Rainbows and Palm Trees

This is what I saw as I was ready to pull out of the grocery store parking lot late this afternoon. Pretty.

Susan

A Christmas Shopping Story

Today I was off work, so I did some Christmas shopping. Mostly for my three grandchildren, but a few small things for other people. The items I bought were at a  reduced price, and I have a rewards card for that store. And a coupon. So while I didn't go overboard, and I did get some good deals, the total caused me to blink just a little.

When I arrived home, I found a check in the mailbox for me. It was my reimbursement for working at the polls on election day. I knew it would be coming, but wasn't really thinking about it. When I opened the envelope, it was for a larger amount than what I expected, because I was expecting the amount for a "clerk," which is what I was that day. As it turns out, because I went through the training to be a touchscreen operator, even though that wasn't my position that day, I get the higher pay.

The check was for $2 more than what I spent shopping today. Pretty cool, huh? It's little things like that, that just make my day. And pink Legos. My granddaughters are all about the pink Lego Friends. And I am, too. I can't wait to play with them, and I know for sure the girls will ask me to play. I like just looking at the outside of the boxes.

So I got my check! And it was for more than I thought it would be! And it covered my Christmas shopping with a couple of dollars to spare! How great is that?

A friend said to me this past week, "If you won the lottery, you would probably still work at your job, wouldn't you?" And she was right. I probably would. I love to travel, so I likely would go on some nice vacations and surprise the people I love with some really cool stuff. I would probably visit the Galapagos a lot sooner than I would otherwise. But I don't think my life would change all that much, because I am already rich in all the ways that truly count.

Susan

Float Along

Roxy Blue and the Handful is an up-and-coming southern California band. Roxy has been writing songs since she was a little girl, and I am blessed to know her. She is as lovely a person as she is talented. You can hear more of the band's music at reverbnation.com.

Susan

Float Along
written by Roxy Blue

It took years of lacquer to get my smile just right
And a whole lot of practice at comfortably numb
And I don't need to tell you how I sleep at night
And, no, I don't want to tell you what's wrong
Let me be, let me float along
Let me go, let me sing my song
I don't need a shoulder, just let me cry, just
Give me a moment, give me a moment to break down
I'm more a product than person
What can you get out of me?
Can I sell what you want? Do I have what you need?
I just miss feeling human and I need some sleep
Did you get what you want? Do you know what I need?
Let me be, let me float along
Let me go, let me sing my song
I don't need a shoulder, just let me cry, just
Give me a moment, give me a moment to break down

Of Knights and Owls and Night Owls

It was almost two years ago, when my granddaughters and I set off for one of our adventures. They were longtime veterans of Build-A-Bear, but it was my first time. Have you ever been? It is a wonderful place, where you make your own plush toy. I had checked out the website before we went to the mall, so I had an idea of what it was going to cost to really do it right. The girls were delighted that I was going to make a stuffed animal, too. I am not one of those adults who take kids places and quietly observe while they have fun. I love to join in. My older granddaughter made a cute bear with glasses, just like the ones she wears. Her younger sister made a bunny. We got all sorts of accessories. Glasses and hats and underwear and shoes. It was a lot of money, but I taught my granddaughters a new word that day: splurge.

Grandma made an owl. A boy owl. Dressed like a knight. A knight owl. Night owl; get it? When he saw the picture, my older brother said he looked like an astronaut. My owl still sits in my bedroom with the giant Panda my younger son (the girls' uncle) won for me at the county fair when he was nine.

I had the owl for a few months, when one night I took his knight costume off. It was during that twilighty time at night when I get up to go to the bathroom. Not fully awake, but not really sleeping either. I vaguely remembered coming back from the bathroom and taking off his armour. And sure enough, the next morning I awoke to see him  in his natural owliness, and the knight stuff laying beside him. I put it in the back of a dresser drawer, and he hasn't had it on since.

I shared this story at the time with my niece, and she said that maybe I didn't need my armour anymore. So I guess it was symbolic. His armour is in the the back of a dresser drawer, if he ever needs it, but he hasn't and a year and half has gone by already.

The past day or two I've been thinking about protection. I know how to protect myself, if I need to. But it no longer gives me any pride or satisfaction to know that. Like any survivor, I learned it as a means to take care of myself, and it was appropriate at the time. Our human brains come factory equipped with protective devices, defense mechanisms. Helpful in the moment, but once the danger is over, they have no use, other than to inhibit an otherwise healthy, happy life.

My armour has been useful to me, but it was a cold comfort when those charged with my protection failed me. I wrote about this in Be A Man. I'm happy I don't need to protect myself anymore. Oh, I'll always know I can if I have to, but my belief and my intention is that I won't ever need my armour ever again. Ever.

Susan

Sleep. Eat. Drink.

One of my coworkers was complaining of a headache, and I saw that she did not have her usual water bottle at her cash register. I drink a lot of water, and I just think the world would be a better place if we all did that. It is a scientific fact, and not just a Susie thing, that being dehydrated can bring on a headache. So I said maybe drinking some water would help and she gave me a look and I said, "Should I stop mothering you now?" She broke out in a big smile and said, "Yeah. That would be good." I am a nurturing person, which can be okay, but when it crosses the line into mothering it is not a healthy thing.

Once upon a time back in Old Testament Bible times, there was a man named Elijah who wanted to be a force for good in the world. He was overwhelmed and discouraged and pretty much in despair. He was sitting under a juniper tree bemoaning his own life and the condition of the world in general. He was a prophet, who spent his days trying to get people to worship who he believed to be the One True God. Yet lots of people were worshipping this god named Baal, and to make matters even worse he had antagonized Jezebel to the point where she threatened to kill him. So he had fled. As he sat under the tree, he thought maybe it would be good for God to just kill him and put him out of his misery.

I guess he wore himself out, because he fell asleep. Sleep. We all need it, and it has wonderful restorative powers. While he was sleeping, an angel came by and left a cake on a hot rock for him. Eat. And a jar of water. Drink. When he awoke, he realized he was hungry, so he ate the cake and drank the water. Feeling much better already.

He longed to hear God's voice. What he needed was reassurance that life was still good, that all was not lost. He wished that the Power of the Universe would speak to him. There was a mighty wind that shook the branches on the trees. But that was not God. Then the earth quaked. Yet that was not God either. Then there was a fire. God wasn't there either.

Then he heard it. The still, small voice that told him there were still 7,000 people in Israel who had not bowed the knee to Baal or kissed him with their mouths. All was not lost. Life was still good. It was the voice of Elijah's God, the inner compass, the still, small voice. Nothing had changed in the world since Elijah fell sleep. It was Elijah who had changed.

Elijah was all ready to go, as good as new or even better. He had slept, and had a good meal, and, yes, some water. These simple things brought him to a place where he could once again find his center. Elijah and you and me all have our times of discouragement, when we feel overwhelmed, and even to the point of despair. What can bring us back? It must be some huge spectacle, some outstanding miracle of nature, right? Like a hurricane. Or an earthquake. Or a fire.

Isn't it funny how simple life is sometimes? Often all we need are the basics. A restful night's sleep. Nourishing food. A drink of water. (You notice how I keep bringing up the water, right?) And then we are in a place where we hear that still, small voice inside each of us that lifts us up and keeps us going. And growing. Pretty simple when you think about it.

Sleep. Eat. Drink.

Susan

The story of Elijah can be found in the first book of Kings, chapter 19.

I Saw It In the Window

"Those who do not remember the past are condemned to repeat it." George Santayana

Have you seen the new film "Lincoln"? Great movie! I rarely like a movie as much as I enjoyed the book, but this film is even better than the book by Doris Kearns Goodwin on which it was based. What a horrible thing it was for our country to be so divided and for so many lives to be lost. Just like a dysfunctional family, when we fight among ourselves it seems so much worse that if we were fighting against forces from the outside.

So I think it was both laughable and tragic that some Americans, in the wake of the recent elections, signed petitions to secede. What would happen if we had another Civil War? I came across this on Slate  It is interesting reading.

Would I return to the state of my birth, Pennsylvania, out of loyalty? Would I stay in California where I have lived for more than half my life? Would I end up making a dress from the draperies? And how exactly would that work, since we have no drapes, but vertical blinds?

Susan

Wanted

I wrote about the courageous women of Mirman Baheer in Be A Woman. Today I read that two other of the Taliban's most wanted are being honored, Dr. Sima Samar and Malala Yousufzai. Exciting things are happening around the world, a time when there are so many great role models for us girls and women. There is a good piece on the Gulf News website.

Susan

Surrender

"If you want to make someone feel emotion, you have to make them let go. Listening to something is an act of surrender." Brian Eno

Recently I wrote about my past behavior of ignoring my intuition. You can read about it here. The feeling that I knew in my gut to be true is that if I am ever to be all that I can be, I will have to have a man in my life to help me get there. I didn't like that and wanted to reject it right away.

I thought that it would be good to want a man, but I didn't want to need one. So why not? I think part of it is that while there were some very nice aspects to my marriage, for the most part it made me become who I am today through a lot of unpleasantness. Pain that I don't want to experience again.

My ex-husband did some very nice things for me, but I had needs that he could not or would not meet. When you're married, there are things that only your spouse can legitimately give you, and I was scared to need like that again. The needing almost becomes a desperation. Almost, nothing. It does become a desperation, and well I don't want to go there again. And, if I need a man for my enlightenment, to become all that I can be, that makes the stakes even higher than they were in my marriage.

So there I was. I could be less that I could be and do it my way. Or I could go forward in life and become fully actualized, but it was going to require a man. Totally my choice. I didn't rationalize it away. I didn't fight it. I just let go. And yes. I surrendered. Just let the whole idea sit there.

As the weeks went by and I just left it alone, some very remarkable things happened. First, I learned something new about myself, and that was how much I tend to resist. Being aware of it and doing the opposite, letting go, allowed me to see this part of me.

And second, well that is the best thing of all. I actually started to like the idea. Imagine that! It makes sense (and you know how I love it when things make sense) that if I had a man in my life who wanted me to become everything I could be as much as I want to become everything I could be, that it might not always be such a struggle. Maybe it would be a little easier. And maybe he could help me grow in a loving, kind way. That he would see things from a different perspective, point out where I have a blind spot or two. That he could encourage me when I need it, and call me out when I need it, and I would take it because I knew he wanted what was best for me. He could be on Team Susie. I could have a tee shirt made for him.

Seriously now. I am a very supportive and loyal person to the people I love, so why could it not be so that this hypothetical man could give me that kind of support and loyalty, too? Maybe it is time for me to get some of that back in a wonderfully karmic way.

So I guess I'm not going to be doing this alone anymore. How much longer? I have no idea. It is scary in an exciting kind of way, as if I am about to embark on the biggest adventure so far of my life. And it all came about when I just let go. When I surrendered, and listened to that little voice inside of me.

I'm still tentative about it, but I am being patient with myself. I said in that earlier post that my intuition seems to be the wisdom of the child inside of me, and in case you're wondering, Little Susie thinks it's a grand idea.

Susan

Your Monday Earworm

Sophie Madeleine is a talented, up-and-coming artist from the U.K.

Susan

"I Will Follow You Into the Dark" written by Ben Gibbard

I Dream of Larry Hagman

Larry Hagman just passed away, and most of the headlines refer to him as the actor who played J. R. Ewing on "Dallas." It seems that was the role for which he was most famous. I saw that TV show a few times, but I never did watch it much mostly because I just hated seeing Major Nelson from "I Dream of Jeannie" being such a villain.

"Dallas" was on primetime when I was an adult, but "Jeannie" was a show from my childhood. Having one's childhood illusions shattered is not a fun thing. Do you remember "My Three Sons" with Fred MacMurray as the wonderful dad? A few years ago, I saw for my first time the classic film "Double Jeopardy" starring MacMurray and Barbara Stanwyck. Great movie, and the bad guy MacMurray played years before he became Rob, Chip and Ernie's dad is an amazing performance. But I'll take Steve Douglas any day of the week, thank you very much.

Coincidentally, Larry Hagman's mother is the great actress Mary Martin. She charmed us in Peter Pan, The Sound of Music and South Pacific. Young Larry was raised by his grandparents and was estranged from his mother for many years, for she was one of those women whose career came first, and her child came second. They reconciled later in Martin's life, so I guess somehow he came to terms with who his mother was.

Heroes and villains. It's the stuff that entertainment is made of. And we often play out our own inner dramas by watching men such as Major Nelson and J. R. Ewing on the screen.

Of course, Larry Hagman the person was not the roles he played. He was a father and a grandfather, and had been married to the same woman for 58 years. A heavy drinker and smoker at one time, he cautioned others not to ruin their health in the same way. His co-star from "Jeannie" Barbara Eden wrote a lovely tribute to him, and said what an influence he had been in her life.

Heroes and villains. Reality is not that simple. We human beings are complicated. But maybe that is precisely why so many people loved watching J. R. Ewing. And that is definitely why I liked Major Nelson way better than Mr. Ewing. I'll still take a hero any day of the week.

Susan

Black Friday

One of my co-workers is from Sweden. Her English is flawless. In fact, I had no clue until on the first day I was training her, I became concerned about how poorly she was handling cash and counting back change. She explained that she had just moved here from Sweden, and our currency seemed foreign to her. That's because it is. Customers sometimes pick up on her "accent," and while I have always thought it was rude to comment on how a person speaks, maybe that's just me. They ask her where she's from. One day I told her she should say Alabama or even better, Texas.

Yesterday was Black Friday, a day I have always celebrated and honored as a shopper. For the past two years, I have been a retail worker on Black Friday. The other side of the coin, if you will. I wore a white shirt with Santa faces on it, a red skirt, my red Converse sneakers, a green ribbon in my pony tail. One of my colleagues was dressed all in black, and she pointed out it is Black Friday after all.

And then there are the horns, as my Swedish friend calls them. Reindeer antlers. Last year, when we were under different management, the general manager forced everyone to wear headbands with reindeer antlers with little bells on them. Some of us (me) loved it, others not so much. The men especially did not want to wear the horns, I mean antlers, but she told them they had to. Some people think they are just ridiculous and don't want to be embarrassed. It didn't matter to her. Antlers were required.

Our manager this year did not force anyone to wear antlers. She has a more laid back philosophy. Horns are optional. I wore mine with enthusiasm, because one of the things I love about Christmas is that it is an over-the-top kind of fun time.  For part of the day, I got to manage the queue. I asked if customers had found everything, if they needed a price check, I told them about gift cards available in any amount, our store credit card, and if their joy seemed to anywhere begin to match mine, I would invite them to participate in our online survey. And. Get ready for this. I passed out lollipops. Really nice organic ones, the kind that don't have that nasty food dye or high fructose corn syrup in them. It was after I had encouraged countless, somewhat reluctant adults to have one with the line, "They're orGAAAAANic," when another worker relieved me for my lunch break. When I returned, she said one of our assistant managers told her to give them only to the kids. It seems we were going through the lollipops at an alarming rate. Who knew?

Christmas is for children. Yes. I have heard that line, and of course, it is fun for the kids. But why does that have to stop when we're all grown up? Who doesn't love a lollipop? They were as healthy as a lollipop can be, really small so the amount of sugar that jolts the system is minimal, and came in flavors like mango or pomegranate. And it never occurred to me to not offer them to the adults.

My Swedish friend told me that in her country, Santa Claus comes on Christmas Eve. While everyone is still awake! I had no idea. Here is how it goes down. Everyone is sitting around after dinner, when all of a sudden, Dad has to leave the house for something. A newspaper. A quart of milk. A new pair of reindeer horns. Whatever. Doesn't matter. And while he is gone, guess who shows up? I see you are way ahead of me here. Santa! He asks if everyone has been nice. Everyone yells, "Yessss!" and he passes out the gifts. Then he leaves, and then Dad comes back. Everyone is all, "Daddy! Santa was here! You missed him! AGAIN!" How fun is that? I think that is a lot better than Santa coming after you fall asleep, because in case you don't remember, it is really hard to fall asleep on Christmas Eve.

It's Christmas time, everyone! A month from today will be Christmas Eve! I am not a Christian, but I love all the secular aspects of the holiday, which is in my American culture, the big day of the year. It is sparkly and fun and wonderful and the best holiday ever. But you don't have to be all crazy about it like me. You just enjoy it in your own way, but please do enjoy. Reindeer horns are optional.

Susan

Don't Let the Days Go By

My two wonderful granddaughters were at my home this past week for a two-night sleepover. We always have lots of fun when we're together. The younger one, who is eight, is the queen of the one liners. They love Pink, my pink VW New Beetle. We were in a parking lot and walked past a vintage 1960's Beetle, which had not been well maintained at all. She said, "There's Pink's grandpa." She can be very chatty, but has a way of boiling things down to the fewest words possible to say the most profound things.

We were zipping up the freeway, and laughing like crazy. That is one of the things I love about them, how easily they laugh. I love to be silly, and they think I am hilarious, which only encourages me, and well I think you get the picture. "Come As You Are," came on the radio and I said, "I love this song!" and turned it up really loud. My older granddaughter, who is ten, giggled and said, "You say that about every song." I told them about Nirvana and Kurt Cobain, and she said last year there was a girl in her class named Nirvana and she was lazy. I said that since Nirvana was the highest level of enlightenment, her classmate could afford to be lazy since she had achieved it. Am I not hilarious?

The next song was "Glycerine" by Bush, and guess what I said? "I love this song!" and I told them the line "Don't let the days go by" was coming up and we all sang it together. Happy and carefree and riding along singing, "Don't let the days go by!" And so here it is for you. Do you love this song? I love this song!

Susan

"Glycerine" written by Gavin Rossdale

Cry

The girl I wrote about in yesterday's post, "Tough," said that her parents laugh at her when she cries when they have been mean to her. She told me that she is teaching herself not to cry. I did that, too. It only encouraged my mother if I allowed her to see how she had hurt me, and I learned not to let her make me cry.

Away from my mother, I could feel and express normal emotion, and I cried. And once I was grown and living my own life, I would cry. Years later when my marriage became worse, I began to fall back on some of my childhood defense mechanisms. I got to where I would not cry in front of my husband. I would do it while I was alone. That progressed to the point where I didn't cry even by myself. I became very stoic.

Now that I am in a much better place, I have started to cry again. It feels good, the catharsis of tears. It's like I kept my tears bottled up for a long time, and now I am leaking. I could cry, I think, in front of almost anyone. There is no shame in tears, and I have no relationships with people who would want to mock me when I cry. There is no one in my life who has the least inclination to hurt me.

A few years ago, a friend sent me this song, and said, "This is you." And she was right. It was. But not anymore. And my little friend? I hope that will never be her.

Susan

"She Never Cried In Front of Me" written by Toby Keith and Bobby Pinson

Tough

She is wise beyond her years, a true "old soul" in the body of a young girl. We were on the sad subject of abuse, one I wish I could shield her from. Yet it is a fact in her life, and it resonated with her when I shared the story of my childhood. There is something very comforting and good in knowing we are not alone, and because I am someone she seems to admire, I think my words meant a lot to her.

There was a moment of silence, and then she said, "Maybe my mom and dad are mean to me and your mom was mean to you because they want us to be tough." I had never thought about that before. We talked about that, and I told her that the job of parents is to teach and guide and to prepare kids for life when they grow up, but that to be mean in doing that is simply wrong. And that mean people are not tough themselves. They are usually weak bullies who enjoy hurting someone smaller than they are.

Anyone who knows me would likely say I am a strong person. I am also resilient, with a great ability to bounce back from adversity. Resourceful might be another word used to describe me, because as a survivor I know how to take my environment and make it work for me.

Was my mother trying to make me tough? I know she was an unhappy person with a very pessimistic, bitter view of life, so maybe in some twisted way she was trying to prepare me for the "real world." There is a softness to me that some mistake as weakness, and maybe she saw it and thought she needed to fix that.

But the thing is, life is not some painful experience meant only to be endured. Life is beautiful. Most people are good. And even the worst of times has a way of bringing out the best in us as human beings. I have been called upon to be strong and I have been called upon to be brave. Sometimes I have risen to the occasion, and other times I have fallen short.

But tough? For everything that I've been through, I am not tough at all. And my little friend? If she is correct and her parents are trying to make her tough, well, I hope they fail. Miserably.

Susan

Welcome

 

 

This is the wreath that hangs on the door of my home. My dear friend/roommate made it for us, starting with a kind of scraggly wreath with red berries that I had bought. She added everything else, and it's not your usual autumn wreath. It makes me smile just to look at it. And not only is it pretty and cheerful, but it also smells delicious because the pine cones are cinnamon pine cones.

 

This Thanksgiving, I hope that you feel as lucky as I do. I hope you have many blessings to count, so many that you use up all your fingers and toes and then what are you going to do? I am thankful for you, my readers, because you have helped me more than you might suspect.

 

For most of you, I don't open my front door and have you in. But you have caused me to open my heart in a way that I didn't even know I was capable of, and I am not exaggerating when I say it has changed my life.

 

My wish for you this Thanksgiving, is that you will be blessed in the way you have blessed me. That you will enjoy good food and good company, and a contentment that lasts long after the day is over.

 

Susan

 

 

 

 

 



The Second Time Around

This morning a text came up from my BFF, my oldest friend. It is only 333 days till her wedding. Interestingly enough, it was 35 years ago today that I was a bridesmaid in her first wedding. Our dresses were amazing for 1977, but hilarious by today's standards. Floor length peach dresses with fake brown fur trimmed hoods and fake brown muffs with orange flowers on them. The second time around, her daughter will be her maid of  honor, but she has asked me to be the reader, which I consider a big honor and responsibility.

The first time around, I didn't care for her fiance, and I thought about having a frank talk with her before the wedding. But I didn't think she'd hear it, and maybe it wasn't my place, and perhaps it would damage our friendship. So I didn't. Her first husband isn't a bad guy, and they were together twenty years and had three kids. So he is a part of who she is, a huge part of her journey.

The second time around, I reserved judgment for a long time. Nothing I would say would hurt our friendship, so I felt free to say whatever needed to be said. I told her of a few trivial things I didn't like, but for the most part I have been really impressed with this man, who I have come to call my BFFIL. One day he did something that so did it for me, and then I knew. So I texted her, "I approve." We make a joke of it, because of course she doesn't need my approval.  But this wedding will be a lot more fun for me, because my heart will be 100% in it.

My BFF and BFFIL almost never happened. They went to high school together, and while they knew of each other, never dated or even ran in the same circles. The 30th class reunion was coming up, and he decided he wasn't going to come in from out of town to attend. She had bought a new dress to wear and planned to go, but that morning decided it just didn't sound like fun anymore.

Then his friends coerced him into going, and late that afternoon, she thought what the heck, it's better than staying at home on a Saturday night. So they each went to the reunion, he came over to talk to her, sparks flew, and they spent the whole evening and into the wee hours of the morning talking. That started a long distance relationship that lasted several years, and now they live not only in the same city, but the same house.

They have often talked about what their lives would have been like had they gotten together back in high school. She knows for sure she would not have appreciated him and enjoyed him the way she does now. It's hard not to draw comparisons, between her first husband and this man, who is everything he is not and all in a good way.

She is very thankful for her future husband, and she admits it is in large part because of the hard times she went through in her first marriage. So it's Thanksgiving, and here we are. A lot older and a little wiser, and able to more fully appreciate the richness of life and love.

The bride already has her dress, but my super fun dress shopping is still ahead of me. There are not a lot of things in life any better for me than having a special occasion and finding the perfect dress for it. She chose the peach and brown the first time around, but this time she said her daughter and I can wear anything we want. We will all consult and talk about it, and she has final veto power, as the bride.

Isn't life wonderful, how it gives us second chances, second times around for not just love, but everything? And all we have to do is take them. 333 days and counting.

Susan

Have A Great Day

I have framed on my wall, "Life is 10% what happens to you, and 90% what you do with what happens to you." That's the long way of saying that attitude is everything. While some things in life are beyond my control, I have complete control over my attitude, my reactions and my responses. With a positive attitude, I make the best of what happens. And with a positive attitude, I also make the best things happen for myself. It isn't magic, but sometimes it feels that way, because once that good momentum gets going, it just doesn't want to stop.

We seem to end conversations with wishing the other person to have a good day, or a nice day, or a great day. Here is a note that the mom of a second grader put in his lunchbox, and his reply.

So have a great day! Or don't. That is entirely up to you.

Susan

Food Brag

One of my nieces and I share a love for the kitchen. We also like to make dishes from scratch. She has been a vegetarian for many years, and when I became one a few years ago, she was very helpful as I learned to combine different foods to make sure I get enough protein. A couple of thousand miles separate us physically, but still we are close. We connect mostly on Facebook, so she would post a recent meal or dish on my wall, a possible idea for me. Then I began to do the same on her wall.

My dear roommate/friend and I love pesto and hummus. They are expensive items to buy at the grocery store, but ridiculously cheap and simple to make at home. My older son and his wife got me a food processor last Christmas, and it put me in business. So I began to experiment.

I don't know for sure, but maybe it was the day I posted something like Eggplant Hummus, Pesto with Spinach and Pistachio that my niece commented "Whatever. Bragging is not attractive." I don't know; was I being arrogant? Then she came back with a zinger, something like Homemade Pizza with Homemade Marinara, and some other yumminess. It was on! She terms it "food brag." We both have a lot of fun with it.

She said she has to up her game, but I think she has an edge over me because her husband also makes some amazing things. His lasagna outperforms anything you might have in the most authentic Italian restaurant. I hope to visit Europe one day, and I will have some lasagna when I visit Italy, and I fully expect to be disappointed because it won't be as good as his. It is seriously that delicious. And his homemade popcorn with just the perfect combination of salt and butter? OMG.

We are fast approaching Thanksgiving in America, that holiday that is more about food than any other. Yesterday at work, a customer was devastated when it seemed we had sold out on turkey basters. She looked at me with failure in her eyes and said, "I know I waited too long." Then her mother found one on the floor, and raised it high in triumph. I clapped and the three of us cheered, and well, it was a moment not unlike Food Brag.

Susan

Happy Friday

Everyone ought to have a friendship like that of Pooh and Piglet.

"Winnie the Pooh" is written by A. A. Milne.

Susan

The Cold Shoulder

Today I thought about Thanksgiving 2007, one of the last Thanksgivings of my marriage. On Sunday before the holiday, my husband became upset with me. I didn't know why, and he wouldn't tell me. So he wasn't speaking to me. Wasn't looking at me. He totally ignored me. I always dreaded those times, and they happened frequently.  But this time seemed especially bad because a holiday was coming up, then to top it all off, his mother was going to be visiting us for a few days over Thanksgiving. Would he be back to "normal" by then, or would he humiliate me in front of his mother?

He didn't speak to me for six days. Six days of the excruciatingly cruel silent treatment. With his mother present. Then he began talking again. I asked him what had been wrong, and he said he didn't know. Now don't get me wrong. I am no angel, and I gave him reason to be unhappy or angry with me from time to time, but part of the confusion of our dynamic was that he often would be upset with me and claim that either it wasn't me, or that he didn't know why.

And no matter how we might be provoked, it is not all right to dish out the silent treatment, to give the cold shoulder. It is emotional abuse. I remember as the silent days would go by, I would occasionally wish that I was a different kind of person. A tougher person, a harder kind of woman, that could have him do that and it wouldn't hurt. But it did.

Certainly no one should be forced to talk if he doesn't want to, and everyone now and then needs a little space and time to process. If one is hurt, it may be hard to talk about it. And if things are becoming really heated, maybe a little cooling off is needed. A little. Minutes or hours, but not days. The first time my husband did that to me, we were dating. He said he was mad and didn't want to say something to hurt me, but in my heart I knew that wasn't true. But I went along with it, told myself I believed it, maybe because I didn't want to think the man I loved was so mean.

The silent treatment is emotional abuse, plain and simple. The cold shoulder is cruel. I am so grateful that isn't my life anymore. This is the kind of shoulder everyone should have.

"Put Your Head on My Shoulder" written by Paul Anka.

Susan

More Good Stuff

Here are two more blogs that I enjoy. Check them out.

in deep   www.kevansindeep.wordpress.com
Hope and Healing   www.hopehealing.wordpress.com

And don't forget the blogs I've recommended in the past.

Tina Narang's Alibi  www.tinanarang.blogspot.com
Loudmouth Birdie    www.loudmouthbirdie.com
33 Dresses                www.33dresses.com

The Pain Aisle

At my local drugstore, the professional disembodied voice on the intercom exhorted me to get a flu shot (I would get a $10 gift card) and warned me that if I have had chicken pox (I have) or am over 62 (I'm not) I need the shingles vaccine. Then she told me about Excedrin Migraine. She sounded more upbeat and enthusiastic about Excedrin Migraine, and talked much longer about it than she did the flu shot or the shingles vaccine.

It was a little distracting. I had decided to go back to being a brunette, which is what I am naturally, and I was there to check out the hair color. I love to change up both my hair styles and my hair color, but it seems I am always happiest when I am a brunette. Not surprising, that being who I am makes me happy, right?

So there I am trying to decide on Medium Brown, Medium Golden Brown, Medium Auburn Brown, or Medium Caramel Brown. You can appreciate, I'm sure, the intense concentration required for this. And she is still talking about Excedrin Migraine, which can be found in the Pain Aisle. The Pain Aisle?! Maybe I heard wrong. Then she said it again. The Pain Aisle. I smiled and looked up at the signs, and in reality the aisle is marked Pain Relief. So it's the Pain Relief Aisle. That sounds better. Who wants to shop from the Pain Aisle? And then I felt a blog post coming on.

I have been extraordinarily blessed with excellent health, so my experiences with physical pain are rather limited. Emotional pain, now I have had some of that, although not as much as many people. But wasn't my pain incidental, something that happened to me because of nasty circumstances beyond my control or mean people? Or, could it be, that I have pushed my cart right up there and shopped from the Pain Aisle? Made some of my own choices?

It started me to thinking about relationships, and the times I have chosen to avoid the immediate pain of confrontation, which I hate. So I would keep my mouth shut, take the path of least resistance and go along to get along. In the short term, it did help me avoid pain. But in the long term? Oh my gosh. Ouch! It's ironic that I do things in the moment to help me avoid a little bit of pain, and then I hurt much worse and for much longer later. Not smart. I need to do something about that, don't you think? I need to stop shopping from the Pain Aisle of life.

Oh, and the hair color? Medium Golden Brown, in case you're wondering.

Susan

The Sound of Music

It's my day off. As I puttered in the kitchen this morning, I listened to the soundtrack from "The Sound of Music." What amazing songwriters Oscar Hammerstein II and Richard Rodgers were. The movie starring Julie Andrews is a favorite of mine. I've seen it countless times.

One of the reasons I think it resonates with me is that I came upon motherhood by marrying a man with two small sons. Those two guys, now adult men, are the best things that ever happened to me. So I get that about Maria, about how even though she didn't carry them in her body or give birth to them, she loves those children. And they love her back.

The romance is sweet, too. Remember that moment in the movie when Captain von Trapp and Fraulein Maria look at each other, and you think "somebody's never gonna become a nun"? You just have to love it.

Christopher Plummer, who plays the Captain in the film, was one handsome man back then, and even today is still quite good looking. But the character he plays in the movie? I don't know, but I have a hard time getting all warm and gooey over an ill tempered narcissist who uses his wife's death as an excuse to ignore his children. Am I being too harsh?

But Maria transforms him, with her love. She brings out the really nice guy he is deep inside. That resonates with me, because there is a part of me that likes to think my love is so special that it can make everything all better. Now don't get me wrong. Love is a wonderful thing, with certain undeniable magical powers. But love doesn't make unhealthy relationships healthy, or unhappy people happy. And some people are really exactly who they appear to be on the outside, and we should be careful to not attribute wonderful qualities to not-so-wonderful people. Am I being too cynical?

But I know many women who have crushed on Captain von Trapp, and I mean them no disrespect. That kind of guy just isn't my cup of tea. I want someone who is easy to love. Someone whose outside matches his inside. I guess I have finally figured out I'm really not all that powerful.

"The Lonely Goat Herd" is the best song from the movie.

Susan

Crazy

I am a fairly informed person when it comes to current events. Some things really push my button. If you're a long time reader, you may be thinking "yeah, she really went on and on about Jerry Sandusky..." But I haven't been following the story about the director of the CIA. I really don't need to, I guess, because my dear friend/roommate keeps me informed. She is one of the best storytellers I have ever known, and her accounts of it are very entertaining. At first I was like, ok, isn't this something between him and his wife? I mean, not to diminish the seriousness of breaking one's marriage vows, but I didn't get how it should concern me as an American citizen. Should I care? Is it a breach of national security? Did he in the heat of something I don't really even want to visualize, tell her something he shouldn't have? From what my favorite storyteller is telling me, it's quite the intricate web of well, crazy.

So with that, I give you this fun little song.

"Why Don't We Just Dance?" written by Jim Beavers, Darrell Brown and John Singleton

Susan

It's Going To Be Okay

"It's hard to lead a cavalry charge if you think you look funny on a horse." Adlai Stevenson

My new position at work has me in a supervisory role. I am a good leader. I work harder than anyone. No task is beneath me, and I never ask anyone on my team to do something I am not willing to do myself. I quickly admit when I screw up, and I laugh at myself when I do something laughable. I have no problem giving people direction, but don't find joy in bossiness. I think I am pretty good at evaluating people's strengths and weaknesses and managing accordingly. So while I think I am a good leader, it is not something I aspire to. What I really enjoy about leadership is the power to affect positive change. So it's a means to an end, making good things happen. It's not an end in and of itself.

We have basically two groups of people who comprise my team. Those who worked with me before I was promoted, and those who have come on board since then. It seems the two groups view me a little differently and interact with me a little differently. The new group seems to follow my leadership because it's their job to do so. I am who I am. They seem to respect my position, but haven't gotten to know me well enough yet to respect me, the person. Maybe they think I was given the position.

The old group, the ones who worked on the same level with me for a year, seem to follow me because they really want to. They respect my new position, but more importantly they seem to respect who I am as a person. That means a lot to me. Maybe they believe I earned the position.

Either way, all these people depend on me to lead the way with calm confidence. When my general manager promoted me, she said one of the nicest things anyone has ever said me. "You're the kind of person, that when you show up, everyone just knows it's going to be okay."

And perhaps when she said that, she was also defining a good leader.

Susan

Fifty is the New Black

Fifty years ago tomorrow, my younger brother was born. It is crazy for me to know that I can actually remember something that happened fifty years ago. I was four years old. I don't remember much. I do remember knowing that my mother was in the hospital. And my older sister, who I adored, stayed with me. We made homemade blueberry muffins together, and I got to help. That wasn't something that normally happened around our house, and it made a big impression on me.

My brother lost his foot in a work-related accident several years ago. That would make some people feel sorry for themselves or become bitter, but he has an upbeat attitude about life. He works hard to help his family have a good life, and enjoys his wife and two little children. He has a dry, wry sense of humor that makes me laugh. He has a gratitude about his life that is refreshing. He's a good man.

And he's fifty. My "little" brother is fifty. I hope being fifty is as good for him as it was for me. The best part of my life started when I turned fifty. I wish the same for him. Health, happiness, love, cake and ice cream. And maybe some blueberry muffins. Yeah. That would be great.

Susan

Meet Little Susie

One of the most significant things that came out of my therapy a few years ago was the fact that I had not been trusting my instincts. What would happen is this. I would intuitively know something, then take it and analyze it, intellectualize it, rationalize it, blah blah blah. Of course, we can't run around all crazy just going with how we feel, but I had gone way over in the opposite direction. I would even say things like, "I am just not intuitive." But I am. So slowly I began to learn to listen to how I feel. It is an ongoing process.

The other day I had a feeling about something, and I didn't like it. But I knew it was true. I wanted to apply "logic" to it, but what I quickly recognized was as we would say back in the 1970's, a "cop out." I didn't want to accept the truth of my intuition, so I wanted to slip into what used to be old default, which is try to reason myself out of it. And I didn't allow myself to do it. I made myself accept the cold, hard fact of what I knew. And I'm moving forward with it.

It was a big moment for me, because I think I have sometimes (often?) hidden behind my intellect to keep from feeling my emotions. It was interesting and helpful to see it for what it is. I think the little child that we used to be still lives inside each of us. I wrote about the little girl inside of me here in Come Out and Play. I think the things I know intuitively come from her, from the wisdom of a child. I am listening to her more and more.

A while back, my dear niece sent me a picture of what she thinks is the little girl me. So here she is. Meet Little Susie.

Susan

Veterans Day

"Every gun that is made, every warship launched, every rocket fired, signifies in the final sense a theft from those who hunger and are not fed, those who are cold and not clothed." Dwight D. Eisenhower

I found this statement from President Eisenhower interesting, given that he was a General in World War II. Recently I talked to a Vietnam veteran, and he said he hates war. Then he added that no one hates war as much as a man who has fought in one.

Today is Veterans Day, and those who have served our country deserve to be honored and appreciated. Some made the ultimate sacrifice, and those who come home often find the transition into civilian life difficult. What can we do, what can I as an individual do, to make sure it is a little easier for them?

At work when a customer uses a credit card, I ask to see ID. Sometimes I am shown a military ID, and try to always say "Thank you for your service." Yesterday a woman showed me her military ID, and I saw that she was a dependent. I thanked her for her service, and she said, "Oh, it's my husband." I replied that my son was in the Air Force for eight years, and the families are serving and sacrificing, too. She seemed surprised that someone would acknowledge that, and thanked me for saying it.

It's true, though, isn't it? Even those of us who are not veterans are connected to veterans as family members, friends and neighbors. We are all in this together. I know part of who we are as Americans is that we value individualism, but I think sometimes we take it too far and to our own detriment. For when we feel connected, when we understand that we are all brothers and sisters here in this nation, and on this planet, maybe we would decide to take better care of each other.

Happy Veterans Day.

Susan

"He Ain't Heavy" written by Bob Russell and Bobby Scott.

The "P" Word

I have a new friend. She is new to this planet, having arrived here just last February. Her mom and I became friends a couple of years ago in a college class, and in my spare time I babysit. It's nice because it gives me some money apart from my regular job, and my new friend is the bee's knees.

She has super long eyelashes, but not much hair. She is a snuggler, and I love to snuggle. She is one of those babies that just kind of leans and cuddles in, and loves to be held. Her mom told me that she and the dad don't use the "P" word around her, but she hears it a lot when they go out. Pretty. I mean, I get it that they don't want her looks to define her. And she is more than just a pretty face. She is smart and funny and crawls both backward and forward and pulls herself up on things.

She seems to think that I am the bee's knees, too, because when she sees me she smiles and puts her arms out for me to pick her up. Yesterday she did that, and I took her and we were just sort of talking and I said, "So how ya doin', Princess?" I gasped and immediately looked at her mom. "Uh, another "P" word, huh?" Her mom smiled good naturedly and said, "Yeah, we try not to use that one either."

But the thing is, as soon as I said the "P" word, my friend broke out in the biggest smile ever and laughed. She knows she is a princess, and she likes it that I get that about her, her princessness, or princesshood. If anyone would understand, it would be me. I drive a pink car, for goodness' sake.

So I had a little talk with my friend and told her that we are more than our looks, that we are smart and funny and talented and kind and wonderful and strong, and the sky is the limit as to what we can accomplish. I asked her if she knew that Barack Obama (Can you say "Barack Obama"?) was re-elected President, and that he respects women and will work to make sure no one puts baby in a binder? She thought that was funny, that baby in a binder thing. So I said it a bunch of times really fast. Babyinabinderbabyinabinderbabyinabinder.

We can be anything we want to be. Scientists and professors and mechanics and well, maybe one day soon Hillary Clinton (Can you say "Hillary Clinton"?) will become the first woman President of the United States. It is wonderful to be a girl. It is the best thing ever, to be a girl in a world like the one we live in today.

Her mom had Sesame Street on, and I told my friend about PBS and how Big Bird and Elmo and Abby weren't going anywhere. Today's post has been brought to you by the letter "P," and it's for all the pretty princesses everywhere.

Susan

Lead Me To Your Door

In times of stress, I have this recurring nightmare. I am walking somewhere, or driving somewhere. The setting is my present hometown, or somewhere I have lived before, or a place I have visited. I am walking along, getting around just fine. Or I am driving, skillfully navigating the roads. Then, all of a sudden and with absolutely no warning, I am in a different place. This place is a familiar one, too, but I have to quickly switch gears and find my way around this new place. Then it happens again. It is like as soon as I am in a comfort zone of finding my way around, I am instantly transported to a different place and I have to quickly get my bearings. And I am always trying to get home. I never make it.

Life is a journey. We are cautioned to value the journey more than the destination. But what, if just like in my dream, the journey is the destination?

Does it ever seem that way to you? Like you are always on the road, always trying to find your way home?

Susan

"The Long and Winding Road" written by John Lennon and Paul McCartney

The Morning After

Yesterday I had one of the best days of my life. I worked at the election precinct a few miles from my home. It was my first time working at the polls, and I was looking forward to it. There were four of us who met at 5:45 am at an elementary school a few miles from my home. We set up outside the library, in a small area of the auditorium.

The principal of the school stopped by when she arrived at work, and made us feel welcome by showing us the location of the rest rooms and the break room. She told us to feel free to use the fridge and the microwave, and help ourselves to the coffee.

Classes of kids came by with their teachers, who patiently explained the process. Some of them would vote in their classes. Throughout the school day, the occasional stray kid, maybe on his way to the restroom, would curiously look as he walked by.

It was an efficient process, and I like efficiency. The four us of were comprised of two retired men, both of them Vietnam War veterans, myself and a 17-year-old high school student. She isn't old enough to vote, but old enough to work at the polls. The men were both interesting people. One of them worked the polls for the first time during one of the Reagan elections. Of course, we didn't talk politics or anything partisan because we were simply there to facilitate the voting process. But when you spend 15 hours with total strangers, of course you talk and get to know each other. The young woman was well spoken and composed, and I was happy that both men treated her like the adult that she is. We had some good conversation, some serious and of course just the kidding around and joking that goes along with working side by side with people.

We had potentially 115 voters who would walk in that day, and by the time we got into our cars at 8;30 that night, we had a turnout of 100. That is a pretty healthy percentage. Fifty-five percent of voters in my county are mail ballot voters. It was good to see that people care. It was good to see that no matter our differing opinions, we all take part in a process that means each vote counts equally.

Often throughout the day, voters would thank us for being there, for donating our time. That was nice to hear. I mostly smiled when they said that and said, "My pleasure." And it was. Oh, there was a time around 2:00 where I thought I would collapse, but somehow I caught a second wind and was soon perky again.

We had a small flag in our box of supplies that we hung on a bulletin board. When we were packing up, I took the flag down and got it ready to put back in its envelope. I folded it and thought about what it means to be an American. I thought about my older son, who spent eight years serving his country, and came back safe and sound. It thought about all the mothers who weren't so lucky, whose sons and daughters paid the ultimate price so that I could sit in an elementary school auditorium and be a part of this amazing democratic process. I thought about how we should choose to fix our problems, not with vicious words and guns, but peaceably at the ballot box. I thought that this is who we are at our very best.

We had no long lines. We had no glitches. Not one voter was made to feel uncomfortable. It all went seamlessly and smoothly, as it should. I was glad to hear the President say in his speech last night that the long lines were something that would be fixed. We should be making it easy for people to vote, not difficult. I hope I did that yesterday.

My county is always looking for people to work the polls. Maybe there is a shortage of folks in your area to do that as well. Maybe you will think about doing it some time. Maybe you could have one of the best days of your life, too.

Susan

Election Day

He was my first. I was just a girl of 18. His name? Jimmy Carter. The first time I ever voted was in the 1976 Presidential election. To my American readers: who was your first? Is this election your first?

When my grandmothers were born, women were not permitted to vote in our country. Even today, under the guise of being concerned about "voter fraud," some would deny others this right. To me, it is a right and a privilege and a duty. It seems disrespectful to suffragettes who worked so hard to make sure I could vote, not to do so.

I have already voted, since I am a mail ballot voter. I hope you will do the same, even if it's for "that other guy."

Susan

The Rest of Your Life

"I used to shop this store all the time," my coworker said to a few of us sitting in the breakroom. She went on to say that a typical day might consist of her dropping her kids off at school, then a trip to the gym, or perhaps a manicure or facial was on the agenda. Then she'd lunch with her friends and do some shopping, finishing around the time the kids were ready to be picked up. "I never thought I'd work here."

She went on to describe vacations that she had taken, the upscale restaurants in our city she and her husband frequented. Then all that changed, when his business went south when the recession started. They moved to a smaller home and she went to work, and their lives are drastically different from what they used to be. And she's bitter about it.

She said that she thinks it would be better never to have lived that type of lifestyle, because then she wouldn't know what she was missing. "I guess this," she said, gesturing to our surroundings in the breakroom, "is going to be the rest of my life."

Yes. It is. This is the rest of her life. She has a lot of choices, a lot of directions she could move in, but going back to the "good old days" is simply not an option. This is the rest of my life, and yours, too. No matter how good or bad or mediocre the past was, all that really matters is what we do with what we have right now. We are not helpless victims. We have the power to make the kind of life we want. So, what are you doing the rest of your life?

Susan

"What Are You Doing the Rest of Your Life?" written by Alan Bergman, Marilyn Bergman and Michel Legrand.

In A Bind

It's likely you heard Governor Romney's comment about having binders of qualified women when he was putting together his Massachusetts cabinet. It was the kind of remark that makes perfect material for those of us who would like to poke fun at the Governor.

Binders, otherwise known as notebooks, are still in use even though so much of our information today is digital. We keep files in our smart phones and in our computers, but occasionally we might have use for a binder. One of those three ring binders with the hole punched paper inside.

And while Governor Romney's comment was funny in a sad way, or sad in a funny way, some of us are not blameless when it comes to carrying around binders full of stuff. There is one binder in particular that puts us in a bind. That would be the one marked, "Something Bad Happened the Last Time I Did That."

We carry around this old, well worn binder, and open it when we come upon a new situation. It could be a romantic relationship, where we won't give a guy a chance because the last time we were involved with a man, it didn't go so well. So while on the one hand, we yearn for love, we find ourselves sitting home because of all the bad stuff so well documented in the binder.

We don't go for that new business venture, because as the papers in that binder will clearly show, the last time we stuck our neck out it almost got chopped off. And why start eating healthier, when the last time we attempted that, we just lapsed back into our old habits within a few weeks? And yes, we could jog or go to the gym or take a Zumba class, but the binder clearly documents our intense hatred for any kind of physical activity.

The older we get and the longer we live, the more we stuff papers into that binder until it will hardly close. We hate it because it reminds us of all our failures, yet we love it because it is an excuse not to try anything new. We could be living a fuller life, we could be on the road to finding the happiness and peace we crave, if we were not constantly referring to our binder marked, "Something Bad Happened the Last Time I Did That."

How about you? Do you carry around a binder? Has it got you in a bind?

Susan