We should all be aware that people don’t hear things until they’re ready to hear them. It came as quite a surprise to me a day or so ago when I heard, for the “first time,” that we all have to have a purpose …. a reason for getting up in the morning. This time I really heard it.

 And I have to admit that it is very, very hard for me to get out of bed in the morning. I love being in my bed. It’s a Flo Bed and everything that they claim a Flo Bed to be. I’d rather be there than anywhere else on Earth. I’ve tried to restore my need for a cup of coffee when I wake up, I’ve tried to develop a desire for tea, or food, or to see what’s on TV. Nothing seems to work.

 When I finally got the message about purpose, I realized that that is missing in my life. I have to find a new purpose. I hope that this is not discouraging to all of you people who are younger than I am – which is almost everybody. But it is true. Real estate is not serving me as a purpose for being here.

 I had given quite a bit of thought already to the fact that old people used to have a purpose. They served younger people. They were looked to (even looked up to) to share their knowledge and experiences. They filled a need in society; some were even called wise ones. Well, you know what happened to that.

 Google came into being. It’s right at your fingertips, it’s very fast, it’s free, and it knows everything. Old people rarely, if ever, have that advantage. So why in the heck are we living longer than ever before – without purpose? I guess we have to outsmart Google. For me that would be to talk about astrology and relationships, the stuff I’m made of and Google can’t answer.

 I already have a blog or two. We could start there. I could invite readers to ask me questions, things they can’t find out on Google.

 Shall we give that a try? Do you know what sign your Moon is in? Ask Mavis.


I cannot believe that I’m still barking up that same ole tree. It’s like trying to let go of your dominate hand. This is the last item on my “bucket list.” It feels like I can’t kick the bucket without having done this. 

Thirty years ago this month I recorded a one-hour lecture in a Hollywood studio. When that day ended, I felt that I had done what I came here to do. I had been given a gift, and this was a way that I could share it with others.

I had been teaching this theory about the innate differences between men and women for quite awhile. At that time there was not a women’s section or a relationship’s section in public libraries. There were very few audio books in 1981. But I felt that my depth of understanding the subject and my broadcasting background would make a recorded message the best way to go.

It’s a timely message, just as true today as it was then, and has always been. I still have the original reel-to-reel version; I have cassette tapes; and now I have it on CD’s. What’s next? The inevitable. I aim to upload it onto the internet. This time the title will reveal what this is really about. It’s about, “What Women Don’t Know About Men.” And that, of course, is because of what women don’t know about women.

So if anybody knows how to go about uploading an audio message where people will find it, please let me know. I really want to wrap this thing up. As good as it is, I’m tired of it.

Yep, I’ve done it again – partied for a week.  This indulgence all started with my 80th birthday back in 2006. Some of you will remember a three-day party at a beach house near where I live.  It was such a smashing success that we can’t help but trying to replay it.

That year, on my actual birthday, we all dressed up and went to the Mendocino Hotel for a no host party. In other words, the whole event was Dutch Treat. Everybody bought their own drinks. Whenever anyone got hungry they ordered from an adequate bar menu and somebody brought it to their table. No getting ready for a party. No cleaning up after a party. Just being together.

So we did that again this year on my actual birthday, March 22nd. Since friends started arriving in town four days before that, and kept coming and going for days, the hotel gathering was very small but it was wonderful. I had TWO martinis, just to see if I could, and came home feeling that this really is the best way to “throw a party”.

I thought that that was it … but no.  When I went to work Thursday there was this gigantic cake (about 2 x 3 feet in actual size) and I learned that all the local Realtors had been invited to an Open House for ME. And on and on until Sunday night. Sunday afternoon I made my first appearance at a local bookstore and read from “Getting Lucky at Eighty” and then my buddy Michelle took me out to supper.

Monday I stayed home all day and slept.

Frankly, I was much happier being 84 than I am being 85. Silly as that sounds, I really mean it. Aren’t we wierd creatures though?  At 45 I felt sad that I was not who and where I wanted to be. By 60, I’d found me and took this “vow”. I will prefece every decision with: If I knew that I only had one year to live, would I do this?

I recommend that you adopt that habit no matter how old you are. It has saved me from all but two major decisions … when I forgot to ask my self the question .

EDITOR:  Fifty years ago our President, Jack Kennedy, posed the question, “What can I do for my country?” Interestingly enough, beyond serving in the military and paying taxes, there are not too many opportunities to do something for one’s country. Not since working the night shift in an aircraft company in World War II, have I felt more like I was doing something than I do by writing this letter. You’re doing something by reading it and spreading the word.

One would have to be blind not to see that the big corporations of America have already bought us and are now selling us out. They’ve already bought their way into Washington D.C. and are continuing to buy our politicians’ votes. And why not? They’ve actually had the Supreme Court of the land securely in their hip pocket since January of 2010 when the limits for funding political campaigns was lifted.

That was the ultimate decision to treat corporations just like persons, without any of the consequences. That’s what big corporations are doing for their country. They’re moving in like an avalanche. We, THE PEOPLE, can move the mountain.

Move to Amend proposes to amend the constitution, to take away, for once and for all, the myth that corporations are persons. Sign up for Move to Amend. Do something really big for your country.

You know Thelma; she’s been my side-kick on auto adventures whenever we’ve decided to take one.  She’s fearless, loads of fun, and always switching channels. She has more “guts” in her little finger than I have in my whole body.

Very recently, she fulfilled an unfulfilled dream. No dream ever remains unfulfilled for long with Thelma … not until she brings it to fruition.

So she invaded Egypt. She spent two weeks there. I could not resist sending her the following email today.

Dear Thelma,

“I always knew that you were a trouble-maker, but don’t you think this was a little much? You spend two weeks in Egypt and the whole damned country falls apart?”



You will all think that I’m kidding, of course, but it would not surprise me at all to learn that my friend, Shell’s, energy in Egypt, even when leisurely, and gracefully swimming in one of those expansive outdoor pools in a Cairo hotel, carried enough positive, healing, energy to start a revolution.

Can you prove otherwise? There is so much that we don’t know.

Strange that my daughter should ask what the doctor said? I replied that he inspired me to write a new blog. It might aptly be called “FIRST THING IN THE MORNING!” 

When I finally got out of bed this morning, I was amused by the countless things that I’m “supposed to do” every morning. Yesterday’s doctor visit added to those: 1) gargle with hot salt water and 2) use Epson salts packs on the thing on your face.

Already I’m supposed to start the day by stimulating the nerves of my hands and feet with a bath brush (for neuropathy), do 75 scissors and 60 each leg lifts in bed, do isometric stretches with both arms over my head and to each side, get up and go pee, do two exercises against a wall to stretch your feet and calves, drink a tall glass of warm water, use my eye drops, brush my teeth, splash my face thirty times with warm water, moisturize … and then check my email. By now it may be noon. It usually is. 

So now I have to eat something so I can take my new collection of vitamins. (Of COURSE, I cheat. I don’t EAT when I’m not hungry, not for anybody. I don’t do anything that doesn’t feel right. I’m 84.) Three different new vitamins were prescribed when I had those neuropathy treatments recently, all B vitamins, but THREE? So it’s finally happened.

I definitely need that compartmentalized box now to keep my pills straight. I never expected to get this old, but here it is. Only two of them are medications so I feel extremely lucky. I think of the others as maintenance pills and I’m getting to be a very high-maintenance someone to know. I’m not at all sure that I’m worth it.

But the best part of my doctor’s visit last week was this: he checked my ears and volunteered, “I don’t know how you can hear with all that wax in your ears.” 

This set me back a bit because within the month I had been charged $48.00 for an intensive ear examination by a specialist who didn’t even LOOK in my ears. Yet, he was able to determine which pair of hearing aids he would recommend for me and with my insurance company’s contribution, they would only run about $3,200.00, far cheaper than anything else in his catalog. Did I want to order them now?  I’ll bet he lives in an oceanfront mansion and takes sleeping pills to sleep.

So that’s how it goes. See, I told you;  it’s noon already. I love each and every one of you.

It’s official. Tuesday, the 21st, is the Winter Solstice when the diminishing light will make a sudden switch and start bringing us more light every day. The winter solstice is always a welcome gift. 

It finalizes the fall equinox, starting in late September, which has forever dropped us into a three-month period of diminishing light. What that brings, day by day, is the heaviest season of the year: winter. There are sicknesses, suicides, and all kinds of depression because the Sun is our source of life–our energy source, literally.  

When we go to bed Tuesday night a weight will have been lifted off of our shoulders. We’ll feel lighter, more optomistic, more hopeful. And the whole universe  will be moving with those positive thoughts. This is not theory, this is fact.

It is bringing me to a new place, and I hope that’s true for you too. I hope that your past week has been as interesting and beneficial as mine. I’ve driven over 800 northern California miles, seen and spent time with three, precious great-grandsons, shared in the love of their household and had some significant help in the neuropathy that plagues my feet and lower legs.

My first night back home I went to the company party and found myself inside without my cane. I’d fogotten that I have one. Pretty remarkable since for a few short months I have felt that I really needed a cane to walk safely–especially at night and it was night. I’m not saying that I’m cured, but I feel sure that my neuropathy won’t get any worse now. Help is on the way.

That Sun that I talked about just made an appearance, the first one today where I live, and I sent it all the love I could muster. I swear it loved me back; I could feel it.

Happy Solstice, Happy Holidays!

As I turned off the highway and anticipated arriving home to my little abode, the main thing on my mind was gratitude that it would be warm inside. I was chilled to the bone, and I know that people all over the world exist in that miserable state–chilled. How lucky I am to have a warm place to come home to on a rainy day. Being warm is so soothing, so comforting, so healing. 

I flashed back to my morning shower, and how I had turned away from the showerhead and reveled in the feel of warm water on my back and shoulders. What a blessing, to go from a warm bed to a warm bathroom and into a warm shower. 

Being warm or just being in contact with a warm object  is among the greatest feelings on Earth. A blanket that’s been warmed and placed over you  is the only redeeming feature about being in a hospital. You fall in love with the sensitive nurse who provides this simple comfort.

In the same category fall: heating pads, hot water bottles, hot tubs and mineral springs all intended to heal our aches and pains and improve our dispositions. A massage is all about warm hands awakening dormant cells and restoring life all over the body.

I guess if I had to pick a word that comes the closest to paying forward  love, it would be the word warm. So for this whole holiday season coming up I wish you warm!

This should be an interesting post if it makes it past the “publish” button. I’m following an impulse, which I try to avoid, by reacting to today’s Oprah show.  What is it about sex that grabs us and won’t let us go?

Today, Oprah style, she used her unlimited funds and unexcelled clout to out-do herself by displaying Two-Hundred Living Men, all abused and all permanently damaged emotionally. It was her attempt to publically heal them all. She milked them for every tear of sympathy in us, and it was painful to watch.

Frankly, I’m still not sure where I stand on sexual abuse. Never yet, not today or any other day, have I heard on TV the “other” story–the millions of other stories–about what happened to all of the rest of us.  

Forgive me if you can’t admit that this applies to you, but I question whether it is possible to live in a physical body void of sexual urges, responses,  pleasures, guilt, shame, and, above all, unfulfilled desires and unanswered questions. If we were given this, who decided that any expression of it so wrong?

I’ve always felt that my childhood sex life was probably pretty much like everybody else’s. We lived on a farm. There were no boys anywhere around our house except for cousins who came for Sunday dinner sometimes. With them, my sisters and I had favorites. In groups, we paired off and pretended to be on dates and stuff, but never got naked or anything.

But on any given week-day my older sister and I figured out how to play husband and wife and to take turns “being on top” and gratifying each other orally. I remember being puzzled when my very strict parents caught us at it a couple of times and let it pass as if they hadn’t seen it. Wise move.

What is  it about sex that is so forbidden? Am I permanently damaged? Was I abused by a kid almost my same age? I’m not angry with my big sister. I don’t blame her for every shortcoming in my life nor for any of my addictions. I’m not lesbian; I don’t take antidepressants. I think I go with the idea that the alternative, not having sexual arousal at all would be ever so much worse than a typical childhood. Parents have to get their heads out of the sand and protect kids at all costs.


There comes a time when we’ve simply had it with an election invading our privacy. We’ve maxed out from the ugly sounds of it. We have to take steps to save our sanity.  My TV will be silent for the next week.

I think it was the 2008 election going into it’s 18th month that pushed us over the edge with politicians. It’s really pretty funny. While they’re telling us how faithfully they’re going to “represent” us, they’re never at their desks at all, but are getting paid to represent themselves on a street corner somewhere. 

I guess it’s good for the economy, all those millions of dollars being spent while people go hungry all around us. It surely can’t hurt the media. And it’s not new, of course.

Politicians have always lied and been mean-spirited toward one another. But it does seem to me that the standards have changed, that no holds are barred as to false claims, that there are no limits at all. It has begun to sound like one of those toys that you wind up and turn loose. The endless sound of anger and lying is disturbing to the soul. 

So I’ll get back to what little TV I do watch after Tuesday of next week. I’ll vote, of course. I’m an American. If I don’t vote, ethically, I might lose my right to complain.

But, I have to tell you, I no longer expect anything “good for the people” to be coming from our elected “representatives.” Not from any of them. They must start out with the best of intentions, with great hopes of making a difference, and then after the votes are counted, find themselves in such a tight space, they have no options at all.

 Government is like a giant machine – too long operating from a pre-programmed state to be changed by a new face, or a new party. Yet we have to act as if, to get out and vote, and to hold on to the vision that the universe is so much bigger than any one election. Whether or not we can see it, the eternal laws are always working, always winning.

 I’m so glad I’m along for the ride.