One Possible Reason June Cleaver Wore Heels

   I watched a lot of Nickelodeon when I was a kid - it was kind of new when I was a teen, and since my dad was rather strict about watching MTV, I filled my spare time (that he knew about anyway) with shows like Leave it to Beaver and I Love Lucy. It was great entertainment, but not always the most gripping plot situations for sure, so you had to kind of make it interesting on your own. You had to try to invest your attention in other ways to make the program a really good waste of time.

   So I diverted my attention to studying the details of the sets and the clothing that all the characters wore.  Since there was no color to stimulate the eyes, the details had to be spot on, and it was always very interesting to notice even the smallest touches! However, sometimes, the details didn't make sense within the context of the situations, which would often leave me amused. Take for instance the fact that June Cleaver was known to vacuum in her high heels. What's that all about? I mean, high heels and hard-core housekeeping are a dangerous combination, right?

  Well, this weekend, I found out that maybe there was an actual reason for the heels. Maybe June didn't have a choice about the shoes she wore when it came to tidying up the place. Maybe, just maybe, June had a pulled muscle in her calf.

  You see, I pulled a muscle in my right calf this weekend. It was a freak situation - one that came on with quite a bit of drama actually. You see, I had been wearing some high heeled clogs one day last week, and the following morning, my calf was a bit tender. I really didn't think that much of it, but the tightness of the calf grew throughout the day, and it caused me to limp slightly when I would walk. Well, on my daily trip out to the mailbox in my flip flops, I took a wrong step, and with a loud POP, my calf muscle gave way, and a blinding pain swelled up and over my entire leg!

   I managed to hobble my way into the house and flop down on the sofa, but the calf was clearly a mess. The swelling and pain were miserable, and I knew that this was going to be a problem for me. My whole weekend was shot, and as I recognized the full reality of the situation, I knew that even my passion for cleaning my house would be put on hold, because I would need to give the leg a rest. 

   So after a full weekend of elevating the leg, wrapping it in a compression wrap and messaging various liniments and herbal remedies into the muscle, the ability to hobble became a bit easier. I was able to walk on my bad leg by keeping all my weight on the ball of my foot, and I could actually put a little weight on the leg - as long as my foot was in the tip-toe kind of position. It was a drag to try to get around this way, but I was truly thankful for any kind of progress by the time Saturday night rolled around! But my need to do my weekly cleaning was pressuring me to find a solution to my limited mobility. I had to think of something.

   That's when I had a brilliant idea: What if I put on a high heeled shoe?

   It made good sense to try. I mean, when I was hoisting all of my body weight on the ball of my foot, if my arch got tired, I could have easily landed flat-footed, causing excruciating pain to radiate through my leg. At least with the high heel on my foot, the shoe would prevent the arch from failing and flopping my weight on a flat foot, and maybe, just maybe, I'd be safer in a high heeled shoe, and maybe, just maybe, I would be able to get the rugs vacuumed.

   Well by golly Wally, IT WORKED! In fact, it not only took the pressure off the ball of my foot and my arch, I could actually walk and place my full weight on my bad leg!! And while my vacuuming efforts didn't feel as easy as June's efforts looked on the show, I got the job done, and done well. 

   I certainly hope the calf muscle will heal in due time - I mean, I certainly don't want to be confined to high heeled shoes for the rest of my life! But the thing is, I feel like I have a new appreciation for June and her cleaning efforts. I feel like there is a newfound connection to her plight as a woman who has a need to vacuum - no matter what! 

   Well, there is no way that I will ever be sure about why June wore heels while doing her chores. But I guess I feel like I can frame up a better answer to that question at least! ;o)

Pinky Issue

   For some reason, this week, I was reminded of an issue I used to have with one of my pinky fingers. I know it sounds really odd to have an "issue" with a finger, but I truly had a problem with my left pinky. You see, smack dab in the center of the middle portion of my pinky - between the upper knuckle the knee-equivalent knuckle of the finger - I had a dark, black, unsightly mole. I had - and still have - various moles and freckles on my hands, but this mole on my pinky was very troubling... And very ugly to me.

   Back then, when I would look at my left hand, all I could see was that big mole, just looking back at me like it's name was John Boy Walton. Everything else about the finger was fine - it had a good nail and it was the right shape and size. But just like the actor who played John Boy Walton, all I could see when I looked at that finger was the big, black mole!

   So to make sure no one else had to look the ugly speck, I'd tuck my pinky under my ring finger when I was sitting idle, or I'd ball my hand up into a tight fist to make sure the monster spot didn't garner any inadvertent attention. (I think I may have actually caused the joint to pop out a bit on that hand in an effort to cover up the mole because to this day, my left pinky has a very broad range of motion - compared to all of my other fingers, that is.)

   Then one day, when I was in the sixth grade, I had the brilliant idea to put a bandage over the mole! By wrapping the taupe colored adhesive around the middle of my finger, I could hide the spot! The idea was genius because if people did happen to notice the bandage, they would worry I was hurt - which would be a lovely reaction - and not be tempted to turn away with horror over the ugly mole that was hiding under the dressing! It was a great plan, and I was so very happy to have stumbled upon it.

   The first few days of wearing the bandage provided me with a newfound liberation! My left hand was suddenly free to move about and accentuate my stories with fluid movement and total and complete participation. I felt confident and happy with the bandage on my finger, and even though my mother asked about it a few times (without the anticipated and welcome sympathy I had predicted, but with more of the pestering, worried-mother style she was known for when bandages were in use!) I felt like the bandage was a great and brilliant move.

  But after wearing the bandage for about a week, I did start to feel there could be a potential down side to my camouflaging plan. Due to the fact that I have always had an irrational need to wash my hands (repeatedly) throughout the day, my pinky finger had started to smell a little - like wet adhesive mixed with a tinge of fungus. And even though I changed the bandage every day - sometimes twice or more - the stench was still present, as if it was a permanent part of my pinky skin. And then there was the chapping. The skin under the bandage started to shrivel slightly and had a milky, yet chalky quality to it that simply didn't look right. However, the shriveled, caky quality of the skin only made the black of the mole pop with more drama, and even though the stink kind of drove me crazy, I now I realized I simply couldn't allow myself to go through my life without the bandage!

  So I pressed on with my bandage strategy, but I came up with various ointments and creams to apply to the finger before I put the bandage in place, and I worked out clever ways to use my left hand without getting the pinky dirty. (That way, when I washed my hands, I could let the bandaged left pinky pull away from the water - kind of the way you hold it when sipping proper tea from fine China.) The new techniques I used worked for a time, but eventually, it was the stench that finally got me. I can actually smell that awful, pungent smell in my mind as I recall this time in my life, and even the memory of it makes me dizzy. I had to finally face the reality of my situation. People could either see the unsightly mole on my finger, or smell the stench of my molding, rotting flesh underneath the bandage. 

   So...I decided to let the mole win.

  Loads of time has passed since I was in this sixth grade dilemma, yet the other day, I caught myself tucking my pinky under my ring finger when I placed my hand on the back of my husband's chair at church. It was strange to think that I was still self-conscious about my pinky, so I pulled my hand up to my face to inspect the mole. To my complete and utter shock, there was no mole on the pinky at all! Not even a "speck" or a "freck" - it was just plain skin (that didn't stink!)

   As I studied my pinky for awhile, I had to laugh at myself. At one time in my life, I thought for sure this mole was going to be a problem I would have to deal with forever! AND, I was oddly certain that if other people saw the mole, they too would think it was unsightly! The way I analyzed that silly freckle and focused on it was such a waste of energy - especially if I'd known it would fade as I grew older, and one day, wouldn't even exist anymore! 

   The whole thing kind of makes me wonder: are there things in my life right now that I obsess over as if they are going to impact my life forever? Are there things that take over my mind and guide my every decision that one day will end up being as trivial as the mole on my pinky?

  Well, I do believe there are always a few irrational driving forces in my life - especially when it comes to things having to do with how I think others will see me. BUT, I really do think I can learn a lot from this memory involving my pinky! Maybe I should just have a little more faith in the fact that nothing ever stays exactly the same, and I can trust that even my own outlook has the potential to evolve! What a revelation!

   (Hmmm.... I may just have to go out and buy a pinky ring for my left finger to commemorate this valuable life-lesson!)

A Question of Talent

   So my husband likes this show that kind of gets on my nerves a little bit. It's called America's Got Talent. Thankfully, we are nearing the home stretch of this dreadful talent show, where acts from all over America compete to win a million dollars and a Vegas show. I think the reason the show bugs me so much is because some of the acts are just really terrible. It kind of slays me when the judges ask the guy who just pulled string through his nose and out of his mouth if he believes his act is worth a million dollars, and he confidently answers, "Oh yes!"

   It's not that I want to be a dream squisher, or that I don't want people to believe in their greater value. It's just that it makes me worry, that's all... I worry that if a drag queen lip-synching Tina Turner songs, or some inflatable plastic mascots can stand on a stage in front of people like my husband, and declare the have talent, maybe I'm not as talented as I hope I am.

   So in the end, is it really a matter of talent, or is it more about confidence? I guess maybe a combination of both, really. And while I'm super happy that we won't be watching this show much longer, I guess I need to take some notes from the various acts that have been on the show. One, that in order to be successful in life, you have to put yourself out there and try. Two, that a belief in your ability to move people in some way is often all the fuel you really need to make it. And three, America is a very open place for showcasing the odd, the unusual and the questionably talented. Points taken... ;o)

Sister's Keeper

   You know how when you're with a good friend, you kind of count on her to tell you if you've got pepper in your teeth, or if you have some mustard on your chin? I mean, if she's a good friend, she will certainly tell you about that kind of thing, right? Well, wouldn't it be nice if that same kind of care and concern extended beyond the bonds of friendship, and spilled out and over into the collective sisterhood of being a woman? I find myself pondering this because of two experiences I had this week, and now I feel the need to share. I went to Washington DC and Philadelphia with my husband, and while I was out and about, I saw a couple of sisters in trouble. 

   The first sister was having what you might call a minor wardrobe malfunction. We were on our way in to do a meet and greet with the Senate Majority Leader, Harry Reid, and it was kind of a busy, bustling environment. I was scooting my way over into a line to sign the guest book when a larger woman stepped right in front of me. I pulled back to let her in, but because she was a bit larger, my face was literally pressed into her back. I did my best to keep a thin margin of space between me and this gal, but it was a real effort. That's when I noticed that the woman's shirt tag was hanging out of her collar. It is sticking out and flopping around, just a tad above my sight-line. It was a shirt made by the oh-so-stylish Liz Claiborne and it was an XL.

   Now, I felt like if it were me, and my XL label was flapping around, I would hope someone would give me a signal or maybe discreetly tuck it in. So acting on impulse, I gently tucked the tab into the collar of the space-invading sister. It just seemed like the right thing to do, right? WRONG! I guess that was just too familiar of an act for a total stranger! The woman swung her head around and gave me a nasty look and said, "You got a problem?" I decided explaining was out of the question, so I just smiled and said, "Nope...no problems..."

   Now even though I generally consider myself as a person who learns her lessons, I must have a sadistic side in me when it comes to helping out one of my fellow ladies. This time, as I was boarding my flight from Philly to Atlanta, my eyes were drawn to a young woman, sitting in an aisle seat. She was wearing a tan skirt and tight, white T-shirt. She had managed to wedge her feet up and off the floor by bending and tucking her toes into the seat-back pocket -- you know, the pocket where people shove garbage, magazines, and if you're unlucky, used air-sickness bags. And because she was wearing a skirt, her risky positioning basically gave all the boarding passengers a free cooter shot! (She had on lime green panties, by the way, and it was not a good angle!)

   Clearly, this was not good! I felt immediately concerned that she was flashing everyone as they boarded the plane! There were even people pointing it out to each other! I felt like I had to do something. So being the glutton for punishment that I am, I carefully lowered myself down so I could line my head up to hers and said, "Miss, you might want to reposition..." She looked up from her book and said in a kind of angry huff, "What?!" So I lowered myself again and said, "You might want to put your legs down..." The girl just looked at me like I was a total idiot, and said, "My legs are fine..."  

   As I kept making my way back to my middle seat, way in the back of the plane, I felt my cheeks start to redden with embarrassment for trying to help a sister out. Don't other woman want this kind of care? Aren't we supposed to put our necks out to protect one another from embarrassment or humiliation? Isn't that what we women do? Well...I guess not anymore. I guess we have entered a time in our culture where it is all about live and let live. Perhaps it's time for me to make a mental note that these days, you have to be careful when it comes to protecting strangers from themselves!

A real head scratcher...

   OK, so here's the situation. While buying a hot, sticky cinnamon bun and a latte this morning at my favorite coffee shop, my attention was diverted by a stunning young lady exiting from the bathroom. She had on super tight, super small shorts, and a stomach-skimming, cropped T-shirt. Her stunning-ness wasn't so much about her face - which was fresh and pretty, but nothing shockingly so - but more about her long legs, and her very skimpy outfit. 

   I watched her cross the coffee shop and then stop at a table where there was an incredibly frumpy looking middle-aged woman, wearing one of those believed to be figure hiding ensembles - you know, the kind that just shapelessly drapes over the body in an effort to "conceal" flaws that simply can't be hidden? I quickly surmised that this older gal was the girl's mother. (Well, I guess I picked up that fact because the lovely girl said, "You ready to go Mom?")

   Anyway, as I watched the two women gathering their things, I was feeling a bit ashamed of the cinnamon bun I had just ordered. (To have a lovely figure like this girl has, you can't go around eating cinnamon buns, now can you!) That's when I heard the mother shout, in a sharp, rather alarming tone, "Get control of your eyes!" For a second, I thought she was speaking to me, but then I realized there was a man standing right behind me, and - I'm just guessing here - I think he must have noticed this woman's daughter as well. 

   The two ladies marched out of the coffee shop with a huff of self-righteousness, but not before the mother had a chance to zap the man behind me with her hateful stare. Once the room was all clear, nearly everyone seated in the immediate area let out nervous laughs and commentaries like, "Whatever!" and "What a beast!" The guy behind me seemed to take some solace in the fact that other people in the room were struck by the exchange as well. And it seemed that people's reaction almost made him the victim! And I'll be honest, there was a tiny part of me that felt a little sorry for him, too, because the mother's upset seemed so hateful and personal.

    But as I slathered on a layer of real butter (only on the outer section of my roll that didn't get enough frosting), I began to really wonder about who was ultimately responsible for what went down in that exchange. Does the mother have the right to be upset at a man for looking at her daughter with lust in his eyes when her daughter is going out of her way to flaunt her great body? Does the man have a responsibility to keep his eyes diverted when a woman openly exposes that much of herself in the middle of a public coffee shop? And what about the sexy girl? Was this her plan? Did she hope to get this kind of attention from the men she passed by, while wearing this eye-catching number?

    As I pondered all of these thoughts and replayed the situation in my head, I became convicted of the fact that there were likely multiple things going on during this exchange. Could it be that the mother had some jealous feelings about the attention her daughter was getting and lashed out? Maybe. I don't think this is an uncommon phenomenon - especially in these modern times where women seem to be competing at ever turn with each other, whether they are related or not! And to me, it seems like when women compete, it is for some kind of brass-ring achievement anyway (like male attention, for example).

   Or what about the idea that the mother was actually upset at her daughter but didn't have enough confidence to reprimand her flesh-and-blood, and instead, took it out on a stranger. I do see that many women have trouble confronting other women with truth because they fear losing the relationship or connection. So maybe this mother was a bit troubled or even embarrassed by what her daughter was wearing, but just couldn't find a way to share her concerns with her daughter. Perhaps this caused her frustrations to mount up and suddenly, without warning, she lashed out at the first man she made eye-contact with!

   And what about the man. Was he out of line? Sure. But when have guys ever not struggled with looking?! It's how they are made. And in this day and age, women are decadently presented for the world to see - much like the bakery case, filled with confectionary bliss, that once housed the cinnamon bun resting on my plate! How is a normal person supposed to control the lust for something so decadent when it is displayed in such a way for creating temptation?

   Clearly the daughter didn't mind the attention, and that's where my thoughts have stayed put. If she found the gaze of lusting men in my favorite coffee shop offensive, she certainly didn't let on. Looking back, I even recall that she lifted her leg seductively as she reached down to pick up her purse. I am going to take a wild guess here, but I have a feeling this girl knew exactly what she was doing this morning when she dressed herself and checked her reflection in the mirror. She new the power she could have over men by showing off her body. (But I have to wonder if she realizes what this "power" is doing to her mother!)

   So now I'm left to wonder, and scratch my head a bit. How do we as women protect each other, own our greatness and beauty, and live out our lives with respect and dignity if we can't find a balance. There simply are no collectively accepted rules of etiquette or codes of conduct anymore - particularly among women these days. And to me, this seems like a scary place to be. 

   

 

Strawberry Shortcake - She is just a fond memory...

   I had this little doll when I was around 7 or 8 called Strawberry Shortcake. She was this cute little collectable toy with red hair, a starched-white pinafore, strawberry-patterned bloomers and a funny little bonnet. But the most notable thing about her was the fact that if you took a good sniff of her head, she smelled of sweet, luscious strawberries. Yum!! 

   Oh! And did I mention that she had yummy friends? There was another doll that smelled just like apricots and one that was scented with peaches and cream, and I'm pretty sure there was a sister that wore the scent of zesty blueberries, too. I loved these dolls - mostly because they also had the kind of hair your could comb, and you could even wash them without taking away their lovely scents (which is a huge bonus when you are OCD!) But the very best part of all was the fact that they were very innocent and silly, just the way childhood should be.

   So you can imagine my sadness when earlier this week, USA Today revealed that the makers of this classic toy felt the need to "revamp" Strawberry Shortcake to make her more "relevant" to today's young girl. The new and improved Strawberry Shortcake now has a thiner face, longer, more flowing hair, and a more realistic girl-like body. Oh, and did I mention that she also has painted lips and no awkward freckles on her nose?

   I know it's ridiculous, but as I read more about this new, more modern version of one of my childhood favs, I actually felt a sense of sorrow. Why isn't the old version good enough for the new youth of America? Is the doll that inspired me so much that I still remember her at age 36 not good enough for the child of today? Why isn't something innocent relevant to childhood anymore?

   As a younger sister, I used to find myself wishing that I could be in stride with the things my sister did. (In fact, I was recently thinking of how badly I wanted to wear my sister's training bra when my mother finally decided the time had come to get my sister's boobs under control. I think I even remember sitting outside her locked bedroom door, begging her to let me wear one of her tiny training bras - specifically the one with the tennis racket details sewn right into the center - to school the next day.) For my mom and me, it was a constant battle to keep my little mind where it needed to be so I could enjoy being Sonja at every age.

  And, as is the classic case when it comes to my mom, she used to say something poignant and pithy to me during those times when I was a puddle outside my sister's room: Sonja, you can always grow up, but you can't grow down.

   She was right. You can't go back into a time of innocence and blissful ignorance once you start to see too much. When the things you are exposed to rob you of the refreshing freedom of not knowing or fully understanding the cruel realities of the world around you, the layers of happiness start to pull away. When you enter into a time and place where a toy has to be "relevant" to an adult perception of what's important in a young girl's world, there goes childhood.

   So tonight as I post this long awaited entry, I want to send a shout out to my mom, the late Diana Jean Bentley. Thanks for holding onto my youth for me, and for whispering truth in my ear. Thanks for giving me a childhood where a dolly in bloomers and a bonnet inspired me to enjoy my time of innocence. 

   

Starting Small

   I'm sitting here in my office chair and my stomach muscles are literally shaking. I took another Pilates class this morning, and today, we focused on our core muscles. Oh boy! I've always thought I had pretty strong stomach muscles, but the truth is, I think only the larger abdominal muscles were ever taxed in my regular sit-up routine, and today, all of the tiny support muscles came to life as I struggled to balance my back on a small beach ball while I had my legs pointed straight up into the air at a 90 degree angle. (Yeah...that felt natural!)

   After the work out, I felt a bit shaky all over, but as the day has worn on, my abs feel incredibly fatigued and tender. (Can you imagine how sore I will be tomorrow?!) But all of these tingles and shakes have made me think about a truth that has been unfolding in my life lately: sometimes, the smallest things matter the most.

   Anyone who has spent any time talking to me lately knows that I'm all about the big picture, and not limiting your thinking with your fears. I'm trying to live my life by that standard, and I truly believe that having a bigger vision for myself is an important part of who I am becoming as an author and as a person. But the truth is, the big picture for me is made up of the smaller things going on in my life, and if I don't take some time to look at that fact, I may miss most of the life lessons God has in store for me right now. Some of the smaller conversations and personal relationships I'm cultivating may have a greater impact on my big picture than I ever realized!

   There are two very different women in my life that I had the chance to challenge this week -- one is a seventeen-year-old girl, and one is someone I consider to be my contemporary. Both women are tentatively seeking the "big picture" vision for themselves in their lives, but the bigness of the possibilities are almost too massive to get their arms around. It might be easy to say what you think you want to be or do in this big picture of your life, but it is certainly a lot more daunting to consider all of the things that have to happen before you can get there!

   For me, acknowledging this truth in my own life helps to center me. I have some very big ideas for where I'm heading and what I'm about to do, but would it be worth it to do any of it if I a) didn't enjoy the journey, or b) didn't celebrate the smaller accomplishments along the way? 

   Maybe if I treat the little things -- like having an amazing chat with a woman or girl who is seeking something new and empowering in her life, or getting excited over a phone call where someone shared a minor triumph with me -- as the most important parts of my journey, the big picture will just take on a shape and greatness of it's own. Just like my Pilates instructor assured us today that developing the tiny core muscles will better support our larger muscles, I think that truth is universal in my life when it comes to what I'm doing. Don't forget to start small. Don't be in such a hurry to leap-frog into a future that you might not be ready for without all of the little lessons taking shape in between!

   It is difficult to ratchet down my bigger visions for myself, but maybe it is a good exercise for me right now. I really can't see myself shelving any of  the big dreams or things I have in motion, but maybe I just need to re-balance things a bit in my life, and let the tiny growth muscles in my life have center stage for a bit! Yeah... That feels like the right thing to do!

PS - If you are reading my blog, and you had a chat with me this week, you might be wondering if you are one of the women that I'm savoring at the moment. Well, I can give you a hint. Your bum is a bit sore from a mid-week Pilates class, and I'm so excited to find out about what you've been thinking about for your life this week after our little chat!! Whoo Hooo!!

   

Shallow thoughts...

   I went to a funeral a couple of nights ago. It was for a man in our country club who played golf with my husband. From what I knew of him, he was a fantastic guy, who was always the life of the party, and a pretty terrific golfer, too. As about 250 friends and family members crammed into the club house to pay their respects, I found myself thinking all sorts of thoughts. As I watched the deceased's family struggle with grief over the loss of such an important man in their lives, I of course thought about my own loved ones. Funerals have a way of taking you to all sorts of places with your thoughts, and maybe they are important to attend for that very reason. 

   Unfortunately, my thoughts sort of worked their way up to the shallow end of the thought pool as I contemplated some things about my life and how things might play out in the event of my own untimely death. For some reason, it dawned on me that if I died today, people might find out a few things about me of which I'm not very proud. As I sat there in my seat, listening to the family members offer up various types of eulogies, I started to really zero in on how I would feel if people knew that my underwear drawer is a mess! In fact, it's not just my underwear drawer, but all of my drawers really. 

   I am such a stand for tidiness in my world - my house is basically spotless on the surface, and I strive with all that I have in me to make sure my husband's clothing is always pressed and clean. But when you start looking through my underwear drawer, and then drop down to my workout clothes, and on into the drawer with all of my sweat pants and long-sleeved shirts, you might have to wonder if the same girl used these drawers! They are horribly messy - I mean horribly! I literally just dump handfuls of my clean underwear into my drawer and then shove it shut with my hip. And my workout clothes - well, they are incredibly tricky to fold, so I generally just kind of roll them up and shove them in the drawer, knowing I'm just going to be pulling them out of the drawer in the next day or so and sweating up a storm in them!

   So maybe by confessing this fact on my blog, I have one less thing to worry about if I were to die suddenly and without warning. I guess you always need to be prepared for these kinds of things because no one knows for sure when they will be called home. And instead of actually trying to tidy up the drawers and live a life I know I can't maintain, I will confess my closet secret about my messy underwear drawer and live with joy! Boy that feels great!

   (Man...I can really be shallow sometimes...)

  

I think I have worms...

   You know when you watch one of those 20/20 or Dateline shows, and the topic is rather upsetting? Like the one where they show you what the mattresses at a hotel look like under a black light, or they have a hidden camera to show you that the maid actually just washed the glasses out with Windex? I really shouldn't watch those shows. They aren't so good for my head and they tend to create paranoid ideas that really don't serve the greater good in my life. 

   Over the weekend, I stayed in a hotel in Oxford, Mississippi. It was a nice, basic hotel, and I do think it seemed clean.  But on the last day of our stay, I kept feeling the need to itch my back. It was subtle at first - just a little irritation that made me reach around to give my back a little scratch. But as the day wore on, the need to itch became even more dire, and I found myself grinding my back into the sharp intersection of two walls at the Atlanta airport just to satisfy the itch!

   Now, several days later, I'm just suffering over this rash! It's fine in the morning, but by the afternoon, it is insatiable! Could it be that I caught bugs from the hotel bed? Or even worse - do you think it could be worms?! I've just come from my bathroom before posting this entry, and I managed to twist my neck around as far as I could to get a look at my back in the mirror. The rash is very red - and I do see some bumps. But I will be honest with you - it is all I can do not to let my mind go to a place where the bumps start looking like little worm heads popping out of my back!

   Not sure yet what I'm going to do about this rash situation. All I remember from the darn 20/20 segment was that there were bugs in the bed. I don't recall anyone sharing the much needed information on what to do about the bites if you get them! Let's just hope the rash will disappear on its own. And if they are worms - please God, don't let them be worms! - I'm just going to hope they will wiggle on out of my back and die in the sterile environment that is my home! (I love you Lysol!) 

Flexibility

    10:25 a.m. - I am quite certain that I'm one of the most inflexible gals in town. I just don't seem to have the kind of body that flows, sways or pivots easily. Instead, I feel like when I try to stretch and elongate myself, I just end up pulling a muscle out of place, and then that particular muscles screams at me all day! (Shame on you, Sonja! What are you trying to do? Kill me?)

   Recently, I took a Yoga class in the name of research for my next novel. It was a very big class, full of very fit-looking women. It was the perfect environment for taking notes for my story - which was honestly my only focus. But as the class progressed, I heard the instructor comment on how an inflexible body is often the result of an inflexible mind.  Hmmm. I had to ponder that for a bit.

   Fast-forward to this morning, when I was taking a Pilates class at my gym. Our instructor was asking us to bend and twist our legs in some crazy, Houdini-like  ways - that seemed pretty much impossible without causing some sort of dislocation situation in my hips - and that thought came to my mind again. An inflexible body is often the result of an inflexible mind. In many ways, I think there is something to that, because I am usually pretty quick to tell my body that it wasn't meant to bend that way, or that it shouldn't hurt this much! But could it be that my mind is limiting my body from reaching new extensions in flexibility?

   So while I was flat on my back, I carefully positioned the huge, red Pilates ball between my knees as instructed, and quieted my mind. I only allowed the instructor's voice to enter into my thoughts, and I didn't even allow myself to question her words when she told us to twist at the waist and allow our legs - ball and all - to fall to our left side, while hips remained flat on the mat, and our upper torso rotated to the right. Miraculously, my legs seemed to float to the side and I could feel my hip muscles letting go, elongating into a lovely, deep stretch. I listened for the cue to transition the stretch to the other side, and with fluid-like grace, I managed to carry out the movement to my complete surprise! I did my best to stay in this Zen-like trance as we continued to roll around on the floor with this massive rubber ball between our knees, and with every new position, I just let my mind stay quiet as my body obeyed the instructions.

   At the end of class, I was pretty pumped and felt very empowered - and my legs and hips felt quite tingly! I had let my mind be more flexible and gave my body permission to move in ways it has never moved before! What a trip! I think this was a big step for me! A very big step!

1:00 p.m. - Oiy! That's all I can managed to say when I stand up or sit down. Oiy! But I do have a new thought: An inflexible mind protects an inflexible body. Oiy...

April Fool's Day

   I woke up missing my mom today. I guess on some level, I always miss her, but I miss her the most when I think of funny times I had with her when I was growing up. She was just so cute and easy to make laugh. There was always this easy spirit inside my mom that made her a good friend, and someone you wanted to be around. AND, she was super easy to prank on April Fool's Day!

   I know my sister will remember how we used to wrap a rubber band around the retractable hose on the kitchen sink so that when someone turned on the water, it would squirt them right in the chest. That was sort of our signature joke on April 1 every year, and it was always my mom that got the first blast. She would let out the little yelp of surprise every time, and then turn around to see my sister and me, stifling our giggles behind the palms of our hands. I miss how she looked, all wet in the chest, with a giggle of her own building behind her attempted look of dismay. She was a really great mom, for so many reasons, but mostly because in every situation, I knew she loved me. And even now, I know she loves me, and I can't explain how much that helps me live my life. 

    Well, Happy April Fool's Day, Mom! I miss you... (and I secretly hope that Grandpa Ullrich has wrapped a rubber band around the celestial retractable hose on the kitchen sink in your section of God's mansion so you can remember how much we all loved to laugh with you!)

I stand corrected...

   We live in a condo with a spectacular view. I mean, we haven't even hung any art in the main living area because the view is so amazing, no one would look at the art anyway. But I am telling you, when the windows get dirty from a rain storm, or just from dust floating around eight stories up, it can really be distracting.

   Lou and I are expecting an extra special guest for the night tonight, and so we both woke up early, ready to tackle any little projects around the condo to make it "guest-ready." I wanted to get to the windows very badly, but it takes so long to do them, so I just hoped that maybe I was the only one who noticed how terrible they look. But I was wrong. Even Lou - the guy who doesn't notice when he gets egg yoke drippings on the countertop when making an egg sandwich, and the guy who can step over five pairs of shoes to get into his closet without ever thinking maybe he should put a pair or two away - noticed how bad the windows looked. He said, "You gonna get the windows done today?"

   When I told him I'm not on the window washing rotation for the building anymore, he then said something that nearly knocked me over. He said, "I can do it." My initial reaction was certainly surprise. But after it all computed in my head, I seriously hesitated to accept the offer and encourage this window washing "event" Lou was proposing. I know him. He is sort of a "get-er-done" kind of cleaner. He doesn't worry about the tiny details, and he is seldom known for his great ability to clean thoroughly - which is how I approach all cleaning projects. So my fear was that the windows would actually look worse if he did them then if I left them alone. But shockingly, he wasn't asking me if he could do a cleaning project - he was telling me!

   The next thing you know, Lou is up on a ladder with a bucket of window washing water and a super wide squeegee with little white utility towel tucked into the waistband of his workout shorts. I held my breath a little as I watched him make the first climb up the ladder. His knee is bad and his lower back has been bothering him, so the thought of him taking a tumble had me nervous. And then, when I watched him slosh the first splash of water onto the window, I thought, "Oh dear..." All the dirty water from the washing wand kind of splattered all over the porch, and I was just sure this would end with more mess than I bargained for. But my higher self kept saying, "You need to let him do things his way. He might not do it exactly like you do it, but he will get it done. Now leave him to his work."

   So I did. And as I bumped around the condo, finishing up my last minute jobs, I could hear him moving the ladder around, and I was aware of the loud squeegee squeaks as he would drag the rubber rib down the long windows. I checked around the corner every few minutes or so to make sure he didn't fall off the ladder, and each time I did, I couldn't help but notice how AMAZING the windows were looking. Each check revealed not only pristine, sparkling clean glass, but I actually saw my husband toweling off the porch tiles under the windows every time he moved the ladder! I was in shock - for the second time today!

   Now, as I post this entry, I have to say that I totally stand corrected. Lou not only did a better job than I have ever done on the windows (using my painfully careful method of washing the windows in small sections and wiping with two different types of towels), he finished in literally half the time I expected. It is amazing what Lou did! Amazing!

   So I feel truly humbled by the events of this cleaning experience this morning, and I also feel proud of Lou. He did such a good job, and I must say, I think I need to trust him more with projects like this. In fact, I think for the first time in our six year marriage, I actually might be able to trust him with a Honey-Do cleaning list! This is fantastic news! I can't wait to tell Lou! (I'm sure this news will go over really well, don't you think?)

I've Arrived! (Sort of...)

    Today is kind of a special day in the life of author Sonja Bentley Zant. You see, today, I actually visited my novel, Hurricane Season, on the shelves of a very big, very well-known bookstore! Today, my book could be found on the shelves of Barnes & Noble Booksellers!* 

   To some people, this may not seem like a big deal, but to me, it's the biggest! For years, I've wandered up and down the rows of books featured in the Fiction & Literature section of B&N, looking at the names of countless authors. And ever since I published my book, I've wanted to know how it feels to be in a major bookstore, with all of the important authors of my genre. In a way, it is sort of one of those moments in my life where I feel like the thing I really wanted to have happen to me has happened, and now I feel like I can keep pushing and looking for more great things to come my way. It is a milestone event for me, and one I will always treasure. I hope I never forget this amazing feeling. It is a kind of humbling, thrilling, I-hope-it-never-ends kind of feeling! Yipppeee! (Mom, I hope you can see this!!)

*By the way, I've only kind of arrived because as of right now, I'm only on the shelves of B&N in Sarasota, Florida - but it's still a start!! ;o)

Minty Clean

   My husband is easily impressed. He loves a good gimmick or when there is a story behind something that makes it uniquely different or special. So when he came home with a new toothbrush with a built in timer in the handle, I sort of rolled my eyes and smiled. He bought it because the box said that the reason people have so much plaque on their teeth is because they don't brush long enough. Whatever...

   But after he brushed with the timer toothbrush for a coupe of days, he was just bragging on and on about how fresh his mouth felt - even hours after brushing. Still, I had to wonder if this was just the power of suggestion at work on my adorable and incredibly optimistic husband or if he was speaking truth. BUT then, he went to the dentist for his regularly scheduled cleaning, and his hygienist told him that he had the cleanest, most plaque-free mouth she'd seen in ages! She commented more than once - I'm told - on how great my husband's gums and teeth looked. So I decided to give Lou the benefit of the doubt. Instead of dismissing his claims, I thought I'd put them to the test.

   That first night, I found it really difficult to brush for a whole two minutes. But Lou gave me some good tips - like make sure not to run the water at all (because the toothbrush box said it tends to make you rush AND it wastes valuable water). The other tip was to divide your mouth up into quadrants and carefully and steadily brush each quadrant for 30 seconds. I found this process a bit difficult at first - especially since I didn't get the toothbrush with the timer built right in that conveniently beeps every 30 seconds to tell you that you need to move on to the next quadrant.

  But I pressed through the monotony and on that first night, I have to be honest, my teeth did feel much cleaner. Now, it's been about three weeks since I first started brushing for a full two minutes and I am shocked by how amazing my mouth feels! My teeth feel smooth and shiny and my tongue is always lovely and fresh! I'm so convinced that this is the right way to perfecting my oral hygiene that I'm excited to announce that today, I'm going to go buy myself a toothbrush with a built in timer on the handle!! (I plan on getting a red one - very special!)

   Oh life can be so exciting sometimes!! ;o)

Chinese Sin Erasing Tea

   We just got back from a short trip out to San Francisco, and while we were there, we spent a lot of time in China Town. The food was fantastic and I completely enjoyed looking at all of the things on sale for a "very low price" now that the Chinese New Year is over. But my favorite thing was spending time in one of the many Chinese Tea Houses. I loved sitting on one of the rickety chairs lining the outer rim of the tasting counter and listening to the little Chinaman talk as he served up itty-bitty cups of tea by the sip. I loved watching his hands as he swished the tea leaves around with the lid of the serving cup, and I was riveted by all the things he told us that the tea could do for our bodies.

  We learned that white teas are the highest in anti-oxidants and the black teas are the highest in caffeine. He poured us jasmine tea, green tea and even a special tea that looked like long twigs of greenish-colored toilet paper all twisted up, ready to unfold in hot water to help people with diabetes process sugars better. There was a rose-scented tea that was good for your complexion and another tea that came in a bark-like case that aided in digestive track issues. There was a tea for everything and every problem! So you can imagine how laser-focused I became when the little man behind the counter told me about the tea that takes away all of your sins!

   It's called Angel Tea, and our host explained that this particular tea cleanses the body of all the nasty things you put into it. I watched with wide eyes as he placed the dried flakes of tea into a bulbous-looking wineglass and then added hot water. Instantly, the flakes fanned out into beautiful, lush leaves that swayed a bit as the man swished the water around the glass. I held out my tiny tea cup to get my sip, hoping that this tea could help me get rid of the double chocolate muffin I ate earlier that day. As I swallowed that bitter sip down, I felt my hand automatically reach out for a second sip. (You see, I also had a bag of peanut M&M's on our flight out West, and I was just sure those suckers were clogging up my system.) The nice tea man obliged with a smile, and then revealed a cigarette in his pocket. He winked at me and said, "This tea pay for all my sins!"

   I just had to get some of this amazing tea to take home with me, and luckily, my husband seemed equally as impressed by the notion of a tea that could erase poor food and lifestyle choices in a few steamy gulps. So I asked the gentleman how much it would be to buy some of this heavenly Angel Tea.

    "Angel Tea is $128 per pound," he said with a proud smile. "But it worth every penny."

    While I was sure he was speaking the truth on this matter, I had to pause and analyze the price of this tea. Good heaven's that's a lot - even for tea that can actually erase what you've eaten! But before I could even react, I heard my husband ask the man for a quarter of a pound, and I suddenly felt alive inside! We could certainly afford to buy a quarter of a pound of this magical tea!! I would just have to ration it a bit and treat it like liquid gold! I felt giddy knowing that I would soon have the power to flush my body of all the naughty bites of chocolate, and the spoonfuls of Nutella I seem to be so prone to eating. 

  I can't tell you how excited I was to get back home and brew up a big cup of Angel Tea! I ate so poorly on our trip that it gave me such comfort to know that I could simply sip on some tea and all of those terribly fattening things I ate would just melt off of my hips! I mean if this tea could get rid of the negative impact of smoking for the Chinese man, why couldn't it help me out with some of my more questionable food choices? And now that I have my very own stash of this amazing tea, I don't have to limit myself to just one tiny cup - I can make a huge cup of tea, and really melt the gunk out of my body!

   On my first day back from my vacation, I got up early and boiled some water in my electric kettle. I poured a very small handful of the Angel Tea leaves into my tea strainer and pulled out the biggest mug we've got. I was going to start my day off with a clean slate, no matter how much tea I had to drink. My first mug was a little bitter, but I slurped down every gulp, willing the tea to do it's magic inside the inner workings of my body. My second mug was certainly a lot less tasty, but I figured it would take at least two mugs to really flush out my body, and in the end, I decided it would be worth getting over the way the green liquid tasted  on my tongue for these oh-so-desirable results! 

   A few hours later, I was running errands when suddenly, my stomach started to gurgle - VERY LOUDLY! Then, I started to feel the gurgling moving around and entering a section of my body that was no longer what I considered to be my stomach region (if you know what I mean!). It was almost like something gave way inside of my body and things were starting to pressurize inside of me. I literally had the vision of one of those Liquid Plumber commercials where the clog suddenly dissolves and everything starts to flow!! It was all I could do to make it back to our condo in time before the "pipes" inside my abdomen burst!

   Several hours later, I had gone through an entire roll of toilet paper and was doubled over on my bed with roiling stomach cramps. I felt my forehead glistening with sweat as I did my best to stave off another wave of nausea and I found myself praying to ask God to forgive me for believing that I could actually erase my bad choices with a few cups of tea. I know it takes more willpower than I have these days to make good choices, and I was simply foolish to think there was a tea that could eliminate the consequences of all the junky things I've been eating these days!

   That's when I started to wonder if maybe the only sin this Chinese Sin Erasing Tea couldn't wipe clean was the sin of gluttony! (Because stupidity isn't technically a sin!!)

 

 

American Grammar Crisis

    Here is a serious question I need to pose to the world - well, to the "world" of people who actually check my blog from time to time, that is! What is going on in America when it comes to grammar usage? Are our teachers slacking off when it comes to educating our children on the proper tense and usage of commonly used words in the English language? What gives? Are we getting to be too politically correct to grammatically correct people anymore? Or is this some kind of new trend I don't know about? Is speaking without following the rules the new "in" way to talk - somewhat like Snoop Dogg's era of adding the suffix "izzle" to the endings of his words? I can't really say because I'm simply stumped!

   Recently, I was speaking with a very well-educated gentleman (at least I thought he was!). He was sharing a story with me about a car accident he witnessed earlier that day. I literally thought I heard the terrible  screeching sound of tires locking up on asphalt when he said, "All I seen was the car coming at me!" Oh dear! How in the world could he say that? Even now, as I write this entry, I have no idea if the car he "seen" coming at him actually hit him because I never fully recovered from the major mental skid-marks his grammar left on my brain! I can't be completely sure that my head didn't jerk back when I heard what he said, and perhaps it is the very reason I woke up the next day with a stiff neck. (I'm guessing whiplash?)

   But here is the real issue: Do you correct someone in the midst of such an infraction? Or do you just let it slip? What is the moral obligation here?

   I've tossed this concern around a bit in my head, and also with a close friend of mine who has a grammatically incorrect abuser in her life as well, and the thing is, neither of us can figure out the right answer to this one. How do you handle this with grace and care for the person misusing our fine English language? And why does this bother me so much?

   I know I'm not perfect - after all, I do happen to be the published author with a list of documented mistakes in my published book!! Who am I to talk, right? So clearly, I can easily and humbly concede the point that we all make mistakes in our spoken (and written) language. But the truth is, many of the things we accept these days as correct English usage are in fact incorrect. 

    For example: When someone asks you, "How are you?" the common reply nowadays is, "I'm good." But the grammatically correct response is, "I'm well." But no one seems to care anymore, and in fact, when I say I'm well, sometimes people look at me like I made the mistake!!

   So what do I do? Is leading by example enough? Or does a true grammar warrior need to be braver (versus "more brave" - which is what many would say, but, as it turns out, would fall under the category of improper grammar usage)?

   I guess the real reason this question is such a burning one for me is because I think I would want to know if I was speaking with glaringly poor grammar! I'm quite sure that I would want to know that there was a way to make myself sound better to my listeners! And I would hate it if people were judging me by what I'm saying improperly versus listening to the very intelligent things I'm actually trying my best to communicate!! 

   It reminds me of the time that I was walking around the mall with a HUGE piece of spinach stuck between my two front teeth. I happened to notice the mass of vegetation when I made a mad dash into Chicos (I was only in there because I was in search of a chunky belt!). As I was combing through the tangle of belts on sale, I happened to catch my reflection in the chrome of the display rack. There it was. A huge chunk of dark green spinach, wedge between my pearly whites. I quickly started using my tongue and created some suction in my mouth to try to remove the chunk without the use of my fingers, but my heart was sinking as I realized that it had been over an hour since I ate lunch! I had visited several shops during that time, and even engaged sales people in conversation!! How could anyone let a fellow human walk around like that? Where is the humanity in that? 

   Well, I don't know the right answer about the grammar issue, but as you can see, it is a serious issue to consider. Maybe someone out there can tell me what to do. But in the meantime, I challenge my readers to choose your words with care. Take some pride in your language choices and set an example. And for heaven's sake, if you see a woman with a huge chunk of food between her teeth, TELL HER ABOUT IT!! (We can always work on the grammar later!!)

Long time... No write...

     I hate that it's been such a long time since I've posted a new entry. I just haven't been myself these days. I even had an unexplainable (at the time) bout of depression the other day. I literally felt myself slipping into this very bad place in my mind. I felt all dark and gloomy inside -- which is completely unfamiliar territory for me normally speaking. I was luckily alone a lot that day, so no one had to feel the kookiness of my mood, but still, it was strange.

   A day or so later, the arrival of my monthly buddy sort of explained things, and put it all in perspective.  So now, I'm back on track with my mood, but I'm still oddly uninspired. It makes me a bit sad to find myself in this state, but I guess I should just consider it a part of a normal ebb and flow of life. Some days, you are on it, while other days, you just kind of wish you were. 

   All in all, I still think there is so much to be excited about and so much in my life to make me feel completely filled with thanks. I guess I just need to accept this down-time with as much awareness as possible, and do my best to learn more about all the sides of Sonja Bentley Zant. (Gosh, I hope this experience won't prove to be like Sybil or The Many Faces of Eve!!)

I am the Butterfly Maiden

    Several nights ago, I had the wonderful opportunity to be with a group of women who formed their very own goddess group. It was amazing to sit with these women -- who were all new to me except one -- and discover that we could all share and connect so easily. I think we were created to be nurtured by one another as women, and that night, that was just what I needed!

   Part of the time together involved drawing a goddess card. I have to confess, when I first got the stack, I held it face-side-up and the card on top was the one I really wanted. It said something about success, and with all the things going on in my life right now with my novel, it was my first reaction to snag that sentiment and hold on to it and make it my own! But I was able to restrain myself because I decided it would be more interesting to find out what card I was supposed to get. So I flipped the deck over, face-down, shuffled it a bit and then drew out my card. It was a gorgeous card with a tall, thin woman with flowing black hair, surrounded by butterflies. She was called the Butterfly Maiden and what she stood for was transformation.

   As I held the card and studied it for a bit, there was of course the obvious fit that my life is about to change with my book and all the opportunities lining up for me. But when I really tried to drop in and consider what I could learn from the idea of transformation in my life, it dawned on me that after a four days of working on my family, maybe this was the signal of transformation for all of us, not just me! 

   As I stated in a previous entry, my ideas about blending a family were a little unrealistic. I think I hoped that my stepsons would "love" me and "embrace" me, and that ultimately, we would have harmony in our home. But now I realize that harmony is just a nice concept if it doesn't come with truth. And just like the journey a butterfly must take from cocoon to spreading it's wings, I must allow myself and my family the grace to morph into something different and new. I don't have the luxury to choose what color the butterfly will be, but I have faith that whatever the outcome, the transformation will be beautiful in it's own unique way. It is going to take time, that's for sure, but there is such hope in the knowing that we can change and that we can transform from something that isn't working into something that holds all of our hopes. 

   So as I work this week on allowing God to move in my life and in the lives of my husband and his boys, I want to hold on to the idea that I am the Butterfly Maiden for a reason! 

 

I blame Mike and Carol Brady

   I am a product of the 70's, and most of my ideas and major life paradigms come from that era. So when I met my husband, and found out that he had two kids, I just assumed we could be like the Brady Bunch. You know -- everyone would get along and the only real hotbed issues in the family would be "Tiger" running away or maybe "Peter" losing the architecture plans.

   But I am here to tell you that Mike and Carol Brady didn't prepare me very well for the realities of a blended family. I wish it could be so easy, but it's not. And on some levels, the complications have forced me to see myself in a new way, which ultimately has made me more aware and perhaps even a better version of myself. But on other levels, I'm not sure what I am anymore.

   Anyway, this is a short entry and will be my only entry for the next seven days as I go up to do a weekend retreat with  my husband and stepson to work on our relationships. I have a knot in my stomach, but I also feel like in order to get the most out of this opportunity, I am going to have to be brave. So I am calling on all my friends to pray me through this and I have big plans to come home and share all the greatness that is uncovered as a result of this retreat. 

   See you next week, and I send all my blog readers many blessings! 

Sliced Bread Revolution

   I was driving in my car the other day, listening to the radio, and this ad came on for On-Star. It was one of those testimonial type adds where this customer was calling in to the On-Star control center to add minutes to her plan. After she raved on and on about how the system changed her life, she said, "I think it's the greatest thing since sliced bread!"

   I guess I must have been extra bored or something because I found myself thinking about the cliche of something being better than sliced bread. Is having your bread pre-sliced in the bag really that life-changing or revolutionary? I decided that maybe I needed to find out. After all, I've used that claim a time or two in my life, so maybe I need to know how authentically I feel about it. So I drove my car to the local grocery store and went to the bakery.

   I selected a very small loaf of fresh baked, clearly un-sliced bread. (I didn't want to have a lot of difficult bread left over in case the slicing proved to complicate my life too much.) When the bakery worker grabbed the loaf for me from the case, she asked over her shoulder, "You want that sliced, hon?" I proudly said, "No thank you -- I'm doing it myself!"

   I'm not sure if I detected a raise in her eyebrow or not, but there was definitely a shift in her hair net when I declined the slicing option and I felt super challenged to put this worn out cliche to the ultimate test. Would it change my life? Probably not. But I was about to find out.

   I'm most certainly not known for my skills in the kitchen -- unless you count my cleaning skills, which are actually legendary among family. And most of the time, I think my husband rather hopes I won't handle the knives, but I felt ready to take a chance. So I made my way over to my perfectly sanitized butcher block and pulled out the serrated bread knife. With my tiny loaf of sunflower bread, resting patiently on the cutting board, I slid the knife across the top with a gentle see-saw motion to create the first cut. 

   My first slice wasn't too bad, but as I moved my way down the loaf, each piece became more and more disfigured. I might have been squeezing the loaf a bit too hard with my stabilizing hand as I pushed the knife down with my other hand to create the cuts. And size consistency? Forget it. One of the slices I cut -- toward the middle -- actually wouldn't fit into the over-sized slots of my pop-up toaster! And even the couple pieces that did fit were so uneven that they must of been touching the heating elements in the toaster! As a result, there was a horrible smell of burnt bread overpowering my Fabreeze-fresh home! (Bummer...)

   There's no doubt that the bread was still quite delicious, and ultimately, the effort of slicing my own bread really didn't impact me as much as it sounded like the On-Star navigational system impacted the caller on their ad. But you know, pre-sliced bread is a great thing, and I do think, after doing my own research on the subject, it is a worthy cliche. It does indeed simply things, and you know, that can be a revolution of sorts. Anyway, I feel as if I can use this common phrase with a truer voice, and now that you've read my blog, I hope maybe you can, too. 

Cup of good tea

    Sometimes, all it takes to make me happy in the morning is a cup of good tea. My sister sent me these tea bags for Christmas and I've only been allowing myself to use one if I know I can have the discipline to actually savor the sipping process. I don't want to just gulp it down distractedly while I'm checking my email. I want to let the tea roll over my tongue and season my mouth with all that lemony goodness!

   Today, I took time to savor the tea a bit. I sat on my sofa and looked out the front sliders at the beautiful, moody day unfolding. I took my time with my sips and enjoyed knowing that my sister, who I love so much, picked this tea out just for me because she knows how much I enjoy it! When I got to the last bit of tea in my cup, it was a completely cold, but the taste and the experience of all the sips made me feel happy and warm!

   Now, as I write this entry, I have to wonder why I can be so intentional with a cup of tea, but so unintentional with so many other gifts in my life. Maybe since there are only so many tea bags in the tin my sister sent, I realize my enjoyment of the tea is ultimately limited. But when you really think about it, since all we get is this moment right now -- with no promise of more moments passed this one -- everything needs to be savored and respected for it's uniqueness and importance in the moment. 

   Perhaps today, I will find a few more things that I need to draw my attention and my intention toward, and see what happens. But for now, I must confess, I sure do like that tea! ;o) 

Owning your greatness

   Last night, I had the distinct privilege to have dinner with this wonderful lady who lives in my building. As I sat across the table from her, I just kept thinking how strong and lovely she looked. She was incredibly gracious and let me talk about myself a ton! I had an fantastic day yesterday with all kinds of momentum for my book and lots of life affirmations about my journey as an author. I was literally blabbing on and on about all these great things happening in my life, and this beautiful lady just sat on the other side of the table, sipping her wine, soaking it all in.

   When there was finally a break in my long-winded story, she looked at me and said something that kind of caught me off guard. She said, "You act like you're surprised by all of this! Like you don't know how to own all of your greatness." It took me a second or two to recover from her words because I think that exactly defines what I saw in her as she listened to me blather on and on. I saw a women who owns her greatness, and it inspired me.

   After allowing her to share some things with me, I realized that her journey to finding her footing in her life wasn't simple or easy, and I gathered that she has had to push her way through her fair share of heartache in her lifetime. And even now, she is pushing through unpleasant things. But as I listened to what she shared, I never doubted that she has the courage to get passed it, and to learn from it, and then to own all the greatness she discovers within herself along the way.

   I want to own my greatness -- but sometimes I worry that doing so will make me seem conceited or haughty. I guess when I get plain with it, the whole idea smacks of  vanity and selfishness. I always want to be humble and gracious because those are core values I truly respect. But at the same time, why should being humble mean that I can't embrace and celebrate all that God made me to be? If I gave someone I love a gift, I think I'd be really hurt if they didn't accept it or embrace it for all the value it has! Why should all of the gifts that God bestows on me be any different?

   Today, I had a chance to marinate on this idea a little bit further, and I think with time, I will be able to embrace the balance of owning my greatness with the idea of being a woman with a humble and gracious heart. With God as my focal point, and the acknowledged Creator of my total being, when I embrace all my greatness, I'm really just loving and appreciating God! With wisdom comes maturity and with maturity comes grace, and I hope that with each life lesson I experience on this journey, I will know how to take all the blessings, heartaches and affirmations into my heart and fully embrace them all! AND, I hope I can learn to be easy and comfortable in my own skin, and ultimately embrace all of God's greatness in me!

Chocolate for breakfast

7:25 a.m. Today, I woke up and my shoulder is still aching so badly from a terrible tripping incident I had during one of my morning runs last week. It feels as if I have whiplash or something, but it's been five days and I'm still in bad shape. So I decided to rebel a bit this morning and not exercise... And I even decided to do something really naughty... Like eating chocolate for breakfast!

   I know it is a bad way to start my day -- with all that sugar and such. But honestly, I think it's bringing tremendous healing to my shoulder!! I have more endorphins and feel happier than ever -- so how can that be so bad?

10:02 a.m. I feel like crap... I shouldn't have eaten that chocolate for breakfast... Don't you hate it when your  mother is right about such things? Rats...

Naming our Fears

   In the past two days, I've had the opportunity to talk to two very beautiful, very worthy women about their lives, and what it is they want the most for the future. One of the women has been my best friend for nearly 15 years, and the other is a brand new friend I've only known for a very short time. But during the course of both conversations, it became crystal clear to me that the only thing holding these two amazing women back from all the greatness they deserve is fear. Nothing else. 

   I can only recognize this fear situation because I face my own fears on a daily basis! I have fears about never selling the massive wall of books that are lining the outer rim of my garage as I write this; I worry that I won't be able to afford the dreams I have for myself as an author; and I fret over the notion that I might not be as great of a writer as I think I am, and one day, the rest of the world will find out and I will be considered a major sham! Yeah...I have my fair share of fear! But I'm convinced that what makes my fear useful is that I can name it. 

   When I was a kid, I used to be riddled with fear and worry -- and I can even remember a teacher once writing on my report card that "Sonja is a worry wart." I remember my mom showing this to me and I felt so ashamed. And when she asked me what I was worried about, I couldn't even tell her. I was just worried all the time, and insecure that maybe I wasn't as deserving or as good as the rest of the kids in my class.

    But as I've gotten older, I've learned that when I get consumed with a free-floating sense of anxiety, if I can name it, I can actually deal with it. If I can put my finger on the very thing I fear the most, and then give it a name, I can better take it on, and most of the time, even overcome it! I think that is the first step when setting nonnegotiables in your life. How can you begin to know what it is you want when you can't even allow yourself to name what it is you fear?

   I'm no expert at containing my fears, but I am getting better. I mostly digest my greatest fears at night, when I'm trying to fall asleep. These alien thoughts sort of wrap their tendrils around my chest and start squeezing me with fears and concerns about the unknown. But when I get very still, and then reduce my big huge life with all of it's problems and complications to the single moment I'm living in right now, I can have the courage to name my fears and see them for what they are. 

Fear 1: I'm afraid I will fail and the rest of the world will say I was stupid for trying. (Fear of Failure)

Fear 2: I'm afraid I will lose all my financial security and I won't be able to pay my bills. (Fear of Financial Insecurity)

Fear 3: I'm afraid I am using my writing abilities for the wrong things -- like maybe I'm being irresponsible with my talents. (Fear of Disappointing Others)

   Once I've given every fear a definition or a name, a very miraculous thing starts to happen. I can feel the fear loosening it's grip on my chest, and then I can hear my rational mind sliding into place, greeting my biggest concerns with questions like, "Who is the rest of the world to say that you aren't worthy of dreaming big? And why can everyone else decide for you what is a success and what is a failure?" and "If this dream is that important to you, aren't there things you can do without in order to make your dream come true? Isn't there always a way to make some money?" and "Does it matter if you disappoint yourself? Who are you really trying to impress anyway?"

   And gradually, with my fears named for what they really are, I can own each irrational thought, or fear, and give it a new spin. I can believe in myself and know that I don't have to let my fears limit me anymore. In the Bible, it says to take "every thought captive" (2 Cor.10:5), and I think that is an empowering concept, because often, what we think or what we believe -- whether it is rational, irrational, truth-filled or a lie -- can determine what we end up doing with our lives.

   So today, I am going to own my fears and keep them in submission to my faith! I don't have to let my concerns or worries dictate to me what I deserve to be or to do in this life. I am more powerful than some unknown perception that somehow sneaks into my being only to take up residence in my mind! I'm not willing to sit back and not expect great things in my life due to fear! I am worthy of great things, and I think even my fears know it!!

   So as I close this entry for today, I pray that whoever reads this will have the courage to be quiet in the moment and face the biggest fears with the bravest heart, knowing there is more room for your dreams if you boot out all of the fears!