Mr. Bill as Spiritual Guru

A series of commercials airing on TV here in the States has brought one of my favorite characters from the old Saturday Night Live series back into the spotlight. Mr. Bill, a hapless pile of clay with a talent for getting himself tossed about, is once again flying out of windows and onto windshields, his trademark, "Oh, noooooooo!" ringing across the airwaves.

The thing about Mr. Bill that kept us all laughing (besides the sheer slapstick genius of throwing a humanoid blog of playdough off a 30 story building, into a blender, under a bus...) is that, no matter how dire his situation, he always had a positive spin on it. No one is more cheerful, hopeful, and pragmatic than Mr. Bill! In the recent TV ads, Mr. Bill flies out a window and is splatted against a bus windshield. Does he cry? scream? rant? Nope! His "Oh, nooooooooooo!" is followed quickly by, "Hey, the bus is right on time!"

And that, my friends, is why I'm making Mr. Bill one of my personal spiritual gurus. You see, Mr. Bill has figured out that one of the keys to happiness is assessing your situation and making the most of it...and sometimes that means just being happy that the bus is on time.

S*it happens to all of us, and if personal crappy events aren't enough, there's plenty of global crap to go around. Happiness doesn't mean you aren't aware of the puddle of yuck we're all wading through. Mr. Bill is well aware he's flying out a window and more than aware he's just hit the windshield of a moving bus. But he keeps finding ways to be happy.

Bill knows that the key is not just knowing what's happening, but knowing what you can do about it and what you can't. More importantly, he knows that he has choices - not necessarily about what's happening around or to him, but always about how he chooses to react. So you're face down on the windshield? That sucks. What can you do about it? Not much...except decide how you will react. Cry, moan, declare it unfair... or check the time and be glad the bus is on schedule.

Yes, I know life is not an SNL skit (though, gads, sometimes the skits are truer than life)...and I know that the windshields we hit as we fly through this life are bigger, badder, and bloodier than Mr. Bill's moving bus...and I still stand by the principle. Whatever is happening to me, my course of action is clear:
1. Assess the situation - face what's happening full-on, no denial allowed;
2. Assess my options - what can I do about what's happening? No shirking and no fantasy...just the facts.
3. ACT! If there is something I can do to make my situation better, get the lead out (or the fear, the stubborness, or anything else that's holding me back) and do it.
4. Choose my reaction - Decide if I want to wallow in self-pity, writhe in agony, burn with resentment, poison myself with anger...or choose to focus on what is actually good for me, not because I don't know bad s*it has happened, but because I don't want to wallow, writhe, burn, or die a slow death from toxic rage.

It's that simple. Like Mr. Bill, I choose to be happy. There's more to happiness, of course...but Mr. Bill is an excellent guide to one of the key components of a happy life. Am I going to waste a lesson like that? Oh, noooooooooooo!

Yes, Mark Morford...Yes!

My favorite sarcastic, funny, run-on-sentence-of-death journalist, Mark Morford, has done it again and this time, he's done it beautifully!

On the heels of the viral proliferation on YouTube of Sarah Palin being annointed as a witch hunter by Kenyan priest Thomas Muthee, Mark's latest includes a fond recollection of being scared poo-less as a child by stories of witches. More importantly, his article reveals how his life now is enriched by the real witches he knows and loves. And even though he's no fan of Sarah Palin (or John McCain, but let's not digress), he manages to feel true empathy - maybe even sympathy - that she has now been protected from and annointed to fight this beautiful path and thus will probably never know the true joys thereof.

I'm always amazed at the number of people who, on learning what witches really are and what they most certainly are not, prefer to cling to their childhood fantasies of evil old hags and wicked, baby-roasting, orgy-wallowing, depraved madness. Why, when faced with, A) a true depiction of normal people pursuing timeless knowledge on a spiritual path of personal accountability and responsibility, or B) a false but miserable, scary something that gives you the creeps just to think about, would anyone want to believe option B? That's kind of creepy in itself, don't you think?

So...check out Mark's article. If you're a witch, read it with glee and do a happy dance. If you're not a witch but you know and love one (or more), send them the article and a, "Go, you!" note. If witches scare you or piss you off, read it and learn something.

I'm going back to my happy dancing now.

On holy ground...

All my life's a circle;
Sunrise and sundown;
Moon rolls thru the nighttime;
Till the daybreak comes around.

All my life's a circle;
But I can't tell you why;
Season's spinning round again;
The years keep rollin' by.

I heard this Harry Chapin song tonight. It's always been one of my favorites of his, but tonight it struck me differently than it has before. I started thinking about faith and magic and ritual and circles...about how I cast a circle as an act of faith, in celebration or in need or in remembrance...and how I sometimes forget that all my life is a circle.

The world is a holy place, a sacred space, and every thought, every word, and every deed is a magical act. What I do every day...at work, in the grocery store, in my kitchen...is no less an act of will and intent than the most elaborate ritual, no less cabable of changing the world for good or ill.

I am change.
I am power.
I am always creating magic.

I must pay attention.

Another song came to mind, from Gaia Consort...

I will call the four directions,
I will cast a circle here;
I will put my feet upon this holy ground.

Let me start and end each day...
...consciously cultivating the strengths of the elements in my life;
...deliberately working everyday, ordinary magic in the circle of the Mother's spinning, blue-green body;
... gratefully recognizing that my feet are always on holy ground.

Swimmingly good service...

...and another opportunity to rave!

I bought a new bathing suit recently from Cyberswim, an online retailer specializing in...you guessed it...swimwear. They carry a brand called The Miracle Suit that promised all kinds of happiness for those of us whose curves run toward the abundant side. Having lost weight recently, I needed a new suit before I headed to southwest Florida for some R&R. I found just what I wanted, forked over the (for me) ginormous sum for the suit and an extra twenty bucks for expedited shipping...and waited.

Nothing happened. I thought the suit was coming via the postal service so I checked diligently, even though getting to the post office isn't the easiest task (another post on that topic sometime). Alas...departure day came and I had no suit.

Here's where the really good stuff starts. I called Cyberswim. They checked and found that the suit had, indeed, been delivered and was left at the "side door of my house" without a signature (by my request). I calmly explained that I had no side door and that I had already checked every neighbor's side doors, porches, and patios and there really was no suit.

The representative handling my call contacted UPS, tracked down the problem and determined that it was a UPS issue (package sent to a non-existant address in a city two hours west of me). I explained my vacation plans and asked if they could reship to my brother's address in Florida. Not only did they honor the request, they overnighted the package so it was there by 9:30 the next morning. Happy girl.

The icing on the cake? The suit just ROCKS! It fits well, shapes beautifully, supports the girls in all their glory, and looks really good. Seriously...check out the Miracle Suit line on Cyberswim. They're great!

Bottom line? Mistakes happen; how a company responds when they happen is the make-or-break factor. Cyberswim's response was perfect - another happy service experience in a world where they're few and far between. I'm happy to give a shout out when I get the chance.

Happy Wednesday!

Seventy-five is a beautiful number...

...and Weight Watchers is my friend!

I finally hit the 75-pound loss mark today...75.4 to be exact...and I'm ecstatic! I'm not at my ultimate goal weight by a long shot, but ding-dang-and-double-doggone-it, 75 pounds is worth celebrating! Yesiree, cel-e-freakin'-bra-tion! Yeah!

Weight Watchers has been such a positive experience for me. Yes, there have been rough spots, and I've had a meltdown or two along the way (for the survival of which my long suffering husband should be given a medal). And no, it's not a miracle-diet-never-go-hungry-eat-all-the-food-you-want-and-lose-weight kind of program. It's a healthy approach to eating and an opportunity to share the journey with people who are on the same path, who help each other, succeed together, fall off the wagon together and, by golly, get back on...together.

I am blessed with a meeting leader who gets it. Of course, all WW meeting leaders have been successful on the program, but our leader lost a lot of weight and knows the long road personally. And while I'm not in any way minimizing the struggle of the person who wants to lose 10 or 15 pounds, that's different than aiming to lose 100 - 150 pounds. And my buddies in the group - a couple of guys who, like me, have big weight loss goals - are astounding! They're funny, smart, and totally comitted to losing weight and to helping others in the group do the same. I love 'em!

So today I'm doing a happy dance...a 75-pounds lighter happy dance...and looking forward to hitting that century mark. And to mark the occasion, pictures of progress to date:



Seventy-five pounds ago...



...and now (that's my Mom on the left).

Stay tuned...more to come!

The tale of the nail...

...and the lessons we learn about ourselves.

Back in April, I fulfilled a dream of sorts. I had my fingernails professionally done. Not just done...artificially enhanced with acrylics, longer-than-life, stronger-than-strong, fashionably shaped and colored and shined. I did this to A) celebrate having lost 60 pounds; and B) because my boss and fellow managers all do it.

Actually, reason B is the real reason...and begs the question: WHAT WAS I THINKING?

For as long as I've been associated with my current employer, I've envied the beautiful nails of my fashionable peers. They looked so polished, so perfect, while my own stubby nubs looked remarkably stubby and nubby. Nevermind that my hands do all kinds of things that don't lend themselves to long nails. Nevermind that I earn my living at a keyboard and never really learned to type with long nails and that I've never been a change-the-polish-shape-and-file kind of girl, preferring my trusty buck-ninety-eight clippers to fancier things like buffing boards and cuticle pushers. Nope...I would not be satisfied until I, too, had long, shiny, fake fingernails to drum on the conference table during meetings.

Well, I got 'em...and I HATED 'em! Holy cow! How does anyone ever get anything done with those things? I couldn't pick anything up, and everything I touched left a little bit of itself under a nail somewhere. Yuck!

Worse yet, they began to look really awful as my natural nails started growing out. Removing them required soaking in pure acetone for a very long time, and then the thumbnails wouldn't come off anyway. It was another two weeks...two weeks...before I got those babies off my thumbs!

My natural nails paid a heavy toll for my little experiment. They were brittle, thin, and kept a layer of acrylic na-na-na-na-boo-boo to remind me of how I let my vanity overrule my common sense. It's mid-August and the remains of my temporary insanity are only now all but completely gone.


That was then...

This is now.

So now my nails are stubby and nubby again. I can pick up what I drop and I don't have to scrape goo out from under them all day long. I sit in meetings and look around at all the long, perfect acrylic nails and then at my own nubbins and realize they don't look as pretty, but they can do what hands are made for and they don't require my constant attention.

That's beautiful.

Those Visa commercials...

...the ones that show busy retail and service establishments humming along nicely until someone starts to pay with cash, causing everything to grind to a halt...shocking customers and employees into stunned, then irritated silence as the poor, out-of-touch cash-user sheepishly forks over the coin of the realm...yeah, those commercials.

Well, they're true. Totally accurate. I'm traveling with my 81-year-old mother. She likes to pay her own way and she insists on using cash. She never learned to use a debit card, refuses to use her credit card, and doesn't believe for one moment that anyone outside her immediate home area would ever accept her check (she may be right about that one)...AND she always...ALWAYS wants to use correct change. I work hard to not display irritation or impatience, and most service personnel are genuinely polite and patient with her, but it's a marked interruption in the usual flow. Customers behind us are usually polite, but I have occasionally heard loud, long-suffering sighs and an occasional young person with no home training says something out loud. Fortunately, Mom is usually too engrossed in counting out the 47 cents for her purchase to notice, though her hearing is sharp enough.

The Visa commercials probably don't help the situation much. They paint the cash user as out of touch and the root of all evil in the race to get-and-go. Maybe a commercial that shows an old person frustrated by technology they don't understand just trying to buy some milk and bread, one that zooms in on trembling fingers and a mind that doesn't always click like it used to, would be better.

Patience, people...patience.

The most intimate story I've ever read...

...can be found here. "Days With My Father" is published by a brilliant photographer named Phillip Toledano. Mr. Toledano's father is 98 (at the time of writing...not sure how current that is) and while he doesn't have Alzheimer's, he has no short term memory. The picture he paints with his word and his lens is sweet, sad, loving, heartwarming, heartbreaking, and achingly intimate.

The elder Mr. Toledano wants to die. He's tired and frustrated and achingly alone, imprisoned in a mind that no longer works correctly and a body too strong to die. My mother feels the same way. Her short term memory isn't as far gone as Mr. Toledano's, but it's going. She isn't as old; at 81 she's physically strong and nowhere near death. People she loves have died. She's lonely. She's frustrated. She's immeasurably sad.

I was moved to tears when I read "Days With My Father". Some were from sadness for an old man's pain and a son's grief. Some were from joy at being allowed such an intimate peek into so much love. Most were from knowing that a woman I have always struggled to know and understand and to have understand and love me, and still loved with all my heart is living in her own hell and I can't fix it.

Please...let me be patient...kind...loving...compassionate...for whatever days are left...days with my mother.

Can I just tell you...

...how cool it is that I just found something I wrote being used as an email signature?

Yeah...I know...intellectual property and all that...and yes, the person is using my words without attribution or permission...but...

How cool is that? I'm sitting at my desk typing but I'm doing a happy dance on the inside and grinning like a possum! (That's an old expression from here in the southeastern United States, though I've never actually seen a possum grinning.)

The specific words are those of a little chant/song I wrote a couple of years ago. I've sung it at a few campfires and shared it with just a few others (by request after having sung it around one of those campfires) via an email group, but it's otherwise quite unknown. I suspect that the person who is using it on email saw them through a Yahoo Group that I belong to.

How she found it is really unimportant. That she wanted to put it on her email is the important thing. My words...mine...meant enough to someone that she attaches them to her messages, right under her name, for all the world to see.

That makes me all kinds of inexplicably large amounts of happy!

Deep breath...

Ok...back to work for me...blog time over...but I'm still smiling.

Dancing the Jitterbug...

...and happy to report that I have a GREAT customer service experience to share.

A little preface: I am SICK TO DEATH of lousy customer service, disappointing buying experiences, and apathetic encounters with retailers, service personnel, and business partners. Over it. Completely. So much so that I've almost stopped even ranting about it when it happens.

Once in a while, I'll have an experience that restores a bit of my faith, and I love to rave about those rare events. Buying my Mom's cell phone last week gave me a great opportunity to rave like a drunken sailor.

Have you heard of Jitterbug? They're a cell phone company that specializes in simple, easy to use phones that are great for old people, technophobes, and kids. Their plans start at just $10 a month for pay as you go (at .35 per minute), and their phones are beautifully simple - no cameras, no organizers, no text messaging. Big, easy-to-see buttons and a screen you can actually read make it easy for failing eyesight and shaky hands. Quick-dial numbers are entered via a secure website, allowing Jitterbug operators to have access to all the stored numbers on the phone - very helpful when the phone owner can't dial for his/herself. Just press zero and tell the operator to call a named person on the list and, bam! You're connected.

I called Jitterbug to order my Mom a phone and a very nice man walked me through the process. He answered every question, resolved every quirky request I made, and managed the entire process to a beautiful, blip-free conclusion. And he was pleasant, spoke real English that I could understand, and completed the whole transaction without ever once sounding anything but happy to be talking to me. The phone arrived in three days, exactly as ordered. After an overnight charge, we turned it on and found that it was already programmed with the first four quick dial numbers, given to the rep during the initial call.

It's not a great commentary on the state of service in our culture that I'm writing a blog about a routine transaction. It's a shame that calls this smooth are the exception rather than the rule. All that aside, I'm happy to sing the praises of Jitterbug. They've got a good product, clearly advertised, with excellent service to back it up.

That's worthy of a happy dance.

I said I wanted to write...

...and along came a friend who wanted to start a writers' group. She brought a friend who wanted us to come up with three monthly goals for ourselves to further/better/support our writing.

Be careful what you ask for.

I'm excited and happy and scared to death. The scared part is rooted completely in the fear of failure, of not being good enough, not doing enough, letting someone down (myself or others), looking foolish, being foolish, sucking wind...you get the idea. And the weird part is that I know I can write...that I have something to say and can say it well...that there are people who will enjoy and benefit from reading what I have to say. And still I find myself wondering what authority I have to say anything of import...who am I to think I have anything anyone else needs...the same questions I've always asked.

Self-doubt sucks.

Arrogance sucks, too.

Where's the happy medium?

I'm looking for it...honest...and I think I've hooked up with the right group of writing friends to help me find it.

Yay, friends. Yay, me.

So here goes...my three monthly goals, subject to revision in future months...

• Write at least fifteen minutes every day.
• Start compiling writing samples from my current collection of work.
• Start a list of article, essay, and workshop topics; add to it as new thoughts come to mind.

Three goals...done.

Now comes the hard part.

Making Volkswagens in Chattanooga...

...and making dreams come true.

Humbling, awe-inspiring moments of pure gratitude come at the oddest times and from the least likely sources.

I was shopping in a local Goodwill store today when the news broke that Chattanooga had been chosen as the site for a new Volkswagen plant. The facility is expected to provide about 2,000 new jobs between now and when the first sedans roll out sometime in 2011. All the employees of the store cheered - loud, happy, "Praise Jesus!" cheers - at the news. One woman was literally running toward the back to tell other employees, her face lit up like Christmas. You could feel the energy in the room change almost immediately. The whole place was suddenly full of potential, of possibilities, of hope.

I have a good job, one that pays me well and offers me all kinds of opportunities for personal and professional fulfillment. I forget just how wonderful that is sometimes. Seeing the excitement on those folks' faces and feeling the fresh hope wash over them humbled me, inspired me, and filled me with gratitude for my work and the opportunities I've had.

Chattanooga offers lots of jobs in information-based industries, call centers, insurance companies, hospitals, and the like. If you have those skills you can usually work and, while the salary may not be the greatest, you'll likely have access to decent benefits. But if you lack the education and skills for those opportunities, your choices are pretty limited. Hotels, restaurants, tourist attractions, and retail offer limited hours at incredibly low wages, usually with few, if any, benefits. When benefits are offered, they often end up being out of reach for some of the people who need them most. Could you support yourself and your family on seven dollars an hour? What if you had to pay a health insurance premium out of that? The prospect of 2,000 good paying jobs with decent benefits is a shining beacon of hope for those whose skills aren't likely to land them jobs at Unum or Cigna.

I'm glad Chattanooga got the Volkswagen contract. I'm glad that a couple thousand Chattanoogans will have a chance at a better life. I'm happy that some of those who remain in low-paying jobs in the service, retail, and hospitality sectors will benefit from the overall economic boost all those new jobs will bring. Most of all, I'm grateful for the reminder of just how good I have it.

Thanks. A lot. Again.

Diversity, tolerance, and heads in the sand...

Originally published on Chattanooga-Pagans Yahoo! Group, December 7, 2007:

In my opinion, our culture is missing a big opportunity. We've gotten heavily focused on handling diverstity by trying to pretend it doesn't exist. I've heard people at work, mostly atheists, agnostics, and pagans (rarely Christians, Jews, Muslims, Hindus, etc.), say that religion should be a private matter and people have no business bringing it into the workplace. While there are always those who take things to inappropriate extremes, in general I can't see how this can be true. If our spiritual paths, our religions, are central to our lives, part of our daily walk, how can we leave them at home? How can we effectively bring our whole selves to the task at hand when we have to leave part of ourselves on a shelf somewhere? Perhaps a better focus would be to focus on the inappropriate behavior of some individuals. If a co-worker shares his or her faith with me in an appropriate way - meaning they don't interfere with my work or my personal time or refuse to stop when I tell them to - I'm not harmed in any way. If I believe the person is crossing the line, I have the responsibility to say so, directly to them, respectfully but clearly. If they don't respect my wishes at that point, I've got a gripe. But the gripe is with that behavior, not with the fact that the person displays their religion at work. The same with prayer; if a group of people share a prayer in my presence, so what? Prayer is a highly personal thing. Maybe I can use that time to say a prayer of my own, or even join in theirs.

I have heard the phrase, "Freedom of religion is absolute." I don't know exactly what the originator of the phrase was thinking, but I know what that means to me. I am the person absolutely and finally responsible for my own spiritual walk and my relationship to Diety. No one can take that responsibility from me. No one can take away my right to exercise that responsibility as I believe appropriate. They can make it difficult by attempting to control my outward behavior, even to the point of killing me if I don't comply. But I always have the right to continue if doing so is more important to me than the consequences of my actions. Martyrs of every walk ever walked have proven this over and over. No matter what everyone around me is doing, I have all the power of choice at my command. It's a lot harder for me to become offended by the actions of those around me when I think of it this way. It also forces me to look at my feelings about my choices. If I feel uncomfortable about the choice I make (to leave a room when a devotional is disturbing to me, for instance), whose fault is it? It was my choice; I guess I'll have to shoulder the blame for how I feel about it.

It's time we all revisited the idea of cultural and religious diversity. We make a big fuss about "tolerance," but we're not tolerating something if we have to pretend it doesn't exist.

The community that keeps you...

Ok...so I'm repurposing a lot of content here, and I make no apology! Thoughts come unbidden most of the time, and often when I'm least prepared to blog. The only fair thing to do is to help them eventually migrate to this blog and into your waiting mind.

Mostly, I want to know what you think? What is "the community that keeps you?" How do you build and strengthen your community? Here's what I was thinking at the time...originally posted on Chattanooga-Pagans (local Yahoo! Group):

April 22, 2008 - I'm in Santa Rosa, California right now, attending a communications and social media conference. One of the speakers, Joe Jaffe, made a statement tonight that struck me as profound and particularly appropriate to the recent thread about community. Without going into the entire context, he said, "You are the community that keeps you."

Within the discussion context, the community that keeps me is at once one and many communities. It starts with my family. It includes the extended family of spiritual brothers and sisters I celebrate and work with. It's a group of women who come together for occasional "goddess weekends" and stay in touch as we can. I count people I love but see infrequently in the list, too. It's the temporary community created at CPCG and other gatherings. It's the recurrent community that attends PNO. It's individual friends that join me and make a community of two or more for the myriad of reasons friends come together. It's the ever-changing community made up of whoever happens to be in Spiralady's when I drop by. And it certainly includes this list and, within it, even more subsets.

Each of those individual communities and more make up the larger community. Actually, I like Mel's word - web - better. If I could graph my community as I described it above, it would indeed look like a big web. When I am pulled hard in any one direction, it's the web that keeps me from going too far. When I'm strong and full and whole, my strength reinforces the web and keeps someone else from falling. With or without a defined structure, with all the flaws inherent in an ungoverned, borderless community, that web sustains, nourishes, and supports me and gives me an avenue through which to sustain, nourish, and support others.

When I think, then, about "community," I think about micro and macro. Every interaction I have is either community building or community demolition. I can't separate my personal relationships from my relationship with the larger community. Those personal relationships ARE the larger community. The stronger each point on the web becomes, the stronger the web becomes.

I build community one person, one group, and one interraction at a time, and I know others who are doing the same. None of us can claim perfection; we've had to repair the web more than once and there's almost always another hole that needs mending. Fortunately, a good mend is often stronger than the original knot, especially when accompanied by a heartfelt, "Well, that sucked. What can we do better next time?"

If you're reading this, you're part of my web, part of the community that keeps me. Thank you. Keep strengthening your own connections and I'll keep working on mine. Together, we're amazing.

Describe your life painting...

Raventalker (www.raventalker.com) came up with a brilliant question on an email group I belong to: If you were to create a painting of your life .. your whole life … what would it be?

My answer is below...but I'm more interested in yours. What would your life painting be?

I don't know exactly what form it would take, but often I've visualized my life as a movie...a bright, glowing sphere...dancing around, moving from thought to fantasy to song to dance to love...then gradually being enclosed in a darker sphere, one that never extinguished the light, but that captured it and forced it into a more even "flow"...straight, often downward...sometimes staying close the the ground for long periods of time. The dark sphere gets thicker and more opaque so that the light inside becomes almost invisible, but not quite. Then comes the day when the light begins to grow brighter, becoming a physical force pushing at the walls of the sphere...there's a lot of turmoil and commotion and the dark sphere flies low and slow, but all the while the light is struggling and pushing and growing...until, finally, the light begins to break through the sphere in cracks and holes...streaming free for the first time in years. You can hear the dark sphere screaming as it breaks up...clinging to its own life...but the light won't stop, can't stop...and finally the last shards of the sphere break apart and fall away. The light is free! At first, the light floods the world, spread everywhere, only gradually beginning to once again coalesce into its own natural form, the beautiful, glowing sphere...shinning, bouncing, dancing, singing, loving...

If my movie had any subtitles, it would be Kahlil Gibran, "Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding. "

What is forgiveness?

Something brought this to mind recently and I decided to look it up and republish it. This was written in response to someone who was hurting and asked, "What is forgiveness?" I still think it's as true as anything I've ever written and worth repeating from time to time.

Have you ever heard someone talking about "forgiving a debt?" A lender who forgives a debt does not require repayment. If they're still lending to that borrower, they stop. They don't deny that the money was borrowed. They simply do not enforce their right to repayment.

I think that defines forgiveness pretty well. When we've been hurt, abused, molested, neglected, accused unjustly...all the painful, damaging things that hurt so bad, it's like the abusers are taking bits of us. In many cases we actually participate in the process in one way or another, though rarely do we recognize it at the time. We become lenders and borrowers and, in essence, a huge debt is created. Even after we're removed from the situation and no longer being abused, molested, etc., we're left with this aching place, a painful, raw emotional wound, because the debt that was created isn't paid. Sometimes all it would really take is a heartfelt apology. Sometimes the debt is bigger than an apology can cover. But until we get something that feels like repayment, we're left with the debt and the misery that goes with it.

That's where forgiveness comes in. We can choose to forgive the debt. We're not saying "it's okay" because you're right - it will never be ok. We're not denying that it happened, that it was wrong, that it was horrible and it sucked and it carved out part of our life when it was happening. Instead, we can recognize that, as horrible as the abuse was, it's no more horrible than the pain and misery of carrying the anger and the resentment and the feeling of unresolved debt around with us, eating away at what should be growing healthy again. If we're still in the situation - the relationship, the circumstances - we have to get out, just like that lender has to stop lending money to the borrower who won't or can't repay. And then we make a deal with ourselves - NOT with our abusers. The deal is this: I will move forward today, right now, with this person out of my life forever. I forgive the debt I am owed by them, knowing that the Universe will hold them accountable without my help. For me, I sever those ties, cut my losses, and walk away from that life for good.

That, in my opinion, is forgiveness. And with time and intent, if we're truly blessed, we may be able to move from forgiveness to compassion, wherein we realize that even people who hurt us are people who've taken some seriously wrong turns and are lost, probably without realizing it. That's when you know you're truly free. And forgiveness is the first step.

Forgive the debt...the repayment can never, ever equal what was actually taken from you. The best thing you can possibly do for yourself is to set yourself free of it.

Fertility Engineer? Maybe...

...or maybe it's just Nature's way of getting things done.

This guy was in the garden this morning, busily moving from flower to flower. By the time I spotted him, he was so laden with pollen it's a wonder he could still fly!

Thanks, little buddy, for getting the work done. Hope you enjoyed your feast. We sure do appreciate the results.

After the rain...

...the sun comes shining through.

We watched a summer storm from the front porch a few days ago. What a beautiful thing! It was one of those delicious summer rains - big, fat rain drops falling straight down, thunder rumbling in the distance, trees dancing freestyle in the wind. As the rain began winding down, the sun broke through and streamed down through the rain.


After the rain ended, the whole yard lit up with twinkling lights - the sun glinting off the droplets of rain on every tree.
Isn't that the way of it? It rains sometimes...but even in troubled times, the light is still there if you look for it. When the rain stops, everything is washed clean...new...and just enough rain clings to the surfaces to catch the sun and reflect it back.

Attitude is everything.

Wanna see some nekkid pichers?

Heh heh...gotcha with that header, didn't I?

One subject that always piques interest is pornography. Love it or hate it...collect it or turn away from it in disgust...seems like everyone has a strong opinion.

Personally, I have a mixed-bag relationship with pornography. I believe that healthy, responsible, grounded, sexually aware and educated adults can enjoy pornography with no ill effects. On the other hand, the way sexuality is depicted in most pornography is far from reality, separated from the rest of human interaction and relationships and often far from healthy. I can see how someone who is less grounded or experienced could end up with a warped view of sex. If porn is your sex-ed, you're going to have a hard time living up to the illustrations!

Still, I just don't understand how our culture got so out of whack about sex in general and pornography in particular. I read an interesting essay today. The writer makes the point that pornography isn't fundamentally any different to other forms of entertainment that depict and arouse human emotions and reactions. You watch other people have sex and you become aroused. Is that any different to watching a movie wherein someone grieves and it makes you cry? What about scary movies - do you feel a little fear when you watch? Is that wrong? Morally reprehensible? Fear and sadness are human reactions to specific stimuli; so is sexual arousal and it's no less a natural part of the human experience than any other physical/emotional/psychological response. I don't know that I agree with everything the author says, but it's food for thought.

Ahh, I do love to bitch and moan about our culture's twisted views on sex. Thanks for another opportunity to spew about one of my pet peeves. Now...go enjoy the weekend...have some healthy, happy, responsible sex and enjoy it, free of guilt and angst. Call it activism - saving the human race from sexual oppression one great encounter at a time.

That helpless feeling...

I hate knowing something is wrong, knowing someone is in trouble and needs help and not being able to make it happen! Arrrrrrhhhh! It's infuriating and frustrating and makes me feel helpless and ineffective and ... awful. I'm watching that happen right now with a woman in a horribly abusive situation, mentally and physically, and it's driving me nuts.

I'm doing what I can, which isn't much, but the ball is really in her court. There are people trying to help her, making a way for her to get out of the situation she's in, but until she is willing to take the proferred hand and make the first step out the door, all the efforts are in vain. That's the part that frustrates me most.

I believe with all my heart that we learn lessons in life through experience. Most of the time we're where we are, experiencing whatever we're experiencing, because we've got something to learn. Sometimes it's a direct, immediate cause-and-effect relationship; sometimes I have to think it's more karmic. In all cases, we usually keep experiencing until we get the lesson. The learning shifts our behavior which changes our experience and we start with new lessons. I don't want to interfere with anyone's learning experience but DAMN! Get this one already and get the hell out of there!

Sorry...had to say that somewhere. End of rant...back to work...

Through my Mother's eyes...

We had a big Solstice party at our place this weekend. About 40 people brought chairs, food, drums, guitars, and kids. It was great! It was also the first time my mother has been around that many pagans at one time.

I was a little worried that she might be upset by bits of conversation she overheard or see something that unnerved her. I don't hide my path from her; I don't put it in her face, either. She's a Jehovah's Witness and 81 years old, neither of which makes her a prime candidate for an open-minded acceptance of paganism.

As it turns out, she had a great time! A friend from work, not a pagan exactly but definitely a new-age sort, spent a lot of time talking with her and that helped. I checked on her as frequently as I could between hosting duties, but she was largely on her own. I touched base with her the morning after the party:

Me: "Mom, did you have a good time?"

Mom: "Yes, I did. I had a great time! Those were really nice people."

Me: "They are nice people; we're really blessed with good friends."

Mom: "You sure are. I couldn't find anything wrong!"

And there you have it - insight into the way my mother views the world. "I couldn't find anything wrong!" was a telling statement. She enters every situation looking for the wrongness in it. It's as if she lives her life in a minefield of wrong and the least little pause in her vigilence could land her right in the middle of some heinous activity that she would then be on the moral hook for.

I'm glad she couldn't find anything wrong. I'd be gladder still if she didn't always feel like she had to be on the lookout for it.

Goodbye, George Carlin...

...you will be missed.

George Carlin crossed the veil on Sunday, June 22...and there's a big, George-shaped hole in the universe.

I remember playing several of his albums (yes, they were albums - shiny vinyl with paper covers) when I was in my early 20's and loving them. He made me laugh - hysterically at times - and made me think. I can still recite the seven words by heart, and I never get on a plane without thinking, "We can snatch that pussy, put it in a box, and take it on the airplane!"

The genius of Carlin was his ability to recognize the absurdity in our world and mirror it back to us so we could see it, too, in a humbling, thought-provoking, and infinitely entertaining way.

Rest well, George...well done...and we'll look for you in your next go 'round.

Do you answer your cell phone in the bathroom?

...and other random thoughts.

I'm working from home today, taking a lunch break and enjoying the warm, gentle afternoon. I love my work-at-home days (usually two a week)... and the view is much better here than from my office. Because I cherish the privilege of working at home so much, I'm really careful to not do anything that might make folks at work think I'm slacking, so I carry my phone with me anytime I step away from my computer. This morning, I took it into the bathroom wtih me and then wondered what I would do if it rang? Would I answer it? Would you?

Before I started work this morning, I tripped out to the herb bed for some fresh basil (for my cottage-cheese-and-tomato breakfast). Mama had left some beautiful beadwork for us! Who knew squash plants could look so pretty!

Of course, my mind is running amok - as usual - with ideas and thoughts...things like, "Does anyone read this blog?" I tried to put a web statistics applet on here yesterday but haven't quite figured it out yet. If you're reading, leave a comment and let me know you're here! If you know how to install Google Analytics, better yet! And I'm still thinking about my writing career, the one that doesn't exist yet unless you count what I do at work, which is, in fact, mostly writing but not the kind I truly yearn to do.

Time is just so darned hard to come by! And it takes time to write. Ahhh...but therein lies the rub, does it not? We all have the same amount of time. Successful writers choose to devote a large portion of theirs to writing. I seem more inclined to devote mine to earning a living the less interesting but more immediately profitable way and helping take care of our home and land. Maybe what I need is a priority shift...or less sleep (though I can't really see that one...I don't sleep a lot as it is!)...or learn to not care so much about the other stuff.

A lot to worry about on a short lunch hour. My nose has been missed and must return to the grindstone immediately! Y'all stay tuned...more to come...and keep those cards and letters coming!

Sign, sign, everywhere a sign...

...blockin' out the scenery, breakin' my mind...

I find signs amusing sometimes...like this one:



More great signs to come...stay tuned...

History of the Vibrator...and one wonders...

...why such a simple, pleasure-giving device has such a history?

A great article - found here - in the TimesOnline UK edition recaps the history of the vibrator. Seems the handy little devices started life as medical equipment (which most of us already knew) and only gradually made their way into the hands of the women they were designed to help.

Interesting stuff...a good read...and begs the same questions I've asked since I was old enough to have the faintest tingle between the thighs and the awareness that something was "wrong" about that sweet tingle...that I wasn't supposed to feel that and NEVER supposed to talk about feeling it: How in heaven's name did we become so screwed up about sex?

Case in point: the article talks about the vibe's rise in popularity and acceptance, right up until silent films began depicting it being used sexually...after which it disappeared from advertisements and ready availability for 50 years. What the...? It was all fine and dandy when it was a medical device but the minute it's associated with sex, back into the closet it goes!

We've certainly come a long way, but I'm not sure it's all been in the right direction. No...that's not true...I'm entirely sure that much of it has been backward. We no longer, praise be, deny that women do, indeed, enjoy sex...and, at least in American culture, we don't openly deny that they should. But you can't buy a nice vibrator at the drugstore, either. Well, you can...but it will be called a massager and will show pictures of perfectly manicured female hands blissfully massaging neck and shoulders, with copy that reads, "Relaxes all kinds of muscles, relieves tension, soothes and refreshes...". The best of those illustrations are for the pale, creamy colored plastic vibes shaped like vaguely penis-like rockets, shown cozied up to the little indentation where the cheekbone and neck meet. Puh-leeze! Who massages their jawbone with a hard plastic penis? For that matter, who massages their shoulders with one?

And then, there's the issue of how female celebrities and models look or are made to look in photographs and movies. For one thing, they don't look that way. They're real people and real people, without exception, have hair, bumps, lumps, cellulite, discoloration, dark eye circles, thinning hair, enlarged pores, and a host of other beautiful flaws that just go with the human territory. You won't find many pictures of them...in fact, you find photoshopped miracles of inhuman beauty everywhere. If a young girl gets hold of a men's magazine with production levels of any quality, they might (and do) get the idea that "pretty", "sexy", and "beautiful" are all synonymous with hairless, flawless, perfectly made-up, and forever young. What a disservice!

Yes, I know...I'm not saying anything new. We're all aware of the issues. But are we aware enough? Has our awareness led to action? Have we, personally...you, me, your next door neighbor, your daughter/mother/wife/girlfiend...have we done anything about it? Have we begun to talk more openly and honestly about sexuality? Have we admitted, even to each other, that we actually own sex toys? Have we made sure our daughters see as many examples of real, beautiful, sexy, flawed-and-thus-flawless women in their lives as they do artifically enhanced paper dolls? Have our celebrity women talked candidly about their profession and about how what they portray is not who they are? Have we ended the disgusting habit of mentally clawing the eyes of every woman who shows a bit more skin than we think proper, or who openly dates multiple men or has multiple sexual partners? Have we given up judging each other more harshly than anyone?

And while we're at it (though this is a slight left turn), have we wised up and started giving violent, horror-filled movies depicting scenes of bloody dismemberment, unspeakable cruelty, and death by the minute the same XXX ratings we reserve for movies that depict sexual acts? I'm no big fan of pornography because of the distorted way it portrays sex, but I fail to see how it can be worse than "Saw". In fact, given a choice between my 17-year-old watching porn and watching a crazy, demented, violent blood-fest, I'd have to say, "Bring on the f***ing!" At least sex is a life-affirming act.

I don't have answers; I have questions, and I have to keep asking them because none of the answers so far have made much sense.

Nothing succeeds like success...

I weighed in today for the first time in at least two weeks, maybe three. In that space of time, I have been anything but diligent about following my Weight Watchers plan. Tracking? We don't need no stinking tracking! Well...actually...we do...but you get my drift. I've eaten all kinds of stuff that really wasn't in my best interest...chocolate chip cookies (that's cookIES, as in multiples), ribs (the whole slab, not one of those wimpy sampler portions), grilled burgers made with ground beef so fat-laden that it was barely light pink, hot dogs (good beef hot dogs, but still...) - and the list goes on. So how did I still manage to lose weight?

Well, here's my theory: I think I've changed my regular eating habits so much that it offsets my occasional indulgences. Before WW, I ate enough fried food in a week to keep the people producing frying oil in business for a long time. My arteries were so accustomed to their daily grease allotment that they suffered withdrawals for a while. And it was a struggle to give it up. I began working in restaurants in my teens and learned to make killer deep-fried food - seafood, mushrooms, pickles, chicken (oh yeah, I can make some fried chicken)...and fried green tomatoes. I no longer get the oohs and ahhs that came from putting a plate of golden, crispy, sizzling chicken fingers or succulent fried shrimp in front of my friends and family. I miss that.

But you know what? It's ok. I miss that ego-boost now and then, but I don't miss the 68.8 pounds that I'm not hauling around anymore. I don't miss buying size 28 slacks or 3X shirts. And I definitely don't miss the wheezing wreck I used to be when I climbed the hill at 5th street or attempted the 61 steps into the back of the building. Nope. Not at all.

So...thinking back over the last couple of weeks...I've eaten when I was hungry, indulged some less-than-stellar cravings...and still lost weight. I didn't gorge on fried food. I ate quite healthily at work every day; indulgences were saved for dinner out with my husband and the occasional warm cookie. That's a life I can definitely live with. And seeing a weight loss today instead of the gain I was afraid I would see has actually motivated me to get back on track.

So...here's to the next (and final) 70 pounds and a life that just gets better all the time. Thanks for letting me celebrate a little...and happy Monday!

Acorns for peace

Datinggod -(a GREAT blog) most recent post pointed me toward Yoko Ono's new blog. What a great find! Read her profile...and the lovely concept of air dancing. I'm air dancing now...

More wisdom from Mom and good stewardship...

(from a personal email sent to ChattanoogaPagansATyahoogroupsDOTcom, June 2, 2008:

When I was growing up, I thought my mother was the cheapest, stingiest woman on the planet! She reused EVERYTHING!

My dad carried sandwiches for lunch every day for years so we went through a lot of sliced bread. She carefully shook the crumbs out of the empty bread bags, folded them, and put them inside another saved bread bag in the drawer. Those bags got used for everything. We wrapped left over biscuits after dinner in them (which were, in turn, resued as biscuit toast for breakfast the next morning). We saved receipts in them. We split them down the seam and used them to cover a bowl that didn't have a lid (secured with a rubber band saved from something else).

Wax paper was the absolute gold standard for wrapping sandwhiches, and if Dad remembered to bring it home, it was sometimes resued, too. There was no plastic cutlery in our house. If Dad needed a spoon or fork, Mom took one out of the drawer and Dad brought it home to be washed. By the way, my Mom STILL uses much of the same set of stainless tableware we had back then, so I know that process worked!

Empty mayonnaise jars were used as canning jars, nail containers, bean canisters, etc. When Mom bought things like Zip-Lock bags, they were reused, too. In fact, she still saves them and has so many empty, washed clean, and carefully saved bags that she probably won't have to buy another for years! Popcorn came in just one bag, not a box with six bags inside it, each one wrapped individually in plastic. Cheese had one wrapper on it instead of an outer wrap and a wrapper around each slide. Things that grew out of style or didn't look quite as shiny and new as before were still used as long as they retained usefullness; Mom still has the same Charles Chips can she had when I was a child and still stores flour in it, and it works just fine.

She made new clothing out of old clothing and out of cloth flour sacks (not seen much anymore, but they do still make them), dust cloths out of old tee shirts, biscuit/cookie cutters from empty vegetable cans. We picked up hickory nuts and made hickory nut pies instead of pecan, made the best pear preserves in the world from knotty old Keiffer pears we picked up from old trees in the pasture, and ate persimmons, blackberries, dewberries, and mucadines we found wild in the woods. She and Dad grew much of what we ate, saving seed from one harvest to start the next. Dad kept a few cattle almost all the time, selling a few and using a couple a year to stock the freezer. The beef we ate was wrapped in a single piece of butcher paper with the contents written right on the paper, not in a stryofoam tray with an absorbant pad and a plastic overwrap with a paper label. Found objects and windfalls were put to good and lasting use; when my aunt was given l arge commercial spools of sewing thread, Mom and my grandmother carefully selected multiple strands of complimentary colors and wound them into balls of "yarn," crocheting clothing from it, some of which I still have and wear.

After that wonderful example of good stewardship, all I could do when I grew up was run madly from it and try to become much more sophisticated. I learned how to buy plastic bags and only use them once...how to through away empty glass jars because I didn't can my own food (why, when it was so eash to buy it at the grocery?), ignore healthful, readily available food because it was too much effort to pick it, and to just chuck my old tee shirts and buy nice, neatly trimmed wash cloths new and use them for dusting and cleaning. Food scraps were just trash. I never reused bread bags because when I did, my friends said, "Ewwwwwwwww! That's not sanitary!" Somehow it didn't occur to me that A) the bread came wrapped in it and we didn't say, "Ewwww!" and B) I was over 20 years old and hadn't died from it in all that time.

So here I am, many years later, looking at Mom (right next door) and finally thinking, "You were one smart woman!" She was a much better steward of the land we have chosen to call home than I ever was. I'm learning all over again what it means to keep the promises Three Crows and I made when we moved up here. There are so many things that I can do that not only reduce my impact on the environment but save resources that my family can use for other things.

What has helped more than anything is awareness. From the moment we stood in what is now our back yard and promised to be good stewards and partners with this land, we have been more aware. By stating and sharing our intention out loud, we moved it from a nice thought to an act of will. As simple as that sounds, I believe it has been key to moving us more and more in the right direction. And conversations like this one have the same effect. As we raise our awareness, more opportunities will present themselves.

Is our family "there" yet? Heck, no! But we're closer...much closer...and like all journeys, this one starts with a single step. With the way we work now, I'm not sure returning to my Mom's way of life is entirely possible, but many of her tricks are already serving us...both our family and the big us...well...and we're enjoying the process as well as the product.

I guess it's like the rest of life - doing the right thing feels good.

Love in abundance,

Heartsong

Wow...

...wow. wow wow wow.

Read this...
Anamnesis, or The Psychoanalysis of God
May 20, 2008 15:30

I can't find the words to express all that I felt reading this...truth...recognition...remembering...knowing...sameness...connection...wonder...awe...beautifully written, insightful, thought-provoking, awe-inspiring, wonder-striking...

Just read it.

Wow.

When you find the good stuff...

...share it!

Ran across a great blog today - PaganPerspective on Wordpress - and immediately recognized a kindred spirit in the first post on the site (apparently a re-post of an article from 2004 - still more than timely).

I tried to leave a comment but the site wasn't allowing that, so I'm tipping my pointed hat here and hoping my kudos find their way back to the author. I'll visit often, I'm sure, and hope she'll free to stop by my idea house from time to time. Hail and welcome!

Good news, bad news

Mark Morford has done it again. His latest article is a romp through the good and not-so-good developments, fall-out, and random occurances of late. It's a great read and pretty insightful. Read Mark's column here.

Mark races through the postives and negatives, finally skidding to the conclusion that maybe - just maybe - things are turning around a bit, that conservatism - that rampant virus of Rush-speak idiocy that has plagued us for the last few years - might be dead, or at least dying. Is it possible that, in the words of Melissa Ethridge, "...we are waking up from the spell those who profit from the fear cast so well; and good people of the earth can tell there is no us and them..."?

I think so. So does Mark Morford. What do you think?

Don't blog when you're exhausted...

...because you'll fall asleep at the keyboard and wipe out your entire post just before you hit the "publish" button. $*#@!

Prior to the falling asleep incident, I was celebrating the current success of my herb garden and how I have my husband to thank for it. He didn't plant the bed; I did. What he did was share his bountiful Green Man energy with me.



You see, before Three Crows came into my life, I had managed to kill house plants, tomatoes, flowers...in short, anything I tried to grow. I used to joke that I could eradicate crab grass (a common scorge of southern lawns)if I just tried to grow it.

Nowadays, however, I'm having a lot more success. The herb bed is beautiful! I love stepping off the porch and clipping handsful of fresh flavor and fragrance. Rosemary, basil, thyme, parsley, sage, cilantro, lavender, chamomile, chives, and now stevia and apple mint...they're my babies and I love them. And I just planted more...spearmint, peppermint, tarragon, tomatoes, and peppers...along with lots of flowers for the porch and deck rail boxes. Three Crows is still recovering from surgery, but he was there, guiding the efforts and sharing his energy. Amybeth (eldest of our combined girl-children) helped, too, and I think she enjoyed her first gardening efforts.





So...keep a good, green thought for continued success, and I'll share more photos with you as the babies grow. And try growing some of your own. You'll love it!

Come Saturday morning...

...I'll be doing my regular Saturday stuff and loving it.

I cherish Saturday mornings for a lot of reasons. It's the first no-alarm-clock day of every week. I get to wake up with my beloved; we cuddle and make love and laugh and wish the coffee would make itself.

After breakfast, I tackle my two Saturday chores - trash and recycling. The trash run isn't exactly fun, but it's satisfying to get the bags of yuck off property and into the landfill. Recycling, on the other hand, is one of the highlights of my week.

We do what I call "big chunk" sorting throughout the week; steel and aluminum cans go into one container, paper into another, glass and plastic into a third, or sometimes in with the paper. Come Saturday morning, I take it all outside to the big table and sort everything. It can get a little messy but I don't mind. It all gets loaded into Bessie (our trusty Ford Ranger, 190-odd thousand miles and still going strong) for the trip to the recycle center.

This is my friend G___. Actually, he's just a guy I met this morning at the center and I don't really know anything about him except that he recycles. He gives up part of his Saturday to keep some of his family's trash out of the landfill. That's good enough for me to call him a friend. He was a nice guy with a good sense of humor; when I promised him I wouldn't identify him or say where he was from, he immediately replied, "Thank God! I have to beat off the stalkers already." A good steward and a quick wit...what's not to like?

The recycle center was full of people like G___ and me today. That gives me hope. There aren't enough of us yet, but the numbers are growing, and every can, bottle, and bag that G___ and I and others like us recycle is one that doesn't wind up in the landfill. It's a small thing, but it's important and I'm happy to be part of it.

To G___ and all recyclers, reusers, reducers...thank you. Enjoy your recycling chore...it's an act of love and life.

Yes! Do this...do this do this do this!

Precycling - what a great concept!

Precycling refers to the process of reducing the amount of trash, recycleable or otherwise, on the front end...

...avoiding excessive packaging;
...refusing what you don't need;
...reducing what you do need;
...reusing what you can't reduce;
...recycling what you can't use;
...rebuying recycled material whenever possible.

When I was growing up, my parents did this all the time. I just thought they were stingy and tight with the little bit of money they had, which was cool in itself - they made a little do a whole lot. What I didn't realize is what good stewards they were. When I left home, I gradually drifted away from those practices, but I'm relearning them now.

For more good information, visit http://www.summitrecycling.org/html/prere.html (where the precycle list came from) or their parent site, http://www.highcountryconservation.org/.

Do this...this matters.

Beautiful place...beautiful attitude...

A small piece of my weight loss puzzle revealed itself yesterday.

I have been actively exercising for several months now. In the last couple of weeks, however, I've not done a thing. Sciatica has sidelined me for a little while, but I made up my mind that I would walk yesterday regardless. My husband helped by playfully saying, "...after you finish your walk," after every statement. He's good that way.

So I walked across the Walnut Street Bridge when I left work. Total walk was about a mile and a quarter...walked about 30 minutes so not a fast pace but not strolling. I thought I'd share a little of that walk with you, a 360-degree view of the beauty surrounding me...

Isn't this just an amazing place to live, work, and play? Stunning!

More importantly, I learned something really important. The last few weeks have been a struggle to stay on plan with Weight Watchers. I thought maybe I was just bored, but that's not it. I'm a good cook, I enjoy cooking, and there's plenty of variety to be had. No, it was something I couldn't put my finger on, and it was powerful enough that I was wondering if I'd reached the end of my weight loss.

But when I walked yesterday...what an eye-opener! My resolve, my excitement about feeling better and being strong, healthy, and capable came rushing back with every step! My usual stop at the grocery store didn't result in the usual urges to buy everything and eat it all immediately. I was hungry and still experienced a remarkable lack of craving. I was happy to go home and enjoy a healthy dinner, content that I was doing good things for my body.

We're told frequently that exercise is good for us and that it's the key to sustainable weight loss. What they don't tell us is that it redefines your world view. I don't know exactly how it works, but when I've had a good walk, I don't want to put junk into my body. I want to treat me like the goddess I am and be good to myself with nutritious food that doesn't contribute directly to obesity. And I don't experience the cravings for sugary junk that have plagued me lately.

Who knew? Well, I guess the experts did...but maybe I wasn't listening. I am definitely listening now.

Sit down, shut up, and be kind...

...and the three are related. Really.

One of my favorite journalists, Mark Morford of the San Francisco Chronicle, points in a recent article to research that backs up what thousands of years of mindful meditation practice has already proven - that "the regular, habitual act of stilling yourself and intentionally calming the mind and working with the breath...can inject some divine love-juice into your core and make you more sympathetic, kinder, more apt to feel a natural inclination toward generosity and compassion..." That's not news to anyone who's already doing it, but it might be a shock to the rest of the world.

Mark says it better, of course; his articles are always funny and entertaining, and he writes about stuff that matters and makes sense. If you enjoy a combination of irreverance and intelligence, wit and wonder, check Mark out. You'll feel right at home.

Fire!

Beautiful fire spinning at PUF this weekend. Gorgeous!

Hope and so much to learn...

...from the forgiveness in one woman's heart and the soul of a nation more comitted to recovery than to revenge.

CNN tells of how Rwandans are rebuilding their nation and their lives in the wake of Hutu murder of nearly a million people, mostly Tutsis.

That a woman can find it in her heart to even attempt forgiveness for such horror gives me hope.

That a nation can understand that rebuilding is more important than attempting to right unimaginable wrongs that can never be made right gives me courage.

That a man who helped to perpetrate the horror can find it within him to stand and say to survivors, families of men, women, and children who were raped, beaten, clubbed to death, buried alive, "I did this. I am guilty. And I am sorry," gives me chills.

That a woman who suffers the pain of loss every day of her life can sit next to a man who suffers the pain of guilt every day of his, and weave baskets, and make a concious choice to practice forgiveness rather than perpetuate the cycle of death humbles me beyond measure.

If we took one tiny sliver of that courage and determination and applied to to the day-to-day minutia that we waste so much precious energy on...what might our world be?

I will try...now...today...

If Iphigenia Mukantabana can weave her baskets of peace alongside Jean-Bosco Bizimana, I will weave peace daily alongside those whose actions hurt me. If Jean-Bosco Bizimana can face his victims' families and own his actions, I will summon courage to own my actions and hope those I have harmed will choose to practice forgivness toward me.

The community basket we weave will be beautiful and strong enough to hold us all.

The good thing about today is...

You didn't think I would name just one good thing, did you? If so, you must be a new reader - welcome!

I'm excited because California's Supreme Court overturned the same sex marriage ban in that state. That's a positive step and worth celebrating.

And today is Friday...another productive (sort of) work week in the can and a weekend looming. I'm going to the Pagan Unity Festival in middle Tennessee with a good friend tomorrow and looking forward to it.

Finally, a shout out to the folks at Lowe's. I had a problem there and they've surprised me with how well they've handled it. I bought a grill, a fairly expensive grill for my usual budget, and asked for it to be assembled, scheduling pick up for three days later. When I got there, they cheerfully delivered me a grill that looked like hell! It was badly scratched, dirty, and was, in fact, the one they'd had sitting outside in the weather on display. When I told them I didn't want a used grill, they checked and no more were assembled. I'd have to come back the next day, or I could take ten percent off the one they offered.

I live about 25 miles from the store and didn't want to come back, so I reluctantly agreed to the discount, but I wasn't happy. When we got the grill home, my husband tried to read the owner's manual and it was soaking wet, even in its plastic bag. He couldn't turn the pages! This was not the joyous new grill experience I had been looking forward to!

I asked store personnel (who were all very nice, by the way) to make sure they passed on my displeasure but I wasn't satisfied my voice would be heard. To make sure, I went to the Lowe's website and sent a note. I explained that I had already accepted the discount and that I was writing in hope they would educate and manage store policy and employees in the future to tell people upfront if they're trying to sell a display model.

I got an email response within 12 hours stating that the store would be in touch within 24 hours, followed by a call from the local manager. He said they wanted me to have the new grill I purchased and they would deliver it. I explained again that I had already accepted the discount and wasn't trying to gouge them; I just thought the practice was wrong and wanted to be heard. Lowe's wanted to make it right anyway, so they're delivering a new grill today or tomorrow.

I've always said that recovery is better than perfection in business. I still hope they'll be more concientious but I am pleased that they heard me and took my issue seriously.

Happy Friday, everyone...enjoy the weekend!

61 Steps...

...that's how many steps at the back entrance to my office building.

I started a weight loss journey in November 2007. Among my goals is a raised level of fitness, mobility, energy, and agility. Those 61 steps have kicked my butt far too long!

I'm proud to say that, as of Monday, May 12, I've lost 66 pounds and I'm feeling TERRIFIC! I'm still a little winded at the top of those stairs, but nothing like the wheezing wreck I used to be. More importantly, I no longer avoid them. I used to go around the world to not have to climb those stairs and I avoided hills when walking with the same determination. No more...now I look at a hill in my walking route and think, "Cool!" It's actually fun to climb. I feel strong and proud of myself.

Weight Watchers has been the best thing I've ever done for myself and my health. Still, after six months, it's getting harder to stay focused. The program works and I'm not on a diet. I'm learning to live differently. The realization that this is my life now and not some temporary inconvenience that will go away when the weight goes away has been an emotional thing for me. It's like the nurse educator here told me recently in a candid conversation about weight loss and health. She said, "You know now; and once you know, you can't un-know. You'll never be able to just eat with reckless abandon again. You might do it, but the knowledge of what you're doing to your body will be there, and it changes you."

She's right. I can't go back. For me, that's a loss. I miss being on a road trip with my husband and stopping at our favorite buffet. I miss picking up a bucket of chicken and going to the lake. I miss random junk food. And I can hear you out there..."You said it was your life, not a diet. That means you can have those things, just in moderation." I hear you and I concur and I actually do have some of those things from time to time. I think the loss I'm really grieving is the one my nurse friend talked about. I miss the ability to do something bad for me without feeling guilty and conflicted about it. I miss being able to enjoy all the wonderful foods my friends prepare for feast after ritual without having to think about how much fat or fiber or how many calories.

Portion control is not a natural state for me. I'm not someone who naturally selects smaller portions of richer foods because that's all I want. I want more! If one is good, two is better, and what the hell, have three! I'm learning (still, after six months) to listen to my body and respond to signals of being satisfied, but they've been shushed for so long I think they're a little afraid to speak up. And the funny thing is...I have NO idea how that came to be. Well...that's not entirely true. I have some ideas...theories, really...but I've not decided yet if any of them really hold water.

Maybe that's a post for another time. In the meantime, I had a nice lunch and it's time to get back to work. Thanks for listening...more to come.

Much ado about Miley...

Big flap still going on about photos Vanity Fair published of Miley Cyrus. I hope that child makes it out of her teens intact and without cracking under the pressure! Jamie Lee Curtis (yes, the actress) blogged about the photos and about the challenges of a young woman in show business - http://www.huffingtonpost.com/jamie-lee-curtis/topless-on-tv-the-miley-c_b_98990.html. It's a great post, insightful and compassionate, and shows a wisdom that makes me want to call Jamie Lee up and have lunch with her. We could be friends.

Paradise is...

...different things to different people.

As I was hiking in the Muir Woods on Friday, I overheard conversation among a pair of couples walking the trail. I recognized them as Jehovah's Witnesses right away. Having been raised in that arena, I'm fluent in the language (that language is a subject for another conversation some time).

The conversation centered around what they wanted in the New System. For Jehovah's Witnesses, the New System is the world as it will be after Armageddon, after Jehovah removes Satan's influence from the world for a thousand years so the earth and all its inhabitants can return to paradise and perfection. The comments were about what kind of homes they wanted, what kind of amenities. "I want a two or three story house with a window that opens onto a slide so I can just slide down into the lake right out of the bedroom window."

The thing is...we were in the middle of an old growth forest. It was clean, deep, quiet...the trees, some four or five stories tall, were graciously welcoming us into their homes. We'd just been graced with a doe and her fawn crossing our path; a birdsong symphony played in the background, and a gentle creek babbled merrily within earshot of most of the trail. We were already in paradise, and they didn't appear to recognize it.

Have we all become such expatriates that we don't recognize our native tounge? The world was speaking the language of paradise and people were talking about building a three-story house. Or maybe the constant focus on the future, the paradise to come, blinds people to the paradise that is.

It was a bit sad really. Maybe I'm making too much of it; they certainly seemed to be happy and enjoying themselves. But for me, caught up as I was in the rapture of ancient redwoods, blooming oxalis, and the humming energy of that beautiful place, there was no need for a new system. The old system was paradise enough for me.

The California adventure continues..

Today was fun! I started the day in the Muir Woods Redwood Preserve and an easy mile-and-a-half loop on the trails. New photos are on Flickr.

What an amazing place! I know now what "the forest primeval" means. To the eye, it looks pretty much the same as Armstrong Woods that I visited yesterday. That makes sense; two old-growth forests in the same area, same types of plants, etc. Muir Woods is very old, though, and I think probably older than the Armstrong area, though I need to research that. 2008 marks the 100th year of the Muir Woods as a named entity, and the forest itself is ancient.

The first thing I noticed about the woods was the smell. Oh, that wonderful smell! Fresh, clean, earthy... heavenly.

Then there was the doe and fawn that crossed the trail. A guide leading a group of children noticed the pair trying to cross the trail to get to the creek. After finally getting the children and the oblivious adults to be still and somewhat quiet, the doe crossed but the baby was spooked by the crowd and failed to cross. Little deer starts looking for momma deer all around and can't find her. Everyone was oh-no-ing quietly.

Now, I've been told by more than one person that I carry a lot of "momma energy," and I know it's true. I got a little reminder of that today. As I watched the fawn search for momma, I said a little prayer and just asked the Lady to guide the little one to momma. Where does the fawn go? To me...all but into my hand. I think she (gender chosen for convenience; the fawn wasn't THAT close) would have just followed me across the road, until the kids realized the fawn was right under their feet and got excited. Baby ran back into the woods. The doe had started calling, and finally came back across, collected her offspring, and crossed back to the creek. We moved on. It was beautiful.

Next: San Francisco! I drove to Pier 39 and played at Fisherman's Wharf all afternoon. The best thing about SF and northern California in general is that it's drop-dead beautiful. The wharf was fun...lots of shopping, mostly touristy stuff, some jewelry, and food. Oh, and they had an honest-to-goodness arcade - that was fun! I didn't play anything; I just enjoyed walking through the dimly lit palace of fun things. Dinner was The Eagle Cafe. It was good, and the bartender made me the best bloody mary I've ever had! It had freshly grated horseradish in it and the rim was sportig a layer of seasoned salt. Yum!

Finally headed for San Carlos and the hotel I booked on Orbitz. I have to say that I am impressed with Orbitz. I hadn't written down the hotel address so I called Orbitz for help. They found me in the computer system with just my first and last name and were able to give me everything I needed. With their help and the guidance of the trusty GPS system in my rental car, I got where I was going without mishap.

Now it's time to pack up and get some shut-eye. My flight home is 6:00 AM, which means a 3:30 departure from my lovely room. Hope I can sleep on the plane!

G'night.

I'd like to teach the world to sing in perfect harmony...

...but it appears that someone beat me to it.

My beautiful friend Leslie sent a link to a great article, "How to Sing Like a Planet". Beautiful stuff...and the article is written just to my taste, too. Funny, intelligent, and with a sense of wonder. Thanks, Les!

I've got more to say about this (you knew that, didn't you?)...but not now...gotta pack and get out of this hotel room. Stay tuned...

What a great day!

I had some time after the last session I wanted to attend today, so I headed out for some adventure. Chuck at the California Visitor's Center in Santa Rosa gave me the scoop on a scenic drive, along with a handy map with route personally highlighted by Chucks' own hand, so off I went. It was great! You can check out the photos on Flickr. http://www.flickr.com/photos/25941852@N07/show/

First stop...Martinelli Winery for a quick taste and three lovely bottles of wine. This small family winery had some delicious reds and the place was just beautiful.

Next up, Korbel Champagne Winery. Loved the bubbly, but the bottles wouldn't fit in my already-purchased wine shipper, so I bought a bottle of cream sherry. I've never been a sherry drinker, but this stuff is delicious!

Next...Armstrong Woods and a walk among the redwoods...quite possibly the highlight of my trip so far.

Turned onto US 1 and followed the coast for a ways, through Sonoma County State Beach area. I popped off the main road at Goat Rock State Beach and walked down as far as my city girl sandals would let me. And...you guessed it...the pictures are on Flickr at the link above.

My 8 AM oatmeal finally ran out and I had to find food. Ended up at The Tides in Bodega, and it was good. The food wasn't pretty, but it was tasty (lots of garlic) and filling. The restaurant is right on the water so the view was worthy.

Finally, turned for home. Bodega Highway reminds me of home...lots of modest homes and dairy ranches. We don't have ranches in Birchwood...but we have cows...and pastures...and other country stuff. Bodega Highway was like that...felt good.

Whew! Good day...long and adventurous. Tomorrow I check out and head back to San Francisco to see what I can get into there. Stay tuned!

Miracle or zombie?

So here I am at the SNCR Forum in beautiful Santa Rosa, California, surrounded by the best and brightest true believers in the social media universe. I'm inspired to the point of resurrecting this blog from the shallow grave it's called home for over a year now. Is it a miracle or a half-decayed hungry thing that eats brains for breakfast? Time will tell...stay tuned for more updates.

This conference has convinced me that it's time to get back in the pool. David Parmet, Joe Jaffe, Richard Binhammer, Paul Gillin, Geoff Livingtgon, Kami Huyse...names I know and respect are here and I'm soaking it up (hopefully more like a sponge than a sieve). On both a personal and professional front, conversation, true interactive discussion, is where I'm headed.

Did I mention yet how much I love conversation? What a lost art! People talk at each other but so few have any idea how to actually have a true give-and-take conversation anymore. I call them "versations"...there is no "with" component. One person says something. The other says something. Half the time they don't even relate, much less resemble a true response, and heaven forbid one participant actually forgoing their own agenda to ask a question or encourage the other. Instead of verbal ping pong, we play catch, holding onto our turn until we have to take a breath, at which point the person waiting her turn snatches the ball out of our hands and takes control.

Geoff Livingston and Kami Huyse talked today about steps to entering the social media ring that I think can become rules for conversation in any arena - Listen, participate, contribute, evaluate. If we applied these rules every time we talk with another person, our versations would become conversations again and we'd find ourselves actually hearing, stimulating, challenging each other.

Oh, but wait...we can't do that because that might lead to discussions about things that really matter, minefields in the politically correct, you will respect my diversi-ty world. But that's a topic for another post, another time. Right now, I'm going to go back to learning at the feet of the masters.

Don't go away...we'll be right back.