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Showing posts from January, 2017

Note to Myself No. 31

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This was a popular slogan in the Women's Movement during the early to mid-1970s.
Poking fun at ourselves for being uppity. . .  thinking that we had the right to be considered the equal of men (including men who would never be our equals).
Another way those of us living in Dallas displayed a bit of humor was by members of the Dallas NOW Chapter entering the cooking contests at the Texas State Fair.
My ribbons were in my kitchen, framed and under glass, for many years.
A third place for potato salad. A third place for drop cookies. A second place for spectacular desserts. And a first place for fruit salad.
I consider the drop cookie ribbon the most coveted one I have because the competition was fierce. . . . hundreds of cookie makers entered.
I was a little disappointed not to win Best in Show for that fruit salad, and one of the judges told me that there had been a dispute between the judges, the majority of whom ended up going for a Waldorf salad because it was cheaper to create than my beautiful strawberry-bl…

Note to Myself # 30

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It's easy to get overwhelmed and discouraged from all the coverage of 45 and what he's doing that makes us shudder.
I know the burden's on us to be the change we want to see in the world, but if we can't find pleasure and just plain FuN in the process, we need to rethink our approach.
play making music creating art giggling with friends concocting a new and scrumptious dish knitting a sweater (or a pink hat) dancing with abandon
These are all ways to increase your life force
to build a reserve to energy for serious work
and to put a huge dollop of JoY into the Universe.
That's a good antidote to the fear-mongering being pushed to promote false and divisive ideologies.

Note to Myself # 29

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Take action to nurture and protect our Mother Earth before it's too late.
It's especially important when those tasked with protecting the environment are dead set on pillaging and plundering.

Getting Behind

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I'm falling behind. Today's the 28th of January and I still haven't posted Note to Myself No. 27.
Please excuse my neglect, although I really have no excuse.
I just didn't get around to it.

So today you get a two-fer. Yesterday's Note and Today's Note all at once.


Is there something   you're needing to catch up on?
Some area in your life that you're falling behind?
Ironic, but the antidote to falling behind may just be to stop, reflect, and then act.

Note to Myself # 26

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Sometimes it's hard to remember that we're energy encased in a body that's our chariot for this journey on earth. . .  that ultimately we'll cast off this body and be a shining soul going back home.
A beautiful soul. 

Note to Myself No. 25

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There's a sea change in political climate that makes me worry that the First Amendment  is under attack.
A new President attacking the press for not. . .  adulating him enough, for reporting facts instead of alt-facts.
Well, with this President, at least we know that one Amendment is safe. The Second Amendment.
But then, it was safe under the last President, too.

Note to Myself # 24

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Note to Myself # 23

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Apparently lots of women have been knitting recently. Thousands of pink hats with cat ears have been created as a statement of disgust with Donald Trump's crude, misogynistic comment about grabbing women by the p*ssy.
I've always found knitting a relaxing and healing pastime. Way back in 1984, after having a premature baby boy die in the neonatal intensive care unit after five weeks  of fighting mightily for his life after a ham-fisted surgeon botched the insertion  of a central line, made poor Blake nearly bleed out and sent him into cardiac arrest, well. . . . family videos from that time always recorded me with knitting needles in hand. I made sweaters galore. The rhythmic click of the needles quieted my mind and soothed my aching soul.
Then, I could manage the complicated patterns  of an Irish fisherman knit, not without concentration, of course, and determination, but back then they were doable.
I tried in vain to do one a few years ago and found that my powers of concentration have been zapped. I…

Note to Myself # 22

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The average child laughs 300 to 500 times per day. The average adult? About 15 times per day. What did we know many years ago  that we've forgotten?


Note to Myself # 21

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I don't have much trouble convincing myself of this. I've always got one or two books going at a time.
What makes me sad, though, is that we've lost our Reader-in-Chief. A President who loved to read and did it often and could talk with intelligence about what he'd read, how it fit in with other ideas, and what was next on his reading agenda.
A President who could write books without needing a ghost writer. What a concept!

Note to Myself # 20

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When there's so much shaming and bullying going on in public discourse (from the highest levels) this message is needed more than ever.
I'm just sad that it won't be heeded at that same rarified level.
But those of us who believe in goodness always strive to live this and model it for others.
Light eradicates darkness.

Note to Myself # 19

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Great quote. Not another thing to say.

Note to Myself # 18

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This is a big one for me because one of my assets is loyalty to people I love.
I will cheer them on tell them when I think they're making a mistake urge them to take a chance when the risk seems reasonable and pick them up when they've fallen.
That's what friends (or family) do for each other, at least in my world view.
So my admonition is "Always stand by your friends."
At the same time, I know that there's a Shadow side to loyalty. It can make you blind to instances  where loyalty isn't a two-way street and a person's behavior is deserving of no-nonsense boundaries. . . . including expulsion from your realm until they've repented of their unacceptable actions.
Lying to or about you, for instance. Being unfaithful. Being emotionally abusive. Expecting you to always be there for them even when they're never around when you need them
Excessive loyalty can sometimes make you blind to truths that everyone else can see.
Sometimes to be loyal to yourself, you have to cut the…

Note to Myself # 17

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It feels like clown energy is running rampant.
Someone in a position of power is making inflammatory and outrageous statements, bullying and mocking people, threatening revenge on members of the press who don't post articles adulating him.
There are clowns in this world that can dish out all kinds of insults, but want to be kowtowed to themselves.
Who think the whole world exists to enhance their exalted view of themselves,  to fall in line with their every whim  (no matter how obnoxious or self-indulgent).
Who think they're smarter than everyone else and that they're so special rules don't apply to them.
But we know the truth about them. If these Emperors have a splendid set of clothes, they put on their pants one leg at a time, just like us commoners.
And if they were really so special, they wouldn't need to remind us so often.
So no matter what, don't let these clowns get you down.
Flaunting the rules and making end runs around the truth has consequences eventually.
So run amok, Clowns…

In Honor of Martin Luther King Day

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Love, compassion and kindness. Act it out. Pay it forward.
You've got this!

Note to Myself # 16

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Note to Myself # 15

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Best friends together through thick and Thin Mints, through boyfriends and husbands and often back to boyfriends (if we're so inclined). . . a sounding board a person who'll tell you the truth with love, when possible and with no-holds-barred when not. A person who loves you when you're wearing no makeup and your house is a mess, and who's willing to go on vacation with you when you just have to get outta town.
Who'll tell you secrets and never, ever repeat yours.
To whom you say, "I'm on my way,"  when a crisis arises, no matter what day or time or situation.
Who may sometimes make you mad, but who would never ever vote for Trump so you forgive her (and she forgives you when --- though it rarely happens --- you annoy the hell out of her).
A sister  in everything but birth.


Note to Myself # 14

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When you give a gift -- of material things or yourself -- the intention behind the act is important.
Sometimes we give out of a feeling of obligation.
Sometimes we give to get. Or to have someone indebted to us.
Giving with a pure and loving heart, with no expectations or attachment to what happens afterwards. . . .  well that's a rare gift.



Note to Myself # 13

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When we're little girls (or boys, as the case might be) the people around us teach us who we are or at least who others think we are but their reactions to us.
If we're lucky, their labels for us are both positive and fitting and we incorporate those characterizations into our self-image.
If they send negative messages like you're so stupid! how could you be so clumsy? you'll never amount to anything! can't you do anything right? well, we incorporate those lies too.
One of the most difficult tasks we face as adults is sorting through the labels in our label bank and deciding which ones fit and which ones need to be sent to the trash heap.
Keeping not only the good ones, but owning some of the bad ones that we've discovered for ourselves. Each of us is sometimes too impatient, lazy, too quick to anger, unforgiving. If we don't own the negatives, to be very conscious of our Shadow side if you will, then those Shadow traits often run amok.
On the other hand, if we don't think that we are  ki…

Note to Myself # 12: Pink Coats

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When I create the Notes to Myself that I often post in January, most of them are serious.
That said I also like to create a frivolous or satirical note or two. Like this one.
I like pink, don't get me wrong.
But if you're having to resort to  not-very-practical pink coats to dazzle a particular man, oh my.
Dazzle him with your charm, your wit, your kindness and compassion. Because if those things don't dazzle him, well he's not a man worth dazzling.

Note to Myself # 11

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The smell of freshly popped popcorn is one of my favorite smells. I think God smiles when S/He gets a good whiff of buttered popcorn.
My theater-of-choice, as you may already know, is The Grand Cinema, one of Tacoma's sparkling gems. It's a non-profit movie theater that shows mostly independent films. You can count of having seen lots of nominees there when Golden Globes and Oscars are handed out.
Right now LaLa Land Jackie Manchester by the Sea and Lion are playing.
How's that for a line up? (And there's Tuesday film series, too, with films and documentaries that you'd never see except at the Grand.)
If you're in the know, you buy an annual membership at the Grand. For that ($45 for an individual) besides supporting independent film you get a discounted admission, free parking in a lot half a block away (that's locked at 9 p.m. so go to an afternoon movie if you can) and  a small-size bag of free popcorn or credit of that cost towards a larger size.
They use Orville R popcorn and real butte…

Ode to Obama

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This isn't exactly a Note to Myself. . . . it's more like a note to Obama.


Mr. President
You didn't necessarily deliver all the change I'd hoped to see, you fed the war machine more than I'd like, but I was never ashamed to call you my President.
You're a class act, Mr. President (and your beautiful, savvy, intelligent First Lady, and daughters, too).
I know misguided people are attempting  to destroy your biggest accomplishments, but know that the tide will turn one day.
In the meantime I'll work for justice, inclusion not villification,  civility in the national discourse, and the cultivation of hope in what I fear may be a time of darkness.
You have been a bright shining light. Thank you.


Note to Myself #10: Take Your Broken Heart. . .

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Meryl Streep's impassioned words in her speech at the Golden Globes last night resonated with me  (as they would, since I'm not a Trump fan)
but what really stuck was the quote she attributed to her dear friend Carrie Fisher (a.k.a. Princess Leia) who died in December following a catastrophic cardiac event at 60.
"Take your broken heart," she said, "and make art."
When, in 2003, my heart was so badly broken  that it felt like a catastrophic cardiac event, I was flattened by grief and loss. In other rough periods throughout my life, writing had been cathartic. Getting words and feelings on paper had prevented them from being trapped inside me.
But then, words seemed positively meaningless. I was adrift on a sea of abject sadness  and unable to grab hold of something that had always been a life preserver: putting words on paper.
Because there was nothing else to do (well, there was fretting and crying, but that goes without saying) I waited.
Waited for that small voice inside to give me…