THINGS I MISS....

I guess I'm in some weird nostalgia place right now, because the past couple of days things keep popping into my brain that I miss, and I started a list.

Maybe it's the position of the planets, moon phase, or some other cosmic occurrence that is causing these random thoughts; two friends curiously report the same.

Please feel free to add comments with your own things you miss, too!

THINGS I MISS:

• Cashmere Bouquet and Dier Kiss talcum powders
• Baskin Robbins English Toffee ice cream (not an ice cream fan, but loved this one!)
• Prescriptives cosmetics 'Magic' line
• Reaching a real English speaking person on any phone service call
• Frito Lay 'Bistro Gourmet' Potato Chips (Best ever)
• Carnations that actually had that spicy carnation fragrance
• A long handwritten letter from a friend
• Woolworth (and other drugstores) Soda Fountains (always the best burgers & fries)
• The Door County (Wisconsin) of my youth, including: Peninsula State Park camping & Friday night bonfires with whole skinned pine trees in a 'teepee shape; Gill's Rock smoked whitefish; Bailey's drugstore & do-it-yourself sundaes; Cornell's Riding Stable, & 'Uncle Thad," who let us wash dishes for free horseback rides; "Pebble Beach," and skipping pebbles into the water; Hansen's shetland ponies and the Nickelodean collection in the barn; the village of Ephraim
  
• Elizabeth Arden's 'Cabriole' perfume, my favorite, ever.
• Square - and better yet- crinkle-cut french fries when ordering out.
• $9.95 Oil Change specials
• Neighborhoods with sidewalks, streetlights, and no fences between neighbors
• Block parties & potlucks
• Being in a movie, restaurant, rest room, fitting room, etc., withOUT cell phones ringing & having to endure loud conversations
• 4th of July firework extravaganzas at almost every park
• Drive In's: Movies AND restaurants
• Airline travel that was actually fun! (i.e., no security restrictions, up to 2 free bags (no weight limit) and (hard to believe!) free hot meals!
• Shiny chrome bumpers and grilles on cars
• My grandmother's fried chicken
• TV Series: Dirty Sexy Money; The Gilmore Girls; Once And Again; Reunion; Invasion; Providence
• Worrying that gas might someday reach (shudder) $2.00!
• Anticipating the photos you were waiting to be developed
• Record stores (and listening booths!) And records!
  
• Julia Child's live cooking shows
  
• The "brrrrrrrrrrring" sound of old phones
• White soda (a midwest thing)
• Four distinct seasons
• "hard roll," butter, and liver sausage sandwiches from my childhood
  
• Real butter on movie popcorn (though some small indie theatres still have it)
• Walking in the woods at Menomonee River Parkway and gathering abundant buttercups and violets to make necklaces and crowns (Where I lived & Parkway location)
  
• Actually finding 4-leafed clovers in my own yard
• The sound of my little girl (now grown) giggling uncontrollably when we had tickle contests
• Flying homemade kites with my Aunt Sylvia
• Station wagons with a back-facing third seat.
• Old friends I have lost track of, but still think of all the time.
• The Steak n' Shake drive-in (They took your order at your car, served you, & hung a tray on your door)

What can you add? The only rule is you can't add people who have passed that you miss. I would love to hear some of yours!

Grateful Attitude, Bountiful Life

"The Secret of health for both mind and body is not to mourn for the past, not to worry about the future, nor to anticipate troubles, but to live the present moment wisely and earnestly." - Buddha

I love going to the farmer's market. The Wednesday afternoon market in Santa Cruz is like a flashback to the 70's - a plethora of tie-dyes, dreadlocks, Birkenstocks on dusty-footed hippie types, mixed with the thinkers, the artists and poets. There are homeless or just plain hungry who stand in front of the offered "samples" plates at each booth, spearing one after another cut piece with the same toothpick, though the signs clearly state the practice is unacceptable. The age range is as wide as the social class, but everyone is there to partake of the bounty.

Saturday's market, in Aptos, is a different crowd, a more "white bread" type - or at least few to none are vagrant in appearance. Saturday morning shoppers are generally of a more established social status, with families, children in tow, couples, and many silver-haired, but exceptionally spry, heading down or climbing the hill where the canopied stands cover three full tiers on the fairly steep grade.
There is a wide variety of offerings: fruits, nuts, vegetables, fresh local eggs, orchids, herbs, cut flowers and outdoor plants. Welcomed hot coffee stands, oysters and fish, fresh roasted corn on the cob, local applewood smoked ham and bacon are favorites, as are baked goods from two friendly competitors. Pottery, hemp bags and motley assorted other goods one wouldn't expect at a farmer's market are found. A van that says "The Peace Mobile," with a woman holding a sign that reads "Hands of friendship to Cuba" is parked next to "The Farmer's Market String Band," playing very non-Latin, but rousing Cajun Zydeco. One can always find at least one petition to be reviewed, local mountain honey, and the mushroom man, with an array of the ordinary to extraordinary fungi. It is, simply put, an aphrodisiac to all one's senses.

Today I have parked at the top of the hill, and walked down, instead of my usual opposite routine. I realize the error of my judgment, as I climb the path with heavy tomatoes, melons, sweet corn, and my weekly purchase of individual quiches Normandy, from Sweet Elena's Bakery. A bag seems about to lose it's flimsy plastic handles, so I stop and sit briefly on a rough log bench on the top of the hill under a stately old conifer, where two very loud and very angry squirrels are in the midst of a disagreement.

As I attempt to adjust and reallocate my purchases, I notice a very elderly woman making her way up the long inclined path in my direction. She is carrying cellophane bags with 3 orchid plants in one hand, and a large overflowing basket in the other. The hand grasping the orchid plants is also resting on a gnarled walking stick that she is using to help pull her up the grade.

I am contemplating offering help, alternating with a little voice that tells me no, she does this every week. She wants to do it herself. As my inward debate continues, a Santa Claus bearded man with a bald head on top, save thin side and back-of-the-head hair coaxed into a very skinny four-inch ponytail overtakes her, momentarily exchanging pleasantries, a laugh, and a quick pat on her shoulder. He is bent at the waist, in at least a thirty degree angle. He has a backpack full of his purchases, about three huge bunches of cut sunflowers in one arm, and a large arthritic dog as old as he is on a leash. A lady going down the hill in front of him drops her keys, and he immediately stoops the rest of the way to pick them up, handing them over with a smile and a, "Here you go! Beautiful day!" greeting.

It is, in fact, cold and gray with drizzly fog.

The woman with the walking stick arrives at my bench and I quickly scoot over, imagining she will rest for a bit . She doesn't. Instead, she smiles brightly and cheerfully calls over, "No thanks, honey. If I sit down I might never get up again!" and continues to the parking lot.

As I arise from the bench behind her, two teenagers are passing abreast of each other, and one bumps into me, offering no apology, but rather continuing a rant about too much work around the house and being tired, while his companion, apparently not listening, is saying, "Dude. They didn't even play a twenty minute set last night. Shit, man, that's seriously top of my diss list..."

A pine cone falls, hitting my head, and I look up to see my squirrel friends. They have apparently called a truce and they are close to each other on the same branch. As one squirrel scurries up the branch, the other, which I now see has only 3 legs, ambles gingerly behind him.

I turned another year older the day before yesterday. Though I'm not thrilled to see the years now passing at warp speed, I am grateful that I am aware that they do. Whenever I need a gratitude check, God and the universe speak to me, and to us all. One only needs to listen. The voice is loud and clear, and never wrong. It says one word: "attitude." It is up to each of us to turn that word into "gratitude" by remembering every single day how very much we have to be grateful for.

I like to remember it as once being just an "attitude," fused with "great" and "grateful" (GR)

GRateful +Attitude = Gratitude

It is a beautiful day, as the bent man called out a few moments earlier. A perfect day.

Carrots, Eggs, and Coffee

A dear friend sent me this today. She is a wonderful, loving person who has recently gone through courses of debilitating chemotherapy for stage 3 ovarian cancer. It was a surprise to find she had it; she'd had a "complete hysterectomy" years earlier, only to find that her doctor had, in fact, left one ovary.

We pick each other up, mostly me her, as I have been blessed with an optimism that has seen me through near death, breast cancer, and many other challenges in life.

What she sent is so true, and so thought-provoking, I want to share it with everyone:

Carrots, Eggs & Coffee


A young woman went to her mother and told her about her life and how things were so hard for her. She did not know how she was going to make it and wanted to give up. She was tired of fighting and struggling... It seemed as one problem was solved, a new one arose.

Her mother took her to the kitchen. She filled three pots with water and placed each on a high fire. Soon the pots came to boil. In the first she placed carrots, in the second she placed eggs, and in the last she placed ground coffee beans. She let them sit and boil; without saying a word.

In about twenty minutes she turned off the burners. She fished the carrots out and placed them in a bowl. She pulled the eggs out and placed them in a bowl. Then she ladled the coffee out and placed it in a bowl.... Turning to her daughter, she asked, "Tell me what you see."

"Carrots, eggs, and coffee," she replied.

Her mother brought her closer and asked her to feel the carrots. She did and noted that they were soft. The mother then asked the daughter to take an egg and break it. After pulling off the shell, she observed the hard boiled egg.

Finally, the mother asked the daughter to sip the coffee.. The daughter smiled as she tasted its rich aroma. The daughter then asked, “What does it mean, mother?”

Her mother explained that each of these objects had faced the same adversity: boiling water. Each reacted differently. The carrot went in strong, hard, and unrelenting. However, after being subjected to the boiling water, it softened and became weak. The egg had been fragile. Its thin outer shell had protected its liquid interior, but after sitting through the boiling water, its inside became hardened. The ground coffee beans were unique, however. After they were in the boiling water, they had changed the water.

"Which are you?" she asked her daughter. "When adversity knocks on your door, how do you respond? Are you a carrot, an egg or a coffee bean?"

Think of this: Which am I?
Am I the carrot that seems strong, but with pain and adversity do I wilt and become soft and lose my strength?

Am I the egg that starts with a malleable heart, but changes with the heat?
Did I have a fluid spirit, but after a death, a breakup, a financial hardship or some other trial, have I become hardened and stiff?
Does my shell look the same, but on the inside am I bitter and tough with a stiff spirit and hardened heart?

Or am I like the coffee bean? The bean actually changes the hot water, the very circumstance that brings the pain. When the water gets hot, it releases the fragrance and flavor.

If you are like the bean, when things are at their worst, you get better and change the situation around you. When the hour is the darkest and trials are their greatest do you elevate yourself to another level?

How do you handle adversity? Are you a carrot, an egg or a coffee bean?

May you have enough happiness to make you sweet, enough trials to make you strong, enough sorrow to keep you human and enough hope to make you happy.

The happiest of people don't necessarily have the best of everything; they just make the most of everything that comes along their way.

The brightest future will always be based on a forgotten past; you can't go forward in life until you let go of your past failures and heartaches.. When you were born, you were crying and everyone around you was smiling.. Live your life so at the end, you're the one who is smiling and everyone around you is crying for losing your bright light from their lives.

And hope that once their tears are shed, they, too, will once again be smiling at remembrance.

Let us all be coffee!

Long LOVE The Bad Ass

So I have come to the realization that "she" was right.

Of course I am referring to my dear, departed Mother, who always said, (among other things), "You'll see I was right!"

My God. It first began with the notice of time passing faster than a Hollywood hook-up. This started happening a few years ago when I was shopping at a Marshall's store the beginning of July, to find a huge Halloween section. WTF? The Christmas decos were there by the first of August. I still had a Christmas candle on my dining room table, an indication of both my manana mentality, and how often my dining room table gets used. (The candle was from the year before.)

My Mom was, God rest her soul, a curmudgeon's curmudgeon, though she would never have admitted to such a comparison, using the famous selective mirror we all tend to use at times.

She was a one-armed hugger. You know the type: You go in for the big bear hug and get an uncomfortable three-pats on the shoulder with the one arm they are using as they disengage as quickly as possible, while their other arm hangs like the poor lifeless victim of a massive stroke. She never said anything if not critical, disapproving, or negative. At least not that I could remember. One time when she and my Dad were coming for a visit, scheduled to arrive on Friday, they - much to my horror - arrived on a Thursday, around 5 pm (in time for the dinner I had not planned).

I remember like it was yesterday, though it was 25 years ago (again an example of the lightning bolt passage of time). I was on a step ladder in the front yard of our home, washing the windows. I was wearing cut off light blue jeans, a white tee shirt with a coffee stain from the morning, and a - God help me - bandanna around my head (picture a white Aunt Jemima - not attractive). I saw the green station wagon (yes, they still had them), driving up my street like a hearse coming to pick me up. As they pulled into the circular driveway, I jumped down off the ladder and went to greet them, my painted-on fake happy, thrilled face in tact.

Dad's door was closest to me, and he jumped out quickly, affording me the first opportunity for a hug (his were warm and genuine). "Hi, honey! Hope you don't mind that we're a day early...blah blah reason why blah blah... but you look great! You must have lost 20 pounds! (22 since I'd seen them nearly ten months earlier, and from sheer determination and starvation)"

"Thanks, Dad. It's great to see you......"

(Mother arrives from the other side of the car, *thin-lipped (*more on the subject of my mother and lips at a later date) one-armed pat-pull-back-hug, limp, lifeless right arm hanging (this is significant, because she was right-handed. Get it? She had to lead with her less used less important less strong arm) greeting me with, "What made you think you could wear bangs?"

I stuck my adult, married chin out and replied, "Good to see you, Mom," rankling on the inside. I was grown, independent, woh-man. I could let this disapproving greeting fall like petals off a dead rose. She was not going to get to me.

Until a couple hours later, when, during dinner, I excused myself to use the bathroom. Until I washed my hands, brushed my hair to the side off my brow, and rebuked myself in my mind, with, "She's right! What ever made me think I could wear bangs?!" Never mind that friends, my husband, and most importantly I liked my new hairdo. She was right, as always.

It took many years, divorce, self-help books, loner periods of introspection, to silent that voice. Happily, I did not wait until she was gone, instead choosing to kill her with kindness and love. Every time she would criticize me, I would say, "Love you, Mom!" in a cheery voice. It drove her crazy at first. She would say, "What?" and shake her head. But it silenced her. And it did something more important. It turned her into a loving person after 85 years on earth. She learned how to hug.

I wasn't even aware of this until a few days before she had what later proved to be a fatal stroke.

I had dropped her at the drugstore to pick up a prescription, while I went next door to the supermarket. When I went to meet her, I saw her frail self at the end of the long aisle in front of the prescription counter. I came up behind her, unknown to her, in time to witness the most amazing thing. Before I tell you what it was, exactly, I must preface it by saying that she talked down to every single person in the world, especially workers of any kind - waiters, clerks, etc. She would always talk to them in an imperious and all at once disapproving tone, much to my chagrin, and I often scolded her for it.

So here she was, saying, "Oh, Connie! I can't believe you're moving! I'm going to miss you so much! Come over here and give me a hug!" And I witnessed this stranger, this clerk-of-sorts woman come out and get the biggest, two-armed, warm hug I had ever seen.

It was then I knew: Love can change everyone and everything. So I continue to love unconditionally, and spread it to everyone, everywhere I go. And I don't resent realizing that my Mom was right about a lot:

• Time passes faster than you think (so don't put off forgiving, understanding, letting go, telling someone you love them, loving yourself).
• There never will be a comedienne funnier than Lucille Ball, or a television show better than "I Love Lucy."
• Coffee should always be drunk black, with nothing added, and it does go with EVERYTHING!

I used to watch, in amusement mixed with disgust at my Mom, drinking her black coffee with a tuna salad sandwich, a hamburger - anything and everything.

Awhile ago I was drinking my "Bad Ass Coffee" and ate some tortilla chips. With extra salt and salsa.

Heaven.

Thanks, Mom, for (mostly) being right. I was/am/ will be the forever "badass" child, and I will forever be grateful for you as a Mom - and the discovery of the coffee bean!

Sweet -And Not-So-Sweet- Tweets

* Sunday, 5/24, 7:45pm
Please see addendum at the bottom of this blog.

I joined Twitter about a year ago and hated it. I saw no need to share "urgent updates" 24/7, like, "Damn, I stubbed my toe. It hurts!" or "Just bought gas. Prices up. Again." (Seriously?)

I quickly subdivided all tweeters into categories: The insipidly mundane; the "I'm-going-to-break-a-news-story-before-CNN;" the impersonal, but sickeningly sweet nonstop quotes; the in-your-face sales/self-promotion tweets; and the rest: i.e., entertaining, informative, enlightening, and personalized.

Unfortunately, for my taste, though I continually checked for months, the latter, (and the only group I was interested in) was in the vast minority. So I stayed away.

One of my favorite comics, @benthemorrison was a HUGE tweeter- revelled in all things twitter, tried to sell me on it. I gave it another try, digging in and telling myself to give it a chance. (I am not known for great patience in anything of extreme disinterest to me. I mean, life is short, after all!)

I set out just being me, as I only can be, always am, on my radio show (Link: "Olivia Wilder Times") and as I am to strangers, friends, and everyone in between, unvarnished, unpretentious, just me.

Along the way I have annoyed some who have "un-followed" me, grown to know many new friends, and learned a lot about a lot of different subjects. There are still the same categories, but the latter has grown by leaps and bounds. I actually care about many new people in my life, and have gained a new respect- and with it- a new set of rules, which I will put forth here:

DO'S AND DON'T'S OF FOLLOWING (Me) IF YOU WANT ME TO FOLLOW BACK:

DO's

• Be a real human being, not a bot.
• Interact, respond personally, and RT.
• Have a profile and/or link to more about you
• Have a sense of humor!
• Post a variety of things- not just the same old, same old, day afer day.
• Be a nice POSITIVE person!
  

DON'T

• Follow me to unfollow me over and over again. It's a 3-strikes deal. If you unfollow me after you chose to follow me in the first place, don't come back again. One time it can be a mistake, two times- you get one freebie. The third time- you're out.
• Force feed me constant "feel good" quotes, news flashes (I will stick with CNN, thankyouverymuch, sales pitches and/or self-promos, or "how to get more Twitter followers," and nothing else. Borrrrrringgggg!
• Be a bot
  

I do enjoy Twitter now. @avenueofthhearts posted today the 4 Stages of Twitter as being: Confusion, revelation, acceptance, addiction. I responded honestly, that mine are: Annoyance, acceptance, enjoyment, fun.

While I am not "twiddicted," (don't have an addictive personality- thank God!) I am thoroughly at one with this whole Twitterverse and the great tweeple I have met and continue to tweet up with. I hope that I can bring half the enjoyment to them as they do to my Twitter experience.

Thank you, Ben Morrison. You were right... this one time :-) www.benmorrison.org

*Addendum:
I carefully look at each new potential followers tweets, profile and websites, etc., before I follow, to see if we have anything in common and we are a good fit. This takes TIME! I do 40-50 per day. If you are wondering why I haven't followed you, and it seems an inordinate amount of time, please give me a shout before you simply "unfollow!" Thanks!

Bad Hair Day (originally posted on 10/08/08)

So, this picture was taken a few weeks ago, when I was laughing about having a "bad hair day." I mean, what's the big damned deal about hair, anyhow? Many people are so obsessed with their "look." They spend literally hours of their life on a daily basis making sure every hair is in place, every wrinkle smoothed, every fallen body part lifted, and those that have gone flat, inflated.

I am not one of these.

I laugh at the absurdity of plugging the dam against the rush of aging, barely held at bay with silicone, or botox. What's the point, anyhow? We are all growing more...um...."mature." (Actually, my ex-husband would beg to disagree, having said (often) during our twenty-odd years of marriage one phrase that would only change in the number representing our years together: "I have been waiting (fill in the blank) years for you to grow up!" I would always reply with exactly the same words back: "Then stop waiting, because it isn't going to happen!"

Ever the bad-ass rebel with only the cause of being my genuine self, even before I had a clue whom she might be. I only knew I had to follow my true path, and that might mean I might end up climbing my rocky mountain alone. That fact never bothered me as much as the possibility of "selling out," and fitting into someone else's mold.

Funny that I, strong-willed and fiercely independent, ended up committing my life to living with a mate so diametrically opposed to that genuine self I thought I would never sacrifice.

When I finally got myself together enough to file for a divorce, I realized that I didn't even have a clue where to find her. I would watch my favorite chick-flick, "Shirley Valentine" over and over the last year before I filed, tears in my eyes, vowing to find "The Girl Who Used To Be Me." (Order it here: Song clip )

The divorce took two years. My now-ex took the, "You can't fire me; I quit!" approach and drew the misery out in an attempt to hold onto nearly every cent he ever made (and damned well almost did).

During that interminable time, I began my slow and painful process of finding that girl again- the spirited, independent, self-confident woman who attracted him in the first place, and who he insidiously managed to change completely through the years. I met men from the internet, dated like crazy, found out that I was perfect just the way I am to some men (!), started writing again, socializing, rediscovering a me long-buried, now emerging, like a Phoenix from the ashes.

One day, painting the walls in our vacation condo, where I was residing, I had a couple of thoughts come to mind that were so crazy, so profound, that I had to sit down and contemplate them.

One: I understood, finally, why it is that opposites attract, at least when we're young.

I think it is because we don't know who we are yet, and we meet someone who has qualities that we are lacking. On a subliminal level, the message comes through that by being together, we would be a "perfect whole."

The problem with that is that in living we grow into the person we always were, more and more. Eventually, those two opposites are further apart than they ever believed possible, as their confidence and comfort level rises through life experience, and giving one's self permission and acceptance to grow, and just "be."

My other "profound" realization was that I had never in my life made a single mistake. I know this sounds arrogant, but it isn't meant to be.

I look at my life as a jigsaw puzzle. Every path taken, or avoided, every choice made, or made for me, - who I am, right this moment, is how it all turned out.

If one tiny piece were changed, I would not be exactly who I am right now. And if at any point in your life you are able to say, "I love myself," then you haven't made a mistake. You are exactly where you need to be.

And so my hair is crazy today. Who cares? So am I!!

It wasn't all that many years ago I watched "Shirley Valentine" - (buy it here: Buy Shirley - and dreamed of being Pauline Collins' character, in Mykonos for a fortnight, meeting the handsome "Costas," (Academy Award nominated actor, Tom Conti) playing his guitar, and offering me wine, and so much more.

On November 19, I will be interviewing him, live, from London, on my internet radio show.

Go figure. (Link to show, one of my favorites: TOM CONTI

Life is crazy, and so am I.

And I will continue to be.

Simply "me."

And that's plenty.

www.blogtalkradio.com/olivia