The Center of My Self

 

I'm moving to a new blog home! My old laptop just doesn't seem to play well with MSN Spaces any longer and acts really quirky so I'm giving Blogger a try. So far, so good - of course, I've only posted one post so far.

 

 

I'll be unpacking, so ignore the moving boxes as I settle in. Better yet, can you help me move the sofa over to that wall? Hmmm ... or how 'bout over there? ...

 

One of my super powers doesn't involve leaping tall buildings in a single bound or going faster than a speeding bullet. It's a relatively useless super power, unfortunately, but I'm really, really good at it! 

 

What is this wondrous super power which I possess? I have an almost uncanny ability to spot typos and other grammatical errors, either as they blaze across the TV screen or in print. (See, I told you it was relatively useless and won't save the world from zombies or evil empires, unfortunately.)

 

Examples:

1. Watching "My Parents' House" a couple of weeks ago, the credits were rolling and I spotted 3 typos almost in a row. And you know how fast those credits roll! (I'd taped it and went back to double-check. Yes, I taped. No Tivo here.) Check it out:

You know the old fairy tale about the princess who could feel the pea under several layers of mattresses? She had an extra-special sensitivity for peas and I have an extra-special sensitivity for spotting stuff like this.

 

2. This morning I spotted another on a weight-loss commercial on TV:

3. This morning, on esteelauder.com, I was reading about the "science behind the results," a Q&A interview with EL's VP of R&D. I read through a few questions and then noticed that the questions I'd already read were posted twice. Huh? Clearly a copy/paste error by whomever does their content management, but all it would take is one quick read-through to spot this error.

 

4. LA Ink - don't get me started on this one. The TV show uses captions throughout that are riddled with misspellings and typos. OK, I realize this isn't the Discovery Channel and it's not necessarily programming for intellectuals, but come on. Even people with tats read and deserve good spelling and grammar.

 

Who's proofreading this stuff? I want THAT job! As a QA Manager (testing Web sites and interactive media), I was meticulous, detailed and thorough about the copy, ensuring there were no typos, that the grammar was correct, that the copy conformed to standard usability guidelines and user practices.

 

It's distracting to see so many textual errors in media that is supposed to be professionally produced. When people see errors on TV or Web sites or print media, the subconscious thought is "If they can't get something simple like the spelling right, what's that say about their product?" I even worked in a company once that used several variants of their own company name: capitalization, partial capitalization, spaces between elements of the name, no spaces between elements, periods, no periods. Protecting the brand through clear and consistent use of the company name in all media should be a no-brainer.

 

A grammatical goof last week cracked me up (not the tragic incident, of course, but the goof in the headline):

It's a shame he missed it! But is missing a wife's murder a crime?

 

 

It's been one month today since I was laid off, a time during which I'm ever more aware of how perfectly the Divine works in my life, providing abundant blessings and grace ...

 

Each morning, I strap on my brace, making sure it fits firmly and snugly, lace up my brown Vans and take a walk through the surrounding neighborhood. Now that I'm between opportunities, I have time to do this for myself, enjoying exercise and fresh air at the start of my day, instead of driving off to work. I say hello to people I meet, see the changes people are making to their homes and landscaping, admire the garden designs, or the new paint or the new addition that's going up. I notice the changes in the greenery as we move toward fall, certain flowers fading while others are still rip-roaring with blooms. It's a beautiful time, a time when I can connect with all that is around me. This morning I had a nice chat with a man walking a beautiful brindle pitt bull dog, a rescue dog. Friendly hellos and smiles to others, fresh air, a wave to a neighbor - not a bad way to start a morning.

 

In my little garden, I'm noticing that the salvia responds better to more water than I'd been giving it when I was working. I didn't know that before I was laid off. The skies are clear and blue, the ocean breeze a bit brisk and cool, early for this time of year. Things that I wouldn't notice if I was in a beige office cubicle, working between two monitors for 10 hours a day. I feel like I'm opening, releasing, remembering.

 

Remembering who I am. The last few years, I've been telling friends that I've felt that I'd forgotten who I am. Work, stress, not enough time, bills, health issues - no time to be me, to be a friend, to volunteer at church, to connect with cousins and family the way I wanted, the way that fulfills me and gives me happiness. For one job, my commute was about 4 hours a day in heavy LA traffic. In another, I was a square peg in a round hole; not a good fit, no matter how I tried to adapt to a company culture that was so different from any other I'd ever experienced.

 

The past couple of weeks, people have been "showing up" to remind me of who I am. It's been wonderful! A beloved cousin who I haven't spoken with in many years suddenly called from Korea where she's living right now. "You sound just the same!" she said, which made me so happy. An old high school friend has shown up and we've exchanged e-mails filled with the same intelligent wit that we shared in high school. "Your personality is as sparkling as ever!" she wrote. A former co-worker has also shown up, a real girl friend who I always enjoy so much and who I can share girl things with. Whenever she and I reconnect, it's always at the most perfect time and she brings me laughter and refreshment and joy in being female. I sometimes wonder why we don't stay in touch more regularly, but then I realize that, too, is part of God's perfect plan.

 

The Tibetan language has no word for "unemployment". For most of the world, work used to be seasonal: farmers and ranchers would work their land or care for their stock for most of the year. After the harvest, the land - and the people - would rest, being renewed, refreshed seasonally. Other chores would take the place of the usual farming and ranching, in accordance with the seasons. The land and the people lived in harmony with nature and the cycles of the year. Western culture doesn't embrace this same harmony. Our 24/7 accessibility to work - Blackberrys blazing, e-mails flooding inboxes night and day - doesn't provide the rest and renewal cycle that our natures need.

 

Right now, I feel that the Divine - my Lord and God - has given me this time to reconnect and to remember who I am, to renew my spirit. I am happier and brighter, laughing more and laughing more easily. I'm opening up and releasing - aaaahhhhhh! -  letting go of what was, to embrace what is.  This is a time of restoration, rejuvenation, growth, beauty. A time to pause and to remember to live with intention. Thank you, God.

 

Namaste

 

 

crit-crit ... crit-crit ... I finally notice the sound and lazily look up from my book. Lazily, because I'm out in the quiet of my patio reading,  the bright sun warming my skin - my arms, my head, my face, my legs - relaxing me from the outside in, as I lose myself in reading about a year in Provence.  

 

crit-crit ... crit-crit ... I casually scan my little patch of garden around me, looking for the source of the sound. The fountain next to my chair burbles happily, the relaxing sound of the water spilling over, adding to the peaceful reverie I am in. The ocean breeze gently rustles through the garden, lightly tinkling the wind chime, whispering through the leaves of the jasmine growing up and over the arbor, dancing through the ficus tree that hangs over from next door like a nosy neighbor leaning over the fence.

 

crit-crit ... crit-crit ... Ah ... there you are, my friend. Next to the lavender that has grown larger than the spot in which it was planted, I spy her sipping at the crimson blooms of the salvia, the plant's little florets dancing at the tips of long wands. She dips her long beak into each flower, her compact, brown body suspended in mid-air, the bright flash of ruddy red on her chest appearing as she moves from the salvia to the rose, abundant with graceful red buds ready to open.

 

crit-crit ... crit-crit ... Very slowly, I put the bookmark in place and quietly lay my book on the glass table next to my chair. This is a "moment", something I want to pay attention to, to be fully present to. Moving my thoughts from the story of a time-is-of-no-consequence lunch in a Provencal village, I now watch the hummingbird as she deliberately leans into each rose bud, taking in the nectar, her wings beating in a whir. The sun shines on us both, the breeze lifts again as I watch, peace and relaxation - and gratitude - filling my being.

 

 

 

 

It's Mom's Birthday! Happy Birthday, Mom!

 

Mom used to joke that she was like Jack Benny, forever 39. As my cousins got older, she'd tease them "You're catching up to me!" Since she crossed over in 1990, Mom is now ageless, forever still beautiful and laughing, forever loving and caring.

 

If she still had a physical self here, I'd bake her a cake. What kind would she like? Probably devil's food with chocolate icing. Mom used to bake great cakes with her own homemade icing that we kids all loved. If there was extra icing left over (and somehow there usually was), she'd let us spread it on a slice of bread - yum! I liked that better than the cake itself.

 

What kind of present would I get for her? Maybe we'd go shopping together and I'd let her pick something out. We used to shop together a lot when I was in jr. high and high school, taking off to the mall after dinner to browse. Maybe she'd pick out a new top for herself or maybe some perfume or jewelry. Mom loved earrings! For her birthday, I'd play piano for her because I know it always made her happy to listen to me play. 

 

My dear brothers and Dad woud be there to celebrate her birthday, all of us teasing one another the way our family always does, with much love and caring affection. She'd get calls and cards from her brothers and her sister, funny cards usually. She'd also get cards from her nieces and nephews - several of them her godchildren - who she loved so very dearly.

 

I'll be heading over to the cemetery now to take flowers to her grave, to polish her headstone, to sit and pray. Her spirit is in the air and in our hearts, filling us with her love and with her joy still. I like for others to see that her headstone is cared for, that this is a person who is loved and who receives flowers on her birthday. I can't bake her a cake today, but I can make sure her headstone gleams and that a bright, happy bouquet gives others a glimpse of the joy Mom gives us.

 

For more memories of Mom, see: http://thecenterofmyself.spaces.live.com/blog/cns!D1DB82ECCAB17BFE!160.entry  

 

Happy Birthday, Mom!

 

 

 

 

Looking up from the paper, Mom said "I hear this band is really great." Passing the newspaper advertisement to me across the kitchen table, I saw the ads for the various albums and 45s recently released. "I think I'll get the album," she said, as I looked at the photo of 4 cute guys with longish hair and dressed in mod-style suits. It was 1964, I was in 4th grade, and, knowing Mom's great taste in music, I was interested in these guys that the ad called "The Beatles".

 

Camelot was over. Our president had been assassinated a few months earlier. Seeing pictures of our beautiful, graceful Jackie made me cry. What would she do without her Jack? What about John-John and Caroline? What would any of us do?

 

Mom had campaigned for JFK, enlisting my two brothers and I to stuff and stuff and stuff envelopes of campaign materials. He was our man, handsome, charismatic with a compelling vision for an America of unity and goodness, of Peace Corps volunteers promoting the cause of peace through living and working in developing countries. "... ask not what your country can do for you — ask what you can do for your country." An altruistic and noble vision. Our garage was the polling place for the election in our area.

 

Jackie's style became America's style. We went from full skirts a la "I Love Lucy" to straighter shift dresses, very stylish. Ever on top of the trends, Mom made several for me, even though - with my skinny body, bookworm glasses  and knee socks - I wasn't the style fashionista that she was. My Argentine ballet teacher, though, dressed more boldly, with bell-bottomed hip huggers clinging to the curves of her perfectly toned dancer's body, cropped top tied under her bosom.

 

We were on the playground at recess (I was on the monkey bars) when our teachers came out and called us in to class. Our beloved President had been shot, everyone was crying,  no one knew what had happened, how he was doing. I remember going home and crying with Mom. The next few days, as his death became a fact and a new president was sworn in, were hazy, as we moved through the motions of living. All of America was in mourning. The end of Camelot, the end of JFK's dream for a better America.

 

Several months later, sitting at the kitchen table, I looked at the Beatles album in the ad that Mom showed to me. She bought the album and would play it and dance as she did housework, singing as she loved to do. It was good to see her happy again. I liked these guys, The Beatles.

 

 

 

I took my granddaughters (10 and 7) to see Hairspray today. Great family movie, lots of fun, gags that had everyone in the theater rolling, Christopher Walken is memorable ("my heart only beats for a size 60") - just a great, fun movie. So much my kind of movie: nothing explodes, no car crashes, no violence - instead of gore and explosions and spectacle, the movie relies on a well-told story, characters who are engaging and some great choreography and music throughout.

 

It's been some years since I saw the original and I'd forgotten about the racial integration issues in the movie. My, but Queen Latifah does a wonderful job with her role! I've loved her since the beginning of her career when I saw her on a talk show and she spoke with such intelligence and humility when interviewed. When she's marching, the song she belts out is done with such beauty and such dignity, it becomes much more than a song, but an anthem for the time, and the people of the time.

 

Growing up in the 60s/early 70s, these were my times. Blacks and whites marching to change the laws that prevented blacks from voting. (They had the right, but literacy and Jim Crow laws effectively denied them access until the Voting Rights Act of 1965.) After the movie, I tried to explain to my grands a bit of what it was like then, of people segregated and discriminated against because their skin had more pigment than others. My youngest asked me "Could you vote then?" I laughed, and she said "well, I just thought since your skin is dark ..." I told them about the Selma march, about church bombings, about Rosa Parks.

 

For most of Hairspray, the white girls wear dresses with full skirts, their hair in flips or hives, ratted and sprayed, of course. At the end, Tracy Turnblad appears in a mod look with straight hair and a geometric print dress. These were times when the world was changing in many different directions: hippies preaching peace and flower power ... vietnam and peace protests ... civil rights marches and the drive for integration .... Camelot and the Kennedys ... the British invasion of the Beatles, the Stones, Herman's Hermits ... Twiggy, mods, Carnaby Street fashion .. mini skirts, the bikini and the shift (which I first saw on Jackie) ... Laugh-in and the Smothers Brothers ... a time when most every TV show was a family show. Growing up then, we didn't know that these were such pivotal times. We were just kids playing outside until the lights came on, watching Ed Sullivan or the evening news with Walter Cronkite and film of the war or schools being integrated.

 

The times they were a'changin' ...

 

Peace.

 

 

 

 

My oldest granddaughter, J, just came back from a week at Occidental College as part of the National Young Scholars Program, an in-depth learning program for high-achieving 4th- and 5th-grade students. She's a smart kid, that one; straight A's, a natural leader, confident, capable, well-liked by teachers, friends and family. From the time she was in pre-school (actually, even before that, with her daycare), she's always been a teacher's favorite, working hard, taking extra credit assignments, helping her teachers just to be helpful. She loves to write, draw, sing, dance; she always has a creative project or three that she's working on. We were so happy that she was nominated for NYSP and that we were able to send her, to help her continue to develop her leadership skills and learning.

 

She had a wonderful time and had very full days from the time she got up at 6:00am until she went to bed at 9:30pm. Each scholar was enrolled in a Leadership strand and a Discovery strand of their choosing. In her Leadership strand, the scholars worked on various skills such as communication, negotiation, consensus building, cooperation. For her Discovery strand,  she chose "Broadway Bound", a program in which the scholars write and stage a play within the 6 days of the program: script, set design, stage management, choreography, songwriting, costume - the whole shebang.  Her parents, younger sister and I went to see the play on the last day of the program and it was fabulous! It was wonderful to see the kids all working cooperatively together to change the sets between scenes, the creativity they showed in the scripts for each act, the way their sets supported each act. Just wonderful! I am so very, very proud of her!

 

Talking with J later that night, I asked more about the process and about the other kids, how everyone worked together with other scholars they'd never met prior to this experience. As we talked, she shared with me about one girl who seemed to feel that leadership was about taking over, about dominating the other kids. She wasn't interested in others' ideas; she didn't listen to others' input or gather their feedback as a true leader will do. "Does anyone else have 5 years' of dance? Well, I do, so we'll do it my way."

 

J said that one of the things that she learned from this was that she needs to be more assertive in expressing her ideas and thoughts. A good learning for her, as she tends to not be one to "rock the boat" but will often work to be sure that everyone is happy with the outcome, even if it means that her better idea isn't used. To me, that is being more a leader than in simply taking over. A leader should gather others' thoughts and ideas, help the team determine the goal of their work, facilitate everyone's work toward achieving the vision. Simply bossing others around isn't being a leader; it's being a dictator and dictatorships don't make for happy, cooperative teams in business or in life. I told J that being more assertive is something she can work on, but that she shouldn't be like the bossy girl in her group. Being a better communicator and being stronger in expressing herself are skills J will continue to develop to help her continue to grow as a leader. Good lessons learned in her week away at college.

 

 

 

 

I had a fantabulous week this week. Fibro manageable, family and friends all good, great experiences this week, worked hard and was successful in uncovering and resolving some big issues at work - just a happy, productive, grabbing-life-with-gusto kind of week. Until this afternoon, which was a discussion that left me feeling very stressed, very puzzled, very tense afterward.

 

Because this has happened before - and I thought had been successfully resolved -  I went to dance with God afterward and asked Him again "Really?" with His usual reply "Yes. This is where I want you right now." "Really? I mean ... really-really?" I've gone into discernment with Him on this issue several times (probably too many for Him) and I keep getting the reply that this is where He wants me, this is my path for now, this is where I need to be for some learning and growth to take place. OK. If Mary can say Yes to what He asked of her, I can say Yes to this. Not my will, but yours. But really?

 

Still a bit upset by the incident, I came home and watched a wonderful video that a friend had posted on a group I belong to. I knew it would give me the peace and perspective I was seeking. As I watched, I felt the smile come back to my face and my spirit, I felt the centering and balance return. The stuff of this world isn't the primary focus of my life; my divine nature, my closeness to God and my journey here while I wear a human form are what form my center. The rest is fluff, the stuff we do while we're here for such a temporary time. The fluff is not the Center of my Self; my spiritual nature and feeling the presence of God in all things is.

 

After watching the video, I went for a walk in the night air. Beautiful, quiet, peaceful. I saw a penny on the sidewalk and smiled. "In God we trust." As I walked, I danced with God, thanking Him, feeling Love fill me. I blessed my friend who posted the video that gave me such peace. I blessed the person who had the discussion with me, trusting that their intentions were good. I heard a dog barking in the distance, the crickets chirping, a fountain burbling as I walked past.

 

I looked up to the night sky and saw a big, round moon, brilliant and bright, with an aura - a halo - that expanded out from the white orb into a wide, wide glow that lit the expanse of the heavens. I felt my own aura expand and vibrate in return, feeling the blessings of peace, of love, of balance, of rejoicing. I danced and felt good again, refreshed by the Stream of love that had put me back in balance again.

 

Here is a link to this beautiful video, a video of everyday things, of beautiful things, of things we might miss if we didn't open our hearts and eyes to the present moment. Live in the present moment. Love in the present moment. Be in the present moment.

The Heavens Rejoice: http://www.duirwaighgallery.com/inspiration_heavensrejoicepage.php?section=173#

 

Namaste. Peace and all good.

 

 

 

 

I'm ending this weekend with a heart filled with gratitude for the abundant blessings in my life. Thank you, God!

 

The workweek ended with a bad fibromyalgia flare-up. The pain weighed heavily on my entire body, as if a large lead blanket - like the kind they put on you for x-rays - had been draped across my shoulders and enveloped me in pervasive pain. Yoga trains you to scan the body and I found that the only part of my body that didn't hurt was my face. OK, thank you, God, for that. I just hadn't been getting the rest and exercise I need to manage the old fibro; when I don't manage it, it lets me know I need to pay attention and get back to the program. The spondylolisthesis was also acting up and pinching the sciatic nerve, as if a thick, woven rope was running up the left side of my body from my calf, up the back of my thigh, over the left hip, up and over the ribs, into my left shoulder and then into the left side of my neck, and invisible hands were bunching up the rope at my calf, hip, side and shoulder and squeeeeeeeezing it with enormous strength.

 

So the weekend was about working on this. I put on my brace and took a long walk in the cloud-filled Saturday morning. (Thank you, God, that I have that brace and that the morning wasn't hot.) Yoga class was next and WOW! My teacher had said she was going to start a new program on Saturdays and within the first 15 minutes, I was feeling amazing! Long, extended spinal stretches, deep into the connective tissue where fibro sends its signals of pain; strength and cardio work to get the heart pumping; sweat dripping off my face, I held the extended poses, lifted my heart to the overhead, lunged, bent, moved and breathed, feeling the pain and tension release from my body. Incredible. An hour and half later, I lay in savasana, my skin damp with sweat, my body fully exhausted, letting go, nothing to do, nothing to undo ... happy and spent. (Thank you, God!) With a strong hug of gratitude and "thank you!" to my teacher, I ran off and did errands and relaxed for part of my day.

 

This morning, it was the brace and a walk again, feeling my limbs now long and loose, listening to the stillness of the morning. I picked up the grands for church (they remind me of puppies with their playfulness and spilling-over-one-another joy) where we enjoyed messages of peace, noting how Brother Tran's English has improved so much since he first arrived from Vietnam. Coffee and donuts after mass, then out to the church playground, where the girls called out "Nana, watch this!" as they played.  They're such beautiful, healthy girls; active, playful, intelligent and caring. Thank you, God, for my granddaughters, for their good health, these blessings in my life.

 

Back to my house and we changed into our swimsuits and went to the pool, which we had all to ourselves. Slipping into the water, again, I felt the wonderful looseness, the connective tissue no longer a blanket of pain, the rope up my left side now reduced to a much smaller cord of sciatic pain. We swam and played and laughed and teased one another. My oldest said "let's each hang on Nana's arms and she can walk us around the pool!" "How is that fun for ME?" I laughed back at her, as they both latched onto an arm and I walked from wall to wall, spinning them both around as we came to each side, them giggling their little-girl bubbles of laughter. We spent most of the afternoon playing in the water, having races, watching the butterflies, enjoying a relaxed afternoon and getting exercise while doing it. The perfect combo for managing the fibro. (Thank you, God.) A quick snack of watermelon afterward and I took them back to their home, with big goodbye kisses and hugs.

 

And now I go to sleep, content, happy, released from the grip of pain, sleepy and ready for bed right after I say my prayers. Thank you, God.

 

 

The traffic light flips from red to green. The light of the day seems to radiate with softness;  bright and full, but not harsh. Looking through the windshield, the sky is a perfect blue (nearly the color of this page, in fact), unbroken by nary a wisp of cloud.

 

With the windows rolled down, the wind lifts and tousles my hair as I drive; I smile and push the strands away from my eyes. My skin enjoys the breeze gently flowing over bare arms, still with the slight glow of sweat. My body has the good exhaustion that comes after a healthy workout.

 

I notice every tree and plant I pass; such a wonderful time of year, with the bougainvillea spilling magenta blooms over concrete block fences ... pink gaura waving their pink-tipped wands from the traffic medians ... yellow daylillies reaching up to dance as the cars pass ... the palm trees spreading their umbrellas across the canopy of the sky.

 

My senses feel alive, my spirit filled with joy and peace. Thank you, God. It's usually like this for me right after yoga class. All is one and one is all. I am in the world and part of it; the world is in me and part of me. I touch and sense it all. A natural joy and lightness that fills me and becomes me.

 

And on the car stereo, the perfect music for perfect moments, Bruddah Iz, a blessing to the world for the time he spent here with us and forever after: http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=3090180824233343584  

 

 

 

When I was a young married woman at 20, we had a group of close male friends we hung out with. The guys were all single then, and we were the only married couple in our close-knit group. Most evenings were spent with some or all in the group, most weekends, too, cooking, laughing, talking, playing, partying; having lively conversations, debates, discussions; teasing one another as close friends do and ribbing one another for their various and changing girlfriends at the time. In the summer, there were often last-minute phone calls to one another on a Friday afternoon: we're going to the river! We'd all meet after work and convoy to the river for a weekend of fun.  (One memorable Thanksgiving weekend, we went out for Pete's birthday, a weekend spent in a van in the rain in close quarters and having the best time!) I loved these guys like brothers and cherished their friendships dearly. I knew that if I ever needed anything, they would be there to help.

 

As time went on, our lives evolved: my husband and I had a daughter, another friend got married. I lost a child to miscarriage, and various of the friends gathered round to comfort and console us. There came more marriages and then one day, I called one of the guys to tell him that my husband had left and wanted a divorce. He was as shocked as I, and soon all the friends knew. They didn't openly take sides, but they made sure I was taken care of, that I was OK. When the divorce was final, I got the friends. And I count myself blessed.

 

Since then, we've sometimes drifted out of one another's orbits; just the nature of living, having kids, moving out of the area, work, etc. Various of us have kept in touch and now there are three that I'm still very close to. As our lives shifted - divorce, marriage, life changes - we've managed to remain close. A phone call will usually leave me in tears of laughter. Other times, when life isn't easy, we talk honestly about the sorrow in our hearts. We may not speak to or see one another for several weeks, but we're always there for each other when needed or wanted.

 

It's been interesting to see how we've each evolved in life. One has completed a grueling doctorate degree in physical therapy and is a highly respected therapist with his own practice; another has discovered a love and an insanely great talent for glass blowing that is just incredible; and the third and his wife work in healing therapies, shamanism, creative art and photography and what we jokingly call "woo-woo" stuff, important work for the earth and its people.

 

The guys all came over on Memorial Day and it was just as it's always been; they can make me laugh and fill me with happiness, whether on the phone or gathered together.  Teasing, laughing, sharing - so comfortable and natural with one another as if we were still in our 20s and sharing our growing years together, learning about life, love and friendships. I loved the afternoon spent outside in my courtyard, the sun shining, the stories flowing. I caught myself looking at them gathered together in my home, and thanking God for each of these incredible friends. These three guys - who are now men - have been so important to my life journey and continue to be. I treasure their friendship and their love. I can't help but think that it's part of God's perfect plan for my life that they've been such an important part of it. I'm just so blessed that I got the friends in the divorce!

 

There's something that is so very special about friendships that have lasted over 30 years. We share a language and a history together that others haven't experienced with us. These are men I respect, men I know I can count on, men I love from the depth of my heart. These are people who have shared in making me, me. I treasure them. My forever friends.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It's been ages since I blogged and I really shouldn't even be here right now. (I'm supposed to be packing for a trip.) Work has become incredibly busy the last two weeks, my responsibilities have been expanded, I'm learning a lot of new things and it's all good.

 

Except for Thursday night when I set off the alarm - oops! I was working late because I just had a lot to do, and the office is nice and quiet after everyone's gone. (I have a problem with sensory overload as a result of the fibromyalgia.) No meetings to attend, no e-mails to address, no one stopping by my cube to discuss business. A great time to really dig in and get some research and work done without any distractions. I knew the building alarm was automatically set at 10pm, so I wrapped things up about 9:58pm and headed out to go home. Right as I hit the door, the alarm set itself and - BAA! BAA! BAA! BAA!  - the alarm started sounding. Oy! I don't have the code, so called the Facilities Manager at home, he called the alarm company so the police wouldn't be dispatched, and he helped me cancel the alarm then reset it so I could go home. Still, though, I got a ton of work accomplished that night. Yay, me!

 

I best keep this short and get to packing but please remember to make every day Earth Day. Recycle ... use less electricity ... drive less, walk more ... go for fuel-efficient vehicles ... never, ever, ever litter ... you know the drill. Just be conscious of how you're consuming the earth's resources, what kind of footprint you're leaving behind, whether you're being kind and peaceful to the planet, or aggressive and uncaring. And please, please, when you wash your hands ( or brush your teeth), don't leave the water running while you scrub, letting that precious liquid flow freely out of the faucet. Wet your hands, turn off the water, soap up, then rinse. A large part of the world does not have the luxury of having water freely flowing whenever they want it. It's more precious than we few lucky few realize.

 

Waste not, want not - It's become an imperative that affects all of us.

 

 

 

The Season for Non-Violence ends today, April 4, the 40th anniversary of the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. In commemoration, James Twyman is performing at the UN Church Center to celebrate the lives of Gandhi and King, holding an energy of peace for all. The organization 10 Million Clicks for Peace is offering free peace posters; any donations go toward sheltering and feeding war refugees, our brothers and sisters who are too often forgotten in the media blitz of war and politics.

 

 

I am praying for the message of peace to seep into the hearts of those who now embrace violence. This past week, I've started my morning and evening prayers by praying for three Iragi bombers, persons unknown to me except in spirit. I pray that their hearts will turn, that they will seek love and peace, that they will be changed and will become instruments of change. Their country desperately needs leaders of peace who can bring about non-violent resolutions to conflict and unite Sunnis, Shia, Kurds - Christians, Muslims, anyone -  in brotherhood, with respect for one another and their differences. I pray that these three unknown bombers start to make a difference so their families and all the people of Iraq can live in joy and happiness in their homeland. It has to start somewhere ...

 

Peace has to start with each of us, with our actions, our words, our thoughts, our voices. I prefer voices that are calming and peaceful over voices that are frantic, aggressive and jarring. I have a friend - a good-hearted person - whose words feel like she's pushing bricks at me; her voice is loud and forceful, urgent, urgent, urgent. In contrast, my yoga teacher's voice is clear and calm; I could sit and listen to her voice for hours in peace, gently guiding my body and heart into openness. I think she brings more peace into the world than my loud, aggressive, good-hearted friend.

 

I want my every action, my every word to speak of peace. Peace in Oneself; Peace in the World.

 

Let there be peace on earth ... and let it begin with me. Peace be with you.

 

Namaste

 

 

The list of 64 Daily Commitments to Live By includes a number of different practices. For example:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I continue to try to observe the Season for Non-Violence. Last week, it seems that the Universe thought it'd be fun to test me and my commitment.

 

A couple of weeks ago, a driver on my laptop got corrupted, preventing me from using my DSL connection. I took the laptop to a small, locally owned repair place. When possible and practical, I try to steer my business to independent places rather than big corporations. The guy, Mike, seemed very nice and said he'd take care of it for me and fix a couple of other little things. All good.

 

So, I was without a laptop at home for about a week, a minor inconvenience. On Saturday, I picked up my laptop from the repair place and found that Mike had repaired my laptop but he'd also deleted all my data: work documents, e-mail addresses, website Favorites, e-mails, family photos  - everything. Gone, gone, gone. I was stunned. My bad, I didn't have a backup; but I also didn't expect that he'd delete everything. When I told Mike that everything was gone - in a very calm, quiet voice, since I'm focused on peaceful thoughts, actions, words -

he got angry with me, cursing in both English and some other language in a Middle Eastern accent, ranting and roaming the store, waving his hands around, saying he was going to lock his doors, that his customers are always trying to take advantage of him ...

 

"You want backup, it cost you $80!" he yelled.

"That's a fair price, Mike. I would've paid that. You never told me that my data would be deleted."

"You never say you want backup!!!"

 

I was very calm throughout the exchange while Mike yelled and was very emotional. I was the one with the lost family photos, the lost documents and e-mails, but I felt an inner calmness throughout his tirade. My higher self - my inner Kwai Chang Caine - kept me in control and with a peace in my heart in spite of the situation.

 

Although I was very disappointed and sad that my photos were gone, I could not change it. Getting angry and yelling back at him wouldn't change anything; I'd be upset (which would also affect my fibromyalgia and blood pressure) and my data would still be gone. Who benefits from that? I don't get my family photos back, or the copywriting work that I've done for clients, or the funny/touching/loving e-mails from friends and family.

 

My inner Kwai Chang Caine came through and I almost felt like I was apart from my self, observing myself being calm and detached throughout Mike's tirade. Friends and family sometimes consider me to be too trusting of others, of not having a backbone. Perhaps that's so.  I prefer to live my life in a positive, peaceful state of mind - looking for solutions, agreement, cooperation - rather than being confrontational and combative.

 

I think I scored a positive for my Self and for The Season for Non-Violence.

 

Yogic philosophy includes Yamas (disciplines) and Niyamas (observances). Ahimsa is the Yama of non-violence. Each day, we commit small acts of violence, usually without being conscious of our doing so, and often without considering that our thoughts, words or actions can be construed as violent.

 

To begin a conscious awareness of personal non-violence, I start with myself. How do I treat myself? What types of movies or shows do I watch? What books or magazines do I read? What do I choose to put into my consciousness? How do I speak? Loudly and violently? Or with a peaceful, calm voice? Do I eat food that is healthful, non-processed, or do I harm my body with artificial non-foods?

 

Part of my practice of Ahimsa for my self includes managing the spondylolisthesis and fibromylagia that impacts every minute of every day of my life. I need to treat my body with kindness, with love, with care. When I fail to do so, I am in huge amounts of pain and distress. I haven't been taking care of my body the last couple of weeks. There has been so much to do at work (everyone is severely overtasked). I've been working very long hours, not taking breaks, sitting for hours and hours without moving. The stress has been building up as more and more work is added to my overflowing plate. I have negative bandwidth - and I have an ever-growing list of work to do. My body is paying the price and it's a very high one.

 

According to the International Labour Association:

Chronic workplace stress has been linked to cardiovascular disease, muscoloskeletal and psychological disorders, workplace injuries, ulcers and in severe cases, suicide.

 

The long hours and the stress have turned my body into an ocean of pain. My left hip feels as though a hundred sharp knives have been jabbed into it; sitting still is incredibly painful and each shift to get comfortable stabs one of those knives further into the hip. My left leg keeps going numb. When I get up from my chair after a couple of hours of focused work, I have to stand very slowly, very carefully, wincing as the knives stab, startling when the bones shift and crack. I move gently and carefully to begin walking.

 

I must refocus and practice Ahimsa for my body, and better manage the spondylolisthesis and fibromyalgia. A few years ago, I was working long hours on a major project and overused my right hand. The result: I now have a 3% permanent disability in my shoulder that impairs some movement and is painful at times. Permanently. It won't ever get better.

 

I don't want to commit further violence to my body. I don't want any further pain or mobility restrictions. My long-term health is more important than any work that will be forgotten or changed five years from now. I have to get up at least once every hour or so and not sit for extended stretches of time. I must practice Ahimsa for my self. Non-violence begins with me.

 

 

I haven't been able to post for awhile. My laptop at home caught a virus and can't connect via DSL to the Internet, so I'm trying to take a few minutes at the end of my lunch for a quick post.

 

On Feb. 9, I posted a link to more information about the 64 Days of Peace, the Season for Non-Violence. My intention at that time was to follow up with various suggestions for practicing non-violence. My laptop had other ideas, unfortunately, and then I had the car accident and so here we are.  The Season is through April 4, so I'll post a few thoughts between now and then.

 

Tomorrow, I'd like to write about personal nonviolence, the ways we practice nonviolence as individuals, the way we practice through thought, word and deed, the way we practice nonviolence toward others as well as toward ourselves.

 

More tomorrow ...

 

Namaste

 

The last couple of weeks I've been especially grateful that life was going smoothly, no big road bumps, no crises, no deaths (after two in the family last year) - thank you, God! Like all things in life, this was temporary.

 

Last week, my home laptop got a virus. Got the virus cleared, then it wouldn't connect to the Internet; says it's missing a file. Looks like I'll have to take it in to get it fixed. Hassle, but a small one. (And one of the reasons I haven't posted for awhile.)

 

On Sunday, my grands and I went to visit family a couple of hours north of here for my uncle's birthday. Had a WONDERUL time! A bit after 7pm, we got on the freeway for the 2-hour drive home. Shortly after getting on the freeway, we got a flat. Fortunately, I could pull over safely. A cousin and his wife came out to help, the wife taking the grands in their car to a nearby restaurant while my cousin and I waited for the Auto Club to come out and change the tire to the spare "donut" tire. All good and back on the road - for a 2.5 hour drive going 50-55mph on the donut. And it was raining in some areas. A bit nerve-wracking when all the other traffic is whizzing by, but we got home safely.

 

Monday - I go to the tire store. Can't fix the tire due to a big gash in the side. Gotta buy a new one. $100 later (for the tire and installation; they were out of stock on the $46 one I had previously) and I'm out the door and headed to work.

 

Tuesday - Driving to work, I get hit in the rear passenger side by a semi-truck/trailer making a wide turn around me as we both make a left turn. She's on my right and as we make the turn, she decides she now wants to be on my left to make the left turn at the light ahead and starts to cross over in front of me. Meanwhile, her very long trailer hasn't made it all the way around the turn yet. So, here I am with her cab crossing in front of me from my right, and her trailer forming a V behind me:, something like this, where my little Civic is the red line: 

With nowhere to move, I stopped so I wouldn't run into her cab ... and then I heard a terrible crunch and felt my car and body jolted by the impact of her trailer smacking the back of my car. Dang! She continued to proceed up the street, totally unaware that she'd hit me. (Yeah, that surprised me, too.) Fortunately, the light was red so she had to stop. (She would've had a hit-and-run and her license would have been revoked if she had made that turn and left the scene.) I put on my flashers, checked my car, choked back a tear at seeing the right rear all torn up, and ran up to her cab, my body shaking. She seemed annoyed that I was knocking on her cab door, rolled the window slightly and I told her "You hit my car." She looked at me like I was crazy. Shaking, I told her again "You hit my car." A bit antagonistically now, she said "I hit your car? How'd I hit your car?" "Come take a look. You hit my car." Picking up her phone, she said "I'm calling the police." Ultimately, the police came, didn't file a report (apparently, they don't have to if there's only property damage), we exchanged insurance information and the police watched while I picked my bumper up where it was dragging against the tire and tried to bend it so I could drive.

 

So, now I'm dealing with insurance companies, mine and the trucking firm's, my chiro took x-rays this morning and I'm going to get an estimate from the auto repair shop tomorrow. There's the additional hassle of being without a car for a few weeks, plus the expense of getting a rental. (I'm hoping the trucking firm's insurance covers that.) My brother says this car has bad car-ma and that it's time to trade it in. (Several months ago, a police car backed into me and scratched my car. Prior to that, I was rear-ended - minor fender bender - on another visit to my family up north.) I'm just mentally and physically exhausted by all the hassle, my back hurts and I just don't even want to think that far ahead yet.

 

Good thing I didn't give up chocolate for Lent.

 

 

 

 

Happy day, happy day! Today is my birthday and my friends and family have all made me feel so special! When I count my blessings, it's these relationships that I count among my greatest and most treasured blessings of my life. On my birthday, it's as though I'm gathered together with all those I love and I have the opportunity to truly treasure my friends and family as I am reminded of how important they are to me, some near, some far, all loved by me and treasured for their footprints in my life.

 

There's been the most delightful deluge of good wishes! I'm a member of an online community and my friends there have posted wonderful, loving notes, with flowers, a fun poem from my dear friend Connie, beautiful wishes for joy and happiness and serenity today and all the days of my life. Such a great group of women and I'm blessed to know them.

 

Other friends and family have sent e-mails, cards, phone calls, gifts. Each is an opportunity to say a prayer of gratitude for all the loved ones in my life (whether they know it's my birthday or not), to send them love from my heart, too, to thank God for their presence in my life.

 

When Mom was on this side of the veil, she'd ask me each year what I wanted for my birthday dinner and it was always Mom's tacos, my favorite meal. On Tuesday, my daughter (my heart) made Mom's tacos for me and I got to spend the evening with her, my granddaughters and my son-in-law, who I love dearly, too. Delicious! Granddaughter J made a wonderful card for me, full of embellishments and little pockets with notes tucked inside. She also gave me a beautiful red rose with baby's breath and a large Happy Birthday balloon. Granddaughter B made a gift note for me and gave me a pot of tulips in variegated red and white, and a small balloon. We had such a happy night, laughing and talking all night, sharing time together, happy, happy, happy!

 

Tonight, I planned to go to dinner and the ballet with one of my dearest friends, the mother of my goddaughter. We have subscription ballet tickets and always look forward to our ballet nights and the chance to catch up with one another. But she called this morning and told me she fell and hurt her back severely last night and can't make it. (Fortunately, nothing's broken and she should recover well in a few weeks.) I may end up at the ballet alone on my birthday, but I'll be thinking of her while I enjoy the Hamburg Ballet and I'll try to remember all the best parts so I can share them with her later. I'll miss her!

 

I've had a wonderful birthday celebration so far, with love given and received. I treasure this day each year when I can "gather" those I love together and thank God for the blessings given to me through them. Happy Birthday to me!