Journal Entry: August 31, 2014

Journal Entry:  August 31, 2014


I had a good childhood.

me and dad Maui, maybe 79 or 80

Me and Dad Maui Circa 79 or 80

I grew up on movie sets. My Dad was a Production Manager back when you broke down a script using colored cardboard strips. Wemoved from New York to Beverly Hills. “Stepford Wives” was in the can but I still got to brush Katherine Ross’ strawberry blonde hair and help her bake cookies in her Malibu kitchen. I loved how her bathing suit bottoms never matched her tops.  When my Dad was working on “Murder by Death” he arranged for me to meet Angie Dickenson and Earl Holliman. “Police Woman” was my favorite show and it was a way bigger deal than meeting David Niven, Truman Capote or Maggie Smith. Although it was pretty neat to watch Colombo rehearse the same line over and over and over again.

It wasn’t just me. My Dad brought lots of people up in the movie business. He got them jobs, got them training, got them in the union.

Then the script took a dark turn. An unexpected diagnosis. A first surgical procedure doesn’t go as planned. Lake Arrowhead-chemo-recovery-weekends and my Dad’s healthy vital glow mask the executioner. A Second surgery and still Cancer drills deep and takes root.

All scenes led to that final diagnosis.
Seven days left to say goodbye.

“Did you get the shot?” He asked. From his bedside at Cedars, I could see the Hollywood sign, white against the Indian summer hillside.  I held his hand. It felt heavy.

“We did.” I replied.

Cut. Print. That’s a wrap.

That was 1988.

Man of Destiny

Roger M. Rothstein

It took a bit of time, but now I can feel into the gift that is my father. Not just my gift–I still get emails, letters and Facebook posts: I miss him every day; I found a picture of him; There was no one quite like Roger.

I can look in the mirror and see him in the round of my face, the beauty mark on my cheek and my dark hair and eyes. His energy courses through my veins as I negotiate with a tough client.

If my father weren’t where he is, somewhere out there, I wouldn’t be where I am now.  Who knows, maybe he is here, hovering over my right shoulder as I type.

This is my life.

Happy Birthday Dad.

More on the State of NAKED


Officially defined as:

  1. bare of any covering
  2. stripped
  3. without the customary covering

hidden truth

What is customary covering?
What I’m supposed to do?
What I’m supposed to be?
What I’m supposed to act like, be like, look like?
What I should … blah blah blah

Get my drift?

I don’t want to be usual
I want to be.
Just be.
Free to be
easy to be
fun to be.
Just be me.
Exclamation point!

It’s been an interesting week.
Being sick sucks

throat red,
burning flame,
dragon breathing
singing the ceiling, my sheets, my husbandfirebreather
snoring smoke in my sleep.
My head gripped
in a vice
the muck pushing up
from deep inside of somewhere
who knew that was lurking
waiting for an opening
to ooze its way through
my body
snaking around organs
pushing up expanding
through my throat
up filling my head
The pounding
Ba boom ba boom ba boom
Blocking my bird’s eye view
To my life

You get my drift.

No focus
no clarity
ahhhh that might not be accurate
there was.

Here’s the thing.

I let go and dove into
the green guck
the sleep
the chicken soup
zinc lozenges
vitamin C

and me.

I dove
stroking through it all
the dragon breath and fire and fog.
I came out
on the other end
really getting it.

Get my drift?

‘I got it’   okay bad inside-dating-myself-kind-of-joke (go rent Semi Tough)

Here’s the thing,
even though I had a new client
to service
a speaking gig
to prepare for
a book
to write
a post
to post (first week I didn’t post on this blog since July)
a song
to dance to
a life
to live
here’s the thing
it’s was all okay
it is all okay
ALL okay.

Everything worked out
I’m writing now
the pounding stopped
I see even more clearly
I caught some light.


on a clear day…

It’s like when the fog clears
at the beach

the wind blows through
the sun shines bright
the sky is a shade of blue
that’s so fresh
so clean
so blue
that’s it’s hard to capture
even in a picture
and well that’s how I feel

I’m on the other side
a little bit more naked
a feel for
taste of
caress of
nude kiss of

I peeled another layer.
Underneath I discovered
baby smooth, blushing me, smiling in my birthday suit.

Will I find there are even more layers?

skinnydip pier

let’s go for a dip

I think yes
And you know what?
I’m excited to keep on peeling,
stripping, wriggling, loosening, slinking out of more and more and even more layers…

Who’s in for a skinny dip?

How Naked?

Blustery Day in the Park

Blustery Day in the Park

I was walking in Wilson Park yesterday

The wind pulled the leaves from their branches
They spun in the air
Before landing yellow and brown on the grass for a moment
Only to be swept up again
And again
And again

I thought to myself, how naked do I want to get?
Which layers should I peel?
What if I’m like an onion?
I don’t want to make people cry.

WE DO!I don’t know why I remember this moment as I’m walking around Wilson Park.

“I brought my album.” I said.

It was 2003. I was a newlywed, maybe married three months. I had invited them to my wedding, they declined even before I sent the invitation.  We don’t do weddings. He said.  Weddings are silly, she said.  Over and again, they said, as I planned my day, how weddings are nothing but image and pomp and circumstance.  I can’t stand the ‘scene’. She’d say. It was as if they had a repulsion to the institution itself, that they hated the whole tradition. We don’t do weddings. He’d say.  They were married.  Although, she did take pride in the fact that she didn’t have a wedding.  As if she were some special breed of woman that didn’t need a wedding. She was above it all, she didn’t go in for all that fluff.  She’d shared her  story with me more than once.  We ran off.  We didn’t have a wedding.  We eloped to Vegas.  We just decided one night and got in the car.    

My wedding wasn’t just pomp and circumstance.  Each of the twenty-eight pictures I chose to put in the album reflected our feelings, our love, our happiness, our joy.  I brought the album to show them how special the day was. I wanted to share that with them. I wanted to let them know that it was more than what they thought it was.

We were in their living room.The wind was loud outside, lifting up from the ocean, wrapping itself around the Monterey Pines. They were sitting, side by side, in the white love seat under the window. I was standing in front of them holding the album out to them–an offering.

“Do we have to?” He said.

“Don’t make us.” She said.

We ARE Married 10 26 03

I cried that night.

I have no idea why the memory blew in as I circled Wilson Park yesterday. A seed could have been fertilized that night and yesterday the wind might have tugged at some of it’s leaves and I remembered.

It’s funny.  I keep the album on my coffee table.  Sometimes someone will be at my house and they’ll notice it.  They might ask,  Do you mind if I look through your wedding album?

I’ll smile and answer not at all.

Here’s what else I’ve been thinking about.  How naked do I want to get?  When does kindness trump truth? Sometimes isn’t it better to be quiet. Isn’t that the truth too?

The heart is the most powerful of all our organs. It generates the largest rhythmic electromagnetic field. When two energy fields meet, they change each other. With that change, they impregnate memory.

After remembering that night back in 2003, I think that if my heart really is leading, literally, electromagnetically, I must listen to her.

I don’t want to be an onion.

the heart field


The Truth Is…

This election has really been crazy.

That’s an understatement, I know.  This election has really made me crazy. Truth be told, I’ve let it make me crazy.    Not, lock-me-in-the-loony-bin crazy, but crazy enough.  This election did something else, it got me to speak my mind.  To let my voice be heard.  More so than just this blog, but in a way that might make people… uh, um, feel uncomfortable, or, you got it,  not like me.  Oh My!

Listen,  I’m sure many have un-friended me on Facebook. That’s okay.  I admit I’ve gotten caught up, watched too much news, read too many news articles on line.  I’ve let myself feel the affects of all of this and I’ve shared a lot of it. I’ve spoken up, said my piece at the risk of losing ‘friends’. At the risk of being ridiculed, at the risk of being attacked or even worse being made fun of. 🙂   That’s okay, because I did what I thought was right.

I know there are two sides to every story and then there’s the truth. The truth is what seems to get twisted, buried, diffused, taffy pulled, cooked, baked, silly puttied, melted, condensed and trivialized during elections, at least during this one.

I don’t like lying.  Most of the time, if someone says something to me, I believe what they’re saying.  It’s Bill who’ll say, “Hey, they’re lying”.  Like the way sales people inflate their revenues, stuff like that.  The election, well it’s easy, just fact check.  Find out who’s saying what and if they’re super biased and then make a determination for yourself.  Not everyone does the fact checking, so I did it for myself and then I shared.  I feel uncomfortable with all the spinning.  I don’t spin, not webs anyway.

I’m into the truth. I’m not a good liar.  Get this, if I’m upset with someone, I’ll avoid them until I’ve had time to sort out what is my part in the situation and how I can communicate it with diplomacy and kindness. I’d rather do that, because I can’t pretend. If I’m upset with someone I can’t look them in the eye.  I’ll look away.  As you can imagine, sometimes this doesn’t go over so well. I’ll get hunted, tracked down until I can’t avoid any longer.  Sometimes even the response,  “Hey, let’s talk next week.” or “Hey, I need some time, a little space, can I get back to you?”  or “Hey, I need some time to process what you said” doesn’t work.  Sometimes it does and other times it doesn’t.  We all have our own time frames for speaking our minds.  Me?  I need time to process what I’m thinking and feeling before I put it out there.

There is no time in elections. At least it doesn’t feel like there is.

I’m grateful that we’re here; at Election Day and that I have cast my vote. I’ve spoken with my tiny black circles of ink on a ballot. I received my red white and blue flag sticker that says “I Voted”. When I was younger I used to think, how can my vote make a difference. I know better now.  If everyone thought that way, well, then no one would vote and where would we be? So I share, Please Vote on Facebook, I tweet it, I Google plus it. (Who would’ve thought, we’d be tweeting or google-plussing, or Facebook-ing.  Shotgun on the new verb usage!)

Let Go

Today I’m taking care of me. I’ve done my calls, my posts, my shares, my campaigning for my guy.  I’ve used my voice. I’ve voted. Today I’m taking care of me.  Today I’m going to change the subject, abruptly. I’m leaving. I’m ascending into myself. I’ll be spending four hours at the S Factor in LA, diving into my hips, my circles, my curves, my swirls, my song, my motion, my music; cascading into my own rhythm and groove. Disappearing into breath and movement.  Gliding into firefly, half pint,  snake, Peter Pan, ballerina, pole bend, Tinker Bell.  Submerging myself in breath.  I’ll  let my hair fly while I vanish.  My hands, my skin, my legs, my chest, my heart and my soul, will exhale.

In the dark room, loud half notes, whole notes, quarter notes circulate in and around metal poles, rub up against cool walls and wood floors and tickle the back of my neck, drip down my back, caress my belly and my thighs.

Dropping my tension, fear, anguish and frustration in the basket at the door and  picking up my faith and power as I slip  into myself with a sweet smile.

Like I said, I know there are those who have abandoned me on Facebook, we’re no longer ‘friends’ or they’ve  blocked me or hidden me. I know this. I know a lot. I know that it was important for me share what I thought was true. To spread what facts I could.  Not as much to convince someone to believe differently, that never works, but for me personally to step into my own light and share in an even bigger way.

Speaking up and out and finding my voice in this election has been an important part of my journey. Sometimes people are open and want to look at both sides, find their own voice and speak what’s true for them and if I can help with that process for just one person, than all that un-friending is worth it!

As a woman and as a human being, I want to share what I have to say. This is important. You don’t need to know my favorite color, but you might need to understand what corporation is supporting what proposition and why. What’s in it for them, what’s in it for you, what’s in it for us? So if what I’m feeling and what I believe is something that could make a difference in the world, then I’ll say it.

The truth is I’m empowered because I can say it and I do.
The truth is sometimes people might not like what I have to say and

What’s Yours?

The truth is I’ll say it anyway.
The truth is I’ll say it with kindness.
The truth is I have a lot to say and
The truth is I like to say it with the written word.
The truth is I am creative, I am a writer, and I am a poet.
The truth is that people float in and out of our lives and sometimes we’ll never know why.
The truth is that I’m okay with all of it, the floating in and the floating out, the floating.

The truth is just what it is…