Life and Death

Ok. So the second place my great thoughts originate is in the shower. The other morning this flashed across my radar. It scared me. It comforted me. It confused me.

I need to accept the fact I’m going to die.

Even embrace it. Because I don’t think I can truly live until I fully realize and accept the fact that I’m going to die. I’m beginning to see that until I realize my time here is finite, I won’t appreciate each day as I should. For all my big talk about my mantra being “Be happy for this moment. This moment is your life” ~ they are just wonderful words.

That is, until I start living them.

Now the challenge is to learn how to do that.

It's a start.

Unexpected Memories

Sometimes you don’t even notice it is missing.

That is until something comes along and reminds you. And then there are tears and there is no way you can explain them. You get it. You feel it in your gut. But explaining it is impossible. Even to the one who should understand the most…

Can you live without it?

Of course.

Will there always be a hole in your heart?

Of course.

But you tuck it in your pocket, dry your face and walk back thru the door to your life.

Home-grown

As most of my great thoughts do, this one occurred to me on my morning walk the other day. And as with most of my great thoughts, I should have pounced on it then. But I’ll try to get my inspiration back. Strolling down a beautiful path, crunching golden leaves under my tennis-shoed feet, this flashed thru my soon-to-be-no-longer-blonde head:

I am the Rachel Ray of photography.

Seriously. I love that analogy. And that’s not to say I’m anywhere near her level of talent or bankability or cuteness - and certainly not perkiness. But metaphorically speaking we’re the same. She is the first to describe herself as a “cook” not a “chef.” Her education has all been on-the-job experience, much of what she knows and what she does is self-taught.
I can relate.

I am a cook, not a chef. Any photography or art classes I have taken were so long ago they are totally irrelevant in today’s high tech world. I shoot from the gut. I shoot from the heart. I shoot totally emotionally. Sometimes I remember to frame a shot. Sometimes I take a creative angle. I don’t have degrees or initials after my name, but I’m learning. Most of what I do is self-taught and always a work in progress. I’ve picked up great hints and ideas and support from fellow photogs, but that’s all online, never in person.

So I’m kind of home-grown I guess. My kind of photography almost forces me to be in the moment and react to the moment (although sometimes I don’t realize until I get back home and review what I’ve shot). Which explains exactly why I like to be alone when I shoot. Because I have to just BE.

I spent a long time feeling very intimidated by other photographers. I felt extremely inadequate. I was very, very cautious about sharing my work because I had no education, no formal training. I'm technically retarded. Until I realized one day that anyone who picks up a camera every single day of their life is learning something and accomplishing something that just might be good. Because if I am doing something every day of my life and I’m not getting better, I need to find a new obsession.

And in the end, the only real judge of me should be me.

I’m a cook, not a chef. And I’m ok with that.

Be Happy For This Moment

I’m the world’s worst blogger. I leave with a tease and don’t return. And as I’ve written about previously, I should always write while the thought is fresh in my mind or – poof – it’s gone.

So here’s what I can recall of my feelings. A beautiful young woman is diagnosed with incurable cancer – or at the very least – cancer requiring a three organ transplant. She chose to fight it her own way – a healthy diet and yoga. A year later she is stable. Not cured, but stable. She has embraced her cancer and says that it teaches her every day how to live and love life. She was married recently because, she says, life is terminal for all of us. Mine just might be shorter, she said, but it’s sweet all the same. She feels lucky to have realized that every moment is special. And every moment is your life.

Bells went off in my head on that one. My mantra (I even print it in the byline of my note cards) is, “Be happy for this moment. This moment is your life.”

Then there is the PhD professor and father of three who has three to six months to live – pancreatic cancer. He continues his medical treatment and looks perfectly healthy. But when the doctors say three to six months, they qualify that by saying, “only because the three is in there…” He faces the future, what he has of it, stoically and bravely, recording memories and advice for his children. He says, “We all stand on that dartboard of life. It’s not what I would have chosen, but it is what it is.”

It’s not the first time I’ve been touched by stories like this. Who isn’t? Some days it hits me stronger than others, though, and I seemed to be particularly vulnerable lately. Seeing how I believe in signs so much I’m hoping that this isn’t one of those angels whispering in my ear to take better care of myself. Reminding me that this is the only trip I get (at least in this form). To keep that doctor’s appointment I was supposed to have made in August… I guess I need to wait for the brick...

I do believe we are here to teach each other ~ to help each other. I need to practice what I preach. And believe.

Alone

Whatever people may say about Oprah, you’ve got to admit quite often the topic of her daily show will get you thinking. And I think that’s her whole point. Stop for a minute and consider this (whatever it may be).

Last week it was Christiane Northrup and her views on menopause. Much of her information was things I’ve heard before, but it did reinforce some of the things I’ve been feeling and thinking. Not the least of which is not to feel guilty because I enjoy my alone time. Especially in the morning. Let me have my walk with my camera and my dog ~ however long that may be. Let me come home and make my own breakfast ~ whatever that may be. Let me download my images from my walk; check my email and check in w/cyberspace friends. Let me shower and plan my day. All without talking.

By afternoon I’m starting to warm up to conversation. But alone is when I think and imagine and create and get to be me. All of this is based on 10 years of spending most of my waking hours alone. Well, with a camera and a dog and a cat and my thoughts. My life changed overnight about 2 years ago and those days/nights alone are no more.

Time for a chat perhaps…

However that‘s not what I set out to write about tonight. Today’s show centered around two people who have terminal illnesses, know their deaths are imminent and how they have chosen to live what remains of their lives. I’ll write about that tomorrow. Because their stories deserve their own place.

It All Started Here...

…with a cup of Tazo chai tea and my new Betty Crocker “Celebrating the Promise” cookbook. (Costco’s book section can be dangerous… and anything that promises to give to the cause always sucks me in…) That being said, why have I waited so long to buy Tazo??? It is every bit as good as Starbuck’s – which to this point as been my favorite, next to Racine’s. Now I can make it at home while in my jammies and drink it out of my kitty mug given to me by my sweet friend.

I know I’ll be bitching and moaning in a couple of months, but I do love it when seasons change. Which is why I’ll probably always have to live in a climate that will provide me with something new every 3 months or so. I am so easily bored. I thrive on change. Take my hair. Please. It’s at that awful growing out stage now and driving me crazy. Years ago my then hair stylist would just smile when I changed my mind and my hair style at every visit, and tell me it’s in the blonde handbook – "Blondes are fickle." That and we had to be cheerleaders. Yes, I was. (shut up.) She had jet black hair. What did she know?

But I digress. I was actually happy to wake up to rain this morning. Simba not so much. She hated that I put on her Old Navy green parka and only walked her to the mailbox and back. She gave me one of those looks as she was doing her business like, “Dammit. I guess I’d better go now or hold it all day.” She forgave me a little when we returned home and I made a fire and she snuggled down in her chair next to it. Yeah. I made a fire. It’s that switch on the wall next to the fireplace. You gotta’ love it…

This kind of weather does make me fat, though. Especially when it falls on a Sunday. Something about Sundays give me that sense of entitlement ~ no make-up; sweats; the freedom to watch movies all day if I want (The Queen and Evan Almighty today; Greenfingers last night ~ all of which I enjoyed; we’ve joined Netflix and I can see it’s going to be my winter addiction for sure!!) and actually watch CBS Sunday Morning ON Sunday morning, not Wednesday night ~ which btw, if you don’t watch, you should. It is one of the smartest, most interesting and cultural shows on television. I’ve watched it faithfully for over 20 years.

O, but the fat part. On days like this we bake. I bake muffins for breakfast. The mister baked cookies this afternoon. I baked bread for dinner. To go along with the pot roast and veggies I put in the crock pot at 10:30 and let cook slowly all day. I ate an unbelievably delicious layered bar (chocolate, caramel, coconut, nuts) from Under the Umbrella. I had a truffle. But I balanced it all out with tons of water and two Diet Pepsis. See how my mind works?? Now I’m having a pre-dinner glass of champagne just ‘cause I want to. We’re gearing up for our fair-weather fan mode as we watch our Colorado Rockies in the playoffs. I don’t know any of the players so whenever they do something good I just yell, “Way to go, you… Rocky Guy!!” Pretty cool to think they are only like two or three games away from going to the World Series on a wildcard ticket. I sound like I know what I’m talking about, don’t I? ha! Did the same thing when our Colorado Avalanche won the Stanley Cup their first year in Colorado. Didn’t know a damn thing about hockey, but in the playoffs I was a diehard fan.

So, all of that to say ~ I had a good day. Sing the chorus to “You Had a Bad Day” in your head, but substitute “I Had a Good Day.” That’s what I’m talkin’ about. We hung a new exhibit yesterday (Under the Umbrella); I just found out I have a total of three images featured in galleries on the new Lensbabies site and I feel like maybe I’m not such a failure today.

I love a rainy Sunday!!!

Be Yourself

Before I lose this thought (as so often happens when I think about something and tell myself, “I’ll have to be sure to write about that” and then I totally forget) ~ this thought is about being yourself. Nobody does it better. Why do so few of us actually practice it? Or maybe it’s just me.

I saw a little blurb about Marin Alsop (who I think resembles Mary Chapin Carpenter with short hair) on The Today Show this morning and she made me think. In case you don’t know who Marin Alsop is, she is the first woman to head a major American orchestra (The Baltimore Symphony) and from 1993-1999(ish) she conducted our own Colorado Symphony Orchestra. We don’t go to the Symphony as often as I’d like, but I do believe I even attended a concert or two during her tenure. And I remember thinking it was very cool that we had a woman as a conductor.

In her interview this morning she reflected upon her career and how difficult it was to make it in a “man’s world” as a conductor. At one point she was chosen to conduct an orchestra at Tanglewood with her hero, Leonard Bernstein. To quote Marin:

“Part way thru he told me, ‘The conducting was fine, but it didn’t move me.’ I was devastated. Then he said, ‘Let's give the orchestra a break and then you'll come back and do this again.’ He said, ‘Forget about conducting now. Just be yourself and be the music.’ But then I came back in and it was the weirdest experience. I felt like I'd had a massage. I thought I had nothing to lose. I'm just going to try it. I remember in the middle of the piece—this makes me cry—he came up to me and whispered, ‘That's it.’ It was so liberating.”

If you’ve followed my saga, you know that I was raised pretty much to be seen and not heard. And not even seen sometimes… It wasn’t until I was in my mid-40’s that someone gave me Marin's advice ~ to just be myself. And it’s taken me another 10 years to trust in that. I’m still a work in progress (letting go and just being myself), but I’m getting there. And it truly is liberating. It’s easy. I don’t have to think about what others will think about me because it doesn’t matter. I’m just being me. And I don’t have to remember how to act or what to say because I’m just being me.

And I have found that when I let down my guard, smile, enjoy and just be me, people respond ~ in a very positive way. I get smiles back. I can make someone laugh. I can touch someone with my words - or an image. I get an invitation. I gain a friendship. I get a hug. I get a display space. I get an offer. And I can do this. I’m the best me there is ~ because only I can do it. This whole comfortable confidence thing is so new to me. I still have to consciously work on it, but it’s coming easier. And Marin is right ~ you have nothing to lose by being yourself.

To paraphrase Oprah, who paraphrased Maya Angelou ~
“Your 50’s are everything you are meant to be. You get to become yourself…”

And as The Beatles said ~
“It’s easy. All you need is love.”

Love for yourself…

Too Many Cooks

So the mister and I have started a new routine. I cook dinner on Monday-Wednesday-Friday-sometimes Sunday; he cooks on Tuesday-Thursday-sometimes-Saturday. Yes, I know that’s one to two more nights for me; but I’m a better cook. The weekends are more or less up for grabs anyway, as we may be out or there are certainly leftovers after cooking all week.

So remember that whole control thing I talked about last time? Huge challenge for me to sit in the family room (which is open to the kitchen – something we really wanted in a home… or did we…) while he’s mucking about in the kitchen. Because I always have a better way to do it, don’t chya’ know. I should be relaxing ~ just watching my guy, Brian Williams and the NBC Nightly News, sipping on my chardonnay and playing on my laptop. You would think I could do this. But it is an exercise in restraint. Restraint from standing over his shoulder telling him what to do…

‘Course the downside is that I have to clean up when he cooks and omg – could he use one bowl instead of three? I guess not. Why use two pots when two and a frying pan will do? I tell myself these are all things I would miss if he were not here.

That, and how irritatingly cheerful he is in the morning. Until I met him I didn’t know that real people really sang in the shower. To their cat.

But I digress. And hope that Eat, Love, Pray will help make me a more mellow person.

Right.

What a Pain

I’m procrastinating, so thought I’d lose myself in cyberspace for awhile. (Why does that always happen when I truly do have a project ~ i.e., printing, matting and framing photos for Under the Umbrella??) “Eat, Pray, Love” is calling me from the other room but I’m playing that whole “you can’t sit down in the middle of the day to read” tape in my head. (Long story – again, going back to childhood.)

But on that “Eat, Pray, Love” note ~ I saw the author on Oprah the other day ~ as Oprah gushed about the book. I do feel it necessary to say that I bought this book months ago ~ long before the Oprah rush and gush began. It just sometimes takes me awhile to work my way down the stack of books I want to read. Restricting myself to only reading at night prolongs that process.

I kind of wish I hadn’t seen the interview ~ at least until I had finished the book. I’m afraid that what was initially such a well-intentioned work will turn into the latest in the “self help” phenomena of written word out there today. And that, in my mind, will cheapen it.

I’m just tired and cranky because my arm/elbow/shoulder still hurt like hell and I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in 2 weeks. Time to get serious about fixing this physical malady because it is affecting everything.

Not the least of which is my mood. Dammit.

It All Started With The Water...

“Will you get me a glass of water?”

“What?”

“A glass of water, please,” I whispered as I slowly blinked myself awake.

To no one in particular ~ the dog, the cat, the air ~ He exclaimed in his dramatic way as only he can exclaim, “Did you hear that? She asked me to do something! She actually asked for help!”

A tiny little light bulb began to flicker in my head. Gez, is it really such a big deal I asked him to do something for me? It’s just a glass of water. He brought the water, kissed my forehead and the day began as my sleepy eyes opened.

But as it did and they did and I became more conscious with each sip, I realize it wasn’t just a glass of water. I had actually asked for help. Admitted I couldn't (or didn't want to) do it myself. And he was happy to be there. I was learning something new about myself. It’s not only hard for me to ask for help, it’s almost impossible. It’s not even something I think about; I just don’t ask.

And because I missed my calling as a psychologist, I began to analyze why. And, of course, everything is always traced back to our childhood and how we were parented. I’m more like my mom than I realize and would like to admit. Possessing some of her traits isn’t all bad. At 89 she is one of the most active, energetic, positive, cheerful people I know – of any age. But she spent her life caring for others – five kids and a husband who – let’s just say – wasn’t the most willing participant in his marriage, his family or life in general. She was also a nurse and church volunteer. You get the picture. She has always taken care of everyone, is in charge and does little for herself.

Although I am more selfish than my mother (I do treat myself and enjoy a nice life), I’m seeing that I’m more stubbornly independent than I’ve realized – fiercely so. Asking for help… isn’t that a sign of weakness? Admitting that I can’t do it all myself? And I’m beyond “picky;” I’m a damned perfectionist, bordering on OCD. Let’s just say Monk is a kindred spirit… And my mom’s words echo in my head as they fall into my thoughts ~~ “It’s just easier to do it myself.” Surrender control to someone else? Wow. That’s huge…

So this whole asking for help thing ~ new to me. It’ll take some practice, but I might be able to do it.

As long as it’s done my way.

Aging...

The days are definitely getting shorter. Life is, too. Thinking that it’s almost half a year we’ve been in the house… well, it doesn’t seem possible. Everything still feels so new. And I guess it will for the first year. We’ve had our first summer; we’re heading into our first autumn – Thanksgiving, then Christmas, the first winter snowfalls ~ followed by the first snowstorms, etc.

But my point ~ and as Ellen says, “I do have one” ~ is that when I woke up to dark at 6 am, with an aching shoulder two things occurred to me. One – the days fly by and two – I can’t wait for my next massage therapy session. Sheesh. I still don’t really know what caused this (could it really be carrying around a heavier camera?), but the message is ~ I’m getting older. Dammit. I’ve always taken my health for granted and now I’m seeing that as I approach 53 (which sounds old, but I don’t feel 53) I’m getting older. And these aches and pains will happen.

I stepped on the scale this morning, too, for the first time in weeks. What possessed me to do that, I’ll never know… Accepting the rising numbers there as a fact of aging is something I really can’t do. Or I’ll end up weighing 300 cookie pounds. So sore shoulder or not, the sun is rising and I’m out the door to walk off the truffle I just ate.