Sunday, December 20, 2009


There is no French word for "dating."

Wiped Out - Part II - The Gift

In the last two months, my own personal mental hard drive has been been wiped out pretty clean.
Much of what I "knew" no longer applies and I am treasuring this new way of being.

Sharing this lack of "knowing" has been a gift as well.

And now, I understand the computer thing.

I understand that as much time as I spend in my relationship with my little white Mac (listening to music, writing, studying, communicating, working, banking, teaching, learning, discovering, discovering movies and more), it makes such perfect sense that ITS hard drive had to go as well.

The Old was ... old.

And so now, the New is slowly trickling back in. At its own pace ...

I like that a lot.

Thursday, December 17, 2009

Wiped Out

I have - completely - erased my computer's hard drive.

Just reading these words as I write them makes me feel... strange.

Everything is gone: photos, programs and of course... my website. Not to mention my books-in-progress and who knows what else I have not yet thought about.

I sit here and try to observe my thoughts: some of them are of panic. Some of them are numb. Others, I barely glimpse at may be of something akin to ... excitement? Could that be?

I know that everything has a darn great reason for happening. I know that I create my own reality.

I don't know why I picked this. When I do, I will let you know.

Until then, I oscillate between lots of "doing" (calling data recovery services, thinking about what else is gone) and "being" (taking a bath, thinking that maybe I will forget the whole thing and apply for a job as a school bus driver).

This is a strange time.

Sunday, December 13, 2009


As I was getting ready to shove a thyroid pill down our dog Roxy's throat, a couple of weeks ago, something in the way she looked up at me made me pause.

She and I have a very strong bond and I usually relate to her very much the way I relate to the people I love.

Which does not include shoving anything down their throats.

So, I stopped, placed the pill on the floor and simply asked her to please eat it.

Roxy looked at me, sniffed the pill and turned away.

I asked her again. I reminded her of how much better she had been feeling since she had been taking it, these past few weeks.

She looked at me again, walked back to the pill ... and ate it.

Just like that.

And so, this is how it has been ever since. Twice a day.

Easy. Fully connected, trusting, respectful.

And yes, I know that "you can always sneak it in her food" but just as I don't sneak spinach into my kids' food ... well, I like this so much better.

To Party ... or Not to Party? - That Was the Question.

I moved to the US a few days after finishing high school.

This was not an intended move and in fact, I did not think that it was a move, only a visit.
But this is another story. One that has been slow to heal.

My parents, in an attempt to get me socially connected to "their new country", introduced me to a young man who invited me to "a party."

Having not danced in a few weeks, I was looking forward to it.

As I walked into the house where the party was held, I noticed that it had not yet started: people were still standing around the living room, talking. The lights were bright. Some people were sitting on the couch and everyone seemed to be drinking - a lot. Many of the guests seemed a little bored and I could not wait for the fun to start as this certainly held no air of what I thought of as a party.

A couple of hours later, my date told me that it was time to go home.

"We are going to leave before the party starts???"

He looked at me, confused.

"This is the party. We have been at the party." he answered, looking at me strangely.

My heart grew heavy as I realized that I would not dance after all. It grew heavier as, that evening, I became aware of the difference between the lives of French teenagers and American teenagers.

I had spent my teenage years going to weekly parties where we danced all night, lights turned low, strobes turned high (this was the 80's...) and - to my recollection -  never a drop of alcohol in sight. There was laughter, playfulness and well, FUN.

I had seen none of it that night.

A few weeks later, that same boy invited me to the movies. He did not mention anything about "The Rocky Horror Picture Show" being an atypical show. As we left the theater, grains of rice in my hair, I knew for sure that I hand landed in a different planet. A planet where not only did kids not dance but adults felt compelled to act out every movie they watched. I could not wait to go back home to France.

Which, as it turns out, I never did.

Thursday, December 10, 2009

By 7AM

Homemade Nutella crepes for the boys - one of them I have not birthed.
Fresh liver for our dog.

A hot shower awaits me and I feel so damn good about it all.

Wednesday, December 2, 2009

Whose Business?

As some of you know, I have been intensely studying Byron Katie's work and her simple yet profound teachings are making their way deep inside me.

This is the kind of things that does not happen that often but when it does, it is pretty darn altering.

One of these teachings has to do with "The Three Types of Businesses."

According to Byron Katie, there are three types of businesses and knowing the difference between them can make a huge difference in the way we live our lives, in the amount of peace we experience.

1) God's business. This is the stuff hurricanes and tsunamis are made of.

2) Other people's business. If your next door neighbor decides to paint his house bright fushia ... that's his business. On a tougher-to-implement level, if he decides to call you names, that's his business as well.

3) Your business. Getting mad about the new paint job or feeling insulted by his words, that's your business.

And here is the trick: the only place to ever dwell is in YOUR business. 

If you/we/I am experiencing stressful thoughts, chances are you/we/I are in someone else's business.

So simple and when truly grasped, fully revolutionary.