March 11th, a Wednesday

Some things just can't be remembered.  No matter how hard you try.  Other things can't be forgotten.  Despite your best efforts.  In the can't be forgotten category may be the chorus of a hit song.  It plays over and over in your head until it drives you crazy.  You want to hear it again on the radio thinking maybe that will help you get rid of it, but that only plants it deeper into your worn out mind.  It's funny because in the beginning, people love the song and declare it a big hit.  Then when it is a big hit, it's cool to say you don't like it anymore.  Is that because people resent success or don't like it when the media refuses to leave you alone about it?  Or maybe they just get sick of that song.  Plain and simple. 

I know something that is in both categories.  Something that will probably never be forgotten, at least in our popular culture, and something related that will never be remembered.  MASH.  Yup, the old television show.  Hawkeye, Radar, Klinger, Hot Lips, Frank Burns and the gang.  In our house, it is a beloved favorite.  After a long, hard day, we think of the theme song opening of MASH, with the choppers bringing in the wounded to the 4077th, as a lullaby.   It is funny to notice how over the many years that the show was on television, the style of the theme song changed.  It started kind of melodic and haunting, then changed to jazzy, then went to sitcom upbeat, and then back to moody.  But what a melody it is.  And the tagline so easily remembered, Suicide is Painless.  It kind of reflects how funny and irreverent yet very serious the show was.  But I gotta tell ya, that phrase is the only lyric in that whole damned song that can ever be remembered.  That's probably why it was always an instrumental.  The lyrics suck big time.

Now I'm pretty good at learning songs.  Over Christmas, I know every Christmas song and sing one at least every morning and sometimes one in the morning and one at night without ever repeating myself.  And there isn't a Barbra song I don't know.  Really.  And show tunes.  Everything from Oklahoma to Rent.  Know 'em all.  So I thought it would be pretty cool to learn the theme song to MASH so I could sing along from time to time when we watch it at the end of a long day.   I found the words on the internet and got busy learning them.  I was going to surprise the Dutchman.  But it wasn't coming easy and I had to prepare a cheat sheet to hide in the nightstand drawer.  Then when the Dutchman stepped into the bathroom to brush his teeth before we would start MASH, I would take a quick peak because no matter how many hours I put in that day, when go time came, I couldn't remember a single word. 

So I came clean and admitted that I was having trouble remembering the lyrics.  I showed them to him and we went, "huh?".  They didn't even make sense.  No wonder I couldn't remember them, he said.  That made me feel a whole lot better.  But I was determined.  The Dutchman and I tried to learn them together with no luck, all the while wondering how such a beautiful melody and a wonderful show could have ended up with such awful lyrics. 

Well, last night, I made it all the way through for the first time.  I announced my intention to finally accomplish this goal, took a final look at my cheat sheet while the Dutchman was brushing his teeth, (no doubt in great anticipation of my performance), and stood up and let it rip.  I got every word right, all the way through, and jumped up and down for joy.  The Dutchman was really proud of me, too.  Honestly, I doubt I could repeat that feat right now.  After my big moment, those words left my head completely. 

Presenting the lyrics to the theme song of MASH, for your forgettable pleasure.

Through early morning fog I see
Visions of the things to be
The pains that are revealed for me
I realize and I can see

That suicide is painless
It brings on many changes
And I can take or leave it if I please

See what I mean??????  (I have recently learned that there are actually five verses but after having reviewed them, I didn't have the heart to print them here.  Someday you will thank me.)

By the way, this story is not to be confused with the way you can't remember some things because they are so terrible that your mind won't let you.  Until you are ready, they say.  Well, what if you never are?  Maybe it's best that those things don't become the kind you can't forget.

GR

Sssssshhhhhh!


February 28th, 2009, a Saturday

I assure you that I am alive and well although some may think that I have taken after Rip Van Winkle and escaped to the hills to sleep for years and years.  The only part of that story I like is that he was of Dutch descent.  The part about how he slept to escape his wife's nagging is baloney if you ask me.  She probably didn't like him because he was so lazy, at least that is how the story goes.  They would have been better off to just split up and she could have found someone more lively and he could have hooked up with a woman who accepted him for the bum he apparently was.  But in those days, husbands and wives probably stayed together, no matter what.  But look where that got 'em.  She was a shrew and he slept his life away.  Doesn't sound like the good ole days to me.

This week I told a big secret.  I felt kinda guilty about it because I had been keeping that secret for a long, long time.  Somewhere along the line, I just came to believe that it was my job to keep that secret, to never tell.  No one ever told me that I couldn't tell.   Or even that I shouldn't tell.  It was just understood.  Some things you just don't tell.  I tried it once a long time ago, telling this particular secret, and all hell broke loose.  So I just went back to being quiet about it.  It was easier. 

The thing about a secret is that usually, someone really wants you to keep it or you wouldn't even know it is a secret.  Maybe they tell you right off that "this is a secret and if I tell you, you can't tell anyone".  It makes you feel like you are somehow special because you get to keep this secret, you are really cool because someone trusted you with their secret.  It's just between the two of you.  Sometimes though, you find out later, the same person is keeping that same secret with other people, and because you all took your job as secret keepers so seriously, no one ever finds out there are others involved with the same secret.  Until you do find out, and then you feel stupid.  Because it wasn't secret at all.  You just thought it was.  And sometimes if the secret is really important, and you kept it for years and years, you realize that the secret was that the person you kept it for was really in charge of everything and everyone.  And you just went along.

In fact, there is an entire marketing campaign based on secret keeping, a really popular one.  "What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas".  It's a promise that if you go there and lose your shirt gambling, or cheat on your wife, or whatever else you can do in Vegas that needs to be kept secret, then no one there is ever going to tell.   A wink and a nod.  Go ahead.  It's our little secret. 

Sometimes people use secrets against you.  If a friend saw you cheating on a test, then he can get you to do things for him that you don't want to do, or else he will tell about your cheating, tell your secret. 

Or how about surprise parties?  You have to keep those a secret in advance or the guest of honor isn't surprised.  But honestly, I don't know a lot of people who like being surprised that much.  They would rather know about it, decide exactly what they want to wear and how they want to fix their hair, and enjoy the anticipation of their own party. 

Or there is the secret santa office thing where you get a gag gift that can be really embarassing and no one has to own up to it.  Or what about the secret passageway in a big old house where you can hide, if you know about it.  As for the secret handshake, unless everyone in the club has a different one, it can't be all that secret.  But I guess that depends on how many people can know a secret before it's not even a secret anymore. 

The point is, I told the secret.  At first it felt just awful, like I was being bad.  I immediately regretted it and wanted to go back to the old way of holding that secret inside.  But once I got past the part where I had to say the words, it started getting easier.  People told me I did the right thing by telling and later, I felt like dancing and jumping around.  People even thanked me for telling.  That was a surprise.  Like they thought it was a good, brave thing I had done.

Well, I'm not going to tell you my secret because that is not what today's blog is about.  But I gotta tell you, I don't recommend keeping secrets.  Except for maybe the secret ballot thing, which happens to be the cornerstone of democracy, I can't see much good in keeping secrets, or even doing something that needs to be kept secret.  Secrets get stuck inside and stop the air flow.  That causes a lot of trouble that you just don't need.  If someone wants you to keep a secret, it's ok to say no, even if then they won't tell you what it is.  It's best if you don't know.  Secrets suck. 

GR

January 27th, a Tuesday

At first I thought I might have writer's block.  And, you know, that's why I wasn't blogging as much as usual.  But that's not it.  I wouldn't let a little thing like writer's block have its way with me.  It's more of a human nature thing.  I used to write every day, five days a week, and then three days a week.  It was a commitment that I took very seriously and I prepared for it mentally and emotionally and did it, no matter what.  Once I put myself on a little sabbatical, it was easy to get lazy.  I still think about things I want to blog about, but don't always actually get to the blogging part, instead stop at the thinking part.  Change is hard, even when you have already made it over a short period of time.  It is always easy to slip back to the way things were before the change happened and even congratulate yourself that you changed at all, even temporarily.  We all love our comfort zone, even if it's not that good for us.  It's just so....comfortable, you know.  The trick is to make the change the new comfort zone.  Not so easy.  But remember, a very wise man told me over and over a long time ago that life is not a rehearsal.  Then he shot himself.  Really, he did.  But I still believe what he said.  He actually proved it.  Shooting yourself is obviously not a rehearsal.  It's the real thing.

So let's go with the idea that each day is the performance, not the rehearsal.  You have to break it down to get inside of it.  So you wake up and you have this one particular day.  It may look like the same one you had yesterday but that would be pretty much impossible.  Sure, there are most likely many things about the one day that resemble the day before but that's where it stops.  Everything is constantly changing and time is constantly passing and your life is moving along, at a clip that will alarm you one day once most of it has passed.  Maybe you will take comfort in the fact that each day was predictably pleasant just as you liked it, like the Dutchman, full of enjoyed rituals and deep pleasures.  Others will complain that they just don't know where the time went.  How time flies, they will say.  Sort of like how you can barely remember rehearsals once the show actually opens.  But you are judged on the work you put in during the rehearsal period and it all shows and you wonder if you could have made more of that time while it was happening.  But too bad, the rehearsal period is over and you can't get it back.  Oh, well.

Certain things happen to people that could make it impossible to retain the comfortable pleasures they once enjoyed.  There could come a time when you long for the way things were yesterday, even though you really weren't all that impressed with yesterday when it was today.  Maybe you get sick, or lose your job, or lose your significant other, or lose your mind.  You might be disappointed with yourself that you really didn't appreciate what you had when you had it.  You can actually avoid ever having that feeling by really spending time looking hard at the things that make up your normal day and becoming more aware and even more grateful.  Then you could get damned close to living in the present, in the moment, and that right there can be the change that transforms you.  Sometimes the simplest acts are the most profound.  Once you start to get it, everything changes.  Don't ya love that change word?  I wonder why people don't use it more.  It is one of the most powerful weapons we have to improve our lives.  Imagine everything we don't know and what a little tiny piece of it we could learn today that we simply didn't know before that. 

Sometimes we blame things on the people in our lives.  If only he treated me like this, if only she didn't try to get me to do that, if only I could have more time to myself, if only we could do more things together.  But I don't believe in that.  A lot of the time you just need to change the way you look at things, not the people you look at it with.  Trust me, tomorrow could look a lot worse.  Don't waste your time bitching about the silly things. 

Yup, life is not a rehearsal.  This is it, folks.  Sure, I stress about whether anyone reads my blog or even cares about it.  But when I am gone, when my time is over, at least there will be a record of me and who I was and what I cared about and thought about.  And if someone cares about it while I am still here blogging, that's a bonus, wouldn't you say?  I'm pretty sure this is the real thing.  And the clock is ticking. 

GR

December 29th, 2008, a Monday

Here it is after Christmas and before New Year's.  I' m glad Christmas is over, and sad Christmas is over, and filled with even more big plans for completely reinventing myself before the new year begins.  Doesn't it make you want to clean out your closet, and your drawers, and old e-mails, and voice mails and start fresh?  Even though you know it can't last and before long you will be buried right back under all the same ole stuff?  But there is that whiff of fresh air, fresh thinking that really wakes you up.  Starting over in a brand new year.  The possibilities are endless. 

Santa was good to me.  I got a Moon Goddess necklace, a hot pink wig from the Littlest Dutch Boy, and ten bucks in my stocking.  The cold, rainy weather was really Christmasy and all the lights are pretty and festive.  But it was also our first Christmas without Rusty and Jill, which made us very sad and left us feeling like we had a big hole in our hearts.  Jilly wasn't there to destroy the wrapping paper and the big cardboard rolls the paper comes on, shaking her head back and forth with her little growl going all the time.  How we miss those two.  I guess I just didn't realize when they were both alive, how much two family dogs and a little teddy bear have in common.  Something people just can't really understand.  They say we are not getting another dog.  And I think they believe it.  We'll see.  

We had some people over on Saturday night.  They were theatre people, friends from long ago.  It was funny to watch them get together, not like the usual crowd you would expect.  They love the camera, just light up when it comes their way.  One of the guests, a nice woman who smiled a lot, brought a camera and a printer and set it right up in the den.  She would take a few shots, go in and print them, and show them around.  She always made enough copies for everyone in the photo.  When they left at the end of the evening, they had their photos to take with them, like a present.  It made everyone really happy, and her especially it seemed.  The video camera came out when they gathered around the piano to sing.  They started with Christmas carols but it wasn't long before they were performing Broadway show tunes.  One right after another.  The Impossible Dream, Oh What a Beautiful Morning, Mame, If Ever I Would Leave You, and my personal favorite, Try To Remember.  (One of them recalled how their friend got cast in that show, the Fantastics, in New York and when they went to see her, they got to have dinner after the show with the two fellows who wrote that wonderful song.) They knew almost all the words and even when they didn't, they just kept singing and smiling and swaying, even dancing occasionally.  One of them didn't join in the singing, but sat in the big chair by the fireplace quietly enjoying the show.  Every now and then he would say, "I love seeing this, this is great".  He had such a look of contentment and joy on his face.  When the party finally broke up and everyone went out into the cold, there were hugs and kisses and promises of future gatherings.  I guess it's true what they say that there's no people like show people.  I hope they all come back.  They might be the kind of people who could accept me.  Maybe next time I could sing along with them.  I know all the words, too.

The Little Dutch Boy went North for snowboarding and there was four feet of snow at our little cedar house.  He came flying down from the tip top of the mountain in eleven below weather and never stopped when he got to the bottom, jumping the stairs that lead into the park and snowboarding right to his truck in the back of the parking lot.  People were running after him yelling "hey, you can't do that" but he said he had always wanted to.  Conditions were just perfect this time.  Snowboarders are such rebels, you know.  So he was happy.

The Littlest Dutch Boy shot the last Cardinals game of the season yesterday.  One of the big catches happened right in front of him in the corner of the end zone.  He changed cameras while the long pass was in the air and got the shot.  So he was happy.

The Dutchman finally got to have a quiet night in his favorite chair.  So he was happy.

I just can't wait to see what happens next year.  Can you?



 

Suzuki and Ace


December 13, 2008, a Saturday

That's right, I'm blogging to you on Saturday.  Well, you know how crazy the Christmas season can be.  Because I am a bear, I don't have to go shopping, or plan meals, or even eat meals for that matter, and I do have flexibility in my blogging job, and I don't have to worry about the recession or anything.  So I know it sounds like maybe my season should be stress free.  But that would be wrong.  As a bear in my position, I have plenty of stress.  Why do you think I am always writing about meditating and trying to be quiet and all that crap?  We all have our crosses to bear (do you even realize how many puns there are in that little phrase?). 

I am the matriarch of a clan of misfit bears.  The Dutch boys always tease me about how all the bears that somehow end up in my group are either abused or have some wildly fantastic story to tell.  But it's actually true.  They all need a good home for some reason.  How do they find me, you ask?  It cannot be explained.  They just do, they just know they belong here and they find a way.  You see, they are (we are) all survivors and have overcome many hardships. 

Why, just the other day, a bear was delivered to me.  At first glance, he was new and very soft and cuddly, bigger than me and Nicky and Butterfly Bear.  It's my job to figure out who he is, where he came from, and what we can all do to make him feel at home.  His name is Horace, but we call him Ace because he was in desperate need of a nickname of some sort.  He is very, very mild mannered, and not the sharpest tool in the shed as they say.  But kind and accommodating.  He hung out with us for a while, until we figured out who he would enjoy spending time with. 

Meanwhile, Suzuki, our giant frog puppet, was suffering from extreme anxiety.  We usually put a big sled and reindeer up on the balcony each year and Suzuki gets to play Santa.  He puts on the Santa hat and a colorful muffler and flies through the night in the sled heading up into the sky.  I even got to sit with him in the sled sometimes which was thrilling.  But this year, it was decided by the mucky mucks that there would be no sled and reindeer because it junked up a newer, more classy, more elegant version of lights on our lakehouse.  Just like that, our sled ride was gone.  So it was left to me to comfort Suzuki and help try to find him an equally important Christmas job, which as you can imagine, was not easy.  I put him in his Santa hat and promised him that on Christmas Eve, the really important night, we would put the sled out and he would be in it.  Then Ace, who was struggling with trying to watch sports which didn't really seem to be his thing, spotted Suzuki and wanted to sit with him.  At first I thought it was just to keep him company because he seemed so sad, but as soon as I saw them together, I knew they were meant to be.  They both just lit up and settled in and seem so happy.  So you see, even in great disappointment, there can be a brighter purpose.  They are still enjoying each other's company, pass on Suns and Cardinals games, and just exude joy and Christmas spirit.  It makes you think about all that political stuff going on in California that says gay people can't be legally married.  That seems silly, doesn't it?  Love is love. 

Maybe all this stuff about retail sales being down and people not having enough money to spend what they usually do at Christmas will turn out to be a good thing.  Maybe we will get back to realizing that Christmas can be a lot more than presents.  Maybe one small gesture that usually gets lost amidst all the wrapping paper will be noticed and treasured.  Maybe we can think about that great Bing Crosby song about "its' not the things you do at Christmas time, but the Christmas things you do all year through".  

GR

November 10th, 2008, a Monday

Isn't it interesting to see how the world is responding to America's choice for its new President?  There is so much hope and joy going around that the planet is hardly recognizable.  One thing we have learned so far is that hope can just be for its own sake, not necessarily for any one thing in particular.  It just feels good to have hope.  I felt tense and worried throughout the fascinating election process, including the part that featured Hillary and Barack, but now I feel calm.  It is always surprising to me that the American public, now famously known as various Joes, including Sixpack and Plumber, believe they know and understand policy and the intricacies of government budgets and taxation.  And now the internet comment posts have given a voice to each Joe.  My advice is to avoid reading these posts at all costs so as not to scare yourself to death.  It is kind of like an accident on the side of the road.  You don't want to look but sometimes you just can't help it.  No, I am just choosing to trust the guy we voted for in great numbers, believing that he will find out what he doesn't know, surround himself with really smart people, and remember to care about everyone.  I trust him.  And I am smart enough to know that he and his posse know a hell of a lot more about running this country than I do.  So get on the love train, people.  We hired this guy, we believed in him, now let's see what he can do. 

Tomorrow is Veteran's Day.  Banks are closed and Federal offices, but lots of companies stay open.  I guess it is because they don't consider it one of the big holidays.  I feel sorry for today's vets, but not for the reason you might think.  Injuries from the Iraq/Afghanistan wars are as bad as we have ever seen from any war and it is going to take more than a village to help these Americans find a way to live with their disabilities, physical and emotional.  But mostly I feel sorry for those who volunteered to serve after 9/11 and have now become disillusioned.  Imagine their confusion and disappointment over the difference between what they thought they were joining and what it has actually turned out to be.  I felt sad as the Iraq war moved further and further down the list of issues Americans were most concerned about during the election until it practically disappeared.  There isn't a lot any of us can do to influence policy on the war (maybe Barack can help with this) but one thing we can all do is remember that veterans deserve our attention and support.  Even if you just think about that tomorrow, it could make a difference.  And it would be great if you could think about it on Wednesday, too. 

I'm thinking about trying to become more quiet although those that know me well may be laughing at the idea of a Gina Rose who doesn't have a lot to say.  I think instead of saying so much, I should be reading more.  Thinking more.  Contemplating.  Learning.  Dreaming.  Dancing.  Do you think that's enough?  For a bear or anyone else?

GR

I'm hopeful.  And not just because tomorrow is election day.  It's because hope is most needed when things are toughest.  We shouldn't mistake hope for hoping.  Hoping is something you do for good weather, a call back from the guy you went out with last Thursday, a good grade on an essay, or finding just the right dress on sale.  Hope is reserved for a nation in a lot of trouble, someone trying to recover from a bad illness, or the existence of a better place for those no longer with us. 

We lost Jilly the Coyote Dog earlier this month.  She was fourteen years old and just as much a member of our family as any one of us.  To me, she was a role model.  Who knew when we brought her home that she was more coyote than dog.  It didn't take long to figure it out what with her big ears, pack mentality, super hearing, scavenger behavior, independence, and ability to sniff out Dutch boy friends who had been smoking certain substances.  She knew exactly who she was and never waivered, even when it wasn't that popular.  She taught the younger, kinder, more spiritual Rusty how to steal food and catch things in his mouth on the fly.  She never apologized for being who she was.  When she had surgery to repair her leg, she went right back to her little bed in the back corner of the Dragonfly Room to recover and stayed there.  She instinctively knew how to heal and didn't need anyone to help her.  When Rusty got sick and passed, Jill waited by the gate for him to return.  She lost her hearing and had trouble getting up and down.  We knew things were happening quickly and decisions would have to be made.  We also knew that she would tell us, in her own way, when it was time.  One night just after midnight, we heard this gutteral howling from Jilly's room.  It continued off and on throughout the night.  She didn't seem to be in any immediate distress, it was just her way of communicating that the end was near.  She refused to take her medicine, eating the cheese but defiantly spitting out the little pill hidden inside.  She was done with medicine and was going to do things her way.  The Dutchman and the Littlest Dutch Boy took Jilly to the vet on the day of her choosing to join Rusty.  She was absolutely certain of her decision and that made things a little easier for us.  The house is so quiet now and we feel lonely and sad most of the time.  We took our first evening boat ride without either of our dogs last night and it seemed that everyone we passed had a dog on their boat.  We wanted to shout out that we had dogs, too, but of course, we don't anymore.

We sometimes find our teachers in unexpected places.  Jill understood herself completely and expected all of us to accept her as she was for exactly who she was.  She was tough and loaded with self-esteem.  She wanted love but was perfectly willing to do without it if and when necessary.  She loved to lay under the Christmas tree and didn't mind one bit if she knocked off the lower ornaments.  She adored going to the door every time the bell rang on Halloween and visiting with the little princesses, fairies and goblins.  On that one night of the year, she pretended to be a regular dog and let them pet her all they wanted.  When she was little, she never tired of racing after the colorful nerf ball over and over in the house until the Littlest Dutch Boy would get tired of throwing it and have to hide it to get her to stop bugging him.  Well, she found it every time so he had to start putting it up on the blade of the ceiling fan where she couldn't get at it.  That really made her mad and she never forgot it was up there.  She was passionate about things she loved and relentless in her pursuit of them.  Mostly, she knew how to take care of herself in all situations.  I am trying to be more like Jill.  I am hopeful I can.

I am not thinking about election day in terms of policies and taxes and all the rantings and ravings of the way too long campaign.  I am thinking of it as a symbol of the right to choose hope, a way of validating hope as a real thing.  It is hopeful to see so many people engaged in the process and caring so much about the outcome.  Hope is risky, and hearts are broken every day, but it is still a great thing to hope for.  

GR







   

October 17th, 2008, a Friday


I am still on blogger vacation but sometimes things just have to be said and are more important than vacation or relaxing or anything.  I have a few things on my mind this morning so may as well just get it over with.

Have you ever been to an NFL game?  Forget football, and I'm a fan.  I'm not talking about what goes on down on the field.  No, I'm talking about the show in the stands, all around you.  In Arizona, there is always the problem of at least half the fans being for the opposing team.  If you have ever been to a Diamondbacks game when the Cubbies are in town, you know what I mean.  Well, the same goes for the Dallas Cowboys.  America's team, they call them.  We sat in a section where only 1 in every 20 people or so wore Cardinal red and the rest were Dallas blue.  Of course you know they were all drunk.   Maybe not all, but most.  And this includes the women.  I expected the men to be drunk and obnoxious, and they didn't disappoint.  But the women.  It was unclear as to whether they knew a darned thing about the game, or even watched it.  They were too busy socializing and showing off their "enhanced" bodies.  You know, fake boobs.  They were everywhere and I'm not kidding.  Low cut tops, halters, tight team shirts, lots of skin.  Always a beer in hand.  Their men seemed to love this.  They were so proud of their loud, loose women, very excited by their behavior.  If you know what I mean.  At one point we had to politely ask one of the drunkest Cowboy women if she would mind remaining seated during the plays as she was very busy being the only one standing causing the rest of us to either strain to look around her or have to stand up ourselves.  She was too drunk to comprehend the request or bother to comply and just taunted us about it, insisting we give each other high fives as a sign of some kind of misplaced show of reconciliation.  When she left her seat for a while, we asked her excited boyfriend if he wouldn't mind assisting us in our request to keep her seated during the plays.  He said "this is the Dallas game...people are going to do that....you can't stop it".  We pointed out that she seemed to be the only one.  It was clear that the last thing he wanted to do was tell her anything she didn't want to hear so as not to spoil the fun he was obviously hoping for later.  That seemed a lot more important to him than the game.  And he was a Cardinals fan.  But I am willing to bet he was more than willing to see his team lose if it made her happy, for at least the rest of the evening.  I don't think I want to go to any more games.  It wasn't that much fun, you know.  Well, the game was an overtime thriller and that was a lot of fun.  But the rest of it was pretty depressing.  Anyway, too bad for the gentleman with the drunk Cowboy woman.  Hate it when America's team loses.  Ruins the evening for lots of folks.  If you know what I mean.

I had a dream last night about fish.  The lake we live on has had a bad run of golden algae that pretty much killed all the fish population which was heartbreaking.  The Littlest Dutch Boy loves to fish so he has missed it terribly.  In my dream, there was a huge indoor lake.  You could see it from an observation window looking down on the entire body of water.  It was dark with an eerie kind of lighting which made the water glow, almost translucent, allowing you to see just below the surface.  There were hundreds and thousands of fish swimming in the lake but no one was allowed to fish or even go near the water.  It was exclusively reserved for fish families.  And all we got to do was watch.  That's it, the entire dream.  But it was very beautiful and peaceful and there was something so right about it.

I've missed blogging.  It's good to get these things off your chest.  By the way, I got the job!  I haven't started yet but I negotiated a buck a day for my pay.  It's kind of a PR thing which I am pretty good at.  So there will be lots of stories for blogs, especially in my favorite holiday season coming up. 

I hope you have missed me, too.  If your day starts to go downhill, just think of the fish swimming around peacefully in that indoor incandescent lake.  You can join them anytime you like.  Just close your eyes.

GR

Gina Rose wearing scarf from the Kathy Leek Collection

October 1st, 2008, a Wednesday

Can you believe it?  I have written 97 blog entries so far!  I appreciate every single person who has read my daily ramblings, who has responded to me with messages, and who has cared what a little bear thinks.

Half the battle is finding your place in the world.  I felt restless, unhappy and confused about my own purpose until I started writing "just a bear with a blog".  It has given me a voice, a way to share, and a way to let people know that teddy bears speak to the better part of ourselves through kindness, caring and love.

During the month of October, I will be taking a little break from blogging to contemplate new and interesting ways to present "jabwab" to my readers.  I will still be working, but mostly behind the scenes.  When I surface again, I will be excited to reconnect.

I love autumn and this year it is particularly exciting.  We have the Presidential race which has been one for the ages with, I'm sure, still many surprises left.  And a change in the weather, greatly appreciated and enjoyed by those of us who live in the desert.  The new television season begins, all the best movies are released, there's football, and of course the World Series (of course without the Diamondbacks).  And soon the Suns will open their new season which means we get to see little Stevie Nash again.  (I'm totally sweet on him, in case you didn't remember that.)  And the holidays will be upon us soon.  I just hope the stores and the hype don't ruin it for us.  Now that money is tight, we best return to the true meaning of Thanksgiving and Christmas which would be a wonderful relief. 

Just between you and me, I am applying for a part-time job over the next few months.  Hope I get it!  If I do, I will have lots of stories to tell because I will be out in the world more.  

I am willing to bet that from time to time, while I am on my sabbatical, I will just have to write a blog or two randomly, as the spirit moves me.  Hope you will get your e-mail prompt telling you when that happens.

I'll be back.  Don't forget about me. 

GR

 

Sheep


September 29th, 2008, a Monday

I didn't sleep a wink last night.  At least it feels like I didn't.  When people say that, it is highly unlikely that they actually didn't sleep a single wink but I guess it is just an expression.  Anyway, when I woke up, I felt more tired than when I went to bed.  I'm no scientist, but I have theories, you know.  And here's one of them.

We are bombarded every day by thousands of thoughts that enter our brain.  Some of them stick around and are developed.  Those may be practical such as I really need to get those bills written and in the mail.  Then you actually write those bills and it reminds you that you can't afford to pay for what you spent last month and anxiety sets in and you begin to wonder how you are going to catch up.  You feel distressed.  Other thoughts may be triggered by a smell, a fleeting comment, a vague memory, or something you read.  These thoughts are not necessarily conscious but have the power to change your state of mind.  It feels confusing but you try to ignore it and go on with your day.  But it nags at you, not in a way you can deal with.  You just know it's there.  But guess what?  It comes out to play while you are sleeping, defenseless.  It is the stuff dreams are made of.  Bad dreams sometimes.

I believe that we can become more sensitive to the triggers and get to know the sensations that come with them.  If you want to and you are brave enough.  Some people would rather just skip it.  But if you do, that doesn't mean it goes away and pretty soon you have this collection of undealt with thoughts that take up residence inside you and gain momentum.  Trust me, this is not a good thing.  And it takes a lot of work to finally whack 'em and clean everything out.  So if you're just not sleeping well, you should have a look inside and see what's in there. 

On the other hand, if you are having wonderful thoughts, maybe because you are in love, or are surrounded by love, or feel really extra special good about yourself, then it fills you with a kind of protective coating that makes sleeping restful and peaceful. 

My trigger yesterday was a simple comment made to me that was not unkind in any way.  But it reminded me of the challenges I have had to deal with in my little life because my mother Babia, the Solar Queen, didn't take very good care of me.  She didn't cherish me and love me like a good mom should.  I have worked really hard to overcome my feelings of sadness over this.  The Dutchman helped me learn that the problem is with Babia, not with me.  I was lovable as a little bear, she was just unable to see it because of her own problems.  Maybe her mom didn't take good care of her either.  I think I have done a good job getting over it and learning to be happy but then there is that one little thing that can remind you of all the bad feelings.  So you have to go through the process, in a mechanical way, of reminding yourself of everything you have learned, of all the good in your life, and the great accomplishment of finding happiness and joy.  Even after all that, it may ruin your sleep. 

I hate to think of how badly Babia must have slept all these years.  And the bad dreams.  And the thousands of triggers that take her to bad places.  Maybe she doesn't even realize.  But the great thing about the human (and bear) spirit is that it is never too late.  Babia could still find me and say how sorry she is and hug me and make it all better.  Do you think she will?

GR