BreathSpace

City Slackers

2019-06-13T10:51:00.001-07:00

No, I did not misspell the title of this post.

Yes, I was playing off of the comedy film title, "City Slickers" about a bunch of mid-life guys who take a vacation to a dude ranch.

You see, I am in mid-life but not a guy. Moving to Santa Fe, New Mexico, it sometimes feels I am living in a ranch-like existence with glorious open space skies, biggest puffiest clouds on earth and cactus. And tumbleweeds. And typical animals expected for a terrain such as this but not expected by this city girl.

What prompted all this for me was a report from our neighborhood email digest and photo about a bobcat on a someone's porch last Sunday morning. Okay, we had been warned about the coyotes. Then came the emails about coach snakes (blessedly, non-poisonous) that sometimes look like a dead tree limb on the path. Followed by a newer email post about a different bobcat that has taken up residence in someone's backyard and attacked and injured their cat.

WTF???? Bobcats that don't seem deterred by property or human interference? We have a cat (indoor, thankfully) and a small dog that we often let out to the backyard to 'do her business' in-between the morning and evening walks so this is not something to ignore.

On last report, animal control would not address this so the neighbor is approaching the Fish and Game Warden to see if they can help safely trap these animals to keep the community animals --that includes we humans--safe.

When I let our dog, Chai outside to our backyard, I am a bit more cautious and if she is out longer than typically she needs, I go outside to look for her as our cement walls are not very high.

Happy to co-habitate with the cute little lizards and I have seen real bunny rabbits that really do have cottontails. Yesterday, on the paved path there was a rather large beetle looking creature that stood up on it's hind legs and looked as if it was malevolently rubbings it's hands (?) together in delight as we passed by.

Now when we take our long walks on the lovely trails that surround our community, I have to be extra attentive to what might be lurking under those big bushes. I take my iPhone more for security reasons but I no longer answer calls or texts while walking lest I ignore what our dog sees or sniffs.

This City Slicker can no longer be a City Slacker.

Kaleidoscope

2018-01-17T15:41:00.000-08:00

A group of butterflies is officially called a kaleidoscope,

although they are sometimes referred to as a swarm.

Years ago, I recall reading that even the slightest flutter of a butterfly's wings could alter the world as we know it. At the time, it sounded like poetic quantum physics. Yet when applied to immediate reality, it is interesting to me that despite not having not seen certain family members for years, upon learning of their passing, I found myself fluttering.

My niece messaged me on Facebook last night(yes, Facebook has its merits) that my estranged aunt Sunny was rapidly declining and going into hospice. Oh, and by the way, sorry to tell you that Aunt Donna died yesterday. What??

We exchanged a few more hasty texts in-between work calls to arrange a time to speak directly and I find out that her father, my sweet uncle Mike (whose real name was Don--but I digress) had passed away in December, 2016.

A myriad of emotions as I felt the swarm growing. Confusion? Grief? Guilt? Yep.

Let's add to this mix that only a few days after the new year, I get an email from my distant cousin telling me that a man who joined the same ancestry site had joined contacted her saying his DNA shows they/we are probably maternally related. She requested permission to give him my email address to reach out to me, too because ... (wait for it) ... he thinks he might even be the birth son of Aunt Sunny. The timing and the irony does not elude me. Including the fact, that I was crafting an email to him today. Now my email will be very different.

It's not 100% confirmed that he is her son as the adoption information did not disclose names. Yet it seems the ancestry DNA says it could be true. He wasn't trying to impose himself on Sunny but was curious what I know about her and/or any other living relatives. I think some of my delay in responding to him immediately was because I have been so used to being an only child with no family to speak of that I was uncertain what to say.

I was raised an only child who craved having a real family. You know, like the ones I saw on TV or that my friends had. The fact is that I did have a family -- a very dysfunctional, estranged and uncommunicative family--that again added to my growing up different. I spent decades in denial about all of this--not having a father or siblings of my own--let alone, the diverse aunts and uncles who were offspring of a woman who married at the age of 14 and had 22 children. Now I am wrestling with the fact that I have fewer of the people I didn't think I had in the first place.

Not having all the details yet in place, I know I don't have the full picture. But I can feel that there is a big healing for me that is taking shape. From that healing, I know that my sadness and madness will transform into something wonderful. Kinda like a butterfly emerging from an overdue cocoon.

"They say that these are not the best of times
But they're the only times I've ever known
And I believe there is a time for meditation
In cathedrals of our own
Now I have seen that sad surrender in my lover's eyes
And I can only stand apart and sympathize
For we are always what our situations hand us
It's either sadness or euphoria

So we'll argue and we'll compromise
And realize that nothing's ever changed
For all our mutual experience
Our separate conclusions are the same
Now we are forced to recognize our inhumanity
Our reason coexists with our insanity
But we choose between reality and madness
It's either sadness or euphoria

How thoughtlessly we dissipate our energies
Perhaps we don't fulfill each other's fantasies
And as we stand upon the ledges of our lives
With our respective similarities
It's either sadness or euphoria."

"Summer, Highland Falls" by Billy Joel

BFF...

2017-08-07T20:34:00.000-07:00

Hemingway once wrote, "There is no friend as loyal as a book." He understood even then that BFF = Book Friends Forever.

Hi, my name is Duchess and I am a bookaholic.

As a self-professed biblioholic, I have loved and devoured books since I was two years of age.
It's true. I began with Golden Books but quickly moved to Lamb's Tales from Shakespeare. In the process, I somehow missed out on "kids books" from Dr. Seuss or Winnie the Pooh until I became an adult.

Every year when I try to do some spring cleaning I approach the difficult task of culling through my books--in theory-- to weed out some of the excess. Then there have been the numerous and painful times when I was moving from one home or city to another and felt forced to reduce the number of boxes of books to transport.

There are still not enough shelves in my current home to accommodate all my friends. I have books stacked on their sides, on top of each other and in nooks and crannies all over the house. Yet, that doesn't stop me from frequenting bookstores and thrift shops for books. I don't always expect to buy anything but like the proverbial 'cat lady' if I see a special book lingering on the shelves, I buy it--even if I already have a copy...or two. Hardbound books are my favorites. Owning several first editions gives me glee. And I have a great fondness for used books that have notes, highlighting, and inscriptions in them. Somehow, seeing someone else's comments in a book along with their name and date they got the book gives me such a sense of connection and intimacy that I can barely contain myself.

"A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies. The man who never reads lives only one."

George R.R. Martin

Then imagine my delight when last week while taking an extended walk on the trails in our housing complex, I saw a newly built lending library in a tree house.

Screeech! Stop the presses.

Someone in the homeowners association proposed this idea, it passed and some angel built this castle for all our neighbors. (Insert squeals of delight here). What a divine idea.

When I opened the doors, I was first greeted by the smell of freshly cut wood mingling with the scent of books. Books of varying sizes and binding; varying topics and conditions. Oh my. I tried to quell my first initial response of longing to be the local librarian in charge. After all, that is what I did with all the books I had as a kid. When other kids were outside playing, I was creating my own card catalogue for each of my books along with the pleasure of stamping each person's card with a title and date as I loaned them the books out at school.

Suddenly, I was like a kid uncovering a treasure and I carefully walked over and opened the little glass doors. It was true--there were books inside that I could take if I so chose. Then the concept hit me--and I could bring books to leave here for others to read, too! No more random abandoning the books to some sub-par thrift store experience, I could bring books here to this sweet little custom library.

I was suddenly giddy with the idea of not only donating some of the 'excess' bookage, but choosing one or two special books and leaving them inside in hopes that someone extra special would notice. That special person would see the book I left (for them) and scarcely contain their glee that something so wondrous could be waiting just for them to find. Not to mention the added plus of taking longer walks each day to see what books remain or have arrived.

Kindle? Harrumph.

"No two persons ever read the same book."

Edmund Wilson

That was the week that was...

2017-01-23T12:12:00.002-08:00

As per Wikipedia, “That Was the Week That Was, informally TWTWTW or TW3, was a satitical television programme on BBC Television in1962 and 1963. An American version by the same name aired on NBC from 1964 to 1965, featuring David Frost.

The programme opened with a song ("That was the week that was, It's over, let it go...") sung by Millicent Martin referring to news of the week just gone. “

It was also my childhood recollection of a very funny news program that “the adults” loved to watch every week. As a kid, I didn’t always understand the news items or the parodies but I could sense the show was witty; and it began my love affair for all things British. I reflected on TW3 as I witnessed the events of the past week in eager anticipation of it all being over soon.

"O' beautiful, for spacious skies

But now those skies are threatening

They're beating plowshares into swords

For this tired old man that we elected king

Armchair warriors often fail

And we've been poisoned by these fairy tales

The lawyers clean up all details

Since daddy had to lie..."

("The End Of The Innocence"by Don Henley)

The Martin Luther King, Jr. weekend this year was particularly poignant as several other significant historical facts happened: The Obamas said farewell to the White House, there was a big spectacle on January 20^th that caused dyspepsia for millions of people; and then on Saturday, January 21^st, an enormous anthropological and sociological event took place known as the Women’s March on Washington.

The Women's March centered in D.C. but active around the United States and the world was a collective action to ensure parity in civil rights for women and minorities.

"In the spirit of democracy and honoring the champions of human rights, dignity, and justice who have come before us, we join in diversity to show our presence in numbers too great to ignore." -- Women's March on Washington

It is no coincidence that the originating 1893 march was planned to coincide with that inauguration (along with subsequent inaugurations) this year's march is on the heels of the divisive election and what feels like a very different inauguration. This march may raise fists along with flags. Some attended this as a protest march, a show of solidarity and resistance. My philosophy also teaches me to endorse and choose to be for something or someone; instead of being against something (or someone).

I happen to be a woman who was raised by a single mom working two and three jobs to survive. Although I am white, neither my ethnic brothers and sisters, nor I have equal rights or equal pay. I am sure there are some folks shouting, "Hey, at least you have the vote now." What about civil rights, basic decency and safety for African-Americans, Latinos and my LGBTQ brothers and sisters?

Yes, I realize that despite “alternative facts” and figures, there are hundreds of thousands of people who are celebrating this new president. My sadness and emptiness will perhaps seem odd to them. Those who share my grief and concerns may be considered as part of the problem to which the electorate voted to dissolve. Either way, I am weary and eager to get back to figuring out how to live in some semblance of civility.

"So many of us have stood up for the marginalized, but never expected to be here ourselves. It happened to us overnight, not for anything we did wrong but for what we know is right. Our first task is to stop shaming ourselves and claim our agenda. It may feel rude, unprofessional and risky to break the habit of respecting our government; we never wanted to be enemies of the state. But when that animosity mounts against us, everything we do becomes political: speaking up or not speaking up. Either one will have difficult consequences. That’s the choice we get. With due respect for the colored ribbons we’ve worn for various solidarities, our next step is to wear something on our sleeve that takes actual courage: our hearts."

(Excerpted from The Guardian essay, November 23, 2016 by Barbara Kingsolver)

On the web and throughout social media, along with all the divisive diatribe, available are countless editorial posts and pieces offering words of solace and guidance. Because of "my day job", I will be called upon to offer my own thoughts of hope and light to my spiritual community. My philosophy and faith reminds me that there is a Divine Order to all of this. I know that we didn't get here by accident. Yet, I am scrambling to find my balance and clarity to find the deeper understanding I need for healing my head and heart.

Along with many whom I admire and respect, I am baffled, appalled and feeling unsafe because of the elected leader of the free world and the cabinet he has selected. Yet, while walking through my disbelief and uncertainty, I am weary of reading ad nauseam essays, reports and Facebook posts to prove how awful all this is. I get it. Yet to remedy this we have got to stop preaching to the choir and start looking for how to heal the division that this election unearthed. Angry or violent retaliation is only going to exacerbate the pain and separation. What we resist persists, and I personally, do not want the tone or the effects of this administration to persist.

Even though I have a personal moratorium in place to not read about Trump, yesterday, my husband sent a Facebook post link with an essay that he knew would help assuage my concerns. Not only do I share this link here with you, I encourage you to read this editorial by Peter Leyden, as one of the most articulate and inspirational editorials I have seen in print since the election:

https://shift.newco.co/https-medium-com-peteleyden-why-trumps-inauguration-is-not-the-beginning-of-an-era-but-the-end-72a86833f0a3#.izo4bxoow

Let me quickly add that I don't intend to be passive nor silent. This ‘state of the union’ calls me to action more than any time in my personal history. However, I prefer pen over placard. Trusting that the Constitution will remain intact, the proverbial pen (or keyboard) is still mightier than the sword. Creative arts and creative spirituality are my weapons of choice. My style is more in keeping with Carrie Fisher's advice that when there's a broken heart --make art.

We didn't get here by accident. There is a collective consciousness that created this administration. How anyone responds to what this administration is or does, is up to us as individuals. No longer can anyone can rest on their complacent or holier-than-thou laurels---no matter what party allegiance.

Can't we all just get along?

Apparently not...yet.

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Calling All Angels

2016-11-08T08:34:00.002-08:00

Tuesday, November 8, 2016.
A day that will go down in history no matter who gets elected.

“We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained, it must not break our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory will swell when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature.”

It has been a grueling 18 months for all of us. However, today more than any other day of this campaign, invoke your inner Abraham Lincoln to call forth the better angels of our nature.
Because as eager as I am to see this campaign over, our real work is about what happens after tonight. So we must put our attention on the restoration of our country and our own psyches.

We each have our own work to do about healing the shadow within us that collectively out pictured as the two main candidates. (As a softer reminder, we also have something within many of us that out pictured Bernie Sanders, too). So, here goes:

Bless you Mr. Trump and your entire entourage.
Bless you Putin, the F.B.I. and even Fox News.
Bless the angry citizens who have been acting out their rage because Mr. Trump, by his repeated examples, made it seem acceptable to be a bully.

Bless Hillary Clinton for her resiliency and willingness to be mother archetype who can step in and help heal our boo-boos (and her own); ease our bellyaches and make it safe to go out and play again.

I really resonated with something I read this morning from Justin at Curious.com:

"If you are a regular Curio reader, it’s probably not hard to guess my political persuasion. But this Daily Curio is pro-learning, no matter your affiliation. I simply hope your votes are based, not on fear, but on optimism. Optimism that we continue to recognize the best in each other. Optimism that we can reasonably change others’ minds, as well as allow reason to change our own. Optimism that nothing can reverse our march towards absolute equality. Optimism that embracing our diversity will produce tomorrow’s bravest citizens, hardest workers and boldest ideas. We aren’t all born of the same experiences, nationality, skin color, sexual identity, economic status or abilities. But we are all born curious."

"May that curious spirit, and the desire for our leaders to be lifelong learners, guide all of us today."

Together, let us invoke Indra's Web to wrap itself around our world, our country and return each and everyone of us to the beauty and wholeness from which we began.

(Image from livelightbeing.com)

And although it is not quite the season, God Bless U.S. everyone.

Electionitis - 2016

2016-11-03T21:22:00.000-07:00

Along with friends, colleagues and fellow citizens, we have all been inundated with election rhetoric and vitriolic displays of boorish behavior.

Ever since the actual candidates were chosen, it has been a more than mudslinging of base and disrespectful behavior--and in many cases, down right lies. Yet, the media frenzy including Social Media has propagated more than it’s fair share of stories, rumours, accusations and incendiary editorials. As the months wore on, more and more accusations and slander has risen for each of the two Presidential candidates.

Throughout this time, I resisted the urge to write or post anything about the election or the candidates. I longed to offer my personal metaphysical slant to it all but I was being the old-fashioned “good girl” and staying out of it. However, in the last few weeks, so many of my ministerial colleagues have addressed this topic because it is so important to their community members and congregants, that we as supportive spiritual leaders felt compelled to finally offer some insight and hopefully, comfort.

Remember when in the 60s, John Lennon was vilified for saying The Beatles were more popular than Jesus Christ? This was a powerful and accurate declaration that created havoc and misunderstanding in the United States. Eventually, Mr. Lennon had to apologize to appease the media and fans. Yet, now in 2016, candidate Donald Trump gets away with a whole lot more incendiary declarations that that. I don’t need to list the assessments, accusations or even inferences of misdeed, slander, abuse and even blasphemy that Mr. Trump has been allowed to voice.

Trump has even out-trumped himself with all the verifiable slants as to confirm the unctuous, bombastic and misogynistic person that he is. Yet we cannot fault him for being to true to himself; we can only cease to inflate the current climate by modifying our responses.

I have consciously chosen to not watch any of the debates— barely escaping the circus by seeing sound bytes shown on the news or on T.V. comedy satires or in other media.

Watching the acerbic and biting Saturday Night Live parodies or the scathing, witty and painfully accurate John Oliver editorials, only to fall on deaf ears because it's all preaching to the proverbial choir. These television shows or the copious Facebook posts that run Trump over the deserved hot coals, are moot because the people who need to truly understand and accurately assess the jeopardy Trump represents, are not watching those programs or reading the desperate pleas for sanity to “make America great again” by dumping Trump.

The people who support and most likely vote for him, are not paying attention to expert opinions or the facts. Early on, Mr. Trump ignited fierce controversy when he said that his fans would still support him if he shot someone in the streets of NY. And through all the videos, the unpaid taxes, the confirmation of his lies, the lawsuits, his rude and insulting behavior—not only to other humans but also to our democratic system, he has only gotten more popular.

In my humble opinion, the majority of Trump voters are cheering on his every flaw and narcissistic buffoonery because they want and wish they could also say or do what he does; and not only get away with it, but be elevated and celebrated for it.

It doesn’t get scarier than the facts that we are facing a crisis in our democracy. This recent Halloween, I was reminded of one my favorite comedy films, “Ghostbusters.” At the critical juncture of the film when good and evil are duking it out, Bill Murray cautions his crew to clear their minds of everything so that they can defeat the evil ghosts. Whoops. Suddenly around the next building looms The Stay Puft Marshmallow Man, larger than life who has emerged to destroy them and the city New York. I find the parallels alarming.

Donald Trump is our national Mr. Stay Puft. The usually benign and ignored popular figure suddenly becomes demonic and YUGE and we find ourselves struggling to escape. Early in the campaign, many of us practiced classic psychological, childhood-like disassociation: if I close my eyes and ignore him, he will go away.

As horrific as this entire election process has been, it won’t matter who wins or loses on November 8^th, our country and its citizens are going to have an uphill process towards integrity and wholeness. Our country, our governance, and our current electoral process has been in need of an overhaul for a long time and I guess we had to hit rock bottom (or lower) to begin to look towards salvation and healing. We must turn to a revamping of our entire election process and begin to heal our inner and outer demons.

On November 4, 2016, in Bloomberg (online edition) Deena Shanker addresses it from the bigger picture perspective:

"Americans unnerved by the 2016 campaign may need help dealing with its consequences. More than half of Americans are experiencing election-related stress comparable to that often attributed to work, money, or the economy, the American Psychological Association has said. And while the good news is the presidential contest will end next week, the bad news is that because of the ferocity of the campaign, the mental damage may linger. And for some groups, it may get even worse—depending on who wins." Read the full story

This whole process has been a perfect out-picturing of our collective shadow side. Here’s a guy who is celebrated for speaking his mind and saying some of the things we feel compelled keep in check. Here is a woman who has finally broken the glass ceiling in government but the populace isn’t sure she is trustworthy or honest, and she’s still part of the elite instead of the change the common folk seek.

For those of us who desire to defeat Donald Trump, the only way to defeat or deflate him – – wait for it – – is to love the hell out of him. Literally. At the risk of sounding oh so New Agey, we need to saturate Trump with as much light and love as we can muster till he has no choice but to dissolve into his own bloated nothingness. This applies win, lose, or draw.

Otherwise, every character assassination we contribute or endorse about Trump only serves to expand and magnify his monstrous presence ala Mr. Stay Puft. But if the Ghostbusters can neutralize Mr. Stay Puft we can at least neutralize our feelings. Otherwise, it will be too lates. You're fired.

We have the option to ignore The Bully, so that he takes his expensive toys home to pout. Lest you think I'm only applying this approach to just Mr. Trump, may I remind you that if you're someone who can't abide Hillary Clinton, I suggest taking the same neutral approach. Either way, it's imperative to vote. Don't let fear elect a president.

There is one additional option along with actually voting, you can join the Elevate the Vote movement. https://elevatethevote.com/home

Meditation Flash Mob on Nov. 8^th at polling places around the country. 3pm PST, 4Pm MST, 5pm CST, 6Pm EST

This is a grassroots group that is creating a cosmic Flash Mob if you will, of people committed to staging a meditation sit-in at local polling stations or other selected locations. The Santa Fe Center for Spiritual Living will be participating on Tuesday, November 8^th starting at 4:00 p.m. MST, people will gather and meditate to raise the consciousness of this election and our nation.

All this chaos and angst is not happening for naught. We can’t change the people who are running for office, but we sure as hell can change ourselves. Instead of resisting and fighting against the human representations of our own demons, let’s see if we can be for something instead of against it.

I’d close with this wisdom from my dear friend and colleague, Rev. Bonnie Rose:

“We elect the truth: all healing begins with our willingness to heal.

We elect a world where the strength to lift each other up surpasses the weakness of blowing each other up. We elect fairness, health and wholeness. A clean environment. Thriving wildlife. Abiding sacredness for the earth and other rock-stars.

We elect goodwill, friendship, humility and grace.

We make America fall in love again

We’re with Us.

We elect.

We vote.

We use this privilege as a blessing to the world.

But most of all, we become the candidate we wish to see. We elect ourselves. We elect one another. We elect love. Namaste.”

The Web of Life

2016-09-24T20:27:00.002-07:00

...and in this case, I am not referencing the internet.

My sometimes mild aversion to the creepy crawlies does not diminish my fondness and respect for both animals and Spirit. Which is why I have always done my very best to escort spiders outside where I feel they would be happier.

Now that I live in a new terrain where there are relatively few insects--spiders and ants-- I have had the chance to manage the experience of an ant invasion that lasted for weeks. (Yes, the former Catholic girl that I am confesses that ultimately, chemicals were used. If you don't leave after a polite request and prayer, you are outta here if you keep ruining my kidz food).

This past week, I have had several arachnid visitors. The first two which were of different types yet, both in my bedroom, I kind of ignored but noted. Then on Friday in my office, I see a very large dark spider hurrying across my wall. Whoa. This creature was thicker than most and had a big red butt. I didn't think it was a black widow but I vaguely recalled something about red being on them somewhere.

Of course, the next important step was to find my iPhone and grab a quick picture so that people on Facebook could help me identify the spider. While I was doing all this, dear Yolande entered with a glass and managed to retrieve her and take her outside. Whew. A few posts suggested I run for the hills; one said it was a tarantula but then finally, it was identified as .." a Red Back Jumping Spider. (Philippus Johnsoni). Ugly but harmless."

Then that night, there was a large brown spider in my sink as I was about to do the dishes. I learned from Yolande and got a tall, plastic Starbucks cup and managed to get this guy outside despite his attempts to leap off onto the floor.

And before bed, there was another spider along with a web thread. What the....?

As I sit down to write my talk for Sunday service tomorrow, I noticed something before my eyes and realize it is yet another little spider coming down on a web thread. That did it. I moved this distraction and immediately went on the other web to find out information about the animal spirit information that was clearly trying to present itself tome.

Here's some of the reference material I uncovered:

Spider spirit animal by Elena Harris, SpiritAnimal.info

The spider is a remarkable figure of feminine energy and creativity in the spirit animal kingdom. Spiders are characterized by the skilled weaving of intricate webs and patience in awaiting their prey. By affinity with the spider spirit animal, you may have qualities of high receptivity and creativity. Having the spider as a power animal or totem helps you tune into life’s ebbs and flows and ingeniously weave every step of your destiny.

From Animaltotem.com:

Spiders are very delicate creatures that play an important role in the myths and lore of many peoples as the teacher of balance between the past and future, the physical and spiritual.

With its gentle strength, Spider spins together the threads of life with intricate webs.

Spider knows that the past affects the future and vise versa. It calls us to make use of our creativity and weave our dreams into our destiny.

For many Native Americans, "spider woman" stories are important creation mythologies. One of the common feature of those are wisdom symbolized with spiders' webs (for example, she taught the human how to weave). Also generally accepted are the ideas that her "thread" connects the human world and the world of spirits or the "above world" and the "below world". Spider Woman also weaves the "relationship" of the Web of Life and all beings.

From Druidry.org:

We can derive even more Spider symbol meaning when we consider certain subtle characteristics that represent ancient symbols of infinity. When we take a look at the Spider itself and consider most Spiders have eight eyes and all have eight legs, we can see that the Spider also shows the meaning of the number eight, which involves cycles, passage of time, evolution and, as mentioned before, the eight fold path of the year.

Ah. I was beginning to understand the symbolism and meaning that is indeed, very applicable to what I am experiencing right now. For a few weeks now, the vision has been pulling and the call to be creative is at an all time high. Lately, I keep waking during what I call the Mystic Hours, between 3:30 - 5:30 a.m. where I can barely get myself up fast enough to jot down all the inspiration. My head is so full of ideas, I can hardly wait to put them into action.

It does feel as if I am weaving the Vision that has been my destiny. That is heady stuff. Perhaps the spider guests have come to reassure me that I am on the right path and to keep being creative, to keep weaving the Vision for others...and primarily, for myself.

In respect to what the spiders came to teach, I share this story in hopes that it will inspire someone else to engage in their own creativity as well as to be attentive to the teachers that show up for us in unexpected ways.

Sweet Sixteen -September 22, 2016

2016-09-22T19:37:00.002-07:00

No, I am not suddenly having a a Norma Desmond moment trying to deny my AARP membership.

I am referring to the chronological fact that amazingly, today is the 16th anniversary of my Ordination as a minister of Religious Science.

As much as it humbles me, it makes me giggle.
Me? An ordained minister? Really...?
Yep.

It's doubly delicious that this anniversary happens on the first day of autumn--my most favorite-est season. A time when my entire being feels more connected than I have adjectives to use to describe. It was not by accident that I chose this autumnal date for my marriage to Spirit.

My time at the North Hollywood Church of Religious Science is probably my fondest time (so far) in my ministry. It was a magical time and I was privileged to be working and serving NHCRS and Rev. Dr. Mark Vierra.

Today, was also ThrowBackThursday on Facebook. I awoke eager to share photos from my special event. But alas, this lass was unable to find the photos. Having moved so recently, many photos are still in boxes in the garage. There was only one photo that I had actually printed and framed to display inside my home:

The scan is not too great but it does reflect the joy I had in the fact that my mom, Dixie Lee Dale made it to my Ordination. This made the event even more significant because Mom never attended any of my other services as a minister.

It was a magical evening. Great friends and colleagues. Great music (yes, Rev. Bonnie Rose!) I can't think of a better place and time to have had such a sacred time in my life. So, I particularly like that today, I can celebrate my Sweet Sixteen in honor of the coming of age in my ministry.

Thank you Rev. Dr. Mark Vierra for allowing me to begin my official ministry with you. I was and still am, SO BLESSED.
And so it is...Amen.

TBT- 2003

2016-07-21T17:46:00.001-07:00

Thursday, July 21, 2016--

It took me a long time to figure out what TBT meant when I would see it on Facebook. For those who still are unsure, TBT is a divertissement called, Throwback Thursday wherein one posts a photo from the past to offer some reflection or amusement.

I have yet to learn how to scan photos using my new Canon printer (which is gold in color by the way--not that the color matters to anyone else but me).

This week, I am using my short summer break from work, by being productive. Which means finally getting back to organizing my closets and the half-dozen or so boxes in the office that I never got around to emptying before Don arrived in Santa Fe. While Don is out of town for work, I can painstakingly and tenderly go through every box, every envelope, every piece of paper and decide if it is something to file, recycle or toss.

Found an old Franklin-Covey organizer from 2003 and decided to peruse each page for gems. Sure enough, TBT took me back to San Diego with tons of notes about work at Pacific Church of Religious Science and personal appointments. My lifelong OCD habit is that I always make very specific notations on my calendars that I think might be significant someday.

Here's what I uncovered:
--David and I had begun handling the paperwork process for filing for our divorce.
--I taught a relationship workshop, "Date with God and Rev. Duchess" for those of us single on that Valentine's Day.
-- The next Sunday, Donald Converse returned to San Diego and showed up at PCRS.
--The same Mr. Converse invited me out to coffee to talk at ---wait for it-- -- yes, Starbucks to discuss his involvement at PCRS. Of course, over the years of our relationship, Don and I have celebrated this 'meeting' as an anniversary of sorts. It may come as big surprise to Don, that we have been celebrating on the wrong date. Over the years, we thought the coffee chat was on March 4th but instead, it was actually, March 7th. Our second 'meeting' at a different Starbucks was on April 3rd (where I bought our coffee so that it wouldn't be misconstrued by the charming Mr. Converse).
--At the suggestion of Jana Zunich, I somewhat reluctantly agreed to a real date with Don that took place on April 16th at the Marine Room in La Jolla.

-- Started teaching the Practitioner One class with my "cubs" on Sept. 16th and we stayed together for the full two years of training on through their graduation.
--My divorce with David became official November 29th.
--December 8th, PCRS won the lawsuit the La Mesa landlord filed against us about a property we never inhabited. (The case proved to be it's own unpleasant TBT for a few years as the landlord sued us again -- which is what ended up doing us in emotionally and financially even though we once again legally prevailed.)

Well, so much for the romp down 2003 lane. From today's closet purging, here is one more photo of a very much older TBT from my early days (actually nights) with Mac computers:

Even 13 years later and probably for TBT's to come, I still notate all my paper calendars, still frequent Starbucks, and still only use Apple computer devices;

and oh yeah, still find Mr. Converse ever so charming.

A new, New Mexican

2016-04-19T20:06:00.002-07:00

.."sometimes you have to change your scenery to change your perspective..."

This is a line taken from the new Tom Hanks movie that I haven't seen as it hasn't opened yet.

I definitely changed my perspective which changed my scenery and then again, changed my perspective.

I have now been living in Santa Fe, New Mexico for four months.

There are many things to which one must be acclimated when moving to a new city--especially, one that is at 7,000 feet altitude--and one is moving from sea level.

Photos by the other new, New Mexican, Don Converse

But I digress.

There are many things that are different about my new city besides the altitude.

• We live off a major street called Rodeo. That seems appropriate in a Southwestern state. However, I grew up in Los Angeles which includes the infamous Beverly Hills --and in " Beverly Hills 90210", it is pronounced Ro-day-Oh Drive. Not here. At least, not by locals.

• And speaking of locals...

eeeek.

• On the streets here there are signs for HUMPS and since I saw no local camels crossing, as my car galumphed, I quickly ascertained that their 'Humps' are the same as California speed 'Bumps'.

• The left turn arrow is on the right of the green/red light which is very confusing at first, when one is in the left turning lane. When this first happened to me, I wanted to turn left but the red light was hovering over my lane. The green arrow lit up and I stayed put thinking it must apply somehow to the car to my right. Evidenced by the honking, I quickly gleaned my error.

• MVD--not DMV and it is no longer DUI it is DWI here

While moving through the lengthy process--proving I am now a resident, vehicle inspection, eye test, etc. I took a trip to the ladies restroom. The New Mexico MVD is very modern and ecologically current as evidenced by the sign on the inside of the bathroom door:

Although quite necessary to change one's drivers license and auto registration, it isn't often an emotional experience for most people. ("I ain't people!" Lina Lamont)

I have had my California drivers license since I was sixteen. Yes, the license has changed over the years, but not the number--which I still have memorized (proudly).

Now, I will have a new license, new photo and a new number. And my beloved personalized California plates had to be replaced with lovely turquoise plates. I had to swap the existing plates before I could order a vanity plate. (By the way, here in New Mexico, you only need one plate in the back. In California, you had to have two to be seen coming or going).

Need your input, please. I have begun an unofficial poll of my readers and friends: Shall I order a new plate with my same tag line, GOD BIZ? Or, should I go with a new phrase for my new life? Please feel free to write with (positive & loving) suggestions. I will order the teal and yellow version.

(How to remember my new license--Nice White Female 167?)

Today, we were finally able to register Don's car and he also had to get new a license plate.

( This will make it easy to remember, too --Nice White Male 962)

Acclimation to a new town, new state, new job and new altitude (and attitude) has been a lesson in awareness as well as my marveling at how much we humans are creatures of habits--our own and our cultural ones, too.

Ta da! My new license has arrived and I am now officially, a new, New Mexican-- please, no Walter White jokes or else I will call Saul.

Higher Love

2016-02-13T21:06:00.002-08:00

Yes, I know it is February--Valentine's month but I am aiming for something bigger, higher than that.

"Your attitude, not your aptitude, will determine your altitude." - Zig Ziglar

Santa Fe, New Mexico resides at 7,000 feet.

I recently moved here from California...sea level.

Can you spell a d j u s t m e n t ?

Since moving to Santa Fe in December, I have been having difficulty with the higher altitude that shows up in my body. Unable to get a full breath and getting winded at the slightest activities; dizziness, nausea and trouble sleeping. Not to mention the emotional de-toxing and re-calibration taking place.

It's an unusual challenge because in one way it doesn't appear to be any different--it still looks like outside. My body looks the same. The altitude is invisible.

Think about it, there must be higher love

Down in the heart or hidden in the stars above
Without it, life is wasted time
Look inside your heart, I'll look inside mine...

Thanks to time, chlorophyll in my copious amounts of water, some actual oxygen from a machine at something called an Oxygen Bar (the only bar I can actually frequent because there is no smoke and all the drinks are healthy) and working with a wonderful healer, I am starting to get me sea legs. No, wait--mountain legs and getting balance.

No, not a hookah parlor...The Oxygen Bar in Santa Fe

Elixir cocktail at the Oxygen Bar

I know this because yesterday I was able to do projects and chores around the house only having to stop twice from being light-headed and faint. I know I am sleeping better because I wake up with creative ideas and I have the return pleasure of celebrity guests visiting me in my dreams!

It is not unusual for me to have celebrities make cameo or featured appearances in my dreams. The people who show up are not the ones I may have seen in a film or t.v. before going to bed and sometimes, they are not even actors I like.

This morning I woke up after having met and played the piano with Paul McCartney. Isn't that amazing? I don't even play the piano. He was very cordial and we had fun playing this duet. In the middle of the song, I realized I was playing with Sir Paul McCartney--I mean, I was accompanying him--and I got so giddy. I asked if I could ask him a personal question and he said yes. I asked him where was the most interesting place on someone that he signed an autograph? He laughed and blushed and said he had not signed on anyone's physical body before. My mind was racing as to how I could shift what I was wearing and discreetly and appropriately have him autograph ...me. As he was walking away from the piano, I noticed his silver lame loafers and I thought it was an odd wardrobe choice for him but who was I make a fashion judgment about a Beatle.

I could light the night up with my soul on fire

I could make the sun shine from pure desire
Let me feel that love come over me
Let me feel how strong it could be

Bring me a higher love

Bring me a higher love, oh
Bring me a higher love
Where's that higher love, I keep thinking of?

Bring me a higher love

Bring me a higher love, oh
Bring me a higher love.
("Higher Love" by Steve Winwood)

The Higher Love I seek and of which I write is one that is about an authentic connection and expression of the God within me, my higher Self. It is my belief that I moved to Santa Fe for precisely that connection. A higher love. The unconditional love from Spirit to and through me and I have geographically and metaphorically found a Higher Love. That is the kind of breathless I don't mind.

"To love is to live within the holy breath of God." Rickie Byars Beckwith

Yuppie Pioneer Mountain Woman

2016-01-13T19:19:00.001-08:00

Translate that as me, a California girl moved to northern New Mexico--where I have seen for myself the visual that matches the lyric, "purple mountain majesty"; and I have had my garage door freeze shut making me late for work.

Can you spell S N O W? C O L D? And in particular, I C E? Yikes.
This California girl didn't know you had to shovel the snow away before it hardens and turns to ice to defy the tread of your worn out UGG boots knock-offs.

Don't get me wrong. I am loving it here. The winter weather seems to make me feel more alive. The stillness of a snowfall is almost indescribable. And the people here in the city are fantastic, fun and very arts-oriented.

It's just that it does take more time and energy to function here. One has to allow more time to get appropriately dressed (think Randy in the movie, "A Christmas Story" as his mother's bundles him up to walk to school) without looking like an alien Michelin man. One has to leave earlier than usual to get to a chosen destination and hope that one can see the lines in the road to know how to drive if it is snowing (especially at night).

The pioneer part of my title has to do with the fact that after the actual move to Santa Fe, Don went back to Chico and I am living here by myself with my beloved cat, Beauregard.

That means that all the unpacking is mine to do. Along with having to call on a friend to help out when the boxes are too high or too heavy to access.

It means numerous trips to Lowe's to get necessities like a snow shovel (I found one that is junior size) and jugs of salt that I can pour on the walkway to help melt the ice. I mean that because I cannot lift the economical 40 lb. bag of salt, I have to buy the wussy size containers of the salt so I can lift and pour without strain. The good news is that when Don gets here and he buys the giant size bag, we can pour some into my petite size container for my use, too.

It means learning how to cook on an electric stove which is no small feat as I do not know how to cook on a gas stove.

It means not letting the thrice fallen shower rod defeat me. A very helpful guy at Lowe's gave me some inside tips on installing a new one and after closing the door so that Beau wouldn't get underfoot, I stood on my little step-stool and put up my new rod with my new curtain and new shower hooks.

It means ignoring the Mercury in retrograde that has been toying with me with already by taking my beloved KatieKeurig coffee machine with an untimely exit. Anyone who knows me, knows that coffee and I are synonymous. My KatieKeurig (so named because it is alliterative and she is red) has been with me for over 5 years at my office in Chico. I brought her with me here to Santa Fe to use at home till Don got here and brought our home Keurig. Whether it is the colder clime here or just a luxury for the first two weeks here, I would have two cups of coffee in the morning. On Sunday, KK went phffffft. On new year's eve, I ordered a new batch of K-cups and a Descaling kit because I had noticed she was getting a little inconsistent. The kit didn't arrive in time. Katie stopped working on Sunday after giving me one last, partial cup of coffee before starting my new job. Bless her.

Fortunately, several people have told me that my shortness of breath, appetite and fatigue are part of the acclimatizing my body needs to do to adjust to the 7,000 foot altitude while I build additional red blood cells. So I am hunkering down and taking care of business as they say. You see, I was raised an only child which meant I was fiercely independent, stubborn and resourceful. I now understand that part of the value in the separation from Don is that I am returning to being that self-reliant, born of Irish stock, MacGyver kinda gal that I am.

What say I next try building a fire in that kiva?

Renaissance Eve

2016-01-09T20:13:00.002-08:00

9 January, 2016

Tomorrow, I present my first Sunday service as the new Spiritual Leader at the Santa Fe Center for Spiritual Living.

. . . gulp.

"Something has changed within me

Something is not the same

I'm through with playing by the rules

Of someone else's game

Too late for second-guessing

Too late to go back to sleep

It's time to trust my instincts
Close my eyes: and leap! "

It may help you to understand my jitters if I explain that I was raised by my grandmother who worked for years in Vaudeville. She loved that I shared her theatrical passion and inclinations to continue doing plays and shows. Before one of my earliest theatrical debuts, Nanny taught me about the type of nerves I seemed to be having -- she called them "Butterflies". Not nerves. Not fear. Butterflies. She also told me that it was the right thing and a good omen that I felt that happy buzzing before a performance.

Now I realize that tomorrow is not a 'performance' per se. However, the butterflies have indeed taken wing.

"It's time to try

Defying gravity

I think I'll try

Defying gravity

Kiss me goodbye

I am defying gravity
And you wont bring me down! "

This is all a grand thing--something that manifested from the genesis of a spiritual impulsion to take my passion to a greater level of expression than before. Even when that meant leaving a job, a city and friends in Chico. In fact, the practitioners there gifted me with a stained glass butterfly in southwest colors.

Tonight, I find myself flitting around like a bride on the eve of her wedding. (Although, my groom is still in Chico for now). Tomorrow is the day, the event, that I have been envisioning and planning for months. It has been clear to me from the original nudge from Spirit that this was the right and true thing to do. I have been working on my talk all week--well, I guess if I am honest, I have been working on this talk, this 'calling' for almost a year. Yet, I still feel the racing pulse and even the urge to cry as I dance with my swarm of butterflies.

I've worked to do what I would counsel someone else to do-- B R E A T H E --that and lots of Rescue Remedy, meditation and prayer. Now it's time to prepare for sleep so that I can wake up early and ...fly.

"That's why I couldn't be happier

No, I couldn't be happier

Though it is, I admit

The tiniest bit

Unlike I anticipated

But I couldn't be happier
Simply couldn't be happier
'Cause getting your dreams
It's strange, but it seems
A little - well - complicated
There's a kind of a sort of cost
There's a couple of things get lost
There are bridges you cross
You didn't know you crossed
Until you've crossed
And if that joy, that thrill
Doesn't thrill you like you think it will
Still -
With this perfect finale
The cheers and the ballyhoo,
Who
Wouldn't be happier?
So I couldn't be happier
Because happy is what happens
When all your dreams come true
Well, isn't it?
Happy is what happens
When your dreams come true!"

"Tomorrow begins today..."

"Wicked" Music and Lyrics by Stephen Schwartz
Thank you to Natalie Lang for permission to use her lovely photo.

B.A.

2016-01-04T11:08:00.001-08:00

In this case, I am not referring to a Bachelor of Arts --which I would love to claim --I am instead wondering how to claim a different B.A. --a group I could/should attend for help with my addiction. B.A. ---Books Anonymous.

I confess --I am a word nerd which ultimately led to my becoming a bibliophile. It is no longer anonymous nor a secret to those that know me that I am a Bibliopolic I can admit to being addicted to buying, owning and devouring books.

The definition of addiction according to Dictionary.com:

noun : the state of being enslaved to a habit or practice or to something that is psychologically or physically habit-forming, as narcotics, to such an extent that its cessation causes severe trauma

By that definition alone, it confirms that I am addicted to books. My recent relocation from California to New Mexico has brought this to the forefront for me. Trying to pack all my books for transport; trying to unpack the boxes; and now, trying to find space for all the books has become quite a physical--and emotional-- challenge. In addition to not having as much space to allow for all my books, there is a part of me that knows I don't need all these books--especially now that so much information can be easily accessed online.

Gratefully, my addiction is not life-threatening in the scheme of things--but it is not without it's challenges or trauma---such as now having to part with my friends...er, books so that I can create order and balance in our home.

Even my cat, Beauregard seems a bit perplexed as to what to do with so many books.

And... well, these photos don't show all of my books. There are a few more boxes off-camera and several more unpacked boxes at my office at work.

What's a girl to do? I love books. Always have and always will. Books were really the primary friends I had as an only-child growing up. I don't mean to make that sound pitiful. It was my choice to stay inside and read instead of go outdoors and play like most kids. If it weren't for books and show tunes, I don't know how I would have survived.

As a little girl, I used to have all my books catalogued and I would give out personal library cards to friends or family who wanted to borrow my books. I loved dating and stamping their cards and handing over to them one of my precious books in hopes they would enjoy it as much as I had. I tried to emulate The Library in how I set things up even down to charging a penny fine if they were late. For the record, I did away with that punitive process because I learned that people were less likely to visit my library.

To my credit, I did release two boxes of books prior to the move. Weeks later, now that I am in our new home, I am in the sorting process to determine what I can donate and what I can keep. As I said, this is not the type of addiction that is the genesis of research funding and organizations to bring about better living. Yet, I am hoping that my 'plight' for which I know others struggle, becomes a part of the human psyche that evokes a certain level of compassion and understanding.

In the meantime, I am happy to check out one of these wonderful books to you for the next two weeks if you stop by and fill out an application.

Anthropology and Me

2015-07-26T18:42:00.002-07:00

It's interesting what can serve to teach us in our lives if we let it.

A few weeks ago, it would have been my mother's 85th birthday. I woke up that morning with an unfamiliar sadness and grief response. Mom has been gone for eight years, so most of my grieving responses had run its course. But I felt her 'with me' more than usual and I really missed her.

That day, I had to facilitate a memorial service and the very first song the pianist played as prelude music to the service was "Clair de Lune" my mother's very favorite piece of music. Then at Sunday service the next day, the first song that the guest soloists sang, "I Will Remember You" by Sarah MacLachlan. It happened to be the music I used to underscore mom's memorial video.

"I will remember you

Will you remember me?
Don’t let your life pass you by
Weep not for the memories
I’m so tired but I can’t sleep
Standin’ on the edge of something much too deep
It’s funny how we feel so much but we cannot say a word
Though we are screaming inside oh we can’t be heard
I will remember you
Will you remember me?
Don’t let your life pass you by
Weep not for the memories
I’m so afraid to love you, but more afraid to loose
Clinging to a past that doesn’t let me choose
But once there was a darkness, deep and endless night
You gave me everything you had, oh you gave me light
That I will remember you
Will you remember me?
Don’t let your life pass you by
Weep not for the memories."

Duly noted.

Of late, I have been indulging myself in the anthropological study known as the cable TV series, "Mad Men". I did not watch the show when it was airing for its seven seasons. Although I tried, the first time I watched one of the early episodes, I never made it all the way through because I was put off by the amount of smoking --albeit very true to the timeframe and culture--that took place. My mother began smoking when she was nine and despite being diagnosed with COPD, she continued until she reached hospice. Whereas, I, on the other hand, was extremely sensitive to smoking and abhorred it. Fast forward to 2015 when the season finale episodes were announced, I decided to activate our Netflix account and see what all the hoopla was about. After all, critics and fans alike kept giving it rave reviews and I was curious.

Viewing this series has been informative, seductive and offensive. I find that I often finish viewing an episode and I feel disconcerted; yet, I keep ordering up more DVD's to my queue.

Of course, the scripts are skewed to show certain aspects of both the advertising industry during the 60's and the cultural generation of that time. However, the attention to detail and tone is what haunts and attracts me.

For example, the GE toaster that was used in one kitchen scene was the exact toaster my grandmother had. It was the best toaster oven ever manufactured and it lasted long after she had passed it on to me. I began to understand more of what seemed to drive the adults around me in regards to music, style and interests. Kudos to the set designer and the costumer for authenticity and dimension of how they embellished what the writers and directors offer us within the "Mad Men" series.

The lesson part in this personal sociological study is that I am getting a glimpse--not always a pretty one--into the culture and mindset from which I was raised as a kid. The misogyny, the naiveté, the ignorance, the innocence, the audacity, the indulgences, the inequities, the behavior that so influenced me during my generation.

The episode that I knew would have to come did in season three when Kennedy was assassinated. Anyone who was alive at that time has lived through scads of replays, reviews, films and commentaries about the event almost to the point of immunity. However, I had never seen this perspective from an adult's POV. I was a kid when it happened and I grew up along with the country as it unfolded into history. Watching this teleplay's depiction offered me a different insight into the understanding of the impact on the day that our generation's Camelot was killed.

Right or wrong, good or bad-- woven into the fabric of my being are facts and fables of my generation that have unconsciously helped to craft much of who I am today. I don't really mirror or match any of the lead characters, but some of their values and expectations have had residual effects on my adulthood. I long for the arches of my youth.

Even in a random Facebook post one can often find a key to unlocking those arches. Someone posted a short video that provided me with further understanding as to the influences that shaped the person I am today. My current sense of humor was molded in my youth by the likes of animator and writer, Chuck Jones; and later on "Monty Python's Flying Circus" and "Saturday Night Live". (Since this eight-minute documentary provided me with such glee, I feel obliged to offer you this link as for your own amusement.)

https://vimeo.com/133693532

What an amazing time we live in that I can indulge in such palaver and perspective to review and reflect what has become my personal history. Now if our advanced technology could only afford make possibly a way by which to have my mother alive today so I could share these insights. I would ask her about those 'things' in life that just don't add up until the years add up and one arrives at maturity. I would ask her how without the luxury of the internet or cable television was she able to make sense of life as she knew it. And then I would just turn off all of my electronic devices and I would just listen. . . to her.

Staycation Day One - July 20, 2015

2015-07-20T12:39:00.002-07:00

If someone hadn't coined the term, 'staycation', I think I woulda coulda.

You know you need a vacation or staycation when you find yourself leaving little reminder notes to do fun things and not just the postponed projects or tasks that haunt one's calendar or day planner.

For a myriad of reasons, I have had very few actual vacations. You know, the kind where you actually leave your house and ideally travel to a different location. Various amounts of R & R often apply.

When I was growing up, it was just mom and me. I knew other families took vacations. She was always working two jobs trying make ends meet and we never had the time or money to travel. Ok, that and she didn't like to fly or drive on the freeways. Yet, there was that one trip to San Francisco... but that's another story for another time.

All those years as a professional actor, if there was an opportunity, desire or funding to travel it was often trumped by the ace card of a thespian's career--an actual acting gig--then everything else paled in comparison.

Then in my next career working full time as a minister and CSO of a church, other than professional conferences, I found that I didn't always have the time to travel; or worse, I was often in such "work-do-work- and then do some more' mode that any travel plans got lost in the shuffle.

Today I find myself seeing clouds from both sides now. I am still working full-time as a minister and I was just cast in a local production of "Steel Magnolias."

Don and I had planned a summer vacation when both of us had a lighter work load this July. Then the opportunity to do this play came up and I talked to Don about how he'd feel about our postponing the travel plans. Being a newly anointed thespian himself, he understood my desire to be able to do the show in lieu of travel. I shared with him a personal secret: as a Leo, one of my most favorite birthday gifts to myself was when I would be working as an actress on my birthday; and that will happen this year. He agreed and at home I am.

This morning, I allowed myself time to have a leisurely breakfast with my cup of coffee and my Monday morning muse, Words With Friends. I was quite tickled to note that one of the new games for today showed my opponent's first, "salon" which I thought particularly appropriate on the first night of rehearsal as the play takes place in Truvy's salon (unlike the movie which used many locations).

For my first day, I am ignoring the laundry, the cleaning and organizing options. I am choosing to focus on reading, writing and reviewing my script. I am using willpower to ensure that I do not look at work emails. I am taking bets inside my head how long I can last or who or what will be first to break the staycation mode.

Till then, I am all the household electronics (television, iMac, A/C, iPad, etc.) that allows me to chill out and get ready for a lesson in leisure-- that and an episode of "Mad Men" (Season four) thrown in the mix. Thank you, Netflix.

Tony, Tony, Tony....

2015-06-08T20:54:00.002-07:00

Last night, as I have ever since I can remember, I glued myself in front of the television to watch the Annual Tony Awards. I always loved watching this awards show even more than the Oscars. Current movies show all over the world but the Tony Awards was what allowed me to catch glimpses of the current productions and stars lighting up Broadway that I was unable to see in person. Broadway plays and musicals are well, on Broadway. In New York. Which was too far away for me to attend.

It was so wonderful to hear that Broadway had had it's best year ever. And witnessing not only various scenes from the line-up, but the energy and enthusiasm of those people who were privileged to be working on the Great White Way, I can understand why.

Other than the revivals of certain shows, I was woefully naive about the other productions or the actors up for the awards. And I wasn't sure how I would take to the two co-hosts this year, Kristin Chenoweth and Alan Cumming but I actually enjoyed their chemistry, banter and the consistency they maintained keeping the show on an even keel.

For me, this show had some of the most genuine and authentic acceptance speeches in a long while. For example, I was rooting for another actress to win but Ruthie Ann Miles won for "The King and I" and not only did I smile at her reading her notes from her iPhone, I really appreciated what she had to say. This and other speeches inspired fresh optimism and hope about dreams being made real. And if I were my younger self watching the show last night, I absolutely would be convinced that I, too, could and would live my dream of being on a Broadway stage and also my winning a Tony award for my performance(s).

What's not to love about seeing Chita Rivera still working her magic on the live stage? And Tommy Tune being acknowledged for his body of work and contributions to musical theatre?

And being a 'different' kid on the block when I was growing up without the advantage of the socio-cultural acceptance for my uniqueness, I was of course, drawn to and thrilled by the multiple wins for "Fun Home" (for which I ordered the CD before the telecast was over).

For those who did not get to catch the magic of the 69th Annual Tony Awards, here is a link to a NY Times article that will highlight some of the best parts:

http://www.nytimes.com/interactive/projects/cp/tonys-2015/show?em_pos=small&emc=edit_cu_20150608&nl=theaterupdate&nlid=60967985&ref=img

Kudos to one and all.

Dream a little dream . . .

2015-06-06T22:31:00.000-07:00

My dreams can often be most amusing.

For many years, I have celebrities making "cameo" appearances in my dream. And they not the celebs from the movie I may have just watched. Susan Lucci used to be a frequent guest but I attributed that to my years of viewing "All My Children" since childhood.

For example, last night the two 'guests' that shared my sleepy meanderings were Sean Astin and Robert Vaughn. See what I mean? From my quick morning assessment, there was no rhyme or reason for their appearance.

Often, the dreams are of people of which I am not very fond. I would awake very annoyed that John Travolta was included without my invitation.

One of my congregants this week told me that I appear in her dreams quite often.
Hmmm.
How do I feel about that?
I guess that makes sense, so I shall avoid jumping to any knee-jerk, Freudian interpretation of that.

But it got me to thinking...do you ever wonder who dreams about you?

Once beyond the age of puppy-love, heart-throbbian dreams, have you given thought to who is dreaming about you and why? I guess there is a certain element of flattery to it all but then again, there is no way we can know what part we may play in another's nocturnal nightcaps or soap operas. We might not be quite the leading lady or stallion-riding knight we would like to be to people.

Sweet dreams. Don't let the bedbugs bite... or ask for star billing.

Beverage Leverage

2014-12-30T12:57:00.001-08:00

Recently, I found the courage to share on my Facebook page a letter I wrote to Howard Schultz, CEO of Starbucks. Here's why:

I am a self-professed Starbucks geek and have been for more years than I wish to admit. People in my congregation have often rolled their eyes at the amount of times I mention Starbucks in a Sunday lesson . Some people like Disneyland but Starbucks has been my 'happy place.' Love the smell and the taste of coffee. I taste and drink coffee like a caffeine oenophile. I also love the fact that I can travel anywhere in the world and feel connected, safe and at home when I pop into a Starbucks.
My cupboard is filled with Starbucks cups, mugs and tumblers, and other paraphernalia.

My Starbucks Card Collage

So, it has been difficult for me in that as I continue to get more conscious about what I do in my life and that in particular, refers to what I consume. For the past two years, I have eliminated certain foods from my diet: wheat, gluten, soy, dairy, corn, and most sugars. This caused a great upheaval in where and what I can eat; and the emotional enjoyment I would get from going to Starbucks and sit with my beloved soy chai lattes.

Around the same time frame, Starbucks began to change the food items offered and there were fewer items that I could eat or drink. Concurrently, I began to post my concerns and requests on the website for the Starbucks Community. I am after all, a card-carrying Gold member since 2005. I would read the hundreds of other comments from people just like me asking Starbucks to offer almond or coconut milk instead of soy; and to please offer some gluten-free pastry items. Almost on a monthly, basis I would visit the site and hit the "thumbs up like" icon on others' comments or make my own.

Fast forward to present day and there has been no improvement in what Starbucks offers. I now only infrequently visit my local Starbucks store--a place that for me, is much like the "Cheers" bar on T.V. "where everyone knows my name..." and I miss seeing my barista pals. At first, it felt like I was cheating on my beloved Starbucks, when I would sneak into Peet's Coffee or local coffee houses who offer almond milk for my lattes and even several gluten-free options when I want to splurge on a bakery treat.

At the bottom of this post is a copy of the letter I posted both on the MyStarbucksidea.com community website and on their Facebook page. Within hours of my post, they pulled the letter of the Facebook page--which is of course, their right to do. This saddened me as I do not feel my letter was unwarranted or mean. See for yourself. Feel free to re-post or share with others if you feel the same.

Here's to a healthy, happy new year to one and all.

à votre santé

"Dear Mr. Schultz,

Legions of my friends could attest to you how deeply devoted and what a long-time Starbucks fan I am...they have intimated that I am being secretly paid by your company because of my daily testimonials especially during my sermons on Sunday mornings.

However, it is breaking my heart that I can no longer endorse or really even enjoy going to Starbucks anymore. I usually go every day--sometimes, more than once. (Just ask the baristas at my local store).

Because I no longer consume dairy or soy, for over two years, I have been posting on the Community website and requesting that you please add almond milk as an option for your lattes. Even Oprah writes in her magazine that she uses almond milk in her chai instead of soy.

Also being gluten-free, the only pastry option you offer is the flourless yet sugar-laden chocolate cookie. Although I have occasionally indulged in this treat as a special dessert, it is not a good choice for a breakfast meal.

And now, sad to say, you have recently stopped selling the tasty Tazo tea choices. Instead, the Teavana teas for me, have a metallic taste and offer fewer flavor options. I already miss the Vanilla Rooibos and my favorite combination of Zen and Refresh.

I am now patronizing independent local coffee houses; and your competitors, such as Peet's because they are hearing the clarion call for these healthy alternatives.

Please, oh please, hear my cry. Starbucks has always been the front-runner for coffeehouse fare and now I think you are running way behind. I will miss seeing my favorite baristas who know me by name; and I will forego buying yet another siren-log mug or tumbler; but mostly I will miss what you had written about as the "ultimate coffee house experience."

Thanks for listening.

Gold Card member,

The Lady of the Latte

Pay On

2014-09-06T20:36:00.000-07:00

Earlier today, I was reading a friend's Facebook post about her experience with being at a store at the checkout line and not having enough money with her for her purchase. She shared that not only was it already awkward but the bank phone app wasn't obliging and the line behind her was growing. While struggling, the man behind her went ahead and paid for all her items costing over $30. What generosity. My immediate thought was how this was a good chance to "Pay It Forward."

For those readers who for some reason feign ignorance to this concept, lemme 'splain:

Catherine Ryan Hyde wrote a wonderful novel, "Pay It Forward" published in 1999; that also turned into a very popular film of the same title. As a result, a grassroots response was birthed whereby people randomly and kindly do something good for someone in response to a good deed done on their behalf. However, when you pay it forward, you don't repay the person who did something nice for you. Instead, you do something nice for someone else. For example, if someone buys your groceries while waiting in line, you might choose to pay for the breakfast meal for a family you see at a table in the restaurant as you leave and they never know who did it or why.

Later this morning, I was out and about downtown. I was about to head over to Starbucks and I checked my parking meter. Only four minutes left. My mental conversation went like this:
"Only four minutes. Hmm. It's Friday, I don't see any police cars. I know what I want from Starbucks, I can make it across the street and back in four minutes." Inside a quite voice whispered:
"Really?"

As I was walking back to my car, I notice a tall woman and a youngish man in a green cap standing beside my car. I didn't know if they were friends, or flirting or whatever but I was intrigued--ok, perhaps annoyed--that they were standing in front of my car door. As I stride up to them, I overhear a conversation about parking options in the neighborhood. I quickly assess the situation and realize that this guy in a green hat and matching polo is actually a parking meter attendant. Gulp. He and the lovely lady finish their sentences, laugh and turn to me. "You should thank this lady. She just saved you from a parking ticket." I look and see my meter flashing at me. "I was just about to write you a ticket." Wow. I turned to her and said thank you. She looked at my meter and laughed. I tell them both how appreciative I am and that I will now "pay it forward." He seemed to understand what I meant but she just smiled and crossed the street.

I knew I had been given a gift by this exchange. Instead of what would have been my usual response of giving myself grief for having not listened to 'that still small voice' I also intuitively knew, I was meant to have this entire experience just as it happened. Whether it was for one or both of my benefactors, or for the person(s) for whom I will pay it forward later on. I know that I am blessed by all of it.

If all this is a new idea for you, may I suggest you read the book (or view the movie) and let this pay it forward concept start to saturate your being. For those of us who understand this theory but might need to dust it off a little, may I invite you to share my story by paying it forward to other.
In addition, here is a link by which you may learn more and donate, too.

http://www.payitforwardfoundation.org/about-us/

Can You Spell A.A.R.P.?

2014-08-21T13:20:00.003-07:00

Yes, I can.

There is only one more day left to my astrological Leonine birthday month. Being the proud Leo that I am, I make each day count.

Normally, I do not count up my age numbers because I am too busy bouncing around looking at cards, prettily wrapped prezzies and drinking my free birthday latte from Starbucks.

Yet, this birthday, I did count and decided to count up the advantages of being eligible for AARP. I am now an official member for the next three years (Does that mean that after those three years, I might be sent back a grade or two and suddenly be too young?).

For my birthday this year, a very dear friend, we lovingly still call Squeaky, convinced her husband to literally go fishing and she invited Kelly, Teri, Denise and me--all of us who have been friends since sixth grade --up to her home in Eugene, Oregon for a slumber party! All that was missing were rollers in our hair and those funny little baby-doll nighties that stuck out like an inflated tutu.

The first night, our hostess made a delicious meal for us to share out on her deck. Squeaky had even pre-ordered a gluten-free, dairy-free chocolate cake for my birthday. Total yum.

We ate, drank, laughed, sang, danced and laughed a lot more. It was a great night. Except for one tiny thing...

Or should I say, several tiny things.

We turned on the lights in the backyard so we could take a movie of me blowing out the birthday cake candles. No one thought twice about that until about an hour later when I started to turn red, itch and swell up. Yes, much like most of my childhood, my sensitivity reactions were flaring up again and I turned out to be the cake for mosquitoes and more.

I am quite allergic to bug bites and swell up two-three times the size of typical bites nd can have complications like a fever, heart pains and shortness of breath. It is disconcerting to say the least and can look as scary as it feels. Fortunately, I had an anti-histamine with me and we later went to the drug store to get some anti-itch salve. Although,the next day, my fever and redness kept me from joining the afternoon activities and when I did venture back outside, I wore long-sleeves and a hat despite the heat.

I was ready to party again that night when we went to see a local production of the musical, "Leader of the Pack". Although, that era was slightly before us, we knew all the songs from the oldies radio station and it inspired us to do our own singing and dancing to the oldies later that night--until 2:30 in the morning, I might add.

I shan't make this a 'blow by blow' account of all the zany things five girlfriends did, but I bet some of you want to know, don't you (Rob Bleck?), or the other ways in which I celebrated my special day?

The real thrust of this essay is more about the interesting and delicate view I now have on being young.

Oscar Wilde was quoted as saying: “Youth is wasted on the young.” In some ways, I must agree with him. I imagine that most young people --who don't consider themselves young because they are too busy wanting to be old(er)-- rarely appreciate the delicious perspective and opportunities they have merely by being young and cocksure even within their insecurities.

That's the beauty of evolution. Each generation does indeed improve with age. And although my generation could look upon our predecessors with a certain disdain because we were so much smarter and cooler, I watch current generations and muse at what they must think about my fellow Baby Boomers.

Last night, we were watching my new favorite television show, Last Week Tonight with John Oliver where he shared a news piece on a young woman, Mo'Ne Davis, a 13-year-old Little League pitcher, who threw a complete shutout Sunday to advance her team, the Taney Dragons of Philadelphia, to the Little League World Series. Wow! And John Oliver showed a clip of an interview of this young girl, who as he noted, was strikingly confident and clear for her age. 'For her age'. Doesn't that sound like a grown-up type sentence used to describe behavior that didn't match our own at that age?

http://abcnews.go.com/US/girl-pitcher-mone-davis-surprised-league-stardom/story?id=24931672

I marvel at her athletic prowess--none of which I had. Or maybe, I could have if I wasn't one of those fair-skinned, allergic, over-protected kids who wasn't allowed outside to play because she could get sunburned or hurt. Not much has changed about all that-- I still wear SPF +++ and prefer to stay indoors rather than fight the heat or the elements.

This week, school is back in session after summer break. As I was leaving the local high school track, where I go to walk my laps in the early hours of the morning to avoid heat and crowds, I could feel the different energies. Not just younger energies but the atmosphere of what it is like to be that age and returning to school and social interaction and all the emotions that it encompasses. Even though I am officially closer to grandparent age than student age, the flashback of awareness and emotions from that time had not dimmed. The difference is that I see it from both sides now (wait,
let me dig out my Joni Mitchell album) and I can deeply appreciate the web of life.

That evolution of which I spoke fortunately works in my favor now, too. The cliche is that being in your 50's is really the new thirties; and then in your 60's is the new forties; and then I hope it continues that type of math as my age climbs up the spiral. Because right now, I am in a wonderful place where I can indeed see both sides of life--one side being the Emily Webb of "Our Town" purview but not yet into the other side of the Lady Grantham of Downton Abbey perspective.

Yes, things are different. Yes, my body has changed but so has the world. I shall always be the 'young at heart' type even if the body may feel like Beta instead of a Blu-Ray HD.
So, where was I? Oh yes, AARP. I can spell that.

A = always
A = anticipating
R = remarkable
P = possibilities

(Thanks girls! Love ya.)

The Soothing Sounds of Saturdays

2014-04-12T21:03:00.004-07:00

Sliding back into the rhythm of writing, I am ignoring the fact that it has been months since my last post. Yes, I allowed the bulk of life's activities to occupy every square inch of my time, but for over a month, I was also unable to access this site again until last week.

Tonight, I am sneaking in a post with my iPad perched on a pillow while the Los Angeles Dodgers are soundly defeating the Arizona Diamondbacks.

It is Saturday night and I'm supposed to be sitting at my desk working and writing my talk for Sunday service tomorrow. But when I came home from a very long and laborious (moving furniture, organizing and spring cleaning) day at work, I was pretty tuckered out and grateful to surrender to the couch and the television.

Imagine my glee to learn that MLBN was broadcasting the game so I could curl up and --oh joy, oh rapture-- listen to the dulcet tones of master broadcaster, Vin Scully.

Growing up in Los Angeles, Scully's was a voice that created indelible audio grooves etched upon my brain that to this day, bring me comfort and joy. One of my most favorite things to do is to "rest my eyes" while listening to him call a baseball game. Sometimes viewing the game interferes with the simple pleasure of listening to a game as I often did on my 9-volt transistor radio. By the way, Mr. Scully calls the whole game ---by himself --- unlike most games where there are two announcers who share the workload.

Another Saturday voice that escorts me into a sweet-space is Garrison Keillor on "Prairie Home Companion." Very few things in life allow for me to operate at a lower-key, slower pace approach but when I listen to him, it's as if the world kicks off its shoes and hops in the backyard hammock for a gentle swing on a summer night.

And the list would not be complete without acknowledging my respect for another Saturday voice: Don Pardo. My connection with Mr. Pardo goes back to the days when he was the announcer for my one of my favorite T.V. game shows, "Jeopardy!". That was when Art Flemming was the host and Don Pardo was his announcer. Even as I kid, I think that I could sense that he had a polished and unique voice that I appreciated long into his current and long-standing gig as the announcer for "Saturday Night Live."

In 1975, I began watching "SNL" from the beginning and was a fan because of all the talent and humor, but I particularly enjoyed the fact that Don Pardo was not only the announcer but often served as an audio part of the cast. There were several years in the "SNL" run that I stopped watching or recording the show. Then awhile ago, my husband and I were atypically up late one Saturday night (I must have not had to do church the next morning) and I was astounded to hear Mr. Pardo -- who is now age 96 and still announcing the show! (By the way, he only missed announcing one show in March, 2013 when he fell and broke his hip. Actor, Darrell Hammond 'called' the show using his best Pardo impression).

Most of the time, I appreciate the sounds of silence, yet nothing matches the sounds of Saturday.

Two Zero One Four

2014-01-01T20:19:00.000-08:00

Oh, how we love a new year.

New hopes, new intentions, new calendars...

As a kid, I grew up with a lot of new year's traditions--many of which I still sustain. Others, I have consciously released.

For example, much of my family came from poor Southern roots ( and if you're Southern, that is pronounced 'ruhtz') and it was mandated that we were to eat black-eyed peas on new years day so that we always had food on the table. That was okay by me as a kid because my mom or grandmother would prepare fresh black-eyed peas to go with the mashed potatoes and corn bread. Since I wanted to uphold my family legacy and to ensure my bounty, I continued this tradition well into adulthood.

After becoming a practicing Religious Scientist, I began to question the validity of this practice. After all, I now knew that God was/is my Source and Supply, I thought it almost blasphemous to engage in this practice. Yet, while my mother was alive I chose to affirm my truth and have a few bites of peas to (wait for it...) apPEASe her.

But since I do not cook but still wish to acknowledge my heritage, I had a dear friend in San Diego who made for me a little lucite container in which she encased dried black-eyed peas and the word 'Success' engraved on it. For many years, that was my only homage to the tradition. Every so often, I have purchased frozen or canned black-eyed peas and indulged in a few spoonfuls for good measure.
Until this year.

The can that I bought back in November (as I have noted that I must not be the only one who follows this tradition in that stores are always sold out by late December) I opened this can for my lunch today. These were the worst peas I had ever tasted. So I dutifully and respectfully lifted a spoon in memory of my mother and grandmother and promptly trashed the rest. Thank goodness for the perpetual peas that Susannah Conn thoughtfully gifted me years ago.

Happily, my other traditions really are more in line with positive spiritual intentions:
-- Opened my new words calendar. Today: ab initio (meaning from the beginning)
-- I did an additional online meditation today
-- Created my own new word to describe my newest, personal tradition: medinaptation (meaning that after the long meditation, I got sleepy and decided that if I did the meditation again, I could give myself permission to fall asleep)
-- Went to Starbucks for a soy chai latte (after my lengthy medinaptation)
-- Installed the new OS X Mavericks on the iMac and starting to clear up and organize my desktop
-- Began to clean out my dresser drawers
-- Watched "West Side Story" so that I could sing and dance along while consciously setting the intention of being more creative; and dancing more often
-- Went with Don and Chai around the neighborhood for an evening walk
-- Sending some text blessings to friends and posting on Facebook
-- Writing my blog!

Ta da! I feel like I have done a wonderful job of creating a positive mosaic of intentions, desires and potential for this exciting new year.

Not sending out holiday cards this season, I particularly want to send out affirmative blessings that 2014 is truly the year we've all been waiting and working for--a year of health, wealth, creativity, passion, purpose, empowerment, peace of mind, love and joy.

I am attaching a graphic that someone else had posted on Facebook today that I find so entrancing and affirming. Up till now, I had never heard of the author who wrote this blessing but he writes like I think and feel so I am extending it to you here, as well:

Thank you, Neil Gaiman. Right back 'atcha.

Well, Excuuuuuuse me!

2013-09-23T16:53:00.004-07:00

In the early 1970's when Steve Martin was doing his stand-up comedy act he had a popular bit when at the end of a joke or monologue, he would say "Well, excuse me!" in a drawn out, agitated voice.

Lately, I have been feeling like that comic personna that was feeling so annoyed by people or life's events that keep interrupting my plans, my world.

For those of us with any modicum of ADD or ADHD, although we may be skilled at eccentricities and multi-tasking, interruptions can really be even more of a challenge. We are so focused within our seemingly unfocused activities that when certain or multiple interruptions take place it literally short circuits us.

Recently, my MacBook was in the 'shop' awaiting a new battery. I used that as an opportunity to clear off my desk, get a few other tasks done, etc. When it returned and I had 2,222 emails awaiting me to manage, I began to get a bit behind in my To Do list and plans.

In my line of work, it is an open workspace where congregants like to drop by and say hello; or come by in need of prayer and support. In fact, that is one of the perks of a spiritual community for both the members and the minister. Sometimes, people would brighten my day by their visit; and I learned that I could often do the same for them.

Until the minister finds herself scrambling to keep up with day-to-day work stuff, appointments, meetings, classes (did I mention meetings?) and the usual minutiae during a work day. Suddenly, it seemed as if everyone who stopped by unexpectedly or planned, became an interruption. Not a pleasant feeling when I noticed that I was feeling impatient and borderline cranky about it.

Then as Spirit would have it, there was an email from Inspiration Peak with the following quote from the ubiquitous, Author Unknown:

"When you are exasperated by interruptions, try to remember that their very frequency may indicate the valuableness of your life. Only the people who are full of help and strength are burdened by other people's needs. The interruptions which we chafe at are the credentials of our indispensability. The greatest condemnation that anybody could incur--and it is a danger to guard against - is to be so independent, so unhelpful, that nobody ever interrupts us and we are left comfortably alone."

Oh.
I see...

How interesting that buried within the morass of the overload I was able to uncover this key to help me unlock my personal gridlock. Things don't seem so bad after all.

You're excused.

Belly Up to the Barre...

2013-07-24T22:32:00.000-07:00

To my fellow show tunes fanatics, you will of course, recognize my post title as a favorite song from "The Unsinkable Molly Brown" and pause curiously as to why it was misspelled.

It wasn't.

Tonight, I took my first ballet class...
...in over 30 years.

My desire has been to return to taking the dance classes I never completed as a child. Over the years, I have taken a few tap classes and I really enjoyed Clog Dancing when I lived in San Diego. When I moved to Chico, I even tried a Zumba class in hopes that it would be like exotic Broadway dancing.

It wasn't.

Yet, the terpsichorean nature in my soul would not let me rest. So I have been teasing myself in preparation for the idea of going back to jazz class. After playing with some oh-so basic choreographic memories as I loosely staged some dance numbers in our recent church talent show, I knew I had to get myself back to classes and no more excuses.

Today, I finally found some adult classes (other than ballroom) and made the call to inquire. Yes, there was a Lyrical dance class tonight at 6:00 p.m. Lyrical. Ah, even the name evoked fluid images of me dancing across the room with ease and grace.

I didn't.

It started when I went into my closet to find my 'dance pants' - a type of stretchy fabric that a lot of jazz dancers wear instead of leotards. The pants were so old that as I pulled them on the elastic waistband snapped and began to crackle and disintegrate. My resistance and procrastination to actually attend the class didn't allow me time enough to find an alternate option to wear, so I went to the class anyway. I did not want antiquated pants to be the reason I was late or not willing to go.

When I got there, the friendly lady at the desk had me fill out the requisite paperwork and handed me a summer schedule of classes. I was nervous and excited. She told me which classes during the week applied to adult students. Ballet, Tap, Lyrical and Stretch. I already began to plan my week. When it was almost 6:00, she took me to the dance room to introduce me to the instructor. Then I peered inside the room and saw that it was filled with approximately 25 pre-pubescents already giggling and glistening from the previous class.

Oh my. I was old enough to be their mother. Oh crap, who am I kidding, I was old enough to be their grandmother! Two young girls saw my distressed look and tried to convince me that it would be OK and no one would mind. The teacher told me there was another adult there -- a woman who goes to the college. And although I appreciated being somewhat included with a young adult, my discomfort rose and I wanted to run. I could not see me doing lyrical anything with 25 kids especially when they broke into groups to perform the combination routine at the end. I gave my regrets and found myself left with the option of either leaving altogether or taking the Ballet class.

According to Wikipedia: "A barre is a stationary handrail that is used during ballet warm up exercises. The term also refers to the exercises that are performed at the barre, as well as that part of a ballet class that incorporates barre exercises."

The other students seemed patient and tolerant with the new 'kid' as I lumbered my way through some of the basics. My body somehow remembered all five positions used in floor work. My ears tilted in faint recognition of familiar phrases: Demi-plié,Chassé, Port de bras (not what you think) perked up with new ones such as: Glissade.

All things considered, I held my own until we began to do travelling floor work. This meant dance steps across the floor from one end of the room to the other which included leaping.

Rapid movement and leaping proved to be a challenge for me. Not because I didn't have the right posture or grace but because every time I leaped forward my pants began to fall. And while moving in quick repetition moves there is little time to adjust a sagging waistband and dropping drawers. Not wanting to stop the flow of the class or draw any more attention to myself than I had already, I quickly tried to roll up my waistband several times in hopes that it would stay long enough to get me across the floor and back.

It didn't.

The class went on and one kind girl kept trying to whisper some sort of assuagements to me as she leapt by. I held my own (pants) and my head high as I chasse'd and glissaded my way towards the door. It had been many years since I watched a clock so intently in desperate hopes of the hour coming to a close.

I did it.

Ahhhhh, my first adult ballet class. I was feeling accomplished more than fatigued.
What's next?

Et tutu, Brutus?