Archive for the Just Beachie Column Category

Clearing A Path For A Stronger You

Clearing A Path For A Stronger You
By Beach T. Weston
“Just Beachie Column”
(3 to 5 minute read)

Somewhere between my third cup of coffee and plopping my head back on the pillow, I checked my cell phone. The log list seemed to go on forever so I pressed the delete button. All would have been fine except I mistakenly deleted my contacts, not the logs. Technology challenged, I immediately called my carrier, and after an hour of allowing the agent on the other end to take control of my cell phone (checking the nooks n’ crannies supposedly hidden in The Cloud), I was told they were not able to retrieve the information.

I had not backed up anything—thought about it—but didn’t do it. From the words of screenwriter Eric Roth, Forrest Gump, “Are you stupid or something!?”

Yes, I was stupid, but in my defense, a sleepy-stupid.

Moe and Curly decided to have a night cocked full of ruckus: Jumping, running, slurping their water, chopping on their food, digging in their box, (not depositing) just having fun digging for nuggets. Oh joy!

For those of you who have cat buddies, you understand their behavior…their nocturnal habits. And for those of you who don’t have cats, I’m guessing you might be thinking…now I know why!

What!? The thought of Felis Domesticus lurking your halls doesn’t sound appealing?

I jest a bit—cats are magnificent creatures, but there are moments when you want to send them back to Ancient Egypt where they can guard King Tutankhamun’s treasures and let you rest in peace!

If this BIG Boo-Boo happened a couple of years ago, I might have put on a fireworks display fit for Her Majesty The Queen. But the interesting thing was…I felt…calm.

Calm! Shouldn’t I be panicking!?

For a few moments, I thought about mimicking the character, Carry Bradshaw in Sex and the City and freak-out just as she did when her computer crashed. “Oh my God! Oh my God! …my whole life was on that computer!” or in my case, “Oh my God! Oh my God! All my contacts were on my phone!”

Then I thought, not good to lose it, let’s leave the drama to Hollywood where it belongs.

I returned to my calm state.

Then an awakening.

Was it possible many of my contacts needed to go bye-bye? Was I in need of a cleansing? Was it time to release some of my “old” friends and work contacts and refresh them with people that mirror who I am today and not yesterday? The answer was a definite YES!

There can be many lessons from this story—perhaps as simple as–BACK-UP your work. DON’T press the delete button when you are tired or upset. THINK before you press a command.

Or perhaps the lesson is one of the irritating clichés: Everything happens for a reason, or every cloud has a silver lining. Nope! No annoying, overused thoughts.

For me, the lesson is similar to opening my closet in search of a I-know-you-are-in-there-somewhere garment—only to discover it’s no where to be found. Is it lost? Or is it time to organize the closet? For sure, not a fun task, but I know loosing twenty plus pounds of “stuff” will make me feel like a levitating feather against a sky of blue. Liberty! The unnecessary baggage emptied. And the result: A feeling of empowerment.

Next time something is lost or a situation has altered, take a moment to ponder; maybe the Universe is clearing a path for a stronger you. A more productive you. A happier you. And if not, let’s hope your cat buddies feel like a night of sleep, give you cuddles and help make everything in your world right again. If there is no Felis Domesticus to cuddle, there is always a good book to be read.

In peace, love, and freedom!

© Beach T. Weston

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The End of Self-Sabotage and the Beginning of Something Beautiful

Honor Yourself
By Beach T. Weston
“Just Beachie Column”
(3 to 5 minute read)

A brilliant display of fireworks glittered overhead as I welcomed the new year. I was full of joy and wonderment, and grateful for the many blessings last year gifted. After a Happy New Year’s smooch from my sweetheart, I continued to watch the fireworks and quietly contemplated how I could have made my year more exuberant, less fearful, and more peaceful.

And then I remembered a recent conversation with my dear friend Rita. Rita was going through hard times. I mean the bottom-of-the-barrel times, where at moments she was certain it was the end of happiness. She felt her life was ridiculous and not of great value.

Despite Rita’s difficult circumstances, she found the strength to embrace a profound, new way of thinking. A new way to guide her life. A new way to make choices. Rita decided to honor herself. To choose a life free of emotional chains. Free of self-put-downs. Free of burdens that were no longer hers to carry. She was committed to the pursuit of a healthier mind and body. Rita told me she was going to hold onto her new revelation as a Queen reigns her Kingdom.

Rita’s epiphany caused me to ask a golden question — was I truly honoring myself? The answer was, (sort-of…sometimes…ahhh…well…iffy). And then I thought, what does honoring yourself mean?

On most days, I like myself. I’m happy. Then there are the days when I’m a bit out of sorts. It could be from a trivial happening — for example a bad hair day when my darling hair-fairies had one heck of a party the night before. Or I’m crabby and just want to sit on the beach in solitude, writing silly poetry: “To be grumpy? Or not to be grumpy? That is a good question!?”

But does liking yourself mean honoring yourself?

I try to follow Louise L. Hay’s suggestion to look at yourself in the mirror and say, I Love and approve of myself. However, this practice can be a challenge. It’s like sending yourself a Valentine. Pretending you are Penelope Pussycat, “Le mew…Le purrrrrr”, and you are also Pepé Le Pew, smothering Penelope Pussycat (yourself) with kisses, “muah…muah…muah!” An interesting idea? An entertaining idea?

But does telling yourself that you love and approve of yourself mean you are honoring yourself?

My questions and I went on a walk along a wood-chipped path through an organic garden. The garden hosted a stunning array of vegetables, fruit trees, and sunflowers — complemented by patches of purple and pink wild flowers. Tall trees protected parts of the garden from the afternoon’s heat as ladybugs, bees and butterflies help create a plot of enchantment.

I observed a kaleidoscope of butterflies pollinate while the sun brightened their vibrant wings of yellow and black — it was then — I was given the answer: Honoring yourself, for me, meant having a loving relationship with myself; not a narcissistic relationship, but a loving connection, an honorable bond between me and me. I was to be my BFF (best friend forever). If someone is truly your best friend, you can tell them just about anything and they will continue to love you. To cherish you. It was a brilliant moment when I realized how vital I was to myself, and I understood how important it was to need myself, to nourish myself. To give myself lots of love and kindness. I also understood that it was my choice to make — no one else could or should be allowed to interfere. Louise was right; I was ready to send myself a gorgeous Valentine.

I share this story in hope that you will ask yourself the same two questions:

Am I honoring myself? And what does honoring myself mean?

Only you know the correct answers. And when answering these questions, please remember you are an amazing being, and only you can make the changes necessary to honor yourself, to love yourself.

Invite this year to be the end of self-sabotage and the beginning of something so beautiful it transforms you in ways thought only to be in your dreams. Allow honoring yourself to be a priority. A guide to increased spiritual power. Let us all find this magnificent centering so that we may be a better force in our world, and in the world.

In peace, love, and a new, wonderful year, and a new, wonderful you!

 © Beach T. Weston 2017

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Where iz et Your Hiding Place Mon Cherie!?

by Beach T. Weston
“Just Beachie Column”

L’amour! Love, sweet love. And this is the month to express it freely. If you need inspiration, Pepé Le Pew will be happy to be your guide, for the sweet-smelling skunk never fails to win his true love’s heart. Whoops! Maybe I should have said he never fails to pursue his true love’s heart. No matter her rejections, Pepe remains unwavering in the quest for kisses from his beautiful Cherie.

“We are inseparable…are we not darling!?” smooches Pepé as he tries to convince the object of his affection, Penelope Pussycat, that his only desire is to make love to her in the Casbah.

     “Eney, meeny, miny, moe,
     Catch a lover by the toe.
     If she holler hold her closer,
     Eney, meeny, miny, moesa.
     O-U-T! spells I LOVE YOU!”

Could it be that Pepe is truly in love? Or is he just in love with love? Amoureux de l’amour.

Like so many of us, I think we are just in love with love, which isn’t a bad thing unless of course you hookup with the Tasmanian Devil and allow them to swirl so quickly through your romantic life that by the time they depart you feel as if a tornado has imploded your heart. Your emotions splintered and scattered in the after mass.

But even after Taz encounters of the worst kind, love is delightful! Love gives you the sensation of bouncing on fluffy pink clouds. Love makes life good. Love makes life fun! Love helps us endure hard times and celebrate good times.

Hard-knocks have given many a heart pain, mine included, and yet, I still believe in love. I believe in the magic of love. It is the only true power in the world. A divine presence. A heavenly force.

Let February be the month we enjoy the philosophy of Pepé Le Pew, and follow your romantic heart: slip into something more comfortable, pop the bubbly and sing words of love to your Cherie.

In Peace and L’amour

© Beach T. Weston 2017

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Glorious Trees


Glorious Trees
by Beach T. Weston
“Just Beachie Column”

At first glance, a tree might seem uncomplicated and unimportant—the reality is trees are an invaluable gift to the world. We can’t live without them…literally!

The Arbor Day Foundation ( have gathered several studies from major universities, and the U.S. Forest Service. The studies found that a single tree can give up to four people their daily supply of oxygen. The studies also discovered that wherever there are canopies of trees, there are healthier people, and a decrease in crime (including graffiti).

I contribute this phenomena to a tree emanating positive, one might say, magical energy. Have you ever felt melancholy or distraught, but when you gazed upon, or touched a tree your angst disappeared? If even for a moment, a feeling of peace was restored.

I’m a tree-hugger. I can vouch for the peace and happiness a tree gives to those open to its energy. I have no doubt trees want you to relax in their shade. Trees want you to “cop-a-squat” as Julia Roberts (Vivian) said to an uptight Richard Gere (Edward) in Pretty Woman. Trees want you to be amazed by their stature. Trees want you to appreciate the creatures that depend on them for their existence.

One of my great tree memories happened while hiking in Washington’s, Mount Rainier National Park:

On a perfect Fall afternoon, my friend, Sam and I were relishing a hike on the Twin Fir Trail. The hiking path was home to a variety of Pine and Fir. The tree trunks and aside the path were adorned by thick ferns, thimbleberries, and huckleberries. Decaying logs, fallen branches, and velvet green moss created a luscious and mysterious environment. It was Shangri-La. A happy-land. A harmonious world where nature’s crisp aroma mesmerized the senses. I remember thinking, this must be a glimpse of Heaven.

Half-way into our hike, a massive Douglas Fir came insight—I couldn’t resist—the three hundred (plus) year-old tree received one of my best hugs. I suggested to Sam to do the same. Her response:

“Are you nuts!? Someone will see me and think I’m weird!”

“Just give it a try…I promise it will feel fabulous!”

Sam, (with great reluctance) closed her eyes and hugged. She released her grip for a moment, and hugged again.

“Hey! This feels good…I feel stupid, but it feels good!”

Watching Sam hug the tree remains one of my treasured memories. It was an amazing experience to see a person who would normally never think of hugging a tree receive such great satisfaction from a simple embrace.

I love telling Sam’s story, and I have to say (and Sam agrees), that once connected to trees, there is no going back. Each time you admire a tree, the spiritual moment will return. A moment of tranquility. A lovely oneness with nature.

Find a tree that calls to you and give it a great-big-bear-hug. Find a tree that inspires you to cop-a-squat, read a book, have a picnic, and smooch with a lover. Whatever your delight, just relax and let the tree’s enchantment fill you with gratitude.

In peace, love, and Tree-Hugging,
P.S. To this day, my reluctant friend, Sam, hugs trees—and in her words, “it feels wonderful!”

© Beach T. Weston 2016

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The Lady And The Sugar Ghost!

The Lady and The Sugar Ghost - Just Beachie Column Halloween

The idea of phantoms, and paranormal activity peaks during the month of October as we begin to plan our Halloween parties, costumes, and the trip to a Superstore—where the shelves are lined with enough candy to fuel Dracula’s winged flight back to his Bran Castle in Transylvania.

In the spirit of ghosts and ghoulish delights, I refer back to my (March 2016) column when I wrote a story told to me by a friend entitled: Don’t Ya Just Love a Good Ghost Story? To this day I have no idea if he was telling a tall tale or a true story—either way, I know my friend had devoured a pillow case full of Halloween treats—sending his imagination on Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride. His brain was hi-jacked by the “feel good hormones”, making his spooky adventure quite entertaining.

I remember well that October 31st, the eve of All Saints’ Day. A group of fellow actors gathered for a Halloween party. There was more candy and haunting stories than guests. The Sugar Ghost was dancing in our heads that night—he was a pin-ball wizard, pinging sugar balls to light up our cerebral area—and sugar-coated not only my friend’s haunted house story, but everyone’s reminiscence of paranormal meetings, (fiction and nonfiction).

In between the spooky stories, the hot topic was the question of whether or not paranormal activity (ghosts) really exist? The more treats we ate, the more the Sugar Ghost fueled our imagination. And when the imagination is illuminated, the mind can go to some pretty scary places.

Is it unreasonable to believe in the paranormal? Do apparitions float amongst the living? Or are these stories made up to scare the chocolate-covered-raisins out of us…especially on Halloween night.

I will admit, I believe ghosts exist due to my close encounter of the spirit-world-kind—fortunately it was a good experience. I shiver at the thought of it being otherwise.

I told my ghost story that night and while it wasn’t spine-chilling—it was true:

In my twenties, I lived in Beverly Hills, California in an aging house, built in the 1940’s. The backyard was remarkably large for a home that sat smack in the heart of a busy city. The yard’s enchantment would often welcome me to pick fruit from the mature lemon and orange trees that had found sanctuary on the property.

In my bedroom there was a charming, French window that viewed the shaded backyard. I often kept the old window open—allowing the citrus scented air and the bird songs to give me serenity. It was on one such charmed afternoon my peripheral vision caught what looked like a translucent figure (resembling a woman) at my bedroom door. The figure vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

The transparent form returned every few days—always materializing at my bedroom door. It was as if The Lady (which she came to be called) wanted to visit the room. The Lady was a calming presence and never gave me cause to fear or worry. I began to actually look forward to her visits.

Not too long after the sightings began, I asked the Landlord if he knew the history of the house. I shall never forget his astonished expression when he said, “why do you ask!?”

I took a moment before I fearlessly spoke of The Lady.

“My Mother use to tell me the same story! She swore there was a woman that appeared at her bedroom door, but only for a few moments and then quickly disappear.”

The Landlord went on to say that his Mother had bought the house from a widower whose wife had died in the bedroom that his Mother had occupied, and was now my bedroom.

This story may sound far-fetched, but as Shakespeare wrote, “there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in our philosophies.”

If I hadn’t personally experienced a ghost, I’m not so sure I would be a believer. But whether you believe or not, Halloween is a great time to dress up and play. To be a child again.To carve Pumpkins, and eat Pumpkin (Vegan) Pie. To stuff your belly full of treats!

In peace, love, and a happy halloweenie!
P.S. On October 31, beware of the Sugar Ghost and those monsters under the bed!

© Beach T. Weston 2016

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Just a Little Pink!


Just A Little Pink!
by Beach T. Weston
“Just Beachie Column”

A few weeks ago, I rallied a group of friends and embarked on a half-day snorkel trip aboard the Queen’s Treasure—a charming and unsinkable Catamaran. We set sail off Ka’anapali Beach, a magnificent beach lined with busy restaurants, shops selling Hawaiian trinkets, and luxurious condos and hotels.

My friends were tan from paddling and swimming, and I was white as a sugar cube from not paddling and swimming. I love to Snorkel, but Skin Diving had eluded me for months. But, today was different—it was my Birthday! Time to celebrate. Time to enjoy the sunshine. Time to swim with Hawai’i’s State Fish, a Humuhumunukunukuapua’a (yes, it’s a mouthful). Time to see one of the greatest creatures on earth, a Honu (Green Sea Turtle).

Fins, mask and snorkel in hand, the Birthday Girl (me) and her entourage boarded the Catamaran, ready to ride the waves and experience under-water-paradise.

My first question once on board was…where is the Champagne!?

“I’m sorry”, said the Captain, “we will serve you alcohol after you are finished snorkeling.”

Words a Birthday Girl doesn’t like to hear. I’m guessing they didn’t want their passengers pie-eyed. No telling what kind of trouble a skunked-face Snorkeler could encounter. Maybe mistaking a Moray Eel for a harmless Sea Cucumber, or drifting from the protected Bay, catching a rip current, and a one way ticket to Australia. Either scenario would not have a happy ending.

I positioned myself on the Bow, and leisurely extended my legs, gripping the Bow’s netting in one hand, and holding fast to my turquoise baseball cap as the Catamaran skillfully sailed the choppy waters. My tootsies wiggled with delight as whitecaps of all sizes christened the boat, and me. It was more fun than Disneyland’s Space Mountain.

By the time we sailed into Honolua Bay, I considered myself to be an Ole Salty Dog. I was older than I was yesterday. I had just been baptized by salt water. And I am a Dog according to the Chinese Zodiac.

The crew released the steps, and enthusiastically helped each passenger jump or slide into the water. I was in heaven, looking down on Redlip Parrots, Trumpets, and Butterfly fish as they leisurely swan between the Cauliflower Coral. The entertainment went on for a lengthy time before the Captain requested Snorkelers aboard.

The Queen’s Treasure remained anchored in the Bay as guests were encouraged to enjoy countless jumps off the side of the Catamaran. It was a blast being ten-years-old again.

I parked myself on the same spot for the return trip; a glass of Champagne in hand. One of the crew members asked if I would like water? “No thank you”, I replied. I didn’t need water, my cup runneth over with the Ocean’s beauty.

You look pink!” Said a friend. “Yes, you do look pink!” Said another. I was oblivious to their concerns as I continued to sip my bubbly—I was bewitched and beguiled by nature’s magnificence.

By the time we landed on Kaanapali Beach, the gang was relaxed, joyful, and ready for more merriment. We continued our celebration at a popular restaurant on the beach—there was no shortage of laughter, and wine (not a lot of water) at our table.

The “you look pink” observations were periodically injected into the conversation—I ignored them and continued on with the gaiety. But every good party has to come to an end before you fall off your chair—it was time to go home knowing another memorial moment had been created, and would be talked about for years to come.

As I glided through the front door of my home, I passed a large mirror hanging on the hallway wall. I took a double take…who was that person in the mirror? And then I realized it was me! My face looked like it had been graffitied several shades of red.


Then the tears arrived, there was no going back to the beginning of the day when I should have drenched my body in suntan lotion. I had cooked my own goose, and I’m a Vegan!

I was a dehydrated, Sun-Poisoned-Ole-Salty-Dog. I stayed in bed for two days. Every exposed part of my body was red and crispy—a feeling a lobster would understand or a piece of fried bacon.

It took over two weeks for my skin to recover as layer after layer peeled. Good thing I didn’t have to travel; the airlines would not have allowed me to get on board for fear I had some rare, tropical, creeping crud disease. My vanity required I stay at home until I was presentable.

Moral of the story:
Be fearless! But don’t be stupid, which I have proven is easier said than done.

In Peace, Love, and Adventure (and a lot of Environmentally Friendly Suntan Lotion!)

© Beach T. Weston 2016

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Like What You Read? You May Like… 

Heart Spirit



Screen Shot 2016-08-28 at 6.14.19 PM

“Heart Spirit” (is a watercolor and ink conversation between Mary Jane Casey and Beach T. Weston)

By Beach T. Weston
“Just Beachie Column”

The heart is an amazing organ. A biological wonder! It’s purpose is to pump the blood through the body; providing tissue with oxygen and nutrients, and eliminate wastes. To have a healthy body we need a healthy heart.

We also need to have another kind of healthy heart. The heart I’m speaking of is not an organ, it is an intangible presence. You’ve heard expressions such as, heart and soul, get to the heart of the matter, and my fav, follow your heart.

These expressions refer to what I call, the Heart Spirit, or as Mom use to say, “Listen to your little voice.” The Heart Spirit is more like an inner-guidance system. A quiet, secret message you receive from the Universe, God or whatever your personal beliefs. The Universe privately contacts you; giving instruction, advice, and enlightenment.

The Heart Spirit keeps us on a smoother path—less rocks and annoying pot-holes. Listening to the Heart Spirit attracts tranquility and fulfillment—it’s brilliance is constantly feeding us direction:

I recently attended an event that was a challenge for me. I spent months prior contemplating my attendance. Should I? Shouldn’t I? These questions swarmed through my mind daily for months. The Universe subtly kept trying to get my attention, but I was too busy letting negative scenarios take over my thoughts.

Thank goodness for Divine persistence. I finally relaxed, and let my Heart Spirit direct me to the right path. It was not easy. A bit painful at times. However, I’m glad I attended. Everything turned out well minus a few (bumps and hiccups). In the end, I was rewarded with much happiness and enlightenment. The results from choosing to attend is why I sincerely believe that every message, every feeling from the Heart Spirit is designed to help us stay on track. To help us live a happy, healthy life.

Let’s compare the Heart Spirit to the internet:

When your internet is connected properly, and working at high speed it’s easy and fun to move around cyber space. Watch videos, chat and send messages to friends and family. And you are free to share your unique, one-of-a-kind, Selfie.

Anger, frustration, a sense of isolation, and a lot of naughty words consume our energy when we loose connection to the internet—that’s when chaos becomes our counsel.

The same thing happens when the connection to the Heart Spirit fails. All-mayhem-breaks-loose. Our individual compass goes South…we often become confused and make bad decisions.

While writing this column, I tapped into my Heart Spirit and asked how should I complete this piece? How should I finish in a way that would inspire my readers to pleasantly connect to their Heart Spirit.

A whisper said the following:

Have your readers close their eyes, and listen to their body, and not the voices and situations of the world. Every time an unwanted thought appears—tell it to go away! Skedaddle! Hasta la bye-bye!

Let this connection be a time to concentrate only on the body. Ask a question or just be still and let the secret message arrive.

How was your experience?

How did it feel?

Did you receive a message?

No worries if you didn’t, the important thing is you found it to be gratifying, and experienced great moments of peace, for peace is invaluable.

The next time you think of the word heart, please remember you have two hearts, and each should be nurtured and kept strong. Think of them as Soul Mates—one helps complete the other.

In the words of Grandmother Willow, (Pocahontas).
“Listen with your heart, you will understand.”

In Peace, Love and Heart (the little voice within),

© Beach T. Weston 2016

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compassion art copy WM “If you want others to be happy, practice compassion. If you want to be happy, practice compassion.”   His Holiness The Dalai Lama

by Beach T. Weston
Just Beachie Column  
Summer 2016
(3 to 5 minute read)

My mother always said, the three most essential qualities a person can possess is kindness, thoughtfulness, and compassion. She believed, if you follow your heart, a heart full of the three essentials, your life will be happier—your inner-being will be happier. And whether you are on Earth or passed on to the Great-Spirit-In-The-Sky, an earned peace will be a part of your soul…forever.

I have always tried to follow my mother’s philosophy, and use the three essentials, even during dark moments when I just wanted to jump into the baby-pool-of-anger, and frustration. Having said that, I believe what saved me during challenging times was one of her favorite questions:

Do you have compassion for yourself?

I was very young and not quite sure what she meant. Mom would follow by saying, “don’t worry, some day you will.” And she was right.

To quote Oprah’s beloved phrase, “What I know for sure”, is every day, every moment, it’s vitally important to give ourselves compassion.

How many times have you dismissed your own personal needs? How many times have you denied yourself a little TLC (tender loving care)? How many times have you conceded to your cry for self-compassion—disregarding it as selfish.

Selfish it is NOT.

Self-compassion truly is crucial for a joyful life. A life of feeling good in your own skin. Gifting yourself compassion gives you confidence and a sense of freedom from emotional chains.

The Dalai Lama teaches, “If you want others to be happy, practice compassion. If you want to be happy, practice compassion.” A trait His Holiness believes can conquer almost anything.

Like the Dalai Lama, mom practiced compassion not only for herself, but others—and planted innumerable Compassion Seeds, sprinkling them amongst people and situations thought only to be barren.

Ask yourself, your friends and co-workers the following questions:

What does compassion mean to you? 

Do you sprinkle Compassionate Seeds?

And the best question of all:

Do you have compassion for yourself?

The answers might surprise you. And there is always the chance the answers will reveal an extremely unattractive side, but ignorance is not bliss. Whatever the thoughts, I’m sure it will make for an enlightening discussion.

In Peace, Love, and Compassion

© Beach T. Weston 2016

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Get Out and Boogie!

disco ball shoes with watermark

Put On Your Dancin’ Shoes
by Beach T. Weston
“Just Beachie Column”
June 2016


I recently attended a Disco Gala. Everyone dressed in Vintage Disco and seriously danced the night away.

What a blast!

A blast from the past!

During the dance, memories of Disco came flooding back to me.

In the late Seventies, my friends and I, whimsically slipped into discothèques. Before every night of dancing, we’d spent at least three hours primping our makeup and hair, trying to imitate our beloved Farrah Fawcett.

Secure we reflected Farrah’s beauty. Fake ID in hand. Off the Angels went to shake-our-booties.

Confident and ready to dance the night away, we peacocked into the discothèque. I flashed my fake ID to the Bouncer, accompanied by a big Farrah smile. The Bouncer returned the smile as I secretly passed the fakie to my friend behind me—each repeated the fakie exchange until the Bouncer gave us his head-nod of approval. It was hilarious! Naive and silly enough to believe the Bouncer had no idea. In our minds we were the Dancing Queens, being fanned by admiring eyes. (I’m chuckling as I write these words).

It truly was a scene from the Iconic film, Stayin’ Alive, starring John Travolta:

In the movie, Travolta’s character and his entourage (dressed in tight-fitting, shiny shirts, bell-bottom, polyester pants, and white boots stylin’ nothing less than a five inch heal), strut though the doors of the discothèque as the mirrored light effects from the Diso Ball boogied across their physiques.

And just like the Stayin’ Alive gang, my friends and I lived for the opportunity to dance the weekends away. The only thing that matter was how good you looked and how well you danced. Completely narcissistic I know, but that was the era—dance all night—sleep the day away—and continue dancing the next night (Saturday night). Then do it all over again the next weekend. Damn we had fun!!!

The Disco era was a time when many of us thought we owned the world (life was our pearl and nothing bad could ever happen). And Disco would forever be the Monarch of dancing.

The Disco Gala allowed me to wear what I refer to as my Disco Ball shoes, and travel back to a time of light hearted entertainment. The Village People were hip and there wasn’t room on the dance floor when Donna Summers sang, Last Dance. And even though discothèques were full of self-admiring prima donnas—it was a time when there was still a bit of innocence left in world—not as much as I remember—but perhaps a bit more than exist today. Of course I’m bias—I was one of those fun-seekers and my sentiment is one of complete love for Disco. Perhaps that is all that matters with nostalgia; happy associations from the past, long gone.

My recommendation is go-nuts-for-nostalgia. Get your groove on. Slip into your dancin’ shoes, and have fun!

In Peace, Love, and in the words of Sly and the Family Stone, “Everybody is a Star”

© Beach T. Weston 2016

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knight kissing princess

by Beach T. Weston
“Just Beachie Column”
Spring 2018

Tis the lusty month of May.

When everyone is gay! Happy! Full of joy!

It’s a time when trees are in bloom and flowers have awakened from their winter beds. When lust (not love) hides and waits for the unsuspecting.

One of my favorite Musicals is Camelot where King Arthur and Queen Guenevere host a Castle Gala to welcome Spring. During the celebration, Guenevere sings The Lusty Month of May to entice her Kingdom to go astray. To take a whiff of lust as if it were a potent perfume.

I smell trouble.

As it turned out, Guenevere and Lancelot had plenty of trouble when they decide to have a ding-dong and break King Arthur’s heart.

Merlyn should have used his magic to explain that lust is highly overrated, and is often an ego driven libido on speed—igniting drama and upset just as it did for Lancelot and Guenevere. There was no happy ending, no riding off into the Sunset (more like riding away from being burned at the stake). Their lust simply became, “a fleeting wisp of glory”.

Personally, I prefer the word passion, for when used as enthusiasm for something you do, it makes life exciting! People, the colors of the world become more vibrant. Waking up in the morning is a pleasure. Whereas lust consumes.

Imagine a box of delicious chocolates or the best margarita you ever tasted. Delicioso! One just isn’t enough. One margarita turns into a few until your bottom slides off the barstool—and each indulgent, chocolatey bite brings you closer to a sugar overdose.

Lust is short-term, but passion, or love for something is a lifetime joy. An adventure, where the rewards are limitless. Passion enables you to inspire others, to explore new wonders, to enhance your character. Passion keeps your mind youthful. Playful.

I encourage everyone to find their passion(s). Art and classic films are two of my great loves. Art allows me to express myself freely and without judgement. Classic films take me away to magical places. Places I can revisit again and again—to eras long before my time.

The question is…will you be a bit naughty or be set free by the brilliance of passion?

I’m opting for freedom during the lusty month of May, for I know the splendor of passion will never let me down. Devotion to something I love will always fill my glass to the brim.

In Peace, love, and delightful passion (and possibly a whiff of Guenevere’s potent perfume).


© Beach T. Weston 2018

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Below is a cheeky version of “The Lusty Month of May”. If you can make it through the first minute of Guenevere portraying a tart, you might as well go for the entire fun! I warn you, it is kind of a contagious song. You might find yourself strolling in nature, humming with every step.


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