An Invincible Summer - A Woman's Journey

I did it. I planned a little social distance party. I don’t plan many parties but our neighbor retired from teaching recently.  In this crazy time I thought it would be fun to surprise her with a little shindig. I didn’t go to a lot of trouble. A banner and some little tissue lanterns, set up the tables with space in between, cleaned the yard as much as possible. It was all set.  Alas, it was not meant to be. The last minute, the guest of honor had to cancel. Dog had a hurt foot, needed her attention, couldn’t be left alone. Ah well.  I get it.  The rest of us still got together. We still had a bunch of fun.  We’ll go over and give her our gifts tomorrow. I really don’t like throwing parties 🎉 

The Boy Scout got a pretty nice compliment the other day. My girl, out of the blue, thanked him for always being there for her. He was pretty blown away.  It’s a bittersweet moment in a couple of ways. He has been there for her, especially lately, stepping in, even when it would have been more comfortable to take a back seat or graciously taking a back seat even when he might have wanted to be more front and center.  That girl, she loves her dad so much but her dad has a hard time being there for anyone, much of the time in survival mode more than anything. The boy scout had wanted to be a dad, allowing a few people to walk away when realizing they did not want kids, but that never happened for him. He is new to the role of partner to a mom and, even though the kids are older, it can be complex. The two of them, my girl and the Boy Scout, have had to learn to be reluctant roommates. Neither of them having chosen the other. One of them tiny and quiet and learning to make her way in the

WORD FOR THE DAY Sometimes our light goes out, but is blown again into instant flame by an encounter with another human being. Each of us owes the deepest thanks to those who have rekindled this inner light. DR. ALBERT SCHWEITZER Early in my blogging, somewhere back in 2014, I posted this quote. At the time, I was on the receiving end of these words. Countless people stepping in, at just the right moment, to relight the tiny, fragile candle I was carrying. There were so many angels during my darkest of times. Sometimes the light was just enough to take a few steps, or maybe get myself out of bed. Other times, it was the strength of an army to get me through an entire day. With mental illness and addiction in the house, it took many relights over a good long period of time. I post it again because these days I work hard to be on the giving end of these beautiful words. Maintaining the suppleness acquired by walking through the darkness, relying on instinct, I pray that I can return the

I've operated my business for close to 30 years. In most of that time, I also remained attached to a 501c ( a religious organization) called Epic Ministries, where I kept the books. It worked out well. They got an accountant and I got free office space and the company of young, fun and committed co-workers, plus health insurance. I followed Epic to 3 different locations, worked through the death of the wonderful young CEO, watched numerous transformations and changes in trajectories. All the while, meeting fabulous people and building friendships. That ended last year. They closed up shop and I went and found myself cheap office space and very expensive health insurance. It's a decent building with about 30 other little offices. I haven't met a whole lot of people here since I keep different hours than most but I recognize and exchange pleasantries with quite a few.  Over the past 12 weeks the offices have slowly cleared out. COVID has made itself know here. The 3 architect

Discouragement is raining on my parade today. It's ok. I can handle it but I wish it away soon. This dance of being a couple in our late 50's is not an easy one. You would think all the dance lessons we took in the first 50 years would come in handy but, alas, they seem to hinder more than help. I sometimes wonder if I have been just a little too wounded to be able to maintain a healthy coupling. Little things, small reminders of the past, can surprise me. Sort of like being unexpectedly shoved roughly by a stranger, causing an off balance and the grasping of anything for support. The anythings can be a problem. It's not the old rages. Those are mostly gone. But it is still a part of me I don't care for much.  Why can't I relax? Why still so hypervigilant?  Trust. It's all about trust. When will I learn to trust me? All in good time I suppose, so in the meanwhile, how about some patience?

I stumbled across this piece and decided that in a world ripe with ugliness, strife, hate and ignorance that I would submit, for your enjoyment, something quite lovely, filled with tenderness, acceptance, bravery and, best of all, the expansive love of true friendship.  My Buddy by Patti Smith

More than ever before I hear myself saying, “Pardon me”, and then, “One more time, I’m hard of hearing”.  Hearing loss, masks and large plastic shields do not go together. I utilize my ability to see lips, read facial expression and demeanor to populate what I miss while having a conversation. Most people have an aversion to raising their voice to a high level in public.  Unfortunately and fortunately, masks are everywhere.  I am adapting. Just like everyone else, we all have to adapt. 

Is anger enough?  Does anger prove that I am on the right side? Or is it the easy way out? I would argue that anger is just another tool that assures me I am not on the wrong side but doesn't require any more of me than that. A "sort of" let me prove how strongly I feel about this situation. I have disabled my Twitter and Facebook for a number of reasons but one of them being that I found that social media was, for one reason or another, just fomenting my inner rage and not encouraging effective discourse, furthering educating myself and helping me to learn to listen to others with an open mind. Rather it has a habit of telling me what I already believe to be true and that any thinking person will have the same opinion. I'm no expert. In fact, quite the opposite but I am trying. I found that Dr. Robin DiAngelo has many good points about being white in a country where systemic racism is the status quo and how that affects how we, yes all of us, populate our version of

I was and am Saturday's Child. I've been doing what is called "inner child" work. Two years ago I would have scoffed but then I am not the same person I was two years ago. What I know for sure is that I was scared a lot of the time and that those fears, not only made me way too serious, but also seem to control my reactions to things like alcohol use and certain smells and the behaviors of others. Those "reactions" were, on occasion, most unpleasant. I still get scared but it no longer controls me the way it once did. I have learned how to comfort myself, talk myself down, stay in the moment, keep some perspective. Not perfectly but not too shabby either. The other day I came across this video on Healing Your Inner Child: The music is annoying but the message hit home in a way that surprised me. Left me in puddles but feeling pretty good when all was said and done. I was not "unloved" as a child but just like me as a parent, my parents had a tough

This morning I woke up early. Really early. Killed some time in bed.....got bored....went to the office by about 5am. Perused the news, felt broken and sad. Moved over to YouTube and went through my everyday normal stuff, some mediation, some golf, Stephen Colbert, Jimmy Kimmel, Seth Myers and Trevor Noah. While they are all very funny hosts, it isn't uplifting to hear a recap of what is going on in the country at the moment. Shifted to music and, somehow, this came on: And suddenly it is a hot summer day and I am walking, not yet driving age, my legs are long and very thin, I weigh all of 85 lbs, brown hair, long and kind of wavy but prone to frizz. I have freckles and a deep sense of not belonging, as we had not been living in the house, that was situation one block down that street, for very long. The street is called Oceanview but the ocean view was only afforded to the haves that lived above Foothill. The have nots, down below that wide divide, had to settle for the thick smog