Monthly Archives: October 2024

Oct11

True Confessions

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Thank you for indulging me this week as I shared my fascination with murder mystery television series. I make jokes that I feel homicidal at times; I hope you know that I can’t really wrap my head around that. I know that most murders are crimes of passion, and almost always committed by family members (after all, who can infuriate us more?) but it is hard for me to imagine losing control to the point of becoming violent. Mean, yes. God knows I have said some very ornery things to the people I’ve loved and respected most. If you’ve ever won an argument with me, it’s because I let you. That is not something to be proud of.

Like generations of girls before and after me, I was raised not to express anger. Sugar and spice and all that…seen and not heard. I learned to stifle anger with the best of them. The very best of them being exemplified by my Mother. I don’t believe I ever saw or heard her angry. And I do believe that is what killed her. She was never angry until one day she was sick and full of cancer. A particularly aggressive, fast growing cancer – liposarcoma. Cancer of the fat cells. She didn’t have any fat. She weighed about 90 pounds. She had been struggling with anorexia. It was not nervosa, it was a medical type of anorexia where she simply had no appetite.

One morning when she suddenly couldn’t walk we rushed her to the ER and within 24 hours she had emergency surgery. They removed an eleven pound tumor from her tiny, weak body. She would live another eight months. Her oncologist, who had also been my sons’ cancer specialist and would later become my sisters’, told me “it’s the cancer of unexpressed anger.” I believe him. And I know exactly what it was about. If anyone ever had reason to commit murder, she did. She thought about it. She talked to me about it one day, devoid of any emotion in her voice. And I understood completely. But she didn’t do it. She really wasn’t capable.

I don’t hold back anger anymore. I let ‘er rip. I’d get out of the way if I were you. I might scream and even throw stuff – but not at you. I abhor violence. I’ve been the victim and the witness to it more than I care to report; it grieves me deeply. We were given a clear divine directive: on earth as it is in heaven. There is no excuse for physical violence – NONE – ever. That includes hunting sentient life, and any mistreatment of animals. And it includes war. It has no justifiable place on this planet. PERIOD.

If you have violent outbursts, do whatever you must do to learn how to manage your anger before someone gets harmed, including yourself. Get help somehow. One of the ways I channel my angry fantasies is to read or watch murder mysteries. I love good storytelling. I like problem solving, and hatred and bigotry are problems. Big problems. I must confess, however, that I vet these mysteries ahead of time as carefully as possible. If I do see the violence take place I will have nightmares and be unable to sleep afterward. That’s why I like the genre called “cosy mystery.” You never see the attack. There is little blood. I want the violence pre-managed for me, thank you. Keep it cosy. And believe me, the irony is not lost.

Believe me, also, when I tell you that if I do ever decide to commit murder, it will be slow and painful; absolutely premeditated. They won’t see me coming. I will never get caught. But don’t worry, it won’t be you.

Oct10

pain always finds the surface

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Well, I must go back on my word. I said I’d share some of my favorite murder mysteries this week – but only the funniest. Three Pines isn’t a cosy mystery. It does, however take place in a small village, populated with quirky characters – one of the cosy mysteries basic premises. This is a police procedural. It isn’t funny. Don’t watch it alone on a stormy night. But it’s too brilliant to bypass. I’m often asked why I am so obsessed with murder mysteries. And my simple answer is this: when well written they are some of the most complex and interesting human stories, and they come to a logical and cathartic resolution. Oh but that I could expect the same from life. Again, a single season of 8 episodes, this is based on the Inspector Gamache novels by Louise Penney. Your local library has them, and they will keep you intrigued all through the cold, dark winter…

However, in the interest of full disclosure detective, I have now realized that I must review my previously held opinion that the best murder mysteries are British. Three Pines is Canadian. Ludwig is British, as is Queens of Mystery. Only Murders In The Building is American, and Recipes for Love and Murder is produced in South Africa.

There is one more series I will mention here, and it is from New Zealand. So Anglophile confession, detective, I guess I’d have to admit the Brits don’t have the corner on this market any longer. So, okay, they started it. I think. Brokenwood Mysteries seems a combination of small-town-quirky-character cosy mystery and police procedural…it wouldn’t be nearly as funny were it not for one particular character who is simply hilarious, that of the Russian forensic pathologist and love obsessed Gina. You’ll enjoy getting to know her.

Oct9

how often do people get murdered around here?!

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One brother is a genius who makes crossword books for a living. His twin is a homicide detective. When detective brother goes missing, his wife calls on her brother-in-law to solve the puzzle. Enter Ludwig, the bumbling autistic agoraphobic who now enters the police world of murder mystery. What could possibly go wrong?

These characters are weirdos – I mean, misfits – which is a feature usually reserved for small town cosy mysteries, so this rather intersects genres. Maybe that’s a new approach, as the cosy murder mystery genre is the second most popular published theme after romance. Romance. Boring. There is usually an element of that woven throughout many mysteries, however. My criteria always begins and ends with the writing, and of course, the characters. What appeals to me here is the reluctant savant who accidentally starts solving crimes. And the missing detective’s teenage son, who doesn’t want to admit how adept he is at hacking the police computers. He offers an intriguing aspect. I do like characters who come into their own genius unexpectedly. So, this one is for the curious.

Oct8

meddling aunts and all…

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Ahhhhh….fall. Best time of the year. Cool, crisply dappled sunlight through the thinning tree canopy…hot tea and cider. Honeycrisp apples. Perfect time for murder. When the mystery writer makes it about mystery writers, I’m in. Nobody does cosy mystery better than the British. Move over Ms. Marple…the aunts are in town.

Queens of Mystery is hands down my favorite mystery series…e v a …and it’s cancelled. Once again, not consulted. So you’ll have to get your fill within the 12 episodes. Guilty pleasure confession – I’m on my third round this fall. Like most cosy mysteries, there are an inordinately high number of murders in the sleepy little village of Wildemarsh. Isn’t it wonderful?!

After all…if I were a homicidal manic, I’d hide on the outskirts of a village, wouldn’t you? And, to quote Wednesday Addams, “they look like everyone else…” So, nothing to see over here, folks. The three crime writing aunts in Queens are of the meddlesome sort. My spirit sisters. But really, they’re just trying to help.

This intricately written crime-solving series has a poignant mystery woven through it’s storyline, but it looks as though we may never find out what happened to Matilda’s mother, the fourth sister, and why she was raised by her aunts. Even the series’ introduction is just about the most creative thing I’ve seen. Rumor has it that OMITB took it’s influence from this, and I can see the similarities. What’s OMITB, you ask?! Only Murders In The Building, of course…do try to keep up, darling.

Oct7

may we realize our nature

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Creativity is so much more than art. This post is for my dear friend who lives in Arizona. She thinks she is not creative because she is not an artist. She recently retired as a Hospice nurse administrator. God help us as a culture, let alone a species, if we cannot honor THE HEALING ARTS as the highest form of creativity. Have you ever spent time with a person who is seriously ill or near death? You are present. Right here. Right now. Because when we are ill (and, news flash! – we are all terminal here), we cannot be anything but present. We are unable to do for ourselves; we are dependent on others. And our caretakers must be present with us in our vulnerability. They are entirely engaged with imagination, moment by moment. All pretense drops. They are holding imagined peace in a state of being that can only be love. They are imagining us well and free of suffering.

Vital Germaine is a retired Cirque de Soleil performer, and the author of Think Like An Artist. He has clues for the rest of us. Let’s pay attention.

It seems I have spent my entire adult life as a frustrated artist. And I may continue that way, only time will tell I suppose. I can give you a hundred reasons why I have never lived out loud as a self-proclaimed artist; they’re really just excuses, aka trauma responses.

But I am learning to re-frame my definition of creativity. I have always lived a creative life. This thought takes me right back to ACIM basic principles: THERE IS NO ORDER OF DIFFICULTY IN MIRACLES. All creativity is miraculous; all miracles are creative. As it happened, it was in an ACIM study group many years ago that I first met my above mentioned nurse friend…coincidences only happen when angels coincide.

“There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.” – Albert Einstein

In the 1980’s I went through Hospice training so that I could work as a volunteer art therapist with the Children’s Bereavement Group at Munson Hospital in Traverse City. At that time it was a leading edge group, led by the late Dr. Barb McIntyre. She was a pioneer in that field. Art therapy students came from around the country to study. In my training a book was recommended: Who Dies, by Stephen Levine. It leveled me. Just read it. He tells of healing as a spiritual awakening. Nothing more. Nothing less. He says, and I agree, it has nothing to do with the body. Some people heal and their body recovers. Some people heal and their body dies. All that matters is the healing.

“I die so many deaths each day, what does it really matter which one of them is real?” -Anais Nin

After you’ve read both of those books (links below to my Amazon affiliate account. I might earn a small commission at no cost to you), then please read a third: The Miraculous 16th Karmapa. Known as “the black hat buddha,” he was a living awakened, or Christed, being who performed miracles and healing simply by being in the presence of others. There are many examples of others who have lived in our lifetime, but what struck me so profoundly about HH Rangjung Rigpe Dorje was his insistence that his seemingly miraculous state of being was, in fact, perfectly normal. Dying in a Chicago hospital, he proclaimed to his grief-stricken attendants, “nothing is happening!” Can we imagine that to be true – that there is no order of difficulty in healing, even as we pass from this bardo to the next? Can we imagine?! His “dream flag,” imagined in a dream as a prayer for enlightenment to all sentient beings, will hang in my home until my last breath. And that is thanks to another dear friend who now lives in Florida. How blessed am I?!

Think Like An Artist by Vital Germaine: https://amzn.to/4gWrP7W , Who Dies? by Stephen Levine: https://amzn.to/47XtTZB , A Course in Miracles, https://amzn.to/3XRGtEZ , and last but not least, The Miraculous 16th Karmapa: https://amzn.to/3XSYW46 , Karmapa Dream Flag: https://amzn.to/4eSkfJE

Oct6

when push comes to shove

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The year was 1980. We stood in front of the Oakland County Court Judge and my husband looked incredulous. He looked me dead in the eye and said, “Susan, I never hit you.” And the Judge asked me to respond, to which I had to tell the truth, so I turned and faced him, standing with his attorney at the other table, and shaking, said, “No. But you pushed me into the wall and I fell down. And you kept coming after me when I was on the floor.”

“I’ve heard enough,” the Judge stated, “motion granted. You will have 24 hours to vacate the home, and you will not come within 50 feet of your wife. Do you understand?” The neighbors had called the police three days before. They were tired of being awakened between two and three a.m. after he had returned from the bar and begun to attack me. The young officer asked me if I had somewhere to go. I had called my friend and business partner, woke she and her husband and their children. I would hastily pack the baby, two overnight bags, and the officer would escort me to the edge of town, the border of his jurisdiction. We would live on their family room sofa for the next three nights, and I would show up for this hearing at 8 a.m. Monday morning.

That was husband number two. Number one I had snuck out on while he was passed out high, and never looked back. It would be 14 years before I married again, husband number three. I was 40; he was 57. He was not a drug addict. He was not physically abusive. He was, however, an alcoholic and a gambler. I would divorce him and remarry him, believing he had grown and changed; he had not. He had learned some new language and become more manipulative. They all had addiction in common. They were all narcissistic.

The counselor drew three stick figures stacked vertically, and connected each of them via lines between their hands. Marionettes. He labeled them from the top down: father, husband, me. Apparently he felt a visual aid was needed. He literally drew me a picture.

However, it would yet be decades before a different counselor would finally convince me that codependence IS, indeed, an addiction. There is no ingestion of substances. The body’s physiology produces the substances to create the addiction. It’s an invisible dis-ease. I suspect the problem with overcoming substance abuse is that the substance serves as a symptom of the underlying mental health imbalance – that being codependence. No one is going to successfully get off substances if they don’t face the demon of codependence head on.

Industries have thrived upon the medical knowledge based on addiction recovery research. You can’t stop drinking; you have to substitute something that tastes like the alcohol of choice without the alcohol content. Hence sparkling wine and non-alcoholic beer. You can’t stop the brain’s addiction to smoking without replacing the action; hence the vaping industry.

There is no demonstrable action to replace people pleasing. That is the causal level of addiction. Fixing the gigantic hole in the soul. Fixing the original wound. And most of us don’t remember it like Robyn here. But we see the evidence, the symptoms of our dumpster fire lives as they float past us in the flood. So where do we start? Take the Adverse Childhood Experiences test (ACE) and find yourself a counselor. If you are old enough to read this you need – and deserve – a counselor. Carolyn Myss said it decades ago: therapists are the tribal shaman of the Western culture. Find yourself a shaman. And then a streaming service with British, South African, and Australian murder mysteries. They do it best. I will highlight some this coming week here, but only the really funny ones…

I am immeasurably grateful that I have never had a substance abuse addiction (well, okay, coffee.) But I am no less of an addict. I am a people pleaser, what Melonie Beatty (Codependent No More) refers to as a Master Enabler. I will forever be in recovery. I will never quit quitting. I will practice setting healthy boundaries as if my life depends on it. Because it does. So does yours.

And people wonder why I’m obsessed with murder mysteries…

Oct3

“Everything I have is yours.”

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It’s looking like this week’s posts might jump all over the place…because, mine. This has turned into the Cliff Note version of my Morning Pages journal and I’m all over the place this week.

Linda says “there’s not a style,” but I disagree. There is her style. She literally dreamed about the house before she ever saw it. And like her collection of hares – not bunny rabbits! – she is fierce. And gracious. This is one of the longest videos I will ever post. I’m always looking for short videos to illustrate my writing. But this home tour is irresistible. I like irresistible. Follow along with me here and we will pick this apart and see what exciting, creative tips and solutions we can apply in our own sacred spaces. Because this space is sacred. This is home as altar.

There are collections all over the house – and every one of the pieces hold meaning. Many of them started early in her life, and began with her parents. As one Linda says to the other Linda, “you are a seeker,” and oh, what a lovely response: “I’m curious about other ways to live in this world.” Well that says it all to me – how this home is the rich expression of a life lived with curiosity. This is what home is for.

Home is to act as a daily reminder that we are “in the cage, or out of the cage…” in our attitude and action. That speaks volumes about this curious woman, homemaker and gardener. She is in the world but not of it. Where am I today? Where are you?

When asked what she is looking for in her travels, she says, “I’m looking for an experience, and the things find me.” Don’t put your things on display – put your experiences out as daily reminders of your memories. Let your memories serve you, as reminders of days when you were out of the cage, winged & free. When your curiosity got the better of you and led you to places and people unknown. And I’m here to tell you that those places can be where you sit this minute. Like when I used to dance at Detroit Roller Wheels, and we’d yell “where’s the party at?!” and be answered, “right here under my shoes!” (Where did you think Michael learned to dance like that?)

You will see that this home itself hasn’t changed much since the 90’s…and yet it would show beautifully in any of today’s publications. It’s beautiful and functional. Have you noticed me turning green?! Oh how envious I am of that kitchen. Saltillo tiles, big window over the sink, storage, counter space into next week. That and the Josef Frank wallpaper in the guest bath…my heart is fluttering. Here she tells us that she has 1800 square feet and she lives in the entire house. Yep. I get it. First of all, that’s just about the perfect square footage, 1600 – 1800 (for me…alone) and yes, we all ought to live fully in our entire space. There is no moss growing under her feet.