Category: authenticity

The Healing Power of Naps

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Some mornings are hard. They come too early. They come on too strong and too bright and far too soon. The dogs need to be fed and the work is calling. Time to get up and go.

The very best thing about those mornings is a glimmer of promise of what the afternoon may bring.

And if the clock slows after lunch, your eyes struggle to stay open, you find yourself yawning, and you sit – just for a moment, and then suddenly, you’re wrapped in a momentary hug of sleep. AKA the nap.

I love the sweet touch of sleep at midday. Not everyday, of course, but some days it’s needed. I love the slow opening of the eyes, the sweeping in of a deep breath, and the stretch before I realize that sleep just wrapped me in a midday hug and it felt wonderful!

Naps have superpowers. They offer life-giving energy, a refresh to continue strong for the rest of the day. And… sometimes they stave off illness. When I’m not feeling my best, a nap puts me right! The Mayo clinic states naps increase alertness and relaxation while improving mood and performance.



When my children were young and they got sick, I would give them a cup of secret bear tea and a nap. They thought it was the secret in the tea that made them feel better, but the secret was only the teaspoon of honey. The real secret to their wellness was the extra sleep which inspired their recovery.

Naps are not just for kids! Adults are afraid to admit they take naps or they are afraid to indulge in such childishness. But – when needed – naps are a gift!

Sleep – hugs can inspire, give us more energy to face the rest of the day. Sleep, in general, is healing. Not only for physical illness, but from all sorts of challenges.

What if We Chose This Life?

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Ivy Getty’s Wedding

Have you seen this photo? I admit it took my breath away. For a moment, I thought it was a scene cut from the Great Gatsby. But there’s no Leonardo to be found. This is real. This is someone’s real life. Of course, in some abstract way, we know people are wealthy and have these lives and obviously get married in an extravaganza such as this. But, for a second, I forgot.

So enmeshed in my humble life, satisfied with my little home and my lovely garden, grateful for my girls, and proud of my job – that my mind neglected to remember that some people have larger lives.

I don’t think I’ve been to a concert venue as large as this scene since the Richfield Coliseum. (So long ago, it was before event centers were named for companies and instead for the cities in which they were built.)

Ivy Getty is a part of THE Getty’s. Granddaughter of John Paul – I know the name from The Getty Museum, which I’ve enjoyed on a number of occasions. They used to offer music on a Saturday evening while the galleries and gardens were opened late. Some people know John Paul Getty descended from the JPG The First who was (once) the richest man in the world.

~

Many years ago, I heard the theory that, prior to our birth, we choose our lives and the events that happen in our lives.

I railed against the idea. There’s a hellava lot of things that has happened in my life that I would have never agreed too. “I would not have pressed that button!” I insisted.

But now, years down the road, all I’ve been through, all I’ve learned, there have been benefits. I’ve gained levels of empathy that some people can’t comprehend. (A person with a P.H.D in Religious Studies once asked how I could forgive someone who had harmed me when they never asked for forgiveness or showed remorse.) I have a deep gratitude for the things I do have and put people before material things.

I am by no means perfect. I falter in my empathy. I’m occasionally short on patience. When rushing, I can be careless in thought and deed. But mostly, I have sought higher levels of understanding about our purpose and place.

And more often than not I think – maybe I did choose this life.

If we are to believe we are here to learn lessons, to become better beings from incarnation to incarnation, to free ourselves from the evils of humanity – pettiness, jealousy, greed etc, then isn’t it probable that we chose hardships that might teach us acceptance, forgiveness, gratitude.

~

If you’ve read this blog for long, you’ll know I was raised in poverty, became a single parent, struggled to put myself through school while raising my children. It might be easy to fall into step with the green-eyed monster and wish for money and power. Wouldn’t that have made life easier? Many of us think it would have or will. However, the financially gifted have their own issues.

John Paul Getty III was kidnapped. His grandfather didn’t want to pony up the dough. So the kidnappers mailed him Junior’s ear. Then a negotiation began. Can you imagine the richest man in the world refusing to pay a ransom for his flesh and blood? Can you imagine your grandpa refusing to give up a paycheck for you?

Streaming services (in addition to the pandemic) has cost higher paid actors their expected income. Health care they were once promised has been affected. We have a whole generation of “stars” who may not be able to live the lives in which they have become accustomed.

In other words, the wealthy have their problems.

One of the reasons I suspect old money doesn’t like to mix with new money or either of those with us peasants is they fear being used, liked, or appreciated only for their $$ and connections. Anyone ever use you? During my college years, I had a few who seemed to only desire my editing skills (such as they are.)

~

I am grateful for the lessons learned. I’m grateful the things that happened weren’t worse. I’m happy I am able to help those I can. Thank you, Universe, for healthy offspring, a brain that works, friends that are true, the capacity to love, the understanding to forgive, the acceptance, empathy, and desire to strive to continue to become a better person. (I imagine these are gifts bequeathed to me from challenges faced and overcome.)

I wish Ivy (Love that name!) Getty and her crew the best. May their marriage be loving and their children healthy.

Drama is Not a Superpower

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Some time ago – in a pre-pandemic incarnation – I had tickets to a live television show. I invited a man I’d gone out with a few times. We needed to be there by two to insure seating by four. He offered to drive, said he knew right where it was.

He showed up a few minutes late, not a big problem. He’d neglected to fill his gas tank. There’s a few more minutes. He hops on the freeway. Then, he suddenly says, do you have the directions? I quickly program the location into my map app. He misses the exit. We’re officially late. When we get off, he makes a left rather than a right. He turns down the wrong street. He passes the entrance. Turns around. Passes it again. We are so late, I’m doubting they’ll let us in. Someone points us to the parking lot – “any spot on floor number four.” He spins around floor four, goes to five, comes back down to four. There are plenty of spaces, but he keeps saying, I’m not sure we’re allowed to park here, to which I reiterate, “they said any spot.”

You get where this is going. We were too late – far too late – and refused entry.

We stopped for a coffee while trying to figure out our next move. He asked me if I was mad about missing the show. “Disappointed.” I admitted. He insinuated I was staring at the man at the next table. “Do you know him? Why are you looking at him?” I responded, “I’m looking at the hat,” which I was. He continued to say things until I realized he was attempting to start a fight in a public place.

I knew a woman from a group of friends who, every time we got together, needed to reiterate her earthquake story. “The teapots fell from the highest shelf.” “My favorite dish broke, ruined the whole set.” “My garden pots fell over.”(I’d lost my home and nearly all my material possessions – my lovely daughters and myself were saved – and I didn’t bring it up at every meeting. We were safe. We were together. We were rebuilding our lives.) But the woman continued to tell us how they’d bilked their insurance company into getting them a new kitchen floor. “It was so horrifying,” she’d remember, “seeing my teapots in pieces all over the floor.” Occasionally shedding tears over the broken porcelain.

On a girls’ trip to New York, one of the ladies began acting terribly. She walked ahead of us, lost us on the subway, and headed back to the hotel. Worried for her, we rang and texted. When we returned to the hotel to check on her, she began bawling uncontrollably, angrily sobbing she’d lost someone in 9/11, and we were being inconsiderate. She’d never told any of us she’d lost someone. We gathered around, comforted her, allowed her some time to breathe and then asked. Through tears she said, it was her insurance agent. Upon further urging, she said her insurance company had an office in one of the towers. With more questions to understand the nature of her upset, she let us know that she really hadn’t known any one personally, but the company that held her insurance had an office in New York. She thinks it was in one of the towers. But we were still inconsiderate bitches for now allowing her to have time to grieve.

Some people need drama like they need caffeine. It’s a rush or a high. They create these pseudo-connections to big events like 9/11 or the Northridge Earthquake and anchor their heartaches on that. Others, as in my first example, create scenarios in which drama can be espoused; not getting a rise out of me, he further tried to instigate an argument in public.

Of course, the internet, tik-tok, youtube, etc are filled with viral videos of someone losing their shit.

We’ve all been there – had a moment of weakness. In this time of pandemic faux-recovery, it’s no wonder we see so many freak outs on film; however, some people thrive on it. They don’t coincidentally lose it when a camera happens to be filming, they act out often. (And I do mean act!) They get some sort of sick pleasure from it. It’s a release of sorts for them.

One woman who was an accomplished drama queen admitted it was her form of power. “Lose it sometime and watch how people jump and run to get you what you want.”

Drama is not a superpower. Drama is an immature response to a given situation.

You want to know what power is? Hold your temper. Keep your drama to yourself. Think for a moment. Consider the situation. Question your response. Then proceed.

This world is filled with people who need the rush of drama, the need for “power,” with Karen’s, and an array of people who want to act inappropriately in public. The world does not need anyone else to lose their cool.

I stood behind a guy in line who railed at the clerk because the gift card he was trying to purchase wasn’t working. The clerk walked the guy to another register, apologizing the whole time, while the customer called him an idiot, an asshole, and other assorted names. When the clerk returned, he apologized to me for my wait. I told him not to worry. My pick-up wasn’t ready. He apologized for that, cringing, expecting, so I believe, that I would go full Karen on him. I did not, I refused to make his day any worse because of things that were beyond his control. I told him I’d browse the store for a bit and come back.

In a few moments, I heard my name over the loud speaker. Not only had the clerk rushed my pick-up, but he threw in a few extras as he thanked me over and over for my patience.

There are benefits – besides dignity – although that’s a great one! – for being patient, courteous, drama-free. It’s low blood pressure, a steady heart beat, a clear mind, the ability to sleep at night. Nothing good comes from lashing out and hurting others.

Drama is a weak person’s attempt at a power grab.

Empathy is a superpower. Humanity is a superpower. Serenity is a superpower. And they all leave you feeling a hellava lot better than freaking out.

Gratitude is my Kool-aid

Published on by Noreen Lace2 Comments

As I composed a text regarding people’s past pain, something popped up in my newsfeed that gave me pause.

A conversation recently reminded me of previous chats with someone who always decried what their parents did not do for them. Some people live in their past pain. They blame their parents or past relationships for how they interact in the world or for what they have neglected to accomplish.

There is no doubt that our primary relationships affect us in many different ways. However, I’ve always maintained that once you discover the problem, it’s up to you to correct the issue.

Someone once told me – if the kids get to 18 and they’re still alive, then the parents have done their job. As a parent, I say – if only it were that simple!

As a child, my parents did not do everything right. However, I think they did the best they could with what they were given. I survived. I moved beyond their lack and created a successful path.

As a parent, I tried my best to do everything in my power to make certain my children’s needs and desires were met while trying to teach them appropriate boundaries. No parent is perfect and I probably made mistakes. But my kids are pretty damn great humans!

Some people live in their pain. They live on their parents’ mistakes, blaming and crying foul, and using that as an excuse for their failures.

I feel they’re wasting their time, wasting their lives in this pain. Move forward. Move on. Get the help you need and become the person you want to be. All of our parents did the best they could given their own lack. It is up to us to learn from their mistakes and find what we need in this life.

Now – the post which gave me pause to rethink my position came from Jeff Brown.

The practice of empathy tells me I should heed his advice and allow those feeling the pain of their victimhood their own time frame. Emotions, in some theories, don’t have a timeline. When we are in pain, it’s hard to consider moving beyond it. It does take time.

I do have to ask – are we victims of our parents’ deficits?

One person told me they felt their whole life had been affected by their lack of a father. They believed their life would have been much different, much better had their father stuck around.

I said – what if he was abusive? what if he was an alcoholic? what if he was in and out of prison?

The person balked at my questions. They grew angry with my insinuation.

BUT – is it not true?

We idealize what we do not have. We think things would have been better had we had this or been given that. Life is never that simple!

Many people recognize and appreciate the hard work of their single mother or single parent instead of wishing for what they did not have.

I’m among those who live with and on gratitude. I do not and can not live in the past. Those who live in the past or live on the pain of their past can not move forward to a successful future.

Gratitude for what we have, for what the lack teaches us, helps us appreciate our life and our opportunities. Most of us wake up every morning healthy, able to see the blue skies (or grey skies as of late), and hear the birds singing. We are able to walk across the floor, flip on the lights, work and play. We may experience sadness, heartache, but these things teach us valuable lessons about ourselves and our lives – if we’re smart.

Gratitude, if you’re unaware, is the act of being thankful for those things we do have. If you’re new to the practice, keep a gratitude journal. Write down every morning or every evening (or even carry it with you) and log the gifts the day has given. Start recognizing what you have. Focus on you and not those around you who seem like they might have more, do more, be more. We don’t know others’ true stories or true feelings. We need to recognize that too!

Halloween Horror Date # 1

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I’m a fan of All Hallows Eve. Scary Stories are music to my ears. Horry movies are my jam! Halloween Horror nights at local parks and haunted houses are favorite past time during the month of October.

Some years ago, I went to Knotts Halloween Nights. We went with friends and family. I arrived hungry for the scares in the mazes. The guy I’m with is a big guy – nearly six feet, but soft around the middle, cuddly – like a teddy bear.

Once inside the mazes, he gripped my hand, walking slightly in front of me, nearly pulling me along behind him. Every time a ghoul, ghost, or themed monster jumped out – he raised his fist to them. After the first few attempted scares, no more monsters spooked us. And my excited energy turned to boredom with the simple walk through set.

My family and friends deserted us, went their own way. I suggested he not raise his fist or hand, assuring him that the workers wouldn’t touch us or hurt us, and warning we could get thrown out. He brushed it off.

I assumed, and it was later confirmed by one of the workers, they had walkie-talkies or cameras and after he jumped back at the scarer with a flabby balled hand, the characters are to no longer interact. The actors are not paid to be punched. They are not there to be hit.

This ruined the fun of night. Why would a teddy bear turn into terror teddy, pulling me a long behind him, and threatening the very reason we came to the park? I assume he was afraid, more afraid than he wanted me to know. He’d never acted tough or aggressive before that night.

As far as after that night – I made like Halloween and ghosted him.

Blast from the Past: Read A True Halloween Creeper Story

Scary Fiction: $1.00 Stories and Eddy

Squid Game and other Social Issues

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Given the hype of Squid Game, I couldn’t be behind the curve, so I gave in to the propaganda and clicked play.

(SPOILER ALERT)

I sat to watch the first episodes and became mortified as Red Light/Green Light turned into mass murder. I suspected something of the sort. I am savvy enough to know no one offers strangers money for easy, peasy games.

Shocked by the horror, not only of that episode but the following episodes, I fast forwarded through the majority of those scenes. I did slow for the other scenes, what I would call the important ones – the relationship building, the psychology behind playing the games, but that was slow to come, hard to understand with the dubbing, and lack of real emotion in the actors or the voice-overs.

Besides being horrified that Netflix would buy such a series, I’m sad for our society. We, in literature, know this to be a fact: Literature affects society and society affects literature. Literature, in this case, includes media. It’s the consumption of entertainment.

When Julia Roberts appeared in Pretty Woman and was driven away by her prince charming in a white limo, thousands of girls across the country ran away from home thinking their hero would come in the form of a john.

When Gatsby was re-released, a flood of inspired fashions, jewelry, and Roaring 20’s parties came to the market and was still going strong before the pandemic.

Our society, right now, is in trouble. The shootings, road rage, assaults, and airline passenger incidents have increased dramatically. The mental stress of the threats to home and family from the pandemic, the lockdown, as well as the continued confusing and changing informational messages create anxiety for people already stretched to their limits.

Our society does not need a series about murder games. Our society needs healing.

After 9/11, the media sold the red, white, and blue. Products, shows, and news stations – American Pride elevated. In addition, shows and movies about angels and healing were released. Our country slowly healed.

We have choices in what to watch, but I see more negative than positive available across the streaming channels. While we have some comedies, some sci-fi, the vast majority of available shows and movies seem to involve guns and violence.

Hulu canceled Dash and Lily, a sweet show. Netflix did away with Love – a show about relationships. Shows which might offer a reprieve from the violence and horror are done away with while companies use our dollars to buy content they then convince us to watch. I would have never watched Squid Games – it’s not that good! – had it not been for the hype.

Perhaps, right now, media is reflecting society. But media also has the power to offer and influence our society with more wholesome, more loving, and productive content.

I’ve sworn off my crime and mystery shows for the time being. I’ve sworn off any show with guns and violence. If I want that, I’ll watch the news.

Our society needs healing and media has the power, and perhaps the responsibility, to give us more of those choices.

What Pain Teaches Us

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While cleaning up my yard, I twisted my ankle on my half finished garden pathway. I paused, my arms still full, ankle still smarting, wondering if I could still walk on it. For the moment, it was okay and I finished my chore. I’d been meaning to get to that pathway for awhile now.

I had a lot planned that day. I had errands to run, the yard to finish, things around the house to take care of and to finish a big project planned for that evening- but my ankle swelled and canceled my plans.

I did what one is supposed to do in these situations. I whined about it. No, not really. I elevated my foot and iced on my ankle.

*The philosophy in yoga – listen to your body.

*An idea from the military – push yourself to stretch your limits.

*Some believe – train your mind to not feel the pain.

*Others feel – the Universe is sending you a message

So, I’m sitting in my bed, my foot up on a pillow, notebook in hand, wondering which I advice I should follow.

Then I consider my own take on pain: The learning curve. Pain is meant to teach us something.

Physical and emotional pain, without a learning curve, is a waste. People continue to commit the same errors over in their lives and continue to be hurt in the same ways because they have not learned what they needed to the first time.

Healing, real healing, must come with a lesson for us to not re-injure in the exact same way. I spent much of my young life experiencing those lessons over and over without the understanding of what I was to learn. Once I began to learn from my pain – I didn’t allow the injury to happen again.

Emotional pain can last longer and hurt more than physical pain. Emotional pain can take up residence in our bodies and even cause physical pain. We must work out emotional pain in some way – therapy, talking to friend, or just writing it down to free up that pressure.

Physical pain can affect us emotionally. Some experts believe that to be free of physical pain, we must deal with what is really bothering us.

Some years ago I injured my back in kickboxing. I engaged in physical therapy which didn’t completely alleviate the issues. I still caught myself wincing in bed, carefully moving throughout my day, unable to wear my favorite shoes and sometimes unable to bend to even put my socks on. I thought I might end up like so many whose movement is limited due to their physical pain. I mourned my previous active, kickboxing, yoga, hiking self.

I sat myself down and really asked myself – what is going on, Miss Yogi-pants? Yogies heal. Your mind over matter works. Your stretch beyond your limits has never caused this much pain – so what is happening?

In meditation, I realized that I so feared the pain, my body would tense up with any little movement which MIGHT cause the pain. It wasn’t that I couldn’t bend over – I was afraid of that pain and my body would tense up to save me from the hurt and then I wouldn’t be able to bend over.

Little by little I worked to release that tension, release that fear of the pain. In almost no time at all – the pain was gone. I still took some things slow. And I have to admit, my body (or mind?) decided my back did not like the repetitive jerking and twisting of gym kickboxing, so I limit that – but I’ve been able to do everything else.

Emotional pain works the same way – don’t you think? We are so afraid of the pain that we actually work backward and hold on to the pain by holding on to the fear.

We’re afraid of the unknown, so we make the same mistakes over and over. We fear being hurt, so we don’t try to move beyond it – we stay stuck because that’s safer than whatever is beyond this moment or this position.

What did my ankle teach me? I’m not sure. Not to procrastinate and finish the walkway in the garden? To take it easy before a big project? Or to push through to finish that big project – which is what I ended up doing. I wrapped my ankle, neglected my chores, and focused on the big project that I’d procrastinated on.

Maybe my ankle pain and momentary limitation was a wake up call to stop procrastinating PERIOD!

Noreen Lace Reading from Eddy

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Noreen Lace reading from her book Eddy. Eddy is a fictional account of an actually event in Edgar Allan Poe’s life.

Go easy on me. It’s my first try. I know I need to make some changes. I’ll happily consider suggestions.

Trigger warning: suicide, drugs, blood, death.

Creativity is a Well that Must be Replenished

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Thanks to Joe Plummer from Carbon Radio for asking great questions in this author interview!

Head over to Medium.com to read the full interview!

How do you think about creativity?

Creativity is a well that must be replenished. Creating a space and time for oneself and one’s growth will keep the well abundant. For me, the replenishment requires an inner focus, quiet spaces around me, lovely views — not necessarily when I’m writing, but before and after. Trips to the local art museum, beach, or the woods will recharge me. When I’m running dry, I know there’s something scratching at the bottom. Some parts of me or my needs I’ve neglected or ignored. I get too distracted by the outside world. There is so much we must do in this modern time and too many easy diversions. My soul counts on the regular activity of writing, it’s like a cleaning out of my mind. It keeps me balanced and happy. Without the regular practice of creativity, the soul cringes and starts to fold over on itself. If it’s been too long, it’ll be a rough restart. Rocks and dirt come first but, if we keep at it, our well fills again and the water becomes clear and plentiful.

Hell in a Starbucks Cup

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It’s been a year since I’ve had caffeine – and it’s been HELL!

Specifically, my signature black tea, and more specifically, sometimes a half a gallon a day!

I was sitting back today, calm as a koala on eucalyptus, thinking I should be doing something – like writing. And it’s been a year since I’ve had real flow.

That flow where you sit back and the ideas come. That flow wherein you read the news and see how each story can become a hundred short stories, a disaster novel, and a rom-com.

I consider how I used to sit at the dining room table, hot cup of black tea mere millimeters from my fingertips, and type like a hamster on a wheel. Go. Go. Go!

It’s the lack of caffeine – of course- which has caused my caustic dry spell. I glance toward the kitchen, knowing, somewhere in there, lies a discarded tea bag at the bottom of an unused drawer.

Screw the doctors! To hell with anxiety! I shall abandon caution and dive over the cliffs of caffeine haven.

I hesitate, like I do now while strung out on herbal bounty, and consider, weigh the pros and cons, and question my decision. Damn chamomile.

A knock on the door steals my attention. (Caffeine improves focus – pro). I pop off the couch and spring toward the door. (No late afternoon caffeine drag – con). I throw open the door. There, on my patio, a tower of chocolates.

SALVATION!