An Invincible Summer - A Woman's Journey

I think it is ironic that the man who falsely claimed bone spurs in order to avoid the military gets to tell 15,500 American people that they, in his view, are unfit to serve because of how they present. Forgive me if my wording is wrong, I'm no expert, but I honor those who serve in the military no matter what they look like, the equipment have underneath their undies or who they choose to sleep with. In this day and age, why are we still having this conversation? So a coward, whose daddy had too much money, has decided that he knows better. I was thinking back to my childhood and this song came to mind. From Disney's Robin Hood, written by the incredible Johnny Mercer (Days of Wine and Roses, Baby it's Cold Outside, Winter Wonderland) and sung by my personal favorite Phil Harris (Baloo the Bear-Jungle Book and O'Malley the Alley Cat-Aristocats), the words are perfect. He stands alone on a giant throne Pretending he is king A little tyke who's rathe

“If there's a hell, it should be probably filled with people who claimed faith in Jesus, while trying to strip the sick of care, the terrified of refuge, and the vulnerable of protection—and reveling as if this was a righteous victory." John Pavlovitz I have struggled with this a lot. The followers of Christ are supposed to be Christ like. I do not understand this group of people and I do not affiliate myself to the likes of them.

Spoiler Alert! Have the words of a book ever sat atop your chest, making it hard to breathe? The following quote probably has more impact in context. So here goes.... The women of this reluctant missionary family, living in the Belgian Congo, are disillusioned and desperate. The father is rigid, pious and blinded by his own scars. The girls go outside their hut in the early morning to help a fearful friend. The youngest, Ruth Mae, is bitten by a poisonous snake. Starting the next chapter, the mother, Orleana, has realized she has lost her baby and we walk with her in grief. This part of the book is some of the most beautiful writing I have ever read. The words sit inside me, with a life of their own, touching my own grief and reminding me just how human it is. “As long as I kept moving, my grief streamed out behind me like a swimmer's long hair in water. I knew the weight was there but it didn't touch me. Only when I stopped did the slick, dark stuff of it come floating

We have had glorious rain and I am refreshed, my soul washed clean by it. The plants in my tropical garden surely are confused to have gone so long without a drop of this precious matter. It goes by many monikers; water, H2O, aqua, drink, dew, moisture....   Whatever you call it, we've got some and boy do we need it. The cities of Ventura and Santa Barbara have been under close watch with voluntary evacuations put in order. Not something we are taking lightly.  View from Grant Park - Cross This storm is almost over and tomorrow it is expected to be sunny and back into the 70° range. I will welcome a little bit of sun but have enjoyed this weather tremendously and wouldn't mind if it headed back out direction real quick. PS  I would be remiss if I didn't mention that on January 9, 2018 our local cities were digging out of horrific mudslides, not because we had an especially lot of rain that season but because we had had the terrible deforestation of Thomas fire tha

Last week, on our way to see Mary Poppins, an older couple approached the parking meter just as we were finishing up paying our parking. They asked for help, as they had never used the machine before and the meters are a bit high tech. This tiny couple (and I do mean tiny) were going dancing. Usually, the gal informed me, they dance at the harbor but they had to find a substitute, as the harbor was quiet that night. The meter was taking forever, so it gave her time to fill me in. She mentioned that her husband, reaching a height of 5’2” at the most, would be 100 next December. A closer obeservation of her, I could imagine a petite young woman with knockout figure. That figure, while still quite ample, had headed south and looked like a nuisance, bordering on dangerous, more than anything else. A probing glance at the gent revealed that he was definitely getting up there but still lively. Ninety nine and dancing, let alone driving to the dance venue. Too stinkin’ cute! I almost wis

When the cast on my left arm was removed, I noticed a few unexpected things. First, it hurt a lot. I had been warned and they were right. PUT THAT SUCKER BACK ON was my first thought. After that, I noticed that my nerve endings felt raw. I’m not sure if it was lack of use or what but RAW.  So, when I rubbed my hands together it almost felt like I had a recovering burn. It still feels quite strange but not as painful. If I run the fingers of my broken hand through my hair, it feels course, dry and strawlike. With my good hand it feels quite nice. Which is reality? Good question. My hair is not fried but it could use some TLC, so a little of both. Another thing I noticed was quite a lot of small black hairs growing in the wrist area. I looked it up and apparently it is common. The protection of the cast prevents the normal rubbing off of light hairs AND the light rubbing movement within the casted area stimulates hair folicles into action. Hence im sporting a Neanderthal look. Fin

It’s taken me some time but better late than never. 

My mother was far from a perfect woman. She was a good, honest woman and that was good enough. She taught us well. 5 of us learned those lessons, applied them to our own walks as worthy, and kept on going. One of us, not quite as much. I don’t judge him, he has his own walk, his own pain but his pain allows him to set aside some of the core beliefs and values that we acquired from our mom. It’s far easier to live life without him than with him. In the past, I too let the pain of our childhood taint the way I treated others. Not proud but aware. I try not to do that any more. I was not purposely unkind, unfair or manipulative so much as scared. It came out as rage. There has been a lot of healing from that.....a work in progress but I’m super proud, especially in the couple of weeks. Life is better when one is not living in fear. Fear of abandonment, lack of control, of not being enough. I am enough. Are you? And if so, did you learn that early or did you have to teach yourself

I have had a morning routine ever since I decided I needed to work on being grateful. I lay for a bit and remember what I am thankful for, I read the Word for the Day" email that shows up with words of encouragement, community and growth, and then depending on how early it is, I quietly get ready to go to the office. For the past few months I added one step to the routine. After the required grateful building activities, I check the AP to see if the misogynistic, pussy grabbing, vow breaking, porn star paying, his own lie believing, tax return hiding, bankrupt claiming, non-voting, brown skin hating, big brained,  bone spur draft dodging, putin loving, horrible excuse for a man has left the white house to try save his own skin from a personal set of steel slats.  Not today, but I hold out hope. Probably not the best exercise for peace but, ah well.......Have a great day my friends.

Growing up, the four of us girls shared the big room in the house for quite awhile. Two double beds took up a lot of space. For reasons unbeknownst to me, being the youngest and not having a voice, I shared one of those beds with my sister Sally. My guess is Pam, being the oldest and bossiest, wouldn’t have me. She and Laurie shared the other bed. I have no memories of strife, although with three teens there must have been some, but the age gap made me somewhat immune I suppose. I do remember being rather embarrassed at 5ish, when opening a gift from sally, finding rubber pants in pink yellow and blue. Perhaps her motives were pure but it shamed me. I wet the bed fairly frequently. Pam and Sal left home rather close together and then Laurie and I we relegated to a much smaller room with the same old double bed. I remember pink and red bean bags and a pink and white gingham bed spread. Laurie married her high school sweetheart in June after graduation and I got my own room for the

Not much sleep tonight. I woke at 3 AM with a lot on my mind. At 4ish I got moving and move I did. It’s so dark, the moon is gone, but I’m taking comfort in it. Driving up the freeway I can’t remember when it’s been this black. The car has a mind of its own and it decided to head north. It drove right past my work without a glance. Just kept right on going. It’s been an hour or two and the sun is just now offering up a pale blue glow above the rugged silhouette that I can see in my rearview mirror.  The Santa Monica Mountains have never look so lovely. Any anxiety I am feeling, I’m not fighting it. Just breathing and remembering that it’ll all be ok. My next moves are up in the air. I’m not sure of anything so I won’t do anything until I am. Lyrics from my favorite song come to mind. They’ve always spoken to me but perhaps more nowadays.... posted it before but, oh well.... I'm on an island at a busy intersection I can't go forward, I can't turn back Can't se

Happy New Year! 2019 is here with quite a bang. It looks as if I’m going to be on my own again. We worked hard to give this ill fitting relationship a go. It hasn’t been easy at times but I am grateful for the growth I’ve had while here in thick of things. Now it’s new feelings, new fears, but I’ve learned to not run from those quite as hard. So, this night, the first night in bed alone for a good long while, I remind myself that I can do this. I can do this moment even if it feels very uncomfortable and scary. My feet are angry, screaming for the warmth they have come to rely on. My nose, the one organ that seems to be getting stronger with age, is searching for the comfort of the scent I call home. This teeny, tiny house is going to seem a whole lot roomier soon when the big man that I love leaves. It’ll be awfully quiet too. That’s ok, I can do quiet if I have to.

Are there dealbreakers? Are there lines that cannot be crossed? Obviously, the biggies.......murder, rape But what about some of the other things?  What is forgivable, what is not? I’m not sure. My lines, my boundaries, were formed in distress. Malformed....at least some of them. It makes me question things that I feel strongly about. But, and this is a big but, I’m pretty sure, in this instance, a boundary was crossed. It feels unrecoverable, too damaging. Trust is trust and lack is awful.