LISTENING . . . 
it's one of the best things you can do for a relationship or for anyone for that matter. I'm not talking about hearing with one ear and thinking in your head about your eager response while the words of your loved one are trying to be heard. I'm talking about keeping your mouth closed, your mind shut off to your own eager responses, and really listening and getting what the other person is saying. Don't even think about your own feelings at that point but rather think about what the other person is feeling, thinking, trying to tell you. First of all, be glad they are actually telling you their feelings and not keeping them all shut in and harboring resentment, frustration, and agitation. See it as a gift . . .  “This person, whom I love, is sharing themselves with me in a more intimate way than even sex”. (Yes, this is for the guys who actually think sex is the most intimate thing they can share. Not true.)

Okay, I said it. (Sorry, girls). But guys may not believe that because most guys, and I am not saying all guys, but most guys think that the most intimate thing they can do for the one they love is to have sex with them. Wrong!!! It's to listen. (And a side note: that little box with the Victoria Secret thingy in it is not really for her but for YOU. If you REALLY want to give her a gift, for HER only, then always listen.

If you are not paying attention then you can get sidetracked. If you find yourself getting sidetracked while you are supposed to be listening, then kick yourself in the behind and shape up. Someone very near and dear is trying to talk to you!!!

One time I went to some motivational meetings with someone and the speaker was talking about communication. Would you believe that what they really covered was how to listen? I did and came away with one of their great responses to give to someone . . . "I understand".

No, really. That was the saying. In other words, when you are listening to someone pour their guts out to you, you focus and say . . .  “I understand”. You then don't go on and on about how you understand because you were in the same situation five years ago and blah, blah, blah and how you got out of it and are now successful and yada, yada, yada.

No. You truly say, “I understand” and then you shut up!!! Let them keep talking. Remember . . . you're listening!!! It's not time for you to spill your guts as well. Especially if you are trying to work something out. Be the one who listens first and be patient. Your time will come to speak, and you will be listened to in a more encompassing way because you listened in a big way first.

Don't believe me? Then you're not listening to me!!!

Believe it or not, listening is believing . . . believing in the other person who is confiding in you and doing your best to understand. By saying you understand, it will actually help you to sit there and really try to understand.

Did I say you had to agree? No. Don't minimize another person's feelings just because you may not have experienced it nor think their feelings were practical, etc. And don't tell someone, "That's stupid", "I can't believe you felt that way". Dumb dumb. Don't you get it? They are feeling that way because you couldn't believe they were feeling that way the first time they told you!! Duh. Get a clue.

And by the way, don't tell someone how they should feel or not feel. Their feelings are valid. So are yours, but right now we are talking about listening, and your feelings or responses are supposed to be on hold for the moment, so you can be in the moment with what that someone is telling you about what he/she needs from you. So, listen. Really listen. It's important.

Did you know that if you start out a conversation with the thought that you have to agree in order to be resolved in your relationship, then you don't know the first thing about listening! Your opinions have nothing to do with listening. In fact, if you're thinking about your opinions at this point, you are not listening at all.

And that's a big one too . . .  your opinions. But NOT in a sit-down heart-to-heart conversation where someone is trying to patch up a relationship that's totally worth patching up. My opinion and yours, by the way, is but a grain of sand in the universe and not worth two cents when compared to hearing the words coming out of a loved one's mouth. Keep your opinions in the board room and hash it out all you want there, but bring love, an open mind and ear to relationships. If you are so bent on getting your opinions out in the world then write a blog about them!! Haha.

Are you listening? I understand.

So when your loved one bares their soul to you, you do your best to listen and understand and do one more thing . . .  ask, “What can I do to make things better”. Take responsibility to be a part of making things better because, believe you me, you were part of making things worse most likely! It's a two-way street. It takes two to tango. Be humble. You're not perfect and could probably use some changing in your attitude, the way you talk to people, the way you listen, and so forth and so on!

Do you understand?

Repeat after me . . .  “I understand”.

Good! Now you're on the road to good listening.


© nancy 12.30.2009

HAPPY HOLIDAYS Have you gotten into the Ho Ho Ho yet? No! No!! No??? “Get on with it!!” as Rosemary Verey said to me in 1996 when I was trying to get my picture taken beside her in her beautiful garden at Barnsley House in the Cotswolds of England. The task had taken longer than she thought necessary, and when the words came out of her mouth I thought in my southern mind . . . how rude!!! But I had grabbed her in an adoring tourist sort of way most likely taking her away from some desperate weeding she had in mind before she had to finish the next book she was writing not to mention the speech she would be giving at Oxford or the Chelsea Flower Show. Probably not. But can you imagine your garden being trampled by tourists on a daily basis and all you want to do is walk in your garden undisturbed? Yes, the British would have just walked by her and said, “How d'you do” while tipping their woolen hats and brandishing the ever-present plaid umbrella. But, us rowdy Americans just have to get in your face, wrap an arm around you and tell you to smile for a camera. Now that's rude and I can see Mrs. Verey's point. Touche.

Maybe this Christmas you can shed some cheer. You have a few days left. Bring your camera to the Mall, stand next to complete strangers, wrap your arm around their waists and tell them to shout “Kris Kringle” as you hold your tiny camera as far in front of you as your bones will allow. CLICK. Selfie taken and “there you have it” . . . another British term that comes in handy from time to time when finishing an elaborate story. So “get on with it” with a Hohoho and a Heeheehee realizing you may have made someone's day or at least made them wake up and smell the peppermint candy canes. My choice to keep my Christmas cheer in full gear? Coca colas and chocolate which inevitably will lay me  down with a bang on the couch with the cat on my chest for a long winter's nap. It could work for you too and hopefully, you will wake up to fresh, falling snow out your window after dreaming about a White Christmas where treetops glisten and children listen to hear sleigh bells in the snow. Where's Bing when you need him? And by the way, a sleigh pulled by some big, jingle-belled horses wouldn't hurt the mood, right? So take your frown, turn it upside down and you'll find your laughing place. Ho Ho Ho.

“Get on with it!”

 © nancy 2009

HO HO HO

Happy Holidays!

Wait a minute . . . did I just hear you mumble, "Bah Humbug?"

If you're determined to be a Bah Humbug, then be one with gusto and a smile. That way you'll be a hit. But if you want to be a curved back, grumbling Scrooge, then go sit in your cold corner alone without a lump of warm coal to your name and count your pennies instead of your blessings.

Me? I say, "Turn on the twinkly lights!!!"

That's right. I know that I was the first one to grumble at the folks who would put up their Christmas lights before Thanksgiving. I thought it a terrible thing to see twinkling lights for sale at the drug store along with Halloween masks. Can't people be patient? What's the rush to get to Christmas before you can even say, "Boo?!"

But this year I had a change of heart. Before I could say, "Trick or Treat" I was silently getting out my tree from its resting place in the attic and giving it a prominent place in a room where it could be seen through my front glass door from the street below. It helped that the happy lights were permanently attached to the fake tree, and I only had to plug the cord into the outlet and exclaim . . .  "I needed a little Christmas . . . right this very minute . . . I needed a little Christmas NOW !!!"

So what if the Trick or Treaters came to my door this year and Ding Dong! saw the glowing tree in the background. They probably thought they had landed in Oz. Unfortunately, Glenda had a headache and couldn't meet and greet the little munchkins at the door so a bowl of candy was left on the stoop next to the pumpkins to make the trek up the driveway worth the little goblins' efforts. Hope the kiddos found the offering while their parents stood at the curb far below . . . yelling, "Only take one piece!"

And grumbling amongst themselves . . . "Is that a Christmas tree I see through the front door? What?!!! The nerve. Can't she wait for the last piece of candy to be eaten? I tell you what . . some people! It's bad enough that you see folks putting up their trees before their Thanksgiving turkey can come out of the oven, but I swear. Really?".

"Yeah, and the next thing you know she'll be setting off fireworks in January!!!"

Hmmmm . . . that's an idea.

And off they go, hand in hand, with their batmans, princesses and pirates to the tune of, "Can we put up our tree when we get home, mom/dad? Can we? That was pretty!"

And what about you? Are you down in the dumps? Turn the radio on 'cause Santa Claus is Comin' To Town, Chestnuts are Roasting on an Open Fire, and I'll Be Home For Christmas . . . you can count on me.

"And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord . . . " (Luke 2:10-11)

"... and peace on earth toward men of good will." (literal translation)

(c) nancy 12.1.2009

GOBBLE GOBBLE GOBBLE
It's coming . . . whether you like it or not !!! So hold on to your turkey it might be a bumpy ride.

For some people, the holidays are a time for stress. For others, it is a time for joy. It all depends on what has happened before, whether most of your family times have been euphoric or simply unbearable. Everyone comes to the holiday season with a certain mental frame of mind which carries them through the days or hurtles them into freakout space.

So I say let's change things. Let's change our minds and therefore change our circumstances. You don't have to gobble up all the world's or your family's traditional views of what you SHOULD be doing this Thanksgiving. Do something different. Make a new tradition.

Ask yourself, "What do I want to do"? Does that sound selfish? To a degree, yes, but sometimes you just have to think about you 'cause if YOU don't, who will?

If you are beginning to feel the rise of stress levels in your body and mind as the leaves outside your window are falling, then decide you are going to HAVE IT YOUR WAY and hold the pickle if you want! If you don't want the pickle then don't eat it. Tell your folks you've gone holidarian in place of vegetarian this year and you're sorry but you can't digest Thanksgiving.

Instead, you could invite all your real friends over, bringing with them whatever they want . . . turkey, tofurkey . . . you name it! Go to the beach and have a picnic on the sand with someone you REALLY want to be with at this time. Maybe it's just your cat!! The key is to be light, have fun and enjoy life. If you can do that around your family, then go for it with gusto. If you can't, don't feel bad, and don't let your family make you feel bad. Do tell them you love them and be cheerful and sincere about it and then go baste your turkey and eat it too . . . or not!

Do what makes you thankful and make sure you have been kind in the process because we know that Karma is a @#*"!




© nancy 11.92009

TESTS

Remember all those tests you had to study for from kindergarten through four or more years of college? All the cramming? All the sleep-deprived nights and the resultant sleepy afternoons which found you trying to keep your heavy-lidded eyes open while listening to your boring biology teacher's sesquipedalian (thank you for this word you folks who wrote the script for the movie "Love Happens") description of fungi?

"any of a diverse group of eukaryotic single-celled or multinucleate organisms that live by decomposing and absorbing the organic material in which they grow, comprising the mushrooms, molds, mildews, smuts, rusts, and yeasts, and classified in the kingdom Fungi or, in some classification systems, in the division Fungi (Thallophyta) of the kingdom Plantae".

Did you fall asleep? Wake Up! Wipe the drool off your office desk and have fun taking the test provided by the link here:http://www.humanmetrics.com/cgi-win/JTypes2.asp

You don't have to study a thing. Just be yourself. You may find out that you are who you are and someone has put it into words that you couldn't and you'll make sense to you too!

“Oh . . . so that's why I run from conflicts or take charge of everything and everyone. Hmmmm. Interesting. Now I understand my husband better, my office mate, my child.”

Well, just because it's written in black and white doesn't mean it's written in stone. The great thing about human beings is their ability to adapt and to change. You don't have to be an asshole all your life!!! You can change and be a sweetie. Really! No lie. And you don't have to be crouched in the corner afraid of your shadow and everyone else's. No kidding.

You can be that Fungi or fun girl and mushroom into the person you really want to be and not what you were born with, or grew up surrounded by, or told you had to be, or tested that you are . . . blah, blah, blah.

YOU be YOU and go out there and test your metal and show the world what you're made of, for you are YOU, classified in your own Kingdom. YOU RULE !!!

But if YOU {choose to} BE icky and hurt people on purpose and are rude and unkind, in other words, a real smut, then don't be you. CHANGE. Be better. You'll like yourself more and you may even wake up one morning to realize you like the world you live in as well. Waking up to smell the coffee and drinking it will actually make you smile knowing you have changed, making the world a better place for us all.

Thank YOU !!!


© nancy 10.1.2009

MANNA FROM HEAVEN

Okay, so who really knows what manna was from heaven?

When I saw this humongous 3.2 pound mushroom (pictured above) in my back yard, I got a glimpse. I know . . . I know . . . this rounded phenomenon came from a lot of rain,and my ground being recently aerated beforehand. But I just read in Exodus 16:14 that the children of Israel who were hungry and complained to Moses about being starved to death in the wilderness were told to check out the ground every morning after the dew had done its thing and then “gone up”. When they looked, they beheld “a small round thing”. Don't you love it!! They didn't know what it was and I can hear them now . . .

“Hey, man, like what in the heck is that little round thing all over the ground?”
“I don't know, Dude, but I almost stepped on a trillion of 'em when I went to the loo.”
“I'm starved. Hey . . . let's eat one.”
“Check it out, Dude!! Try one or a billion”.
“I'm stuffed.”
“What do you reckon it is?”
“Man, uh, I don't know.”
“That's it! Let's call it Manna!”
“Awesome!!!”

Then, lucky them, they got to eat Quail at night, but don't you know they couldn't remain thankful and began to complain about the manna from heaven.

Some folks just can't be happy no matter what!

Of course, I am being facetious. All I really wanted to do was to show you how big my mushroom was that I found in my back yard and took a picture of it looking like a big, fresh-out-of-the-oven loaf of bread.

BTW, does anyone know what kind of mushroom it is and can I eat it . . . with quail?


© nancy 9.27.2009

 

FALL

Someone told me that today is the first day of Fall. Here in my hometown it came in just right . . . all cloudy and wet after a good night's rain. In fact, today was preceded by a day and a night of cool air devoid of humidity. It made me feel like pumpkins should be sprouting out into sparkling carriages and little goblins should soon be at my doorstep with trick or treat bags in hand.

Weeding the vegetable garden seemed like a good idea, so I pulled up the huge (and I do mean huge) watermelon vine, which filled up two garbage cans, that I hauled out to the curb. It was a treat because it yielded three taste-worthy melons ready to cleanse the body. I cracked one open and took all the 'meat' out of it and put the chunks in a big Ziploc bag to rest and think about its short life before it found its way into my stomach. There's still some okra and some cherry tomatoes as well as some eggplant hanging out for my consumption. Lots of fresh basil of the sweet and lemon variety, some fennel, bay, lavender, rosemary, and thymes to make dishes more savory. Autumn clematis, which looks like it should adorn a wedding veil, hangs instead from a tree like a white waterfall off a cliff. Some beautiful pink and orange concoctions from a Heart's Bursting plant survived the dear deer that like to eat it before it can flower in all its glory. The butterflies and fat hummingbirds still hover over the deep purple Buddleia and the huge cannas that one of my daughters dug up from her yard and passed on to me. When she comes over, she marvels at how big they have gotten and I marvel as well. I think I must have double green thumbs and the luck of the Irish ta boot (being 1/4 Scot/Irish as my mom is proud to admit).

In fact, I picked up my precious 91 year old mother today, and we took a ride down one of the widest streets here in Raleigh to see if the leaves were changing. We noticed that the dogwoods were cooperating. Soon the crape myrtles will follow and all the rest. We are hoping to have a really good show because we have had a summer not like last summer's drought. Lots of rain. Yum yum.

Not looking forward to all the leaves, though, especially since I have three gigantic oaks out front. I affectionately call them my Guardians as they stand majestically out my front windows as if to ward off evil. They lasted through Hurricane Fran, so I know they will be with me for as long as I get to stay in this house. I am hoping it will be a very long time.


ta ta summer


© nancy 9.22.2009

X's

It's hard to wash the X out of your clothes.

Here you are, divorced, and you feel as if a big X is marked across your chest. You go to church, to the grocery store, to work and that X is flashing in a neon sort of way letting the world know that you failed.

Big time.

You feel that even your license plate transforms into an “X” so that those driving in your vicinity can keep their distance as if you were in a Student Driver car situation and didn't know the rules of the road.

Great.

You hear everyone say, “It wasn't your fault. You're better off without him/her.” Etcetera, etcetera. Blah, blah, blah.

Uh-huh. Right.

But you know that your children would be better off with their family intact because then they may not have felt as if they were tossed out of a boat during a storm and no one threw them a life raft. You know that they probably felt as if they were treading water for no fault of their own and the sharks in the dark were circling. But you were in no shape to help them because you were in the shark's teeth trying to save your own life . . . such as it was.

Somehow or other you were able to swim to shore and gasp for breath on dry land. Exhausted. But now what do you do?

You look around. This doesn't look the same. You're on a different island and you have nothing. What to do? What to do?

Think Swiss Family Robinson.

Okay, so they had their whole family dashed together on shore and were able to rebuild their lives as a whole. And lookey there . . . God even brought a girl to the island to answer the dilemma of, “How are we going to survive and extend our existence on this land?” Not only were they able to rescue an organ for music, clothes, and sails to make clothes, foodstuff, books, an ostrich, but also a donkey! Who knew?

So . . . hang in there.

 Sooner or later the sun will shine and fade that big 'ol X on your shirt. It may not fade it completely. You may have to physically cut it out of your life, I mean your T-shirt, with a pair of scissors.

But it's easier to wash or cut out an X off your clothes than bleach the emotions out of your heart.

© nancy 9.14.2009

NINE ELEVEN

Today we are all remembering where we were the instant we heard.
How can we forget?
We shouldn't.

My children were safely sent off to school and I was preparing for my day when my mother called me and told me to turn on my TV.

I barely left it for the next two to three weeks.

My husband and I had been to Switzerland on a two-week vacation. We had been separated but had gotten back together, so this trip was special to me. The first week was with a hiking group that my husband liked to do with a friend. While the group hiked for 4-6 hours per day, I hung out at the Haus and took pictures of the beautiful little village of S-charl where we stayed every night. The next week we took off by ourselves seeing wonderful places aboard the trains. One stop was Zermatt which fascinated me since seeing a Disney movie called 'Third Man on the Mountain' when I was younger. It is not as well known as some of the other Disney movies but one of my favorites nonetheless.

With my mind full of scenic visions and my floor scattered with memorabilia and photos, I was about to put together a scrapbook of our venture across the ocean. Later, I began to see just how lucky we were to have been on a plane coming back to America on the 30th of August.

But right then the phone rang and all I could do was sit in front of the TV with my mouth open, my eyes wide, and pray, barely able to think of anything else. All else paled in comparison and life was reduced down to its simplest form.

Life and death.

Every day I prayed for survivors to be rescued and prayed they would hang on until someone, who was brave, risked their own life to go in all the rubble and find them. I never want to see anyone jump out of a building again. My tears were nothing compared to those who lost loved ones.

I pray for the children left without parents.
I pray for wives left without their husbands.
I pray for husbands left without their wives.
I pray for parents who lost their children and who are now taking care of their grandchildren.
I pray for families who were ripped apart when all they wanted to do was to be together.

It's not fair.


© nancy 9.11.2009

SUPERMAN

I used to watch a show on T.V. on Sunday nights. It was called “Lois & Clark: The New Adventures of Superman”. I came back to it week after week for the romance. I was hooked. (Teri Hatcher and Dean Cain really put on a show and let the sparks fly . . . not to mention the rest of the crew.) And God bless you, Deborah Joy LeVine, for a wonderful script.

After all, what woman wouldn't want to BE Lois? I pictured myself in her shoes as she was being constantly rescued by Superman. The dumb-dumb didn't know that he was really Clark Kent. Duh!!! Take off his glasses and put some on, Lois!

But Clark was the real deal. He did what every woman with a romantic soul wanted . . . he listened.

He gave Lois his undivided attention and actually looked into her eyes while he listened. Yum.

And he said all the right words. Melt.

And he let Lois be Lois and fell in love with her in spite of herself. Mmmmmm. Triple Yum Yum.

Finally, her eyes were opened after years of steady Clarkdom and she realized that her hero lived within her best friend.

So. all you guys out there, go out and rent all the seasons of 'Lois and Clark', absorb every episode (the ones before they got different writers and it began to fall apart), and get your Superman on.

Better yet . . . get your Clark on. If you watch closely he'll give you some clues, ideas, pointers, on how to be the Superman to your Lois in a real Clark world.

Believe it or not, just about every woman, in this politically correct equal opportunity world, still desires a man who can sweep her off her feet and fly her to the moon.

(P.S. I usually take all the pictures that feature in my Blog but Dean was busy so I used a picture of him from my DVD's. Please don't sue me all you folks who made up and produced the DVDs. I won't do it again.)


© nancy 9.8.2009

HUMPTY DUMPTY

She couldn’t put it off any longer. All Tatti ever knew was the daily raising of her three children, the PTA meetings, Sunday school, laundry, cleaning up after her family, Garden Club, Book Club, dinner parties for her husband’s partners, taking care of her own parents and everything else in between.

Now she found herself without her husband, her children graduated from college and her parents in and out of the Emergency Room . She was no longer in a beautiful 3000 square foot house with a well manicured yard that she landscaped and sweated in to achieve. No. She was existing in a 500 square foot apartment with door slamming neighbors.

People had the nerve to ask her, “How are you doing?”

She decided to have the guts to answer truthfully, “Not so good.”

Tatti found it interesting to see people’s responses to this truth. They normally heard, “Fine” to this enquiry but they did not know how to respond to the negative truth. So Tatti kept telling people the truth and let the responses fall as they may. She was tired of faking fine when she wasn’t fine. Tired of smiling when she didn’t feel like smiling. Tired of putting on a good Southern face to save face. To really fake it she would need plastic surgery to lift the bags under her eyes from the ten billion tears she had cried at night which seeped under her skin to lodge in the morning in two sagging pouches. Maybe, she wondered, if she looked “Fine” she could fake her own self out and begin to actually believe she was “Fine”. Nothing like a little denial to lift one’s spirits.

Fine. The question was, “Would her insurance cover cosmetic procedures?” The bags under her eyes weren’t life-threatening, but maybe if she had a letter from her therapist sent to the insurance company saying she needed it for her emotional and mental uplifting?

No?

Fine.

Tatti looked the word up in the dictionary and realized it had many variations.
#15. healthy; well:
#6. delicate in texture; filmy:
#13. delicate or subtle:
#14. bright or clear:
#22. in nautical terms...as close as possible to the wind:
#1. of superior or best quality: of high or highest grade
#2. choice, excellent, or admirable:
#8. highly skilled or accomplished:

Maybe she was looking at it all wrong. Maybe she was fine but in a different definition sort of way.

Perhaps she was delicate and filmy and as close to the wind as was possible but she wasn’t going to blow away. She could be #6 and #22 and strive to reach #1 even though she was tarnished.
Perhaps all she needed to work on was #26, "to make fine or finer, esp. by pulverizing"or #28 “by filtration”.

If she could pulverize her thoughts and emotions and put them through some sort of filtration system, then would she come out “fine”? Or crushed into so many pieces that she could never be put back together again like Humpty Dumpty? After all, the original drawing for that Mother Goose Rhyme was never a fragile egg sitting on a wall. But if the egg fell off the wall and cracked open leaving the yolk separated from the white, then how could it ever be put back together again?

Tatti wondered if her marriage was like an egg . . . two people of different colors encased in a shell. Only her shell fell off the 'til-death-do-us-part wall and she found herself broken in tiny pieces with her guts split wide open. Could her marriage still exist in a scrambled mess? After all, an egg was an egg whether it was sunny side up, boiled, or scrambled, right?

Yes . . . but it doesn't look the same . . . feel the same.

© nancy 9.1.2009

BREATHE
If I could tell someone, who is going through difficulties, just one thing, it would be to

BREATHE.

In the year 2000, which BTW sounds so futuristic yet is now the past, I breathed a lot.

I also cried a lot.

I began listening to the one Spanish radio channel because all the others kept playing 

somebody-done-somebody-wrong songs,

 or songs that brought memories up in my head like Shania Twain's

"You're The One".

I would be at a stoplight, crying in my car, and I knew that the person in the Honda next to me might be thinking in their southern head, “Bless her heart. I bet her cat just died or her mom, dad, husband . . . "” They'd be right, in a sense. My marriage had died, and I was grieving. So I decided to only listen to the upbeat rhythms of espanol which I could let kookaracha through my heart without effect. I could pretend that they were singing about spicy dishes or dancing in the streets even though they were probably covering the same relationship break-ups.

 

Denial was the name of my new best friend.

At any rate, when the tears would begin to well up in the corner of my eyes while watching a movie in the theater, I realized that if I took a slow, deep breath and let it out slowly that the tears in my eyes would recede. A few more slow breaths and I could sit there and not make a complete fool of myself crying out loud. I began using this technique at the very onset of a thought of a tear and it would work even better. The bags under my eyes could begin to recede. 

You might be going through something right now that makes T.V. watching, Hallmark commercials, puppies, and life, in general, bring on a wave of emotion to which I am saying,

breathe. 

When you feel the emotional tsunami coming , take a slow, calculated breath and let it out slowly.

Tell yourself,

breathe,

and keep breathing. If you talk to yourself you'll realize that there is a daughter, a son, a cat . . . who

needs
you
 to

breathe

even though you just want to jump off the nearest Empire State Building. That's messy.

Don't do it.

KEEP BREATHING

I am learning that the moment I wake up in the morning is a good time to do just that and I've added 'praying for others'. If you wake up in the morning and start praying or thinking of others rather than "poor little me", it will help you get your mind off yourself. Give twenty dollars out of your wallet, purse, pant's pocket to that person carrying a cardboard sign at the corner of the busy street you drive by and be thankful it's not you 'cause in this economy, it very well could be any one of us out there begging to live.

If they want to

keep breathing,

you should too.

As long as you keep breathing there's the chance that you will wake up one morning and the sun will be shining and everything you've ever wanted is right there in front of your eyes. You're worth it.

Don't give up.

BREATHE

© nancy 8.28.2009

FLOWER
I was wondering what I could write about this afternoon and came up with the word 'flower'. Why? Because I love flowers and I love taking pictures of flowers. I like planting them and watching them grow and bloom. They're fascinating.

When I bought a macro lens, I got deeper into the blooms and saw how intricate and sensuous they can be which made me think about God and His creations. You are always hearing people say, “Write about what you know” and I know a little about flowers. 

I looked up the word 'flower' in Webster's and the definition reads : 1. the blossom of a plant.

I looked up 'blossom' to see if further details would unfold: 1. the flower of a plant.

Hmm . . . not much help. It smacked of the chalked equation on blackboards in math class: if A equals B and B equals C, then A equals C. See?

Perhaps the next definition of 'flower' would be more helpful: 2.a the part of a seed plant comprising the reproductive organs and their envelopes if any, esp. when such envelopes are more or less conspicuous in form and color.

First of all, you have to wonder about the minds who wrote this stuff because it is devoid of emotion, elation, excitement, anything. You can hear the guy in Ferris Bueller's class drone on . . . Anyone? . . . Anyone? . . . Bueller?

Huh? Wiping the drool off the mental desk of my mind I had to realize that the second definition was more graphic than I expected or wanted, but it does define some of those macro shots I took, I must admit. Webster's then offered a complete diagram of a flower in cross-section with all of its body parts named. I know flowers aren't human, but the names of its parts sure sound male/female. The diagram should have a rating on it like 'NC17' or 'Parent's Discretion Advised for 13 or Below' because your progeny, of whom you are so proud of at the I-can-read age of 5, will deftly peruse definition number 2a, then ask you in their sweet, innocent voice, 'what's an ovary'? You may not be comfortable or ready to discuss that word yet because it's hard for you to even let it blossom out of your own mouth.

So, take them by their pudgy, little hands, smile and suggest going out in the garden instead. Smell the roses. When they are sixteen, you can let them look through your macro lens and get a glimpse of a blossom in all its exposed glory.

(c) nancy 8.6.2009

THE SEVEN SECOND RULE

In 2000 I made up The Seven Second Rule.

A friend of mine and I found ourselves separated from long term marraiges so we stuck together like glue to help each other get through the days. We were High School friends but had not seen each other since graduation. I learned from another High School friend that my other friend was going through the same thing I was, and she suggested I call her, so I took seven seconds out of my day to 'dial' her number and connect. It was seven seconds that would prove to give me hours/years of friendship.

And that's all about the Seven Second Rule . . . taking seven seconds out of your day/life to connect. (I may have to rename it The Ten Second Rule because now you have to include the area code when dialing someone on your cell phone.)

We began discussing the fact that, if someone really cared about you, was seven seconds too much to ask?

Our answer was always a resounding, “No!”

Yet some folks consider seven seconds to be too much.

Really?

Because we can take our phones with us wherever we go, then “I couldn't find the time/I have been so busy” becomes a non-issue. Just be honest and say, “I didn't want to talk to/with you”. That would be better than side-clicking someone, which is the new thing you can do to the caller, throwing them directly into voicemail, breaking their train of thought to the point they end up stuttering, “Hey . . .  um . . . ” and are left hanging in mid-air with the phone raised in front of their faces in confused silence.

Cell phones were still new to some people in 2000. But if your girlfriend/boyfriend had a cell phone, and gave that number to you, then it was deemed even more personal. “Yea, let me give you my cell phone number” and you were instantly special. Giving that number to someone implied you were there for that person 24/7. And you would return their calls as soon as possible, (no lie), if you truly were in a board meeting. And if they were super special, you could put them on speed dial.

Now we use our cell phones as our primary phones because some of us do not have a landline. Cell phones these days are so small that they can go silently into the movie theater with you, rest in your pants pocket while you tee up or, should I delicately say, go into the bathroom with you. So while you're sitting there (girls) or standing there (guys) for more than ten seconds off and on all day, you could use The Seven/Ten Second Rule. (I can hold the phone in one hand and punch in the numbers and, with practice, you can too, so there's no excuse). Remember to flush, but don't flush your friends down the commode. Call them.

Aren't they worth more than seven/ten seconds of your precious day?

It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out the answer.

(c) nancy 8.4.2009

YARD SALES

I received a note tacked into the wood which precariously supports my rusting mailbox. The colorful note informed me that my neighborhood would be having a joint yard sale this coming weekend. I wouldn't have to do a thing but look all over my house to find appropriate yard sale items to place in my driveway. This task was going to take some thought as I had a huge yard sale only last summer!

Hmmm. What to put in the yard sale . . .

By the way, is 'yardsale' one word or is 'yard sale' two words? Does it depend on context, whether it's in the newspaper, or on a poster stapled at the corner telephone pole?

Think about that and get back to me.

At any rate, I have been racking my brain as I walk through my house. There's the stained glass chandelier that didn't sell in the last yard sale. Perhaps it's still too expensive? But what the heck. I remember buying a dining room table and chairs at a yard sale and my daughter was able to use it for a spell before she sold it on Craig's List when she got something better! Believe it or not, I also bought another dining room table and chairs at another yard sale for my other daughter and she still has it. Do you reckon it will show up at this yard sale? I'll know when the van shows up this afternoon with all her goodies. And there's the framed pictures still hanging up on the wall in my garage that didn't sell the last time around either.  Again, are they too high a price and should they be hanging up waiting for a neighborhood Estate Sale? Will that lady come back who bought the huge picture at my last yard sale? Maybe she needs to buy some more to go with the biggie that's now hanging on her daughter's apartment wall?

The attic. Anything in there? No. That area was swept and cleaned up after last summer's sale and new boxes appeared after Christmas full of ornaments which didn't have a space to rest until next December at my daughter's home where they spent a jolly holiday. That's what attics are for . . . storing your stuff and your children's stuff. You love it every time they come over because it means they'll be back at some point to retrieve their stuff in the attic and you get to see them again.

Clothes. Do people really want to see your old, worn-out rags tossed on a quilt on top of the dried-out summer grass? I know I don't. When I pass a yard sale that has clothes piled up in a heap on the lawn looking like they were just picked off of Junior's bedroom floor and thrown out his window, I not only drive by but I speed by.

And the signs. Just read them. They'll tell you if anything is worth the price of gas in your tank to investigate. I always make my yard sale signs look very promising. FURNITURE is always a good word to plaster on the bright yellow posterboard bought at Rite Aid which will be posted on a tree, a telephone pole, or on a stake that will be hammered into the hard dirt at the corner light. ANTIQUES is another good word. All those early yard sale risers who come out trying to find the best stuff, not only for themselves but for their shops, love to see that word pop up in bold, black lettering on that sign you pray to God won't fold over during the 3 a.m. rain.

CAT might be a good word for this yard sale sign since my feline decided to leave me hanging for 48 hours while she traipsed who-knows-where. I was just getting used to the thought of not having to vacuum cat hair off my furniture, when I saw her at the back door this morning, right as rain, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, ready to gobble up three scoops of her food. It's a good thing I like her because FUR COAT, written in bold, black magic marker on the poster up the street might have drawn some yard-salers down the road to my open garage door.

(C) nancy 7.23.2009

  

Fortune Sticks

I have been opening up my can of Chinese Fortune Sticks for approximately thirty-seven times. Today was my lucky charm day for my fortune read: Unexpected money and happiness is before you.

Supposedly these sticks are “The Oldest Known Method Of Fortune telling in the World”. And yes, I typed it as it is shown on the can and the 't' in 'telling' is not capitalized. Should that tell me something?

These sticks are “for ages 8 & up”. I guess if you are aged eight or below you don't get a fortune. You just have to be glad you're alive!

At any rate, what happened to tea leaves? Weren't people drinking tea in cups or wooden bowls for centuries and divining one's life through them before they were whittling sticks and putting them in little piles to await calligraphic lines of fortunistic doom or happiness to be penned upon their smoothed surfaces?

According to my can of imminent opportunities or failures, “the original fortunes were written in Chinese poetry. A translation has been made to English from an ancient book of Chinese Fortunes”.

Well . . . la-de-da.

I guess my fortune may be translated: Unexpected money and happiness is before you . . . maybe.

Or it could read: Unexpected happiness and a penny you picked up off the pavement is probably all you're gonna get if you're lucky to trip over both of them in the parking lot of Wal-Mart.

Okay. I'll stop with the gloom and wish on the next star to the right that this fortune stick is straight out of the ancient mouth of a Chinese babe and is true. I could use some unexpected money and happiness.

(c) nancy 7.16.2009

ST. SIMON AND AN ISLAND

O.K. So who is St. Simon anyway? Is he the one you pray to if you have lost something and need to find it? My Catholic Mom would know. But I’m thinking that he must have been very good to get an island named after him. A nice tropical island with palm trees, ferns, warm breezes, The Cloister, and the rich and famous. Lucky for me, I have a friend who lives on this island and another friend who can drive longer than two hours!

So my friend and I decided to take a Thelma and Louise trip to see our mutual friend on this island. We didn’t take a gun. We weren’t planning on shooting anyone or driving off a cliff when our stay was over. But we were planning on having fun, relaxing and talking a lot. A Brad Pitt look-alike who may cross our path while on this venture wouldn’t be a bad thing to encounter.

Well . . . little did my friend know that on our second day she was going to get a Reiki session that would leave her emotionally depleted for the rest of the day not to mention those massage table dents left on her face that only a two-year-old’s skin could bounce back from in less than 24 hours. When she came out from her session and walked to the car, I felt for her. “Ouch!” I wondered what she really went through as no one gave out any information. It was a mystery, and I had never heard the term 'Reiki' before, so my mind began to conjure up the scene:

There she was in the subdued lit room with the vague essence of lavender and vanilla floating in the air like leftover herbal remedies that couldn’t make up their minds whether to leave the room and free the space of their presence or whether they should stay and cling to the next person like Petouli oil on a 1970's hippie's tie-dyed clothes. With the quiet, subtle relaxing sounds coming from the six-disc changer . . . would it take THAT long? . . .  she was told to get under the freshly washed sheets. Felt pretty good so far. Was that a giant heating pad she felt underneath her that was making her feel warm and relaxed already? She settled her face into the headrest and breathed. “Ahhhhh, she thought, I get to do this for an hour and a half”.

An hour and a half later she thought, “Damn!! I’m never doing that again! I’m exhausted, disoriented, and confused”. Come to find out, it wasn't a massage I thought she would be getting, but some kind of energy work to rid her of negative energy. I think it doused all energy that she had before she went in.

I felt sorry for my friend. I hoped she would recover in time for the long drive home the next day because, if I had to take over the wheel, we might land in Okeephaknowkee, phonetically speaking. I would surely have to pray to St. Simon at that point for I would be a lost soul on the road to nowhere with my friend asleep in the passenger seat. She’d wake up, look around and exclaim, “Are those prairie dogs?”

Yep, and a few tumbling tumbleweeds to boot, cowgirlfriend.

So what am I trying to say here?

Go take a Thelma and Louise trip with someone who likes to drive. You may want to buy a verbal device that will technotell you in a soft female voice to ‘turn right at the next light’ so that you won’t land up in Nowheresville with a drooling companion who couldn’t continue at the wheel after the eleventh hour. Darn! Maybe a shorter trip would be a better idea, but life is short and long trips are waiting.

Go!!!

(c) nancy 7.16.2009

RAINY MORNINGS

Rainy mornings (or afternoons or evenings) are magical to me. My first thought when I hear thunder is actually a memory. I picture myself at an open window as a child, kneeling with my grandmother who is telling me not to be afraid, but to marvel instead in the beauty of the rain, the lightning, the thunder. I soak it all in and smile.

I love the smell of rain. If I am outside and I get a whiff of the possibility, it makes me happy. To hear it pounding on the roof is a delight. To open a window or a screen door is to breathe in life encased in wet drops from heaven. If you run outside and open your mouth and let the nectar of the sky fall in, then you feel one with the powers that be. You become drenched if it's a real downpour, the rain soaking your hair and glistening on your arms, and you feel baptized. All is new.

Right now it is so dark you would think it was dusk and all would be put to bed soon. But it is only 9:36 in the morning.

Rainy mornings now make me want to write. They have always made me want to read. I love to curl up in the corner of the couch and read a really good book that transports my mind so thoroughly that I forget about food. Of course, there's always the cuddling. But that needs its own page.

I think about Adam and Eve and that we were all meant to tend a garden and be outside. I must be very connected to that thought as I love dirt. I love to plant things in the dirt. I like to smell good dirt. I like to make it better than what it is in my own backyard by adding compost. I like to watch the things I have planted grow in front of my eyes.

I like to walk in the rain and sail in a thunderstorm. The louder, the better.

Once I was in Atlanta in a hotel room and the thunder and lightning were so loud because it bounced and reverberated off the tall buildings, zigzagging down from one side to the other, culminating by the pane I stood behind. How thrilling. I even think the hairs on my arms stood up.

Another place where the thunder and lightning were so loud was at the family farm I lived in for four years. Because the house had a tin roof may have made a difference in the resonance of the sounds of not only the rain pounding on it, but also how thunder drummed across its surface. But I think that also the low, flat fields that surrounded the house made an uninterrupted landscape for the noise to be thrown at full force at me standing in the frail protection of the uninsulated walls. I could feel the breeze across my face even as I sat on the couch due to the cracks here and there in the house. The floor was the floor and that was the only thing keeping me from the dirt below. No insulation anywhere.

To put it in the definitive words of Webster, rain is 'water that is condensed from the aqueous vapor in the atmosphere and falls to earth in drops'.

How lovely.

(c) nancy 7.13.2009

GENERALLY SPEAKING

So I like to watch General Hospital. We all have our shows we've hidden in our TV closet but I'm comin' out and proud of it. Don't laugh!!!

I know you are secretly watching The Bachelorette but are afraid to claim it because the guys would laugh at you in the office. But didn't a few of them leave early also on Monday nights lately saying they have to pick up their clothes at the cleaners or walk the dog (and you know for a fact they don't own a dog)? You knew it was a lie on Tuesday morning when they cruised in wearing a shirt that hadn't seen the steam. And you caught a few of your co-workers catching up online watching The View about the one who got canned at the rose ceremony only a few DVR hours ago. Uh huh.

By the way, who do you think she'll pick?

Gotcha! See?!! You were quick to think about your answer because I caught it in your eyes. I KNEW you were watching.

So . . . back to G.H.

I have a new convert to G.H. who voiced up and down that he'd NEVER watch a Soap. But now he calls me for a synopsis if he misses a show and says that my short renditions are even better than the live versions. Who could not love Spinelli? (O.K., you'll have to watch the show to get the scoop on him. Reading about him isn't good enough. You'll have to watch him act.) And Sonny Corinthos? Yeah. He's so bad, he's good and when he throws Claudia on the couch and takes over where she started, you want to laugh and say, “You go, guy!!!”

And Carly is another story. She can drop a tear quicker than you can say Jason Morgan! Who, by the way, can drop a tear almost as fast, only his aren't as crocodile as Carlys'. But he drops his head and stares until his eyes are rimmed in pink and that tear forms ready to drop but just hangs in the corner, waiting.

And don't you just love Olivia Falconeri? Her sarcasm and little grin is great, right? And it's about time they let an older woman be with a younger man. Looks like Johnnie can handle all that Olivia has to offer even if he could be her son, and I bet he's enjoying every “Cut!” of it what with the big grin that crops up on his face whenever she enters the room. It's NOT an act!

Not to mention Dianne's quick comebacks and put-downs that make you want to either crawl in a corner or jump on her because she's so Charles-in-Charge. Her upper lip gets thin and stiff but her lower lip does all the talking, and her eyes tell you that she's going to open a can of Whupass any minute if you don't back off. And she tells Jason to basically Shut Up!!! Dianne, you're too much, but keep it comin'!!!

So turn on G.H. at 3 o'clock or DVR it, buckle your seat belts and get ready for a bumpy ride. You won't want to get out of the car.

(c) nancy

 7.11.2009

FANDANGO

Here's a little thing I wrote in response to a dare to write something which included these three words: (1) parsing, (2) honorifica and (3) fandango.

You try it!! In any case, the subject matter is true and I didn't even change the names because Maryanne should be proud of herself for being not only the smartest girl in class but also the one with the Palmer perfect penmanship.

So here goes ...

Growing up in a Catholic elementary school in the 1960s was “interesting”, positively speaking. At that time the teachers were mostly nuns dressed in habits which made them a bit frightening with their heads engulfed in white, stiff halos. That additional stiff thing that hugged their tiny Adam's apple in a chokehold made the blood look like it was being squeezed out of their necks. The biggest rosary you ever saw dangled tantalizingly like a prayer wrapped around their black shrouded waists inviting all the children to touch it reverently in their tiny miracle expectant hands. You never saw any bangs trying to escape below the band of white that covered the nuns' foreheads. What age were they? You couldn't tell if their hair was gray, red, or shaven under all that stuff. Only their penitent faces peered out of this virginal veil to teach us the catechism of the day.

Two things stood out for me in the classroom. One was learning words in order to beat Maryanne Lowendick at the end of the week Spelling Bee. The other was learning The Palmer Method of writing. Maryanne was also the best in the handwriting division, and I tried very hard to be vigilant in my workbook, practicing my a's, b's, and c's to be as letter-perfect as my competitor's penmanship.

I have to admit though that I came pretty close to perfection in parsing sentences. The lines which deviated from the subject/verb/object became an abstract art form on the blackboard looking like arteries and veins coursing through the English language. How satisfying it was to turn around and face Maryanne. Top that!

But as Monday turned into Tuesday which inevitably turned into Friday, the pressure would build toward the anticipated words which would eventually come out of Sister Mary Francis' mouth, “O.K. Class it's time for The Spelling Bee. Put all your desks against the wall and get in a circle”. We dutifully pushed our wooden seats outwards and stood up next to our classmates ready to spell the words put before us. One by one the defeated individuals sat back in their seats, leaving Maryanne and me to face one another across the room.

She began to deafen our ears with the honorificabilitudinitatibus of her spelling genius. Feeling a bit faint, I stood my ground and hoped that I could last as long as Maryanne. Fortunately, the teacher did not tell us that we also had to use the designated word spelled in a sentence, or I would have been a goner when she turned to me and yelled, “Fandango!”

(c) nancy 7.10.2009

CYBERDATE


Pookie got in her red hot pepper-colored BMW to "meet up" with her first cyberdate. She knew she shouldn't have gone but since it was her first time, being an online dating virgin and all, she thought ‘what the heck’ and decided to give the guy a ‘look see’ and the benefit of the doubt.

She pulled into the designated parking lot and ignored the first red flag as he pulled in beside her in a beat-up convertible. “Hmmmmm. Not a good sign,” was her first thought which she threw out the window along with her better judgment. After all, first impressions aren’t always right, right?

The second flag flew up when Pookie saw him open the car door, get out and emerge with baby fat smeared all over his face. The unalterable fact that he was 20 something and she was 50 something could be a problem. But Demi and Ashton were desperately in love with a huge age difference, right?

“Don’t be too quick to judge,” she admonished herself.

And then he smiled. Red flag number three . . missing teeth!

Pookie learned that Cyberdate had a specific gene that birthed him without the possibility of ever producing his own grown-up teeth. For the moment, Cyberdate’s mouth looked like a construction site for a metal suspension bridge with wires connecting the tiny baby teeth to parts unknown widening the spaces between the upcoming adult teeth which would be screwed into his jawbone propelling him past puberty into adulthood in a single dental visit.

“You could be my Sugar Mamma,” she heard him respond to her acknowledgment about the complications of their age difference which she tactfully brought up instead of the fact that she couldn’t possibly date someone who didn’t have teeth to floss.

So Pookie found herself face to face with a guy who was still a baby in at least one way, and she knew it was going to be a long row to hoe in the 2007 dating garden. Baby corn wasn't going to be her vegetable of choice. All of a sudden Pookie saw the rows and rows of new and used up vegetables she was going to have to get on her tractor of love to plow through, and she hoped it wasn't going to be a long, hot summer.

(c) nancy 7.10.2009

CHEESEBURGER

AND A COKE

“Welcome to McDonalds. May I take your order?”

“Yes, I’ll have a cheeseburger and a Coke. That’s all.”

“That’ll be two-fourteen. Please drive to the first window.”

“Thank you.”

Are your days becoming as exciting as ordering a cheeseburger from the drive through at McDonalds? Predictable and mundane with little or no veering from the ordinary? You would think that when you would drive up to the window that another item would pop out and suggest its’ deliciousness and nutritional value and you would therefore holler, “I’ll take a fish fillet!” At least my think-outside-the-bag friend would say, “I’ll take a cheeseburger with mayonnaise instead of ketchup and a lemonade”. That spruced things up a bit.

But, no. A plain cheeseburger is reliable. It’s fat content mirrors the sluggishness you feel coursing through your daily grind of fog. You can't see your future. It's unclear. You can't see your tomorrow. It's vague yet similar in it’s sameness and as transparent as saran wrap held up to the kitchen light. Clear but not so clear. “Do I just need glasses?" you ask yourself?

No, you need a change. A change in your routine, a change in your patterns of thought, a change in your life and your outlook on it. But where to start? It seems too big a process to even begin, with one thought in front of the next, and one step to take in order for the next one to happen.

“Welcome to Wendy’s. May I take your order?”

(c) nancy 7.10.2009

PAUSE

So I decided to set up my own Blog,

or rather,

a friend of mine decided I needed one

and

set it up for me.

So here I am . . . blogging!

Hmmm . . . what to write about?

My friend says that the three-dot thing I do is not really

a good thing

but . . .

it's how I write,

and how I talk,

so . . . 

pause

 and think about that.

O.K., so you are thinking and that's

a good thing,

as Martha Stewart would say.

Webster's Unabridged Dictionary defines the word

pause

as "a temporary

stop

or

rest,

esp. in speech or action."

Also "a

break

or

rest

in speaking or reading to emphasize

meaning,

grammatical relation,

metrical division,

etc.,

or in writing or printing by use of punctuation."

!!!

 So 

I will

most likely use my three little dots

whenever and however

I want,

and

you can

pause . . . 

and reflect on that!!!

(c) nancy 6.19.2009

FLIPPING OUT

Today you get to read about my thoughts on flip-flops. A friend of mine will be blogging on about its history in a most witty endeavor I am sure. So I will leave all the facts and theories up to him.

But here's just a thought . . .  or a few thoughts of mine pertaining to the unflappable flip-flop. But that's not true because some say it got its name from the sound they make when one is walking . . . it flops and it makes a flapping noise on your heels. So they're not unflappable after all. And that can be very annoying when one is trying to soundlessly walk behind the restaurant's hostess on the way to one's requested corner booth. God forbid one should wear them to church!

And how annoying is it when a friend steps on your favorite flip-flop while you're walking ahead of them up the steps to get to the best aisle seat in the movie theater and the toe-thingy rips out of its hole and you literally flip out of your shoe apparel and flop up the steps landing in a pile of tossed out popcorn. You try to get up gracefully while glaring at said friend, pick up your wounded shoe, and put the thingy back in place. But it's never the same after that. You find yourself flopping out at inappropriate moments and you try not to flip out every time it happens. All the glue in the world can't rescue it and you finally have to quit being the Queen of Egypt, stop living in De Nile, and accept the fact that you are now being slowly separated from your used-to-be best foot friends.

So you reluctantly throw the crippled flip to the back of your closet and go in search of new BFF's. Why shouldn't you feel angry? It wasn't you who flopped out of the relationship! But you still feel like you're cheating as you walk Crocly into J. Crew hoping they haven't sold out of the thin-soled, yummy black ones that feel so good the moment you put them on until the moment you know they'll eventually flip out on you too. You realize you might have to go to therapy over this whole thing that made you flip to the point you had to resort to flapping out of J. Crew with a new pair of flip-flops on your rejected feet.

But don't your red-painted toes look FABulous in them!!!

(c) Nancy