Geneen Roth, Women Food and God

Oh, how I wish I could attend this event. Geneen Roth is going to be in Watsonville soon. I have a previous engagement from which I cannot excuse myself somewhere else. I met Geneen years ago and she inspired me so much.

I can't wait to get my hands on a copy of her new book. I'd like to understand my most unusual relationship to food. Due to medical problems I can barely eat enough to sustain proper nutrition, but it sure doesn't look that way. My body hangs on to every ounce I ever had. I would like to look at this as normal and maybe even spiritual as it looks like her book elucidates:

Women Food and God: An Unexpected Path to Almost Everything

"The way you eat is inseparable from your core beliefs about being alive. No matter how sophisticated or wise or enlightened you believe you are, how you eat tells all. The world is on your plate. When you begin to understand what prompts you to use food as a way to numb or distract yourself, the process takes you deeper into realms of spirit and to the bright center of your own life. Rather than getting rid of or instantly changing your conflicted relationship with food, Women Food and God is about welcoming what is already here, and contacting the part of yourself that is already whole—divinity itself."

Read more from her site

Wanna Buy a Computer, Mister?

Geek Granny

sits in bed

with two laptops

installing anti-virus

and updating 30 files

from Windows

It's like staying

up all night

with colicky babies.

Disposophobia

Definition of Disposophobia:

"Compulsive hoarding (or pathological hoarding or disposophobia) is the excessive acquisition of possessions  (and failure to use or discard them), even if the items are worthless, hazardous, or unsanitary. Compulsive hoarding impairs mobility and interferes with basic activities..."

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Note: 

Digital Art by Elizabeth Munroz

Not Dying

I will not die an unlived life.

I will not live in fear

of falling or catching fire.

I choose to inhabit my days,

to allow my life to open me,

to make me less afraid,

more accessible,

to loosen my heart

until it becomes a wing,

a torch, a promise.

I choose to risk  my significance,

to live so that which came to me as seed

goes to the next as blossom,

and that which came to me as blossom,

goes on as fruit.

-----Dawna Markova

Music to My Ears.

I was surprised to find part of my manuscript on the doorstep today. I had asked a friend for a read and critique. I'm so encouraged to learn that my writing had passed inspection of this retired educator whose opinion I hold in high esteem.

I called to discuss with her the few sections she marked with comments. Interestingly, these were parts I had stumbled over, and had decided to let sit until the right words would come later. After all, this was a first draft of just a section of my new book to be. Perfect phrasing is not born from first thoughts and pen scratches or pecks at the keyboard no matter how inspired the author, I believe.

I was flattered to learn that while she was reading, she became absorbed enough she forgot she was supposed to read critically and instead was enjoying the read for what it was.

I look up to and admire this woman's expertise and it was a tremendous boost to my confidence and an inspiration to keep writing! Today was a warm fuzzy smile day.

Carousel

Spinning carousel returns the same old horse again
Ramble on and on,
the thoughts that fill my head
Sometimes I wake up
there's nothing there but emptiness
so I search myself for what there was to do

Flashing backward still
I think about my youthful dreams
Honest childhood, running dry of years
Sometimes I look back
it doesn't seem that it was me
So who was I then, who am I today?

Can you hear me now?

My thoughts are moving fast
can't seem to catch them in the draft
Floating upward like a kite that's left my grip
Flying higher toward the sky, so blue
I crane my neck
And try to follow as it drifts off into space...
  
lyrics © by Amy Obenski

Carousel was part of an episode on "Grey's Anatomy" in season four.

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Note: published by permission from Amy Obenski

Twenty Miles from a Match

Can you imagine living a hundred years ago? Can you imagine taking your six kids to live in the desert, build your own house and live off the land?
 
That's exactly what author, Sarah Olds, experienced. Aside from being a quick read, her biography, Twenty Miles from a Match, which reads like a story, really appealed to me because of the subject. Homesteading in Nevada was something my great uncle and his wife had done at the turn of the last century.

I always wondered what life was like for them. It's a biographical book but reads like a story. It's not filled with dry facts and dates, but a wonderful memoir, well written.

Sarah, didn't mention my family members by name, but there is no doubt in my mind that they knew each other, as the author mentions businesses and locations where my family were present within that small population. My Great Uncle ran the railroad station and my great Auntie was a telegrapher. So, I was fascinated to have this back yard glimpse to that era.

It's amazing to realize how medical care was handled back then, often with home grown remedies. I couldn't have imagined advanced medical care being available including surgery for a tumor. But, there it was. Her son was sent by train to San Francisco for surgery, and sent back to the homestead in the middle of nowhere so mother could treat his infected wound.

How did she succeed without the proper treatment methods we know today, without proper equipment, disinfectant antibiotics? You'll have to read the book.

Past - Present - Future

.

.

It is said that if you want to know what you were doing in the past, look at your body now.

If you want to know what will happen in the future, look at what your mind is doing now.

~Dalai Lama

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Digital art created by Elizabeth Munroz

Forgetting to Remember

I forget where I put my glasses
I forget why I took them off.
I forget I have them on top of my head.
I forget they are right over my eyes!

I forget where I put my keys
when I'm holding them in my hand,
or stuck in the front door all night long
I lock myself out of my house or car.

To protect myself from forgetting,
I bought five sets of keys
Now there are only two.
I forget what happened to the rest.

I forget where I put important papers:
checkbooks, medical bills, tax receipts.
I forget how to balance my checkbook,
how to do math.
I used to work as a bookkeeper for a big corporation.
How is that?

I put books in the car to return to the library,
forget they are there...
for months
and pay fines I cannot afford.

I forget appointments with the doctor,
my friends, my lover.
So tired of explaining myself when I forget.
I tell little lies instead.
Traffic was bad, an emergency came up,
sorry I couldn't call to let you know.

I forget to look at my hand
For the reminders I have written on my skin.

From moment to moment I forget what day it is.
I look at my calendar first thing in the morning,
last thing at night, throughout the day
to put into my brain what day it is, what I have scheduled.
But, later I forget.

I don't realize until hours after the time passed me by,
Suddenly, something on the radio or TV reminds me
it’s Tuesday, not Friday. It’s 5 p.m. not three.
I run to look at my calendar,
the missed appointment is now going to cost me $50.
Another day I look at my calendar,
see my appointment is for 2 o'clock p.m.
Promptly forgetting, and instead show up at 11 a.m.
This really happened.
At least, I was ahead of time,

I forget where I put the phone just after using it,
only to discover that it is right beside me,
and I wonder how it got there.
I thought I looked there a moment ago.
It wasn't there. I’d swear.
Or was it?

I forget phone numbers.
Why can't I remember them?
I have to look them up in my little black book,
wherever that is!
I tell myself to always put it back in my purse.
Not there.
I look inside my purse over and over again,
not recognizing what is in front of me.

I thought I knew where I was going
from one room to the other.
I forget why, and return to where I was
in order to remember,
and start again, forgetting again.

I forget that I drew money out of my checking account,
a lot of money.
Then, I am shocked for bounced checks fines.

I forget I am cleaning a closet,
and go to do the dishes.
I forget  I am doing the dishes
and go to the desk to write myself a note.
I forget I am looking for a pen
and start cleaning out the drawer.
Then remember the  mess sitting by the closet
and begin there again.
Then, the pan that is sitting on the stove smokes
Setting off the smoke alarm.
When did I turn on the stove?

Elizabeth Munroz - February 07, 2001

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Note: That was then. This is now. I realize it was not as bad as I believed.

Home

Place is often something you don’t see because you’re so familiar with it…

But in fact it is the information your reader most wants to know.

~~~ Dorothy Allison



Note: Photo by David J. Deane

Insomnia

three in morning

still awake

nothing new under the moon



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Note: digital art by myself, Elizabeth Munroz

Rationalizing Book Disposal

In the last year or so, I have been slowly parting with books only to buy more, from Amazon, Paperbackswap or half.com . That last one is a problem because you trade one book for another... I have book shelves in every room in the house and a little one for magazines in the bathroom. Everyone reads there. Right?

I've taken at least a hundred to sell to a local bookstore. But, in order to really let go, I am having to talk myself into it. Aside from attempting to reach a more minimalist lifestyle, I realized they took up a lot of space and that adds to my sensation that my home is too cluttered.

Because of my asthma and allergies it is a good idea to not have dust catchers on the book shelves. Some older books have mold and that's really bad for allergies. I find more and more, that I read on the internet. There are some very good authors sharing their work this way for free or a small fee. If you have a title of an older book you're interested in, go to google books and see if they have it online to read. If you visit publishing houses sometimes they have a free book to download. Oftentimes they have sample chapters to get you interested in buying new books. My daughter did this with her Kindle and ended up buying the author's whole series.

I donate my books to the local Senior Center, the hospital borrowing library, 2 nursing homes and my local freecycle group. Older textbooks go to recycle bin. Magazines in good condition, I leave at doctor's offices. Though pretty soon there will be no more magazines as I am not renewing them.

I don't make use of libraries because I'm terrible about returning books on time. I have never been able to break that habit and have spent too much paying fines. Not worth it for me.

Another rationale I give myself for clearing my bookshelves? I live in earthquake country. I have this queasy image of dying beneath an avalanche of books.

And still I struggle with the part of me that is kicking and screaming, holding on for dear life to every page as I self righteously pry them from her clutches.


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Note:
First picture is one I took of my son with comic book character in Barnes and Noble, San Francisco
Second picture of books piled upon body is from: http://jalainer.blogspot.com

Becoming...

 You should think

not only that you become a mother

when your child is born,

but also that you become a child.

              ~~~Dogen

Note: Photo is of my sister and her daughter

Can you prove who you are without a shadow of a doubt

Can you prove who you are without a shadow of a doubt? Are you a citizen of the country you live in? Are you a citizen of another country? Do you have dual citizenship? Do you have adequate documentation?

I just recently received a letter from a government agency demanding that I provide evidence of my citizenship. Easy thing to do. Right? Just produce an original or certified birth certificate, not a photocopy, they say.

There's a problem with this. I can contact the birth records department for the state I was born in. I can ask for a copy of my birth certificate. But, I will need to provide either a credit card or send a check to pay for my copy. I doubt they will be accepted as my present name is not the one I was given at birth.

I completely changed my full name  by a common law practice of assuming a new name, registering it with social security, driver's license and bank. It was easy to do back then, and quite acceptable. That was nearly 30 years ago. It is my understanding that I would need to go to court to have it changed. Which brings us back to proving who I once was.

Presuming that I cannot receive a certified copy of my birth certificate, I have slim options. I am only allowed to have one affidavit signed by a family member stating that they knew me to be who I claim to be I once was and they knew me when I changed my name to who I am now.

I would be surprised if there many facing the same issue on this level. How many old hippies changed there name the way I did?

I would need another affidavit signed by an unrelated person who can prove their own citizenship stating they knew me before and after. I haven't stayed in touch with childhood friends. That leaves my Ex-Husband. Hmmm... I wonder where he lives now. If I found him would he be willing to sign an affidavit that he knew my name was one thing and then I changed it to another.

What amazes me about this requirement is how it could possibly be acceptable proof of my citizenship, based upon another person's say so. Some dishonest people may have an easy time of doing this. It bothers me.

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Note: I wrote this several months ago. I did not want to publish it until I received my new birth certificate with my new name, which I now have.

Harvest Festival

They weave in and out.

Those ancient dancers

A joyous trance to perform.

In their fine feathers they strut

One after another taking their places

In reverent fashion

Lining up, moving sinuously

To the timing of the lute.

Each one following the other

Orderly now, each one in step,

Synchronized perfection,

Just as the wheat is blown

A single stem at a time

As the grain weaves itself

like an ocean across the seed heads.

Golden and warm in the sunlight

Bending and giving space to one another

Like the ebb and flow of waves

All falling together.

Not one out of place

All timing in perfect sequence.

As the wind dies away

Each dancer raises her head

Looking about in satisfaction.

The work is complete as the sun

Kisses the grain farewell.

Inspired by the music of John Doan, “Tra Amici” from Departures
Elizabeth Munroz