"THERAPY WITH MOTHER NATURE"

An Original Collection of Provocative and Powerful Essay's by R. B. STUART. Her Work Begins and Ends at the Crux of Truth, Sorrow and Humor---Capable of Slicing Through Your Psyche and Piercing Your Heart

Reflection 

By R. B. STUART
Post Forty-Seven

"Therapeutic relations with Mother Nature isn't something one thinks of in times of need, sorrow, fear, abandon.

I have had interludes with the rain, a decade long NYC romance with a towering, Central Park Maple tree, laying my bruised Spirit and weary body upon the imbedded centuries of old roots each week. Surrendering my pitiful exsistance, hoping to be absorbed by the earth.

I found healing for a quarter century of grief and sadness with a local pine, and daily therapy sessions with 

a short, lovely lady on my block. I'd whisper my troubles, affirmations and prayers into the veins of her blemish-free hand sized leaves. Thanking her with sweet kisses.  

More humans should take a second look, feel the skin, the ancient bark of those magnificent, wise, peaceful, strong, stoic watchful eyes, scattered along our daily journies.

If one ever needs a trunk to hug, to cry with, a good listener, or a vessel to pour your pain and sorrow, Mother Nature and honing in on a favorite tree is the place to go. 

No pain is too intense, no tears will make them wither, and any fear will be welcomed with steadfastness.

The world is filled with so much confusion and uncertainty these days, the embarrassment of grabbing a tree in your arms is the least of your worries. 

Best of all, they don't judge or charge $300 an hour...."

“Speaking Deutsch with Donny Deutsch”

An Original Collection of Provocative and Powerful Essay's by R. B. STUART. Her Work Begins and Ends at the Crux of Truth, Sorrow and Humor---Capable of Slicing Through Your Psyche and Piercing Your Heart.


BY R. B. STUART
Post Thirty-Eight
Original Interview from 2009 

International ad man (and proclaimed ‘great dancer’), Donny Deutsch morphed into a rapid fire orator, author, Indy film producer and acclaimed talk show host of CNBC’s, “The Big Idea with Donny Deutsch.” Deutsch appeared on the celebrity scene with the debut of his television show by interviewing America's most influential entrepreneurs and business titans. It spawned a new book in January 2009, “THE BIG IDEA: How to Make Your Entrepreneurial Dreams Come True from the AHA Moment to Your First Million.”

 

His life, packed with as many projects as his punchy, straight talking purr---is orchestrated by three assistants from his massive 14th floor, 130,000 sq/ft. Manhattan headquarters, where Deutsch sits as Chairman of Deutsch Inc. As they celebrate their 40th anniversary, the roster of prestigious clients include; Johnson & Johnson, Anheuser-Busch, InBev, DIRECTV, Kodak and IKEA.  

 

The highly secured ad agency saddles two coasts. Since 1999 the West Side Chelsea location has housed a portion of the 1,000 employees, where most dressed in jeans, glide across concrete floors on silver scooters. With terraces wrapping around nearly all four corners of the space, you’re greeted by a receptionist overshadowed by a mammoth brushed steel counter---the DEUTSCH brand illuminated and etched on its façade.

 

The receptionist’s overhead pages echo throughout the exposed HVAC and metal piped ceilings like an airport terminal. The windows of this open, raw design, frames a panoramic view of the city bustling below. Deutsch’s office, no more stately than the other executives, overflows into a private conference room. It’s the epitome of transparency---with the third wall made of glass. And only steps away from Deutsch Commons, a sunken loft size room with a pool table, ping pong, and arcade games where employees gather for lunch, meetings or parties.

 

Deutsch, an impeccably dressed Wharton School graduate favors suits by Tom Ford, wears this day, a pair of jeans with a custom Alfred Dunhill shirt made by Bruno. A Vintage Rolex strapped to one wrist, and beaded, string bracelets on the other. A blend of Bohemia meets affluence for this laid back Queens native whose motto is, “If you want to be successful, surround yourself with people who are smarter than you.” 

 

His father David Deutsch an advertising veteran, began Deutsch Associates in 1969. His tough love approach helped shape his son, at one point firing him and saying, ‘Get the hell out of here and find something you’re passionate about.’ That catapulted him to become a lawyer. Then at 26 years-old Donny forfeited law school to intercept the sale

 

of his fathers company. Over an 18 year period the once identity seeking Deutsch fell in love with advertising, and turned it into a thriving 2.5 billion dollar agency. By  implementing his personal, “leaner, meaner, faster, smarter” philosophy, he transformed the small advertising shop into a five time award winning top 10 agency, which begot 300 million dollars in 2000 when they sold the company.

 

With Donny remaining at the helm, his father advised him early on, ‘do what you love.’ And he continues to….no matter what the occupation. “My father probably had more influence on me than anybody,” Deutsch admitted. “He taught me values as a man and as a business man. And has been a tremendous influence on me as a teacher and mentor. We’re very different in a lot of ways---but also very similar in our overall values.”      

 

In 2004 Deutsch stepped in front of the camera for CNBC and hasn’t looked back. “I tell people if you sell something you have to be prepared to let it go.” So instead, he’s no longer jolted in the middle of the night about ad campaigns but a show idea. “The Big Idea” provides the right amount of inspiration and intuition necessary, to nudge an entrepreneur with a new patent into the marketplace. Deutsch is the motivational catalyst to many peoples ideas and dreams. “One of the greatest thrills I’ve had is when someone comes up to me or sends me a letter and says, ‘I started my business because of the show. It motivated me.’ What a privilege it is to be part of something that literally inspires people and effects their lives,” he conceded. “I don’t think you can hope for anything more in any endeavor particularly in television. I’m very fortunate to be part of that.”   

 

Although his show is currently on hiatus, Deutsch can be seen guest anchoring on CNBC’s “Reports” and “Power Lunch,” with regular appearances on NBC’s “TODAY Show.” As the economy sabotages peoples dreams, they’re less likely to risk capitol on new ventures. But Deutsch says, “The counterintuitive answer is now is actually a good time…if you’ve lost your job or may lose it. Out of the depression a lot of new businesses were started. Because of adversity comes the necessity for new thinking, the models broken so there’s opportunity. We will invent and build our way out of this.”         

 

Deutsch never dreamed his life would unfold as it has, but he always knew he’d be successful. “I felt I had certain gifts, abilities and always believed in myself and owe that to my parents,” he reflects. (He quickly reaches to extinguish his cell phone ring tone of “Alvin and the Chipmunks.”) “Now I look back and say wow, I’ve been pretty lucky.”

 

The Deutsch brand he explained, “Has always been about empowerment, rugged individualistic achievement in terms of going for your dreams and breaking some rules along the way. So I kind of apply the same ethos to everything I do. And I get a kick out of that I’m able to motivate and inspire people.” His trademark candor, bold and funny style has translated well to print, penning his first business motivation book in 2005.  

 

 

While he has become a brand he isn’t thwarted by it. “You can argue it…a good brand is not for everyone. But there is a core of set values (clearly defined) and if you’re in touch with your value system and stay true to those, I don’t think there’s a downside,” Deutsch remarked.

 

Whether at his Park Avenue apartment or East Hampton home, when he has downtime Deutsch loves being with his girls. “It’s clearly my favorite thing. Second place would be out to dinner with friends. They’re the greatest therapy. Sitting two hours with people you enjoy….laughing and having a drink. I find that a real joy.”

 

As a father of three daughters, “I so enjoy being a Dad---I love it,” Deutsch beamed. “I call it little people management. Managing is all about empathy and trying to understand the needs of the other person. Kids are very simple, they thrive on tons of love, structure, safety and fun. It comes natural to me because I had a great teacher, my father. On a scale of 1 to 10 he’s 100.” His father, now 80 years-old. “Is my greatest supporter, a fantastic artist and sharp as a tack. I should be like him at 80.”

 

The best aspect of being Donny Deutsch he says is, “If you’re lucky enough to achieve a level of stature, ascertain some money and notoriety---there’s tremendous access and opportunities that comes with that.” But he doesn’t rest on his laurels, Deutsch serves on the Executive Committee of University of Pennsylvania's School of Social Policy & Practice, and the Board of Directors for the Michael J. Fox Foundation for Parkinson's Research.

 

In 1992 he tasted politics for the first time as the lead member of the Clinton/Gore communications team. It sparked rumor of Deutsch running for NYC mayor, but he scoffed, “I’ve talked about it but I don’t think I can…I’m a little too crazy---nothing horrible---just a lot of women---nothing that’s not fun.” (He is single and twice divorced, his manager sitting in rolled her eyes at his candor.) “What are you rolling your eyes at it’s no secret,” he jested. “In France it would be a political platform.”

 

He noted, “Amongst my many weaknesses, my biggest strength is public speaking. I find I’m able to inspire people and am very lucky it’s a gift I have. Hopefully in 10 – 20 years I’ll be utilizing it whether in philanthropy, on the media side or business, somehow they’ll understand it and be enthralled by it.”

 

In the coming years Deutsch says we as a society have to start looking at ourselves in a different way. “And start behaving differently whether it’s not being gluttonous consumers to not trying to kick the worlds ass anymore and play nicer. We’re going through a change as a society---finding where we fit, in the world.”

©  COPYRIGHT 2016 All Rights Reserved. No Reproduction Without Permission. STUART ROAD MEDIA

 

 

“Fashion Crash: When Clothes, Loss and Car Collide”

An Original Collection of Provocative and Powerful Essay's by R. B. STUART. Her Work Begins and Ends at the Crux of Truth, Sorrow and Humor----Capable of Slicing Through Your Psyche and Piercing Your Heart.

By R. B. STUART
Part Twenty-Eight


Several years ago my mother suffered her second stroke, then in 2002 the 73 year-old widow had a third relapse. It rattled my existence and I began to ponder my 13 years in New York City, my childhood, and the possible loss of my mother. I reached an understanding; that in order for me to have a quality and healthy life---I'd have to rescue my mother, my own life, and leave New York. I knew I could always have NY but would never have another mother, so I'd forfeit my life in the city as I knew it, and move in with her where she spent the last thirty years of her life in New Hampshire.

In taking care of her disintegrating body I'd assist her as she made the transition to death. All the while I still bartered with God that she'd recover from this one as she did the other two. My heart and mind were split as I listened to her yearn for the days as a teenager drinking bottles of Pepsi-Cola and eating Devil Dogs through puffs of oxygen.

Reminiscing about her long swims in the cool ocean waters of Gun Rock Beach in Hull, Massachusetts. Mentally I knew she'd eventually die from refusing food, but in my heart I couldn't fathom the loss of my one and only---Mother. Yet, there was still so much I hadn't achieved in my life that I needed her to be around for. After all, I owed her the happiness of seeing me marry a wonderful man, that is after I found one, become a successful author, and buy a beach house where she would live with me while I write---a German Shepard patiently curled by my feet.

But in the six weeks that followed she died. As her life had unexpectedly ended---mine began. I bought my first car a 1992 Volvo and planned my mothers Memorial service. Within months I anticipated my move from NH where I restlessly left as a child three decades before. But during that mourning period I'd experience waves of grief along with periods of acceptance and a sense of well being. With emotions and their unpredictable manner, I felt consumed by the darkest moments. At midnight driving quietly along still country roads listening to a Dean Martin cassette, remembering the old songs that she loved. I pictured her sitting beside me in the car she’d never seen, swaying to the music and singing in unison.

That vision had put me into a tailspin of sorrow and grief. I missed her so. Riding down the blackened, barren roads howling in pain like a lone fox caught in a trap--no one to rescue her in the deep of the night out of the cold, dark woods. Suffering---the ache tightly gripped my head. The forceful well of tears burst from my heart---draining months of sorrow from my eyes. Sleep was the only remedy. It takes me back to Mum, and our family as it should be…

When I resuscitate myself from the tidal wave of pain, my memory ponders the last three years of her life….. The second stroke left her with left side paralysis and wheelchair bound, spending her final five years in a seated position. It reduced her sense of fashion and delight of shopping to elastic waist – wide legged pants sufficient for her leg brace. She wore clothes we thought would look good on her, as apposed to her choosing her own wardrobe.

The wheelchair made her extremely self-conscious producing a homebound shame that crippled her self-esteem. Her social life had diminished, her comfort came from a "pet" bowl of ice cream or chocolates. It took several years of cajoling when I'd come home for a visit just to attend family gatherings. She'd defy me and whimper with self-pity, "No one wants to see an old lady in a wheelchair." I'd reason, "No one is looking at you in your wheelchair. Do you stare and talk about people you see in a wheelchair?" “No,” she'd answer, pouting in defeat as she'd pivot from her recliner into her mobile metal chair.

Finally after four years of my drill sergeant methods to get her out of the house, she sulked when the transport service van drove us to Physical Therapy because afterwards we’d go on foot to the mall. She hadn't been in a store since the stroke, relying heavily on home health aids and family to shop.

After her PT I wheeled her 5'10 frame down the hill. Because of her pride she never attached the foot rests, it would only amplify her disability to herself and the world, so her long basketball legs were stretched out before her, her metal knee brace peeking out from under her left pant leg. We rolled along the emergency lane of the bypass, trudging up another hill when it began to sprinkle. She laughed and held her face up to the sky as the raindrops kissed her cheeks. It had been so long since she was out in the rain---like the tin man her caution gave way to ecstasy---filled with glee she shouted repeatedly, "Honey, what an ad-vent--cha!"

I tugged, pushed and pulled her around every bend until Kmart was only a roll away. Out of breath, her legs in cramps, both of us damp from the rain, the automatic doors opened and I let go of the wheelchair. Her feet clad in brown orthopedic Frankenstein shoes dropped to the floor and with her heels pulled herself over to the first rack of clothes she could find. The drunken excitement shown over her face. Childlike awe glazed over her protruding hazel eyes as she marveled and caressed each fabric like it was a babies head. She'd gasp in adoration as each rack of clothes were better than the last. A simple pop into a department store for me---was a life changing event for her. After that landmark day her desire for life began to blossom again.

But as she became psychically disjointed by the silver metal frame with hoola-hoop sized black rubber wheels that flanked her, I eventually felt socially crippled by the car that had been bought to give me freedom. Even though after her death I moved back to the Empire State and lived closer to the beach, the three-ton metal box with four rubber wheels would begin to erode my self-esteem.

It began to cloak my public self, as if putting on an overcoat. I’d adorn my chariot and duck in and out of stores, shielding my lack of make-up behind Armani sunglasses. The rear view mirror the size of a blackboard eraser would reflect the only portion of my body I didn’t mind looking at; my eyes. My lips no longer kissed by a coat of Chanel Star Red lipstick.

When living in NYC walking along the city streets is like strutting on the catwalk of life. Paved with cement sidewalks that glisten like diamonds---you’re on display for the world to see. Your gait, your posture, how you feel about yourself is neatly packaged by your Manalo shoes, Hermes red Birkin bag, 4-ply Burberry cashmere sweater and Chanel scarf---all strategically placed---dripping from your neck, shoulders and arm.

The absence of being on street-display, saddled with using the car to hide…a whiplash of weight gain emerged. While I forfeited walking---the lack of caring for myself trailed behind. Gaining seven pounds a year over the last six years (although not in that order), the newly packed 40 pounds of girth cushioned the blow of feeling unattractive, and the thicker the insulation---the more secluded I became. The outside world mirrored a shame and inadequacy that cloaked me like new lingerie. My stunted sexuality protected by the metal four-door box in which my social persona lives. No longer do I stand erect along the city streets, but seated in a guarded wheeled cage that effectively protects my pride…while I ride.

When you abandon city living---you’re no longer center stage of the style capital---instead your artillery of fashion accessories become abandoned in a darkened closet. The garments are symbolic of the passage of time when they lived amongst the yellow taxi cabs, salty steam of manhole covers, clap of pigeons, hot dog carts and cat calls that make NYC. Like a ghost I’m haunted by a walk in Central Park, my collection of silk scarves rattle the closet doors to be taken out for a wisp of city air. The boxes of Gucci loafers edge themselves further out on the shelves….craving the pavement underfoot. The arm of my Ellen Tracy raincoat longs to drape my shoulders, as my Louis Vuitton tote reaches out to hold my hand.

I push back my thoughts of fashion as it’s been replaced by country roads, farmland, vineyards and an automobile---which I have adorned as my armor for the last six years, shielding me away from society. Hiding within the metal comfort of 250 horsepower it replaces the pulse of the city streets, sweeping away the stimulation and culture. Eventually separating me from the world….as I’m no longer bejeweled by my clothes, but a car.

While the echo from the city wafts through my senses once again, she begins to tip the scales, like a magnet she draws me away from the seclusion, and reawakens the desire of a women to beatify oneself---through fashion---and accessories are but a drive away…

Copyright 2008, R. B. STUART. All rights reserved. No Reproduction of this Blog in any form.

"The Flooding: Is the Moon’s Feud with NASA”

By R. B. STUART
Part Twenty-One


In February NASA came forward, not to discuss their erroneous decision to lob a Centaur rocket at the moon on October 9, 2009---but to share their probe into ice on Saturn. In October, in search of water, the mega ton missile blasted a hole in the moons lunar surface at twice the speed of a bullet.

Now I don’t know who else isn’t paying attention, but their hair-brain idea to attack the moon has caused a weather calamity on earth. Within one week after their mission of “boring a hole in the moon looking for water,” snow fell on New Jersey---and it wasn’t even Halloween yet.

Since then no officials have stepped forward with the findings that what they have done, is alter the moons natural rhythms in association with water i.e. the tides umm.....floods. I believe NASA is to blame for the enormous changes we've seen with flooding throughout the U. S. since their test last fall. They have downplayed their moon-water venture by stating the moon can handle their assault, adding it was infitessimal in the grand scheme of outer space explosions.

If the moon was able to handle her timing being "off" by the manipulation of an unnatural collision of a man-made weapon on her surface. Then why has the water NASA was searching for on the moon, all of a sudden fallen to earth 100 fold in the form of snow or rain? And in behemoth proportions.

But the U.S. isn’t the only obnoxious super power to challenge the ball of light in the nights sky, as Japan’s Kaguya impacters collided with the moon in June 2009 seeking aqua. And Hello Kitty---the tit for tat for that crash---has impacted Toyota worldwide.

The evidence of NASA’s nonsensical actions is record high snowfalls and floods in areas that don’t normally experience snow i.e. Texas. Thus far, for the U. S. 1,180 snowfall records have been broken across 49 of the 50 states. Even in Washington, D.C. where Mother Nature’s offenders reside at NASA Headquarters, they’ve been pummeled with 54.9 inches this winter breaking their 1898 record.

Philadelphia admitted they haven’t seen this much snow in 14 years at 65.5 inches in one winter. This season has surpassed that number by five inches----and it’s still snowing here in NYC as I pen this.

The sideway falling snow on Thursday caused such havoc in New York City that a 42 year old-man was killed when walking through Central Park when a snow laden tree toppled onto him. Just strolling through the park---is like the NY lottery of death, ‘hey’ you never know.’ Throughout the city trees were bending, breaking and being uprooted by the maddening storm. In a city that’s withstood the raping by Wall St., the westward angle of the rapidly falling-frozen-white-flakes---caused the Big Apple to buckle under the strain of yet another, snowy concrete landscape.

The heck with El Niño---it’s more like the El’ Ninny’s at NASA for believing they can interfere with piercing the moon with a fuel soaked, school bus sized titanium rocket, and not expect her wrath and retribution for searching her private crevices for water. It is arrogant, egotistical and self-indulgent---and mostly unnecessary since we have an abundance of water here---that the earth has provided for free. Oh yes, but it needs care and cleaning-up after the centuries of corporate exploitation and industry abuse---so I guess it’s more economical and easier to search for clean water on a planet suspended in space light miles away.

No matter how minor they claim the assault of the moon was---it is apparent the slightest interference in its surface has most certainly affected its role in regulating not only the oceans ebb and flow throughout the earth, but its precipitation; whether rain, snow, sleet or hail.

When will the “powers that be” realize that Mother Nature is fragile and wields more power than any nuclear weapon, any money printer at the Federal Reserve, any White House Presidential seat, or any Deregulation to the laws of the moon, the earth….and with one fell swoop she can cause a catastrophe in one fragment of a country called Haiti, send in waves to wash away people on a California beach, or bury us in 70 feet of snow. This extreme weather is a mere smack in the face since with one backhand, she can slap us into extinction, and will ultimately have the last word….you don’t mess with Mother Nature.




COPYRIGHT February 2010, R. B. STUART. All Rights Reserved. No Reproduction of this Blog in any form.