I'll be out of reach for a little while. In the meantime, the New England season begins its transformation from sultry to crisp. And I continue my own transformation from self-containment to self-amazement. This is as good a time as any to thank you--each of you--you know who you are--even if you don't know who you are--for being my blog-pal. Another reason for me to feel grateful. Be back soon :)
Saturday, August 19, 2006
Thursday, August 17, 2006
Poetry Thursday
This is my first entry in Poetry Thursday. This week the prompt is whatever pleases me.
I wrote this poem in the big yellow writing group not even a year ago, and it may have been the first time I read my poetry aloud. It's also my favorite for reasons that come from the heart.
If I were dying tonight,
Lying in my bed with plastic tubes and half-filled bottles
On the small table nearby
and bedpans and oxygen there to diminish any shame,
Perhaps forcing my breaths
with the strength of a desperate parent
who implausibly and frantically lifts two tons
of mangled steel off a broken daughter—
If I were dying tonight and I wished to tell you
What will astonish you,
I would tell you this:
Be sure to notice white flowers in the moonlight,
Because the softened glow is like no other.
Appreciate the lingering scent of garlic on your fingers,
Because healing is possible from that alone.
Tell the truth when it matters least
Because then you will be sure there is another honest person in the world.
Always spend the extra money for dimmers
Because light that builds in intensity and then gently fades is
good for your spirit.
Over and over, ask yourself, “What is the lesson here?”
Because then you will forever be a student and never a victim
Never believe for a moment that the world is going to hell
Because you only need to love outside yourself to know better.
If I were dying tonight, I would tell you all this
Because astonishment is brethren to curiosity,
Which leads to observation,
And dedication,
And finally appreciation.
If I were dying tonight, perhaps there would only be minutes,
Perhaps only seconds,
To tell you that I will leave with all the love
I have ever felt, and ever given.
I will take it all with me, tucked under my angel wing—
The accumulation of grace from every breath I have ever taken.
Here’s what’s astonishing: I will also leave all that love behind,
It will be imbedded in my daughter’s stunning light and my partner’s quiet
courage,
It will guide my friends and coworkers when the layoff comes.
My brother will remember how I tried to do my share
And Joey will find someone else like me to help him tame his fears.
Even the woman at the grocery store that day I let her go ahead of me—will remember how we were both comforted from that simple act.
If I were dying tonight, I would also tell you
That within, under, because of, and from the little moments
Comes all the wonder and astonishment you could ever hope for.
The little moments that aren’t so little.
I would tell you to let those moments astonish you.
I would tell you this because it is all you need to know.
I wrote this poem in the big yellow writing group not even a year ago, and it may have been the first time I read my poetry aloud. It's also my favorite for reasons that come from the heart.
If I were dying tonight,
Lying in my bed with plastic tubes and half-filled bottles
On the small table nearby
and bedpans and oxygen there to diminish any shame,
Perhaps forcing my breaths
with the strength of a desperate parent
who implausibly and frantically lifts two tons
of mangled steel off a broken daughter—
If I were dying tonight and I wished to tell you
What will astonish you,
I would tell you this:
Be sure to notice white flowers in the moonlight,
Because the softened glow is like no other.
Appreciate the lingering scent of garlic on your fingers,
Because healing is possible from that alone.
Tell the truth when it matters least
Because then you will be sure there is another honest person in the world.
Always spend the extra money for dimmers
Because light that builds in intensity and then gently fades is
good for your spirit.
Over and over, ask yourself, “What is the lesson here?”
Because then you will forever be a student and never a victim
Never believe for a moment that the world is going to hell
Because you only need to love outside yourself to know better.
If I were dying tonight, I would tell you all this
Because astonishment is brethren to curiosity,
Which leads to observation,
And dedication,
And finally appreciation.
If I were dying tonight, perhaps there would only be minutes,
Perhaps only seconds,
To tell you that I will leave with all the love
I have ever felt, and ever given.
I will take it all with me, tucked under my angel wing—
The accumulation of grace from every breath I have ever taken.
Here’s what’s astonishing: I will also leave all that love behind,
It will be imbedded in my daughter’s stunning light and my partner’s quiet
courage,
It will guide my friends and coworkers when the layoff comes.
My brother will remember how I tried to do my share
And Joey will find someone else like me to help him tame his fears.
Even the woman at the grocery store that day I let her go ahead of me—will remember how we were both comforted from that simple act.
If I were dying tonight, I would also tell you
That within, under, because of, and from the little moments
Comes all the wonder and astonishment you could ever hope for.
The little moments that aren’t so little.
I would tell you to let those moments astonish you.
I would tell you this because it is all you need to know.
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Thursday 13
1. I drive 4 hours one day a week to visit my mother and help her with groceries, bills, etc.
2. One of my favorite gallavants was driving from San Francisco to Truckee CA. The little town of Truckee is still one of my best memories because it looked like a true western town and had a great clothing store and interesting shops.
3. My dog Stella gets acupuncture once a month to help her damaged spine. I'm here to say it has helped her enormously: she moves and runs much easier afterwards.
4. I was a counselor for two years at an Army Education Center in Germany. It was a fabulous job at an artillery and tank base. The ed center was a easy place on base. Hundreds of men, just a handful of women.
5. When I see something that seems unjust or dishonest, I want to fix it (and sometimes too often I try despite the odds).
6. I could hire my own orthopedic surgeon these days: I have low back pain, a cranky old miniscus injury in my knee, and a rotator cuff tear in my shoulder. All will improve with time and exercise, but geez...
7. When Fall arrives, some people around here will sell pumpkins at the end of their driveways for a dollar or two.
8. I've had the same occasional dream for years: I'm alone in a foreign country and I can't figure out how to use the payphone. (scary...)
9. I love playing the slot machines at casinos. Because each spin is exhilerating to me, I figure it's an addiction I manage to keep in check. I usually lose more than I win.
10. I heard yesterday of a credible report that the US administration arranged for Israel to extend bombing Lebanon so Hezballah's missle system would be weakened and the US could then use force on Iran. I'm disgusted to say I believe it. The older I get, the less I understand.
11. Ever since I volunteered in New Orleans last October, I understand the magnitude of returning home to find everything destroyed. I'll never forget seeing families spend entire days in knee high rubber boots, digging through muck and mud to salvage only a tuperware bowl or a glass vase--all that remained of their life in St. Bernard parish. Many lined up these precious objects at the end of their driveways and tried not to cry.
11. Origins puts out a little bottle called "peace of mind" that I dab on the back of my neck and it refreshes and relaxes me almost immediately.
12. My work requires that I be on equal footing with doctors, employers, counselors, and attornies. Attornies are my least favorite.
13. At the end of the week we are headed to Provincetown for a long week or so. I have walked barefoot along the Commercial Street Bay Beach for fifteen years or so and just about every good idea and dream I've had has come from those walks.
2. One of my favorite gallavants was driving from San Francisco to Truckee CA. The little town of Truckee is still one of my best memories because it looked like a true western town and had a great clothing store and interesting shops.
3. My dog Stella gets acupuncture once a month to help her damaged spine. I'm here to say it has helped her enormously: she moves and runs much easier afterwards.
4. I was a counselor for two years at an Army Education Center in Germany. It was a fabulous job at an artillery and tank base. The ed center was a easy place on base. Hundreds of men, just a handful of women.
5. When I see something that seems unjust or dishonest, I want to fix it (and sometimes too often I try despite the odds).
6. I could hire my own orthopedic surgeon these days: I have low back pain, a cranky old miniscus injury in my knee, and a rotator cuff tear in my shoulder. All will improve with time and exercise, but geez...
7. When Fall arrives, some people around here will sell pumpkins at the end of their driveways for a dollar or two.
8. I've had the same occasional dream for years: I'm alone in a foreign country and I can't figure out how to use the payphone. (scary...)
9. I love playing the slot machines at casinos. Because each spin is exhilerating to me, I figure it's an addiction I manage to keep in check. I usually lose more than I win.
10. I heard yesterday of a credible report that the US administration arranged for Israel to extend bombing Lebanon so Hezballah's missle system would be weakened and the US could then use force on Iran. I'm disgusted to say I believe it. The older I get, the less I understand.
11. Ever since I volunteered in New Orleans last October, I understand the magnitude of returning home to find everything destroyed. I'll never forget seeing families spend entire days in knee high rubber boots, digging through muck and mud to salvage only a tuperware bowl or a glass vase--all that remained of their life in St. Bernard parish. Many lined up these precious objects at the end of their driveways and tried not to cry.
11. Origins puts out a little bottle called "peace of mind" that I dab on the back of my neck and it refreshes and relaxes me almost immediately.
12. My work requires that I be on equal footing with doctors, employers, counselors, and attornies. Attornies are my least favorite.
13. At the end of the week we are headed to Provincetown for a long week or so. I have walked barefoot along the Commercial Street Bay Beach for fifteen years or so and just about every good idea and dream I've had has come from those walks.
Monday, August 14, 2006
nothing but sweet
This is our little dining room, currently graced with a vase of pink zinnias and black-eyed susans grown and cut from our yard. We moved here a year ago and the house has become a vibrant sanctuary and easy resting place. jb's studio (the magic cottage..) is in the back yard and my writing room is in the back hall (the rear wing). The soil is rich and the sun is full. The gardener in me is in a state of perpectual glee and awe.
There's more I want to say, because I believe that sanctuaries like this house quiet the mind and calm the nerves. The house was built in 1950 and is solid. Frances and Bullah lived here for fifty years, raised Bullah's daughters here. Last year when we first arrived, I was careful not to disturb Frances' oregano in the back yard or to make changes to the space that left too little of them. That changed when I heard that following Bullah, Frances had died.
Now almost all the walls are repainted and you can see jb and i in the rooms. We wanted a space where visitors could be comfortable and self sufficient. We want our friends and family here: staying over and eating breakfast on the patio with us. Swinging on the hammock. Sharing stories. We like that.
The house has responded: this is a comfortable comforting place.
So about sanctuaries: even a corner will do. In the happiness workshops I've taught, I advise creating a sanctuary as a way to keep it simple--a place to go and to be to recharge, refill, replenish, release, refresh. Even in the smallest places, a candle can be set and a photo can be hung. That's all it takes to make a sacred space.
We've settled in here. I've spent alot of my life feeling unsettled and unsure about where I belong. The choices and possibilities have confused me. The truth is that I moved here quite reluctantly, and only because jb couldn't continue the painfully long commute to her work.
Neither of us expected this house to be right for us. It is a one floor ranch, and we're not ranch-types. We moved from our beach place in Provincetown, and lived in a Victorian before that.
But today it is right. We have a fire place in the livingroom and off that a porch with windows on 3 sides. We have a half-circle garden with herbs and tomatoes and giant basil. We have a hot tub in the back yard, under the stars with a hollywood-blue light that illuminates the water. We have a dog who appreciates the simple kindness she had not had in her life. We can drive 2 miles and be among working farms. And two miles the other way and fall into the funk and buzz of a college town with great restaurants and endless music and culture. And: We have eachother.
Not everything is ideal: I'm too far from some people I dearly love. And I'm land-locked.
I'm writing this from a place of deep gratitude, but I don't want to mislead or underplay the vague discontent I also feel at times, because that is part of my life too. I'm apt to lean into that discontent more these days rather than ignore or disquise it, and I think that is a good thing for me. I want to be real, even when I don't know much more than that.
I think it's important to connect with and honor the spaces in our lives. Maybe that's why this house, complete with our little dining room (and it is little!) feels so good. We have mutual respect --this house and us.
With this addition complete, I now end today with yesterday's ending: Life has its ups and downs and all arounds. But today I'm just glad to be upright and present in a sweet place.
For a Weary World
Here's to a hopeful worldWhere kindness trumps convenience.
Simplicity beats out complexity.
Honor outshines winning.
And hotdamn, compromise is back in style.
Believing is the first sign--
When little actions
And softer landings
Offer a collective sigh of relief.
Saturday, August 12, 2006
Sunday Scribblings #20 - "Who Else Can I Still Be?"
This is my first post for Sunday Scribblings. I appreciate another reason to write regularly. This, however, was written a while back. But it seems to fit the prompt this week. My apologies to my big yellow friends who have no doubt seen this before.
The Order of Things
When I was five I’d walk to school
With little question about the rules.
I knew teachers would like me fine
If I were cheerful and mostly kind.
When I was nine I began to see
My face and grace were mostly me,
But about then I sought to be
Someone else—a mystery.
I tucked my dress in my snow pants
And imagined myself as Sherlock Trance
In the field to solve the case
Of the missing pencil case.
When I was twelve something changed
My hair and body rearranged--
Colorless and very drab--
Though I was funny, I discovered sad.
I learned appearances ruled the roost
And pushed forward the awful truth
That I would not be viewed the way
That whiney Natasha became one day.
She’d throw her shoulders back and grin
Knowing that she’d made in
To the elist group of gawky boys
Who loved her cool and polished coy.
When I was fifteen I found a way
To advance myself to where I’d stay—
Popular, cool, myself unique
Still, my inner self dared not peep.
I mastered the tricky art of fame
Built a business, made a name
It was easy to believe
The order of things was to achieve
When I was thirty I met the challenge
Of loving a child and seeking some balance
But even then I tried my best
To push myself without a rest
What mattered most was quite apart
From who I was in my sweet heart.
I began to feel a hole within
Deep and hollow, like empty tin.
I knew enough not to settle
For surface joy made of metal.
So I dropped the charm and tried instead
To be myself, both heart and head
I began to listen more than I spoke
And success became my private joke
About the privilege of a good life
That included truths of loss or strife.
Today I am who I will be
In just this moment, gratefully.
I love and lust and lunge and laugh
I understand when I get half
Instead of whole it hardly matters
Because beneath the wind and chatters
My world is simply full and real
And I’ve become the real real deal.
The Order of Things
When I was five I’d walk to school
With little question about the rules.
I knew teachers would like me fine
If I were cheerful and mostly kind.
When I was nine I began to see
My face and grace were mostly me,
But about then I sought to be
Someone else—a mystery.
I tucked my dress in my snow pants
And imagined myself as Sherlock Trance
In the field to solve the case
Of the missing pencil case.
When I was twelve something changed
My hair and body rearranged--
Colorless and very drab--
Though I was funny, I discovered sad.
I learned appearances ruled the roost
And pushed forward the awful truth
That I would not be viewed the way
That whiney Natasha became one day.
She’d throw her shoulders back and grin
Knowing that she’d made in
To the elist group of gawky boys
Who loved her cool and polished coy.
When I was fifteen I found a way
To advance myself to where I’d stay—
Popular, cool, myself unique
Still, my inner self dared not peep.
I mastered the tricky art of fame
Built a business, made a name
It was easy to believe
The order of things was to achieve
When I was thirty I met the challenge
Of loving a child and seeking some balance
But even then I tried my best
To push myself without a rest
What mattered most was quite apart
From who I was in my sweet heart.
I began to feel a hole within
Deep and hollow, like empty tin.
I knew enough not to settle
For surface joy made of metal.
So I dropped the charm and tried instead
To be myself, both heart and head
I began to listen more than I spoke
And success became my private joke
About the privilege of a good life
That included truths of loss or strife.
Today I am who I will be
In just this moment, gratefully.
I love and lust and lunge and laugh
I understand when I get half
Instead of whole it hardly matters
Because beneath the wind and chatters
My world is simply full and real
And I’ve become the real real deal.
Thursday, August 10, 2006
Thursday 13
1. I'm currently in love with pink zinnias.
2. Peet's coffee is the best--I buy 2 pounds whenever I'm in Boston/Brookline
3. I love to develop and present self-help workshops but I'm a wreck beforehand
4. I am braver emotionally than physically
5. I have been self employed most of my adult life
6. My writing room has a bookcase with glass doors,a roomy wrap around desk, floor length drapes from the 50's, calm salmon-colored walls,and a front seat window view of a very tall pine tree
7. The move to Western Mass. has been awesome. Among many wonderful pieces, I have near-by friends who can drop by for a quick cup of coffee.
8. I'm a better friend in crisis than I am day-to-day
9. I (very briefly--that's another story)owned a restaurant called Tomato City. We specialized in "piecemeals"--all kinds of appetizers--our American cafe version of tapas
10. A friend of mine has been a hospice volunteer for dozens of people. He says nobody passes over alone: at the end almost everyone describes being accompanied by someone they know or trust--could be a childhood teddybear, a deceased grandparent, or an arc angel.
11. And in a related topic, as far as I know, dentists and psychiatrists have the highest suicide rates
12. Sometimes I take a moment to sway in the backyard hammock and then I understand better.
13. I'm an ocean girl but this summer I've discovered the utility and beauty of lakes.
2. Peet's coffee is the best--I buy 2 pounds whenever I'm in Boston/Brookline
3. I love to develop and present self-help workshops but I'm a wreck beforehand
4. I am braver emotionally than physically
5. I have been self employed most of my adult life
6. My writing room has a bookcase with glass doors,a roomy wrap around desk, floor length drapes from the 50's, calm salmon-colored walls,and a front seat window view of a very tall pine tree
7. The move to Western Mass. has been awesome. Among many wonderful pieces, I have near-by friends who can drop by for a quick cup of coffee.
8. I'm a better friend in crisis than I am day-to-day
9. I (very briefly--that's another story)owned a restaurant called Tomato City. We specialized in "piecemeals"--all kinds of appetizers--our American cafe version of tapas
10. A friend of mine has been a hospice volunteer for dozens of people. He says nobody passes over alone: at the end almost everyone describes being accompanied by someone they know or trust--could be a childhood teddybear, a deceased grandparent, or an arc angel.
11. And in a related topic, as far as I know, dentists and psychiatrists have the highest suicide rates
12. Sometimes I take a moment to sway in the backyard hammock and then I understand better.
13. I'm an ocean girl but this summer I've discovered the utility and beauty of lakes.
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
Mom-ment-ous
Today is my birthday. And today is the first time in 21 years that my mother has spent the night at my house. There's a long, sad, difficult,happy-ending story that explains why this is so, but today is not the day for that. Today my 90 year old mother and I are driving on these fragrant farm roads, picking up corn-on-the cob for dinner, and checking out the butterfly sanctuary that spooked me a few weeks ago.
Today I am shouting a collective "thank you" to my family, friends, community and the universe. And I am sharing my favorite poem of all time: Wild Geese by Provincetown's Mary Oliver. I hope it might find you at just the right moment and provide something sacred in the very moment you need it.
Thank you, thank you.
Wild Geese
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you
mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the
rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue
air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and
exciting—
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.
Today I am shouting a collective "thank you" to my family, friends, community and the universe. And I am sharing my favorite poem of all time: Wild Geese by Provincetown's Mary Oliver. I hope it might find you at just the right moment and provide something sacred in the very moment you need it.
Thank you, thank you.
Wild Geese
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you
mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the
rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue
air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and
exciting—
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
Thursday Thirteen
1. I drive a Toyota RAV which I can't manage to keep neat or clean.
2. A few years ago I had the privilege of designing and developing the Provincetown Artisian Cooperative. 15 local craft artisians, and other consignor artists, joined together to create and maintain a successful storefront in Whaler's Wharf in Provincetown.
3. I've learned to love fruit, and I'm working on liking salads and salmon, but it's not a slam-dunk for me.
4. I kayaked last week for the first time and loved it: the same as a really fun amusement park ride.
5. I will never again cook a live lobster: too painful
6. I am a political junkie for unknown reasons
7. I am still thinking about the Dixie Chicks and love their new cd
8. At my father's wake, his neighborhood friend Nick, drunk and sad, stood at his coffin and yelled at him for dying. (No comment from my dad)
9. When my inexperienced mother flew to Florida with us a few years ago, as the plane was flying above the clouds, she exclaimed in honest wonder: "I never knew there were two skies". Almost everyone around us smiled.
10. My son-in-law Mike is a really good guy and I love how he and Jess care for eachother.
11. I've written what I think is a good book on Happiness but I won't go forward with it until I am more confident.
12. I unabashedly love dogs. They just warm my heart every time.
13. I'm learning it is possible to develop real friendships through blogging. I wouldn't have believed that before.
2. A few years ago I had the privilege of designing and developing the Provincetown Artisian Cooperative. 15 local craft artisians, and other consignor artists, joined together to create and maintain a successful storefront in Whaler's Wharf in Provincetown.
3. I've learned to love fruit, and I'm working on liking salads and salmon, but it's not a slam-dunk for me.
4. I kayaked last week for the first time and loved it: the same as a really fun amusement park ride.
5. I will never again cook a live lobster: too painful
6. I am a political junkie for unknown reasons
7. I am still thinking about the Dixie Chicks and love their new cd
8. At my father's wake, his neighborhood friend Nick, drunk and sad, stood at his coffin and yelled at him for dying. (No comment from my dad)
9. When my inexperienced mother flew to Florida with us a few years ago, as the plane was flying above the clouds, she exclaimed in honest wonder: "I never knew there were two skies". Almost everyone around us smiled.
10. My son-in-law Mike is a really good guy and I love how he and Jess care for eachother.
11. I've written what I think is a good book on Happiness but I won't go forward with it until I am more confident.
12. I unabashedly love dogs. They just warm my heart every time.
13. I'm learning it is possible to develop real friendships through blogging. I wouldn't have believed that before.
Vacation Tools and The Mystery of Now
First, an acknowledgement: I understand the story to follow is too long to include,and too long to read. But I can't help posting it anyway. It is the product of my recent vacation. I'm thinking about submitting it to a magazine of some kind in my active quest to "become" a writer. Of course the counselor in me can't help but add her two cents as well.....
Vacation Tools
One two inch white candle
2 black pilot pens
An unopened travel sized set of Winsor and Newton water colours
Two different sized water color sketch books
A little packet of incense
Fancy matches
A new bathing suit
15 year old spa quality flip-flops
2 books on writing: William Kinsser’s ”On Writing Well”; Julia Cameron’s “The Right to Write”
2 books by Margaret Wheatley: Turning to One Another and A Simpler Way
1 best seller: My Sister’s Keeper by Jodi Picoult
1 pound of Italian Roast Coffee
A digital camera
An unopened calligraphy set
My in-process book proposal and a sample of someone else’s
These are the tools of my vacation.
I’m currently staring across the street at a dozen or so mamouth pine trees, their stature reduced only slightly by the orange background and icy glimmer of dusk awash on Sebago Lake. JB and I are here through the kind offer of friends: one week in their just refurbished condo-house in Windham, Maine. There are two quaint lakeside houses between us and the water, but they fit nicely into the larger picture of a gorgeous lake just across the street, surrounded by gorgeous pines.
We arrived last night ready to unwind. I am hobbling with a fragile back these days but despite that I managed to pack my vacation toolbox with how I want to spend my time.
Years ago, a colleague introduced me to the idea of tools and toolboxes. He happily described his work tools as a car, calculator, map, and cigarettes, He was a self employed counselor who saw people in their homes.
That’s when I first started thinking about my own tools. At the time, mine were an umbrella (I like having a plan B), appointment book with phone numbers, also a calculator, car, and maps. (I too was a counselor who saw people in their homes). I also threw in my three “C’s”—caring, creativity and competence--because I’ve always believed that combination is what makes me and anybody else extra good at their work.
I’ve since eliminated maps and umbrellas and added a notepad and pen, books on writing, a cell phone, and fruit when I travel, My appointment book and calculator are still high on my list.
I like the idea of specialized toolboxes. A few years ago I trained Insurance Specialists and included a presentation where I handed out pictures of a toolbox and together we filled it with the skills and tools they needed for their jobs. It was an easy concept and well received. I think that’s because there’s not a situation or circumstance in life where tools of some kind or another are either necessary or helpful to have around.
It took me less than an hour to pack my vacation toolbox. This is one time that I decide who I want to be and pack accordingly. I’ve been fairly consistent over the years: always the candle, watercolors I only use once or twice a year, a generous supply of books I may or may not read. Sometimes I’ve packed interesting ideas or projects that have languished in the regular course of life, but that is not necessary this summer.
JB has packed her own tools: books on collage, art paper and materials, a scrapbook, a small vinyl 60-‘s flowered note book with little compartments for filing papers, her new nano ipod. And today we’ve added our version of “food tools”: 4 chocolate macaroons and 2 two pound lobsters.
My vacation toolbox is overstocked with more than I need or could ever get to in the 7 days we are here. But there’s a comfort in knowing how I am caring for myself. I like that I have packed choices that encourage my mind to let go and move out of the way so I can spontaneously dabble and play.
Planning in advance like this is not something I normally do. Usually I follow the demands and opportunities of daily life, doing my best to carve in personal time, sometimes successfully, sometimes not. But when I’m vacationing, I am able to pause, step back, and see all the stress I’ve been lugging around--and that weight doesn’t disappear just because the chores of life are temporarily suspended. It takes me a good week to untie that knot: when I’ve been lucky enough to have two weeks of uninterrupted vacation, the second week is often sheer joy.
Vacations allow me to change the rhythm of time, more to my own liking and to my own pace. But that doesn’t happen all at once.
It’s the end of our first day and I’d say JB and I are doing pretty well: we’ve swum 2 times in the little lake a footpath away. We’ve bought our favorite foods for the week, we shared a double lobster roll at a cozy little café,we gallivanted by car a little along Route 302, and we took our sweet shelter dog Stella for three walks--all three of us still thrilled that yesterday, despite her advancing age, injured spine, and/or lack of experience, she mastered stairs for the first time.
Tonight we had our two pound lobsters for dinner. Now I am writing, JB is reading, Stella is sleeping. Cheryl Wheeler is singing a song about New England in the background. We know that we will wake up tomorrow morning whenever we want, forego our underwear (all week!) for bathing suits, eat cinnamon bread and lowfat yogurt with fresh fruit and granola for breakfast out on the deck, poke around this three-street little lakeside community where Stella can prance off her leash, and most likely have our first swim by 10 am. If this sounds stress-free, of course it is. But it also isn’t, not yet.
It takes my mind a little time to let go. As that happens, thankfully, I will become more anchored in the present moment, less connected to the past, and less worried about the future. Virginia Woolf called these “streams of consciousness” moments. For me they’re rare glimpses into the life I would have—could have—do have--if—when I live full and real. Of course I’d rather be swimming on steamy hot days than shopping for groceries or putting in time at work, but whatever I’m doing, when I accept and stay with whatever is in front of me, I move more and think less. That sounds so new-age, but living this way is actually an increasing quandrum in modern life. I know I’m absolutely, positively not alone in acknowledging that it is remarkably, surprisingly, shockingly difficult to live in the moment. That could perhaps be a minor problem instead of a major one if it weren’t true that I only exist in this moment. I can only be-here-now. I can only do what I do and not do what I don’t do. Vacation helps me understand this. It turns the volume down and that helps my five senses more easily experience the world. “Time off” helps immensely, but I think the rhythm comes back mostly because I decide how I want it to be. I outlined the bones of that decision when I packed my vacation toolbox.
There is no TV here. No internet service. No washer/dryer. If history proves true, I know already that by the end of the week I will have added another tool in my toolbox: a new timepiece that moves as slowly and consciously as I want it to. It will be in rhythm with my body, and it will quiet my mind. It will help me move through space with greater ease.
I also know that once I return home to western Massachusetts and the land of vacuum cleaners and unpaid bills, my new timepiece will run down and acquiesce to action and activity.
And then comes the really hard part--I know this because I’ve been there before: I will be overwhelmed by the chores and demands that have waited for me. My stress will expand and my capacity to handle it will constrict. But I will also find myself at a junction where I can make a clean choice. I can’t change my circumstance and chores, but thanks to a relaxing vacation, I’ve had the chance to get reacquainted with my favorite self--with my natural self. I definitely overstocked my vacation toolbox, as usual, but it worked great. I pulled out the paints, read some books, wrote as I wished. And I swam in the cool water and hot air first and last thing everyday. I’m arriving home in balance. But I know this too: very soon my day-to-day circumstance and chores will overtake me, especially if I don’t take some thoughtful measure against them.
If I were to add some protective “life-tools” to my toolbox, what they would look like? What I would use them for? What maintenance would they require?
I wonder what it will take to restock my toolbox next week, and the week after that, and after that, with tools that will chisel away stress, sculpt support, provide anchors. Tools that will help me be and stay myself and keep me centered in some core way when the world around me goes to hell and back. I’m wonder what a specially made “kj tool” would look and feel like. Maybe it would cut away unnecessary weeds, prune back overwhelming expectations, drill though bullshit, ring an alarm when I’m at risk of going overboard. Maybe I could order the smaller size—the one with a compass attached, so it could fit in my pocket and I could take it everywhere.
If my kj tool had multiple parts, I could take my time and read the instruction book. If it were very costly, I could put it on layaway. If it were fragile, I could treat it with great care and protection. If it were very heavy or needed batteries, I could conserve it for special occasions. Maybe I could come to count on it to find my way and stay there.
A lot of life tools are already in place for me these days. And yet, my footing slip-slides too easily. I can’t imagine what it would be like to feel solid, centered, secure, for longer than vacations and stream of consciousness moments. I can’t swim 2 or 3 times a day in my non-vacation life, but I can see the sunset, smell the garden basil, touch the soil, hear my daughter’s voice, feel the warmth of friendship.
I want at least some of my vacation tools to become life tools. I want to know that my toolbox will cover most occasions. Then I can more confidently live my interesting life. My week at Sebago Lake guides me to who I am when I live like this. I want to be this Me. Here. Now.
Vacation Tools
One two inch white candle
2 black pilot pens
An unopened travel sized set of Winsor and Newton water colours
Two different sized water color sketch books
A little packet of incense
Fancy matches
A new bathing suit
15 year old spa quality flip-flops
2 books on writing: William Kinsser’s ”On Writing Well”; Julia Cameron’s “The Right to Write”
2 books by Margaret Wheatley: Turning to One Another and A Simpler Way
1 best seller: My Sister’s Keeper by Jodi Picoult
1 pound of Italian Roast Coffee
A digital camera
An unopened calligraphy set
My in-process book proposal and a sample of someone else’s
These are the tools of my vacation.
I’m currently staring across the street at a dozen or so mamouth pine trees, their stature reduced only slightly by the orange background and icy glimmer of dusk awash on Sebago Lake. JB and I are here through the kind offer of friends: one week in their just refurbished condo-house in Windham, Maine. There are two quaint lakeside houses between us and the water, but they fit nicely into the larger picture of a gorgeous lake just across the street, surrounded by gorgeous pines.
We arrived last night ready to unwind. I am hobbling with a fragile back these days but despite that I managed to pack my vacation toolbox with how I want to spend my time.
Years ago, a colleague introduced me to the idea of tools and toolboxes. He happily described his work tools as a car, calculator, map, and cigarettes, He was a self employed counselor who saw people in their homes.
That’s when I first started thinking about my own tools. At the time, mine were an umbrella (I like having a plan B), appointment book with phone numbers, also a calculator, car, and maps. (I too was a counselor who saw people in their homes). I also threw in my three “C’s”—caring, creativity and competence--because I’ve always believed that combination is what makes me and anybody else extra good at their work.
I’ve since eliminated maps and umbrellas and added a notepad and pen, books on writing, a cell phone, and fruit when I travel, My appointment book and calculator are still high on my list.
I like the idea of specialized toolboxes. A few years ago I trained Insurance Specialists and included a presentation where I handed out pictures of a toolbox and together we filled it with the skills and tools they needed for their jobs. It was an easy concept and well received. I think that’s because there’s not a situation or circumstance in life where tools of some kind or another are either necessary or helpful to have around.
It took me less than an hour to pack my vacation toolbox. This is one time that I decide who I want to be and pack accordingly. I’ve been fairly consistent over the years: always the candle, watercolors I only use once or twice a year, a generous supply of books I may or may not read. Sometimes I’ve packed interesting ideas or projects that have languished in the regular course of life, but that is not necessary this summer.
JB has packed her own tools: books on collage, art paper and materials, a scrapbook, a small vinyl 60-‘s flowered note book with little compartments for filing papers, her new nano ipod. And today we’ve added our version of “food tools”: 4 chocolate macaroons and 2 two pound lobsters.
My vacation toolbox is overstocked with more than I need or could ever get to in the 7 days we are here. But there’s a comfort in knowing how I am caring for myself. I like that I have packed choices that encourage my mind to let go and move out of the way so I can spontaneously dabble and play.
Planning in advance like this is not something I normally do. Usually I follow the demands and opportunities of daily life, doing my best to carve in personal time, sometimes successfully, sometimes not. But when I’m vacationing, I am able to pause, step back, and see all the stress I’ve been lugging around--and that weight doesn’t disappear just because the chores of life are temporarily suspended. It takes me a good week to untie that knot: when I’ve been lucky enough to have two weeks of uninterrupted vacation, the second week is often sheer joy.
Vacations allow me to change the rhythm of time, more to my own liking and to my own pace. But that doesn’t happen all at once.
It’s the end of our first day and I’d say JB and I are doing pretty well: we’ve swum 2 times in the little lake a footpath away. We’ve bought our favorite foods for the week, we shared a double lobster roll at a cozy little café,we gallivanted by car a little along Route 302, and we took our sweet shelter dog Stella for three walks--all three of us still thrilled that yesterday, despite her advancing age, injured spine, and/or lack of experience, she mastered stairs for the first time.
Tonight we had our two pound lobsters for dinner. Now I am writing, JB is reading, Stella is sleeping. Cheryl Wheeler is singing a song about New England in the background. We know that we will wake up tomorrow morning whenever we want, forego our underwear (all week!) for bathing suits, eat cinnamon bread and lowfat yogurt with fresh fruit and granola for breakfast out on the deck, poke around this three-street little lakeside community where Stella can prance off her leash, and most likely have our first swim by 10 am. If this sounds stress-free, of course it is. But it also isn’t, not yet.
It takes my mind a little time to let go. As that happens, thankfully, I will become more anchored in the present moment, less connected to the past, and less worried about the future. Virginia Woolf called these “streams of consciousness” moments. For me they’re rare glimpses into the life I would have—could have—do have--if—when I live full and real. Of course I’d rather be swimming on steamy hot days than shopping for groceries or putting in time at work, but whatever I’m doing, when I accept and stay with whatever is in front of me, I move more and think less. That sounds so new-age, but living this way is actually an increasing quandrum in modern life. I know I’m absolutely, positively not alone in acknowledging that it is remarkably, surprisingly, shockingly difficult to live in the moment. That could perhaps be a minor problem instead of a major one if it weren’t true that I only exist in this moment. I can only be-here-now. I can only do what I do and not do what I don’t do. Vacation helps me understand this. It turns the volume down and that helps my five senses more easily experience the world. “Time off” helps immensely, but I think the rhythm comes back mostly because I decide how I want it to be. I outlined the bones of that decision when I packed my vacation toolbox.
There is no TV here. No internet service. No washer/dryer. If history proves true, I know already that by the end of the week I will have added another tool in my toolbox: a new timepiece that moves as slowly and consciously as I want it to. It will be in rhythm with my body, and it will quiet my mind. It will help me move through space with greater ease.
I also know that once I return home to western Massachusetts and the land of vacuum cleaners and unpaid bills, my new timepiece will run down and acquiesce to action and activity.
And then comes the really hard part--I know this because I’ve been there before: I will be overwhelmed by the chores and demands that have waited for me. My stress will expand and my capacity to handle it will constrict. But I will also find myself at a junction where I can make a clean choice. I can’t change my circumstance and chores, but thanks to a relaxing vacation, I’ve had the chance to get reacquainted with my favorite self--with my natural self. I definitely overstocked my vacation toolbox, as usual, but it worked great. I pulled out the paints, read some books, wrote as I wished. And I swam in the cool water and hot air first and last thing everyday. I’m arriving home in balance. But I know this too: very soon my day-to-day circumstance and chores will overtake me, especially if I don’t take some thoughtful measure against them.
If I were to add some protective “life-tools” to my toolbox, what they would look like? What I would use them for? What maintenance would they require?
I wonder what it will take to restock my toolbox next week, and the week after that, and after that, with tools that will chisel away stress, sculpt support, provide anchors. Tools that will help me be and stay myself and keep me centered in some core way when the world around me goes to hell and back. I’m wonder what a specially made “kj tool” would look and feel like. Maybe it would cut away unnecessary weeds, prune back overwhelming expectations, drill though bullshit, ring an alarm when I’m at risk of going overboard. Maybe I could order the smaller size—the one with a compass attached, so it could fit in my pocket and I could take it everywhere.
If my kj tool had multiple parts, I could take my time and read the instruction book. If it were very costly, I could put it on layaway. If it were fragile, I could treat it with great care and protection. If it were very heavy or needed batteries, I could conserve it for special occasions. Maybe I could come to count on it to find my way and stay there.
A lot of life tools are already in place for me these days. And yet, my footing slip-slides too easily. I can’t imagine what it would be like to feel solid, centered, secure, for longer than vacations and stream of consciousness moments. I can’t swim 2 or 3 times a day in my non-vacation life, but I can see the sunset, smell the garden basil, touch the soil, hear my daughter’s voice, feel the warmth of friendship.
I want at least some of my vacation tools to become life tools. I want to know that my toolbox will cover most occasions. Then I can more confidently live my interesting life. My week at Sebago Lake guides me to who I am when I live like this. I want to be this Me. Here. Now.
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
Bed and the Battlefield
Well, I'm sad, unhappy, disillusioned, disappointed, confused (etc etc) about the current state of the state and the shaky state of the world. How can it take so many centuries to figure out a different way to fight?
So here's my free thinking on the matter, written over a few installments:
Bed and the Battlefield
This I said
Could be my bed
If only my head
Could sleep instead.
But now I fret—
A large regret,
A presidential foolish bet
Several packs of cigarettes
Stored inside a dresser drawer
Guy-swagger in a sad sad war
Where hearts are bent and limbs so sore
I ask for less but hope for more
I wash my face,
Watch the chase,
Then take my place
And pray for grace.
I watch the news
When I should snooze
Stunned and bummed
By cities mummed
And homes in ruin,
What’s this guy doing
To lead like this:
A colossal miss
Of international
Non factional
And coolly rational
Peace among
The tested ones.
What's it take
to stop the guns?
It could be done
And in its place
A different face
With undue haste
a truce with grace,
a resting place.
I’ll go to bed
Tonight instead
And in the dawn
I’ll come along
Barely strong
But courage long
For steps for peace
A war at cease
An honest crease
For those the least.
And for those the more,
An open door
At its core
To change the future
Evermore.
So here's my free thinking on the matter, written over a few installments:
Bed and the Battlefield
This I said
Could be my bed
If only my head
Could sleep instead.
But now I fret—
A large regret,
A presidential foolish bet
Several packs of cigarettes
Stored inside a dresser drawer
Guy-swagger in a sad sad war
Where hearts are bent and limbs so sore
I ask for less but hope for more
I wash my face,
Watch the chase,
Then take my place
And pray for grace.
I watch the news
When I should snooze
Stunned and bummed
By cities mummed
And homes in ruin,
What’s this guy doing
To lead like this:
A colossal miss
Of international
Non factional
And coolly rational
Peace among
The tested ones.
What's it take
to stop the guns?
It could be done
And in its place
A different face
With undue haste
a truce with grace,
a resting place.
I’ll go to bed
Tonight instead
And in the dawn
I’ll come along
Barely strong
But courage long
For steps for peace
A war at cease
An honest crease
For those the least.
And for those the more,
An open door
At its core
To change the future
Evermore.
Monday, July 31, 2006
home again
I've been vacationing in Maine. It's been good. I swam in Sebago Lake 2 or 3 times a day. I read Julia Cameron's book The Right to Write and then I introduced myself as " a becoming writer" all week. I'm excited to catch up with everybody's blogs. It's good to be home.
Sunday, July 23, 2006
Thursday 13 for Jessica
Last week was Jessica's 29th birthday. But not just that: we now know she is safely 13 weeks pregnant. We will welcome and love another treasured person in our family. Wow. I imagine I will be a playful vibrant grandmother: I certainly know there is plenty of wonder and mystery to share and discover.
In honor of Jess' birthday, here's a Thursday 13 for her:
1. 15 minutes after Jess was born, I ate a ham and cheese sandwich and could have eaten another.
2. When Jess was 14 I made her get a summer job, thinking the value of work and her own spending money was a good thing. She and her friend Annie found work in a shoe factory. After resisting the whole idea, she came home the first day with a new found enthusiasm. "it's really cool, mom. They'll pay you in shoes instead of money."
3. Jess could be a top notch detective. When Charles Stewart murdered his wife, she was weeks ahead of anyone else in saying he did it.
4. Jess could also be an attorney. At the youngest age she could persuade you her made-up words for scrabble were real.
5. Jess could also be a professional shopper. Nobody finds bargains like this girl.
6. She and I took a 3 week trip to the West Coast when she was 12. We started in Berkeley, drove down Highway 1 to LA and Disneyland,then San Diego, then drove across the Red Desert (?)through Utah to the Grand Canyon, where we rode mules half way down and my fear of heights just about had a heart attack.
7. I could tell Jess loved Mike the first time I saw them together.
8. Their wedding last September is a permanent best-memory: I can still remember every detail. They couldn't stop laughing through most of the solemn ceremony and that made the priest and minister laugh too.
9. The wedding party and parents, all formally dolled up, were trollied to the 3 pm tour of Fenway Park, before the 6 pm wedding in downtown Boston. The pictures of us all in the bleachers are priceless.
10. There is nothing worse than seeing your little child's feelings hurt by her friends: you'd like to beat them up for being mean, but of course, alas, you've got to choose a more non-confrontational path.
11. Jess has held on to almost all her friends from junior high, high school, and college.
12. I can't explain what makes Jess so funny, but you just have to listen to her for a few minutes and you know that she has a cynical and unique wit and way of seeing that no one else does.
13. I would absolutely positively run right into any burning house to rescue this daughter of mine. And knowing that, since the day she was born, has made me a better and better person.
Happy Birthday, Jess. Here's to everything ahead. Love Mom
In honor of Jess' birthday, here's a Thursday 13 for her:
1. 15 minutes after Jess was born, I ate a ham and cheese sandwich and could have eaten another.
2. When Jess was 14 I made her get a summer job, thinking the value of work and her own spending money was a good thing. She and her friend Annie found work in a shoe factory. After resisting the whole idea, she came home the first day with a new found enthusiasm. "it's really cool, mom. They'll pay you in shoes instead of money."
3. Jess could be a top notch detective. When Charles Stewart murdered his wife, she was weeks ahead of anyone else in saying he did it.
4. Jess could also be an attorney. At the youngest age she could persuade you her made-up words for scrabble were real.
5. Jess could also be a professional shopper. Nobody finds bargains like this girl.
6. She and I took a 3 week trip to the West Coast when she was 12. We started in Berkeley, drove down Highway 1 to LA and Disneyland,then San Diego, then drove across the Red Desert (?)through Utah to the Grand Canyon, where we rode mules half way down and my fear of heights just about had a heart attack.
7. I could tell Jess loved Mike the first time I saw them together.
8. Their wedding last September is a permanent best-memory: I can still remember every detail. They couldn't stop laughing through most of the solemn ceremony and that made the priest and minister laugh too.
9. The wedding party and parents, all formally dolled up, were trollied to the 3 pm tour of Fenway Park, before the 6 pm wedding in downtown Boston. The pictures of us all in the bleachers are priceless.
10. There is nothing worse than seeing your little child's feelings hurt by her friends: you'd like to beat them up for being mean, but of course, alas, you've got to choose a more non-confrontational path.
11. Jess has held on to almost all her friends from junior high, high school, and college.
12. I can't explain what makes Jess so funny, but you just have to listen to her for a few minutes and you know that she has a cynical and unique wit and way of seeing that no one else does.
13. I would absolutely positively run right into any burning house to rescue this daughter of mine. And knowing that, since the day she was born, has made me a better and better person.
Happy Birthday, Jess. Here's to everything ahead. Love Mom
Thursday, July 20, 2006
Thursday Thirteen
1. I had a parakeet named Chris who died upright on his perch. I couldn't believe it.
2. I'm in physical therapy to take care of my termpermental back and it's almost like going for a massage.
3. I love to stay up late-late and get up early-early.
4. I love this quiet time: sometimes I watch late night tv, sometimes I write, sometimes I read, sometimes I fall asleep on the couch.
5. Besides pizza and bread, I'm pretty fond of Dunkin Donuts boston cream donuts. I haven't had one in about 6 months...
6. My daughter Jessica is funnier than anyone else I know
7. jb taught me the value of good shoes.
8. We just painted our kitchen/den/dining room (small rooms) green/yellow on the top walls and orange on the bottom (with cream trim) and it came out fantastic. We were holding our breath after the first coat
9. I read tarot cards. The first deck I ever had was a James Bond set my mother gave me for Christmas. I don't really tell details about the future but the counselor in me gives a pretty good read.
10. I wish I could volunteer more for the Red Cross but I never seem to be free when they call me.
11. jb and I had a cookout last weekend in our "new" backyard. Our neighbors and friends came and jb, her sister cindy,I, and several friends cooked and prepared a good spread of appetizers, burgers and goodies.
12. I'm following the seasons here in Western Massachusetts: blueberries, cherries,unbelievable corn on the cob, and peaches are currently in.
13. Some day I plan to pull a police car over for speeding on the highway--my version of a citizen's arrest.
2. I'm in physical therapy to take care of my termpermental back and it's almost like going for a massage.
3. I love to stay up late-late and get up early-early.
4. I love this quiet time: sometimes I watch late night tv, sometimes I write, sometimes I read, sometimes I fall asleep on the couch.
5. Besides pizza and bread, I'm pretty fond of Dunkin Donuts boston cream donuts. I haven't had one in about 6 months...
6. My daughter Jessica is funnier than anyone else I know
7. jb taught me the value of good shoes.
8. We just painted our kitchen/den/dining room (small rooms) green/yellow on the top walls and orange on the bottom (with cream trim) and it came out fantastic. We were holding our breath after the first coat
9. I read tarot cards. The first deck I ever had was a James Bond set my mother gave me for Christmas. I don't really tell details about the future but the counselor in me gives a pretty good read.
10. I wish I could volunteer more for the Red Cross but I never seem to be free when they call me.
11. jb and I had a cookout last weekend in our "new" backyard. Our neighbors and friends came and jb, her sister cindy,I, and several friends cooked and prepared a good spread of appetizers, burgers and goodies.
12. I'm following the seasons here in Western Massachusetts: blueberries, cherries,unbelievable corn on the cob, and peaches are currently in.
13. Some day I plan to pull a police car over for speeding on the highway--my version of a citizen's arrest.
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
Not Ready to Make Nice
"I'm through with doubt.
There's nothing left for me to figure out.
I've paid a price.
And I'll keep paying.
I'm not ready to make nice.
I'm not ready to back down.
I'm still mad as hell and
I don't have time to go round and round and round.
It's too late to make it right.
I probably wouldn't if I could.
Cause I'm mad as hell.
Can't bring myself to do what it is you think I should."
The Dixie Chicks
A few years ago the country-singing Dixie Chicks publicly criticized President Bush's actions in Iraq. They were effectively blackballed throughout country music and their song play and careers came to an abrupt halt.
It's not my intent or style to use this blog to advance my political opinion, or anybody else's. But taking this stand took courage and I admire that.
The Dixie Chicks are back with a new cd called "Taking the Long Way". And in that cd is a song called "Not Ready to Make Nice". Without knowing in advance how they and their music would be received, they made another decision to stand by what they believe in. You might not agree with them, but I for one admire their courage yet again.
And it's gotten me thinking about courage and conviction. I like the clarity and firmness of "not ready to make nice". It's clean and honest. It's realistic about consequences. And it's free of guilt. In this teetering time of nuclear weapons and tough guy approaches, I vote for more not less courage and conviction. And on a more mundane level, following the recent writing prompt on "guilt", I find it refreshing to be so clear and firm. No late night tossing and turning about something you believe is right, and that's a good thing.
"Taking the Long Way" is a really fine album. The Dixie Chicks have had their comeback tour cancelled in some states and venues due lack of support or concerns about safety. While there's still plenty of fans, I encourage you to buy the cd, enjoy it, and support these 3 women for speaking their minds and exercising their backbone.
Not ready to make nice is the opposite of numb, and I'm for more of that too.
There's nothing left for me to figure out.
I've paid a price.
And I'll keep paying.
I'm not ready to make nice.
I'm not ready to back down.
I'm still mad as hell and
I don't have time to go round and round and round.
It's too late to make it right.
I probably wouldn't if I could.
Cause I'm mad as hell.
Can't bring myself to do what it is you think I should."
The Dixie Chicks
A few years ago the country-singing Dixie Chicks publicly criticized President Bush's actions in Iraq. They were effectively blackballed throughout country music and their song play and careers came to an abrupt halt.
It's not my intent or style to use this blog to advance my political opinion, or anybody else's. But taking this stand took courage and I admire that.
The Dixie Chicks are back with a new cd called "Taking the Long Way". And in that cd is a song called "Not Ready to Make Nice". Without knowing in advance how they and their music would be received, they made another decision to stand by what they believe in. You might not agree with them, but I for one admire their courage yet again.
And it's gotten me thinking about courage and conviction. I like the clarity and firmness of "not ready to make nice". It's clean and honest. It's realistic about consequences. And it's free of guilt. In this teetering time of nuclear weapons and tough guy approaches, I vote for more not less courage and conviction. And on a more mundane level, following the recent writing prompt on "guilt", I find it refreshing to be so clear and firm. No late night tossing and turning about something you believe is right, and that's a good thing.
"Taking the Long Way" is a really fine album. The Dixie Chicks have had their comeback tour cancelled in some states and venues due lack of support or concerns about safety. While there's still plenty of fans, I encourage you to buy the cd, enjoy it, and support these 3 women for speaking their minds and exercising their backbone.
Not ready to make nice is the opposite of numb, and I'm for more of that too.
Thursday, July 13, 2006
The Thursday Thirteen
1. I have a master's degree in rehab. counseling
2. The best hot chocolate I've ever had was at Angelina's cafe in Paris
3. I know how to use an electric screwdriver
4. But I don't know how to change a flat tire (and probably never will)
5. I went to a butterfly sanctuary today and was afraid of the butterflies (they flew all over the place)
6. I eat red meat 2-3 times a year
7. I eat chocolate 2-3 times a week
8. I like grocery shopping and paying bills but I hate doing laundry and vacuuming
9. My 2 week stint with the Red Cross in New Orleans during Hurricane Katrina changed who I am--for the better
10. I stash away 20 dollar bills a couple of times a month and one time I accumulated over a thousand dollars that way
11. The funniest movie I've ever seen is "Sordid Lives"--I've seen it 3 times
12. I don't accessorize very well
13. When I come across a joke I like, I'll tell it to someone else every chance I get
2. The best hot chocolate I've ever had was at Angelina's cafe in Paris
3. I know how to use an electric screwdriver
4. But I don't know how to change a flat tire (and probably never will)
5. I went to a butterfly sanctuary today and was afraid of the butterflies (they flew all over the place)
6. I eat red meat 2-3 times a year
7. I eat chocolate 2-3 times a week
8. I like grocery shopping and paying bills but I hate doing laundry and vacuuming
9. My 2 week stint with the Red Cross in New Orleans during Hurricane Katrina changed who I am--for the better
10. I stash away 20 dollar bills a couple of times a month and one time I accumulated over a thousand dollars that way
11. The funniest movie I've ever seen is "Sordid Lives"--I've seen it 3 times
12. I don't accessorize very well
13. When I come across a joke I like, I'll tell it to someone else every chance I get
A Zen-ie Thought for the Day
A man walks into a diner. When the waitress comes to take his order, he asks her:
"Did you see me come in?"
"Yes", she said.
"Have you ever seen me before?"
"No", she said.
"Then how did you know it was me?"
"Did you see me come in?"
"Yes", she said.
"Have you ever seen me before?"
"No", she said.
"Then how did you know it was me?"
Thursday, July 06, 2006
Thoughts about Blogging
I'm starting to wonder about connections and friendships from blogging. It's weird to share, to learn about someone, let alone care about them, without knowing them in some other context, or perhaps never meeting, seeing their face, hearing their voice, knowing where and how they live. One of the contributors to Illustration Friday has "disappeared"--she hasn't made an entry in weeks, and I find myself worrying about her, wondering what happened. It feels oddly strange that I'd like to know she's ok.
For a couple of years I was part of a dog group: we'd meet in the middle of a park every day with our dogs; we'd talk, laugh, catch up, philosophize--all this on a first name basis but not much else. Ususually we didn't know eachother's last names,about our work selves, homes, kids, backgrounds etc. But we knew what was happening day to day, as we shared stories about the best shoes for sub zero (ughs), places to take our dogs, the murder of sharon's beloved son, and the rearranging of jonatha's music and career. I remember thinking how lovely it was to have relationships based so fully and soley in the present moment.
Is blogging the same kind of connection? Can you really come to know someone in this way? How are personal boundaries different, if at all? How can you be who you are and yet be discreet in what you share about yourself?
These are my thoughts on this fine Thursday night. Any comments?
For a couple of years I was part of a dog group: we'd meet in the middle of a park every day with our dogs; we'd talk, laugh, catch up, philosophize--all this on a first name basis but not much else. Ususually we didn't know eachother's last names,about our work selves, homes, kids, backgrounds etc. But we knew what was happening day to day, as we shared stories about the best shoes for sub zero (ughs), places to take our dogs, the murder of sharon's beloved son, and the rearranging of jonatha's music and career. I remember thinking how lovely it was to have relationships based so fully and soley in the present moment.
Is blogging the same kind of connection? Can you really come to know someone in this way? How are personal boundaries different, if at all? How can you be who you are and yet be discreet in what you share about yourself?
These are my thoughts on this fine Thursday night. Any comments?
Thursday Thirteen
1. I would drive all day to have lunch or dinner at Mr. Sushi in Brookline. I order the california rolls, chicken terraki rolls and shrimp tempura rolls--no raw fish for me--these three are a piece of heaven.
2. The first time I remember deeply crying was when i read Nobody's Boy. I was probably 1o and it was the first book i ever checked out of the library
3. I was cast as Aida in a Neil Coward play my senior high school school and during a few performances I made up my own lines a couple of times, to the pleasure of the audience and to the dismay of the lead actress
4. I can uncover or create any resource for any occasion. I'm just persistent.
5. I love playing slot machines even though I lose every time
6. Two of my best friends were killed in accidents before they turned 30
7. I love Paris for reasons I don't understand but I could live there
8. I'm a good counselor
9. My first car was an Austin my father rebuilt for me. It had little hands that stuck out for directionals and I was only allowed to drive it two miles to the busstop and back. He later rebuilt a Metropolitan for me, which was probably the smallest car ever made. It had a little bench for the back seat.
10. For the first time in my life I have a yard with full sun. I am a squealing-with-delight gardener these days.
11. I am re-inventing myself as a writer. When my first publication occurs, I plan to celebrate with a hot fudge sundae,and then a trip to mr. sushi.
12. I love my laptop computer more than I ever dreamed I would.
13. I'm 58 (wow!)but feel alot younger: I'm pretty satisfied with my life these days.
ps A: this is for you. I was arrested for breaking and entering at age 13 because i and 2 of my friends happily met three boys we liked for a little get together in the woods of a private boarded up estate. one of us got the idea to open a window and check out the estate. first we stood on a little table and broke it, then an alarm went off, then the car wouldn't start, and then appeared two policemen who actually surrounded us. it took a week for them to call my parents about it and my father brought me to the policestation and volunteered me to pick up leaves as a punishment. I was mortified, and by the way, none of the three of us ended up with any of the guys. such is the life of a 13 year old...
2. The first time I remember deeply crying was when i read Nobody's Boy. I was probably 1o and it was the first book i ever checked out of the library
3. I was cast as Aida in a Neil Coward play my senior high school school and during a few performances I made up my own lines a couple of times, to the pleasure of the audience and to the dismay of the lead actress
4. I can uncover or create any resource for any occasion. I'm just persistent.
5. I love playing slot machines even though I lose every time
6. Two of my best friends were killed in accidents before they turned 30
7. I love Paris for reasons I don't understand but I could live there
8. I'm a good counselor
9. My first car was an Austin my father rebuilt for me. It had little hands that stuck out for directionals and I was only allowed to drive it two miles to the busstop and back. He later rebuilt a Metropolitan for me, which was probably the smallest car ever made. It had a little bench for the back seat.
10. For the first time in my life I have a yard with full sun. I am a squealing-with-delight gardener these days.
11. I am re-inventing myself as a writer. When my first publication occurs, I plan to celebrate with a hot fudge sundae,and then a trip to mr. sushi.
12. I love my laptop computer more than I ever dreamed I would.
13. I'm 58 (wow!)but feel alot younger: I'm pretty satisfied with my life these days.
ps A: this is for you. I was arrested for breaking and entering at age 13 because i and 2 of my friends happily met three boys we liked for a little get together in the woods of a private boarded up estate. one of us got the idea to open a window and check out the estate. first we stood on a little table and broke it, then an alarm went off, then the car wouldn't start, and then appeared two policemen who actually surrounded us. it took a week for them to call my parents about it and my father brought me to the policestation and volunteered me to pick up leaves as a punishment. I was mortified, and by the way, none of the three of us ended up with any of the guys. such is the life of a 13 year old...
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
The Prompt that Preferred Summer Lounging
Since I suggested this prompt, here it is, but be forewarned: I'm imaginatively floating in an imaginary pool, readying for an imaginary margarita.
The Road Not Taken
I took a left instead of right
And followed an unlikely sight.
Up ahead beneath a tree
Was someone looking just like me.
She quinched her eyes
She looked surprised
She shook her head
And finally said,
“Because I’m here
I’m never there.
I may look lost
But that’s the cost
Of being me and never you
I recommend it through and through”
The Road Not Taken
I took a left instead of right
And followed an unlikely sight.
Up ahead beneath a tree
Was someone looking just like me.
She quinched her eyes
She looked surprised
She shook her head
And finally said,
“Because I’m here
I’m never there.
I may look lost
But that’s the cost
Of being me and never you
I recommend it through and through”
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Thursday Thirteen
1. I got several D's in conduct--I think in 9th and 10th grade
2. I can't stand coke and most sodas
3. On my couch sit Esther and Mildred, two (cloth) witches who have now moved three times with us, and insist on prominence in the family
4. I loved playing hopscotch as a kid, especially throwing the rock in the square(?)
5. One of my proudest accomplishments was being the Project Director of a Spinal Cord Injury Resource Directory
6. My jewelry is all over the place
7. I usually have a back-up plan
8. People who know me would be surprised that I make true friends very slowly
9. I regularly make up songs that rhyme and sing them outloud (I can't sing)
10. I've lived in two states (Mass. and Oklahoma) and one other country (Germany)
11. Pizza is my # 2 weakness in life and bread of any kind is my # 3
12. I am not eating much of either because I am losing weight
13. I've had (& loved)a parakeet named Crystal Starlight ("Chris"); dogs named Sniffy, Scottie, Mitch, Nicky, Rosie, and now Stella; two cats Alice and Max; a fish named Tillie (she came when I called), a hampster named Faye-Faye and a squirrel named Henrietta Mooney
2. I can't stand coke and most sodas
3. On my couch sit Esther and Mildred, two (cloth) witches who have now moved three times with us, and insist on prominence in the family
4. I loved playing hopscotch as a kid, especially throwing the rock in the square(?)
5. One of my proudest accomplishments was being the Project Director of a Spinal Cord Injury Resource Directory
6. My jewelry is all over the place
7. I usually have a back-up plan
8. People who know me would be surprised that I make true friends very slowly
9. I regularly make up songs that rhyme and sing them outloud (I can't sing)
10. I've lived in two states (Mass. and Oklahoma) and one other country (Germany)
11. Pizza is my # 2 weakness in life and bread of any kind is my # 3
12. I am not eating much of either because I am losing weight
13. I've had (& loved)a parakeet named Crystal Starlight ("Chris"); dogs named Sniffy, Scottie, Mitch, Nicky, Rosie, and now Stella; two cats Alice and Max; a fish named Tillie (she came when I called), a hampster named Faye-Faye and a squirrel named Henrietta Mooney
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
A Giraffe On Roller-skates
"She’s a fun girl who loves life! Her hobbies include running,
jumping and sniffing. She has a medical condition called
spondylosis which means that parts of her spinal cord
are changing. This should be able to be managed with
the help of your veterinarian." (Petfinder.com)
The medical piece was no small deal. Spondylosis a condition where bones are dangerously fragile, and for this “fun girl” both her back and neck were affected. Also, on the day we first saw her, she was just finishing treatment for lyme disease and she had some additional stomach problems due to the scavenger food she must have eaten while a stray on the streets. We didn’t know it at the time, but to top it off her bladder leaks. It’s controllable with medication but not enough to spare her from the indignity of another diagnosis: “inappropriate urination”.
Can’t have you pissing in the house, Scout. You gotta go—I can’t keep
up with your problems.
She wouldn’t make eye contact. You couldn’t hold her head in your hands even when you tried. And for the first few days you couldn’t touch her feet, not even to affectionately hold a paw. She would stretch forward with those long graceful legs and those salon quality toenails, then drop her front and then her back end, perfectly keeping her head and upper torso gracefully balanced. She’d stay in that posture-perfect position for hours, staring ahead with sad eyes, quietly watching, quietly listening.
We bought her an $80 orthopedic bed. Basically it was just a four layer egg foam and not worth the cost, but it was well worth the benefit. She knew it was hers. Most of the time she would lie on its firm plaid mattress, her deep brown eyes staring as if she were searching for something or someone familiar. Sometimes she looked like she was relaxed and resting but more often she looked sad, lost,longing.
She didn’t pay us much attention but she tried. She was appreciative, and she was obedient--so obedient that she did not move or peep in the morning until we called to her. She would wag her tail when expected but just as often she kept it partially between her legs, hanging there looking lost. And she immediately crouched out of the room as soon as we sat down for dinner--or breakfast or lunch. At first we didn’t catch the significance of that, not until she began to slowly return as we cleaned up and put the food away. And--this one’s the hardest—she reflectively dropped her head whenever we tried to pet her; the movement was sudden, efficient, routine. It was not quite a wince—she was too obedient for that—but she prepared herself, just in case.
Get out of here now or I’ll drag you outside with my bare hands.
This dog was rescued somewhere in Sturbridge. She was malnourished and in severe abdominal pain at the time, and she growled—only once—and yelped in pain until the shelter took her to a local vet.
Get out of the truck, you good-for-nothing dog. Find somebody else to put up with your constant problems.
She had been in the shelter for two months, sick, crated, and cared for by the volunteer angels of animal rescue. They said she was sweet. The two women we met there seemed to like her. She was a difficult adoption because of her medical condition—which was at risk of re-injury from normal activity. Probably for that reason alone, people hesitated to take her home.
You’ve been a pretty good dog Scout. You’re sweet to the wife and kids but bottom line you’re a wimp. You walk like an old lady sometimes and you can hardly keep up with me. I need a “man’s dog”, not a sissy”.
It seemed true enough that she liked to play, sniff and jump. We took her out to the shelter’s fenced-in area and she seemed fairly animated and agile. We took her home because Janet liked her immediately, especially her long lanky body with German Shepard black and brown coloring and a Hound’s floppy ears and inquizitive nose. She had beautiful brown eyes. Compared to our beloved springer spaniel, who died almost two years ago, she was a giant. She was clumsy when she walked, even clumsier when she tried to run or jump, and even today we still marvel when her long wag of a tail bangs against walls and furniture, which it does often.
It’s too bad because the guys like you, Scout. You look tough the way a dog should. It’s too bad, but I can’t keep you no longer. That’s the way it is.
The shelter said she was 3 or 4 years old and she would need some training. No one could predict how severe her medical condition would get. We bought her a red leash and a red collar named her Stella .
It was clear within the first few days that this dog loved someone else—maybe even a whole family. You had the sense she was mourning the loss of her life.
Sometimes you get to me because you’re sweet and you’ll do anything I tell you to. But you’re too much trouble. And I ain’t spending my money on vet bills.
She was polite but distant. Mostly she listened and watched. She especially liked men with tools, Without a trace of fear, she was content to lie within three feet of Jessie’s buzzing power saw as he rebuilt our porch. And when our tall and lanky fence guy Paul, came in the yard through the back gate, carrying his tool box, she jumped up, estastic, rushing to him, running in between his legs and walking beside him in a bouncy sort of way--as though her owner had returned for her.
Get in the truck. You can come to the worksite with me but you better stay where I tell you. Don’t bother me and don’t expect me to take care of you. If you get in somebody’s way and you get hurt that’s your problem.
Stella approached some men with care and fear. She growled at our gentle friend Jonathan, and slinked to him, low to the ground, when he extended his hand and called to her. Her tail wagged tucked between her legs, and you could see her trying to be compliant, to be accepted, but you could also see her preparing for the worse.
You’re too damn nervous Scout. Why don’t you stand up for yourself when Ben starts pushing you around? Ever since him and me got in that fistfight, at least now you growl when you first see him but then you turn into a wimp again. Stop taking shit from him.
In the beginning of her new life, her back legs were stiff every morning, She’d do a half stretch trying to limber up, and she improved as the day went on. Sometimes she looks like a puppy and other times like she’s very old. She’s not 3 or 4: the vet says she’s probably 7 or 8 —“a mature girl” he calls her, He guesses the spondlyosis probably came from an injury. She is now helped by a low dose of remadyl, and she moves like she has a new body after the doggie acupuncture she gets once a month.
If you can’t figure out how to ride in the back of my truck, you can stay home. You hurt your back because you were stupid and lost your balance. You just lay in the garage for almost a month before you could walk ok again.
It’s been 8 weeks in our household we and she have developed a modest routine. She is antsy at 8 am but in this neck of the woods we’re barely having the first cup of coffee. We manage to head into Look Park almost every afternoon and take a 1.2 mile walk around. Stella sniffs everything twice, does pretty well on leash, sits with ease as she follows movements and sounds while I read and relax, and she goes crazy--her tail awagging every which way--when she sees little dogs.
Pokey will miss you Scout. He’ll hate to sleep without you. But if he was pissing in the house, he’d be gone too.
It took five minutes and three walkthroughs to teach her to walk around the garden. She learned to pee in a designated area in a couple of weeks. You can tell her to lie down and she’ll stay there for you. She understands and follows all the basic commands: sit, stay, paw, no, leave it. She stays close by us in the yard, without a leash, and comes when called. When she comes in from the rain, she knows to wait until I wipe her paws. She loves riding in the car. She does all these things correctly and without hesitation: she is perfectly trained and perfectly wonderful, except there is one problem. Sometimes she is afraid--other times terrified--of not doing it all right.
You’ve got to the count of 3 or I’ll beat the shit out of you. You stay here and don’t move until I tell you. Do you understand?
She doesn’t ask for much. She looks depressed about half the time. Heading into month three, she still lies motionless sometimes, with her eyes open—(my guess) remembering and mourning the life she had. One night when Janet was shaking out and folding our clean sheets, from nowhere she darted up and playfully jumped in and danced under the sheets and into the frey. What was familiar to her was unmistakable.
This is a dog who has learned to take care of herself. But things are looking up. She now asks for her favorite pig ears at designated times. She dances wildly, her legs aimed every which way in the air when we bring out her leash, She lets us know she prefers it when we’re around. She likes our friends and family and wags her tail when we walk by. And she softly sighs and pushes her head closer when we lie with her cheek to cheek.
It’s hard to figure why Stella was left in Sturbridge MA. She’s too sweet for that. My guess is her owner was a strict and macho son-of-a bitch. But my guess is that she loved him and she tried her best. Because she is such a great dog, I wouldn’t be surprised if in some misguided way he loved her too.
I ain’t looking back. I did what had to be done. But it’s weird without you.
I’m not thinkin about it too much, but I didn’t know I’d miss you.
jumping and sniffing. She has a medical condition called
spondylosis which means that parts of her spinal cord
are changing. This should be able to be managed with
the help of your veterinarian." (Petfinder.com)
The medical piece was no small deal. Spondylosis a condition where bones are dangerously fragile, and for this “fun girl” both her back and neck were affected. Also, on the day we first saw her, she was just finishing treatment for lyme disease and she had some additional stomach problems due to the scavenger food she must have eaten while a stray on the streets. We didn’t know it at the time, but to top it off her bladder leaks. It’s controllable with medication but not enough to spare her from the indignity of another diagnosis: “inappropriate urination”.
Can’t have you pissing in the house, Scout. You gotta go—I can’t keep
up with your problems.
She wouldn’t make eye contact. You couldn’t hold her head in your hands even when you tried. And for the first few days you couldn’t touch her feet, not even to affectionately hold a paw. She would stretch forward with those long graceful legs and those salon quality toenails, then drop her front and then her back end, perfectly keeping her head and upper torso gracefully balanced. She’d stay in that posture-perfect position for hours, staring ahead with sad eyes, quietly watching, quietly listening.
We bought her an $80 orthopedic bed. Basically it was just a four layer egg foam and not worth the cost, but it was well worth the benefit. She knew it was hers. Most of the time she would lie on its firm plaid mattress, her deep brown eyes staring as if she were searching for something or someone familiar. Sometimes she looked like she was relaxed and resting but more often she looked sad, lost,longing.
She didn’t pay us much attention but she tried. She was appreciative, and she was obedient--so obedient that she did not move or peep in the morning until we called to her. She would wag her tail when expected but just as often she kept it partially between her legs, hanging there looking lost. And she immediately crouched out of the room as soon as we sat down for dinner--or breakfast or lunch. At first we didn’t catch the significance of that, not until she began to slowly return as we cleaned up and put the food away. And--this one’s the hardest—she reflectively dropped her head whenever we tried to pet her; the movement was sudden, efficient, routine. It was not quite a wince—she was too obedient for that—but she prepared herself, just in case.
Get out of here now or I’ll drag you outside with my bare hands.
This dog was rescued somewhere in Sturbridge. She was malnourished and in severe abdominal pain at the time, and she growled—only once—and yelped in pain until the shelter took her to a local vet.
Get out of the truck, you good-for-nothing dog. Find somebody else to put up with your constant problems.
She had been in the shelter for two months, sick, crated, and cared for by the volunteer angels of animal rescue. They said she was sweet. The two women we met there seemed to like her. She was a difficult adoption because of her medical condition—which was at risk of re-injury from normal activity. Probably for that reason alone, people hesitated to take her home.
You’ve been a pretty good dog Scout. You’re sweet to the wife and kids but bottom line you’re a wimp. You walk like an old lady sometimes and you can hardly keep up with me. I need a “man’s dog”, not a sissy”.
It seemed true enough that she liked to play, sniff and jump. We took her out to the shelter’s fenced-in area and she seemed fairly animated and agile. We took her home because Janet liked her immediately, especially her long lanky body with German Shepard black and brown coloring and a Hound’s floppy ears and inquizitive nose. She had beautiful brown eyes. Compared to our beloved springer spaniel, who died almost two years ago, she was a giant. She was clumsy when she walked, even clumsier when she tried to run or jump, and even today we still marvel when her long wag of a tail bangs against walls and furniture, which it does often.
It’s too bad because the guys like you, Scout. You look tough the way a dog should. It’s too bad, but I can’t keep you no longer. That’s the way it is.
The shelter said she was 3 or 4 years old and she would need some training. No one could predict how severe her medical condition would get. We bought her a red leash and a red collar named her Stella .
It was clear within the first few days that this dog loved someone else—maybe even a whole family. You had the sense she was mourning the loss of her life.
Sometimes you get to me because you’re sweet and you’ll do anything I tell you to. But you’re too much trouble. And I ain’t spending my money on vet bills.
She was polite but distant. Mostly she listened and watched. She especially liked men with tools, Without a trace of fear, she was content to lie within three feet of Jessie’s buzzing power saw as he rebuilt our porch. And when our tall and lanky fence guy Paul, came in the yard through the back gate, carrying his tool box, she jumped up, estastic, rushing to him, running in between his legs and walking beside him in a bouncy sort of way--as though her owner had returned for her.
Get in the truck. You can come to the worksite with me but you better stay where I tell you. Don’t bother me and don’t expect me to take care of you. If you get in somebody’s way and you get hurt that’s your problem.
Stella approached some men with care and fear. She growled at our gentle friend Jonathan, and slinked to him, low to the ground, when he extended his hand and called to her. Her tail wagged tucked between her legs, and you could see her trying to be compliant, to be accepted, but you could also see her preparing for the worse.
You’re too damn nervous Scout. Why don’t you stand up for yourself when Ben starts pushing you around? Ever since him and me got in that fistfight, at least now you growl when you first see him but then you turn into a wimp again. Stop taking shit from him.
In the beginning of her new life, her back legs were stiff every morning, She’d do a half stretch trying to limber up, and she improved as the day went on. Sometimes she looks like a puppy and other times like she’s very old. She’s not 3 or 4: the vet says she’s probably 7 or 8 —“a mature girl” he calls her, He guesses the spondlyosis probably came from an injury. She is now helped by a low dose of remadyl, and she moves like she has a new body after the doggie acupuncture she gets once a month.
If you can’t figure out how to ride in the back of my truck, you can stay home. You hurt your back because you were stupid and lost your balance. You just lay in the garage for almost a month before you could walk ok again.
It’s been 8 weeks in our household we and she have developed a modest routine. She is antsy at 8 am but in this neck of the woods we’re barely having the first cup of coffee. We manage to head into Look Park almost every afternoon and take a 1.2 mile walk around. Stella sniffs everything twice, does pretty well on leash, sits with ease as she follows movements and sounds while I read and relax, and she goes crazy--her tail awagging every which way--when she sees little dogs.
Pokey will miss you Scout. He’ll hate to sleep without you. But if he was pissing in the house, he’d be gone too.
It took five minutes and three walkthroughs to teach her to walk around the garden. She learned to pee in a designated area in a couple of weeks. You can tell her to lie down and she’ll stay there for you. She understands and follows all the basic commands: sit, stay, paw, no, leave it. She stays close by us in the yard, without a leash, and comes when called. When she comes in from the rain, she knows to wait until I wipe her paws. She loves riding in the car. She does all these things correctly and without hesitation: she is perfectly trained and perfectly wonderful, except there is one problem. Sometimes she is afraid--other times terrified--of not doing it all right.
You’ve got to the count of 3 or I’ll beat the shit out of you. You stay here and don’t move until I tell you. Do you understand?
She doesn’t ask for much. She looks depressed about half the time. Heading into month three, she still lies motionless sometimes, with her eyes open—(my guess) remembering and mourning the life she had. One night when Janet was shaking out and folding our clean sheets, from nowhere she darted up and playfully jumped in and danced under the sheets and into the frey. What was familiar to her was unmistakable.
This is a dog who has learned to take care of herself. But things are looking up. She now asks for her favorite pig ears at designated times. She dances wildly, her legs aimed every which way in the air when we bring out her leash, She lets us know she prefers it when we’re around. She likes our friends and family and wags her tail when we walk by. And she softly sighs and pushes her head closer when we lie with her cheek to cheek.
It’s hard to figure why Stella was left in Sturbridge MA. She’s too sweet for that. My guess is her owner was a strict and macho son-of-a bitch. But my guess is that she loved him and she tried her best. Because she is such a great dog, I wouldn’t be surprised if in some misguided way he loved her too.
I ain’t looking back. I did what had to be done. But it’s weird without you.
I’m not thinkin about it too much, but I didn’t know I’d miss you.
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
Prompt # 3
How's this for a new prompt?:
The Road Not Taken
It's been pulling at my shoulder for a couple of weeks so with thanks to Robert Frost, how about it?
The Road Not Taken
It's been pulling at my shoulder for a couple of weeks so with thanks to Robert Frost, how about it?
Monday, June 26, 2006
The Thursday Thirteen Written Between Sunday & Monday
Late but not forgotten: A's Thursday Thirteen. 13 little known facts and quirks about me:
1. I love the smell of wood
2. My mother is 90 years old and lives alone in the house my father built
3. I lose my wallet, credit card or car keys at least once a day
4. I am seriously afraid of heights and couldn't sky dive for a million dollars.
5. I lived in Germany for 2 years in an apartment heated by a coal stove in only the livingroom(brrrrr)
6. I've learned to pretty much keep my promises
7. When I breath the sea air in Provincetown and the Outer Cape, I believe I can do anything
8. I'm overweight but in my head still imagine my skinnier self
9. I lent a friend money years back and haven't forgotten that she never paid me back
10. I was voted "Personality Plus" my senior year in high school
11. I develop and present fantastic workshops but have "stage fright" for days beforehand
12. I was arrested for breaking and entering when I was 13
13. Nothing comes close to pizza for the sheer love of it.
1. I love the smell of wood
2. My mother is 90 years old and lives alone in the house my father built
3. I lose my wallet, credit card or car keys at least once a day
4. I am seriously afraid of heights and couldn't sky dive for a million dollars.
5. I lived in Germany for 2 years in an apartment heated by a coal stove in only the livingroom(brrrrr)
6. I've learned to pretty much keep my promises
7. When I breath the sea air in Provincetown and the Outer Cape, I believe I can do anything
8. I'm overweight but in my head still imagine my skinnier self
9. I lent a friend money years back and haven't forgotten that she never paid me back
10. I was voted "Personality Plus" my senior year in high school
11. I develop and present fantastic workshops but have "stage fright" for days beforehand
12. I was arrested for breaking and entering when I was 13
13. Nothing comes close to pizza for the sheer love of it.
Saturday, June 24, 2006
hmmm
Here's my horoscope today:
Repression is a funny thing. Denying your feelings only gives them greater power. Just remember that feeling your emotions and acting on them are two entirely different things. Practice the former right now.
Given the recent big yellow "guilt" prompt, I'm reminded that I am responsible for controlling my actions but not my feelings. Feelings are simply feelings. Whatever your astrological sign and whatever the circumstance, I'm passing this on as a wise tid-bit for the day.
Repression is a funny thing. Denying your feelings only gives them greater power. Just remember that feeling your emotions and acting on them are two entirely different things. Practice the former right now.
Given the recent big yellow "guilt" prompt, I'm reminded that I am responsible for controlling my actions but not my feelings. Feelings are simply feelings. Whatever your astrological sign and whatever the circumstance, I'm passing this on as a wise tid-bit for the day.
Monday, June 19, 2006
jb's studio
i'm still experimenting with photos through flickr.
this is jb's provincetown studio. these are the fabrics she gleefully bought in montmartre in paris. they are hanging on her loom. this studio is long gone--it's been replaced by the magic cottage, which is in our backyard and fabulous.
jb is a fiber artist. these days she finds twigs, rusted metal and run-over bottle caps, combines them with anything, and makes collages. when jb does this, she looks like she is 6 years old having the time of her life.
new orleans
here's my first attempt at adding photos to commentary.
jb and i spent two weeks in new orleans with the red cross last october. it was a life changing experience:
--for miles and miles and miles, the damage was indescribable
--the lack of response and help from the government was shocking
--the people in new orleans and throughout the state were stunned, homeless, and brave.
--the red cross volunteers confirmed that people, not politicians, really come through
jb and i were assigned to a mental health unit. we saw families returning to their destroyed homes for the first time, others sleeping in their cars, dogs still panicked on the streets of saint bernard county, six weeks later, and rooftop holes where people had cut through their attics to keep from drowning.
i'm told alot of the devastation we saw in october is still untouched.
i'd go back in a minute. it changed me forever, and i am grateful.
Saturday, June 17, 2006
Guilt
Writing this was quick and fun.
Guilt
Toss it in the wastebasket
Like it never existed
Hide it under your winter sweaters
And hope it smothers
Take it for a ride and toss it out the window
At 40 miles an hour
Bury it beneath the porch
And let the ants feast on it
Lock it in the closet
Until it shrivels
Put it in the washing machine
And start the rinse cycle on high
You see, it hasn’t done a thing for you.
And it hasn’t done a thing for anyone else either.
It hasn’t clarified or enlightened or solved or absolved.
It hangs in your heart as an “I wish” or “I should”
But without change or action.
It just sits there, taking up space
Until you do something.
And when you do something,
It’s not guilt anymore.
It’s worthless.
It’s a junior league emotion
Trying to make the team.
Do yourself a favor
And let it find someone else
To hassle and diminish.
Screw you, guilt.
I fed you, gave you a home
Respected your purpose
And in return you did nothing
Zero.
Zilch.
Jeez.
Guilt
Toss it in the wastebasket
Like it never existed
Hide it under your winter sweaters
And hope it smothers
Take it for a ride and toss it out the window
At 40 miles an hour
Bury it beneath the porch
And let the ants feast on it
Lock it in the closet
Until it shrivels
Put it in the washing machine
And start the rinse cycle on high
You see, it hasn’t done a thing for you.
And it hasn’t done a thing for anyone else either.
It hasn’t clarified or enlightened or solved or absolved.
It hangs in your heart as an “I wish” or “I should”
But without change or action.
It just sits there, taking up space
Until you do something.
And when you do something,
It’s not guilt anymore.
It’s worthless.
It’s a junior league emotion
Trying to make the team.
Do yourself a favor
And let it find someone else
To hassle and diminish.
Screw you, guilt.
I fed you, gave you a home
Respected your purpose
And in return you did nothing
Zero.
Zilch.
Jeez.
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
Is It True??
I want this not to be true. Help!
No word in the English language rhymes with month, orange, silver, or purple.
No word in the English language rhymes with month, orange, silver, or purple.
Monday, June 12, 2006
Where Land Meets Sea
Tiny coastal Provincetown lies at the very tip of Cape Cod and the Massachusetts boot, home to 3500 year round residents and 20,000 summer tourists. Affectionately called Ptown, it's inhabitants tend to be artists, Portuguese families with long relationships with the sea, small business owners, and gay and lesbian folks who arrive and live as finally themselves.
jb and I went back to Ptown this weekend. We lived there for two years in our little 3 room condo one block from the bay. It was the best and the worse: it might be the incredible light that bounces off the ocean peninsula, or the fact that the winters are hauntingly isolated, or maybe those of us who find our way to Provincetown tend to come from extremes--we can be uniquely creative, or surprisingly dysfunctional, sometimes with little daylight in between. In any case, during my two years as a "townie", I started a little consulting business, worked on my first book, and developed both an Artisan Cooperative and an independent movie theatre. But I also had the worse work assignment and the worse colleagues of my life.
Our place is now rented and this weekend we arrive as visitors. It is a drenching wet Saturday, and yet the two mile stretch of Commercial Street is busier than it should have been. We are thrilled to see our good friends, we visit the cooperative, breath the ocean air, notice the new landscaping and businesses in town. We pass Miss Ellie singing her familiar songs in front of the Crown and Anchor. She/he is 74 years old with killer legs and a shaky voice. We order a lobster roll on the ride down cape and reunite with Fanizzi's solid Sunday brunch. There is creativity everywhere we turn. This is Provincetown, like no other place. I can feel the flow of creative energy dancing in my head. I am inspired, motivated, eager to notice, ready to participate.
I'm not sure jb and I will ever return to Provincetown for more than vacations. Real estate is high and the drive off Cape Cod is endless. But it's in my blood forever. I've met dozens and dozens of people who salivate when I've told them I live there. When I worked for the movie theatre, it was all-too-easy to get directors and actors and playwrights to accept a summer engagement there. The place is magical. It changes, it bickers, it is downright petty sometimes. But it is always magical.
If you come to Provincetown, you may find an unfamiliar artistry within yourself. Or you may find a simple peace that comes from the sea. You might even relax alittle about who you are and the outrageous quirks that makeyou unique. It's a place not to be missed if you can help it.
jb and I went back to Ptown this weekend. We lived there for two years in our little 3 room condo one block from the bay. It was the best and the worse: it might be the incredible light that bounces off the ocean peninsula, or the fact that the winters are hauntingly isolated, or maybe those of us who find our way to Provincetown tend to come from extremes--we can be uniquely creative, or surprisingly dysfunctional, sometimes with little daylight in between. In any case, during my two years as a "townie", I started a little consulting business, worked on my first book, and developed both an Artisan Cooperative and an independent movie theatre. But I also had the worse work assignment and the worse colleagues of my life.
Our place is now rented and this weekend we arrive as visitors. It is a drenching wet Saturday, and yet the two mile stretch of Commercial Street is busier than it should have been. We are thrilled to see our good friends, we visit the cooperative, breath the ocean air, notice the new landscaping and businesses in town. We pass Miss Ellie singing her familiar songs in front of the Crown and Anchor. She/he is 74 years old with killer legs and a shaky voice. We order a lobster roll on the ride down cape and reunite with Fanizzi's solid Sunday brunch. There is creativity everywhere we turn. This is Provincetown, like no other place. I can feel the flow of creative energy dancing in my head. I am inspired, motivated, eager to notice, ready to participate.
I'm not sure jb and I will ever return to Provincetown for more than vacations. Real estate is high and the drive off Cape Cod is endless. But it's in my blood forever. I've met dozens and dozens of people who salivate when I've told them I live there. When I worked for the movie theatre, it was all-too-easy to get directors and actors and playwrights to accept a summer engagement there. The place is magical. It changes, it bickers, it is downright petty sometimes. But it is always magical.
If you come to Provincetown, you may find an unfamiliar artistry within yourself. Or you may find a simple peace that comes from the sea. You might even relax alittle about who you are and the outrageous quirks that makeyou unique. It's a place not to be missed if you can help it.
Thursday, June 08, 2006
10 Things About Me
1. I am a counselor through and through
2. I love creating small sacred spaces
3. Gardening clears my worries
4. I am blessed with a true partner and a precious daughter
5. I could devote my life to helping abused dogs
6. My home is cozy and colorful
7. I have little tolerance for dishonesty
8. My weaknesses are bread, pasta, and sad movies
9. I am appalled by my president's actions and zealotry
10. My favorite word is "grace"
2. I love creating small sacred spaces
3. Gardening clears my worries
4. I am blessed with a true partner and a precious daughter
5. I could devote my life to helping abused dogs
6. My home is cozy and colorful
7. I have little tolerance for dishonesty
8. My weaknesses are bread, pasta, and sad movies
9. I am appalled by my president's actions and zealotry
10. My favorite word is "grace"
Monday, June 05, 2006
Positive Stress...
I'm back to thinking about positive stress, not the kind that has its roots in unresolved anxiety or unexpected problems, or even the kind that comes from a who-knows-why bad day. Positive stress is my reaction to circumstances that are rooted in good things--in people and events that exist because of my decisions and desires.
Today is a good example. jb and I have been fortunate to be able to convert our rittery back porch into what is now becoming a bona fide four season room. We've had a great carpenter replacing the windows so they now magnificently extend across three of four walls, putting in a new door with a cool built in mini-blind, adding new woodwork, etc. The tranformation and prospect of using this new "sunroom" has been exciting.
But today a simple job--blowing insulation into the roof--took on a life of its own. The insulation company did a bad job, it rained, all the insulation got wet, it leaked into our new room in two places, and the mess can only be fixed by replacing the entire flat roof. We now have a blue tarp blowing in the proverbial wind of our back yard and jb and I have spent too much of the day protecting ourselves. learning about levers and tar, and figuring out how to handle all this.
Tomorrow the nefarious company will replace the roof and assumingly make it all whole again. Probably we'll spend another day being cautious and vigilant, but in the big scheme of things, this is a small small event. I know it's a small event. I just have to train myself to act accordingly.
I am working hard to differentiate between legitimate difficult stress and optional positive stress because I waste precious time when I go off due to reasons of my own making, and good reasons to boot. The sunroom is a good thing. It will be a wonderful space for years ahead. We're proud of how it will look and feel. That's the real story. The rain and the roof are just a paragraph.
Every day there are reasons for me to overreact. I took my car in and the service manager was a bozo. (I'm lucky I have a car). I lost my ATM card (I have money in my account). Another bad haircut (Hair grows).
I know I'll never be above being petty here and there, but getting it right about stress is going to help me. I'm reminded of a silly little quote I saw on a greeting card: "Angels fly because they take themselves lightly". This summer, I'm working on my own version of flying.
UPDATE--8 hours later
The shingles are flying. The saws are screeching. The grass is shuddering from the thrown wooden planks and hostile nails. The guys brought the wrong tools. It is all a total mess.
Our stress level is through the roof. So much for positive growth--we're ready to rip this company apart along with the roofing material. jb is on her way to work and I, beginning my unexpected summer off, will spend my day dealing with this XX@**X$@**.
I'll update again: the pathetic diary of an agitated homeowner.
UPDATE--16 hours later
The new roof is on. The yard is a mess. The chimney has tar on it. But: My day got better as it progressed. Tomorrow is the Wednesday Farmer's Market, I am revising my book proposal, and Stella and I took a mile walk in Look Park. Today WAS stressful, but I wrestled it down when I could. Right now I'm reasonably dandy.
Today is a good example. jb and I have been fortunate to be able to convert our rittery back porch into what is now becoming a bona fide four season room. We've had a great carpenter replacing the windows so they now magnificently extend across three of four walls, putting in a new door with a cool built in mini-blind, adding new woodwork, etc. The tranformation and prospect of using this new "sunroom" has been exciting.
But today a simple job--blowing insulation into the roof--took on a life of its own. The insulation company did a bad job, it rained, all the insulation got wet, it leaked into our new room in two places, and the mess can only be fixed by replacing the entire flat roof. We now have a blue tarp blowing in the proverbial wind of our back yard and jb and I have spent too much of the day protecting ourselves. learning about levers and tar, and figuring out how to handle all this.
Tomorrow the nefarious company will replace the roof and assumingly make it all whole again. Probably we'll spend another day being cautious and vigilant, but in the big scheme of things, this is a small small event. I know it's a small event. I just have to train myself to act accordingly.
I am working hard to differentiate between legitimate difficult stress and optional positive stress because I waste precious time when I go off due to reasons of my own making, and good reasons to boot. The sunroom is a good thing. It will be a wonderful space for years ahead. We're proud of how it will look and feel. That's the real story. The rain and the roof are just a paragraph.
Every day there are reasons for me to overreact. I took my car in and the service manager was a bozo. (I'm lucky I have a car). I lost my ATM card (I have money in my account). Another bad haircut (Hair grows).
I know I'll never be above being petty here and there, but getting it right about stress is going to help me. I'm reminded of a silly little quote I saw on a greeting card: "Angels fly because they take themselves lightly". This summer, I'm working on my own version of flying.
UPDATE--8 hours later
The shingles are flying. The saws are screeching. The grass is shuddering from the thrown wooden planks and hostile nails. The guys brought the wrong tools. It is all a total mess.
Our stress level is through the roof. So much for positive growth--we're ready to rip this company apart along with the roofing material. jb is on her way to work and I, beginning my unexpected summer off, will spend my day dealing with this XX@**X$@**.
I'll update again: the pathetic diary of an agitated homeowner.
UPDATE--16 hours later
The new roof is on. The yard is a mess. The chimney has tar on it. But: My day got better as it progressed. Tomorrow is the Wednesday Farmer's Market, I am revising my book proposal, and Stella and I took a mile walk in Look Park. Today WAS stressful, but I wrestled it down when I could. Right now I'm reasonably dandy.
Friday, June 02, 2006
The Prompt
Divine Justice
Twice I’ve tried and failed. I hate regrets and I have two big ones.
Through an intermediary I send word to my first deep and true love. It is 25 years later and I calmly see my part in the painful bitter betrayal that choked us both. The response back is a non response: a dollop of vanilla variety silence. If I read into it, the non words are clear: ‘I am ignoring you. Leave me alone.”
The second regret is less complicated but equally unfortunate. I lost a good friend to a bad decision, one that was not then and definitely not now worth anything close to the cost. It’s been four years. I’ve sent a couple of cards and left a couple of phone messages, apologizing, lamenting, hoping for a reconnect. I’ve gotten word back, politely and indirectly, that the time is not right… maybe some other time.
I am looking for redemption and find it buried in rejection.
Isn’t that just the way sometimes? You have to let go of someone you wished you had gripped harder or softer. You have to accept what you can’t make right. That’s your only chance.
I’ve phoned my friend Dory and we’re sharing a double scooped hot fudge sundae in downtown Northampton. It is a warm breezy Sunday night in June and gratitude skips around our ankles. Dory has made a few regret calls herself lately, with similar results.
We are two minds now less emcumbered by several less people. It’s a loss and the ice cream is quite divine. Just ice and no heat.
Isn’t that just the way sometimes?
Twice I’ve tried and failed. I hate regrets and I have two big ones.
Through an intermediary I send word to my first deep and true love. It is 25 years later and I calmly see my part in the painful bitter betrayal that choked us both. The response back is a non response: a dollop of vanilla variety silence. If I read into it, the non words are clear: ‘I am ignoring you. Leave me alone.”
The second regret is less complicated but equally unfortunate. I lost a good friend to a bad decision, one that was not then and definitely not now worth anything close to the cost. It’s been four years. I’ve sent a couple of cards and left a couple of phone messages, apologizing, lamenting, hoping for a reconnect. I’ve gotten word back, politely and indirectly, that the time is not right… maybe some other time.
I am looking for redemption and find it buried in rejection.
Isn’t that just the way sometimes? You have to let go of someone you wished you had gripped harder or softer. You have to accept what you can’t make right. That’s your only chance.
I’ve phoned my friend Dory and we’re sharing a double scooped hot fudge sundae in downtown Northampton. It is a warm breezy Sunday night in June and gratitude skips around our ankles. Dory has made a few regret calls herself lately, with similar results.
We are two minds now less emcumbered by several less people. It’s a loss and the ice cream is quite divine. Just ice and no heat.
Isn’t that just the way sometimes?
Thursday, June 01, 2006
A Memorial to Willa
I spent yesterday in a sad beautiful world. It began in an old Jewish cemetary in Glendale/Queens New York--with hundreds, thousands of tall, thin elegant grave markers, tightly standing one aside another in every direction , and there too the age and date of death, many markers with small stones and rocks carefully placed around the engraved name, as is the Jewish tradition. It ended at a lush one story rustic designer home and abundant landscape in Westchester, decorated in the best welcoming colors and complete with a pool and accompanying sweet cottage alone atop a hill in a clearing of tall pines and songbirds. This was not a show-off house: it was home to Willa's sister, and the love of it showed.
Willa died 12 months ago. Yesterday was the unveiling of her headstone. She was diagnosed with lung cancer--she who quit smoking with me twenty years ago, after too many late night talks of philosophies and longings. Quickly she beat it, and then quickly it beat her. In life and death she was equal parts brave, wise, whimsical, kind, adventureous, outlandish, spiritual, fair, perceptive, and a standout candidate for the growth-of-the-decade award.
When Willa died, it made no sense. This was a woman who grew into herself, became a leader in disability rights, could combine any food source together for quick magnifigence, wore purple and red and mysterious earrings, who readily shared her view but so easily you were gently rocked as you listened. This was a woman who secretly was a best friend to so many people that her memorial last year became abit comical as one person after another claimed Willa's best-friendship (including me). This was a woman who knew this deep precious part of me only as I and perhaps one or two other people ever will. This was a woman who knew my soul. This was my friend, Dan and Sarah's mother, Susan and Ellen's sister, Vivian and Gail's guardian angels.
Willa spent alot of her life with a cautious perceptible shaking of her hands as she showed up every day, every moment to face down her fears and become her unshakeable wonderful self. Whenever it counted, she raised two strong kids, pushed herself into dazzling career success, and unbeknownst until her memorial, served as best-friend-in-residence whenever the need.
Is it ok to confidently say that Willa's death is unfair? I'm generally not a poor sport about life's ups and downs, and I've never been delusional about mortality. I'm also not new to death: I've lost my father, two friends (both car accidents), a cousin and a sister-in-law. But Willa? Finally at the intersection of peace and calm, when her life is just fine thank you, Willa has to check out? Very very unfair. Very very unbelievable.
Yesterday about 20 people quietly sobbed and lovingly watched as her children removed the thin white vail from her headstone. There it was: Willa's name: confirmation of a loss too huge to ever truly accept. "This is what love does", her gravestone said. Yes, Willa, this is what love does. It lives in my heart, gives me courage, and reminds me that I can be truly known. Thanks, pal. I'll keep an eye out.
Love, KJ
Willa died 12 months ago. Yesterday was the unveiling of her headstone. She was diagnosed with lung cancer--she who quit smoking with me twenty years ago, after too many late night talks of philosophies and longings. Quickly she beat it, and then quickly it beat her. In life and death she was equal parts brave, wise, whimsical, kind, adventureous, outlandish, spiritual, fair, perceptive, and a standout candidate for the growth-of-the-decade award.
When Willa died, it made no sense. This was a woman who grew into herself, became a leader in disability rights, could combine any food source together for quick magnifigence, wore purple and red and mysterious earrings, who readily shared her view but so easily you were gently rocked as you listened. This was a woman who secretly was a best friend to so many people that her memorial last year became abit comical as one person after another claimed Willa's best-friendship (including me). This was a woman who knew this deep precious part of me only as I and perhaps one or two other people ever will. This was a woman who knew my soul. This was my friend, Dan and Sarah's mother, Susan and Ellen's sister, Vivian and Gail's guardian angels.
Willa spent alot of her life with a cautious perceptible shaking of her hands as she showed up every day, every moment to face down her fears and become her unshakeable wonderful self. Whenever it counted, she raised two strong kids, pushed herself into dazzling career success, and unbeknownst until her memorial, served as best-friend-in-residence whenever the need.
Is it ok to confidently say that Willa's death is unfair? I'm generally not a poor sport about life's ups and downs, and I've never been delusional about mortality. I'm also not new to death: I've lost my father, two friends (both car accidents), a cousin and a sister-in-law. But Willa? Finally at the intersection of peace and calm, when her life is just fine thank you, Willa has to check out? Very very unfair. Very very unbelievable.
Yesterday about 20 people quietly sobbed and lovingly watched as her children removed the thin white vail from her headstone. There it was: Willa's name: confirmation of a loss too huge to ever truly accept. "This is what love does", her gravestone said. Yes, Willa, this is what love does. It lives in my heart, gives me courage, and reminds me that I can be truly known. Thanks, pal. I'll keep an eye out.
Love, KJ
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Free but not Cheap.....
I am astonishingly, unexpectedly free this summer! Turns out my major customer has to pull back its business and my partner jb is willing to work extra so I do not have to replace the work--probably not until September. Wow. I will spend the next two months (at least) writing: I'm still wrestling with my book proposal but I anticipate some modicum of success with it. And I have submitted one story and one poem to writing contests (is that the right word?). And I will take tiny but observable steps to plan and landscape our backyard. (We aim to create a sanctuary of sorts, just yards away from a major road but somehow a calm and kind space).
I can't believe my good fortune.
So I'm thinking tonight about how grateful I am and how much I'm benefiting from blogging. Sometimes I feel like I'm attending a private poetry reading or an art gallery opening night for Friday Illustrations. And from this comes an idea and offering:
I help people build businesses. I help them plan, develop, coordinate and market a variety of self-employment and small to midsize business ideas, from restaurants to artisian cooperatives, to real estate firms to technology consulting to disability management counseling. I also help people find their way to careers that matter and away from those that don't.
I can't say for how long, and I will not/cannot delve into therapy-related issues, but for now I am willing to use part of my blogsite to answer any career and/or business questions that may be helpful--a kind of Career Ann Landers. :) If I can't help, I won't try. But if my two cents can be of benefit to you or someone you know, I'll do my best.
It's an experiment, for reasons unknown, but for what's it's worth, the offer's now out there.
kj
I can't believe my good fortune.
So I'm thinking tonight about how grateful I am and how much I'm benefiting from blogging. Sometimes I feel like I'm attending a private poetry reading or an art gallery opening night for Friday Illustrations. And from this comes an idea and offering:
I help people build businesses. I help them plan, develop, coordinate and market a variety of self-employment and small to midsize business ideas, from restaurants to artisian cooperatives, to real estate firms to technology consulting to disability management counseling. I also help people find their way to careers that matter and away from those that don't.
I can't say for how long, and I will not/cannot delve into therapy-related issues, but for now I am willing to use part of my blogsite to answer any career and/or business questions that may be helpful--a kind of Career Ann Landers. :) If I can't help, I won't try. But if my two cents can be of benefit to you or someone you know, I'll do my best.
It's an experiment, for reasons unknown, but for what's it's worth, the offer's now out there.
kj
Friday, May 26, 2006
The (little yellow) Writing Prompt
Well, let's try it! It turns out there are already some very neat writing prompt groups (see Joy Eliz' comments below)--but in the humble tradition of the Big Yellow fellowship, the first week's prompt is:
Divine Justice
Write anything you'd like, as short or as long as you'd like, in whatever form you'd like, and post it on your blog by next Saturday, June 3rd. (Is Saturday is a good day overall?). Send along any ideas for future prompts and we're rocking...
ps. The Rules (no surprise): No apron wringing, just words
:) kj
Joy Eliz said...
There is a writing prompt group that just started called Sunday Scribblings that you should check out/participate and maybe get ideas to start another writing group. I see you write some wonderful poetry...check out Poetry Thursday which is open to everyone as well
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Live as though You Believe It
My years of counseling training pale beside this thoughtful observation from Nelson Mandella. I hope you will consider living from this perspective:
"Our worst fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, 'Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented and fabulous?' Actually, who are you not to be?..."
kj!
"Our worst fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, 'Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented and fabulous?' Actually, who are you not to be?..."
kj!
Monday, May 22, 2006
Feed a Starving Artist....
Hello anyone and everyone. I've had the good fortune to stumble onto several illustrator blogs, which appear to be part of a larger illustrator support network. The artwork and creativity is soulfully lovely and it makes me appreciate the gifts of the internet more than I ever thought I would.
If I've figured it out correctly, once a week is "Illustrator Friday", when someone chooses a topic and anyone who wants to responds to the topic prompt by designing and shareing his/her own illustration. The results are awesome. Check out any of the following blogs:
il mondo di gaia
moncando
christy beckwith
(By the way, I am not sufficiently computer-literate to make it easy for you to find or enter these blogs. So if you need to, go into my entry called "Work for Pay" and click on Michael O'Connell's comments. Once you're into his blog, you'll find many many cool illustrators.
check out the comments on these blogs as well. These are an appreciative and encouraging group of folks.
Perhaps you can see where I'm going with this. Is anyone interested in participating in a weekly writing prompt? This could be a word, topic, subject--anything, that we then write about in whatever form we wish. I'd hope it might be a variation of the big yellow prompts--a reason to write at least weekly and a reason to share.
Illustrator Friday generates dozens of wonderful feedback: priceless food for the soul.
I also wonder if some of these illustrators might like to check out our writing blogs as much as I've enjoyed checking out their creative work.
What'dya think?
:) kj
If I've figured it out correctly, once a week is "Illustrator Friday", when someone chooses a topic and anyone who wants to responds to the topic prompt by designing and shareing his/her own illustration. The results are awesome. Check out any of the following blogs:
il mondo di gaia
moncando
christy beckwith
(By the way, I am not sufficiently computer-literate to make it easy for you to find or enter these blogs. So if you need to, go into my entry called "Work for Pay" and click on Michael O'Connell's comments. Once you're into his blog, you'll find many many cool illustrators.
check out the comments on these blogs as well. These are an appreciative and encouraging group of folks.
Perhaps you can see where I'm going with this. Is anyone interested in participating in a weekly writing prompt? This could be a word, topic, subject--anything, that we then write about in whatever form we wish. I'd hope it might be a variation of the big yellow prompts--a reason to write at least weekly and a reason to share.
Illustrator Friday generates dozens of wonderful feedback: priceless food for the soul.
I also wonder if some of these illustrators might like to check out our writing blogs as much as I've enjoyed checking out their creative work.
What'dya think?
:) kj
Thursday, May 18, 2006
Work for Pay
Too many people hate or endure their jobs. Since habit and fear are tough taskmasters, here's my two cents on the matter:
Work for pay
is not the way
to need
or lead
or heed
or plead.
Work for pay
can be ok
when you accept,
inspect,
reject and
trek.
Work for pay
you might attest
is not the best,
without the zest,
even with the smallest
crest.
But since you still
must pay the bills,
plan refills,
fuel the tills, and
climb the hills
And work you must,
avoid the rust,
and dust,
mistrust and
crust.
Try instead
to work for joy
Use your head
and make your bed
Don't stay wed
when all is said.
Work and feel
keep it real,
Maybe heal,
Sometimes squeal,
and now and then
accept the deal.
When work and joy
combine—oh boy!
Time put in
where there’s a grin,
perhaps the sin
of an easy win,
So find the path
Let it last
Have a blast,
Make it fast
And in the doing
The joy is cast.
Work for pay
is not the way
to need
or lead
or heed
or plead.
Work for pay
can be ok
when you accept,
inspect,
reject and
trek.
Work for pay
you might attest
is not the best,
without the zest,
even with the smallest
crest.
But since you still
must pay the bills,
plan refills,
fuel the tills, and
climb the hills
And work you must,
avoid the rust,
and dust,
mistrust and
crust.
Try instead
to work for joy
Use your head
and make your bed
Don't stay wed
when all is said.
Work and feel
keep it real,
Maybe heal,
Sometimes squeal,
and now and then
accept the deal.
When work and joy
combine—oh boy!
Time put in
where there’s a grin,
perhaps the sin
of an easy win,
So find the path
Let it last
Have a blast,
Make it fast
And in the doing
The joy is cast.
Colorado
What a grand time we had in Colorado. Hannah's graduation was highlighted by an after-party at a pan Asian restaurant, where the most gorgeous and abundant platters of sushi came pouring forth! Maybe it was the color, but I will see those platters in my mind's eye forever more.
jb and I had our first "vacation" with Jess and Mike--traveling and gallavanting from Friday to Monday, through and over the Rockies. We four had total fun--easy going plans and pleasures, which probably surprised all of us. Mike calls us his mothers-in-laws, which is an accurate plural take on what is normally a singular distinction.
Cripple Creek was quite an experience. We stayed at the Imperial Hotel, opened in 1896, complete with a documented ghost and original oak furniture in all its glory. I should have known from the room rate of $ 60/night that it has not been upgraded since 1896. Truly--we could just as well have checked in a hundred years ago. It was dingy and past the peeling walls and lumpy bed, delightfully authentic.
jb and played the slots--to which I am squealingly addicted--it's a good thing I only go a couple of times a year--plus I stopped winning anything over a year ago and haven't found my lucky footing since. My exurburance in anticipating those jackpots that never came prevented us from joining jess and mike at the blackjack table, which also looked like a group of cowhands in 1896.
Cripple Creek has a population of 1500 people. Most of the homes are run down small victorians or arts and crafts bungalows. The partially toothless receptionist at the hotel told us with some disgust that housing prices have become out of sight, "You could buy a house for $ 3000 or $4000 but now it's $ 60,000." As I always do, I thought about what it would be like to live there--vast breathtaking land and mountains--I mean vast--and little else besides 25 or 30 little casinos and one grocery store. Folks told me the ride through the mountain to Colorado Springs is only one hour and 15 minutes--"no problem there".
jb had a half day's work in Boulder, so after the kids left for home, we drove there. Boulder is a planned community and home of the University of Colorado. It was pretty cool. I hung out at Starbucks, looked at upscale home furnishings, and as always migrated to the bookstores for the 3 hours jb worked. I made two notable purchases: I bought and read Natalie Goldberg's book on writing, Wild Mind: Living the Writer's Life, which I highly recommend; and I stumbled onto a CD by folksingerPhil Ochs. In the 60's, though I was younger than most of his fans, I loved this guy. I knew the words to all his songs and belted them out in my little bedroom with the belief that I could indeed contribute to saving the world. Forty years later, with new definations on torture and phone taps and righteous zealots and a stupid stupid president misleading the country, I wonder deeply if the idealism of the 60's dormantly lives still? Including myself, we all seem concerned but quite passive about the state of the state.
So I am going to listen to Phil Ochs again--this time in the privacy of my car--to see what's still real and true for me.
I am now back home, marveling at the depth and volume of green trees and delighted to sit at my writing desk. I love to travel, I love to come home. It works out pretty well.
jb and I had our first "vacation" with Jess and Mike--traveling and gallavanting from Friday to Monday, through and over the Rockies. We four had total fun--easy going plans and pleasures, which probably surprised all of us. Mike calls us his mothers-in-laws, which is an accurate plural take on what is normally a singular distinction.
Cripple Creek was quite an experience. We stayed at the Imperial Hotel, opened in 1896, complete with a documented ghost and original oak furniture in all its glory. I should have known from the room rate of $ 60/night that it has not been upgraded since 1896. Truly--we could just as well have checked in a hundred years ago. It was dingy and past the peeling walls and lumpy bed, delightfully authentic.
jb and played the slots--to which I am squealingly addicted--it's a good thing I only go a couple of times a year--plus I stopped winning anything over a year ago and haven't found my lucky footing since. My exurburance in anticipating those jackpots that never came prevented us from joining jess and mike at the blackjack table, which also looked like a group of cowhands in 1896.
Cripple Creek has a population of 1500 people. Most of the homes are run down small victorians or arts and crafts bungalows. The partially toothless receptionist at the hotel told us with some disgust that housing prices have become out of sight, "You could buy a house for $ 3000 or $4000 but now it's $ 60,000." As I always do, I thought about what it would be like to live there--vast breathtaking land and mountains--I mean vast--and little else besides 25 or 30 little casinos and one grocery store. Folks told me the ride through the mountain to Colorado Springs is only one hour and 15 minutes--"no problem there".
jb had a half day's work in Boulder, so after the kids left for home, we drove there. Boulder is a planned community and home of the University of Colorado. It was pretty cool. I hung out at Starbucks, looked at upscale home furnishings, and as always migrated to the bookstores for the 3 hours jb worked. I made two notable purchases: I bought and read Natalie Goldberg's book on writing, Wild Mind: Living the Writer's Life, which I highly recommend; and I stumbled onto a CD by folksingerPhil Ochs. In the 60's, though I was younger than most of his fans, I loved this guy. I knew the words to all his songs and belted them out in my little bedroom with the belief that I could indeed contribute to saving the world. Forty years later, with new definations on torture and phone taps and righteous zealots and a stupid stupid president misleading the country, I wonder deeply if the idealism of the 60's dormantly lives still? Including myself, we all seem concerned but quite passive about the state of the state.
So I am going to listen to Phil Ochs again--this time in the privacy of my car--to see what's still real and true for me.
I am now back home, marveling at the depth and volume of green trees and delighted to sit at my writing desk. I love to travel, I love to come home. It works out pretty well.
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
How Can It Be?
I'm back from the Rocky Mountains and a great few days. Family. Friends. Health. Integrity. No work. The Lessons of the Five Balls are not lost on me.
Lately I've been thinking about serenity. How is it that one day is four-star, and another below horrible? It's not simply about circumstance. I can guess what a ZenMaster would say. But tonight I'm not interested in attainment. I'd rather roll in the slippery mud of confusing and endearing humanity. So here's my current thinking:
How can this be?
I am content and restless,
Fearless and concerned,
Simple and tangled—
All in the same body
In the same place
At the same time.
All at once
Reading the paper,
Surveying the yard,
Thinning the sprouts.
Working the phones and files
Each only in a small way—
No longer so much that
Survival overtakes
The little creative voice
That patiently whispers,
“It’s time, friend”
How can it be
That I don’t know about “good stress”—
The kind that overtakes
Even when it’s just about choosing a vacation
Or wall colors for a weary kitchen?
How could I live this many years
And believe the path lessens
When all is well?
How could I not know
That the jagged corners
Of life and love and lucky charms
Never settle altogether.
My life is one of those little glass snow balls,
I shake it and the tiny speck flakes
Flutter and fall upon the little figurine
That is me.
I really thought I would feel calm
When all else is calm.
And yet I wake some mornings
With the clueless questions
Of a sheltered person.
I look to a fine day and
Prepare for something less,
Just in case, afterall.
My self—hardly sheltered!
My life—all I could ever ask for or expect!
So how can it be
That I am still my petty and lost self
On too many days?
Searching—where?—for exactly what?
How can it be that I snap at Janet
For asking me to turn the volume down
And I stop writing for three days
Because the agent didn’t offer one kind word.
How can I let a 3 day weekend
Slip through my grateful fingers
While I bitch about the smallest detail
and inwardly brood about something
I don’t even recognize?
Is this the human composition?
Is there a DNA connection
That keeps me slightly off course
For some of the time?
I know about embracing the journey
And I’m not tangled by rushing the destination,
But I’m a ball of emotion
Leaning here, moving there
Wanting the core of me
To set the course
And calm the nerves.
Some days
I can tell you what to do
As surely as I guide myself
Along the certain wall
Of possibility and passion.
Then again, it has taken me all these years
To face the confusion
That comes from not knowing,
Really not knowing from one moment
To the next what I will do
Or not do.
I am wild in my innocence,
Accepting in varying degrees
That it’s up to me to show up.
After that, I can only guess.
Lately I've been thinking about serenity. How is it that one day is four-star, and another below horrible? It's not simply about circumstance. I can guess what a ZenMaster would say. But tonight I'm not interested in attainment. I'd rather roll in the slippery mud of confusing and endearing humanity. So here's my current thinking:
How can this be?
I am content and restless,
Fearless and concerned,
Simple and tangled—
All in the same body
In the same place
At the same time.
All at once
Reading the paper,
Surveying the yard,
Thinning the sprouts.
Working the phones and files
Each only in a small way—
No longer so much that
Survival overtakes
The little creative voice
That patiently whispers,
“It’s time, friend”
How can it be
That I don’t know about “good stress”—
The kind that overtakes
Even when it’s just about choosing a vacation
Or wall colors for a weary kitchen?
How could I live this many years
And believe the path lessens
When all is well?
How could I not know
That the jagged corners
Of life and love and lucky charms
Never settle altogether.
My life is one of those little glass snow balls,
I shake it and the tiny speck flakes
Flutter and fall upon the little figurine
That is me.
I really thought I would feel calm
When all else is calm.
And yet I wake some mornings
With the clueless questions
Of a sheltered person.
I look to a fine day and
Prepare for something less,
Just in case, afterall.
My self—hardly sheltered!
My life—all I could ever ask for or expect!
So how can it be
That I am still my petty and lost self
On too many days?
Searching—where?—for exactly what?
How can it be that I snap at Janet
For asking me to turn the volume down
And I stop writing for three days
Because the agent didn’t offer one kind word.
How can I let a 3 day weekend
Slip through my grateful fingers
While I bitch about the smallest detail
and inwardly brood about something
I don’t even recognize?
Is this the human composition?
Is there a DNA connection
That keeps me slightly off course
For some of the time?
I know about embracing the journey
And I’m not tangled by rushing the destination,
But I’m a ball of emotion
Leaning here, moving there
Wanting the core of me
To set the course
And calm the nerves.
Some days
I can tell you what to do
As surely as I guide myself
Along the certain wall
Of possibility and passion.
Then again, it has taken me all these years
To face the confusion
That comes from not knowing,
Really not knowing from one moment
To the next what I will do
Or not do.
I am wild in my innocence,
Accepting in varying degrees
That it’s up to me to show up.
After that, I can only guess.
Thursday, May 11, 2006
Westward Bound
Time to head off to Colorado with my family to visit family. Our one-of-a-kind niece Hannah graduates from college on Saturday, and then we'll drive through the Rockies to Cripple Creek, where we'll play the slot machines in this once thriving, then ghostown of a gold mining town, and now again thriving community built around all these little casinos with their original wild west storefronts.
I like it out west--not as much as I like the ocean, but it brings out an Americana spirit in me.
Now that I'm better, I can say I've had a tough week. The book agent was pretty harsh with my book proposal. I'm not a wimp about criticism, but I do better with an occasional good word thrown into the mix. She had some clear and helpful suggestions, and it's not unusual to expect several re-writes before sending the proposal to publishers, but when I asked her what about the book she liked, all she could say is, "It's a publishable topic". Almost 70 pages of summaries and samples, and not one positive word or observation. After all the work, and some growing confidence in my ability to write something meaningful, I was surprised, then pissed, that she didn't speak to the "seedling" that I am.
I've thought about sending a query elsewhere--some folks are just not compatible and it's no-one's fault--but the delay in starting fresh is discouraging. Plus for some reason it seems important to stick this out, at least now. I took a few days, asked a few friends for advice, and today called ps the book agent. She knew I was upset and she spent some time telling me that her approach with me is "not personal....the book industry is all about rejection...the point is to get your book ready for an editor to like it... there will be time ahead when I give more compliments than criticism, but you still have alot of work to do first..."
This is a tricky tightrope: she knows what sells far better than I but I don't want to sell something that is not who I am or what I care about. So I need to keep my voice in all of this, even as I integrate her suggestions and comments.
I am going to revise the proposal and send it along again. The good news is that I am clearly motivated. I don't think I'll lose steam, which could so easily happen. I love writing. I want to be a writer. I want to walk into Barnes and Noble and say, "Hot damn--there's my book". (I hope this doesn't sound as pompous or self absorbed as it might...)
So I'm pushing forward and hoping for the best again. Here's hoping the hard knox will help me stretch and grow. And, if I find that I need to find another agent, or approach publishers myself, I trust that I will do just that. I'm going for it.
I like it out west--not as much as I like the ocean, but it brings out an Americana spirit in me.
Now that I'm better, I can say I've had a tough week. The book agent was pretty harsh with my book proposal. I'm not a wimp about criticism, but I do better with an occasional good word thrown into the mix. She had some clear and helpful suggestions, and it's not unusual to expect several re-writes before sending the proposal to publishers, but when I asked her what about the book she liked, all she could say is, "It's a publishable topic". Almost 70 pages of summaries and samples, and not one positive word or observation. After all the work, and some growing confidence in my ability to write something meaningful, I was surprised, then pissed, that she didn't speak to the "seedling" that I am.
I've thought about sending a query elsewhere--some folks are just not compatible and it's no-one's fault--but the delay in starting fresh is discouraging. Plus for some reason it seems important to stick this out, at least now. I took a few days, asked a few friends for advice, and today called ps the book agent. She knew I was upset and she spent some time telling me that her approach with me is "not personal....the book industry is all about rejection...the point is to get your book ready for an editor to like it... there will be time ahead when I give more compliments than criticism, but you still have alot of work to do first..."
This is a tricky tightrope: she knows what sells far better than I but I don't want to sell something that is not who I am or what I care about. So I need to keep my voice in all of this, even as I integrate her suggestions and comments.
I am going to revise the proposal and send it along again. The good news is that I am clearly motivated. I don't think I'll lose steam, which could so easily happen. I love writing. I want to be a writer. I want to walk into Barnes and Noble and say, "Hot damn--there's my book". (I hope this doesn't sound as pompous or self absorbed as it might...)
So I'm pushing forward and hoping for the best again. Here's hoping the hard knox will help me stretch and grow. And, if I find that I need to find another agent, or approach publishers myself, I trust that I will do just that. I'm going for it.
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
A Love Letter to Jessica
For those who may not know, I have been fortunate to be a part of Nerissa Nield's writing groups. On the very day I was writing this poem to my very very favorite (and only) daughter Jessica, Nerissa was giving birth to a daughter of her own. So here's to the fathomless blessings of daughters:
For Jessica
Take both eyes, both hands,
My legs and arms,
Even take the precious German clock
And every special book.
Take my bank account,
All twenty photo albums,
My garden in August
And the miraculous April rain.
Take it all if you can promise.
I knew in the instant this would be so.
I’m in to any burning house,
On to a frigid raft at sea,
I’m ripping the mangled steel with my bare hands.
Anything, anything for this girl.
The edgeless corners of the truest love
And the endless reserve of cavernous protection
Surround this child who lives within and without,
This fantabulous kid with the crack up wit
And the tender expansive heart.
Take it all, whether you are a son-of-a-bitch
Or an evolving angel,
Whether the cost is temporary or forever,
Take it all, and then shelter this child
Through every molecular motion and moment.
She sits at a desk in Anyville
And she finds little bargains at the malls.
She eats salads at Bugaboo Creek and
On Sundays brings Sprite to her grandmother.
She is an anchor in an unsteady world.
She is hybrid fuel to those who love her.
She is a reason to push
And the forever foremost answer
To everything that could ever matter
Given the chance to love like this,
The price of my sightless limbless body
And wiped clean barren possessions
Amounts to nothing more than shiny pennies and
And effortless will.
That’s all. That’s everything.
For Jessica
Take both eyes, both hands,
My legs and arms,
Even take the precious German clock
And every special book.
Take my bank account,
All twenty photo albums,
My garden in August
And the miraculous April rain.
Take it all if you can promise.
I knew in the instant this would be so.
I’m in to any burning house,
On to a frigid raft at sea,
I’m ripping the mangled steel with my bare hands.
Anything, anything for this girl.
The edgeless corners of the truest love
And the endless reserve of cavernous protection
Surround this child who lives within and without,
This fantabulous kid with the crack up wit
And the tender expansive heart.
Take it all, whether you are a son-of-a-bitch
Or an evolving angel,
Whether the cost is temporary or forever,
Take it all, and then shelter this child
Through every molecular motion and moment.
She sits at a desk in Anyville
And she finds little bargains at the malls.
She eats salads at Bugaboo Creek and
On Sundays brings Sprite to her grandmother.
She is an anchor in an unsteady world.
She is hybrid fuel to those who love her.
She is a reason to push
And the forever foremost answer
To everything that could ever matter
Given the chance to love like this,
The price of my sightless limbless body
And wiped clean barren possessions
Amounts to nothing more than shiny pennies and
And effortless will.
That’s all. That’s everything.
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
Your Jittery Mind and Your Hopeful Heart
It must be about time that I took multiple gulps and put forth some of the material from "the book", currently titled Good Work! I mailed the book proposal to "the agent" this week. Two days later I expanded and read this "chapter" aloud in Nerissa's writing group. And now I am putting it on this blog. More and more I am sticking my neck out to be a "public" writer. I am doing this because writing passionately matters to me and I will not be snuffed out by fear. Which is the point of the chapter.
I look at it and my first thought is, "Way too long to read". My second thought is, "Probably pretty boring". It's not until I have identified a half dozen big and small reasons to step backwards that the voice of the heart says, "Maybe it will be helpful to someone..."
So here it is: Chapter 6: Your Jittery Mind and Your Hopeful Heart
Your heart pounds Your hands clench. Your jaw is locked shut.
Your head spins and your balance sways. Your legs buckle like
a wet banana, or worse. You are in full panic mode.
Scene 1: Are you facing a predator in a dark alley? Or an intruder at
the foot of your bed? Is a moving vehicle coming at you at 70 miles
an hour? Are you on the receiving end of a phone call that includes
the words “cancer” and “inoperable”? Or,
Scene 2: Are you preparing for that job interview? Or being introduced
to a blind date? Are you fighting rush hour traffic? Or presenting a
marketing plan to your boss?
These two scenes are night-and-day different. Can you tell?
I am intrigued by the ghosts in the closet. Psychological fear is not the same as actual danger, but it will feel that way unless you understand how fear works and how your mind reacts to it.
I hold myself personally accountable to explain this phenomenon with words that comfort, in a manner that helps and heals, from a second story balcony that exposes foolish fear for all that it is and all that it isn’t.
I know about fear as well any anyone. Its effects are particularly challenging for an optimist, which I am, and particularly restrictive for a pinpoint observer, which I also am. I can see the wild canvas of bad decisions I have made when I was afraid, as well the easier path when I venture forth with quiet trust.
So here’s something I know about fear.
First of all, it comes from the most rational of places: the mind. It’s true that your mind’s response to fear can protect you from grave harm, but it can also close you down and freeze
you shut.
Preparing for crises and creating contingency plans is useful in the concrete world of flying airplanes and repairing heart valves. But in your day-to-day life, the more you try to control events and bolster your protection against real or perceived hurts, the more fear begins to dominate how you live and what you decide. Your biological ancestors had to worry in the most basic of ways about surviving another day, another year, but when you do that, one minute after another, one day, one month after another, you step right out of the present moment.
back to the past or into the future.
The problem with moving backward or forward is that neither place is where you breathe, see, hear, smell, talk, feel, touch, or live. You exist only in this moment. It’s a tricky concept—harder even to do than understand—but this moment is really, truly all there is. If you and I were to die five minutes from now, in this room where we write and stretch, here we would be—
decent folks still stretching in this magical room.
Here’s what else I know.
Since the very beginning of time, the human mind has been hardwired to warn of impending danger. The warning comes through screeching physical alarms: rapid heartbeat, profound sweating, imaginable lightheadedness, increased adrenaline, sometimes even unnatural strength and courage.
What has changed since the very beginning of time is that most often in the 21st century, real life “dangers” are mostly psychological, not physical: the unexpected layoff, the broken heart, the fear of the dark--but get this!--your mind doesn’t know the difference. In the world of DNA hardwiring, danger is danger, and unless you understand that the difference between psychological fear and true threat, you will probably react to any of these symptoms as if you are in a fight for your life. Except you aren’t, because a blind date or a new job interview is not in the same class as facing a frothing hostile tiger or feeling a knife at your throat.
So unless you actively intervene, here’s what happens as you prepare for that blind date or job interview: your reved-up mind kicks into high gear, preparing, planning, and anticipating every step you take and every step you even think about taking. In high alert, it triggers what’s commonly called the ‘fight or flight’ response--You mobilize in an instant and you either tightly stand and defend yourself, or run like hell.
The good news is that in dire terrifying circumstances, you will try every means possible to shield yourself from harm—sometimes even through supernatural strength or courage that you didn’t know you had. But the bad news is that your mind’s focus on safety, facts, and guarantees can overreact to normal events and that can limit your possibilities and smother your movement. When it comes to the decisions of life, the very thought of moving to a new location or readying for a job interview can send you into full alert mode. From your mind’s perspective, the unknown is the enemy.
Here’s something else I know.
You’ve got to find a way to convince your mind that things are ok. This is a problem because your mind can’t hear you very well when it’s searching so quickly for facts and solutions. You experience this as racing—a mind that never stops. When the facts aren’t clear, it resists taking any steps or making making any decisions without them. It is the nature of the conscious rational mind to doubt. The problem here is that you never decide with absolute certainty when you decide with your head, because there are always at least two sides to every argument.
There are only two ways you are going to be able to overcome the strict rationality and overprotection of your mind: you either need to quiet it (meditation? physical exercise? Prayer?) or re-assure it (“It’s ok, mind, we’re going to try something new, but I promise I will check with you before making a final decision”).
If you have any doubts about any of this, Dr. Herbert Benson of the Mind and Body Institute in Boston has empirically proven that reason works better when emotions are present—you see sharper and more accurately when your emotions are engaged. The truth is you really can’t see an object or a situation clearly unless you have some emotional involvement with it.This probably contradicts what you’ve been taught since childhood, which is that reason and logic are far more trustworthy than faith or emotion or intuition.
This brings me to your Hopeful heart.
Don Juan asks,
"Does this path have heart? If it does, the path is good; if it doesn’t,
it is of no use. Both paths lead nowhere; but one has a heart, the other
doesn’t. One makes for a joyful journey: as long as you follow it, you are
one with it. The other will make you curse your life. One makes you strong;
the other weakens you." --Don Juan, as written by Carlos Castenada
Your mind wants facts and assurances. Your heart wants passion and purpose. Your mind looks at information and possibilities along a straight line. Your heart swirls and soars and glides, unencumbered in a cloudless sky.
Fear has its place, but when you let it replace the wisdom of your heart, you lose your way. The trick is to be able to bypass your mind, which worries about everything, long enough to allow the voice of your heart—your feelings, your emotions, your faith, and your intuition—to at least, at length, be heard.
Your mind asks the hard questions, for which there are no true advance answers. No liife is linear. Your mind thinks things through, objectively weighing options, measuring, calculating, estimating, anticipating.
Your heart on the other hand asks tender questions, considers feelings and relationships. Your heart asks what feels right.
Here’s a final thing I know.
Making the “right” decision is actually impossible —you can’t know with certainty that you have the information you need no matter when or what you decide. There is no one decision you will ever make in your lifetime that comes with an advance guarantee. Once you accept this fact, you can approach the decisions you make from a place that includes and soothes your jittery mind but also refuses to diminish and disregard your hopeful heart. You can proceed knowing you did your best at the time, allowing your mind and heart room to breathe. It usually takes both of them to get it right.
I look at it and my first thought is, "Way too long to read". My second thought is, "Probably pretty boring". It's not until I have identified a half dozen big and small reasons to step backwards that the voice of the heart says, "Maybe it will be helpful to someone..."
So here it is: Chapter 6: Your Jittery Mind and Your Hopeful Heart
Your heart pounds Your hands clench. Your jaw is locked shut.
Your head spins and your balance sways. Your legs buckle like
a wet banana, or worse. You are in full panic mode.
Scene 1: Are you facing a predator in a dark alley? Or an intruder at
the foot of your bed? Is a moving vehicle coming at you at 70 miles
an hour? Are you on the receiving end of a phone call that includes
the words “cancer” and “inoperable”? Or,
Scene 2: Are you preparing for that job interview? Or being introduced
to a blind date? Are you fighting rush hour traffic? Or presenting a
marketing plan to your boss?
These two scenes are night-and-day different. Can you tell?
I am intrigued by the ghosts in the closet. Psychological fear is not the same as actual danger, but it will feel that way unless you understand how fear works and how your mind reacts to it.
I hold myself personally accountable to explain this phenomenon with words that comfort, in a manner that helps and heals, from a second story balcony that exposes foolish fear for all that it is and all that it isn’t.
I know about fear as well any anyone. Its effects are particularly challenging for an optimist, which I am, and particularly restrictive for a pinpoint observer, which I also am. I can see the wild canvas of bad decisions I have made when I was afraid, as well the easier path when I venture forth with quiet trust.
So here’s something I know about fear.
First of all, it comes from the most rational of places: the mind. It’s true that your mind’s response to fear can protect you from grave harm, but it can also close you down and freeze
you shut.
Preparing for crises and creating contingency plans is useful in the concrete world of flying airplanes and repairing heart valves. But in your day-to-day life, the more you try to control events and bolster your protection against real or perceived hurts, the more fear begins to dominate how you live and what you decide. Your biological ancestors had to worry in the most basic of ways about surviving another day, another year, but when you do that, one minute after another, one day, one month after another, you step right out of the present moment.
back to the past or into the future.
The problem with moving backward or forward is that neither place is where you breathe, see, hear, smell, talk, feel, touch, or live. You exist only in this moment. It’s a tricky concept—harder even to do than understand—but this moment is really, truly all there is. If you and I were to die five minutes from now, in this room where we write and stretch, here we would be—
decent folks still stretching in this magical room.
Here’s what else I know.
Since the very beginning of time, the human mind has been hardwired to warn of impending danger. The warning comes through screeching physical alarms: rapid heartbeat, profound sweating, imaginable lightheadedness, increased adrenaline, sometimes even unnatural strength and courage.
What has changed since the very beginning of time is that most often in the 21st century, real life “dangers” are mostly psychological, not physical: the unexpected layoff, the broken heart, the fear of the dark--but get this!--your mind doesn’t know the difference. In the world of DNA hardwiring, danger is danger, and unless you understand that the difference between psychological fear and true threat, you will probably react to any of these symptoms as if you are in a fight for your life. Except you aren’t, because a blind date or a new job interview is not in the same class as facing a frothing hostile tiger or feeling a knife at your throat.
So unless you actively intervene, here’s what happens as you prepare for that blind date or job interview: your reved-up mind kicks into high gear, preparing, planning, and anticipating every step you take and every step you even think about taking. In high alert, it triggers what’s commonly called the ‘fight or flight’ response--You mobilize in an instant and you either tightly stand and defend yourself, or run like hell.
The good news is that in dire terrifying circumstances, you will try every means possible to shield yourself from harm—sometimes even through supernatural strength or courage that you didn’t know you had. But the bad news is that your mind’s focus on safety, facts, and guarantees can overreact to normal events and that can limit your possibilities and smother your movement. When it comes to the decisions of life, the very thought of moving to a new location or readying for a job interview can send you into full alert mode. From your mind’s perspective, the unknown is the enemy.
Here’s something else I know.
You’ve got to find a way to convince your mind that things are ok. This is a problem because your mind can’t hear you very well when it’s searching so quickly for facts and solutions. You experience this as racing—a mind that never stops. When the facts aren’t clear, it resists taking any steps or making making any decisions without them. It is the nature of the conscious rational mind to doubt. The problem here is that you never decide with absolute certainty when you decide with your head, because there are always at least two sides to every argument.
There are only two ways you are going to be able to overcome the strict rationality and overprotection of your mind: you either need to quiet it (meditation? physical exercise? Prayer?) or re-assure it (“It’s ok, mind, we’re going to try something new, but I promise I will check with you before making a final decision”).
If you have any doubts about any of this, Dr. Herbert Benson of the Mind and Body Institute in Boston has empirically proven that reason works better when emotions are present—you see sharper and more accurately when your emotions are engaged. The truth is you really can’t see an object or a situation clearly unless you have some emotional involvement with it.This probably contradicts what you’ve been taught since childhood, which is that reason and logic are far more trustworthy than faith or emotion or intuition.
This brings me to your Hopeful heart.
Don Juan asks,
"Does this path have heart? If it does, the path is good; if it doesn’t,
it is of no use. Both paths lead nowhere; but one has a heart, the other
doesn’t. One makes for a joyful journey: as long as you follow it, you are
one with it. The other will make you curse your life. One makes you strong;
the other weakens you." --Don Juan, as written by Carlos Castenada
Your mind wants facts and assurances. Your heart wants passion and purpose. Your mind looks at information and possibilities along a straight line. Your heart swirls and soars and glides, unencumbered in a cloudless sky.
Fear has its place, but when you let it replace the wisdom of your heart, you lose your way. The trick is to be able to bypass your mind, which worries about everything, long enough to allow the voice of your heart—your feelings, your emotions, your faith, and your intuition—to at least, at length, be heard.
Your mind asks the hard questions, for which there are no true advance answers. No liife is linear. Your mind thinks things through, objectively weighing options, measuring, calculating, estimating, anticipating.
Your heart on the other hand asks tender questions, considers feelings and relationships. Your heart asks what feels right.
Here’s a final thing I know.
Making the “right” decision is actually impossible —you can’t know with certainty that you have the information you need no matter when or what you decide. There is no one decision you will ever make in your lifetime that comes with an advance guarantee. Once you accept this fact, you can approach the decisions you make from a place that includes and soothes your jittery mind but also refuses to diminish and disregard your hopeful heart. You can proceed knowing you did your best at the time, allowing your mind and heart room to breathe. It usually takes both of them to get it right.
Monday, May 01, 2006
Thought for the Day
Don't ask yourself what the world needs;
Ask yourself what makes you come alive, and then go and do that.
Because what the world needs is people who come alive.
Harold Whitman
Ask yourself what makes you come alive, and then go and do that.
Because what the world needs is people who come alive.
Harold Whitman
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