Someday Is Today...

The Emerson Resort and Spa

I always had visions in my head of the things I would do “someday”. I would travel. I would write a book. I would quit my lousy job. I would find my purpose in life. But one morning I woke up and was stunned to discover I was middle-aged. I realized, to my shock and horror, that someday was now, and I hadn’t done so many of the things I’d pined for.

Most of us have spent the majority of our youth living up to our obligations, taking care of others, giving very little thought to what makes us happy. But if we aren’t happy, how can we bring happiness to anyone else? Now we’re at an age where we’ve raised our kids, slaved away in our careers, paid our dues. This is our time to take care of ourselves - to live a rich life, filled with passion. The time for musing and daydreams is over. This is the time for doing.  

What are the things you said you’d do someday?

Start a new career?

Learn new skills?

Manage your money better?

Travel or live in another country?

Write your life story?

Start your own business?

Try your hand at acting, painting, public speaking?

Find spiritual meaning in your life?

Be happy?

I want all those things! That is why I’m so happy to be part of Women at Woodstock, where we will be gathering at the Emerson Spa and Retreat  for three glorious days, basking in inspiration and new ways of thinking. Imagine beautiful Woodstock in the Fall-  the vibrant color, the leaves turning with change of the season, a perfect time for a new you to emerge…Imagine three days to exhale, replenish your spirit, walk in the woods, get massages and facials, see a play, and attend inspiring workshops and lectures that will teach you what it is to be a fully empowered woman at midlife. Imagine…and then do it.

Amy Ferris and I will be leading the workshop, “Righting Your Life by Writing Your Life.” 

You don’t need to be a writer to participate. Everyone has a life story to share. This is a workshop that will lead us from story to our own inner truth, the pathway to our truest heart’s desires. It will be inspiring, uplifting and (so we’ve been told) life-changing.

Some of the many inspiring women you will meet at WAW are:

Suzanne Levine, first editor at Ms. Magazine, author of How We Love Now, and Fifty is the New Fifty

Barbara Hannah Grufferman, author of The Best of Everything Over Fifty

Amy Ferris, author of Marrying George Clooney- Confessions from a Midlife Crisis, co-editor (with me!) of Dancing at the Shame Prom

Kristine Van Raden and Molly Davis, editors of Letters to our Daughters, founders of the Matters That Matter workshops

Jody Kobak Feagan, world traveler and founder of several international literary festivals including San Miguel Writer’s Conference

Robyn Hatcher, actress, writer, motivational speaker, founder of Speak, Etc

Elizabeth Geitz, Episcopal priest and author of I Am That Child, Changing Hearts and Changing the World

And many, many more!

Remember in “Imagine” when John Lennon sang, “I hope someday you will join us…”

Today is that “someday” you’ve always talked about…NOW begins your life. JOIN US!

Women at Woodstock  October 7-10, Woodstock, New York

Discounts are available if you register early.

If you can’t afford it, please apply for our scholarship program. You deserve to be here! 

If you are a financially blessed person, please consider contributing to the scholarship and help another woman achieve her dreams. 

I hope, truly hope, to share this magical experience with you.

Too Old to Dream?

The girl I used to be...

Are we ever too old to dream?

Last night, Troy and I went with our friends Carnie and Rob to see Kenny Loggins in concert. After all these years (40 plus, can you believe it?) Kenny has still got it – let me tell you. He is handsome and fit and sings his ass off. He performed Danny’s song as beautifully as the day he wrote it. He jumped around the stage, danced, rocked This Is It and Footloose like he was thirty years old.

Are you ready for this? Kenny Loggins is 64. 

Kenny also performed an opening set with Blue Sky Riders, a new vocal harmony band he’s formed with two of Nashville’s top singer songwriters. Kenny said that when he told a trusted advisor he was going to form this new band and go on the road, this friend told him, “You’re too old to start a new band. Maybe you should think about retiring.” In response, Kenny and his bandmates wrote this song,  Dream,  which will now be my new life mantra.

Who are you to tell me what I can’t be

Well, that ain’t right

As if all I’ve been is all I’m ever gonna be

for the rest of my life

You take the glory days

I’ll take what’s on its way

All I can do is believe in myself

If I listen to you, they might as well

leave me in the rain, take me out to sea, lock me up in chains, throw away the key

the day I ever got too old to dream. 

After the show, we went backstage to visit with some of our friends in the band. Our friend Shem, the bass player, said that at 64, Kenny has softened as a person, but has never slowed down artistically, and is writing and singing better than ever. And then I thought about what a wuss I have been lately. 

It’s no surprise to me that this experience would come just as I told Troy I was thinking about quitting my singing career. A woman only has so much shelf life in this shallow music business, after all. Basically, I wanted to leave the biz before it left me, and it was leaving me slowly, my phone sitting quiet for months now.

As if on cue- my phone rang. A few times. And now I have two unexpected gigs this weekend (both with my hubby) and a session next week. I was feeling confused by this. The old Clash song ran though my head – Should I stay or should I go? ( you youngsters probably don’t even know who The Clash is)

Watching Kenny last night, I felt inspired again. What is age anyway? I mean, its inevitable. It’s going to happen to all of us, but it’s the way in which we age that matters. We can fill our lives with joy and gratitude and passion, or we can become bitter and rigid and stiff. Whatever way we choose, it is reflected in the way we appear. A person whose passion burns inside is beautiful on the outside.

Today I am feeling just a bit more hopeful, thanks to Kenny reminding me that I’m never too old to dream. I’m dusting off my songbook, packing up my gear for a gig tonight – and I won’t forget to bring the most important thing of all - my passion. To quote the Blue Sky Riders: You take the glory days- I'll take what's on its way...

Take a moment to watch this video and see if you don’t feel the same:

Blue Sky Riders with Kenny Loggins

Aging is NOT for sissies

While I was in Pennsylvania, Amy and I went out for a nice dinner after a productive day of work. We were all dolled up, out on the town looking pretty cute, I thought. We were enjoying a glass of wine and some great conversation when the waitress stopped by the table to check on us.

We told her we were visiting from out of town and loved Bethlehem.

“So what brings you to our town?” she asked.

“Her husband is the guitar player in Wilson Phillips…” Amy began to say when the girl gasped and turned to me wide-eyed, “Oh my God, are you Michelle Phillips?”

I laughed but then realized she was serious. “No! Michelle is Chynna Phillips mother.” I said indignantly, certain she mixed up their names. But her expression didn’t change. 

I continued, “I’m Chynna’s age!” (okay, full disclosure, I’m five years older but still…), “Michelle is almost 70 years old…”

To which she replied, ‘Oh I know, she’s an old hag now!” (which she is not- she's still beautiful) 

My mouth hung open for a moment. “…and yet, you just mistook me for her.”

She shrugged, apparently oblivious to the fact that she had just insulted us on a myriad of levels. “You really do look like her, though.” She smiled and walked away.

I turned to look at Amy, who was equally horrified, “Oh. My. God.” she said.

I put my head in my hands, “Time for botox.”

Michelle Phillips - still gorgeous.

Aging is not fun, and like Bette Davis said, it’s not for sissies. Gone are the days when people expressed shock that I have a grandchild. I blame 2010. For a good ten years I looked 35, and then 2010 hit me upside the head. The stress levels were off the chart and my body took the hit. I tried my best to combat it; ate healthy, did yoga and ran on my treadmill, tried to meditate, used my Dior skincare religiously…but still, stress is one bas-ass mofo. The wrinkles and gray hairs attacked me at a dizzying pace.

So I had to suck it up that night, and take the punch. I’m getting older. People may sometimes mistake me for a seventy-year old woman. It happens.

I’ve never done anything to my face- no botox or fillers or surgery. I hope I don’t feel the need to as time goes on, but I don’t judge it. Mostly, I just want to stick to my guns about living honestly, and that includes my face. My face tells my story. I have lived forty eight years, raised three kids, a grandkid, survived the ups and downs of a passionate but at times tumultuous marriage, and had my share of hard knocks in life. It’s all here, in these lines…in the circles under my eyes, in the gray around my temples. I have four scars on my face from basal cell skin cancer, a reminder of the teen years I spent baking in the sun because I wanted to look like someone else.

The truth. Me- no make up, under terribly unflattering light.

I’m aging, and I think it’s nature’s way of saying, “Oh get over yourself.” So that’s what I’m trying to do. I’m still exercising and using good skincare, because I want to be healthy and take care of what I’ve got, but not because I’m fighting what is. I’m accepting the journey I’m on now. (Some days are better than others.)

You may think we stiffed that waitress. Nope. We gave her a really generous tip. We figured anyone that stupid is going to need all the help she can get. 

I'm Not Qualified for Anything, But I Do It Anyway.

Amy Ferris and I had this  conversation the other day and decided we'd blog about it together. Mine is below, and Amy's is linked at the bottom.

Every time I start to panic about money, and start looking for “real jobs”, I am daunted by how unqualified I am - for everything.  I truly am. I’ve joined every networking and job search site. I spend hours going through the job opportunities but don’t qualify for a single one.

You see, back when I was a youngster in college, I believed I wasn’t as good as the other bright young kids. I was damaged, flawed, hiding a terrible secret about who I really was -the daughter of a convict. I let that feeling overtake me, until the anxiety attacks caused me to drop out of college. So I never got a degree. And these days, you can’t get any kind of decent paying job without one. I was a college dropout with no experience, other than waiting tables. I ventured out into the world with nothing but my heart’s desires to lead me.

I had no business experience, but at 20 I started a craft business, selling at fairs and local shops.

I had no design degree and couldn’t sew,  yet at 27, I started a children’s clothing business. When I couldn’t find fashions I liked for my two kids, I designed my own. I didn’t know anything about the clothing business, but I asked. I learned. I read. And within a few years my fashions were in Fred Segal and Macy’s and in the window of Barney’s New York.

I don’t have an MBA or any music education. I can’t even read music. But at 32, when I couldn’t find anyone to put my music out into the world, I started my own record label. I ran a small ad in the local paper stating that I was doing business (DBA), and got a business license. I found a manufacturer who did small runs at a decent price. I had a friend who wanted  an “executive producer” credit, so he paid the $3000 to manufacture the Cds. I had no right to, but I put out two albums on my own record label, and got them into Tower records and selling worldwide at CDbaby.com.

I’m not a licensed teacher, have no degrees in social work. But at 37, I wanted to use my music to help kids, so I started a nonprofit, teaching music and art to teens in foster care. I knew nothing about nonprofits, how to set them up, how to run them. I found a free seminar put on by L.A. County and they taught me everything I needed to know.  I called the head of music therapy at Cal State University of Northridge, set up a meeting, pitched my idea and we shook hands on a deal. He put his faith in me based on not my experience, but my intent, my sincerity and my true desire to help. Later that year, we put on a fundraiser. I had never done a fundraiser. I had no marketing degree or experience in that arena. I bought books. I called people who knew how to do this. I took them out to lunch and asked questions. What I’ve found is that, generally speaking, people are happy to share their knowledge. We got Michael Mc Donald, Christopher Cross, Dave Koz, Karla Bonoff and Stephen Bishop to perform at CSUN, for free! We raised enough money to provide a full year of music therapy to autistic children.

All from a girl with no qualifications.

I don’t have a BA in English or MFA in creative writing. I just write. Every day. Ten years ago, I found the only writing group in town- a Senior Citizen’s community writing class. I went every week for two years, just me and all my adopted grandparents. Eventually, I wrote a book, and started a blog, and sold some essays.  And now Amy Ferris and I have sold an anthology.

Would all this have been easier with a college education? Hell yes. But just because something isn’t easy, doesn’t mean it isn’t possible.

I’m not qualified for anything, but I do it anyway.  And yet lately, I feel depressed and worthless because I don’t get callbacks from the jobs I’ve applied for, because according to them - I’m not qualified. Six months with no response. I’ve let it make me feel worthless, even though, when I think of my past accomplishments, I know rationally that’s not true.  But when life knocks you down, it’s easy to forget what you’re capable of.

I think it’s important for all of us to keep a mental running list of the things we HAVE done, the things we never believed we could accomplish: Raising a kid, keeping a marriage together, surviving disasters, landing jobs, volunteering, working, refurbishing a home, learning a skill… I mean, think back to when you were young. Did you ever in a million years think you’d _______(fill in the blank). We all surprise ourselves by doing things we  never knew we were  capable of. And yet society, and even well meaning friends and family, will try to dissuade your from following your dreams. I say f*ck that. Do what you want to do. If you’re not qualified, and have no money, and no one supports you, do it anyway!

If we limit ourselves by what society wants us to believe – that there is only one way to success, that we don’t have the qualifications it takes, that our dreams are impossible -  then we  miss out.  As far as I know, this is the only life we have, and all those “one day…” and “someday…” dreams? If you’ve hit middle age like me, Someday is Today. Right now. So do what you have always wanted to do, and don’t let anyone tell you you’re not “qualified”. 

You are here,  you’re alive,  you have dreams- that qualifies you.

Step into your full power. I dare you.

(are you listening, self?)

Please share with me today…I’d love to hear about something you’ve done in your life, that you never imagined you could. 


For Amy Ferris' brilliant companion blog "When I Grow Up", click here:
http://marryinggeorgeclooney.com/blog/2011/07/17/when-i-grow-up-2/

Love and Letting Go

In the beginning...

It is a strange thing to love a child, for its the only relationship in which you can love someone fully, absolutely knowing that they will leave you.

In fact, every day they leave you a little bit more. The simple act of birth is their first push away into their own individuality. The baby whose eyes light up with wonder at the sight of your face soon becomes the toddler who says NO and tantrums against you. The five-year old who loved to cuddle and read stories with you will one day be the ten-year old who wants his space. The ten-year old who would still hold your hand if no one was looking will transform into a sullen, cynical teenaged alien from Mars who recoils from your touch. And then, just when they’re getting to be a little bit tolerable again, they leave home.

And through it all, we love them.

I’ve been through all the stages. Crying myself to sleep after driving my daughter to college, bittersweet tears watching my son become a man, get married and have a child of his own, and even now, at five-years old my youngest is flexing his newfound masculinity, preferring to spend his time karate chopping his imaginary enemies, rather than cuddling with mom. This morning, dropping him off at Kindergarten I reached out to kiss him goodbye but he was off and running toward his friends - he never even looked back. And that’s great, right? (sniff...sniff) It means he’s secure and confident. (sniff...sniff) And so today I have to let him go just a little more than yesterday.

It is only when I’ve resisted these changes in my heart that I’ve suffered. I’ve known all along that it was the right thing to back up and give my children the space to grow, but still I pined for the innocent days already gone, which passed too quickly while we were all busy having a life.

A couple years ago, I looked around my house filled with photos of my older children as babies, their huge saucer eyes peering out at me from the past, and a pang of sadness washed over me. I was longing for a time that no longer existed, and in doing so, I was not giving the present moment the appreciation it deserved.  My eldest babies had grown into beautiful and strong young adults: Cristen with her job in the music industry and world traveling, Taylor balancing gigs, his young family, and world traveling. I am so proud of the people they are today. And no, they no longer need me, or cry every time I leave the room like the good ole days, but they have rich, independent lives, and isn’t that what every parent wants for their child? (sniff...sniff)

So I swept the house of past memories, and put them in albums. I kept a few up, after all nostalgia does have its place, as long as you don’t live in that place. I hung new pictures reflecting who we all are today. My daughter in Paris, my son Taylor at the helm of a boat, embracing his wife, and of course current pictures of Evan and the grandbaby. Most importantly, I left room on the walls for new memories to be made.

Holding on to the past didn’t serve me, or my children. It’s like the sad feeling you get when you see someone still sporting a mullet. You have to honor that time for what it was, but embrace today.

Today I try to gather my family around a table for dinner at least a few times a month. It is such a joy to see the grown ones interact with their little brother and the new baby. It fills my heart with pride when Cristen, Aya or Taylor offer to cook for everyone, taking their turns being at the helm in the family. I am happy to see them shining in their new roles.

What I’ve learned about letting go is that I didn’t lose anything, though it may feel that way sometimes. In fact I’ve gained more than I could have imagined. Now I have a beautiful daughter-in-law who I love, and a precious grandson. Given the space to grow, love transformed into something new and miraculous.

One thing I know for sure - when I put my trust in love, it never disappoints. 

Cristen holds her brother's son... *sigh*

Taylor and his beautiful wife Aya

Aya has morning cuddle time with Evan and Ayumu

Sissy and Tay-Tay with Moomers

(translated: Taylor with his son Ayumu and sister Cristen)

Our family - where love brought us

My Mid-life Resume

When I was young, toiling away at corporate jobs, I always felt my big break was just ahead. I had big ideas, creativity, talent. Someday, one of those things was gonna pay off. Someday. I guess I wasn’t clear enough in my hazy future expectations. I assumed I’d have it all together at this age, that I’d have a solid grip on money, of course would have plenty of it, and would be traveling, writing, teaching…finally carefree after a youth spent in indentured servitude. After all, I’d earned it by now, right? All the hardships I’d endured, all I’d sacrificed, all I’d given. Now it would be life on my terms, right?

But here I am edging closer to the half-century mark, realizing that the nebulous “Someday” mark most likely passed by one night as I was sleeping, and now I am saddled with the reality of “Today”. Today, I am reeling from the bad luck and financial blows dealt in 2010, and sitting on a book that so far, no one knows how to sell. And Bristol Palin just got a book deal, which means the publishing world actually is coming to an end (the Mayans had it half-right). So what do I do?

I hit the jobs section on Craig’s list.

To merely say that this is depressing would be a colossal understatement.

I have several years of college under my belt, but no degree, which means that although I’ve owned a national business, founded two non-profit organizations, and written a book, apparently the only things I’m “qualified” for are telemarketer or middle-aged dance hostess. Okay, just telemarketer.

Not that I ever enjoyed writing a resume, but doing it at mid-life is a real suckfest. Knowing your resume will be competing against all those fresh-faced, eager college grads is daunting. Sifting through the myriad of job postings makes me feel like a giant LOSER because I don’t understand what half of them are, but I do understand the requirements and clearly I don’t possess them.

Here is what I do possess.

My Mid-life Resume:

Hollye Dexter

A highly motivated self-starter with the following midlife attributes: Experience, wisdom, patience, self-assurance, kindness, truthiness, and blogging.

I’ve raised children, so I am a Team builder.

I’ve made it twenty-one years in a marriage, which makes me a Mediation Specialist.

Bachelor’s degree in psychology? Ha! I spent more time in therapy than you ever spent in school.

Degrees? I’ll tell you about degrees! I survived being trapped in a housefire- my body blistered from the heat. How’s that for degrees? So yeah, I have a Housefire Degree.

Hollye Dexter, Hd.

Surely there is a place in the world where these attributes are of value? And I mean the kind of value that pays the mortgage.

I don’t know what the answer is, but I’m praying, hoping, and putting my best foot forward. I doubt my solution will be found on Craig’s List, but I don’t have any other ideas at this point.

So, I ask you dear reader-friends…what do we do when our expectations fall short of reality, and Someday is Today?

Please share your stories…

Guest post on The Middle Ages (with Barb and Deb)!

Today I was the "guest-poster" on The Middle Ages - a great blog written by my two adorable, sassy, funny friends Barb and Deb. They're Canadian, eh. Makes me love 'em even more....

Our blog today was about what we had planned for our lives, and how, at midlife, we realize Life had other plans for us. Go figure...

Check out their blog (with yours truly). You'll want to return again and again....

http://themiddle-ages.blogspot.com/2011/01/deb-and-barb-have-three-way.html?spref=fb

I'm Going To Be Rich!

Out shopping for back-to-school shoes with my little one yesterday, I of course, was ogling the Fall fashions in the windows, but feeling an increased sense of panic as I realized….none of these clothes are for me anymore. NONE!

I will not be wearing tight midriff baring tees with graffiti scrawled over the front, nor mini skirts or jeans with shredded knees that seem to only come in size zero through three. Nor am I ready to shop for shapeless body shrouds at Chicos. So what are my clothing options? I can’t live my entire life in yoga pants and t-shirts.

That’s when I began fantasizing about opening my own store. It will be called -

“Forever Forty-Six”

Everything in the store will be made from Spanx. Everything. Bathing suits, coats, even shoes. I will carry the REAL miracle bra, which will gather the odd estrogen-laced fat from your armpits and put it back where it belongs… Voila- you just gained a cup size! You’re welcome.

Seamless panties will be comfortable, breathable, and will stretch from just under your bra all the way to your knees…oh and they will be drop dead sexy. How, you wonder? I do not know. This is my fantasy- don’t ruin it.

I’ll carry camel-toe resistant jeans that lift your ass, and cover your entire buttcrack with a double enforced muffin-top eliminator. My tee shirts will be jiggle proof, and my blouses will tone your upper arms while you wear them, revealing only the cleavage on your chest, not on your back.

For Fall, I’ll feature turtlenecks which push the fat under your chin up into your cheekbones. Or your lips. Yes ladies, there will be two choices.

My best selling shoe will be the Optical Illusion Flat that tricks men into thinking you’re wearing five inch Manolo Blanick’s. Oh, and they come with invisible socks. Fuzzy ones.

Everything in the store will make you look like a sexy middle aged Katherine Deneuve, whether you’re black, white, asian, hispanic…you’ll look exactly like her in a rainbow of colors. Men will drop dead with overwhelming desire as you walk past.

My tag line: Nothing is sexier than an experienced woman who has lived well, knows who she is and walks with her head held high, covered from head to toe in spanx.

Yes, I think I’m going to be very, very rich.

Gratitude

If the only prayer you ever say in your entire life is thankyou, it will be enough.

- Meister Eckhart

Every year I struggle emotionally on Mother’s Day. Yes, I know it’s a fabricated holiday, created by Hallmark cards, and all that. But the sentimental ads, the tear-jerking commercials, well, they get to me. And it took me a whole week to get it together to even write this small blog entry.

Many of my friends on facebook gathered last week, as motherless daughters, to have lunch and celebrate each other on Mother’s Day. In a way, I envied them.

I, too, am a motherless daughter. Although my mother is alive and lives only 20 minutes away, she is not a part of my life. For years, I wanted so much for that to be different. I hoped beyond hope that we could mend the wounds of the past. When she wouldn’t join me in counseling, I went alone for years. But even my therapists told me to let go of the hope.

It’s like this: Sometimes we break a bone, and it can be broken clean in half, but with love and healing, the break can mend and the bone made whole again. Maybe not exactly the same as it was before, but healed no less. And then sometimes…sometimes it is just mangled, shattered and twisted to the point where there is no choice but to amputate, or die. And that, unfortunately, is how it was with us.

Even when I was little, I learned early on not to count on my mother, but thank God I had the good instincts to seek out healthy role models and look for other ways of being in the world. It took me a while to perfect that searching – I picked the wrong people quite a few times and got burned bad.

But I look at my life now and I marvel at all the people who helped me to grow up and become a whole person.

My husband, my children, and my new-found family surround me with so much love.

My friends, oh my god do I have the most amazing friends who inspire me and encourage me, who make me laugh, who sing with me, write with me, paint with me. Brilliant, brave strong women and men who just blow my mind with their gifts.

I remember years ago reading about the lotus blossom that only grows in the deepest sludge of the pond, and I hoped that would be me one day, learning to bloom in the muck. Even though I am now at mid-life, I feel like I'm just beginning to blossom in my heart, and all the ugliness and pain of the past got me here. That, and the love of those who surrounded me and pulled me into bloom.

So today, here is what I wanted to say on Mother’s Day, when there was no Hallmark card that said: thank you to all those who have nurtured my spirit and helped me to thrive.

Thank you Mother for giving me life when you were only 16 years old. You taught me to survive.

Thank you Father for working so hard to be a better man, after spending fifteen years in prison. You taught me never to give up, and that no one is ever beyond hope.

Thankyou my sweet husband for being the patient gardener of my spirit, tending me, watering the hostile ground, pulling out the choking weeds.

Thank you my precious children for needing me, so that my checking out of this world was never an option. Thank you for loving me to the moon and back, as I have loved you.

Thank you to my friends, my true blue always-there friends who have become my family.

To my new friends who have become the wind in my sails.

To my old childhood friends, found again, who have become as necessary to my life as breathing.

And thank you to my furry friends who lie beside me contentedly every morning as I write, purring, snoring, drooling…

What once was shattered has been pieced back together, becoming the mosaic that is my life, and every one of you is a beautiful shining piece in it.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Life Is What Happens

If you had asked me ten years ago what I’d be doing when I was 46, I would have said that my two children would be grown, I would be back in college getting that elusive degree, traveling all the places I used to dream about, and finally writing that book I’d always had in my head. I expected to be sipping espresso in a café in Paris, lost in deep contemplation, engulfed in the reinvention of myself at mid-life. But here I am in this bunny suit.

No, this is not exactly what I had in mind, and yet, I couldn’t be more grateful. My life is a clear illustration of that saying Man plans, God laughs.

In my thirties, I was a rocker Mom. I had put out two albums with my husband, and we were performing every week at clubs on the Sunset strip, while working day jobs, coaching Little League, volunteering at school and on and on. I imagined in my forties things would settle down. I’d be centered, peaceful and wise, pondering the meaning of life, writing books, maybe starting a whole new career after graduating from college.

Instead, I had a surprise pregnancy at forty-one. I now spend my days chaperoning field trips, going to Mommy and Me, play dates, Chuck E Cheese, hosting a wedding for my oldest son, preparing for the arrival of a new grandbaby (another surprise), helping my daughter film a reality show….

The reality of who I am today is so far from the expectation. Life is funny that way. You ask the universe for apples and you get oranges, but hey, I’m not complaining. Today, I am a Mom who tries her best to be patient on the days that Taylors’ band is rehearsing downstairs at deafening levels while the cat is puking on the rug, the dogs are chasing each other through the house and Evan is all but hanging from the chandeliers. I count to ten, take a deep breath and remind myself twenty times a day how quickly these precious years will pass, and how I will yearn for them when they’re gone. Yet I struggle to maintain a sense of self when I am lost in the beautiful, loving, vibrant chaotic mess that is my life.

So I guess its no café in Paris for me, at least not right now. But hey- I’m still writing that book! I’m striving to be a writer in the midst of memory failures. I’m struggling to compose beautiful sentences when in reality I can’t even complete a sentence without being interrupted ten times. And in contrast to the wisdom I thought I’d be spewing forth at this age, these are the actual phrases I repeat all day long;

“I’m the parent, you’re the child”

“Why am I negotiating with a four-year-old?” (I mutter to myself, constantly)

And if I had a nickel for every time I’ve had to say, “Where are your pants?!”

I recognize these days as a rich blessing. Yes, its hectic, but as a person who loves story, I watch the daily goings on and say to myself I couldn’t write this any better.

For instance, the other day we were on the Santa Monica Pier with my brother and his family. We walked past a vendor who had his boombox playing, and my four-year-old Evan spontaneously broke into this crazy, wild dance that just went on and on. Eventually, people started to crowd around and watch him, and one man tossed him a dollar.

A few nights ago, I asked Evan if he would like to help me make lasagna. He answered, “No can do, Mom. I’m doing important things.” If I had written that in a story, the reader wouldn’t believe that a four year old would say that. But he does.

We took him to Disneyland last week, and every time something would catch his eye he’d run off. I grabbed him by the shoulders, got right in his face and firmly said, “Evan, you must stay with Mommy and Daddy! You may not wander off!” He replied innocently, “I may only wander ON?” Boy oh boy, that kid knocks me off my feet sometimes. Yes, wander on, my little wonder boy. Keep seeing the world in your kooky imaginative way, and help Mommy to remember to be that way, too.

So this is my life at forty-six. It’s kinda like river rafting. I have no control really, and no idea what lies ahead, but I’m enjoying the scenery, holding on tight and trying to stay in the boat. My three kids have changed my life and pulled me into a world I could never have imagined.

And here I am in this bunny suit.

The Gift of the Unexpected Family

Me and my brother Ted, or "little Butch" or "Straight-Ted"

I am counting the moments until tomorrow, when my family will be here from Texas to spend the week with us – the family I didn’t even know I had until seven years ago.

The cousins will play together, friends will gather for potluck dinners, and of course we will do the full Disneyland day. It will be a typical family experience for the most un-typical family you’ve ever met. We’ve come together from different parts of the country and different cultural backgrounds and lifestyles, but what we share is love, a dad, DNA and a very odd history.

I always knew I had a father out there somewhere, but I didn’t know who he was, what he looked like, or if he was even alive. Through some geneology work I was doing in 2003, I found him. It wasn’t what I had set out to do, in fact I feared it, but never-the-less, he is now in my life, thankfully. I finally learned the full truth of who I am, where I came from and how I came to be in this world.

I love my dad. Believe it or not, in seven years we have developed a relationship much like any other parent-child relationship. There is love, and resentment, and frailty. There are times I feel like I don’t even know him, and times I feel lucky to know him at all. There have been periods of closeness when we spoke on the phone every day, and a period when we didn’t speak for almost a year. To say the least, it’s been complicated.

But the greatest gift he has given me is my three brothers; Caleb, Ted, and Ted. Oh and my dad’s name is Ted. And my grandfather is Ted, too. How we ended up with a Caleb in the family I’ll never know, but it must have been the good sense of his mama. (I am very grateful not to be named Ted.)

There is a 20-year span between the oldest (me) and the youngest (Caleb). Ted Duane is 3 years my junior, and now lives in Tacoma. Even though we didn’t grow up together, he and I are two peas in a pod, so everyone says. “Y’all are just alike” says Caleb. “Yep” says Ted William, the quiet one.

Ted William is third in line. He is married to my gorgeous sister in law Heather, and has given me the additional gift of being an aunt to my two nephews Joshua and Jordan. Heather is another miracle in my life. She is beautiful and strong and has lived through way more than any woman in her twenties should have to, but still, she is the glue that holds our family together.

How my father found the time to populate the Earth with four children in between his stints in prison I’ll never know. In the 60s and 70s he was a heroin addict. He was in so much trouble all the time for stupid things like burglarizing his drug dealer’s house, violating parole, falling asleep in stolen cars, you name it, that they finally just threw him in prison. And that probably saved his life.

My dad has been living the life of the good citizen for the past 30 years, working for the city of Houston. His wife is the Head of the School Board. Dad was ordained a Baptist preacher 15 years ago at the Second Baptist church of Galena Park. Everyone in town knows and loves “Brother Butch” as they call him. (Too many Teds for such a small town). I am swarmed with well-wishers when I attend Dad’s church. “Y’all are Brother Butch’s daughter? Lucky girl! Your daddy is the best man in town” they say (and I can never get over them calling a singular person “y’all” but I kinda like it).

Here’s the kicker: Two of my brothers, Ted Duane and Caleb, are gay. So my father has had the challenge of coming to terms with his own past, and learning to fully accept his sons for who they are in contradiction to his religion. Suffice it to say he is possibly the least judgmental Christian you will ever meet. He accepts everyone as they are, and doesn’t criticize nor try to change them. He loves my brothers equally while acknowledging their unique qualities and characteristics. For instance, he appreciates that Caleb has a fabulous knack for decorating and helping my dad pick out matching clothes for church. Dad even has little pet names for my brothers, like Ted William is “Little Butch”, and Caleb is (add Texas twang here) “Gay boy” or “Queer Eye”. All said in love, and with good humor, but trust me, political correctness does not exist in this branch of my family tree.

I’ll never forget our family reunion in Texas a few years ago. We all stayed at Dad’s house, spouses, life-partners, kids and all. It was one big happy, week-long sleepover party. One night we gathered in the family room with pillows, blankets and popcorn and watched “Brokeback Mountain” together. At the end, my dad, the Baptist preacher, says, “Well, I guess I could kinda understand being gay. I mean, if it’s just hanging out with your buddies all day I guess I could be gay too….except for the butt-sex.”

Ah, those were good times.

Because we found each other late in life, it’s a priority for us to spend quality time together. We make the trip to see each other at least once or twice a year. We stay up late at night talking, asking deep questions about each other’s lives and histories. Often, Ted Duane and I have discussed how we feel we are closer than many brothers and sisters who have grown up together. We don’t have a lifetime of memories (or, for that matter, issues and resentment). We only have now, so we make every moment count.

This week will be spent with my brother Ted, or “Straight-Ted” as we call him, and his family. I’ll never forget the first time I met him. It was at my Dad’s house in the Fall of 2003. Ted and Heather walk in and I’m standing in the kitchen. He sees me, I smile wide, he walks up and throws his arms around me lifting me off my feet. Then he takes a few steps back to get a good look at me. “Wow, I can’t believe y’all are my sister!” He shakes his head with a look of wonder on his face. Heather looks back and forth at us standing together. “Y’all favor. Y’all definitely favor.” Ted hugs me again. “I’m so glad to meet you!” he says. He takes a step back again, looks puzzled. “Hey! What’s your name, anyway?”

Yeah, we had a lot to learn about each other. Since then, we’ve shared many good times, both in Texas and California. In 2005 Heather and I both got pregnant and had sons just three months apart. My nephew Joshua was born on Christmas Day, 2005. To have the father I never knew call me on Christmas morning to tell me I had just become an aunt was beyond surreal, and one of the best Christmases of my life.

It’s been a crazy journey for all four of us siblings. Not one of us had an easy life, but we’ve all grown up to be good, responsible, hard-working people. We are each a little bit wobbly, a little bit scarred, but hey, we’re still standing, and now we’ve got each other.

I just can’t wait to throw my arms around them all tomorrow. I look forward to heart to heart talks with my brother, coffee with Heather early in the mornings, watching the kids play together. I anticipate the rich memories that we are yet to be made this week, and for the rest of our lives.

I called this post the Gift of the Unexpected Family, and boy am I an expert in that area. In addition to this story, as many of you know I had the unexpected gift of my son Evan who came along in my forties when I was trying to have a mid-life crisis, and of course, now the unexpected gift of becoming a Mother-in-law and Grandmother in the span of six months. I'm having to remind myself to breathe quite often these days. But what great joy- what great gifts that I could never have imagined. I embrace every moment of it.

Today, my heart is full with the blessing that is my kooky, unexpected family. I encourage you all to take a moment to appreciate your kooky families today, too. In fact. how about we declare this “Kooky, unexpected, difficult, crazy-making-but-god-I-love-them Family Appreciation Week”?

On becoming a Mother-In-Law

Whew. I am still coming to terms with the fact that my son is now a married man, and will soon be a father. It’s a lot to wrap my head around, and it’s come so fast.

I am cool with becoming a grandma. The image of grandma conjures up warm, fuzzy memories. Everyone loves grandma. Of course, I want to set my own rules for being my own version of Grandma. I aspire to be a fabulous, free spirited, salsa dancing, gigging, world traveling Grandma who still rocks her grandbaby to sleep and bakes cookies with him.

But Mother-In-Law? I haven’t gotten used to that title yet. How many comedians have made their fortunes taking jabs at the proverbial Mother-In-Law? How about that movie “Monster-In-Law”?

I’ve given a lot of thought to this, especially since my son and daughter-in-law live with me. What type of Mother-in-law do I aspire to be?

I’ve always told my kids that I would love whomever they chose to love. I trust their judgment to find the person who is right for them. Whether it lasts the rest of their lives, or whether it lasts a summer, I know that they are choosing a person who is worthy of their love, and is going to bring rich textures and learning experiences to their lives.

But now that my son has taken his vows, and is committing his life to this beautiful young woman and their child, I feel that I should make some vows of my own.

My Mother-In-Law Vows:

I vow to be a support system and mentor to them as they make their way.

I vow to give advice only when asked. : )

I vow never to pass judgment on them, nor to intrude on their young relationship,

I vow to place confidence in their ability to make the choices that are right for them, even if it takes them a few tries.

I vow never to speak unkind words about them, even if I don’t agree with their choices.

I vow to give them the space to raise their child in their own way, which may differ from mine.

I vow to always be there for their children.

I vow, together with my husband, to set a good example of a respectful, loving married relationship with open communication.

I vow to keep my door open to them both, whenever they want to share something or ask for help.

I vow that, even when they have their fights and misunderstandings, I won’t take sides nor judge. I understand that this is a normal part of a young couple finding their way.

I vow to always be kind.

I vow to post this in a place where I can see it every day.

I vow to love my son, his wife, and child. Unconditionally. Always.

Aging Gracefully? What's that?

Let’s talk about something really uncomfortable… It happens to us all, beginning the very moment we are born and continuing until the day we die. Aging. We watch people in our families and communities grow old, and eventually pass away. And yet, we’ve lived in some kind of strange denial that it will never really happen to us. We will never be old. Oh sure, we may joke around about being an old codger one day, but we don’t really mean it. We’re young, hip, cool, trendy. We can do anything; cartwheels, mountain climbing, running marathons. We hustle through life with kids strapped to our backs or on our hips, multi tasking, flying at the speed of sound. We can do it all until…one day, we can’t.

One morning you wake up and you’re achy for no good reason. One day you’re in a restaurant “playing trombone” with the menu. Or you catch your reflection in a window at the mall and you don’t recognize yourself. (Oh the horror of fluorescent lighting!).

Well, it certainly won’t be happening to me, because I’ve done all the right things. I eat the Doctor Oz foods, I exercise, and I use anti-aging products. Ha!

Those words “anti-aging” are a flat out lie! There is no way to stop aging unless you can stop time. We are all aging, and the sooner we come out of denial about it, the better we’ll all feel (and maybe if we weren’t so freekin’ stressed about it, we wouldn’t age as fast!).

I deeply resent seeing twenty-five-year-old airbrushed models in ads for “anti-aging” products. They want you to believe that this is what an older woman can and should look like. Again, let me assure you ladies, it is a LIE. You can take great care of yourself and have great skin, but you will not look twenty-five when you are forty-five. Let’s all embrace this truth. Okay?

I think it’s terribly sad the way we vilify the aging process, and cast out our elders. We push them far, far away from us. We put them in “assisted living facilities”. Keep them out of our homes, out of our societies. Pay as much money as it takes to keep them at bay.

And on some level we’re doing that to our aging selves as well. We bury our faces under injected synthetic fillers, and when that doesn’t work, we have surgery to remove our old faces and bodies. Oh, what will history say about this strange era we live in?

Personally, I am exhausted by the struggle. Every day I surrender a little more to the inevitable, but still there is this shame that creeps in to my psyche when I look in the mirror and I see the softening of my jawline, or the bags under my eyes in the morning. Although I know it makes no sense logically, I feel like I am letting society down! There are no longer any role models in the media who look like me at age 46. They all look 30. What I see on television and in magazines doesn’t reflect a standard that I can live up to, unless I give in and start injecting botox and restylene and get an eye lift…ugh.

This whole aging thing is hitting me right in the pocketbook. I have made my living as an entertainer, and suddenly, the gigs aren’t rolling in like they used to. The entertainment industry doesn’t find my aging to be a desirable quality. And so I suit up for inner battle with the toxic societal message that has subtly nestled itself into my subconscious, and it’s a particularly fierce battle because I live in L.A.

Dammit! I just want to look like me. I want to be authentic, and embrace the truth of who I am on every level. My face tells a story. I have pronounced laugh lines around my eyes, and smile lines around my mouth. I’ve laughed a lot in my life, and shouldn’t that be a good thing? I also have heavy eyelids, and circles under my eyes. Okay, so I’ve cried a lot too, but I’ve survived some dark stuff. My eyes are my badge of courage. And through them I am learning to see myself differently.

I can’t honestly think of anything truly positive about the physical process of aging. I mean, that part pretty much sucks 100%. I have not enjoyed losing my eyesight, my jawline, and my physical strength. I don’t appreciate that I have to work out twice as hard and eat half as much just to maintain my previous weight. Not fair at all. But on a deeper level, If we’re doing it right, we are growing better every day spiritually, emotionally, and intellectually.

Whenever I am struggling with a tough issue like this, I look for the positive and remind myself how much there is to be grateful for. So let me give that a try (grumble, grumble, grumble...).

For me, this is what is good, or even GREAT, about aging:

I am more confident and sure of myself than I’ve ever been.

I am at peace.

I have learned to roll with the punches in life, and to accept a lot of what I used to resist.

I don’t give a rat’s ass what others think of me.

I have raised wonderful children who I am proud of.

I have wisdom and experience.

I still have an adventurous youthful spirit.

I do yoga, run, hike, travel, and I plan to do so until my last day on Earth.

I am learning every day.

I have choices every day.

I am more patient with myself, and with others.

I have made peace with my past.

I am so grateful for the experiences I’ve had, good and bad

I am softer to hug.

I am softer.

So, aging gracefully? I’m not really sure what that means, or if I know anyone who’s doing it. I think what I’m doing personally is aging awkwardly, and begrudgingly. But I’m gonna keep on doing it every day, whether I like it or not. I can sail through it, or be dragged through it kicking and screaming (which I’ve done at times…). Perhaps sailing is the better (less painful) way.

I’ll tell you this - I wouldn’t go back to my twenties for a million bucks. And all the things I gripe about now at 46, I know I will be wistful for when I’m 66. So, note to self: Life is good. Shut off the noise coming at you from the media. Don’t look at the magazines. Appreciate the true beauty in your life, scratch beneath the surface for the deeper, better stuff.

And to sum it up, learn how to Age Gratefully.