Things I’m Not Good At

Life Is A Round Egg

Thursday, May 14th, 2009

My ex-husband Ken, has given me total permission to say anything I want about him on this blog. Is he crazy? Or, was he drinking when he said it? I can’t remember, so that’s good enough for me, I will just imagine that he said, ‘yes’ while he was in his right and usual mind.

Ken is Summer’s dad. He is also known as Bumpa to our grand kids, Lexi and Loch.

Ken is going to build me a chicken coop. I have it in my mind that I want three red laying hens: Stella, Lolly and maybe Louise.

Ken asks me how soon do I want this coop. I say, “Right now. Immediately. I have already met my new chicken friends at the Diamond D Feed Store.”

We work out the perfect spot on my property. It’s almost under a giant scrub oak tree.

Ken paces out the size, raises one of his arms in the air and says, “The nesting boxes are just past my armpit.”

Then, he goes home.

He emails me several days later. “When I drive by in a few days on my way to my house in the desert, I’ll pick you up and take you to the desert hot springs.”

I email back and say, “No. I have a better idea. When you come by let’s go up to Ransom Brothers hardware store and get all the materials to build the chicken coop. Then we will come back to my house and build it. My chickens are waiting.”

Mother’s Day comes around and Ken is here at my house, babysitting our grand kids while my mother, my daughter Summer and four sisters and a woman friend, lunch and party.

Bumpa takes babysitting seriously. He sits on a chair near the end of the patio and watches the kids make mud pies, just beyond the metal gate. For hours. He watches the kids like an interested guard dog.

Meanwhile, a few drinks into the outdoor brunch, my daughter Summer mentions that another scrub oak’s arms are too far into part of my patio.

“Mom, no one can walk through here. We need to cut those branches out.” (more…)

Mother Reads Venus’ Tea Leaves. Oh My!

Tuesday, February 3rd, 2009


My Mother

My Mother (At 86 years old her teeth are real)



It’s 85 degrees on my mother’s porch. My mother and I are sitting here in lawn chairs, sweltering and sticky even though we have the silver awning rolled out overhead.

My mother is dressed in her loose orange wool pants (worn backwards, I notice) and a long sleeved fleecy top that matches nothing in her eclectic closet. She wipes her forehead with the back of her hand. 

“It’s so hot,” she says. “I’m so hot. It’s hard to remember that it’s winter.”

I suggest she take off all the winter clothes she’s wearing and find a pair of shorts. She ambles off to do so.

I’m hot, too. My jeans grab my legs like a pair of hot hands and my short sleeved blouse just isn’t short enough. I reach under it, un-hook my bra, then slide another hand up my sleeve and pull the bra completly off. Ahhhh! Comfort.  I kick off my shoes and sling the bra to dangle over the porch railing. This is how I lose so many of my bras and shoes. I forget where I leave them.

We have a pot of hot steeping tea and two cups on the glass table in front of us. I have come to chat with my mother and apparently, to also have my leaves read. My Mother is a wonderful tea leaf reader. She sees amazing things and the woman is always right. She is spot on and she is nice about it. If she sees something that an ordinary person thinks is disgusting, my mother makes them feel like they are really lucky and indeed, they are.

Mother shuffles out of the house and onto the deck. She’s now wearing her blue see-through plastic garden shoes with socks, a pair of old stripped shorts from the 1950’s and yet another blouse that doesn’t go with anything in her closet.

She sits, ‘kerplunk!’ in the chair next to mine.

“I have to practice reading leaves,” she reminds me, “because you Venus, set me up to read leaves at the Historical Society Tea! I hope I can still remember how to do it. So, I’m going to practice on you, Venus.”

“I’m not worried,” I say. “You have the talent and you can’t lose that, even though you are Profoundly Deaf.”

Mother has been labeled ‘Profoundly Deaf” by the local hearing specialist and she does indeed have a difficult time hearing anything, but she can always hear when I whisper something about her to my sisters! We find this very puzzling, but then my mother can do many things that are out of the ordinary. She could grow gnat wings and fly over the porch railing if it struck her to do so.

Today, we sip our black tea rather quickly because even though we have dressed down it is still darn hot on the porch.

I pour most of the dregs of the tea into my saucer, then swish the leaves around in my cup with the rest of the tea and hand the china cup to my mother. I wait with high anticipation as Mother peers into it. 

Generally, I get a reading that goes something like this: “You have many ideas and are building many things. You’re taking off. You have some new job idea. There’s lots of money in your cup!”

Sometimes I get a long silence and then an, “Ah Oh.”

That’s when I start to sweat.

I used to get more exciting cups, filled with lovers and sex appeal but I have toned down a bit through the years and generally have my thoughts and actions now on so called ‘Higher Enterprises.’ Duller maybe, but higher.

Today, my mother slings me a zinger.

“Well. There you are Venus. Riding a wild horse! And look! There’s a big wedding bell over your head and you’re trying to get away from it. It’s like you want to get married but you really don’t. You’re still too wild to marry some man. You’re a wild one and none of them have been able to tame you.”

Gulp. Bam. My mother hits the truth of the matter. 

I haven’t been married for at least twenty-five years. I’ve been asked many times but I never can say ‘yes.’ Sometimes I think I want to, but I just can’t bring myself to choke out an ‘OK, good idea.’

Even lately, strangely enough,without dating them, I have had several marriage proposals and I think, ‘My, these are darling men and now that I am older and getting even older, wouldn’t it be nice to be all settled down and have a secure life and no more dating ever again?’

But, I just can’t do it. I try, but I just can’t do it. Maybe if I could marry two of them? Or three? That might work.

Even when I was a little kid I always thought I wanted to have two husbands. At once.

Or, maybe I can work out a deal where I know several or more men who adore me and I can see all of them and that will be OK with each of them?

My grandmother did that. My father’s mother was a model in New York with a waist that a man could put his hand’s around. She dyed her hair red and smoked cigarettes when only ‘bad’, ‘wild’ women did those things. She married my grandfather, a wealthy man, thirty-five years older than she was. 

My father remembers how when he was a little kid, “Momma was almost kidnapped by White slavers. We were walking down a street,” he used to tell us, “when a long, black limo pulled up beside us and a woman and two men jumped out. They grabbed Momma and tried to drag and push her into the car! Momma and I were screaming and screaming and Momma was fighting and somehow she was able to slip out of her long mink coat and she got away. We both ran screaming down the street. Momma always said it was the White Slavers trying to kidnap her because she was so beautiful!”

Momma always echoed my father’s story, with a “Yes! It was the White Slavers and they used to kidnap beautiful women and those women would never been seen again!”

Momma also had a constant and steady round of lovers. She preferred doctors and she would move them into the house with her, my father and his father, Poppa. My father said he could never understand why Poppa put up with Momma’s lovers, especially living in the same house, but he did.

When I knew her in her 70’s, Poppa had died and she was married to a much younger man, a fellow with slick black hair, who we called Uncle Bob.

When it appealed to her, Grandma would hop up on our kitchen table and do the grinding Tahitian Hula, the one where you bump your hips in mad gyrations. She also liked to belt out a song called ‘Sam, Sam The Lavatory Man’, but no matter how much we kids begged, she would never finish the song. “Your father won’t let me,” she would say piously.

Poppa had an interesting background, too. His father and his many uncles were Real Gun Slingers. They lived and died by the gun. They also had a habit, in their 80’s, I’m told, of leaping onto their horses. This is how my great grandfather eventually met his death. Close to 90, he leaped onto his horse, miscalculated and flew completely over the horse, hit the ground and broke his hip. The break eventually killed him.

I’m thinking about my genetics as I reflect on my current tea leaf reading. I look at my mother. Her mother didn’t marry until she was thirty-five. 

“Why should I get married?” my grandmother said to me. “Just because women are supposed to get married?”

When she did marry, she married a younger, very handsome man, (and younger men weren’t being done at the time) and then she drove a model T across the country, wearing jeans, (which also wasn’t being done by young women at the time!)

Now, I sigh. I think my way of thinking is just in my blood. It may be genetic and it’s hard to change the genes. It’s impossible, actually, to change a person’s Real Nature which is why, by the way, women should stop trying to change men. It’s not possible and it just wears one out. Give it up now if you’re guilty and you’ll save yourself some suffering that you don’t need.

My mother looks over at me and maybe she is reading my mind. We do that in this family.

She is trying to soothe me.

“I think you might eventually get married but you would have to feel the same way about some man, that these various men feel about you.”

She looks at me; peers at me, really.

“It’s getting kind of late in the day,” I say.

“Well, what about me?!” Mother says. “It’s a lot later in the day for me than it is for you.”

And, then she rifts off into why she doesn’t want to marry The Old Friend David or Skip The Much Younger Man or the Suitor Who Just Died, which I remind her is a given, that it’s to late to marry that one..

And as for You Out There; my friends. Think about it; man or woman, what is your Real Nature? 

When we’re young, most of us tend to go along with what our culture says we should do and be and think, which means that we’re sometimes locked  inside a little family house, intently blowing on hot oatmeal for the kids when we should be sitting outside in a long green field, naked, wearing big ruby necklaces and eating crepes while someone plays the violin for our amusement.

I think it’s time I just finally accept my genes and My Nature and see if I can ride the Wild Horse forever, perhaps just always a pace ahead of the ringing wedding bell.

Or not?

Please go to the COMMENT’S SECTION and tell us this: If you could just have it YOUR WAY, how would you do it? I mean, really? How would you do it? Take all the rules off your life and really look and see who is there and what it wants. Hey! Your sufferings may be over!! Maybe you have been suffering all this time because you have been trying to live your life in opposition to your Real Nature and you didn’t even know it.


*FLOWDREAMING TELECLASSES FOR *LOVE AND *MONEY! I will be doing MY MOTHER’S LOVE MOJO during the Feb 14th LOVE  class. The Money and Prosperity Class is Feb. 7th.  To read about the classes and how they work to BRING GOOD THINGS INTO YOUR LIFE…or to sign up for a teleclass, please go to Space is very limited.



During each live radio show I will be pulling at random, a name from my list of email addresses that you have sent me via my website. (See ‘Free sessions and More’) My show is “The Dear Venus Show,” every other Weds at 9AM Pacific/Noon eastern. You can listen to the show in the Archives BUT the offer will be valid for only one week from the time of the live show.


FOR INFORMATION ABOUT PHONE SESSIONS WITH VENUS  please see:  and look for “Rates” on the Home Page


*WINNER OF TODAY’S BLOG DRAWING; A FREE 15 MINUTE PHONE SESSION WITH VENUS IS:  *Niki Giannini. Offer valid through Feb.9th, 2009. After that, null and void.

The Looong Days in Lotus Land

Tuesday, August 12th, 2008

This sets the scene:
There are two kids who are two and five years old, two young very energetic cats and one fish. I am at my daughter’s house at the coast, in Lotus Land where the climate is perfect and the sun shines smartly and the fog drifts from the sea over God’s Lucky Sun Tanned People.
I am baby-sitting for fifteen days while my daughter Summer and her husband are in Australia.

DAY 1, Wednesday:
Lexi who is five, screams and screams and clutches her mother as she and her dad are leaving to catch the plane.
“No matter what happens!” she chokes out, “no matter what happens, I will always, always love you. No matter what happens!”

Summer and I exchange looks over Lexi’s head. Summer has had anxieties about the long trip and the long time away from her kids. She has mentioned that two year old Loch has told her over and over how much he loves her, which he has never done before.

I have told her to take a Xanax and relax but she hasn’t and is leaving ‘cold turkey.’

The back yard is torn up and has been for months. Summer has told the handsome, young contractor who formally worked for my sister Candy, that he must have everything completed and set back to rights by Friday “as my mother is an older grandmother and she has anxieties. If you doubt that, just ask her sister.” !

When I strenuously object to this verbal picture of me, she says, “Oh Mom, I just want to make sure that he cleans up everything like he said he would.”

Later, Lexi sleeps with me in the big bed and the two new cats race over us all night, only pausing to bite our toes and grab out legs with their claws.

DAY 2, Thursday:
Loch has had diarrhea ‘like water’ for a number of days and thank heaven, it finally slows. Both kids eat all day long like wild horses.

Summer arrives in Australia and emails, “We’re having a wonderful, relaxing time. I should have used that Xanax you gave me when I really needed it.”

Aside from the cats keeping us up much of the night, Lexi is still demanding that I wear pajamas and not wear a nightgown to bed.
I wear the nightgown.

“BaBa, do you have underpants on under that?”


“Then, I can’t sleep with you! You know how I am! I will have to sleep on top of the covers!”

“Fine. Do that.”

DAY 3, Friday: Loch comes up to me and announces, “I have a big poop.”
Indeed he does. The diarrhea is entirely finished. His mother will be so pleased with The Big Poop News.

There is much screaming and loose ‘fits’ by the kids all day and refusals to eat the foods we have in the house.

There is much excitement for Loch in the early morning when the ‘Big Cement Truck’ comes to pour concrete in parts of the back yard. Loch notes over and over, “All the hard working men!”

At lunch, he refuses to eat “The Man Soup,” I offer him. I realize later he has misheard ‘minestrone soup.’

I am trying to get a bit of rest from the constant chaos when Lexi tells me she has accidently locked us out of the office where I have my computer which is my link to her mother, in Australia.
I hunt for and find every key in the house. The last key unlocks the office door.

I step barefoot on one of Loch’s hard plastic spiky toys and fall against the couch. As I limp away, I teach Loch and Lexi a new word for their vocabulary.

Everyday is punctuated by constant storms of emotion by both children, and me. We are all trying to adjust.

My sister Polly is having a birthday party. Her birthday falls on 8-08-08 and it is a big, prosperity celebration. I am not there. It would be too hard to pull the kids all together between Loch’s nap, his dinner and bedtime and drive two hours, total. I am sitting at the table with two kids refusing to eat what I have made for dinner while cats careen around and over me.

My family calls from the party where I hear everyone laughing and shrieking with joy and they tell me what a fabulous time they are having. The kids are crying and I start to cry.

DAY 4, Saturday:
I escape with the kids to my home in the mountains!
We’re visiting my mother; sitting outside on her porch, drinking ice tea. Mom suddenly shouts and jumps in her chair. I look and there is a large, triangularly shaped, green beetle hanging off one of her eyebrows. I quick, brush it off her eyebrow and it flips into her white hair where it burrows and kicks around. There is much head flapping and shouting before the beetle disentangles itself and flies on.

Wheew. That was fun.

The kids, meanwhile are eating from a bag of chips that they have found on my mother’s kitchen table. I remark that eating chips is a treat for them.

Mom says, “Oh. I had that bag on the deck table here and the squirrels chewed a big hole in the bag and were burrowing inside it for and running off with the chips.”

I go and collect the bag from Loch and Lexi.

“We won’t be telling your mother about this,” I tell the kids.

DAYS 5 and 6 and 7:

We are back at the coast and I have decided not to bore you with the daily report. I think you get the drift.

I clean the cat box every day, fend off cats at night, I never get enough sleep, I listen to lots of screaming from both kids and big ‘NO’s’ from the two year old. I deal with poop and pee and wash lots of clothes, fix meals that no one approves of and try and keep the house cleaned up. We three sometimes go off and ‘do things’ in the big world, but that isn’t easy.

There are eight days left of the same.
Actually, I hope it will be the same. Everybody is healthy! We’re all falling into a routine. I am lucky to be spending time here with my grandkids and at the lovely coast. I know I will miss all of it when I am back, alone, in my own house! I will wish I could hear all the screaming and the complaints and the general fun of living with a two and five year old who are the most beautiful and the smartest and the most brilliant of any children I have ever known. Aside from their mother, of course.
Offer good through Aug 14th, 2008. After that, null and void

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