Something I don’t often see, in fact have never seen, have you? A fly, hitching a ride on a spider’s back…moved so quickly, I missed the photo…(I’m sure you can use your imagination on that one, yes?). And of course, there’s always Unsplash.

Nature is so very entertaining…

About a month ago (this is another subject, yet the main reason for writing this), I lost my gold toe ring. I’ve had this toe ring for around 30 years, when I purchased it on the Big Island of Hawaii, in Kona. I rarely took it off and loved having it on. It was a beautiful reminder and memory of my snow-birding on the island, from Colorado’s sometimes harsh, frigid, icy winters.

Not knowing where it was lost, I had (a month ago) placed it on my left foot second toe, which is a teeny tiny bit smaller than my right foot second toe, so it must have fallen off, somewhere. Being that we play “ball,” every evening and I’ve been walking barefoot in the cool grass, it’s where I figured it lay.

So I searched that area of grass, umpteen times, every day, thinking I’d see it’s golden glow shining up at me. Every time Lulu and me walked near there, I’d traverse the area, back and forth, just knowing it would show up, at any moment.

It never did.

So after a month of searching, seeking and scouring the area, I…yes, I gave up. Thinking, oh, I’ll buy another one someday. Maybe I’m supposed to let go of that ring and the memories attached to it. After all, I’ve long since divorced my island hubby for another non-island hubby and divorced him. So you see, it was all in good timing.

Now, in order to have my house look stellar for showings (because I’m moving cross country and selling my beautiful home), I cleaned, nonstop. One of the steps I’ve taken is vacuuming that horrid antique-white carpet in the master bedroom. Not just once. Several times. (God, it’s an awful looking carpet!) But rather than spend thousands ripping it out for something attractive, like luxury vinyl, I vacuumed. And spot-cleaned. Everywhere.

The other evening, as I was doing another spot cleaning, something caught my eye. It was gold and round and…omygod, it was my toe ring!

Now I don’t know if you believe in angels or guides or anything pertaining to the unseen, but let me tell you, that carpet has been “mauled” by me and my roommate many times this past month. So how my toe ring suddenly appeared is something you know about as much as I do…

And with all the hubbub and chaos that’s been going on not only in my own personal world, but the entire universe and the planets and stars with it, I’d say it is a confirmed fucking miracle.

Wouldn’t you agree?

Love and Bliss,

Ruthie

egemen dagistanli from Unsplash (Things aren’t always what they seem…)

Stories. The stories our imaginations weave…sometimes as if our life depended on them.

And yesterday, maybe for me, that’s what happened.

If you’ve been reading my writings, you know I’m in the midst of an across the nation move. That living in Colorado for 44 years has been scorching sun, freezing winters (although, those apparently are a thing of the past, since last winter it was actually hot), gorgeous mountains layered with beautiful creatures such as moose, deer, llamas and colorful wildflowers spread across the universe.

The years have been weighted with juggling surface happiness with deep frustration and sadness. Never understanding why, a message from an astrologist that was hidden in my bones, from while my daughter lay contentedly in my womb, resurfaced recently, in the last half year.

It was while visiting my daughter, son-in-law and grandsons, across the country. On a phone conversation with a friend, although I always remembered that Steve (the astrologist) said that I would best be living in either New Zealand or Maine, something else came to me, out of nowhere.

“Oh, yeah, now I remember. He also said I would thrive west of the Rockies.”

“You are west of the Rockies,” Maya so clearly pointed out to me.

And then it hit me: exactly why this current place I was enjoying a sabbatical in, to be near family, is my “happy place.” Now I know that sounds funny to you, yet it’s a real thing. A place where we feel physically aligned with nature, spirit and our body’s rhythm. Even cucumbers can taste divine, the weather touches our soul and people arrive at the perfectly perfect time to greet us. Time is on our side and everything works out to be eaaaasy.

Easy is what I had been searching for all of my life. An easy-going life, where the puzzle pieces slide right in and fit just right.

I was there, right there. Kind of like the movie, “Being There.”

So the gargantuan decision was made: to sell the house and home I thought I would die in (eventually). To move away from the east side of the Rockies. To completely and entirely change my life, not the content, but the context.

Back in Colorado, the evening I arrived after a harrowing flight day (of course, these days, what flight days aren’t harrowing?) and immediately began throwing things away, packing other things and ordering my roommate to roll up the myriad of oriental rugs and put them in the garage because the house looked like a mishmash.

I had only been gone six months and my home looked like a Greyhound station, suitcases, clothing and trash decorating my living room, kitchen and dining room. I’m only exaggerating a tiny bit. Really.

The next day, I connected with a Realtor I had interviewed a couple years earlier, for a write-up in the magazine, Boulder County Real Producers.

Not completely remembering who he was, as a personality, I happened to choose an amazing man, absolute integrity, honest and respectful and to top it all off: artsy, with a good sense of humor. I couldn’t have chosen anyone more perfectly perfect.

So the process began. House on the market, half of my things packed in boxes, stacked in the garage, the other half either waiting to be packed or put in garbage bags to be hauled off to Goodwill. I felt ready.

Yet the universe doesn’t move for you until you are sure you are ready. At least that’s what I’ve heard. And although I put my house on the market, packed and cleaned my house so that it looked stellar for showings (plus baked chocolate chip cookies, something I suck at), filled my vases with flowers in every room and turned on every light in the house, put on classical music and even switched the gas fireplace to on, it was a no-go.

Nothing. Barely any feedback.

Have you experienced this? Where you feel you’ve done absolutely everything you could, in order to change your life and still, it doesn’t change, not really?

It’s a major disappointment, I tell you.

But then, yesterday. Yesterday was different because someone who had looked at my house on Sunday, scheduled another showing on Monday. Obviously they were seriously thinking to buy.

And tears appeared when I thought of the buyer…how we would be friends since I already felt connected to him and how he would send me photos of the backyard so I could see how tall and strong my trees were becoming, in time. Yes, it felt so absolutely wonderful!

So yesterday morning, I went to work. Jumped out of bed at 5:30 am. Vacuumed the house. Cleaned the bathrooms–again!–Wiped down the gorgeous refrigerator (I know–gorgeous sounds silly–yet really, reader, it mightily is gorgeous–with a middle drawer that opens independently from the others and theater lighting in the entire frig.). Wiped down the counter tops, sprayed rose spray…and all this after Lulu and I walked an hour, I had refilled the bird feeder and the water in the birdbath and fed the dog.

We baked banana bread and I had chilled apple cider bubbly for the occasion, placing my “fancy” wine glasses next to the bottle. Left a sweet note to help themselves, with classical music from each ceiling speaker in every room, all the lights on and brightly lit.

It was a truly inviting scene.

Both my Monday morning zoom meetings were canceled so that I could focus on the house and the showing.

Time was slipping away and we rushed out the front door 15 minutes before they were to arrive.

It all felt perfectly perfect. I looked forward to the contract they were sending me, even before it arrived and “knew” they would easily pay full price. They were cool people, knowing they loved my house as much (or more) than I do.

In the car, traveling away, away, my Realtor called, apologizing.

What?!?

“I think they made a mistake–because the time had changed, yesterday, I think they mistakenly made it for today, instead. I don’t think they’re coming.”

Mic drop moment, here. I took a deep breath as my stomach dropped hard, like a Baby Grand piano falling on a wooden floor.

“Maybe they’ll come later on,” my car friend suggested, in order to soothe me or give me some kind of hope.

We had landed at our favorite market, where we ate our homemade ham sandwiches that I had made before leaving, on their patio area.

Well, dear reader, they never came. And the banana bread and the sparkling apple? When we arrived back home, the lights were all turned off, the stereo quieted and the bubbly back in the frig.

We gave away one of the two breads to our neighbors, who greatly appreciated it.

I cried, I clearly felt wronged and I raged at the universe for teasing me, as it had. What a dirty trick!

But then I realized: it was my own imagination that led me and created the wormhole. (A word I just learned about, from our neighbor as we all sat on the porch and chewed the fat, last balmy, summer evening.)

It’s tough for me to admit, dear reader. That I created this whole scenario with my own imagination. And that nothing is real about it.

So I ask you: is it better to let our imaginations run amok or sit back and worry and wonder?

What is your take and how would you best handle this situation?

Love and Bliss,

Ruthie

But–then there’s David, who I admire on different levels and also like, as a client. Although something I haven’t done for literally maybe 25 years, I took him on as a client, even though it means working with him on Sundays. (That’s the 25 years ago part.)

As many of you know, Sundays happen to be: the day I was born on and thus…sacred to me. The day where I do absolutely nothing if that feels right and good or whatever else that blows up my skirt.

Honestly, I’ve been blessed. My clients have been nothing but respectful, endearing and a pleasure to work alongside with. David, who I went grocery shopping with the other day, to Trader Joe’s, bought me a bouquet with my favorite flowers, Gerbera Daisies.

I tell you, he’s a dear man, even though he doesn’t come off like that, when you glance at him. Yet he cares about dogs (like today, kept petting Lulu when she continuously prodded his leg with her nose), turned on the pet setting in his Tesla (that I wrote about a couple of essays ago), so that Lulu would be comfortable and he genuinely calls me, “Sweetheart.”

Today we spent a good hour or so watching two guys fix up/renovate/rebuild a racing Maserati, or some such Italian racing vehicle, on you tube. It’s something I’ve not done before and it was pretty eye-opening, especially with 2 good-natured lads from Ireland? London? (David is English and thought their accent sounded like a London accent.) Two funny, talented guys, fixing up racing cars in Florida.

Although I felt tired and didn’t really feel like working today, I managed to serve him a yummy hotel worthy breakfast, help him in his showering and left him a delicious sandwich for his upcoming lunch. I picked dozens of ripe red and yellow cherry tomatoes, for him to munch on later, from his abundantly growing tomato plants, just outside his back sliding doors.

I cleaned up his kitchen, so that his stainless steel sink shone, like a mirror.

It was a successful Sunday.

Now it’s time to laze on the couch, to remember the amazing Salmon that another client caught and shrink-wrapped that he graciously and generously gifted me when I worked with his “Pop.” Pop was another client who was such a sweetheart, I fell in love with him (I usually “fall in love” with my clients, as they are the best people, ever–people who need people, as Streisand sang). And who are open and willing to surrender to be helped.

The best. Ever.

Over the years, I’ve been gifted numerous things from clients: an entire wardrobe of clothing from one, other clothing pieces that I’ve simply worn to thin threads over the years from another, a beautiful crystal wind chime and various, beautiful collectible books and jewelry pieces, not to mention, countless delicious meals.

In turn, I’ve brought them homemade soup and other meals, gifts of appreciation (one of my clients and I decided to celebrate Chanukah each night for the 12 nights I spent at her home).

My belief that is people are inherently good. And because I think so, that’s what I find.

There’s a whole world of treasures, out there. Find them. They’re looking for you, too.

And it begins with your own inner treasures.

Love and Bliss,

Ruthie

Unsplash by Charlie Deets

Salmon caught in Alaska and shrink-wrapped for a most succulent entree.

Today is a Sunday and after working years on Sundays in my service business, I’ve sworn off Sundays when it comes to work.

But–then there’s David, who I admire on different levels and also like, as a client. Although something I haven’t done for literally maybe 25 years, I took him on as a client, even though it means working with him on Sundays. (That’s the 25 years ago part.)

As many of you know, Sundays happen to be: the day I was born on and thus…sacred to me. The day where I do absolutely nothing if that feels right and good or whatever else that blows up my skirt.

Honestly, I’ve been blessed. My clients have been nothing but respectful, endearing and a pleasure to work alongside with. David, who I went grocery shopping with the other day, to Trader Joe’s, bought me a bouquet with my favorite flowers, Gerbera Daisies.

I tell you, he’s a dear man, even though he doesn’t come off like that, when you glance at him. Yet he cares about dogs (like today, kept petting Lulu when she continuously prodded his leg with her nose), turned on the pet setting in his Tesla (that I wrote about a couple of essays ago), so that Lulu would be comfortable and he genuinely calls me, “Sweetheart.”

Today we spent a good hour or so watching two guys fix up/renovate/rebuild a racing Maserati, or some such Italian racing vehicle, on you tube. It’s something I’ve not done before and it was pretty eye-opening, especially with 2 good-natured lads from Ireland? London? (David is English and thought their accent sounded like a London accent.) Two funny, talented guys, fixing up racing cars in Florida.

Although I felt tired and didn’t really feel like working today, I managed to serve him a yummy hotel worthy breakfast, help him in his showering and left him a delicious sandwich for his upcoming lunch. I picked dozens of ripe red and yellow cherry tomatoes, for him to munch on later, from his abundantly growing tomato plants, just outside his back sliding doors.

I cleaned up his kitchen, so that his stainless steel sink shone, like a mirror.

It was a successful Sunday.

Now it’s time to laze on the couch, to remember the amazing Salmon that another client caught and suction wrapped that he graciously and generously gifted me when I worked with his “Pop.” Pop was another client who was such a sweetheart, I fell in love with him (I usually “fall in love” with my clients, as they are the best people, ever–people who need people, as Streisand sang). And who are open and willing to surrender to be helped.

The best. Ever.

Over the years, I’ve been gifted numerous things from clients: an entire wardrobe of clothing from one, other clothing pieces that I’ve simply worn to thin threads over the years from another, a beautiful crystal wind chime and various, beautiful collectible books and jewelry pieces, not to mention, countless delicious meals.

In turn, I’ve brought them homemade soup and other meals, gifts of appreciation (one of my clients and I decided to celebrate Chanukah each night for the 12 nights I spent at her home).

My belief that is people are inherently good. And because I think so, that’s what I find.

There’s a whole world of treasures, out there. And it begins with your own inner treasures.

Love and Bliss,

Ruthie

Taking every day breaks is essential.

This morning, ahead of Lulu and me up on the path, are three young kiddos on bicycles. With them is …most probably their nanny, as she has this drop dead body and looks really young. As we get closer to them, they are excited to see Lulu and when they ask her name, they all shriek, “Lulu!” and tell me that their grandma has a dog with that same, exact name.

And the mama? She’s totally grateful to be judged as much younger, looks even more gorgeous in person, close-up and her smile and face look like an angel was just deposited gently on the walk.

Similarly, her three children were also glowing with love and her youngest, a daughter, says to me, “There’s more!” Not sure what she meant by that, but I thanked the mama for being such a loving parent with these amazingly loving two boys and a girl.

The people you meet.

On our way almost home, we meet another dog owner, who walks and talks with us for a couple of blocks. Is our neighborhood getting friendlier? (Or am I getting more approachable?)…

Once home, I decide to bake cookies in the oven, regardless that it’s going on 100 degrees with an earth-shattering obnoxious sun, baking everything and everyone.

Today there is another showing (there was one yesterday, also) and I thought I would practice wooing a buyer.

So I baked chocolate chip cookies, left all the lights on and the stereo with classical music floating through each room’s ceiling in the house and actually turned on the gas fireplace. To make it appear more cozy.

I left a note, inviting them to savor the cookies and placed napkins next to the platter.

I swear, it looked absolutely stellar! If I was looking for a house in Colorado, I would most definitely want mine.

With Lulu beside me, we got into the car and…drove two houses down. When no one appeared at 12:27, I fretted. Are they still coming? I texted my Realtor. He kindly reminded me that they were scheduled for 12:30, in three minutes. Okay, so I breathed some more. What else could I do? My fireplace was running and the bill would be growing (the whole house air conditioner was going, as well).

When 12:30 came around, there was an unidentifiable car behind me, two houses down. A gal in her 40s? got out, dressed as if she was going to a fancy tea party, long flowing skirt. Her client appeared in shorts and a t-shirt, which I took as a good sign. Casual–good. My home is like a gallery, so someone artsy would love it. I took her to be artsy.

Sitting in the car, thinking about how much they loved my house and wanted to offer me full price, they appeared. Looking at my watch, I realized: it had been ten minutes. No one goes through a house in ten minutes–unless they weren’t interested in it.

When I went house hunting, and found a home I loved, my Realtor and I sat down in the living room, savoring the peaceful energy that flowed through it. I think I spent at least an hour, there.

But then again, that’s me.

After they drove off, I drove back into the garage. Then I turned off the fireplace, the lights and unlocked the backyard patio sliding door that was never locked to begin with.

Feeling a bit disenchanted, there was this: they both had walked out with a cookie in their paws.

Now at least that’s something…right?

Love and Bliss,

Ruthie

I don’t think I ordinarily scare easily. But this was different.

I tend to appreciate the more simple things in life: colorful flowers, Gerbera daisy being my favorite, organic, homemade meals that take your breath away, my nurturing, most comfy pillow, that inspires sweet dreams. Weeping willows, Smokebushes, misty-rainy summer days. You get the picture.

So as I sat in the passenger seat of David’s Tesla, that he invited me to put my hands on the driving wheel, just so–not gripping and firm enough so that the car knows my hands are on the wheel, I must have looked as if I just witnessed a ghost.

It was my first time. A virgin self-driving passenger.

I had not been in a vehicle that drives itself before and I have to say, it was a bit harrowing. At one point, he had me hold the steering wheel from the passenger’s seat; it began to turn and I must have resisted and held too tightly, because the automatic steering stopped and David took over.

(Thank god for that!)

I’ve been hearing about self-driving vehicles for awhile, now, yet only know one person who was actually in a car like that (now I know two, including myself).

I honestly don’t know whether I’d like to repeat that adventure, anytime soon. Would you?

Maybe it’s my need for control. Ha, we all know that one, don’t we?

I kept wondering, will this two-ton vehicle actually stop? David tells me that once our hands come off the steering wheel, it will plow into the car in front of us. That surely didn’t help my (hidden) courage!

Thank goodness, we were only on a short outing. With Lulu, my Bordoodle in the back of the car. And at 100 degrees, I wondered how we were going to pull that off, as we grocery shopped at Trader Joe’s in Boulder, Colorado.

My first time at that Trader Joe’s, was a doozie. People watching would be putting it lightly. The parade of genders/mixed genders/unknown genders and purple/orange/green hair the color of Leprechauns was quite overwhelming. But then again, this is Boulder.

Honestly, I felt glad to be leaving. (It’s not that I felt afraid; it’s tough to walk around a busy, congested store with someone in a store driving vehicle who nearly misses almost every other customer by micro-inches because he’s “flipping a bitch,” suddenly in the middle of the aisle.) After all, we’re talking about a retired pilot. He knows what he’s doing.

Here is the best part of that Tesla: there is a “pet setting.” This pet setting allowed Lulu to wait in the car for us, verrrry comfortably. Even with the engine off! David pushed that magic button and when we got back to the car, it felt nice and cool.

I can leave the rest, though.

But now that I think about it, wouldn’t it be too cool to have a vehicle that cooled our pets, while we leisurely shopped?

Love and Bliss with Gratitude For Life,

Ruthie

Unsplash by Zion

It wasn’t the usual type of question I’m asked by any of my clients.

The first time we met, I knocked on his front door, thinking, hmmmm, I don’t know about this place. It doesn’t look good. The front yard is mostly rocks and weeds. Very plain looking and not well-taken care of, either.

A voice came from inside: “Hello?”

“Hi, David, it’s Ruthie.”

He loudly told me the number combo that I put in, in the combination lock on the door. The door opened.

The door is not a solid, good-fitting door. It felt loose as a goose and I closed it behind me, standing in the living room, a bit frozen.

My newest client was sitting in his favorite lounger chair, barely looking up at me standing there, a bit uncomfortable as to where to go and what to say.

There are paper piles everywhere and the space felt crowded and chaotic. And I thought, “This will be my first and last day, here.” I’ve dealt with this, before. Been here, done that sort of thing.

From down in the basement, David’s roommate comes up and introduces himself. And David and I connect with one another, briefly.

I wasn’t expecting much from this client. He didn’t appear to be very active or lively. In fact, I was surprised when he stood up from his cozy, comfy chair, to walk the three steps into the kitchen (it’s a tiny house).

I asked if he was hungry. And I made him two sausages and three eggs with buttered toast, sliced tomato and avocado. He was hungry. While he ate, at the small dining table, he said, “Sit.” And we talked about growing food outdoors, like his strawberries, tomatoes, Basil and sweet peppers. He had me pull off a couple of tiny cherry tomatoes, try a Whole Foods Palisade peach, eat a yellow tomato and chat with him while he drank his coffee and gobbled down all his food.

He made me laugh.

More than once.

And he mentioned wanting help with a shower, something I must admit, scared me. He’s not a small man. And the thought of him falling over me, in the shower, was not exactly a pipe dream. More like a nightmare.

Yet he said, we can do that next time you come.

And I sighed, with a whole body relief.

And we laughed some more.

And I decided that yes, I will return. Why not? I could tell. I could tell that David is funny, intelligent and is fun to be around.

And for an ex-pilot, he’s got a damn good sense of humor.

So I’m overlooking the piles of papers spread everywhere. The collective mess all around.

And it’s amazing what happens when we focus on the moment, put our attention on who we are with, rather than the surrounding atmosphere.

My new client is intelligent, funny and called me, “Sweetheart,” on our very first day, when I prepared breakfast for him, setting it on the table.

He’s a keeper, he is. Only it’s temporary (we’re both planning to move, soon) and that’s okay, too. What a treasure, to find we are laughing at the silliness of life, together!

And here is the lesson: (okay, so get ready for this oldie but goodie), not to judge a book by its cover (or a person by their home).

Not that I’d want to live there, mind you. But while I am there, and we are simply enjoying one another, in those precious moments of time, is something I wouldn’t want to miss. Moments like these, are ones to hold dearly and to remember, again and again. Because that’s what brings us joy and warms our hearts. And the more we focus on the good times, the more those experiences come tumbling in.

And boy, are they tumbling!

Love and Bliss with Wide-Open Eyes,

Ruthie

Unsplash by Wonderlane

Then I breastfed--EVERYWHERE. At wedding receptions, in the park, on airplanes, in churches--you name it. And amazingly enough, maybe because I felt so unfettered and free, people smiled at us and accepted our public feeding frenzy display. Lucky us.

Mom didn’t breastfeed me, or my next brother and the next only maybe a week or so. She told me it was because it “wasn’t accepted at the time” and she felt uncomfortable doing so.

Of course my girl and I breastfed for five years, especially when she wasn’t feeling well.

But her own babies? Hell, she wasn’t going to do that! She breastfed them for around a year, then stopped. She wanted her body back (imagine that!)…

A few years ago, Hayley mentioned how “of course your boobs look like that...” when we both noticed them drooping. Not attractive. Then again, it’s like Clarissa Pinkola Estes said, about how our lines, our scars, tell our stories. They are a beautiful part of us.

Even my (somewhat...!) drooping breasts.

Isn’t it great to be “all woman?”

Love and Bliss,

Ruthie

Jessica Rockowitz/Unsplash

We called “him” Bozo. It was a great way for me to learn finances, from the time I was little. Slipping a coin unto his tongue, pulling the tassle ball of his hat up so that his mouth opened, I loved feeding Bozo, my clown bank. It made me happy.

He always had a smile and a welcoming crevice to put the coin into and when the tassle ball came back down, the coin fell inside, with a “clink!”

If only he hadn’t fallen apart! But I guess he felt old and tired, maybe the coins were giving him an ulcer.

I would gladly have given him to one of my grandboys. They would’ve loved him, too. He would have given them his biggest smile.

Teaching our children and grandchildren the gift of finance and being young savers is invaluable. Years later, as a teen and countless babysitting for our next door neighbors, brought me enough savings to go to Israel at 17. It’s a powerful feeling, do you know what I’m talking about?

Like all things that age, Bozo felt he had lived long enough. Kind of like the book, The Giving Tree, where the tree gave and gave (apples, limbs/trunk and finally a stump to sit on), until it was done.

So here is Bozo, ready to go to dreamland, where, I suppose, all good children’s banks go.

Do you have a “piggy” bank for your child or grandchild? Tell us about it.

Love and Bliss (and Bozo),

Ruthie

Although I left the PNW a couple months ago, I must still be on Pacific time. Even if only subconsciously.

A zoom meeting that begins soon, I had thought began half an hour earlier and rushed on home from meeting with a new friend at a coffeehouse downtown, thinking I was already late. In fact, I was almost an hour early.

Could this be happening with little/broken up sleep?

I’ve been writing about sleeplessness because I’ve been wondering how you are doing with that subject. Are you wired, at night, because of all the bombardment of information that’s being strewn out there, every single day?

It’s difficult not to get involved in it.

Unsplash by Shubham Dhage

The news or podcasts or whatever you tune into woos us with its headlines, prompting us to engage. And it’s the engagement that slowly, insidiously, silently kills us. (Or not so silently.)

My daughter brought up a great point, yesterday. We were talking about puzzles. I was saying how easy it is for me to slide underneath the dining table into a chair to play with the puzzle that almost daily is on the table, lately.

And she replied, “Well, yes, because at least with a puzzle, we know how it turns out.”

Bingo!

Her wise reply made me stop, for a second. But of course–with our own lives, that can seem very puzzling to us, we haven’t the vaguest idea where we are going or when. It’s a “puzzle.”

It’s so much easier to sit at a table and figure out where the pieces go, because they all make sense. Either the piece fits or it doesn’t. Contrary to our lives, where we can always “make do” and fit something together maybe not just right, maybe just almost right. Kind of like settling for things/people/events that don’t fit your “puzzle.” But doing so out of frustration or feeling stuck.

Don’t we all do that, at least sometimes, whether we are conscious of it or not?

I know that I do.

I’m not saying I feel good about it. It’s just another habit to process through. And the more I experience, the longer I live, the better I become at being present. Because isn’t presence the key to not settling? To know how we feel about something or someone and to respond in an appropriate way to that person/situation in our best interest. Because we can’t take care of others’ feelings or responses, we can only feel and learn to guide our own.

What are your thoughts, reader? Is this something you have or are currently dealing with? Love to hear from you.

Love and Bliss,

Ruthie

It’s heavenly, I tell you.

You ought to try it, sometime. It’s good for the soul.

Speaking of soul, we were going on our evening walk to throw the ball for Lulu (her most favorite thing and her happy place), when we both see a wild canary, yellow as the sun--outlined in its black-as-night feathers, catching it as it hungrily munches the flower petals on the wild Sunflower that sprouted and was planted by various birds, after digesting sunflower seeds (I feed them).

The thing is,

the birds eat the seeds, plant the huge Sunflower “bushes,” that grow up from the sidewalk or any area they are planted in, that attract the wild canaries, that feed on the flower petals.

It’s all the coolest, most natural nature thingy!

The cyclical putting out the seeds, the birds eating them, spreading them all around, the sprouting and growing of the tall Sunflower plants and the wild canaries munching on the Sunflower pedals.

Life is amazing, isn’t it?

Love and Bliss,

Ruthie

Currently, I’m in back in bed, after walking Lulu in the stifling, choking hella Colorado desert heat, after my 30-minuted meditation, after watering my 11 backyard trees, after watering my front porch potted flowers and attempting to digest a small glass of refrigerated leftover smoothie.

Back underneath the cozy covers.

To write and listen to all kinds of delicious videos.

And NOT to write about “exploding diarrhea,” as Dave Barry writes about, that’s apparently been in the news (I don’t watch it, haven’t had a television for more years than I can remember, maybe caveman time).

I do recall someone saying something about our food being poisoned. So I’m (naively?) guessing that there are hordes of people getting sick on lettuce? celery? cucumbers? I really don’t know, although Barry does mention lettuce.

Getting myself out to my favorite market, Niwot Market in Niwot, Colorado. Picked up a Reuben sandwich. Yum!

In doing that particular 30-minute meditation, I speak the words, I am open to receiving in “unexpected ways…”…love, kindness, friendship, money, etc. Today I happened to stop at a yard sale and because of the sandwich and forgetting my water bottle (a big no-can-do, in Colorado), I felt like a dolphin out of water and almost immediately the seller offered a large glass of iced water. (Kind of like one of those everyday miracles, you know?)

That’s what I’m tawwwkin’ about. Easy living. Asking spirit and being open to receiving.

She didn’t have anything I wanted and since I’m getting rid of things before moving…on my way out, though, I noticed a cool coffee cup.

And since my roommate was feeling sad and somehow it reminded me of him, I bought it. For a whopping two bucks!

Life is good. Isn’t it? It’s so the little things that can mean so much....How has it been good for you?

Love and Bliss,

Ruthie

Do you know what I mean?

Either I have to have a notebook by my side, 24/7, or maybe a recorder, to remind myself of the importance of chatting with you.

As I sat all still and relaxed on my grey, courdorouy l-shaped couch and meditated, I thought of you. Yes, you.

And how we jump (not only to conclusions, metaphorically) to doing things, pronto! As an Aries, I am a mover and a shaker and my body is challenged most, when I am in bed, attempting to sleep.

The other night, after my ***FIRST!!!*** podcast interview with sweetest Lucie Rosa-Stagi as the interviewer on her lovely podcast, I received so many emails from people (like you!!!) who loved the interview (alas: even though there were things unsaid that I thought of only hours later–do you know what I mean? Has that ever happened to you, dear reader?). So…naturally, I couldn’t sleep. And at midnight, I wanted to make breakfast and begin the next day.

Who cares about sleep?

Well, apparently, my body does. (Because the next morning, I always seem to be “stuck” in bed, wanting to dream the day away…ahhh, well.)

But also, what came to me, is that timing is everything. What we do, how long we take in doing it, how many things we cram into a day’s hours. Usually, for me, it’s more than I can count to. Would that be a google? (The number count…;)

Maybe it’s my age.

Maybe it’s being one day/hour/minute closer to death and wanting to be in a flurry to rush things along so that they all get done, before I leave this beautiful planet.

Maybe it’s living in a semi-desert town. And hella hot these days, too hot for BUGS, which I never see, anymore.

Maybe it’s what I ate for breakfast or snacking on the dates from Denmark that have since expired last year.

Who knows.

But the idea of time, taking our time, being oso totally present each moment, whether we are in bliss or experiencing bad gas (although for some, granted, that can mean bliss), just being there.

Awake. Conscious. In the moment.

Our sense of smell, taste, hearing, voice and seeing in five-dimensional color.

And what I really noticed, today? That not everything needs to be done NOW, RIGHT NOW. Some things can wait. (Even though my Aries mind and body says, no! It’s all important!) And maybe it all is.

Yet there’s something magical to pacing oneself. It removes any kind of burn-out and panic, if you do one thing at a time. Because really, that’s all we can do, especially well–one thing at a time.

So make those lists. And cross out things that get done. And know that there is always tomorrow (remember the song from “Annie,” tomorrow, tomorrow, there’s always tomorrow…?) It won’t kill you to put some things second. And it might just relieve your body and mind, enough so that when you do scroll you tube, you won’t feel rushed. Or feel dread or be in a tizzy/tizzy, that nothing got done today.

Remember Eckhart Tolle, who, when sitting on his usual spot on the park bench–and feeling suicidal, when suddenly he could see the tiniest details in vivid, gorgeous color? And his life became enriched many times over (including his pocketbook)?

That’s what I mean. That’s the kind of life that uplifts us, that carries us to unknown and yet magical places, even on a daily basis.

In practicing a manifestation oath with a teacher of mine, that I read aloud every day, with an energized expression, I see/feel/find things that come to me. Each opening of my will–my mind and heart–I receive all kinds of beautiful expressions and “proof” of love in this world.

I mean, it’s eye-boggling!

Taking the time to open your heart, to embrace and welcome all that is in your life…that’s what matters.

Because, my dear reader, that’s what you will find. Believe in magic and it will find you. You don’t have to go seeking it, it’s already there and by widening your eyes, you activate its timing.

You can do this. I know you can. It’s within you. Let it show up. Let your world be amazing! It already is, so enjoy. And say, Arigato. (Thank you).

Love and Bliss,

Ruthie

It’s kind of funny that when someone tells us to stay present, our minds tend to wander in many directions.

Which is exactly what happens to me, when I do a specific meditation. I hear, “Stay present,” and off my mind goes, thinking of my daughter, or remembering my mother and conversations from the past, years ago.

Yesterday, in the car, I missed my mother so much that I began to reach for my phone, while driving. Seconds later, I remembered: she passed eight years ago, in 2018.

Then my mind traveled to when I birthed my daughter and Mom came into town to help take care of her; Hayley, whose birthday was two days after Mom’s (Mom had wished she was born on her birthday and I was dead-set against it!). But here they were, both Taurus bulls.

And my mother’s thick, arthritic and artistic fingers reaching out and holding Hayley like she was the most precious being on Earth, because of course, she was. And still is.

Mom taught Hayley to work with her hands, to sew beautiful fabrics together, to create garments out of soft, brightly colored yarn and to stitch all kinds of stitches that I was not willing to learn.

Instead, I taught Hayley to sprinkle glitter upon endless papers, creating works of art that I hung on our walls. I gathered countless books for us to read, while sitting outside on a blanket in our expansive backyard.

And Hayley grew to appreciate and to love words, books and reading…sharing that love with her sons, who also enjoy books, words and reading. Even as teenagers. Recently, at fourteen, Oliver said, “But Mom, I was in the middle of reading!”…when she asked him to complete a kitchen chore. And then he was overjoyed to go back to his room and his book.

Thank goodness, it’s not only all about screens with my grandsons!...

And it was my mother’s–Hayley’s Bubby–influence that also stuck with her, that moved her, that inspired her to say, after she passed, “I felt like she was my sister.” I hadn’t known that part.

It’s always illuminating to watch, to notice, and to see how someone has influenced us and our dearest ones. Hayley now creates wool yarn, then clothing–colorful scarves, sweaters, ear coverings--out of brushing her Angora rabbits. Her loom keeps busy, like Rapunzel, “looming” into the dark night. I cannot even fathom being as talented as she is, when it comes to fabrics.

Any time Mom attempted to teach me, I was away, in my mind, miles and miles somewhere else. Anywhere but learning how to sew or to use my hands in that way.

Instead, I use my fingers to write. And to create other art forms, like three-dimensional collages.

My meditation is over. I look next to me, a photo of Mom, sitting at her clay pottery wheel, the brightest smile on her face, her eyes glistening in joy and success. Her happy place. In the photo, Mom is in her early 70s, I imagine.

When I was still young, she became a first grade teacher, yet that was not in her blood. And although she taught for many years, retiring only in her 70s, she was meant to be an artist. A clay artist. A ceramic artist.

Her busts were so absolutely life-like it was almost unbelievable. Looking at them, it was easy to know exactly who it was that she “shape-shifted” into clay. And I know, in my heart of hearts, if she had pursued clay-making as a profession, she would easily have been world-famous. She was that good. That talented.

Growing up among a family of artists feels infinitely wonderful, so much more so than if we had been zillionaires. Not that I don’t appreciate money.

Yet only because the wealth of artistry feels so deep, so soul-searching, fathom deep, that its thread follows generation after generation, flowering in so many talented ways: art, music, dance.

And such joy they all bring to the table!

Just remembering and thinking about all of that fills my heart.

And with that, I’ll say to you, my friend, …until soon...

Love and Bliss,

Ruthie

This morning felt emotional and for some reason (okay, well, several) I was feeling sentimental while driving to meet a close friend for breakfast. The tears were washing my face as I drove down the country lanes and passing by the ranches and horses that most probably will soon be high-rises and suburban houses. One reason I want to leave.

As I drove, I started to reach for my phone, to call my mom. Mom, who passed eight years ago.

That generated even more sadness and tears; I so badly wanted her elder wisdom, to soothe me, to support and to reassure me that every little thing is going to be alright. And big things, too.

Especially now. I’m in the process of selling my home (where I’ve lived in Colorado for 44 years), buying another home near my kiddos further out west, in the PNW;

helping to care for a friend who’s living with me and just had a new hip put in two days ago;

making sure Lulu, my Bordoodle is fed, walked and loved, daily;

watering my flower pots, the new grass seeds and making sure the birdbath is full;

filling the birdfeeder every other day because those crows love to shove their way in, past the wild canaries to feed;

keep the house looking fantastic for the showings (that have been slow in coming this month because everyone is on a holiday for the summer);

making sure the bills are paid;

finishing my weekly home/play work from a transformational six-month course I’m taking (and taking seriously);

writing and posting;

and standing up for myself in a couple of damn serious situations: a realtor in the PNW who I share with the woman whose house I want to purchase (seems she is taking the goodies from both sides, which doesn’t feel right to me, nevertheless I have the right to make sure she’s on “my side,” completely)

and…the crem de la crem: instructions to reprint my memoir that came back to me with TOO LARGE TYPE and everything rather “smooshed” together, so that it looks more like a third grade book than an adult book (even though the cover is beautiful).

Just writing this makes me feel tired…too tired to put an exclamation mark to this…

Then, I realized this: gratitude rocks. And it’s everything. So I began reciting all the things I am blessed for. And the list continued and continued. And as the tears continued to fall, so did the people, animals and things I feel so much gratitude for, in my life.

And although I would have appreciated a chat with my mom, in real time, this is what I noticed at the next stoplight:

And of course, the tears began again. Mom. She was “talking” to me. And the next song that came on the radio was about how everything is going to get better and better and I will be stronger for it all.

That’s what I want to share with you. God. God is listening, is there for you and supports you. All you have to do is be present to what’s around you. It’s easy peasy. You’ve got this.

Love and Bliss,

Ruthie

The other day I’m sitting in the dental chair and if it isn’t hygienist Nurse Ratchet at the helm!

I have to admit, it was frightening; here I am, basically on my back as she had me lying down–digging into my fragile gums and teeth, I swear trying to dislocate them as she attempted to wiggle them lose with all her strength–and my mind conjured the most horrid nightmare as her body’s shadow loomed over me.

I tell you, I was shaking-quaking-flaking in my walking shoes!

Thank god, the dentist came in to save me. At least she was reasonable.

But then at the end of the cleaning, hygienist Nurse Ratchet again appeared, her booming voice almost sounding demanding–asking me if I wanted the fluoride rinse or splash or something evil like that. Don’t they know that fluoride was banned in the dinosaur age?!?

I tell you, it was not something I care to experience, ever again.

And when a friend who recommended the dentist asked why they are promoting fluoride, they told him, “We get it for free.”

So because they get it for free, it’s a reason to put that stuff in people’s mouths?

So curious. Life is a learning experience, Every. Single. Day.

But the fluoride? Count me out. Thank you.

Love, Bliss and fluoride-free-forever (and at least we have choices),

Ruthie

Unsplash by Jonathan Borba

This week, we’re in the 90s, next weekend we hit the 100s. Both suck, at least in my humble opinion and it’s on top of the state’s raging summer fires (which someone said could easily be caused by the highly flammable aluminum in the cloud surfing or tailings or whatever they are called).

I choose not to notice them, personally.

It means we are sort of stuck in the house, because the air is so bad, even the birds are in hiding. (Although they manage to do a good job in devouring the birdseed I continually put out for them and today I caught a blackbird standing in the birdbath that I filled to the top just this morning.) They’re not dumb. They know how to spot a good meal and bath.

And the thing is, we’ve become obsessed. Seriously obsessed over puzzles and puzzling. My gorgeous dark brown wooden dining table is wearing puzzle

pieces, 24/7. And it’s challenging to walk by the table at any time of day and not get dragged in, finding just the right puzzle pieces to add to the picture. It’s kind of like going down the rabbit hole. There seems to be no cure.

Tonight, as we put together a larger piece puzzle in a matter of an hour, my puzzle partner exclaims, “Oh, no–now we’ll have to run out and buy another one!”

Seriously?

This could be bad news for our relationship! The rest of the evening puzzle-less?

It’s interesting how puzzles relate to people and personalities. I choose pieces going by color and shape, while D. chooses pieces because he knows where they go in regards to the big picture. (While on the other hand, I usually haven’t a clue as to what each piece represents. Which is why I leave the edges up to him, when it looks too confusing to me.)

Similar to when the bedding becomes tangled; my mind tangles along with it and I have to leave the room, while D. easily manages to get it straight.

Meanwhile, this what I’ve noticed. While D. contributes in his way, I contribute in my own way, making it clear that when we work together, the big picture comes out balanced, from each of our contributions.

Who would have guessed that puzzling is related to the mechanics of relationships! But it makes sense.

And although I sometimes believe that my contributions are larger than his, it all balances out, in the end. The yin and the yang. The black and the white. The giving and receiving.

The “perfection” of puzzles and relationships, whether they are imbalanced or don’t have pieces that “fit” correctly, with persistence and focus, patience and a willingness to be open to possibilities, they both come together, flourishing as a whole big picture.

And it’s all fucking amazing.

Love and Bliss with a puzzling balance to all beautiful things,

Ruthie

P.S. They are called chemtrails. But you probably already knew that.

Sometimes, mutual confusion between neighbors can be a good thing. At least it’s some kind of shared connection.

At King Soopers (Kroeger/Fred Meyer) I was figuring out how to get the shopping points, which enables the gas discounts. There are two employees “trying” to help me. One, says that she’s “sick of apps,” because you need the app on your phone, before the whole rigamarole works. We concur with one another about apps.

Anyone else tired to death of them?

And when I make my faces, which I aparrently do, without even knowing it, she says to me, “Oh, you’re so cute!”

So the other employee takes my phone and fingers this and that, swipes here and there and guess what? Nothing happens. And he thinks it does and he says loudly, to the first employee, who has moved on to other quandries, “I figured it out!” As he practically screams it all the way across the store, 1,500 feet away.

This is something employees ought to know. After all, their point system is something that’s used every single day, countless times in a day. Yet they are clueless about it.

It turns out, he figured nothing out. Yet funny enough, it’s like a bond between the three of us. The unknowing bond of unfiguring things out.

And as I am leaving, the first employee says to me, “Do you understand it now?”

And I answer, “No–not really.” And she laughs, saying, “You’re so cute!”

So it’s not the apps, not the gain in points, or even the gas discount at the pumps.

It’s the human interaction, the connection between us that feels so good. Screw the points, fuck the gas discounts, connecting with others is way more vital, interesting and good for the soul. I’ll settle for human interaction and the sharing of hearts and humor, any day.

Maybe next time we’ll actually figure it out. The gas discount would be nice.

Love and Bliss,

Ruthie

It’s 6:30 am and it’s already hella hot. Lulu is dragging behind me, her leash tightening with every step, as my arm pulls to the side and back. What is her issue? In dog years, she’s only 36. Does that mean she’s entering menopause?

Still here. In hella hot Colorado. Where everyone who doesn’t live here thinks it’s chilly cold, because of the Rocky Mountains. O, do I wish it were! This summer is the worst, even so far, with the temps into the 90s; next week it will hit over 100.

The fires are raging in Utah and Montana and each day the haze is distinct over the mountains. In the early evenings, the sun is a blazing bright golden/pinkish-orangish/reddish ball, strikingly stunning and on fire from Utah’s heat. The sunsets are blindingly beautiful, neighbors madly clicking their phone cameras to catch the scene. And then to post on nextdoor. We wait until the sun is over the mountains to throw the ball for Lulu, when the air is calmer and cooler.

By that time, I am toast, ready for anything but a walk.

It’s challenging being in a place that doesn’t feel like home, anymore.

Colorado has been my home for the last 44 years. Moving feels like being stripped naked, no clothing because nothing fits and everything feels scratchy, anyway. And the sense of loneliness mixed with a mysterious elation and adventure for the last part of my life.

What will Oregon hold for me? Aside from the deliriously delicious negative ions that the Pacific Ocean sprays, creating happiness in every direction.

O, how the water calls to me!

Sending so much love and care to those dealing with the raging fires and praying for drenching, cool rain. May you be healthy and out of harm’s way, wherever you are.

Love and Bliss,

Ruthie

“The wound is the place where the light enters you…not the shame not the scar, it was always breaking through…every year I thought I was lost, every prayer left in the dark…was you carving out a space…was you living in my heart…you were the wound and the healing, too...I am not broken…I am the light…”

Partly Rumi, partly I’m not sure and a couple words, mine.

It’s been an interesting day.

Days like today, where I feel like doing absolutely nothing, are sometimes guilt-producing. However, I’m finding that the guilt feelings are becoming less and less, with the passing of years.

And really–putting together a 500 piece puzzle is an act of brain/finger dexterity. And so good for the soul!

Do you like fitting together jigsaw puzzles?

It’s such a great life analogy.

Some pieces fit together yet aren’t the right color or picture piece. Others, that look like they are the perfectly perfect piece, only jam into the space with a hammer (something my “puzzle partner” accuses me of doing).

Then there’s the just right piece–and you feel its sliding in and soft snapping into place and suddenly you feel on top of the world. Or at the very least, on top of the puzzle creation. And how many times do you want to walk away, yet your fingers just happen to find the right fit, calling you to sit right back down at the table? If you found that one, surely the others will come easily.

Sometimes they do. And other times…it brings you to a state of exasperation. And just when you are about to walk away, again…

Isn’t that like life? Just when we might be at the height of frustration, something suddenly clicks and we’re off and running.

It’s like the saying how chaos comes before organization.

That’s how my house sometimes appears. Packed boxes (mostly in the garage, now), artwork still on walls that I’m thinking could be packed away, papers I’m seriously thinking of gingerly placing in the recycling garbage strewn across my happy place l-shaped corduroy couch (I am in the process of reading my journal from the ice-age; it puts me in a different place and time and one evening, I swear I was still with my daughter’s dad, who I divorced ions ago). Which made me think I should just toss the bitch, before she takes me by the neck and throttles me, first.

And of course I have boxes of filled notebooks. But really, do I want to cart them with me, for the rest of my life, sitting on shelves, collecting dust? Even my lovely daughter wants nothing to do with them. And I can’t say I blame her.

I swear, that’s the toughest thing about downsizing: the filled notebooks, hundreds and hundreds of paper-filled useless writings.

Well–not completely useless. I have discovered a couple of valuable patterns in my relationships. Looking at them in that way, I can let go of the idea of an expensive therapist.

Well–not really.

Here’s to clarity in all respects: relationships, situations and the things that we hold onto and carry with us, from place to place. All the possibilities that we can choose to let go.

Something many of us are seriously contemplating as we tightly hold onto them.

My wishes for you to be able to let them go–and feel wondrous about it.

Love and Bliss–and trustfully on the way to being a whole lot lighter, speaking of the “light,”

Ruthie