One Day at a Time

One of my childhood friends developed a meth habit. Our teenage years in Los Angeles were a bright 80’s pop of sunshine and big hair with a side of underage drinking and a heaping dose of drugs. More than one of my classmates went to rehab. More than one faced an unwanted teen pregnancy. More than one, so many more, lost their lives because of drunk driving.

I caught up with my friend, B, the summer after Freshman year.

“I haven’t heard from you in months,” I said. “Where have you been?”

“I was arrested and then sent to rehab.”

“Arrested?” Rehab was no big deal, but jail time got my attention.

“I was using crystal meth. A lot.”

Half of the guys in my senior class dropped acid. Blow was in. Pot, mushrooms, peyote, even the occasional X. But crystal meth…that sounded like something a junkie would use.

“Wow, that’s heavy. Are you clean now?”

B nodded. “Did you know it takes 21 days to start a habit? The same goes for kicking one.”

I have kept that 21 days in mind for years when making New Year’s resolutions. If I can just (fill in the blank) for 21 days, I’ll be successful. Confession: I have rarely/never made it to the gym 21 days in a row. I have rarely/never hung up my clothes 21 days in a row. I have rarely/never used night cream 21 nights in a row. I have rarely/never gone 21 days without sugar or dairy or…anything else I should avoid.

Fifteen years ago, I was offered a terrific job opportunity. A position with great responsibility, autonomy, creativity. I said yes. It was a new position with no blueprint, no guidelines or advice on how to achieve an ambitious goal in a short timeframe. I was on my own. It was exciting, challenging, frustrating, exhausting, rewarding. A few weeks into my new job, a colleague was added to the project. He had a different area of expertise and authority, but we worked together to further our common objective. We were busily completing our work when a new, tighter deadline was dropped on us. We already worked long hours and now we were expected to pull off the impossible.

“We’re never going to make this happen.” We looked at each other in panic.

“We’re screwed.” We paced around our small office wringing our hands.

The scope of the project was daunting for just two persons.

“We can probably keep it together for tomorrow’s presentation.”

“And fake it til we make it for the following day…” I offered. “But after that?”

Each day we had a new objective to achieve.

“We just have to keep moving forward. Advance a bit every day.”

“Survive and Advance.” We nodded at each other. “Survive and Advance.”

It became our mantra. And survive and advance we did. Some days with flying colors. Some days by the skin of our teeth.

I have written before about the importance of mantras. I offered two that speak to me personally. Your Body is a Temple. and Be Impeccable with your Word. I think mantras are helpful to keep us focused when life feels overwhelming, in moments of doubt, when we have too many choices or seemingly none. They can give us strength in moments of weakness or courage in times of despair.

I was moved to hear from a reader (and friend) that my post about mantras inspired him to create one for himself. More good, less bad.  I can’t think of anything simpler or more essential. Thank you, Friend.

Beloved Readers, please share if you have a mantra that has helped you!

We the People have entered a time of great upheaval. Most days the news is too bleak to read. We are becoming despondent or, worse, desensitized to the suffering and hate that abounds. We live in anxiety. We fear the future. But Friends, the veil has been lifted. Now we know what’s out there: the bad, the ugly, but also the good. Our eyes have been opened, and while we might abhor what we see, this knowledge, this new insight gives us power.  Have you felt powerless lately? You are not. We are not. There is no going back to our cozy bubbles. We can only move forward. We have no choice but to advance. And survive.

I can’t tell you if it takes 21 days to form a habit, but I know for sure that we can get through this day, this moment, and then the next one and then the next one…

Repeat after me: Survive and Advance. 

We’re in this together.

Now Cheer This!

Dear Friendlies -

( I started this post on the morning of April 15th, hours before, and miles away from, the events that would unfold in my beloved Boston. I'm finally ready to finish it today.)

I love Marathon Monday in Boston. Having lived on Beacon Street in Brookline for 17 years, participating in my city's important day was a treat and a happy obligation. In the early '90's I watched with the crowds at Coolidge Corner or Kenmore Square where the race, for me, seemed like a giant social event. Two or three times, when I worked retail in the Back Bay (always open, even on a holiday), I was right on Boylston Street listening to the applause and the shouts of encouragement near the finish line.

My favorite memories were the 10 years watching from the 1/2-mile stretch between Cleveland Circle and Washington Square right around Mile 23. The crowd was jovial, someone was always grilling in front of my building, beach chairs were set-up, and there was no shortage of beer. At this stretch in the course, only a few miles from the finish, there were no barriers and the runners were very close to the spectators. I loved this spot because I felt like I could make a difference there. Make a difference? Let's get one thing straight: Miss O does not enjoy running and is not entirely sure why someone would put themselves through a marathon. And yet, I never missed it.

From my bedroom window, I could see and hear the early spectators getting into place. I would check the tv and watch the progress of the leaders, listening for the news helicopters...when I saw them approaching Chestnut Hill Avenue, I would tear down the stairs and across the street to see the leaders fly by. It was always thrilling and always over in a second. Then I would return to my apartment to wait for the "real people".

At first I didn't understand why I was drawn to the marathon. It's not like watching a match with exciting action or the possibility of an thrilling play. In fact, it made me uncomfortable to watch a herd of strangers struggling, panting, sweating, sometimes bleeding, but I would watch and clap. I often got a sun-burn with the outline of my sunglasses on Marathon Day, my hands would be sore from clapping and my voice was hoarse. Sometimes I would watch with a pal, but often I would spend an hour or two by myself cheering for random runners. On Marathon Monday 2006, I was headed to the airport to fly to Paris with a dear pal and his mom, but stopped to put in my time on the course as he waited with our suitcases on the sidewalk. In 2007 I was at a friends' party down the street and we came upstairs (for more beer) to learn of the tragedy at Virginia Tech. By the 2008 Marathon, I had acquired a cowbell (a gift from a dear friend, an alumnus of Furman University) with the letters FU.

Armed with my cowbell, I was an unstoppable cheerleader...a one-woman noise-machine, a whirling dervish of encouragement and support for these unknown athletes. I say athletes, but sometimes I thought of them as poor bastards. "Why on earth would this poor bastard put him/herself through this?" I didn't get it. I still don't, but now I have many many friends who are runners, and I don't think of them as poor bastards. I think what they do is admirable, heroic even. I have a friend who has run the Boston Marathon 10+ times for the American Liver Foundation. I know another guy who ran a 50k to celebrate his 50th birthday.  On my 50th birthday, I plan to be lounging on a divan drinking champagne like it's my job, not getting sweaty and miserable with leg cramps. What can I tell you? It takes a village.

As my years as a spectator progressed, so did my cheering. First I just clapped and yelled "Whoo" randomly. Then I started reading the names on the runners' jerseys and calling them out by name, "Looking good, Bob! Keep it up!" Sometimes nothing happened, my voice was lost amid the stampede. Sometimes I saw an imperceptible smile or nod as they heard their name and pushed forward. Sometimes they located the source of the sound and made eye contact with me. Other spectators would stare as I went on for hours with my solo gig, yelling and ringing my bell. If a runner was wearing a shirt with their flag, I would (try to) yell in their language: Allez la France! Viva Italia! Foreigners were always very surprised and very appreciative of the support. In 2009, an adorable Asian gentleman in his 40's was so pleased when I yelled "Let's go Korea!" that he STOPPED RUNNING and took a picture with me by the side of the race.

Perhaps the most special moments were when the runners were very close to me, with no barriers, just 2 feet away, and I didn't need to yell, I could speak to them quietly.  I would lean as close as I dared without obstructing the path and say: "You got this, Girl. You're kicking ass, Buddy. Stay Strong. You're going to make it."  Often the women would mouth "thank you". The men had more of a visceral response, I could see them lean in and move forward with determination. These up-close-and-personal exchanges had a profound effect on me. Sometimes I could feel myself getting choked up. You're not even running, what the frack are YOU crying for?! It was my heart that was overflowing. Overflowing with joy, with purpose. If my voice, if my smile could help a complete stranger move one foot closer to their goal, maybe we can all make a difference?

Every man, woman, and child on Planet Miss O will be (should be) cheering for the Red Sox tonight, but tomorrow I ask you to find someone, a regular person, maybe someone close to you, perhaps a total stranger who needs encouragement.

Merriam-Webster defines the verb encourage:
1. to fill with courage or strength of purpose
2. to help the growth or development of 
3. to rouse to strong feeling or action 

Friendlies, helping someone achieve their goal, supporting someone who faces a challenge is a great gift. We are on this earth to be a blessing. I encourage you to share your strength, to use your voice, your kindness, your smile...be someone's cheerleader. You can make a difference!

Impeccable You

Darlings -

I hope you have been energized and enthusiastic living your New Years Mantra.

As promised here is my second installment: Be Impeccable with your Word.

The concept is borrowed from an excellent book, The Four Agreements, and I believe it is important for many reasons.

On the most basic level,  I see it as being clear in your communication. If you have something to say, say it directly. Few of us like confrontation, but far worse is passive aggressive communication. When I reflect on relationships (romantic, professional, friendly) that ended on disagreeable terms, most often the culprit was poor communication. I am blessed in the friend department, but the one close friendship that I lost (almost ten years ago) still haunts me in dreams/nightmares. It's not that I think about the friend  much, but the fact that it ended with poor communication causes my subconscious to continue fretting over it.

By comparison, a relationship that ended with clear, strong (trashy and tawdry even) words is much easier (for me) to file away mentally and emotionally. This person in question left my life saying: "You're really a handful, you know?" (He thought that was a huge insult.) To which I replied: "A-f*ckin-men!"  Period. The End.

So let's try to be clear with each other, and not just for break-ups, but to better our relationships.


On the next level, Be Impeccable with your Word should be to mean what you say. If you promise to do something, follow through. Even to yourself. Especially to yourself! I am skilled at helping others achieve their goals, but for my own objectives....I don't always follow through. What's with that? When I make a commitment to someone, only a natural disaster keeps me from fulfilling that obligation. To myself, not so much. Whether it is to make progress on my writing, to promote my business, or to finally make it out for a pedicure (Your Body is a Temple!), I have a hundred excuses ready that prevent me from completing my task. Pretty shabby, I say!

I have a couple of girlfriends that when we make plans to get together, I know there is a greater than 50% chance they will cancel. One whom I refer to (in my head) as "Flakey Jen".  I get it. I know things come up. Especially now as the mother of a little Dragon, my best intentions, my schedule and availability are no longer at my (sole) discretion. However, I believe the case of Flakey Jen and the others is not a matter of "things coming up". I think it is because they hesitate to say "no" to invitations, etc. They don't want to disappoint. Maybe they don't want to miss out. Or they worry there will never be another offer or opportunity. Perhaps there are not being honest with themselves about priorities or obligations. I still love these friends, but they are so unreliable that I do give it a second thought before I reach out to them.

Totally dated, but if you've seen Jerry Maguire, you may remember the scene where the top draft pick's father says:" I don't do contracts, but you have my word...and it's stronger than oak." And then, of course, he breaks his word. That gutted me.

If I am Impeccable with my Word, then I will honor all commitments to myself and others.


My final thought about Be Impeccable with Your Word is to use your word well. Sticks and stones, etc, but words will never hurt me? Mostly true. I do think it is a good lesson for youngsters ( for all of us!) to keep their chins up and not let their worth be determined by others' words.

One of the reasons that this post was late (besides the usual Miss O tardiness) is that I was not using my word well, and while I deeply wanted to embrace Be Impeccable with Your Word, I had not been living it.

Are you using your word to create, to inspire, to encourage? Or are you using it to talk behind someone's back, to gossip, to denigrate?

A few weeks ago, I came home from visiting with friends and said to Honey: "do you want to hear some gossip?" As soon as the words came out of my mouth, I wanted to slap my own face.  First of all, Honey didn't even know the person in question so why bring it up? Secondly, it wasn't "good gossip" like news of a long-awaited pregnancy or recent engagement. Thirdly, it was bad news, so was I celebrating someone's misfortune? And finally, the actual motivation was that I was hoping to provoke (or even manipulate) a conversation/response. It was the opposite of clear, direct communication and a total fail of being impeccable with my word. Luckily he was engrossed playing Forza Motorsport so I was able to create a diversion, change the subject, and leave the room to go examine my behavior.

Listen, Darlings, Miss O is no saint. I strive to create only the loftiest, most noble thoughts, but I can be judgmental, I can think poorly of someone, even someone I love. I can't control everything that happens in my brain (it's so vast ;) but I can control what I say. If you need to call someone out or have a difficult conversation, do it. It is better than talking behind their back which will NEVER resolve the issue. I would add: if you suspect that a topic is sensitive, think before you speak and choose your words well. And if you have so many bad things to say about someone, then why are they still in your life?

Your Word is powerful. Your Word has weight. There is so much crap and negativity being spewed into the Universe. Let's use our Word in the most impeccable way!

The Year of the Mantra

Hello Darlings!

I started a post about New Years Resolutions back on January 10th. I edited it, twice, and let it simmer. I looked at it again, yesterday, and nope...still not resonating. Last night I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling for an hour, and finally The Oracle spoke to me. I hope you'll forgive the delay, but this message was worth waiting for (at least for me!)

Forget what you know about resolutions. If you're still going to the gym, bless you. If your best intentions have somehow fallen by the wayside, forgive yourself and MOVE ON. This is the Year of the Mantra.

I distilled this definition of Mantra from various sources:  A sacred verbal formula repeated in prayer, meditation, or incantation. Any sacred word or syllable used as an object of concentration and embodying some aspect of spiritual power. Mantras may be spoken aloud or uttered in thought.


Take a moment to reflect on your priorities for this year. I propose that you choose one or two goals/ideas to pursue. That's not to say that you shouldn't have many things to accomplish, but for the purpose of the mantra, two is plenty.  

Here's an example: 
You want to run a 10k. (I started to write "run a marathon" but I broke out in hives, so let's start with a 10k.)  Your mantra could be: No Excuses. Every action and choice you make should be in support of your mantra. You don't want to get off the couch and train? No Excuses. Intimidated by other, more seasoned runners? No Excuses. The weather sucks and you stayed out late last night? No Excuses.

No Excuses could work for many objectives, though I prefer mantras that are affirming. 

I have created two mantras for myself. If they speak to you, use them as well, or create your own.

Your Body is a Temple
It seems to me that every week, I am hearing of another friend who is fighting cancer. Or another friend whose loved one has been taken from them by a horrible disease. More and more I am conscious of the importance and blessing of good health. If you are not thanking the Lourdes or the Universe or your lucky stars or your strong genes that you are waking up healthy, then get with the program, Friend. It's called gratitude and awareness.

Your Body is a Temple means (for me) throwing out old make-up. It means flapping my (bat)wings a few mornings a week. It means eating only high-quality chocolate. Miss O is not about to give it up altogether, so might as well eat the good stuff.

When I'm feeling lazy, burdened with bags, and I want to take the elevator, I tell myself Your Body is a Temple and it helps me get my ass up the stairs. Your Body is a Temple gives me the reason to go to bed early and get a good nights sleep. 

If you have been putting off getting a mammogram or having your prostate exam or your moles checked, please remember that Your Body is a Temple. It may not be the most fun activity of your week, but it could buy you another 40 years on this wonderful whirling globe.

Even Miss O is not perfect and sometimes she turns a deaf ear to her mantra. So maybe I didn't take off my eye make-up before going to bed. Maybe I indulged in  a "non-nutritious" meal. That's ok, do it the next time. Don't punish yourself with negative self-talk or guilt (a truly useless emotion). I recently caught up with an old friend, who told me that he had put on weight a couple of years ago from "angry eating". I was floored. First, I had no idea that men engage in emotional eating. Second, I was grateful that it was angry eating and not angry drinking or angry meth use. Third, I was impressed that he was able to recognize and name the behavior and put the kibosh on it. Angry eating, angry anything is pretty much the opposite message of Your Body is a Temple.

If Your Body is a Temple is a mantra that could work for you, I would add that anyone who has the pleasure to be intimate with you should also treat your body with reverence and respect. Frack that, they should worship it!  * If you are involved with a partner who does not worship your body, please see me during office hours.

Darlings, forgive me, the second mantra will have to wait until our next installment. This will give you a chance to get started on your own. Good Luck!  I have a hungry Dragon whose temple of a tummy needs to be filled.

Making the List

I am a list maker. I often have multiple lists going at the same time: marketing, household errands, brilliant schemes for world-takeover.

I write my lists on used envelopes (part of my effort at recycling). I keep a block of post-it notes next to my bed for noting middle-of-the-night ideas that will have evaporated in the morning's light. For me, writing something down liberates my mind. I have captured the thought, the idea, the obligation and now I can return to regularly scheduled thinking.

I once made a list called: Things that are freaking me out. I dated it (I believe that's an important component to making an effective list), and proceeded to spew all the items (mostly unimportant) that were suffocating me. By naming my fears, I was able to confront them, and temper my stress and anxiety.

I  like making new years resolutions: positive changes that I want to create in my life, in my community. One year I made a list of 20 (!) resolutions and posted it on my fridge to be a daily reminder. Did I accomplish all of them? Not all, but many!

2012 has been a challenging year for most people I know. It is a year that brought a marvelous, miraculous being into my life, but also a year in which I said goodbye to a dear pal, a year in which so many friends lost loved ones, parents, siblings, spouses. It is a year in which people close to me are fighting against horrible diseases, depression, loneliness. The world is in rough shape, Darlings. And this is a tough time of year for too many.

I do want to talk about new years resolutions, but before we can plan for the coming twelve months, we need to bring closure to this year with The List of Lamentations. Too Biblical for you? Too heavy? Deal with it, Darlings. Sometimes we have to go through the dark, heavy stuff to get to the other side lighter and more enlightened.

What is The List of Lamentations?
It is your opportunity to put on paper the worries, concerns, grievances, fears and disappointments that have been weighing you down this year. Since this is your first LOL, you have a one-time pass to lament an event/experience from a previous year, but please don't go dredging up a slight that happened in the eighth grade.  There is no limit for your list. There is also no need to go looking for misery just for the sake of wallowing or out-lamenting your neighbor. If you have a legit lament, it will come to mind quickly. Get that crap out of your head, out of your psyche and onto a piece of paper. Your list is personal . No lament is too small, nor should it be deemed trivial. The LOL  is for your eyes only.

N.B. This is NOT a pity-party. This is an evacuation of toxic sentiments from the emotional and physical you.

I have many blessings in my life, what could there possibly be to lament? If you are reading this diary, you probably have a roof over your head, enough to eat, and plenty of basic comforts (luxuries, even) that others must do without. You are still entitled to lament.

To help you get started, I am going to share my list:

-I lament the state of my manicure or lack thereof.
-I lament that my business has not grown as I hoped it would.
-I lament the loss of my former lifestyle.
-I lament the appearance of  newly acquired flab on my upper arms.
-I lament that I sometimes have challenges of communication with my dearly beloved.
-I lament that I am out of touch with too many of my galpals.
-I lament the passing of a close friend.
-I lament the presence of  racism, homophobia, and misogyny in my beloved America.
-I lament the absence of neighborliness in too many communities.

When I look at my list, it feels overwhelming at first. Crying over your list is OK and frankly, very likely. You are owning some dark feelings. You may be remembering a loss or reliving a disappointment and it can be painful.

Perhaps you are looking at my list thinking: how is a shabby manicure a legit lament compared to the death of a loved one or staggering racism?  This is not about comparing suffering or who had the worse year, the most misery. You don't have to explain or defend your laments. I will share that my crappy cuticles affect my self-esteem and that affects many other parts of my life.

Get your list down and you are over the biggest hurdle. It takes courage to acknowledge disappointments, to face fears. I don't expect you to breeze through this in a few minutes. Give yourself a quiet place to reflect on those thoughts and emotions which are not/no longer serving you.

Now we move on, we move forward. There are three possibilities for the laments on your list. You can:

Release
Change/Challenge
Embrace

Release is another way of saying Get the F*ck Over It.  For me, the lament of my former lifestyle needs to be released. I have already spent too much energy dwelling on this "loss" and moaning about poor old me. Basta! Was my previous lifestyle better than the one I have now? Not really. And anyway, it's in the past.   So let it go for Pete's sake.  I have a friend who has been lamenting the end of a relationship for the better part of the year. A WHOLE f*cking YEAR. Gone. Please, Darlings, I am sure you have situations and emotions that should be released. Do it.

What about the flabby batwings? Two choices here. I can put my vanity aside and release it or get my ass off the couch and CHANGE IT. It's up to me.

Racism, Homophobia...what can I do about it? This is a lament that calls for CHALLENGE. If I hear someone use a racist term, I am going to call that motherf*cker out, even if it's a friend. Especially if it's a friend. I have a close pal whom I have heard make anti-semitic jokes. Usually the other listeners laugh and I shake my head or make an uncomfortable face rather than rock the boat. You know what, that's not good enough. I have a responsibility to my friends, to my community, to my son to not look the other way, to not tolerate behavior or language that is demeaning to others.

The most difficult lamentation to face is the loss of my dear friend. I have a range of emotions from anger to emptiness to denial. So this is the one that I have to EMBRACE. I will embrace his memory. I will embrace his positive impact on my life and the lives of others. As I told him shortly before he passed on, loved ones live on in us, in our thoughts, in our memories, in our good deeds and our compassion.

Darlings, I pray that you will take the time to do this for yourselves. We can truly start the new year with a clean slate if we make peace with the past.

What Are You Waiting For?

I wrote this piece last year on Thanksgiving, but it is newly relevant for me today.


Two years ago I thought I was going to die. It was January 2, 2010. I was on a plane from Paris to Bastia on the northern coast of Corsica. Honey had spent New Years with some pals in Sofia, Bulgaria, so I decided to take a long overdue trip to visit one of my dearest friends, Elsa.

The flight was supposed to last just over two hours. A non-event. At an hour forty-five, the captain (a Brit) came on the intercom to inform us that the descent into Bastia would be very windy. Not at all newsworthy, as the landing strip in Bastia is surrounded by mountains near the coast of the Mediterranean. I continued flipping through the in-flight magazine.

A few minutes later, it seemed like the plane down-shifted. Perhaps ironic that I can imagine a pilot downshifting when I don't know the first thing about driving, certainly less about shifting gears, and nothing about the mechanics of planes or aeronautics. Still, I've spent a lot of time on planes.

My first flight was at two-weeks-old from Geneva to Nice. Since then, and I'm being conservative... Twenty-plus long-haul flights to Asia. Long-haul is defined differently by each airline, anywhere from 7-12+ hours. For me, long-haul indicates a minimum of 14 hours. Straight. With layovers and connections, most trips to Asia mean 24 hours of travel. Twenty-plus trips to Asia means twenty-plus trips from Asia. At least half of those trips flying solo. In coach. Unsedated. If you haven't freaked out by your tenth long-haul flight alone, you're probably not ever going to freak on a plane. Ten years of flights from LAX to Nice and back. Ten years of flights from Boston to Paris and back. And just for fun, 19-years of round-trips between Boston and LAX, hardly worth mentioning if only to illustrate that I've put in the airtime.

I am superstitious and ritualistic about flying but not fearful. I have a lucky charm (actually a packet of lucky charms) that I have flown with since I was six-years-old, the first time I took the LAX-Nice (connection at Heathrow) trip by myself. I won't fly without it. A couple of years ago, I realized that the packet was not in my suitcase an hour before leaving for the airport. I became hysterical, screaming in a panic. Would I have to test my faith today? I finally found it after ripping apart all the luggage in our dimly-lit basement storage space. Once I had it packed in my suitcase, I was 100% cool, the seasoned traveler.

I don't drink on the plane and I never eat the salad. I think, subconsciously, I want to have my wits about me. In 1999, I became violently ill on my return from Thailand to the States. On the flight from Narita to LAX I spiked a crazy fever and the JAL Hello Kitty flight attendants had to hover over me with ice packs while I tried not to vomit. I was likely sick from some raw veggies I ate in Bangkok before boarding, but I have not trusted in-flight lettuce since.

I always have chocolate in my carry-on. Chocolate is calming and comforting, but more than that, you don't want to find yourself at Taoyuan Airport (Taipei) with a six-hour layover in the middle of the night with no Toblerone on hand. Trust me.

So here I was 15 minutes from landing, perusing the duty-free catalog, when it started. A dipping, then a jarring bump of the plane. Nervous twitters from the other passengers. I was...unperturbed. The captain's voice crackled out again reminding us to fasten our seatbelts for landing and asking flight attendants to take their seats. His announcement was cut short as the plane jolted to one side. Now there were gasps as fear took its seat next to each of us. The plane felt buoyant as on the crest of a wave and just as quickly seemed to be plummeting. Now there was screaming. Shouting. Wailing. From my seat, 6C, I could see the flight attendants' strained faces. The plane heaved and trembled as we continued the descent.

For the first time in 38-years of airplane travel, I wasn't sure we would make it. All those long-haul, lettuce-free flights, and this might be the last one. The seat next to me was empty and the man at the window had his hand over his eyes. Crying? Praying? I looked across the aisle. A family of three holding hands, the daughter in tears. We continued bouncing through the air like a toy in a giant's hand. And then those with window seats could see the runway coming towards us too quickly. The plane was filled with shrieking and sobbing.

I've never considered myself philosophical but in that moment, I felt a strange relief. Relief that I had left the house in order. Relief that I had spoken with my family. I had heard the voices of my mother, father, and all of my siblings within hours of the flight. Somewhat unusual to talk to all of those loved ones, spread over three continents, just before this moment. Perhaps not an accident.

I didn't see my life flash before my eyes, but more importantly, I didn't feel regret of things undone. Yes, there is much more I can accomplish – my tv show on the Oprah network, the book(s) I'm supposed to write – but in some way, I felt peaceful. In those few seconds as we hurtled toward earth, I was able to take stock. You have had a wonderful life, Ondine. You have more blessings than you can count. You have had incredible, amazing experiences. You have had mundane experiences with incredible, amazing people. Your life is filled with love.

I had been gripping the in-flight magazine and now I relaxed my hands. I told myself: God is good. God is great. Maybe this is how it happens?

Friends, I am glad to still be here. I am also glad that I had a chance to look at my life and own it. My wish for you (on this Thanksgiving) is for clarity to recognize the abundance in your lives, for courage to change the things that you would like to be different, for strength to achieve that which you dream of, for compassion and mindfulness of those in need. No one knows when “that moment” will come...let's face it without regret.

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April 2012

A few months ago, I learned that a woman I have known since Junior High was diagnosed with breast cancer. I was shaken by the news. Concerned for her and her family, but also, as must always be the case with this horrible illness,  I was overwhelmed by the "Why? How? But she's so young!"  We are, of course, the same age, which brought my own mortality back into focus. Even though we haven't seen each other for many years, I know that she is still the dynamic, positive person I met as a tween. A wife and mother, a successful, accomplished businesswoman, someone I imagine to have a healthy, balanced lifestyle. It didn't make sense to me...not that cancer ever does.

This friend, Elissa, is facing a long road to recovery. 33 straight days of radiation. I know she will get through it with grace and humor. She has a tremendous support group - I love that her close friends back when we were youngsters are still by her side. And, in what I consider a fantastic FU to cancer, she has created a wonderful project 33 Dresses

One of my dear gal pals, Roonie, had an extensive and fabulous jewelry collection, including several heirloom gems and some "important pieces" . Her home was broken into and nearly all the jewelry was stolen. By the grace of Lourdes, she happened to be wearing her best pieces on that day: her grandmother's ring, a bracelet with great sentimental value, a necklace with a large stone. Of course she was devastated by the loss of the other pieces, but the most important ones were on her. I have never shied away from wearing my good things be it jewelry or evening clothes or fancy shoes. And for the record, good does not necessarily equal expensive. After the theft at Roonie's, I resolved to wear my special pieces ALL THE TIME. Because what the frack are we waiting for?

Do I sometimes lament the loss of a favorite bracelet in 2006? (get over it already, right?) Sure, but it gave me many happy years being worn and enjoyed, rather than languishing in a box. I am always exasperated as a designer when potential clients tell me my pieces are "too special occasion" or that they don't have anywhere to wear them. I call bullshit. Wear your beautiful clothes to work. But my colleagues would think it's "too much." Frack your colleagues! Do you feel good in it? That's all that matters. Wear your nice things to the market. Don't wait for a special occasion. Make your own! You are alive and well, isn't that a special occasion?

This isn't just about clothes and jewelry, use your good dishes for frack's sake. Often. Yes, you risk breaking something, but I promise your meal will taste better. And if broken china is the worst of your worries, congratulations, Friend, you're doing alright. Men, do you have beautiful shirts and suits suffocating in dry cleaning bags waiting for an invitation? Wear them NOW.  Sure,  you might have to take something to be pressed, so what. Enjoy today. Carpe Fabulous.

I believe this is the spirit behind 33 Dresses  I invite you to join Elissa (and Miss O) in 33 days of "good stuff".

When "that moment" comes for me, whether I'm on a plane or lounging on the couch, I hope I'm wearing a giant frackin' tiara and my favorite dress!
 

The Germinator

Hello Beautiful Darlings, I hope you have had a good week being kind to yourself.

With the dicey weather we've been having on the Continent, nearly everyone has fallen prey to a winter cold. The last few days have found me lying on the couch in a pile of Kleenex...I know, it's not exactly the glamorous Miss O life you imagined. Me neither.

Living in close quarters, it is inevitable that Honey and I keep trading germs. It's too stuffy in here, it's too cold, it's dry, one of us is stuffed up, the other is coughing. Hot, right? Romantic. Um, no. And then there are all the germy people with whom we come in contact. Darlings, riding the metro during cold season is a serious health risk. City dwellers are very generous about sharing their germs with fellow citizens. Buh!

While it is important to avoid germs out and about in the world, let's talk about some that are dwelling in your home...specifically in your beauty products. Cue scary music.

Darlings, I am willing to bet that you have a couple (or more!) products that have been hanging around for far too long. Even as a seasoned beauty professional, I am not as diligent as I should be in ditching outdated cosmetics. Why do we do this? Are we being thrifty? Compulsive? Greedy?

Male readers: you are excused from reading the rest of this post (though you might learn something), but why not use the opportunity to adios some of the science projects currently residing in your fridge? No, sorry, even condiments do not last forever.

True confession: I have a Shiseido lip gloss that I bought *cough* a couple of years ago. There is really nothing left in it except fumes, but it was costly and I don't want to part with it. See: Irrational hoarding behavior.

As part of a Lenten resolution to release items/people/situations that no longer serve a positive purpose, and because I just read an article on germy make-up, I went straight to my beauty lab and plucked three offending lip glosses and an eyeshadow that are waaaaay past their expiration date. I already knew that they were outdated but had let them linger there breeding bacteria. Why? See: Irrational hoarding behavior. How can I name this disease so easily? Because I have at least a half dozen (ok, ten) other lip glosses on my dressing table, not to mention the four floating around in my handbag. And some are duplicates.

I believe in a woman's right to choose and in a woman's right to multiple lip colors, but even I have to admit that fourteen lip sticks/stains/tints is pushing it. For your amusement a peek at Miss O's former dressing table/beauty operations center.

and this picture, taken after a weekend of Bridal shows.

How do I know it was Bridal season? Note the "spare hair" prominently featured in the center of the photo. And no, that is not a mascara wand lying about, it is an eyebrow brush. This picture is dedicated to my dear friend, Neeners.

My current workspace is a tenth of the size but I still manage to cram it full of powders and potions. What can I tell you? I enjoy being a girl.

But let's get back to germy cosmetics...
You may be surprised to realize that cosmetics, like condiments, do not have an infinite shelf-life. We should be tossing make-up, especially mascara, often, like every three to six months often.  Products with wands such as lipgloss or mascara pick up bacteria from your face and deliver it back into the tube. Yucky. (Mascara Tip: do not pump the wand in and out of the tube, it creates air bubbles which feed bacteria and creates clumpy eyelashes). If your mascara is thick, clumpy, or has a curious odor: Toss it. Ditto if you've recently had a cold sore or pink eye. Throw the products away and start over fresh.

Drier lipsticks and powdery products (eye shadow, blush, bronzer) can last longer but you should not keep any make-up more than 18 months, two years tops. If you have a product in your stash that is more than two years old, stop reading and go throw it out. Right now. I'll wait.

Can't remember how long you've had a product? Here's a nifty idea:

If you use powder or concealer, make sure to wash your brushes regularly. (N.B. powder and concealer, especially ones you dab directly onto your face, should be replaced every six months) You can't imagine the scary germs lurking on make-up brushes. Yucky.  Even better, use disposable sponges...and dispose of them.

Products that are hydrating contain extra water, which, after a while can be a become a bacteria feeding ground. No, thank you. To keep your products in good condition, make sure they are tightly sealed in a cool, dry place. Please do not leave your foundation lying around without the cap on, the same goes for eye-liners (sharpen them often), and all other products. When in doubt, better to ditch it. 

What is the state of your make-up bag? Sticky with spills and stains everywhere? Yep, it's probably swimming with germs. Don't bother to try to clean it, just give it the heave-ho and get a new one.

What about moisturizers and other skin care products? (Nearly) all products these days have a PAO symbol, it looks like this:

PAO=Period After Opening (i.e. this product should be used within 12 months of opening) and M=months, not millennia, Darlings.

Ok, Beauties, you have been informed. No excuses! Protect your health and get rid of any creepy, old cosmetics taking up valuable real estate and I bet you'll have room for a new lip gloss. Hooray! No, Miss O is not an enabler. She is an empowerer.