“Let’s get real”

“For real?”



I have always believed in authenticity, and yet I find myself full of angst as I struggle to determine my authentic self. Who am I? Can I be two people?

“Hard times arouse an instinctive desire for authenticity”…Coco Chanel

the real gift

I hate to love you…paradoxically thinking or oxymoronically?

“He who fears he shall suffer, already suffers what he fears.”Michel de Montaigne

I fear that I shall love, so does that mean I already love what I fear?

I have feared loving: “fear is the enemy of love”.

en·e·my ˈenəmē/noun: a thing that harms or weakens something else.

It’s as if we choose not to love because we fear “it”: it’s ability to take over our minds, our bodies and our senses.  Giving in to love can signify a complete surrender of oneself. I have always struggled with the concept of two people becoming one.

But…for me, this says it all.

“When you love someone, you do not love them all the time, in exactly the same way, from moment to moment. It is an impossibility. It is even a lie to pretend to. And yet this is exactly what most of us demand. We have so little faith in the ebb and flow of life, of love, of relationships. We leap at the flow of the tide and resist in terror its ebb. We are afraid it will never return. We insist on permanency, on duration, on continuity; when the only continuity possible, in life as in love, is in growth, in fluidity – in freedom, in the sense that the dancers are free, barely touching as they pass, but partners in the same pattern.

The only real security is not in owning or possessing, not in demanding or expecting, not in hoping, even. Security in a relationship lies neither in looking back to what was in nostalgia, nor forward to what it might be in dread or anticipation, but living in the present relationship and accepting it as it is now. Relationships must be like islands, one must accept them for what they are here and now, within their limits – islands, surrounded and interrupted by the sea, and continually visited and abandoned by the tides.”

Anne Morrow Lindbergh, Gift from the Sea




Me, myself and my children, who are REALLY their own people!

As I mentioned in a previous post about possession, I really DO believe that children are only lent to us.

Yes, they are our children forever or at least until either of us passes on, but they are NOT our possessions.

I love my children more than I could have ever imagined loving anyone. I loved them more than my ex husband, which is probably why he is just that…ex.  Regardless, this is about ownership. We can own ourselves, we can own property, but we can’t own others. It’s not possible. We can belong to groups, but not to another, since in a sense, because it also implies ownership on the part of another. So, this is my declaration of freedom. Freedom from ownership. In all senses.



the state of having, owning, or controlling something.
“are you in possession of any items over $500 in value?”
synonyms: ownership, control, hands, keeping, care, custody, charge, hold, title, guardianship More
visible power or control over something, as distinct from lawful ownership; holding or occupancy.
“both teams attempting to gain possession of the ball”
synonyms: occupancy, occupation, tenure, holding, tenancy
“her possession of the premises”
the state of possessing an illegal drug.
“they’re charged with possession”
(in football, basketball, and other ball games) temporary control of the ball by a particular player or team.
“the ball hit a defender and Brown’s quick reaction put him in possession”
an item of property; something belonging to one.
“I was alone with no money or possessions”
synonyms: belongings, things, property, (worldly) goods, (personal) effects, assets, chattels, movables, valuables; More

how is it that children are possessions? i kind of thought that they were lent to us for a short time so that we could grow up…who knew???

Adios Amigo!


We’re all coming and going at some point…but you know, brazil-wcup-adios-amigosthe going is great!

Like expirations on the milk in your fridge, sometimes you just have to throw out that milk even though the carton is still almost full. You hate to because it seems like a waste. You bought the milk thinking you’d drink it all, but time passed, you were busy and you forgot about it and THEN, “Oh, No!!” , the damn thing expired. You could put it in some recipe, but then you say, when am I going to bake or cook  ANYTHING with old milk…and you know no one else will drink it…so out it goes…much like marriage.

Strange segue…but it is very fitting. Marriage, after a time, is like that milk. First of all, I really don’t like milk at all. (again a relevant comparison). You know you should dispense with it, but it feels like a waste. Especially if you’ve “had the milk a while”…say 28 years or so. There is just no salvaging milk that old and sour. So you decide to buy new milk. So refreshing! So new! It tastes like no other milk you’ve ever had before and you wonder, “why didn’t I realize how amazing milk is?!”…gets you to thinking, right?

As THEY say, don’t cry over spilled, old, sour, poured out milk.

The new carton is much better…

Fur the love of god!

By now, if you read my last post, you’d realize that my mother is an angel. And as such, this angel is also a queen. The queen of almost everything. And as the queen of everything, she possesses this quality that allows her to do just about anything she likes with absolutely no repercussions. EVERYONE who meets her, LOVES her. She is almost 90, but somehow manages to solicit dates from men my age, and received yet another proposal on NYE from a man 30 years her junior.

We speak by phone every day. This is mandatory. And each day she usually tells me something I already know, but nonetheless, I enjoy it since she tells most stories with great panache. So, today, it goes like this…”I needed the garbage cans brought back to the house (yes, she does this and many other things, which I believe keeps her so young and vibrant!), and it was so cold I just threw on my mink coat.” My response was “Did you remember to wear your pearls?”….”I would have if I’d thought of it!” she replied…I laughed so hard because I almost think that she meant it!

Her propriety is not only revered but expected by all who are deemed worthy of her presence. As Lucy said in “You’re a Good Man, Charlie Brown”….

“Nobody should be kept from being a queen if she wants to be one. It’s usually just a matter of knowing the right people.. ..well…. if I can’t be a queen, then I’ll be very rich then I will buy myself a queendom. Yes, I will buy myself a queendom and then I’ll kick out the old queen and take over the whole operation myself. I will be head queen.”

And that’s that.

Don’t worry, be happy!

I can clearly remember those insanely hot summer days where the only place to get cooled off was in the pool while my mother and her neighbor friends sat inside in the air conditioning playing mah johnng, and all of the kids splashed happily in the pool until the sun started to set. The 1960’s were a different time. Most mothers stayed home and fathers went to work. My mom was a “homemaker”. My dad was a highly functioning alcoholic. I guess I was happy. Probably about as much as anyone else I knew. But I did know that I always felt like my family had this big secret. When someone in your family has a ‘drinking problem’ it is the family focus. It’s the white elephant in the room. Of course, at that time, I had no idea that I wasn’t the only one. No one talked about this stuff. Oprah didn’t exist to administer advice on self help remedies for all the maladies of the world. Fortunately, although I was practically almost an only child, I had my imaginary friend Smokey the Bear and all of my creative projects to keep me going. I don’t ever remember being bored. And there were the massive murals I drew on the hallway linoleum and the bedroom walls. (yes my mother, not only allowed it, but, encouraged this expression- when you’re surrounded by artists, this is not terribly unusual). We didn’t have 3 million TV channels to watch. No cell phones. No handheld devices to entertain us. No internet to explore. Our explorations were tangible. I’d ride my bike around the neighborhood for hours on end and my parents didn’t have to worry about where I was going or for how long. I built my own treehouse by standing on top of the swing set and feeling so proud when it was done. I made my own Barbie camper out of a shoebox and pipe cleaners because my parents thought $11.00 was too much to pay for it at the toy store. Depression era parents are a different breed than the parents today who shower their offspring with massive amounts of nonsensical possessions that end up at Goodwill anyway.

Those were the days. And looking back on it now, my mother was probably not experiencing the same sense of joy and freedom that I was but she did her best to shield me from the daily shit she endured.

It went like this. My dad went to work, then he went to happy hour (an oxymoron in some sense), and if he wasn’t too drunk when he got home my mom served his dinner and I waited anxiously for the arguments to begin and then after dinner he’d resume his nightly ritual of vodka and (fill in the blank) orange juice, grapefruit juice or my kool aid. I hated it when he used my kool aid. That was mine. To this day, thinking of kool aid conjures up unpleasant memories for me. If he was pretty drunk already when he came home he’d usually pass out in his chair, and I was grateful for that. Mind you, this man never missed a day of work no matter how drunk he was the night before.  Well, that’s not entirely true. The 3 times he had his drivers license revoked he went to jail for a short time and my mother had to drive him everywhere for 6 months each time this happened.(as an aside, I must mention that my dad really was a great man…)

But, I don’t know how my mother did it. Really. I’m a recently divorced self employed single mom with 3 children (we’ll get into that later in another post), and I cannot imagine having to deal with this nonsense with kids, and school and everything that goes into being an adult. We all have our issues to deal with, and I suppose that we learn to accommodate the idiosyncrasies that plague our daily situations, but in those days, as I mentioned before, people didn’t air their dirty laundry. This had to be a terrible embarrassment to my mother. I know that as I got older, I could never invite friends over if it was after 5:00 p.m. It made my teenage years tough, and it’s not as if those years aren’t tough enough already. I know, wah wah, I had it so tough. But, as I said, I guess I was happy enough.

Which brings me to the topic at hand. Happiness. So if you look up the definition of happiness, it merely says “the state of being happy”. What?! And if you look for other answers to the meaning of happiness, what you will come up with is its subjectivity as a feeling or state of being. I’ve been thinking of ways that happiness is perceived or used to describe people and their lives or situations. Like the statement “I’m not a happy camper” or “you make me so happy” or “as long as you’re happy”. What do those things really mean? Pleasure, joy, exhilaration, bliss, contentedness, delight, enjoyment, satisfaction, contentment, felicity are words that imply an active or passive state of pleasure or pleasurable satisfaction. “Happiness results from the possession or attainment of what one considers good; all synonyms for happiness.”The word origin and history of happiness: 1520s, “good fortune,” from happy + ness. Meaning “pleasant and contented mental state” is from 1590s. Phrase greatest happiness for the greatest number was in Hutcheson (1725).

And why does everyone want us to be happy? It’s been quoted, somewhere, that “extreme happiness begets tragedy.” After all, the antonym is misery. These descriptions are akin to pleasure and pain.

I suppose the point of all of this is that, like my life as a child, which was a strained mix of happiness and misery, and pleasure and pain, I chose to be “happy”. Despite the many, many days, perhaps years, that I experienced what would be considered an unhappy environment. I chose to create my own world of joy. I lived in a place of my own where it was happy. Because, although I rarely saw any real affection or love between them, I knew that my parents loved me and probably each other. There is no a tangible way for me to determine this, but I’m pretty sure there was something between them. Fifty six years is a long time to stay married…

I have grown so weary of the election of so many to be unhappy and to maintain a stance of being unhappy when one could just give into it and be damn happy. It really does feel better to choose this felicitous state. I can bring myself to tears in seconds dwelling on things that are upsetting and that make me feel unhappy and I hate it when that happens. And I know that I am the culprit of these feelings and emotions. That makes me even more upset with myself.

So, my resolve for 2015 is to revive my childhood approach to life. I choose to be happy. And so far, I am and in fact, almost blissful at the proposition of regaining a sense of innocence and naivete. Happy, happy new year to me…

Seriously folks!

I could really use some help with all of this blogging business…like, what is the tabs thing?

And how do you get pictures and such up? You’d think I could figure it out since I created my own website and do all kinds of other technical things…oh well…

In the meantime, todays topic is frustration.

Each day I get up and plan to approach the day with a positive outlook. And, for the most part, I do feel that way. But, for god’s sake, situations arise unexpectedly (but maybe not actually) that just rattle my cage!

For instance, how can a ex husband, although not in my physical space, invade it with such enormity?


Those of us who have thought about this path, are going through this tunnel or who have completed the journey to the other side, certainly know what this is all about. And then there are the onlookers who say “At least you don’t have to deal with him/her anymore”…

Weeeellllll, not exactly. If you have children, and I do, this is not a closed book. Deep breath.

Mind you, each day I choose to live in the moment. I love my new life. And am grateful to have the choice to make my own decisions.

I already feel better.

Self validation is the key to getting through this. External validation has its merits but ultimately you need to like yourself and love yourself. And if you have pets. Talk to them. They are the best listeners and the least judgmental.

“When we consistently suppress and distrust our intuitive knowingness, looking instead for authority, validation, and approval from others, we give our personal power away.”

Shakti Gawain

New year, new me!

Although I have absolutely NO idea what I’m doing, I’ve been encouraged by many to begin this journey…

So, here it is, at last! MY BLOG…


I will be covering several topics.

a. marriage

b. divorce

c. career

d. finding new love

I hope you’ll join me on this exploration and mostly relate to what it’s trying to say. So for now, adios, and I’ll be back later!