The Show Must Go On

January 30, 2014

I had a brilliant idea for my Blog this morning and promptly forgot it the moment I pulled my toothbrush out of the bathroom cabinet. Drat!

Like a child, I meet the FedEx driver, imagining $40,000 in cash, a shiny new Mac laptop, Sherpani luggage, a Barefoot demo sweatshirt or cougar in a cage. I jump up and down with enthusiasm upon signing the register, causing the uniform squint at the squiggle and ask me my last name. I squawk back “Hill” and let the “Whoop!” come out from hiding.  

Two and a half hours later, my whoop is whooped, shoveled the 6-8 inches of hefty, powdery snow from the sidewalk and driveway (why build the damn garage so far back from the house, extending the drive into a football field.) The helpful neighbor barreled his shiny yellow tractor up and down the sidewalk, scraping grass, dragging branches, uprooting small trees, and disturbing all nature within a mile from here. His precious snowblower is on the fritz so he got out the bigger power equipment.  

Hankering for hot cocoa, I settle for peppermint tea and yearn for cookies to settle on my plate. Sweet potato chips will have to suffice. Planning the Youth Women Circle curriculum. Bought a new domain name and laying out a Proposal for the Radio Show. In a quandary as to what to call the program. “The Paula Hill Show” is too tired and ordinary. It will focus on issues that instigate self-trust and awareness. Topics such as Heartfelt Living, Humble Forgiveness, Opportunistic Vulnerability, Creating Right Livelihood, Underemployed Power, Spiritual and Financial Prosperity, Transitional Relationship Success, Creative Calm, Loving Altruism, etc. What do you suggest?

The God of All Things

January 29, 2014

I dreamt of God. What does he or she look like? I see a kaleidoscope of images, all of the people who touch my life.

In 1991, while traveling through small villages in the state of Minas Gerais, touring church-after-church in Brasil, at the insistence of my exchange student, Bruno’s mother. His best friend, Guilerme, came along, as well as a chatty friend of the boss, Ana. We finally halted in a small, yet another quaint settlement. As I unfolded from the back seat of the two door sedan, a little girl of roughly five, raced up to me. Her hair, ratted and blonde, lead a streaked face, sparkling eyes, and distinctly firm outstretched hand. In her palm rested the biggest pale crystal I had ever seen. It was ribbed with dirt yet I could detect the intricate detail of smaller offshoots. Before I had the chance to say anything other than “O’brigada,”she was off, running away from me at a canter. I turned to display the shining stone when a much smaller version of the same energy came bolting towards me, flung another brilliant stone in my hand, and barreled off into the large boulders. Same rats nest hair, dingy clothes, dirt-splotched legs, and generosity. “Para voce” was all I could grasp as the little cherub disappeared. An unmistakable touch of grace had me understand God and her trusted kindred spirits are always present.

How does your God appear?

Erupting Day

January 27, 2014

The demand of shark fin soup is decimating the Great White Shark. As I watch from my Omni theatre seat, I feel hopeless and desperate. Unable to shout out my hardened heartfelt sensation of sinking despair, I churn in discomfort. Many times, while snorkeling on the Big Island, Taelor and I had the privilege of swimming above baby sharks. As they softly caressed the sand floor, I admired their graceful agility and power.

One miniscule step at a time, I can calmly educate, share, explore the effects of humans, and possibly shift cultural attitudes. The more I know, the wider my audience will be. Choosing one focus at a time; sexual abuse, saving the shark/elephant/eagle/dolphin/salamander, women’s rights, ecology challenges, or recycling, is pragmatic. Though hard to swallow, at the same time. I want to be able to do it all.

The Great Ring of Fire presentation at the Omni also moved me. I continue to yearn for more time on the Big Island. Though there are so many other areas with volcanoes to explore and expand my explosive repertoire. Frequenting the lava flow viewing, from Kalapana as well as the National Park side, of the spewing Halema'uma'u in Hawaii, I am in awe of the force of nature. Heard the stories from native co-workers about the eruptions and how their families escaped the red hot destruction. The local mayor came to help people, encouraging them to take what they could, loading trucks and boxed furnishings for hours on end, days at a time. A sprig of palm that emerges from the black rock astounds me, out of the fire breathing Pele comes gorgeous life. It reflects the resiliency of the Hawaiians.

My daughter and I spent one brilliant Christmas day on the top of Mauna Kea, looking out over the range, inviting sea of uniquely different ecosystems that astonish me. I reach out to my friends in the tropics, wishing them a grand life, accepting the vog steaming from Kilauea, reveling in the warmth of the native lands, the people and her culture. I will be back one day, Hawaii.

Incoherent Times

January 27, 2014

     Tears stream down her face in the middle of the crowded bar, she swipes at the liquid, careful not to smudge the mascara. This is my third stop of the night, I am accompanied by a friend who doesn’t get out much and the “I’ve had enough” switch is clearly turned “OFF” or carefully ignored, put into the covered, taped-shut box and shoved into the dark recesses under the bed. “I stood on the 10^th Street Bridge,” she continued. The screaming despair, longing, abandonment and grandiose suffering, not knowing what to do with her runaway feelings had me lean  into her body, personal space, and heart. The band continued to play, badly at that, undeniably undanceable music, members unaware of the unfolding, untidy story. I nodded in utter concern for the then 18 year old, who stood on the precipice of messy truth. The world was not going her way, nothing like she had decided it would, forevermore.

    “Let’s go downtown!” clamor her slushy lips. I convince her I have to go home, and relieve the dog. She agrees and I whip up some saga of needing food in my sloshing belly and soon, serve rice and steamed veggies after we gobble bread and cheese, enough for a small village.

     It takes more than a few minutes to boot up my computer since she obsessively needs to search for an old flame on Facebook, to send him an urgent message. Won’t life be so much better with him in it? I cannot fathom an answer. The effort of impatience is too much, so she brushes her teeth, slides into bed, promising to get up early to start another day of adventure together.

Frozen Sculptures

January 26, 2014

The ice sculptures sat, frozen in time, at Rice Park, settled in their dreamy state, incredulous at the audience, drinking cold beer and wine, munching cheese curds and kettle corn while listening to the live band from across the yard. The swordfish scene won my vote, reaching for the frigid sky, flying scaled friends with wings soar below in glorious wonder. An ice fisherman, clunky boot heels grip the unyielding ice, cooler lid pitched open, a small pile of snow scattered around the fishing hole, awaits his catch. The crowd is substantial and encouraging, taking photographs of the art. Tonight, as the snow falls, cascading the images in fluff, the girl sighs in exasperation. Her favorite piece of art is altered. The disappointment more than she can swallow. She turns in frustration, engaging her partner in an argument of wills to support the looming disfigurement.

Naked Ladies

January 25, 2014

A pile of clothes labeled “small” another sits on the table marked “medium” and “large,” “extra large,” “accessories” and “jewelry” situated around the open room. At the sound of the bell, we roam around, toss off shirts and pants to try on various garments to take home for free. The church offered-up the space for the women to celebrate stepping-out of their comfort zone and into someone else’s gently used clothing. We drank wine, shared crackers and cheese, nibbled on miniature cakes and packed up the remaining items to donate to a good cause. Anytime I mention this naked lady endeavor tale with a man, he always claims he wants to be invited the next time. I promise I will keep that in mind.

AT&T Boo Boo

January 22, 2014

When the Collections Agency phones, I must remember to be kind, loving and considerate, as though the representative is my friend. Despite the fact that the company refused to accept an Offer and Compromise, along with a reasonable money order, returned without an explanation, I know they will continue to phone me up until they have what they need. Smiling in an absurd situation has never been my strong suit yet I am willing to work at it for the sake of my daughter and the unfair business practices of AT&T. I have sent copies of our letter to the FCC, BBB and Attorney General’s office to make them aware of the discrepancies of AT&T’s contract. I’m sure they are addressing the issue and it is #1 on their To Do List. 

Z Goes Home

January 23, 2014

The loss of a little black cat, “Z” is thorny to bear. Sweet, tender, gentle, feline, snuffed-out before I managed to say a proper goodbye. The last time I held her in my lap, I whispered for her to go home, if she didn’t have the energy to fight her poor health. No sense suffering. So long, fluffy “Z.”

We do not walk alone,

Great Being walks beside us.

Know this and be

Grateful.

Polingaysi Qoyawayma, Hopi

Horsing Around

January 21, 2014

Hate to break it to you but if you are not a nice young person, cheerful and light-hearted, you don’t turn into one later on in life. Duece could turn things around for the majority of the elders at the Senior Center this afternoon, but one woman in particular is a hold-out. I could feel her stink-eye from across the vast lobby. She did not care, one iota, that there is a lei-laden, grass-skirt-wearing honest to goodness miniature horse parading around in the joint, she would have none of it. Duece nearly crawled up in old Julie’s bed though, nuzzling her, and damn near purring in delight. Helen squealed and kicked off her powder blue comforter to see the sight as we entered her room three-quarters of the way down the hall. “Do you think he likes wearing a pair of coconuts and lei bracelets?””How old is he/she?””Oh, look at the dog!”Otherwise, all is well at the Nursing Home. They are looking forward to cupid, the miniature horse, showing up just after Valentine’s Day to scorch their hearts. I would have stayed for the jello snack but it started to snow and traffic reports sounded bad.

Lie to Me

January 20, 2014

Lying comes very easily to me. When I was young, I told my friends I had a dog. When they came over to my house, wanting to see the pet, I suggested my dad had taken it to work that day or the Cuddle Bug was visiting a farm to get some extra exercise, he was in the basement sleeping, or some other implausible solution. Later on, it was about my late term paper, why my parents weren’t at the basketball game, or excuses as to why I didn’t have a date for the Prom. These days it is mostly about the reply to “How are you doing?” Just as deep and revealing as the fact that I forgot to feed Joe and Josephine, the gerbils, when I was ten, and they died.  

When I am willing and capable of being true to me, I understand my situation can be different. If I stay in the premise that I want someone’s life to be touched because they know me, then I realize my lying will cease. Since nothing else matters, I do not have to cover up what is missing, that I don’t feel good enough, and sweeping the truth of my insecurities under the table, beneath the rug, only hurts me.

Why is it all this time, I have wanted more for others than for my Self. Now, I understand that, if I am a better person this morning than I was yesterday, I am in a more Spiritual place, I’m growing, I have value, I am happy, and forgave (not forgotten) someone who has wronged me. Those are things to be honest about.

What are you lying about?

Watching Me Watching People

January 19, 2014

I suspect she is mentally ill. Much of the time, her outfits stagger on the sleazy side, as my eye turns towards her this morning, I balance between disbelief and curiosity. Fake hair, extensions on her eyelashes, gobs of make-up, skin-tight skirt, spandex top, double-wide hat perched on her head, that prevents someone being able to sit in the pew seat next to her. She threw her name out to me, expecting me to catch it, as I wait in the lobby for a friend. As she lifts her taut shirt, to emphasize the explanation why she can’t climb the stairs to meet up with the van, arranged to collect her. The surgery has weakened her, she is also having to wait in the hot aquarium. More inappropriate private sharing spills from her mouth, without censorship, startles me into conversation.

Sandrene, I will call her, told me she hated the soup her sister made for her while she recovered from her operation. She only likes food that tastes good, not gluten-free, dairy-free, quote, unquote healthy eating makes her sick. How could I reply. What response is she looking for. There is little time to reply since the next thought jumped out of her mouth and the next, and next. She asks where I am from. I told her I honestly do not know where I call home. I live in the West Side of Saint Paul yet am not completely convinced it is where I am most comfortable, even today.

I sit on the edge of the blue padded chair, anxious for the time I can pop-up and leave. Eventually, my parting words come out with the benevolence I feel, “Have a wonderful afternoon. I hope to see you again soon, Sandrene.” I look forward to her outrageous attire and over-sized hat, to stare at during mundane moments in future services.

Ain't Got Nobody

January 18, 2014

     There is something quite satisfying having a loaded refrigerator, kitchen cupboard with canned goods, boxes of food spilling out as I crack open the door, grocery bags stacked under the sink, and a joy I notice in my belly. Didn’t realize I was feeling deprived until I pile food into my basket at the grocery store. Nibbled on spinach dip with French bread as I meander the perimeter, a gift from the sample guy, and end up with a container in my cart. Spent quite some time strolling down the aisles, avoiding the interior of the store, especially the snack row. Stick to my list, for the most part, and just enjoy the experience. Very different sensation than perusing clothes shops or hardware stores.

     Splurge on a bottle of wine since my girlfriend plans on coming over tonight. Selected two from oodles of wonderful labels (this is how women purchase wine) and remembered from my demo nights, which brand sells the best. Hopefully, my cheeks won’t turn bright red from the sulfates, a surefire giveaway that I have been drinking. Happens with hoppy beer as well. We will start at my house and move onto the “Voted Best Happy Hour” spot.

     By 8:00pm, I know she isn’t coming, though no text or phone call from my friend. Chose to make a batch of popcorn and watch a movie with the dogs and cat. Survived another date night sans a guy.

Super Sized

January 17, 2014

My Super Power is having flaws. In my process, that I call life, I stumble, create, vacillate, laugh at my “control”(sometimes,)sugar-coat things, project, discuss, focus on freedom, am pragmatic and impulsive and exposed. When willing to display my flaws, people around me are more than likely agreeable to share theirs. They find the opening to talk about what bothers them, and often resolve the issues, or come up with one solution as they speak about it. Of course, these are the women in my life, the men simply clam up and grab the remote.

“Half The Sky”film is charged, riveting and must be viewed with a full box of tissue handy. The theme; educating the world about cultures, and societies that victimize women all over the world. There is an underlying statement: When women progress, we all move towards freedom, equality, and dignity. We cannot be complete people alone. When we forget we are one, something profoundly human in us is gone. The movie is based on the book of the same title, written by a journalist couple who worked for the New York Times. Amazing.

I’ll leave you with this-everyone needs to find the thing that they want to be remembered for. What is your Super Power?

Bobby and Me

January 16, 2014

Robert Redford was here tonight. I didn’t seem to matter that I was wearing my Hamline sweats, baggy black sweater, plaid scarf wrapped tightly around my throat, a becoming wool hat, and thick socks with a hole in the heel. Bob demonstrated what an incredible Horse Whisperer he is. Doesn’t matter that I do not have a horse, never did, and most likely never will. I know, in another lifetime, when I do obtain a horse that has been traumatized by a semi truck, I will call on his expertise. Drive from the state of New York out to Montana, if I have to, with my sulky disabled daughter in tow, trailer rattling along behind the vehicle. No money has to change hands. We will fall in love and everyone will be the better for it.  

Movie Madness

January 14, 2014

Sitting all the way across the room from the television to watch a movie is worrisome. If I am eating anything, especially a snack that has a crunch to it, I cannot hear a darned thing, miss poignant responses, hilarious comments, get lost in the plot easily, and completely irritate my friends and cats when I ask too many questions about what is transpiring in the film. Annoyed doesn’t convey how I feel about the shift in my hearing.

The same must be said for my memory. I had a nagging suspicion on Sunday afternoon that I was forgetting something important. At 5:00pm, a client called to discuss the problems she is having with a business issue, and that seemed to have solved the mystery of what I was missing. Then at 6:22, Taelor phoned to ask me if I was still planning on picking her up from work. Ahem, what were our plans again? I could not recall from our discussion, days prior to this moment, what I committed to doing. I was already 22 minutes late but assured her I was on my way to collect her. Felt relieved that I didn’t forget where I was going, once I approached the stop light at Lexington. Cripes. If I don’t write down an event in my calendar and copy into my ipod, I am at a loss. Need to start eating whale, bones from shark, kelp, slugs or some such exotic animals and plants to override this nagging suspicion that I am getting older and cannot reverse the trend. 

If I fail to reply to an email, voice message, letter, or telepathic communication, do not take it personally. I am simply working from lower levels of spark in my brain. Perhaps a knitting class is in order, I should sign up to be on “Jeopardy,” do the crossword puzzle in the daily paper, take an IT course, scuba dive, run 5K’s, start belly dancing, invent something, or teach a class. Since I am already happy, none of them are requirements to “make me” giddy, they would simply be an added bonus to living longer (for sure) and healthier. I could also accept the metamorphosis of aging and not care whether I can hear nor recall anything, if I am distracted by other activities. Like watching movies.

Captain Underpants

January 13, 2014

I have an underpants radius of the front stoop, at least that is how far it was back when Taelor and I lived in Brasil.

As I was sweeping the front porch in my black panties and sports bra, my daughter was dropped-off by her friend and his parents. They opened the big wooden gate, to find me, stunned to submission, frozen like a raccoon with a chicken in its grip, broom in hand, and gaping hole for a mouth. Despite the fact that Taelor was six, she remembers it like it was the end of the quarter test last week. The kid could not have cared less, mother was shocked and dad, well, he had a Jack-O-Lantern grin on his face, nearly ramming into the verandah with the Mercedes. Great.

How far is your underpants radius?

Swingin' Singles

January 12, 2014

The bar surely had seen better days. Weak portions of the floorboards are warped, carpet sticky underneath my boots as I entered into the din. A long narrow entryway held a smattering of paraphernalia from nostalgic days gone by. Sitting at the bar on cushions, saggy like month old rolls smashed into a form fit, drinking fire-breathing wine, and scoping out the place made us look like wide-eyed tourists. The air of parching wine and headless tap beer sank into my pours, causing them to clog. I had such high hopes of a perfect night out with my friend, especially since the joint was recommended by a reliable source. A handful of clients sat ‘round the table nearby, tossing dice. One hollering obscenities then promptly announcing he is sorry for his horrible language, and turning back to the intimacy of his gambling debtors.

The mild crowd, lumped together in twos and threes, situated themselves in the main room, close to the dance floor so we made our way thru the cheap vinyl seats to a table with perfect view of the stage. As the wobbly tables filled, I began to accept the comfort of a sizable mass, humming favorable comments regarding the popular band.

A number of the folks dancing wore strips of masking tape across their chest, declaring their dependence upon a Meet-Up group function. Quite a few were sauntering across the dance floor, totally without expression as though awaiting a colonoscopy procedure. A fair number of couples moved briskly around the area. Enough enthusiasm swirled around them to instigate a wave of energy that swarmed like a flock of late departure Canadian geese. A terrifically tan woman swooshed past, controlled by the much more mature man, eager and firm in his grip. Anyone would have looked like Ginger Rogers in his sure fist.

The funky band of ten men, the majority of them would be sore in the morning from the exertion, had everyone swaying in their seats or jumping around at the hole-in-the-wall find. I was able to keep on my feet through a number of songs, jiggling to my own drummer, having a good time out on the town for a change. My ankle pain kept me from break-dancing but I enjoyed myself immensely.

Middle-aged clientele, glad to be out of the running of the 20-something competition, paired-up and cleared-out at bar time. We joined them, still single.

Fancy Feast

January 11, 2014

When your nostrils feel as though they are on fire, it is time to change out the litter in the cat box. Inevitably the cat will immediately climb on in and use the pristine box, as soon as you swap-out the old litter. Cats are pretty simple to accommodate, you can toss out some dry food, and a giant bowl of fresh water and leave them for days on end, right.

Incorrect.

The two black and white lookalike litter mates, who are still in the kitten stage, terrorize the pom poms on the winter hat, left parked on the diningroom table (as of this morning, sans one pom,) screech around the room after the lazer I brought over to tease them, while on feeding duty in the evenings. They tip over chairs, scoot rugs across the room, fling rubber bands off the countertops, read the mail, open and peruse the Netflix dvd’s, pop the yoga ball, spy on the neighbors within view of the front and northwest side windows, and bother the ancient cat who needs special attention. I sit, on the soiled green rug in the kitchen, petting and providing Tellington Touch to the elderly cat, while the other two circle me like the stew bowl situated atop a bonfire on the vast barren prairie. The litterboxes are overflowing each day, as though they squeeze out another mound, to defy the caregiver. Water dishes bone dry, food plates cleaner than when they were removed from the dishwasher. Nope, never seen a speck of food before now, we are starved.

The tub faucet has to be turned on, to a faint dribble for the senior of the bunch. He laps into the drips for eternity. Soon discovered I could clean litterboxes and feed the Terrible Two’s while waiting for his thirst to be quenched. Wet footprints indicate he is satiated and may want another stab at the soft food, mixed with fiber powder and a pill. “Finicky” doesn’t do him justice. He could very well sniff three varieties before choosing one that suits his taste that particular feeding time. Halfway thru the dinner, he meows his discontent, and another can is popped-open. “L” has the humans well-trained, like the Lawrence Welk dancers. Takes a lot of practice.

The three felines must hear the crunch of snow under my boots for they are perched on the countertop and standing next to the back door as it swings wide into the kitchen. If I am later than usual, the piercing “stink” eyes of betrayal stare me down. And I live to tell the story.

Taco Time

January 10, 2014

Things did not go very well when I stepped outside the box and made burritos and Spanish rice for Mrs. “B” tonight. She choked it down but turned her nose up at the idea of a taco salad fixin’s for tomorrow afternoon, wouldn’t hear of heating the meat and cheese and tossing it over the top of Frito chips either. I suppose I have to stick closely to the usual Midwest meat and potato diet or she’ll kick me to the curb. Had a hint of her stubbornness the time I made a cake mix in the form of a tin of muffins and all hell broke loose. Did offer up the sad, bit squashed-up banana I hauled around all day in my purse, hoping she would be open to some fresh fruit to mix with the canned pears swimming in thick syrup.  She gobbled it up and asked for seconds.

Wonder who will be wiping my bum in the tepid shower when I turn 88 ¾. Hope I have an energetic servant to boss around, complain about the friends that don’t call or stop by, relatives forget about me, someone who fails to notice my outfits are three decades behind the times, my shoes are thick and clunky, toenails too long and firm like a hoof. I would want someone to entertain me, to tell me stories to horrify/delight/shock/awe me and were kind enough, if they had no such tales, to make them up, knowing I am hard-pressed to keep track of the hero’s achievements. A caregiver that can dance and sing would be nice too. Someone flexible, a great chef, tailor, feng shui master, massage therapist, medic, doesn’t mind washing out my socks nor care that everything in the house smells faintly like urine. Christmas décor stays up until nearly Valentine’s day and, instead of charming little doo dads, most are chipped, cracked, seen much better days but, my person will not care in the least.

Are you out there. Will you be ready to come help me when I need someone. Can I stay in my house forever and have you come to me. I suppose I have time to sort it out. There will be a cue at the Inquiry Desk.

Being Seen

January 8, 2014

If this is “it,” really “it” how would I live life differently?

I belong to the future of surrender, where everyone is “IN,” they feel it and know it, think, believe, and trust that they are included. A future that I have all the time in the world to investigate, to uncover, tear apart to place back together, piece-by-exploratory piece.

Living BIG, as BIG as I can be. That is what I have been training for all this time. It may very well mean leaving people behind, hurting someone’s feelings, having them be envious, unkind in their loss. I am a reflection of my Self. How I evolve on this path, is what my purpose amounts to, as opposed to that end result of retirement, happiness, success, or completeness. When I, as a mother, can be fully present with my daughter, without trepidation regarding income or time, I can teach her the possibilities. And she, in turn, teaches me. If money or lack of love hold me back, I cannot get close to the truth of who I am shifting into, to my core. The smaller the light, the more attentive I can be to my power, and vision of my Self.

I want to serve more; more people, more animals on the planet, on a BIG scale, more luminously, more from my heart. I feel the most free when I am helpful, a resource, and conduit for possibility. When I am serving, being seen, and engaging my Self, I am a BIG BAD ASS.

What future do you belong to?

Sorry Loss

January 7, 2014

This morning, I discover, a woman I categorized as one of my only enemies, living on the other side of the planet, is struggling with ovarian cancer. It has spread to her lymph nodes, and despite an extensive surgery on the 2^nd, she is actively dying. I sent a short heartfelt message to her on Facebook, desperate to find the words to describe how I am feeling; jittery and unkempt, sad and bitter all rolled-up in a huge ball of love, tenderness, anger, frustration, that I want to hurl into the bitter cold, to disappear into the vast dead-white clouds in the horizon.

I cannot possibly hate her any longer, it is improbable to continue the façade of distaste and uncontrollable ill will when I know she is suffering, dying, fearful, sword fighting loss, and leaving loved ones behind (her daughter is a few years younger than Taelor and they were best of friends for four years.)

The common enemy is now bargaining, death, sickness, dying, grief, loss, depression, tremendous pain, fear, anger, avoidance, denial, anger, and acceptance. We all wish it wasn’t so, that death is not the end, that we could maintain our lives for ever and ever, amen. And it just isn’t so.

"Sophy:

I just heard about your ill health and situation with cancer. Despite the past, and all of the complications, I want to reach out to you to say, I am sorry. Sorry for your prognosis, sorry for your family and friends, husband, and perfect soul. I hope you are pain-free, can experience joy and lucidity each and every day, in your time left on the planet, however long that is.

I pray you find comfort in the love and compassion you deserve.

Be well, my friend,

Paula"

Nostrils on Fire Cold

January 6, 2014

The smoke alarm sounds to let me know my bagel is ready. It is far too sensitive yet I fear the consequence of tearing it out of the kitchen. Public and private schools, colleges, even a number of large companies are closed today and encouraging employees to remain at home, while temperatures drop to one of the top five lows ever recorded in the Twin Cites. Cold enough to freeze the eyeballs. “We’re tough, we are strong, we are crazy.” Wind chill may approach 50 below zero. I layer in an undershirt, long-sleeve top, wool sweater with a zipped jacket over the top, wool scarf ‘round my neck, leggings underneath my snug jeans, wool socks and a hat when the mood hits me (yes, indoors, mostly due to the Joker hair that accompanies me with my steaming coffee.) A robe goes over the top of everything since, if I don a coat, the dog thinks we are headed into the great outdoors for a walk.

I box like Rocky around the house, warming my limbs, scaring the Dickens out of the cat and dog, just to arouse a wild woman giggle out of my bad ass self. My last week of business class ahead, leads me back to the drawing board, to browse on-line class catalogs that maneuver and stimulate my brain. Doesn’t take much these days. Daily, I do something that frightens me, meditate, sort and donate the past (back to the commitment of one thing in, two things leave the house,) educate myself in the world of fiscal accountability, search for the next path of service to generate an income, and get support from others. I have difficulty thinking like an employee so I choose to concentrate on my own endeavor again, snuffing the consequences. I work best on my own and can make a much better income, despite the fact that the benefits package folder is slim.

A new vehicle is on the horizon, three weeks in Turkey, chic wardrobe, loads more classes, savings account through the roof, and more, so much more I cannot even fathom the vertical height.

Recruits Needed

January 5, 2014

     I aim to be one of those people who pulls it off. Who gets the big heist, scores the winning basket. Wanting to expand my life and the possibilities of gaining the things I desire. I want to explore my place in the world. Wonder when that will happen. Need to keep my eyes peeled for the chance to know it, feel it, smell, taste, touch, and see it with my own gut. Often, just as things are about to bust open, I sabotage my chances, fall into a ditch, slide into “home” plate on the ice, lose my job, miss the bus, set the alarm incorrectly and am delayed. A sinus infection comes on at the promise of a big date, zits appear, a favorite belt breaks, lucky necklace goes missing at the most inopportune times. I have to understand that is my inner core playing tricks on me, preventing the winning me from succeeding. The evil twin telling me “I told you so.”

     The next time I am on the brink of a new level of joy and I screw it up, I know what to do-call in the recruits, make a cup of coffee, revisit my strategies, ask for a ride, seek encouragement, request support, light a candle, step in, lean back, and bust the patterns of defeatist mentality. Prepare, and trust myself to do it again.

      Two tea bags, box of tissue, several dribbles of essential oils, plate of mini gingerbread man cookies and a coupla hugs doled-out this afternoon when a great friend came by for a visit. I give the best advice, ever! It is what girlfriends are for, to weep and wail, giggle, gossip, share events and adventures, and dispel fears. We are anchored through our imperfections, dreams, desires, intentions, and plans. She is one of the pals I will turn to, when I am ready to take the plunge, and happen to detour into inevitable destruction. I trust her since we have similar taste in indulgences-tea (or Barefoot Wine, depending upon the time of day) and chocolate.

Baxter Boo Boo

January 4, 2014

     My gopher-chasing, occasionally curmudgeon old friend died yesterday. He was ill, fading fast, and becoming aggressive in his altered state. I think of the first time I jumped in the car with Tyrus and headed up to my friend’s place in Big Lake. It had been quite some time since I had seen her, years, in fact, and I was anxious to catch-up. She was concerned about her doesn’t-play-well-with-others Boxer yet it was clear, after a few fretful moments, the dogs would get along famously. The elderly dog rambled behind the other two, barking and cavorting, never seeming to mind being in last place. He got his share of treats and snuggles, tug of war and taught Tyrus how to hunt the rodents in the back forty. Baxter was so intent upon catching the little critters, he would frequently become sidetracked, forget he was supposed to return home, and go inside with the others. My friends had to scrounge-up a flashlight, the only attraction, if he failed to respond to a shrill whistle. Once he caught sight of the light, he would gallop towards it, barking with enthusiasm. We couldn’t help ourselves; he always made us roar with delight. Despite his sideways grin, dribbly eye and occasional grumpy demeanor, he was a love. I will miss him greatly. Who will take over Baxter’s job of keeping the gopher population down?

Lap Dance

January 3, 2014

     The action of bending at the waist and moving my rear towards the couch, bed, or chair is an obvious invitation to sit on my lap, once settled. Grill is constantly following me around, waiting the opportunity to park, knead then sleep on my upper thighs. For quite some time, I feel guilty about the need to get up, collect something or another from the kitchen, needing to go to the bathroom or just tired of feeling trapped by the feline of the house. He chirps like a bird, punches his nose into my upper arm, seemingly content to take up my energy, time and folded-at-the-hip space. Reminds me of the sensations when Taelor was an infant, startled into annoyance by another demanding being. I have a load of tolerance, in comparison, yet continue to battle the charge of irritation after a time.

Anxious for a walk, despite the frigid temps, Tyrus paces around the house, keeping an eye on me and any obvious moves to collect my clunky boots and jacket from the side leather chair.  Little does he know, my plans for the day, do not include taking him along for the ride. As of late, he is limping badly after jumping in and out of the vehicle more than a few times on any given day. Typically, he would come along and play with his friends while I work at each house. Today, however, it is too cold and I fear for the next few torrid days that may very well keep us sequestered in the chilly duplex. Cayenne pepper, sprinkled into gloves and boots, I’ve been told, keep the chill at bay. However, I fear for the reaction of the pets, as I cuddle and fondle them, inevitably spreading the hot dust to their eyes and nostrils. I see nothing but a horrendous outcome, while staving off the cold to my fingertips and toes. Obviously, the construction crew needs to adhere to the safety of keeping their digits but I must refrain from their home remedy.

Dumpy

January 2, 2014

Yikes! Where did the dumps come from and how did I get down in them? Organizing and storing Christmas decorations tends to being the end of the year down to a new level.

Choosing to refocus, I created a basket within reach, to stockpile notes of the wondrous things that happen to me throughout 2014 as I tend to forge forward, forgetting just how fabulous my world can be. I have been touched or inspired then projected soon afterwards into what isn’t working, and off I wander again, to seek the illusion, and focus-on what I don’t have.

Attempted to pull on a pair of freshly-laundered jeans and, alas, the waistband has shrunk so much so, I cannot button nor zip the darned things. One of the elves must have replaced my old jeans with these wonderful lookalikes, to rouse and reward me in the future, when the jiggle ‘round my middle is diminished. Ah, those gloriously mischievous little people. I could just squeeze them.

A clump of bags, baskets, boxes stuffed with items my precious wee one is moving back to her pad this afternoon loom in the livingroom. They remind me of the fun-filled days we spent together since her fall finals.

In the anticipated year ahead, with great health and well being at the top of the list, I wish all of you joy, refreshing travels, and riches.

Happy Birthday to my niece. Twenty-six years ago today, I was skiing in Sun Valley, Idaho, when I heard of your birth. Celebrate!

Resolve to Beat the Squirrel

New Year 2014

Squirrels stole my suet. The cage is open and glob of fat gone.

I am not typically a fan of Resolutions yet I am choosing to leave behind an unfavorable habit of trepidation, shoot for passion and light-heartedness as additions to my repertoire for the year ahead. 

I ask my friends today, as though it is my assignment from Psychology class, what they are choosing to focus on this year, if their Resolution declaration is a select area of opportunity or simply trusting the wind of Mother Nature, to blow them in the right direction. I discover a cross section of responses, from determining Resolutions are for the faint of heart, to a long list of thrilling adventures, like they are living their last six months here on earth. A common theme is a decision to be around positive, happy people and definitively not trudging through a mindless, loveless job five days a week.  

This is the year of the Horse, celebrate starting January 31^st. The assumable Wood Horse year is bringing good luck and first-rate things, unexpected adventure, a time of fast victories, and surprising romance. It is an excellent year for travel, and the more far away and off the beaten path the better (Izmir, Turkey.) Energy is exceedingly high and production is grandly rewarded. Decisive action, not procrastination, brings victory. Acting fast is essential in a Horse year. If I am not 100% convinced about a decision, then I won’t do it. Events and escapades move so rapidly in a Horse year, I don’t want to gallop off in the wrong direction.

The squirrels are not as smart as me but perhaps more determined. I will secure the suet this time.