Category: Best Wife Page 1 of 3

Crazy Love

Nothing says “I love you” like fresh-cut flowers.

Thank you for not getting me a stupid potted plant.  I don’t want anything that includes dirt. When it requires extended care, it’s not a gift.  It’s a chore.  I already have plenty of those.

I want to admire an object of affection.

Fresh stems?  There’s the real prize.

“Wow. You had something killed for me.”

Presenting the “catch of the day” must have initiated this ritual.  Back when we lived in a cave, the desire to please was clearly touching right up to the moment when I had to gut, pluck, clean, and prepare the kill for our sustenance.

“It’s the thought that counts.”

This concept has encouraged the ingenuity in which a Neanderthal will attempt to express his love.

Durwood piloted his bicycle over 35 miles of country roads through acres of cornfields, territorial dogs, and other potential hazards (that may have required a fair amount of slaying), just to bring me a once-living flower.

We had only recently met.  He stood outside my door, all sweaty from his treacherous ride over the 1984 Oregon Trail, and presented me with a ragtag blossom that he had plucked en route.

He knew that I was in the process of moving out of my apartment over the next few days, and he wanted to offer his assistance.  (Because, of course, the touring bicycle had recently been established as an effective means of moving shit.)

No matter.  I had already procured a preferred method of transporting cargo.  I had the moving van.  What I didn’t have was a breathless and willing Neanderthal who wanted to be with me.

“He loves me,” I knew.  It was the flower.  No dirt.

This single act had secured Durwood’s position in the romantic qualifying round that has continued over the last 28 years.  The primal stages of courting have evolved to include outsourcing his slain gifts to ProFlowers, with chore-free gifts now comprising the majority of his repertoire.

Nothing says “I love you” like the occasional dozen of long-stemmed roses,…or the unsolicited offer to go out and pick up my cigarettes, simply that I may postpone the necessity of donning a bra.

Now there’s something I can admire.

Best Witches

Boundaries blurred

Whispers heard

Be mindful of your spoken word

Let not intention be recanted

From seeds once planted

Requests be granted

Equals only be enticed

Review the guest list once or twice

Then light the candles

And fire up the blender

‘Tis no better night for wishes rendered!

Flood Zone

What is an epiphany, exactly, and when the hell do I get to have one?

Water was sloshing from every surface of my shoes, including the spongy soles of those stupid gel inserts which, until now, had never given me cause to wonder just how many gallons of liquid they were capable of retaining.  Diligently running toward home seemed pointless now.  The alarming rate at which rainwater was streaming from the hem of my shorts should have been my first clue to abort this mad dash, but I had been clinging to the illusion that I could outrun the storm.  Once I dared to look up and take in the current weather conditions of the road ahead, the reality of my defeat began to register.

My route was veiled in billowing sheets of rainwater that were sweeping across the terrain in violent waves of wind.  An eerie approach of grumbling thunder rolled boldly along an expansive swath in the sky overhead, and I immediately heard another brisk crackle of electric energy somewhere in the distance behind me.  I paused to close my eyes.  Yielding the side of my face to a relentless pelting of raindrops, I allowed the full wrath of the storm to confirm the grim reality of my situation.  I get it now.  Storm wins.

I surrendered with a curt stomp in my stride, welcoming a brief distraction to marvel at the oddness of walking in water-logged shoes.  A heavy trudge through the downpour seemed an appropriate choice now that salvaging a remotely dry body part was absurd.

I was pissed.

I imagined my family members to be sitting, napping, or picking their noses somewhere within our comfortable and marvelously dry home.  Without the slightest concern for my welfare, it appeared as if no one would be making a rescue attempt.  Not a single one of the warm and dry vehicles that were parked in our driveway were being manned for a heroic recovery operation, nor did it seem that anyone would bother to call and inquire about my current location within the storm.

Like my long-distance runs, severe afternoon rain events are common enough that I can usually depend on receiving a brief text from home.  Most of the time.  This time they forgot about me.

“Fine.  So I’ll just call them,” I declared.

Malicious intention would be the driving force behind the hefty dose of guilt that I was fully prepared to deliver.  Woe to any unsuspecting loved one who may answer my call.  Now if only my phone would have been the least bit cooperative, then a ‘someone-get-off-their-ass-and-save-me’ directive might satisfy a burning desire to express my outrage.  Apparently cradling a phone underneath the palm of my hand during a powerful rainstorm merely provides the ideal environment for an electronic instrument to go completely haywire.  This feeble attempt to shield my only communication device from moisture had failed miserably, and now it was taunting me with senseless voice commands and erratic call options.

My phone had become part of the conspiracy to ignore me.

The need to blame someone for my predicament smoldered as my head filled with contempt for the world at large.  It sucks to be soaking wet, chilled to the bone, and trapped underneath an endless waterfall of wind and rain where any progress toward relief seems nonexistent.  One pitiful thought evolved into a network of problematic scenarios, until the general perception toward my life experience seethed with unanswered appeals, patterns of hardship, and inevitable adversity.

Jeezus.

Clearly it only takes one goddamn rainstorm to incite a Law of Attraction Pity Fest for one irritable witch.

So now I know that.

Were this my one and only epiphany, I could easily end my story here, adding to the never-ending notes that mere mortals gather regarding habitual thought patterns during times of misery.  If it only takes 17 seconds of consistent thought to attract more like it, then being stuck in this damn rainstorm became the perfect venue for me to wrack up multiple intervals of emotionally-charged blueprints.  This is how it works.  Find yourself within a shitty experience, notice the hell out of it, dwell on it some more, inject with appropriate feeling, and ensure the successful creation of many more similar disappointments in the future.

No revelation there.

If any battle-weary witch could comprehend the theory of redirecting her thoughts, she certainly could put a little effort into the practice.

Cold, bitchy, and mad at the world, I squeezed my eyebrows together and stopped abruptly.  Be quiet.  Stand still.  Let the pouring rain fall upon thee.  It’s just water.  I’m already drenched in it, so what did it matter now?  Candid inventory availed a few basic conclusions: I wasn’t exactly in peril, I know that I am not wicked enough to melt, and though massive amounts of rain continued to descend from the sky, the distant thunder rendered me relatively safe from electrocution.  All I really needed now was a mood change, and the only person available to provide this would be me.

I considered removing my shoes.  The wonder of walking in one-hundred pound footwear seemed more appealing than having to carry them, so I tucked my aquatic phone inside the saturated waistband of my shorts and held my duty-free palms out in front of me.  Pellets of rain swept through my fingers in a curious rhythm as I raised my arms out to my sides.  Surrendering my sense of touch to the full force of nature’s shower massage, I allowed cool sheets of water to relax my neck and shoulders, while the wind at my back prompted me to move shamelessly forward through the downpour.

This was it.  This was my epiphany.  This is what it feels like to walk underneath a waterfall.  It could be water, or it could be anything.  Whatever it is, this is what it feels like to be in the midst of its limitless abundance.  It was as if I had no choice but to choose it.

Now every time  I find myself entertaining the notion that there isn’t enough of something, I remember that goddamn storm.  It turns out that there is no lack of anything but the desire to change one’s perception.

On a side note, turns out that no one in my family actually forgot about me that afternoon either.  Apparently, no one even knew that I was out there.  Failure to communicate before leaving the house aside, as well as obtaining a noteworthy epiphany because of it, did not, however, prevent me from satisfying latent traces of bitchinessI managed to briefly mask the recent euphoria that I discovered while walking home through that storm by pounding up the stairs of our front porch in my nine-hundred pound shoes, if only to delight in the act of firmly pushing the doorbell button repeatedly until Durwood appeared in his groggy “I was asleep on the couch” state.  Looking simultaneously bewildered and mortified was shamelessly gratifying as I asked him if someone could please bring me a goddamn towel…

This final act of contempt is now a mere remnant of worn-out patterns which no longer serve, only a fleeting and temporary moment of fruitless pleasure that cannot sustain a promising future, nor could such bitchiness ever compare to one’s true epiphany within the storm.

Domestic Disturbance

Human partnership is strange.  Unless one of you is willing to lay down and die, there has to be a mutual respect for differences.

Twenty-five years ago I recited this fatal marriage vow with fleeting panic whilst standing in front of a priest.  No one likes to be reminded of potential tragedy, particularly on what is supposed to be one of the happiest days in your life.

Hindsight and experience has now granted me a sense of appreciation for taking the vow of  “until death do us part.”  Recalling that I have the option to hit Durwood over the head with a shovel and bury him in our backyard has carried me through many of the rough patches in our marriage.

Suspicious disappearance may be less complicated than divorce.

Pending a murderous rampage, honoring the promises we make to each other is a choice.  For individuals who are confident in their operational procedure regarding life, it can be challenging to blend your ways with another human being.  Sparks only fly when one party consistently concedes to the blending process more than the other.  This is usually the same party that recognizes the need to resolve the unbalance before someone gets a crack over the head with a frying pan.

Martyrdom is unattractive.  The tendency to over-correct can often lead to heinous bitchiness, and brow beating is probably the least productive for the continued mental health of all vested parties.  Once the middle ground on potential behavior is located, effective communication can commence.

A good witch allows herself the time she needs to practice swimming comfortably in the assertive section of the pool.  Those who remain in the deep end of sainthood, or the shallow end with the bitch queens, are too soaked in misery or rage to be of any definitive support for a practical witch who chooses to keep her spouse among the living.

Take notes.  Choose words from your heart, and sort through the advice and actions that are suggested by others.  Relationship professionals (girlfriends included) may often strike a common chord on certain topics, but in the end there is not one other human being on this entire planet that knows you better than you.

Take a deep breath, Evie.  I will return all of your frying pans and shovels whenever you are ready:)

No Worries

I miss my dad.

There has not been one day since he died that I don’t remember him.

The sadness of his loss is slowly being replaced with the simple joy I feel to have known him.  I’ve been experiencing some recent moments of gentle guidance from none other than the legend himself.  He still has me smiling.

My dad loved babies as much as they loved him.  His soothing voice and easy manner drew children to him like a magnet.  Any social gathering assured that there would be a young child on his lap, or a baby in his arms.

Fussy babies became miraculously calm when Dad held them.  At one time or another, all of his infant grandchildren (and many of his great grandchildren) have enjoyed peaceful slumber on their Poppy’s warm chest.  It was customary for babies to respond to Dad’s relaxed energy with an audible confirmation of the flatulent nature.

“Now that’s gas,” Dad would report with a noteworthy smile.

Of course, Dad wasn’t always the stress-free patriarch we have enjoyed over these last few decades.  Durwood is apparently quite perplexed whenever I mention that there were moments during my childhood when Dad was actually pretty “scary.”  Supporting a large family through sole proprietary means can weigh heavily on a man’s sense of responsibility.  Durwood now understands how a father might sometimes be perceived as rather frightening under these conditions.

As Dad’s obligations lightened over the years, so, too, did his demeanor.  Eventually his true nature became a welcome influence over those of us who had the pleasure of his company.

A master gardener by trade, Dad had a knack for nurturing.  It seemed that all forms of young organic matter (human included) flourished under his care.  His relaxed stature sustained our growth as individuals, with trademark ease reflected in all of his famous quips.  No one within Dad’s contact circle was exempt from his observations on life.

Many young parents (myself included) have been reassured by one or more of Dad’s classic commentaries.  Untimely displays of curdled spit-up, and even those particularly embarrassing occasions of a major blow-out (also known as Oh-My-God-There’s-Poop-Everywhere) were given a brief synopsis from Dad.

“It’s always good to know when everything is in healthy working order,” Dad would offer.

Concise and memorable remarks of this nature never failed to restore normalcy to most potentially worrisome scenarios.  Mildly uncomfortable and extremely disturbing circumstances were never a challenge for Dad.  I often find myself wondering how he would describe some of my current human conditions, and that’s when I smile.

“There’s more to life than money,” Dad would remind me.

Easy to say when you have it.

“A little dirt never hurt anybody,” I can hear him say.  “You come from good stock.  Everything falls into place after that.”

Relax.  Enjoy the day.  Keep the faith.

Take care of yourself.  Love and nurture your family.

Easy.

When I remember to follow Dad’s simple plan, I start to notice that all the other things, dirt included, really do fall into their proper place.

“See how that works?”

I hear you, Daddy.  Loud and clear.

You Are Here

“If I only knew then what I know now…”

There is such a mind-full of wisdom in this statement.  There are so many times that I have heard, used, and felt very familiar with this adage.

Most of us encounter moments when we evaluate our past, contemplate our future, and wish that we had more pertinent wisdom at our fingertips.  Our minds have adhered to the logical associations in this type of mental operating procedure for thousands of years!  It is now part of our human nature to study our past and ponder our future.  Until we are able to fully trust in our divine creatorship, we will continue to question the unfolding of events in our lives.

Trust is a process.  Trust in yourself can take a lifetime.  It was designed this way for a reason that I have yet to identify, except that I no longer really care to know why.  I am sure that it has something to do with ancestral belief systems that were based on earning and self-worth, but what does it really matter?  A fat-brained witch could get distracted with such pointless details and end up missing the party.

Welcome to the celebration of now!

Whatever we thought we needed to learn by reviewing our personal history and calculating our future, it seems that many of us are ‘waking up’ to the potential that exists in our current slice of human existence.  We are witnessing the perpetual beauty of our present moment.  We are remembering that the time to manifest our future is happening right now.  By embracing every aspect of the present, we have the power to choose from infinite possibilities.  We are realizing that our true creative power is right here, right now.

This is not as complex, mysterious, or as mystical as I may have just made it sound:)

Of course, I often wished that I could have grasped this truth much earlier in life.  But alas, such are the facets of a cooperative relationship between God and man.  I just did not “know then what I know now” because I wasn’t supposed to.  It seems that each of us has our own time-line in mastering vibrational alignment with Divine Self.

And what does it matter, really, how and when we get to a place in our lives where we trust in divine order?  The process is fluid.  It is only when we choose the present to place our unconditional trust in divine power that we can relax.  Life is good when we are comfortable in the knowledge that timed events and relevant circumstances are aligning themselves accordingly.

In theory, this approach to life sounds easy.  In practice, it is often difficult for many of us to do.

Durwood bristles at this notion of focusing in the present.  He works in an industry that is structured around the careful planning of certain events that have to come together to ensure success.  He is a master of analytical calculations geared toward future outcomes.  With two children in college, and one who will be knee-deep in the application process soon, his proficiency with scheduling is a precious commodity in work and home.

Durwood is a high-ranking official in the Department of Redundancy Department.  He uses terms such as “pre-planning” and “advanced planning” to emphasize the importance of future considerations.  A proclivity toward knowing ‘what should happen when’ is a valuable skill, particularly in a job that relies on foresight.  It also comes in handy when coordinating our personal agendas, which is why we love and appreciate him so much.

When the majority of energy is directed toward future objectives, the present can be elusive.  Durwood’s mindset has no operating mechanism that allows him to pause, appreciate, and trust that all is well in his life right now.  Expressing gratitude for where you are, what you have, and who you are in this moment can be difficult for someone like my husband.  Intellectually, he understands the power of absolute contentment with today.  In practice, his mind habitually drifts ahead.  This is why the young Beans and I remind Durwood to get out on occasion to do some fishing.  He may enjoy at least a few consecutive minutes while he’s out there to relieve his mind from the worries of tomorrow.

When in doubt, we always have our pets to remind us how to be in the now. Dogs are true masters at “being,” and never waste their present contemplating the past or future.  Whether they are relaxing, eating, playing, or chasing the cats, our dogs are consistently focused in the present.  I’m pretty sure that they aren’t preoccupied with guilt over getting into the garbage yesterday, or worried about where their next meal will come from tomorrow.  Dogs know how to remain fully within their immediate space.

There is nothing significant in our personal history that can revoke our right to feel happy right now.  Whatever tomorrow brings is of no significance unless we are allowing ourselves to work in the energy of contentment today.  And if we insist that we will be satisfied when the future brings us something to be happy about, then we may be waiting for a long time, my friend:)

What’s Your Problem?

Bravo to the person who first considered substituting the word “suggestion” for “complaint.”  We may be well aware that a slotted receptacle situated in an obscure location of an establishment is still just a “complaint box,” but a subtle word change can at least offer us an alternative attitude.

When our desire to change things manifests itself in the form of complaining, the experience is rarely delightful.  Most of us realize the unproductive nature of active participation in the complaint department, but we often do it anyway.  Expressing our irritation when we experience any form of displeasure is practically automatic.

Four days of traveling in a car with the person that I have been married to for over 25 years has effectively illuminated the energetic properties of human annoyance.  There is a fine line between expressing displeasure to instigate change, and bitching about things that do not necessarily have to change in order for me to be happy.

Vibrationally speaking, complaining is like the gateway drug to criticizing.  Criticizing can open the door to the hard-core practice of judgment.  Once routine opinion-use becomes standard, the vibrational frequency regarding how we respond to the behavior of others (as well as our circumstances) is pretty much downhill from there.

Although I am becoming proficient with not opening my mouth to verbalize my displeasure, I’m still working to avoid formulating the thought of mild or severe irritation in my mind.  That part may take some time:)

Embarking upon a course to raise the vibrational frequency of this one aspect of my environmental interaction increases my birthright to enjoy life on the planet.  The energy of complaining, even in its mildest form, just feels incompatible with Who I Am and where I want to be.  The simple act of refraining from opening my mouth to verbalize things that do not please me has been surprisingly gratifying.

Of course, while making an effort to avert my attention away from complaining, it defeats the whole purpose when I take note of the 6 billion people around me who seem to bitch about everything under the sun.  I have to remind myself to stay focused on my own agenda, and trust that, in due time, the Universe will respond to my energy by minimizing the opportunity of things (and other people) to bitch about.

I will leave you for now, my dear friend, with a quote from Sir William Temple:

“Our present time is indeed a criticizing and critical time, hovering between the wish, and the inability to believe.  Our complaints are like arrows shot up into the air at no target; and with no purpose they only fall back upon our own heads and destroy ourselves.”

Smellin’ the Flowers

The long summer days stretch before me as I marvel at this precious ‘down’ time.

Durwood’s current project keeps him away from the house for days at a time, and the kids are busy, too.  Either away at camp, working diligently at their summer jobs, or house-sitting for friends, the tell-tale signs of their presence are unusually scarce.  They have left me alone in the house for unprecedented amounts of time and I am loving it!

When the kids were much younger, summers were filled with beach days, hiking trips, and camping adventures.  As memorable as these family outings were, I always felt as if I needed a vacation after the vacation.  Most of my young parenting days are still a blur because I spent the majority of this time telling myself that I could sleep when I die.

Now that the kids are (mostly) grown, my need for sleep is considerably less desperate.  Luxurious occasions to be temporarily unneeded are no longer occupied with the ‘death’ naps of yore.  At last, I am savoring the thrill of full consciousness when I am home alone!

A younger version of Jillian would have used this precious time to implement a maniacal plan to conquer some ridiculous list of chores and projects.  The idea of embracing an opportunity to seek inner peace was just a vague concept reserved for hippies.

It took me about 50 years to get over that.

When I can just be here, without having to do something that even remotely affects one or more of the people I live for, er…I mean live with, then I know that I have truly arrived in my moment.  There is not a thing I need to do for anyone else, including myself.  The laundry, the dirty toilets, the craft projects, and even the books I thought that I might need to read are cleared from my thoughts.  I am still.

I smile as I fondly recall the story of Ferdinand the Bull.  While all the other bulls are running around snorting and jumping (so that people would think that they were fierce and worthy), our friend Ferdinand did not care in the least.  He went out to his favorite cork tree to sit down and just smell the flowers.

This was one of Durwood’s favorite stories to read to the young Beans.  It is a message that resonates now, more than ever, as I allow myself to just sit quietly.  For it is only within these gaps of silence that I am at last able to recognize a connection to my source.  My only purpose is to be still, listen to the silence, and become one with the peacefulness of All-That-Is.

Had I taken the time to merge with this silence much earlier in life, I could have been enjoying this so much sooner!  Ah, but then I remember that it is all part of my grand plan to know the one omnipresent presence within, rather than just know of it.

Ferdinand obviously began seeking his conscious connection with Divine Source before all the other bulls had a clue.  I suppose that any time in life is appropriate to remember Who You Are, disregard all other descriptions of the divine, and seek your own personal knowing.

Man, you guys should leave the house more often.

As for Ferdinand, “For all I know he is sitting there still, under his favorite cork tree, smelling the flowers just quietly.”

Durwood’s First Post

My wife tells me that there are plenty of forums that promote the discussion of politics and religion.  This site was conceived to encourage the development of the individual, regardless of political and religious persuasion.

With that in mind, this weekend seems fitting to celebrate the true spirit of Independence Day.  Defined as “the freedom from influence, control, or determination of another or others,” a state of independence also includes “relying only on oneself or one’s own abilities and judgment in thinking; self-confident; self-reliant…”

Sounds like words that my wife would approve of.

I’ll be at the grill.

Episode One-Hundred

I can’t believe that I ever thought I might run out of things to write.  Durwood always tells me that I talk a lot, but that does not mean that I have anything meaningful to say.  My beloved spouse of twenty-five years has raised his eyebrows at least a million times to say, “Are you still talking?”   The endearing smirk that always accompanies this comment may be one of the reasons I have not started looking for a new husband yet.

Durwood rarely reads my posts.  The one time that he did was such an uncommon occurrence that I actually had to write about it in “What A Coinky-Dink!” My husband’s reasoning centers on his opinion that being married to a witch is weird enough.  Just ask him if he ever reads my posts and he will undoubtedly answer, “I’m living it.  I don’t have to read about it.”

Fine.

That leaves you and me.  As I write (and you read) my 100th post, it occurs to me that I have another opportunity to highlight the nature of our true magic.  I might talk a lot, but I always feel as if there is so much to say:)  Through the energy of these words, all of the words that I have written in the past, and the ones that I will write in the future, I know that we are sharing the experience of our self-expansion.  Our awareness of creative potential blossoms while we explore the personal aspects of our physical, emotional, spiritual, and mental being.  It is a great time to be alive, and a great time to write about it!

We may detest the notion of patience, but our remembrance of Who We Truly Are becomes more and more vivid each day.  Perhaps “A Watched Pot Never Boils” but that does not indicate that the progress we have made in broadening our horizons is not measurable.  In retrospect, we realize that our ability to write our own life story, change the experiences that we attract, and create our heart’s desire is not static.  We are doing it, my friend, right at this very moment.

“Better days” are not behind you, or just around the corner.  Your better days are happening right now.  You are connecting with the source of your passion, whether it is being mindful of what you say to your loved ones, aware of how you speak to yourself, conscious of the emotions and thought patterns you activate when interacting with your environment, or just sensing that your purpose in this life is to breathe and be content with the unfolding of your life.

The adventure is all yours.  No one is better at creating your own fairy tale than you.

Thanks for visiting with me, listening to me while I talk a lot, and sharing in the adventure of this most spectacular time of our awakening.

Love you, mean it.

Page 1 of 3

Powered by WordPress & Theme by Anders Norén