Prayer Request

Jake and Emery

My son's daddy isn't doing well. He's battling throat cancer. It's very hard for so many people right now especially my son, Jake. Please say a prayer, and send comfort, and peace to cover us all in a blanket of love.

And lastly, please pray for my Mom. The surgery on her back is tomorrow. The last 2 years have been really rough on her. I'm just sick that I cannot be with her. One day I'll be able to drive or ride in a car anywhere I want to go. I cannot give up hope that this will be a reality. It's times like this I feel so bad that I can't step outside my comfort zone to be with those I love when they need me like my son, and my Mom.

Thank you so much everyone.

The Colors of Winter

Taken from my kitchen window

Winter is alive with color

Even if I only get a peek behind a branch

The color of winter waves back to me

Life at the Lily Pad is psychedelic & colorful.
~Groovy~

Flying Dream: Part Two

Here's the rest of my flying dream... (read part one to see where we left off) There we are, my son and I, hanging out in a bathroom at a Mexican restaurant in downtown Ojai, CA with mousey brown hair dye on our heads.

For those of you who don't know my son, he's been a lead singer & guitar player in rock bands since he was 15, and has probably dyed his hair more often than I have---and that's a LOT! Gotta love creative expression.

Jake becomes concerned about time, and needs to meet Ashley, his wife, so he rinses his hair and bolts out the door. I watch which direction he heads then take my turn in the small sink rinsing the hair dye off my hair. I rinse my head quickly, and run out the door to follow Jake. (I'm a helicopter Mom sometimes... OK most of the time...) I realize he has a pretty good head start so I decide to take a short cut down a side street. I zoom out, and up, to an aerial street map like you see on Google maps and pick my course.

Walking does not seem fast enough so I begin running. My pace picks up, and my legs become gazelle like--stretching out gracefully before me with strides that appear like a super heroine. People start to notice, and make comments, "Wow! Look at that girl running. Her feet are off the ground!" (Yes, I consider myself a girl in a woman's body) I'm elated to see my feet are actually off the ground, and make a decision to fly instead of run since I'm practically flying anyway.

To gain altitude I start making swimming motions with my arms cutting through the air as if it's water. Up, up, up I go... above the buildings, the cars and the people walking on the sidewalks or standing in their yards. Everyone is watching me sail above them. No one has seen someone fly before and this is my 15 minutes of fame. I'm feeling exhilarated, and special, and free. I no longer need to flap my arms, my body is gliding effortlessly as if I weighed the same as a feather.

I'm flying above the main intersection in downtown Ojai where the clock tower is in the center of town. The sky is a vivid, surreal blue. People are crossing the street hurrying to make it before the traffic light changes. In the crosswalk below me are a group of conservative women with shopping bags dangling from their arms. They're clustered tightly together like a quilt made out of polyester squares afraid to touch cotton.

Suddenly a women that resembles the church lady from SNL pulls back from the pack, and points a bony finger up at me as I flit overhead. Her mouth looks like a sea gull's beak, gaping open begging for bread crumbs. I pause in mid flight to discern the words coming from her gullet. They break the perfect, blissful moment my flight has given me as she screams.

"You can't fly! That's not Godly! God doesn't like it when you fly!"

Everyone on the sidewalks and crosswalk stop dead in their tracks. They stare at me barely breathing to see what my reaction will be to her loud accusation. My soul, my heart, my core knows this is not true. Without hesitation my voice resonates through the dead air like a skilled stage actor with perfect diction knowing everyone in the back row of the theater can hear my booming, poised voice.

"F_ _ K, you! God loves it when I fly. He's the One who taught me how to fly in the first place!"

Then off I fly into the sunset as free as a bird. I am free. Finally, I am free.

End of dream....

My son has such a healthy attitude about being different than other people. One time he had a 5 inch hawk (Mohawk) with bleached roots, a 3 inch band of lime green, and black tips. We went out to eat, and the little kids at the table next to us were staring at him. Their parents apologized and said, "Sorry our kids are staring at you but they love the Disney movie "Land Before Time" and they think you are a dinosaur." Everyone in the restaurant laughed, especially my son.

Jake with his leopard look. Ashley created this clever look for him.

Now I really, really, REALLY want to type the "F" word in the sentence above, and not sugar coat it. Ya'll know I never use "that" word here on my blog. (I said on NOT my blog... it's been known to soothe my ruffled feather's on occasion when no other word is bold enough) I prefer to use Frap but it's really the same word.... It's just a matter of switching out a few letters. But I am afraid. Afraid of what you'll think about me if I do.

I know it's just a word. I also know this word is offensive to some people. And let me set the record straight. I love conservative people, freaks, polyester (well I'm kinda lying about that one... OK I am lying right out loud about that one... I truly hate polyester) This is not a post about bashing anyone or anything--except my own fears. Plus, you all know I worry sometimes about what people think about me for having PTSD or panic attacks since May 4, 2008. I "shouldn't" still be afraid to get in a car. I shouldn't be afraid to type the Eff word.

I know some of you would cheer me on to type "it" because you've followed my blog for a long time. Frap is safer to type and this just more Fear being afraid to type a silly word, and that sucks. I loved my dream, and I want to be flipping freer. My spirit knows how to fly. Fudge... I freaking can't stay stuck forever. It's just a frigging word.... Four little letters. I want to let it rip because that's what the dream was all about. Not being afraid. Not allowing people to make me question myself or doubt myself. Not being afraid of what other people think about me even if I do get scared sometimes.... or if I fly too high.... or if I say....

fuck

There I said it.

Frap... that was hard.

And yes, I'm cringing a wee bit....
OK a LOT...

Do ya'll still love me?????

Flying Dream--Part One

I had a liberating, vivid flying dream. Lord how I love my flying dreams.

Part One: The Flying Dream

I was in Ojai, CA with my son Jake & he had concerns about what his dad would think about his hair having a swath of lime green in it. We decided since his dad doesn't have a great sense of humor about body piercings, hawks, and tatts, that we would tone his hair down a bit before he met up with his Dad. I happened to whip a bottle of hair color out of nowhere, and proceeded to dab a "safe, neutral, mousy brown" on both of our heads. I didn't actually need to color my hair-- I'm just a Loreal junkie. One sniff of that peroxide, chemical blend and I gotta have it! What can I say? They can't arrest me for it!

So there we are, my son and I sitting in a bathroom in a Mexican restaurant on Ojai Ave we used to go to all the time when we lived there, waiting for his hair to change from chartreuse to blah brown. Tick tock tick tock... time flys when you're dreaming....

Exit Dream

Real Life Footnote: Jake's dad is battling cancer for the 3rd time. Throat cancer. He just completed a harsh round of chemo and radiation. Jake hasn't seen his dad for a few years, and his dad hasn't seen Emery, Jake's son, who is his only grandchild. His dad can't fly out here to visit--the flight would take a toll on his already compromised body. And no one could afford to pay airfare for Jake, Ashley & Emery to go to CA to see his dad. Until I received a letter from an old friend in CA. Do you all remember my friend, Pamela Barrett who wrote, 'Tales of the Titmouse'? One of the characters in this book, Penny, is the friend that sent me a Christmas letter.

I'm embarrassed to say the envelope sat in a pile of Christmas cards unopened for a couple of weeks. I was too sick, and too exhausted from the severe panic attacks due to PTSD I was having plus a bad sinus infection. It was difficult to focus on much of anything except trying to keep my mind above water. Finally I found a place of peace to focus properly, I began opening my cards. I never expected a check to fall out of the envelope written to Jake from my dear friend of 39 years. She had a small inheritance left to her, and set aside funds for Jake's secondary education. She said she thought a trip for the three of them to come to CA so his dad could see his grandson, and family was a perfect secondary education---one called Life.

Needless to say... We are all overwhelmed, and in awe of such love and generosity coming from such an unexpected source. The Universe does hear you, and does bring you what you need. Thank you my precious friend, Penny, for loving me all these years. Thank you Pam & John, for visiting Jake's daddy at Christmas. Thank you for the secondary education funds you provided for Jake, Penny. He's planning the trip now. I'll keep you all posted...

Part Two of the Flying Dream coming up soon.

My First Music Video made by the Dafthermit

This lovely music video with my song Moonbeam was made by my dear friend, Andy, the Dafthermit, who travels the Highlands of Scotland with his precious wife, Mel, and their 2 cats and 2 dogs in a black bus that was custom made by them. Andy used his photography, and film of Scotland, plus some of my personal pictures to make this video. Listen closely and you can hear the winds blowing across the fields of flowers in Scotland.

Please stop by to see more of the dafthermits videos HERE and his blog featuring stories, films and photography about their travels living off the grid HERE. Fabulous! FABULOUS!

I'm happy to announce my tests results came back normal. First time I've ever been considered normal... I'm going to savor it. Thank you for all your prayers, and good energy sent my way. And thank you Andy and Mel for making such an amazing video for Moonbeam---and me. I adore you!

Thighs Does Matter

There's one kind of robbery that's the worst kind of all. Oh it's sneaky, and if you're not watching closely, you'll lose your ass. You can often uncover the underhanded deed when you're standing in the check out line at the store thumbing through a magazine, patiently waiting your turn. Then BAM! The covert crime jumps up, and smacks you in the face! Literally...

Right there on page 72. You find a shot of yourself in the Victoria Secret ad but someone cut YOUR head off your body, and placed some strange woman's face where yours used to be! What really sucks is when you start screaming about this blatant form of thievery to the people standing in line with you--they just look at you like you're a loon, or a complete loser, even if you have proof you've been robbed. This has happened over, and over, and over to me.

I finally found a way to get revenge. FaceinHole. Look at my furrrrreeeeking gorgeous thighs would ya??? My face + someone else's body. A thigh for a thigh. Brilliant! I love the way my mind works sometimes... I'm not only taking back my thighs... I'm taking back my life!

I was talking to Superman tonight on the phone and told him, "I'm going to be living with Gusto this next year." I quickly added, "You understand I need him in my life right now! One day I'll live with you..."

I realized I'd let the cat out of the bag when Opie Taylor sauntered over, and meowed, "What about me??? I thought you were living with me!?"

Lord my frigging life can get complicated so dang fast sometimes. I'd just blurted out I was planning on having an affair to Superman and Opie T.

You know what Superman said???

He said, "There's room for all of us in your life, including Gusto." Opie just purred.

You see, peeps, I want to make 2010 the best ever. I want to take every step possible to conquer PTSD so I'll stop losing precious time being sick, spending long hours at the doctor's office, and the hospital like I did today getting my Echocardiogram done. Or the time it takes to recover from being worn thin by stress related illnesses. I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired!

I've been looking for my mantra, my word for the new year, my motto for 2010, my mission statement for seizing the moments I've missed while I've been blind dating Stress. I found it.

GUSTO...
I'm living with Gusto
in 2010

After I came home from the hospital today I took a much needed nap. I had a lot of time waiting between phases of the test today to think about what I wanted to change in my life to make the quality better. So I decided to cozy up to Gusto. And it felt darn good. After being such a bold little tart, he agreed to move in with me right away. Pfftttt... No Pre-Nup needed.

So that's the thighs of it, peeps.
I've been living with someone else's head
on my body for too long...

I'll update you about the results of my tests as soon as I get them. Lawd knows I'm gonna need a good heart to keep up with 3 men... and a lacy pair of Monkey Pantz to show off my sessy, new thighs. Oh, baby!

Heart Waves

Journal art "Love Grows Here"
Pen and Prisma colored pencils

Tomorrow I'm having the stress test to determine why my EKG was abnormal with an inversion in my T wave. I've been focusing on my art, and not much else. Lots of heart art going on around here. I'll be posting the new work soon.

Tour of Nostrildamus

Woodstock Lily sings for you

Lille Diane and Michael Tsang, 'East Winds"

About a month ago, maybe less, I was looking for an old tape to let Superman hear a version of 'Over the Rainbow' I recorded. This song is one of my all time favorites without a doubt. In my search to find the recording of this one song I found another cassette that I didn't even know I had. Thirty one years this tape was buried. It survived several cross country moves, musky basements, and storage units living in beaten up cardboard boxes. Suddenly, out of nowhere, it appeared in a drawer as if MAGIC. It wasn't even labeled. Why I picked this particular cassette up is a mystery in itself, except to say, something much larger, and grander, than myself is working on my behalf.

Silver Rose, Louie Baker on the left, me on the right with dark hair.

The tape had several live recordings of songs I'd written on it, and didn't even remember I had recorded, as well as songs I'd performed with two bands; Silver Rose with Louie Baker, and East Winds, a duo with Michael Tsang, both during the 70's. This has been an emotional, and jaw dropping few weeks with discoveries of my musical career preserved as a part of my continuing musical legacy.

My Dad played with 50's icons Hank Williams, Hank Snow, and Johnny Horton. He met my mother, an aspiring vocalist, who sang backups on a couple of recordings that ended up on jukeboxes, not as hits but as fillers. My daddy had a drinking problem, as do many musicians, and it got in the way of him having the brilliant career he was born to have. My grandmother told me a story about a night he was playing with Johnny Horton. Johnny told her, "Dub is one of the best guitar players out there but the bottle is his first love. He won't go anywhere till he leaves her behind." Sad, but true, this has happened to too many extremely talented artists, musicians, and writers.

As you all know I have been using creativity, and a creative to do list to help me heal from PTSD. It has not been an A-Z process for me, and truthfully, it wouldn't be nearly as interesting, or rewarding, if everything just "fell into place" with no effort or learning on my part. I'm learning so much from Dr. Ed, and, Michele Rosenthal, at Heal My PTSD. But in saying that, I've experienced some hard hills to climb out of this valley of PTSD, and at times, my body has been dragging my dreams down due to setbacks health wise.

Finding these tapes has given me the courage to begin undertaking one of the goals on my list; to record another album. I will not allow PTSD to rob me of my purpose, my calling, and my God given talents to accomplish my dreams. I've had these dreams since I was 10 years old. My amazingly talented son, Jake, will be working with me on this project singing backup, and laying down all the music tracks. Yes, he can play everything! Superman is at the helm as my producer, and protector. Dylan is in charge of managing me. (hehe Lord knows I need that...)

For the last few weeks, Superman has painstakingly worked to digitize and clean up as much hiss off these recordings as he could, then he saved them to an mp3 format. So.... with a wee bit nervousness, mixed with a huge "I just won the Freaking LOTTERY!!!" attitude, I introduce a collection of songs on my side bar for your listening pleasure.

My personal favorites are: Moonbean, I Never Meant To Hurt You, Over the Rainbow, and Girl In The Mirror. There's one country song on here I wrote called, 'A Child Like Me'. I grew up thinking country music was all there was because of my family history. I've since learned to love and appreciate all music. "A Child Like Me' has a Christian message layered with the idea that we all want to be accepted by our Daddy's, whether it is Daddy God or our own birth fathers. I've always had a spiritual heart, and have always been a seeker, looking for God, for answers, and spiritual love. I worked in the Contemporary Christian music business from 1987-1998. I had the honor of being the opening vocalist for the phenomenal Wayne Watson, winner of tons of Grammy's and Dove Awards, in 1989.

yes, I had big hair... didn't everyone in the 80's????
Wayne Watson, myself, and Scott Alan, a DJ at KDAR, Oxnard CA

If you're on Facebook you can fan me there at Lille Diane: Singer-Songwriter and on Reverbnation. I'd be so honored to have you listen to my songs (they're up there on the top right on the player) and cheer me on to taking my healing to the next level.

Bronzed Knickers and Diamonds

About 10 years ago I was opening a bottle of wine, and as soon as I started twisting the wine opener into the cork I could tell something was not right. I was right. The cork was so dry, my twisting against the glass caused the neck of the bottle to shatter in my hand. In all the years I've opened wine bottles, I've never seen this happen to anyone. My ring finger was cut so deeply in the finger pad area, it required surgery, and stitches.

Shards of glass are still working their way out of my finger all these years later including a piece now. It's deep, and while it's not causing me much grief, I know eventually, I'll have to address it. I've had to go to the doctor several times in years past to have festering pieces of glass surgically removed. Other times, the glass pops through my fingertip like a sprout in springtime, and all I need is tweezers to pluck it out. Simple as that--all it needed was time.

I see this as a metaphor to having PTSD. On some days when a scary thought comes racing through my head, or a negative one, I can use my own mental tweezers to pull it out before it starts infecting my thoughts. But for the most part, I still need professional assistance to help me work through the layers of trauma. I've tried to hold these fears in, fearful I'd be judged for being scared to get in a car again, or judged for not just "getting over it". Heck, I've even barked at myself to suck it up, and to put my Xena Princess Warrior bronzed knickers back on my lily livered arse. That's the part of me that's over the car accident, but the larger part of me is still on hyper drive, or as Dr. Ed says, "my fears are on steroids."

Try as I may I cannot hold these feelings, and thoughts in forever. I'm only making it harder on my body, and my recovery, when I do that. This is why my tummy troubles have kicked into warp speed. It's all connected to my body's injuries, and my tummy's the place I hold my stress. I've been having some of the worst panic attacks I've ever had these past few weeks, hence, the worst pain in my abdomen for a long time. Dr. Ed says I need to let it out. I won't break into a million pieces of glass if I do. If I allow it all to come to the surface like that sliver of buried glass I won't go comatose and die in the prenatal position--even if my body tells me I will. And it has told me that.

He asked me if I ever knew anyone who had cried themselves to death. He said a human can physically maintain a good crying jag for about 15-20 minutes before they wear themselves out. I instantly thought of my son when he was little, and after a tantrum or a bad day, how he would cry himself to sleep. I suppose I thought I "should" be past crying at this stage of my PTSD. Perhaps a healthy crying session will clear the way for more healing, and will create less stress on my tummy.

The glass bottle in the picture is full of sand, and pieces of broken glass that I picked it up in a parking lot after we finished the 5k Race for Hope (to raise money and awareness for brain tumor research) in Washington DC the day of the accident. I remember asking everyone to wait for me while I squatted like a kid in a sandbox, scooping up the brightly colored pieces of glass mingled with sand on the hot asphalt. It was from a mosaic pattern that adorned this particular parking lot in downtown DC, and time and traffic, had caused it to crumbled pushing 1000's of tiny sea-like glass free. To me it was a candy store of recyclable treasure, and I would have stayed for hours collecting this wind fall of potential art material if I'd been able to.

Time always has a way of giving me answers in unexpected ways much like this bottle has been a visual lesson to me. I never once shook the bottle to make the pretty colored bits and pieces of glass rise to the surface. Time did that all by itself. Just as the slivers of glass in my fingers cannot be squeezed or forced out of my finger before it's time, neither can the PTSD shrapnel in my head. It's working itself out at a pace I can handle. Time is what I need for things to shift into place so I can heal properly.

I've been called Diamond Lil my entire adult life. Why not now, too, even if I feel like a diamond in the rough most days? Diamonds come from coal, and it's pressure that creates diamonds. Poets have long compared tears to glistening diamonds. Who knows, maybe a diamond sheds a tear to free itself from the dark sheath of coal, and darkness. Or perhaps all I have to do is open the lid on this bottle to let the miracle out... Time will show me, of this I am sure.

New Year New Contest

Lisa, from Eco Yogini, was one of 94 people who entered the contest last fall to name my new home. There were hundreds of fabulous entries. "The Lily Pad" was also suggested by several people but it was Lisa's name I picked out of the hat--literally. The prize was a custom painting created for her by me.

Yesterday her painting arrived at her door.

Click Here
to watch her open it.

Her fiance, Andrew, captured the moment of her
opening the package from start to end.
Adorable... simply adorable.
This was so much fun...
I'm thinking up a new contest.
For those of you who leave a comment here
AND at Lisa's blog,
I'll put your name in the hat TWICE!
Stay TUNED for prize announcement!

Fire and Ice

"Fire and Ice"
16 x 2o Mixed Media

I just finished her a few days ago. I'm taking an online class with Suzi Blu, "The Goddess and the Poet".

I haven't been feeling that well. I'll keep you posted. It's related to the scar tissue in my abdomen. Send me some hugs and hot cocoa. I'm praying I won't need another surgery. I hope this guy will be my surgeon if I do. He looks wise and I'll bet he's wearing his Monkey Pantz.

Dr. Emery to the rescue.

Best Gift All Year

Happy Birthday, Emery!
He made his debut last New Year's day.
I'm blessed to have such a beautiful family.

First headphone experience. LOL

Snowflakes

All morning I've been watching the snow fall. Flurries, and dense patches of frosty stars falling, or floating, depending on how you look at it. Swirling, and dancing. Silent, intricate universes as individual as we are. It's hypnotic--watching snowflakes fall. It feels like I'm inside a snow globe except the snow is on the outside, and I'm on the inside looking out. I'm pondering the snowflakes, and my navel, with a new year on the horizon.

In watching the snow fall, I realized, all that really matters is this moment, and finding the joy in life no matter how much or how little "snow" falls on my world. So for the rest of the day, or at least for a moment, ( I cannot even begin to tackle the "hugeness" of the entire next year) I'd like to live as free as a snowflake inside my heart. Yesterday is something I cannot change, and tomorrow (should I be blessed enough to have one) is not yet here. I have this one shot at making my life as joyful as a dancing snowflake or as turbulent as a blizzard.

This snow globe perspective isn't a once a year kind of thinking for me. I probably over think most things on most days, and waste way too much time in the "what-ifs" or "I shoulda's". But there's something about hanging up a new calendar that shifts my core, and allows me to begin thinking about new beginnings.

Is it any wonder mankind sees snow a sign of purity? Or a new year as turning over a new leaf? Or white as a symbol of cleanliness? Is it a fluke that a new year falls in winter just as a snowflake does? If snowflakes could sing, would my life song be singing in harmony with them? If my life were a snow globe would others look in on my world and want to be a part of it?

Maybe I should keep my snow globe out all year long to shake up a fresh, snowfall of JOY whenever I need a fresh perspective, or a clean slate to start over if I get muddied-up. Or if I just need a reminder of the JOY that all children see inside a snowflake. Yes... I rather like that New Year's resolution.

2010
I welcome you with joy.

Tis the season to be

Opie Taylor knows how to "be"...
Peaceful, Joyful, and Grateful
For all things, in all ways

This holiday season I'm going to follow his example.
I'm not adding stress to my Christmas list
Just joy, love, and peace.

Happy Holidayz, my dear friends,
and readers.
Opie Taylor, Superman, Wonder Dog,
Dylan, Jake, Ash, Emery and I
Wish you a Season
Full of Love, Joy, and Peace.
May you find a pair of Sassy Monkey Pantz
under your tree or inside a package.
Remember "One Size Fitz All"

I'll be back after Christmas...
But will try to stop by to wish
as many of you as I can get to...
Happy Holidayz
and to ask you....
If you have your monkey pantz on...

NOTE: These pics were taken last year at my beloved Tree House. I'll post pics later of my peaceful hippy, bohemian style Christmas here at the Lily Pad. I have kept it simple, sweet, and stress-less.

A Wake Up Call

Looking at this picture I clipped from a video I made last week, I can see I had no idea in a few minutes I was about to learn something about myself that would give me a major wake-up call. Sometimes moments like these are the perfect gift to give yourself. The eye popping moments that shake you to your core, rock you & cause you to feel like you've just been hit by a stun gun. But in actual fact, I opened an early Christmas present given to me by the Universe. It's just what I needed to approach this next year with renewed determination. I'm sharing it with you.

I know I resemble a deer caught in the head lights in this picture, and rightly so. With these festive monkey pants adorning my back side, and bright blue top, I should be considered legally blind. If you are scratching your head, and wondering , "WTFlip are monkey pants?" Go to my sidebar where my Lilyputian Dictionary is. The definition is there, along with other unique words I've "fashion" together. I know I'm not the only one who makes words up.... ahem. Besides everyone needs a custom pair of monkey pants fitted just for them. And on some days, you just gotta wear what makes you happy even if you look like a huge sheet of wrapping paper....

Here's the gift I opened.
To Me, With Love From 2010, and beyond...
Click Here : A Wake Up Call

Wii Wii Wii all the way home

Monkey pantzzzzzzz weigh more than you think.

Film at 11:00
Or right now.....
Check it out...Yikes

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z7y7L5YrA5M

Fleas on my Dog aka Feliz Favidad

Fleazzzzz on my dog.... lalalala
Fleazzzzz on my dog.... lalalala

Oh wait we don't have a dog.

OK then....
Feliz Navidad...
Feliz Navidad...
We want to wish you a Merry Christmas...
Happy Holidays....
Happy Hanuka.....
Happy Saturday....
Or anything else important you celebrate
And may your New Year be merry and bright.

Insomnia

New art, "Gratitude Reigned on Her Parade", by Lille Diane
I'm taking an art class, The Goddess and the Poet" with Suzi Blu.
This painting is inside a journal book.
YOU can do this too!
It's an online class & Suzi is a great teacher!

Smoke Free One Year Anniversary

I did it! It's been a full year. No cigarettes. No coughing when I laugh. No smelly clothes, breath, hair, car, house, fingers, furniture, drapes.... I can hold my grandson knowing he will not have any 3rd hand smoke from my clothes touching his sweet face. I can kiss Superman without going through the de-stink ritual. I don't have to stand out in the frigid winter air outside a restaurant to puff. I don't have to run out at 11:00 pm to get a pack just in case the 3 cigarettes I have left may not get me through the night.

I have saved a ton of money. Average pack is $5.oo. I was smoking 1.5-2 packs a day. That's roughly $275-350 a month.

My reward [besides better health] will be getting my teeth whitened.

Yeah, baby! I totally deserve it!

The Story Behind This Time Tomorrow

I'm sure you've all noticed my new header. Superman encouraged me to use this piece of art I drew, and painted a few months ago as my header. I reluctantly agreed to tear it out of my art journal and scan it to see if I liked it. To my surprise, I did like it. I really, really liked it. The only thing missing was the cat, Opie Taylor, who sports the monkey pants on this blog. That sketch came about in under 15 minutes from start to finish. If all of life could be that easy...

Some of you noticed I put "This Time Tomorrow" back on as my blog title. What I'm not sure of is if I told you why I selected "This Time Tomorrow" as my blog title in the first place.

I've played a game with myself for as long as I can remember called this time tomorrow. It helps me get through upcoming things that are difficult, and keeps the ants in my pants from eating me alive when I'm anticipating something fun in my future that hasn't happened yet. Like the time I was asked to open for singer-song writer, Wayne Watson, in 1989 at a concert in Oxnard, CA, a Dove and Grammy award winner. I was so honored, and excited to be the opening singer for one of my favorite Christian singers, I could hardly breathe, eat, sleep or think. I played the game "This Time Tomorrow" with myself so I could survive the weeks waiting for the concert to arrive without popping into a kazillion peices.

Wayne Watson, me, and Scott Alan DJ at KDAR in Oxnard, CA
big smile, big shoulder pads & big hair... love the 80's

But enough about big hair, and stuff. Here's how the game goes....

If there was a test at school that I dreaded, I'd think about the day and time of the test, then I'd say to myself, "This time next Friday, I'll be taking the math test." This would give me the mental time--mental because I rarely, IF ever, cracked a book for a math test--to psych myself up for the test. It's like saying, "OK I have 6 more days to worry about that or not worry about it." But I'd always visualize myself in the situation whether it was 6 days away, or this time tomorrow. It gave me some time to feel it before I got there.

I once used the game to help me heal after having an abortion. I sank into a deep depression afterward because I felt I didn't have a choice in the matter. I wrote a story about my horrible ordeal with the "this time tomorrow" theme. In my short story I dread the upcoming scheduled event, and acknowledge my fear, and remorse, by counting down the days, hours, and minutes before the abortion by playing the game, "This time tomorrow".

I approach the trip to the clinic with a new inner strength because I realize I have an alternative choice. I begin to feel strong, and am willing to voice what "I want to do"--not what I felt someone else wanted me to do. At the last minute, I get up off the table, and walk away without having the abortion. My baby is safe, and so am I. I awaken later to discover I only dreamed I had walked away while I was under the anesthesia having the abortion. Somehow this comforts me because I know in my heart, and spirit, I would have done it differently had the choices been presented to me in another way. Writing about this with the theme of this time tomorrow as the story's base allowed me to heal, and in time, forgive myself. It's a mental game I use to get me through something I dread, or to remind me in 24 hours I can open the gifts under the Christmas tree.

"This time tomorrow I will be at the clinic sitting in the waiting room."

"This time tomorrow I'll be singing in front of thousands of people on the same stage with Wayne Watson."

"This time tomorrow I'll be boarding the plane to Italy."

"This time tomorrow I'll be getting a tooth pulled."

"This time tomorrow I'll be one day closer to being healed from PTSD."

When I decided to start blogging about having PTSD, I pondered a title. I knew writing had helped me in the past to heal from so many things, and suddenly "This Time Tomorrow" popped into my head. That theme had helped me heal before maybe it could now some 30 years later. I realized each day I work through this it brings me closer to this time tomorrow when I'll be totally healed, whole and helping others heal from PTSD, too.

Some of you will get this silly game I play, and some of you will shake your heads and mumble, "HUH?" Humor me--OK? I'm also the one who goes on AND on about monkey pants. Some of you get the concept of monkey pants, too, and some of you don't. Monkey pants are my unique way of reminding myself to keep an attitude of silliness, to keep laughing at myself, and remain childlike in the way I look at life. Silly is good. It helps my serious, fearful heart remember to lighten up. I need my monkey pants on so I will keep on keeping on. Simple as that.

Thank you, Dylan, for always being there with me, monkey pants on, and ready to face whatever this time tomorrow brings us. Thank you, Superman, for believing in me today or this time tomorrow or for as long as it takes for me to get well.

Thank you bloggy friends for putting up with all my monkey shines... Oh, and will you all please let Opie Taylor know the stripes and polka dots DO NOT make his butt look big. He wanted stars on his monkey pants.... I can fix that, too. This time tomorrow...

Tales of the Titmouse

Topa Topa Mountain in Ojai, CA.
The Pink Moment
The brief moment when the sunset turns the mountain face a radiant pink.

Yesterday a long awaited gift arrived. It's a gift that spent 20 years (probably more than twenty) traveling through the heart, and mind, of a talented soul searching for just the right words, and message to send to its readers. The gift is a newly published book by my dear, long time friend, Pamela Barrett. "Tales of the Titmouse", One Woman's Journey Out of Darkness, you can find it on Amazon by clicking HERE.

I remember Pam reading excerpts over the phone to me in the late 80's, and being mesmerized by every word. I stood there with the phone cupped to my ear, and knew Pam was on her way to becoming a published author. Pam and I go way back to the early 70's. I used to work for her Dad as a waitress in his restaurant/coffee shop (I worked for him years later at another restaurant in Ojai, CA, named the Sand Dollar, where many of my friends in the band, The Country Z Men, went on to play with Jimmy Messina, and Clint Black). Pam helped him manage the coffee shop and played hostess with the mostest.

It's in this very same restaurant I met another dear friend, Penny (she's featured in the book) who later became my maid of honor at my wedding. Penny was my ultimate roll model for becoming a hippy, a true hippy. Her husband was an artist, and hanging out at her house was sheer bliss for me--an aspiring artist, musician and hippy-wanna-be-flower-child. I spent many hours curled up at Penny's feet in her plant shop gleaning life skills, and ideas of what to do with my life.

Sweet, sweet Ojai, CA, "The Valley of the Moon" as it is called by the Chumash Indians. Locals also refer to it as the "nest". Although the three of us no longer live there, Ojai will forever live in us. The pictures taken of me with my band Silver Rose were taken in front of a house both Pam and I lived in. Our lives have criss-crossed, and paralleled in so many ways, you'd have thought we planned it that way. We didn't. Perhaps it's because all three of us have a genuine hunger for spiritual matters, and long for our Higher Powers to lead us on a path of understanding, love and serenity.

Pam's story will remind you of how we are all searching for answers, for truth, for love, for acceptance, but especially for hope. If you need a gift of encouragement for someone you love, or yourself, please add "Tales of the Titmouse" to your list of must haves. You can find Pam at her blog, Sister Gilby Says.

Congratulations, Pam. I'm so very, very proud of you for making it to the finish line. You give all of us with stories to tell, and write, hope. Thank you~ Behind Pam is the painting, John Barrett, her artist husband did for the cover of the book. You should see the Christmas card he made me!!! These two make each other shine, and I am in awe of how their gifts came together in a such a perfect union.
I'm not going to give any details of what is inside the book except once you start reading it--you will not be able to put it down....

Bed Head Babblings

I have bed head, my grandson has some, too, and I'm showing it off to the world. I'm also showing why you shouldn't be allowed to babble on your puter cam & post it to you tube.

Hey just sayin....

It's too late.... I'm already hooked. This is the beginning of something well.... how should I say it? Monkey pants meets you tube. Yeah, that says it best.

Bed Head Babbling click here

Not Weighting Any More

Good week. Great results, plus lost some of me along the weigh. OK the barium was... Ummmmm, shall I say weighty. I believe that crap is closer to being like cement than glue in your pipe-a-roos---gross stuff. But it was kind of fun watching it pass through my physical pipes on the "big screen"... Between taking X-rays, the tech pointed out what everything was inside of me as the chalky, white, alien, tar baby first lit up my esophagus, then my intestines, and finally my large intestine.

I twisted my brow in a knot a few times asking her, "What IS that??" Think about it. We don't really get to see what is inside us. We only see the outside, and inside is an awesome machine we rarely even think about as it functions around the clock....24-7... keeping us alive. Plus, I'm curly, and curvy on the inside. Fluffy. Billowy. TMI?? Sowwy...

Please note:
Being off of sugar can make you feel giddy... stoned like. So a lot of this ramblin' sh*t ain't my fault....

This is how I felt when I quit smoking cigs last December, too. I got a head rush when the oxygen finally hit my brain after my blood veins became unclogged from all the nicotine, and tar. Plain oxygen gave me a buzz. A whole new twist on being an airhead... Some of you who have quit tobacco know just what I'm talking about, and now that I'm giving sugar the ole' stink eye... I've been babbling back and forth to myself like Cheech and Chong in a 70's movie. I guess detoxing has its perks. Anywhooooo... where was I??

Something about weight. Let me think a minute. Oh wait it was about my pipes. I was going to say.... no one tells you how freaky it is to see barium come out the "other" end. It's white with a grayish tint to it. Pasty gray. I felt so alienish. For freaking days. Sowwy, another sugah rush gone bad. I'll clean up my potty mouth.

More weighty matters??? Yes, what was the weighty matter this week?

When I weighed in at the doctors 1.5 weeks ago I weighed 191 lbs. I can barely breathe after typing that. Now that is the alien in my body--the extra weight. Those lines around my eyes--aliens, too, dang-it! I look at myself sometimes, and can't help but think of that Bonnie Raitt song, Nick of Time" where it says:

"I see my folks are getting on and I watch their bodies change
I know they see the same in me and it makes us both feel strange
No matter how you tell yourself, it's what we all go through
Those lines are pretty hard to take when they're starin' back at you
Scared to run out of time

When did the choices get so hard,
there's so much more at stake
Life gets mighty precious
When there's less of it to waste
Ooh ooh ooh ooh
Scared to run out of time"

I'm not here to have a pity party about "aging". I earned this right of passage. And I know for sure after going off that embankment in the accident I'm especially grateful to be alive, let alone any age, even if some people consider my age to be old. That inner "you" still expects to see "you" looking back...not that old girl-guy?! Friends, what I know is this;

I'm at a cross road in my life regarding my future health, and I need to take better care of myself while I still have a self to take care of...

Most of you reading this are probably baby boomers. Right? So you may understand how I feel when I say I don't want to waste any time making some positive changes in my personal health. I have this wild child inside me that thinks she can keep eating bad foods, and get no exercise and not have any repercussions from it. I think it's time I told myself, "Girl, you got yourself into this out of shape mess and you're the only one who can get you out of it." I want to feel vibrant inside and look vibrant on the outside! I want my zest back!

Who doesn't want to get an instant skinny fix simply by reading that article about crunches in Absmopolitan.

You mean, "I gotta work for it? But...."

[But... but.... butt bigger butttt....]

I am the only one who can fix me whether it's losing 5 pounds or 105 pounds.

My weight loss goals have everything to do with feeling good, and having great health. Looking good, and feeling good about one's self are light years away from each other. I don't have to tell you that one. I have to tell myself that, and somewhere in the middle, I want a firm grasp on both of those. I had so many of you JUMP UP and say, "I'm going with you, Lille!!! I'm losing my fluff with you, too. I want more energy. I want to get in shape. I want to lose some poundage~~~

Sah-weet-sassy-molassy-monky-pants!

So who wants to know my weight loss this week??? I have news. Weighty News.

I do need to address one thing first though. I had to change my starting weight. I weighed myself when I got home on my digital scale [God, I love this scale as much as I love a skinny mirror in a lingerie store] and it said I weighed 188.5--not the whopping 191 my doctor's lying hunk of junk scale said I did. I weighed myself two days in a row to make sure I had a steady starting weight. Psssttttt.... We all know a doctor's scale makes you weigh as much as an entire mini van with 18 bags of groceries in the back seat plus a zebra .... or two strapped on the bike rack in back. Ahem... **cough***cough**

4.5 pounds. I lost 4.5 pounds!!!! This was not painful, people. I actually ate more than I usually do. My choices were better though. Cutting out sugar was huge. Plus no cream my coffee. I wanted to slit my 'caffeine filled-with-cream-n-sugah' veins just thinking of the deprivation of having no twins in my java. I got over wanting it in under 3 days. I am in shock! Coffee actually tastes good nekkie. WTFrappucino! Who'da thunk it?

A quick question for you.

How many of you would be interested in meeting here with me for 5-15 minutes for a live vlog? A little fun so we can put the wag back in our scally's. A little silliness and motivation for those of you who'd like to do this together. Just think you'll all get to see me 'weighs-ting away to nothin' before your eyes... and you will be, too.

A time suggestion might be good, too. Mornings? Noon? Afternoons? Evenings? More than once a week perhaps?? Mix it up?? Let me hear from you... Who's in and when?

[insert 3rd grade girl giggle here]

A Herd of Honey Bees

Look at this herd of honey bees! These bees are clustered so tightly on the yellow light, you can't see an inch of color or light. It's interesting they chose only the yellow light to perch on, don't you think? Why? I don't know. I just know I was mesmerized by the sleepy, docile bees that morning in mid July when I took this shot in downtown Pittsburgh. This picture reminds me that life is full of choices. I'm relieved, and ecstatic, about the choice I was given yesterday regarding the situation with my health.

I had hoped to get great results but you know how fear can rob you of any peace when you're waiting for results to come back from medical tests. [gakkk!!!] It's the waiting that is truly the hardest. I know many of you out there understand 2000% exactly how this feels.

All the medical tests I had done came back far better than I expected!! There is no scar tissue or adhesion's inside my "pipes". The doctor said they are all on the outside [technically inside my abdomen wall] which means there's no blockage in my digestive track. This is a fabulous diagnosis! Furthermore, he has left it up to me to decide when I want to have him go in and remove the nasty rubber band-like tissues from my abdomen. This can be done with a laparoscopy procedure which is not too invasive. So there is NO immediate surgery in my future!!! Happy Sassy Sah-Weet Monkey Pants!

I look at the picture of the bees as a symbolic measure of how to proceed from here. The caution light is totally covered in a herd of happy, busy bees. The bees are not worried about tomorrow or yesterday. They are in the moment, living as zealously as they possibly can. Yesterday I was given the freedom to stop or go. I choose to step off the curb, and walk toward my future. I choose to approach 2010 with as much peacefulness about my life, and choices, as those bees were covering the yellow light.

So with that said.... I'll spend the rest of today in my studio finishing Lisa's [contest winner] painting, and will make some plans to decorate for Christmas this next week. I held off doing any decorating because I didn't know if I was going to need surgery or not. But now I have a herd of happy honey bees in my britches! That ought to give me a sassified bounce in my walk--don't you think??? Oh baby!

Plus, I will continue to plot my course in eating healthy. I'll be posting my weight loss tomorrow night. And you know what else?????? I didn't need my night light for the last 3 days! I was the night light! Thanks to the Barium cocktails!

*hums "You light up my life.."
as she scurries upstairs to the studio*

Radioactive Girl

Tomorrow morning is my Cat Scan to see what lies beneath......

I'm just grateful it's not my head they're scanning! But all this has me thinking.... I wonder if there's sugar in Milk of Magnesia... I'm having sugahhhhhhhhhhh withdrawals. LOL

Keep me in your thoughts tomorrow. It's not everyday a girl has a certain "glow" about her....