Cloud Jumper

I assure you I don't deliberately sit around noting clouds. In fact, my eyes are usually so far in front of me onto the next task, I rarely look up to differentiate them. But today, as Miss S and I walked out the front door on our way to the library, we both couldn't help but notice.

These clouds were so vivid and so immediate, they seemed to be jumping out of the sky towards us, invading our reality. So intensely surreal, they were almost too real. So close you could get up and jump on them. Gloriously springy gobs of puff so 3D, they were 4D! Not way up in the sky but right there, over the rooftops, an arms length away.

"Wow. Look at the clouds Mom," she said reading my mind.

"I know!" I said running back in to get my camera....

Boing! Boing! Boing!

And all blue above that.

Fun!

Haze

Next week I predict gale force winds….

No truer words were spoken. But I won't bore you with the particulars, the checklist of tasks undertaken and delivered within mind-squeezing deadlines. No, that would just sound like I'm arrogant and self-important, overly ambitious, and foolishly over-extended I might add. Don't wish to embarrass myself that way. Suffice it to say I have been cranking out and delivering for the little school, for the wider community, while I try to understand where all this is heading for me personally.

Meanwhile, I can take away great satisfaction in jobs I've executed on time and to my high standard. But after so much output, I feel like a sponge that has been wrung out. I'm in some sort of post car crash haze.

WTF? Where am I?

The lyrics of a Chris Whitley song drift into my consciousness and describe my mood perfectly…

"…out on the edge of some canyon
where I just forget and you can't recall
no you can't recall…"

Grey matter. Fog cover.

Haze.

Clouds streak the cobalt sky in tractor-wide trails of cottony fluff. Billowy streaks, deliberate channels then bleed into smoky dissipated edges like some runny watercolor. Partially defined. Partially blurry. Blue. White. Blending. Lightening the blue. Illuminating the white. A bit of both.

I sit, focusing on my perch.

Focus eludes me.

Am I centered, or moving? Active or silent?

I wait for a sign. The steady movement of the stair-climber acts as a distraction.

I have been that one, racing up the stairs, heart pounding, pushing as fast as I can, determined to challenge my body, my time, my productivity. I've used the stairs to burn fat, to harden thighs, to breathe deeply, sweat, center. It feels good. It brings clarity. Momentum. Purpose even. And now, I sit watching him. Observing that method calmly, resolutely, immobile. It is one way. It is one practice.

Yet somehow the stillness, now possible by his exit, also feels good. Another kind of practice.

So much can be lost in the movement. So too, much can be lost in only stillness. There it is. Two truths. Lying side-by-side.

I usually know what I want and go after it. I am fairly clear on my opinions about things. Not lately. Mostly I feel a bit numb, dazed, no compass needle pointing the way.

I won't move until I know where I'm going. Without clarity, I'm not moving. So, race your races, good you know where you're going.

Me? I'll just be sitting here, taking in the view for a while, recharging after navigating a political and territorial pissing ground, grateful for a respite. Waiting for next steps, which haven't presented themselves yet.

In the meantime my dance card, as they say, is fully punched.

Cupcakes, Cupcakes

What's the big deal about cupcakes?

With the rising popularity of designer cupcake shops in LA like Sprinkles, Toast, Crumbs, Vanilla Bake Shop, not to mention the Magnolia Bakery in NYC, it seems that there's a high-end cupcake shop opening up in every neighborhood these days, along with some sort of hypnotic I-will-wait-in-line-for-over-30-minutes just to buy a waaay over-priced round of sugary fluff. It's mass-hysteria in my opinion, another craze following the same trajectory that Pinkberry did for frozen yogurt, or Krispy Kreme did for hot sugary glazed donuts.

What's the deal? I mean, they're cupcakes, folks. Cupcakes. Buy a $2 box of cake mix and bake 'em off in muffin tins, or bake your own recipe, but c'mon. Cupcakes. Not. Rocket. Science.

I have no big pull towards them personally. I mean, I think they're ok, if not just a big mouthful of overly-sickly sweetness, but my daughter loves them. Reveres them. So, being the devoted mother and wonder baker that I sometimes am, occasionally I indulge that desire for her. Like yesterday…

What to do on a dreary, gray Saturday? House-bound and bored...

I know.

Bake.

Cupcakes.

With an assorted rainbow of sprinkles. (Decorating's her thing.)

Donning aprons with hair tied up in ponies, we got to mixing and baking, licking and scraping, and soon we had ourselves a batch of fresh vanilla cupcakes with buttery vanilla frosting. (I tried selling other flavors, such as chocolate, black and white, orange blossom, or rose water decorated with candied rose petals, even adding some freshly grated Meyer lemon peel to the frosting, but to no avail. Miss S loves the classic: vanilla, vanilla.)

Vanilla it was.

I laid out all the decorative sugars, sprinkles, and candied rose petals for her to decorate her little heart out, somewhat uninspired and disappointed we weren't creating a more magical "fairy blossom" flavored frosting at the very least. (She's waaaay into fairies these days. She's even writing and illustrating her very own "Fairy Book.")

Then, inspiration hit me. She could sprinkle away, but I was going to try something different.

I had a box of Dots and some leftover Tootsie rolls, (dare I say that they might have been from Halloween?) I took my extra sharp Shun Santoku knife, rubbed a little oil along the blade to prevent it from sticking, and sliced each Dot into 5 or 6 thin nearly transparent wheels of stained-glass candy color. Perfect little petals. Then I sliced and rolled "stems" out of the Tootsie rolls, and discovered that pistachios would form perfectly green-tinged "leaves."

Magic fairy flower cupcakes. As pretty to look at as they are to eat.





And here are the Divine Miss S's creations:
(Even she got into the flower power eventually.)

Bad Hair Day

This morning, my morning to sleep in and I wake to the sounds of tantrum.

Nothing like burning the midnight oil only to be rudely awakened to noxious screaming and carrying on, met by expletives and threats, and stomps down the hall, doors slamming.

Our house became a virtual padded cell of 3-way negotiations, parent-on-child-on-parent-on-parent, with sleep being held hostage.

Then scissors.

Then shoes.

When did 5 1/2-yr-olds have such strong opinions about hair? To the point of wanting to cut it off if it didn't hang right! (I remember this in high school, but c'mon, Kindergarten??!!)

And God help the world if this one becomes a lawyer. Can she articulate her position! Good to know she knows what she wants and can express herself.

Now, go express yourself somewhere quietly!! And get your butt to school!

The Little Darling.

Oh, remember the days when HAIR was the biggest thing you had to worry about? she said longingly.

Windless

For now I'm like a sailboat, sails lifted, out on the sea with full intention, but the winds have settled, no force, no direction. Chipped and scratched from being battered against the rocks, I am drifting, emotionless. Tired. Not quite empty but far from full. No wind. No waves. Just floating, drifting. A respite, a lull in the forward motion. Just waiting to pick up a current or tap a fresh breeze to a new destination. Any destination.

I'll take the drift.

After the battles I've been through, drift feels just fine. For now. Feels like I'm ready to settle in for a good long nap. But to anyone who truly knows me you will already know, who am I kidding?

I'll take the rest while I can.

Next week I predict gale force winds….

Maps are fun!

Back from my sick bed, today I spent the better part of the day creating an interactive map (click and slide) that contains the complete listing of Westside public elementary schools. This list includes neighborhood schools in the LA Unified District, along with Magnets, Charters, Santa Monica and Culver City Unified elementary schools.

Each school has it's own marker bubble which when clicked on contains updated address, phone and website info (hand entered by me), and sometimes a photo already on file with Google. With almost 60 elementary schools and 3 overlapping school districts within about a 10 mile radius, no wonder parents are confused! These are only the elementary schools, folks!

Today I have done my civic duty for all current and future Westside families about to enter the school system. I have created our very own Westside School Finder. (Lord knows the district doesn't do anything like this for us.) It's even Google-able.

Check it out!
http://gomamaguide.com/
Scroll down the right side bar below speaking events and click to enlarge and play!

Or you could go here.
(Give it a minute to l0ad.)

Aren't maps fun!

Same Spot, New Thought

Instead of plugging the meter with "OMG, there's so much to do, how will I get it all done?" it's now, "how can assist you? Where can we interface my skills with your needs to create a mutually beneficial situation?"

As I surround myself with warmth and protection, a blanket of love spreads outward -- both honoring myself and allowing others to be where they are…

Let the light radiate and elevate…
Spin out counter-clockwise any confusion and darkness
And as it lifts, may we all receive insight and clarity
An opening and inspiration
And a call to action.

Time speeds up, but today it slows down--
Pulling, stretching like taffy
as I soak up the sun's soul-warming nutrients.

All things are possible.
All things in place.
We are percolating little bubbles of fabulousness.

Homecoming

As we welcome Prema home, I am reminded of the feeling of soaring into the heights and depths and fullness of Self, an achingly beautiful "homecoming" in itself of oneness-no separation... only to return out of the Samadhi embrace to the discombobulated scurrying tempo of our lives. Lives with children. Lives with spouses. Lives with jobs and obligations. Schedules. Responsibilities.

The scurrying…the clatter…the disarray that surrounds us. This is not us; we are just visiting.

But as we sink back into our bodies, our lives, trying desperately to hold on to the remnants of our true Technicolor experience, we also feel the pull of gravity into the present.

It's no wonder she sits, no words flowing yet. Words are a different state. Let her sit as long as she will, basking in her fullness. May she remember the glory of who she is and let that infuse her and those around her with that knowing.

May we all remember and not forget. And may we carry it forward into the dance that spins right along around us.

Sometimes words aren't enough, don't do justice to the experience, so we find another way to express it.

Today I picked up a can of simple white cannelloni beans. They'd been sitting in the cupboard for weeks, silently, waiting in the dark for inspiration. None had come. But today seemed like the day as I opened them up, draining out their syrupy juices and rinsed away cloudiness with pure filtered water.

White beans. Plain. Simple. Rather boring. Live in a can. They love them in Tuscany, I ventured. Beans get a bad wrap here.

In my attempt to elevate them I think first, a beautiful bowl. Not white. I choose a vibrant cobalt blue, heavy with patterned relief along the outside, dramatic enough to show off the inherent beauty of the creamy blushed beans.

Next, some minced onion and half a red sun-kissed jalapeno that stayed too long on the vine. As I flow effortlessly from the fridge to the board to the bowl, a dish comes to life. Diced sweet red pepper, minced garlic, a good scatter of celtic sea salt, a few cracks of black pepper, a hearty drizzle of extra virgin olive oil, and the juice of half a lemon with a few dashes of red wine vinegar just because. I love how the tart complements the creaminess with the hint of heat and bit of crunch.

Tossing the beans gently so as not to bruise them, it's still not there. Something is missing, something fresh.

I step out the backdoor where sunlight floods me with kindness to the herb garden that encircles our home. Choosing a small bouquet of flat Italian parsley and a few plump sage leaves, I decide rosemary would be equally welcome. Next time.


Mincing and tossing I have it now. A beautiful, tasty offering that transcends its own nature.

Or, was its nature there all along, hidden?

Served on a few scattered leaves of romaine hearts with a chunk of crusty bread, I am fed.

But it's more.


It's good. It's real, and it nourishes me far beyond the can and the plate.

It brings me home.

Thinking of Prema. Blessings all.

Low Hanging Fruit

Wind ripping. Changing patterns. First a tickle then a slam! Storms of emotion, undecided, circuitous, dance through the air with feverish abandon. I breathe in the chill air, alternately cool then tempered by warm sunlight softly caressing my cheek. Drizzling, then sunny. It's warm, it's cold, both, as I pull my hoodie tighter around me. Winds that were whipping abate like an exhaled breath. For the moment anyway, it settles. Then changes again. Constant change. The warmth. The chill. The drizzle. I feel it all. I work through the dampness 'til my body doesn't feel it anymore. It doesn't matter.

Weather. It's just weather. Weather and a commitment to the practice.

I pull out my Dixie cup to catch the thoughts that traverse my weathered mind…

I think of myself like the weather--ever changing, mutable, unformed, taking form then leaving it. Turning off the mind I lead with the heart. Breathing into the fullness of spirit, ripe, glowing, uncontainable, this is me, this is who I am.

As I focus on the school, I think of the phrase I just read on responsibility. First, she said, things have to get bad. Then there's a summoning. A calling forth of souls. One does not do it all--that would be interfering with Divine Plan.

Right.

So, surrendering, exhaling it out, the stress is leaving my body more and more each day as I call forth my highest destiny and wait for the summoning. My shoulder, once capped with pain and immobility, has not been bothering me for a few weeks now. The area I spent hundreds on for months, where it felt like nothing was working? Now I suddenly realize, it is done. Released. Sent packing. Its exit almost imperceptible.

I see the simplicity of it all up here. How everything falls into place. Still, it's hard to fathom how it works down there, how I can surrender and trust. Trust that this is right, that we will be provided for, that this IS my work, that I am right where I need to be.

I have been contemplating the comments you've left regarding choosing my direction, ones so well-known and loved. Ones even I would think to offer another when trying to make a choice. You know, does it bring you joy? Does it bring you peace? Are you filling up or depleting yourself?

For days now, perhaps a lifetime, I have been contemplating these very questions.

I was raised to do what you love. Anything is possible. Limits exist only in your mind. Follow your dreams. Reach for the stars. That kind of thing.

I set out in search of those dreams with my passion, my desire, my commitment and unnerving ambition to express myself and be seen. To share my gifts.

It never occurred to me to have a back-up plan. I was going for it. I was going to be large. Brilliant. Successful. Artistic. Beautiful. A ball of creative fire that blazed a trail of light so bright, I touched millions…

I followed that dream hither and thither for years.

But let's take it back even further. What is education?

It's a deep question. A question that started percolating for me as a mother, and now I ponder it endlessly in my current "work"--and I call it that lightly as I've yet to be paid for any of it.

How do we raise our children? And then, how do we give them over to the typical institutions of learning? What constitutes a quality education? And if we've become more conscious in the way we parent our children, how can we in good conscience hand our children over to an old, failing system? It indeed causes conflict.

What are we trying to teach our children…the carriers of our future, the next generation? That they may then go forth and create the life of their dreams?

And furthermore, how do we translate that into the existing educational systems?

I look at my own upbringing and hear the repeated demands of my mother insisting on a "liberal arts" education. Carlton and Yale-educated and a professional classical musician, she was so adamant about that. And yet once hired, she never had to go off looking for another job for the rest of her career.

Ok. So what of liberal arts? I studied philosophy. Religion. French. Literature. History. Theatre. Dance. Music. Art. So what?

Wouldn't a business degree or a technical trade have served me better? Wouldn't some financial planning and lessons in strategic ladder-climbing have been more effective? Liberal what? Where does that fit in today's economic reality? Does my well-rounded liberal arts background pay the mortgage?

And the reaching for a dream, reach for the stars motto?

Perhaps as a friend suggested recently, I ought to instead reach for "low hanging fruit."

It's a concept I never thought of. I was always striving for that hard to reach, impossible spot in the constellation, the one way way up on the top branch that took a lifetime of trying only to possibly never get there… God I love a challenge!

Low hanging fruit?

Isn't that so…obvious? Common? Pedestrian? Like, anybody can reach for that? What's so special about that? Isn't it about to drop on the ground already?

Truthfully, it's not a concept I had ever heard before, but the minute my friend said it, I knew exactly what she meant.

No, I never took my low hanging fruit seriously…for the very reason that it was just so…um, right there. The only time I took my low-hanging fruit (LHF) seriously was when the bills came staring me down. That's the fruit that fed me. Food. Feeding others. It literally fed me. But was it my passion? My raison d'etre*? (*Fr: "reason for being.")

Does one, when faced with an intersection, make a future of the LHF just because it's there? Because it's easy?

Does one "fall in love" with the guy that's kinda OK but he's available and in your face--as opposed to the really cute guy over there, the one your heart beats faster for, but who doesn't know you exist? Will he ever?

And what about using the guideposts of Love and Joy and Peace that so many of us suggest as a way to navigate our choices, like some hot or cold divining rod?

Can you honestly, I mean truly honestly say that you feel these things for instance, in your…marriage? Someone please raise their hand and tell me their marriage is peaceful, always brings them joy, not conflicting emotions or (serious) differences in opinion.

What about your children? Do they bring you Peace? I don't know about you but my child brings me a lot of things. Peace isn't one of them. Love? yes. Peace? no. Joy? not always.

Do the jobs in your life really fill you with Joy? All the time? Really? No conflicts? No challenges? No opposition? No indecision? No growing pains? And it pays you well? Hmmmm. Tell me what you do for a living!

And then say, for arguments sake, that you do feel the thing in contradiction to love, and joy and peace…you know, exhaustion, frustration, dare I say anger at times. Well, what then? Do you drop it, (the job, the kid, the husband, the direction) because it isn't bringing you peace? Even if it is important? Because you might want something different, better, smoother, quieter? Do you just abandon it for higher, I mean, lower ground?

Forgive my rambling. I seem to have gotten way off track here.

Anyway, I shall go step by step, seeing what unfolds. Trusting that my unique skills and abilities and conflicts and emotions are dancing out quite a dance. A perfect dance. A dance that belongs somewhere. Somewhere I just can't quite see yet.

Probably looking up too high.

In any case, may it all be purposeful.

Actual View

Sometimes words are good to make your point, to question, to provoke deeper reflection, to examine a metaphor, but sometimes, the picture tells the tale.

I had my camera with me today and couldn't resist taking a few shots. So with that in mind, here is the actual view of the house from the previous post.

































See the wall?

Totally blocks the flow of energy at the entrance.

All that beauty to a dead end.

Aaaargghhhhh

"Up here, everything's fine.

It's down there that's tricky."

* * *

Been doing my best to stay calm, stay centered, to breathe my awareness into as much of my life as I can.

I don't always succeed.

I am learning to be patient, to be tolerant and loving.

Sometimes I just lose it, I can't do it.

My feelings about the school, its (and more specifically our) future in it, my life, my future, my daughter's well-being, my marriage, our choices...all of it...the whole of it...revolving, spinning, changing, in day-glo opposites. At once optimistic, then fatally, outrageously pessimistic, the emotional storms twist like torrential thunderstorms, then dissipate.

And still I try to sit, to get clear, to call upon my highest purpose, to align with my highest destiny, asking to make it shown, obviously so, so this unclear vortex of capabilities and passions can find its rightful outlet....

...and what I get is clear as mud, or more specifically, spin-art. Anything. Nothing. Whatever you want. So many colors, so little time. Anything you want to be....

I don't know!!

And the next steps that present themselves are more work and quicker turn-around time on projects for the school.

That I can do.

And so I do.

I keep questioning, is this my work? Why? Because they NEED it? Because I can SEE it? Because I know how to DO it?? What about do I want to do it? Or is it just that it needs to get done and I'm a good get-it-done kind of girl? Is this gonna be my calling? Helping parents navigate the dicey lottery of choices available to them, and then once in, detailing all the ways they're supposed to repair and improve what was discarded and broken?

Do I feel abandoned? Don't I deserve a richer life? A system that actually works? When was education my calling? Or is it just what's in front of me? Or am I just resisting again?

I had lunch with a friend I knew back in our spectacular preschool. I asked her, "Please, tell me what it's like to be able to drop your kid at school and feel utterly at peace with your decision, confident in your choice, able to move through your day completely focused on your own work?!!"

Because I really need to feel that peace.

I'm still not feeling it.

(Of course she got that choice after her second year of trying, and the 40 minute 4x per day commute is so taxing she hired a driver 3x/wk to do it for her and they will be relocating closer in the next year if they can afford it! But she is happy. Extremely happy with her decision.)

And now, as we work to sell the Kool-Aid to the next round of much-needed prospective parents down here, I am wondering if I am contributing to the giant Bill of Goods, or are we actually doing anything good? Is it working? It's such a fine line. I just can't see it. We probably won't see it for years.

I know I have higher expectations than many. That might be a problem and a curse.

In too deep.

Taking my hooks out, backing up a few steps, I'm off on my morning run. For me.

Passing a newly upgraded home, I slow down to view the work, the choices. Hmm. They took a standard dime-a-dozen ranch house and added some decorative siding, a fresh coat of paint, and a second-story addition off the back half. Just the height of it alone transforms the predictable base. The arched front door is decorated in a lacy wrought iron front gate. Stunning choice. Really stunning entrance. It immediately pulls you in.

I stop and stare. There are workers working coming and going with the front door open so I peer in to see...


...a wall.



Huh?

Yes, a wall.

A parallel wall just 3 or 4 feet from the open front door, completely closing off any view inside.

Now who would put these gorgeous, beckoning doors on the front, only to open up to a wall??

I started to think this was a metaphor.

How many of us, when opening, opening and expanding to our true greatness, find ourselves opening up to a wall? Immediately limiting ourselves, as if shielding ourselves from the stunning new view?

Or is it, when faced with unlimited possibilities, the potential of a brand new layout and floor plan, we just build what we know?

Top Of The Hill

There's this spot on the top of the hill I like to go, where the whole world seems spread out before me. Not really. Just feels that way. The discerning eye only sees treetops and telephone poles, slivers of rooftops, and the poke of palms dotting the horizon where the pull of the ocean follows just beyond that.

You might drive past and see nothing. Hundreds of cars do daily…yet somehow, my heart leads me here and I know better than to resist.

I follow the steps that come intuitively. No book led me here except the longing in my own heart and the collective wisdom of ages upon ages of I don't know what. I dare not qualify or quantify it for fear of diluting its potency. Doesn't matter. I'm drawn here. So I am here.

I've used these steps for a workout more than I can count, yet lately, I sense they are for a greater work. Since last time, I have already seen the changes…motion…connection…the truth of the living, breathing, inter-weaving of hearts and desire. Fabulousness. We are creating fabulousness, yes. So who am I to not answer the call? If my part is up here--visioning, holding, embracing the acreage from way above the treetops, who am I to argue? I can already see the benefit. The progress. The joining of hearts. And a bit of a shift.

So, today I am back. Opening to whatever will unfold.

Pen ready, journal in my lap, feet anchored on the concrete step below me, sun radiating warmth and glory all around me, my heart, secure in this place, alive with knowing, begins to swell and open and come out of hiding.

As I breathe in slowly, my heart expands, pushing my ribcage, larger, larger… and on the exhale, freeing my energy past the constraints of the body's limitations of form. I am not the body, I just live here. And to expand feels like returning home. A place where it's safe to be large. Safe to be free. Safe to be undefined. Embraced. Where all there is, is Love. I am that. We all are.

I spread my love out amongst the treetops, encircling the little school with the big heart, with the big yard, 10 acres of possibility, unlimited potential, surround it in Love. And wait for what comes next.

This is all I know to do today. Open, extend, encircle, embrace, radiate, and wait for the next thing.

I shake the rug of reality and watch the ripples. Crumbs fly off leaving a clearer, clean view. We are reset.

Pen poised, I wait for instructions. Then I will walk on campus shortly to see what happens next.

May these words be helpful to others. Do not fear them. This is the Truth.

I must go now. I open my eyes and see a woman dressed in a blue jogging suit standing at the bottom of the stairs, arms outstretched as if receiving a blessing. I smile. Nod.

And now it's time to go.

Empty Page

I have half an hour.

A half an hour is a lot of time if you use it wisely.

***

Sitting at the top of steps, panoramic view of the neighborhood spreads out before me from high in the hilltops. My body full-up in longing can't wait to begin the process. Can hold it in no more. Anchored, I let it out. All of me:

Expansion. Awareness. Highly aware. Super conscious.

Unfurled.

Open. Large. Boundary-less.

I am here but I am more.

Beyond.

Exhale emotion. Exhale conflict. Exhale rifts. It is a relief. Expel and flush. None of it me. None of it personal. None of it lasting.

My heart settles, shaking off the dewy emotional charges as petals in the wind. I am cleansed. Purified. Re-centered. Brilliant.

Uncontained. Formless.

Sparkling like sunrays tickling the ocean's ever-changing surface. Making it laugh. Dance. Delight. Fire and water. Ebullient.

I place my focus on the school over there. Right over the tree tops. Not just a collection of buildings, I see a living, breathing community. I embrace the whole plot.

Smiling at the choice of word. Plot of land, plot of drama. I embrace the whole vastness this it is, that it wants to be.

Radiate, and elevate.

Sometimes more work can be done from up here than in the muddy biased trenches.

Neighborhoods rise and fall:
It's not the homes that make the neighborhood, but the people in them.

Same could be said for schools. Our school:
Either rising - building, connecting, embracing,
Or declining - neglecting, disconnecting, abandoning.

Which is it? Things could go either way.

A mere perception shift away.

***

TA. Who is she? What part does she play?
Skill sets…like so many pages ripped off and blowing in the breeze…

Empty page.

New year.

New choice.

Do I really need this pen? This knife? This track? This role?

Your destiny is any way you want it to be…

What do I want?

That's an excellent question. You think I've never thought of it before?

Ha!

Oh the luxury of being able to think…without the gun to my head, the child on my hip, the collectors at my back….knowing that whatever I pick really will be ok, won't really matter in the big scheme, change the scenery it's all part of the same source…

What do you want?

What do you want?

The answers come, so obvious:

I want to feel good.
I want to feel awake.
I want to fee love.
I want to feel joy.
I want my creations to be meaningful.
I want my creations to connect with others.
I want to be well compensated, not depleted from my efforts.
I want my steps to be obvious. Sure.
I want to be fearless.
I want to be protected, provided for.
I want to see possibilities, not restrictions…
I want to stay connected.
I want it to be effortless.
Totally me.
Right.

You already are all these things.


***


The Blank Page.

Emptiness.

White.

From Nothing…Something.

All possibilities exist.

How to decide?

What to choose?

Does it really, really matter?

Words.
Guides.
Speeches.
Tracks.
Recipes.
Maps.
Creations.
Art.
Life.

It's all the same, truly.

Conscious effort.
Conscious creation.
Conscious parenting.
Conscious living.

To live in love, not fear.

To be the light you already are.

To trust that you will be all right, no matter what.

all

distills

down

to

Truth.

and

Love.

So now I go pick up my daughter from school, knowing truthfully…

it doesn't really matter what I do, as long as I do it with the fullness of who I already Am.

I am full. All things are possible.

There is security in knowing this.

The bell rings right as I'm heading into the yard.

Up here, everything's fine.

It's down there that's tricky.

(Btw, this took only 20 minutes. And 3 more days to post.)

...from the stillness

I have been quiet. Reflecting on the blankness, on what is to come.

No, I haven't drunk myself into a quandary, 

(although I do seem to like posting cocktail recipes. )

No, I am not in my sick bed, thank God. 

No, I am not rushing around in a mad-dash of energy as I usually am.

Just trying to stay centered, calm, still...

and create the next moment.

Fully conscious.

Step by step.

Happy New Year to all my brave and beautiful friends.

Shine on.

Pomegranatini

Yes, we're all well now, thanks for asking. And even though much of December felt like a wash, sometimes a beautiful cocktail is just what the doctor ordered to get back into the spirit of things. With that in mind, I share the following treasured holiday libation.

Pomegranatini

Rim your martini glass with a mixture of sugar and finely microplaned orange zest.

Fill a cocktail shaker half-way with ice and mix together the following:
1 part vodka
1/2 part triple sec
2 parts pomegranate juice

Shake well, strain into your prepared glass and garnish with a few fresh pomegranate seeds.

Like a vamped-up lipstick on pale, wintery skin, this bold ruby cocktail packs some va va voom for the holidays. And speaking of holidays, I hope you all had a nice one and may your new year be filled with great things.

Mostly I'm praying for peace.

Cheers!

The Gift That Keeps On Giving

Nice to know that this holiday season we've already received a special gift that's been so popular, it's gone around the whole household. No need to wrap it, stuff it, or make a card. You know when you get it.

Like a great game of tag-you're-it, it spreads it's presence to anyone who'll come close. First my daughter had it, then my husband, and now I have it. Perfect timing too, the week leading up to Xmas. Not like there's anything to do around here but play nurse-maid to sick people. Or lose entire days of precious time in a cold sweat or draped around the bathroom floor.

Yeah.

Hopefully we'll all be well enough for saltine pie on Christmas day, because lord knows there won't be a roast. And we can skip the eggnog. Gatorade cocktails anyone?

On the upside, we aren't traveling the ice-storms this year AND we've already met our New Year's weight-loss resolution. The cleanse just came a little bit early this year. With any luck, we'll all be well by Christmas morning, fingers crossed.

Happy Holidays and be well! You can never underestimate the gift of health.

And by all means, don't get the gift we got!

Did You Know?

Deal? 

Deal.

If you're smart, you're doing online gift-giving in order to avoid the crowds at the mall, or the narrow parking-less boutique-y streets, not to mention those massive post office lines this time of year. Congratulations. You're a smart cyber-shopper.

And if you're like me, you're also searching make and model #s, comparing online prices to get the best deal possible, not to mention tax-free, which in our 8.25% town adds up quickly.

But here's a quick tip t0 up your savvy. Did you know you can sniff out promotional codes for many online retailers, saving you anywhere from 10-30% off the top of an already good deal, or free shipping, or a free whatnot add-on item? You just have to look for 'em.

I just tested 3 different codes to see which would give me a better deal: $10 off $50 or more, 15% off, or free shipping on a weighty item. (I used two different promo codes on two separate orders from the same vendor to save the most money per purchase.)

Just Google the name of the site/vendor and the words "promotional code" and chances are you will be able to search through a plethora of deals. Grab the codes and go back and plug them into the vendor's check-out box, and voila, an even better deal. You gotta love that!

Happy hunting and Happy Holidays!

Beauty Comes In Small Packages

5 Calla lilies: $3.29

3 Holly branches: $6.99

10 Ruby Red Tulips: $6.29

2 bouquets of holiday cheer all for about $16.....



































priceless.


Here's to an abundant and joyous holiday season!

(p.s. oops!...and a pomegranate. Sounds like it's about time to crack open those pomegranatinis, he he he...)

SOS

It's day 3 in my sick bed, vise around my head, pain at my throat and chest, weaving in and out of delirium. Scenes fast forward and rewind in my brain as I wind in and out of consciousness. The only way to avoid the nausea is to curl up in the fetal position and ride out the wave. I awaken to discover hours have gone missing.

Life bubs along without me as I lie alternately sweaty and chilly in my bed listening to the sounds of the blithering vaporizer. Sometimes I swear I hear voices, music, streaming out of its chute.

I contemplate what it would look like to go missing, to pass on, what that might do to current tangents in my life. I contemplate my family, our home, the school I've devoted so much work on, the mess that is my office, the piles of plans I've made and evacuated. Pebble drops into water...rings reverberate outward, silently. Silently.

Hard to see it, my little pebble, except in the immediate sense of familiar obligation. Like I'm tethered because of them, otherwise I would let go. Release all.

I told my husband last week I couldn't sleep in because if I did, I would never wake up. But when I was mocking sleep, this wasn't exactly what I had in mind. My body, pushed pedal to the metal for months on end, has finally broken down. Enough. It's been years really, since I've had decent--what they call restorative--sleep. I may never get out of bed.

Except the irony is, all this sleep is now being used to fight off the evil in my body, not the lost time, the deficit I've collected for years.

When I said I was going to take a soft retreat, take on no more obligations, this is hardly what I had in mind.

Top 5 Things I Miss Since Becoming A Mom

This question recently made the rounds on our online moms group. In the interest of being completely candid, I offer you the following uncensored mama bit:


1. I miss that raging do-me-right-now, in a chair, up-against-the-wall-of-a-building kind of sexuality I used to have. Now, sex is so intimately connected to the possibility of life, and death, and the knowledge of how all that changes everything, that that wild in my body God-given feminine power has somehow lessened and become tamed. Sorry, but it's true. Womanly hips and clogs have replaced my come-f-me pumps. The only kind of do me right now I feel is for a cocktail! Or a nap.

2. I miss the tautness of my abs, the firmness of my thighs, and my ability to feel fully dressed in a cut-off wife-beater, mini skirt and rocker boots. When did my Forever 21 days go Lands End! I also miss my perky little A-cups, and would trade in these C-pluses any day without regret.

3. I too miss feeling rested, or getting more than 5 hrs sleep/night. I miss rolling out of bed at 10:30 in the morning to leisurely sip my coffee in silence. I look in the mirror and wonder where the last 6 years went. I feel old and tired and could pack a lunch in the bags under my eyes.

4. Showers! OMG, what happened to showers? I used to always start my day with one. Now I'm lucky if I end my week with one! (Note: when several people ask you, "Hey, did you get your hair done?" and you reply "no, I just washed it," you might want to rethink that shower thing! This happened to me recently.)

5. I don't feel the need to qualify that I love my daughter intensely because that goes without saying, but I desperately miss my independence and having the responsibility be only to myself, my needs, and my work. Now I work when I should be sleeping since that seems to be the only quiet, uninterrupted time in the house.


Bonus round:
God, I miss silence!
Or living without a color-coded family schedule.
Or not having to hide things like Sharpies and gum and chocolates.
Or actually finding something where you last left it.
Or wearing nice jewelry without worrying it will be toyed with and broken.
Or making only one dinner, although I'm doing that more and more now.
Or talking on the phone for hours. OMG, what did we talk about?
I miss feeling no sense of civic responsibility, and the freedom to be as selfish as I want to be.

And sometimes, just sometimes, I even miss my naiveté…

What do you miss?