Posts Tagged ‘bless it’

You Get Paid To Love!

May 12, 2015

He said to me with a big hug.

“And you’re next career, you’re going to get paid to love too!”

He’s right.

I do.


I will.

The best thing about seeing the boys today was dinner time.

Roast chicken, marinated in my homemade marinade, brown rice, sliced avocado, fruit salad.

I also made homemade mac and cheese with sharp cheddar, panko breadcrumbs, Baia pasta, parmesan, and sautéed crimini mushrooms, then mixed up with a little cottage cheese, a pinch of love, and baked in the oven.

Tomorrow’s meal.

I did a lot of cooking and marketing today as the family was returning from a long weekend in Sonoma to celebrate mom’s day and had decided to take it easy coming home.

Originally they thought home would happen around 2 p.m. but it wasn’t until nearly 4 p.m.

I had a lot of time to prep and go to BiRite and the corner market and do some laundry and dishes and what not.

I also sat and read and meditated and breathed and let the sun fall on my face and shoulders in the kitchen nook by the back patio doors.

It was a real nice way to start the week.

But it really was dinner that was the best.

Mom and dad went to do mom and dad things and to catch up on the few things that needed to be addressed and I got the boys for the end of the day.

I sat with the oldest boy sprawled out in my lap eating sliced apples with cinnamon and nutmeg and telling him secrets.

“I have a secret to tell you,” I whispered in his ear.

“I have a secret to tell you!” He whispered back in my ear.

“One, two, three, go!”

“I love you!”

We both fiercely whispered to each other.

Then, yes, there might have been giggling and I may have taken my glasses off to kiss his neck and squeeze him tight.

“I missed you,” I told him.

“I missed you too, Carmen,” he hugged me back and kissed my hand.


I get paid for that.

Not a bad job if you can get it.

My friend and I caught up on the weekend and he relayed to me, “I heard so much gratitude in your share, so much love, how are you doing with everything?”

I shared about my experience with the scooter and how it’s time to let her go and basically I’ll probably just give it away to a friend that is a bit of a Vespa aficionado and let him and his friends tinker with it.

“Good, that means you’ll be with us for a while,” he hugged me, “we want to keep you around.”

I want to stick around too.

There really is nothing left to do with it.

I have made my decision and unless something odd happens I am not going to be a scooter owner for much longer.

I am hoping to have this all cleared up by the end of the week.

It’s been an adventure and I’m ready to get off the ride.

Perhaps I am meant to go only so fast, as fast as my legs can carry me on my bicycle, and as I was stretching out my hips and rolling out my IT band along my thigh on the yoga roller, I was ok with it.

If I have to do these stretches all the time, so be it.

It’s really not a high price to pay.

And when I looked around my sweet little home I was filled with more gratitude and more love.

Look at this space I have created for myself.

I finally have all my prints from Paris framed and my Arin Fishkin “Baker’s Beach” is hung and framed, my Will Rogers Burning Man photograph from the air, an amazing shot that depending on the time of day actually seems to change colors just slightly, mimicking the blue haze that seems to just be draped over the mountain range surrounding the event.

The orchid that I bought myself for my 41st birthday bloomed out again, this is the third time it has blossomed and the rich creamy white fans of flowers straddling the last of the sun’s rays as they slanted through the back door glowed with luscious light and I felt this love that I have for myself blossom too.

The worst thing about the scooter was not the money.

It was how I was treating myself.

I, without intention, began to equate myself with that poor little busted down ride.

I was no better than a broken lawn ornament.

I was a stupid girl.

I should have known better.

I wasted my money.

I wasted my time.

I am a fool.


Turn it around.

I just had an experience.

And I am not my things.

Just like I am not my dress size or the amount of money in my bank account or how much money I owe on my student loans, or am about to what with taking on loans for graduate school.

I reminded myself to forgive myself.

I made some mistakes.

It’s ok.

I am not broken.

That was it.

The sad little girl crying in the scooter shop with the manic hustle and bustle of the owner and the staff and the mechanics, I am not some small abandoned child on the side of the road.

How can you mend a broken heart?

How can you stop the rain from falling?

How can you mend this broken (wo)man?

And let me live again.

I suspect that it’s love.

At least that’s what the Reverend sings about over and over again, Mister Al Green, if you didn’t catch the lyric, love.


Fierce, with wild abandon, I get to love.

That I get paid to do so for work is just a side benefit of the love I have constantly and continually had to show myself.

I’m really pretty damn lucky.



Full of gratitude.

Even for the challenging things.

Because I lean in harder to love those things more.

And I open up.

I don’t need to be mended.

The scars are beautiful.

There to remind me how much love I can hold.

Some times it’s a lap full of five-year old boy who needs a snuggle.

Some times it’s that small little girl I am who is looking for the way out.

Either way.

I have plenty of love for both.

The more I give it away.

The more I get back.

That’s just the way love goes.

Bless It

April 23, 2015

Or block it.

I heard this tonight and had to reflect that it was indeed true for me.

So much simplicity, so easy, it’s just rolling down the hill, being in God’s will.

It’s a nice thing.

Of course, rejection hurts.

But as another smart woman told me, “rejection is God’s protection.”

Either it will be blessed or it will be blocked.

I can try to maneuver around it, but there it is, being blocked.

Like my scooter.

I think it’s time to let her go.

I don’t seem to have the band width to deal with it.

Poor girl is just gathering dust in the front entry way of my housemates house, I’m sure she’s tired of seeing it there and for me, it’s become this odd symbol of something that I thought would work for me, but has not, not at all.

Ten and a half months since I sprained my ankle trying to start it and I haven’t fully healed.

I haven’t been on many rides since owning it, although I am super grateful I got to learn how to ride it, I keep thinking, man, a car would be nice.

I wouldn’t have to worry about kick starting it, that’s for sure.

I’m not dying for transportation, my bicycle gets me around just fine.

Although the body breakdown is quite in evidence as I did my physical therapy exercise tonight when I got home from work.

I rolled out a yoga mat and the foam back roller and got down on the floor and grunted and groaned and did hip lifts and IT band stretches and some core work, and hip stretches and turned on the music and just took the time to do the deal.

I have to do this every day?

I thought.


This sucks.

Then I  thought, it’s just for today.

I just have to do it today.

Don’t worry about tomorrow or the day after that or the weekend or next month or I will go nuts.

It’s like most things in my life, I can think that it’s going to be unbearable, but if I break it down into small manageable chunks, then things get done and I am almost always surprised at how much does indeed get done.

And how serendipitous the Universe can be.

“It sounds like you should do restorative yoga,” my dear friend suggested to me this afternoon as I checked in with her and told  her what was happening with the physical therapy.

“Have you tried Yoga Punx?”

“I have not,” I replied.

I have not tried a lot of yoga even though it does continually get suggested to me.

Then I was riding my bike home and what the hell?

Where did the organic mattress store go?

I was crossing the intersection at 46th and Irving and saw a man putting up a sign in the emptied out store.



Fuck me.

A half block from the house?


I mean, it couldn’t get much closer unless someone decides to throw a yoga studio in my back yard.

“You could find room in your schedule, one night a week, I bet you could,” my friend said encouragingly, “I think it would really help you.”

She should know, she’s a nurse.

I have to agree with her.

That would be a blessing.


Here’s something funny.

I was able to get registered for classes last night after a day of struggling to figure out why I could not register–turns out there was a glitch in the system and I was not the only student affected, and one of the classes that I have to register for as part of my curriculum, you guessed it.

Yoga and meditation.

It would appear that I am being told something here.

My weekend schedule has changed and this may be just the thing for me.

Another thing I can do in my neighborhood and stay put.

Again, pointing out to me that I don’t currently need another form of transportation, the bicycle is great and letting go of the scooter and the thinking around it may be just what the doctor ordered.

That and some yoga.

I mean I will be taking a class in it for heaven’s sake, might as well pick up some practice before I even head off to the class.

When I think of other things in my life, as I look at a framed photograph of the event from the heavens, that are blessed, I have to smile.

Burning Man.

Heading into my 9th time out to playa and it just seems to be getting better and better.

I know the event has changed a lot, but I don’t think change is a bad thing and when I think about all the art, the yummy, scrumptous, beautiful art, I get excited.

When I think about what my favorite color is, indigo violet, and how it happens to be that mix of sunset at Burning Man that informs that choice, I get happy.

Circumstances have always conspired to get me there and back and as I prepare to go again I get happy, really happy that I get to be a part of the community, one very small part, but one very happy part.

And my happiness, I believe, anyway is infectious.

“You make me happy,” one of the boys told me today.

“You make me happy too,” I told him and gave him a big hug.

And earlier in the day before he had come home from pre-school and his brother was down for a nap, after the laundry had been folded and dinner prepped for the evening, the dishwasher going, the house tidy, I sat and ate my lunch in a big overstuffed chair and watched the light fall rich and golden through the garden into the kitchen and I thought.

“I love my job.”

And I do.

That would be another aspect of my life that is blessed–being a nanny.

Who knew that I would be doing this professionally for this long.

I certainly had not planned on it, but there it is and it’s been a wonderful career.

And the perfect stepping stone to the next part of my life.

So much seems blessed today.

I don’t have any time to even reflect on those things that have been blocked.

I understand why they didn’t work or can’t work or why they are not for me.

I don’t have to dwell on the blocked.

I get to live in the blessed.

And blessed I am indeed.

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