“Mea Culpa Mea Culpa Mea Maxima Culpa…

Where’s the church, who took the steeple?  Religion is in the hands of some crazy-ass people Television preachers with bad hair and dimples The god’s honest truth is it’s not that simple It’s the Buddhist in you, it’s the Pagan in me. it’s the Muslim in him, she’s Catholic, ain’t she? It’s the born again look, its the WASP and the Jew…tell me what’s goin’ on, I ain’t gotta clue!”

The other night I was feeling pretty low and decided my heart and soul was needing some Jimmy Buffett. I’ve always been a Jimmy Buffett fan. Even after he was rude to my sister and brother-in-law when they were riding in the elevator with him to a Saturday Night Live broadcast. I just figured he was trying to get into his performing state-of-mind.

Jimmy has this great song, “Fruitcakes”, that always makes me laugh out loud and, at the same time, ponder the depth of the message and how it relates to our world. These days, my pondering goes even deeper. I chose this particular part of the song because it speaks so strongly of where we are right now. The truth is: religion…and our country…is in the hands of some real crazy-ass people. It amazes, dismays, disgusts and frightens me to no end. The “Fruitcakes” have taken over.

My great grandparents, on my mom’s side, came from Ireland, as indentured servants, according to my cousin. I never researched it, but I kinda like to think it might be true. Whatever. The main point is…I come from refugees. As do all of you who are reading this…unless your ancestors were Native Americans. The very basis of our country is/was that we welcome people from other countries to come and join us and, together, we help our country grow. Our forefathers recognized the fact that we are stronger together. My grandchildren know this. They are part of a generation who know that we are “ONE”. Oh, how I hope their message prevails.

So, as I go deeper into my 73 year old self, I think what I need to do is find a way to get beyond my physical issues,  overcome my Inner Sloth, and just get out there…and be present…and roar when necessary. Bottom line…”it’s the Buddhist in you, it’s the Pagan in me…It’s the Muslim in him, she’s Catholic ain’t she? ..It’s the born again look, its the WASP and the Jew”.  But now, we do have a clue.

“Mea Culpa Mea Culpa Mea Maxima Culpa”

I’m just trying to use what time I have left on Planet Earth,…and I’m hoping for, at least, ten more years… to speak my mind, share my heart, and hopefully inspire other grandmas  and, our younger generation, to stand up…step up…and speak for those whose voices are seldom heard. And…may it all be done…peacefully.  And, a little Buffet along the way, help make the medicine go down.

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Oh, these days!


Trying to make sense of this world. I think I was born cold, tired and a little bit sad and these have carried with me all the days of my life. It seems I’m always one of the three and, many time, all three.

Right now, I’m all three.

Cold... because it’s January and it’s supposed to b cold. Actually, it’s the longest cold month of the year. Even with that rationality, I still hate it. February is the shortest cold month of the year and I hate that too. But, the one month I most hate, deep in my being, is March. March is a fucking bitch, IMHO. I start out feeling all exited because spring officially begins mid-month and that’s something to look forward to. So, it starts cold and I mentally count down the days till spring…then a wonderful warmth fills the land and I relax, take my fuzzy socks off, pull out some lighter weight clothes and when my body starts to thaw a little, and I feel a little lightness in my step, the freeze come back with a vengeance. Time to bring the heavy duty socks out and begin layering. Then, it’s officially spring and it gets warm again and little flower buds are popping up everywhere and I begin to get into a calming warm weather mode…ahhhhh. Next day…fucking freezing.

Oh, and lets not forget the winds…March winds at the beach will make you feel like you’ve just been cut in half. They bend you over and make you wonder if you will ever be able to stand up straight again. As a young girl, I slumped, badly, and my aunt would say to me…Lynn…stand up straight! Your head gets in the door ten minutes before the rest of your body. Looking back on that, I wonder if I was preparing myself for these March winds. But, I digress. A bad habit of we old folk.

Tired.…some folks  try to tell me that ‘tired’ is a state of mind and to some degree, I agree. But, I think it’s more. Essentially, it’s my inner sloth. It’s not like I can just tell myself..quit being tired…and my inner energy bunny comes hopping out. I’m on my own….no bunny….just me and my sloth. I don’t ever remember not being tired. Riding my bike with friends around the ‘hood in Miami…I’d tell them…I have to go in now…I’m tired. At school, I would be so tired I just wanted to put my head on my desk and sleep. Which I did at times…especially during math class. Actually, that makes sense now that I think about it…math always makes me tired and sad. A double whammy. I push beyond the state of being tired when necessary and do the things that I consider essential, but the tiredness waits patiently and when my mission is accomplished, it comes and puts me in my place. Another fucking bitch, right?

Sad… is just there and usually it’s manageable, except when it’s not. I do suffer from depression…”acute depression” is the medical term and, like the month of March, it can be a fucking bitch. When and how it started, who knows? My dad was a Navy man and we moved every three years. What I wanted, or thought I wanted, was to live in one place and have friends who I didn’t have to worry about leaving. Lifetime friends is something I’ve always envied. Also, as an introvert and an empath, I tend to look at life through a lens that is just a fraction off the norm. Wherever I am, I feel the energy of the people around me and although my therapist has taught me some basic tools to deal with this, it doesn’t aways work. It can be completely overwhelming at times. And, sometimes it’s hard to let go. Fortunately, I do have wonderfully supportive people in my life.

My demons are feeling tired, sad and cold. What are your demons doing to you? All these words segue into my concern of the state of our country, and the world at large. It has me in a place that goes deeply into my being. This is a time in our history that I think many of us are going really deep inside and trying to figure it all out. I think it’s a time we need to confront our inner demons and make them either wake up and shape up or get the hell out of our way and so we can make things happen. The whole world needs us now.

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Awakening the Inner Sloth

As I struggle with my inner sloth to get back into the habit of writing, I can’t seem to settle into any benign thoughts. What is present in my NOW could, pretty much, be described as the ravings of a maniac. There’s the old lady me who wants to write about peace and love and babies, flowers and puppies and kitty cats. But, there’s a stronger old lady me who just wants to see how many time I can legitimately add the word…fuck… to every other sentence. And, on some days, it just simply belongs in every fucking sentence. And, on really bad days, it is the fucking sentence.

So, I go back to the original purpose of this blog. To write about what it’s like to be in my seventies. To reminisce and guide and share and maybe even inform every now and then. Not to necessarily be reverent in every piece, but to come across as a thoughtful, enlightened, wise and, occasionally, sweet old lady. One who has opinions, but expresses them gently and wisely. With an occasional fuck thrown in here and there. Well, at this particular point in time, I have a lot more ‘fucks’ in me than when I first began this journey of words. Hells bells, I wouldn’t have imagined this at twenty or thirty, forty or fifty, sixty or…the latest…seventy. Fuck! I can’t even imagine it at 73.

In a millions years, I would have never thought about the possibility of someone like donaldtrump becoming the PRESIDENT of the UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. As a Southerner, I know how low people can go, but this is lower than anything I ever imagined. The hypocrisy of the Republicans overwhelms me. I remember, so fucking well, when Bush, Jr. was president and any comment we made against him was considered “unpatriotic, un-American, and  treasonistic, to boot. Think: Dixie Chicks. Look what happened to them.

Yet, when Obama was elected, their only goal was to make him a one-term president. They questioned his religion and his birthplace and did everything they could to try to convince people that he was an illegitimate president. They lied about him and his wife and his children, all the while, holding claim to the “Christian” persona. What a fucking joke. And now, they expect us to accept donaldtrump as President of the United States of America. No fucking way.

I’m thinking my inner sloth has been awaked and it’s time to write. It’s time to forget about trying to create a blog that will endear and gather readers. If you like me…fine and if you don’t…that’s fine too. Bottom line, I am a grandmother for peace, but I won’t sell my soul to build a following. We, human beings, are at a place where we are called to decide who we are and what we want to be. With all my heart, I hope we go in the direction of peace and acceptance. That is the only way we can survive. I’m not real optimistic at this point in time.

If we are to survive, what do we need in our survival kit? Where do we go? I think I just created the topic of my next blog. Stay tuned.

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Moving On

Saying goodbye to 2016 was not difficult,for me,in any way,shape, or form.

Looking back on 2016, I have to say, it ranks up there with the top 10 most difficult years of my life. And, as you know,I ain’t no spring chicken.

The shit show started in early spring when I went for my annual checkup. After examining my boobs, my doctor thought he felt a mass and ordered a mammogram. I was concerned, but not overly so because my boobs are lumpy and bumpy by nature. So, I had the mammogram and a few days later, came home to a message on my phone from the doctor’s office. The message was, essentially…the results from your mammogram are in and the doctor has some concerns…please call for an appointment.

‘I have breast cancer’ was my first reaction. I’d had another scare a few years back, actually the same day my dad died, but it all turned out fine. Except for my dad, of course.

I made the appointment and asked my Dave to go with me. Another rarity. Mz. Independent Woman don’t ask for help from anyone, right? Needless to say, Dave was determined to be with me anyway. Well, turned out my boobs were fine…no cancer…no anything other than lumpy boobs. I was torn between…told ya so and and deep,deep relief.

A few minutes later, he told me that his concern was that the x-ray showed plaque in the left artery of my heart. I was so happy to learn I didn’t have breast cancer, a little plaque didn’t seem like such a big deal. After all, how can a seventy-three year old not have a little plaque here and there? Right? So, he wanted me to take meds for the heart thing and I said…ok…at least I don’t have breast cancer. Also, he wanted me to have to have a CT scan. OK, said I. Do whatever you need! Give me radiation and pills that may kill me. No worries! At least, I don’t have breast cancer.

So, I got through the CT scan and then summoned back to the doc’s office where I learned that I did, in fact, have some plaque on my heart, but most concerning was a fungus that showed up in my right lung. WTF, right? This lung was highly compromised by a horrific bout with pneumonia 1998. I remember the year because my mom died in January of that year. It was also the year I quit smoking. But, turns out, a lung fungus is not uncommon and all we have to do is keep an eye on it. Ok…I can do this.

During this whole process, I found the courage to tell him about my ongoing depression and asked if there was a mild drug I might take to help me find my way back into the light. He gave me a prescription. I don’t know if this drug just didn’t mix well with my heart meds or if it just was not in sync with my body. What I do know is that it played havoc on my body. Trust me, you don’t want the gory details. Think IBSD-X and then some. The medical advice:just hang in for a coupe weeks and it should get better. Should, being the key word, right?

So, I stayed on the drugs, both of them, thinking in a couple weeks, it’ll all be better. At least I was free from breast cancer. Funny how the mind words, isn’t it? Well, hang in with me…this gets even more convoluted.

Less than a week later…on a Tuesday afternoon, I was taking the recycle can back to it’s home, which is beneath the stairs under the house. For some reason, I was having a hard time pushing it back, so I moved a little closer, pushed a little harder, and leaned a little more towards the stairs and bumped…the holy hell…out of my head. Didn’t pass out, but felt dizzy enough to lean against the post for a few minutes.

A few days later I was so overcome with headaches, I made another appointment with my doctor. This was the fourth time I’d seen him in the past two months. So, this, in itself, was quite stressful. I’m a once a year kinda gal and yes,I do know how lucky I am for that. A brain scan was ordered. The results were good…A) I still had a brain (something I’ve questioned quite a bit as I got older…and older) and B) no sign of a bleed or any other serious issue. That was a relief…sort of like the relief that I didn’t have breast cancer, if not more so.

I decided to take myself off both medications. The more I read about statins, the more I feared them and, to be honest, I just couldn’t deal with a head injury plus living with the side-effects of these drugs. The side effects from the anti depressant lasted for six weeks. The good news was:I lost weight. The bad news was:I was afraid to eat and lived in constant fear of a horribly embarrassing accident, especially while I was in LA for my granddaughter’s graduation and the graduation festivities.

The headaches continued…some days worse than others. Confusion and insecurity became the ruling forces of the day. I couldn’t remember some of the very simple, everyday things. I was afraid to drive, but I did. I wasn’t afraid that I might cause an accident. I was afraid I couldn’t find where I was supposed to be. I drove slowly…obeyed the speed limits…even drove under the speed limit on occasions. If you know me, you know how I hate to admit that. Everything confused me.

My son, daughter-in-law and grandson were here for a week. I tried so hard to appear normal and I think I, somewhat, succeeded because they blamed my weirdness on my wine consumption. Oh mercy, those of you who really know me and my capacity for wine, would get a real chuckle out of that.

Finally, I went to a neurologist and he was one of those human beings who are so very kind it just makes you want to weep. You know what I mean, right?

He injected cortisone into three areas of my skull and referred me to a physical therapist. I had 10 sessions with the PT’s and they were both just awesome. The combination of the cortisone and therapy made all the difference in the world. After ten sessions of PT, my headaches were much more manageable. I know that I need to continue with the exercises and some weeks I do better than others.

Mentally, I feel almost back to normal. As everyone explained, this is similar to a football player’s head injury. The front of your brain take the hit and the back part of your brain takes the real damage. I’m told it takes up to a year to completely get back to where I was. The funny thing is..I was always a tiny bit south of norm.

So, after all this, I’m thinking, maybe I can just be OK living just a little more south of norm. At least I don’t have breast cancer.

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Mama Dot Beads

Sitting here trying to navigate through my brain to find some words that might speak about something pertinent to my state of mind. Unfortunately, the words are kind of like scrambled eggs. Picture a plate of scrambled eggs…you know they’re eggs, but their form has changed and it’s hard to differentiate the white from the yolk…assuming they are properly scrambled, of course. And…trust me, my words are properly scrambled in a very professional and thorough sort of way.

Moday, I made the trip home from the mountains and it was a tedious, hellacious drive from the mountains to the flatlands of Wadesboro. Torrential rain coming down the latter section of the mountain and all the way through Shelby and worst of all…I-85. Here I am, a 71 year old woman, who can’t see worth a lick-in- hell with this kind of rain, trying to go fast enough not to get run over by the trucks, but not so fast that my ailing, old car won’t do something dangerously weird. I was tense beyond tense and tried to stay in the middle lane and just keep up with traffic as best as possible. All the while, pretending I could see.

Hanging over the mirror in my car are some peace beads, a purple suncatcher and my Mama Dot prayer beads. Every few minutes, I grabbed onto the prayer beads and just said a little prayer to whomever might be listening and hopefully, somewhat, in control.

I didn’t want to ask for too much…like please get me all the way home safe…that seemed a bit greedy. It was more like…please just let me get off this fu**ing mountain. Once I got down to the incredibly beautiful flatlands, it was bad, but not so terrifying…until I got to I-85. Then it became, please let me get through this side of Gastonia. After that, I grabbed the Mama Dot beads and asked that I…please…be able to see my exit onto I-485….on I-485, it was…please let me make it to the 218 exit. In my mind, I thought if I could just get to 218, the really bad rain will be over. Wrong! Back to the Mama Dot beads.

Finally, I got through the rain and the rest of the trip was a breeze…weather wise. My problem became breathing through the pain that had come from three nd a half hours of driving in a state of major stress. I couldn’t turn my neck, which was a bit of a nuisance, but fortunately, there weren’t that many occasions calling for it anyway.

Finally, I got home…safely…and all in one piece. Thank you, Mama Dot and God and anyone else who helped guide me.

Writing this helps me understand why my brain wasstuck in a scrambled eggs mode…I have to write through this experience before I can go on with anything else. I questioned myself about the shoulda…woulda…couldas re posting this because it’s mostly just personal wandering through the shadows. Then I thought…well, don’t we all have shadows that require a little wandering? Aren’t we all so terrified at times that we feel like the only way we can survive is to…focus..focus…focus and pray…pray…pray?

We may have different ideas of to whom we pray, but does that really matter? I prayed to Mama Dot and she brought me home. No doubt she had some help in doing that. Whatever…I am so happy to be home with my hubby and my Sadie Mae dog and…even though the weather sucks…my heart is filled with sunshine…and appreciation.

Ok…the scrambled eggs have been scraped away and now, hopefully, I can find my real words. But then…what is more real than a story about Mama Dot’s prayer beads bringing me home?

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Continuing the Journey

Last night, as I was trying to post the blog I had written for the end of January, I somehow managed to delete it. (deep sigh) It was about recapping the month and my never ending search to figure out life within the world in which we live. Posting the blog was part of my goal for January, but obviously, that didn’t work out. The good news is, this didn’t destroy me like it might have a few years ago. So, that’s progress, right?

January brought hope, renewal, death, grief, joy, action, peace, love, gatherings of friends, celebration, gratitude and acceptance. Probably more, but my mind is tired, so that must suffice for now. Looking back, I see I have listed twelve and there could be many more, but…twelve seems like a good fit.

The blog I deleted was two pages long and it probably didn’t need to be that long. If you know me, you also know that I, sometimes, tend to go on and on and on. So, in honor of brevity, I’m going to make this one a bit shorter than usual.

I’m in the Act 3 stage of my life and I’m still learning. If you’re under sixty, and reading this, I hope this gives you hope. Hope that you have the opportunity to continue learning as long as you are alive.

For now, here’s what I know: No matter your age, you keep on learning. If you don’t, the problem is within you. Kindness matters. Love matters. Family matters…unless they are so far beyond your core beliefs, you simply have to let them go. Friends matter, but with same restrictions as  family.  Justice, equality and freedom matter…no restrictions.  Peace matters….no restrictions. I could go on and on…but the point is…we all decide what matters in our life.

What doesn’t matter is…our age. So, even though I’m in the third act of my life…I still matter. Some parts of society may not agree, but… what do they know, right?

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New Years Eve Reflections

New Years Eve…2014

We had to cancel our plans to celebrate NYE with very special friends, so I’m reminiscing about past eves of the new year. When I look back on the many years, I realize the few NYE dreams I’ve had throughout my life, were pretty much fulfilled.

The first was New Years Eve at Times Square: It finally happened in 1980. To move on past the pain of getting royally screwed with child support…in court…by the good-old boys, I decided to take my 14 year old son to NYC simply because we both wanted to do it. I saw it as our last opportunity to just do whatever the hell we wanted.

So, we flew to NYC and took a cab to our hotel,The Piccadilly. It was a wonderfully funky place and we loved the location and the room itself. There was no shower, but a huge,footed bathtub, which turned out to be absolutely heavenly in the oh-so-frigid, weather. I noticed that the window ledge was incredibly wide, so we walked to the neighborhood store and bought, milk, oj, cereal, bread, jelly, potato chips and M&Ms. Next, we stopped by the liquor store so I could buy a bottle of vodka. This provided us with breakfast, snacks, and, much welcomed, screwdrivers for me. Bare essentials, ya know?

There was a theater right across the street and, for the life of me, I can’t remember the name of the play, but the main actor was David Bowie. My son sat right by that window during performances just in case Bowie stepped outside the theater. Like me, he was a believer in the possibilities.

This was just a few weeks after John Lennon was killed, so we made the obligatory trek to the Dakota to stand vigilance. I will never forget the intensity of the emotions that flowed in all directions from that building. I don’t know how long we stayed…long enough to fear that we may freeze to death…but, this was one time, I felt I needed to follow my son’s cue. When he was ready, we left.

On NYE, we put on layers and layers and headed out to Time Square….we’re at-the-ready for whatever comes our way. The noise and the crowds were overwhelming, but we managed to find a little spot where we weren’t actually being trampled. We met people from all over the country…except NYC. Dick Clark’s voice shouted out over everyone…people were dancing and screaming and just having a great time. The countdown started and when the clock reached 12:00 and “Happy New Year” was being shouted by everyone, a man,from Chicago, who had no teeth, grabbed me, and kissed me. My first thought was…OMG!!!..is this what I can expect from the New Year?

Bottom line, so many times during out time in NYC, I looked at my son’s face and saw pure joy. I knew that no matter what financial issues I would face, this was worth every penny. I had taken this boy away from all he knew, but maybe, just maybe, this would open his mind and heart to the possibilties that lie ahead.

NYE…1982…another NYE dream was to be somewhere that…at midnight… I would be on a dance floor, with someone I loved, and all the balloons would be falling from the ceiling and bouncing on our heads and the dance floor and everywhere. I had that experience with someone I loved, or thought I did. However, our relationship wasn’t meant to last, but it did allow that one dream to come true. And, I will be forever grateful for that memory. It was all that I dreamed it would be.

NYE…1987…the NYE dream of a quiet evening, laying on the floor, next to the man I loved…in front of a fireplace, wine glasses in hand, and listening to beautiful, romantic music. This was my Dave, and we’ve had many beautuful NYE’s since. Not always exciting, not always actually staying awake until midnight to greet the New Year, but knowing that we were together and, in our own space, and …all was well with our world.

The NYE celebration of 2000…Thalian Hall…fun-filled night…riding home in a limousine…staying up all night…TV on…watching the new year’s celebrations all over the world. Last year, in LA, with my grandaughter and her friend…and the pizza guy. Crazy night!

This year, it’s just Dave, Sadie and me. Very quiet, not what we’d planned, but …peaceful and filled with love. I told Dave I was writing this blog and he asked me which was my favorite NYE. Thinking about it, I realize there is no one favorite. I loved them all…for the dream they filled. Each experience presented itslf in it’s own time. Bottom line…there was always love. That’s what it’s all about.

I look forward to many more opportunities to celebrate a New Year. No matter how old I am, I think I’ll always believe that each new year brings us an opportunity to do a little better and to be a little better. Might as well give it a try.

Happy New Year! May 2015 be a year of dreams come true, mostly happy moments, and always…Peace.

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Thinking 50!

In my last session with my ‘shrink’, and I use that term very jokingly, she suggested that I think of myself as a 50 year old, as opposed to my actual age of 71… and counting. Being a profoundly literal person, I had to grapple with that for a bit, but the more I think about it, the more I like it. After all, “they” are always telling us that 50 is the new 35 and 60 is the new 40, so why should I think twice about being 50? Right?

Again, being profoundly literal, I had to go back and think about where I was at 50, and truth be told, I’m in a much better place now. Without even a tiny doubt, I’m happier and more grounded and certainly much more evolved. So, if I think about who I am now and just make the minor shift in thought of my actual age, I begin to see the Light.

The point of this is to help me accept and embrace the fact that even at 71, my life ain’t over yet. I can’t keep thinking that I’m too old to write a book or too old to experience my Hawaii and Italy dreams, or, most importantly, too old to make a difference. Those negative thoughts are the direction I was going and it was frightening and depressing the hell out of me.

Part of it comes from the recent death of my friend who was just 6 weeks older than me. She had so much more to give and I mourn the loss of her and the gifts she had to offer. Also, I think more about the end of life in general and the end of my life in particular.

My shrink…actually, I think of her as my angel, helped me see that, much as I loved my friend, and much as I still mourn her passing, her death age has nothing to do with me. I need to let go of the fear and just live my life as long, and as well, as I possibly can.

So, that’s my new focus. Live every day with intention, even if it’s just to make it through the day. Spend my time doing what I enjoy. Worry less about dust and more about beach time…or Sadie time..or creativity time. The people who love me don’t care if my house is dusty…they care about me and my happiness. Which is exactly how I feel about them, but somehow don’t allow the same leniency for myself.

I’m 50! (tee…hee) I have a whole lot to give and plenty of time to give it. But, before I can free the best part of me, I need to let go of the inner critic. That may take some doing, but, WTF….what have I got to lose? I’m 50! Right? And…remember when I said I was 71…and counting? I’m not counting anymore.

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“Life’s too short to live the same day twice.”

Don’t you just love that quote? It came from a movie I watched the other day on HBO, which we’re getting FREE for three months! Naturally, I’m trying to watch and/or record all the shows and movies I think might be even slightly interesting. This happens every couple years, or so, and I feel considerable pressure…actually, I feel it my duty to watch or record, and sometimes both, as much as I can. I don’t want to look back at these 3 months of free HBO and be stricken with a serious case of the coulda…woulda…shoulda’s.

Anyway, the movie I was watching, ‘Monster-in-Law’, or something like that, was really quite funny. Jane Fonda was in it, and I do love her, so I figured it was worth my time. It was not like I had planned to spend the afternoon saving the world or cleaning the bathrooms, or anything else of serious significance.

The quote was spoken by Jennifer Lopez, who played a hippie-dippie soon-to-be daughter-in law of Jane. I loved her role…she was a sweet, loving…very authentic woman…very much unlike the hellacious character Jane Fonda played.

Enough of the movie…it’s the quote I’m writing about.

But, just to tell you…if you haven’t seen this movie, it’s worth your time…especially if you are overly busy with your life or hell-bent on saving the world. A little comic break is good for the soul.

She used this quote, that came from her father, to explain her delightfully diverse “career”. She did many things,like walking dogs…working as a receptionist in a doctor’s office…and yoga teacher. I couldn’t relate to the dog walking gig, I have enough issues with my own dog…nope to yoga teaching…can’t even touch my toes…but doctors office receptionist…maybe…so long as the patients weren’t total assholes. But, again, I digress.

What I took from the message was somewhat of an affirmation of my life long battle against routine. For way too many years, I had to fit myself into a very uncomfortable ritual…and it always made me feel like I was back in the days when I had to squeeze myself in to a girdle…the battle of the bulges, so to speak Only, instead of bulges being forced to behave, it was my inner spirit. Looking back, I don’t know why in the hell I made myself do that. It was expected…yes..but,now I question…by whom? And…why did I listen?

I was a Navy brat. Routine was a way of life, demanded by my father and continually fought by me…his wayward daughter. That’s another blog all together.

So, at 71 years of age and, supposedly a woman of wisdom, I totally agree with the mindset of trying not to live any day twice. We need to do something that will make us feel alive. Rattle our cage and if it happens to rattle the cages of those close by, so be it…we’re actually doing them a favor…whether they know it or not. Bottom line,it encourages me to live with less expectation and more creation.

I realize this is quite a convoluted path to getting my point across, but predictably, my mind wanders and you might as well go along with me. Sometimes, the gems of wisdom are in the wandering, ya know?

Our younger generations need to know that it’s ok to just do what your heart tells you….even if it takes a few jobs to make ends meet…at least you will be living from your authentic self. True enough, you might not make as much money, but…who says you won’t? Consider yourself worth the risk.

Who knows…maybe if we had more happy people, the world would be a happier place. My inner wise self tells me that we are worth the risk.

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The Process of Letting Go

I really questioned myself about posting this…thinking I don’t want to ‘overdo’ the subject. We’ve all gone through grief, right? It seems that I’ve been thinking about life and death issues so much in the last few months and am beginning to feel a bit trapped in that mode of thinking…and feeling. But…I realize I’m not done with Nan, and I probably will never be, but for now…she deserves more words. That’s my ‘feelings’ talking and I’m responding to that…not what my brain tells me. WTF does a brain know about losing a dear friend, right?

It’s been a few weeks since my friend died, but it still seems kind of like a bad dream, you know? Since I’ve know her, I don’t think that I’ve ever gone this long without talking to her. We didn’t talk every day…or even every week, but I think two weeks was pretty much the longest period without at least a phone call. Sometimes, it was just a really short conversation…hey…how ya doing…thinking about ya…lunch soon?,etc. And, towards the end,it was more me just wanting to do something..anything…that might possibly bring her just a tiny bit of joy.

This “moving on” stage is not easy. There’s a void that really can’t be filled. And…this is me, her friend, talking. I know it’s ever so much more difficult for her family. We are all trying to ‘understand’ it. Yes, we know about fucking cancer, but sometimes its’ survivable. Nan believed she could survive…she didn’t want to die…she had things to do…important things.

Like…being there for her granddaughters wedding. She talked about what she would wear and had a brown dress in mind, but was worried that maybe the color was too drab and it wouldn’t fit her properly. She was losing so much weight. Which was something she wanted to do. But not this way.

And, dammit to hell, she wanted to vote. She wanted to have one more opportunity to cast her ballot for the people she believed would best take care of all the people…and not just a few.

And, she wanted more time to take a few trips with her husband. And, she wanted a few more meetings with our book group, The Coven…and she wanted us to read and discuss the fucking book.

She wanted more! We, who loved her, wanted more…of her incredible spirit of survival…be it for herself or the world at large.

And so…and so….and so…

Be at peace my friend… I’m hoping to find my own peace…and that your family, in their own time, will find theirs. And…I hope that any of you reading this will simply go on about your life, only with more awareness of doing what you love.

I think Nan’s final message to us all would be…Carpe Diem…and do it in a way that best serves all of us…companions…upon Planet Earth.

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