What Sets Your Soul on Fire

Yes.

I get this.

But time is transient.

What if I run out of time?
Let go out the outcome, they say.
Well-all-right then.

Maintain Your Mystery

Another yes moment.

Predictable in her unpredictability.

It's on the way.

I could feel it remarkably alive in me this morning.

I think the soul knows when fall is approaching.

Autumn Souls, that is.

Of which I am most certainly.

The senses heighten and multiply.

Yet I wonder...

Could not our senses respond in succession

to autumn's advent being first manifested within the soul?

Appeasing my senses,

my soul is allowed to speak. 

In Honor of Chris Kyle

An email has been circulating about Chris Kyle, the Navy Seal who was horribly murdered, and the details of his funeral. When I read it, I was touched -- and outraged at our White House -- by what I read.  All the more reason why I must see American Sniper. 

We didn't get to go last night -- out to dinner with friends instead, great fun, glad we did -- but I'm hoping to get to the box office in the next week or so for this movie that tells his story.

The email, though, deserves more stage.  So here goes:

Chris Kyle's funeral .......................

You've probably heard of Navy SEAL Chris Kyle, may have read his fascinating autobiography "American Sniper" and / or have seen the just released movie by the same title (starring Bradley Cooper as Chris Kyle). Attached is the bitter sweet "end of the story", which regrettably, but typically, has had precious little media attention.

Some interesting info about SEAL Chris Kyle's funeral last 
year----makes you proud of Texas folks

Our president & attorney general call about Trayvon Martin and 
Ferguson Missouri , but don’t call SEALs or NY policeman families …What in the ******** is going on in “our country”???

This is why America will remain strong. We take care of our own as well as others who may not deserve taking care of. I just wanted to share with you all that out of a horrible tragedy we were blessed by so many people.

Chris Kyle was Derek's teammate through 10 years of training and battle. They both suffer/suffered from PTSD to some extent and took great care of each other because of it. 2006 in Ramadi was horrible for young men that never had any more aggressive physical contact with another human than on a Texas football field.  They lost many friends. Chris became the armed services number #1 sniper of all time. Not something he was happy about, other than the fact that in so doing, he saved a lot of American lives.

Three years ago, his wife Taya asked him to leave the SEAL teams as he had a huge bounty on his head by Al Qaeda. He did and wrote the book "The American Sniper." 100% of the proceeds from the book went to two of the SEAL families who had lost their sons in Iraq .

That was the kind of guy Chris was. He formed a company in Dallas to train military, police and I think firemen as far as protecting themselves in difficult situations. He also formed a foundation to work with military people suffering from PTSD. Chris was a giver not a taker.  He, along with a friend and neighbor, Chad Littlefield, were murdered trying to help a young man that had served six months in Iraq and claimed to have PTSD.

Now I need to tell you about all of the blessings. Southwest Airlines flew in any SEAL and their family from any airport they flew into..free of charge.  The employees donated buddy passes and one lady worked for four days without much of a break to see that it happened.

Volunteers were at both airports in Dallas to drive them to the hotel.   The Marriott Hotel reduced their rates to $45 a night and cleared the hotel for only SEALs and family.

The Midlothian, TX Police Department paid the $45 a night for each room. I would guess there were about 200 people staying at the hotel, 100 of them were SEALs. Two large buses were chartered (an unknown donor paid the bill) to transport people to the different events and they also had a few 
rental cars (donated). The police and secret service were on duty 24 hours during the stay at our hotel.

At the Kyle house, the Texas DPS parked a large motor home in front to block the view from reporters. It remained there the entire five days for the SEALs to congregate in and all to use the restroom so as not to have to go in the house. Taya, their two small children and both sets of parents were staying in the home.

Only a hand full of SEALs went into the home as they had different duties and meetings were held sometimes on a hourly basis. It was a huge coordination of many different events and security. Derek was assigned to be a Pall Bearer, to escort Chris' body when it was transferred from the Midlothian Funeral Home to the Arlington Funeral Home, and to be with Taya. A tough job.  Taya seldom came out of her bedroom. The house was full with people from the church and other family members that would come each day to help. I spent one morning in a bedroom with Chris’ mom and the next morning with 

Chad Littlefield's parents (the other man murdered with Chris). A tough job.

George W Bush and his wife Laura met and talked to everyone on the Seal Team one on one. They went behind closed doors with Taya for quite a while. They had prayer with us all. You can tell when people were sincere and caring.  Nolan Ryan sent his cooking team, a huge grill and lots of steaks, 

chicken and hamburgers. They set up in the front yard and fed people all day long including the 200 SEALs and their families. The next day a local BBQ restaurant set up a buffet in front of the house and fed all once again. Food was plentiful and all were taken care of. The family's church kept those inside the house well fed.

Jerry Jones, the man everyone loves to hate, was a rock star. He made sure that we all were taken care of. His wife and he were just making sure everyone was taken care of….Class... He donated the use of Cowboy Stadium for the services as it was determined that so many wanted to attend.The charter buses transported us to the stadium on Monday at 10:30 am. Every car, bus, motorcycle was searched with bomb dogs and police. I am not sure if kooks were making threats trying to make a name for themselves or if so many SEALs in one place was a security risk, I don't know. We willingly obliged. No purses went into the stadium!

We were taken to The Legends room high up and a large buffet was available. That was for about 300 people. We were growing.A Medal of Honor recipient was there, lots of secret service and 

police and Sarah Palin and her husband. She looked nice, this was a very formal military service.  The service started at 1:00 pm and when we were escorted onto the field I was shocked. We heard that about 10,000 people had come to attend also. They were seated in the stadium seats behind us. It was a beautiful and emotional service.The Bagpipe and drum corps were wonderful and the Texas A&M men's choir stood through the entire service and sang right at the end. We were all in tears.

The next day was the 200-mile procession from Midlothian, TX to Austin for burial. It was a cold, drizzly, windy day, but the people were out. We had dozens of police motorcycles riders, freedom riders, five chartered buses and lots of cars. You had to have a pass to be in the procession and still it was huge. Two helicopters circled the procession with snipers sitting out the side door for protection. It was the longest funeral procession ever in the state of Texas. People were everywhere. The entireroute was shut down ahead of us, the people were lined up on the side of the road the entire way. Firemen were down on one knee, police officers were holding their hats over their hearts, children waving flags, veterans saluting as we went by. Every bridge had fire trucks with large flags displayed from their tall ladders, people all along the entire 200 miles were standing in the cold weather. It was so heartwarming.

Taya rode in the hearse with Chris' body so Derek rode the route with us. I was so grateful to have that time with him.

The service was at Texas National Cemetery. Very few are buried there and you have to apply to get in. It is like people from the Civil War, Medal of Honor winners, a few from the Alamo and all the historical people of Texas. It was a nice service and the Freedom Riders surrounded the outside of the entire cemetery to keep the crazy church people from Kansas that protest at military funerals away from us.

Each SEAL put his Trident (metal SEAL badge) on the top of Chris' casket, one at a time. A lot hit it in with one blow. Derek was the only one to take four taps to put his in and it was almost like he was caressing it as he did it. Another tearful moment.

After the service Governor Rick Perry and his wife, Anita, invited us to the governor's mansion. She stood at the door, greeted each of us individually, and gave each of the SEALs a coin of Texas. She was a sincere, compassionate, and gracious hostess.We were able to tour the ground floor and then went into the garden for beverages and BBQ. So many of the Seal team guys said that after they 

get out they are moving to Texas. They remarked that they had never felt so much love and hospitality. The charter buses then took the guys to the airport to catch their returning flights. Derek just now called and after a 20 hours flight he is back in his spot, in a dangerous land on the other side of the world, protecting America.
We just wanted to share with you, the events of a quite emotional, but 

blessed week.

Punch-line: To this day, no one in the White House has ever acknowledged Chris Kyle!

However, the President can call some sport person and congratulate him 
on announcing to the world that he is gay??

What is happening to our society, our honor and our pride??

Seeking Happiness in a New Year

During my ritual morning coffee, I had checked emails, read a devotion and scripture, and then logged on to Facebook -- mostly out of some bizarre sense of obligation that I have yet to understand -- and began scrolling down the page, jumping from post to post.  And I subconsciously stopped to read this one post. It was shared by a friend who's seldom on Facebook.  Someone I used to see often but haven't seen in a few years.   Maybe that's why I stopped at her post...maybe I just miss talking to her?  Or maybe it was me thinking that if she's taken the time to say something, it's likely worth reading?

And her post, just a couple of sentences posed in the form of a question -- I won't quote it -- was a bit alarming to me.  She seemed to be reaching out, a cry of sorts, alluding to depression.  I couldn't shake it from my mind.  Been thinking about it all morning.  I'm determined to get in touch with her.  I'd like to think that there is SOMETHING that I could say to her, just by showing up in her life and reaching out to her, that will fill even a part of whatever void she's facing in her life right now.  I think back to when I last saw her...I see her face, her blonde crazy-curly hair, her broad, intoxicating smile, and that infectious giggle.  I would never have suspected her -- of all people -- to be depressed.  Eye opening.

One look around, and we see how easy it is to allow life to pull us down into muck.  To become victimized by disappointments, tragedies, sickness, inequities, struggles.  No one is immune.  But knowing how to best deal with "darkness" is the key, I think.

I'm haunted by the tragedy of Robin Williams having taken his life.  Could his life have been spared had people known what mental torment he was going through?  Such a waste.  Very sad.

When I arrived at the office, I clicked on my bookmark for ThinkExist Quotes.  It opened to the page showcasing famous people's birthdays for today's date. And how odd, having been a little preoccupied with my friend's FB post all morning, that my eyes would zoom in on a quote by William Lyon Phelps, an American educator, journalist and professor, born on January 2, 1865.  I read his quote over and over, mesmerized by his thought-provoking words of wisdom.

The happiest people.  What makes them so?  It's true, what he said.  Lasting and meaningful happiness involves the mind and blossoms most fully when we spend our days immersed in edification  and mental development.  Happiness comes not from what we have, or don't have.  Fortunes or misfortunes.  It comes when we choose to focus on things which bring us joy, conversations and interaction with others, laughter, simple pleasures, the insatiable thirst for knowledge and wisdom and enlightenment.  This makes perfect sense to me.

I think of when I'm reading a good book or a good article of interest.  I'm not focusing on things that happen to be screwed up in my life.  Or when I'm listening to good music, how it makes me feel, that mental escape to my HAPPY place.  Or when I'm captivated in an engaging conversation with a friend or acquaintance or co-worker or colleague.  These are the times I'm happiest.

There will always be that human tendency to slip into the darkness when the sun isn't shining as brightly as we'd like it to.  But shifting the focus, filling our minds with knowledge, taking the time to appreciate the little things around us, taking nothing for granted, listening and dancing to the music, engaging our minds with books and conversations and with others who RAISE US UP.

Too simplistic?  I don't really think so.

The second day of a new year.  Yep.  I'm pretty sure it was meant for me to click onto my ThinkExist bookmark today.  Thank you -- and happy birthday! -- William Lyon Phelps, for calling my attention to this simple lesson about happiness.  

  

Subjective Interpretations: The Bowl

My mother-in-law is a hoarder.  To what extreme?  Well, according to the National Study Group on Chronic Disorganization (yep, they're legit), better known to a few as NSGCD, she probably falls in the Level 2 range.  There are apparently five levels of hoarders.  So I suppose that's not so bad.  I think most of us have a few hoarding tendencies to an extent, a few psychoses of one kind or another.

According to Hoarders Anonymous, she has a knack at acquiring and failing to discard large numbers of possessions which appear to be useless or of limited value; AND her living space is sufficiently cluttered so as to preclude activities for which those spaces were designed (paraphrasing their definition).

So she's in that gray area, which technically classifies her as a junk collector, a distinction worth noting.

Each time my husband goes to visit her on the farm to help with mowing and spend time with her, he brings home "keepsakes."  She agreed to attempt to declutter pursuant to his long-standing insistence.  But because she refuses to throw anything away (Depression Era), she wants to give it all to me.  Some things are unloaded from his truck straight to the trash can, others are gently carried into the house and placed in storage for future inspection.  These are the items that are usually sentimental in nature or are said to be valuable antiques.

Well, this is my dilemma.  Do I just keep acquiring and storing these items of questionable value in perpetuum?  

What is the purpose?

Take, for example, "the bowl."  It arrived wrapped in a soft cloth, which was wrapped in several layers of aged newspapers.  I unwrapped it, and I thought to myself:  "Oh, my.  How ugly is THIS?"  I wrapped it back up and placed it in our buffet in the dining room, annoyed that it was just taking up precious space, knowing I'd never use it and would never display it.  To me, it was hideously ugly.

Because we're getting ready to refinish our wood floors, I'm having to unload the drawers and cabinets of their breakable contents, wrap them safely and store them temporarily in boxes during the renovations.  So yesterday, out comes The Bowl.  There it was.  I stared at it for a very long time thinking:  I really do not like this bowl.  It is a very ugly bowl.  I don't want it in my house.  What do I do with this ugly bowl?

I began to wonder about its value.  And I began my googling research.  Into the search window I first typed:  ugly antique colorful glass bowl.  

And I searched, and searched, and eventually I learned that it is called carnival glass.  That it was wildly popular in the 20th century.  That it is somewhat rare.  Continuing my research, I found this photo online, which looks extremely similar to my bowl.

The bowl from the auction site

My bowl.

Interesting, huh?

According to this auction site, this bowl, if authentic, is worth $100-$150.  Hmm.

I would have never guessed.  As to whether mine is authentic, if I had to guess by the look and feel of it, its weightiness, the hues of this, uh, carnival glass effect (shaking head here), I'd say it likely is.  Not certain.  But likely.

It's funny how people value their stuff.  What they find beautiful and pleasing and valuable ... whatever, and what they deem as junk.

Had I gone to an estate auction and browsed the inventory to be auctioned off, and I happened to see that bowl on display, and sitting next to it was this:  

... or something like it, I would have guessed that the copper cannister/pail was far more expensive and valuable than The Bowl.  

Interesting observation.  Supposing The Bowl IS authentic, it is therefore roughly 8 x more valuable than this copper bucket that I fell madly in love with and recently bought for a whopping $16.99, which I find FAR, FAR more beautiful than The Bowl.  The copper bucket I will proudly display in my home.  I will walk past it now and then and smile inside, resting my eyes on its beauty.  But The Bowl?  Sorry.  I can't do it.  It may be worth $100 or more.  It may not.  But it's going back in the wrapping and into the buffet.  I'll keep it and preserve its ugliness  subjective beauty and value for my sons' wives.  Let them decide what to do with it.  

Beauty is indeed in the eye of the beholder.   

Who Needs Google When You Have a Teenager Who Knows It All?

After two shots at raising teenagers 

-- make that TWO TEENAGE SONS --

one would think the third one would be easier.

I have so much to more to learn.

So many unanswered questions.

I thought I had this mom thing down.

But I definitely do not.

Why does everyone make such a big deal

about the terrible two's?

That stage was NOTHING in comparison

to the teenage years of 15+.

Having worked in the court system for 30 years,

I have heard it all pretty much,

the horror stories and heartaches of raising teens.

Some learn.  Some never do.

Whose fault is it?

Why can't they understand that we do what we do

BECAUSE WE LOVE THEM?

Sometimes the frustration

of feeling so inadequate as a parent 

is more than I can bear.

My lifeline in times like this is my 

Eternal Compass.

I'm thankful that He 

KNOWS EVEN MORE THAN GOOGLE.

And that he loves me enough

to never leave my side.

Know When to Shut the Hell Up

I received an email yesterday afternoon that a dear neighbor friend of mine had been in a horrific accident (one of those stuck accelerator stories that scare the shit out of you when you dwell on it) this past Saturday and had miraculously lived to tell about it, and had just gotten home from the hospital.  I panicked.  She lives a few blocks away and I only see her now and then while she's walking her dogs. We used to play Bunco together, which is when I got to know her well, falling in love with her joie de vivre and adorable, contagious sense of humor.  Though in her late 70's, one would never guess it.  She's constantly on the go and in the know.

I texted her son before I stopped by to make sure she was up for company, and he later texted back to tell me she would love for me to stop over.  He and his brother live in Cleveland and Columbus and had dropped everything to come to her aid the minute they heard the news.  After picking up a maple & cinnamon bagel and a caramel chocolate muffin from the bakery, I stopped by our house, unloaded my briefcase, let Chessie out, then headed down the street toward her house.   Rounding the corner, I saw two women carrying dishes of food, and by the time I got to her driveway, they were getting back in their car and pulling away.  Fearful of what to expect, I was certain that I didn't want to stay long.  She needed her rest, and too much company would only wear her out.

When I arrived, her sons (both in their 40's or so) welcomed me and filled me in on her condition, the wreck, etc.  They thanked me for coming.  When I saw her standing in the kitchen doorway having a conversation with one of our neighbors, I was astonished at the degree of bruising and swelling over her face, chest, arms. She waved and smiled at me, "Hi, Twyla, I can't see you very well but I hear your voice and I know it's you.  Wish I could see better," that adorable, infectious giggle laced with understandable nervousness.  I tenderly reached for her hand and gave her a light hug.  I wanted to cry.

After being shown photos of the car and seeing her injuries, I was so thankful that she had survived this awful accident with not even one broken bone!   They had to extricate her and airlift her to the hospital.  Everyone who witnessed the scene agreed that she was a walking miracle.  Tender Mercies from Above.  My heart was breaking for her.

As she began to tell me about her broken glasses, the eye doctor's report, grateful that she had not lost her eyesight, this other neighbor, a notorious flap jaw, began finishing each of her sentences, interrupting to tell about an experience she had gone through years ago, how scared she was, and what she remembers and doesn't remember, and oh how glad she was that .... blah-BLAH, blah-BLAH, blah-BLAH.  On and on and on and --- And with fire in my eyes, surely burning holes in her curly, goofy head, I'm thinking ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS, BITCH? SHUT THE HELL UP!

How inconsiderate! Here I am trying to get just a minute or two with her, reach out, offer comfort, LISTEN to her, wanting her to know I'm willing to prepare meals, shop, do whatever she needs me to do, and here's this annoying, screechy-voice windbag who just won't stop.  I finally interrupted her mid sentence, insisting that my friend come and sit down in the living room, get off her feet.  I emphasized that WE SHOULD BE LEAVING because she needed some peace and quiet, needed her rest.  She seemed grateful for that initiative.

Turning to make my way to the kitchen with her bagels and muffins, her son began sharing with me a few brief details and expressions of gratitude.  And there she goes again, that VOICE!  That hyena laugh.  Chatty Cathy was at it again, towering over her in her recliner, going on and on and on about absolutely nothing.

What is it about people 

who don't know when to shut up?  

You know, I try to be conscious of this, on guard most of the time trying not to monopolize conversations in a social setting.  I strive to be a good listener, attentive, intuitive, in touch.  A fluid exchange.  Quid pro quo.  Good conversation skills are SO underrated.

Well, it dawned on me that I needed to rescue my friend from this self-centered prattle monkey.  So butting in again -- and most certainly for the last time -- I said very emphatically, "Well, it's time for us to leave (more preferably stated "get the hell out of here") and let you get some rest. You've been through enough and you need some peace and quiet," coming very close to placing my hands on this clueless woman's shoulders, perfecting her about-face, and kicking her ass out the door.

Why are people so oblivious?  Why???

Change



Encounters

encounters

 

 

Profoundly true. 

People we encounter in our lives,

for a reason or for a season,

whether they stay or go,

they leave pieces of themselves

intricately and forever

weaved into our hearts

transforming us

for as long as we breathe.

 

 

 

I Had Too Much to Dream

"Oh, I have gobs and gobs of ideas, but... well, you dream things like that, and that's what these are, you know—

my day dreams."

~The fabulous Ella Fitzgerald

 

I suppose there is a difference between dreams and daydreams.

Dreams happen when you're asleep.

Daydreams happen when you're awake, but lost in thought.

Daydreams seem less real for the most part,

the return to reality being rather volitional.

But sometimes the lines get blurred,

and you can't tell what's real and what's not.

 

You "wake up" asking yourself?

Is that real?

Did that happen?

Or is it all just a crazy dream?

 

And dreams often ARE crazy.

Often disjointed and silly-like,

we try to make sense of the scenes,

like trying to work a puzzle piece that doesn't fit.

And then we ask ourselves:

So then why?  Where did I get this piece if it doesn't fit this puzzle?

 

I dreamed I was on the roof...

my neighbor saw me there, and he was yelling at me to come down,

it's dangerous, I shouldn't be there,

I'll fall and break.

Break....?

And I was yelling, trying to get him to understand that I couldn't come down,

I was waiting, meeting someone there.

He was confused.

And so was I.

It upset him.

And it was upsetting me that he was upset.

 

And then the scene switched...

I'm walking along a path,

and I can see the water in the distance,

and the sunset...

and I'm sooooo happy....

Then I'm passing through an archway into a little courtyard area

And there is a table there, with two glasses of wine...

 I looked up and there is this awesome little lakehouse

with tons and tons of windows...
just the like in my daydreams -- I love big gigantic windows --

and it's the most beautiful but little "shack" of a house,

and it's overlooking a lake...

and I sit down at this table.

I'm waiting, wanting to have a sip of the wine...

Waiting....

for what?

And then my neighbor is back outside again,

telling me to please come down off the roof...

and now it's night, and the moon is glowing brightly...

and he tells me it's too late to be on the roof.

It's just too late.

And I look around at the night sky and I"m confused.

And then I heard the alarm

and I woke up.



Casual Conversations

It has occurred to me more than once as years have passed that we forget the casual conversations in life that tend to have little or no significance -- at least at the time they're taking place.  It is later that I find myself wishing I could recall those conversations more clearly.  Or at all.  Sometimes only threads, pieces of the conversation might come to me.  Sometimes I forget them entirely. 

These little casual conversations are what make bring the ordinary to life.  Full blown color.  HD.  Meaningful.  Memorable.  They tend to add credence to our relationships with others. 

I'm going to begin blogging conversations now and then as a way of preserving them.  Something tells me that I'll be glad I did some day.  They may not seem very important now, but some day...yeah, some day they'll be far more precious.

 

THE FAT CAT

 

C:     Hey, Mom...(pouring himself a glass of milk)...we just saw a fat cat a few blocks up the street...like FAT...HUGE/FAT...(laughing out loud now)...he saw us coming and he kind of like scooted out of the way, kind of, rolling out of the way... big ol' belly....(laughing)...."uh, let me get outta da way...here comes a car..."  (laughing)

ME:     (Laughing as I'm placing an online order, listening, typing away) Yeah, well, we kind of have the Cat Ladies to thank for that.  They go out every morning with their little plastic bag of food, and cats from all over the neighborhood come running like their tails are on fire........why they think that's okay to do that, I have no idea ...

C:     We're gonna have an entire village of fat cats...

ME:   Yeah...They should stop that crap...those cats aren't exactly "starving cats" to start with .... and when I'm running in the morning, they see me coming and think I'm the Cat Ladies...they practically run right up underneath my feet....gotta swerve out of their way....

C:     (laughing) ... yeah, and they say to themselves, "False alarm.  It's just that mean woman ...and I don't think she likes us anyway...."

ME:   (laughing)....Yeah, "...It's that mean ol' bitch that NEVER feeds us....get out of her way!!!"

C:     (laughing) .... yeah....well, that fat cat needs to go without food for a week or two....

 

Casual conversations.  I'll look back on this some day and my heart will smile.

 



 



 

 



What's New?

 

I’ve said this countless times before.  I think I was born in the wrong era.  LOVE THIS MUSIC!

As I was having coffee this morning in the still of early morning, this piece by tenor saxophonist Dexter Gordon playing softly in the background, I found myself reflecting on the word “new.”

·       New Year

·       new attitude

·       new beginnings

·       new babies

·       new workout gloves

·       new resolutions

·       new fixtures for my bathroom

·       new roof

·       new manicure

·       new refrigerator

·       new front door

·       new music

I listed these in no particular order.  But on the eve of a new year’s dawning, I began to think of what changes I needed to make, both intangible and tangible, in the months ahead.  I remember last January and February going through all sorts of funky bottom-of-the-barrel moments with an overwhelming sadness that I could not seem to shake.  Not having experienced anything like this before, at least not to this degree, it caught me off guard.  I wasn’t prepared for it.  I didn’t understand it.  I was helpless in overcoming it.  Powerless over the chains that bound me, I felt angry at myself.  I had no right to feel sad.  None.  Not when I compared myself to the rest of the world, the wrongs, the losses, sickness, tragedies.  Count your blessings already, T.  Get a frikkin grip.  This is pitiful!

Depression, I now know, is not something that can easily be fixed.  Depression can sneak up on us gradually, or it can hit us suddenly like a bat out of hell.  Either way, our first instinct is denial.   Depression?  Phew.  Not me.  I’m much bigger than this.  Snap out of it.  Just watch me.

But it’s not always that simple.

So as this new year arrives, I have already begun to wonder what effect the winter months will have on me.  Can you handle it, T?  Are you ready?  I think of the things in my life that leave me with a sense of discontent.  Sadness.  Frustration.   Restlessness.  Helplessness.  I ask myself:  What can I do to counter these negative emotions and make every day as productive as I can?  To make every day count?  To restore a sense of balance and accomplishment and trust and hope and courage and resilience to my life?

Often it’s as simple as finding distractions.  That word, distractions.  I use it a lot.  But it’s proved to be a very effective antidote for negative emotions.  Short-lived distractions.  Long-term distractions.  Just find something, anything, that demands an immediate focus, something that will fan the flame of my brain’s mental processes into victorious, productive action. 

And so my NEW list comes to mind.  Each of those will serve to hit my happy button and keep me afloat when I find myself sinking into the onset of melancholy.  My friend’s daughter, who lives in Georgia, gave birth to her first baby the day after Christmas.  Hearing the joy in her voice as she broke the news to me on the phone, I smiled to myself, imagining the sweet, soft skin of that new life, a little miracle resting in her grandma’s arms.  The epitome of blissfulness and joy. 

Santa surprised me with new workout gloves.  YAY.  What a thrill.  I kept proudly staring at them the other day at the gym, oh-yeah, look at me, new workout gloves.  Yep, I rock.  And I downloaded three new albums from Amazon (great specials they were running on Christmas Eve!) to enliven my world with fresh, upbeat and inspiring tunes.  Love it when my MP3 player channels to each new selection, renewing my energy and motivation with each rep, each set.   Oh, and new cookware, which I sorely needed--mine was on its very last pitiful dying breath.  HOW I look forward to making good use of those.   And, yes, a gift certificate for a manicure/pedicure!  Woo-hoo!  Already trying to decide on a color.  Leaning toward a sexy winter hue, maybe Lincoln Park After Dark, or something similar.  And new earrings, which I’ve already worn – funny how such a simple thing like new earrings can lift me up! 

But the happiness that material things bring can be short-lived.  Quick fixes.  What are my long-term fixes of NEW? 

As I live and learn, I now know that there are ways to help counter negativity.  I will start with these resolutions and then wait expectantly to see how, if kept, they will galvanize my willpower and spirit to overcome.  Stay positive.  Bounce back.  Make a difference. 

·       This 50-Something Diva plans to resume a very clean diet, with only one cheat meal a week, tracking my food a minimum of five days a week.  Diet is 80-90% of successful health and fitness.  Been there.  Just do it.

·       I plan to hit the gym a minimum of four days each week.

·       I plan to do at least 30 minutes of cardio five to six days a week, beginning with my first ever spinning class – I’ve already signed up this coming Thursday at 6:00.  Can’t wait to try this out!

·       I plan to faithfully begin each day with reading the Bible, devotional study and prayer.

·       I resolve to visit my aging aunt once a week, but at a minimum twice a month.

·       I will make a list of five things each day that have made a positive difference in my life, and I won’t sleep until the list is complete.

·       I will perform random acts of kindness to people at least once a week, the more often, the better.

·       I will strive to make a difference in other people’s lives every.single.day.

·       I will befriend the least suspecting strangers.

·       I will laugh as often as possible, with as many people as possible.

·       I will stay in touch with my sisters and make an effort to plan meaningful visits with them.

·       I will try to reduce the clutter in my life.

·       I will commit to taking the Realtime exam again in May (it’s given twice a year), my nerves having once again prevented me from passing in November.  (How is it that I was able to walk out onto a stage in front of a sea of people in a tiny bikini at MY AGE and pose, smile, walk confidently, nail that “production,” but I can’t overcome the anxiety-inducing shaking and nervousness every damn time I take that test?)

·       I will repeat to myself each day:  ”Never, ever, ever give up.”

 It is a new year. 

Am I ready?

BRING IT ON.