For the Love of God…

“Inspiring you to reinvent yourself”

Dear friends,

I bought a blender this month, the kind that crushes everything with blades of steel. Not the insanely expensive brand that produces so much friction, COSTCO hawkers make soup in it. I dreamed about that one, imagining it would change my life forever. I love soup, and if I make frozen margaritas, surely beautifully plumed people would flit around me like hummingbirds to nectar? Nah.

I rejected the TV miracle one that looks like a mortar shell and is likely to send smoothie gloop-shrapnel all over my kitchen. On the other hand, I loved my Ginzu knives, so maybe this is good quality. Still, too utilitarian; I wouldn't love it.

No, I bought the Jackie Chan of blenders, the one that chops board-hard carrots like butter. It was love at first blend. Amazing! Kale tastes great with pears, ginger and raspberries, and with carrots, apples, protein powder and chocolate chips. It’s remarkable how kale, almond oil, parmesan and pine nuts turn into pesto with the push of a finger. I have eaten more iron, Vitamin C and fiber than my intestinal track knows what to do with. It’s like after a week at Kripalu, eating vegan foods in bulk.

Thanks, Brunetteanthem.com

Though it might be hard to discern, this post is about the languages of love – or more specifically, my languages of love. My new friend Anna, a fictional representation of a real person  (I am helping a beloved client writing a Roman à Clef—fictionalized tell-all—and this is a good warm-up), mentioned love at her kitchen table Monday.

I had just sealed a deal with her daughter, Rebecca, to work for me this summer, and Anna and I had just agreed to collaborate on a writing project. We had also just conspired to get more food-based iron into her oldest daughter, Callie, who babysits at my house three afternoons a week. My role? Make her smoothies with kale hidden within, of course. Kale for Callie. (The alliteration works with Callie’s real name, too, but if I told you, I'd have to..., well, you know.)  Anna had just texted back to Rebecca, who texted her mom from the basement that she wanted to go hang out with her boyfriend. And I had just told Anna that her ex-husband Bernard, who is my fictional friend and financial advisor, has been trying to get me to stop buying people gifts. “The languages of love,” Anna murmured, in a moment of intellectual flight that hooked me and carried it with me.

What are my languages of love? I am a love polyglot! I do speak gift. How could I not buy the What da Cluck T-shirt for a friend who raises chickens? A spring jacket for a toddler niece? A hand-painted mug in her favorite colors for a friend who turned 50?

I also speak a hybrid of schoolmarm, Jewish mother and soft-bosomed auntie. I see to your education and that there are childproof locks on the cabinets. I scold you for talking trash and kvell over your every achievement. (Kvelling is Yiddish for celebrating a loved one’s/student’s accomplishments in a joyfully connected “And s/he’s mine!” sort of way.) I hug you, coo at you and rub your back. I laugh at your jokes and listen to your music. I use endearments and touch your hair or shoulder when I walk by. I say and text “I love you” often. If you are an infant, toddler, dog, cat, goat or alpaca, I talk a stream of pleasant sounding nonsense to you, often responding to your garbled verbiage with, “I know, baby. I agree with you completely. What do you think about X (world peace, those Mets, etc.)?” If you’re a teenager, I meet your ideas with wondering questions – you sparked my curiosity! I cook you soup.

Speaking of soup, I was trained from birth to speak food: smoothies with iron; pesto in little jars for everyone; a Passover seder for non-Jewish friends replete with brisket, Moroccan chicken, fresh-made horseradish and beets, matzo ball soup and innumerable kugels; brunch out; ice cream. Coffee fixed the way you like it. And I am also an avid listener to the language of Food.

I can listen and jabber on for days in Daughter, Friend, Lover and Sister. 

Parents Fran and David. Taught me many love languages

I speak resume and cover letter and their parent language, editing. I speak Stay at my House, Borrow my Car and What do You Need beautifully, along with Breathlessly Funny Shared Story-Telling. I am fluent in Hold on, You’re Safe, though much less so in I’m Letting Go Now. I overuse the cyber love language, Facebook, and cannot get enough of I Love Hearing Your Love Languages.

When alone, I use my ESL–extra-sensory love–to scan the well-being of those with whom I have not spoken today, this week, this month, and sometimes even, this year. I use this vibratory language to wish them into greater well-being, celebrate with them, ease their fear or grief, and let them know that I miss and love them. In many cases, a greeting card would do better, but I speak post office haltingly and have never quite gotten the rhythms of Remember My Birthday or Happy Anniversary.

Languages of love:so satisfying to think about this morning! Thank you, fictional Anna, for sparking this train of thought. I’ve loved it. Now off either to make my breakfast smoothie or take my early morning nap. Probably the nap; I love naps.

Love, Rhonda

When the Fibro Flares

"Inspiring you to Reinvent Yourself"

Dear Friends, 

I planned a month of driving, visiting, meeting strangers, eating out and on-the-go, and sleeping different homes: NY, NJ, DE, MD, VA, NC, SC, GA, FL, GA, SC, NC, VA, MD, DE, PA, NJ, NY. I knew that Fibro fatigue would catch up with me and Fibro pain would strike. So I planned for broken plans, sprinkling several longer than necessary stops throughout the trip so that I could rest. 

I build in flexibility, knowing that my body would insist on taking control. 
(Fibro/chronic pain travel hint #1)

What happened was a quick onset, stress induced Flaming Fibro Flare just south of Orlando. 

Orlando was meant to be my three-night rest stop. 

When Couch Surfing, I request to stay where a bed in one's own room is offered. I can nap at will and groan in pain to my Fibro heart's content. (Fibro/chronic pain travel hint #2)

I made Couch Surfing plans that sounded great with a wonderfully reviewed host, who turns out to be a terrific and interesting man with a lovely girl friend to boot. And an artist and a man who has turned every room of his house into a renovation zone. I needed guidance to walk through. 

Belongings were piled everywhere. I snaked my arms past a wall of half filled paint-rinsing jars to wash my hands. While "my" bedroom was the neatest and the bed was nicely made, there were still things piled and leaning every which way.

Some of you know that I spent many years living with a hoarder. Not a fun experience; sometimes a horrible one. So, while I make no judgment on my host's relationship with things, I felt deeply uncomfortable in his home.

First, I took a brief nap. (Remember, my energy was already wearing thin; this was meant to be my recuperation stop.) When I awoke, I found myself lingering in bed. 

An inner dialogue began: I'll just stay in bed until tomorrow. That would be rude. Where would I sit out there? I can't stay here! Well, you can't insult them, they opened their home to you. I feel myself sinking. Stay the night and find another place tomorrow. 

A pause, and then a different inner voice. The health superego I've been trying to develop, the one who guards me against wantonly putting others before myself: 

You cannot stay the night. Your anxiety is rising and you will end up in a huge Fibro flare. You're already on the brink of one, which is why you're not thinking straight, but really, Rosenheck, you must leave now. Sit up. Good. Put your things back in your bag. Good. and now, go out to the living room and say something. You can do this.

"Hi," I began. "I need to share something. I lived with a hoarder for a long time and while I know that you're in the middle of renovations, the amount of clutter here is bringing on an anxiety attack. I'm sorry, I cannot stay with you. If not for my background, I'd be excited to learn about all the work you're doing on the house. But I have to go. I'm so sorry."

They understood. They wanted me to be comfortable. They asked where I'd stay. I threw out the name of a place nearby, though I'd not made plans. I grabbed my bags, slipped past mounds of things following my host to the door, and practically ran out. 

From the car, I booked a last minute hotel deal nearby. 

When using AirBNB and Couch Surfing to travel, have a just-in-case budget available for an inexpensive hotel room. Keep Priceline's app handy on your phone to book an immediately available room with express deals at 50-60% off their normal prices.
(Fibro/chronic pain travel hint #3)

I couldn't forestall the anxiety attack; it arrived full force just as I was driving away. I pulled into a gas station to let it safely work its way through my body. I cleaned every bit of rubbish out of the car, reorganized my snacks bag, and strove to slow my breathing. When I felt calmer, I drove to the hotel and spent three days and two nights in a blessedly clean room riding out a major Fibro flare.

I got myself out of an unhealthy situation and into a restorative one after only an hour or so of hesitation. This was huge!

I continued my trip the day I felt well again. Made one more stop before reaching my folks' place. Spent hours catching up on freelance work in the Co-Op Cafe, a fantastic natural foods place in Fort Pierce, FL, https://www.facebook.com/OYPoypcoop. Watched pelicans swan dive for fish off a pier. Got another good night's sleep. Then, at last, I arrived in Boca and fell into my mom's compassionate arms, just in time to help with the Passover preparations. 

by Mary Theresa Streck, former nun, hopeful future Catholic priest

Hope you all had a terrific holiday. Mine was just right! 

Love, Rhonda

The Muck Between the Bucket Seats

"Inspiring you to reinvent yourself."





Dear Friends,

I'm just sitting for a moment. Recapturing my breath on a cold and accomplished day. Homemade sipping chocolate rests cooling close at hand. More to do, more to do. In a bit, I promise.

May this fibro-woman hear an "ooh, ah," for each of these accomplishments?

• Get out of bed. Get dressed right away. (Huge.) 
• Feed the cats, water four creatures and let the dogs out. Give each some one-on-one loving. 
• Resolve a TurboTax issue by seeing if it would resolve itself: It did. Taxes filed. 
• Fail to design a business card on Moo.com. If at first you don't succeed, procrastinate. 
• Phone meeting: brief, warm and productive. 
• In-person meeting: brief, warm and productive. 
• Get bank paperwork done in under fifteen minutes. (I'd prepared ahead.) 
• Eat lunch while chatting with my niece. 
• Get snow tires changes to all-weathers. This meant: clear heavy things from car; put heavy things in car; do crossword puzzles and email; shop on Amazon Mobile; and clear heavy things from my car again. 
• Remove car muck. I believe the Talmud states that car muck over a k'zayit ("like an olive") must be removed by hand two weeks before Passover. Four freezing months' worth of fallen popcorn, dried pear stems, gluten-free cookie crumbs, seltzer can tabs, faded gas receipts, lozenge wrappers, used napkins and broken tooth-flossers. 

It was the muck that got me. Leaning across the driver's seat, right elbow up on that storage thing, left arm stretched full length into the passenger foot-well, I realized that I could not move. My legs were straight back, toes barely touching ground. My arms had no leverage; whatever muscle tone in the past would have popped me right back up was gone.

This was slapstick. "Stan....ley!" (Young 'uns, no one alive should miss Stanley Laurel and Oliver Hardy’s work: http://www.laurel-and-hardy.com/)

I scissored my legs, seeking traction. Nope.

I collapsed my right arm. Really!? Why?

I clutched at the crushed pen cap, flopped over sideways and, finally, wormed myself backward until my toes gripped tarmac and I could bend my knees.

Up I bounced, practicing what my feline friends have taught me: Land on your feet; shake yourself off; say, "I meant to do that," then walk away slowly, with your tail in the air.

No one saw. (A wiser woman might not have blogged about it.)

Tonight, you ask? There's a bedroom to tidy, laundry to load, a Paypal account to open, and an office to organize. So if you need me, look for me in front of an episode or two of NCIS.

Please share, follow, like, and comment. I don't yet understand why, but I think it matters.

Thank you.

Love, Rhonda

Here's what warmed me, besides your company: Rhonda's Almost Vegan Sipping Chocolate:

6 oz        Silk Almond-Coconut Milk
6 chips   Ghiradelli semi-sweet chocolate chips
1 packet Stevia, any brand
1.5 Tbs   Unsweetened cocoa, Hershey's or finer
1 dollop  Whipped cream, chilled

Microwave nut milk for 1 minute. Assemble other ingredients. Add cocoa, chips and stevia. Stir with a fork to dissolve powders and attain a foamy top. Heat again, 30 seconds at a time, until desired warmth is achieved. Peak with whipped cream. Sip, being sure to establish nose-tip to whipped cream contact. Moan happily.

How to Start a Travel Writing Career While Snowed in

Inspiring You to Reinvent Yourself


Friends, 

What am I to do when the day I picked to start writing travel articles looks like this?

Postman's prints; Writers take no such oath.

1.   Make tea immediately.

2.   Drink it slowly, allowing boy cat to crawl all over me, looking for his mother.

3.   Push boy cat off and get to work. 

4.   Write up overdue notes from a committee meeting.

5.   Email giggly, funny things with a friend. Pretend that it is not disruptive.

6.   Urgently reorganize the crafts shelf that has been messy since the day I arrived. I can take it no longer!

7.   Set the dishwasher going. Hand wash everything that didn't fit so it does not soak a minute longer.

8.   Broil a seasoned haddock fillet. Stare at broiler. 

9.   Microwave broccoli and corn. Move away from the microwave. Awaken sleeping computer.

10. Return to broiler; stare. Move rack closer to the flame.

11. Start up Reinventing Rhonda. Click Analysis. Crow over 272 reads thus far!

12. Take fish from broiler. Plate it. Bring it with me to the computer. Eat a bite. Meh.

13. Check Facebook, in case something happened and is being reported by, commented on, blogged about, caricaturized, debated over or mocked by someone I know, someone whom my friends know or Jon Stewart. Check the news feed each time it bings. 

14. Look outside. Take the picture above. Feel virtuous: this is work, after all. 

15. Tune in to veggies beeping in the microwave. Get up. Consider, but ultimately reject, butter. Feel virtuous. Eat veggies. Virtue courses, like a tsunami, through my veins: Sloth, catch me if you can! (Don't you wish a sloth would lay his three clawed paw on your hand? I do. I also love acting slothful; look how happy they are!) 

telegraph.co.uk/news/picturegalleries

 16.  Tidy up. Find gluten-free cookie dough from my insomnia-binge. Get spoon. Lose all virtue points? No! Because, a. it's gluten free and b. I'm eating it in teeny, tiny bites.

17. Open my mail. After all, the postman's journey was, again, not stayed. Complain: I need a better grade of mail, people.

18. Think, Oh, hey! I was going to start the travel writing career today. Eat more cookie dough.

19. Write a clever name for this blog post.

20. Diligently write a list of 20 instructions for.... 

You're busy. I know. I'll leave you now with a contented sigh and the probability that I will soon need to warm up my tea. 

It is 1:45 pm. Surely, there's plenty of time to write my first travel article today while snowed in? 

After a nap, of course. 

But surely before dinner. 

Really! 

Have a warm and safe week, my friends. Please spread this brilliance broadly, and let me know your thoughts!

Love, Rhonda