If the Buddah had PMS....

Going Green & Saving Green This Winter Holiday Season

2011-12-12T12:49:00.000-08:00

I love the holidays, the lights, the festivities, but I hate the impact over-consumption can have on the environment. Making eco-friendly choices can not only save energy or prevent needless paper & plastic waste from going into the landfills, but save money in the long run.

Here are some ideas I've used in the past. I hope will give you some very green holiday cheer!

Packaging - Use recycled and recyclable materials: It’s easy to be attracted to the shiny, metallic paper but recycled wrapping paper can be just as pretty and less taxing on the landfill. For a cheaper alternative, reuse gift bags decorated with old holiday cards or cutout snowflakes. (Great for covering store logos). Reuse bows and ribbons.

Natural products make great gift decorations: Instead of plastic bows, try a natural gift decoration like holly and berries, eucalyptus leaves, rosemary or olive branches. They look beautiful and if they’re from your yard, they don’t cost a thing!

Use canvas bags as gift wrap: An alternative to gift bags is packaging your present in reusable canvas shopping bags that the recipient can use year-round. The Clean Green Bag Company makes affordable, sturdy grocery bags available at www.cleangreenbags.com. But you can buy cute canvas shopping bags anywhere these days, and many stores, like Target will give you a few cents off every time you use your bag instead of taking one of their plastic ones.

Starter environmental kit: I'm amazed that some folks don't know about some truly great green, biodegradable cleaning products and everyone needs cleaning products so this will be a truly useful gift. Start with your favorite cleaning products (I love Seventh Generation) and add compact-fluorescent bulbs, and garbage bags made from recycled plastic or biodegradable garbage bags. "Wrap" them in a canvas bag.

Gift cards: From restaurants to grocery stores, book and coffee shops, there is a gift card for everyone; and giving a card lets the individual get exactly what she or he wants. For a coffee lover (like me), give them a gift card from their favorite coffeehouse “wrapped” in a travel mug. Using the mug will save them 10 cents each time, stretching their gift card while saving the landfill from unnecessary cups.

Candles: Cut down on your emissions by choosing soy candles over paraffin. They burn cleaner, are more fragrant, and are available everywhere– including Target.

Energy-Efficient Holiday Lights: Look for LED lights or energy-saving lights for lighting your tree or home. The initial price may be more than regular lights, but you’ll save in energy costs.

If you have ideas to add, please post a comment and I'll incorporate them into my next holiday season. Happy Holidays all!!

Short-term Memory

2011-06-10T13:42:00.000-07:00

In California, in May, it always rains;
but no one seems to remember.
Every year someone comments on the rain, saying it’s out of sorts;
And I remind them that it rains every year in May,
but no one seems to remember.
I know, because one year I paid attention; because I didn't expect it but I noted that it happened.
And that it fell again the year after - and the year after; and while I noticed the rain I noticed too that people didn't expect it and saw it as abnormal. But it happens every year.
It rains in May.
Now I wait for the person who comments that it’s raining in a month where no one expects the rain,
because I’m paying attention and I expect the rain.

Mirrors

2011-05-02T12:45:00.000-07:00

Mirrors are funny things. How can we trust them to reflect back what’s really there? What do we really see? These thoughts came to mind as I saw a more pleasing version of my body in the Starbuck’s bathroom mirror. As I looked at myself, my hips and body looked slimmer. I wondered how accurate this mirror was. Was it my reflection or my perception or both?

As I pondered whether this mirror was made purposely to make the image appear "thinner", I remembered a story of a woman and her mother who for years saw their behinds as "large" when they looked into their home mirror. Another woman came along and checked out herself in the same mirror. "Hey, this mirror is off," said this woman. "Really?," exclaimed the other two. "Yes," said the third woman. "It makes your butt looked bigger." This astonished the other women who had convinced themselves that it was their bodies, not the mirror, that was distorted. Because of what the third woman said, the other two's perception changed. No longer was what the mirror reflected back real, but a distortion.

So again I ask, what is a mirror? Is it real? Is it a distortion or is the distortion based on perception? Was the third woman right or the third woman wrong?I wasn’t there. I didn’t see the distortion or lack thereof. Though I can’t quite comprehend why these two women didn’t figure it out until another person had to point it out to them. Why were they so invested in this false belief of themselves? Didn’t they see other mirrors or were the other mirrors equally as damaging?

How often do we see ourselves really? Or see what others see or don’t see? We can over-distort or under-distort - depending on conditioning - what we tell ourselves.

That day at Starbucks, I liked what I saw in the mirror. A few years ago, I would have been disappointed because I always punished myself as being "not thin enough". I regret that in my twenties I often paid attention to my supposed faults and less on my attributes. Time is passing. I have wrinkles, gray hair. Back in my "youth" I wish I appreciated more my supple skin. I know better now.

Sometimes I’m astonished to see such an old person looking back at me in the mirror. "Where did the wrinkles come from?," I ask. Then I remind myself I’m 42. I’m not concerned anymore at being perceived as sexy or in “competition” with other females. I’m concerned with myself, how I want to live my life and what I really want to get out of it over the next 30 years. I’m middle-aged. And I’m coming closer to self-acceptance. If I carry a few extra pounds, I’m not a failure at life. I'm letting go of other's negative comments about my body that I've allowed to control my thoughts and my self-perception. I'm focusing on what I do have - a functioning healthy body! However I choose to see the reflection, good or bad is ultimately how I want to relate to myself - and I want my relationship to be happy so I'll focus on the good.

Second paragraph of my book

2011-04-07T12:30:00.000-07:00

Thanks to all the encouragement, I'm posting the second paragraph of my book:

I bottomed out, and in those times, you can’t hide anymore. I hit a wall so hard it shook me to the core. For the past six years, I’d been painstakingly working my way up in Hollywood post-production, climbing to a position where I thought I could be more valued. When I got to that level, all my expectations of how my accomplishments would feel didn’t happen. My self-doubts that plagued me on the climb up weren’t cured; I still doubted my abilities, weighing myself against others. And in this new position of responsibility, I felt even more pressure to prove myself. So I worked hard which led to my getting even more responsibility. This gave me confidence that I was actually proving myself. But another voice inside me that gets buried too often rose up and said, “Why are you working harder than others but getting paid less?” This thought started driving me to the brink.

1st Paragraph of my book

2011-04-03T13:50:00.001-07:00

Today I thought I'd post the first paragraph of my book, My Year of Living Manifest-fully. To be honest, I'm proud of this paragraph. I have a friend who laughs at me (in a good way) because I happen to be in love with my writing. Perhaps I should feel no shame in this. So with love, here's my first paragraph. I have several more... and more to write... Enjoy and if you feel like sharing your thoughts, that's always appreciated :)

Here's the excerpt:

"I begin my story at a place where perhaps a lot of people land. We think the world is against us, not knowing that the place we’re trapped in comes from what we’ve created. The spot becomes clearer when we’ve moved away from it, like a stain on a pillow. While in it, it’s hard to see. I inhabited a very dark spot. This black, cramped area felt like I was imprisoned or in a mental institution but I was at my job, dying, with my soul bursting to escape. No one could have guessed, with my easy smile and rosy cheeks that as I took a walk during lunch, next to the bustling traffic on a busy road, I wondered how it would feel to let go and fall in the middle of the rushing cars. It took all my strength not to let go and find out."

Explaining the God concept

2011-03-28T21:46:00.000-07:00

I wept when I first watched this video. I've often tried to explain my thoughts and feelings on what I feel as "God". I don't think I could put it more succinctly and more beautifully than this video:

Disarming

2011-02-24T13:28:00.000-08:00

There was a time in my life when I was an anti-nuclear weapons organizer and activist. I participated in many parades, shouted many slogans. I analyzed the language used by fellow activists like "we are going to blow the opposition away" and wondered why our language had to be destructive. Wasn't that going against what we preached? I felt angry when I'd call for volunteers and get responses like, "I like to show my activism by walking in the woods." "Yeah, asshole", I'd think, "Where will the woods be if you don't do something about them!!!" It dawned on me one day that for all my peace activism, I wasn't peaceful inside. It was then I began seriously to pursue my spiritual quest to find a more balanced and harmonious life.

I believe in standing up for rights, and by no means do I preach being a wallflower. But I wonder about using violence to curb violence philosophy which brings me to why I started to write this post. I've been reflecting on the day I stood up to a bully. One day, what seemed out of the blue, Missy, a somewhat awkward, tall, stocky girl followed me off the bus. She told me she was going to punch me and lifted her arm. She had at least 5 inches on me. I wasn't athletic, was 20 pounds overweight. Other then perceiving me as an easy target, I could not tell you why she picked on me that day. I don't know if I snubbed her or if there was truly anything I did; we rarely interacted to cause any friction. Whatever the reason she had hate & anger in her eyes.

When Missy told me she was going to punch me I looked at her, with hard eyes and said, "If you are going to punch me, then punch me." This shocked her and she pulled away. I watched her, still in my defiant stance, as she shirked off.

Who knew at 12 I was acting out passive resistance. I say passive because I didn't react by punching back. I took power out of her words because I told her to go ahead, if she wanted. But what she wanted was for me to show fear. I didn't. I showed that no matter what she did, it wouldn't affect me. So what was the point in her doing what she did? She couldn't get what she wanted, an opportunity to feel power over another.

When we react out of fear, doesn't that just tell the perpetrator that intimidation works? If we continue to build arms doesn't that mean that we feel we always have to defend? Some may call this a simplistic view. I call it an advanced one - one that looks ahead, like the Dreamer vision John Lennon sang about, that one day we'll realize that destructive behavior no matter what the circumstance doesn't solve the issue in the long run. We can take active steps to create a positive way and the old ways of resolving disputes will seem ludicrous.

But from the images and news I see over and over, this vision isn't today. The vigilante, eye for eye revenge mentality pounded into us by U.S. media from movies to reality shows sickens me. And I see many examples of this playing out around me.

I wish I knew what caused Missy to act that way - what was going on in her personal world that would make her want to lash out. I hope whereever she is today, she's not having one of those days.

Confessions

2011-02-20T12:07:00.000-08:00

Today I reworked a poem, originally written 14 years ago as part of a poetry class assignment. We were to write about a secret never told. I decided to write one about a friend who I shared almost everything but this one "secret. I kept this "secret" originally not out of my own fears or shame but at the request of our other friends' concerns who thought our friend's religious beliefs couldn't handle it.

My poem came out so cryptically that my poetry teacher didn't understand it. Then again, he didn't get a lot of things I wrote. The question is, how much do we unravel so that other people can understand us? And is it worth it in the end?

Here's my poem titled, "Confessions"

On the couch
that’s mine when you’re married,
I’ve pulsed,
waiting with grain on my tongue
for scales weighting over.
The candy kisses always on your table
replace my mouth.
Break my vows.

You’re up the street every Sunday
Bells ringing at that damn church.

Chasing confessions.

You changed;
we thought from that old hick town phobia.

You pulled out of us dirty underwear piece by piece
to satisfy what you couldn’t do
and what we used as confessions.

But amongst us girls, we keep against you
Beyond cheap thrills,
the deepest sins against your believed recrimination.

The constraints of your beliefs wrapped so tightly
They’re invisible.

They keep you in line
and us out.

The couch sunk in laughter,
like a brother we wish you all were,
I sit back, arms crossed
weighing what it means to be heard.

Perfect Day

2011-02-14T09:39:00.000-08:00

I was watching a talk show last week where the host asked his guests, "What is your most memorable moment?" I've contemplated this question before, searching for the answer, wondering if I could pinpoint one event. I had several in mind but not one encapsulated a "perfect moment" where I felt it could sum up my life as saying, "This enthralled, inspired..." etc., etc. I've had mini-moments that built up to those kinds of feelings but they didn't stand on their own as being THE MOST MEMORABLE.

Yet, there is one moment I think about when I gauge my happiness, a moment I consider when thinking about how I want to live my life. I was in art class drawing. As we drew, the art teacher played classical music in the background. That day he played Baroque. A bird landed outside the window and began to sing along with the music. I listened to the bird singing up and down as a perfect companion to the music's intricate patterns. It awed me and I felt completely happy.

Thinking about that moment now, I still feel what I felt: perfect happiness, perfect content, perfect harmonious beauty. There hasn't been a moment quite like that again, but I look for it always as I stop to listen to birdsong or the wind blowing on the grass.

Perhaps my life's poetry consists of moments built into verse that I can sing to myself to light up the dawn when I forget that it just takes one moment of beauty to bring perfect content...

What's your best day?

If you love butterflies, you'll love this video

2011-02-03T20:09:00.000-08:00

Ritual for Letting Go of Expectations

2011-01-14T17:42:00.000-08:00

I'm not one for making pronouncements about doing rituals, but this one helped me greatly and I'm sharing it because perhaps it will help you too; in particular if you feel held back by the thoughts and feelings of others that bind you into something you are not....

Some background on why I sorely needed the ritual: I've recently moved back "home". By being at home, I mean that I'm camping out at my Mom's so I can sort of the next steps I need to take for my career. Over the summer I realized a new path to take. I decided I wanted to be a content creator for Web TV. In job searching, and just general research about the job, I realized that I needed to develop skills I have in the past relied on other's to have in my creative circle.

Tomorrow, I start a video production class. Registering for the class completely energized me. That was two weeks ago. Then my energy fell. Why? Because I got pulled down into the past....

I've been working on changing my perception of myself and just not see myself as "writer" or any label that might pull me away from fully expressing who I am here. Part of the change has been letting go of the past - in particular memories of who I was that don't suit me today. I've tossed out pictures, clothes, and any other items I feel I don't need that will serve my purpose for today.

Fortunately at my Mom's she doesn't have a lot of pictures around that will pull me back. Then I went to visit my Dad and here's where things went a bit awry. We always enjoy stimulating conversation and I appreciate my father's questioning nature; but part of that questioning nature always questions what I'm doing. He's a litigator who doesn't know how to turn the off switch. He asked me if I considered being a teacher. My response was this, "creating content is teaching and it will reach a lot more people..." He heard it but I don't know if he really acknowledged it. Later in our visit he asked me, "Why don't you have children...." "Because I don't need to," was my response. His comments threw me into the loop - that loop of thought that says, "how can my parent not understand me.... why don't they get what I'm doing.... Why do they have other expectations of me....Why can't they be happy about the choice I made." So on and so on. My frustation with my father's comments stem from the fact that, I believe, he's made assumptions as to why I've made certain choices in my life. And though I've tried to explain my real motivations, he seems to me attached to those ideas... And attached to thoughts and feelings of who I am.

I'm not sure either of my parents see me very clearly and truly understand me but I don't want to waste any more time and energy to explain myself. That takes energy away from me going forward.

I took a walk today in one of my favorite places in Laguna Beach. I was on one of the canyon trails where the view spans out over the canyon and down to the whole of the ocean. The wind blew on the hillside and these thoughts came into my head:

"I am not the vision my father has held of me. I am not the person he thinks or wishes me to be. I am not the vision my mother has held of me. I am not the person she thinks or wishes me to be."

As I spoke these words in my head, I asked the universe to put flight into these words and take them away. I felt so much lighter after that. I felt energy restored. And then I easily walked up a rather steep hill.

Saying those words released the restraint I've held of disappointing my parents. It's been lurking around for so long, a parasite of such long-standing, I didn't realize the grip it held. I'm not rejecting them; just putting to rest conceptions about me that don't suit my purpose and replacing it with love instead.

Holiday Simplicity

2010-12-11T13:54:00.000-08:00

I love Xmas lights. It's one of the things I love best about the Dec. holidays. Recently I drove down College Avenue, a street that runs from Oakland to Berkeley. It's filled with restaurants, cafes, home decor shops, boutiques, etc., etc. I used have a love/hate relationship with the avenue. I say love/hate because it's filled with many things I had wanted/desired or thought I "should" have to live a satisfying life yet those items felt out of reach... It was like the items housed in these stores belonged to someone else having a more productive life.... Yet, as I drove down the street on this past night, I looked up at the blue lights strewn across the tree tops that align the street and was amazed at their beauty. My eye then traced down the tree-line to the red-lit globes floating on the trees next to the street corner. The street looked magical. It had been a few years since I'd lived near this avenue and I tried to recall if I've ever seen the avenue decorated so beautifully. I couldn't remember but then I thought, why should this year have been any different? Perhaps this street had always been decorated with beautiful lights yet I failed to notice. I remembered the stress of holidays past, filled with worrying about getting the right gifts, etc., etc. I probably had looked at the lights cynically because they reminded me of the pressure to shop for the holiday. No matter the reason I hadn't noticed then in the past, they filled me with wonder now and made me very happy.

This year, I'm only exchanging gifts with my immediate family and there is very little to buy. I'm also in the process of selling off what I don't need. I've been watching the holiday shoppers - some happy, some stressed and I'm glad that I'm not joining in on this annual splurge. Not having that pressue has given me the time and space to enjoy what I really love about the holiday. For me it's as simple as sparkly lights. Well, that and a gift-card to my favorite coffee-house. It's all icing and candy-canes after that :)

Free at Last

2010-10-29T17:03:00.000-07:00

Nothing stirs me up more than reading a story about a wrongfully imprisioned person being set free. This story about a Texas man had my tears rolling, (unfortunately I was at Starbucks at the time). I don't know how I would cope with the anger and resentment of being wrongfully imprisioned - and with having years of my life stolen from me. This man chooses the higher path of putting resentment behind him so his life ahead of him can truly be free (there I go tearing up again....)

http://www.texasmonthly.com/2010-11-01/webextra6.php

The Monarch

2010-10-10T15:50:00.000-07:00

On a walk yesterday I saw a shadow of a butterfly near me. I couldn't spot exactly where it was. Then as I continued to walk along, it came into my vision. It sat on a plant, flapping its wings. One seemed battered and broken. With my spirits downtrodden lately, I could relate to its battered wing. Then the butterfly took off, flying fast in front of me. I caught up to it as it sucked nectar out of another plant. On close inspection I could see that on one wing, the bottom wing was missing. That didn't stop the butterfly from flying, even with a damaged wing. I took inspiration from that. If the butterfly could keep flying fast and free than so could I.

Things can come up Peaches

2010-08-20T15:26:00.000-07:00

I have a certain childhood memory - the go to memory when I want to feel indignant about my upbringing. This one will always make me mad, feel uncared for and burn into me. What is it? It's the one where my father and brother went into my bedroom when I think I was in kindergarten and threw out my "stuff". I am person who can get attached to things, especially my creative projects. I scrawl pictures and writings on paper when I get ideas and they lay in piles. To the outsider, this can look like an unorganized mess. That is what, I guess, how it looked to my father and brother. All I remembered was that my piles of paper were gone... and my sense of security hurt badly. How could they have thrown aways things so dear to me? I remember feeling hurt but I don't recall saying anything at the time. Still, they don't know how badly that act hurt me. To them, these pieces of paper created a mess. To me, my precious things gone, tossed as if they didn't matter was unequivical proof of how missunderstood I was. (I think if I were to delve a little deeper, why I really hold onto this memory is that I felt badly for my propensity to creative messes. Why else would they have gone and thrown things away? I felt condemned for behavior for being a "slob".... but shouldn't they have known what those papers were for... why didn't they ask me...???)

So unloved, me... I replayed this memory again, getting indignant, mad at my dad when another memory sprang up. I thought about the peach pit ring. My father is not a crafts person. He spent most of my childhood wrapped in legal briefs as he is a lawyer by trade. Yet, for a reason unbeknownst to me, he made me a ring out of a peach pit. He wittled the peach pit down, drilled a hole and varnished it. I don't know how long it took him to make it but no matter how long or short it took, I always cherished it because he made it especially for me. I thought about him taking the time to do this and I realized that rather than me going to proof of when the times I felt misunderstood, to appreciate what I did get. I know my father loves me and we can't always control how people love us. It would be great if in every relationship we have, we have a guide book to say, "this is how not to hurt this person..." But we don't. We do the best we can with the information we have at hand.

As a child, the ring was a bit bulky to wear, and certainly doesn't fit my adult hand. It's been sitting in my jewelry box for years. But I won't throw it away so I decided to repurpose it, into a necklace using beads I've also kept from my childhood. My dad took the time to make me a ring and in that creative act, we have a bond. And using my creativity, I can repurpose my childhood memories to remember the good.

Creative Deceivers

2010-08-09T16:06:00.000-07:00

It takes a lot of creative thought and activity to be a crook - or a crook that doesn't get caught. This thought occurred to me as I've been obsessively watching the Adventures of Sherlock Holmes (starring the delectable Jeremy Brett). In order to catch the criminal, Holmes has to open his mind to all the possibilities of the criminal's intents and actions. He has to think outside the box, just like the criminal mind. And the successful criminal has to stay two steps in front of "the law". You have to be quick on your feet and cool under pressure in order to deceive. To come up these criminal scams also takes creative thought and energy.

I don't know why criminals do what they do; why they feel the need to live life this way. I wonder what they could do with their clever minds for good... What if they created something positive? Rather than a scam, an actual business? These compentant criminals could be great managers, captains of Industry. Yet maybe they are already, tucked away in financial institutions, or someone skimming off their companies profits. Is it the rest of us as do-gooders that don't see the criminal before us - or does it reside in all of us? Haven't we all tried at one point to get 'away with something...' When do breaking the rules become a good thing? My answer to that is when it is done to serve the common good...

Floating thought

2010-07-11T14:50:00.000-07:00

I’m often amazed that people think they have to look to the skies to understand spirituality when it can be seen in the smallest of places… first within our hearts… the disconnection begins when we look outside of ourselves for spirit when all along, it’s within....

Explosions

2010-07-05T18:27:00.000-07:00

As firecracker bangs rattled in the distance, I reminisced about last year's 4th of July fireworks' display in Sonoma. I went off on my own to the field where the city set off its show. After a few starts I settled on a spot I thought would be secure after the evening turned dark. Sonoma, particularly that section with few lights, could get inky black. I watched how families rolled in, spreading blankets out. More of a rough crowd gathered nearby. (Rough in expletive language, what was in their souls I didn't know). I tucked my knees under in meditation stance to ward off the profanities, blocking the negative expressions around me...

As darkness weighed down, I looked around the field wondering if I had made the right decision to sit where I was when a woman, if I had to guess her age 60ish, asked if I was alone. I admitted I was and she asked if I wouldn’t mind if she joined me. I didn't and she sat down similarly crossing her legs. We began the usual getting acquitted chit-chat. We talked about why we both ended up there on our own. I told her I was fairly new to Sonoma. She told me she could have gone to her relatives that day as per usual but she wasn’t up to it that year. She explained that recently she'd been diagnosed with a brain tumor. My immediate response to hearing her diagnosis was simply, “That sucks." I didn’t prevaricate. I didn’t try to make her feel better. I guessed that at her relatives' house she would've had to hear all the usual things people say in that situation. Whatever was pressing on her head, on her experience, imploding or exploding, I didn't tax her to share.

Our discussion turned to politics and where we thought the country was heading. She shared her career history and I shared my career expectations. Finally, the fireworks display started. We watched together and turned to each other after a particularly glorious one exclaiming, ooh, and ah!!

At the end, we parted ways. She wished me good luck. I may have wished her that too. As I walked to my car I saw her near me. She stooped a bit, huddling against the cold night, and wound tight in her thoughts. I fought the urge to walk with her. There are times when we all really need to be alone.

I told my friend of my experience; that in my time of needing company, the Universe had sent me this woman to sit next to me. And, in some way, being able to tell me about her tumor, someone who didn't have any expectation of her also helped. My friend agreed. There are times when you need someone to acknowledge the truth of your pain so you can in turn accept the truth of your circumstances. I find that once you can accept that truth, you can heal. Can anyone ever heal if their pain is always denied?

I never saw the woman again so I don't know if the explosions in her head were ever freed. I hope that wherever she is, she has peace.

White Water

2010-06-26T19:54:00.000-07:00

For a few weeks, I’ve felt like I’m drowning; that feeling of not knowing which direction is up – the one that will take me to safety. I conveyed my downtrodden feeling to a friend, and when she asked why, I bypassed the immediate surface response and felt for the real truth which is that I’m not living the life that I want and I don’t know how, right now, to make it work. She understood and stated, sometimes it’s hanging on and riding through it. Seeing where she was, a mother of three who worked full time, a wonderful wife, and an active writer seemed to me like someone who had the key to knowing how to make it work. Yet being able to relate to me - someone whose nearest goal is to be able to have her own house again – gave me reassurance that she had been where I was and pulled through. Her words felt like the light beaming from the light-tower on the water.

Submerged in water, it’s hard to see the light from above. I know this first-hand, because during a white-water rafting trip I had completely let go and found myself deep in. The desire to let go and experience what could happen overtakes me sometimes, which is what happened in this case. In a half-second decision, as water splashed and flooded the raft, I let go and I slipped down. Though I had a life-preserver, I pludged in so deeply, I had no sense of where the water's surface lay. All I could see was green. And it surrounded me completely. I didn't know which direction to swim. I may have started to panic then a hand came in and pulled me out.

The hand belonged to our raft guide. He panted and fell back into the raft after my rescue. I felt foolish and guilty for what I’d done; guilty for putting our guide at risk and guilty also because my friend on the trip had a dire fear of drowning. Yet at the trip’s end the guide said his highlight was pulling me out. My friend felt grateful for seeing that I could be rescued. And I felt grateful that my half-second decision to fall in wasn’t a fatal mistake.

I’ve wanted to let go recently but fortunately I’m surrounded by faithful friends. One opened up her house to me, another saved my bacon by giving me 100 dollars when I really needed it, no strings attached. My recent bout of wanting to give in is not feeling a sense of direction or life purpose. The boat trip gets much harder if in fact you don't know where to go. But I hung on with the faith that my vision could/would clear. Happily, today, my storm, at least the one where I couldn't feel a sense of purpose, has blown over. For the first time in a long time I felt a new surge of energy for my career path. Though I may have rapids to pass over, having the courage and faith to stay on has showed me that I can turn my life into the direction that will give me bliss and the one that is full of light.

"You must unlearn what you have learned..., " Yoda

2010-06-20T17:39:00.000-07:00

This is what I realized knitting is for me, unlearning. I have for some time, possibly since childhood, wanted to learn how to knit. I remember my mother’s giant knitting needles stuck in yellow balls of yarn. I don’t remember her using them honestly. Perhaps that's why I didn't seek her in attempting to learn. But I recall those needles and the mystery that laid in them in how they worked... Anytime I received a hand-knitted scarf I cooed. Inwardly I thought, "could I do this?"

While in Sonoma, I caught the bug to once and for all learn to knit. I saw knitting circles at the local pub but I hestitated. Was this the crowd I wanted to fit in? For whatever reason, on Twitter I followed someone who had yarn as her avatar. She tweeted about her knitting group and I decided to join in. This circle was at a coffee house and for anyone that knows me, if anything, I'm a coffeeholic so that was extra incentive.

Though I tried to get materials in Sonoma for my last minute decision to join the group that night, I couldn't find any (one of Sonoma's drawbacks) so I went empty-handed to my first meeting. I thought I'd sit back and watch... No going... Kat loaned me her needles; Sasha loaned me her yarn. Sasha casted the needle, showed me the basic stitch and I was on my way. "Oh boy!!," I cheered. I was making an actual row. "I'm knitting," I exclaimed to Kim. "You are, you are making magic over there," she replied. I was all aglow. We chatted. I dropped a stitch or two which Kat fixed and I continued on my merry knitting way. Then our knitting story time came to a close and I returned the needle and the yarn before it turned into pumpkins. (Now that I think about it, the yarn color was orange... whoooooow).

The next day I traveled to Novato to pick up my own knitting supplies. I barely knew how to navigate the needle sizes and the yarn but I picked what seemed the most Universal. ('cause I am, afterall, rated U for Universal). I got home, flug open my new wares and stared... I tried to recall how to cast (actually I didn't even remember the word "cast") Kat, the group leader, had told me I could find videos online. I did. I watched. Rewound. Paused. I tried to imitate the narrator's movements. And I tried. Somehow, my thoughts couldn't connect to what the narrator was saying. I couldn't tell if I was doing it right. Flustured, I tweeted, "how could I learn how to play the violin yet I can't coordinate knitting needles... argh!!" Or something to that effect.... The answer came, via a tweet reply, that I had to unlearn what I had learned... Actually the tweeper said that I must have a strong mind (nice of her) and that my mind wanted to go one way and not the other. This I thought was an incredibly insightful answer....

I returned to the knitting group. I explained my consternation and showed my needles. Kat watched as I tried to cast. She showed me how to do it, returned it and I continued, not doing it right. She watched and caught my fingers movements. She said that for whatever reason, for whatever habit, my fingers wanted to go one way. She literally fastened her hand to mind to show the right way. I relearned.

I have no recollection of my old fingers habits. All I know now is that I have found the rhythm to mastering the basic stitch. And have done it enough to know where the errors are... I have found yarn forgiving as I've unraveled rows to correct mistakes. And to go back "on line" so to speak.

Normally, I can pick up things quickly. I like to get right to the point. In this instance my thoughts and behaviors were so ingrained that I questioned how well I do learn things.... Perhaps I'm encouraging old habits instead of expanding my horizons. Whatever the reason, I'm glad I could learn, be open, and have people willing to wrestle my hands so I'd get it right. Whether or not I'll get to the level to be able to make a sweater or socks I don't know... For now, I'm happy going by the row.... :)

PMS post of the week

2010-05-25T15:16:00.000-07:00

We were at a break during the presentation. I reached up to my ear, startled, and exclaimed, "I lost my earring." Only one co-worker remained in the room to hear my angst-ridden cry. As I lunged to the floor in a scurry to find my lost earring, the co-worker sat in her chair, and possibly in her form of empathy, told me how she is always losing jewelry. Her husband doesn't even buy her jewelry anymore. Blah, blah. I don't remember exactly what else she said as I was engrossed in trying to locate my lost silver hoop.

What would you have done in that situation?

A). Never lose an opportunity to talk about yourself. Do what the co-worker sit and sit there going on about yourself...

B). Get off your butt and assist the person trying to find her earring.

If the situation were reversed, I would have, without prompting, asked what the earring looked like and offered to help. I don't think it occurred to this person. Though in fairness, I didn't ask. The irony is, the person works in the service industry. In hospitality no less. So why would I think it would be a given that she would offer to help? [insert sarcastic eyeroll]

I should note that I didn't lose the earring. Not really. It fell off in my apartment. And later, after another earring slipped out of my ear, someone returned it to the Lost and Found. (Makes you wonder why I keep wearing earrings.) My earrings have safely remained in my ears since leaving the temp job but the memory remains - the memory of extremely bad manners. Perhaps I'm being unfair, afterall, I lost the earring and it is my responsibility to find it. And looking to a person whose behavior is to constantly lose track of things doesn't seem reasonable. Perhaps she has a belief that things can't be found and therefore she constantly loses things.

I don't necessarily lose "things" - I've had both pairs of earrings for 15 plus years. What I tend to lose more often is my patience, my time, and my temper expecting people to act in what I consider to be thoughtful actions... Perhaps my time would be better spent in rubbing my silver hoop earring that is safely in my ear as we speak....

Reset

2010-05-13T16:33:00.000-07:00

Life has been a flurry of change.

I’m back in Berkeley. Actually, I never lived in Berkeley before but in neighboring Oakland yet it still feels like home to me. I missed this area so much that when I lived in L.A. I didn’t visit for I knew that my heart would always pull me back here. Strange it would seem that when I decided to return to Northern California that I didn’t immediately return here to what is known to the Bay Area residents as the “East Bay”. I wanted to yet I felt a pull to take me elsewhere. I looked as far out as Lake County but that I felt was too far away. I settled on Sonoma.

I never intended to stay in Sonoma long but I ended up being entranced by the rolling hills full of vineyards that changed with every season. After feeling crushed in L.A., I wanted to feel space. Sonoma has nothing but space. It’s an area in California where there’s actually still farm land. I loved it. I got used to being more car dependent because I lived outside of “town” or rather outside the city of Sonoma. My idea was that I would build my freelancing and work from home. My first week I toured around the area. I met a business woman in downtown Napa who just happened to be looking for a writer. I passed off my business card. This encounter made me feel like things were happening as I wanted. I then emailed her. I heard nothing back. Then the housing market collapsed and major panic about our economy gushed. I felt relived I wasn’t back in L.A. were I would have felt the crush of everyone’s panic. Sonoma seemed protected somehow. I continued to try to get freelancing work. No nibbles. I met a fellow writer who shared similar interests. I felt this was a good sign. In the meantime, I finished my website and worked on my book proposal. I met with some publishers who showed interest. Then the rejection letter came. And I still had no freelancing gigs. Desperate, I felt I had to go back to my standby of temp work. At my first gig the woman hiring me liked I was a writer. I could help with their website. Again, I felt this was a good sign. The actual job was being an executive assistant which I hated. And the work on the website never came to full fruition. I decided to leave this job because promises remained empty. I had a dry spell then I went to work at a marketing firm. Hallelujah. I adored for the most part the job and the company. Yet the work they needed me for ended and again I needed to find something to sustain me. All the while I wondered, if I had moved to Sonoma to do my creative work, why wasn’t I doing it. All my energy seemed to go to just survival. I hadn't worked on my books in months. Thanks to my writer friend, I got a freelancing gig. This gave me hope. But the work itself didn’t sustain me. I then got a two day a week steady temp gig. This seemed like a great solution. Still, it didn’t sustain me. All my expenses seemed to be going to just paying rent, which I kept getting later and later on.

Come April, my time was up. My landlords, although always gracious, wanted me to come up with a plan of how to get the rent money to them on time. They realized times were tough but I had been paying them week by week (as soon as I got paid, I would try to pay them what I owed). It was then I had to come to terms that what I was doing wasn’t working. I was trying to sustain something that wasn’t happening or could never happen. Meanwhile, my credit had gone to shambles.

Moving would have seemed the obvious choice. True. But I had spent a couple thousand dollars to move up there and I felt trapped. I didn’t have the money to hire movers and the reason I hired a professional moving company to bring me from L.A. was due to my hideous back surgery for a herniated disc 6 years ago. Moving by myself, which I often did in my twenties, meant using my back which these days I tried to use as gingerly as possible; but moving was the obvious choice. And it happened, with help of friends, I moved; and my back, though sore, survived. I felt like a lost part of myself was returned. I’m not as injured and broken as I had thought.

Most of my adult life I’ve felt money challenged but I recalled the times I felt flush with cash. That was in shared housing with low rent. After living alone for close to a decade, I thought about the adjustment. I also thought about a friend’s remark from my twenties about an older roommate of mine. My friend said, “I don’t want to be in my forties having to live in shared housing.” Consequently, this friend today has a nice house, two kids and a minivan. His comment reverberated through me because I felt that going back into shared housing meant that I had failed in being able to take care of myself as an adult & I was retreating into 20 something behavior. Which brings me back to Berkeley. Part of my decision not to initially return to the East Bay was that I didn’t want to retreat into my old life here which I fled for what I hoped would be a productive career in Entertainment. I’m now living in a room in a friend’s house which feels very similar to my old room in Oakland. I’ve been going to the library for wireless access. That said, I'm fighting the feeling of being a student. Perhaps that isn’t so bad. Perhaps being in the position of feeling like a student instead of an adult who is supposed to know it all will help me in my next phase of life – whatever that will be.

I’m still in transition. My current housing situation is temporary. The majority of my belongings are in storage in Sonoma and I have no idea really of where I’ll be in the next few months. I’m working on being ok with that. I’m also working through feelings of sadness of a failed vision in Sonoma and focusing on what could be the future here.

I am a person prone to melancholia. I view it as the creative’s purview. Yet I’ve always been able to bounce out of it from a sense of wondering and wanting to know what the future would be. In Sonoma, when things got very rough I just wanted out. I mean really out. More out then I’ve ever wanted before. I didn’t feel wonder. I didn’t feel hope. This lack of hope scared me most of all. I didn’t want to care anymore. Things haven’t exactly flipped over now that I’m down here but I can see the signs of change. There’s something on the horizon. And part of that is being open to the possibility of change and seeing the workings of what already has by just taking the steps. :)

Cubicles

2010-02-21T18:31:00.000-08:00

Cubicles in offices seem to be like apartment buildings. Forgetting thin walls, people speak in high-volumes without thought that what is said inside these fragile, metal partitions navigate around the corners and into the main workplace. They forget their words get trapped inside the numerous other partitions that surround them – that these conversations are as clear outside the box as if someone is standing right next to you. Or do they forget? Perhaps they don’t care? Or is it lack of realization.

Last week, I felt particularly raked over by one, in my opinion, highly personal conversation. My work isn’t stimulating but it takes attention to detail. High-volume talkers can pull at my thoughts and take me away from my work. This conversation, so unbelievably loud, not only pulled but dragged me in, begging for attention. This person’s father had recently been diagnosed with a pulmonary disorder and he was talking to someone on the phone about his father’s care. The conversation wasn’t light-hearted - more heartbreaking because it could be life-threatening. And though my normal compassion would have reached out to this person, I couldn’t help wondering, “Why the hell are you having such a personal conversation in the middle of the workday in your cube? Why the hell can’t you take your cellphone and go into some distant part of the office so we don’t have to hear this?” Does his of lack of propriety note a lack of professionalism? Or is it appropriate to spill this information out into the work ether? As I wonder about this, I’m struck about the concept of containment and what we contain and what we share and with whom? What I’m asking of this person is to literally compartmentalize his conversations and not let the personal ones spill over the walls. …

Perhaps what bothers me is hearing the private lives of people I don’t know through means I didn’t choose. I hated apartment living because lives spilled over into my sphere - from cellphone calls passing by my door, loud lover quarrels to casual conversations shouted from one side of the building to the other. I didn’t want to know these conversations because I didn’t want to know their intimate life details. I wanted to hole up in my apartment, deal with my own thoughts, are not be encroached upon my others. Perhaps if I were raised in a large family where boundaries were trumped on a daily basis I wouldn’t have these strict thoughts. But I like my independence and independent thought and not getting swept up in what I find to be inappropriate displays of…. Oh, what shall I call it – humanness?

Perhaps it’s my over-saturated, caring nature that feels my boundaries are overstepped when I hear floating bits of personal information. There was a time in life where I dreamed of living in a cave, high above the world. My in-law apartment is sort-of cave like. I only have some conversation spill into my sphere from my landlords which is why I often turn the TV on.... Boxes, cubicles, even log cabins. Is it all for the sake of boundaries in our interconnected world?

Seeing Things in Sand

2010-01-03T20:07:00.000-08:00

Letting things wash away....

I just watched a video of an artist who draws giant figures in the sand. He stands close to the waves, creating; knowing that his endeavors will wash away in a matter of hours. This doesn't deter him. His focus is on the moment, one line at a time. I saw the freedom in this approach. His canvas is ever-changing. Nothing permanent. It's all in the creation of the now. He knows he'll have to create something new the next day. Maybe that's what motivates him to continue.

His work reminded me of the idea of the Tibetan Sand Mandalas.

Take a look at this amazing man:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H6ZqKmaN2qw

By Dickens' It's What Matters

2009-12-21T15:49:00.000-08:00

One New Year’s I sat with my friend watching the Muppets Christmas Carole. We got to the point in the story where Scrooge stares terrifyingly at the grave asking the Spirit what it meant. I turned to my friend and said, I never got why this part is so terrifying. She thought and remarked that people fear death… At least, I think that’s what she said. I shook my head at this. For me, the most terrifying part of the story was before that, in the murky tunnel, where thieves having taken his material possessions, laughed like craven witches. They had no care or compassion for this human being. All that mattered was what they could get for his items - and this, for me, was horrifyingly sad.

Scrooge’s name has become a synonym to being a miser. Yes, his heart had become hardened, but why? How did he become the man that we see when we first meet him in the story? We’re shown the pains of his past and the route he took to avoid seemingly future ones. When the Spirit brings him to the graveyard, to me, it's not the fear of death that haunts Scrooge, it's the fear of not having mattered. He's confronted with a life not truly lived, one where he'd holed himself up, barricading himself from all that matters, including not mattering to anyone. Perhaps this is my own fear.

I look at what truly matters in my life. Is it debts? Or is it times I've spent well with friends. I look at this story as a tale of living beyond fear because I don't want fear holding me back from experiencing what matters most to me in this world. What matters most in the world to me? It's what I discover and re-discover every day living here.

Trail Thoughts

2009-10-28T16:28:00.000-07:00

Heavily in my thoughts, a ‘thunk!,’ caught my attention. Looking down, my foot broke a twig and brought my mind back to the trail. I was about ¾ of the way up to the overlook. “Curious,” I thought. I recalled my first trek up the trail, a few months ago. Every step held my full attention. Not knowing what laid beyond each bend, I looked around carefully, even fearfully. How far was it? Pant, pant pant. I didn’t know if I could I make it up the mountain.

Now, I drifted on the trail, lost in my thoughts until a sharp noise, a darting lizard or a snake laying on the trail forced me to refocus. The walk that daunted me so much in the beginning was now so familiar, I didn’t fret the distance. Having become so familiar, I rambled, without much thought of how much easier I could climb the trail. Until I heard the “crack!”

I appreciated how far I’d come in just a few months. Then back to my thoughts again…

Now again, thinking about my walk, I wonder about the things that 'throw us for a loop’. Do they happen to force us to pay attention to our surroundings if we are just ‘coasting along’? Do tightrope walkers do it for the thrill of feeling each heart-pounding second as they step into the high air? When we thrill seek, do we do so in order to remain present for just a few seconds? Maybe it’s just me - someone who is prone to coast in dreams and thoughts until some random noise reminds to pay attention to what is right in front of me. And also what I've left behind on the trail...

Have a nice day!

2009-10-26T15:08:00.000-07:00

As I drove through the vineyards on my way over to my coffee shop destination, I couldn’t retain my snarky thoughts. At home, I stewed over the insincere misuse of “Have a Nice Day!” But seeing the patchwork of yellow and burgundy grapevine leaves sprawling before me, how could I retain such negativity? A falcon passed overhead – one of my favorite birds. Before my departure, I thought of one my encounters at the coffee shop. A new trainee, middle-aged, seeming out of her element wished me with rote insincerity, “Have a Nice Day!” I expected this from the more chain-like, ubiquitous Starbucks but not at my precious Peet’s Coffee where I usually was helped by funky hair-dyed, pierced Goths that were surprisingly chipper. I thought, I’d even prefer the usual Goth, downturn, “can’t be bothered to exert my energy on you” persona.

So chipper me entered the coffee shop, and I got served by the “can’t be bothered to exert energy on you,” Goth. I picked up my coffee and slunk away. I considered taking my earlier statement back. I didn’t want to helped by a downturn, “can’t be bothered to exert my energy on you” person. Setting up my computer at the table, I realized that I had forgotten to get an internet access code. I went back to counter, now singled-handedly ‘manned’ by one server, and waited behind a gaggle of seniors struggling to navigate the curious names of the coffee items. Fortunately, the former mis-user of, “Have a Nice Day,” who’d been stationed at the bean counter, came to my rescue seeing that I needed help. She guessed I forgot the code and I only had to do a short-hand to have her print one out. She didn’t offer me, “Have a Nice Day,” but a very sincere act of service. How I appreciated that!

How things change in a drive… In a thought…. In an instant… Or instance…

What brought all this “Have a Nice Day!,” frenzy on? I recently watched George Carlin's classic, "Have a nice day!" routine. It's hilarious and perfect for the moment when someone's "have a nice day..." can push you over the edge...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7vmknnXoOJk&feature=related

I love you Charlie

2009-10-21T16:04:00.000-07:00

Last May, my friend and I pulled into the parking lot of the Charles M. Schultz museum (in Santa Rosa, where Schultz worked for many years and eventually retired). We had just a few hours before I had to take her to the Charles M. Schultz airport for her flight home. She downloaded the “Snoopy song” from Charlie Brown’s Christmas to her iphone. And we did a little dance around the car then skipped up to the museum. We’re 40 & 34 years old by the way…. But when it comes to Snoopy and Charlie Brown, there is no age limit. Really. Just read on.

Cheery, enthusiastic workers in bright yellow shirts greeted us. "It's great that we get paid to be here," the ticket seller told me. We then gave our tickets to the volunteer docent. More cheeriness. “Best job ever”, she told us. In her 70's, she told us she's been a fan for years and it's an honor for her to volunteer there. She laid out the entire museum for us. I wasn’t really listening because I was too enthralled by the exhibits before us. We eventually made it where we should have started - the video cove.

In the video cove, they played a short movie about the museum and Charles M. Schultz's life. We learned that the Charles M. Schultz’s wife and friend created the museum in his memory. His wife even transferred his office so his fans could experience how her husband worked every day. I get teared up thinking about it….

I have a certain sensitivity. I can feel the feelings around me. Once walking down the street, happily, I became overwhelmed with sadness. I turned my head, looked over, and saw a young woman sitting on a tree stand, crying.

Whether it’s a gift or a curse, I can tap into emotions. I think it makes me a stronger writer and possibly a better humanitarian. Because of this “sensitivity” I don’t venture to places lightly. A sport’s bar can be toxic to me. It’s not the sports…. It’s the yelling & the anger during the games I don’t want to experience. So you can imagine that being in a place like the museum, with happy, warm people makes me in turn, happy and warm. My friend has this sensitivity too.

As we passed by the exhibits I became overwhelmed with tears. I turned to her and said, "There is just so much love here.” She looked back with equally teary eyes. And we hadn’t made it upstairs yet…..

Upstairs were the relics of Schultz’s life: His early drawings; His World War II uniform; His first printed cartoons - All the things that made him the artist he was. We moved into the office where facing his desk were glass-cased bookshelves. Books upon books ranging from Dickens to Fitzgerald (I’m going by memory, I can’t remember them all). He had a bust of Beethoven, of course, and Mozart. He cared deeply about the world as reflected by what surrounded him.

I loved his cartoons as a kid. I didn't realize the irony in his work until I was an adult. Regardless, I felt the love. Perhaps he had the "sensitivity" too and channeled it into his work. Everyone has their own reason to be drawn to his work. For me, it's his humanity and great spirit as an artist. And that's why I love Charlie. And I truly appreciate the rarity of place to have so much love in it that I became overwhelmed with tears.

Plus there's a kite eating tree and halograms. Here's info on the museum: http://www.schulzmuseum.org/

Morpho's Magic

2009-08-02T20:00:00.000-07:00

The Morpho butterfly is one of the signature butterflies in Costa Rica. Beyond Central America, I'm not sure where else you'd find them, although I swear I small a tinier version of them in Sonoma this past spring. That might be wishful thinking...

Hard not to think magically when you look at this butterfly. With wings closed, their brown bodies blend into the background. When wings are open and they fly, you then see a completely different butterfly with their blue beating wings. I tried hard to capture their image in flight, yet somehow, I like this blurry version better. They remain magical that way.

I think of the lesson in the Morpho butterfly. When still, they're wallflowers, to blend into the background. There are times in life where that is a necessary function. But if no one ever sees you, they'll miss the beauty of who you truly are. Sometimes you do have to get off the ground and fly, to show the world what you really have.... This is what I'm trying to do in my life right now. I have the blue dye, wire, and tissue paper all ready....

Printable Affirmation Cards

2009-08-01T19:32:00.000-07:00

On one of my twitter adventures (or twitteratures, twittertreks, twitternavs, etc., etc.) I found Kind Over Matter, a GREAT blog full of inspiration, fun, and very, very creative items. And they are very generous with them.

Every Thursday there's a giveaway.... Yipee! Plus, you can download affirmation cards. Click on the link at the bottom of the blog and it'll take you to the Kind Over Matter blog. There you'll find step by step instructions on how to download and create these great cards. Happy Affirming!

Dr. Gates stand - is it really black and white?

2009-07-29T12:40:00.000-07:00

Colin Powell is the latest bigwig to opine on the Henry Louis Gates v. Cambridge Police Dept. I have the deepest respect for Colin Powell as I do for Dr. Gates. Powell, after all, went against “his” administration to resign over the war. Is there a bigger act of defiance?

Powell commented that he didn’t agree with Dr. Gates actions over yelling at the Cambridge Police in a recent CNN article: http://www.cnn.com/2009/POLITICS/07/28/powell.palin/index.html.

In the article, Colin Powell shares having been racially profiled again and again - he, one of the most respected men in the nation. He questioned Dr. Gates wisdom over making it an issue. My thoughts immediately were, if one of the respected men in the nation suffered being racially profiled numerous times, why isn’t this a huge, enormous issue? Why isn’t he applauding Dr. Gates for bringing this issue to the forefront?

Colin Powell talks about picking the right time for your battles. When is it the right time? Dr. Gates was tired after his long, long, LONG trip back from China. But was it really the China trip – or a life time of the little injustices building up? Did it hit at the right time that he wasn’t going to back down? He was fed up, sick and tired. It reminds me of Rosa Parks saying, that day, she was tired and she didn’t feel like sitting on back of the bus. What if she gave in that day? Played by the rules set for her? Am I stretching it too far by using that analogy or are they part of the same....

In my own life, I try to play nice, but little things stew. Girls are taught to play nice and get along with others. You don’t want to be seen as a nasty bitch – but then again, I’m making this about me. But why not? Is this just a black and white issue or is it a story we all can relate to in our own unique way? Introducing the Gates issue on Countdown with Keith Olberman, Lawrence O’Donnell recounted his own interaction and arrest with the police – a similar situation to Dr. Gates. He mouthed off. Doesn’t that go against our 2nd amendment rights – being arrested for saying what you want to, especially on your own property? Christopher Hitchens of Slate magazine outlines that point here: http://www.slate.com/id/2223673/

When we can’t question authority, here, in the U.S. who are we becoming? An Irish émigré told me that growing up in Ireland, he looked to America and its ideals but America now has to get off its duff and stand up for its original ideals of freedom and democracy. I couldn’t deny what he saying. Freedom isn’t a campaign slogan or something to take for granted while it’s being whittled away for someone else’s gain (i.e. Homeland Security, Patriot Act, etc., etc. and anytime you couldn't say what you truly felt for fear of retribution either by your boss, co-worker or even a loved one). It’s your right to be. And sometimes seeming unreasonable, is the only reasonable way to maintain that.

Watch a Mole San Francisco

2009-07-27T11:08:00.000-07:00

Others play whack a mole but in Golden Gate Park in San Francisco, a group of us waited patiently for a mole to come out of his hole to snap his picture....

I squealed when I first saw him which sent him scurrying down to his hole. I then apologized to my fellow watchers. He was just so cute though! He did come out a few minutes later and chewed on his grass while we kept a safe distance. They don't make coats out of these beautiful creatures anymore do they?

Just Never Know What'll Take Sometimes

2009-07-24T16:06:00.000-07:00

I’ve been told I have a green thumb. For some plants yes – others, well, they’ve gone to their grave, but not until I’ve exhausted all possibilities for keeping them alive. I love my plants, but sometimes, I have to concede, some weren’t meant to last with me.

I learn a lot watching my plants grow. I’m no expert in plant soils, fertilizers, or even watering. I take them being alive as a bit of a miracle. It’s up to nature or their nature and if I can read them right and give them what they need. I can fuss over some but the plants I work best with I leave alone to do their thing.

I get a few hand me downs – and I usually don’t say no to more green friends. I try to control my urge to buy more and when I do, try to select ones I imagine to have the best success with.

Last June, to spruce up my patio for my birthday party, I bought 4 plants – one fuchsia, two drought resistant plants (the wisest choice for living in parched California) and the last, a hydrangea. The fuchsia I bought for the hummingbirds. The drought plants had wonderful flowers and had the best chance, I thought, for survival in the hot heat. The hydrangea, I considered, was a bit of a vanity plant. I love their beautiful flowers and they always remind me of grand Victorian mansions that they seem, in front of, inevitably planted. I always wanted one but didn’t know anything about them except that their flower petal colors change depending on the acidity of the soil. Would they even work growing in a pot? My desire won over practicality – sort of. My reasoning was that I wanted to buy a bouquet of flowers but wouldn’t a live plant be more practical….

We had a heat wave. The fuchsia tanked. No matter how much shade I tried, the fuchsia couldn’t rebound. The drought plants flourished. The hydrangea lost all its flowers. With leaves still on the plant, I considered that it wasn’t really dead.

A week later I saw a woman complaining to a clerk at Trader Joes about her hydrangea dying. I thought of mine. Was it really the plant, the store, or the owner?

In August, I set to move to Wine Country in Northern California. One of the drought plants became riddled with black bugs I couldn’t get rid of. I made the heartbreaking decision to toss the plant. I didn’t want to risk taking foreign bugs to a new location. I packed the flowerless hydrangea into my car with my numerous other plants. (I actually drove twice back and forth to move all my plants. Did I mention I love my plants?).

At my new place I had all the free soil and pots I could want thanks to my new landlords. I repotted the hydrangea and the drought plant. Winter came. I didn’t realize how cold the Wine Country gets. It got down to 20 degrees. The cold and the rain took a toll on many of my plants. My hydrangea looked barely alive. The stems browned. Most of the leaves had gone. I pondered tossing it but the better part of me told me to wait and see.

Spring came. Most of my plants rebounded. My drought plant bloomed when I first replanted it; it then completely dried up. I had tucked the hydrangea in a corner near the gate. I hadn’t paid that much attention to it until one day I noticed all new leaves on it. They continued to grow. I noticed some leaves browning so I moved it out of the afternoon sun to where it would get morning sun.

This past June, to my surprise, the hydrangea started to sprout flowers. Now it’s in full bloom. Had I tossed it out when it looked dead, I never would have these blooming flowers now. I took that as a great lesson. You never know what will take hold. Last year I would have bet on the drought plant. Then again, I set to live in Mendocino and ended up in Sonoma. You don’t know always know what’s going to pay off in the end. The only true proof is to pay attention to what’s about to flower.

Ya just never know what will take sometimes - it's always best to have an open mind :)

The Twitterings of Twitter

2009-07-21T14:51:00.000-07:00

I get it. Twitter has become my new addiction. I didn’t quite get it at first. Just signing up seemed confusing. Once past that, I stared at the starting question Twitter asks, “what are you doing?” Hmm, I paused. The truly literal answer would be, "writing on Twitter". And if that was always the answer, I would get stuck in that loop forever – like a bad Abbott and Costello bit. So, I went a step beyond that and entered into the restrictive text box, "trying to figure out Twitter". I noticed, reading others first twitters that they too had a similar response. A lot of us had to grapple with what exactly this medium was (is) and what the point was – if there was (is) a point.

I spent the first month or so trying to figure it out. What do I say? How often? I followed a few friends but decided on no celebrities. My friends posts ranged from saying the somewhat literal answer to “what are you doing” like, “eating a burrito” to a PR friend’s posts ranging from Hollywood to PR about Twitter. All of a sudden, people, I didn't know, started following me. What to do? Do I have to follow back? I looked at one. His tweets seemed to be mostly social, to his immediate friends, of where he was right then (like what bar he was going to). I didn’t feel I needed to know that. Then I got the followers showcasing their “photos” – ok, wannabe porn stars. So, I blocked them. I blocked a few others on the reason I didn’t feel a connection to them; I wonder now if that was such a good idea. Is it wise to be selective and snobby on Twitter? I’m still learning the etiquette.

This week I decided to take the plunge to build who I’m following and vice-versa. I searched under “green” and “zen”. I added a few groups and people I connected to in that category. What happened? They followed me back. Then I had a few more people follow and I followed them back – after reading their profiles. This phenomenon is amazing to me. In a matter of days, I tripled the amount of people following me. (Ok, it’s now 21) but still, where else can you see such immediate results. I posted a tweet about violins and now I have a Latvian, heavymetal violinist following me. Who knew? (After sharing this with a friend, he told me he tweeted about watching Veronica Mars and now he has the Veronica Mars fan club following him. I tried that but do not as of yet have them as followers).

I get it now. I get why people love it and find it fun, informative, silly, deep, helpful, etc. I get tweets on green news, zen sayings, projects made from recycled products, to fun quips from friends. How you use it depends on you: who you want to follow and in turn, who you want to follow you. Some people want to share news, some to plug products, others to feel connected to a specific community. For me, it’s about connecting to and creating community and finding like-minded people the world over. It’s truly the expression of the Universal. There’s a place for everyone to tell us “what they’re doing”. I love it!

The Politics of Pretty

2009-07-19T16:08:00.000-07:00

For silly blog Sunday.....

Never would I have guessed that the good-looking Barrista was an English major. Surfer, possibly. Frat boy, yes. But then I overheard his consternation over the way these kids today are using language, or lack thereof. Since it’s one of my pet peeves (see words matter post) I honed into the conversation. He told me about his little sister and how annoyed he was in her high handed usage of the word “like.” “Oh yeah,” I said, staring into his eyes. I probably should have told him I used to use like, more than I drank water or even breathed air before I graduated Laguna Beach High School. Then, on purpose, I eradicated it from my vocabulary so that no one would think I was an idiot when I moved to Northern California to go to college. (I still use like on occasion but I’m more guilty of using um or you know as space fillers). I would tell him there’s hope but I gathered post high school, his sister is still speaking without thinking – i.e. using catch phrases everyone else does. I told him my biggest peeve phrase, “you know riiiiiiiiiight”. He shuttered as he poured my decaf. Sorry I said. We talked a bit and then he chose to close the conversation about telling me about the afternoon discount. Was he paranoid that my cougar “ness” was flirting with him? That I would ruin his cool? Why – because he’s good looking? I did the unthinkable as he gave me the receipt. I thanked him with, “oh nice!” I shirked off.

Why do these pretty people alarm me so and thwart me from my usual wittiness? It was like I like was in high school or something. Is it really that easy to digress? Or did I not like get over high school or something?

Getting someplace

2009-07-15T17:15:00.000-07:00

My zen equalibrium is most disturbed driving, particularly when I'm trying to get to work. I try in most cases to calm down, and go with the flow; but when pressed for time, I admit if I'm behind you and you aren't going the speedlimit, I'm calling you all sorts of things I wouldn't say to your face. I'm probably flipping you off although when I do that, I don't put up my finger in fullview. My innate politeness won't allow that. You probably noticed I'm mumbling to myself, unless you'd mistake that for singing.... yeah, I'm singing, something like grr$#$@!@!!! But seriously, the speedlimit isn't a suggestion. If it says 50, it really isn't ok to go 35. Why am I in such a rush? Well, I've timed leaving my place to the last second I have until I have to drag my butt into the car and give my time to someone else. I get especially annoyed when my time is wasted by some bozo who's driving 35 in the 45 zone, slowing me down so I can't get to a place I don't really want to go in the first place. You'd think I'd be grateful to that person, delaying my time.... But I'm not. Because it's my time and I'd rather waste my time at the job on the internet... but I digress.

My bitchy driving habits, particularly when pmsing, don't make me proud. I really had to calm down when I moved back to the Bay Area after living in amped up L.A. When I can, and I have the time, I love to drive to Napa on the Old Sonoma Road. I don't know the actual speedlimit on this road. The only trace of the speedlimit is around the bends. It takes a lot for me to go fast in the area because the bucolic scenery is full of vineyards, rolling hills, cows, resevoirs. I try to drive a decent speed though because as I stated above, I don't want to be the person I can't stand, the one who drives below the speedlimit screwing others up. Yet equally annoying is the person riding your butt, even though you're going the limit, if not more. That happened to me the other day - an annoying monster truck bore down on me. I looked at the speedometer. It read 55. How wasn't that fast enough? Yet the guy crossed the double lines and passed me. "Ass!" I mumbled. Granted, I was pmsing, but his action totally pissed me off. Why? Why did I care? If the dude wanted to race, who was I to stop him? Yet I was offended. This where I had to ask myself why his action offended me so much. Was he judging me for not going fast enough for him? Was he calling me an ass as I passed? Possibly.... Why, because I call "slowpokes" asses? I often have to stop myself and ask, why is this such a big deal? Was his action really that rude - and even more importantly, why is the 5 seconds of this interaction that important? Or is it the 5 seconds actually important?

Inevitably, this interaction will play out again with someone else. It has in the past. A guy with a van tailed me and I decided to pull over. The van told me that he was a family man and I created a scenario that he was late picking up his kids. Why did I give that guy a break but not monster truck guy? Car judgment. I'll admit it. I'm much nicer if a Prius cuts me off than say, an SUV - it's true. I have a lot of work to do in order to reach a better place with my car bias. And to be ok when someone wants to pass me. What do I care what they're doing and where they are going and how? It's a mystery I've yet to solve.... Fortunately, I found a great resource on Twitter today. They're called Zen Driver giving all sorts of helpful tips to offset road rage - and to give everyone "a brake". After all, it's how you enjoy the drive, not how fast you get there? Wonder if the Buddha would have just let someone else drive while he meditated... hmmmm.... something to think about on my drive home....

Solar Chocolate Chip Cookies

2009-07-14T15:54:00.000-07:00

I just saw this recipe today, so I don't know if the cookies are "out of this world".... (I can't help solar puns or any for that matter) But I'm excited that such a perfect combo of two of my favorite things exists: green living and chocolate chip cookies!

http://planetgreen.discovery.com/food-health/dashboard-chocolate-chip-cookies.html

I haven't tried it yet but if it continues to be 100 degrees out in my Sonoma hood, I may try it this week if I don' venture to the beach first!

Michael, you had me at Thriller

2009-07-07T16:04:00.000-07:00

It was close to two weeks ago, sitting at my computer at work where I saw the news crawl, “Michael Jackson is dead”. I did what I normally wouldn’t do at work, or anywhere else. I did, what I consider to be, a tasteless action. I clicked onto the TMZ website. I hate that site with its dirt slinging malicious slant but at that moment, it held words that I didn’t want to believe but needed to see – Michael Jackson had died. I read TMZ’s report, which relayed that Michael was taken to the hospital after getting a call that he wasn’t breathing. I still didn’t truly believe it. After all, I was reading TMZ – ready to spread whatever they could get their hands on, true or false. I waited until I saw it confirmed on MSNBC. Then I sat there somewhat stunned and close to tears. I was alone in my little section. I wanted to bolt out of my chair and run to the nearest person saying, “Did you hear the news?” But I thought, they would think it’s ridiculous. I wondered if they would find it strange that I was close to tears over the loss of this person. My work buddy returned and I asked her, did you hear? She had. She actually heard a few people joking about it and scoffed, internally. She summed up the experience beautifully. “No matter what you thought of the man, a human being has died!,” she said steamily. (That isn’t verbatim but I hope I caught the essence).

My work buddy and I talked about his music and his impact. I told her, I didn’t know a moment of my life without Michael Jackson. I grew up with him. I remember watching him on TV as a kid and my mother remarking, “He has rubberbands as legs.” I remember him as being talented and a wonderkid. There was no one like him.

As a young teenager I saw a picture of him as the “adult” Michael and remembered thinking how cute he was. So I clipped out his picture and added to all the others I was into like Harrison Ford and Adam Ant. I remember rushing home to be there for the exact moment that MTV played the world premiere of Thriller. I was awed. And I tried to do the moves. I moonwalked. Not as badly as you would think. I didn’t wear the glove – I was a preppy after all. But like most people I knew, I owned Thriller. Mind you, in that, that was quite extraordinary. Although I wore conservative, preppy clothes, I did it because I didn’t want to follow trends. I wanted to be my own person. I didn’t want to listen to the music everyone else did. I didn’t buy Thriller because it was the thing to buy (it took me YEARS before I bought a Madonna album). I bought it because I truly loved the music – and I listened to that album way past its trendiness.

I didn’t follow much of Michael’s music later on. Not because I didn’t like it but because my focus changed. I had become heavily involved in anti-war activist work and I wasn’t tapped into anything mainstream, including music (and by that time, Michael was mainstream). I remember though, during that time, being at Moma’s Royal Café in Oakland, and Michael’s, Don’t Stop Until You Get Enough blared through the restaurant. My friend and I started grooving at the table. Then our food came. Our server dropped off our dishes and did a turn right to the beat. We clapped and continued to dance. This isn’t the typical way white suburbanites act while having brunch but such was the impact of Michael’s music. We had to “get down” because his music was so upbeat.

After that, the dark years of Michael being accused and ridiculed descended upon us. I had doubts whether the accusations were true but I did feel differently about the icon I grew up with. Then maybe because the later years were so hard, I wanted to reconnect with Michael’s “old” music (the time prior to all the ugliness) so I bought Off The Wall. It had been years since I heard Rock With You. Then it seemed like I heard the old hits everywhere. I went to Peets on Piedmont and the cashier was rocking out to She’s Got Me Working Day and Night (mind you, probably an art student with his piercings and died red, half -shaved hair). At a friend’s party I talked to a bassist about the greatness of Off The Wall and the genius of the rhythm section. Despite all the negative press of the later years, however, or whatever you thought of the person, his music touched people.

For me, Off the Wall got me through the trying time of finishing school. Having an almost choking writing block, whenever I felt paralyzed by the work, I would put on Off the Wall and danced – especially to the line, “Do what you want to do. They’re ain’t no rules, it’s up to you.” I held onto that line like a mantra because it’s true, it is up to all of us to do what we want, regardless of what people say about us.

I heard the spirit of Off the Wall over and over again during Michael Jackson’s memorial service. Reverend Al Sharpton, for me, said it best. Michael got knocked down and he got up – over and over again. Because he had passion and because he had love. Love for music. Love for the world.

My work buddy had said she felt for his children because Michael was so greatly in debt. “What debt?” I thought. What could HE possibly owe the world – a person who has given so much? The outpouring of love from around the world shows just that; that people felt they owed so much to him, his voice, his compassion, his talent and his music. I heard an interesting tidbit on the news. With the recent sales of Michael’s music, if it continues at this rate, his debt will be paid off in a week. It’s hard to hear Michael spoken about in monetary terms but such is the world we live in now. Hearing those statistics didn’t surprise me – but I thought of it in much more positive terms. I thought in a way, his fans, his friends were repaying him for all that he brought. It reminded me of the scene in Frank Capra’s It’s a Wonderful Life where all of George Bailey’s financial problems were solved when friends and neighbors all rallied around to repay him for all that he gave. In fact, the whole memorial service reminded of It’s a Wonderful Life – when you got past the negatives the media tended to portray and heard the incredible stories about this person you realized the immense impact he had the world over. He truly did have a wonderful life. He got to do what he wanted to do – no matter what other people said about him.
He lived Off the Wall.

I don't think of him in the negative shadows the lawsuits cast. I'm beyond that. His music, spirit and soul transcends space and time. I’m forever grateful to him for helping raise the vibrational level of the planet to a higher place where love can ring through. May it keep on ringin'........

The Big Red Ball

2009-06-24T15:02:00.000-07:00

I’ve been analyzing why some exchanges with some people seem so wearing. I’ve contributed it to the red ball theory. What is it? Well, it goes something like this.

Someone engages, hires you, etc. to work on a project. You discuss ideas. You excitedly brainstorm. You puff up all these wonderful ideas into a big red ball. You throw the ball to your companion (co-worker, boss, etc.) and it lands on the ground. That person may be busy, occupied with other things – whatever reason, they don’t catch it. Ok fine, the ball is still firm, so you go to pick it up and try throwing it again. You watch the beautiful, bright ball go up in the air and then crash to the ground, again. Hmmm. The other person did say they wanted the ball tossed, didn’t they? What to do? You try again. You run over, pick up the ball, and throw again. Still, it lands on the ground. And now, the ball is slowly starting to deflate. You keep at this until suddenly the ball is completely flat. This has happened to me recently. I kept chasing after the ball until I ran out of steam. The bigger question for me is, am I the person throwing the ball? Or the ball itself?

Punishment

2009-04-22T13:02:00.000-07:00

The headline today reads recent CFO of Freddie Mac hangs himself. I'm truly upset by this news.

I've been pondering, more like wallowing in, why the people responsible for this economic mess aren't taken out of the way, banished, held responsible or at least paying back something, anything for causing so much suffering.

I know few people, including myself, who aren't completely stressed by today's economic downturn. Why are we bearing the brunt of other's complete irresponsibility!

I'm not suprised that as Obama brandished a stern finger at those at the helm of the economic fiasco, he's been seen as a father disciplining the kids. These actions are nothing less than sophmoric. And we need a stern parent right now because the kids haven't been acting with any rules. They've been testing how much they can actually get away with. A good parent knows that kids need rules and discipline. Kids are taught to share and play nicely with others. Aren't they?

We've been aghast at how these so called finance wizards have been behaving. Bonuses? Lavish parties? Who really do these people think they are? Are they just a bunch of spoiled brats that feel entitled to everything because no one has told them NO! before?

Why haven't these people been banished to their respective "rooms" without supper?

Party time is over. Sadly, for all of us who don't have the disposable income this is true for us as well...

With mass shootings on the rise, I wonder if this is, as some have commented, due to stress of our economic times. If so, why are they not targeted at the culprits? (not that I advocate they should... ) Then I read about the hanging. He didn't come on board as CFO of Freddie Mac until Sept. Could he have had anything to do with their shenanegans? Was he bearing the responsibility of others and that being too much to handle, he ended his life?

I felt for him, I felt for his family. I felt the same as I did for the teenage boy in Long Beach whose father shot himself after his killing spree at his job. Sad, knowing he doesn't have a father now to turn to.

Finding who to blame hasn't settled my mind or fixed my own problems. I have to do that myself. I have to be my own parent. So I whine and then settle down to business. What else is there to do?

Responsibility

2009-04-15T12:25:00.000-07:00

Responsibility. Why this is on my mind today, I don’t know. On the responsibility spectrum, you once could have considered me on high red alert although I try to bring myself to a calm blue, or at least a violet these days.

I guess my thoughts began in the shower as I wrestled around the bucket I have to catch shower water. I have it there to justify showering over ten minutes, although we have well water so it’s not draining the municipal resources. All the same, I don’t want to be wasteful. On that, I remembered these little girls washing their hands in the bathroom at the Asian Art museum. I heard a loud rushing sound. Startled, I looked over to see girls washing their hands under taps turned to full force. With the city in water restrictions, their wastefulness shocked me. I thought of saying something but that raises an ethical question for me. Who am I to tell other people’s children what to do? I looked for their parents and didn’t spot any waiting for them. Were they outside? Was it that important I give up my space in the waiting line to track them down just to tell them, your daughters don’t need to wash their hands for 5 minutes with the taps running at full force! For all I knew, they got that behavior from their parents.

The quandary for me telling kids what to do stems from harsh childhood experiences where adults, other than my parents, scolded me for actions I didn’t know were wrong. Like when my friend Debbie and I found one machine at the supermarket giving free gumballs. Delighted, we kept turning the knob to get another gumball and shove it in our mouths. “That’s stealing,”snarled an adult. “What?,” I thought, shocked. It didn’t occur to me that it was and here this woman was calling me a bad person. A thief! I didn’t get over it. That’s my own quirk. Even in my more adult years (if you can call college that) when friends snacked on food bins in the supermarket without paying I wouldn’t. That’s stealing. I told them it was. Didn’t stop them though, nor did I try to with any force.

I’m responsible – yet is it my responsibility to point out to others where I think their actions are potentially harmful? How wasteful were those girls really being? What would I do with my own children? I’ll never know.

In high school, I never took drugs. Why? Because I thought of future conversations with my future kids. If I caught them doing drugs and they countered, but you did it, I could say with impunity, “No I didn’t, not in high school. You can do whatever you want at 18, but not that under my roof…. “

At college, the pretend conversation with my future kids became moot. After learning the environmental and social devastation of overpopulation, I decided never to have kids. That would be irresponsible. And I, was responsible.

I spent a good part of my early twenties being a do-gooder – working for social harmony. Burned out, I quit being an organizer. Still feeling guilt over it my friend Gina said, Jen you’re not responsible for the world! Well, if I wasn’t, who would be? I mean, gosh, the world was so fucked up.

Well, I got tired of being responsible for the world. It didn’t revolve around me after all. I wanted fun so I sought a career in entertainment. Was it fun? Sometimes, the times I didn’t take it too seriously. But boy, when I did and my uber-responsibility came out, you’d think the show would stop if I didn’t perform my job above and beyond. Well, I didn’t want to let anyone down. That was all in my head though.

I had a good time to think and stop. Having all that weight on me manifested into a bulging spinal disc. If I tried to stand up straight, it hit my sciatic nerve causing debilitating pain. I had to crawl on the floor to the kitchen to feed the cat. I couldn’t let him go hungry.

I got back surgery, my cat died (by stroke), and I had to go to physical therapy. Touching the tension in my shoulders the therapist commented, “You’re really responsible. You have the weight of the world on your shoulders.” That comment really hit me – in the right way at the right time. Yes, I was responsible. Maybe too much. Maybe more than average and certainly more than I needed to be.

I’m not completely cured of fretting over the world. But now, when I receive those pleading donation letters in the mail, rather than cursing myself for not having the money to send, I throw them away. I don’t have the money. Let them find someone else. I’m here to take care of me. And I don’t have to be responsible for someone else, which is why, now, I still don’t want to have children. From the greater Universal perspective, we can only be responsible for ourselves because it us up to us to forge our own lives. That isn’t to say we don’t help others when we can. It’s our choice though as to whether we do it or not.

A Different Roost

2009-04-07T15:25:00.000-07:00

The overcast day reflects my mood. I'm feeling cloudy, and a bit bedraggled because of financial stress. I set off to Trader Joe's in need to replenish my soy milk supply. I take the longer route along the country road rather than the highway. I love winding up and down on this road taking in the view, so much so I have to force myself to keep up with the speed limit of 45. Birds twitter and flutter around. Vineyards span out into the horizon. As I near passing under an overhanging telephone wire that crosses above the road, I spot a large black object sitting on it. It could be anything. I've seen partial tree trunks on some. I think it's a bird though. As I pass under, the wings become more clear and so does its bright red skin flap on its head and whatever you call the dangling red skin that rooster's have. A rooster? What's a rooster doing sitting on the telephone wire? I let out a giant laugh. It's just a silly sight. My spirits totally perk up. A rooster sitting in the oddest way springs me out of my dark mindset. I mean, anything is possible right? A rooster....

What is Age Really?

2009-03-30T13:15:00.000-07:00

Last week at the groovy health food store in town, the check out clerk asked me, “So… do you get a senior discount?” I stared at her, quizzically. She stared back. I continued to stare. “It’s 55,” she said, this time, with a little bit of doubt in her voice. I continued to look at her then said, “Well, I’m 40… Maybe I’m not getting enough sleep.” I didn’t say this meanly, just kind of astonished. All my life, I’ve had what they call a baby’s face and people always guessed me as being younger. Over the years, and wrinkles, people have come closer to guessing my age. I do love it though when people exclaim, “wait, you’re 40, but your skin….” It’s for the most part, minus 2 deep creases on the forehead, wrinkle free and very, very rosey.

I wasn’t wearing makeup, my dark lines more pronounced. After hearing I was 40 the clerk said, “Well, you look young… it’s the gray hair. Some people go gray early.” I bit back saying, “How could you know, when so many people dye their hair?” But there were others in line and not the time, I felt, to delve into the topic. I joked that maybe I should take the discount. “Don’t be offended,” the clerk pleaded. I assured her I wasn’t. Then in the car, I checked myself out in the car mirror. “I do look awful,” I thought. With my hair pulled back, the gray streaked stood out prominently. And the brown sweater did nothing for me either.

The question was, why do I, and I’m not alone, equate looking old as looking, well, crappy?!

As I drove home I briefly thought, maybe I should go back to dying my hair. I had to catch myself. Purposefully, a year and a half ago, still living in L.A., I bravely said, “I’m going to stop dying my hair and get ok with my gray.” Gray hair began speckling my hair since age 24 and I’ve been paranoid about it ever since. And working in the youth-driven Entertainment Industry, stoked this paranoia. I never wanted to go to an interview with my gray roots showing, especially in my mid-thirties. “I can’t wait to have gray hair,” said a twenty-something co-worker once. “I wonder if you’d say that if like me you went gray at your age,” I snorted. “Well, I can’t wait, I think it’s beautiful.” Beautiful? Hrumph. Now I know what Krista was talking about. Now that I see as something pretty and sparkly. But the clerk’s comments did catch me a little. Do I really look 55?

What does 55 or even 40 really look like these days? We see actresses touting 40 who look so – young… Meaning, smooth foreheads, no gray, and toned bodies. I often look at those smooth foreheads wondering, what’s their secret? Do they not stress like I do or is that Botox…

I told a pal about the clerk’s comment. “What? Why would she say that?!,” he responded as if he were defending my honor. “Well, I tried to remember all the times I stuck my foot in my mouth,” I responded, having reasoned that out already in the car. We discussed how you can’t tell age these days and he shared how he went through a hair dying phase. “What, really?,” I said astounded. He’s one of the most self-assured, grounded people I know. Like me, paranoid about his gray and working with younger men, he fell for the trap. Then one day he realized that he was at the age when gray meant mature. Just the other day, though, he checked out the gray hair of the other men in the office wondering, if they are at the same age, where’s their gray. He realized they must be hiding it under dye. Wow.

What is it that we are all hiding from? Can we change to a society where it’s ok to be gray and not just for the senior discount? Not feel worn out and useless? That we aren’t too old to stay in the game?

I still moisturize my skin ritualistically, trying to abate the wrinkles. They’re coming though. I hope when they come, I’ll be mature enough to handle them.

How Priorities Change in the New Economy

2009-03-25T14:25:00.000-07:00

I don’t consider myself an extravagant person but there a few areas I do splurge in life, one being hair products; specifically, Aveda hair products. I love how they smell, and more importantly, how they work. On the hair care spectrum, the price isn’t outrageous but it isn’t cheap either. One consolation I have in what I spend is that I’m part of the Aveda rewards program (called Pure Privilege). So when I spend 13 bucks for conditioner, I get points, adding up to one day, a great big gift. And every birthday, I got a free perfume of my choice. Weee!!

The program offers several “tiers”. If you have so many points you get to select from that tier. I believe I’m at least a level 3, if not more. I’d been waiting for the granddaddy level, the one where you get the full spa package. I mean a full pampering spa package! Who wouldn’t wait for that?!

Times have changed. I couldn’t contain my excitement today opening my Aveda rewards gift – a full line of cleaning products from Seventh Generation. Did I say cleaning products? Yes I did. One of the tier 2 gifts is Seventh Generation clothes detergent, dishwashing soap and all-purpose spray. Back in the day when I first signed up for the program, I thought, who would waste points on cleaning products? My eye was on the big prize. Back then, my cash flow was more than a trickle. But lately, looking at soaring prices of cleaning products I rethought my rewards. I needed those products now and I had the opportunity to cash in points to get them without spending anything.

It’s funny to me that in our new economy we're stuck cleaning up old problems. No wonder cleaning products are topping my priority list. Plus they smell good and work well too.

Go Smug Yourself! - I’m green with smugness and I’m freakin’ proud of it

2009-03-18T17:04:00.000-07:00

That's right, go smug yourself and be happy.

Conversing with a friend awhile back, I told her all about the Sonoma Vegan Potluck. Excitedly, I said how all of us brought our own plates and silverware in our canvas grocery bag. “So Northern California”, I said. “That is,” she agreed. And proceeded to tell me about an episode of South Park which I just had to see. So funny. It ragged on the smugness of San Francisco and L.A. and other environmentalists. With quips like, "Look at how awesome we are for driving hybrids".

Wait, what? Why would I find that funny? I drive a hybrid. And yeah, I think others should too.

Over tone deaf IM, she didn’t read my enthusiasm. She didn’t catch on what I tried to convey – my happiness that I found such like-minded people here in my new community.
Oh well. I just let it lie and moved onto another topic.

Then today, writing about how I don’t use saran wrap I thought, wow, I do sound smug. Aren’t I the awesome one because I go around washing out my plastic bags for reuse.

Then I thought, “smug that!” I like being awesome. I like scoring eco-brownie karma points to counteract my other, what I consider unsavory acts. Like when I forewent buying Preserve toothbrushes for a more commercial brand. Preserve brushes are great in that once done, instead of them ending up in the landfill, you can return them to the company to recycle. However, I don’t feel like they clean my teeth very well. (sorry Preserve!) So I went for a more commercial toothbrush – angled, ergonomically correct. And my teeth feel very clean now after brushing. So, I put my teeth above the landfill. I know what you’re saying, “boo hoo.” It’s just a toothbrush… and teeth are important. Well, yes, but environmental guilt has governed my life for a long time.

It’s hard to be eco-awesome all the time! It doesn’t, however, stop me from judging others over there in my smug corner – like when I see friends/family/others using commercial, petroleum-based dishwashing liquid when there are so many better ones on the market…. Who me? I use Seven Generation of course and love it. I know that we'll run out of petroleum one day. Don't you?

Tight Wad Meets Eco-Friendly Citizen

2009-03-18T14:06:00.000-07:00

Me, a tightwad?

Recently the AP ran an article about how “tight wad” behavior is catching on. These are the people who cut the shampoo bottles in half so they can get every last drop. That person is me – as an eco-friendly citizen. I cut the bottles in half, get out every last drop so that I can wash them out and put them in the recycling container. I reuse Ziploc bags. I even use the plastic bags with reusable seals that once contained salt, nuts, etc. Same concept. Not very helpful though if you own stock in Ziploc. Oh well! And it takes a lot – A LOT, for me to actually purchase saran wrap. Why? Because I can’t for the life of me figure out if it’s recyclable. Somehow I think it isn’t. Instead, I use a plastic food bag that I secure on top of a container with some type of recycled string. Although it just dawned on me I can use those extra shower caps that I got for a buck… (ala, the wrap with the elastic on top which I think Glad makes) Now, if they started making a saran wrap type product out of bamboo, I might consider using it. Ooh – what a great idea. I wonder if that is actually available… Yeah, this is the kind of stuff that gets me excited.

For me, calling using all that we have as "tight wad" behavior shows me just how off path a society we have become. Every thing is easy to use and easy to throw away. Yet, what's left over is mounds and mounds of trash clogging our landfills. And plastic, for anyone who doesn't know this, doesn't break down in the landfill. It's forever with us, like a badly coded gene.

Now we are in this state of “financial collapse,” using what we have before we buy more has caught on. That also includes making things before buying them. Like laundry soap. Why spend 5 dollars when you can make it at home, and control what goes in it. So I tried to get to the site that the AP article mentioned where you could learn how to make it. No go. I, like others, who read the AP article tried to click on the site where you could learn to make your own laundry soap. The woman who ran it apologized to viewers trying to get on. She had thousands of hits and her site crashed. Wow. Does a phenomenon like that make Johnson & Johnson nervous? (I have nothing against them or Ziploc for that matter… it’s just something to think about).

One helpful motivator helping me pare down has been moving into a smaller space. In particular the bathroom where I have less cabinet space and a shower, only. Bath products are my weakness. I see lotion on sale and think – how can I pass up coco shea butter. It’s such a great deal. And a good product. And look, it’s made environmentally friendly, and, and. And, no. I simply don’t have the room. I don’t have the long cabinet anymore where lost, forgotten products sit in the shadows. I uncovered all of those in the move. And with less space I have to use all, I MEAN ALL (I’m talking to myself now) before I buy more lotion. Sigh. There was some nifty, eco-friendly hand soap on sale at Target… down to 7 bucks rather than its original price of 15. Sadly, I did consider this and had to catch myself… So what if it’s on sale and might smell good. Liquid soap for 7 bucks? I have a recipe somewhere for making your own liquid soap out of soap scraps. And I have the soap scraps saved in a container…. For the day I really need it.

Danny Boy - a cow with a few other names

2009-03-17T21:33:00.000-07:00

In the spirit of St. Patty’s day, I wanted to share the story of “Danny Boy,” the no kill cow. My neighbors run a kennel next to highway 121. On their field near the kennel, you’ll find the beloved cow Danny Boy, chewing his cud, his great brown eyes staring out. Whether he knows he escaped an early death, it’s hard to tell by his peaceful and content smile.

Danny Boy’s original owner named him Chuck – pun intended. Raised by a member of the local 4H club, his massive size put him out of the show competitions. The next step would have been to sell him for slaughter. The only problem was he was too sweet to eat. His nature too gentle, too endearing, his owner needed to find him a home. So he came into the care of Mary Beth and Dave – a wonderful couple who run a kennel next to their home. “No killing here”, Mary Beth assured his owner.

Mary Beth changed Chuck’s name to Danny Boy but her kids call him Norbert. He’ll answer to either. If you stand by the fence and call to him, he’ll come running, anxious for a friendly pat. Maybe he thinks he’s part dog, but no matter. He stares out onto the fields near the grapevines, soaking in the beautiful sanctuary of Sonoma. I love that I live near such a cow and such neighbors and I like Danny Boy take refuge in the beautiful Sonoma Valley.

Maybe the lesson we can learn from Danny Boy is that we can change our fate when we act with pure love and guilelessness. With nothing to fear, there's no reason to act in any other way - like Saint Patrick just chased all the snakes out of Ireland... We can act, as Lincoln called it, with our better angels....

Time out :)

2009-03-08T18:42:00.000-07:00

After living in Israel where all services and business take an actual full day off, otherwise known as Sabbath Saturday (or for the Muslims - Friday, Christians - Sunday) I wondered what the impact would be if we turned back the clocks, here in the U.S. and took one full day off. Was it that long ago when stores and businesses were completely shut down on Sundays?

Now we go 24/7. No reprieve. No stopping. City office buildings stay lit all weekend, regardless of the amount of people coming and going. Everything stays at the ready, printers, computers, fax machines – in a constant state of alert. How much energy do we consume, without taking a moment to consider what is truly necessary to stay on? How much energy are we wasting, needlessly?

I reveled in glee when I heard the Post Office is considering cutting back on one day of mail delivery. Why? Because with one less day of mail trucks driving, I imagined the energy saved. I would never want to cost anyone their job but with email and other competing mail delivery services, business is down and the need isn’t necessary. Tuesday, the least busy mail day is being considered as the day to discontinue service. Will people protest this because we’ve become so accustomed to having six day mail delivery? I don’t know. When we get used to having something, how hard is it to adjust to when it’s gone? How will other businesses and services adapt to the changing times?

Maybe it’s the little steps that count to get us used to cutting back and rethinking what is necessary. If we can’t spend a day, how about an hour, just one hour cutting back on all that we use? How about we do it around the globe? Sound good? It’s already on the way, thanks to WWF organizing Earth Hour. They’ve asked for participants to take a time out on March 28th, 2009, 8:30 pm. You can check out the action at: http://www.earthhour.org/ I've already been strategizing how I'm going to get behind the fridge to unplug the microwave. I like to plan ahead...

Man After My Own Heart

2009-03-03T15:10:00.000-08:00

I never heard of this comedian until I saw this U Tube clip. Kindred spirit! He completely sums up the bewildering advancements of our modern era and how we are or are not apt to see it...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yk7nKjr9Keo

Daffodils

2009-03-02T00:32:00.000-08:00

Ugh – the financial news! I keep watching. And becoming more depressed, as it seems everyone is listening to the news. Seeing more stores closing down. Watching things fall before our eyes.

It had been raining all week last week. Maybe that’s why I didn’t notice them but at the corner of the small fish pond near the entry of my in-law apartment were three open daffodils. I love daffodils! A little weather beaten, only one turned towards the sky. I ran inside to get the clippers. I clipped the severely bent one first, then another, and decided on the last one. It would rain again soon and they didn’t seem strong enough to last outdoors.

I put them in my antique silver vase and set them on my kitchen table. Clipping the bent stems seemed to have completely revived them. So pretty. So happy. I couldn’t help but feel joyful looking at them. How swiftly my mood changed. How lucky I felt to have moved to a place where daffodils were right outside my door.

Invigorated, I decided to take a walk down the road, despite having to pass by the pollen, riddled trees. Rather than scowling I choose to pass by nicely, even welcoming the yellowing flowers that fueled my allergies. It might have been over a month since I had taken a walk down the road. The grapevines still lay in winter hibernation but between the vines, wild mustard had grown knee tall. You couldn’t miss the bright yellow spots of the mustard that spread all over the valley. But less conspicuous were the daffodils that bloomed in front of the vineyard fences. And I spotted more wildflowers coming up – some yellow, some white and purple.

These flowers probably sprout every year. Nothing in their path to stop them coming. No bad economic news to stall them. Spreading beauty for all who choose to look. Now more daffodils are blooming outside my apartment. When I was a kid in upstate New York, after a long winter, I would look expectantly at the place where the daffodils grew on our property. One day they would finally appear and that meant spring, and the warm weather would be just around the corner. Maybe beyond their happy, trumpet shape, that’s why they bring me such happiness. They remind me of good things to come. Or maybe, more to the point, that good things are already here.

Fair Play

2009-02-21T17:36:00.000-08:00

Back in the summer, at a friend’s birthday party at a club, I sat next to an interesting person, another writer, who had grown up in Canada but was originally from somewhere in South America. I don’t recall exactly where. What I remembered mostly about her was her agitation. She couldn’t sit still in her seat. Why? Because the Lakers were playing. Was it a playoff game? Possibly. I don’t remember because I don’t follow sports, most likely for the reason that she does. She’s so invested in the outcome of the game that she couldn’t be present and enjoy the evening. Her partner went into bar to check the score. She’d look expectantly, almost fearfully at her partner’s face. She couldn’t take if the Lakers messed up and didn’t score. Knowing would ruin her whole evening. Wasn’t it already ruined because she spent the night ruminating over the outcome? I say ruminating but really she squawked and squeaked, “Lakers” when cheers belted from the bar. More interesting to me was the fact that she and her fellow writing staff of the Soap Opera she worked for was up for an Emmy. She had a real potential to win but she seemed almost blasé about it in comparison to her consternation over the Lakers. I can see where I’m projecting my priorities but winning an Emmy is a far higher stake than what your favorite sports team is doing. It’s just your career and future as a TV writer. But maybe that reality was too much to bear… and focusing on your sports team is far easier.

I still find it hard to understand why people get so worked up about sports. It is just a game, is it not? There’s always another season… And is not the fun in it in the playing and not just the winning? Oh, if only I could do statistical analysis as to the potential for one person to always win what they play. In the way the game is structured, there is a winner and a loser; or is that just a perception? Isn’t the true essence of game play about how well we participate?

I asked the writer why she got so worked up about a “game”. I believe I threw her because perhaps she hadn’t thought about it. She’d played basketball ih high school and she thought maybe she put herself in the other sportsmen’s shoes. Something about missing a shot. Isn’t there always another shot to be made? I remembered this exchange because of a news item I first saw on the Rachel Maddow show.

http://highschool.rivals.com/content.asp?CID=914609

A high school basketball player who technically was bared from the game wanted to play because his mom had just died that day and he really needed to play. In order to let him play, the rival team would have to take a penalty shot. They wanted to forgo this but rules were rules so they had to take the shot. What happened? The player missed it on purpose. I cried when I saw this because compassion won over competition. I saw the true essence of game play. They forewent the rigid rules to play what they felt to be a fair game. Perhaps in light of the high-paid ball player admitting to steroid use this past few week, he and his fellow players can relearn their own game, that true sportsmanship truly is about how you play the game… and that fair game always wins, no matter the score...

Words Matter

2009-01-15T14:35:00.000-08:00

"It's all good.." Is it? When I hear a phrase like that, my proverbial panties get all twisted up. I have a pet peeve about using expressions that I deem as vapid speak. What does that expression really mean and what are you trying to convey? Or is it just a sound noise used to fill in the gap of a sentence or response. Here are a few more examples: “You know”; “riiight”; “I’m all about that." The latest ‘in phrase’, “I know riiiiiiight,” bugs the literal crap out of me. It’s been around for awhile and normally in the realm of use of the Y generation but it’s infiltrated into a more global usage. Well perhaps saying global is stretching it. I heard it on E! News, afterall. And it serves me right for watching E! “News” because what’s more vapid then the celebrity gossip on that station? I had to switch off the station after hearing the hosts exchange tidbits ending with “I know riiiiiiiiight?” What is so “riiiiiiiiiiight” about it? Isn’t it all rather wrong?

I’ve been pondering my peeve as to exactly why it bugs me. I thought it was because using a vacuous phrase spoke to the level you are relating to someone. If you are just filling in the gaps in the sentence, are you “phoning” your conversation in? How are you really relating to the other person? Are you finding meaningful words to convey your thoughts or just using what is convenient? Not all conversations warrant a deep response. And “I know riiiiiiiiiight” is a confirmation of what the other person is saying. I wonder though, because I tend to ponder things deeply, whether we know exactly what we are agreeing to.

How many times have we all used a phrase that is a popular expression without any understanding of the power of words? Words create everything here. They put thoughts into action. I have a phrase, “if people knew what they were really doing, they would just stop it.” If we all truly understood how our pervasive thoughts and words create our own reality, we wouldn’t use words so flippantly. We would use care and say what we really mean and want. Today I realized that what truly bugs me about “vapid speak.” Words do having meaning and we need to pay attention to what we are saying, how we are saying it, and who we are speaking to. I have the bad habit of using, "ok" to move along a conversation with someone I don't agree with. . Then when I hear someone say ok to me, I wonder if they are saying ok, if they are truly saying, ok, I agree or rather the opposite. I wonder this because I myself am not using the expression properly. I need to stop and find a different way to handle that situation.

I have a good friend who really understands agreements and she sees them everywhere. How often do you say yes to something when you really mean no? But saying yes, means yes, and people and the world respond to it. Case in point, watching the last installment of the Pirates of the Caribbean together, she pointed out the implied agreement one of the characters had no idea he made when he used an expression of the day, “so be it.” The characters Elizabeth and the evil Admiral were sparring on the beach. She confronted him and implied his downfall. “So be it,” he responded. What happened? He fell. Why? Because implicit in that statement, “so be it” is an agreement. He agreed to his own downfall by his words. “So be it,” literally means, be it. He didn’t say no. He may have said, “so be it,” in a snide way but it doesn’t negate that he agreed with her. He was saying yes when he should have been saying no. Words do what they say they do. "Mean what you say and say what you do." True to that!

My New Blog

2009-01-14T14:20:00.000-08:00

I've begun a new blog called, My Year of Living Manifest-fully. It's detailing my manifesting experiences that I hope will inspire all. It's still at the beginnings stages but please check it out when you can.

http://myyearoflivingmanifest-fully.blogspot.com/

Ode to Librarian

2008-12-31T17:13:00.000-08:00

One of the nice things about this little city of Sonoma, where I live, is that casual conversations here can lead to some interesting insights. My latest came from the Sonoma Valley librarian. As she scanned my books, we traded story about the holidays. "I survived it, " I caught myself saying and then added, “I hate to express it that way,” said I. Yes, agreed the librarian, “but there’s something about the holidays and expectations.” Now that the librarian's kids are older, she enjoys the holidays more, she told me, because she isn't saddled with having to get the kids the right things, the right toys. When they get together now, it's about getting together with the family.

I empathized with the librarian about expectations. I told her about having my first friend from out of town staying with me and how I wanted to create for her the perfect first Sonoma experience. But then I thought, "wouldn't worrying about having to get everything right detract from our overall experience?" I decided to let things unfold and be as they were. "Good for you," complimented the Librarian. “Well, sort of,” said perfectionist I . My expectations didn't just fall away. I had to do a constant checking in with myself. Admittedly, I struggled a bit while we shopped in town. I felt time crushing down as my friend happily perused the shops. Some of the local wineries had created gingerbread replicas of their wineries for a competition and I had suggested going because I thought we'd enjoy it. The wineries would soon be closing, but I couldn’t say that rushing to the wineries would bring us any more pleasure than we were experiencing right then. Although I could have done with less time at the rock shop where the owner pontificated about his pyramid scheme. I’d like a time credit for that. However, the rock shop owner did give her a tremendous deal on stones she really wanted. And I learned about stones I had no idea existed. So again, I can't say that what I learned there had more or less value then getting over to the wineries. Perhaps what we learned there was more important in the long run of our lives. Had I pressed on with my schedule and agenda, I would have missed it.

When we were finally done with the shops, we did try to go to at least one of the wineries but it began to rain again, and with the darkness on the ill-lit road, deciphering where they were was difficult. Perhaps I made it more difficult because part of me had already resigned to not going. We turned around and on the way home I showed my friend my favorite holiday decked out homes.

People started lining up beyond me so I had to close my chat with the librarian but her words made me reflect on how I spent my holidays. I chose the least stressful path to a great holiday. A peaceful time with a good friend.

A few of my Favorite Things

2008-12-05T13:21:00.000-08:00

With all the changes going on this year, there’s one thing that remains constant in my life - my need/desire to take off weight. In L.A., I ascribed my weight gain to each stressful reality tv production I was on. (Often productions stash high-calorie junk food in their kitchens and when working 60, 70 hour weeks, it's too easy to indulge in these snacks for energy/comfort) First I had to take off my Three Wishes weight, which I put on after taking off 15 pounds of my Outback Jack weight. The final 10 pounds will be my Bachelor weight. But now I have to contend with my Sonoma 5. Ah, the artisan bread and cheese up here. Despite being surrounded by wineries, most of my “tastings” occur at the cheese counter in Whole Foods. But oh is it delicious!

So despite my need/desire to decrease poundage, I set off to Starbucks to reward sending off a submission with a holiday treat – the Eggnog Latte. I indulge in these high calorie things only a few times a year. So I ordered mine with soy milk. The cashier asked me if I knew that it wasn’t nonfat. Is this new Starbucks policy to warn people of their high calorie, high-costing lattes? Well anyway, the Barrista piped up that the soy milk was far less fattening. I’m not so much concerned with the fat as the high sugar syrups they add to these froo-froo drinks. But then again, every one in awhile….

At Trader Joe’s, I forewent my usual getting of Shade Grown coffee for the Winter Blend. It tastes just like the Eggnog latte, and yes, without the sugar, high fat, and expense. Take that Starbucks! Of course, I could have just taken the spices of the Winter Blend and added them to my Shade Grown coffee…. Next time… This blend, so far, has cut down the sugar cravings… If you don’t have TJs to go to, the spices are cinnamon, cloves, and peppercorns. Delicious!

They've Been Outed

2008-11-18T12:41:00.000-08:00

The turmoil over the passing of Prop 8 continues. People are rightly pissed and channeling their anger in important protests. Now the proponents of Prop 8 are on the defensive. It’s been interesting to watch. I’ve seen/read several quotes in the media from people who voted for 8 say they didn’t mean to hurt anyone. So they’re now understanding that their actions to deny a portion of the California population rights to marry could be painful?

To me the greater lesson in this is empathy. I’m not a gay person but I can certainly understand how it would FEEL to be denied certain rights. I don’t have to walk in their shoes in order to understand that concept. But others do. The blacklist of donators to Prop 8 is teaching an important lesson. Now they know how it feels to be signaled out and be treated (in their view) unfairly.

The good of Prop 8 passing is that we see the bigotry that exists in the minds of those who voted for it. Now all we have to do is change that perception. Yeah, I know – is that all? Once people truly acknowledge their prejudice we can move forward. Once they stop pretending/lying that the issue is that gays/lesbians want to change the meaning of marriage and admit that the real issue is that they don't accept/agree/condone love between same sexes, we can have a real discussion about it.

The main instigators for Yes on Prop 8 seem to have come from the churches. I’ve always thought Christianity would be a better religion if they viewed Christ as a political activist. I’m not a Christian. Maybe some sects do. But what I've heard being preached is that Christ died for people's sins. Didn't he die for his beliefs and for bucking the establishment? Wouldn’t he be doing that today? Wouldn’t he be at the front lines protesting against injustice? Wouldn’t he vote against Prop 8. Wouldn’t he stand for love?

Say it isn't so

2008-11-06T12:57:00.000-08:00

There’s been a sad blow to Civil Liberties here in California. Proposition 8 which redefines legal marriage in California as being between a man and a woman narrowly passed. The margin is so slim that it won’t be officially ruled upon until Dec. There’s still hope because it’s out of the hands of the religious right who’ve been driving this campaign and imposing their views onto others.

The No on 8 Campaign made the issue about Civil Rights. No question, we are denying same-sex couples fundamental rights. But what about the separation of Church and State? Where is it? Where does this definition come from that marriage is between a man and a woman? Who’s defining it? If the answer is, The Bible, we have a problem because we are allowing the religious doctrine of one group to define the rights of another. To my mind, it’s not just morally wrong, it goes against the founding principals of our country.

In California, marriage is a civil union. That’s why a judge can officiate. Seems simple but proponents of Prop 8 seem to forget that. It wasn’t that long ago that when a woman married a man, she was his legal property. She didn’t have rights of her own. She couldn’t own her own property. When her husband died, she was in dire straights. We've come a long way in redefining the rights of women in marriage. She can now legally inherit the property of her husband, no question. Not true for the future of same-sex couples if Prop 8 does pass. But marriage isn't about just property rights. The modern view is that we marry for love. In Jane Austen times, marrying for love seemed hypocrisy. Now we call women who marry for money gold-diggers. In today’s mind, marrying for love seems the rightful thing to do. But according to Prop 8 proponents, marriage, and love, can only be between a man and a woman. Interesting, since the ancient Greeks, founders of Democracy, put love between males above all else. (I am excluding the point that women weren’t treated that well in ancient Greek times, but they didn’t fair well under early Christianity either… so… Democracy, and equal rule for all, does takes awhile…. )

If people want religion to play a part in their marriage, fine. Get married in a church, synagogue whatever. That's their business. But marriage is a legal contract overall, entitling participants to certain rights and it's unjust to entitled those rights to only a "chosen" few. And if marriage is truly about an expression of love, no one has the right to determine what's in the hearts of people willing to devote their life to one person of their chosing. Love is love and no one religious doctrine has the right to define what that is for anyone, let alone a whole state.

You know what I love? Our fundamental rights - and the power of the people to keep someone's church out of it!

Yes We Can

2008-11-05T12:24:00.000-08:00

Last night, like many others, I spent the later part of the evening in tears seeing Barack Obama become President. Such joy, such jubilation and a struggle of so many over decades to finally see an African-American in the White House. We truly have transcended.

Again, like many, after watching Barack’s energizing speech at the 2004 Democratic convention, I wondered, “why isn’t he running!” News commentators talked about the rising star in the Democratic Party. When others pleaded with him to run in 2006, we watched his humbled reaction saying he wouldn’t. But then he did, because so many people wanted him too. I had a crisis of conscience. I really did want Hillary to win the nomination. I admired the skill of Barack as an inspiring orator, but I trusted her experience. I knew her and what she stood for. And when she conceded to Barack, I couldn’t accept the answer that “at least she showed that it could be done…” It wasn’t enough for me.

I struggled with switching my vote to Barack. The debates changed that. Calm, cool, collected, he didn’t fall for the traps set out by Republican machine. And they set many, from Ayers to Marxism. He didn’t falter. He knew who he was and what he stood for and trusted that we could see beyond the fear and hate-mongering of the Right. To me, that’s the greatest showing of maturity. I was ready to elect him as president.

His greatest gift to us as Americans is belief. Belief in ourselves that we can create change. As he said last night, the victory doesn’t just belong to him but to all of us. What I found most significant in his speech, reminiscent of Kennedy, is that he emphasized that the work didn’t stop with him but required that to make the change we want, we all have to participate. It is true that it’s not what the country can do for you but what you can do for the country. And we’ve seen our country taken over by the Right for the last 8 years because many of people who could vote didn’t. But yesterday they finally did, in record numbers. On The View today, Sheri Shepard, the African-American comedian, said she voted for the first time. She’s my age – 40 – and she’s never participated until now. And there are many like her, finally participating, taking action. We can discuss at length why African-Americans have become disaffected voters and the historical reasons that so many thought there could never be a black president. But the only way to change old beliefs is to replace them with new ones. He’s a true testament to: It’s not what people say that matters, it’s what you believe that counts. This is why I feel that Barack’s phrase last night, Yes We Can, resonated at not just a high inspirational level but at a high Universal level. It’s the highest truth that our beliefs create reality and by saying yes we can - we speak in the affirmative that we can have what we want. And to truly get what we want, we have to act on our beliefs.

In Barack’s speech last night he said that there’s a lot of work to be done and he needs us to do it. It won’t be easy and there’s an uphill battle. Is he laying the groundwork so that if he can’t fulfill his promises, we won’t be disappointed? I don’t think so. I think he’s harkening back to the earlier days of our Democracy when it was bestowed on all of us that we can lead ourselves. It’s up to us to look at our own lives and take action in it. He can give us a roadmap but if it’s not the one we want, he’s willing to listen. He isn’t a messiah – someone to take us to the Promised Land. That isn’t the role of this president. He’s a guide – someone who acts on the behalf of others’ wishes. It’s up to us to ask for what we want and our job is to discover what that is.

Allowance

2008-09-26T18:02:00.000-07:00

One of my guilty pleasure returned to TV this week. Why guilty? Because I shouldn’t be sitting around watching TV,. Reality TV, no less. I left that behind to do my own writing and I should be writing. Or reading… or doing something, say, more productive. This is part of my negative talk – the why aren’t you finishing your book proposal or the 9 million other things you promised yourself you would do annihilation talk that somehow doesn’t make me more productive. I have cable TV now, thanks to my landlords, but for some reason we don’t get NBC so I have to watch the show online, sadly with a slow cable connection. But even with the stops and starts I’m riveted. By what? The Biggest Loser. I think I’ve watched every season but one. I laugh. I cry. And I get as furious as the trainers do when they have to yell at the contestants to move their fanny. Oh my god, I say, how can they be that lazy! How did they get that fat?! But I know that I’m not really talking to the contestants. I’m really talking to myself because it is part of the negative talk that I say to myself; and for the love of reality TV, I’m trying to stop.

I’ve always struggled with my weight. Had it not been for a fat camp intervention when I was 12, who knows, I could have ended up being a contestant on the show. As it is, I’m 25 pounds ish past the highest weight I can be for my height. Not big enough to be on the show but feeling enormous is a question of perspective. I’m in the feeling enormous stage. When the show comes on, I feel invigorated to exercise. When the contestants sweat in gym, I do leg lifts. I resolve to get up early in the morning and walk. Then I sleep in.

I’ve done many the deprivation diet. And I’ve lost tons of weight. And I know how to eat right. I know about nutrition and diet. At the core of me, I am a health nut but I can’t be trusted around a chocolate chip cookie. In art class, in high school, I actually painted a picture of chocolate chip cookies with an x over it. But I love them. I would sneak them, as a kid, and savor the sweetness in my mouth. They made me happy, delighted, in brief moments – in those moments I didn’t hate myself for being a chubby kid.

I have many avenues of discipline in my life. I don’t spend a lot on clothes or movies or silly things I don’t need. But I don’t have it with food. If I buy that delicious goat cheese Gouda from Trader Joe’s, I cannot stop at one slice. I run back to the kitchen several times – almost giddy because I’m allowing myself to do it. I’m allowing myself to be decadent. This thought stopped me this week. Allowing myself to be decadent. Is food really the only place where I allow myself to be decadent? In all my not allowing myself fun, spontaneous things, has food only been my only outlet? No wonder I delight in cheese.

I have had this thought before that the only place I’ve allowed abundance to show in my life is through food. I have no problems spending money on food. But abundance in food is clearly not what I need. Ask my waistband! What I need to find are more avenues to express the abundance of life and all its goodness.

So with that knowledge this week, I allowed another decadent behavior. I read a book for most of the morning. It cut into my writing time. I allowed myself to do it. It felt decadent and I enjoyed it. And I did it without a chocolate chip cookie. Next step is viewing exercise, not as a punishment, but as a reward. Last night, walking in the neighborhood, I reveled in the painted sky. It’s a step. (Ok, I couldn’t resist the pun).

Spaced out in L.A.

2008-09-16T15:05:00.000-07:00

When I think about what I struggled with living in Los Angeles, the predominant item on the list was space. Space to walk, breathe, live; And just finding the space to BE. It’s a place where people want to be noticed. It’s a place where people can walk all over you. People rumble down the street in giant yellow Hummers so desperate are they to be seen and stand out. You can get runover many ways there; with other’s “bigger” ideas or just louder voices. Everyone vies for space. Everyone wants to matter. For some reason, just being doesn’t matter. You have to prove you’re SOMEBODY. If you’re SOMEBODY, people will stop for you and let you pass in front of them. There’s that SOMEBODY! That SOMEBODY counts somehow more than you do. You want to be that SOMEBODY someday. Maybe that SOMEBODY can help you. You have to do something for that SOMEBODY first. I found coping with this thinking hard, going against my grain. All beings matter or else every one of us wouldn’t be here, living on this planet now. But those are the rules of Los Angeles as they are, especially in Entertainment. Not everyone’s an asshole but we all worry about getting stepped on along our career path as someone tries to jump ahead of us.

A few weeks ago, at the local market in lovely shore-town of Mendocino in Northern California, I apologized to a customer as I interjected a question to the cashier. She was ahead of me in line. This didn’t ruffle her. Instead, looking at the fewer items I had, she insisted I go ahead of her. I declined. “No, no, please,” she said. I told her she was very kind, a phrase I said over and over during my trip there. People were constantly putting my needs first, an experience I haven’t felt in a long time. I didn’t have to fight for it. I didn’t have to do a quid pro quo; I mattered just for being a human being. That isn’t to say I didn’t come across this behavior in L.A. I did. Just not on a consistent basis.

I used to wonder why I was so tired living in Los Angeles. Was it the pollution, the noise, and working crazy hours? Yes, but mostly it was struggling to be in area where I tested my values daily. I acted kindly towards people I thought were pushy and aggressive. One day, I reflected back exactly the behaviors I saw – sad, drawn, aggravated mouths with a bitchy demeanor. I got back exactly what I put out. Not pleasant. But I saw how much effort I put out to remain positive and sane. It’s a lot of work and it’s an effort I’m not going to miss now that I live elsewhere.

In all encounters we have a choice to either think of others or only ourselves… And given the frame of mine we’re in, we do have to act accordingly to our needs. When we live in a people-clogged environment, set on forwarding our career goals, in an area where it’s all about me, you can only adapt or constantly serve others. That’s what I learned in Los Angeles. Now that I'm living in a freer open space, it's easier to let someone ahead. It doesn't matter because we all matter. There's enough space to go around.

Sonoma Sunrise

2008-09-12T17:18:00.000-07:00

Here I am now living in Sonoma, CA. Two weeks ago, I was still in smog-clogged Los Angeles. And now I’m in a place where you can actually see the stars at night. I’ll take that over the Hollywood stars where Hollywood only looks good at night, basked in a glow that overtakes the dirt and ding that can’t hide in the daylight. I promised, perhaps only to myself, that I would stop dissing L.A. It has its place and its people and it’s full of everything you could want - good and bad. But what I wanted more than anything was open space and I have it. Lots and lots of fields full of vineyards. And a speck of the mess of people that L.A. has. So far, it’s a good, good life.

I knew a girl from Vegas who said she didn’t know when she first came to California where people go to the movies without a casino. Everything in Vegas is through the casinos and if you want to go to the movies, bowling, etc., you go to a casino. It’s a little bit like that here with the wineries. Festivals, parties, etc. seem to be at the wineries or about them. I’m not complaining. I’d much rather have Zinfandel than slot machines. This weekend, in town, the local theater, the Sebastiani Theater, is showing, on the hour, the movie Bottle Shock. Guess what, it’s about the wine business and a lot of the movie was shot in Sonoma with some of the locals. I just missed the last of the summer outdoor movie fest. In L.A., similar screenings take place at the Hollywood Forever cemetery. Classic movies are projected on the side of Douglas Fairbanks, Jr.’s mausoleum. Here, it’s at, you guessed it, a winery. I think the bonus is they may provide the wine.

I didn’t think myself much of an L.A. girl but whether I’m a Sonoma girl is yet to be seen (when I figure out what that is). I know that I’m much more of a No. California gal and I'm so glad to be back living up here. I’m started to unwind a bit and have backed off the gas pedal. I admit though I got a little back into my L.A. driving habits yesterday in town when I sped around a car to make sure I’d get through the green arrow. No one honked at me or flipped me off. Driving isn’t a competition here like it is down there. I never really understood that. Who wins when you cut someone off because in two seconds, someone will do that to you… I guess I’m not over dissing L.A… perhaps a few glasses of Chardonnay will help.

When plastic peeves meet social change

2008-08-19T13:38:00.000-07:00

Most of you who know me know how I feel about plastic bags. Like highway patrol cars, the less I see, the better I feel. And I'm incredibly anal-retentive about taking my reusuable bags everywhere. And I mean everywhere - like even department stores. I got a pretty, reusable bag for just this purpose so that the L.A. sales clerk at say, Macys, doesn't eye me too strangely. But bless Al Gore and his global warming hail storm of renewed action that the clerks at say Target and CVS are very friendly now when I bring my own bag. Prior to two years ago, down in the southland, I was still an anomoly. The clerk would take it strangely, like I was some kind of neaderthall who didn't know about the invention of the plastic bag and all its goodness, and reluctantly put in my purchase. Today, I get kudos and "why are aren't others like you." Well, gosh. Was it the many years in the Bay Area? I don't know. I'm just uber-responsible girl and I try not to be lazy. I've actually heard a person say it was too much work to remember to put the bag in his car. Do you know what work is? Hauling the petroleum out of the ground to make the plastic bag and all the environmental ramifications that go with that as well as wondering what to do when it runs out. That's work. But I digress.

But today, I was thrilled to get this environmental action alert on reducing plastic bags in California:

http://action.edf.org/campaign/CA_plasticbags

It's urging the California Senate to make reducing plastic bags in California a reality. Ah. It took the gas price hike to up hybrid sales and make ghosts of the SUV. Charging people for plastic bags might be the incentive to make them "work" to bring a bag to the grocery store. Maybe one day there will be an exhibit in the Smithsonian called, the plastic bag - what were they thinking! And little Becky says, "Gosh mommy, why would people be so wasteful like that." I look forward to that day!

Merry Poppies

2008-07-24T15:15:00.000-07:00

I’m doing more catch up blogs – this one stretching back to April. We somehow broke our drought in So Cal. over the winter. Perhaps the rain dances worked or at least people’s prayers because we had normal rain levels. And with the rain came the beautiful desert flowers. I took my first rode trip with my new hybrid, Harmony, out east of Los Angeles to the Antelope Valley. I’ve wanted to drive out there for years to see the wild poppies at the Antelope Valley Poppy Preserve, however, having an older car prevented me from wanting to travel out to the desert. Indigo, my old car, would have made it but it would have worn him down.

So off Harmony and I went going up the steep roads to finally getting to the stretch that takes you into the valley. It didn’t take much to see where the reserve lay because a great wall of glowing orange poppies stood on the horizon. It’s easy to believe that the preserve should be visible from space, the poppies so dazzling, especially against the arid, drab brown of the desert - as if the earth had been storing up all its energy for a dazzling fireworks display (or, in this case, earthworks).

Anticipating the wind, I brought a light sweatshirt and hat, but wow, it’s like being out in the middle of the ocean, wind blowing fast. I carefully parked my car in a less crowded spot to avoid getting a dent in my new car and off I went to the Visitor Center. I went on a Tuesday to avoid weekend crowds however the visitor center was packed, albeit it’s small, and I was amazed to see the crowd of every kind of person drawn like me to the desert to see the poppies.

I started from the left-side of the Visitor Center, gauging my path away from the crowds but where there still seemed to be poppy clusters. I didn’t have my digital camera then, regrettably, so I tried to be selective. Like everything else in nature, there are no two poppies that look alike. And then there are the beautiful, purple lupin lacing their way through the poppy clusters. I blew through my film in the first few hours. I think I loved the anomalies the best – the few yellow and white poppies mixed in with the fluorescent orange. I don’t know how they came to be there – why so many orange poppies and so few of the white and yellow - but I don’t need the why answered. I prefer the mystery. (Like I want to believe that rainbows are magical and mysterious not just refracted light… )

So I continued traipsing down the poppy path and yes I felt like Dorothy, lulled by the wavering poppies along the path. What amazed me most, considering how many tourists were there, was the total respect for the poppy fields. Everyone stuck to the path and didn’t step off, potentially damaging a poppy. And there wasn’t any trash spread anywhere. And there were no Disneyland sweepers to manage the mess. Just the wind. I did see one errant bag off a less traveled trail but who knows from where that came. Seeing the bag made me realize the lack of human trash anywhere else.

After I finished my film roll, I contemplated buying more from the gift shop but I decided not too. I wanted to stop obsessing about the perfect shot and focus on what was in front of me. I wanted to take in the view and remember it on my own. There’s something about sharing your photos with someone else but there’s also pleasure in having something all to yourself. So I forewent getting more photos. This time I began on the right-side of the Visitor Center which dazzled me more. The slopes were steeper but the views lovelier. There were times I thought, dang, I wish I took this photo. The afternoon sun brought out a deeper purple in the lupins. As I kept climbing up and up I thought, really, “I’m going to force myself way up there?” And then I remembered struggling up the Great Wall of China with my friend, Nancy, last January. It struck me, after a few heavy puffs, "I’m climbing up the Great Wall of Poppies!" This spurred me on to get to the summit where the greatest reward was sure to be found – the place where the hawks were circling. Reaching there, I looked down where they do, onto the beautiful valley. “Ah! Beautiful, quiet sanctuary! Now how do I get down, and fast since the park is closing in 40 minutes.” I wound around down to the valley, completely alone thinking, "there are no snakes, there are no snakes, really, there are no snakes." Yes, no snakes in the path - just rows and rows of beautiful poppies and bushes where warbling birds sang to each other. I walked on and on having to step over more poppies since they started taking over the trail. I felt I literally walked in an endless sea of poppies. I wished and not wished for an end in sight because the light began to fade.

Finally, I reached the parking lot and Harmony. Climbing into my car I paused. “Is that a dent in my car?” Yes. Not a large one but alas a dent with dark blue paint that matched the Pathfinder next me. I did my little CSI measurement of judging if their passenger door could dent my car. I determined it did. And then I left a note. The first time I’ve ever done so. Granted, the wind could have pushed out the door faster than the passenger could control. But why should I live with a dent caused by someone else? And by an SUV no less! So I left fuming out of the park, cursing the lack of consideration of some people! I had to get a hold on myself. I just witnessed a great gift of nature.

The Pathfinder people never called but I trust the Universe to right the situation. And I know when it’s time to get my car fixed, the money will be provided. I just have to stop wanting to be mad about it and to just remember the day I saw the Great Wall of Poppies.

Change I want to believe in - just not now

2008-07-21T18:32:00.000-07:00

I thought my funk had to my 40th b day. But that rolled by and I was still in a slump. And then it hit me that my deep dark depression wasn’t just attached to becoming eh, um, “close” to middle-age but the deep blow to all women when Hillary Clinton didn’t get the nomination. I shouldn’t exclude. There were plenty of men who believed in her too. Over these last 8 years, I felt disappointment and bitterness when the liberal candidate didn’t win. But I didn’t feel heartbroken. And that’s how I feel now. Heartbroken and dreams shattered. Speaking of dreams, I’ve had a hard time articulating my thoughts. This blog has been on my mind for a few weeks – well, ever since she pulled out. But it wasn’t until I had this dream on last Sunday night that it all came together.

Mind you, Hillary has never appeared in my dreams before – Clooney yes (back in the day) but Hillary no. But there we were sitting in a room – in a small room in some kind of apartment. She wore a conservative but colorful business suit (skirt rather than pants though). And she talked about ordering food for later. But I was hungry then so I ate the rice sitting on the table. Then for some reason, I had to leave – or we had to leave. I don’t remember. The more appetizing food wasn’t being ordered. And I put the waste of what I didn’t finish of the brown rice into the trash.

While we were sitting, Hillary also talked about some kind of massage pad and that we should all schedule a time to use it. We didn’t figure that out either. I began looking for my shoes to put on and leave. But the socks I had on were sweaty and grimy so the massage pad turned into socks and I wanted to put them on instead. . But I couldn’t because the bottom of the socks had plastic tips – the kind that are on my travel soap dish that keep it from slipping off the shower ledge. So I had to settle for walking in my socks that were used and dirty. And that’s how I feel about this whole thing. I was waiting for the delicious food order of Hillary’s presidency but we had to move on and I had to throw the waste away. And instead of getting to use the massage socks (read issues important to women because women understand the needs of taking care of ourselves and others) I got stuck with the dirty laundry. I wanted the good food now. I wanted the socks now. But I’m told to wait. Wait for what? For the rest of the country to wake up and realize that it’s time for a women to lead?

We can say there are many reasons she didn’t win. But what it comes down to is the belief that she couldn’t. Perhaps it’s because she asked us to believe in her whereas Barrack simply told you “change you can believe in”. He told us to believe rater than ask. Maybe that’s one of my turnoffs about him. Was Hillary asking permission as us women are apt to do to let us in? And Barrack stormed in instead? All I know is that after a week Hillary pulled out, I received a fundraising letter from the Obama campaign. I tore it up. I surprised myself because I didn’t think I would react that way. And then I talked to and read about other Hillary supporters who feel exactly the same way.

http://cosmos.bcst.yahoo.com/up/player/popup/index.php?cl=8738448

I have in the past switched one Democratic candidate for another in order to counteract the conservative candidate. But it’s not that easy for me with Hillary because this was the very first time I saw myself represented by a candidate who really could understand my thoughts, visions, and experiences. I understand that Barrack supporters feel the same way. But what I loved about her most is she had a plan – A PLAN. And now I feel like we have to wait another 4 years to get one. Well, I still believe in you Hillary and belief is the first step in things becoming reality!

They come on bicycles

2008-06-19T23:42:00.000-07:00

On Sat. morning at 10:00 am there's a loud knock on my door. Or rather a pang on the pane since my front door is sliding glass. My blinds are drawn across so I don't get stares by the looky loo neighbors. I hate when I get these types of knocks and I have no idea who it is. Is it my OCD neighbor (who wears nothing but bright white t shirts) or my building manager? It could be important. But I resent that people don't call. It's too early for pizza, so it can't be the misdirected Domino pizza delivery person (seriously, can't they hire people who can read the rather bold numbers on the apartment building to know where they are?). I've gotten over the uber-friendly, how can I help you persona when answering my door/sliding glass window. If you have no business being at my apt., don't knock. But then again, it could be important so I open the shade and I see a woman, a small child, and a man with a stroller. There could be other people there but I'm blinded by what the woman is holding in her hand. It's a rolled up Watch Tower.

I should have known. 2 of them rode down the street the day before on bicyles wearing the traditional white button down sleeveless shirts and ties. The Mormons have come oh wait, they are the Jehovah Witnesses. What I'm getting double the evangelical fun in my hood? And here they are at my door. And what good strategy bringing the whole brood? Seeing the bored four year old girl twirl around as I nastily told the woman who knocked that there are no solicitors allowed at the building prevented me from swearing at her. She gave the standard reply that they aren't soliciting. "No thank you!," I said, steamily. Then I spent the next few minutes ruminating over the things I should have said like, if you are spreading literature then you are soliciting - soliciting my time and wasted attention. But then I thought of the children. It's not their fault their parents are schleping them around on this pointless exercise rather than enjoying being children and playing. Yes, good strategy to bring them and elicit my sympathy.

I cannot get over the sheer chutzpah of knocking on people's front doors, invading their privacy, and not respecting their space to spread your agenda. I'm speaking of the tactics of the Jehovah's (or Mormons) of course. I hate the sidewalk preacher too but you can walk away from this person. It's invading the home that affronts me the most. In my most irrational thoughts, I want to track down one of their home addresses and camp out and spread 'My word'. But to what end? They're following their Order's orders. And they think they are acting "rightously." So what about other people's rights to exercise their own religious beliefs? Can they really understand that concept? And then I think, not a new thought, but a new plan. Can I just hold my cool the next time one of them comes a knockin' and say, "Oh good, you're here. Please wait a moment while I get you something." Then I'll pass them something from the Zen center. "Since we're just sharing information, here's something on peace, compassion, and accepting people who they are without converting them." Then slam the door.

Tarnish

2008-04-20T14:15:00.000-07:00

I admit to sometimes falling into celebrity gossip – just like high school - well, there wasn’t really anything that interesting in my high school. One girl was considered a slut but she wasn’t particularly popular – just a bottle blonde with a good tan – and rumored to have been a bed mat for several men. She was a cheerleader. I went to an unusual high school. The cheerleaders weren’t popular but were considered dorks and at pep rallies, the custom was to throw pennies at them, which we did – if we even attended them. I remember at one of the few football games I attended that the players from the rival school talked about how hot she was. (This being the cheerleader or the girl with the tarnished reputation, however you look at it) True, for the squad, she was hot, although the prettiest girls weren’t actually on the cheerleading squad. They were too busy playing tennis or volleyball – the cool sports. Did I mention that I went to a high school by the beach? I took this in and thought, of course they’d like her… Then I went on contemplating life and its cruelties – I was one of those brooding high school kids who thought fun, beneath them.

So when I think of celebrity gossip, I consider it as the same stupidity given to caring about what the popular kids did. In the face of global warming, famine, war, who gives a rat ass that Brittany showed her cooch? And how does this become a lead story on an actual newscast? That doesn’t mean that I didn’t search online news about Lindsey Lohan’s car chase with her assistant. After working in entertainment, I know these things happen but I’m always amazed at people’s lack of boundaries in this business. The line between employee/friend/and in some cases, sex buddy is often blurred. Is it because show people are out of touch with reality? Are so insecure that they expect the utmost loyalty around them? That they are given so much praise and exaltation that they somehow think they are invincible?
This exaltation given to actors and actresses is out of balance as to really who and what they are. The question is, why? Why are they described as stars? And why do we relish when their lives are anything but – when the gown seems tarnished – the silver tarnished, the sheen only an allusion of silver plating put on a less desirable metal? At once we see then as different then us only to prove that they are the same when they do fall from the sky we put them in. We revel in it – their hurt feelings, disappointments – they aren’t above us as their wealth and seeming power seem to suggest, And as they are stalked by the paparazzi, our seeing eyes, prying into their domain, we see them. Would we believe them to be real without doing it? Without the pictures catching and capturing the stars? Would they cease to exist? The light put out? What happens when their faces disappear from the magazines or the screens? When out of the spotlight – when things are less shiny, what does happen to them… in those darkest of places? Do they wither with weeping? Or in their only respite are they truly able to be themselves – scared, disfigured by the shadows there – unrecognizable only to themselves – the secret self that no one else knows about. The only place where they are able to be free…. Or is this in everyone? Only we’d rather look at someone else - in a magazine – where in can be tossed out and discarded when it no longer interests us. To quote a tarnished TV show, “Save the cheerleader, save the world.”

Car Story

2008-04-07T18:00:00.000-07:00

If love it never having to say you’re sorry then I needn’t have apologized to my beloved car when I saw it being towed off to live in charity heaven, otherwise known as Cars 4 a Cause. As I turned to walk back to the apartment, tears welled up and I knew I just had a minute or two to get back inside before I started to sob - which I did immediately when I walked in the front door. You would have thought a family member had died. Well, in a manner of speaking it did, or at least the clutch to my car. I couldn’t get it in gear so I had to accept it was time – time to let go. I’ve had this car for more than half the years I’ve been alive. It was a love/hate relationship. The air-conditioning hadn’t worked in years nor had the stereo. But for what my car lacked, it made up for itself in the intimate knowledge I had of its inner workings. I knew the sound it made when it needed more oil. It trembled at stops and I knew how to adjust the steering wheel to ease its suffering. For the most part it was a happy car that got me to where I needed to go… Well sort of. I didn’t make many far distance trips in its later years.

The thought of someone else driving my car was too much to bear. And despite its age, I still got offers from people to buy it. But I couldn't handle seeing someone else driving around town in my car. Most likely out of some guilt that I didn’t fix my car to the extent it needed for it to be truly comfortable. But I only fixed it to the extent that it needed to in order for me to drive it because on some level I wanted a new car. Truth is, I didn't really know how to break up with my car so I waited for the next time it broke down.

So now I have a new car, a Honda civic hybrid – the car I’ve been dreaming about for the last 6 years. We’re still at that dating/getting to know you stage. I have to get used to this new fangled technology like power windows (what a concept – now I don't have to manually roll my windows up, I have to figure out another way to exercise my arm muscles) I still miss my old car a bit but knowing the sale of my car will go to support Arts & Music education makes me happy, as does planning trips outside of LA county now that I get 40 plus miles to the gallon!

What I've learned about doubt

2008-03-16T18:39:00.000-07:00

When we fall into self doubt

We allow ourselves to be victims

Of others words (faults) and actions

But when we believe in ourselves wholeheartedly

We are able to lead ourselves in the highest forms of self

Without falling into blame

And trying to find cause

Because doubt can be an endless pool of discovery without beginning and end

Getting us nowhere but under

constant reflections

Of what we never were

Idols no more

2008-03-15T14:15:00.000-07:00

I don't idolize anyone
because if you're up on a pedestal
then how can you see
the god in me?

Don't get me wrong,
You are truly wonderful
but not enough to worship
because if I keep doing that
when am I going to see myself
as I truly am?

we are all gods

no more, no less

Vehicle Sex

2008-03-04T19:35:00.000-08:00

I’m listening to a song where a woman is being related to as Africa reminding me that countries, at least in English, are referred to as women. If men were referred to as countries, would we be trying to dominate them? Let me rephrase – would men be trying to conquer them? Why did countries become female? Or if they always were – when did we learn not to respect them? And determined that they had to be dominated and controlled? Nations are not women, nor ships, nor cars for that matter. Vehicles are not she – not in my case, my vehicle is a he, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

Maybe calling a ship “she” back in the day was in respect as a mother carries us in her womb – to safety. So has the meaning become corrupted? If cars were truly female, how should they behave? Do they always start up when you need them to or do you have to give them special things to get them going? Are flowers and candy the car oil to get it to go? And if cars are female, shouldn’t just women be working on them? Isn’t going to a male mechanic like going to a male gynecologist? If it’s female parts, only females own the direction manuals. If that’s not the case, then cars must be male. Should we then be feeding them pizza and beer?

Maybe how we see cars is how we see our life partners. There are the men who polish and buff their cars – some even have cars with giant “bras”. Are the women in their lives as high-maintenance as their cars? Perhaps that’s what they like – someone to dote over. I don’t own a high-maintenance car. I don’t want a lot of fuss. I don’t baby it. I give it the maintenance it needs. It’s efficient and practical. It has rust and dents but it works and gets me where I need to go. I don’t need it all the time but when I want it to run, I want it to run. It’s the longest lasting relationship I’ve had. We’ve been going on 20 years.

As for countries - I wonder, if countries have the personification of “she” like vehicles, then are countries, at least in the English language mind, vehicles themselves? Is the constitution the driving manual and the citizens the driver? And what kind of drivers are we? Does the sex of our vehicle matter? If our country is still a she, maybe she’s the mother who birthed us after our founding fathers had their way with her. And if she is, what stage of life is she in. Is J.F.K.’s speech 40 years ago, “it’s not what your country can do for you but what can you do for your country” an indicator of our country’s age? She sounds like she passed middle age back then – that time frame where the kids should be acting like adults and not running to mommy for everything. Is our country post-menopause? (Pun intended) Are we taking care of our mother in her later years after all she’s done for us? Is she wondering why we don’t call more often? Considering voter participation in the past, maybe we aren't calling enough. Has the Senate and the House become the county’s nursing home? If so, maybe we should be looking in on them more often instead of just reading the progress reports.

If we truly considered our countries, ships, and vehicles female, why isn’t she putting up more of a fuss? Guess it depends on the kind of female. However, in this gender neutral world, can’t we choose whatever sex we want? I think Lady Liberty would agree.

Holistic Hair

2008-03-04T19:32:00.000-08:00

I’ve been wanting to go back to hennaing my hair and return to my natural ways that I’d abandoned when I moved to L.A. A year and a half ago, I stopped dying my hair with permanent color. These past months, I’ve been living with the gray. Odd to use that expression “living” as if the gray isn’t a natural part of my being as I age. Actually, gray first appeared in my twenties and the dying to hide it began in my late twenties. Over a decade later, as more gray takes over, I’ve been living in fear of it. Age obsessed L.A. hasn’t helped. Even worse, I used to work in Entertainment where the greatest sin is aging. Not working in the entertainment industry any more, I don’t feel that pressure of looking/acting young. I had fun with my tri-colored hair. Then it became a must to do. So I decided to become one with my grays, this is, until I found chestnut color henna at Whole Foods. I can deal with my vanity better when beauty products are more environmentally friendly.

The best part of getting a salon hair color is that someone else does it and cleans up the mess. It’s worth the extra cash as old dye stains on my shower curtain can attest. My hair dresser was open to doing the henna application for me. However, after reading the henna instructions – having to do a strand test to figure out how long to put it on for, using only distilled water that’s boiled, having to use a Pyrex bowl and a non-metal spoon - I decided to do my granola practice in the sanctity of my own home. I couldn’t imagine schelping the henna, bowl, wooden spoon and nutmeg to my salon located near the media district of Burbank. This is a world of fluff and poof, not a holistic hair practice.

So off I went to mix my henna recipe. I followed directions, so I thought. The mixture came out to the color and consistency of wet cat liter. Putting it on didn’t dispel that description. It also doesn’t smell that pretty. (You can add spices to enhance the color (and smell). I chose nutmeg to make the color more chestnut.) The instructions said to part the hair and put it on. Oh, I wish I really paid attention to that instead of starting on top. Unlike the liquid products that soak into your hair, you’re plastering this stuff on so I already created this stiff slop on top without knowing how to get it through the rest of my hair. I learned from a past non-henna dying experience that combing it through your hair is not ideal. I didn't count on the projectile of the dye landing on my white linen shower curtain. So combing was out. The paste seemed too stiff so I decided to add more water. This meant going to the kitchen to get some more distilled, boiled water so I bundled up my hair and went to the kitchen (note to future self, have extra distilled, boiled water in bathroom)… After watering it down, it became a little easier to use. Then I ran out. So I wrapped up my head again and headed out to the kitchen. Originally, I used what the instructions said for shorter hair – 1 – 2 ounces. I didn’t account for my hair’s thickness. So I mixed two more. That was too much. Three ounces is just right. (With this mishap, you’d think I was going for Goldilocks).

Having encased my head with henna, I fully intended to sit under my heat lamp and read a magazine like I would at the hairdressers. But then I got involved in writing this blog and 40 minutes passed. I don’t know the total amount I had the henna on – could be thirty, could be forty minutes. Being a natural product I wasn’t that worried until I saw the red blotches on my neck. Although natural, it is made from a plant. Oops. Well I was ready to was it out anyway. Henna is gritty – possibly compounded by the nutmeg and it takes awhile to wash out – and wash out. Combing it out helped, as did washing it twice. Although it wasn’t perfect gray coverage, it did work. At least my hair matches my eyebrows now. It isn’t such a salt and pepper mish mash but mostly chestnut. And the henna smell will probably fade in a few days…. At least the red patches faded.

Happiness

2008-03-04T11:56:00.000-08:00

After reflecting about an actress' appearance on The View where she said that she practices a little Buddism and discovered that it's a choice to be happy, this appeared in my mind...

Happiness is not an act
you put on.
It's more than a choice to be happy.
It's understanding that it's up to
you to make choices
based on what you want
to create in the life that you want.
We all have the power
to live as we want
and be who we are
naturally,
without falseness.
But one needs a commitment to oneself.
There's a lot of emphasis on becoming
but in all essence
we are already made.
It's allowing it to come forth
through acceptance and compassion.
Let go and allow
and be free.
You'll be amazed that once you accept who you are
you have no choice but to be happy.
Happiness just is.

Oprah's extra

2008-02-28T15:32:00.000-08:00

Yesterday on Oprah, she had on people who made the conscious choice to dumpster dive. This was the first, according to Oprah, that she’s heard of people doing this practice who didn’t need to. One woman used to make “six figures” until she saw that the only reason she kept working to such a degree was to fill her life with things that she didn’t need. And Oprah asked the poignant question, why are the corporations throwing so much away? The woman brought of the legal issues that they just don’t want to get sued. I have heard that argument when groups like Food Not Bombs have tried to get things from "super"markets. True, laws exist and they can get sued but the real question for me is why the overproduction in the first place? Surely they know how much people buy of their product - but that's not the point though, is it? Because some corporations instead of serving a need create a need… And now it's gotten to a point where food companies are selling food with enzymes in it to help us digest our over-produced food. (If we didn't kill the enzymes needed to digest milk products in pasturization, would we need these yogurts with the bacteria added back in?)

So we wonder why there is so much crap at the end. I didn’t study business but if I were to consider it logically, businesses who over produce probably factor what’s wasted in their bottom line – so on one hand, their creating the need for us to consume based on overproducing, however, if they don’t sell all that’s produced, they still profit because they’ve gone above and beyond the natural need.

And they don’t give away the extra. Why should they? If consumers knew they were giving away what they didn’t sell, who would buy? Wouldn’t we all just wait until we got it free? So they throw it away – and by the act of discarding it, it becomes useless. Until another person looks at it another way and sees the value in the trash. So is that how we solve the problem of overproduction – valuing trash? Reusing, not consuming…

And how then the recycled movement would thrive. And how Goodwill and Salvation army would need to expand their parking lots for all their extra customers…. If only.

I saw today that they’ve put up a mall near the birthplace of Walt Whitman. So as a testament to the iconoclast that railed against consumerism and beheld the natural wonder of life, they’ve erected a mall. Perhaps that’s why the Whitmans moved away from it in Walt’s early years – knowing the kind of people who lived there… (If you want a mug depicting his birthplace, you can get it here). Couldn’t they have put up a Goodwill instead?

TJ's

2008-02-04T13:48:00.000-08:00

Now that I work at home, I plan journeys out so I don’t completely lose my sense of the outside world. And now that one of my headlights is broken, they are usually in the middle of the day before the “witching hour” of dusk rolls in. I’m living vampire hours in reverse. Of course, fixing the headlight would remedy this but that’s a day excursion without my car and I haven’t worked my way up to it yet. I will though. In the meantime, I’m off to Trader Joe’s.

Here I am at Joe’s trying to get to the soy milk refrigerator case but it’s blocked by the empty cart belonging to the couple at the coffee grinder. It’s stuck out, not thinking about who it is blocking. Is this really enough justification for me to throttle these two? I can’t go around it because another woman is at the adjacent refrigerator case with the door open blocking the way in. So I stand there waiting without any acknowledgement from the couple grinding away. Finally the other woman finishes and I squeeze in only to see that the kind I want is the last one in the row – and it being on the very top and way back, my 5’3” frame can’t reach it. Stuck again. I normally prefer being self-sufficient but in this case, I need to reach out for assistance. I go to the TJ employee at another refrigerator case where he puts away yogurt. “Excuse me, can you help me?” No acknowledgment. Is my ask too meek that he can’t hear me over the TJ musak? He seems rather slow as he puts the yogurts away and I wonder if he’s actually a “special” employee. Maybe I shouldn’t be bothering him and should ask someone more “mentally capable”. However, I finally get his attention and his only challenge may be his youth. He goes back for the soymilk. It seems a few minutes have passed and I go back to my first conclusion of his mental faculties. "Maybe he didn’t understand me?," I think. Finally he comes out. “You wanted a box right?” “Um,” I stutter. “Just kidding,” says youthful employee. Ah, humor. Perhaps it's a generation gap and I have a different view of work ethic (meaning he's into taking his time) but he is sweet and got me what I needed. So happy now, I leave him to put the rest of the organic, no sugar soymilk out for others to enjoy. (You'd think this version would be the least popular but it's not....)

I continue in my normal clockwise turn around the store but the throng of people curtails this and I dare to go the opposite way, stopping my usual routine of having to get all of my things in the store clockwise. (No I don’t have OCD – there’s a time-efficiency factor to this.) By the time I reach the frozen food section, I’ve already fended off the temptation of the “snacking” isle. However, above the frozen food bins, there are even more temptations (does TJ’s do this on purpose?) I see the lady of the coffee grinder picking up the savory crackers. Ah, my favorite! For some reason I wanted to tell her, “yes, aren’t they wonderful,” but then I thought, “why would she care?” So I didn’t. But she saw me take them right after her and she looked at me with a smile and I smiled back. She was no longer, the lady of the coffee grinder but the lady of the savory crackers. This totally outweighs for me any annoyance I had felt earlier. You'd think my ultimate message here would be, I learned patience in Trader Joe's. It's not. It's more about the awesome bonding power of food, in particular savory crackeres. And thus ends my adventure out for at least that day….

Making Room

2007-12-19T12:21:00.000-08:00

I’ve been manifesting new changes in my life. Yet, to change the present, I’ve needed to clean up the past. So I’ve been cleaning out old things: clothes, books, photos, letters, cards, memories; and with that, old attitudes about myself. I’ve made a significant dent. And as I’ve done the cleaning, sorting, dusting, vacuuming, my physical body has tightened into knots.

Because of the knots, I went to get a massage last week and I asked the Universe for the perfect massage therapist. Part of changing attitudes about myself is to not think about myself as “the girl with back problems,” so when the therapist asked if I had “issues” I told her that I’m trying to manifest changes with my body. She answered, “you’re not trying to manifest, you are manifesting.” Wish granted in getting the ideal therapist.

I told her that I’m cleaning out old emotional issues. When she got to my neck and upper back, the tensest part of my body, she told me I was holding on very tightly to something. “Breathe in, hold, and that breathe out ha!,” she instructed. I breathed in, and thought, "I’m releasing and letting go," and I breathed out. “Wow!,” said the therapist. “You just released your back and neck with just that thought. See how powerful you are!” As the massage continued, she had to bring me back a few times during the massage as I spaced out. I had to continue to focus my attention on areas that needed releasing. It was then I realized I needed to "work" to relax! Or a better way to describe it was paying attention about how powerful our thoughts are in our physical body.

When the therapist massaged my left arm, a.k.a. the receiving arm, she said she got a flash of a closet needing cleaning out. I immediately got an image of my pillow full of Duran Duran & Adam Ant pins in the hall closet. I had been annoyed the day before because the closet was so jam packed and disorganized. “Yeah, I know the closet you mean,” I said. She reminded me that when you’re manifesting for the things you want, you have to make room for them. She told me notice how I tensed up again thinking about that closet. “Just say to yourself you will clean out the closet but not to worry or dwell on it now,” she offered. What, me dwell? Ha! Lately, I’ve been thinking about how the words dwell - i.e. ponder a thought to death, and dwell - as in to live are related. I definitely dwell in thoughts… And my dwelling is full of them, hence the need to clean.

So, the day after my massage, I cleaned out the closet. My pillow still needs to be dealt with but at least there’s space. My left arm was sore, so I continued to breathe, using ha! I’ve done that technique in yoga before but I didn’t realized how profound a release the move was. I felt the release of my body more deeply as I was standing and letting all the area of my back collapse when I exhaled. I felt elated. I was actually dumping out my tension. With those combined actions of physically making room and then releasing the tension in my body, I have open space to breathe.

Evacuation - Fall 2007

2007-12-19T12:20:00.000-08:00

Evacuation – what would you take if there were a fire….

About 15 years ago, there was a serious fire in the Oakland hills that threatened to come down the hill into my neighborhood. I watched the news intently and then I decided to pack. I took what normal people take, the photo albums and the important papers but that wasn’t enough. I packed my Chinese jewelry box that my brother gave me. I packed a rod-iron candlestick my friend Austin made me. I packed up all of my artwork. What I selected were things that I couldn’t replace.

In looking around my apartment now, what would I take? The lazy part of me says – nothing – because I’d want to take everything – but most importantly, my computer. This is where all my creative work is now… stored up… but the thought of schlepping that to my car… well…. just the thought of moving anything sounds exhausting. Maybe it’s the smoke in the air – oh yeah, Southern California is raging with fire. Fortunately I’m not in an effected area but we can still smell the smoke.

Events like these make me want to cut down to the bare essentials so I won’t worry about losing anything. What is it that I really need? When I left to live in Israel for a year, I put my things in storage. These were things I could not possibly have departed with. Away, I thought about my things while I was living in other people’s quarters. I ached for them; these things belonged to me and me alone.

Gleefully, I opened the storage unit, when I came home to be reunited with my things. Then I saw them and thought – why the hell did I keep this stuff? I didn’t really have the emotional attachment to the items that I used to when I first put them away. I was willing to pay 25 bucks a month to store them for a year. I probably couldn’t have sold those things at a garage sale for what I had shelled out. I was attached to some of the things because of the stories they had – like my futon that I got at discount because the original one I ordered couldn’t be delivered on time because the truck was hijacked. But in reality, the futon wasn’t very comfortable. It didn’t have much value beyond the story. Aside from books, there wasn’t really much there that was worth it. And I learned a lesson from that – things can be replaced, even precious things because things change and feelings change.

But now I have a new set of precious things – well sort of. I try to clean house more… I go thru things, articles, and shake my head. Why was this important? Why couldn’t I depart from it. There are things I’ve given away that I miss – but do I really miss them? Or is it something else I’m clinging onto?

Finally, a non-violent video game

2007-12-19T12:17:00.000-08:00

A Buddhist game to help teach ethics 490 words 13 March 2007 The Nation (Thailand) English (c) 2007 Nation Multimedia Group Public Co., Ltd

Concerned about a news report of a boy attacking his mother because she refused to give him money to play online games, a senior officer at the Religious Affairs Department decided to create a game himself.

"Ethics Game", created by Pakorn Tancharoen, director of the Moral and Ethical Development Office works by using a principled game to overcome decadent games.
"It is impossible to stop kids from playing games or flocking to online-game arcades. So, let them play, but play good games," Pakorn said.

The game aims to indirectly teach players about morals, doing good and the five Buddhist precepts. When he first came up with the idea, Pakorn - who had never played online games and has no children of his own - decided to work it on it in secret, as he was not sure that his boss would go along with the idea.

He spent his after-work time at online-game arcades to observe what kinds of games attract children. "Most of them were about killing," he said. He then devised a game plot that includes four main characters: Dharmmahapanyo, an old respected monk; Charn, an orphaned boy who is mischievous but clever; Nu Na, a girl who is clever and kind-hearted; and Paloe, a big half-Chinese boy who was born into a rich family and likes to tease others, especially animals.

The Woes of Water

2007-10-21T15:43:00.000-07:00

Water shortage has been on the news lately. Neighbors are ratting out neighbors in Atlanta if they are illegally watering their lawn. Will it be a harbinger of things to come for sunny Southern California where I live? I hope not. I hope we can learn the lessons beforehand before it gets to that. For me, it’s about paying attention. Hard not to, I think, when the Water Board is running ads on the TV that, according to them, the water infrastructure in California is near collapse and the water tables are at an extreme low. The environmentalist in me wants to say, ha, ha – we told you so! And for pete’s sake, we live in a desert climate and people plant (and water things) like we’re living in England! But I digress.

The fact is, we are in draught. But I don’t want to focus on the word “draught.” It can be a scary word if you let your mind wander to the parched lands of Africa. Maybe the word itself here simply means that we don’t have as much anticipated water as we’re using currently. We are asked to “conserve.” That’s a few steps away from restriction. Then scarcity. I don’t want to have a scarcity mentality. If the Universe is full of abundance then how can we have a scarcity? And yet, here it is. So why? Is it because we are so unconscious in our use of things? Is the amount of water consumption we use really necessary? Is this water shortage just based on an anticipated need? And if so, do we really need what we are using? Hmmm.

I hate to be the water police. And yet, when I walk into bathroom at work, see someone brushing their teeth while the faucet is running at high blast, I have to say something. You only need the water to wet the toothbrush in the beginning and to rinse it off, and the spit out in the end. Why keep it on? How can they not realize the waste – that when you open the tap halfway or even all the way, you’re wasting more water by the second? For what? It simply isn’t needed at that point. I tried to say it nicely, pass it as a joke, like, ohmigosh, how silly of you. Yet I’m seething inside because I can’t believe someone is that naïve or unconscious. Especially when she’s part of the group that does PR for the environmental defenders. Try reading the literature. But like I say, that person is unconscious. But is their unconsciousness a choice?

Just because I say I hate being the water police, doesn’t prevent me from continuing. When I walked into the kitchen, saw another co-worker rinsing out the sink at the fullest blast, I have to admit, I shrieked. I could see gallons going down the sink! How can you waste water like that!,” I told him. “What? I’m washing out the sink,” he said in his defense. (A weak point, I would have to say). “Don’t you know we’re in a water crisis!,” said me, still shrieking. The culprit said, “What crisis?" My other co-worker standing next to me validated my point. “Don’t you watch the news?,” said I, incredulously. “No, too depressing,” he retorted, like that would make a difference. The sink water, during this exchange, remained on full blast. Did it get any cleaner? No. Did my co-worker learn anything? I’m not sure. To me, he’s willfully ignorant. Perhaps he does have deep-seated reasons for not watching the news. Well, I gave him some and he chose to ignore it. He didn’t want to change his behavior. To him, he was acting just ducky.

That brings me to the behavior of the Atlantans who continued to water their lawn? Why? What purpose does having a lawn have? From what I understand, the genesis of having a lawn in this country was a status symbol. Showing off to your neighbors that you could have a lawn meant prosperity. Does it still mean that? Are people really aware of it? When people see a dried out lawn are they thinking, “Well that’s a conscious neighborhood saving water!” I think actually people criticize that person, thinking they are a lay-about who doesn’t care or have self-respect. But then again, I don’t know what people are really thinking. I just know that when I see someone who has replaced their lawn here with a xeriscape lawn, I get very excited. I may even frighten the neighbors when I enthusiastically tell them, “way to go,” and “that looks really cool!” I also may frighten the ones that I glare at when I pass them on a walk just standing out on their property watering, in this middle of the draught…. Oh, wait, not draught – in this water challenged time.

In Los Angeles proper, (I live outside the city), they have begun restricting when people can water their lawns. You can still water but it’s on select days. Why are people so attached to their lawns? Why the maintenance, the expense, the fuss? Okay, if people have kids, I guess they want a lawn for their kids to play on. Wait, aren’t parents these days even afraid of letting their kids play outside because of predators? I might be more hesitant to let them play on a lawn full of herbacide. What if they pick up sprayed grass and put it in their mouth? Here I go, digressing again. But I do want to continue the point about what people spray on their lawns, to keep them green and weed free. These poisons kill things like dandelions which are actually beneficial plants, not only medicinally but nutritionally. It’s the whole unconscious thing. Do they know why they are killing dandelions? When did dandelions become bad, and homogenized green lawns good? Did someone say, “Go on! Get those terrorists weeds and get a real man’s lawn!” It just seems like a pointless struggle to me.

Wouldn’t it be easier to just to plant native species, that don’t need high maintenance and care? And if people have backyards, and kids, they can designate a space for them. And if they really want their kids to experience nature, why not plant an organic vegetable and herb garden that can be more than just an ornament? It can feed their family. I see people already doing this, using their front lawn to plant a vegetable garden. Maybe the new status for the future is being able to have the free time to grown our own food again. Not all of us seem to have the time – caught up in the business of our lives - to have the time to even stop and think, why do we have lawns? What is necessary? Can we do this before the water stops running?

In the meantime, I’ll continue what I’ve been doing for years. I don’t flush my own toilet after #1 ever single time I use the toilet. And I try to flush the toilet as often as I can using the water I’ve collected from the shower. When I rinse my veggies with plain water, I use that water to water my plants in the yard. My landlord pays for my water so I don’t do it to save money. I do it because I appreciate that I have water and that I don’t have to go to a well and fetch it. I appreciate the abundance that I have and I want to use it wisely. The real thirst I have is to live a life that is not wasteful and with this practice I quench that thirst.

Sacrifices – are they necessary?

2007-10-15T14:35:00.000-07:00

I’ve been thinking about sacrifices – things that I do that I would consider a sacrifice, but others might not see them as sacrifices at all. I guess each of us would have a different idea of what a sacrifice means.

My initial question is are sacrifices necessary? What are there purposes: spiritual edification, devotional expressions, practicality? I don’t have an answer. Just questioning the necessity, and their necessity for me. Do I do make them to better myself, the world, or is it a way in which I deprive myself of something I think I can’t or shouldn’t have? Is the latter a thinly disguised punishment?

Are sacrifices a form of deprivation? One wouldn’t look at an animal sacrifice that way; well, not a personal one – unless you considered that animal your property. But it’s the animal’s life you’re sacrificing ultimately. You gain from that animal’s death if you are of that mind that if you do, it will benefit you in that god’s eyes. I imagine that was the thinking of our ancestors (and for those who still practice…).

When Jesus made his sacrifice (I don’t know much about Christianity but from what I understand, isn’t that what Christians believe?) was that a turning point in human history? Taking it upon yourself to make your own sacrifice instead of choosing a victim – whether it be a human or an animal – did that set a new moral ground? I’ll leave the answer to theologians and sociologists. However, I wonder about it because I wonder how the notion of self-sacrifice, to live a good life, pervades our lives. And is it necessary?

Part of me says sacrifice is necessary when I unplug my coffee machine every day. What kind of sacrifice is that, one might ask? Well, it’s my programmable coffee maker. I initially bought it as a bribe to myself to get up early and exercise. Hearing the percolating, bubbly coffee brewing in the morning (I admit to being a coffee addict, that’s another story) as I tried to crawl out of bed actually got me out of bed. I love hearing it in the morning. I’m not a morning person, nor do I have anyone in house, besides me, to make the coffee so even though I set it up at night, there’s something about it brewing right on time that makes me feel like I’m being cared for. I don’t have to fumble in the morning to make it – it’s done for me. A coffee servant, if you will. But what do I love more – saving the environment or me? Like my VCR, I unplug my electrical appliances that I don’t need and I have compact fluorescent bulbs.

So, for now, saving electricity on things I really don’t need has won out. Not so much for coffee filters. For years I used the mesh filters – a good ten. But for some reason, in this apartment, something I cannot explain, the spray from the coffee filter when I dump the grounds in the trash gets everywhere. The coffee grounds get all over the entire cabinet underneath my sink and it’s pain to clean. I either ignored it when I lived in my Northern California home or didn’t notice it or it didn’t happen. Either way, I made the decision to go with paper filters. And I love it. I know, I’m wasting trees and adding to the landfill until whenever time the filters, if they do, biodegrade. However, I love the ease of throwing the filters in the trash without having to waste time washing them out – worrying about grinds going into my sink, backing it up (again, this didn’t happen up North – who knows why). I accept this level of wastefulness. I guess I could compromise and use the mesh filter again every once in awhile. But the mere fact I actually cut myself some slack in my rather strict eco-mindful living was something. So this is where I began to question sacrifice. Maybe it’s to ease my consciousness but there’s something about the scarcity mentality that makes me question it too. If I’m always sacrificing some kind of enjoyment because of lack of funds, it’s not good for the environment, etc., what does that mentality do overall to my psych?. This isn’t about going 4-wheeling in the forests with an SUV. That type of behavior I could never condone. It’s about what I won’t do for myself, like not buying anything new because I don’t want to be a materialist – or waste environmental resources – because all those “other” people are doing it and if we keep doing that, won’t we run out of everything?@!

I guess what I’m trying to reform is the thinking that I can’t do something because everyone else is doing it – because they’re fucking up the planet – and then get resentful because I don’t let myself do anything. When I first moved back to L.A., maybe I relented to societal pressure, or maybe I just wanted to put myself first, but I actually allowed myself to go shopping again – for new things. I bought sunglasses that were more than 20 dollars (meaning not on sale) and I bought trendy purses knowing that they would be out of style in a year. What happened? The sunglasses never stayed on my face properly and I ended up selling them at a garage sale for 5 dollars. I gave the purses away to Goodwill after also trying to sell them at that garage sale. Since then, I invested, after many of hours of search, in a classic purse that I love and will use for 5 years. I bought another pair of sunglasses, about the same price as the other, that stay on my face and I’ve worn them for 2 years. What I learned from that experience is that I don’t really care about current trends. I’d rather buy classic things that will last. But if now and again, I actually splurge on something ridiculous, it’s not going to end the world. And I hope that person who got my Ray Bans for 5 bucks is really enjoying them and they aren’t slipping off her face. I guess what I learned also is that I don’t always have to be the person recycling, initially.

What I’m trying to get away from is fear based thinking, that if I buy something I like, the world will suffer because I thought only of myself. Is this really true? Is the Universe really set up this way? That's another discussion for another time. For now, I think now I’ll subscribe to the god of have – of freedom and happiness, abundance and success. You won’t see me driving a hummer now, nor will I – ever. There’s a good reason Gore won a Noble Peace Prize. But I’m starting to be less judgmental, like assuming the worst of people in trendy clothes and expensive cars. I wonder why they let others (designers, magazine editors) tell them what to wear and when. But that’s their choice, isn’t it. I’d rather spend time on things that interest me more. And again who am I to judge? I’m the woman who’s throwing away coffee filters. Ah, the freedom!

Self - Centered - Happiness

2007-10-09T14:57:00.000-07:00

What is it that makes us truly happy? We can follow what the great sages of the day say – to give us a guideline. But the truth is, no matter what they say, it’s up to each of us to choose what makes us happy. Choice, based on free will, is the operative word.

Some of the sages say is that the best act is to help others. By doing so, we help ourselves. Noble thought but is this true for everyone? And what does that mean exactly? Is it doing good works for others? But what of the notion that we cannot help others if we don’t help ourselves first? For anyone of us that has taken a commercial plane ride and listens to the flight attendant acting out safety rules, we learn this simple rule. They tell us, “You must put on your own oxygen mask before you assist anyone else.” Why? How the heck can we help anyone else if we are gasping for air ourselves. We may laugh at this but how many times have we said yes to helping someone when we’ve been tired, exhausted, all in the name of ‘being a good person.’ And how many times have we resented either the person who’s asked or for the more enlightened, ourselves for saying yes instead of taking care of ourselves first?

Have we been conditioned to believing that to be worthy of others, we must always help others first? If we act selfishly, we’ll be punished by whatever God we believe in or risk bad karma? Is this truth or just fear on our part? Should our sense of self worth always come from helping others – to jump in to save the day? And what does it say of ourselves that we always need to be “rescuing” others. I had a beloved dog that always wanted to be by my side. He hated water but more than having a hatred of water was his seeing me in it. One summer, I was swimming out to the middle of lake to reach a raft. He was right at my side – so much so that his nails were scratching my shoulder. It was becoming a bit painful so I swam faster. He trudged on to keep up with me. Finally, we reached the raft. I swam back to shore. He didn’t. He wouldn’t budge from the raft so my brother and friend had to row out in boat and drag our dog into it and row back to shore. In all of my dog’s heroic attempts to save me, he ended up needing to be saved. The truth his, I didn’t need to be saved. But his fear of water must of convinced him that I needed help and he went against his own needs to serve mine - even though I didn't want him to.

The other aspect of trying to help others is maybe they don't want you to. Maybe you're well intentioned advice isn't well received if you aren't walking your own talk. If your life is in somewhat of a shambles, shouldn't you be cleaning up your own mess? If not, why not? When we do that, are we avoiding our own lives? It's so much easier to see how to fix other people's lives. It must be a weird law of physics that perhaps should be called "The Law of Buttinsky."

After some painful reflection of all my "got to help others" attitude and many passive aggressive behaviors later, I came to an important discovery. The truth for me is, I keep asking for permission for everything. And resentful of the person who just walks in and just automatically expects it. I can spend hours tracing all the instances that led up to my lack of self-worth but the more important thing is to recognize that I can be that person - the person who gets what she wants. The last time I checked outside, the world didn't fall apart because I wanted my needs to come first. Just because I ask for what I want doesn’t mean I’m taking away something for someone else. Where did the belief come from that if there is a “have”, there is a “have not?” If the universe is ever producing, ever creating, which it is, then how is this possible? Can’t everyone have? They can. If we all serve ourselves, then there is no need to serve others. No one is lacking. What is lacking is the belief in ourselves that we create our own lives.

When I'm asked to help now, I ask myself why? Is this something I need or want to do? I'm much happier when I say yes because I truly want to rather than feeling "I should." The sky still hasn't fallen down because I've said no to things I don't want to do. In fact, the things I do are more meaningful when I say yes.

There will be a day we'll be seen as equals, until then, there's this crap....

2007-08-09T13:01:00.000-07:00

Entertainment Tech Briefs: Internet 'clubhouse' supports the notion that boys best learn from dads 473 words 30 July 2007 The Salt Lake Tribune English © 2007
The Salt Lake Tribune. Provided by ProQuest Information and Learning. All Rights Reserved.

"Decades of attention to female empowerment, equality and the shift to a more gender-neutral society has inadvertently stifled boys today, leaving them falling behind in the classroom and in life. So says Mark Jacobsen, founder of Adventure Boys, an Internet "clubhouse" for fathers and sons. Adventure Boys celebrates "harmless boyhood mischief," and supports the notion that boys best learn to be boys - and eventually, men - from their fathers. Adventure boys.com features magic tricks, pranks, stuff to build, science experiments, survival skills, games and contests."

My response to the above? Although I see the positives in the article that fathers should be more involved in their boys' lives, I'm very bothered that the author sees this as the fault of the "women's movement." Um, what? There's no derth of action adventure games for boys. I know this after doing PR for a boy's action toy brand. And, well, what does "making mischief" have to do with making better men? Although the argument seems idiotic (when has the feminist movement ever advocated that boys can't pull pranks), the insidious part is that it's taking down women's efforts to be empowered. I question the assertion that with women becoming "strong" it makes men "weak." I can't wait for the day when strength by both sexes is seen as benefiting everyone. Perhaps we need to start by redefining what strength means. Is it personal and or physical? Or both? Regardless, if a person is truly strong, why would they be threatened by anyone? When we get into this type of blame instead of looking at our own responsibilities, how can we ever truly change?

Co-worker (for Mykle)

2007-06-14T16:03:00.000-07:00

All of us have a “co-worker”; someone we're forced to work with –by what design who knows – that annoys us because they have no real concept of boundaries. How do we handle these people we are forced to be with 8 HOURS A DAY FOR AT LEAST 5 DAYS A WEEK? Do we tell them that their annoying drivel that spews from their mouth is really no interest to us - or do we listen, nod our heads, and say oh yes, you're right. I suspect they know we're placating them, unless they are so self involved they don't spot the eye glaze over.

The worst case is what I like to call the “Flynn factor”. Based on co-worker of the past who inevitably every day gave a rundown of what she’s doing and what’s going on with her – or would ask you about yourself only in turn so she could talk about herself, she perfectly encapsulates the self-involved talker. And yes, there's more than one of her out there. My friend Tom, who I believe when he encountered the Flynn would do the nodding head, came up with the perfect internal response of, “I DIDN’T ASK.” It's so true, you don't. With these people, you learn not to ask because you really don't want to hear it and... hear it. Why don't they just buy a blow up dummy and talk to it because they have no real interest in having a discussion or give and take with you. It seems it's all about the take - take your time and energy.

So at a recent temp gig, I've been experiencing a bit of the Flynn factor (for a more active term, I use, I've been Flynned) In early bonding with recent co-worker, I told her about my friend who’s caring for a child at home. She ‘s been trying to get a home business together but for various reasons, nothing has gotten off the ground yet. But just hearing that my friend is a stay at home mom, co-worker says, “she should get a job or do a home business. Women need that… my friend, blah, blah, blah….” Um, interesting. You don’t know my friend and already you’re telling me what she should be doing. As I got to know her, it came out that she’s living with her “rich” boyfriend. She doesn’t really need to work, he’d take care of her, but she’s resentful that he hasn’t helped her in what she wants to do… blah blah blah. Interesting. Project much? I stopped initiating conversations with her after talking at length about whether she should take the job there, in the legal dept. even though she wants to work in the art field. I told her, based on what she said and how she felt, she shouldn't. She took the job and then blamed her boyfriend. Um, ok. So I learned not to get involved that much in conversation. Why waste my time if you aren't going to help yourself? It got very quiet in our sector of the office.

People would pass by our desk area and comment on how quiet it was. Well, wars can be quiet. We just silently retreated into our own areas. Sort of. Occasionaly I would venture out but would get the response of, you should be doing this... ugh - and eventually she asked me to tell her honestly what is wrong with her - career wise that is... I felt pulled in, a vortex of self-involvement tugging at me... I answered that she was working against herself... I felt weird afterwords like actual lifeforce was drug out. Luckily my assignment was ending in a week. Of course to her, I was the moody one with issues that I took out on her... um whatever.

Perhaps one day, in a nice compassionate way, with a serene smile, I might just say, "I didn't ask," and see what happens. Oh, the liberation...

Today's Walk

2007-06-02T10:23:00.000-07:00

I took a stroll around the neighborhood where I work - like I normally do, but today I paid more attention to the trees and the flowers in people's yards. I noticed olive, lemon & eucalyptus trees, French lavenders, lamb's ears, yarrows, and rosemary bushes that look like they’re used for ornamentation. They all grow well here in the Southern California climate. I wondered, as I walked, if their "owners" realize the bounty of food and medicine within their reach.

I didn't realize what olive trees where until I lef tthe state and worked on farms in Israel. I pointed one out to my friend, a California native, the other day and she had no idea. I wonder if our lack of knowledge is a combo of the education here or we just take our wonderful fruit growing trees and plants here for granted - noting their existence but not really knowing what they truly are and what they offer.

Last year I took a most illuminating herb walk that was sponsored by the local health food store. We went to a park nearby and within a foot's walk into the park, the herbalist started pointing out all the medicinal plants. From nettles, elms, horehound, mugwort, mustard, white sage, to black sage, the place was ripe with incredible plants. I had no idea of the bounty so close to home. It opened my eyes to what's possible to grow in my own backyard and how nature is really here - when we look and listen - to help us.