The Apology

Forgiveness is a form of gratitude. When we fo...

Apologies. I am pretty good at knowing when to give one. In my life, I have apologized… a lot. I am not proud of this. Every apology came from my heart which was laden with grief. I know when I hurt someone. It is almost like I can feel their pain, annoyance or anger. With each apology I truly wish to salve the emotional wound for them and me. With each apology, I hope for forgiveness. This whole self-awareness thing is hard, but rewarding.

Apologies are an important ingredient within the social structure. We are appalled when one is lacking, or if when one is made, it is not quite what we needed. I have made many, but received few. So, with this ability to apologize I have also been sharpening this thing called forgiveness. Apologies and forgiveness goes together like peas and carrots, or Forrest and Jenny. I find my anxiety can be squashed by this comforting duo. Lately I have learned to allow them into my past life to help heal some old stuff, circa late 60’s and all through the 70’s. The growing up years.

Facebook has been a great way to reach out to some of the people I treated poorly in those early years and so far, no one has told me to go to hell. I think it helped me to say to them how this teenager, who was so angry lashed out in hurtful ways, and now like a loving adult, I sort of present this troubled kid and say, “She is really sorry for the pain she may have caused, but she gets it now and wants you to please forgive her.”

I have written letters in the same manner and asked for forgiveness. But those are the ones from the past. These days I apologize in real time! I cannot imagine going a full day knowing I have made a mistake without trying to rectify it. So, my question is, when someone hurts me in some way (and I could name about two dozen right here but I won’t) why is there no apology or recognition of my feelings? It is so very rare. In the last two years, the people who have been so quick to apologize, really didn’t harm me in any way. One of my co-workers came to me and said they owed me an apology and was feeling worried they had crossed some kind of line in our conversation from the previous day. I couldn’t remember what it was we had even talked about and they were so relieved. I felt  happy to be able to ease their mind and heart and at the same time I felt cared for and honored.

I had a crazy situation happen not too long ago where I was threatened, ridiculed and judged so completely wrong that I am still perplexed at this person’s ability to love another human being. If they brought this type of hatred to a small table, dealing with me, a person in service to them, I cannot imagine how cruel and dark they are to those closest to them. I remember thinking, right after the attack, if this person will somehow come to the realization that they were wrong about me, and that telling me I was worthless hurt deeply and maybe they would apologize for their words.

Hasn’t happened yet. Funny thing is that a phone call is what it took to cause a load of pain, a phone call would ease it.

But, apologies are more for the trespasser than the trespassed. I have written that incident off as, that person is mean and hateful, and I need to FORGIVE them!

Forgiving is harder for me than asking for forgiveness. Which is probably why God, Life, the Universe, sends me so much to forgive. It is my weakness. Once crossed, I find it hard to forgive, not impossible as I do have many forgiving victories, but it is never easy. Disliking someone is VERY easy. What is wrong with that picture?

When I applied for my job as district counselor, I was asked this question: “what is the one thing you can say about yourself that would give you success in this job?” I said, “I am very self-aware: I know how to interact, I can read a situation, I learn from my mistakes, I can admit when I am wrong and I am not afraid to apologize.” The second question was, “What could keep you from doing a good job here?” I said, “I have never held a counseling position, I need to learn everything….but I am aware of that!”

I got the job.

I think that is true in life. We learn from our mistakes, we grow, we change, and the cycle continues. I think the person who was super-mean to me is missing the blessing of a soft heart. As I continue to completely forgive  them, I am blessed with the struggle that comes with personal growth. Maybe when I reach level five, self-actualiztion, upon hearing a judgement I will immediately forgive their hardened heart, and stunted nature, because the truth is hatred like that does not live in the light of love.

As I write this I offer my open heart to anyone who holds me in a moment of social contempt. Forgive me, I really am trying to get life right.

I am Mommy

imagesToday is Mother’s Day. Some moms were woken up by their children who lovingly prepared a breakfast for them to be served in bed, like a royal woman should be served. Hopefully, if you are a mom and  you received this gift, it was edible: the cliche being burnt toast with cereal, given with love and hugs and a hand made card, and Dad standing in the background all smiles and proud with his tutelage.

The truth is, we moms love that scene yet secretly wish breakfast was a bit more edible. It is awesome when the kids are older and they pick you up for brunch!

Breakfast aside, Mom’s Day is a nice thing to celebrate. If mom is giving it a go at being a mom, she has truly had a adventurous ride. From the moment the baby is laid in her arms there is this overwhelming feeling of protection and “keep IT alive!” I personally had no clue as to what  to do with my newborn baby, other than the books I read, hands on experience was null.I don’t remember even holding a baby before this beautiful 6 pound 13 ounce girl was placed on my chest. I kept books in her basket which were “how to” books for those first months. I used a book with illustrations to give her her first bath. I had to read where to place my hands and how to bathe her tummy with that cord so…there. I read how to feed her, thanks LULAC. I read how to hold her, how to how to everything those first weeks. I had a c-section and when I came home with her I was sans mother to give advice or rest. From the beginning it was me and her. I believe God knows which kid should come first. This girl certainly was getting my best experimental attempts at keeping her alive.

And I did it.  I kept her alive. I kept her well. And I fell in love with her which continues to this day.

I had a second daughter and she reaped some benefits from the fact her mom had just gone through the drill nineteen months earlier. I recall thinking how much I loved the first one and I really wanted a second one. I am blessed to have them both. Same family, same parents but such different souls. Both, however, are of the ‘strong willed’ variety. Now, 30 years later, I can look back at our time together, and with mixed emotions I honestly offer that being a mom was and is hard. There, I said it Mrs. Duggar who showboats having 19 kids and a soft demeanor and a reality TV show.

I work with families and I get it when I have a mom in front of me who is confused, angry, scared and did I say angry? I don’t get it when I meet a mom who is of the shrugging-shoulders tribe. Many many times I have heard in defense of the shruggers, “they are doing the best they can.” No, they are not, and not every one does their best. This is a fallacy in our country today. We need to get real and note that some moms suck at being a mom. Yeah, I am talking to the mom who lets her kids make all their own decisions. Thanks to so many who practice mothering in this way, we have some real issues in our society with our children: Very young girls getting pregnant, so many young people on drugs, perpetrating crimes and hurting themselves and others. Rude little monsters who need sane guidance are too many these days. Mommy is not just a difficult job, it is down right one of the hardest jobs to have, and by the way, there is no clocking out, no retirement fund, no breaks, no advancement. I think ‘doing your best’ would entail learning what to do and like my favorite place to get my hair colored, where the cosmetologists are constantly being schooled on the newest innovations in their field, so should the mom who wants to get it right.

News flash: If mom doesn’t even attempt to teach and grow their children the end result is usually not very good. And, yes, there are exceptions!! And to the amazing exceptions, I am sure you did a better job and are truly doing the best you can! I am one of you!

It is important as a counselor to consult, consult, consult. It is important for mothers to do the same. Consult and find a great group of moms to laugh, share and cry with on a regular basis. Moms need moms. Most moms I know have wept about their inadequacies, their failure in circumstances that required her to make a hard choice then she second guessed it and then she felt like she just ruined her kids life. Oh, and that could be something along the lines of should she let her son play football, or her daughter go to a sleepover with some kids she just doesn’t feel are good mixes for her angel. Not trivial, just life and all the emotion that comes in the mom package.

My ‘how-to’ books showed me how to bathe and care for my newborn, but no book prepared me for the personalities and the clashes of will. Yes, mine included. I was told that I should raise a child in the way they should go, and when they are old they will not depart from it.(Proverbs 22:6) Lucky for me I also read that could be interpreted as a way to work with your child’s personality. For instance, if I had an artist in my home, I should help them become all they can be, and not push the artist into being an actuary, unless they wanted to do so. I do have two artists, and yes, they are more than that in many ways. It was this fear of sucking at being a mom, that made me want to be a good mom, to not let my kids down.

But, I still did.

What keeps me sane is that I am still learning. It wasn’t an easy transition from mommy to mom/friend, because I am still mommy inside, big time. And, I think with all of my mistakes, the insistence on my part to not give up on my job which has always been in constant change, is what will give me a sense of peace in the end. Mother’s Day celebrates the job of mom. It is our yearly nod to the mom-archetype. Ahem, I think we deserve the moment.  And to those of us who did and are trying to get it right, salut!

I think back on my burnt toast and eggs with raisons and my heart and eyes leak with emotion. I miss those little girls, but am now blessed with amazing women who call me mom, but in my heart I will always be their mommy.

I can hope in their hearts as well.





The Right Side of 50

While watching the Today Show on Saturday morning, I watched a segment called, BoomerNation. My first thought: this is a clever title. My second thought: I am a part of the BoomerNation… I should watch. All of my life I have read that my birthday falls within the baby boomer boundary. Talk about feeling a part of the crowd! I am in the “tail end” of the boom, but tail I’ll take. I am a proud member of the largest batch of babies to hit the US at the beginning of big changes. Other generations have been given names, such as Generation X, and Generation Y, and Generation Z. Yawn. I feel those generations haven’t quite coagulated enough for a real name to stick and for journalists to use cleverly. Boomers are responsible for the X’ers. Remember the 80’s? Yeah, not too bad of a follow-up…

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Tackling Grandmom

Gingerbread Man

Gingerbread Man (Photo credit: vpickering)

At the tender age of twenty-eight, I was hired at a state hospital where I was to care for mentally impaired people: all ages, shapes and disorders. My goal, at the time, was to be a psychologist. I have felt for many years that studying the field would be cheaper than the therapeutic costs. I surrounded myself, on purpose, with those who needed therapy and drugs much more than myself and with those who knew how to care for them. Almost three years later, I decided to chuck that idea of becoming a psychologist. I blame it on Grandmom.

I was new to the geriatric female ward, but at the same time felt like this was a good place to be; maybe I could help some woman, some how. I already had come to the conclusion that when a person loses their mind, they lose a layer of goodness and the executive functioning to being nice. Out of all the time and patients I came in contact with during my stint at the hospital, only one woman, though unable to function at all mentally, woke up each morning singing, Jesus Loves Me. She always had a smile on her face, and she never once deviated from gentle behaviors.

About 30 percent of the women on the geriatric ward were there due to dementia caused by alcoholism, compared to 90 percent of the males, same age range. These patients were hard to work with as far as simple tasks such as dressing, eating, eliminating. I vowed that alcohol would not be my bane even before I had hands-on experience with the direct results of how effectively brain cells can be destroyed. This experience solidified what I already knew about drinking and living. Really, the two only mix on occasion. Occasionally, I will mix a margarita, and not just because I have the mix, and the occasion has to be one other than Saturday.

The women of the ward were an interesting mix themselves. One was a Whiz Kid from the early days of TV game shows. She never married, was productive in life, but sadly developed Alzheimer’s disease and because she had no family, ended up with me as a caretaker. I will never forget her long gray hair, and those beautiful blue eyes. Her mind was stuck on one idea, which was a good one; she wanted to go home. I often became a family member to her, and I carried on conversations as well as I could to give her a moment’s solace; often a moment of peace would immediately turn into anxiety and what I wondered to be terror. She had no idea where she was, who she was, why she was.

She wasn’t the one who changed my course of study. I attribute my decision to the five foot three inch woman who resembled the grandmother from my daughter’s Gingerbread Man book. One night I saw her sitting by the locked door to the outside, her head covered and her arm bent into a firm V to hold the strap of her empty purse. I called the tall, red-headed wiry woman who was the head-tech of the ward to ask about the patient. “Is her head covered?” I replied, “Yes.” “Does she have her purse?” Yes, that purse was locked in her arm. “Call for back-up from the ward upstairs and leave her alone until they get there.”

So, this unassuming lady with delusions of Jehovah was a threat? Really? Back-up?

We had a new worker on staff that night. A young Asian girl who was about 75 pounds and all of five feet, maybe. I was told to call her over and meet the head tech by grandmom. We surrounded her, and she buried her head deeper under her scarf and clenched her arm around that purse strap. “I thought you said we had to wait until we got back-up. Why are we here? We are just upsetting her.”

I think I was known as a capable worker, which meant I knew how to execute my holds and my take-downs. The head-tech surmised I was back-up enough.

“When I tell you…grab her right arm….. NOW!

I missed her arm and before I knew it, the kicking and screaming grandmom was on the floor, courtesy of my ability to take-down. I had her legs down and her left arm, while the head-tech held down her right arm. The new girl helped out by screaming and jumping up and down.

What does a lady do when she is pinned down? She bites! When the head-tech told this very angry grandmother to stop biting, the biting became more intense, so, the tech grabbed grandmom’s face and popped her teeth out. At that point, her whole body went limp. She lost. She went quietly to her bed where she was quietly placed in two-point restraints and where she quietly begged Jehovah to let her go home.

The next time I read Gingerbread Man, I could not get this visage of popping teeth out of a fighting, squirming grandmother out of my mind. Bless those who do take care of our mentally ill folks. It is not an easy task. I decided counseling was a better fit for me; talk therapy as compared to taking-down grandmothers is, well, less physical and indeed, less stressful.

How do I feel about that? Better!


But I love Him!!

Jon Bon Jovi on stage live at Dublin May 2006.

Jon Bon Jovi on stage live at Dublin May 2006. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

What is it about mingling in emotions with another human being? One minute a person can be a normal, life-loving, hard-working individual and after a date or two with a new somebody, they turn into mushy-muddle minded weirdos? Why is it that in the realm of LOVE, so many really smart people make really big mistakes, resulting in loss of self-esteem, family, money, job and any sane semblance of the prior self?

When it comes to love, we really let people “off the hook” for bad choices. We look the other way when our friend brings by a new beau who reeks of; he is hiding something. One of the best pieces of information I received from one of my college professors when I was pursuing my counseling degree was this: If you are in a conversation with someone and you walk away thinking that person was weird and they gave you the feeling that they were just NOT RIGHT, then believe yourself. They were weird and run the other way. In other words, go with your gut.

When it comes to love, why does the gut let so many of us down?

I think desire to have someone care for us, I mean really care, messes with our gut and the smoke signals from our logical self get mixed with all the other smoke and mirrors that comes with courtship.

I am so guilty of this. I am reminded of Diane Ford who once said that every time she gets lonely  she puts out her radar and searches for the craziest person who can sweep in a wreck her life for a few months. After a lifetime of relationships, some good and some bad, I found my stupid spots and eradicated them. If I say things to myself like the following, he is not the guy for me. And possibly, for anyone else: “Where does he live? Hum he won’t tell me. I am sure he has a good reason. He seems too good to be true. I can help him. He needs help. He says he has money but I always pay. I wonder why he was married so many times. Why doesn’t he have a relationship with his family. I wonder if he was ever in jail?”  You get the idea. The list of doubt can be added to, lengthened and strengthened by all of us. If you ask questions like these; RUN. RUN. RUN. And the whole idea that LOVE will make your new mate a better person, get help. “But, I love him,” are words spoken by the one who is trying really hard to make a Ted Bundy into Jon Bon Jovi. Jon is taken…for a reason.

Maybe we need to be less forgiving of ourselves when we make such stupid mistakes in love. We need to take our hard lesson and learn from it. And, when a friend shows up with a bonafide weirdo, tell her the truth when she asks, “Well, what do you think?” After you tell her, refrain from letting her know how stupid she is being.

Oh, what the heck, let her know.

Fun in the Family


IMG_5939e (Photo credit: dangerismycat)









I read once that God gives us friends in apology for our family. It is meant to be funny, and it is funny because it is true! There are those families that move in life as insync as that boy band; it is cool to watch. They gather regularly, share life with all the highs and lows, momentous peaks and sorrow-filled valleys. Some families really like each other and encourage each other and don’t feel embarrassed of each other. Remember Billy Beer? I wished I could have heard what Jimmy Carter REALLY thought of that. One brother became the President of the United States while one became president of his own beer company. Jimmy is cool and I thought he handled the family stuff pretty well. I hear he has a great sense of humor.



I propose that strong, healthy families have healthy senses of humor. Laughter is found not only within the outer limits of safety, but in the compound of the family fortress as well. I loved Tina Fey‘s book, Bossy Pants. She tells the reader that they won’t find negative stories about why she is funny. I read the book and laughed my way though the pages. Funny can be born in a nice home where life is lived within positive norms and without crazy crap.



Parents are comedic anchors aren’t they? Did Jimmy Carter’s mother, Miss Lillian, drink Billy Beer and belch the ABC’s? Hilarious! One of my childhood and now adulthood friends had really funny parents. One time they both came out of the back room dressed as hard-rockers; playing guitar and wearing wigs. I sat there believing that my friend had the best parents in the world. Ones that weren’t afraid to have some crazy fun in front of a house full of tweens and teens!  In a time before Saturday Night Live, I was being entertained by a skit with live performers who were not only my hosts but also the musical act! I went home and looked long and hard at my family. My consensus was that only one of us was funny and that was my oldest brother, but in retrospect, my brother closest in age to me was the funniest. He was the class/family clown. If either of these two were in a good mood, the family had a good night. Mom and dad were never funny. I think that valium and absence was the reason there.



If you know your family isn’t funny at all, how does one go about staging some comedic relief? Maybe there should be a comedy service that comes in and teaches mom and dad how to use everyday items for some impromptu prop comedy, or teach the basics of improvisational comedy. Funny is a muscle that has to be exercised to grow. I met an extremely funny lady in Utah my first  hike at Fitness Ridge. She is an improv-comic and puppeteer. I am amazed at her ability to turn any situation into a punchline. I roomed with her the next year; that is the friends make up for our families promise. I met her and thought…hum, can I keep her?! I can imagine how helpful her talents could be to the boring and mundane family units. Teaching comedy could look like teaching a fat kid how to perform a good plank position; it is difficult and foreign and hard to imagine how doing it can be a good thing.





My girls and their families are funny. I love being with them because we spend our time laughing, sharing, laughing some more, singing and laughing even more. One time, when my niece graduated from high school, we met at a restaurant. My sister, nephew and  my side of the family showed up ready to do what we do. I was stuck at the end of the table with niece’s then boyfriend’s family. At one end of the table was laughter, food sharing and fun. At the other end sat a teenager who only drank water (eating disorder in all it’s glory) parents who hated each other and his parents who looked miserable. I tried to move down and get in on the fun, but seating wouldn’t allow it. I ended up sulking with my own H2O. I looked at this girl and asked who she hung out with. “Nobody,” she replied. I told her she should get some friends who like to laugh…STAT. I pointed to the loud end of the table and said, “FUN”  like it was a word she needed to learn.



fun (Photo credit: hodgers)

I have been looking for a good business idea. One I could sell to the Sharks. In-home comedy training. Life-coaching with a punchline to it.



Mom and dad, go buy a wig and play some air guitar for your kids. They will love it, I promise.








In Celebration of Cellulite!

Just kidding. There is no reason to celebrate, unless you are a true Pollyanna, I could say this: I have my health and I am alive!

Now to find a shirt that covers my upper arms and clothe the rest of my 52 year-old self in some cellulite-cloaking garments. I feel like, on a cellular level, my body has really let me down in this department; the How I Store my FAT department. Truth is I could play dot-to-dot for a while on just my backside. I think I could end up with an amazing impressionistic painting! Hey, maybe that is the silver lining? I could go the way of Farrah Fawcett and use my body as the medium to put paint on canvas…or not.

Though I cry FOUL, I know genetics plays a part, along with cupcakes. Skinny Minnie stores her cupcakes in the cupboard, I store mine these days on my upper back. I saw the Dr. Oz shows on cellulite as I DVR each one and watch when I am alone and can take my notes in peace. Each time I hear the Dr., the news is that  basically, I need to just lose the weight.

Thanks, Dr. Oz! Duh!

Creams do not work! Running five miles a day does not work unless you are NOT eating cupcakes afterward! Sensible diet and exercise and over time, the APPEARANCE of cellulite will diminish a bit. To quote the Star magazine (I only read them while in line at the supermarket) even skinny models have cellulite! Yeah! I feel better…okay, no I don’t.

Cellulite of the Stars

Cellulite of the Stars (Photo credit: Better Than Bacon)

I have noticed the new treatments being marketed for those if us in a war with cellulite. Yes, for your life savings you could have a dimple-free butt for a week. Just ask the Kardashians. How can I get in on the studies for treating cellulite? I would do anything except let go of my before picture. Is that too much to ask Ms. Scientist? Sign me up! Forget animal studies: the way I see it my cellulite is not human and needs no signed waiver.

Cellulite lurks in the strangest places. It is ugly and not appreciated, unless it is on a skinny movie star on the cover of a magazine!

The Best Memory

The wisdom of the crowd

The wisdom of the crowd (Photo credit: gcouros)

I cannot imagine what it would be like to remember every minute of every day: what food I ate, clothes I wore and words I said and heard. It is a blessing to be able to chose to forget, I think, with the option of remembering why that choice should be made. Maybe that is why some people drink or do drugs; to manipulate their memories, even casting out the ability to make new ones. I lived with the idea that my memories make me, but no longer subscribe to that. When someone introduces themselves as a product of their past I tend to cringe in that shadow-self kind of way. A seed of that mentality is still in me and I really don’t like that much. In my quest for less self-judgment, however, I have to forgive and embrace my quilted and guilted past. Learning to rely on NOW is what it is all about, right? Even if I did remember what I was doing at 10:07 am on January 4, 1975, I don’t have to accept that the person I was is who I am.

Thank GOD!

No, really, thank GOD!

I often share with clients that mistakes don’t define us, what we do after the mistake does. Learning is the jewel in this life. Time spent on self-loathing or pity takes away from building ourselves, unless during those times one cannot find the right tools to do so…what then? Like the synapses in our minds, so are the connections to people in our lives. Have you noticed that the world is small, and there are many overlapping relationships wherever you go? It is like a safety net, cast for us, intentionally. The words we need to hear will be brought to us, some how, by someone. I noticed that the longer one resists healing the harder the psychological climb; but if one wants to learn, grow and continue in life, despair will turn into something unexpected, right and good.

After I was fired from KZEP the first time I felt despair. I loved the job, finally had enough money and a sense that I could relax and enjoy life a bit. When it was gone, I retreated. I remember piecing back together, slowly, and wonderfully. I found the Wisdom Network and watched it all day and most of the night. When the network failed and changed to Lime, I am happy to report that I was on the other side of despair! I learned about the Omega Institute, was introduced to new authors, and had positive thinking set on the TV for months. I learned to trust Life. I don’t hold onto the memory of that despair, I do hold onto the lessons learned. Through hard times since, my ability to be open to healing has improved. I would never introduce myself as a bitter ex-morning show side-kick, unless it was the prelude to a good joke.

My memories are wrapped in growth. There is more to come, more to till and plant and see what happens to the landscape of my life. I remain open to all the other gardeners I meet!

To Resolve or Not to Resolve, That is the Question

Have you noticed? People are resolving not to resolve! In developing New Year’s Resolutions, one decides to change something, firmly choosing a new direction. At least for a few weeks! The in thing, I am noticing, is to NOT make any resolutions. Why do it, some are writing: just live and let live. Making a decision to change something at New Years is a farce, leading us toward disappointing ourselves yet again. How many of us made a resolution last year to lose weight and, well, didn’t? Or, to make major changes in other areas of life like in love, work and spiritual commitment, and didn’t? Is the answer to can the resolution and just start the year off with nothing ahead but what fate allows?

I am understating a lot of things, but my point is, I like the New Year’s Resolution thing. Some years I did fail, and yes, after a few weeks. Some years I succeeded. The point of the resolution is that when I make them, I have such hope and energy. I see that what I desire in my life for the new year gives me a blast of positive energy. How can that be a bad thing? So, I resolve to resolve a few things this year. Go ahead and judge; it won’t bother me at all. I often tell clients that the difference in life is started by a thought: A spark in one’s mind that makes sense. If that thought makes your adrenaline flow, go for it. That adrenaline is the stuff from which paths are forged.

My life has had many paths. I certainly followed a few dreams. Doing that gave me reasons to do and be, and conquer a fear or two. To quote some one who surely understood extreme redundancy, “I ain’t dead yet.”

juicer I sit here writing with my first juiced drink from my new juicer. I resolve to use it at least 5 times a week. Up until today I let my eating habits slip, with no momentum after Thanksgiving to watch my weight, I got an I just don’t want to care right now about what I eat attitude. The end result? I am emotionally slumped and fatter. The Sugar Rewards. There are none! I have resolved to go back to my vegan ways. My inner organs have been begging me to do so!

A couple of years ago I set a goal to write this blog and I had quite a few ideas of what to do to make this site succeed. I resolve to continue to do just that. I have no big ideas, but I do have a few that may result in getting that book together.

I could have sworn that God sent me messages to stop my comedy career after the Eva Longoria fiasco, but I still love the stage and am starting this year booked at a few amazing places. I resolve to continue to be open to comedy as it was my catalyst for life for so many years.

I love music, and we bought a BOSE for the house. I resolve to dance more in my kitchen…it has the biggest “floor.”

For years I worked to mend relationships, apologize to those I hurt and just learn to love better. I am keeping the last part of this, I am open to loving. I am not too turned on by mending, at least not being the one to seek the salves. I realized recently that I am a pretty good person, and I like me. Getting here was my life’s journey. I resolve to love more, and more freely.

The juicer is set up and broken in, I am writing today, I have a few jokes to put in my next set , my i-pod is playing my favorite tunes and, I love more today than yesterday.

I resolutely resolve to my New Year’s Resolutions! It just makes me so darned happy!

Crazy Idea (Those are Usually the Best!)

There are 20 days until Christmas: I can feel it in my bank account! Tis the season to go shopping, fa la la la la la la la la! And it is also the season to drink an eggnog latte, have that yearly piece of fudge and partake of anything wrapped in festive cellophane! Who can pass up banana bread in a mason jar, or pretzels dipped in white or brown or dark chocolate? Free food is everywhere, even the samples at the grocery store are bigger and sweeter. Who starts a diet plan in December? (Other than movie stars and Real Housewives?)

I have in the past, so I guess I am more real housewife than movie star. But this year, even though I am weighed down with some extra poundage, I just don’t have it in me to even attempt another weight loss journey. For the first time in my life I am thinking that I don’t have it in me to try again…unless….

Here is the big idea: what if I paid someone to help me lose weight? Get a trainer you say? Did that. Go to Biggest Loser Resort and work out for eight hours a day for a month? Did that. Hire a nutritionist? Hum..I could but it doesn’t fit my big idea. I have watched every episode of Biggest Loser (and I must say last season SUCKED! Thanks to the quitter contestants for that season!) I have also watched every episode of Extreme Weight Loss with that nice man who helps really obese people get thin. I watched The Swan, too. Creepy in a Honey Boo Boo kind of way. I knew it wasn’t right to enjoy the show because it exploited so many things, but I was trapped in front of that TV until the reveal every time.

I tried out for Extreme Makeover. I didn’t make the first cut. My dreams of lipo, and breast augmentation along with amazing training and diet was not to be within my reach.  No hair stylist, no fashion makeover. Sigh.

I am not fat enough or ugly enough to get the help I want. I am not TV worthy. There are millions like me…we just need some one on one help. Someone dedicated to us for a moment in time to help us get to where we need to be. Sure, twenty pounds isn’t as drastic as 120, but it means just as much health-wise and ego wise. Where is our show? Imagine how many contestants we could help in a month!

So I was thinking, personal trainers get paid a lot of money per session (no comments from POOR personal trainers please, I have your number per hour….hush!) After my sessions which were twice a week, I went home and ate badly.  I had little self-motivation (see above to what I have done to lose weight in the past) to stay in the game. I have not reached my goal weight in almost 20 years. Really? Yep, really. Remember I am not a movie star. Back to the idea…what if trainers or motivators only got paid per the pound lost? How would it work if I had a person in my life for the sole reason of helping me lose 20 pounds and they received payment only when I reached that goal?

Say the payment was about the same as two months of Jenny Craig cuisine? Would that be a job? I mean, there are millions of us buying tons of items that we hope will help….how about buying someone who really cares because if I eat that donut they won’t see a payday? Someone who I will be accountable to until the scale says the right number? Someone who wants to prove they can change a person’s life like the cool trainers on TV do every season? Someone who likes to blog and take pictures and sell ads and a possible future article here and there?

Before a painter can charge a ton of money for a picture they have to paint it first.

Get the picture?