REDONDOWRITER'S SACRED ORDINARY

Chaos Theory in an Ordinary Life

What exactly is chaos? The name "chaos theory" comes from the fact that the systems that the theory describes are apparently disordered, but chaos theory is really about finding the underlying order in apparently random data.

So, I'm trying to find the order in what is--and will be--chaos for some days to come. The painters came on Saturday to begin the painting for most of the house's interior. Several rooms, my bedroom included, is swathed in protective plastic and at 1 a.m. this morning, I had to unload several hundred books the workmen had piled on my kingsize bed and covered in plastic. I played hell finding my ringing phone--and it took me a half hour to find my Dayrunner.

My housemate has moved, my grandson has begun his move to his new upstairs room with private bath. The carpet restoration guy comes tomorrow. The roof deck replacement begins next week and I have a call into the hardwood installer. I've decided I can't take "it" with me, so I might as well enhance my investment--which at the beach in Southern California is not an insignificant thing. The thing I'm probably second-most excited about is that I'm having a powder room installed on the first level of the townhouse in late October--something that an older person needs to consider. I currently have all the bathrooms on the second level of the house and my older friends and family members won't visit anymore because they don't want to climb the stairs to pee. So far I am a whiz on stairs, but since I do turn 68 in one week, I realize I have to be practical.

I just feel so damned spaced out right now. I refinished a mirror and it turned out beautifully; I went to church and got inspired. My daughter came over for a long time to talk and I feel like a fractal. But out of chaos comes order, right?

The Hollywood Bowl Proves It's Summer

When my parents moved from Michigan to Hollywood in 1931, they ran a gas station only a few blocks from the Hollywood Bowl whose first concert was held on July 11, 1922. The audience in those days were seated on simple wooden benches placed on the natural hillsides of Bolton Canyon. I have many photos of the bowl in the 1930s and 1940s because of my parents, but I don't recall going there until I was a young adult. The first classical music I ever heard was the L.A. Philharmonic playing Peter and the Wolf in the Shrine Auditorium. All LAUSD kids were bussed in to be exposed to culture--and they still do that today.

Tonight my friend Lorita invited me to the Hollywood Bowl; her seats are superb--on the aisle next to the pricy boxes on the second tier. The boxes largely have been held in families or by businesses since time immemorial, I'm told.

So, we gathered with the 18,000 other people to hear conductor John Mauceri, a cultural phenomena unto himself, the Hollywood Bowl Orchestra, in a tribute to Great American Women in Music. Featured were Barbara Cook, Dianne Reeves and Deborah Voigt. It was the 300th concert in the Bowl for Mauceri so there were all kinds of special kudos for him.

Lorita and I met in the third grade when she moved to Sunland, CA with her family--and we will attend our 50th class reunion in October. I rarely go to the Bowl these days but when I do, I catch a shuttle bus from Torrance because I'm not into traffic or crowds--unless somebody else does the driving. Lorita loves to drive, thank heavens.

The concert ended with fireworks, which are always spectacular because they are timed to the music--though nothing beats the Bowl fireworks at the end of the 1812 Overture. A lot of very pleasant memories were triggered by our visit to the Bowl tonight--and since I'm doing a kind of listing of gratitudes lately, many happy summer evenings at the Bowl with many different friends over time bring tears to my eyes. It also has reminded me of how much time I spent in Hollywood in my own growing up years and how long it has been since I "cruised" Hollywood Blvd. or Sunset Blvd. Things were a lot different in those days, though.

Shocked to Admit I'm a Bitch!

To say that I have been a bitch for the past few days would be the understatement of the year. This is always shocking to me and my family because I force myself to "act as if" even when I feel emotionally down. In actuality, I've been feeling the best all summer that I've felt in years -- so this two days of being crabby and negative almost feels like I've been possessed.

There have been family issues going on again, but you think I'd roll with the punches given what we've been through. Especially since I know I shouldn't sweat the small stuff and this really is small stuff. Tonight I went momentarily berserk--or perhaps we could say bejerk. It's about expectations and disappointments--and taking it out on the most innocent of the bunch.

My housemate moves out Sunday, and the painters begin repainting the interior of the house tomorrow. This is always so damned stressful for me to have to pack stuff up, etc. My grandson has already been measuring off his "new" room and on one hand I'm excited for him after living in the den for 15 months; on the other hand, it's another change and I'm crappy with change. We will now be on the some level of the house and he and his buddies spend a lot of time here. The carpet man who is coming in for rain damage replacement has supposed to have shown up 3 times and hasn't. He's rescheduled, but in the middle of the painting. The deck replacement guy is starting weeks late, and is still screwing up on his estimates--and for a person who likes to be in control, I'm not. And then I've gotten a few calls from work and I'm going to have to go in one day next week--because "I'm the greatest." I never say no; I'm this ever-so-helpful person who everybody thinks is remarkably good natured.

Today was my dear grandson Anthony's 17th birthday and I was crushingly disappointed that he didn't want any recognition or a party, even sometime later, and he flatly refused to discuss why. I am so heavily invested in him emotionally -- and yes, financially. Then as he was leaving with his friends tonight, he casually mentioned my son is having a party for him tomorrow night--only no one consulted me and I'm going to the Hollywood Bowl, so that leaves grandma out of the picture. I totally lost it--very BAD language and some two-year-old remarks that make me ashamed to think about. I mixed a brandy and ginger ale (rare for me to drink, and very rare to drink when totally pissed off), went out to the patio, lit candles, put on music and began to write away my angst--until my son called. And then I lit into him--and actually hung up on him. Needless to say, I've had to make major apologies and I will have to live with my behavior for a very long time. But, it's true, I do feel invisible--and I am usually treated invisibly because I always do "act as if." How can anyone guess I'm storing up anger? For one so supposedly enlightened, I'm shocked at my lack of sensitivity and spirituality. My problem always has been that I store stuff up and then blow up inappropriately, but it's rare in my later years. But Anthony is only 17, for God's sake; he deserves better. And my son is my beloved boy who deserves better than shit from his crabby old mother.

So, now I'm going to take a long hot shower with lots of good smelling stuff, dress in a beautiful nightgown I save for special occasions (too bad a man isn't around), and then I'm going to try and forgive myself for acting like a jerk. This wasn't sacred ordinary--this was an old lady having a tantrum.

Make My Day: Notes From the Universe

When a friend of mine suggested I subscribe to the daily Totally Unique Thoughts—Because Thoughts Become Things, I reacted like I do when people forward jokes to me. My Inner Critic said the F word and suggested I say a resounding no thanks. But I trust my friend implicitly; she's one of my spiritual like-minded soul mates. I checked it out, subscribed, and now reading my personalized Note From the Universe is the first thing I look for when I check my mail program in the morning. I have heard about this services dozens of times since, so you probably have, too, but if you haven’t, it sure starts my day off on the right foot. You can subscribe with the link above.

I know that we all receive the same notes with only the personalization changed, but I swear it feels like the Universe (or what I call God) is speaking directly to me because not a day goes by that the message is exactly what I need to hear.

This was yesterday’s message:

Do you know what happens, Frannie, when a dream comes true and you feel your joy bubbling over into wide grins, happy dances, and shrieks of "Holy @#$%!!" and the like?

Your energy actually spills over into the oceans of time and reaches into the past where it laps upon the shores of a former here and now, infusing a former unsuspecting self (who is still merrily living their life due to time's 'simultaneousity') with a flash of inspiration or a burst of intuition; a hope for what the future might hold.

Whew.... And that, my friend, is the truth about where dreams come from.

The Universe

Notes From the Universe provider Mike Dooley says, "These e-mails are at the core of our mission: to help remind us all of life's everyday magic . Generally, the Notes are emailed out early each morning so that they will catch you before you're overwhelmed into thinking like the herd, on the days of the week you choose! These inspirational, philosophical and often humorous notes are meant to remind you of the awesome power you possess for the creative manipulation of "all things time and space" - especially your happiness! Please, take a second and read the testimonials ... they even overwhelm us!

This is the pledge you will take when you subscribe for Thoughts From the Universe: "In the face of adversity, uncertainty and conflicting sensory information, I hereby pledge to remain ever mindful of the magical, infinite, loving reality I live in. A reality that conspires tirelessly in my favor. I further recognize, that living within space and time, as a Creation amongst my Creations, is the ultimate Adventure, because thoughts become things, dreams come true, and all things remain forever possible. As a Being of Light, I hereby resolve to live, love and be happy, at all costs, no matter what, with reverence and kindness for All. So be it!"

So, if you haven't already subscribed, consider it as a solid suggestion from another friend of yours on our journey together.

Got Dirty Dogs? Read On!

Cookie has fleas and she smells gamy even though she went to the groomer only a month ago. I actually bathe Cookie myself in the bathtub most of the time, but at my age frankly, it is getting way too laborious. Now you all know how frugal I am, so when the Daily Breeze ran an introduction to a do-it-yourself dog wash, I thought I’d give it a shot. Today was the day—a fantastic day, I might add.

Located in a small Redondo Beach mall near the dog park, Ushampooch was one of those synchronistic finds that has turned dog washing day into a bond with your pet, mindful day. Washing your dog as a mindfulness practice? Yes!

This one hour experience has changed my life—because I lovingly washed , curried, dried and played with Cookie in a way I never had before—and my knees and shoulders weren’t aching.
Lisa and John Grannis, a local couple, bought the business in the spring and it features 10 small fenced rooms (each named after a pet of the former owners) with waist-high tubs, portable steps to get the dog into the tub, and all natural shampoos, conditioners, ear cleaner, forced air dryers, fluffy white towels, and an atmosphere of fun. I donned a sexy blue rubber apron and listened to the golden oldies Lisa and John have piped through the speakers and time sped by.

It was also delightful to hear other dog moms, dads and even families washing their pets. I got Cookie squeaky clean with a minimum of angst—and I feel like I’ve known Lisa and John forever. They also do grooming themselves, but the regular price of washing your dog there is only $15, though Frugal Fran got the new customer one time discount of $13. And, I actually bought a special card for five more washes. They make all their own dog cookies and treats, have a lot of supplies for sale, and there is a very worn old dog bed with shoes and toys which Cookie checked out immediately.

Though I like the groomer I have been going to (Kool Dog Café), Cookie has to wait in a small cage before and after she is washed the grooming room is extremely small with one tub and table and she starts shaking the instant she walks in the door. It takes her a day to get over it. Because I was there with her today, she whined a few times, but didn’t howl or bark. She is laying on my new white Egyptian cotton bedspread on the blue velour throw as I write.

And who knows? Maybe I’ll win the new tub area naming contest and Cookie will have a washing area with her name on it. Dogs have so few opportunities for immortality.

Ode to the Creation of a Brochure

The Labor and Birth of a Six Panel Brochure

On this day, in this sun-washed beach town,
birds chirped, grass grew, fire trucks wailed
and I brought weeks of procrastination to a halt.

Today, with the hounds of hell at my heels
I finally forced myself to gather resources,
do research, and poured acid on my writer's block.

A small thing, writing a new brochure for the library
but for some reason, I put it off and off and off
forcing repeated reminders and stubborn resentment.

I made this brochure into a microcosm of my life,
perfectionism, procrastination, and then paralysis.
Better to appear irresponsible than to risk failure.

But—the first draft is done and the copy e-mailed
to the powers that be, and now the tedious process
of rebuilding a brochure by committee begins.

One of the Best Summers of My Life

I had a group of journal keepers over to write tonight and we went more deeply than usual--partly because of a meditation led by a woman who is very good at this, partly because of Tim Wheater's The Yearning on the stereo, and partly "just because." What I found myself writing about was what a wonderful summer this has been so far--first summer not working in 25 years. It took me a while to ease into it, but everyone is commenting how relaxed I look--and I am relaxed, tan, and far less driven than during the work year. One of my sentences read, "This has been a summer of really 'seeing things' that I see all the time, but noticing other things I hadn't noticed even though I pass by them all the time. But more than anything else, it has been seeing beyond the surface of things."

One of the joys of the summer has been going to the local parks on Monday mornings with my daughter-in-law and two baby grandsons while Henry takes what we called "Mommy and Me" in my day. This is Henry, who was 2 in April, eating a popsicle at Torrance's Wilderness Park--where I took his own daddy when he was a little guy.

And here is 10 month old Fritz looking at Grandma like she is an amusing creature from outer space. He thoroughly enjoys the excitement of being around everybody. This class is filled with toddlers, their infant siblings, and mommies--many of them ready to give birth again. It is just so life-affirming to see all these little ones doing their little hikes, interacting, looking at the ducks, fording the little creek, etc. For those few hours I stop worrying about the state of the world, the wars, injustices, violence, poverty, discrimination, and the stuff I can easily despair about if I let myself. These little ones and their mommies lift my soul. It's life before we make it complicated with our power struggles and get sucked into consumerism. At one point Henry could see into the part of Torrance where the taller buildings are and he said pointing, "Daddy's building." Daddy's building is actually a huge high rise in downtown L.A., but Henry is just so darned smart. (There's prejudice for you.) And so is Fritz--who is the family jumper, and the guy who smiles ear to ear at the drop of a hat.

It is so wonderful being a grandma--hard sometimes like when the older ones live with me and they have such strong adolescent wills, but still, all four of my grandkids are miraculous people--the children of my children. And I am so grateful to have lived long enough to experience this.

Do Pets and Owners Begin to Look Alike?

Cartoon by Sempe, New Yorker

They say that long-time husbands and wives begin to look alike--and it is also believed by some people that we begin to look like our pets, or vice versa. Winston Churchill is a good point in question. So, when I saw this cartoon, I wondered if Cookie and I look like this cartoon, though admittedly I'm not too good with engines.

So, here's Cookie and I leave the rest to your imagination.

But here's an excerpt from veterinary nurse and dog whisperer Jenny Langbehn's book "97 Ways to Make a Dog Smile," which should also make you smile. For those of you who know me, I'm a pretty zany person when you get me going. (I'm not lovingly called "Weird Grandma" for nothing.)

The Three Little Bears Routine

If you are feeling particularly silly (and no one is looking), give your dog a huge surprise by letting her find you curled up in her bed for a change!

So, what do you do to make your pets smile? And what are some of the things they do that make you smile back?

Adventures of Carlos, Chris & Fran: Or How to Make Borrrring Into Fun

I absolutely love the big electronics stores, like Best Buy and Fry's, but when two women "of a certain age" (though Chris is 12 years less certain than me) come in to buy a digital camera, all those young sales guys become busy with other customers--or sometimes I swear they hide. Ronni Bennett at Time Goes By writes so eloquently about age and sex discrimination and maybe I'm imagining it, but when shopping for tech stuff, I go into anger and attitude mode because I feel the discrimination so acutely. And though I'm no techno Geek, I do know more than those guys think I know. But there are exceptions to snotty salesmen and here is one: Carlos, the supervisor of the digital camera section at Torrance's Best Buy--he was the third guy to "help" us and maybe he was shining us on, but he was so damned helpful--and I intuited that he wasn't just being a salesman. His momma raised him right--and not only did Chris buy a cutting edge Nikon Coolpix S1, she bought a lot of accessories. Remember that old saying your own momma taught you? "You catch more flies with honey than vinegar?" Way to go, Carlos.

Now I've convinced Chris she has to become addicted to "taking snapshots of life going on." That means you carry your camera in your handbag EVERYWHERE. It is a very wonderful way to become mindful, in the moment, and though I don't have too many memory problems yet, I know that these hundreds of photos I take and burn to CD will bring back a lot of slices of life I had forgotten someday. Through the lens of a camera, I have added so much fun to my life. It's also such an enhancement to my writing--and sending photos to family and friends (to say nothing of the blog) is a way to condense the miles we are apart. Here's Chris calling her husband Tom in Las Vegas from the restaurant where we ate lunch to tell him what she bought; Tom is one of the world's most wonderful and zany techno Geeks I know and though he is a PC man, he is a Mac user, too. When he describes over the phone his G5 dual processor, his 30" screen, his 11 x 17 scanner, top-of-the-line printer and then begins the scuzzy, wireless, firewire talk, I go into envy meltdown. Tom's Nevada license plate actually has SCSI in it.

Why A Night Heron Reminds Me of Storytelling

This night heron is not as small as it looks; it is about the size of Cookie, my dog.

"This is what fools people: a man is always a teller of tales, he lives surrounded by this stories and the stories of others, he sees everything that happens to him through them; and he tries to live his own life as if he were telling a story." -- John Paul Sartre, Nausea

Though sweltering throughout Southern California, it is blissfully warm and wonderful in the South Bay. Tonight I settled into my old wicker lounge, played Tim Wheater's "The Yearning," and wrote by candlelight about my day. I resurrected my dog-eared copy of Sam Keen and Anne Valley-Fox's book, "Your Mythic Journey: Finding Meaning in Your Life Through Writing and Story Telling." I'll be doing a one day journal workshop at a local church in September and I'll do a combination of depth journaling with touches of Keen. Tonight, as I wrote, I realized I was in the archetype of Earth Mother.

This adolescent night heron was mournfully standing on the curb at 3:30 p.m. when I unloaded my groceries from Costco --and at first it seemed paralyzed. I could walk right up to it--and I did with my camera. I named her Lucy and Lucy's sibling was also walking around, but she would fly when you got too close. Night herons are common in this area and often nest in neighborhood trees, though most of them are in the trees at Veterans Park by the Redondo Beach Pier. The adults are quite large, with wing-spans of up to four feet. When I walked Cookie at 9 p.m., there was the heron standing in the driveway, so it had walked at least 100 feet. I can't tell if Lucy is too young to be away from her mother and is terrorized, if she is hurt (though I have seen other herons walking on the ground for long periods over the years), or if she is just a loner by nature. Maybe she isn't developed enough to fly yet, but I can't imagine she walked all the way from the park without getting hit by a car. Lucy grew agitated when Cookie got too close, so I kept her short-leashed; it is in her nature to kill birds when she can. Other neighbors are also back and forth looking at Lucy and it's too late to call animal control. I just hope a cat, racoon et al doesn't sneak up on Lucy before she takes to the sky to find a tree. Herons are very raucous at night and I just wish Lucy would start squawking so her momma would fly and bring her home. Sigh! We also have wild green parrots in this neighborhood who awake when the sun rises and make a God-awful noise en masse.

Frannie Earth Mother is going to go out again, nearly 11 p.m., and see if Lucy is still standing in the driveway. Then maybe I'll write a children's story about her.