Tag Archives: Love

In Praise of Predictability

In 2020, predictability went AWOL.

2020’s trademark? Wild unpredictability. Trips canceled, work pivoting to remote (or shutting down), kids homeschooling, mask-wearing, social distancing, and zooming instead of in-person interaction…all upending our idea of normal.

Which is why the Hallmark Channel calls to me every day of this yummy week off from work.

Most of my “vacation” days really aren’t that at all. Taken to accomodate a doctor’s visit with mom (or myself) or to deliver a virtual speaking event, I’ve failed at separating work from everyday life.

And then, all of a sudden – NOVEMBER.

What?

How can it be that 2020 is in the home stretch? It feels like just yesterday the rug was pulled out from under us all (and remains pulled). This Groundhog’s Day of staying put and isolated forced me – finally – to say, “Enough!”

If you’re going to be off, be OFF.

So this week I slept in. Meditated and listened to spa music. Baked the first batches of mom-mom’s raisin bread. And actually activated (for the first time in 2020) my out-of-office e-mail message.

So THIS is what people do on a day off!

“Almost everything will work if you unplug it for a few minutes. Including you.”

– ANNE LAMOTT

While covering my kitchen with a thin layer of flour and practically burning the motor on my Kitchen Aid mixer with the sticky paste of raisin bread dough, Mark suggested I enjoy some holiday shows during the baking festivities.

Sucked in like a dust bunny to a vacuum, I was instantly hypnotized.

After three days of shows, all with either Christmas or Angel in the title, I realized the allure of these formulatic mini-movies.

They are predictable.

And in a year when NOTHING has been predictable, the comfort and joy of knowing what’s going to happen (and that the ending will be happy) warmed my heart.

For the uninformed, here are the five things you can always expect from a Hallmark movie:

  1. City woman/man consumed by work goes to small town where the Christmas spirit is alive and well.
  2. Main character falls for man/woman who embodies the Christmas spirit.
  3. Two or three near kisses are interrupted by snowballs, children*, or elderly characters (who may or may not be Santa and Mrs. Claus).
  4. A misunderstanding ensues, causing both parties to retreat from love.
  5. A Christmas miracle brings everyone together at the end for a guaranteed happy ending.

Why the asterisk after children?

In the Roach/Viola household, we’ve uncovered a common subtext in each Hallmark (or Lifetime) Christmas movie.

Mark coined the phrase, rendering me doubled over with giggles.

It’s the “Little Shitter” factor.

Please excuse the salty description, but I have to be true to the moment.

He walked in during my third or fourth consecutive show and said enthusiastically, “Hey! There’s the Little Shitter!”

What?

“Yeah. There’s alway a Little Shitter that shows up.”

What’s a Little Shitter, you ask?

It’s any child under the age of 10 deployed to evoke feelings of tenderness and manipulate the story so you root for the two main characters to finally kiss.

If you’d like to play along, next time you watch, look for the Little Shitter (LS). The winner is the first to shout “There’s the Little Shitter!” And if you’re so inclined, take a sip of hot cocoa (or cider, or mulled wine – three other minor props that unfailingly play a role in these Christmas movies) when you see the LS.

In a year when holiday gatherings lack the festive trappings of days gone by, a little escapism into predictability can warm the cockles of your heart.

And my wish for you – and your own Little Shitters – is that gratitude fills your hearts and spills over into a 2021 that is (hopefully) WAY more fun.

While this post is all about praise for predictability, my recent video was about the inevitability of change:

https://youtu.be/YCn-_bJ7KvM

Let your heart’s delight!

xoxoxoxo

Brenda

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Leave a Tender Moment Alone

Billy Joel famously sang “Leave a Tender Moment” alone back in the 80’s and I thought about that phrase this week as I tried to push feelings away.

Hey! I’m busy! I don’t have time to get all misty right now…

Ah, but I am alive. And so are you.

We are not machines, though it can feel like it sometimes. Especially when you realize hours have passed by and your to-do list isn’t any shorter than when your day started.

We zero in on “get it done” mode and pay no attention to those pesky feelings behind the curtain.

Despite trying to ignore the interruption, sometimes a feeling visits you. One that is tender and swathed in lovingkindness. It nudges your soul, penetrating your stonehearted busyness so inconveniently.

So easy to push it away.

My Google mini takes one song suggestion and regales me with a day’s worth of music; some are songs I haven’t heard or thought about in years.

I plug away at my computer making work happen, largely ignoring the background noise.

Then, involuntarily, I felt my heart squeeze. A tender moment interrupted “machine-mode.”

It was this song by Stevie Wonder:

It’s a tender song, evoking all the feelings of the love we have for family and friends. And since Aunt Mary’s transition, the need to say these three words while we can is top of mind.

When you stop and let a tender moment breathe, your heart swells. Tears can spill. But oh, how alive you feel!

And then you make the phone calls. Or texts. The “these three words” messages that let someone know they starred in your tender moment.

I’m with Billy Joel.

Leave a tender moment alone.

Thank you, Mark (and so many of you) who “hold up the light.”

And if you’re experiencing a setback, don’t forget to consider the comeback!

xoxoxox

Brenda

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Lovely Aunt Mary Gullo

My Aunt Mary made her transition this week.

I can only imagine her brothers and sisters, her husband, and the many who loved her just waiting to welcome her into glory.

From left, her brother (the deeply religious) Uncle Bud, her sister (the glamorous and fun) Aunt Helen, Aunt Mary (the baby of the family), my grandmother/her sister Edna, and her brother Dave, who had piercing blue eyes and was a great dancer and singer!

I needed to write about Aunt Mary because I couldn’t say a proper goodbye and my heart was full of feelings.

As a kid, I looked up to her daughters Carol Ann and Mary Beth because they were older and so much cooler than me. Our families often camped together in the summers, taking road trips to Point Sebago, Maine or closer by to Dutch Wonderland. Aunt Mary and Uncle Pete had a truck camper and it was so fun to switch to THEIR ride so we girls could play cards or talk about Bobby Sherman or David Cassidy during the drive.

Once camp was set up, there were so many memories to be made! Teenagers going to the pavilion to play pool (and letting me tag along); the smell of hibachi’s cooking burgers and communal dinners at the picnic table. Roasting marshmallows until the charred skin burnt the roof of your tongue.

Such happy times…before our world changed forever.

Aunt Mary was a central figure after my dad’s sudden passing when I was 10.

Our world was rocked and we were all teetering on the edge of this unknown new life without my father. My mother, suddenly a single mom of a 15 and 10 year old with a host of decisions to make.

In the midst of that madness, Aunt Mary came to stay with us.

I started to write “swooped in” but Aunt Mary wasn’t a swooper.

Her greatest charm was her calm, and oh, how calm was needed in our horrible storm of loss.

She left her own family for almost a month. Sat at our dinner table. Played the piano. Gently reminded us to have faith, without saying a word.

Oh, Aunt Mary’s presence at that pivotal time meant so much to us.

So pretty, wasn’t she? Aunt Mary was, for many years, a bank teller. My dad used to stop by her drive-through window in his mixer truck just to say hi when he was in the neighborhood. And he always used to sing the song “Cab Driver” because it included the line “drive by Mary’s place…”

The years passed and as happens when you get older, it’s easy to get caught up in your own stuff. I sure did.

I’d see Aunt Mary at family reunions in my teens and twenties. There’d be weddings (I’ll never forget Carol Ann’s in the garden at Smithville Inn) and funerals.

When her sister, my Aunt Helen, passed away, I was in the thick of church life and determined to take advantage of this opportunity to “preach the gospel.”

I asked to speak at the services.

Aunt Mary, in her calm and kind way, suggested that I could honor Aunt Helen without making a case for each person’s salvation. At first, I was confused. Aunt Mary was a devout Christian; a true believer!

It wasn’t until years later I realized that a true follower of Christ need not shove their version of the truth down anyone’s throat.

Aunt Mary embodied Christianity, because she embodied love.

She didn’t judge.

She was an accepting, sweet woman whose love deeply touched my life.

Many years after leaving the church I learned that she had breast cancer. All the memories of how she had been there for me and my family over the years washed over me and I made a committment to write to her every week.

I’d print out photos from Facebook or tell tales about my latest adventures in travel. Sometimes I’d just write to let her know she mattered and that I loved her.

The following year, I saw her at my niece, Deena’s, wedding. We had written back and forth preceding the wedding and she voted that I should go with the red dress, which I did.

At one point, she called me aside and said, “I’m all recovered from the breast cancer now, so you don’t have to write to me every week.”

I looked into her sweet, kind eyes and said, “Aunt Mary, I didn’t write because you had breast cancer. I wrote because I love you.”

And that happy ritual – sometimes not every week – but at least every other, has been a dear part of my life ever since.

I remember being a little afraid to write to her when my marriage ended. She – and all of my family – were “’til death us do part” kind of people.

Would she be disappointed?

Her reply?

“I’m proud of you, Brenda.”

Oh, Aunt Mary! Such healing words at such an important time.

I will miss you so much, yet know you are another angel watching out for me.

What a privilege to be your niece.

Aunt Mary is standing right next to my Dad – the third person from the right. Next over is my wonderful grandmother, her older sister, Edna. I don’t believe I was born yet!

I was torn about going to her services because she meant SO much to me.

Jumping on a plane isn’t something any of us do lightly these days, so I prayed about it. I felt her calm and loving presence say, “It’s okay. I know you loved me.”

My wonderful sister, Shirlee, represented our little family at the memorial. She told me that Aunt Mary’s favorite song was sung. Oh how lovely…she now walks in glory with her body and spirit whole…

How glad I am that I have no regrets; I left no words of love unspoken. She deserved them all while she was here to hear them.

A timely and true reminder…to shower the people you love with love.

I hope that you think of your own Aunt Mary…or someone who has marked your life for good.

And shower them with love this week.

xoxoxoxox

Brenda

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Why Are We So Hard on Ourselves?

When we are hard on ourselves, is it because we think going soft lets us off the hook too easily? Do we brutally hold ourselves accountable to validate our goodness?

We’re not parking cars, here. We need no validation.

We must be kinder. To ourselves.

There are plenty of critics, naysayers, judges, and frenemies who won’t hesitate to point out our shortcomings or pounce on even an unintended slight.

Let’s not join their chorus. Life is already kinda hard.

At a recent (virtual) workshop, I began teaching on one of my favorite chapters in The Public Servants’ Survival Guide. All about how perfectionism is our foe and that yes, we are flawed, but we are awesome.

We’re flawsome – and should embrace our flawsomeness!

I felt the audience’s eye-rolling and inner protestations even though I was the only one on camera. Which stoked a little fire and brimstone message from this normally perky uplifter.

Some of you talk to yourselves like you wouldn’t talk to your worst enemy! Your inner voice is MEAN!

If those thoughts you allow yourself to think about you evoke tears or despair, here’s one thing I know for sure: You’re NOT voting with your inner being. You’re letting your human being win.

Now, your human being can be kinda fun. It can be bought new shoes or bake in the sun. It loves a good, dense cheesecake and a rich rerun of Empire. But in the deep and spiritual matters of life, it’s a bust. Your human being is easily cranky from lack of sleep or traffic or that intermittent fasting you’re trying 16 hours out of each day.

The struggle is real for your human being.

But your inner being? It’s ALWAYS love. Loving you and others is its constant state. It bears all things, believes and hopes and is constantly rooting for well-being, which is your natural state,

To often we vote with the unnatural states of confusion, frustration, self-degradation, and other lesser feelings.

When I reflect on the times when I raked myself over the coals for a mistake made, it NEVER made things better. My self-inflicted suffering didn’t change what was wrong, it just made me feel worse. No amount of tears, nausea, or sleeplessness could change my screw up.

Several come to mind. Like not proofreading a calendar project well enough and going to press with two August 13ths. Or slinging a sharp retort to an undeserving and kind partner. Oh, the pain of words spoken that should rather have been swallowed!

We all miss the boat. But must we drown ourselves to prove our sincerity?

Unfortunately, unless you choose to truly become a student of feeling good who believes well-being is everpresent, voting with your inner-being feels like hard work.

Until it becomes a habit.

Then, thinking kindly toward yourself and others is the happy flow of life. It is the path of ease and least resistance. And when you live there, life is easier (and you’re definitely not so hard on yourself.)

Screwed up? Join the club.

No one came forth for a perfect ride, but to enjoy it – bumps and all.

Stop making a mountain out of that molehill. Feeling terrible doesn’t help anyone, least of all yourself.

You don’t need to prove your sincerity or good heart to anyone.

It is.

And it’s beautiful.

Now start acting like you love yourself. Or even better, get to that most-important business in this life journey and really fall in love…with YOU.

More on that right here!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ttbwDKTSYag

Yep – it’s our responsibility to own how we feel and what we’re thinking.

As the CEO of our own lives, let’s commit to feeling good again!

Much love,

Brenda

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Cooking, Cleaning, and Cassia

Sheltering in place has spurred a tug toward cooking and cleaning.

Office closets, filled so haphazardly their contents would bonk me on the head when opening the door, are now pristine. A pile of unworn clothes is packed for donation to Goodwill. The whir of the vacuum and the smell of Fabuloso make more regular appearances on Lockwood Ridge Road.

Or should I say “Lockdown Ridge Road?”

Yes, I’m going stir crazy. I’d much rather be shopping, dining out, and otherwise frolicking than cooking and cleaning.

But the harsh reality? I should well appreciate the privilege of sheltering in place when others must work outside of the home. A million thank you’s to the healthcare workers and grocery store cashiers who carry on in the midst of a scary, insidious, invisible threat.

Nope, I’m not leaving the house. The one time I had to? It involved picking up a prescription for my mom (who I still can’t visit). I wore plastic gloves and a mask, and handed the meds (along with her favorite, People magazine) to an attendant who wouldn’t let me traverse the doorway.

PS – I am SO GRATEFUL Mom is at Atria Assisted Living. They bring her meals, deliver wine for happy hour, and protect her health like it’s Fort Knox.

So back to the domestic arts. When cleaning one of the aforementioned closets, out popped a recipe. This is not unusual. I’ve spent a lifetime collecting recipes for dishes I’ll never make.

Ah, but THIS was for Cassia’s flan.

More than the memory of the richest, creamiest, most delectible desert EVER, I remembered Cassia.

I met her back in the church days, and she was the light (and fire) of every room she entered. Gorgeously Brazilian, she was an elegant, refined lady who would surprise with her sassy comments. Everyone was darling – or rather, “dah-link” – but she did not suffer fools. Oh, but if she liked you? Or loved you?

Well, Cassia’s love was a force to be reckoned with.

She was ready to leave the church/cult when I was getting married but kept silent about her intentions because she didn’t want to put a damper on my party.

Soon after, she left. When I finally had MY awakening to leave, she was the first person I called.

“You were right! Cassia, you were right!”

She loved me enough to give me the space to come to my own conclusion. But was right there to comfort and love me back from the brink of despair when the place I had given my life to was revealed to be a sham.

Cassia loved passionately, and it always showed up at her dinner table. When she invited you to dinner, you dropped everything to be there for a veritable feast that would always end with her life-changing flan.

After almost 20 years of storing the recipe, I finally decided this week to make it.

Why did I wait so long?! It was PERFECTION. Just like Cassia.

But here’s where the story gives me goosies. The day that recipe reemerged from the dark corner of my closet was Cassia’s birthday.

I had forgotten the date! Only later that day when I scrolled through Facebook did I see her adoring widower, Luis, post a tribute to his beloved wife.

On her birthday, Cassia gave me a gift. A tap on the shoulder from beyond and a resurgence of happy memories.

I am probably the age of Cassia when we met. A woman could only hope to aspire to her unique beauty and the quality of her love.

And to the deliciousness of her flan. Of course, you want the recipe! Here you go (by the way, I doubled the ingredients to make the version you see above):

Warning: Put some non-stick spray or parchment paper as a barrier to the caramel. It had hardened to concrete and we ended up throwing away the pan. But the flan was worth it!

With patience our recent Word of the Week, it made sense that I’d try something out of my wheelhouse that required a little bit of the WOW. Here are my parting thoughts on patience, and a zippy new reveal!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mJp9np1oPcQ

May all of your adventures these next two weeks be…delicious! And if you have a Cassia memory, please share…

xoxoxox

Brenda

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Are You Open or Closed to Good Stuff?

The opposite of open is closed.

We might never view ourselves as those who are closed off to blessings. But sometimes self-defeating behaviors are so habitual, we don’t even realize we’re pinching ourselves off from good stuff.

Like deflecting when a compliment comes our way.

Or feeling despondent when comparing our progress against another person’s.

We see the dark clouds so predominantly, we can fail to see the silver linings.

There is a false drumbeat that drives us to focus on what’s wrong, as if worrying makes us worthy of good. This could be the last vestiges of religion or our cultural upbringing.

As if beating ourselves up when we fail is proof that we mean well.

(And to whom are we trying to prove that we mean well. Ourselves?)

Hyper-focusing on where we think we fall short is a faulty, preemptive strike to forestall the pain of others noticing our lack. Especially silly since most are too busy looking at their own to be bothered with ours!

Such a hefty price-tag we impose upon our imperfections! And all the while, grace and mercy and kindness and love surround us.

Just waiting for us to give ourselves a break and open our hearts.

And let the sunshine in.

Some thoughts on being open…and being closed…in this week’s video:

https://youtu.be/5hjkL84RyG8

I hope the thoughts you think these next two weeks are healing ones. As the scriptures say, “Thought of peace and not of evil…to give you a future and a hope.” (Jeremiah 29:11)

That passage refers to the way God (the Universe, Source – however you wish to call the Divine) thinks about us.

And if God thinks that way, shouldn’t we also?

In fact, the reason negative self-talk feels so horrible is because it is in direct conflict with the Almighty.

Let’s stop voting against our inner being, which always thinks thoughts of love about you.

(And everyone else, too.)

xoxoxoxo

Brenda

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Trading Expectations for Acceptance

Where do we get our expectations from?

If you were a child of the 60’s and 70’s like me, we had plenty of unrealistic pop culture icons.

Like the Brady Bunch. All those groovy kids in a big house with parents that never fought – and a housekeeper to boot!

I wanted to be That Girl, living in the big city like Marlo Thomas and with a boyfriend handsome as Donald Hollinger. Oh, and with hair that flipped up at the bottom and never looked out of place.

Even outside of TV (and Instagram), we see how people present themselves on the surface, and it all looks so PERFECT.

Or we find out how much someone much younger and less experienced earns and disappointment (or jealousy) kicks in.

Comparison truly is the thief of joy.

Our expectations can be dashed at ever turn. No one ever goes into a marriage thinking it will ever end. Few people take on jobs or make a career move that they think won’t pay off. You plan a vacation and don’t expect to get the flu!

We soon learn that there’s no crystal ball and there are no guarantees.

Which could be quite scary unless you believed that everything is always working out for you (and me.)

Lately I’ve been thinking about how many times my expectations have led to unnecessary disappointments. 

Is everyone required to march to the beat of MY drum?

When I impose MY idea of how people should be on them, I miss out on enjoying how THEY dance to their own rhythm of life.

My inner critic is LOUD, and the only thing that shuts it up is huge doses of empathy.

Putting myself in the other guy’s shoes for a minute silences the voice of judgment.

The good news is, we can always find our way back to love. The Four Agreements helps me with this:

  • Be impeccable with your word (Speak kindly and in truth to yourself and others)
  • Don’t take things personally (Oy!  The hardest for me.)
  • Don’t make assumptions (Another biggie.)
  • Always do your best.

Our biggest mistake when dealing with people not following OUR script? Trying to change them.  

Honey, you’ll wear yourself OUT.

I’ve decided to wave the white flag and trade my expectations for acceptance.

When I accept people, just as they are, the energy between us is completely different. It no longer drains or disappoints me to be with them. And oh how good it feels to spend time with someone who accepts me (more than expects from me.)

My friend Renee is a “no expectations” sister. She always lets me stay at her house when I’m traveling for work to Philadelphia. It may have been months since I’ve seen her, but she’ll take one look at me when I arrive and say, “Go straight to bed.”

She might have been looking forward to sister time and a long talk – but I don’t have to perform for her. I don’t have to dance around my exhaustion to make her feel our time together is worthwhile. For her, it’s enough that we are in the same house at the same time. And there will always be coffee time in the morning.

And coffee time means her husband Steve, who is a brother to me, will be at that table.

Those smiles! Pure love and acceptance.

Double doses of love and acceptance.

Renee is the one who introduced me to Angel Cards (the genesis of our Word of the Week tradition). We start every morning together picking a word for the day. There is a sweetness to the ritual that is amplified by Renee’s palpable hope that, for me, the day ahead will be the best day ever.

I can’t let Renee down, because she loves so purely and completely.

Everyone needs a Renee. And I am trying to be more like her.

More on that and a plea for help with the new Word of the Week! (The universe knows I need to work on this area, pronto!)

https://youtu.be/t10yJPuHbxw

How do YOU find balance in your life? Would love to hear your thoughts…

xoxoxox

Brenda

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Why I Love Airports (and Mark Roach)

Airports mean I’m going somewhere.

Even if the destination isn’t exciting, and sometimes that’s the case for work or a speaking engagement, I’m still going SOMEWHERE.

Oh the people watching! It’s one of my favorite parts.

This was always something I loved. But five years ago when I started working from home (and I’ve had four different homes since then!) getting AWAY from my desk is a joy to me.

Since “EXPLORATION” has been our word these last two weeks. I take time in this week’s video (and the most recent post) to talk about exploring and unpacking the baggage from our past.

But today, as I sit enjoying tuna poke and looking out over a feast of people, I’m relishing airports and the anticipation of exploration.

The crunchy wontons disappeared quickly. More, please!

This particular flight is out of Tampa, because through the Sarasota/Bradenton (SRQ) airport is growing in stature, sometimes it just makes sense to Uber for an hour to fly out of Tampa.

It’s a quick trip – two cities in two days, so no checked baggage is needed.

For the next 1.5 hours until my flight boards, I am not required to do anything… but wait.

Oh, I eat. And yes, I people watch! When the flight is delayed (or a layover is long), I get a neck/back massage. Or shop.

This may surprise you, but I am rarely chatty. I dig being alone! Only those magical, serendipitous, “Wow, the universe set this up!” encounters compel me to engage.

Oh, airports are ME time.

And writing time.

There’s nothing I love more than hearing the drone of public address system announcements behind me and the chatter of passersby while I type type type type type on my laptop.

Sometimes I look up and wonder about the stories around me.

I say a prayer for the haggard mom handling three kids while rolling three carry-ons. And marvel at the makeup-less beauty of youth in sweat pants as she waits, completely unaware of the stares that follow her. Ear pods block out her attention to the world she attracts.

Airports are both a beginning and an ending (depending on if you’re coming or going.)

Before we leave, we anticipate. When we prepare for our return, we reminisce.

Mark knows I like to explore airports, so he’s fine with relaxing while I wander around and grab those last-minute souvenirs. He is unfailingly interested in my conquests and observations, which makes me love him more.

And the times when I am not with him, I make sure to leave little post-it notes of love around the house. He knows I love taking off – with or without him. (Though with him is better.) But I never want him to think that life is better without him.

Oh, absence makes the heart grow fonder.

This was supposed to be a post about airports.

But instead, I am in love. With a sweet man who cares about my every need. Who will not let me carry the groceries from the car to the house.

My me time in the airport has caused my heart to swell with appreciation for a man who loves me.

I am loved.

And for the first time in 56 years, I am settled into this feeling of bliss.

Which makes leaving, and coming home again, so wonderful.

I love having a life I don’t need to escape. Yet a life that gives me all the freedom in the world to explore.

So yes, I love airports. But I love Mark Roach more.

https://youtu.be/D1D1O49md1M

This is such an appropriate new Word of the Weeks for me. Can’t wait to talk to you more about it! Until then,

Boatloads of love

xoxoxox

Brenda

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The Art of Showing Up

This week’s post honors those who have mastered the art of showing up for the people they care about.

It may be inconvenient, uncomfortable, risky, and completely beyond the call of duty, but they show up.

Remember that co-worker who gave you a ride to work when your car was in the shop? Or that twenty dollar bill stuck in your pocket when you ran out of cash before the next paycheck? These angels among us never “ghost” you in times of crisis.

Perhaps it is that listening, non-judgmental ear when you tell the SAME story for the 84th time, or the gentle encouragement after you break a promise to yourself that says “tomorrow is a chance to start fresh.”

Showing up is an art because we don’t get hatched being kind, selfless, compassionate or caring.

Our baby cries are all about US – what we want and need and must have NOW. I’m an advocate for loving yourself enough to take care of you, and I’ve written volumes on that subject.

But those beautiful souls who, despite their own drama and pain; despite their harried schedules and limited resources, who dig deep and give when you need it the most…

They make life not just bearable; they add joy where sorrow lived.

So adept at showing up (even when you don’t have the courage to ask), these beautiful people are the catalyst for everyday miracles.

When my marriage ended, I experienced those who had mastered the art of showing up. Renee, Cynthia, Anita, my sister, Shirlee, Roseann, Karen…I could have never survived without you.

There were nights that I would call Anita and have nothing to say and it was okay. She’d just listen to me breathe on the other end of the line – sometimes for hours – until I could handle the aloneness enough to hang up.

Back in my Bible college days when I scrounged up change to put gas in my car, my cousin Kimmy would drive up from South Jersey and slip a $20 bill in my pocket.

I tell a few more stories in this week’s video, but my heart is full of gratitude for the tender, generous hearts who have mastered the art of showing up.

They have schooled me in true love, and it has been a healing balm.

More stories from my “showing up” files – and a lovely new WOW here:

https://youtu.be/FHda6015E20

What a lovely word to begin my birthday week. I think I’ll take it for the entire year!

xoxoxox

Brenda

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Lavishly Spreading Love

When I splurge, I do so lavishly (not stingily.) Give me thick pads of butter on toasted raisin bread. Add vanilla ice cream AND whipped cream on my warm bread pudding. And please, fill the white cream so that it oozes to overflowing out of those chocolate covered donuts.

I’ve found most donuts to be quite stingily filled these days, and you can’t even find my all time favorite anymore.

Maiers cream-filled donuts could be found at Wawa convenience stores in a long white box with navy blue lettering. If you had a Maiers in one hand and a Krispy Kreme, Entenmann’s or Duncan in another, the weight of the Maiers was substantially heftier. And the first bite puncturing the cake-y dough would cause a sugary puddle of white heaven to spurt outward so that you had to quickly lick to avoid wearing it.

Today’s donuts can take two to three bites to even GET to the cream.

Why bother?

As a “go big or go home” kind of gal, I don’t just take my carbs and sugar in heavy doses. I want my love that way, too.

I don’t want to have to cajole love to respond or tiptoe around so as not to disturb it. When I’m far from camera ready and my foot is wedged firmly in my mouth, love me lavishly c ri

I want love like a bouncy, sloppy Golden Retriever puppy gets.

Don’t you just love people who take you as you are and who revel in your weirdness? It just makes you love them more.

For many years I attracted unsatisfying, dry donut kind of relationships. Working so hard to get to the the good stuff (if I ever got there) left me thinking afterwards, “Is that all there is?”

When attracting inadequate substitutions for good, juicy love, the tendency is to point the finger outward and blame all the losers for falling short. Or worse, to question one’s own worth and settle for less than because you think you are less than.

What it really always boils down to? What you attract is what you think you are worth. The quality of love you have for YOU sets the limit for the level of love you attract.

When I had my breakthrough moment and finally hit the mat, realizing I’d turned my back on the very person I’d be spending the rest of my life with (me); when I once and for all decided that loving ME would be a priority for the rest of this human experience, everything changed.

Because my vibration shifted, it changed what I attracted.

My love-tank filled and I had plenty to give away.

Now I am a walking, oozing, cream filled donut of love. If you’re waiting on me at the Publix, I’m gonna compliment your eyelashes. When you’re walking your dog, I will ask if I can lavish it with belly rubs. Don’t even get me started about close friends and family.

Let’s just say my biggest fantasies involve coming up with new ways to lavishly douse them with love. And the fun part about being generous with love is that you never run out. As one of the lines in a one-hit wonder song by New Radicals goes:

“Don’t give up

You’ve got a reason to live

Can’t forget

We only get what we give”

So whaddya want? You only get what you give.

And I want TONS more love, don’t you?

Here are my thoughts on LOVE and a brand new WOW (Word of the Weeks) for us to chew on:

https://youtu.be/7ini8ko_8WA

Ooooooooh…I love how communication builds off of love. If you love something, SAY it! If you love someone, TELL them. Don’t be stingy. Let’s be lavishly loving!

Let your love flow (and watch it flow right back to you.)

Love,
Brenda

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