SAN FELIPE

Summer of 1977 and the Gulf of Mexico welcomed our tiny entourage of friends into San Felipe. From the rough concrete pad, we'd sleep on for the next three nights, I watched grey waves crashing hard on the shore, and digging away shallow canals in the sand as the water made its way back to wild ocean.

I was a new bride, just twenty, with my heart still open and forgiving and eyes wide in hopeful expectation.  But here, this very day, I could feel all of my dreams ebb away.  Long strands of my hair blew crazily in the breeze as I stared out over the horizon and wiped away a tear, just another of so many I had already cried in just 2 months time. But little did I know, I'd cry so many more over the two decades to follow.

A beach walk I was excited about taking together quickly disintegrated into a predictable verbal barrage I'd have to ignore or defend.  Just more criticism and hurtful commentary. I stopped walking, my toes dug into the wet sand, but it was an inevitable end when he turned back to camp and left me to walk alone. I continued adding shells, sea glass and sand dollars into my plastic sand bucket and carefully stepped around tide pools of starfish, carcasses of dolphins and other unfortunate sea life dotting the shore. I paused looking up toward the dry deep sand part of the beach and walked in disbelief toward the skeletal structure of a beached whale.  I stared up inside of it and stood there motionless for several minutes.  It was as if I had stepped back into a prehistoric time.  Then blinking, I breathed in the rancid stench of the whale's rotting flesh and choked back the vomit pooling in my throat, suddenly suffocating under a blanket of grief.  I ran to the water's edge to escape, but the volume of my agonized wail competed with the ocean's crashing waves.

The following morning, we rolled up our sleeping bags, loaded our mostly empty cooler into the bed of the truck and drove north for home. I watched out the streaked passenger window and held my precious collection of shells in my lap. I couldn't trust them to him.  I knew he'd break them like he was breaking me.

COLD AND WELL

This morning dawned cold with a bright blue sky.  It was 20 degrees and the fresh snow had a layer of ice on top and crunched beneath my feet.  But it was the air was clear and dry and it energized me.  My love affair with winter continues. 

I have never stressed out about the "flu season" or getting sick.  I have the "glass half full" mindset and believe that my emotional well being has a lot to do with my physical well being.  I focus on the upside of life and make lemonade out of lemons.

That being said, I usually get one cold every winter and this season, I caught one earlier than usual.  I woke up on Christmas morning feeling icky.  Tired, worn out and not myself.  Thankfully, we were not entertaining, so it was a stay in my jammies, next to the fire, under a blanket sort of day and we ate finger foods all day.  But we were traveling to the West Coast two days later, and I wanted to enjoy our visit with family and friends (and not get them sick), so I began to double my attack against the virus. 

I added multiple doses of Airborne and Emergen-C, was diligent taking my supplements including D and C, and used my roller bottles of oils (DoTerra OnGuard and Breathe mostly) many times a day.  The day we flew West, I felt like a zombie and dreaded my week in sunny San Diego.  Let me be blunt.  I felt like crap.  I loaded up my arsenal to take with  me as well as lots of tea bags of my favorite tea Good Earth brand Sweet and Spicy Tea (to make me feel better) while I was sick.  Hot tea is my go to for comfort when I am sick.

Though I battled this cold the whole 6 days we were there, I am thankful and happy to report that my symptoms were abbreviated and I recovered quickly rather than suffering for the whole two weeks that I usually am sick.  By the time we got home, I was well.  I never got that nasty lingering cough that usually plagues me for a month or more after all of my other cold symptoms have ended either.  THAT was a miracle.

I believe that eating well, staying on my supplements and battling with my oils all together were the key to my success in kicking that cold so quickly and efficiently

I have been using my oil education to continue to keep my immune system strong.  I am certain too, that our Keto way of eating (and not eating processed foods) was key in helping me boost my immunity.  After all, your immune system begins in your gut. 

My goal is to continue to stay well for the balance of the winter season.  The sun is shining bright today and I am going to throw on a jacket and go outside now and get some straight up Vitamin D! 

HAPPY WINTER

The snow stopped falling last night and clumps of snow began melting and falling from the laden branches on our property as we shoveled our driveway and walks for the second time this storm. I actually enjoy shoveling snow. 

Shoveling snow is a perfect workout.  I can breathe the fresh cold air, push the snow, lift and toss, walk and let my mind run free at the same time.  It is a great way to escape everything else.  

And here is something else. With snow shoveling,  you can clearly see all the results of your labor.  Long cleared walks and driveways. Unlike vacuuming, where you know you have done the work but really can't see it the same way you can when you have shoveled snow.

I love winter. I believe it was 28 earlier this morning and our high today will be 36.  I love the cold temperatures, and wearing layers and scarves and boots.  I love cozy blankets, fuzzy socks, and sipping mugs of hot tea!  It is here for only 3 months and then it is gone and another season will come.  I embrace them all with joy.  It is part of why I love living in Virginia.

I also love cooking winter meals.  I am making some kind of soup today for dinner.  I am not sure what kind exactly, but it will be hot, hearty and delicious!  

I'm back inside now, cozy  and warm under a fleece blanket enjoying our snow covered woods view from my window and thinking about a mug of hot tea.

SNOW DAY

After much preparation for days for the big storm, it began to snow last night at 6 p.m.  This morning we awoke to about 5 inches of white fluffy snow covering rooftops, trees, cars, driveways and walks.  Good morning gorgeous pure white snow, cold temperatures and gray skies.

We got notifications that church was cancelled, businesses closed and our trash pick up a day delayed.  Snow plow trucks cruised up and down our neighborhood road.  We watched, cradling mugs of hot coffee, as tiny snowflakes continued to fall softly in a dance like fashion. And when it stopped mid-morning, Bruce shoveled our driveway and walkway and I headed into the kitchen and prepared the pork shoulder to go into the crock pot for a Carnitas dinner. 

As our dinner cooks, while we stay warm inside, under blankets, with the TV as background noise, I am setting today as the day to continue to fine tune my schedule for the new year.  I began a workout routine last week and I admit, it was a slow start for me.  But, as slow as it was, it did help set a foundation of purpose for me for my health goals.  A beginning.

I am excited after seven months of seeing the health benefits of  KETO way of eating, to now be weaving into my new lifestyle, a schedule for exercise, a routine that will include heavy resistance training with HIIT cardio sessions.  I am also making a daily schedule for consistent writing and am working on meal planning, too.

I am happy making the most of our snow day inside. 

PURPOSE

I escorted the end of 2018 out by conquering my biggest fear and living out my word for the 2018, FEARLESS.

I have (for years) been terrified of the idea of flying in a small plane (mostly, crashing) which seemed like an inevitable end.  I was even reluctant to sit in the plane (on the ground), as it gave me tremendous anxiety.  It was a crippling fear that made my palms sweat and my heart pound uncomfortably, anytime I even thought about it.  I was certain that if I flew in a small plane, it would crash and I would die.  For the past 12 months, I have worked on diffusing this fear and by early Fall, I told my brother that I would go up in the plane with him before the end of the year. I committed to it and continued to work on it

We were in San Diego over the holidays, visiting family and my brother called the day before we were to go spend the day with them and invited hubby and I to go up in his plane. I had a slight moment of hesitation, but I felt ready.  It was December 30th.  YES. I flew and sat in the co-pilot seat in my brother's plane (a Cessna 182) above San Diego's back country.  The day was perfect.  Clear skies and no wind.  I loved it!  It was such a breathtaking flight.  I will admit, a tiny bit of anxiety crept in as we began coming in for the landing, but I shook off the overwhelming fear that has limited me from flying with him.

I worked on other areas that I allow fear to hold me back and realized I allowed it to stifle my creativity.  I entered 2019 feeling more confident and sure of myself in the areas that FEAR had held me captive.

2019 brings a new word.  One that has been pestering me for some time, but especially in the past few months. It has been lingering in the back of my mind, and I have had many discussions about it.   PURPOSE.  What is mine, and how am I to live it out?  I also am choosing to live with PURPOSE, on PURPOSE this year as well.

I know that writing is a huge part of my PURPOSE and most of my focus will be on becoming disciplined in daily writing time.  The venue in which to direct my writing will also be part of my challenge for my PURPOSE for this year.

PURPOSE.  A blank canvas for me to create and make my own.

RETURN TO PRESENT

I've not written here in much too long.  I have missed telling stories, whether or not they are read by others.  I have missed sharing, making a recorded place marker in my own history.

Though these last days of late summer still beckon me to find cool water to splash in,  my heart is longing for the leaves to change color and drift down to cover my backyard.

I want to find warmth in a bonfire and a glass of red wine.  To wrap myself up in a soft blanket and cover my arms with a fleece hoodie in the glow of that fire.  I am yearning for shorter days and the chill in the night air to chase away the humidity that I am weary to breathe one more day.

This year has passed by too quickly, which seems that is what life brings us as we grow another year older.  We've welcomed a son-in-law and a new grandson this year and were blessed to return for visits with our family in California.  I've grown friendships and deepened my walk with God.  It's been a good year, not without a share of disappointments and sadness too, but I choose to look at all the good in our life.  There is a lot of good.

We are blessed. Bruce began to search for his biological family, early in 2018 and closed the loop meeting his two sisters on his mother's side and, soon we are meeting his brother on his father's side.

We have made a lifestyle change in the way we eat.  I have returned to Bulletproof and Bruce has adopted a Ketogenic diet to improve his health.  Both of these are very similar and he is moving toward 100% Bulletproof with me.  Adding physical exercise has also begun to be a priority for us again.  It feels good to have each other in our team efforts and support each other toward good health. We are feeling and seeing the positive effects of this focused effort. 

I  have made a commitment to invest in daily writing.  I have neglected this part of me for too long (again).  I will make it part of my self-care routine--which I am learning the importance of lately.  I have carved out time for more time with God in the Bible and study and my writing needs to be moved up in my priorities. 

I am reading more this year, since beginning a book club with some friends.  I have discovered that I am picking up other books off my bookshelves too, in addition to my book club read.  That is helping with my writing endeavors too. My ideas are churning again.  I no longer feel creatively stagnant.  I can feel the push to write what is bursting to be told.

So, as I look forward to the season of Fall and search for a hint of her arrival, I will begin to also celebrate this season with gratefulness.  Taking each day and counting the good and savoring each moment for what it brings me.  I will take more pictures and write more stories. I will take care of my soul and nurture my writing and artistic side.

I will not be a void.  I will not be absent.

EMBRACING MINIMALISM

When I first heard the word minimalism, I imagined a very stark and uninviting way of living.  And even though, at the time, I didn't believe I would ever adopt that lifestyle, I was curious and wanted to learn more.  I began reading and educated myself in the ideas behind it and acknowledged that my life would benefit from a minimalist approach to acquiring things and keeping some of the things I already had.

As I embraced the minimalist's view of "stuff", I began closely looking at the "stuff" in my house and boxes of "stuff" in unopened in my basement, I began to feel uneasy and stifled.  I could feel the heavy presence of the "stuff" that takes residence in closets, cabinets, boxes and tubs and I began to feel claustrophobic and guilty!  There was so much I was not using and others could!  That was very powerful to me.  It made me feel selfish and I never viewed myself as such. 

I know that just about every area of my home can use a purge. 

I did manage to clear out a lot of things when we moved across country, but I brought things with us that I thought "I may use that in VA even though I rarely used it in CA."  And I haven't used a lot of it.  My lifestyle is not that different here than it was there.  So I plan to sell a lot of the items that are still packed carefully away in the basement and begin to clear items that are in my home and that do not bring me JOY.

I have many things that DO bring me joy in my home and they are not going anywhere.   I have a large jar displaying beach rocks that my parents collected on a trip to Europe decades ago.  It reminds adventure and love and makes me happy to see it.  I also have beach rocks, shells and sea glass in a shallow glass bowl that I collected over my lifetime. Beaches in San Diego and San Felipe, Mexico. A photo my dad took of the harbor also hangs nearby.  A pair of metal owl candle holders perch on my fireplace mantle and remind me of a far away best friend. My grandmother's wooden clock stands next to them.  Another fond childhood memory of the ticking and chimes in my grandparent's home and all the goodness and love of time spent with them. 

My office bookshelf is full of many items, that all bring me contentment, and displayed in one central place and it is inspiring to me as I write.  Quilts handmade by my great grandmothers are out where I can see then and remind me of my heritage and hard work to make the life I have.

My kitchen went through a big purge when we moved, as did my wardrobe.  I am still working very hard to continue to eliminate more from my closet and keep things that work well together and are more monochromatic with a few colorful accessories to keep it fresh.  Of course, now that we live in a four season climate, my wardrobe has changed, but the theme is the same.  I can already see the benefits and I feel more put together.  Plus, it takes me less time to figure out my clothes in the morning or for special occasions, now that I have adopted this change in my closet. 

I am ready to clear out the rest of the clutter that has no meaning, and unburden myself of the weight of "stuff".  My minimalist journey has been very liberating so far, and I am looking forward to see what else I will make changes to going forward.

FEARLESS

A word for the year.  What word will propel me in 2018?  What holds me back from realizing my dreams? I have been struggling with this idea for some time.  I have known what it's been but unable to say it out loud, much less put it on the record, but here it is.

FEAR. The kind that is cloaked in caution and keeps me from taking chances with my talent.  The kind that keeps me static, stopped and stagnant.

Instead, I want to see the flow of words on paper, and feel the energy of ideas streaming and building stories from them.  There is one way to do that.

I will be FEARLESS.  This is my word for 2018. My word.  My actions shall be FEARLESS.

I will leap more. Jump with my eyes open to the possibilities.  I will keep taking steps forward. The hours, days and months that have been wasted with FEAR will, this year, be spent leaping forward into what might be. 

FEARLESS. 

LIVING IN A MOMENT

On a frigid Virginia morning, standing still, in a moment, I felt the future, present and the past colliding, both joy and pain mixing in my tears as the cold air filled my lungs and I found peace in the crunch of icy snow underneath my boots. 

The bare trees reached to the sky as if begging for spring to return and clothe them in new leaves.  I tilted my head back and closed my eyes breathing in the cleansing air and thanked God for the season.

And at the same time of year, less than two years ago, I was walking along in wet sand on the Coronado shore's edge, listening to the rhythmic crash of waves as the cold salt water raced across the top of my bare feet.  Then, the ocean pulled them back and my feet sunk into the sand with the pull of the tide.

I closed my eyes, inhaled the salty sea air and heard a seagull's cry overhead with another resounding crash of waves behind me.

As I embrace 2018, I will remember both the cleansing of winter and the eternal song of the ocean.

VIRGINIA IS FOR LOVERS (AND WRITERS)

It almost feels surreal.  I look out my window and see the wooded backdrop beyond my back yard.  The snow frosted trees stretch to the sky above the snow blanketed ground.  It takes my breath away and I blink to make sure this is not a dream. When I open my eyes, it is all still here, making me smile and thankful. 


Just 3  months ago, I was one with long commutes to work, freeway traffic, xeriscaping, water shortages, hot days and nights. In California.  A place I had lived for just about all of my life. A place I'd grown to hate.  My heart yearned for green, for trees, for seasons, and yes, for cold weather. Anyone following my blog knows that my eyes have been on Tennessee for a long time.  And that hasn't changed. 


Last summer, my husband was offered employment in Virginia....and here we are!  In a little more than a month's time, we notified our family and friends, packed up our four bedroom home, flew to Virginia and bought a house and watched a gigantic moving truck pull away with all of our belongings.


We followed two days later, with our RAM loaded with some things we planned to bring out ourselves, our pup, Gemma and all of the excitement of a cross country drive to a new home.


We made it in  6 days.  Gallup, NM to Oklahoma City,OK to Kearney, MO to Lexington, KY and finally Fredericksburg, VA.  Several nights in hotels, a stop to visit and stay with a best friend and a stay with cousins and family before our final stop. 


It was Fall, the glorious color of changing leaves--the weather was still warm and then began to change to crisp chilly mornings and evenings and rain, oh beautiful rain!   I watched every day the leaves slowly falling into our yard...leaving the trees bare and stark against the sky.  The view from our back deck changes daily--I feel so blessed to enjoy the seasonal changes.  Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years and now our first snow! 


I am soaking it all in.  It nurtures my soul.  I love living outside of "town". I love the country roads and my friends I've made here. I love our new church and how welcomed we are.   I love how I feel here.  Alive and energized.  I can feel my creativity again.  I can hear my muse coming out of her long hibernation.


I can feel something good in my writing journey has begun.

KEEPING IT REAL-- A MOTHER'S DAY

It was Mother's Day 1992. I was 36 years old and the mama of four young children ages 13, 11, 4 and 3.


I was wrapping up the day after hosting a house full of family.  This day had been loud and fun and messy.  Adults chatting and children laughing chasing up and down the hall--doors opening, doors slamming, messes to mop up in the kitchen, drinks to refill, snacks to replenish.


A typical Mother's Day with a growing family.


In a quiet moment, I realized the youngest, my three year old son Taylor, was not in the family room playing in the pile of Legos, Tinkertoys and Hot Wheel cars and he wasn't with his brother or sisters. 


Where was he? When had anyone last seen him?


After a quick search of the house, and realizing our golden retriever, Sophie, was also MIA, we concluded that Taylor had gone outside with her and the two of them were probably traipsing around our rural property on their own adventure.  I remember searching over the two acres of white-rail fenced land and yelling for both of them.  Panic and fear grew stronger with every call out to them and getting in return, silence.  No little boy laughter, no barking dog.


My heart pounded hard as I jumped into my green van and drove slowly down the long narrow quarter-mile asphalt drive, peering over the steering wheel, the pair of empty car seats behind me in the back seat, my eyes scanning left and right across the neighbors' yards for any sign of Taylor or Sophie.


I prayed hard.  Tears threatened to spill, but I blinked them back and exhaled a sigh of relief that he'd not fallen in my neighbor's pool as I drove past.  He was three.  He couldn't swim.  He was my baby. My brain cycled through scenarios.  All of our neighbors knew him.  Surely he'd be spotted.  Had someone taken him?  He was my b-a-b-y.  My mind could go no further into that darkness.


I wanted to drive faster, but I needed to go as slow as I could, to keep an eye out across the acreage of each property for any sign of either of them. 


Five minutes felt like hours, as I rounded the final turn and followed the avocado grove lined section leading down to the dirt road where several driveways converged. 


I leaned to look through the rows of trees to my left and glimpsed the top of Sophie's wagging tail as she romped through the heavy cover of fallen leaves.  I slammed on the brakes, put the car in park and jumped out.  I could see Taylor behind her, laughing and running, not a care in the world.


"Sophie"  I called out and she bounded toward me.  I slid the van's side panel door open and she jumped inside.


Taylor was still running behind her, now toward me, smiling from ear to ear with joy, then tripped and fell face first in the leaves.  He got back up, but now he was crying.


"You're fine.  Brush off and come on and get in the van"  I called to him, relieved I'd found him safe but now aggravated he'd scared everyone by leaving the property. 


He wiped both hands off on his shirt, still crying hard.  Suddenly, I saw blood soaked the front of his shirt.  I ran to him and yanked his shirt up.  Nothing. His little belly didn't have a mark on it.  I grabbed both of his little hands at the same time and turned them palms side up...one revealed an ugly jagged gash across it. He'd fallen on a broken piece of metal sprinkler line in the grove and was bleeding--a lot.


My heart began pounding hard again. I scooped him up and grabbed a towel from the back seat and wrapped it around his hand and told him to hold it there, buckled him into his car seat and drove him back to the house.


Once his hand had been cleaned up, I immediately knew we were spending the rest of Mother's Day in the Emergency Room.  So after securing the dog and  leaving our 13 year old in charge of her siblings, instructing them to sit tight and watch a movie, we headed to the local hospital.


During our predictably long wait, Taylor kept uncovering and inspecting his wound, then would thrust his palm in my face (and anyone else's face nearby) saying, "See my boo-boo?"  Not everyone was as impressed with it as he was (considering the 'ick' factor), and I had to keep reminding him to leave the bandage on until the doctor could look at it. 


That night after we got back home and all the kiddos were tucked in, I crawled into my own bed, tired and relieved that my day had ended with a much better outcome than I'd feared earlier. 


It was the close of my Mother's Day and my sweet youngest son's adventure made it a day I would always look back on with a thankful heart. 

BULLETPROOF RESULTS

Oh my.  It has been 6 months and I realized I have not updated my blog in all that time! Where did the time go and what is up with that Bulletproof protocol?

Well here you go....the good news is that I have had amazing results on Bulletproof!  I have been eating strictly Bulletproof, and focusing eating per the protocol, a lot less carbs, while fluctuating carb re-feeds.  I am 5 sizes smaller.  (I stopped using the bathroom scales).  I have simply adapted this mode of eating and the weight and fat has melted off.  I can honestly say this has been EASY.   

Before I began this protocol, I was certain that I could not abstain from many of the foods that were not Bulletproof, especially bread and pasta.  But I did and I am here to tell  you that I don't miss or crave either one.  At all.

I'm still on track and I have another 3.5 sizes I would like to lose, so I am going to continue on the same path and then adjust things to maintain my success. More recently,  I have indulged in a few "forbidden foods": french fries/potatoes, cheese, alcohol and frozen yogurt, without negative repercussions. These occasions are rare. I eat Bulletproof 90% of the time.

I feel like this is an effortless way of eating.  I no longer have to think about what I am going to eat/should eat and it feels like an organic transfer for me. This is the first time in my adult life that I can say I have been able to eat good food and lose weight. I have not felt deprived, hungry or had to work out hours a week in order to attain my weight loss.  

I have more updates to make to add, but I will save them for another post.

BULLETPROOF FROM THE INSIDE OUT

I started on the Bulletproof Diet on May 4, 2015.  I prefer to call it the Bulletproof Protocol, since “diet” implies short-term, and I intend to continue with this long after my fat loss is complete.


This is my Bulletproof journey.


For over a year I have felt myself spiraling into apathy about my weight, my age and it became so bad that it began to bleed into my lifelong dreams.  I had zero energy, slept horrible almost every single night.  The nights I did sleep soundly were so rare, that they were a cause for celebration. I felt OLD.  I'd lost my desire to do anything other than just sit on my tush.  I hated the way I looked and more than that, the way I felt.


I was exhausted, negative, short-tempered and angry.  All the time.  What had happened to me?  Where did the happy, positive, upbeat girl go?   I wanted her back.  I missed the way I used to be, the way I used to enjoy my life.


I knew I needed to get “back on track” with healthy eating and working out, but I had absolutely NO motivation.  None.


By chance, at our son’s house, on Easter Sunday, his friend Nick was talking about his Bulletproof coffee and I was intrigued.  I listened closely, asked questions, and then I began reading everything I could on this Bulletproof Diet and Coffee idea.  I was game.


I will admit that I was hesitant to give up all of the foods that were listed as “suspect” and “toxic” but I also feared that those foods were a bigger part of my problem than just 60 extra pounds and I was determined to go all in and give it 100%.


Good-bye breads, wheat, grains, legumes, cheese, dairy (except grass-fed butter), most fruits, and SUGAR.


Hello, grass fed meats, low-carb veggies, berries and my future good health!


The first week of detoxing off of everything I had been fueling my body with, all at once, was not pleasant.  I felt unwell and woke with a headache each morning* and it returned every afternoon at around 3pm.  On the fifth day, I literally felt “homicidal”  I wanted to tear heads off and scream at the top of my lungs.  I pushed through the day (without harming anyone) and woke on the sixth day feeling AMAZING!
*waking with a headache is something I suffered from for years, so that part was not anything new. 


The change in the way I felt was miraculous.  I had mental clarity and focus,  lots of energy and was back to feeling positive.  The intense anger that previously consumed me, had vanished.  I was excited about making plans and following my dreams.  My creativity kicked back in and I really did begin to feel invincible.


I am a believer in the Bulletproof  lifestyle.


After a month on the protocol and being so ecstatic at how much BETTER I FEEL,  I can also report that I am nearly two pants sizes smaller (I am using my clothing size as my success gauge over the scale, since the scale does not give an accurate picture of what is truly going on with fat loss and inches). Every week, my clothes fit better, looser and I can get into clothes that were impossible to wear before.  I took measurements a week ago and will be keeping a log of the inches lost every month too.  I should have done that on day 1 but didn’t.


I am incorporating HIIT workouts a few times a week (20 minutes), but no more endless hours on the treadmill, just short high intensity workouts and done.   In between, those, I can enjoy some "active rest" activities: walks/hikes, bike rides and maybe get the golf clubs back out!


For me the biggest part of the success of being Bulletproof is how I feel. Getting the extra weight and fat off is a bonus!  I am back into my creative zone and I feel like my brain has been awakened from a stupor.  I am excited to get back into my daily writing and tap into my new found creativity.

REFLECTION IN THE REAR VIEW MIRROR

Last year was hard.

The trials of 2014 left me feeling stale. Without inspiration.

I dreamed of feeling inspired again. I dreamed and prayed for the passion for my dreams I had before, to return to me. I relied on whatever fraction of energy I could scrape up, to get through each day and survive the frustration, confusion, sadness, anger and depression that those days contained.

Sometimes those emotions beat me down and consumed me. Some days they made me feel ugly. I despised the conflict that brewed inside of me, but I kept it there, rather than spewing it out. All of those emotions bubbled up and often came out of me as tears rolling down my face. No words, just tears.

It takes a lot to put on a happy face, and push through the day. I did it day after day. Some days were harder than others, but at the end of each hard day, I knew I could do it one more day. And I did it all. With God.

I know that it was God who held me up above all of what was pulling me down. He was beside me, with me, holding me safely in the palm of his hand. In the dark stillness of the night when sleep eluded me, it was God who was there in the quiet. In the turmoil of my days, it was God who offered calm in those moments.

Through the trials and hurdles of last year, I became stronger. It as if I am coming up from under the water, breathing air again. Fresh, crisp clean air. Thank you God.

2015 will be a year of change and the return of inspiration.

THIS GIRL--A POEM

Little girl,
you were always happiest
losing yourself
in your imaginary worlds
Batman, secret agent, cowgirl in the west.

Good girl,
yes mam, no sir, thank you and please
so tender hearted
in your southern world
loving Jesus, praying on your knees.

Hurt girl,
you learned quick and hard
trust vigilantly
in your dangerous world
watch, listen, wait and guard.

Wise girl,
today you know better
living boldly in your writer world
scribbling out your heart with letters.

God's girl,
everyday you learn anew
taking chances
in your bold world
knowing God never left you.

WRITING MY WAY THROUGH

Here I am. It is day one of 2015. This year is beginning all shiny and fresh.

It is a crisp, white, blank sheet of paper waiting for me to write the script. Waiting for me to take my pencil and make that first broad stroke of the first letter of the first word of my story.

This story will not be last year's story. It does not start the same. It will not end the same. In this story, I commit to write 500 words a day, to pursue better health and be more active, to be better. To not quit. I will continue to chase my dreams, laugh, love, listen to my heart and have faith.

This story. I will not know what each chapter will hold for me. But I will help write it. This story may have more tight turns and steep hills than I expect. And it is likely that I will get lost along the way, from time to time, but in my faith, I will find my way. I will find myself in new territory and my past may help me conquer old ghosts. I may find my superpowers when I least expect to. I may chase my muse in the darkness or we may dance together across a page.

This will be an adventure.

I will face the monsters. I will stare down my fear and write through the darkness and when the light of day finds me still writing, I will be smiling. I will celebrate my wins and push against my struggles. I will sharpen my pencil and my wit against my arch enemy--writer's block. I will scribble my way out of the terrifying corner, I may write myself into. I will push on. I will not concede.

I will step bravely into each day with kindness, a willingness to learn and I will be eager to find more wisdom with each chapter. When the words flow easily I will say a prayer of thanks, when they stutter, I will pray for help. I will use the lessons I learn from the previous chapter to create the next. I will learn to be brave. I will not let my scars keep me from believing I can fly again. Instead, I will sail through the sky of second chances. I will not let hurdles become walls and fear become a force. I will learn when to tiptoe around the creaky boards and when to run into the crashing waves to tell part of the story. I may have to face the demons that taunt me in my dreams and chase the shadows out of the corners of long forgotten pain.

I will dig deep for the strength within me when it is needed. I will not shirk from wading into the deep cold water when I am called to swim. Along the way, I will remember to look up and lose myself in a star filled sky, savor the warmth of a sunny day and welcome the rain when it falls. The seasons are quick to pass and I must be able to write my way through them.

I am ready.

Let my story begin.

SUMMER MEMORIES IN A PONTIAC TEMPEST

It was the middle of June, 1963 and we were at our first stop to stretch our legs--just outside of Yuma, Arizona. I was 6 years old. We were only a few hundred miles into what would be our first of many summer trips from California to our home town in Kentucky.  This year we were driving the family car, a 1962 blue Pontiac Tempest. 

I peered out the window through the sand coated glass and pulled the door latch with both hands, and pushed against the heavy car door as I tried to unstick my legs from the blue vinyl seats.

My younger tow-headed brother had already escaped out of his side of the car and was racing after Dad, who was a few man-sized strides ahead, finally catching up, grabbing his fingers and skipping every other step alongside him. 

Mom, dressed in a pale pink sleeveless blouse, white Capri pants and sandals, wrestled her purse over her arm and took my hand as we walked toward the concrete building housing the restrooms.  We both agreed it was too hot for either of our liking.

Pushing open the stall door, I stood at the sink and splashed cold water on my face, getting chin length pieces of dark hair around my face wet in the process, and waiting for Mom before walking back out into the blazing Arizona heat.  The hot air blew into my face reminding me of when Mom opened the oven door while dinner was cooking.

I stared at the adobe and iron barred building in the distance and brushed my damp hair off of my face and squinted in the bright sunlight.  I was ready to go, but my brother was busy collecting rocks and chasing horned toads.

I squatted down and swirled my fingers in the sand, making designs and letters and waited as Dad went to get the camera to take a picture of us. 

My brother and I posed in front of the Old Yuma Territorial Prison sign and made squinty smiles for the camera.  The hot wind blew sand into our eyes and after several clicks of the camera, Dad put it away and promised we’d stop for a cold soda pop at the next place we came to.

My brother and I raced back to the car, swung open the doors, and climbed back in, each reclaiming our own half of the back seat.  We peered forward, pushing against each other hoping to get the first glimpse of a filling station sign, a place we knew would have ice cold bottles of grape and orange pop, and Dad’s favorite, Pepsi-Cola. 

Before long, we spied the red and white star on the Texaco sign standing out like a beacon against backdrop of blue sky meeting sand.  Dad turned off the two lane highway and rolled into the parking lot.  He fed silver coins into the pop machine and we pulled hard on the cold glass bottles grinning when they released into our hands.  We wrenched the bottle tops off on the opener and I pressed the bottle against my lips and drank half of it before taking a breath.  The fizz from the soda burned my nose and my eyes watered, but at the time, it tasted like the best thing I’d ever had.

We reluctantly climbed back in the car and Dad turned back onto the highway driving east toward Phoenix.  I  perched on my knees against the back seat and watched out the back window, as the sand blew off the back of our car and the mountains faded in the shadows of the setting sun.

10 TIPS FOR ONLINE DATING

Online dating is hard.  I’ve been there.  It feels like navigating through the fog.  You can’t see things clearly and you don’t know where the danger is.  I learned a few things and worked out a way to navigate better.  Here are my tips.

 

          1.  Know yourself and what type of person you need in your life. Soul searching and evaluating is crucial.

 

          2.  Take your time and write down exactly what is important for you and what characteristics in a mate you value, need and want. A list of what is important and what you can compromise can be a good reminder of why you are doing this, or convince you to try something else.

 

          3.  Always, be careful.  Do not risk your safety with the type of information you put in your profile.

 

          4.  Be honest, specific and detailed in describing yourself in your profile description.  Make it clear who you are and what you are looking for. I spent almost three hours writing and editing mine. 

 

          5.  When reviewing the profiles of men who respond and reach out to contact you, immediately delete anyone who:

               A.  Has obviously not read your profile or admits they have not read your profile.

               B.  Has not taken the time to fill out a detailed profile description.

               C.  Does not match what you are looking for.

               D.  Seems fishy in any respect to you.   

 I could write for days about the number of men, who looked at my photo, and ignored all or most of what I had written and still contacted me—they wanted a one night stand, someone to cheat on their wife with, borrow money from, or Heaven only knows what else…I never gave them the time of day—their profile or lack thereof said all I needed to know. 

       DO NOT RESPOND.  DELETE AND MOVE ON. DO NOT RESPOND.

 

          6.   After steps 1-5, and you’re ready to take the first step, exchange a few brief emails and a phone call and if you’re feeling good about meeting him, then waste no time in a meeting.  Do not drag on with emailing.  I made that mistake. Once.  It’s best to find out as soon as possible whether there is promise in a relationship or not.

 

          7.  Once you decide to meet, arrange to meet somewhere for coffee.  Yes.  Coffee.  Do not meet for drinks, or lunch or dinner.  Save that for your second date.  Coffee dates are not costly, allow for casual conversation, and can be planned at all times of day or evening.   Meet for coffee in a public place that you are familiar with.  YOU choose the place. Period.

 

I chose a place close to my home in my comfort zone.  I knew the area and people were familiar.  It felt safe to me.

 

          8.  Always have an ‘escape plan’ in place.  What does that mean?  If within the first 15 minutes (or sooner) you realize there is no chemistry, but you can tell he’s already decided you are the ONE and never wants the date to end, be polite and finish your cup of coffee, but at the same time, casually work into the conversation an OUT.  For example, mention you have a work deadline to finish or your sister asked you to help her; have something to do or somewhere to be later.

 

           9.  When you get home, you can write an email saying it was nice to meet and then say that there was no chemistry and good luck.  Do not get emotionally invested at this point. Manipulative personalities can suck you in and waste a lot of your time. I know it may sound cold, but I made these mistakes in the beginning, until I approached this process more as a business transaction.  Then it got easier.

      10.     When you are in your car and ready to leave to go home, if you have ANY concerns, leave AFTER he does and don’t go straight home.  Stay in public view.   I cannot stress personal safety enough.  I had several safeguards in place when I began online dating.  Make sure you have them, too.

This is your search and your life.  Do not be bullied or persuaded by guilt to continue beyond your first date with anyone you do not feel in your gut is right for you.  Remember, you do not owe anyone your time, if you are not interested in pursuing a relationship with them.  You should be kind, but foremost, be true to yourself.

 I did go out on one second date in order to avoid telling the truth, but learned quickly that was not fair; to either one of us.  I learned to speak honestly and move on without agonizing.  I appreciated similar mutual honesty from two men I dated, who on the same search as me, but for them, I was not the right one either.  We decided on friendship and were supportive of each other’s search for our mates.

I was on the same online dating site for two years and during the time, I went on a lot of coffee dates, and took two breaks of a month or two, where I didn’t date at all and invested in two separate relationships that didn’t work out.  I was about to take another break and even considered terminating my subscription to the site when a profile caught my attention.

A first date evolved into saying yes to spending the rest of my life with Mr-Right-for-Me—this summer we celebrate 15 years together.  

KRIS KRISTOFFERSON

It was 1972.    I was 16 and I loved outlaw country music.  My vinyl collection boasted music by Johnny Cash, Waylon Jennings and Kris Kristofferson.  Not many of my high school peers shared my taste in music, but my best friend, Dusty, who I’d known since we were 11, was as crazy about it as me, which is just one of the reasons we were best friends. 


The day we learned Kris Kristofferson was going to be in concert, we begged our parents for permission to go, collected our saved up our allowance and babysitting money to buy the tickets and waited impatiently for THE night to arrive. 

The concert venue was downtown and I was nervous about driving in unknown territory.  Dusty assured me that with her riding shotgun, we’d be fine.  That night we climbed into my 1966 VW Bug and traversed the puzzle of one-way streets to the concert hall.

We sat on the edge of our seats in the balcony and dramatically sighed, when, at last, Kris Kristofferson sauntered on stage, dressed in a pale blue wrinkled shirt, sleeves rolled up, faded jeans, worn boots and his guitar slung over his shoulder.  We were in ‘teenage-girl-with-a-crush-heaven’ when he began singing.  We knew every word to every song and were disappointed when he left the stage after his final song.  We hoped we could score an autograph and pushed our way out of the venue to the street and around the corner, hoping for even a glimpse of our beloved star. 

We giggled and looked around, surprised that we were the only two waiting outside the side door.  We stood in the glow of a streetlight, otherwise draped in darkness.  Suddenly, the door opened and three men emerged, each carrying a guitar case, laughing and mid-conversation.  They stopped abruptly when they saw us. 

Even in the dim light, we immediately recognized Kris Kristofferson.  He smiled at us and I felt my knees shaking and I suddenly couldn’t even remember my name.  I could not believe I was standing next to Kris Kristofferson.  He was so close to us, I could smell him.  He smelled like whiskey.

Dusty and I were so star-struck that we could hardly find the words to speak, but I remember finally gushing about how much I loved the concert, and then asked for an autograph.  He scratched his head and drawled, “Well, this is the first time anyone asked me for my autograph.  I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do.”   I was in disbelief but dug into my purse and pulled out a scrap of paper—which happened to be the receipt from the concert ticket purchase. He took it from me, our fingers touching briefly (I was never washing that hand again), signed his name (I was staring at his face) and handed it back to me. I could not stop smiling and giggling.

Then, he grinned again and queried, “Do you girls want to party?  We’re going to a party.” 

I remember freezing in place, blushing and then panic hit me.  I stammered and muttered something about our curfew and thanked him for the autograph.  We raced back to the Bug, slid in, slammed and simultaneously locked the doors.  My hands were still shaking as I turned the key in the ignition and drove away.  Neither one of us had said a word.  I was still waiting for my heartbeat to slow down.  Dusty, in her usual style, and too loud voice, blurted out, “THAT was crazy!”  I laughed hysterically and we both started singing ‘Me and Bobby Mc Gee’.

I’ve never been to another Kris Kristofferson concert but I still have his autograph on that faded receipt and wonder if it really was the first one he’d ever signed.

FACE THE FEAR: A WRITER'S CONFESSION

The Fear quietly follows me like a shadow, never leaving and like the proverbial Boogie Man under the bed, pulls me under the surface of my own insecurity, suffocating me with imaginary whispers of  “I told you so”.

Sometimes at night, when I am trying to go to sleep, this Fear creeps into my thoughts and prevents me from even closing my eyes.  I stare upwards to the ceiling and can feel it choking me as my thoughts stomp wildly inside my head.

“I didn’t write today…I should be writing something right now…I should get up….I write best at night, but I’m tired.  Tomorrow will be better…I’ll never finish any of my projects…I will die before I actually become serious about my writing…I have already wasted so much time…”

I despair over the wasted days, weeks, years and then fervently promise and plan to start the next day, so that the Fear will go back to its corner.  But, the next day I don’t write and the Fear charges me again, pushing me back further under, into surrender to its grip. 

I have plenty of excuses, but none of them are valid.  They are only lies that I tell myself to quell the Fear.

“I have no time, I work full time.  I’m too stressed…I just want to come home and relax, not write.  My recorded shows are filling my queue, I need to watch them. Next week looks better.”

The truth stands accusingly before me.

I have time to write.  I have a place to write.  I have talent.  I have passion.

What the heck is holding me back?

The Fear may actually be that I won’t write well enough, that I won’t be able come up with the pieces to fill the frame of my story and finish it.  Maybe the Fear is also that no one wants to read what I have to say. 

I must stand up face to face with the Fear and write anyway.  I must write because it is who I am.  A writer.