Good Vibes Only

I saved this quote on Instagram:

Anyone agree how cvs has bad vibes. Walgreens is fine.

 I’m not sure why I saved it. It made me laugh. I avoid going in CVS, and the quote is accurate- CVS is bad, and Walgreen’s IS fine.

Walmart bad. Target good.

Acme bad. Wegmans good.

Macy’s bad. Nordstrom good.

Dicks bad. REI good.

(I meant Dick’s Sporting Goods. As in:

Dick’s bad. Dicks good).

The quote was also prescient, and reminded me of something. Maybe a story a colleague told me recently about how she went into a store to buy essential oils, but she was totally turned off by the energy in the store, so she left. It reminded me of a passage.

But what passage? Then I found it. Here, for your pleasure:

Every business, every place, every person, everything has a certain mental atmosphere of its own. This atmosphere decides what is to be drawn to it. For instance, you never saw a successful man who went around with an atmosphere of failure. Successful people think of success. A successful man is filled with that subtle something which permeates everything that he does with an atmosphere of confidence and strength. In the presence of some people we feel as though nothing were too great to undertake; we are uplifted; we are inspired to do great things, to accomplish; we feel strong, steady, sure. What a power we feel in the presence of big souls, strong men, noble women!

Courtesy of Ernest Holmes, Creative Mind and Success

Price

Busy week. Enjoy this piece from Price Pritchett:

Don’t live a life with a lukewarm heart.

Passion is a very important part of the process. It fires the soul and fills the spirit, energizing your heart and mind on your way to a higher plane of performance. Passion keeps you going when you’re hit with problems and uncertainty.

Passion must be fueled, and you feed that flame with visions of a dream that is dramatic. The emotional intensity inside must burn hot enough to protect you against the chilling effects of doubt, uncertainty, criticism, and failure. Only deep desire can generate such heat.

For you to care this intensely, of course, there must be something worth caring about- something remarkable, special, and precious enough to light the fire in your heart.

This means you must loosen the limits on your thinking, and give yourself permission to pursue what you want most. The climate is right only when you are passionately drawn to a particular goal.

So let your deepest desires direct your aim. Set your sights far above the “reasonable” target. The power of purpose is profound only if you have a desire that stirs the heart.

The inner drive must be strong enough to carry you past the point of wishful thinking. The dream must consume you, control you, drive you to action, disallowing half-hearted effort in the pursuit.

Let your heart take charge of your body.

Bear Story

*Theodore Roosevelt once said, “Every human should have a bear story.”

Here’s mine:

By the third or fourth day at bear camp at Kachemak Bay State park in Alaska during summer 2021, I desperately needed some quiet time. Days spent socializing, smiling at idle chatter, and imbibing at boisterous group meals had left my social battery severely depleted.

So when our camp guides were informed that there was a particularly large bear in the area, and guide John decided to escort my group to the bear tower for the fourth time that day, I bowed out. I needed to shut my eyes near the firepit, take in the scenery, and maybe jot down some notes.

Our bear camp was cordoned off with a perimeter fence on the beach, and bears knew not to approach it. Supposedly. So as the group ambled away, the guides reminded me to stay in the perimeter, and not wander off.

As if.

I walked to the refreshment tent for a hot cup of coffee and eyed the hot chocolate. Mm. Never a huge fan of the sugary beverage, it somehow appealed to me in the below freezing wind chill. I walked back to the firepit area with my hot chocolate and settled in to relax.

(Note: I had forgotten the rule of never bringing any snacks or sugary beverages out of the refreshment tent. Black coffee and water only. Bears have a great sense of smell, if you haven’t heard).

Sipping my beverage, about ten minutes later I heard the walkie-talkie screech.

“Must have been a false alarm. No bear here. We’re headed back.”

I opened my eyes in annoyance, as I had expected more time to myself. Oh well, I thought, better than nothing. As my eyes adjusted to the light, I spied something moving down the beach towards me. A big something.

Yup.

Completely alone save for the chef and the yoga instructor in their tents, I had a front row seat to an extremely large Alaskan black bear walking straight toward our perimeter. He was very very close to me. I was frozen, and could not speak or move.

I heard my name being hissed. My group had arrived back, and was beckoning to me. Forgetting that I was holding hot chocolate, I crept toward them on the trail behind the tents. By this time, the bear had left the beach, so our guides were hoping that he was headed for the tower.

We tiptoed along the trail, whispering. Suddenly John gestured towards my mug.

“What is that?”

“Hot chocolate. I’m sorry, I forgot I was holding it.”

He shook his head, grabbed it, and passed it down the line until it reached guide Mark, who immediately turned to bring it back to camp. We followed this process with our heads and turned to see that same black bear right behind us, looking very alert and interested.

John instructed us to get down low, and he kept his hand on his bear spray. The bear eventually ambled away to the tower, and we got to observe him from a safe distance.

That evening it was agreed upon: the bear had been following the scent of my hot chocolate.

*Theodore Roosevelt said no such thing. But he should have.

LIV for Today

(Congratulations to Wyndham Clark and family. The following is simply satire and my sour grapes as I continue to wait for Rickie to win a major).

Baby is born. Mother and father look at baby, and smile.

“He looks like a Wyndham.”

Said no parents ever.

Who the hell is Wyndham Clark? No disrespect intended, but I wasn’t convinced he existed until Sunday, as he finally made an appearance, teeing off at the U.S. Open with Rickie. I thought perhaps he was like the pacing horse they let race with Seabiscuit, his proximity keeping Seabiscuit sharp and competitive.

I only know a few things about LIV, and even those facts might be wrong. I knew my favorite golfers all of a sudden disappeared, and I had to text my son to ask him why. Supposedly some major golfers Took the Money (30m, I heard?) and Ran to play for the Saudi Arabia golf league. Some, like Rory, didn’t, and stuck with the PGA. Now LIV and PGA have merged, the Big Boys are back in town, and people are mad because they shouldn’t just be allowed back in, just like that. Besides, we shouldn’t just forgive Saudi Arabia for 911 just because they’re financing Dustin Johnson’s yacht.

I say who cares? I missed DJ, and Bryson, and the others. It was no fun without them. With all due respect to Rory, and Jordan, and Justin, but we needed the bad boys back. No party is fun without the bad boys.

But even with the bad boys back, what I saw of the Open this weekend was mostly a Snooze Fest. #1 Scottie walking around looking goofy, Fleetwood making the lowest round in Open history, Bryson missing putts, and DJ looking like he just misses his wife’s ass, which if you don’t know is posted all over Instagram.

Hey, all the power to her. Everyone works with what they have, but how much attention does one human being need?

But I digress.

The antagonist of this piece would have to be the L.A. backdrop, looking dark and ominous, like Gotham City, even with the sun shining. The announcers kept calling the backdrop “beautiful,” as if we could ever forget what condition that city is actually in right now.

If you’re a Rickie Fowler fan like me, you’ve been waiting a long time for Ricky to win a major. I hope it’s today. At the time of this writing, baby Wyndham is -11, with both Rory and Rickie both at -10. I had to go to the driving range to work off my nervousness.

It’s Rickie’s time.

The Art of Living

The Master in the Art of Living makes little distinction between his work and his play.

His labor and his leisure.

His mind and his body.

His information and his recreation.

His life and his religion.

He hardly knows which is which.

He simply pursues his vision of excellence at whatever he does.

Leaving others to decide whether he is working or playing.

To him, he is always doing both.

-James Michener

Bukowski

Seneca once said, “There is no easy way from the earth to the stars.”

You want something so bad that thoughts of it consume you. You wake up, and it’s there. You go to sleep, and it’s there. You see how it can happen, and every day take steps to getting it done. Hurdles, obstacles, obstructions appear, and you find a way around them. Day after day. Week after week. Sometimes year after year.

It’s called the path less traveled for a reason. Because that path is a real bitch. Here’s a little bit of Charlie B. to continue that thought:

If you’re going to try, go all the way.

Otherwise, don’t even start.

This could mean losing girlfriends, wives, relatives and maybe even your mind.

It could mean not eating for three or four days.

It could mean freezing on a park bench.

It could mean jail.

It could mean derision.

It could mean mockery- isolation, isolation is the gift. All the others are a test of your endurance,

                        of how much you really want to do it.

And, you’ll do it, despite rejection and the worst odds.

And it will be better than anything else you can imagine.

If you’re going to try, go all the way.

There is no other feeling like that.

You will be alone with the gods, and the nights will flame with fire.

You will ride life straight to perfect laughter.

It’s the only good fight there is.

-Charles Bukowski

As a Man Thinketh

I followed happiness to make her mine,

Past towering oak and swinging ivy vine.

She fled, I chased, o’er slanting hill and dale,

O’er fields and meadows, in the purpling vale.

Pursuing rapidly o’er dashing stream,

I scaled the dizzy cliffs where the eagles scream;

I traversed swiftly every land and sea,

But always happiness eluded me.

Exhausted, fainting, I pursued no more,

But sank to rest upon a barren shore.

One came and asked for food, and one for alms;

I placed the bread and gold in bony palms;

One came for sympathy, and one for rest;

I shared with every needy one my best;

When lo! sweet Happiness, with form divine,

Stood by me, whispering softly, “I am thine.”

These beautiful lines of Burleigh’s express the secret of all abounding happiness. Sacrifice the personal and transient, and you rise at once into the impersonal and permanent. Give up that narrow cramped self that seeks to render all things subservient to its own petty interests, and you will enter into the company of the angels, into the very heart and essence of universal love. Forget yourself entirely in the sorrows of others and in ministering to others, and divine happiness will emancipate you from all sorrow and suffering.

As a Man Thinketh, James Allen

The Water Hyacinth

Ever wonder whether the small things you do every day make a difference? Read this story:

The Water Hyacinth

Once there was a little water hyacinth that grew near the edge of a big pond. It had dreams of seeing the other side of the pond, but when it murmured to itself about these dreams, the water just laughed and laughed and lapped at it dismissively. The other side indeed…for a tiny plant that couldn’t even move? Impossible!

The water hyacinth is a beautiful plant that can typically be found floating on the surface of ponds in warm climates. This particular plant was a perfect specimen: very beautiful, very small, and very delicate.

However- and this was something the water didn’t know- the water hyacinth is also one of the most productive plants on earth, with a reproductive rate that astonishes botanists and ecologists. A single plant can produce as many as five thousand seeds, but its preferred method for colonizing a new area is not to cast its seeds willy nilly, but instead to grow by doubling itself, sending out short runner stems that become “daughter plants.”

The first day this little water hyacinth appeared, nobody but the water even noticed it was there. Nobody noticed it on the second day either, as it doubled, not on the third or the fourth, as it doubled again and then once more. It was so insignificant, in fact, that for the first two weeks, even though it doubled in size every day, you would have had to search hard to see it at all.

By day 15 it had reproduced to cover barely one square foot of water, a tiny dollop of lavender-pink dotting the pond’s glassy green surface. On day 20, two-thirds of the way through the month, one person passing by the pond noticed the little patch of foliage floating off to the side, but mistook it for a lost bath towel or perhaps a discarded piece of wrapping paper.

More than a week later, on day 29, half the pond’s surface was still open water. And on day 30, just twenty-four hours later, the water’s surface had totally disappeared. The entire pond had been overtaken by a rich blanket of purple-pink hyacinth.

The take-away? Keep going. What you’re doing is working, even if you can’t see it right away. There’s no telling when it’ll all come together.

*Story compliments of The Slight Edge by Jeff Olson.

Soop

Since I’m fairly certain the only person who knows I have resumed posting is my website manager, er, hi Jenn!

Don’t overthink the fact that I took six months off. Overthinking is my job, remember? It’s just that I made a promise that I wouldn’t post until I found a way to fund my blog, so here I am. There’s just a point where you have to stop doing what you love and what you’re good at for free.

Right?

For me 2022 was the Year of Erma and TED, and it looks like 2023 is the year of Chicken Soup for the Soul. Strangely enough, I was re-reading some old blogs, and I came upon a post in which I mentioned that I do NOT read Chicken Soup for the Soul books. And now I will be published in two so far this year, and hopefully three or four that I’m still waiting to hear about. It is very strange how things work out.

So if you’re in a bookstore, or perusing Amazon, feel free to pick up a Well, That Was Funny Chicken Soup book. I have an essay in it entitled “To Bee or Not To Bee.” I will be featured in the Miracles edition in the fall as well, as well as some very prominent magazines I have yet to announce.

So if anyone else is reading this, welcome back.

Eagles Vs. Dallas

(Wednesday will be my last post until November 7th).

I write this post on Sunday morning. My original post scheduled for today has been scrapped, as have my original Sunday plans. Because to quote Mrs. Dilber from The Christmas Carol?

These changes are indeed “in keeping with the situation.”

By the time you read this, it will be all over. Eagles vs. Dallas tonight, and the Eagles are undefeated. I prayed in church this morning for peace on Earth and goodwill towards men. For I am mother to three devout Eagles’ fans who patently, permanently and passionately despise Dallas. It is a hatred that burns with flash, flare and flame, never to be extinguished.

And it moves through our home like a incandescent conflagration, as it did when I was growing up. Then it was three older brothers who stoked the flames of their hatred for everything that is Dallas football.

Now it is three sons.

I don’t want to be home. I want to flee, far, far away. But I have to be home. Because mothers must be present in their children’s times of need. Such as now.

My household is pulsating with frenetic energy and tension. Whereas I usually leave the island for the day to go shopping, to wander around museums and bookshops, to catch a movie, or even to meet clients for Sunday coffee, today I feel the need to be here.

I don’t want to be here. Believe me, I want to be anywhere but here. But I must be here. For I am my sons’ emotional support animal.

So I am brewing coffee and preparing a roast chicken, hoping the comforting smells remind them of their humanity. I have hung my Eagles’ flag out front, hoping my solidarity will impress upon them that I am indeed their birth mother. I am wearing my green oversize cashmere turtleneck, a comfy garment that complements my eyes.

I need the positive boost.

They need my positivity. When a woman grows a baby in her womb, her DNA and theirs will always be inextricably linked. That’s why when our kids are happy, or sad, or conflicted, so are we.

So I have no choice but to be involved in this time with them. To stick close to home. The family group text has started, with lots of capital letters and exclamation points. Loud online betting has commenced, and jerseys are out. Spirits are high, because all boys are coasting on the endorphins from the Phillies’ wins.

So by the time you are reading this, the die will have been cast.

Pray for me.