Small Manageable Steps

Wow, it's been 4 months since I've blogged or journaled.  Too many people are telling me about their journaling and I take that as a sign to get back on track and do it myself. (By the way, why doesn't my computer register the words journaling and journaled??)  I really like journaling and also blogging, but I don't have time to do both, so I will blog as a journal, and hopefully, somebody, somewhere, will relate and share their experiences too... sort of like pen pals... but through blogging.

Photo: RJK, Rome, Italy

It's ironic that my last blog talked about my hot yoga class because it was in hot yoga today, that I made the decision to write today. I've been meeting a lot of people where I live and I'm beginning to feel a little too exposed.... vulnerable, because the more I am out there, the more there is a chance of doing something, or not doing something, that will insult or rub someone the wrong way.  Can you say Weenie?!?  I feel like I've been in a fog of sorts trying to figure out my "next" step in life...of course, all the while, stepping anyway in the direction I am sure I need to go.  But every now and then, I feel like I'm not doing enough or making enough money or I'm just not living as purposeful as I think I can.  Sometimes, it is so difficult for me to be content, right where I am...   I have so many ideas that I get paralyzed and find it difficult to take a step towards taking action on any of them.  But today, I feel more encouraged about taking steps...even if they are baby steps... and as I write this I realize that it is exactly the size of the steps I think I need to take that trip me up.  Anne LaBorde, a wise therapist, once taught me that it's all about taking small manageable steps and I  believe that to be true. 

Another challenge that gets in the way is when I forget that who I am is enough and that "being seen" is only scary if I care too much what other people think.  I have to be who I am... all of who I am.  And even I don't like parts of me... but work on accepting myself and loving myself unconditionally.  Yesterday I downloaded "Daring Greatly" by Brene Brown and I know I will glean a lot from her words and experiences.  I thoroughly enjoyed "The Power of Vulnerability" and now I need another dose of wise words that remind me to embrace my own vulnerability and be perfectly fine with it.  I've been there before, and I'll be there again.  I find being vulnerable to be so empowering, when I am completely present with it. 

I'll keep this short since writing today was my baby step.  Please share any of your experiences and baby steps to get the wheel going again in your life!  After all, Rome wasn't built in a day. :-)

Wishing you love and light on your journey....

Robbie

Wisdom and Humility

Always dream and shoot higher than you know you can do. Don't bother just to be better than your contemporaries or predecessors. Try to be better than yourself. William Faulkner



I just got back from a hot yoga class.  I have not done yoga steadily since we moved in July.  Needless to say, I am out of yoga shape. I walk and hike but the rest of my body has been asleep for the last 10 months.  Luckily, 2 weeks ago I took the class and there was no one there so I got to have a private class with the teacher who went through the positions with me so at least, today, I had an idea of what was going on.  However, that did not compensate for the lack of stability and strength that my body displayed today.  As a songwriter, I see most things as metaphors... and quite honestly, even if I never wrote a song, I'd probably still see everything as a metaphor and this yoga class was no different.  As I watched myself in the mirror teeter while trying to balance, my own critical judgment showed up, initially, and how grateful I am that before too long the "angel on my shoulder" showed up too reminding me how long it's been and that it's not a competition, not even with myself and that this whole practice of yoga, is about healthy breathing, thinking and patience.

I was a very good gymnast in my youth, particularly in high school (3rd in Nassau County and 26th in the state of NY in floor-exercise), and with that, a dancer since that was part of the sport.  I hurt myself in spring training in college and after my first laminectomy at age 19, I went on to study ballet as an adult, in my 20's and early 30's.... I was the youngest in my class. I loved it, because it was all about balance and poise... and I was very good at it.

1974, Baldwin Junior High

Today, I was not very good at either balance nor poise, however, I gave myself a break and told myself that if I keep coming back, within a couple of months, I should be able to stay on my yoga mat and not have every muscle in my body shake from shock.  I was proud of myself for even going, knowing that I would be the "weakest link" in the class.  Frankly, I did feel a twinge of embarrassment, but only fleeting and very quickly I was fine with where I was and even began to own it and embrace it and still love myself.  In this one class, I wanted to laugh at myself and then when stretching my body and opening it up, I felt like crying... I felt the loss for the time I have ignored it and it was sort of a coming home to it.  It's as if I have deprived myself of such an intsrumental element to my happiness and well being.

The teacher was amazing, gentle, supportive, helpful and young.  The other women in the class were younger than me too.  I laughed as I felt that pesky ego come into play, wanting to attach a sign to my back that said,  "I used to be a gymnast ya know, a dancer, the best in some places and I could do back flips from here to kingdom come." and then, I held that thought in an embrace of acceptance, like a sulking child, and it dissipated, rather quickly.  I also wanted to laugh when I saw myself flailing from a yoga pose, like a drunk person trying to walk a tight rope.

These days, I don't need to be better than anyone else, because I've learned that that kind of competition isn't something that makes me happy.  Let's face it, even the most humble of us feel an urge to compete on some level, but that can be healthy and used as a tool to inspire us and keep us going.

The class today was so much more than yoga. It was a reminder to see age for what it really is. A present, a rite of passage, a privilege and a beautiful undying lust for life. An old person's soul is no less valuable than a young person's soul... they are the same, just situated on different timelines, heading in the same direction...living life from that place...and learning how to be present for each stage of the process.

Today was a gift, and I got to reunite with someone very special, who still needs love and attention,  inside and out...and I'm not embarrassed to say that that person, was me.  I hope if you're reading this, that you will feel inspired to get out there, outside your comfort zone, and take one baby step towards reuniting with your body, mind and soul.  We're going to need to be in tip top shop to manifest and allow all the miracles that are awaiting our invitation.  It's an all around alignment  - with my body, the abundance in the universe and all that I know to be true of self-love and self-care.

Please feel free to share what you did or are going to do, to show the world that you love the amazing person you are, right this very minute,  in the comments below.

May beauty and wisdom light your path, always.

Robbie

What are Artists Starving For?

Ever think about what exactly a starving artist is?  I have and recently I thought a little deeper about it in regard to my own life as an artist.  Usually when we hear that someone is a starving artist we think that they are poor, "starving" and scrounging around all in the name of art.  However, that could be anybody, struggling to make ends meet, whether they are an artist or not.  I thought about the definition of 'starving' - and when I took away the literal meaning in regard to food, I wondered what it meant when it came to artists.  Of course, this is just one point of view, mine, and for right now...as everything else changes, that could change too.  (Now that the disclaimer is out of the way...)

I see starving as a longing, a thirst for something and as an artist I realize that it is simply the need to create.  I remember, when I was a full time musician, reading about artists and that they need to have tumult in their lives in order to create since it is that place that stirs their creativity (according to this article I read). I was so upset about this and thought I might be doomed for a life of angst and unhappiness... it was as if it were an excuse to be unhappy... so that I could create.  And, I do agree with the notion that there needs to be something unsettling on some level in order to create our best creations.  However, this brings me back to the concept of starving.  One can be totally content in their lives, esthetically anyway, and internally, if they are not creating, they feel a void.... a thirst that is not quenched.  And interestingly, though the artist is rewarded by either acclaim or in monetary ways, I am not convinced that a true artist is ever satisfied with that... which is where the turmoil lies within and could be the very place from which we create.   After all, Thomas Edison, Ben Franklin and so many more were never satisfied and thank goodness they weren't.

 I am referring to certain people who are called "artists" but I do believe that we are all artists... in fact, I think that artists can be interchanged with the word "human" since we all are creating something.... whether it be numbers, teaching, healing, cures, paintings, photographs, music, etc....
In the end, I believe, the reason we 'starve' for creation is because it is inherent to desire to feel purposeful.

I have written many songs from break ups, falling in love, falling out of love, my views on politics, my anger and sadness and it took quite a bit of time before I started the practice of writing songs that actually had a happy sentiment.   And in all honesty, I really had to push myself to write songs from a loving place...and even now, after the hundreds of songs I've written I can safely say the songs written from a painful place outnumber the happy songs by far.  And... I can only surmise that the reason for this is that when I was happy, I felt a lesser need to express because I was more in the moment of living and not feeling that need as deeply to express any pain.  I am still learning how to express myself in positive ways.... it is rare, but it does happen, when lyrics will float into my head to express some pain that I am experiencing... usually, I just write about 2 lines and then I ask myself, what is it that I want to contribute to this world.  It is then that I realize that I don't want to add to the misery or suffering... at least, not without some essence of hope and the act of overcoming pain because pain is inevitable... but I have a choice as to how to deal with it.

My husband painting in nature.

My husband is a successful engineer, and would hardly call himself an artist.  However, he is probably more of an artist than me.  Though he enjoys his engineering work, his passion and essence is so incredibly obvious when he is painting or wood working...and what I'm about to say is not just because I am his wife, but because it it true.... his artwork is astounding.  And more than once, I have copped an angle of a photograph because his 'eye' is also amazing for composition.  I use him as an example.... because I think he represents us all... and confirms my belief that we are all artists.

So... if you are starving... chances are the act of creating will fulfill that void, until the next time you feel the need to create.... and the next time.... and thank goodness for that... because satisfaction is overrated and unsettling.   I guess we're all in this together... but hardly starving... but thriving and desiring to contribute, in any way that "almost" fulfills us....and the world.

I am accountable for deleting my post on accountability!

Yep, I just deleted my somewhat lengthy post on accountability.  I opened it up to edit it, so that I could add a very crucial part that I left out.

I guess that this post will make sense to whomever read the last post.... so.....

Between the time Luna ran out of Janin Acres and the other day, when I saw the woman whose dog scared Luna, Luna had major knee surgery and was out of commission for 4 months healing.  Her let was already hurting (as I mentioned in the ghost post), so after bolting out of the walking area, that put her over the top and after, healing, physical therapy and  many dollars later, she is doing very well.  If fact, the first time I let her off the lead to play with another dog was the day I met the woman who provided for me, an opportunity to take responsibility for what happened.

And there you have it...  hope this makes sense and next time, I will not edit the way I just did and lost the entire post!   This accountability sure is humbling....

Til next time!

Photo:  Beautiful tree in the mist at Janin Acres, the day I finally met my could be imagined nemesis!

The art of BE-ing

From the Animal series

"The wise know that too much doing and a thing won't get done. The secret to manifesting on the highest level is to find the perfect amount of doing and non-doing to allow the doing to be done. Sometimes much more can be accomplished simply by letting go and trusting."

- Jackson Kiddard

Aside from publishing Beauty and Wisdom, I have been co-working on a project that I am very happy to share with you. I have partnered with an amazingly gifted woman, Kei Milner right here in Santa Ynez and together we have created Be Notes. Our mission? To create functional, inspirational art and share it with the world and to create reminders what beautiful people we all are... no matter how much we do, we are be-ings. So BE you... fiercely, lovingly and honestly.  You ARE beautiful.

We decided to do a small holiday promotional run and we produced our first product, Be Note pads, which have 10 images and text (50 pages) reminding us that we are be-ings during our very very busy lives. They are also magnetic.  We are delighted that they are being carried in several stores now in Santa Barbara County and Ventura, CA

There are 4 themes (that were printed, of course we have many more!) Animals, Roads, Gardens, and Santa Ynez Valley.  We do have a website, www.be-notes.com, however, we are not yet selling any pads from there as we are gearing up for large production in 2014 when we will have the inventory to offer them online and everywhere. 

We invite you to visit our website anyway... there is a short video and there are photos of all the themes that we are offering for this holiday.  Again, we only printed 50 of each and we don't have a lot left but we wanted to offer what we did have since the holidays will be here and we believe that these are great gifts to share.  

From the Animal Series

 The cost of each pad is 13.95 + shipping/handling $3.95 (will be nicely wrapped)
 Get 2 or more for 12.50 each.
(Additional shipping will apply if purchasing more than 4 pads per order.)

From the Garden Series

If you are interested in ordering pads for yourself or for a holiday gift, please email me at robbiekaye@aol.com and put "Be Note Pads" in the subject line and let me know which pad(s) you would like to order.  We will send it priority so you get it in time for the holidays.

Below is a little sample of some of the sheets in the pads. Visit the Be Note website to see all the themes and images.

From the Roads Series

From the Santa Ynez Valley Series

From the Santa Ynez Valley Series

From the Garden Series

EnJOY!

Robbie and Kei

 

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© Robs & Kei

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© Robbie Kaye Photography

  

The Journey Continues

Thanksgiving comes at a perfect time for me this year. Though there have been challenges and losses, which are part of life too, there have been many amazing miracles that I have experienced.  So much growth, connection and love and for that, I am eternally grateful.

It's so easy to get caught up in the "Doingness" of life and even though I absolutely love what I do, I also allow it to consume me sometimes and I forget about other important aspects in my life.  I wake up early and jump on my computer instead of meditating or taking a walk. I roll over and pick up my iPhone to see if I need to tend to anything right away.  I worry that I don't have a beautiful photograph to put on Instagram for that day... or a good quote.  If I'm not diligent in my daily practices, I will allow the technological neurosis of the times to set in and eat me up.  So Thanksgiving and Hanukkah come at a great time....   I get to stop for a little bit and give my energy and love to reconnecting with people and I get to be social.  I emerge from the bubble I've been in and I find myself really wanting to listen to others... hear about their stories, their lives.... as I have been so engulfed in my own.

It's a balance... one that I am sure I will always struggle with... but I am learning that that too, is a part of life.... not the struggle, but the quest for balance... and I am grateful that at some point, I can feel the need for realignment and as I sit here writing this from my office, listening to the much needed rain, I am reminded that blogging and writing in my journal, are also a part of my daily balance practice.

Wishing you all a day of internal peace and joy.

Sometimes the Mirror isn't Cracked

Sometimes the mirror isn’t cracked…. And sometimes it is.  For me, when the mirror is cracked, or when I am taking a good long look at myself and I see flaws or where I need to grow, it is the very thing that teaches me how to do so.  When the mirror is not cracked, it isn’t that things are perfect, it’s that I am in an accepting place of what is…. Curious about where I am and the road I’m on.  I know that most people plan ahead and I get the value of envisioning and though I do it on some level, I don’t take a lot of time to really “see” it, or at least I haven’t in the past.  However, I have created results from those visions and desires, sometimes 10 years later, but nonetheless realized.  These days I am searching for a balance between deliberately creating what I want and trusting that I am on the road of life anyway and it’s going to take me wherever I need to go…either through pain or joy, loss or gain, success or failure. 

Yesterday I did some “handy” work around our new house in the bathroom. I was feeling proud for operating the electric drill to unscrew a picture, stuck to the cabinet, when all of a sudden, it fell off and broke.  There were chards of glass everywhere, in the shower and on the floor. I felt so frustrated at first but as I was picking up the pieces, I realized that I wanted to paint the wood that was behind the picture since I got here.  Now I know this metaphor might sound trite, but it’s those little realizations during the day that let me know that there are silver linings and reasons for everything…nothing or no one is a mistake, waste or unimportant. 

Of course, the mirror will crack again and then will mend, and then crack…. And with each day that passes, Pema Chodron’s teaching, Living Beautifully with Uncertainty and Change  (Click here for video)  makes more and more sense to me, that it is important to understand and accept that living is changing, all the time, never staying the same – so I may as well get used to discomfort and not see as an affront, but more of a stage… that’s all it is…that’s all anything, a stage that is going to pass until the next stage begins. 

So while I am envisioning what I would like to accomplish and experience in this life, I am learning to trust more, that my purpose will be revealed.  All I have to do is pay attention… to the signs and opportunities and not be afraid to take risks or fail.  In Davidji’s meditation today Click here for meditation he spoke of dharma (purpose)… and asked what it was that made time stand still for me and what brought me joy and fulfillment.  My answer was this: making music, making pictures, inspiring others and hiking.  As he suggested, I put it out into the universe and I will let go of the outcome and trust that, like everything, all will be revealed.  Meanwhile, I am enjoying my new surroundings, nesting, healing, caretaking my dog who is recovering from ACL surgery, and I have begun taking steps to find a job.  Yep, it’s a new mirror… and I’m intrigued by the reflections I may see…some I will like and some I won’t.  As long as I don’t get too caught up in the reflection, like Narcissus, I will be just fine.  I love how Pema suggests to lean into whatever feels ugly and uncomfortable….and look at it not with disdain, but curiosity.  Not always easy to do, but when I do it, I feel an unconditional love for myself and then I feel so happy, because I know I can love another in the same way.

Breaking the Addiction of Struggle

Well… we did it.  We finally moved to the country.  This New York girl is now living amongst vineyards and horse ranches.  I walk around the corner to get my mail.  I wake up and hear roosters and horses.  I smell hot pine in the heat of the summer and I go for my morning walks on acres donated by the Mills family with a view of beautiful fields of grapevines and corrals and old giant oak trees.  I haven’t felt this excited about a “place” since I moved to Portland, Oregon and marveled at the sight of Mt. Hood, The Columbia Gorge and Mt. St. Helens.

It’s been a tricky thing practicing what Pema Chodron calls “walking in the middle.”  By this I mean not getting too attached to the good OR the bad.  I confess I did let the “good” get to me.  Though I knew, like everything, that would change eventually… and not that things got bad… but contrast to life appeared…

This whole ride began over a month ago when we decided to move.  We not only found a house to live in, we connected with our landlords who we already consider friends… in fact, we came up to drop some things off at the house and we stayed at their new house and it was so natural and easy. We had dinner and breakfast together.  Then… they had an open house party at their new place and scheduled so we could be there… to meet our new neighbors… and we did.  We met all of our neighbors on our block and around the corner and everyone was so welcoming.

The house we are renting is beautiful and tranquil and we saved the money we made by selling a lot of things and bought a used hot tub, something we have wanted for a very very long time.  The owner of the house spent hours and hours setting up the electrical aspect to make it all work.  In the interim, his wife took me to the magical place I now walk every morning. It’s quiet and green and beautiful and dog friendly.  This is only half of it, but my point is that I realized that I am having a difficult time feeling worthy of all this goodness.  I have struggled for so long and I know the feeling of anxiety when I feel out of control, but never from feeling out of control because good things are happening.  I realize that it is this aspect of my personality that frightened me about being in the music business.  I knew, that if I ‘made it” I would have overdosed or something, because I would have been anesthetizing that feeling of fear from being so out of my element… struggle.  Obviously my present struggle has to do with feeling worthy of this newfound environment.

In the midst of all this goodness, I learned that my step-mom’s prognosis for her cancer was dire… another reason why it is difficult for me to feel worthy of all this… and my dad and biological mom, who have their own health challenges… and my brothers who are taking care of everyone there… while I am here building a new life.  I know they are happy for me and want to see me thrive and I do them as well… but it all comes down to self-love and self-worth.  I’ve come too far to “change” my life so I know this angst is all a part of the growth.

And as I looked around our new house, that is painted mostly all white, I am reminded of the deconstruction I believe is taking place.  I moved from a house where I painted every room a different color – and rich colors, southwestern colors and now- by choice, I am living in a house with white walls and ceilings.  They represent the clean slate… and new page… I like looking at them… and letting whatever thoughts I have reflect off of them… and little by little I am introducing color into the house.  My husband has relinquished, for the most part, the designing of the house to me, even though he really liked the colors of the old house.

         Once again, I am reminded of the color, or rather, the non-color of white… neutral and only altered when one adds something to it.  And as most know, I am working on a series “Deconstruction of an Artist” with self- portraits that I take wearing a white dress.  And the more I remember to get out of the way of the natural evolution of my life, the more that is revealed, with love and joy…

Obviously I am very sad about the state of affairs with my family’s health and I see things as more precarious than ever.  It’s a reminder to stay in the present stay in today… and so… with this, I hope I am one step closer to letting go of my “blanky” my old torn blanket of struggle which doesn’t serve me… or ever really has… except for getting me to this point where I am now,  more willing to fly higher, even as scared as I am.

Am I Childless?

As I continue to deconstruct…  I was recently in New York visiting my family. Unfortunately, my father had fallen and broken his pelvis and I went there to see him and help out.   Going back always brings up triggers and memories and habitual slush, but this time was different. I’m conflicted today, should I write about “family” or about the questions I ask myself around motherhood, and why I never had children?  They kind of coincide…since while I was home and staying with my family, I got to visit with my 3 year old niece and 18-month-old nephew.  

 

Photo: by: Heather Swan, Amazing Mom

 In the mornings, my niece and I brushed our teeth together and then she’d come into our room and pick out clothes for me to wear.  Then she watched me put on make-up and I'd brush my hair and then hers.  And when I put on some perfume she asked if she could have some too.  When I put on blush, she asked if she could have some too.   One night we watched a movie together, “Brave” and cuddled on the couch as we shared a bowl of popcorn.  We really bonded this trip and when they dropped us off at the airport she started to cry…  and I had to hold my own tears back too.  I really haven’t had the opportunity to be around too many young children in my life. I worked with toddlers in a mommy and me music class but that was about it. 

I often grapple with the fact that I never had children of my own. When I was younger, I was sure that I would have six, yes six, kids.  I wanted a big family. I have an older brother who went to college after high school, and a younger step-brother who I never lived with and I kind of grew up like an only child… but I constantly hung out with other kids who had bigger families.  I was thought to be the 5^th Esposito in my friend June’s family, with 2 sisters and a brother.  I was there just about ever Sunday for dinner…sleeping over all the time… and the one time I “ran away” my mother knew exactly where to find me… the Esposito’s house.  I loved the yelling, the laughing, the fighting, the borrowing clothes… everything about it and I think it was then that I decided that someday I would have a big family too.  Only that day never came.

I was that girl on the T-Shirt exclaiming, “Oh Noooo, I forgot to have kids!”  And by the time I met my second husband, he already had 3 kids and didn’t want another… and so it was.  I work so hard on not regretting anything in this life time… (Thank you Edith Piaf!) but I think if I were to be honest, I would have this one regret… that I didn’t get to experience carrying a baby in my body, or hold my baby in the morning and at night, or feed my baby… or play with my baby…or hold my baby when its crying or protect it when I thought it was in danger or watch it grow and share my life with them… and these days, so many people make reference to what it feels like to be a mother as an example of that kind of special love… and I feel a little left out.

I made my choices though… and I chose to have the life I had… and I guess it’s always greener, etc. etc… but now I have the privilege of loving other people’s babies and giving what I could have given my own… to them… with all my heart.  And sometimes, I feel awkward, because I tell myself that people don’t see me as a “mom” yet I know I have always had maternal instincts, nurturing instincts, though I was too immature to recognize them for a long time.  They are surprised (in my mind) to see me interact with kids… simply because I don’t have any. But that’s probably just a story I have in my head… and I don’t let it stop me from loving my nieces and nephews, step kids…and kids of our friends… I get to spoil them like an aunt, and sing to them, make them laugh.  So no, I am not motherless… and I truly believe, that we are all mothers… caretakers of something or someone, I believe all women are. 

Well...

I guess I leaned towards writing about motherhood.  May be a good time since Mother’s Day is just around the corner.  Happy Mother’s Day to every woman, for every woman is a mother on some level.

The Resurrection

 I recently returned from a visit to New York where I spent time with my family.  I brought my camera in case I had the inspiration to work on Deconstruction.  I packed my long white dress, and lightweight tripod so I could fit everything into a carry on bag... a first for me. (My husband is still in disbelief).  I didn't think I'd have time because I was there to help my family and father as he began his recovery process from a fractured pelvis, at home and to visit with my mother who lives alone and is also dealing with health issues.  My mother lives close to Long Beach, so after we had a visit with her, I wanted to see it, as it was a big part of my youth and adulthood and I had to see for myself what had transpired.  There was no boardwalk, only pillars which once held the slats of wood that I used to walk on, ride on and when I lived in Manhattan, I would meet my best friend there at least 3 times a week to run... even in the snow.  Afterwards, we'd have coffee in the cafe there.  Running on the boardwalk in the winter was my favorite time... there was hardly anyone around and the sand would be dusted with snow and that cold brisk air against my fast kept me going while I inhaled that ocean air.  I remember seeing the elderly people who lived there, with their walkers and canes, sitting on the benches, looking out into the ocean, appreciating its great depth and the sun shining above.

We drove to the west end and back...I had so many memories from Long beach... from Junior and Senior High School in the 70's to the time I moved away from New York City in 1994.  It was so quiet, even more quiet than it usually was in the winter.  I saw what was left of the boardwalk...and while my initial reaction was sadness as I saw the destruction and remembered the people who were left homeless... I could see that reconstruction was already in place. Trucks, bull dozers, mounds of sand...all to repair and recreate this place that brings so much joy to so many.  My heart went out to those who are still contending with this disaster and I pray that they are finding solace and safety at this time.

Untitled, Deconstruction Series, Long Beach, NY

A few days later, I realized that if I had the chance to do a session for my Deconstruction series, that it would be here at the boardwalk. Time flew by but on the day I was flying back to California, I got up at 5:15, packed my camera and tripod, put on my white dress and drove back to Long Beach to do the shoot. It was still dark but I wanted to be there when the sun rose so I could get back in time. Of course, I stopped at Dunkin Donuts to indulge one more time in that New Yawk Cawfee that I love so much. About a mile from the beach, it started to rain. I thought maybe it would stop by the time I got there, but it did not.  I pulled into a space in the parking lot where I could see the water and put down the passenger window to grab a quick shot with my camera while I finished my coffee. The rain did not let up and I surrendered to Mother Nature thinking that it just wasn't the time to do it and I let it go.   I sat and stared out the window and then it dawned on me that if I could get a clear view, I could do the shoot through the passenger window.  I originally wanted to do the shoot standing under the pillars, but it was raining too hard to expose my camera.  I put one of the legs of my tripod on the front seat and set it up.  I did a trial and then another session... at first I was not happy about the fence in front of the pillars, but in the end, I liked the contrast and lines.  It felt good to photograph at a place that I hold dear to my heart, one that is in reconstruction, like I am. I felt that together, we are building a new foundation, a resurrection, another chapter.

Untitled, Deconstruction Series, Long Beach, NY

I will never forget the Italian Ices, the bikinis I wore, the boys I flirted with, the bars I hung out in, the restaurants I ate in,  the 2 mile runs and long, intense talks with my best friend or the growing up I did here at this boardwalk. As I see the beach leveled out, I too, am going through a transformation and I look forward to the day when I return and get to walk on the new boardwalk and join my elders once again, to marvel at the great ocean and let it fill me with its infinity and the ability to endure the changing tides.

Nothing To Defend

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Hair is gray and the fires are burning. So many dreams on the shelf. You say I wanted you to be proud of me. I always wanted that myself.  Tori Amos

The other day I was driving down to Newport Beach listening to the music in my car… well, I wasn’t just listening, I was singing and jiving in my seat, the way I did when I was in my 20’s and 30’s….At some point I felt self-conscious and then I thought – F it!  I don’t care, this is who  I am… sometimes…or at that moment.  Since when does an age define whether or not we can jam and boogie in our cars?  I had that feeling again.. the one that is of longing… longing to play music and even perform again, but mostly, to just play music with other people.  There is nothing like it… not for me.  I fantasized about placing an ad in the music paper, “53 year old female classic rocker looking to jam with a band of musicians. Keyboards, some guitar and lots of back up vocals.”  Then I started thinking about the memoir I never finished, “How I Never Made it as a Rock Star.”  I thought that maybe I could start breaking it into little pieces and sharing it on my blog… as part of the deconstruction theme… Music is/was such a huge part of my life and whenever I go back to NY and see friends and friends of friends, they always ask, “are you playing anywhere?”  And I want to laugh… because the only place I had played in the last 3 years was the convalescent home and I haven’t even played there in over a year, I’m sorry to say.  But it’s funny, I guess if enough people ask you the same question over and over, after awhile, I begin to think about the question and ask myself how I feel about that.  I used to love to sit down and play Beethoven and Bach and Hayden…just by myself… and sometimes, go through my giant book of standards from when I went to Berklee… but it had been such a long time that I had done that, the keys on my piano were actually dusty.  One of the sweetest connections I have with one of my stepdaughters is that we sit down at the piano and sing my songs together, including the song I wrote for her, which I think is the last song I wrote and that was about 4 or 5 years ago. She is away at school now and we hardly do that anymore. I used to write songs every week when I lived in NY and then when I lived in Portland, OR, I wrote an entire CD worth of music, inspired by my first marriage and divorce.  It was called, “Two Separate Worlds”  and I had a band to promote the cd and songs and later became a duo and did some touring in the pacific northwest as well as the east coast.  Anyway, needless to say, music was my life… before writing and photography and … life.  Once, when after I ‘quit’ music for two years and went back to school for writing and English (in my 40’s) – it dawned on me that I wasn’t a songwriter anymore and I felt fine about it.  The next morning (and after many listens of David Gray’s first album, "White Ladder") I woke up with songs in my head and started writing until 6 songs were born.  Naturally, I had to record them and did.  I think it was because I was willing to let it go and by “it” I mean, my identification with what I did...and then I was free… to create from a place of peace.

 

Deconstruction: Self-portrait in White

Learning that I am just the vessel in which these things flow through, I realize that nothing can ever be forced.  Last month I had the flu and as I wrote in another entry, it was a bit of a vision quest, since I couldn’t go anywhere and had to be still and quiet.  During this time, I was dealing with some personal family stuff that was very emotional and painful and full of growth.   One day, while bundled up in my pink fuzzy bathrobe, sitting on the couch, I grabbed my husband’s guitar (which just happened to be sitting there) and started playing.  He usually plays with a capo, so I left it where it was and starting picking… pretty arpeggios and before I knew it, words were coming to my head and out of my mouth…   I have never ever written a song where I didn’t write the lyrics down first and then sit down to write the melody… but on this day, an hour or two later, I had the bulk of a song written… and memorized (of course, I recorded it on my phone because I didn’t trust my memory to last to the next day or the day after…).  And the melody that came to me was one I never thought I would choose, nor the chords, which I still don’t know what some of them are…but I play it once a day… and still… I have not written down the words (which I will eventually do).  It brings me such joy to play it, and sing it, because the words came from a place in my heart and the song reminds me there’s, “Nothing To Defend.”  And I believe it is a gift from God, Great Spirit, The Universe, or whatever one wants to call a higher power… because I can tell you, it certainly did not come from me.  It was a beautiful lesson… and reminded me and taught me that if I get out of the way, I create a space for something beautiful to come through.  If I fill that space with a bunch of gunk, then it is clogged and nothing can get through and I am stuck needing emotional Drano to clear the path and disintegrate the blockage I created, which is the good news… because if I created the gunk, then I can get rid of it.  

 

Robbie: Rocker circa 1980, NYC  Photo: Denise Winters

Sometimes, and maybe always, it’s as easy as sitting down and saying, “OK, if ‘you’ have something to say or create through me, I am open and ready, let’s do it.  If not, that’s cool too.”  The main thing is, I am learning to let go of the attachment I have put on just about everything… and of course, I want to let go of the attachment to the pain and anguish of those difficult times in life, but it is another thing to learn to let go of the joyful things, or accomplishments… and trust that there is no shortage of those and that if I allow them a space to enter my life, time after time, they will come.  Like Pema Chodron says, it’s learning to walk in the middle.  Not getting attached to the pain nor the victories.  If I never write another song again, it will be ok, I feel fulfilled and look forward to one day recording this new song that would make me happy to share.  A new song… such a metaphor, and metaphors… make great songs.

When all one requires is that perfect song on that perfect drive to feel infinite.

Stephen Chbosky

The Emperess's New Clothes

Deconstruction, Self-portrait in White, Steele Bridge c 2013

Yesterday I had an out of body experience.  It was amazing, really.  I must admit, I have a cloud of self-consciousness floating about as I write this, but I have committed to letting myself be seen so here it is.  First, a little background. When I was 10 years old, a student from Italy was transferred into our school.  She had just lived through a natural disaster and the teachers asked for donations of clothes.  I put a bunch of clothes into a hefty garbage bag and invited her to come over after school.  We ate Wise potato chips and drank Coke and though I really wanted to watch Dark Shadows, I searched the UF stations for Italian programs… I did not find one, but left it on a Spanish speaking station thinking it would be the same.  I had a great uncle in the garment district (New York) and my grandmother would take me shopping every year before school started to pick out some things from the show rooms.  The only piece of clothing I can remember from those days was a chiffon orange and white polka dot long sleeve blouse.  I was still pretty much a tomboy then, and didn’t wear frilly things, but my grandma insisted and so it was.  I remember wearing that shirt once and when a friend came over and said she liked it, I traded it for her shirt… which was not chiffon, nor frilly.  I remember my grandmother coming over that year and seeing that orange shirt on my friend and exclaimed, “you traded that shirt for a schemata!?” In Yiddish, that means…rag.  But I digress…  I have always had the pleasure of giving away my clothes to my friends or whoever, especially, because even as a young woman (and embarrassingly, not so young), my grandmother still took me clothing shopping, but now we were going to Saks Fifth Avenue and Lord and Taylor…  still buying me clothes (conservative, office-like clothing, hoping this would lead to me become a paralegal!) mixed in with the occasional funky pieces that even my sweet and fashionable grandmother liked.  Still to this day, I enjoy passing my clothes on to friends and stepdaughters… it makes me happy to see them enjoy something that was mine that I can share.

I have tried many times, shopping in second hand stores and can count on one hand how many times I purchased something to wear from them.  I felt the struggle… and the self-judgment… about how it was difficult for me to wear something that was somebody else’s… yet I had no problem being the one who gave the clothes.  This always bothered me in some way but I couldn’t put my finger on it.  I wondered if I was spoiled or snooty… and thought about what it would be like if I didn’t have that choice. What if I had to wear someone else’s “hand me downs” – what if I couldn’t afford to buy my own clothing?  And, lo and behold… as in most cases of my life, the universe presents opportunities for me to learn and grow.  I have not been able to buy a whole lotta clothing, not really even a little… and yesterday, I spent the day playing and working with a friend.  We have been researching stores that might sell our artwork.  We walk from one to the other, surveying and asking questions.  Along the way, we pass by clothing stores, with the cutest clothes and bags, and shoes in the window… clothes that I know I can’t afford now. Sometimes we go in and peruse and I even try on something. I am tired of my clothing, that I love, but wear over and over again, and right or wrong, they get stale and I’m a woman and I like to wear something new, something fresh from time to time.  I told my friend how I have put a ban on buying clothing right now and as we were walking back to the car, she said, “I have bags of clothing that I was going to give to charity, you can go through them and see if there’s something you like.” 

And as I live more and am aware of miracles more, I knew this was one. It was not just about the clothing, it was much bigger than that. We went back to her house and she got the bags and in her dining room, we went through them together, and I tried on piece after piece, and it was as if I was watching myself from a corner in the house (like Andora from Bewitched!). Her generosity of heart  amazed me. I was always the one giving away my clothing. Ironically, the only other person who ever gave me her clothing was… yes, my grandmother.  However, my grandmother was petite and I was not, and could hardly wear anything, try as I might.  My friend's clothes fit just right and they were just my style… and it touched my heart so… and she wrapped them in tissue paper and we laughed as she placed the garments in Nordstrom shoping bags.  There was much to learn from this exchange.  I am humbled and grateful and I am thrilled that I now know that joy of receiving in this way. I have a deeper understanding and compassion for those who cannot afford to buy brand new clothing or anything for that matter. And, I have a more grand appreciation for the value of love and kindness.

 I am writing this wearing my ‘new’ black funky shirt that is worth the world to me.

I Won't Grow Up!

 

Untitled, Deconstruction, Self-portrait in White Series

I recently went to see Peter Pan, the musical at the Pantages Theater.  I had no idea what to expect, it was date night, we just had a delicious dinner, I had a little wine and I was prepared to sit back and be entertained.  I waited, with anticipation, for the curtain to open as the orchestra began to play. I started thinking about the story of Peter Pan and I really couldn’t remember it. All I remembered was being in the play of Peter Pan as a kid and singing the songs at camp in the mountains of upstate New York.  One of the special aspects of this night was Cathy Rigby starring in this musical.  My husband brought me to the show because he knew she was one of my heroes and role models when I was a young gymnast.  While we waited for the musical to start, we read about Cathy in the playbill and all the organizations she has created; for terminally ill children and for aspiring actors. 

The narrator began to speak and then it was time for the show about never never land to begin.  Peter Pan came flying through a window, sprinkling sparkly fairy dust. Agile and graceful, this 60-year-old woman was performing acrobatic moves in the air while singing.  I was right there with the kids in the audience smiling and enjoying song and dance and then I realized how fortuitous it was to be at this show, at this time in my life, listening to words about thinking joyful thoughts that make one “fly.”  I still was thoroughly entertained, only now I was beginning to see the metaphor of the story of Peter Pan unfold as well, at least in my mind.  Peter taught the other children to fly by encouraging them to think happy, wonderful thoughts.  I saw him as the true representation of the “Self.” He was honest, non-judgmental, and strong and loving and so open to miracles that he could fly.

Before too long, Captain Hook entered the scene and we learned that he was determined to kill Peter, to take him down, to never let him fly again.  Naturally, he represented the “ego.”  He was paranoid and strategized, manipulated and planned to find Peter and destroy his high flying spirit.  And, at one point, when Captain Hook put poison in Peter Pan’s medicine, Tinker Bell drank it to save him.  And who was Tinker Bell?  An Angel, of course!  We all have people, angels, beams of light that if we recognize them, help us along the way.  But most of all, we learn that the light shines within us and even after Captain Hook temporarily grounds Peter, before too long, Peter is back, choosing to think happy, joyful thoughts and flying again.  

It occurred to me that wisdom is not exclusive to age or beauty and that one does not have to be old or beautiful to possess it.  In fact, children are great purveyors of wisdom.  They live in the present moment, not attached to outcomes, they laugh when they want, cry when they want, sleep when they want and they play when they want.  Here, in Peter Pan, was this little boy not only teaching fellow children to think happy joyful thoughts but eventually he inspired the adults as well. 

The “story” of Peter Pan touched me so deeply that I felt a part of me was changed and not just because of the metaphor of the story and the beautiful music or the fantastic acting.  There before me, was the epitome of Beauty and Wisdom… Cathy Rigby. And in case you forgot what I wrote at the beginning of this essay, she is 60-years-old, a mother, a grandmother, and she was performing acrobatic moves in the air that most teenagers are not able to do on the ground. She “is” Peter Pan, having fun, believing in anything and everything and actualizing all that she believes in. It is no wonder that she now gives seminars on “The Art of Reinventing Yourself”, because she is a shining example of a woman who has reinvented herself. Cathy studied singing and acting for 7 years after having a career as a gymnast and winning 8 gold medals internationally. After that she became a sports commentator for 18 years. She has also created a company with her husband and together they are Executive Producers, a title that seems quite fitting.  At the end of every show she comes out to personalize signed, purchased posters and proceeds of these posters goes to Discovery Arts, an organization that brings music, art, dance and drama to children with cancer, serious blood disorders and life threatening illness while they are in the hospital receiving treatment.  My sweet husband bought me a poster to get signed by Cathy Rigby.  I waited on line nervously because contrary to what most people think of me, I am timid and shy at heart, but I was not going to let an opportunity like this slide by. When it was my turn to meet Cathy I thanked her for inspiring me as a gymnast when I was a kid and for inspiring me now, as a grown woman, to reinvent myself.  She gave me the warmest loving hug that will last forever in my soul. My thoughts are confirmed: age is truly an illusion and beauty most definitely is a by-product of happiness, as long as you believe and as Peter Pan says, “Think joyful, happy thoughts”.  I most definitely agree with Anne Lamott when she wrote, “Joy is the best make-up.”

In this quest of seeking who “I” am as a woman growing older in years, you helped me believe that I too, can fly with delight and I hope to always remember how to live in that delightful wonder of a child and to ‘be’ beautiful.  Thank you Peter Pan, and now, “I gotta crow!”

(Don't forget to click on the links for surprises!  And leave a comment if you want to!) 

Do I Have to Kill Myself?

Deconstruction, Self-portrait  in White

Cathedral Park, Portland, OR

The concept of killing my 

“self” has crossed my mind.  There have been times when I have been so confused and so down that if a meteor came out of the sky and hit me on the head and took me to the next plane, that I wouldn’t mind. No, I never plotted a suicide… at least, not a bodily one.  I just didn’t want to be “here” like “that.”  The more I learned about my “self” and my “ego” the more I thought that I just might have to kill it.  But lately, I’ve been looking at all this in a different way.  I am being taught to have compassion for my ego/self.  Now, when a destructive or sabotaging thought comes into my head, I stop and realize that it is my ego. Then I kind of talk to my ego (in my head, mostly) the way I would talk to a little girl who is acting out because she is afraid or wants love. So maybe, it is not about killing anything, but loving it so much that it feels less threatened. I have always had a really hard time accepting  less than perfect or wounded aspects of myself… until now and I can feel a big difference in my life. How can I expect others to love me unconditionally or me love them that way, when I can’t even love myself that way?  And, if I only love what I perceive to be good about me, well, that’s conditional.  Sometimes, when I do my gratitude list, after all the “obvious” blessings, I list those things about me that I would otherwise beat myself up for… ie: my jealousy, my selfishness, my immaturity, my insecurity… and it makes me smile and feel loved in a way that I have really never known. I am happiest when I can feel grateful for it all, the good, bad and the ugly... it's truly all beautiful.

Here are a couple of videos of Byron Katie (click on Byron Katie) that I found extremely helpful on this journey. Hope you enjoy them too.