Acceptance – Voices in My Head

Tests, Trials and Tee Shirts

While searching through the morass of my computer files, I accidentally stumbled across a piece of writing that I did in 2005 BC (before Covid). Having come upon it again, I just couldn’t resist passing it on.

The scenario: It’s 11:00 a.m. on a Sunday morning in the busy Men’s Furnishings Department at Nordstrom. Customers are milling about waiting to be helped. The phone rings, I answer. Big Mistake. A woman starts in . . . (I give you HER end of the conversation only). Note: All caps indicates that she’s screaming.

FINALLY! Somebody answered the phone.

Do you still carry the Nordstrom tee shirts that are made in Canada?

That’s NOT what I asked. Can you go check?

What other brands do you carry?

Where are they made?

Are they combed cotton?

What else do you have?

What is Underarmor?

Are they thinner than the Nordstrom?

Read me the label.

What do you mean, microfiber?

Read me the part about breathability again.

What size is medium?

What size is large?

Is the Nordstrom thinner than the Calvin Klein?

Can you wait while I go get one to see what size I have?

Can you wait while I try it on to see if it fits?

NO! I CAN’T WAIT WHILE YOU ANSWER ANOTHER PHONE. I’VE BEEN TRYING TO GET THIS DONE FOR TWO DAYS AND NOBODY COULD DO IT YESTERDAY BECAUSE THEY WERE TOO BUSY. I DON’T WANT TO WAIT WHILE YOU TALK WITH SOMEBODY ELSE ON THE PHONE. I JUST WANT TO GET THIS DONE SO I CAN GET ON WITH ANOTHER PROJECT.

Are the Calvin Klein’s thinner than the Nordstrom?

Okay, I’ll take a package of the medium Nordstorm.

BUT LISTEN. THIS IS IMPORTANT.

Do NOT send me the package you scanned. You’ll have to scan one, then send me one that hasn’t been scanned because I can’t have anything that’s been scanned around me.

How do you ship them?

What service do you use?

Do NOT send it by mail. It has to be shipped, not mailed.

How long will it take?

Why will it take so long? Last time they came in a day.

How much is shipping?

Why is it so much? Last time it was only $3.00. Why is it so expensive? I don’t want to pay more than $3.00 because that’s what I paid the last time.

What is the total?

NO. I WANT TO KNOW NOW. I CAN’T WAIT FOR YOU TO CALL ME BACK. I JUST WANT TO GET THIS DONE SO I CAN GO ON TO ANOTHER PROJECT.

When will you call me back?

You’ll call me back in 10 minutes?

LISTEN. THIS IS IMPORTANT.

Do NOT ship in a mailing envelope. It HAS to be shipped in a box.

Ship it signature required.

When will it arrive?

Her charge doesn’t go through.

I have an incorrect phone number, so I can’t call her back. AAAARRRRRRGGGGGGG! Is this a test?

Obviously, she doesn’t get the shirts.

She calls the store manager a few days later and goes through the entire routine with him. I forgot to void the original transaction so she gets charged twice

Fortunately, I kept all of the paper work.

She calls the manager again. In frustration equal to mine, he ends up wiping both charges from her account and sends her shirts are free.

Next year, she’ll probably call again and expect more free shirts and free shipping. I hope to God that I‘m not the one who answers the phone when she does.

Lest I forget, I go home and write the experience while it’s still fresh in my mind. The next morning, I showed it to a colleague. She asked for a copy to for her husband to read so that he’ll understand the sort of thing that we have put up with around here . . .

It isn’t always easy to face the fears of others in the face of our own, particularly during these exceptionally difficult times in which we live. Daily, we must choose between right and wrong, and decide how to behave under confusing circumstances that demand our attention. In the long run, it all boils down simply to one choice only: will I act in love, acceptance, and forgiveness, or will I allow judgment, fear, and anger to rule my mind?

Tee Shirt Lady surely did try my patience on that busy Sunday morning years ago. If this entire scenario occurred BEFORE Covid, can you imagine what in Heaven’s name those in the service industry must have to endure AFTER Covid? Pray for them and be kind. They need all of the love they can get. Don’t we all?

The Waiting Room

Déjá-vu. If you’re curious about who you are, try waiting for a while.

There are nearly three hours to wile away at the dealership where my car is being serviced. I don’t mind. It’s what I do best—sitting, waiting . . .

There are six of us in the room: two are on computers, two are on phones, and one is punching keys on an iPad. My computer is on my lap as I decide what to do next. iPad guy is wagging his head back and forth in what I can only assume is a response to the bad news that he is reading. The computer people are plugged up with ear buds. Intermittently, they drag out their iPhones for a quick look and poke away at keys. The room is completely devoid of eye contact.

Good grief. Where have we all gone? Off into a world of cyberspace as far away as we can get from one another. The cyber scene in front of me prompted me to put away my toys and opt for reading a book instead, Finding My Father’s Faithby a favorite blogger, Wynne Leon. A real, live, honest-to-God book with a cover and paper pages to turn. Another talented author, artist and blogger friend, Nancy Wait, makes the most of her name as she wiles away time spent on the subway by sketching marvelous images of sleepers dozing peacefully as she whips through the dark underbelly of New York City.

I sit and cool my jets while hanging out in a room full of noncommunicative people quietly absorbed in their various versions of electronics. Years ago in my Honda waiting room before electronics hijacked the world’s attention, quite a different story played itself out. Folks hid away in their inner worlds reading newspapers or books or like me, sat quietly with eyes closed. My closed-eye peace was interrupted on one waiting-room day when a mom asked her small daughter if she’d like to watch TV. No matter that the kid was peacefully absorbed in reading her own book. Drat. So much for enjoying a moment of quiet stillness.

The TV didn’t work. Thank goodness. From nowhere, the quiet readers sprang forth to assist, while I experienced an instant sense of resentment over the soon-to-be interruption. I consoled myself with the idea that this sweet little girl would probably enjoy something quiet, soothing—but no. Instead, she opted for a loud, violent scenario in which a building suddenly morphed into a ginormous unbelievably noisy and threatening robot intent upon destroying anything in its path. So much for assumptions. So much for reverie. So much for my wishes and my desires. Did anyone ask how I felt about this sudden shift in the disturbance of my reality? No. Did they care? No. Did I? Definitely!

As I sit in today’s Hyundai waiting room and wonder why I am writing this blog the answer creeps into awareness. It reminds me that life is like a waiting room—full of people who are strangers to us, each lost within his/her own head, each separated from one another by virtue of what goes on in the world of personal thought. It is easy to feel helpless in the face of situations that we cannot control, and frustrated by the decisions made by others without our permission—decisions that have a personal impact upon us. So often we are at the mercy of those around us in a desired world just beyond our reach.

My personal waiting room is a wonderful place to see an infinite variety of souls and scenarios—some to my liking, some not. What a wonderful place to just sit and observe the contents of my world reflected back to me inside of my head. What a perfect opportunity to look into the crumpled fragments of my own inner workings and take care of the pieces that need a bit of smoothing out.

Thank goodness for the kindhearted souls among us who rush in to be helpful—even if their help is not necessarily needed, wanted or welcomed by all. They provide me with a rich opportunity to look at attitudes and feelings that spring forth as a result of their good intentions. I may not be able to control the acts of others, but I can control my attitude. I can decide whether I would prefer to react in anger or to respond with love and forgiveness. I can choose acceptance and peace of mind, or I can choose judgment and resentment.

Who am I? I am who I choose to be.

Déjá-vu indeed. I’ve been in this waiting room for a very long time, and I think that it might be a very long time before I get back into my car and drive off into the sunset. I choose to be ready. While I wait, I want to do everything I can to graduate to the place where waiting rooms are nonexistent, and nothing exists but the unspeakably beautiful glory of what awaits us on the other side of the veil. Now that’s something worth waiting for!

As a final note, I’m happy to proclaim that this blog was started in the waiting room yesterday, finished in the Lazygirl today, and escaped the risk of being lost in the dumpster tomorrow (here). There’s hope for me yet. There’s hope for everything, friends. Keep the faith—and add your light to the vision of a waiting room filled with love, peace, joy, truth, beauty. Don’t forget to factor in the eye contact that allows us to truly see and appreciate another—and behold the best in all.

Where’s the Pony?

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Have you ever acted on an idea that seemed like a perfect solution to a dilemma only to watch it crash and burn before it ever got off the ground? It seemed like an inspired idea at the time, but perhaps I was delusional, or maybe I was listening to that sneaky voice of the ego that loves to have me think that it’s a whole lot smarter than the part of me that is really smart.

What would be really smart would be making the sincere effort to find out more about who the really smart one is and pay more attention to it. The thing is, I really thought that I had.

I suppose I could consider that I lost the battle, but in retrospect, I can see that nothing is ever lost. Every apparent defeat brings with it the inherent opportunity to review the situation and find the benefit within it. On one hand, it may be tempting to consider rejection as a failure and allow it to be the spark that ignites the flame of self-doubt, extinguishing any hope of a happy ending. On the other, it offers an opportunity to seek and find another path to accomplish the same end, perhaps one that is even better than the first. There’s always good news, even amidst what seems to be the bad. Rejection is just a divine spark that lights the fire of renewed effort.

When caught in the middle of a battlefield of opinion, sometimes the best that one can do is observe the fray and hold the vision that at some point, opponents will see the light of day, put down their weapons, and enjoy a peaceful resolution that is for the common good to all.

I am reminded of the enthusiastic kid waist deep in horse manure digging through the muck looking for the pony. I love that kid. He just goes for it, doesn’t care how messy it gets, and hangs on to the idea that in the end he’s going to find what he wants the most. I want to be just like him when I grow up.

In a world full of manure, I’m going for the ponies.

There is a way. There is always a way. We just need to find it.

Note: The photo above is courtesy of New Waves of Light, a website designed by anonymous individuals around the world who share the intention of bringing light and love to a world of darkness and chaos. (newwavesoflight.org or NWOL.us).

I Dream of Spaceships

This morning I dreamed that a spaceship landed in the center square of my small town. Small town, gigantic square. The thing was a humungous round white disc the size of a small city that glowed a brilliant luminous light as it came in for a landing. Once down, it just sat there in a silent ethereal midst, beaming light in all directions throughout the entire town. Then I woke up. Darn. I wanted more.

I love dreams like that. They get my brain in gear thinking about the great never-ending mystery of life that has intrigued humankind since forever. Who are we? Where did we come from? Is there life on other planets? Are we alone in the universe? Have I been here before? Where are we going, and where do I fit into the equation? So many questions, so few answers.

Though I am not a big student of the Bible, the great ship-landing event of my dreams triggered memories from my early Christian training of the rapture, and I started to wonder about the evacuation of the faithful to realms unknown and the return of the Christ. Now, there’s a mystery, if ever there was one.

Imagination runs rampant and I wonder about the return of the Christ. When will He appear, and how? I am intrigued by a merry round of possibility—will the Coming One return via spaceship? Will He come alone, or with a cadre of disciples who will go before Him to make smooth His way? Will He be physical or etheric? Will he appear as the Christ to me, or as Mohammed or Buddha to others? Will he speak every language? Appear on worldwide television? Might He make a personal appearance in my living room? If he did, would I stand in delight or collapse in fright?

Ah ha! Suddenly, I get it! Clearly, I realize that all questions pale in comparison to the last one, the most important of all. My dream is a wake-up call to remind me that when there comes a day when I meet face to face with The Coming One, I want to know that I have done everything humanly possible to be ready, to be worthy of the great honor of being in His presence.

Suddenly, a life review of my behavior during the pandemic seems appropriate. It is a mini reflection of my life as a whole. How am I doing? Have there been any changes in my behavior? Any improvements or backsliding, or stuck points? Can I congratulate myself for chugging on with my daily blog-writing mission and forgive myself for lack of exercise and mindless eating?? Can I observe myself without judgment? Can I resolve to take whatever steps I must to improve, however tiny those steps may be? Bring it on! Whatever it is, I want to see it, and I want to correct it while I still have the time. I want a seat on the spaceship.

Those of us who are on a mission to get reservations on the ship are the warriors of light. We are the ones who are fighting the good fight against the dark forces. Our light is excavating evil hiding in the dark, and we are winning. We know this with absolute certainty because what has been lurking beneath the surface for eons has now been ferreted out by the brilliance of our light for all to see, and it is ugly. This is good news.

Every single person on the planet who seeks to discover and embody the best within carries a bright light, and that light, when joined with others becomes the torch that blazes the path to a new world, a new age, a new era. Every light makes a difference, and the most important one of all is yours.

Keep your eye upon the donut and not upon the hole, keep the faith, and watch for signs of The Coming One, however He may appear. What a wondrous mystery.

In Search of Good News

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I’m on a serious quest to find good news. What with the horrendous death of George Floyd and the ensuing circumstances, plus the pandemic, the depressing politic scene, scary economics to name but a few, we need all the good news that we can get.

I admit to having a full-blown Pollyanna mentality. I admit that I really do not want to see anything that hurts my heart. I also admit that there is plenty of news out there that I really, really do not want to acknowledge. I readily confess to employing the head-in-the-sand trick when something ugly rears its head. Yes, I know it’s there. Just don’t show it to me. They don’t call me the rainbow unicorn for nothing. So no. Don’t show me.

Somehow, the news always manages to find a way to seek me out in spite of the fact that my head is stuck in the sand. This morning it was my iPad that bore the news of protesters spreading social unrest across our nation in reaction to George Floyd’s death. This unavoidable troubling news shows up in our lives even without benefit of a TV, and like it or not, it floods the consciousness of every single being on the planet whether we realize it or not. It’s in the noosphere. But enough said about that because bad news is not good for us. The less focus on it, the better.

Today on Facebook, I found a heartwarming little tidbit of light shining through the darkness, a bit that perhaps in some tiny measure may remind us that in spite of the overwhelming focus on negativity, there is goodness still alive and well within the heart and soul of humanity.

This morning my quest for good news led me to a photo from Facebook of a Tarrant police officer, William Stacy. The caption brought a tear to my eye.

This woman stole 5 eggs to feed her children. Instead of arresting her, Officer Stacy bought her a truckload of groceries.

Ahh. Finally, some good news to add a bit of balance to the ugly. I wish there were a scale on which we could weigh the balance of good news and bad. I wish that we could have proof positive and know for certain that good is winning.

When I look at the photo of the man responsible for the death of George Floyd, I see the face of a troubled, haunted man and it makes me wonder what would drive a person to be capable of such behavior. I cannot imagine what that possibly might be, yet I find myself overwhelmed with a sense of compassion. There but for the grace of God go I.

There are things that we cannot know, save what drives our own behavior, and even that sometimes remains a mystery.

I know that if I do not like what I see, I can choose another way to look at it. I know that I can decide how I feel about something, and that my decision will have an impact not just on myself, but also others as well. I know that I am responsible for my own thoughts and actions. I know that I am the one who makes the choice about what I want and what I don’t. And I am the one who recognizes the profound impact of every choice and decision that I make.

The heart of humanity embraces the individual heart of every person on the planet. Within that heart beats kindness, love, and compassion, ever present if we will but seek to find it. Individually and collectively, we hold the power to tip the balance in favor of light and goodness. Seek and ye shall find.

Blessings in Boo-Boos

Stuff happens. That was the opening sentence of yesterday’s original blog before the great delete debacle happened, and what could be a better example of stuff than that? Lessons Yep. It happens when and where you least expect it. There’s big stuff and little stuff and all sizes of stuff in between, but stuff it is, and the question becomes, so what am I going to do about it?

I got a chuckle out of the response from one reader who said that when stuff like that happens to her, she runs outside and yells “fire, fire!” I am definitely going to try that sometime. The neighbors may try to catch me with a butterfly net, but hey—that’s all part of the fun.

Fortunately, yesterday’s incident was a one-act play and I was the only actor. Sometimes though, the stage is filled with an entire cast of characters enmeshed in a comedy of errors or a tragedy involving pain and suffering. When personally involved in such a scenario, I like to pretend that I’m sitting in the audience observing the show from afar and not let myself become too entangled in the story. When the play ends, I go home and analyze the plot to see what I might have changed, and study the parts of the players and my reaction to them. Often, I rewrite the ending so that everyone walks away with a sense of peace and satisfaction

Ah, good old Pollyanna. She loves those happy endings.

Then I take on the role of a theater critic, except instead of evaluating the play, the plot, and the acting, I look for meaning, lessons, and blessings. Was it worth identifying with the pain or suffering happening on stage? Was there a benefit involved, however miniscule or obscure? Did I learn anything? Is there something that I could have done differently? If I had changed my reaction, might there have been a better outcome?

Sometimes I think that the stuff that happens is a set-up job to help us move forward on the pathway toward our own enlightenment. Every glitch that comes our way arrives complete with an ending that allows us to learn a lesson, find a benefit, and embrace the blessing that is inherent within it. The ending is up to the players. We can choose happy, or we can choose unhappy. Each actor decides his or her own role.

So did I choose a happy ending after yesterday’s big boo-boo? Was there a lesson? The world didn’t end because I made a mistake. Was there a blessing? Absolutely. Once I recovered from the shock of what I had done, I thought the whole incident was hysterical. I felt a profound sense of gratitude because I was able to recover quickly and whip out a replacement blog in the space of ten minutes, and enjoy the freedom of writing with the sense of wild abandon of dancing as if no one was watching.

God bless the boo-boos, for without them we would miss the profound teachings that life has to offer us. The great lessons, gifts, and blessings always await our discovery, if we will but seek to find them. Happy hunting, my friends.

What’s the Point?

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Some days are just better than others. Some days I can sit down at the computer and stuff rolls out faster than I can type. Other days, not so much. Today is one of those other days. I keep wanting to compare my life to my jumbled computer filing system, but that’s just bad news and doesn’t work out well. It’s frustrating.

Friends tell me that during the pandemic, they’ve cleaned out every drawer, every closet in their home. I, on the other hand, have added to my disorganization by creating a new anthology of computer files thanks to my recent habit of writing a daily blog. Good luck to me if I want to add a link to something that I wrote days or weeks ago, because I can’t find it. One of these days I’ll print them all out and stick them in a notebook with some sort of index system. The whole sorry mess mirrors the closets and drawers of my life that still beg for my attention. Sigh

Wait—is this the point where my dear friend who was upset with me for not showing myself in a more favorable light might be angry with me again? Or perhaps is it the point where I might be a little angry with myself? (See? A link here would be a really nice touch, wouldn’t it?)

Okay, now I‘m stuck. Where am I supposed to be going from here? Is this the moment of panic where I say to myself, “See? I knew I couldn’t do it!”? Nope. Not going there.

Maybe it’s time to have a little chat with myself. Okay, fine. So I’m stuck. It’s not the end of the world. Maybe there’s a reason for stuck. Is there a point to all of this go-nowhere jabber? Am I missing something?

Oh—I get it. Maybe the point is that I don’t always have to know what I’m doing, or what is going on, but it’s okay, because that’s life. Maybe the point is that there doesn’t always have to be a point to everything, or that there may be one, but I just may not see it. Maybe my only job is to let life flow without having to control the outcome, or have an opinion about everything, and just let it be whatever it is. Maybe I’m just supposed to be the observer, the one who sits back, watches, and accepts without judging, who forgives and loves unconditionally.

I like it. That kind of a life would work for me—a-let-go-let-God sort of an existence. Maybe I just need to have enough faith, enough trust in the process to know that it’s all okay, whatever it is. Pollyanna? Maybe. But isn’t that a better existence than stressing out over every cluttered closet or lost computer file, or guys who run around with M-14’s because they don’t want to wear masks?

Maybe it’s time to practice equanimity and work on seeking a balance between being and doing (Be-Do). I can be Pollyanna and still clean up a few computer files along the way. I can shift my focus from fear to love. I can have a little faith, trust myself, and add a link. And I did. Yay me. It’s a start. Just start. Maybe that’s the point.

What’s in a Lifetime?

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It’s 7:35 a.m. and I’d like to push the publish button by 9:00 a.m. so I can start the day by attacking the stack of papers that grow in the night and taunt me in the morning. Is anyone else experiencing a bout of laziness and/or procrastination during these days as shut-in’s, or is it just me?

If you’ve been following along for the past several days, you may have noticed a thread of self-doubt running through the pages. Me too, and do you know what? I’m sick of it. Enough already. It’s old news, it’s boring, and it’s time to move on to lighter and brighter things.

Okay, I’m struggling here. Why isn’t this easy? What am I doing wrong? If this is an assignment and I’m willing to do it, why is it so hard? You know me—I always want everything to be easy. Easy suits my lazy nature.

The clock is ticking and I’m nowhere near completion. Whoa. Now there’s a profound statement if ever I heard one! Will life run out before I’m finished? It’s enough to poke me in the derriere with a hat pin and get me moving post haste.

Dear one, no one said that it would be easy. Anything worth doing, being, or having is earned by virtue of the willingness to apply oneself to the task at hand. For some that is easier than others, based upon the soul qualities that one chooses to work on at any given time.

Yes, well willingness is one thing. Application is another. In my case, I’m loaded with willingness, but I have the attention span of a gnat.

We beg to differ. You may think that your attention is limited, but We would like you to review what you have accomplished during the course of your lifetime. By keeping your eye upon the donut, as you like to say, you have marched steadily toward the achievement of your goals and desires, even though at times you may think otherwise. Your evolutionary journey toward enlightenment is furthered by your willingness to accept this assignment. We know that it is not easy, and it is not comfortable. We have asked and you have answered, and for that We are grateful. From your limited perspective it would appear that progress has been slow to the point of being imperceptible, but viewed from a distance We see you standing strong amidst the growing cadre of global lightworkers. Hold the torch high to help light the path for others who struggle to find their way out of the dark. This, indeed, is your assignment, and We thank you for your acceptance of it.

No, thank You, and you are welcome. And thank You that it’s 8:42 and I think that I’m finished. Well, at least for today. A lifetime is another story.

Oops – There’s a Hole in My Head

I ask for creative inspiration and my front tooth falls out. Ha ha, very funny oh Great Cosmic Clown.

Lest you think me totally irreverent here, let me just say that I have a profound love and respect for the grand mysterious workings of the Universe and the power that lies behind it, whatever It is called. I also have a great appreciation of the gargantuan sense of humor inherent within it. Would that all of life’s tricky little life lessons were given with the ingredient of such wonderful humor. Perhaps they are, if one seeks to find it.

My six companions and I seek and find a Thai restaurant across the street from a theater on the upper west side in New York City. We are on a two-hour dinner break from a riveting woo-woo workshop by Tom Kenyon. Those interested in checking out the woo-woo can go to tomkenyon.com. Yes, I’m finally willing to own up publicly to my woo-woo leanings. It’s all a part of my recent decision to be authentic and true to myself—a risky move involving extreme vulnerability and definitely not for the faint of heart. If you haven’t tried it, and if you can muster up the courage, I highly recommend it.

Three of my dinner companions are eating with gusto, enjoying each morsel with that oooh-uahhh glazed-eyed look that overtakes one while in a fit of a divine dining delirium. Unbeknownst to the glazed-eye set, the rest of us are trying to choke down what might possibly qualify as the worst meal of our lives. But no matter – we aren’t really that hungry anyway after our tasty but frenetic lunch at a deli where we are rendered half deaf courtesy of fellow diners intent upon outshouting one another, and sound bouncing back and forth from a bare floor to a ceiling that suffers a serious lack of acoustic tiles.

Waiters whiz by our table at break-neck speed taking and delivering orders, while beleaguered busboys swoop away dishes from tables and send them crashing into huge plastic tubs just behind our booth. We are so intimidated by the pace of it all that we are reluctant to ask for the things that one would hope for in a deli, like straws, lemon, and mayo. Oy. Ulcer Gulch Deli.

Meanwhile, back at the dinner table, I bite into a soft summer roll dipped in peanut sauce and encounter something that clearly is not on the ingredient list. I discreetly sift through the ingredients that actually belong there, and while no one is looking, pick the unidentified object out of my mouth, and place it on my plate. It wasn’t very long before I discover that said mystery object is the fallen tooth responsible for a new gaping hole between two front teeth. I am now compelled to not to smile and talk simultaneously. Rats. I should have ordered soup.

Dinner ends and we return ourselves to the care and keeping woo-woo Tom who describes for us the upcoming meditation that will focus on clearing out the obstacles that prevent us from self love—obstacles of all manner and size, and sometimes brought on by seemingly insignificant things, such as a bad hair day, a pimple on a nose, or . . .

At this point it is all I can do not to jump out of my seat and shout, “Or a gaping hole in the middle of your smile!” but I manage to restrain myself.

It’s a very interesting exercise to rate oneself on a vanity scale from one to ten. A bad hair day might put me at about a six or seven depending upon the degree of badness. A nose pimple (I don’t even like that word) could be a four. But a toothless grin? That could well rate a minus something. I’m mildly embarrassed to confess that the toothless experience explodes my awareness into the realization that appearance means more to me that I’d like to admit. Bad hair days, pimples, and a toothless grin make mighty good grist for the self-image mill. Happily, I find comfort in knowing that I’m not alone in this one. What a great opportunity to get a good up-close-and-personal bird’s eye view of vanity and the role it plays in my life. Did I mention that I’m also working on willingness to allow myself to be vulnerable? What? Confess my shortcomings in public and own up to my own vanity? Horrors!

Day is done, and Amtrak whips us southward through the black of night toward home. A 2:30 a.m. arrival time seems forever away. I fidget in my seat in search of a wee modicum of comfort and try to settle in to review the experience du jour. I find myself rehearsing my response to friends who will surely ask me about the day. “Well,” I’ll say, “the weather was cold, windy, and miserable and mealtimes waffled between bad and worse. One traveling companion suffered from an ailing shoulder, another was barely able to walk due to extremely painful knees and back, and I lost a front tooth and my dignity, all in one innocent little bite.” Well, so other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, how did you enjoy the play? It was amazing. My years of travel in the wonderful world of woo-woo made it all worthwhile and bearable, and allowed good humor and acceptance of what-is to make it a deliciously savory experience.

Joy of joy, my dentist responds to my frantic texts for a fix-it plan before I reach Wilmington. As I drive to my appointment the next day, my mind unleashes a flood of appreciation and I feel suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude for the extra hole in the head, along with its attending vanity crush. It reminds me about how grateful I am that my teeth have remained faithful and intact in spite of decades of wear and tear. I am grateful for my dentist, God bless him, who was willing and able to make time on his Sunday during a beautiful Memorial Day weekend to do damage repair and plug up the hole where a tooth should be. While I was at it, I gave thanks for my trusty and reliable little Honda and the gas in its tank, and the money to pay for damage repair, and for everything else in my world that came to mind as I wheeled my way around a traffic-jam free beltway. I gave thanks for that too. I just love the random bouts of unexplained joy brought about by an abundance of gratitude! Come to think of it, at moments like these, I love just about everything.

When I told Dr. Fixit of these newly minted insights, he said simply, “You made lemonade.”

I did. I made lemonade. The ingredients are a sweet, delicious blend of authenticity, vulnerability, and gratitude with a pinch humor mixed in for a bit of comic relief.

And speaking of sweet, in closing, I’d like to offer a special thanks to the Great Cosmic Clown for answering my request for inspiration in such a creative, humorous, and holy way (yes, pun intended). It’s so easy to love the lovable. The trick is to love it all—the good, the bad, the ugly—the bad hair days, the pimples, the holes in places where holes are not meant to be, and most especially, the self—and all those other selves out there in the world that some days seem so utterly unlovable. Right now, this minute, I love it all. Right now, this minute is all I have. I’d better get busy then and make the most of it while I’m still a grateful guest of our beautiful planet earth, courtesy of the grand cosmic plan.