Guided Meditation and the Law of Attraction

I’ve been using youtube for my daily meditation. I find it’s easier to relax deeply when listening to a gentle voice, music, and instructions.  I take out one hearing aid and put the computer right next to my other ear.

Lying on our bed and breathing. It’s delicious the state of relaxation I tumble into.

Think positive, Live positive.

My blog posts will be more infrequent because I am busy creating images for my new Etsy shop.  So far I have a pig, kitten, and cow.  They are all decked out in ribbons and straw hats.

I spend my days’ coloring and smiling at the silly critters flowing out of my colored pencils.

My field of dreams.  Build it and they will come.  And when they come 50% of the money I make I plan to donate to causes important to me.  The other 50%?  Who knows.

 

Trolling for Bolivia, Argentina and Nicaragua

Gentle readers,

Jim, my darling husband, tells me if readers in Bolivia, Argentina, Nicaragua respond to this post he will take me out and pay for dinner.  If those countries don’t respond, I pay. Which stinks since I have zero income.  Please, kind readers, respond.  I am bored with daily cooking.  New meal ideas are elusive.  And if I find them they require work.  Work is not fun.  Work is work.

Those of you in Bolivia, Argentina, and Nicaragua, please comment.  Manifest a night out.   Dinner cooked by someone else.  Served by someone else. Dishes cleaned by someone else.  Other readers, if you have friends in Bolivia, Argentina or Nicaragua please have them respond.

Okay….Here we go. Manifesting going out to dinner!  Yay us.  You and me, readers, we are powerful.

UPDATE!!  Since posting this I’ve had three “views” from Nicaragua!  Yay!

 

Attempting to reinvent myself at Sixty-Five. What am I doing?

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I am reading Anne Lamott’s book, Bird by Bird. Some Instructions on Writing and Life.  She is a master with language and peppers her writing with terms both wise and witty.  Sometimes she grumbles and whines. I like that.  Today is a grumbling, whiny day for me.

She tells me I am to simply bang out my first draft, have fun, be crazy, play.  It will be shitty, she assures me of this.  But in the shit, I might find a sentence, one little line or maybe only one tiny word that will dredge up….Oh for phuck sake.  Today I can’t get there from here.

I meditated.  I’m kinda’ centered.  Blah Blah Blah.  Yet I find myself with nothing to say and who the hell am I saying it to anyhow?

(Alice, dear, you know you are supposed to be thinking only positive thoughts in order to attract positive energy into your world.  Pretend all the stuff you want already exists and it will magically manifest as your “new reality.”   Yes, Random-Whispering-Voice in my head, I know, but some days it’s easier than others, so just shut up about all the manifestation crapola for twenty minutes.)

What the heck am I doing this for?  At sixty-five I’ve decided to reinvent myself as an author?  On good days I think, “Hey lady!  You got this.  You invented yourself into a product designer at fifty.”  But on days like today taking my past-middle-aged self and turning into a writer seems a preposterous dream.  As if I could become a bagel just by breathing, believing and thinking, “I am a bagel. I became a bagel the day the local bakery spotted all my warm potential bagel deliciousness.”

Okay, Alice…think about Grandma Moses.  I just did a Google search.  Old Granny Moses didn’t get serious about painting until her seventies.  She lived to be 101.

I will channel Grandma Moses, replacing her brushes with a keyboard. I’ll keep slamming on the keys, making shitty first drafts. I made a boatload of shitty paintings when I first began working with watercolors.  I actually sold some of those dreadful pictures and gave several away.  One particularly embarrassing piece comes to mind.  A raccoon wandering a snowy field under a full white moon.  He casts long blue shadows as he roams in front of a weathered barn.  Herbie and Barb were my victims. I’ve pleaded with them to toss that painting out, but they’ve refused.  Your crap paintings live on to haunt you.  The good news is after a while, my watercolors improved.

As a fledgling product designer, I had no idea what I was doing.  I just doggedly kept at it, drawing lines on paper.  Boss Mary Beth said she gave me a box to grow into.  My first box was the size of a Sunkist raisin single serve container. When I outgrew that box she gave me a full-size Honey Nut Cheerios box.

Ultimately I outgrew all of her boxes and went on alone to design for a Chinese factory, walking the design wire without a net.  The earliest product I created, a classic fountain made of resin, got a roll-out at Costco.  It was carried in every Costco Warehouse from the here in the USA to Canada, United Kingdom, and Mexico.

Now, I will occupy writing boxes.  My current container is as small as a ring box.  I’ll keep pounding keys until this one becomes too snug.  Then I’ll crawl into a larger carton, dragging my laptop along with me.

For today, I’ll quit beating my head against the keyboard. I’m doing a drawing of peridot eyed, gray and white Smokey the cat.  He had to be put to sleep last week.  Perhaps the drawing will be a nice keepsake for Smokey’s owner.

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I painted Mike the pitbull for Mo.  I think I did it a bit too soon following Mike’s passing.  She opened the gift box and immediately burst into heartbroken tears.

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I won’t write today.  And that’s good because I will get to spend the day coloring and reading my book club book, Eowyn Ivey’s The Snow Child.  It’s a spellbinding story set against the icy backdrop of a 1920s Alaska winter.  A despairing childless couple, in an unusual moment of levity, builds a child out of snow.  In the morning the snow girl is gone, but they glimpse a young child running through the woods.  It reads like a frigid fairy tale.

 

 

Coffee makes life good

It wasn’t until age who-the-heck knows–somewhere after twenty-five and before sixty–that I embraced coffee.  Now I adore it!

But only iced with (shame on me) full-fat milk and stevia.  I pretend the stevia un-does the whole-milk damage.

Todays breakfast is in a wee teeny glass Jim stole from a bar in Hong Kong while on leave from Viet Nam.

I LOVE this little glass.  Jim maintains he swiped it just for me.  Since I am embracing the “manifest-your-future” thinking I pretend he knew I was–eventually–a part of his life.

It’s cute, right?  For a long time it lived in the garage holding pencils.  I only recently promoted it to kitchen favorite.

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Only about five inches tall.  I wonder if the Imperial Hotel still exists  Project for today:  Figure out if that Hotel is still in business.                                                              Note to self: DO NOT MAKE A RESERVATION.  I’ve had enough visits to China to last a lifetime.  Visiting China was a wonderful life experience.  Happy to have done it. Happy to have it in my rear-view mirror.

I have to amend the “no go to China” thing.  I would LOVE seeing Jim Peng, Maple and Miss Gao again.  They were an enormous gift in my life.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

At sixty-five I forgot how to make my formerly fantastic Toll House Cookies. What’s happening to me?

I really messed up my last batch of chocolate chip cookies. This was SO wrong. Once upon a time I had amazing cookie baking tricks and a reputation to maintain. After a while baking chocolate chippers was like riding a bike. I knew how to do it and they were always awesome…

Until they weren’t.

On March first I made our neighbor, Brian, a batch of my Toll House cookies for his twentieth birthday. I’ve made them for him regularly and successfully in the nearly four years we’ve lived here.

But on March first something went horribly wrong. The cookies ran together in a big mushy mess. I managed to scrape them onto cooling racks, whereupon the middles dripped through the wires to the counter below. They were a dismal embarrassing failure.

I blamed it on humidity. I blamed it on the oven, the ingredients, the alignment of the stars. I blamed it on everything but human error. (ie myself)

I should have started over. Instead I chose to go with, “Well, it’s the thought that counts!” When I was able to kinda’ sorta’ move from racks to platter I displayed the least unfortunate ones on top. Brian ate them without complaint but Brian is twenty. Twenty year old boys eat everything without complaint.

Meanwhile my daughter Mo–the cookie baking hot-shot show off–keeps posting Instagram photos of her baking products. Snickerdoodles, Toll House, Oatmeal Raisin, chocolate ones with sinfully delicious looking chunks. This pictures shows perfectly browned, uniform French-bakery-shop-worthy beauties.

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Her latest miraculous cookies.  She likes to taunt me by sending these pictures.  It’s a good thing I love her.

How is this possible? I’m the cookie person in this family, dammit.

Finally I broke down and confessed I had lost the touch. I asked Mo for advice.

“Are you using a cookie scoop, Mom?” …..huh?

“What about silpat matts?”….and those are? My deaf ears translated that as “thilfad”, then “willgab”. She finally spelled it out “Stephen, Igloo, Lady, Patio, Alice, Too bad/so sad/can’t hear.”

“Do you have half sheets?”  This one I actually knew about from Ina Garten.

“Furthermore it’s best to weigh ingredients rather than measure by cups–flour settles. A cup isn’t always a cup. Oh by the way the best temperature is generally 350 degrees other than for chocolate chip, which I bake at 360.” ….again, huh?  I thought 375 degrees for chocolate chip cookies was a hard and fast rule.

All in all I figured out I really don’t know squat about cookie baking.
Immediately went to Amazon–bought the aforementioned scoop and silpat mats.

Today I decided to dive back into the cookie dough. I didn’t have ingredients for chocolate chips, plus I was still too cowed by my recent failure.

I made peanut butter cookies instead. I even snuck in some of Jim’s closely guarded Dove Dark Chocolate mini candies. The results? Not bad. Not as gorgeous as Mo’s though. Guess my next purchase is a scale for weighing the flour I can’t eat. Celiac Sprue, no gluten allowed….which is a good thing because I shouldn’t be eating cookies anyhow.

Check out these yummy confections. Yay me! No they aren’t as uniform as Mo’s, but I’m just a beginner.

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Bovine Belly-Aching

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I have been wrestling with this painting for months. Three cows on a canvas 5 feet wide and four feet tall.

What? You say you only see two cows? Well, look closely. You’ll see the ghost of number three there on the lower left hand corner.

They are a family. Mom, Bossy, is in the middle. The other two are sisters.  Maisie is on the right. Daisy is the ghost.

So far I’ve “killed” Daisy four times. Paint her. Hate her. Obliterate her.  Paint her again.  Hate her again.  Obliterate her again.  And so on…
Our garage has been a bloodbath. Whenever Bossy sees me approaching the canvas with my black paint loaded brush she trembles.  Meanwhile Maisie smirks.  Sibling rivalry being what it is, Maisie kind of likes Daisy meeting her demise on a regular basis.

I’m considering painting a tombstone onto the left side and calling it a day…”R.I.P. Daisy.”

I paint in the garage, thereby rendering half the space unavailable.  Jim has been enormously patient with my plodding pace. He buys into my lies that, “Art can’t be rushed.” Tee Hee. My bad.

This huge painting is destined for our kitchen wall.  The fact that I’ve not finished the painting is GOOD BECAUSE when I finally do complete the girls, we will enjoy them all the more for having waited. Yup. That’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it.

Now, all you peeps go have a very good nice fun filled and possibly cow filled day.

Time to manifest a shower. 🙂

Day Two of Manifesting my new reality

My “Big Dream” has been to be a writer. Published, read by many, loved by most, making lots of big fat dollars and having fun doing it. My sister and brother-in-law have nipped at my heels to do this for years.

But those damn doubts always crept into my brain, “Why me, God?” Now I’m saying, “Why NOT me!” During my meditations I have asked BF (Benevolent Force aka Higher power aka God) to use me, put me where I’m supposed to be. I’ve started this blog! That’s writing, isn’t it? I’m writing for the Universe who will eventually stumble across this. Lots of them are sixty-five too.

I figured my blog would be all the writing I would be doing for the foreseeable future. Then, last night, my thirty-three year old daughter, Maureen (aka Mo), called me. She and I gabbed about this ‘n that. She told me she and her husband, Stephen, had watched the movie 20th Century Woman. Something about a single mother rearing a child through the 50’s and 60’s. Following the movie Mo and Stephen had a discussion about how they don’t know their parents. They know their mother. They know their father. However they don’t know them as humanoids outside of their roles as mom and dad.

She then asked me to—Drum Roll Please—WRITE! Yup, I asked the BF to use me. I asked BF to put me where I’m meant to be. And BF responded by giving me this blog, followed by giving me a request to write even more.

Possibly that little whisper inside my head, the one quietly repeating, “please please please write….”,
KNEW what my path was to be. I simply had to get outta’ my own way. Now I have.

Later today I’ll write my first few pages for Maureen.

But first to manifest a shower 🙂

All of you out there, have a great day! Dream big and believe. The Universe will give you all you want if you have faith.

Sixty-Five! And this is good because….

Most people aren’t thrilled about sixty-five. They think of it as the beginning of their last chapters on this planet.
Whooo Hoooo! I’m sixty-five! I’ve been sixty-five since November 28th, but only recently embraced it.

Sixty-Five is a turning point age. Like thirteen, without acne. Or sixteen, but already have a driver’s license.
Other turning point ages: Eighteen, Twenty-one, Forty….then they sort of go along for decades until you hit SIXTY-FIVE!
But here is why I have embraced sixty-five (other than Medicare): I read a TERRIFIC book and I’m planning to use the tools in that book to manifest the most awesome rest of my life possible.

The book, you ask? (Yes, there are many “yous” out there. Eventually, you will all find this brand spanking new blog and possibly ride along with me now and again.)

The book is You Are A Badass by Jen Sincero. It’s a fun read and quite convinced me that I can manifest anything I want in my life by the amazing wattage of hooking into my higher power. I think of my higher power as “BF”—aka Benevolent Force. Sometimes I call BF God. But mostly I call BF “best friend.”

Check out Jen’s best selling book at jensincero.com

This refreshing down to earth fun funny little book is my starting point for rocking the rest of my life.
She maintains we can manifest anything we want in our lives simply by the power of our thoughts! Everything we desire is already HERE, we simply have to believe and BF mixed with our beliefs will pop that no longer elusive marvelous item right into our world. How cool is that?

I tested this yesterday in the packed parking lot of our local Publix grocery store. Not one single open space to be found. So I said to myself, “Yes there is. There is an open space quite near the entrance.” Lo and Behold, just as I thunk it a car pulled out of the exact perfect spot and we pulled in. Now that is quite the ideal litmus test, eh?

There’s lots more. Like the little line “….and this is good because.” More on that tomorrow. Now I’m off to manifest clean laundry. 👏20170326_192704     go buy the book!  It’s terrific.          jen sincero