The Universe and Me

Do you ever wonder about the meaning of life? How it all fits together? I am often compelled to think these things when I see a particularly spectacular cloud. It always occurs to me that this magnificence didn’t get here by accident. There has to be some complex plan that allows for these puffs of water and vapor to hang in the sky. And the patterns…artistic master pieces.

And the sea. It is a body you can’t see the end of. Your eyes just travel over the ripples and waves only to find more ripples and waves, over and over until all you have is that virtuals line that touches the sky. It’s a wonder to me how much I am soothed by the ocean, its sounds and rhythms. And it’s to just water. Have you heard of forest bathing. There are actual studies like this one that show that spending time immersed in the forest benefits us physiologically and psychologically. How cool is it that Mother Nature has rigged parts of the world to just calm us and remind us of our place here.

Sometimes, I just get smacked in the head with the beauty and expanse of nature. I'm but a small pebble in the vastness of the universe. Does that make me inconsequential? Sometimes it feels that way, compared to the forests and the oceans and the clouds. But maybe my glimmer, combined with all of the other precious pebbles, is what makes the universe beautiful.

#currentmood #justthinking #authorlife#truthbetold #urbanfantasyauthorcommunity#urbanfantasyauthor

Vacation Anxiety

Do you get anxious before a vacation? I do. It starts with the packing. It is never easy to determine what is enough (so you don’t run out of anything critical, like underwear), and what is much much more than you need..

Inevitably, I forget something critical AND overpack.

My ideal vacation activity.

I also worry about work prior to vacation. I don’t want to work while I’m away. But my experience has always been that you work twice as hard before you go, and three times as hard when you return. For a a variety of reasons, I do not want to work while I am away. What if I get an important call or email? Do I respond? What will happen if I don’t.

This summer, I vow to do things differently.I’m not taking my laptop. I’m going to let critical people know that I’m going to be inaccessible for a few days. I’m going to plan reading and writing and resting, so work has a lower chance of intruding.

No matter how I fret, once I’m on the road I’m ready to relax and have a good time. Forgotten underwear be damned!

Does pre-vacation stress you out? Or is it just me?

It Was Always Love-Repost from 4-24-16

I wrote this post for the first time in 2016, shortly after Prince died. It’s still my story. I still feel every word. And I still miss him.

It was always love.

***********

I'm a writer. There has always been something cathartic in telling a story. So in the midst of incredible sadness I am sharing my story with you.

My partner says that she went to the movies with a friend one day to see whatever show happened to be playing and ended up seeing Purple Rain, a movie that changed her forever. From that moment on she was obsessed--still is--and thanks Prince for much of the joy she's had in her life.

My path was not as direct. He had to touch my life three times before I listened.

1979

Thank you for a funky time, call me  up...

On my way to high school driving the first of two cars given to me by my father, the song I Wanna Be Your Lover came on. The music was okay, but the lyrics made my head spin. Chock full of double entendres (I wanna be the only one to make you come...running), I couldn't get it out of my head for days. But trying to balance my perfectionist compulsion with wanting to fit in with my peers had turned high school into a three year long hurricane for me. I had a hard enough time holding on to my shit--I couldn't add one more thing to my burden.

1984

Somebody please tell me what the hell is wrong

The second time I became aware of Prince was when Purple Rain came out. I was newly married and in an unfamiliar place with no friends. I don't have memory of going to or being in the theater (my memory often fails me when it comes to very emotional moments), but I remember  buying a beta max copy of the movie as soon as it came out. I coveted that fat short rectangular box (I still have it), but for reasons I can't explain, I never watched it.

The third time, as they say, was the charm.

1987

In my darkest hour, you can be my bliss

I took a job two hours away from my home and my husband and lived with my mother. I had a great time. I loved my job, had some adventures with my mom (like driving 45 minutes to buy a pizza that boasted cheese UNDER the sauce, not over it), and spent time with my sister and brother and their families. Moreover, every other weekend I honeymooned with my husband. Life moved along pretty smoothly.

Except at night. I started having nightmares. At first they came infrequently, and I barely remembered them. As time went on they grew more frequent and more horrifying. Eventually I had bad dreams every night. There seemed to be two themes--black roses and elevators. Black rose dreams woke me up crying.  Elevator dreams were worse.

I know now that I was reliving sexual abuse I'd experienced as a child. I was in the same room, largely unchanged--the purple walls I'd begged for, music and academic awards (evidence of my hyper-vigilent perfection), and the bed. The bed.

Any time I was alone with my thoughts I thought about dying. What death would feel like. All the years of my nephews and nieces lives that I'd miss. Pieces of my nightmares started to come to me during the day. I searched continually for distractions, trying to save myself. One day I saw an ad in the newspaper about an upcoming Prince concert. I remembered his movie and that song, and how they made me feel. I really wanted to go, but not alone. My sister told me her husband was a big fan (her, not so much) and that he'd probably go with me if I had my heart set. He did.

October 1988

Do you want him, or do you want me?

We had tickets in the Nosebleed Section because we'd gotten them so late, but it didn't matter. The entire arena was filled by the presence of the little, ethereally beautiful man on the stage. I was captivated--couldn't take my eyes off of him. But the music transformed me. He sang of love and sensuality and peace and God and sex. His voice resonated, reverberated throughout my body. I sometimes make a joke, saying if he'd asked me that night for all of my worldly possessions I would have given them to him. But it was the truth.

The next day I went to every record store I could find and bought every tape Prince had ever released. I drove around for hours listening to his music. He didn't become "the soundtrack of my life". He became my reason to keep living.

1991

I want to jump for joy and thank him I'm not alone

I'd gotten a bigger and better job and moved back with my husband. While stalking a record store (my new hobby), I came across Prince's official fan magazine, Controversy. Not only was it heaven on the page with big, color, never before seenpictures of him, but it had a pen pal section. Suddenly, I wasn't alone. I'd found my tribe--men and women who experienced Prince the way I did.  Miraculously, the first person I connected with became my partner. I like to say Prince gave her to me.

Present day

Can't begin to understand how I feel about you, everything I want to do I can't do without you

My life is filled with good friends who I connect with over songs and youtube clips, through marriages and divorce, through children and grandchildren, over the mountains that life put in front of our best efforts and under the bridges that we've fallen from. When we're happy, we listen to his music and watch his movies. When we're sad, we do the same. Since his passing, we cling to each other and assure ourselves we'll get through this, and that we'll find joy again.

I've seen Prince in concert over one hundred times. I have every song he's released, and sometimes multiple versions thereof. My partner and I celebrate his milestones--birthdays, awards, performances. Our annual Super Bowl parties celebrate his 2007 award-winning appearance. Many of our milestones are commemorated with concerts that hold special meaning. There is not one room in our home in which he's not evident, either in fact or by influence. (We're still trying to figure out how to put the Shower Poster in the bathroom.)

My friends and I are asking questions of ourselves and each other. Where do we go from  here? Who will we be, if not Prince Fans? How will it feel to not look forward to his next album, the next concert, the next TV appearance?

The only answer is that his music is a part of us. It's in our cells and are the songs in the background of everything. Our experiences with him and because of him live on.

• Getting his autograph in NYC and almost fainting because we thought he'd levitated, a tiny angel dressed in white.

• Nearly being "rear-ended" by him in MPLS because he was driving too fast and we were going too slow.

• Hearing gunshot and fearing for our lives as we left Glam Slam, his former club.

• Flying to England for concerts and spending a sleepless night at the only after show I've attended.

• Going to his store in MPLS so many times the manager told his staff "Play whatever videos they want to see".

• Grieving with him, from a distance, when he lost his child.

• Meeting our pen pals. (LOVE YOU ALL)

• Standing outside at 2am in line for a show, with some of the craziest and friendliest people we've ever met.

Never say the words "They're gone"

The world is off its axis. I already miss him. My heart aches, and in quiet moments it's hard to breathe. I'm not ready to watch all of the tributes. I can't even listen to his songs without overwhelming sadness. But I'm ready, finally, to say a few things to him.

Dearest Prince,

I am ever grateful for the beautiful ways you've touched (saved) my life and for all of the people that are in it because of you. I'm thankful for your music which fuels my soul. 

There was no way you could have known, but it was always love. I've been blessed to have shared the planet with you.

I wish you heaven. 

New Year, New Books

I hope everyone’s new year is starting off great! I’m curious about what goals you’ve set for yourself. If you feel like sharing, post a comment or send me an email and let me know.

One goal many of my friends are setting is “read more books”. If you share that goal, try to be more specific. The more specific your goal, the more likely you’ll be to achieve them.

I can help you get started! Take a look!

It's Beginning to Look Alot Like...Fall?

It’s unseasonably warm here in Connecticut. The leaves are only now turning and falling to the ground. Yesterday and today it hit 80 degrees.

That’s crazy.

We took advantage of the warm weather to put away much of our outdoor furniture. It’s a majestic view, the red and orange, beige and brown leaves covering uncharacteristically green grass. We also put out halloween decorations and of course, dressed-up our babies.

In case you’re wondering, these are Lee MIddleton Dolls. Their faces were sculpted and their bodies signed by one and only Reba Schick, an artist who sculpted the most beautiful doll faces. These two are especially precious to me because my partner and I chose their hair and eyes and bodies. Aren’t they adorable?

Happy Halloween. Welcome to Fall.

September : Pain Awareness Month

People who experience chronic pain are very good at pretending to be okay. Even if every step feels like grinding glass. Even if standing upright takes herculean effort. Even if they are holding their breath so they don’t whimper…or scream.

My partner spent many years trying to get doctors to believe that yes, I am in immense pain and no, whatever treatment you’ve given me hasn’t worked. Finally, she found two brilliant doctors, both women, who believed her from the start and set out to find a way to help her. And to some degree, they have.

It’s easy to understand how people get addicted to prescription medicine. J.R. once told me that she could imagine a level of pain were she knows she would do absolutely anything to make it go away.

Anyway, the point of all this is that you never know the burdens that someone is carrying. You never truly know how someone feels. It doesn’t cost a thing to be kind.

So be kind. Please.

Dancing Shards of Light-The Perseid Meteor Shower

A very long time ago, my therapist—I’ll call her H— invited me to watch a meteor shower with her. I didn’t want to. Since I was an obsessive worrier, why she invited me to watch the sky falling was beyond me. But I was very connected to this woman, so I agreed. I would be brave.

We hunted for a place as far away from direct and ambient light as possible—No easy feat in the 20th century. Luckily, we found a small, empty field. I’d never been anywhere in the outdoors that was so bereft of light. It was difficult to see well enough to set up our chairs. Luckily, H brought a flashlight.

At first, nothing happened. We sat in the dark, talking in whispers for no reason at all. And then, there it was. I was mesmerized. The sky wasn’t falling. It was dancing. A sparkling cloud of dust, the remnants of a comet, danced above me and, at the same time, encompassed me. In those moments, I felt the vastness of the universe and the gift of light those small particles offered. I also realized two things:

• Compared to the vastness of space, most of my worries were not so big.

• Even in consuming darkness, there are shards of light. But you have to let yourself see them.

Although we never talked about it, I’m pretty sure that was what H had planned all along.

The Perseid meteor shower is scheduled to peak on August 12-13 this year. If you’ve never had the experience, I strongly suggest it. You might have to do a little work to find a dark enough spot, but even if you don’t have epiphanies like I did, the shower of light is worth it. You can find out more about it here. Enjoy.

Universal Letter Writing Week: January 8-14

Communicating is an interesting endeavor. There are a number of different media you can use: written, personally addressed; written to a general audience; face-to-face in person; video technology; audio technology; email; texts/instant message. I often teach about communication, explaining that each one of these mediums has benefits and challenges. Face to face communication is objectively the richest. Think of all the information that is conveyed through not only words, but tone of voice, cadence, inflection, facial expression, gestures, etc. Text is the worse, and maybe I’ll talk about that sometime. But for now, I want to talk about what I consider to be the next best medium—the handwritten letter.

I love writing letters. As an adult, I had a whole host of penpals around the world that I met through a fanclub. We wrote for many years. Some of them grew to be very close friends that I'm still in touch with. I have even met a handful. That was a cool experience, hanging with someone you haven’t met before, but knowing them intimately. One of them became my partner. 

I hardly get letters anymore. I miss it. Every letter feels like a gift. Think about it. Someone took the time to pick the right stationery or cards, the right pen. and then give you a little piece of themselves through their handwriting. Here’s a fun fact about me: If I never buy another piece of stationery and notecards, I am sure I have enough to last the rest of my lift—and share some, too. I think the end of letter writing caught me by surprise.

You might not want to acknowledge this, but email killed the handwritten letter--or at least critically injured it. Even my long-term penpals have opted for the immediate gratification of texts, the convenience of email, or worse-->social media. Consequently, letter writing is a lost art. And now they aren't teaching cursive? I could type a whole email about that. 

I hope we can one day return to the age of the letter. I think people will get tired of emails and texts. They don’t replace the personal connection that you’d get with a handwritten note. Here’s a challenge: If it’s been a while for you—or if you’ve never done it, write someone a letter. It can be brief or long, funny or serious. It doesn’t matter. Whoever you gift a letter to will appreciate it tremendously, and it will make them feel treasured.

You might be thinking that my vision of a return to letter writing is just a pipedream. Ah, well. At least we haven't stopped writing stories.

Take the challenge and let me know what happens!

Happiness Happens

August is Happiness Happens Month. You may be saying, “That is just corny.” I thought so too. But now, I know the truth of the adage.

Toby, aka Tobalicious, aka Little Man, aka Little Stinker.

August has always been challenging for me. First of all, it’s muggy and HOT. Today the heat index was 105. It also is the month where although I am not yet back to work, I am WORKING to prepare for going back to work.

Despite these very serious downsides, I usually find a spot of joy at least once during the month. So far this month, I was sitting in the backyard wishing for a cool breeze and all of a sudden Toby, my Italian Greyhound mix, jump onto my lap and flopped down, laid his head on my arm and fell asleep. Even though his furry little body made me even hotter, it was joyous. I also saw a video of J-Hope’s performance at Lollapalooza and as badass as he was, watching him made me so happy.

Was I expecting to be happy in a month when the heat is stifling? No. But…It happened, and it was awesome.

I suppose the moral to the story is be open to the possibility of happiness so that when it happens, you recognize it and appreciate it.

Besides my puppy and J-Hope, lots of things make me happy. Chocolate chip cookies. Writing. Music in general. BTS and Prince in specific. New makeup. Books about organizing. The ocean. I’m going to make sure to experience all of the above in this sweltering month. And I’ll be ready when more happiness happens.

Take a second and answer my poll: What makes you happy? I’ll share the results at the end of the month.

Triumph and Tiaras

I bet you didn’t know today is International Tiara Day. I’m sorry I didn’t mention it before now so you could prepare but better late than never, right?

Women wear tiaras for many reasons. Graduations. Weddings. Milestone birthdays. Some people think tiaras are silly. I am of the opposite opinion.

Tiaras are celebratory. I think everyone-men and women-should wear tiaras to commemorate every victory. You don’t have to wait for something earth-shattering. Every day is Tiara Day.

Finished breakfast without spilling coffee? Get that report in on time? Made it through the presentation without throwing up? Well done! Wear your tiny crown.

Mowed the lawn expertly? Washed the dishes like a pro? Remembered to wear pants? Shine up that tiara and put it on.

Fancy or plain, diamonds or cubic zirconia, it doesn’t matter. What’s important is the celebration of all of life’s moments. Do you know why? Because each moment happens only once.

Rock that tiara.

Be Kind to Animals!

May 1st begins Be Kind to Animals week. Whether you’re talking about our domesticated pets who shower us with love, or the beautiful, awe-inspiring creatures in the wild, they make our lives better.

But why do we need a designated week for this? Here are a few facts that might shed some light.

According to the site, petpedia.co:

Every 60 seconds, one animal suffers abuse.

On average, 250,000 animals every yearare victims of animal hoarding.

There are over 10,000 puppy mills in the United States.

More than 115 million animals are used for laboratory experiments yearly.

Every year, more than 10 million animals diefrom abuse in the US alone.

Wow, I suppose we do need the reminder. People can be very unkind. Animals count on us to take care of them and keep them safe and healthy. The least we can do is be kind.

Here are a few animal welfare organizations I support.
Humane Society

ASPCA

World Wildlife Fund

My babies. Toby is snuggling in bed. He’s pretty much a snuggler. The other pictures are my girls, Molly and Chloe. I hope the two of them are frolicking together over the rainbow bridge.