FOR THE BIRDS

I wish I could photograph the birds in my back yard like Anonymous and Melissa can. I know jb and i share the space with wrens and baby wrens, robins, bluejays, a pair of doves?, one small yellow bird, and at least one magnificent yellow, black and orange bird who visits infrequently.

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But I cannot take photographs because I do not know how to make my camera do what I want it to do. I can't master the close-ups. So instead, here's what I can do: meet the birdhouses at #9. Three presently have bird families in them. The last two weeks the babies are having flying lessons: these little birds bouncing inches at a time on their two feet at the top of my fence and flying from the birdhouse to the nearby tree branch and back. And chirping up a storm.

This is the summer of my beginning bird education. I am watching them, loving them, and learning about them. Except I know so little. I am therefore asking the following questions and/or offering the following observations and hope that Anon, Melissa, Hildegarde, and anyone else who knows birds can fill me in:

1. Birds look like they are nervous all the time. Their heads never stop darting from one side to another,
I presume to spot predators. Do they ever relax?

2. How do birds sleep? Upright? Do they ever lie down?

3. What's going on in those birdhouses? In 90 degree temperatures, how come the inhabitants don't get too hot in there?

4. How are babies trained to fly and eat and survive, and how long before they're on their own?

5. Do non-domestic birds ever bond with humans?

6. Does one family of birds stick together for life?

7. Do birds mix /befriend/hang out with other species of birds?

8. How much and how far do birds fly? I know it varies, but how about some rough ideas?

9. What else do I want to know?

And speaking of birds and families and wings and roots, here's my own little bird of the decade. Mr. Ryan is now 6 months old

Melancholy

A recent always well written and always insightful post from one of my favorite bloggers, Skinny Little Blonde, converged with tonight's Big Yellow writing prompt and the result is a poem yet again about the power of love and the challenges that the triplets of time, place and circumstance can present.

Melancholy

How far is too far?
Sometimes, after midnight,
I stretch my fingers so they extend like perfect pencils
And I try to imagine that in the act of drawing lines and circles
I can span the distance and straighten fate
Like red hot steel,
So that it curves around your driveway
Instead of around our destinies.
.
I’m not complaining, you know.
How lucky can a person be to
Live with a heart that deepens and expands
Through this connection that
Despite every outage and short circuit
Sparks its way into distant light
And guides and replenishes
The little chair by the door.
.
I will never complain.
I learn to wait.
It’s a winding train
On its way to fate.
.
There will be times when fate vacations
And so will we.
There will be times when we forget altogether
And pass the sugar only to chuckle
That we’ve forgotten that even with extra wooden slats
there’s not a kitchen table in the universe
that can extend that far.
.
And there will be a time, or two, when the phone rings
Probably before sunrise
And as the receiver lies flat
One of us is on a plane,
Not to rejoice but to rejoin.
When my daughter was little
I thought about the end of the world
And I wondered if I could reach her
In time.
Or I wondered who I would race to
If there were only seconds before the desert island
Closed shut.

I didn’t know then that I would ask these questions
For all of my life.
I didn’t know then that
I will one day close my eyes,
And so will you,
And hope that in that moment
We have one last riotous laugh.

I didn’t know that loving you,
Or anybody of great importance,
For that matter,
Meant that life would then be lived
In a certain absentia.
Not less full or wonderous,
Not less engaged or enigmatic
But a little like the melancholy
Of a dark sky missing one star.
It’s only one star,
One among thousands,
But in the great scheme of things.
It’s a black hole with neon flashes.
.
We own this sky.
It’s me and you
Finding our way.
It’s me and you and everything.

IN CASE ANYONE HAS THE WRONG IDEA....

I was stung by 2 or 3 wasps today, while I was hammering a picture hook on the outside of the Magic Cottage, just before I noticed there were 50 or so agitiated pissed off wasps to the upper left of my head:

Then I tried persistently to drill a screw into a shaky Adirondack chair and when it wouldn't go in, I tried to pull the screw out and I white-hot burned my forefinger and thumb because the screw was hotter than anything else I've ever touched before:

And tonight at dinner I absentmindedly stuck the tip of my steak knife into my finger.

My right wrist and arm have been red and swollen and painfully stiff all day:

My burned skin is still white and blistering:

My finger bled for a short while and has a small puncture wound.


By the way, today was a really nice day. I puttered, hung, weeded, mulched, food shopped, stopped at the farm stand, write, made a few calls including a publishing prospect, AND hightailed it to pool for a late afternoon hour or more.

I only wish my arm had swelled up more--at least enough to equal the amount of discomfort I've had--so I could generate more sympathy as a dramatic and pathetic victim of violent crime.

(smile)

A Park Bench Tribute

Summertime, and the living is easy.....

Most days my dog Stella and I complete our mile and a quarter walk through the park, around the lake, among the ducks, beneath the towering pines, and in between signs of nature and new life everywhere.

We usually take a small break, where I sit at one of the benches placed here and there, sometimes to allow me to write or sketch, and sometimes to catch my breath and just relax.

Each of the benches has a small gold plaque on it, dedicated to someone by someone. This week I sat at the benches of:

Sophie Yankowski

May 15, 1910--November 2, 1990

&

John Kneisl 1909-2000

"DON'T TAKE ANY WOODEN NICKELS"

Astrid R. Kneisl 1919-1994

"AWAY IS GOOD--HOME IS BEST"

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It wasn't long before I found myself talking to Sophie:

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Who were you, Sophie Yankowski? With that name, you might have been Barbra Streisand's aunt in Funny Girl. Were you Polish? Jewish? You were born under the sign of Scorpio--did you forgive but never forget? Were you a Yankee baseball fan? Did you cook Sunday dinners for your family? Corn beef and cabbage? Pot Roast? Was it hard that you died just before Thanksgiving--did you hold out as long as you could or were you ready to go? Did you have grandchildren, favorites? Do you know your bench overlooks a small lake that glitters like glass on a sun-filled day?

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And John and Astrid:

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Did you give that corny advice about wooden nickels all the time, John? Did your children roll their eyes? Were you still cracking jokes at 91? Were you home, or in a nursing home? Did you know hard times before you found peace? Did you find peace? How did you meet Astrid, John? Did you love her right away? She was your wife, right?

.

And Astrid, what did your kitchen look like? Did you cover your furniture? Were you the quiet voice behind John's chatter? Did you attend college, with a smart name like Astrid? Who loved you so much they made sure you and John had this bench, perfectly situated under such a beautiful tree just in front of the fountain?

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There was a time when I just didn't understand that old people and dead people were once young and alive people. Somewhere along the line they've become less flat cardboard and more three-dimensional. So sometimes I come across photographs of people who've died a hundred years ago and I ask these same questions. I ask them because I know their lives were rich and vibrant like my own. I'm glad I know this.

.

I ask these questions and smile at the possible answers because I know I will die someday and someone will have loved me enough to put my name on a park bench, or affectionately retell the story of my grandson calling me "NoName" because it was the best I could come up with at the time.

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It's a precious life. There's no better time than now to know that.

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Tools for LIFE

OK, then, I have more to add to the previous post:

It's been fun reading about individual vacation tools. Now how about identifying the tools that you use in your day-to-day life?

And:
What do you carry with you in your daily toolbox?

Are they the tools you want and need to live the life you want and need?

Do they help and support you?

Are you carrying some that are no longer needed?

Is there a light weight alternative?

Are they sufficiently versatile to handle most situations?

Is your tool box sufficiently equipped so you have what you need for fun, work, spiritual growth, hard times, special moments, family, friendships?


So what ARE your life tools? (I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours...)

VACATION TOOLS

I wrote this last summer and posted it last year. Today as I am preparing to send it to a few magazines for their consideration, here it is again on my blog.

How about you? What are the tools of your vacation?

Vacation Tools
One two inch white candle
2 black pilot pens
An unopened travel sized set of Winsor and Newton water colours
Two different sized water color sketch books
A little packet of incense
Fancy matches
A new bathing suit
15 year old spa quality flip-flops
2 books on writing: William Kinsser’s ”On Writing Well”; Julia Cameron’s “The Right to Write”
2 books by Margaret Wheatley: Turning to One Another and A Simpler Way
1 best seller: My Sister’s Keeper by Jodi Picoult
1 pound of Italian Roast Coffee
A digital camera
An unopened calligraphy set
My in-process book proposal and a sample of someone else’s
My laptop computer

These are the tools of my vacation.

I’m currently staring across the street at a dozen or so mammoth pine trees, their stature reduced only slightly by the orange background and icy glimmer of dusk awash on Sebago Lake. JB and I are here through the kind offer of friends: one week in their just refurbished condo-house in Windham, Maine. There are two quaint lakeside houses between us and the water, but they fit nicely into the larger picture of a gorgeous lake just across the street, surrounded by gorgeous pines.

We arrived last night ready to unwind. I am hobbling with a fragile back these days but despite that I managed to pack my vacation toolbox with how I want to spend my time.

Years ago, a colleague introduced me to the idea of tools and toolboxes. He happily described as his work tools as a car, calculator, map, and cigarettes, He was a self employed counselor who saw people in their homes. That’s when I first started thinking about my own tools. At the time, mine were an umbrella (I like having a plan B), appointment book with phone numbers, also a calculator, car, and maps. (I too was a counselor who saw people in their homes). I also threw in my three “C’s”—caring, creativity and competence--because I’ve always believed that combination is what makes me and anybody else extra good at their work.

I’ve since eliminated maps and umbrellas and added a notepad and pen, books on writing, a cell phone, and fruit when I travel, My appointment book and calculator are still high on my list.

I like the idea of specialized toolboxes. A few years ago I trained Insurance Specialists and included a presentation where I handed out pictures of a toolbox and together we filled it with the skills and tools they needed for their jobs. It was an easy concept and well received. I think that’s because there’s not a situation or circumstance in life where tools of some kind or another are either necessary or helpful to have around.

It took me less than an hour to pack my vacation toolbox. This is one time that I decide who I want to be and pack accordingly. I’ve been fairly consistent over the years: always the candle, watercolors I only use once or twice a year, a generous supply of books I may or may not read. Sometimes I’ve packed interesting ideas or projects that have languished in the regular course of life, but that is not necessary this summer.

JB has packed her own tools: books on collage, art paper and materials, a scrapbook, a small vinyl 60-‘s flowered note book with little compartments for filing papers, her new nano ipod. And today we’ve added our version of “food tools”: 4 chocolate macaroons and 2 two pound lobsters.

My fix-it toolbox at home is overstocked with a wide assortment of hammers and picture hooks and wrenches and screwdrivers. Likewise, my vacation toolbox is also overstocked with more than I need or could ever get to in the 7 days we are here. But there’s a comfort in knowing how I am caring for myself. I like that I have packed choices that encourage my mind to let go and move out of the way so I can spontaneously dabble and play.

Planning in advance like this is not something I normally do. Usually I follow the demands and opportunities of daily life, doing my best to carve in personal time, sometimes successfully, sometimes not. But when I’m vacationing, I am able to pause, step back, and see all the stress I’ve been lugging around-- and that weight doesn’t disappear just because the chores of life are temporarily suspended. It takes me a good week to untie that knot: when I’ve been lucky enough to have two weeks of uninterrupted vacation, the second week is often sheer joy.

Vacations allow me to change the rhythm of time, more to my own liking and to my own pace. But that doesn’t happen all at once.

It’s the end of our first day and I’d say JB and I are doing pretty well: we’ve swum 2 times in the little lake a footpath away. We’ve bought our favorite foods for the week, we shared a double lobster roll at a cozy little café, we gallivanted by car a little along Route 302, and we took our sweet shelter dog Stella for three walks, all three of us still thrilled that yesterday, despite her advancing age, injured spine, and/or lack of experience, she mastered stairs for the first time.

Tonight we had our two pound lobsters for dinner. Now I am writing, JB is reading, Stella is sleeping. Cheryl Wheeler is singing a song about New England in the background. We know that we will wake up tomorrow morning whenever we want, forego our underwear (all week!) for bathing suits, eat cinnamon bread and low fat yogurt with fresh fruit and granola for breakfast out on the deck, poke around this three-street little lakeside community where Stella can prance off her leash, and most likely have our first swim by 10 am. If this sounds stress-free, of course it is. But it also isn’t, not yet.

It takes my mind a little time to let go. As that happens, thankfully, I will become more anchored in the present moment, less connected to the past, and less worried about the future. Virginia Woolf called these “streams of consciousness” moments. For me they’re rare glimpses into the life I would have—could have—do have--if—when I live full and real. Of course I’d rather be swimming on steamy hot days than shopping for groceries or putting in time at work, but whatever I’m doing, when I accept and stay with whatever is in front of me, I move more and think less. That sounds so new-age, but living this way is actually an increasing quandrum in modern life. I know I’m absolutely, positively not alone in acknowledging that it is remarkably, surprisingly, shockingly difficult to live in the moment. That could perhaps be a minor problem instead of a major one if it weren’t true that I only exist in this moment. I can only be-here-now. I can only do what I do and not do what I don’t do. Vacation helps me understand this. It turns the volume down and that helps my five senses more easily experience the world. “Time off” helps immensely, but I think the rhythm comes back mostly because I decide how I want it to be. I outlined the bones of that decision when I packed my vacation toolbox.

There is no TV here. No internet service. No washer/dryer. If history proves true, I know already that by the end of the week I will have added another tool in my toolbox: a new timepiece that moves as slowly and consciously as I want it to. It will be in rhythm with my body, and it will quiet my mind. It will help me move through space with greater ease.

I also know that once I return home to the land of vacuum cleaners and unpaid bills, my new timepiece will run down and acquiesce to action and activity.

And then comes the really hard part--I know this because I’ve been there before: I will be overwhelmed by the chores and demands that have waited for me. My stress will expand and my capacity to handle it will constrict. But I will also find myself at a junction where I can make a clean choice. I can’t change my circumstance and chores, but thanks to a relaxing vacation, I’ve had the chance to get reacquainted with my favorite self--with my natural self. I definitely overstocked my vacation toolbox, as usual, but it worked great. I pulled out the paints, read some books, wrote as I wished. And I swam in the cool water and hot air first and last thing everyday. I’m arriving home in balance. But I know this too: very soon my day-today circumstance and chores will overtake me, especially if I don’t take some thoughtful measure against them.

If I were to add some protective “life-tools” to my toolbox, what they would look like? What I would use them for? What maintenance they would require?

I wonder what it will take to restock my toolbox next week, and the week after that, and after that, with tools that will chisel away stress, sculpt support, provide anchors. Tools that will help me be and stay myself and keep me centered in some core way when the world around me goes to hell and back. I’m wonder what a specially made “kj tool” would look and feel like. Maybe it would cut away unnecessary weeds, prune back overwhelming expectations, drill though bullshit, ring an alarm when I’m at risk of going overboard. Maybe I could order the smaller size—the one with a compass attached, so it could fit in my pocket and I could take it everywhere.

If it had multiple parts, I could take my time and read the instruction book. If it were very costly, I could put it on layaway. If it were fragile, I could treat it with great care and protection. If it were very heavy or needed batteries, I could conserve it for special occasions. Maybe I could come to count on my kj tool to find my way and stay there.

A lot of life tools are already in place for me these days. And yet, my footing slip-slides too easily. I can’t imagine what it would be like to feel solid, centered, secure, for longer than vacations and stream of conscience moments. I can’t swim 2 or 3 times a day in my non-vacation life, but I can see the sunset, smell the garden basil, touch the soil, hear my daughter’s voice, feel the warmth of friendship.

I want at least some of my vacation tools to become life tools. I want to know that my toolbox will cover most occasions. Then I can more confidently live my interesting life. My week at Sebago Lake guides me to who I am when I live like this. I want to be this Me. Here. Now.

SUMMER FAVS

Time to lighten up, lessen words, and fall into what's shaping up to be a fine summer. In no order what-so-ever, here are some shots and images I like for known or unknown reasons:

This is JB's grass garden. It's only in its first year, situated in a back corner of the back yard. It slows me down when I look at it, which is always a good thing.

Gee, I hope this works. This sign is in my mother's bedroom. You will either see one thing or another. It's kind of a trick. I'll be interested in how it looks to you.

Dear God, may I return to Maori Italy one of these days. This shot is nothing fancy--just across the street in a little village where people take lunch from 1 pm to 5 pm, work again until 7 or 8, and spend a lot of their time eating and hanging out.

These are the footsteps of my best friend-come-a-visiting. She hopped out of the car and out of a snowless state and made her mark in the front yard and in our company over a fine few days.

I posted this tarot reading a couple of months ago. The important point is the 3rd card/final result: the "World" card is all good. It seems to be shaping up this way, to which i say "thank you".

He looks quite different every week and his eyes are blue, but this boy Mr. Ryan is unbelievable!!!!!

The photo on the left is my both-deceased grandparents. I never met my grandmother. She died when my dad was quite young. My grandfather lived next door and brought me the tail of a pig once when I was sick on the couch. Don't ask me why, but I thought it was pretty cool at the time.

The photo on the right is from my mother's refrigerator: she and I on another couch one summer's day awhile back.

I love this little house I live in. I think this shot of the world's smallest dining room explains why.



Here's a before and after of the livingroom. JB and I ragged the walls ourselves and lived to tell about it. And Ces' painting--well, pretty cool, huh?



I know it's blurry, but this is further proof of what an angel Mr. Ryan is.



These two Ces paintings have new wall-homes in the house, but this is one of my favorite shots. kj the poet-novelist is on the left. The Blue Nude is on the right. The originals are unbelievably awesome, as you might guess.



What an ending to this post. Here is a young mumified slave from Pompeii. Whatever your lot and circumstance, how about just being thankful you didn't have her/his miserable job. And then, while you are thankful, maybe you could decide to be one of those Mystery Angels I've been nagging about.....

My Friend

She's 83 years old, blind, and leaving the next day for a two week conference in Atlanta.

She has abdominal pain and goes to the Emergency Room.

She calls her son to tell him she's having emergency surgery for an obstructed bowel.

Her lung collapses during surgery, she's given a colostomy, she's in Intensive Care, and she has a stroke.

Her left side is paralyzed.

She's unconscious for four days.

Two days ago the breathing tube is removed so she can talk.

She is still very sick.

Yesterday, when I see her at the hospital, the first thing she says to me is, "It was close."

The second thing she says is, "Boy, am I lucky or what?"

The third thing she says is, "It's a good thing you got your ass here to see me".

Spunk and grit will save the day. I'm sure of it.

Mystery Angels--Part 2

I've succeeded as a Mystery Angel but all I can say is this: a wonderful woman with a vibrant life is looking down from heaven grinning as wide as the Atlantic Ocean, watching her daughter being loved, pampered and teased straight into a great couple of weeks before she heads off to her first year of college.

Pieterbie and I are both reporting that performing secret acts of kindness pay a HUGE dividend. It just feels GREAT.

Please try it. How about from now until this Friday you just DO IT: find a way to be a Mystery Angel.

Don't forget: I will reward you with a prize. I will, really.

Let's Be Real.....

I've been surprised at how many comments on my recent posts mentioned how much of myself I share on this blog, and how happy I seem to be. Here I go sharing again, but the truth is I'm happy only some of the time. I'm unhappy about a few things I can't seem to work out and/or integrate into my daily life. I'm working hard on patience, acceptance and temperance.

Lest I mislead because I try to be optimistic or present a false picture, here's a report from the interior ministry:

I cannot think of a thing to say
Even this rhyme is fading away
So I'll leave it for now that as of today
I'm trying to keep forlorn-ness at bay

Sometimes I'm fine, sometimes I'm not
I'd be more morose if I wouldn't get caught
The road to happiness can get kind of hot
I hope I'm learning what's here to be taught

Please don' t ask me to change or explain
It's enough that I'm working so hard to maintain
If you listen too closely you'll hear me complain
So please bear with me while I change travel lanes.

And if I were a magician, I'd pull from my sleeve
This hope for the future I want to believe.

Alphabet Soup

Some time ago this meme came my way. Since I don't think I posted it, for reasons I can't remember, here it is--part 2 of what seems to be back -to-back revelations about myself. I sometimes wonder if/why I share information that is personal to me, but it's a question I can't answer. Like Bibi, the words often just come. I'm learning to modulate and screen them, but it seems I'm also learning to be myself. So in the interest of congruence (good word, huh!), here's my alphabet soup:

A is for age: 38 years old. This is not my actual age but it is how old I would be if I didn’t know how old I am. I am actually 59. If this is a shock to any of you, please know it is a shock to me too.
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B is for beer of choice: I don’t drink. I can’t drink. That’s another story. But if I did drink, I wouldn’t drink beer. I was a fine wine and zambuca girl….
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C is for career: I’m a self employed counselor/consultant/trainer who is happily becoming a writer.
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D is for favorite Drink: hands down, my favorite is Italian Roast Coffee. Every morning I squeal with delight while it’s brewing.
.
E is for Essential item(s) you use everyday: Ok, no lipstick, no jewelryfor me, though I use and like both. I t’s a pen and paper. I’d be lost and longing without them.
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F is for Favorite song at the moment: Eva Cassidy’s Fields of Gold. It makes me cry for a good reason.
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H is for How About Whatever Favorite I Choose: Ok, I choose my favorite color. It is green, like grass.
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G is for favorite Game: I hate games. I try to avoid board games especially. I will play poker or whist but that’s all. Please don’t ask me to play board games. Please.
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I is for Instruments played: Guitar, piano, tuba, trumpet, violin, drums, and sax. No, none of this is true. I made it up to impress for a fleeting second.
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J is for favorite Juice: Cranberry juice with soda water and a twist of lime, in a wine glass please. This way I can toast and caress the stemware, just like one of the gang.
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K is for Kids: I have one darling daughter, one baby grandson, and I love kids of all ages and sizes.
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L is for last kiss: This afternoon to jb before she left for Newport.
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M is for marriage: Yes. 19 years unofficially. 2 years legally. 21 years in all. Happily.
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N is for full Name:As if it's a giant secret. Still, can’t do that in Blogland. My name is not my favorite, but my parents must have liked it. Only a few close friends actually call me kj.
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O is for Overnight hospital stays: one at age 5 when my tonsils were removed; one at age 30 with the birth of my daughter; one at age 33 for a scary biopsy, and one last fall for back surgery
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P is for phobias: I have my share: the worse are being alone at airports, driving in snow and ice, and the first 30 seconds of public speaking (all of which my work requires),
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Q is for quote: "Hell No" or "Hell Yes" said with Ces' cowboy accent. I also like “What the frick..”, which I also picked up also Ces, and now love to say when the moment is right.
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R is for biggest Regret: hmm. I wish I had saved more money faster. But then again, I’m not sure I would change anything either. If I have to sell shoes at Macy’s when I’m 85, I just hope I don’t have to touch strange feet.
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S is for sports: I love love love baseball. It is mystical and magical. I believe I am an expert on the game.
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T is for Time you wake up: varies: sometimes 7:30, sometimes 8, occasionally 6 am.
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U is for color underwear: most often black. And they match.
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V is for Vegetable you love: Is an artichoke a vegetable? I love artichokes, especially reaching the heart and dipping it in lemon butter or holidaise sauce.
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W is for Worst Habit: I can perseverate and nag in an attempt to have it my way.
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X is for X-rays you’ve had: Because I think this is a stupid question, I decline to answer it.
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Y is for Yummy food you make: I make a mean garlic and cheese bread, my dad’s spaghetti sauce, and I just mastered turkey gravy—after at least 300 attempts.
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Z is for Zodiac sign: Leo the Lion, but please be aware even though I am regal I have learned humility.

Anybody else want a go at this A to Z?

Steppin' UP

The following letter to the Editor appeared in yesterday's Boston Globe:

I am a first grade teacher in Norwood.

In September, I received a package at

school filled with children's books,

stationery, stickers, classroom decorations,

pencils, and candy. Inside was a note from

someone identifying herself only as

"a friend", encouraging me to stay positive.

The author fondly recalled her own years

of teaching and her love of children.


As the months passed, I continued to

receive packages at school--at Halloween,

Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter. After

each delivery, I discussed the beauty of

our gifts with my students. I was able to

convey the value of giving without expecting

anything in return.


About a week ago, the school secretary called

down to my room and reported that another

package had been delivered.


I ran to the front of the school and followed my

mystery angel, a woman unfamiliar to me, to her

car. "Who are you?" she asked as I asked her the
same.

"I won't tell you my name," she told me, "but I will
tell you that I never wanted you to see me. Some-
one in your school told me that you were new
here, and I wanted you to feel encouraged and
supported."

She said she felt that educators often don't
receive the support and love they need to carry
out their jobs.

After embracing me and wishing me well, my
"friend" drove off, leaving many of my questions
unanswered.

Although I never learned her name, I did learn
a lifetime of lessons from her this year.
Megan Walsh


A simple act. A huge act.

It's pretty easy to be a Mystery Angel. You just have to do something nice and not get caught doing it.

And most of the time you end up feeling terrific, not to mention the effect on the receiver of your kindness.

Today I offer you a CHALLENGE: sometime during the next three days--from now until Tuesday or Wednesday of the week--find a way to be a MYSTERY ANGEL.

Do something nice and don't get caught.

Then feel good about it.

Then tell me. And I will reward you with a prize. It might be a poem written especially for you, or something else--you never know....

Be a MYSTERY ANGEL this week. Just one time. Do something that heals and helps.

I ask this of you because I think acts like this make a difference in the world far beyond our assumptions.

Thursday 13 plus 3: Jobs I've Had

I began working when I was 14 years old, one weeknight and every Friday night and Saturday at Woolworth's 5 and 10 store.

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My mother's always said that I never seemed to need money. It's true: I worked every summer in various manufacturing and temp jobs during years of college.

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For a few months I did temp work which unexpectedly led me to plan and design a benefit concert by the Boston Symphony Orchestra.

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Shortly after, at 22 and newly married, I moved to Germany with my then-military-then husband and landed the plum fantastic job of first teaching and then counseling and co-running an Army Education Center situated on an artillery base.

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When I returned to the States almost 3 years later, I moved to Oklahoma with my then-graduate school-then husband and for a year had the second worse job of my life.

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When I returned to New England I blindly landed a job as a state Rehabilitation Counselor. I had only a degree in English but my hands-on counseling work with the Army brought me to this terrific job which would define my career and set my direction.

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From there I became a Resource Coordinator for the non profit New England Spinal Cord Injury Foundation. When I took leave to have my precious baby daughter, I was contacted by the Easter Seal Society to direct and publish a resource directory.

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That was the beginning of my work as a self employed Consultant and small business owner, which I've done ever since with three exceptions: JB and I opened a restaurant for the briefest of times; I was a General Manager and somebody else's employee for a one year stint in the worse job of my life; and, since June 30, 2006, I have altogether walked away from my consulting business in order to write, which is where I still am in this moment.

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Read on only if you want to know the details and story-behind-the-story of the challenging and diverse careers of one woman named kj:

1. Woolworth's Five and Dime: My friend CC and I started our jobs together. She ran the popcorn machine, which was far more prestigious than my assignment in the Stationary department. I was required to dust and look busy at all times, which was not easy. I was later transferred to knicknacks and that was even worse because I hated dusted all those little ceramic kittens and plastic vases. I did this job for about two years, until I was politely asked to leave because I was calling in sick too many Friday nights saying my mother needed me (had to have a socI ial life, afterall...)

2. I quickly got another job at the Anderson Little Men's Clothing Store. I worked behind the counter and ran the only register, which was big-cheese status as far as I was concerned. The store had a small women's section, handled by a very nice woman named Lovie, but mostly it serviced men buying and being fitted for suits. I kept this part time job through my first years of college--it was the main reason I always had money. I spent my money frequently ordering 2 am pancakes at the International House of Pancakes with my college friends Moose and Ann. One Sunday morning while I was cooking bacon, Anne's brother called me to say Anne had been killed by a drunk driver who hit her from behind while walking. Moose was living on a sailboat with her husband and could only be contacted by the longest saddest walk of my life down her pier to pick her up on our way to comfort Ann's mother.

3. During my college summers, I worked mostly in factories. I spliced film at Polaroid on a clunky machine that had previously packaged Wonder Bread, I soldered computer circuit boards before computers were mainstream, and I blew water from copper bellows by placing the bellows, one at a time, over a strong gush of hot steam that sometimes burned my fingers. I liked these jobs because I found myself working with union-type hard working men and women who got a kick out of me, the college kid. My affection and easy way with all kinds of people probably came from those irreplacable days.

4. I also did a couple of office temp jobs, including working a calculator all day, every minute for Mary Kay Cosmetics and a brief stint I can hardly remember except that the boss was a jerk. We used to kid around and cluck like chickens for some unknown reason and as a result he sent around a notice that the office clucking had to stop. What was I thinking that on my last day of work there, I left a note on his office wall that said "Cluck You".

5. Just after I graduated from college, I found a temp job working for a spacey college professor who had started a non profit agency to send food and supplies to Biafra, a country where children and families were starving and dying by the hundreds every day. On my first day in his makeshift office, he told me the Boston Symphony and the Boston Pops orchestras had volunteered to play a benefit performance at Symphony Hall. It was up to me to coordinate the event.

Ooooh. I was impressed beyond my years and dove into action. I was to find performers who wanted to perform with these world-known symphonies. I wrote out a list of people I thought would be sufficiently famous, starting with Barbara Streisand, tracking down her agent by calling 411. When it was finally in place, Peter, Paul and Mary, a classical pop guitarist named Mason Williams, and the top comedian at the time (Pat Paulsen, who was also spoofily running for President) joined Senator Ted Kennedy, conductor Arthur Fiedler, and me, this star-struck kid with no experience, for a day of rehearsals and an incredible night at the theatre. This was the beginning of my career as a big cheese. I picked up confidence that lasted me all the way to the disaster of the Restaurant.

6. I student-taught 8th grade English and for a brief time was then a substitute high school teacher. When I married my husband and left for Germany 3 days after our wedding, I somehow landed a job teaching reading and English to American soldiers who had not graduated from high school. I've always liked teaching--I like the challenging of keeping things interesting and simple--but it is exhausting work. (Don't let anyone tell you teachers have it easy. These folks are the backbone of society and they should paid accordingly).

7. Just my incredible luck that the one and only Counselor position opened up at the Army Ed. Center where I was teaching. I passionately loved this job. First of all, these guys were in Germany with no family, driving tanks and artillery into the woods, and dealing with military structure and toughness that not everyone could handle. So I learned to be a counselor, a listener, and a problem-solver on-the-job. Plus I ran diversity workshops, set the GED and college course schedule, and decorated the ed. center so it was a comfortable haven from the tanks and barracks. When my husband was given a chance to leave the army early, I left my job here expecting to return to the states only temporarily. It didn't turn out that way and eventually my little counselor desk was filled by someone else.

8. My now-civilian-then-husband had started grad school in Europe. In order to finish his degree, we packed up for Oklahoma shortly after we left Germany. I got a job as an Administrative Assistant in the Freshman Dean's office at the University of Oklahoma. I don't know what went wrong. I never felt liked from my first day there. I was an outsider and nothing I did seemed to help. Eight months later I walked away from that job vowing I would never again work somewhere I did not feel good about.

9. My "career" began for real as a Rehab. Counselor for the Massachusetts Rehabilitation Commission. I had a caseload of 30-35 severely disabled adults--men and women who wanted or needed to work but needed help because of a disability. My clients were paraplegic, quadriplegic, psychiatrically impaired, had heart conditions, amputations, all sorts of chronic illnesses or injuries. In this job, I learned how to find resources that did exist and create resources that didn't exist . I learned people are people are people.I got my master's degree in Counseling during this time, and I went to work excited and fulfilled every single day. When I die, I'm guessing the word "Counselor" will be one of the few to describe me, and I like that.

10. One day I saw an ad in the Sunday paper for a Resource Coordinator for the New England Spinal Cord Injury Foundation. Since I knew alot about spinal cord injury, I went for the interview as calm and cocky as anyone could be who really doesn't want the job. But I got it.

I spent the next two years traveling the state, meeting every single newly injured person, often just days after their lives would change forever and forever. I'm talking about people who are fine one day and permanently paralyzed the next. For months and years, I stayed with these folks --through their intensive rehab. learning to use a wheelchair and hold a fork, through their challenging transitions home, through creative planning for them to work again.

The world is generally not hospitable to disabled people, but I learned that didn't matter so much as long as the people in your life loved you and as long as you weren't alone in tackling and overcoming certain obstacles. In this job I began writing and publishing: I was Project Director or a regional, and then a national, Resource Directory. Lily Tomlin's quadriplegic character Crystal wrote the book cover's inscription. Forgive me for bragging, but at the time this resource directory made a huge difference in the movement for independent living. I'm proud of it to this day.

11. Next: I'm pregnant. I take a leave of absence for 12 weeks. I receive a call from Easter Seals to do a resource directory for them. I don't understand that my boss at the Foundation hasn't approved this, so I accept. Some confusion ensues and as a result I become a self employed Consultant (as well as a new mother). The project was fun and easy. I continue to consult for the Foundation as well, but I've had my first taste of entrepreneurialship and I like it.

12. A friend and I decide to teach a class together. We call it "Shifting Gears: Exploring Personal and Career Choices". We offer it through my town's adult ed program. The first night 7 people show up. The next week 13 people show up. We are off and running, making up the cirriculum as we go along. By the time it's finished, we've decided to go into business together. This was the birth of OPTIONS Associates, a company I would run for the next 25 years.

13. What can I say about OPTIONS? At one point we had 100 employees and managed community residences throughout the state. At another point we had consultants and nurses and vocational rehab. specialists in 8 states along the eastern seaboard. The company was well known in case and disability management, voc. rehab, training, and developing new programs and products. Along the way we had a few splits, the business got too diverse and too big for my liking, and for a time I let things fall apart for reasons I will not get into. When I made the decision to return to my roots as an Independent Consultant, it took me a while to realize how much happier I was without worrying about all the marketing and supervision and administration that was required of me.

14. Although I was regularly working as a Consultant, JB and I cashed in on her dream to own a Restaurant . We called it Tomato City and specialized in American tapas--interesting appetizers that combined to be a main entree. We renovated a dingy space for five months and transformed it into what I called "a slightly upscale American cafe". It was a hit from day one--cozy, relaxing, fabulous.

But there was one problem: JB and I didn't know what we had gotten into. We were exhausted, the place was too big (65 plus another 35 seats in the back room), and neither of us could cook or keep up as well as we thought. We almost killed one another. We closed 5 months after we opened because it was that or us. We were lucky to sell the lease and assets without getting creamed. It took us a year or more to forgive eachother--yikes--but today I can say I'm glad we did it. There is nothing like opening the doors and seeing the space fill up with happy customers. It was exhausting, but it was also exhilerating.

15. Here comes my worse worse job: I agreed to help a casual friend get his business on track. I did this because I was experienced in helping private clients choose and set up their own businesses and he and a partner owned an Independent Movie Theatre that needed help. Plus he wanted to start a Local Artisan Cooperative. This was the only time I became somebody else's employee in years and I was confident and excited. It was a disaster. These guys ran their businesses off the cuff and in ways I couldn't agree with or adjust to. I managed to build a wonderful cooperative, which is still wonderful and going strong, but the movie theatre was no better when I left than it was when I started. It's now ok, I believe, several years later. All I can say about this whole experience I learned alot and good luck.

16. Consultant/Counselor turned Writer: Until last July, I had clients throughout the United States and some locally, focusing on either disability needs, return-to-work planning, or self employment. From time to time I continued to offer workshops and training in happiness, communication skills, and professional development. I did this until a gig I had wound down and I stopped. I just stopped. I stopped because JB encouraged and allowed me to write. So here I now am, writing every day, readying to publish, and loving every minute of it. I do not yet know if I can make a living doing this, but I am going for it.

Because, as you may remember, I promised myself years ago I would only work at something I liked. And that's what I'm still doing........

Rhyme Time

First Marloes wrote a post called distraction. Then my closest pal Ces wondered about our mutual distraction due to the sheer joy and voluminous time we spend together. Then in my weekly Big Yellow writing group, I found myself with something to say about distraction.

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As long as we are alive, we each get the same amount of minutes each day. So if distraction means consciously living in the moment, savoring those special people and places, and slo-o-o-w-ing down, why not?, you might ask. Why not indeed......

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Distraction

The paint awaits
The sweetest fate
As though I’m eight
And already late

I’m moving slow
And well below.
No grass to mow
And even so

Who would have known
The sunrise tone
From the telephone
Rings not alone

The laundry stack
Wants to attack
But instead sneaks back
in a laughing sack

Who would have guessed
My maybe best
will now confess
that more is less

The colored sky
Does not ask why
So why would I try
To reach so high?

My list is long
I could plug along
With tweezer tongs
That don’t sing songs

But suddenly I stop and rest--
Decide to quickly flunk the test,
Remember why I’m kind of blessed,
And snuggle in my secret nest

It’s distraction, yes, it is, no doubt
It snakes inside and then peeps out
When I forget to pause and pout
It’s because I’m playing all about

Tell me that I’m wasting time
And I’ll be inclined to remind
The kettle to forget to find
the hooting steam that fails to bind

I’m painting words upside down
Twirling, turning each around
Until they fall without a sound
Onto orange sacred ground

I might watch them dance before they spill
Just beyond the window sill
or maybe roll down the widest hill
into space that I won’t fill

It’s Saturday and winds will blow
Around everything I use to know
And should you stop instead of go
Please be glad I told you so

You can sniffle, wince, regret and moan
And cover, conquer, then atone
But when it’s clear you’ve finally grown
I hope you hightail it back to home.

As for me, I’ll still be here
Distracted from this daily care
Strangely brave about old fear,
Skipping sidewards, holding dear.

You can tell me I am wasting time
But don’t forget the time is mine
And if I forget to toe the line,
Well…all I can say is: “Fine!”

Ok Already: Meet the Family

I loved all the comments I received about the post I pulled to protect my image (smile). However, one will stay with me for years. I will print it and keep in front of me for a reminder to be myself, always and fully.
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Before you meet the critters that inhabit my space, take a look at this gift from my friend Pieterbie. It's a huge important message to me, certainly, but maybe to you too....
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Comment from Pieterbie when kj retracted her post:
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Oh come on.Since when does a strong minded woman like you give a s... (sorry 'bout that) about what other people may dare to think of you?Surely you cannot believe that I would take this post serious.Now the one with the furry animals, that one I took seriously.That was real. Feelings, emotions, sharing someting very personal.Wel congrats KJ, I admire you for having the guts do to such a thing.And of course I read it, of course I commented, I thought it was great.Much better than what you have posted here now, making me react in such a manner.So you are scared that people may think that you are excentric. Why does that scare you? What is wrong with excentric?I come here to read real stuff posted from the core, heart, mind, no, soul of the real KJ.So please do not give me any "Have a nice day" stuff.I want the real KJ and I won't settle for less.At least you have some furry animals, a mouse (what was his name again, the one with the rat's tail, was it Cedric?), a boozing witch, hell all sounds like great fun to me. And it all makes perfect sense.And if you are unstable, then I must me completely lost.Your number one fan awaits the next worthwhile post.Not that I want to pressure you, of course, but expectations are expectations.Have a nice day!
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And now the post that was, wasn't, and is again:
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I happen to live with someone who has a vast imagination, including an unusual array of friends and relatives. It took me a while to get use to the many "characters" who inhabit my household and/or immediate surroundings, but I've gotten to know most of them because they have names. And let's face it--once you name something, you have a connection that would not otherwise be there.
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So this Thursday I am introducing some (not all, believe it or not) members of the family. Please treat me kindly if you find yourself shaking your head and/or questioning my sanity. I can only tell you this begins to feel more normal over time:

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1. This is Cecil. When Ces gave Cecil to JB,he did not have a name. She did this because JB and I were battling mice in our kitchen for a while and Ces was unmercifully enjoying our animated reactions to the whole thing. As soon as she handed JB this mouse, he became Cecil. He sits in a prominent spot where guests come in and comment on how cute he is. Except he has a tail that, according to JB, appears to be more the tail of a rat, not a mouse.

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2. This is Frank and Birdie. Frank is a miniature dinosaur who appeared in JB's Christmas stocking one year and has been around ever since. Birdie, probably an illegal immigrant from France, used to chirp like an angel until she lost her voice for unknown reasons. Frank and Birdie are also in prominent locations.

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3. This is a new addition. One morning I found these "bunnies" all tucked into a corner. Soon I am going to discreetly put them away somewhere when JB is not looking. The little yellow one with the white ears, by the way, was JB's childhood Easter bunny.

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4. Esther and her charge Mildred are well known. Despite my complaints, they have sat on our couch in the four places we've lived. Esther hands out Halloween candy to little kids and has been known to drink too much on occasion. I know this because we once found her upside down on the staircase. We have cautioned her not to drink and fly. However, like Emily Rabbit, she doesn't listen to us one bit.

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5. All I can tell you about Picasso is that shortly after his arrival JB put him under the bed covers. When I innocently pulled the covers back to go to bed, he scared the holy hell out of me. I screamed. I thought a real monkey was in my bed. I almost fainted. I was mad at JB for days. She tried to act apologetic but I know she enjoyed the whole mean episode.

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6. and 7. Francine and Dolly are both in our little dining area. I brought Francine home with me from Santa Fe and her fame and popularity increased after she was highlighted in one of Ces' fantastic paintings. Francine is very sweet and I am very fond of her.
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My mother gave me Dolly as a Christmas present one year. She lights up when you plug her in. JB regularly puts seasonal scarfs, bows, and/or hats on her. Sometimes I rub her neck, which is a vivid reminder that I have indeed lost my senses.

8. Little Irene: She is my dearest favorite. I used to take Irene with me to conferences and sometimes keep her in my suit pocket, where her little head would gently peek out. She has traveled with JB and I on dozens of trips. She is now in the Magic Cottage and from this photograph, she looks like she is happy there.

9. I don't know either one of these acquaintances of JB's. They are also in the Magic Cottage and have never given me the time of day, so I just ignored them.

10. This photo does not do justice to Gisselle. She is the sweetest and most fashionable giraffe. She travels with us sometimes also. Once during a very difficult trip to Tucson Arizona, we left her in the bed when we checked out of our motel room. We felt terrible, horrible. When we got back to New England, we phoned the motel and asked housekeeping to look for her. Several days later, a package arrived at our back door with Gisselle lovingly and comfortably tucked into a little bed made of tissue paper. Obviously, whoever found her and sent her back understood the importance of loving relationships.....

11. This is Alfred. I don't know him either but I do know he and JB are very close.

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12. This bird arrived in JB's Christmas stocking this year and is now clipped onto one of the living room table lamps. JB was very surprised that Ces , with her ever enthusiastic and classy eye did not notice it, and another bird on a second matching lamp.

13. Oh dear God: it is my plight in life to have to endure multiple lizards. This very large "family" of lizards is currently on the bench just outside the Magic Cottage. I do not want them in the house, ever. In winter, snow covers their bodies and I have to look at their scaly heads.

And as an extra finale: for some unknown reason, Cecil has made his way off the table to the floor and has turned his back on the comings and goings of the household. I'm sure this is temporary, but I'm wondering what he's thinking about, and why.....

Yes, I know: I'm officially certifiable.

Not Much

Well.
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My well of words is mostly dry right now.
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A few days ago I prepared a briefly-posted Thursday 13 on all the little critters and stuffed animals that co-exist with JB and Stella and me, but upon further examination and some well regarded feedback from two of my favorite people, I pulled it to avoid the possibility of being, well, ahem, hmmm, eccentric. Flaky. Juvenile. Ok, and possibly unstable. I don't mind approaching the edge of controversy and/or revelation, but, afterall, I'd like to be viewed as somewhat mature and emotionally intact, at least some of the time.
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Some realities in one's inner world are best left there. It's enough I've already introduced Emily Rabbit, Francine the Giraffe, and Esther and Mildred the Witches.
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It's a slippery slope--this business of writing real and true without opening your raincoat wide and wider. So unless impulse wins out at some later date, don't expect to meet Dolly, Frank, Birdie, Picasso, Irene (stop! that's enough, kj!)

Instead, today I am just going to say hello, best wishes, and thank you for your visits and support. My blogging friends are very precious and important to me. Your comments and support help me as a person and a writer more than I could ever express. !

A Brief Poem

Oooooh, sometimes I think I'm so clever.....

The Teacher

I’m looking for the universal
Under the butter dish
Because if it can’t hide under there
It doesn’t deserve counter space

Devotion

I am soon approaching the one year anniversary of "my writing career". It has taken its own form and shape without much guidance or structure from me. I'm surprised at that because I've let it meander along without worrying too much about goals.

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But I have been writing. I effortlessly love writing poems. I've shockingly finished the first draft of a novel, and I've completed a self-help book on changing careers that I hope will find its way to an interested publisher. I excite myself by imagining I will one day walk into a book store and say, "Ohmygod, there's my book".

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And timidly waiting in the wings, hiding inside my file cabinet, barely able to breathe on its own, is my first true love: the still untitled book about Who's Happy and Who Isn't and Why and Why Not.

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Why am I saying all this? Because after the poems and the novel and the self-help books, I'm also being courted by the Short Story. Indeed, the story of Izzy and Casey--these two characters I totally love who are telling their story with such glee-- is such a joy to write I can hardly contain it to my weekly writing group, where it was born, prefers to develop, and wants to keep to itself for a while longer.

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So what's the point? (Jeez). Well....here's a new short story. If you have the time or inclination, I'd welcome the feedback.......

Devotion

She walked to the front window specifically to watch the rain moving down in an aggressive straight line, until each strand hit the middle pane and vanished abruptly.
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“Isn’t that what’s happened to me? ”, she asked out loud, surprised that given her present state she would make any connection at all, let alone one that started with the physical world of her front yard and ended with her current internal landscape, which as of Tuesday was bleak.
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She took a chance and lost. She couldn’t say she didn’t know what she was doing from the first moment, when she put aside the little toothpicks that so fiercely though ineffectively had guarded her heart since this smooth as olive oil guy, Matt, had walked out on her one Saturday morning at 11:43 am. She knew this because she looked at the time of his email before she read his sorry lines that told her, the way all cowardly bastards always do, that she was wonderful and perfect and beautiful and intelligent, that the problem was of course him, that for certain some other guy would come along and see her for the precious irresistible woman she obviously was.

That was three years ago. It took her two of those years to stop crying without provocation, and several months after that to finally take down all the pictures and dispose of all the letters. Her friend Amy told her she had wasted too much time lamenting this jerk of a guy, but she didn’t see it that way. In her mind, she had cautiously, and guardedly, and hopefully, and only then appropriately, opened wide her proverbial London Fog raincoat to let herself believe again. She had not been sloppy or desperate any more this time than that other time. For her, believing was based on two precepts she held dear: the first, she would trust she would not be intentionally harmed; and the second, even if she was wrong about the first, loving someone was worth it. After the fact she knew that had been a mistake, loving a certain someone may be worth it, but if that certain someone doesn’t see it the same way you do, you’re bound to end up like that strand of rain, abruptly hitting the middle pane.
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“What’s the alternative?” she kept asking herself all those months, and even now. It was a bitter question. She thought about her sister Claudia. What made things so different for her? Claudia made the same bad choices, the proof of that pudding being that she was currently languishing in a married man affair now in its seventh year. She could not keep up with the number of holidays she had phoned Claudia only to find her alone, waiting for the squeezed in call or quick secret appearance by this man who had succeeded in keeping her sister’s entire life on hold, with parenthesis before and after any decision that involved Claudia’s life without him. Once she calculated that in any given month, her sister had the benefit of her heart’s desire maybe—maybe mind you—5 to 10 percent of her entire life.
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And yet Claudia seemed happy. One night after two bottles of Chardonnay she asked her how that could be.

Even with her charming slurred speech, Claudia answered quickly:
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“First of all, I love him. I am alive when I am with him like no other time in my entire life. Second of all, I am devoted to him. That means I am willing to put him first, even if it means I suffer a lot of the time. I like devotion. I think it’s a good quality”.
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She stood at the window. The rain was relentless. It was coming with such a ferocity she wondered how the impatiens and zinnias managed to keep their wits about them, not to mention their buds and blooms. She thought about devotion. Then, abruptly, she folded the morning paper and poured her coffee just before she sat down in her zebra covered wing chair, nestled her head deep into the aqua pillow, and dreamed about flying.

Thursday 13: Another Mish-Mash

It's officially summer. I love that. I am landscaping my yard, writing, pushing myself to cook at home more often (versus going to my favorite restaurants), and, with what is now, I believe, a permanent fact, letting deep love wash over me, even if it means I cry sometimes.

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In no order, here's this week's Thursday 13:

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1. I may have sold my book on Good Work! It seems I may have a publisher with an interest to work with me, better identify the marketing niche it will need, and hopefully provide a $$ advance and publishing contract.

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2. If not, I am still uplifted and psyched by their interest. I'm someone who can sail far with alittle encouragement.

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3. Related to # 2, I love compliments. If it's true you give what you want, I hope I make a good effort to communicate my appreciation to the people in my life.

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4. Last year JB & I got a quote in the thousand's to landscape the yard. We signed the contract with the agreement that we could back out if the references and finished yards weren't what we expected. Ohmygod!--we looked at a few yards this "expert" had completed and we hated each one--plants and shubs too small for the size of the house, and boring same-old-same-old selections. So we got our deposit back decided I would do the landscaping myself. For me, it's probably a 3 year project, but I am loving it.

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5. I am ready to send out query letters for the first draft of the novel I completed last November for the National Novel Writing Month Contest. And I am totally in love with the short story about "Casey" and "Izzy", entitled "Flight of the Heart: The Sob Story of Two Soulmates who Find Eachother at the Worse Possible Time.

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6. I lie on Stella's dog bed with her sometimes late at night. Last week I fell asleep holding her paw and several hours later I awoke with a start, thinking I was holding someone's hand. In my sleepened state, when I realized it was a paw and not a person, I jumped a mile.

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7. Mr. Ryan is now five months old. He smiles when he sees JB and me and our hearts tritely jump for joy. I didn't know what I wanted him to call me--I really don't like grandma or granny etc, so I started calling myself No-Name. At first Jessica shook her head pathetically, but it just might stick--that is, whatever Ryan's pronounciation of "No-Name" will be.

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8. We'll soon find out if our house can effectively accomodate plenty of company this summer. Both JB and I want to welcome and enjoy guests without feeling that we have to be Grand Hostesses.

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9. With all its farms, this part of the world grows and specializes in asparagus, and this is harvest time. I've never tasted asparagus like this before--with a little cream dill sauce, it is just awesome.

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10. I'm finding myself with friends of all ages, ranging from 22 (Nicole!) to 83 (Aunt Theresa). I like this alot. And I am the beneficiary of a terrific best friend (Ces) who keeps me laughing, hopping, trusting, and settling in for life. Thank you, Universe.

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11. We are having an art fair in our yard this summer. Anyone who wants can make or bring whatever they want and show it off, sell it, etc. As for me, I plan to read tarot cards for $ 5 a shot. Then I will spend the money I make to shop at the art fair.

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12. A joke: How many psychiatrists does it take to change a lightbulb?

Answer: Just one, but the lightbulb has really got to want to change. ( hahaha)

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13. I am reading Eat Pray Love aloud with JB and we have just begun the Ashram/India section. I realize, with great surprise, that I would like to go to an ashram in India for 3 months or more. I used to meditate and chant at one near Boston. Although I tended to reject the "groupie" nature and orange dots and robes, I found wonderful peace inside myself every time I went. So if saying my desire outloud is the beginning of experiencing it, I might be ready for destiny to take the wheel....