I am beginning to think of myself as ‘The Nigeria Connection’. It seems I have a way of attracting scammers who want me to send money to Nigeria, or are living in Nigeria, and want to meet me. We all know where this is leading and it is not a pretty picture.

Recently, at a screenwriting class at my shop, I talked about my book, “The Unfaithful Widow”, and the section on my ill-fated online dating experiences. Lately Nigeria has played heavily into the e-mails I receive. One of the students was a lovely young author living in the metro Atlanta area.  “I’m from Nigeria!” She touched my arm and then started laughing. “You need to write about this!”

“It gets worse!” She had me giggling. “I’ve now gotten an e-mail with Nigeria in it on my car listed with Auto Trader!”

So on the suggestion of my new friend, this is the topic of my post today!

At first these e-mail annoyed me, then I learned to play with them, and finally, maybe, I’ve matured. I’ve learned to leave well enough alone and hit the ‘delete’ key to trash the e-mails.

I am not easily duped, and I don’t take dating seriously. I don’t have time to date at this stage of my life, opening a shop, and writing a new book. I write about the fact I ‘think’ about dating, more than wanting to date. But because I still ‘think’ about it, I keep popping up on the on-line dating sites, a month here, a month there. I never stay long and usually cancel out before my thirty days are up. It is a nice break when I am writing late at night to log on a dating site and shop for men. It is cheaper than logging onto Ebay and really shopping. Add a glass of sherry to the mix, and well, what can I say.

I also have a theory that since I am over sixty, and a widow, to some stupid (which is the kindest word I can think of) men, I fall into the category of old, alone, and if they are lucky, rich. I am none of the above. But I do think the combination of words, sixty-plus and widow, attracts a certain type of male predator. I’ve had this discussion with other women in the over sixty category trying online dating. Many of them have had success stories, some have had a few bad episodes, but they never turned into a harmful experience, because a family member interfered and stopped them from going further. But NONE have had the Nigeria connection I have.

Eight months ago I received a ‘flirt’ from a man who lived in Atlanta with his two children. He was very attractive with that All-American football hero look. He spoke kindly of his children. Then he suggested I write to his Yahoo e-mail address. He was so sincere, I thought, why not. The private message from Yahoo explained that while he lived in Atlanta, he was currently working in Nigeria, and was trying to get money together to fly home. “I feel certain there is a connection between us, I just need air fare.”

Red Flag! I called my best friend and we laughed. “Write him back. Tell him to send you a plane ticket to visit him.” Her advice sounded good. I did just that. Never heard from him again.

The next time I was on a dating site, a blond cowboy type sent an e-mail. He was charming. We exchanged several e-mails and then he wanted to text me. I gave him my cell and several texts came in. He wanted to call me. I let him. My blond cowboy had a heavy Middle Eastern accent that did not go with that photo. “I’ve posted more photos on-line” the deep voice informed me. I went to look and sure enough, he had. The cowboy was in a full model pose and, I swear I’d seen him in a magazine before. A quick text back informed him I knew he was not the man in the photo and I would report him to the police. I have to admit at that moment I was nervous he had my phone number. But that didn’t stop me from adding my two cents worth. I suggested that if he was going to use a fake identity, to use a photo that matched his voice. I never heard from him again.  I don’t think it was the police threat as much as my advice. He probably wrote me off as a nut job.

I had several more e-mails of men pretending to be someone they were not, and all had jobs in Nigeria, and family they wanted to come home to visit. Meeting me was also a high priority.

I decided it was time to have a little fun with this. I redid my profile. My header, “Looking To Visit Nigeria”. The body of my profile explained I had come to realize many handsome, American men were living and working in Nigeria. I’d like to meet one. I was a rich widow, but my money was tied up in real estate and the stock market. If the right man came along, I’d like a plane ticket to visit him. Just send the money and I will hurry to be with my true love. I added, “I am not sure what the wardrobe requirements are in Nigeria, but if you send extra money, I will buy something to please.”

Some of you are shaking your heads wondering if I am sane. I am not late at night. But a gal has to have some fun. I eagerly waited for Match to put up my profile. After all the messages I received from men in Nigeria, Match screened my profile and declined posting it. I am sure I had many key words that sent up a flare to them. Nice to know they do follow through on checking their profiles. I guess they have no control over the correspondence that goes back and forth.

Last month I decided it was time to sell my 79 Corvette Stingray. It was a key character in my book, but after three years I rarely drive it. I thought selling it would be money I could put towards my new shop. I listed the car on Auto Trader, feeling I was in a safe place.

The first, and only, interest came from a gal in England named Chloe. “I’d love to buy your car for my husband as a birthday surprise. He is currently working in Nigeria. If you can guarantee that the car is in good condition, and send me all your Pay Pal information, I will include shipping charges, as well as your full price, and send a shipper to pick up the car.” I know that somehow my Pay Pal account would be in jeopardy, someone might get the car, but I was still in the dark on how this would shake down.

Since I listen to signs from the universe, I decided the universe wants me to keep my car. I deleted the e-mail. I am making an appointment to have a new battery put in the vette (it has been sitting way too long and the battery dead) and I am going to start driving it, leaving my van at home. Perhaps I’ll find that cowboy on my own!

Online dating can be fun. It can be dangerous. I have made it a point if someone wants to use a private e-mail immediately, or wants to instant message me, or if there is anything else that even causes me to question it, I stop in my tracks. It is easy to put up a fake profile. Some dating sites protect their member’s photos from being copied, yet on other sites, you can simply right click a photo, save it, and use it to set up a false identity. Another gal I talked with was writing to a man in South Georgia. He gave her the name of a company where he worked. The name checked out, but when she talked to the man behind the name, he was not the person on the dating site. His identity had been stolen. Always report a profile that is suspicious.

The latest tonight, and yes, I tried again, took me by surprise. I thought I’d heard it all.  The man wrote me he thought my profile was nice. His profile was nice, but there was no photo. I did not read all his information, but wrote back, “No photo, no interest.”

“Did you understand what I wrote?” he replied. I went back and looked at his full profile. It ended with, “My job has me working with an Internet fraud agency, therefore legally I can not post my photo. Please do not ask me to, as I can’t compromise my job.”

True or false? A new one for me. At least he lived in Virginia.

Actually, many of my friends have met their mates through on-line dating services. One did a full background check on her guy before they met in person. She told him about the background check on their first date. He laughed. His sister had run a background check on her. They are now happily married.

I do believe in true romance, so every so often I try online dating again. I never meet single men in real time. My advice to anyone who wants to try the different dating services be alert to warning signs. If a doubt enters your mind, listen to it. Our first reactions are sometimes the best. Never reply to anyone who wants money, personal information too soon, and always meet in a safe place. My rule of thumb when I first started dating as a widow, was to let a friend know who and where I was meeting. I wanted there to be a starting place if I didn’t come home!

One young man I recently talked to about his dating experiences gave me the other side of the story. “I hate to go to a girl’s house without having many dates. You never know what is on the other side of the door when you enter.”

Good to know that sometimes it is a two-way street.

Thinking about dating again at sixty-three is a life scam of its own! But sometimes it feels good to be back in the game!

Barbara Barth, CEO of Life

There is a movement on to help the small business owner and it is gaining momentum!  The weekend after Thanksgiving is the busiest time of the shopping year. Retailers are promoting Black Friday deals even earlier than ever this season. Online shoppers eagerly wait Cyber Monday. Now add into the mix Small Business Saturday. On November 26, people are being asked to Shop Smallsm at their favorite local stores and help fuel the economy. The new slogan When we all shop small, it will be huge is being posted all over towns nationwide.
Small Business Saturday® is an American shopping holiday created by American Express. It was first celebrated on November 27, 2010. In contrast to Black Friday and Cyber Monday, Small Business Saturday encourages holiday shoppers to patronize local small business. Small businesses are critical to the nation’s overall economy. Their importance to local communities extends even further.  “For every $100 spent in locally owned, independent stores, $68 returns to the community through taxes, payroll and other expenditures, according to the small business advocacy group The 3/50 Project.”
“Small businesses are the foundation of our economy – half of America’s workers either own or work for a small business,” said SBA Administrator Karen Mills.  “Small Business Saturday is an opportunity to show our support for our friends and neighbors who throughout the year are growing our local economy, as well as supporting many local initiative and organizations.”
“FedEx Corp. (NYSE: FDX) is injecting $1 million into the small business economy of the United States with its support of Small Business Saturday 2011. The commitment, announced September 27, will send tens of thousands of additional consumers into Main Street merchants on November 26, helping to drive holiday sales for local businesses at a time when customer demand remains among their biggest challenges.
As the premier sponsor in the “Shop Small Gift Card” program, FedEx will give away for free 30,000 Shop-Small American Express gift cards, each worth $25, to consumers through a Facebook promotion leading up to Small Business Saturday on November 26. Ten thousand additional cards will be distributed directly to FedEx customers. The contribution means more money in the cash registers of locally-owned independent businesses.”
Visit Facebook https://www.facebook.com/SmallBusinessSaturday to learn more about this initiative and the many big businesses supporting it.
“When we invest in small businesses, we are investing in Main Streets – the places that give our towns and cities a unique sense of place,” said Stephanie Meeks, president of the National Trust for Historic Preservation, which includes the National Trust Main Street Center. “By celebrating Small Business Saturday and shopping at independent businesses, everyone can play a part in strengthening our economy and supporting revitalization on our Main Streets.”
For me, Main Street USA and small shops hold a romantic vision. “A Shop Of One’s Own” is a phrase I use all the time. All my friends dream about having their own business, a slice of the American dream, once called ‘mom and pop’ shops, now upscaled for many specialty shops to ‘boutiques’. Shopping your local merchants is an experience much different than shopping retail outlets. Both have their place, but the personal service you find in your neighborhood businesses can’t be beat.
Since opening my shop January of this year, in a small hub twenty some miles from my home, I have experienced the joys of meeting my neighbors and the hardship of trying to keep a small business going in this current economy. I love my big business friends, but I love the heart of America. Shopping small will help keep that heart beating!
Barbara Barth, CEO of Life

I’ll Sleep When I’m Dead! You’ve heard that from me before. I love that phrase! It makes me feel fearless. I stay up so late at night, it is sometimes morning by the time I crawl into bed. Not that bright sunshiny morning, but that early morning when the rest of the world is still sleeping (except for those on the night shift) and I am just pulling the quilt over my head.

I don’t sleep alone. I sleep with five dogs. Four sleep on the bed, the fifth, my only male, stays in the doorway protecting us from whatever demons he still sees. Of all my rescue dogs, Bray is the one who still looks up in fear if there is a loud noise or a quick movement. He is a mixed breed Afghan. His fur is long and black and he looks disheveled most of the time. The fur spikes at the top of his ears, make him appear like the Rod Stewart of dog world.

I can watch my dogs most nights as they sleep and stretch, because so much light comes through the mini-blinds on my windows. Moonlight, streetlights, and sometimes the outside night light flashes on when a critter runs by the motion detector. Too much light coming into the room at night, does not allow for total rest. I am learning more about how sleep affects my health, and I need to get better sleep habits.

The way you feel during the day, hinges on how you sleep at night. One of the key components to a better night’s sleep is darkness. My bedroom is well lit from the outside most every night. Turning off my bedside lamp darkens my room for a minute, then my eyes adjust, and the light shining in allows me to see the outline of everything in the room. There is no rest for me! No wonder I am tired most days. I can accomplish much with little sleep, but the quality of my sleep is poor.

Thanks to my friends at The Balancing Act, Lifetime TV’s morning show for women, I have found a solution and a great contest to enter.

Let me tell you about it.

The Official Curtain of the National Sleep Foundation, SoundAsleep ™ Room Darkening Curtains, appeared on The Balancing Act on October 24th and November 21st. Sleep Curtains (7 AM Weekdays). These curtains marry fashion, function, and design to create the perfect sleep environment for everyone. Their room darkening technology reduces penetrating light, which allows for a key factor for a good night’s sleep…darkness. They are available in 10 colors and 4 lengths, with 2 valance style options. Prices range from $19.99 to $34.99 depending on the curtains length. They are made out of washable textured chenille fabric and easy to purchase on Amazon.

The Sleep Better and Win! Sweepstakes will award a $500 Amazon Gift Card on November 23rd and the grand winner, to be announced on December 9th, will get a $1500 Amazon Gift Card.

The contest has already begun, but you can enter now! Just go the Sound Asleep Curtains Facebook Page and Like them. You will receive one entry for the sweepstakes, and may receive additional entries for sharing their page with your friends. Complete details on Facebook.

Just think, you could win an Amazon gift card, buy your curtains, and still have a big holiday spending spree.

A good night’s sleep is essential for a healthy day. It can be as simple as buying a lovely pair of room darkening curtains. Now that is a winning situation.

Follow on Twitter too!

We’d like some sleep too. Get those curtains!

Posted by Barbara at 12:09 AM
Labels: Amazon, contest, sleep, Sleep Better And Win Sweepstakes, the balancing act

I actually had a few super great days I felt the stars and I were in alignment. I met a new girlfriend who read and loved my book, I found a new location for my shop, and the latest photo taken for Facebook had me looking happy, no longer stressed out. Wow! When I looked in the mirror the face I saw was relaxed. I smiled, puckered, and kissed the mirror. For you honey. I’m back! The honey in that sentence is moi. I wouldn’t want to give the impression that the world really rocked and I’d met someone. Although in my current state of chaos, moving my shop eleven miles up the road to a new location, I don’t have time for anything else, much less a man!

I got several good days out of my mirror kiss. Then, like a date where you kiss and tell too soon, things started to change. I dumped myself. Yes, that’s right. I dumped that happy, gee I am looking good gal, and went back to reunite with the stressed girl I had just left behind. It was not pleasant rejoining the dark side of myself.

My shop was the culprit. I felt sure of that. I went from happy to neurotic in a blink of the eye. I felt like I’d split, becoming two different people. One was my evil twin being mean spirited to the new gal in my shop. The other was a gal somewhat paranoid about her business choices. Perhaps less coffee and more sleep would have been a quick cure. But I can’t give up my coffee and my business motto is I’ll sleep when I’m dead.

I had recently given a small space to a gal in exchange for a few hours of work a week. I was on stress overload trying to keep three shop buildings open by myself. I didn’t know her, but we had mutual friends. I was pleased I’d made this decision. Some of my other decisions had me wondering about my own sanity, but this seemed like a solid plan. What could possibly go wrong?

I think what went wrong was me! Everything she did caused a problem. I started to wonder if she was pulling the wool over my eyes about what she was doing alone in the shop. I worried she was trying to steal my few loyal customers. She talked too much about my business to others and I didn’t want anyone speaking on my behalf. I had my reasons for being uncomfortable with her, but that was not a hall pass to be rude. I was rude and I hated myself for that.

She came into the mix just as I was trying to sort out my own issues on whether to renew my leases. Within a week of her arrival I had decided to give notice on, not one, not two, but all three buildings I had rented in a sleepy hollow that had very little foot traffic. Three buildings were more than any one person could handle. I made many friends. I had only a handful of customers. A location in the nearby town came open where I could have my shop, and events, all under one roof. I jumped on renting it. The downside was that two of the buildings were under lease through December. The third was month to month, which allowed me the freedom to make this choice.

I broke the news to her. “I am leaving end of the month.”

She gave me a funny smile. I swear she was excited about the news. She had previously talked about my shop being in her business plans. She knew I still had my leases. Her smile was brilliant. Her eyes sparkled as she asked me, “What are my options for the buildings?”

I wasn’t very nice to her. “Your options are simple. Call the landlord and rent from him, or you are out next weekend.” Ouch. Did I really have that tone in my voice? I felt like a total bitch. Not that bad bitch, cool gal, but just a bad attitude bitch that made me depressed. She left and I curled up in my wing chair and closed my eyes. I had to block out the afternoon.

“Hey! Are you there?” It was my neighbor. “Are you seriously sleeping?’

In fact, I was. The stress and heat had me dead asleep for a few hours. It was dark outside the door.

She came in and plopped down on her corner of the yellow love seat. We shoot the breeze into the late night hours several times a week. Talk got around to the new gal at my shop.

“I didn’t know if I should tell you this, but the other day she and a few of her friends performed a ritual in front of your shop, to rid it of an evil spirit.” She paused to test my reaction. “She used oils and all. It was some sort of an exorcism.”

I watched her hands. She was flipping a deck of cards.

“You know, she tells customers my shop has ghosts. I don’t like her in my business. I told her to leave my ghost alone. I don’t want her performing any ritual down here.”

Again she was shuffling the cards about.

“She won’t mess with me because she knows I read Tarot cards.” She held up a card with a sword on it.

“Come on. You’re making this up!” I tried to make light of it and ignored the card. I had no idea what it meant.

“No, honey. The next day you came in and said you’d given notice to the landlord. I guess that demon she got rid of was you!” She laughed, then narrowed her eyes to show me she didn’t think it was funny.

I am not sure I believe in ghosts, but I do believe in the energy you create. Now someone had tampered with my energy zone. I didn’t like that one bit.

The conversation made me feel uneasy, so I was happy she got up to leave. “Wish you weren’t moving.” We hugged goodbye for the night.

Someone else stood in the doorway as she walked out.

“Saw the lights. It’s pretty late. Wanted to be sure you were OK.” I have many locals who come by the shop to chat. He is one of them.

I like this guy, but he talks non-stop to the point you want to put a pillow over his mouth to shut him up! He doesn’t come by to flirt with me; he just likes to have an audience when he talks. His wife probably enjoys the break when he visits. I usually try to rush him off before he gets cranked into his never-ending stories.

Tonight I was happy to see him. He seemed sane in a world gone a bit mad. Ghosts, Tarot cards, exorcisms; was there a full moon? Silhouetted in the doorway, he suddenly looked very appealing. Tall and thin, with a wisp of a beard, I found myself watching him with lustful eyes. I haven’t had a man around in some time, and, for a nanosecond, I wondered, what if? That phrase pops up more then I like these days and on too many different topics.

Stop that! My brain yelled at me. You don’t mess with married men. I was the devil looking at him with a hunger I did not need to feed. Obviously the exorcism hadn’t worked. That I even toyed with that word was as ridiculous as the idea of toying with the man in front of me.

“Can’t talk.” I pushed him gently towards the door. “Out! I have work to finish.”

I locked the door behind him and peeked out the window. There was a full moon in the dark sky. That would help explain the day, but it didn’t make me feel better. The quiet was overwhelming.

I wanted to call someone and talk. I felt like I’d bothered all my friends enough this week. I think back to all the folks who stopped in to say hello over the last few days. I talked until I watched them fidget, pull out keys and, while I was still mid sentence, get up to go.

“Gotta run. Dinner with the family.”

Then they left to be with loved ones and I stood there alone.

Some days I feel needy. On those days, I talk no more, or less then on any other day, but on those days, I feel I am talking too much.

What I really needed to do tonight was paint my two blue cupboards white and not listen to this mumble jumble. The blue does not go with my new décor at the shop. I grabbed the paint and eased myself down in front of the first cupboard. There is no reason to hurry. The dogs are fine. No one is waiting for me. No one has been waiting for me in the three years since my husband died. I was tired beyond words and the ghost of sadness had returned to haunt me.

I started painting and watched as blue slowly turned to white. Each stroke of my brush lightened my spirit. Blue to white. Yes, truth be told, I was blue tonight. But tomorrow would be another day full of the anticipation of my new shop.

I thought back to the day I kissed my mirror. I was euphoric at that moment. I had just given notice to my landlord. It was as though a huge weight flew out of my body. The release felt grand. Then for some stupid reason I fell prey to stress again. How many exorcisms does it take to get your head screwed on right? I’ll let you know when I figure it out.

I have patched things up with my happy side. I’m not kissing mirrors, but when I look in the mirror, I like the image winking back at me!

Did an exorcism make me change shop locations? It is folly for thought on these cool fall nights. Change was needed to be able to keep my shop alive. I’ve moved and love my new location. What happened to my old shops you might ask? My vision of other businesses bringing life to the street has come true. Two of the three shops are rented and the third is being looked at. That gal who was the thorn in my side, who may have performed a ceremony in front of my shop, is my friend now. She rented the space she had wanted to control. She has a bright smile, a bit devilish perhaps, but I am happy she helped me see the light of change, however her method!

Barbara Barth, CEO of Life

I never thought last Saturday night would find me standing in the back yard, at the end of a party, kissing a stranger. But, then, this is my life, and stranger things have happened.

Looking in the mirror, I grabbed my new tube of rose petal lip-gloss and brushed another coat over my already rosy colored lips. Kissable, I thought. Of course, I haven’t been kissed in a good while, haven’t even had time to think about romance, trying to make my shop work its first year. Tonight I felt like tempting fate. This gloss had a shimmer to it that might catch the moonlight and spark some interest! If nothing else, it made me feel glamorous, where I had been sweating all day at the shop, and needed a pick-me-up to feel feminine.

My vintage rhinestone studded watch gave me the bad news. Once again I was running late. I don’t know why I can’t be on time. No matter how I try, there is a fifteen minute window between the time I am to be somewhere, and the time I arrive. It is genetic, I am sure. I can’t even fool myself to be on time.

Classic example – a week ago I was meeting a girl friend for dinner and we were planning what time to meet. We both live five minutes from the local pub. How difficult is that?

“So is six-thirty good for you?”  That is our normal time. But I am never on time.

“Let’s plan on six-thirty, but really meet at six-forty-five!” I started to laugh. “That way, I’ll have my fifteen minute window to be late, and we can both arrive at the same time!” I made a mental note, be there at six-thirty. Damn if I didn’t arrive at seven and she was grinning and drinking a Margarita.

Sue me! I can’t help myself. Crap! I embarrass myself. I am glad I am not employed anymore, but run my own shop.

If I hurry, I’ll still catch the music. I clipped on my puffy heart silver earrings. Yes, I did say clip, I never had my ears pierced. When you have dogs yapping in your face, as I have had my entire life, you don’t want an excited pup to grab and pull an earring! Ouch.

The band was playing on the newly installed outdoor stage when I arrived. I found two friends and sat down on a low stonewall next to them. “This is wonderful!” We looked at each other and nodded in agreement. The back yard of the house was aglow from lights strung from one end to another. The air was soft and dry, a slight breeze made it the most perfect of summer nights. The humidity all week had been killer. Tonight gave hope of cooler days to come. I was not sweating, but glowing with excitement!

The musicians were at a peak energy level. This was their night of celebration after months of hard physical labor, in the hottest summer ever, to meet an opening deadline for the new school. My smile was huge, a Cheshire cat would not have smiled wider. I kept beat with the spiritual blue-grass music, moving my feet as if I were up dancing.

Kids were running all over the yard in country style cotton dresses, baggy shorts, bare feet, cheeks flushed, giggling and poking at each other. I was so happy I thought my heart had expanded to include the universe. As if the evening was not perfect enough, one of the musicians saw me and called out to the audience, “Let’s give a hand to Barbara and her support. She has a shop across the street!” I waved like I was someone special and felt at home among friends. I was a part of something larger than myself.

As the evening started to wind down, I wanted to say hello to the father of the young musician who had started this school. He was a widower, visiting from out of town, and watching him on stage with his family, I could see he was happy and excited, dancing with friends and hugging everyone between songs. I wanted to congratulate him on his son’s accomplishments.

I saw him heading off the stage to the side gate and ran up next to him. Putting my hand out to shake his, I smiled and started to speak. Words never left my lips. He put his hands on either side of my face, pulled me towards him, and placed a gentle kiss on my lips. When we stopped kissing, I gazed into his eyes that were dark and sparkling with life. Perhaps that kiss came from the magic of the evening, or too many glasses of wine, I didn’t care.

I blurted out, “That was lovely!”

He put his arms around me and we kissed several more times.

“Is someone going to whoop my butt for this?” He playfully asked me as his face came close to mine again.

“No. I am here by myself.” I barely had time to finish my sentence.

We kissed one more time, then his son tugged his arm and he was gone.

I turned to head back to my friends.

“Who was that? Did you know him?” One of the gals had been watching closely.

“No. But I think those kisses will carry me through the rest of this year!” I did not plan on anything further, but for an instant in time, time stood still with the kiss from a stranger. If I had been on time to the event, a proper introduction would most likely have taken place rather than a moment of spontaneity at the end of the night. I may rethink my issues on being on time and go easier on myself!

Getting into my car to head home, I pulled down the visor to see if a kiss had changed me in any way. I had been stressed all week, and now I was giddy and relaxed. The first thing I noticed, one puffy heart earring was missing. I knew it must have fallen off when we kissed and was somewhere back in the yard. Let it be, I thought as I flipped the visor up and cranked my car to leave. Perhaps like Cinderella’s slipper, a handsome prince will find my lost earring, and return it to me someday. My remaining earring is a reminder that at any time something magical can happen to change an ordinary day into one that makes you feel like a princess.

Losing my heart to a kiss of a stranger has made me romantic about life again.

Barbara Barth, CEO of Life

No one really likes getting older, except during your teen years when you want to be old enough so your parents can’t tell you what to do! Now that I have had years of making decisions for myself, I kind of feel nostalgic about the days I didn’t have to think so hard. Having the freedom to do what you want is excellent until you realize the responsibility that comes with it. I love to make my own decisions, but sometimes I don’t make the best ones. Even so, I am head strong and don’t take advice well. I may listen, look like I am paying attention, but most likely I am planning a different strategy in my head, while I am nodding and smiling at you. Now that I am older, the phrase ‘stubborn old lady’ could apply. But, please don’t put me in that category! August is my birthday month and I am feeling older then dirt. I don’t like that.

I am sixty-three years old. There! I’ve admitted it. I don’t lie about my age although this month I have thought about it at length. I’ve looked in the mirror and am not happy with what I see looking back at me. My new plan is to tell people I am several years older and sit back to accept the compliments about how great I look for my age. Then I worry if I tempt fate and someone actually thinks I am that age, I’ll wither on the vine.

The decisions I have made this year on my own, while making me happy, have added so much stress to my life, I am now seeing how my health and looks have responded. Not a pretty picture.

I am very proud of all the work I’ve accomplished this year. I have pushed hard on my goals. I did not listen to anyone’s advice that might have made things easier for me, nor did I think about my health as I dashed head first into my projects. Would I look or feel better if I had? I can’t answer that question. What I do know is that I should have asked myself the question on how my health was holding up during all those late nights without sleep. Or perhaps questioned the unhealthy habit of eating fast food, stuffing burgers and shakes in my mouth, as I drove all over town trying to find treasures for my shop.

Like the White Rabbit I can be found chanting, “I’m late, I’m late.” Usually I am late for everything. Then I tell myself there is no time for anything but fast food. Running in all directions makes for poor planning. I never planned on eating so badly, nor did I plan on gaining twenty-five pounds, and having blood pressure high enough to put me on pills.

Those were the presents I gave myself this birthday after eight months of putting everything else before my health.

I don’t feel sexy this year either. I wonder why?

I stay up late writing on the computer. My sleep habits are a total disaster. Most nights I only have four hours of rest to get me through the next day. I brag to my friends, “I can do more on four hours of sleep then eight.”

I actually do. But the four hours of sleep at night are not doing anything for me.

If this were a story of drugs, booze, and rock n’ roll, the tired, dragged out face staring back at me in the photo would have an exciting story behind it. But my story has nothing exciting behind it, except that I have worked hard and have not taken care of myself.

The phrase sounds so easy, “taking care of myself”. It is not. While I fling myself into everything I try, I can’t seem to get excited about developing a healthy routine. I look after others and give my advice on their well-being, yet I don’t recognize my well-being is not its best.

I know I am older and I accept that graciously. I don’t want to be skinny, for then my face would sag. I do want to look like I’ve slept well and am living the good life I have created for myself. Right now I look like I need a nap. A very long nap.

Somehow in the last few years on my own as a widow, working hard to find myself again, I have lost myself. I am not far off base, but I have missed the ball. I have thrown myself into my life with gusto, but not with common sense of keeping my life balanced.

A photo taken on my birthday this month was a gift I had not anticipated. I looked haggard, tired and, for the first time, realized the weight I’d gained. While not a photo I want to show anyone, it is one I needed to see. It is time for a change.

Will I listen to anyone’s advice? Most likely the answer is no. While older in years, I have the mindset of a teenager who doesn’t want to be told what is best. I hope I have the wisdom gained through years of growing older, to know I need to work on putting my health in first place.

Sixty-four? That’s the next stop on my age train. I love birthdays. I love to celebrate all month long. I do plan for my photo next year to reflect the healthy life style I am starting now. Look for me to post it on Face Book.

‘Reflection’ is defined in the dictionary as ‘careful or long consideration or thought’. I think we all need to take time to reflect on how we lead our lives. Take a look at your own health habits and see if you need to make a change. Don’t wait until your birthday when someone snaps a photo of you that snaps you into reality. Keep those birthdays coming and meet them head on with your most radiant healthy self.

Barbara Barth, CEO of Life

(Illustration Bamforth vintage comic postcard)

Opening a shop in an economy that is so volatile may not have been my smartest move. Or is it? I like to refer to this year as ‘my year of living dangerously’. Opening a business, when so many are going out of business, may be foolhardy. When I look at what I’ve spent, I shudder. I hate to have gone through so much money. But I’d hate it worse not to have done this. I may be poorer, but in many ways I am richer. Some nights I sleep like a baby. Some nights I can’t sleep at all.

Last Thursday night was one of those sleepless ones. I had a nightmare. I dreamt that I totally screwed up my life. What I saw as a vision for my future last December suddenly became the blueprint for my total failure in August. I see signs. Now don’t think of that as a crazy lady remark. My signs are thoughts that tell me, I am supposed to do this. At the moment I think that, I act on it. I act with clarity, hope, and determination to follow my gut. Last Thursday my gut was sick.

I had no plans of opening a shop when I drove to meet my friend for lunch last December. I had been thinking, day and night, about what I needed to do next with my life. Spending all my time marketing my book online, and then having rotator cuff surgery mid summer, made for a very quiet 2010. I wanted 2011 to put me back in touch with people on a personal level.

I parked my van in front of the small row of buildings across the street from where my friend was waiting. While I have been aware these empty buildings were there, I never really noticed them. The buildings were vacant because a development had been planned for the area, but put on hold due to the economy. I hopped out of my van and looked ahead, instead of behind me, where my friend was waiting patiently. I heard her voice, strangely loud, over the noise of the passing traffic, but ignored her. My attention had been sidetracked! I saw the row of vintage buildings and one in particular stood out.

The small shop with its plate glass windows blinded my vision. In that instant my gut told me to rent it. This place would be the new start I wanted for 2011. I watched my reflection in the window and it appeared I was already inside looking out on Main Street. I knew this was the sign I’d been looking for to move forward.

“Be right there!” I swung around and yelled across the street. I reached into my purse, pulled out my cell phone and dialed the number hand written in magic marker on the yellowed paper in the front window.

“Please call me. I want to rent your shop.”

Flipping my phone back in my bag, I ran across the street and laughingly joined my friend.

We took off to our favorite lunch spot. Sitting at the Mexican restaurant, stuffing chips in my mouth faster than I could speak, I giggled like a schoolgirl.

“Called on that shop. Think I am gonna rent it.”

Then I looked at my T-shirt and salsa had dribbled down across my chest, a thin line of orange red, zigzagging across my breast, just where my heart might be. Shit. That was all I thought. Another shirt ruined because I eat like I haven’t eaten in weeks. I dabbed at it with water and kept chatting with my friend.

In my dream Thursday night, I wondered if that streaked salsa that fateful day in December, was another sign, one I missed entirely. Maybe what I thought was a mouthful of salsa gone wrong, dripping on my shirt, was the symbol of blood, on a deal that would break my heart and my pocketbook.

Today I am a drama queen if you haven’t noticed.

I opened that shop last January. I reached out to the community. The community reached back to me. Even though that tiny hub was losing foot traffic quicker than I was losing my money, I followed my vision. In six months I had rented three buildings. I was on the cover of the neighborhood magazine. I am president of the newly started business association. I was at home in a town twenty minutes from my house. I loved everything about my shop and the wonderful people I was meeting.

I guess I was more stressed then I realized from all the months of hard work and money spent. All my worries bubbled up to produce a nightmare larger then life.

I have taken on more then the challenge of starting a business in hard times. I am trying to build a business in an area that is having difficulty rebuilding itself. The area lost its restaurant and several shops just as I moved in. There are a few new businesses that will finally open this month, but for many months it has been only a handful of us trying to pull together and make things work.

I am not financially savvy. Most likely I should not be allowed to handle my own money! I love to give things to others, which does not bode well in a shop that counts on sales to survive. I love to have events, art openings and book signings, but they rarely bring in a cash flow. My shop is about more then the “bottom line” for me. It has become a way of life. It is a gateway for others to join my vision of an art center. It is my hope that while I have my year’s lease on these buildings, at the end of it, the right people will have come along who want to be part of the area and rent there too. Building a vision takes time and patience. How did I run out of both last Thursday?

My dream that night scared me, but not for the reason you might think. That dream was full of fear and doubt and found me in a place I did not want to be. It is good to question what you are doing, even if you follow signs like I do, and feel the universe is leading you. My signs don’t tell me I am making a mistake; they make me feel I am making something bigger than myself. My signs are based on faith I am where I should be. That nightmare, built up because of many things I questioned about myself in the past weeks, rocked my faith. It could have been the beginning of the end for my shop. It certainly drained me of my enthusiasm.

Friday found me moving slowly. A new friend I’ve met since opening the shop came by to visit. We decided on dinner when I locked the door at five. We went back to a favorite Mexican restaurant. We drank Margaritas and stuffed our faces with chips and salsa. I told her about my dream and the salsa on my shirt reminding me of blood. My doubts were still creeping about, as I was my most dramatic self.

“Barbara, you’re just going to have to eat slower.” She looked at me, tossed her head back, red hair flying a little wildly around her face, and laughed. “You’ve done it again!” Then she pointed to my chest.

I looked down and sure enough, salsa spotted my shirt. This time it was not dripping in a jagged line, but the small red splatters almost formed a circle around my heart.

“Do you think that looks like a target?” I couldn’t resist that remark. That mess on my shirt put me in the best of moods. The angst I’d felt since the night of my dream was replaced by the fact I should not eat chips and salsa in public.

Our laughter was so loud I am sure the table next to us thought we’d had too much to drink.

Perhaps one day I’ll learn to slow down when I eat.

I do know I am not slowing down with my dreams.

Driving home I realized that fear can take you to where you need to be, as long as you don’t let it leave you there. My nightmare was my gut telling me I needed to change some things in order to stay in business. Looking at the stars in the sky, with a head cleared by dinner with a friend, I found hope again.

Yes, this is my year of living dangerously, and I intend to enjoy every minute of it. My business will be what it is when the end of the year rolls in. My faith tells me I will figure this out. My nightmare, as vivid as any horror film, was a wake up call that I need make some changes to do things better. Not exactly “business 101”, but for a gal who follows signs, I passed the course.

I am exactly where I need to be for now. Who knows what time will bring. I hear that danger lurks on every corner.

Barbara Barth, CEO of Life

The number one is a curious number to me.  It reminds me I am on my own, just one where there used to be two. Being a single woman again, many days I am focused on the fact that I am no longer part of a couple. It is a habit that is hard to break, when you had a mate for over twenty-five years.  This is not a refection on how I feel about my life now, it is just a simple statement that life is different, and in three years as a widow, I am still adjusting to being on my own. I miss the great things about being a couple and love the new things I am doing as a single gal again. It is my current bi-polar state of mind.

Sometimes I ask myself this question: Am I ready to be part of a couple again? I dated very soon after my husband died, but haven’t dated in over a year. Instead of trying to find a new mate, I found a new life.  I’ve done so well at filling my life, there is hardly time for a man. And yet…it is always in my thoughts. But if I honestly answer the question, my answer would be…not yet…maybe.

But dating is different from being a couple. Do I want to date?

Yes, yes, and yes. Not all the time. But on a Saturday night, I’d like to go out!

Sometimes… I miss flirting. I never meet single men. I can’t flirt with married men. Then I’d be the ONE in trouble. I sleep with dogs, and like that best. Who wants to date me now?

I talk about this all the time to friends. Friends who have mates.

“When you least expect it, someone will appear.” This is the universal answer.

“Well I least expect it now, and no one is appearing!” I like to toss that back in reply.

I watch couples, young and old, and feel a bit of envy. They care for each other. At those times the word ONE annoys me. Not dating, well, it gets on my nerves! I am being silly, or am I? The world is full of two. Noah’s ark had pairs. I am ONE.

On days when this makes me blue, an old tune comes to mind and I hum it.

“One is the loneliest number that you’ll ever do.”

“One” is a song by Harry Nilsson, famous for that opening line above. The song appeared on Aerial Ballet, Nillson’s third album. It is a catchy phrase and melody that is used for more than one thing with the media.

For me it holds only one meaning. I am single again.

I hear excuses from others about meeting someone new.

“Men want younger women.”

Bite me, even if it is true.

“I never want a man around again.”

Never, say never.  Some men are excellent at home repair.

“Someday my prince will come.”

I don’t want a prince to rescue me.

I JUST WANT A DATE ON SATURDAY NIGHT!

Yes, I am mentally still in high school.

But today’s teenagers are probably more mature then I am with this dating thing.

I decided to look up the defination of ONE.

I meet my nemisis at the online dictionary.

ONE

• The number, represented by the symbol 1, being the first in a series, or number 1 in what you do.
• Being a single entity, unit, object, or living being: “one of a kind” “she is the best one.”
• Characterized by unity; undivided: “spoke with one voice”.
• Distinct from all others; only; unique “no one quite like her”
• Eminent beyond or above comparison, as in “she’s one girl in a million”
• Indefinite in time or position; “will come one day”
• ‘At one’, in a state of agreement or harmony.

As I see it, the word “one” makes you special, lets you be in harmony with others, and brings hope of things to come one day. Not a bad word when you see it clearly.

Change is hard. Old habits linger. Going from a pair to just one, no matter what the circumstances were, is life altering. It can also be life affirming, depending on how you handle it. Take that little word “one”. It can isolate you and bring you loneliness, or you can remember how special you are, “no one is quite like you”.  It is a small word, but how you let it define you, is huge.

Today I am “at one” with the universe. Life is good.

My mother tells me “I am one in a million”. Pretty cool.

“You are one of a kind!” A new friend is kidding me after learning I have five dogs. I am assuming this is a compliment.

My date “will come one day”, when I least expect it. Or he won’t, and I’ll be happy doing my thing, without having to answer to anyone.

Number one is not the loneliest number, as the song implies. It is the start of a long list of things you can be on any given day! Being “one” is what makes you special. Remember that next time you sing the blues.

As for me, and a Saturday night date…pssst…if you have a younger brother, call me!

Barbara Barth, the CEO of Life