Wilderness Adventure

..well, not quite. But the title really grabs you , eh? (Well I guess that oots me, yup I am Canadian).

That said, I really did have some adventures on a recent road trip to Seattle/ Portland via Whidbey Island and Port Townsend. Maybe they were more like, realizations. Realizations that I both do and experience weird things -and make just plain dumb decisions- when driving alone.

Once I got off the I-5 and was puttering through quaint, rural parts of Washington State, a blissful calm propelled me into the little town of La Conner. So when I heard a distinct gunshot fire while stopped at a 4-way ,I completely overreacted, heart pounding out of my chest [I found it later on the dashboard]. I actually ducked, then slowly came up to do a 360 scope of the area.Nothing out of the ordinary. I know you think it was a car backfiring, but I swear, I was completely alone, no other humans or vehicles to be seen for miles around- and I know me the sound of gunshots when I hear them. Well , perhaps not, since I never have.

So that was The First Scary Thing .

With a couple of deep breaths I resumed my grip on the wheel but felt abit..punchy. Is it just me or does everyone do a running commentary -out loud-while driving alone.. When passing by some cows I mooed at them, focussing hard on making it as authentic-sounding a 'moo' as possible. When passing by the Bible Baptist Church, I sang the name of the church.."BI-ble, BAP-tist Chuuuuurrrch". Then sang it again in 17 year old choirboy voice. Then again as Marilyn Monroe would sing it, in that breathy 'Happy Birthday,Mr. President 'voice... And then what is it about going through tiny towns in the country that channels our Inner Texan ? After Marilyn was done singing, I started reading every sign I passed in full Southern Forrest Gump Drawl. Like Ass Lake (someone had presumably painted off the first letter), Passionate Beach, and ...Useless Bay ( Ah felt sorrah fo thayat bye, havn a nayem lak thayat.)

And have you ever noticed that it doesn't matter where you are on the PLANET, the FM Country station always comes in with perfect hi tech clarity, when you can only get a static muffle from every other station, including the local AM traffic advisory station..

Just after Useless Bay, the wind and rain doubled up. I switched into Trailblazer Mode...I was aware I needed to take a ferry across the Olympic Penninsula from Whidbey I to Port. T, but it just turned out that the VERY day I was travelling, the Queen of Something Marine-like was being 'refurbished'. In true nerd style, I had checked the Washington Ferries Website in advance and knew this, so no surprises for this navigatrix. So it just meant Googling my trip directions , bringing along a road map, a BCAA tour book and phoning the hotel in Port T. to figure out alternate methods for how the hey to get over significant bodies of water without being like, Christ.

It started to pour rain and a strong wind was kicking up.I found the ferry at the bottom of the island and myluckischanging I drove right on..SWEET!

But then ferry flagperson guy directed me to drive up a 40 degree incline ramp to the top level. I am not exaggerating, it was super steep. I wasn't able to completely fit behind the car on the last bit of the flat part up top, so had to park on the sharp incline behind it.This made me pretty nervous, my new car and all, and I applied the hand brake, unconvinced it would do the trick. I'm preparing to get out and I hear this muffled yelling..and then a banging on my rainy, fogging- up side window. Did I mention it was now raining sideways? Ferry Dude wants me to BACK UP DOWN THE (narrow) 40 DEGREE INCLINE RAMP, AND CHANGE LANES TO GO UP THE (narrow) 40 DEGREE INCLINE LANE TO MY RIGHT so that I can park on flat ground at the top over yonder. There is a car 6 feet behind me. The reason for all the CAPITAL LETTERS is that I am driving a standard gear shift.In a new car I am getting used to. I am so so scared of being able to get the car in gear on the incline without rolling back into the person behind me, smucking him, but mostly my new car, and perhaps Ferry Fella too.I revved up and the car died. And rattled. I revved up again and rolled backwards abit. And it died. I put down the window and looked desperately at the Ferryman , telling him it's gear shift. Without even looking at me, like he sees this every 5 minutes,he said '"use the E brake , accellerate and then take it off once you go forward". I knew that, that was what I was doing [Muttonhead], but this was one hell of an incline . I was desperately hoping, in the interest of getting the ferry loaded faster, since I WAS holding up the line- and just out of human compassion- he might say " let me just jump on in and I'll drive it up for you" . But alas, it was not to be. So I had to do it. Talk about facing your fears. I was shaking the whole time and just made it happen, tires squealing, car lurching, with Embarrassment coming a close second to Terror. I (still) do not exaggerate when I say I did not stop shaking for 15 minutes into the 30 minute crossing, just sat up in the passenger holding area looking out at the stormy waters in some kind of state of suspended animation.
[I have since made up with my clutch and accellerator and we all get along now.We have an understanding.]
I arrived at and then drove through Edmonds where a sign outside a restaurant read "Famous Ezell's Chicken: Love and Honour God". Whah? Ya gotta just shake your head..One more ferry ride later -this one I got to park on the mercifully flat ground level where my immediate response was to genuinely love and honour God for this good fortune- before arriving at Port Townsend.
As luck would have it an unexpected " Our First Winter Storm" had whipped up and was smacking the town around like DeNiro and the Bad Guy, with winds that could knock you over, if you weren't emmm, solidly built. It was too fun to be in, waves crashing over parking lots, sunny blue skies drafting behind the black clouds that were hauling butt above the town.For a moment I thought it might be 2012 Come Early.Boutique and gallery doors were flying open, and rogue branches played leapfrog over parked cars on the Main Drag. Tres tres cool.
Later on, safely nestled in the warm, cozy Small Town Motor Inn, I pondered from my perch, who in their right mind would place a full size mirror in front of the toilet, it just ain't right to be looking at yourself in such a state of ..vulnerability. And where does one even find 1 Ply toilet paper to purchase..I had never realized it came in anything less than 2 or 3 ply..till now. [remember the Wilderness Adventure theme here]
The next morning , travelling through Olympic National Park, I drove by a sign for Mt Walker Viewpoint ,signifying a rustic road. I didnt want my brand new Civic to get knocked around, it sits low and could get a sore tummy from offroad exploration.As I continued driving on past that sign, I said to myself, c'monnn , you need to use this car to experience life,why didnt you stop and drive to see the view? It could be spectacular!... So I pulled a "U-ey" drove back and started to drive up the old dirt road.
Not such a great idea. Not the most mature decision..
The mulchy dirt road quickly became narrower and was climbing in a spiral with branches and debris strewn everywhere ( ya think I might have considered the effects of last night's storm?). I said to myself, don't be a baby, SAY YES TO LIFE! [Alone, in the wilderness , on a backroad that can accommodate only one car.] I got about five minutes of driving into it and then a huge branch blocked my passing..there were mini -Christmas trees and branches clinging to my car's underbelly while rocks bounced up, clanging on the metal parts of its nether regions .I made the [genius] decision to go back. But there was no turning around, not enough room, unless you want to go hurtling down the side of the steep,narrow road off the cliff.So, my favourite thing, I got to back up, sloowwwwly.But , as afore mentioned, it was a spiral road..So backing up on a narrow, branch- infested winding road, when you aren't a good backer- upper to begin with, and -shades of the ferry- I was placed again in another bloody scary situation.Twice I came so close to driving over the edge. (Where IS that 1 ply toilet paper when you need it?)
I inched my way down to the bottom, evvver so slowly, on a whisper and a prayer, wondering if my car had sustained permanent injury, and luckily without discovering a Sasquatch in the backseat. ...now THEN I woulda had me a story to tellya..

Oh, baby, baby, it's a wild world It's hard to get by just on a smile, girl
Oh, baby, baby, it's a wild world I'll always remember you like a child, girl
-Cat Stevens

3 Revealing Stories

You can't judge a book by it's cover. Ever. Because, my friends, what you see is actually not what you get..

These lessons sometimes require remedial help to learn.. and to bring their truth home, this week provided some 'special ed' for me by delivering 3 completely unexpected stories as proof.

Story #1

Eva is a lady in her 60s who works as a janitor and works hard. We chat in passing every so often, just about the job, what needs doing, if she needs supplies, she reports deficiencies, the usual caretaker stuff. Eva left in late September for a couple of weeks to visit her homeland in Russia, and seemed excited to go.
My Belief About Eva: Middle-aged, hard worker, probably has a husband who is an equally hard worker. That's nice for her that she is able to go home to her country, wonder if they are going together, if he has the time off work too.. Hope she has a good time. We'll miss the great job she does while she is gone.End of my thought on Eva.
The Reveal: I see Eva on her return and ask if she had fun, she smiles and says yes..then tells me that it was more business than pleasure. ..due to legalities she needed to settle.She tells me that in APRIL "my husband kill himself" by climbing up on a steep roof to do work and then accidentally slipped on the ladder on the way down, and ... They were married for 40 years, two children. She spoke of being lonely, and that she still works 3 jobs and rarely sees her sons who are busy with their lives. She says this all with a direct, unwavering gaze, a little smile on her mouth, not complaining, just matter of fact.
At no time in our meetings over the last 5 months did this ever come up, did she ever miss work. I look at Eva now with bigger eyes and a bigger heart.

Story # 2

Every year I attend a cultural event, see the same acquaintances there I've seen around for years, we just talk about the event, not much about anyone's life, maybe ask if they are a student , where do they work, have they attended this before..I look forward to seeing a few of the same familiar faces each year, it feels comforting, and kinda like a pseudo-family. Just the type of family that doesn't talk much.
One of these familiar faces is Ivy, another lady in her 60's. She was one of the very first people I met so many years ago when I started participating in this event..and is there like clockwork every year, the Energizer Bunny who just keeps industrious and seems to know everybody. She attracts all level of patron to her,from the first- time attendee to the VIPs, they call her by name.Her wide smile and the years have left their grooves on her weary yet serene face.
My Belief About Ivy: She is a small ,somewhat sickly looking woman, kind of Hobbit-like, warm and giving, most likely a spinster. I detect a strong, free spirit, interested in life, but with an undercurrent of quirky loneliness.
The Reveal: For some reason this year, Ivy told me some of her stories..When she was 53 she decided to run her first marathon.The next week.After never running ever.She did it in 4 1/2 hours and has run several ever since, and still does.
But that is the less interesting story.
Turns out she was happily married for many years to a man who one day just decided to live in a separate part of the house for a few more years, they ultimately divorced and remain dear friends. But prior to this, when Ivy was 18, THE story of her life began... She was travelling in Europe and met a man on the train in her club car. Speaking no English, Gianni only spoke Italian and Ivy had a working knowledge of it..At the end of their conversation he looked deeply into her face and said "you should really wear less makeup, it's more healthy for you and your skin". Instead of being offended , her response was 'this complete stranger cares about my health'. And thus started a 45 year affair with the love of her life.
Gianni lives in a chateau in Tuscany, and they see each other every few years for perfect, passionate, stolen moments together, with phone calls every couple of months he must leave the home to make. His wife is 25 years older and ill, the marriage loveless, he has become her caretaker. To this day, with them both in their 60's, Gianni and Ivy share an achingly close connection and truly believe they will be married one day and she will move to Italy. They can wait; they are soulmates. She will easily give up all she has and does in Canada to join him at last.
When Ivy speaks of Gianni,her face lights up and her hands flutter to her mouth, resting on her lips as she shares this secret. She can't sleep after their phone call last night. And this after 45 years.
It's a story that some may consider morally flawed, but I only see Ivy with bigger eyes and a bigger heart.

Story # 3

It's another dark, gloomy day downtown, I've got 20 minutes to get to HMV to buy a Barb Marley CD . My intention is to harness the nostalgia of a once well-played album (yup, album) of upbeat rasta music to lift the spirits of a friend of mine who is very ill. We vacationed in the Caribbean 30 years ago and I hope she can bathe in that music and feel like she is in the transparent blue waters of Grand Anse beach again , watching colourful fish zip around, sun beating down,the sea water keeping her afloat. The ocean breezes carry either a hint of of ganja or of nutmeg, depending on the spot on the beach.
My Belief About This Day: It's a day like so many others. Gotta get there and done in 20 min. My heart is heavy with worry about how my friend's long term picture may or may not look. I'm sick of downtown, I've walked this stretch SO MANY TIMES... Need to get to HMV to get in , get on with it, get it over with, get out -with the cd. Hope it's in stock..
The Reveal:As I approach the Art Gallery and Robson Square stairwell ,I feel a vibration in the pavement..and then the muffled sounds of some BIG Bass notes, solid, rhythmic..It's business as usual up top on the sidewalk with all the harried pedestrians..but is there a party or whah? out back down those Robson Centre stairs. I feel like I'm walking into a virtual mullet.
Without even deciding to, I swerve off course, take those stairs , the music gets louder and louder then OON DADA BOOMPA OON DADA BOOMPA, I step into a COMPLETELY DIFFERENT UNIVERSE. .The Robson Square ice rink is brimming with maybe 300 people salsa-ing, mamba-ing, lambada-ing, you name it , to eardrum- popping Latin music. People on the sidelines are clapping and laughing..Just about everyone has a huge smile on their face and their hair , foreheads and clothes are becoming drenched with sweat. It was electric.
Flashback to that '12 Dancing Princesses' fairytale (my favourite) where they open the trap door in their bedroom floor each night and travel down into a magical country of gold, silver and copper trees, and end up dancing their shoes to shreds before morning.
So I stayed there for the 20 minutes (wishing I had a partner to dance with, and wondering if my backpack counted as one but I kinda thought not so didnt pursue it), to absorb that spirit and fire and LIFE, like a human solar panel,to harness that positive energy now with plans to radiate it at some point in the future when the gloomies hit again..
The message received? That we have no idea what is about to happen, how a 5/10 day can turn into a 10/10 day in only an instant, that there is every chance my friend's story will have it's own reveal , and in a good way...

I'll snag that Bob Marley cd another day, so till then am just remembering to..

Lively up yourself and don't be no drag
Hey, lively up yourself, 'cause this is the other bag
Hey, you rock so, you rock so, like you never did before
You dip so, you dip so, and you can dip thru my door

New Fear Shift = New Gear Shift

Well, looky here. So who got afraid of their own blog?I'd like to have some fantastic explanation, like I won a Yummy Mummy contest and was flown all- expenses -paid to Not Fiji But A Remote Island Just Off Fiji Where There Is No Internet.

But that would be stretching the truth. The real reason is I wasn't feeling especially chipper,kinda blah, and felt I had nothing positive to say..and feared (ouch) this would not be an entertaining read.But it's been pointed out to me by one of my loyal fans that those are the times especially to be writing. All scope of emotion or experience are up for grabs here and it's not to entertain so much as to DO IT.

That said, yesterday I kicked the ass out of a long-standing fear and bought a brand new car, which I have told myself I could never afford, did not deserve etc etc. Had been driving my '95 Flintstones Accord for 11 years and trying to convince myself that it can last me for another 20 years, seriously! It was dying a new death every time I got into it in the morning, if it could have talked it would have told me to pull the plug and donate its parts.And organize a telethon for other ailing vehicles. So out of empathy alone -oh and the fact that my kids and dad live long drives away- I saw no other alternative than to go to Honda and buy a brand spankin' new manual gear shift Silver 2009 Civic.

I love dealing with the fella at the dealership who wants to sell you the extended warranty, undercoating, paint protector, fabric stain resister or whatever,PLUS throw in his puppy, just to sweeten the deal. He started off all friendly and cavalier, like it didnt matter, but then quickly swerved in for the kill with Extreme Guilting Measures..you'll be sorry later down the line...everyone else buys this...they don't make Hondas like they used to,everything's electronic and it costs later..But he didn't know whom he was dealing with with the guilting angle, I was raised Catholic and can see it coming a mile away. When I said no to everything he took a big sigh, paused, said a frank "Good Luck [Bitch]" and in a huff swiveled his chair away from me to face his computer screen to input my measly $17,500 bill. The guy was hilarious though, threw his papers on the side of the desk and , hand up, gave them the doggy command "STAY", said "Merry Christmas" as he handed me my paperwork, counted "1 and 2 and 3" as he waited for each paper to come out of the printer, threw garbage in the wastebasket with a "BeDAG!" ..There was a constant verbal play by play of every action he was doing, all with that Cliche Flourish.

And MAN does It FEEL GOOD to have this new car. I look into its shiny silver countenance and it reflects back a new me. So lame, so true. That old car was the last holdout from my old life before I started 'life on my own" (the cat being the other carryover, but she has since gone to Flea Heaven . I hope she got over her agoraphobia, but she is likely in a four -point clawing situation clinging to the underbelly of a cloud, Garfield-style, like she did the underbelly of my couch). There is true catharsis available here, a moving forward.

It's so exciting to shake up that drone that goes on in my head about financial limitations and worthiness, mostly misguided.. (there are options to, um, like RESTRAIN myself, show a little self control, man up with spending). So I just sent those ol' demons to their room for a nap. Hopefully, for a dirt nap.

As the Mop Tops (aka The Beatles) would sing:

Baby, you can drive my car
Yes, I'm gonna be a star
Baby you can drive my car *
And maybe I'll love you"
Beep beep mm beep beep, yeah
Beep beep mm beep beep, yeah
Beep beep mm beep beep, yeah

(* um but only if you have 10 years' driving , it's on my insurance ;-)

BrrrrrrrHEmia, BrrrrrrHEmia

Ok , that's a play on 'Bohemia, Bohemia", that song from RENT.

Most of my dear 5 or 6 readers know that I live in a townhouse complex called Bohemia. This is day 3 that we have been watching as frustrated plumbers come and go, trying to provide life support to a boiler that is well, basically internally hemorrhaging.. so , forthwith, no hot water. Or warm water.

I never realized HOW MUCH hot water is required to make cold water feel less than Bloody Ice Cold. I boiled up two huge pots and they barely made a difference for my bath. I leapt in anyway, pretending it was a refreshing Hawaiian lagoon on a hot, humid, tropical rainforest day.I really did, actually. (how lame and a half)

So we Bohemian residents are all walking around today like little prematureforHalloween zombies,hair matted to our heads, lots of pony tails and baseball caps- some of us with a brisk step, for those who are braving these cold showers/baths.

I think it is enlightening and darn good for us to have to experience what a huge percentage of the world experiences on a daily basis.. those who don't have any water at all..or have filthy water.We are entirely spoiled and tend to see a clean warm, unlimited water supply as an entitlement..

When the firefighters arrived yesterday morning (the Bohemia fire alarms were sounding because of water and condensation in the mechanical room), one of them helped put it all in perspective when a lady- from a different apartment complex behind us- went off on them about the loud noise from our ongoing fire alarms, and how it was so annoying for them. The one Fire Guy kept reiterating 'well at least nobody's hurt , everyone is safe, that's a good thing'.

When the woman walked away miffed,he turned to us and explained that this type of complaint was so difficult to hear for him, he had a low tolerance for it -because recently he had been at a fire where another older woman had laid into them that their fire truck alarm had been left on , and the noise was too much for them to be exposed to.

But the reason the truck alarm was left on was that they were so focussed with tearing out of the truck to try to remove/ rescue a 7 yr old boy with a head and brain on fire, suffering increasingly massive head injuries as he was trapped in that burning building . And yet the woman kept complaining to the firefighter regardless.

We all get into our rut of how far our life expands out into, and for some people, any waves that alter the still calm they are trying to create for themselves are quite unbearable.

It is never close enough to some of us until it is upon us.

I say let's not wait for that, let's shift perspective before that happens.., while alternatively pleading with the gods to let's get this farkin' hot water restored tomorrow. But in a nice, non-threatening, humble and accepting 'whatever!' way..

As MJ reminded us.."we are the World"..

Get Your Braid On

..or, alternatively titled 'Please Don't Die Till I Can Lose 10 Pounds For The Funeral'..



Yowza that's some pretty darn messed-up thinking around body image, weight gain, being 'in shape'.. Where did that saying come from anyway, 'in shape'? It doesnt even make sense! We all have the shape of a human being ( maybe some people a little moreso than others), so whose shape do I want to be in? Historically it's been whatever is currently being defined for me by 1- the media, 2- my mother , 3- myself , 4- my spouse (well for sure if I had one), 5,- my doctor , 6- my job, 7- the media, 8-ummm you get the picture ..

Over the summer, and spending alotta time with alotta relatives- it soon became apparent that I needed to feed my soul. Except my 'soul' bore an uncanny resemblance to something that starts with a mouth and ends with a stomach. So, as the new year begins (all of us ex-school nerds consider September to be the real start of the new year) I am now where I did not want to go with this blog-talking about weight (God how Oprah is this ). But this blog thingy has to be an authentic rendering of Life As I Know It, sooo yeah, my soul is heavy. Literally. Seven pounds heavier than it was, to be exact.

And yes I am ashamed to say that wack as it is (when you think of the true priorities at somebody's passing), for a fleeting moment it actually HAS passed my mind that some random dearly departed's untimely funeral could force me to be outed -aka -humiliated in public in front of a bunch of ex-friends/distant relatives as SO not in shape, oh and carrying a 10 pound sack of potatoes to boot... But that aint no sack of potatoes, honey.Yup it's ALL HERE ( envision me patting my marshmallowy abdomen along with some pretty cool love handles the consistency and shape of well, think Mashed Potato Elephant Ears. The African Elephant type.) Those pesky pounds are programmed to scientifically distribute themselves in the same way they land on me every time- kind of an annoying reminder that um, this has happened more than once to me.. The first zone targetted for 're-contouring' is always the face. Which I can't avoid seeing...but oh how I try. One of the red flags that all is not well in the self- discipline dept is failing to look at myself in the bathroom mirror without tilting my face upward ..and then turning the night light on for that oh- so- forgiving mood lighting. I look fabulous in the shadows.

So what am I gonna do about this? .Well, in those breathy words of Olivia Newton John's "let's get physical" ,exercise is always my default place to start. And this is where the "get your braid on' comes into relevance. Braids are the first sign that you know I'm getting frisky about Life and have got my mojo cranked to haul back some of that power to stop feeding my soul to that IdeservethisNOWdevil. So today I slapped the hair into braids with red ties, affixed my trademark silver hooped earrings, and BAM! Workout Persona emerged, dusted off the gym gear- and it was time to sweat the big stuff. Which I did.

And it felt GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD. Because of course after that first workout I feel like an elite athlete and probably have already dropped 6 1/2 lbs. I wonder if the 2010 Olympic trials are still taking applicants.


Sometimes we have to get into our body to arrive at a place our mind can't let itself see just yet.

PS. Teaser Alert : So when I got home from the gym, I used that charged-up momentum to register for my own small business for some contract work I may want to do on the side...this meant submitting my top 3 names for the business..I promise that none of those names had anything to do with Braids, Funerals, Elephant Ears or Mojo.

But we'll find out in 3-4 business days which name made the cut...

But I'm Here To Change All That

Yup, my first entry since August 17. I am officially back,like a bad rash..If I were to explain, the long break would be associated with no computer time/access while visiting my mum back East, a hectic schedule, and maaaybee a teensy bit of fear (Oh God there's that word again) of writing something boring or not as witty as the previous two attempts appeared to be -well to me anyway. But I'll just choose not to explain so you can make up a story for yourself about why I wasn't putting out, in the blogging sense.

I really missed the opportunity to keep moving on these pages! However I did discover some intriguing information over the last couple of weeks connected with my mother, ie the same one without computer access. For one, because she was born in Ireland, it is apparently dead easy for her children to get an Irish passport- I think you just have to be seen buying a beer for every stranger in the room and poof ! that puppy is in the mail. And if you carry the 'most desirable' Irish passport, Europe becomes your oyster, with work and travel there a shoe-in.


Now as previously noted, I'm 56, so maybe not so likely to go travel and work all over Europe until I am retired and living off the proceeds of that movie I mentioned is likely to result from this blog. But my children will probably be pursuing the passport, so I want to get in on the fun-it sounds like a cool thing to just have a passport from another continent. It's so James Bond.


To this end, I needed proof. But getting photocopies of my mum's Irish birth certificate ,which she had safely sealed inside her usual Ziploc bags (you never know when a flash flood will be overtaking her apartment) was like asking her to give me her liver..which I may well need, if I really become Irish. She was afraid I would lose her only copy, because I am known for losing things, in her Irish eyes that is. But I wrestled it from her reluctant grip and the mission was accomplished, thank you God and Staples.


And the second piece of information I picked up from 'me mudder' (that's the Irish thing coming out): I noticed through conversation that, interestingly enough, there is a point in a woman's life where her panties cease being panties, and instead are referred to as underpants. I'm not sure at what age the portal appears for this crossover in terminology, but let's hope it isn't anywhere near 56. It would be a huge detriment to my plan to expose myself to a Speed Dating experience someday- of course just so I can blog about it. And I would most certainly be bringing up the topic of women's undergarments in one of those 8 minute conversations (ie, does he wear any).

Masterful plan eh? Start living a life that is blog-worthy.I've heard of more inspired reasons to get me one of those Life things, but hey,for now this is my scheme to trick myself into it..

A traditional Gaelic blessing to ye..

May the road rise up to meet you.May the wind be always at your back.May the sun shine warm upon your face;the rains fall soft upon your fields and until we meet again,may God hold you in the palm of His hand.

Shape-Shifting

Ok, my first blog EVAH has been posted in a few places and I'm "out-ed" as a blogger for others to witness.. so am kinda crapping my drawers now as performance anxiety sets in. Which is a perfect example of that 'fear fog', as we can now call it.

..Since I am in a "helping profession" , could I be operating under the delusion that I need to change/fix/impress the world with any words laid down here.... Taking 10 Deep Breaths AND some TUMS right now at the very thought of this.Those in the Human Psyche Know would say that this calls for saying YES to the very thing I feel uncomfortable with, so.. voila! am back in the bloggersaddle again.


It's not easy to teach an old dawgette new tricks, but it sure feels good shaking up the atoms that have settled so complacently into my current physical presentation on Earth. It's a choice to shift.Get the feet out of the cement blocks.Do something different. And for now, I don't even need to get off this chair. Yet.


Fantasy #1: Wouldn't it be amazing if this became one of those transformational /inspirational blogs, where slowly, but surely,before everyone's eyes, POOF! I lose those 'last' 25 lbs. Or get to tell the story to you all of how-from the words on these pages alone-a relationship blooms with that kind, funny, smart, sensitive fella who is Perfect For Me. Or I train for and complete some incredible physical feat for someone my age, without injury. Well at least permanent injury.


Fantasy # 2- This blog becomes adorable. I get a contract to turn it into a book. And then the movie. These things do happen! Ok, so I did just see the movie "Julie and Julia", so am shamelessly borrowing that plot for this fantasy.


Bottom line, it's great to be here, and don't know where it's goin' just yet... As Bob Dylan would sing, in that horribly nasal yet beautifully mesmerizing voice that pulls you in, close....

How many times must a man look up
Before he can see the sky?..
The answer my friend is blowin in the wind
The answer is blowin' in the wind.

Sorry, that was sooo '60's! But hey, I'm no Spring Chicklet...

Peace

No Day Like Today

Yes, today IS the first day of the rest of your life..

...or so I hear..Soooo when I wrote this yesterday, it was my 56th birthday, and, since I am nottt so very deep-down a complete child at heart thinking about perhapsmaybesomeday becoming a grown-up, this seems like as good a time as any to create an inaugural blog to share my thoughts on..anything?

Venturing into Blogdom is a new and a little bit scary thing for me, but tremendously exciting and perhaps the start of a beautiful relationship between the World and me. Um, maybe.

Yesterday a conversation I had with my so much younger, yet wiser son led to the concept of fear and its hold on me, keeping me back from truly expressing my talents and engaging me in life to the max. This reminded me (as a HUGE movie lover) of that great couple of lines in the 1991 movie "Defending Your Life" [between Rip Torn and Albert Brooks] where they say:

Bob Diamond: Being from Earth, as you are, and using as little of your brain as you do, your life has pretty much been devoted to dealing with fear.
Daniel Miller: It has?
Bob Diamond: Well everybody on Earth deals with fear -- that's what little brains do.
Bob Diamond: ...Fear is like a giant fog. It sits on your brain and blocks everything -- real feelings, true happiness, real joy. They can't get through that fog. But you lift it, and buddy, you're in for the ride of your life.

Me: The line I absolutely LOVE the most is that last one 'but if you lift it [fear]..buddy, you're in for the ride of your life". So that's why I'm here today, doing this.

Namaste, everyone. Whatever that means for you!