About maeveala

I'm a hippie, not a hipster. I'm a singer, but I'm not auto-tuned. I'm madly in love with my Cheyenne Cowboy and sometimes my need to be right is my biggest asset. Most of the time, though, I'm just plugging along, wrong, but happy. Oh, and I swear too much.

The Executive Car Wash – A Symptom of…Something Else

wisdom_quotes_101

Have I told you lately how glad I don’t work in the private sector of the business world?  Where expense accounts and car allowances and business lunches are the everyday?  Where strip clubs are put through as “entertainment” and buying a pack of cigarettes counts as a business meal? Where bosses think nothing of dropping $60 a day on Lattes and Cappucinos and Espressos from Starbucks for their team, but give you a card at Christmas with “you’re wonderful!” and nothing more (even when you know they’re part of the “bonus pool” and got a huge check – something that, as an assistant, you are not allowed to be part of, even though you’re part of “the team”).

It seems that the more money you make, the more perks you are given, the worse your behavior for most of those who get the big bucks/have the power.  That doesn’t mean to say that there aren’t great, generous, humble people working for Fortune 500 companies, but they are, from experience, few and far between.

I would hope, that if I ever got into such a powerful position, and was a beneficiary of a “bonus pool” and knew the most important member of my team was not part of it, that I would give them a percentage of what I got.  Even if it was negligible, it’s the point of the thing.  I’ve heard it said that that is how rich people stay rich – they don’t give if there isn’t a tax write-off, or some way to get some of it back.

This hoarding – of funds, of love, of information, of ANYTHING… just makes you poorer.  Maybe not financially, but where the real truth of life lies… in our relationships with each other. A generous person is a person confident of where they fit in the world, and is unafraid to let things go, knowing that whatever you put out into the universe, you will reap threefold.  It’s hard not to be afraid, and it’s hard not to just want to keep it all, in case of, for maybe, the rainy day, it might happen… all of those are valid, but there’s a difference between preparing for later and living in fear.

Here’s something I’ve learned – there’s enough.  Of whatever you need. That’s it.  I may not be talking cash, but I mean everything else.  Cash is just a tool to help you get things. We give it way more power than it has the right to have.

Maybe it’s all about control, and not behavior. Maybe letting go of that modicum of power (in your own eyes) is the line in the sand.  I don’t know.  All I know is that when you’re getting paid to do the Big Job, you should spread the wealth, and let your little elves and pixies take care of the small stuff. They’re usually pretty good at it, and it makes them feel good when you actually LET them do their jobs, instead of doing it for them.

Here’s an example of what I’m talking about:

9:00 AM

<ring ring>

M:          Hi John.

J:            Mary, could you please call the car wash and ask how many executive washes I have left this month?

M:          Sure John.

<ring ring> (goes on for about 2 minutes)

FD:         Front Desk.

M:          Oh, hello, I was trying to reach the car wash?

FD:         Yes, they are already all out of the office doing their jobs washing.  Can I help?

M:          Yes, my boss John would like to know how many executive washes he has left this month.

FD:         <pause> Uhh… OK, I will see if I can find this out for you.

M:          Thank you.

9:25 AM

<ring ring>

M:          John’s Office.

CW:       Hi Mary, John has four car washes left this month.  He is entitled to one fill up and one wash per week, as I’ve told him before.

M:          Thanks so much, I appreciate it.

<ring ring>

J:            Hello?

M:          Hi John, you have four car washes left this month.

J:            Great.  Can you call them back and ask if they can wash my car today? I have a hard out at 4, so it would need to be back by then.

M:          Of course.

<ring ring>

FD:         Front Desk.

M:          Hello, I’m trying to reach the car wash again.

FD:         I’ll have them call you; it may take a while, they are out doing their jobs.

M:          I totally understand. Thank you!

9:40 AM

<ring ring>

M:          John’s Office.

CW:       Mary? Seriously, what is it he needs now? We’re very busy.

M:          I know, sorry.  He would like the car washed today, but he has a hard out at 4, can it be back by then?

CW:       Yes, not a problem.

M:          Thanks so much.

11:30 AM

<ring ring>

M:          Hi, John.

J:            Mary, can you check and make sure the car has been picked up to be washed?

M:          <pause>…Sure, John.

<ring ring>

CW:       Car wash.

M:          Hi, has John’s car been picked up to be washed?

CW:       <pause> Matter of fact, I was on my way to do it when I came back to answer this call.

M:          Sorry.  Thank you so much.

<ring ring>

J:            Hello?

M:          John, your car has been picked up to be washed.

J:            Great. Thanks.

1:15 PM

<ring ring>

M:          Hi, John.

J:            Mary, can you call the car wash and see if the car is ready?  I have a hard out at 4 and I’m worried it won’t be ready.

M:          John, I did tell them it had to be back specifically by 4.

J:            I know but I have to leave right at 4, so it needs to be back before then, I think.

ME:        <pause>…Sure, John. I will call them.

<ring ring>

CW:       CAR WASH!

M:          Hello, I’ve been asked to remind you John needs to leave AT 4, so he would like his car to be there prior to that, if possible.

CW:       Mary, we get it. He needs the car by 4.

M:          (sheepishly) I know you know… Just doing what John is asking.

CW:       <sighs heavily> Yes, we know.

<ring ring>

J:            Hello?

M:          Car wash will have your car back prior to 4.

J:            Great!

3:10 PM

<ring ring>

M:          Hi, John.

J:            Mary, can you make sure the car is back?

M:          John, they said they would have it back before 4, they are very good about it.

J:            I would really like to know that it’s back, for my own peace of mind.  I’d appreciate you not giving me attitude about it.

M:          <pause>…Of course.  I will call and check for…

J:            <click>

<ring ring>

CW:       Car wash.

M:          <clears throat> Hi, just checking to see if John’s car is ready?

CW:       <pause> Seriously?

M:          Yup.

CW:       Yes, Mary.  The car is back in its parking spot, all shiny and clean.

M:          I really appreciate it.  Sorry for all the trouble.

CW:       You’re not the trouble, Mary.

<ring ring>

J:            Hello?

M:          Car’s back and ready to go, John.

J:            Great! You just have to keep on top of these people to make sure they do their jobs!

Did they fill it up?

M:          <pause> Really?

There are so many things going on in these exchanges, I don’t even know where to begin.

Let’s not try.  Let’s just leave it with this:

f,,k,idiot,,,funny,humour,quotes-b2ac9a3b8dcf6b7805c23de106119132_h

I’m Your Biggest Fan…

Franz-Bischoff-Arroyo-Seco-Pasadena-Oil-Painting

(Franz Bischoff painting of the Arroyo Seco)

Early evening.  This is my favorite time of day.  It’s also my favorite time of year.

In California.

Early April, not too hot, the green starting to explode on the hills… Jasmine, that fragrant, heady harbinger of Spring.  The quick, look-fast-or-you-miss-them sunsets.

Those smells in the air, the light getting longer.  Better than the straight up hot spotlight that daytime and noontime give you – it burns me, more than just my skin.  It’s so bright, nothing is hidden – it wants in, and I don’t let it.  I haven’t let it.  California has not been my home for 15 years.

I’ve just lived here; it’s never felt like “home.”  Mostly because i didn’t want it to – I loved Canada, and as much as I loved Canada, I loved Boston a hundred times more – my heart broke leaving it, but now, fifteen years on, the heartbreak has lessened ever so slightly, and I am OK that I did.  I’ve grown up in California, in more ways than one.

I first visited when I was ten or eleven, some tween age.  My parents and I drove down from Canada to visit relatives here.  It was July, I do remember that – we were trying to get there for my birthday but didn’t quite make it.  We stopped off in Utah or Oregon somewhere; Mum and Dad bought a cake and surprised me with it at the hotel pool, where strangers and newly-formed friends sang to me.  We drove for hours and hours, and made it the next day, and then, when my Aunt scooted me out of the kitchen that night, my feelings were hurt, I didn’t know what was going on.  Then came the cake out of the darkness, half-eaten, the writing smooshed, “Hap Birthd Ber” only visible, with candles on it, and I felt special. Two nights of birthday cake and two nights of singing. Another relative made me feel like a princess – “I’ve got a special gift for you!” My eyes lit up and I smiled… “What? What is it?”  She pulled out a little velvet bag and said softly, “Make-up!” It was Clinique – a boatload of samples and “specials with purchase” that you get when you buy a certain amount.

I couldn’t breathe.  I spent the rest of the night, and the subsequent days we were there, highlighting, bronzing, glossing… I was in heaven.  Best tween girl present… ever.

My Aunt got me a powder blue lunchbox, with Vinnie Barbarino on it.  The rest of the Sweathogs were on the inside, plastered round the thermos, with their stock sayings next to them, grinning out at me.   But there Vinnie was, with his long, feathered dark hair, that goofy smile… and what did I say? “I HATE Barbarino!!”  Ugh.  Ten year old kids can be brutal.  I did go up to her afterwards and thank her and gave her a big hug.  She was smart – she knew that thing would be a collectible in a few years… too bad I don’t still have it, I might be a gazillionaire!!

The place where we stayed is less than a mile from where I live now.  Same town, one major street down the hill.  I pass by that house every day on the way home from work.  The big palm tree out front is gone, and the ivy’s been replaced with some grass and some terracing, but I still remember it.  Their house was so beautiful – it had a pool, and a cabana, a big patio, huge flowers, ivy everywhere.  When we went to Busch Gardens the day after arriving, I snipped a flower off the huge bush (were they peonies?) and my Aunt put it in my hair for me, in a beautiful big bun.  This place seemed unbelievable.  The sun was shining all the time.  There was so much to do, and everyone seemed happy and casual.  Shorts, tees, flip-flops.  My cousin had a yellow VW Beetle and she drove me around, telling me about the enormous tortoise at Knott’s Berry Farm (or the Zoo, one of the two), that was so huge, you could sit on him and he’d walk around.  I’m pretty sure my eyes popped out of my head.

Anyway… I’ve gone off on a tangent.  What i really meant to write about, was that for the first time since I’ve been here, I feel at home.  Is it because I’m a homeowner now?  Or the fantastic job?  The sense of not having to do everything the way other people do things here?  Yes, there are lots of fun things to do, and be, and see.  But, the one thing that California does promise, is that there is something for everyone.  Literally. I’m 25 miles from the ocean, maybe less, and I haven’t been to the beach in years.  And that’s OK.  I love the ocean, but not the Pacific.  I can’t smell it when I wake up, like I did the Atlantic in Boston. It’s different.  And that’s OK.

You all know I’m soft on Joni Mitchell.  Have been since I was a young teen.  “Blue” of course, was a seminal album of the 70s.  Like “Frampton Comes Alive” was standard issue to rockin’ teenagers in the suburbs all over, “Blue” was standard issue to the emo teens of my day (how cool IS it, really, that artists and their works are used as measuring sticks in the passing of time? A lot of other great stuff happened, but music and the arts help break it down for us, in ways we don’t even consciously comprehend.  That’s why I loved theatre so much, especially as a teenager.  I loved going to those amazing architectured halls and seeing that immediacy, that intimacy, feeling and seeing people having those forbidden things – emotions – and feeling them along with those on stage, and being able to take the lesson, without the horrible consquences.  What magic.  It’s still like that for me today too, but I’m so annoyed with the cell phones, the candy wrappers, the nose blowing…).

Joni talked about Paris, France.  Reading the news and it sure looks bad (it always looks bad in the news, don’t it?)

That was just a dream some of us had
Still a lot of lands to see
But I wouldn’t want to stay here
It’s too old and cold and settled in its ways here
Oh but California

Oh…but California… indeed.  Will you take me as I am?  Will you take me…as I am? Will you?

I hope so.  I’m taking you as you are… and you’re lovely.

California, coming home…

Mirror, Mirror, On the Wall…

il_570xN.402574718_mjr3

I am my Mother after all.

I realized this, sitting at the breakfast table on a Sunday, much like the one that just passed.  Now, you know when you know something, but you don’t really admit it, or think maybe well, I don’t know it… you can continue like that, in denial, for a long, long, time.  Then one day, it’s just absolutely apparent and you can’t deny it anymore, and you accept it, and it’s fine. Because it’s already been like that for quite some time, and the only person really who didn’t know it, or believe it, was you.  And everyone else has been fine with it, too.

I am.  There’s no use denying it.  And I’m really, really, OK with it.  I like to think that I’ve added my own flavor to the mix – upping the ante a little on it – to be me, and her. And then sometimes, when I speak, or say certain phrases, or laugh, I immediately recognize my sisters in myself.

Recognition.  More than just an outside resemblance.  Sharing the same DNA, being forever impacted by listening to how someone answers the phone.  Or belly laughs at a joke.  The color of the eyes and the hair may be different, but there is no doubt, when you strip away the things that we try to make ourselves individual with, to be our own self – that we are all related.

Not only was that Sunday a Mum moment, it was a total Bea Arthur moment.  Bea has been a favorite of mine since I was just a kid.  I envy my sisters in some way because they grew up (and by grew up, I mean the really formative teenage years) during “All In The Family” and, “Maude” and, “The Carol Burnett Show” and, to a lesser extent, “Good Times” and, “The Jeffersons.” I remember my oldest sister babysitting me on nights when my parents bowled, or had date night, and we would curl up on the couch and watch these shows.  She would laugh so hard at Archie Bunker’s exploits, tears running down her face.  I didn’t get it.  I was too young, or too naïve, or both.  All I thought is, “Why is she laughing? He is the meanest man in the world.” Not until later, during re-runs, would I see the brilliant humor and incredible writing and acting on that show.  I did get Carol Burnett, though.  I loved her Tarzan yell, and “Madame,” “Mrs.-a-Whiggins,” and the old lady with the blond hair and tights with the crotch down past her knees.  I had such a crush on Lyle Waggoner.  Those teeth!  But my favorite, my absolute favorite, was Harvey Korman.  The timing that man had.  When he passed away a few years ago, I remember reading what Mel Brooks said about him, “We would look at each other, and fall into comic ecstasy.”  When he tried so hard not to laugh, and Tim Conway would just work at Harvey, sides heaving trying not to go, and Tim would just do one little thing and Harvey would be gone.  I loved it.  Comic ecstasy – is there anything better, truly?

And then, there’s Maude.

1972-bea-arthur-400

Let’s face it – Bea Arthur was the QUEEN of the slow burn.  Talk about impeccable timing.  I had no idea what the subject matter was, again, too young, but I knew control when I saw it.  When the camera would settle on Bea, and she would stare, then turn, infinitesimally bit by bit, toward her husband, squint, steel her eyes, and say, “God’ll get you for that, Walter.” I fell about laughing, every time.  I tried to perfect that move.  You can ask my husband, I’m pretty good at it.  He laughs, but I know every time it happens, there’s a teeny speck in the back of his mind going, “Oh shit. Is she kidding?  Is she not?” And I try to draw it out as long as I can before I break, giggling.  Sometimes I’m not kidding, but then I end up giggling anyway, as my hubby is just too sweet to be mean to, and I forget half the time why I’m annoyed, just gazing into his gorgeous, sea-green eyes… but I digress.

My Mum has always been great at this – her timing was always spot-on too.  You never knew what she was going to say, but you knew it was going to be good.  I wish I had written down so many more of them – they get me through so many incidents in my own life – but people don’t always get the humor and are offended.  Maybe it’s my timing?  Mum was always so quick on come-backs!  Me, I’m more like George Costanza three days later in the mirror going, “Jerk Store!! I’m going with Jerk Store!”

Completely innocuous questions, or statements; they get turned upside down, and leave you thinking, “Wait a minute!  What just happened here?!?!?!”

I love listening to stories of her younger self, in Scotland, making the boys work if they wanted to dance with her –

Boy:      Are you dancing?

Mum:   Are you asking?

Boy:      I’m asking.

Mum:   ……I’m dancing.

Could be yes, could be no… there’s always that slight hesitation before learning the answer.  That anticipation was killer.  Then there’s this one, said to an American while he was over there:

American:          Gee, I really love the way you Scottish girls roll your “r’s!”

Mum:                  Thanks… it’s my high heels.

I’ll wait.

Let you catch up.

Got it? Good.

And, the best ever, was asking for anything.  Whatever it was, you had to go through the gauntlet to get it –

Me:       Mum, can I have a bike?

Mum:   A WHAT?

Me:       A bike, Mum, can I have a bike?

Mum:   I’ll bike YOU!

Completely interchangeable, believe me, as witnessed here:

Me:       Mum, can you make meatloaf tonight?

Mum:   Make WHAT?

Me:       Meatloaf, Mum, can you make meatloaf tonight?

Mum:   I’ll meatloaf YOU!

I don’t even know what it means.  But it’s hysterical.

So, I think I had an absolute obligation to do what I did that Sunday, after breakfast, when I walked outside to the garden; with bedhead, Birkenstocks, a pink housecoat, a cup of coffee, and huge round sunglasses covering my bunny eyes – when my husband did a jig, and burst into song with, “And then there’s MAUDE!”

I took a sip of my coffee, looking over the tops of my glasses at him as I did, and threw my best Mum/Bea Arthur slow burn at him, paused, and said, “God’ll get you for that.”

Daily Prompt: Menagerie

What can I say about our family? Anyone who tells you that having pets instead of kids is easier is lying through their pie-hole.  At least with kids they grow out of the whole vomiting-pooping-themselves-teething-on-the-furniture stage.  Having cats and dogs is like having toddlers who are just learning they are their own little person, that “NO!” is a great word, and not doing what their told can be enormous jolly good fun!

The first cat I ever got on my own was named Slippers.  I got her in Boston after a breakup, and she teased me with her paw through the cage at the SPCA. When I looked closer, she was polydactyl, and sweet as pie.  She came home with me and she nursed me back into society, and I nursed her through pneumonia.  She was a study in evolution, because those bad boy front paws were like opposable thumbs – I saw her pick kibble up in a pincer motion once, and it made me sleep with one eye open from then on, waiting for her to start using the phone and coordinating the cat uprising.  We moved to LA together and I survived (so did she) her falling off my balcony.  She was nowhere in the house and I was totally puzzled until the doorbell rang and a neighbor had her, looking a bit worse for wear.  She was my Picasso-painting-faced love bug.  She would dough-knead and wool-suck on a blanket all night if you’d let her.

She was joined a few years later by Henry, a very proper B&W Tuxedo.  This cat was a little man in a kitty suit. A real gentleman.  I kept searching for his suit zipper so that maybe Prince Charming would pop out – but he was neutered, so that wouldn’t have been much help anyway!  Henry liked to talk.  He was very insistent in trying to tell you something, and he would always look deep in your eyes imploring you to understand. I went in to Petco for food one day and walked out with him.  His owners were moving back to Lebanon and couldn’t bring him.  Henry smelled like Patchouli and Sandalwood when I got him and his fur was like velvet. Smart and spoiled rotten.  The sweetest, most loving cat I have ever known.

Image

Slippers and Henry did not get along so well – Slippers being grumpy and Henry being assertively friendly.  So what was my solution?  Get another kitten to bridge the gap.  My ex brought this little white ball of fluff home from a foster home, where her whiskers and eyebrows had been cut off.  I called her Cricket, because she made a sound in between the monster from “Predator” and peeping.  She did bridge the gap, and we had pretty much harmony at home.

Image

One day, I noticed Slippers was not eating.  Now, she is very much like her mommy and there is not a meal she has met that she didn’t like.  Upon further inspection, her ears, lips, and mouth were jaundiced.  She had gotten liver disease and died soon after that.  I was inconsolable.  Henry and Cricket missed her too.

I moved in with my then boyfriend (now my husband), and brought them with me.  They tentatively checked out the house, and soon found their favorite spots in the new digs.  Now, along comes a little Force of Nature named Bella.

Image

Bella is a Pug.  She was bought as a puppy from a pet store by my husband’s brother and his girlfriend. When they broke up, she went to Grandma, who lived next door to us. Bella got toast and jam, carrots, green beans, and pretty much anything else she wanted! My hubby would walk her and generally, fell in love with her.  He brought her over from Grandma’s a couple nights after I moved in, to meet the cats, and immediately, she knew the house was not just hers anymore.  So what did she do?  Chased the cats, barked, snuffled, turned away from us… and took a huge dump in the middle of the dining room.  As if to say, “MY HOUSE!”

We lived in family bliss for quite a while. Bella came to live with us full-time after Grandma passed. If you didn’t know, Pugs are notorious food hounds (I’m sure all dogs are, but Pugs are… something else). Bella got schooled one day from the REAL alpha in the house – Henry.  She had thought it fine to gobble up Henry’s kibble, and sat grinning and panting at the front door, very pleased with herself.  Henry walked up to her, sniffed her muzzle, raised a paw, then smacked her in the face, as if to say, “How DARE you eat our food!”  Bella knew her place then, for sure.

Henry made it to 18.  It was the most difficult thing I had ever, ever had to do.  I didn’t want to let him go, but he had to.  The house seemed duller and quieter.  Cricket was despondent and alone, and started throwing up a lot, and got very skinny.  Bella missed him too, as they had developed a camaraderie and mutual respect.

Well why not, let’s bring in to the mix, my husband’s first kitten.  We got her from the Humane Society and had her fixed.  Cricket did not take kindly to her, nor did Bella.  We kept her secluded in our bedroom after the spaying surgery, and she slept with us, out of it. She wolfed down wet food and purred and growled as she ate. She also peed on the duvet the first night, but that was our fault!  She was too little to get off the bed herself to get to the litterbox. Neither of us had really had a kitten before, so we were a bit like new parents I’m sure.

Image

So, here we are… Cricket, 13; Bella, 9; Sissy, 3.  It’s a non-stop barrage of treats, wet food, prescriptions, nail trims, anal gland extractions, vomit, hairballs, litter boxes, shredded toilet paper rolls, dog farts, snorting, snot flings, grooming, attacks on the feet under the blankets at 3:00 a.m., constant meowing, purring, barking and howling… and you know what?  I wouldn’t change a thing. At least none of them has ever given me attitude the way teenagers give it to their parents. We’ve had adventure, heartache, terror, joy, and tears with them, just like their human counterpart children.  They love me and my hubby absolutely, unequivocally, unconditionally, and we reciprocate it right back.

The Inside Job, or Bird With French Fry

Image

Indeed!  I think that happiness is a choice. Sure, there are circumstances that would challenge even the hardiest of souls, but that feeling of oneness with the universe, the rush of feeling good hormones, why wouldn’t you choose that on a daily basis if you could?

I’ve been getting these prompts from the Daily Prompt, on subjects to write about.  Truthfully, I haven’t felt much like writing these last few weeks.  There’s been a lot going on and I could not focus enough to really say what I wanted.  Unfortunately, I am not one to just put a few lines together and publish.  I like to have a good discussion on whatever topic is buzzing in my head.

So, why happiness as a topic?  There’s already been so much written about happiness, how to obtain it, how to nurture it, medicate to reach it… but it really is elusive.  It’s also an inside job.  Nothing you can buy, sell, eat, or do will create it (although a well-mad apple fritter… comes pretty darn close).  It’s about searching within to express it.  Things start falling into place when you are humble and grateful, and willing to learn.

I am a firm believer that we are not in control of anything in our lives, but our own reaction to it.  We can pray for something not to happen, or to happen, we can think about how we want our lives to be, and then try to manipulate it to happen that way, but really it is not up to us.  The greatest thing I have learned about the quest for happiness is that you have to be completely divested from the outcome.

I applied for a job where I am now, because someone else thought I would be really good at it.  I’m happy where I am now and wasn’t really looking to make a change.  But I did it because I respect the person who told me I’d be good for it.  What did I have to lose?  I made a decision with my Higher Power that whatever the outcome, I’d go along with it as the correct one.  Since I didn’t have any interest in the outcome, I was free to just be myself and answer the interview questions honestly and let my personality and experience come through, instead of worrying about the answers and second-guessing myself into wondering what the correct answer was that would get me the job.

Well, I got the job.

I was as surprised as anyone that in 2½ years here, I’ve been promoted, and extremely well-compensated.  The last company I was with, I was there for 10 years, and hadn’t had a raise or a bump in position in 6 years.  Not even a cost of living bump. And yet I was afraid to let go of the “tenure” I had there, and the perks of working there.  I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Something happens when you’re not afraid to be happy.  You’re happy. And while some think that focusing on what you have and being grateful for it will do nothing but keep you at that level, I believe that being grateful every single day for what you have in your life keeps you open for more good things to happen.

Now, I am not saying that “bad” things will never happen, only that with a change in attitude and gratitude, they don’t seem as awful as they once did, and you can move forward from them a lot sooner than if you let it get to you. Last night, I nearly (probably) died.  I’m certain that would have been the outcome. I was at a t-intersection, made my stop, and was continuing on to make a left turn, when a truck ran the stop sign, at about 50 mph. I literally almost blacked out from the anticipation of the crash, but somehow, managed to slam on the brakes and honk.  The other driver didn’t even try to look like, “Oops! Sorry about that!” or anything showing that it was unintentional.  He just didn’t give a shit. Meanwhile, I’ve got tears streaming down my face, my hands are shaking, and the driver of another car came up to me and asked if I was OK.  I was. Shaken, but OK. Years ago, I would have ruminated on this whole experience for weeks!  Brought it up, chewed on the cud for a while, swallowed it, and then brought it up again just to make sure I’d gotten all I could out of the experience, and repeated. Last night, instead, I went home, hugged my husband, kissed my Pug, related what happened, thanked my guardian angels, and went about preparing dinner. Then I got into gratitude for my wonderful home, my loving friends, the great weather, etc… I just didn’t let it go any further. I did not let it occupy any more of my time because there just isn’t that kind of time.  I would rather spend it on those aforementioned things that are important.

So for today, just make a choice.  Be happy.  Even if the laundry’s not done, your boss is a jerk, you don’t have time for lunch, the dog just peed on the floor…whatever.  Choose to not be angry, and reactive.  Choose instead to laugh (inside or out) at the circumstance and move on.  Don’t give it a moment’s more thought.  Choose to spend your energy on things you have control over. Your reaction. Your helpfulness. Your smile.

I’m telling you, sometimes it IS just that easy.  And if not, well…

Image

Kind of.  For now, anyway.

I want you to laugh.

I get it.

rarasaur

pie in your face 2I want to tell you about all the awfulness in my life, some that has passed, some that I am still working through.

I want to tell you about funerals, doomsday doctors, people that can’t be trusted, and the accusations that tore my soul.  I want to warn you about what it’s like to be falsely criminalized and how several decades of honorable living doesn’t sway anyone, least of all a courtroom.  I want to tell you about a fear so real that it claws your soul and keeps you awake at night.  I want to explain why a girl surrounded by loved ones, educated, and powerful in her own right would consider divorce, suicide, and prostitution.  I want to share stories of bug-infested hotels, and untreated flus, and other people’s leftover food.  I want to teach you how I learned to lie in order to protect people– Good people–…

View original post 474 more words