Distractions

Distractions. What is their purpose? Events, whispers, phone calls, emails and TV that call us to somewhere else either mentally or physically that interrupt our ongoing lives. They take us temporarily away from something that we are either enjoying or not. Taking us TO something we are enjoying or not.

Sometimes they are unexpected. Things we had not planned in our day that disrupt the way we had planned it. Sometimes, we call upon distractions to take us away, albeit temporarily, from what we are currently involved in and dealing with.

So I guess we could categorize distractions as wanted or unwanted. In a happy place? Don't distract me with reality. In a not so happy place? Distract me with temporary unreality.

How do we distract ourselves from reality? There are so many ways and all of them are the same. A temporary "get out of jail free card" that we all want and cash in at some point or another.

Let's be honest. Real-ality can suck sometimes! So we numb our minds by being a workaholic. Or an alcoholic, drugs, over athleticism, eating, cleaning, gambling. You name it. They are all distractions from something. There are so many that it would take a psychiatrist to label them all. Do you know Anyone without one? Anyone?

OCD. Now that is a classic example of distraction. It's as if the brain has to compartmentalize other things; anything to keep from thinking about something only they may know about.
Wash your hands! Clean your house! Don't step on cracks! An attempt at control where there is none somewhere else.

I must admit that I am a tiny bit OCD. I always wondered why sometimes, if my elbow touches something, that I feel my other elbow has to touch it in order to feel "balanced." Weird. That is on semi-rare occasions. But when I catch myself "in that mode' nothing will suffice until I can "re-balance my world" by touching my other elbow to the inanimate object. For awhile, it was my yard. It HAD to look perfect at any given time. No brown grass. No weeds. I tried to control my life by controlling my yard! At least that was a healthy obsession!

I have a friend of mine whose husband must have his clothes placed in order by color in his closet. Ok. And also, every string on the end of rugs must be straight. Their house always looks like a model home and there is not one piece of paper anywhere. Me? I have my own "orderly pile." Don't touch it, I know where everything is, but it is out in the open! Neatness was never my obsession. Organized chaos works better for me.

For many years, I thought my friend's husband was a bit strange. Then I started to look at my own habits of distractions. It's all about your brain being able to cope you know.

What makes us this way? Is it our own way of "dealing?" It is said they we only use 10% of our brains capacity. That is frightening. Can you imagine the TRUE power we have unleashed in there? Perhaps those that we call genius are at 15%. Maybe those that we deem crazy are really 20%. Who's to say?

Maybe God or the powerful source only allows us to have so much brain function. We don't get no mac daddy use of our brain. Still. Why is it there if we can't use it? A question for those in the 20% category I suppose. It's like owning a Ferrari that you can only drive at 10 mph.

So I gave up on the yard to some degree. Still, I look out the big picture window in my kitchen and sigh. Green grass, where have you gone? I stuff down the feeling to run out there and start pulling every weed in sight. Nobody notices the difference in my yard but me.

So what is my distraction? For a long while, it was cats. I started collecting until at one time I was up to seven. Everyone started calling me the "cat lady." A label hard to live with. I DO love cats and all animals. But I have controlled this urge and now I am down to two through natural attrition. I do confess to fight the urge to turn my car into the humane society when I drive by however. But I am successful at this now.

My other distraction would be enjoying a cocktail. I am not an alcoholic by any stretch. But I do love my libations. I love the way it tastes and I love the way I feel.

I tried all the other stuff when I was younger. Cigarettes, pot, coke and more. Nothing. Give me a martini any day to "take the edge off" and I am one happy camper. At least my distraction is legal and will not break the bank.

What are your distractions? Will you even admit to them? Many won't. It makes you too vulnerable. And people don't like to be vulnerable. Every business book you see tells you to swim with the sharks. Never, never show any weakness. That's why so many hide in the shadows and take their feelings underground.

But they will surface somewhere. Believe me, they will.

I'm just passing by...

Steel Magnolia's

In an attempt to save a little cash, I decided that my every other month to the salon would need to be temporarily halted. You know what that means ladies. Yes...roots. Un-sightly roots.

Because I have my hair foiled and that I lift my hair much lighter than my natural color, it is a fairly complicated process. Not for my stylist, but certainly for a novice. Let it be known that I have attempted to color my own hair before.

The very first attempt was when I was in the 8th grade. I decided that I wanted to be blonde, going from my drab sort of medium ash brown. So, I went to the drugstore and bought a

product called "Summer Blond." I don't know if they still make it anymore, but if they do it should come with a warning label that says "not to be used by young stupid kids under the age of 21." It did not, so I was granted the purchase. I locked myself in the bathroom that I shared with my brother and started the process. Not one for reading directions well (I tend to just jump into things and damn the consequences). I just poured the entire bottle over my head. Mind you, I had luscious hair that was past my waist at that time. Surely God did not really mean to give me THIS color, so I will help him along!

I waited the appropriate time with the kitchen timer ticking away. With 10 minutes to go, my brother starts pounding on the door. "What are you doing in there?" I need to get in." "No" I replied in a loud and somewhat frightened voice. "Go use Mom and Dad's bathroom." "Are you sick?" he replied. "NO!" came back my increasingly high pitched voice. "Just go away you creep." "I'm going to tell Mom," he replied. "Go ahead" I said. I could hear him in the distance as he ran off, "MOOOOMMMM! Karen is in the bathroom and..." Great. Let's just get the entire household involved now. Two minutes later, my Mom is knocking on the door. "Are you OK?" "Yes" I replied. "I'm just practicing how to put on make-up and don't want to show Kenny." "Oh" she said. "Well, let me see how it looks when you're done and don't take all day about it." Good heavens! I only had 2 minutes to go anyway!

I finally unleash the beast! I take my shower and wash the bleach and whatever is left of my natural color float into the sewer. In HUGE anticipation, I towel dry my hair and look in the mirror. Well, it looks different, but it is wet and I have no experience with this. I get out the blow dryer and dry my hair. Well!!!! It is BLONDE. Very Blonde! That's what it promised on the box and by God, it delivered. Capitalism at its finest!

Too stupid to figure out the long-term affect of my immediate gratification, I proudly and finally open the bathroom door and walk into the kitchen where my Mother is preparing dinner to show her my "make-up." When she turns around, all I hear is "AHHHHHHHHHHH! What did you DO? Your hair is white!" Well, it was NOT white, but to her it was!

"OMG (not the term used back then), your hair is going to fall out!"

"What?" I cried. "What do you mean? You don't like it?" I was far too naive to begin to understand that I have now entered the world of the unnatural. I thought, well, I'll just switch it back if I don't like it.

Well, I liked it. Of course, little did I see the long-term expense and consequence of messing with God and his color choices. It was all well and good until the roots started to show and my hair started to fall out in huge chunks. In the next year's school annual, I have a pixie cut and my natural color.

Wouldn't you think I would have learned my lesson THEN?

I saw an article just yesterday about a woman struggling with her finances. In part, the article said "I have given up everything. Eating out. Coffee's. The gym. Having my nails done. But

BY GOD I am NOT giving up my salon colorist!" A battle cry for blondes with roots everywhere!

Fast forward about 12 years. I have been cast in my first starring role. I am to play the young and somewhat naive character in the musical "Gigi." For those of you who don't know, "Gigi" is french and the show is based in long ago Paris.

I think, well, all Parisians have dark hair and in the movie, Leslie Caron has black hair too. SO, if I was to be an authentic leading lady, I had to look the part. I mean, if I was on Broadway, I would be wearing a stylish wig done to perfection every night by some guy named Michael.

SO, I dared to venture once again to the drugstore. "Hmm, this looks like a lovely shade of black. I'll try this one." Without going into it too much further, I'll just give you the final results: Green.

I'm dialing. I'm dialing..."Hello? My ever so kind and patient hairdresser? Yes, can you see me tomorrow?"

Then there was the henna experience. We won't even go there.

Fast forward I won't say how many more years . Here we are in 2009. The pocket change is thin so I once again decide "I can go this." But THIS time, I enlist the help of a friend. She has done her sister's hair before and said that it came out great! I try to warn her that my hair is "different" and whatever color I pick on the box in the store will not be the color that it comes out. I decide to release her of any emotional and punitive damages.

Because I have my hair foiled and she does not know how to do that, we decide to use a cap. Do any of you remember the torture of that process? Having a needle stuck in your head while it attempts to yank out the right amount of hair to color? Well at least if it turns out bad, it won't be my entire head. Just part of my entire head.

We decide to attempt a two-tone. Once with low-lights and then with highlights (or let's

just call that part bleach). We come back from the drugstore and I pour myself a BIG glass

of red wine. I pour her half a glass (I don't need a drunk colorist). I pull a chair into my kitchen where I sit and drink while she rips my hair through these tiny holes. Not wanting to hurt her feelings, I say nothing at each tug of my hair. I simply drink more.

We commence with the gossiping, as one MUST do when having one's hair colored. I had these visions of the movie "Steel Magnolia's" playing in my head with all the gals sitting around the beauty shop talking and laughing and of course gossiping. And since both she and I are from the south, it made the moment even more realistic. I felt as if I were the Julia Roberts character about ready to have her diabetic seizure.

Three hours later, we pour on the color. This is going to be good! It's only a couple of shades

lighter than my natural color, so it should turn out fine! None of this going from a 12 shade to a 2 shade! We wait the appropriate time and I run to the shower to wash it out. Cautiously, I inch my way to the mirror as I take off the towel. Hmm. It doesn't look that bad wet. I see some

brassiness, but in general, it's not bad.

Because we are so exhausted (not to mention tipsy), we decide to save the highlights for the next day.

Excitedly now, I traipse my way over to her house for the next round, although something feels amiss in my stomach. This is the bleach part of the process and my past experiences have shown me that my hair doesn't do well with at home bleach. Still I proceed, not listening to my gut instincts. This time I ask for a vodka cranberry. A tale-tell sign of my what's to come.

We continue with the "ripping my hair out by the roots" process again, although this time it only takes 2 hours instead of 3 before we pour the bleach on. Somewhat more tipsy than before, I feel my head starting to sting as the bleach falls upon my already open and slightly damaged from the day before folicals.

We wait the appropriate time according to the I won't mention the brand box and I not so excitedly this time run to the shower to wash it out. Pulling a towel from the rack, I cover my hair without looking in the mirror and walk back into the kitchen. "Well" my friend says in a slightly shaky voice. "Let's see it." Like a cat waiting to pounce on it's worst enemy, I rip the towel off my hair with one fell swoop and stand emotionally naked in front of the mirror. "AHHHHHHHH" is all I hear. Was that my friend or my inside voice coming out? It was my inside voice. What do I see? A very brassy copper color and not in small spots, but large ones. I silently pick up my car keys and walk out the door without looking back.

The next day, still not having looked in the mirror again, I get on the internet to look for "how to take brassiness out of hair" tips. I find some wise and experienced suggestions, all of which make sense! I do read a couple of things that say "your hair may be too far gone and it is time to give it up and call a professional." "No," I think, "I can still do this. I just need to get a purple blue toner and tone down the brass and it will all be good." That is my optimistic and sometimes naive view of reality.

I jump in the car (still not having looked in the mirror again from the night before) and head off to a beauty supply store. As I walk in the door, the girl says to me "Uh, you're looking for something to tone down that brassiness?" "That bad," I think to myself. "Uh, yeah." I refrain from adding "how did you know." She immediately goes over to the shelf and says "we get ladies like you all the time so I know exactly what you need. Be grateful it's not green." I don't even GO into THAT story. "This will fix it up." I pay my $10 and I'm out the door.

I have a limited time to fix this as I am working tonight with a group of VIP's, so I start the

pouring of the purple mixture onto my hair. Half hour it says, and you will be back to normal (whatever that is). This time I WATCH it in the mirror. I'm looking. I'm looking. Nothing.

I pour a little more on just in case. I'm looking. Does it look shinier? It seems to be doing something, but I can't tell.

With little time left, I jump in the shower and wash that toner right out of my hair. Thinking it's done something to help, I rush to the now dreaded mirror mirror on the wall. I look. It did something all right. It turned it orange. Not a lovely copper brassy color like before, but orange.

I'm dialing. I'm dialing..."Hello? My ever so kind and patient hairdresser? Yes, can you see me tomorrow?"

As God is my witness...

I'm just passing by... (and apparently faster than I want to these days!)

A small piece of heaven

When you travel, have you noticed that there are places with these energies that seem to pull you towards them?

I have been in many cities throughout my travels and there are some places that, almost from the minute you arrive, you can tell if this is a positive energy place for you or a negative energy place. When I was looking to move within Florida almost 18 years ago, I decided to drive the great state from coast to coast and tip to tip. I traveled along every coast, beach, inland, cities and rural areas. But when I drove through Orlando, it seemed to capture me. I didn't even get out of my car. I was driving down I-4 and I said "this is it." Not three months later, I had secured a position here and was in my new apartment. I fell in love. I don't know why (do we ever know why?)

I have had a few experiences like that since then. Vancouver was one such place. Switzerland. Colorado Springs. Chicago. I'm sure that I have not traveled all the places that I think will give me that high. But some places just seem to "fit."

Recently, I had the chance to travel to San Diego for work. I had been there maybe all of 15 minutes. Had not even left the airport for my hotel yet, but I felt it. I felt found as if I had been lost. It's a feeling that sometimes you can't explain. It felt like a soothing vibration, like the purr of a cat against your chest. The smell, the air and the weather! The weather!

When you live most of the year in intense humidity and you step into this God created near perfect climate, you just can't believe it. Not only is it blessed to be surrounded by mountains, but this gorgeous California sea coast. All wrapped together under this blue umbrella of a sky.

From my hotel room near the convention center, I overlooked an inlet where majestic sailboats drifted by, with the sun shining so bright that it looked like diamonds dancing on the surface of the water. I was transfixed as if in a hypnotic state.

When I snapped out of it I said to myself "no wonder it cost a small fortune to live here." Draining lifeblood out of my body.

I know that I've had a bit of wanderlust lately. That's what happens when you want to escape present situations. You get to fantasize about something, somewhere, someone else.

I got to do a lot of that in San Diego, on all levels. The outcomes were mixed and surprising. It never ceases to amaze me just how much more that I need to learn. But as they say, life is a journey, not a destination. I wonder why then we are always seeking a place to arrive?

I only know that while there, I glowed. Glowed. It felt good to glow.

Because I was there for work, I did not have time to explore much of the surrounding areas. La Jolla, Carlsbad, Del Mar, the beaches and the like. I wanted to go to the zoo and a Padres game.

Walk on a beach. See the Sea Lions. Go to Coronado Island and Mission Bay. But alas, this will need to wait for another time.

I was so jazzed that I even started looking for jobs out there, exploring the cost of living and how I could possibly move across the country on a whim. Something that I have not done in a very long time. Those whims.

But (you knew that was coming), I have a home here and responsibilities. Oh to be carefree to the point of not having the ties that bind. To slip the bonds of restraints and fly away. To experience newness and a fresh perspective. To not look back.

Will I ever live there? Who knows? I certainly have life experiences here that I must complete before I could seriously entertain the thought. I just know it's on my list.

I'm just passing by...

To tell the truth

I've started to write this one before, but have erased, turned off my computer and said "I guess I'm not ready to write that yet."

However, a Friday night cocktail of cranberry and vodka have sort of loosened up my mind and fingers for the keyboard.

I was speaking with a friend last night and I told him that when I started this blog, it was originally to just put my own thoughts on computer for my own personal diary. I mean, I'm really late getting into this blogging game. Now everyone twitters and tweets. And I'm just coming into the virtues of a personal blog for posterity. I told him that I was in this quandary of wanting to write about much going on in my life, for me, but that I now hesitated "putting it all out there" for the world to see as now I know a few friends that read this.

Because I have always been an intensely private person, it is difficult for me to think that others will be reading my true personal adventures in life. I've always been very good at masking any challenges I may be facing and putting a positive spin on everything. Hell, it's easy to read about the fun, funny and great stuff we're all doing, but that is not necessarily what draws me to write from my soul. But really, if this is for me, I am only fooling myself in the long run. So, there are a few people who may go "you're kidding" when they read it. But I have gained some wisdom in my climbing years. Enough to know that everyone has those corners that they would choose not to share for fear of judgement. And by God, I've been judged by the best. So what fear should I have now?

So here I am. Debating on how "naked" to be!

Why don't I just unbutton a few buttons on this one?

If you read my last blog "Cleaning out my closets. Cleaning out my life," you'll see that I am getting a roommate. Let's put that in the "was" category for now. You see, this particular "friend" decided to bail on me. This is after I had already re-worked the budget, cleaned out an entire closet, moved all of my clothes into one closet (OMG, the work that took), got boxes and stored what I could in the attic, took other things to relatives to store, painted the closet and re-did the floors.

Was I angry? You bet! Am I over it? Almost. I have learned a few great thing as I grow in wisdom.

There is NO point stewing over things you have absolutely no control of and having any control over people is not an option. To continue to let it fester and be angry only continues to hurt ME, not him. So goodbye.

So I begin again the "journey" of seeking someone else. Yesterday, I went on Craigslist and I won't even try to explain what I found. I'm certain there are some very honorable people there, but the thought of bringing someone into my house that I don't know is, well, frightening!

After sifting through tons of people looking for a roommate, I found one that seemed as if it could be a viable option. She said she traveled a lot, was only home 5 to 7 days out of the month, had a cat and really just needed some place to store her stuff. Bingo! Someone hardly ever here works for both me and my needy and sensitive cats that don't like to share!

I emailed her. She emailed me back. She sounded reasonable until I got to the part where she really just wanted a room to store her stuff and would keep the cat locked in the room with plenty of food and water while she was gone a week at a time. WHAT? You can't be serious?? No, your cat is not an object to be stored in a room. I told her that I really could not leave her cat locked in a bedroom. That I would want to integrate the cat into my household somehow and while she was gone, she could consider me her "pet sitter." Never heard back from her. All I can say is "poor cat, if I could find you I would rescue you."

So this is one new challenge. Want more? Well I don't, but I am dealing anyway!

Because my profession in the meetings industry has tanked in a significant way, I have been reaching out to other opportunities to keep me going until, well until...

One was in May. I spent a month grading FCAT papers. It wasn't that bad, but if I didn't think the school system was f-uped before, I really know it is now.

So after a few weeks of pondering the options, I am now gainfully employed as an independent
contractor in the "at home, in-bound call center business." Whooo hooo! A friend of mine told me about it and I thought, what the heck! I can do this from my home, work in my pajamas,
make any funny faces I want at callers and take a pee while answering their questions. I have a few regular hours that I need to be on calls, but other than that, I decide whatever hours I want to work. I can still travel for work if I want and come in and out pretty much as I please. Plus, I get to be home with my cats, not fight traffic and don't have to figure out what to wear every day. Which used to be significant part of my time every morning.

Mind you, there are consequences to all of this freedom. It does not pay well. But I am not one that can sit around and do nothing. I have to be busy and I strongly prefer to be busy making money if I am not out having fun somewhere else!

So just call me "Operator 99."

More? I have a million of them. But the vodka has started to make me type a little slower and I am not one known for a huge amount of patience.

So here's to another step in a rare blog. Medium rare. Not quiet tar-tar yet.


I promised a friend of mine when I started this blog that it would be funny. So far, I have not lived up to my promise! But Jersey Girl, just keep reading. I'll find something, somewhere soon!

I'm just passing by...

Cleaning out my closets. Cleaning out my life.

I'm cleaning out my closets. Not because I want to, but because I have to. You see, I'm getting a roommate for the first time since I was in my twenties.

I don't want to do this. I love my privacy. I love my freedom. My home has always been the place that I can come to, shut the door and get away from it all. But now, that is all changing. It has become a necessity in these challenging economic times.

I am fortunate that I know the person and would entrust them with the safekeeping of my possessions as well as feeling personally secure. But in trying to come to terms with this and prepare myself mentally, it does not change the fact that I am giving up half my house (which is very small to begin with), sharing a bathroom that is already too small for me and trying to adjust to someone else's lifestyle that I already know does not really match mine.

He stays up late. I go to bed early. He is always on his phone. I rarely am. I like quiet and solitude. He likes action and lots of people. I'm an introvert. He's and extrovert.


And then there are my cats. My blessed little creatures that I would turn myself inside out for. Spoiled rotten to the core. One, Miss Lily, will be fine. She's a sassy little girl that will adjust in time. She enjoys the outdoors and will be outside frequently, so this will not effect her too much. One down.

Then there is Sydney. The most sensitive cat God ever put on this earth. He is afraid of his own shadow. He runs when I walk too hard across my wood floors or get ice from the fridge door. In the 11 years we have been together, there are only two other people that have ever SEEN him and that is because I dragged him out from under the bed to prove that I had another cat! Poor Sydney. He needed psychiatric help before, but this will make him catatonic (pardon the pun). He may never come out from under the bed again. Maybe I will join him!


There will be no more walking around my house naked. No more playing my music until whatever hour I feel like it. There is no more talking to myself without someone saying "what'd you say?" Oh, I'm not talking to you...I'm just...never mind.


Today I cleaned out my spare bedroom closet. Gone are all the books that I stored, waiting for a day that I would open their dusty covers and revel in the pleasure that they once gave me. Gone too are all my past career awards that I had hung so proudly on my closet wall from a time that the world was still young and fresh and I had so much yet to achieve. Put away in the attic are all my treasured photo's of bygone memories. Gone to Goodwill are the clothes that I kept tucked away in plastic, waiting for the day for the the return of the ball gowns and long dresses that I used to wear out often, in what seems like another lifetime.


Those glory days are behind me now and they need to be put to rest. Finally.


I recall a statement that Elizabeth Edwards, wife of the now semi-disgraced political figure John Edwards said when she was asked recently how she copes with all the challenges she is facing. She said "this is my new reality. I don't look at the past. I don't look at what was. I get up every morning and say this is what it is today and I move forward."

While in Sarasota this past weekend visiting friends and family, I told my Father of this new adventure that I was semi-unwillingly embarking upon. He recalled back in the 1930's and 40's when he was growing up that my Grandmother "rented rooms" (that's what it was called back then when a family decided the income was necessary). The guests were single gentlemen that were mature to moving into the twilight years that would rent a room, share a bathroom with other family members and sometimes ate with the family or had meals provided by my Grandmother as part of their rent. My Father does not have fond memories of this time as he and my Aunt, his sister, were relegated to sleeping on the back porch for many many years while the renter got their room. I could still feel the resentment from my Father for having to sleep on a porch while growing up. He doesn't think that my new living arrangements will work for long and he might be right. But lots of people are making choices today that they may not have seen themselves needing to make not that long ago.

So, there is a new reality. My life is changing in colors and patterns that I didn't predict right now. It's all been coming like a slow moving train that you have heard the warning whistle blowing in the distance for some time now but weren't sure how far away it actually was until it started getting louder and you knew its arrival was imminent.

And I will do my best to adjust. And I will try not to look back. And it will take some work to do that. One thing we can all count on in life is change. It's at the very least what keeps us from getting bored. I'm not bored.

And for those glory days? I hope they'll be back. They will simply be in a much different package than before and I may need to look a little harder right now.



I'm just passing by...

Merlin's Magic

I rarely, if ever, get sucked into TV shows. The last one I can recall was 24. So complete in its action-packed, thrill seeking non-reality, that it took me away for awhile to a place of intense excitement and adventure.

Recently however, I have become once again enchanted. The show is "Merlin."

"Merlin" is a new drama series that brings to life the mystical and infamous sorcerer of Camelot legend. In this series, Merlin is a young man that is just coming to terms with how to harness his magical powers. Our current King is Uther (King Arthur's Father). So the story weaves its own magic by playing on the events prior to King Arthur and the Knights of the Round table. It's a set-up, if you will, to how the story most know best began. The show is an exciting fantasy series set in the mythic city of Camelot. Before Merlin and Arthur became legends, they were young men looking for adventure and finding their own destiny, making mistakes along the way.

I found the series while channel surfing one evening and there on my screen was an actor that I long admired. Anthony Head of former "Buffy the Vampire" fame. My interest peaked, I stayed with it long enough to do more than press the up channel button.

Apparently, the show is filmed at a 12th century castle in France. The cinematography is

inspiring and you truly feel pulled into the days when true legends existed. Even if only by make believe.

The rest of the cast seem to fit very comfortably into their somewhat Gothic roles. Particularly the actor cast as Prince Arthur: handsome, smart, brooding. Just my type.

So, I became hooked. Excitedly looking forward to a Sunday night for the first time since "The Ed Sullivan Show." As I watch each episode, I ponder the all important questions such as "how the hell did people live like that? Where's my flat-iron and down comforter?" And since the story takes place in England, it rains alot. So that means mud everywhere. And that means really dirty looking peasants in every scene. Yikes. And you can forget about having clean underwear every day. Maybe once a week, if you're lucky. And that's only if you are of nobility.

As the series unfolds, Merlin continues to be challenged and struggles to find the best uses of his magical power. It's like owning a Ferrari and not knowing how to drive. He makes many mistakes. He doesn't listen to those he seeks advice from. He wants to use his power for good,

but sometimes that good requires enormous sacrifices to be made. Because the Universal law in Arthur's time says that there must be a balance. One person lives, so another must die. One saves a soul sending another to perish for eternity. Make your choice.

However, the Universal Law of Attraction that I study says there is no balance that must be had. We are all magicians of our own lives. Everyone has the ability to create and nurture their journey here. All it takes is a gentle guiding of our thoughts to what we want. And then allowing (or being open) to receiving our intentions.

I am but a humble student of this philosophy and I imagine that I will continue to be until I take my last breath.

So unlike the mythical days of Camelot, where sorcerers were hunted down and put to death, we are all embodied with "magical powers" to create our own life outcomes. I must confess that my own journey to this magical well has been filled with ups and downs as I strive to train my mind to allow. Thinking about what you want is the easy part. The Art of Allowing is truly a practiced gift to yourself. And when you know you are thinking thoughts that will keep you from your chosen destiny, it is easy to be frustrated.

Like Merlin, I continue to make mistakes along the way but know in time that I will indeed harness my natural gifts. I just have to keep trying.

And in the meantime, I will continue to watch "Merlin" to see if I can pick up on any of his magic

secrets.

I'm just passing by...

You'd Better Love Somebody

I have a friend that is the General Manager of a hotel. He is a great friend and I love him dearly. On an occasional Friday night, he invites me over to the hotel to buy me a drink at the bar and we catch up. As we were chatting, he hit me with a line out of the blue.

He said "Karen, you'd better find somebody." He was referring to a partner or at least someone steady. Ouch. That one hurt. Of course, things usually only hurt when there is a shade of truth to them in your heart and mind. He said "You don't want to be alone as you grow older. People need people and you have so much to give."

He left me to contemplate his words for a few moments as he attended to hotel business. As you can imagine, I wasn't feeling my best as the words punched in my head like a prizefighter. I was stewing over my thoughts and gazing deeply into my now empty cocktail when I heard the words "Is this seat taken?"

I looked up to see this very attractive twenty something and said "No, please have a seat." He was in town on business from Dallas and was by himself. He told me about his job, always on the road and I understood that he wanted someone to talk to. To not be alone one night of the many that I'm certain he is.

Over the last couple of years, I have noticed this very strange phenomenon taking place. It seems the older I get, the younger the man I seem to attract. The funny thing is, I don't believe I could have attracted these men when I was their age. But now, "poof." Some mystical magic wand has appeared from nowhere and there they are. I often have twenty and young thirty somethings handing me their card and saying "call me." Seriously? I always look at them in
stunned silence.

But I was enjoying his company and later we wandered down to a quaint area called Thornton Park. I wanted to show him some places to go when he came back in town. I found a place where I know the younger locals hang out and we quickly found a great seat outside overlooking the sidewalk where the Friday night "show" was taking place. I kept pointing out these beautiful women, much closer to his age. Encouraging him "why don't you go over and introduce yourself to them?" (I saw myself as the wing man). He finally said "why would I be interested in them when I have YOU sitting here?" Talk about a well-timed ego boost. Or, it could have simply been a great line. I really didn't care at that moment.

I most certainly do not consider myself what today many laughingly call "cougars." There is even a TV show called "Cougartown" that was filmed in the city I grew up in! Like it's some wild beast that isn't tame. Or needs to be tamed. Or wants to be tamed? I shiver at the sound of it. I liken it to when you see an older man with some much younger woman. You just wince at the sight of it.

But I think I have figured out why these men are being attracted into my Universe. A) because there really are not that many men my age that are available, so it leaves a gene pool a bit younger than I am comfortable with. And because many men my age want women much younger than me. And B) because I am relaxed about who I am. Here it is baby. Take it or leave it. I have EARNED, quite well thank you, every tiny little wrinkle on my face. And that kind of feeling vibrates way outside the box. I like the way I look. I love people. I try my best to judge no one. And I am completely open to life's possibilities and the adventure's it can bring. That must be radiating something out there.

But I don't want to be Madonna (who is currently dating a 22 year old) or even Demi Moore. Well, I take that back. Maybe Demi Moore.

As I get older, I see my parents. Their love has changed alot over the years. It was a tough beginning. They never had what I would call a classic love-but they stuck with it. They worked through it. They went through some very rough times when they were in their 40's keeping the marriage together. Quite frankly, I was surprised they stayed together. But there were not many duel incomes back then so it was not as easy or practical to walk away. They had to work it out.

Now they are each other's companions and depend on each other for most everything. I have watched my Father evolve from a fairly non-emotional person, to this more caring and gentle soul. My Mom still takes pride in cooking for my Dad every night. She cares for him and he is always by her side when she falls ill. And I think "who will be there for me?"

But I simply won't turn now into a huntress so I can feel some security as I get older. I'm still looking for the deep passion down to my toes. The kind that when I hear his voice, it makes me tingle. I'm not looking for Mr. Perfect. There is no such thing. But I won't give up my quest for a deep abiding love to settle because now "I am supposed to" or even because "I have to." I've
had the chances before and I still have them now.

I know the fiery passion will wane. I want to be left with my best friend. I want to be there by his side as we both no longer are attracting 20 somethings. It takes work-of that there is no question.

Right now, I have too many other things in my life to attend to and get settled before I can be the whole person that has something to give back. These current challenges distract me and it's too hard to throw in the "mating dance" to my already complicated life. These aren't the normal every day distractions. These are "long-term" changing choices. Give me a year to pull it back together and adjust to all the things I must that are coming at me like a roaring freight train.

But for now, when that younger man smiles at me-I'll just smile back and take it as a compliment. Because the day will soon come when I wish he still did.


I'm just passing by...