Female Journalist

I had a thought that hit me like a bolt of lightening the other day. I’m constantly going over the coordinates of the past several years and finding new revelations on how they all truly connect. How each thread   in my life has been woven together to form this tapestry that is my current state. I know that’s something I often write about, but it’s something I’ll keep reiterating. Each new layer of purpose that’s revealed to me keeps reaffirming what I learned a couple years ago; that I’m being guided and led to the right places. My path is no accident, and while I know that as an adult, I still feel like a small child whose hand is being held by Source. Especially as a grown up and mother who makes millions of decisions, it feels delicious and safe to be led and held by something else. Allowing myself to lean into that is one of the most beautiful parts of being a human being.

So here’s the thought that shook me; that my blog was sent to me specifically for Svadhyaya, the yogic practice of Self Study. I always say how I’m so grateful that the blog allows me a platform for self expression and creativity. It’s my microphone for a voice just beginning to flex her vocal cords. But it’s more than that. I was thinking about how I have a number of channels to serve as a release, but that I don’t journal enough. I have this beautiful little green journal one of my teachers gave me that’s mostly blank. This bothers me because I don’t like not using things. Journaling is obviously one of the most effective ways to clear our systems. It’s a proven aid in observing to let things go. Then I thought, wait, of course I journal! I do it here every week. This blog is my journal. Blogging for the Inspire section is forced Self Study. It’s not just a place for me to speak; I have to come up with stuff to say in the first place. There are times I can’t wait to write. There are other times I don’t feel I have anything to say, but to meet a deadline I have to find something within me to delve into. Which is often when I learn the most about myself. So it hit me that, holy crap, Someone knew I needed this in my life at a certain time in order to dig my true self out from under layers of illusion formerly known as my existence (I said existence, not life. Note that).

My mental shift had begun four years ago because my soul had been crying out for so long. It was time to listen to Her. I wasn’t cognizant of any of this at the time. Only in hindsight can I see what was unfolding, now that my eyes (all three of them) are finally open. So there I was, in mental, emotional, and spiritual turmoil. Confusion, unrest, and discontentment. Desperate for a connection I didn’t know was possible. And then boom; enter Tzvia Rush, who said to me, “you should really be blogging”. I had never read another one before. I wasn’t on any social media at the time, and sending an email was still new to me. As the idea of having my own blog took shape, so did my spirit. It drove me to dive deeper and deeper within so as to excavate and hunt for material. If I’m going to write here, I damn well need to figure myself out first. I’ve said that the blog help get me through my divorce, by giving me purpose and a shape to the wild horse thoughts stampeding through my mind. But on a deeper level it strapped me down, shone a light in my face, and was like, you are not getting up until you scrape yourself clean. No change comes without intense Svadhyaya. Call it self study, awareness, self reflection, whatever. It is a must that is constant. We can’t fix what we don’t know. Blogging wasn’t just given to me as a coping mechanism. It was given to me to finally get to know myself. Without all this journaling I’d know almost nothing about who I am. Writing the posts, rereading them, then reading them again when they’re put up allows me to study the content objectively. The growth in my writing is gratifyingly clear from the start of the blog to now. The more I immerse myself in svadhyaya the richer my material is. The better the material, the more it resonates with my readers. The more resonance, the more I connect with you. The more we connect, the safer we all feel. Connection is safety. It’s support. And we can’t ever provide that for others until we first provide it for ourselves. That comes only with the humble willingness to know we have to start from scratch. To work it out on paper, to talk it out in therapy, to twist it out during asana practice. It’s not easy to read about our flaws, mistakes, and lousy pattens in black and white. But it’s harder to avoid it. Blogging doesn’t allow me to avoid anything anymore. It’s why Lady Blaga has grown; this is an honest space for utter non avoidance. This was the right avenue for me to explore myself and do it in a community setting. The collective has always had such a hold on me, I’m very much a team player. All I have I want to share.

I like being inclusive. So this is my journal, dear Readers. I’ve left it on my bed, open, so you can happen upon it and enter my process. As I go further into the infinite depths of Self, I encourage you to do the same. You’re really beautiful, pay much more attention to that than you ever have. Learn yourself and leave no part overlooked. Journal, release, express, get it out. If you let it in then you can also let it out. None of this nonsense is permanent. Paper and a pen can be the only friend and therapist we need sometimes. Thank you, thank you, thank you to the Divine for shoving this opportunity down my parched throat. I did not know I needed this but You did. Which is why you gave me the ability to write in the first place. All dots were connecting from my youth...

It’s wondrous what forms for us while we are carefree children skipping about. The more I learn the more I can love. Study of Self is the key to liberation, but only if we move forward with our knowledge. Write to make things right. Read all your chapters, edit them, and decide how you want your story to build. I was just a first draft until now. It’s quite nice to turn myself into a badass screenplay. Corrections, it’s all about the corrections.

My IRO

Love love love IRO‼️. And dig this dress especially. It makes me feel very 70’s disco glam. Give me slinky metallics anytime! I love the long sleeves and super short cut. So often I see women in the opposite; emphasizing the top with sleeveless or cleavage but with less leg. This dress feels sexy to me in that it goes a different route.

I bought it in Los Angeles on a family trip. It’s such a good piece. It’s nice to feel leggy sometimes. The dress just lands in all the right places. I always feel great in it, and that’s so important. These Jimmy Choo cut out heels are actually comfortable and feel feminine with the openness of the straps and toes. Every wardrobe needs a fabulous, short, shimmery, statement party dress. This is a holiday look that always works.

Fencing 🤺

There’s something I’ve been working on that I really want to share with you. Unsurprisingly, it stems from yogic philosophy. Yoga has eight limbs, or tenets upon which it’s primarily based. These limbs, or branches, are essentially a code of ethics for how we should treat ourselves as well as others. Since how we relate to others is an offshoot of how we relate to Self, our treatment of ourselves is gloriously necessary in order to have optimal interpersonal interactions. Self care isn’t really taking time to get a manicure. Yes, that’s a nice thing to enjoy, but self care really means how we care for ourselves on the innermost level. The levels unseen within our minds, hearts, and souls. It is by doing this work that we tend to all our crevices and folds, and nurture ourselves like a mother to a newborn. If we can’t care for ourselves properly then we are kind of screwed, because it’s simply impossible for another being to go spelunking into your soul and reach those parts of you. It’s like how someone else can’t fix your thoughts or feelings. Sure, they may love you very much, but they are limited in how deep they can reach you. All the sincere hugs in the world won’t calm your mind for you. By following the limbs of yoga, we learn the necessary principles required to truly care for and conduct ourselves with utmost reverence and respect.

The limb I’ve been working on lately is Restraint. This is very challenging for me. As I’ve told you many times, I’ve always had to provide for myself on many levels. I’ve had to “make things ok” from a very early age, so I’m conditioned to be very goal oriented. I see something I want and I just go for it. Not in a psycho way, just a determined way. But as I’m learning this new spiritual language, what I always saw as focused determination was really an attachment to the external. You might even call it an addiction. I think I know three people who don’t fall prey to this, and that’s because they have worked years on it. Everyone we know is attached to external fields. Having the need to check your phone every five seconds is an attachment to something outside you. Attachment to anything other than You is a detachment. It’s that black and white. We subconsciously reach all around us as a means of separating from ourselves. This can only point to some kind of lingering dissatisfaction with our current state. Think about it, when you’re enjoying yourself in a particular moment, you’re not looking to peace out. You’re not texting, your mind isn’t wandering, you’re not listing what you need to get done. You’re present. But so seldom do we like and appreciate our present. Many people feel they are present but it’s often superficial. For instance, one can think, “I’m at the gym. I like working out. My butt looks good in these pants. I have the luxury of coming here. My life is good right now.” However, if while going through the motions all the while the mind is going off the rails, bouncing wildly around, then that’s not being in the Now at all. Doing something in the present doesn’t at all mean you are Being in the present. The reason being present points to restraint is that we are more able to restrain ourselves when we have an inherently deeper level of satisfaction. When we fight all these distracting urges we return home. We can control our habits and impulses better when we have achieved truer plains of inner contentment. The pull to any external thing is lessened. Our desires to flail outward temper as we calmly and intentionally reach inward.  This is an extremely liberating feeling, to not be a prisoner to meaningless bullshit.

The goal of yoga is to liberate the mind and clear our systems so we are at our best. We will never be our best if we are out of control. Being out of control is only something we know if we are or if we aren’t.  It doesn’t mean the world sees us tearing through the streets like Animal from the Muppet Show (though I’m loving that visual). A person can look put together, have done all her errands like a good girl, and be totally unhinged within the prison yard of her mind. So she can’t stop shopping, emailing, making plans, making assumptions, making up drama just to deflect from this confusing, unnamed source of anxiety she’s become so used to. Just like a guy can have a controlled, steady, successful job but is addicted to whatever just so he can get through the weeks thinking he’s living a fulfilling life. I know I’m oversimplifying with the gender roles, but you get my drift. The point is that restraint is only something you know if you have. I have my shit together in tons of ways but lack restraint in others. And I’m never happy when I give in to my destructive urges. I’m disappointed when I’m in breach of trust with myself. But I feel this all converging the more I learn about myself. Because the more I uncover the closer I get to what I really am, which is a being of loving awareness (I love you, Jack Kornfield. What a gift you are.). And the more comfortable I grow with tapping into this, the weaker the pull is to outside stuff.  And the more liberated and gleeful I feel. How great does it feel to not send that text you know you shouldn’t send? Or to not react with anger and agitation to a situation? Or to not lose patience with a family member? It feels so good, right? Restraint and control feel good because they train us to conserve our energy. We are made of light and energy, and any expenditure of that really gets so misused and wasted when it’s not properly harnessed. How lovely and wise is it to be so incredibly careful with where we direct ourselves? The anger we saved by not releasing it will recycle itself as energy better used. The obsessive thinking about whatever will be used to think about something far more productive. This is all a practice for a reason. It’s hard. But hard never killed anyone.

On the other side of obsession, impulsivity, rumination, and a lack of control over our thoughts, words, and actions is freedom. It’s more attainable than you know. I’ve been meditating on a huge, field with a fence in the middle. On one side is a dilapidated barn with dry, muddy grass. I’m on this side. The other side is this clear, open, fresh, expansive space. The sky is brilliantly blue and the grass is emerald green. This part of the field evokes joy. Just looking at it feels wonderful. Here’s the kicker; the fence has no lock. I can exit the yucky side at any time and easily cross right over into the beautiful part. No one is stopping me. I can just go towards that delicious openness, and you know, I have been more and more. Restraining all these gnawing, egoic, human urges that are beneath us allow us to remove the numerous mental, emotional, and spiritual shackles we’ve become chained to over time. There will always be slips up and regression, always. It’s ok. Don’t berate yourself. That in itself is an act of liberation. Stop restricting and start restraining. It will feel uncomfortable because you’re not used to holding back. Not used to depriving yourself of all these distractions. The discomfort is actually positive, because it shows you a shift is happening. Ride out the shift. Surf on the waves of change,  and let them carry you to the steady mental shore you have been dying to reach but have no idea how. I get questions about this all the time, and the best thing I can say is just don’t give up on yourself. Walk through the fence to the beautiful side of the field where you were born. See you on the other side, my Friends. Go home to You.

Listen to A.U.M- MC Yogi

The British are Coming‼️

Shameless Red Coat joke❣️.
Lord, was I happy to put this on for the last look of my recent shoot. So much work goes into my photo shoots. Whether it’s food or fashion I give it my all. Every detail matters. I’m representing my brand and crafting a reputation for myself in several creative arenas. I’ve waited so many years to bust out all this stored up creativity and design; it must be let loose in the right way. The finished product you see is the result of days of meticulous prep. Which is why I feel so accomplished and euphoric at the day’s end. To be honest, when Lady Blaga began I felt a bit silly doing my photo shoots. I felt a bit frivolous and that I had to justify it. That was textbook insecurity resulting from years of cumulative beliefs I had nothing worth saying aloud. I’m over that big time. I more than earned the pride I feel at getting shit done, be it styling bomb ass outfits or creating delicious recipes to share with you. Having said all this, it’s exhausting doing it. Terrific but tiring. Which is why I’m so freaking fried at the end of the day. Which is also why this coat was a lifesaver.

It was about to turn dark, the weather was particularly raw and cold, and I couldn’t handle the thought of putting on tights and heels again. I did need one last truly boss winter look though. Enter my new Margiela coat from Century 21. This color is everything, and the utter lack of structure is terribly chic. I felt like Andre Leon Talley, NYC fashion god. I once saw him at Bendels, and he was every bit as fabulous as one would think. There was something regal about this to me because of the high collar and voluminous overcoat feel, so my knit winter crown from Nini K was the perfect accouterment. Not a hat but something to bookend the wintry mood. I seriously felt like a 2018 Winter Queen. The leaves were still beautifully hued and provided the perfect backdrop. And I was comfortable. I really suggest investing in a bright, large scale puffer. It’s worth your kids feeling embarrassed to be seen with you.

Shweddy Balls🍪🍫

Admittedly this recipe didn’t turn out as pretty as I intended. I’m not sure why, since it’s so simple but it didn’t matter. It was a treat meant for my kids upon return from a trip and they loved it. Mission accomplished. That’s the great thing about food; as long as it tastes good it can occasionally be ok if it looks a bit jacked up.

These frozen cookie dough bites make really cute holiday desserts. You can play with different chocolates and toppings. Dip, roll, and freeze. Any kind of cookie dough works. Oatmeal raisin dipped in white chocolate and crushed nuts, double chocolate dipped in milk chocolate and rainbow sprinkles. This is definitely a recipe to have fun with. Just keep frozen in an airtight container until reach to serve.

Ingredients:

A box of frozen chocolate cookie dough balls

4 bars of dark chocolate

1/4 cup smooth peanut butter

Two cups crushed Oreos

Two cups white sprinkles.

Directions:

Melt the chocolate and peanut butter in a double boiler. Let cool slightly.  Dip each ball into chocolate and then roll in toppings. Place on a baking sheet that’s sprayed with PAM and covered in wax paper. Freeze until the chocolate is hard then transfer to a container.

Puzzle

There are a few things every woman should do in her adult life. One of those things is to watch the film “Puzzle”. I literally just finished it and and am sitting here in a daze over how impactful it was. It’s currently the holidays and my kids are away. I’ve been treating my home as a hotel and thoroughly enjoying my space to the fullest. One of my stay-cation activities has been a solo film festival. I haven’t turned on the TV much in a couple years, except to watch every episode of Bob’s Burgers for the 900th time. If you’re never seen that particular show, start today. It’s an easy way to act like you’re bonding with your kids, though to be honest, crawling into bed and lying under a blanket made of my sons while we watch TV, is legitimately the best part of my day. I physically ache for it.             

Having come upon a full week of solitude, I was determined to watch something on the tube. I missed being engaged like that; lying on the couch like a beached whale and allowing the talking screen to entertain me. I have always been very selective with what I watch. Now that I think about it, I’m selective with what I read, what I wear, what I eat, and who I hang with. Perhaps I’m a better decision maker than I knew... It’s maddening when in my occasional attempts to watch a home movie, that there seems to be nothing but boring, idiotic nonsense to choose from. I’ll spend 45 minutes annoyed, only to abort mission and turn on more Bob’s Burgers.

This weekend so far I’ve been 3 for 3. “Puzzle” is the story about a meek, unseen housewife who is clearly grappling with unhappiness in her small town, repressive life. The lead actress, the subtly radiant Kelly Macdonald, out the gate shows signs of how she’s squirming under the surface of her skin. We can feel outside thoughts and feelings start to hatch and slowly bubble up, then we watch as they rise to the surface. The character’s name is Agnes. Agnes picks up a jigsaw puzzle by chance and realizes she’s excellent at doing them. The puzzles give order and purpose to her day. She feels a rush of accomplishment at having made hundreds of right decisions. Watching this woman come into her power by doing puzzles was a fascinating take on the lonely, misunderstood mother/wife human condition. Agnes is so stifled that she has to initially hide her newfound interest from her family. Unsurprisingly, when she does tell her husband about it he is unsupportive. She’s crushed but saw that coming. That spoke volumes to me. It’s so tragic when the concept of support is missing in a relationship. She wasn’t taking up taxidermy as a hobby, she was putting together a freaking puzzle. Why was it so hard for her supposedly devoted husband to be happy she carved out a small portion of joy for herself? The husband was a textbook simpleton family man who genuinely didn’t understand why Agnes needed to do more than church volunteer work and buy groceries. The resistance lies in her desperately needing to grow as a human and him being scared she’d exist in some space apart from him. There was a quick scene in which in the midst of her cracking open, something I clearly relate to, she’s checking out on the supermarket line. She just looked so excruciatingly aware. It was a brilliant several seconds. That’s what I want when I watch a movie; the misery, confusion, and ennui of an underdeveloped wife. Romantic comedies are as we say in Yiddish, “nisht far mir” (not for me).

Agnes answers an ad in which a puzzle competitor is seeking a partner. The two form a bond that teaches her pretty quickly who she is and how she must steer her life in a different direction. What moved me the most was the metaphors and symbolism found in puzzles. WHO. KNEW. The way humans walk around so fragmented, in a million pieces we struggle to fit together, but fail at it time and again. How when we do have those rare times when we feel like all our pieces match up in harmony, all it takes is for one outside circumstance to knock us to the ground and break us. How easily we are scattered. How one lost piece throws off the whole. How damn hard it is to focus and put ourselves back together, to take another crack at constructing our whole picture. How filled with promise we are when seeing a photo of the finished product on the outside of the box, this beautiful image we want to create. So we buy it to have it, only then to realize with grating frustration that building the darn thing is an overwhelming task that requires patience and logic. We give up, it’s too hard. Watching tv is easier. Shopping is easier. Doing nothing is easier. Humans don’t like things that remind us we can’t do them, so we blame the thing itself and jump ship (this stupid puzzle!!). But the thing is, like a puzzle that is meant to have all its little pieces fit together in unison to become a fully actualized picture, people are the same. We are meant to put ourselves together over and over. We have all the pieces we need. Only when Agnes began to play with puzzle pieces did she become aware of her human and female pieces. Her connection with her puzzle partner became her connection with herself. There’s a wondrous comparison at the beginning and end of the movie with her husband breaking a plate into pieces, but I don’t want to give too much away. I want you to watch it, think about that scene, then write to me to discuss. This movie pretty much summed up my own journey over the past several years, and I have no doubt it applies to many of you as well. We see each other in each other, that’s why we are obsessed with observing one another. It’s easier to watch it happen to someone else, right? Not really, no. It’s always harder to leave yourself in a box, untouched, with none of you interlocking. I’ll end this post by reiterating that this is a movie every woman should see. For Herself.

Brownie Points

Though this outfit is not something I’d buy today, it’s one of those good choices I made in yesteryear. I’m actually fairly anti label these days, but sometimes a classic iconic designer is lovely to wear. This happens to be Oscar de la Renta. It’s just a really pretty, well fitting dress. It’s way more conservative than my style, but it serves the occasional purpose when I’m required to dress more ladylike. I added some flair to it with the leopard Louboutins. Stockings can be sheer or opaque chocolate brown to go with the brown cashmere sweater. The whole cashmere sweater concept and I have never jived; it’s just way too prim and preppy for me. I can justify it here with the bolero style and little bit of skin that peeks out. Shades of brown and taupe are such terrific cold weather color palettes. It’s yummy when clothing lends warmth to an otherwise cold season. I do have several Oscar pieces that I’m so fortunate to own, especially since the designer passed away several years ago. Oscar de la Renta is inimitable in his elegance and class, and will forever be celebrated as one of the most talented and beautiful designers of all time.

Roasted Cauliflower and Carrot Soup with Cabbage

So if you watch my instastories you may have noticed I purée most of my soups. I prefer a chunky soup, but my daughters kinda don’t want to know what’s in there. In essence, I purée to camouflage the ingredients. God forbid a piece of onion should be visible. I love making soup, especially when it’s cold out, and I wanted to not bludgeon all these gorgeous vegetables to death with my soup blender. Guess what; my daughter liked it just the same! You never know until you try, right?

This beautiful golden soup with bursts of orange because of the carrots is hearty, healthy, and filling. Any soup served in mini crocs, should you happen to have a few, tastes extra yummy. I made these crunchy basmati rice cakes to accompany the soup. I was making rice but must’ve not added enough water, since the rice was too hard to serve. I didn’t want to waste it so voila; some creative repurposing turned the dried rice into homemade rice cakes. Alone or dipped into the soup, they’re like giant fresh rice croutons.

Ingredients for soup:

A bag of carrots, peeled and cut into half inch thick rounds

2 heads cauliflower cut into small pieces

Half a small head of green cabbage shredded

1 diced Spanish onion

4 garlic cloves coarsely chopped

4 boxes of vegetable stock

A bay leaf

A tsp and a half each cumin, turmeric, and dried oregano

Half a cup each chopped dill and parsley

A can of rinsed chickpeas

Directions:

Preheat oven to 400. In two separate pans, mix the carrots and cauliflower each with the minced garlic, olive oil, and a light amount of salt. Roast until the vegetables start to caramelize, the cauliflower will be longer.

Heat two tbsp olive oil in a very large soup pot. This recipe makes a ton. Cut in in half if you’re a normal person who doesn’t feel compelled to make soup for 90 imaginary people. Sauté the chopped onion, adding the turmeric, oregano, and cumin. The onions will be fragrant and yellow. When the onions are well sautéed add the roasted vegetables, stock, bay leaf, and two tsp salt and half a tsp pepper. Bring to a boil and simmer on low uncovered for 45 minutes. Add the chickpeas, dill, and parsley and heat for another ten minutes. Season to taste with additional salt and pepper if needed.

Instructions for rice cakes:

Two cups cooked white rice, slightly underdone. Mix the rice with two beaten eggs. Form the mixture into patties and fry in vegetable oil until golden brown on each side. Serve with soup, it’s kind of like a giant crouton that you can dip. The rice cakes can also be served like a cracker with the savory top of your choice, say a tapenade or hummus.

De La Soul- The Grind Date

Last Thanksgiving Sucked

Hey there. So yes, every single day is a chance for reflection. However holiday time is really a forced means of seeing where your currents are currently holding. On a random Wednesday it may be harder to look back on where you were on another past random Wednesday, but it’s easy to recall what you were doing last Thanksgiving. And look back we must. It’s our job to monitor ourselves. Each year means we’ve completed another lap around the sun. We aren’t just meant to exist like zombies with no evolution, and in order to prevent that we need to check in with ourselves constantly. How we’ve grown, how we regressed, what we’ve changed. This is scary in that if there’s been no clear growth or learning then we are forced to face our stagnancy. To think we just existed like blank machines for 365 days is an uncomfortable thought. That is cumulative though, and unless we look at ourselves under a microscope, we will inevitably be faced with years worth of sameness. Even if you generally like your life there are always ways in which we can grow and further enrich our lives. We can love better, communicate better, give more, be more patient, say hello to more strangers, the list is endless. Liking your life doesn’t mean it can’t be fuller. The fuller we are, the better we can handle this whole human gig.

As I reflect upon where I was exactly a year ago, I can say with certainty that I was miserable last Thanksgiving. I was in another country in a series of unexpected, somewhat frightening situations with a person I thought I knew. Without getting into detail, let’s just say I was blindsided by the turn of events that unfolded. This was a trip I’d excitedly planned for several reasons, and to say it went off the rails is an understatement. I was scared, alone, unmoored, and lonely. Being alone and being lonely are completely different btw; I’m often alone but almost never lonely. So when I do feel deeply lonely, something is very wrong. Being so far away, I was kind of trapped and had to ride out the week. There were times I felt physically unsafe, and needless to say I’m not used to that. I had to force myself to become really resilient that week, and I did. I wrote a post about that and I meant it. Any hard circumstances catapults us into forced growth. Sink or swim. I dealt with things I never had to deal with, and I survived and made the best out of things on the outside, despite being really unhappy on the inside. But the week passed as I knew it would, and now a year has passed as I knew that would too.

The past couple days I have been really thinking about the difference between these two Thanksgivings, and I am overcome with delicious bouts of gratitude at the distinction. This year I’m safe, I’m home, and I’m spending the day with people I love who love me too. I have a large, carefully chosen family. My children are safe, happy, and traveling with their father. My oldest is having the time of her life on her gap year program. I am alone in my home but not at all lonely. I am writing, DJing, going out with friends, and watching movies on the couch. I’m enjoying lying in my bed in front of the fireplace mid afternoon. I am immensely enjoying my present circumstances. I would never allow the shit from last year into my current life. The quality of men I’m dating is way higher. My standards have been thankfully and unapologetically raised. How I value myself, my time, and my energy is leaps and bounds ahead of how I treated myself last year. After being flung into space post divorce, I’m finally settling into my true self. It takes a long time to learn who you really are, what you really need, and what you won’t tolerate. I didn’t learn this in my 20’s and 30’s. Truthfully, had I had learned that then it still would look different than it does today. I’m older and more seasoned. Me at 28 can’t possibly be the same at 40, it shouldn’t be anyway; that would mean I became stuck somewhere. Stunted. Divorce is a funny thing in that it can lend the illusion that you’re ready to bust out of your former situation and take on the world. I wasn’t of the ilk of women who gained 30 pounds and sat home crying with Ben and Jerry. I was ready to roll, or so I thought. It has taken two years of intense self study and daily spiritual work to move me through all these tunnels of realization. It’s not done, it’s never done, but the platform I’m currently standing on while waiting which path I need to take next is just right. I’m going to just collect myself and sit down for awhile. Observe. Rest. Breathe into my own growing power. It’s nice to be still while everything and everyone is frantically moving around. I’m so proud of how far I’ve come, and even more excited about where I’m going. But for now, I’m going to honor the pause and just chill. Life is good, Man. It’s so freaking good. And I give thanks for that with my ever expanding heart every single day. Last year is over. It ended as all things end, both good and bad. Tomorrow is merely a hypothetical. Come sit next to me. Let’s marinate in the Now.

Pasta with Roasted Broccoli, Tomatoes, Olives, and 🍋

It’s so great today how there are different pastas made of alternate ingredients to suit varying dieting needs. This dish can be made with the pasta of your choice, but I gave chickpea rotini a try. It was good! It doesn’t change anything in the carb department but it’s made of chickpea protein so it sounded nutritious. This is such a clean pasta; roasted vegetables, briny kalamata olives, lemon zest, and a two step lemony vinaigrette. Roasting the broccoli and tomatoes really draws out their flavors. This is a great template for a pasta dish; any type and shape of pasta, any roasted veggie you have on hand, a savory boost like olives or capers, and a simple sauce of olive oil and fresh lemon juice. Add almost any toasted nut for crunch and warmth and you’re made in the shade. I also love adding raw greens like spinach or kale to warm pasta to make it literally a “pasta salad”🥗.   

Ingredients:

Box of your preferred pasta

3 cups of broccoli florets

2 cups halved cherry tomatoes

Jar of pitted kalamata olives halved lengthwise

Six minced garlic cloves

Quarter tsp crushed red pepper flakes

Quarter cup lemon juice

Quarter cup olive oil

Salt and pepper

Lemon

Directions:

Prepare pasta accordingly in a large pot of salted water. Preheat oven to 400. Toss broccoli with 4 cloves of minced garlic and 3 tbsp of olive oil. Roast about 20 minutes or until fork tender and edges start to crisp. Toss tomatoes with the remainder of the garlic, the red pepper flakes, and two tbsp olive oil.

Roast also about 20 minutes until the tomatoes start to split and shrivel. Mix the lemon juice, olive oil, a half tsp salt and a quarter tsp pepper. Whisk well. Pour half over warm pasta and mix.  Then add the rest of the ingredients, and toss gently with remainder of the dressing. Top with freshly grated lemon zest. Serve with the Lady Blaga minestrone soup and any of my salads for a complete three course meal. Cooking is fun, right?? ️

Gang Starr- B.I. Vs. Friendship

Leather Face

Ok, LOVED this look. Worshipped. Not sure where the hell I’m wearing it, but not to worry, ya Gurl will figure it out. Let’s just say it most likely won’t be the annual synagogue dinner. I’ve worn this skirt a couple times in other shoots. It’s a surprisingly versatile piece. It was a totally worth it splurge in that it carries every outfit. It’s such a statement piece that’s simultaneously sharp and feminine. I love the contrast between the strong, large scale of the skirt and the slight, artfully cut out bodysuit. The windows of skin lighten up the overall effect and give off major smoke show vibes. This is definitely not your basic black look. This has a ball gown effect with the body con top and sweeping skirt. The moto jacket has the right amount of silver hardware to add an element of something that isn’t black, especially since the leather boots and gloves are as well.

I went with softer hair to calm things down since the outfit is such a strong statement. I didn’t want to come across as harsh or too serious. You have to be careful with black that way; that it doesn’t take itself too seriously or appear heavy in mood. I’d totes wear this to a black tie event, details depending. Push the envelope with your winter formal wear, especially if you have a burning need to dress like Sandy from the carnival scene in Grease. I think I’m the same age as those “high school seniors” anyway. You’re legit the One that I want.

Teriyaki Rice with Mushrooms and Asparagus 🍚

This was sooo fun to make! I love combining a grain with vegetables for a fabulous side dish or vegan main. This is great hot or room temperature, and can definitely be made a day in advance. Choose between your favorite white or brown rice. I used white but it actually looked brown after I mixed it with the sauce. Sliced grilled steak, chicken, or a simple teriyaki salmon are the perfect protein accompaniments. Another idea is to put the rice in a bowl and top with a fried egg. For you vegetarians, serve with tofu. So many ways to enjoy this rice dish; isn’t it nice when we have choices in life?   

Ingredients:

Two cups white jasmine rice, cooked

A chopped white onion

A bunch of asparagus trimmed and cut into two inch pieces

8 oz sliced shiitake mushrooms

Toasted sesame seeds

A bunch of scallions chopped

1/4 tsp dried ginger powder

2 tbsp Mirin cooking wine to deglaze the sauté pan

3 tbsp toasted sesame oil

1 tbsp rice vinegar

3 tbsp teriyaki sauce (I like La Choy)

Note that while these were the basic measurements I used, they are subject to adding. I always cook dashing here and there, use more of whatever you feel you may.   

After the rice is cooked, mix in a tbsp of the toasted sesame oil. The hot rice will just soak up that flavor and retain it. Heat a large pan with 1 tbsp olive oil and 1 tbsp of the sesame oil. Sauté the onions until tender. Deglaze with Mirin as needed, continuously adding to keep deglazing and flavoring.

Add the mushrooms and asparagus and sauté until the asparagus is fork tender but still bright green, and the mushrooms are soft. Add some sesame oil as needed directly from the bottle. Don’t worry, you really can’t go wrong. Do it bit by bit. Start with less. Add the dried ginger to the sautéing veggie mix. Season with salt and pepper while sautéing too. Start with half a tsp salt and a quarter pepper. You can always add more but you can’t take away.

Mix the rice vinegar, teriyaki sauce, remainder of the sesame oil together. Add the rice to the veggie pan, pour sauce over, and mix gently. Turn off the heat, tossing to coat. Add more teriyaki sauce if needed. Transfer to a serving bowl and add toasted sesame seeds and scallions right before serving. Toasted oil and seeds are a must here. They are far richer in flavor than their bland counterparts.

Cutting Class👩🏻‍🍳

Check this out; a few weeks ago ya Gurl taught a cooking class. The class was a surprise bachelorette party for an adorable bride to be. I happen to be friends with her mother so that made it even more of a labor of love. Truthfully I’ve never done anything like that before, but I welcomed the challenge with excitement. I figured I can cook and yenta it up with pretty much any inanimate object, so why not?!

At this point in the Blaga journey my attitude is flowing with whatever Now is offering me. Allow for the Now is a favorite mantra. Being receptive to my atmosphere. That ranges from honestly viewing the reality of tough emotional situations to embracing new opportunities, and everything else in between. What time is it? It’s always Now. So to be fully present we need to give ourselves over to our surroundings. That’s how we flow with them, by agreeing with them. This is especially good advice when it comes to the really hard stuff life is sending you. Don’t fight the Divine, you’ll lose. Rather, work with it and let it teach you what you need to learn, and take you to where you ultimately belong. Think less, Be more. In the past when presented with a new undertaking I’d have accepted the offer but stressed about it. I’d have been fraught with anxiety and tried to control the outcome by mapping out each and every detail. I’m soooooo much more chill about newness now. It’s liberating to just enjoy and trust that things will work out, even if there are unexpected hiccups. It’s really so crazy to start listing hypothetically negative outcomes. Like, it’s actually nuts in that we are literally making shit up. If it’s not happening yet, it’s pure fabrication. And if it is happening then it’s meant to happen for a reason. It’s that simple. Our minds complicate this notion but it’s really a clean concept.         

I approached this task with a mix of extreme organization and a loose attitude of just making this fun for the girls. This would not be some uptight lecture of a cooking class. Cooking is such a joy for me. It’s fun, experimental, fully sensory, creative, and of course involves mistakes. Food is love and love should not be scary. That being said, I clearly remember the excited intimidation I felt at being a new bride who immediately wanted to cook for her family. All part of playing house, and I’ve always had a strong pull towards domestic nurturing. I had no idea how to boil water before I got married. This was pre internet (anything prior to 2016 is pre internet as far as I’m concerned) but my first apartment was across the street from a huge Barnes and Noble. I’d go there and eagerly peruse the cookbooks, then go home and get cracking. I got certain things down pretty fast, but it took years to become fluent. I’m still fascinated by cooking; taking raw ingredients and turning them into an actual meal. It’s like any creative process that begins with intention and ideas, topped off with love. What better recipe is there?                       

I prepped five recipes that I printed out off the blog into these really cute recipe booklets (when I say “I” I mean Shira). Singles today seem more savvy than my friends and I were. Young adults are just way more attuned to everything now days. They are more stylish, have cooler hair, better bodies, have more sophisticated palettes, and are just generally more with it. I know this makes me sound like a dinosaur, but with phones and social media, there’s this awareness that even orthodox ducklings have today that my generation lacked. We were just so in our carefully constructed bubble. I was impressed at how many of the girls seemed to have an inkling as to what I was talking about. They legit knew what was up, and my recipes were pretty sophisticated for 20 somethings. Everything my peers and I first learned was mostly likely brown and involved onion soup mix or that gross bottled apricot sauce (why tho?). I wanted to teach recipes that were really gourmet and impressive but uncomplicated. Beautiful, fresh, colorful ingredients that anyone can assemble. I divided the recipes into crates, with each crate containing the ingredients and tools needed to make it. I then divided the girls into groups, giving each group instructions. They really did it! Sure,  I guided and gave tips I only wish I’d known about 20 years ago, but props to this crew. I taught the bride how to toast nuts and seeds, make biscotti, and roast fish with a Mediterranean style sauce, among other things. We made salads, zested lemons, whisked vinaigrette’s. I even made a playlist to bring my DJ component into the mix. They all sat down to a full meal they prepared themselves, which made the food extra delicious.

But here’s the unplanned kicker. As I was saying goodbye and thank you, I kind of gave a little speech about how as important as it for a Jewish wife to know how to cook and make a beautiful home (listen, I’m old fashioned this way and proud of that), it’s by no means everything. We must not resign ourselves to an existence in the kitchen only. We are allowed and obligated to explore ourselves and become fully actualized women. Women before and after becoming wives and mothers. No one should be stuck making thousands of batches of chicken soup and that’s it. Be proud of your home but venture out too. This is not selfish or neglectful of your family. I think they were maybe slightly taken aback by my diatribe, as was I, but I felt like a camp counselor/big sister giving advice. I wish someone had said that to me, just like I wish I knew what kalamata olives were when I got married. No one told me, and it took too many years and tremendous struggle to teach myself that I had a right to do things other than cook. I love putting on my apron and I love taking it off too. Nothing tastes better than a life fully lived in all ways. Taste everything you can while you’re here. The bitter, the sweet, the regrets, and the delicious parts. It’s all on the menu of Life for a reason.

Foxy Brown- Hot Spot

Pom Pom Frittes

What are pomme frittes? French fries?

This coat is so cute but I don’t think I ever wore it. I bought it 12 years ago. I love how retro it looks. The fabric, buttons, and colors are all throwbacks, held together by the adorable Pom Pom detailing. I recall thinking that Carrie Bradshaw would purchase this piece and know just what to do with it. I never quite figured that out, but it had too much character to not buy. I usually don’t shop like that, especially now. My style vision is lightening speed, if I do say so myself. I see a piece I like and instantly know how I’d wear it   It’s really fun to challenge myself by incorporating the same item in totally different looks. That being said, this particular piece is meant to serve its purpose as cute, statement outerwear. The pom poms carry the mood, so there’s not much for me to do except just put it on.

As far as the fur, it’s obviously faux. I do have a bunch of fur coats I’ve had for a long time, mostly vintage pieces from my grandmother and mother. I love them for their history, sentimentality, and super vintage feel. I would not buy fur anymore. I don’t think it’s right for something to literally have to give their life so I can make a fashion statement I could easily make in a kinder way. I’m not weighing in on what anyone else does; I’m sharing my own thoughts with you about an issue that’s become very important to me. It’s why I no longer eat meat, chicken, or fish anymore either. Bottom line, faux fur all the way just to clarify. Fashion shouldn’t hurt anyone or anything. Just a thought.

Much love, LB

My Stripper Name

Spoiler alert; content of post not nearly as sexy as the title.

I am currently in the throes of stripping away decades of illusion. My head is hurting, I’m feeling extremely vulnerable, and for the first time I’m handling myself with gentleness. Going through any kind of rebirth is an excruciating process. Both mother and child must be tended to with extreme tenderness and care, and here I am starring in both roles. All that shedding that I’m always writing about has never been more raw and real. The time has come for a serious shift. I can’t ignore the signs any longer, and while it hurts so much I have concluded that discomfort never killed anyone. Finding comfort in the discomfort is where I need to be right now. I can do it because I know it’s temporary, as all things are. Thoughts and feelings are all temporary illusions created my our own minds and anarchistic egoism. It’s unbelievable how much shit we make up. It’s pure masochism, and though there are so many ways in which I’m good to myself, there have also been ways in which I have been failing myself. It’s important for me to know that this has not been my fault. I have been humanly absorbing emotionally surrounding cues from others for my entire life. All I did was get used to them, store them, and then subconsciously perpetuate them through my own unaware choices. Fun!

The anguish has been too great, and my only recourse is to deconstruct the narrow bandwidth of unconsciousness that has been squatting in my beautiful mind. I let it in unknowingly. I will now kick it the F out. Squatters don’t leave agreeably and peacefully. This work is hard. It rips apart everything we know and rewires the only systems we believe we are familiar with. Systems that are false bullshit, built on ego, fear, projection, attachment, and feelings of unworth. No infant sits in the nursery feeling unworthy. This is a story we pick up as we grow, which is ironic in that all it does is shrink us down. Our body gets taller, our physical muscles take shape, but our insides get so knotted and stunted. This is the challenge unique to humans. We get more messed up than anything else on the planet, as a result of our insane complex makings. However what this really means is that on the other side of this exists the possible opposite human experience; clean, untangled, bright, shining peace and tranquility. BUT HOW DO WE GET THERE????

This is the question I’ve been faced with recently. All the forks in the road I’ve been presented with over the past several years have led me to this giant fork. Always the dots are connecting. Always...

There is no place to unpack new awareness in a messy, cluttered closet. A complete and thorough stripping down is simply necessary. Old tendencies, destructive habits, erratic emotions,  insecurities,  feeling like shit at the drop of a hat; where is this coming from? I can’t take being enslaved to this anymore. It’s too hard to move about my day buried by these surface forces. Unless you are a seasoned monk living on a mountain in Tibet, you know exactly what I’m talking about. You might not want to admit it, but a part of you knows. I am a typical human body encasing the same spirit as you. Our struggles are the same. How we address them or not is what makes us different. That’s what will divide humans into varying levels of greater or lesser consciousness. We can only love in direct conjunction to how conscious we are. If there is any kind of veil or lack that covers us up, we will literally not see anyone else in front of us. Friends, lovers, children; we can only see others the way we see ourselves. If we have a hole we will attract others with those same holes. It’s a support group. I used to think I had it all together, but then I’d invite these experiences into my life that were not in line with that. I now know why; I was aching to soothe parts of others that needed to be soothed within myself. I recognized holes in others so clearly because they were mine. I finally understand what it means to have others be a mirror for ourselves.

Friends, this is a sad yet valuable piece of information. I am a giver, a lover, a nurturing healer (we all are at our essence) but I wasn’t directing those efforts inward. This is why receiving is harder for me; it’s foreign. Receiving from others can feel uncomfortable to a giver because it’s so unfamiliar to us. We almost give to avoid having to receive, since deep down we don’t feel we deserve it. Someone’s gotta give, so we steal that role first since it’s easier for us to fill it.There has been a part of my story that has told me I wasn’t deserving of all that TLC, but that it was always my job to spread it around like fairy dust.  Since I’m a good girl I listened. Which would explain why I keep falling down the same rabbit hole time an again. Different rabbits, same hole. Same Me. Until now. It’s deeply painful to admit to buying into a direct line to lack. What, Me?? I’m awesome so what are you talking about??

Another thing I’ve learned; confidence, strength, and feeling outwardly secure are totally different than having lack at the core. Those things can swim around inside us simultaneously. Its synchronized swimming but everyone is drowning and the routine is a hot mess (side note; is there anything more demeaning than a bathing cap?? K fine, maybe those leashes we put on our kids at Disney). In breaking apart and re-piecing myself together, I have identified these waves of fear that I feel as stemming directly from rejection and abandonment. If triggered, it’s amazing how instantly I hide in those caves. The caves like when I visit, and it’s the ego who tells me I belong there. That if I leave I’ll get whacked. The ego will always aim to have us remaining steeped in poison. That’s it’s job, and we need it to overcome and level up. I can be going about my day feeling wonderful, grateful, and light but then bam; the inner voice that tells me I’m being discarded will arise. That inner voice looooooves the past, and so it will start to rattle off dozens of past examples in an attempt to prove itself right. It loves to point me in the direction of “see? You’re being disposed of. They took what they needed and bounced.” This voice will basically give a power point presentation in my mind as to why the 40 years of past instances are applicable to the present, even if logically they’re not related at all. It’s so confusing, and we question what’s real and what’s not. Old butterflies dust off their wings and flap about in a cruel attempt to make themselves relevant again. This makes me kick myself for giving so much, even though I know that’s our purpose on earth. Giving feels right to me because as Ram Dass says, “we are all here to walk each other home”. Clearly my past giving did indeed lead to dark places, and feeling taken advantage of always hurts deeply. The feelings of terror of abandonment and being rendered insignificant is something I’ve had to explore recently. Going to the roots of these reactions has been painful but crucial. I never thought I was afraid of pain, but I have been more so than I knew, since I had all these mental survival tactics to avoid getting whacked again. We collect when we lack; collect texts, collect plans, collect thoughts, collect errands, collect flattery, collect dates,  so often out of attempting to fill a hole we don’t want to see. Therefore, if the text doesn’t come, we can be filled with actual anguish. Which sounds crazy because it is. I have also discovered that I automatically go to a place of self berating when I express my voice or needs in even the slightest way. Did I say too much? Was I pushy in what I needed? Did I over assert myself? There are people in my life who have made me feel hunted and throttled; did I do that to someone else because I had the audacity to be open?

It’s obvious as to why I feel guilty at having a voice. It’s because I was never given permission to have one. It was always told to me in some way to shut up and follow orders. Perform, deliver, be an extension for others and get them whatever it is they themselves needed. This came as a shock to outspoken, comfortable sharing Me, but it’s been a liberating revelation. Another friend of mine going through a divorce said he’s  just learning to find his voice again too. It’s amazing how our needs get so buried under an avalanche of someone else’s emotions, and even more amazing how we allow that to happen in the first place. It comes from somewhere. There is a painful source that must be examined in order to cleanse. How sad I thought expressing my own basic boundaries and needs was considered outrageous. Listening to others is an essential part of the human experience. Was I not entitled to be heard too? One reason led to that belief: conditioning. You start to believe the stories others tell you, especially those you start hearing from youth. Then as we get older we make poor decisions that support those stories, simply because they’re familiar. There is some kind of messed up safety in making bad choices that perpetuate these lousy narratives; at least there’s predictability, right? It somehow softens the blow if we can be less shocked by the outcome, even if the outcomes aren’t desirable. To oversimplify, we can both “un” and “re” condition our choice patterns, but only if we do the work head on. That means examining the ugliest parts to our reality, the parts that dredge up all kinds of difficult feelings.

Cleaning up the inside is the only way to clean up the outside. Only after rebuilding ourselves will we invite good choices, patterns, and experiences into our lives. By being better we will attract better. This doesn’t happen overnight, but it does happen bit by bit. Each smarter decision, however small, will lead to greater better ones. What we eat, who we hang out with, who we choose to get involved with romantically, how we react to certain situations. Personally, I don’t think this type of necessary self study can be achieved without meditating. Going within is the only answer. Therapy is one dimensional in that it’s an entirely egoic enterprise. It’s worthwhile on a certain level but since it’s all “I and Me”, it doesn’t bring inner peace. It’s when we can’t see past the “I and Me” that we remain trapped in seeing ourselves only as human. Living as humans seems like that’s all we are, but we are so much more than that. More on this later, it’s too much for one post. One step at a time. Just trust me on that; tapping into that awareness is the key to joy. Not happiness, which is fleeting, but joy. Bliss. Serenity. The stuff we claim we all want. I love sharing this research with you, it allows me to build connection as I strip away at the layers that had prevented connection prior, namely connection to myself.

Oh, and if I were to really choose a stripper name based on the name of my pet and childhood street, it would be Roxy Crestwood. Definitely viable. Love you guys.

Having a Vested Interest

The right vest is really such a cool addition to Fall layering. I was lucky enough to get this Pucci one on sale many years ago. I love how retro Pucci is. It’s fun to bring those 60’s swirls into 2018. This neutral color scheme of brown, tan, navy, and touches of orange elevates my classic Fall looks of jeans and a turtleneck, or over leggings and a button down like I’m wearing here. It was still in the 60’s temperature wise when we did this shoot, and not yet jacket weather. This vest is a statement piece as a result of its design, so it looks just right over clean solids. You know how much I love my newsboy caps this time of year too. I was clearly feeling very Town and Country that day.

The leaves were incredibly beautiful, the sun was shining, there was an approaching crispness in the air. Not that I actually went anywhere, but in my mind I was dressing for an Autumn drive in the country. When it gets colder I love wearing this over a turtleneck sweater that’s one of the colors in the vest. Dark blue denim, beat up brown cowboy boots; the perfect classic look for this time of year. I def recommend inVESTing in a good piece that you can layer with and keep for years. Pardon that pun, it was just too easy.