A Grieving Mother

She told her mother she hated her and wished she was never born.
She didn't even seem to care that her mother’s heart was torn.
She blamed her mother for all of her heartache and pain.
Did she realize emotional abuse can drive even a mother insane?
She said her mother was the reason she never achieved her dreams.
Those words hurt her mother more than to her they may have seemed.
All her mother wanted was her love and her affection.
But all she ever got was her daughter’s constant rejection,
Feeling like a lost child with no one to love.
She prayed to be taken away to the heavens above,
Not knowing why she just wasn't good enough.
Why, when she needed gentleness, was she treated so rough.
Wondering why her existence caused her daughter so much pain,
Longing for her daughter's love she probably would never gain.
Wanting her daughter to tell her she was a blessing,
That she was not the reason for her daughter’s stressing.
If there is an aging woman out there that feels this way,
Struggling to remember she is one of GOD's Angels, and He loves her more each day

Dear Jess

You will be 18 in about a month’s time and beginning your Senior year of high  school. Your birthday is near the beginning of a new year at school; mine was at the end of each school year. I remember when I turned 18. I lived in the small town of Albion NY, was already engaged to your grandfather, and was also enrolled at the University of  Brockport at the same time I was in high school and working as a waitress a Wolcott's Dairy.  Do you have a part time job?

I am hoping you will be going to your senior prom? I know you will be absolutely beautiful! How I wish I had been able to go to mine, but we were too close to a wedding day and your grandfather could not get a long enough leave for us to go.  I saw photos of my friends at the prom though; the first one ever held off campus.  Kind of like the one your grandfather and I helped put on for your Uncle Doug’s 8^th grade prom.  He was voted King that night, and the young lady he had a very big crush on (not the one he took to the prom unfortunately) was voted Queen… it was a great night. I know you will have a magical time as well!

I made several good friends while I was in high school; most of them teachers. From Mrs. Rodden who was also my mentor, to Mrs. Mahoney who was my American History Teacher and whom I wound up teaching her Civics class for in my senior year.  I wonder who your favorite teachers are and who your best friend is?  My best friend was/is Kim Wright Pritt… 

I would often walk home from school alone, and walk along the (sometimes on) the railroad tracks that were very near my home.  No one thought this was odd or dangerous back then.  It was a quiet shortcut and sometimes a train would pass and I would stand back and wonder where it was going.  I still need to take an actual train ride. I remember hoping we would take the one that goes into the Grand Canyon together one day.   Do you drive a car yet?  Are you buying one? 

I was a straight A student back then and even went on to National Honor Society.  I won a small award for my writing which went to pay some of my college fees.  How are your grades?  I saw on the Internet that in 9^th grade you had fantastic grades.  Oh, and I have reports from High school that tell me my spelling and grammar were excellent. I don't know what your spelling is like, for you never write to me. Never send a card or a letter or an email. That's not your fault, I hasten to add. Your parents stopped contact and I wish I truly knew why. I think that in not being allowed a connection with me, we both lose out.

I would love to sit with you and share some of my memories. Even more, I would wish to be able to hear about your life, your times at school, your friends and adventures. I would love to laugh with you and dry your tears. I most especially would like to hold your hand and go for a walk with you again like we used to do so very often. We could hike the Superstition, or go shopping at the Mall… take a ride in to Tucson like we did over six years ago… where you spoke into the cell phone I gave you and said “this is Jessica, almost 12, having a great time.  I thought we had grand times as well.  I have missed those these past six years… more than you will ever know.

I wonder what interests you, now.  Do you still play the violin?  I am starting to learn to play the guitar (used to play piano and french horn)  Do you still want to be a designer?  I remember the dress you made by hand when you were only 10; it was wonderful! I have the picture of it!  Do you read books?  Who is your favorite author?  Do you draw?  Do you write like your mom-mom?  Do you have new pets?  I have three German Shepherds now ( will not get any more).  Ranger, Ruger and the baby is Sniper.  They are my companions and great company!

I used to send you cards and money but was never sure if you received them so I stopped. Did you get any of them?  I so want to send you something for your 18th birthday but... well.  When I see you again one day, I will get you something special!  I never got to give you your bike when you turned 12. 

Do you wonder what I'm like and do we ever do things together in your imagination? I like to hope so.  I still have the photograph of the gingerbread house we made together… it was EXCELLENT and big… and Christmas Eve when you and your cousins just devoured it

On the day your turn 18, you will be old enough to find your own way to see me. Will you do that? I think that if you have any curiosity you will, and then we can both catch up on all those shared times we are missing now. You only have to send me an email or respond to this post and I will send you my address and phone number.

I will be with you on your birthday (the same day your grandfather and I were married) every day until the world ends.   I love you more than yesterday and less then tomorrow.

With much love from Grandmother Bonnie

Seeking Mystery Through the Mundane

Well over 2500 years ago, the Chinese sage Lao-Tzu decided to leave the province where he had lived because he had become disillusioned with the corrupt and decaying government that ruled there. When he arrived at the border, however, a guard asked the wise old man if he would write a book before he left of instructions in the art of living.  To this, Lao-Tzu agreed and he called this book the Tao Te Ching.  When it was completed, Lao-Tzu departed that country never to be seen or heard from again.

As some may know that Tao Te Ching became the sacred text Taoism and one of the most widely translated books of all time.  Its followers strive to live according to the principles of the Tao which they believe governs the order of the Universe.  Like Zen, Tao (or “the Way”), is a spiritual path which must be intimately experienced; not intellectually understood.  One of its main themes is unity, based on YIELDING rather than resisting.  When a seeker commits to the Way her or she sheds their expectations, becoming an empty vessel to be filled to the brim with both the yin and yang, the opposite male and female energies of life – career/home, light/dark, sorrow/joy, intimacy/solitude, aggression/passivity, pain/pleasure and health/illness.

If our souls are so preoccupied with undoing, how does anything ever truly get done? Inexplicably it gets done by pausing…

Pausing…

Reflecting on the way in which our life proceeds day in and day out; what works and what does not work.

As we pause to reflect before doing, we become aware of how the nature of things, even the minutiae of the domestic sphere, contributes to the harmony of the Universe… the Whole. One of Lao-Tzus lessons is “that naming is the origin of all particular things” and that “mystery and manifestation arise from the same source.”

I have, as my battle with cancer rages on, taken this wisdom to heart in all aspects of my life and in particularly, since buying my new home, in how I perceive the work I do in it and for it.

Strange as it may sound to some… working FOR my home (in other words my place of employment) and in and around my home is not drudgery but a labor of love. 

I do not see any of the work I do as “chores” but as tasks.  Yes, the housework has to be done but to me it is NOT work but caring… caring for the walls that now protect me and my shepherds. 

You see, redefining our work can and does cast a powerful spell over the subconscious mind.  After all, caring – for yourself, your loved ones, your work associates, your pets, and your home – is truly what you are doing as you commute to work, labor in the office, sort the laundry, bathe the pets, dust, do the dishes and work in the garden.

Our daily tasks are visible manifestations of the spirit of God in the work place, in the grocery store, at the doctors office,

and in our sacred place called home.  We find them by looking for Mystery in the mundane; seeing the sacred in the ordinary.  To me this is the heart of “The Way”

Lao-Tzu urged seekers to “regard the small as important” and “to make much of the little”  Today join me in trying to do every task you undertake today, no matter how in insignificant it may seem, as part of the path to Wholeness… oneness with the Universe… working through God and it shall become so.

A House is Who you ARE… not who you OUGHT to be

Whether we care to admit it or not, our homes are accurate barometers that reflect, through our surroundings, where we have been, what is going on in our lives, and who we are – today, this moment – although it is not an exact indication of where we may be heading.

For some people this may not be the most reassuring thought I could put forth.  Nevertheless, it is true and I have learned the reality of that truth particularly over this past year but accumulatively over the last 41.  Elsie de Wolfe who wrote “The House in Good Taste” back in 1913 that some said transformed the way America decorated for over half a century, said “You will express yourself in your house whether you want to or not.” 

Hmmm, seems a true euphemism…  I know that when I first married, and for 22 years thereafter, I decorated for my beloved husband who liked the country/hunting look.  So my walls were adorned with photos of pheasants and deer and shot guns etc.  I did, however always manage to throw homemade crocheted items, quilts, lace etc around the rooms to put a little of myself in there.

When he passed away, and I bought a home with two friends while I helped my daughter battle a nasty custody battle, I decorated in a dark Victorian style.  Not so much because I actually liked it but because I was angry that Doug had left me and he hated the Victorian so.  Again, I took the bedroom that was my refuge in that home and layered it in white linens, lace curtains and books and brought light into my darkened world.

When bills over powered my resources, and I moved into a small apartment with my daughter and granddaughter, we took as much of the furniture with us that we could and then I allowed my daughter to choose the dining table and eventually her and her daughter’s bedroom décor etc… colors went from burgundy and white to purples and blues (except in the living room where I also slept).  We were happy there but my self-expression began to totally disappear. So much so, that when my daughter and granddaughter moved into their own place and then I into my own townhome… I kept that apartment style with me and the darkness grew… as did depression and cancer and loneliness.

Then I started to listen to my soul… which had been screaming at me for quite some time and realized that my life was finally my own now and I had to decide what it is “I” truly liked and wanted and where I wanted to go…

I started very slowly because, admittedly, as most of us feel, I did not have enough money to really every show the “real me”.  However, my therapist with my cancer team at the Mayo clinic reminded me that I could no longer afford to put my life or creativity on hold until I had more “cash” or more time.  Truth was, I was never going to have either of those again unless winning the lottery was in my future.  So, I have used some very simples steps to work toward building my new life and decorating my new home (I finally bought my own home): acceptance, blessing my circumstances, and discovering my true personal preferences… not my mother’s, not my husband’s and not my family or friends…  MINE!

The back cover of my first book “Surviving the Shadow Stalker; A Poetic Journey Through Abuse”, showed me in a Victorian setting.  My second book, “Shadows of Love” showed me under a Texas Mountain Laurel wearing cowboy hat, jeans and a western style shirt (my life starting to become my own) and my third book, “Dancing With The Spirits of Shadowplay”, showed me against an Ocotillo fence wearing a cowboy hat.  My current book will have a photo of me actually hiking up the Superstition Mountain, wearing a cowboy hat (the only hats I truly look decent in) and walking away from the fast paced world… I have realized That is ME!  I found her, finally.  A desert rat who does not NEED the things society has been screaming I do need… and so the decorating of my home truly began in earnest.

Oh, I am sure my children and some other people would not like my style, which is following my love of the Apache and Navaho Indian) and sometimes that has made me sad; but my home is warm and charming, cozy, interesting and it is inviting.  I have stopped wanting to live up to the expectations of other’s and have chosen instead to live up to my own which, believe me is difficult enough.

While money certainly would help all of us to express ourselves through our surroundings, I have learned that creating a warm, inviting home that reflects my own personality did not have to begin with hiring an interior decorator or reaching for my check book or credit card (I don’t have a credit card and my checking account is empty). I only had to look at my home with love… love of self, love of the Creator… love of life.

Once a week, I walk around my new home, burn sage, and offer thanks for the walls and roof that safely enclose me and my fur boys. As I have known the pain other woman have also suffered of losing a home to death and debt, I cherish every moment I have in this place and I ask the Creator to bless it and let nothing but peace, love, prosperity and faith enter through its doors.

Home truly is the definition of God.

“Every spirit builds itself a house, and beyond its house a world, and beyond its world a heaven.  Know then that world exists for you” ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

During the 19^th century (seems like a long time ago since we entered the 21^st century doesn’t it?), the home was viewed as “heaven on earth”, a hallowed haven in an uncertain world.  When man, woman, or child crossed the threshold of their home, “they were safe, not only from injury”, as John Ruskin wrote, “but also from all terror, doubt, and division”.

Today, I cast a longing and nostalgic glance backward to this era.  The Victorian era seems so calm, gentle, and gracious – the complete opposite of these modern times.  Yet, historically I know that the four decades spanning the Civil War at the turn of the Century were among the most politically, socially, and economically turbulent years in our history… Until now.  Why then, should a period of such profound upheaval come down to us not only as an age of innocence but one of stability and tranquility?

I personally believe (having had older parents and grandparents than most my age), that is in large part due to a legacy of love left to us by those great grandmothers who reigned over their hearths as surely as Victoria did over her empire.  Victorian woman may not have had the vote or the trappings of power (including personal disposable income and independence), but they were the MORAL, SPIRITUAL, AND PHYSICAL CENTER OF THE HOME; responsible for creating a welcome treat of beauty, comfort, and contentment that would protect, nurture, and sustain those they loved.  To achieve this, ordinary middles class women, like me, elevated the pursuit of domestic bliss to an art form, from white linen Sunday dinners to red-checked gingham Independence Day Picnics.  Women approached the domestic arts of cooking, gardening, crafting, decorating and entertaining now as burdens, but as a form of personal expression and a means of persuasion. 

Traditions that celebrated the joys of home and family life acted as the mystical mortar that held bodies and souls together in a tumultuous society that was changing at the speed of light.  Ah yes… progress (but I don’t think it has been all good do you?)

One of my favorite poets, T.S Eliot wrote “home is where we start from.”  Today, over a century after he was born, home is where I and many women are longing to return… at least figuratively if not literally. I have always believed that the time, energy, love, and emotion that I invest in caring for my home, in essence carving out a haven for myself and those who are dear to me, is a sacred endeavor…

Life holds no more guarantees for you or for me than it did for our Victorian forebearers. However, they faced the coming day with full hearts, determined to create a lasting work of art; a happy secure, and beautiful treat of love and laughter.

Living in my new home, I have renewed that endeavor which I lost when I left Pensacola and shortly thereafter lost my beloved Doug.  Oh, I kept trying, for a while, but my heart and soul were not in it.  Finally, I have found my way back and my new home is becoming my sacred refuge once again.

Home truly is the definition of God.

Feeling Complete

“How to be happy when you are miserable.  Plant Japanese poppies with cornflowers and mignonette, and bed out the petunias among the sweet-peas so that they shall scent each other. See the sweet-peas coming up.

Drink very good tea out of a thin Worcester cup of a color between apricot and pink… ~Rumer Godden

It is hard to believe that it has been one year since I moved in to my house… one that I bought after so much struggle and loss totally by myself and have been slowly decorating (ever so slowly) as finances and cancer treatments allow.  I am finally decorating my home totally for myself… not for mother or father, husband or children, but just for me and coming home, not only to the beautiful location I have but to an interior that fills me with so much peace has been a revelation into my own psyche and a complete joy.

Rumer Godden, in her memoirs A House with Four Rooms, stated “It was the small things that helped, taken one by one and savored. Make yourself savor them,” she told herself when life was not tidy.

Well, life is not tidy around here today.  My schedules are colliding, needs are conflicting, my oldest shepherd has a swollen mammary gland and needs to see the vet, nausea from the last infusion is weighing heavy, and my office is strewn with real-life refuse, reflecting outwardly the disarray of my own mind at this moment.

One of the reasons I personally love Rumer Godden’s writing as much as I do is that she weaves the colorful threads of her extraordinary life –domestic, creative, and spiritual—with such ease.  The seams that hold her life together do no pull or gape the way mine do more often than I care to admit.  She began her career in 1936 and in a sixty year period wrote 57 books.  She wrote novels for both children and adults, non-fiction, short story collections and, of course my favorite – poetry. Most of her novels, which are mystical, celebrate the beauty of real life; the magic, the mystery and the mundane.  The New York Times hailed her as a writer who “belongs in that small exclusive club of women, which includes Isak Dinesen and Beryl Markham, who could do pretty much anything they set their minds to; hunting tigers, alluring men, throwing elegant dinner parties, and winning literary fame.”  Of all of her books, however, it is her memoirs that I read over and over again. I am captivated by how she lived, nurtured a family and created many homes out of shells of houses all over the world while writing almost continuously (and people think I don’t sleep?)  She is such a glorious story teller, but no story is as riveting as real life.

The soul craft of creating and sustaining safe havens set apart from the world, in which to seek and savor small authentic joys, is a recurring theme in Rumer’s work.  Her secret in living such an authentic life seems, to me, to have been in dwelling, no matter where she actually kept house in the heart of Spirit…

There is an Indian proverb that says that everyone is a house with four rooms; a physical room, a mental room, an emotional room, and a spiritual room.  Most of us tend to live in one room most of the time, but unless we go into every room every day, even if only to keep it aired, we are not a complete person…

My new life (however long God will allow it to be) in my new home, in the part of the country I love, is showing me how beautiful EVERY room is…and I let the mountain’s breeze blow through them all each day as the sun comes shining through every window.

I have not planted sweet-peas or Japanese poppies, but I have planted a Prickly Pear Tree, a Fire Stick, a Candle Stick and next weekend will be adding colorful bougainvillea to gaze at during the day as I play with my two shepherds.

As I sit here in my office, sipping a cup of French Roast Coffee with a touch of cream and cinnamon out of my favorite coffee cup, it’s nice, for the first time in my life, to feel like I am complete; I am at peace.

Allure – we all have “enough”

Allure – we all have “enough”

Ingrid Bergman had it in Casablanca; boy did she have it!  Allure!  That mesmerizing power to entice or attract through personal charm and mystery.

Sadly, today’s world is not much into charm or mystery these days which makes the world a sadder place. These are the days of reality shows, the “tell all View”, tattletale books and tabloid lies which are held in high esteem as truths. Ntozake Change, renowned poet, playwright, novelist, and performance artist stated that "where there is a woman, there is magic.", and I totally agree. However, I also believe that where a woman is there should be mystery! 

What intrigues me about so many of my sex is the mystery– the allure – of how some women seem to pull it all together so effortlessly.  This, to me, is the aspect of the feminine mystique that compels and invites investigation.  How did these women evolve into these higher beings? 

I see them in business meetings – confident, assured, and in command – or smiling serenely in the hall way at school while waiting patiently to pick up the afternoon car pool, a baby over one shoulder, a toddler in tow.  These women never look frazzled, fatigues, or fed up.  They look FABULOUS, darling.. They do not simply juggle, they fly through the air with the greatest of ease. I look at them and wonder what the hell is their secret?  Are they all on Prozac or Valium? Do they have a lot of money?  Are they well organized, practice positive thinking or just have the favorable alignment of the astrological skies behind them? No… I believe it is actually something far more profound; a deep spiritual connection; an inner awareness that let's them love it all.

Does the computer ever break down while these special woman are facing a massive deadline?  Do the kids whine?  Does the car ever need to be towed?  Have they ever taken a dog who has just tackled a cactus to the vet?  I know you and I have, which is why, occasionally, an isolated island somewhere out in the Gulf sounds so appealing.  Then, without missing a beat, we wipe a runny nose, change a dirty diaper, defrost the hamburger, start the spaghetti sauce, sew a button on a pair of pants, and help a child with his/her homework. 

Then… You pause.  Just for a moment.  You wonder what they would do if you weren’t there and realize at that exact moment how very glad you are.  Much to your astonishment it occurs to you that you must also possess that aspect of allure because everybody in the house gravitates to you.  In the middle of the night they call “Mom”…

This leaves mystery to ponder.  The mystery of what will happen next.  But, instead of worrying or obsessing the decision is made to just let go and see what occurs. 

In my case, the children are grown and gone now; we are estranged and I guess my allure and my need are long gone. How I do miss them...  So now, I choose to take joy in this my real life as it unfolds day by day, hour by hour, one breath, on heartbeat at a time.

Emily Dickinson wrote “To live is so startling, it leaves little time for anything else”.  My face may never appear on the silver screen (oh god I hope not) and I may never make the best seller list. But I, and each of my readers, can arrive at an inner awareness that just living and loving it ALL (the good and the bad, the ugly and the beautiful) is alluring enough.

It is enough.

TO SEE CLEARLY IS POETRY, PROPHECY AND RELIGION...

The greatest thing a human being ever does in this world is to see something… To see clearly is poetry, prophecy and religion, all in one. ~ John Ruskin

After struggling with rapidly decreasing vision for a little over a year in the only eye I can see out of (since the age of 12) and then being declared legally blind a little over one month ago, I have become acutely aware of how precious our ability to see clearly is and I am so grateful for God’s miracle and the hands of my surgeon, Dr. James Hiatt, for returning that precious gift to me. I am also grateful for the lessons this has taught me over the past year.  You see, although sight is a precious gift to all of God’s creatures, it is even more so to an artist, a photographer and a writer. 

Pablo Picasso once said, “If only we could pull out our brain and use only our eyes”, we would be amazed at the world around us.  Seeing without thinking or analyzing is an amazing talent!

Paul Klee, the Swiss artist once declared, “One eye see, the other feels.”  In my particular case... my one eye had to, and still has to, do both.

As Paul Cezanne grew older, he doubted his own powers of perception and worried that the authenticity of his art might be a quirk of nature because his trouble with his eyesight made him doubt his own genius.

However, I feel that it was Georgia O’Keefe, whose work I deeply love and who also became a desert dweller, who expressed it best when she stated that “in a way, nobody sees a flower; not really.  It is so small, we haven’t the time – and to see takes TIME; just like to have a friend TAKES TIME.

To see takes time …

We haven’t time…

This is the unrelenting truth and it is chilling to the very soul.  Most of us have been given a miraculous gift, the ability to see, and yet we don’t take the time to do more than glance around at our wonder-filled world. We take our sight for granted. 

When my eye sight was rapidly diminishing, my first concern was for my loss of independence.  I initially lamented about my fear of not being able to drive, go grocery shopping, hold down a paying job, or read the newspaper.  Then I realized, as cloudiness became my norm, that I missed mostly seeing my desert, a star filled night, the muzzles of my fur boys; the precious moments that now make up the days of my life and which I no longer take for granted.

So today, join me in REALLY looking around at the world.  Really look at your family, your home, your pets, your co-workers, and the strangers that you will meet on the street as you go about your daily life.  Smile at EVERYONE because you CAN SEE THEM!

Never ever forget that the gift of vision was so important that when God created the world the first command was “Let There Be Light” in order to see. Then after the Great Creator was finished with each day’s task, He glanced back on his handiwork and “saw that it was good”.

We all need to see how good it is too.  I know I see how good it is every morning I wake up now and how I will never take any of it or any of YOU for granted again.

Unpleasant Emotions

Imagine you’ve asked your child six times to come to dinner and she shows no sign of putting down her phone. Or your co-worker promised to change the copier toner and a week later, that yellow warning light is still blinking. In either case, you know that this is not really a big deal, but right now, in this moment, you’re as angry as you’ve ever been. You press that anger down as best you can, but you also fear you’re going to end up exploding somehow, because all that emotional energy has to go somewhere.

There’s nothing quite as destabilizing as anger, or other negative emotions like sadness or anxiety. What’s worse, we’re taught to suppress these negative emotions, so when we snap and show our sadness or the depth of our worry, we often feel ashamed, which in turn leads to more anger or deeper sadness or persistent stress. It’s a neve rending, ever-tightening loop.

But while these emotions may feel unpleasant, don’t mistake that for pointless. There’s a good reason, evolutionarily speaking, why those emotions trigger the reactions they do. The problems occur not when we have the emotions, but when we’re unable to bounce back from them, or the emotions come up without a reasonable trigger (i.e., you fly into a rage over something trivial, like no milk left in the fridge).
Your goal isn’t to prevent any and all negative emotions (or repress them, which is worse), but to metabolize them the way you would food: Get what you need from it and let the rest go. This means it’s critical that you can understand what’s causing you to feel the way you do, and to manage your response so that you remain in control.
Here’s a three-step approach to meeting negative emotions with more control.

1. Allow yourself to feel the emotion. It is absolutely normal, and necessary, to feel the full range of human emotion. Each one gives you information about where your thinking is giving you trouble. If you break a bone in your foot, it hurts, right? The pain is your body saying, “Hey, problem down here in the left fifth metatarsal! Ice pack and x-rays, please!” Painful emotions are your very own built-in feedback system.
Anger may get the blue ribbon for most taboo emotion, especially for women. The fear is that if you’re angry, people might reject or, even worse, dismiss your anger as unimportant or irrational. The emotion boils down to one thing: You feel your rights are being violated. And you may be right! This emotion may be clueing you in to a real infringement that calls for action. But if you’ve in a constant state of anger, then your thoughts are likely out of sync with reality. That’s when you need to practice bringing awareness to your thinking.

2. Take a breath between feeling and expression. This isn’t about repression. It’s about taking a breath before the emotions run away with you. Emotional literacy is partly about learning how to separate from the feeling and consider it with a neutral mind. When you can find this space, you are more able to disrupt the thoughts feeding the huge emotion.
Deep sadness can come on like a storm. You are so suddenly and completely surrounded by clouds that if can feel like your personality is gone. In your mind, you are the sadness. You aren’t, though, any more that you are the pain in your leg when you get a charley horse. The trick is in training yourself to keep those clouds at a distance before your thoughts fully pick up the old sad refrain. Often breathing, stretching, or otherwise becoming aware of your body can help give you a buffer zone.

3. Challenge the thoughts determining your emotions. Part of regaining control and calm is being able to identify the thought that’s triggering the emotion, and changing it. You may not even be aware that these thoughts are operating beneath the conscious level. They surely are, though, and investigating them is the only way to lessen their power.
Anxiety gets a lot of mileage out of the idea that some threat is coming to get you. It’s vague enough to apply to anything and ominous enough to affect all your decisions, from what you eat to how you talk to your kids. If your mother says something rude to your new boyfriend, he won’t want to be with you. If you flub your words on the conference call, the potential client won’t hire you. But you can test the thought against reality — and reality will win. If there is a threat out there, you’ll deal with it. If not, you can change the thought.

TRY THIS the next time you’re derailed by an emotion:
• TRAP IT. When you feel the emotion coming on, flag it. Notice the symptoms, such as clenched jaw, a sinking heaviness in your chest, or the inability to focus.
• MAP IT. Identify the thoughts causing the emotion.
• ZAP IT/ Challenge the thought. Is it true? Can you be sure your son is being rude because he wants to hurt you? Have you lost your best friend because she didn’t return your call? Don’t let the negative thought get off easily. You want the real information, not just the emotion.

The sooner you get honest about the thoughts causing a powerful, painful emotion, the sooner you can let it go or take the action that will truly meet your needs

This is Big.... And Frightening... and so very very SAD

This past month, while I was out door-knocking for Trump, I was struck as I walked along a neighborhood using the app that described the voters in each house. So many multi generational families of odd collections of ages in houses with missing roof shingles or shutters askew or paint peeling. Cars needing repair, broken bicycles, torn blinds.

What was the story inside those houses? Unemployment, , elder care, divorce, custody battles, IRS ? It was easy to see a collective loss of hope in a once-thriving town.” I sensed years of neglect and sadness and hopelessness. Something is brewing in our country and it is NOT good!

I recently told a friend that my emotions felt too close to the surface—for months history had been going through me and I felt like a vibrating fork. I had not been laughing at the splintering of a great political party, but mourning it. Something of me had gone into it. Party elites seemed to have no idea why it was shattering, which meant they wouldn’t be able to repair it, whatever happens with Mr. Trump.

I was offended that those curiously quick to write essays about who broke the party were usually those who’d backed the policies that broke it. Lately conservative thinkers and journalists had taken to making clear their disdain for the white working class. I had actually not known they looked down on them; me. I deeply resented it and it pained me. If you’re a writer lucky enough to have thoughts and be occasionally paid to express them and there are Americans on the ground struggling, suffering—some of them making mistakes, some unlucky—you don’t owe them your airy, well-put contempt, you owe them your loyalty. They too have given a portion of their love to this great project, and they are in trouble.

Earlier this month, just prior to the AZ primary, after a long hard work week and most of nights writing on my new book, I woke up that Saturday morning,  got coffee, fired up the lap top and put on cable news. I read an email thread from a group of conservative women—very bright, all ages, all decorous and dignified. But tempers were high, and they were courteously tearing each other apart over Donald Trump and the GOP.

I read the comments , full of notes from people pro- and anti- Trump, but all seemed marked by some kind of grieving. I looked up and saw Hillary Clinton screeching on TV and immediately switched channels. Breaking news, said the crawl. A caravan of Trump supporters driving to an outdoor rally in Fountain Hills, Ariz., had been blocked by demonstrators. The helicopter shot showed a highway backed up for miles; I wondered where our police force was?  No one seemed to be in charge, as is often the case in America. It was like an unmovable force against an unmovable object.

I watched dumbly, tiredly. Then for no reason—this is true, it just doesn’t sound it—I thought of an old Paul Simon song that had been crossing my mind, “The Boy in the Bubble.” I muted the TV, found the song on YouTube, and listened as I stared at the soundless mile of cars and the soundless demonstrators. As the lyrics came—“The way we look to a distant constellation / That’s dying in a corner of the sky / . . . Don’t cry baby / Don’t cry”—my eyes filled with tears. And a sob welled up and I literally put my hands to my face and sobbed, silently.

Because my country is in trouble.

Because I felt anguish at all the estrangements.

Because some things that shouldn’t have changed have changed.

Because too much is being lost. 

You’ll feel better the next day, I promised myself, but you won’t be able to tell yourself that this is history as usual anymore. This is big, what we’re living through.  Big, and frightening and so very very sad.  My grandchildren will NEVER know the America my parents fought for, that their grandfather fought for and that I grew up in. 

Yep... this is big.

What's with Hillary Adoration on the left?

As a lifelong Independent, I will be casting my vote this time for Donald Trump as I see him as the only hope of sending a message that the current administrative powers can understand; " WE THE PEOPLE HAVE HAD ENOUGH OF A RIGGED Political SYSTEM AND THE POLITICAL ELITE!!"  I firmly believe, that in order to return this country to the control of the people that we need to vote out every single incumbent and prevent any attorney from getting into office in the future.  Just my humble opinion at the age of 60 and someone who has lived through a great deal of history and has studied it (world and American for more than 45 years)

I have trouble understanding the fuzzy rosy filter through which Hillary fans see their champion. So much must be overlooked or discounted—from Hillary’s compulsive money-lust and her brazen indifference to normal rules to her conspiratorial use of shadowy surrogates and her sociopathic shape-shifting in policy positions for momentary expedience.

Hillary’s breathtaking lack of concrete achievements or even minimal initiatives over her long public career doesn’t faze her admirers a whit. They have a religious conviction of her essential goodness and blame her blank track record on diabolical sexist obstructionists. When at last week’s debate Hillary crassly blamed President Obama (and believe me as most know I am NO fan of Obama) for the disastrous Libyan incursion that she had pushed him into, her acolytes hardly noticed. They don’t give a damn about international affairs—all that matters is transgender bathrooms, instant access to abortion and getting the first female president into office (even if she is a lying, money grabbing, power hungry, witch.)

I’m starting to wonder, given the increasing dysfunction of our democratic institutions, if the Hillary cult isn’t perhaps registering an atavistic longing for monarchy. Or perhaps it’s just a neo-pagan reversion to idolatry, as can be felt in the Little Italy street festival scene of The Godfather, Part II, where devout pedestrians pin money to the statue of San Rocco as it is carried by in procession. There was a strange analogy to that last week, when Sanders supporters satirically showered Hillary’s motorcade with dollar bills as she arrived at George Clooney’s luxe fund-raiser in Los Angeles.

The gushy indulgence around Hillary in the Manhattan media was typified by Vanessa Friedman’s New York Times piece, “Hillary Clinton’s Message in a Jacket,” after last week’s debate. Evidently oblivious to how she was undermining the rote sexism plank in the Clinton campaign platform, Friedman praised Hillary for “playing the clothing card” against Sanders: Hillary’s long white jacket made her look like “New York’s white knight,” riding to the rescue.

Gee, that sure wasn’t my reaction. My first thought was: “Why is Hillary wearing a lab coat?” My second was: “Isn’t this a major gaffe—reminding people of abortion clinics?” My third was: “The big belted look is not recommended for those broad in the beam.” For all the complaints about an alleged higher scrutiny suffered by women candidates, affluent politicians like Hillary can afford glam squads of stylists and an infinite range of clothing choices, hairstyles, and cosmetic aids. Male candidates with their boring cropped hair and sober suits fade into the woodwork when the queen bee flies in.

The protective major media phalanx around Hillary certainly extends to her health issues, which only the Drudge Report has had the courage to flag. In assessing possible future occupants of the White House, the public has an inalienable right to know. I was incredulous at the passive gullibility of the media, including the New York Times, last July, when a woman internist, identified as Hillary’s doctor, released a summary letter about her health that was lacking in the specifics one would normally expect in medical records. Does anyone really think that world-renowned Hillary, whose main residence for years has been in Washington and not Chappaqua, has as her primary physician an obscure young internist in Mount Kisco, New York? It’s ludicrous on the face of it.

And what about that persistent cough? “Allergy season,” the hacking Hillary claimed on a New York radio show this week. (“You all right? Any mouth to mouth CPR?” joked a host.) I’m just someone with a degree in psychology and business administration., but I’ll put my Miss Marple hat on here. Am I the only one who noticed Hillary’s high-wrap collar, pallid, puffy face, and bulging eyes during her choleric New Hampshire primary concession speech in February? (Another unusually high collar followed the next morning.)

My tentative theory (based upon two of my own battles with thyroid cancer)  is that Hillary may have sporadic flare-ups of goiter, worsened under stress. Coughing is a symptom. High collars mask a swollen throat. In serious cases, an operation may be necessary. Is this chronic thyroid condition disqualifying in a presidential candidate? Certainly not in my view, but I don’t like being lied to—by candidates, campaign staffs, or their media sycophants.

Hillary’s road map to the Democratic nomination was written by “Tricky Dick” Nixon, who after his acrimonious defeat in the 1962 California gubernatorial race doggedly restored his standing in the GOP by doing the “rubber-chicken circuit,” building up the grass-roots connections that allowed him to win the White House six years later. Similarly, Hillary has spent the years since her 2008 loss to Obama in deepening and tightening her relationships with state and local Democratic politicians, community leaders, and urban ministers nationwide—for whom she has assets of infinite largesse.

When pro-Hillary media taunt Bernie Sanders about what his campaign has or has not financially contributed to lower-level Democratic races, they are foolishly exposing Hillary’s modus operandi. Nixon’s rubber chicken has turned into one mighty gilded bird.

Yep... like him or not... I am on the Trump Train

*

Open letter to my granddaughter (updated from 2012)

My Dearest Granddaughter

Almost six years ago, I wrote this letter for you.  I repeat it again today as you are nearing your 18th birthday and my thoughts, as always, frequently turn to you and your mom and uncles.

Many things have changed since this letter was last written. I have moved into my own home which I finally managed to save a down payment for and buy. It is very open with three bedrooms (one a huge master with walk in closet and larger Master bath), one I converted into a very nice office, and the other remains a guest bedroom.  I have a large walled in back yard for the dogs to play in and a two car garage, separate laundry room, nice sized living room and a large eat in kitchen with an open area that could be converted to a dining room but for now I like it open as it gives me room to play with the shepherds.  I did not take the job in Cleveland Ohio but did move to another area of the state to work for this company in a better field.  I am very happy that I did.

I have been working hard with the same company for several years now and am happy here although economics are causing problems across the country for businesses so I never count on stability anywhere (except in a government job).  Health is holding and I recently underwent two separate surgeries to save my eye sight.  The last one has worked beautifully and I can again enjoy the beauty of nature, drive my jeep, travel and just enjoy life. I am grateful to God and to Dr Hiatt for being able to create a miracle for me.

I live alone with the fur boys and find myself content and happy.  I joined a writers group in my new home "town", hope to get active in the politics of the community and have great neighbors that I am getting to know.  I bought a total gym so I don't have expensive gym fees any more and can work out at home which is great.  I am working on my first novel which has had to be on the back burner while my eyes were acting up but which is now moving forward...  It is semi fiction and I think will be well received by adults and children alike.

I  left Facebook, again, just recently.  Too much drama on line for me.  I write more letters now though, like I used to before the computers entered our lives and took that talent away.

Tom and I remain friends but he no longer comes to stay with me...  He helps with the illustrations for my books via email and messaging which I greatly appreciate.

Below is the letter I wrote to you just shortly after you turned 12.  Should you ever reach out to me, I have copies of all of my medical documents and more from the few days just before your birthday through three weeks ago.  Everything I have done or said can be proven in black or white... Anyway... I miss you and love you... on to that old letter now.

Dear J.

No matter what you think or have heard... I have not once lied. I am not sure what "stunt" on your birthday you are referring too when you sent me that email five years ago... but I had planned on coming that day when you turned 12, to take you and your mom out to lunch and deliver your bike... What you were left unaware of were the nasty emails and Facebook posts I had received from your Uncle ***** ( which I have saved and shown to others) and which were far to cruel for me to want to be around him at that point. I too have feelings and am no longer going to let myself be abused by ANYONE

 **** (as my heart will always hold so much for him) is back with me often now... and I worry about him still. Your oldest Uncle **** and I exchange emails but I have been told that perhaps I do not wish to see him...) A friend, who is staying with me now, has also seen FACTS, not internet nonsense which, by now, you must know are not always factual and can be manipulated by people out to hurt other people (cowards each and every one)...

I never chose someone over you, your mom, your uncles... or your dad... True, I do care for Tom and will not hurt someone who has been nothing but good to me and who has helped me help others. If you think you know things, just be aware that you do not know what you may think you do and that there have been social workers, attorneys etc involved... I remain here always for all of you and have always been willing to keep all parties apart. However I am tired of someone always telling me... "I won't come over if some one else is there" (and you know that is true from past holidays etc) saying cruel things about other people, and creating non stop drama.  For the first time since my three children were past the age of 6, I am able to celebrate Christmas in love and peace :(
Tthere is no way I can explain how wonderful that is to me or how sad it makes me to know I had not known that peace for so many years.

If everyone dislikes Tom so greatly then they don;t have to be around him, after all, he is only here five months out of the year... although he did come back down as I went through this last bout of surgery... once again battling cancer... which took my remaining thyroid... and two of my parathyroid...  Oh I know your mother, my wonderful daughter, claimed I was not hospitalized back in August of 2010 and told her friends all kinds of crap, but I was there, I have all of the documents and other people were there helping me.  Your oldest uncle actually called me after I had been formally admitted later that morning and said "you really are in the hospital"  Not shit Sherlock.  I have chosen NOT to let any of my children around me in hospitals since before the mastectomy due to the negative impact I feel it has on them and to let me concentrate on healing; and not on others needs.  Hospital records document the problems one of my children in particular has caused for me...  and your Mom has her own life to live.  All I did wrong was to post I was waiting outside the hospital on my Facebook page, Sarah got involved... and because I refused to tell people where I was... I was called a liar.  Then they apparently reported me as a missing person and tried to force the hospital to give them information they were forbidden to give out.   I did NOT even make it through the first triage until after 1:00 am and I was not formally admitted to the hospital until after 9 am.   My neighbors the Greenbergs locked up the house and brought me my phone charger and house keys.  I left BAREFOOT to drive myself to the hospital.  Something I had done before when I bled out after the mastectomy and your mother's response when I asked for her to come and help me was to call an ambulance... I drove myself to the hospital that day too and   that was the beginning of the end for me in trusting anyone to be at my side through any of this...   and I KEEP it that way.

At first they thought it was my heart as the chest pain was intense and the EKG erratic. There even talk of a stent or pace makers.  Not in this lady... no way..   Several months later, however, they learned that cancer had invaded my thyroid and was raising hell with me (from heart problems to rapid weight gain and more). the Thryoid controls a great deal in the body and one of the things is metabolism.   A good doctor got me seen by the Doctors at the Mayo clinic who now follow me for the other health issues. I wish you or my own children could known how afraid I was to know I was going to the Mayo Clinic... it told me how serious things were.

My old friend James Bosworth ( I dated him for a little while long before I met Tom) was at my side through over 10 hours of testing at the Mayo clinic prior tp undergoing surgery.  He held me up as they told me that cancer had once again hit and how serious it was this time.  I initially had it set up to go through the surgery alone... asking a friend to drop me off the morning of the surgery and  James Bosworth to pick me up when I was released.  James, behind my back, contacted Tom who flew down the day before to take care of me.  I was very grateful to all of them. 

Despite the fact I had told the hospital NOT to release any information about me, my youngest son apparently did call the hospital that night to find out how I was... they gave no answer but let me know of the call.

I will never sing again but still have a voice although it goes hoarse quickly.  Tom  is very ill himself now and has been nothing but very kind and loving to me... and wanted to badly to be liked by my children whom I bragged about to him for years. He showed you wonderful times... taught you many things... all for my sake because he knew I loved (and love you so) The only thing he has done to your grandmother... is kept her alive and allowed her to finally know freedom of driving and doing things I have always loved.  Had you remained on Facebook with me.. you could have asked the people who have known me for over 50 years the truth... they know me as I have always been... the politician, the dancer, the hiker, the skier... and so much more that I laid aside well over 30 years ago when I said  "I do" to the man I have love and will always love since I was 14. *** did not change me, your grand papa did.   Our marriage was not perfect and as I have said, there will come a time when people will know how imperfect it was at times... but I love him now as much as I loved him then... and no one will ever come between that.

I do remember you telling me, in front of others who will step forward if required, how much you did not want to go home to your mom or step dad... begging me not to take you back home for various reasons. The last time, you wanted it to be just your mom, you, and me, again.  When I said that could not be because your mom was married and that you would miss your step dad, you said you would not and to please let it be the three of us again.

I worry about you, still.

I spent some time where I spread grand papa's ashes in September of 2011... I left him your Teddy Bear and pictures of you... all of the hateful letters sent to me over the past years as well as the nasty emails sent by your mother and your youngest uncle about other family members (whom they have gotten very close to from what I have learned)... and so many more things... and told him I would leave this in his hands now... I got the feeling he is okay with my sharing some time with Tom.. as I am in safe hands with him and we share so many things in common.

I have showed many friends and neighbors the things that "people" I trusted but who invaded my privacy and never chose to come and speak to me about directly found; but did not see from the years prior as to what set everything in motion... However, once upon a time... back in 2005 I even asked both of my sons to assist me in finding a man who was creating some serious problems for a woman with two sons. Those boys I did manage to eventually have removed from their mothers home in Westchester NY and put safely with the great aunt who had asked for help and who then lived in Connecticut. The oldest child is now more than 20 and doing well from what we have been told...

Later, because others had been encouraging me to do so ( among them Sarah and my own daughter), I wrote a book of erotica (currently published in ebook version  initially under a pseudonym  but now under my own name, and selling fairly well, particularly in the UK).  Sadly people can't seem to discern reality from FICTION but EVERYONE who knows and loves me knows I am run or owned by NO one... my only guilt is caring about others needs above my own; something my own children have taught me was the biggest mistake of my life.

My family has, for some reason, always been at war with someone (generally between themselves)... for now it seems to be me... and I apparently can't change that and if truth be told, I don't want to. But, had direct questions been asked instead of passive aggressive behavior... then truth would win out. There are facts about my life with grand-papa that children and grandchildren have no right to know but sadly someday all of you will... and I love him still... no matter what. There are friends from long ago that know the truth all too well. Too bad your own mother refused to talk to her Godfather who was your grand papas Chief in the Navy and a dear friend.  Mike Harms lost is battle for Cancer almost two years ago but before that he, unlike grand papa, sobered up and got off the drugs and took responsibility for the damage he did.  I am glad I got to spend his last two years of life with him even if over the phone and internet...

To be told by your mom and then your uncles that  almost five years ago,  after we returned from that wonderful trip to Tucson, that I had told you that your mother had run away from home when she was 16 was inconceivable to me? Which, as you will recall, when I asked you about that you said you never did say it to her; and you know I never said because it was not true. I have always told you how much your mom loved you and sacrificed for you and I am proud of my daughter; as I am proud of you.

I will always be here for you, but where I used to send you cards at Christmas and birthdays with small gifts I will no longer do so.  You are old enough to make your own choices and to know right from wrong, truth from deceit.  I will always send you light and love every day. The house is empty without you since you were with me almost every day of your life until you were close to 12... your pictures and scrapbooks are with me always. You were and are always the sunshine of my life... and the only grandchild that grand-papa got to hold... we have shared a special bond that shall never be broken.. at least not by this lady.  I keep the prayer in my heart that one day, you will come to my door again and we will share the laughter and love I always had with you...

I do not care for some of the choices in friends or spouses that some of my family members have selected (even though I respect you step Dad and have stuck up for him and stood by him many a time). but I have NEVER told anyone... I wanted nothing to do with them because of whom they choose to be around or love... I simply asked that they leave me out of that when those people are around. Not hard to do and you and I were already meeting and going places other then our townhouse when Tom was here in deference to your mother...

I have my friends Betty, Marcy, Megan, and my friend James helping me with my doctors and hospital appointments at the Mayo clinic now. ... James and his girlfriend Sandy know Tom very well now and we spend a great deal of time together having cookouts and traveling when we are all together.. otherwise, they include me in things when I can travel. James and Sandy were married last year.  They seem so happy.

Your mom-mom no longer stays up all of the time, I sleep a great deal now due to the cancer and all of the medicines.. actually in bed by around 7:00 at night most nights... I have one of your teddy bears with me... Merriweather, whom I put to sleep over three years ago when she was diagnosed with mammary cancer, still looked for her girl... she went totally deaf  the year before she died bit remained the loving a nanna dog as she always was. I had to put Angel Heart to sleep just before Christmas.  It broke my heart.

As you may recall I adopted a German Shepherd puppy named Ranger the spring following Merriweather's passing and a year ago I adopted another King Shepherd puppy I named Ruger.  They are my hiking companions and Ranger is actually taking a "staring" role in my new book which will be a novel...  hoping to have it completed by this next Christmas and then out on the shelves by February.  Harder to write than poetry, but I am enjoying it.

My newest book, Dancing With The Spirits of Shadowplay which was last in the series did VERY well.  We have sold over 20,000 copies and, although sales have slowed, it is still selling.

I speak about you with my Cancer counselor and doctors as well as my friends and neighbors almost every day... they know you have always given my life purpose... I don't think if you and your mom had not needed me after grandpapa had died that I would have had any reason to keep moving forward. You were my reason...

Never ever cry over your mom mom ( and I suspect you no longer due as you are an independent teenager now), but NEVER think I have stopped loving you or chose another over you. I am an adult and I "vetted" him very carefully when I first met him on line back in 2002. He is not perfect either (no one is) but I have come to know his son very well... his friend  who is an attorney in ******* working for the state's department of Homeland Security... as well as his neighbors, extended family and many others... Despite what may be found "on line" (which is NOT reality but fantasy and for there for reasons some day I hope you understand)... he is an honorable man. He ran cub scouts as I once did ... all the way through Eagle Scouts... and so many other things most do not know. He gave a friend of mine enough money so she could get 10 therapy sessions after being in a horrible car accident... and he always loved buying you little things and teaching you about history, astronomy, and science. I would NEVER be with anyone ever again who would dare raise a hand to me... or cause me sadness... be it male, female, family or friend... I think you know that after all we have shared and been through.

I miss you and your mom greatly and was just starting to enjoy having your step sister for some of our outings...

So... there are no lies little bit... and you have been left journals written years ago, and I have grand papa's records and mine and some of your uncles and mom's (when they were teenagers) and when you are 18 these are to be yours as well... So, in the meantime, if you choose not to talk to me again, the truth will be there for you to sort out... and in the end you will have understanding... and know how very much I loved all of you.

I left Facebook for good a couple of months ago; never to return...  and I may be moving in the future if an opening comes up in Cleveland Ohio with the company I now work for. They had hoped to see an opening come up for me in June but it may be delayed until fall now.  I will hate leaving my desert... but the money will be too good not to take the position. Should that happen, I will not leave a forwarding address but you can always find me via this blog... just leave a comment and how to reach you.  I will... believe me I will.  I miss you so very very much!.  Until then I am enjoying the work, writing, hiking with my dogs, and the peace of no drama in my life.  Doctors appointments are going well and the medicines seem to be working...  except for missing you, I am the happiest I have ever been..

I have no regrets... everything happens for a reason... and I am in God's capable hands as I know you are.

Be well...  I love you.