Daily Musings from The Living Path

Breathe, Just Breathe

2012-01-25T09:07:00.001-07:00

Take the world off your shoulders and put it on me. -- Ryan Star

Today the HVAC guy is here installing a new filter system, and a steam humidifier for our home. Kissing returns! No more light shows in my pajama pants in the middle of the night. While he was here, he mentioned getting a bipolar ionized air scrubber unit added to the filter, which will filter out bacteria and odors up to 96%.

I thought I was the only bipolar ionized air scrubber.

Anyway. It's $1100. Which seems like a lot until you realize I paid $600 15 years ago for a single polar ionizer that worked in one room. I went from having 2 - 3 colds a year -- honking bronchial infections and pneumonia -- to none after I got the ionizer unit. So, again without Jim's input, I ordered this air scrubber. He can't install it today, but probably within a week we'll be breathing absolutely clean air. It even kills MRSA and Staph as well as eColi and black mold. Feel free to flood the basement! (Not really, Universe. I was just kidding.)

With just the humidifier, the guy told me we would go from dusting the house once or twice a week (ha! Like I ever did that.) to once or twice a month. (So, that won't change --but the appearance of the house will.) He also said after the air scrubber, you don't have cooking or pet odors anymore. (I wonder what it will do for poop odor?)

More than anything, I can't wait to see what increased humidity and cleaner air does for Jim's sinuses. He's always snoggy.

I really want to go to Ecuador in December. I see it receding into the distance as we go for maintaining and upgrading the house. However, I am completely open to the fact that it could happen that I can have both/and instead of either/or.

For now, I'm just going to breathe in the last of the dirty air. Hee.

What?

2012-01-21T09:00:00.001-07:00

I wish I could attach audio to this blog so you could hear the way that Wes and his dads say "What?" whenever something happens.

Spoiler Alert: This is a soapbox blog entry.

Yesterday Wesley turned 4. Probably a better 3.6 years were never spent by anyone. In his four short years, Wesley has been to more museums, zoos, aquariums, plays, yacht clubs and just fun playdates than I ever dreamed of. He's been loved by a gigantic, rambling family that includes friends of his dads. He's lived in a gorgeous home (that means nothing to him); has a swimming pool; his own room with an airplane on the wall; a constant stream of houseguests who come specifically to play with him (that would be me!); a dog with a funny tongue; a nanny who loves him and treats him as if he were her grandson; not to mention loving grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins who are a huge part of his life.

This picture of domestic bliss? Brought to you by two gay men who were brave enough to say yes to parenthood, even though their boy doesn't match their coloring or background or culture. They also make sure that Wesley has contact with his brothers and sisters who live in other homes, with other families. Oh and by the way, two legally married gay men. You know, the kind of people who are ruining the sanctity of marriage and destroying the very fabric of our society.

Darren and Gary were a relatively new couple at our wedding, so we've been together the same amount of time. They hold a very dear place in our hearts and lives. I performed their marriage ceremony. They resisted every one else's offers and held out for me to officiate. Gary is my dearest friend. I love Darren like a brother. They are like the Bickersons, which used to make me nervous. I wouldn't want them to disagree on anything because I was afraid they would split up. What I finally realized, maybe when they adopted Wesley, was that they were in it for the long haul. That they were making a life and a family together. Still today they are one of our favorite couples to be around.

(*side note* --Jim just came to show me something cool on his phone, which is taking an impossible amount of time to show me -- head smack.)

Anyway. Today I just want to present the picture of a real family. Despite what 2-time philanderer Newt Gingrich has to say about it. And a growing family too. At Christmas time, with two days' notice, Gary and Darren and Wesley were joined by Graham, their new baby boy. Who is a different color and culture and background from any of the three of them. And who will fit right in to their big sprawling family. And who will be loved by all of us for the precious human being that he is.

So as soon as Focus on the Family, the Religious Right and the Christian Coalition start respecting the institution of marriage, adopting children in need and letting each person live and love who they choose, I'll get off my soap box.

In the meantime, every time they open their mouths, I want to yell "WHAT?!?"

Happy Birthday to my boyfriend Wesley whom I love beyond compare, and Happy Day to his dads, who hit the jackpot.

Spandex. It's not for everyone.

2012-01-18T15:48:00.000-07:00

But it should be in everything.

I've gotten so used to wearing tight jeans with a little bit of lycra or spandex in them that when I wore a pair of regular jeans the other day I thought I might be cut in two. And then the top half of my body would fall off just like in the movie Catch 22. The worst part is that the jeans fit really good in the butt and legs, just too tight around the waist and if there were the teensiest bit of give on that waistline, they'd be perfect.

But I wore them all day, knowing at some point they would loosen up. They didn't. All. Day. I can hardly figure out how that is possible. Remember, all you 501 Levis wearers, when the second day was the best day for your jeans?

I had a job in college where I folded jeans. Lee Jeans. Levis. Wranglers. In a huge outdoor store where literally there had to have been an acre of jeans. I stood on a concrete floor and folded jeans people had pulled out of the stack and just left in a crumple on the top of the stack. Or 12 stacks over in the wrong size. By the end of each night (this was long before jeans were anything other than dark indigo blue) I had indigo blue ink from under my fingernails to my elbows. And my feet hurt. I was Avatar blue and my feet felt like they were the size of bedpillows. Then I would walk home the five miles to campus on those swollen feet and with those blue arms. Better than a can of pepper spray as a deterrent, those blue arms were.

Anyway. Ironically enough, we couldn't wear jeans to fold jeans, so all my clothes had indigo blue dye on them too. Now jeans are so soft from the get-go, it wouldn't be so bad to fold acres of them. Lie. It will still be heinous to fold acres of jeans. I'm so glad I don't do that anymore.

Today, the HVAC guy came to the house for our regularly scheduled maintenance. Which is sort of free, except you pay a yearly fee. But every forking time those HVAC guys come out, something else is wrong with the furnace or the air. This time, the fix is $2100. And for the first time, the guy who came out had all of his teeth intact and he didn't reek of cigarette smoke. He took the time to show and explain what was happening in the furnace due to the cheap ass construction of the furnace in the first place. What we're actually fixing is attached to the duct work and so when we need a new furnace, all the stuff we're doing now will still be needed and in place. There has always been something wrong with the filter in this system. We're going to move the ductwork and filter away from the furnace, put in a filter that only needs to be changed once a year, and add in on-demand steam humidity.

Which means we'll be able to kiss again in our house without electrocuting someone. So what we're doing is actually upgrading the filtering system and adding a systemic humidifier to the house.

Next, I want to put in an on-demand hot water heater.

And then I want to win a couple million dollars.

But first, I'd just like some spandex in my jeans.

Hut, Hut, HIKE!

2012-01-17T14:48:00.001-07:00

Ha. You thought it was going to be about football and Tim Tebow?

No. Jim and I went on our first hike of 2012 yesterday. We went to a place about 3 miles above Boulder and took what was labeled an easy-moderate hike. Which it totally was. Except that it was still very snowy in parts (as seen above) and very icy in all the down hill parts.

Just before we were done going downhill I honestly thought I was going to have to sit down and let a helicopter come and get me because my knees hurt so damn bad (badly?). But then the terrain changed and the entire backside of the loop was this wide road with extremely gentle switchbacks, so we could actually walk at a good clip without being winded. We were breathing hard, but in a good way.

On the way home, Jim asked me what part I liked best. The part where I thought we had another 1/2 hour to hike and a car went by about 50 yards away. Not because we were done, but because I knew we would be done soon, it had started to snow, it was starting to get dark and I had to teach class in Greeley in a couple of hours.

That was the first time in my life I've been all alone in the wilderness without some expert with me. (Even if the expert was a girl scout leader). So we did everything wrong. No sunglasses (bright sun on the way out). No head lamps. (Got quite a bit darker as we were finishing). No compass, no map. (No idea where we were except following trail signs). No one knows where we are, except the dogs and they're not talking. There are big ass tracks on the trail (probably dogs and coyotes, but are we sure that wasn't a bear?). We don't have hiking boots. I had on trail shoes, but they were low cut and Jim had on sneakers.

So. Our next few hikes will be in the foothills or on some flats where the clothes and shoes we have now will be appropriate.

Then I went to Greeley to teach. Came home in a snow storm, but not a really bad one, hit something in the road and got a flat tire. Sat by the side of the road in 16 degrees for 40 minutes, waiting for AAA. Gotta love AAA. Came home, frozen, put on really warm jammies and jumped into bed. I didn't get out of bed until 9:30 this morning. And all day I've been thinking I need to eat something until I finally realized that I don't need food. I'm tired. I need rest.

One of the things about being self employed is that it is very easy to work at something (anything) every day of the week and very hard to say "this" is my day off and I'm going to rest and relax. That would have been today but I spent probably four hours going through my email -- long overdue -- and unsubscribing from newsletters and emails, making rules to get stuff into folders before it appears in my inbox, and answering all those emails I've put to the side for "some day."

And, because I am a nincompoop sometimes, I got this damn ball chair to sit on, which requires you to sit up straight and balanced all the time. The good news is, I'm sitting up straight all the time. The bad news? I'm sitting up straight all the time and it is not comfortable to be at the computer. Which is also good news.

Anyway. Today I'm going for a nice little walk in the snow, just to be outside and enjoy the beauty of the splendid whiteness everywhere and to keep my legs and hips a little more flexible.

Tomorrow I'm going to hit those kettlebells with Bob Harper, because I think the reason I was able to do so well yesterday on our hike was because of the workouts I've been doing with Bob. The beastmaster. When he yells at us to run with our knees up, yelling "hut, hut, hut", I'm going to think:

Hike!

Stands with Whisk

2012-01-12T11:57:00.000-07:00

Today, I want to tell you my buffalo story. Which I will. But first, my mayonnaise story. We're eating Primal (caveman), right? And one of the things to avoid is Omega 6 oils, which are found in commercial mayonnaise. So there's a recipe to make your own. Which is easy peasy. Egg yolks, a little dijon mustard, lemon juice, paprika and salt. Whisk all together. Then while you are whisking, drizzle in a very thin stream of evoo until the mixture emulsifies and thickens. Again. Easy. And Peasy.

Unless you forget that you have only two hands. One is pouring oil. One is holding the stick blender whisk. None are holding the jar. Which suddenly spins out of control. I'm watching it happen and it takes a long time for me to figure out to take my finger off the button on the blender stick. There is now oily egg yolk mixture as far and wide as you can imagine.

I had to take off my clothes, wash all of the utensils and the bucket holding them, the crock holding all of the different oils and vinegars and each of those bottles, the cookbook stand, the cookbook, the counters, the floors, the cupboards, my body, and more, all in steamy sudsy hot hot hot water.

So much for chicken salad with homemade mayonnaise for lunch. Good news is I laughed through the entire thing. I had this happen once as a baby hairdresser assistant. I let go of the shampoo hose and it danced around like a water wiggle until I finally came to my senses and jumped on it like a marine on a grenade. And stayed there till someone could stop laughing long enough to come and push down the handle that turns off the water. Oh yeah. Turn off the water. Good idea.

On to the buffalo. I was thinking of a Steeley Dan song that sang "buffalo sisters". Then I thought it was Avalon Sisters. But it's Babylon Sisters. So that doesn't work. Anyway. I was 25. New boyfriend, a sailor. We'd sailed his 28 foot double ender to Catalina Island, to the back side, for a long wekeend. We decide to walk over the isthmus to Avalon, the touristy side of the island. But first we do what we do several times a day. Light up a doobie. So we smoke, jump over the side of the boat, swim to the dock, get out and begin our flip flop wearing hike over the island. I don't have on my contacts (and I'm kinda high) so I can't see much beyond my arm's length.

I notice we are walking amongst these huge brown rocks. Kind of furry rocks. I ask my boyfriend what these rocks are. He laughs until he practically pees his pants. They're buffalo! So he leads me close enough (that would be arm's distance) so I can see what they are. Then I realize I am 3 feet away from a wild (relatively) buffalo. I freak out and try to tiptoe through the tulips (that would be the buffalo herd). I would love to have a video of that now.

Thankfully we found friends on the Avalon side with a motor boat who took us around the island back to our boat, as I was not wild about walking back through the buffalo after several margaritas.

And you wonder why I'm thankful (and surprised) to be alive today.

Mocha Chocolata, Yaya

2012-01-11T09:11:00.001-07:00

Yeah. I know it should be Patti LaBelle, but I love P!nk so much I wanted to find a picture of her singing it. Unfortunately, the majority of the pictures from this video are of Xtina. When P is so clearly the winner here.

Anyway. I decided to do this thing from Geneen Roth. She's the "how to find your perfect weight by not dieting" guru. And I have tried this suggestion before with great success. She says to take that thing (whatever it is, once it was peanut butter) that you are always saying "I can't even have that in the house" about. Keep it in massive quantities in your house. For the first week or two, you'll eat it like you're never going to see it again. Keep replenishing the stock. After really no more than two weeks you realize that it's always going to be there. And it loses its power over you. Seriously. It totally works. But you have to be willing to gain weight before you lose weight.

Chocolate has a hold on me. So last night I decided to Roth it. There are now huge jars of lots of different kinds of dark chocolate, displayed like jewels, all over the house. While I was putting it in the jars I had a little moment. A little moment of "how fast can I unwrap this and shove it in my mouth?" And then it was over. I got up this morning thinking "chocolate!" And then had to ask the question. If it is always going to be here, do you really want it now? Sometimes the answer may be yes. This morning it was no.

If you're reading this and you don't have food addictions, then this seems crazy. If you're reading this and you do have food addictions, then this seems stupid. Dangerous even. But trust me, it works. When nothing is forbidden, everything loses its power to undo your resolve.

I grew up in a house where the cupboards and the fridge were always well stocked. I don't come from a scarcity mentality. But in my early 20's - the struggling years - I had lots of days/weeks/months of empty refrigerator and pantry. Now when I open the door of the fridge and it is stocked to the gills, somehow that equals safety, comfort, ease. Right now it is full of such great food -- turkey/leek soup; stuffed peppers; chicken salad with homemade mayonaise; fruits and veggies galore; avocado; nuts and seeds; and the freezer is full of meats for our primal diet. That feels really good. And, with Primal eating, dark chocolate is an acceptable treat. So, as soon as I don't need to eat it 24/7, it will become a non-issue.

I had bison for the first time ( a good Primal meat) last week. I don't know why I was always afraid to eat it -- guess I was afraid it would taste really gamey. It was delish. I actually preferred the taste and texture to Jim's steak. I'm thinking we may go bison as our red meat of choice. I have a great buffalo story. I'll tell it tomorrow.

For now, I have to go look at that chocolate. Just to make sure it's still there.

And for you? Please go HERE and donate $4. Thank you.

Dropping a Deuce

2012-01-10T15:27:00.004-07:00

Now watch. My Twitter account is going to be inundated with porno people thinking I like golden showers and other sexual absurdities. (Not that there's anything wrong with it...)

Yes I know what that means. But I wish it didn't. Because I like the way it sounds and I would rather use it to mean I have two things to tell you.

At our house, we drop the kids off at the pool. Which, when we lived in San Diego with its year round 72 temperature average, could make it completely feasible that we actually might be dropping kids off at a pool. (say that Craig Ferguson style)

Anyway - Jim took the ewoks to the groomer yesterday. Before we go in the car we go through this entire routine of going outside to pee and poop. Not us. The dogs. The dogs are so Pavlovianly conditioned at night when they go outside they know to come right back in and run hell bent for leather to the bedroom to wait for a going to bed treat. So now whenever we ask them to go outside, they go out, sometimes their feet touch the grass, sometimes they don't make it off the top step before turning around and running inside in a beeline for the bedroom. Night or day.

Jim gets them to go outside. Buster actually makes it to the grass and pees. Petunia, all six pounds of her, charges the fence to bark at the 250 pounds of dogs on the other side of it and Jim has to actually go and trap her into a corner to pick her up and bring her inside, still giving the dogs next door what for. So then when they get in the car, both of them start making the "oooh. I have to pee." sound. Tough. They're going to the groomer and there is grass there outside the building. Cross your legs. Hard to say to a dog. Buster's trying really hard, but as Jim puts his leash on him to let him out of the car, he drops a little deuce on the seat. Like a peanut m&m sized poo. Until he gets on the ground, then it's Katie bar the door.

While the dogs were gone for the day we did things we can't do when they're here, like lay on the floor and sweat (exercising, get your mind out of the gutter). We went for a long walk around Golden Ponds (which were frozen solid with geese strolling around on the ice). Jim had never been there before. The view of the Rockies from the Ponds is like a picture postcard and it was a picture postcard kind of day to begin with, so it was a wonderful walk. I had a problem to talk out with Jim, so we skipped a bike ride in favor of a walk where we could actually hear each other.

Wherever Jim goes, he ends up being the shift leader or the manager or the group lead or something. Because he raised four kids on his own and he's really good with people. I on the other hand? There's a reason I've worked by myself for myself since I was 25. I had business partners early on. Four incredible women. But I was really meant to be a hermit, and I don't play all that well with others (I wonder if it says that on my school report cards?) so making me the manager of anything except myself is a bad idea.

I was struggling with the idea that I am frustrated with the direction my Monday night class is heading. Then I realized I was feeling the effects of boundaries I didn't know I had being crossed. You can't blame someone else for crossing a line you haven't laid out. So I had to think through the feelings I was having to see how they were my results.

I came up with a huge list of things that I had not done correctly because of my values of friendship, harmony, love and peace. Not that those are bad values. Just that valuing friendship or harmony (wanting everyone in the class to like me and not rock the boat) versus setting standards for the class and insisting they be met was not doing anyone any good. It is so hard sometimes to balance my shadow side of OCD and my desire to be laid back and easygoing. Especially when a little order would be a good thing. It's hard for me to do a little of anything.

Jim and talked it all through and he listened to it with his manager's ears. He agreed with my conclusions (it's my problem and I need to fix it) and how I was going to take responsibility for the direction of the class and how I was going to spell out the direction I wanted to steer our course based on my evaluation of myself as the teacher. All well and good.

Until I got to class and apparently dropped a deuce. What I thought I said apparently sounded like (Charlie Brown adults): waa, waaa, waaa, this class sucks, waa, waaa, waaa, you are all hideous, waa, waa, waaaa. I was so proud of myself (before I got feedback) for realizing it was my error in teaching, not any one's error in being a student and owning the problem. Except that's not how it came across. Crap. Literally.

By the end I hope we had it fixed. It seemed so. Proving once again, this time perhaps forever, that I should not try to manage and review people.

I just wanted to go home and hug my dogs. Who once again look like proper little dogs versus furry moppets.

Ow. Ow. Ow.

2012-01-09T11:23:00.001-07:00

Vastus whateverus. My quads hurt mostus vastus.

I did my first kettle bell workout (with a Bob Harper DVD) two days ago. I felt fine and wisely only did about 1/3 of what he asked for since I haven't worked out like that in forever and I've never used a kettle bell and because he based the workout on about 7,000 squats and lunges swinging the damn bell thing. Yesterday I was sore enough. Today? Let's just say I'm monitoring my fluid intake to match how many times I want to try and get up and down off the loo.

Jim's kettle bell arrived in the mail today. I could hardly lift the box. We just had our Primal brunch (eggs, bacon, shallots, mushrooms, tomatoes, spinach all scrambled together topped with avocado, salsa and sour cream -- can you believe this is eating designed to turn your body into a fat burning machine?!?) and now we're going for a bike ride. Somewhere flat. I can't imagine hills today with these quads. But, spinning them around in circles will be good for me.

The dogs (who looked like hedgehogs this morning) are at the groomer. They will return all soft and sweet smelling and adorable again, although when they look like little ewoks, it's hard to resist their faces.

We finally finished putting the furniture back in order, vacuuming the entire house and calling it quits on the holidays. Found a few more "spots" from little Biscuit's demise. Our neighbor's response to us asking for her homeowner's insurance information to make a claim for carpet cleaning: "Is it really that bad?" Uh. Yeah. I hate to ask for it, but not as much as I would hate having to pay for it myself.

You know how you think your kids are the cutest kids in the history of kids and everyone else's kids are fine, but not as cute as yours? That's how dog people feel too. While we we happy to have little Biscuit and Nissan stay over, and love seeing how our neighbor plays with that little box of butter with ears, there's still no comparison to our two. Who had a birthday this week and turned 7. Which made me sad all day. Seven years of joy they have brought us and all I can think about is "how many more?"

Kind of like how I felt when I married Jim. For a long time I worried about how many more years I would have with him and should I start detaching myself from him now so it won't hurt so badly when he dies. Then I realized I was talking about 30, maybe 40 years in the distance. And I was going to worry for 30 years? Then I slapped myself and got over it.

Because, as they said in Shawshank: You can get busy living, or get busy dying. Get busy enjoying love and life, or get busy worrying about not having it anymore. Choose gusto. Or choose guilt. I'm going for gusto.

Vastus gustous foreverus.

Give me an H

2012-01-07T08:06:00.001-07:00

Give me an O, Give me a TFLASH. What's that spell? Cranky!

I read a statistic yesterday that blew my mind. Of the women who will experience hot flashes with menopause. they will experience them, on average, for a period of 10.2 years. Ten effing years! That's three thousand six hundred and fifty four days, give or take a few for leap year. Men, can you imagine not having any control over your body temperature for TEN years?

There was a time, in my 40's where I had the night sweats so bad I thought I might be HIV+. Given my past and all. Turns out it was perimenopause. I would suddenly wake up and be so hot I thought I might spontaneously combust, and then instantly be drenched in sweat. Charming.

I must be going through some hormonal change again because the hot flashes, especially at night, are back. My friend Lauren told me she could regulate her body temperature at night by how much of her back she exposed to the cool air of her bedroom. Of course, Lauren is the size of a pencil with a body fat percentage in the single digits. I've been trying her method though, and it kind of works. I'm finding that for about an hour or so each night I have to expose my entire backside to the air and then I can get back under the covers.

During my 10.2 years, I either had to have my hair long, so I could put it up in a twist or a ponytail, or super short so it wouldn't matter, because during the day I would suddenly just start sweating from my head until my hair was dripping wet. No other parts of my body would be sweaty except my hair, face and neck. Mucho attractive, as you can imagine.

What do men go through that equals this? I suppose the loss of their penis. I mean the loss of the function of their wiener (calm down, calm down). And, true to form, Big Pharma spent billions of dollars to find a cure for that. Which is covered by insurance. And seriously? Could you get any lazier? Not talking to the guys who have ED due to prostate cancer, etc. Talking to the guys like Hugh Hefner, who reportedly has a bowl by his bedside, as if it were candy. He said it in an interview. I suppose I shouldn't judge. (Suppose? Hee.) But I would like to have Big Pharma put as much money into hot flashes as they have wood retention.

I haven't done HRT with drugs or bio-identicals. We passed the raving bitch part of the 10.2 years long ago. The only reason I wish I had done them was that it might have saved my skin. They say if you don't do some kind of HRT you will be more wrinkled. Maybe, maybe not. The women in my family are a pretty wrinkly bunch. But then, I don't think any of us did HRT, so perhaps that is the answer. Except of course my sister Lark who does not have one single wrinkle on her beautiful skin.

Oh well, I'm about to adopt a much more outdoor lifestyle, so I'm going to have to live with the fact that I dreamed everyone assumed I was over 65.

I did get into the movies the other day on a senior ticket. Which means I look at least over 60. Waa.

And, in the end, what are you going to do? You age gracefully or you don't. You end up looking 10 years younger than you are or you don't. Or you end up looking like Dolly Parton, Joan Rivers and every other pulled back, lip poofed desperate housewife.

I'll choose climbing mountains.

Hot flashes and all.

Brother/Sister Can You Spare A Dime?

2012-01-06T08:07:00.003-07:00

Actually, can you spare 40? I'll bet if you go to the place in your house where you keep your change you can easily find 40 dimes (or 16 quarters). Go ahead, go look. I'll wait.

**In the meantime, I'll be humming a little hum, a la Winnie**

Back so soon?

OK, now go HERE and donate $4.

I'm trying to raise $4million, $4 at a time (but feel free to donate $40 or $400, or $4,000 or $193.47 [personal donation that scores you a T-shirt, DVD and more], sponsor a soldier {$15K}, Base Camp {$30K}; Peak {$50K} or Title Sponsor - get the thing named after you {$100K} -- anything is possible).

When you put it like that, $4 seems doable, yes? A very easy way to accomplish this is to get the ask to go viral. I just haven't figured out a way to do that yet.

In the meantime, please go donate $4. It seems like such a small amount of money -- 40 dimes, 16 quarters -- to do your part in supporting our returning injured soldiers. Here are some sobering statistics:

Over 2,000,000 U.S.soldiers have been deployed to Iraq and Afghanistan. Of those returningmilitary, 330,000 have traumatic brain injuries. Over 350,000 have PTSD andmore than 47,000 are wounded.

And really, is $4 too much to give? or $400? or $40,000? In the grand scheme of things, your tax dollars, in some amount, will go to the rehabilitation and restoration, or the homelessness and related problems of these men and women. Wouldn't you like to give $4 to a program that could help even one of these people?

It bugs me when people say that the returning Iraq war vets have been fighting for our freedom. No they haven't. By their own account, they have been fighting to keep themselves and their friends alive in a war that should have never been started. But the mere fact that they volunteered themselves into the service and followed their orders makes them a hero to me. And for their sacrifices, they deserve our attention to their care.

Right now, Soldiers to the Summits handles 12 soldiers on one expedition per year. They tell me they have all the infrastructure in place to one day be able to do a climb a month, caring for many more soldiers, giving them tools to rebuild their lives in meaninful ways. All they need is money.

Let's give it to them.

Starting with 40 dimes.

Pwick yo fingo

2012-01-05T10:57:00.001-07:00

on a spinning wheeo and DIE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

My sister, when reading the story of Sleeping Beauty at the age of 5, could not say her "r" s (but she could say Maleficent) so when she came to the part about Maleficent's curse, she would yell:

On ho sixteenth bothday, she will pwick ho fingo on a spinning wheeo and DIE!!!!!!!! (holding the word "die" till her breath ran out).

I have not pwicked my fingo, but I am like a modern day version of Sweeping Beauty. I have so much to do and no motivation to do it. I should amend that. I have so much to do and no motivation to do the one thing that needs to be done before we look like our white trash neighbors who leave their blow up snowmen and penquins, deflated, on their lawn until March. Last year they only removed them because they had an Easter party and they needed room for the Easter decorations. I have to take down the Xmas stuff, today. Ugh.

Jim's portion of helping is: get the bins out of the garage, put the bins back in the garage. And I, the Maleficent of Wretched Excess, am left to put away the 9 million decorations that I think are so necessary every year. Oy. And oy.

So, although I would like to stay here and play, I must go get a strong cup of coffee, a kick in the pants and get going.

Don't forget -- returning disabled vets need YOUR support: Please donate $4 today: HERE

I'm asking every day. You might as well do it. Thanks.

Watching Paint Dry

2012-01-04T15:38:00.000-07:00

So, I'm following along on my massive (but star filled!) to-do list and for two days now the big task is supposed to be putting away Xmas decorations. I was going to say I need Jim to get the boxes in the garage so I can start putting stuff in them. Such a lie. For all the years Jim was overseas, I managed to get all of the boxes in and out of the garage, packed and unpacked, decorated and undecorated. I'm being lazy.

Yesterday, I had a bout of narcolepsy. I fell asleep whenever I sat down and one time I went and laid down "for a minute" and it turned into a 3 hour nap. So. We're still in full Santa mode here. Today, I decided that I would clean out the pantry since the doors don't even close there is so much stuff jammed in there.

How can this be? Two adults. Only one of us really does the cooking, that's me, and I don't just open the doors and throw stuff in there. Jim gets in there to get trash bags, lunch bags and bones to feed the dogs next door. So how can it be that every three months I have to clean it out just so the doors shut?

In the middle of my cleaning out, I found the paint I was going to use to fix up this canister set I bought for a buck this summer. I made green and eggplant colored glass tiles (glass fusion) to glue on the tops of the canisters and I planned on painting the wooden frame a deep eggplant. Then I thought maybe bright green. Then no, eggplant. So I had to step. away. from the project because it now has about 5 coats on paint on it and it needs to dry. So far, it's eggplant.

I was making those glass tiles for the backsplash of my kitchen. But, given the pace of home improvements around here, I decided to put the tiles on the cannisters so I can actually see and enjoy them. I really want to paint the kitchen but I can't figure out how to do the vaulted ceilings (well, the walls leading up to the ceiling) and the answer is, I should hire a professional painter. I wish I could hire one to just paint the ceiling and the walls down to the top of the cupboards and let me do the rest.

I don't know. It's such a bloody dilemma. We want to climb mountains. Like many a hobby, the gear is expensive. Like many people, we have x amount of disposable income. Should we spend it on fixing up the house or buying $200 boots? Should I paint the kitchen which would make me really happy, or should I paint the trim on the outside, which really needs to be done? These are the things that plague me as I do the smallest (least expensive) thing I can do that will make a little difference. Make purple things. Watch them dry.

And still the Xmas decorations are where they started today and not in boxes.

Oy.

New! New! New!

2012-01-02T13:02:00.002-07:00

I love that practically every date this year will give us something to think about:

1.2.12 = 01.02.2012 = 8

Here's the quick google news on the number 8:

8 is the most powerful of all numbers.

It represents the totality and the coherence

of the creation in evolution.

In China, it expresses the totality of the universe.

So if today represents to totality of the Universe, then the Universe is in good shape. We had coffee with Bailey's in it for breakfast, I got a bunch of things on my daily to-do list checked off (including making a master to-do list that will keep me on track daily) and it's gorgeous outside so Janice and I are going for a walk (another check on the List) while Jim yells at the TV as he watches football.

My goal for the year is to be consistent in my discipline to achieve the things I want. I have lots of ideas about how to make that happen, but none so powerful as the holy To-Do list. I love gold stars. I love check marks. I love highlighter pens. I love having a list that is covered with all of those things.

I'm also not going to get everything done today that I have on my list. I just realized that I promised Jim a bike ride at the same time I promised Janice a walk. And the ride is to see how far it is to her house so that I could just ride over there every day and we can go for a walk from her house and then I'll ride home. So much for my walk today. That's OK. We're fact finding.

Today's also my first day back on Primal eating. Which means no grains, no sugar. I'm pretty sure it means no Bailey's in your coffee, too. Sue me. I managed to avoid the Cinnabon cinnamon rolls that Jim cooked up special for us. I am going to make homemade mayonaise and have a yummy turkey salad with apples and walnuts in it for lunch. I put the turkey breast carcass along with celery and onions in a big stew pot so I could make turkey bone soup for the coming week. Then we went to bed and I forgot to put it in the fridge. I didn't discover it till this morning, we've been so on the run the last two days. I'm sick about the fact I just wasted a couple gallon pot of soup by being a nincompoop. I'll have to be Primal with something else.

So, I'm off to make mayo. And to ponder if it is OK that I don't accomplish everything on my list. And maybe to color prioritize my list. Oh, the possiblities for an anal-retentive OCD do-er.

Good thing I didn't already print 365 copies of that To Do list.

I make have to make a new version.

Oooh. I almost forgot:
Donate to Soldiers to Summits HERE. Just $4 to match little John's contribution.

Balls. In Your Pants.

2011-12-31T08:51:00.003-07:00

If you're a fan of Craig Ferguson, Geoffrey Petersen and The Late Late Show -- you know just the tone of voice to scream out the title of this blog.

I'm sitting on a big ball -- my GAIAM balance ball chair arrived yesterday. I can already tell it is making me sit up straighter. And it came with a workout you can do on your ball at your desk. That sentence would make Geoff laugh.

Today is our 13th wedding anniversary. The traditional gift is Textiles and the modern gift is lace. We're not doing that because it isn't anything we want, unless you can count as textiles a $400 down jacket for hiking. Not getting that either.

But! I did go thrift store shopping with my friend Bailey yesterday and I got Jim and I both fleece balaclavas for $4. And I got myself a Patagonia pullover for $2; 2 Lands End fleece layering pieces, 1 free, 1 for $3; a snowboarding (good for hiking) jacket for $4 and a knee length blue suede (brand new) car coat for $15. Talk about score! I got the suede jacket because a woman came up to me in the store, holding the jacket and said "This doesn't fit me, but I think it will fit you so try it on before anyone else sees it." I've been wanting a coat to wear when it's windy but not freezing cold. I have a Nanook of the North Land's End down jacket that makes me look like a walking sleeping bag (I don't care, it's warm as can be) and lots of hoodies, down vests, very light jackets, but I didn't have an inbetween coat. Now I do. Yay.

Anyway, I tell this story way too often, but it's a good one that bears repeating. 14 years ago, on this very night, I picked up the phone and talked (for only 15 minutes) to a man I had been emailing and IMing for several months. This was way before eHarmony or Match.com, before I knew how to post a picture online, I barely could figure out email and IM. But, in a cast of my fate out into the Universe, I sent a random email to a screen name that intrigued me, got an answer back that amazed me, and thus began romance.

We talked for just a moment because I was still too nervous to meet, and preferred the relative safety of the written word. We agreed to meet in February (on the 14th - how lame is that?) in San Diego for a trial run. Imagine a first date not going so well and then extend it for 7 days. Yeah. Not that great. But we agreed to meet in four weeks' time in Las Vegas, kind of half-way for both of us.

It was in Las Vegas, in a hotel room with blackout drapes, so the room was pitch black, as we lay in bed talking, it hit me like an epiphany, on a cellular level, that this man lying next to me was the man I talked to every night on the phone, in the dark, in bed, after my day finished. And not only that, this was the man who accepted my phone call at 1:00 am every morning and talked for an hour before going to the first of his two jobs 4 hours later.

I realized love doesn't always come in the package you expected, with the job you hoped for, or the things (physical, non important things) you've dreamed about. But when love comes, and the feel of his hand on your back is the most comforting sensation in the world? You answer the call. Or you are a nincompoop. We decided in Las Vegas that we should carry a refrigerator box around with us, and whenever I forgot, we would just get inside the box, in the dark, and talk, and then I would remember that this is the man, and all is well.

One year later, to the minute that we first talked on the phone, we got married by candlelight in a beautiful ceremony and went to Paris for our honeymoon. And we did not live happily ever after. With great pain, strain, frustration, joy, laughter, tears, misunderstandings, deep complete grokking of each other, we landed here, 13 years later, in a really, really, really good place.

This is my proudest accomplishment. That I stayed. And, with the exception of Mike, my towel man, who delivered my salon towels every week for 18 years, or Ron and John, my two clients whose hair I cut for 25+ years, this is the longest relationship I've ever been in. And, since I only saw Ron and Jon every 3 weeks and Mike once and week and all we talked about was movies, baseball and kids, they don't really count, do they?

We had a moment in Paris, just a moment, but it was like both of us opened up and became one heart beating. And whenever things got bad, I would remind myself of that moment and tell myself we could have it again, but only if we stayed together.

And so here we are, at a really sweet and wonderful stage in our relationship. We are best friends. We work great together as a team. As a matter of fact, when we're a little off, we need to do something like clean the garage, because that puts us back aright - - that working together for a common goal.

This next year our teamwork will involve learning to climb mountains, riding bikes, eating Primal Blueprint style, volunteering for a cause we're passionate about, growing a garden, fixing up the house, taking classes, being a presence at the Center for Spiritual Living in Greeley. Getting back to our joint meditation and prayer practice. Having fun!

My goal is to do what my friend Rosene calls the Three AAA's. Every night, before they go to sleep, she turns to her husband and reviews the day. Then she APOLOGIZES for anything she may have said or done that was less than uber loving. She APPRECIATES something he has done that day, or something she loves about him. Finally, she gives him a little AFFECTION, if only a good night snuggle. It seems to be a recipe that has kept them married for nearly 40 years, together since they were 15.

My other goal is to get this house cleaned, a lovely dinner made, and open those fantastic bottles of Williams Seylem pinot noir and port that we've been saving for this evening. Can't get too wild. I'm the guest speaker tomorrow morning at Creative Center for SL in Greeley, and giving a workshop on starting the year with great intentions.

And of course, I am going to ask you again to donate to Soldiers to Summits HERE. Just $4 to match little John's contribution.
And I'm going to ask and ask and ask again, every day next year.

Balls, indeed.

Lily White's Party

2011-12-30T07:39:00.002-07:00

My dad used to ask us kids if we wanted to go to Lily White's Party.
A party? You betcha! Turns out Lily White was our bed. Back when sheets only came in one color: white.

We'd get a bath, get in fresh jammies, all excited, dad would put us in bed, pull up the covers and turn out the lights. Wait. What? Still, we never caught on because I can recall several invitations to the party.

Well, I was hoping to stay at Lily White's party for a long time after last night's sleep debacle. Au contraire, mon frere. I've got atomic alarm clocks. Who need to EAT! at 6 am (or earlier) no. matter. what.

But they did not awaken me at 6:00. I was already up with mind running. I thought I had my talk all written for Sunday. But a new theme popped into my head and would not let go. So, apparently, I have more to write and somehow squeeze into the 20 minute timeframe.

Then a new thought about the "Expanding into the New Year" workshop came to me and I've got to research it more thoroughly, and get some handouts ready to go with it.

Interesting how an idea gets you and won't let go, yes? I've learned to surrender to the Muse when she's calling. I was lying in bed, wondering about how I was going to get everything done in 2012 that seems to be pressing on my heart to be done. Then I realized I've got the same 24 hours Mother Teresa, Einstein and the rest of the world has. One of those increments will present itself to me every day. One yaomana, or one sacred interval of time, is mine each day. And look at Einstein. He and his brother had enough extra time to create a bagel business on the side. Hee.

I used to spend New Year's Eve thinking about the preceding year and the year to come. Being amazed at what I accomplished and getting ready for what I want for the coming 365 yaomanas.

And! This year we get 366. Leap year and all. I want to think of 24 things I can do this year with that extra 24 hours.

But I'll have to think that up tomorrow, since getting married 13 years ago on New Year's Eve kind of cut into my "sit home alone and ponder the meaning of life" routine. In a really good way.

We're going to do our anniversary routine. Great meal, look at wedding pix and honeymoon in Paris pix, think of our wedding party and our Maid of all Trades, Jonna. Re-read her brilliant toast to us and raise and glass in her honor. Probably be in bed before midnight, wake up to the ruckus and kiss. And go back to sleep.

But first, I must write, write, write, write, write.

And in the meanwhile, I'm continuing to ask for your support for my 2012 service project, helping out the fine fine folks at Soldiers to Summits achieve their goals of serving returning disabled Iraq and Afghanistan war vets.

Please click on this link HERE and go donate $4 for every friend, colleague, co-worker, or family member named John. You can read why HERE.

Dog (and cat) Tired

2011-12-29T12:33:00.000-07:00

So funny that this is the picture I found for the blog today. Because 1:30 am is the hour that I found myself wide awake this morning. And I kind of look like this lady, except my red hair is sticking straight out from my head in all directions, and instead of pieces of paper all over the floor in my office, I have shoes.

But otherwise? This is me. When I woke up and couldn't get back to sleep, I figured it must be around 4:00. Jim was still in bed, but maybe I was just off by an hour or two. I finally decided to get up and go in my office and write down whatever was running around in my head. When I looked at the computer clock and saw it was only a few hours after getting in bed, well, I yelled some choice words to Baby Jeebus. Silently. Not wanting to wake up the husband and dogs and all, dontcha know? Silent yelling.

The good news is, I had not yet put my talk for Sunday morning on paper. I'd been mulling over some ideas, but I had been goofing around with my new cookware and rearranging the kitchen to make it fit and not sitting at the computer writing.

It's traditional in January, in Centers for Spiritual Living, that we go "back to basics" for four weeks -- talking about: 1. The Thing Itself (call it what you will); 2. What It Does; 3. How It Works; and 4. How You Can Use It. Since it is week 1, my task is to talk about The Thing. I started putting down my thoughts and realized I was really doing a talk about #4: How You Can Use It. I went to the internet to two of my favorite New Thought Revs: Edward Vilojen of Santa Rosa, CA and David Bruner of San Jose, CA. Edward is brilliant, quiet in his delivery, profound in his thought and one of my all time favorite people. David is loud, hysterically funny, heavily inked (which I love about him) and all of the sudden he nails you with a thought he's been sneaking up on while you're busy laughing. David is another of my all time favs. Put David and Margaret Owens together and you need Depends to save your dignity.

So I read and listened to what they had to say about The Thing Itself. As always, I was amazed, amused, astounded, awed. And I was thunderstruck by something David said and decided to base my talk for Sunday around it. What is it you say, breathlessly? I'll tell you after Sunday.

I'm also teaching a workshop after service on Sunday (so if you're in the Greeley area or the Denver metro area, worth your drive to Greeley to hear the profundity (and profanity) and attend the 2012 Expansion of our Expression workshop. Cost is a voluntary donation - I'd suggest $20.

We are going to talk about Gregg Levoy's wonderful book, Callings: Finding and Following an Authentic Life and we are going to make visioning journals and go on a Joseph Campell-type mythical journey in our minds. We'll make a vision board for our journal and map out our first steps. It's going to be good y'all. And, I'm going to follow up this workshop with a quarterly check-in where we will revisit our journey, envision our next steps and map them out. I see this as a great way to keep on track or get back on track on a regular basis over the next year.

Be there.

And in the meanwhile, I'm continuing to ask for your support for my 2012 service project, helping out the fine fine folks at Soldiers to Summits achieve their goals of serving returning disabled Iraq and Afghanistan war vets.

Please click on this link HERE and go donate $4 for every friend, colleague, co-worker, or family member named John. You can read why HERE.

Thanks.

There is No First Time For Anything

2011-12-28T08:40:00.001-07:00

Just on a whim, I google image-d "heart shaped pee". This was the first picture to come up. Because that is what Petunia did in my office this morning. Peed in a perfect heart shape on the carpet. I think because it was 6:13 am and I had not fed her yet. Beeyotch. So apparently, this love pee is something more than just my dog can do.

I would have taken a picture of it, but I was busy trying to get it out of the carpet. Why? No good reason. Our carpet is covered in the blood of a dying dog from Christmas Eve. What's one more pee stain?

And, having to stay up all night on Christmas Eve, making decisions of literally life or death for someone else's dog? It messes you up. Last night Jim went out to get some groceries and when I heard the garage door open, I looked out my office window and saw that it was dark and couldn't remember if it was dark morning or dark evening or where he had been or why he was coming home -- or why I was still sitting at my computer when it was either really early or really late. Was I working? I had to look at the screen to see what I was doing.

Our house is a mess. Towels everywhere. Every pair of shoes I own in one room or another -- there are four pairs in my office right now. (This is nothing new -- but...) Why do I keep wearing other pairs of shoes? Seriously. In my office are the cowboy boots I almost had to sleep in but finally got off; crocs; crocs slippers; lands end slipper/outdoor shoes. And that's just in my little office.

It's like we have been so traumatized by the events of the last few days that we can't concentrate on doing anything but walking through the house, leaving everything wherever it lands.

Jim gave me beautiful diamond earrings for our anniversary this coming Saturday (which I took out of the box early and wore yesterday). When I went to bed last night I saw in the mirror that I only had one of them still on.

So, today, whether I want to or not, the house is getting restored to order and I will find that other earring. I was at the movies the other day when I realized the stud had fallen out of my nose -- so maybe I'll find that somewhere too. Right. It's about the size of a human hair and a quarter inch long. I'll find it.

So, Gloria. That is all I have to say today. I must get bizzy.

But, if you haven't already, please click on this link HERE and go donate $4 for every friend, colleague, co-worker, or family member named John. You can read why HERE.

Thanks in advance.

Seriously?

2011-12-27T09:11:00.001-07:00

If Albie's hair were sticking out straight from his head, like he'd just touched one of those static electricity balls? That would be exactly what I look like today. Except for the mooooostache. Santa brought me a 5x magnifying mirror and I have a good pair of tweezers. I think I might have more wrinkles than him. My hair is hysterical.

I know I look older than this because yesterday at the movies I asked for two senior tickets and the lady didn't bat an eye. Didn't ask for ID. Didn't josh with me about how I looked far too young to need a senior ticket. Which, by the by, I am. Too young. I just took my $3 discount and slithered into my seat. My hair did look about the same as it does this morning.

Nissan's mom is coming to get him today. We managed to keep him alive. So we're 1 for 2 in that department. I can't imagine how awkward this will be.

In other news, I'm gearing up to write a blog about my 2012 project of sacred service -- SEVA. The project is Soldiers to the Summits, which I wrote about yesterday. I want to explain more about why this is so dear to me and why I am blasting some of you, asking for help in spreading the word.

But first I need to corral my hair and get ready for the "Your dog died on my watch" conversation.

Seriously.

Angels Everywhere

2011-12-26T08:34:00.002-07:00

Yes, Virginia, there are angels among us. In every size.

On Saturday, Christmas Eve, we volunteered for Soldiers to the Summit. We were at the Bass Pro Shop, at the cash registers, bagging the purchases and asking for tips. Only they had been so busy the day before they didn't have many bags. So we were basically not bagging for tips.

Here's something you should know about me. When I am passionate about something, I do a pretty good imitation of a steamroller. With a smile.

So while I started off asking for tips, by the end of my shift I was just telling people how much money I wanted. People who said they had no money were not left out. I asked for the change in their pockets. With twinkling eyes and a smile and a big thank you.

One young boy came through the line and before the cashier could ring him up he kept shoving his little folded pile of $20 bills at her. His mom stood back and let him conduct the transaction by himself. He had an odd assortment of stuff and I thought it was cute that she was letting him buy his own gifts for his family. Turns out he had just had a birthday, and this was his birthday money and he was buying stuff he wanted for him. I did not know this at the time. Darling little boy, maybe 6 - 8, named John.

I explained why I was there, and asked him if I could have his change for the soldiers. Then I realized he was getting some serious cash back, so I revised my pitch and asked him I if could have his metal money for the soldiers. Big eyes looked back up at me. When he got his change, he counted it very seriously, then chose four one-dollar bills and gave them to me.

Four dollars! Of his very precious birthday money. More than most adults gave me. Erik Weihenmayer was at the event, at another cash register. I asked John's mom for permission to go introduce him to Erik. On the way to the register I told John all about Erik and then he got to meet him and shake his hand. His eyes were so wide! He told Erik thank you and Merry Christmas about 5 times.

Then I took him back to his mom and introduced him to Skyler Williams another one of the climbers and the volunteer coordinator. John got to shake his hand, wish him a Merry Christmas and say thank you. Skyler did a great job of making him feel special.

Then I found out it was John's birthday money. I did a great job of not crying. My only regret is that I didn't tell John's mom what a good job she has done in raising her boy. He was so polite and well mannered and had a lot of presence in meeting big grown up men, big grown up heroes.

I told everyone who donated that day about Erik and encouraged them to go and meet him. Those who did were far less cool about it than John. They came back to me gushing with excitement. As well they should. He's a hero to me, too.

We left the Pro Shop feeling so good about life. About people. About one little boy named John. My Christmas angel.

And, because I'm a good writer, I've already foreshadowed this part. Can you guess?

Yes, Virginia, I want you to match John's donation. Please go here and give at least $4. In 2012, S2S will again be taking disabled American vets (amputee, blind, PTSD and more) to Ecuador in December to find their way back to a life they can live in dignity, through meeting the challenges of climbing mountains.

And if you love me, which I know you do (!) please share this post on your facebook page, email it to your friends, colleagues, co-workers, family, random strangers, anyone who will match my Angel John's $4 donation.

My goal is to have a million people match John's donation. If each of you blasts this out to your email list, and each of them does the same thing, it will be a breeze. Our soldiers deserve it.

Let's find angels everywhere.

The Agony and The Ecstasy

2011-12-25T11:05:00.003-07:00

First, the Ecstasy:

Most people in the world don't personally know anyone who has summited Everest. Yesterday we got to know three. And here I am standing next to the only blind man ever to summit, Eric Weihenmayer.

We volunteered yesterday at the Bass Pro Shop (should be named, gigantic-ass outdoor store), bagging purchases and collecting tips for Soldiers to the Summits. It's a non-profit aimed at rehabilitating disabled Iraq and Afghanistan war veterans by giving them the opportunity at self-reliance and determination via mountain climbing.

Eric and his friends Jeff Evans and Skylar Williams are all part of this incredible team of people who are making a difference in an area that is precious to Jim's and my hearts.

I want to tell the story of the little boy who gave up his birthday money for the cause, but it deserves it's own blog.

Anyway, after four hours, we left there high as kites, happy to have served in such a fun way, thrilled to meet new (soon to be) friends, and to let Skylar know (he's the volunteer coordinator) that we want to be his go-to peeps when it comes to helping the cause.

We came home to jump into Christmas dress up gear and scoot off to Greeley, where I was co-facilitating the service, Jim was ringing the crystal bowl and we were both singing in the choir.

When we got home, one of the two dogs we were babysitting for our neighbor, was obviously sick, blood coming from both ends. But he was up and about, drinking water, and seeming just really nervous. And we had to go to Greeley. So we did.

When we came home, 4 hours later, Biscut had gone from bad to awful.

The Agony:

Let this be a lesson to you: Don't be as stupid as I am. Our neighbor, whom we barely know, called on Monday and asked if we could watch her two chihuahas from Friday night till Tuesday morning while she went to Arizona for Christmas. I said yes because I am a good person. Here's what I didn't do:

Make sure I had lots of emergency numbers from our neighbor.
Know the name of her vet.
Find out what she would be willing to do if the dogs got sick.

Before we left for the vet we went door to door and one of our other neighbors had her boyfriend's cell phone number -- we called and left a message around midnight. We felt we had to take the dog to the ER, he was so bad off. And, he had gotten out in the 4 hours we had been gone and we're still finding "spots". In my closet, under the bed, in the living room, on our dog's beds, under the couch. Blood everywhere and it's not coming out of the carpet.

When we got to the ER, we found out we were basically f**ked. Because he is not our dog, we can't authorize any treatment we're not willing to pay for. We can't authorize euthanasia. We can't just leave the dog with the hospital because we are not the owner. We can't get the owner on the phone so anything that happens to the dog is on our shoulders. They suggest we take him home and then surrender him to the Humane Society tomorrow morning. Christmas morning.

And. To take him home and soothe him through death will cost us $700. To leave him for 12 hours will be $1800. Each additional 12 hours will be $700- $1200. Which we need to pay up front. If it were our dog, we would pay anything. If it were Patty's dog, we would pay anything because we know Patty would pay anything. But we have no clue what our neighbor would do.

I'm crying, Jim's crying, we have absolutely no idea what to do. And we can't get a hold of our neighbor. I finally think to look on Biscut's nametag and there is the number of his former owner. (Yes, to top it off, our neighbor has taken this dog as a favor to a client of hers and she has only owned the dog for one week.)

So we call the former owner and leave a message (after midnight on Christmas Eve). We finally opt, with great distress, to refuse treatment and take him home to die with us, both of us bawling all the way home. It's about 1:30 am. Jim's been up since 4:00am the day before.

We get home, get me and Biscut set up in the bathroom, where we can close the door and make it really warm, because his body is shutting down and his core temperature is almost 10 degrees below normal. He's just bleeding out, I'm covered in blood as are the sheets and towels we've laid down. Jim thinks to check our messages and our neighbor has called.

We explain the situation and our neighbor tearfully opts for euthanasia because she does not have the probable $5K it will cost to pull this dog through the crisis. Which makes us really sad and and really thankful we didn't just make the decision to pay for it and hope she would pay us back.

So back to the vet we go, now it's 2:00 am. We are both sobbing the entire way. When we get there, the vet techs are crying, no one wants to do this. Then the receptionist mentions that the former owner of the dog has been calling over and over again but because they are not the owner of record, the vet can't talk to them.

So we get on a four way call -- the neighbor, us, the former owners and the vet. The neighbor agrees to let the vet call the former owner and let them have authorization for care. We're out of the loop. Then the neighbor and the former owner get in a fight (because of their grief) about whose fault it is the dog is dying. Then the former owner realizes that she doesn't have the $5K to heal the dog either and there is only going to be one option. It's 2:30. She's going to come to the hospital to say her goodbyes. Only she's 45 minutes away. So we volunteer to stay with Biscut until she can get there. That picture is me, at 3:30 am, Christmas day in the hospital, waiting for the former owner. I've been up for 22 hours and crying for the last 3.

The owner arrives, as upset you can imagine. We left her and her daughter to have their final goodbyes. Came home to a train wreck of a house, clean up as much blood as we can and put bedding and several loads of laundry in. We get our two dogs in bed and hold them tight. I make a nice warm bed for the other dog (Nissan) who weighs 2 lbs. Imagine a box of butter with giant ears and long spindly legs. He's shaking like a leaf, so we get towels warm in the dryer and set up a nice bed for him in the corner of our bedroom. At 4:30 am Christmas morning, 24 hours awake for us, we finally turn out the lights and hope Santa doesn't forget us.

The good news is, Biscut is out of pain (sending him a prayer right now). Nissan is eating and sitting here in the office with me. I'm calling our homeowners insurance on Tuesday to see if somehow having our carpets cleaned might be covered. Otherwise, they have to be ripped out. It's that bad.

And no matter how many times I wash my hands or take a shower, I feel, somehow, tainted.

We're going to go see a movie (Mission Impossible - something to totally take our minds off of this) and then I can bet you there is a nap in our future.

Tomorrow I'm going to try and remember how great our day was before 5 pm on Christmas Eve. Today I'm going to let myself cry and be sad and remember a little dog named Biscut.

diary of a mad housewife

2011-12-23T11:52:00.001-07:00

Or , the five finger -not-so-discount.

Last night. On a whim I get my next door neighbor (a manicurist) to put on fake nails for Christmas. I love fake nails. On other people.

I admire them, tap them on everything, my teeth,the window, the table. Then I remember why I don't have them. You can't do anything and stuff gets under them. Jim says I have to leave them on at least past Christmas day!

Get up this morning -- remember I have new long nails.

Go to make bread pudding -- takes 20 times longer because I can't use my hands for anything. Hard to cook with your elbows. Same with the spinach dip, but waaaay messier.

Clean up kitchen and admire my nails.

Remember I have to go get my toenails painted because they didn't have time last night. Also remember the dogs are coming with me to Patty's and they need a bath. Throw two dags and me into the shower. Wash dogs and try not to poke eyes out (theirs) with my new nails. Buster poops in the shower during his bath. Twice. Throw the dogs out of the shower, wrap them up in towels, turn the water to scalding and go get bleach for the shower floor.

Get back in the shower and realize I'm in Jim's shower so there is no shampoo - and he has taken a shower in my bathroom so there is no soap either.

*sigh*

Resign myself to dog shampoo (and conditioner) and other dog shampoo (no itch formula) for body. Luckily we buy our dog shampoo at South Bark Dogwash in San Diego (holla) and it is food grade ingredients. So I won't hurt myself, just smell like my dogs.

Gary and Darren just got a new baby boy Graham. Two weeks ago I made him a cotton crocheted baby blanket. Had extra cotton yarn so I made a bunch of washcloths for us. Jim politely used his once. I couldn't figure out why. Well. I'm in his shower today with only dog shampoo for soap and no washcloth except the blue cotton one I made him. Which turns out is like washing yourself with a giant potholder. Only the blue dye is still leaching out, so I am washing myself blue with dog shampoo.

Jump out of the shower on to bare tile floor which is wet from dogs, do a great imitation of Saturday night fever on the slick floor before falling on my ass, get dressed, realize dog shampoo and dog conditioner have reduced my hair to flyaway feathers, slap on a headband, a coat and head out in 20 degrees to the nail shop for my toenail polish session.

Damn it is gorgeous outside. I have to go back and get my suglasses because the sun is hitting the snow and it is glittering like, well, freaking glitter.

Home now, great looking toes, unuseable (but pretty) fingers and the challenge of putting in contacts with long nails.

Can't wait to get to Patty's and start drinking! Happy December 23rd, y'all.

Am I Driving?

2011-12-22T07:14:00.000-07:00

Last night we had a great Solstice/Hannukah service at the Boulder Center for Spiritual Living. Then, as I turned onto Table Mesa from Yale St., I did my best imitation of a pinball, bouncing off of one curb, spinning around in the street, then bouncing off the other curb, spinning again to the other curb. Very fun. Not. I thought I had taken the turn slowly enough, but noooooo. It was an interesting drive on a very snowy night/road, but by the time I got home, our major streets were wet only.

This morning I got up to about 8 inches of newly fallen snow and more coming down. Life is so good. We're going to have a white Christmas after all. Plus the best kind -- snow last night and today, then four clear and sunny days through the weekend. Yay.

I'm getting ready to go into the kitchen, make myself a mocha, and then start baking. The perfect day to do this and all I have to look forward to is party, party, singing, volunteering, Christmas Eve service, party afterward, Christmas Day Taize, movies afterward. It's all nothing but good from here on out! Yay again.

I had been exhausted from the weeks (months) of getting ready for jewelry shows, handmaking Christmas cards, buying, wrapping and shipping gifts -- all that stuff. But now it's all done, and there is nothing to do but the things I love -- cooking, drinking and having fun (in no particular order) for the next four days. Yay Yay and Yay.

Jim apparently slid/skidded his way all the way to work this morning. He sounds less thrilled than I am about the snow, but to be fair he has to drive in it, I just have to enjoy it.

I'm off to make many many many batches of Moravian Sugar Cake (yummmmm) and then take a walk in the snow.

*sigh* Life is good.

Are youi Listening? I'm Not.

2011-12-20T16:43:00.002-07:00

Time to stop singing la-la-la-la with my fingers in my ears and my eyes closed.

Somebody posted that great quote from George Clooney to the effect that if Obama were a Republican, they would be spinning his accomplishments to re-elect him. And they wouldn't have to spin very hard. The man came into office in more than five untenable situations, including two wars and a very low worldwide opinion of his nation.

I realized after I read that (and read an interview with the President and First Lady Michelle) that I lived for eight years under President Bush with my eyes closed and my fingers in my ears because the mere sound of his voice made my blood boil. And then if I actually listened to anything he said, well, let's just say the only thing that kept my sanity for those eight years was Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert. I know. That's two things. But you get my drift.

I can't watch Fox TV (and neither should you). I can't listen to those pundits who are f***ing idiots, fearmongers and lying liars (thank you Al Franken). But I really should know enough to defend my President against the nincompoops and naysayers. Which isn't hard. Listen to whatever they are saying , add 12 or divide by 147 and then think "hmmm, what would the commonsense answer to that be?"

In other news, we started our compost heap. Yay for us. And yay for the garden we will grow and it will serve. And yay for getting more trash out of the landfill. Well, we started with a nice ceramic bucket by the sink. I've been researching composting bins and I'm thinking about getting a small one that can go in the garage year around and turns out 1.5 ltrs of compost every 2 weeks. More to be revealed on that one...may be good to start out small. And, I found a composter/worm farm that will turn dog poo into worm casings (worm poo, which is apparently a good thing) and liquid fertilizer. I wonder about this. What I mainly wonder is if I could convince Jim to do this.

Patty and I went shopping last week. We were in Bed, Bath and Beyond and I was looking at the magnifying mirrors. I found a lighted one that had a 20x side. When I looked in it I was so horrified I almost had to stop, buy a pair of tweezers and then plant myself in front of the mirror for about an hour. Ladies. Do NOT look into one of those mirrors if you are over 12. Damn.

The dogs we are babysitting this weekend came over for a get to know you visit last night and promptly peed, pooed and barfed on the carpet. Should be a fun weekend.

And! it's 30 degrees out and clear as a bell - gorgeous. But the weather nerds say that by 3:00 pm it will be snowing like a mofo through Thursday evening. Yay!! A white Christmas after all, but in the best way -- lots of snow for the next two days and then cold, sunny and clear through the weekend. Good thing too because I was thinking I was going to have to go lay in the one spot in the backyard that doesn't get any sun to make a christmas snow angel in the left over snow.

Tonight, if you're in the Boulder area, come and join us at the Boulder Center for Spiritual Living at 7:00 pm for a Hannukah, Solstice, Light meditation and celebration. I'm playing the guitar and humming (because my mouth will be all weird from going to the dentist this afternoon). Come join us and sing!

Just don't try and listen to me.

Jumping the Broom, I mean Bed

2011-12-20T12:42:00.001-07:00

A warning: This is a complete stream-of-consciousness barf, so I don't even pretend there will be rhyme or rhythm to this blog.

I was thinking about a story my Grammy used to tell me about myself. She said I was hard to get to nap because I would just go in the room and jump on the bed. So my Grampy would lay down on the bed with me to stop me from jumping. I think I was about 3 at the time. She said I would get this look on my face like "I just hate myself for doing this, but I can't help it." And then I would stand up and jump on the bed. Usually right after Grampy had fallen asleep.

So I was looking for a picture of a little girl jumping on a bed and (of course) I found an entire website devoted to pix of peeps jumping on hotel room beds. Why that surprised me, I don't know. But here's a whole subculture I knew nothing about. Believe me, I'm joining in. I travel enough that I could have my own website with pix of me hovering above hotel room beds. And, since we know that I've been a bed jumper since long before it was cool...

Buster the wonderdog went to the ER on Sunday night. He was shaking and in pain but from no discernable source. They wanted to do a ton (read $$$) of diagnostic tests, but we opted for a painkiller and us watching him for 24 hours. He's fine. He came home completely looped on pain meds and draped himself in a U shape over Jim's leg on the couch and just stayed that way. But, he's eating and barking and ears up tail wagging so I think he's fine. I got a call today from our holistic vet because the ER had faxed them a copy of their report. It was so alarming that the vet called to see how he was. They made it sound like we dropped him off the roof of the house before we brought him in. And then refused their care. Our vet was freaked out. But I reassured her that we're watching him closely. I hope she doesn't think we're awful animal owners.

Anyway. I got to shop yesterday while it snowed all day. And I was in and out of the car a million times. My friend is having a big Xmas party shindig on Friday and I want to make two things to bring. One, crock pot spinach/artichoke/crab dip (only crab was way too expensive, so now it's just hot spinach and artichoke dip); and two, panettone bread pudding for dessert. I ended up going to SEVEN different stores to find panettone. I finally found it at the last store: Walgreens. I wanted panettone in the yellow box, I didn't want King Sooper bakery's fresh version and I didn't feel like spending $35 for a loaf at the Cheese Importers (though I am sure that was probably faboo). I wanted a good, dry, semi-sweet bread that will soak up all of the deloooshish custard I am going to make. Then I got all the stuff for a hard sauce for the top. Only the ding dong dumbo liquor stores here don't have spiced rum in anything smaller than a big bottle and I only need 2 TB. So, we're having plain rum sauce. And, I didn't want to pay $4.00 for cinnamon sticks when I need one. Suddenly I'm a cheapskate.

Not to mention that the ding dong dumbo stores here don't have panettone in a box. In San Diego I could buy that anywhere, including probably Ace Hardware. At least at the one in Hillcrest.

Now that I heard (on E! TV, so it must be the gospel truth) that tacky Xmas sweaters are all the rage, I'll wear my godawful Xmas vest to the party on Friday.

I am going to pull out the suit I had made out of a table cloth in India (shades of Carol Burnett and Scarlett O'Hara).

It's green with real gold thread embroidery and I paid $100 US in India 15 years ago to have it made. I wear it every Christmas (that it fits) and sometimes to a wedding. So the cost per wear is about 12 cents now. It's very festive but as comfortable as pajamas.

Speaking of wearing gold: There is some gold I'm not wearing right now. Because it is somewhere in my intestinal tract.

(^That's not me, by the by). Last Sunday, while eating a cookie I should not have been eating, I bit down on something really hard, which I thought was a nutshell, so instead of taking it out of my mouth and looking at it, I swallowed it. Turns out it was my gold crown. I go tomorrow to start the process of having it replaced and as a gift to me, Jim got our medical credit card credit bumped up enough for me to get my hillbilly teeth fixed too. I will have to post before during and after photos, but only after I am an after.

Before is easy enough.

(^That is not me either, by the by, but the teeth are close if both of them were chipped in the middle to make a big ^ shape)

During will be tricky because they have to take off all of the bonding and I'll have like vampire teeth for 3 weeks while we whiten my real teeth to as white as they can be (because you have to match the bonding to the teeth color), then I'll get re-bonded and have Hollywood teeth. Yahoooey.

In the meantime, the rough tooth that was under the crown has torn the inside of my mouth apart. Tomorrow at the dentist can't come soon enough.

And THEN! My next door neighbor called today to see if we would watch her dogs for three days. Xmas Eve, Xmas Day and the day after. Of course I said yes. I'm a good neighbor. Then I realized she said dog(s). Turns out she has her 2lb. white chihuahua and a new 4 year old 5 lb. chihuahua who is not house trained. I told her we would be out of the house a lot during those three days, but since her other option is leaving them home alone, she said OK. So I am busy turning the tile-floored kitchen into a dog kennel for the two visiting dogs. They can poop and pee to their hearts' content on a paper covered floor while my dogs get the run of the house.

So here's my plan for the rest of the week:

Today -- get the house ready for the rest of the week and the two doggie visitors.
Tomorrow -- Plan meals and other food for the rest of the year and shop for it.
Thursday -- Bake Moravian Sugar Cake all day, culminating in a mani-pedi for a treat.
Friday -- Get up early and make bread pudding and spinach dip and then go to the party all day -- yay!
Saturday -- Get the two dog visitors, then go to Denver to volunteer for Soldiers to the Summit from 1 - 5. (Please go donate HERE ) . Then rush to Greeley for the Xmas Eve service and singing in the choir.

Sunday -- Go to Boulder Center for Spiritual Living for their Christmas Day Taize service and then do our Christmas tradition of movies, movies, movies all day long! I have great plans for another "Biggest Loser" holiday meal, which was so yummy at Thanksgiving we're going to repeat it for Christmas.
Monday -- Go hiking somewhere. Chillax.

So I may blog, I may not, depending upon whether or not I've emptied my brain today. In the meantime, I'm thinking of going and jumping on the bed before I make it.

Just for old time's sake.

Schweddy Balls!

2011-12-17T06:41:00.003-07:00

Or schwedd equity. Or something.

Last night, by 7 pm, I could have sworn I had the flu. Every muscle and bone in my body ached so badly I could barely move. So, on a whim I took my temperature -- 101. And as soon as I moved from the warm spot I had on the couch I began to shiver uncontrollably. So I did the only thing I could think of -- took a handful of Advil and got in bed under lots of covers with a heating pad and tried to schwedd it out.

Success. I woke up this morning after a good 9 hours of schweddy sleep feeling much better -- no temperature and only minimal body ache. Yay.

It felt so good to sleep under a ton of covers. I have been deferring to my husband, the human radiator, for the last several years. We sleep with a sheet and a thin matlasse bedspread all year round. I like to sleep under 101 dalamations (or 101 covers, whichever is easier). Last night I kind of did both, since I asked Jim to get the heaviest blanket we have, which is in the back of the car and was home to four dogs last weekend. It didn't smell, at least not to the human nose, but this morning I had two dogs sniffing to beat the band, all over the blanket.

My friend Bailey heats her home with a wood fired stove, which really only heats the kitchen and the den, so she sleeps in her front bedroom, which is about 65 degrees, under a pile of old quilts. That is heaven to me. Plus Dr. Oz says we sleep better in a cold room with lots of covers.

I think I'm going to keep my dog blanket on my side of the bed for the forseeable future.

At first I thought I was all stiff and sore because I sat on the floor yesterday for about 5 hours and wrapped the rest of the prezzies. By the time I was finished doing that I felt about as flexible as a steel rod. As the evening progressed and it got worse, I realized I was in trouble.

But! I am so happy to say that today it's all mo betta. Which is a good thing because I am cutting and coloring hair all day today and we have Jim's office Christmas party tonight.

I have a bad feeling about this party tonight. Having an invitation passed on by your husband is never a good thing. What should we bring? How shall we dress? Is there a gift exchange? Do we need to bring wine? Ladies, you know what he answered to all of these and other important questions, right? Duh. I don't know.

So we're showing up tonight, semi-dressed, semi-empty-handed and I guess semi-prepared. It's never a bad idea for a bottle of wine, so we will bring that.

In the meantime, even though it is just 6:30 am, I've got a lot of work do to before my day gets started.

Which means I won't get to cuddle under the dog blanket and schwedd again until tonight. *sigh*

Tick, Tick, Tick, Tick, Boom! Dyn-o-mite!

2011-12-16T09:28:00.002-07:00

My niece Beanie was a cheerleader and this was one of her cheers:

Our Team is Boom! Dyn-o-Mite!

Boom! Dyn-o-Mite!

Tick, tick, tick, tick Boom! Dyno-Mite!

That's kind of the feeling you get as an adult as the countdown to Christmas begins -- tick, tick, tick -- I hope I get everything done.

My office floor, which I just spent an entire day rearranging the furniture and cleaning out files, is now filled with the flotsam and jetsam of the ending stages of Christmas preparations.

Patty and I were supposed to do her hair and divide all of our craft sale items and pack them away. We spent 90% of the day shopping. When Jim got home I am sure he was confused as to why we were still doing her hair and the living room was an impassable mess of craft fair stuff spread everywhere. Well, Santa has to shop sometime, right?

Today I will finish wrapping everything, get stocking stuff ready and then I realized I have about 5 more people to chose gifts for and wrap them. Luckily, I have enough stuff here that I can just choose from the plethora of gifts from the craft sales.

Patty has a big family so she has plenty of shopping to finish. Then baking and cooking and getting ready for the onslaught of 13 peeps.

I on the other hand, have just Jim and I. All the family presents have long been sent, baking and cooking are at a minimum. The most important thing we have to decide is what movie to see on Christmas day!

I'm trying to figure out some new traditions for us that don't involve sugar, heavy food and alcohol. I know. What fun is Christmas without all of that? But I was thinking maybe we could dream up something like taking a hike on Christmas day, or the day after. Jim has to work on Christmas Eve and we are volunteering for Soldiers to the Summit after work and then rushing to Greeley from Denver for the Christmas Eve service. We'll be happy to have Christmas Day be a low-key, go-to-the-movies kind of day. But I could see us finding a great new hike for the 26th. That would be a fun new thing to do.

After all, if we're going to climb some 14ers, there's no time like now to start getting acclimated.

I hope Santa brings us some warm hiking gear!

Dog Sammich

2011-12-13T09:48:00.002-07:00

We had four dogs this weekend. Our two plus Patty and Ron's two. Could have been chaos. Was more like love times four. After Mitzi and Millie got comfy in the home, we just laid on the couch and let all four dogs pile on top of us. On Sunday morning, after I fed them all, everybody went outside and then all four dogs came running into the bedroom to get under the covers (it was about 12 degrees outside). Jim had Millie snuggled up to the front of his thighs, Petunia tucked herself in the crook of his knee, Buster was on his head and Mitzi contented herself with running amok at the bottom of the bead. I finally got out of bed, there being no more room for humans.

I was emotionally exhausted by Sunday night. Wanting to make sure the dogs were all happy and cared for made me realize that four dogs is too many for our house. Too many if you want to get anything done except love on dogs, that is. Jim woke me up where I had fallen asleep on the couch (at 6 pm) and made me go to bed. I slept hard until around 11 pm, then I got up and watched TV for a few hours, then back to bed. Yesterday we got a lot done, and I taught class last night, but today? I'm back in broccoli mode. This blog might be the only thing I get done today.

Jim, on the other hand, needs to have a job where he plays with dogs all day. Watching him care for Mitzi and Millie with such tenderness and love made me fall for him all over again. Never having been a parent, I never had to learn the very valuable skill of unconditional love and instant forgiveness. It's something I still don't have a very good handle on today, but I wish I did.

Talking with other step parents I realize that those of us who never had kids are not very good at dropping a grudge or letting an insult slide. I consider it a character failing on my part. And, as I watch other step parents doing damage that will take some serious therapy to un-do, I wonder how much of that I am responsible for in my life.

But Jim? Having raised four kids on his own, he is graciousness personified. I love watching him with little ones, dogs or humans. He should be closer in proximity to his grandkids, they would really benefit from his presence in their lives. Which means we have to find a way to send him to Florida more often.

For today, though, my only thought is: shall I nap on the couch, the bed, or the floor?

And maybe I can roll me up in a dog sammich for a couple of restorative hours.

FlashPants!

2011-12-09T08:30:00.001-07:00

Ha. When I Googled "lightening bolt pants" I got a bunch of way hot chicks in skin tight pants with lightening on them. I almost posted one as if it were me, but then there would be so much cognitive dissonance between my profile picture and the blog photo that your head might explode.

I got these way cool pj pants -- they are fleece and uber warm -- at someplace really hip, like the dollar store or something. Because they are made of a fabric not known to man, they build up static electricity when I sleep. Then when I get up in the middle of the night to pee and run my hands over my pants (I don't do that simultaneously) green-blue sparks fly over my pants. I don't get a shock like you do when you rub your feet on the carpet and then touch someone, but it is quite the light show.

Since Jim wouldn't look in the toilet when my poop was chalk white (it was interesting, y'all) from drinking barium, I don't think he'd take too kindly to being woken up in the middle of the night for a light show in my pants.

Although...when you phrase it like that...

I've got Mitzi and Millie, Patty's dogs, for the weekend while she goes to Arizona for her dad's memorial service. So now I have four dogs following me around, whining for something. I wish they could talk. Luckily, Patty's dogs come with a playpen as their bed, so when the four dogs get kinda freaky with each other, M&M go into the playpen and my dogs can go hide under the furniture. I have a feeling I may be playing referee until they all figure out how to get along. For the record, all four dogs are really good, mellow dogs. They're just not used to each other yet. Ron, Patty's husband, kept saying that Petunia just wanted to "friend up" with their dogs. I like that saying. Friend up.

I like the idea of walking up to someone and telling them you'd like to friend up (without sniffing their butt).

Anyway, I'd best be off before lightening strikes between the four of them.

It's a Unicorn!

2011-12-08T13:44:00.000-07:00

The sunlight coming in my kitchen window, through all of the crystal ornaments, is casting rainbows all over the room. Lovely. So between glittering-like-diamonds snow on the ground and rainbows inside, it's a freaking Unicorn Christmas all the way around.

I've been having an interesting discussion with my Amen Sisters this week. We're supposed to be ringing the bell for the Salvation Army on Saturday in front of Crazy King Soopers. (That's not the name of the store. That describes the clientele in the store.) Anyway, my minister, who is a lesbian, told me that the SA publically stated it didn't hire gay people (and inferred what the hell am I doing raising money for them?). I thought about it a lot. I thought about saying "it doesn't matter, just this one time." I thought about ignoring her concerns. I thought about not letting down my Amen Sisters.

In the end I decided to give my volunteer money to another organization -- one that actually serves HIV+ youth living below the poverty level. And to give my volunteer time to something that really speaks to my heart -- Soldiers to the Summit.

However, in the middle I went through quite an email discussion with my Amen Sisters about how the Salvation Army does not discriminate in its hiring practices and how during an emergency or crisis, no one is asked their lifestyle preferences before given help. True, this. And, the SA has consistently lobbied against gay rights in this and other countries. Which is their perfect right to do. That's the part I couldn't get across to my Amens. I have no problem with anyone exercising their right to express their religious views. I personally have a problem when those views inhibit civil rights and hurt others. My personal choice is to not support those organizations with my money, time or talent. But I don't expect anyone else to follow/agree/support me. That's not true. I expect my husband to follow/agree and support me.

I truly hope it is in my lifetime that we come to a point where we look at our treatment of LGBT? peoples with the same shame and disbelief with which we look at our acceptance of slavery, or the constitutionality of someone being a fraction of a person.
But until that time, I will do my part, refusing to support, invest in, or otherwise hold up institutions who aren't there yet.

The current human race coming to the understanding that we are all one people, one family and that what happens to the least of us, happens to all of us is my personal unicorn.

It could happen.

March of the Penguins

2011-12-06T07:21:00.000-07:00

I typed into Google this morning: "temperature minus zero" to find an appropriate picture for my blog. This came up. As did a sign saying Happy Birthday, a b/w 50's photo of a lady with a cooked turkey, a bagel, and various other assorted non-related items.

WTH?

Anyway. This picture came with a blog by some guy writing about absolute zero which is below -459.67 degrees. And, which theoretically can't exist. But scientists have gotten it down to -459.65, which stops light, because particles are so cold they can't move and light is carried in particles. I know. More than you ever cared to learn about cold.

I mention this because it is -9 outside right now, which makes our tile kitchen floor fahreezing cold to stand on in bare feet. Which is my footwear of choice, anywhere. Last night, I drove home in a pea soup fog and it was -7. For no logical reason, driving along in about 6 feet of visibility was made worse by the fact it was freezing ass cold outside. It's so cold the dogs have to wear sweaters inside the house and bundle up when they go outside to pee.

Accordingly, when we took them to the vet for grooming yesterday, while we took them outside to pee and poop at home before we left, which they did, and then we took them to the little yard outside the vet's office so they could pee some more before going inside, which they did, once they got inside the warm office they both promptly squatted and pooped massive poops on the office floor. (That, by the way was one whole sentence.) They're no dummies. They weren't going to squat in minus degrees in the snow to take a poo when they could do it in the warmth and comfort of the vet's office. D'oh.

Yesterday, driving toward the Flatirons, it was +3 degrees (for the record, that is still freezing ass cold). The mountains were coated in snow, even the nearly vertical planes of the Flatirons, and they were shrouded in a beautiful white mist, only slightly visible, but seeming to reach higher in the sky than I remember. Incredible.
And the drive there is through farmlands, so it was uninterrupted white fields disturbed only by a fenceline. I think about that all the time when I drive through these wide open spaces. How uninterrupted life is here. Versus San Diego where you have to drive west to the edge of the continent to find uninterrupted space. Don't get me wrong, the view from there of the ocean is one of my favorite sights in the world. But it is nice to find large stretches of land as far as the eye can see, virtually around every corner here.

I will say I care less for the vast stretches of snowy farmland when it is minus zero outside and it's nightime dark and those vast stretches let the wind whip around and wind chill the temperature ten more degrees.

This morning, I will enjoy the cold by not taking the dogs for a walk, turning on the tree and wrapping the last of the Christmas presents, making some hot tea and begin writing my cards.

I know we're past Thanksgiving, but today I am so grateful that my job allows me to slow down and enjoy the cold, the snow, the staying insideness that is winter here.

'Tis the season.

Boop Boop Be Doop

2011-12-02T08:02:00.001-07:00

Only in this case, it should be Poop Poop Pee Doop. I got up at 6 to feed the dogs and on my way back down the dark hallway I stepped on something cold. Turned on the light to see (what I already knew it was) that Petunia had left a little gift on the mat to the laundry room door. Luckily it was on the washable mat we wipe our feet on before coming into the house. (Well, I wipe my feet on it. Jim insists on trudging into the house with snowy shoes and our carpets look like it.) Anyway, easy clean up except that my foot still does not feel right after repeated washing.

Which is funny to me because I'm pretty basic. What I mean by that is I can clean up poop and pee, share someone's toothbrush in an emergency, and camp dirty till we find a hot shower. But for some reason the non-existent residue of poop is bugging me.

It is spectacular outside. It was 5 degrees or some such nonsense last night so every single branch on the barren trees outside is coated with ice and it's a little foggy so the sun shining as it rises is making the whole world (well, my world) a hazy white mist with these icy outlines of trees. I don't want the snow to melt away (off of the lawn, I'm happy it has already melted off the streets) so that we can have a white Christmas. Last year it didn't even snow for the first time until late January. (Which was technically this year.)

What is it with my parenthetical asides?

I've been so industrious. My office shows it. You can't even see the floor. But all gifts that have to be mailed to family are completed and wrapped and packed, ready to send. Just need to print the postage. Hand made Christmas cards are in the last stages. Of course I had to decide to make about eighteen steps for each card. Times 50 cards. Oy. I have to wrap our "friend" gifts and get them ready to mail and then we will be done.

I signed us up today to volunteer with No Barriers on Christmas Eve. We'll be bagging merchandise from 3 - 5 at a sporting goods store in Denver, and asking for tips for Soldiers to the Summit. Our (soon to be) good friends Jeff Evans and Eric Weihenmayer will be taking returning disabled soldiers (amputees, blind, PTSD, head injury) and training them to climb mountains, ending with a summit of a 19,000 ft. peak in Ecuador in December of 2012. The journey these soldiers will take in the next year while training to be a part of the summit expedition will, for many of them, be a chance to return to wholeness of spirit and mind (if not body).

If you'd like to donate, here's the Link (go to the bottom of the page to donate $$). And here's the Link to learn more about S2S.

I can't think of a better way to get into the holiday spirit than this.

And that's the straight poop (boop be doop) for the day.

(One last aside -- I went back and re-read this blog. It seems like every day there is one word that I repeat over and over in every paragraph. Today it was "just". And that's an interesting, limiting word to use. I used to tell people what the price was for their haircut and color by saying "it's just $xxx today". Which was a way of setting it up to not be questioned. I learned that from my mentor, Anna. So there is a place and time for that word. But not in every sentence.)

Oh the weather outside is

2011-12-01T07:12:00.000-07:00

Wonderful!

(Cautionary note: I just finished the blog and it is a barf of a stream of consciousness. Expect to know nothing more at the end of this than you do right now.)

Of course, this completely depends upon your point of view. From my perspective, it's a yahooey kind of day. Lots of snow and nowhere to go.

At least until this evening, when I have to drive to Greeley. So, dear Mr. Weather, can you make it stop by 5, please? And then can you make sure all the snow plows have gone before me and the way is clear?

That's a metaphor for life, yes? Dear God, can you please make life be the way I want it when I want it? Ha! I can hear the Universe laughing from here.

My life isn't the way I want it all the time, which is precisely why when it does run like a top, I enjoy it all the more. Don't we need to have bitter to taste sweet? I'm not advocating going and looking for a shit sandwich.

I had someone tell me this week that they subscribed to the Buddhist theory that suffering is a part of life and so why try to relieve it, heal it or fix it. I didn't have the heart to tell them to go back and check out Buddhist theory again. Yes, Buddha said that life had suffering -- but not because it's good for us. Because we have attachment to things, to people, to situations, to the way things are. It is through practicing detachment that we find comfort. Letting change be the norm. Byron Katie is making a fortune by distilling this down to "Loving What Is".

And speaking of loving what is, if one more person says "it is what it is" one more time, I may go postal. Where do these catch phrases come from? I'd rather hear "sock it to me" (dating myself) than "it is what it is".

I just realized that, for a blog that started out all happy because it is snowing, I've devolved into Crabby Appleton.

Who remembers him? Am I the only person in the Universe who watched that cartoon? Was he on Tom Terrific?

And again, why can I remember a cartoon I watched at the age of 3, but not what I had for lunch yesterday? I was thinking about it last night -- the part of my brain that needs to remember things like names is on vacation. I hope it isn't an indefinite leave of absence. Wouldn't it just be easier if we all had to wear name tags? Hello, my name is ...

We decorated the outside of the house on Monday. Good thing since it was 65 on Monday and today it is 12. The snow has frosted all of the garland outside and it was blowing in such a way that it actually frosted the wreath on the front door. Just like what I saw on Christmas cards while basking in 80 degrees in San Diego in December. Turns out Currier and Ives weren't making this stuff up. I know because I've got a postcard right outside my office window.

I'm going to go turn on the Christmas tree and watch it snow.

Sleigh Bells Ring

2011-11-29T08:26:00.000-07:00

Are you listening?

I'm coming back to the point of this blog in a minute, but typing that first sentence reminded me of my brother's wedding. His father-in-law, a prominent iman in Michigan, conducted the ceremony. It was odd and interesting, but mostly for the fact that every once in a while he'd slap his daughter and say "Are you listening?" No wonder their life is the way it is.

Anyway, today I was taking out all of my special ornaments and hanging them around the house and enjoying the ritual. And, thinking about my niece and nephew. When they were born, I started collecting ornaments for them. Swarovski crystal snowflakes for her,

and silver plated sleighbells (like the one at the beginning of the blog) for him. I figured I wouldn't give the ornaments to them until they were married, or older, or I died or something. No. I'd give them to them before I died, I would want to watch them enjoy the gift. Anyway, then my brother converted to Islam and there went the Christmas holidays. Only it turns out they still decorate for the season and have "Santa" gifts. So I keep buying their ornaments. And I think about them every year while I perform the ritual of unwrapping them, hanging them in special places, and at the end of the year, polishing them, rewrapping them to keep them from tarnishing, and storing them again.

I know it's an odd thing, but it is very comforting to me. Years going on, some things staying the same, a little permanence amidst the impermanence of life.

Plus, the bells have a beautiful tone and I love to ring them while I decorate. Christmas is my favorite season to decorate. I was shopping earlier this month and had a cart full of Christmas stuff, half price, what a deal, right? Until I realized I have 12 rubbermaid gigantor bins full of Christmas stuff and a relatively small house. Someone needed to yell STOP! Reluctantly, I took all of the decorations out of my cart and bought only what I sensibly needed. I hate being grown up sometimes.

So. The house is decorated, inside and out. I need to take some time to just go and sit and enjoy the beauty I've created.

Like now.

Scalpel!

2011-11-28T08:40:00.000-07:00

We changed all the light bulbs in the bathroom yesterday. You could perform brain surgery in there now. Which is good, considering you could have conducted a seance in there before. So, while putting on my makeup feels a little like I'm in an interrogation room in a 50's film noir, I can actually see where the spackle goes on my face.

We also started the holiday decorating. Which really meant I had to clean the house (a task I have been studiously ignoring for longer than I care to think about). And then I got into one of those "I must hand wash all of the baseboard moldings" kind of cleaning frenzy things. Then I realized how beat up all the baseboards are and what I should really do is paint the house. Luckily, some little Leprechan in my head yelled "STOP!" and I came back from the edge. So, I just gave the house a good once-over and now we're ready to decorate. Jim spent a half an hour this morning bringing the boxes in from the garage. I need to get cracking.

When I woke up this morning, I thought for sure I had turned off the porch light but there it was on, and glowing. Then I realized the whole front of the house was glowing orange and it couldn't have been from the porch light. It was this:

The camera phone picture doesn't do it justice. That's looking east, at the sunrise, which literally had turned the sky and the air a bright orange. When I looked out the back door, to the west, the entire sky was orange, and the light was making everything glow. Beautiful.

So. I can wax rhapsodic about the sunrise, or go tackle the tree. Tree wins.

Wiener Wagons

2011-11-26T05:44:00.000-07:00

OK. I went to bed around midnight at woke up at 3:00 am, unable to sleep another minute. Bummer. Then, for some unknown reason, my brain farted and, although I couldn't tell you what I did two days ago, I remembered with great accuracy my experience of being on the Chucko the Clown Birthday show. You got to be on a live TV show, get one of these nifty hats with a spinner thing on top and go home with great gifts. A Shirley Temple doll, the above-mentioned beanie, and a blue felt tote bag with school implements appliqued to it; a selection of fine food products, like wagon wheel pasta and other great foods from the 50's. Or as they like to position the time now, great mid-century eats.

My younger sister, Lark, got picked for one of the show games, and got to choose from a prize basket of goodies. I think there were toys and other things in the basket, but she chose wiener wagon hot dog buns. To be fair, she was only two. But still, a perfectly stupid pick. They should still make those buns. It was a one piece affair, a long bun with a hot-dog shaped dip in the center so you could put the dog in, pile it high with stuff and it wouldn't fall out the sides and bottom of the bun while you were eating.

I haven't had a hotdog (therefore I have not needed a hotdog bun) in so long I can't remember when -- years, maybe decades -- but I still remember those buns.

How is it that I can remember what happened 51 years ago but not 51 days ago? Or 5.1 days ago? Or yesterday? That's not true. I remember what we did yesterday. We went to Nederland, our favorite little hippie mountain town where they have two things we love: rocks and coffee. There is a great rock shop there. It's the first time I've ever been there and not gotten a rock for myself. I hold them while I talk on the phone. We got some swell gifts and then went to our favorite coffee shop for something hot because it was colder than we were dressed for. I love this shop because the food that comes out of it is spectacular bakery-type stuff, but hippie bakery and the place is a mess. The espresso machine counter was covered in coffee grounds, spilled milk, etc. And the gal making our drinks seemed oblivious to it. She can make a mean latte, though, with the kind of foam we got in Italy, thick and airy at the same time.

We tried to see a movie afterward in Boulder, but it was sold out and there were too many people there. It seems the Black Friday shoppers were all at the movies, because the rest of the mall was pretty quiet.

This cracks me up. I used to live in San Diego, where Black Friday meant searching for a parking space for hours, waiting in huge lines and just generally fighting humanity for socks on sale. Now, we live in such a small town that even on the biggest shopping day of the year, you can find a parking space because, frankly, no one lives here! It's great. I miss lots about San Diego, and the conveniences that a big city has, but I don't miss the crowds and the traffic and the general mass of humanity, all crowded into one space.

On Thanksgiving night I went to Michaels, which was open from 4:00 till 10:00 pm. If you had a coupon, the entire order was 30% off, including sale items. I had three things I really needed to finish some Christmas projects, so it was worth it to save $12. There were incredible deals in the store -- good thing I had a $20 and that was all. And, there were probably 20 people in the store. In San Diego that would have been 200.

The night before Thanksgiving, we watched The Biggest Loser special. I love that show. Not because I advocate their methods, but because I love seeing people transform their lives from the inside out. Anyway, they shared Thanksgiving tips and posted all their recipes online. I had a pretty austere meal planned (no sugar, no grains, no dairy, no fat) but with the addition of a few items (mainly fruit and a serving of beans) it transformed the meal to absolutely delicious and about 400 calories. The turkey (breast only) was roasted with onions and a pear and a spice rub that used orange zest to hold it together. When the turkey came out, you used the liquid in the pan (mainly chicken broth I cooked it in) and add the onions and pear after pureeing them, making a "gravy" for the fake mashed potatoes. The FMP were made of leeks (sauteed, or kind of steamed in chicken stock); steamed cauliflower and cannelli beans, all pureed with a healthy dose of fresh chives, salt and pepper. I will make those again. One head of cauliflower, one 15 oz. can of beans and one leek made six servings. So, our meal was:

Orange zest Turkey breast

FMP with Roasted Pear gravy

Apple/cranberry chutney

Spinach salad with red onion, pomegranate anils and pear slices

Dessert: Baked apple with cinnamon and stevia.

For once. A Thanksgiving day where I didn't have to lay on the floor, unbutton my pants and let my stomach touch the ceiling. I'm going to repeat that meal for Christmas day.

So now begins the countdown to Christmas. If I think about everything I will do between now and January 1, I'd have to sit down and rest just thinking about it. Best to just put one foot in front of the other and enjoy the ride. Which reminds me of the log-jam ride at Disneyland. Which reminds me of weiner wagon hotdog buns.

See? I made a circle with my words. Hee.

A Mind is a Terrible Thing to Lose...

2011-11-23T07:34:00.000-07:00

A mind is a terrible thing to waste -- NAACP campaign
A mind is a terrible thing to lose -- Dan Quayle.

Your Brain Usage Profile:

Auditory : 37%
Visual : 62%
Left : 52%
Right : 47%

This test result gives me great hope, since my hearing is going. I'll just listen with my eyes for the rest of my life.

Today I spent 20 minutes looking for something that I know was on the kitchen counter the last time I saw it. I finally gave up and called Jim in hopes he would remember where I put it. He did. Which, when I went to find it, reminded me of about 10 other things I was going to do this morning.

Sheesh.

I've got projects strewn all over the house -- gifts for grandkids at the kitchen table; beading on a little TV tray by the couch; baby gift for Gary and Darren's new baby boy Graham in another spot; Christmas cards at the kitchen desk; sewing gifts stacked up in my office. I actually kind of like it. When I get bored with one, I just go sit down in another spot and do something else. If I had a girl cave like Patty I could do all that stuff and still have a clean and tidy upstairs. But nooooo.

Anyway. Today's project is in the girl cave, finishing off some inventory for the next craft sale. Today's pre-project is clean the kitchen and bring some order to this house! Today's pre-pre-project is goof around on the computer.

Done and done.

Inch By Inch

2011-11-21T08:11:00.000-07:00

I know. I was supposed to be doing a gratitude blog for the seven days leading up to Thanksgiving. Sue me. Rev. Barb used a great quote from Catherine Ponder yesterday in church. It was something like:

What if when you wake up tomorrow,

all that you have are the things you were

grateful for today?

So, OK. Be grateful on a daily basis, not just in November. Here's my list, all on one day.

My health. Without that, nothing else matters.
My husband. Without him, well, I don't want to think about that possibility.
My dogs. They taught me how to love unconditionally and to be a nicer person.
My friends. A true blessing in my life.
My family. We may not be close, but there is something to having someone in your life who shares all those memories.
My work. I really love what I do and am so lucky to have the support to do it. Thanks, honey.
My home. It's light and cozy and warm. Not fancy. Not even the right colors for me yet. But mine, and home.
My freedom. To live where I want, worship how I choose, and say what I think.
My life experiences. All of them. From the magical days in Darjeeling to the worst of times, I yam what I yam because of them.
Change. Love it, hate it, it's the stuff of which Life is made and I'm glad it happens even when I'm not.

Those are the biggies. Now I can move on to completely mundane stuff. Hee.

You know how much difference a quarter of an inch makes in your hair? It moves it from a crappy haircut into a liveable one. It takes it from a great haircut to just being OK. It makes styling your hair easier or harder. And, in my case, it moves your growing-out hairdo from completely conservative awful to "oh. I can live with this." I may make it after all in the growing out process. And, though I think shorter hair on older women looks better, especially if you have a wrinkly face, like I do, (One thing I am not thankful for: family genetics and a lifetime of sun that leave me looking like my Grammy way too soon in life.) if we are going to climb mountains, I need a ponytail.

Don't you love that logic? But it's true. If we are going for our big goal, which would involve 3 weeks trekking, My hair needs to be able to be stuck out of a baseball cap. Hmm. I wonder if they make sub-zero baseball caps? Of if I can get a parka with a ponytail hole cut in the hood? I have time to figure it out.

Anyway, I'd say the thing I am most grateful for today is that quarter of an inch my hair finally grew so I can stop looking like this:

Who Needs Sleep?

2011-11-19T00:02:00.000-07:00

Apparently, I don't.

I've been sleeping so well of late, that an unexpected night of insomnia is bothersome. I do remember that when we were on this detox before that I ended up having either less need for sleep or less ability to get some. I've also started to have the "OMG, I ate food I shouldn't" dreams. Can't remember what I was eating in my dream last night, but I woke up feeling guilty.

So, I'll catch up on the 55 Craig Ferguson shows I have on the DVR. I love him. I would like to be his friend. Except I am sure he has plenty of friends and no need for another.

I spent all day yesterday doing that kind of mundane catch-up kind of stuff -- I owed a whole bunch of people letters, so I took a few hours to do that. Yes, I still write letters by hand even though I am the email queen. It's a lost art, the handwritten note. And don't even get me started on people who email thank-yous for gifts received. Saying thanks on facebook doesn't count either. In my humble opinion.

After I wrote letters, I made phone calls -- you know, the kind where you are going to be on hold and then talking to Pradep in India for at least a half an hour. I tend to procrastinate on those until the last minute, and then I have to take half a day to wait on the phone in holding hell.

Then I finally tackled the pile of stuff on my desk that I keep putting to the side for a rainy day. File the claim for the vet bill. Actually read the insurance policy. Go over the budget and bills for the next six weeks. Figure out what we need to spend/how we can save. Fun. Not.

I rewarded myself after getting all of that done, plus some coaching phone calls, with an art project: getting a good start on my handmade Christmas cards. Patty is coming to get me today to go play in the Girl Cave with all of her fancy stamps and inks, so I wanted to get the first part of the cards done (glue colored paper to white cardstock). I learned the hard way why she uses glue dots and double sided tape instead of glue sticks. The cards kind of warped. I left them overnight under our Oxford English Dictionary, the heaviest book we have, and hope when I look at them today they will be flat again.

Working on a project all day, be it gardening, housecleaning, artsy fartsy stuff, takes the mind off of "hmmm, maybe I should go get a donut". Not really. Donuts are not my thing. French fries. Even when we go paleo after this detox, I'm still leaving room for french fries.

See? Now I'm awake and dreaming about food. I need to get some sleep.

Pee Mail

2011-11-02T07:30:00.000-06:00

That's what Jim calls it when, while on a walk, the dogs sniff fence posts, etc., then leave a little pee-mail of their own behind.

(For the record, we don't regularly dress our dogs, this was them waiting to go for a walk in the snow.)

Last week we had a big snowstorm that devastated the trees everywhere. We went for a walk on Monday down our regular greenway path, which now looks like a tornado hit. One of the old cottonwood trees lost a branch larger than I could get my arms around, about 20 feet long. I hate to see that. Plus, many younger trees lost limbs so green they couldn't just break off so they kind of peeled their way down the tree.

We could hardly walk 10 steps without the dogs going, well, Dog Shit Louie (DSL) over the branches. The only thing I can figure is that the branches smell like squirrels and birds (and god knows what else) -- things they love to chase. The opportunity to smell those good smells up close was too much to pass by. And then pee on. The dogs were dehydrated by the end of the walk from leaving so much mail.

It snowed again last night. Hard. I had a class in Greeley and luckily Jim offered to go with me to drive home. The snow wasn't supposed to start until 10:00 pm, but when we left Greeley at 9:00 pm, it was already blowing sideways across very slushy and icy roads. Visibility was about 30 feet. Going over any bridge, overpass, slight hill was met with spinning tires and speeds in the 20's. A 40 minute commute took 90 minutes of butt clenching driving.

While on an unlit, 2-lane country road, a car came up behind us and all of the sudden the entire sky lit up, pale greenish blue. Jim and I both were stunned. We thought it came from the car behind us, like they had shot off a flare or something, and then the same blinding lightflash happened in front of us. It was so windy that powerlines were snapping. All the snow off the line landed on our windshield and I wasn't sure if it was the line hitting the car or snow. Very scary.

We continued to crawl along home, slipping and sliding up the driveway into the safety of the garage. And then went straight to bed and hugged each other in gratitude that we made it.

There's driving in snow. And then there's driving in a storm that the newspeople tell you not to go out in, and to only drive in case of extreme emergency. Last night was the latter. So was this morning. Jim had to get up at 4:30 to shovel the driveway (and very kindly, the backyard for the dogs) and then make his slippery slide-y way to work.

You know I love me some snow. After last night, I'm enjoying it most when I'm on the inside of my house, looking out at it.

And trying to convince the dogs to go outside in the freezing cold to deliver some pee mail. So far, they're not buying it.

O. HI. O.

2011-10-24T23:15:00.000-06:00

It's a curse. Having someone in the house who grew up in Ohio. Which automatically means they're an Ohio State fan. Unless they lived in a cave.

These beautiful fall Colorado apples, sitting in my kitchen sink after being washed, lit by the sun coming in the window, remind me of Ohio. Because everything red does. It's gotten under my skin too. Whenever I see someone with an Ohio State shirt on, I immediately yell at them "O. H." waiting for them to yell back "I.O." I do this in the grocery store, while on a hike (I scared one guy until I pointed to his sweatshirt and then pointed at the one Jim had on), in church, out the car window. Wherever. I'm not proud.

That's what my grandma used to say all the time. Taking the last piece of ham on the plate; sitting in the back seat of the car; wearing tennis shoes -- "I'm not proud."

But this is not about my grandma. This blog is about Ohio. Where I will be in less than 24 hours. For almost a week. I'm going to a sufi zikr retreat at a Camp center outside of Columbus. I have no idea what we're going to do but my best guess is sing, chant, meditate, dance, walk, contemplate, nap, eat and laugh for a week. That sounds so good to me.

When you're a spiritual teacher, your job is twofold, in my opinion. One, maintain your own consciousness, since that's what you're selling -- your conscious awareness of the Presence and your relationship to It. And Two, share what is yours to share in your own unique way. Because somewhere out there, someone is waiting to be introduced to Spirit in only the way your words can tell the story.

So this is the fun part of my job -- going away periodically and having a spiritual tune up.

I'll be meeting up with my Sufi brothers and sisters from all over the country (and world, if they're coming). It is sort of odd -- I have two distinct spiritual families/homes. One is my family/home here in Colorado with Centers for Spiritual Living. The other family and home is a more nomadic tribe, meeting whenever the caravan stops. The Sufi family is made up of such a rich and varied tapestry of souls -- I can already feel myself breathing easier, slower, deeper along with the excitement of seeing my dear friends once again.

Abdul Hayye and Khalissa are picking me up at the airport. We don't know how to do anything but laugh. I need Depends when I am with them. Jivani will be there -- she teaches me to dance by a technique we call "shove with love". I don't even know who else will be there but I know there will be many friends, familiar faces, and my beloved teacher, Saadi.

Everything is ready to go. To O. HI. O.

See ya on the flip side, next week.

Mayday. Somebody Save Me.

2011-10-23T06:25:00.000-06:00

I'm closing my eyes, cuz when the sun rises it's outta my hands.
(David Cook)

This picture has nothing to do with the title unless it is evocative of Ground Control to Major Tom...

This is Gary and Darren's son, Wesley. Looks like he may have won the costume contest. Love the pumpkin trophy.

I woke up at 3:15 with David Cook's song in my head. Not the whole song, just those lyrics. I finally got out of bed at 5:30 because I couldn't get the song to stop.

The only thing I could think of to do was go test my blood sugar, which was fine. So who is it I am supposed to be saving? Or what?

My coach, Billie, gave me a huge insight yesterday. We were talking about marketing myself (something I am loathe to do) and she pointed out that one of the ways I keep myself from doing it is that I am always in creation mode. I'm constantly writing, beading, dreaming up new ideas, new workshops, new Sunday talks. I've got more than plenty of each of those to go out and work every weekend in a different church. But rather than get myself out there, I think up another project.

For example, I spent easily a month of 10 hour days preparing a retreat for the Center of Peace in Philadelphia. It was wonderful. Life changing. They have reported back that they are interacting in a whole new way, the level of enthusiasm for the tasks at hand has increased tenfold, and with all the spiritual practices they do (which I taught them) before the meeting, the business part of the meeting just flows like buttah. So it worked.

Now I don't have to reinvent the wheel. I can take that retreat to any Center; Church, Temple, whatever with minimal effort because I have already done all the heavy lifting. But that would require me somehow contacting said Centers, Churches, Temples, etc. Therein lies the problem.

I need an agent. Or a broker. Or just someone with more balls than me. The problem with yourself being the product is that when your marketing outreach is rejected it feels like personal rejection instead of product. So here I sit. A well kept secret. Who should be out there in the world, giving. The peeps in Philadelphia said after the first night: "So this is what it looks like when someone is living their passion and doing the work for which they were destined." And that's how I felt that weekend. Alive. Vibrant. On Purpose. I want to feel that way much more of the time.

Maybe that's my Mayday. Turning within, asking for guidance on how to proceed with this insight. Doing the next indicated thing. Letting the outcome be out of my hands and not taking it personally. Because my guess is that the only person who can save me is me. Dammit. Or maybe I'll find someone who can't wait to help me share my work with the world.

What. Ever. The song just stopped, so I must be on the right track. Seriously, Universe? You couldn't wait until 7 am for all of this?

I see a nap in my future.

Someone. Yell. Stop.

2011-10-21T08:26:00.000-06:00

I've been beading, bangling and baubbling for days. Weeks. Months. Years. Getting ready for a show that Patty and I are going to do. I'm down to earrings and a few necklaces left to be done. My kitchen floor is like a minefield of dropped beads. Jim wonders if we'll ever eat at the kitchen table again. My goal is to have it cleared of beads by Sunday night.

Mainly because I leave on Tuesday for Sufi Zikr Retreat and I don't want to leave him with a house of horrors for a week. Zikr Retreat. Just for me. So much of what I do when traveling and working is give workshops, presentations, keynote talks and then sell, sell, sell. Which entails being "on" for however long I am gone. That's exhausting for me. I find that I really need a day or two of downtime before I get going again.

In the Myers-Briggs, I am an off-the-chart Introvert. Which means that I am refreshed and renewed by turning inward. Good thing since I'm such a hermit. Because of the careers that I've had (hairdresser, spiritual counselor, speaker) people think of me as this completely outgoing extrovert. I'm not. I just know how to rise to the occasion. I've always said if I could take my hairdressing chair and mirror with me, I could rule the universe. It's much easier to talk to someone in the mirror than it is face-to-face.

This week of zikr for me is all about going within, being in a group of people who are all striving for the same thing - knowing their oneness with Spirit and their connection to each other. And spending time with my beloved teacher, Saadi Neil Douglas-Klotz.

If he is so inspired, I might receive my Sufi name. We'll see. My friend Grace said she never wanted a Sufi name because she loved her name and what if the name he chose for her was Mumprh? I hope Mumprha or Hud or Jablatt (not real names, I know) are not the names he is inspired to give me.

And I can worry about that another day, Scarlett. For now, it is back to the beads.

Until someone (me) yells stop.

Amen to that, Sister

2011-10-19T07:39:00.000-06:00

This excellent photo taken by Jackie Denver, from our most excellent perch at the Ogden on Saturday night. I remember when he struck that pose, thinking, "superior picture, I hope Jackie got it." Of course she did.

His hair is different. I can't figure out what they did, but it's straighter and there is more of it. Whatever happened, it must have been expensive because it's good.

I tried really hard to be in the moment at that concert. Even though I had 1000 things on my mind, including the Sunday sermon I needed to give the next morning. I kept reminding myself, be. here. now. It mostly worked.

My Amen Sisters were at the house last night for our bi-monthly meeting. We ended up having a great meeting -- those women can pah-ray. We each shared something our grandmother had taught us by the example of her life. Most of these women are old enough to have had serious pioneer grandmothers. When I listen to the stories of these women, it makes me proud to be of their gender. And, we talked about how their husbands died when they were in their early to mid-60's -- an age all of the sisters (except me) are, or they are older. Inconceivable that their vibrant, active, vitally alive husbands could die at this age.

And we had a great discussion about how much they love their grandchildren and wondered how our grandmothers felt about us. Did they love us like crazy?

My mom's mother, Grandma, showed her love in her acts of service. I can never remember a time when she was not there for all of the important events of our life. Every summer she'd come the week before school to do all the finish work on the clothes mom made us -- hours of hemming, sewing on buttons. I'm younger than she was when she was doing it and I can't even see the friggin needle, much less thread it. She was on all of our camping and driving vacations, there every Christmas morning, there when anything was needed. There. Period.

My dad's mom, Grammy, was there at her convenience. Never there to do a dirty dish, never there in times of crisis, never even there on time for Christmas day. I wonder what she thought of us, because her actions demonstrated that the answer was not much.

I think of my niece and nephew and how ferociously protective I am of them. The tears I have cried over their well-being. The crazy love I feel for them. And how I am there at the level allowed by their parents. I wonder if they will tell stories about me in later years as a good aunt, a pioneering woman, someone they admire.

In any case, being with my Sisters is a great reminder of how life goes on, generation to generation. How love has to have a great big wide open heart. How a mother/grandmother/aunt needs to know when to speak and when silence is golden.

And, above all, being with them reminds me why we come together. Not to debate politics. Not to even debate religion, although I would like to do that with them. Not to do anything other than to listen to one another, support one another, pray for and with one another and love each other with big wide open hearts. And there's only one thing to say about that.

Amen.

Oh, Put another candle on your Birthday Cake,

2011-10-17T09:52:00.000-06:00

and when you do, I wish I'll maaaake, put another candle on your birthday cake, you're another year old today. Happy Birthday to you, you're another year old to-day.

Isn't it odd the things our brains remember (vs the things they forget?) I still know the tune to this song from a show I watched when I was five years old. I can't remember what I had for breakfast yesterday.

Except I can. Yesterday was a standout day in terms of eating the worst food possible for my body. Let's just say I'm not getting on the scale today because I don't want to see the bad news. And I don't even have to get on the scale. I can see the bad news written all over my puffy, dull-eyed face.

I wish I knew why, but every once in a while I just go on a bender of crappy food. And then I come to my senses. So I guess the good news is that today is a come to my senses kind of day, and our refrige is filled with fresh homegrown veggies from Patty's garden, and protein. I'll be a cooking fool today.

My birthday present from Jim was a VIP ticket to the David Cook concert on Saturday night. I got to go early, listen to the soundcheck, meet David and the band, have my picture taken with them, get a great seat for the concert and they had prizes for us, a T-shirt, a tin full of guitar picks, a signed photo. Really nice little package.

Except David was so sick he couldn't sing the sound check, and I felt bad that he was stuck standing against a wall, making nice with 70 strangers who all wanted a piece of him before the concert when he should have been in bed. So my meeting with him was epically failsome. I did get him to sign a poster Jim brought back from Kuwait. It was his USO tour poster, and I got him to sign it for Jim. But otherwise? It was like my lips were glued together and I forgot my manners completely. Who knew I'd be such a doofus? So my one chance to tell him all the stuff I wanted to say was lost. But that's OK. It's not like I lost the chance to be his best friend. I just blew my opportunity to say thanks.

The concert was very good considering the lead singer could hardly sing and should have been in bed. By the end, though, he waved off the encore and just walked off stage, probably fell down backstage from exhaustion. I really appreciated his professionalism -- putting on the show, going through the meet and greet, doing the best that he could.

And! I had to give the Sunday talk the next day, so I had to skip the second headliner (Gavin DeGraw) and go home to finish the talk and be ready to go on Sunday. I used the wonderdogs as props. Dogs in church!

For the record, it was minus 5 the day this picture was taken. We don't dress our dogs like Paris Hilton. (That made me laugh. Imagine our dogs in Halloween costume dressed like Paris Hilton.) I mean we don't dress our dogs like she might dress hers. They have sweaters to keep them warm when they have to venture outside on a day like that.

They were good all during church and elicited the requisite ooohs and ahhs.

Back to the blog... today's my 56th birthday and I was thinking about what I wanted to set as intentions for the next year. I'm the queen of Wretched Excess. I like spreadsheets and lists and things you can check off or put a star next to. In the words of Dr. Phil: "How's that workin' out for ya?" Not as well as you'd think.

I spend too much time planning what I'm going to do instead of just waking up every morning and doing it.

So, this year is about knowing what needs to be done, and actually doing it.

You know Jim and I are going to train to climb mountains, so working out is a given. Hiking is a given. Bike riding is a given.

(Side note: whatever Jim is cooking for my birthday breakfast smells amazing!)

I'd like to end this next year weighing what I weighed when I was 16. A 40 year reversal's not a bad idea. And, I wasn't skinny at 16 so it's not an impossible feat.

I'd also like to find my stride this year in public speaking. Which means I need to join a speaker's bureau, get networking and get myself out there in the world.

And, I'd like to finish a 365 inspiration-a-day book.

Usually, I'd go off on another 450 goals and aspirations, but I think I'm going to say those three things are enough. And I'll let all the other stuff -- enjoying life, feeding my creative soul, giving back to my community -- express itself organically as the year goes on.

Basically, I'd like to be bold, be brave, be beautiful, and just be.

And that deserves a candle. Or two. Or 56.

Say Goodbye.

2011-10-15T07:52:00.002-06:00

Today's the day I get to see David Cook in concert and meet him before hand -- birthday present. All good. Except my friend won't be going with me because she's in the very sad process of saying goodbye to her father -- from a distance.

Grief is such an odd thing. It brings out the best and/or the worst in people. In my friend's case, she is suffering from the brunt of someone's worst behavior, in addition to losing her father. When my dad was dying, his wife was on her worst behavior too, part of the time.

Luckily for me, I was surrounded by my brother and sisters for support and even though they were divorced, my mom came to the waiting room to support us. In the ending of my dad's life came a new beginning for my siblings and me. I think it would have pleased him to know that his previously estranged children came to laugh and cry and share stories together over his bed. And that it ushered in a new era for our family.

The thing I remember most is my father's hands. Big, rough hands that would hit as fast as they would hug. But still. Those are the hands that cradled my newborn head. Held the seat of my bike as I learned to ride. Built us a playhouse in the backyard big enough to be used as a stable for horses later. Slapped all over his body in a rhythm he called "hamboning". Wrote in his precise, odd angle, only ever on graph paper, his stationery of choice. Held my own hand as I walked down the aisle. Taught my brother to throw a ball, taught his grandson to cast a fly, held a golf club. And in the end, laid inert on his hospital bed, kept warm by the life support machines. They were the last thing I touched, thinking at the time, knowing that I would never feel his hands again.

Which makes me feel doubly sad for my friend. To go through this painful time without the comfort of holding her father's hand one last time, having to literally fight through the wife to be a part of the process. Having to say goodbye in her mind and heart only.

After he died, my dad's presence was very close to me for quite a while. I felt him often. And even though we had a very complicated relationship, the grief came in unexpected waves for much longer than I would have imagined.

I've been a spiritual counselor for 15 years. One of the things I like about me is that, having endured my own pain and come out on the other side, I am not afraid to sit with someone else in pain. I don't take it on, but I can feel empathy in my heart. I'm a good listener and counselor. And I can pray like a mofo.

So today, before the fun, I'm spending time in prayer for my friend and her father. Just holding them in that very sweet space we all have in our hearts for our friends. Knowing that there is a peace that passes all understanding and watching for it to descend upon the situation, as it can, when it can. Remembering my father. Being grateful for the peace that his passing gave me.

Saying goodbye again.

Re-setting the Atomic Clock

2011-10-14T08:31:00.000-06:00

*sigh*

This is Buster the Wonderdog at 3 months old. He's now almost 7 but just as damn cute. Which makes it hard to be mad at him when he peeps for food at zero dark thirty.

He's so funny. He has a peep for everything. He sounds like a bird when he's hungry, like a squeeky toy when his toy is somewhere hard to reach (or he's too scared to go get it, more likely the case), and like a huffer when he wants you to wake up.

More impressive than a repertoire of sounds is the body clock of he and his sister. We're trying to back them off of their 6 am feeding time (in which the peeping and huffing start about 5:20), closer to 7, because when the time changes and we fall back into blackness, the world's most accurate alarm clocks will think it's 7 when it is 6. Confused yet?

Anyway, they're not buying it. Which means I have two frantic, frenetic dogs every morning who are sure if they just get crazy enough, I'll feed them. Au contraire, mon frere.

Patty and I have been working our little fingers to the bone. What started out as "let's get together and create stuff just to fulfill the creative urge" has turned into "let's make costumes and put on a show in the barn!" We have three shows between now and December 15. On my own I've made 150 prayer bracelets in single and multiple chakra colors. Together we've made 100's of cards, gift card holders, and notepad holders. Patty's made some gorgeous jewelry and she's got some really great tote bags all cut out and ready to sew. Sisters of Wretched Excess. It's bad enough that I'm the "more is more" queen. I've found my match. Together we just can't lay on enough smarkle.

Yesterday, when Jim came to pick me up, he brought the dogs. Tiny dogs (Patty's): meet tinier dogs (ours). They live out in the country, so our dogs had no idea what to do with all that open space. Petunia was first in eating something she shouldn't and barfing all over the place. Buster was content to run all over the huge yard. Petunia? Eating what.ever. Running amok through the garden. Figuring out if she could squeeze through the fence. Trying to get under the porch to get the rabbits. Like having a two year old. Only way faster.

We scored carrots, beets, zucchini, tomatoes, green onions, red pepper and herbs from the garden. I think we are going to get one more caprese salad out of this season. Yum. I think we will have to wait until Sunday to enjoy it, though.

Tomorrow I get my b'day present from Jim. A VIP pass to the David Cook concert at the Ogden. I get to go to the sound check, get a bunch of prizes (who knows what they are?); meet David, get a picture with him, and something else. Not sure what. To do this I have to get there almost 4 hours before the concert starts. What? It seemed like such a good idea at the time. I just read on Twitter that he has inflamed vocal chords. I can't figure out how they can sing in that condition. Will probably be on a no-talking order before the concert. So. A sign language meet & greet. Good thing I know my alphabet. And one song. Think he'll freak out if I sign "You are the face of God. I hold you in my heart. You are a part of me. You are the face of God." Out of context that does sound kind of stalkerish. And I just realized. I don't need to sign. I can talk. D'oh. I scare myself sometimes.

Oy. And eek. Patty will be here in 20 minutes. Where are those little alarm clocks when you need them?

Falling into Fall

2011-10-13T07:24:00.000-06:00

Surely, you say to yourself, (don't call me Shirley!) There cannot be a sky this blue, trees this green, or leaves this gold. You could say that. But you would be wrong. It's Colorado. In the Fall.

Seriously, when you are driving the Peak to Peak Highway for a little aspen viewing, you come around a corner and the atmosphere is shimmering gold and the trees literally pop out with color. It's breathtaking. And then you look up the mountain and here and there aspens dare to grow among the pines, silently, the rest of the year. In the Fall they wave their hands like excited third graders -- "here I am!"

The other day at church, in introducing an original song, a guest musician was talking about seeing the leaves, and realizing they were watching death. The beauty we were enjoying was the death cycle of the leaves. I thought to myself "Seriously? We're going to hear a song about death?" And then he played the most beautiful music -- you could see the aspen leaves fluttering (quaking) in the air as he played. I actually closed my eyes and then realized I was falling asleep. That would have been epic. Snoring on the platform just before giving a talk.

We just spent a long weekend in San Diego where the weather cooperated by being its usually stunning self. 70 degrees and brilliantly sunny with a cool breeze blowing through. The water sparkled like diamonds and the sun obliged by giving us a green flash sunset. There is nothing like watching the sun sink into the water. Nothing. We were supposed to see my brother and his family on Saturday evening, but he called to say they were all sick and to stay away (thank you). I was actually really glad because I had booked us in a sprint from activity to activity trying to see everyone. By Saturday I was pooped. So we went home, took Gary, Darren and Wesley to In-n-Out Burger (never let it be said we are not big spenders) and then went home with them and played cards, something we used to do all the time and something I love to do with them. (For the curious, my In-n-Out order is cheeseburger, animal-style, protein wrap.)

Except Darren may never play cards with us again. Or, rather, he'll never be my partner in Canasta again. I made about 1000 mistakes. And my wonderful husband? Turns out after a glass of wine or two, he's an ass about winning. *grin* There's just this way he puts the cards down with a snap as he goes out and leaves me with a hand of 200 points that makes me want to smack him.

We saw about a third of the people I wanted to see. And I ate ceviche that wasn't quite right and have been kind of sick ever since. Every once in a while I ate a full meal, but mostly I had a couple of bites of whatever Jim ordered. Great for the diet, disappointing for the person who waited for months to go to her favorite haunts. Gary and Darren took us to Ruth Chris' for a birthday dinner (talk about extravagant) and I ate about half of my protein, which is a damn shame when you're talking about a steak house. I did manage to eat corn pudding, creme brulee and hot bread and butter. Funny how much easier all that went down!

There was a couple at the table next to us, each texting away. Really? A gazillion dollar dinner, at a table with an ocean view at sunset, and you're looking at your stupid phone? Gary and Darren thought they might be foreplay texting each other. That was creepy just to think about.

Fall in San Diego is really about the beautiful, cool weather we enjoyed there. And while there is plenty I miss about San Diego, and more than plenty of people, I'm happy with the blue skies, golden light and wide open spaces that Colorado offers me.

I fell into Colorado. Now I'm all in.

Uh. Oh.

2011-10-05T07:22:00.000-06:00

Not a word you want to hear from your hairdresser. Technically, two words you never want to hear when the hairdresser is washing the color goop out of your hair. (Yes, Virginia, "goop" is the technical term for the stuff we put in your hair. I should know.)

My hair is on the way from being really short and spiky to long and straight. Right now I kind of look like the above picture. Including the receding hairline. It's at a stage where, if I turn it under, I look my age (the horror) and my waistline (worse). If I don't, and I let it flip out like it wants to - well, it's a Bozo Baloney-o No-No.

Remember when Bozo said that on a live show to a kid who cussed on the show? And the kid said (and I quote) "Cram it, clownie."

So what to do? Easy. Pretend no one can see it and just stuff it in a headband and let it stick out all over. Which, while easy, does not stray far from the above picture either. *sigh*

But, if Jim and I are going to start climbing mountains, I need a ponytail. Interesting logic, yes? Any woman knows what I mean. I either need really short hair or hair long enough for a ponytail to get it out of the way. It remains to be seen if I will be able to maintain my sanity long enough to get to a ponytail. More likely I'll go the route of the Dalai Lama and shave my head.

Either way, I need to get out of the Bozo Zone. And fast.

Best. Gift. Ever.

2011-10-04T07:24:00.000-06:00

I'll admit it. I'm the best. wife. ever.

Gary Chapman wrote a book that changed my life -- The Five Love Languages. It was so amazing, that I wrote it into several talks I've given throughout the years. People to this day tell me that hearing about the love languages changed their lives too. The only credit I can take is being smart enough to know a good idea when I hear one and having the ability to share it.

Chapman is a marriage counselor and he discovered the languages quite by accident after years of working with couples. He realized that we each "speak" a specific love language and that you can be loving someone with all of your might, but if you're not loving them in their language, they can't "hear" it. So, he found, couples could be feeling that each is giving all they can to the other, yet they feel estranged because neither is receiving love in a way they "speak" it. Interesting, yes?

The five languages are:

Acts of Service;
Giving of Gifts;
Physical Touch;
Words of Appreciation;
Quality Time.

To be sure, each of us speaks all languages, but each of us has a dominant language as well. All guys will say their language is physical touch because of sex, but touch really means someone who wants to hold hands, hug, touches you when they talk to you, has what I call skin hunger.

My language is acts of service/gift giving. Jim's is words of appreciation. When we were dating, I told Jim I had emptied my last trash can, ever. Now that there was a man in the house, he could take over that job. I emptied the trash when I was single, of course. But I got used to the guy upstairs coming down to visit with me and emptying my trash all the time (I know, an odd gesture of friendship, but it worked for me). I thought Jim understood that it was not some random request but an imperative for happy relationship. Not so. He emptied the trash. Occasionally. We had different ideas about when a trash can was full enough to be emptied. Stuff falling out on the floor was his indicator. The end of the day was mine. It became an unspoken source of tension.

When we first got married, I made Jim's lunch every day (acts of service) and I wrote a little note on the napkin (words of appreciation). I did it for the service. He liked it because of the notes. One day, Jim got up and left for work early. When I awoke, it was to little yellow post-it notes all over the house. Inside the medicine cabinet, on my toothbrush -- you make me smile. On the mirror in my salon -- I see your beauty. The door of the microwave -- you are hot, hot hot. And on and on and on. And every friggin trash can in the house was overflowing. The more notes I found, the madder I got. He could have written one note and emptied all the trash cans! He came home, expecting a hero's welcome. I wanted to hit him on the head with a frying pan.

That week at the therapist, I broke down crying. "If I knew there was one thing, one simple thing that made you happy and feel loved, I would do it! I don't understand why you won't." The light bulb that went off over the therapist's head was actually visible.

"Oh." she said. "Emptying the trashcans. That's not a metaphor -- you seriously mean empty. the. trash." D'oh. I'd been saying that for a year in her office.

How could I expect my newlywed husband to understand I really meant empty the trash when I said empty the trash if my $200 an hour therapist didn't get it for a year?

I realize I'm a simpleton, but now when all of the trash cans, recycling bins and other flotsam and jetsam are clean and clear? I feel love. I feel loved at my core.

That's the back drop. My second, maybe even tied with first place, love language is gift giving. I love to give gifts. I love to think of the perfect gift for someone, plan for it, make it, buy it, create a place for it, and then give it. Sitting back and watching the experience unfold of them receiving the gift brings me tremendous satisfaction.

When Jim told me what he wanted for his birthday (a Cleveland Browns football jersey) it was a little ho-hum. First of all, he has 87 other Browns football jerseys. All NFL grade (read that as expensive). But apparently, when you wear a football jersey to go to a bar and watch a football game, it is de rigueur to wear one with a current (hot) player's name on the back. Who knew? Well, that's the last thing I wanted to get him for his birthday, even if it was the first thing he wanted.

I ended up being completely inspired like a lightening bolt to the brain.

We watched Expedition Impossible this summer and were completely mesmerized by one team -- Team No Limits from Boulder, our hometown. The team featured Erik, a blind guy. Defining Erik as a blind guy is like defining Mt. Rushmore as a rock. Erik's "brother", climbing partner, and team leader, Jeff displayed a charismatic character so compelling, we just fell in love with him. Their third team member, Ike, is a veteran and solid midwestern boy/man with all the values and goodness that entails. And any veteran, anyone who has served our country and sacrificed for me? My husband is a veteran. I know what that means.

The entire team had us rooting for them from day one. Our team finished second, above all other able-bodied teams, even with Erik's lack of sight and Ike breaking his leg (and running full out on his cast to win one stage of the race). They finished second to our second favorite team, the Modern Gypsies (from our former home town, San Diego). When the show was over, we felt a loss. No more Team No Limits in our house every week. And so we did what any two internet nerds do -- we started searching the web to find out any and everything we could about Erik and Jeff, our hometown heroes. We found out that both Erik and Jeff have backgrounds that make the character they displayed on the show just a natural extension of who they are and how they live life. We found out we missed a finale party at a local bar featuring both our team and the Gypsies in attendance. Bummer.

Since that show, Jim's been talking about Jeff. He found Jeff's website and saw that Jeff leads trekking expeditions to the base camp of Mt. Everest and has mentioned it about 100 times. I'd love to do that too, so we started talking about what it would take for us to get ready to make that trip in four years, for our 60 and 65th birthdays.

I got the bright idea (lightening bolt) to see if I could arrange a meeting between the Jeff and Jim for his birthday. What better gift than to meet someone you admire and glean insight for your journey ahead? Luckily for me, Jeff said yes. Keeping the secret from Jim has required that on some days I didn't even talk to him for fear of just yelling it out -- I got Jeff! I got Jeff! You get Jeff!!!!!

I managed to keep the surprise until Jeff walked around the corner yesterday and Jim recognized him. I left the two of them to drink a beer and have a chat. (I went to Peppercorn, one of my favorite stores and just browsed around for an hour -- a store Jim would rather smash his finger with a hammer than spend any time in.)

When I returned, they were talking like old pals, I could tell by the look on Jim's face that the gift was a winner, and I got to talk with Jeff too, for a few minutes. I can tell this was a game changer. A life changer. And Jeff? Better than advertised. Better than expected. And I had high expectations. Smart, funny, humble, easygoing and extremely motivating. I could not have asked for anything more.

After Jeff left, Jim gave me the honorary title of Best. Wife. Ever. I can't remember when I have felt so much joy for someone else. It was the best gift ever. Jim learned a lot, got some guidelines from Jeff about how to prepare for his first 14er, and an offer of help when he does it. And more importantly, he felt loved, seen, understood, valued and "grokked" by me. To his very core.

What more can you want than for your spouse to get it, really, really get how much you love them? I'm still floating this morning. I just talked to him on the phone. There is a change in his voice. Something important happened yesterday.

Best. Gift. Ever.

You say it's your Birthday?

2011-10-03T07:13:00.000-06:00

Oh man. The day has finally arrived. I don't think I could keep this secret one more day. I still haven't given it to Jim yet. I can't even write my blog until I do.

It's gonna be a good day! We're going on a car ride to look at the beautiful fall colors, drinks in Boulder afterward, dinner and then a surprise. I just hope I make it through the entire day without blowing it. I almost did about 3 times yesterday. Luckily, it's all wrapped up and ready to go. I just have to keep my mouth shut for 10 more hours!!

Sex and Poop.

2011-10-01T14:41:00.000-06:00

In no particular order. My talk for Creative Center for Spiritual Living in Greeley tomorrow is based on Rev. Mark Gilbert's talk last week in Boulder. He talked about Maslow's pyramid of needs. That sent my odd little brain into a million different directions but amazingly enough it came together into a talk for tomorrow.

(By the way, if you want to hear it, just go here sometime next week and look under "listen to Rev. Barb" -- it will be posted there -- and there are other talks of mine posted there as well if you want a listen.)

Usually I write a talk and I have to start hacking it back from 45 minutes and compromise by getting it to 28 when it should be 20. Today, I came in right at 18 minutes, so I had to add a little. That was fun. Maybe it's better when I think about the talk all week and then write it vs. research a talk for 20 hours and then try to cram all I've learned and thought about into 20 minutes. I don't know.

I am going back to Philadelphia in November to do a retreat for their Core Council. I am so happy. First of all, I miss all my new friends. Second...cheesesteak! Only I will be doing HCG by then, so I'll have to ratchet it back a few notches.

I should be on an uber diet right now. In five days we'll be in San Diego and all I can think about is:

Old Town Mexican Cafe

Phil's BBQ

Saffron Thai Noodle House

Hash House A Go-Go

Sammy's Woodfired Pizza

Trader Joe's

and, to be fair, the sun sinking into the ocean every night while we watch with a cocktail in hand. And, waking up every morning to Wesley, the wonderboy. And Dora, the explorer.

The hardest part is - bringing a "thank you for being our luxury hotel and spa" for Gary and Darren and something for Wesley. The first two have everything, need nothing, and anything they want is out of my price range. Wesley has everything a boy could possibly want. Except maybe a new puppy. Hmmm. Nope. Too hard to pack.

So we're swine. We just show up, lay around the house and enjoy being with good friends. If only they would return the favor -- we have plenty of room, but it is in our unfinished basement -- not quite the five-star accommodations they provide.

Anyway, I told Jim I would go for a bike ride with him after work -- which is in one hour. I need a nap first -- Petunia has kept me awake for two nights by barking all night. Then I inadvertently left the dustpan by the dog door this morning and she was too freaked out about it to go out the door so she pooped on the kitchen floor.

*sigh* It needed to be washed anyway.

So, we've had our poop for the day. Can sex be far behind? Maslow didn't think so.

God Calling at 4 am.

2011-09-30T06:07:00.000-06:00

This.

This is what woke me up at 4 am, running through my head. Spirit speaks to me all the time in songs that pop into my head during meditation, or a long walk, or while I'm thinking about a problem. But this? I'm trying to figure out what question I could possibly be asking which results in this answer.

Or does God just have a very warped sense of humor?

What.ever. I just know that when you wake up at 4 am, bedtime looms over your head all day. I'll betcha I barely make it till 9 tonight.

In the meantime, I am a prayer bead making fool, getting ready for our trip to San Diego next week. We're going to Universal Spirit Center on Sunday morning (the 9th) to see old buddies and share my latest stuff. So, being awake at 4 am does have some perks. Beading just starts superty-duper early today.

I made a decision this week. Maybe that's why I'm up so early. For the last three years I have been splitting my time between serving at the Boulder Center for Spiritual Living with Rev. Jill Iris and the Creative Center for Spiritual Living in Greeley, with Rev. Barb Bue. And splitting my time with them with my time doing my own ministry out in the world.

That's a lot of splitting. When I moved to Colorado, I came knowing my work was to be in Boulder. Then something happened, I'm not really sure what, and the message kept coming loud and clear -- Greeley is it. Just so you know, Greeley is not sexy. Greeley is not a People's Republic in and to itself like Boulder is. And Greeley is not the name that kept popping up with the decision to move here. I love Rev. Jill and the Boulder CSL, so I kept splitting my time between the two. However, the "Greeley is it" message has been knocking on the door of my mind and heart lately. So we decided to wholly commit to Greeley. Join the church. Put my practitioner license there. Be there. And, to be sure, it's not a sacrifice. Jim and I both love Rev. Barb, the facility, the people there, and the activities. Jim is a member of the men's group and I teach classes there. It's a cozy home for us.

Still, this did not figure lightly. I believe my response to Spirit was "are you sure?" But when I talked to Rev. Jill this week, she made a really good point. When your focus is divided, so are your results. She encouraged me to put my focus on my ministry so it will grow. She's right. Those ministers. Smart cookies. I feel good about the decision and I feel a loss already of the Boulder community. Which I don't need to feel because I will still be there every Wednesday night for the mid-week service. (And if you live in the Boulder area and aren't coming on Wednesdays at 7:00 pm, you're missing a great hour of just being present, breathing, chanting, meditating.) Still. Making a decision like this doesn't come easily and today I'm feeling it.

So, dear reader, help me out here. How does the Capt. Jack Sparrow song answer the palaver of wanting to be in three places at the same time?

Is it living?

2011-09-29T08:55:00.000-06:00

You know how I'd like to feel? As alive as I did this day. All the time. Anticipating with joy (and a little fear) the next adventure, feeling completely kissed by the Universe (and the sun), clear, present and open.

And lots of days I do. Some days I do some of the time. Then there's a morning like this morning where I try to figure out how I am going to stretch eight dollars in thirteen different directions. With no help from the bank, which seems to find any way possible to charge me overdraft fees, even when the overdraft is their fault. Yes, three phone calls and an hour later, it is all fixed, but I just really effing hate playing this "beat the bank" game.

And, I know I've said this before, but if I would just go get a real job I could avoid mornings like this morning. I would also have to stick needles in my eyeballs. Because I am working hard at what I am doing. It's just not paying with any regularity. It's like my teaching. I love teaching. I love my students. But the set up is I get paid for that every 10 weeks. I love beading. I love my prayer beads. But I get paid for that every blue moon that comes along and I have a chance to sell them in bulk. I know. I should sell them on my website. And I will. I love my retreats and workshops. I don't do them enough. Because somebody sitting at this keyboard hates to market me. I just want someone to fall out of the sky who thinks I am faboo and will book gigs and get me there. *sigh*

What a Wendy Whiner. All right. Pity party is over. I've got too much to do to indulge in much of that.

My talk on Sunday (I'm speaking at Creative Center for Spiritual Living in Greeley, CO this Sunday) seems to be formulating itself in my head in a direction I wouldn't normally go.

Last Sunday, after Rev. Mark Gilbert's excellent talk at Boulder Center for Spiritual Living, when we got in the car in the parking lot, I turned to Jim and said -- we need to have sex, now. "Right now?" says Jim. "In the car? In the parking lot?" No. We have massages scheduled. Later. After that. "Why?" he says, "Not that I'm complaining." Well, Mark was talking about Maslow's pyramid of hierarchical needs. Like this. And he was talking about how, if we are operating in life out of a sense of lack or fear in any direction, we're still somehow working out of the bottom 3 tiers of the pyramid, and when we move to the top tiers, we operate from a sense of abundance and freedom.

So, since our financial deal is still operating out of less than abundance and freedom, I figure if we just had more sex, it would straighten itself out. Because I breathe enough. I certainly eat enough. I don't drink enough water, or sleep enough, but wouldn't it be way more fun to just have more sex?

I'm trying to figure out how to work that concept into my Sunday talk without actually saying the word sex. Or saying two words: Having sex. That is not the word picture you want people to be contemplating while you are talking.

And while I was trying it out last night on my friend, she said -- "that's what you got from the Sunday talk? I need to get a copy and give it to my husband!" So maybe it would be way successful. Maybe it would sell a lot of CDs.

Maybe I should talk about white water rafting.

Men.

2011-09-28T08:10:00.000-06:00

I had the greatest dream last night. I can only remember bits of it. Because of the dogs.

I woke up at 5 am, after going to bed about midnight, in the middle of a great dream where I could do about 2 zillion things really well. I was in the middle of presenting myself to some world forum, when I had to stop my presentation to, you guessed it, get up and pee. In the dream and in real life.

Then I went back to bed, hoping to pick up the dream and I did, only it took a turn for the strange by becoming obvious that a man (a man!) had been writing the script for my presentation and I could only do all of those things because of this (unknown) man. I was in the process of "fixing" that in the dream when the dogs woke me up to eat. Precisely 6 am. I told you. NASA could launch space shuttles based on the body clock of my dogs. I fed them and went back to bed, trying to recapture the dream again, but Buster, the Wonderdog, appeared in the bed, whining to get under the covers so he can stick his butt out
*sigh* That was the end of that dream. I just can't figure out why my fabulous dream had to be the result of some man's plan. Except. I am able to follow my dreams because my man allows me to not work at any other job except this one. Meaning, even when things get squirrely, financially, he doesn't insist I go get a job that would actually pay me real money, vs. my work, which for the moment pays me about 17 cents an hour. Occasionally. There were five commas in that sentence. I'm sure that's a record. A bad one. A Hemmingwayish one.

Anyway. I got Jim's b'day present yesterday. It is so completely bitchen that I can hardly keep my mouth shut. But what fun is a great gift if you spoil the surprise and give it early? Now all I have to do is keep it hidden in the house till Monday. Ha! Not a problem. Ladies, back me on this one. You could hide your man's new motorcycle in the middle of the living room for 2 weeks and as long as it didn't block the TV, he's never going to see it. Am I right? Still, I'm scouting good hiding places today.

We played Bunco last night in a friend's home I'd never been to before. It was like going to a spa. Her back patio had a huge water feature, beautiful landscaping and backed onto the golf course. Inside the house had just be redone, all new hardwood floors, vaulted ceilings, crown molding, and the entire thing done in very classic colors -- greyish blue; taupe; dark tan, with her huge collection of chinoiserie and toile. You know how when you have someone come to your house and all is well, and then you go to their house and you know they can never come back to your dumpy little pad again? Yeah, that.

I have got to get going on the house. We've lived here three years and haven't really done anything other than our offices. The rest of the house is painted contractor's beige. My houses have always been full of color, and I've lived in beigland long enough. I feel a painting fit coming on.

Right after I make the bazillionth prayer bead bracelet sitting on my table. And the other 47 things on my list. Yeah, definitely, Rainman, definitely. Right after all that.

I'm a ramblin', ramblin (wo)man...

2011-09-27T08:54:00.000-06:00

Yesterday, in continuing with our desire for an active, outdoor lifestyle (which is presumably why people move to Colorado), we went to Chautaqua Park and took a hike up close to the Flatirons. Bluebell Meadow Trail, to be exact.

I'm doing something wrong. The trail has a good little incline at the beginning, then it's just easy up and down and flat the rest of the way. But on that initial climb, what should hurt is quads, hammies and calves. What did hurt was hip flexors. Which means somehow I am putting my foot down wrong, or pushing off wrong, something. Because we don't want our poor little hip flexors to pull our (my) considerable weight up the hill, we want our (my) big ol' quads, hamstrings, calves and butt to push us forward. Who knew hiking would take a lesson? Today my back is torqued, and I'm sure it's because my hips and hip flexors are so tight.

I had a massage from Paula, the wonderwoman, on Sunday. My hip was so tight the entire time she was working on it, my entire back and ribcage muscles were spasming. What the hell? You know, when we're young, we so abuse our bodies and our bodies are so good to us, they just keep going and going and going. Wait. That's the Energizer Bunny. But they do. And what I'm finding is that as I age (ugh), my body needs me to be kinder to it. Yoga. Stretching. Not hiking, getting back in the car and then sitting at the computer all day.

Here is what I like about hiking. One, of course being outdoors in the beautiful Colorado mountains. Two, the scenery. Three, it's exercise in the guise of fun. And four, and maybe most importantly, unlike exercise of my past, which meant ride harder, walk faster, hike bolder (vs. hike Boulder), this kind of hiking is moderately paced. Take a break when you're winded. Pause and look out at the view. Squat down and look at a rock or a bug. Rest against a tree and ponder the meaning of the Universe. And I still got sweaty and a little heart action.

Now I suppose if you're going to summit a 14er, there is an element of not stopping and keep going so you finish in a day. But we're not there yet. So in the meantime, I'm just happy to ramble the trails with my hubby.

The other day we were on a bike ride and these lovely butterflies kept flying around us. Until I realized they were grasshoppers with wings. Holy effing mackerel. Gross. Good thing I didn't realize it until one of them hit me with a crunch. Then I decided to close my mouth lest one of them fly in. Jim probably wishes there were more flying grasshoppers around. Especially on a long car ride. On this same ride it was evident that the local frog C.I.A. was operating on bogus info, because the bike path was strewn with squished frogs. Whoever told the frogs to make a run for it didn't know there was a 1100 person bike ride that morning.

Squished frogs, flying grasshoppers, big black bugs. You want to be an outdoors kind of gal, you're (I'm) going to have to give up being a wuss about that stuff.

Now, if I could just learn to co-exist with spiders, I could become a Buddhist.

The Debbil Made Me

2011-09-25T06:52:00.000-06:00

Yesterday's blog was #333. Halfway to 666.

The Amen Sisters and I went up to Bailey's cabin last week for lunch and cozy time around the fire (it was c.o.l.d., y'all -- now it's 86 degrees). The talk went, as talk amongst Amens is wont to do, around religion and beliefs.

One of the sisters has a relative with a terminal disease who is not saved, and her fear is that if they don't accept Jesus and become saved then she will never see them again (apparently while she is basking in the heavenly eternity). She was distraught. And then she said she kept praying, "God, I know you love them more than I do, so you know what to do."

I couldn't hep m'sef. I had to be the debbil's advocate. I asked her: "if you trust that God loves them so very much, why would God ever turn away from them, even in death?" If you loved someone more than anyone could ever love someone, wouldn't you welcome them with open arms, no matter what they believed?

Ooooh. That drives me crazy. Of course they have no answer except "the Bible says". Seriously? If the Bible told you to go jump off of a cliff, would you? (channeling my dad here)

I would say this is my biggest challenge in life right now. Loving these woman as sisters, no matter what they believe. My real sister would tell me to walk away from right wing Republican Christian tea partiers. She'd probably be giving me good advice. Except for one problem. I really do love them. And, I suppose if they were my "see them every day" friends, well, they wouldn't be my "see them every day" friends. It's really a palaver.

And it really challenges me to be stronger in what I believe, spiritually, politically, morally. Because these babes don't back down from a hearty discussion. I just have to realize that I'm not going to change the way they think and believe any more than they are changing me. I just can't walk away. So obviously there is more for me to learn here.

Sigh. Another effing growth opportunity.

I am cavewoman, hear me rawr.

2011-09-24T08:34:00.000-06:00

Yesterday we did a "steak day". That's from the HCG diet. After you finish losing an insane amount of weight in an insanely short time, you continue to monitor your weight daily. If you go over 2 lbs. of your finishing weight, then you do a "steak day." You drink lots of water and other liquids throughout the day, but no food. For dinner you have a big steak of your choosing, and then an apple. They say the next day you will be down the 2 lbs.

I had crept grains and sugar back into my eating. Crept? Is that even a word? Truth is, I willfully chose to eat processed food, grains and sugar. No stealth about it. Let's be honest. When I got back from Philadelphia, land of peanut butter on oreos, powdered eggs and cheesesteaks, I was up 8 lbs. I knew it was just a temporary thing, but still...

I went back to good eating and lost 3 lbs. right away. Then I had a jones for french fries and as long as you're eating trans fats, you might as well eat ice cream, right? Didn't do much for shedding those 5 lbs. Then I got hold of my senses and ate clean and lost another lb. Then we had steak day. When I woke up this morning and got on the scale I had lost 4.5 lbs. I'm now .5 lbs off my finishing weight from HCG. Magic. Or Majik.

Either way, I'm glad to see that number again. I'll be doing another round of HCG in November. I was worried because I'll be traveling, but my friend just told me she lost 35 lbs in 45 days, traveling for business 40 of the 45 days. So it is completely do-able.

Doctors and others poo-poo the HCG. All I know is that it works. And when we transitioned from HCG to the Primal Blueprint (caveman diet, basically) we ate really clean, but high (good) fat, and my weight didn't budge from my lowest number. We were probably eating 1600 calories or more on the PB diet, up from 500, but no weight gain.

Which shows to go you (I know, I said that backwards), fat isn't making us fat. Healthy fat anyway. Grains and carbs are making us fat. Making me fat. You might be thin. And, I got a real taste of how addictive grains are. As soon as I added bread back into a meal or two, then I craved all things wheat, rice and corn.

So. I'm doing my best to be a cavewoman. Meat, fruit, veggies, nuts, seeds and healthy fats.

Now if I could only have the wild sex Jean Auel wrote about in Clan of the Cave Bear. Her cavewomen rawwwwwr.

Philly Cheesesteak

2011-09-23T08:46:00.000-06:00

Last weekend I was in Philadelphia, facilitating a retreat. My mission in life: get an authentic Philly Cheesesteak sandwich. Especially after the food at the nunnery was so bad that I chose to eat peanut butter (out of a premeasured cup) spread on Oreos (from a premeasured bag of 2) vs. eat anything they offered from the "real" food line.

My choice was pb on oreos, potato chips or very sugary cereal. Although, come to think of it, it worked for That Girl! The peanut-butter on cereal thing. She called it peanut butter crispettes and she used it when she ran out of hors 'd oeuvres at a party. I'm kind of curious why they didn't offer oatmeal as a breakfast entree, instead choosing powdered eggs with velveeta filling. What. ever.

Anyway, I took the liberty of cancelling our last meal (cold cuts) so we could go out and get a cheesesteak. My hostess (with the mostess) was so wanting me to have the best that we drove for nearly two hours in the car, first to the best cheesesteak place, then the best hoagie place, then the best greek salad place, then 2 liquor stores for peach schnaps for bellinis. I would have eaten the seat belt at that point. But she was right. It was phenomenal cheesesteak, hoagie and greek salad and the bellini hit the spot after being "on" for 24 hours.

I love my new friends at the Philadelphia Center of Peace. I talk like them now. Uh huh. Only you hum that uh huh. With authority.

We had such a good time at the retreat. I know that some of the participants had come reluctantly, but they all jumped in and participated at the highest level. Which was so rewarding, since I had literally spent a month preparing for this retreat, praying for each one of them by name every day, and wanting it to be a success. Check, check and check.

Interesting. In the Bible it talks about how when you have a chance of your nature, you change your name. Like Saul to Paul. At Agape International Spiritual Center in LA, there are a bunch of peeps in the congregation that have obviously taken that to heart. And even in semi-conservative San Diego, we had Brightstars and Clearwaters and Graces galore. I always wanted to change my name, but the name I wanted to change to was Jezebel. Tell you anything about me? Hee. I was always to afraid of people's judgement to change my name. But here's the deal: All of those people who changed their name? Yes I thought they were weird for about a year. Then I forgot what their other name was. Kind of like in Hollywood (or politics) when you screw up you're big news for a little while, then the next story comes along and everybody forgets.

Except for Ted Kennedy. (spoiler alert: soapbox rant coming) Yes, he drove drunk, saved himself and not Mary Jo, and walked home with a broken back. And he didn't go to jail because he is rich and powerful. (see, e.g. Simpson, OJ) But he spent the rest of his life championing the rights of those without a champion. And say what you will, if you make minimum wage that is more than $0.17 an hour and have health insurance, you owe a debt of gratitude to the man. End of soapbox. I loved him, flaws and all.

Back to names... when I was finishing up my AILP program, I made a "yearbook" for us, more like a memory book, with each person getting their own page with pictures, funny things they had said and nice things people said about them. It took me about two months to do and by the time I was done, I was in love with each person -- because, I think, I had been working with their name (their essence, vibration, atmosphere and nature) for so long.

When I got hired to do the retreat, I began to work with each name in prayer, and it was true. When I got there, I already loved everyone. And then I saw their beautiful faces, heard their voices, listened to what they had to say, laughed, cried, prayed and meditated with them -- I honestly feel like I have 21 new friends. And I felt sad to leave them.

Plus everyone was African American (except me). Squishy crunchy hair (which I had to hold myself back from just getting my hands in and messing with, it feels so good); skin ranging from black coffee to one guy whiter than me (but his grandma was this darling little black woman). I hate to stereotype, but my experience was they worshipped deeply, sang lustily, stomped hard, went balls to the wall in the processing experiences, and loved big. I can't wait to go back and be with them. And, they accepted me into their group without reservation. Or any outward resistance, that I could see.

Can you tell I'm in love with them?

And not just for their cheesesteak.

127 Hours

2011-09-22T11:06:00.000-06:00

Or, how I almost became the female Aron Ralston.

More like 12.7 seconds. We had our getaway to the cabin. Sublime. We decided to hike every day. Including Lily Lake.

A gorgeous, easy hike. You can choose to stay flat (8,900 feet, but flat) or you can take a little detour up Lily Ridge Trail. So we decided to be bold. When we got to the first false summit, we sat down on the rocks right there and just looked out at the scenery. When we got up to leave, I lost my balance and stepped back blindly, right into a crevasse between the two huge boulders I was sitting on. Well, I wasn't sitting on two huge boulders. I was sitting on one. My butt is big, but not that big. I hadn't even notice the space between the boulders when I sat down so imagine my surprise when I stepped back into nothingness, and then found myself on the ground with my leg stuck.

I went up above my knee on the right side and then fell over onto my butt on the left. I am so lucky I didn't break my leg. Anyway, I went to pull my leg out of the crevasse and it was stuck. I think my foot was stuck because of my shoe. Whatever. I could only think of Aron and his poor arm stuck in that canyon. Did you know it took 13 men and a winch to move the boulder to retrieve the rest of his arm? Luckily for me it just took Jim standing me up straight so my leg could be pulled out. I had a nice owie to show for the adventure.

So there. It wasn't a very good story after all.

Then I spent a week getting ready for, a weekend doing and three days recuperating from a retreat I gave for the Center of Peace in Philadelphia. It was so much fun, especially since they thought I was fabooo. I felt like I was living my passion and purpose out loud. I want to do MORE!

I want to tell all about it but I have 27 bazillion emails to take care of and I need to find the surface of my desk amidst all the flotsam and jetsam. Tomorrow. I'll be back on track tomorrow.

I think.

(PS Like my new picture? It's from Bailey's cabin in Allens Park. I took it with my phone. The light streaming through the trees was an unexpected bonus.)

I once was lost but now am found

2011-09-08T08:30:00.000-06:00

My computer and I have had a huge brain fart this morning and I thought I lost this blog. The horror. When I posted a blog it went to an old account I forgot I even had. I thought I lost my 300+ posts of what were probably brilliant thoughts, witty insights, and sage advice.

Ha!

Whatever I thought was lost is now found. Hallelu.

I gotta get all my passwords in one place.

I kissed a dog and I liked it...

2011-09-07T07:58:00.000-06:00

with apologies to Katy Perry. Who is married to one of the funniest people ever.

Anyway, this morning, as par usual, Buster the wonderdog ate his breakfast in 2 seconds flat and then ran back to bed with me so he could put his head under the covers. But first he stuck his face in my face and when I turned to look at him he stuck his tongue in my mouth. Why do dogs do that? Petunia sticks her tongue in my mouth (or up my nose) as often as possible. When she was a puppy, she weighed about 2 pounds and she would sit on my chest in the morning (she was so light I wouldn't feel her) and then decide to wake me up with a puppy tongue in my nose. Trust me. That will wake even the soundest sleeper.

We're going to the cabin this weekend. So in case Armageddon happens on the anniversary of 9/11; we'll be out of nuclear fallout range. That's not why we're going, but it does happen to be a handy backstory. It's been 80 degrees and glorious until the last two days when it has been in the 60's and cloudy and rainy. The forecast calls for 60's and thunderstorms and a bit of sun on Sunday. How appropriate. Luckily, I've been buying light wool sweaters on my thrift store outings, so I have the right kind of clothes.

Our favorite dogsitters are coming to stay the weekend. The dogs will be in 7th heaven. They love Becky and Chris. Sometimes I think more than they love us. Of course B and C dedicate 100% of their time to the poopsters while they are sitting. Who wouldn't love all the attention, all the time? Dog-wise? I'd hate it.

It's funny how some of us are social and some of us are hermits, yes? I say I could live happily in a cave (a very elegant cave) for the rest of my life as a hermit. Not really true. But I have a high need for solitude. Unlike some people I know who are uber social. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

Anyway, if we're leaving tomorrow for the cabin, I've got a ton of work to do. None of which involves indulging myself blogging. Some of which involves loving up the dogs. Tongue and all.

How to keep your mother off of facebook...

2011-09-05T08:27:00.000-06:00

Remember a few years ago there was a hilarious video on YouTube about how to keep your mother off of facebook? I need to go find it. My mom's been on facebook for a while, but she couldn't figure out how to read my blog (and I didn't help her). Well that ended yesterday when some helpful (using the world loosely) soul showed her how to access it.

*sigh*

Mom, you're just going to have to roll with it. I've been writing this blog as if no one were reading it, just stream of consciousness stuff, including the f-word. Thinking your mother is reading it might tend to put a damper on things. We'll see.

Actually, I used to live a life that was not fit for parental knowledge. Long long ago and very far away. Now, my life is pretty tame, except for the occasional rant. Maybe not interesting to anyone but me. And yet I continue to write. Is that perverse or just incredibly narcissistic?

I realized this morning that I have a 30-week class starting next Monday with brand new curriculum; we're going away to the cabin for a long weekend, starting on Thursday, and I do not want to work while there (may not have a choice), and I am going to Philadelphia to facilitate a retreat the weekend after. Why have I been dinking around? I'm sort of half way there on everything. I'd feel a lot better if I were all the way there on something.

That, and the craft fair that Patty and I are getting ready for is only 2 months away. Lucy, we got some 'splainin to do. Or at least some crafting.

Bailey called me on Friday morning. I had a million plans to do other things, like work. She told me there was an all-city garage sale up near the cabin, and if I went she'd get me home by 12:00.
Ha. We got home at 1:30 and I missed my business call. Fail.

The all-city thing was a non-starter, so we went to our favorite thrift stores in Estes Park. I scored with two great finds: a Pearl Izumi biking jersey for Jim, seems hardly worn, cost $16 instead of $100. That bike jersey is black and international hurt-your-eyes-but-you-can't-miss-it yellow. Like a bumblebee designed by Peter Max. It's practically glow in the dark, but when we're out riding on the highway, that's a color you want to be wearing.

The other great score was finding the lined wool pants (Talbots brand) that matched the jacket I bought a month ago at the same thrift store. Someone who is my size in Estes Park wears really nice clothes, but not for very long, and then donates them. I ended up getting that beautiful camel stretch wool (never even heard of that before but it makes it feel like you're wearing sweat pants and a T-shirt instead of a suit) pantsuit for $11. After $15 dry cleaning and $10 to alter the pants, we're looking at $36 for a like-new suit (I just looked at the Talbots website and based on their prices, that suit probably cost in the neighborhood of $300). Yay.

I'm usually not a suit-wearing type, since it's OK if I show up in goddess wear to speak in a church on Sunday, I'm usually the more flow-y type. But having endured a few winters here now, I know that having a wool pantsuit or two is a good idea. They don't really make goddess wear in cableknit.

So. Even though it's a holiday and we'll probably go for a ride at some point, I see work in my future.

And maybe a nap.

Ay Chihuahua!

2011-09-04T07:07:00.000-06:00

A few days ago my semi-new next door neighbor asked me if we would watch her dog while she and her kids when for a small, Labor-Day vacay. Sure! I said. Happy to oblige. We agreed I would go over and talk to her kids on Saturday while she was at work and they would give me the 411 on the dog.

Jim and I went over, the kids were completely vague, like teenagers are, and we left knowing the dog's name (Nissan) and that he likes to lay outside. When we asked for the house key, they said their mom would drop it off later.

(An aside: the kids are named LaJessi; LeVillion and LeZillion or something like that. Parents are Vietnamese but must be French Vietnamese. I asked LeVillion what his name meant, and he said he had no idea. Must be bad for him not to say. What 15 year old kid with a wierd name doesn't know what it means?)

But I digress. By 9 pm last night we still didn't have a key to their house so I asked Jim to go over and get it. He came home shaking his head. Turns out mom thinks we are going to take care of the dog at OUR house. So they are dropping the dog off tomorrow and leaving till Monday night. WTH? Besides the fact it makes no sense to me to traumatize both our dogs and her dog with an unexpected overnight, I'm not sure why she wants the dog to stay with us since we could just as easily go over to her house and take care of him.

But, I wasn't part of the conversation, and I felt like we had to say yes, since I'd already agreed to take care of Nissan and they are going on vacation. Ay yai yai. So starting today we have added a teeny weeny chihuahua to our brood for the weekend. Thankfully we have a dog playpen and I think Nissan is going to be confined for the next two days unless they can all play nice. Not to mention, do we know how/if he is housebroken? I can just see he and Buster peeing all over the house trying to mark their territory.

This is all my fault. Live and learn. Note to self: get a few more details before saying yes next time. Maybe she'll give me a pedicure for our troubles. (Yes, if you can believe it, my manicurist moved in next door. Into a really expensive house that she's doing amazing, expensive things landscaping-wise to fix up. I'm in the wrong profession. Oh wait. I was in the industry. I made a lot of money. Then my body fell apart. Being a writer is a lot less lucrative, but then, how many writers have to have both shoulders, a knee and a foot operated on? Where was I going? Oh yeah. Money.)

*sigh* It always ends up there, doesn't it? Ay chihuahua for realzies.

Ride, Sally, Ride.

2011-09-02T08:13:00.000-06:00

It's official. We're bike riders. Last night we went for a great ride, probably only about 5 miles, but in a big square with some good up and downs (no hills, just long false flats) that gave a good cardio workout when keeping the rpms steady.

Jim tried out his new (padded) bike shorts. I think his family jewels are much happier. He didn't seem to waddle around so much. When I used to ride like a crazy person (100 milers) the only difficult part was what to do with my parts. When I see those Tour d' Francers with metal unpadded seats I wonder if they just castrated themselves to make life easier. I really wish it were the norm to have a tractor seat on the bike. Would make things so much more pleasant.

Anyway. Buying Jim a gift is pointless. He doesn't want anything. What he does want is too expensive. Whatever I give him still sits, unused, in the box, years later. The odd thing is that he loves to get presents. He loves to open them. I've just never come upon anything he likes. And I pride myself on being a really good gifter. Last year for his birthday my sister generously gave him a piece of a meteorite from a rock shop. We'd been to the shop a bunch of times and he asked to have the rock taken out of the cabinet every time so he could hold it. When he opened it, he didn't recognize it. (And I'm thinking, "it's the bloody $200 rock you've been looking at for a year now!"). Now it sits on a nice stand on a shelf in his office. Although I don't know what else you could do with a rock.

So now, he's totally into biking. Hallelujiah! There are a million things you can buy a cyclist. Gloves, helmets, computers, upgrades, upgrades, upgrades. He's eyeing a cool jersey right now with the Colorado state flag on it. Just in time for his birthday. Now I know I can get a $5 thing or a $200 thing, as long as it is bike related, we'll be golden. It's so amazing to finally have a direction in which to throw my money.

I was going to get him a pair of Ray Bans we saw at a kiosk in the Flatirons Mall. $200. That will buy way more fun bike things. When we were looking at those sunglasses, we also found a $300 pair someone had left on a table near the kiosk. We gave them to the kiosk guy because we figured someone might come back looking for them and they might try the sunglasses place. While we were looking at shades, the rightful owner came up, crazed out of his mind, looking for his lost glasses. We're really good people for turning them in, because they looked great on Jim!

Anyway, I need to do some serious work today on a workshop/retreat I'm leading in Philadelphia in a couple of weeks. Which means I need to ignore all the fun beading projects I have laid out on the table and go meditate.

I'll do it, because to get my work done means that when Jim comes home, we'll go for another great ride.

Am I driving?

2011-08-31T11:01:00.000-06:00

You know how they have that bumper sticker that says "How am I driving?" and gives you a number to call? I need one that just says:

"Am I driving?"

I swear, my dreams have been so vivid, that I'm not sure if they have happened or not. But I suppose I should figure that if they had happened I'd be (a) in jail; (b) married to Neal Tiemann; (c) running some odd lab or clinic or (d) none of the above but something much, much stranger. (Although I can't think of much that would be stranger than being with the great inky one, who is way young enough to be my son.)

Yesterday I made Primal snacks. Some successfully. Others? Not so much. I made these "crackers" that taste like savory foccacia. I could see using them for a lot of things, including as croutons. Then I made nut/nut butter bars. They are chewy and nutty and kinda weird, but pack a serious nutritional punch and so are good to have as a snack. I made brownies (delish) and chocolate truffles (not so good, didn't have enough chocolate) which will be used as a schmear on a plate of berries and whipped cream. All that made with nut flours, coconut oil and milk, honey, molasses or agave, some spices, and 72% chocolate. Not bad.

Then I cut up all the fruit, made containers of our favorite: watermelon, jicima, cukes (from our garden!), papaya and mango with lime juice. Then I watched a cooking show and decided to make the food today -- garlic roasted chicken; ratatouille that's more like a side veggie than a stew, so I cut up all the veggies because we were missing eggplant and a ton of garlic. I'll get that today and make a great dinner.

I have to say: after a month of being off of the HGC, still not eating sugar (exceptions, of course), dairy, processed foods or grains, and I feel great. I'm at the same weight I was when I stopped a month ago (a major, huge, win for me) and I'm ready to start another round in November. I wonder if it will be harder or easier? I won't be sugar addict, so that part should be easy. I will have been eating high fat, so that part may be hard. But, watching the pounds melt off (and getting closer to all those cool punjabi outfits I bought in India) will be worth it.

In the meantime, I'm doing these nebulizer treatments for my lungs which work on the lungs but also set the adrenaline abuzz and my hands are shaking so hard it is difficult to keep them on the keys. I think a bike ride is in order to burn off some energy.

I'm off to get some Vitamin D. Thank God I'm only riding and not driving.

2 Pee or Not 2 Pee?

2011-08-30T10:06:00.000-06:00

That is a serious question.

Lately, I've been finding myself awake in the middle of the night and not being able to figure out whether I'm awake because I have to pee or I'm awake because I just peed. Now, dear reader, you know that the outcome of this dilemma is very important indeed. I don't want to be that old that I have to sleep with plastic sheets. I need to learn to err on the side of "get up and pee" vs. "I think I just need to go back to sleep."

And the dreams? Katie bar the door. They are so convoluted. I know that any dream interpreter worth their salt will tell me that I am every part of the dream. If so, I am very busy being a wierdo.

Yesterday Jim, bless his pointed bald old head, decided to get up early and go meet up with a meet-up-and-bike group. He shows up on our very comfy hybrid bike with the tractor seat (practically) and meets six road bikers in full on Lance Armstrong gear. They kindly tell him to do the best he can -- they're biking to Hygiene (a place, not a state of being). He went for about 20 minutes until he realized he could see no one from the group, so he turned around and came home. Wise move. When he got home he was feeling very invigorated, so we walked the dogs and then went for an easy ride on our own. He got plenty of exercise yesterday! There is a greenway just minutes from the house that goes out into the country with just miles of paved bikeway. Lovely. All you hear are the crickets, birds, frogs, geese and other nature-like sounds. We left the bike rack on the car so we can more easily throw the bikes on when he gets home from work in the afternoon and we can zip on over to to the greenway for a quick hour ride.

Then we took the car to Aamco, because our check engine light is going on and off and they'll run diagnostics for free. The transmission is shifting like a new driver on a standard shift. Turns out it's some cam thing (vs. a new transmission) that costs about $200 to fix (vs. $2,000). Much more fun. I went around all day yesterday thinking I had money to burn because I wasn't going to have to spend the $2 grand. (Which we didn't have so I don't know what money I thought I was burning, but...)

Anyway. Today I am tackling the Primal Blueprint cookbook. I'm armed with almond meal "flour" and coconut "flour"; coconut oil for cooking, nuts, seeds, dried fruits and natural cocoa. I should end the day with nut bars, "brownies" and some other primal treats to go along with our no grains/no processed food/no sugar diet.

I need something to take the place of peanut butter pretzels.

I'm a Peanut Butter Pretzel.

2011-08-27T09:04:00.000-06:00

I need to go to PB Pretzel rehab. While we were doing our detox (no sugar, dairy, grains or processed food). I was only tempted badly one time. So bad I had to walk out of the room. It was peanut butter pretzels.

Since finishing the detox, I have only indulged in one grain, repeatedly. The processed wheat that makes up the outside of a peanut butter pretzel. Now, dear readers, here is the stoopid part. As soon as I finish eating those, I have really bad heartburn. It's clear that my system is much happier without processed food, especially junk processed food. (But it comes in a nice, natural looking bag!) Still I eat them.

Hi. My name is Jana and I'm a peanut butter pretzel-aholic.

(says the crowd) Hi, Jana.

I think of having the dreaded pbps because I have been making jewelry like a mofo for the last two days and it's easier to eat something self-contained than say, trying to eat fruit and keep your hands clean. Terrible excuse.

I bought, years ago, at a bead show, this really cool clasp that was made from a vintage french button. It was stupid expensive -- $35 -- and so I saved it and saved it and saved it, wanting to use it wisely. I finally realized I should make something for myself with it, and digging through all of my beads I found dyed pink baroque pearls the same color as the pink in the clasp. So I wired all of them, then put them on chain, alternating with lighter pink pearls. I like the finished product, and I hardly ever make anything for myself, all the more fun.

This same booth at the bead show had clasps made from billiard balls sawed in half and set in sterling silver. The gal at the booth was wearing a necklace made from lapis and silver, clasped with whatever number ball is blue striped. It was one of the coolest things. I'm sorry I didn't buy a billiard ball clasp, but they were $200, so it wasn't even a possibility.

That's 200 bags of peanut butter pretzels. Oh yeah. That's the best part of the pbp thing. The same brand they sell at Costco in the giagantor tub they sell in individual-sized bags at the Dollar Store. If you consider a 600 calorie snack an individual size.

Don't you hate it when they do that? Tell you the calories-per-portion size of something, but then it turns out there are 14 portions in the bag you are holding (probably empty by now). Live and learn. Read the portion size before you eat the entire bag.

So, today. I'm cutting hair (40 bags of pbp); doing an independent study class via phone (150 bags of pbp); continuing to write the retreat I'm giving in PA next month (a lifetime supply of pbp) and
living with the 'burn of having pbp for breakfast.

*sigh* I do need help.

What She Said.

2011-08-25T09:34:00.000-06:00

My older sister was here for an overnight visit. Which means non-stop talking as long as we are awake. We made her go to bed at 9:00 (farmer time) last night, for which she was eternally grateful.

Me? I couldn't sleep so I got up and figured out the solutions to every problem in my world, made a list of things to do to redecorate the kitchen and played some FreeCell.

I got so involved in this damn FreeCell game that I stayed up an extra hour, trying to solve it. It's the first time I have ever had to give up because it was unsolvable, at least to me.

Yesterday, I decided to get my vitamin D by weeding the yard and doing some heavy duty lawn reshaping in the back yard. That entails one of those claw-like thingys to pull the rocks from the french drain back so I can see where the metal edge marker for the lawn is. Then, pull everything on the wrong side of the marker and rake the rocks back into place. Then I got out our 10,000 pound weed wacker and edged the entire back yard so you can actually see the outline of the lawn. Very satisfying, but today my forearms are not happy.

LeAnn told me that those dumb macrame necklaces all the major league pitchers are wearing are actually some kind of titanium healing deal. She was wearing one on her neck and one on each wrist and had little sticky dots all over her body -- says it completely relieves pain.

Now I am wearing the bracelets and have sticky dots all over my arms. I was going to say that nothing is happening, but damn if my arms don't feel better. Hee.

She, like any good sister, confirmed my worst fears. Yes, that chip in your front tooth does make you look like a hillbilly. Yes, that necklace you made needs to be redone and take those ugly white beads out of it. Are you seriously going to paint your kitchen those colors?

So, so so. She also, like any good sister, brought gifts. Mainly from the trade show she'd been attending in Denver. So now we have all manner of crap with business names on it. But my favorite is a rubber ring that has spikes on the top and you push a button and it goes all multi-colored disco whirling lights on you.

I'm going to wear it all day.

What I Know for Sure (Sorta)

2011-07-29T10:05:00.000-06:00

So today is day 30 of my 30-day detox from sugar, dairy, processed foods and grains. The first couple of days were hard. Mainly because I had such withdrawal symptoms from lack of sugar. Embarrassing for a diabetic to be such a sugar junkie.

Sometimes I was really hungry. Most times I was not. Most times I just wanted to eat because (a) it was there or (b) I was bored. Not mindlessly munching my way through an evening of TV was something I really had to consciously think about doing. (Great english composition on that sentence.)

I don't really know if I have this, but I am self diagnosing body dsymorphic disorder. I don't even know if that is a condition or a correct use of the words, but since I am using my medical license obtained from the coupon on the back of the National Enquirer, it is my diagnosis and I'm sticking to it. I can't see what is truly in front of me in the mirror. I can only tell when I see myself in pictures. And usually what I see is that some fat girl persists in jumping into my clothes just before the picture is taken. I don't know where the girl I see in the mirror goes, but she's never in the picture frame.

So I'm feeling really good about losing over 20 lbs. on my detox, feeling great about the fact that 90% of my clothes are too big and I fit into all the pants in my closet now, even those jeans that have been hanging way in the back, waiting for my return. But. My sister sent me pictures she took from her vacation here last week. Once again, that damn fat girl is back. And, worse, she looks old. How/when did that happen? In one of the pictures with my Amen Sisters, they look amazing and I look fat and puffy and squinty eyed and old and weird. I'm giving myself a break and saying it's because the day before I shampooed carpets for 9 hours and was in serious back pain, but I gotta do two things right away today -- cut my hair and throw away the clothes I had on in that picture!!

Sigh. The never-fucking-ending battle of a woman and her body image. When I am king/queen of the world and I run the circus, that will not be allowed. I'll endow every woman with the unswerving belief that she is beautiful, just the way she is. Starting with me.

Anyway -- picture or no picture, I feel great, my blood sugar is in the normal range (down 200 points) every day, my eyes are clear and sparkly, I am down several sizes of pants and I can see my ankles. That's what I know for sure today.

Can it be?

2011-07-20T09:27:00.000-06:00

Can it really be that my back hurts too bad to write a blog? Yes, in fact.

I have been cleaning the house like the Queen of England was coming for tea when really it's just my mom and sister. Although, I like presenting a squeeky clean house to any guest and this was just the push I needed to do the stuff I'd been avoiding, like cleaning all the wooden blinds, shampooing all the carpets, cleaning up the basement where we have two great beds for them, finding out mom can't climb stairs and rearranging the library to fit a blow up bed there, you know, the usual.

There is a chiropractor in town who has started a new concept. No appointment, drop in for an adjustment, $20. We went on Monday and he's a young kid with a great idea. He adjusted my back, hips, neck, shoulders, knees, ankles and jaw. I felt like a new woman. Then I vacuumed and carpet shampooed (same motion) for 9 hours yesterday. I can't wait till Jim gets home so I can go have another ~~fix~~ I mean adustment. My back had been aching for weeks before Monday and with that adjustment I felt fine.

They also have 1.5 hour hot rock massage for $65. I'm going to go try it just to see if it is any good. If so, that's half price from anywhere else in town.

Everything is done except my (as my friend Rosene says) paws and claws. And right now, after all that cleaning, they look like wild animal nails. So, I'm off to get that done and then it's sit around and look adorable till they get here. Hee.

Down the drain?

2011-07-15T09:11:00.000-06:00

Given Jim's and my propensity to clog up our kitchen sink, you might think this will be about "what thing we have stuffed down the drain, only to have to dig out of the pipes" kind of blog. Au contraire, mon frere.

I was just thinking that if I don't write my blog first, all my fabulous (she said with a smirk) ideas go down the drain. Because I got up early today and got everything done I wanted to around the house, I sat down at my desk to organize it and found the stack of "Daily Guides" I've been writing for the last several years. For a long time, I wrote my Morning Pages, ala Julia Cameron, then wrote a little something that I hoped could turn into a book of "thought for the day" kind of stuff. I have a couple hundred of them. (Yes, dear reader, I know I'll need 365). I started to type them up into a document and an hour later I looked up at the time.

I can't help it. I love to write. I need to start doing the pages again, or consider my blog the pages so I can clear out the head before writing for realsies. Except when I go back and look at pages from the past -- yipes. I know I have all the filter of a sieve when I write here, but apparently I let it rip when I know no one is going to read it. So the dilemma -- how much writing of different sorts can I do in one day before my juice goes down the drain? Morning Pages -- 3 pages of longhand writing immediately upon awakening. Blog -- splat my thoughts out on the page. The Living Path facebook page -- something clever and profound (or some combination of that) for Thought of the Day. Daily Guides -- luckily for now I'm just doing data entry. Classes -- how to transfer hundreds of pages of notes from the Abwoon Interspiritual Leadership Program into classes that I can teach. Workshops and Retreats -- have several coming up. Sunday talks. Keynote speeches.

Whew. That's a lot of work to be done. I guess I'd better stop playing Angry Birds.

Contact!

2011-07-14T08:46:00.000-06:00

Do you remember in the movie "Contact" when Jodi Foster's character gets launched through the wormhole in space via the machine they built? And when she sees the infinite beauty of the Universe, she says "They should have sent a poet." I think that's my favorite line in the movie.

Last night, driving home from a zikr in Boulder, I was already high and mellow at the same time when I looked to my left to the Flatirons and almost had to stop dead in the street. There was this eerie quality to them, like I had put on 3D glasses in a 3D world? They were so sharp, yet the air had a Maxfield Parrish tinge to it, so they were otherworldly in color. Above them, thousands of feet into the sky, rose huge billowy storm clouds. The uppermost clouds still bright white with the sun shining on them, the middle of the clouds almost translucent orange and the bottom of the clouds purply pink. Phenom.

There is nothing in the world like watching the sun sink into the ocean, but this'll do.

I don't know if anyone else at the Wednesday night service enjoyed the zikr, but it is my favorite one (Nur-i-Muhammed) and I feel like I've been lifted up and grounded at the same time after I sing it. So, I wanted to try it once and we did.

I'm finishing up teaching two classes on two different nights, plus the Wednesday service and Tuesdays are Amen Sisters or P.E.O. I have to say I loved loved loved teaching the classes and I will be glad to have an evening free during the week.

Today is day 17 of my (as my sister LeAnn calls it) grain embargo, sugar fast and dairy detox. I've only had two psychological wanna-eats so far. Once when we went to a meeting and they had Qdoba taco/burrito bars set up (we ate our detox diet food) and the other was in class the other night someone brought a huge jar of peanut butter filled pretzels. I had to just walk out of the room and go somewhere else. Because I don't eat just one of those. I eat 500 of them.

My blood sugar seems to have settled in at 100. That's not bad, but I'd like it to be about 5 points lower, so I'm going to start journaling my food to see if there is something that tips the scale (like strawberries vs. apple). It is such an incredible feeling to be worried about a 5 point blood sugar drop, instead of a 200 point drop. If for no other reason, doing this was worth it. I'm glad we're doing 30 days, because I saw cake pops in Starbucks yesterday and I still wanted one. My greatest hope is that in 15 more days I'll have the craving out of my system.

Everyone has been commenting on how clear and sparkly my eyes are. Hmmm. I have had my contacts in every time they have said that. I wonder if it's my eyes or the contacts? I just went and looked. It's my eyes. Yippeee.

Now if I could just get my hips to look as clear and sparkly, or whatever the hip equivalent is... then we're talkin.

Roy G. Biv

2011-07-12T08:50:00.000-06:00

Sometimes I can't believe we just packed up the truck and moved to Colorado, complete with Granny in the rocker on top of the car. I wonder if we did the right thing. I wonder if we won the lottery would we move right back to San Diego. I wonder if I could leave the amazing people I've met here who have become my friends, sisters, family.

Then, last night, driving home through the verdant cornfields, the purple, snow covered Rockies to my right, black storm to my left, the sun was just at the right angle in the sky to create a double rainbow. (I resisted the urge to get out of my car, film it, cry hysterically and ask "what does it mean, man?") They were both extraordinarly wide. The inner rainbow was so sharp and clear I could easily see every single Roy G. Biv color, even pale sky blue, indigo blue and violet. It was amazing. Thankfully there was no one else on the road so I could spend lots of time looking right to the mountains and left to the rainbows. I should have just gotten out of my car and taken it all in. I could have run through the cornfields singing (well, what would I sing whilst running through cornfields, except the Exorcist soundtrack? because I think in the movies only bad things happen in cornfields). When I find myself surrounded in that beauty, I know I'm in the right place.

I heard the guy on the radio say that monsoon season had arrived in Colorado. I thought monsoons only happened in Asia. I can't complain. I don't often have to drive in it (it does rain torrentially at times). But I have the pleasure of wallowing in the life it brings -- impossibly green fields of every hue, wild sunflowers springing up in huge clumps at the side of every road.

Last Saturday I went with Janis to her cabin and the St. Vrain river is so full and fast, it's at the very top of its banks and moving at the speed of death. To fall in would be the end of anyone. The fury of the white water is beautiful. And the snow hasn't stopped melting. And because of all this, the trees and growth at the river bed is lush -- I should call it overgrowth to do its prolificness justice (I just made up that word).

We passed another milestone with homeownership. We now have a sprinkler man. Our pipes weren't closed properly by the guy we hired last year, so some froze and broke. He fixed them all and replaced two broken heads. And he put us on his "list" so that when October comes around, he'll shut them off properly for us. We have a sprinkler guy, an HVAC guy. I pray that they are the only "guys" we need for a while.

I dreamed last night that I was moving into a mansion with three other girls, we all loved it, signed the lease, and then began to see that complete pigs had lived there, the snow-covered bushes were growing under the back door into the house and although we had seen the two most magnificent rooms, turned out the rest of the house was squalid, dank and dark. Then I remembered in the dream that I was married and Jim should probably come and live there too. What a palaver. Thank goodness I woke up.

And I awoke to a beautiful, sunny Colorado day. Yep. This is where I belong.

Don't you wish?

2011-07-08T09:39:00.000-06:00

I was thinking this morning about all the things I've ever wished for that I thought would make my life mo' betta. In high school I wished to be Carla Daniels. Adorable, petite, athletic, loved by boys and girls alike. In college I wished for long blonde hair and a tan, thinking life would easier. When I was married right out of college I wished to be anything other than I was so my husband would pay attention to me. Through it all of course, I wished to be thinner, prettier, stronger, funnier. Differenter.

I wished myself right out of just enjoying, celebrating and loving who I was. I wished for a different family, a different father, a different lifestyle.

I find myself doing that every once in a while. If only I were more (fill in the blank) then life would be better. It's hard to not compare my financial situation to others, my home to other homes, my daily life to someone else's. And, what I know for sure is that we don't know what goes on behind closed doors. My projection of others' happiness and ease of life is only speculation. Like my friend Janis says -- it's just a story I'm telling.

So while for today I am going to just be happy right where I am, I do have a list of things I wish I had done....

1. Learned a second language by cultural immersion. And then a third and fourth and fifth.
2. Learned to ski at a young age so I wouldn't be afraid now.
3. Been around horses at an early time so I wouldn't be intimidated by them and could have that horse whisperer thing with them.
4. Gone to Europe after college and bummed around while you still could.
5. Never snorted that first line.
6. Figured out how to fix a car.
7. Never let the one that got away, get away.
8. Never touched a credit card.
9. Decided to be fearless about doing what I love.
10. Bought a house in Southern California in the 80's.

That list just came out, stream-of-consciousness. Hmmm. I'll have to think about that.

For today, I wish to check off all the things on my beautiful Excel spreadsheet. If I do that, I'll have accomplished a lot. That, dear readers, is a good thing.

I've said it before...

2011-07-07T09:55:00.000-06:00

But it bears repeating. I'm a simpleton. I should remember that about myself. I like charts and graphs and checking off boxes of things accomplished.

Blame it on my mom. She was so freaking organized our whole lives, it rubbed off in a big way. Not a bad thing. When we were kids, she would make and post these very detailed charts: day of the week on one axis, kid's name on the other, and the chores we should do that day after school. She always kept it to a small thing, 15 - 20 minutes, like vacuum the house, or weed 2 rosebushes (damn those infernal rosebushes) or polish the furniture in the living room. I don't think ever did them, or if we did, it lasted about 2 days. Even more amazing, she was doing these charts when there was no excel spreadsheet -- there was no computer, period. She was doing these charts on a less-than IBM Selectric typewriter. Or maybe her secretary was. Whatever. Impressive when you think about it.

I was a word-processor in a large law firm in the late 70's -- back in the days of the magnetic card typewriters, and dictaphone belts. Everyone under 50 reading this has no idea what I'm talking about. Then we got Wang computers. We had the 7th largest installation in the world. We got a laser printer we called the Towering Inferno because it caught on fire more than it printed and it was the size of a Volkswagen Beetle. I look over at my laser printer which is the size of a breadmaker and love progress. As we went along, we got each new fabulous computer upgrade until we were a huge 24/7 department, typing away night and day.

When I think about the volume of paper wasted -- entire rainforests -- in doing draft after draft of 100 page briefs, it makes me so glad that attorneys nowdays probably type into their iPads and electronically send the documents to someone who edits and fixes it up and then electronically sends it to court. I hope that's what they do anyway.

I've made myself a little chart, a'la my mother, about tasks to do every day, only I used Excel and colored in the boxes. I'm finding it easy to do some daily stuff that really needs to get done that I was avoiding. I'm also finding, that like my mother, I gave myself some "I don't wanna" to-do things that only take 15 -30 minutes. And I notice I haven't done one of those yet this week.

*sigh* The more things change, the more they stay the same.

Now we do this on nothing?

2011-07-06T07:28:00.000-06:00

You know how when you eat something heavy or spicy and then go to bed you can have crazy dreams?

Last night I had tons of very odd dreams and I ate nothing before bed and have been eating totally clean for 10 days now. One of the dreams is reminiscent of dreams I've had before when I was dieting. I dreamed I ate an entire giant bowl of peanut M&Ms and then tons of Mexican food, slathered in guacamole. Usually I wake up freaked out that I really ate whatever it was in the dream. In this dream, I actually had remorse about blowing my sugar fast and was very sad. So I think that's a good thing.

I asked Jim last night if he was having an easy time of this detox, and he said yes, but he found himself jonesing for things -- like a Nathan's hot dog. Wait. What? I think what I wish I could have right now is a salad verte from the old Pirets in San Diego. A simple salad, but with cheese and nuts and terrific dressing. That's a step up from wanting french fries and ice cream.

Last night was an Amen Sisters meeting. We were told to bring our bibles and be prepared to share our favorite verse and tell our "salvation" story. Gag. I don't have a salvation story because I don't believe we need to be saved. I believe we're born made in the image and likeness of God, which would mean we were born perfect and we're given the free will to mess that thought up and remember it over and over again, it seems.

Well, actually I do have a salvation story. It was 1969, the "Jesus Freak" movement was in full swing, and the youth group at the Methodist Church was trying all kinds of things like "encounter" groups where kids were encouraged to share their feelings with each other. That kind of 1969 stuff. I don't know how the salvation came about, because the aftermath was what I remember. I came home, crying happy tears, telling my parents I had accepted Jesus Christ into my heart as my savior. The look on their faces was pure horror. It completely freaked them out and I was not allowed to go back to the youth group, or the encounter group or participate in any youth activities. Isn't that funny? As in odd? My parents have been churchgoers, and committed members, tithers and volunteers all their lives. I wonder if that "feeling" stuff was out of their realm of religious experience.
Now of course, that's my recollection of events. I should talk to my mom and ask her what her recollection is.

Anyway -- interesting that some Amen sisters had a definite date, a salvation story, and their bible verses reflected some deep thinking/feeling/studying and you could tell they were very personal to them. Most of them were reassurances that they were loved, that peace was always available and that they were forgiven. One woman's bible verse was an Old Testament smackdown. I thought that so odd -- why would you want to pick a "who do you think you are?" bible verse to define your life? And then there was one woman who picked John 3:16, probably the most known Bible verse there is, if only for the guy with the rainbow wig and the big sign at football games. She couldn't articulate why she liked it, or what it meant to her. So fascinating to me -- 78 years old and afraid to scratch the surface to find feelings underneath. Turns out, I'm the youngest person in the group by 10 years, several of the women are pushing 70 and a couple are closer to 80. I should be so funny and feisty and energetic at that age. The two oldest women were the ones who were so sure they were not saved, not good, and perhaps even evil, and I wonder if that is a function of their generation. They didn't have the luxury that I have had to be expressive about feelings -- since I grew up in the "encounter group" generation and in crunchy granola land (Southern California). Not sure. But I feel compassion for them in their feelings of unworthiness.

My bible verse was one we have been studying in the Metaphysical Bible class I've been teaching. It's the story we all know about how it's easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to go to heaven. Except for until I started studying this, that's all I knew of the story. The rest of the story is that a rich man comes to Jesus wanting to have the life he is preaching. Jesus tells him to follow Moses' law (10 commandments) and the rich man says, "I have been, since I was a boy." Jesus says there is one more thing: give away all of your material possessions to the poor. The rich man goes away, very sad, because he's too attached to his stuff. Here's the part I never knew before -- in one interpretation I read it says that Jesus understands that the man can't understand or trust that his real source is God, not things, and so "Jesus loved him."

I like that because it says to me that Jesus felt compassion for the man's human nature and his fears and for the fact that he couldn't rely on the Universe to provide for his needs.

I'm like that. I spout in my belief system that I believe that the Universe (God, creator, whatever) does provide for us because it is the source and supply of all things. And then I constantly disregard my beliefs and worry about money, possessions, time, the future, health, well being -- you get the picture. So I love the idea that the greatest example of living life in complete trust, could understand and feel compassion for those who can't muster up that kind of all out surrender and belief.

Anyway. It was a great discussion, most women being very open and authentic, with lots of laughter and love for one another.

Amen to that, sister.

The Circle Game

2011-07-05T07:35:00.000-06:00

You know that Joni Mitchell song? About how all we can do, really is to go 'round and 'round the seasons as we grow older?

I was thinking about it this morning. How many things I have gone 'round and 'round about, season after season in my life?

The most obvious one is weight/body image/healthy eating/healthy lifestyle. When I die and I get to talk to whoever is in charge, the first thing I'm going to say is: "Really? I had nothing better to do with my energy, talents and time except play that effing game?" If we choose our life: our parents, our experiences, our lessons, then why the hayell would I choose that? It just seems like such a colossal waste. Yet here I am, once again, in the midst of choosing healthy eating and lifestyle. Going for it, with all the high hopes I've ever had that maybe somehow this time it will stick. It had better. I'm getting too old for this merry-go-round.

Another 'round that comes to mind is discipline. Which of course permeates and effects everything else. Discipline for the above paragraph, discipline to get my butt to the meditation chair, the yoga mat, outside for a walk, to the writing spot. Discipline to do what is on my To Do list. I know a lot of people think I do a lot of things and am accomplished, and maybe that's true, but to me there is a lot more I could do and want to do, but allow myself to be sidetracked by stupid stuff like a computer game, or a tv show, or ... well, those are two biggies.

It's funny -- the other day after a Sunday talk I gave, Jim said on the way home, "the biggest mistake we ever made was not getting you on Oprah." Ha! What would I say to Oprah? Jim thought I could explain the principles of Science of Mind (not Scientology, don't get your panties in a twist) in such a way that people could really understand them. (Of course he is my biggest fan and a teensy bit biased).

I could have been on Oprah. I know someone who was. He told me how he accomplished that. It was easy. It just took the discipline to do what he said, every day for a year. And there's that word again.

The man was Jonathan Robinson, an author and speaker. He had another plan for getting things done in your life. Get a partner. Tell the partner what you're going to accomplish for the week -- a list of 1 - 10 things. Call each other at the same time every week, report in on your accomplishments, make a new list for the next week. For everything you didn't get done, rip up 2 $1 bills. (He's been doing it a long time, he rips up $5's.) Keep the pieces in a bowl on your desk, coffee table, etc. It's a reminder of how much/or little you're out of integrity, how often/or how seldom you break your word to yourself. I did it for a year with my friend Lauren. I probably ripped up $100 in the course of a year, maybe less, but I accomplished soooo much in that year. Maybe I need to start doing that again. I just need to find a partner with whom I will be completely honest and accountable so that the process works.

And then there's Maude. That tendency I can have to take the people around me for granted. Jim and I did the hard work in the early years of our marriage, so we deserve the easy camaraderie we have today. But I think, when was the last time I surprised him at the door after work with an entire saran wrap dress ala Kathy Bates in "Fried Green Tomatoes" ?

Hmmm. Gives me an idea for dinner. Gotta go check how much plastic wrap we have. It's gonna take a few rolls. Hee. Oh, there may be some 'round and 'round going on at our house tonite.

Freedom's just another word

2011-07-04T07:06:00.000-06:00

for nothin' left to lose. Thank you Bobby McGee. I like that thought though, being free of all the "stuff" that I think I need, all the stuff that holds me back, all the self-limiting stuff in my head.

Yesterday was a spectacular Colorado day. It was hot -- 95 -- but clear and that amazing blue sky with lots of Georgia O'Keefe clouds. I spent the day at my friend Patty's house. She lives out in the country and driving home, just looking at the green rolling hills dotted with farms, grazing horses, and crops, I could understand why you would want to live there. It's like being on vacation. And civilization is only 20 minutes away. (Civilization being Walmart first, at the edge of town, so perhaps civilization is the wrong word.)

Patty gave me bountiful amounts of lettuce, radishes, herbs and onions from her gigantor garden yesterday. I came home and triple washed it all -- found grasshoppers and all kinds of good garden bugs along for the ride -- and then proceeded to completely stop up the kitchen sink by trying to shove the leftovers down the garbage disposal. I know better than that. When we took apart the pipes under the sink they were stuffed to the gills with lettuce. Hee.

You know the Microsoft wallpaper that is standard? A lovely green hill with blue sky above? That's Colorado. That's all around me, all spring and summer, everywhere I drive. Soon the sunflower fields in Loveland will be in full Vincent Van Gogh bloom, turning the air above them rich, vibrant yellow with their glow.

I was on my krak kick (Big's flavored sunflower seeds: Franks Red Hot; Bacon Salt; Jim Beam Jalapeno and Jim Beam BBQ) for a while and I ate enough sunflower seeds to fill that field, I swear. Now that we're on our detox diet, krak is out for a while. And since I only compulsively eat that stuff, that's a good thing.

Hunger is an interesting thing. While I am physically hungry on this detox around meal time, I'm only psychologically hungry the rest of the time. I have hours more in the day to do things. And getting used to having dinner and not snacking all evening is an adjustment, for sure, but one that absolutely had to be made.

You know how you're going to start eating healthy? Someday? Well that day never came around. Until now. I'm pretty motivated to stick to this detox, especially because my blood sugar numbers are returned to within points of normal vs. 200 points out of range. My goal is to be free of all diabetes meds by the end of this. I'm off to a good start.

It's interesting how this country treats diabetes. Immediately there is medication -- and then medication upon medication. And then medication for all the complications that might develop -- high blood pressure, high cholesterol. And then medications to help with the side effects of the medication. It's a nightmare and a trap. And unfortunately, my health insurance (which is radically good) doesn't cover any alternative treatment. So going a homeopathic/naturopathic route is on your own dime.

Speaking of dimes. We got the bill for Jim's emergency room visit. I'm still steaming about it. $1700+. $453 of which was charged as "pharmacy". Which included a splint for his baby finger, tape to wrap it up and ace bandage to put around it; gauze pads and saline solution to wash out his road rash; neosporin ointment (from a little sachet, so not even from a big tube) on the rash and an ace bandage for his hamstring. So, $20 or less of inventory for the low low price of almost $500. $1070 of the bill was for the ER visit. Don't you think the gauze, etc. should be included in that visit? $1070 for the privilege of walking into the ER? Although, I do have to say, I'd almost have paid that much to not have to relocate all his dislocated fingers myself. Eek.

I was just thinking. I know, a dangerous thing, especially given I'm just stream-of-consciousness writing this morning.

I'll be truly free (in my mind anyway) when there really is nothing left to lose (scale-wise). Hmmm. I'm going to keep that in mind. I like that thought.

I'm not from Nebraska...

2011-07-02T06:37:00.000-06:00

But I'm a cornhusker now.

We have been using cornhusker's lotion instead of oil-based lotion on our skin and I must say, my skin feels pretty good. Hmmmm. Wouldn't it be great if a product that costs $2.99 could take the place of my expensive lotions and potions?

My face is beyond repair, so if I can make it feel good for $2.99, I'm all in. You know how when you look at your grandparents, and then your parents as they age, you can kind of see your future, looks-wise?

I come from a family of prunes. Even at age 40, my skin started looking as wrinkly as a grandma. Chalk it up to 40 years living in Southern California, worshiping the sun. When I was a kid, with bad acne, the dermatologist actually had us buy a sunlamp with instructions to sit in front of it daily. I'm surprised (and glad) I'm not just one big giant sunspot. Although, if I were one big giant sunspot, at least I'd look tan, instead of the pasty white I am now. I had on shorts yesterday and I swear my legs were the same color as the sidewalk -- kind of greyish white. Yes, I know there is an answer to that, but in my advancing age, sitting out sweating in the sun isn't so much fun anymore.

I've tried all self-tanners, including a Mystic Tan spray tan. All of them, without exception, make me smell like dirty gym socks. There is an odor for everyone with self-tanning products but my skin doesn't let it go. After showers, after scrubbing, it's like eating garlic and having it come out your pores, only in reverse. It gets in my pores and won't come back out. So here's my dilemma. Blind people with my fish belly legs, or knock them out with my self-tanning aroma?

It's supposed to be 86 here today, with thundershowers. I'm going up to Allenspark with my friend Janice. She has a cabin up there with tons of property around it. We agreed to barter - I help her "turn" the cabin on Saturdays between her renter guests (which means clean it from top to bottom) in exchange for a long weekend at the cabin in September. Today I'm wondering about my sanity -- volunteering to clean someone else's house? Which means I have to get busy cleaning mine first.

As my beloved Winnie the Pooh says: Oh bother.

Shark Snark

2011-07-01T08:28:00.000-06:00

I hate to belabor the point, but...

A long time ago I remember seeing a picture of a great white shark with it's belly sliced open to reveal the contents of its stomach. Like probably in National Geographic or some such magazine. Anyway, the shark had a car license plate, some giant piece of plastic and other flotsam and jetsam that in no way resembled shark food. It was the license plate that stuck in my mind. Did the shark eat the car? What was a license plate doing floating around in the ocean? How large must their gullet be to swallow a license plate without noticing? I suppose if they can gulp down a seal, a dinky piece of metal is no biggie.

I say this because whenever I have a, shall we say, poop festival, I always think of that shark. Because I swear, on Wednesday, everything I ever ate in my entire life came out my butt. Including a button I swallowed when I was three. I kept waiting for the license plate.

That kind of incessant la-la-la-la just wears you down. But I figured my poor body was just detoxing from me putting crappy things in it -- flotsam and jetsam that in no way resembles human food.

The good news on this detox plan is that you can still have salt. And spices and herbs. So I've been making some pretty good dishes, if I do say so myself. Tonight is Mediterranean meatballs (turkey) over steamed spinach. I do love those Med flavors. I think if I had to pick a kind of food I had to eat every day for life, it would be Middle Eastern/Greek with a touch of Southern Italy thrown in for good measure.

Like, man could I go for a good kalamata olive about now. Well, not right now. It's 8:00 in the morning. I don't want to be sharky at the breakfast table.

It's not easy being Green...

2011-06-30T09:32:00.000-06:00

I have a feeling I know what the problem is, but if I say it aloud, then I will have to fess up (once again) to being a nincompoop.

We have been watering our lawn faithfully on schedule. By hand. Our sprinkler system needs a sprinkler guy and the first time he could get here will be July 11. Practically the end of summer. Anyway, we're watering as we should, we're not mowing too close, we pay TruGreen every month to come out and spray something on it, we should have an emerald carpet for a lawn. Instead, it looks like someone dyed their hair green, but left brown roots, then took texturizing shears to the whole head, so they were left with little tuffets of green spiky clumps amid large patches of brown. Today I went outside and watered the whole lawn, but gave extra TLC to the brown patches. Maddening. The way the patches appear on the lawn, it looks like the places I sprinkled on too much nitrogen last year. Oy vey.

It wouldn't be so bad except for the fact that the houses on both sides of us and across the street look like they have plush indoor/outdoor grass carpet, brilliant green and thick. Then there's Maude (us). The people across the street have some serious disposable income to throw around, so their front and back yards are professionally landscape-designed and maintained. The new neighbor next door has wasted no time in completely re-doing the front of the house with a beautiful flower garden and rock work and the first third of her back yard with sod, retaining walls, fruit trees, and big barrels of flowers. I feel like poor white trash.

Tuesday night she sent her teenage boys over to dig the holes we needed to plant the aspen trees that Patty gave us. Guess she was tired of seeing them sitting there in the pots. That was great because Jim can't dig with a cast on, and his hand won't be in any shape for heavy duty yardwork for a while. We were trying to think what nice thing to get the boys for their hard work -- they've been playing with firecrackers all week so I think we'll go to the big fireworks tent at the end of the street and buy them some super duper pack. Their mom will love us. Firecrackers and cookies.

I am on day 4 of my sugar/processed foods detox. Day 1 was rough, ending with a steel band clamped around my head so hard it hurt to blink. I can't think when I've had a headache that bad. Day 2 was much better, just a dull headache, but pretty brain foggy. Day 3 was a nightmare -- I spend the day on the potty with my head in a bucket. Detoxing. Or as my friend Sylvia says, "I was doing some releasing work." (She said this in the context that we were painting a hallway at church so we were trapped in a corner and she was farting to beat the band. She finally told me to go outside because she was "doing some releasing work" (and presumably didn't want to asphyxiate me).

So today I feel released. Or rather, I have nothing left within me to
release. My biggest concern is dehydration, so I'm drinking water like a mofo. Which means I'm peeing like one too.

Today's blog is about body function. Can you tell? *smirk* Jim's doing this detox too. He has it a little easier because he drinks coffee, black, and you're allowed to have as much coffee as you want as long as you get in your 80 oz of water. I love coffee but it does not love me (tm Grandma Mable) so I am drinking water, water and more water. And some Good Earth Iced Tea, which is herbal.

I read about a 5-day workshop once, where you go away to detox from sugar and they keep you busy having fun (or releasing?) for the 5 days because that's how long it takes to break the addiction. So the good news is, I'm on day 4, it should be getting easier from here on out.

That's what she said.

Ow. Ow. Ow.

2011-06-28T09:49:00.000-06:00

Normally when I get home from class I'm kinda wired and end up staying up for a few hours before going to bed. Which is always a bad idea because I am going to get up at 5:30 am whether I want to or not -- atomic clock dogs and all -- and then I drag my butt around all day kicking myself for not getting in bed sooner.

This is especially true this summer when I am teaching a class in Greeley on Monday nights, I've had something every Tuesday, Wednesday night Meditation Service in Boulder, and teaching a class in Boulder on Thursday. So you're catching the drift that I am sleep deprived four days out of seven? That makes for a tremendous personality, in case you were wondering.

Anyway, when I got home last night, I had such an intense headache from sugar withdrawal (and maybe a little caffeine too, but I don't drink coffee or tea on a daily basis) that I did what I had to do to get Jim ready for today and went straight to bed, only to get up on an hourly basis to pee because I drank about a gallon of water yesterday trying to help flush my system. I finally woke up for good around 3:00 am so when Jim's alarm went off at 4:30, I was awake and semi-alert.

Today my headache is much less, just a little background noise. Interesting, my entire body aches and I can't think of anything I've done (gardening or house-wise) to merit the aches and so I am thinking it is more of the sugar detoxing. Actually probably everything, sugar, dairy, refined carbs. I even made all the treats for my Bunco group tonight, including making and frosting cupcakes without one drop of sugar touching my lips. I wonder if my skin soaked it up through osmosis?

Anywhooooo. Jim finally gets his hand cast off on Friday. Do not call me Florence (as in Nightingale). I'm the worst nurse ever. And he has somehow decided that with his cast on his legs don't work either. (I say that with love, honey, L-O-V-E) (that's what Michael Jackson said after he made a bitchy comment, anyway).

I'll be glad to let Jim shower, shave, cut his own food and dress himself starting on Friday. Yippeee.

One potato, two potato.

2011-06-27T08:20:00.000-06:00

No potato for me. Jim and I are on day 3 of our plan to kick our sugar and white flour habits. So far he's already lost a pound. Me? Of course not. I'm a girl. The fat on our bodies likes to linger.

This plan has us eating really really healthy -- protein, fruits and veggies and minimal carbs other than from the fruits and veggies. Kinda like how you're supposed to eat. Hee. The best part was doing the grocery shopping and spending $80 vs. $150. And having space in the refridge. Which of course means that now you can see what slobs we are and I will have to clean it out in the next few days. *sigh* What I wouldn't give for my old housecleaner. Any housecleaner. Hard to justify paying someone to do it when I am here all day, every day. Sure, I'm working, but I can whip through this house in about 3 hours, so I have no excuses.

I made a list for myself of things to do for the next 30 days to keep my mind off of candy and sweets. Apparently I have been a slug because the list of things I need to do in this house is longer than my arm. And that's just the things to do in the house. There's another list for work projects and another one for art projects. What a shock! I have things to do. Hee.

One of the things on the list is to blog every day. Ka-ching. One thing checked off the list for the day. I've got about 47 more to do before I'm done for the day. And, if you know me at all, you know I'm highly motivated by getting to check off stuff on the list and then get a star at the end of the day for accomplishing everything. Yes. I'm a simpleton.

A simpleton without a potato.

Who has hijacked my synapses?

2011-06-26T04:14:00.000-06:00

It's not exactly a who, but a what. Jim and I are embarking on a specific eating plan designed to get us off of our addiction to sugar and refined carbs. You have to eat in a really controlled way for 30+ days to let go of the body's need for crap.

So I am having crazy dreams (and no sleep) I am sure based upon what I ate last night before bed. But crazy dreams that make perfect sense while I am dreaming them. Last night I had a looong conversation with Neal Tiemann whilst walking along streets in San Diego, Vietnam, maybe San Francisco and someplace that reminded me of France. In the dream I had a tattoo along my ribcage -- supposed to hurt like a mofo. Neal and I were comparing ink -- he will always win because he is covered. For the beginning of the dream we were talking to each other backstage in a mirror. (In a mirror vs. face to face, like I used to do with my hair clients.)
Go figure.

My loyal fan (singular) gave me grief the other day about neglecting my blog. He's right. I feel better when I'm writing and I have not been doing that lately. That's not true. I've been writing, just not blogging. I've been teaching a class that I absolutely loathed the curriculum, so with permission from the minister, I re-wrote it each week as I taught it. It's been such a great class that I am thinking of taking it apart, editing and gaining permissions and then submitting it to the Powers that Be for acceptance as an accredited class for Centers for Spiritual Living.

But the truth is, this morning stream-of-consciousness blog is kind of like writing Julia Cameron's Morning Pages. A necessary thing before the creative process of the day can begin.

Patty and I have been creatin' like mofos for a show we are going to do in November. Friday we assembly-lined these really cute little post-it notepad holders - they have to be put together before the fun work of decorating them can begin. Now I'm obsessed with them and can hardly wait to get to her house to play with them again.

I also whined my way into going to Crackpots (color your own pottery) with she and her grandkids on Friday. I painted a rectangular tray in the new colors of my kitchen -- rich grapey, eggplanty purple and lime green. Sigh. If I could only make what is in my head come out in form, I'd be a bizillionaire. Unfortunately, what comes out in form looks like a 10 year old did it (no offense to 10 year old artists). I can't wait to see this thing fired. I might have to accidently drop it.

I saw this backsplashing stuff at Ace Hardware. It looks like pressed tin, but is actually some kind of really durable, washable plastic/laminate. They have it in a distressed copper, which I think would look completely cool with the purple/lime green thing.

You homeowners can relate to this: I love our home. We bought it from the original owner, but it had been a rental for several years, so big things haven't been attended to, like landscaping, painting (in and out), fences. We have "X" amount of disposable income each month for house projects. I should have made that a lower case "x" because we have a pittance to spend on house projects each month. And, the big stuff that needs to be done requires a capital "X". Maybe even XXX. Anyway, the house next door which was in foreclosure and sat empty for six months was purchased by a lovely woman (who happens to be my manicurist -- imagine the surprise when we went by to welcome them to the neighborhood) who is putting some big bucks into her landscaping which had been sorely neglected. Now we look like the white trash house by comparison. And our sprinkler system needs some attention, so we are watering the lawns (lot of area) by hand daily in this 90 degree weather. Waaa. Waaa. Waaaa.

What I really should say is: I am so grateful we have our own home (one of the reasons we moved here); we are able bodied enough to do the work required, and that Jim is gainfully employed so that we are able to live comfortably.

What you put your attention and intention on increases. I'll have more of that last paragraph, please.

Oh, and if I'm wishing? A little less dreaming, a little more sleep.

What's in Your Wallet?

2011-06-10T09:36:00.000-06:00

Today? Nuthin.

By 8 am this morning I had cooked Mediterranean chicken over couscous with a kalamata olive sauce; roasted a chicken with rosemary and lemon over root vegetables; grilled pork chops with a pepita verde pesto and cleaned the kitchen. Why, you may ask?
Because I have been too lazy to cook every night this week and I needed to cook all of that meat before it sat any longer in the fridge. And with nuthin in the wallet, it's too much money to just throw away because I'm lazy.

I wish I could figure out the roller coaster of my energy level. One day I get up and conquer the world, the next, I lay on the couch or play on the computer. All the while, I have more work to do than I could ever get done in this lifetime.

On top of that, my friend Lorraine has been branding me (or helping me brand myself?) in this incredibly exciting process and there it sits on my desk this week, getting about as much attention as the chicken and pork chops did. Which is to say, none.

This process of branding helps me to distill a very clear and concise message of who/what The Living Path and I are (am?) as a business, how I operate, and the experience you will receive by hiring me. It's really what I need for this kind of a woo-woo business.

My entire life I've made my living by manual labor, whether it was a retail clerk; word processor; caterer; floral designer; decorator; hairdresser; massage therapist; workshop leader. I understand that kind of work.

Now my living is developing my consciousness (or maybe I should say deepening my consciousness) and my relationship with Spirit, and then writing, speaking and teaching about it, so that others can find their own way. Which is to say, lots of my job should now be about taking really good care of myself, food; exercise; meditation; prayer time; reading; reflecting and then finally writing. For a person who spent 30 years running her life on appointments every hour on the hour, this kind of loosey-goosey schedule has me discombooberated to the max.

And, while running my life in hour appointment increments, the last person I ever thought about taking care of was myself. I worked when my back was so bad I would cut a head of hair and then lay down on the floor on a bag of ice while my assistant blew their hair dry; worked for years with both shoulders having torn rotator cuffs; carpal tunnel in both hands; eating on the fly whatever I could shove in my mouth in five minutes or less, never booking time during the day for a break. In manual labor, if you're not working, you're not making any money. Ha! I'm not making any money now, but at least I'm not making any money while my body rests.

And here's the thing: I love writing, working on all my workshops, keynote speeches, classes and Sunday sermons. But to rev up the energy to get started is what comes and goes with no seeming rhyme or rhythm.

Although, with the excessive use of semi-colons in this blog, it may be hard for the reader to imagine that I am any kind of writer at all. My friend June, who is the epitome of Southern, says a-tall when she means at all. I love that. My grandmother said that. She was from Colorado but she did spend time in Virginia having an illegitimate baby (my father). Maybe that's where she picked it up. Illegitimate. That's a dumb word. She had a baby without benefit of a husband, which, in 1935ish, was quite the scandal. She told differing versions of who the father was -- a fiance who went to Alaska and never came back; (semi-colon!) a merchant marine who died at sea; any number of rough and rugged guys with the one convenient end to their life story -- gone, gone, gone. After she died we found paperwork about my dad, but my sister has it and I can't remember what it said. And really, does it matter anyway? Only if you're a Mormon and you want to trace your family tree. Which I'm not and don't.

So today I'd better look at the branding stuff. If I ever want there to be anything in my wallet.

You Can't Always Get

2011-06-02T06:54:00.000-06:00

what you want. At least not in this house. Not for the next eight weeks.

I've committed to eating what I need vs. what I want for the next eight weeks. (And probably forever thereafter, but I only want to commit in small increments). At this point, the want/need spectrum is polar opposites, but every meal cooked with love and intention brings the sides closer.

Last night I made ratatouille and had Jim grill the veggies first before I cut them up and put them in the sauce -- the last of our Trader Joe's Tuscan Marinara and served over TJ's whole wheat penne pasta. It was a really good, high fiber, low glycemic dinner and totally filling. The debbil inside of me was wanting crusty garlic bread, but I settled for an arugula/basil salad with sundried tomatoes instead.

Tonight, good old meatloaf with whipped cauliflower which really does taste like mashed taters. And I'm going to try some frozen brussels sprouts. They will either be fantastic or horrible. I am going to cook them/maybe defrost them and then caramelize them in some olive oil, so they won't be "just-steamed" healthy. But you know what? I'd rather be chubby and eat delicious veggies than pretend that just steamed veggies with nothing on them tastes good. Hee.

And really? What I really want is to get off diabetes meds and return my blood sugar to really healthy low levels. It's already working. This morning my fasting bs was 100 points lower than it was last week, when I ate what I wanted instead of what I need.

*Sigh* How many years of my life will I waste trying to get right with my relationship with food? Too many already. Truth be told, that's what I really want. And truth be told, that's what I really need.

Oops there goes another rubber tree...

2011-06-01T07:36:00.000-06:00

Not exactly. When I left San Diego, the two people I cried hardest about leaving were my awesome doctor, Dr. Julie Son, and my awesomeist awesome that ever awed physical therapist/friend Tammy Perrine. Yes, I love my friends and would miss them, but I knew I would see them again.

Anyway, finding new female docs here has been a tad bit challenging, but I finally found three that I like for three needs -- gp, gyno and uro. I decided quite a while ago that I didn't want male docs looking at, playing with, or deciding what to do about my lady parts.

This week, the trifecta: my gp is moving to a small mountain community to practice being a real doctor (vs a clinic doctor); my gyno retired and my uro is moving to Virginia to be near her aging parents, and a smaller practice. She's the one I will miss the most, and I can totally understand her moving. Her partner retired and she took over all of his patients, so she was working like a crazy person -- booked 5 months in advance. So, the search is on. She was the only female urologist in Boulder County. I'll probably be driving to Denver to find another one.

And, personally? I hate spending time searching out new docs, going to interview them and then choosing. But, whatcha gonna do?

Yesterday, whilst preparing a fabu dinner (Italian bread salad with lots of basil and arugula) I cut myself right on the edge of my thumb. Just at the right spot to make everything harder to do. I cut myself using one of my Cutco knives. If you've never used one of those knives, then you aren't aware that they should come with a stitch kit. I have cut myself so badly with those knives.

I don't remember where or how I got the first knife. They only use college kids on school break to sell them, and not door to door but with appointments. This was 1979 and I paid $25 for an all purpose sized knife. Which seemed like a fortune. But that knife? Man, how I loved that knife. I cut tomatoes into paper thin slices, as well as cardboard boxes into small squares, the branches off the bottom of my Christmas trees, carpet, and bread. And I could still cut myself enough to need 3 stitches when I was trying to cut frozen chicken.

About 10 years ago, my friend Kathy's son was selling Cutco. Having not had kids, I always think that one way I can be a friend to my friend is by being supportive of their kids. Hence, 20 boxes of Girl Scout Cookies, endless rolls of wrapping paper, magazine subscriptions, and whatever else they are selling. So when Kathy's son came calling, I knew we would buy something. We ended up buying everything -- about $1,500 worth of knives. I've never been sorry. I love those knives. But I have had my share of trips to the ER for stitches from the knives. They are so frigging sharp they cut off the tip of your finger before you know it.

Reminds me of all the scars I have on my left hand in the web between my index and middle finger. Any hairdresser knows exactly what I'm talking about. Little v-shaped scars from the deadly tips of our haircutting scissors. I have cut myself to shreds with those scissors.

You'd think I'd find another profession, given my propensity to maim myself with sharp objects. But trust me, I'm careful around chainsaws. Hee.

So, I'm off today to find doctors. And to send up huge appreciation for the three I had. And to give a shout out to our incredible new health insurance. It's half the cost (thanks to General Dynamics), the co-pays at the doctor's office are half of what we were paying, and almost all of the meds we take have zero copay. That's right, stuff I was paying $50 a month for is now $0. And without insurance would be over $500. So you tell me what the hell is going on with our healthcare system, because that is just purely not right. In the meantime, I'll take the zero copay and be quiet about it. It starts to make up for the years we paid a fortune for the stuff.

I have no great pithy line to end this. So that. Is. That.

Dog Sandwich

2011-05-25T07:40:00.000-06:00

This morning I enjoyed a dog sandwich. Not to eat, ya goofballs. I was laying in bed and I had Petunia laying stretched out along my front side and Buster laying back to back with me. It was divine. Petunia so rarely shows affection (cat trapped in a dogsuit) that I didn't want to move for fear she'd get up and run away.

I've been having these awful muscle spasms in huge band around my ribs, up to the highest rib under my bazooms. If I twist just so, bam! They probably only last 5 minutes but it is 5 minutes of "there is no relief from this pain". So go figure.

Yesterday I went to task on Jim's office. Took me almost 8 hours. He, like me, is a bad filer, so probably spent 3 hours just sorting paper. I found some gems in and among the flotsam and jetsam. Including a few things I wondered where they had disappeared to. Into the vortex that was Jim's office, that's where. Also? He's a guy. Most guys don't notice things like dust, accumulating up month after month, year after year. I vowed that his office was his man cave and that I wouldn't clean it or bother it. I kept that vow for almost 3 years. But when my haircut appointment cancelled, I thought: "Today is the day." His office is immaculate, from top to bottom. I cleaned out his closet of the 750 T-shirts he had jammed in there to a cool 20 or so, got rid of shirts that don't fit, had holes in them, et-cetera, et-cetera. Also, for some reason, he lines up his shoes neatly, but in the middle of the floor instead of in the closet. At his desk I gave him organizing bins for receipts, business cards and something else, and found in the basement a revolving pencil/scissor/paperclip and more holder. We'll see how long this lasts. I guess I already know the answer: it will be another 3 years before I go in there again!

So now I am sitting in my pigpen of an office and realizing that's what I'm doing today -- Luckily, I don't have the kind of paperwork to sort through that he did, so maybe it won't take all day. Right. I've got my ocd practically kicked into high gear after yesterday. I'll be like the chick on Glee who scrubs her grapes with gloves on. Although... given how pesticidy grapes are, she may be the smart one here.

Anyway -- all that to say -- with all that twisting, turning, bending, lifting, shoveling, stretching yesterday I didn't have one muscle spasm.

Go figure.

I have walked on the Sun

2011-05-18T08:06:00.000-06:00

Where to start ...

The Practitioner Conference in Asheville, NC was rad. My workshops were very well received, and I was supported by awesome musicians, Donna Michael and Penelope Williams and Cliff (the guitarist). Penelope especially was all about service -- I felt like a rockstar being taken care of by her.

The morning spiritual practices I had devised had only been done by me with me and my guitar. Adding this luscious sound wall from the musicians behind me was heavenly and hearing 40 or so people chant along with us made me smile like a goofball through the entire thing.

I got there on Wednesday, only to find out that the bead packets (which I had spent 2 entire weeks preparing) were no where to be found. I spent a sort of sleepless night trying to figure out how I was going to be able to re-create the packets in one day -- until finally the hotel manager got on the case and found the box stashed in a side room. It's so frustrating to have the young front desk girls look at you with their 20-year-old deer in the headlights eyes -- "it's not in the closet where it should be, so I guess it's not here" -- attitude.

It was very interesting to watch the planning committee -- who was able to hold it together and who was clearly not cut out to do this kind of organizational work and be present at the same time. My only complaint was that the sessions before mine kept running long, so I kept having to squish my workshops down to fit the time frame. But, that's what you do if this is your job -- you adapt. And only bitch minimally. Which I hope is what I did.

The Conference started on Thursday afternoon. My first workshop was Friday morning spiritual practices which went swimmingly well. Then I did the second morning general session -- 100 people dancing the Original Prayer in Aramaic with no prior training. They did awesome. At one point we were all huddled, shoulder to shoulder, in three concentric circles, chanting (whispering) "Abwoon, Abwoon, Abwoon, Hayye!" (God is life!) for about 10 minutes. I was in the center of the three circles. I never wanted it to end. At some point, the logic side of my brain poked me -- "Jana! It's probably lunch time! Time to stop!" and reluctantly I brought it to a close. I got lots of good feedback about that -- including "I'm floating and I don't want to come down."

Friday afternoon I sold beads and then went to Revs. John and Barbara Waterhouse's Center for a home-cooked southern meal (out.of.this.world.) and a Taize service. (Science of Mind-style, of course.) By the time I got home Friday evening, I was feeling so full, spiritually, only to realize this was only the first day of the conference.

Saturday morning's spiritual practices were the Elemental Breath Meditations of Murshid Samuel Lewis, again very well received. The first morning general session ran over again, and my bead workshop, which needed two full hours, was relegated to about 70 minutes. Complete and total chaos, despite months of planning. And yet, in the end, everyone got their beads made, we didn't have time to say the prayers I had planned, but we did all chant Abwoon on the beads to consecrate them.

Saturday afternoon was free time, so I stuck to my bead table and reorganized all the class packets, sold beads, and rested a bit. Saturday evening was a firewalk, facilitated by Rev. John Waterhouse. Now, I have poo-poohed firewalks forever. Without ever having seen one. Typical for me. My friend Gege, who has done one, told me that by the time you get to the fire, it is really just a bed of grey ash coals which protect you from the heat of the fire.

Au contraire, mon frer.

We ceremonially set the fire, lit it and stood around it, flames jumping up four and five feet high, John wanted us to feel the heat of the fire. Then we left for two hours while John prepared us to walk on the flames. The trick is, you place, in your mind and via an outloud spoken intention, something you truly want in your life at the other end of the fire. John stands there waiting for you with open arms, and you walk across the firebed, keeping your eyes on the prize -- your stated intention -- vs. on the fire, the obstacle to the intention. At the end, you jump into John's arms and a firetender hoses off your feet to make sure there are not any embers stuck to your feet.

The entire time we were "processing" how to walk the fire, John kept saying that some people would not walk and that was normal. He said you couldn't really decide whether or not you would walk until you faced the fire. And that was normal, too.

Well, I was thinking the entire time -- "of course I'm going to walk on the fire -- it's just gray coals and when am I going to get this chance again?"

Until we went back out to the firebed. This was no cooling bed of gray ashes. This was a f*&king FIRE! It was glowing red, the logs had not completely burned down. John broke up the biggest logs and then raked all the large pieces to the side, so you were walking on soft wood pieces, but 700 degree glowing red hot pieces nonetheless. I went from absolutely sure I would walk to scared out of my mind.

As I watched other people walk, I grew more apprehensive until I finally told myself that if I didn't get out there and walk I was going to scare myself right out of doing it. So I did. I declared my intention, looked right in John's eyes, and walked across the firebed.

It's probably five strides across. It feels (and sounds) like packing peanuts. I didn't feel the heat until the last step. A little ember stuck to my foot and I got a little blister the size of my thumbnail on the inside arch of one foot. It was gone the next day. The only pain I experienced was the wood coal (size of a pin head) embedded under the skin, which I didn't find till I got back home to Colorado on Sunday. Except every once in a while (last night when I got in bed) it feels like the bottom of my feet are sunburned. Nothing an icepack wouldn't relieve. But I haven't even done that. Last night I fell asleep before I could remember to get out of bed and put ice on my feet. Today they are fine.

I wish I could say that all obstacles in my life are now gone. Not so. But I walked on a bed of fire. I can do anything. Being afraid to market myself seems pretty trivial by comparison.

It remains to be seen how this will impact my life. Remember the movie "Castaway" with Tom Hanks? And how, after trying for days, he finally creates a fire? And then walks around pounding his chest saying "I. Have made. Fire!" That's kinda how I feel.

I. Have Walked. on Fire!