This is from Pam at The Brat Factor

Whenever you think your well being is dependent on the
behavior of others, you lose your power. The other day
I felt I needed an apology from my husband and when it
wasn't forthcoming I went into sulk mode. After a huffy
night's sleep and a semi-masochistic workout, it hit me!
Wait a minute, I hate sulk mode, and my life is too
fabulous to play in Sulksville. For what? To wait for
my husband to apologize? I know my husband, and I KNOW
he was not happy with his frustration in a circumstance
that he ended up aiming at me. I KNEW he was sorry. So
why did I need to hear him tell me he was sorry? True it
does our hearts good to hear a heartfelt apology, but our
feeling better should never depend on an apology.

If someone hurts your feelings, it's really their problem
for being hurtful. And if they don't apologize it's their
problem for not being able to apologize! It's only your
problem if you let your feelings be hurt. It's only your
problem if you have to have an apology to get on with life.
The funny thing about my epiphany is that I shared it with
my husband. I told him that I knew he was truly sorry for
his little temper outburst and that he is such a love most
of the time (he probably displays a quarterly outburst on
a bad year) that he need never worry about apologizing to
me EVER. He said, "You mean you've granted me an apology
free life with you?" "Yes siree!"

Now here is the amazing thing that happened: he actually
apologized three times during our conversation. Once I made
it very clear that I did not need an apology, it freed him
to give not one, but three! I think there's a bigger lesson
in this. When EVER we are in needy mode it is harder to get
what we need. When we are free of needing and just know all
is well, then all is well!
Pam

Project #4 of 78 Things to Do When You Are 78

Take a Music Bath.

Take a long soak in a hot tub, and wash away your tension. A shower is fine, for getting the body clean, but when the spirit needs cleansing, nothing beats a warm, luxurious drawn-out bath.

You may not have thought about a bath as a Pleasurizer, but this is no ordianry, hasty tubbing.
1. Plan to spend at least thirty minutes in the tub.
2. Let the message machine take any calls.
3. Put on your favorite music-to-tub-by in a nearby room. Have a tape or CD ready for this purpose. If you don't have an appropriate CD, sing or hum yourself a tranquil tune.

Oliver Wendell Holmes thought the music more essential than the water. He said, "Take a music bath once or twice a week...you will find that it is to the soul what the water is to the body." Most high-stress persons who have discovered this way of pleasure, prefer both--water and music--in combination.

When the world is too much with you and you feel like throwing in the towel, get out your thickest, most absorbent one instead--and run yourself a music bath. Even the small waterfall sound of the tub filling is a de-stressor!

Add candles and scent, bubbles, from dishwashing liquid, are good, bubble bath, a rubber duck if you like, or a book, a folded up towel to support your head. All this to brighten your life as they lighten your load.

Project #3 of 78 Things to Do When You Are 78

Clean Your Iron.
If your iron leaves dull brown marks on your clothes, don't toss it out, clean it. Here's how:
Steam holes. If the steam holes are clogged, mix 1/2 cup white vinegar with 1/2 cup water. Pour into iron. Plug in iron and set it on "steam." Hold in air horizontally, and let steam evaporate completely.
Faceplate. When iron is cool, wipe the faceplate with a wet sponge with either a squirt of dishwashing detergent, a sprinkle of baking soda or a splash of rubbing alcohol. For deep cleaning: If iron has nonstick faceplate (such as a SilverStone dark-gray coating) warm it slightly, then unplug. Rub wadded wax paper over the warm faceplate. For irons without nonstick faces, gently rub with extra-fine steel wool. Cathy Garrard

Project #2 of 78 Things to Do When You Are 78

Project #2 Make a Gift Basket

There is no better way to cheer someone (including oneself) up who may be temporarily under the weather than with a pretty basket bursting with tempting, healthful fresh fruit. Along with nature's ready-to-eat snack foods, with their bright colors and restorative powers, tuck in some fresh flowers and a good book. For someone convalescing or going through a rough patch, this basketful of good wishes may be just what s/he needs.

1. If you choose a basket with a handle, wrap ribbon around it, securing flowers to handle by tying them with bows.
2. Line basket with about 4 sheets of crumpled tissue to form soft bed to cradle fruit on bottom.
3. Place larger, firmer, or less fragile fruit on bottom of tissue-lined basket to avoid bruising more delicate fruit.
4. Wrap smaller or more delicate fruit such as grapes and strawberries in some tissue paper.
5. Arrange fruit in gift basket to take advantage of their colors and shapes for the most attractive presentation.
6. Carefully place book with gift card into basket so that it will not damage fruit. Wrap in cellophane to deliver.

PROJECT: 78 THINGS TO DO WHEN YOU ARE 78

Inspired by the book 60 things to do when you are 60, I am going to do blog spots on 78 things to do when you are 78.

So here is Project #1: Adopt a highway, (don't use a sign). Just walk your walk with a plastic bag and pick up trash along the way, to deposit in your garbage at home, and then do wash your hands, and I don't do this but probably one could wear gloves. I am enjoying myself scavenging over a one and a half mile, now pristine, roadway. It's fun, you can be a bag lady in your own time. Don calls me the bag lady with a Burberry scarf.

An Essay from the book, SIXTY THINGS TO DO WHEN YOU TURN SIXTY

Novelist Cynthia Thayer is the author of Strong for Potatoes, A Certain Slant of Light, and A Brief Lunacy. She teaches fiction writing workshops...She spins yarns of all kinds and dyes them with indigo and madder from her garden, and lives with her family on their coastal organic farm in Downeast Maine. This is her essay for the book, Sixty Things to Do When You Turn Sixty. I found it to be an inspirational "hoot."

When I turned 60, I threw a big party with a live jazz band and lots of great dancing, and I knit myself a very long indigo sweater because I wanted something warm between my ass and a cold seat. But the best thing I did, with my yarn spinning group, was to produce a calendar filled from cover to cover with naked women and multicolored yarns in a celebration of the "art of handspining and the ageless beauty of women."

I've heard it said that when we turn 60, we won't care what other people think, perhaps because our parents will be either dead or too old to care what we do. That's not quite true. We still care, but the emphasis has changed from coworkers who are competing with us for seniority and responsibility because we're trying to get to the top of the ladder and that next door neighbor who thinks our lawn is too straggly, to friends we choose to be involved with.

Our spinning group gathers every Wednesday at someone's house laden with cookies and pickled beans and spinning wheels and bags of colored carded fleece to spin. During our yearly retreat, we were lounging in a hot tub sipping wine, discussing wool, breeds of sheep, dyeing silk, the state of the world, and getting old, when my friend Susanne came up with the zany idea of producing a naked spinners calendar, replete with soup recipes and hints for choosing a fleece and filled with glorious socks and sweaters, to help finance our trip to Ireland. As our plans developed, we decided to donate a percentage of the money we made to breast cancer research. We threw ourselves into this project that ultimately transformed our lives.

Our first session began with a glass of merlot and great hesitancy on the part of some. Our last only needed a shout of "everybody ready?" to begin a ceremonial tossing of all manner of clothing out of the camera's range amidist sounds of laughter.

Thirty women living on the rugged coast of Maine decided to take the leap. Doug, a photographer friend, took pictures of us walking hand in hand across a field, our assorted bottoms peeking out from beneath blue and purple and green colored patterns of handspun, handkint sweaters. Another picture featured nine naked women, fanned out, prostrate on the grass, our glorious socks touching, our bare bums forming a dazzling array. One in our midst wanted to do the shot but didn't want to disrobe. I believe it was at that moment when we said, "Oh, please, join us; sure, wear your clothes," that I felt I had arrived at a point that I would care only what people I loved and respected thought of me.

We continued doing "shoots" of shearing sheep on a nearby island and slogging our spinning wheels through a mud-rutted woods road, naked and loving it. We spun en masse at the edge of the sea from baskets of fleece, our wheels perched on rocks and seaweed-strewn sand, our fingers silky smooth from the lanolin. Striped knee-high socks, a magenta angora hat, and sturdy rugs dyed with indigo and goldenrod from our gardens enhanced the rugged Maine coast with the au naturel women of the Wednesday Spinners. We knit in a line on our porch from baskets of brightly dyed yarns and piled into our horsedrawn sleigh buck-naked on a snowy December day.

We were featured on CNN, in The Sun and the New York Daily News, on FOX news and even Japanese radio. We sold almost 20,000 copies of the calendar, and letters poured in from all over the world praising our courage and spirit. And yes, we did go to Ireland.

Sure, it's easy to take off your clothes when you're young and confident with perfect skin and a size ten body. And then there are those years in between when it can be dreadfully difficult. But when you're 60 or 70 and covered with sags and wrinkles and scars and rolls, it becomes easy again when you're with people who cherish your ideas and your beauty, both inner and outer.

No, we don't reflect the American standard of what women are supposed to look like. But who does? A few select models? The Hollywood elite? We are who we are . We are a group of women who love spinning wool, knitting, weaving, crocheting, and ourselves. We are crones. We are the wise ones. If we happen to be spinning on one of the offshore islands and the weather is hot, we throw off our clothes with abandon and include one or two who have waded in with shorts and a T-shirt in our laughter and our splashing. We have learned to be different. And we don't care what other people think, except for those whom we respect.

Sixty is a time for wearing purples and greens together, for shaving our heads if we want to, for spinning madder red yarns full of gold threads, for knitting a sweater that hangs down to our knees, for laughing 'til our sides ache, for spreading our love of being different to the younger generation, for frolicking in the waves with our friends until our skin is numb, for creating our own triathlons, for hiring a rock band and boogying 'til we drop. It's a time to change professions or paint our toenails ten different colors.

And 60 is a time of surrounding ourselves with friends who will love us whether we make fools of ourselves or wear clothes that don't match or fail at our latest creative project. It is also a time for showing our grandchildren and the children of the world that it is good to follow the road less traveled, the one that's grassy and wants wear, and that we will love them and support them on their journey.