The Countdown Begins

Spain or Bust!

In nine days I'll be boarding a plane headed to Spain for a two-week adventure. Thanks to the encouragement of author Rita Golden Gelman, I'm traveling about 5000 miles to the land of tapas, vino tinto, and siestas. I'll spend the first week traveling in the southern towns of Cordoba, Granada, and Seville. My second week will be spent north of Madrid in the somewhat secluded village of Soria at Valdelavilla for a language study.


My renewed passport which I hope to use much more in the next few years



Books on Spain that I've been reading for months now

More on how to volunteer for Vaughantown next time ~
Hasta luego

Melissa :-)

Changing Seasons

Here I am again up too late on a work night avoiding freelance work that I'm so far behind on I might already by fired and don't know it. Instead, I'm searching for the real Adam Levine twitter connection - as if that will bring me any closer to an encounter with his fine, gorgeous self! As I sit here at my kitchen table, I realize that for the first time in my adult life I am enough and I have enough and I am content with my life.

For me that is a huge milestone. I learned early on that to achieve and succeed equaled love, acceptance, and reward. So I spent the better part of 30 years achieving and excelling at most everything I did. That philosophy served me well for quite some time. And during that time I accomplished many goals and received much recognition for my efforts.

But now I guess I am moving into a different season in my life where those things don't really mean so much after all. What is one more degree or title at work? Those certainly don't offer any financial reward. I wonder if I'm simply mellowing with age or if I've given up the rat race for a more peaceful existence.

Maybe it's the changing of seasons from summer to fall. I'm partial to fall not only for its cooler weather, luscious hues of orange, burgundy, and ochre, but something in the air is intoxicating and causes me to long for campfires and baking and pumpkins.

Much of this new found happiness is a result of taking charge of my life - deciding what I alone wanted from it, and not worrying about pleasing someone else. I bought an amazing magic cottage in a small town outside of Houston last year. I've owned a home before, but that was when I was married and it was a joint effort then. I had another home I shared with my fiance', but technically it didn't belong to me. This time, however, the magic cottage is all mine. And I knew as soon as I walked into this place with my realtor last December that I had found my home.

All of the rooms are perfect but my bedroom is a sanctuary where I retreat after a long day's work. I look around and realize it is perfect for me and Draco, my 110lb American bulldog. He is supposed to be guarding the backyard, but most evenings, tonight being no exception, he is at the foot of my bed stretched out in quiet contentment. It's a place where my grown children and sister and her family can visit. A place where my dad and his wife and my aunt can come every now and again and feel at home.

Yes, I am well satisfied with my life.

Let's Face it!

I've always been lucky to have inherited my Grandmother's beautiful skin. Words can't express how grateful I am now for those genes, but during my teen years, I could have cared less. And it was only a few years ago that I started paying attention to products for the face.

In a past blog I wrote about Olay's line filling miracle cream. Well, move over Olay. Sisely of Paris has entered the room! I was introduced to their night cream by accident after spending a certain amount of money at Neiman Marcus and receiving the complimentary gift.

The cashier handed me my new leopard print bag, the free gift when you spent $100, and told me how much I was going to enjoy the samples inside. Okay, I thought to myself. A few perfume testers, a tube of lipstick, a moisturizer packet...yeah, yeah.

When I got into my car, the anticipation was just too much. I was a kid in a candy store. So, I pulled out the variety of freebies and began sorting through the delicious choices right there in my car. I almost missed the fifteen minute window for getting out of the parking lot with my paid parking ticket.

The inventory of the bag was really quite impressive. Prada, Givency...but the best sample had to be Sisley's anti-aging night cream. Later that evening, I decided to try it out. I washed my face, opened the miniature gold tube, squeezed out a small amount and applied it to my face. Within seconds I could feel the effects of the cream working. My skin tightened in all the right places and the cream was not only smooth, but it smelled great.

Like most of us today looking for information about something, I Googled Sisley to find out how much this was going to cost me. Are you sitting down? Because I was and I still almost passed out from sticker shock. For a mere $775 you can purchase a 1.7 ounce supply of this heavenly manna. And the disclaimer read...there is a six per customer limit. Really?

Needless to say, I won't be purchasing that product until my singles profile on Millionaire Match attracts a sugar daddy. In the meantime, I did find some on sale on eBay. Cost...$27 and free shipping for three sample size tubes. But I'm worth it!



This is what I found inside: nside I found perfume samples from Prada and Givency.

My Back Porch

There's just something about a back porch that makes a house a home. Maybe it's because when I'm there, I feel like everything is the way it's supposed to be. Right now I'm sitting on the back porch of my new place - a very quaint two-bedroom apartment in the sprawling metropolis of Baytown.

On my back porch sits a comfortable white wicker chair and a side table where I put my cup of coffee or glass of wine depending on the time of day or rather the kind of day I've had. My visits to the back porch are therapeutic. At dusk the sky parades brilliant colors across the horizon reassuring me that although this day has ended, another one will follow in the morning.

Tonight I was thinking about how I ended up here on this particular back porch. I recently moved into the apartment after my long-term relationship went south. I saw it coming about a year ago, but I guess you don't expect it to happen to you...a second time. I just knew this would be different. I really thought I had cast the perfect prince charming for my fairy tale movie. Okay...so it turns out he wasn't.

After that, I decided that an intervention was what I needed. Enter my therapist. When I go for a session, she often just smiles and listens as she scribbles notes on her 8 1/2 X 11 yellow legal pad. I would love to know what she writes on that thing. If it were me, I'd be doodling stick figures.

I know I could never do what she does without at least once telling my client that I wasn't serving any cheese with that whine. But, she never does. She simply listens and writes on the yellow notepad.

Her office is worth a visit even if you don't get any help. It's beautifully decorated in rich hues and the walls are dotted with paintings that scream femininity.There is a couch that doesn't even remotely resemble the ones you see in the movies, but you'll find a comfortable chair with a side table. There isn't any coffee or wine, but a box of tissues if the need arises. The most intriguing piece in her office is this little bowl of stone figures, each one representing an emotion.

The first time I went, I noticed them. After my second visit, I asked what they were and learned that she uses them to help people who can''t verbalize their emotions. Really? That's a new concept. I've never had a problem expressing my emotions.

I drove to her office for my latest session recently. I was so consumed with anger that I had to figure out what the heck to do with it because if I didn't, it wasn't going to be pretty. Although looking back, the actions from that might have ensured I would get a book publishing deal after being released from prison. Then, I'd make a ton of money and go into hiding.

All joking aside, I walked into the office late because whoever put up the detour signs on Bay Area Boulevard was a complete idiot. I looked through the bowl of stone figures for kicks to see if there was one that could express my anger. Not even close...just saying. Her advice to me was that I should do nothing concerning the anger that involved my hands, feet, or mouth. Thank goodness that didn't rule out body slamming or head butting.

I guess in a way, her office is much like my back porch. It's a place I can go and put together the pieces of life's puzzle. And when my time with her is through, I'll still have my own back porch.

An Evening with Great Women

While having dinner with some colleagues and a guest author a few nights ago, I was reminded of the intoxicating effect great conversation has on me.

I'm naturally drawn to people who like to talk, but I especially enjoy intelligent, engaging women who have opinions and don't mind sharing them. After the waitress took our order, the four of us began to carry on like best friends reuniting after a long absence. We talked about everything from writing and books to life decisions, movies, and careers. Our corner of the restaurant was buzzing with chatter and excitement.

The evening reminded me of the global dinner party I had last summer where friends joined at my home for ethnic food, wine, and storytelling as hundreds of other women around the world gathered in their own homes that same night. Each of us had a special memory to share though we came from different backgrounds and experiences. Note to self...make the dinner party an annual event!

It's a strange phenomenon, but I feel my mother's presence stronger than any other time when I'm with a group of friends sharing stories. It's almost as if she is sitting at the table, and I half expect to hear her voice as she puts in her two cents worth.

My mom was a beautiful, talented writer and artist who taught me the art of conversation. My dad worked overseas, so my sister and I, who were too afraid to stay alone in the other part of the house, slept with my mom in her king sized bed. She always had a story to tell; sometimes it was a parable from the Bible, other times it was the most fantastical tale I had ever heard. Most nights I think we fell asleep to the sound of her soothing voice.

There is something magical that happens when women come together. After dinner that evening, I left with a renewed sense of purpose, a feeling of peace, and the assurance that anything is possible. A special thanks to Rose Marie for the invitation, Selena for her beautiful soul, and Kate for her inspiration.