Motivational Reading

It is entirely possible I emerged from my mother's womb reading....at least that's one theory.

The love affair with books began early in childhood with fairy tales and mysteries and later science fiction. We never swam in money, but my father loved to bring me books he'd find here and there, like "Alice in Wonderland".

Visiting my grandparents in rural Georgia usually found me in a corner of the room beside the unlit fireplace, after finding a good read off their shelves, books my father had read growing up, like "Martians Go Home" and "Rin Tin Tin".

Some of my fondest memories involve libraries. My favorite hall-of-books was the military library at Patrick Air Force Base in Satellite Beach, Florida. Cozy, plenty of chair-filled nooks, wood floors that creaked and windows where the sunshine streamed in along with the sound of the ocean waves. It was peaceful, mostly quiet, and full of promise...and I loved journeying along for the ride.

In college my favorite hangout was the campus library. There was much planning for the future there, as well as getting assignments and research done.

My ex-husband shared my affection for reading, which is how one of our favorite date-time getaways involved Barnes and Noble and Godiva chocolates. Luckily our kids inherited the bookish gene as well, and homeschooling was most fun scouring local libraries in the winter and gift shops in the summer, snagging books as souvenirs.

I confess Amazon and I have a longstanding history, and I'm secretly proud of my spending record, having mastered the art of shopping on their new/used marketplace. I keep expecting a platinum Amazon American Express card offer to come in the mail any day now...

This week the kids and I, in an effort to stay out of the heat and be as lazy as possible (conserving energy you know) recently visited our local library and this is what I schlepped up our three flights of stairs--the rest was left behind for later (see photo). As we met up at a table before leaving the library, the kids were wide-eyed seeing my stacks spread out, probably pitying me for having this much time on my hands with little else to fill it with. But the excursion left me happy as a clam and bubblier than a fizzy Kombucha.

Exploring the world of possibilities, discovering all the things one has a passion for, it's all there. Almost as much fun as living it!

Harry Potter Is In The House

Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince is finally out in theaters!

I confess to being a fan of all things J.K. Rowling (not to mention things British in general). I revel in her books like a kitty does her catnip. Immensely.

Once upon a time I was in a local religious (please, don't go there) writer's group, and there were some snarky comments made about Rowling's writing not being all that good. Please. Jealousy about someone's success just isn't pretty. You can't argue the incredible creativity she gives us in the HP series, reminiscent of Lewis Carroll's (aka Charles Lutwidge Dodgson) Alice in Wonderland. I only dream of such imagination.

Now the younger kids and I are embarking on a week-long Harry Potter marathon, watching all the episodes up to the Half Blood Prince. I smugly submit it's a cool way to pass the sweltering daytime hours munching on Bertie Botts.

So thanks for the journey J.K., and reminding me why I like Hedwig and Pigwidgeon and Errol and...

Credit: Photo courtesy of www.thecutereport.com

Spinning Frisbees

This pretty much describes my eating habits, which often resembles an out of control frisbee:

From the Watcher perspective, you can see when weight gain is related to stressors in your family life, your career, your friendships, your health, the way the White House is dealing with issues that matter to you, etc. Then you can choose to respond in a way that addresses the actual problem--again, using trim tab actions, not massive disruptions. You'll have a much more positive impact on your loved ones, your job prospects, and international politics (and everything in between) if you don't react to them solely by inhaling pans of blueberry cobbler. Excerpt from Martha Beck's "The Four Day Win".

Whether it's blueberry cobbler or those sprinkle-bedecked frosted sugar cookies from Wal-Mart that are like eating pieces of wedding cake....heaven. Except of course, for the morning-after-effects. I know, I know...but it's a cheap thrill.

Making The World A Better Place

"I always liked Michael Jackson, I think he was a great parent. He was misunderstood in life. I think he was a very deep person with lots of love. I think he will live on forever."

My sister wrote this recently, and it echos my feelings exactly about this truly remarkable man.

Growing up with Michael like so many around the world, having loved his music and his art, I will forever remember his smile. His innocence, his pure heart, his dedication, his love--for people, animals and the planet. His laugh, his way of holding light for all of us, for tirelessly sharing his gifts with the world.

And so much of the world loved him back. Not everyone, but the numbers, if they could be counted, would be staggering.

What is remarkable to me is how he gave himself so completely. When he performed he opened his arms wide, bared his heart and just let us in, open and unguarded, for us to take or leave. He bared his soul for us to feel.

I do not believe the accusations made against him about his personal life, though there was a time when I wondered. But I have come to realize that he was a person of such pure heart that some folks couldn't grasp the possibility that he was for real. I do believe he was for real. I love that he could still be childlike in an often jaded world--though it cost him dearly.

His work--both artistic and humanitarian--and his genuine love for people and the world leave me wondering what I will do to make the world a better place. That's what MJ leaves with me. His love, his smile, and his message of reaching out to everyone.

Michael once told a fan in a radio interview to always believe in yourself. As part of what he left for us to continue, I hope we too will believe in ourselves and open our hearts as wide as he did.

"Michael Jackson was a supernova. Just like a supernova, a collection of energy so bright that it cannot sustain and quickly flames out, so was the King of Pop. Michael Jackson sacrificed his childhood to bring us the music that would be the soundtrack to ours. " Kisha Green, posting her comment on The Huffington Post.

MJ, may you finally rest in

"And when the groove is dead and gone
You know that love survives
So we can rock forever, on"

Credit: Photo courtesy of Time magazine.

On Having A Life

Apparently, I don't have one.

It is the eve of our nation's birthday, and I sit here, alone. My eldest, who had earlier invited me over for a fireworks swimfest, left to camp at the lake with her boyfriend and his family. Well, okay, good for her. I can summon up some happiness for them.

Her sister, who prior to going to girl's camp to humor her father, begged me to pick her up the moment she got back so she wouldn't have to endure another weekend away from home -- hasn't bothered to let me know she's b-a-a-a-c-k. And I can tell she is because she left little messages for her friends on Facebook and Myspace.

My oldest son, who lived with us during the school year, is spending the month with his younger siblings at his dad's, but didn't bother to visit me the weekend I had them. To be fair, he left me his laptop since mine is having seizures....but, it's not the same as getting a hug from him in person.

Then there's my youngest, who left for his dads a day early so he could sleep-in the next morning (who's he kidding? Doesn't happen, since they are regulated by his early-bird stepmother who doesn't believe in letting children spend their summer vacations sleeping past seven) promised he'd be right back to give me a hug after he dropped his things off inside, and then disappeared into his dad's den-of-horrors and never emerged for the hug. This after I spent a king's ransom on fireworks for his stay there because daddy dearest wasn't planning on funding it. I even splurged for those psychedelic plastic glasses you wear to make the fireworks funkadelic for him and his dad's new wife's kids (did you follow that?).

So at the moment, feelings of abandonment and being unloved abound. And to top it off, my mind insists on heckling me with the reminder that Byron Katie says we do things to ourselves and then tell the story that others are doing it to us (to paraphrase, however badly). So I have abandoned and unloved myself? Mabe so. And not just me, but others too. Consider my FB profile which has a quote (from a page you can Google called Zen Sarcasm):

"Do not walk behind me, for I may not lead. Do not walk ahead of me, for I may not follow. Do not walk beside me either. Just pretty much leave me alone."

For some reason I always thought that was hysterical but it also kind of describes my life. Which I set up. And that is a scary thought.

Maybe I should get a cat after all. Wonder if Bubbles is available?

Happy Birthday America. And...

Photo Credit: courtesy of www.sailblogs.com

Toxic Thinking

While unsuspectingly sitting in an empty movie theater having settled in to watch "The Proposal", a troupe of about ten elderly women noisily arrived and decided to change their seating (wtf? the theater was empty) by sitting in the row right behind me as the movie began. How did I get so lucky...

Their raucous bantering continued through the opening of the movie into the dialogue already in full swing. My heart started pounding, I wondered what to do, and thought, f**k this; I paid to listen to a funny film, not a gaggle of Betty White wannabes. I turned around, looked them over and said loudly so they could actually hear me over their din; "Excuse me, but can you please keep it down? As you can see, the movie has begun!"

Their reactions were startling (but probably shouldn't have been)--laughing uproariously as if I were some intruder into their delightful afternoon and who was I to interrupt their important conversation?

I tried to ignore them, giving them a chance to get into the movie instead of each other (wanting to curse whoever sprung them from their nursing home) and they kept up their bantering and cackling until I wondered if I was in the company of a coven of witches instead of just bitches.

Occasionally the one behind me had to tap at my seat to let me know she was still there, as if her cackling wasn't clue enough, especially as she was doing it even when none was called for. I mean, I laugh unabashedly at movies, embracing the zen of humor wholeheartedly, but her behavior was over the top, as if to prove that she could do whatever the hell she pleased.

Which definitely affected my enjoyment of the film. I would have appreciated it way more if I wasn't so focused on the antics of the geezer brigade behind me. It was unsettling, since my grandmothers (may they rest in blessed quiet peace) never prepared me by displaying such childishness. So I felt like I was sitting in front of an out-of-control geriatric version of belligerent teens.

I comforted myself with the thought that while I couldn't control what was happening behind me, I at least had the courage to speak my peace, and for the rest of the movie knew that whatever they were doing had more to do with who they were and not so much targeting me. I had simply asked for civility. Common courtesy, which turns out, is not that common. But I also knew that they knew that to act this uncivilized they had to do it consciously. And therefore had to be aware of their actions. Which they had to live with, as our time together would soon end. And even I could tell they weren't all that comfortable being such blue-haired biddies.

After an interminable while, their ego-strutting lost its steam until by the time the movie finally ended, they quickly filed out the door as I breathed through the closing credits in solitude. Maybe their Depends were just too full to hold any more and they were making a bathroom break.

I had managed to enjoy this remarkable movie somewhat, but the effort left its toll on my body, the stress chemicals still coursing through me after two long hours. And then, sitting in my car gathering my thoughts, I burst into tears with the realization that it wasn't food that was making me fat (specifically, the stress-caused belly fat collected over the past two years), it was my uninvestigated thinking that was putting on the weight. Uninvestigated thinking is a term Byron Katie uses in her inquiry process called 'The Work'.

The revelation was shocking, because all this time I have been obsessing over eating healthier, becoming raw again, making sugar and fast foods evil etc. but the real problem is not the food, but my thinking about stressful situations--like my movie theater adventure--that led to overeating comfort foods, and the 'badder' the better.

Note: I recently read this; “Our thoughts, our beliefs, our emotions release chemicals in our body that can eventually kill us. Our anger, depression, anxiety is more dangerous than the food we eat or don’t eat.” And there you have it. Fat cells expanding.

As this new thinking sinks in, I actually look forward to sitting in front of noisy people in movie theaters (a long-time pet peeve never so thoroughly tested until today) again because it shows me exactly where I still have work to do.

So thank you ladies, and...

Photo credit:

Barefoot in the park

I decided to visit the park where I had often over the last decade connected with Utah's four seasons, both with family and on solitary meditative walks. Where I strolled with my aging parents when they visited from Florida. Where the kids and my ex rode their bikes and where we played on the playgrounds. Where I rediscovered my youth on the swings, something about whistling through the air, your head thrown back in the wind. Suddenly the mental cobwebs are out and being in the moment is in.

I wanted to park in front of a favorite copse of trees but someone else was already there, reminding me that my run was pretty much done here. It's just not my spot anymore.

A creek flows on one side of the park trail. In spring the creek rushes with snowmelt and dries up in summer, hence its name, Drycreek. It's so unbelievably weedy now. Did the economic hardships trickle down to city funds with barely enough left to manage the park? You used to be able to see the current flow down the creek as you walked the meandering trail. Now you have to carry a machete just to catch a glimpse. It's more of an auditory experience now with you wondering where that sound is coming from. The weedy overgrowth reminds me of the condos blocking the view of the beach along the Florida shoreline where I grew up.

But oh, the shifting seasons! Spring--with its birds and frogs and the creek rushing over the rockbed, snowmelt winding down the mountain, the grass uber green.

Summer--with its relentless heat, the dry creek quiet now except for the symphony of crickets that crescendoes in August; and children running everywhere, celebrating their three month freedom. The walker's sprinkler dance, where you try to keep pace while the sprinklers shower you with watery rainbows which you dodge because the irrigation water isn't particularly refreshing.

Fall walking, my all-time favorite, with trees lining the track in burnt orange and fiery red and the crisp air hinting of changing weather heralding...

Winter--the coming snow that sparkles under my crunching boots. Snowshoeing those bright winter days, the field blanketed in dazzling specks of white giving you a surprising sunburn after just a few laps around track.

Unlike the usual trail walkers, my daily exercise adventure began on a dark January day deep into local inversions (the air heavy with pollutants and probably not fit to breathe) a solitary park fixture until the spring thaw brought out the regular walkers craving their sunshine fix. But outfitted in gear worn while on snowshoe treks on the ski slopes of Brighton, the cold doesn't faze me and the eerie quiet is peaceful.

Today I see familiar dogs-- a small, black Boston terrier without his parents, off his leash, oh wait, here comes Dad, only without his wife. We were practically family considering all the times we encountered one another over the years, greeting each other in silence. They didn't seem to care for me much but their dog sure did. His enthusiasm even made up for the lack of theirs.

Someone is yelling "Duchess!" and then I see a golden lab running back to her irritated owner, who walks with his hands behind his back, as if he is carrying the weight of the world--preoccupied coming up with solutions--and who doesn't have time for her lollygagging today.

Of all the furry friends the kids and I made here over the years, and they are many and varied, I miss the wolf-dog that came out of nowhere to chill with me. Sometimes he lay there all nonchalant, in the middle of the field while I paced around him on the track. Sometimes he followed me, at his own slow pace, until one day he just stopped coming. I still miss him.

I remember lazy afternoons spent sitting in the van, with a good book, a journal and drinking funky raw Kombucha, and listening to what the birds had to say. Sometimes overhearing conversational snippets from passing social walkers in groups of two or three.

More than once I cursed the evening baseball and football games and morning practices that hogged every conceivable square inch of the park. The parking lot overflowed with bulging SUVs then, with loud adults and unsupervised kids running merrily amok.

Then there were the two anniversaries I spent contemplating my ailing marriage; once during a thunderstorm that drowned out the tears, and on the other Wendy's takeout numbed the pain, the chocolate frosty a descriptive representation of our chilled relationship. I spent many mornings writing here, reflecting on the direction our lives had taken. And practicing walking meditations until I could have opened my own healing practice.

While walking alone I never felt alone. There were always fellow walkers, children, birds, dogs and the occasional cat. Then there were the quaking aspens who seemed beside themselves with joy to see me before slipping into winter hibernation. The steadfast spruces that stayed the course all year round, quietly wise. Breathe in, breathe out; just keep breathing, they whispered, and the wide open support kept me coming back for more.

Time has changed not only me but the park as well so being here now feels very different. The need to find refuge and answers is gone, and it feels like it does when you visit the place you grew up. You're all excited to revisit fun memories, but after awhile you know it's time to go. Home.