A Religious Experience

Nothing can cure the soul but the senses, just as nothing can cure the senses but the soul.

Oscar Wilde

Yesterday was Tuesday, the day of the open air market in Nerja. Everyone comes out for it, the young and the old, the natives and the tourists. Picture a combination of mall, flea market, vegetable stand and Starbucks under the bright blue sky close to the shores of the Mediterranean and you’ll get a slight idea of what it’s like.

For the first time since our arrival, Jeremy and I decide to pursue different activities for the day. This must be a measure of the confidence we’ve acquired since getting here. We each feel at least minimally able to demonstrate proficiency (independently!) in handling whatever this strange culture and language with throw at us. Up until now, we’ve gotten by on the “two Gringo heads are better than one” method of communication. Today, however, he is off to snap photographs and hike in the mountains and I am content to amble off to the market. I luxuriate in the reality that for the next few hours, I will have to answer to no one, my cell phone will not ring (I’ve left it in the States), no one here knows me. I don’t have contracts to send, dust bunnies to chase, or anywhere I need to be. No one needs me at the present moment and that, for the short run, is just fine by me. What the heck—maybe I’ll even mosey instead of my usual aerobic pace and then stop for a pastry at Anahi, the wonderful little coffee shop whose terrace overlooks the sea.

Indeed, I am more confident now as I find the market with no problem. Was it just last week I wandered the streets following anyone who was walking purposefully, thinking surely they must be headed for the weekly event? I buy some pajamas for my girls, a pink suede wallet for myself. I bypass the cashews at the nut stand, where last week I indulged, telling myself they were for Jeremy, but truth to tell I ate more than he did! I finger a cashmere sweater—think of my oldest daughter, Beth and then decide no, it’s not really her. The booth vendor tries to interest me in a genuine fox fur jacket, but I shudder and move on. I’ll pass on the dead animals. I smile at the hosiery displayed on provocatively bent mannequin legs all hung in a row. My Alyssa would scream with laughter if she saw that so I stop to take a picture to send her. I cover the market from beginning to end in a little over an hour and I am saturated. I need no more time on my own and begin to wish that I hadn’t been so expansive with my idea to spend the entire day separate from my honey.

I continue along the cobblestone streets of whitewashed houses and storefronts, trying to decipher the occasional word or phrase that I am able to comprehend. I can pinpoint the stereotypes now. The native Spaniards, who consider this their winter are bundled up in jackets in spite of the temps in the high 50’s. The ever-optimistic tourists come dressed in shorts and sandals—they are on vacation, damn it, it must be shorts weather. Nerja is home to many British retirees and I can now spot them at a glance as well. I am wandering around in my jeans and University of Colorado sweatshirt and I see no one dressed as I am—Americans don’t seem to be as predominant here as the Northern Europeans are. I long to hear some English words that are in my own accent, but am pretty certain that won't happen until I either see Jeremy or call one of my kids. To compensate for my brief bout of homesickness, I begin to anticipate my pastry. It is afternoon now and I am ready for a sugar fix. Chocolate heals all!

On my way past the town square, I pass by the Catholic church and pop in to check it out. I was raised Catholic, educated by Sisters of Mercy, baptized, confirmed—the whole nine yards—but we’ve long since gone our separate ways—the Pope's followers and I—split due to irreconcilable differences--and we travel in different circles. I marvel at the beauty of the architecture and the statues—the Italians, Portuguese and Spaniards all “do” Catholicism so lavishly! I slip into one of the pews. This is the world of my youth. No matter how “spiritual but not religious” I’ve become, no matter how much I might differ in values and ideology from this institution, these are the sounds, sights and smells of my childhood. The creak of the kneeler being lowered, the clack of rosary beads against the wooden benches, the smell of incense, the familiar words of the mass, the ornate tabernacle, the stained glass. Thousands of miles away from my home, the ritual is the same. The outstretched arms, the sorrowful Virgin, the crucifix, the stations of the cross are no longer a part of my devoutness, but they are an integral part of of my past and for that, I am grateful. I pause to remember all the other things in my life for which I am grateful, light a candle in memory of my devoutly Catholic father and go back out into the courtyard.

I walk home, forgetting about my pastry, for I have been fortified in other ways.

The Sounds of our Lives

Well, if you find a note tonight that sounds good, play the same damn note every night!

Count Basie

When I came to Spain two weeks ago, I expected certain differences to my American lifestyle. The experience of different places is why most of us travel, after all. So, I eagerly anticipated my immersion in a different culture, looking forward to experiencing differences in food, culture, smells, language and sights.

And because at the heart of my wander-lusting soul, I am also a homebody who loves to revel in my own backyard, I steeled myself for the possibility that these experiences would, from time to time, make me yearn for the comforting and familiar routines of my North Denver home. Sure enough, the greater part of my trip here has been spent with my mouth agape. An ancient Roman ruin, the dazzling display of ceramic tile that is ubiquitous here, the glorious Mediterranean Sea or the way the women run around the “Supermarcardo” randomly throwing groceries into their carts while never breaking the cadence in their chatter all add to both the delight and the strangeness of my new surroundings.

One thing I hadn’t given much thought to, however, was the sounds of my environment and how they would differ so much from what I am used to. A few days ago, I was wandering around the town center of Nerja, where we are staying. I was on my way to meet my honey at the Balcon de Europa (the “Balcony of Europe” the appropriately-named overlook in the center of town which allows breathtaking views of the sea and is an easy-to-find meeting spot). I was mentally congratulating myself, as for the first time since my arrival, I had not lost my way in this beautiful city of winding streets and look-alike whitewashed houses and was ambling contentedly toward our rendezvous spot. As I passed by the doorstep of one of the immaculate little homes, a local woman (presumably the occupant of said house) came out behind me and planted her plastic bucket on the sidewalk in preparation for washing her tile. As she released the bucket’s handle, it fell off to the side, as they inevitably do, and the subsequent “plop” of the metal handle striking the plastic rim of the bucket made me jerk my head around involuntarily. I realized that sound was probably the first one I’d heard all day that was familiar to me. Anyone who’s ever washed a floor or their car knows the sound of the handle hitting the side of the bucket as it flops over upon release. You might not be cognizant of it, but you know the sound.

It gave me pause. How accustomed we become to the sounds of our everyday life without giving them a second thought. I began to recall the everyday sounds of my “regular” life in Denver—the traffic on Sheridan Blvd., the whoosh of my furnace, the hum of my computer, the sound of my printer as it spits out yet another wedding ceremony. A little more mental probing and I conjured up the sound of the creak in the wood floor in my kitchen just inside the back door, my washing machine as it fills. The sounds of the running of the shower, my gas fireplace and my dishwasher all came to mind, as did the distinctive ring of my cell phone, the “ka-ching” sound as I make an entry in QuickBooks, the cooing of pigeons on my roof, the sound of Jeremy closing the back door and flipping the deadbolt. Contrasted with the sounds of Spain—the buzzing of scooters in the streets, the rattle of diesel car engines, my footsteps on tile, the wheel-clacking of the old ladies’ pull carts trundling over the cobblestones on the way to market, the rustling of palm fronds in the wind—all of these are as foreign to me as the language being spoken here. It was quite revealing to think about al the subtle sound differences and how they might affect my feelings at any given moment.

There are all kinds of cures put forth by those in the know. We hear of aromatherapy, feng shui, pet therapy, visual stimulation and the like. I wonder why we don’t do more with the benefits of “sound therapy”. The sounds of home—even those as simple as a handle slapping against its bucket--can be comforting. When I do begin to yearn for home, I plan to don my headset and Ipod and let the music of Carly, Joan, Bob, and the Indigo Girls sweep me into nostalgia, or call my 2-year old granddaughter and get her to request a “cooka” (cookie) or proudly tell me she was “play-nin” (playing) when I called.

Ah yes, I am blessed with these wonderful sounds of my life!

A Moment to Drool Over

My memories are inside me - they're not things or a place - I can take them anywhere.

Olivia Newton-John

To all my faithful readers--and I know there at least two of you--I haven't forgotten my entries. As many of you know, I am spending a month in Spain. As life and luck would have it, my blog entry page comes up in Spanish on the computer I am using while visiting this beautiful country. (My entry comes out in English, but all the commands are in Spanish, so it's presented quite a problemo!) Couple that with the fact that the keyboard is somewhat different and I'm making no promises as to what you'll get! Anyway, thanks to my honey and his ever-present Spanish dictionary, I've been able to (finally) get to my entry page!

And so here I am--in sunny Spain. What a magical country! Today I had one of those moments--you know the kind. The ones you know you'll recall many, many years from now as being part of "the good old days". Or, as my friend, Bob, puts it, "those memories that put a smile on your face when you're sitting and drooling in the old folks home". (That Bobby does have a way with words, no?). Anyway, it's rare that we realize these experiences as such when we are in the moment of having them. Oh sure, there are some that you know in the certainty of your soul when they happen that they are etched into your memory forever--your wedding day, the birth of your child, your first shoe-shopping experience at DSW. But then there are the seemingly ordinary moments that in hindsight become cherished remembrances.

The one that happened tome today was as I was sitting on a bluff overlooking the Mediterranean. It is windy and sunny-warm here today and the waves were crashing on the rocks below me. Outstretched in front of me was the sea for as far as I could see. Although they tell me that Africa is a scant 60 miles away, the curve of the planet doesn't allow me to behold that wonder. All I see is vast blue-green waters sparkling under sunshine and peaked with whitecaps. I bask in the beauty of the sunshine and realize one of those moments of pure joy. My brides and grooms are being well-tended by my capable staff back in the states. Any bills that aren't paid can wait until I get home. I can feel the sun shining on my face and I am secure in the knowledge that the SPF 30 sunscreen I applied before leaving the house this morning will protect me for another few hours. My children are happy and healthy. And up the hill, in the quaint village of Maro, the man that I love more than anyone in the world (and he appears to reciprocate that sentiment, which is always a plus) is happily snapping photos of some ancient castle ruins, which he had moments earlier excitedly beheld with the enthusiastic comment of "Wow...look at the cool old broken-down stuff!".

Later on, I know, we will meet up for our end of the afternoon cocktail (called "tapas" here) and laugh ourselves silly at some story or another. And I am in Spain!!! Wowza! Maybe many folks wouldn't consider that an extraordinary moment, but I knew for me, it was and I tried to etch it into my mind firmly, for I wanted to remember every nuance--the glorious feeling of having to be nowhere in no hurry; the knowledge that right then--for that brief moment in time--there was nowhere else on the earth I wanted (or needed) to be. To top it all off, I wasn't hungry, thirsty, needing to use the bathroom or over- or under-dressed. A "smiling while I drool in the home" memory for sure!

One thing I will do when I return home to my "every day" life is be sure to be on the lookout for these moments. I know they're there--I just get so involved in the mechanics of daily life that I forget to notice them. I think that's what vacations and travel help us to do--to notice the ordinary, to revel in the joys, to miss those back home. And oh yes--to treasure what we already have--like internet sites in our native language!

DMV - The Sequel

I always feel like I can't do it, that I can't go through with a movie. But then I do go through with it after all. Meryl Streep

So, if you read my entry of last week re the DMV, then you know where I stand on the issue of that venerable institution. If you didn't read it, then I can sum it up in one phrase--"run screaming from the building and do not look back."

People tell me that I always have a story. I guess that's true.The DMV is no exception. So, sit back and enjoy.

If you recall, I was rebuffed by the DMV because my state-issued birth certificate was unacceptable. Rhode Island is such a tiny state, it seems, that Colorado does not acknowledge it as part of the United States, so I am, in fact, perceived as an illegal alien in the motor vehicle system! This morning, I pranced into the DMV with my genuine US-issued passport, right up to the gal at the info booth and was awarded the coveted wait-in-line number within minutes of my arrival. Humph! How far I've come! And, only seventeen numbers to wait--a mere fraction in DMV time.

Of course, 10 minutes into my wait, the mother with the loudest voice in the world entered, with her mousy husband and two perfect children in tow. Now I love kids; Ive actually produced a couple of my own--but geeze, why is it that some parents think that the sun rises and sets on their children and that everyone in the room must be in agreement with this assessment? For the next 30 minutes I, along with every other poor sucker there--about 3, 276 of us, if my calculations are correct--was subjected to a litany of "Alex, do you need to go potty?" Alex, Buddy, what color is that crayon? Blue?? Oh, you are the brightest child in the world!" (The crayon was red.) "Alex, you must share your crayons with your baby brother (who was no more than three months old, I swear!)." "Alex. your hair is a mess--do you think we should comb it?" To his credit, Alex pretty much ignored the barrage.

Poor mousy husband never uttered a word the entire time, although he was very good at following commands from the loudest mother in the world. I couldn't help but wonder what their relationship had been like before the children. Did he take her breath away, did she give him long leisurely massages,? Did they enjoy the Sunday paper in bed? Go out on dates? How did they get to this? Love your children for sure--nurture them, lavish them with attention build their self-esteem, but at least talk to the person (about something other than the children) with whom you procreated these beings once in a while!!

Wait! It gets better. I came to overhear as the loudest mother in the world took a break from Alex long enough to complain to her seatmate (not mousy husband, but an anonymous stranger) that the whole family had come out kit 'n caboodle so that she could apply for her new driver's license! I kid you not--poor mousy husband and the two kids didn't even need to be there. I swear she made them come so she could have someone to talk at while she waited.

As Alex was being loudly admonished for having dry skin and needing lotion on his face, (apparently spitting on a Kleenex and swabbing the kid is no longer socially acceptable) my number was finally called. Phew! Not a moment too soon, for I was about to clobber the loudest mother in the world. (I should digress here by telling you that Alex seemed to be quite content all this time and could have cheerfully existed on child-auto-pilot without Mom's incessant yammering!) Anyway, I saw D742 on the board and trudged up to the counter (the loudest mother in the world having sucked the life out of me), plunked down my passport and explained that I needed a replacement driver's license. The clerk picked up my documentation ("it's authentic, I swear," I wanted to scream!) frowned a moment, conferred with his cohort at the next desk and then looked me in the eye and said, "Sorry Ma'am our computers just went down. It could be five minutes or all day before they come back online."

I left...I thought it best before someone was hurt.....but I will return. If Meryl Steep can suck it up to do a movie (see quote above) then I too, will persevere! The saga continues.....

It Takes a Village

The way a team plays as a whole determines its success.

George Herman

My wedding officiating business, Lyssabeth's, was named after my two daughters, Alyssa and Bethany--who are now grown and contributing to the world in their own unique ways. My theory was that since they turned out just fine, then I should try to replicate that success with my new "child". To quote Dr. Phil--so far, it's working for me!

I'm fully aware of the fact that the successful transformation of my girls from caterwauling infants to sulky-faced teenagers to beautiful accomplished young women was only fractionally related to my admonishments, ministrations, and role-modeling--punctuated by the ubiquitous hand-wringing moments. So too can I say the same for this subsequent "child" this business of mine that brings levels of angst and joy rivaled only by my offspring. It truly does "take a village" to culminate any successful dream--be it the raising of children or the fruition of a business.

Yes...I'm talking about my bevy of revies, the irreplaceable Irreverent Reverends. My people. Everyone should have such good people. I know...I'm bragging shamelessly, but they are so damn great and at least I don't run around showing off their pictures. For that you have to click here! Just this past weekend, under the deluge of Denver's third snowstorm in as many weeks and I with the "car-which-does-not-handle-well-in-snow" (snow tires are the first errand on my list today, but I digress) and with an impromptu wedding rehearsal for Bobbi and Kase looming at the Westin Hotel, I was able to make a morning-of phone call to Kim. I'm afraid my crummy "car-which-does-not-handle-well-in-snow" won't make it up the hill--can you cover? She did; they loved her; I had her perform the wedding the next day as well, since they had all bonded. Another happy ending all the way around!

And then there's Cheri, who performed a Christmas-eve wedding at the same time her father lay at home dying from a lingering illness. Dan, our token male rev, who gallantly steps in for each couple who prefers having a man officiate. (Archaic predispositions being what they are and we do try our best to fulfill every couple's wishes!). Jenn (who calls me the Momma Rev) juggles motherhood, a demanding job complete with frequent travel and a most recently a husband requiring a trip to the emergency room (I hear he's fine, and were still waiting on the details!)

There's Sajit, who is a connector of the highest caliber! She knows everybody! When I needed a male officiant, I asked Sajit (enter Dan). Want to know if my love and I are suited astrologically? Ask Sajit. (okay--that has nothing to do with the managing of my business, but it is totally fascinating!). Sajit has directed me to more resources (most of them free) than anyone I've ever known. And Ruthay, who is the quintessential Jill of all trades. I've relied on her from everything to making wedding cakes to organizing my office.

A better team there never has been. I am so truly blessed. How about you? Ever think about those who helped you become the person you are (or will be)? Authors dedicate books, performers make Academy acceptance speeches thanking their supporters. Most of us don't get that formal opportunity; we have to create those moments ourselves.

Hopefully, I just did! (but I'm not done--those are my Revs--there are so many other folks who support me. More on them tomorrow.)

I Don't Get it!

To give real service you must add something which cannot be bought or measured with money, and that is sincerity and integrity. Douglas Adams

Okay, I just returned home from the DMV. Quite frankly I don't get it. Maybe my perception is skewed. After all, I live in a world surrounded by entrepreneurial spirits. One does tend to associate with colleagues and friends similar to oneself, I suppose. Every day, I see business owners and their employees striving to extend the best customer service they can offer. I was under the impression that the tide was turning, that the revolution lead by small business owners was trickling upward to impact many levels of commercialism. Why else do I get more pleasant service at the movie theater, the grocery store, and the dry cleaners? Even my cell phone service reps are helpful and personable as of late. I could have sworn we were on an upward trend!

Enter the Department of Motor Vehicles. Talk about bursting a bubble! After losing my license in a blizzard-related mishap last week, I ventured into the DMV offering self-admonishments to eliminate any preconceived notions of the type of customer service I'd receive. Surely the revolution has extend to them, as well, no? Well....no. After circling the lot praying to the parking gods for deliverance, I finally squeezed my auto into a partially snow-covered space and went in--still smiling. Hope does spring eternal, after all. Entered building. Long wait for "info". Okay, I can handle that. As I waited in line, I glanced toward the inner room, a voyeur staring at the huddled masses of supplicants awaiting their number to be called. Every seat was full and people were standing along the walls, ready to pounce on the next available chair (don't even think about getting up to use the rest room). It wasn't pretty. I felt my optimism dim.

I looked at the faces some more. I had lots of time to do this as the line I was in was not moving, due to the fact that the overwrought staff person responsible for assisting us was on the phone. I have seen pictures of refugees in camps, malnourished children in underdeveloped countries and people told they have less than six months to live . The expressions on their faces were eerily similar to those I saw on the faces of the people at the DMV. Gloom, despair and desperation hung thickly in the air. I saw neither frustration nor annoyance--simply sadness and resignation. What more could these poor souls expect--they were at the mercy of the DMV?

As I continued to stand in line, I overheard a DMV employee telling a confused "inmate" (that's what it was beginning to feel like) that no one there spoke Spanish. The woman tried to understand with her minimal English what the employee was telling her but it was obvious that a communicative connection was not taking place.

Finally!! My turn! With my most engaging smile, I greeted the receptionist, told her my plight and produced my state-issued, certified birth certificate to show her that I am truly the person I claim to be. I eagerly extended my hand, hoping that she would bestow upon me the coveted and much-prized number--the ticket to enter the doom room on the other side of the wall to await (and wait...and WAIT) the next step in the process of obtaining my replacement driver's license.

"That form is unacceptable," she informed me. "Can't be'" I replied, my hope getting shaky, "it's what the state of Rhode Island issued to my beaming parents 48 years ago upon the joyous occasion of my birth!" "Well, we can't accept it." was the response.

I won't bore with you with the discussion that ensued. I finally left, a broken woman without a driver's license. And yes, I did drive home (without a license ) in flagrant violation of the law. Let them throw the book at me; I no longer care. Come and get me, Johnny Law, I dare you!

And that's the problem--we no longer care. We expect to be treated this way at the DMV. No one questions, no one demands change. People will protest the war, write angry letters to the editor in the face of injustice and even tell off their mother-in-law but we will not question the treatment at the hands of the DMV. Suck it up and live with it--it's just the way it is.

Sadly, I have to go back to the DMV tomorrow with different documentation. I could go back this afternoon, but I need to fortify myself first--gird my loins, (girding one's loins helps ward off the effects of dealing with they who have their knickers in a knot, I've discovered).

I will go back and I will try again, but I can't help but wonder...what if they offered cookies and coffee in the "gloom room" or a busker (think of the tips--people would be so thrilled for a diversion, they'd throw all kinds of money at the entertainer). Better still--how about a way to get a replacement license via the Internet? If the passport people can do it, why can't the DMV?

One more thing that should blow you away, but won't. As I was ending my unproductive discussion with the DMV worker, it crossed my mind that she was Hispanic and that her English, while satisfactory, was accented. As I turned to leave, I casually asked, "By the way, do you speak Spanish?" "Fluently," she replied.

Sigh......If you want to deliver good customer service, here's a tip. Go to the DMV. Observe. Then do the opposite.

Joyous Resolutions

Resolutions are popular because everyone feels they could use a little improvement.

Marilu Henner

It’s that time of year again; time to ring in the new, out with the old, etc., etc., etc. This year, instead of the some old resolutions, I propose you add some really fun resolutions to your lineup. Some that might actually want to make you stick with the plan well after January 2nd. Consider some of the following;

Make and share a new chocolate recipe once per month.
Get a dog.
Take one sick day when you’re not sick. Use it to pamper yourself or just disappear for the day.
Try a new flavor of ice cream once a week this summer.
Learn one new skill. It doesn’t have to take weeks of study, although it could. This year I learned to assemble some metal shelving units which had been stubbornly resisting my efforts in the past. I finally figured out all the attachment uses of my food processor, learned how to design and upload a web site (thanks to the eternal patience of my web hosting customer support staff), grasped the procedure behind changing the hot water faucet on my bathtub and discovered the wondrous experience of house exchange for traveling. I’ve also gotten quite adept at rag-rolling glaze over paint and am delighted with the results in my dining room! Think about it….over what seemingly small skill would you like to declare mastery at this time next year?
While we’re on the learning theme, resolve to take one class this year. Just one. It could be a 12 week course in Spanish, six weeks of salsa dancing or a two hour seminar on learning to compost.
Promise to purchase at least one item per month (more if you’re already in that habit) from a local merchant (a.k.a. not a chain). The possibilities are endless! From coffee to wine, to dining out, books, home décor, art and hot clothing items, the world is at your doorstep. Don’t take it for granted. Starbucks is great, but there is life beyond them!
If getting organized is the bane of your existence, resolve to keep one area free of clutter. You’re not going to keep your whole house looking like it comes from the Container Store, so forget about it. Clear out one area—the bookcase in your bedroom, the hodgepodge of games in the TV cabinet, your sewing basket, your broom closet, the back seat of your car. Pick one area, clean it and keep it that way. Add another next year. By the time you’re 116, your life will be perfectly organized
Add one fascinating person to your life this year.
Every day, take a moment to be grateful for your problems. Do you know how many people in the world would kill to have to juggle their budget so that their monthly mortgage is paid on time?
Do the “never” as opposed to the “always”. As in, “I never watch sports,” “I never dance at parties,” “I always travel to work via this route” “My house is always a mess,” “I’ve never been coordinated.” “I never put chocolate chips in my oatmeal.” Stop doing what you "always" do and try what you "never" do!
Go to the library once a month.
Resolve to have no overdue fines for the entire year (see resolution above. Okay….this one is from my own list, I admit it!)
Do one totally out of character thing at least once a week. Preferably in front of your children; it really freaks them out!
Hold your tongue just one time—even if you have the perfect sarcastic retort. Just once this year—you can do it.
Cultivate your sense of humor. There is not enough laughter in our lives.
Meet, mix and mingle with people at least once a month. The Internet allows us interact with people all over the globe, but that is no substitute for the personal warmth of a face-to-face get-together. When I was a kid, our parents used to gather together after dinner on their neighbor’s porch to chat while all the children played. Now, we are too busy shuttling our children all over town to chat. In college, we hung out to party and study; now it takes me three weeks to schedule a coffee date with my best friend. We are becoming increasingly busy and isolated. Resolve to break that cycle this year; then plan something.


I’m sure you have many of your own ideas. Just plan to do something this year that enhances your joy and brings joy to those around you. Show kindness in small ways, give delight to your family and friends in ways that only you can. And when all else fails, bring out the chocolate!