Allowance

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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.