HOW TO LIFE

Last week I shared the outcome of my one and only contact with my biological father. If you asked me now to describe precisely my feelings on the whole experience [Psychologist asking: “and how do you feel about that, Francine?”], I’m not sure I could. Today, my whole “Real Father” topic is in a little bubble in my brain, sitting off to the side a bit – there, for sure, but not interacting a lot with what I do, or think, or feel in my ongoing life. There are just different p

That's what Kevin called the monitor that was on his wrist. The monitor had the physical shape of a watch, but there was no face, no handle, no numbers or marks. It was white, square-shaped, and thick - just like a watch. I arrived at the hospital one morning and my son pointed to it and told me, "they gave me this watch that does me no good." He had no idea it was a monitor that would trigger building-wide alarms if he went past any of the exit doors from the brain injury wa

because there was no choice. As I sat by my son's bedside, holding his hand, I spoke to him knowing he could not respond. He was in a coma and the doctors had no idea when, or if, he would awaken. After the tortuous journey to New Zealand, I arrived at the Dunedin airport, South Island, New Zealand. Dunedin is the most southern town in the country - close to Antarctica; bitterly cold when the wind blows in from the south. The day I arrived, the wind was calm and the sun was s

And staying happy all day, despite what life throws at me, is my snooze dream time. When I hit the snooze button (usually several times), I purposefully and deliberately imagine an adventure that thrills me and makes me smile. Ever have one of those days when you woke up grumpy; grumpily got out of bed; begrudgedly took a shower and got dressed (or maybe stayed in your PJ’s). As the day went by, you got grumpier. Food didn’t taste right. Some overly cheerful person annoyin

We moved from San Jose to Truckee, California in 1996 in order to be closer to the ski hill. Our modest law practice was such that we could maintain it mostly at-a-distance. I had learned to ski as an adult. I really liked it. I was still just an intermediate skier, “working on my skiing” based on tips I read in ski magazines and a couple of books and videos. In other words, a complete ski hack. (Photo: mid 80's | Fran, the"Ski Bunny") One December morning, I had gone ski

And I don’t know why. Perhaps I need to change the name of my blog from “How to Life” to something like “I’m Amazed I Got Here Alive and I Wonder How That Happened” but that would be too long for a web address. I have had my share of drama and traumatic events framing my life, more or less than anyone else. I know that I have carried lots of strange baggage, beliefs, fears, limiting hang ups, whether directly and unavoidably imposed on me, or mostly self-perpetuated and exagg