Hold the Vision, Trust the Process

In your action, you lose sight of the vision, you lose sight of your trust in the process, and you just bang around in a sense of futility. Hold the vision and trust that the Universe will acclimate to your vision. Hold the vision and trust the process.

Abraham-Hicks, Portland, OR, June 10, 1997

Why we should write

Lately I have been struggling with whether or not to bother writing on my blog. I see myself becoming just one of the thousands of bloggers that start off with the best intentions and just fade out over time, there must be a million of us out there by now. After all, I never really considered myself a writer and I would never describe myself as literary, however, I do enjoy writing. I also like to draw and paint and take photographs, but I tend not to make much time for these interests either. My partner, who is a psychotherapist, and somewhat of an expert on human behavior, sees my attitude towards my creative endeavors as a holding back and an unwillingness to share my creative gifts. I'm perplexed by this, I consider myself to be a giving and generous person, yet I'm willing to consider any explanation and understand that it may be myself that I am not generous with. I feel it is based on my insecurities of "not being good enough" but this explanation has been described to me as just a "mask". Still, I'm willing to consider anything.

I've been reading my, now ancient, copy of "The Artist's Way" lately and I see that I am best described by Julia Cameron as a "Shadow Artist", someone who typically surrounds themselves with artistic friends and coworkers but doesn't pursue their own creative talents for reasons of fear, rejection, or not being good enough...in her words;

Artists love other artists. Shadow artists are gravitating to their rightful tribe but cannot yet claim their birthright Very often audacity not talent makes one person an artist and another a shadow artist-hiding in the shadows afraid to step out and expose the dream to the light, fearful that it will disintegrate to the touch.

.

Then a few days ago I picked up another book at a local bookstore by Julia Cameron entitled "The Right to Write" and as the Universe would have it, I received an amazing and wonderful message, it was as if it was just waiting for me to find it.

She starts by asking the question, my question;
Why should we write?

We should write because it is human nature to write. Writing claims our world. It makes it directly and specifically our own. We should write because humans are spiritual beings and writing is a powerful form of prayer and meditation, connecting us both to our own insights and to our higher and deeper level of inner guidance.
We should write because writing brings clarity and passion to the act of living. Writing is sensual experiential, grounding. We should write because writing is good for the soul. We should write because writing yields us a body of work, a felt path through the world we live in.
We should write, above all, because we are writers whether we call ourselves that or not.

Thank you Universe, for reminding me of the truth once again.

Dining out with kids: A Parent's Perspective

I’ve been thinking about all this “kids in restaurants” stuff that seems to create such a stir. I‘d like to add my two cents as a mother of two young children now ages 11 and 8, both of whom have been/being raised in Park Slope Brooklyn. I believe, if asked, most parents would agree that bringing a young child into an “adult” dining experience is pretty unpleasant for BOTH parent and child.

Most, if not all, of my experiences with bringing my children to better adult restaurants were predicated on one thing- an invitation from my in-laws. Some of these invitations were based on particular events, birthdays, anniversaries, and sometimes that’s just how they chose to visit with us. My husband and I always had a hard time saying no to the offer of being treated to delicious food that we didn’t have to prepare or clean up ourselves, in addition to the fact that my in-laws were not easy people to turn down. So there you have it, I found myself eating out with young children in “adult” restaurants more often then I’d like to admit. Guilty.

Here are some memories:

There’s nothing like the moment when my warm goat cheese salad has arrived, the wine is poured and I am simultaneously alerted to the fact that I need to bring my child to the restroom immediately, if not sooner. By the time I’ve returned all the other adults are enjoying their entrees and I still haven’t touched my salad, I scarf a bit of it down before it’s taken away to make room (on those small tables) for the other larger dishes.
I now settle in to the priority task at hand- to cut up my child’s food- partly to avoid any choking scenes, and partly so that once that’s done I can “relax” and eat. No sooner than I stick my fork into that delicious red snapper topped in tomato chutney, a glass of water spills and floods the table (someone forgot the sippy cups!). As the wait staff is being summoned, I’m guiding the stream of water off the table onto my own leg so that the kids aren’t getting soaked.
After that commotion has settled down, although I’ve barely touched my food, we’re ready for the dessert (at the insistence of Grandma). At that moment I have an inexcusable lapse in memory about the fact, that in better adult restaurants, the chocolate desserts will be too rich for small children, having not only plenty of white sugar, but packed with a good jolt of caffeine, Need I say more?

On a bad night, one where we had to wait a while for a table or food, the meltdowns started at the restaurant. We would leave the restaurant, crying kid(s) in tow, heads down to avert any eye contact, knocking into a few tables on our way to the exit. On a good night, we would leave the restaurant before the onset of the inevitable meltdown, but once home, we were faced with an eternally long evening. These were evenings in which our children seemed possessed and unrecognizable to us and we were lucky if any of us got much sleep.
These are just a few of my memories, there are more, but it suffices to say I stopped going to adult restaurants with my kids by the time my youngest could walk. It was clear that being cooped up in a chair for that length of time is hard on those little bodies, not to mention my nerves.
We are all the better for it, yeah we still go out occasionally, (to more appropriate restaurants) but we mostly save that for adult time out. We eat healthy meals at home, where we can hear each other talk about our days and the kids can get up from their seats when and if they need to, without bothering anyone else. Amen.

Julie, Julia & Moi

I recently saw the movie Julie & Julia and was so inspired I went home and made the best bruschetta known to man (if I do say so myself), it was melt in your mouth delicious. I made a similar version to what I saw in the film except I added a few touches of my own, a dab of butter and some fresh parmesan cheese, it was crispy, juicy and bursting with flavor, all at the same time, truly a mouth watering delight. Still reeling from the film...a few days later I created an amazing dessert for my partner's birthday celebration. It was a rich creamy chocolate mousse topped with fresh whipped cream with just a hint of coconut, drizzled with a black cherry cognac sauce reduced down for a lovely sweet and slightly tart finish, all in all, quite delectable. I must admit, I find cooking (when the mood strikes me) so incredibly pleasurable. However, as most italians would agree, the pièce de résistance is when the recipients of my creations are overtly delighted and consume them with the gusto and love equal to that which went into them. That total experience is what I call a little "heaven on earth".

As for the movie, Meryl Streep gave a tremendous performance, watching her as Julia Child was so entertaining, she was just perfection. She had it down, the body language, the voice, all with the added warmth and humor that only Meryl Streep can add.

Other movie critics say it better than I. Here's a review by Kimberly Gadette which aptly expresses my thoughts about Meryl Streep's performance;

...it seems no one can match her dual skill in both drama and comedy, often deftly blending the two. And with this role, rather than giving us a caricature of the famous cook, Streep embraces the woman's inner glow, expressing a childlike rapture that overtakes her face whether she's sampling Sole Meunière or caressing her husband's cheek. Even without the addition of shoe implants and cheated waistlines to create the illusion of Child's 6'2" height, Streep is a magnificent mirthful Amazon, effortlessly carrying the film to delicious pinnacles of delight.
She's found a marvelous complement in Stanley Tucci (The Devil Wears Prada). They work beautifully off of each other, a believable couple with a unique sizzle that's both sexy and endearing. Like chocolate and peanut butter, champagne and strawberries, or cookies and milk – they're fabulous alone, but put them together and wow, the combination is simply
irresistible"

Lastly, Stanley Tucci plays her adoring attentive husband flawlessly, in between all of these mouth-watery gustatory delights there is also a tenderhearted love story that brought tears to my eyes.

Less is More

Here is a great article on parenting by Tom Hodgkinson entitled "Idle parenting means happy children" "http://www.telegraph.co.uk/family/familyadvice/3355719/Idle-parenting-means-happy-children.html">">
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/family/familyadvice/3355719/Idle-parenting-means-happy-children.html

In it, he writes about how less is really more when it comes to parenting. It includes his brilliant "Manifesto of the Idle Parent", which starts out with the following:

We reject the idea that parenting requires hard work
We pledge to leave our children alone
That should mean that they leave us alone, too
We reject the rampant consumerism that invades children from the moment they are born
We read them poetry and fantastic stories without morals...



It is taking me years to learn this, but doing less and being more is not just important, it's vital. I know in my heart that there is so much truth to this. I see it all around me, everywhere I go, especially when it comes to kids, less is truly more.
The more involved parents get in their children's leisure time, the more anxious the child and the more harried the parent.


Where did we get this antiquated belief that suffering, martyrdom and self sacrifice is the way to a fulfilled life? No doubt religion has a major stake in propagating this widely held belief. But even for the rest of us, the ones that have moved away from traditional beliefs and rejected any former notion held by our ancestors that the only way to get anywhere is through a sweat and tears approach, it's difficult to shake. It's as if it's still lurking around somewhere in our psyches, and over time breeds resentment and wreaks havoc with our physical and psychological health.
Why is it that most (if not all) of my artist friends, whether it's writers, painters, or musicians seem to live the "starving life"? Is it because deep in our hearts we still believe that creating art and expressing ourselves is too pleasurable to earn us a comfortable living? Or is it bigger than that? Does our society as a whole buy into the suit and tie world of money jugglers and CEOs so much that we continue to reward them financially no matter how adversely they effect our society our economy and our environment? Frankly, I think we are stuck in a quagmire that not only undermines our deep intuitive beliefs but does nothing to enhance the lives of our children.
I could go on about this, but today I will go with the "less is more" approach and just say that doing less seems like a beautiful entree into finding our way back to things that really matter.

Here are some of my favorite lines from Tom Hodgkinson's article:
"Paradoxically, the idle parent is a responsible parent because at the heart of idle parenting is a respect for the child, a trust in another human being."

"...No, there is no room for martyrs in the world of the idle parent. Our happiness comes first. And that is the right way round. As a cab driver said to me the other day: "My kids are happy because we're happy." Do not suffer. Enjoy your life."

I really enjoy reading Tom Hodgkinson's column entitled "Idle Parenting" in the http://www.telegraph.co.uk/, check it out, maybe you will too.

Today's Quote from Neale Donald Walsh

"...perfectionism is the enemy of creation."
John Updike said that, and he was right. He understood
that nothing stops the forward march of any creative
endeavor like the need to do it absolutely perfectly.
And who is to judge what is 'perfect' anyway? What I
have judged full of flaws so many others have called
terrific. Maybe the definition of Perfection is something
that actually gets done.

The Empty Nest

About a week ago, a pretty light brown bird (a friend of mine thought it might be a Mockingbird) made her nest on our fire escape. I can see it from where I sit while at my computer. Like most nests, it is made of small brown twigs loosely put together in concentric circles and in it lay two, seemly perfect, small brilliant white eggs. I felt honored she picked our fire escape in which to give birth to new life.
A few days later, while sitting at my computer, I heard a loud noise which sounded like something heavy was dropped and then very large wings flapping, when I looked out I saw a large black bird hanging on the side of that very fire escape struggling to get her beak into the unprotected nest. Before I could move, I saw her lift her head and right inside her beak was one of those perfect white eggs. She held her head up- like a perfect picture, the contrast of the bright white egg against her raven blue-black gleaming head was striking, she looked enormous compared to the egg she held between her long black beak and in an instant she turned her head and flew off with it, just like that...it was gone.
A few minutes later, the mother arrived back to the nest only to find one remaining egg. She circled the nest a few times, bobbing her head in a bit, before sitting down to brood. I felt sad, a thief had kidnapped one of her precious eggs, even worse, feasted on it.

It brought up so many feelings for me, besides being the mother of two children, I also had two miscarriages, which I deeply mourned. I felt that familiar feeling creeping up in me, the feeling of mourning the loss of what might have been.

Everyday after that I watched the Mama bird sit on her solitary egg, now less frequently leaving to forage for food. Three more days passed and still she sat diligently waiting, brooding.
I started to become obsessed with the impending event, every day feeling more like an expectant parent myself, starting to anticipate the excitement of new life.

Upon awakening today I noticed some other bird flying around the fire escape. I quickly opened the blinds and there it was... an empty nest. I then saw Mama bird land, look around, circle the nest, and when it finally seemed to register that her last egg had been stolen, she flew off, this time for good. I stood there horrified at first, and when it all sank in, I cried.

In my opinion, the birth of a new life is, without question, the closest thing to heaven we have here on earth. There is something so awesome, so powerful and so deeply moving about giving birth to new life, it is certainly one of the more miraculous things we humans ever get to experience and witness.

So I have to ask myself today; What is the deeper message in this for me?
Is it about life, loss, endings, missed opportunities, the ruthlessness of nature?
Only a moment passes before I realize it's impossible NOT to see it...after all, the empty nest is now sitting right outside my window.

Making Room for Love

To truly allow yourself to love, you need to allow yourself the possibility at times, that you don’t.

That’s the irony with most of our relationships with
everyone and everything.
Why are we so afraid to admit that we may not love a person or love doing something or even love being a certain way, that we box ourselves into a place where freedom to choose no longer seems like a choice? For whatever the reason, under certain circumstances, we’ve deemed it socially unacceptable to admit to not loving someone or something. Maybe because we fear losing that someone or something forever,that we'll look bad, be judged or hurt someone… but whatever the reason, not letting ourselves feel something is the first step down a slippery slope, leading to depression and ultimately a life unfulfilled.
When we stop making room for these feelings we start resenting and withdrawing from people we care about because we feel trapped, trapped by feelings we're "not allowed" to have.
For love to be love, for love to thrive, it has to be freely given. You can’t free yourself up to truly love someone if you can’t even ponder the possibility that you don’t.
Where’s the freedom of choice and where are we to go
with our suppressed feelings?
It’s highly implausible that we can be feeling love for our partners, our children or our family 24/7. How many of us allow ourselves to admit that? For most people that have been in a long term relationship, the feeling that maybe they are not in love with their partner, is very frightening and so they conclude that it would be better left alone, unexamined. The problem; what we don’t claim dominates us. Ancient wisdom tells us that whatever is within us that is ignored or disowned rules over us. We must assume responsibility for it if we hope to gain freedom from it.
Here’s the real dope: if you allow yourself to feel it and maybe even say it occasionally, you have then freed up something inside yourself to experience real
love and joy.
I can’t tell you how many times I have done something out of obligation or not let myself acknowledge my true feelings for fear that I may have to then change
my life. Never has this avoidance of feelings ever evolved into something positive. Conversely, letting myself feel all my feelings, no matter how scary or life altering I believe they are, has freed me up to having a life worth living.

The Now

One of my favorite New Year's resolutions has always been to live more in the moment, the now, if you will. Admittedly one of the hardest things for me to do is to be wholly in the moment. There's always something for me to dwell on that either just happened or might happen any minute now that takes me out of the moment. I just read an article in the Huffington Post by Stacy Lawson entitled "Live In the Now" in it she has a quote that I love, by Montaigne translated from french "There were many terrible things in my life and most of them never happened." This about sums it up for me.
She goes on to write;
"Ultimately, this mischief of the mind limits your creative power - you cannot create from the past, nor can you create in the future. You can only create in present moment...in the Now.

The Now is eternal and unbounded. It is without content. It is free from any orientation or attachment. Some traditions describe the Now as the gap between two thoughts. By slipping into the gap of the Now you can structure an entirely new experience. When you are fully attentive to the moment, you can access the field of infinite potential...where past, present and future do not dictate your reality.

Every moment is truly new. Every moment is pregnant with possibility and imbued with vast creative intelligence. Your job is to constantly empty the mind, giving up old moments in favor of unlimited possibility. No matter what has come before, a new reality is possible this moment. No matter how "bad" your day has been, you have the power to create the best day of your life."

I know that these words are true, I know that when I have, on occasion, truly lived in the moment, they are the most gratifying moments of my life. One moment at a time.

For Want of Wanting

Want; it can be used as a verb (used with or without object) or a noun. One definition being; “to be deficient by the absence of some part or thing, or to feel or have a need”.

Today I had a realization that changes the way I look at my life. I got up this morning and found my mate in the living room writing in his journal, I sat down and we immediately got into deep conversation about life, our lives. One of the things he touched on was the feeling that his grandfather and father were considered icons or “great” men and that all his life he wanted to be great. My response, was that he was already that great person, even back then as a boy, and that he just didn’t see it, which I know to be true, but almost sounds pat in today’s world of self introspection and positive affirmations, etc.
As we got deeper into the conversation I shared that it reminded me of MY childhood only I always wanted to have the perfect body, I always fantasized that if I had the perfect body (and overall look) I would be beyond happy, my life would be filled with wonders beyond my wildest imagination blah, blah, blah… I guess this was my version of “being great”.
We went on to talk about the times in our lives when we actually achieved “greatness” (at least in our own mind) or came as close to it as possible, for example; a time when he was playing piano so beautifully he made his instructor cry at a recital, or a time I was in great shape and very happy with my body and the overall way I looked.
Why then did we not maintain these statuses? Why were these fleeting moments? Why did we need to sabotage ourselves? Is it because once we were getting close to great, and our lives were not exactly meeting our wildest fantasies, it was too disappointing to face?
What about this state of WANTING, “the state of being without something desired or needed, of being without the necessaries of life.”?
Now this, the state of wanting, this is where we grew up. It was something we could handle, this feeling was so familiar, so comfortable, it seemed to fit us perfectly. Wanting wasn’t a launching point to get you to the next place in life but rather was a perpetual state of being, a mood or way of life, if you will. This is how we were recognized, how we learned to relate to others. It was like belonging to this club, those of us who knew about wanting. I started to think back to the 60’s when I was growing up, what was I hearing about- wanting peace, wanting to change the world, wanting to be somebody, wanting to stop the war…it was cool to want. Now wanting…that’s something I could sink my teeth into, wanting is where it was at.
When I think about the last conversation I had with an old friend of mine, (about a week ago) what did we talk about? We talked about wanting to lose weight, hmm… let’s see…how long have I been wanting that… Oh yeah only about 40 years now - 40 YEARS!!!! What the hell! Let’s at least consider changing the subject!!! There should be a statute of limitations on it for Christ sake, come on already! How long should we be allowing ourselves to want something??? (I’m starting to feel like Lewis Black all of a sudden).
Here’s the rub; it can’t possibly be about losing the weight or whatever that thing is that you say you “want” it must somehow be the wanting that is the goal here . Imagine having a contest for people who have been wanting something the longest in life? You wouldn’t actually get the Gold Medal, your prize would be to get to keep wanting it!
What I’m saying is, that wanting, the state of wanting, is the what we end up becoming attached to, as painful as it is.
Now it’s not as if we all haven’t achieved many goals along the way, it’s just that I can finally see clearly how this state of wanting is so ingrained in me that I don’t even notice I’m in it. To see past wanting and accept HAVING is really to accept a totally new way of understanding and living life. I think I’m ready for a change.

Gratitude

It’s been a while since I thought about him, “The Smiler” The man with the beautiful smile and glistening eyes that always seemed eager for a pleasant conversation and always had time for a friendly “Hello, how are you?”... Mr. Martinez. He lives on the block that I once lived on, the block that my children still live on half the time with their father and his girlfriend.
The block that houses people of my recent past, my ex in-laws and their long time neighbors, the block that holds my children’s father’s childhood memories.
I lived on that block for 5 years, a mere fraction of the time the Smiler has, during that time I must have walked down it thousands of times, through all four seasons, carrying bundles, pushing a stroller, rushing off to work or to pick up the kids. Often I would see him outside his house puttering around, he would always look up, always with that same friendly smile. He reminded me of my father in his later years, there was something distinctly sentimental about his look, something shy but open at the same time,his energy seemed unrelentingly kind and loving. I never really knew him. I almost never stopped to talk, except when my kids were dawdling or learning how to walk, the pace was much too slow to avoid his welcoming glance and it seemed futile not to strike up a conversation. We mostly talked about the kids, he knew my ex’s family for many years and would always ask about them, eager to hear, as though their lives were a vital part of his.
When I moved out of that house I never saw him, it’s been 3 years.
Today I was walking down the street with my 6 year old daughter and when I looked up there he was… a petite old man wearing glasses and bundled up in a wool winter coat and cap, slowing walking down seventh avenue. I wasn’t sure he would remember me at first, as I gradually started to walk past him I saw him slow down to look at my daughter and then at me and then back to my daughter while slowing to a stop. I stopped and smiled at him and he asked me while pointing to my daughter “Rrrrrossman?” I responded “Yes that’s her, I’m her mother" (so as not to be confused with a babysitter). He turned towards me with wide eyes and the most beautiful smile and said in a thick Spanish accent “You! Yes You! I didn’t recognize you, your hair looks different, how are you? You look good, you moved away so quickly, only after a few years, I have been on that block 40 years, and I know everybody. How are you? How are you? Are you Ok? Are you married?” he was so eager to hear about my life and me, he glowed and so did I. He said I looked happy. As we talked I looked down at my daughter who was smiling up at us, she too was swept up in the infectious energy of the moment.
As we parted I felt compelled to give him a hug, as I released him I saw his eyes get watery, and in that moment I felt loving gratitude for being remembered and seen through the eyes of The Smiler.

Keeping it Simple

I haven't written anything in a long time and this morning I read an article on the Huffington Post that was simple and to the point and I thought I would get back into things by posting it.

Losing Weight: What They Won't Tell You On TV

by Tara Stiles
The question most people ask me on YouTube and in person is "What should I eat to be skinny?" It is the main thing on America's mind, or at least the media seems to want it to be. Between images of Americas Biggest Loser glaring at us from our TV's, constant updates about eating disorders, weight gains and losses of all our favorite celebrities, and the surge of "diets" including Dr. Atkins' coronary artery disease, heart attack and death, we're suffocated so much that it makes us want to gorge on Doritos and Ben and Jerry's while we stare at the boob toob in horror at famous people's cellulite!

That is one of the reasons why I unplugged my cable TV for a year to detox. There is no escape from our obsession with weight though. I had zero to contribute to any conversation about reality TV and I had no idea who Brittany was dating for an entire year, but I could tell you all about her weight gain because pasted on every newsstand were those images of her clutching a liter of Mountain Dew and a bag of McDonalds with the grease stain leaking through. I also kept up on Angelina's troubling weight loss because of "exhaustion" and I saw most of the traumatic pictures of Nicole Richie's lollipop head barely balancing atop her tiny skeletal frame.

Recently I leaped back into the game and reunited with the cable company. It was only to watch the Olympics of course, but I couldn't escape the commercials for heart attack pills, new exercise systems, McDonald's new salad choices, and low-calorie hot pockets.

So my thing is yoga. I've been practicing since I was a teenager with a bunch of master teachers, and teaching for a few years myself now because I feel there is a big gap between the people that already practice yoga, and everyone else. I grew up in the Midwest where a lot of people think yoga is an exclusive club for the spiritually elite (or just plain weird). I think Yoga should be for everyone, not just the folks who change their name to something Hindu.

They won't tell you this on TV or in the magazines, because it's not selling much besides a healthy lifestyle (no special meals delivered to your door, no fancy exercise machines). It's the hidden secret to the last diet and health plan you'll ever need. It doesn't come in a bottle and you don't even have to go on a payment plan.

When you practice yoga regularly you get more then you will from jogging on the treadmill catching up on the last season of Lost. When you practice yoga you use your body and your mind, and you're gaining awareness and intuition. Not by thinking really hard "I'm gaining awareness and intuition," but because it just works that way. And when you have more in that department, you make better choices. You'll notice things slightly shifting, from the awareness that you have when you wake up in the morning, to how you walk around and get your work done during the day, to the choices you make for dinner. There's nothing mystical about the new insights you're gaining; it just happens. You'll start to feel happier and healthier, more grounded, stronger, flexible, in your body and in how you feel psychologically. Little moments of clarity start coming more frequently. Sounds are richer, food even tastes better.

Your body is smart. It doesn't want to be filled with crap all the time. It will let you know what it needs and you won't have to follow diets. You'll start to see where you may have been psychologically hungry or craving or tired, when your body may have been just fine and ready to do its job for you. Your awareness and intuition have been with you all along, they just may have needed some dusting off. As long as you are listening to your body's needs, and being clear about your psychological needs, you should be able to figure it out with a little practice.

In the meantime here is my short list.

High-fructose corn syrup: Bad. Don't eat it. Read labels carefully, it's in a lot of products. High-fructose corn syrup is the last thing to leave your body so go ahead and add it as fat. If you are hiking for miles and your body is totally out of fuel it just may start to eat away on its storage of high-fructose corn syrup if you're lucky. Best bet is to stay away. Find products that use natural unprocessed (or at least less processed) sweeteners like cane juice or raw organic sugar.

Greens: Good. Green things are good for your body. Find organic greens and you're all set for your salad. Squeeze a little lemon, add a few walnuts and an avocado and you've got a great meal.

Long ingredient lists: Bad. Read labels in your favorite products. Look for short lists of simple, less-processed ingredients with names you recognize as food. If you find some of the same ingredients in your cereal as your shampoo maybe it's time to switch to something simpler.

Water: Good. It's hard to believe that qater is still underrated. It arrives out of our taps (get a filter if you want), and is free for now . . . although I am anxiously anticipating Irena Salina's new award winning documentary Flow to see how that may change. Drink water. Drink it often. Carry it with you. Drink it all day. Have it by your bed to take care of midnight thirst.

Bozo the Clown, dies at 83

Larry Harmon, longtime Bozo the Clown, dead at 83

My condolences to Mr Harmon's family and friends, I'm sure it was a great loss.
Someone who was able to maintain this type of persona for all these years has certainly perfected an art.

I always found the name "Bozo" amusing, but I know I'm not the only one that finds the actual clowns themselves a bit terrifying. My kids are not amused by them. So what is it about their big fake painted smile, blood shot eyes and pancake makeup that would make anyone laugh?

Here are some quotes from the article that was written by JOHN ROGERS of the Associate Press, in it he quotes Harmon saying:

"Bozo is a combination of the wonderful wisdom of the adult and the childlike ways in all of us," Harmon told The Associated Press in a 1996 interview.

"I'm looking for that sparkle in the eyes, that emotion, feeling, directness, warmth. That is so important," he said of his criteria for becoming a Bozo."

"Bozo is a star, an entertainer, bigger than life," Harmon once said. "People see him as Mr. Bozo, somebody you can relate to, touch and laugh with."

I never really understood the attraction to clowns. I happen to considered it a bit tragic to have a permanent smile painted on a fully feeling adult. Children are very perceptive and it seems to imply that this "being" has only one singular feeling, doesn't that seem odd, a deception? I can't help thinking it all seems a bit deranged.

A Toast To Hillary

I don’t see myself as someone who is easily moved to tears, especially in matters concerning politics. I have been an avid follower of this presidential race from the beginning, I have been watching, listening and reading all about the candidates the last 16 months. I started out with the idea of supporting Hillary and then early on, as I was exposed to the other candidates, I became intrigued by the number of democrats I thought had valid and worthy things to say about our country. I decided to hold off deciding to choose until after I had gotten to know them and their policies a bit better. It became clearer that there were a few in the bunch, besides Clinton, ie; Kucinich, Obama, Edwards, and Biden, etc…that had some interesting ideas.

What use to be a lean steady diet of Jon Stewart and Bill Maher had now become a veritable smorgasbord with the likes of Chris Matthews, Keith Olbermann, Chuck Todd, Tim Russert, Maureen Dowd, Arianna Huffington (just to name a few) invading my home at all hours of the day and night.
Armed with information, I chose to support Barack Obama. I felt intuitively that he was the change that our country needed and that he was someone who, through it all, displayed great confidence and integrity, even the way he would say “we” and “our” as opposed to “I” and “my”, it always seemed like he was more connected to the rest of us. For these, and other reasons, I chose to support Barack Obama over all the other candidates. I watched as it came down to just the two of them: Barack and Hillary. I watched as the endorsements unfolded, the delegates were counted (and recounted) and the mud was slung. I watched as she and her campaign lied, exaggerated and insisted that they were winning even when the numbers never added up. I watched as the Democratic Party became more divided and looked as if it was becoming fractured beyond repair. I began to lose all respect for her and her campaign managers. Until finally last Tuesday night arrived and it happened, right after Montana’s numbers were in: Barack Obama was named the presumptive nominee. Now, I thought, if only Hillary would just accept this reality and help the party reunite.
After what seemed an eternity, yesterday afternoon Hillary Clinton endorsed Barack Obama for President. An event I had been waiting to see happen for what seemed like years, all the while anticipating a feeling of victory and great satisfaction.
As she approached the podium, my partner and I sat on the sofa, celebratory drinks in hand, we turned up the volume on the TV with rapt attention… that’s when it happened… as I watched her approach the mike with her mother, husband, and daughter in tow I began to cry, I couldn’t contain my tears, I just wept. I was extremely moved. It wasn’t the words she used or how she delivered it, they weren’t tears of happiness that Barack had won, or a great relief that finally this part of it was over. No, there was something more basic about it, the human element, the frailty of it, the realness of what was happening in that very moment and how big it all really was, the awesome reality of what she had tried to do, the work she had put into it, it all struck me in that instance and my tears continued to flow throughout the speech, I felt like I was seeing her for the first time: real, humble, an American, a person, a woman.

All We Know Of Love

Emily Dickinson once wrote, “All we know of Love, is Love is all there is”

Today Love is on my mind, specifically the difference between Real Love and all the rest.
As the fifth child of six, I often struggled to get “my share” of the love, but what I never understood was that my share could not be gotten.
I looked to get, what I thought then was love, by giving, doing and being what others wanted me to be. At a very young age, before I was even five, I became an excellent listener with a sympathetic ear; I learned how to clean the kitchen and bathroom (the jobs nobody else wanted) until they shined. For a time I remember singing a Shirley Temple song to my mother before I went to bed at night because it made her smile. I derived great pleasure from making my parents breakfast in bed and when I was old enough I even made muffins for my mother’s friends who came to visit. I remember a friend of my mother’s once complaining about stains in her toilet and my mother telling her to ask me what I used to get the toilets so clean, (I also remember feeling embarrassed by this). I remember routinely scratching my older brother’s back, and drinking wine I didn’t like, just to make my Sicilian Grandmother happy. I recall doing these things and many more, all to get what I thought was love.
During these years I received many substitutes for love; there was some brief recognition, occasional praise and appreciation. The special perks were temporary companionship, smiles and laughs, but all too often I was just simply overlooked. The message seemed clear to me: Love must be earned.

Predictably, I grew up believing that love is something that is earned through deeds and the self-imposed contortions of my very being. I honestly believed that in order to be loved I had to be and do what others wanted. Over time I came to the very painful and profound realization that I had abandoned myself and denied large parts of who I really was in order to be loved. As I evolved and grew to understand the truth about love, I was often struck by the clear and heartbreaking fact that many of my family members were much happier having me in their lives on those prior terms.

Today, many years and some confusing, frustrating and ungratifying relationships later, I have finally come to the painful yet magnificent realization: that love can only be given and received free of charge. If who I am is insufficient for another to love me then no matter what I may do, regardless of whether or not it is at great expense to my soul, I will never attain what is simply unattainable through deeds…Real Love.

After I had my children I realized so vividly how my love for them was contingent upon nothing. I knew that nothing they could do could affect the love I had for them. I’ll never forget the look on my son’s face when I explained to him that even though there may be times when I don’t like what he does, I never stop loving him, even for a moment, at this realization he beamed with delight. For myself, now armed with a broader understanding of love, this marked a very significant moment in my life.

Today I still occasionally grapple with the demons of my past, the guilt for not doing something someone else thinks I should, the missed birthdays and holidays we are overtly or covertly summoned to acknowledge… only to once again be reminded that real love is not about the obligatory rules set by those who don’t understand that love is not a thing that can be quantified by deeds or words. It cannot be served up to relatives or old friends just because they require it to be. Love is simply there, sitting quietly, serenely flowing freely without strings and demands. The only thing one can do with their love is to feel it and be, just be.

Pitch In and Get Some

On March 6, 2008 I read an article on the Huffington Post entitled “Housework Gets You Laid” by David Crary. http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2008/03/06/housework-gets-you-laid_n_90213.html

In it he writes:

American men still don't pull their weight when it comes to housework and child care, but collectively they're not the slackers they used to be. The average dad has gradually been getting better about picking himself up off the sofa and pitching in, according to a new report in which a psychologist suggests the payoff for doing more chores could be more sex.

If a guy does housework, it looks to the woman like he really cares about her _ he's not treating her like a servant," said Coleman, who is affiliated with the Council on Contemporary Families. "And if a woman feels stressed out because the house is a mess and the guy's sitting on the couch while she's vacuuming, that's not going to put her in the mood."

Pamela Smock, a University of Michigan sociologist who also works with the council, said a persistent gender gap remains for what she called "invisible" household work _ scheduling children's medical appointments, buying the gifts they take to birthday parties, arranging holiday gatherings, for example.

I’ve been contemplating this whole concept for quite some time now, and I’ve come to the conclusion that there is actually some very real truth to this statement.
I can’t tell you how many times I have commiserated with family and numerous friends around this very subject, specifically about MEN doing housework .
I have heard everything from “ He does the laundry but then it just sits in the basket until it’s so wrinkled you can’t possibly wear it.” Or “ He never washes the dishes or empties the dishwasher, he has never given the kids baths, or changed the sheets…” The list goes on and on…many women feel worn down and resentful about the lack of partnership in these areas. So resentful in fact, that it can’t help but have a big effect on their sex drives.

I must admit, it certainly is a huge drag and yes, a turn off, to arrive home after being out, whether from work, errands, appointments etc. and find that the sink is filled with dirty dishes so you can’t even start to cook dinner; or something smells in the garbage and has now permeated the entire house because it wasn’t taken out; or when you go to fill the dishwasher it’s full but hasn’t been run; or your clothes, that were in the dryer, are now wrinkled to the point of being unrecognizable; or you find out that you’re having guests at the last minute and you have to decide between showering or cleaning up because there’s not enough time for both. These are just a few of the complaints I have heard from (mostly women and gay male friends) about what bothers them about their mates. I feel I can safely say that not having the help one would like to have maintaining a home, does in fact greatly diminish the desire for sex.

And why wouldn’t it? Can you really say that having to clean up after people is a turn on? I mean really…who wants to slide into a bed full of crumbs, or slip into something wrinkled, or have to wash out a glass (if you can get to the faucet over the dirty dishes) every time you go to pour yourself a drink? Who likes to smell something rotting every time you open the fridge or realize you have no dry towels as you’re stepping out of the shower? Last time I checked, none of these things were considered to be aphrodisiacs.

Look, even if you are lucky enough to be able to afford a cleaning person on a regular basis, which most of my friends are not, you still have a great deal of maintenance: as in: daily dishwashing, laundry, garbage removal, making beds, sorting junk mail, recycling…and if you’re one of us that are blessed with children, triple that.

Who has the energy to come home from work, cook, get organized, clean up after everybody and then have a rollicking good time in the hay? I have yet to meet a couple that feel like they are equals in this area.
I knew things were serious when my girlfriend, who was always energetic and sexually vibrant, was teaching me how to give a “lazy man’s” blowjob, she said “It’s really good, just put your head on a pillow at the right height and let him do the work…” I later thought… things must be bad…but mainly because, for a moment, I was actually considering it!
I once lived with a man who said to me, “I don’t clean, I don’t like to clean and I’m not good at it.” Later I thought...who the hell likes to clean and what would happen if I took the same stand? A girlfriend of mine once gave the advice to “just don’t do it and eventually he will be compelled to”. I can tell you this, it eventually came down to these choices: living in squalor or doing it myself, being resentful but having a clean house, I chose the latter. Today we are no longer together.
I’m not sure if this is a coincidence or not, but today I am living with a man who cleans, cooks and shares in all the household chores and sex (for both of us) has never been better!
If you men really want more sex, why not try it, start by asking what you can do to pitch in around the house…things may start to change, you’ll never know unless you try.

Great comment on "Writings on Art..."

Christine said...
I love the last line of your post because it says it all.
"But most often I think it is because we have been discouraged into thinking what we feel about the sky is not important."
In my life I have seen this be the main reason that many creative people are reluctant to express themselves. It is a sad thing to see but I know a little boy close to four years old who has started to change in his behavior for the worst. He's gone from being carefree and expressive to suddenly very aware of the people around him and their opinions of his playful actions. Instead of doing things for the pure joy of it his expressiveness has started to be inhibited by his need to please.

"Imagination is the Divine Body in Every Man"
-William Blake

Writings about Art, Independence and Spirit

I was perusing my book shelf recently and pulled out a book entitled “If You Want To Write” by Brenda Ueland, I always love reading this book, it was written in 1938, but it is timeless in it’s message. I remember giving this book to my father after I had first read it, back in the 80’s, he also loved it, it was a good feeling to know it had touched him the way it had me, I was grateful to have been able to share it with him.
In it she writes not just about writing, but about all creative endeavors and how our imagination and creativity is our god given right, each of us possessing unique talents and originality.
Here’s an excerpt:

Everybody is original, if he tells the truth, if he speaks from himself. But it must be from his true self and not from the self he thinks it should be. Jennings at John Hopkins, who knows more about heredity and the genes and chromosomes than any man in the world says that no individual is exactly like any other individual, that no two identical persons ever existed. Consequently, if you speak or write from yourself you cannot help being original.
So remember these two things: you are talented and you are original. Be sure of that. I say this because self-trust is one of the most important things in any creative expression.
This creative power and imagination is in everyone and so is the need to express it, i.e., to share it with others. But what happens to it?
It is very tender and sensitive, and it is usually drummed out of people early in life by criticism (so called “helpful criticism” is often the worst kind) by all those unloving people who forget that the letter killeth and the spirit giveth life. Sometimes I think of life as a process where everybody is discouraging and taking everybody else down a peg or two.
You know how all children have this creative power. You have all seen children working hard at something they love just for the joy of it… they were working for nothing but fun, for that glorious inner excitement. It was the creative power working within them. It was hard work but there was no pleasure or excitement like it and it was something never forgotten.

But this joyful, imaginative, impassioned energy dies out of us very young. Why? Because we do not see that it is great and important. Because we let dry obligation take its place. Because we don’t respect it in ourselves and keep it alive by using it. And because we don’t keep it alive in others by listening to them.
For when you come to think of it the only way to love a person is by listening to them and seeing and believing in the god, in the poet, in them. For by doing this, you keep the god and the poet alive and make it flourish.

She goes on to tell a story about the painter Van Gogh:

When Van Gogh was a young man in his early twenties, he was in London studying to be a clergyman. He had no thought of being an artist at all. He sat in his cheap little room writing a letter to his younger brother in Holland, whom he loved very much. He looked out his window at a watery twilight, a thin lamp post, a star, and he said in his letter something like this: “It is so beautiful I must show you how it looks.” And then on cheap ruled note paper, he made the most beautiful, tender, little drawing of it.
When I read this letter of Van Gogh’s it comforted me very much and seemed to throw a clear light on the whole road of art. Before I had thought that to produce a work of painting or literature
You scowled and thought long and ponderously and weighed everything solemnly and learned everything that all artists had ever done aforetime, and what their influences and schools were. And so on and so on.
But the moment I read Van Gogh’s letter I knew what art was, and the creative impulse. It is a feeling of love and enthusiasm for something, and in a direct, simple, passionate and true way, you try to show this beauty in things to others, by drawing it.
The difference between Van Gogh and you and me is, that while we may look at the sky and think it is beautiful, we don’t go so far as to show someone else how it looks. One reason may be that we do not care enough about the sky or other people. But most often I think it is because we have been discouraged into thinking what we feel about the sky is not important.

Food for thought

we shall not cease from exploration
and the end of our exploring
will be to arrive where we started
and know the place for the first time...
T.S.Eliot