Thanksgiving Day Thoughts

I don’t know what everyone else will be doing on this day that really doesn’t seem to celebrate anything but a toxic and heartless dominance over indigenous peoples, but in my little world, except for family, there isn’t a whole lot to be grateful for. This is a Thanksgiving mainly of fear for the future, an unsettling feeling that we don’t know when the other shoe will drop and this country will erupt in absolute and total chaos.

But that’s just me…

Perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table, while we are laughing and crying, eating of the last sweet bite.” Joy Harjo

While we’re in the midst of preparations to enjoy a feast with friends and family tomorrow, I hope we don’t forget to honor, and with gratitude, recognize the Indigenous Peoples.

For many Native Americans, Thanksgiving is a day of mourning and protest because it commemorates the arrival of settlers and the oppression and genocide that followed.

Will you teach your children what we have taught our children? That the earth is our mother? What befalls the earth befalls all the sons of the earth.” Chief Seattle

“When you know who you are when your mission is clear, and you burn with the inner fire of unbreakable will; no cold can touch your heart; no deluge can dampen your purpose. You know that you are alive.” – Chief Seattle, Suquamish/Duwamish (1786-1866)

Chief Seattle (more correctly known as Seathl) was a Suquamish and Duwamish chief. A leading figure among his people, he pursued a path of accommodation to white settlers, but I bet he regretted it as soon as he realized what it really meant to his people.

Photo of people and tents and quote credit to Chief Seattle and Native Red Cloud Maȟpíya Lúta~Hińhan Wakangli. Photo credit of Chief Seattle from Wiki

Shout Out Good Parenting: More of THIS

Have you done this?

Recently I was standing in very crowded and chaotic place (physically, not emotionally lol) and I observed a bit older than toddler-aged child having a problem coping with it and was having a meltdown. I could totally relate because I get a bit disoriented in crowds and noise, too.

The mom crouched down to talk with her son. She told him she understood that he was having a hard time and it was OK, that she understood his feelings and was trying her best to figure it all out. She didn’t yell at him, she didn’t censure him in any way; she respected the big emotions he was feeling as he was trying to process this scary atmosphere. She didn’t meet his emotions with anger. This was awesome parenting.

After she finished and he calmed down, she stood up and I told her she was a great mom and handled the situation in an amazing way. It was immediate positive reinforcement.

Her face brightened, and she thanked me, gave her son an extra hug, and they were on their way.

We should all take the extra minute to understand the behavior of little ones and to use that time for emotional support, not to be annoyed or lose your temper.  Listen to your children and validate their feelings. 

Have you ever noticed great parenting and complimented them for it? Sometimes it really does take a village.

Adult Regrets | Forever Young

I’m not talking about the dark night of the soul burdensome self-condemnation kind of regret, but I was randomly thinking about how sad it is that when we grow up, people stop asking us who we’re going to be for Halloween.

There was always a great deal of excitement around this conversation, “Who are you going to be for Halloween?” or “What are you going to wear?”— whether we dressed as a witch or a ghost or a princess or a superhero or a pirate. It’s a way to step outside of ourselves for a couple of hours, to escape into an innocent fantasy.

Some might claim I’ve never grown up and that’s simply not true. There’s a difference between being childISHly puerile and one-dimensional as opposed to the open-hearted ability to discover and appreciate simple, joyful, childLIKE pleasures in life. That’s a good thing, in my opinion.

For Halloween, I’m never scary. I usually dress like a princess (of course) but next week I’m going to be a ballerina. I hauled out my sewing machine and made a longish sparkly pink tutu with a tulle overlay, reminiscent of Les Sylphides.

I’ll adorn myself with pink ballerina earrings (an unexpected treasure from Goodwill), my toe shoes and a tiara, so I’m really going to be a princess ballerina.

Je ne regrette rien. No regrets. Forever young.

Who are YOU going to be for Halloween?

Wings of Magic

Meet Princess Aurora!

A couple days ago I was shopping with a girlfriend who was actually looking for Halloween decor for a party but as soon as I saw her tucked away on a shelf alongside sparkly lights and baubles, I knew she had to come home with me.

I had to name her, so she will forever be Princess Aurora. Isn’t she the most magical, adorable girl you’ve ever seen?

I guess this creation was meant to be a holiday decoration, but she’ll live on that chair all year long, or until a special little titian-haired Angel Girl claims her.

Princess Aurora’s magical wings light up, too. Beyond precious. Innocence personified.

Numerology: Life Path and Master Numbers

It’s the time of year for parent-teacher conferences in most school districts. I was thinking about the time my parents went to a meeting and they were told that I wasn’t living up to — or performing to — “my highest potential” which has been the story of my life’s path.

I was VERYVERY smart but I wasn’t doing as well as my teachers expected, especially in math and science. According to all of them, I was capable of great things and should pursue a career as a doctor and my dad also thought I’d be a great lawyer, following in his footsteps. I’m not exactly sure why I didn’t finish either of those life paths, although I sort of started down that road, maybe because there were obstacles in the way, like studying. lol. “I wasn’t applying myself” became the repetitive theme.

Those thoughts sent me on a rabbit hole to learn more about my own life path and numerology.

Numerology is the belief in the mystical relationship between numbers and events, used to interpret character or divine the future by calculating a person’s key numbers from their name and birth date. It is a system that assigns numerical values to letters and uses these values, along with your birth date, to provide insight into your personality and life path. 

Modern numerology is often based on the ideas of the ancient Greek philosopher Pythagoras, who believed the physical world is a manifestation of the energetic vibrations of numbers.  

In a crazy coincidence, I realized that I initially wrote about this subject exactly one year ago. Or maybe it’s not a coincidence, whatcha think?

Anyway, I have no regrets because It all worked out as it should.

Due to my not exactly poor, but not exactly stellar academic performance, and especially since I declined the gifted program because I saw how those kids were ridiculed for being nerds and I wanted to be COOL, I instinctively knew how to encourage the Original Angel Boy to love learning and reading and offered supportive nurturing opportunities anywhere he expressed an interest.

For example, when he was six-years-old and interested in dinosaurs, I took it a step further and brought him to the Natural History Museum so he could meet with the paleontologists. They included him in a project categorizing dino bones and gave him some fossils to bring home.

When he realized that the local paper had misnamed a dinosaur found around here, I called the paper and they sent a reporter and photographer to the house to interview him…and yes I still have about a dozen or so of the articles which I’ve shown to the Angel Kids. “Look at Daddy!”

When he wanted to be a reporter, I called the local radio station and set up a meeting with one of his favorite bands that were in town, Trixter, (don’t judge, it was the 90s). After he interviewed them on-air, they gave us backstage passes to the show and we hung out in their tour bus. They were really nice guys and very kind to the Angel Boy, only now I’m thinking to myself, why didn’t I do the same thing with Leon Russell? Another missed opportunity. SIGH.

Since Reading Rainbow with LeVar Burton was AB’s favorite TV show, he wrote a poem for a contest hosted by the local PBS station. All the local kids who participated were brought to the station and I still have the group photo. He won something, but not the national award. The only thing that mattered to me was that he TRIED, not whether he won or lost.

I did all this so he wouldn’t end up like me and it worked. He’s still passionate about learning, reading, and writing, and now he pays it forward by teaching the next generation, so I’m very proud of myself, and AB of course. His bright future was actualized and came to fruition.

Do you know how to figure out your Life Path and Master Numbers?

Add your birth date/day/year.

For example, if your date of birth is 2/12/1938…2+1+2+1+9+3+8 = 26, which is reduced to 2+6=8.

The Life Path number of 8 indicates someone with natural leadership skills, wealth potential, and management talent, but must always use that power for good and avoid greed. They excel at business and finance.

In this case, there is no Master Number because a MN is is a special type of life path number that is a double-digit (11, 22, or 33) and is not reduced to a single digit. I don’t really understand much of this, but it’s so interesting!

My own Life Path Number is 2 and my Master Number is 11, one of the most rare of all numbers, as it can be reduced to 2, my Life Path Number.

Here’s what it’s supposed to mean for me:

  • Diplomacy:  Natural ability to mediate conflicts and bring people together. 
  • Empathy:  A deep emotional intelligence that allows them to understand and connect with others. 
  • Cooperation:  Thrive in partnership and group settings, working to create harmony. 
  • Peacekeeping:  Driven to seek and maintain peace, acting as a stabilizer in relationships and situations. 

Master Number 11 is associated with high intuition, spiritual insight, and a duality that requires balancing a spiritual path with material life. It’s sometimes called the “Illuminator” or “Spiritual Messenger” and represents a gateway to higher dimensions. Individuals with this number may experience challenges such as confusion and indecision, which emanates from a struggle to trust their intuition and a pendulum-like oscillation between extremes. 

To be completely honest, I literally have no idea what that means.

Why is the number 11 so powerful?

The number 11 symbolizes the potential to push the limitations of the human experience into the stratosphere of the highest spiritual perception; the link between the mortal and the immortal; between human and spirit; between darkness and light; ignorance and enlightenment. This is the ultimate power of the 11.

Once again, I’m reminded that I really never did reach my full promise, so those early teachers were obviously correct in their assessment.

Check out your own Life Path and Master Numbers so you can decide if you are living up to your maximum potential. It’s never too late.

A Glimmer of Hope

In the midst of this dystopian hellscape in which we’re enmired, something beautiful happened in my little beachy town, a glimmer of hope that humanity is not completely dead.

A hundred or so of our neighbors showed up to celebrate the retirement of everyone’s favorite mail carrier.

When news spread throughout his neighborhood routes that our special and beloved mailman was retiring after forty-two years, a plan was formed to host a potluck in his honor at our local park.

This guy has been more than someone who simply delivers our mail; he’s become one of the family. There are few people who have an inner light that shines brightly. We all have been touched by his many kindnesses and we wanted to return the love, not that we haven’t gifted him with things over the years, but this needed to be a spectacular celebration, a send-off he’d remember.

Families from all of his routes showed up with food, decorations, and gifts. People we’ve said hi to for decades now had a name, and we shared stories about our personal experiences; especially his sweet tooth!

Since I’m known to be extra, I contacted our mayor and asked him if he could possibly create some sort of formal commendation or award to present to this exemplary human. He liked the idea which had actually never been done in the history of our city, and asked me to write a little speech for him, which I did. He took it a step further and created Mailman Steve Day and presented him with a framed award.

It was an old-fashioned community gathering, enjoying a beautiful SoCal evening AND happily for me, a little Leon Russell chat.

I yelled out to a neighbor, “Hey, Leon!” because he has long white hair and a beard, so of course I always refer to him as “Leon”, and another neighbor said, “Why do you call him Leon? That’s Jim.” and I told him it’s because he looks like Leon Russell. His response was, “How do you know about Leon Russell? Do you know Mad Dogs and Englishmen?” I showed him the playlist on my phone and told him to pick a favorite Leon Russell song and he chose two of my personal faves, “Girl From The North Country” and “Cry Me a River”.

Someone else requested “Tight Rope” and “A Song For You” and as a crowd gathered, we had a proper singalong. These guys knew every word and we all marveled at the musical genius of the one and only Master of Space and Time. #goodtimes

Best of all for me is that I’m still referred to as “Jason’s mom” even after all these years. It was so heartwarming to have several forty-year-olds (!) fondly remembering the backyard skate ramp and shared lovely memories about my original angel boy. I am so very proud to be Jason’s mom.

This happy community gathering to honor our mailman shows me that there IS hope for our country, even if it’s hanging on by a thread.

P.S. Next Saturday, October 18, is another day to protest the regime, another NO KINGS DAY, and I’ll be on the frontlines to again gather with my neighbors, this time to protect free speech and save America.

Time As a Construct

Lately, I’ve been thinking about T-I-M-E. Time flies. I hate to be late; I like to be ON TIME. Does time really exist at all or have we been brainwashed to think iit does?

Too much thinking about time as ephemeral makes me anxious. Too much thinking about anything does the same thing. My non-logical mind has determined that TIME itself isn’t the issue; THINKING about it IS and it makes my brain melt, just like Dali’s clocks.

Salvador Dalí

 “Time doesn’t exist, clocks exist. Time is just an agreed upon construct.”
— David Foster Wallace

“It takes just one unattended moment for an hour to pass.”
― Sherod Santos, Square Inch Hours: Poems

Santos was born in South Carolina, graduated from San Diego State University, and studied at the University of California, Irvine. I never met him when I attended SDSU, but I knew ABOUT him; all of us who studied creative writing and poetry knew about “Rod” Santos and W.S. Merwin and Glover Davis, who was actually my professor.

David Foster Wallace was an acclaimed American writer known for his fiction, nonfiction, and critical essays that explored the complexities of consciousness, irony, and the human condition. Wallace wrote the novel Infinite Jest.

“The Persistence of Memory” is an iconic 1931 surrealist oil painting by Salvador Dalí, famous for its “melting” clocks draped over a desolate, dream-like landscape inspired by his Catalonian home. The painting uses a paranoiac-critical method to explore the subconscious, with the distorted clocks symbolizing the fluidity and subjectivity of time, influenced by Freudian psychology and potentially Einstein’s theory of relativity. From Google.

Could Leon Russell’s version of As Time Goes By be the best ever? I think so…mature Leon was awesome, too.

Is It Ever Too Late To Make Amends?

Is it ever too late to say you’re sorry, to make amends, to repair the damage? That’s actually today’s theme but you have to keep reading to figure out where this is all going.

When I see these guys skateboarding together, it hits hard. It fills my heart with joy but it’s also bittersweet to realize that so much time has passed. Tick. Tock.

OG skater dad is his hero right now. The kids had no idea their teacher dad could skate.

Being well-rounded and balanced is important, right?

When the original Angel Boy wanted a skateboard, I weighed the pros and cons (cos it could be dangerous) and decided that it was a way to balance his intense interest in books and school, not that academic success wasn’t critical for his future, but skateboarding helped him feel “cool” and more relatable with schoolmates. It was about the only time his head wasn’t buried in a book.

As far back as elementary school, his nickname had been “the professor”, which was actually, happily, prophetic, but he enjoyed skating so much that we worked hard to get a skatepark built in our city and also created an Explorer Post to be eligible for donations which eventually funded the members on a state-wide skatepark trip, which was EPIC.

There was a skate shop near school where the kids would hang out and that’s where they met some of the famous skaters from SoCal: Danny Way, Hawk (of course), Sal Masekela, and Muska. Angel Boy even named his kitty after Muska.

It was a really nice time to be a kid, before our stupid little town ruined it all by rampant overdevelopment.

Here he is, nicely executing a flip. I can’t count the probably thousands of times this move had been practiced and failed and practiced again until he was proficient. What my mom brain sees in this photo is that he’s not wearing ANY protective gear. It’s a miracle he only ended up with one concussion and a couple of broken bones. No one wore helmets or knee/arm/wrist guards back then. What were we thinking?

The original Angel Boy

During high school, at the height of his interest in skating, we built a half-pipe in the backyard and our house was the cool place to be. I was kept busy supplying the kids with cookies and smoothies. #goodtimes #smothermother

Then there were many inevitable graduations and milestones; a doctorate and post-doc; an empty nest. The skate ramp was silent and began to deteriorate as it was never used nor maintained.

An executive decision was made to have it dismantled because it was in such poor, sad, unsafe shape.

At one point, when AB came home and saw it was gone, he was NOT at all happy. He felt that he hadn’t been included nor consulted in the conversation and not only was it a surprise, but I think it represented the end of a happy chapter in his life.

Actually, over the years I had explained to him a few times that he needed to help maintain it if he still wanted to use it, and like most things I said, he either didn’t listen (or ignored me), but in hindsight I agree that I could have been more sensitive. I guess I didn’t know how much it meant to him. It was an important rite of passage.

But I did something even worse…

I got rid of his skateboard! I didn’t do it with malice, honestly!

One day I was cleaning out the garage and thought it was never again going to be an activity he was interested in so I set it out near the street. I literally had no idea that he would ever want it for any reason; to ride or for the memories of all the fun he had skating OR to share with any future children…

But I was wrong…I was such a bad mom!

During a visit home, he asked for his skateboard because he wanted to show the kids some of his cool moves and when I told him I had put it out in the driveway and someone took it, he was SO ANGRY!

I fully understand that he felt betrayed and I felt horrible about it, especially since I’m known for never throwing anything away. Why that? I have no idea, but I did, I admit it.

I’ve been trying to make amends for the last twenty years. Yup, that was all about twenty years ago.

And now I’m offered the opportunity to make it right.

His clone, AB 2.0, is now obsessed with skateboarding!! He went to a skate camp this summer and got his very first real skateboard. Like all the sports he’s tried, he has some real talent, just like his dad. Watch out, Tony Hawk!

Is there anything more adorable than seeing a little guy all decked out in a helmet and safety gear, positioning himself to drop in? I think not.

Bad pic from a video AB 2.0

In this case, it’s not too late to make amends because I was finally able to replace AB’s sk8board and that feels good.

I did it. I made amends. I bought the skateboard; I made the necessary reparations and repaired the bad mom damage.

Even better, I was able to watch those guys skate together which is such a mom/grandma moment. Heart is bursting with love!

(And hopefully, Dad WILL wear his helmet at all times, or I’ll hear about it when the kids call me to tattle on him.)

Sometimes it’s not too late. All is takes is the honest willingness to want to make things right, even two decades later.

Earworm, Courtesy of Leon Russell

Because both of the Angel Kids’ eyes literally roll back in their heads when I make them listen to Leon Russell music, I found a slightly obscure song called “Too Much Monkey Business”. It’s more spoken than sung, like a precursor to rap music, and was written by Chuck Berry in 1956.

I played it and the Angels started singing along, as it’s a very catchy tune. I’d call out “How much monkey business” and they’d respond, “Too much monkey business!”

This song is totally earworm-worthy because they couldn’t stop singing it to themselves. All day long, during breakfast and helping to organize their books so we could donate some, I heard them quietly repeat “too much monkey business”, or “too much for me to be involved in.”

I said, “Cool song, huh?” as I planned my final move in my neverending quest to make them love Leon as much as I do.

When we sat on the sofa together after dinner playing card games, I asked Siri to play “Too Much Monkey Business” by Leon Russell and AB said, “Wait, that was LEON? It didn’t sound like him!” I replied, “That was my little joke. You had no idea you were singing one of his songs hahahahaha!”

Too late to stop it from happening; the lyrics are firmly embedded in their brains. They changed the words to: “How much Grandma business?” and “Too much Grandma business.”

They grudgingly agreed it was GOOD but asked me to pleasepleaseplease stop dancing because I was embarrassing them. I can only imagine the many ways I’ll be an embarrassment when they’re teenagers. It’s a rite of passage. They can ask their dad for confirmation.

Those kids are uber funny but I won. They’re now listening to and appreciating the Master of Space and Time–in spite of themselves. My work here is done.

Runnin’ to and fro, hard workin’ at the mill
Never failed in the mail, yet come a rotten bill
Too much monkey business, too much monkey business
Too much monkey business for me to be involved in

Salesman talking to me tryin’ to run me up a creek
Say, “You can buy it, go on, try it, you can pay me next week” ah
Too much monkey business, too much monkey business
Too much monkey business for me to be involved in

Blonde-haired, good lookin’ tryin’ to get me hooked
Want me to marry, get a home, settle down, write a book, ha
Too much monkey business, too much monkey business
Too much monkey business for me to be involved in

Same thing every day, gettin’ up, goin’ to school
No need to be complainin’, my objections overruled, ah
Too much monkey business, too much monkey business
Too much monkey business for me to be involved in

Payphone, somethin’ wrong, dime gone, will mail
I ought to sue the operator for tellin’ me a tale, ah
Too much monkey business, too much monkey business
Too much monkey business for me to be involved in

I been to Yokohama, been fightin’ in the war
Army bunk, army chow, army clothes, army car, ah
Too much monkey business, too much monkey business
Too much monkey business for me to be involved in

Workin’ in the fillin’ station, too many tasks
Wipe the windows, check the tires, check the oil, dollar gas, ah
Too much monkey business, too much monkey business
I don’t want your botheration, get away, leave me be

Too much monkey business for me

Evolution of The Mom Hug

I’m at #3 with Angel Boy, #2 with Angel Girl.

I remember that the original Angel Boy was about fourteen years old when he entered the final stage, taller than me. Now I have to get on my tiptoes to hug him and HE bends down to me.

In my mind, he’s still and forever #1 or #2, so it doesn’t seem right that the roles have reversed, and it won’t be long before the Angel Kids will also be taller than me, because mostly everyone else is.

I guess that’s why they call me Little Grandma.

**I found this on Pinterest, but credit goes to artist Giselle Dekel.**