Living w Autoimmune: 3rd Day of Challenge a Wipe Out

Still under the weather today, the 4th day of the challenge…I’m grumpy from no coffee, tired, fingers tingling. My older son has a date tonight (super cute) and it’s just me and my younger. My saturday night date gets to help mommy with chopping veggies as my fingers are still not working totally the way I want them to. Getting better though. Plan is to eat an omelet…then popcorn with our movie. No candy. No soda. Still healthy, right? I know. Sort of. Definitely not a home-cooked meal, but I need rest. I have to get completely better by Sunday to see my next Tennessee husband perform, Justin Timberlake. jk sort of! My older son bought us tickets for my birthday. So NO MORE Flare-ups! And going to JT is worth not eating a home-cooked meal for. 🙂

Hope to be back on track Monday. If any of you deal with managing flare ups and trying to cook every night, send me a note.

Have a beautiful weekend,
Laura xo

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Day 2 of 21 Day Challenge to Cook 4 Kids: OY! Not Looking Good…

Video from last night. I’m beginning Day Three of this 21 day fat loss challenge (a cook for my children every night challenge) with a more positive mindset, especially on International Women’s Day. I will alter this challenge to fit my needs, empowering myself to focus on time management, goals, sanity. If it takes three to 3.5 hours to shop, chop, prepare, cook, clean-up, then it is NOT worth it to prepare home-cooked meals every night…not for single moms who also work within their careers and strive to have any sort of personal life or balance. What I seek is 30 minutes to sit down with my boys at the family table every night. But if we’re going in different directions all the time, I do not need to be working so hard…This challenge, just on day 3, is confirming this for me. More later.

Peace, love and support—especially to those special women and mothers across America who do far too much every day. Give back to yourself today and always. Lets make that commitment.

Love,

Laura

21 Day Home-Cooked Meal Challenge!

I signed up for a 21 Day Challenge. It’s officially a fat reducing challenge, but for me, it’s a home-cooked meal challenge, as it requires participants to cook each meal for 21 days. As a full-time single mom of two, that’s a tall order. We have activities. I teach yoga classes. Plus, I am also a writer.  During the day, I’m writing/editing novels, as well as articles for magazines and corporations I freelance for. The extra shopping and prep time and cook time and clean-up time, that goes with home-cooked meals, has always been hard for me. I’ve been a full-time single mom for ten years. I have a 10-year-old and a 17-year-old and everyone says life will get easier as the boys age. By that, my friends think life will become more balanced. But honestly, it’s not really that way, we just evolve into different types of activities and demands, etc. As I struggle to keep up with my identity, my sanity, my health, my dreams, picking up ready-made meals from Trader Joe’s or wherever, has been my time-saver. But so many people have been telling me for YEARS that the best way to be a good mom is to prepare home-cooked meals. We’ll see! Here are two videos from my first day, that did not go so well! LOL! Lord. We’ll see how tomorrow goes!

I was so hopeful in the morning…but then the day got a little crazy, and I didn’t get yoga in or, more importantly, my writing.

 

I’m trying to keep up my faith!

Is it this hard for any of you???

L. xo

Embracing the Divine Feminine within a #metoo & Hookup World

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Can we as women embrace the divine feminine within, while also demand to be taken seriously as an intellectual equal of strength and character? Most of my female friends will say, “Hell yes.” But I’m not so sure that my male friends will agree (amongst each other). A woman in a bikini who looks sexy, is also a person who may write articles for the New York Times, or creates legal briefs, or who rocks a baby to sleep. She is a person of infinite depth and has found a way to embrace her health, vitality and beauty, without negating her intellect, strength, and roles within family and society. It’s a delicate balancing act. Just because we want to be taken seriously, doesn’t mean we have to hide our beauty. It is not our fault that desire creates a beast within some men. That’s like saying a girl deserved to be raped if she wore a short skirt. Yet, somehow, I still feel that it is our duty, as women, not to feed that beast and to refrain from behavior that spurs affairs and/or abuse.

 

I’ve been thinking a lot about this. It is wonderful to feel sexy, healthy, vital, energetic—at any age. I also know that whenever I post a picture in a sexy yoga pose, the men who ‘like’ the picture aren’t necessarily reading the Rumi quote or noting my yoga class schedule below it. Right? Women feed into the objectification that is rampant. We do. But that doesn’t mean we deserve to be lied to, cheated on, manipulated, or God forbid, drugged and date-raped. There’s a huge leap in the male thinking brain from: she’s hot, to: I can, and am entitled, to use her as a physical toy and throw her away after. A good friend of mine told me yesterday that her first date after her divorce resulted in being rooffied. She woke up in her ‘date’s bed, not remembering a thing. She had only had one glass of wine at the restaurant. LORD. She’s in her fifties. This sort of thing happened a lot during my college years and my graduate school years in New York. I heard stories from friends often and I once ended up in the hospital after someone roofied me. Luckily, I wasn’t raped, but I passed out, hit my head in a restaurant bathroom and the cops were called.

I am taking a big sigh as I write this.

Have we not evolved?

I want my nieces to grow up into strong, self-confident, independent women who unabashedly embrace their sense of beauty and vitality. Just because many men want to hook up and treat beautiful women like objects, doesn’t mean we have to hide and cover up either. We just need to be smart, stay alert, and not drink during first dates or put ourselves knowingly into harms way. (See my interview  with Pat Allen, relationship expert, best-selling author of Getting to I DO and expert on Millionaire Matchmaker)

 

Pat, who was actually my therapist during my ex-husband’s affair, has been saying for years, what DeVon Franklin re-iterates in his new book The Truth About Men. That is, that men are not wired for monogamy. They have a lust problem. Not all men cheat, clearly, but all wrestle with desire, even when in love with their wives. Their lust struggle doesn’t go away. DeVon refers to male lust as “the Dog.” And in his book, lust is about power, as much as it is about female conquest. If a man can commit to his profession full-heartedly, he can commit to a woman and family, he explains. Society and the lack of good male or father figure role models, makes is easy for successful men, especially, to not look in the mirror and to continue to indulge the dog, even within committed relationships. An interesting side-note, men who cheat, according to DeVon, are those who were abandoned by fathers or had poor relationships with fathers. Women who cheat, however, typically have put up with too much abuse or neglect and leave a relationship. Men who cheat, are often not in bad relationships at all. Hmmm…So how, as women, do we navigate that one or the fear that it instills when we begin a new relationship?

 

Well, I don’t have an answer. I do know that really good men cheat and feel horrible about it after. But it breaks my heart when women, who have been cheated on, or lied to, ghosted, or made to feel lesser than by a man in their life, take it personally, by thinking they somehow aren’t worthy, deserving, or sexy, etc. And some men, justifying their bad treatment of women, can say horrible things. I know. I heard them, to the point that I believed that I wasn’t sexy or beautiful during my divorce. Yoga and my yoga trainings saved me and helped me to embrace my physicality as well as my spirituality and get back into my writing. I shifted gears and stopped worrying about what was said or done. I’ve since let that shit go. I don’t need to prove anything, but I do want to feel good for myself and remain vital, healthy, so I can be a strong single mom for my boys.

I adore Reese Witherspoon, my fellow southerner, who is strong, and beautiful and calls into question just what a powerful businesswoman is supposed to look like. When I was in college I heard a lot folks saying I was the character from Legally Blond. I covered the legal beat at the Red and Black newspaper at the University of Georgia. I was in a sorority, had long blond hair, wore make up, yet still wrote essays and interviewed supreme court judges for public radio and slept on the streets with the homeless during campaigns to effect change. Why not? What rules in society exist that stipulates that in order to be strong, intelligent and successful as a woman, you can’t wear sundresses, or make up? Or be sexy, and spiritual for that matter. Honestly.

This is what I want to say to my adorable nieces, and to my boys who I pray grow into men of character: respect the light within each person you encounter. If you treat others with dignity—and that means yourself as well—you will hopefully, never be in a situation that makes you feel less then, entitled to take advantage, or used. Communicate honestly, girls, by asking the man in your life what his intentions are. Don’t assume he’s committed. Don’t drink too much and put yourself into sticky situations where others can gain control. And, boys, if you see or hear something, like a fraternity brother bragging about date raping, or drugging a girl, stand up, like a man with character, and turn him in or challenge him. Think of your beautiful cousins and the daughters you may have one day. And don’t drink too much, as that can entitle the dog to bark, as DeVon says.

Friends, chime in. What are your thoughts?

Love & Light,
Laura x

Yoga for Writers Workshops

 

Forgive the ‘you knows’! Clearly, this was a one take job, lol. I’m a writer for a reason. I’ll need to practice before public speaking! California writers, for more information about my yoga for writers workshops held monthly, please send me a note. In these workshops, we do not read from our material, nor do we critique each other’s work. We start with a 30 minute gentle, non-heated flow that incorporates kundalini, hatha, breath work—all at a beginner level—designed to let go of fear and to level our energies so we can talk together more productively. We can then share tips regarding pitch letters, queries, proposals, synopsis writing, contests, agent responses (or rejections, part of life) and strategies to find time to write every day—especially important for those of us who have children and busy day jobs. We come together for support. IF two people connect and want to review each others writing, they can swap emails after. Workshop costs cover the rental fee for the studio, btw, so typically $15/each. Email me for more information: laura.roe.stevens@gmail.com.

 

Have a blessed day! Laura

A Hard Life to Love

The Webster’s Dictionary definition for Hard is: “Not easily yielding to pressure.”

Hmmm. I think I want to be hard. Harder then ever before. I won’t yield to what you think I am. I won’t yield to what you think I can or can’t be—or can or can’t achieve. I won’t believe what you have said about me. I won’t act small so you can feel better. I won’t brag or boast either, on my way to living my best life. My best life is not your best life. I don’t claim to know what yours is. Just as I don’t claim to know you, like you claim to know and define me. That is your problem. My problem is taking baby steps and not running toward my purpose. My problem is tackling more than most do every day of my life without any support. But that is my problem, not yours. You are overly supported and demand and expect more. You are not grateful for all the support you get, yet judge and blame others easily. But I love you anyway. I don’t ask you to listen. I don’t ask you to understand or God forbid approve. I don’t ask you to help me. I don’t accept your rules or your small viewpoint of life or what it, or mine, should look like.

But what I know is that only when I fail, and prove your assessment of me right, is it OK. Only when I fail and get defeated do you love me, accept me and therefore, accept yourself. Because it was always about you anyway, wasn’t it? And your actions and choices show your inability to love yourself. Not my ability to be lovable or loving.

So I am free now. I am free to just do what I need to do to live my best life because you will never be happy for me, no matter what I do, or don’t do—no matter what I ‘achieve’ or don’t achieve. So, I am harder now than ever. I do not bend or stumble or stall or break under the pressure of trying to be loved by you—or anyone else like you, who is blinded by addictions, and refusing to do any real soul work. I will not feel bad about myself because you choose not to show your love, or ever visit, or give attention or be kind. It isn’t worth it. And it reflects your armor, your defensiveness—not my soul, not my worth. How could a shy little girl, who couldn’t talk until she was eleven, deserve a belt buckle whipping? Or her favorite tortoise shell hair brush beaten over and over on her back? How could a tiny child deserve welts, or bruises? No one does.

No. You are never to be seen again. Nor do you define my essence. I am stronger than you ever will be. I can look into the mirror and smile for how strong, how hard I have become.

I will love you in a way you never understood. I will just love you, accept you for exactly who you are, no matter what, and no matter what you did—or didn’t do—or said, or don’t say. My love is unconditional and just is. My heart is open, forgiving, yet strong and very, very hard now. I am independent. You have never been. I will follow my purpose without asking anyone else to sacrifice, as you did to achieve yours. And if you don’t like my strength, remember that you almost killed me. So I had a choice to make didn’t I?

It is OK now in my heart. I know you didn’t mean the horrible words, the vicious drunken attacks. You used to be my excuse for being broken. You were my excuse for thinking I was unlovable and allowing others in who were like you. But I am free now. None of it was personal. You are broken. And I am miraculously filled with light from a loving Source who taught me that I chose this life to survive it, to grow from it, to love insanely despite it, and to embrace my art because of it. So, I laugh more. I need less. I ironically trust more. And I am very far away from you.

You only love conditionally and if you are needed. So you break people so they will be broken enough not to leave you, so they will need you.

The secret is, I have never needed you. I have been on my own since I was born. And that is the truth. I have never needed your kind of love. I don’t need abuse. I don’t need criticism. I don’t need anger or violence. I don’t need you. I don’t need your manipulation, control or approval. I don’t need the self-loathing, or bravado, or self-pity, or guilt trips, from a self, self self viewpoint that surrounds you like a force field. But I am no longer affected by you or what you did. It wasn’t about me. It was always, always about you. I have only seen you once in 10 years and I will never see you again. Ever. Not until we leave Earth. That is the choice of my loving, yet hard heart, that is protective and sets boundaries.

But I will always love you. And you may not understand that kind of love until you cross over. But then you will. And you will see. And you will feel my love for you. It is there. It always was.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Accountability

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Eastern spiritual traditions teach that our outer world reflects our inner world. For some, that sounds crazy. I have friends from my previous profession as a journalist who get downright angry with that yogic theory and lament: “Did I manifest that drunk driver who crashed into me?” Or: “Did that starving child cause the war and famine?” Or: “Are you really going to tell a person with stage 4 cancer that she’s responsible for her disease because of her shitty thinking?!”

 

Many Western intellectuals call ‘bullshit’ on Buddhist, Taoist, or Hindi philosophies that yogis espouse, things like: ‘Thoughts Become Things’ or ‘Aham Brahmasmi’, a Hindi mantra used in meditation meaning: “I am the Universe.”

 

But somewhere between the chaos theory, (or fuck it, everything is random)—and Aham Brahmasmi—a belief that Universal light lives within each soul, linking us all and allowing us to channel this force to manifest our dharma, our purpose—is a humbling and oft-neglected puzzle piece. That puzzle piece is a powerful dose of accountability.

 

To be accountable means I must look at past mistakes, or even past tragedies, and see where my part was in its occurrence. Where am I partially to blame? And what can I learn from these experiences? Did I place myself in a dangerous situation? Did I risk my health by making bad choices? Did I hold grudges and react? Accountability is powerful. It is a must in order to manifest any New Year’s resolutions, goals or intentions.

 

It can be hard to do. I suggest tackling an accountability list armed with self-compassion, an open heart and the willingness to let go and forgive. But just ‘letting go’ of the past isn’t enough if I haven’t learned the lessons. For instance, if I want to knock out a publishing editor who asked to read one of my novels, it isn’t enough to scan the manuscript once and send it on, like I did with a previous novel that didn’t get accepted. I must get it beta read again. I must add the authentic details that a respected agent suggested. I must take my time and sit at my desk and write every day. I must choke back fear and insecurities by meditating every day, so that I don’t succumb to distractions that get in the way of working productively.

 

To me, being accountable has a lot to do with how well I take care of myself. Ask yourself this: are you in your own way? Do you sabotage achieving your goals due to bad habits? Then be accountable for those bad habits. Look in the mirror.

 

For instance, if I eat too many sugary foods, drink too much caffeine and forget to do pranayama (deep breathing) and meditate, I enter a space of fear, erratic thinking and succumb to distractions that keep me from editing or writing.

 

What is keeping you from your best self? Experts now have conclusive evidence that meditation quiets fear and reactive thinking and allows us to link neural pathways to the parts of the brain that are more compassionate, calm, responsive, verses living within our over-active reactive non-stop thinking side of our brain. (I’m para-phrasing here, but go read This is Your Brain On Meditation in Psychology Today, if you are interested!) We also know that too much sugar and caffeine wires the brain’s fight or flight response, which is not grounded in reality, and creates a vibration of negativity. This vibration may actually bring into your life more people or experiences who mirror that. Plus, if you drink too much alcohol, don’t exercise, don’t meditate and eat too many carby, fatty foods, you can become more prone to depression. If depression runs in your family, like it does in mine, do EVERYTHING you can to thwart its dark return into your life. (This Harvard Gazette article about meditation reducing depression is eye-opening.)

 

Just food for thought. This new years, I refuse to set resolutions. Instead, each day I get  to hold myself accountable in a compassionate way. If I didn’t write or edit, why not? If I didn’t meditate or do a 20 minute yoga flow at home, why not? If I became reactionary or fearful or thought negative thoughts, what was going on within my diet or my life to create that imbalance? If I didn’t listen well to my boys or friends, why?

 

What I know for sure, is that what I focus on expands. And if I want more love, joy, kindness, forgiveness, compassion, abundance—I need to help others by being more loving, joyful, grateful, compassionate, forgiving and supportive of their efforts to become abundant. It can be as simple as smiling at someone or sending them a silent blessing. If I want to live within a more beautiful world, I need to create beauty in my life by noticing, appreciating and enjoying what I already have that is beautiful. If I can be grateful every day, even for the hard lessons, my life is already abundant. If I am living my dharma—enjoying what I do for a living—I have accomplished more than I could possibly imagine. From this vibration, anything else is possible.

 

Today, I am mindful of where I slipped into fear and out of my routine this holiday season. I am grateful for the lessons. I am grateful for my breath, my yoga, my beautiful characters and stories I write about, and the fact that each day I get a choice on what I focus on. This is a blessing. No matter what else is happening in my life. My happiness is a choice. It doesn’t depend on whether someone shows up, or a goal is accomplished. It is a choice of learning in each moment and being grateful. I’m learning in my journey to be humbled by my mistakes and grateful for the lessons and that I am a compassionate, forgiving friend to myself and others. The light within me, is within you. We must all cultivate the best vibration, by being accountable for our habits—what we eat, what we think, what we drink, what we focus on—so that we can shift away from what doesn’t serve, to what helps us feel our own light, and see it in each other.

Have a Beautiful New Years week.

With so much love & light,

Laura

My Sister’s Seasonal SALE!

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Whimsical cabinet door, tile mosaics, hand-crafted, can be made to order, with chosen colors, this one sold for $200, yours, custom-made for $135.00: go.sarah.roe@gmail.com

The holidays are approaching and wouldn’t you like to purchase a one-of-a-kind commissioned piece of art for less than you spend for generic gifts at Target? AND wouldn’t you love to know your gift is supporting a worthy cause? Well, my sister, who has been in recovery for over a year, is tackling her PTSD daily by creating colorful creations of light and movement using shells, sea glass and tiles, creating gorgeous, unique, light-filled art!

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Mosaic Bowl, Sunflower, $75.

For one week, her artwork: mirrors, candle motives, bowls, light sconces, coasters, etc. can be purchased for 25% percent OFF! She is still in the midst of creating her website, so I’m hosting her sale via NavigatingVita.com. How does it work? You like a particular item, many have sold at art shows in Costa Mesa & Newport, and she can make you one similar and offer free shipping in time for the holidays! She has many items in stock, so those can be sent immediately. Email her directly for more details, or see more pictures of what she currently has in stock: go.sarah.roe@gmail.com. Sarah accepts Venmo. 🙂 Below are pictures of many of her creations that I adore. I hope you enjoy this inspiring online art gallery with a message that is dear and near to my heart: At ANY moment you have the choice to turn pain into something beautiful that can uplift & inspire others.

Love & Light XO

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Mosaic Black Cat Box, different scene on each side! $40

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Tile fish framed, $45

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Shell candle votive $25;

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Single flowers mounted on a wood round or square, $20; clusters of flowers, (2-3), $25-$30; 3 tier shell flower hanging pic frame – $40.

 

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Ocean Mosaic & Tile Mirror $100

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Turtle framed, $75

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Tile & Mosaic Mirror, $100

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Tile lantern sconce, $75

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Glass mosaic candle votive $25

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Tile flower coasters, set of 4, $40

Please email Sarah Roe for dimensions, pricing and pictures of any other art in a similar vein to what you see here, as she has SO much, I couldn’t post all of her pictures. Sarah is a prolific artist, with so much in stock, so just email her (go.sarah.roe@gmail.com). I’m convinced that soon, her work will be sold in galleries and boutiques in Southern California, for much more! 🙂

Jodi Picoult’s Occult Mystery

Occult: adj: “of involving, or relating to supernatural, mystical, or magical powers or phenomena.”

 

Jodi Picoult’s 23rd novel Leaving Time, is surprisingly so much more than a moving saga about grief, loss of a mother, and the wonderful world of elephants. I just finished reading this nearly over-whelming book, even as her next block buster debut’s this week. Leaving Time has haunted me for a week since I completed it. Not just because it confirms what I’ve always considered: that elephants live more dignified, loving lives within families who protect and support one another. Or that love lasts beyond time and space, so when we lose someone we love, the love survives. But what intrigues me most, as a writer, is how Jodi interweaved the occult within the fabric of this mystery in a way that slips the unassuming reader—the reader who would not normally read a book with paranormal aspects—into the thick of the drama. Not until the very end do we learn that two of the main characters are, in fact, dead and were the entire manuscript. We are left questioning the dimension in which they lived, one where the dead continue living a bustling life which contains a world with school, family, binging, boozy nights, dating, money problems, work issues, rent to be paid, etc. It’s a dimension where it’s possible they (and everyone within it) don’t realize they are dead, and they don’t have all the answers, nor the ability to find the people they love. The notion that we die and all the answers are revealed, is turned on its head. The common held belief that our dead loved ones are a thought away, is also dismissed, as 13-year-old Jenna, the main character, searches for her mother Alice Metcalf, a scientist who studies elephant behavior. Jenna hires a broke, formerly-famous psychic named Serenity, and a washed-up, pessimistic, alcoholic detective, Virgil, to help her find Alice. In the end, we learn that Virgil and Jenna are both dead (as well as everyone else they connected with, such as Jenna’s grandmother, a policeman, a lab assistant). Yet, they all seemed to lead vibrant lives with other people in them, bars to go to, cars to drive, policemen to talk with, school teachers, clients, landlords, etc. But apparently their world must lie on another plane of reality, like fine line of ice below the surface of our perception, that somehow, Serenity can see. But even Serenity doesn’t realize Jenna and Virgil aren’t alive, until the very end.

 

Most of Jodi’s interviews about Leaving Time concern the plight of elephants, how they grieve, and how wonderful a metaphor their ability to grieve, is, to her then first empty nest at home. She doesn’t say what motivated her to create such a walloping metaphysical surprise at the end. Stories of the elephants are woven into the book via Alice Metcalf’s notes, that Jenna reads. Alice is a researcher who has lived in Africa, as well as on a New England sanctuary with her husband and then three-year-old daughter Jenna, when she disappeared after a tragic accident leaving one person dead and one mentally insane. Jenna, who was three at the time of the accident, can’t remember what happened and had to be raised by her stoic grandmother. This story alone, is compelling enough to be a best-seller with all the ups and downs of who actually got killed and who slipped away and why. And the glimpse into the world of the elephants and how they are tragically being hurt by poachers, is critical for the world to understand. See this video for example.

What I find ultimately puzzling, is how Jodi manages to pull together so many subplots and themes into one novel, without losing me at any turn. She tackles the occult and afterlife, the plight of elephants, a murder, mental illness, spousal abuse, infidelity, suicide, mother-daughter and grandmother friction, the struggle to follow ones dreams as a mother, and a daughter’s unfailing love for her mother, and the huge emotional and unbearable loss a child endures when a parent abandons them.

It’s a beautiful novel. It’s powerful. It’s unlike any other I have read. Jodi Picoult is only getting better with each novel. You need to read it.

And with a side note to my fellow writers, isn’t it remarkable to think that Jodi Picoult, New York Times best selling author (whose last nine novels debuted number one on this prestigious list) was rejected by 100 agents before one believed in her?

Keep going my friends. And read her book for inspiration!

Kitty CRAZY!

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This picture is what started it all. Last summer, my James fell in love with a calico cat who visited us in our barn in Greece during my yoga & writers retreat. She chased grasshoppers and shooed away spiders and bees and purred and snuggled and was just adorable. But what I failed to realize, is that she was a cat, not a calico kitten. So…seeing that my son was in need of more unconditional love around the house after our move, I adopted a calico kitten that looks much like our beloved Greek cat. A yoga student, who had seen this picture, called me and proclaimed it was destiny, we had to have this look-a-like kitten. While my boys were with their dad this August, I adopted this little one. But the stars weren’t exactly aligned with this one. Just my luck. Who knew something so cute could end up more like the bunny from hell in Monty Python?!

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Don’t let her cuteness fool you. Sweet, adorable Tabitha, my crazed arch-nemesis! Notice her collar? She’s had this for three weeks due to an infected paw that won’t heal. This hyper diaper high energy gal climbs window screens, tearing them and re-infecting her paw, even after two shots of antibiotics, one round of pills and three different lotion medications. She’s managed to find ways to rip mattresses open from underneath, climbing up inside them and clawing at the coils. A master of untangling woven baskets, and a natural at flying directly up to the top of our refrigerator, only to fly out across our kitchen, as if by hang-glider, landing anywhere: on a lit stove burner, countertops with bowls of prepared food, you name it, she lands on it. Yup, she’s certifiable. And it’s not like she doesn’t have toys. So many, my den resembles a pet shop. But she prefers ‘other’ ways to get her energy out. Like tackling and scratching my ankles the moment I walk into my house—biting my calves deeply as I try to shake her off. In rare sleepy moments where she resembles past kittens of mine who like to snuggle, if I make the mistake of picking her up, she often bites my cheek or chin, so deeply, a few of my students wondered if I had had surgery for skin cancer. I’m not kidding.

For the love of my son, I mentally tell myself: “it’s only a flesh wound.” My youngest adores her. Tabitha sleeps in his bunk bed and even when she scratches or bites him, James still loves her and reminds everyone that she doesn’t mean it, it’s just instinctual. Well, I grew up with cats and I know for a fact that not all kittens are like this. But I just nod to him and wonder what I did to adopt a crazed animal like this who injects stress and frustration and high frequency energy into my house. During the day when I write, I lock myself into my room, not allowing her in, and lock all the bedroom doors and bathroom door so she can’t reek havoc.

Just when I’ve had it and am considering giving this expensive kitten away (four visits to the vet already for her damn paw!) James crept up behind me last week, put him arms around my waist and said: “Thank you SO much for Tabitha! She’s the best gift I’ve ever received. I just love her.”

Geez, well I can’t give the devil cat away now, can I? So, what can I do? Every time I scoop her poop or swat her away from our dinner table, after she’s thrust a dirty paw into my meal, I bite my lip and swallow down the strong urge to pick this little urchin up and throw her into the next door neighbor’s yard with a doberman pincher. Lets just pray that I make it sanely to next year, when the Vet insists that she’ll finally “chill out.”

Sigh. What I do for my children.