Atheism and Brilliance: A Note on Christopher Hitchens and Differing Opinions

Many times since I’ve started this blog I’ve touched on spirituality and religion. I have asked people with a journey of their own to write guest blogs for me. I haven’t yet explained in-depth my own feelings towards it; my assumption is that as you continue to read, you will piece it together on your own. I also think that including differing views is important as well, especially in our quest for our own truth.



When I stumbled onto Christopher Hitchins many years ago in Vanity Fair magazine, he was like a train wreck to me. I didn’t like what I read, or rather didn’t agree with the viewpoint, but I couldn’t stop reading. His first column that I read was about his staunch view on atheism. He was extremely in your face about his credence that no God exists, almost taunting. For some reason, I continued to read month after month despite my differing opinion about religion. We did agree on one thing: that organized religion is at the heart of many of the worlds conflicts.  I chose this quote about his views to illustrate his thoughts: “Hitchens contended that organized religion is the main source of hatred in the world: violent, irrational, intolerant, allied to racism, tribalism, and bigotry, invested in ignorance and hostile to free inquiry, contemptuous of women and coercive toward children, and that accordingly it "ought to have a great deal on its conscience.”  I agree with him that people use religion as a basis for war, judgment of others, intolerance and demagogy.  But I do have belief and faith that the world can be better eventually, whereas he did not.  And I admit that the news carries stories every day proving me wrong. I still believe that I can work to help others, to demonstrate my own faith by loving people despite our differences and by continuing to see the goodness in humankind.



I was married to a Jehovah’s Witness (a fallen one obviously, as they aren’t supposed to marry outside of their faith) for ten years.  He had not only fallen away from the religion, but his upbringing had left him very soured to the thought of religion as whole.  And despite my early assumption that it was “no big deal”, I came to understand that for him, he was his own highest power. And to that end, it was like living in a bad city with no police.  Like the Wild West, with no law to answer to, no guideline to follow and no repercussion for breaking a law.  This was my only personal experience with someone who was a nonbeliever, so to read Hitchens’ viewpoint actually gave me insight into the fact that not all nonbelievers are lawless. 

When Christopher Hitchens became ill with cancer a couple of years back, I continued to read his column which spoke about his illness and his strong opinions on pretty much every topic. Your feeling on religion aside, the man was brilliant. He could speak about many topics, to any audience. He was snarky and sarcastic, often self depreciating, which I appreciate.  He had a humor about his sickness, and for a good while was determined that this cancer would not defeat him as it had his father.  Sadly, he was incorrect and he passed away earlier this month.

When I read that he had passed, I went onto the VF website to read his memoriam written by Graydon Carter, the Editor of VF. It was deeply respectful and alluded to the genius that many felt Hitchins possessed. I also dug deeper to see if he had what sometimes happens: a deathbed conversion.  He did not and in fact he was adamant that would not happen. He held fast to his convictions right up until the end. I suppose after a lifelong certainty that he was right, most would choose to not let go of them in the end.

If nothing else, I remain optimistic that when people learned of his passing that they did not further his hunch about religion being the main source of hatred in the world.  He was someone’s love, someone’s son and someone’s brother.  I am hopeful that whatever religious creed someone subscribes to, that it holds within it the most basic and profound of all values: KINDNESS, COMPASSION AND LOVE.

A New Favorite Christmas Song... A life plan revisited

Christmas time for a single mom is always a sticky situation. On top of the budgetary struggles, we have the politics. I can’t speak for all single moms; I can only share my own situation. The tricky situation I find is juggling the time frame. My Christmases have always been relaxed. Even after I moved out, we would go to my parent’s house for the entire day after unwrapping presents at our house. It was easy…no dividing time, no separate households to visit.



But now, things are clearly different. My ex picks the kids up at 3pm on Christmas Day, which is actually a good compromise. I get them for Christmas Eve, which I make a big deal of. And I get to see my babies on Christmas morning, and that’s priceless. I try to be fair and give my ex the time he wants. After all, I get to wake up with them, even if it is at 7am!



For someone who was raised in a traditional household, this “hand off” to the other parent is increasingly difficult. I was raised spending all day with my sisters and parents. Fast forward all these years, and my younger sister isn’t an active part of the family and doesn’t visit and my kids leave at 3pm. It’s tough. I feel the loss. But we do make the most of it. I get to spend my time with my parents, which I now understand is so important. Especially when my kids aren’t close, I sort of understand how my parents feel. And I love spending time with my older sister (she’s going to kick me for pointing out OLDER in big, bold letters. Older older older. Just saying.) and nieces and nephew. They ease the pain of not having my kids there for sure.

At some point, I recognize that even if my ex isn’t perfect, he’s still my kid’s dad. And he WANTS to see them, which I’m aware is not always the norm. I think he does the best he can, and the best he was raised with. Not everyone has the ideal upbringing, or the most ideal role model. He is working with what he has, and the kids are happy with that right now. So I’ll take it. But in the mean time, I can only reflect on myself. And for a woman who didn’t think she wanted kids, I can say now that I was way off base. I read this quote below and cried.



They are all of these things to me, they are everyday my masterpiece. I very much view them as a work of art, not quite completed but always evolving. And they, in turn, have made me the same thing. They make me understand that I’m not perfect; I’m a work in progress. I learn from them what it is to be humbled, to be brought to my knees by love for someone (and not silly boyfriend love, I mean REAL love. Unconditional love.) On a similar note, I found this quote on Pinterest (I said I was obsessed!!) that may accurately describe my sisters (the OLDER sister) relationship with her 19 year old son, who she loves dearly but I suspect wants to strangle sometimes. I anticipate being in this situation in T-minus ten years (my son is 7).



And after many years, I finally understand that the fulfillment I wanted wasn’t held by the gypsy, wandering life alone plan that I always had, the one of wandering the country solo in a Ford pickup. It was fulfilled by creating and raising two forever companions for my life-long journey. So this year, I have decided that I have a new favorite Christmas song. This is a big deal, because my two favorites FOREVER have been “O Holy Night” and “Blue Christmas”, strictly by Elvis. This year, I’ve decided that the sentiment behind “Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas” (the Bing Crosby one is my fave.) is much more suiting to me.  I’ve included the lyrics below. I think they’re relatable, and tell my story this year. Enjoy!

Have yourself a merry little Christmas

Let your heart be light

From now on our troubles will be out of sight

Have yourself a merry little Christmas

Make the Yuletide gay

From now on our troubles will be miles away

Here we are as in olden days

Happy golden days of Yore

Faithful friends who are dear to us

Gather near to us once more

Through the years we all will be together

If the fates allow

Hang a shining star upon the highest bough

And have yourself a merry little Christmas now

Through the years we all will be together

If the fates allow

Hang a shining star upon the highest bough

And have yourself a merry little Christmas now.

Merry Christmas, D&W Readers!

Slowly the wrapping paper dustup is settling, the smell of Cinnamon Rolls is thoroughly permeating the house and "A Christmas Story" is on 24 hour rotation.  Yes, Christmas is surely here!

 

Judging Someone By Their Past: Two Finger Rings, High School and All.

I am obsessed with Pinterest. I am unapologetic and unabashed. I will not give it up for anyone, and in fact, it takes away from my love life and social life and I’m okay with it.

In my never ending quest for creative people, I stumbled upon this site after a recommendation by a friend.  And I find it to be a gathering place of creative people, so I could hang out there all day long.

It’s also a virtual mine field of corny, should-be-on-a-poster sayings. And I’m okay with that. Because as corny as they may be, they prompt thought. They make my wheels turn.  Well, they’re always turning but normally in a million opposing directions. So reading one sentence and pondering it is not only a hurdle, but also an example that ADD can be controlled.

The theme of this blog is “Don’t Judge Me By My Past, I Don’t Live There Anymore.” This one is funny for me. I don’t know about you, but I’ve been through about a MILLION transformations and evolutions in my life. I spent my elementary years as a super quiet, shy girl with fashion tastes that bordered a South Western loving transvestite. Junior High (Middle School) was spent wishing I could melt into the cinder block prisonesque walls. And I say this because I was not only the tallest bookworm in school, but add to that I got braces (Full Metal!) and an extremely Ill advised perm of my red hair.  First, perms and red hair don’t ever, ever go together. But I will take this as a testament as to how much my mother loved me. Because I lobbied for that perm…I pestered and nagged and finally she gave in. This was her way of supporting me and showing me that she thought I was beautiful NO MATTER WHAT. And by NO MATTER WHAT, I mean a perm circa 1989. That says a lot.

But my most memorable role in the past would be the identity crisis of 1992-1996. That’s a long one, and I’m estimating the years. I not only forgot my wholesome, ideal upbringing, but I altogether forgot that I was raised amongst farm land, and I thought that I was raised in East L.A. with some “Homies” and “Bitches”.  Try to leave behind the fact that the school I went to could have been the basis for 90210 with the stuck up chicks and cliques. I went entirely outside of the school to the other side of the tracks and picked a boyfriend from the worst part. I wore a Starter jacket (not the Eagles either…that says a lot. Clearly out of my gourd.) I wore Fila’s….red, blue, black and every other color. I had airbrushed jeans that said my name down the left leg, should I ever forget it. I had a two finger ring that was bent and warped from all my fights that I think my parents still have as a memento of my foolish teen years. They may have it framed somewhere like a trophy that I actually survived my teen years. I know I would.

And now…hmmm. How far I’ve travelled. Nothing at all like my past self, yet I’m not willing to ever act as thought that didn’t exist. I know there are women who act as though they haven’t made mistakes. They haven’t had lovers. They haven’t had kids without being married first. I’m not one of those. I’ve done those things and I’m glad I did. I’m glad I called out girls in high school for being boyfriend stealers. I’m glad I stood up where I felt there was an injustice. I was perceived as a bully then, when really I wasn’t. I was someone who had been bullied for having that red hair, that ill advised perm, for being too tall and too book wormish. By the time I hit high school, I was over it. I changed and evolved, I became the strong woman my parents always told me I could be. And I stood up for myself and others.

Years later, after my failed marriage, I became that woman again after a decade long absence. I’m fairly sure that she and I are one now. I’ll never let that side go again.  Because that side with two finger rings , slicked back pony tails and all, make me up every day. But I don’t expect to be judged on it. And too often, we see someone we knew in high school or in our past, and say, “I knew her when….”

You don’t need to qualify it. You just need to remember it and forget it just as quickly. How long ago was school? For some of us (Ummmm…me), it was almost 20 years. I doubt very much that anyone I knew back then is the same.  Sometimes, their bad behavior and traits have evolved into something worse, but not often. Mostly, they’re better, as am I. They’ve learned from mistakes, from heartache, from life. They’ve grown up.

Challenge yourself the next time you see someone you knew. Remember that you only KNEW them, you don’t KNOW them. They’re two very different notions.

Offer goodwill and a clear slate. After all, who couldn’t use that? I know that my Fila wearing, airbrushed jeans sporting past self sure could use some forgiveness and understanding.

Wonderment: Where Does Your Movie Take Place?

What a crazy few weeks! I’ve been traveling, training, talking, flying, packing, unpacking and packing again.  I have just unpacked for what is hopefully the last time for a while. On a plus side, my fear of flying is quickly abating out of sheer force. I’m still over taken by the second of panic during takeoff, but I have come to appreciate the beauty of flight.

One of my favorite things has become looking at the states from above, in particular cities at night. I love to see the golden lights twinkling below, and pondering the thought process behind the layout of the city. I often develop little stories in my mind of what people are doing down there.  This is the mind of a writer, I suppose, always spinning a story.  Vegas was easy, I assumed everyone was gambling away hard earned money or getting married on a whim.



This time, as I flew over Nashville, I wondered if some of the blinking lights I saw where from Christmas lights. Farfetched, of course, but it made me smile to think of it. I could see the cars moving, in one continuous line of light. I could see baseball fields, and malls packed with cars driven by holiday shoppers. It’s been so hectic this last month or two that I couldn’t wait to land in Philly and become one of those cars in the line of light, doing holiday shopping and visiting friends.

My second favorite thing is people watching in the airport. I think I could do it all day, and in some layovers I felt that I have!  But people at airports wear their emotions on their faces plainly; they don’t seem to be able to help it. Some are saying hello and enveloping long lost loved ones in a huge hug. Some are saying goodbye, and don’t want to let that person go. They’re the ones who stand locked in embrace for a long time, versus the hello hugs which last seconds. I wonder why that is? That saying goodbye is more permanent? I think we should have equal hello hugs.

I always wonder about their stories. I wonder what they think mine is. I’m using the word wonder entirely too much in this post, but I suppose that could be the theme of this post. I have spent an incredible amount of time “wondering” these few weeks.

I’ve wondered about my own story, quite frankly, as I sit on these long flights. When my life will calm down a bit, where I’m going to move to in the upcoming months, where all of this work will get me.  And then it came to me. I needed a setting. You can’t possibly figure out your story without a setting, an end location in which the movie of your life takes place. All of those people I stare down at from the plane have a setting. The people in the airport probably do, too. So that was it, I needed to determine where I wanted to be, what I’m working so hard for and where I want to end up.



This is what it looks like. A ranch house on at least 50 acres. Rolling hills or mountains in the background, at least. Wide, light filled windows, wooden floors and a big stone fireplace in a big, sunny kitchen.  And another fireplace in my bedroom, while I’m at it. A room overlooking the mountains with a nice white antique desk where I can write this here blog. And don’t forget the horse in the pasture and the kids running around with reckless abandon.  Clearly, I went from having no picture to a fairly well defined one!  I can almost tell you what I’m wearing, it’s become so clear.



But I have to admit that once I came up with a destination, the smaller steps of getting there seemed easier and a little bit more worth it.  How about you? Do you have a destination for your story? If not, please do yourself this favor:

Wonder about everything a little bit more. Wonder about yourself and your path, and then determine where it will lead you.  Where does your movie end?  You owe it to yourself to paint that picture!

A Man's Legacy: An Open Note to My Father and My Son

November happens to be the birth month of the favorite two men in my life: My dad and my son.  My birthday lands smack in the middle of theirs, ten days after my sons and 9 before my dads. This is an interesting parallel to me, since I try to parent Z (my son) that way. What I mean is this: he's 7 now. My dad is in his 60's.  I see Z as the man in the making now, and I see my father as the goal line. I am simply the person in between the two, trying to make it happen. I see myself as a conduit for my father's legacy.



It is easy for me to carry on my mom's legacy with my daughter and son, but it's an every day struggle to raise a man as a single mom and to instill good qualities. Especially since he's so much like me in the best ways: he's a wild nature lover, he's in love with simple things and always stops to smell the roses, he's impulsive and passionate, he is kind.  And he's like me in the not so great ways: he's impulsive and passionate, he's stubborn as you can get, he's kind to a fault, he's hardheaded and cannot be convinced to do it any other way. But I know every day that it would be so much harder to raise a man if I didn't have such a good role model to base it on.

And lucky for me, I do have the best role model you can find. My son idolizes my father, as I did when I was younger and still do. When Z talks about getting bigger, he almost always follows the statement with "like Pop-Pop".  This makes me ridiculously happy, because I know he sees many things worth emulating in my father including patience, kindness, humor and unabashed love and affection for his loved ones.

Now of course, as a daddy's girl,  dating has been an adventure. I didn't marry someone like my dad. Oddly, none of the three sisters married a man remotely similar to my dad. I find this crazy and don't really have an excuse for it. Perhaps it was....maybe it was...I was drugged? Hmmm, no. I've got nothing. Except for that hardheadedness I referred to earlier. Two out of three of us are divorced, clearly we recognized the error.  I suppose that I could give up on finding someone with the traits that I think are the best about my dad, but I find that's what I did when I got married. I thought that they weren't really THAT important.  But then I asked myself this question:  Who wouldn't want a man who is honest, hard working, loyal, loving and diverse?  Who loves his wife, loves life and is never bored because he's out and about and trying something new? That's a man I could hang out with.

So today, on my dad's birthday, I want to say this. THANK YOU, DAD. For being a wonderful example of a man, husband, father and brother. Thank you for giving me faith that quality people exist and it's worth the effort to find them, that kindness and love don't have a boundary or expiration date (or else I would've used it up in my teenage years) and that I can raise my son to be like his hero. Because unlike his plastic superheros with tights on and shields, sometimes his real life hero shows up in denim shirts with mother of pearl snaps, Wrangler jeans, work boots and answers to "Pop-Pop".

My Simple Holiday Kickoff: The Newtown Theater and The Miracle on 34th Street

Occasionally I write about local vendors that I like. Occasionally I write about living simplistically. Tonight, I'm doing a combo. This past weekend I spent almost entirely alone. This was by design. For the better part of Saturday and Sunday, I was able to whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted.

I've spent most of the past month or so convincing myself to enjoy the holiday season. The last few were rocky, and this year I feel that I'm in a good, happy place and want to commit to enjoying my time with my kids and my loved ones. So I've totally thrown myself into the season. I have watched every single Lifetime Christmas special. So many of them have Lauren Holly in it, it's scary. And don't get me started on whatever she's done to her lips. Yikes.



Anyhow, I'm committed. So I have dragged my decorations out, despite that a full box of Halloween decor is waiting in the dining room to go up to the attic. I know one should've been gone before the other moved in. But I kind of like that the dining room is gothic and Halloweenish, and the living room is all 50's kitsch Christmas.  I have absolutely realized that I prefer the 50's Christmas. I love tinsel, I would not be going too far to say I'm obsessed. If there was a tinsel dress, I'd rock it. Yes I would.



I love the big, blinky lights and the antique Christmas balls. In fact, I've started to collect them.  A few years ago, I realized that I'd misplaced my Grandmothers antique ornaments (I hope to find them when I move out). And I was bummed. No. Bummed, with a capital B. So I began to build my own collection.  I've got several from Cape Cod, Colorado and some I stumbled upon this weekend at a flea market.   I like to imagine the joy they've brought people over the years before they came to live with me. And they remind me of my Grandmother and her tree, which is a special memory to me.



I recognize that my love of old ornaments, 50's decor and tinsel is because of the simplicity that it represents. That it seemed easier back then, though I'm sure it wasn't. The women were dressed beautifully, they got dressed for their husbands in swirly pretty dresses and pearls. The husband always sat in their arm chair smiling at his kids. If they were brats, you damn well couldn't tell by his gleaming smile. There was Ralphie and that brother of his...Randy? And the FRAGILE leg lamp. Life was easy.



Regardless of if it was really easier, I like to think it was. So I enjoy it immensely and the simple side of the holiday. And because of this, I took myself to the Newtown Theater in good old Newtown, PA. It's the NATIONS oldest theater. How cool is that?! In December, they offer their annual Christmas Matinees, where they charge $1 or a canned good donation. And they play all the classics. This week was "Miracle on 34th Street", which I realized I'd never seen.



I went in, bought popcorn out of the old-fashioned machine, and got myself movie candy and an orange soda. And I sat and watched Maureen O'Hara, John Payne, Edmund Gwenn and Natalie Wood change people's perceptions and melt their hearts. And I remembered what I'd forgotten for a few years...that sometimes it's just a matter of believing.

Thanksgiving Thanks for Ex's Who Make it Easy to Move On

We all have those moments when we pretend our ex’s don’t mean as much as they do. Luckily, I’m fairly transparent and my friends see right through this. But we all have that thorn in our side, the ex that we just can’t let go of for some inexplicable reason.

It doesn’t matter if you’re with someone else; if you’re single and “totally over him” or you’re somewhere pining away (I hope this is not the case, go get a hobby!). But you and I know there is just SOMETHING that you can’t shake off. That’s okay, it happens to the best of us. Especially those of us that are passionate people. We’re drawn chemically to other passionate people. Like it or not, there is something that pulls passionate people into one another’s orbit.  And when we meet, its borderline magic and catastrophe.  It also tends to make it impossible to move on to a normal, good person afterwards. Or at least to be “all in”.

We spend some time wondering how long it’s going to take this schmuck to get it, to realize what he’s passing up. And sometimes, they go on and help us to move on faster.  They do something stupid and make us remember why we left them to begin with, or why we should be glad to be without them now.  I like to think of this as a cosmic smack in the face telling us to get the hell over it and move on. 

I have a good deal of experience on this subject, which I’m certain points out to everyone what questionable taste in men I have. I know this. And I have also been on the flip side, where I have been the schmuck that gave a guy a reason to move on from me…such as my vocal opinion on marriage (as in, I’m not doing it again), babies (as in, I’m not doing that again, either) and my aversion to being generally well behaved all the time, to being ladylike ALL the time, and that I have no desire to apologize for a man’s lack of confidence and comfort with an “in your face” kind of gal.

That being said, my point (and I do have one) is to really FEEL that cosmic smack in the face. Look at that person for who they demonstrate that they really are. This is not to say they’re bad people, just not the person for you.  Women, in particular, have the tendency to make excuses for the ex. We convince ourselves that him dating a woman-child is a bluff; maybe he didn’t realize that she was born after Reagan was elected and after neon socks were in fashion? It’s okay if she has no idea what Aussie Sprunch spray is because she only had baby peach fuzz.

 

Or maybe it’s okay that he keeps calling you while he’s dating someone else, because clearly he doesn’t love her as much as he loved (oh wait, LOVES) you. Even though he was probably calling her while he was dating you. Just sayin…



Here’s an idea of things that should help you to move on, should your ex do one, or God forbid, all, of them:

He is in a relationship with someone new, but keeps contacting you to get together (and you, of course, keep saying NO!).

He dates someone born in a totally different musical genre/timeframe. Trust me, that’s a big enough gap.

He dated you while having another girlfriend the entire time, whom he spoke poorly to you about when her name came up. Oh yes, this has happened. To me. For almost a year. Like I said, questionable taste in men.

He gives himself a “makeover” to make up for his age. As in, dyes his hair, waxes his chest, starts obsessively working out and questions changing his name to something more “hip”.



He hasn’t yet done the smallest thing you’ve requested as a “deal breaker”, but yet has time to beg to come back or drink with his buddies.

He hangs out with people that are all ten plus years younger.  Red flag much? Impending mid-life crisis?

And these are just a few…and the “he” can be replaced with "she" easily, because as well all know, we’ve been on the other side. Some of my breakups actually make me giggle if I think back to how ridiculously I acted. But I generally only acted ridiculously if I didn’t care about that person leaving, which in itself is a revelation about relationships. Maybe he/she would’ve acted differently if they did really care. How’s that movie title go? Right! “He’s Just Not That into You”. Bingo.



Here’s to finding someone equally into you as you are into him this New Year, and to listening to that little inner voice that’s screaming “Watch Out! You’re about to get the shit smacked out of you by the cosmos!”

Finding the Unexpected Beauty of Life in the Phoenix Airport

One of my favorite things in the world is travelling. One of my least favorite things is leaving my children. Therefore a dilemma arises when I’m faced with business travel.  Since I am the first person to admit that working from home has probably been the biggest blessing this last three or so years, I’m also the last person to complain when company travel comes up. I pack my obnoxious leopard bag and head out the door after some hardcore stressing out and child care planning.  Business travel becomes exponentially more complicated when you’re a single mom. Not to mention, the stress of actually putting one foot in front of the other to physically get on the plane. That part gets tricky.

I am not a natural flyer. You know, a natural is someone who doesn’t sweat profusely or panic wildly when they think about getting on a plane. I would definitely fall into the opposite of a natural flyer. My parents both dislike air travel, therefore I was raised a hardcore road tripper. This has been a blessing and curse. Blessing in that I love to travel to new places and I’m totally comfortable wherever I go, and I’m like a kid discovering somewhere new. Curse in that sweaty, panicky way I mentioned earlier. Something like the below picture.

I will add that I’ve gotten better. I don’t require the Xanax anymore. Or the brown paper bag. Or the wine.  I just really love to see and experience new places, so I have begun to take that opportunity where it presents itself. Travel has landed on my door step, and I take that as a sign that I have a lot to see.

This week I flew to California, via Phoenix on a layover. I sat on the plane, waiting to leave Phoenix, actually in line to take off. I slid up the shade that the previous flier had slid down to shut out the outside world. And when I did, I saw that it was sunset. And it isn’t called the Valley of the Sun for nothing. It was so stunning, I almost cried. Because I am now, and hope to always remain, a sap like that. I cried the first time I saw snow capped mountains. I am regularly moved to the verge of tears by the sight of the ocean and the feel of the sand between my toes.



So here I was, a little bummed to be on a plane across the country from my people, and I realized something important. Two things, actually. That THIS moment, this awareness and appreciation for one of the most majestic moments in life, the setting of the sun over the mountains in the desert, is exactly WHO I am. The people in front and behind me had their shades pulled tight, and my face was smacked so closely against the window that I wondered what I must look like from the other side. Bonkers, I’m sure. And that is A-Ok with me, because I think those people with their shades pulled are missing a chip. And that lead to my second moment, the one that made me realize life is made up of these moments. And if you don’t pull up the shade, you’ll never see them. 



I mean, I was taking off in Phoenix, looking at a painted sky behind the mountains and a blazing sun, and landing to the vision of the California moon. And I got to see this all at the most unexpected moment.

Be on the lookout for your unexpected moments. And be sure to always pull up your shade and smack your face against that window. Life is better there.

 

*These aren’t my pics, as I was gonna get tossed if I turned on my phone. But these look JUST like what I got to witness. And I’ll be posting a few posts this weekend…had lots of time to think while I traveled. Upcoming…San Francisco thoughts and my visit, and how awesome it is when an Ex makes it easier to move on. Stay tuned, peeps.

Kindness Challenge #2: Winter as a Rebirth

Here’s an insider blog secret that you probably don’t know (if you don’t blog). I can see your thoughts.  Nervous yet?  Insert maniacal laughter here… Wondering if you had some questionable thoughts before I tapped into your deepest, darkest and possibly dirtiest thoughts? Oooohhh…I hope so! It’s been a slow morning for me.

What I actually mean is that every blog host website has a “path” of how people have come to find your blog. I know that about half of my daily readership are regular readers who have signed up and get my posts emailed to them (if you haven’t yet, you should). But you other half…you’ve stumbled onto my site because you were looking for something, or Googling the random two words of “kindness” or “spirituality”.  Granted, not everyone arrived here searching for those two words. Sometimes, I wonder all together how people have ended up on my site when they have searched the following words: dust picture books, pot de polyster, drunk girls, and my favorite, cows and pigs.  Now, I may have a questionable memory but I don’t recall having drunk girls hanging out with cows and pigs on my site, but weirder things have happened I suppose.



But for those of you who have landed here looking for thoughts on kindness and spirituality, I applaud you. You have felt the pull to further explore those things, good for you.  You’re done feeling like this material and surface world that you’ve been surrounded by is “good enough”.

This morning, I’m going to focus on the kindness part. I recognize that waking up every day with a shiny, happy outlook is a hurdle. It simply doesn’t happen. But the outlook MOST of the time is what really counts. In the Buddhist tradition, this is called “Intention”. When was the last time you actually thought about your own intentions? It can be kind of scary, really. Our intentions are really not as pristine and pure hearted as we’d all like to believe. Sometimes revenge is the intention, sometimes it’s head games with our lover, sometimes it’s our own gain. We have many ways to dress it up to make it SEEM like good intentions, but we know in our heart that’s not the case.  But we can change that with effort and commitment.

The simple word “intention” means a determination to act in a certain way.  So you see, even on those mornings that you have to drag yourself out of bed, have to take a cold shower, get cut off on the way to the office only to get there and realize you have two different shoes on?  They count too, so long as behind your actions (even if you are miserable) your intention is kindness. And perhaps the best effort at kindness you can make is to stay silent when your coworker royally pisses you off?  Yep, that counts.  Because you could have torn her a new one, but didn’t. Seeee….kindness!  And perhaps when that coworker gets home and realizes she’s been horrible to everyone and you were NOT horrible in return, she will make a new commitment to kindness on her own part.



Understand that you will begin to try your hardest at constant kindness, and you will fail.  Yep….you will. How’s that for an uplifting, encouraging thought?  But really, it is encouraging. It’s human nature to commit to something: weight loss, a New Year’s resolution, relationships, etc. And it’s human nature to fail and then get discouraged and eventually give up. We’ve all done it. Half of the battle lies in understanding that it is indeed human to fail. Again, it’s the intention behind it all that matters. And if your intention is to be kind, that includes being kind to yourself. So start small, set a small goal and once you achieve that, add another.  Your first step may be to figure out how to help less fortunate people in your community. Even if you can’t afford to feed them, you can go to the local food bank and assist in packing up the food.  You may not be able to adopt every child that needs it, but you can volunteer at the Boys & Girls Club, or even have one of your children’s friends over whom you hear is having a rough time. This is a great first step to understanding how lucky you are, which is a key part of kindness and empathy.

I found that this verse by Maha Ghosananda is a pretty helpful reminder of the path and process:

The thought manifests as the word;
The word manifests as the deed;
The deed develops into the habit;
Habit hardens into the character;
Character gives birth to the destiny
So, watch your thoughts with care,
And let it spring from love
Born out of respect for all beings...



Remember kindness really does start with you. Towards yourself first and then on to others.  So therein lies Kindness Challenge #2.  Take time to be kind to yourself FIRST.  This means looking at yourself honestly in the mirror and finding at least one thing every day that you genuinely love about yourself.  It can be big or small. How about the color and expressiveness of your eyes? That your good soul shines through your smile?  Your hands and that they've lovingly cared for your children or supported others?  After you've acknowledged what you like about yourself, try to identify what you like about others, and I mean ALL of the others.  Even the assholes. Maybe the one who cut you off has a nice car that you recognize they probably work very hard for. Maybe that nasty coworker has nice skin, a face that isn't yet being marred by wrinkles despite her permanent scowl?  This WILL take work. Trust me. And for that occasional person that you cannot possible find one good thing about? Pity them. Hope that they come around eventually and be extra thankful that you have self relection.

And after you've done that for a week, the phrase above will become more clear and simple. It will become habit to look for the best. And you will be easier on yourself when you recognize how good you are. That's where that quote "You Must Be the Change You Want to See in the World" came from. Gandhi got it right. I'm sure you don't need me to tell you that!



Winter is not my favorite season, you will here this oh...about a thousand times this season.  It is, however, an excellent time for rebirth.  Letting the old leaves and bad habits die away and fall by the wayside in Autumn.  In the winter, spending time together with your loved ones who encourage and accept you the most is the best way to find acceptance for yourself and meditating on what you really want to see change about yourself and how to get there.  And then finally, Spring.  A time to put your mediations and plans into place. So here's to you and our Winter Challenge...Good luck! I even put pretty pictures of winter in this post to help you to look forward to it...its not working for me, how about you?

My Butterfly Effect: Enjoying Starting Over Large and Small

I’ve been off the radar lately.  I’m sorry for this. And last night while I drafted this post in my mind, I realized that I’ve become equal parts comfortable and uncomfortable with one part of my life: my tendency to start over. And when I mentally wrote last night I realized with this post that I would be “starting over on starting over”. It’s been weeks since I’ve posted, and now I’m back at the beginning in a way. I’ve got a list of ideas, waiting in line to get out of my head and onto paper (well, the screen, actually). 

I realized that starting over has become a huge facet of my life. I have come to like the few days of disgruntlement (is that a word? It is now!), because after those few days of climbing into my own head, something creative and inspired makes its way out. I realize that’s a terrible mental picture, but you get my point.  I sit down to write, or to read, listen to my favorite music or play the guitar, I make and produce something. Sometimes it’s really horrible music from said guitar, but that’s okay.  To be inspired and to become inspiring is what I set out for.  It’s a constant cycle, essentially the butterfly and the caterpillar, I recognize.  Those few days of jumbled thoughts and uncomfortable nervous energy that make up my version of a caterpillar make way for something else, my personal version of a butterfly.



In the past, I’ve haven’t always been able to put my finger on what was bothering me. I just knew a few days would go by, accompanied by a bad mood and an aversion to doing pretty much anything. Now I realize it; it’s my way of prompting myself to move on and change something.  Whether it’s a relationship that just isn’t feeling right, or a lack of creativity, or a hiccup at work. Whatever it is, I’ve learned to listen to my internal voice much more.

And when I look back at my “start overs”, I realize many of them were not only necessary, but absolutely the right choice.  I need that rebirth and semi-clean slate, as most of us do. When we dwell on the negative without changing it or taking a fresh look at it from a different perspective, we get tangled up in it and eventually dragged down. I’m sure you’ve watched this happen to someone you know.  Watching it happen is always easier to take that knowing it’s happening to us.

The larger start overs take more courage, sure, but they’re just the first big step. Like ending my marriage. That was the first big start over years ago. I had gone a decade refusing to acknowledge that nagging feeling, stuffing it down into that box that held all of my avoided issues like a best friend that didn’t fit anymore, a super stressful job doing something I wasn’t passionate about, a freeze on my creativity and my sensual and sexual side. None of these things are good.  Oh, and my passion as a whole was shoved and crumpled into a far, dark corner.

Once I made that first leap, which was of course the most difficult, I realized that I could make it through the rebirth. I really could start over, large and small.  And I have.  I opened that box, and let everything out of my Pandora's Box.



So when you feel a nagging, try to take the time that you deserve and figure it out. Everyone’s method of figuring it out is different, mine is music and creative endeavors along with nature. Be willing to face it, it will do you a world of good down the road. You’ll learn that nagging is very rarely nothing to worry about.

You’re internal alarm is going off for a reason, trust yourself more and worry about other people’s opinions less. Because in the end, everyone gets to enjoy the beautiful butterfly you’ve become, but you’re the one responsible for it taking flight.

 

In the meantime, here is a very small portion of my internal sorting out playlist:

The Weary Kind, by Ryan Bingham

California Waiting, Kings of Leon

Come On Get Higher, Matt Nathanson but the Sugarland version

Gypsy, Stevie Nicks

Nothing Left to Lose, Mat Kearney

Wicked Game, Chris Isaak

Turpentine, Brandi Carlile. Anything by Brandi will do.

Anything by the Counting Crows, the Eagles. And any band named after birds. Nah….just kidding about that last part.  Would love to hear your list!

My Crafts and How to Get Them!

Recently, I've been spending a lot of time crafting. And I've met quite a few people asking for my contact information and where/how to get the goods:)  You can contact me directly at my email: dustwanderlust.com.  I take custom orders for candles, wreaths and the Redneck Wine Glasses.

Refurbed and shabby chic furniture and decor will be posted as available also.

Here are some pics!  Please email any questions or requests. Thank you!





And of course, the Redneck Wine Glasses!  They're $10, delivered locally or shipped (shipping charges tbd).



Candles come in a variety or sizes, scents and colors.  I also take requests!

Falling Back in Love with Bucks County with Julia Child's Help

Recently, I was lucky enough to host my dear friend Chandra, from The Earthfood Experiment, and her daughter at my house for a week. They flew in from Nebraska to hang out and see some sights.  What an awesome opportunity it was for me to get to see my home area the way a tourist does. How often do we do that? To view our own, underappreciated and neglected area in the way someone from out of town would? I have to say, I fell back in love with Bucks.

I’m going to blog about a few things we did, but there is one visit we made that I wanted to put first. And this is why:

About a year ago, my lovely friends planted in my head that I should start this here blog. After they suggested it, I let it roll around in this big old head of mine for a while. It’s like a black hole in there; I’m kind of surprised anything gets out of my head at all. But surprise! It did.  I couldn’t shake the idea, and then like a snazzy little sign from above; I sat down and watched “Julie & Julia”.



The deal was sealed. I officially loved Julia Child, and I officially wanted to become a blog writer.

I had heard that Julia’s kitchen from her Cambridge home had been donated to the Smithsonian in Washington, D.C., and since Chandra and I share a love of Julia and of cooking, we made the trek south.  A few hours and no admission fee later (really, it’s free!) we were there, standing an arm’s length away from the kitchen that had hosted Julia and many guests over the years, not to mention that it made a cook on TV popular for the first time in history.



Her countertops were raised to accommodate her tall frame, and her utensils and pots hung on the pegboard that covered the walls.  Her beloved husband, Paul, mounted each board after Julia had instructed him what would go where and he traced each item so that she would always know exactly where each one went. All around the kitchen, there were personal items. It certainly didn’t look like the cooking shows today; Julia actually welcomed the viewer into her daily home. It was…homey!



In addition to being able to see her kitchen, the exhibit also had photos, videos, and little quotes that Julia had made over the years. This was my favorite:

At the end of the exhibit, I was already ecstatic. Julia’s energy and love of life seemed palpable.  As we walked out, there were pictures and plaques lining the wall that explained her life a little bit more, and mementos that held significance. Her diploma from Le Cordon Bleu, her mortar and pestle that Paul gave to her on Valentine’s Day when she first enrolled. 



There were pictures of her and Paul, always smiling and joyous. And below her wedding picture, and plaque explained how and when they met and that they married in Stockton, New Jersey. Say what?!



Stockton is a common stomping ground of mine! I bought my Christmas tree there last year. I was astounded to think that she married in Jersey! And when I returned home to Bucks County, I Googled (there I go again with the Googling!) I found out that while she had married in Stockton, she and Paul had their wedding reception in good old Bucks County!!!! MY Bucks County! Right in Lumberville, which I have been to a million times, and it even holds the bridge that in my family is referred to as “the spanking bridge” because my younger sister got her rear smacked on that bridge for a temper tantrum. I can’t believe that my sister got her butt whacked in the same town that Julia Child had her reception in! How many more exclamation points can I fit into this paragraph?

And that was the first day of my love affair do-over with Bucks. There were many more to follow…so keep reading.

I haven’t said “thanks” in a while to you, readers. So thanks for reading and coming along on my journey.

First Stop: Procrastination Station. And being your own advocate. Random.

Well here I am. After a long break, which I didn’t plan, I’m back again. Where have I been, you ask? You’re probably not asking, but I’m going to share anyway.  I have been (drum roll, please)…procrastinating. That’s right, folks. I have been residing in the land of avoidance, putting off and stressing out about it. I can assure you; this is not where you want to be.  Procrastination Station is the first stop folks....



Have you ever woken up in the morning, and despite how much you know you love yourself, you decide that you don’t “like” yourself right now? I just did that. I sat up yesterday and realized that I haven’t liked myself since June. That’s a long time!  Before you start to wonder why it is you take advice from me or read my blog, let me explain.

Somewhere in the beginning of the summer, I started to feel like crap. That’s the most eloquent way I can describe it. Lower back pain, cramps, exhausted and really off focus.  But I had an epic trip out West planned, and about a million things going on, so there was really no way I could squeeze in any “me” time, let alone doctor’s offices or tests. I did what most women, and all moms, do. I put myself squarely on the back burner.

My hang out session on the back burner led me to the land of procrastination.  See, instead of Candyland, I prefer Procrastinationland. Complete with stops along the way in Wine-O Ville, Binge Eating Boro and Stressed Out Station.  And this journey, my friends, ended (thankfully) yesterday when I realized that I was stressed out much more than I was willing to admit to myself or anyone else.  Does it seem odd to anyone else that this would somehow make me feel BETTER?

I realized I’d been stressed about my house, my job and my health. Toss into this mix being a single mom raising two young kids. Not only was I stressed, but I was hiding. Waiting for the moment when I would wake up and my problems would be gone. Ummm….when has that EVER happened?! Right. Never.

Over the months of feeling badly, I’ve done what you should NEVER do when you’re feeling a medical issue coming on: Google it. Worst. Idea. Ever.  And since my medical “issue” is one of a female variety, I was even more distressed when I began my insane web searching. At several points over the months, I clearly saw two things.  First was that I should not be Googling this, and that I was putting off getting help. And instead of doing so, I put it off out of fear and excuses. I told myself it would go away, and I dealt with this stress in a variety of unappealing ways.  And therefore, became a little less of my real self.

Today I marched into the OBGYN’s office. Maybe slowly, reluctantly tip-toed in would be a better description. But you get the point.  And I sat down in that fancy paper dress they gave me, freezing because those offices are always sub zero. Does anyone know why? I’d love some insight. Anyhow, in came the doctor, who asked me why I was there. I gave her the run down and she, in turn, treated me like I was nuts. She picked apart my reasoning, insinuated that I didn’t know my body as well as I think and almost pushed me out of the office without so little as an internal exam.  And here’s where it gets interesting. I PUSHED BACK. I dressed her down for turning away a woman who was attempting to finally be proactive with her health. I told her that if I was a more timid woman, I would’ve left and been happy that I had a doctor tell me it was nothing to worry about. And HERE’S THE KICKER. She reluctantly gave me the exam, and she found something. Likely a cyst, which was my assumption from a hundred and fifty hours of scientific Google research.  



So, you see, my post has two times the preaching today. First, try your best to tackle your struggles head on. Half of my stress was just from the unknown and the knowing that I had issues to deal with that weren’t going away until I solved them. I know it was juvenile of me to hope that these problems would be magically solved (this is not the kind of magical thinking that I support!) but I honestly tapped out for a few months. I had it with problem solving and balancing. I wanted to travel, to see the country, to enjoy time with my family and friends. And so I did, but not without the other shoe eventually dropping. And that’s okay; it taught me one more thing about myself. That I CAN sort this out, that I will come out on the other side. And since I went to the doctors, I know that I can handle it, I’m already on my path.

My other take away is to be your own best advocate. I learned this as a mom; no one in the world will ever be a better advocate for your kids. You know them best. The same goes for you. Put yourself first when it matters, and push when you know its right. Teach these people a small daily lesson when they try to discourage you because someone peed in their Cheerios that morning, or they simply “don’t have time”.  This is your right, to be responsible for yourself and to stick around for your loved ones. What if I HAD been that timid woman? What if I had left and something were very wrong? That alone makes me wish for you that you are always your own hero.

So, tomorrow and every day after, be your own Superhero. Since its Halloween, you’ll have no problem finding some spandex and a cape.  Send me a picture.