Big Red Couch

I'm a traveller at heart! My mom calls me "My Adventurer". It's true. Now---even my blog presence is on a journey! Lately my words and postings have migrated...to my professional site... lynnsbigredcouch.squarespace.com.  So---those who love red, come! Those who love lips, come! Those intrigued by adventuring boots, come! I'll meet you there!

Come follow me...

Take a summer's adventure (or winter's if you're in the southern hemisphere!).

Travel to a new blogland.

See what happens along the way!

And let me know that you've arrived to play in this new space.

I'll meet you there!

Will my word travels take me back to this site? I really have no idea. We'll see which way the compass points and the winds lead! 

lynnsbigredcouch.squarespace.com

Smiling in DC

Last month, in Washington DC visiting my daughter---I had a glorious day to myself while she was at work. On the National Mall---spring fullblooming. Sun shining brightly and just warm enough. I came upon a bandshell---with a middle school jazz band playing the Cherry Blossom Festival. Seriously----life was sooooooo good! Everyone's toes tapped and strangers looked each other in the eye as the music floated over us like syrup on pancakes. Made for each other. Surprise gift. As I strolled along towards the Tidal Basin I was in that blissed-out state. You know the one. How good is this? How lucky am I? 

Just then, a boy ran up to his mother near me. He was about 7, were I to guess.  He exclaimed, "Mommy---do some people have a problem they just can't stop smiling? Because I just SAW one!" Already beaming, my smile widened even more. And I wondered...was it me that he saw? And secretly hoped that was true! Any way you slice it---I knew I was a contender. I've been called many things---but here was a new one. A problem smiler! No problem---I'll take that one any day! 

To the little boy and his mother. Thank you. Thank you for my smile that grew even bigger and felt even more wonderful that day---because of your reflection!

Goat Cheese Adventure

Adventures are so good for the soul! 

Here are the new things I (the city girl) experienced in four delicious hours this brisk winter morning ---within 20 minutes of where I live!

1. Milking a goat. Yup, me. "Abby" (alpine) and "Dottie" (nubian). Squirt. Squirt---yea, there I go. Then----are you ready----two hands! Warm and surprisingly satisfying (for me AND the goats, I think!)

2. Reaching under a chicken---and voila, pulling out a freshly lain egg. Warm and smooth. Wow.

3. Tasting warm (there's the warm again!), fresh goat's milk...delicious! 

3. Making Soft Goat Cheese. I whooped as we wrapped in flourcloth, tied it off, hung it cleverly on the cupboard hook, dripping whey into the bowl beneath it.  Ahhhhh.

4. Making Goat Mozzarella. Cooking, straining, pressing, til smooth and glisteny. Slicing. Snowballing. Admiring!

5. And then there was the Goat Ricotta---yup, made with my two hands! Warm...drizzled with chocolate balsamic vinegar. So much goodness!!! 

6. Making 4 new grown-up friends (with connections and networking flowing as naturally as water)---and 2 little ones. 

My soul knew to love all of this. My soul grinned. My soul ate it up. My soul said thank you. My soul said---that was fun, let's have another adventure soon! I promised my soul the answer would be yes! 

p.s. If you'd like your own adventure---visit "The Goat Cheese Lady" online and find out how! 

Mistress of Unlocking

Today, I got an unplanned reflection of me.  There it was, in these three words at the close of an email..."Mistress of Unlocking." It was said in gratitude. Wow. I realize I LOVE these words! And I love the fact that as a life coach, I get to do what I love----help unlock people's brilliance! (It's of course, already there---in every single one of us.) And---as the key slides into the lock...and the tumbler starts to click and roll...there is such incredible anticipation and glee! For both of us! The one who is getting closer to who they really are (without all the stuffy baggage that might have accumulated over a lifetime covering up this gorgeous being)----and for me. Oh yes, really fun for me! To have the privilege to be with another as they light up, discover, glow, come alive in front of my eyes?? Seriously joyous work!

And then...out came the words. Giving me a new name, "Mistress of Unlocking." I love that too. Most of you know that I really believe that sexuality is a gift. That there's huge, juicy, blessed energy there. Spirituality, too---bunches of energy and life force there! (Coming soon---my next book on this!) Well---the mistressy energy in all of it is right, isn't it. It's not about demands. It's about invitation. About all of us...shining brighter...inviting others closer...to us...into vulnerability...and seeing...and discovering...and into the ever-so-juicy space of curiosity! Wow. This is my work. And with a wink and a nod, out flashes a new reflection of me...one that makes me smile broadly and freely. The smile I was born to wear on this beautiful body in this wonderful thing called life!

And so I'm curious?? What are the reflections that YOU are getting---the ones that help you see and understand yourself more fully?? That surprise you, make you sit up and say, "You know---that's exactly right!" 

Pleasure Activist

You know when you have a really satisfying conversation?? One where you connect and connect some more and say, "Oh yes...and...!" Recently, I met a new friend through synchronous means. 

Let me pause for a moment---and say that synchronicity sounds random. It's not. It's actually something very cool that we can all ride. Here's what it takes: It starts with noticing the little curiousity in you. Noticing when something in you says, "Oooooh, look at that!" Or, "Ohhhhhhh, wouldn't it be cool if....!!" This is a little like a dog, sniffing. First one good scent...then oooooooh, what's that over there on the hydrant! Then a passing dog pulls sway. You get the picture. (Another more poetic friend of mine calls this, "Following the fragrance of your desire." Love that, too! Choose the metaphor that best fits you. Dog or flower! Now----that's fun, but not enough. After the noticing comes something that makes all the difference, ----it's action. And here's where we humans often get stuck. We think, "Oh, that would look funny!" Or----NO ONE does that. Or, "Seriously, get a grip! Do you think they would like to talk to a stranger with an urge?" The answer is...you'll never know til you try! So----the next step requires something we're all born with, but may be rusty at using. Courage. That's it,----the courage to take a risk! So----let's review. You've got the noticing...followed by the urge...and you take a dash of courage. Now---do something! That's it. Just do something. Give yourself permission to experiment a little---and see what happens! Maybe they will think you're crazy. Maybe they won't respond. Maybe they will be your new best friend. Maybe they are the missing link to your business. You'll never know until you try! (Thanks mom---I hear your voice here!) Oh---and one more thing. Notice NOW how FUN this is! Really! Notice the energy and the juice and the OMG kind of adrenaline. Because now you're really LIVING your life!

Well...recently I did that. (Actually, I do it a lot these days and wow, is it a blast!) It went like this---I have a supervisor in my coaching certification program, assigned to me. I went to his website--and discovered lots of connections between us (always wonderful to find, isn't it?) And...as I looked at his website links I found the name of another person with whom I shared a bunch of connections...and there it was, the urge to connect. To a stranger. And so I did----sending him an email, sharing my curiosity. Within minutes, there was his response...and so much more we shared, including Our Whole Lives~Sexuality and Our Faith---the fabulous sexuality/spirituality movement I'm a part of, and write for and truly passionate about! He suggested we connect by phone. Which takes me back to where I began.

As we talked on the phone, in that fun new discovery way, sharing our passions and what we are up to in the world he exclaimed, "You are a Pleasure Activist!" At first I was taken aback. Wow. Whoa! Seriously?! And yet---I knew that this naming of me was spot-on! Stated more clearly and strongly than I ever had known/seen. I do believe that our senses are divine. Gateways to All That Is. I do celebrate pleasure! That moment, at my kitchen table, thousands of miles away from this new friend---I received a new understanding of me. Which of course, would never have happened...had I not gotten curious, noticed, followed my urge with a dash of courage!

So I invite you!

Sniff.

Notice.

Follow.

See.

Experiment.

And let me know what happens!

p.s. There's more to the story. It's about my next book, "Juicy Prayers". To be continued!

Planting

I've been planting. Don't know when I started to plant, actually. Ten years ago with my first coaching course? Almost two years ago when I answered the "call" (yes, it really felt like this---divine and mystical as a new friend leaned over her suitcase in the front hallway of an Alabama Bed and Breakfast and said, "Lynn, I'm in a program I think you'd love") to leap into the Coaches Training Institute's  (CTI) Leadership Program? The day I realized I wanted the whole enchilada---CTI's juicy, spicy Life Coach Training, too? The day I did something about it, signed up and began flying hither an yon (all beautiful locations---all succulent opportunity for this red lipped red booted adventurer!) to experience full immersion coach training courses? The day I hit the pause button because my partner was sick...and needed me near? The day that post-healing, I "began again", with a new wave of passion? The day I "graduated" from all the training last September? The grateful day near Thanksgiving when I committed boldly to one more step, the icing (and of course, I wanted the icing!)...and I officially enrolled in CTI's rigorous six month Certification Program. Or this Tuesday, when I officially began that journey?

Yes...dreams...seeds...being watered and fed.

This site has likely appeared dormant.  That's what happens after planting. It's all underground, and frankly, looks like nothing. Worse still, looks dead. Ahhhhhh, but we all know better! We know that it is in the spring that the shoot bursts forth. One day, flat earth. The next---kabam!! Thrusting that is unmistakably bold and beautiful.  I'm very close now. I can feel all the energy in me lining up as I embrace all my clients. I can feel the nourishment coursing through my veins, my heart, my mind, my spirit. I can feel me growing in huge leaps and bounds. It's exciting and exhausting. And...it's exactly where I need to be...living my life...on purpose.

My coaching doors are flung open...and the weather is good!! (They actually aren't doors---they are phonelines. Open and available for you or those you know might feel this "call" to engage me as their coach. And answer it! )

Here's to us all---planting and soon blooming, bearing fruit and harvesting in no time!

With deep gratitude to all planters who have gone before. I stand on your shoulders, indebted to you always. Grateful for your compassion, interest, love, care and steadfast encouragement.

Tabula Rasa

A brand spanking new year. A blank slate. I remember in college first hearing the fancy phrase, "tabula rasa"----and the idea of a blank slate got a real name. Oh yeah, baby. Immediately, I loved it. I loved it and knew it was the way I preferred to live. How I like to see a movie (knowing nothing...awash in real time.) How I read a book. (I know some prefer a glance at the last page---I'm simply not one of them!) To me, blank slates are alive with delight, possibility. I think there's a little edge of excitement/danger there too, that I like. Truly not knowing creates a wild adventure. Again, my preferred way to live.

Juicy opportunity exists in this blank slate. Yet I/we forget. I fall into rutted living. Routine roteness. It happens to all of us. The slate, oh-so-laden and oh-so-familiar. Yet, as humans I know we're wired for something else. We're wired for breakthroughs that return us to Blank Slate Being. We respond to events. To calendars. To tragedies. To pain. To ritual. To grace. We open. We pause. We Begin Again. A New Year. Poised on a precipice of time----we are anything but rutted. Not yet.

I glance up. A wren camouflaged in the white aspen bark flits. I see it. My seeing is the gift. I feel myself attune, boldly present for more against the brilliant blue sky. There's another. Oh my---there go two, no three more. Now I can't take my eyes off them.

We twenty first century humans greet each other in the new year...wired for connection. We step, just a little, out of what we see as "ordinary" time. There's a sincerity. A true desire here. We "get" that something is possible---and we speak of it and for it on behalf of all beings. With fireworks, toasts, rituals---we kiss the possibility of our collective blank slate. We bless it. We name it. Sounds primitive, yet it may be some of our highest functioning. What if we really believed it. That this year---2012, holds all that can be. Jubilee. Hope. Love. Connection. A New Way.

Here's to your blank slate. Today. This hour. This moment in which your heart beats, your fingers feel, your skin warms, your ears catch a faint wound. Your eyes see flitting...moments ago unseen. This gift of life---yours and mine---pulses. And pulses some more. Whether we notice it or not. Flowing blood and air, nerves and chemicals, water and life, streams and consciousness. To be here to witness and participate on this blank slate day at 10:57 in the morning of January 2, 2012 makes me grin. It's a fresh book. And you are in it too. Let's turn the page...and...

Free Cappucino

At the gas pump, the sign said "Free Cappucino with fill." I was on my way to my haircut where I'd be served coffee, so I didn't need any.  Yet...hmmmmmm, here was flash of opportunity to brighten someone's day. Looking up, I noticed a young hispanic man in the flatbed of his pickup truck, working. I walked over grinning, and asked if he'd like a free cappucino. His face let up. He jumped down. We strode into the gas station, beaming, with a purpose in our step. Cool! We were up to something! When we arrived at the fancy cappucino machine there was the taped up sign, "Not working." Oh well, no problem we both agreed---we already felt great. As we neared door the cashier asked what happened. We told her---and she said, "Oh no---it's just the mocha that's broken!" Now there were three of us up to something! Back we went. Mission accomplished...we parted. One with coffee. One feeling the joy of giving. One who caught the wave. 

Popover

In Minnesota two weeks ago, on a chilly fall day, having buried my dear friend's momma, we arrived back in her childhood home. To life without her mother.  It was there that I got the call from my momma and heard her say, "I'm cancer free!" With tears streaming down my cheeks, I shared the news (mindful of their oh-so-fresh loss, wondering if I should) and my dear friend and her dad, the new widower, cheered. Right there on the day of their loss. Right there in the kitchen I grew up in. They cheered for my mom. 

Because I was unexpectedly in Minnesota for the memorial, I was near my parents' home. Within an hour I was with them in their cottage home on Green Lake, hugging and crying. We celebrated that Thursday night at the Swedish Inn in Center City with what's affectionately called "Cheap Chicken"--- quarter fried chicken, real mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans---and popovers the size of momma's head all for $3.50. There was even an old woman playing the accordion for tips! When I mentioned to our teenage waitress that my momma just got the news that she's cancer-free she looked right at momma and told her how happy she was for her. My momma said, "You're gonna make me cry!"...and then the tears rolled. Dad was beaming at her side. A few minutes later, our waitress appeared again and said, "The owner wants me to to tell you that your dinner was paid for." More tears.


We still don't know who paid for our supper. Was it the owner (if so, thank you!) or another of the many friends she was hugging and reuniting with after months of reclusive living? We may never know the answer to that question. But---what we do know is this: it is in the sharing of all of life---the sorrows and the joys---that we unleash a flow of humanity and possibility that is far beyond the wildest imagining of our shuttered selves. 

Ginger Snaps

A pause in this glorious fall day. Music undergirds this moment. Creating a pulse of joy. A strum of action. I just came from the dentist.  Good news and bad. Looks good---and I need to floss. Now, as someone who has been a health educator, and who is now a life coach, I'm embarrassed to admit that this is true. Flossing in the land of good ideas doesn't do much for dental health. And I know it. So, it's time I come clean! I know we all have zones like that. The zone of "Oh yeah baby, that's working and I'm loving it!" And the zone of  good intentions, which is really the zone of possibility. Of greater health. A zone of calling to be/do/become an even more powerful, beautiful and delicious version of ourselves. I'd like that---and I'm guessing you would, too.

Floss.
Be.
Dance.

This is a good habit waiting to happen. The simplest two minute a day habit. I know it will take more than imagining it as a good idea. So---I commit. Out loud and in public. With the music strains now punctuating my words with a bold beat: I will floss. Once a day. And you?? What's calling your name? The thing you know that will take two minutes/day or less---and make all the difference in your life?? Name it. You could even audaciously declare it right now in the comments. Join me!

Time to for me to get up out of this chair. To go get the floss. To put it in its new special spot. To fuel the action. Oh yes----and there's one more thing. I'm not doing this so that Janine (my patient hygienist) doesn't scold me. (Although big thanks to you for the nudge!) I'm doing this because I want to live to 100, play with my beautiful grandchildren (which are pre-twinkle, I'm imagining)...all the while munching crisp apples and ginger snaps!  Laughing, grinning, alive and we know it! Now that's floss-worthy!

Alive In My Boots

It's been months since my last post on Easter's Eve...awash in passion...and dedicated to my momma and dad.  Hours later, on Easter I got the call. Momma in the ER. Life and time stood still. I stopped dead in my tracks. Everything changed in that instant. Those who have been there know. I summoned all my courage. And grace. So did momma and dad and our family---instantly knit closer by this news. I showed up with and for it all, and for that, I am grateful. Life forever changed. Blogging stopped.

Silence.

Four months lived. Inwardly. Expectantly. Hopefully. Living here and there. Dancing with fear and peace. All of you who have walked in these shoes know. The shoes point in one direction and one direction only. Sometimes, I forgot that I had shoes. Sometimes I walked in momma's shoes to find my way back to compassion. Sometimes I put on my big girl boots and led. Sometimes I tucked my shoes under the bed and crawled in. This journey into the Mystery is not for the faint of heart. Up until now, I knew that my parents would die. Of course. But I didn't really believe it. Not with all my degrees, or evidence of other's parents passing. Nope---not my beloved momma and dad. My magical thinking swathed in waves of heartlovefantasy had us really living on forever, thank you very much. That was the ending I thought I preferred...up until now. Now I see that this hour is all that any of us have. The rest, complete fantasy. Unknown. Just as unknown as whether momma  (or you or me) will have the gift of the next hour. So in this hour---I choose to break the silence, and come clean.

True confession about my silence: Momma told me that she and my dad print out every blogpost I write and save them in a binder. Yes. Wow. This, too, stopped me dead in my tracks. The irony is not lost on me---the very one who wrote about showing up, risking, having impact, passionately leading a life worth living. To be this seen and known and loved and held and tenderly preserved by my parents makes me weep. This is how true love shows up. Printer, wrinkled hands, a 3-hole punch. A binder. Messy and vulnerable. The challenge and blessing of seeing, and being seen.

I vow to show up more fully---even if and especially because my momma and dad are watching.

So here it is: Dedication #2 to Momma and Dad. You are my sunshine. Both of you. Dad, as you wake up and say, "Just another day in paradise" as the sun rises over the lake streaming into your cabin. Momma, as you battle your cancer with grace and gritty courage, fighting with every cell of your tiny little body for your precious life... as you near the end of chemo...and glimpse the possibility of the light of your life rising over the lake once again. Here comes the sun!

Dead in my tracks was OK for a time. But now, I'm alive in my boots.

Passion for Change

If you are living, and I am gone---then please feel free to put "Passion for Change" on my memorial service program. I love these words. Passion. For. Change. I first heard them a couple weeks ago. In my inbox. An invitation from Guinevere Stevenson...a talented new film director...and so...

Last Saturday night, the eve of Easter---I had the huge, crazy privilege of seeing, for the first time, a first-cut release private screening of "Passion for Change", a documentary about five national delegates to the 2008 Democratic National Convention. And one of them is me. There we were, tucked in the backroom of the most delicious, surprising Vincenzio's Italian Bakery. Eyes lifted. Hearts remembering. Tears flowing. While the Sicilian singer passionately serenaded diners in the next room we were awash in the screenglow. Mesmerized by the energy, the spirit, the hopefulness, the conviction, the action, the showing up, the jumping up, the dancing, the stepping in, the believing that we shared in this journey---all captured forever on film. There it was. My passion, larger than life. My passion, exposed. My passion, radiating from the screen.

There's always a risk when you show up, isn't there? When you truly put yourself out there. It's a vulnerability---much like what Brene Brown points to in her totally-hit-the-mark TED talk on "Vulnerability". When I said yes to being the film subject of this documentary---to have crew following me right into my home, my refrigerator and kitchen, I knew there was a risk. I knew I was letting go of control and opening myself to impact.  I did it by choice. I believe it is what we are here for. To risk showing up. 100%. Every day. And truly step in with our whole being.

As I watched myself on screen----I saw me. Authentic and true. Even talking with my hands with a big chef's knife waving. Surrounded by family love. Eating sandwiches. Sharing beliefs together. Risking living and loving so the whole world can see...and be a better place. It's an honor to risk oneself fully. Many of us never accept this honor. I choose to risk my significance...and I'm absolutely convinced that it has made all the difference. It's like the wisdom of David Whyte. He said, "If you feel both fear and excitement, great! That means its your own life you're living...and not someone else's." It's an exhilarating mix...and I believe, the ride of a life worth living.

A dedication. I learned this at the feet of my Mom and Dad. Their passion (they wouldn't use this word----they're Norwegian Lutherans, afterall) for showing up and making the world a better place inspires me. One bunny cake at a time. One Habitat home at a time. One volunteering with the "sweet old people" day at a time. One mentored adolescent at time. One "Spit and Shine" day at your church at a time. One "Meals on Wheels" delivery at a time. One heart at a time. I dedicate this to you, Mom and Dad. Without your quiet, selfless example (which continues to this day) I wouldn't know my passion. My fire. My joy.

p.s. Speaking of joy, and since this is my Red Lips Red Boots blog, afterall---I invite you to hold the vision of this film being accepted by Cannes----and me, passionately attending with Guinivere and crew!

Female Nomad in Red Boots

The world reflects us to us. If we look and see. Several years ago people were reading, Tales of a Female Nomad by Rita Golden Gelman...and saying, "Lynn---this makes me think of YOU!" Intrigued, I read it, and could see why! Well, not the divorce part. But the out-there, open, curious, adventuring woman part---oh yeah baby!

At 13, I took my first steps over the Mexican border in Tijuana. Eyes Wide Open. A suburban Minnesota girl seeing beyond my imagining.  Bartering for a leather fringed jacket. I was torn even then--was it good to barter (save money) or bad to barter (these people clearly needed the money)?

At 13, I heard a Japanese foreign exchange student speak. To this day, I can remember the warm afternoon in our sunny, junior high cafeteria. I went home and wrote in my diary, "I'll be a foreign exchange student one day!"

At 16, I saved my waitressing tips from The Crosstown Kitchen,  the Scandinavian cafe where we served lutefisk and lefse in our white dresses and shoes.  These tips funded a 6 week trip with fellow students to Austria, Germany, and even a whiff of Switzerland, Lichtenstein and France! I was the youngest traveler. And I was bit. Truly bit by the adventure travel bug. Bit by the clear knowing that it is in connecting that we find ourselves. I had connections with gasthof proprietors. Bus drivers. Soldiers. Boys. Single mothers. Trees. It is in these reflections of culture and humanity, by likeness or contrast,  that we see who we are. In community, we become more of who we are.

At 17, I applied to be an AFS Foreign Exchange Student. In those days, you didn't pick your country. You were saying yes to anywhere in the world. Which suited me just fine. I pictured the depths of Africa. I was chosen and sent to Tasmania, Australia. And blossomed. And struggled. And communicated. And connected---over cups of tea & bottles of rum. Legs of lamb and mixed grill on the barbie. Over hundreds of kitchen tables. I joined in.  Joined up. Joined the conversation. Joined a family for a year...and for forever. It's really profound now, as I pause and write. As a 17 year old, you're almost by definition, self-centered. (I certainly was--even tho global questions had already begun to burn in me.) Now, I realize what a wildly generous act this was for my host family... to fling open their doors and invite me, a stranger, in!  Risking...and receiving.  Last night they were in my dreams.

At 21, I accepted the job of my dreams. But first, I turned my '67 Chevy Malibu south for an inland Mexican odyssey...of course! Who knew when I'd be free to travel again?? Brass ring, grabbed!

At 24, it was Korea. To follow and check out my love. It landed and lasted. Ben and I just celebrated 31 years!

Honk Kong. Singapore. Japan. Thailand. Cambodia. China. Tibet. Morocco. Senegal. France.

At 55, Italy. Leadership on a rooftop. It was there, in Rome, that Alberto (my colleague) and I created and fired up up the "International Cooking Game." We flung out the invitation to get curious and experiment with strangers...through food, joy and play! Potatoes met fish met apples met chocolate met beans met olive oil.

At 56, I have just finished reading Female Nomad and Friends ~ Tales of Breaking Free and Breaking Bread Around the World.  Real women's stories, compiled by Gelman.  In these pages, I see my reflection. And so, it was last night---over my kitchen table that I pulled out this book, to share this passage by Melanie Ehler from a chapter entitled, Soul Food. "Some hunger can be satisfied with food, but there is also another more intimate type of hunger that can only be appeased by kindness."

I'd intended to just read the quote. But there I was, reading the short story aloud.  It was about fried chicken---and compassion. It took about 5 minutes. Tears flowed, making it almost impossible to read. Tears that told me without a shadow of a doubt that I was right where I belonged. Looking at my true reflection.  A life of curiosity, kindness, adventure, joy, gratitude and deep, deep connection.


Postscript  
AFS still exists. It's a powerful organization uniting young people with host families globally. It was founded by WWII ambulance drivers---who experienced connection on the battlefield, regardless of country or politics. There, they were people saving people...and ideas of "enemy" slipped away. And so, they sought to create these human to human connections, very intentionally.  One student and one family at a time. This is the enduring motto: "Walk together, talk together, all ye peoples of the lands. Then and only then shall ye have peace." 

The Only Real Thing To Leave In The World...

I'm cleaning my desk. It's like an archeological dig. Very interesting. Surprising. And just now, I came across a yellowed newspaper clipping about the life and home of MFK Fisher.  What a sensuous, fully alive food writer she was!  Oh---she lived a juicy life! In this detritus of my life---I find my life, my passion. I'm struck smack dab between the eyes---realizing once again that we DO know what we are drawn to! What calls our name. (Especially if we let go...and let it come!) I remember the very first time I read MFK Fisher. Maybe in my early 30's. Oh---I wanted to eat it up. Inhale it. Drink it! And now---here she is again. Just lying here...even after death, her legacy lights fires in me. Causes my senses to awaken and soul to sing.

Here are MFK Fisher's words, circled by me...

"The only real thing to leave in the world is one's spirit...the leavings of me, murking up the atmosphere, smogging the air, sprinkling a sort of mist over things so perhaps they twinkle a bit."


And there it is. The big bold "Yes"  I'd scrawled next to it! I remember thinking it would make a great memorial quote---from me, after I'd passed on! Funny---I thought I just wanted to share her wisdom when I sat down and began to type. Now, I'm feeling the draw to more...maybe even to visit her home, in Northern California...and deepen into her writings, including "A Welcoming Life." The connection to my own life of juicy immersion and adventure rises in me---including the surprising call to Italy last fall, to create an adventure with my new Italian friend, Alberto. Together, with our eyes twinkling, we created a rooftop communal experience, "The International Cooking Game", which brought people together, across cultures through---you guessed it---the love of food! There, in Rome (in the experience I wanted to call "Eat Play Love" but was assured wouldn't translate to the target audience)---we played, laughed and tasted  the surprising fullness of life....as the sun set and the full moon rose.

 First, I'll finish cleaning---then I'll put my feet up, grab a cuppa tea, a juicy piece of fruit---and deepen back into the article, the life that was MFK Fisher, and the Mystery that is twinkling in me.

You Have A Vacation Face!

One face. One reflection.

Yesterday we drove to Vail to meet dear, dear friends for dinner. Minnesotans, they had a sweet skiing week in the mountains. Busy Coloradans who love them---we drove three hours each way to eat, drink, laugh, be together. After the tastiest meal at Campo Fiore (5 thumbs up!) we slipped into a little market.

Grinning from behind the cash register,  the lanky young clerk asked me, "How's your vacation?" Oh, I demurred, I'm not on vacation, she is! He wouldn't let up. "No--your face looks like you're on vacation!" Quickly I said, "Oh, that must be because I was in Florida last week and have a bit of a tan." Again, the insistence. "No," he said. "It's not that. It's your smile. You Have A Vacation Face!"

Wow. I know I live in joy. I know I look for the divine in everything. But wow. Here was my reflection. That I, the local person who had driven 3 hours---and was about to drive another 3 hours home---was the one with the "Vacation Face." There it is! Evidence... that we all have this option, don't we? Anytime. Anyday. Anywhere. Thank you, Argentian Jose---who is known as 'Pancho'---for helping me see this truth, on a snowy winter night in the mountains.

Celebrate Each Other's Dreams

I'd just left my beloved Sycamore tribe in California. Grounded in love...we became the Seek Amores. Of course! Leaders all, boldly embracing lives of passion on purpose. On fire and deeply present. Blessed.

I noticed the couple in the terminal. Flowing robes, his and hers. A turban. A nose stud. Intriguing. Flying Southwest, I boarded and landed my sweet window seat. Looking up---there they were, choosing the two seats next to me. Full bodied. Arms touching. Surprise companions. They were traveling from Pakistan to visit their children in the U.S. A warmth sprung up between us. Engaged and leaning in. Open---to this experience, in this moment. I was eating it up.

After awhile, we turned to read. I took out "The Poetry of The Sycamores." She said, "Are you a poet?"  "Yes" I claimed. I turned to the page with my poem, "Heart Healthy." And gently offered it to them to share. The container became sacred now. Leaning in together---they each read silently to themselves...lips gently forming each English word and phrase. Taking it in. Truly. He finished first...I could see the full, graceful smile...held and honoring it all. Affirming and connected. Then she---proclaiming the love for these words and pointing to her favorite line. "Celebrate each other's dreams." Yes! We talked about marriage, challenges...of course!

There was something so powerful and grace-filled about our surprise connection. Each open to the Other. Each leaning into this moment with wonder and grace. I'll always remember their soft smiles and gently moving lips. 

Heart Healthy

The menu says 'heart healthy'

Nice

I wonder what it would be like if heart healthy messages were publicly displayed

on the menu of life?

Love yourself

Love your partner

Be gentle

Cherish that which is entrusted to you

Laugh together

Surprise one another

Honor your commitment especially when it's hard

Keep each other safe

Celebrate each other's dreams

Be quick to speak truth with compassion

Let yourself be naked

Dream dreams together and help them grow

Breathe deeply together and feel your hearts beat

Take joy in all you create

If your course needs changing change it

Find a way to share what really matters

Grow community

Unlock each other's code knowing you'll never fully do so

Honor the divine Mystery in each other

Try new things

Open up

Take risks worth taking

Embrace early and often

Believe in the power of love

Rest in each other's arms

Lynn Young

Everything is Possible...Mamma Mia!

I just packed my bag. It is time to return home in the morn. The door flings open---in come my wonderful hosts---whose home I've camped in the middle of for two weeks---singing "Tante Auguri" (Happy Birthday) and bringing a homemade compilation of The Best of Italy soundtrack. It's playing now---and the sounds of love and open hearts surround me. Wow. I always believed everything is possible. The world is my oyster, I said as a young twenty-something. And now, mid-life, I've traveled to Italy to unite with a colleague and celebrate this, literally, from the rooftops. That my journey would fling me right into the arms  of Italy is both unbelievable---and stunningly real. I'm starting to REALLY believe what I've always known! Now---the rain is pouring down. Thunder, too. And big operatic voices. "Mamma Mia!" says Alberto. And I realize how close "Everything is Possible" is to "Yes We Can!"

The beat is gypsy now. With accordian and clarinet. Deep dance music. I realize how blissful it is to sometimes be outside of understanding. I don't know the words...I just feel the music!! Andiamo! (Let's go!)

Yes...I Inhale

There's a light rain this Sunday morn as I stroll down the street in my Rome neighborhood. The air full-bodied post-rain. Carrying the scent of still-blooming flowers. Growing up in Minnesota, I remember the smell of fresh dirt, awakened by the rain. Smells---evocative and immediate, release a Roman story...

• I was surprised when Alberto said, "I love the smell of the dust." Yet, it makes sense. A city rising up out of ancient, crumbling ruins. We love what we know and have come to love. 
• As I stand on the balcony. I lean out to retrieve the clothes from the line. The clothespin releases. I inhale---and there it is. A sweet surprise. My nose is smack dab in the middle of a pot of fresh basil. 
• I emerge from the Metro in an old part of town, but new to me. Need to get my bearings. The older woman in the sweater speaks no English, simply takes my arm and off we go.  Peaceful. Together, we walk under a collonade in the heart of Rome. Suddenly, she looks down and says, "Sparco!" with intensity. I have no idea. Is she referring to the gorgeous mosaic tiles underfoot...or the cigarette butts that lay there? Later, I learn, she's saying, "Dirty!" That's true. Rome has its share of trash for sure. Kind of adds to the earthiness of the place. Lots of smokers, too...now familiar and no longer off-putting.
• This morn I'm in Eva Oro---the Sicilian"Bar" nearby which is now like my "Cheers".  Luigi would love an American bride. Pino is the proud owner. Today---Sunday morning, it's a visual pastry feast. Croissant oozing with green fresh pistachio filling. These are every bit the masterpiece. Casual and magnificent. A giant croissant---at least 18 inches. They joke with a young man that he should buy for his "Tiamo" (lover). Large round pastries hang from the necks of bottles, like prizes. A young woman orders pistachio and hazelnut caffe. I follow her lead. Those who know me know I'm not a flavored coffee girl. This, however, was entirely different. Luigi takes a pitcher of the thick syrup (homemade)...and puts it under my nose. "Smell this!" Then he reaches in with a long spoon, takes some and smears it on the inside of a shot glass, the rim too. Next he pours in the espresso. I reach for the sugar (which this surely calls for), and he says no. And produces a packet of hazelnut sugar, opens it...and places it under my nose for a whiff. I'm soooooooo going to miss this place! Would I like to go dancing tomorrow night? Latin...Samba....Lots of Smiling, they say. Alas, I must pass as I'll board my plane early the next morn. An older gentleman appears. Former champion boxer, his wife now very ill with cancer. "Wait," I say---and place joy in his soft hands.  
• The lingering smell of rosewater in the bagno (bathroom).
• Sniffing homemade grappa.
• The tantalizing smells of Alessia's home cooking. Each day something new and more delicious. I feel like I've hit the jackpot.

It's midday now. Time for traditional Sunday dinner at home, round the table. There's a bustle in the kitchen. We gather. Antipasto course of soft cheese, (stracchino), cooked proscuitto and sundried tomatoes. Primo course of baked pastas (paccheri) with tomato sauce, bread crumbs and grated pecorino romano. More! Secundo course...a melange of roasted vegetables. Dolce course? I hear singing, look up...and see a cake with candles burning ("auguri"=good wishes). Surrounded by pastries. For me...my 56th birthday in three days. My eyes tear up. We hug. I cut. Alberto pours. Fresh caffe...robust and full and deep and dark and wonderful. This, my life. Me, so blessed, These, my friends. I inhale with gratitude.

Reach Out and Touch...

I climb out of the Metro and head to Castronis, a delectable Italian food products shop meets pastry bar. Wow. Yes to marzipan. Yes to regional spices. Yes to Italian chocolates. It's my rendezvous spot for my big day at St. Peter's Cathedral. Alberto's mamma, Gabriella, appears. And we're off---marching straight into St. Peter's Square--which to me looks invitingly round---with it's magnificent columnar wrap. Wow. On this sunny, warm autumn Roman day---as I look ahead at the ancient obelisk flanked by two fountains and on to St. Peter's Basilica, I'm awed by the magnificence. Pilgrims. Tourists all. Drawn in and to this, the largest church in Europe. We process (not planned, but we're in a massive line, so it become a bit of a processional shuffle.) Now my camera's on overdrive. Swiss uniformed guards. Bronze doors that are stories tall. Gilt. (Also some guilt...as my guide mischievously cuts a little in the line. Just a little.)

Disclaimer: I'm no religious historian. Nor an art historian. And plenty has been written about the magnificence within. Here's my experience of St. Peter's: smorgasbord of the senses...

•  There it is. Right inside the door. The light glints off Jesus' muscular leg in Michaelangelo's "Pieta". Mary's face is non-anxious. To think that he carved this at age 24. It's so clear that this is a masterpiece, even to my untrained eye. It glows. It moves. It's lifelike and stunning.
•  There is art and marble and color and shape and sculpture and light everywhere. Every single inch. Telling stories. Honoring popes. Crypts burying the dead. Reaching to the heavens. Speaking of faith. It goes on and on. I say---"A person could look at this a lifetime, and not see it all."
• Looking up...the ceilings, the cupolas, the domes all look like they are covered in amazing frescoes/ paintings. But, they are not. They are, remarkably, all mosaics. Absolutely incredible.
• The scale of the gold gilt lettering that provides a horizontal wrap of the cathedral is perfect. Huge huge letters. Clear and powerful. The message proclaimed energetically by the messenger.
• St. Peter's Basilica is flooded with natural light. Brilliant. Not dark as so many ancient religious spaces. Glorious!
• We enter one of the side chapels for prayer. The sensuous drape of the magnificent, heavy velvet curtain blesses my hand. I'll remember the soft weight of it's touch. I kneel, say a prayer--and unite with you all in that moment.
• The marble...oh the marble. All colors. Floors. Walls. Covered with it. As we walk, I imagine all the footsteps that have gone before. Over time. I reach out and stroke it with the palm of my hand. Feel it's coolness, how smooth it is...how my hand loves this sensation. Again, there's a connection to all time. And to my God-given senses. 
• Somewhere in the day, Gabriella and I bond. Right there in St. Peter's. Two wild adventuring women---one 70, one 55. She's an amazing companion and I'm blessed to have her as my guide. We play with the translation---Italian to English. We embrace this holy place.
• Sneaky...she says, how the legend has it that when St. Peter's was being built, they "stole" the giant bronze creation (the size of a large room---statue doesn't even begin to cover what this is) from the Pantheon and put it here. Right in the center of the Basilica! It's wild and crazy and magnificent.
• Dragons. Signs of the Zodiac. Skeletons...yup, all here.
• A nun prays in an off-limits zone, and I remember that this is a working Cathedral.
• Sculptures by Bernini. Tributes to the great family Barberini (whose symbol is bees). And so much more!
• Asian woman in wedding dress. Being photographed by a man in a suit. I inquire if it's their wedding day. Yes, today. I ask if they'd like me to take their photo. Yes! She's from Vietnam, he from Germany. I give them joy. They give me gratitude. 
• Now...I'd love you to try to imagine this. This dome designed by Michaelangelo---in its vertical form---is longer than a football field. Wow. Wow. Wow. It's time to climb it. An hour's line (our feet get cold) and we're on the elevator. Only 323 steps to go. At one point, we are able to step out INTO the basilica and look down. I'm right next to a mosaic. I reach out and touch a foot of a cherub. And am awe-struck.  Back into the steps, spiral now---getting narrower and narrower. Soon, we are near the top of the dome, and can feel the angle on our left shoulder as we ascend in slope.  A full-body experience...with every breath and muscle engaged. And then---out we emerge with a 360 degree vista of Rome in her afternoon sun and glory. Vatican and gardens. The Tiber snaking its way through town. Domes of cathedrals and churches as far as the eye can see. More gardens than you'd imagine. Windy, windy streets. Monuments. Castles. Hadrian's Wall. All rolling out below us.

We descend. Stroll out across the piazza/square. I reach out and touch the Bernini fountain one last time. We catch the bus.  Wind through an ancient Jewish neighborhood where we say goodbye at my next stop, a Hammam. I'm struck by the convergence of traditions, right here in my day. All calling Rome home. And so do I, for a few more days...

The Sounds of Civita de Bagnoreggio

I head to the hills. Literally. Jumping a train in the termini in Rome...I slide into my compartment with five Italian women of three generations. As is the Italian way, the friendly conversation amongst strangers becomes lively, more intense, more passionate. I wonder...what are they talking about? I listen in but catch no cues. Relationships and men? Politics? Finally---I ask. Ahhhhh, religion! Fields of browning sunflowers. Sheep grazing. Vineyards. Olive groves. After an hour, I arrive in Orvieto...a small town in Umbria. My journey sounds something like this...

• I wait for the bus. Where? Here? When? Soon. It's chilly---I find the sun. It's late in the afternoon. This bus? No. This bus? No. The driver points out my red glove---one missing. Grazie! And then whoosh, with an engine surge we round the curves, windy hilly road, struggling and moving at a surprisingly brisk pace!
• Arriving in the village of Bagnoreggio, it's sleepy (everything closes here) late afternoon. I hear a renaissance flute in the distance. Fitting soundtrack for this medieval village. I wind my way through the narrow streets. Asking..."Civita?" Yes...I'm going the right way. The street is deserted.
• A kilometer later, by foot there it is. Off in the distance... rising above the canyon. On a pinnacle  I see the small, medieval village. With 2500 year old Etruscan arch entrance. It looks other-worldly. And the only way in is by a long footbridge---another 1/2 kilometer...up. I feel my backpack on my back. I hear my breathing.
• Feral cats mew. This feels almost haunted.
• In the late afternoon light Civita is gorgeous. Red vines. Flowers. The canyon falling below us. Ancient buildings. It's as if I've stepped back in time.
• My camera clicks at every turn.
• Now, my fingers are crossed. I'm hoping the three-room medieval Civita B&B is open this late in the season. And that there's a room this late in the day. The door creaks. "Si (yes)" is music to my ears. And there I am...perched in my room on the third floor, overlooking the square. Dark wood  beams on the ceiling. Two foot walls. Plenty of wool blankets---and complete with heat! 
• Back out in the village (5 minutes from one side to the next) in the waning light...I smell something. Unmistakably wine. I hear a sloosh. And look down through the open grates of the window to a cellar. There he is. A vintner in a long white now wine-stained coat, bending and  heaving as he empties a huge cask. I try not to make a sound as I back away---not wanting to startle or harm him.
• Most everything is closed down for the season. What I don't hear is people (a stark contrast to the bustle of Rome.) 35 people live here all together (double the population of 2004.) I'm drawn to the light and the warmth of the open "Bar" on the square. "Closing" says Maria. I lean in. Ask her for a place I might find dinner. She recommends Pucci's back in town and offers to drive me in, if I'll wait while she closes. That's a big yes. Maria is from Romania--has a dream to return and open her own bar there, but the economy won't support it now. I'm thankful for the lift in the dark cold. I give her "Joy." 
• Ensconced in the warmth of Pucci's, I relax. Cozy. And curiously, elephants everywhere. 860 says Pucci. She's from Germany. Appetizer of pate bruschetta, truffle oil. Pucci recommends the shaved truffles, cheese and potatoes followed by stuffed (olives, potato, fennel) rabbit. I think, "Ralph would love this meal." My lips smack. My fork clinks. A large dog barks. Laying at the feet of the diners who have appeared next to me. Time to re-enter the cold...I step out.
• Now, it's late and truly deserted. Walking the dark, narrow street, I feel the cobblestones underfoot. Worn down by thousands of travelers over hundreds of years. I feel a deep connection. And hear the dog baying faintly in the distance.
• A bell tolls.  
• The wind blows and huge leaves scrape.
• Silence. 

Thankfully, the skeleton key works... and I sleep like a baby. Sun streams in as I sip my cappucino. I'm a true wanderer now. Down past the shrine of the incarcerated (combo jail and shrine). Past the old donkey stable under the cliff...with the crashed motorcycle overgrown by vines. Around the corner to the dark cave with the cold wind blowing out. Shall I proceed? Yes. I step in, a little tentatively. And can now see light at the other end. It goes completely under the village and comes out the other side. It's the old, ancient road. I glance at my journal entry and hear one final sound. My Own Voice.  "Tonite as I, an almost 56 year old woman walked alone on a hilltop in Italy I wondered...is this the edge of crazy or fully alive? It's such a close boundary and a fine line. I believe I'm here to navigate it myself...and to help others do the same."