Archive | March, 2016

March Books 4 U My Lovers

20 Mar

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More books!

Always more books!

For when you want to read something in one giant gulp, something that will change how you think about death and change how you think about living

Slash

When you want to fall in love with a married philosopher neurosurgeon writer

When Breath Becomes Air by Paul Kalanithi

(It has 5 stars on Amazon with over 1,800 reviews.  This is not an accident.)

When you want to write quote after quote after freaking quote about happiness down, to read a memoir that addresses so much of the meaty stuff of life.  When you want to know what it’s like to grow up with the mother from Carrie.

Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal? by Jeanette Winterson

Speaking of!

Carrie! 

I’m shin-deep in the Stephen King audiobook world, and I tell you what.  This one was the first one that I would drive around just to listen to.  This was the first one I had to read, HAD TO KNOW.  Ooh I liked this one.

It’s interesting to me when someone’s first book is the book I like best.  Like Nick Hornby.  Is the first book the most raw? Most truthful?  Is that the story they wanted to tell most?

For laughter, relatability, and more laughter:

American Housewife: Stories by Helen Ellis

PS: You can be my friend on Goodreads, if you think our relationship is at that point.  I don’t want to get ahead of ourselves, but oh gosh.  Yes. I’ve never felt this way before.

On Miracles

18 Mar

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Anne Lamott once said that going from an addict who couldn’t take care of herself to a sober, functioning mother was a moderate sized miracle.

She had transformed herself completely, changed things she thought impossible.

It was a miracle.

 

I don’t use the world miracle often, even in hyperbole.  Miracle always seemed too big and intangible. Do I believe in miracles? Sure.

(Where you from? You sexy thing.)

But what have I classified as a miracle?  What in my life, of relative health and prosperity qualifies as an actual miracle?  I haven’t been healed from some life-threatening illness. I haven’t lifted a car with brute strength or survived  a dramatic plane crash on berries and volleyballs alone.

Reading Anne Lamott, though, I realized that I have experienced miracles.

Miracles are things that you previously thought impossible that you’ve now done.

Staying sober.

Having a conversation that could have never happened five years ago.

Getting over something–something impossible.  Something you knew in your heart you could never ever ever after 60 years get over, and yet.

Here you are.

You are over it.

These are miracles.

 

Grace.

I think it goes back to grace.  I’ve been studying grace for a few months now, and like miracle, it was not a word I used very often or saw very often in my life.

But the other day I bought a pair of pants online and they were too small and my first thought was I would lose 10 lbs.

An hour later I recognized how unhealthy this all was and that the pants were the wrong size, I wasn’t the wrong size.  I put them back in their package, took them to the post office, and returned them.

I realized that so often in my life I assume I’m the wrong size rather than my pants/someone else/the situation is the wrong size fit for me.  I realized that I am the right size as I am.

Right now.

This very moment.

 

It was grace.

It was a miracle.

I Really Shouldn’t Bring My Phone Into The Bathroom With Me

8 Mar

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I really shouldn’t bring my phone into the bathroom with me

It might do that tricky audio recording thing and send my flushing out to the universe

Or worse

 

The before flushing thing…

 

Oh gosh

Oh gosh

Oh gosh

 

Now my mind is going to the top 10 people I don’t want my before flushing audio recording going to.

Come to think of it, do I have 10 relationships that could recover from that?

 

Bringing it back, bringing it back.

 

Germs!

That’s why I shouldn’t bring my phone with me.

Phones are already loaded with germs and this is certainly not helping the matter.

Speaking of, I should wash my phone.

The case too.

And my pillows.

Did you know you should dry clean your pillows?

Not just your pillowcases, your actual pillows.

I’ve never done this in my life.

What illnesses do I now have?

Why didn’t anyone tell me?

 

I’m gross.

I can’t do anything now, I’m so gross.

I’ll just go lay in bed.

But not on any pillow.

 

That’s fun.

 

Wait!

I don’t have Cheetos.

Maybe I can get someone to deliver them to me?

Puffy Cheetos, I mean.

There’s that one Malibu delivery service, what was it called?

Merry Maids Malibu?

That doesn’t sound right

Is that the topless maid service?

WHY AM I REMEMBERING THIS AT A TIME LIKE THIS!

 

It’s all OK.

I’ll just look it up the delivery service name on my phone.

 

The FOOD delivery service, you nasty.

 

Wait! But my phone is infected with bathroom and life germs!

Probably pillow germs, too.

We KNOW pillowcase germs.

 

BuDelivery!  That was it.

 

I’ll just email a friend and have her use her phone to have BuDelivery bring me some Cheetos.

 

Do you think they deliver pillows too?

BuDelivery.

But maybe my friend as well.

 

OK, first cleaning the laptop keyboard, though.

 

Oh gosh

Oh gosh

Oh gosh

 

 

Inspired by this inspired post

Super Bowl Sunday

2 Mar

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I woke up lazily.  Every time my body wanted to rise I asked it if it really did.  I slept on and off through the morning.

I pulled out my latest Anne Lamott book and read until I couldn’t read anymore.  I meditated for 12 minutes, reeling my mind back in approximately 1,400 times.

I had a bowl of Frosted Flakes and a ripe tangerine for breakfast.  I drank 16 ounces of water.

I caught up with a few friends.  I headed out for a walk.  On the way, I made the last minute decision to turn around and check Pavilions for Girl Scout cookies.  They were there!  Hallelujah!

I bought four boxes of Tagalongs.

I accepted that Tagalongs are the only Girl Scout cookies I truly care about even though society told me for so long it was Samoas and Thin Mints that should own my heart.

I walked on the Pepperdine track, the last of a children’s soccer practice clearing out with tears and grass stained shinguards.  Pepperdine’s baseball team started practice, tiny, gorgeous orange dots on the horizon.

I made plans with Rob for the next day.  Mondays are our weekend and we alternate who chooses what we do.  Tomorrow is his Monday and he wants to get Lily’s breakfast burritos (with potatoes) and go to Broad Beach.  It’s nice that what we like to do lines up so beautifully.

I walked around Pepperdine’s track for 5,000 steps.  I listened to Mariah Carey and remembered her arm movements in her concert and how everything I know about dancing I learned from Mariah.

Look fabulous.

Stand in one place.

Sing your guts out.

Let your diva arm do the talking.

I sang Touch my Body as I rounded the track for the last time.

I had a huge salad topped with peppers and olives and artichokes and garbanzo beans. I added a Diet Coke to the mix for balance.

I didn’t pretend like I cared about football.

Or the Super Bowl.

Instead I went to a yoga class with other people who weren’t pretending.

I thought about how a few months ago I felt like everything was falling apart.  How there are half a dozen dramatic blog drafts entitled things like “I feel happy today” and “I’m trying” that I never published on this blog because when my internal life is too jumbled I’m unable to create anything.

I thought about how I got myself over that mountain or molehill or something in between.  How I sought help.  How I reevaluated my career and made some course corrections.  How I took up meditation and how the benefits of that cannot be overstated.

I thought about how I’ve pursued my self-care as a religion the past few months.  How I walk every single day and read and meditate and self soothe.  How I am able to take one bad thing that comes my way and accept that it is a bad thing not a bad life and I’ll try again tomorrow.

How I couldn’t do that before.

My friend is going through a hard time.  I wanted to pass all this on to her, to say, “Hey! Here’s the secret.  Do it!”

And then I remembered that this is my secret, for now.

My sacred, for now.

I remembered that we all get there through different means at different rates.

That we can’t save anyone but ourselves.

That we’re all just doing our best.

For now.