Posted on by cheryloreglia · 38 Comments

Let Them

BERJAYA
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

“When emotions come, you gotta slow down and take note, because in the midst of all that emotion is where the possibilities lie.” Cheryl Oreglia

How well do we really know anyone?

This might surprise you.

If you’ve been reading this blog for any amount of time, you might know more about me than you care to, but do you really?

Are there things about me that make you cringe, want to throw something sharp, argue about in the dead of the night, or call your Mother?

I bet there are a few.

And I am here to say there are things that you do not know because even I haven’t explored all the deep crevices of my being. There are parts of me, all of us really, that will never be fully exposed, like streaking across the field at the World Series. It’s not going to happen. 

Now you’re thinking, what the hell is she hiding?

It’s the risk we all take when we choose to start a blog, fall in love, make a new friend, or post shit on social media, especially when we want to remain both authentic and interesting while doing so.

It’s tricky. Impossible, really.

The point is, as an author, I choose what to include in my stories and what to leave out. What I want to understand is what allows you to enter more deeply into a story and/or derive meaning from the particulars, which I’ve only been able to grasp with a good pair of needle nose players. 

Susan Bauer suggests that one way to get at the deeper meaning of an essay is to ask yourself, “What is the message the author is trying to convey, and do I agree with it?”

I think it’s fascinating how the authors and readers can be grappling with completely different messages, yet they’re exploring the same narrative. What readers think the author intended could be a total sidekick like Abbot and Costello.

Why would anyone bother reading an entire essay if it doesn’t compel them?

I’ve been thinking about why I keep going back again and again to particular bloggers, podcasts, and favorite authors.

As a reader, I crave a little mystery or intrigue, something that stimulates my curiosity. I like to pretend I’m unraveling the secrets of the universe while I’m reading why someone did what they did, how they did it, or postulating about what’s going to happen next as if setting a train of dominoes into motion.

The assumption here is that if I understand what compels me, then I’ll be able to guess what compels you, and hopefully, that will make me a better writer. 

Wouldn’t that be nice? 

I want to unveil the meaning of life one story at a time. Okay, that might be above my pay grade. It’s more like a puzzle. Each piece adds to the bigger picture, and maybe someday, we can put it all together. 

Or not. 

Either way, I’m going to live in the gap and play with the people I love until some entity recalls my prototype, and then I’m off on a new adventure. 

Titillating as that might sound, I’m still enjoying my coffee, pasta, and wine. So, I’m not going to be dangling my toe in the grave just yet.

I’m curious about the particulars of life, like why the hell am I here, what am I supposed to be doing (blogging is not the first thing that comes to mind), and why are we the only species who can laugh? 

It’s those kinds of questions I try to answer when deciding what stories to tell, but more importantly, what the experience has taught me. This is what I think about while sipping coffee early in the morning, staring into the pale nothingness through my patio door.

I’m sure you’re as mystified as I am about this life, or you’d be getting up to refresh your coffee, maybe vacuum the front room. 

And now we can figure it all out with AI. Keep in mind that A stands for artificial. Just sayin…

I feel as if we have it all backward. What’s really important is at the mercy of what definitely is not, like profit margins over altruism. Larry told me while we were having breakfast the other day that I was a communist (not literally, at heart) because I thought everyone should be able to watch their favorite sports on the television without paying $400 a month. 

He said, “It’s all about capitalism, profit margins, and answering to the board.” 

I say, “Who could care less about the needs of their community.” 

“That is what our economy is based on.”

“Greed”

My argument hinges on the development of a future fan base. If no one can afford to watch sports or go to a game with their families because it cost too much money, there won’t be any fans in the future to watch your damn channel. Take that to the board. 

And I’m the communist? 

Why is this so hard to understand? But that’s a total aside, and I have no idea where I was going with that. A Costello moment.

The point is we tend to value money more than people.

What is true and what we tell ourselves is true so we can keep on going with our self-esteem still attached (maybe only by a string) are sometimes polar opposites. 

I’m just trying to figure out what makes me happy, gives me peace, and what’s gets me out of bed every day besides coffee. 

That’s what this blog is about. How am I doing?

Just kidding, there’s no need to answer that. That’s a rhetorical question.

I stumbled on this very cool reel from Mel Robbins, and it put my little nugget in overdrive. Imagine I’m revving my engine for emphasis. 

She says she’s been using this new thing called The Let Them Theory, Robbins says, “The next time you feel left out, if all your friends go to brunch and don’t invite you. Let them. Or maybe the person you’re dating doesn’t want a commitment. Let them. You spend so much time and energy trying to control other people and getting emotionally worked up about things that are beyond your control. You can tap into peace and true control if you let them be themselves. So here’s the thing, if you let them, people will reveal who they really are. And when they reveal who they really are to you, you can now choose next what’s right for you. So let them.”

Is she brilliant or what?

So here’s my story.

I witnessed some disharmony at a recent event, it had to do with selfish and inconsiderate behavior at the expense of someone I love. Suddenly, I’m annoyed. Okay, irritated might be a better choice of words. It was as if this person were a dog with a bone. They couldn’t let it go.

When the emotions come, you gotta slow down and take note, because in the midst of all that emotion is where the possibilities lie!

My new motto is to observe my passing emotions as if they were a new species found on the Galapagos Islands. What is my annoyance telling me? I asked myself because Larry refuses to indulge me in this sophisticated practice of self-introspection. Which also is annoying.

I finally decided to listen to Mel’s advice because I’m tired of sitting with uncomfortable feelings I did not create. Let them, I’m using it as a mantra, if anything, it drowns out the repetitive irritating verbiage.

There is no viable reason to let someone else’s piss-poor behavior get under your skin. I admit the behavior was unkind, but all it revealed was the true nature of that person, not me. Which I already knew. 

And now, I can make better choices about how I spend my precious time. Right?

We have a choice in life. We can keep trying to improve ourselves, or we can allow the unevolved parts of our character (I assumed you’ve all witnessed a two-year-old who doesn’t get what she wants) to drag us around like a dog on a leash. 

I keep inserting the dog metaphor for a reason. A few weekends ago, my friend’s dog, who was on a leash, went tearing off after a stray ball. When she got to the end of the chain, it caught her around the neck, and she did a complete backflip. Guess what. She doesn’t go after stray balls anymore. 

Putting a leash and a short chain on our wayward emotions might not be a bad idea.

I suppose at the end of the day, what matters most are all the good words, thoughts, and deeds that we put into the world, maybe even the laughter we inspire, not the good we hoped to experience from others or maybe even expected. These are our delusions. We don’t have to be annoyed by our stray emotions. We can sit in the shade and let someone else chase them around.

It’s like going to your own ball game. Let them!

I’m Living in the Gap, sporting communist ideas, care to join me in the comments?

I did a podcast with Stephanie James on Igniting the Spark. Check it out!

I read an article about why people buy books! 

  1. They buy from an author they like.
  2. They buy from a friend’s recommendation. (This we can all do and help the authors we love ~ hint, hint)
  3. They buy because the book is in a prominent place in the bookstore.
  4. They buy them because they have good reviews on Amazon. (Hello, don’t make me beg.)

Quotes I’m thinking about:

Cheryl’s quote: “Greed, envy, sloth, pride and gluttony: these are not vices anymore. No, these are marketing tools. Lust is our way of life. Envy is just a nudge towards another sale. Even in our relationships we consume each other, each of us looking for what we can get out of the other. Our appetites are often satisfied at the expense of those around us. In a dog-eat-dog world we lose part of our humanity.”
― Jon Foreman

Larry’s quote: “Well first of all, tell me: Is there some society you know that doesn’t run on greed? You think Russia doesn’t run on greed? You think China doesn’t run on greed? What is greed? Of course, none of us are greedy, it’s only the other fellow who’s greedy. The world runs on individuals pursuing their separate interests. The great achievements of civilization have not come from government bureaus. Einstein didn’t construct his theory under order from a bureaucrat. Henry Ford didn’t revolutionize the automobile industry that way. In the only cases in which the masses have escaped from the kind of grinding poverty you’re talking about, the only cases in recorded history, are where they have had capitalism and largely free trade. If you want to know where the masses are worse off, worst off, it’s exactly in the kinds of societies that depart from that. So that the record of history is absolutely crystal clear, that there is no alternative way so far discovered of improving the lot of the ordinary people that can hold a candle to the productive activities that are unleashed by the free-enterprise system.”
― Milton Friedman

Posted on by cheryloreglia · 32 Comments

The Dinner Party

BERJAYA

From left: Barb, Tim, Cheryl (eating and smiling), Larry (eating and not smiling), Sue, Jim, Dante, Mike, Gail is missing as she’s the photographer.

“What I want for the people I cook for is for them to enjoy their own perversions at the table, to feel free to exhibit a lack of constraint.”

― Rebecca May Johnson

Let’s talk dinner parties.

Some people fear throwing a dinner party more than giving a public speech or death. Let’s examine those fears and put them to rest.

The biggest worry is food coming out at the same time, that nothing is cold, stale, or burnt upon presentation. The truth is, food is quite forgiving, and you can keep most of it warm without a lot of excessive drama. Always undercook if you were born in the 60s because we were taught to burn everything. And hello, expiration dates are helpful, wish we came with one. Here’s my dirty little secret. If there’s mold, cut it off. 

I know that’s horrid. I’m in a mood. Refocus. 

Hey, you can always serve ham. That can be served at any temperature, and according to Nora Ephron, just about anything you serve with ham can be cold. So calm down and worry about the fact you have no room in the hall closet for extra jackets, there’s a huge stain on the couch from your uncle with bladder issues, and although twelve are coming to dinner, you only have 11 plates because one is chipped in two places. 

But honestly, no one really cares about any of that. Relax.

I suggest picking foods that can be prepared ahead of time, like a meaty lasagna, or fatty pork roast surrounded by potatoes and carrots. And then there is only one damn pan to clean at night’s end. Throw together a salad, and you’ve got yourself a dinner party. 

The most important thing is the hostess must be relaxed! Or know how to fake it well. The worst thing for a thriving dinner party is for the hostess to be running back and forth from the kitchen to the living room with a panicked expression on her sweaty face, as if something is on fire, or worse, still frozen. It happens. 

Self-talk helps, but it’s best if you don’t overreach. You know what I mean? If you’re not Julia Childs, maybe stick with the basics. I like four-part meals. A simple protein, vegetable, some sort of starch, and a surprise. Not like a naked lady popping out of a cake or anything, more of a culinary delight, like dipped strawberries, prosciutto and melon, or sauteed shrimp with melted butter.

Remember, according to Julia Childs, everything is better with butter. 

Here’s the skinny. A nasty rumor is going around that no good dinner parties are hosted in the entire state of California. 

It’s a conspiracy theory, most likely speculative gossip from the South, but I’m here to debunk this miserable premise with solid facts and legitimate examples from this weekend. 

The much anticipated annual Clear Lake weekend, with the cousins from Missouri, has finally arrived. Of course, Jim and Sue are up so they can visit with their adopted relatives, and they turned it up a notch by inviting our old friends, Tim and Barb (not old, really, just college buddies, which in all honesty, was a long time ago), to join in the fun. My lovely sister Nancy and her daughter Mackenzie are up at the lake along with my adorable son Dante who realized too late he was the only person under thirty in the entire subdivision this weekend. 

At least he didn’t have to sleep in the garage.

It was truly an eclectic mix of characters. We have almost every occupation covered, from law to medicine, beekeepers, and retail managers. Let’s not forget the insurance guy, a retired educator, a couple of salespeople, and a construction worker. 

There’s also a writer in the group, ahem, which is always of concern, believe me, all ten guests are simultaneously cringing because they have no idea what I might remember. They claim I exaggerate the truth, I believe I minimalize most things, but clearly, there’s a gap in opinions! 

Is that not delicious?

So you can just imagine the conversations circling our table. I use the word ‘circling’ intentionally. First of all, I’ve discovered by trial and error that a round table is essential when hosting a dinner party, and only recently did I realize the importance of this revelation. A round table creates an environment that encourages conversation, no one is left out, and no one can really hide either. 

When you put people at a rectangular table, they can’t hear what the people are saying at the far end of the table, and they’re pretty much trapped into talking with the people seated next to them. And if you’re seated next to the insurance guy, there’s no one to bail you out! 

Bahaha!

Obviously, the perfect round table is sixty inches because that easily seats ten people, twelve in a pinch. Smaller rounds seat six to eight people, and so forth. Don’t stretch the limits, use two rounds if need be.

I happen to have a sixty-inch table. I wrote about it here, but don’t go getting involved in an old post before you finish this one. It’s bad manners. 

After a lot of heated debates and several flawed decisions, Larry and I decided to relocate our beloved round table to the lake. I erroneously decided to buy a long farm table for our home in the suburbs because I have a long room and rarely less than a dozen at dinner parties. 

I’ve noticed that rectangular tables with corners are as if you’re eating in different time zones. There are six conversations going along the table, but they only involve two or three people. No one can join in the conversations because you’d have to yell down the length of the table to be heard. 

It’s always about the corners. 

Okay, and the wine. Maybe the food, definitely the table decorations, but that’s all pure conjecture, which is what a blog is all about. So there you go. 

I also think it’s better to put all the food on the table at once and let people serve themselves. You know why? It takes time. If I go to all the trouble to set a cute table (not up for debate) and come up with a relatively creative menu (also not up for debate), then I don’t want dinner to be over in five minutes. 

I want people to linger because the food and conversation are insatiable. That is obviously the point of hosting a dinner party. Right?

To give you a little background on the weekend, Friday night, Jim, Sue, Nancy, Mackenzie, Dante, Larry, and I took a field trip to Cache Creek Winery for music on the green (meaning we listened to music while sitting on the grass), indulging on tacos, and fermented beverages. The cousins are arriving tomorrow along with Tim and Barb, so we had a night to kill. 

Oh, and kill it, we did. 

I’ll just say this, the morning was difficult because of various overindulgences (again, not up for debate), and the day started early. Jim and Sue wanted to get in a few pickleball games before our guests arrived, so we met them at the courts around 9:00 a.m.

It was already eighty degrees, and we were playing in the full sun. By game three, I was toast, burnt toast, if you really want to know. I won’t go into details, but I had to throw the game, or it would never have ended. Sorry, Jim. It took my body over an hour to stop sweating after we got home, and I sat under the air conditioning vent, drinking gallons of water! 

The cold shower helped, and whatever toxins might have been ravaging my body this morning were now sweated out, and that second wind people talk about is real. I felt revitalized, so maybe I should be grateful Jim and Sue have a pickleball fetish.

Tim and Barb were the first to arrive, followed by Gail and Mike. We gathered at the Goudreaus, sitting under the shade of their beautiful mulberry trees as if a murder of crows, shooting the shit all afternoon.

Larry has the brilliant idea that we should boat to the Richmond Grill for a round of rum runners. Great idea in theory, but the entertainment was so loud I couldn’t even hear my own thoughts. And apparently, reading lips is not my skill set.

By the time we returned to the house, it was close to 5:00 p.m. Gail, Nancy, and I went to work setting an inviting table, prepping the potatoes, and dicing our homegrown tomatoes for a robust salad. 

We met back at the Goudreaus for hors d’oeuvres. I admit, a nap sounded very inviting, but Jim grilled up sausages and presented them with several dipping sauces. Who can pass up a spicy sausage dipped in mustard? Then Barb put out a bowl of her famous guacamole with chips, and Larry served up some Aperol Spritzes (a bubbly Italian cocktail), and we had full attendance.

The thing is, I’m an observer. I like to watch people, it’s an occupational hazard, and honestly, people confound me. Especially the extroverts. In my estimation, half of us were charging as if Teslas off each other’s energy, and the other half were slowly losing steam like an old train locomotive low on coal. 

I’m in the latter group but thinking of upgrading. 

Here’s the deal, if you decide to host a dinner party, it’s good to be flexible with both the timing and the tenor. Read the group. Invite them to the table when the timing is right, not when someone is in the middle of a joke or some bozo on the television is about to slide into home base. 

Remember, if you’re trying to create a pleasant mood, and all you got is cold ham and Frank Sinatra belting out The Good Life from a set of portable speakers, for goodness’ sake, there’s no need to rush. 

This is important. Know your audience. If it’s an older crowd with crowns and dentures, don’t serve a tough slab of overcooked flesh. Your guests will spend the entire evening trying to chew their food into submission. When people keep excusing themselves to use the powder room, maybe it will dawn on you that half your dinner is rotting in the garbage can under the bathroom sink.

Things like tacos, curry, and fondues are popular at dinner parties, or they used to be because people like something to play with at the table. If your guests go back for seconds, maybe moan a little while they’re chewing, and sway from the sheer joy of consuming your playful cuisine, it makes all the trouble you went through to have this little party worth it. 

After an hour or so, Jim and Tim had a couple of delectably seasoned tri-tips cooked to perfection, sliced, and ready to serve. Sue has an amazing spinach and artichoke casserole piping hot and ready to devour, and we deftly moved the crew over to our house with the round table for dinner. 

Gail and Mike opened several bottles of spectacular wine to let them breathe. It’s a thing.

My sweet sister had to return home unexpectedly as Mackenzie started feeling poorly and wanted her own bed. I was a total brat because I wanted my sister to stay, and I wasn’t quiet about my frustrations. She’s older and wiser, I might add, so she ignored my pouting and stuck with her priorities. Her daughter. 

I apologized the next day, and she assured me I was still loved.

According to recent polls, here’s where everything really went terribly wrong. There was no seating chart. If you glance at the picture above, you will notice all the married couples are sitting together. It’s a California thing and apparently homicide for a dinner party.

Who knew?

Nora Ephron claims, the unwritten rule of fabulous dinner parties appears to be “don’t seat anyone next to the person they came with or live with or sleep with or in some cases don’t speak with.” Of course, she says it’s always nice to sit boy, girl, boy girl, but you can also make it boy, boy, girl, girl arrangement, and then you have both sexes to chat with. 

Apparently, this creates just the right mix for stimulating conversations. 

In California, we never break up couples at dinner for fear of what might happen if you sit next to someone you’re not formally attached to. California not only suffers from wildfires, drought, and an occasional deluge but political strife, egg shortages, and overly regulated seating arrangements. 

Here’s the problem. 

When you are seated next to your spouse, the conversations are almost always boring. They refer to this as dinner with the deadly dull. 

There’s no digging a dinner party out of that sort of grave.

So I’m here to proclaim the round table saved our asses. In my opinion, the conversations circling our table were delightful and stimulating. According to Michale J. Fox, the oldest form of theater is the dinner table. 

There was a healthy debate going on about prostate cancer (the males at the table are coming of age). The next thing I know, someone is claiming, “Just take the damn thing out.” That led to a veiled discussion on performance (if you get my drift), which shifted to knee replacements, physical therapy, and an uproariously funny comment about our current obsession with anthropomorphized plastics (who never need knee replacements or breast implants, for that matter). And what about those sales guys, you might ask? 

They were reiterating how I threw the pickleball game. Get over it! 

When the food was consumed, and the leftovers stashed away, we kept that tight circle together and moved it outside, under the stars, around the fire pit. But we broke up some of the couples, and oh my, the laughter did get quite lively. 

The chemistry of good conversation might be in the seating arrangement, but it accelerates when you’re surrounded by people you love, especially when they’re from Missouri. They say a good dinner is a lubricant for relationships. Amen.

I think it was midnight before the final five called it a night. 

Dinner is where the magic happens around the table. And I don’t think there should be rules at your dinner party except for people to eat a lot, most definitely talk politics, religion, and sex, but they should also feel free to fall asleep, in the middle of a riveting conversion, at the end of the night surrounded by people who have now become intimate friends, because like I say in Grow Damn It, “the most intimate thing you can do with your clothes on is laugh,” Anne Lamott refers to it as carbonated holiness.

Mangiamo!

I’m Living in the Gap, swaddled in warm memories, any plans for the weekend?

Super cool news, Grow Damn It, is going to be made into an audiobook! Should be out right before Christmas. Super cool stocking stuffer! Hint, hint.

Quote I’m Thinking About:

“The most unfair thing about life is the way it ends. I mean, life is tough. It takes up a lot of your time. What do you get at the end of it? A Death! What’s that, a bonus? I think the life cycle is all backwards. You should die first, get it out of the way. Then you live in an old age home. You get kicked out when you’re too young, you get a gold watch, you go to work. You work forty years until you’re young enough to enjoy your retirement. You do drugs, alcohol, you party, you get ready for high school. You go to grade school, you become a kid, you play, you have no responsibilities, you become a little baby, you go back into the womb, you spend your last nine months floating… and you finish off as an orgasm.” – George Carlin

Extremely grateful for Balroop Singh’s five-star review of Grow Damn It:

‘Grow Damn it!’ is a brilliant potion, in which Oreglia blends snippets of her life – moments of joy and despondency, in equal measure. When she expresses emotions, she takes you into the depths of an ocean where breathing becomes an excruciating effort but when she talks about the lighter moments of life, she takes you beyond the clouds and you merge into their folds with perfect harmony, as if you were a part of the story being told. Such is the magic of her style of writing – informal yet effective. Warmth percolates from her words that reaches your heart effortlessly. Her bonding with the Magnolia tree, her relationship with her mother, sister and grandchildren speaks volumes about her magnanimous heart. Her reflections exude wisdom and wit. I could relate to many of her experiences.

I thought ‘True Grit’ is my favorite chapter but then I read ‘Midlife, Nettles’ and found it hilarious. No! I told myself – ‘Middle-Aged Penance’ is better but wait, read ‘Can I Tell You…’ and then decide! Some of her expressions are classic! Just consider this one:

“The ants are staying for dinner. Buy some bait.” (You have to read this book to know the “ants.”)

“The wines are breathing much better than I am.”

“My gratitude bubbles over as if my soul were a flute of fine champagne.”

“There are things death cannot touch.” – how profound!

Oreglia also shares some beautiful pictures of her family.

I have not read a more meaningful memoir that could speak to me on an emotional level. Never have I been so drawn by a book! It beckoned me even when I was watching my favorite show. Highly recommended.

Posted on by cheryloreglia · 46 Comments

Schooled By Life

BERJAYA

“It doesn’t matter what your age is, you can always learn something new. Life is the greatest school with more than enough teachers and endless lessons. You are a student and the master of your own destiny. The past gives you lessons, the present gives you opportunities, and the future gives you vision.”  Srinivas Mishra

Lessons From The Past 

Okay, it’s only mid-August, and my decision to say yes to all fortuitous opportunities has not only challenged my gastronomical system (that is all I will say about that), but my hair is greyer, and I’ll be damned if this hasn’t been the best month ever.

Being a student of life can be challenging and time-consuming, but at least I’m not battling acne and raging hormones at the same time. Maybe God does have a plan.

Let’s start with the gastronomical issues. Those might be directly related to podcasting. After being offered a second self-aggrandizing opportunity, I mean, a second gracious opportunity to introduce myself to The Heart of the Matter community with Wynne Leon and Victoria Ponders, I jumped at the chance to talk with Wynne again and meet the infamous Dr. Victoria Ponders, author of Surviving Sue.

Because I’m true to myself even when I don’t want to be.

Wynne Leon is a consummate professional, devoted mother, avid blogger, and published author with a huge following. She makes podcasting fun, maybe too fun. So the gastronomical issues might be related to my own inability to process nervous energy. 

Wynne sent me a list of observations and questions about Grow Damn It that she wanted to explore in this podcast (linked here for your enjoyment). This gives me a chance to prepare for a lively conversation and feel relaxed about unexpected topics being broached that I’d prefer to keep corked up (if you get my drift). What was unexpected was how much I enjoyed meeting Dr. Vicki and how much I missed connecting with Wynne between this podcast and the last. 

Is it just me, or are bloggers the best people in the world?

Those two are modern-day dynamos. They know how to put you at ease as if a healthy dose of Imodium. That was a compliment if there is any confusion.

The Opportunities Are In The Present 

I’m beginning to realize I’m the tortoise in the race of life, and I’ve discovered it’s okay to travel at my own pace. I’ll eventually get there, and in the process, I’m getting better at traversing the unknown. 

The second podcast I got asked to do was with Stephanie James (I know, the one and only), host of Igniting the Spark (linked here), but mine won’t be live for a few weeks. We did a Zoom call prior to the podcast to see if we “connected.”

She was looking for a spark or at least a flicker.

Can I just say, she had me at hello? I was completely charmed and slightly intimidated by this bundle of radiant energy, but I’ll admit I had this ghastly feeling she most likely thought this was the worst decision she ever made.

I started second-guessing myself on the whole “Affirmative August” plan. I don’t need all this angst. Making my bed every day is enough affirmation. Right? 

Then Stephanie sent me this utterly charming email with a link to her fabulous, just-released movie and a date for our podcast. 

As if Sally Fields, I’m running around the house proclaiming, “She likes me, right now, she really, really likes me!” 

Stephanie is more of a “let it go, trust the universe, let’s see where the spark takes us” kind of podcaster. In other words, no prep questions.

So I did what anyone challenged with gastronomical issues would do, I wrote out a six-page (okay, ten-page) manifesto on my entire life, covering all possible topics, issues, and concerns that might have the slightest possibility of showing up in this podcast. 

Larry had to make a second pot of coffee because I wasn’t jacked up enough on anxiety, and self-deprecating thoughts, let’s add over-caffeinated to the mix. 

At exactly 9:59 am, I hit the Zoom link. It said, “Host has not joined yet.” 

Bahaha, I knew it, but before I had time to exit the meeting, her image appeared at the top of my screen. 

Smiles, welcoming, adorable, and relaxed. 

I shut the doors to my room, and we began our unscripted conversation, directed by the universe, and let me just say, it was quite the adventure. I was reeling from all the energy, laughter, and joy. Then it was over. All I was thinking was how time flies when you’re igniting the spark. 

Stephanie is marvelous.

After we stopped recording at the end of the podcast, she said, “Cheryl, I’m planning a Women’s Retreat in Sayulita, Mexico, at the end of February, and I’m thinking this might be something you would be interested in.”

I’m like, “I’m going to be in Sayulita, Mexico, at the end of February for a wedding.”

“No”

“Yes”

“Now that’s serendipity.”

“Or a very weird fluke.”

“I think it’s meant.”

She says, “Send me the dates that you’ll be there, and we’ll work around you.”

Are you kidding? She’ll work the date of the Women’s Retreat around my schedule. 

Hello, I was so buffed up you could have rolled me down the driveway. 

I ran into the office where Larry was undoubtedly eavesdropping on our conversation and told him all about this wonderful woman, her captivating attitude, and how our lives have become serendipitous.

Larry says, “Serendipity is only fortuitous if you actually benefit from the coincidence.”

“Honey, it’s a Women’s Retreat, not a fortune cookie.”

“What are you retreating from?”

“Men”

He said, “Maybe I’ll come with you.”

“What the hell for?”

“Bodyguard.”

“Oh, we’re going to reenact that whole Kevin Costner, Whitney Houston thing. I’m into it.”

I get the look.

The next thing I know, Anne Elliott from The Mederist, an online publication, asked me to submit an article about an inspirational teaching moment. What could I do? It’s fricking August. I sent in an article that Anne beautifully tweaked to fit the space and offered me the opportunity to write my own byline! 

And the spirit of August is still going strong. 

After reading Diana Peach’s blog, I was introduced to Shephard, a platform for authors, and with her encouragement, I submitted a request to be featured on their site. They said yes, maybe Affirmative August is contagious. Regardless, my page will go live on Monday.

Out of the blue, our neighbors, Jim and Sue, ask us to join them for a friendly game of pickleball on Sunday morning. Of course, we said yes. 

It’s August.

We played four games under the sweltering sun, and by game four, I could barely breathe or talk. Jim won every game, regardless of who he was partnered with. Obviously, he’s a very lucky guy, and by the way, he’s recovering from knee surgery. That might shed some light on the skill level of the rest of us. 

As you would expect, I realized I need a pickleball skirt because I might play better with the proper gear. Makes total sense to me. Larry, not so much. They challenged us to a rematch on Monday night. 

Is it still August? 

And to further convolute my point, my first royalty check came in the mail today from the sales of my book Grow Damn It. It’s true, I’m not paying off any mortgages or buying oceanfront property next to Brad Pitt. In fact, it might not cover this month’s PG & E bill, but it’s more than the minimal amount required for deposits, and it might pay for a pickleball skirt.

Booyah!

Right before I opened that much-anticipated envelope, the two of us stood there staring at it as if children waiting for Christmas to arrive. I’ll give Larry this. He recovers quickly, camouflaging his initial shock with a hand over his mouth and gallantly offering to take me to dinner to celebrate this new windfall. 

We split an enchilada if that is any indication as to the full impact of the royalty check. 

All the while, Larry is keeping to a strict training regimen on the new tandem. We did our longest ride from San Jose to Morgan Hill a few days ago, totaling forty miles. After parking the car at the Tully Road Library, we headed down the paved creek trail. There is a robust homeless community camped along the trail for the first two miles. 

I had no idea so many people called this small section of the public trails home. There were all sorts of unique houses, from tents to smaller structures, created from various resources, cardboard boxes, broken pallets, and rusted metal sheets. There was an array of free-range dogs, cats, chickens, and roosters. it was an eclectic assortment of people and pets but shrouded in disorder and decay. 

While we were loading the bike in the truck, I looked around, and the reality of such conflicting circumstances was not lost on me. I felt assaulted by feelings of hopelessness and deprivation. How do you alleviate this type of impoverishment?

Speaking of feeding needs, we’re hosting the family for dinner tonight, and my mind tumbles from privation to preparation. 

There was a moment when I was seasoning the salmon when I glanced around the room, and the scene took my breath away. Nana was playing Lincoln Logs with her great-granddaughters, old Nono was snuggled up with Audrey, sharing one of his many stories, while Dante and Larry were enjoying a cold beer. And I was thinking how rare it is to have four generations so intimately engaged in unscripted laughter and joy.

It doesn’t get much better than this.

The Future Gives You Vision

My son-in-law, Tim Bontempts, arrives tonight. He’s staying with us for a few days in between his obligations to ESPN. I couldn’t be more excited. He’s a wonderful young man, devoted to work and family, but he made time to spend with his nieces before they have to head back to school.

We left the front door open as he was expected to arrive in the middle of the night. This morning I found out his flight was delayed three hours, an aggressive passenger tried to pick a fight with him, and his seatmate spread out while he was sleeping, lobbing over onto Tim’s space.

He walked in our door at 3:00 am. 

His nieces were texting him by 7:00 am. At least there is hot coffee. 

We head to the lake this Friday to meet up with my cousins, Gail and Mike, from Missouri, along with Jim and Sue, Tim and Barb, my sister Nancy, and my niece Mackenzie. We have a few plans up our sleeves, but I’m wondering what fortuitous serendipity will come from this much-anticipated reunion.

I already know it will be exactly what we all need. 

This month has been eye-opening. I have discovered treasures in places I normally avoid. I have gleaned wisdom from people I’ve only just met. I have seen serendipity everywhere I look. But most importantly, I have learned more than I care to admit from saying yes instead of no to the things I fear most. 

It’s as if I’ve taken my sunglasses off after a pickleball game and am forced to squint at all the profound light. Learning a new skill or game can be difficult in the beginning, but later you find yourself longing for the very thing you avoided, and one day you realize the sun is no longer stinging your eyes, it shinning light on your life, and your whole being is illuminated with new purpose and joy.

I’m Living in the Gap, it’s been a busy month, forgive me for missing some of your posts and comments. I’ll be catching up today and tomorrow. I’m dying to hear what you are saying yes to this month. Love to hear about it in the comments.

A new Five-Star Review for Grow Damn It from an anonymous source. I’m over the moon with joy. Thank you to whoever you are. 

“Reading Cheryl’s blog (Living in the Gap) is a ritual that I treasure. This book is a similar experience. I was initially drawn to her blog as perhaps a coping mechanism after my mother’s passing. I continue to follow it because it brings me joy. This book is a collection of well-written sketches that provide a whole range of emotions and stimulate lots of thought. It can be read with a nice morning cup of coffee or perhaps to help wind down a day. Do yourself a favor. Get the book and savor the feelings you will experience. Enjoy the insights into life it provides. Strongly recommended.”

A Quote I’m Thinking About:

“Throughout the centuries, there were men who took first steps down new roads armed with nothing but their own vision. Their goals differed, but they all had this in common: that the step was first, the road new, the vision unborrowed, and the response they received — hatred. The great creators — the thinkers, the artists, the scientists, the inventors — stood alone against the men of their time. Every great new thought was opposed. Every great new invention was denounced. The first motor was considered foolish. The airplane was considered impossible. The power loom was considered vicious. Anesthesia was considered sinful. But the men of unborrowed vision went ahead. They fought, they suffered and they paid. But they won.”  Ayn Rand,

Posted on by cheryloreglia · 39 Comments

Who Let The Dogs Out?

BERJAYA

“Inside of me there are two dogs. One is mean and evil and the other is good and they fight each other all the time. When asked which one wins I answer, the one I feed the most.”  Sitting Bull

There are two indisputable facts about life that we must all accept. We were born, and we will die.

What we do while we’re Living in the Gap between life and death is sometimes so counterproductive to thriving, so persistently rote, and at worst, destructive.

I’m wondering if we can do better.

Apparently, the universe thought so too, and a rather famous messenger was sent to tell us what’s what, but instead of allowing this person to feed our goodness, we did the usual. We became jealous and fearful of his powerful presence, not realizing his very life was pivotal to our own well-being. We killed him, but not the spark he ignited.

I believe our fear of the message was so powerful because it has the potential to change the world. As you know, some of us are not big on change (clear throat). The good news is the message did not die on the cross. 

Is it still applicable? You decide.

What if we believed we were good?

What if we truly believed we were intrinsically good?

Don’t just read it. Feel it in your breast, let that knowledge caresses your skin, and consider what this idea does to you in the marrow of your bones.

What if we understood our inherent value is by design? What if we really were created for the good of all humanity? In fact, there is evidence that we were made in the image and likeness of God. If that is so, we also have immeasurable worth.

The good news, if the message is valid, is our worst deeds do not define us. Those were forgiven over 2,000 years ago. Get over it already. If I’m understanding this correctly, we are defined by what’s stored in our hearts, and that little chamber has the capacity to enact enormous change. 

I know it sounds crazy, but let’s pretend it’s true for a minute. Humor me. What else do you have to do?

What if we were designed to be fueled by compassion, grace, and kindness (think premium gasoline) instead of being ignited by apathy, ignorance, and envy?

Wouldn’t that be worthy of protecting at all costs? No wonder premium gas is so expensive these days. 

I don’t know about you, but I have this interior voice, I call it the pit bull. This dude is both jury and judge, spewing condemnation and relentlessly demeaning my value.

My greatest mistake is believing those harsh words barked in my ear and then emulating the lies as if they were my truth instead of standing in my own defense and claiming my inherent worth.

I’ve always had this deep-seated belief that I really don’t matter. Where it came from? I don’t know. Maybe I was born with it? But it sits there, this belief, on a ledge in my mind, gnawing on the scattered remains of my many transgressions.

Where the hell is my good dog? Probably lounging on some fluffy dog bed in the recesses of my conscience, dreaming of chasing rabbits?

Last night I was sitting on our boat. It was docked but suspended out over the water. It was a windy night, and between the howling and the crashing of the waves, I felt something shift inside. I’m sort of dramatic; bear with me. 

I remember looking up at the vastness of the stars, the boundlessness of the sky, and understanding my deep insignificance in the scheme of things, but after several shooting stars delighted me with their magical tails, I realized this was also proof of my significance.

If you’re not following me, don’t worry. Read on.

Earth is just a tiny speck in this enormous universe. The fact that we are here means we (humanity) must be necessary on some cosmic level. 

Think about it, is there anything in this amazing creation that has no value? Cockroaches come to mind, but I googled it and found out they are professional recyclers, and they contain bacteria that help convert the world’s waste into easily absorbed nutrients. Without their nitrogen-rich excrement, the forests would suffer. So if the cockroach is of immeasurable worth, I may be too.

Say it out loud, “I am just what the world needs at this moment in time.” 

One more time, please, but with passion, “I AM JUST WHAT THE WORLD NEEDS AT THIS MOMENT IN TIME.”

When I forget my worth, I fall into this endless pit, and believe me, neither of my dogs bothered to grab me by the back of the neck and drag me out of this hole. 

I sat there in the dark, trying to imagine myself being held by a loving force, protected, honored, comforted by words of praise and kindness. I started to understand others can not define me, I am not who you tell me I am, I am so much more. 

I believe that is the secret. 

We have to accept who we are, identify the spark of hope that is within us because hope floats, and it will allow us to rise on our own cognition and greet our innate goodness. 

It’s nice to meet you finally. But it doesn’t end there.

We are each other’s keepers. No doubt about it. We can choose to protect the good in each other and tenderly remind each other of our immense value. Or we can feed each other’s hopelessness, darkness, and despair. 

As we know, what we feed, wins. 

This is our most powerful and valuable gift as human beings.

You’ve all read the prevailing document on love. Right? Love is patient. Love is kind. It does not envy. It does not boast. It is not proud. It does not dishonor others. It is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, and it keeps no record of wrongs. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

It’s as if God knew we had these warring dogs inside us, but she gave us an edge. Each other. The problem starts when we fail to see the good in each other, relationships die, people suffer, and sadly, this has become the norm in our society.

This morning I’m standing at the picture window overlooking the lake. It’s a familiar and comforting view, but this morning I see it differently. As my hand rests on the smooth wood of the window seal, my eyes are captured by the expanse of the lake, and I’m thinking of all the people who do not understand their inherent worth. 

There are people today who grew up never hearing a kind word of encouragement, who existed on a diet of hatred, violence, rejection, and fear. We see them self-medicating in the streets, trying desperately to numb the voices in their heads that condemn their very existence. 

There but the grace of God go I.

I don’t know when damage like that becomes irreparable. But maybe this is what we need to address, the effects of a system that does not protect the innocent, that does not know how to preserve or defend the goodness in each other, and has never understood how to defend one’s own unimaginable worth. 

Where do we begin to repair this? How do we help each other win the war between the good dog and the bad dog who happens to be present in all of us? 

If our proclivity for compassion, kindness, forgiveness, and grace is stored in our hearts, I want mine so full of goodness that there is no room for rage, regret, revenge, or self-hatred.

Take a good look around. Who is starving for a kind word, a simple smile, a moment of compassion, an invitation of belonging, a generous serving of comfort so they know they are not alone in this world? It might be your neighbor, it might be your loved one, or it might be you. 

This is how we assist in our collective survival.

We’ve been on the worst diet ever, warring like dogs, starving for any morsel of kindness we can find. Let’s get off the damn peloton and start feeding the goodness in each other. 

I’m Living in the Gap, searching for truth, I’d love to hear your thoughts.

Don’t forget your fertilizer, Grow Damn It will put a bloom on your soul and ignite your garden!

Great quote:

“In a world so torn apart by rivalry, anger, and hatred, we have the privileged vocation to be living signs of a love that can bridge all divisions and heal all wounds.” HENRI NOUWEN

Posted on by cheryloreglia · 25 Comments

Reposted Comment: This is Gold!

… and this, found in an old journal just now and thinking he’s singing your song:

“Nature loves courage. You make the commitment and nature will respond to that commitment by removing impossible obstacles. Dream the impossible dream and the world will not grind you under. It will lift you up. This is the trick. This is what all these teachers and philosophers who really contend, who really touched the alchemical gold, this is what they understood. This is the shamanic dance in the waterfall. This is how magic is done. By hurling yourself into the abyss and discovering it’s a feather bed.” ~Terence McKenna (as quoted at https://www.wherefishsing.com/meet-artist-fiona-morgan/)

Mary Ellen
Resistance Is Futile
Posted on by cheryloreglia · 66 Comments

Resistance Is Futile

BERJAYA

*Note the Death Valley shirt, not the size of my shoe!

“Bravery does not mean fearless. When you are scared to do something but do it anyway, that is the true meaning of being brave.”  Lauren Martin

Larry added a new challenge to our biking adventures, it’s a gripping change, and I’ll admit to you, it’s one I have been resisting something fierce. Not like resisting a donut, more like resisting the Larry factor. 

It is common for a bicyclist to clip their shoes to the pedals when biking. I know, it’s as ghastly as it sounds, as if a mental patient strapped to their bed (which happens to be the perfect description for a stoker). Larry decided not to introduce the practice when I was learning how to be a stoker because he didn’t want to create unnecessary frustration. 

Good call.

I have personally witnessed at least four people crash their bikes with their shoes still clipped to the pedal. You can probably imagine the dreadful scene, the bike upside down with a bloodied rider cussing like a sailor, flailing around trying to disconnect their damn shoes. That’s why I travel with bandaids. Apparently, when tragedy strikes, and it will sooner or later when you’re a cyclist, you’ll panic and forget how to unclip. It’s a thing. 

I’m just not interested in experiencing this sort of thing.

Thank you very much, but I’m currently dealing with saddle chafing and spontaneous muscle cramps. I literally had to jump out of bed this morning to press my foot to the floor in a panicked attempt to release a severe cramp in my left calf. It was relentless. Right there and then, I committed to eating bananas daily and drinking more water. 

I’m moaning loudly, bent over, clutching my ailing calf.

Larry leans out the bathroom door and says, “What’s wrong.”

“My calf is cramping, and it won’t let up.”

He says, “Oh,” and goes back to brushing his teeth. 

Not exactly oozing with empathy. 

When I recover my composure, I elude to his reprehensible behavior, “You’re assistance would have been nice.”

“It’s a cramp. You just have to work those out.”

“I’ll remember that next time you have an itch you can’t relieve.”

I get the look.

I might need more coffee. 

So we’re three weeks into our training program for Barcelona, and Larry decides today I need to learn how to ride with my shoes clipped onto the pedal. 

I realize I have a reputation for resisting new things, but this is not only for advanced cyclists but dangerous for those of us who appreciate our freedom. Restraints are restraints no matter what they are for. 

Without obtaining my permission, he adds a whatyoumayjigger to my bike shoes (see picture above) and a thingamajig to the pedal. Then he walks me over to the bike and explains how to clip my shoe into this gadget. 

I say, “I don’t care how you clip in. How the hell do you get out?”

“You shift the heel of your foot away from the pedal, and the clip releases.”

“What if it doesn’t?”

“Oh, you’ll forget when we’re about to fall, and it won’t be fun.”

“Then why the hell am I doing this?”

“You’ll love it. It’s much easier to ride clipped in.”

“That sounds like a juxtaposition.”

“You’ll get used to it. Let’s try it out around the block.”

While we’re riding around the neighborhood trying out these new clips, I’m reminded of all the things I avoided out of fear but ended up loving. I remember going back to grad school as I was entering menopause and feeling as if a cat on a hot tin roof, but those twenty-page research papers reinvigorated my love for writing. The same with learning to teach high school and surviving Back-to-school nights with parents who preferred I was a nun if I was going to teach their children religion. 

Then fifteen years later, I was afraid to retire. It wasn’t about the money (Bahaha), it was the people. Isn’t that always the case.

I didn’t know if I could complete a sixty-mile tandem ride or walk the Camino de Santiago. But I tried. Usually, there is an escape route if you can’t finish something. You can stop and call an Uber. When you’re clipped in, there’s only one way out, and I prefer options that come with an app.

I remember when Wynne Leon asked me to do a podcast. My anxiety went into overdrive, but I said yes, even though I knew I would suck at it. After the first few nerve-racking minutes, I ended up being somewhat of a mic whore. It’s actually more fun verbalizing your thoughts than writing them down.

So this summer, I decided to say yes to every opportunity that comes my way. I know, what an idiot. 

Of course, God starts messing with me right away. As soon as I mentally made this decision, I got asked to do another podcast with Wynne Leon and Victoria Ponders. Clearly, they want me to get better, and there providing the opportunity. I said yes.

Then I was asked by some random person on Linkin to do a podcast. I said yes. 

And I said yes to a woman who wants me to write an article for an online publication. She has been following my blog and thinks I might be a good fit. 

So reluctantly, I said yes to clipping my shoes to the pedals, and guess what? 

I love it. 

My feet don’t fall off the pedals every time Larry shifts gears, or we hit an unexpected bump. I don’t have to readjust constantly. They’re clipped. After a few rides, it feels natural to clip in and out.

So here’s my challenge for you. What if we only had a year to empty our bucket list? What would you regret never trying? During the month of August, make a commitment to say yes to things that challenge you, to unexpected opportunities, and random invitations. What’s the worst thing that can happen?

You might need a bandaid, but you’ll find out you’re not afraid of the unknown, or better yet, your not afraid of joy.

I believe life is designed for your personal evolution. Get out there. Run around! Nothing like a good cramp in your leg to remind you that you have a leg. After years of being mentally strapped, so to speak, isolated, and bored, let’s try something new. I think we’ll realize grit and resilience actually improves with age, and the rest, as Larry says, “will work itself out.” 

I’m Living in the Gap, taking my chances, I’d love to hear what you’re saying yes to this summer.

New Review for Grow Damn It!

Thank you, Gail, it’s a risk to post your thoughts, and I’m ever so grateful that you did.

“Cheryl’s writing style is both witty and relatable. I felt the corners of my mouth rise into a smile on most every page. There are also some stories that bring a lump to the throat and tear to the eye. This is a collection of short vignettes that can be read all at once or savored on the nightstand as a little treat before going to bed. Her stories are easy to relate to by everyone who has been a parent, child, sibling, spouse or grandparent. The stories make me appreciate the good in our everyday life experiences.”