Hello, Old Friend

It has been a long time since I last posted anything, or even written on my blog, paper or journal. Life threw me a curve ball. Or should I say, life threw me a baby. Thank goodness I am not the one pregnant but my 19 yr old son is going to be a father.

Wow!

It seems strange to see that in print. I feel like from that moment, my life has been slipping and sliding in places I have never wanted to go. I guess I have been on a self pity path for a couple of months and anything that went wrong in my life, only added to the bumpiness of the ride.

I have not been the easiest person to live with either. My mood swings have been "frankenstein-ish" and I am surprised nobody has kicked me out of the house or moved my bed in the garage. It just seems that when you have dug yourself so deep into a pit, it is so bloody hard to claw your way out.

I want out now.

I want to be the joyful person I know that is the real me.

I want that french little girl inside of me to show up again and stay. I want to be tres jolie! I want to sparkle, laugh, think french and dream of living in Paris again.

Just to dream those lovely things again...beautiful french fabrics, rosy creams & lotions, cafe au lait with a beignet for petit dejeuner....ooh la la...romantic scarves, shoes, blouses...tres chic!

I think the little french girl has pushed her pert little nose out, brown curls are bouncing in the cool September air and I am feeling Delicieux!!!

Surviving College Again

I just turned in my thick, bulging with creativity sketchbook to my teacher and it marks the end of the class. I am proud of my sketchbook and put many, long hours into its gestation. Along with it was the 3 part final assignment consisting of 3 compositions, two of them paintings. Also included was my portfolio with all class assignments for the semester. As I inserted each piece into the portfolio, it brought back a myriad of memories. 

The gray scale assignment was to construct 6 compositions using art theory of harmony and I must have deconstructed 20 compositions before I was satisfied with 6. Even those six were "I don't care anymore, just finish this freaking assignment yesterday".

The positive-negative space composition was fun and a blessed relief after the gray scale. Completing the first piece successfully, I held it up to my teacher like a 5 yr old preschooler and said,

"Okay. I am done. I got it. Do I have to do the other two as well?"

"Yes, Lisa, you GET to do the other two as well."

I still liked my first attempt best when I was finished and even submitted it into the Cuesta College Spring Art Contest. It was accepted for judging and has hung on the wall in the gallery for 3 weeks! I called it "Romantic Renaissance" and it looks like vintage baroque wall paper. Now I have to remember to get it back before school is out for the summer!

The next composition was pushing scale and proportion way out of wack. Cutting up magazine images and arranging them as a visual feast for the eyes. People were doing strange things in strange ways in very strange places. Women with big hair, bulldogs in clown outfits and cruise ships sailing in wine glasses.

Up next: red, yellow, blue, green, purple, orange...colors! I was ready to dive in a big vat of cobalt blue, paint my cheeks indigo purple and frost my hair cadmium yellow. Color wheels were spinning out of all of us. Monochromatic, tertiary and analogous color schemes came dripping off our paintbrushes. Everyone went home from class with flushed happy smiles and rainbows of paint sploshes all over their clothes.

As my paintbrushes dry, I learned that I need to take an art class every semester.  By taking this art class I learned about space, proportion, scale, line, form, harmony, balance and color. I submitted a piece of art work for the very first time in my life to be judged by peers. I need to push my comfort zone every opportunity I can because that is when I truly will learn, grow, change and burn new neurotransmitter pathways in my brain. If I am comfortable, I am not growing. I am looking forward to a lot of unpleasant and uncomfortable moments in my life...I am looking forward to meeting the new me along the way!

Spock's Girlfriend

For the premier of Star Trek being released this week, I am going to dress up as Spock's hot girlfriend. My friends had interesting comments.

"Can you do that eyebrow thingy?"

"No, but he loves my Elvis curl in my hair."

"Can you do the Vulcan hand sign?"

"I don't need to because we are always holding hands when we are together."

"Do you have pointy ears too?"

"My ears are little delicate pink shells attached to my head. He doesn't want anybody messing with perfection."

"Has he ever Spocked you?"

" I have spritzed, sparked and made him sputter many, many times."

"Why do you get to be his girlfriend?"

"I am the most illogical woman he has ever met and he can't pass a good challenge."

"Where did you meet?"

"Ahh, now that makes a good story....."

The Day I Met Spock

One moment I was sleeping sweetly in my home on planet Aslar and the next telesecond I remembered waking up in the dark. I was laying in a nest of decomposed vegetation and all around me was a forest of green, yellow and purple. I heard angry men's voices from far away and instinct took over my mind and body. I leaped up and started running. Fear and instinct drove me in the direction of light and the soothing noise of running water. I wiped away cobwebs clinging to my face and hair as I looked behind me to see the men following me. I scanned for leaves moving, a broken branch snapping or a bird squawking in protest of being awaken from its sleepy warm nest. I heard nothing but my own ragged breathing. I crouched down on a rough, moss encased rock to think through my next step. The coldness of the rock began to seep through my clothes and it brought to my attention that my feet were sodden wet from running thru streams and puddles in the forest. My brain kept screaming,

 "Why? Why were you taken?"

There was no welcoming reply. I pushed dirty hands through my hair and came away with broken twigs and leaves falling down into my lap.

Crack!

A branch was heard snapping a short miliget away. I immediately stood to my feet and stumbled in a forward motion to put distance between the men and myself. An exposed root makes me falter but I finally found my stride and head towards a stand of trees. My eyes were scanning for a tree that had pink orange fruit, yellow leaves and black blossoms. It is called a Dreamland tree. Legend has foretold that this tree can teleport you anywhere you want to go as long as you carry no weapons and are part French. Even in the waning moonlight, I could see the glimmer of the pink orange color and my pace picked up in speed. In the distance I heard the men's voices and their excited pitch tells me they were strong on my trail. I risked another glance behind me to see if I could see the men's huge thick bodies moving thru the dense undergrowth of the forest. My foot found a laepscer's hole and my body went crashing down into the tall yellow grass and purple blooms of lilies. My head found a rock embedded in red clay and the sharpness of the pain stunned me. Gasping in pain, my mind takes over my bodies natural instinct to curl up in a fetal position and forced me to crawl on hands and knees forward.

Push. Push. Forward. Forward. 

My brain begins the mantra as my body sluggishly picked itself up and starts again to run towards the tree. Behind me, the men were still shouting to each other with directions and I felt my safe vacuum was very tenuous. The yellow vegetation grew thicker, taller around the tree and I had to shorten my stride to accommodate it. My feet started to sink into spongy marsh ground and I slapped at bugs flying close to my face in emotional frustration. Out of the darkness a fierce whisper is heard,

"Here. Quickly now."

I froze down into a crouch. I could not see anyone in front of me or to the side. A new type of dread and fear slid over my skin and I bit down hard on my bottom lip to stop from screaming in anger. I was angry with myself for letting down my guard and allowing this strange presence to slip under my watch.

"Hurry. The men will know where you are headed soon. Hurry."

Again the deep whispered voice came out of seemingly nowhere and the sense of urgency was very powerful in his voice. Friend or foe? I had two breaths to decide. I decided to move towards the voice who wanted to help me.

"Hurry. It's logical to use the tree. Use it. And hurry."

I was almost under the canopy of the tree when two muscled arms reach down from the tree branches and grabbed my body from the ground. Adeptly the arms swung me up into the thick leaves of the tree branch. One of his hands balanced me on a branch and the other hand clasped over my mouth.

"Quiet. I am Spock. I am here to save you."

And the rest was...logical. We met, we liked, we argued and we are still together. Love is grand and can be logical some of the time...!!!

A Different Kind of Date

It might have gone something like this...

The retro black wall phone rings in our kitchen.

"Hello."

"Hey, Hi Babe. How would you like to go on a date?"

"I would love to go on a date with you sweetie."

Already visions of bruschetta, homemade ravioli with white sauce and sharing a sinful slice of flourless chocolate cake together are dancing in my head. I can almost smell the garlic and olive oil cooking...

"How about a really different type of date?"

Not even pausing in breath or does my brain take a slide to the left did I hesitate.

"Sounds great. I am always looking for different ways of doing life."

"Well, this is definitely about different ways of doing life and will require staying overnight. Are you still wanting to do it?"

"As long as we are together that is all that matters. Book it. When do I find out what the date is all about?"

"I will let you know on April 29th. Get Ready!"

Life went on, going to art class, laughing with brides and going on strike from all the dirty dishes in my own home. I pondered the mystery date. Temptation was strong to call hotels in the area and "accidentally" rifle through his papers laying right next to my husbands Bible. That black leather Bible pretty much put the brakes on any thoughts I had in the sneaky direction. Bright hot red and yellow flames licking and burning the soles of my feet always came to mind. Nope, better leave all papers alone to save my soul.

The day arrived and patience wore out.

"What should I wear to this date night?"

"Wear very warm comfortable clothes."

That didn't strike me as strange or bizarre. We constantly went out on dates in warm, casual clothes much to the disgust of our daughters. Our daughters strongly believe that a woman should be all glammed up if stepping outside for a date of any type. I don't own any Jimmy Choo's or Steve Madden shoes. I own Keen and have had Birkenstock's for years. My idea of a dream date is jeans, flowery shirt, pearls and a warm Polartec jacket. Not 5th Avenue or the Champs Elysees!

"You will want to pack a sleeping bag, pillow and something to read too."

This made me pause in my step. We are not the big happy camper couple. We have tried it and beat a hasty retreat back home smelling of smoke, campers gritty dirt and raging headaches. My husband must be losing his mind in small little doses to even sign us up for camping. I look at him and he is smiling. Not wanting to be a wimp and hoping they have "cleaned" up campsites and provide heavenly beds (!!!), I packed up my stuff a little more slowly and a lot more reluctantly. Not the date night I and Victoria Secret were planning on!

"Okay, I am ready. Where are we going?"

"We are going right up the street and stopping by a church."

This was not unusual since we pause, pray and attend all sorts of churches locally and whenever we travel to other cities or countries. Everything is chucked into the back of the car and my gut is tightening up with anxiety for the camping portion of this date. 

Note to self: Have a heart to heart with dearly beloved about the big NO on camping unless the Ritz Carlton is opening up campsites.

Driving up to the parking lot of the church, my eyes cannot miss the big white van of EOC. A man is directing the van to park when he spies our car and lopes over to us. A huge smile and warm handshake greet me as I open my car door.

"Hi, I am David Small. Thanks for volunteering at the Overflow Homeless Shelter tonight. Your husband is my hero and it is nice to meet his wife."

"Thanks, its nice to meet you and this is a great way to have a date with my husband."

I really meant it too. 

We had each other, our faith in the Lord and our children to sustain us through life's meandering paths of tall willowing green grass; prickly thorn bushes, foul stagnant waters and symphonic cascading water falls. Thanks to my sweet husband, who knew how to take a woman on a date and make her feel appreciated, blessed and very tired doing something so simple...the gift of warm human connection.

The Fabulous Fifty Day

I began as a mermaid. I swam through warm chlorinated water to pick up the sunken treasure. Blue, green, yellow striped little plastic fish were "swimming" over the brightly colored signs shimmering in the water. Head bopping in the waves breaking on the surface, I am laughing and spitting out water as I dive down to retrieve more of the sunken treasure. I haul my booty onto land, dripping wet, smiling goofy and giggling happily as if I was slurping up my first hot fudge sundae! On deck were the co-conspirator pirates, Miranda and Jake, who had sunk the treasure in the first place. Lined up, the confetti colored signs read, "Happy Birthday Lisa Anne Pimentel Johnson!" Flipping my mermaid tail once more in the chill of the air, the pirates returned back to their ships (home) and I swam on looking for more forgotten treasure.

Arriving home I became a Princess. Draped over my birthday chair festooned with balloons, ribbon streamers and glitter was a silver crown intertwined with a Happy Birthday garland. Poking out from under it was a satin pink sash with fuzzy red letters attached spelling out: Party Princess. Going with the pink/rosy theme, I threw on a rosy shirt with ruffles and lovingly set the crown ontop of my freshly primped hair. Next came the pink sash and I was ready to go out and meet the world in my new beginning of life at 50.

As Princess I received a lot of funny looks, mass confusion, shy smiles and big rounded eyeballs from my subjects, the public. It seems they do not see many Princess's in their day to day living, much less knew there was one living in San Luis Obispo! My two sweet daughters joined me for a pedicure and then all the family were off to see a movie, Monsters vs Aliens. My mother joining us as we flew out the door. The movie was not what I would at first pick since I do lean heavily towards romance, historical love stories and more romance, but this was the best out there that was not kill 'em, dice'em, vaporize'em movie junk.

Stuffed with candy and stomach muscles sore from rambunctious laughing, I become Queen when we return home. On my chair throne is a flowery sign, "Queen's Throne", inscribed in pink crayon. Looking on my left on the wall is the best type of graffiti...my wonderful husband painted my children as shadows hugging me! I moved into the middle of the hug and felt the love. It felt real good.

The cacophony of dinner being prepared was glorious! I, the Queen, sat in my throne and watched all the drama. Singed finger tips, jostling of dishes, spilled sauces and the clang of cutlery being set on the table. My wonderful husband spinned all my favorite songs and I impetuously grabbed my mother's arms and danced with her to a Beatles tune. Sipping the sparking bubbles of champagne, I felt the sublime thrill of transcendence in the moment of time spent with my family and celebrating this birthday.

Before we sliced into juicy steak and the buttery lobster, we prayed over our food and blessings. Each of my loved ones said a prayer for me. It was humbling and heartwarming to be so loved, so wanted and so blessed. I thanked them all for making me who I was. They had all given me all their best parts and I was very thankful for their love, laughter and prayers over the years. We toasted to life. We toasted to our Creator. We toasted to love...

In the midst of sparkler powder wafting in the air; torn pink, green tissue paper;  glitter twinkling in eyelashes, hair and clothes; I thought about my new life. Life can be waiting for you in someones eyes, in a phrase of music, in a starry night. You can find it. Just keep looking up.

My Queen's advice is this: Start a conversation. Report for volunteer duty. Begin the novel. Move. Roll your eyeballs around. Believe in something larger than yourself. Go to a game. Grab somebody's hand. And, yes, if you do just one thing only....connect with someone. Life will be even greater than you can imagine.

Ode to My Bike

It was a crisp spring day when we went to look,

Filled with excitement on a day off from work.

We looked at red, silver, green and blue,

A nice comfy seat, streamers and basket too.

I got on and off dozens of bikes,

Even fell off a few as well...yikes!

Finally, the silver beauty did beckon me,

To claim it for only a small ransom fee.

I rode it home with bugs catching in my smile,

Over bridges, roads, meadows for a couple of miles.

My sweet little bike was ridden hard by my children,

Flat tires, scraped paint, broken basket was for me to mend.

Screeching brakes, twisted metal and crooked tires,

No longer could I hold my bike together with chicken wire.

Into the bike shop for some magic,

Out of the bike shop with a bill that was tragic.

I loved my purple streamers,

People laughed at them when they drove by in their Beemers.

I loved my banged up rusted basket,

It could go thru ice, snow, sleet or even get sloppy wet.

I loved my super deluxe extra padding seat

Riding so comfy just can't be beat.

It's all gone,

The streamers were left in the gutter,

No trace, no note or letter.

Fare thee well ole bike of mine,

A bike with attitude I will never find.

May the new owner ride you in the wind,

And over the handlebars into the cement do you send.

Four Weddings & A Surprise Concert

It was the tender moment in all weddings. The bride swooshed her way up to the altar, gossamer veil floating behind her with the twinkle of hand sewn crystals trailing after. The tall handsome groom in his pristine black wedding suit and shiny shoes delicately led his bride while being careful not to tread on the soft satin of her dress. The air was scented from the gardenia's in the brides bouquet and the beeswax candles lit around the altar. The priest was smiling while holding the holy water to bless their golden rings and holy union of marriage.

Across from the back of the pews a rumble was heard. The sound was building. Heads swivelled with perplexed frowns. Bodies swayed right and left seeking the sound. The rumble kept building and crashing over the top of the string quartet playing Bach. Bach could not stop it. Nobody could stop it.

I jumped up from my pew and started following the next rumble building to its source. The sound kept taking me further and further back into the church. My steps slow, falter, as I realize where I am headed. I pass the door to the gardens outside and the little goldfish darting under lily pads in the pond. I pass the door to the confessionals where sins are laid to rest and forgiveness eases pain. I pass the door to the music room where Ave Maria can be heard sung on some cloudless summer day. I reach the last pew in the church and behold a middle aged man laying on his back with his mouth open singing his own brand of song. The air is scented with Johnnie Walker and the hard life of living on the streets.

I cautiously walk over to him and whisper to him loudly, 

"Sir, you need to wake up."

One bleary bloodshot eye cranks open and tries to focus. The other eye struggles to come open. His dirt smudged hand raises to rub his eyes and run through his hair but gets entangled in the uncombed knots. The snoring has stopped with the reluctant opening of one eye. He moves to sit upright but gravity does not come easy.

"Sir, you need to move out of the church. There are some benches outside."

The man reaches down and finally grabs his bottle after four attempts. He tosses his travel weary backpack over his shoulder and stumbles out of the church into the sunlight, headed for the nearest bench. I watch him practically collapsing on the bench, his body sagging with relief from having to hold itself up too long. His head drops on the paint chipped wooden bench as his fingers release the half empty Johnnie Walker bottle onto the grass. His backpack never made it to the bench. It is forgotten on the cement walkway. I walk over and move the backpack by his bottle, hoping he will remember it when he reaches for the bottle on his next move to somewhere.

Unfortunately, this will be the "funny story" that happened at the wedding but for me, it is the sad story of our society. The Mission attracts transients like ice cream to chocolate sauce. We keep open our doors every day for everyone. I wonder how much longer we will be able to do this...

Phil Wickham & Charlie Hall Concert

We skidded over to Fresno for the concert at a local Christian church. They had a mega kilowatt sweet sound system, huge eye popping viewer screens and comfy chairs for the fans. One of the pastor's of the church greeted us as soon as we arrived and told us to follow him because he was going to find us some seats. It was five minutes before the show was to start, and he takes us into the front main section of the church and repeatedly asked people if that or this seat was taken. In my head I was thinking that this guy must be nuts to think we were going to find a seat that close to the stage but he did! We sat down with a huge grin on our faces and thankfulness in our hearts.

Charlie Hall was first up and he loves stroking his long Van Dyke! His music is strong, powerful, in your face and has written more popular worship songs than I realized. Listening to his lyrics you understood this was a man who had come from bad mistakes, a lowly lifestyle and was broken. He was gritty, encouraging and used humor to pull you into his life and music.

Phil Wickham came on stage to thunderous whistling, clapping and screaming. His voice has amazing range and he plays a sweet guitar. Reflected in his style are his charismatic ways of leading worship in his childhood church back home. He played some of his biggest hits and swept us up in speechless wonder with new song at the end. He is your all American O.C. man; hip, suave and debonair. He kinda looks like a James Bond 007 type of guy too but packs a bible instead of a Glock.

It was blindingly clear these two men are blessed by God to write, sing and share their music. And I know God was pleased with what He heard last night!

Mountain Top Easter

In the dark I heard ragged breathing on my left. On the right I heard the cascading sound of loose rocks falling. All around me it was dark but on the horizon it was a pale lavender. The sun was making its celestial dance of rising and ribbons of people were wrapped around Madonna Mountain on their way to Easter Sunrise Service.

As the faithful trekked up the mountain, there was a solemn feeling to the upward journey. Some people were thinking about families still at home nestled in their warm beds. Some people were feeling the cold wind and sharp air biting thru the layers of clothes they were wearing. Some people were thinking of a battered, bruised body in a tomb that in moments was going to be resurrected in glory and majesty. 

People would pause on the rocky way, catch their breath and catch an eyeful of the beautiful kaleidoscope of color when a town comes to life with the dawn of a new day. We saw the last twinkling lights of the night street lamps, the milky white wispy clouds rolling away into the emerald green hills and a dark grey train slithering along the tracks as it made its way to the bigger cities. A hawk circled our heads and seemed to bow his head at the cross that was lit up on the top of the mountain.

Reaching the plateau at the top we are greeted by warm smiles, even warmer handshakes and refreshing water to ease our dry throats. Reflected in faces was the awe of being present on what seemed to be the top of the world on Easter Sunday. Music pulled us into sitting down and tapping our feet to the soul thumping drum beat. Warmed up with music and opening prayer, the pastor from a local Christian church delivers his message. His words have a ripple effect of laughter, affirming head nods to hands raised in righteous praise. I feel connected to this community sitting among rocks and brush with cold coastal morning air weaving thru us. Our voices rising in song so close to the heavens it seems, warm the heart and soul. After the last Amen, we pick our way thru boulders, rocks and dirt to the highest point where the Cross has been anchored. Feet firmly planted on granite, I think of all my blessings in family and being alive to witness this sunrise at this moment. 

Walking down the mountain, pebbles spraying out from my steps, wild rosemary and sage scenting the air, I thank God for life and dying for me. He is an awesome God.

The Marvelous Mud Run

On Friday I was immersed in french fabric, vintage notions, sparkling baubles and gleaming antique bronze chain with the aroma of brewed jasmine tea surrounding us.

On Saturday I was immersed in Torre Pines, the multi green hues of coyote scrub brush, gritty sand and the stinging salt air of a storm rolling off the grey blue ocean. 

On Sunday I was standing in my heavily duct taped tennis shoes, coated in sunscreen, slapping a red striped beach ball in the air and cheering with a multitude of hundreds for the San Diego Mud Run to begin! I was pumped to see the mud fly in all directions!

Jay, Miranda and Jake were there to witness my personal feat: run a 5K obstacle course through 30 mud pits that traversed through holes as deep as 4ft 8inches, steel drainage pipes, camouflage nets, vertical uphill inclines and six firemen water hoses. Some of the mud pits were thin gravy and others were super thick sludge. Hence the duct tape on your shoes so that you would not lose it in the mud pit...theoretically speaking of course. I saw a lot of one shoe runners out there on the course as well as limping, staggering, and lopsided runners too.

"Three, Two, One"....we were off and as we ran through the parking lot, everyone was laughing  as we got our first hit of the fireman's cold water hose. Around a curve was the first mud pit and most of the women took it very tentative while the men charged down the middle yelling their war cry. By the third mud pit, everyone was slimed in mud all over and were more concerned about keeping their shoes on.

Half way in the race it became an obstacle course of 15 condensed mud pits. The designer of the course must have had wicked delight in creating high sloping mud pits which forced you to drag your bottom down into the mud and try to scamper up the other slippery side. It was all hills and valleys of mud in the shape of a figure 8. They even threw in crawling on hands and muddy knees across a steel drainage pipe down into some more gooey muck.

It was while I was "jogging" up the vertical hillside that an amazing thought came into my head:

"I am so happy to be alive!"

I kid you not. I really did think that. It felt so incredibly good to be alive, participating and shouting encouraging words to other runners. It didn't matter I had to walk when I reached the top of the hill to catch my breath. It didn't matter that I had small pebbles and rocks in the bottom of my slushy shoes. It didn't matter I had mud oozing out of every orifice on my body. It was fun to be celebrated for being so gloriously caked with mud!

I felt blessed to have a husband shouting along my side as I trudged through a mud pit,

"Come on Pimentel. Get in there. Get Dirty Pimentel. You Can Do It Pimentel." 

as he was videotaping.

It was sweet to hear the words,

"Go Mom! Go! Yeah, Mom! Lookin Good Mom!" and I knew they came from my daughter, Miranda, who stood among the colorful flags offsides with her digital camera trying to catch a muddy image.

I would hear Jake yell,

"Yeah, Lisa! Goooo Lisa!" while he held bags stuffed with water bottles, clothes, sunscreen,  baseball hats and a huge smile on his face.

As we finished the race emerging from the last mud pit, we all looked like creatures from the Black Lagoon but happy. I was handed a yellow tag that read, "45 minutes, 15 seconds". I raised one brown fist in the air and gave my last war cry for the day. The smiling entourage of my family circled me with hands held aloft and many congratulations spoken. I was surprised they could even recognize me through the disguise of my lagoon creature. We headed home after another cold blast of water to "rinse off", donating the tennis shoes that made "it" happen and a frosty mug of root beer. We are already talking about bringing a huge roll of duct tape, towels for after the "rinse off" and wearing swim caps and goggles for next year.

There is nothing like trudging and sloshing in mire, muck, slop, and slush as it oozes and slimes all around your body! Its divine!

Worship Chicken

There are vibrations all around me in the car. My son is humming the last song played at church. He is playing a righteous guitar in the air. My daughter is singing the words in her soft tenor voice and kicking the back of his seat to the beat. My husband is adding his deep, rich baritone voice and clapping his hands while barely missing my nose with his long, neatly clipped fingers. I sit wedged happily in the midst of all the cacophony and wish the ride home was 30 minutes instead of only 8 minutes long.

Arriving home,  I push a button that infuses the house with  new music. The fluid, rhythmic notes of Santana start hips swaying and arms raised to twirl or dip. Opening the fridge, I pull out the plump roasting chicken and while my husband is clipping fresh thyme, rosemary and sage in the garden, I rinse and pat the chicken dry. Throwing the fresh cut up herbs in melted butter, the music has now switched to the Beatles and everyone is now singing with great gusto the words to "Let It Be". The chicken is now saturated with the butter herb mixture, stuffed with lemons inside its cavity and set to roast in the oven for the afternoon.

Frisbee golf, reading, walking on the beach or cleaning, occupies everyone's interest and time as the aromatic smells of roasting chicken waft through the house and neighborhood. Windows are opened, fresh air comes in as rosemary pungent smells escape out of the house. Dogs and cats are weeping because they know their lips will never touch this food!

Potatoes are roasted, green beans are nestled in a green ceramic bowl, and fresh strawberries are sparkling from the light dusting of sugar. The chicken is pulled out of the oven and rests on a blue Italian plate throne. The table gets draped with a yellow  vintage quilt, set with blue chintz dishes and mismatched red floral napkins are laid by the silver cutlery. White pitchers filled with fresh water are sweating from the thick chunks of ice floating on top. Pewter candlesticks with ivory candles are set by the vase of hand gathered flowers of pink roses in the middle of the table. Dinner is ready...

"Come to Dinner!"

There is no need to yell it, scream it or hunt down any family member. The smells and activity in the kitchen have enticed everyone to hover close by for the call to dinner. We all gather in a loose circle, some hands are squeezed harder than others, bodies are jostled, legs get tangled and toothy smiles are easily seen. Reaching inside his heart, my husband gives the unscripted message of thanks for food, family and God's blessings in our lives. As "Amen" passes our lips, laughter erupts as we all dash for the table and grab the serving spoons to serve up some culinary delights.

Dinner is usually followed by games...Cranium, Perugo, Spades, Apples to Apples, The Great Dalmuti and more. I always think of Sunday dinner as "Worship Chicken" because it starts with church and ends with chicken. In between there is laughter, memories to be shared, stories to be told and the sweet savoring of time with my family. I hope we are cooking "Worship Chicken" for a long time...

Hair Puffs & Poofs

My two beautiful daughters had been encouraging me for years to try a new hair stylist for fun, for something new and to experience the head massage with the haircut phenomenon. This is the big year of stretching way out there and so, I made the appointment after reaching the point that you are sick-to-death-don't-let-me-near-razors-scissors-yard-clippers-hair.

Annika, my daughter, wanted to join in the fun and made the appointments at the same time in her favorite salon. The anticipation of a new look, new style, new me was building and I secretly hoped that our chairs would be next to each other as our hair got snipped, artistically crafted and spritzed into place.

Arriving early, we slipped on the satiny robes (the color looked good on us!); were handed some hot herbal tea and sank into the salon cushion chairs, ready to be remade into vivacious, gorgeous women. Annika had already coached me to what I needed to say:

"You can cut my hair anyway you desire. You have total artistic freedom with my hair."

I did my job and then watched the stylist do hers. As she made little snips here and there, I thought she might need some encouragement, and so I gave her helpful insight into my personality.

"I love fun and sassy hair."

"I love short and bouncy hair."

"I love cuts that make my fine hair look not so wimpy."

None of this was apparently getting through because at the end of the haircut, I had little puffs and poofs of hair on the top of my head and the bangs were slicked down on the side.  She had trimmed a little bit off the end of the hair and blowed dried it all straight. Inside I was screaming,

"&*%$, she gave me an old lady haircut. What the *&^%! I look like those old Armenian ladies from Fresno that I see in Pottery Barn all the time."

Outside I say,

"Could you please trim my bangs? I don't usually blow dry them straight and I really need my bangs trimmed."  

Off goes a little of the bangs by the stylist and I am once again staring into the mirror and feeling very, very ugly. I look like a hag and feel like a hag. I glance over to my daughter who is getting a kick-butt cute haircut. Her hair is bouncing, happy and sassy. She is glowing from the all the cuteness that is shimmering out of her pores! She looks amazing! It makes me want to slump down in my salon chair even more and get the heck out of that place.

To add to my dismay, she even shellacs my puffs, poofs into place and tells me that I am all done. I am done with this place.

Ripping out of the satiny robe, I try one more time to look at my hair in the bathroom, heave a huge sigh and realize there is no escaping my butt-ugly hair style. Walking over to Annika, I watch her being finished up....her stylist whisks off her extra cape, walks Annika over to their makeup display and using a big makeup brush, dusts off the last wispy hairs off her neck. She then uses two different shades of lipstick and  applies luscious color to her lips as the finishing touch! I hope I remembered to close my wide open gaping mouth of shock.

Feeling numb, I pay for my haircut and even tip her! I feel sick inside and turn down Annika's offer to do something fun. The only fun I want is to hide out at home. Luckily Annika's chatter is distracting to the depression I feel about my hair until we get home and then we both critique my hair, especially after my son sees it and says,

"What happened?"

I keep it together for awhile, let Annika try to "fix it" by putting bobby pins in it, spit and after turning her head in a 90 degree angle "proclaiming it better" attempt; I finally put my head under the spigot and wash the disaster away. Feeling a little bit better and younger, I compliment Annika on her sassy and chic haircut. Only when she has gone, do I cry. A wave of disappointment crashes over me and a sweet sister in law and family help me to smile and laugh again...later.

After all, I don't have purple or cheetah spotted hair. It was not sheared off and clumps were not removed. I just still need a haircut. A stylish, chic, sassy, vivacious, fun hair style. Is it possible? I don't know but I am trying again this afternoon!

What the heck....life is for the dangerous living!

Farmer's Market

Grabbing our cups of coffee, wiping the last wisps of sleep from our eyes, and making sure our clothes are decent for the public, my husband and I head out to Farmer's Market to see friends, smell the herbs and squeeze some ripe melons. 

It's our Saturday morning ritual and can take place between 8am through 10am, in sunshine or dewy fog, the yellows of spring with strawberries or the golds of fall with spaghetti squash. As we find a place to park, it is random and slow as we dodge the little old ladies pushing their wire carts full of vegetables and pink carnations.

We lope over to our favorite strawberry guy, Willy, who always has a big, white smile and a hand ready to shake with my husband.

"How is your family?" we always ask.

Willy has a huge extended family that cooks and plays soccer together every weekend. We love to hear what he is throwing on the BBQ and it usually inspires us for own dinner that night. From Willy we buy strawberries, cilantro and carrots with their tops still on.

Across from Willy is our tomato lady, Sharon. Her tomatoes are always displayed in neat, tidy rows and look too red and perfect to be real. I glance at her little handout notes for new tomato recipes but nothing sparks my interest except to see her tomatoes at home drizzled in olive oil, fresh basil and sitting delicately on top of a thin piece of bread. Delicious!

A laugh bursts out loud in the quiet ebbs and murmurs of the chatter between friends, farmer to customer and children wanting to nibble an orange slice. Seeing a little girl making an orange slice smile for her brother, it reminds me that we need some of those rich in Vitamin C jewels for our family. Tom, the farmer, extends a slice of orange to us with his prongs. 

"Oh, I already know how wonderful your oranges taste. We will take your biggest bag, please."

Over my shoulder, my husband adds,

"I would love a piece though Tom! I have coffee breath and this will help."

Tom hands him a piece of orange and a 10lb bag of oranges while I pay him. Our hands are getting full but we have more friends to greet and vegetables to gather.

My husband is already making his way to one of his favorite stops of the morning. He is heading over to the nuts, dried fruit canopy and Stefan. Stefan is one of his special friends not only because he is extremely tall like my husband, but because of his faith and mutual passion for ministry. They are kindred spirits when it comes to ministry and ways to help those in need. I will usually let them talk while I grab the last of the vegetables; chard from a sweet, Portuguese organic farmer; leeks from two sisters farming in Nipomo; salad greens from a teenager that helps out her Dad every weekend; apples from Mike who grows vintage variety types in See Canyon; sweet onions from a lady who lives across from the Mission; and flowers from a couple that pick them fresh out of their garden at 5am.

As I make my way back, I am distracted by all the textures and shades of brown wicker baskets that people are carrying. The vivid colors of the fruits and vegetables against the neutral browns make it look like an artistic rendering of a still life picture.  I return to Stefan and my husband, get a kiss from them both and waving goodbye, we go back to our car with healthy food while holding hands. The happy feelings continue as we drive home to our children where we will place the flowers in a white ceramic pitcher, make pancakes, homemade berry sauce and squirt lots of whipping cream on top. As the whipping cream sticks to our faces, we realize how lucky we are to live in this bountiful area, be able to share this with our children and create this family memory. 

First Rejection Letter

It's never good to see an envelope in your mailbox, especially in the early morning too, with your handwriting on it. Whenever I have had to do those SASE type of deals, its always so that you get to throw away more money on something you already mailed off therefore throwing away money in the first place.

I knew who it was from, the Funny Times people in Ohio. I had submitted my story about the bride with the big bazooka's because everyone thought the story was "hilarious", "laugh-out loud", and "extremely funny". I even was smiling as I stuffed the envelope with high hopes, tingling finger tips and soulful exuberance! Ha! Ha! Ha! 

It now seems the joke is on me! Those guys and girls in Ohio are a tough crowd to make laugh. Wow! I have been told by my fellow writers that I should frame my first rejection letter. Where do you put a framed rejection letter? Above the toilet seat? In the garage by the dart board in case your aim "slips" and the dart skewers the rejection letter? Do you even put glass over the rejection letter? Does it hang above your computer where you do all your writing so it makes you work harder, sweat longer and swear more colorfully?

I read that Dr. Seuss was rejected 10 million times before they published him. Then there is C.S. Lewis, Faulkner, and Hemingway who had lots and lots of rejections before somebody retrieved the thrown out manuscript from the trash, thought to themselves, "This stuff is so weird it probably is brilliant and I think I will publish it after all."

 So, if that is the case, I have many more rejections to look forward to and I had better start clearing five walls in the house to make room for all those framed rejection letters. Whopeeeeeeeeee!

Bishop's Peak with Graeme

"Hey Mom, do you want to come?"

Those are heavenly words coming from my son! I am in shock that he wants me to join him and the fact he thinks I can actually pull off the physical test of hiking up Bishop's Peak. Inside my head I am doing my "little happy dance" and quickly respond in case he changes his mind.

"Sure, I would love to come."

We drive up to the beginning of the trail and because my son was born under a lucky star, there is one parking space open at a spot closest to the trail head! All the other spots were filled as the road snakes its path down the hill for one mile! A good sign for the start of our hike. Maybe I won't fall off the edge or bust a knee cap....

We leave our water bottles behind because we don't want to carry the weight (which is later regretted of course) and start following the well worn marked path leading up the mountain. We pass wood fencing, barbed wire fencing until it is open pasture with signs dotted along the way to warn hikers to stay on the path and preserve the natural habitat. Hikers coming down the mountain look a little breathless and sweaty but are smiling and laughing as they dodge the rocks, muddy puddles and wild purple heather sprouting by the side of the path. Graeme and I give the customary friendly nod of greeting as we pass them and keep heading up the trail.

At a break in the trees, we look down the mountain at an incredible view. We are looking at nature's paint store for the color green: moss, olive, celadon, asparagus, hunter, kelly, emerald, viridian, tea, jade, persian,pine, lime, forest, and sage greens! It was breathtakingly beautiful in a 360 degree kaleidoscope of living color! Due to the visual feast, we periodically stop along the way to enjoy it from different angles.

The last part of the hike is in full sun and the switchbacks get more serious along with the intensity of the sun. Where is our water...oh, that's right, back in the car. Great. At the top, Graeme wants to climb to the top of the biggest rock and my view is cast over to the nice, quiet, wooden bench two steps away. He convinces me to accept his challenge and I didn't want to look weak and namby-pamby, so, taking a breath I look up to where I needed to place my feet. Hoping the gum I stuck on the bottom of my shoes would work miracles, I climbed vertically up rocks to get to the top of the world...it was one of those moments. A moment where you thank God for living and for living it with your son.

On the way down, we passed more people who looked like we felt, happy to be alive and appreciating nature's color palette. It was amazing to see so many people outside and their eyes not locked on computers, TV or video games. It looks like the earth's stewardship is in good hands with the younger generation.

It was a sweet moment with my son. I will remember it forever. I am also very lucky that he wants to do things still with his mother. My walk with Graeme was a gift, and I will treasure it in my box of memories I am creating as I move thru life now.

Falling Off the Grid

I have fallen off the grid. Since losing my job due to budget cuts last November, I have fallen off the grid and despite many attempts to reconnect, it just ain't happening. The term in its purity means: disconnecting from socialized utility companies, self sufficiency in agriculture, education and human based needs and living outside an urban landscape. I define the term in regards to myself as being disconnected from social activity in a job situation via the phone, person or Internet. Let me tell you, it can be a lonely place.

Now I find myself talking to people for extended lengths of time while waiting in line. I will never pay my bills on line since this will jeopardize my social life! I will step into the longest line possible at any store and soak up all the people, their conversations and what they are wearing or any body art that is interesting. If any of these places were robbed, I could give the FBI detailed descriptions of everyone in the store so they could easily apprehend the fugitive. If I actually step into line where I know someone...Alleluia! Now I have tons more verbal data to expound upon and I could probably write their biography by the time we are checking out with our milk, eggs and bread.

What is the lesson in falling off the grid? It's allowing God's will to unfold. It's redefining the word patient. It's knowing that you are in God's hands and He will always hold you close to His heart. I don't know where my life is headed and if I will ever get back on the grid. I am taking another one of those leaps, a leap of faith that I am meant to be in those long lines, maybe to bring some laughter, compassion and comfort to someone who needs me.

The Spa Adventure with Chrissie

This is my tribute to Chrissie...an amazing sister in law who has always laughed at my jokes, been patient with my stupidity, joined in my craziness and seemed to always forgive me for being part of the Pimentel family. Thank you Chrissie from my heart and let's toast to 50 more adventures together!

It all began about ten years ago....

Planning logistics from Fresno and San Luis Obispo was erratic at best. It had to be done between car pools, grocery shopping, homework monitoring, laundry, part time jobs and trying to remember if we brushed our teeth that morning. The plan had been forged in a moment of "mother overload" and money didn't seem to matter anymore because we were looking at driving into a tree as a means for a vacation from our families! We booked the spa weekend, convinced our husbands we would come back as raging sex starved toned women and bribed other mothers with brownies, cookies, casseroles, foot rubs to cover the school pickups and car pools.

Giggling almost maniacally, we set off together for Ojai and our sacred time away from our other life! We chatted nonstop about the beautiful low calorie food, the classes that would unbend arms and legs that had been frozen in picking up clothes off the floor and bent in the sitting position from the hours and hours of driving children around the world, or so it seemed. Our voices raised in happy anticipation of the long soaks in the sauna, tub, pool or any big hole filled with scented healing water. We politely considered each person's phobia about sleeping by the window or door and assigned the beds accordingly....one big queen bed for each of us!

As we entered Ojai, we anxiously scanned the landmarks for our spa. Nirvana was only moments away! We kept looking and rechecking the address for our spa. We passed a huge parking lot with multiple buildings off the main road but instantly scratched it off our search because it was a fat farm for older women. We were looking for that spa that screamed "We Will Rejuvenate, Reawaken and Replenish You Spa"in a gorgeous setting that man designed and nature added the color. I rechecked our address again and turning to Chrissie with my mouth hanging open, gasped,

"OHMYGOD! We made reservations at the fat farm. They are going to give us carrots and water all weekend and make us wear polyester sweatsuits to sweat off more calories. How could we screw this up?"

My voice ended in a big screech.

"We can't do this. We didn't come all this way for a fat farm weekend. What are we going to do Lisa?" replied Chrissie in total panic mode.

"We are not going in there. We booked the wrong spa. Let's find that other spa and see if we can even get in there," and reversing the car, we sped away to see up ahead the place we were meant to be checking into.

It was acres and acres of green lawn; lush, colorful, sculptured flower beds; mighty Californian oaks surrounded by multi-toned grey river rocks; birds chirped happily in their soft little nests and virile, young valet boys bounced around cars, guests and luggage with ease. This was it...The Ojai Spa and they even had a triple AAA discount which we used. In order to get out of the other reservation, I made a phone call telling a big fat lie with lots of choked up fake tears. I felt the flames of hell licking at my feet when I did that and if I was going to die soon, my body was going to be cleansed, buffed and glowing when I met God.

We checked into our room, bounced on the beds, scoped out the freebie toiletries, grabbed a towel and set off for the classes in the Yoga Sanctuary. Chrissie and I were like sugar addicts in a candy store...we crammed so many classes into our days, rode the free bikes in the evening and limped to bed each night determined to tone harder the next day. We did a Chumash mud treatment that will be our secret girl pact...it really is too embarrassing to write about anyways! We ate with an eye for cost and at the end of the weekend we had an aha moment. 

Next time we are at a spa, we are going to relax, do nothing if we want,  eat whatever-we-want-to-heck-with-the-cost, do massages, facials, waxing,  and everything that is fun. No sweating is aloud unless we are in a sauna or whirlpool. We are going to toast each other for surviving life's zingers and hope for lots more laughter in our daily lives.

Chrissie, let's not wait too long.........!!!!

Things I Have Learned so far...

I've learned that, no matter what happens, how scary or bad it seems today, life does go on and it will be better tomorrow.

I've learned that you can tell a lot about a person by the way she/he handles a few things:

driving behind an old person, travelling anywhere, a rainy day and being bone tired.

I've learned that, regardless of your relationship with your parents, you need to accept them, forgive them and love them because you will miss them when they are gone.

I've learned that making a "living" does not mean anything if you are not happy in life.

I've learned that life sometimes will give you another chance and you need to grab it.

I've learned that everyone is blessed with gifts and gifts are meant to be opened, shared and enjoyed by many.

I've learned to trust my heart and my inner voice which usually helps me make the right decision.

I've learned that even when I have pains, I don't have to be one.

I've learned that every day a kind word, hug, or smile is given to a person, it will have a ripple effect of a stone thrown in water, for others.

I've learned that you can reinvent yourself at any age.

I've learned that love is amazing in three letters: GOD.

I've also learned that there is a heck more I need to learn.

February 14th

This past weekend was all about love. Love for the man of my dreams, love for my sweet father and the longevity of love among nine couples sharing a sumptuous feast. It began in the morning, as the trains rumbled by my parents house in Fresno on February 14Th, with the most heart warming note my husband has ever written or as he puts it, the words were whispered from God's lips to his hands to write. They were beautiful.

My father swung open the old stained glass front door carrying a pink box tied with string with french lettering scribed on it. Yummy. Something rich, buttery, sugary and guaranteed to be lots and lots of frivolous calories. Sitting down, we had a "petit dejeuner" of croissants, strong brewed coffee and fresh strawberries from farmer's market. If I closed my eyes, I could hear french being spoken on the corner cafe and smell the women's flowery perfume as they walked by my table. C'est magnifique!

Packed up, loaded with groceries and champagne, we drove the winding uphill road which blurred from soft greens to snow white. The snow had fallen the night before and man nor nature's creatures had left its mark yet...it was pristine, untouched and breathtaking. The cedars, pine trees, redwoods were heavily sugar coated in white and their branches hung down low like a ballerina's graceful arms. The air felt crisp, dry and cold on our faces. We hardly said anything to each other while soaking in God's glorious white washed beauty of nature.

The fire was spitting out flames and heat as people started coming over to our friend's cabin. We met new friends, ate like kings and queens and discovered that love wove together many of the couples present. We toasted to old love, we toasted to new love, and we toasted to the blessing of being in love. 

I am very thankful to be so in love with my husband.

Merci, Jay. Je t'aime.

Miss, Miss, Miss, Miss, miss and ...

I had the day where I wondered why in the heck I ever decided to do all the things on my to do list that day!

I had five letters I HAD to get out because they were going overseas and I needed a response from them two months ago. I did not have email addresses and anyways, they were the type of letters that I wanted to put some special personalized attention a la Lisa style. 

After kissing my beloved off to work, I sat down to compose these letters on my laptop. That part went okay. I scamper off to the printer in the back bedroom to run off copies which I have finally mastered after all these months of trying. Of course, simple white paper will not do and so I buzz downtown in the car to go look at fun-whimsical-Lisa paper which is a style of paper that is in my head but not on the shelf. I buy "second best" paper, zip it back into the printer at home and discover it will not fit my letter format!

Zoom to another shop where they have more fun-whimsical-Lisa paper, but still not exactly "the paper in my head", so I roll my eyes, say some choice words under my breath, and buy it anyways because time is a-wasting-here-for-me. I load it in the printer and discover it will not fit my letter format either. Since I am computer and time challenged to figure out margin format and all that crap, expelling a huge sigh of defeat, I print out the letters on white linen paper which turns out looking pretty spiffy. Undaunted once again, I zigzag out to another store to buy fun-pretty-artsy-sparkly-Lisa stickers to add pizazz to the letters and recipients life when they open the envelopes. 

I just can't do ordinary. I just can't. It has to have sparkle, a whimsical trait, a magical element that makes you smile and feel good. As I assemble the letters with stickers, I thought my friends might just think I have lost my marbles when they get these missives but it also might make them pause to consider my request to meet up for tea, or a glass of wine.

The letters have been posted and I didn't even get a parking ticket with all my scooting around the city...I am hoping with all those misses, I will have scored a hit in the long run!

Happy Birthday G

Happy Birthday Graeme!

Happy Birthday G!

Happy Birthday G-Ram!

Happy Birthday LB (Little Brother)

Happy Birthday Graemey

Happy Birthday Gumby

Happy Birthday Mr Gun Show!

Happy Birthday Mr Man!

You are the bestest present I have ever received on February 5Th!

Let the day be all about food (your favorites); good laughs, good humor when the lifeguards throw you in the pool; good hugs from all your family and friends and for your birthday cake..good dirt cake with lots of sour gummy worms!

You are the Best!

I love you...Mama

Buns of Steel

It's 6:52am in the morning and I am doing my Saturday Night Fever dance in the showers at the community pool. I am pink all over from swimming hard, dancing hard and laughing hard because I know I am jiggling in places that look pretty silly.

"Hey, Lisa, I think you have a problem..." shouts out one of my friends.

"My problem is you are not dancing with me! Let's do the tango," I quip and go to grab her arm that is covered in soap bubbles.

She smiles and says, "Lisa, you have a hole in your suit."

That pretty much stops everything for me! I look down and see solid black and then start thinking the bad, ugly and horrifying possibilities.

"Where is the hole and I think I am gonna die in a few seconds here..." I ask my friend who can't stop smiling at my facial expression.

"It's on your butt cheeks," she says cheerfully.

"Noooooooooooooo. OHMYGOSH! @#$%." I scream with total and complete embarrassment.

I reach around and feel the gaping hole with my fingers and swivel my head to look at another friend standing there quietly holding her laughter in except for grunts, snorts and burps that still get out.

"Cathy girl! You walk behind me every morning. How could you not see this! It is now your job to train your eyes on my buns as we walk out to the pool and tell me if you see any skin! I want you to fixate on my tush at all times in the morning. Do you know how many guys swim in my lane?" 

Cathy can't wait to answer,

"You had three guys in your lane and they all watched you get out. I know, because I watched them. Do you think they knew about your suit?" 

"What do you think?" I responded but already I was laughing with all of them.

I guess I have buns of steel that wore out a hole in the swim suit but now I have a friend who is going to protect my buns and let me know if anything is amiss. Either I get a full wet suit or I need to assign more friends to my other key body parts.........!!!!!!

Take a Walk on the Wild Side

We live in a kaleidoscope of nature! There are so many hiking trails, mountains, valleys, beaches, dunes, lighthouses, castles, piers, and stepping stones to explore. Add sunshine, cool breeze and lots of splashes of water going down your throat; guaranteed happiness.

Saturday was one of those happy days. I went with a sweet girlfriend to Montana de Oro for a nice long hike. I knew if I had suggested it to anyone in my family they would have responded in hysterical laughter, rolling on the floor while sputtering, "You are a CRAZY WOMAN!"

We took the long winding back road all the way to the end. Parked the car somewhat legally and hiked up to the ranger station to give names, address, phone numbers, bank accounts and next of kin in case we fall in the sink hole. Loaded with maps, water bottles and lots of  girl talk; we set out for our three hour hike.

The trail keeps you on the edge...the edge of the cliffs. Beyond the edge is ink blue ocean with few swells and a sliver ribbon of beach. Huge rock, slate and limestone jutted out of the ocean and were painted with white bird guano. A flock of pelicans flew overhead and one broke formation to skim over the water scanning the depths for fish. Out near the horizon a lazy sailboat floats and bursts of water mark the whales path. 

Our conversation is peppered with laughter, quietness, and drama. The ebbs and flows of it is comfortable, intimate and heart warming. Although we don't talk or see each other every day, there is a golden thread that connects us in a magical way...our friendship is timeless and can be picked up at any moment, day or whim.

I was at the edge of the world and I felt God's presence...it felt real good!

Jay's Birthday: Feb 1st

It's my sweet babe's birthday today and 56 million people are going to be celebrating it with him by watching the Super Bowl! 

After we stuffed him with pancakes and half a pig in bacon, he was uplifted with the Holy Spirit at church and followed it up with family Frisbee golf on a super gorgeous day! Lunch was half a cow in a roast beef sandwich and chips; a little snooze on the couch and now he is watching the game with all his children surrounding him...what a happy man! I think his happiness would be complete if I was sitting in his lap right now! So, before I go there...

Happy Birthday Jay...I am over the moon and stars in love with you.

Let their be laughter, tearful joy and lots of chocolate cake!

Getting Dirty

I am getting down and dirty baby! I am getting it in my toenails, fingernails and probably in my hair and ears as well. I am going to roll in it, slide in it, and get all squishy in it! In a swanky spa they would charge you $200 for the "exotic treatment" but I am getting it for pennies. I will go over dusty hills, through spidery tunnels, crawl under low flying flags, be squirted with water by firemen and have the dirtiest time of my life!

I am going to throw myself into the San Diego Mud Run! 

It is a run that individuals or teams can participate in for 5K or 10K and it's all about the mud! They advise you in the beginning, wear clothes you will want to throw out after the race and expect to get very, very dirty!

Well, since I have soaked in mud for skin therapy, why not for play therapy? Let the mud flinging begin.....!

p.s. You were thinking it was all about mud, right?!

Another First Critic's Meeting

Feeling like a glutton for punishment, I went to another Writer's Critique Meeting last night with a new set of writers. Oh, boy! The brain waves practically rolled me over as soon as I stepped into the house. My brain was yelling at me, "Save Yourself! Leave Now!" As my blood rushed to my head, my writer's heart calmed me by saying, "Without pain, there is no chance of growing. " My brain shot back, "Or you can develop the Blue Nile Flu and escape in ten minutes." I was going to consider both options...

"What do you write?" asked a member.

"I write fiction. I write love stories, romance and insightful pieces. After all, romance makes the world go round!" I respond knowing I sound pretty fluffy. You can almost see his eyes roll around in his head.

(I think I feel tickle of Blue Nile Flu back in my throat...)

The first writer was a doctor in his fifties who had been writing probably since his medical school days. He had a wonderful New York accent as he read a chapter from his science fiction novel. I mumbled "great stuff", as the other writers critiqued his grammar, verb tense and punctuation. There was very little to poke at since his writing was very tight and in its tenth revision. The group asked me if I wanted to have my turn next and I quickly declined...who would want to follow the Master Luke Skywalker writer?

The second writer was a school teacher/editor and read two pieces geared for elementary children and junior high children. More tight, beautiful writing. More mumbling from me, "great stuff" and the others tackled the grammar and punctuation. I think I was able to point out one missed comma though...!

Guess what writing piece I bring to this cozy-brainiac-group? I bring my Pirate and Sassy Wench story! I have figured out what to say when saving yourself from potentially embarrassing situations in a literary critique group.

 These are the magic words: "This is my first draft." 

It's amazing how everyone will relax, give you tons of rope to hang yourself and be gentle with you in their comments and generous with you in their praise. The group were very kind to me and I actually had few grammar and punctuation mistakes with this story. I liked that they thought it had "poetic style." My ego was not shredded or did I lose an arm in the process.

I can tell my writing will be escalating  to a higher level by remaining with this group. I can also tell I will be the romantic fluff in their lives to smile, laugh and remind them that love does make a happier world go round.

My First Writer's Critique Meeting

I was humbled.

End of story.

College & Me?

It started once I registered for classes at the local community college; panic! 

What was I doing? 

Why couldn't I go back to my safe little job of dealing with brides and grooms, colors of altar flowers or questions pertaining to where they can park their Hummer limousine close to the church?

I couldn't even distract myself anymore with attending water polo games or swimming meets and volunteering to bring, bake or sit my bottom on a chair to time the races.

 The cold wet rag of reality that kept slapping me in the face was telling me I had been laid off from my job and all my children had finished high school.

Every day I thought about dropping those classes but didn't.

 Every day I thought something else would come along so I could have an excuse to drop those classes.

 Each day brought me closer and closer to face an unrealized fear. 

If someone had asked me six months ago whether I would be going back to school in the near future, I would have told them it was more likely that Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie wanted me to plan their wedding at the Old Mission church in San Luis Obispo.

Unluckily for me, my son and daughter had the same schedule I did (no skipping out for a Starbucks soy late during class time) and we drove together to our first day of class in 2009. It was pretty much teeth grinding (their music on the CD player), white knuckles grabbing the armrest (if you saw how close my son drives to the other cars) and mind freezing panic (if its boring, stupid or a mind numbing class, I am so out of there) type of car ride.

My sweet son walks me to my classroom...he must have sensed the Starbucks vibe bouncing off me! Seems I am one of the last ones to arrive (since when do young people show up early??!!), I scoot into a chair by a slight young man dressed all in black. He immediately starts to sketch these Anime creepy drawings with devil tails and three pronged pitchforks...its all very dark and disturbing. The teacher starts taking roll and I only recognize my name because he said, "Lisa," first. The rest is garbled, mangled and tossed aside into nothingness of speech.  Geeez. This is going really well.

I am pretty much ready to bolt out of my chair to forever nevermore land at break when the teacher must have sensed the panic and started to use words that began to resonate within me. 

"We all need to step outside ourselves and get out of our normal routine. We need to find and discover a new way of relating to the world. If you do, you will have more possibilities in your life."

He kept repeating this theme many times in his discussion (was it my imagination but I think he looked at me every time when stating this truth-ism) and he was absolutely, frustratingly, right.

I had been freaking out over changing my normal routine and doing something I had never really planned on in the first place. I didn't really need the class to further my career, finish a credential or was it going to pay off financially. I had been talking for a million years of wanting to do art, if I had the time, if I had the right course offered, blah, blah, blah.

What if I am uncomfortable, if I am pushed to look at life differently and my stream of consciousness  turns into a torrent of creativity and color. I say yes to this new life! I say yes to allowing myself to be freaked out a lot this year and yes, I am changing my seat by Anime Demon Man!

Real Moment #2

I was so proud of myself, basking in the glow of successfully engineering my way around a digital world. Normally, I would volunteer to put bamboo sticks up my fingernails than trying to figure something out on a website in the settings, template or layout formats. Since the point was to carve out a new professional writing image for myself, I strapped my body in a chair to master the finer points of creating a signature line to end all my outgoing emails.

Armed with one tutorial session from a gorgeous friend, Amy, I tackled my other email account using the same message in the signature. It read:

Lisa, the Queen of Love

Wrap some love around your life!

I did a little jig of happiness around my kitchen table. I had conquered my computer and the crazy-confusing-cyberspace world. I happily sent out emails to friends and family with my shiny new signature and awaited the accolades of success.

POP!

That is the sound of my ego deflating and my bubble of happiness. A very kind and well published new friend ripped off an email warning me of potentially dire news.

"Dear Lisa,

Just noticed your signature and wanted to give you some feedback. Lisa, Queen of Love and wrap some love around your life makes it seem like you're inviting us to your porn site. I know this is the last thing you'd think of, but remember, you are trying to make a professional impression.

Just an observation! It might catch Google and you'll get put into a category you don't want to be."

With shaking hands it takes me three attempts to erase that dirty and disgusting signature from all my emails. Should I have our house purified with burning sage leaves? Should I have a cleansing ritual with drums, setting a chair on fire and covering my body with a mixture of backyard mud, leaves and crushed pine cones?

I am still alive, breathing and have created a new signature that still doesn't have the sizzle and punch I am looking for but it is safe.

 Yep, I dodged another bullet in my real moment.