Christmas Wish

Every Christmas I catch myself reminiscing about the days of my childhood when I would lay awake on Christmas Eve trying desperately to fall asleep so that Santa would come (he won't arrive until you're asleep you know.) Belief is so powerful and wonderful. My own was so strong that I didn't figure out that there wasn't a Santa, rather at the old age of 8 my mother had to sit me down and explain that Santa is simply a story. There once was a real St. Nicholas, but he lived a long time ago and now moms and dads do all of Santa's work. Even after being handed this frightful news, I still said, ".......but there is an Easter Bunny and Tooth Fairy, right?"

In time I made peace with a cruel world without Santa and all the other fictional characters that bring magic and wonder into the life of a child. I may have grown too comfortable with it. Like it or not I've grown pretty cynical really. I don't trust strangers, I don't give money to homeless people on the street and I rarely give my phone number or address to anybody. If there were a Santa he'd have a hard time finding me. Is that to say I'm heartless? Not at all. Avoiding eye contact is a useful way to be safe in a city, I happily give granola bars or candy to homeless people and 3% of my income to the salvation army, who can do much more good than I can; and my personal information is best kept with people I know. The truth is that the world children know is largely fiction and that is okay.

Still, even though I know that most of the magic I once believed in is no more than a fantastic story, occasionally I catch myself wishing. When I look at the wide world and the small one that surrounds me I catch myself wishing for things. Little things and big things. Possible and impossible. There is brokenness all around us. Broken hearts, broken homes, broken countries, broken minds, broken souls, broken relationships and broken lives. I find myself wishing I could give a little girl her divorced parents back together and loving each other and her. Or wishing I could give the peace of forgiveness to someone filled with hate and self-loathing. Or wishing I could end wars and send young boys back to their distraught families. I wish no one would go hungry or lose their home or job. I wish everyone were cared for.

My original intent was to make a list of Christmas wishes, but what is interesting is that all of my wishes really have the same root. I really want just one thing. The cynic in me initially scoffed at the idea, but I guess that little girl who believed so fervently in Santa Claus ultimately won out. My wish is simple. I wish for love in every one's hearts. Love really is the answer. If we are really filled with love for ourselves and each other we will only bring love and joy into the lives of those around us. It's when all those other ugly things like selfishness and fear creep in that we begin to do harm and grow to be disrespectful and hateful. So it is simple and yet profound. My Christmas wish is love for all.

What do you wish for this year?

Live, Collapse, Smile

Elizabeth Gilbert wrote the only book about the experience of divorce that I read and enjoyed. Most books about a woman surviving divorce are like a bad (as if there were good, but bear with me) Lifetime channel movie. Eat, Pray, Love hit home in ways that I can't even begin to express. This complete stranger is somehow a kindred spirit, we weirdly even share the same birthday. I cried through the first few chapters of the book, not because these were laden with any sort of sentimentality or overt emotional manipulation (as they do on Lifetime), but more because she had somehow managed to have a similar trajectory for her marriage.

Our stories start out similar. She married the person who seemed perfect at the time and eventually ended up with the marriage, home and career that she set out to have and somehow it was completely empty. There she was crying on the bathroom floor because she wasn't pregnant and was relieved, and yet that wasn't how she was supposed to feel. I've been on that bathroom floor, I've cried those tears. And much like her, it wasn't long after that realization that the marriage finally fell apart.

After and during her divorce she almost immediately fell into a passionate and ultimately doomed relationship, one that was intense and hard to shake, even after it was supposed to be over. I had the same experience, but this is where the overlap in our stories ends.

Elizabeth was a successful writer prior to her divorce, and so she managed to get a book deal allowing her to spend a year traveling the globe and writing about her experiences. I simply lost my job and home. Eat, Pray, Love refers to the three parts of her journey. She went to Italy and experienced pleasure to it's fullest through eating and soaking up life, while yet being celibate. Then she traveled to India where she learned spiritual devotion and even experienced some degree of enlightenment. Finally she went to Bali of all places and there she ultimately learned to balance pleasure and spirituality while learning to love again.

My story is less glamorous. My job ended, in part related to my divorce, but largely because I didn't fully appreciate it until it was gone. I didn't get to travel the world while I figured things out, I went to Ohio. So if I were so write the story using Elizabeth Gilbert's format, my story would be titled Live, Collapse, Smile.

After my ex-husband left I soon felt very free. I spent time with my friends, I finally began to feel at home in Detroit. Eventually I fell head over heels for someone in a short period of time. I'd never fallen so hard or so fast, for the first time in years I felt like I was really living my life rather than watching it pass me by. Suddenly I was making choices for myself, rather than doing what I thought I should or felt obligated to. No more resentment, no more feeling trapped, just me and my life. What is interesting is what I learned in that period. After all those years of resisting having children, of wishing I weren't married, and devoting my heart and soul to my career I came to realize that I really wanted everything I'd been fighting. I wanted to be married and have children and my career just didn't matter to me at all anymore. AND the current love of my life, the man I was so crazy about, wasn't the one to give me all of that.

Thus, the Collapse chapter began. I somewhat abruptly broke up with my love and everything fell apart. The full weight of everything crashed in around me and I felt like I was drowning. Everything I knew and understood about my world had changed. I cried without ceasing for over 24 hours, I didn't eat, I didn't sleep. I gave up. In the middle of all this I learned that I was losing my home. I felt such hopelessness and despair. All I wanted to do was sleep until it all stopped hurting. I wanted to just wake up years later when everything was better. Of course this is never an option, we have to live through our pain, and I barely did, but I made it with considerable help from my family and friends. Ultimately I had to let the last remnants of my old life go. My friends and family pulled together to pack up my things and move me to Ohio where they could take care of me while I picked up the pieces.

Ohio has been a string of unfulfilling and menial jobs living in a place that is far from interesting or cultured and somehow in the middle of all of that I found myself. For the first time in my life I'm clear about what I want and where I want to go. I even managed to find a wonderful person and fall in love........(yes again.) As much as it shocks me, what I really want is to take care of him and have a family together. I'm living my life as I want to, not as I perceive I'm supposed to or to please anyone else. Despite my being broke and having no discernible career, I'm happy. I smile and laugh all the time. I had all but forgotten how to do both before my marriage fell apart. I was numb then, and now I'm fully alive. It may not be perfect, it may be messy, but I'm living and smiling about it.

While Elizabeth Gilbert had the privilege of traveling the world to put the pieces of her life back together, I had the privilege of moving to Ohio. I fell in love with a great guy, who ultimately wasn't "the" guy, but helped me to see that I could love again. With him I got out of my dreary home and found the joys of living the way I'd always wanted to. I let go of that relationship and for a little while things seemed bleak, but I learned to let people love me and help me pull myself together. I had to fully collapse before I could find my joy again. My joy is a life quite ordinary in a place far from exceptional, yet spent with someone quite extrodinary. So my story is Live, Collapse, Smile, and I'm all the better for it, even if I didn't get to travel the world while I sorted it all out.

Why I (sort of) love Anarchists

Sometimes a catchy title is worth a great deal............ But seriously, I have a point here. History and common sense will tell us that anarchy is a fool's errand and communism has proven to be a failed experiment in social engineering. The common Achilles heel for both of these belief systems is the assumption that at their core people are basically good. Systems such as government and capitalism are corrupting powers and somehow in the absence of these people will do right by each other. It all sounds good on paper, but somehow it just doesn't add up. Anthropologists will be the first to tell you that societies that lack formal government and organized economic structures are still far from Utopian. People still do wrong by each other, there is still crime and there is still unhappiness.

So why do I (sort of) love anarchists when clearly they "don't get it"? Well, maybe I have a perpetual fascination with the underdog (which I do), but there really is more to it. I really admire anyone who is capable of believing in the basic goodness of people. As a point of fact I disagree. I'm much more aligned with the Buddhists contrary to my Judeo-Christian upbringing. I just don't think people are at their core good or bad, they just ARE. The good and bad are in the choosing, the living, the doing, their BEING. Still, I have to give points to anyone who really believes in the basic goodness of people. I can't do it.

At heart I value a positive outlook and over time it is more and more clear to me that people who see possibilities where others see problems are the ones that change the world for the better. I suppose that is also where the anarchists and communists get it wrong; for all their belief in the goodness of people they seem to get bogged down in negativity that they attribute to systems without fully comprehending the connectedness of those "good" people to their systems.

As we look at the election we have to remember that to whatever extent our government has benefited or failed us, we play a part. I love the positive concept at the core of these fringe ideas, but we all know they got it all wrong. In the United States we don't exist outside our economy or government, we ARE our economy and government. It is a living and breathing reflection of us. These systems are made of people, and these people always have choices. We have the ability to BE the change we wish to see in the world. So please, whatever you do, just do something to make this world a slightly better place than you found it and who knows, maybe I'll change my mind and decide that after all people are basically good. I wouldn't mind being proven wrong.

Better Off?

I have never bothered with politics on here, and I doubt I'll do or say much more than this little reflection, but this election is too critical. I can't help myself. Over the years politicians and pundits like to point back to Ronald Regan's persuasive question, "Are you better off now than you were four years ago?" So today I ask myself, am I better off than I was eight years ago? Well, that probably depends on how you look at it. I'm older and wiser and on the whole happy, but none of those qualities keep me fed, healthy or free. So here it is:

1. Eight years ago I taught in the lowest-paid inner city school in the county where I lived and I made twice as much annual salary as I do today.
2. I owned my own home and drove a new car; today I rent my home and drive a 10 yr. old used car.
3. My employer paid the majority of my health insurance premium and when I paid a copay the insurance paid the rest; today I pay 50% of the premium for health insurance that seldom pays for any of the services at my doctor and I have thousands of dollars in unpaid medical bills.
4. I was spending more on groceries than gasoline; now I spend more on gas than food.
5. Eight years ago I was living my American dream; now it seems life is more about survival and certainly less about living any sort of dream.

I never could have dreamed that my life could become what it now is. I never would have thought I would actually consider that I might be better off to marry a Canadian so I could be insured. (I actually checked out http://www.hookacanuck.com/ after watching Sicko.) Or that I would have ever had to apply for food stamps. I never thought I'd see my brother sent off to war (thank God he was sent home safely.) Or that I would live on unemployment. Or that I would be homeless. Yet, in the last 8 years I lived all of those things and more. Am I better off? In the ways that I expect governmental impact ABSOLUTELY NOT.

Surprise Date

I love surprises, in fact I find people who don't quite suspect. Too much of our everyday lives are mundane and predictable, but a good pleasant surprise can be a real joy. So imagine my excitement a few weeks ago when on Friday morning my boyfriend informed me that we would be going out after work. When I inquired where, so that I would know how to dress etc., he said, "It's a surprise."

A known surprise has a flavor all its own. One can't help but speculate what it might be. The only information he provided was that we would be outside and to dress accordingly. So, in true girly fashion, I packed 2 outfits so I could get input from the girls at work regarding my fashion choices. When I arrived at work the speculation began. One theory was that we would be attending something called "Fire Water" which would be taking place downtown. Apparently there would be floating fires on the river and dancers on the riverfront. Another theory was the possibility of a marriage proposal. I actually was hedging my bets on Shakespeare in the Park.

At the end of my shift the consensus regarding my attire was to wear the white cotton pants and sage green knit top. I changed clothes in the stock room and came out to my department to wait for prince charming to pick me up. I was ready within minutes and waiting. My coworkers kept passing by and commenting that I looked nice and inquiring about my plans. Like a silly teenager I kept replying that my boyfriend was picking me up for a "surprise date." After a while I started to feel foolish, fifteen minutes had passed and still no white knight. I called. "Where are you?" He replied that he was with my dog (who should have been at his house.) Why on earth would he bring the dog? "At home?" Yes, he was still at home, an hour away. So my first surprise of the evening was that my date was not on time to pick me up.

There was an apparent mix-up about my schedule and he thought he had another hour before picking me up. I told him to meet me at a nearby bar, which he did in a little over an hour. There we had a snack of lettuce wraps and the surprise date was finally underway. We hopped in his car and appeared to be heading in the direction of downtown, which is a likely direction for any of the three surprise date hypotheses, however as we passed over the river floating camp fires of some sort came into view and it became apparent that "Fire Water" was at least a part of the plan.

We had to park several blocks away and as we walked out of the parking garage it began to get a little misty. Optimistically, we continued toward the river assuming the best, but the closer we were to the destination the more people seemed to walk in our direction. Eventually we learned that the event had been cancelled due to rain and we turned back. We were still 3 or 4 blocks from the parking garage when the sky opened up and an ocean's worth of water were dumped upon us and soaked us to the bone. Now, how people react to this sort of adventure can tell you a lot about them. If you ever want to really know someone just get caught in the rain, or stranded in an airport, or broken down in a car by the side of the road. At this juncture, surprise number 2 for the night, my boyfriend did not disappoint. We laughed, we hugged, we kissed and we walked back to the car smiling.

We although happy, were now wet and hungry and so we decide to head to the Short North, which is an area, filled with bars, restaurants, galleries and other fun nightlife. Upon arrival at our new and alternate destination my now translucent white pants have turned brown and muddy on the backside due to apparent poor interior car maintenance on the part of said boyfriend. Ah, but this third (or is it the 4th) surprise cannot ruin our night, I packed 2 outfits! So I changed clothes in the parking garage and we were once again on our way.

We decided to head toward a sports bar where boyfriend had remembered eating good food at some time in the past and commenced in the spirit of adventure to order a dish called a gator ball. Now in retrospect the gator ball concept is probably as ill-advised as the southern "delicacy" known as the turduckin, but we were weary, wet and hungry and clearly not thinking at full capacity. A gator ball as described on the menu is a cheese stuffed hot pepper surrounded by chicken and then bacon, which is then fried. It is a well known and often noted characteristic of bars that these establishments are intentionally lit poorly. One could argue that it is for ambience or excitement, but often I've assumed that the reason is to hide an otherwise shabby and poorly cleaned space. I now have an alternate theory. This also disguises flaws in food preparation.

By the time the gator balls arrived I was ready to gnaw my own arm off and I took a hearty bite of this big ball of greasy wonder. Mmm...crunchy bacon and..........what is that? Fat? Chicken isn't that fatty. What could explain the texture in my mouth? I took a second bite before holding the gator ball up to a sliver of light to realize I wasn't chewing on fat at all. RAW CHICKEN! Now that is a surprise you don't get every day. I've always believed that in times of crisis it is wise to call upon experts and so I called the only public health official I know to ask the burning questions on my mind. 1. Should I make myself throw up as a preventative measure? 2. Is there any amount of alcohol that if consumed would counter the effects of salmonella poisoning? According to my well respected expert the answer to both questions was a resounding, "No." Meanwhile boyfriend was conferring with the management of our new favorite restaurant and of course they would be happy to make us something else and of course we didn't owe them a dime, and of course we got the hell out of that festering cesspool of raw meat as fast as our legs would carry us.

With a mixture of horror and humor we left in search of food because, although nauseated we were also hungry. The bouncer at our next stop raved about the food and so we paid our cover, worked through the crowd to get a booth and sat down a little relieved to notice better lighting for starters. Then our waitress approached the table and we learned that the kitchen was closed. Groan........... The surprises just keep on coming. And so we leave requesting a refund from the bouncer and head to what would finally be our last stop.

This place was packed and the kitchen was actually open. We ordered a pizza for $12.95, which upon arrival would have been a disappointment since it was only about 7 inches in diameter, but instead it was like manna from heaven for our weary little tummies. We took a picture with the ole' camera phone to commemorate our adventure and then headed home because we had all the surprises two people can ingest in one evening.

Lifetime for Men

If you've ever had the misfortune of viewing a movie on the Lifetime channel or reading a book from Oprah's book club you already know that men are jerks who ruin the lives of women and drive them to drinking and all matter of horrible destructive behavior. Now, before I say much more let the record show that I concur that 98% of men are jerks. I've had my fair share of jerk men in my life, I could easily make a dozen Lifetime movies from my own life. Furthermore, I know of much worse from the lives of others. Only problem is that women can be pretty awful too, which left me wondering, why isn't there a lifetime channel for men?

Imagine a plot something like this: A hardworking all-American guy from Detroit meets a sweet young girl from a trailer park and is swept up in a romance of sorts only to discover that early in the relationship she has become pregnant. Having been raised with good "family values" he does the honorable thing and marries her only to discover shortly after the nuptials that she is in fact NOT pregnant at all. Still an honorable guy who believes in love, he sticks with her with the understanding that they'd wait a while to have any children. Yet within a short time she is pregnant, this time in reality, not fantasy. During the pregnancy he cares for her and prepares their home for the baby. At some point she asks to put her name on the deed to the house and of course he agrees. Shortly after the birth of the child and nearly moments after the ink is dry on the deed she leaves, files for divorce, and commences to take the man for all he is worth while denying him access to his only child. The child living in squalor back in the trailer park and developing a hearty smokers cough by the age of 2. All the while the unjust legal system giving the less-than-equipt mother preferential treatment and all of his money.

This little narrative is based largely on events in the life of someone I know and the truth is I could tell stories all day about men who have been largely screwed over by women and a system that doesn't seem to value fathers very much. In fact I think most people could think of stories like these involving people in their own lives. So the question for me is why isn't there a whole industry centered around the poor beaten down guy story? Women's lives as ruined by men is arguably a billion dollar industry, so why not men?

At the end of the day I believe society as a whole is more comfortable with the man as victimizer, woman as victim paradigm. Men certainly don't want to see themselves as victims, and honestly I don't think women want to see them that way either. Conversely we are somehow very comfortable with women as victims, although we always love the happy ending where they stick it to "the man" and get a "liberating" job as a secretary somewhere and pay the rent on their crappy two bedroom apartment all by themselves.

Right or wrong women have managed to get disproportionate rights as a result of this paradigm. On the whole we as women are peripherally aware of it, but since we get so few advantages its always nice to have that ace up our sleeve. Men are reticent to draw attention to the vicimhood for a variety of reasons, largely because in the end the scenario still gets turned back on them. They still end up the jerk.

Imagine this scenario: Parent A & B divorce. At the time of the divorce parent A is staying at home with the only child. The custody arrangement gives parent A 55% of the time with the child and parent B 45% of the time. Parent B is required to pay one third of his/her income to Parent A and to pay for the child's health care expenses. This arrangement doesn't change even if the stay-at-home parent secures employment. Which parent is the mother? Of course the answer is A. The real clincher here is that if the father in this scenario were to fight to pay any less given that mom is now working and not paying for rent he would be a jerk for trying to reduce his child support even though he pays all the child's expenses during the 45% of the time that he has the child.

I suppose the answer is that in a perfect world we would all feel empowered enough that we don't view ourselves or others as victims. Or even better, we learn to value one another and chose to treat each other with love and respect so that fairness might reign supreme. Until then we're stuck with the lifetime channel and some men silently squashed by an unfair system...............

Someone Else's Path

“If you see your path laid out in front of you -- Step one, Step two, Step three -- you only know one thing... it is not your path. Your path is created in the moment of action. If you can see it laid out in front of you, you can be sure it is someone else's path. That is why you see it so clearly.”
-- Joseph Campbell

I spend a certain amount of time and emotional energy feeling somewhat lost these days. I've re-formatted my entire life around a new set of principals. I've let myself imagine the life I never dared to dream of and am trying to trust that this life will materialize. I'm making all of my decisions within the context of my true passions, but I don't have a rigid structured path to follow. On the one hand this is difficult, yet on the other I'm growing to see the wisdom in it.

In what now seems nearly foreign to me, my former life had a clear and recognizable path. I graduated from high school and went to a nice college. I graduated college and got a good job. I married a good man, we got a good little dog. (I did fail to have the good kids..........) My career progressed to another good job. ...........and yet the whole time I was terribly unhappy. Worst of all I couldn't understand why. I had all the stuff in place that I was supposed to have. I had a nice house, a new car, I was even on the society pages a few times. And it was completely empty. I was never going to find joy along someone else's imaginary path.

At the end of the day I want more. I want to wake up with a lightness of spirit and anticipation of the day ahead. I want dread to become a distant memory. I want to live a joyful life and bring joy into other people's lives. I can't do that unless I'm living the life I truly want to live. The truth is that there is no way that I could possibly plan the next steps conclusively without closing the door inadvertently to the infinite possibilities that exist. There is no clear path because there is but one of me and if I'm ever to sort it all out I'm beginning to realize that when I arrive wherever it is that I am going, I could have never anticipated the path that took me there. As my grandmother Clara used to say, "I've never been lost forever."

Purlygrl and Cy-Boar's Summer of Fun 07

Last summer I had so much fun and was so busy, that I never managed to post my photos and commentary from summer so here goes:

I didn't have the money or where-with-all to travel much last summer so I spent my free time enjoying the fun that Ohio has to offer.

The particular area where Cy-Boar and I reside is about an hour from city life, but what we do have is plenty of gorgeous nature. This comical sign was in front of a gas station near a park where we hike. What could one love more than the freedom of Sunday beer sales and value-priced firewood in one convenient location? Certainly makes me proud to be an American.




One of the popular activities/attractions in smalltown Ohio during the summer is always the county fair. Of course you can enjoy fried foods, livestock auctions, and yes you can also purchase your headstone and visit a wax sculpture of a blue-eyed Jesus. On a more personal note, my peach pie got 2nd place at the Marion County Fair and went for a quite respectable sum at the pie auction.



Since my birthday is in July, birthday celebration is always a part of my summer's activities. And since my 29th birthday was in 2007 it also happened to be the last birthday I plan to ever have. Here Cy-Boar and I enjoyed a lovely Italian dinner and I received a comfy hammock to laze away the days of summer.

If I had my way I'd visit a white sandy beach with crystal clear blue water every summer, but this was not the year for that. Still, believe it or not Ohio does have some sub-par beaches, and where better to spend the afternoon of the day you were fired from a less than inspiring job?




I can't leave out the other men in my life, so here I am at a family wedding with my baby brother, my grandpa and my dad. Of course the best picture from this wedding though is of a group of bikers doing the hokey poky...............

Of course all good things come to an end so the official closure to our summer was Labor Day weekend in Detroit where Cy-Boar and his little one and I spent time with friends and had a nice trip to the zoo.

On Miracles

"There are only two ways to live your life: One is as though nothing is a miracle, The other is as though everything is a miracle. I believe in the latter."

-- Albert Einstein

In my family I have the privilage/dubious distinction of being the eldest of 10 cousins on my father's side of the family. Thus, I have changed countless diapers as the family babysitter and have fond memories of watching my cousins grow up.

On Friday, which was July 4th, I was reminded of one of my favorite memories of one of my cousins. When a particular little one was just a tot we took him to a baseball game that was followed by fireworks. I'm not sure if he had ever seen fireworks before that evening or not since he had spent the first couple of years of his life in Uganda, Africa, but regardless of the question of novelty, his reaction was priceless. After the first one burst in the air he said, "It's a miricle!" in a wistful and awestruck tone like I have never heard before or since. It was of course adorable at the time, but I suspect it has stuck with me all these years (said child is now in college) because it was so much more poignant than cute.

He really believed it was a miracle. Any of us could have told him what he surely knows now, which is that there is a clear and understandable scientific explanation for what he saw. And I suppose that is the reason that so few of us truly believe in miracles as adults. At some point we learn that the magician isn't magical, its all a clever trick. And of course Santa AND the Easter Bunny turn out to be Mom and Dad. Yet sometimes it saddens me when I remember believing in magic and fairies.

What is interesting is that no one teaches us how to see the miracles that are all around us. The marriages that last, the single parents that raise amazing kids, the people who make the world a better place. The rare people who love each other unconditionally. Those crazy people who belive in peace.............

Our lives are a miracle, I guess sometimes we miss that when our wisdom and experience get in the way.

The Secret

Unless you’ve been living under a rock for the past couple of years, at some point you have at least heard of The Secret. This is a new age/ metaphysical/ spiritual/ philosophical phenomenon that has swept the country through books, film and various other media outlets. The concept is simple, and isn’t anything new (nor does it claim to be) it simply packages an existing idea in a well structured way. The “secret” to success in life is entirely rooted in positive thinking. I of course have over simplified it here, but The Secret is well worth looking into and even more worthwhile if you can practice it.

That said, I would like to suggest that there is a second “secret” that is much more challenging, but also equally rooted in a concept we also already know, although often struggle to implement. The secret to happiness in life is self-love. Now, on some level we all know that in order to fully love others and be loved we have to love ourselves, but in reality this is something that we mostly give lip service to when counseling a brokenhearted friend. How many of us truly love ourselves? If someone asked you point blank, “Do you love yourself?” Is the answer yes?

In my own case I’d be lying if I were to say so. There are aspects of myself that I dearly love and am quite proud of, but do I simply love myself unconditionally, wholeheartedly and without judgment? That is what I seem to want from those who love me, but do I really even feel that way about myself? Not really. Better yet, do I know anyone else who does? That is tricky, because it isn’t arrogance or conceit, those are fakes; real self-love is total acceptance and affirmation of who you are, whereas arrogance and conceit are overcompensations for perceived deficits. I can only think of a few people who are really at peace with themselves and simply, confidently love who they are. I want to be one of those people. So if the “secret” is self-love, what is the secret to the secret?

New Strategy

Counting my blessings:

-Sounds lame, but I do have a "roof over my head", and it is pretty amazing since I was rendored homeless a little over a year ago.
-Loving and supportive family (they can be crazy, but I can't imagine life without them.)
-A job where I'm successful and appreciated for my efforts (despite the crappy pay, I could work any number of similar jobs and be quite miserable by comparison.)
-The sun is out on a semi-regular basis these days.
-I have an amazing love in my life and he really loves me too.

I'll try to revisit this concept more frequently..............

Kicked in the Teeth

Something inside of me wants to find some grand meaning, some overarching purpose for the random string of events that make up my life. It would be easier to stomach the speeding ticket I got on Monday if I felt there were anything to be learned other than to invest in a radar detector if driving through the minefield of speed traps otherwise known as Delaware County, OH. It would be less shameful to owe various members of my family countless sums of money if there were an end in site. If I knew when and how I would ever pay it all back.

I've applied for countless jobs that I could easily work with a high likelihood of success and over and over again door after door gets slammed in my face. And like a battered wife I keep turning to life with wide eyed and ill advised optimism expecting that this time it's going to be different. But with each new opportunity comes another crushing blow.

One could argue this isn't true, after all, I've been employed all this time. Of course I'm grossly under employed. At each sales job my employers, coworkers and customers ask in amazement what a smart girl like me is doing in a place like this, and honestly I have no idea. I'm selling makeup is the best answer I have.

The year that I thought I was spending getting my life on track after my divorce and all the upheaval that coincided with that experience has turned into a year and a half, with no end in sight. And as I stare down my 30th birthday I feel a great sense of dread and panic.

I never dreamed I'd give 30 a second thought, it isn't old at all to me. But then, I never dreamed my life would be so far off track at 30. When I was 25 my life was much more what I expected of 30, but facing 30 with no discernible career or family is disheartening at the very least. I'd rather crawl in a hole and hide than face the embarrassment that is my unfulfilling life.

I'm not looking to be rescued, I'm not even asking for a miracle or anything. I just want fulfilling work with adequate compensation and time to spend with family and friends. You'd think a person with a couple of degrees and a fairly respectable resume could find that.............

Spring Has Sprung

In nature we all know that Spring comes in its own time with little regard for the Roman calendar. And each year there is a first day of Spring as we personally experience it. In Ohio that day usually has a few more Winter-like ones that follow it, but that first day is still the first. It's the day when things get a little less grey, the sun shines a little longer and brighter, and evidence of new life begins to peek up from the soil and out from dull pointy branches. Children and teenagers pull out their shorts and flip flops as if 62 degrees were 82, and middle-aged couples start cultivating their gardens. Neighbors come out of their front doors and linger on the porch as I can only imagine bears moseying out of their caves after a long hibernation.

Personally I have so many memories of this particular holiday. I remember this day the way I remember Christmases and birthdays. As a child I always skipped home from school on this day and maybe cut lilacs for my teacher. In college I remember every hipster with a guitar descended upon the quad and as an adult I remember ditching work early with my best girlfriend to sip gin and tonics at a pub with sidewalk cafe seating. Last year there was a brief warm spell in March, but the first day of Spring as I remember it was April 20th. Now, usually I don't remember the date when this glorious holiday occurs, but last year was special.

April 20th is the day that my divorce was final. The finality was slow in coming since my ex-husband and I had been apart for nearly a year and a half at that point, but still it’s a date you can't forget. The day began grey, cold and windy. I remember sitting in the hall outside the courtroom talking to a woman who was the closest thing to and angel I had ever known. She was waiting for court that day to change her name. After her divorce she had kept her ex-husband's name for the sake of her children, who were now grown, thus the impetus for her appearance. I don't remember much about what she said, but it brought great comfort to have her there. My own mother, and countless friends had offered to join me that day, but I didn't want to face the humiliation of divorce with an audience of those I loved. Strangers seemed the best audience. A part of me wished my ex were there, he was there at the beginning, he should be there at the end, but I suppose it happened as it needed to. What was funny to me was that part of the delay in completing my divorce was that I'd filled out the paperwork improperly to begin with and I'd had to start the process over in order to insure that my name was restored.

All of the cases on the docket ahead of me were family court in nature. Divorce asset disputes, custody issues, my new friend with the name change and me. It only takes a matter of moments to get divorced, and no matter how prepared you are, you don't know what to expect. People had told me how cold the experience had felt, but I guess the judge in my case was unusually warm. He asked if the husband were present, I sheepishly said, "No, he lives out of state." The judge said, "That's okay, he doesn't have to be here." He asked if I were pregnant, which I was not, and then verified that I did want to restore my maiden name, and it was done. The judge half smiled and looked me in the eye, somehow acknowledging my hurt and sent me on my way. As soon as I stepped outside the courthouse I called the ex and told him it was done. We briefly chatted as if this were normal. He told me about his date he'd planned that night and I shared that I was joining my ex-boyfriend and some friends for a wine tasting. It was weird at best, but as we were talking the clouds parted, the sun came out and warmed my face and it became a beautiful day.

Following my morning in court I went to a favorite suburb to sit at a sidewalk cafe and have some lunch. My friends were all working and I really felt like peace and quiet were in order. I ordered a salad and a split of champagne. I called my best friend and we talked for a minute or two. Mostly I just enjoyed the sunshine and fresh air. Breathing was easier, life was new, I felt as light as the bubbles in my champagne. There was even a handsome guy at the adjacent table who struck up a conversation and asked for my number. I was free to give it without even a tinge of guilt, so I did. I never intended to see him again, but on principal I gave the number because I could. And he did call, several times, but I never called him back. I didn't need or want to.

That night was the next to the last time I saw the ex-boyfriend, whom I had loved dearly, and at some point he had loved me, but the relationship at it's best was the epitome of bad timing. I had met him right at the time when my marriage fully disintegrated and as much as we were attracted to each other everything got off to the wrong start and we never figured out how to normalize the relationship. At the wine tasting that night he was distant and detached, what I used to see in his eyes was completely gone. I remember telling a friend of his that this was the last time she was likely to see me and I was right. Some things don't grow back in the Spring, some Winters are too harsh.

What is more interesting is that April 20th is the birthday of a little girl I hadn't even met yet, but I had already befriended her father. And this morning it was her voice that woke me from my slumber. And much to my surprise, I've grown to love her as much as I love her father. And this morning as I drove from her house to mine I passed the fields I've grown to know so well and I saw the first little green sprouts indicating Spring. I thought about my earliest trips past these fields, how I had watched this process before, and I realized that this time we'd weathered the winter. This guy is still here and everything between us is still growing and healthy and vibrant. What a joy it is to grow with someone. Yes, this truly is a holiday like no other.

Pretty Girls

I was a goofy looking kid. My mother is the only one who would argue to the contrary, and let’s face it, that’s her job. I was scrawny and pale. All of my facial features and body parts were on their own separate growth and development plans and as a result didn’t hold together aesthetically as a whole. There were points in my growing up years where my school picture showcases disproportionate facial features not unlike those on Mrs. Potato Head. One family vacation photo reveals knees that seem larger than the thighs above them, arms not unlike toothpicks and yet a perfectly round little belly. It’s almost as if my tummy stole all the body fat that should have been dispersed throughout the remainder of my body. Of course the crowning glory of this particular photo is the bad perm that topped off my “eye catching” appearance. The good news is that we all grow up, but sometimes not as quickly as we would prefer.

I knew I was goofy looking; some of the other kids didn’t look like mutants. In fact my own brother was ALWAYS cute. He never had an “awkward phase.” He always looked adorable. Around 6th grade I was introduced to fashion magazines. Those girls were pretty and the magazine told you how to look just like them. Of course the adults in my life were quick to point out that even those girls didn’t really look like that on their own, they had makeup artists and stylists and talented photographers who made them look that way. Perfect! The solution to my problem was to be a model. Then I would be pretty.

Enter Barbizon modeling school. I discovered this wonderful institution in my Teen magazine among ads for breast growing cream and fat camps in the back of the issue. My mother humored me and made the call, conveniently they have offices everywhere and one was just an hour away. She made the appointment and we headed for Columbus. Unlike typical modeling agencies who take a cut from the fees a model is paid, this place “trains” you to be a model (for a hefty fee) and then help you find work. It was fairly apparent that they would take just about any warm body, including a goofy kid like me. My parents could neither afford, nor did they trust such an organization so my modeling career never took off.

Sixth grade was pivotal for another reason—cheerleading. I was reasonably popular in sixth grade. I got along well with most of the girls in my grade and aside from some academic issues, things were going along swimmingly. At the end of the school year were try outs for 7th grade cheerleading. Every one of us was excited, especially me. I grew up attending high school football games and some of my first “role models” were high school cheerleaders. I had always wanted to cheer. My pals and I were a flurry of activity practicing cheers in all of our free time during the weeks leading up to try outs. Then, the unthinkable happened, I didn’t make the squad. It hurt, but it wasn’t until the following year that the full impact sunk in. I was no longer popular. I was lost. In time those girls became the pretty girls and in time I accepted my fate, I was not a pretty girl.

As I grew older and wiser I developed very sophisticated feminist opinions about all of that. I would much prefer to be recognized for my intelligence and talent. Pretty was for girls who had nothing else going for them. I wore little or no makeup, my clothes were tasteful and professional, well tailored, but never drew attention to me or my body. On a date I went to great pains to give the impression that I hadn’t put any special energy into my appearance beforehand. I wanted to be liked for who I was, not what I looked like. I had a very sophisticated system in place to NOT be pretty. In fact, I probably put as much time, thought and energy into not being pretty as most people invest in being pretty.

Life has a funny way of bringing it all full circle though. My career took off on a tangent that I never expected. After investing time, energy and education in establishing a meaningful career in the nonprofit world, the economy and my life took a huge hit. I found myself floundering and unemployed. I sold furniture for a while, then lingerie and now cosmetics. Cosmetics!? It’s almost comical to those who know me. I pursued the job because there was more money in makeup than bras. It was a pragmatic choice, and I was going to sell fragrance anyway, which clearly is different……..

The job requires that I wear makeup to work every day. At first that seemed like a time consuming extra step to add to my day, but eventually I got used to it. In fact I’ve learned a great deal about makeup, how to wear it, and what products are great and so on. Secretly I started liking makeup a bit. Then one day my fellow “beauty advisors” and I were standing around talking about an open position in our department and one lady commented about an elderly woman who works in another department and had applied for the job. It was comical to everyone that she would even apply; she didn’t fit the image at all. It was at that moment that I realized I had become one of them. I was a pretty girl.

This really sent my little psyche into a tailspin. What had I done? I had become what I reviled. And yet I wasn’t either. I’m smart and capable. What am I doing here? I became increasingly ashamed of what I had become. When people asked me what I did for a living I felt like I was apologizing for myself when I told them that I sold cosmetics. Then I had an unusual interaction with a customer that began to shift my thinking. This woman came in to pick up her usual mascara and I chatted with her and succeeded at getting her to add three more products to her purchase with very little effort on my part. As I was collecting her credit card she commented on my height and asked if I had ever played basketball. I told her that I get asked that all the time, but no I was never coordinated enough. I’ve always preferred running, biking, and hiking over team sports. Her reply was amusing to say the least, “Well, you’re pretty; I guess you don’t have to be good at anything.” She collected her things and walked away. Now I’m sure she meant any sports, not ANYTHING, but even so, she expressed a sentiment I once held. And of course it is untrue; I’m good at all sorts of things, including sales. So good in fact that even though she dismissed me as just another pretty face, I had just sold her $60 worth of things she didn’t plan to buy, and she wasn’t even fully aware of what I had just done. And so I learned a very valuable lesson. There is in fact an amazing power, strength and intelligence in being pretty and maybe that is something worth embracing. Maybe it’s okay to be a pretty girl after all.

Stupid Things People Say

Okay, so we all have our pet peeves. As a kid my mom never let me end a sentence in a preposition and so later as a teacher I became the one who does this to kids:

Little Johnny says, "Can I go to the bathroom?"
Anal grammar freak teacher says, "I'm sure you CAN.....I wonder if you MAY?"
Little Johnny begrudgingly says, "May I go to the restroom?"
Anal grammar freak teacher says, "Yes you may Johnny."

At the end of the day I'll be the first to admit that I get a little hung up on grammar, but honestly, we have it for a reason.

One thing I seem to have noticed is that common grammar errors are occasionally colloquial. For example, New Yorkers who unnecessarily pluralize things such as somewheres, nowheres, anywheres.

My peeve of the day seems to be Midwestern in origin. I've noticed it both in Ohio and Michigan, but I don't know exactly how pervasive this offence is. You see, for some unexplained reason Midwesterners are under the mistaken impression that the sinuses are an affliction, not a part of the body.

I have had a cold for most of the winter. Persistent post nasal drip ad nauseam. Frequently people say, "Oh you've got sinuses too, huh? I've had them all Winter, they just won't go away." Well, yes OF COURSE YOU HAVE, and NO I certainly hope for your sake they don't go away. Sinuses are standard equipment on ALL human beings! It's sort of like saying, "Oh I see you have and arm too, I've had one all Winter, just can't seem to get rid of it." I really fear that one of these days I'll snap and start a basic human anatomy lesson for some poor soul who is trying to be empathetic.

So this is my peeve of the moment. I'm curious about other people's grammatical and otherwise stupid or confused peeves so feel free to post them here.

On Love

I started this blog roughly this time last year. In the back of my mind I was hoping it would chronicle the year (singluar) that I spent in my hometown regrouping before resuming my otherwise fabulous life and moving on to bigger and better things. I am still here. My life has no outword signs of fabulosity. Despite the fact that I made the least amount of money I have ever earned, and my finances are a constant challenge for my creativity, my life here is pretty rich. Will I be here forever? Probably not, but as it turns out this is a good place to be.

Although I haven't been on the receiving end of sizeable paychecks, or great accolades for my professional successes, I have received a great deal of love. In fact I've never felt so loved in all my life. From the moment I packed up my life in Detroit the people who love me whether friends or family, rushed in to support and encourage and care for me. Every time I go back to visit everyone is so happy to see me, and I'm thrilled to see them. And down here in Ohio my family is always there when I need them in any sort of way. And I get to spend quality time with them, which is something I was just "too busy" to do before.

While here I've met someone truely special who loves me and appreciates me. When life's dissappointments show up he is there to pick up the pieces without ever being asked. And life's little triumphs are even more joyous because he is there to share them. He can support and listen without judging and it seems like there isn't anything he can't handle. Around this time last year I read True Love by Thich Nhat Hanh. I was inspired and discouraged. The way he described loving another person was exactly the way I thought love should be, and yet I'd never experienced that. Now I have, and it is wonderful.

What I'm learning about love is this: love is infinite and limitless. The degree to which we can be loved is only limited by the amount of love we are willing to allow into our lives. AND the degree to which we can love others is only limited by the amount of love we are willing to share with the people in our lives. Love begets love. The more we are open to giving and receiving love the more love will enter our lives. Its a remarkable phenomenon to say the very least.

Knitting for Peace

My boyfriend created this little comic as a Christmas card. It’s cute, its funny, and the ending is poignant. When I showed it to my grandmother, she said, “You better get busy with that last part.” With sarcasm in my voice I replied, “Yeah…..”

As impossible as it may seem, the truth is that we all see little snippets of peace on earth every day. I realized this a little over a week ago when visiting my pals in Detroit. When most people, even Detroiters sadly, think of Detroit the image is glum. People think of a city long past its prime. A place filled with poverty, crime and little hope of regaining its former glory. When I think of Detroit I don’t think of urban decay and unemployment, no, thoughts of Detroit fill my heart with the warmth and the loving spirit of the people who live there.

My recent trip was mostly focused on my knitting buddies. We participated in a fundraiser for breast cancer research on Saturday and had an all girls Superbowl party on Sunday. The weekend was inspiring to say the least. On Saturday we experienced the comradery of working together for a cause, but more importantly we met an extraordinary person. This young woman attended the same event the previous year and was inspired to do something big for breast cancer research. She pledged to raise $10,000.00 and if successful she would shave her head. Saturday she arrived with no hair. What was more spectacular was that she exceeded her goal. She raised $20,000.00. In addition to those efforts she also began working with prisoners at a women’s prison teaching them to crochet chemo caps. These prisoners pledged to make 500 chemo caps. According to sources at the prison her efforts have led to a complete turnaround in the women there. Suddenly there were less fights, more cooperation. The women were teaching each other and working together for something meaningful. My friends and I were blown away. For anyone who is under the mistaken impression that the efforts of just one person are inconsequential I would like to introduce them to a young factory worker who has changed the lives of countless people with her efforts.


Sunday was the now annual “Knitting Bowl” all girls Superbowl party. One of my fabulous knitting buddies is the host and we usually have soups and munchies and lots of knitting fun. Another great recurring tradition is the Superbowl brownies lovingly made and decorated by Joe the wonder husband. Last year’s brownie bowl was played by cats, this year we had aliens vs. ninjas. Although the snacks were lovely, what was truly inspiring was the community gathered in that humble living room. In one room we had the most diverse group of people thoroughly enjoying their time together. There were women of varied and even opposing faiths, races and economic backgrounds and sharing love and laughter and fun. One woman, a Muslim convert, another Jewish, and others Catholic, Protestant, Atheist and Agnostic.


Two of the women work for the same company in vastly different capacities, one and hourly union employee while the other is salaried management. Yet another woman is fighting cancer and brought a tote bag with the message: Cancer can kiss my ass. A whole rainbow of skin, hair and eye colors filled the room. Our respective bank account balances likely varied greatly and yet the sum total of all these differences only added up to a greater richness.

What binds us is the shared experience of our humanity, the realization that there is so much that we all share, and even those things which seem different aren’t all that different from up close. Those differences are what make us who we are and are ultimately what we love about one another.

Every week these women get together for the simple and yet profound purpose of knitting and in the end their lives weave together like the fabrics they knit. This is peace on earth. If only the rest of the world could visit this living room……………

House of Four Rooms

"There is an Indian Belief that everyone is in a house of four rooms: A physical, a mental, an emotional and a spiritual. Most of us tend to live in one room most of the time, but unless we go into every room everyday, even if only to keep it aired, we are not complete."

-- Rumer Godden

Ok, so on principal alone, I don't do New Years resolutions. I can't bring myself to make commitments I can't follow through with. I do like the idea though. Start the year by pausing to reflect and readjust one's living. In truth I think I've spent the better part of a year in a state of constant reflection, but now is a good time to look back and figure out how to look forward.

In the last year nearly every aspect of my life has shifted, moved or been dumped completely on its ear. I've been in and out of relationships, jobs, homes, cars, debt and countless other things. I've seen, done and experienced a whole litany of things I wouldn't have fathomed just a few years ago. And at this moment I'm still upright and breathing and possibly even a little more sane than I was even a year ago.

One of the things that I seem to be learning on this crazy ride through uncharted life is that there is something profound to be understood about a well balanced life. I always knew that peripherally, but figured when I was less busy with work, or when the kitchen renovations were complete, or whenever the preoccupation of the moment subsided I'd slow down and meditate on that one. Interestingly enough, everything came crashing down around me and my choice was to give up, crawl under the rubble and die OR I could choose to start living my life, and maybe this time do it differently.

I chose life and in doing so I knew I had to turn my back on the old life in both literal and metaphoric ways. If this were a movie, that would be the happy ending, but life isn't that neat and orderly. In a myriad of ways this has been an atrocious year, but for now I'll focus on what I've learned.

1. Absolutely anyone can become homeless. I don't care how much money or education you have, life can go horribly wrong in such a short time. Without the help of my friends and family I would be on the street today.

2. People seldom offer help they don't intend to give. Receiving their help isn't weakness, it makes both of you stronger.

3. Hope is the only antidote to depression.

4. I'd rather be homeless than heartbroken (and I don't recommend doing both at the same time.)

5. None of the things that absorbed my time and energy were there to sustain me when life went topsy turvey. My career and home were gone and could bring no comfort to me.


6. The people in my life, whom I had sadly neglected for more "practical" concerns, their love and support was the glue that held me together.

And so the balance, it was all off. There were rooms of my house that I never entered. I was too busy for emotional things, or spiritual things, oftentimes I even neglected physical things. This year I learned that I have to bring balance to my life if I don't want the walls to fall in around me again. No resolutions, just a guiding principal.............live life in balance. One can only hope that a life in balance will be blessed with love, harmony and prosperity.