Bang, Bang! You’re, Not Dead?

In today’s political climate of gun violence, I thought it might be  time to talk about my own experiences. If you’ve followed my stories at all, you know I was not a cautious girl growing up or as an adult. Actually, I was a bit of a slut/hippie/Holly Golightly—only not as elegantly beautiful as Audrey Hepburn. But, then, who is?

What the Hell is NLP and Can it Make Me a Super Hero?

People who know NLP are amazing. They don’t muddle through life. They take charge of it, and love every minute, even if they don’t let let on how awesome they are.

NLP has empowered thousands of people, all over the world. 

NLP is better than the Magic 8-Ball.
It really answers the Questions:

• Who am I?
• What is Truth?
• How can I help others as well as myself?
• Can I finally get rid of the “stuff” from my past that gets in the way?
• What are some ways to transform myself that don’t take constant struggle?
• Can I be in charge of my own life, at last?

YES!

NLP lets you in on the great secret—the brain is our most valuable tool and our worst enemy. The problem is that, too often, the brain leads us around like a big, undisciplined dog on a leash.

Like an unruly child, our brain demands attention in a thousand different places, constantly wanting more:

Think about this!
No, think about this instead.
Be afraid.
Be unhappy again and again over what happened in the past.
Feel guilty.
Be confused.
No, you can’t have what you want.
No. You don’t deserve anything good.
 Other people are more important. Put them first.

On and on and on. No wonder sleep deprivation is an epidemic in the developed world.
The good news is that we can change all that. We can tame our unruly brains and have the  means to tell it to “shut the F^@& up” when we want it to. And it will.

How often have you had a nasty, bad experience and your brain just keeps throwing it at you over and over again? Isn’t enough that it was awful then? Apparently not. The brain wants us to keep feeling bad. It manages to scare the bejeezuz out of us whenever it can—sometimes in the middle of the night!

This could go on for years. And all that time you just say something like, “It’s a process.” Process my aunt’s fat patooty! You don’t have to struggle. The feelings can be over quickly—really over—when you understand the dynamics of how the brain bullies you. NLP has those answers and the ways to let the brain know who’s really the boss—YOU!

Most people are prisoners of their own brains. Sometimes our brain doesn’t even need a real event to make us feel bad. It’s clever and sneaky and can can anticipate a possible disaster or unpleasantness and not wait for it to really happen. “Go ahead. Don’t wait for something to really happen. Feel bad NOW.” So even if the bad event never happens, you can feel rotten anyway.

But wait. There’s More. . .How many times have you been really excited about something that is about to happen, like a holiday, a date, vacation, or such and were totally let down, i.e. bummed, because it wasn’t as awesome as you thought it would be?

Knowing NLP lets you take charge of the feelings, pictures, and sounds your brain  dumps into your consciousness. Our brains are phenomenal things. No computer can come close to the power and complexity of human thinking.

The problem is that, as human beings, we are taught how to master physical movement, but our brains are left to chance learning. We pump skills into it such as information, math, and socially acceptable behavior, religious or spiritual concepts. But we aren’t taught how to not learn something harmful or how to unlearn something we don’t want to think or feel. Our brains are vast learning machines and they learn the garbage along with the good stuff.

Phobias are a great example. When I was in college, I was taught that phobias were big, scary red letters that took years to process through. I believed it. I was among the great ignorant masses. It just ain’t true.

People spend years and thousands of dollars to get rid of phobias. When I learned NLP, one of the big AHAs for me was that phobias are merely concentrated learning experiences. We learned to be afraid of something. A phobic never forgets to be afraid of whatever the phobia is about. Phobias are thorough, complete, all the way down to our toes learning.

Wouldn’t it be great if you could learn good stuff that thoroughly? You can.
We learn so easily, but don’t know how to learn selectively. Our brains are such sluts. It pulls us here and there, willy nilly, and it runs our emotions and behavior. Thoughts and experiences get linked and become beliefs and behaviors.

If you’ve ever had a bad puking bout with a food, you could go for years not being able to eat it simply because the thought of it throws those old squiggy feelings into your body whenever you see, smell, taste, or even think about the food.

One of  my super-away-from drink was the popular 70s drink Harvey Wallbanger. Without going into to much detail, let’s just say that I spend several hours, beginning at two in the morning, driving the porcelain bus—retching out my insides. For many decades, just the thought of one made me lurch. You guessed, it a few minutes with NLP and I can now think about Kahlua and whatever else is mixed into that now unfancy drink and have no reaction whatsoever.

Music also packs a punch. A song that brings up personal emotions because of when and where you heard it can impact emotions for years every time we hear it.

By knowing how you learn, how the brain runs your show, how experiences get linked to create behavior, beliefs and feelings, you can be in control of your life and get just about anything you want from it.

Ever wonder how it is that talented, attractive, intelligent people can feel worthless?  Ever wonder how untalented, intellectually lame people can feel so arrogant and self-important? i.e. watch American Idol tryouts.It’s a thing called Mind Maps.

How we feel inside forms our beliefs about us. These beliefs are often stamped into us in childhood, or in the womb. Some people believe they can be carried over from a past life. Hey, we don’t rule anything out.

NLP can read those patterns like a recipe so you can change them into something that will bring more freedom, choice, empowerment, joy, peace, growth, or whatever floats your boat in a storm.

How, you ask, how in the world does this amazing thing work?

You learn and unlearn through a step-by-step process about your subjective self(personal, emotional) and about others, too.

You separate your brain’s file cabinet, like sorting laundry, and begin to understand the difference between what you’ve been fed all your life and accepted from who you really are.
Then, through precise tools and techniques, learn to change the broken parts or those you no longer need, into forms that serve and support your happiness, clarity, and empowerment.

We show you how. And, you have fun in the process. No pain, no gain? Baloney.

Okay, so What’s the Catch?

Well, there is a catch. You have to discover and accept that you are not your thoughts, emotions, feelings, beliefs and behaviors. You are something greater and more amazing.
Thoughts, emotions, feelings, beliefs and behaviors are layers of “stuff” that we adopt as coping mechanisms to get  through life. But, life changes and these beliefs hang on in spite of their obsolescence.

Know that anything you have learned throughout  life can be unlearned or changed into something better. And, the good stuff you want to keep can be enhanced and fortified.

You must realize that TRUTH is a subjective experience. Truth and beliefs are largely not about reality, but about consensual, or shared reality. If enough people believe something to be true it is accepted as a truth.

If only one person believes something to be true, he may be labelled insane or delusional.
The great and quirky Einstein hallucinated about riding through space on a beam of light. He was a scientist and presented his hallucination in scientific terms. Therefore, other scientists could easily join in with the hallucination—a shared reality.

Einstein based his ground-breaking theory of relativity on his hallucination (I don’t know if funny mushrooms were involved or not). If others, outside the shared reality frame of science had the same hallucination, they  would be considered delusional or insane.

Learning NLP, even a little bit, is a huge step toward running your own brain, transforming yourself in ways that only lead to a better way of living and feeling.

You guessed it. I will be giving an NLP Intro for Personal Empowerment, with David Lintner on June 28-30, 2013. I’ll be posting more info soon!

Of Santa and Christmas Past

This is the first Christmas I will have without my mother. She went to the big metaphysical bookstore in the sky  in June, 2012. I thought it would be okay since we, as adults we didn’t make much fuss over Christmas. Our family is widely spread out over the states and we don’t have children around to “require” a Christmas celebration.

However, the ease I expected during this time just laughed in my face. I remember my mother as she was when we were best friends. These memories bring tears to my eyes and grip my at my heart.  I miss my mother in her quirky, uniqueness that thumbed her nose at convention, and lived life by her own set of rules and reality. I miss her craziness and her loveliness. I overlook how she drove me crazy and how much we argued and fought. Those times are trivial in comparison to the bond we shared.

Also, the floodgates have opened to remember Christmases past—of childhood when things were simpler. Mom would scrimp and save all year to bring my brother and I the best, most magical Christmas she could. In those days, we didn’t have credit cards. Stores would let people “lay-away” items early and make payments on held items. She took full advantage of that. She had to save and be uber-resourceful because my father was a bit of a grinch. Mom once said he was “so tight his ass squeaked.” True, true.

When I was small, she would use part of her household money to save for Christmas. When my brother and I were a little older, she worked as a waitress and saved her tips.

Mother would go without for herself to buy me the coveted doll or new dress. I can still see how my brother’s eye’s lit up when he unwrapped the shiny red fire engine that could squirt water from a real hose. Another Christmas, I got my first bicycle—bright, gleaming chrome and deep, blue paint. I was in love. Dad, for once was sober and taught me to ride it. My three-year-old brother got a peddle-car one year. He loved it so much he wore the tires down in a year.

Santa was a big deal when I was small. Mom would play up the Santa myth in imaginative ways, telling stories of visiting his workshop when she was a child, and all about elves, the sleigh, the reindeer, and even Mrs. Santa’s cookies. Of course she gave mom the recipe.

In Spokane, Washington when I was about four years old, I remember sitting at our wooden kitchen table, laboring, with tongue sticking out of the corner of my mouth, to write a letter to Santa. Mother helped me with spelling then showed me how to fold the letter and slide it into an envelope. I licked the minty envelope flap, folded it over and slid my fingers over the precious envelope it to seal it properly.

I felt so grown-up when she handed me a stamp to lick and stick on the front—crooked, of course. I addressed it, “Santa Clause, North Pole.” Then, we dressed in our snow boots, mittens, and hooded coats and crunched through the snow to the mailbox on the corner. Mother lifted me up so I could reach the mail slot. I pulled off a mitten with my teeth, grabbed the cold blue handle and opened the slot.

I watched with such wonder as the letter slid into the big dark hole. Hope, and giggly joy spread through me as I pictured Santa reading my letter and marking me off the list as a “good little girl.”

Santa and me. I had a little whisky mug in the sack. Mom said not to tell Santa.

Of course, there was always the trip to town to sit on Santa’s lap. It was all so exciting and wonderful!

On Christmas Eve, I lay in my bed, watching the stars from my window for any glimpse of the jolly old elf. But, alas, the sandman came and I fell asleep before the reindeer found our roof.

At dawn, I leaped out of bed and dashed to the living room. The cookies I left out the night before were now just a few crumbs on the plate, and the glass of milk showed only a few drops left in the bottom.

Santa had been there! I imagined him relaxing in front of our big pot-belly stove, munching the excellent cookies that I had made with my own hands, and drinking the creamy, cold milk. I’m sure he admired our beautiful, sparkly tree. Most of all, I KNEW he brought me everything I had asked for. I wasn’t disappointed.

When mother came into the living room, wrapped on terrycloth robe and fuzzy slippers, she yawned and said, “Well! Let’s see what Santa left for you.” She knelt down with me and watched as I tore into the packages with barbarian enthusiasm.

When my booty was all open and spread around me like a dragon’s treasure, Mother and Dad exchanged gifts between themselves. A new pipe for dad and a pretty watch for mom. It was a time of peace and love, all too rare in our family then. Santa had made that possible.

There is a lot of discussion these days about whether it is a good thing or a bad thing to let children believe in Santa. Some say it leaves scars of betrayal. Some say it perpetuates the okayness of lies.

To that I say, BalderDash!!! When I discovered that there was no Santa, I was really okay with it. I loved my mother even more for letting let me live in the world of magic for a while. I wouldn’t trade my days of Santa, the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny, and Leprechauns, for anything. It is something to remember with love. Without them, the world is a little flatter and more serious. So, even though I no longer celebrate Christmas in the traditional way, I try to include some of the beauty that it stands for. It is a reminder of kindness, love, giving, and feelings of hope and possibility.

I hope yours was filled with beauty, joy, and a little Red Suit magic.

What are your Christmas memories?

Anita

Diets Don’t Work. So Why Am I On One?

Anita in Egypt at 110 pounds

Before I begin, I want to say that I have no problem with other people’s body size. If that is a life-choice, wonderful. I don’t think less of anyone because of their body shape. We all have our comfort zones.

This rant is ONLY about me. I am accustomed to looking a certain way. That image of myself ties in with a zillion neuron’s that connect to my sense of well-being.

Over the years, of course I have adjusted that comfort image a little. I weighed 98 pounds when I was first married at eighteen. I crept up to 110 and stayed there until a  hysterectomy in my late thirties, when it shot up to 120. That’s where I stayed—until recently. I definitely don’t want to go back to 98 pounds, but 125 would be good. It will be perfect, in fact.

Anita at 125 pounds. Soda Lake, Zzyzzyx, CA

For centuries, or so it seems, I have been preaching from the food pulpit that diets don’t work. I still believe that, but as age creeps up on my A$$ and my metabolism goes equally south, I find myself in a dilemma. My life has taught me the valuable lesson of eating Real Food instead pretenders-of-food, for health and keeping the weight off, but now I see that sometimes it isn’t enough, especially for women of a certain ripeness.

I am sure that if I had not stopped (around age 25) eating the typical American diet of manufactured, processed, overly refined, fatty, sugary, and junk foods, I would weigh triple what I do now. However, my weight is more than I’ve ever carried and I am faced with the painful truth that a structured eating plan and lifestyle change is truly in order. I hesitate to call it a diet, because, as I said, DIETS DON’T WORK. They don’t work because after the weight is lost, the pounds come right back on. It requires a lifestyle change and, most importantly, being happy with that change.

What prompted this? I am writing cookbooks. These books include videos of me demonstrating a recipe from each book. We shot our first video in June, and when I looked at the rough cut, the big, ominous sound of realization blasted in my head.

In my eyes, I looked like a sausage stuffed too tightly into its wrapper. Everyone else said, I was being too hard on myself (how supportively nice they are). But I was truly surprised at how far away from what I thought I looked like was compared to what I was seeing in that video.

Don’t get me wrong, I am not gigantic, but compared to what I lived with for most of my life, swizzle-stick-thin and eating as much as I wanted, this is unacceptable to me. Laugh if you want, but that’s the way I feel. It’s unacceptable because, unlike most of my adult life, where my weight was steady and reliable, for some time now it has  continually crept upwards. I have a few good years ahead of me and I don’t want to be inside a continually growing pant size and a body that keeps me from enjoying the activities I love.

How is this a surprise? We all have a body image in our heads that fool us, even in front of a mirror. Sometimes that body image is worse than reality, sometimes it is better. We’ve all known men with bellies hanging over their belts who still think they are batman fit and handsome. This goes for women too, but it is usually on the other side of the mirror. Women tend to be more critical of their looks and body shape than men do.

It may not come as a surprise to people who know me that I’ve always had a more masculine than feminine outlook on life—I hate shopping (except vacation shopping). I never worried much about girly things. I am direct and straightforward. I like cars, tools, and such. I am resourceful and solve problems, meet challenges instead of letting them stop me. On the other hand, I also like girl things—fashion (to a limited degree), jewelry, flowers, perfume, bubble baths, dancing, decorating, knitting, crochet, kittens, and puppies, oh, my! The bottom line, though is that my basic nature is more Catherine Hepburn than Brittany Spears.

So maybe it isn’t much of a surprise that I had a better inner picture of my body shape than showed up on this latest video. That inner image was at least 30 pounds lighter than I am now. I am determined to turn the tide of expansion and shrink—without diets or deprivation. Aging, crashing metabolism be damned. I can, and will do this!

Food is more than just sustenance for humans, it has an emotional tie-in that is enormously strong. For a lot of us, it is social, art, creative, comforting, adventurous, and mood altering (think chocolate). For me it is all those things. I was just lucky to inherit “skinny” genes from my father’s side of the family or I would have been a card-carrying dieter’s anonymous member for most of my life. Or maybe not. I might have opted for the more direct approach of liposuction. Perhaps I would have chosen to just be okay with me as I was. That last one is doubtful, though, since I am from a skinny family. Well, except for my great-grandmother and she was such a bitch that no-one counts her.

I turned to the knowledge and wisdom that I have used for decades to help other people. Hell, I even have a weight control CD and Book for sale with an amazing program for achieving the perfect weight. “Practice what you preach,” were the words echoing in my mind. OKAY!

The first step is to know exactly how much food I was shoveling in during the day vs. how little real exercise I get now. I used to teach yoga, and Tai Chi. When I was younger I was a ballet dancer (until i discovered boys). As a young woman, I went dancing in clubs nearly every night, I hiked, walked, and gardened, and more. Now, my exercise consists mostly of hauling my mother in and out of a wheelchair, and cleaning up after her. Thank the gods that I have a two-story house so I go up and down the stairs a gazillion times a day.

I started keeping a food diary and counted up the calories that came with that food. I downloaded an I-Pad app to keep a calorie count. The first few days, my 1200 calorie a day limit was surpassed each day, but just by a tiny amount (usually). One day in the first week, I was a bit under 1200. What this means is that unless I change a few things, I will continue to creep up the scale with accumulated calories.

I insist on not only taking a look at calories, but also with considering the quality of the food too. For example, there is plenty of evidence that diet soda’s and artificial sweeteners make us fat. Empty calories, no matter how few, also contribute to weight gain more than nutrient dense foods of the same caloric intake. Real food helps us. Junk food hinders us.

So this is a story that has no real ending yet. I am starting to pay attention to how I keep eating even when I’m not hungry. I have looked at cutting portion size a little.

For example, I make amazing home-made ice cream. I am really fine with one scoop, but two look so much better in the bowl.

Solution? Use a smaller bowl. Amazingly simple, but it works for me. I also make incredible cookies, usually low sugar and with really great ingredients. Solution? Grab one at a time instead of a handful. I’m fine with one or two. I don’t need four! If they are on my plate, I will eat them.

This goes for every food. If I scoop too much onto my plate, it is more likely to be eaten. In restaurants, if the omelet is four eggs, I will overeat. I can ask for it to be made with fewer eggs, etc., etc. One really good tip is to ask for a to-go box right away. Immediately scoop half of the food into the box. Unless you really need therapy, it’s unlikely you will finish your plate, then rip open the box and gobble that one too.

Being mindful and paying attention to when my body is full is enormously helpful.

But what about emotional eating? I’m not immune. There are plenty of days I think, I deserve . . . . I’ve had a bad day and want . . . That’s the really tricky one. Again, portion size is all important. For example, when I really want a martini, I can put it into a smaller glass, or pour out some of it right away.

Then there are social gatherings, family get-togethers, and such. If someone brings a plate full of brownies, and you don’t want to hurt their feelings, take one, nibble, then when they aren’t looking either trash it or wrap it up and stick it in your pocket or handbag. Throw it away later.

Friends and family feel good when you enjoy their food. You can enjoy a little as much as you can too much. Compliment the chef, eat slowly.

I am already comfortable with eating only some of my food. I was never a member of the clean plate club. However, lately, I find myself eating a bit beyond what I’m comfortable with. I just discovered something amazing about that. When a food is to-die-for-good, my mouth wants to keep tasting it. If I put down my spoon, fork, or fingers for just a minute, that feeling fades and I can easily know that I am done.

I haven’t yet, but will use the NLP and hypnosis tools I so expertly use to help other people—not to deprive myself (that never works), but to help my new eating patterns feel comfortable and natural.  There is so much more that I don’t have time or space to share right now. More is to come though. I have a lot of cookbooks to write, including pies, cookies, and ice cream, plus. I want to enjoy what I create and will do so without sacrificing my comfort and health.

I’ll keep everyone posted and I look forward to sliding back into my comfort zone, having more energy, and enjoying the rest of my life.

Any tips? What’s your story? Leave a comment.

Anita

I Am No Longer Intimidated by Poop

If you are squeemish, be warned, this is not a pretty article. It deals something that many of us gag and say “Eeewww!” about—Poop. I was once a card carrying “Eeewww!” member but circumstances have forced me to toughen up.

As a child, I wanted to be a nurse, like so many other little girls. My mother shuddered at the thought. “You know that nurses have to wipe people’s butts and clean up poop all day, don’t you?” She said, and with such horror and fear in her voice that I thought being a nurse must be horrible. Touching Poop? Smelling it? Even looking at it? I thought I’d rather be dead.

In my life, the universe has taught me many valuable lessons in the fear and avoidance categories. Every time I have become aware of a prejudice, an irrational fear, or an avoidance that limited my life in any way, the same-said universe has thrown it in my face in a way that can’t be ignored.

A long time ago, I had a snarky attitude about people who were overweight. I though it a weakness on their part and looked down my regal nose at their inability to cope with their problem. When I became conscious of this supercilious attitude, without my even trying, my life was inundated with people of a certain weight-challenged ilk. What a rude awakening I had in store for me.

I always believed that we should not judge others by their appearance, but I obviously wasn’t practicing it all the way. The universe sent these people to me as students, clients, friends, and more. I discovered the most beautiful souls in bodies wrapped in layers of obesity, trying their best to deal with their problems. I also found people who were not looking to change, but accepted their body shape as just the right thing for them. Like a bolt of lightening, I let go.

I now have a hard time looking at anyone and judging them by their body shape. It is freeing and more in keeping with my ethical and moral values. Good-Bye nasty prejudice. Hello, one more chink in my life falling away.

So, what about Poop? I am a caregiver for my mother. She has dementia. She has bowel problems. I have to get my face in her butt more times than I would like, but it is necessary. I have to clean her behind. I have to help pull things out of her rectum when she is constipated (thank the vinyl glove gods). I have to look, evaluate, and decide if a trip to the doctor is needed. I have to clean up explosions of diarrhea, wipe poop off of the floors when she thinks she is done and tries to make her way across the room when I’m not looking. I have to shampoo poop out of carpets, change poop-soaked sheets. Yada, yada, yada. (Out of breath from rant above).

So, I found that I don’t gag, vomit, or even have a twinge when I have to do these things. It is just a part of life. We all do it. We are tubes. Fuel goes in, waste comes out. It’s not so horrible. It just is. My conversion makes me feel like I’m ready to take on the world. I am free of that aversion. Oh, yes. I also have cats who poop, and vomit too. Guess who is in charge of that clean-up job. Mostly me. Although I am ever-so grateful when someone else in the house takes upon themselves to clean up the cat stuff.

Fears, prejudices, and aversions, steal our power, make us withdraw and lessen our ability to enjoy life. When a fear, prejudice, away-from, or aversion is overcome, some of our limitations go too. Overcoming increases our empowerment, adds to our life, and expands our freedom.

I am whacking away at my limitations and trying my best to dive right in to whatever it is that holds me back. When someone says, “You always (or never)…. and it annoys me.” I take a serious look at whether it is something in me to examine, or the other person is just being a jerk (in my opinion).

Maybe it’s a blessing, maybe not. It seems that there is a never-ending river of things to pay attention to in my flawed personality. I am sometimes able to deal with it easily, other times, it takes many years. I have written about my super-nova experience of finally letting go of hating my father. It was a rush like no drug experience I have ever had. After years of working on it, the letting go came in an instant with a flood of joy and relief.

I recommend self-examination, even though it is tough to do. It requires getting outside of our “self” and experiencing our beliefs as a list of adopted ideas to help us cope with life. Unfortunately, so many of us experience our beliefs as TRUTH! My belief about poop as being something so horrible I couldn’t even fathom the idea of ever, ever, ever, looking at it or touching it even through rubber gloves was truth for me until I decided that it wasn’t.

Fortunately, through a study of NLP, Siddhi Yoga, Re Hu Tek, and other nifty things, I have really good tools for self examination. When I am slapped upside the head by the universe enough to be aware of a limiting belief, I have amazing tools to work with. I am eternally grateful for the ability to go into the “possibility” state with a completely neutral, silent mind and explore the task at hand for answers and solutions. Alas, I still have a long road to travel.

Thanks for reading – Anita, Queen of Poop and Vomit.

Any stories of letting go? I’d love to hear.

Beverly Hills Magazine—Living the Uppity Life

Beverly Hills Magazine Cover

Since I have lived many lives in one, and have written about some of them, it seems odd that I have left out one of my most colorful lives, co-owner of the Beverly Hills Magazine. What an amazing trip into wonderland it was.

My third husband, Lee, was a Renaissance man. He was a genius at just about anything he put his mind to, but his brilliance came at a price. He was a danger addict and was bored by anything that wasn’t just on the outside of legitimate or legal.

For example, for a while we belonged to an income tax protest group and I had to stamp the back of every check with some disclaimer about the fact that we didn’t pay taxes. When the founder of that group was imprisoned, Lee dropped it and went back to paying the IRS. He also bootlegged cable antennas for some people who had mob connections. He was a pilot, sailboat racer, drove vast, and lived fast. On the other hand, he always had a legitimate job and was honest to the core about most things.

Bubba was a Pekin

Ducks, Racism, and the Great State of Texas

Texas Girl

For six years, in the 1980′s, I lived in the metropolis that is Houston, Texas. Living in the South is something that many Californians don’t like admit to. I also lived in Oklahoma as a child, but I guess that doesn’t count. Texas, on the other hand was an adult choice.

When my future hubby number three, Lee, came home one day and said, “I’m going to move to Texas. Will you come with me?” I was flabbergasted. We had been on the brink of splitting up for a long time and I was thinking of leaving. After letting the idea sink in for a moment, I was ready to say “hast la veesta, baby,” but the picture of an adventure, living somewhere other than the smoggy, busy, rush, rush world of Southern California, took on a sparkly glamor that I couldn’t resist. I said yes.