Lessons from My Porch

"Sometimes it takes darkness and the sweet

confinement of your aloneness

to learn

anything or anyone

that does not bring you alive

is too small for you."

David Whyte

Yes.

 I've been pondering this.

What is it that brings you alive?

What is it that brings me alive?

I sit on my porch in the gathering dusk and watch the sky change color from gold and rose and blue, to steel and velvet gray, until it disappears into darkness.

I feel the breeze slide over my skin, and watch it stir the trees and wave my curling, reaching morning glory vines. It whispers too, a music, leaves that sigh and leaves that spin and branches that creak and sway. 

The birds still sing, calling out through the fading light. Their notes hang in the empty sky, more noticeable in the space and stillness. 

I feel it all, in my heart, and I ask myself if this is bringing me more alive. It feels full and heavy and empty, all at once. There is both joy and sadness. I don't know why, just that it seems like a full spectrum of life compressed and distilled in to a purity that almost hurts.

 When I sit here, each night, and marvel at the beauty, and at the wonder of finding myself here, I long for someone to share it with. I want to turn to someone and say 

"Wow" or squeeze their hand or sigh together.

But I try hard to embrace "the confinement of my aloneness."  

I consciously stretch into the stillness of my solitude, holding it like a yoga pose. I lean into it, breathe into it, ask "Is this bringing me alive?" I strain my ears for the answer. 

Slowly, I'm learning "porch wisdom". 

The biggest lesson from my porch, is that 

things take time. Change might happen slowly, but it happens. 

Take my lizard, for example. 

This guy. 

I know, he's soooo handsome, right?

I first caught sight of him running along the top of the pasture fence next to my yard. I got to observe him every day. I watched him change colors, puff up his pretty pink throat for me, do push ups. 

(Yes that's him too). 

He was happy to pose for me, actually seemed interested in me.  After a week or so, I noticed that he'd come running toward me down the fence line when I came out on the porch and he heard my voice.

Pretty soon he moved closer, from the pasture fence onto the fence that encloses my little yard. He would scramble from post to post until he perched on top of the post closest to me, where he would watch me, and listen to me, cocking his head from side to side and blinking his bright blue lined eye at me . I started to think of myself as 'Porchside Lizard Whisperer.' 

A few days ago, he moved onto the porch with me, where he sits on the rail next to me, not a foot away, and appears to relish the sound of my voice. At night he takes a giant leap and lands on my morning glory vine and burrows himself in. This morning I watched him capture breakfast, a moth nearly as big as he is.

And I think; this is how relationships are built. This is how trust happens. Much of it is in spending time in the presence of the other, observing, soaking up the essence of the other. It's allowing time to show us who the other is, but more importantly, who WE are. 

Can we allow another to just be who they are? Can we grace them with the gift of the freedom to go through their own process, at their own pace? 

I was surprised at first, when my guy kept showing up. Now I've come to rely on his presence. He feels like company. 

And there's another porch lesson. You don't have to feel alone. Let the world in, observe the slow, steady creep of time  changing the living things around you; let it change you, too. 

Patience stops being difficult when we detach from outcome and just observe with an open heart. 

I'll miss my lizard if he goes, when he goes, as I'm sure he must, in time.  Nature moves on, everything changes. 

But the open, patient heart endures. And it welcomes in another. Love is all around.

Let it in. Welcome to my porch.

Why I Love Running In The Rain

My dear friend from Boston, Elizabeth, who is an IRONMAN woman, by the amazing way, asked me to write a post about why I love running in the rain.

So here it is, my dear.

My mama was a big believer in the power of water. As an exhausted, stressed-out mother of 5 tight-rope-walking the poverty line and always  trying to shield us all from my alcoholic father, my mom knew the one source of magic she had freely available was water. We grew up in Minnesota, the land of 10,000 lakes. We were never far from a lake. 

Some of my best memories are of the afternoons my mom would scrape together enough change for gas money, pile us all in the hot navy-blue '52 Ford and head to Bass Lake. I remember being 4 years old and somersaulting off the crooked wooden dock into that cool water. I remember swimming alone under water, thrilled with the deep silence, the freedom, the mysterious wild solitude. I was a fish, a mermaid, a dolphin.  I was chasing glimmers in the water, doing a deep water ballet, coming shiveringly face-to-face with a sunfish.

I collected rocks (I still have one of them, 52 years later) and bits of shell. Water was my best friend, a comfort. It both soothed and excited me. It whispered a promise of something special, something more, to come. It washed away more than just sweat and heat and dust. It washed away tears and fears. It washed away the sins of the fathers. It made me believe in life, in love, in magic, in goodness, all over again. It never, ever failed me. 

And when the lake wasn't available, my mom found other ways to access the magic of water.  She sent us out in the rain to play. When the other mothers were calling their kids in out of the rain, my mom was pushing us out the door. Hell, half the time she was out there with us. When it was a true deluge and the streets in front of our house flooded, a swirling river of brown, muddy water, we swam in the mud puddles. 

The nosy neighbor would call my mom on the phone, 

"Irene, your kids are out swimming in the MUD PUDDLES!!" And my mom would laugh, "Why yes, I know, I sent them out there."

And then there were the solo night time walks in the rain with mom. She would ask one of us 5 kids to go for a rain walk with her. It was a sacred, mysterious time. I remember the glimmer of street lights on the wet pavement, the intoxicating scent of rain and mud and green, fresh growing things. I loved the feeling of being soaked to the skin, of having my white-blond hair drip raindrops into my eyes.  But I also remember a shivery feeling of being too close to a well of deep, deep sadness. I think my mom knew that darkness mixed with raindrops on her face was a good cover for her tears.  But I remember feeling them anyway. It may have been my earliest training in picking up on another's feelings intuitively. Which led me eventually to becoming a psychologist. And which is still, in my mind, both a blessing and a curse.

So today, running out in the Texas hill country rain, I carry this history with me.

I let the rain wash away the tears and the fears and the sins of the fathers. I become a leaping dolphin, an impala, a wild, untamed creature.  

I breathe in air so fresh I think it has nutrients. I take in the colors, so deeply saturated in the rain that they sometimes seem neon or lit from within.  I love being soaked to the skin.  And if any tears escape my eyes, I know they hide among the raindrops. 

The birds still sing through the rain.  And the rain still works it's magic, and I am baptized, washed clean, able to start over, fresh, clean, a new beginning.

It has never, ever failed me. 

And I am filled with gratitude.

It's Tough Getting Soft

This is going to be a highly personal post, so forgive me in advance. I have always worked out my feelings and my problems by writing, ever since I was a little girl.

It has now evolved into a two step process. I write to sort it out and then I run to re-align my feelings into the places they belong. Writing works the head and heart, running works the body, heart and soul and then somehow synthesizes it all and puts it in perspective. You can run through the pain and out the other side, stronger, somehow. 

I've mentioned a few times in past posts that I've had a recent heartbreak. And I have to say that struggling with the loss of a man is really new to me. 

My history is that when I was a young woman I was glib and glossy. I thought I was deep, loving, really "in" my relationships with men, but in fact I was always very defended and distant. I didn't share the real me, mostly because I didn't know who that was, and I didn't trust that I was loveable. It didn't make for successful love relationships, but it did make me the queen of the easy break-up. When I was done, I was DONE, and I never looked back or felt a thing. I thought I was tough and strong but in reality I was just scared. Scared to get real, scared to have someone know me, scared to feel. 

Phase Two in my development was that I went into hiding. A bunch of life events, painful ones, lined up and shook me to my core, knocked me right off the glossy, icy path I was skating on. And I retreated into myself. 

I made a decision to stay alone to learn how to love myself and create my own happiness. I spent a 12 year period doing just that. 

In all honesty, most of the years were spent with a harsh, bitter undertone. I had a lot of anger for men seething right under the surface. I also had a lot of self righteous disdain for women who needed a man.  I'm not proud of that period of my life. It was brutal, but it was a necessary part of the journey. I had to work through my hardness- like being a miner. I had to tunnel through layers and layers of stone, chip it away with my pick-ax, to get to the gold. And you guessed it; the gold was my heart. The gold was my softness, my vulnerability. 

And then one day I had an experience where I literally felt my heart open up and bloom like a giant flower.  It was a life-changing moment. Because it wasn't just a momentary fluke. My heart opened up and softened and stayed that way. There was no turning back. And living with an open heart was a whole new world.

So the new decision, the new challenge was to learn to love from this startlingly new, open hearted, vulnerable position. The idea almost took my breath away with it's poignancy. Just writing about it brings tears to my eyes. Because it's scary. And the longing for a real connection is so, so deep. 

But obviously I have a lot to learn about love. Or maybe the prayer I floated out into the universe, "Let me learn to love"

was the wrong one, or at least incomplete. Maybe it should have been,

"Let me learn to love AND be loved." Or maybe "Let me be in a happy, working love relationship."

Because right out of the gate, I fell in love with a man who couldn't quite love me back. And I got hurt. Badly. 

I was real with him. I let him see me and know me, in a way I had never done before. I liked, no loved, who I was in that relationship. I am still proud of myself for showing up and being vulnerable. Even though I should have used a little better judgement. 

Of course I had to leave the relationship to keep my self respect, to love myself, to "hold my own hand".  Breaking up wasn't easy, like in the past. It was SAD. And lonely. But necessary. 

This quote from my hero Mandy Hale, AKA The Single Woman, (http://www.thesinglewoman.com/) says exactly what I feel. I wish I'd written this. I certainly could have.

"To love someone who can’t quite love you back is a powerful thing…but to love yourself MORE is an even more powerful thing. My Mr. Big hurt me, challenged me, refined me, disappointed me, strengthened me, infuriated me, motivated me, polished me, and inspired me. He taught me both how to let down my walls and be vulnerable and to set boundaries to protect my heart. He taught me to embrace my spontaneous side and follow my heart instead of my head, and to live for the moment a little bit more. More importantly, he taught me how to love myself too much to stay connected to someone who doesn’t love me enough."

Right??? 

Yesterday morning I left the door to my cottage open, and two little birds flew in, made one graceful, synchronized swoop through my main room, and then glided right back out the door. I looked up the symbolism/superstitious meaning and it said that a bird flying into your house means that you will be receiving an important message. And if it flies right back out it means that you are releasing something negative from your life. 

And so, I release the "wrong" love. I will keep mining for the lessons, keep going for the gold, keep refining my prayers and my process. I'll go back to the basics of who I am. Yesterday was a good day, a day when I really did get to do the things that make me me. 

I started the day by getting my taxes done, made enjoyable by the fact that I had a real, deep connection with my tax preparer.  We shared stories. We laughed.  Then I went home and completed my daughter's FAFSA for college. 

And after the practical, productive things were done, I took a nice run on new trails out at Boerne City Lake. I felt the breeze and the sunshine on my head. I smiled as I ran.  

And after my run, I drove the back roads to Guene, past ditches covered in the bluebonnets so dear to my heart. I fell back in love with Texas in the springtime. 

I strolled and window shopped through 

Gruene. I smiled at everyone I passed.

Then I ducked into Gruene Hall for some live music.

And I remembered who I was, who I am.

So I'll wait for the important message those two little swooping birds promised. 

X2. 

Or maybe I've already received it. 

Thanks.

Happy Anniversary to ME!

Tonight it will be one year since I moved to Texas. I still throw open the door every morning and yell, "Helloooooo, Lover!"  to Texas. I still thank my lucky stars. I'm still filled with gratitude to the angels who helped me get here. And to the angels who helped me stay here. I'm still humbled by the strength of my love for this place. 

In 2013 the stars just seemed to align for me to do this thing I'd always wanted to do. Since I was 16, I've wanted to move to Texas. I fell in love with TX music and it kind of became my world. I was all Frye boots and cowboy hats.  Way before it was cool. But I was 16. And then I was married.  And then divorced and a single mom. And then remarried. And then double divorced and a single mom to 3. 

But I always told my family: "As soon as I am free of commitments, I'm moving to Texas."

Almost 40 years later, in 2013, the time was finally right. 

I quit my professional job, gave my condo back to ex #2, packed my youngest off to college in Chicago and invited friends over to take my "stuff"- they carted off TVs and furniture and I just smiled and waved.  

Goodwill got bags and bags of stuff.  

Nothing had ever felt more right.

Then I got on a plane to TX with 2 suitcases. 

This year was filled with magic and adventure and exploring and MUSIC! 

I listened to so much live music it made my soul fill up. I ate BBQ and swam in deep blue swimming holes and drank Shiner Bock.

I camped and hiked at Big Bend. I ran the loop trail at Enchanted Rock. I met the greatest, deepest people I have ever known.  I photographed musicians; the BEST musicians in the world, I listened to even more music. I took a few spins on old dancehall floors- even though I'm "no kinda dancer." I fell in love with watching the sun sink behind the live oaks. I ran through ditches deep in blue bonnets. I battled killer scorpions.

But underneath all the fun, I was growing, I was changing. The more I committed to living my dreams, whatever it took, the more I was loving me.  I started to understand that our dreams are there for a reason, they are not just random, even if it seems that way. The dreams we have exist to help us find our truest, deepest selves. I still don't know why this is true- but I am able to be more me here than anywhere else. Texas is where I belong. 

I'm still not sure what my purpose is here, but I know it will one day reveal itself to me. Until then, I'll love every second, every hill country raindrop, every chance meeting with a Texan who drawls, "Sixth generation, ma'am!" 

Oh, there are down sides, as with any life journey. I miss my family, grieve that I am not there to see my precious, breath-taking granddaughters grown up. I am sometimes struck down raw, hardly able to breathe, with the pain of missing them.

I wish I was there to help support my beautiful daughter as she works hard to parent them. Her competency astounds me, and yet, I long to be there by her side. I miss being able to be there for my mom, as she struggles with facing her end-of-life issues. I miss my sister, who believes in me, and my fine , fine friends who never really could understand my Texas longing. 

 

But if I wasn't here, I wouldn't be able to be the person I was meant to be. Because somewhere in this big, big, beautiful state, there are keys to my very existence. I can feel the truth of that deep in my bones. So I stay. And I plant my boot heels in the dirt. And I breathe it all in and say a little prayer.  And I flood with gratitude. And I believe.

I learned that there is a difference between "running away from" and "running towards". The universe supports growth and truth, it supports running towards your dreams. If you're running away from something, things are going to get messy. If you're thinking of running away, stop. Take a deep breath, and clean up as much of the mess as you can before you run. Because if you don't, you're going to carry the whole damn mess with you. Running towards, on the other hand, is about trust. It's about following your heart, the longings and pull of your one sweet, raw and beating heart, and trusting it to lead you to that place, that moment where you belong. 

My anniversary day was filled with love- for Texas, Texas music and the fine Texans I've had the pleasure to meet. It was filled with self love too-- a little pride in my brave adventuring. I ran 10 miles in the beautiful hill country rain today, and that was the best celebration I could have asked for. Because every step said, "this is my home." Every breath said, "You belong here." 

Happy Anniversary. Welcome home.

Got Sisu?

Today is Texas Independence Day, and while I wasn't lucky enough to grow up in Texas and haven't yet learned all the rich history of this beautiful state, I feel such a deep love and appreciation for Texas and it's people that I've been celebrating all morning. I celebrated by running in the misty rain, and then drinking coffee on my porch, listening to the rain on the old tin roof along with a fine, fine playlist of Texas music. A beautiful harmony.

I have always tried to explain to people who don't get it, why Texas is so special. 

And more and more, I realize it's the people.  I suspect it has to do with being raised with Texas pride. When you have deep, strong, proud roots, your heart grows strong and big, like the 500 year old live oak next to my cottage. A proud heart can afford to be open and loving, it can embrace others and dare to dream and fly and create. 

My experience moving to Texas, and believe me,"I got here as soon as I could!" has been that Texans meet me with a open, loving stance.  I have appreciated every interaction with every Texan I've met.  And I've been a close observer, a field researcher, shall we say, watching and pondering why Texans are so.... different. So great. 

And so far I think Texas pride is a big part of the answer. I will keep studying and learn more!

The closest thing I have in my own experience to Texas pride is the way I feel  about my Finnish heritage. Finns pride themselves on their sisu- a quality of tenaciousness, a gritty determination to power on through, regardless of obstacle. Sisu can be grim and joyless or it can be spirited and sprightly.

 I choose to live it in the latter way, which calls for a trust in the universe, in the world, as well as in one's own ability to weather the storm.  It doesn't presume that you can't be hurt, only that you are strong enough to handle whatever comes your way.

I think the following quote, by Jeff Brown, is the best description of my personal interpretation of SISU:

So I will keep watchin' and studying all you amazing Texans. I'll keep on wearing my heart on my sleeve and feeling all my feelings, even when "the odds are stacked against me." I'll keep my "heart open on the darkest of days." 

And maybe, in time, it will grow and stretch and absorb a little Texas pride and have roots as deep as my old live oak. That's what I'm envisioning.

Happy Birthday Texas!! 

Eat Dessert First

In September of 2001 I was hit by a car as a pedestrian. It was an event that sent my life reeling in a different direction and it took me a good 10 years to fully recover from the impact. Today, I AM fully recovered, and I rarely think about the accident, but there are days when the sunlight slants in a certain way, when the temperature is just so, that it triggers the memories. Today is one of those days.

It happened on one of those Midwest September mornings that urge you to breathe deep and take it all in.  The sun was shining brighter than seems possible, and the sky was a deeper blue, and the suburban trees still had leaves hanging on, gold and russet and wine-colored. I was on my way to my newish job, counseling troubled kids at a locked-down city school.  It was the sort of morning that makes you whistle as you get in your car, and makes you think of playing hooky  and taking pictures instead.  But I was determined to turn over a new leaf, no more playing hooky, I was going to be reliable and dedicated.   I shared an office with Michael, a young case worker who wrote plays on the side and dreamed of being onstage, and I decided to stop at the local coffee shop/bakery on my way in to work and pick up some danish for the two of us.  It seemed like a good thing to do.

Jack’s bakery was across the street from the community college and had their slogan painted on a big banner across the top of the door “Eat Dessert First, Life is Uncertain”.  I parked and headed across the street, a few brown leaves crunching between the asphalt and my boots. The sun was brilliant and you had to squint your eyes against it to see at all.  I stood in line and waited to get 2 cinnamon danish and a cup of bad coffee in a styrofoam cup, and then I was off.  I remember swinging out the door, with a feeling of satisfaction, feeling good, stepping off the curb into the street.

The next thing I remember, I was lying in the street, my head cradled in some strange woman’s lap.

“Don’t move, honey,” the stranger whispered, “You’ve been hit by a car.”

This made absolutely no sense.  I could feel my brain, or my thoughts, scurrying around in my head like frightened mice, this way and that, trying to find a clue, to find some answer to this puzzle.  I felt my memory straining, trying to remember where I was, what I was doing.  I could  actually hear my thoughts in my head,

“Hit by a car??  No way, impossible.  I wasn’t hit by a car!!!”  I fought hard to stay conscious, but kept wanting to drift away into blackness.  I was vaguely aware of a little crowd of people hovering around, bending over me.  I struggled in vain to keep my eyes open.  A moment of peace, of quiet, of blackness, a wonderful, sleepy warmth creeping over me, I was actually smiling.  Then, Wham! like an electric shock running through me, I fought to to be awake and heard those thoughts, my own, again:

“Ooohh, if I am on the ground, I am probably a bloody mess!  I better straighten up, try to look like a good orderly patient.”    Somehow through the haze, I managed to be self-conscious, and tried to look presentable.  I remember a police officer bending over, recognized his starched blue shirt and badge.

 I don’t recall hearing sirens approach, and don’t remember anything about an ambulance, until I woke up inside one, with a gentle, attentive male EMT working over me.  Something about his kindness toward me brought tears to my eyes, I hadn’t been touched by a man in years. I had the where-with-all to sneak a peek at his left hand, had time to feel a surge of disappointment to see a wedding ring, before I passed out again.  

The next few hours were a blur of being in and out of consciousness, moments of peace contrasted with moments of panic, especially when I put my hand to my head and brought it down with a fistful of hair.  “Apparently I’m going bald!” I remember sobbing to myself.

Now I remember only a few fractured moments from the whole ordeal.  There had been exams and tests and MRIs, but mostly I checked out fine, lots of bruises and cuts, a bad closed-head injury that would haunt me for ages, but no broken bones.  I ached all over. 

“Hey, who wouldn’t if they bounced off an SUV?” I would joke later. 

 I left the hospital after only a few hours. The nurses came to me with my cell phone in hand.  They said, “Should we call your mother?” 

“No, no, don’t call her, she’ll freak out.” I answered,

“Should we call your daughter?”

“NO, she’ll freak out.”

“Well who should we call to come get you?”

I had to think about that one.  “Call my ex-husband Bob. HE won’t care.” 

So it was Bob who came for me.  

As I got ready to climb off the gurney, one of the nurses handed me a pair of blue paper pants.

“Here, you better put these on.”

 “Why?”

“You have a little problem with your jeans there.”  As it turned out, the whole back-end was ripped clear out of my jeans, my panties ripped clear through too, and I winced thinking of my bare rear flapping in the breeze for all those folks dipping their doughnuts at Jack’s this morning.  

Once home, relaxing in the rocker, I opened my handbag and found the 2 cinnamon danish still fresh in their waxy white bag; some thoughtful bystander must have caught them as they flew through the air and tucked them safely away.  I laughed and promptly ate them both, wishing I would have had dessert first, as life most certainly is UNcertain.

But going through this experience, and all the problems that ensued; 10 years of memory problems, cognitive changes, back and neck pain, financial wrack and ruin, really taught me something.

I learned that what we have is NOW. And if we aren’t living the life we want to live right this moment, we had better get to it. Because everything can change with one danish. 

Best Valentine Date EVER!

OK, so I don't (unfortunately) have much experience with being treated as special and beloved on this lovey-dovey day. Not that I shouldn't; oh I should! I so deserve it!

 But let's face it, circumstances just haven't worked out that way.

 But wait! Wait! Don't go whispering "Bitter, bitter, bitter," under your breath.

Because this year was different .  

My Valentine date THIS year knows my heart inside out; all of it's subtle twists and quirks and secret longings. 

My date this year wanted to make me happy and make sure that I felt cherished and special and seen and understood. My date this year is willing to go the distance for me. 

Which is why the love is deep.

So here's how it went! It was fun!  It was exciting!

Thursday night one of my favorite bands, Micky and the Motorcars (http://www.mickyandthemotorcars.com) were playing at one of my favorite venues, the Saxon Pub (http://thesaxonpub.com) in Austin at 10pm. I had to work in San Antonio until 8pm, but my date said, "Hey, wear your best Saxon duds to work and bring your camera, we'll make a mad dash!" 

So I wore a skirt to work and charged my camera under my desk, feeling pretty happy and fluttery. 

Made the dash to Austin and arrived with just enough time to check in at the Austin Motel (www.austinmotel.com)

Whoohoo!! Another long-time favorite of mine. I love that place for being cool and quirky and "so close and yet so far out."

Yeah and I have one of their T-Shirts that says "It's Not What You Think".  Because many Austin-ites call it "The cock and balls motel." They have a nice pool too. And are located in the very heart of the SoCo neighborhood, which happens to be located at the very heart of MY heart. 

Made a quick drop of stuff in the cool, funky motel room and headed off to the Saxon. Arrived at 10pm, just in time. 

My date encouraged me to sit right up front and center so I could shoot photos, because that is one of my true, true loves and makes me happy. It's something I do just for me. Add in some red wine, and well, it's difficult for me to wipe the grin off my face.

It was so so fun!! MMC were phenomenal, as always, and my little 50mm prime lens let me take some fun shots. 

After the show my date was cool with hanging around talking with folks. New friends were made.

A perfect evening. Right down to picking up greasy Whataburgers on the way back to the room!

OK and I won't talk about what went on in the room after lights out... :)

Next morning- a stroll across the street to Jo's Coffee.

Just to caffeinate up for a run on my favorite trail in Zilker Park. It was a beautiful morning for a run, and really, what better way to celebrate a holiday with a heart theme than to get yours pumping? I loved feeling like I was part of this community of runners, and the swans were out !

After running, there was time to shower before checking out of the room, and then it was time for brunch next door at The Snack Bar, strawberry mimosas, coffee and lush mac and cheese.

Because the way to any runner's heart is through carb loading, right?

The rest of the afternoon my date indulged me by letting me poke around in any and all weird shops. I chose the Habitat for Humanity Restore and Ikea. And although I was free to purchase anything that struck my fancy, I didn't feel like it, I was just looking for fun. And my date didn't grumble about driving all the way to Round Rock to Ikea for nothing, so more kudos and love. 

Back in Austin for a margarita and tacos at Gueros and to catch the most lovely sunset!

Do you notice the heart shape in the branches? A Valentine straight from Austin to me!

Soooo you may have gathered by now that my special date was ME, right?

I made sure I had a really good time and that I was happy. Because I could have had a lousy, pouty day, licking my wounds from my recent broken heart and  resenting all those women who are showered with roses and diamonds and kisses. 

But what fun would that be?

Don't get me wrong, I would have loved to have a special someone to share all this with, there's nothing I'd love more. I'm just sayin'... You don't have to wait for love to find you to have a romantic date. You can give that to yourself.

Being alone can be FABULOUS,
if you let it. You can be there for yourself in a way that few others can. And until you learn to do just that, it's probably not quite time to let someone else do it for you.

So hold your head up, hold your own hand and take in all the love that does exist in this world for you!

I guarantee you are gonna love it!

Happy Valentine's Day! And big love to you.

Cottage Camping

At long last, I'm putting down some roots in Texas. I finally have a real, honest-to-goodness professional-level job here and I've rented a place of my own. 

I thought long and hard about what I wanted to rent and where. I had a long list of wishes. 

I wanted to be closer to San Antonio for easy access to my office. But I wanted a small town feel. And I wanted a river nearby for swimming!  I wanted to be close enough to Luckenbach. And to have other music venues close at hand. 

I wanted my new town to have the same kind of warm, homey Texas feel that Fredericksburg had blessed me with. 

I hoped for some running groups or running community to connect with. And a good gym I could join, for indoor running when the heat index is too high for outside marathon training.

Boerne met all my criteria. 

And I found a sweet little cottage to rent there- small, stand alone, private, with lovely gracious landlords who I feel like kind of adopted me. I let them. Because it feels real good to have someone looking out for/taking care of you when you're in a big 'ole transition.

So I moved into this cottage, and here's what I had:

My clothes and camping gear, books, my computer and a folding table to put it on, an air mattress, 2 pillows, 2 towels, a down comforter, 2 cups, a bowl, 2 wine glasses and a toaster.

Then  I bought a few more things:

Like trash cans and sheets and bathroom rugs and a pan and a crockpot and two plates and a chef's knife and a package of plastic cutlery. Oh, and some kitchen towels and sponges.

Sooooo now I am kind of "camping" in my cottage.  It's kind of funny, sometimes fun, and sometimes feels a little pathetic. Like last week, when the temps plummeted and my little window air conditioning/heat unit was inadequate to keep my place warm. I found myself using my toaster oven as a heater, and I huddled in front of it on my air mattress, sleeping bag on my shoulders, drinking too cold red wine.

 Hurmpf.

 It's not that I didn't try to BUY a space heater. I went to 20 different places trying, but they were sold out.  Everywhere. 

So I called on my Finnish "Sisu" (think grit, stubbornness, toughness, stick- to- it-tivism) and just pushed on through. 

And the weekend warmed up. And I met a new friend who loaned me a space heater for the next cold snap. 

 

And now I'm dragging my feet about gathering more stuff. I'm finding some perverse pleasure in living bare bones. I find my Swiss Army knife meets lots of my needs. I keep thinking of the mantra:

"What is yours will come to you."

So I'm waiting to stumble over some things I need. Because I just don't feel like buying a bunch of stuff. 

And my landlord brought me a little TV. And a TV tray to set it on. And I dragged an old chair in off my tiny porch.

And sometimes I just sit and laugh. 

Because I'm like a bag lady. With empty bags. 

And there's something I like about that. It's simple. And challenging. 

I know pretty soon I'll have a tea kettle and furniture and cutlery and doilies. But in the meantime, I'm camping. 

Queen of the Funky Workaround

Can't you just see that as a t-shirt slogan?

I can. Maybe with a jaunty little tilted, banged-up crown graphic. Maybe with bottle caps or gravel or something instead of jewels. You know, something that works, kinda, but isn't quite the real deal. Almost, close, kind of, maybe. Maybe if you squint and cock your head and look kind of sideways out of the corner of your eyes...

Sounds really fun and Junque gypsy-esque, right?  All shabby chic and creative. Yeah.

But I've been thinking about this lately.  Long and hard. 

About how I've always prided myself on being queen of the funky workaround. Being uber adaptable, accommodating, able to make anything work for me; no matter how odd, or weird or sub-standard. I guess a kid growing up in a economically stressed alcoholic family learns those skills. 

You get by. You deny your own needs.

You settle for whatever you can get.

You say, whisper fiercely, to yourself,

"It's ENOUGH, damn it."  

And after awhile, you learn to mean it. And after a LONG while, say 20,30,40 years, you are so firmly entrenched in that "just gettin' by" behavior, that somehow your self-worth has gotten all tangled up with it.

Meaning, if all you ever settle for is crumbs and leftovers and sub-standard, then that is all you think you're worth. 

Ouch. 

< Pause to do deep breathing>

Wow.  

If you're lucky, you find something, or meet someone or dig down deep and start to question that entrenched belief. 

For me, it was running.

I can't explain it; how it made such a difference.  I keep trying, but it's elusive.  All I can say is this:  Running made me fall in love with myself.  It made me feel I was special, precious, worth something, worth EVERYTHING. It made me think that a steady diet of crumbs and leftovers wasn't enough. 

Suddenly, I held my head up higher.  I stood up straighter. I looked people in the eye. I no longer said, "Oh that's ok, it's good enough."

I took a deep breath and said, "Here's what I'd like."  "What I need is..."  "My dream is..."

I still mess up.  I get involved in relationships with people who ask me to settle for too little. But it doesn't take so long, anymore, for me to recognize that trap and say "No thank you, that's not going to work for me."

So funky is OK; creative, different, weird, all fine. Just don't sell yourself short and say, like my own daughter did for years,

"I can't have nice things." 

YOU CAN HAVE NICE THINGS!!!

Don't settle for too little; ask for the WHOLE piece, or the whole damn pie, for that matter.  

All it takes is allowing yourself that dream. Breathe it in. Make it real. You really won't die of longing if you dream. You'll just open up a whole wide world of possibilities. That's good.

Sometimes it still makes me super sad, when I think of me as that little girl, or that young woman, who didn't know she could ask for more, who didn't dare to dream.  I give them both big psychic hugs. I whisper, fiercely, 

"The sky's the limit darling, dream BIG!"

And then I straighten my semi-funky crown, tie my running shoes and run off to chase my BIG dreams. 

They're out there. 

I'm coming.

Better late than never. 

Musings on relationships

I read this article on relationships (see below) and it got me thinking. Thinking about what makes-- and breaks--them. Thinking about what's acceptable and not. 

Pondering what it is that makes some people feel so right, and others so wrong, when on paper, or statistically or practically, one is no better than the other, or even much,
much worse.  

There's attraction and chemistry, that's one thing. And it's a hard one. Because it's either there or not. I don't trust chemical reactions. They scare me . Too explosive. But without a smattering of chemistry.... Well, you know. It's like "let's just be friends." 

I like relationships where I can feel a sense of comfort. I like a man who feels big and solid and lets me put my head on his shoulder and just rest for a minute. When I dream of my ideal relationship, I wish for both of us to allow each other to be "our soft place to land." 

A warm, comfortable place where we can be looked at with eyes of love, eyes that take us all in, even our faults and weaknesses, and know that we can be better, do better.  I'm not asking someone to accept unacceptable behavior from me, rather I hope for a man who inspires me to get better, not worse. I might be an incurable romantic, but I still believe that love heals.

What are the deal breakers? 

Personal attacks on the loved ones character.  Dishonesty. Addictions. Selfishness-not feeling that your partner's wants and needs are as important as your own. Inability to share your feelings. Or witness mine. 

It might be a short list but it's brutal. Those are tough things to do. And here's what I really think:

Being honest with YOURSELF is the toughest goal of all. 

We have a lifetime of experience in how to fool ourselves, fudge the truth, rationalize and justify. We are experts at convincing ourselves that "it's not that bad" or "it doesn't matter" or "it's not really like that."  But truth is truth, and in the end all of that excuse making is gonna bite us in the butt.

Today I'm vowing to stand still and listen to my gut. And respect every tiny whisper that comes from it. Because truth is truth.

And the truth will set you free.

http://m.huffpost.com/us/entry/4673582

"The heart is a resilient little muscle." Woody Allen

Letting go. Saying goodbye. Not always easy. Sometimes really really difficult. 

Depends who it is, and what and why, right? 

I've always been on the "light attachment side," myself.  I've moved so frequently I never really got attached to places. Stuff, things hold little meaning to me. Was never especially sentimental.

I even found myself feeling kind of easy/breezy about how people came and went in my life, and, in particular regarding romance.  I prided myself on being the queen of the abrupt break-up.  Get while the going's good, and never, ever look back.  

After my second divorce, I came up with a self-deprecating little quip that went something like this,

"I suck at marriage. But I'm GREAT at divorce."  Funny? Maybe not so much.

At the time, I thought I was strong.  I thought I was tough. 

Now, so many years and so much independence later, I see things differently.  I've learned some things.

Being tough and breezy on the outside was just about being scared on the inside.  It was never letting anyone/thing get too close, because then I could stand to let them go when the time came. 

It was not trusting my heart to be strong enough, about not trusting myself to handle whatever came my way. 

This is what I know now:

Our hearts are amazing, powerful, resilient little beasts.  They are designed to be broken, even shattered and to come back full-throttle even stronger.  There is really no limit to the reach and depth of the human heart. 

I've learned that we can trust our hearts to take care of us- when they nudge us to open up and love, it's safe, it's an opportunity.  I didn't say easy, or painless, I said safe.  The truth is- the more soft and open and vulnerable we can be in our heart space, the stronger we are, the safer we are.  Sounds paradoxical, right?

But soft and open and pliable endures, while sharp and shiny and brittle splinters. We can stop worrying about being right or looking foolish and just offer the love we feel, without strings, as a gift. 

We can offer ourselves that love first, and really show up for ourselves in a deep, loving way. It means we hold our heads up high. We breathe deep into our soft, beating hearts. We stand behind ourselves and hold our own hand. We hold pure, utter belief in our own value. We don't mince words when it comes to telling the truth about who we are or what we need. 

And sometimes, that truth means we need to walk away. We let go with love.

We trust. We let the sadness and the tears happen. We watch our heart shift and pulse and change shape. 

And we keep breathing. And we realize how strong and soft we really are.

And there's the real lesson, the gift.

All turns at love enrich us. Our hearts will turn toward the sun and open like a giant hibiscus soon enough. They were born to bloom.

Braggin' on Women Who Run...

1) Women who run are BAD.ASS.  We have learned, by putting one foot in front of the other, over and over again, that limits we thought we had were all imaginary. As we challenged and stretched our physical capabilities, we learn how brave and competent we really are. 

And that learning generalizes to other areas. We think "Hey I just ran 10 miles before breakfast! Work stress? Bring it on!" You know that saying "If you want something done, give it to the busiest person you know"? Well I say- give it to a runner!

 I've known women who, once they were runners, suddenly started rehabbing homes. Or who climbed a mountain. Or started an amazing new business. Or learned to do their own car repairs. Personally, I was suddenly able to do public speaking without dying a thousand deaths. My serious blushing problem vanished. I found myself speaking up at work with clarity and confidence. 

It's like our brains switch from fear/self-doubt based to confidence/competence based. We say "OK, what else have I been lying to myself about, thinking I couldn't do?" And then we do it.

And we feel PROUD. And proud is beautiful.

2) Women who run learn about honesty. It's such a transparent process.

There is absolutely no place for pretense or posturing while running. It's you, the pavement under your feet, your lungs supplying steady oxygen to your heart and whatever dialogue you carry on in your head.  Your head can tell your body "I can't" but your heart and lungs will know it's a lie and try to prove you wrong, if you let them.  You learn to be straight and honest with yourself. And then you carry that cleanness out to your relationships with others. Because you've learned you CAN. And that it feels GOOD.

3) Women who run are physical creatures, comfortable in our own skin. It's not that we have great, lean "runners" bodies either, we come in all shapes and sizes. But as my daughter said, and I quote, "I learned to love my body for what it can DO, not how it looks." Boy do we develop a healthy respect for our strong, amazing, lovely bodies! And we get very, oh what's the word? Sensual, I guess, because we are so "in" our bodies. We like to run through wind and rain and snow and dark and blossom showers and early mornings. It wakes us up.  We are more alive than we were BWWR (Before We Were Runners). 

4) Women who run are a happy bunch. Yes it's the endorphins. Yup yup yup! Our "drug of choice." But it's also running out in the wind and the sun, loving the beautiful world we see so much more clearly now. It's the happiness that comes from granting ourselves the oh-so- precious gift of time for ourselves. Time for long runs or short, cross- training, and hanging with the running pals who support our crazy ways. Because giving yourself the gift of time says "I'm worth it". And what is happier than THAT?

5) Women who run make great friends.  Honestly, my running gal pals amaze me every day! They know how to support and encourage, they are bold and fun-loving. They laugh big, they live big. We have adventures together, and nurse injuries and heartbreaks and juggle responsibilities and give hugs and dry tears.  We try to share the love and the strength that running paved our lives with.

So if you're a woman who runs, we're already friends who haven't met yet.

 If you're a woman thinking about running, we welcome you. 

You are going to love us. 

You are going to love YOU. 

We already do.

A ReCap...Why I Love Texas

These were originally FaceBook posts that I made in the first few months I lived in Texas, but I'm reposting here to share just a tiny bit of my BIG Texas love.  I'm going to start this series up again....I had barely scratched the surface here!




Why I love Texas #1:
Today I was stopped by the sheriff while running down a country road to warn me of the horse loose on the road ahead. It caused quite a commotion!!

Why I love Texas #2:
I had been using a certain outhouse and was having trouble with the door blowing open because the latch had loosened up. I tried tightening it with a screwdriver to no avail. A cowboy came by and knew how to fix it in a jiffy- with a twig!

Why I love Texas #3:
Running in bluebonnets

Why I love Texas #4:
It's not a cup holder, it's a BEER holder!


Why I love Texas #5:
There's something special about small town life, a kind of easy grace that makes doing even mundane chores seem simple, even enjoyable. Case in point, today while driving I noticed a strange whining noise coming out from under my hood. New to town, I stopped by the garage where the guy had recently done a state safety inspection on my car, and he kindly referred me to a local mechanic nearby. I drove up and the mechanic quickly came out and took my car into the service bay. The owner welcomed us and told us local history, even gave us local theatre recommendations. 15 minutes and 20$ later we were on our way with a well running car.

Why I love Texas #6:
Today I took a nap on the bench on my deck. Wind and birdsong lullaby. My alarm was a hummingbird who apparently mistook my ear for a flower. Have I died and gone to heaven? Somebody pinch me, quick!

Why I LoveTexas #7:
Luckenbach!! The little town with a big heart.
I have always loved this place, since I first heard of it in my teens. A place where pickers gather under the live oak trees, the dancehall shakes and shines with unbelievable talent, and where EVERYbody is, not only SOMEBody, but a friend waiting to happen. 
I spent the majority of the weekend there for the 6th annual Thomas Michael Riley music fest, and I'm a better person for having done so. I'm happy to report that the legendary "Luckenbach state of mind" is alive and well and free for the taking. Do yourself a favor and get there!

Why I love Texas #8:
I hang my wash outside on the line. In the sun and the wind. They dry in like 5 minutes. And smell like... everything good and beloved and fresh rolled into one. Happy. It's the little things.

Why I love Texas #9:

COWBOYS!!! 'Nuff said!

Cowboys are tough and strong and can do anything and make it look easy. GOOD cowboys also have a soft underbelly. I have learned this through close observation and field research. LOL

Why I Love Texas #10:
Tonight, and let me remind you, it was a WEDNESDAY night, I went to Hondo's with friends to hear Michael Hearne and Kevin Higgins. This was great Texas music, real songwriters, real guitar players, outside under a starry sky, and FREE. We watched 2 little blonds, a little boy about 3 and his older sister about 5 as they danced, owning the floor, twirling, arms waving, free and joyful.
Texas music gets in your blood, and it's hard not to dance

Why I love Texas #11 
Running on a cool Texas morning, the ditches deep with a tangle of wildflowers, black angus yearlings who run along the fence line with you as if inspired, darting songbirds, black faced sheep. Life is good!


Why I love Texas #12:
Most of the traffic jams I encounter on my daily rounds are caused by a tractor. That is all.

Why I love Texas #13:
They have big boot tent sales here! I really really like boots.

Why I l love Texas #14:
The Highway Greeting. Folks here say "Howdy" when passing each other on the highway. Whether I'm walking, running or driving the red-dirt Subaru, I get the greeting. It's either a full-out-the-winder wave, the finger lift, or my personal favorite, the cowboy hat nod/chin tuck. Whichever way it goes, I feel like I've just been hugged. Goodbye Midwest stoicism!!

Why I love Texas #, oh, I don't know? 100,000,001?
Today I was out running in Fredericksburg. I started out when it was kinda drizzling, because I love running in the rain and I am NOT a hot weather runner. After I'd run about 3 miles the sun came out and the humidity was crippling and I was DYING. I ran up to the brand-spanking new Fredericksburg Town Pool, yet to open. I decided to see if there was anything posted about an opening date and walked to the entrance. There were some workmen there, who told me the opening date, (June 8, I believe). I said, "Wow I wish I could jump in there right now!" And THEY said, "Go right ahead! We need someone to test it out."
So I jumped right in and I swam in my running clothes, cooled off, and was able to continue my run in wet-conditioned comfort.
Only in Texas! Thanks, worker-guys, for being life savers today! I'm getting a season pass to that pool FYI.
Oh PS- Those guys even asked me if I wanted them to turn on the water slide for me. LOL