Never Enough

As I sit here listening to Willie Nelson and Norah Jones singing “Baby It’s Cold” outside, I find myself reflecting on how lucky I am. Very.

Why just the other day I found out I’m about to come into a windfall, admittedly small, but still something I hadn’t expected. My mind ranged over a couple of things I’d been meaning to take care of and I found that with the extra cash I could do one – not both. Isn’t it amazing how there’s never enough?

The truth is that this was just the right amount to do something for myself, and then share a little with my son and daughter. Just enough. But we are so conditioned to always be searching for the amount of money that will meet all our needs, and then all our wants, and then all our conceivable wants and needs into eternity!

Never enough. It never ends – the need for more and more – if you don’t stop it yourself. I think it’s in our DNA to collect, hoard and save, as a hedge against the future and to comfort ourselves that nothing could ever go wrong, because we have enough.

The truth is that there really is never enough to save us from poverty of life or spirit no matter what. There are still earthquakes, floods, tornados, heart attacks, aneurysms, Bernie Madoff, Wall Street crashes and all manner of thieves to steal away your safety nets.

There is only way true way for what you have to be enough. You must declare it so and mean it. You have to take stock and look around you and say, “I have enough for today and that may be all the time I have anyway. I’ll worry about tomorrow - tomorrow.”

I’m not saying you don’t responsibly plan for the future, just that you don’t let the future take you over. Enjoy what there is today – a downpour, jazz music filling your little space from your small (but good enough) radio, an onion bagel. Let the warmth of fuzzy socks soak into your soul and convince you that in the precious moment – that’s all you really need. Enough is enough.

As Thanksgiving Approaches

I’ve written editorials that espoused all the platitudes about gratitude and meant every word of them. But now it’s time to get a little down and dirty. Tell it like it is. Kick the euphemisms to the curb. Oh, yeah, baby!

Excuse me while I fan myself. I got a little overwrought there. But really, isn’t it time to be for real about gratitude. You want to know what I’m most grateful about this season? I give thanks everyday that we’re a nation at peace. Oh, wait! No, that’s not right. Well, at least we have universal health care. What? What’s that you say? Not exactly.

Let’s start over. I’m thrilled that I don’t have to be the one to hose off the guy who lives in the ratty RV next door when he accumulates too much filth. I’m even more thrilled that alcohol didn’t get me the way it got him.

I’m thankful to be the one trying to get donations for the food bank, instead of being one of those that need the food.

I’m happy that when I whine about how tough life is, I still have the ability to get outside of myself (after several minutes of intense whining) and see that I’m really a very lucky gal.

Every time I’m lonely, I can reach for the phone and call someone. Isn’t that something?

I’ve been given the gift of understanding how wonderful the internet is and it makes my life easier in so many ways that I’m eternally grateful and excited to see what’s next.

I get a paycheck twice a month. I have a roof over my head. I have a vehicle that gets me where I want to go. I have enough clothes to last two weeks comfortably without doing the wash! I have family who love me and I love back. I have…I have…I have.

Thank you, Universe, for everything I have. And thanks even more for letting me see that there are others who don’t have…don’t have…don’t have.

Happy Thanksgiving to one and all.

Dear Abby Needs an Update

This weekend, I was casually looking for the movie times, when I spied Dear Abby and was compelled to read it. When I was in my teens I used to read Ann Landers religiously, so I’m still drawn to advice columns. This one sadly disappointed me.

A newly-wed woman was complaining that her husband was happy to eat frozen pizzas and bagged salads every night saying the meals she cooked, with pleasure after a long day at work, were too expensive and too much trouble. Abby advised her to make him eat them anyway, because it was healthier and gave her pleasure. Hmmm.

There are so many things wrong with that answer, I don’t know where to start. First, she works herself, so she should feel free to cook for pleasure if she wants. Second, if he doesn’t want to eat what she cooks, she should take the leftovers for lunch the next day. Third, he’s an adult and is entitled to make his own food choices, healthy or not, and is capable of heating up his own pizza and pouring his salad from the bag. Fourth, who says a married couple must be blended together to such a degree that they must eat the same way?

The answer Abby gave leans on the tired old way of looking at marriage that I see around me everyday. This subject bugs me so much, that I may have mentioned it before in my blogs, but it bears repeating. Being married doesn’t equate to giving up oneself and becoming like the other.

I can immediately think of two couples where the wife is constantly saying things like, “We think…” Really? And when did your husband have his cloned (from yours) brain transplant? I’ve never heard a husband say the same thing. I think this is so horribly wrong.

These same two couples are not able to function separately in their lives away from work. The wives can only go shopping by themselves, never to a girls’ night out or a solo weekend retreat. The husbands seem to whine a lot and mope when left on their own, one of them choosing to starve until his wife returns to feed him. I don’t know which is sadder, being held captive against your will or willingly building your own prison walls.

Anyway, Abby, this isn’t the first half of the 20th century when the sole responsibility for health and happiness (and cooking) was in the wife’s hands. This is an age where two adults supposedly come together out of love, most of the time sharing responsibilities for income and household. It’s not necessary for the poor schmuck to eat her dinners to make her happy or him healthier. It is necessary for both to wake up to the reality that they are different entities and truly blend their preferences in a way that neither gives up the way they want to live; or not. In which case, they’re not long for the married state.

Professionalism is Highly Over-rated

I nearly didn’t go to see the movie Morning Glory this weekend because of a review that bemoaned the handling of the subject – hard news versus entertainment. The reviewer likened it to 1987’s Broadcast News, which pitted looks against talent in the news biz and was filled with lots of angst. Except, said this reviewer, Morning Glory’s characters had given up fighting the good fight. Bunk!

I did go see the movie, which was basically a cute romp through a morning news show, starring a curmudgeonly Harrison Ford, who hangs on to his highly regarded reputation as a tough news man, against the wishes of Rachel McAdams’ character, a producer who needs him to lighten up and do a few fluff pieces; the basic professionalism versus fun dilemma.

First of all, the movie wasn’t great, but it was likable. A lot like the premise of the story.

I’ve always had a problem with the term “professionalism.” It means many things to many people, but the one that bugs me the most is the idea that professionalism is the key to good business, profits, etc. Bunk!

Let’s look at this rationally. You go to a restaurant – coffee shop or gourmet eatery, it doesn’t matter – and sit down. Your waitperson is highly competent, asking all the right questions, bringing everything at exactly the right time. However, he is completely without warmth or personality. Most people are going to go away unsatisfied. Why? Because, although he acted completely professional, we want to enjoy our interactions with service people and this waiter didn’t fill the bill.

In fact, this is true in every business that exists in this world. We expect to have some level of human contact that goes beyond professionalism and THAT is the key to good business, profits, etc. Let me give a few examples.

Medicine – yes, we want competent doctors and nurses, but just as importantly, we want to feel comforted, connected. Sales – we want the best deal wrapped up in a feeling that we are more to this salesperson than just a number (whether that’s true or not, studies show that the feeling is extremely important to whether we buy or not). Accountants and attorneys really have to go deeper than professionalism to truly win our trust, if nothing else to counteract their “professional” reputations as stiffs or sharks.

Rather than touting professionalism as the Holy Grail, why don’t we, as a society, acknowledge that it is the skill of highlighting our humanity that is the true key to success in business? In Morning Glory, it is when Ford’s character shows us his humanity that he wins over his new audience. I know it’s just a movie, but I think it makes its point very well. Professionalism is highly over-rated.

I Hate Facebook

Okay, I don’t really hate it, but it can be truly annoying. I think what pushed me over the top was being “friended” by a co-worker, whose first and immediate message to me was a criticism of my politics.

Really?

But the overriding factor here is the inane nature of this thing 90% of the time. If it was being used for true communication I have no problem with it, but I’ll never want to tell people I had enchiladas for dinner and it didn’t sit well with me. Nor do I want to be so informed of anyone else’s similar travails.

Perhaps part of the issue is that unlike My Space, which was mainly inhabited by the very young, this social media encompasses everyone – all ages – and what seems so ridiculous to someone my age may be ultra-important to someone much younger. So, I admit to old-fogeyness.

I also admit that Facebook can be a great tool to communicate larger issues, promote events and stay in touch with people you may not see regularly.

I’m just too busy (or, in truth, I just don’t want to be bothered) for the trivia. It feels a lot like having to answer the door at 9 am on a Sunday morning in my bathroom to a neighbor I barely know asking to borrow a cup of clothes washing soap.

Really?

Play - How We Recover Ourselves

I have discovered that I have to have a playmate in life – or in actuality, several. I have a co-worker that knows how to put joy into the day and occasionally act like a twelve-year-old, thank goodness. I have family members, especially my daughter, Vanessa, who can also enjoy silliness. I truly don’t know how I’d survive without them.
I believe that play is essential to everyone, and those that are better at it are more balanced and mentally healthier. Needless to say, they are also happier people.

So, I had an opportunity to watch adults at play this weekend at our company picnic. It was so much fun to see people who I normally think of as very staid loosing up a bit and even acting like kids at time. One of the best surprises was the gentlemen, whose wife kind of poo-poo’d yo-yos for adults, who turned out to a yo-yo aficiando and the winner of the yo-yo competition. It was great to watch the grownups compete against the kids for the competitor with the most originality and style. Oh, the gyrations!

The next work day all of us were a bit lighter. We had bonded and – most importantly – played together. Letting down our guards for a few hours had made it easier to trust each other in our work environment as well.

So, here’s the lesson learned. Play = fun = laughter = REFRESHED AND REVIVED

Everything Comes Full Circle

So, I’ve finished my novel, which was originally called “Full Circle,” and it's now called “Red Mojo Mama.” The title change and small shift in how I viewed my heroine, have given me a push in the right direction. The full manuscript is out to one agent and another asked for three chapters and a synopsis. Pray for me please!

My original title, however, had a meaning that I’ve found to be so true over the years. I believe in karma, in “what goes around comes around” and the cyclical nature of life. I’ve also come to believe that what you start out to accomplish and abandon along the way, can come back to you with more strength than ever.

I began writing when I was eleven years old. My first writing was a poem, entitled “Evergreen.” I still have the original, written on notebook paper in pencil. That same year, a few months later, I wrote a poem called “The Mark of Our Time”, which I sold to a magazine in the early 90’s. Isn’t that amazing?

While I experienced some horrific things as a child and young adult, those incidents built me into the person I am today, and offer so many touches to the stories and articles I’ve written. They’ve also gifted me with perception, understanding and kindness, I hope. So, where there was bad there is now good.

So, I guess this is an homage to my original title – boring as it was – because the truth is everything always comes full circle.

By the way, I've started two other blogs:

http://inthewritinggroove.blogspot.com/
http://aliberalstateofmind.blogspot.com/

Solitary Explorations

Yesterday, a friend was bemoaning the fact that she had no one with whom to explore. Her husband was rarely up for anything that could remotely be called an adventure and she’d been so busy that her cadre of friends had dwindled to a just a few, none of whom could be called upon to venture out on a moment’s notice for parts and experiences unknown.

I started to recommend solitary explorations but stopped myself. This person may not enjoy that particular pleasure, although, in truth, I doubt she’s ever tried it.

I have found, over the past couple of years, there’s very little I truly need a companion to enjoy. Okay, a comedy film is more fun with shared laughter, but little else requires another mind to enjoy it. I’ve grown to prefer solitary exploration for it’s simple benefits.

First, I needn’t worry about the comfort and needs of a companion. I can literally go until I feel the need to stop. Then there’s the fact that which restaurant someone else would prefer doesn’t play into the equation. And, lastly, I tend to take joy in very small things and not to be very bothered by things that don’t turn out perfect. My daughter is the one travel partner of whom I’ve found this to be true. She, too, can extract enjoyment from slivers of a day. Consequently, she’s my preferred discovery cohort.

Yet, some things I still would rather dig into all by myself, because at the end of the day I don’t need to worry about anyone’s pleasure, except my own. And that, my friends, is a great luxury.

So, if you haven’t tried it lately, I highly recommend taking a jaunt into the unknown all by your lonesome.! Happy solitary explorations to you.

Tilting My View of the World

Have you ever made a change that seemed so simple, yet altered everything? A month ago, just that very thing happened to me.

For over a year, I’d been struggling with how to control the mess that was my domain at work. I was constantly overwhelmed, incessantly trying to remember what I had to do and recreating the same processes over and over. It came to me one day that my desk was basically a project and I was basically a project manager, trying to keep all the balls in the air and get to the finish line on time.

So, I endeavored to find a project management program that would work for me. Nothing quite fit the bill, so I started playing with an Excel spreadsheet. Previously, I had attempted to reign in my tasks with an Excel spreadsheet, but it was laid out horizontally. There were several repetitive tasks that looked the same horizontally, but most didn’t. So, I turned the task list to a vertical list. A very simple change in perspective, difficult to describe in detail here, but earth-shattering in its ability to change my work environment.

I essentially created a to-do list with the ability to create templates for a number of the things I had previously tried to keep in my head. For instance, instead of simply listing “make bread” as a to-do, I would now list every step of bread-making, checking each step off as it was accomplished. Next time I wanted to make bread, I’d simply take that template and paste it into the list of all the others things I had to do, so that I could make bread, do the laundry (again broken down into all the little steps), vacuum the living room, etc. weaving all the tiny tasks together so that I was essentially doing it all at the same time, making the most of the time in between the dough raising and the load of clothes drying for a half hour.

I also went from printing this list, checking things off and adding to the list manually to keeping the Excel spreadsheet open all day, as a living document. Now, the first thing I do each workday is open the spreadsheet. Then I work it all day long, adding new tasks or projects, removing the ones I’ve completed. I also cut and paste the completed tasks to another sheet on the workbook so that anytime I want I can go back and see when something was done.

About two weeks after creating the spreadsheet I which I now call Kathy’s Desk, I went on vacation. Instead of the two-day chore of writing down what needs to be done while I’m gone, as I usually do, I simply emailed Kathy’s Desk to a co-worker and went on my merry way. There, for anyone to see, was a completely up-to-date record of what needed to be done and what had already been done.

The biggest benefit to finally corralling the daily, weekly and monthly responsibilities of my work life is the ability to go home at night and forget all about it. For the first time, in years frankly, I don’t wake up worrying about if I did something or not. It’s all there on my sheet when I get into the office in the morning. At last, there’s nothing to worry about.

This minuscule change from horizontal to vertical has opened up my mind and freed my creativity. It has made me much more effective at work and far less stressed. It is a pleasure to go to work now, rather than a race against time and error. All because I suddenly tilted the way I looked at something, quite by mistake.

I’m now looking askance at many things in my life. What am I blocking from myself by not truly examining some aspect of the world around me with a new perspective?

Tilting the world on its axis could get to be a habit with me!

Holding Onto Our Stories

I first heard the concept of holding on to our stories almost nine years ago. Although I was able to recognize what was meant by this and the tendency of others to do it, I couldn’t see the same pattern in myself. Today I can and I think it’s such a vital thing to have an awareness of that I’m hoping writing this might help someone else.

The behavior is when someone is so rigidly attached to their life story as they perceive it or some portion of it that they end up telling it to as many as will listen. It also becomes their definition of themselves and often the world around them.

I remember the first person in whom I recognized this was a woman I became close to partly out of concern for her situation. Her story. She had been brutally divorced by a man who took her life away in her early forties. She had been fairly well-off and now she was struggling to pay her bills. The husband had hired a very good attorney – according to her tale – and left her and her children with little.

The longer I knew this lady, the more I heard the story. Everyone I introduced her to would eventually hear it, if they spent more than a few minutes with her. I got to the point where I could tell it as well as she. Okay, I thought one day, now it’s time to stop telling this story.

Why? Because she had trapped herself, her children and all of their futures inside the web of the story. She was destined to be and remain a victim. Powerless. Pitiful.

My own story is a little different, but has still frozen me in time. I lost my beloved Pete twelve years ago. He was the love of my life and an extremely good man. This is a true story, but the problem is that although I’ve dated several men, some seriously, they have all been compared to “the love of my life.” Nothing could ever happen to change my story, because I loved the object of it so much that allowing my heart to open meant giving up my Pete story.

So, I’ve recognized the legend I’ve created for what it is. However, I find I’m still not ready to give it up. I’m not sure how harmful sticking to your story is if you know that’s what you’re doing. Maybe I’ll have to look at this again in a year or so and figure that out. But for now, I know that I have trapped myself in the amber of a lost love.

Just that consciousness is enough for now.

In the Belly of the Beast

An acquaintance emailed me last week wanting to know if I had taken off in Wanda and driven into the sunset.

I wish.

Instead, I answered him, I have been swallowed whole by my job and am now living in the belly of a merger/acquisition and all that entails. To be truthful, the merger has less to do with my immersion in my workplace than the simple phenomenon of business getting better. As it does, the workload naturally increases and unfortunately the time to do it doesn’t. So, a job that I had hoped would be something like cruise control for me, is anything but.

Oh, don’t get me wrong. I’m smart enough to be grateful for my employment in these times, however the time to write – the thing for which I live and breathe – has been limited. There are times when I’m tempted to fault myself. After all, a writer writes. However, I’ve come to realize that the part of my brain that makes me function successfully in the business world is a hinderance to the creative in me. I must forcefully turn it off when I attempt to let the words flow and that, my friends, is no easy task.

But, three weekends ago I managed to finish the first draft of my third novel, one I’m convinced will kick off a series of books featuring the heroine I’ve grown to love, and I can now employ the business brain to assess, fact-check, find holes, etc.

So, as I bounce off the gray interior of the Business Beast’s belly in the coming weeks, I will remember to draw its strength into my story. When I’ve managed to finish my rewrite, I’m afraid I’ll have find someway out of the belly. Now how did Jonah accomplish that? Or Pinocchio?

To Gray or Not to Gray

I was at an event this weekend that caused me to think twice about a recent move I had made from naturally graying hair back to “enhanced” color.

An elegant woman with very beautiful gray hair, who was obviously not old enough to have this color hair normally sat a long table’s length from me and I couldn’t take my eyes off her hair. There was a tad of the black it must have once been still peeking out between strands of hair the color of pewter, but much more shiny.

For about a year and a half, I tried to nuture the gray on my own head to multiply and cover it sexily, preferably just like Jamie Lee Curtis. Now, that’s a woman who knows how to wear gray.

However, my own hair is still a ways from the glittery stage and insisted on looking simply mousey. So, as much I desire to don a head full of silvery tresses, it’s not be for a few more years.

I have been bombarded by the incredulous comments of younger women who are horrified by a “choice” to go gray. It is beyond their comprehension that anyone would proudly wear white hair. I simply chuckle and wonder at their youth. They may easily change their views when their own hair turns on them. I hope so, because so often gray is softer and more lovely that the harsh colors some women insist on adding and nudging the lines in their faces cruelly.

So, I say – gray when you can and if it looks as great on you as the stunning lady I stared at this weekend.

I Jumped Off a Cliff...and Survived

On Valentine's Day, I made a huge leap into an abyss, not knowing how it would turn out. (It wasn't romantic, just in case you were wondering). Guess what? I survived.

Geez, it's difficult sometimes to get up the nerve to do something, especially when someone you love is telling it's crazy. But, really, I believe you just have to go for it once in a while. So, I did.

Well, some would say I made a fool of myself, and they might be right. On the other hand, at least I'm willing to try. I'm breaking my arm patting myself on the back here.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained is absolutely the truth in life. So, I didn't gain what I thought I would - the chance to do something really, really good and really, really exciting at the same time - big deal. I gained something else, completely unanticipated - a new direction. My unsuccessful venture led me to an understanding that I'm willing to fight for things I believe in. Right now, it's health reform, specifically Universal Health Care.

So, for the first time in my life I participated in a march. Okay, so this one was only a virtual march, but next time maybe I'll be literally walking alongside others, carrying a sign and rallying onlookers. I hope it happens soon, because I'm raring to go.

Whatever you believe in, please stand up and be counted. The passion to express yourself in ways that count is such a high! I hope you get high, too. Well, you know what I mean.

Being My Authentic Self

Okay, so picture this – I’m sitting at my little writing station inside Wanda, my 23-foot RV - home. In the background my boy Michael – Buble, that is – is singing “Cry Me A River”, one of the many songs on his Crazy Love CD that brings out the feisty side of me. Additionally, the heroine of my latest literary endeavor – Lydia, or Red as her friends and lovers refer to her – also loves Michael and always comes out to play when I put this CD on. Can you wear a groove in a CD? Anyway, tonight I’m about to dive into my novel again and cavort with Lydia, but before I do I have a big announcement to make. Dump Ta Dum Dumb - I’ve decided to be my true self.

So, this week I came to a pretty big decision about how I would live my life. The essence of it is to be true to myself. Interestingly enough, that was what my high school graduation card from my parents said to do in life. I’m just now getting there.

I’ve been struggling with this for a couple of years now. I know who I am, but I often fail to let others see it. Even in this blog, I’ve intentionally avoided subjects that I knew would reveal the true me. I was exuberantly happy with the election of Barack Obama, but you’d never know it by reading my blog. I think is abominable that this rich and vibrant country can’t see its way clear to providing health care to its entire population. I could go on and on, but you get the idea – I’m a liberal – a big one!

What is writing a blog about if not to state your position, unless of course, you’re blogging about recipes or fashion? But even then, I’ll bet the writer lets the reader know which she prefers – strawberries or raspberries, Gucci or Prada.

So, I’ve spouted off about life – its ups and downs, its lessons, etc. but all behind a safe façade. What was that all about? Well, truth be told, I’ve rarely in my life shown people who I am. Perhaps more disappointingly, I’ve rarely stood up for what I believe. That’s all changed this past week. I drew a line in the sand – and I’m thrilled.

So, in making a pact with myself this weekend, I’ve decided to write about things that really matter – to me – and to get involved!

Come Monday, I’ll begin the search for a political group to join and an arts association where I can contribute my time.

Come Monday, I will object when something I am faced with is contrary to my beliefs.

Come Monday, I will begin to live as my authentic self. Fifty-eight years coming, but that’s alright. I’m here now.

Living At the Edge of Ruin

It’s too long a story to detail my descent from a person with assets to one without. However, suffice it to say that September 11, 2001 had much to do with it.

For several years now, I’ve chosen substance in my life over quantity. That sounds so high-falootin’ but that’s the truth. I chose to pursue my dream of writing for a living at greatly reduced income and then, when I moved to Sacramento, I chose to find a job of less prestige and position so that I could be free after hours to concentrate on my writing. I assumed that less money and less title would equal less responsibility. Silly me.

One of my greatest awakenings these past couple of years is the awareness that this is a ridiculous assumption. How did I forget the responsibility that was heaped on me when I just starting out? How could I look around at my co-workers all those years and miss the stress and strain of all they did in comparison to the pay they received? And I worked in an office. What about the low pay and lack of respect given teachers who raise our children, police officers who protect us from ourselves, food service workers who feed us and our families; the list goes on and on. In many ways, it's much easier to be the boss than the worker.

While I’m certainly not being paid poverty wages and there are so many out there that make thousands less than me, I find myself living from paycheck to paycheck. I have for four years. How tired I am of deciding if I have enough money to see a movie this paycheck or if I can afford to eat out somewhere besides the economical local Chinese restaurant. It is truly a stressor to rarely have enough money to treat myself.

I am aware that so many others are so much worse off than I. Truly I am, especially after events like the Haitian earthquake. That does not change the fact that I’ve had my fill of living this way. Getting ahead is nearly impossible under the status quo.

So, like so many others, I will spend the months ahead of me trying to find a way to better myself. To raise the money to travel, the golden ring of life for me. To build a nest egg for those emergencies which arise far too regularly for comfort. To back away from the edge of ruin.

Hopefully, I’ll be able to hold on to substance in my life while seeking just a bit more quantity. Wish me luck.

Exploring My Heritage

This weekend I spent time with my mother reading through diaries kept by my great-grandfather, great-grandmother, great aunt and grandfather. I also had a chance to look through wills, pages of household bookkeeping, military records and more.

My great-grandfather fought in both the Boxer Rebellion and the Spanish-American War. A couple of his diaries detailed entries from his time in the Phillipines; another recorded the death and burial arrangements of my great-grandmother. In the same journal, he put down for posterity who had been bequeathed her diaries. They were split among two sisters and her children. That is how important these little books were to this side of my family.

I watched my mother’s face as she found entries about her and her parents, especially when she found a very special sentence, “Baby walks.” It meant something special to her. As it should.

These people took time to record the daily weather, how their health was faring, car servicing, train rides, parties, wash day, how much was spent on clothing and groceries, etc. I was astounded to find a record of grocery shopping split into two areas - $.96 for groceries and $.15 for meat. I can’t recall the year of this particular diary, but they spanned 1898 to 1940, with several years missing.

Although this side of the family is German and there’s not much emotion in the writings, I could clearly sense my great-grandfather’s grief as he recorded the death and final arrangements for his wife. I found my great-aunt Esther, in her youth, a bit more effusive. Every once in awhile, she added an exclamation mark, referred to having a good time or happiness to see a friend. There is one diary of a three month-trip back east (they lived in Burlingame) and I plan on reading through the whole thing the next time I visit my folks.

The most remarkable thing about reading of my relatives’ lives is the realization that I haven’t done a very good job recording my own life for my kids and theirs. I, the writer, have been neglectful. How joyful would it have been for them to read about themselves as babies? All I can do now is write from a historical perspective, which I do once in a while.

I’ve taught classes on writing your own life story, which I heartily recommend, but even better would be putting in the time it takes to record a few words daily on the wonders of our own lives, which unfortunately rarely feel wondrous to us at the time of living them.

Just a word of thanks to those who went before – it made a difference to me – and someday there will be others who chance upon them and realize that life was so much different then and yet so much the same.

Doing The Right Thing

I’m always amazed that people who have the stated intention of living their lives well or preach morals relentlessly are so easily swayed towards dicey behavior when there’s money or position involved. Of course, position usually equates to money somewhere along the line.

Recently I’ve been exposed to situations that require my stepping up to the plate and declaring that I won’t do something I know to be wrong. It bugs the crap out of me that I even have to go there. These folks know they are doing something wrong, but they force me into being the “hall monitor”, no pun intended.

I’m not claiming to be perfectly ethical, but I really try to be vigilant and live up to the expectations of others and myself. I believe in returning the check or change or benefit to which I’m not entitled. When I’m put in the position of representing someone else, I take that responsibility seriously. If I’m relied upon to make a decision in the best interest of a client, friend or family member I make that decision, in spite of how it might affect me. Because it’s the right thing to do.

I think most people do the same things. That’s why I’m always a little blown away when someone I know chooses not to. It changes my opinion of them and I lose the ability to trust.

How can we expect our children, politicians, neighbors, co-workers and friends to have any respect for us if we waiver - especially for a buck or two or even two million. Wrong is wrong regardless of the profit at stake.

Right?

Another Year Older

My birthday is New Year’s Day, so I just turned another year older. The last couple of months leading up to the attainment of my 58th year were fraught with awareness that I am definitely on the downhill side of the slope.

It wasn’t pretty. I had a good many moments of feeling as if there wasn’t time left to achieve my life goals – which are actually pretty simple; get at least one book published and see the world.

Something knocked me out of it. I’m not sure what it was, but I thank the Universe for it. Since the rounding of the corner into 2010, I find I’m energized and ready to fight the fight.

Getting published is hard work, but I’ve got a tough skin. Before I gained an agent when I was screenwriting, I had collected 127 rejection letters. But I kept plugging away and finally made some headway. Ultimately, that didn’t turn out to be what I really wanted (of course, I would have happily jumped on board the Hollywood fame train if I’d been offered a ride.) I tired of never writing description; of writing so concisely that my own vision couldn’t really be seen, even by me.

I’ve struggled, giving up making a pretty decent living to become a reporter and then an editor for a small community newspaper, neither of which pay well. I turned out my second novel a year ago and sent part of it out to an agent, who rejected it but advised me not to give up; instead try to find someone who would love it as much as I did. I reread it and decided that it wasn’t one story, but two and needed to be separated and each story re-written.

I knew I had to take a break from that project and happily one night I was struck by creative lightning and given a story and the incredibly fun character in the novel on which I’m now working to finish. Yippee!

I had a couple of months where my character, Lydia, left me and I was in a fog of indecision and fluttered through all kinds of creative ideas – something, anything to feel connected to my muse. I got exactly one picture frame made – and believe me, it was nothing special.

With great joy I welcomed Lydia back one night, when I put a Michael Buble CD on and she came rushing to me. She really digs Michael. What can I say?

As for seeing the world, I’ve decided I will take a trip by myself this year, somewhere out of the country, to whichever part of the world offers an incredible deal. I will squirrel away a fund so that I can leap at the opportunity when it arises.

So, that’s it. A brand new decade awaits. Yippee!

Chaos Is a Beautiful Thing

I have been maddened lately by some people’s distain, no, abhorrence for chaos. Their feeble attempts to reign in one of the primary states, even forces, of nature make me want to cry for them.

Let me be more explicit. There are those who, in every day life, try to bring order to events or situations that are by their very nature chaotic; a party, for instance. The more strict a schedule or plan a party is kept to, the more probable no one will want to attend the next one held by the Party Commandant.

Fun is usually a by-product of spontaneity - unscheduled and unplanned - an appreciation of what “is” wherever or whenever the “is” occurs. It could be the surprise of a favorite song suddenly being played on the radio and responding with a sing-along and car dancing. Maybe fun springs out of a box of donuts when the raspberry filling spills down the front of your shirt and instead of freaking out about it, you notice that it looks a lot like blood and stumble down the halls at work pretending like you’ve just been shot. Of course, that’s a bit grim, but admit it, there are those you work with that would definitely call that fun.

Chaos is also the mother of creativity. A story line, a new architectural design, a fashion trend - all of these things flow directly from the whirling of thoughts and mental pictures; like noticing that the messy clothes on the floor of your teenager’s room have put two fantastically original colors and textures together. I thank the Universe regularly for the splotches of life it throws at me and the opportunity it gives me to mix and match until I have a new character and direction for my stories.

So, instead of spending all our time scheduling every minute of the day, labeling every packet or drawer or folder, how about we spend 10 minutes celebrating the power of pandemonium.