traffic on the other side had already passed and didn't seem to interfere with the turkeys' travel plans. I noticed a woman and her sporting dog watching and waiting on the opposite corner as I imagine her dog would have loved to play chase. Once the turkeys were safely on the sidewalk, I went ahead and made my turn into the parking lot. And as soon as I saw Rev. Teri arrive for the meeting, I grabbed her. We went into the restroom where I asked her to do prayer work for me and for the turkeys so that I could get my bearings and be present for the meeting.

The following day was Sunday and we had church service with our wonderful choir providing the music. We had moved the seating and podium arrangement to accommodate the choir risers differently and it allowed me to see outside to the lake.

While the service was going on, I finally got to see The Hawk that has been gracing our Sundays with his/her presence. A few people have told me lately, that a beautiful hawk had been hanging out during our services on Sunday but I had not as yet had the pleasure of seeing the bird. Today, he/she sat on the black railing after taking a bath in the puddle on the patio. Extraordinary! This hawk clearly had come to 'roost' (forgive the pun) and bask in our energy and share his/her glory with us, too.

Aimee Matilla and Sharon Salz answered my questions as to what the Hawk might represent at this time; what was the animal totem significance for me. Aimee said:
Hawks represent clarity of vision; being able to see the bigger picture. Imagine being a hawk flying high in the sky and being able to see a mouse in the field and zooming in on it. Sharon added that the Hawk receives the message from the Eagle (who gets it from God) and then it goes to Crow who delivers it to the people.

Ah.
Of course.

Then Rick Mazzucchi sent me further information written by Avia Venefica http://www.symbolic-meanings.com

"We take these indications from observing the hawk in nature. Here we see the hawk has tremendous vision. Their eyesight is phenomenal and a key factor in their incredible hunting abilities. Specifically, the hawk beckons us to hone our focus on the areas that are out of balance in our lives. . . Further, we must each respect our potential positions of authority (leadership) and honor all those with whom we interact. "

For that is what I/we are all about right now.
As we gather and collaborate as a spiritual community on the future for our Center, I am charged to articulate the Vision from the Great Spirit and bring it back to the people. The Hawk has come to remind me of the work those of us at Chico New Thought Center get to do together.

So blessed. So blessed.

P.S. Later this week, one of our Board members let me know that she had found a badger in her house! She had noticed lately that her cupboards had been left ajar and she was having to re-fill the cat food dishes more often. Perhaps winter had increased the cats' appetites until she walked in and met the badger face to face. She escorted him outside and proceeded to board up the cat door.

Lions, tigers, and badgers...oh my.

The Last Straw

2010-11-20T22:46:00.000-08:00

...or should I say, pine needle?

Until I saw a scrawny pine tree strapped to the top of a car yesterday, I thought I had reached my tolerance level limit this week with all the advance Christmas hoopla. That was the straw for me.

I have had enough of Christmas being promulgated and pranced before me and before its time.

My week began in distress when I turned on my favorite local Oldies radio station and I heard the faint melody of a Christmas song. I quickly turned it off and began to assuage my panic with the idea that maybe it was just one of those premature commercial jingles for the holiday. I offered myself comforting words " Don't worry, Duchess. The station wouldn't start their all-Christmas, all the time music until Thanksgiving. And if they did (gulp) you can listen to the other favorite local station The Mix." My fears were well-founded because Don called me later in the day to tell me that the Oldies station had gone to all Christmas and so had The Mix. AAAARGGGH! Both stations had betrayed me!

The T.V. airwaves had already begun their round of seasonal commercials and I turned away in denial. Then my beloved Starbucks began serving in their seasonal cups and offering their holiday specials. How could they? It's one thing to expect Hallmark to start early so people can buy the annual ornaments and cards but Starbucks?

Futile as it may be, I have begun to write polite e-mails to the radio stations and companies that have jumped on the early holiday bandwagon.

I began to have a different understanding about the man who shot his television after he learned that Brandy (arguably one of the better dancers) got voted off "Dancing with The Stars" instead of Bristol Palin. Of course, his actions did seem extreme and questionable, although slightly amusing until I drove by a neighbor's house the next day and saw him putting up electronically lit deer in his front yard and I suddenly had noticed thoughts of being a seasonal deer-hunter of another kind.

Is it so hard for society to fathom that there are those of us who really enjoy the month of November and in particular, the sacredness of the Thanksgiving holiday? I hope your sensibilities won't be offended but I must admit that frankly, I think of November as foreplay for December. I want to savor every Christmas option that leads up to that glorious morning on December 25th but I can't (and don't want) to sustain that romance starting almost before Halloween is ghostly memory.

I love Christmas and all the trappings as much as the next guy or gal. In fact, most of my shopping is already done because I do it all throughout the year. But I am not humming "Deck the Halls" while I shop or thinking about snow. I am thinking about getting wonderful gifties for people I care about and how happy they will be; AND how much more free time I will have in December to spend with them enjoying the reason for the season--which by the way, is not a mercenary one.

My holiday season will always begin with the Macy's Day Parade and not a moment before.

Life Support

2010-10-02T20:54:00.000-07:00

While walking in the midst of the angst and 'shtuff' of life, feeling pretty pouty and filling out an invitation to my own pity party, Spirit decided to give me a much-needed kick in the seat of the pants.

It was a bustling morning at work with phones ringing, people stopping by and the over-flowing mail inbox. I was juggling things pretty well, I thought. I was finishing up a call on the cell phone as my 11:00 a.m. appointment arrived and I ushered her in. As I was winding up the call, Eileen and Joni walked into my office with a focused energy that I could sense was different. Eileen was waving a little piece of paper to me and motioning with serious intention. I quickly excused myself from the call and asked what was going on.

Eileen said that a social worker from Enloe Hospital just called desperately trying to find a minister to offer spiritual support to someone who was about to go off life support. Okay....

I took the note and dialed the number. Liam told me that he was going down the list and no one was available to be with a family who made the decision to pull life support. It didn't take even a second to know that of course I would go. "I am not dressed today like a minister. I am in jeans and a T-shirt because we were doing a cleaning project here at church." "I don't think the family will care" he said.

"I'm on the way."

I looked at Rev. Connie and asked her if she had time to join me. I don't think she had time to think it through as I grabbed her hand and we were on our way.

Making good time we arrived and I set an intention to find easy and (free) parking. We sailed up to the ICU department and we were ushered inside before I knew it. I introduced us to the social workers and he said the family was waiting for us in the room already.

Deep breath. Open the door. Instant ministry.

Surrounding the man in the hospital bed who was attached to wires, tubes and monitors was a family in emotional distress. As I walked into the room, I suddenly realized that unlike my standard practice, I had not prayed us in before we entered. Gratefully, God went in before me to make easy the way.

I walked over to the surprisingly composed woman at his bedside as I began to introduce myself and Rev. Connie. "My name is Dixie Cargill and this is my husband, Jimmy." I smiled. Dixie's sister was standing on the other side of the bed and she looked more distraught. There were children and grandchildren who came to say their farewells.

I did not ask any medical questions about Mr. Cargill's condition; nor why or how they came to this difficult decision. The sister mentioned something about his smoking and the difficulty this past year.
I asked Dixie to tell me about her husband and in particular, his faith or religion.
She shared that although she was a devout Christian, her husband was not as strict and believed you didn't have to go to church to find God. Again, I smiled. It was becoming clearer to me why I was 'called' to this scene.

The family although understandably distraught had found clarity and strength in this decision. I could see that they indeed had given Jimmy "permission to go." This is a very critical and yet delicate step in the dying process. Ask any hospice attendant or member of the clergy. If key members of the family are unwilling to allow the patient to die, that person can often hang on to threads of life beyond their time to be here. Dixie assured me that her husband had made it clear to them before that he did not want to have any further extraneous efforts to keep him alive when the time came.

I leaned in to Mr. Cargill and introduced myself. His eyes were closed but he was not in a coma; nor was he fully conscious. Yet, I knew he could hear (or feel) me. A prayer began to speak itself through me and as it did the family members encircled the bed and we all held hands and touched Mr. Cargill where and how we could. It was profound.

When I was done, the nurse walked back in and Dixie said it was time to remove the life support systems. I was so impressed and awed by her clarity and strength of purpose; and her great love for her husband.

It was while we were waiting for the nurse to return that we began a casual conversation. I mentioned to Dixie that she shared my mother's name. I learned that they, too, came from Southern roots as did my family. We also lived in nearby areas in Southern California years ago. Small world. One world.

It could have been a scene from any top hospital drama series on television. Yet, this scene was real. We all took a breath and the nurse extracted the life support. Everyone again encircled the bed and began crying and talking to Jimmy and saying their farewells. They became entranced with the numbers on the monitors waiting to see if there would be an indicator of when Jimmy was actually gone. I shared with them that you can't look to the monitors for that. It was up to God and Jimmy now just how much time he needed to be able to make this transition. It could take moments or hours. Everyone took another breath and surrendered to what was clearly out of their control.

At that point, I felt my work was done and they needed their privacy. I hugged Dixie goodbye thanking her for the privilege of letting me share this most intimate time and that my only regret was not having had a chance to meet Jimmy before now. It was her turn to smile.

Life support.
It means different things to different people at different times.

That's what I thought I needed before I got the phone call from the hospital. Then I got to see what it really meant.

It wasn't the tubes, the wires and medications that was keeping Mr. Cargill physically alive in his body; but the amazing love of his family that supported him as God's grace came to lift him and carry him "home." Life support was about the relationships and interactions and life experiences that tallied up into one man's lifetime.

Humility and gratitude exuded through me as I remembered what real life support is all about. What a blessing it was that none of the other clergy in town had been available to answer The Call.

Thank you, Mr. Cargill and Godspeed.

Soccer Mom

2010-09-02T21:25:00.000-07:00

All right, not actually 'soccer' it was a play date; and not actually 'Mom' because my kid is a ten month old Cairn Terrier named Chai. However, the phrase 'soccer Mom' so intrinsically symbolizes today's Mom who works full-time, has a family and yet still finds time to take her daughter to special events or activities.

Like other responsible moms, I faxed vaccination records and signed all the requisite liability waivers to the school in advance of the first class. In this case the school is Sarah Richardson's Canine Connection here in Chico --a wonderful training center that offers all manner of doggy obedience classes, training, day care and socialization groups. Before we left, I cut up pieces of grilled chicken to use as snack treats. Isn't that similar to what all soccer moms do as well?

Tonight, I took Chai to her first teen group social hour so she could play with other dogs and reinforce good manners and basic training. Chai was ecstatic the minute we arrived because she could sense (and smell) that she was about to have her dreams come true--to be off-leash playing with other dogs and meeting new people!

Chai may not have all her basic training skills finely honed but her amiable exuberance and willingness to play and please made her an instant favorite with people and pooches alike. Big or small, she is ready to rock n' roll with everyone. Chai even has an instinct for knowing how to be likable to the wariest of other dogs, and will rollover and show her belly to prove that she is safe, friendly and means no harm.

To be on the floor in and among a room full of all types of dogs, watching them romp and play and then careen by for a quick scritch from the humans on the sidelines, is really heaven for me. And Chai was so busy making new friends she didn't seem to mind me doting on the beautiful Golden Retreiver, Chloe or loving up on little Tess.

We will sign up Chai for Intermediate Training starting in two weeks. And we can bring her to Doggy Day Care and next week's social hour again. It will be a blessing to watch Chai in such bliss.

A biological Mom I'm not; but maternal, you betcha--big time. OK, so I didn't get to take a daughter to ballet lessons or a son to softball practice. I still swell with pride when my fur children strut their stuff and show their smarts. I so wanted to have a camera with me tonight. Don wasn't able to attend with us tonight but I wanted to film how well Chai did and how she made everyone smile. I know without a doubt he would be kvelling too and neither of us are Jewish!

In the words of wise elder, Tevye, "To life, to life, l'CHAIm ..."

Are ya listening?

2010-08-31T20:24:00.000-07:00

Recently, there was a commercial ad campaign for Microsoft and their new operating system. The commercials showed various people extolling the cool new features and virtues (although personally, I doubt that is possible) of the Microsoft PCs. Of course, we as viewers know that these great ideas were all hatched by the R & D departments at Microsoft. And we also know that there isn't one of us who hasn't come up with the 'next greatest thing or idea since Swiss cheese' about some product(s) we consistently use.

When I was working for Apple years ago as a Solutions Rep, my wasband and I would actively campaign for more stores that offered Apple software or products. Years later, the Apple Stores with the Genius Bar and Creatives were launched. David and I felt that we had in some small way helped to make that possible. Either by our consistent nudges and our heartfelt desire and prayers to make the Apple market more available and user friendly to the rest of the world.

I, for one, subscribe to the Starbucks site that allows people to offer comments and suggestions for improving and/or expanding the products and services. Many of the ideas offered by loyal users have indeed been heeded and brought into fruition.

Imagine my delight and surprise when walking into a Starbucks today, I saw that they have finally manufactured a fabric cup sleeve holder! I have been writing the company for years about this idea because it is the eco-green thing to do; and because I am weary of remembering to take in my cardboard cup sleeve on my return visits. I also suggested that Starbucks might even offer a $.01 or so off the price of their beverage as an incentive if they used their cup sleeve with their purchase. I don't think that they have offered that incentive as yet but maybe there is still hope for that. The other cool thing about this attractive gray sleeve is that is made so that it will also fit the personal mugs and cups that many of us users have bought to use for our 'to go' orders, thereby reducing paper cups usage.

It is wonderful with the advent of the Internet --and a little help from conscious intention--new ideas and products can be created and manufactured to assist in creating an easier and more conscious life.

Now, if I could just get the phone companies to work together and sanction the way for land line phone calls to be forwarded to your mobile cell phones so that only one phone number is necessary, that would be nice.

Appreciation Day -2010

2010-08-25T20:48:00.000-07:00

In the late 80's, I invented my own holiday that I named Appreciation Day. I chose August because with the exception of my birthday, it is typically a slower month. I chose the 25th because not only do I like that number but it is only four months away from a more conventional holiday on the 25th of December.

Even though I appreciate having a day which brings my attention to the people, places and things that I appreciate in my life --without feeling compelled or obligated to give tangible proof of my appreciation-- and although I have written about this day several times, it doesn't seem to catch on with anyone else.

Maybe I should take the hint.

This year, I found myself leaning ever so slightly towards things I would like to have in my life to appreciate ( like having more time so I could learn to use the new features on Blogger and write more). I had to make a concerted effort to engage myself in appreciation. Then I made my usual list and then attempted to make my atypical list of things for which I am grateful or appreciative.
Ho hum.
Uh oh.

Maybe I am in the midst of a transformation. Lately, I have been more restless, listless and bordering on ennui. In fact, I have noticed I am not enjoying my usual rhythm of multitasking and juggling several plates in the air. Is it the heat of summer? Is it just coming off a birthday? (Yes, I know that research studies are proving that multitasking ain't all it's cracked up to be. However, I have been doing it since grade school and it feels deeply ingrained in my wiring).

I know I appreciate the forum that this blog gives me to write. And I oh so appreciate the stalwart souls who find themselves interested or curious enough to come back to see what I share. And I appreciated editor, Mary Miller, putting my daily guide in today's entry for the August issue of Agape's Inner Visions. After all, maybe she remembered it was Appreciation Day.

It's Odorific

2010-07-14T23:08:00.000-07:00

It was a liberating type of Bastille Day in Chico. Nothing specific. Just feeling lighter, freer and back on my game. Celebrated the day in small, non-verbal moments of appreciation and gratitude.

Tonight, after working out with my Wii (celebrating 12 weeks I might add) Don and I wanted to watch a movie. I had recently purchased a DVD copy of one of my all-time favorite films: "Harold and Maude." I was surprised to learn that Don had never seen it. Perhaps that was because it was released on his birthday, December 20, 1971, only shortly after returning home from Viet Nam.

My roommate, Marti Ramirez introduced me to this film. Marti raved about this film and it had already begun to develop a cult following (pre-"Rocky Horror" type of mania). I went to see it at one of the artsy cinema houses in Los Angeles because I was finding it hard to believe it could be that terrific.

After the opening scene, I thought Marti must be nuts and I had just wasted my admission money. Yet, I was not the type who would walk out on a film. After all, I too, was an actor and I had great respect for anyone who worked and earned their living at the craft of movie making. I stayed.

I am so glad I did.
It was the start of a unique cinematic and musical love affair. Not only did I love the quirky, eccentric black comedy that it was; I fell in love with the music of Cat Stevens and would be a forever fan through his spiritual renaissance up until his current artistry as Yusuf.

The movie is really a time-warp trip back to the seventies. The clothing, the cars, the rotary dial phone.
Yet it is the quirky and wondrous performance of Ruth Gordon that seals the deal. And until now, I had no idea how much of an influence the film had on me. Or was it just because I related to so much of it?

My passion for sunflowers and daisies; spontaneous outbursts of song and dance; irreverence for things usually considered somber or officious. And then there is the understanding and fondness for odorifics.
I have always had a penchant for unique smells and fragrances with a deep passion and understanding of their power. (I am convinced this is also why I so deeply understand cats and dogs so well because they too, live by their keen sense of smell). And this was all before it became so popular and kitschy to use aromatherapy.

When I first saw the scene where Maude introduces Harold to the odorifics machine, I was elated that someone else understood; and I so wanted one of those machines. After that scene, I was convinced that the movie was in Smell-O-Vision because I could smell the ginger pie and oat straw tea. I could smell the foggy air and the dust from the construction site; to the sterile smell of the hospital at the end.

Beyond the creative writing, directing and editing genius within the film (matched in a similar quirky artistic flair in Bob Clark's "A Christmas Story") is the love story this film tells. The story goes beyond age or reason and simply recounts an unusual love story between unlikely characters. Rather than making me sad at the end, I celebrate the idea of life and I am buoyant about the idea of "loving some more."

I not only want to be like Maude when I grow but as I grow up. Not being too careful, or attached or living in the past. Being like a giant sunflower expressing abundant radiance; or the sweet daisy of joy. Loving people everywhere because after all, they are my species.

Freedom to of and for

2010-07-06T08:47:00.000-07:00

Having a holiday weekend is such a treat. And for me this year, I also had Sunday off from church, so I really had extended time off and made the most of it. I tried to blend and balance R & R with household projects and tasks. As much as I appreciate the opportunity of 'free-time' to do procrastinated or prolonged tasks, I also don't like to lose sight of the original intent of the holidays themselves.

Even our puppy, Chai celebrated this year. We took her to be professionally groomed. I am not used to dogs being groomed. We've always bathed the dogs at home or the larger dogs, at the U-Wash Doggie establishments. However, Chai was a canine version of the Swiffer and every time we took her to her obedience class, I would spend 15-20 minutes removing burrs, stickers and what-nots from her coat. Given that the weather here in Chico has been rising into the triple digits, we thought it might also be cooler for her. We asked that she not be cut too short, or given the official breed cut because we rather like her scruffy looks. A wonderful groomer, Kristen at TrailBlazers managed honor our request and even adorned her with a little patriotic red, white and blue bow. Which just happened to match her new red collar, too. Awwwwwwwwwwwww.
It was so cute -- almost too cute. Ewwww, I didn't want to become a frou-frou mom. Yet, there I was scrambling for a camera. And it wasn't just me who thought she looked cute. When we went downtown to listen to the free community concert, people kept pointing at her and making gurgly baby sounds of appreciation.

Traditionally, on the Fourth of July holiday weekend, as a kid I would watch "Yankee Doodle Dandy" the way most kids watch "Barney." Later on, I added to my patriotic arsenal the musical film version of the Broadway play, "1776."

I had a special fondness for "1776" beyond my love of the history around the American revolution; but I had also been an usher at the Music Center in Los Angeles when this show went on tour from Broadway. I was able to watch the show almost every night of the week that I was on duty and would even trade shifts so I could watch it as often as possible before it closed.

Neither of these films I currently own or could find available to rent. Instead, this year Don and I watched for a second viewing, the HBO series, "John Adams." Extraordinary.

Whether my admiration for this film is a further sign of my maturity or that the material and the finished product of "John Adams" is so exceptional a (re) viewing of the series is now going to become a yearly event for me.

Owning the DVD has the added advantage of special features which include the making of the series-with historical facts and commentary by the book's author, David McCullogh- and the ability to have onscreen facts/trivia appear throughout the series. Since we had already viewed the series, having these pop-up windows was not too annoying and quite informative.

Perhaps because of the timing, I was quite struck by the historical fact that black slaves built the White House. That important fact was somehow not taught in my grade school. And yet, today, an African-American now lives there as the 44th President of United States. We've come a long way, baby.

"The Divine Plan is one of Freedom; bondage is not God-ordained."
Ernest Holmes

Three piddles and a poop

2010-06-23T17:40:00.000-07:00

...which has nothing to do with "Four Weddings and A Funeral".
It just exemplified the tone--literally and figuratively--of my life these days. The life of a puppy Mom, that is.

Even with all the major or mundane things that occupy my time and mind, what prevails is whether or not I can get our puppy, Chai to "do her business" when she is outside. You see, our dog is rather unique. She doesn't really like to waste her time and energy on eating or peeing. Don and I have to get very creative in how we remind and encourage Chai to take care of business---and to do so outside instead of inside the house.

Chai is such an engaged lil' gal and has far more interesting things to do--such as chase the cats--than use her time eating; or peeing outside when we want her to. I have never known a dog to be so disinterested in food--well, unless the food is canned cat food or as our dog trainer Lindsey calls it, "Kitty Rocca" from the litter box. We can set out a bowl of dry food for Chai and she will spend a 1/2 hour nosing out each little kibble onto the floor or turning over the dish. I even bought a weighted bowl to make it a little harder for her to capsize her dinner but she doggedly prevails (pun intended). She does prefer wet food but we are trying to not make that a mainstay for every meal. Chai nominally appreciates when I add a tablespoon of wet puppy food, a little warm water and concoct a stew of sorts. But even that gets little attention and can sit all day long past what would be her second meal.

Recently, I have tried adding a tablespoon of rice or soy milk to enhance the flavor but that also can mean that her kibble gets all soggy and even less appetizing as the day wears on --especially with the summer weather. Today, I didn't want to waste the breakfast I had so lovingly prepared and knew it would be mush in a matter of hours. So, I went over to her bowl and sat on the floor beside it and handed her a few bites. In her fashion, she would take one kibble bite at a time as long as I handed it to her. Can anyone spell D I V A ? After several rounds, I put the bowl under her nose and she proceeded to finish it off.

Anyone who has ever had a puppy knows that they often need to pee more than adult dogs, so parents are encouraged to take them outside frequently, especially after sleeping or eating. Oblivious to the time of day that might be or the weather, Chai is not fond of wet grass. This makes getting her to pee during the wee hours of the morning almost impossible for a stumbling, sleepy parent. Don and I now keep a pair of flip-flops near the patio door so that we are prepared to journey out in the middle of the yard and coax her to join us all the while trying to not to wake the neighbors or whichever one of us gets to stay abed during that shift.

Oh, did I mention our puppy is a Cairn Terrier? Operative word there: terrier. And she is tomboy who loves to dig and burrow and get dirty. With her scruffy coat, she becomes a magnet for every burr and bramble she can traipse through while scrounging for the most disgusting thing upon which she can chew.
Holy terrier, Batman.

Now that Chai has all her puppy shots and can be social, we have a harness and leash to use for taking walks. I try to walk her at least once a day for her exercise and for her form of entertainment and canine Internet picking up various new smells along the way. For us, it is also another measure by which we know with a little patience and perseverance, we will be lucky enough that she will piddle, pee and or poo.

There I stand hovering over this little creature as she does what nature intends and needs to do and I wonder if people passing by or watching from a nearby window, question my little happy dance, or scratch their heads in bemusement at the cartoon voice I emit in extolling and thanking Chai for going potty.

Hmmm.
Maybe it's actually her mom that is going potty.

Pollyanna Is Old Enough To Vote

2010-06-08T20:37:00.000-07:00

The puppy awoke me at 6:00 a.m. and I really could have used a few more zzzz's. After the morning furry care ritual, I was ever so tempted to go back to sleep. Yet, it was a beautiful morning and I made the 'higher call' of staying up and reading more of Don Miguel Ruiz' "The Voice of Knowledge" and doing my spiritual practice.

It was a wise choice.
My day proceeded to unfold in easy and wondrous ways.

On my way to work, I made sure I went to vote in the California State Primary. To be perfectly frank, I did not have a huge interest in this election and I didn't even read my ballot pamphlets till breakfast this morning. The simple act of walking into a polling place with the opportunity--no, privilege-- of voting buoyed my spirits in a way beyond measure.

I noticed that there was a lighter spring in my step. This certainly was not my first election; nor as I have said, an election of great interest or passion. Yet, I was almost goofy-giddy when I got to the table to sign in and the precinct volunteer asked me if I wanted a paper or an electronic ballot. My green consciousness wrestled with that for a brief moment. She saw my distress and reminded me that it was already printed so I might as well go ahead and use it for a good cause. I was privately delighted with that information because I did prefer to complete my ballot by hand.

The crowning moment is when you turn in the ballot and a volunteer hands you back your stub and the little red, white and blue, "I Voted!" sticker -- which I promptly placed in the middle of my shirt for all the world to see.

When I arrived at work it was a similar situation because we loan out our church every year to the State for a local polling place. I admit that in addition to my own personal pride for my voting sticker, I wanted to ensure that the precinct team at our building knew that I had already voted and supported their work.

The rest of the day's tasks and activities still felt imbued with that extra bounce. It was enriched by the chance to view a vacant building site that I feel is really a good fit for our new church. Eager and enthused by the visit, I was also amazingly clear and calm. That clarity and confidence infused the rest of my office tasks till it was time to leave the building in the full care and keeping of the volunteers awaiting the evening voters.

Last night, after a lengthy board meeting, I went back to my church office and I noticed that the building had been fully set-up by the crew in preparation for the polls opening today. In an odd, bureaucratic way, it was like Christmas Eve. All the stockings...er, polling booths were hung with care and the patriotic 'decorations' were all in place. I understood and respected the sanctity of the process and the set-up (which is why we held our meeting off-site) and that sparked in me a whimsical desire to be anything but grown-up. It reminded me of one of the very few times I did something very atypical for a good-girl like me.

We were probably no more than seven or eight years old, and my friend and I thought it would be neat to hide out till after closing in the local mortuary and we let ourselves get locked in. It was one of the most daring and rebellious things I ever did as a kid. After the novelty of it wore off, we were both kinda freaked out and somehow we managed to get a phone call out to one of our mothers and was rescued without much trouble.

Being in the building that was supposed to be locked up and off-limits to the public, felt similar somehow. In the darkness, aware that no one was supposed to be there, I appreciated the desolate quietness of our church building in a different way. And then I gave way to my anti-establishment teenager and began to sing at the top of lungs as I walked down the hallway. In the scheme of things, this was not a very brash or bumptious bit of behavior because I knew no one could hear me and my actions held no consequences. I amused myself as I locked up and went home.

Then today, as I walked the same hallway to and fro the restroom or the kitchen, I watched the hustle and bustle of the volunteers serving the citizens who came to vote. When I saw that there was a lull in the activity and no citizens were in line or casting their votes, I broke into a full skip knowing that the volunteers might just have caught a glimpse as I skipped past a pillar or two and offered them a moment of bemusement.

Last night, at the close of the board meeting I explained to one of the trustees why we had to conduct our meeting off-site as were not allowed to be in the building to ensure the voting materials stayed untouched. He found that interesting but commented that he had already voted by absentee ballot as it was easier that way. I guess I can understand that act of pragmatism. What I couldn't understand is how he would replace the singular joy of being in the atmosphere of democracy and change and empowerment. Perhaps it's a combination of my George M. Cohan Americana coupled with my spiritual beliefs that my intention makes a difference, I wouldn't miss a chance to vote; or to thank those tireless poll workers for doing their civic duty for our country.

Oh, say can you see . . .

No joy here in Mudville

2010-06-03T22:38:00.000-07:00

On June 2, 2010, it was announced that Ken Griffey, Jr. had officially retired from baseball.

That's it. Done. De nada. Outta here. Bye, bye.

No pomp, circumstance and no advance warning.

Say it isn't so . . .

Now those of us who are truly Junior fans (and have been since day one and all through his aches, pains, ailments and DL status) knew intuitively that this year, would be his last season. In fact, at the top of this year, I began discussing and planning how to accommodate a trip to Seattle so I could see him play as a Mariner as I have oft seen him play as a Cincinatti Red. I could easily travel to Oakland to see the Mariner's play the A's but I didn't want to do that. No, that wouldn't be the same to see him play on the road, I wanted to see him play at Safeco, in the house that Junior built.

Imagine my huge dismay in learning that I was deprived of that opportunity. I was more distraught than I would have imagined. I felt stunned, angry and embarrassed that I was holding back tears. After all, Junior was alive and well and leaving respectfully and humbly befitting his character but I was mourning nonetheless.

As a kid, I enjoyed baseball. I lived in Los Angeles and was a devout Dodger fan. Even as a young girl, I could appreciate the stellar skills of Sandy Koufax. Being from Chicago, I had it wired in my genes to have a special place in my heart for the Cubbies. Yet, it wasn't till I was older and caught a televised Dodger game one afternoon when they were playing the Cincinatti Reds and my baseball life changed.

There was this amazing hitter for the Reds who had the most captivating smile and a unique batting style. It took me awhile to learn that his name was Ken Griffey. Something about this man captured my attention and I found that I was following his career and his team. This was the 1970's and the era of The Big Red Machine. I had the good fortune to fall in love with Griffey, Senior and baseball during the heyday of one of the all-time best team cycles ever. Pete Rose, Johnny Bench, Joe Morgan, Dave Concepcion, Ken Griffey, Sr. and Sparky Anderson as manager. It didn't get any better than these guys and my interest for baseball soon became a passion.

I was so captivated and so passionate about this team that I even risked my safety and well-being going to Chavez Ravine with my Dodger blue friends wearing my Reds regalia in defiant loyalty. My dear actor friend, Rick Holden was from Cincinatti so his Reds fervor came naturally and he and I would sit together at games and cheer and try to not be smug when the Dodgers got creamed. For the record, if the Dodgers played any other team, I rooted for my home team. Either way, I always had the distinct pleasure of listening to the dulcet tones of Vin Scully.

One game, Rick even managed to get Ken Griffey to autograph something for me but I was too shy to go down and meet him. I still have that piece of pine-tar rag, although the senior Griffey's signature is fading.

Griffey, Sr. in his career began to step aside for his young, up and coming son, Ken Griffey, Jr. The batting skill and magnetic smile didn't fall far from the fraternal tree and it was an easy transfer for me to become a Jr. fan. I even have a baseball from the season where father and son both played for the Mariners. It was not signed but I had to have it anyway. And when Jr. returned to playing for the Reds, I felt that was a coming home of sorts. Okay, I will admit that I was hard-pressed to like it when he was traded to the White Sox. Thinking of anyone I care about having to deal with Ozzie Guillen, is hard to swallow. I didn't watch many games that season.

Junior had an amazing career right at the outset as a 19 year-old rookie with the Mariners. He dazzled fans and non-fans alike. It is widely felt that if he hadn't had as many injuries and time away from the game he would have beat out Barry Bonds home run record--and done so without an asterisk to his name. I cheered and did a special happy dance when he hit 500.

Commentaries from pominent sportscasters (and respected former ball players) such as Joe Morgan and Orel Hersheiser concur with my feelings about how much Jr. loves baseball and baseball loved him. Joe Morgan watched Jr. grow up in the clubhouses and saw his passion and talents merge naturally. And I was pleased to read and hear how many other people saw the joy in Junior's playing and in his smile.

This essay written about my favorite baseball player is not attempt to recreate the stats or resume history than can be found on many a sports website. This is a personal tribute to a man who in my humble opinion was not only one helluva ball-player but an accomplished sportsman who exemplified the grace, dignity and myth-making magic that baseball is all about. Junior continued to defy baseball records and still maintain the balance of his personal life and celebrity without the usual ensuing drama or hype. He is a good guy. A family man. He inspired his own team and his fans. What's not to like?

Comments on Facebook, e-mails and texts have poured into me from friends who knew that this news would be hard for me. That says as much about the good friends that I have as it does as a testimonial to the respect and appreciation of Junior's legacy and influence.

Because of the Griffeys, I not only learned a whole lotta about baseball, I was always reminded about the privilege of doing something you love just for the sheer joy of doing it.

Thanks, Junior.

"Take him out of the ball game. Take him out of the crowd."

Ken Griffey Jr Rookie Card Graphics & Ken Griffey Jr Pictures