There Is No Perfect Version

So, let me take the damn picture.

I have been irritated and amused since I began taking photos to accompany my newspaper articles at the ridiculous reactions of so many women and perhaps, the occasional man, who resist having their pictures taken. The women who downright refuse and then the ones who delay the photo shoot and keep one to twenty other people waiting while they touch up their hair and makeup.

What is that all about?

Well, I think I’ve made a breakthrough in why they are so reluctant to have their image recorded for history. It centers around a lousy self-image and the belief that they are not in the perfect state, so therefore cannot be captured on celluloid – excuse me, I lapsed into another time – I mean digitized.

The ladies are always waiting to lose a few pounds or for the effects of the miracle facial treatments to take effect. God forbid that the face they carry around day after day be frozen and put into picture albums or posted online.

Do they forget WE can SEE them? Should we cover our eyes? Look away in disgust at the creature that exists before us? Lamely agree to take pictures of everyone else at a family gathering except them? I don’t think so.

Someone needs to say – get over it! This is you, the woman who exists now. We are not horrified by your appearance.

You have to wonder about the honeymoons or family vacations that have occurred with this personality type. Did they come home from Cancun with only pictures of their husbands or boyfriends? When they cruised with three best friends, was this woman excluded from the pictures? Seriously?

So, to all you readers who have done this, I beg you to reconsider your behavior. Frankly, it is silly, selfish and indicates an ugly self-image you shouldn’t want anyone to buy into with you.

Smile. You’re on Candid Camera. Now, get over it.

Invisible Wondrous Things

My mother collected the three “cones” shown in the picture. They are actually the fruit of a magnolia tree, in various stages. To the left appear the unopened fruit pods. In the middle, the actual fruit – that look like red berries have popped out and finally at the right, all that remains is the vessel for the fruit.

I find these cones and the progression they represent fascinating, and indeed, wondrous. There is so much we are surrounded by daily that engenders wonder if we let it. Our lives are so busy that I fear we miss most of what’s around us.

I was walking down the sidewalk outside the building I work in and looking around, noticing that the gutters look like they are one piece but are actually in eight foot sections and that there are drag marks on the sidewalk where the local restaurateurs have dragged their garbage, leaving a trail behind. The leaves left an interesting pattern by the front door. Suddenly, I stopped and realized that I had recorded all this information unconsciously and puzzled over it. I wondered if everyone notices things like this but just never talks about it or if I do because I’m a writer and observant by nature.

Then I thought that one of the saddest things in the world is that we are so bunged up in our daily lives – all the silly trials, tribulations and unnecessary crap that we accept as necessary without thought – that we lose touch with everything good around us. It also serves to insulate us from the bad as well. We become cocooned and unable to perceive or feel. How much of this is biological? How much environmental?

Are we driven to ignore our surroundings and the minor miracles in order to focus on getting that bonus, raise or big house? Has evolution moved us out of the constantly alert because we no longer need to fear our environment so intensely? Or is that simply a mirage, and the truth is that we must be more vigilant against attack, vehicles, and lurking financial disasters?

Interesting questions, I think. However, the bigger issue is how much alienation from all the wonder that surrounds us every single moment are we willing to accept?

Life is Getting Away From Me

Seriously! Do you ever feel like you are in a holding pattern and can't seem to break out of it?

I watched a movie recently with Gwyneth Paltrow and Anthony Hopkins, where she is a brilliant women who subverts her intelligence and one day, her mentally-diseased but equally brilliant father asks her how many days she's lost. Lost to her inertia. Wow, that was a powerful thought.

Inertia is my main challenge in life. It is not a lack of creativity, intelligence or even motivation. I have plenty of motivation, but it's not enough to move me forward at times. And I flounder.

Floundering seems be in direct proportion to the number of ideas I have circulating in my brain. The more that are actively being worked over, the more inability I have to act. Is that a lack of focus? I think so, but floundering sounds so much more interesting.

Anyway, I've decided to reactivate my writing on this particular blog, and use it therapeutically. I'll bet you already thought I was. No! I usually try to attack something more universal, more profound than my own private hells (and heavens). However, blogging is such a compelling medium for self-expression. I know so many people are doing it, but I still meet so many I wish would!

So, I'm FOCUSED this weekend on moving forward. I'm off to shoot some hoops! More about that next time.

Getting My Priorities Right

Today, I’m sitting outside Wanda, writing at the little table I’ve set up for that express purpose, but seldom used. Why? Because up until now, I have not had a battery in my laptop and writing on the “veranda” required an arduous unplugging, stringing wires and plugging back in of my essential writing tool.

That’s right. I have muddled along without the one ingredient that makes laptops so great, the ability to use them anywhere. For a year and a half, I have only written where I could plug in Toby (my Toshiba laptop).

Finally, last week, I ordered the battery on Amazon.com. It was $56 including shipping. How many times have I told myself I couldn’t afford it and then gone on to buy $60 shoes or some equally non-writing related article of clothing?

This weekend I plan on heading over to the park outside the library, where I can also pick up their free Wi-Fi, then sitting on my fabulous sling-back chair with the footrest and writing until my fingers fall off or freeze into place.

I cannot believe I put this off for so long and denied myself the ability to be a mobile writer. Perhaps the reason is that the novel I had been working on was so difficult for me that I was just perpetuating ways to avoid writing, whereas now I’m joyfully engaged in writing that seems to appear on my computer screen almost telekinetically. I want as many ways to writing as possible now.

I don’t know for sure. But I do know that I’m way into setting my priorities all of a sudden. Last weekend, I spent organizing Wanda, substituting skinny velvet covered hangers for my old ones (thereby increasing the capacity of my two tiny closets) and tossing out clothes I no longer need. I don’t need to keep a bazillion clothes anymore, because I’ve come up with a new plan for work wear.

I’ve converted my Mon-Thursday work clothes to white blouses with black slacks. If you’re shocked and fairly certain I’ve gone insane, join the crowd. I realized the other day that I’m a little confused by clothes and truly don’t care about them for the most part. What I really love is jewelry, artisan types primarily, but rarely wear because the clothes I’ve chosen don’t “go” with them. Now my clothing will be a backdrop for the jewelry I own and I’ll feel more free to express myself by buying wearable art.

What is it important to own or have? I’m finding the answer to be – “Not much.” There is such freedom in that realization.

The Long and Rambling Road

Apt words for how I view my life today. I have an urge to write that is just so powerful at this moment. I look around Wanda, my RV and home, seeing the things that need to be done are literally piled up, but I could no more attempt to do those things before writing this morning than bath before I breathe.

I do journal in a book, but lately find that it’s just too slow for the process I’m going through. Even with the computer and typing as fast as I can, my mind is often on to the next thought before I’ve finished scribing the last.

Here, though, I am, attempting to get down some of the thoughts about my life that keep repeating, in ever widening circles with greater and greater understanding each time.

I am a slow study. I’m often frustrated when I have an epiphany that seems so simple, but involves so many areas of my life. How could it be that it took until last month to understand that I don’t want to be a grownup? At least not in the sense that I have always defined grownups mentally, since being raped at the age of eight. From then on the word meant a person that can’t be trusted and makes up stupid rules. So much of my life has been dictated by that definition.

I just reread an article by Malcolm Gladwell, Late Bloomers, in the October 20, 2008 issues of The New Yorker. When I read it the first time, I remember feeling an extreme sense of relief, because it explored the idea that genius or accomplishment doesn’t necessarily occur like a comet in youth.

This time I caught even more of the positive outlook for me and others in my predicament. Writing is something I’ve been working at for years, in various forms, always achieving some measure of success, but never going all the way to an end product I could point to and say, “This is why I’ve been scribbling for 40 years.” Gladwell points out that late bloomers often have an experimental process, trying and abandoning different methods, story lines, styles, until they finally light on the right one.

This is so totally me. I’ve attempted many different lives, let alone all the writing genres in which I’ve dabbled. An understanding that this is normal for the late bloomer gives me a sense that all I’ve experienced was a sort of collecting of experiences, until I could happen upon the right ones for me. They’ve also been fodder for my writing.

In the past few weeks, I stumbled upon the most joyful writing of my life. I’m 120 pages into a new novel written in the first person. This is the first time I’ve written fiction in the first person. From the initial writing session to this moment, the writing of this novel has been gloriously fun for me. That is also a first. Often, I’ve struggled and fought with myself to sit and write, anticipating pain and finally sitting down to experience it.

So, now, after many years of beating the proverbial bushes for my style, I’ve at long last found it. I have no doubts that this novel will be a success and it’s coming along very quickly.

Another joy in reading Gladwell’s article came with the affirmation that my failures in life have not been wasted. Indeed, the opening of a ladies resale shop, Keepers, in the worst of times just after 9/11, was not a misuse of money and life, but instead the vehicle for opening my understanding of women. I came away from that experience, much poorer financially, but much richer emotionally. Instinctually, I knew that my two and half years there were only a failure if money is the sole measure of success. But it was wonderful to find support for that theory in this New Yorker piece.

My mind is somewhat exorcised now, so I’m off to make breakfast and then move on to my novel. The main character’s name is Lydia and for those moments I indulge in my writing I get to “be” her. So, I’m off to become Lydia for several hours. I hope your Labor Day will have included some joyful labor of love as well.

Reno or Bust!

I drug myself from my writer’s lair this weekend, Jonesing (I think Jonesing is capitalized?) for an adventure.

I was literally headed to Wal-Mart for a new sling-back chair; you know – one of those that you can fold up into a bag and “sling it over your back.” I was hoping to go somewhere, away from people, and just consider the Universe and my place in it.

Instead, I ended up in Reno, surrounded by people and pushing slot machine buttons for thirteen hours - heading back to Sacramento at 5:30 a.m., when I finally noticed that there were very few people in Circus Circus with me – except the occasional waitress wanting to know if I desired a cocktail. I had no idea what time it was and was a tiny bit embarrassed about the passage of time doing something so “irrelevant.”

Yet, on my way back home, a two-hour drive, I realized several wonderful things about my little foray into the less than glamorous “Biggest Little City in the World.”

First, I had no plans and I literally followed my nose. I happened to have some clean long pants in a laundry basket in the back of my car, but I was fully prepared to stroll around in shorts if need be. I didn’t have any ideas about what to do and where to stay if I chose to. I just went. Yay for me!

Secondly, I’ve always thought I suffered from a lack of concentration. Oh, really? Well, how then do you explain a woman who sat for five hours, with hardly a potty break, broke for dinner, and then returned for another seven hours to sit in front of very distracting machines, consistently making huge decisions, like – Do I bet 30 pennies or 60 pennies this time? Obviously, it’s all a matter of priorities and interest level.

Mostly I came home ecstatic to know that I can still pull off an all-nighter. Recently, I’ve come to regard myself as an old lady – 57 years of age – who obviously can’t hang with the youngsters anymore. Oh, yeah? Bring ‘em on baby. You know what they say, “You can’t keep a good woman down!”

Real Life Lessons for Those Over 50

Recently someone forwarded me a list of life lessons a 90-year-old journalist had published again after many requests for the column. It was a very insightful list of things to remember as you go through life. I’d love to share it here but haven’t been able to find the woman to get permission. In the meantime, I’ve come up with a few of my own insights to share – not nearly as meaningful, but perhaps helpful to the over 50 crowd.

1. If your daughter asks to borrow something you wear regularly, give it to her. It’s obviously not age-appropriate for you. The only exceptions would be earrings.

2. Past the age of fifty, allot 10 percent of your mental energy and time to finding things, remembering why you came into a room and picking up things that seem to fall with no help from you at all. If you plan on it, you won’t be nearly as frustrated by it. Instead, you’ll find yourself chalking it up to your very clever plan.

3. If, by chance, you live or adventure in a motor home, be sure to buy a box of those surgical gloves (you can find them in drugstores) to wear when you dump your sewage tank so you won’t have to spend the next seven days wondering if you have managed to contaminate yourself.

4. When you are lucky enough to spend time with people under the age of 25 leave all your comments about the younger generation behind and just try to enjoy their energy. It’s better than a drink from the fountain of youth.

5. Don’t weigh yourself down with things you’re done with but worry that the kids might want someday when you kick off. Have a family yard sale and drag all that stuff out to the driveway. If they want it, they’ll let you know and take it home right then. Problem solved, space saved.

6. Give things away, in general. There’s always someone you know who collects coffee cups or treasures a perfume you just can’t wear or reads voraciously. Except for truly exceptional books, what are you saving them for? You’ll feel lighter with every item you send back out into the Universe.

7. Cherish every piece of love and affection that comes your way.

8. This is the time in life when you don’t have to examine everything to make sure it fits just right, that it’s acceptable to everyone in the world. If it feels good and it isn’t hurting anyone – go for it.

That’s it, for now, except that I advise buying the surgical gloves anyway. You never know when you’ll need to do something that will leave you feeling a little yucky – heaving the neighbor’s dog’s “gift” back over his fence, for instance. I’m just saying.

The Passive-Aggressors and How to Survive Them

You’ve run into this type, even if you haven’t known the correct name for them. Most everyone displays some kind of passive aggression, but these folks make it their “normal” behavior.

How to spot a passive aggressive type, who I’ll call Patty for this exercise:
• Look for a fake smile plastered on Patty’s face while she delivers a criticism disguised as a joke, making it more difficult to challenge her snide remark.
• Patty is almost always the last to voice their objections, after taking the temperatures of others, and usually wait until it’s too late to do anything about them to say anything. You’re already at the Chinese restaurant when she tells the group that she’s “allergic” to Chinese food.
• Patty can usually be found lying in wait until there is a crowd around to attack. There’s safety in numbers. She gets the benefit of making the other guy look like a fool, and usually walks away without the angry response she might get if she and her prey weren’t in the company of others.
• Patty is a pro at finding small ways to sabotage the efforts of others, but making it look like she’s in full support of them. Sly comments breed suspicions in co-workers or family members, undermining the effectiveness of the one in charge of a project or event.
• Basically, Patty is a poop with the skills it takes to hide that fact.

How can you handle the Pattys in your life? While, there are two tactics I’ve found that work very well, if you can manage to contain your irritation long enough.

One is to refuse to engage. When you get the “joke” comment from Patty, walk away or just look back at her as blankly as you possibly can. This will create an uncomfortable tension that is exactly what Patty has been trying to avoid by coming at you in a passive way.

The other is to rise above it all and be very direct. For instance, if suddenly, after all the decisions have been made and the reservations placed for the Chinese restaurant and you’re all sitting down to a meal Patty drops her allergy on the group, take a moment to focus on her, then ask as emotion-free as possible, “Why didn’t you say something before?” Patty will be surprised and probably fumble to find some answers that usually revolve around martyrdom like “I didn’t want to spoil everyone’s fun.” If she pulls that one out, you might want to counter with “Interesting.” That will leave her nonplussed.

Essentially, taking the invisible wind out of Patty’s invisible sails once or twice will alter her behavior because it isn’t getting the desired results.

Good luck. This may be one of the most useful life lessons I ever pass on to you.

I'm Back!

There have been a couple of inquiries lately as to when I planned on getting back to my blogs. Well, today’s the day! Although, I won’t post this until Monday, I’m sitting in Wanda, my RV, enjoying an absolutely beautiful Sunday. It can’t be more than 85 degrees, if that, at least here under the trees.

Having returned from vacation in Arizona three weeks ago, I’ve really appreciated the climate here. It was already 105 degrees in Phoenix on Memorial Day, but my daughter, whom I was visiting, and I did get away to Prescott where the temperatures were 25 degrees cooler, day and night.

I think it was the temperature changes that brought on the Mother-of-All-Colds. Yow! I was really miserable for two weeks solid.

That, however, has no relationship to why I’ve been away and frankly, I’m not really sure what the whole story is, because I truly love writing my blogs. Two things coincided – I finished the novel I’d been working on for three years and I started therapy. Did my brain just decide I was finished on one hand and occupy itself with figuring out the complex workings the Kathy-being on the other? Don’t really know, but I do know just typing this is relieving a certain stress and giving back to me what it always does – a sense of expression.

So, now it’s onward, as they say! Glad to be back and don’t be too surprised if you see a lot more action on my two-blog sites. A good friend suggested I market them a little more and I plan to do just that. So, hang on for what I hope will be a wild and happy ride!

Thanks for hanging in there with me, all you faithful and regular readers, who number over one hundred by the way!

What is Offensive?

Yesterday, I spent a couple of hours trying to mentally exonerate myself for having made a statement that offended someone of whom I’m very fond. I lost the argument with myself.

In describing someone we were discussing, I started to say something, thought better of it, then decided to go ahead, but not before uttering the following: “This is going to sound terrible. But I can say this to you guys.”

Then I stumbled into the mire by following that with this, “She’s like a little old Jewish lady.” My mental image was of the Linda Richman character, his real life mother-in-law, that Mike Myers parodied on Saturday Night Live. But, of course, that’s not what came out of my mouth.

So, I argued with myself. First, I defended myself with the fact my family is multi-racial and multi-ethnic, including the Jewish ethnicity. Therefore, since my friends knew this, I couldn’t possibly be making a prejudiced statement.

What? I will blanketly say that everyone is prejudiced; all people, with the possible exception of actual saints. It is human nature to fear the unknown, and that it the genesis of most prejudice. I firmly believe that it is our responsibility as human beings to fight our own prejudices fervently.

That being said, what my own statement revealed to me was that my first reaction to the phrase “little old Jewish lady” would be Mike Myers’ caricature, in spite of the fact that I know two lovely women who would technically qualify for the phrase, but are both in reality, nothing like Linda Richman.

Secondly, the fact that the person we were discussing – gossiping about, actually – was not someone we liked. Therefore, the statement had to be negative.

At its core, the comment I made was prejudiced, although it wasn’t my intent to offend. Intent is not the determining factor here. Result is.

So, in essence, I learned a valuable lesson, one I am so surprised to have realized at this late date and after years of being offended at the thoughtless comments of others. I apologize to my friend and hope that others, who read this, may be inspired to examine their own reconceived notions about races, ethnicities and other ways of life.

The Arts in America

Whether one is a writer, painter, sculptor, actor, musician, dancer or any other of the disciplines of creativity, it is expected by family and others that you will end up starving; making no money, existing on the edge of poverty. In reality, that perception is often true.

Great societies of the past valued art and literature. Creatives were valued. Patrons supported those who struggled to bring forth great works of inner vision. Art was a much a treasure as gold and jewels. Even the horrific Nazi regime, hardly a great society but a powerful one nonetheless, sought to capture for itself all the great artworks of Europe.

When I look around what I currently see is a great disregard for art, literature, performance in all its many forms. These things have become business endeavors but not in the sense that creativity is preserved. Instead, the artwork we seek to hang on our walls must match the fabric in our couches and cost less that a night out. The books we read voraciously, myself included, are the pulp mill works that lull us to sleep just like much of the television programming we watch. We have come to value the regurgitation of comic books into film and shun the small independent films of substance. Think? We shouldn’t be required to think in our choices of reading or viewing, should we?

Bear in mind, I make fun of myself here as much as the next woman. I’ve bought the machined artwork that matched my living room, too. I’ve reached for my Janet Evanovich novel with relish, too. Evanovich’s books in the Stephanie Plum series are fantastic fun, but really don’t stretch the brain at all. So, I try to alternate between the pure enjoyment of the easier books to read and the tougher, sometimes depressing reads of Oprah’s book selections, for example.

I personally have not supported the arts nearly enough. It is time to put my money, what little there is, where my mouth is and go see a play locally. If I feel the need to decorate my meager wallspace in Wanda, my RV, it will be with something produced by an artist who fights for her place in this world, instead of something from a giant warehouse store that blends well with the highly utilitarian space I call home.

This awareness came over me suddenly and as a result I’ve decided to do something about the state of the Arts in my own city – Sacramento. I have big plans and will happily share them in upcoming stories on my other blog – SacramentoandBeyond.blogspot.com.

See you soon, in an art gallery somewhere – if not in person, in spirit.

Stuck!

It’s been awhile since I blogged. Quite a while. I couldn’t seem to get out of a funk and I couldn’t identify what the problem was, but I had an epiphany last night and I’m happy to be back on the page again.

Some of you may recall I had been working hard to finish a novel that I’ve been writing for the past three years. Well, I hit my goal for the first draft in January and have been editing and rewriting since. The past month has been a final polish. In the meantime, I’ve sent out queries to agents and so far, one has asked for the first three chapters. So, while I’m making the rest of my novel as perfect as I am able, I’ve been “on hold” in a way.

More to the point, in the front of my mind has been concerns with being a good writer, an “important” writer, which is the goal for most of us who aspire to write for others. While we can call ourselves successful by simply selling material, it is so much more satisfying, at least for me, to be able to point to acknowledgements and awards.

I think I’m over that…

Because I read and truly enjoyed a retrospective of clips from the works of John Updike, who recently passed away, I ran out and got a paperback edition containing two of the Rabbit series, Rabbit, Run and Rabbit, Redux, published in 1960 and 1971 respectively. Two other books in the series won the Pulitzer Prize. Updike is world renowned and much loved in some circles.

I hated both books. Updike is a wonderful writer. His descriptions, details and characterization are spot on. Yet, both books depressed me terribly. I found I didn’t like any of the characters, except the main character’s young son. I forced myself to read them because I felt it was “good for me.”

Okay, so I’ve revamped my goals as a writer. I want to write things that grab the reader and make him care deeply about the outcome of the characters lives, because that now means success to me. If the reader becomes engaged and reconsiders, even for just a moment, another point of view, that’s a victory. Pain experienced on behalf of the characters is fine, as long as it’s not relentless with no end in sight and has no redeeming value.

Updike’s whole point was to explore the meaningless values of American life in those times – I get that and point well-taken. Yet, the unending quality, the sense of being beaten about the head and shoulders with ugliness, is just not what I want to create or what I want to read. So, I’ve revised my idea of what being an important writer is and now I think I can move on.

This very concept of re-evaluating would probably make Updike happy. It is, after all, what should happen in life. We must all look at the world and wonder how we each fit in and what constraints are acceptable, what values we’ll each embrace.

Hooray for Updike. He moved me out of my funk.

A New National Self-Image

This nation is deep in the process of redefining itself.

For so many years, we have been burdened by the horrors of a history that included slavery, a recent past that boiled with segregation and discrimination and a present that still includes those who hate based on anything that makes a person different than them.

As a member of a multi-racial family, I am in a position to say that this last portion of the population is greater than many would believe. There are good-hearted individuals who simply don’t see the discrimination that still exists or the slights that are dealt to persons of color, different religions or sexual orientations on a regular basis.

However, since the election of President Barack Obama, the great majority of Americans have rejoiced in the fact that now we have risen above this ugly quagmire of past and present.

There is a prevailing sense of unreality at times, as though we are simply watching this happen on a television series – “24” come to life. Part of that is probably the inundation by the media; Obama’s picture is everywhere. But the thoughts and questions still seem to hang in the air. Really? No way! Really? We are still collectively pinching ourselves.

It is real. I will always remember the sea of crying and jubilant faces that watched in Grant Park on election night as Obama made his acceptance speech. That mass of people was as racially diverse a group as this country is ever likely to see again. How wonderful is that? We were able to experience pride and joy in ourselves as a country and as a people.

As the reality sets in and President Obama becomes the ingrained leader of our country, and not just our first black president, so hopefully will our self-image become less strident and conflicted. Hopefully, we will be able to accept ourselves as a nation that can overcome anything, eventually, and is no longer the stepchild of Liberty, but one of her direct descendants.

Beware The Joy Thieves!

I’m sure you’ve run into them before. The joy thieves live and work with us. They habitually steal the wonderment, happiness and yes, joy, from our lives. Sadly, they often do it to themselves as well.

They have giveaway opening lines:

• “What a great piece of jewelry! Too bad you don’t have the right dress to wear with it!” (Of course, you’re wearing a dress you think goes great with it)
• “Really, you actually like living there? Interesting!” (About the home or location you’ve just excitedly chosen for yourself.)
• “You lost four pounds! How wonderful. Now remember not to lose too fast or your skin will get saggy!” (This wonderful piece of advice is usually given just as you’ve managed to fit into a new pants size.)
• “Great car! Of course, I could never have one of those because…”( And the reasons are often too numerous to casually ignore, but are given to explain why this oh-too-precious individual couldn’t possibly make do with your cute, but completely unacceptable vehicle.)

If you’re quick to catch on, you can avoid repetitions of this type of interaction by simply refusing to engage. Don’t tell Madeline-the-Magpie that you are wearing a size smaller. Don’t give Rod-the-Downtrodden a reason to speculate about your car by never revealing which one is yours. Unfortunately, this is a lot of work – the suppression of your naturally bubbly personality. There’s another, very workable, way to trim the sails of your joy snatcher.

A simple, well-placed comment like - “Oh, really? It’s a good thing I really don’t care what people think, huh?” - will often do the trick, and a side-benefit is that they are left speechless. Such a blessing.

The most important thing is to keep on trucking. Don’t let the joy stealers walk away with your happiness. Dwelling on their negativity can be worse that the actual comments they make. So, let it go.

Great advice. Now, I’m off to try to take it myself. I have a joy stealer to contend with in the next few minutes. Don’t worry, I can handle her.

Heads-Down Effort

I have been granted a period of creativity lately, like I haven’t had in years. It’s wonderful and it’s scary. The beauty of it is that I can feel the words and ideas flowing from me like water, that easy, literally. The rough part is that I must make hay while the sun shines. Terrible metaphor since it’s been raining without remorse for over a week, yet truer words were never spoken.

In the creative life, there are too many inspiration blockages, times when you can’t squeeze a new idea out no matter how hard you try. When it’s coming effortlessly the world is a wild and wonderful place, causing the artist or writer or choreographer, whatever, to lose sleep and trip lightly to their place of creative power and watch as miracles occur.

Most of us have had the revelation that the end product is not wholly our own. Surely, there are those who will disagree with me, but as I say, most of the creators I’ve spoken to about this agree that there is a power of some kind that guides our hands and hearts. Many times, especially when I was writing screenplays, I would wake the next day after a long, midnight writing session and not recognize the words I had put down on paper. Others have told me similar stories.

So, when you feel sanctified you must work. Otherwise, it would be like crassly throwing your blessings into the face of God or the Universe, whichever you relate to. So, work you do. And then guilt ensues when you are not working. It takes a heads-down effort to reap the absolute most possible from these times of riches.

Heads-down is more difficult for me to do, nowadays, in part, I think because I am older now. But I try. I really do. And when I give in to dinner and a movie, oh how I chastise myself. So, today, after dinner and a movie at my sister’s house, I am beating myself about the head and shoulders (not literally you understand) and vowing to put my head down and plow forward for the rest of the week.

Please send your supportive thoughts. I could use them.

Fashion Sense

I have had reason lately to reassess the “rules” of fashion and believe I have managed to come up with a few of my own that should, by rights, trump those of accepted style. You’ll see what I mean.

Rule #1 – Wear White Anytime

If you have the good fortune to have a piece of white clothing that has managed to survive everyday life without obtaining a cluster of stains, by all means, celebrate that fact and wear it – whenever – and post-Labor Day rules be damned.

Rule #2 – Shoes Are Exempt

When it comes to shoes you love, whether you can wear them or not, ignore the advice, “If you haven’t worn it in a year, toss it.” No! If you haven’t worn them in a year, chances are they hurt your feet. So, instead, save them for those moments when all you must do is alight from a vehicle, walk twenty yards or so and sit yourself down. Those painful shoes won’t have a chance to kill your feet, and you’ll look good.

P.S. Try to find a chair or barstool where your legs, probably greatly enhanced by these killer shoes, will drape nicely in view of the rest of the establishment.

Rule #3 – Happiness Is Queen

If the garment makes you happy wear it! And for goodness sake, don’t apologize for doing so! Life is too short and joy too rare to give up something you love because you spot a disapproving glance from another. Frankly, she’s probably wishing she could pull something like that off with confidence. So, you go girl!

Rule #4 – Let Our Toes Be Freed

About this time of year, I find I miss my toes. In the dead of winter I have treated myself to two different pedicures, because I wanted to see those delightful appendages decorated. Then comes the question, “Do I wear sandals in 36 degree weather?” Of course, you do! What is the point if you don’t show off those $30 toes? Go for it. What’s the worst that can happen? You have cold toes? So?

That’s about it for now. I’ve dealt the fashion world a large enough blow for the moment, assuming every one of my readers chooses to follow my errant advice. I hope you do – as long as it makes you happy!

Napping On A Warm Day

Truly, there is nothing more sensual or enticing that a nap on a beautiful, warm day.

I owned a home about ten years ago, in the San Fernando Valley, which had a large maple tree outside my two bedroom windows. They formed a corner where I wisely placed my bed.

I loved this little bungalow, which at 912 square feet was all it could be called, and especially cherished my springtime naps in this tree-shaded bedroom. Opening the windows allowed a lovely breeze to waft across me as I lay half-in and half-out of sleep. I remember thinking that the touch of the puffs of air felt silken.

Well, yesterday, after having conquered most of my plans for the day, I lay down in Wanda, snuggled into my nest of a bed and reached for the windows. It wasn’t exactly spring weather, but it was definitely warm enough to warrant some fresh air.

I was so pleasantly surprised. I nearly duplicated the San Fernando cottage experience. It was absolutely fabulous.

I really had no need of a nap. I wasn’t truly tired. I simply wanted to luxuriate in the swirl of warm air that surrounded me. I picked a time when the sun shone directly into one window affording me the effect of lying on a beach soaking up the rays – except that I was under a thick comforter!

Anyway, I highly recommend the habit of an afternoon nap – at any time of the year – but especially when you can call Mother Nature indoors and enjoy her soft caress.

Recognizing the Spirit in Things...

SMILING CAR

There are many who will be appalled at the fact that I name all the things I love. My RV is Wanda. My computer is Toby – it’s a Toshiba. My little red Toyota Yaris is Bebe, because she reminds of a little red ball bearing just rolling along. I have a little piece of polished citrine that I call my Gratitude rock and a similar piece of carnelian that is my Love rock. When I spot them suddenly and pick them up, I am reminded to be grateful for all I have in my life and treasure the love all around me.

This has been a habit of mine for years. Before Bebe, I had an Isuzu Rodeo I called Suzie. Officially it’s called animism, attributing human qualities to objects. Make no mistake; I do consider the things I name to have a personality, even a soul.

I know what you’re thinking, “What does this nut job mean by that? Things don’t have souls.” Actually, the idea has been around for eons, in other cultures. But the truth for me is that I can feel a spirit in certain things and beyond that it gives me great pleasure to recognize the importance of these objects in my life.

Come on. You know the joy of cranking your car engine over and hearing it roar, especially when by rights the thing should have quit long ago. How about when a little sweet talk seems to revive your tired and battered computer? Goofy? I think not!

Anyway, the odd looks I sometimes get when I refer to Wanda or Bebe don’t really bother me. I just feel a bit sorry for the individual who is missing out on recognizing the spirits of things all around them.

If I bother to get into a conversation with said individual, I find that same person will often admit to getting a strange feeling in some homes or buildings. What is the difference, I wonder?

How do you end a piece that reveals so much of you? I guess with a blessing to others – May you find the spirit in the things around you, too.

Generosity of Spirit

As I watched the Inauguration of our 44th President, I was struck by the tone of both his speech and those individuals caught on camera attending the event. On the riser and below on the Capitol Mall and even among those as far-flung as the Lincoln Memorial, faces reflected an unbounded joy, words spoken invoked images of sacrifice, giving and forgiveness.

The phrase that came to me was “generosity of spirit.” There seemed to be an all-encompassing ability to transcend past transgressions, old hurts, separateness, differing viewpoints, individual ideologies; what could even be called love – for each other, and mankind in general.

Generosity always provokes a response. Sometimes, it is an embarrassed anxiousness, but so often it is a returned generosity instead. Those who give without any expectations inspire others to give what they are capable of in response. So, a wonderful circle of benevolence begins to spiral into a virtual whirlwind of goodwill. Such is what I observed while watching the historic event unfold yesterday. It made me ache to be there.

I experienced this same generosity of spirit once in my life. We lived through the Northridge earthquake, about six miles from the epicenter. It was two men a few doors down to knocked down our front door so that my daughter, husband and I could get out All of the neighbors in our apartment complex supported each other, sharing bottles of water and food, barbequing meat that would otherwise go bad due to no electricity and passing it out to anyone who need it, sleeping together on mattresses set out on the lawn around the complex. The love and concern extended to everyone who entered our circle. I never felt more connected in my life.

The kindness remained for months, but after some time it lost its glitter, an unavoidable phenomenon, I believe. However, it is up to all of us, as a nation, to preserve that feeling, that generosity of spirit, as long as we can; call on it in the worst of times and enjoy it in the best of times.

It is my fervent belief that of all the good President Obama will bring to us this may be the most important.