Anger

I left this comment over at Daily Goddess in response to a post about Anger and it's value and power in our lives:

I began going to a recovery group four years ago to "deal with" my anger. I was embarrassed at my moments of rage. At the shattering of glass against walls. At the constant yelling yelling yelling. What I have discovered through years of peeling back the onion is that I was right to be angry. I just didn't know WHY I was angry. I was hurt and in pain and still expected to walk around as though nothing was wrong. My anger would bubble over at times when I could no longer pretend that everything was fine. That I had never survived any hurts. Now, after putting blame in it's proper place, and now in taking responsibility for my part of the situations I've gone through, only now am I no longer so angry. But without that initial anger, that intense feeling, I don't think I would have taken that road towards self-discovery and to true healing. I think anger is necessary. Just as a fire is needed for seeds to burst forth and a tree to bloom.

I had a LOT of very real reasons to be angry. The problem was I couldn't name the reasons. I stuffed those feelings and did everything I could to control my environment. When I couldn't keep all the plates spinning, I'd lash out at those closest to me for not helping me to keep things in some sort of dysfunctionally perfect order. uuuggghhh... I hate that I was like that!

I know that many people view anger as being out of control, and so do everything in their power to avoid any outbursts that might embarrass them. That's trying to control a very real human reaction because of the concern of what other's might think. I don't mean that we should be allowed to go out and beat someone senseless because they have upset us. I mean, if you are upset or angry with someone, feel the feeling! But stuffing our true feelings is pretty typical for most people. And that's very dangerous to our psyche. We don't want to think we're mean. We don't want to make others uncomfortable. We want people to like us... blah blah blah blah blah...

It was only through hours of prayer and meditation and a lot of group time that I came to understand that I had every right to be angry for things that I had gone through as a child and young adult. I have since "calmed down" now that I have been able to put faces to the feelings of rage. I still have moments where I wish I had a punching bag in the garage, but not like before... not on an hourly or minute-by-minute basis. Now when I'm just so pissed that someone crossed a line with me, rather than trying to control my environment or taking it out on those closest to me, I sit in that anger. And then I write, or run, or take deep breaths... but mostly I sit in it and pray. And sometimes, I even find the strength to go back to the one that crossed my boundary and tell them "That was not cool. You can't do that to me ever again. Have a nice life." If they walk away from me, all the better. Remember, they can warm themselves by my fire, but damned if I'm giving my wood away to anyone who would hurt me ever again!

I've turned a horrible character defect into a positive element in my life. Something shameful into something powerful... yet still so humbling.

So what do you think about anger? Do you allow yourself those moments of just being rightfully pissed off? Or do you control your feelings too well to be enraged when someone has wronged you? Was there a time when anger worked for you, not against you?

Or do you just think I'm some crazy lunatic?

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Quiet Time and The Header

Yesterday's lunch meeting went well. I didn't puke. Aces! Better than that, though, was the lightness I felt as I walked in and saw familiar faces smiling and working to help each other succeed. Always so great to be in that kind of positive environment. But it was only momentary. I still felt somewhat anxious, physically. Like a low buzz that I couldn't shake. I realized later that I had been "too busy" to go out for my run that morning. The crunch of soft trails under my feet and the moments of silence tend to set my days aright. That time gets me straight in the head, giving me the strength and clarity to make it through each day.

And right now, I can't afford to be without strength or clarity.

I wonder if we all had that quiet time in the morning to get our heads straight... I wonder how life might improve not just for ourselves, but overall. The constant busy-ness looks productive, but what do we miss? What kind of lopsided relationship to busy-ness do we have? The busier, the better is what the world says, right? I know it's not true, but I still fall into the trap. So when I took that morning quiet time away from myself, my Spirit was robbed. I was off all morning. It wasn't until I was amidst friends in the afternoon that I finally felt like Sugar again. But that was almost the end of the day. A whole day!

I wonder what else I missed because of my busy-ness?

So, the header. Do you see it? The two sides of one girl? Identical in heart but outwardly different. It's a take on the drawing of the hand drawing a hand. But in this drawing, it's not about checking out each little fold in the knuckle. It's more analyzing the essence of the person. Taking a step back and looking at Self in the Third to understand why this little girl does what she does.

Do you see what they are doing? Each is completing the drawing of the other. The two sides becoming whole. When I saw the picture, I remember saying out loud, "YES! That's it!" Perfect for this little blog about living for real, not just in theory. About understanding what we do that takes away from who we are... and what we do to make the picture whole.

Now I'm off to run the trails and breathe deeply. I don't want to miss anything today.

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Today's post was brought to you by the letter "B" for balance.

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An Invitation

Sometimes, I go to Barnes & Noble without any particular book in mind. There might be some thoughts floating around my head that I just can't seem to put into words, only ideas. About eight years ago, I was walking the aisles in one of those searching modes when I came upon a small book called The Invitation, written by Oriah Mountain Dreamer. On the cover were these profound words:

It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing. It doesn't interset me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive...

I was at a confusing point in my life. I could continue down the path I was on... the path that would make my parents happy. The path that would ensure a secure financial future. The path that would bring stability. Except that in my heart, I didn't want to be on that path. Every cell in my body was pointing me away from that life.

It hasn't been easy. I've gone back and forth from fear to excitement. Right now, at this very moment, I'm feeling kind of scared. I feel like I can't possibly make it work. I'm trying to figure out why I'm feeling like that right now. I know it's just a moment of hesitation that I'll get past. Still, those moments of doubt can really paralyze me. For instance, I'm supposed to go to a lunch meeting in an hour... I'm supposed to be all bubbly and perky when I get there. But my stomach is tossing and I think if I eat, I'll make a big mess in front of the group. I know that I'm trying to talk myself out of going, but why?

I hate this.

The Invitation did talk about risking looking like a fool for your dream. So, here goes. I sure hope I don't puke.

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Tattoos

There's a lot of talk about bikinis on the internet... whether we are "allowed" to wear them or not. If you want to wear one and you're comfortable in one... f+n wear one!

Now... tattoos... that's a little tougher.

Personally, I like them. There are some "trendy" ones from the 90s that I still can't stand only because they didn't speak to the person that got ink'd. The tramp stamps (right where the spine meets the butt) are still popular for a certain aged girl. You know, the age where they feel that the rest of us should no longer wear bikinis (I heard that, you little whipper snapper). I do, however love the tattoos that express the inner makings of the person who chose this form of art.

Oh yeah... I said it... ART!

They are still socially unacceptable among a lot of people I call "friends" which is why I have been thinking for a long time about getting new friends. I always think about the fact that eight years ago, nobody knew me as Mrs. Jones. But here I am now and nobody knows Sugar. Well, that's not entirely true. I still have a large tribe that wouldn't blink about a tattoo. They did, however, make thumbs up or down comments about the nose ring, but they got over it. Getting a tattoo would solidify that Sugar and Jones go together. Like Chocolate and Peanut Butter. Alone, tasty... together... mmmmmmmmmmm.....

I was listening to a radio show this morning in LA. It seems that Firemen and all Emergency personell have to cover their tats. They said before covering them, they never got any comments. Now with bandages all over their arms, they are getting all kinds of questions, drawing more attention to the non-visible markings than before. Some guys are even being made to wear long sleeves in the summer. I thought about a guy I used to work with that had sleeved his arms with tattoos. He was an exec, so the art was always covered with his suits and shirts. But on Casual Fridays, he still covered up choosing to wear long-sleeved jerseys because of our conservative environment. I thought he was going against his true self by doing that, but hey, everyone's gotta pay the mortgage.

My daughter has a tattoo. I completely supported her decision to get it. Her father, on the other hand, was calling her repeatedly right up until she walked in to get inked. I'm surprised he didn't show up with a militia at the last second to rescue her from what he considered the worst mistake of her life. He was really upset. He was even more enraged when she told him that "Mom's cool with it." (As if we needed that to bring us even closer...) He didn't seem to understand what she was truly doing. All he could think was that she was going to look like a gang member and would now begin living a life of crime, I guess. She came out with the word "Lael" in script on her left forearm for all the world to see. Lael means:

Belonging to God

So now what would you think about a tattoo that says "Surrender" on the shoulder of a woman who has learned that she needs to live in constant surrender and would like to have that outward sign of her promise to herself and to God permanently inked to her body?

I think it'll look great with my bikini.

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City Girl's cool tat.

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New Header

I have a new header... obviously. What do you think?

Perspective

This week's full moon threw me... as usual.

I prepare for full moons like the Wolfman. My given name (which apparently I chose) is another name for which Diana, Goddess of the Moon is called. When I was a kid, my friends and I picked Hippie Names. Mine was Moon. I didn't know then the truth in that. My soul has just always been drawn to the moon.

One of my monthly rituals is to watch the full moon rise. It's so big and comforting when it's low and glowing behind the silhouette of the world below. Then through the trees, it begins to shrink a bit. Once up high among the stars, it's all but reduced to a tiny light bulb in the darkness. I KNOW that it doesn't change. It's the same size the whole way through the sky. Smarter and more patient people than me have measured it. It's only our perspective of the moon against all of the physical things in life that we can relate to. Mountains. Houses. Trees. But in the expanse of the eternal heavens, that moon sure does look tiny.

That’s because we can’t measure “forever.”

My Sweet Sixteen-Year-Old once said that she loved me "all the way to the gas station." For her, walking to the gas station where our bus picked us up in the morning was FAR. She used to cry the whole way telling me she was dying and to please carry her. To her, it was like walking across the world. It was only one city block away. Not that far really. But when she said "I love you all the way to the gas station," she was telling me that she loved me a lot. I thought it was so sweet and smiled every time she said it. But if I wouldn't have understood how far she perceived the gas station to be, how might I have responded?

We measure things, good and bad, based on our perspective of, or rather our relationship to those things. For instance, what is your relationship with money? What did it mean to you growing up? For some, the same numbers, or amounts, may mean rich or poor... want versus need... better or worse. One person might think having it means power. For another, it might mean security. If someone makes you part with it, would they be challenging your power or depriving your family of security? If so, the exchange of that paper may come with some anger or resentment. If it's in exchange for more of the same (power or security), the feelings will likely be positive.

Time… what is your perception of that? For me, time is worth so much more than money. So when someone else doesn't honor my time the way I do, I get a little... I don't know... I wouldn't say mad, but I do feel off a bit. When I'm in a meeting with someone, I'm constantly monitoring the clock to make sure that our agenda stays on time and that we accomplish our goals in that meeting because I want to honor that time set aside. But when I have an afternoon of just hanging out planned, the clocks all disappear so that the time spent relaxing or playing with family or friends is truly enjoyed.

Time and Money are just two forms of energy that we exchange for other experiences. They aren't numbers really. They can only be measured that way because we humans like to attach the finite to the infinite. Just like we like to say how big the moon is behind the mountain and are amazed as it shrinks next to the stars. The problem with our perspective is...

we have no idea how large the stars are.

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Give Up Caffeine AND Sugar?

Okay, so I've been thinking about doing a cleanse. I know... eeewww...

There's a whole lot of talk about decluttering on the blogosphere right now. Daily Goddess has a whole list of stuff to clear the "funk" in life. And then Ophelia Rising is talking about going vegetarian... or possibly fish-etarian. There's a lot to be said about your insides affecting your life. And it's a whole lot more than to just lose a couple of pounds.

The thing is, when you need to clear your mind, decluttering your body is just like cleaning up your desk or clearing out a messy closet. Well, metaphorically, anyway. Our bodies can hold on to a lot of junk that can affect our internal balance. And I am pretty sure if you have two pounds of steak trapped in your belly, you're mind is probably a bit foggy and you're not going to be thinking straight.

I used to have a monthly regimen. I used the 48-Hour cleanse, also known as the Hollywood Diet. I was sold on it when I heard that it was delivered every week to several stars of Friends. (What can I say... I was a lemming when it came to Friends.) It's not a good long-term weight loss solution (which is how it's marketed), but it's great for ridding the body of toxins.

But now there's something serious...

Dooce is talking about that new Oprah cleanse inspired by the book, Quantum Wellness. It's all popular and looks down at all the other cleansing routines and sneers, "My intestines are sooo much cuter than yours." The problem is, you have to pretty much give up everything! You can not have:

* Animal Products
* Gluten
* Sugar
* Caffeine
* Alcohol

You CAN, however, have potatoes and onions, which is the only reason I looked at it again before Re-Re-Thinking it.

Okay, I could walk away from meat for a little while. Even my Ribeyes with Morton's Montreal Seasoning. Mmmm… But it says “animal products.” Does that mean eggs, too? I just love hard boiled eggs as a snack. I think I might be able to abstain from gluten if I shop at Trader Joe's. They have a list of gluten-free items and their corresponding aisle numbers... no problem. Alcohol… that just gets me into trouble anyway. But then we get to sugar and caffeine.

Oh Boy...

I have to admit… every night, I have some sweetness as I watch Law & Order or read my latest book. And every morning, I stumble down to the kitchen for two pods of dark roast with a splash of Vanilla Creamer. Makes Mama a better woman! So essentially, I'm saying that I don't think I want to give up those two nice-nice treats. But 48-Hours of detox and whole fresh eating? That I can do.

I really should take a look at this 21 Day challenge thing. It would be good for my whole wellness. However, it would take some planning. I couldn't start before the Fourth of July because Shoog's got the winning Deviled Eggs this year. (Watch out Sistah Steph!) And then I'll be at BlogHer in San Francisco on the 18th and 19th. You don't NOT eat in The City. It's Mangia, Baby! Mangia! So that takes me to the beginning of August, which is when I'll be attending my Twenty Year High School Reunion. I suppose a Vodka Martini would fall under the potatoes and onions, but it's alcohol, so that's out. Hmmm...

This cleanse isn't looking like it's going to get inked in anywhere, does it?

Darn.

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City Girl

She says she's old now. A whole two decades and she thinks that's old. How does she suppose I feel now that I've been her mom this long?

And no, I do NOT look old enough to have a twenty year old.

But still, I do have one. And all of the precious memories that come along with her.

I was tagged today by HappyWife at Mommy Musings. She challenged a few of us to put the last fifteen years into ten bullet points. I couldn't really get my head around it, but then I thought, why don't I make the list about my City Girl?

So here goes. You might wanna grab a cup of coffee...

* Fifteen years ago, my sweet girl turned five. That fall, she entered Kindergarten. She was in school with her "boyfriend" Richie whom she later ran into in Jr. High. They ignored each other at 13, but at 5, they were in love. That was also the year she learned to ride a bike.

* A couple of years after that, City Girl got sick at school. I was waitressing at a hotel in Orange County. I was between shifts and had just enough time to go get her and come back. She had to sit in the closed section while I finished working. Meanwhile, the chef and restaurant manager kindly brought her some muffins to eat. All of the sudden, I heard a roaring laugh coming from her table. Turns out she told them that Mommy makes those same muffins at home... and we have the same kind of forks, too. Yes, I used to "borrow" stuff from the restaurant.

* Around that same time, we woke up to a really beautiful day. I didn't have the heart to make her go to school, so when Big Little Sister's babysitter showed up, we took off on our roller blades! We skated throughout Crystal Court, South Coast Plaza, and all the theaters and sculptures in the vicinity. We skated over the bridge that used to take us to Bira Poretti's where City Girl and I had once enjoyed lunch after watching the children's version of the ballet, Sleeping Beauty. We skated until we were out of breath and out of sun. It was a great day!

* When she was about eight, I landed a Sales Manager position with the hotel in Marin. We packed ourselves up, City Girl, Big Little Sister, and I and moved to the Home of the Berkinstock. City Girl was nervous when she started her new school but not as nervous as I thought. She told me the story later of how she met her friends. She saw them on the playground, walked over and said, "Can I hang out with you guys?" They said yeah, and that was it. I don't think I was ever that brave...

* A couple years later, we were transferring back to So Cal. I let City Girl have one last slumber party for her birthday. While the girls were doing a scavenger hunt (I wish I could play this memory back on a screen) walking down the middle of the road, they were singing a Spice Girls song. At one part they all stopped with the song, bumped their little butts left and right to the beat, and then continued strutting down the road singing and giggling. You had to be there.

* When City Girl was "promoted" from Sixth Grade to Jr. High, the school had a beach-themed celebration. She wore a red and white hibiscus print dress and her hair was up in pin curls. Cute doesn't even cover how she looked. It was funny to see all the pre-teens at that age, when the chubby cheeks were starting to give way to the young ladies and young men they would become. I always think about the other kids that I've seen grow up alongside her... the ones that would just show up and eat straight out of our refrigerator at the Old House for years to come. I miss that.

* As mentioned before, City Girl's KinderCare boyfriend showed up one day at her junior high. "MOM! GUESS. WHO. I. SAW. TODAY? YOU'LL NEVER NEVER NEVER GUESS!" She was right! I would have never guessed in a million years that after all the detours that his family and our family had taken, that we would end up within a mile of each other in North County San Diego. Now, it would have been a nice story if they would've become the Class Couple and won Homecoming King and Queen... but they didn't. Oh well. His mother and I tried.

* City Girl got her first job pushing carts at Albertson's and we got 5% off all of our groceries... woo hoo! Then she moved on to Cold Stone Creamery. Oh yeah! She came home with ice cream every night and smelling deliciously like waffle cones... much better than stinky tennis shoes, let me tell you. Eventually, she took a job at a coffee house, which was just as good... for her, of course! The only thing better than the smell of waffle cones, is the smell of freshly roasted coffee beans!

* But I need to back up a bit. Before she got the job at the coffee house, City Girl graduated. That day was hectic, but so... well... COOL! My little girl was in her Purple and Gold school colors hugging all of the friends she had known for the last seven plus years... the ones I had watched grow up... the ones that were now full blown adults! She was wearing big shades, a ton of leis, and was rockin' the hair! I loved that this glorious person was my daughter and that she was loving life.

* Then she was in college... sort of. I mean, she tried to get into it... but it wasn't sticking. I was worried, but deep down, I knew she had to find her own way. After a couple of false starts, she did. The day she left for San Francisco, we made her pancakes and ate breakfast together at the Old House one last time. I gave her a card that said "It's YOUR time" because it was. It was her time to go out into the world and discover who she was meant to be. There was a light rain that morning as we stood under an umbrella crying and hugging her goodbye. Then her ride came and she was gone... around the corner and away from the house where we all used to live.

And that's the last fifteen years of being City Girl's Mom. Here's to the next fifteen... and the fifteen after that!

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I love you, Jazzy! Happy Birthday!



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What the Heck?

One Law of the Universe is that if you tithe energy towards another person, it will come back to you in some other form. So, since I have so much to catch up on and I don't want to break my every-other-day thing that I've got going here, I thought I'd share a blogger with the world. And hey! Maybe I'll get a book deal out of this!

Or maybe not.

You might already know her... Ann at Velvet Lava Cafe. I just love her Water for Chocolate format (or Agua por Chocolate as we ESLs would say). She'll tell a good story and tie in a recipe to make it all work. She also does these random giveaways that garner some SERIOUS comment responses, making me wonder what kind of co-dependent knick-knacks might I be able to tempt people with...

Hmmm...

Anyway, enjoy her post and recipe. Let me just warn you... it involves a woman trying to give her a lap dance and peanut butter.

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Charity

Charity is a long time friend of City Girl. She's always been involved in our kids programs at church as well as a frequent visitor during high school (with refrigerator rights) at our Old House at the end of the cul-de-sac, so the babies consider her family. With that...


Overheard in my office today:

Banana Girl: "Hello, this is Chichen Itza Pizza!"

The Boy: "What's their order?"

Banana Girl: "They want a medium salad with tomotoes, rice, and ranch dressing."

The Boy: "I'll cook it on the stove."

Banana Girl (back to the caller on hold): "That'll be four dollars and five cents."

The Boy (cooking the salad on the stove): "How much money do we get?"

Banana Girl: "We're giving the money to charity."

The Boy (pauses, looks around, confused): "Where's Charity?"

Banana Girl: "You're Fired."


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Friday the 13th

Would it surprise you if I said that I LOVE Friday the Thirteenths?

I used to be afraid of them. I was raised under a roof of superstition. My Mom and Nana had every superstition DOWN! I can't remember if it was knives or forks falling on the ground that signaled vistitors, but my Nana would curse that. I was always like, "YAY, Company! Maybe they'll rescue me!" Then there were the times we would be driving down a street only to see a - YEP, you guessed it - Black Cat cross the road. I remember more than once my Step Dad turning the car around and going down the next street. I always wondered what would happen if that cat kept going and crossed in front of us again. That would have been the end of the night, I suppose. My sister and I were so frightened by everything. We would even think twice about going out to a party or football game (or even the library!) on a Full Moon.

Good Lord!

Superstitions can really hold your mind and soul in bondage. So it was a great thing when early on I experienced quite the opposite of what I had been told.

I turned 13 on a Friday the Thirteenth. Cool, huh? I thought so... Anyway, there was a school dance... it was the end of the year and we were all ready to GET OUT! I remember all of my friends requesting the coolest Duran Duran songs and dancing with Dan to Spandau Ballet. I can still picture a hall full of new teens bursting into cheers every time one of my songs came on. It felt like they were cheering for ME! I was getting hugs and birthday wishes all night. It was AWESOME!

And to think I almost DIDN'T go because of superstitions.

Mind you, it still took a while after that night to deprogram the silliness that the adults in my life had put into my vulnerable little mind. It took a while for me to not be afraid of one crow on the lawn but happy about two. I finally learned to turn it to my advantage. Just for fun a few years back, we adopted a beautiful black cat, aptly named Snowball. Mom seriously asked me if we had done it to keep her away. Well, that might have been kinda true...

Ever since that dance, I've tried to find something to do on a Friday the Thirteenth that turns the Bad Luck vibe upside down. Alas, this one snuck up on me. We were wrapping up our first homeschooling year... my computer was being upgraded for more (WAY more) space... I had a copy deadline... yada yada yada...

So here I sit, Friday the Thirteenth, with nothing fun planned. Hmmm... Any suggestions?

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Geeks and Autographs

So, I've heard back from some of my heroes who can't wait to meet me at BlogHer!

Okay... well, maybe they didn't say THAT so much as they were just kind to a stalker/fan... something like Oh Hope To See You At BlogHer! They don't know that I have a Sharpie all ready to have their names immortalized in a journal. I'll have them all sign all around the journal so that with some random turn of the page, I'll see the name of someone that inspires me to get my butt in the chair and put my hands on the keyboard.

Now, I grew up on the outskirts of LA. We would randomly run into celebrities at Disneyland, clubs on Sunset, restaurants... it was an unspoken thing that you kept your cool and never got all freakie-fan-like and asked for autographs. So, I have to say, I'm going against all my better judgment. I'm picturing these people thinking I'm some cute little girl from the sticks. I want to whisper to them as they are signing, "You know... I'm really a cool chick disguised as a geek." But who am I kidding. I'm really a geek in disguise.

But the disguise is coming off...

I was trying to explain the BlogHer conference to some friends. They all had that smile like "Is she serious? When do we get to the part where she says, just kidding, I'm really going to a (insert cooler event here)." The friends that really know me know that I am not an average kind of gal. They call me "creative" because it's nicer than saying "crazy" I think. I don't think, though, that too many of them really knew the depths of my geekiness. Well, at least not until recently. They know I'm technically savvy, at least to them I am. I frequently have to explain to them (more than once) the step-by-step process of leaving a comment. They call me up sometimes almost in tears. "I tried to comment but I don't know... I don't see it! What did I do wrong!" Seriously? How hard can it be? I think it's kind of funny. It's going to be absolutely fantastic to walk the halls of the hotel and talk all geeky without having to explain.

I'm gonna be like, "Yeah, I am TOTALLY blogging this!"

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Momentary Lapse of Reason

Well, that was close!

I heard that people experiencing grief from separation or divorce have those moments where they review the wooda-cooda-shoodas. That was my Sunday evening. I think the thing that triggered the doubt was my super fabulous morning. Stay with me here... See, I was having one of those days where I could just do no wrong. I even had a bit of a swagger going, which really rocked the skirt and sandals that I was wearing. Everywhere I strolled, I knew someone that was happy to see me or wave hi as they drove by. Not to mention my time up in front of an audience getting laughs and tears in all the right places. The sun was shining... the birds were singing...

I was ALL Sugar'd up!

Then I saw him. And I couldn't help but wonder why he couldn't see what others see. And then I remembered that I was worthy of more. But still... the fear and doubt and shame of what-else-could-I-have-done kept nagging at me.

So I blogged.

Thanks to my good blogging buddies and the smack across the face (picture CHer in Moonstruck - SNAP OUT OF IT!), I was reminded of my words. I think that's why I put myself out there. First to see if I can handle the comments. But another reason is that I can't un-say what I need to say. That is what public testimony is all about. And when you have good people keeping you accountable, whether that be to stay away from harmful things or people or just to stay on track towards your dreams, it makes life that much easier to navigate.

I'm definitely feeling me again. Thanks guys.

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Worth

What is time worth?

What price would you put on a hug?

How much would you spend on a kind word?

Is there a limit to the amount of money you would spend to feel special in the presence of another person if money were the only collateral?

I know that I am worth so much more than a seat at a bar and empty conversations with strangers. I know that I am of greater value than a a life of restless travel. Maybe not in the moment, but on the greater scale, I know that I am worth a lot more than endless hours in front of football games on any given Sunday.

I know that. I do.

That's why sometimes I get this horrible awful feeling of sadness with my ex's choice. Granted, the life of a bachelor has a lot to offer. I suppose I would choose it too... if only I had never met my children. Or if I had never known the love of a partner who was willing to put up with emotional harm just to love me. Or if that was even within the realm of how I could ever even think. I can't though. So I still don't understand his thought process. I can make myself crazy trying to figure it out.

I was asked out. On a date. By a guy.

Technically, I am still married. Statistically, this is the worst possible time to meet a new person. Obviously, my marriage is over. Thankfully, my new life has begun. I don't know that I can accept this innocent invitation, though. I feel sick just thinking about it. Half excited but knowing full well that this will be it. This will be the nail in the coffin. Which is a coffin filled with a LOT of nails. So, a date. What would it be like? I'm just curious enough to go.

But what if he is a great guy? God, I can't even let myself go there. I'd be like, yeah, you are really cool and it would be great to be your girlfriend, but would you mind terribly if we stop at the courthouse on the way to dinner because I have all these documents that need to be filed... uuuggghhh... Then again, what if I picked another one of the same? I guess I could pretend I was sick or bolt out the bathroom window when he's not looking or better yet, I could just pretend to be really in love with him and ask him what he thinks about selling everything and going off to the country to raise ostriches. My luck, he'd be all Yeah... let's go, Green Acres!

Or... maybe it could just be a nice evening with good conversation and a sweet smile good night. Maybe.

So I still had to make sure that I wasn't being wrong on my path of divorce. I had to check myself one more time when the ex came to switch cars. Something about him is still attractive to me in an astronaut sort of way. But he's obviously enjoying being on his own. That's why you don't marry life long bachelors. You will never be pretty enough, smart enough, or funny enough to overcome any of that freedom. How funny... I'm actually enjoying my freedom. But for different reasons. Why then would I give it up? On a whim, really? Or just a test? I think it's a woman thing, wanting the best for everyone. That's the trap of codependence. The opposite being spiritual and emotional freedom. I think our freedom costs more because of that... the "everyone else" part.

I wonder what the price of freedom will be for me.

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Geekin' Out!

I'm not a real geek, I only play one on TV.

Oh MY! Can I just say how extremely excited I am about going up to San Francisco for the BlogHer chick fest in July?! It's like I'm getting ready to go to camp or a spa getaway or an Eagles concert.

I. CAN. NOT. WAIT!

Over at Shutter Sisters where most of my heroes dwell, they've got a neat little event organizing. It's a Photo Walk in the afternoon. Here's the thing... if you've ever been to San Francisco, you know how crowded the sidewalks can get with all the natural foot traffic. Add in a good convention and you've just tripled the density. Imagine hundreds of blogger/photographer/hipster chicks on a stroll through the City. Oh boy. I think what I'm going to do is to find out the route and get ahead just to take pictures of all the hoopla.

There's also a little spiff going on through General Motors to get three to five BlogHers per car to carpool in their new hybrid. So now I am eagerly seeking two more like-minded blogger chicks to get in a car with for six to eight hours (depending on traffic and potty breaks) each way. Can I just say how excited I am just for that? WOW! Two other women like me that I have never met before. I can't wait to burn some CDs and chat about our latest reads or photo techniques or dreams. I am hyperventilating! Get me a paper bag!

My poor Sister and City Girl daughter. I have all but set up my sleeping bag on the kitchen floor. They know I'm coming. I think they are just going to pretend they got the dates wrong and not answer the intercom buzz. (((Open. Open. Open.))) Actually, I hope they come with me. I think they'd have a blast. (Did you hear that guys?)

I know it's only going to be a couple of days and I know I probably won't be able to make it to all of my desired classes as they fill up. I know it's going to put me in a pinch at the end of the month, but this is important to me. And I need to do what I want to do for the good of my heart and psyche. And anyway, if I could just get Dooce's autograph, I would float all the way home. No hybrid needed here!

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Early Memories

Gustav over at Nine Worlds brought up a memory that I hadn't given myself the pleasure of remembering in quite some time.

When I was a little girl, my teenaged uncle had the lousy chore of having to take care of me when he got home from school. I say lousy chore only because I know now that a boy of his age was not really interested in being saddled with his sister's kid when he wanted to go hang out with his buddies or make out with his girlfriend.

If he ever felt that way, I never knew.

I always felt so special when I held his hand as we walked to the park. He used to swing me and buy me "paletas" when the ice cream cart came ringing down the street. My earliest recollection is of one of those easy afternoons. We were sitting on a little mound of grass just up hill from the sandbox. It was a quiet day. We sat for a while as he patiently waited for a finch to come closer and closer to him. I can't imagine how it was that I sat so quietly, but I guess I must have. We sat there together as the finch gained some strange trust in this human man/boy. Eventually, the bird was perched on my uncle's hand. He held her feet between two fingers so that I could pet her. When I had my fill of touching the feathers, he released her.

I was so upset at him for letting her go!

He gave me his big goofy smile and throaty laugh, the one that still comforts me today. He told me something that I just remembered. "Birds aren't supposed to be in cages. They're supposed to fly."

My uncle eventually married the girl he used to make out with. That was a sad day for me. I remember being very upset while the wedding plans were under way. My uncle used to spend so much time with me and now he would be with this girl all the time. Sure she was nice, but was she going to let him play with me at the park? Um... no. Darn. Well, thirty some years later, they are still married and in love. I am still thankful for his throaty laugh and big goofy grin.

And for the memory of a day in the park.

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