Perspective, Part 3

OK, so I gave the plan I shared in Perspective, Part 2, a solid try this week, but I've come to the conclusion that for right now at least, the plan is crap! I held it together for the first day, but on the second day, I just couldn't hold to the perspective of being thankful for Lou's messes simply because I might miss them when he is gone.

It came to a crashing end for me last night when I walked into the kitchen and stepped on what felt like a fairly large sandbar. When I flicked on the overhead light, I discovered it was salt. Lou must have knocked the top off the shaker and the contents spilled all over the floor. DUDE!! Are you kidding me? You couldn't clean that up?

I promise you, I would never miss that kind of thing!!

So after some deep thinking and consideration, I decided that I need to find a new plan to help me keep my perspective - particularly when it comes to Lou. I don't want to be so limited in my thinking, or hold Lou to these impossible standards of perfection that I have when it comes to my home environment. I want to have a more generous heart, you know? It's important to me.

Well, I have this photo of Lou in my office. He is probably five or six in this little black and white picture, and he looks so sweet and cute. When I look at this picture, I can see traces of Lou's familiar face in the image, but I mostly see a spunky little boy, who likely made loads of messes for his mother to clean up. But there is such a charming look on his face, and I can imagine that for his mother, this sweet little boy could do no wrong. So that is the person I want to see in Lou! The forgivable little gentleman in this picture!!

He's just a little boy, living inside of a big, clunky man-body. His mind is moving so fast because he's already thinking about the next big adventure he will create, and so he can't be bothered with the messes he makes. He's playful and clever and gives great hugs. He wants to tell me stories, and hear some of mine, and he is pretty much game for anything - at any time. Little boy Lou is adorable, and when I try to see his little features in old man Lou's face, it makes me smile.

So today, when I encounter Lou's first mess - which I'm betting will be in the bathroom, because he is in there now, shaving, I think - I am going to try to picture this version of Lou, standing on his tip toes, with a razor in his hands. I think I might be able to forgive that version of Lou for getting water all over the mirror and leaving shaving cream caked up in the drain.

At least I think I can... But I'll keep you posted...

Perspective, Part 2

OK, so with this new desk situation, I've really been thinking a lot about using my rearranging talents to try to look at my life differently, too. It's a challenge, but one I know I'm up to, so here is a second installment of my thoughts on perspective.

After my mom died, and I went to stay with my dad for a few weeks, I remember him saying the most unusual thing. He said that the things my mom did that bothered him when she was alive were the things he missed the most about her after her death. It was kind of an odd thought because I never realized my mom had habits that got on my dad's nerves, but after all, they were both only human! When I asked my dad why he felt this way he said, "Because sometimes the things that bother you the most are the things you notice all the time. And then when they are gone...you realize so is the person you loved so much." I felt so sad for my dad in that moment, because losing my mom was devastating for all of us, but mostly for him.

Lately, my husband and I have been spending more time together than usual, and I have been finding so many reasons to fault him in my mind. The way he never puts his clothes in the hamper; the way he leaves dishes in the sink; the way he gets stains on every single shirt he's wearing; the way he messes up every clean spot in the house! I could go on and on because I'm admittedly wound a bit tight when it comes to my environment! But with this new conviction in my heart to try to look at things a different way, I was reminded of my dad's words about my mom.

If Lou was gone, I know I would miss him terribly, and the fact that my house would likely stay so spotlessly clean would only serve as a huge reminder of the vacancy Lou would leave behind. So maybe if I shift my thinking around a bit, and start celebrating that he is with me, and he is alive and healthy, his messes won't have the same irritation. Maybe I can find a way to be more thankful for the way he moves in my life, instead of finding such great fault with everything he does. Even now, as I write these thoughts, my heart is filled up with a bit more love for Lou and all of his pesky habits, which is a telling sign that a mental shift on this topic could be helpful. Maybe I can rearrange it all in my mind so that when I find one of his messes, I can look at it and smile instead of cringe.

I don't know... It is going to be a pretty big perspective shift for me to take on. I like my world tidy and neat, and Lou is so disruptive to that particular ambition of mine. But in addition to tidy and neat, I like my world with love, and that is what Lou brings to me all of the time: Love.

Well... I shall keep you posted. Perspective, Part 3 should be a good one!

SBZ ;o)

Perspective

Yesterday, I got a wild hair to change things up a bit around here. I have been waiting for almost a year to buy some new bookshelves for my office, so I had 26-book boxes stacked up against the wall, waiting to be unpacked. I've started to give up on the idea that I will ever get those shelves, so I decided to move the 26 boxes down to my garage and rework my office space a little.

After no less than 10 trips down the elevator and back up, I had all the boxes neatly stacked in the garage, and a wide open room to play with. I really only moved one thing around in the room, but by moving my desk to a new wall, I feel like I'm in another world! As I sit here and type, I have a whole new perspective! The light from my office windows is more subtle now, and I don't feel as distracted to look out said windows when I'm stalling! And the way my chair is set up, I feel like I'm more comfortable.

It's a funny thing how easy it is for us to change our perspective in life. All it takes is a willingness to move things out of the way, and then move the remaining stuff around a little bit. Such small changes can make a big difference in our mindset and our ability to find some inspiration. I want to take this little tiny lesson and try to apply it to the bigger things going on in my life these days. I may have no more answers than I did before, but I do have a new outlook, and that certainly helps. Perspective is a mighty powerful influence in our thinking, so it is a wise exercise to find ways to mix it all up. (Now that totally sounds like something my mom would have said!! Thanks, Mom!!)

SBZ ;o)

I'm blessed...

Here is a picture of me with six of the most GORGEOUS and FABULOUS ladies in the world! I am so thankful that I have the priviledge of calling them my friends! I'd like to send my love to all of them: Tara, Brenda, Marianne, Julie, Catherine and Jeanie. You all made me feel so strong and confident!! Thanks for being my friends!!

SBZ ;o)

Hot Yoga

Well, I just did my second round of hot yoga this morning. My first time was MISERABLE!! I actually spent most of my time on my back, in the "savasana" or something like that, just trying to breathe! Every time I was in the standing position, I literally felt like someone had an ink dropper, and they were dripping black-ish, blue-ish ink into the corners of my eyes so I couldn't see anything! It wasn't so nice.

Today, however, I did much better. Maybe it is the fact that I knew a little bit more about how my body would react to the heat and all the twisting of the limbs and such. So now, as I st in my office, in my fresh clothes with my super clean hair and skin, I think the very best part of hot yoga is how yucky and dirty it makes you feel during. Taking a refreshing shower and suddsing off all of the sweat and gunk that came out of my pours was fantastic!! Now, I feel like I'm so clean that I squeak!! And that is just about the greatest feeling an OCD-sufferer could ever ask for!!!

Aaaahhhhh..... Hooooooot Yooooooogaaaaaaaaah!

SBZ ;o)

Does "Common" make it "OK"?

Sometimes, when I'm reading something in the media, I catch myself wondering if anyone else out there still shakes their head in disbelief about the things we accept in our culture. Does anything shock us? I'm not sure anymore...

Take a story I read on AOL today. There is some fabulously wealthy German heiress who made a sex tape with her lover, and then the lover tried to blackmail her with the tape. As I was reading the article, I was thinking about how foolish this woman was to get snarled up in that kind of thing in the first place, but then I saw what great lengths she went to to try to keep the press from getting a hold of the tape. (It really gave her a sense of purpose, I guess, to use every legal means available to cover up her horrible choice - and maybe that's why she did the tape in the first place!! But that's just a guess on my part!!)

But the article that I read was an editorial, so the author shared his perspective on how this woman could avoid more drama around this sex tape scandal. His advice was simple: just let the cat out of the bag, give the media a copy of the tape, and then go on Barbra Walters and present your mea culpa. This would show everyone how sorry you are, and tell them what you've learned, and once that is over, you can just get on with your life. The author goes on to say that this plan is obvious because after all, sex tapes are really quite common, and no one is really all that outraged by them anymore anyway.

Oyi! That sentiment went down like a lead sinker in my heart because it calls into question everything about our morality and our sensistivity to what is right and wrong. It basically sets up a standard that just because it happens all the time means it's OK!

The thing is, I'm convicted by this concept because I have to consider all of the things in my life that I let slip by because I have no sensitivity to it any longer. I have to acknowledge that there are literally hundreds of things I probably just accept by saying, "Yep... That's just how things go..."

I had lunch with a lovely new friend, and we both have a passion for wanting to make things better for women - especially the women in this world that are still young girls and have their whole lives ahead of them. As the two of us talked, we reasoned that we probably won't be able to change much about the world around us, but we can certainly aim to inspire change. And I do really agree with this notion for the most part, but I guess with this newly added layer of thoughts in the mix, I think it's going to take a little more effort on my part to see the world around me with sensitive eyes and a softened heart.

Well, as my dad pointed out ages ago, you have to apply some frog logic. The frog that starts out in a pot of water on top of the stove will boil to death because he continues to acclaimate to the rising heat. But a frog that stays outside the pot of water will never acclaimate to the temperature, giving it the ability to know the scald of boiling water on frog legs. I just pray that I will always feel the heat, and never let something common become OK!

Hunger

So yesterday, I decided to spend the day fasting. I feel like I need to get clear on some things going on in my life, and fasting is often the best way to pull yourself into a meditative state. It is such a discipline for me, though, because I actually think about food quite a lot. But what was really crazy is this: it turns out eating for me is less about the food, and more about entitlement! Let me explain...

The morning was pretty easy for me to get through - I usually pray a lot in the mornings anyway, and food is not usually the first thing on my mind when I wake up. But around 2:00 in the afternoon, I started to feel irritable and snack-driven. I started thinking about all the food I have in the pantry and refrigerator, and my mouth started to water up. There are so many savory and sweet bites just waiting for me to devour in the kitchen, and it was really difficult for me to stop myself from obsessing about it!! So I pulled myself back and began to pray and meditate more on how brilliantly God provides for my every need. I decided to be thankful for how God made my taste buds and such so that I could actually enjoy food! It seemed to help to find ways to fixate on my cravings with more of a thankful heart, and for a few hours, my ravenous appetite was quelled a bit.

Then around 5:00, I took a long, slow walk with my husband. Initially on the walk, I spent my time looking at how beautiful my town really is. I noticed all the birds and how shiny the water is when the sun is casting a late-afternoon glow on the surface. It was really lovely to be so aware and open to other things besides the growling in my tummy. It was a nice way to break up my day, and I was really peaceful and content the entire time.

But man...when I got home, I was overwhelmed with a need to eat! It was as if I hadn't eaten for weeks and I just had to have some food! When I would catch myself thinking of things I could cook for dinner, I would feel something compulsive inside of me, pushing me to go stand in the kitchen. I thought about making this casserole with rice and cheese - AND I DON'T EVEN LIKE CASSEROLES! I thought about eating roasted beets, snap peas and lemons! I pictured myself eating a cup-full of granola and a bag of chocolate chips! My mind was a whirl of thoughts, and most of the things I was thinking about eating were things I would never normally consider (except, of course, the chocolate chips!!)

After nearly breaking down and shoving something into my mouth, I had to remove myself from the kitchen and go into my bedroom. I laid across the center of my bed and tried to shove thoughts of food out of my mind so I could find a place of steady calm. I closed my eyes and said and prayer. Then I started to consider the true origin of my reaction:

How much of my reaction was because I was truly hungry, and how much of it was about entitlement and the out of control appetites in my life?

I'm sure I was a bit hungry - I mean after all, my body is used to eating quite a few times a day. BUT I'm not starving!!! I have never actually been in that situation, and quite literally, I don't think I've ever even been close to it!!! So the answer had to be entitlement and habit. It had to be!!

After pressing through the evening, and shielding my eyes from the pizza and hamburger commercials on TV, I went to bed with an empty belly, but overflowing heart. It was important for me to see myself the way I did yesterday. Food clearly has a bigger purpose in my life - one that is beyond nutrition and sustenance. It is something that brings out a greedy side in me that I want to try to keep in check. I want to be more thoughtful about what I eat, but more than that, I want to be less driven by my appetite for hoarding things and pursuing things that in the end, I don't really want or need.

Today, I met up with one of my favorite girlfriends for breakfast, and I would be lying if I said I wasn't excited about eating. But what was so different about eating my egg sandwich this morning was how grateful I felt for the life lesson I started to learn yesterday. I tasted my food with more intention than usual, and savored each bite with more appreciation. And even though the things I feel like I need to sort out in my life still have a certain amount of confusion around them, I do have more clarity about me and food. And I think I will reward that clarity with a handful of milk chocolate chips later this afternoon!! (I'm totally just kidding about that!! Totally!!)

SBZ ;o)

Clearly...I've been bad... :o(

I am so ashamed that it has been months since I last posted some thoughts on this blog. What is wrong with me? I'm not sure. I could say that I've been super busy - because I have. Or I could say that I've been working on other things - which is true. But the real truth is...I've been horribly irresponsible with my blog. There! I said it. Whew... The honesty feels really great!

But I want to be better! I really do! I want to start using this blog as a way to keep me moving forward with my dreams. It is a useful tool in helping me keep my voice and passion front and center in my life and daily routine. So if I still have anyone following me, and if anyone actually hasn't given up on reading my postings on this page, I'm going to commit to you that I will do better! I will get things back on track!!

Hooray!! I'm back!!
SBZ ;o)

Self-Evaluation

   Today, I was forced into a deep moment of evaluation. I was at our local Whole Foods market, and the check-out girl was this cute little pixy-type girl, and I couldn't help but notice how adorable she was. So I struck up a little chat with her - nothing too hefty. Just a curious question about a food item I was buying. That's when my self awareness first started to kick in.

   As the pixy girl began talking, she sounded just like a Valley Girl from 1984 with all her "likes" and "totallys." I found myself smiling inside because it seemed next to impossible for her to communicate with out the injection of these "totally helpful words."  

   When the bag boy sidled up to the end of the conveyor belt to load my groceries into a bag, I heard myself say, "I totally have my own bag, so, like, no worries, k?" And I was TOTALLY being myself!! And that's when I got to thinking: I say totally A LOT!

   So to find out how serious the situation really is, I decided to try to count the "totallys" I used in my day. The sum total of my "totallys" was staggering! I said it twice at the bank, and then once more in the parking lot (when the leaf blower guy blasted me with a cloud of dust and I told him I was "totally fine.") Then, while I was leaving a message for a friend, I literally told her I would "totally be around all day!" And I have more examples, too (but I'm totally too tired to repeat them all!)

   The day isn't quite over yet, but so far, I'm up to an average of 3 totallys per verbal engagement!! And that's what's coming out of my mouth WHILE I'M AWARE OF IT!! Can you imagine how often I say it when I'm not paying attention? Good grief!!

   Well, the whole situation has me totally freaked...er, I mean, completely concerned! But now that I'm aware of the whole situation, I'm stuck to wonder if totally is just my word, or if maybe it's time for me to grow up and evolve my vocabulary a bit! I guess I'm going to have to give it some thought. I have to admit, I am an 80's kind of gal, and maybe that's not a totally bad thing! (Well...I guess it's totally better than saying tubular all the time!)

Gag me...

SBZ ;o)   

Old Men Fighting in the Streets

   On my afternoon run through City Park (here in gorgeous Sarasota, Florida), I witnessed something pretty startling: two old men, fighting and screaming horrible things at one another in the middle of the road. While hiding behind a SUV in a nearby parking lot, I'm fairly certain I was able to figure out what caused the fight, so allow me to unfold the scene.

   Earlier on my run, I happened to notice a group of elderly people  - most looked like they were in their mid-70's and on up - standing along the side of a busy road that cuts past the marina. They were all holding signs that I couldn't read, but even before I had reason to be concerned about an ensuing fight, I gathered that the signs were of a political nature. I even thought to myself when I first jogged by that the people holding the signs must be of a more of a liberal persuasion (mostly due to the fact that one of the ladies I passed was holding up two very gnarled-looking fingers in the peace sign, and several of the other people were swaying like they might be signing "All we are saaayyy-iiinnngg is give peace a chaaance...")

   Anyway, on my way back past the marina, while listening to a very groovy tune on my iPod, I suddenly noticed a big fat Basset Hound dart several feet in front of me, and he looked rather upset. Next, I saw a very well dressed older gentlemen - wearing a buttery yellow cardigan over his lime green Polo shirt, along with tan golf shorts and a pair of boat shoes - dashing after the dog. The man seemed upset, so at first, I assumed he was frustrated with his dog. But the level of agitation seemed a little too high, and, I also noticed that he seemed to be shouting at someone over his shoulder. So I removed one earbud so I could hear what was going on, and that was when the first "F-bomb" landed right in front of me! (It came shooting over the top of a parked car and landed directly on the man in the yellow sweater, and suddenly, it was more than clear I was entering a verbal war zone!)

   I eased my jog down to a walk and then tucked in behind a nearby truck and turned my iPod off. Then I peered over the truck and watched as the first well-dressed man - who now had his dog on a leash - started walking toward a second well-dressed man (who was wearing bright orange slacks and a purple Polo shirt). The man in the purple shirt was holding up a sign that said REPUBLICAN DEPRESSION: 1929-2008.

   I'm not even sure what that means, exactly, but I did quickly gather he is not a Republican! But the verbal exchange between the two men didn't help me sort out the conflict much better. Yellow sweater man was shouting with his fist raised high in the air that the man in the purple shirt was an idiot and his stock broker was an idiot, too. The man in the purple shirt shouted back that the man in the yellow sweater was a pompous $%&*  &$%# and that he didn't have a @&*$*$% clue about economics. The insults continued, but I was unable to ascertain the true crux of the argument. As the man in the purple shirt started to cross over closer to yellow sweater man and his Basset Hound, I could feel things were about to get ugly, so I slipped out from behind the SUV and made my way onto the sidewalk leading away from the road. 

   From a distance, I watched as purple man poked his finger at yellow man, and the two seemed to be spitting words and hurling insults with great heat. I felt a little shaky as I watched these two grown men, fighting like hopped up teenagers. I decided that I couldn't take any more - it actually made me sad to see two men (who were very likely grandfathers) fighting in the middle of the road. What has this world come to?

   As I put my earbuds back into my ears, and pressed Play on my iPod, I couldn't seem to shake the electric spark in the air over politics and the economy in America. We are so polarized about how to handle things that even or most mature citizens are behaving badly. How are our children supposed to know how to behave when even their grandparents can't control their emotions?

  As I sit here and blog about this unusual episode in my day, I can't help but wonder how we as Americans will ever get passed our differences. Things are just so big and seem to be so broken. Is it all worth arguing about? Well...I guess it's worth arguing about, but I'm not sure that's the answer. Maybe I'm more like the Basset Hound - I try not to get all tangled up in the arguments, and do my best to keep my slow, fat body out of the fray.  I don't know... But I just thought I'd blog about it and see if that would help.

  

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...