I Want....

I also want to read this book again.

Today's Writing Marathon prompt was to write a poem where each stanza started with the words, "I want".

I wrote this pretty quickly and the truth is, I could add many more "I wants", but these were the wants that sprang to mind right away.

I Want

I want to move forward
and stop looking back
quit changing direction
focus my track

I want people to see 

beyond acquiring things 

know happiness is not 

owning fat diamond rings 

I want deeper connection 

more face to face talk 

less cell phone obsession 

more time for a walk 

I want meaningful sharing 

my soul being fed 

not dead boring small talk 

that leaves things unsaid 

I want to live in a world 

where the spiritually depleted 

wake up one fine morning 

feeling joy, not defeated 

I want to see my girl’s life 

flourish and grow 

watch her follow her dreams 

don’t let them go 

I want just one more thing 

to hear people say, 

Have you read her book yet? 

Go read it today! 

(Had to throw in that last verse to lighten this wish list up a bit!) :-) 

A Letter to my Muse

I had fun with this assignment today. It was a writing prompt on Day 17 of my 30 Day Writing Marathon. We were to write a letter to our Muse, AKA, our inspiration. This was mine.

Dearest M,

Please forgive me for ignoring you. I want to drop everything when you come around, but sometimes it is just not possible. It does not mean that you are not precious to me. Please don’t for a minute think that I don’t appreciate you. I do. I truly do. You are my moment of brilliance, my shining star, my guiding light. You make everything flow and flower and flourish. You shower me with metaphors and analogies and illiterations. I owe you so much.

It’s just that I am annoyed when you show up at inopportune times. We really have to talk about the 3 am. visits. Give me a break. I need my sleep. You know I am a morning person. Are you mad at me for giving up our wine? I know you used to enjoy that. We did seem to come up with some great material after a couple of glasses of Shiraz. I did mention that I was having some digestive issues, right? The wine is off the menu for awhile M. You’re not alone, I miss it too. We had some really crazy ideas some nights, didn’t we? Funny though, looking back at what we wrote, it wasn’t as stellar as we thought it was at the time, was it? It was pretty good, but nothing earth shattering.

Also, I know you have asked me in the past to write down the ideas you feed me. I realize I have become a little forgetful over the years. But seriously, it’s not always convenient. Could you do me a favour and stop showing up while I am driving? It’s very distracting. Sometimes I get home and can hardly remember how I got there. Your’re like a rambunctious puppy when it comes to car rides. You just love nothing more than sitting shotgun with your head out the window, tongue hanging out, wind whistling in your ears. I get it. It is one of your favourite times to appear. Just remember, I need to be concentrating on driving, not on you and another one of your crazy notions.

Did I just hurt your feelings? Please don’t take it that way. I love you M. You just need to consider me a little more. Can we schedule you in perhaps? Make a date? Could you do that? Could you adhere to a schedule? Is that asking too much? Does that spoil the spontaneity for you? Does that seem too robotic for you? I know the answers already. Yes, no, no, no, no. yes and yes. Okay, so it looks like I am the one who will need to adapt to your schedule. I try you know. I really do try. You are everything to me. You do know that, don’t you? Without you I would be empty. My life would be meaningless. Shit, I just heard Sam Smith singing and the radio is off. “Oh, won’t you stay with me?, ‘Cause you’re all I need.”

But wait, isn’t that a song about one night stands? That’s not about us. Although, I must tell you that when you disappear for days at a time, I wonder if you really do care about me. Please stop doing that. We’ve been together for long enough now, that I do trust you will always come back, but even I can get insecure when you are gone for too long.

I do have one rather large favour to ask of you M. Could you send me a sign? You know I am struggling with which direction to take with this novel. Should I focus on the actual story verbatim or should I turn it into more of a spiriitual, self/help guide? I’m a bit lost and confused. Step in would you? Yank my reins a bit. Push me one way or the other. I will be waiting for your guidance.

Yours,
Forever and ever,

Deb xoxo 

Be like Casey

Not all "aha" moments are minor epiphanies. At least that has been my experience. It's great when they are, but yesterday I had one that was more like a kick in the gut or a slap in the face or more accurately the "holy fuck, I just noticed a grey pubic hair" moment.

So I have spent the last few days watching the Australian Open tennis and as much as I love tennis, watching the pros is always a reminder that I am no longer twenty-something or thirty-something or even forty-something and I am never going to hoist a trophy before the throngs and cameras at Rod Laver Stadium or Wimbledon or even my local tennis club. Those days are behind me. I will keep playing until my body won't allow it anymore and that is a good thing and I will make the occasional  shot that gives me a glimpse of what could have been but I will never be the subject of a wikipedia page citing my career hi-lights and stats and details of my personal life that I likely would prefer remain private.

Now, I am a realist and I am well aware that even if I had grown up with parents who had pushed me, or parents who were rich enough to hire coaches and send me to training camps, or parents who even noticed that I was a wee bit athletic and encouraged me I still may not have succeeded like thousands of other hopeful young athletes, but I often do imagine..."what if"? This is not a blaming or shaming thing either. Who knows? Even if they had cracked that whip, maybe I would have rebelled and said screw you, I don't want to work that hard. I would rather hang with my friends and smoke cigarettes behind the school gym. It takes more than just a push from mummsie and poppsie to turn out a star athlete. The kid has to want it too. It's easy to look back and think would've could've, should've, but as the saying goes, "don't look back, you're not going that way".

These are not thoughts I tend to dwell on. I accept that it is too late in life to turn tennis into a career and am happy to be able to still play doubles with the ladies 2-3 times a week. It's fun. It's social and it gets my body moving. Sometimes it moves parts of my body beyond what is comfortable and I wince or limp around for a few days, but that comes with the territory. Heal and get on with it. The alternative of not playing anymore is more painful as it is always a great spirit booster as well.

Enough about tennis. Back to the "aha" moment. I suppose it may have been even more impactful because of the young tennis players in my aging face all weekend but this is what happened. I was scrolling through my FB feed and came across a video of a couple of young dudes who decided to take advantage of the snow in Manhattan to make a video of themselves being towed through the streets by a rope attached to an SUV on snowboards. This is the sort of youthful shenanigan that "old" people might scoff at as dangerous or foolish or irresponsible but I thought it was brilliant. 

The clip had already been viewed by over 27 million people. Of course it had. It was Casey Neistat. If you don't know Casey by now, you will one day. It is inevitable. Until yesterday, my knowledge of Casey was limited. I had heard him interviewed by one of my other favourite success stories, Rich Roll and I followed him on Instagram, but this latest video made me dig a bit deeper. Who the hell was this guy anyway? As I sat on my sofa, reading through his Wikipedia profile, awestruck by his achievements in his life thus far (he is 34), now I was really impressed. I thought he was just some other "one hit wonder internet sensation", but now I see how wrong I was. This is a guy who dropped out of school at 15, lived in a trailer park, on welfare with his girlfriend and their son from 17-20 and then all that changed when he moved to NYC. He has worked as a dishwasher, a short order cook and a bike messenger. Now he has over a million YouTube subscribers, is co-founder of a social media company called Beme, is a film director, film producer and Vlogger. Geez Casey, maybe you should get a life. 

And that is when I had my "grey pubic hair" moment. Fuck. I have been sitting on the sidelines my whole life. This is how it is done. This is the kind of creative fearlessness I have always wished I possessed. (I know, I do possess it, I just need to utilize it) This "just do it" energy that Casey oozes - that is da bomb! This guy is idolized by millions who wish to be more like him but fear holds them back. His followers on Twitter and Instagram seem to worship him. They can't wait for his next move. What will Casey wow us with today? What crazy comment or video or stunt will he hit the Internet world with tomorrow? He does not hold back. As ridiculous or useless as his ideas may seem, he throws it as us and who cares if it bombs? Tomorrow is another day and he ain't looking back. He just keeps moving forward. And that is what it is all about. So many of us get mired down in the 'what ifs?" and it paralyzes us.

So, forget about Bill. Bill is boring.

Be fearless. Be like Casey.

Better still. Be the you that is lurking and always has been.



Enjoy this video...Casey at his best!

His Lessons Live On

Dr. Wayne Dyer

Despite my two decades or so of working in the biz and knowing that renovations always take twice as long as you expect, I still find my own pace of progress surprising and frustrating. Mainly it comes down to that old expression; "Many hands make light work." That's the rub. From Monday to Friday I only have my own two hands and on the weekend I double that number to four. I need a team, not a doubles partner. 

All of this will no doubt contribute to my growth and acceptance of Rome not being built in a day. Back in the day, I used to tackle these home improvement projects with an obsessive mania. I would drop everything and spend every available minute on the task at hand to the exclusion of the rest of my life. My family and health would take a backseat to the cause. I wanted the job done quickly, so life would get back to normal as soon as possible. One difference between then and now is my available energy and my priorities. I still want to eat healthy, exercise and have a life outside my renovation. Without outside help, things are going to take longer. 

And this is where the passing of one of my spiritual gurus enters the picture. I was saddened to learn that Dr. Wayne Dyer passed away on Saturday in Maui at the age of 75. He has been an amazing source of inspiration on my journey through this life. A few years ago one of his books actually saved me from the depths of despair. I was on my way to London for a March break holiday with my daughter and I had been under tremendous stress at work. I picked up a copy of Excuses Begone at the airport. I was in the midst of separating from my husband, I was in a conflict with my employer and I needed to focus on the special time with my daughter. My anxiety level was through the roof. 

I started reading it on the flight over the pond and continued reading it at night while my sweet girl slumbered in the bed next to mine at our hotel. I was so stressed out, I could not sleep. With each chapter of enlightenment, I felt myself becoming  more calm. I finished the book with a renewed solution to all the stresses that were confronting me. The main message I took from that book was this. Every time you are doubting or worried or full of fear, ask yourself this one simple question. IS IT TRUE? 

Will the world end if I leave my husband? Will I end up destitute on the street if I get fired from my job? If I quit my job? Will my family disown me for making choices they disagree with? Am I too old to start over again? Am I strong enough to endure these changes? The questions were endless. However, when you take these and other questions about your life and then ask IS IT TRUE? Nine times out of ten, it is not. The world will not end, you will not become a homeless person, your family will get over it, you're never too old and yes, Deb, you do have the strength.

Since that time, I have used this reasoning frequently. It is positively amazing how often it works. So, in terms of this renovation, when I get frustrated or anxious about how long it is taking, I have stopped and asked myself IS IT TRUE? a few times now.

ME:  I cannot live with all this mess and disorder around me.
ME: IS IT TRUE?
ME:  No, I can, so just relax.

ME:  I need to get this house done before I can relax.
ME:  IS IT TRUE?
ME:  No, I can still relax, just like I did before we actually bought this house. I will just have to get used to being surrounded by renovation clutter...paint cans in the hallway, ladders leaning on the walls, splotches of test paint on the walls, drywall dust, etc., etc.

ME: I should have had at least one before and after shot ready for my blog by now. 
ME: IS IT TRUE?
ME: Only in your own mind Deb. Stop putting so much pressure on yourself to perform to some kind of unrealistic schedule for completion. The world will not end if you're not ready.

This is how this simple question works for me. It seems almost ridiculously simple really. However, until I read Excuses Begone, I would just get so ramped up with anxiety putting pressure on myself and those around me, it was unhealthy. I would forget about my own self-care and caring for others and I now know that those things are far more important than finishing a project in record time. 

Thank you Dr. Dyer for this gift. You gave so much to the world before you passed and it is the kind of gift that keeps on giving. He was a wise and spiritually evolved human being that will be missed. If you have never read any of his many books, I highly recommend them. 

I do hope a wonderful new journey has just begun for him. 

Namaste.

Good Enough

We do it to ourselves really, don't we? Just when  you think you have achieved or perfected something and are happy with the method used or the result, you take the bait. You see the headline or the tag line and instead of just continuing to scroll you click on it. 

The dreaded click. 

After all, why wouldn't you want to strike a better yoga pose, or bake a better cake or take a better photograph, or have a more mind-blowing orgasm, or be a better parent, or get more from your meditation practice, or have the most organized closet...or, or, or.

These are the continuous subliminal messages that flog us daily. Clearly the way you are doing it is not good enough. It's not fast enough or slow enough, or intense enough or tasty enough. It applies to our work, our relationships, our hobbies, our cooking, our possessions, our homes, our travel destinations, our skill at just about anything. Let's face it, none of us are good enough at anything. There is always a better way.

As much as I can see through these admonishments intellectually, there is still a latent curiosity to have a quick peak to see if maybe, just maybe I could change things up a bit to improve upon what I already thought was pretty good. It is almost as though you need to see if the difference between how you do it already and how someone else does it is just a matter of a quick and easy tweak that will elevate whatever it is to some sort of Nirvana. Not content with a simple bowl of hot oatmeal with cream and brown sugar like your mom always made you, no worries, make it like this and turn your morning bowl of gruel into a foodgasm.  

It diminishes your reality. That's what it does. Just when you think you have found the perfect little black dress, the September issue of Vogue poo poo's your choice. Think you have a wonderful loving and harmonious relationship? Look there - Sting and Trudie Styler practice Tantric sex and have the perfect house to boot! It's enough to make you stop the madness and just unplug altogether. Turn off the devices and put an end to the constant reminders that you can and should be and do better. 

The truth is, we can always improve because none of us are perfect. But do we really need to bother? And what is it that drives us to try? Why is perfection a goal at all, because even those who seem to achieve it in some area of their life often find it does not make them happy. The list of celebrities that we have at one time or another viewed as having achieved the perfect lives and then blew it all up in some way is endless. Think Robin Williams for instance, whose tragic departure from our world almost a year ago still saddens and perplexes us. So talented. So loved. So fortunate. So dead.

I had my own interesting discovery last week. My first boyfriend and first love who I had, until last week, thought had it all - or so it seemed.  I knew he had married the girl who came into his life after me, they had financial success, three children who were privileged to attend the best schools, a nice home and a summer cottage. I was happy for him. It seemed he had the happily ever after we all want. As I scrolled my Facebook feed I noticed a woman with a hyphenated name - hers and his. Hmmm, that was odd. I dug a little further and sure enough it turned out his perfect marriage ended some time around 2007. Sigh. One more fairy tale life bites the dust. It does seem that they have both gone on to re-marry and give it another go - maybe this time they will find that elusive perfect relationship. Maybe not.

The key for them and for all of us really may be to not expect perfection. Just wake up each morning and be grateful for how it is, and how they are and be thankful to be alive and perfectly imperfect. As much as I have come to find Dr. Phil annoying, he did have a couple of great ideas when it came to relationships. One thing he used to say that I have never forgotten had something to do with asking yourself "What can I do to make my partner's life easier today?".  The other thing he used to say was "How much fun are you to live with?" I think those two simple ideas are really effective. It prompts giving and introspection. And those two activities alone could be enough to achieve happily ever after as long as both partners participate. 

And on that note, I am going to the kitchen to make a pot of soup. Not the most mind-blowing, foodgasmic, gourmet's dream crock of hot nectar of the gods. Just a simple, nutritious, tasty pot of goodness, the way I have made it many times before. A "clean out the crisper" soup that will be less than perfect, but more than adequate.  

A "good enough" soup. Good enough for me.

I'm Dreaming of a White... Kitchen?!

For any of you who may have been wondering where I have been, allow me to explain. In my last blog post, I announced that I had decided to go the vegan route. In the last few weeks, I have spent more time in my kitchen than I have most of my life. Not that I haven't always been one to devote a lot of time to food prep, it's just that now, I am like a permanent fixture in my small u-shaped temple of nutrition. This is not a complaint. It is just a simple fact. Keeping my fridge full of delicious healthy dips and sauces and quick plant-based snacks is a full time job. I do believe that I am now in a bit of a groove with it and have gotten a few basic recipes down pat that will keep me less chained to the chopping block.

Almond Pesto. Blackened Tomato Cashew Sauce. Walnut Pate. Lemon Guaccamole. Cashew Cheese. These are my five basic vegan staples. They have replaced things like traditional pesto, mayo, cream cheese, cheddar, brie, parmesan and even goat cheese in my diet. With just these five items, I can transport myself to a foodgasm in an instant.  Ridding my diet of dairy has been the biggest challenge. It has also had the most dramatic impact. For almost a year I had been suffering with some strange pain in my achilles and ankles. Whenever I sat for more than a few minutes, upon rising, I would be in enough pain that I had to delicately step around until the stiffness and pain subsided. It was annoying and nothing I did seemed to help. I saw a future of worsening arthritic joints and I was not amused. Well, guess what? It is gone. I would say it is nothing short of a miracle. 

I also used to have to ease into moving my finger joints each day. Upon awakening in the morning, my hands were stiff and I had moderate pain for a few minutes until I got my joints moving. This had been going on much longer than the ankle pain and it is now about 90% gone. I had read time and time again that dairy was inflammatory, but never paid much heed. It took getting to the the stage I was at, to really give dairy the heave ho and I would recommend to any of you out there who have any inflammatory issues to give it a try. What have you got to lose but your pain? 

So that is my health update. There have been challenges. Trips to Melbourne and Brisbane and Bundaberg and restaurant meals that were difficult to navigate. I allowed some fish and the occasional egg dish into my repertoire without any repercussions. I plan to continue this as part of my regimen as it is so, so difficult to find vegan choices in many eateries. Living a plant-based life 90% of the time allows some flexibility in my travels and social life that I consider a necessary compromise. 

But, back to my kitchen. I have seen some of the most spectacular kitchens over the course of my lifetime. Working in design and seeing hundreds of them has been a feast for the eyes. You name it, I have seen it. Every shade of granite and marble, sinks and faucets that cost more than my car, chiseled, hand carved cabinets and imported tiles and custom lighting and appliance garages and walk-in refrigerators with separate wine storage....and yet, I myself have never had a great kitchen. Every house or condo or apartment I have ever had over the course of my lifetime has needed renovating, but I always sold or moved before it ever happened. 

What really irks me about this (first world) problem of mine is that I have known many people with spectacular kitchens that don't cook. In one case, a client had double ovens, an enormous restaurant style gas cooktop and a sub-zero fridge that only ever held wine and leftover take-out from Pusateri's. She did not once use her equipment for cooking. I, on the other hand, cook. I cook a lot. I cook more than the average person. I cook for pleasure and health and necessity. There ain't no Pusateri's here in small town Queensland. If I want great food, there is only one place to get it. Right here in my sad little 80's kitchen. 

It was almost a dealbreaker for me when we were looking for a little house to rent. I mentioned this in a past blog. The house had a lot of other great features like a newly renovated bathroom and a nice little swimming pool, but the kitchen was ghastly. No dishwasher, an apartment sized electric stove, and the most godawful buff coloured cabinets and chipped countertops. The single sink had the original faucet that literally detached while I was running water the first week we lived here and a fountain of water started to spray all over the kitchen. The owners were quick to replace the ancient spout and handles...that's right...HANDLES...hot and cold separate handles. In my quest to find something nice about the space, I noted that the sink faced the garden and I could see the birds and look out while standing at the sink. This is something I have always liked - a window over the sink. I bought my own new fridge and microwave and replaced the fluorescent overhead light fixture with track lighting so I could direct light to the work areas. 

As we don't plan to be here indefinitely, there is not much else I could do. I manage with the stove. I even manage without a dishwasher. But the cabinets and hardware are simply the ugliest colour you could imagine. There was only one solution. Distract with colour. Ignore the colour. Treat it as a neutral. So, I added some shelves, and a valance and objects on top of the cabinets, all in an effort to move one's eye up instead of down at the peachy, buff, band-aid shade of pukey, terra-cotta cupboards - circa 1981 - you have ever seen.

Eighteen months later I have gotten used to this culinary cave of a kitchen. I manage to produce great food despite it's limitations. And isn't that what it is all about anyway? I turn on some music, glance out at the birds from time to time, chop and slice and dice and bake and saute and grill and mix and blend with love and intention and feed myself and loved ones. It really matters not if the cabinets are ugly as long as the food that is produced is beautiful. 

And if karma has anything to do with it, maybe one day I will get what I deserve...a kitchen worthy of my efforts.

A Perfect Day

Lychees ready for picking

Ever notice how the universe often delivers just exactly when you need it to? I do. It happens regularly for me. At least that is how I see it.

On Saturday night after dinner, I was whining a bit about the town I live in. I had held back as long as I could, trying week after week, month after month, to embrace the positive attributes of this small town in Queensland, but suddenly it seemed that the negatives had just been outweighing the positives more and more lately. I was no longer capable of keeping my opinions and thoughts about this town silent. 

My approach to expressing my thoughts and feelings about this place we call home now came spewing forth in a slow and steady flow like hot lava down the slope of a Hawaiian volcano, slowly and thoughtfully, but stinging and hot nonetheless with the potential to do irreversible damage along the way. I said this town had no life force, no energy, there were no good restaurants, no interesting shops, too many dilapidated houses, too many miserable, scowling faces. It feels dead to me. There is no forward movement here. There is a dull, lifeless quality that permeates everything. There is a stubborn stuckness (my new word) in attitude. I went on and on. 

It was probably hard to hear. Even if most of it is or was true, nobody wants to hear this kind of criticism of the town where they have spent most of their life. He listened. He heard me. I got it all off my chest. It was only the beginning of what is sure to be further conversation about the future and where we will end up. It should not come as a surprise to either of us really. One does not move to a town of 25,000 from a city of 2.5 million without a few hiccups. As much as life in the big city was wearing me down, the scale and contrast of "downsizing" was pretty drastic. It would take time. 

I do like several aspects of small town life. It's not all bad. Traffic is a non-issue. I still find myself arriving early for everything, never really believing it will only take 5 or 10 minutes to get from one end of town to the other. There is something to be said for limited choices. You don't waste much time dithering over unlimited options for everything from which shop to go to or which restaurant or which concert or which movie...you are lucky to have a choice between two. Pollution is not an issue. Overcrowding is non-existent. It is quiet. It is safe. 

So, Saturday night turned into Sunday morning and life went on as it does. We were up for a walk at the crack of dawn, said g'day to a mob of roos up the street and over at the park, came home, made breakfast, enjoyed the gentle breezes that blew through the house, did a few domestic chores and then I suggested we go out for lunch. This is fairly rare as I have come to the conclusion that there really are no good spots in town for this. I kid you not. Not a one. However, about 3 weeks ago, I had noticed a new spot opening on Wharf Street and was curious. A couple of the gals I play tennis with had heard it was pretty good and I was eager to check it out. 

It was a newly renovated space in one of the town's old historic buildings. As soon as we stepped inside, I knew things were looking up. The decor was instantly appealing - all black and white with splashes of bright citrus green, banquettes lining the walls against the windows and an open kitchen, a beer garden out back and a larger room for big parties - the Forest Room - decorated to reflect the name. It was really well done. Was it possible they had actually impressed me? Indeed they had. We sat by the window in a cosy corner and the food was not outstanding, but it was fresh and more than adequate. The service was a bit wonky but given it is early days and they were short-staffed, all was forgiven. The menu had several things that seemed interesting, so we will return to try a few more things. This little jolt of newness was right on time. 

The Forest Room at Alfresco on Wharf St

After lunch I suggested a drive. It was a beautiful Sunday afternoon. We decided to pop in on some friends just on the outskirts of town. They live in a charming old Queenslander house on a large acreage. When we arrived they were entertaining another couple on the wrap around porch for lunch and they insisted we join them for a cup of tea, so we accepted. It was really lovely to sit and chat and look out at their expansive lawn and all the surrounding trees and birds and butterflies flitting about. The couple we just met were interesting and chatty having just spent two years caravaning around the country after selling their house and all their possessions, then set off to explore the entirety of Australia. I wanted to hear everything, to feed my soul with tales of their adventures and discoveries. Again, just what I needed. 

After tea, we were invited to help ourselves to mangoes and lychees that were growing on the property. I picked both for the first time and although for many it is just an ordinary experience, it occurred to me that even this simple act of picking and peeling and eating a lychee off a tree was something I had never done before. In Canada, the only lychees I have ever eaten were purchased at a grocery store and they were brown on the outside. These lychees were red on the outside and sweet and juicy on the inside. Had you asked me minutes before if they grew on a tree or a vine or came up out of the ground, I would not have been able to answer you. But now I know they grow on trees and taste a whole lot better right off the tree, much like any fresh fruit or vegetable.

The day was unfolding nicely. They then invited us to join them on an excursion to the riverbank next to the Brolga Theatre where a late afternoon concert and twilight market was taking place. I had heard something of these monthly events, but had not been to one yet, so this was a welcome invitation to check it out. We all met shortly after for drinks and some live music set before a backdrop of the Mary River with a few sailboats and small yachts, anchored intermittently and  bobbing softly on the water. 

The entire day was really unplanned and spontaneous. Each segment presented itself effortlessly and simply and we went with the flow and it took us on a perfect little journey that filled all of  our senses. The unexpected visuals at the new bistro, the delicious tastes of freshly picked fruits, the sound of live music, the balmy breezes of late summer on our skin, and the smell of gardenia blossoms and mock orange near the river. 

Borrowed Gardenia Blossom ;-)

My complaints of the night before dissipated as I recounted my day and I felt grateful again. It felt like the universe had provided me with a reminder and it shifted my thinking back to a more positive outlook. I can choose to focus on the negative or I can choose to focus on the positive. 

And it is indeed a choice. It is presented daily. The trick is to choose wisely.

I'm working on it.