If Marilyn Monroe Was Alive

February 23. 2014

Claire and I went to Starbucks for our Sunday artist date. I brought my notebook and Flair pen. Claire brought her razor-thin tipped pen to work on her growing sketch of Main Street. 













We like to sit on stools facing the street. It helps us feel like we're somewhere else, a city maybe, where things are happening. 

I often want to be somewhere other than where I am. 

I'm working on this. 

Practice presence and all that. 

And still I long for














But going to Main Street with my kid, the two of us on stools listening to conversations, eating our multi-grain bagels with cream cheese, drinking tea, coffee, hanging out. 

I don't want to be anywhere else.

Behind us three men were chatting.

One man said, 

If Marilyn Monroe was alive she'd be considered overweight.

Second man said,

Not at my house!












First man said,

Not at my house either. 

The third man was just listening. 

Then second man said,

I was talking to a young woman who didn't know who Elizabeth Taylor was. I couldn't believe it! I once held Elizabeth Taylor in my arms. She was getting out of a pool and was afraid to slip. It was a photo shoot. She was probably in her fifties, still gorgeous.

Hearing them made me happy. I wanted to hug them. 

 ***     

Ann and I were on the phone. She was looking at some paintings that she'd dug out of a closet and hung on the walls of her bedroom. She had painted them years ago and was happy to see them out in the open, a second life for her art.

Ann said,

I have a painting that looks like a mouse on a luge.

I thought her observation was timely with the Olympics and all. We kept chatting about all kinds of things until we both sighed. That's how we close up shop until the next talk. It's easy stuff.

Ann said,

Maybe that's just me.
Maybe I'm just always going to be a jumble of things.














Hearing that made me happy. I wanted to hug her.

***

Dad called. I was saying how I'd been trying to get out to see him but the ice and snow was too much. The weather's been so crazy and all that. 

I couldn't muster it, Dad.

Dad said,

No worries. Nothing can separate us. 

Hearing that made me happy and I wanted to hug him. When I got off the phone I kept saying it to myself. And the dog and cat(s) and maybe I told Claire about it. It made me feel happy.

 nothing can separate us nothing can separate us

It's true. 

nothing can separate us. 

namaste.

xo b

Right About Now

February 16. 2014

Right about now I start thinking about flowers and dirt under my nails and wearing a hat to keep the sun off my face. Right about now I start thinking about open windows, white curtains fluttering in the soft summer breeze, stretching out on my big bed, freshly showered after working in the yard all afternoon. Bare feet grass-stained no matter how hard I scrub. 

Right about now I start thinking about sitting on the back steps with an ice cold beer on a hot afternoon, butterflies dipping into the the butterfly bush fed all these years by my mother's and Homey's ashes. Mom and my old orange cat folded into the soil with prayers and wishes written on squares of construction paper: pink, red, green, blue wishes. Somewhere I have a photo of Homey sleeping on Mom's stomach while she reads on the red corduroy couch. 

There's that question: 

if you could have dinner with anyone? 

mom.

Right about now I am not thinking about Pee Wee Herman. 

From a mental health perspective, I call this a victory. Really.

We've been doing some shoveling, a lot. no kidding. I dug Jesse out of a snowbank, not Jesse herself, but her little red car, which left me feeling quite good about myself ~

Wow I'm pretty good at digging people out of things.

My body feels strong + a little like I've been involved in a round of weekend cage fighting so it's lovely to write from the big bed, home of warm blankets, books, notebook, tea and sweet old Owen.

ain't life grand? 

Right about now I am sending you blessings on this winter morning + a simple prayer which I end all my yoga classes with:

May you be happy
May you be healthy
May you be peaceful
May you live with ease

pass it on.

namaste.
xo b

We Missed Our Window

February 9. 2014

Gosh, it's been way too long. 

I think the last time I wrote, Joan as in Crawford was dogging my ass, as only Joan can do. In the midst of the Polar Vortex and plunging energy levels, Claire and I were lucky enough to fly to sunny San Diego in celebration of Johnnie's  88th birthday ~

my mommy-in-law

While I was away I kept thinking write write

but all I wanted to do was 

breathe breathe 

and put my bare feet in the sand and surf 

which in retrospect seems like the most perfect thing to do ever. 

I've been dreaming a lot lately. 

Clearly a cry for dream analysis ~

I'm on a date with former Secretary of Defense, Robert Gates. He was wearing a red hoodie and had taken me out to dinner (along with one of my high school students. Let's call her Kiley.) I didn't want to be late for the movie we were planning to see which caused some impatience on my part, so not like me. 

We were going to see Frozen.

I like sitting in a dark theater, whispering and watching the trailers. Seating is extremely important too; another reason to get there early. My preference: back row, aisle.

Bob was a dawdler. 

I told him in a very nice way it was too late. 

I said, Bob, We missed our window. end of date

There's a list of things I want to spill about:

-  Dad seeing men in uniforms coming off the mountain

-  Another hospital experience for Jesse + how we could not stop laughing
- the one night I turned on the tv in California and what should appear, no shit 

 Whatever Happened to Baby Jane

+ the burning question 

why do I watch football?

My February mantra is:

Don't worry about anything
Pray about everything

~ a challenge for this seasoned worrier. But I'm up for it.

I am pledging to show up here once a week, every Sunday, maybe sorta possibly as a way to get grounded and stay connected to you lovelies out there dreaming your own dreams.

Note: Bob's already taken...

Happy Year of the Horse! 



















namaste
xo b

My Inner Joan Crawford

January 19. 2014

Suffering comes from our unwillingness to be present.

Living your yoga: Today notice five recurring thoughts that take you away from your life as it is. Write them down. When you have a chance, burn the paper lovingly, and let those thoughts drift away with the smoke. 

- Judith Hanson Lasater

This new year, I'm making a conscious effort to stay in my bed,in the present moment, right there under the covers when I first wake up. Do you have to work on this too? 

Or maybe you're thinking,

Why does she do that to herself? Yes, why? 

bad habit.

In the midst of winter and life's challenges and joys, I'm trying not to wander off as soon as my hazel eyes open to God knows what imaginary place my ego wants to drag me to. 

Jesus, you again?

me as future bag lady on the street?
me as sex-crazed teen oh those were the days

I'm happy to report that I've been 
more positive than usual 
in the dead of winter, 
currently unemployed, 
while fixing burst pipes during a Polar Vortex.

problems = challenges a matter of semantics, but it works.

This morning, I sensed my inner Joan Crawford wielding her wire hanger. Well, maybe not quite that bad, but she was poised to get on a tear, on the periphery, red-lipsticked mouth. 

Joan is such a drama queen.

Rather than fall prey to Joan,
I pulled out my yoga mat, 
made a lovely cup of tea, 
read today's A Year of Living Your Yoga meditation

+ decided to try Judith's advice.

I wrote down my five recurring thoughts and burned those babies in my fireplace. Lovingly of course. 

ah. ashes to ashes

Torch your worries? 

Absolutely. 
Don't have a fireplace, or big-ass bonfire? 
There's always the toilet or kitchen sink.
Light those nagging thoughts 
and rinse.
or flush.

Lovingly, of course.

xo
the burn queen. 

Your Peculiar

January 14. 2013

Perhaps this very instant is your time...

your own,
your peculiar,
your promised and presaged moment, 
out of all moments forever.

- Louise Bogan


A gem from Mom's meditation book on this gray day in PA.

Breathe into and give thanks for your peculiar.

namaste

xo b

We Just Crowned

January 12. 2014

Dear Readers,

I'm blaming the recent Polar Vortex for throwing me completely off my New Year intention of picking one day a week to post and connect with the This Being Alive community. 

Anyway, I've been thinking,

Betsy, you need structure
Make a plan, stick to it
You showed up every single day for a year
Get a grip on the OCD, ADD, BED symptoms
Stop blaming the weather
FOCUS.

I didn't even write on New Year's Day, to share our tradition of scribbling hopes and dreams on leaves or bark and sending them sailing in the cold, icy water of the Delaware River/

we changed it up this year



thank you Michael,

and went into NYC to walk the very chilly streets of Greenwich Village, where rather than floating our dreams down river, each of us slipped our card somewhere in Washington Square Park, my old neighborhood. I put mine in a crack in the fountain wall more wishes on the back with the hope that it would become a gift to a passerby who needed a wishing card? Michael left his dreams in the branches of the big tree at the park entrance. Claire found a secret spot.

On the way out of the city we did a drive-by of the tree at Rockefeller Center, finding ourselves in the middle of madness, crowded streets + traffic jams. We caught a glimpse of the tree,

see it?

and then turned to head across town. Traffic stopped. The magic feeling of our walk in the Village, the leaving of the wish cards, our simple meal at Portobello's on Thompson Street leaked out of me as the ambulance + police car pushed their way through our already jammed street. How the hell did we end up in the heart of Times Square, wrong turn indeed, where millions of frozen, out of their minds people had stood in the bitter cold the night before waiting for the ball to drop.

"I made a wrong turn going this way," Michael said.
"It feels like we're squeezing through a birth canal."

Then the light turned green, Michael navigated through the crowds, we pushed west, everyone breathed easier, especially me, 

Miss Feeling Squeezed in the Birth Canal.






















Claire said, 

Well, I think we just crowned. 

out of the mouths of fourteen year olds

here's to a new year

birthing ourselves

again and again

note: there are no wrong turns.

The Good Blue Air

January 4. 2014

It was the simplest thing.

I was outside about to clear the snow around the mailbox when three women walked up the road, neighbors out for a walk on this cold blue sunny day. They stopped and waved at me to come with them. Normally, I would've waved back and carried on with my shoveling. Instead, I stuck the shovel in the snow and met them where the road turns into my house. I slid right in and we kept walking on the sunny snowy road. Once around the neighborhood. 

One mile.

Now I'm back in my warm home

yoga mat
books
dog

I feel 

lifted in spirit
refreshed by the good blue air
+
a walk with three women passing by.









It was the simplest thing.