Spiritual Path

He said to me, "I've been searching for years for a spiritual path and I've finally found it." I didn't know him well. I mean how well does one know their favorite barista even if they do make you a brew every day? But his words struck a chord with me. "You found a spiritual path?" I couldn't believe I was asking this question in the middle of a crowded Starbucks. "Can you tell me about it?" I asked. "I would love to," he said. And so my journey began. Frightened, excited and apprehensive, I take a few steps forward each day, trying to leave past beliefs behind and make room for hope, peace, and a new way. Namaste.

Three Wishes, Minus Two.

He replied to her, "Your journey is a personal one. I can't take it for you."

"But," I said, "my inner compass seems to be broken. I' m looking for my destination, but oh, if I only had a glimpse of what it looked like."

"Sorry. You know men don't ask for directions."

"This is true," I sighed. "I'll go it alone but I'll always be looking back wishing you could have joined me."

"They have no good magazines..."

I hate the torture of waiting rooms.


It doesn't matter if its the doctor's office or the building department, I feel trapped in all of them. Impatience rears its pointed head and I start looking for some form of entertainment. People watching exhausted, I start to scrounge for a magazine.

Did I mention how much I hate waiting rooms that have crappy magazines or none at all? Ok, I can understand why the OB/GYN has Parenting magazine. But must they have 300 copies of it and nothing else? I don't have anything against parenting, but I'm over it. At least give me a choice in case I'm just too damn old to parent anything, anymore!

Today the wait was to be interminable. I grabbed a ticket as I entered. My number was 79. They just called the number 33 over the loudspeaker. I felt the anxiety bubble up in me like Mexican food does.

Please. Please. Let there be something here to read, I mumbled under my breath.

I glanced around. There was only one magazine in sight. I made my stealth approach. Oh no. The worst - it was an AARP publication. As I heard them call the next number, only 40 away from mine, I picked up the magazine and headed back to my seat.

Hmm. Dennis Quaid on the cover. He didn't look old. As a matter of fact, he looked damn good. Why was he in this magazine? To sate my curiosity I started flipping through the pages. No ads for Cover Girl makeup. No Cosmo tips on how to keep your man happy. No info on surrogate mothers or parenting tips.

Instead, I found a article on retirement - where, when and how much money do you need. I could relate to that. Which insurance companies cover knee replacement and what is the average recovery time. Yep. I had questions about that subject too.

I flipped back to the cover page to verify that this was AARP. What followed next was an out-of-body experience. I WAS reading AARP and I could relate...to almost every article.

I don't recall hearing the next 30 numbers called (guess I have the memory of an old person too) but when I got ready to leave I squirreled away that magazine into my purse like a shoplifter hiding her stash.

I still feel like a Como girl and I'll continue to buy Cover Girl makeup even though the models who advertise it weren't yet born the year I graduated from highschool. But, I will not join AARP or subscribe to their magazine. I will not give in to being that vintage. I will however graciously accept a senior citizen discount at the movie theater starting next month, that is as long as there is no one in line that knows me.

Did I mention how much I hate aging? :-)

Coming up next time: "Donald flies the coop without filing a flight plan." or "Where the hell is that duck?"

Always On the Wrong Side of the Door

Don't get me wrong.

I love my family. My two daughters are the sunshine of my every day. My sister - a mirror image of myself and a loving opportunity to change and improve at every turn. My boyfriend - the love of a lifetime - generous, kind and gorgeous. I'm a lucky person.

But then, there is the unconditional love of the four-legged, scratching, fighting, barking, bed-hogging, disgusting breathed, neurotic furballs that shadow my every move, every day.

My daughters can ask for 30 things a day from me; my animals ask for only 3 - love, food, and "Help, Mom! I'm on the wrong side of the door, again."

Don't get me wrong. I love my family, but oh those animals. They know how to steal my heart without a word.

The race is on for my greatest affection and I admit, it's looking like a 'photo finish.'

Gotta run...the litter box is calling my name.

**Tomorrow: Donald disappears without filing a flight plan.

Homesick

The air is cool today. The sunshine is warm with a much softer light than usual. Sure signs that Fall has arrived in Florida.

I love Indiana. It's my childhood stomping ground. But I don't often miss it...except at this time of the year.

I long for the seasons - spring, summer, winter and fall. How I miss watching Mother Nature announce the arrival of Halloween with pumpkin stands and hay bales, followed by Thanksgiving and then a snowy Christmas.

Here, we have different seasons - lobster season, hurricane season and tourist season. And we have the variable weather to go with them - hot and humid, hotter and more humid, and so damn hot and humid you can barely breathe.

Our trees' leaves don't change colors. They live forever or die a sudden death at the hands of one of our many tree 'hat-rackers' in town. It's an ugly sight lending no indication of the time of year it might be.

If we had any, we'd be sweating our balls off down here. In Indiana they're getting our their mittens and winter apparel.

When it drops below 75 here, in Florida, we get excited to wear our sweaters and scarves. They feel good early in the morning. But by lunch you could wring the perspiration out of your underwear and everyone fooled by the morning air, starts their strip-tease. Off come the layers, discard the socks, burn that jacket. So baffling to have bathing suit weather in October. Hmmm. Maybe a string bikini for a halloween costume? Disgusting!

I dream of red, yellow and orange leaves. I dream of the smell of burning leaves. No. Wait. That's the smell of the Everglades burning from 90 degree temps and no rain in a month. There go my allergies - looking forward to nasal drip and the feel of a vice-grip on my temples.

Ahhh...Autumn in the south.

Maybe I'll just turn my air conditioner down to 'really cold', close my eyes, and pretend that I'm a Hoosier once again.

Sept 6, 2009 Labor Day weekend

Just saw a man standing on the corner with a sign that read:

'Lost everything - job, house and wife. Please help and God bless.'

He was clean cut, apparently in good health and didn't have any signs of drug or alcohol addiction or mental illness.

I was 3 lanes away from him or I would have given him one of the McDonalds gift cards I carry in my wallet. In most cases I figure buying them a meal is better than cash for their habit. But this man looked different. He was obviously new at the begging concept. It was apparent by his embarrassment and inability to look in the eye of those passing by.

What does labor day mean to him? Bittersweet for the job lost? Hopelessness for the next meal to come? Lost and disappointed in a Country known for its wealth and generosity? Regret for decisions made and opportunities not taken? Wonderment at the destination of cars full of families and smiling faces passing by him? Wondering if he's ever been to where they're going or if he ever will?

I don't have answers to these questions. I probably wouldn't like the answers anyway.
I would love to be a part of the solution. I don't really know what the solution is.

So, I will buy more McDonalds gift cards and hand them out at the next corner where there is a human face, some mother's child, who has lost their way.

I am grateful to have a job this year and I hope you are too.

August 30, 2009

Have been inspired by the movie - 'Julie, Julia.' If Julie can start a blog and get famous, Dammit I can too! ha, ha.

Actually the inspiration has come in the form of discipline and focusing on the project at hand which is the memoir I have been working on for 3 years. Have written every day for the past 9 days and that's a first!

Have done less retail damage due to time at the keyboard however the dust bunnies are taking over the house because the vacuum cleaner refuses to run it's self. Ahh....priorities.

Must close this blog now and get to the book, or the words on this page are for naught!
Toodles.

Saturdays. I love them. I hate them.

Free time....but a restless time.
So much to do....so many tasks to avoid.

Feels like the rest of the world has a plan...I wrote mine down, but I lost it.

Sunday is around the corner.
Sundays. I love them. I hate them.

Sadness

The sky is blue, but it looks gray.

I am rested, but I feel tired.
So many are healthy, but so many are sick.

The shoes are the right color, but they don't fit.
I think I'm on the right road, but I can't make a left.

I want to cry, but the well is dry.

Stalled. Sinking. Hanging on. This too shall pass. Hurry.

P.S. Happy Birthday Mom!

Taking the 'high' road!

Damn life! It's kept me away from my blog...........ha, ha.

Today my palms are sweaty, heart rate escalated, mood -edgy, thoughts - racing.

Is it alcohol withdrawal? Jonesing for drugs? No, can't be those. I just celebrated my 10 years of sobriety.

It's R E T A I L withdrawal!

I need Starbucks coffee. I crave a trip up and down every aisle at Target. I deserve a new nail polish - after all, I've been wearing this color for at least the last 3 weeks!
My favorite consignment store is calling my name.

Isn't it my duty to shop to support the success of our flailing economy? Barack, doesn't the stimulus plan include my stimulating the retail world? After all, I AM very patriotic. I want to do my part.

Times are tough. I even gave up a movie last weekend. Must I retire my debit card as well?
I feel like a prisoner in my own home. Trapped behind the front door. Afraid to pick up my car keys for fear it will lead me directly to the smell of a sale.

Meanwhile, I glance again out the window again waiting impatiently for the mail carrier. Perhaps a Victoria Secret's catalogue will appear. Maybe a Home Depot flyer.

Or, maybe another charge card bill. Oh well, back in the wallet goes my debit card. Detox is a bitch.

Ain't Life Grand?

I wanted dad to be my hero. I desperately needed him to be my hero. Every life desire was second to the longing of this affirmation.

Could I find it by impressing him with my knowledge? Could I earn it by escaping from the Midwest? Would my sobriety and the changes of a life in recovery be enough to let me see behind his impenetrable wall?

I searched for a chink in his armor.

I knew he had a compassionate and sentient soul. I believed that’s where mine had come from. I was driven by the hunt to ferret it out of him.

Hope appeared and then was smashed again, and again. I was idled by futile attempts to scratch beneath the surface.

But I couldn’t give up the quest. Even before the blood on my fingers could dry, I would start to claw at the metal again.