No Good Reason?

If ever there is a reason I am NOT doing well on my 201 Challenges, yesterday was one of them! I had the complete opposite experience when I did 101, but that was then and this is now.

I have been going through some physical issues, not lethal, but not ignorable either. I got the name of a DO, Doctor of Osteopathy, in my yoga class about a week ago. I called yesterday for the second time and the doctor himself answered the phone. We made an appointment for that afternoon. I had been doing my usual computer stuff (emails, book editing, WordPress) in the morning, took a shower and headed out early for the appointment, as I wasn’t sure where the building was.

Then it happened. Something that I shouldn’t have done, that I’m mildly pissed at myself about, that was unnecessary and costly. After noticing that I had passed the building on my left, I decided (wrongly in retrospect) to make a K turn. I turned into what I thought was the driveway of a retail store to change direction. I heard a thump but thought nothing of it until a truck driver across the street started waving and yelling frantically as he emphatically pointed to my car . “What?” I mouthed, with my hands out and up by my ears. “Look,” he mouthed back. Ugh, so I put the car in park, got out, bent down and checked under the bumper of my car. “You broke something. You’re leaking oil,” he said through his open window, this time quite clearly. Shit. Oil was flowing, no – gushing, from my car at a scary rate.

Not one to be late (in this case not necessarily admirable), I parked the car in a nearby lot, leaking a trail of oil the entire time, and walked to the doctor’s office for my appointment. It was downstairs, the doctor was in a room talking to somebody, another patient was waiting to see him (he was running late) and nurses were cooking food on a hot plate, so there was the wafting smell of Indian/Asian fusion food lingering in the air. Oh and there was no receptionist with whom to check in. My critical self was screaming! My mind was certain this was a mistake, and the car was the proof’s manifestation.

He was a kind man. Tall, thin, dark. Accepting, intelligent, a listener and a communicator. He asked questions many doctors wouldn’t, and didn’t, and through his hands he was able to ascertain information (without my sharing) of instances that had occurred long ago. From a serious slip on my butt (that took me to the hospital in 2004) to the way I sit in the swivel chair at my desk now that is affecting my left hip. When I was leaving, I cared less about the smell, the wait, no receptionist. I was even significantly calmer when I went out to deal with my bleeding car.

The tow truck took forty-five minutes to arrive. I stood by my car, like a woman stands by her cheating husband, embarrassed and hopeful no one would speak to me. The driver arrived.

“How did you do it?” He asked.

“I’m not sure, I guess I went over a lip, even though I hadn’t noticed it. I’m so angry with myself – I should have just gone around the corner, but I was trying to save time.”

“Hey, it’s a beautiful day, don’t let this ruin that for you. It could have been worse and there’s a reason for everything.” I had to smile. He was right. I found a doctor I related to, no one I knew was dying, it was just a car. And believe it or not, I have kept that attitude going – even as I have no car nor have I yet heard anything from the mechanic regarding the cost of this repair (we shall see how well I do with that). I did, however, borrow my daughter’s car to attend this morning’s yoga class – which only made it that much sweeter!


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“Unsung Hero”

Reblogged from Waiting For The Karma Truck – Beautiful!

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The Myth Of Happiness

Image 4I’ve often wondered, as have many, if the purpose of life is to be happy. Our society touts happiness like a religion. Books, blogs and seminars on the subject abound. But when we think about, look back upon, our lives, is happiness all we remember? The short answer is no. And why? Because it is through our pain and suffering that we often grow, and perhaps heal.


David Brooks wrote an Op-Ed piece for the New York Times last Tuesday on happiness and suffering. The gist of which, in my opinion, is the following: Happiness is happiness, it’s easy, and lovely but it doesn’t push the limits of who we are. It doesn’t make us look at ourselves with new eyes because we manage to live through what we weren’t sure we could.


What pushes us to know the parts of ourselves yet untested? What are our capabilities and limitations?  David Brooks writes: “Suffering drags you deeper into yourself…The agony involved in, say, composing a great piece of music or the grief of having lost a loved one smashed through what they thought was the bottom floor of their personality, revealing an area below, and then it smashes through that floor revealing another area.”

Makes happiness sound a bit vapid, yes? The way I see it is; pain is the prod that makes us into the people we can be, and happiness is the respite we receive for that hard work.



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Weekly Writing Challenge: Fifty (by a very young person!)

Love is a wave on the wind, a song in the sun, a dance of the heart. Love sways to and fro as a manifestation of movement; forward, backward, sideways. All the while, love is a powerful bear, stroking her mate, cleaning her cubs, wondering when her day will arrive.




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Holiday Mania!

Before the week leaves me in the dust wondering where it flew, I wanted to get a few thoughts down on paper, uh, a few keystrokes down on WordPress. Next week is Easter and Passover and the time of year my mom died, four years ago. I will light her yahrzeit candle Wednesday 4/16 – as a reminder of all things Mom. Thoughts of my parents have become less painful as time meanders forward, now I’m more likely to feel pleasure, joy, a sense of pride.

It’s a busy time of year made busier by the fact (can you believe) that I am having my first seder in my home. The cousin whose job it is to have it, had a grandchild and is too distracted to deal. I don’t blame her but it left me in a proverbial pickle. We do celebrate Passover. So, next Monday, I shall have twelve people here for what is arguably the most difficult holiday to prepare for. It is specific, hagaddah (story) driven and particular foods must be presented. 

In 2010, my sons and I brought the Passover meal to the hospice my mom occupied, as she sat quietly, unconsciously, listing starboard on a bed with side-rails. She died the following day but she gave me the opportunity to perform a mitzvah (good deed) by carrying forth a tradition thousands of years old and one that mattered greatly to her. So if you’re watching Mom, we’re having a seder, here, and you’re invited. You too, Dad. 

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Today Becomes Tomorrow

This is an excerpt from Life In The Boomer lane’s - Guerrilla Aging: Losing Youth, Gaining Perspective. The guest writer is Darcie Purcell.  Darcie can be visited at Being 40: Shift Happens. I loved this paragraph, (not so much the new, much younger husband part). Go to to see the complete post. What we do, how we behave every day matters and it sets us up for the following day and the day after that. We too often get caught in the rush and race, instead of the smiles, hugs, and reassurances. Enjoy.


I still don’t like being the old lady in the stands, but that’s for me to maneuver and come to terms with. My BIG realization is that as the old proverb states…drop by drop the bucket fills. What I do today matters. The attitude I choose today matters. What I put in my mouth today matters. How I decide to treat my son today matters. How I decide to treat my coworkers today matters. How I decide to treat myself today matters. Laughing today matters. Slowing down today matters. Hugging a friend today matters. Calling my sister today matters.  The next time I am going to be in those stands I will probably be watching my grandson play football (next to my very handsome much younger new husband!!) and it will come probably twice as fast as 44 came at me.

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Yesterday, while looking for a notebook small enough to fit in my bag for a publishing seminar I was attending at The Strand Bookstore (in Greenwich Village, my old stomping grounds), I happened upon one of my writer’s group prompts on messes. Here goes:


My first serious awareness of messes was when I had three sons, three-and-a-half years apart. Toys, blankets, bottles, diapers – it felt overwhelming as I was one of those people who liked my surroundings clean and neat. But, as sometimes happens in life, things could get worse. I had another child, a daughter this time (thankfully) and my sons, now older were messier still.

They clean up well.

They clean up well.

Towels littered the bathroom floor after a shower. Why couldn’t they put them in the hamper? And don’t get me started on the laundries! Anyway, we had toys, books, video games, backpacks, jackets and towels as far as the eye could see, in all directions. It took me a while to stop cleaning every other second and leave the mess till the end of the day so I only cleaned once. Oh, and the clothing too, clothing lined the floors like pretty colored area rugs except that you could slip and die. And – this was a new one for me – drawers left open – OPEN! – with clothing dripping from them like trellised ivy. Are they trying to end my life?

My anxiety exploded at the mess and I had to wonder exactly what I was so anxious about. Was it my need for order, my desire to teach my children well, or the horrifying thought that a neighbor might stop in and think I was the worst housekeeper ever? I finally was able to corral the mess to their rooms, which made me feel like I had a sense of control (the things we tell ourselves…). They remain messy, all four of them, my anxiety and lectures fell on less than interested ears. Parenting, the longest classroom-less lecture you will ever attend!


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